#I can’t tell if this is cringy or normal

[coffeeisneededformylife]

Things to know about coffee (he's a persona, were not all that different though)

Oh and coffee got (forcibly) transported to phighting(he doesn’t know he can go to the other games by using a certain door), oh and the things with these things “” is information that no one knows not even the guy doing this!)

Log 01:information about UB #001

#001 appears to be a very wealthy person, however, he rarely uses his money(where'd you think he got the money to pay for the groceries?)

“Coffee is 21 years old, also Coffee doesn’t age anymore”(Coffee is not me)

“He's from the "real world"(not the REAL real world, just the real world)”

“He got here due to some random god who just decided, oh look a mortal lets send him and his house to another dimension.”

#001 seems to constantly drinks coffee. (did you expect anything else?)

Due to the constant drinking of coffee, it appears that #001 is now very short, standing at the small height of 4"7"he's a shortie lol.)

#001 is incredibly smart however, #001 doesn’t know how to use most forms of technology.

#001 will always treat everyone like a friend, regardless of status, appearance, or personality.

#001 is incredibly gullible due to his trusting nature, however, he is apparently not gullible enough to let his wallet get stolen.

“Ever wondered who Coffee’s parents were? Well let me tell you! His father was just some guy from Russia(who has now passed away, but is happily living with his wife in Yomi) while his mother was Izanami, yeah didn’t expect that didn’t you?”.

“His house is connected to Yomi(the underworld)which is why Izanami can visit him even though he’s in a completely different world.”

“His sexuality was not of much concern to me but since he was raised in Yomi and was usually around spirits and stuff, I decided to just make him pansexual, oh yeah forgot to say that he was raised in the afterlife sry.”

“He knows how to play the biwa, he usually plays it to his mother and father, he can also use it as a weapon(it’s surprisingly very durable)”

#001 house is incredibly large, it also looks looks somewhat similar to the designs of the homes of Thieves Den, however the way to even get to #001’s home is currently being investigated, as whenever #001 heads back to his home, he always goes to the mountains, where he then disappears into a cave that seemingly leads to no where. “If you’re wondering what his house looks he has a very traditional and large house, the reason why? He just wanted to impress his parents(they would’ve cared about him either way)”

#001 is able to cook, but only sweet things, as he once attempted to cook other foods but ended up almost starting a fire.

#001 is currently residing in Thieves Den,however no one knows where he lives, in fact almost nobody knows him.

#001 has a lot of clothes in his closet, like a lot.

#001 can see spirits, and speak to them, and bend them to his will, however, he rarely does this.(He can also bend certain Yokai to his will as well, if they’re weaker than him of course!)

“Isn’t able to speak his dad’s language even though he lived with his father from the ground up(cuz he was dead for most of his life, no not coffee his dad) he can also not speak his mother language”

“He barely looks like his father, he looks mostly like his mother, he also has his mother’s accent,however he looks enough like his father to make people unable to pinpoint where he came from.”

“His names not actually Coffee it’s 再生 (Saisei), he just likes the nickname Coffee.”

#001’s clothes appear to have a lot of cherry blossom motifs, however he usually wears his more plain clothing whenever he goes out.

“He used to visit his half siblings(research it yourself I’m not putting the names of every single one of them)however, he can’t, for obvious reasons.”

“He also knows many spirits and yokai who he calls his aunts/uncles/sister/brother, for example Yuki-Onna, Tomamo no Mae, The Tengu, Shuten dōji, The Kitsunes, The Tanuki, Sutoku Tennō, Kuchisake-Onna and Teke Teke.”

“Due to his house being connected to Yomi, Coffees mother(Izanami) was finally able to go out into the world and see the sights, oh and Coffees dad as well, however Coffee isn’t risking any of the gods in this universe finding his mother, or Yomi altogether.”

“Due to him being the son of the goddess of creation and death, he’s pretty powerful, however he’s still weaker than many other gods(unless something happens),which is why he has the blessing of rebirth, which allows him to come back to life(if he wants to), however this ability has a very long recharge (5000000 years) so he hasn’t used it yet.”

#001 has a multitude of photos of him and what we presume to be his family on little outings which appears to be a tall woman with long black hair and fair skin and an average sized man with black hair and rough and scarred skin.

“Since I wanna traumatize whoever reads this one way or another I’m gonna make it so that Coffee got cursed by the one of the gods of childbirth, so now he can get pregna-“

“Did you know that coffee has 4 forms, well yeah one them is meant to help him in combat and the other one is meant to protect him, so this guys going to explain them to you”

(Please take note that this information was taken from #001’s diary)

Ningen form:This is the form that he’s almost always in, since he never really has had to fight anyone, this is his base form.

Ryoko form:This form is the form #001 uses when he needs to get around or if he wants to help someone out, this form allows him to move faster, move through walls and become invisible. It also allows him to grant the desires of any specific person, this form can be shifted to at will, this form seems to makes #001 taller, growing him to about 5”6.

Ikari form:This is one of #001’s most powerful and dangerous form, if any of the people he is fighting is near him when he is in this form, all forms of reason will disappear until your not near him, only those with a strong and powerful mentality are not effected by this, this form also makes Coffee taller(again) making him 6”2, this form can currently only be activated if #001 emotions become unstable as #001 doesn’t have full control over it yet.

Kodoku form:This form is just as powerful as the previous one, however this one works much more differently. This form is activated if #001 enters a state of pure grief,panic or if he just enters a state of solitude, once activated #001 will collapse onto the ground, then a dark dome will form around him before expanding, pushing all creatures away, except plants, they don’t really do much so they’re left alone most of the time, once it reaches its max size, it will shatter into pieces, the shards left from this are of high value since they are incredibly durable and can be melted, however it must be done through intense heat, any normal types of fire won’t melt it, you need to make sure the fire looks blue in order for it to melt. After you make it back to where #001 was, you won’t find him, all that will be left is a black and white door that seemingly leads to nowhere(please take note that if #001 enters a state of solitude he will simply be transported to his dimension) if, you however decide to open the door you will be greeted with a black and white staircase, looking left and right will greet you with a dark and endless void, once you make it to the top you’ll find a white door with ice and snow, “once you enter, you will enter what appears to be the world #001 once inhabited”, the environment of this place seems to be a snowy mountain, however it seems to inhabited by someone named “Yuki-Onna. Since we have been unable to pinpoint the exact species of this creature, we have decided to refer to it as UB #002, #002 appears to be a female with long and black hair and pale skin, #002 also appears to wear clothes from Thieves Den, however like #001, #002 seem to lack any form of horns or gear, however #002 seems to be to manipulate ice, snow, and the weather, contact with #002 is unadvised. Upon making it out of #002’s domain, you will find yourself in a field of wilted flowers, in the distance you will see a door lit by street lamps and it will also have a mirror, under it you will see the words, Am I beautiful? Upon entering the room you will find yourself in what appears to be a city of some sorts, however, the streets are empty and desolate and there are no sources of light other than the street lamps, this place seems to be inhabited by and creature named Kuchisake-Onna, for the same reason as #002, we will be refer to it as UB #003, #003 appears to be an extremely tall woman with long black hair and pale skin, she appears to always wear a mask, when encountering #003 you will be asked if #003 is beautiful, however saying no will result in your quick death, saying yes will result in #003 taking off her mask, revealing her scarred face, both answers will now lead to your death, however, saying a neutral answer will confuse her long enough for you to get away. Once you leave #003’s domain, you will find yourself in a room full of tv’s, however most of them are broken, upon reaching the end of the of this room, you will a door that appears to have come from a train, however the door is stained with blood. Once you enter the door, you will will enter a dark and desolate high school, if you’re unlucky, you’ll meet a female high schooler (who we shall call #004)who seems to go by the name of Teke Teke, the difference being that she’s missing her bottom half, when encountering #004, there is a chance #004 will ask for your legs, if you(politely) say that you need them, #004 will leave you alone, well, atleast for a little while. Once you escape #004’s domain, you will enter an empty void, where you will find #001 sitting in a chair, upon approaching #001, #001 will initiate a fight with you, if you fail to defeat #001, you will be thrown out of #001’s domain and out of the first door, the door will then lock itself, preventing anyone who failed from entering, however, defeating #001 will result with you being transported back to your place of residence with a little note that says, sorry for the trouble! The note also comes with a gift basket full of money, food, and flowers.

Signed: Blackrock

[achilles-rage]

achilles-rage’s twelve days of christmas

day eight: the man with the bag (ft. evan buckley)

summary: when shopping for some new clothes, you come across something that gives you an idea of how to surprise buck for christmas.

word count: 2.1k

series masterlist

a/n: so sorry this is a day late, i didn’t wanna release a half assed fic because i think this idea is so silly lol. every other fic will still be released on time, so tomorrow, and then every other day after that!! also, i think this is so goofy and borerlines on cringy, but simply embrace the cringe because i think buck would love this scenario LOL. anyway, enjoy<3

warnings: smut, no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

MDNI- 18+ only!

You feel like you’re in a scene of an early 2000’s rom com as you walk to Buck’s from the parking lot, your coat clutched between your hands; trying to make sure it stays closed. You know it’ll be worth it once you get to his place, but right now, you feel weird and slightly wrong.

It started when you were doing some online shopping, and when you opened one of your favourite clothing store websites, you saw a big flashing ad for their “holiday lingerie collection.”

You got curious; you had no idea what the holidays had to do with lingerie, so you clicked on it. Much to your surprise, most of the items were pretty normal, just in either red or green, but when you saw the set you had ended up buying, you couldn’t hold back your laughter.

It was silly, and you’re not really sure why you actually ended up buying it, but you know it would make Buck laugh just as much, and it’s a perfect gift-not-gift to give him before the actual gifts you bought for him.

When you finally get to his front door, you knock, anxiously looking down the hall as you wait. When you hear his voice from the other side of the door telling you to come in, you’re quick to turn the knob and slip in.

“Buck?” you call into the house when you look into the kitchen, and then the living room, and don’t see him.

“Up here!” he calls from his room.

Well, that’s sort of perfect, you think to yourself.

You take your coat off quickly, then check yourself out in his entryway mirror one more time, looking down at the bright red, mesh babydoll slip you’re wearing with white fuzzy detailing along the neckline and the bottom hem, and the matching red panties. You make sure your makeup is still in place, and then you take your santa hat out of your bag and put it on before slowly ascending the stairs with a smirk on your face.

“No fucking way.” you say with a giggle when you get to the top of the stairs, your smirk falling as you see Buck laid on his bed in nothing but a pair of red santa pants and a hat.

The smirk falls from his face as well, and his jaw drops, eyeing your curves in your lingerie set. He stands up from the bed and closes the distance between you, chuckling as he reaches out and grabs your hips.

“Did we both have the same idea?” he asks, and you nod, resting your forehead against his bare chest as you laugh along with him.

So much for your funny, sexy, weird idea.

“You look fucking incredible. The perfect Mrs. to my Mr. Claus.” he teases, his eyes dark with lust as he eyes the tops of your breasts peeking out of your slip when you look back up at him.

“Now, we’re gonna find out if you’ve been naughty, or nice.” he purrs, lowering his head towards your neck.

“I was gonna say that!” you exclaim, laughing in disbelief as you push him back from your neck by his chest.

His brows raise in surprise, and then he smiles widely, bringing a finger up to the underside of your chin and pulling your lips up to his.

You’re absolutely perfect for him, he knows it.

He kisses you passionately, clumsily, and his tongue is quick to dart into your mouth when you part your lips to catch your breath.

“I can’t believe you stole my idea.” you whisper against his lips, hands moving down his firm chest to the waistband of his pants.

He chuckles lowly, his hips moving from your hips to your ass, grabbing and kneading it roughly. The fabric of your slip tickles his bare chest, and he’s not sure what he wants more; for you to keep it on, or to rip it off of you himself.

When he begins to walk you back towards the bed, you break the kiss, tutting softly.

“Uh uh, I walked all the way up to your apartment in this.” you argue softly, then flip him around and push him down onto the bed.

He groans as he hits the bed, his hands immediately finding your thighs as you straddle his lap. Your lips find his quickly, and you kiss him with fervour as you begin to slowly grind against him.

“Now, do you think you’ve been naughty, or nice?” you ask when you pull back, massaging his scalp with one hand while your other arm loops around the back of his neck.

“Hmm, I think I’ve been pretty good to you.” he murmurs, his blood running hot when he sees the devilish look in your eyes.

“I don’t know, I think you’ve been naughty. Might have to do something to make it up to me.” you purr, your hips still moving slowly against his.

He smirks, slowly bringing one of his hands up to the waistband of your red panties, letting his fingers dance along the fabric and causing goosebumps to rise on your skin.

“I can do that.” he hums before dipping his fingers under your panties and finding your clit effortlessly. You let out a soft moan, grinding against his fingers as they circle your clit.

“Yeah, you better.” you manage to get out before he’s inserting two of his fingers into your cunt, moving at an achingly slow pace.

You moan quietly, bringing your lips to his as your hips continue to move against his fingers, desperate for more. Your kisses are sloppy as he swallows your moans, tongues licking into each other’s mouths and teeth clacking together as you both get more desperate.

His thumb moves to circle your clit, his fingers speeding up their pace and making you tilt your head back in pleasure, your hands squeezing his biceps in a desperate attempt to keep yourself grounded.

“What are my chances of getting back into your good graces after this?” he rasps, a wicked grin on his face when he sees how easy it is to have you moaning and squirming for his touch.

“Pretty fucking good.” you whimper, bringing your face back down and smashing your lips to his again.

When he curls his fingers up to tap your g-spot, your mewl loudly, back arching as you clench around his fingers.

“Cum for me, baby.” he whispers, parting from your lips and attaching his own to your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin hard.

You fall over the edge with a few more thrusts of his fingers, squeezing your eyes shut as your body goes taut. Buck slows the movements of his fingers slowly, cooing softly as you come down from your high.

When you finally open your eyes, you smile at him lazily, then bring your lips together, humming softly as he brings his hands up to your hips.

Then, in one swift motion, you push him back to lay on the bed completely, his feet still over the edge of the bed and firmly placed on the hardwood as his back hits the sheets.

“Am I on your nice list yet?” he teases, his eyes widening slightly in surprise, but feeling his cock twitch in his pants at the way you take charge.

“Not if you keep asking.” you tease back, pinning his wrists on either side of his head. He groans, smirking as he feels you resuming your grinding against his lap again, hard cock pressing against your dripping folds.

“Yes ma’am.” he whispers before your lips are on his neck, pressing searing kisses down his skin and towards his broad chest. He tries to buck his hips against you, desperate for more friction, and you giggle softly, pulling back from his chest to look down at him.

“Eager, aren’t we?” you tease, smirking. “Keep them there.” you tell him sternly before you take your hands from his wrists.

He’s tempted to grab your hips and flip you over so he’s back in control, but he doesn’t. He loves the way it feels to lay under you like this, and he wants to see it go on for a little while longer.

“Good boy.” you tease, then raise your hips just enough to tug his pants down and let his hard cock spring free. He lets out a ragged moan at the nickname, feeling your fingers ghosting over his length as it hits his stomach.

You pull your panties to the side, and line him up with your entrance, and you don’t waste another second, sinking onto him until he’s completely buried inside of you.

Your hands go back to his wrists as you begin to move, moans tumbling out of both of your lips as he stretches you out.

“God, you feel so good, baby.” he rasps, resisting the urge to get his arms free from your grip. You both know that he could very easily get out of your grip; those muscles aren’t just for show, but it wouldn’t be any fun if he didn’t let you pin him down every once in a while.

“Yeah, you trying to sweet talk me, Buckley?” you tease, rolling your hips against his in a way that has him moaning desperately.

“Is it working?” he asks, letting out a low groan when you lean down and start pressing kisses on his chest, biting and sucking on his skin every now and then.

“Could be.” you whisper against his skin, beginning to bounce on his cock.

He can already feel himself getting close, but he tries to hold back as he watches the way your plush belly and chest move with each bounce.

God, what he’d give to touch your soft skin right now.

When your movements begin to get sloppy, hips moving out of time and your eyes beginning to roll back, he finally rips his wrists from your grip.

He grabs your hips and flips you onto your back before you can react, pushing into you as soon as you’re situated.

You look up at him with a surprised, and slightly dazed expression, and he just chuckles lowly, thrusting into you hard and fast, and moaning loudly as he feels how well you grip his cock.

“What? I’ve still gotta prove that you’re a good girl, don’t I?” he teases, and you let out a quick, breathless laugh, which turns into a moan as he grabs one of your thighs and pulls it up to his hip.

You look up at him, barely able to fight back as you feel the pit forming in your lower belly. Your hands are gripping his biceps hard, and when he brings the hand from your hip up to your neck, you can feel yourself about to fall over the edge.

“You gonna be a good girl and cum for me, baby?” he growls, and all you can do is nod. Your nails are digging into his biceps, making half moon indents in his skin, and he stares into your eyes, wanting to watch your face as you cum on his cock.

With a few more thrusts, you’re clenching and cumming around him, overwhelmed with the feeling of him spilling his seed into your pulsing cunt.

He practically collapses onto you, still buried deep inside you as you both come down from your highs. Your chest is heaving as you hold him close, bringing one hand up and massaging his scalp.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, and then each of your cheeks, and then your nose, and then finally your lips with a soft hum.

He pulls out with a low groan, feeling his release slowly dripping out of your cunt and falling down to the bedsheets under you. He watches your soft belly and chest rising and falling under your nearly-see-through slip with each breath as he kneels over you. He’s unable to resist the urge to place his large hands on your tummy, just to feel your plushness between his fingers.

He lets his hands move up under your slip, slowly squeezing and kneading at your tummy, and you giggle softly, feeling your face and the tips of your ears get

hot at the attention.

“Am I on your nice list, now?” you ask with a lazy grin, watching as he leans down and presses a soft kiss to the middle of your tummy, just above your belly button.

“Oh, absolutely. But now I think I’ve gotta reward you for being such a good girl.” he purrs, moving to hover over you again with a smirk.

Maybe holiday lingerie wasn’t such a bad idea after all, you think as he flips you over onto your stomach.

notes: likes/comments/reblogs would be much appreciated if you liked this<33

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[darkbluekies]

I'M A SILAS SIMP!!! Can we get a date with him? Like a cute date and we get scared cause maybe we're falling in love with him pleeeease

My Valentine<3

Mafia!yandere x reader Valentine's special

Summary: Silas hates Valentine’s, but this year, he's going to spoil you. You find yourself actually enjoying his love and start to question if you really hate him.

Warnings: a bit of nudity (not sexual), kissing, Stockholm syndrome

Word count: 1.8k

Valentine’s day. Normally Silas absolutely despises this day. It’s just a cringy holiday to make people try to believe in love that doesn’t exist. This year though, he plans to go all out! It’s his first Valentine’s day with you, his little darling! He wants you to loosen up and see how much he really cares for you. He has everything planned. First you’ll go to a nice restaurant and eat dinner then to a hotel for some ultimate luxury.

He’s got you a cute outfit for you to wear today. He hopes that it’s going to make you feel a bit happier about today. He knows that you don’t want to go anywhere with him. 

“Here you go, pretty”, Silas smiles and places down a paper bag on the bed. “Dress yourself. I have big plans for today.”

“I’m not in the mood …”, you mumble without looking at him. 

“I think you will be. Look in the bag, baby.”

The curiosity takes control and you sneak a look into the bag. Red clothing and new shoes. 

“Put those on”, Silas smirks. “I think you’ll look really good.”

He sinks down in his armchair, spreads his legs and leans back to watch you. You get up from bed and lift up the new clothes you’ve gotten, feeling it in your hands. 

“Are you going to watch me?” you ask quietly. 

“Of course”, Silas smiles, eyes darker than the darkest night. “It’s Valentine’s day … let me enjoy it as much as I can.”

You roll your eyes. “Do you want me to give you a show, mister? Is that it?”

“I mean, I’d love to-”

You grab the pillow and throw it at his face. Silas chuckles and hugs the soft thing, leaning his head back at the wall. You keep your eyes glared at him as you change clothes. Silas will never get enough of seeing your body. It feels like he’s getting blinded by your beauty everytime he sees you. You signal for him that he can stop staring, that you’re done dressing yourself now. 

“Wow”, he breathes and walks over to you. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I’m so happy to have you, I hope you know that.”

His hands hold your waist in a tight grip. 

“You look perfect, my love”, he whispers. “Let’s go now. We’ll have so much fun.”

He holds his arm around your waist as he leads you down to the car. His chauffeur opens the door for the two of you and Silas tells him to stop looking at you. The chauffeur apologies when he realizes that he’s been looking at you a bit too long. Silas holds your hand on the car ride, kissing the skin over and over again. You keep your eyes out the window, hating the way you actually feel a bit warm inside. You blame it on the day.

“Can you please look at me?” Silas begs. “I want to see your pretty eyes.”

You glance over at him and he smiles. 

“There we go”, he cooes. “Do you know where we’re going?”

“No”, you answer truthfully. “And it’s kind of freaking me out …”

“Don’t be scared, beautiful. Everything today is in your favor. You will love everything I’ve prepared for you.” He seems to become alert. “Oh, we’re here. Driver, stay here.”

Silas opens the door and pulls you out on the sidewalk. You look around and finds the sign of a fancy restaurant in front of you. With a gasp, you cover your mouth. 

“I know how you’ve been dreaming about eating here”, Silas says and takes your hand in his. “And now I’m going to grant you your wish.”

You take another look towards the restaurant. The lights look dim and there doesn’t seem to be any people inside. if there’s a day a restaurant should be full, it is Valentine’s … 

“It looks empty, Silas”, you say. “I don’t think it’s open.”

“Silly thing, I’ve booked it for us”, Silas chuckles. “I can’t stand watching other people look at you. I had to get the entire restaurant for myself so I can have you all to myself too. Let’s go inside and get some dinner.”

Silas opens the door and leads you inside. The staff start to welcome you and show you the table they’ve prepared for you. You think that they seem a bit tense and you can’t blame them. Silas temper and occupation is enough to cause a whole city to leave in panic. 

You sit down in front of him with your hands in your lap. A waiter comes to give you the menus and you notice that yours doesn’t have any prices listed in it. 

“How am i supposed to know what things cost if I can’t see it?” you ask. 

“That’s the thing, Y/N, you shouldn’t see”, Silas says with a fond smile. “Choose whatever you want. Don’t think of the price, just pick what you think is yummy, okay?”

“Are you sure?”

“I took you here, didn’t I? Choose whatever you want, little thing.”

You look through the menu as if your life depends on it, afraid to choose the wrong thing. The chances of coming back here might be slim. Finally, after almost ten minutes of intense reading, you end up with salmon. Silas smiles and tells you that you made a good choice. In this dim light, he almost looks sweet. Of course, he chooses steak.

“Are you happy to be out?” Silas asks when the waiters have taken your orders.  

You nod hesitantly without looking at him. Silas smiles and leans over the table to take your hand in his. The grip is gentle.

“I’ve never celebrated valentine’s day before”, he admits and smiles sheepishly. “I thought it was stupid. But not anymore. Not if it is with you. I’ll spoil you, baby, as if every day was valentine’s day. I’ll worship you and treat you like royalty. I love you, so so much.”

You squirm in your seat at his words. Normally, every syllable feels like spiders crawling down your skin. You wish he didn’t say these things, you never know what to respond. But today, instead of spiders, it feels like electricity. It makes you freeze with realization. No …

“What’s wrong, baby?” Silas asks with furrowed brows. “Are you feeling well?”

You meet his dark, worried eyes and feel your heart skipping a beat. 

“Yes, I’m okay”, you say quietly.

“If you don’t feel well, we can go straight back home.”

You shake your head quickly and decide to change the subject. 

“Can’t you tell me about yourself for once?” you ask. “You always want to know about me. I want to know about your life.”

“My life? Like what?”

“You certainly didn’t want to be a criminal when you were a kid. What was your original dream?”

SIlas smiles shyly and scratches the back of his neck. “A truck driver.”

“Truck driver?”

“I liked cars. But then I started hanging out with the wrong kinds of people and now I’m here. I’m not mad about it though. I have more money than I ever could have gotten being a truck driver.”

“Money isn’t everything. Not when you’re harming people.”

“I punish people who are cruel to me. If people didn’t bother me, I’d not kill them. But they don’t get that easy memo.” Silas smiles. “Enough about that. I don’t want to talk about work on this fine day.”

The food comes before you have time to ask him something else. You dig in. The food melts in your mouth and you wonder if you’ve got a taste of heaven. 

“Is it good, baby?” Silas asks and takes a sip of his crimson wine. “Do you like it?”

You nod. 

"Let's say we travel one day", Silas says. "Where would you like to go?"

"Somewhere warm probably", you say. "Or to the mountains. Either really warm or really cold."

"Interesting … I'll remember that."

The dessert is a strawberry ice cream with hot chocolate sauce.

Silas doesn't let you see the bill and when you ask him about it, he just smiles at you. Gently, he guides you back to the car where the driver is watching a movie on the monitor inside.

"Stop watching garbage while working", Silas says. "Otherwise I'll spoil the movie for you. I swear, I'll do it."

The driver apologizes quickly and turns on the engine. 

"Where are we going?" you ask.

"The grand hotel", Silas smirks. "I've booked the best suite they have.”

Silas’s grip on your hand is tighter than before when you step out in front of the grand hotel. You understand why. The hotel is filled with people, potential threats. Silas practically drags you with him to the lobby. The poor receptionist is trembling when Silas speaks to her. She never looks at you.

"Come with me", a man smiles. "I'll show you to your suite."

Silas thanks him and pulls you with him through the marvelous lobby, over to the elevator. The man chats with Silas and you notice how he’s trying to not sound frightened, but his body language exposes him. 

The room is bigger than you could ever have anticipated. You look around with big eyes. Silas captures you in a backhug, kissing your cheek. Once again, you’re filled with warmth. Terrified, you freeze. You shouldn’t fall for him. You really shouldn’t. But … it is Valentine’s day after all. If there’s one day a year to give in and be in love, it’s today. You turn around in his embrace and look at his lips, hesitating, contemplating. You’ve never taken the initiative before and you have a feeling you will regret it, but you really want to. Maybe you’ve gone insane. Maybe you’ve gotten manipulated, but oh, how much you want to kiss him. 

“Do you want to kiss me?” Silas smirks. “Is that why you’re staring at my lips?”

“I think so”, you say. 

Before you can react, he’s crashed his lips against yours. You gasp as all the air knocks out of your lungs. His kisses are rough and dominant, but his hold of you is sweet and gentle. He’s sucking the air out of you in a hypnotizing way that leaves you wanting more. You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer. 

“Y/N, Y/N”, Silas pants and pulls back from you. “Patience. I have more planned. You can’t break my mind yet.”

You whine slightly as he withdraws his lips from you. Now that you’ve finally let loose, why does he have to stop you? He chuckles and pulls you to the bathroom. The bath is already prepared for the two of you with bath bombs, bubbles and champagne. 

“Here is some chocolate”, Silas says and holds up a box. “What do you say? Should we take a bath?”

You nod. A few minutes later, you both sink down into the hot water. Your not sure if it's the water embracing you or Silas hugging you, but frankly, you don't care. Not now. Silas give you one of the champagne filled glasses. You clink the glasses together and gulp it down. Silas pulls you close to him and lets you lean on his chest. You can feel his heart beat through his muscles. For once, it feels human.

“Isn't this nice?” he whispers and you can hear the skft smile in his voice. “So relaxing.”

You nod and close your eyes. Maybe being with Silas isn’t too bad afterall. Despite his cold outer, he can be a quite romantic person on the inside ...

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AMITA for lying to everyone I know about my identity’s as a queer/neurodivergent person?

I (18M) am a bisexual, transgender man who is also autistic, ADHD, and OCD. When people hear this about me, even if they know me, I feel like they build up this image of me as an awkward, “cringy” 11 year old who’s obsessed with “cringy” fandoms. And while i have a qualm with this because I know they are looking down on people who are just less masked/higher support needs, I also dislike that they do this because it’s just not who I am. Without the labels, I mostly seem like just a normal dude, if not a bit nerdy.

I also used to be extremely bullied as a kid (7-12) to the point of a suicide attempt, mostly due to homophobic, transphobic, or ablest remarks about me. Since then I’ve completely changed community’s and do not talk to anyone i knew before high school.

When authority figures (Teachers, Show Directors, Investors of the teen programs I lead) apply ablest/transphobic stereotypes or prejudices to me, they also tend to be less,,, normal? around me. Less kind compared to other kids, call me an “inspiration”, or they’ll coddle me when I’m incredibly capable. I do a lot for someone my age- and I know the connections I make now at conferences and whatnot will help me in the long run. My dad’s family is poor, and my immediate family is more comfortable but not that much. I know I’m smart, and I can weaponize that to get a better life for my family by getting good scholarships and jobs in good fields. I can’t just let people who could be very important to my goals look down on me. So i just.. don’t tell them anything about me. They might assume Im odd or “not normal”, and for the most part I let them assume whatever, but if i’m ever asked directly about anything I deny it. Especially in relation to me being transgender; I have the very privileged ability to pass without any medical intervention, and I use that to pretend to be cisgender. Living in the deep south of USAmerica, most of who I am could make my social life very uncomfortable to downright miserable.

Here’s where the problem starts happening. when my social and (what i consider to be a) “professional” life occasionally touch, I wouldn’t be able to be out everywhere socially without someone I don’t want knowing finding out. So i don’t tell any of my classmates/friends/peers about any of my identities either. I hang out with queer and straight people, never be actively homophobic/ablest, and will be very vague about the two questions i’ve ever received about any of that stuff. It’s very, very exhausting to pretend all the time, every day, especially pretending that I’m cisgender because it’s a tricky game, but I can’t really back down and I’m afraid that I might get bullied again if I was ever open about it with classmates.

A few months ago, I was dating this guy, who i’ll call Kai (17M) Kai is also a transgender man, but does not pass at all and is comfortable with it. He’ll get shit sometimes, but also has essentially no straight friends. I told him I was queer when we became good friends, and then told him I was trans after we started dating. I also told him why I lie about being cishet or neurotypical, and while he didn’t seem happy he didn’t push it at first. I told him that I understood if he didn’t want to be in a secret relationship, but because of where we live and what I want to do I wasn’t comfortable with being out again. He said he still wanted to date me, and claimed he would support me, and we had a pretty good relationship overall.

A month after that, he started bringing it up again. He told me that I was more than my identity, and if people didn’t see me for who I am instead of stereotypes, it isn’t worth talking to them at all. And while I agree with the sentiment, it’d never be possible to just not hear someone if they were harassing me, and while I truely dislike a lot of the authority figures that I engage with, they are in the professional fields I’m interested in, and I’m incredibly lucky for getting where I am so early. Kai also said that since I am well known in our very small school (only 300 kids), being out could be a positive influence on what people think about autistic people or trans people. In a particularly heated fight, he even said I was doing a disservice or betrayal to my community by not representing or being proud of being apart of them publicly.

We broke up pretty soon after, but I think about what he said a lot. I know that I wouldn’t be the only out person at my school, and that my school is actually a lot better compared to most local schools, which are a lot larger and… dramatic, but I just don’t think I could be out without going back to how I used to be mentally. And Kai was right about how I could be a good influence on some of the meaner classmates- I do think some of my peers who I ingenuinely connect with might reconsider their prejudices if they knew I was transgender.

I’m intentionally choosing not to take the opportunity to do better. It wouldn’t ruin ALL my relationships with the authority figures I consider to be important holding, since it would just be my school, It might dampen one or two of them. Plus, I’m lying to pretty much everyone who knows me. They build relationships with a false idea of me, and I feel like an asshole sometimes because I’m not honest.

TLDR: I’m a transgender, autistic guy in a very bigoted community. Everybody thinks i’m cishet and neurotypical. AMITA for not being proud of who I am because of potential social losses, and AMITA for lying to people and giving friends/peers false ideas about who I am even if they would not be friends with me if they knew?

What are these acronyms?

[itostea]

perfect match (shidou x reader)

When news breaks out that your friend’s boyfriend breaks up with her due to his wish for a “mature” woman, you make sure to not to ensure that never happens with your boyfriend. 

warnings: established relationship, shidou being dirty again lol, he can’t keep his hands off you, the scene is kinda inspired by the ending scene in loving yamada kun at lv999, image from my reason to die

“I just got dumped.”

“What? That’s impossible! I mean you guys were soooo in love!” One of your friends gasps, a hand clasped over her lips. You feel yourself roll your eyes at the mock surprise, blinking as you watch her comfort your other friend who stared blankly at her lunch.

“He said he wanted a mature woman…” she mumbles quietly. “So he broke up with me and told me he was going to go look for one.”

You sigh, patting her on the back as you smiled in pity. “Don’t believe him. That was probably just an excuse to break up–”

“Oh no!” A voice interrupts you and you watch in wonder as your other friend stares deep in thought. “That actually happened to one of the girls in my class as well. As a matter of fact, that’s quite a trend now!”

“It’s a trend to break up if the woman isn’t mature enough?” You gape, finding her words hard to believe. Then again, you’ve been receiving more news of couple fall outs and failed talking stages. Unexplained motives behind break-ups; tears and uncontrollable sobbing; ending on bad terms. You don’t want to accept such groundless theories regarding these split-ups but they’ve been increasing exponentially ever since last month. 

“Yes, one hundred percent!” Your friend chirps. “Reminds me (Name), you have a boyfriend too right? Shidou? Does he want you to be mature as well?”

“Well…” you chuckle awkwardly. Truthfully, “mature” was a reach for your behavior with him. Just an hour ago, you made a stupid deez nuts joke to him because he ate the last of your ice-cream. And a day ago, you walked around in the house with a face mask and in your cringy middle-school shirt–not the most flattering version of you. All of the memories of your time with him come rushing to you and you can’t help but feel sweat drip down your skin. 

Believe it or not, you loved Ryusei. A lot. Even if you had to deal with his constant gushing about that Itoshi Sae player and his weird morning routine that required getting naked and yelling, you genuinely wanted to marry this man. You know it’s pointless to think further into the possibility of him breaking up with you, but the surge in break-ups makes you worried–anxious that he seriously could consider it. 

“(Name)? You’ve been glaring at the table for a good minute now. Are you okay?” 

Your friends watch in surprise as you suddenly stand up, looking at them with a determined expression. You quickly gather your things and slap a couple bills down. “Sorry guys, I have to go! I’ll see you at class!”

“What–? Hey!”

You jolted outside the cafe and sent a text to Shidou, telling him that you were coming home. In a normal situation, you would’ve ignored the fact that he responded with an “ok.” It was rare for him to give you short answer responses but it wasn’t unheard of. Yet, that answer is enough to make you pick up the pace, ignoring the way your heels dug into the side of your foot. 

Today is the day where you perfect the “mature” partner act. 

                    -

“So basically,” you mumble, choosing to ignore the hand on your thigh. “I know that you’re busy with practice and all that stuff so I won’t bother you that much. Also, I want you to start prioritizing your health and–”

 A yawn cuts you off from your ramble and you feel your eye twitch in irritation. Even so, you restrain yourself from arguing with him. “Are you listening to me Ryu?”

“Yeah I am babe,” he stretches, manspreading over the couch until you’re left pressed against the corner. The hand on your thigh just moves up to grab your waist and plop you on his lap. You feel your breath hitch but there was no way you were giving in this easily.

You huffed. “Then what’d I say just now?”

“Something ‘bout how you wanted to talk and other stuff.”

“That was at the beginning of our conversation!” You heaved, watching in disbelief as he let out another yawn. “Seriously Ryu?” 

“I promise I was listening, sweets. It’s just I got bored once you mentioned the ‘giving me space talk.’ Y’know that stuff bores me.”

“But it’s important!”

“Nah what’s important is this,” he mumbles against your shoulder, shifting so he can grab your foot to observe a fresh bruise forming. In his arms, you can smell your shampoo on him and it makes you giddy inside to know that you guys started sharing each other’s things. He tilts his head to get a better look at it. 

“Why’d you wear those, what do you call them? Oh heelies right? Yeah, why'd you wear heelies to a ‘casual’ outing with some friends. You’re not hanging out with other men right babe?” 

You roll your eyes from his random fit of jealousy. “They’re called heels and I wore them because it completed the outfit Ryusei. Now back to what I was saying–”

Another yawn cuts you off from continuing. It’s his way of saying that this conversation is meaningless. You sighed and tried to unravel his arms around your waist. “I’m going since you’re not listening to me.”

“Don’t be like that,” his arms tighten around waist and you yelp when he moves you back in his lap. “Not letting you leave ‘til you tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Nothing’s wrong–”

“Uh huh good try,” he says, voice husky against your neck. “Now tell me.”

It’s not easy to dissuade Shidou whenever he’s put his mind to anything. You’ve tried it many times and figured that he’s ten times more stubborn when it comes to you. Just that thought is enough to make you slouch against his chest and sigh. “My friend got dumped.”

“Okay but what’s that gotta do with us?”

“Let me finish,” you slap him lightly on the shoulder, gaining a grin from him. “Anyways, she got dumped because her boyfriend wanted a mature woman. Now before you make fun of me, a lot of couples have been breaking up so I got scared okay? I know I don’t act that mature with you so I was worried you might…” you don’t finish the last part and instead avert your eyes from his pink hues. 

“Oh that’s all? That’s a shitty reason.”

“Are you calling my feelings shitty, Ryusei?”

“Not your feelings pretty thing. Breaking up over that reason is shitty. At least for me. I think you’re cute how you are now,” he shrugged, patting your face with a grin. 

You still don’t believe him completely, frowning as you turned to look at him. “But…”

He huffs and leans back. “Babe I literally took you on a crawfish date and still fucked you afterwards–”

“Ryu! Oh my god,” you covered your face in your hands. “You’re gross!”

“Yeah but you like it,” he laughs. “Okay, point is, don’t worry your pretty head over shit like that. I don’t act that mature around you either.”

“Well that’s because you’re just weird.”

“You’re just as weird for liking me,” he snickers. “That’s all you wanted to say right? It’s cute that you went out of your way to act like this for your mean boyfriend.”

You rolled your eyes as he began to squeeze your cheek. “Please shut up and just hold me.”

“Anything for my girl,” he chuckles, bringing your head closer to his shoulder. Shidou always had the warmest body temperature that you couldn’t help but appreciate. Closing your eyes, you choose to relax against his hold and breathe in the smell of his laundry and shampoo. 

And that peace is shattered the moment you hear the sound of a slap and a sting on your ass. Your eye twitches once again. “Ryusei. Why do you always ruin the mood?”

“Babe it was right in front of me! I was resisting the urge for over an hour now!”

You pinch the space in between in your eyes and sigh for the nth time today. Thinking about it now, you two really were a perfect match for one another.

[nica-my-beloved]

Princes reacting to Emma's Cringy Pick-up lines (Season 2)

Chevalier

Emma:  "I never believed in love at first sight, but that was before I saw you."

Chevalier: *looks up from his book* "..........."

Chevalier: *smirks* "Was it before your legs started trembling or after?"

Leon

Emma: "If being sexy was a crime, you’d be guilty as charged"

Leon: "Hahaha...*unbuttons his shirt and opens his arms* then punish me your honor?"

Yves

Emma: "You’ve got a lot of beautiful curves, but your smile is absolutely my favorite."

Yves: *starts blushing furiously!*

Yves: "Stop looking at me with those hungry eyes!!"

Licht

Emma: " It says in the Bible to only think about what’s pure and lovely… So I’ve been thinking about you all day long."

Licht: *.....................*holds her head towards his chest*

Emma: "Umm....Licht?"

Licht: "How can you read my mind so easily like that?" *and starts caressing her hair*

Nockto

Emma: " I can’t tell if that was an earthquake, or if you just seriously rocked my world."

Nockto: "Pfft,..."*tries holding back his laughter*

Emma: ".....don't laugh"

Nockto: "Hahahahahaha!!!"

Jin

Emma: " Your hand looks heavy—can I hold it for you?"

Jin: "Your boobs look heavy—can I hold them for you?"

Emma: "No!" *covers her chest area*

Clavis

Emma: "In my opinion, there are three kinds of beautiful: Cute, pretty, and sexy. Somehow, you manage to be all three."

Clavis: "Emma....*dramatically hugs her* You're the only person who understands me!!!"

Cyran: *side eyes him*

Luke

Emma: "I was going to say something really sweet about you, but when I saw you, I became speechless."

Luke: "Emma...even I think you're sweeter than any honey." *kisses the back of her hand*

Sariel

Emma: "You know, I had a pickup line ready to go, but you’re so hot it just left my mind."

Sariel: "Hm? Really?" *while pulling out his whip*

Rio

Rio: *memorizing pick-up lines that Jin taught him*

Emma: "Rio!!"*comes hopping towards him and stands in front of him*

Emma: "Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I try walking by again?"

Rio: *starts blushing and forgets all the pick-up lines he learned*

Rio: "I don't know about love at first sight....but when you walk like that in front of me....I just..."

Emma: "Thehe..."

Keith

Emma: "Do you know what my shirt is made of? Boyfriend material."

Keith: "Which one? Me or the other me?"

Silvio

Emma: "Trust me, I’m not drunk; I’m just intoxicated by you."

Silvio: *blushing* "Do you think I'd fall for one of your pick-up lines if you keep going on and on!?"

Emma: "If you let me borrow a kiss, I promise I’ll give it right back."

Silvio: *blushes even more* "Just shut up already-----!? Hey! Hey, don't come closer!!"

Gilbert

Gilbert: "What if I say, 'You must be a hell of a thief, because you managed to steal my heart from across all the other princes'?"

Roderic: "I think Emma's heart gonna stop if you say that too her. I think it's for the best, if you don't use pick-up lines, your highness."

Gilbert: "If her heart stops I'll kill her."

Roderic: "Right. The normal you, is way better."

Gilbert: "I know. I guess I'll just seduce her with my dashing looks."

Matias

Emma: "Wow, when God made you, he was seriously showing off."

Matias: "Oh really?"

Emma: "........."

Matias: ".............?"

Emma: "Ok that was a pick up line."

Matias: "It was?"

Kagari

Emma: "I don’t know which is prettier today—the weather, or your eyes."

Kagari: "Dorayaki"

Emma: "Huh?"

Kagari: "Dorayaki is the best. Want one?"

Emma: "...............................................can I have two?"

Azel

Emma: "I swear someone stole the stars from the sky and put them in your eyes."

Azel: "Hah....obviously. Because I'm god."

Azel: (AAHAHAHAHAHA WHY IS MY HEART DOING THE DOKI DOKI THING!?~)

[spacy-snail]

Parts of the Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes movie that did the book dirty

Spoilers!!

…

• Snow is the one to suggest feeding the tributes, not stumbling across Sejanus already doing it

• The downgrade of the whole rat problem/rat poison thing

• Grandma’am is nice now???

• The almost total removal of Clemensia’s character, her being a weird suck up instead of her making a normal teen lie, and the fallout showing the absolute apathy Dr Gaul has (and also making Snow realize he can’t even trust the Capitol)

• Dr Gaul literally spelling out what the snakes do and Clemensia still sticking her hand in that stupid snake tank

• Not having Snow calling Lucy Gray “mine” in a creepy way even once to show how he feels he has ownership of her from the very beginning

• The EXTREME downgrade of Snow and Sejanus’ relationship, and the weird bond he has with the Plinths in general

• Ma Plinth erasure

• Tigris erasure

• Getting rid of Arachne’s funeral

• Snow not going out of his way to get Lucy Gray a guitar

• Having a blink and you’ll miss it throwaway line of the tributes and Academy students that died in the explosion

• Not showing the other tributes that did the interview

• Not showing Mama Snow’s compact until Coriolanus deciding to give it to Lucy Gray

• Lucy Gray and Snow didn’t kiss before she went into the games??? I feel like that added and extra layer of her wanting to survive but idk

• The erasure of the iconic “it’s not over until the mockingjay sings” line

• The drones never being fixed was a super weird choice and I’m not sure if I liked it or not

• Snow being super suspicious and running out to put something with Lucy Gray’s scent in the snake tank instead of just getting lucky and putting it in there on the off chance instead of it being predetermined

• The Games ending with the snake scene instead of Lucy Gray having to be clever to outwit her opponents, like I get it’s dramatic but that scene with Dr Gaul was just so weird to me

• Highbottom TELLING Snow to sign up for the Peacekeepers instead of just implying it and also telling him to keep his identity anonymous instead of Snow doing it out of pride

• Sejanus not telling Snow about the diploma he literally bargained for for him

• Sejanus showing up on the train instead of after Snow gets to District 12 and has to wallow in what his life is now before having finally having someone that actually knows him

• Snow not having IMMEDIATE beef with the mockingjays

• Snow not calling Sejanus his brother until the moment he betrayed him

• Them playing the Jabberjay audio at the hanging instead of Snow having to sit with his guilt and finding out via the commander was so so SO cringy omg

• Snow finding out he was going to District 2 BEFORE finding out about the hunt for the guns and who killed the mayor’s daughter was so so weird like why did they choose to do it in that order I feel like it took away all suspense of wondering when the other shoe was going to drop

• Lucy Gray looking that man in the eye and calling herself a loose end while he has a gun in his hand and not getting shot then and there was the most unrealistic part of the movie istg

• Not showing the Plinths in the apartment with them at all and just kinda having a throwaway line about where the money’s coming from

• Dr Gaul never says that she destroyed all evidence of the 10th game because of everything that happened with Snow, Lucy Gray, Sejanus, and the other dead Capitol children

• Snow not throwing away the morphine and Highbottom digging to get it, and instead just leaving it on the desk, idk it takes away the agency of the murder to me, less like an accident and less thought out (and on top of that, not showing how meticulous he was with poisoning the morphine so it couldn’t be traced back to him)

[chokchokk]

𝐧𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐞 [𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐬] | choi san x fem!reader

PART ONE of : have your way with words, be my people pleaser 

“San, what else do I have to do? Draw it out? Do I have to beg?”

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 : You’ve always been able to read him like a book, but for some reason you still fold for San.

"You've never begged."

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎 : fluff, smut

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 : 6.9k

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 : teasing, painful attempts at flirting and joking, vaginal fingering, no usage of y/n (forgive me), vaginal sex, pet-names

𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚜 : considered for revision

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 : this was like the first choi san smut i've ever written and i was trying to find my tone and omg i actually don't want to re-read it it's probably SO CRINGY omfg. i'm sorry for any icky moments i did not know any better 2 months ago LMAO this is also the only part that's pure "fluff" just fyi because i hadn’t planned this to be a series yet !!!!

He’s biting his lip, rolling his head to the back, trying his very best to stay focused on the paper he’s working on, all while you look at him in awe from the other side of the table. His glasses have slid dangerously close to his nose tip and the hair clip you’ve put into his hair to hold it together has lost all of its strength already — you really have to pull yourself together to not carefully slide one of the locks away from his eyes. 

Yes, San is a complete mess, and undoubtedly failing at hiding it. He probably doesn’t want to ruin the late library ambience, being the thoughtful Sannie he is, or at least not destroy the study sessions by not focusing on work, but the infuriated tapping with his pen against the wooden table isn’t covering any of his angry grunts. 

But even if you’ve noticed his desperation an eternity ago and have been deeply distracted by it ever since, you can’t bare to tell him that you’ve already given up. You guys have promised each other at least one is going to get this session done, so San be it, you tell yourself. If you have counted correctly, there are just ten minutes left on the clock, he should be able to do that, no matter how stressed he is.

And usually, you’re optimistic he’s able to do it, but you’ve never seen San’s eyes darken like this before. On normal days, he’s all smiley and giggly, squeaking words of helplessness at tasks that overwhelm him, covering up his frustration very well. Of course you can still look through his façade and say things like “San, let’s take a break” or similar things, but that’s only when he’s smiling still. 

Maybe it’s because you’re both studying for finals that there’s a lot of competitiveness or ego involved. Anyhow, you don’t want to get yourself involved in that, no, don’t want to resolve it at all, actually.

Let’s say it like this; San is scaring you, yes, but he is also being incredibly hot and  turning you on so much without knowing it. You can’t help but watch his dissatisfaction being gulped down his freckled, thick neck, and observe his Adam’s apple moving up and down. You draw a trail along his jawline and the loose black T-shirt he’s wearing with your eyes, following his neckline until the rhythm of his heavy breathing is revealed by his moving breast. 

San knows a lot, yes, but what he doesn’t is that he’s a walking sex symbol with his broad shoulders, narrow waist and intimidatingly friendly face. He’s biting his lips with just no idea what his looks are doing to your privates this exact moment and his soft voice is not helping.

He’s at his last task now and you catch yourself be a bit disappointed, when he takes his hand to balance his head and covers his face with it. You could feel guilty now for not interrupting or lending him a helping hand, but being attracted to your designated study buddy for the longest time with a painful amount of allusions to it is way more straining you on an emotional level than the stalker-behaviour you’re showing. How San hasn’t caught up is baffling to you, and the amount of times you’ve tried to make a move only for him to be oblivious is painful. (Let it be known you were never forced to answer Seonghwa’s question of “would you fuck San?” with the honesty that you did, but his little sheepish smile after your nod is enough to confirm that he should know, but just doesn’t. Sure, it’s unclear until this day if he even understood the question or the answer correctly, but it just feels like you have done most of your part.)

“I’m almost done,” San murmurs— breaking the silence between you two in the library— his voice comparing to nothing more but a sigh. He’s tensed up, eyebrows furrowed, and he’s scrunching his nose a little bit to sniff his agitation away.

“Take your time,” you try to say as nicely as possible, attempting to calm him down. It does help, it seems, because San is straightening his back to take a deep breather, his eyes finally wavering away from the paper. You smile at him and get a head nod in return.

Sharing this short moment of just acknowledging each other’s presence, you confirm that San, regardless of how socially (sexually?) stupid he can be, is an intelligent guy after all, not to be shaken up by this little bit of studying. Straight A’s, perfect GPA, teacher’s favourite — you’re lucky professor Kang has put you in so many group assignments together, or else you would have never been able to meet with San like this on a Friday evening, studying for your finals.

“I feel like I ran run five miles or have to commit arson,” San jokes half-heartedly in a breath and you giggle, looking around to not disturb the other students with your laughter. “What’s stopping you?”, you ask playfully, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” San answers and touches the backside of his head with both of his hands. “What’s stopping you, hm?”

You frown, the once raised eyebrow coming right back down, your amusement wearing down.

“What’s supposed to be stopping me?”

San pouts innocently and fetches the clip from his hair, black bangs falling to his face, but he doesn’t set his glasses, making him look at you with squinted eyes. They look even heavier now, eyelids covering most of his irises when he leans forwards to you: “You haven’t touched a single task since an hour now, why didn’t you tell me you were done?”

You don’t know why you pant in panic— it’s an understandable question, San probably noticed you stared at the man during the whole time he was the only one committed to the studying— and you’re afraid there’s this tension again, but not driven to the paper, but you.

“You, lemme think, looked too..”

You know your sentence can’t be finished in any way that would be positive. You would’ve liked to end it with “concentrated” or “in the zone” to give him credibility for his hard work, but San has been way too obvious struggling to hold on, and you’re not a good liar.

“… Handsome.”

It’s not a Freudian slip, if it’s on purpose, yes.

“You looked to good to be true, San. If you weren’t wearing the baggiest shirt from three days ago, you’d coin dark-academia realness.”

You always make jokes like these, it’s your expertise. They usually make San enormously embarrassed, which is the best part of it all: He, who was growling his frustration away, is now giggling, expression softening, as he scrunches his face together with a wide smile. The high-pitched noise awakens your motherly instincts— it’s these moments you could just melt away in adoration.

“You’re lucky you’re not a professor, because that look you gave that paper right there isn’t going to help anybody concentrate on their studies. People-pleaser? Teacher's pet? I wish."

“Ugh!”, San moans quietly, his dimples revealing that he’s deeply touched. He will never get used to your overly specific (and usually sexually connotated) compliments, but it’s better that way. San cracks his fingers to recover, but then covers his mouth to hide his blushing smile once more. Take that for two people-pleasing and validation-seeking students, one more focused on studies, one more trying to fuck than the other. He barely goes to parties, which robs you of the little chances of opportunities to make a move on him.

“Okay, I won’t lie to you, I was done long before you, but someone’s gotta be valedictorian this year.”

“Really nice of you”, San sighs— he’s gathered himself now and has put on his friendly smile again, “But I’m really done now as well.”

“How done?”

“To go home-done.”

“My home, I assume.”

“Of course.”

With his finishing sentence, you hold a staring-match again, which you lose, as San takes his pile of paper and stacks it vertically to organise his stuff. 

From here, the procedure should be simple. He drives you to your place (safe), maybe he’ll eat a midnight-snack with you (very likely), and maybe watch a movie (unlikely today) to then leave, if he doesn’t fall asleep during that. You already have the night schedule written out in front of you, and all you’re left is whether you’ll convince San for another study session tomorrow.

But then, in the car, San grabs the steering wheel but doesn’t start to drive.

You think he must be too tired and decide not to ask him. Honestly, you feel quite dizzy as well, but mostly because San has opened his mouth half-way now, audibly breathing in and out — it sounds like he’s panting. His tongue has also runned along his upper lip, making it glisten reddish pink under the parking lot-lighting. It’s unbearably arousing you. “Give me just a second,” he murmurs.

“Does your head hurt? We can just walk, you know,” you suggest, but San shakes his head: “No, that’d be inefficient and really dumb.”

“You’re the one dozing off, San, not me!”, you scoff and turn yourself around to face him, elbow placed on the radio. San opens one eye — it looks like he’s winking, his tongue pressed against this upper teeth. “And you’re being quite sassy, aren’t you?”, he grins and you swear you’ve never wanted to not shut up more in your entire life.

“If being sassy is what keeps you awake, I don’t see anything wrong with it, San,” you fight back, even more playfully this time, lips pouted to emphasise your mocking tone. There is a clear, lustful intention you’re trying to project, and secretly, you hope San notices it, but there isn’t any indication he isn’t already, which you find strange.

“Oh, you think I must be real tired, huh?”

San begins to grin and all of the sudden, things are happening very fast: His hands aren’t placed on the steering wheel anymore, one of them has moved to your chin, holding (and keeping) it up, after you try to back away out of reflex, the other is placed dangerously near to your hip — he’s propping himself against the seat, you can feel him breathe against your nose tip. His whispers expand like flames on your face. What has ignited this man? 

“San?”, you ask carefully, every bit of playful confidence inside you crumbling down to your guts. It’s not like you aren’t enjoying this still, in fact, you feel like you’re going to go savage and clash your face against his any second, but San’s finger is pressing so delicately, yet so firmly into your skin, it’s messing up your projected image of the cute little — unfortunately sexy — nerd in your head. You don’t want to admit you’re intimidated, but San has been extra scary since he said he wanted to light buildings on fire. At the same time, you’ve been waiting days, no, weeks for this and a tingle between your legs signals you that you’ve been prepared ever since. 

“Can’t go home yet, can we?”

His eyes are still dark, when you look at them through his glasses and there’s a bit of shine left on his lips, when you glance at them longingly. San’s breath is shaky, and you’re not sure whether yours is as well. You’re too focused on imagining the next scene. San has finally reached his burning point, it appears, and you’re too stunned to react verbally to his question. Are you seriously going to do it in the car, in the library parking lot?

“Buckle up.”

It is only now that you notice you haven’t put your seat-belt on. The sound of the plug clocking in takes you out of your reverie. 

“San, screw you. Oh my god, screw you so much.”

He laughs a dirty laugh, even more so devilishly, when he returns to his seat and immediately begins to drive out of the parking spot. Has he been acting? Fuck this. Hastily, you have to get into your original position and buckle yourself up as he has told you. This bitch, you think to yourself and stare holes into the car window, this motherfucking bitch.

“Just a little revenge for making me work alone because you wanted to make me valedictorian? Or what, because I’m— what was it? Too handsome?” His voice has turned softer immediately, teasing you with a sweet undertone.

“Okay, we’re even now!”, you laugh sarcastically, trying to not become sulky. You’ve subconsciously crossed your legs and arms already, and your whole body is turned away from the driver’s seat.

“Sure,” San answers and you can hear him press some buttons. “Music?”

You throw him a side-eye and take the AUX. 

“I could violate your ears so good right now,” you snap and search for a fitting playlist for this frightening night.

“You could try.”

When has San become a bully? How has it come to this? San is playing with you, more obviously than ever before — toying with you in the game you started. 

But let it be known you could never be offended by this man.

Because when you play the first song that came to your mind— it’s «Sexbomb» by none other than Tom Jones — it becomes clear that you are more than happy to be his gaming companion, levelling up the tension to the max, though it's not a sensual song per se.

It’s petty, but provocative at the same time. You’ve never gotten what you wanted, have never expected to get it, and the surreality of the scenery just a few seconds ago is enough to keep you stimulated for the whole drive, ignoring San’s big grin on his face, as he safely gets you home.

And of course San joins in for the midnight meal. Without having spoken a word for a quarter hour now, you open the fridge and cram out anything eatable. You should’ve went grocery shopping, there’s barely anything left. 

“Not so prepared, I see?”

“San, if you say one more word, I will—“, you shut the door of the fridge, revealing a San who’s leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, head thrown to the back to squint at you.

“You’ll what?”

He’s the worst and heaven knows he should know that as well. Every attempt to overthrow him fails, because nothing seems to break this man — you can’t animate this man for you own good, even when he’s try-harding to look cool. 

“You’re being a bitch today and I hate it.” Biting your lip, you rethink your sentence and shake your head, eyes not swaying away from the black-haired man. “Actually, scrap that, I hate that I like it way too much,” you hiss, ridiculing yourself and taking of your sweatshirt, leaving you in a sheer top. It’s warm, you’re hot, this situation be very easy to understand. 

He doesn’t know what to do. Or maybe he does, and he’s just being a pain in the ass again: both could be absolutely true, when he moves his head and musters you from bottom to the top, a huff leaving his nose. It seems as if he’s mocking and checking you out at the same time, licking his lips and biting his tongue. 

“San, what else do I have to do? Draw it out? Do I have to beg?”

You whine and you’re not one bit embarrassed about it, though San doesn’t even take it in the desperate way you clearly are.

“You’ve never begged.”

San is scratching his neck, acting like an innocent brat, much to your obvious disapproval.

“Come on, you can’t be that dumb, San, can you?”

“How would I be?”

“San, what the fuck does that mean?”

“It’s simple,” and San is pushing himself from the wall now, taking heavy steps towards you, “I can’t give you an answer to a question you’ve never asked.”

“I,” you begin to think of your next line argument, but noticing how he’s pulling his eyebrows together to throw you an almost belittling look through his lowered glasses, you give up, baffled about the reality. Replacing the next words, you pant.

“I’ll give you an answer, alright?”, San encourages you, taking one last big step. He’s standing in front of you now, in your little kitchen, next to the counter, looking down at you, free and available as he can be. 

“Whatever it is; yes,” he whispers, accepting something you’ve never offered him directly.

Of course San isn’t dumb. How could he have been, when you’ve been so obvious? There’s a shameful heat driving up your stomach and you bite your lip.

“Baby, I’m all yours.”

You could have kept teasing him for the way he was obviously lowering his voice to sound more authoritative or sexy or something , but no, it’s just too much. Being cornered by San, hearing him surrender to you with his words, but still in a way that made him dominant over you — that is just way too much. 

Seriously, all yours?  Where did he get that one from? Wattpad?

“Fuck right off, San.”

It feels like your brain splits in half, your conscience leaving the second you throw yourself at San, hands grabbing every piece of hair you can get to pull him down to your face, whispering insults into his mouth, as your heads meet. He just grins and licks over your teeth, tongue slicking against yours.

“Happily,” he murmurs into the kiss, his hands grabbing you by your hip and waist, pulling you towards his muscular body. He must think he’s being so funny and yes you would have loved to argue with him, but you’re weak in his grip, ruffled by the pure tension that has been brewing all those days. There’s wet noises and sucking to be heard and it’s all sending urgent signals to your privates. You will, no must fuck him, and you're going to fuck him better than whatever he’s expecting from you, just to blow his mind.

You let his hair go and tug at the seam of his shirt, prompting him to raise his arms and have his clothing be slid off his body. Eagerly, you come back to his lips while throwing the shirt to the side and take steps forwards, leading San to your bedroom. Entrusting you with the guidance, he walks backwards and falls onto the bed, breaking the kiss. With a grunt, San props himself with his elbow, but before he can tower over you, you reach your arm over his shoulder, grabbing the bed frame, trying your best to keep his broad silhouette under your eyes.

Your lips already feel numb and you swear you can feel something pulsating inside your pants, when you slowly slide onto his lap and let the warm fabric touch. After a bit of movement, you and San are both shuddering and whimpering, lips meeting again in the snake-like maneuvering. He’s becoming harder with every little suck at his tongue, twitching even, and in addition, you’re becoming too impatient as well to edge yourself like this. 

Your hands move to the zipper of his baggy jeans, and San is trying to take this as a sign he’s allowed to take off his pants, but you give his palm a little slap. He smirks and returns his hand to take a pillow, stuffing it behind his neck. You wanted to take control, but he’s way too comfortable with it, it’s annoying you, yet at the same time, you wouldn’t even know what to tell him at this point.

Opening the zipper and sliding a hand in, you trail the outer side of San’s shaft through his boxer-shorts with your finger to identify with what kind of girth and length you’re working with and comment “bigger than I expected”, as if you have imagined it before, which would be the truth, yes, but not smaller than the absolute unit he is possessing.

“Ah, really?”, San gutters, voice shaking with each little touch of yours, but never letting his guard down completely. You anchor his boxer-shorts and tug it down just until the point when his shaft jumps out. He gulps and opens his mouth to pant again, when you spit into your hand and palm his shaft to give it a nice stroke from the very bottom to the top, admiring the shine of it. You pump his penis, feeling the skin inside your hand slide with every movement, and make it grow to its final length that way. It’s fascinating, really, but you’re too busy to contemplate about reality. You take the initiative and get a taste of the wet mixture that is your own saliva and his pre-cum. You pump the part you can’t reach with your throat and in no time, San’s eyes are rolling to the back.

“That’s good,” he comments, going through your hair, which motivates you to go even deeper. Hitting the back of your throat, his girth makes you tear up, but you sit through it, since San is tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, caressing your head softly. You try your best to suck and slide your tongue over his tip, to which he immediately reacts. “Hmnh~”, he hums and you bathe in his pleasure-lorn breaths, until you kind of get a hunch of what he likes the best and continue to drive him this way. “That’s good… Hnnh- heek!”

Was that a weep? You thought the whines were high enough, but San is definitely hiding his high moans, trying to cough them out. You continue to bop your head and watch his aroused expressions with amusement; his eyebrows are pushed together to form a needy frown, teeth biting down on his lower lip, inflicting pain on himself. From what it looks like, he’s pretty close, his hand weakly lying on top of your head, hesitating to push you back, once you remove it. 

“Don’t cum yet!”, you demand, and San sighs helplessly.

“You’re edging me?”, he manages to choke out with a smirk, and San wipes away your tears from your cheeks. “As if I couldn’t get hard immediately after from just looking at you!”

You scoff, his directness has caught you a little bit of guard. You’re still trying to return to normal breathing after quite literally having been choked by his dick, not be attacked by his sudden strike of confidence.

“Can I undress you?”, he asks and you nod, all the hair he’s put away falling back in front of your face.

Once your shirt and bra is off with quick seconds of his hands at your back, San is taking his view all in, his plump lips parted and never to be closed again. Before you can wipe the grin from his face, he storms at your dekolleté, swinging his arms around you. His sucks are tugging at your nipples, after he pushes himself forward, one arm fully around your back, the other finding his way to your other breast to massage it. Moan after moan leaves your mouth and your head becomes heavy, falling to the back: his hand effortlessly catches it, finding safety in your hair. As you scratch his neck, grabbing it to pull him closer to your upper body, you repeatedly pant his name.

“Hm? What?”, he reacts, circling your skin with his tongue.

It’s so erotic, you think you’re going to cum untouched, pants on and all. San is leaving kisses everywhere on your torso, some wetter than the others. He is leaving a trace of saliva on your neck with his tongue, gliding against your chin with it, ultimately meeting your lips once again. It’s filthy, but just so, so erotic.

He’s still holding your breast in his hand, stimulating your nipples while filling your mouth with a mixture of spit and rhetoric (and very provocative) questions. 

“Feels good?”, San asks with a raspy voice, his nose scrunched amusedly, when he sees how messed up you are. Strands of hair are sticking on the wet spots of your skin, drops of sweat are dripping down to your collarbones. You’re already so disheveled. “Want me to continue?”

“Yes, pl—,” You can’t find the words, as they get lost somewhere in San’s mouth, once you give him confirmation. His tongue is exploring the inner space of your mouth, and his hand has become busy with taking off your pants. You kneel, making space to let your jeans slide off your thighs and you have to raise your legs to finally get rid of it. Your panties are still on, when he lets his hand slide between your legs. His hand feels warmer than the heat that you have become, and when San finds your clitoris through the fine fabric, you spasm to the front. You bury your face into his shoulder and bite a small inch of his skin, when he begins to stroke that spot with two of his fingers and nibbles at your ear and whispers sweet nothings into it.

“So wet.”

Sharp breaths escape your breast, as he begins to play for your swollen clitoris.

“Come on, tell me what to do. There must be some things on your mind, right?”

San is luring you into a false sense of control and you’re stupid enough to obey his command. It’s just like he said; you need him, you need San, and if he doesn’t stop acting like he doesn’t know, you’re going to combust.

“Fuck, San, just make me feel—“, and though you can’t exactly hear yourself whine out from all the licking happening at your ear and his callous finger caressing your most sensitive area through the fabric, you still know you’re sighing, “so good.”

Your eyes lose focus, when you feel your panties disappear from your pussy, the cold air surprising your sensitive spot.

San sneers and finger-guns you, but before you can sneer, he sticks it into your mouth, lubing his digit up with your spit to carefully ease it to your pussy.

He groans and moves around the moisture for a short moment. San has always had quite thick fingers, but it feels even more robust now, when it slides into you. You clench around him and move your hips to the painfully slow pace of his pumps.

“Be patient. We don’t want you to hurt, do we?”

That he’s staying the nice little Sannie even in this situation makes you want to go insane, but not more than the slight scissoring to confirm your stretched innards.

“Patient enough?”, you hiss and grind against his hand again, to which San only coos, “Patient like the good girl you are.”

By then, his words and movements are almost like magic, when he angles his finger a little bit and finds your g-spot, which sends you into a short moment full of sparks and bliss, but a long, aching eternity, when it’s only repeated in the unbearably long intervals after a little bit of pulsating. You’re feeling every movement in such a detail, as if his one singular finger is becoming one with your body, one with your senses. 

“Is this enough for you?”

You’re whirring and your mind is babbling nonsense from all the possibilities San is presenting you. Mushy and messed up, you move against his finger, which slips with ease through your wetness, while you try to figure out what you want more: San’s dick or San’s face.

“I’m waiting for an answer, you know,” San whispers, softly kissing your forehead, as he continues to finger you.

“Th- then eat me out,” you whine under your breath and something inside you churns, when he giggles and removes his finger. He raises you by your legs, pushing you by the hip at the same time. You’re on your back now, breathing heavily as San is aligning his face in front of your entrance.

“With pleasure,” he hums and spreads your legs with his elbows, putting you on full display. It’s much too late to feel embarrassed now. You’re not shaved, you basically haven’t done anything, but maybe the rawness of it all is what intrigues you as well.

He stretches the skin a bit with both of his hands, making it get used to the position, while he peppers soft kisses on each of your thighs, that tickle each spot of your skin. You relax into his hands and naturally, you exhale the tension out of you.

His tongue feels soft and hot compared to his finger, when he slides it from the very bottom to the top, sending a shiver to your spine. It’s sensual and slow, and it does appear to you that San is savouring the taste, pushing his whole tongue against your labia to get the full picture of it. You shudder, a mixture of your own pulsating muscle and his humming vibrating between your legs.

He sucks on your clit and you notice immediately how pleasured are, already grabbing your sheets and curling your toes, pushing your legs against his hands he’s using to keep you opened. “Fuck,” you whine and move your head to the back, yearning for more stimulation. A slight chuckle leaves San’s mouth, until he plunges his tongue into you whilst continuing to suck all the sex juice that leaks out of you. The breath leaving his nose warms your privates and you quite figuratively melt into his mouth.

This time, he doesn’t need a lot of searching for your g-spot with his fingers and you weren’t prepared to immediately be sent back to pleasure-haven. He slides through the rough walls from the inside of you and doesn’t leave any spot go untouched, while he catches anything leaving out of your pussy with his mouth, creating squelching sounds all around. 

The pleasure at your clitoris and the pitter-pattering inside you is slowly tying the knot, and you shut your eyes with unavoidable whines leaving your lips. It’s all happening way too fast for you to react to each and every motion.

“Fuck, San, don’t stop, I’m— Oh, fuck—!”

The wet sounds of San’s saliva being mixed with your sex fluids, and his fingers moving in- and out of you again, they’re all adding onto the roller-coaster drop of your orgasm, but San thirstily panting “cum, cum for me!” against your vulva —while his tongue is busy pleasuring you—, his hot breath condensing against your own heat, that’s got to be one of the many significant factors that finally sends you over the top.

You moan and drive your lower body against his face, thighs closing down on him to squeeze his head.

San doesn’t even think about stopping there though and keeps you up there: He thunders his finger to push your button continuously and get every remaining squirt into his mouth, his tongue shovelling it all in.

“San, I— fuck! Please, San,” you beg, though it’s not a plead for him to stop, but rather make this moment last forever. You’re shaking, your pelvis is trembling towards his sharp nose that’s dug into your private hair, before you collapse onto your mattress and San eventually stops, grinning pridefully.

His lips are swollen pink, eyes covered with a desirous veil and San has to swipe his bangs away from his face to look at  your exhausted expression that’s still recovering from that hell of a heavenly orgasm. He swallows whatever’s left inside his mouth and leans over to you in order to bathe in your bliss. Out of pure gratitude, you cup his face and kiss him.

“You look all messed up already,” he admits, and enjoyment can be heard in his voice. Returning the kiss, San prompts: “Can you handle a second round? Or want to handle a second round, that is.”

Still panting, you nod eagerly, your lips grazing against his repeatedly.

“With words, lovely.”

You whine at his mendacious, know-it-all smile and give him a slap. "Quit it with the fucking-, ugh!" With an airy voice, you groan: “Yes, San. Please. I can handle, want to handle— want you to handle me, right fucking now."

San pats your head, pressing another kiss on your forehead and crams through the night stand cabinet next to the bed, probably searching for a condom and finding an untouched package full of it.

“Freshly-bought or just unused?”, he asks jokingly, putting the hand on your cheek as if he was pitying you for your minimalistic sex life that he’s assuming. The other hand is occupied opening up the box. “When did you buy these?”, he lisps, holding the condom in his mouth to rip it open, “I hope these aren’t expired.”

“Expire my ass!”

Oh, he better know you were keeping those for a good reason every time he came over. (Though you’ll keep it a secret it took half a year to get them to use.)

“You should say how fortunate that there’s so many, San.” You sniff. “’Cause hell knows this isn’t going to be—“

San slips into the latex layer with ease and doesn’t hesitate to enter your hole with one big, smooth slide. His finger is nothing compared to the thickness you’re experiencing; you just feel full, the stretch inside you making you feel like your body is being turned inside out. Before you can finish your clap-back, a wrecked and whole-hearted moan leaves your mouth.

“Isn’t going to be what?”, San asks, lowering his upper body and ultimately pulling out a little bit, sticking a thumb into your open mouth, “The last time? Is that what it is? You know you’ll want this again? Really, sweetheart?”

You don’t even want to form words anymore and just nod eagerly, sucking at his finger that tastes slightly acidic.

“It’s so dangerous to say that, you know that?”, and he’s pressing his forehead against yours, his dark, deep eyes staring into you with suffocating concentration. His hand is buried deep in your scalp. “Because you don’t know how happy that would make me”, San purrs with a raspy voice, and an airy moan leaves his mouth the second he thrusts right back into you. “So, so, unfathomably happy.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. I’m going to make you my little happy whore.”

It has already occurred to you that San had taken it as a challenge to call you every pet name that exists, but for him to degrade you like that, after every single word of of his sweet-talk has entranced you into numbing euphoria, has now just taken you to another state of pure bliss. With every creak of your bed and tug at your hair, your vision gets more blurry. You can see San and only San, piercing through you with his genitalia and eyes.

“Did you get that?”

“Y- yes!”

"I don't think so."

Your forehead cools down, when San gets his body back up again and installs his hands at your hips to get a good grab and also drive himself even deeper into you.

This has been your wet daydream for the longest of time— and even if you apparently could have been fucking him already during all those hours, which is frustrating, yes, but so, so fucking hot— listening to San’s sounds of pleasure, seeing his vision get all hazed from it and watching his eyes moving to the back of his, makes it all worth it. 

He pulls in and out again, finding a steady pace to really feel your inner space expand and close down on him again.

“Are you going to fuck me stupid?”, you lisp into his finger, your saliva sliding down your lip, cooling your fever down.

You can feel he’s sweating as well, as your fingers search through the cold wetness of his hair. "Do you want me to fuck you stupid?”

“Yes! Yes, please. Fuck me stupid, San!”

And with that appellation, San removes the thumb from your mouth and collars your throat with an almost animalistic growl and thrusts with ridiculous precision and force at the same time, a loud clap echoing through your bedroom. You’re not sure whether you’ve made a mistake, but San is absolutely blinded by pure desire now. With a slight choke, you try to moan, his shaft moving in and out of you mindlessly.

As he pounds into you, you notice once more that San’s breaths are being cut short because he’s still trying to stay as quiet as possible and you stare him down, his fingers collaring your neck.

“I, I want you to—“, you stutter, gasping for air and trying to catch up with your shaken body, “‘want to hear you moan. Moan for me, San, please!”

He laughs a little bit, panting along your plead and places his lips against your earlobe, letting you breathe freely for the short moment he's roaring things into it, his hand tangled in your hair.

“You, hah, feel just as delicious as you taste. You feel so good around my big cock. I bet you’ve never, unnh, had a big cock like mine, haven’t you? Never had someone like me, shit, fuck you out like this. How, ah, fuck, long have you been fantasizing this, huh? Days? Weeks? Months? Stupid little girl, thinks I didn't know, haha."

His breathy moans are absolute angelic, and that’s all you can comprehend, when you slowly feel your mind drift away. He’s hitting the spots just right, pressing your buttons with aligned movements. His thrusts are becoming sloppy, your moaning more strained. You don't even care that San is showing you that everything you knew was a lie, or at least an act he's kept up to mock you, because if your obliviousness has led to this moment— his cock crashing through you with a pace that makes you fear the next morning— then yes, again, it was all really worth it.

"I'm gonna—", you whine, and you're cut off by his hand again. Your eyes can barely perceive his sex-drunk expression, when you feel the knot inside you preparing itself for explosion.

"You're gonna cum?", San asks, his heavy breathing making it sound like he's gasping, "Are you going to cum for me?"

"Yes, I am!", you grunt and the male licks his whole palm to lube it up in order to rub it around your clitoris for maximum pleasure. You shiver, your legs trying to free themselves from the heavy weight that is Choi San, and screams for mercy leave your mouth, your second orgasm sending you to heaven, hell and back to earth, when he pulls out and continues to slide his hand over your clitoris until you spasm away from his touch. In the meanwhile, San has taken the collar off your neck and resumed jacking himself off, moaning your name and other pretty words to himself.

"You're so pretty like this, fuck," he cusses, the squelching sounds in his hands becoming more inaudible. "So fucked-out, because of me— shit .. I'll—"

He grabs you by your head, pulling his own face closer to yours to meet your lips for the last time, quickly removing the condom. Sharing a deep kiss, he ejaculates onto your abdomen, moaning from his own release into your opened lips. You lay there, wordlessly, your brain both foggy and clear as it has never been. You feel your warm sweat dry refreshingly on your skin and San shuffles away from the bed, walking to the bathroom with practiced steps to discard the empty condom and return with a towel to get you clean.

"And?", he asks, as you search for your pillow to clench onto it, feeling the stretched skin inside you. Sure, San has somewhat prepared you for the fucking, but no metronome could replicate the cruel rhythm he made you cum with.

"What, and?", you ask him back, your voice a bit raspy from the loud moaning.

"How was it?" 

San looks completely innocent again and it baffles you that you're falling for it again, even when his hair is forming unholy strands, immoral sweat dropping from his chin as he speaks. It's a cringe-worthy question and you would have dismissed it, if it wasn't for the cuddle you got from him.

"Come on, was it up to your imagination?", San begs you to answer, burying your body between his heated-up arms.

"Yes," you answer weakly. "Sannie, you’ve.. You've done your job. That was S-Level people pleasing, really."

San grins, placing multiple kisses over your temple and forehead. "You have such a way with words," he comments, "good thing that it really brings you far in life, hm?"

Was this the right time to make dad-jokes?

No, but nobody has fucked you out like San, so you'll let it slide. Even the corny "eating you out for breakfast" quip he makes in the morning, when you both notice that the fridge is still very much empty, or the "from study- to fuck-buddies" monologue he holds on your drive back to campus, you'll all let it slide. 

(And maybe you're stating the obvious here, but poor Seonghwa is never going to forgive you for San's laugh after you say something sensational with "letting it slide" used in another context, this time in the narrow space of his residency-bedroom, his roomie having listened to all the sounds coming out of your mouth behind the thin walls.)

part two: “into it, too deep”

[sloanesallow]

The Call of the Void | Chapter 5

Shy girl meets distracted boy. Chaos ensues. This is my "canon" retelling of Siobhan Sloane and Sebastian Sallow's story. (full synopsis here. Chapter summary: A perfectly normal trip to Hogsmeade. Maybe. Definitely not. 4.5k words. Chapter warnings: Awkward Sebastian POV rambling, a lot of blushing, cringy one-liners and oh yeah, a troll. [Ao3] | [Wattpad] [PREVIOUS] | [NEXT]

V: H O G S M E A D E

The following afternoon, Sebastian waits in the Bell Tower as instructed, dressed appropriately with a full belly and a (mostly) rested mind. He can’t help but pace, counting the steps he takes along the marble from one side of the hall to the other, desperately trying to quiet the anxious thoughts bouncing around in his head. 

Despite Professor Weasley’s assurance that Sloane knows about the trip to Hogsmeade, the girl didn’t spare Sebastian one glance that morning in Potions, even when his cauldron accidentally bubbled over and Garreth teased him about being worse than the first years. Not that he can fault her avoidance, considering the outcome of their duel. He’s been replaying what happened in Hecat’s classroom over and over, switching between guilt and annoyance for feeling guilty. But he can’t get Sloane’s stormcloud eyes out of his head, leaving him more perplexed and frustrated than ever. There is no reason for him to be so hung up on someone he barely knows, yet the worrying persists.

“Erm…hello.”

What time is it? Sebastian restlessly taps his fingers against his thigh, wondering what he’ll tell Professor Weasley if Sloane doesn’t show up. Knowing his luck, the Headmistress will blame him and add several more days to his already robust detention schedule. How embarrassing is it to be stood up by the new girl?

“Sebastian Sallow?”

He snaps his head up and spins around to see Sloane standing in front of him with the same distressed expression she’s held since the sorting ceremony. He realizes this is the first time he’s heard her speak, her voice a quiet timbre with just the slightest hint of an accent he can’t quite place. He hides his surprise behind a lopsided grin.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

The crease between Sloane’s eyebrows deepens as she offers no response. Sebastian clears his throat and briefly considers giving up now before he makes an ass of himself again. He’s always appreciated a good challenge, but casting a corporeal Patronus might be easier than breaking through her emotional walls. The silence stretches on as he takes in her appearance, smirking when he notices they are wearing the same dark grey jumper.

“I already have a twin, you know,” he attempts humor again, gesturing to her outfit.

Sloane’s eyes widen and she looks down, nervously plucking at the hem. “Should I change?”

“What?” Sebastian’s concern for the poor girl increases—does she not understand sarcasm? “No, no,” he assures with a strained laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Professor Weasley told me you need supplies, including a new wand,” he keeps talking before the tension turns awkward—if it hasn’t already. “Will this really be your first foray into Hogsmeade?”

“Yes,” she answers, one more word than he expected.

“Well, I shall endeavor to be the best of guides, then,” he says, jovially swinging his arm. Sebastian doesn’t mean to sound so facetious, but he’s never struggled this badly with talking to another person. “Shall we?”

Outside, he continues to watch Sloane in his peripheral, the two silent as they make their way across the castle grounds. What can he say to bring her out of her shell? He briefly considers saying nothing the entire trip to Hogsmeade, but even Sebastian knows it’s impossible for him to stay quiet for long. Kind—that’s what Professor Weasley expects, and so that is what he will strive to be.  

It’s surprisingly busy for the middle of a school day, her gaze turning upward as several students on brooms zip by, headed for the pitch. Even with Headmaster Black’s cancelation, many still wish to practice and play, even if it’s just a friendly skirmish.

“Do you like Quidditch?” he asks before he can remember she is muggleborn and likely has no idea what Quidditch is. On cue, Sloane’s eyebrows crease together in confusion. “Right. Sorry. Well, I won’t bore you with an explanation now, or we’ll never make it to Hogsmeade. Are you at least enjoying learning how to fly?”

Sloane’s cheeks flush with color as she quickly shakes her head. “No.”

“No?” Sebastian repeats, surprised by her quick and firm objection. He isn’t sure he knows any witch or wizard that doesn’t enjoy flying. It’s arguably one of the best parts of having magic. “You aren’t afraid of heights, are you?”

He glances to see her face an even brighter shade of pink. The temptation to tease has him biting the inside of his cheek. Sebastian tugs at his collar and then rolls up his sleeves, cursing Ominis for encouraging (demanding) he wear something presentable when it’s unseasonably warm. As they continue through the north exit, he tries a different approach.

“We share quite a lot of classes, don’t we?” he muses, seven to be exact. On Thursdays, they are practically attached at the hip from Transfiguration in the morning, to Arithmancy and Herbology in the afternoon.

Sloane slowly nods. “Yes.”

“Did you finish the numerology assignment?”

“Yes.”

“What about the essay for Professor Garlick?”

“Yes,” she says again and he can’t stop himself.

“Do you know more than thirteen words?”

Sloane falters, and Sebastian is quick to backpedal. “Sorry, that—” he sighs, wishing he could swallow his own tongue. “That came out wrong. What I mean is…you’re awfully shy, aren’t you?”

“Not by choice,” she replies, solemnly.

It’s rare for Sebastian to be at a loss for words, once again frustrated by how difficult basic conversation with Sloane is proving to be. “Sorry.”

She acknowledges his apology with a wry smile, the silence returning as they walk along the cobblestone. He flicks his eyes back and forth between her and the path until she catches him looking. To his surprise, she asks him a question.

“Do you know why Professor Weasley asked you to accompany me?”

Sebastian doesn’t answer right away, too distracted by the Irish lilt he finally picks up on. It’s barely there, recognizable only when she has more to say—he’ll have to hear it again to be sure. He shrugs, deciding to skirt around the truth. “Likely to keep me out of detention.”

“Oh?”

“Not the most favorable record I keep,” he explains. “It’s never anything nefarious, not really. But I’ve been known to break curfew, and… occasionally sneak into the Restricted Section, or the kitchens.”

“The kitchens?”

“Of course!” Sebastian laughs. “It’s always a smart idea to keep a snack in your pocket, for emergencies.” He pulls a handkerchief-wrapped cookie from his pocket, picking off a piece of lint before breaking it in half. “Want some?”

Sloane hesitates, as if he’s handing her poison, but eventually takes the offering. “Thank you.”

“Have you explored the castle since your arrival?” he asks next, wiping his face of any crumbs as he finishes his half of the cookie.

“Not much,” she answers before elaborating. “I worry about getting lost.”

“I’ve been here five years and I’m still getting turned around by the moving staircases,” he chuckles. “There’s lots of mysteries to discover, if you’ve the time.”

“Like what?”  

Sebastian smirks. “Can’t go around telling you all my secrets, now can I?”

The way she blushes and looks away is endearing—he’s never known anyone so easily flustered. Well, except for Ominis, who is usually annoyed by Sebastian’s antics. At least Sloane isn’t frowning anymore. He studies her profile while she nibbles on her share of the cookie, grey eyes focused on the thick line of trees to their left.

“The Forbidden Forest,” he explains. “Out of bounds to all students.”

Sloane takes a moment to observe the cluster of warning signs placed by the Headmaster and Ministry. “I can see why,” she replies. “What are…Acromantula?”

“Giant spiders.”

“Giant what?”

“Spiders,” Sebastian repeats.

She shudders. “There’s a forest of giant spiders so close to the school?”

“Not only Acromantula,” he says, matter-of-fact. “There are ashwinders, dubogs, thornbacks, trolls, werewolves, a Centaur colony, blood-sucking bugbears, bowtruckles, manticores…not to mention all the poachers…oh, and at least one giant, so I hear—”

He stops when he notices Sloane’s horrified expression. “It’s not all bad…” he tries to reassure. “I’ve yet to spot one, but there are unicorns in the forest, too.”

“You’ve been inside the forest?” she questions, alarmed.

“It’s an excellent location to test one’s defensive abilities,” he shrugs. “I’ve always preferred practicality. Why teach us defensive magic if we aren’t allowed to use it?”

“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.”

Sebastian does a double take, surprised by her comment. She isn’t vilifying his actions, but there’s something in her tone that has his gut churning almost guility.

You sound like Ominis, is what he almost says. “Perhaps.”

There’s a lull in the conversation as they walk on, Hogsmeade now visible beyond the rolling hills and ruins. It isn’t until a carriage passes by that he speaks up again.

“Thestrals,” he murmurs.

“You can see them?” Sloane asks.

“Unfortunately. I assume Professor Fig told you why?”

When she nods, he’s curious but sympathetic. Some forget the price paid to witness such a creature, but he knows all too well the pain associated with the gift. Perhaps this is why he recognizes the melancholy in her—it is the same sadness he fights every day to suppress.

“I’m sorry.” It’s all he can offer.

“So am I.”

Wanting nothing more than to chase the somber mood away before it can truly settle in, Sebastian forces a smile. “We’ll need to get you a butterbeer after we’re finished with your errands. Do you like sweets?” Sloane nods again and this time he doesn’t have to fake his reaction. “Good.”

Hogsmeade is bustling with activity, but the chaos is comforting to Sebastian as he takes in the familiar sights and sounds. Sloane looks on in wonder, her wide eyes darting from one building to the next. He softly laughs, wondering if he looked equally awestruck when he first visited the village.

“Careful,” he calls out, grabbing her by the elbow to pull her out of the oncoming path of a few rowdy children. “I’ll be facing a fate worse than detention if you end up trampled.”

Sloane is close enough that he finds himself silently counting the freckles dotting her nose until she pulls away with a renewed blush. His amusement lingers as he gestures toward the entrance to Tomes & Scrolls.

“I’ll be right with you!” Mr. Brown, the proprietor, calls from the back room. Sebastian leisurely browses while Sloane stands nearby, her hands neatly folded as if she’s afraid to touch anything.

“Have you read these?” he asks, fingers tracing over the book spines in the small collection of muggle works. Sloane takes a cautious step closer, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“Jane Austen,” she quietly admits, and for the first time, there is a tiny, genuine smile on her lips. The sight momentarily distracts Sebastian, but he eventually pulls one of the books from the shelf—Mansfield Park. Sloane’s smile brightens. “My favorite.”

He smirks, filing the bit of information away with everything else he’s learned about her today. Happiness suits her, makes her golden.

“Ahem!” Mr. Brown interrupts the moment, and Sebastian glances over to see the man glaring in his direction. “I hope you plan on paying for that, Mr. Sallow.”

Sebastian sheepishly digs through his pockets for some coin as he approaches the counter. He hands over a few Knuts, but when Mr. Brown motions for more, he places the last Sickle he has into the man’s hand. 

“Thank you,” he chirps, grinning as he turns his attention to Sloane. “You must be the new fifth year. Professor Weasley already sent an owl with the list of books and spellcraft you need.”

Mr. Brown swishes his wand, summoning several books and scrolls from the shelves into a neat pile for her to take. “This should be everything you need for a successful school year, plus a few extra readings to assist with filling in the gaps in your education.”

Sloane inspects the stack with some apprehension, and Sebastian is about to offer some assistance when she pulls out her wand, concentrating as she carefully casts Evanesco, disappearing the supplies away.

She sighs, visibly relieved by the simple achievement. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Mr. Brown cheerfully replies, his demeanor hardening ever so slightly as he looks at Sebastian again. “Mr. Sallow.”         

Outside, he offers Sloane some encouragement as she continues to twist the wand in her palm. “Good work casting Evanesco, much easier than lugging a pile of books around.”

“It’s the first spell Professor Fig taught me,” she says, nervously. “Though, I’m not always successful in bringing things back.”

“It’ll be easier once you have your own wand,” he suggests, leading the way to their next stop. “Ollivanders will have what you need.”

She hesitates by the door, looking back at him as if to question why he isn’t joining her. “Choosing a wand—rather, a wanding choosing you—is best done in private. I wouldn’t want to be a distraction,” he explains with a coy wink. “In the meantime, I can visit Pippins and the Magic Neep for you, and we can rendevous in the town square. How does that sound?”

“Alright,” Sloane softly agrees before disappearing into the shop.

At first, Mr. Pippins doesn’t believe Sebastian when he says he’s there to collect Sloane’s supplies, only relenting after taking an exuberantly long time to review his ledger for Professor Weasley’s notice. Mr. Teasdale is far more trusting, adding in a few extra dittany seeds for good measure. By the time he makes his way to the town square, Sloane is already there, patiently standing near the large oak tree, head tilted up as she tracks the flight of owls departing the post office. He’s pleased to see her so relaxed, flashing a grin when she notices his arrival.

“So? How’d it go?” he greets. She reveals her new wand, and Sebastian can immediately sense something in her aura has shifted. He inspects the wand—the wood is light in color and looks as if it was plucked from a forest floor. “English Oak?”

“Mr. Ollivander said it has a unicorn hair core and that it was very fitting for a Hufflepuff,” she shrugs a little. “I’m not sure what that means.”

“He’s right,” Sebastian says. “You have a loyal wand. It means another witch or wizard would struggle to use it. You’ll be a force to be reckoned with in no time.”

Sloane smiles and he’s about to suggest they make their way to The Three Broomsticks when a loud rumbling echoes in the distance. Sebastian quickly brandishes his wand, his eyes going wide when a troll suddenly leaps into the town square. He instinctively pulls Sloane from the troll’s path of destruction, adrenaline heating the blood rushing through his veins. A Ministry official and a few shopkeepers attack the troll, redirecting the beast’s attention so it can be lured away from the village. He barely has enough time to catch Sloane’s panicked expression when there’s another crash as a second troll appears from the rubble of a destroyed building.

Sebastian is casting spells before he can fully process the reality of what is happening. A troll in Hogsmeade? It is no ordinary troll, that much he can tell by its glowing red eyes and armor. The beast lunges forward and Sebastian is certain he’s about to have his brain clubbed out of his skull when he sees the faint shimmer of a protective shield. He snaps his gaze to Sloane, the power radiating off of her unrecognizable, almost frightening. She’d managed a wordless shield charm yesterday as well, but this one was stronger. There’s no time for him to ask questions, however, as the troll swings at them again, undeterred.

“Bombarda!” he shouts, diving out of the way as the troll attempts to knock him to the ground.

Sebastian doesn’t like to admit that he’s scared, but this isn’t the kind of fight he’s used to. It’s one thing to duel, or pluck off ankle-biter spiders with sparks, but a troll is a completely different wheelhouse. He shoots off several more firey spells until there’s a sudden chill that sends a shiver down his spine. It’s similar to the sensation he felt the day before when Sloane’s magic slipped past his defenses and seized his heart. He looks over just in time to witness her cast, dark blue tendrils wrapping around the troll’s head before she topples it over with the flick of her wrist. She lifts her arm in a wide arc, effortlessly suspending the hideous creature in midair, its body crashing into the cobblestone a few seconds later.

When the troll ceases to move, Sebastian stares at Sloane, flabbergasted by what he’s just witnessed. Who the hell is this girl? A muggleborn farmgirl who can defeat a troll like a seasoned auror, but not him in a practice duel? He hurries over to where she’s standing in a haze, her body swaying as she struggles to catch her breath. The Ministry official—Officer Singer—returns as well, equally bewildered by the sight of the unconscious troll. 

“Sloane?” He’s cautious, momentarily worried she might fling him into the afterlife next. “Are you alright?” He touches her arm but immediately recoils with a hiss—she’s hot to the touch, whatever magic she possesses burning his palm. Sebastian flexes his hand and shakes off the pain. “How—how in Merlin’s name did you do that?”

“I—” Sloane’s eyes are wide and wild, shaking her head as she stares at her hands. Was she not in control of herself just now? “I don’t know.”

Officer Singer’s eyes narrow in suspicion, but she’s quickly distracted by the distressed villagers to probe any further. Sebastian takes the opportunity to make a swift exit, ignoring the searing heat that continues to radiate off of Sloane as he grasps her arm.

“Let’s go.”

His heart is still racing as they leave the town square, mind swirling with a never-ending list of questions. Sloane’s stoicism is the only thing that prevents him from blurting them out. He aimlessly leads her through the village, many of the inhabitants already flocking to see what the ruckus was all about. He’s wondering how Professor Weasley will find a way to hold him responsible for putting the new girl in danger when Sloane stops mid-stride.

“What is it?”

Sebastian follows her line of sight to where a familiar man is slipping into a nearby alley. What is Victor Rookwood doing in Hogsmeade? It’s no secret that he is the leader of the dark wizard gangs terrorizing the Highlands, and yet, he’s seemingly protected from prosecution by blood status and the galleons he uses to line Ministry officials’ pockets. Sebastian’s curiosity gets the better of him, though he’s relieved when Sloane moves with him to eavesdrop. He huddles close—she’s still warm—and peers over her shoulder.

Rookwood isn’t alone. His second in command, Theophilus Harlow, stands beside another recognizable figure. The leader of the goblin rebellion.  

“Ranrock,” Sebastian growls, balling his hands into fists to temper the flare of anger. 

The conversation isn’t audible, but it doesn’t take a genius to deduce their presence is related to the troll attack, and that something worse is imminent. Ranrock paces as he speaks, and when his head snaps up to where Sebastian and Sloane are standing, she sucks in a sharp breath and ducks out of view. He refrains from commenting on the vice grip of her hand on his forearm as they rush away from the scene. At the end of the street, they glance back to see Rookwood and Harlow exiting the alley, shouting at them to stop.

“This way,” Sebastian directs, silently praying that the men aren’t stupid enough to attack two students in broad daylight, in Hogsmeade. They hastily take refuge inside The Three Broomsticks, where Sirona Ryan greets them with a curious look, the two taking a seat at the end of the counter.

“Sallow? I trust you’ve been staying out of trouble?” she questions, eyebrow raised. “What’s this I hear about a troll attacking the town square?”

“News travels fast, I see,” Sebastian mumbles, shaking his head as if to dismiss the conversation before it can start. Best not to raise suspicions—he doesn’t think Sloane will appreciate the attention, even if she just single-handedly took down a troll. “I’ve simply been escorting my new friend here on her first trip to Hogsmeade.”

“I was wondering why I haven’t seen your face before,” Sirona muses, looking at Sloane. She snaps her head up when she realizes she’s being spoken to. 

“It’s…my first time here,” she says, and Sebastian frowns at the return of her meek, quiet voice. In the span of a few hours, he’s managed to see her blossom and wilt, experience her warmth, only to see it snuffed out.

Sirona is keen enough not to press for more details. “Well then, welcome!” she grins, flashing Sebastian a skeptical glance as she summons two tankards with the swish of her wand. “Butterbeers on me.”

“Thank you,” Sloane politely replies.

“My pleasure,” Sirona nods, keeping a careful watch on the two as they sip their drinks. “Are you sure—”

Whatever question Sirona is about to ask is interrupted as the doors to the pub slam open, Rookwood and Harlow striding in with determination. She rounds the counter to halt their intrusion, and Sebastian can’t help but notice the way Sloane’s grip tightens around her tankard of butterbeer. 

“You two look lost,” Sirona quips. “Would you like directions to the Hog’s Head?”

Rookwood snarls, unamused by her sarcasm. Still, he gestures for Harlow to hold back as the other man reaches for his wand. “No need, Theophilus,” he sneers, moving his hand to point at Sloane instead. “I’m sure the girl will come with us, quietly.”

Sebastian doesn’t hesitate to stand when Sloane does, hiding his alarm—she doesn’t mean to surrender, does she? And what does Rookwood want with Sloane in the first place? Her magic? It’s the only reasonable answer he can come up with at the moment, but it does little to calm his nerves.

When Rookwood dares to advance, Sirona steps to block him, wand in hand. Sebastian does the same, several other patrons standing with their wands at the ready. He senses the spark of Sloane’s magic come to life, wondering if anyone else can feel it too.

The standoff lasts long enough for Rookwood to realize he’s outnumbered. They are slow to depart, his glare lingering on Sloane until Sirona shoves the door shut in their faces. It’s only then that Sloane slumps, eyes closed as she releases a shaky breath.

“I think it’s best you two head back to the castle,” Sirona suggests, more concerned than ever. “Before Rookwood and Harlow decide to come back with reinforcements.”

Sebastian doesn’t protest but patiently waits until Sloane silently signals that she’s ready to leave. For what feels like the hundredth time that day, he is at a loss for words. Anything he could say, any question he thinks to ask just doesn’t seem appropriate, not now, not when Sloane is so visibly shaken by the day’s events.

“Sloane?” It takes a moment for her to glance his way, a crease in her brow he wants to make disappear. Her eyes are glazed over with unshed tears. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t exactly the trip to Hogsmeade I anticipated.”

“It isn’t your fault,” she says with a slight shake of her head.

“It isn’t yours, either.”

She doesn’t look convinced and he has to wonder all over again what she isn’t telling him. Not that he has the right to know, not when they’ve barely known each other for more than a few days if not hours. Her eyes flick back to the ground as they walk the rest of the way back to Hogwarts in silence.

They arrive at the Great Hall in time for dinner, and it looks like Sloane is finally about to say something when Poppy Sweeting comes running up, grasping her friend by the shoulders.

“Oh, thank Merlin you’re alright!” she cries out in relief. “Is it true there was a troll attack in Hogsmeade? We were all so worried about you!”

Poppy spares Sebastian a glance that is too quick to discern as either friendly or menacing before the pint-sized girl drags Sloane away to the safety of the Hufflepuff table. He contemplates calling it an early night when his stomach rudely reminds him of how long it’s been since he last ate.

“You look like shite, Sallow,” Imelda greets as Sebastian plops down next to her at the Slytherin table. She scoots to create more distance.

Across from him, Ominis pauses mid-sip of his soup to agree. “You smell it, too. Did you go to Hogsmeade or the Bog?”

“Fuck off,” Sebastian grumbles, rolling his eyes as he hungrily bites into a buttered roll. He can worry about bathing later.

“What happened to your hand?” Imelda asks, unbothered by his foul language.

Sebastian looks at his palm, having almost forgotten the burn of Sloane’s magic. His skin his red and slightly blistered as if he held it over an open flame. “Nothing a little trip to the infirmary can’t fix.”

Ominis scoffs, and Sebastian prepares himself for the inevitable lecture. He loves his friend like a brother, but he’s gotten fairly good at tuning him out and instead glances over Ominis’ shoulder to where Sloane is sitting with her housemates, Poppy and Lenora excitedly yapping as she listens on. He can’t help but feel concerned, dissatisfied with how their first outing ended. Aside from the danger, he rather enjoyed his time with her but doubts Sloane would be willing to do so again. Besides, he has more important things to worry about than a mysterious girl with mysterious powers and a cute—

“Are you even listening to me?” Ominis snaps, breaking Sebastian from his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“Oh, for the love of—” Ominis hesitates, his expression slowly shifting from annoyance to something akin to amused curiosity.

“What is it?” Sebastian asks, unsure if he would be alarmed by his friend’s demeanor.

Ominis shakes his head. “Nothing.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes and is about to return to his mean when he dares to look across the hall again. This time, Sloane’s gaze meets his and he chances a small smile.

She smiles back.

Comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated 💛

[circular-bircular]

“You can have DID without trauma!”

Vent art. Mod “Armageddon.” Tw for COCSA and general abuse.

You are a system. You have DID. You do not know this.

You go through 15 years, not knowing this — just existing in a haze, having such a bright childhood, one you grasp for later in the dark moments, trying desperately to hold onto it.

At 15, you realize, wait. I think something’s wrong. You realize you don’t feel like “yourself” — and even more alarming, you don’t know who “you” even are. You hear voices, suddenly, in your head. You find notes you clearly wrote, but it’s someone else’s handwriting, someone else’s words to “you.”

You just need to figure out who “you” is.

You go to your sexual abuser abusive romantic partner best friend because your abusive neglectful overbearing parents would never understand, or might be too worried about you. You ask them, “What’s wrong with me? I’m scared. I’m confused. I feel like I’m going to die.”

They smile. They want you, they need you to stay, and to stay you can’t be scared. “Don’t worry — that’s normal.”

You sigh in relief. Thank goodness. You’re fine. You’re okay. Nothing is wrong. The voices are just normal things everyone else experiences. The fun imaginative things in my head are normal. The fighting, screaming, sobbing, fear, need to run, need to love, need to help everyone while fully believing you’re about to get hit, or touched, or watched, always watched—

Don’t worry. That’s normal.

You are a system. You have DID. You do not know this.

You are 19. You’re not sure when that happened — isn’t time silly that way? You are normal. You were a bit “quirky” and “cringy” in high school, roleplaying a lot. You do not remember the voices in your head. You do not remember their names. You do not remember two entire years of high school, and you do not remember that you have forgotten.

You see a student presentation in class about a story, and how the main character could be read as having dissociative identity disorder. “The symptoms come from childhood trauma,” the student says, “but people don’t always remember their trauma.”

She describes the symptoms. You feel… weird. Why does that sound so familiar? So normal? You laugh a little and look around, expecting everyone else to be rolling their eyes at such an obvious observation. How ridiculous of psychologists to diagnose a very normal thing, right? But everyone else is nodding along, very interested, and the professor praises the student for her psychological lens, and “valuable research gathering on a rare disorder.”

You don’t remember going to your dorm, or the test you took that day online. The next thing you remember is not being “you” anymore, because “you” is locked in a room in your mind, and now you’re someone else, sobbing at the website you’ve pulled up. It’s about dissociative identity disorder.

You’re not you. You’re someone else.

You go to your best friend. You tell them everything at 4am, sobbing because you don’t know what to do anymore, and you’re scared, because you don’t know who you are.

“You’re not crazy. This isn’t normal, but you aren’t crazy. I believe you.”

You breathe for the first time in years months weeks days.

You are 19. You have DID. You think.

There’s only one problem; you don’t have trauma. You do. It’s there. They hurt you so much, you idiot, why can’t you hear the voices screaming that at you? So what on earth are you experiencing?

You try to research it. All you have is a DSM-III and resources on multiple personality disorder. And, of course, tumblr — your home away from home.

You find a war happening. People with trauma versus people who say they have none. They all seem to hear voices, and many are angry and struggling and confused, just like you. You must be like these “plurals” you’ve seen. The ones without trauma but with DID. That’s not what that was, and you know that now, but it’s was so hard to tell back then.

You join them. “I have DID,” you say, “but I don’t have trauma.”

“That’s okay!” They tell you. “You can have DID without trauma.”

What a relief. You’re normal. You’re fine. You’re not like those anti-endos, you’re told. “They medicalize their systems,” you’re told, “and their therapists are abusing them.” You feel so bad for those poor systems. They’re not like you; you’re fine. You’re normal. Unlike them.

You try to avoid the traumatized ones, but you see so many of them getting angry. They keep yelling about these people who don’t have trauma, who are “appropriating a disorder” — that same disorder you clearly have, but you don’t have trauma.

You crash your car while dissociating so hard that you hallucinate your parts headmates around you. And you are happy, because at least you have a family to take care of you. Isn't it so nice to see your parts headmates in real life?

You're normal. It's okay. You don't have trauma. You don't need trauma to be a system, and you love being a system. No you DON'T, the parts scream, you're dreaming! Wake up! Wake up, please, god, don't let that woman hug you, don't you know what she did--

You keep moving on.

Then you see the arguments that spark something in you. “You need trauma, but the age range is wider than you’d think.”

Your sexual abuser abusive romantic partner best friend from high school. There’d been that time you fell out with her. That time you blew up at her because she’d kissed you in public, blamed you for teasing her too much. You realize how little you remember.

What else have you forgotten?

“I have trauma but it’s well past the age range,” you say to an anti-endo, knowing you shouldn't have spoken to them, because everyone tells you not to -- but none of them are traumatized, and this person is. “What’s wrong with people having this disorder without trauma?”

“There’s decades of research on this,” you’re told. “It sounds like you do have trauma. Consider that you might have some you don’t remember. Otherwise, you don’t have DID.”

You are 19. You have DID, you know it. You ignore this person. “These other people told me I don’t need trauma. You’re just gatekeeping. You’re just wrong. I’m not traumatized. I’m not like you. I’m better.”

You go to the ones who comforted you, listened to you, manipulated you. "I have trauma, I think, but it's past the age those anti-endos talk about, how ridiculous are they?"

"I'm so proud of you for standing up to those sysmeds! A lot of us have been traumatized because of how people treat our system. I'm sorry those anti-endos traumatized you."

"Well, it wasn't them -- but you're right. Anti-endos are traumatizing. They've traumatized me."

You believe the lie you spread, because they spread it first, and it sounds right. You do not mention that you learned you were sexually assaulted by a peer as a child. That would just be trauma dumping, and that would make you no better than a sysmed.

You are 19. You’re “cured” of your DID, because the plurals around you say that if you like your system, you don’t have DID. They say if you can’t remember your trauma, you probably don’t have any, and “most DID is caused by trauma, you just might be a disordered plural.” They call you endogenic, or mixed-origin, or autigenic. Trying to suggest you have DID leads to them talking about those horrible traumatized systems DID systems disordered systems anti-endos.

“You can’t listen to them. You can’t reblog from them. They’re homophobic, racist, transphobic, bigoted, ableist, wrong. Any information they share is ableist.”

You listen. You always have. You roll your eyes good naturedly at them suggesting you don't have trauma -- they just meant your system isn't caused by trauma. They just misspoke. That's all.

... But what if they're right?

You are 20. You are a ????? system. You say you have DID, because you are disordered and fit all of the criteria, and you can have DID without trauma. Maybe you are just plural?

You start getting into fights with systems online. You spread misinformation your experiences. Anyone who disagrees with you is an ableist gatekeeper. You get fakeclaimed and it hurts. Now you are traumatized by anti-endos. You try to avoid them more, falling deeper into those circles that include everyone, including you. They must love you. They love everyone.

You see a post about trauma. You realize, slowly, so so slowly, your parents have hurt you. You remember everything. No??? You remember so little, the voices scream, sob, you can’t remember it because you’re not even trying to. Why bother trying when you can live in denial, and keep getting abused each time you go home, and keep getting hurt worse and worse every single weekend?

You are 20. You are a DID system. You have trauma. You know some of it.

You go to your manipulators harassers friends. “I figured it out! My system was formed my trauma!"

“Oh, you poor soul, who told you that?”

You feel cold. “What?”

“Those awful anti-endos fakeclaiming you-“

You feel isolated. “No?”

“You can’t listen to them. You’re autigenic. You’re being manipulated. You don’t have trauma.”

“My parents-“

“They love you, that’s not abuse. They were rich, that’s not abuse. They only yelled at you, that’s not abuse. You aren’t traumatized — don’t let the anti-endos convince you that you are.”

You are desperate. “But my DID!”

They frown at you. “You don’t need trauma to have DID. Saying otherwise makes you a sysmed."

You leave your friends. They weren’t friends at all.

You isolate. You have nobody. You made it clear that you would not speak to the filth anti-endos traumatized systems like yourself. You have nobody left to talk about your trauma with.

You are 21. You are a traumatized DID system. You only have your partner and in real life friends. Your abusers force you to drink on your birthday, and come into your safe space. You have nightmares for weeks.

Then you’re 22 and you are stuck with your abusers. You can see their faces now. You know the truth. You feel sick.

You are 23. 24. 25. You find new circles. You've researched trauma more, not nearly enough. You briefly become anti-endo, frustrated as you see more and more people hurt like you were, frustrated that the pro-endo spaces do not have any resources for those like you. Then you mellow, you try to divorce your trauma from your experience online. You try to find places to spread research and knowledge, to be traumatized and have people recognize what that means.

You are attacked for being traumatized, because this space has never been safe for trauma victims. You remember how you used to think when you were 19. You remember how you felt when you were left all alone. You try to keep the doors open, but it's so so hard, and you have to take care of yourself too. But you try. God, you try to help others.

You are 26.

You are in so many circles — endogenic, plural, CDD, traumatic, traumagenic, it doesn’t matter. You have so many people.

You see people telling others, “You don’t need trauma to have DID!” You take a deep breath and follow what your disgusting medicalist inclusive and welcoming therapist has taught you about stopping spirals. You try not to say anything deep at first, because you’re clearly triggered, and recent lessons have taught you more that you need can’t be traumatized online without getting hurt badly.

But you see people denying their trauma. Saying, “I don’t remember any trauma, and even if I did have trauma, I don’t feel like I do."

You remember being that way. You remember not remembering. You remember how your parents sexually abused you, now, even after you thought you’d remembered it all. You remember how your parents hit you and neglected you alongside their overbearing lack of boundary keeping. You remember how you convinced yourself it wasn’t trauma.

You remember how you went back, for years, because of what people said.

You could have left at 19. You had the chance. The options. The doors to freedom were wide open, and you did not step out, because you thought your cage was already freedom.

How much sooner could you have been free if you had simply acknowledged you had trauma, and it had been made clear that it was okay to have trauma? That it would be safe to leave? That you deserved to be able to leave?

You do research. You've done research. You try to find proof of endogenic -- of non-trauma -- DID. You find fakeclaiming. You find people misinterpreting statistics, or even flat out lying about statistics. You find decades, even centuries of research, in the attempt to figure out what's happening. You even resort to literary analysis, because at least you might be able to find evidence of people discussing non-trauma DID as a legitimate scientific thing while psychoanalysing old texts -- just like back at 19, back in college, back when you first heard what DID was.

You find nothing.

You try to share your experiences still. You try to explain in more private spaces, spaces where there can't be anonymous hatred flung your way -- or worse, people who have determined that you are an enemy that must be defeated taking each word you say and twisting it to demonize you -- and you watch in horror as they remember.

"That's trauma?"

"That's disordered?"

"I've never heard of this before."

"I thought I was endogenic. I thought I didn't have trauma."

They're fine. They struggle -- but trauma is a struggle -- and more importantly, they now know what resources to even aim for. They know where to look. They know what can help.

You wish you'd known that.

And you will never, ever stop being bitter about the years those people took from you. You will never forgive them for their fakeclaiming. You will never forgive them for the years you spent being abused more.

But it's okay.

It's normal.

And isn't it better to be inclusive of that very slim amount of people who, despite all evidence to the contrary, and despite all of Occam's understandings, and despite the harm that inclusiveness does to those who are suffering, just have DID without any of that pesky, disgusting trauma?

What do I know? I'm just a filthy sysmed.

[odetodilfs]

Dating Javier Peña headcanons

The obsession is hitting me hard so here it is. This was supposed to be for valentines but I didn't finish it in time lol

Pairing: Javier Peña x m!reader Warnings: Mentions and not much else, most of these headcanons are SFW.

-He would be very affectionate- the man has been living on hookups instead of actual relationships for a long time, so he would relish and bask in the feeling of having someone to love.

-Would also be very nervous, as opposed to how he usually is making the first move, he’d be very cautious as it’s his first time with another man and he loves you a lot, so he’d be afraid to fuck everything up. -You’d speak in spanglish, half of the sentence in spanish, the other in English, sometimes just full Spanish, or full English, overall, you really don’t give a shit.

-Lots of surprising you with hugging from behind and lots of neck kisses too, he can’t keep himself off of you.

-He’d love holding you in his arms but nothing beats the feeling of having your arms around him, knowing he can relax for once in the day.

-He’s by no means a cheesy guy, not the biggest fan of St. Valentine’s day, never makes cringy jokes, etc, but the good thing is that when he does crack a joke it’s actually funny, he also would take you to eat often and whenever he has free time he always tries to watch a movie with you, cuddle or maybe even have sex. 

-You would think a guy like him needs a lot of sex, but normally you just do it once a week, he’s had enough sex in his past and now prefers to cuddle you most evenings.

-But when he does have sex with you, he tends to be more on the submissive side, but he also enjoys dominating you a lot, he loves seeing you writhe beneath him, begging him to let you cum, jerking you off then stopping just as you’re about to cum.

-He’d never bottomed for anyone before other than you, and he was nervous at first, but as you guided him through and showed him how good it felt, he came to love it, but he does prefer being a top most of the time.

-Is very mature when you fight and you always manage to sort things out, and he’s a very big fan of makeup sex…

-He loves it when you pet his hair and just give him gentle touches in general, his favorite times are when you spend hours and hours kissing and cuddling each other. He also likes it when you wash his hair real gently, in general, the guy’s a sucker for getting his hair played with.

-Surprisingly a very romantic guy, not on the cheesy side but he gives you flowers when he can, always calls you at least once a day from work just to check up on you and stares into your eyes often, appreciating their beauty.

-He constantly says how you’re the prettiest man he’s ever seen, how he wants to be with you forever and if you can make dinner just a bit later so you can cuddle for 5 more minutes.

-He tries to smoke less because you keep telling him it's not healthy for him to smoke that much, and he’d accept the challenge and keep trying to smoke less and has succeeded at least a bit. 

-He’s more a of a surprise kind of guy, he isn’t particularly a fan of doing big things that require planning, he’d much rather bring you your favorite cookies or flowers every friday than take a week-long trip somewhere, considering his vacations are short too.

-Teasing each other would be like a game on who gets the other more horned up, he’d wear the tightest pants to make his ass and crotch stick out, or wear his shirt unbuttoned while you’d bend over a lot to pick things up or wear tight pants as well.

-He’d love banter surprisingly, at first he was a pretty serious man but as you got to know each other he opened up and became softer and more playful, you know to take this as a compliment as he rarely ever is like that with anyone.

-Just him being an absolute bisexual mess but also loving you, “Women, they’re great, so are men, but nothing beats you” he’d say as he roped you in for a kiss.

[brookiidookiii]

any jock hcs? or about jo and brick individually?

TOTALLY someone asked for jo individually so ill do her next.

When Brick and Jo move in together Jo would let Brick decorate the house because she doesn't care for decorating and Brick has some fashion school experience so why not. He probably knows a thing or two about decorating. until she gets back home and sees everything is camo print

The only thing they’d know how to properly decorate is their at home gym. It’s the fanciest room in the house too

Or if they don’t have space for a little home gym they put their treadmill in the living room and call it a day.

Movie nights between them would be so difficult because all Brick ever wants to watch is his war movies and Jo at first really isn’t interested in what he wants to watch at all. But once she realizes that they’re actually gorey and include a lot of death and stuff that’s when she gets invested

Fashion is such a jock thing too. I’d imagine he’d stick with his main military career path goal but he takes fashion design courses as a side hobby and of course for assignments he uses Jo as a model for designing clothes. atp All her outfits in her closet are designed or picked out by him lol

And he’d find it so fun to take her shopping too. He makes her try on all the clothes he’d think look good on her and it's so annoying

They’d totally adopt an animal together too. German shepherd 1000%% and it’ll only listen to Jo when she asks it to do tricks. When Brick tries it just asks like it doesn’t understand him which makes him sad 

Or alternatively Brick already has a dog (German shepherd) and when Jo meets it she starts to like the dog more than she likes Brick. And the dog is so smug about it too

I feel like everyone forgets Jo kind of has a soft side for Brick. Sort of and not really like in ep4 “Brick take my hand!!!” right after talking about how we’re gonna leave everyone behind if they abandon us. Plus the music playing in the background and the closeup on their hands and her tone of voice omfg. Like she’ll be helping him bandage his wounds while also reprimanding him for tripping on his shoelaces and skinning his knee. She could never admit how much she actually cares about him.

Like her goal is to make him mad at her and get him to lose his shit and see what it’ll take to get him pissed not make him cry or actually sad. That’s not funny to her

After the show they don’t text at all so Jo’s mad Brick’s ghosting her but then she finds out he’s not allowed to use his phone at military academy (which I imagine is some kind of private boarding school) so he sends her letters instead which is 10x cringier and she love-hates it. He’s so into stereotypical corny romantic gestures too and he thinks he’s so smug and hot while doing it too. Jo thinks it’s dumb in a charming way but mostly dumb

Jo’s also cringy too she’s one of those people who puts her hand on her boyfriends waist when they’re in public

Them having to share a bed is also funny because of Brick’s entire night light situation. Jo can’t sleep at all with it in the room so she just tells him to man up and sleep without it so they compromise that she has to hold him so he’ll fall asleep. They’re the type of couple who fights over the covers too

I imagine them getting together is so complicated. Because it starts out as this weird rivalry situationship where neither of them have ever had a relationship before so they don’t know what they’re doing and both of them are too prideful to ask the other out first. Brick’s the one who goes out of his way to ask her out on dates (and it’s always stuff like “hey i bet i can eat more popcorn than you at the movies.” EVERYTHING has to be a competition between them). He can’t say anything normal and somehow that’s more awkward than their mid argument makeout sessions. Maybe Brick and Jo wanna kiss and make up lives rent free in my head for the rest of my life. Then they finally make things “””official””” when they figure okay what we have going on isn’t platonic so might as well start dating. And also Jo finds out Brick’s been telling all his cadet buddies he and Jo have been dating so they go from there.

I imagine their first kiss is so unplanned too. Nothing romantic because when they’re in the middle of an argument they FINALLY kiss so it’s angry and not good because neither of them know what they’re doing at all. They’re horrible

To me jock is one of those ships that is def having kids in the future (honestly the only Jo ship I see having kids tbh). At first Jo would NEVER want kids but Brick’s the type who does but whatever Jo says. His motto’s happy wife happy life but they’d get into some argument once they’re married like “hypothetically if we did have kids I’d be the better parent” “No I would because you wouldn’t even want them” and from there they actually do have kids but not because they care about the joys of parenting but because they’re petty and want to show the other that they’d be the best parent. Jo actually regrets the decision lowkey but whatever in the end none of them win and they’re horrible parents because they argue way too much. Their kids hate them #lovewins. Either that or it’s a completely unplanned pregnancy so they have a shotgun wedding from there but either way they aren’t good parents. Idk why I’ve ranted so long about what if they had children but yeah

[shaelzero]

*seen the movie, half asleep now*

.. echm..

I think they have the movie title wrong..

..it should have been Dreams.

Like, you know, the ones we see taken from people by Magnifico.. and let me explain why I think this concept make more sense, for what info they had given to us.

Exhibit a, the realistic ‘wish’.

You don’t WISH to inspire people. You know you can do it, but you also know, for people to listen to you, you’ll need to put your mind, heart and effort in the task. And even then, there are some who wouldn’t care. But you have to, because it’s you drive, it’s what you want, it’s what will make you feel whole. Your DREAM.

You don’t WISH to be the better artist/dress maker/baker, you work on your craft to get better and get results. In time, with effort and sacrifice, that will be worth your while when you finally grasp your DREAM.

If you decide to give away the will to do these things by yourself (things you CAN actually archieve as a normal human being) because you come to know there COULD be a easier way (by magically means) that effortlessly grant you the final prize..

..is not a WISH, is opportunistic laziness.

And maybe, (just maybe) you don’t really deserve to have that DREAM, since is not that precious to you that you feel the need to protect and fight for it, but instead you so easily decide to put it in someone else’s hands, (quite literally) given the chance, making THEM do the work.

Those are the realistic dreams, but there is another category: the unobtainable fantasy’s .

Exhibit b: to fly, you don’t WISH to fly.

We know, people give the ‘wish’ at 18 years of age, meaning you have awareness of being a human, with no magic, or anatomy feats for that to ever become a reality ( not has we see in the bubble anyway), no matter the effort you can put in it. As an adult you still could DREAM of flying.

A kid could wish to fly, because they are not yet grounded in reality so they could believe it could really happen if they have faith and be good enough.

Maybe a fairy, or a mage could grant that wish.. (but then there’s a fly on the wall and suddenly wish they could be a cat to catch it but it’s approaching bed time so now the wish changes again, now they could be a dragon to avoid bedtime.. and so on..)

I totally understand the need to put a minimum age limit.. it would have been a fucking nightmare.

But, to get to the point I’m making here:

most kids, don’t have yet the concept of what is potentially possible obtaining through effort and what is physically unarchievable, so they could WISH for literally anything.

But ALL the ‘wish’ given to Magnifico are from ADULTS.

And if we listen well, the movie tell us that he doesn’t takes just ‘the wish’ but that he takes a metaphisycal part too, from the people heart and then make the people forget about it..

The BETTER part of them allegedly, leaving them ‘sad and boring’…

(well just the protagonist’s friend, because NONE of any other citizen of Rosas EVER seems different from a normal person. In the first fucking song we see a rather happy living population lazing around town, dancing for the newly arrived tourists.. but I’m digressranting ).

My point is: even if you forget A wish, as important as it may have been to you, by forgetting it you become a clean slate.. and, as STUPIDLY pointed out IN THE MOVIE, during the ‘cringy q&a to make a distraction’ a peasant ask something on the line of ‘What if I develop another wish? Or I change my wish?”

If he took only A wish, these would be possibly things that could happen, to living thinking human, in years.

But, if you switch to what I’m suggesting , it suddenly clicks: no one in the entire movie use the word or concept of dream/dreams.( non that I can recall.. or in a meaningful way, but I could be wrong..).

I think that’s because..

.. people FORGOT they exist.

Because they can’t DREAM anymore.

Because the best part of they’r heart, the part that allows to conceive and create new dreams, was given willingly away.

And as Disney love, especially in this movie, the self references and to pay homage :

“ A WISH is a DREAM your heart makes..”

..Sound familiar to anyone?..

*drop to sleep*

[zwy01]

Arya doodles!!!

Aww my poor, poor girl. It’s her time to be given love and lots of hugs.

This is my OC, Arya K. Landegre! She is Regis and Rael’s daughter, and the former’s heir.

I haven’t gone in depth with her backstory yet, so I’m going to do that here. She’s one of my 15 “main” characters of my Millennium AU and her full bio is up in my pinned post.

I’ll be mentioning some other names in here too so to quickly recap, Arya is the younger one of the two Regis/Rael kids and her full-sibling and elder brother is Raegyn Kertia. (Arya has three half-siblings, with her elder half-brother Kaelestis Blerster on Rael’s side, and younger half-brother Garyth J. Loyard and younger half-sister Alethea J. Loyard on Regis’ side.) Arya has a pretty good relationship with her loving family, but it is a hard-earned one with a rocky beginning and a long, arduous journey. I’ll be explaining exactly why in a bit. Yay!!!

I love Arya for how dynamic she is and I’ve barely mentioned the more detailed stuff so here we are! My sweet Ari’s (almost) full backstory.

We already know that Arya is the odd one out in her generation. Among her fellow future Clan Leaders, Arya stands out as the one that is the least noble-like. She’s cringy, loud, fidgety, and most of all you just can’t get her to behave herself like a proper noble. If Lukedonia had yearbooks, she’d be nominated as the class clown. Hey, being so stiff all the time isn’t fun, right? I mean, just look at that freakishly long lifespan nobles have. You’re saying you’re gonna be around for at least a few more millennia, yet being uptight is the only way you know how, huh? Pfft, not in Arya’s watch. She’s gonna show you what real fun is, by ditching all formalities in favor of “you know, just winging it!”. After all, life is boring without a little improvisation every now and then. And if that means leaving your comfort zone, then Arya will be the one to hold your hand and guide you through your newfound fun. In a sense, Arya is the opposite of her big brother Raegyn Kertia. Raegyn loves to plan every little detail of his life, making sure to never go off track for even the tiniest of things, while Arya likes to live spontaneously. The past won’t hold her back, and the future does not concern her either. Any problems or consequences that arise, she will leave it to her “future self”. Duh. On many occasions, Raegyn had attempted to teach Arya the importance of planning things and the concept of delayed gratification, to no avail. Whatever he tells her seems to go in one ear and out the other. It’s Arya, what else did you expect from her? She’s just going to giggle and shrug it off. They are not too worried about her though, because she seems to be able to find a good balance in life despite her carefree nature, so they let her be. I mean, she is pretty wild, but it’s not like she’s going to burn down the forest or steal artifacts from the treasury for fun, right? Yeah, no way that’s going to happen. Mhm. Huh. Wait… hold up. Actually, forget it. She might. It’s unlikely though. Well, she doesn’t do that anymore. Anymore? What exactly does that mean? That’s where it gets interesting, so sit back and enjoy.

Remember in my last post about Raegyn where I said that Regis and Rael were super relieved that their Arya was a normal child with normal development, and not a “special” child like their difficult son? They were right about their daughter… at least partially. Regis and Rael waited for almost two centuries before having their second child. Their first child Raegyn gave them a hard time because he was too much of an outlier with his unmatched super intelligence. After Arya was born, and for some time in her early childhood, Regis and Rael had their eyes on her all the time, vigilantly watching for any signs that would show that she’s not an average child, and in turn they would give her the extra support she needs. And they waited. And waited. Thankfully, those signs never showed up. Whew. They could finally relax, as they only needed to deal to with Raegyn, and it seemed like they could raise Arya like they would with a normal child. Arya was average, in a good way. She was a bit too lively and feisty at times, but that’s not a big deal. She’s a kid, after all. Who doesn’t like an energetic kid? Regis and Rael had to discipline her occasionally, but other than that, they didn’t need to do much. They had a good time together as a family, and everyone was certain that Arya had a bright future ahead of her. Or, that’s what they thought. Uh oh.

Turns out her parents overlooked her feistiness, and there was a deeper underlying issue. This became more apparent as Arya grew a bit older, when she reached the human equivalent of a ten year old. At this point it wasn’t as simple as kiddie tantrums anymore. Regis and Rael found it increasingly difficult to discipline their daughter and calm her down when she got all worked up. Arya had a short fuse. A very short one. She was joyful and radiant, just as much as she had a big temper. She cried when she didn’t get what she wanted, she screamed when her parents gave Raegyn a millisecond more of attention than they did to her, and kicked and shoved and knocked things off tables when something simply wasn’t to her liking. And when she felt uneasy, she couldn’t stay still and was always pacing around, fidgeting, or both. And that’s when Regis and Rael finally understood what’s going on, when they realized that Arya may be even more difficult than their already difficult son.

If we’re being nice, then we can say that Arya has a… very strong personality. If we’re being honest, then Arya is a major pain in the ass. It’s as simple as that. She is only fun for as long as she doesn’t spiral into one of her tantrums, before her parents, Raegyn, or someone else needs to step in to physically restrain her until she calms down. And it’s worth noting that Regis and Rael were not neglectful or anything. They were attentive and loving parents who did their best to ensure that their daughter had everything she needed. It’s just that Arya happened to inherit several of her parents’ less desirable personality traits. Mix and match, boom. A recipe for disaster. Arya inherited Regis’ stubbornness, and Rael’s tendency to be possessive, jealous, and impulsive. Regis is more flexible now, and even Rael has shown massive improvement and growth, and doesn’t act like he did in his youth anymore. But Arya was only a child. She was still young, and she has yet to go through centuries of practice. Regis and Rael were really trying their hardest, but their daughter just didn’t seem to show any signs of improvement. For now, they’ll just keep trying in hopes that their little Ari would get better eventually. Maybe they were even in denial, as they didn’t like the possibility of Arya not being able to grow out of her “phase”, so to speak.

Despite the less positive aspects of her personality, kiddie Arya loved her parents very much, and she made sure to let them know. Raegyn’s situation was an entirely different case, as Regis and Rael parented him in a very unconventional way that didn’t quite resemble the dynamics of a typical parent-child relationship. On the other hand, Arya’s bond with her parents strongly resembled that of a typical parent-child relationship. She absolutely adored both her fathers, and loved being their baby. To little Arya, they were her everything. And they still are now. Regis and Rael are delighted with how their daughter loves them so much and how she never hesitates to express her love. The two of them didn’t really feel the same sentiment coming from their first child Raegyn during his childhood, and Raegyn still is kind of aloof as an adult. (They know that Raegyn loves them too, but Raegyn just never really bothered with the excessively sentimental stuff) To be honest, Raegyn is relieved that his sister is here to divert his parents’ attention so they don’t “loiter” around him all the time, and he can finally get some of that long desired freedom. And his sister being difficult doesn’t bother him because she is their parents’ kid, not his, so she’s not his problem. At most he’ll just step in when he needs to pretend to be a good big brother, or when his parents ask him to.

And Arya? She loves her brother dearly, and knows that he loves her too. Brother Rayray is nice. He reads books to Ari and gives Ari candies. He teaches Ari how to play games. He’s all good …until the very moment he gets more attention from their parents. Then she’s not so enthusiastic about him anymore. Do you see where I am getting at. As much as Arya adores Raegyn, she doesn’t actually mind how Raegyn is often absent during “family bonding time” because guess what? She can have her fathers alllll to herself. Maybe it’s even a good thing, even if it is one she can’t say out loud.

Arya is totally a daddy’s girl for both of her fathers. The two of them have different roles. Rael is the “fun” parent. Yes, Arya is his sweet little girl and he’s forever grateful for her very existence, but above all else, he sees himself in her. As difficult as Arya can be sometimes, she bears extreme resemblance to Rael and he loves her for that. Rael doesn’t mind Arya being a little feisty because he was like that in his youth too, and he turned out alright, didn’t he? Maybe he’s even proud of her for being so “lively”. That’s right, she’s his little girl! Arya is nearly identical to Rael in both looks and personality. If only she had the Kertia blonde as well, her parents joke. In addition, since the beginning, Rael had desperately wanted a child to pour all his love into, but Raegyn wasn’t quite what he had expected, so he didn’t get to experience the typical joy of parenting. Then Arya came along. Arya adored him, admired him, and stuck to him like a piece of gum. She practically glued herself onto her Kertia daddy.

Rael is of course absolutely overjoyed, and responded by showering her with every ounce of affection in his system. He often lets Arya indulge herself in things, and gives in to her begging. He spoils Arya by sneaking her out of class early, letting her stay past bedtime, slipping an extra cookie when Regis isn’t looking... etc. Anything to see his little girl put on a big, big smile and hear her say “thank you Daddy” with enthusiasm. Perhaps he went a little too overboard, and the spoiling became a bit excessive. But hey, Rael just can’t help it. In a way, whatever he wished he could’ve done but didn’t get to do with Raegyn, he fulfilled through Arya. Arya basically gets double of everything. And she’s just too cute. I mean, she’s a chip off the old block! Rael continues the spoiling well into Arya’s teen years. This does eventually snowball into a bigger problem, which will be addressed later.

On the other hand, Regis is the “strict” parent. For most of the time, he lets Rael have fun with Arya because he knows how deeply Rael cherishes that affectionate bond with their daughter. At the same time Regis never misses the chance to discipline Arya when she needs it. Kiddie Raegyn was very self-sufficient and preferred independence over being “parented”; Arya was not, and needed plenty of parental support and behavioral correction. Sorry kiddo, no more skipping classes for you, and whining won’t make demands come true. Jokes aside, other than being the rule enforcing parent, Regis is very, very affectionate with Arya and they have an extremely close father-daughter relationship. Lovely. Regis can be proud of himself. He used to get flustered at something as simple as getting his head patted by (his basically adopted sister) Seira, and now he is actually pretty comfortable with giving and receiving both physical and emotional affection. One of Arya’s favorite things to do as a kid was running her little fingers through Regis’ hair and playing with his black streaks, and then happily pointing at her own streaks while exclaiming “I’m a Landegre!” To which Regis would smile and respond, “yes, my little Ari”. Aww, how precious. Arya takes great pride in being Regis’ daughter and heir. She is her daddy’s successor, the great Regis K. Landegre!

While it’s true that Arya tends to go to her Kertia daddy when she wants to get the okays to break rules or have some relatively reckless fun, it is Regis who is her favorite. Sorry Rael. He doesn’t have to know Regis is Arya’s number one. Period. Has always been, and will always be. As soon as Arya could recognize her surroundings, Regis became the center of her world. If she admired Rael, then she idolized Regis. She loved him, she worshipped him, she put him on a pedestal. Yeah. That person over there. You see him? He’s Ari’s Landegre daddy! How sweet. It doesn’t matter if Regis didn’t let her overindulge in things, or that he’s less lenient with her misbehaving at times. Everything Regis believes in and does, is right. No arguments. Maybe she’d even get offended on his behalf if anyone tried to question him. Regis is her idol, and she’d follow in his footsteps even if she honestly doesn’t feel too much enthusiasm towards clan duties and whatnots. Young Arya actually had her parents taken by surprise when she showed that, after all, she was capable of sitting through an entire afternoon of Regis walking her through Landegre CL duties without fidgeting or complaining much. For a restless child like her, it’s an unusual and incredible feat, because she doesn’t display this extent of patience when it comes to other matters. Responsibilities and expectations, future Clan Leader, blah blah blah… even if these things didn’t really interest Arya, she’d do it for daddy dearest. Anything for Regis. She’s totally obsessed with him. Many even too obsessed. And this obsession is the catalyst for many unfortunate events to come. Remember how I said she inherited Rael’s tendency to be possessive, jealous, and impulsive? Yep, exactly that.

Fast forward to Arya’s teen years. When Arya was around the human equivalent of 13-14 year old, she “learned” about Regis’ drastically shortened lifespan. This was around the time her younger half-siblings Garyth and Alethea were born. Initially, Regis had intended to donate only one soul fragment to Seira for the birth of her heir, but their combined soul fragments unexpectedly split into two separate, unstable pieces and Regis didn’t have the heart to let the smaller piece perish. So in an attempt to save it, as it was dying, he extracted another soul fragment from himself and gave it to the smaller piece that would later become Alethea. He succeeded. They succeeded. But the unexpected extra soul fragment extraction shortened his lifespan even more. Three soul fragment extractions is already pushing the limits for noble standards. Four? That’s unheard of. Regis didn’t have much longer to live. Uh oh. Arya is definitely not going to take this well.

And this is not due to Arya previously being oblivious to the mechanism behind noble birth or anything. All nobles know that having children would shorten one’s lifespan. They understood how it worked, and that a noble’s lifespan would roughly halve for each child etc. Arya knew this as well. However, she only started to really think about it once her half-siblings were born, because she never really saw Regis that way. All this time she had been busy obsessing over him and putting him on a pedestal. She had been way too in love with the concept of him being her father to the point where she basically almost completely forgot about the fact that no, he indeed won’t be around forever. Regis is not immortal. To make matters worse, not only was Regis not immortal, he also doesn’t have much left. Time is ticking. Regis is dying. Her daddy, her idol, her world — he’s dying. The shock comes from the realization, perhaps one that is a little too late. It’s also important to note that Regis did not consult with either of his children regarding his decision to contribute what is essentially his lifespan to Seira’s heir. Regis had only spoken with his husband Rael regarding this matter and both of them agreed that his contribution to Seira would be a good idea. After all, Seira is family to Regis. Of course he would help her with her heir. By both Lukedonian law and common practice, neither juvenile nor adult children are entitled to any input when it comes to one or both of their parents’ decision to donate more soul fragments or just having more children in general. Parents don’t need to say anything to their existing children. No one owes anyone explanations. That’s just how things are.

Though, on a personal level, that’s where things get complicated. The Regis/Rael kids only learned about their half-siblings after their birth. Raegyn’s reaction upon hearing the news was just… nothing. He simply raised his eyebrows, shrugged, and gave a fake smile. Neat. Sure, more siblings, though they aren’t his problem, they’re Seira’s, so he doesn’t care. And while Raegyn loves Regis, he respects Regis’ decision (and his parents’ collective agreement) about what Regis wants to do with his lifespan. If he wanted to shave off more years for the sake of his family aka Seira, then go for it. To be honest, Raegyn probably isn’t even attached enough to Regis for him to care. Arya on the other hand… oh boy.

Unlike Raegyn, who was calm and supportive, Arya did not take it well. In fact, she took it quite personally. Very personally. Extremely personally. Upon the initial news delivery of her half-siblings’ birth, she was shocked. Arya went numb, and didn’t seem to have any reaction at all. It took her a whole day to process the information and then it hit her. She excused herself and locked herself in her room. Witnesses recalled how the horrific, explosive screams that seemed to have come from the Landegre manor did not stop for an entire week. There was some sobbing, some hysterical laughing, but mostly screams. Screams much, much worse than what you’d imagine would come from tortured souls from the depths of hell. Bystanders could feel the sheer force of anger and despair in the very core of those screams just by listening. And not once did Arya think of using her noble powers for noise canceling. It may have even been deliberate, as she wanted the whole world to know that she’s upset, even if she won’t actually say why. Even her own parents can’t seem to get her to talk. The screams only stopped when Arya grew too tired and passed out in exhaustion for another week. People eventually forgot that this had happened, and simply shrugged it off as one of her “usual tantrums”. It was only oddly timed, because it happened right after her half-siblings were born, but other than that, no big deal, right? Then they’re wrong. Very, very wrong. Raegyn knows why because he is more than smart enough to tell. He doesn’t care, though.

Arya felt betrayed. Regis betrayed her. He betrayed her by giving his lifespan away without even telling her. He never once asked for her opinion, and he didn’t even bother to notify her of the decision, as if it was never a big deal to start with. Rael betrayed her as well. He betrayed her by not stopping Regis, because he clearly had a part in the final decision, right? Arya knows she has no claim over how Regis plans to use his lifespan, but still… she is his daughter, their daughter, and she had every reason to be upset with Regis literally handing away his life, the very life which he was supposed to spend with her. Both Regis and Rael betrayed her. Her fathers, her daddies, the two of them — both of them — turned their backs on her just like that. Yet Arya could not bring this up to either of them. She just can’t. She can’t tell them she’s upset. She did not know how to approach this subject, neither did she have any clue on how to sort out her rampaging questions and feelings. The mere thought of this clutter of a mess makes her feel sick. Her stomach sinks, and her chest aches. A deep, pulsating ache that seems to spread to every corner of her body. When she thinks she has worked up the courage to say it out loud, the clutter lodges in her throat and she loses the ability to speak. She physically can’t say those words. Her muscles tense up, and she starts sweating. She tries to speak those words but nothing comes out despite her moving her mouth. Only an inaudible, croaky cry. And then she’ll tear up. It’s impossible. She just can’t. Arya can’t ask any questions, her one thousand why’s. Why, why, why, why, just… why. Ari knows that Seira is daddy’s family too, and daddy wants to help her and show her his support… but isn’t Ari also daddy’s family? She is his daughter and heir, and she should’ve been his top priority. Was she, in his eyes, not important enough for him to not give away a portion of his lifespan just like that? Did he even think of her when he extracted the soul fragments from himself?? Can he really bear the thought of leaving her behind, before she is ready to face this world by herself??? Does he even care…? These thoughts and questions would continue to torment her for the longest of times. You’d probably ask, why can’t Regis and Rael just read her mind? Well, they certainly tried. They failed. They couldn’t see anything when they attempted to read their distressed daughter’s mind. It probably had something to do with Arya’s defensive mechanism, where she had unconsciously formed some sort of intangible barrier that prevented people from reading her mind.

Regis and Rael did not know how to comfort their daughter, as she just wouldn’t tell them why she’s upset, and they see nothing when they read her mind. All they can do is give her hugs when she asks for them. Especially Regis. Arya would bury her face into his chest and cry for hours. He can only softly stroke her head and give her gentles pats on her back, hoping that it would ease whatever pain his daughter is experiencing. Not a word spoken from either one of them, with Arya’s occasional inaudible mumbles breaking the silence. And Raegyn? He’s completely out of the picture. He hates anything emotional, which includes dealing with the feelings of others, even when it comes to his sister. Raegyn nopes the hell out of their home as soon as Arya gets worked up, so he doesn’t have to pretend to be nice and comfort her. Every single time. Poof and he’s gone, and you can guarantee that you won’t be able to find him until Arya is finished with her business. Though Regis, Rael, and Arya herself are probably too busy to notice Raegyn is missing.

Arya’s impeding grief shouldn’t be taken lightly. All bottled up along with her grief is her anger, sadness and confusion. It will accumulate, and might as well kill her one day. All that energy has to be released somewhere right? Telling her family isn’t an option because she simply can’t. Her friends and acquaintances… they might react negatively. She can’t say for sure, but she is hesitant about opening up to them about this sensitive subject. And great-grandfather Gejutel is too busy, who knows if he’ll even care. And all the other adults aren’t trustworthy enough in Arya’s eyes. There was no one she could go to. Arya was alone. Arya was desperate. She once was the happiest girl on the planet. She had loving parents, and a nice big brother. There was nothing else she wished for. She only wanted life to stay as it is, with Regis as the center of her world. Regis, Regis, Regis. Her number one. And now he’s dying, by his own choice, albeit indirectly. He had about less than two thousand years left. Even then two thousand years by itself is a long time. Not for Arya. She could spend all eternity with Regis if she could. If Regis didn’t extract two more fragments from himself, he would have had around eight thousand years left. There’s nothing Regis can do, there’s nothing anyone can do. There’s nothing Arya can do. She’d give up part of her own lifespan and transfer it to her father if she could, if that means getting to spent more time with him, but that is impossible. Even if she could, she just knows Regis would never let one of his own children cut their lifespan short just so he could live for longer. It should be the other way, if any. Ugh. Regis is too kind and too generous for his own good. There was nothing left for Arya to do, except to accept the truth and deal with it. But Arya didn’t want to. There has to be another way. She felt cornered. And then she snapped.

The first obvious change was Arya’s newfound apathy regarding her clan. Arya completely lost interest in the Landegres. She stopped caring about her status as future Clan Leader. Clan duties, managing her future clan members, paperwork, leadership training… none of that mattered to her anymore. At first she only had occasional absences. Those grew into frequent absences, and in the end she skipped her lessons altogether. She just stopped showing up. She was never genuinely interested in these things to start with. She made herself sit through all that boring, repetitive nonsense for Regis’ sake, and if her daddy isn’t going to be around for much longer, then she doesn’t want to partake in this anymore. Arya is determined to just ditch it all. And she isn’t even bad at being future Clan Leader. She is pretty average at most things, but she is a hard worker. Without talent, she makes it up with effort. Now that Regis will be gone soon, none of this means anything to her anymore. We’re talking about almost two centuries of hard work that Arya is ready to abandon. If Regis can choose to leave her behind, then she can choose to leave all of this behind too. Her parents and Lukedonia’s general population are very worried about her sudden change in attitude, but all they could do is to hold their breath and hope that the passionate Arya would come back one day.

The second, and perhaps even worse than the first, is Arya turning towards causing trouble for the sake of trouble. Arya is already naturally prone to recklessness and impulsivity thanks to getting those personality traits from Rael. All these years she’s been trying her best to control herself, albeit with limited degrees of success. The point is at least she tried. Now take that, and actually give Arya a reason to not work hard to behave herself anymore. From her perspective, she is justified to do as she pleases because Regis betrayed her trust. The world betrayed her trust. Her acting out and being a menace made sense. She’s just responding accordingly. Yeah. Exactly that. Lukedonia can’t complain, no one can complain, because they gave her no choice. They forced her into this, and now they have to deal with her whether they like it or not. If they can’t handle her, it’s not her problem.

And I would like to mention a key difference between Raegyn and Arya. It is one that defines them and sets them apart, and that is the gap between their maximum capacity and potential when it comes their character. Raegyn is the outlier. His intelligence, flexibility, and social skills are all top tier. He is basically built for success. That’s just what he was born with. You can say he was blessed with everything he needs in this life. Not only is Raegyn academically gifted, he is also extremely smart with people. Raegyn knows how to order around, and his friends targets don’t even know that they’re being manipulated by him. He is also more than smart enough to get away with committing crime and being a real danger, if that is what he wishes to entertain himself with. Except he isn’t interested in that stuff. He has the potential to be dangerous, but he isn’t.

This is where Arya comes in. Arya is average. She is average compared to Raegyn, and she is average by herself. Her intelligence? Average. Her social skills? Average. Her fighting prowess? Better than most of Lukedonia, but when compared to her fellow future Clan Leaders, average. Arya is simply… average. She wasn’t spectacular at anything, nor was she severely lacking. She simply was. And depending on how you look at things, this could be both good and bad. In Arya’s case, it’s definitely bad. Why? Because now Arya wants to wreak havoc just because. Except she isn’t nearly as smart as she needs to be to execute it in the way that would keep herself out of trouble. Combine that with her impulsivity, and what you get is an unpredictable, unstable person who is reckless enough to get herself into trouble but isn’t smart enough to get herself out of it. Arya is also bossy like Rael. She likes to control people, except unlike Raegyn, she isn’t smart enough to know how to order around. If Raegyn uses brains, then Arya uses force. Raegyn gains control over people by being smart. Arya isn’t capable of mimicking even just a fraction of that. That is why Raegyn is popular while Arya has a debatable reputation among her people. And just like Rael, Arya isn’t the best at dealing with being told “no” by others. Yiiiiikes.

And here’s the deal. Arya is average. We know that. Is Arya aware? Perhaps. She isn’t dumb enough to not know that she is in fact average. She knows what her limits are. Does knowing that stop her from being a menace? No. Arya doesn’t care. Who cares if she isn’t smart enough. If she wants to cause trouble, then she will cause trouble. Consequences are for later. They do not concern her. Nothing is going to stop her, and nothing can stop her. The stubbornness she got from Regis is certainly running its gears here, for the worst.

What exactly does Arya do? The list could go on forever. A few of her more “notable” and favorite crimes to commit include arson, blackmail, bribery, forgery, theft, and vandalism. Out of those, arson, theft, and vandalism stand out the most.

Arson. Arya needed to let out all that bottled up anger, and she turned to setting things on fire. It didn’t involved anyone else, and she could do it without other people noticing. If she’s going to turn to crime, then she can start with something “simple” and ease her way into bigger, more satisfying ordeals. That’s why the very first spell Arya masters is an ignition spell. The Landegres aren’t a magic aligned clan, but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t learn a few spells. It first started with smaller things that didn’t matter as much. Pages from her notebook, a childhood toy, old clothes, things that are going to the trash anyway, etc. Items she wouldn’t miss, that no one would miss. How cathartic. It didn’t numb her pain of Regis’ impeding passing, but it was better than nothing. She could imagine that she is watching the world burn. And when she got comfortable with burning smaller items, she moved onto bigger items. Burning less important items no longer gave her the satisfaction she needed. So she looked for more. A couch. A closet. A statue. An abandoned cabin. A small patch of forest in the Loyard territory. It goes exactly where you think. Things spiraled out of control. And the thing is Arya only bothered to learn an ignition spell, and not a counter-spell for it. Arya had to cry for help because she realized that the entire forest will burn down soon if no one intervened. The nobles who responded were able to put out the fire just in time before it reached the Loyard manor. And Arya? She was punished for it. Her Clan Leader issued the punishment himself. But she was still a juvenile, so she didn’t get what she arguably deserved, which is a punishment befitting of her crime if she were an adult. Will this stop Arya from committing more arson? No.

Theft. Arya also began to steal. At first it started with sneaking less valuable items out of people’s pockets. Things people wouldn’t immediately realize have disappeared, and by the time they wanted to looked for them, they were long gone. All in Arya’s possession. And, you guessed it, stealing smaller items was no longer enough for Arya. Then Arya moved onto stealing bigger things. She targeted items that potentially had high sentimental value. We’re talking diaries, jewelry, lockets, portraits, even old cooking pans. The mere thought of people breaking down and panicking over lost items was amusing to her. Sweet sweet. Of course the pain they would feel is not nearly enough to compare to what she has to go through when it comes to her dying daddy, but it’s better than nothing. They better cry. Be in pain, just like her. If she couldn’t be happy, then none of them should. Just like with Arya’s arson crimes, her stealing things got out of hand real quick and soon Arya was breaking into various clans’ treasuries and smuggling important statues and sculptures out of there and into her home. Except Arya isn’t exactly smart, like I mentioned earlier. She’s not at all an expert it comes to covering her tracks, and on her second break-in attempt in the Blerster territory, she got caught in the act by none other than Karias Blerster himself. Karias handed Arya to Regis and he had to punish her again. When he searched her room, they found many, many other stolen items and Regis made sure to make her return them to their respective owners before he grounded her. Again, like before, is this going to stop Arya from committing theft again? Haha, no.

Vandalism. At this point Arya didn’t even bother to be discreet anymore. If she’s not smart enough to get away with anything she does, then she might as well stop all attempt to cover her tracks. Committing crime was her outlet, and she needed it. No one was going to take that away from her. Hell, if she can’t give up committing crime as her primary coping mechanism, then she’s just going to accept that that’s her new life. She might even be petty enough to announce that she is behind whatever chaotic shit is going on. Smashed a window? She would smear “Arya was here” on the walls with her blood. Sabotaged a garden full of herbs and other important plants? She would rearrange the uprooted and trampled plants to spell “Haha losers” for garden’s owner to witness. Destroyed part of a building? She would stand on the roof and laugh and laugh and laugh, and scream “come catch me you suckers!”as she waves her arms around. Again, Regis would be the one to punish her. He doesn’t understand why Arya suddenly turned to delinquency. Does she really enjoy being a criminal? Is this Arya’s true nature…? Neither Regis nor Rael know that Arya is simply doing this to cope with Regis’ shortened lifespan. They are not aware of the fact that this is her coping mechanism. It isn’t a justified one, for sure, but still. They do not know her true motives, and she seems to be reluctant when questioned.

In no time, Arya became notorious for being criminal. Moods were ruined and atmospheres were spoiled as soon as her name was brought up. A rumor began to circulate, one that said that if you said Arya’s name, your home would light up in flames. There was a collective sentiment among the nobles where they all agreed that they couldn’t wait for Arya to come of age so she can be tried as an adult.

Raegyn is rather unhappy with his younger sister’s… newfound hobbies. She is indirectly affecting his social life because now people just want to ask about his “delinquent sister”. That’s all they want to talk about. Dammit, it’s not his fault his sister has a “underdeveloped prefrontal cortex”, as he puts it. Thankfully he is rational enough to not say that out loud. Arya doesn’t need to know.

And Regis? Regis tries everything he can to correct and put Arya’s behavior to a permanent stop. And he fails spectacularly. He tried being nice with the gentle approach. He also tried the stern and authoritarian approach. Him questioning Arya would usually result in two endings, with Arya either pretending she can’t hear him and covering her ears and singing lalala, or she’ll burst into tears and sob uncontrollably. Regis could tell that those tears were genuine, but he just couldn’t get Arya to talk. Her confessing to the motives behind her crimes wouldn’t lighten her punishments, but at least Regis could have an answer as to why she is acting like this. In the end, nothing works. Regis seems to begin to lose hope in his daughter. His patience and faith in Arya started to wane. As much as Regis still loves her, he couldn’t recognize his little girl anymore. Regis is heartbroken.

Things aren’t any better for Rael. Remember when I said that Rael is the parent who spoils Arya? Well, things took an even worse turn. Arya started to bring up Rael during verbal interrogations. She ran out of excuses to bullshit, and then… she recalls stories about Rael being a former criminal, like him blowing up a portion of the castle when Seira rejected his proposal. Aha. The perfect excuse. She can just say she’s just like Rael. Can’t help it, it’s in her blood. What can she do, she’s her Kertia daddy’s daughter. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Something like that. He can soften the blow for her. And then Rael inevitably gets roped into dealing with Arya’s destructive behaviors. Of course Arya is the perpetrator, and Rael is not part of it. But still, he does have some things from his old days on his criminal record, so… to say that people have zero suspicions, would be a lie. Surely he knows better than to prompt his daughter to indulge in crime for funsies. But who knows? Rael had to clear the common suspicions by punishing his little girl himself. Usually, he is not the one to issue her punishments as Arya is a Landegre and he is a Kertia, which leaves Regis as the ultimate decision maker. And Lord Raskreia too, but only if Arya’s crimes escalates to that level, which Rael hopes will never come true. In addition, Rael has a soft spot for Arya and her words aren’t complete nonsense. After all, he did blow things up because Seira rejected him, but he has learned from his mistakes and he’s a better person now, right…? Nevertheless, Rael is hurt by Arya doing this to him. At the same time, he also felt sorry for her, because it is true that she inherited certain traits from him, and it is partially his fault for spoiling her too much in her early days.

Arya wasn’t only a criminal. She was also a bully. And the targets of her actions? Her Loyard half-siblings. That’s right. Garyth and Alethea. Yup. The ones who stole Regis’ time from her, the time she is rightfully entitled to, and the very causes of his shortened lifespan. If Arya couldn’t blame Regis, she figured she could blame them instead. Just think about it. They’re younger than her, they’re weaker than her, and she is their older sister by blood. By that logic, they had to listen to her, right? Arya probably thinks she’s so smart for figuring that out.

To Arya, Garyth and Alethea are indebted her. They belong to her. Everything they’ve ever been, and everything they’ll ever be, they owed to her. If it weren’t for her father, her Regis, they wouldn’t even exist here. Even if they didn’t ask to exist, they are still indebted to her. Thanks to them, Arya doesn’t have much time left with her daddy dearest. First and foremost, he’s her father, they share the same surname, she should be his top priority! Except in Arya’s eyes, she wasn’t that to Regis. And to her, the Loyard siblings are living proof of that sentiment. They are just as guilty as him. Arya’s total obsession with Regis, and her wanting to have him all to herself, is driving her insane. She loves him as much as she is obsessed with him. And the truth is Arya doesn’t really have a reason to be mean to her Loyard siblings. They’re nice, well-behaved kids. They’re polite, and try to be patient around their elder half-sister.

But it didn’t matter. If Regis isn’t going to be around for much longer, then these two will love her in Regis’ place. If they don’t love her, then she will make them love her, even if that means doing so by using force. Arya bossed them around, and made them listen to her every request. They were her little workers basically. This led to a very unhappy Garyth. The Kertia bloodline is just terrible. His elder half-sister’s father Rael harassed his mother Seira, and now Arya herself is here harassing him! It runs in the family. It has to be. This just further cements little Garyth’s already boiling hatred for Rael’s guts. (Will explain this a bit more in Garyth’s own post) Meanwhile little Alethea is fine with being bossed around. She doesn’t really know what to do with her life anyway, so rather than coming up with her ideas, she could just listen to Arya. (Also explaining more in Alethea’s own post) Due to Alethea’s nature of not really having her own opinion on things, she often gets lugged around by Arya. Yes, this includes Arya’s criminal activities. Arya doesn’t fully explain things to Alethea and purposely leaves out details so Alethea would join in on her… adventures. Which is why poor Alethea is often seen following Arya as the latter’s unwitting accomplice.

Fortunately, the adults know better than to accuse Alethea along with Arya because they just know that Arya is the mastermind and Alethea simply got tricked into being a part of her shenanigans. At one point Arya got the equivalent of a restraining order and she wasn’t allowed to be within a five hundred meter radius of Alethea, until she made a written promise that she wouldn’t trick Alethea into doing illegal things again.

Ultimately, Arya’s destructive behavior is unsustainable. When she got out of being grounded, she would just commit crime again. Soon, her 200th birthday approached, and she could not do as she pleased anymore. If she were to commit the same crimes she had before, she would be tried as an adult and punishments would be much more severe, and she would have to deal with real consequences.

One faithful day, Arya was snooping around Regis’ office and she overheard a conversation between him and Rael. Regis was stressed. There was plenty of silence. And then she heard crying. It came from Regis. For all her life, she had never seen her father cry. And then it hit her. Regis weeped, and talked about how scared he is for Arya. He wasn’t angry; he wasn’t disappointed. He was scared. He didn’t know what Arya was capable of, and now that her birthday is nearing, she would get into serious trouble and he would no longer be able to save her. Her approaching coming-of-age was not one of joy nor celebration; it was one of fear. Pure fear. And then Regis started to sob. His biggest fear is having to watch Arya get executed if she really goes beyond the point of no return. Finally. The long needed moment of awakening for Arya. Her acts of rebellion wasn’t helping anyone, and it hurt her loved ones more than anyone else. Most of all, it hurt Regis. Her Regis. She needs to stop, for her own sake, and for everyone else’s sake.

Arya didn’t say anything, and quietly left before she could listen to the rest of her parents’ conversation. She stayed silent for the longest duration of time. And… she came clean to her parents. This took her parents by surprise, as they initially thought that was some prank. But she was serious. Arya walked into the center of the room, kneeled, and apologized to her parents. No tantrums, no whining, no bargaining. It was a deep, sincere apology. A heartfelt apology for everything she had done, and the worries she had caused. Arya also promised to never do those things again, and that she will make up to everyone she has wronged. Regis and Rael were moved. They could feel her sincerity, and Regis simply walked over slowly and kneeled down to Arya’s level and hugged her while rocking her gently. Just the two of them on the floor, both on their knees, in a deep embrace. One that they haven’t shared since Arya’s early teen years. Then Rael joined in, and the three of them couldn’t hold back their tears anymore, and they all sobbed together. It was messy. A good mess. Repentance leads to reconciliation, which leads to the start of a new beginning.

Arya first started by apologizing to everyone she has wronged in both writing and in person. She wrote to them first, because she wasn’t sure if they would even want to see her. After she got permission, she then went to them in person and knelt and apologized for her wrongdoings. And this went on for a long time just because of the sheer number of people she had offended. It was a long list. Arya is not going to come up with excuses this time. She is going to go through all of them, as she should. Or, the ones who are willing to accept an apology from her. Some did not want to see her, even for an apology. Many of them did not respond to her letters. Some of them even replied and basically told her to screw off and to never show her face in front of them again. This made sense. Reconciliation required the effort of both perpetrator and victim to happen, and some of her victims just weren’t having it. That is the hard truth Arya has to accept and live with. For those who did accept Arya’s apologies, they genuinely forgave her. With time, wounds healed, and Arya was ready to be back as a functional member of society. It took her a while to be able to lift her head around people again, but they accepted her back, and what position is she in to reject their kindness?

Garyth and Alethea forgave Arya too. Well, Alethea never held a grudge against Arya in the first place, Garyth just told her that she should be mad at their half-sister for manipulating them. It took a much longer time for Garyth to forgive Arya, but eventually he was able to find peace with her and move on from the past. Though, sometimes he still has a hard time looking at her face. She was a bully, even if she tries her hardest to make up to them now.

What about Arya’s duties? Well, Arya picked up her responsibilities as future Clan Leader once more. She had been neglecting them for the entire duration of her delinquency, and now she’s back at it, as she should. In fact, she’s working harder than ever before. And she’s also intensely training herself in spars. Her aim is to succeed Regis as Clan Leader as soon as possible, so he can be free to enjoy the rest of his remaining lifespan without being so busy with work and duties.

Arya’s stepping back into the light doesn’t mean that her issues have disappeared completely. In fact, they’re very much still there. The grief was real. The sadness was real. It’s a wound that will never heal in Arya’s heart, and it stings every time she thinks about her daddy dying. It’s just that her conscience has won for once and all, and she isn’t going to let the bad side of her personality to take over her anymore. She can keep it in. She has to. So what’s her new coping mechanism for her grief? Three… two… one… yep, ya guessed it. Acting like she’s happy. Too happy. Her fake cheerful personality that she puts on to trick Regis into thinking she is having a good time. The overly enthusiastic Arya who is cringy and spontaneous, but fun. She doesn’t want Regis to worry about her anymore, and wants him to be able to eventually pass knowing that she is happy and fulfilled. Yeahhhh, it’s coming together in a full circle! Woo! Is this a better alternative to her previous coping mechanism of being a delinquent? It’s debatable. Maybe this is just as unhealthy. Maybe even unhealthier. But for now… this’ll do. She has no other choice. She’ll keep up this fake cheerful persona for as long as she can. Until she breaks down again.

(Note that Arya still hasn’t told her parents that she is troubled with Regis’ impeding death. Nobody knows. They know she will never fall into crime again, but still don’t have any clue about why she was like that in first place.)

Well, the good news is, eventually Arya is able to communicate with her parents about her true thoughts a feelings. It does take a long time, and that is for a separate post. Yeeee saving that for later hehe. I will explain Arya’s relationship with her girlfriend Susanna in a separate post too!

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for the next long character post!

See you again!

[strawbrygashez]

A few Caldre hcs where one of them is a CHICK 🐣 to make it easier, fem Cal= Callie & fem Andre=Avery

Andre and Callie

•I’m gonna be honest, I think if Andre was with a girl, he’d say a good amount of misogynistic things 💀 it comes from his father and just the shitty guys he’s inspired by or grew up around. He thinks it makes him so cool and sigma but at the end of the day Callie can read thru all his bullshit. He makes all these jokes about how Callie should just let him do all the hard work and whatnot since she’s a girl after all and all this junk but as soon as she holds his hand, he’s a blushing mess. She’d tease him about how he talks all this big game but is a pussy when it comes to her touching or flirting with him.

•I think he’d be even more so possessive in this au (or whatever) cuz he feels like he can be way more open about letting others know he’s the only one who can have her (since u know.. it’s not gay). If someone’s flirting with her he’s ready to beat the fuck out of them then and there even if she tells him it’s fine and that whoever’s flirting with her is a loser anyways.

If Andre isn’t allowed to fight whoever it was flirting, he’s pouting and she has to reassure him she can’t be stolen from him. It especially helps him calm down if she’s running her fingers thru his hair w/ his head on her thigh.. (yep. Andre is truly so sigma alpha leader male here 😈 women are so emotional right andre???)

•I think hed appreciate b00bs and ass but is more of an ass guy.. so he randomly slaps hers when they are alone wherever 💀 which ends up with her tossing whatever is closest to her at him half heartedly.

•WOULD HAVE TAKEN HER TO PROM!!!! They would have had so much fun.. I can see Callie dressed up as Carrie with fake blood just for fun. Andre is in a normal prom suit but covered in fake blood too. They r forever known as the freaky couple <3 they’d look so happy in all their prom photos.

Cal and Avery

•I’m getting this out of the way. Cal loves boobs. Avery would have a great pair. He sleeps on them a lot. It flusters Avery a ton but she loves being able to hold him so she allows it.

•Cal would be her first boyfriend!! So she has a lot of firsts with Cal. First date, first kiss, etc.

•Avery is obsessed with the army like Andre is so Cal will say stuff like “Yes ma’am!!” after she orders him to do something. Part of her wants to tell him to shut up because it’s embarrassing hearing him yell that especially in public but the other half of her absolutely loves it.

•While Andre would be the type to fight other guys if they were flirting with Callie or making her uncomfortable, Cal goes full on crazy and threatens them with knives and leaves them notes filled with things that makes them forever stop talking to Avery. Most of the time, Avery wouldn’t even ever find out something happened after she told Cal some guy was bothering her.

•While Andre has lowkey misogynistic views, Cal is the complete opposite to the point where it can even be kinda cringy. He’ll like half jokingly go on a women empowerment speech until Avery interrupts him and tells him to shut up and that he just says all that because he wants to be overpowered by a chick 💀

[toinfinitywinning]

this is get to know you time. the cringy name game at every camp in the world you do with toilet paper. enough.

Conversations and thoughts resembling the same level of random and incongruence of my Apple Music library. like Josh Groban is to Eminem: Mercy Me. a lot about everything that’s not a hashtag bc it just needs more attention.

Let the first (post) be first:

Hi. I’ve never done this before (like a seriously grown up blog on purpose. Just when just followed sad somewhat desperate poetry with a random live-laugh-love meme in there somewhere.) and Pitch Perfect.

BUT.

For 2 years I’ve had Long-Haul COVID. It’s a different kind of lonely

Thanks so much, amirite? —Gen-Z apologies if I didn’t use that jumbled acronym-word correctly.

It’s hard to keep up.

See? What am I talking about now and how did I get there…

Due to a very common symptom of LHC…

Again—hard to keep up. It’s there. Tho

And I have a lot of quirk so it’s possible I think you’ll “get” but are just nice not to tell me

BUT.

It’s already gone. Train left the Station yesterday.

Slipped on a penny.

Not Good. not even funny.

Teens with the gorgeous graffiti have to Go elsewhere. I’ve always been jealous of that kind talent.

Whole lot better than something else shiny thrown on the track and it’s derailed. There’s at least some innocence in a paint can.

WOW.

I have major attention and Brain Fog hurdles to conquer or shortly bypass. You might not be able to tell b/c of how My writing jumps around so infrequently.

Not true but still easier.

Mostly innocent and playful.

Sadly the attention part is this many years young.

Writing comes naturally. As it always has, strangely...

And why is healing so exhausting? Writing is therapeutic but My body says—can you not?

i know im not the only one asking that!

As if I have time for that too.

find a community of people suffering just as similarly and gain strength, tips and tricks.

Just, speak-screen edit my writing for me. Maybe a clarification fact-✔.

Just not wherever Tr*mp gets his.

Could be Truth Social. Monthly fee tho will cost you your Red Hat.

MYGAbad

Speaking I struggle with processing w/e skills I must have held onto.

BUT.

Since 2 years is quite. some. time.—I’ve shared many struggles and victories.

Like a Bell curve. Or a punk Domino falling then lining them up takes longer just to go down again in half the time. Repeat.

It’s very likely I Will try to talk about many things at once.

I really can’t help that. LOL.

Jury’s still out but I get most of my writing and miscellaneous musings from mom.

Dad can write the best, longest, and precious prayers and notes.

Almost delicately but like you KNOW he’s giving you a hug.

A Good mix tape’s paper Version.

Enter Run on sentences. Truly a stream by now.

Although my brain muscle is weak I’ve been encouraged by several people to Start a blog. Someday I’ll include the past 2 years of w/e pics are on other SocMed.

I can’t think of anything worse.

Yea, okay LOL.

Judgment free. Occasionally… like normal doses then have to work through that.

Mostly that’s because I knew nothing about anything before I opened My computer and started sharing My thoughts under zero context ridden or form at all.

More likely as well to offend and piss someone off. Well done you’re now one less friend popular. There’s an App for that tho-tracking people Who don’t like you.

Not sure where I’ll land with this. It may not land you either.

Because like a lot of us. Sometimes you don’t get to talk actually. No Room.

I like routine; that’s out. So it gets dull.

I’ve learned I hadn’t yet given myself the space to see all of things I can do sitting down.

But. By “given” I mean to say that perhaps I didn’t know it was there.

One Good thing I’ve gathered from this Hell.

Hell fresh by the Day! Never frozen.

So at that time and in this case of my life; sitting is fine.

Some of it isn’t too bad. The writing. You will find questionable punctuation. Run on sentences that I was running.

Relevance at all.

All around Confusion…altho connect the dots could have been seen as practice.

Or annoying even. I’d have no words.

I truly don’t set out to be funny. I could never do stand-up or improv. Or act.

Humor forced just takes and receives too much energy that might come off insincere.

Nothing on command.

Like Matt Perry’s brilliant improv wit it just doesn’t hit the same.

B/c it was scripted.

A syllabus for it Imagine.

The horn to jump off the swim block.

It’s when Life feels more scripted a lot of people close up.

That’s because you’re not in charge anymore. I’ve lost the Power.

Don’t prefer caring about whether someone likes me like I used to.

I believe you can snooze me for 30 days or say ‘I’m done w/ her’ and send Me to the cyberarchives.

Okay. Okay.

So—90% of the time I’m witty and sarcastic with a bit of cynicism, discomfort (for you), and pettifogging.

I write primarily about the questions of intersectionality.

How do things fit.

Let’s Fit it.

Until I figured out physics and calculus and basic math were behind a career in architecture and the classes I would have to take, I enjoyed taking things apart to make something else.

Not always pretty.

Could be Good what I took apart was the best thing we can’t see.

Like I’m writing questions but with wisdom not meaning to do that either,

A lot of people don’t like that. You do you! Baby.

I don’t mean to be at all harsh or hurtful. I try not to say that anything vainly.

I say it b/c a lot of what I’m writing is all of every piece of stream of consciousness tallied.

And it was a synapse connecting another.

Maybe that’s the creative part? The other side of My Brain is telling Me to ✔ on the other side so I’m like…crickets.

What I write is stream of consciousness, brutally honest and to some might be lightly offensive. In College writing this Way would’ve absolutely driven Me crazy.

Then life steps in and bonks u on the head with a newspaper but 15 years later returns the favor with an iPhone.

Or too blunt. And comes across as harsh. And that’s mostly because if I don’t have an emoji to match my real-life broken ღ I’m breaking up with you.

Self reflection: impulsive

I used to journal so much growing up.

When did I lose that innocence?

We can’t talk about folding paper into cranes and witchcraft finger fortune games anymore?

No more MASH?

Huh, maybe you weren’t born this Way. Ur Parents just drew circles nearest each other or your apple stem twist broke too soon and you want a partner whose name starts with P.

Very often I overshare. If you’re reading this this is not brand new information. No ability to say things simply. Think I’ve already. That can put me really vulnerable to more bitcoin hacks.

And then you need to figure out what bitcoin is. And whether Mario can collect coins as well in place of the hackers.

I’d say ask Tom Brady b/c of his investments but since retirement he’s been pretty deflated.

Mean people that mean to hurt.

First of all I feel sorry for you. Not in a poor you tho.

People Who hurt on purpose don’t often have any Way to vent or get a rise other than evoke feelings in and deflect toward a schoolmate.

Skip back to the part I tried talking about vulnerability. It truly is the invisible cloak and no one can see you but nothing makes sense still and you’ve only fixed what’s on the outside. Now you’re peeved AND cloaked.

At this conjunction junction next I’d suggest try shopping at Target opposed to Abercrombie then.

Feet in the water right above bankruptcy to see how things could be different only what…if?

Good ♧ seriously.

So there’s more grace given when you fall. When it’s not your month Day or even year!

Nobody is there for you!!

And My cloak is getting rained on.

Maybe gathering strength from falling will come a common sense with a 6th one but with seriously meaningful things I’ve learned and less hard knock’s Life for us.

The hard Way.

The bottom’s still there and it actually stinks stinks. Discouraging b/c there are two sides to the bottom of the cave full of stalagTITES and mites.

All the up’s and down’s. Right there. And the COVID-19 bat OMG!

You know you may not be able to fall any further further but once you’re up again you’re wondering whether you should get some cement to close that thing off.

Choose to live! But welcome to the real world—it sucks—ur gonna Love it.

Almost 4got. In the cave you dont always have to wait for Jesus to be resurrected if that metaphor comforts you but if change comes and it requires a whole new worm can of Life we already can’t handle that gets us outta the dank I don’t think we need to ask permission to the rights of that Bible passage.

BUT.

Until YOU are ready for change...

Forget it. At least you meant well. Someone can guide that horse to water but it stays pretty hydrated, so he says he’s Good. Promise. The only talking animal and it was Me Who got to hear it. More importantly, who’s gonna ☊? Care? There’s a country song finding out Who your Friends are. A lot stay lost and it’s not helpful all our Friends aren’t the same.

Missing a Good chance to find out if you’re in a similar predicament and that not always a bad thing.

At times I have literally had to be lifted off the floor.

I don’t do this at all for pity. As you read, My Pride is the biggest obstacle to let Go.

When you do?

The hard way through this.

I am angry and irritable for bouts. Sometimes I’m silly and invite karma punishments.

Go all Brimstone and every type fire and the Old Testament has nothing New-thinking and no one new to add to it. SMH. Nail a list on the wooden church door reading it is nearing endgame. Or, Just open your hotel drawer and tear out the back half.

So change then— If it were Me and it has been just not an actual hole I’d be outta there due to the spiders and crickets alone. Jiminy’s Cool.

If u can’t change and just stay a novice bunny hill—fine! Stay there. Build some confidence through experience.

And isn’t that another thing? Something specific motivates the fire under your (cuckoo!) and before you’d see the dark without any End of the tunnel and more importantly with the light aspect. All the sudden you care b/c what? It applies to you of course be selfish. Fascinating yet humbling.

Then there’s the ‘Why Me’ (?) phase? Not fully pitiful but just pretentious enough to resume the trailblaze. Bad attitude with a healthy dose of are we there yet and trying to Balance whether someone is saying …’they get it; you always feel bad’ so…KY Basketball banter? Ashamed accompanies too bc thing is a few times I did kind of scoff at phrases like I always feel bad. Like, here’s 2 Extra strength Tylenol.Alright, Ok, come test for Covid 1/29/22. It shouldn’t take going through something to empathize with or change but you could’ve listened for longer with a clear mind. Just cannot wrap your head around it and I think sometimes that’s okay. What’s next I’ll try so hard.

+ It’s 12:01am of 1/29/24 (so last night), you still can’t do math and/or struggle to add or subtract 12 so aren’t entirely sure its your sophomore year orientation, and you already surrender to what you didn’t want to get up for in the first place. Kind of silly u set the alarm! B/c Pain, confusion, Discomfort and a Deep loneliness that has very little to do with people awaits. That whole scenario is a disaster but look who’s standing and GOT. UP. period. 15 years ago that’s where I’d be. Just defeated.

THAT. Is enough some days. I say that to you struggling to believe the same but know Deep down.

Year 2 longhaul and youre wondering why there are anniversaries at all given about half are always sad or tragic. Evoking the worst on what could be the best. Might be something To think 2 minutes ago you’d ended your prayer to have a better Day. Of anything is true about everything happens for a reason I’d say having to chooose how to respond given you have the privilege at all to that just means were normal. B/c ill be honest I would not

I’m angry. WHAT is so complicated about your lack of Faith or belief prayer must go into an encrypted iCloud even the FBI can’t retrieve or interpret. Never had a chance! But I’ll add that it’s worth noting prayer doesn’t deal with its existence in transaction currencies..

Feel less Pain but feel more with it or stronger now. Or, just plain ‘ol numb. Similar to Addiction I suppose people get so used to being healthy one Way or another they don’t even notice better OR worse and no one is getting married.

Truth is.

Yea.

I’m in Hell, but I’m not on a ventilator. I’m not without relentless Support.

I still can smile but laugh just a bit before it hurts.

Something is always worse.

SomeONE is doing worse.

Somewhere and definitely rn.

I never knew I’d be dealing greed of perspective for this Long.

Something you’ll never find out about that changed your life’s trajectory where an explanation would have only confused things.

Then we still have the chance to be astonished and then genuine bc of that. Thankful. Expectant. With Faith somehow. Maybe carrying someone else’s Hope for a while might burden you less for a short time.

You dont need to see eye struggle and suffering. You dont need examples. You just know. There’s a fleeting peace u might not see again for 2 days but in knowing it’s not just you with the same bs going on.

Like here. Here is someone who needs support but in a different Way but how unique it could be to trade just for a bit. It’s not leg day this time remember u agreed a temp trade.

We don’t have to know everything. Most of the time I don’t give God the time to keep up w/ Me let alone do anything miraculous before I just hang up.

Although My Life was headed in a completely renewed direction in so many ways of recovery—

I got sick. Not because it was meant to be.

Because COVID. Possibly a rabid bat. Cracked vile or petri-dish

Everything does not happen for a reason and ppl dont like hearing that bc its an easy out. Says time might go on but this thorn wont ever heal. How do we respond? that’s the most authentic and a strength yes or no wand.

I hate cliché. Thing is tho…I think we all hate it b/c it doesn’t hold us accountable. Eh it’s fine.

Unfortunately we wouldn’t have the pretty, surprise, one of the Walk to Remember walks. All up to the of healing and forgiveness individual to each of us.

If for Me that means ive healed all I can and I’m counting on research to help Me out some more maybe I just keep going. Trust Me nothing is forgotten but you do know now that at least you were strong and capable enough to figure all that at all. And—I can do that. Some days aren’t that kind.

Maybe it becomes a goal we never anticipated but ✔ your resilience at the ticket line and saddle up, honey.this donkey only holds ____ lbs. let some things Go. That thing will still only walk in a circle but you’ve evenly distributed your baggage.

The feeling of pure joy. Which btw does still require a thesaurus b/c it is NOT the same as joy. Like a preventative Med to an acute one.

Then feel Accomplishment.

Not knowing what’s next but trying to be prepared.

It’s a surprise party we never RSVP’d and don’t regret it.

And it’s a Good thing u got outbid for that yacht.

Hell, tho, you won’t be forgotten but pushing helps the donkey move faster for now that is acceptable.

Unshun. Reshun. (This will make sense if you Watch the Office)

Flee fly. Be gone. Thankfully we hope to come out more resilient after the rip and tear and often not fully repaired sewing lessons.

But perhaps the biggest trait I’ve had to work on is My Pride. I want to do it.

I’ll give myself 3 strikes. 4 balls.

Then I walk to First.

Please do not get Me a gift.

I Love you and that was so sweet.

Would I be as generous?

Do u work, yea. It’s just one really hurts more and being tough isn’t tough at all if it’s not helping the worst hurt.

Those are sitting down, timeout thoughts.

The compression socks need to breathe.

But once the Pride slides over, let go, I get to know how it feels to very tangibly be taken care of and watched over.

Patience. The other side of a rant.

Later on that.

My main goal is to learn. Connect. Be called out if something comes off really tasteless.

Laugh at things that don’t have anything to do with being chronically sick. Laugh about what Medicine u had to administer and royally failed.

Sometimes all coupled with a handicap car-tag. No crutches either b/c I don’t like hearing I Will get better. It is a nice statement but it is impossible to be sure. Ive struggled with that b/c I know everyone believes that and means well I’ve just taken prior sick Gentry’s generalization and multiplied.

I am not making light. I think part of me is using the sarcasm as a coping mechanism.

Praise God there is something that does help the pain or at least distract from that Pain just not the one in your legs.

A codependency just a bit less severe. Embarrassing. Reason for judgment. Too easy.

If you can believe it—-I am not the same person I was 2 years ago.

For now I truly don’t know how. Pain can leave, anything traumatic can be worked on. You’ve got your scars.

I actually really think a scar is just unique as a snowflake or fingerprint. Telling so many stories. B/c a scar does mean something has healed. And it never forgets at one time it was painful. I’d prefer to see what I accomplish but I see wonder and beauty in them.

Things get pretty deep, complicated and downright pitifully sad. Vulnerable. Frighteningly true and relevant.

So I take what Good I can get in that day and pray those with LHC (Long-Haul COVID-19)

Be released.

However. On the flip tail’s side.

I’m 35 years aware there are some people who just don’t like me.

Until recently I wouldn’t have meant ‘sorry not sorry.’

I do now. To a respectable extent.

Reader discretion is advised. I promise I never set out to hurt anyone.

definitely not on purpose.

Because. Idgaf. Not bars being held. Que sera, sera.

complete transparency and seriously tho this doesn't mean i dont care. i wear my heart on my sleeve like a ding-dong ready to get hurt.

call it a diversion. we were on a break.

i just might take all of whatever hits wrong and turn that in to whatever ounce of assurance I can with the openness and to the best capability to learn new things and grow with compassion.

And back to writing—may already be just engrained but I don’t ever have a thesis, 3 supporting ideas or a better word then a conclusion.

You might find yourself confused. Reading it again prob won’t help.

Some will be really bad. Ugly. Waste of time. it was at least therapeutic for me.

Already is.

Even more might not make sense.

Read at your own risk, basically.

I have confidence but not really. Just enough not to care to change.

But I think about it. Because I’m wrong a lot.

challenge me. ill try to get through the fog.

But a lot of things have changed. in ways i might not even know Beauty in the Mess.

To sum up the above (sorry, there won’t be another summary after this disclaimer’s commercial intermission.)

I want to be as positive as possible.

Be in control of what I can. Ask for help for what I cannot.

I’m so ready to get My Life back. Trust Me and trust anyone Who tells your theyre in constant pain.

Really embarrassing I used to kind of scoff and be empathetic.

Funny how youre so sure of things.

Until it happens to you.

Suddenly it’s back to the drawing board and humility.

I wear my ღ on my sleeve. My greatest superpower and kryptonite.

What you read is as close to what you get as possible.

Balance can be unfair.

Please know that I care. I try harder than I ever had before. There are things I didn’t even Imagine could happen to someone when sick.

In all the ways I want to come out of this even better than what I envy I was entering into when I got sick.

There will be a WIDE range of thoughts similar to how i write. Mostly Sports and public figures and the politics I can comprehend.

B/c I know there’s someone out there who’s homeless because of this diagnosis. Or was deadly. Fired.

Divorced.

Ive become a bit of a nerd. Childish in some ways b/c you have to be creative…to be creative.

How do I even Start philosophizing that? So I don’t.

So I try My best to be the best I can. Inspire. Elicit laughter and new ways of thinking.

Questions.

Really tho? I just wanna be me.

thank you so sincerly to anything fromn a meme to a gift to a hug a prayer a smile, company, vibes if they can travel

but most of all

for holding hope when ive not been strong enough to.

For better or worse

for loving me.

making me feel heard.

idk what tomorrow holds but if its the same as today ill know at least i can make it and i am still beyond blessed and cared for and loved unconditionally.

even if forever.

wanna feel free, free.

to be me unabandoned.

changed for the better without knowing it.

some people dont have that option.

or even less the resource or safety to write about it.

Lastly mostly—I’m thankful for Insurance and the ability and privilege to work from home. And. Still have a job in general.

A Family and Family reserves holding me.

gentry.gonna.gents/g3

next. and if you made it this far, bless you.

thank you.

you mean more than you know to me. to anyone miscellaneous thanks as well and to my family and extended family and friends and job and insurance.

im in better shape than a lot. perspective sucks in the throes. selfish not selfish but my gosh turn the lights off. each journey is sooo different, but idk find the goodness and inspiration inbtw. There will be a rainbow soon enough, I wont make the bold claim and promise you one tho,

semi lastly and vulnerably, we've all been hurt. all going through something.

I say this every time something really bad happens. Ya know the ‘this is even worse,’ talk.

This one holds every candle.

Funny not funny none are the same and you’re never fully prepared.

and no one knows what it is you’re dealing.

give grace when I can’t sometimes.

cliché’s be damned lets just golden rule it b/c that one’s hard to do too but it sounds cute and Idont see a periodic table saying A! U! Be nice and welcoming.

I know I’ve forgotten something.

So I’ll fight.

But I still get to complain.

Feeling so entitled to this ill.

Sincerely,

Gentry

no ps you're welcome