#I should have went straight to an Ivy League | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anxmone · 29 days ago

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❤️--Heart.m4a (𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔲𝔪)

Word count: 8.4k+ Rating: !Mature (it's 18+ so please MDNI) Pairings: Wooyoung x f!character a/n: Part 2 of Heart.m4a. I finally posted this after many “inchidents” that lead to writers block. I’m also kind of nervous about posting this You can also find it here and tags are present there

Synopsis: How does one try to undo the situation they got themselves into? By "beating them"

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

"Are you sure this is the right place?" "According to the directions Yeosang gave me, yeah. Unlike you, I can read directions." "Haha, very fun—"

San bumped into Wooyoung , who had suddenly stopped. Irritated, San was about to ask what the deal was, until he followed Wooyoung ’s gaze. There, on the horizon, stood Yeosang’s villa—a sprawling estate that looked straight out of a movie or one of those glossy travel magazines people flip through at the grocery store. Breathtaking wasn’t even the word for it.

San and Wooyoung had met Yeosang in college. While San shared most of his classes with Yeosang, it was Wooyoung who ended up growing closer to him. Yeosang had never talked much about his background, at least not until that one night when the three of them were drinking together and it slipped out. Yeosang’s family wasn’t just rich—they were old money rich. The kind of wealth that stretched back generations. Apparently, Yeosang’s dad had been pissed when he didn’t choose an Ivy League school, but Yeosang had wanted something different—a more "normal" university experience. To avoid any assumptions, he decided to keep his family background a secret.

It was Yeosang’s idea for them to spend part of the summer at his father’s villa. He explained that the place was barely used, with only a maid coming by once a week to maintain it in case his dad ever decided to escape the city life—which, according to Yeosang, had only happened a handful of times. San and Wooyoung had agreed to the plan, but it wasn’t meant to last all summer. They would hang out there for a bit, then head back to spend time with their families before returning to college life.

The villa was nestled in a cul-de-sac surrounded by smaller houses, but Yeosang’s father’s estate was easily the largest of the bunch. It looked as if he were the king of the cul-de-sac. The two-story property had a private garage, five bedrooms, and seven bathrooms—though only two were available. One room had been turned into the maid’s quarters, another was Yeosang’s father’s bedroom, and a third had become a glorified storage space due to ongoing renovations. The remaining two rooms were Yeosang’s and the guest room, which conveniently had two beds—clearly, the maid had known there would be guests.

The maid had left the door unlocked, knowing Yeosang would be staying, but when San and Wooyoung arrived, they were the ones marveling at the villa’s opulence. The open-concept design flowed seamlessly from one large lounging area to another, and the kitchen was spacious and fully functional, with wide windows offering views of the beach.

Wooyoung was eager to explore, but something caught his eye through the window. There she was— her.

➽───𝔣𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔪────❥

San was talking to Wooyoung about their summer plans but Wooyoung wasn't listening. His gaze was focused on the person outside-- her. She stood at the beach, fidgeting with the back zipper of her wetsuit, her sun kissed skin slowly getting exposed. Her hair was damp from the salt water so it would get stuck on her neck, Wooyoung also noticed a surfboard planted next to hers and she was greeting an older man also with a surf board in hand. She suddenly turns to the side where Wooyoung was, as if she sensed that someone was looking at her, her expression went from nonchalant to confused-- it was like she wasn't expecting anyone to be watching, not from what it should have been an empty villa.

"Are you listening to me man?" San asked since he noticed that Wooyoung wasn't listening. "Ah--?" It was the only reply Wooyoung could offer, San was a bit annoyed when he nudged over to see what was Wooyoung even looking at when San noticed that the view was empty "What were you even looking at?" San asked but Wooyoung couldn't answer, she probably left.

Yeosang showed up later with car keys and some paperwork, clearly still a little annoyed after another lecture from his dad about “spending the summer wisely.” He suggested heading to the marketplace for food since the villa's kitchen was up and running, something that excited Wooyoung , who had been eager to cook.

Just as they started talking, a figure passed by their open living space.

"Kang Yeosang? Is that you?" A woman’s voice rang out, surprising Wooyoung and San. Yeosang turned, momentarily confused, before recognition hit him.

"It is you! I remember when you were this tall!" she said, gesturing the height of a child. Yeosang, unfazed, walked over and playfully karate-chopped her on the head. "Yeah, and you were just as small. I also remember you crying when the ice cream man didn’t stop here," Yeosang shot back.

Wooyoung glanced at San, both equally baffled by the sudden appearance and playful banter. Who is this? they both wondered silently.

"Why do you sound like that?" Yeosang asked, still annoyed but amused. "Let me live my Malèna fantasy!" she shot back, grinning widely. Yeosang just shook his head and turned to Wooyoung and San. "She’s a childhood friend," he explained, "and no, she’s not married." He turned back to her, rolling his eyes. "And you can’t live your Malèna fantasy because you’re not old enough!"

She laughed, clearly enjoying getting under his skin.

She then introduced herself to Wooyoung and San, explaining that she was studying for an MBA and "lived" next door—though technically, her dad got them stuck in a timeshare deal. "That’s how I met Yeosang and his family. Been neighbors ever since."

Before heading back to her villa, she tossed them an easy invitation. "If you ever want to hang out, just knock."

As she left, Wooyoung just stared at her figure slowly getting farther away from him and now that there's a possible link, he wanted to know more about her, sure it wasn't like love at first sight but his curiosity peaked.

➽───𝔬𝔠𝔠𝔲𝔯𝔰𝔲𝔰────❥

At first, Wooyoung couldn’t sleep. The room he shared with San was stifling, and the heat was unbearable. He slipped out quietly, hoping to catch the cool morning breeze. As he wandered toward the beach, he saw her again—just like the first time. She was talking with the older man who he now know is her surf instructor. Not wanting to seem like a creep, he ducked behind a thick palm tree, hoping she wouldn’t catch him watching, especially after her open invitation to hang out.

The second time, he finally worked up the courage to approach. This time, she wasn’t surfing; she was sitting on a large towel, her surfboard beside her, gazing out at the ocean.

“Are you just going to stand there, or do you want to sit down?” she called out without even turning around. Caught off guard, Wooyoung kicked off his running shoes, and walked through the cold sand towards her. He noticed she wasn't wearing her wet suit, she was wearing a black two-piece swimsuit, a large cardigan draped over her shoulders.

“Good morning,” he said, unsure how to begin now that he was next to her. She finally turned her head to look at him, smiling slightly. “Do you always run in the mornings, or is this new?”

“Sort of,” Wooyoung replied, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m used to waking up early because of college. Trying to stick with the routine.”

“Ah,” she nodded, leaning back on her arms, letting the breeze sweep through her hair. “You and Yeosang go to college together, right? I remember hearing his dad was furious because he wanted Yeosang to go Ivy League. What do you do in college?”

And that’s how it began—a series of quiet rendezvous in the early morning hours, where they would sit together watching the sunrise, talking about everything from school to life’s random details. Some mornings, they sat in comfortable silence, other times they shared stories about their college lives and ambitions. When they didn’t meet at the beach, their conversations continued by the pool that the cul-de-sac shared. She would lounge on a chair, wrapped in her cardigan, while Wooyoung floated lazily in the water nearby, drawn to her warmth and the easy flow of their chats.

Their growing closeness didn’t go unnoticed by San, who had begun to watch from a distance, curiosity and perhaps something deeper pulling him toward her as well.

๋࣭ 𖤐 ‧₊💿˚ ⋅

“I’m going to tell you something—consider it a 'Lore Dump.'” She chuckled, leaning back on her hands as the first hints of sunlight painted the horizon. It was another one of those early morning chats, where Wooyoung sneaked out to the beach to meet her. She didn’t have her surfboard with her today, just hanging around, watching the waves like her instructor had told her.

“Lore Dump?” Wooyoung echoed, grinning at the odd phrasing. “Okay, now you’ve got me curious.”

She flashed him a teasing smile, looking out at the water. “Yeah when... I was in high school, I had this massive crush on a guy—a surfer. I spent half my time daydreaming about standing next to him, either as a friendly rival or maybe, someday, as more. I even begged my dad for a surfboard after graduation, thinking if I got good enough, he might notice me. So, every weekend, I’d come down to the beach, watching surfers wax their boards, getting ready... but, before I knew it, high school was over, and I never had my chance.”

“That’s rough,” Wooyoung replied, more invested than he expected to be. He’d heard enough romantic flops in his life to sympathize. “Did you ever find out what happened to him?”

She shook her head. "Nope. Life moved on and when I finally got my hands on a board, it wasn't that I lost interest but it wasn't my priority at the time”

As she spoke, Wooyoung couldn’t help but feel a flutter of flattery at her trust, but a nagging doubt crept in. Why was she sharing this with him? Was he just a sounding board for her past crush? He bit his lip, shifting slightly as he tried to keep his tone light. “Still, at least you got something out of it. You seem like you’re pretty into surfing now.”

“Well—” she shrugged, glancing at him sideways. “I feel like I came too far to just drop it. Now I just want to get better at the basics, hence why I'm trying to make my money worth on that overpriced board,” she added, laughing at her own joke. “Also, it's the reason I try to come here as much as I can. According to some magazine, this is one of the best surfing spots.”

Wooyoung felt a mix of relief and uncertainty as she continued. Her honesty was refreshing, but it made him question their connection. Was she telling him all this because she was interested in someone else? “You’re telling me about all this backstory and this guy that you liked. You moved on, it seems, but why are you sharing this? Is it because... you’re seeing someone by any chance or— and you want to tell me about it?”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Oh no, I’m very single. Not looking for anything serious... more like swiping through a dating app when I’m bored.” His heart raced at her words, and before he could think better of it, she added, “Why are you asking? By any chance, did you want to ask me out?” Her tone was cheeky, as if she had caught him, and she looked at him like he was caught off guard by what she said. “Oh no, well—” he stammered, but she pressed on, “Because I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

That threw him off. His pulse quickened, a mix of excitement and confusion swirling inside him. “Wait, really?

“Yeah, really,” she smiled at Wooyoung . “Why not? I like you and I like hanging out with you”

Afterward, the day passed by in a blur. Wooyoung couldn’t stop replaying what she told him—it was basically a green light, an invitation to ask her out. But now, everything felt tainted. Twisted by that damn audio clip. Her laughter, her smile—every sweet memory they had shared was suddenly warped, overlaid with the sounds of her and San together. Wooyoung 's mind wouldn’t stop. How did San end up with her? What did it mean? Was it something she planned? Or was it really just an accident, like San said?

"One thing led to another."

➽─𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔬─𝔫𝔬𝔠𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔞─❥

It was 2 a.m. when Wooyoung woke up, drenched in cold sweat. The room was dark, the faint glow of a streetlight spilling through the window. He blinked, trying to ground himself. Beside him, in his usual spot, San slept soundly—just like in their dorm back at university. For a split second, Wooyoung wanted to smother him with a pillow, end the confusion and anger in one irrational moment. But he knew San wasn’t the root of the problem—just a participant in this twisted game Wooyoung had allowed to happen.

If only he hadn't given San feedback from the first audio clip. If only he had stopped him from sending it in the first place. This whole situation wouldn’t have twisted into this mess. If only he’d set boundaries; it only added to his confusion.

Moving quietly, Wooyoung slipped out of the room, careful not to wake San. The villa was still, the aftermath of that night’s gathering strewn around him—empty pizza boxes, scattered beer bottles. They’d all had fun without him—San, Yeosang, and her. The thought made his chest tighten. He wasn’t just upset that San had disregarded his feelings; it was the casual way he moved on, as if Wooyoung ’s world hadn’t been shaken to its core.

He stepped outside for fresh air, the cool night breeze hitting his face as he stood in the stillness of the cul-de-sac. Most people in the area were asleep, except for some teenagers hanging out down the street, but Wooyoung didn’t want to pour his heart out to them. Leaning against the railing, he stared at the horizon, wondering how he could fix a situation that felt irreparably broken—more importantly, how he could "win" against San.

To his right, a faint light glowed inside her villa. She was still awake—strange; normally, she’d be asleep, resting before an early morning surfing session. Was she up because of what she did with San? The thought gnawed at him. For a moment, he considered heading back inside to weather his thoughts alone, but her voice echoed in his mind: “You can always knock if you want to hang out.” It had been a lighthearted offer, but now it felt like an irresistible invitation.

Before he realized it, his feet carried him to her sliding door, his hand raised to knock. She couldn’t see him; the blinds shielded her from view, but he peered through a small gap. There she was, lying on her bed, scrolling through her phone. She didn’t seem to have company—just sleepless. But what if she didn’t want to see him? His mind flashed back to the audio—the sounds, the jealousy, the unanswered questions. But then he remembered the warmth of her smile from days before, cutting through the storm in his head. That’s who she was to him before all this. That’s who she still could be.

Finally, he knocked.

➽────𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖗𝖊────❥

There was a brief pause before she peeked through the blinds, her expression curious but not startled. When she realized it was Wooyoung standing outside, her face lit up with a smile—one that looked like she had just received a pleasant surprise. “Ah! Wooyoung , this is unusual. What are you doing out here?” she asked, her tone genuine. As her eyes scanned him, she noticed the way he fidgeted with his hands, as if he had come this far but wasn’t sure what to do next. She slid the door open wider. “Do you... want to come in?”

Wooyoung nodded, stepping inside as she added with a playful tone, “Come on in. A woman’s bedroom isn’t some mythical place.”

He stood still, taking in the surroundings, realizing something was off. This isn't her room. She was sleeping in her parents' bedroom—the décor gave it away. The muted colors, the large bed that seemed to fit two people, maybe even a child—it felt like an older couple’s space, not hers. She returned with two beers in hand. “Want a beer?” she offered, but Wooyoung shook his head.

“Oh right, you weren’t feeling well today,” she said, placing the beers on the nightstand.

“What? Oh—uh, yeah, I guess,” Wooyoung stammered, caught off guard by her assumption. Sick? He wondered where that came from—then it clicked. Must’ve been something San said earlier. “San told me you weren’t feeling well,” she explained, sitting on the edge of the bed. “And Yeosang thought you might’ve gotten food poisoning from whatever you guys ate in town.” She spoke casually, but Wooyoung could hear the underlying excuse—what San must’ve told her to explain why she hadn’t seen him all day. She doesn’t know about the fight, he realized, the tension creeping back in.

“So... what brings you here?” she asked, her tone teasing again. “I mean- I don’t mind either way. I can’t sleep, and I’d rather it be you than someone else.”

Someone else? The question lingered in his mind, along with the flicker of jealousy. Was she talking about San? Another guy? He didn’t want to follow those thoughts. “I couldn’t sleep either,” Wooyoung said, shifting his weight awkwardly. “Slept too long earlier, so now I’m wide awake. But... I was wondering if I could—” He paused, stumbling over the words. Can I sleep with you? No, that sounded wrong, like a kid asking to sleep in their parents’ bed after a nightmare. Or worse, like he was asking to have sex with her, which definitely wasn’t what he meant.

“Can I stay here for the night?” he finally asked, relieved to find the right words. She nodded, her kindness on full display once again. “Yeah, sure. Get comfortable. There's a shower on the right, and you can check the drawers if you need something to wear.” She pointed to the large dresser, clearly belonging to her parents. The thought of wearing her father’s underwear felt weird, but he appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

He ended up accepting the offer of a shower, hoping it might help him feel more grounded. Although his body relaxed, his mind was still running circles with the events of earlier in the day. After drying off quickly, he slipped into the clothes she had helped him find in the drawers. They weren’t ideal, but this was better than not doing anything, being alone in the dark inside Yeosang's villa. When he returned to the bedroom, he noticed she had settled into bed, casually scrolling through her phone. It struck him as odd—normally, when he saw her, she was either reading a book or writing in her downtime. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with being on her phone, but to Wooyoung , it felt like she was trying to distract herself, something a book or pen couldn’t quite do tonight.

"Anything interesting?" Wooyoung asked, his voice soft but curious.

She jumped slightly, startled by his presence, before quickly placing her phone down on the bedside table. "Oh, nothing really," she shrugged, sitting up straighter against the bed frame. "Just catching up on some family drama. I haven’t been on social media in a while."

She patted the empty side of the bed, inviting him to sit beside her. He hesitated for only a moment before joining her, the bed dipping slightly under his weight.

"I asked Yeosang earlier what you guys were up to in town. I don’t get to go as often as I’d like, with the bus being so slow out here. Spending money on Ubers feels like a waste," she said with a small, almost apologetic smile. "We went to check out some stuff at the marketplace, as well as restaurants that are only open in the day—you would have liked it. There were a lot of seafood joints," Wooyoung explained, leaning back, feeling the comfort of being in her presence.

She tilted her head, curiosity flickering across her face. "Seafood? Do you think that’s what made you sick? San said you were feeling pretty rough." He confirmed, trying his best to stick to the story San had told her about why Wooyoung wasn’t with him and Yeosang. "Maybe, it could have been something else." he replied. Wooyoung really wanted to steer things in a different direction in this conversation, away from the unwelcome reminders of San it's already hard enough that she's calling his name but every time she mentions San, Wooyoung starts to think of the mess they created and how she unfortunately got involved and the excuse he had to pull for everything to run normal.

"Hey," Wooyoung said, a hint of a smile creeping into his face. "I just noticed—did you… do something different to your hair? It looks really nice."

She paused, surprised, before her smile returned, brighter than before. “This? Yeah, I just wanted to try something new. I thought I’d finally do something different with it,” she replied, running her fingers through her soft strands, showcasing it to Wooyoung . “Definitely worked,” Wooyoung said, genuinely impressed. “It suits you. Makes you look… I don’t know, lighter, in a good way.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, her lips quirking up. “Lighter? What’s that supposed to mean?” she teased.

He chuckled, shaking his head as if searching for the right words. “I mean… you always look great, but now, there’s something else. Like, you’re more… I don’t know, you seem more confident, like you’re owning it. It’s really nice to see.” Her heart fluttered at his words, warmth blooming in her chest. She felt the sincerity in his voice, and for a moment, she was caught off guard. He was looking at her differently, not just as a friend or someone to joke around with—but really seeing her. It made her stomach flip, and she found herself holding his gaze longer than usual.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice softer now.

Wooyoung 's eyes lingered on hers, the moment stretching out between them. He tilted his head slightly, his voice lowering. “You know… I’ve always noticed things like that about you. I just never really said it out loud.” She blinked, caught off guard again. “What do you mean?” He shrugged, his expression a bit more serious now. “I guess I’ve just never wanted to make it weird, but you’ve always had this way about you. Like the way you laugh, or the way you look when you’re focused on something. I don’t know why I never said anything before.”

➽────𝔩𝔲𝔵𝔲𝔯𝔦𝔞────❥

The air in the room shifted subtly. His words weren’t just about her hair anymore. They were about her, about the way he saw her—not just as a friend but as someone more. Her pulse quickened, and she felt warmth creeping up her neck, spreading across her cheeks. She realized then that they were alone, sitting there together in the quiet room, his eyes locked on hers in a way that made her heart race.

Her fingers froze mid-stroke through her hair as the realization sank in. The casual space that once existed between them seemed to have vanished. She tried to look away, suddenly flustered, her hands rising instinctively to cover her face, an involuntary gesture to hide the embarrassment burning in her cheeks. What’s happening to me? she thought, her mind racing as unfamiliar emotions swirled inside her. This wasn’t like her at all—normally, she could joke back easily, throw playful remarks without a second thought. But now, every teasing comment from him felt charged, heavier with meaning. And for the first time in a long while, she didn’t know what to say.

“Hey, don't hide” Wooyoung teased, his voice soft but laced with amusement. He leaned in a little closer, trying to get a better look at her, but she turned her face further away. Intrigued, Wooyoung decided to push himself a little further He shifted slightly, gently climbing over her, positioning himself just above her, his hands braced on either side of her. “Come on,” he grinned, his voice lowering into something softer, more intimate. “Let me see you.”

Her breath hitched as he carefully pulled her hands away from her face. When he finally got a full view of her, he froze. Her cheeks were flushed a deep red, her breath coming in soft, uneven waves. In the dim light, her wide, startled eyes caught his, and all that usual confidence she exuded was completely gone. Vulnerability shone through, a side of her he’d never seen before. His heartbeat quickened as he realized just how close they were. He could feel the warmth of her skin under his fingertips, her pulse racing beneath the surface.

Was this the way she looked at San? The thought gnawed at him, vivid and relentless, just like earlier when the audio clip had first burrowed into his mind. He couldn’t shake it. His imagination ran wild, replaying the sounds, the moments he hadn’t seen but could now vividly picture. What was her expression like? What did they do together? Was it the same as now, or was this different?

"Damn it--" Wooyoung needed to shake off those thoughts. They were stupid. They made him want to pull out, apologize to her and leave. Then she squeezed his hand, a quiet sign to let him know that it's ok. He starts to realize that maybe this moment was his-- and his alone. He needed to believe it. He wanted to make a move but hesitates for a brief moment, eyes flicking between her lips and her gaze, searching for any sign of doubt. There was none. She looked nervous, yes, but there was no hesitation nor resistance. It was all the confirmation he needed. Slowly Wooyoung moved closer, his breath mingling with her as their lips grazed and finally closing the distance in a soft, tentative kiss.

For a split second, time seemed to pause, the world around them fading into nothing but the feeling of her beneath him, the warmth of her lips against his. When he pulled back, he could sense that she was calming down, her breaths evening out. But for Wooyoung , that first kiss wasn’t enough—he went back for a second kiss, deeper this time. His hands moved from gently holding her hands to cupping her cheeks, feeling the heat radiating from her skin. Her hands instinctively wrapped around his neck, climbing up to get them tangled around his hair, pulling him closer, as if she was just as eager to bridge the gap between them.

When they pulled back again, silence settled between them. No words, just the soft, mingling sounds of their breaths filling the space. Wooyoung kept his gaze locked on hers—she looked so different beneath him, vulnerable yet captivating in a way that made his chest tighten. Her fingers brushed a strand of hair away from his face, giving her a better look at him. She smiled softly, a look of quiet satisfaction, like she had finally gotten something she had been longing for.

Her hands wandered to his lips, and he kissed them gently before moving them aside, guiding her arms around his shoulders. Their lips met again, softly at first, but it quickly deepened, a kiss filled with need and tenderness. As his lips traveled from her mouth to the curve of her neck, the need for more surged in him. Without hesitation, he reached for the hem of her shirt, slipping it over her head in one smooth motion, revealing the soft skin of her chest. She shivered slightly as the cool air kissed her bare skin, her breath catching in her throat. His lips followed the path down her neck, leaving a trail of heat as he kissed lower, over her collarbone and further still. She let out a soft whimper as his mouth neared her breasts, her body arching instinctively into him.

Wooyoung paused for just a moment, his breath warm against her skin before his lips pressed against her breast, his tongue grazing the sensitive peak. Her soft gasp in response urged him on, and he felt a surge of satisfaction knowing he was the one drawing those sounds from her. His hand came up to cup her other breast, his thumb circling over the hardened nipple as his lips continued to tease her. Every brush of his lips, every flick of his tongue sent waves of pleasure through her, and she bit her lip to keep from moaning louder.

He began to realize that the sounds that were out of her were different from the ones in the audio file. The sounds felt more genuine, like she's feeling pleasure, genuine pleasure from his actions. All of those thoughts of doubt and jealousy were fading away- because he realized that this moment was theirs- no one else will experience it

"Wooyoung ..." she whispered his name, and he paused to look up at her. She propped herself up on her elbows, watching him intently as he leaned closer. Their lips met again, the kiss no longer soft or tentative but urgent, driven by the raw need they both felt. Their tongues brushed against each other, exploring, tasting, as the kiss deepened with every passing second. When she pulled back, a thin trail of saliva connected them—a testament to the intensity between them. She didn’t stop there. Her lips continued their journey, leaving a trail of kisses from his cheek to his jaw, down to his defined neck. A soft moan escaped him as her mouth found his Adam’s apple.

And then came her question, spoken so softly it almost disappeared between them. "Do you want me?" she whispered against his skin, the vulnerability in her voice stark against the intensity of the moment. Her words hung in the air, not just a question of lust, but of something deeper.

Wooyoung froze for a heartbeat, the weight of the moment sinking in. They were treading on the edge of something that had been building for so long—hidden beneath friendship and the fear of losing it all. He had always wanted her—more than he ever admitted, even to himself. And now, there was no turning back; the line had been crossed, leaving nothing but raw desire between them. Without a word, he grabbed her hand, guiding it down, letting her feel the answer for herself. The instant her hand made contact with his bulge, Wooyoung flinched, a sharp breath escaping him. His eyes darkened with unrestrained need. "I’ve been wanting you so bad," he murmured, his voice low and strained. "It’s been driving me crazy."

Her hand stilled for a moment, feeling the heat radiating through the fabric of his pants. Driving him crazy, huh... she thought, feeling a surge of flattery at his words. Then, she began to move again, her hand sliding over his bulge, stroking him through his pants in slow, deliberate motions. Up and down, almost like she was pumping him, she could feel how hard he was beneath her palm. A sharp moan escaped Wooyoung , the friction of the fabric adding a raw sensitivity to her touch. Her pulse quickened, the realization of how much she was affecting him turning her on even more. She squeezed her thighs together, trying to suppress the growing heat between her legs, but it was impossible to ignore the growing need she felt both physically and mentally.

And then, as if unable to hold back any longer, his hand slipped inside her shorts, fingers brushing against the heat between her legs. She gasped, the sudden contact sending a jolt of pleasure through her. Even through the thin layer of her underwear, his touch was electrifying, teasing her with just enough pressure to make her ache for more. Their moans mingled together, the world outside fading away until it felt like it was just the two of them, lost in the intensity of the moment.

"You're already so wet for me," Wooyoung whispered, his voice low and thick with desire. "Is this all from kissing, or have you been wanting me like this all along?"

A shiver ran down her spine at his words, and she stopped touching him, overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through her body. His hand moved with purpose now, slipping past the waistband of her underwear, and her breath caught in her throat. His fingers explored her slick folds, and she could feel how deliberate his touch had become, now that he knew how much she wanted him.

"I can feel how much you want this," he whispered against her neck, his lips brushing her skin, sending another wave of heat straight to her core. "You're so turned on… all from just my touch." Her hips bucked against his hand instinctively, a soft gasp escaping her lips as the sensations overwhelmed her. The pleasure was almost unbearable, building with every brush of his fingers. He groaned low in his throat, feeling her body respond so eagerly to him.

"Tell me," he urged, his voice a low growl now. "Tell me how bad you need me."

"Wai--" A moan escaped from her lips, it was raw and lewd, sending a wave of arousal through Wooyoung . He deep down enjoyed this, those sounds weren't coming from a computer or an audio file, or accidentally overhearing San sleeping with someone else. These sounds were created because of him. He removed his hand from her cunt, his fingers glistening with her arousal, the pure physical reminder of her desire for him. "Hm?" He hummed at her while waiting for her response, she was starting to breathe heavily. "I-- I need you, I want you so bad." there was an urgency in her tone like she didn't want him to stop touching her and then she finally said it "Fuck- Fuck me"

A surge of adrenaline shot through him. He never expected her to say it. Wooyoung wanted this—no, he needed this. Without hesitation, he yanked off his shirt, her hands immediately reaching out to feel the heat of his bare skin. Her fingers traced over his chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps. Desperate to feel him closer, she pressed her body against him, her touch igniting the fire between them. She lifted her hips, helping him remove her shorts and underwear in one smooth motion, leaving her completely exposed beneath him.

He paused, hovering over her, his eyes drinking in the sight of her—her body laid bare, vulnerable and beautiful, hands clinging to his arms as her breathing quickened. In that still moment, all the fantasies he had buried for the sake of their friendship came rushing back. He thought of how he had imagined taking her in the villa, pushing her into the mattress, making her feel every inch of him, hard and relentless. Or fucking her in the ocean, where the waves would crash around them. Even in Yeosang's car, tight and confined, her moans barely stifled as they tried to keep quiet in case someone came too close.

But in this exact moment, Wooyoung thought to himself that this is actually happening, they're both alone, in her villa in the middle of the night, it wasn't another fantasy he buried and used for self pleasure in the heat of the night, no it was real, and it all felt too fucking good.

Without breaking eye contact, Wooyoung lowered himself toward her needy cunt, kissing her thighs as he went, soothing and teasing her at the same time. He parted her legs more, his fingers tracing her slick arousal, pride swelling inside him that she was this responsive from his touch alone. He wanted to make her cum with his mouth. The first lick made her gasp loudly, her hips bucking toward the sensation. With a firm grip on her thighs, he kept her in place, his tongue working with purpose, flicking and sucking on her clit before dipping lower to taste her more deeply.

Her moans grew louder, her body shaking uncontrollably as her hands searched for something to hold on to. She gripped the sheets, but when he hit a particular spot, her fingers flew into his hair, tugging him closer. He loved that—her need for him. He paused briefly to catch his breath, the lower half of his face glistening before he dove back in. "Fuck—wait, Wooyoung ..." she whispered, her voice trembling as her body tensed, so close to release. That gave him the idea to slide his fingers inside her, curling them just right, making her lose her breath and see stars. "That's it," he murmured, his voice thick with need. His fingers pumped inside her as his mouth returned to her clit. "Cum for me."

Her hands gripped the sheets tightly as her orgasm hit, powerful and overwhelming, like a wave pulling her under. Wooyoung felt her walls clenching around his fingers, her entire body trembling as the pleasure washed over her in waves, leaving her breathless and spent. While processing that she just came and her senses were coming back- she heard a familiar sound of rustling fabric, she opened her eyes to see Wooyoung removing his pants. She noticed his cock, it was hard and already slick with pre-cum. He moved back up to her, his skin warm as he kissed her deeply, tender at first before it turned hungry again. Even as she tasted herself on his lips, it didn’t matter. She needed him. Not just his fingers or his mouth anymore, but all of him.

Her hand slipped down, brushing against his cock, feeling the heat of him. He was already so slick, the thought of him inside her made her breath hitch. She guided him to her entrance, but before he could enter, he broke the kiss, his lips grazing her ear. His voice was low and thick, a rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "You want me to fuck you, yeah?" he whispered, his tongue flicking over her ear as she rubbed him against her, coating him in her slick arousal. She nodded desperately, her voice barely above a whisper. "Mhm—yeah."

"You want me to fill you up, make you mine, take you so deep you'll feel it for days?" he growled between soft moans, his breath hot against her ear as he nibbled the sensitive skin. The combination of his dirty talk and the attention on her weak spot made her let out a soft, helpless moan, unable to respond with words.

She wondered where all this bravado came from—it was hot, this intense side of him she had never seen before. He was the same guy who had been shy to talk to her on the beach, the one who was always kind, a good listener, someone she found endlessly interesting. And now here he was, his feelings laid bare, showing them in a way that overwhelmed her—in the best way.

Her thoughts snapped back to the present when she felt the tip of his cock pressing into her entrance. The initial stretch made her gasp, and she heard him hiss, his hips pulling back before pushing forward again. "You’re so tight," he whispered through gritted teeth. When he was fully inside her, he paused, the warmth of her body wrapped around him, almost too much to handle. He needed the moment to steady himself, and she needed it too—to adjust to the sensation of him filling her. Gently, he hooked her legs around his waist, leaning in until their foreheads touched, their breaths mingling.

"I got you," Wooyoung murmured, his voice a comforting rasp. He started to move slowly, testing her reactions to the friction. "Just feel me."

Wooyoung began slow, his hips rolling in a way to allow both of them to savor their initial connection. He kept his forehead pressed up against hers while their breathy gasps were synchronized. "You feel so good around me... So warm and perfect" he whispered tenderly, his lips brushing up against hers. His movements felt like he was memorizing every second of being inside of her

Her hands, clutched around his back, fingers curling into his skin as she noticed that he was changing his rhythm to something more steady. She wanted more and her moans would reflect that, they became more urgent and her body moved in synch with his. He quickened his pace when he noticed her wanting more, grabbing her wrists from his back and placing her arms above her head and he looked down into her, his gaze was intense. "You like that?" he said in a rough tone. "You want me to go harder?"

Her response was that of a whimper, she wasn't thinking anymore, no words were coming out, all she could hear was the sound of skin slapping against skin and Wooyoung 's breathy noises as he moved in a harder pace. He squeezed her wrists which caused her heart to skip a beat "You like it rough, don’t you?" he whispered hotly against her ear. "I can feel how bad you want it." With every hard thrust, her body came undone, her moans becoming louder as his pace grew relentless. Her legs quivered around his waist, her body teetering on the edge of control.

But it still wasn’t enough. Wooyoung pulled back, slipping out just enough to reposition her. “Turn around for me,” he commanded, his voice low and rough. She caught a glimpse of him stroking himself as he waited, and without hesitation, she flipped onto her stomach. His hands gripped her waist, lifting her hips up in anticipation. The moment he lined himself up, he slammed into her with a deep, hard thrust, filling her completely. The sudden sensation tore a cry from her lips, her fingers clutching the sheets as the overwhelming fullness consumed her.

"You're mine" he growled, his voice was getting deeper, rough with need. He gripped onto her hips tightly, pulling her back onto him with each forceful thrust. He wasn't gentle anymore, his pace was fast, relentless, the sounds of his body slamming against hers were growing louder with each second. Her arms trembled, barely able to support her weight, until she collapsed forward, her face pressing into the mattress, moaning uncontrollably as he claimed her. Wooyoung 's hands slid from her hips to her breasts, squeezing them from behind as he leaned down, his breath hot against her ear. "You'll always be mine," he whispered, his voice low and possessive. Each word sent a wave of heat coursing through her, her body responding with desperate moans. She was completely his in that moment, consumed by the power of his touch.

The new angle sent waves of pleasure through her body, the roughness only intensifying those sensations. Her moans began to turn into cries of ecstasy, her body shaking more and more with every thrust. "Fuck—your pussy feels so good," he grunted, his voice strained. The possessiveness in him surged, his hips moving faster, harder, as he claimed her with every thrust. Her walls clenched around him, her body giving in to the intensity of the moment, and she could feel herself approaching that edge again, faster this time. The way he filled her, the way he growled her name, it was all too much, and she felt herself teetering on the brink of another orgasm.

His grip on her hips tightened as he sensed her walls beginning to pulse around him, his own release building. “That’s it, baby… cum for me again,” he commanded, his voice breathless but filled with raw desire. “I want to feel you— every fucking part of you.”

Her body trembled, a few more thrusts and she would experience that high again. She felt his movements becoming more erratic, more primal, and she knew he was almost there too. But before he could finish, before he could truly claim her, she felt an overwhelming need to confirm what they both already knew.

"...yours," she gasped, her voice barely audible over the sounds of their bodies slamming together. She could barely speak, but she forced herself to, her desperation to connect with him overtaking everything else. "I'm—I'm yours." Her voice was shaky, but the conviction behind her words was unmistakable. “I’m yours… all yours.”

Hearing her say it broke the last of his restraint. A deep growl rumbled from his chest, and he gripped her tighter, pulling her back hard against him. “Say it again,” he demanded, his voice rough, a plea hidden beneath the command. He needed to hear it, to know she was his.

“I’m yours!” she cried out, her voice desperate and filled with emotion. “I’m all yours—fucking yours!” Those words were all it took before her second and final climax hit, it was more intense than the first one, she felt like her heart literally stopped. Her cries of ecstacy echoing through the room. "I'm gonna-- fuck I'm gonna cum inside you-- your pussy will be ruined by me" He grabbed her arms from behind, finally sealing his claim on her. With one final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside her, his entire body tensing as his release washed over him. A guttural groan escaped him as he came, filling her completely. The final act of claiming her, coupled with hearing her confirm she was his, made the release that much more intense.

➽─────𝔞𝔪𝔬𝔯─────❥

The waves of their shared release faded, they both remained still, bodies pressed together, her trembling subsiding but still noticeable in the silence that followed. Wooyoung felt the rapid rise and fall of her breath, her soft whimper breaking through the haze of their shared ecstasy. His own chest was heaving as he caught his breath, but he stayed where he was, letting the moment settle around them.

Gently, he shifted his grip from her hips, his touch softening as his fingers traced soothing patterns on her skin. "Shhh, I’ve got you," he whispered, his voice low and tender, almost like a lullaby against her ear. He leaned down, pressing gentle kisses along her spine, up to her shoulder, taking his time, showing her that he wasn’t rushing away from this moment.

He felt her body trembling, a soft whimper escaping her again. "You did so well," he murmured, his lips grazing the back of her neck as he slowly eased out of her. The sensation made her gasp softly, her body still sensitive from their connection. He gathered her into his arms, pulling her close, turning her around to face him. His hand brushed over her cheek, wiping away a strand of hair that clung to her damp skin. "Are you okay?" he asked, his forehead resting gently against hers, his voice filled with concern and care.

"I'm..." She tried to speak, but her vocal cords refused to cooperate. Her voice was hoarse, each word catching painfully in her throat, even coughing hurt. Wooyoung noticed immediately, his expression shifting to concern. Without a word, he slipped out of bed, making his way to the kitchen. When he opened the fridge, he remembered the beers she had brought earlier, but decided water would be better for this moment. Returning to the bedroom, Wooyoung sat beside her and took a swig of water, his eyes soft with quiet determination. Then he leaned in, pressing his lips tenderly to hers, transferring the cool liquid. The water flowed gently from his mouth to hers, soothing her parched throat. The sensation was intimate, a different kind of closeness between them, and she could feel his care in every small movement.

"Better?" he asked softly, pulling back, his lips glistening with some water that escaped. She nodded, feeling the burn in her throat easing. He set the glass down on his side of the bed before reaching out, his arms wrapping around her and gently drawing her into his chest. This was the Wooyoung she knew so well, the one who made her feel safest—his heartbeat steady beneath her cheek, its soft rhythm calming her. She let her eyes flutter closed, her body still trembling slightly, but slowly settling under his protective embrace.

"I'll take care of you," he whispered, his voice a quiet promise. She felt the brush of his lips against her forehead as he reached down to pull the blanket from the foot of the bed, draping it over their tangled bodies. His warmth surrounded her, and she relaxed completely, letting his steady breathing and the comforting weight of the blanket lull her toward sleep.

Before she drifted off, she thought about how much had changed between them, the intense passion they shared tonight, but also this—this gentle, quiet connection. It made her feel whole. "Thank you..." she whispered, her voice barely audible, but she knew he'd heard.

➽───𝔭𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔞────❥

In her sleep, she dreamt about San, but it wasn’t exactly a dream—it felt more like a flashback. The memory was about when she had sex with him, and she started to wonder if maybe Wooyoung became so rough and dominant because San had told him about it. It would explain why someone usually so gentle had acted that way.

She remembered being at the pool, sitting on the edge with her feet dangling in the water. San had lifted her there, spreading her legs while he knelt between them. Slowly, he untied the strings of her swimsuit, exposing her completely beneath him. His eyes had darkened with desire, and without a word, he leaned in toward her cunt, his mouth exploring her with precision. The sensation of his tongue flicking, pressing, and sucking drove her crazy, each movement more deliberate than the last.

But then he said something that left her stunned. “You have no idea how much power you have.” ๋࣭ 𖤐 ‧₊💿˚ ⋅

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #wooyoung fanfic #fuck- I got shy posting this here #but it's my first time trying to write... something spicy #HAHA #I wanna cry OTL

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 1 year ago

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By: John McWhorter

Published: July 4, 2023

The Supreme Court last week outlawed the use of race-based affirmative action in college admissions. That practice was understandable and even necessary 60 years ago. The question I have asked for some time was precisely how long it would be required to continue. I’d personally come to believe that preferences focused on socioeconomic factors — wealth, income, even neighborhood — would accomplish more good while requiring less straightforward unfairness.

But many good-faith people believed, and continue to believe, that it is a clear boon to society for universities to explicitly take race into account. The arguments for and against have been made often, sometimes by me, so here I’d like to do something a little bit different. As an academic who is also Black, I have seen up close, over decades, what it means to take race into account. I talked about some of these experiences in interviews and in a book I wrote in 2000, but I’ve never shared them in an article like this one. The responses I’ve seen to the Supreme Court’s decision move me to venture it.

The culture that a policy helps put into place can be as important as the policy itself. And in my lifetime, racial preferences in academia — not merely when it comes to undergraduate admissions but also moving on to grad school and job applications and teaching careers — have been not only a set of formal and informal policies but also the grounds for a culture of perceptions and assumptions.

I grew up upper-middle-class in Philadelphia in the 1980s. As early as high school, I picked up — from remarks of my mother’s, who taught at a university, as well as comments in the air at my school — that Black kids didn’t have to achieve perfect grades and test scores in order to be accepted at top colleges. As a direct result, I satisfied myself with being an A- or B+ student, pursuing my nerdy hobbies instead of seeking the academic mountaintop. I was pretty sure it wouldn’t affect my future in the way that it might for my white peers.

I have no reason to think affirmative action played much of a role in the colleges I went to, as neither was extremely selective at the time. In grad school, I was told by a mentor, a Black man, that race had been the reason I wound up in the top-20 pile of applicants in linguistics in the department where I got my Ph.D. I had minimal experience with linguistics proper, and my G.P.A. was very good but nowhere near perfect. (Those hobbies!) But I have always thought of that as racial preferences the way they should have been, merely additive around the margins. I’d done well on tests like the G.R.E., my grades in language courses were top level, and I had written a senior thesis that made it clear I had a linguistics frame of mind.

But things got different later. When I was a grad student in linguistics going on the market for jobs, I was told that I needn’t worry whether I would get bids for tenure track positions because I was Black and would therefore be in great demand. Deep down, to me, it felt I was on my way to being tokenized, which I was, especially given that my academic chops at the time did not justify my being hired for a top job at all.

I was hired straight out of my doctoral program for a tenure-track job at an Ivy League university in its august linguistics department. It became increasingly clear to me that my skin color was not just one more thing taken into account but the main reason for my hire. It surely didn’t hurt that, owing to the color of my skin, I could apparently be paid with special funds I was told the university had set aside for minority hires. But more to the point, I was vastly less qualified by any standard than the other three people who made it onto the list of finalists. Plus, I was brought on to represent a subfield within linguistics — sociolinguistics — that has never been my actual specialty. My interest then, as now, was in how languages change over time and what happens when they come together. My dissertation had made this quite clear.

At the time I was not very politicized, and I assumed that my race had merely been a background bonus to help me get hired. Only later did the reality become more apparent, when I learned just who else had been on that shortlist. (I will never forget how awkward it was when I met one of them — older than me, with more gravitas in the field — some years later. I sensed that we both knew what had happened and why.) I had been hired by white people who, quite innocently, thought they were doing the right thing by bringing a Black person onto the faculty. I bear them no malice; under the culture we were all living in, I would have done the same thing.

Around this time I gave some really good talks and some just OK ones; I always knew the difference. But I couldn’t help noticing that I would get high praise even for the mediocre ones, by white people who were clearly gratified to acknowledge a Black academic. And in the meantime, I was hopelessly undercooked for the position I had been hired for. I was not utterly clueless, but I simply didn’t know enough yet — and especially not enough to be in a position to counsel graduate students.

I needed some years of postdoctoral study. They say you don’t really know it till you teach it, and that’s largely true: Having never actually taught a class, I needed to teach some. I needed to hang around linguistics for a longer time in general. There are formative experiences key to being a real linguist that I had not yet had, such as long-term work with speakers of my language of focus, Saramaccan.

The doctoral program I had been in had gone through a phase of allowing students perhaps too much leeway in deciding which courses to take. Many students took this as an occasion to sit at the feet of their mentors and drink in what they knew. But my natural orientation has always been autodidactic, and so I basically went off into a corner and focused like a laser on one issue that particularly interested me — how creole languages form — while developing only a passing acquaintance with linguistics beyond it. With undergrads, I could coast on stage presence, but grad students know the real thing when they see it and when they don’t. I looked like a fool.

I didn’t like it. But because I am obsessive, I ultimately dedicated myself to boning up and then some. I read and read and read. I spoke closely with as many linguists as I could. I took up new interests within the field. I did intense study of my language of focus. I taught classes outside my comfort zone. That is, I became a normal academic.

But it all felt like a self-rescue operation, an effort to turn myself into a good hire after the fact. That backfilling of needed skills is a lot to ask of someone who also needs to do the forward-looking research necessary to get tenure.

Of course, not everyone endeavors this Sisyphean task, and the culture I refer to has a way of ensuring others don’t have to. There is a widespread cultural assumption in academia that Black people are valuable as much, if not more, for our sheer presence as for the rigor of what we actually do. Thus, it is unnecessary to subject us to top-level standards. This leads to things happening too often that are never written as explicit directives but are consonant with the general cultural agenda: people granted tenure with nothing approaching the publishing records of other candidates, or celebrated more for their sociopolitical orientations than for their research.

I had uncomfortable experiences on the other side of the process as well. In the 1990s, I was on some graduate admissions committees at the university where I then taught. It was apparent to me that, under the existing cultural directive to, as we have discussed, take race into account, Black and Latino applicants were expected to be much more readily accepted than others.

I recall two Black applicants we admitted who, in retrospect, puzzle me a bit. One had, like me, grown up middle-class rather than disadvantaged in any salient way. The other, also relatively well-off, had grown up in a different country, entirely separate from the Black American experience. Neither of them expressed interest in studying a race-related subject, and neither went on to do so. I had a hard time detecting how either of them would teach a meaningful lesson in diversity to their peers in the graduate program.

Perhaps all of this can be seen as collateral damage in view of a larger goal of Black people being included, acknowledged, given a chance — in academia and elsewhere. In the grand scheme of things, my feeling uncomfortable on a graduate admissions committee for a few years during the Clinton administration hardly qualifies as a national tragedy. But I will never shake the sentiment I felt on those committees, an unintended byproduct of what we could call academia’s racial preference culture: that it is somehow ungracious to expect as much of Black students — and future teachers — as we do of others.

That kind of assumption has been institutionalized within academic culture for a long time. It is, in my view, improper. It may have been a necessary compromise for a time, but it was never truly proper in terms of justice, stability or general social acceptance. Whatever impact the Supreme Court’s ruling has on college admissions, its effects on the academic culture of racial preference — which by its nature often depends less on formulas involving thousands of applicants than on individual decisions involving dozens — will take place far more slowly.

But the decision to stop taking race into account in admissions, assuming it is accompanied by other efforts to assist the truly disadvantaged, is, I believe, the right one to make.

The Left's bread and butter used to be the working class and poor, and advocating for greater socioeconomic equality, coupled with suspicion of big business. Now the loud, active part is being driven by upper-middle class postmodern elites who are completely disconnected from, or even arrogantly scornful of, the working class, and using stupid, pretentious language to make faith-based, evidence-free proclamations about how society functions, without any actual experience in the world.

Suggest, for example, that socioeconomic class is a much greater determining factor to upward mobility and you'll be dismissed as an "alt-right" bigot denying "systemic racism."

I've said it before and I'll say it again: if you want to help underprivileged blacks, help the underprivileged. Improve schools, teach reading the correct way, and stop telling them that they won't succeed unless they go to some high-priced, elite, snobby college, when they can do well at a local college or trade school. The middle and upper classes often succeed in school despite the education system, not because of it, and their success is frequently due to the luxury of time and resources (books, stable, dual-parent home situation) that compensates for the inadequate school system. Close that gap with the working and poor - community-based after school tutoring, reading, libraries, etc.

If your problem with this is that poor white people will benefit, then this isn't really about helping and uplifting black folk, is it?

#John McWhorter #affirmative action #racial discrimination #college admissions #university admissions #bigotry of low expectations #racial preferencing #academic corruption #corruption of education #higher education #religion is a mental illness

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lollreagan · 2 years ago

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looking for alaska by john green

as with all my review posts, *spoiler warning*

well well well folks. i am officially finished with my first year of college and my exams. since moving from my small town high school to an ivy league - i can now say that i am a mediocre student - at best. i went from someone who had all A’s during high school to having half of my transcript be B’s and B-. And even so, I still had the best time. I can’t wait to leave my hell hole of a house to go back in June, because I miss the city so much already. (I think it’s something having to do with the sun being out now, because I wanted to go home soooo bad when it got cold - i am not a cold person).

In my scrumptious 16 hour car ride back home, i took up one of my previous pastimes - reading. because I was in the car, I only had the selection of books which i had previously downloaded on my iPad - one of them being Looking for Alaska by John Green.

I have mixed feelings about this book. I reallyyy want to like it. I do. I really do. But for some reason I just can’t. I don’t like how the book is built around the one central point and it happens halfway thru the book.

We never got to see Pudge and Alaska in their moment. There was so much buildup and then suddenly it was gone. And Pudge got super annoying and thank GOD the characters were able to recognize this and tell it to him. However because the story is told from Pudge’s point of view, we have to put up with him.

Pudge is unlikeable. He’s lowkey narcissistic and a pick-me. He thinks that no one wanted to be friends with him in high school because he just wasn’t cool or because he was too skinny. This really bothered me.

Alaska is unlikeable. She’s manipulative, especially toward Pudge. She would get jealous when Pudge would be with Lara, but she wouldn’t want to be with Pudge. And she knew that she could control Pudge.

The only likeable characters were Colonel and the Eagle. I actually really liked the Eagle. And Takumi and Lara but they were so minor that they didn’t even add much to the story.

The story was too short. I feel like John could have expanded the story so much. It ended so abruptly. It felt like we were just finally getting to understand the characters and how they act with one another and then *boom* climax of the story and then its over. that was it. too short and too abrupt of an ending.

the climax didn’t make an sense. the story felt like John knew he wanted Alaska to die, but then wrote the story before he had figured out how. It felt like John didn’t even know how she died either. And i didn’t like this. I don’t like being in the same state of ‘not knowing’ as the author. I like being kept in the dark, if it means that the reveal is coming later on. It never came. I was still left confused. “Yeah but that’s the point, you’re supposed to come to your own conclusion like Pudge and Colonel” Shut up. Just shut up. You sound like you’re trying to justify bad writing. Shut up.

There should have been more buildup to the car crash. And the book would have been better if it was told from both perspectives of both Pudge and Alaska. Because it would be better for the audience to know exactly what was going through Alaska’s head.

The part where she just storms out and has to drive to see her mother at 3 am was so abrupt and stupid too. It made no sense. She would have been too drunk to even remember, which is what they made a point of at first. Also she never would have been able to drive straight. Her committing suicide made NO SENSE. and john made a point of that through the characters’ investigations and THEY EVEN SAID IT MADE NO SENSE FOR HER. this is why there should have been a perspective from alaska. it was just lazy writing in my opinion to have not had that.

i hate this book. i hate this book. it had so much potential and then it felt like john got in a rush at the end and rushed the ending. the buildup was so good and then he just ruined it.

rating: 4/10

it pains me to give this rating, can someone please make a fan version of the novel that is actually good, im begging.

#john green #looking for alaka #looking for alaska #the fault in our stars #john green books #book #booktok #book review #looking for alaska review #book tumblr #john green sucks #looking for alaska sucks #pudge #miles halter #alaska young #the colonel #takumi #lara

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brainfuzz · 6 months ago

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Don't buy into the hype that you *have* to go to college right after high school. Yes, its easier if you do because if you wait, you have things like bills that you now need to pay, but sometimes waiting is better.

Case 1; me - A hundred years ago, when I graduated HS, I had a really shitty guidance counselor. The dude did my entire graduation class, and he legit sucked ass. I, like most of my classmates, was on the "college track" in high school, which meant that we didn't take any practical classes, like accounting or shop, we took languages, and extra science/math/English classes. Senior year when we're talking to the guidance counselor about applying to college, 90% of us were told 'college might not be for you, you should try community college and see if you can do it,' which is a nice sentiment, but if you can't you don't have any marketable skills now. Needless to say, I went to CC, ran out of money, and got a job. Jobs mean college is now part time, and since it was a 9 to 5 job, I just stopped going when it got to hard. I didn't go back until I was 30, and since I now had a career, spouse, kids and a mortgage, it took me a long time to finish. I graduated at 43, with a BS that started in the CC and then transferred to a 4 year school. Transferring saved me a ton of money. A few years passed, and I went back to school for my masters, which I got at 53.

tl;dr, its never to late to go to college

Case 2; oldest kid - Oldest kid was smart, and genuinely loved learning and school. In his junior year, he had some significant mental health fuckery going on, but managed to get through it and graduate with pretty good grades. We decided that it would be good for his mental fuckery to go away to college, and he got accepted to a good one, about 4 hours away. He did not do well because he wasn't ready for college. He dropped out in his freshman year, and none of the classes he took were considered completed, so there was nothing to transfer. He decided that college was bullshit, and went to work in food service. He loved working, but started with some health issues that took forever to figure out and consequently lost that job. Figured out the health problem (apparently he can no longer tolerate caffeine), got a better job still in food service, worked there for a while before quitting because food service sucks. While all this was going on, his friends were graduating college, and starting their careers, and he'd grown up a great deal and decided that college might be less bullshit than he thought. So he moved in with his grandparents and started going to CC and is now pulling straight A's and loving it. He's planning on transferring to a 4 year school, and becoming a teacher. ALSO, he just found out today that the CC has an "honors" track, and that a relatively local Ivy League will accept students from the CC with a high GPA in that honor program. They have an acceptance rate of 6% for students out of high school, but according to the honors advisor, love taking people from the honors CC program. They're now his "reach" school, and the local, highly ranked, teaching college is his "sure thing" when he applies to transfer next spring, after he graduates.

tl;dr its ok to delay college a few years until you're ready, and in some cases can be beneficial since you have a better idea of what you want to do, and how to get there. But still start at the community college because its cheaper.

Case 3; youngest kid - We learned from the oldest kid, and did not send the youngest to college right away. We were dealing with the fallout from being in HS during Covid, as well as relocating to a new house in a different state. Once we'd settled in, I did make her get a job, and it had to be a 9 to 5, or at least something with regular hours. She ended up working at a dairy packaging/making milk and butter. She fucking hated it, but did it for almost a year before she couldn't take it anymore. Faced with going to college, or getting another shit job, she opted for college. She is now a sophomore at a four year college, and doing much better than she expected based on how she felt in HS.

tl;dr sometimes taking a gap year or two will mean the difference between succeeding and failing, so don't be afraid to do it.

every year we have to say it

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troynovant · 9 months ago

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me using this site as a weird semi-public diary

I'm trying to take stock of my life and it's an odd inventory. I'm 32, I have an Ivy League degree and and Ivy League Ph.D. Both, unfortunately, are in English literature. I have a job that affords me a good deal of respect in the sense of cultural capital but very little renumeration in the sense of actual capital. I am also completely at the mercy of an academic department that can, at any moment, simply not rehire me; for all I know it won't rehire me in the fall. I have enough savings to last about a year if I find myself unemployed. My employment prospects are altogether somewhere between mixed and grim. I am highly qualified for a profession that no longer exists and over-qualified for most others. I have repeatedly failed to gain any form of long-term work in my field, live with two housemates, and have to replace those housemates whenever they move out. I am materially comfortable in most other regards.

Socially, I'm really very lucky: I have lots of friends, far more than most people in their early thirties, though it's unclear if those friends, some of whom are relatively wealthy, could help me find work if things went south in my current department. Romantically, things could quite literally not be worse. It turns out, and I should have known this, that extended multi-year flirtations with men who are mostly straight and ultimately fall back upon that do not make for a satisfactory emotional life. I have almost no experience socializing with other gay men; this would have been a real surprise to me as a teenager, but my friends are, other than a few girls, primarily straight men. I take a revolting sort of pride in that even though it is at this point clearly not setting me on the path towards any sort of long-term happiness.

Physically, I think I have a nice face but am clearly out of shape. I'm proud of my hair, which is pretty healthy for a man my age even if it's thinner than it once was. You'd think, given all my hangups, that I had a weird dick or some sort of obvious physical problem but that's not the case, almost surprisingly. I have an absolute standard dick; I also have a completely crippling pornography addiction. My biggest strength, I think, is that I am smart. That sounds arrogant but I've never had much reason to doubt it. I can say the right things about books and movies and art and architecture and history and travel and even science -- I guess engineering would be my blind-spot but even then I can usually follow along. I'm good at conversation, I have character and personality, I'm not boring. People like to talk to me and I'm good with people, but this is all in the arena of socializing. I'm always a hit at parties and then spend Valentines day alone.

I know, objectively, that I could date if I wanted too -- I'm really not bad looking, and I can usually win people over in conversation -- but I'm just scared of putting myself out there. I'm scared that someone will look at me and think that I don't live up to my photos (I photograph well, basically the opposite of the more common phenomenon of a good-looking person who looks bad on camera) but my fear of rejection is equal to my fear of rejecting someone. I know, on some level, that I could never go on a date and then not go home with the other person if they were pushing for it, because whenever I'm one-on-one with someone all I can do is try to please them.

I feel like if I were to actively date I'd have to do it like this: send only the most unflattering photos so there's little chance that they'll be disappointed, get too drunk to be nervous, and just commit, in advance, to the idea that I'll pretty much do whatever they want regardless of whether or not I'm actually all that attracted to them. I think I would also have to make it a rule not to go on a date with anyone who is even a few degrees removed from me socially because I'd hate it for gossip to get back to my friends somehow -- "hey, apparently my friend went on a date with your friend C**** and he was drunk and weird and then kind of bad at sex" lmao truly a nightmare. But then, this is all hypothetical -- I'm so stuck in my ways, so unlikely to actually try. I think people around me have started to notice something -- I'm very spontaneous and open to new experiences, but only in ways that are somewhat superficial. I'll travel to new places, eat anything however exotic, wear whatever, try any drug given to me, try most things at least once, really, and yet in bigger ways my life never really changes. At the end of the day, I'll come back home on my own and maintain my little instagram account and nothing will change even if it looks like things have. At this point, I think my fear that my friends, family, colleagues etc. will think that I'm a loveless, sexless freak is exerting a stronger pressure on me than any actual desire for companionship, which is so characteristic of course -- again my priorities are just social. I've put all my eggs in the same basket, my social life, but I know on some level that my friends are all going to get married, have kids, move away, and basically grow up in the way that I seem to be incapable of.

#just purely rambling about my life lol trying to see if there's anything therapeutic in the act of #what is basically 'Virtual Confession'#What would Foucault say...

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21dayproject · 1 year ago

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June 19 2023, pre day 1

ok, this is going to be one long post, so you'll have to soldier through this one.

so, lets begin with introductions! hi, im an average 15 year old indian girl.

my time during the lockdown was spent in a vortex of self hate, self doubt and bouts of depression and sometimes suicidal thoughts. but im indian, we dont do communication. i decided to fix my mental state myself, and to do that i had to fix me. from scratch. total reboot.

so in the ninth grade, when the lockdown ended and school began, i started implementing tiny changes in my routine and lifestyle that really helped me out.

for one, i started working out, eating healthy and eating in proper quantities, i lost 6 kilograms. this curbed half the insecurities i had and fixed half my problem and also acted as a pretty good distraction. i went from chubby to the tall and thin bodytype.

secondly, socialising and reverse socialising. i made a group of amazing friends, who are basically my platonic soulmates at this point, but i also cut people off. because a part of my self doubt and negativity came from people who were overly competitive and discouraging and basically drained my energy. so i invested my energy in people who would give me back positivity and happiness.

thirdly, academics. i worked really hard figuring out a schedule which changed me from a student with a mix of A's and B's to a straight A student.

soon, my suicidal thoughts disappeared, i was more confident and happy, i talked a lot more, i felt more at peace.

So. my thesis was that most of my negative headspace was caused by staying alone for too long, doing nothing and just being lazy and unproductive, and i may offend A LOT of people with this statement, but i truly believe depression is just a self induced state of mind and it is self curable and doesnt need to be treated with medication.

so if i managed to get my life back on track i should be able to upgrade too. now that i cured myself, i should work on my goals and start working towards my future. because, i know, if i get back to being comfortable with no aims or aspirations, ill be back to square one. so, i sat down and physically wrote down what i want to achieve in the next 5 years:

1) score above 95 percent in boards

2) get a strong, lean, HEALTHY body

3) have clear skin and healthy hair

4) win a watty's award and get an art account on instagram with a good amount of followers

5) get a degree from an ivy league university

7) have a good circle of friend whilst maintaining a close connection with my family

8) get a well paying stem oriented job, preferably at pharma or cosmetic manufacturing.

9) buy a bike, preferably a royal Enfield

10) afford a one bedroom apartment, with a pretty view.

yes, the standards are high, but its fine. the higher i aim, the more ill push, and the more i can achieve. but this 5 year plan is split into segments and stages and the first stage is the 21 DAY PROJECT. a lifestyle change in 21 days to build habits and set a schedule which will act as a base to achieve my goals in the future. every single day of the 21 day project will be me following a set schedule, achieving the same daily goals and building a new routine. so each day of the 21 day challenge i will:

2)study: 3 hours a day, two hours post school and an hour post dinner

1) workout: weights, abs training, legs

3) spend an hour towards my hobbies: writing, reading, art

4) follow a bare minimum skin care routine: 3 litres of water, sunscreen and moisturizing

5) stay in touch with my family: regular conversations with my parents and weekly calls to my grandparents

6) minimise screentime: to 30 minutes a day, maximum 1 hour.

Ofcourse, breaks included, because then life would be dull and filled with anxiety and stress. so, ill ensure to catch up with friends, watch my favorite shows and take it easy on the weekends.

ill update this blog everyday and share how much i achieved, what i couldnt achieve, why and also what i learn along the way, because self improvement isnt like those cute pinterest aesthetic photos. its grueling, difficult and hard to achieve and i want to share every single detail, including the not so glam ones. so if you want to see an actual mental and physical level up, gain guidance or motivation, or just cheer a fellow stranger on, maybe click that follow button and be part of the journey.

-here's hoping, M

#positive mental attitude #motivation #leveling up #self love #dream life #that girl #glow up #self improvement

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sunrisedriven · 2 years ago

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2/13

First, you need to know that it's okay. Don't be so hard on yourself. The last thing I want for you is to beat yourself up.

The next thing I want you to do is to get help now. Don't let it run havoc without letting people know. Let your professors know you are going through something. The least you could do is let them know.

An A is probably not in the horizon here. That's okay. It's not going to kill you. It's not something that will help you that much anyway. BUT, five hundred dollars is on the line, so pull yourself up to a B. The least you could do is make sure you get a B.

Set yourself straight....in a healthy way. Go buy those tickets. Study hard. Eat whatever you want. Seek some guidance from above. Don't bottle it in, but choose the right person to vent to. Not gonna lie, there's no one, but that's okay. You need to learn how to process on your own. No one is really going to help you anyway. Everyone else has issues. They probably are pissed because you don't seem to have any. You do, but you are trying to cope properly. You are trying your best, but your priorities are wack right now.

You quit your job. You are unsure about nursing. You cannot meet the deadline for MLS. You couldn't apply for the UW program. You have cousins who will visit this summer. You are not in great shape. Your mom is fed up, but she is far from over it. You get to hear it all and you try your best to not let it get to you. Yesterday, the crack got larger. You need to find a way to get rid of whatever is going in that is detrimental to your well-being and your success. Everyone is upset, but you cannot let that get to you. Now, there are areas where you need to pull up. You should help as much as you can, but understand that when you help out and your boat is already on the verge of sinking, you need to understand that you will end up resenting everyone. It's nobody's fault, but it's up to you to push forward and get out of the mud. You don't have to get stuck in there with them. You can sympathize, but know your limits because some problems do not resolve on their own. Quick fixes are just that, quick fixes and they rely on it. If that doesn't cut it, they resort to emotional dumping. Some problems are simply not for you to solve. Remember that day you went paddle-boarding. They fell in and panicked even when they had their vests on. In the end, you were the one who struggled to get back on your board. Some people are just loud and erratic before they figure out what to do. Some never do, but they need someone to feel exactly what they are going through. There are moments, my dear, where you will have to just let people flail about and swallow some water until they realize they have a vest on. You have no business jumping in. Do exactly that and that should set you free from building any resentment.

You have an interview for a nursing program next week. You have a volunteer position waiting on you. You have a chance at an Ivy League and this is coming from a Microbiology professor who has a PhD. You have been encouraged to sign up for a research internship. You can work as a scribe. You are earning and saving money. You are paying bills on time. Your resume is filling up and you have a research project in the works. You are doing well in Biology. It's not as bad as you think it is, but it can go south if you lose perspective. God is working and He is very much present in your life. You take a few detours here and there, and the temptation is real, but your heart knows the truth. Remember. You know the way. You have seen all of this before. This is not your first rodeo.

You are blessed. You have help. You have resources.

Get up.

Stand up.

#blog

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blasphemyisjustforyou · 2 years ago

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I actually have a funny little anecdote for this. When I was in high school, my school newspaper was (naturally) run by students. And there was always a running joke of "_____ High gets High" (as in, we fuck it up on drugs). Now, being High School Students, but also future Investigative Journalists, our school newspaper reporters decided to run a little survey. And they found that a fair percent of the top rank honors students were using adderall to pass their tests. The students openly admitted to using non-prescription drugs to study and pass tests. And whats more, they were getting amazing grades. These were our honors students. They were doing College Level Math, Science, and History in High School. And they were doing it all while high as fuck on addies. Some of our track team was interviewed. They used pot recreationally out of season. Never during, naturally, because if they got caught there goes their potential scholarships. But out of season? Lightin up doobies. We had at least one student admit to having tried meth. There were at least 20 who had done acid.

These were our star students, and they were doing drugs. But you know whats funny? The school didn't really say anything about it. They didn't turn it into a "Oh these kids are criminals they deserve to be locked away" situation. As far as I'm aware the school had the parents give a "We know you're using but we want you to use responsibly so just be careful ok?" lecture to their kids. And as far as I'm aware, thats all that ever happened. Which is what should happen. And these are still our star students. Some of those acid users likely went on to get scholarships from big schools in and out of state. Those adderall-poppers almost certainly went Ivy League. That meth kid probably attends our local university with straight A's right now. They didn't "throw away" their intelligence by using drugs. Their intelligence was the same regardless.

And I'm not encouraging you to get into drugs with this, they can be very dangerous and these kids knew that. They were (I hope) very careful about their usage and made sure they weren't going to overdose or harm themselves with it. But it didn't ruin their life to take a couple addies before finals week. Or to pop a tab on their downtime. Or to hit the doink between seasons. You know what would've ruined their life? 4 armed adults taking them to a correctional facility for 1-4 years and having it marked that they took drugs in high school. Cops showing up at their house and arresting them for the simple act of trying to make it through high school and deal with the stress of it all. The state removing them from their homes and declaring their parents unfit because they had a pill once or took a hit a couple times or popped a tab a while back.

So when you see shit like "They used to be very smart but they threw it all away", really consider what the person saying it means by that. Because no one is throwing anything away. Except the cops, who are throwing kids away to a life of poverty and crime over a couple pills and a blunt.

"They used to be very smart but they threw it all away by using drugs."

Translating:

"They were under so much pressure to live up to everyone else's unreasonable expectations that they felt the need to use drugs in order to cope."

#Oh my god this was meant to be short I swear #I'm sorry I just enjoy writing so much #I didnt even realize I'd written 3 paragraphs until after I hit post

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avatar-anna · 2 years ago

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The Professor

summary: you and harry are perfect strangers

words: 4.8k

tw: none

PART IV, PART V, PART III, PART II, PART I Series Masterlist

December 2021

New York sucked.

It was loud and dirty and gray. It was full of menacing industrial buildings, all metal and barely any plants. You couldn’t see the stars.

You lived in New York, but it wasn’t your home, you didn’t want it to be. Moving away from Cambridge was a decision you regretted almost as soon as your plane landed, but you were too proud to go back, and you didn’t want to relive painful memories that were still too fresh; you already would never be able to forget anything you’d said or did with your perfect stranger, physically being where it all happened was simply too much.

The only thing that made living in New York worthwhile was your job. It was more fulfilling than enjoyable, something you weren’t sure what to make sense of. You were still teaching, at an Ivy League university, no less. Your main focus was criminal psychology, teaching a class geared towards prospective candidates for the FBI or the police. You yourself weren’t an agent by any means, nor did you want to be one. You just wanted to teach and help people.

You kept up your videos, but you stopped doing questions at the end of a lecture. It was something unique that you’d done at Cambridge, and you didn’t think your new students in New York would care anyway. You could tell they saw your class as a means to an end, another rung on a ladder in order to get where they really wanted to be.

It was safe to say that you rarely left your new apartment, which was bigger than your Cambridge home and paid for by the school. It felt empty, bare, the only things in it being the essentials and a nice cat tree shaped like a castle for the Emperor. He wasn’t too pleased by the move either and you needed to get back in his good graces.

Sometimes you read or rode your bike in Central Park, the only place that you truly liked in New York, but most days you only had the energy for classes and feeding your cat.

Month after miserable month went by. You hardly slept, you read books, but you didn’t have the same passion as before, you were practically wasting away, but you didn’t know what to do to stop feeling this way. You remembered telling him in June that you wanted to embrace life, to try new things, now that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

It wasn’t until Winter Break that you started to turn your life around. You were sitting alone in your apartment on Christmas Eve, drinking wine straight from the bottle and watching some reality dating show—a key routine in your new life that you also hated—when you got a phone call.

“Hell—”

“You’re really going to abandon your mother on Christmas?”

“Christmas is a holiday desecrated by capitalism that promotes buying things you don’t need for people you don’t really like. And on a completely unrelated note, your gift should be coming in the mail.”

Your mom gasped, but you weren’t really paying attention to her, your eyes watching the drama unfold on your television screen instead. “—never heard you talk like this! Are you even listening to me?”

“I feel like I should say yes, but…no, no I’m not,” you said, which only caused her to wail and yell at you more.

“After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me? I always tell my friends how wonderful you are for taking care of your mother, and here you are, showing me disrespect I don’t deserve! This is not the daughter I raised—”

“You didn’t raise me,” you muttered, eyes widening in surprise when you said the words aloud, that you said them at all.

“Excuse me? How dare you speak to me—”

“Do you know what filial obligation is?” you asked, cutting your mother off, not caring at all to hear what she had to say. You had no idea what was currently possessing you, but you decided to go with it. Not waiting for an answer, you said, “It’s this concept in ethics where children are morally obligated to take care of their parents, just because they’re your parents. It was created by a bunch of Greek philosophers and a lot of people seem to like it, but you know what I think? I think that’s a bunch of bullshit.”

“Y/n, what on earth has gotten into—”

“And I’m not the only one who thinks so. A lot of people think that the philosophers didn’t take into account abusive parents or, you know, the fact that no child actually asks to be brought into the world,” you said, completely cutting your mom off. You could tell you were slurring a bit, and that you probably wouldn’t be saying any of this if you were completely sober, but you were on a roll, and once you started, it was hard for you to stop.

“Parents don’t deserve anything for raising their kids. That’s their job, that was your job. I don’t owe you anything. I paid off the loans you took out to get rid of me, I bought you a house when you told me it was the least I could do for getting me where I am today, but in reality, I didn’t owe you a thing. I’m not going to thank you for my achievements anymore. I did this. Not you, me.

“You’ve always seen me as something, not someone,” you said, taking a shaky breath. “And I can’t—I can’t have you in my life anymore. Please don’t call me again unless it’s to apologize.”

“Y/n, don’t you dare hang up this phone so help me—”

You took your phone away from your ear and hung up. You thought it would be more satisfying to officially go no-contact with her, especially because that was a decision you made while you were on the phone. But you just felt…normal. You were still drinking wine from the bottle, you were still watching trashy reality television, and you were still alone. You’d always been alone, but now it was more apparent to you than ever.

What was he up to?

It wasn’t the first time you thought it, and though you knew you could easily look it up and know what Edward/Harry was up to in seconds, that wasn’t how you wanted to know him. Being left in the dark was partially your fault, and you knew that running away was a rash decision, but what could you do about it now? He probably wanted nothing to do with you when you ran off with only a letter taped to your door. You didn’t regret your decision to leave entirely, you did what you thought was right in the moment. But there were times where you wished you’d given him a chance to explain.

You hoped he was happy, that wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he was happy.

Getting up from the couch, you trudged to your kitchen. It was much bigger than your last one, stocked with fancy appliances and a large fridge. You didn’t know what Columbia was thinking when they gave you this apartment. It was much too big for just you and the Emperor, and you didn’t plan on having any visitors, well, ever.

“I could learn to cook…” you mumbled, eyeing the pristine stove that had only been used for making tea. Looking around your apartment, you began to think. You might’ve had regrets about how you ended up here, but that didn’t change the fact that this was your home now. You’d taken a big step in standing up to your mother tonight, and you wanted to keep up that stride. All the chance-taking and the urge to try new things died when you found out about Edward/Harry, but it was starting to take root again. The life you weren’t living wasn’t really a life, and you wanted to start living again.

Picking up your cat, you scratched him between his ears. “Things are going to start changing around here, Mr. Trajan,” you said, to which your cat just meowed. “Starting with…a new brother or sister?”

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

May 2022

You still weren’t in love with New York, but you didn’t absolutely hate your new home. At the very least, it was starting to actually feel like home, and that was definitely an improvement. You had your cats, you knew more than just people at the university, and you could cook spaghetti, something that had bested you for years. You didn’t understand how people eyeballed cooking it just right, but after signing up for a cooking class, you finally managed.

The first thing you wanted to do was tell Edward/Harry. One night he’d asked you if there was anything you couldn’t do, and that was what you came up with.

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

“Well, cooking in general, but pasta is my greatest adversary.”

Edward tossed his head back and laughed, but instead of feeling embarrassed or like he was making fun of you, you giggled along with him.

“It’s a good thing we’re friends then, Doctor, because while I do not have multiple PhDs, I can make a mean plate of spaghetti.”

“Friends?” you couldn’t help but ask. You didn’t really have those. You waved to your neighbors when you saw them and your students told you to have a good weekend when they left your class, but friends were a scarcity in your life.

Not even missing a beat, Edward said, “Of course. I don’t stay up late talking about Russian novels with strangers.”

“We haven’t discussed any Russian novels ye—Oh my gosh, you finished Anna Karenina! What did you think?”

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

You thought about him a lot, of course you did, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to reach out, not quite ready to do so and too scared he would be angry with you if you called. So you wrote down your experiences in letters, telling the only real friend you’d ever had about all the new things you tried and the places you discovered in New York. You never sent them, you wouldn’t even know where to send them if you tried, but it felt better when you felt like you had someone to talk to about it.

There were things you couldn’t bring yourself to write down or say, even though you knew he was never going to read these letters. And there were times when you stopped writing to him too, feeling like you didn’t have to tell him every little thing you experienced.

Now it was summer again, and you were wandering. Aside from all your new experiences, one of the things you liked to do was just walk anywhere and everywhere. You liked to people watch and look at different buildings and uncover all the history within their walls.

Tonight you were walking around a place called Elmont. There were lots of coffee shops and parks and people who walked their dogs or jogged on the sidewalk. It was definitely different than the busyness of Manhattan, but you liked it. It was quiet, quaint, had a nice charm to it. Or it did, and then all of a sudden there were huge crowds.

There was an arena nearby, which was what you assumed the sudden hoard of young women were here for. Curious, you followed them to see what all the fuss was about. The arena was technically for a hockey team, and you didn’t want to assume anything, but the people lined up around the venue didn’t look like stereotypical hockey fans.

You were trying to decipher who went to an arena with feather boas and sparkly pants. Having had enough people watching for one night, you decided to head home for the night. You’d started watching a cooking show and challenging yourself to replicate the dishes the chefs made. “Come on, Trajan, Ms. Winter, let’s head home.”

Before you could turn around, though, someone was calling your name. Your first instinct was to run in the opposite direction, cat pram in tow, but you stayed put, watching curiously as a woman in a sparkly teal dress and cowgirl boots ran over to you.

“I thought it was you!” she said when she finally reached you. Her cheeks were red from running, the hair that was framing her face sticking out in different directions.

While fabulously dressed, you had no idea who this person was, or why she seemed to know you. You never forgot a face, but just to be polite, you asked, “Are you one of my students?”

She laughed. “Ha! God no, I could never, but I watch your videos all the time.”

Oh. You still filmed and uploaded your educational videos online, but no one had ever recognized you in public before. You never paid attention to how popular your videos were or if people liked or didn’t like them. Your editor took care of all of that, and all he ever said was things were going well.

“Thank you,” was all you could think of to say. It was then that you saw the microphone and camera crew with the young woman. Was she some kind of reporter? What was going on here?

“And who are these?” she asked, looking down at your cats huddled together in their pram. She pointed her little microphone in your direction, urging you to answer.

“That’s—That’s, um, Trajan, and that’s Faye Winter,” you said, pointing to each cat. You adopted her around New Year’s, and she was the perfect addition to your new approach to life. At first, you worried the Emperor would be jealous of his sister, but he actually took to her quite well, and now you were a happy family of three.

“Faye Winter? Like from Love Island?” the girl asked.

You nodded, shifting from foot to foot. “Yes, it—it has no educational value, but I think it’s quite entertaining.”

She laughed, harder than you thought your comment warranted. “That’s probably the best way to describe it.”

You laughed nervously along with her, gripping the handle of your pram the longer the camera stayed trained on you. It had taken a long time to be comfortable behind a camera to film your videos, but being filmed somewhere that wasn’t your office or by a camera that wasn’t yours was completely different. But you didn’t want to be rude to the young woman, who looked so excited to be talking to you, so you swallowed your growing anxiety and sayed put.

“I love your outfit by the way,” you said, hoping that taking the focus off of you a little would help.

“Thank you! I had to get especially dolled up for tonight.”

“Is that what all these people are here for? Is there some kind of concert or something?”

“Dang, Professor, you really know how to humble this man, huh?” she said. You decided not to correct her on the fact that you normally went by “Doctor” and waited for her to explain. “Harry Styles is debuting his brand new album tonight, and I’ve been tasked by his team to hand out free tickets. You interested?”

Harry. This was Harry’s event. Breathing suddenly became a lot more difficult. He was here somewhere. Roaming the halls of the venue just meters away, getting ready to perform. He always talked about his super secret project. This must’ve been it.

You were curious. Of course you were curious. But were you ready? He’d hid this part of his life from you for reasons you couldn’t fathom, and now you were being given the opportunity to see it all up close.

“Um…” You didn’t know what to say, and the cameras were only making you more nervous. “I don’t think I can bring my cats,” you finally managed to say. Surely they wouldn’t be allowed inside the arena.

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” the young woman said, her smile warm and inviting despite how awkward you were. “So what do you say?”

“O—Okay.”

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

You now understood why all these young women were going crazy.

There was, of course, a scientific explanation having to do with endorphins being released into the brain and things like that, but the short answer was that Harry was simply marvelous. And it was Harry on the stage. Edward was someone you were pretty sure only you got to know, this person on stage had a presence that was undeniably infectious, and a lovely voice to match.

You remembered telling him once how you never really listened to music all that much, but you liked the songs he performed, liked the way he seemed to truly feel each word he sang and connected with the crowd, a crowd that you were apart of. Not that he had any idea.

There were also things you noticed, parts of the conversations you two had that somehow wound up in his songs. No one would’ve noticed but you, but you were pretty sure he knew that. He sang about your late nights together, only now you could hear how he truly felt, how smitten he was those nights on your couch talking about books and music.

Hell, the entirety of “Matilda” was most certainly about the relationship you had with your mother, and though the lyrics weren’t verbatim what Edward/Harry had said to you when you shared all of that with him, the sentiments were the same. You didn’t know how to feel about the song at first. He was the only person you’d ever spoken to about those things, and now it was in a song for anyone to hear.

But the song that felt the most like a sucker punch was one he called “Little Freak.”

It was abstract to the average listener, but you understood everything he was saying in the song—delicate points of view, gifts wasted on him, how he disrespected you, never seeing his birthmark. It felt reflective, like he’d written the song shortly after everything fell apart, and hearing how sad the song was made you feel even worse about the situation. He sounded…in love, which seemed impossible. You’d only known each other a few months, was that enough time to develop feelings, to say that you brought blue lights to dreams?

The song brought you back to the night he stayed in your apartment, the things that happened and the things that you wished happened.

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

“My bed’s just in there.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’m not going to kick you out of your own bed.”

“Please, I insist.”

But he insisted that you take the bed. You were at a standstill. Both of you ready for bed, but neither of you actually settling down to go to sleep. He kept refusing your offer to take the couch, but it didn’t feel right to you to just have him sleep on the couch. It wasn’t very comfortable.

Underneath all of that, though, was the very strong urge to sleep next to him.

You’d never had any kind of guest stay the night, but this wasn’t just any guest, this was Edward. The man who said you were beautiful and enchanting. Just thinking about his compliments made you feel all fluttery.

“You could—You could, um, could stay with me,” you said, but the last part was barely above a decibel.

“Sorry, what was that?”

Your cheeks flushed pink, but you took a deep breath and repeated yourself with more confidence than you felt. “I said you could stay with me. If—If you’d like. It’s a small bed, so I don’t know how comfortable it’ll be, and the Emperor has a tendency to sleep on top of me sometimes so I don’t know how he’ll feel about—”

“Y/n?”

“Yes?”

“Would you like me to sleep in your bed with you tonight?” he asked.

You nodded. “I think I would like that.”

“You think or you know? I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” he said.

He could tell you were nervous, and maybe even thought you were a little unsure. But you were sure. You wanted this. Nothing more than sleeping, but you wanted to be close to him.

Stepping close to him, you reached your hands up. “Can I?” you asked. He nodded, and your fingers gingerly pulled off his face mask, revealing the bottom half of his face bit by bit. The first thing you noticed was facial hair, then freckles, then a beauty mark, then pink lips. Your fingers just barely touched the top of his cheekbone, but it was enough to make him close his eyes. “Oh wow.”

“Hm?” His eyes were still closed, letting the pads of your fingers graze across his jaw and cheeks.

“You’re quite stunning,” you said, feeling a little breathless.

Edward blinked his eyes open, a small grin forming on his face. The first time you’d ever seen his smile. He had dimples and pearly white teeth.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“My turn?”

You nodded, letting Edward, peel your mask away the same way you’d done to him a minute ago. It was all very intense, the whole thing leaving you dizzy.

He drank you in with each little bit of your face that was revealed, the same way you had. His eyes roved over you, his hands lightly gripping your chin. You’d never had anyone look at you so intensely before, but this moment felt too precious to stop, not yet.

“I think I might be dreaming,” he breathed.

Smiling, you turned your head to kiss the palm of his hand. “Not yet. You have to sleep first.”

Edward grinned wider than before. “How silly of me. Lead the way.”

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

You’d never felt as safe or content as you did that night. It was part of the reason you felt so betrayed when you discovered he’d been lying about who he was. You’d practically bared your soul to him the few months you got to know him, and you realized it had been a mistake. He’d never been as open as you were, and you felt like a fool.

And now here you were, watching him perform songs that sounded so personal, that felt like all the things you never realized you wanted him to share with you in the privacy of your townhouse until now. How could he share with the world and not with you?

Wiping a tear from your eye, you realized that it was time to go. The show wasn’t over, but you couldn’t stay, it hurt too much, and you felt like you were being betrayed all over again.

Luckily the young woman that provided you with the free ticket wasn’t sitting with you. You didn’t want any questions about your early departure, you just needed to get home. You walked back the way you’d come, flashing a badge to a security guard who showed you to the small dressing room where someone’s assistant had been kind enough to watch the Emperor and Faye Winter for you. After you gave the assistant a lame excuse, you took the pram back and left the arena as quickly as possible.

Walking away from the venue, you felt a weight crushing your chest. The same pain you felt when you found out who Edward/Harry was a year ago hitting you like a punch to the gut. In a daze, you somehow made it onto the subway and back to the streets that would eventually lead to your apartment.

Pulling out your phone, you dialed a number you hadn’t used in a year but couldn’t bring yourself to delete from your contacts. It went to voicemail obviously, but you wouldn’t have called if you knew there was a chance he would pick up. When you were instructed to, you began to speak.

“Hello. I don’t know if you still have this number saved, but it’s Y/n. I—I went to your concert tonight. A woman in a lovely sparkly dress gave me a free ticket while I happened to be walking by the arena you’re playing at right now, which is crazy when you think about the probability of that happening, which is practically—”

The call ended, cutting you off. It occurred to you then that you needed to stop hesitating and talking about statistics and focus on what you needed to say. You called him back and started again.

“Hi, me again. I just wanted to tell you that I saw you tonight. Saw you perform, I mean. You’re very good. I’m not sure how I feel about some of your songs and their inspiration, but that’s not really why I’m calling.

“I’m calling because I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have run off the way I did, but I was just so incredibly hurt that I couldn’t stay. I left you a note, which you hopefully read so I don’t have to re-explain all of that. So, I’m—”

Rolling your eyes and silently cursing his voicemail, you called him one last time.

“Last time, I promise, and then I won’t bother you again,” you said. “I’m just really sorry for how everything turned out, but it seems like you’re doing well, and I wish you all the best. Maybe I’ll—Maybe I’ll see you around. I know the Emperor would like that, he misses you quite a bit. Bye…Harry.”

You hung up after that, wondering if that was even his number anymore. Shaking your head, you tried to put him from your mind. You’d said your piece, and now it was time to move on.

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

“Okay, so that wraps up our session for today. Please make sure to stop by office hours if you have any questions about the final. It is cumulative, and I’ll be going over the whole semester the next few days. And don’t hesitate to send me an email if you need to schedule an individual appointment.”

Everyone at their desks began to pack up their things, a low rumble of conversation taking over the lecture hall. Before anyone left, though, there was a voice.

“What about the question?”

You were only half listening, talking to a student about their final grade. “Sorry, what was that?”

“If I ask a question, I get extra credit. That’s the deal, isn’t it?”

That seemed to get everyone’s attention. Those who were halfway out the door paused at “extra credit,” others stopped packing up their books to see what you’d say. You, on the other hand, froze at the voice. Now that you were paying attention, you recognized it, and were suddenly stuck in place.

“Is that true, Dr. Y/l/n?” the student you’d been speaking to asked, her eyes wide and hopeful.

“Um…” How were you supposed to answer that? You hadn’t done it all year, and now he’d gone and shared that with your whole class. “I suppose.”

That low rumble got louder, everyone rushing back to their seats and raising their hands, eager to be chosen. Some students were already throwing out questions for you to answer, but when you managed to gain control of your classroom again, his voice carried from the back of the lecture hall to you.

“Do you know how to cook pasta?”

You frowned behind your face covering. He thought he was being cute, or cheeky, as the British liked to call it. He thought he’d get you by asking a question he already knew the answer to. Or thought he knew the answer to.

“Yes, I do,” you said, still frowning. It didn’t look like he was frowning behind his own mask, though. If you knew him as well as you thought you did, you would go as far to say that he was grinning. “Alright, go home, everyone. And get studying.”

There were protests from students, one of them even pointing out that no one knew the person who asked the question. But since finals week was next week, nobody stuck around. Except for him.

He came over to you, hands deep in the pocket of his hoodie. Seeing him in front of you was a weird experience, like nothing had ever changed, even though everything had.

“Hi,” he said, that charming grin gone now that it was just the two of you. He sounded nervous.

You’d yet to look him in the eye, looking the rest of him over instead. Little clip holding up his hair, sweatshirt that you now knew was his own merchandise, a pair of athletic shorts and running shoes. He looked like any other graduate student attending university, but that was most certainly not the case.

“I was hoping we could talk,” he said, and when you still didn’t respond, he tried again. “Please?”

You looked at him then, trying to figure out what he wanted from you. You’d forgotten how intense his gaze could be, and as he pinned you with a stare, the only thing you could say was, “Okay.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

tags: @remuslupinwifee @majasophieanna @michellekstyles @wolwolsighs @harrystylesrecs @cwiphswmwasohmm @his-only-angel-1989 @screaminganddying @mxltifxnd0m

#harry styles #harry styles x professor yn #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot

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tumbling-darkling · 3 years ago

Text

Date Night

Bruce got the call early in the evening, Gordon’s voice practically shrieking over the phone in anger and confusion. It took Bruce a moment to calm the man down so he could manage to get something coherent out of him.

Apparently, Harley and Ivy had broken out of Arkham, all in a blink of an eye. Even more, no law enforcers could get close to the pair as they publicly paraded around Gotham. Luckily, no one was getting hurt, but the pair generally being out of Arkham was concerning. Especially how they escaped.

Shortly after the call, Bruce dawned on the suit and went to do some quick pre-vigilante research to get a clearer picture of the situation. Which only made the situation of escaped villains more concerning.

He pulled the security footage and found that their escape was just as Gordon described it. They straight up disappeared.

One moment they are in the prison, the next they disappear into thin air. Not at the same time though, one at a time. Ivy being the first before Harley. Which was a smart choice, since Ivy had heavier security in regards to her meta status, if Harley had vanished first, Ivy’s security would only have gotten heavier.

The two then reappeared outside of the prison just as they disappeared, by popping into existence one at a time. And they skipped off.

Then there was the fact that no police force or even vigilante could manage to get close, Tim calling in shortly after to report that he tried to approach only to blink and find himself in a library. All officers reported the same thing, that upon getting too close or entering an area the two were currently residing, they would blink and find themselves somewhere else completely. Other officers reported the officers that woke up in random areas acting weirdly before they entered these areas. Freezing up, turning, then running in the opposite direction.

There was also the report that many officers felt a chill in the air before these instances would happen, a feeling like they were trespassing would take hold, and many of them even began to jump at the shadows. Reports of green eyes blinking from the shadows by those who said ‘fuck that’ and went home right after.

So Harley and Ivy were running around town while some sort of entity protected them.

Batman didn’t know much about Magic, it was something that was difficult to grasp or understand, but this had magic painted all over it. He decided now was the time to act though as he stood up and leapt onto the batcycle, speeding into the city as he connected to another league member who may be able to help.

The line clicked as it indicated that he was connected to the other side, “Constantine, I need you at Gotham immediately.”

John stared at the phone in his hand, blinking slowly before he slammed it into the floor after Batman hung up on him.

That fucker did this every fucking time.

Bruce arrived in front of a Carnival, the pair of villains' last seen location. Constantine should arrive shortly, but he might as well see if he could get more information regarding this escape.

He took a step towards the gates when a voice stopped him, “oh fuck Batman himself showed up. Probably should have expected that after encountering a Robin.” Bruce spun towards the unfamiliar voice, a batarang in hand as he searched for the source, surprised that he couldn’t seem to spot one. “I don’t suppose you would leave if I asked?”

“Are you the one keeping people from arresting Quinn and Ivy?” Bruce demanded.

“Oh yeah, that’s me,” the voice sounded young.

“Why? Did they hire you? Threaten you?”

“What? No! No, I just owe them a favour is all. And we have an agreement! It’s just a date night, no killing or crime or nothing. Only couples stuff.”

Batman couldn’t help but lower his batarang, “… you broke them out… for a date night?”

Suddenly a white haired teenager with glowing green eyes popped into existence, floating above the gate leading to the carnival, “well I’m not going to just let them out to cause crime! That’s the opposite of what I normally do. Nah, it’s like their one year anniversary and I wanted to do something nice cause they helped me out once.”

“So… no crime,” Bruce deadpanned.

“No crime,” the kid shrugged.

“What about after the date?”

“Oh I’m putting them back where I found them. That’s part of the agreement.”

Bruce had to process this for a moment, then grumbled under his breath, “and Gordon made me think they were planning on destroying the city.”

“Oh they totally wanted to blow stuff up but I said nope, the moment they want to try any crime stuff they go back sooner than promised.”

“And they listened to you?”

“Well they can’t really stop me,” the kid grinned. “So you can go back to your batcave or something, it’s handled. Oh and tell the police dude to stop sending his officers after them, overshadowing gets pretty annoying after the 20th time.”

Bruce just stared at the kid, then sighed and turned around, walking away as he spoke into his comms, “Robin, keep an eye on them for the rest of the night but do not engage.”

“Already in position.”

Bruce would never admit that he was relieved to leave the scene, he didn’t fully trust this kid, but there was something foreboding about him. An energy that twinged every flight instinct he had trained to push down. He didn’t trust him, but he did believe the kid, if only because he felt that if he didn’t, then that kid could easily take him out without a thought.

It wasn’t until he reached the cave before the goosebumps finally faded and the chill disappeared.

Just as promised, the two villains were returned to Arkham before sunrise the next day.

The only thing that indicated their disappearance was their more cheery moods, and odd gifts left in their cells.

A plant that Ivy couldn’t seem to control, but also couldn’t be picked up by any guard in the facility, Ivy being the only person who seemed able to touch the plant.

And some sort of glowing green dog that came and went as it pleased. A dog that seemed to especially like Harley.

Bruce was relieved that the kid kept his word, but a nagging bit of missing information still ate away at Bruce’s mind.

Why did he owe Harley and Ivy?

It drove him to visit Arkham just to ask the pair.

He asked Harley first since she was more likely to talk.

“Oh, Danny? Yeah! He is such a nice kid! Wish more men were like him, honestly. Yeah, the poor kiddo was being thrashed by some sort of vampire dude who was saying some really creepy shit. You know? Like, the kind of language that makes you think: that dude is straight up possessive and psychotic! Ives and I were doing some good ol’ vandalism when we saw him and he got knocked down in front of us. And oh boy that kid looked so scared! Biggest eyes I’ve ever seen, looked like he was hurting real bad based on how beat up he looked. We couldn’t just let that kind of abuse happen to a kid! We may like crime but we have standards, Bats!

It’s really funny though because when we tried to smack him around our punches just went through the fucker. And then, this kid, this absolutely best to shit and back kid, stood up and tried to defend us from this fanged dipshit! Real hero type, honestly if he had black hair I’m pretty sure you would have recruited him as another Robin by now. Tried to get us to run away or something, dropped this weird ass thermos, so I did the logical thing! I picked it up and threw it at that vampire! It hit him too! Left a huge ass bruise on his head! So then I picked it up, tied it to a stick and beat the shit out of him while Ives covered me! Turns out that normal vines can block whatever pink shit he was throwing around.

It was great, I basically had him running with his tail tucked between his legs! We forced Danny to stick around so we could patch him up, and he was practically passing out on us! He actually did pass out! And he-! Oh wait I’m not supposed to tell you that part, I am a woman of honour! Anyhow, we patched him up, fed him some of the best fucking food he could ever taste and we got pretty close to adopting this kid. Seriously Bats, I thought you were crazy for having so many Robin kiddos but man, it all makes sense! Helping out a kid that could kick ass and having them look so happy and greatful? Best fucking feeling. But he had other places to be, so we said farewells! He visits every few weekends or so for brunch, bringing us nice stuff. Oh did you see that plant Ivy got from him? Told us it’s a ghost plant! Crazy, right? Ivy is fascinated by it. It’s a shame he doesn’t lean more towards crime, super goodie goodie. He came to us and told us he could let us have a lovely date night as long as we don’t cause trouble. A little disheartening that not even a tiny explosion would be allowed but! A night out was perfect.

We are gonna get out again on our own anyway, cause some mischief, blow up some pollution plants, that kind of thing. Apparently he has a friend who totally admires Ives. Best kid we could have helped out.

Oh! And he’s dead!” Harely finished her long story.

Bruce nodded with a grunt.

“Thank you for your honesty, Quinn.”

“Any time Bats, I’ll see ya next week!”

Bruce paused, then glanced slightly behind him, “what makes you think I’m coming back?”

Harley grinned as she leaned against the bars of her cell, “You’re addicted to knowing everything. And the fact that the kid is a ghost is gonna drive you crazy.”

Bruce turned his head back towards the exit, but didn’t move.

“I’ll tell you one thing. Me and Ives don’t know how he died, and neither of us killed him either. Again, we don’t really try to kill kids. Just rough them up if they are being little shits.” Bruce didn’t make a noise at her reference to fighting his kids. “Oh and Batsy? Don’t ask him how he died when you find him. It’s fucking rude.”

Bruce continued to walk, not commenting on how she seemed confident that he would find a way to find the kid.

Somehow he was leaving with more questions than answers.

John Constantine glanced around the city, then felt his phone ring and picked it up and growled, “where the fuck are you and what is this emergency-?”

“It’s been taken care of. I no longer require your services for now.”

Batman hung up.

John Constantine slammed his phone into the pavement, “THAT ASSHOLE!”

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sadbeautiful-tragic · 3 years ago

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((I typed this all out to reply to a YouTube comment but realized it’s too long, so decided to put it here instead))

Comparing Ben and Paxton’s ways of being there for Devi—because, despite some people stating one guy or the other is not there for her, I think it should be factually stated that yes, yes they are both there for Devi. But in different ways.

Paxton does the superhero/cool-guy type saving for Devi; Ben does the emotional/loyal/meaningful saving for Devi. When Paxton saved Devi from the coyote or when she fell into the pool, Ben was there - still worried, but not knowing what to do. After all, he’s a nerd, not a cool jock, and he had his girlfriend right next to him. What would it have looked like if he had left his girlfriend’s side to help Devi? (I feel like if he had actually left his girlfriend’s side, haters would still come after him for it.)

Ben was there for Devi when she was emotionally unstable, when she needed a shoulder to cry on, when she needed to be brought back to reality. As many people have stated, Paxton is an escape from Devi’s reality. With Paxton, Devi avoids reality, an unhealthy form of escapism. Ben, on the other hand, brings Devi back to reality. Ben helps her through the situation she’s dealing with, and makes her become a better person upon dealing with it.

Paxton and Devi don’t talk about personal/family/friend issues, it’s more of a face-level connection.

- Ben took her to Malibu when it mattered most (Paxton kind of shrugged the topic off when Devi told him in episode 1 season 2 that she went to spread her dad’s ashes).

- Ben was terrified of driving without his license, at 70mph on the LA road. As someone who has had terrible anxiety on the road, the fact that he did this for her says a lot to me.

- Ben let Devi move in with him when she had no one else, with no hesitation.

- Ben set Devi straight (made her be the better person) when she spread the rumor about Aneesa. Heck, he went to the girls’ bathroom with no hesitation to check on Devi after she took a risk and Paxton publicly humiliated her.

Honestly, I’m almost torn between benvi and daxton, but my opinion still remains.

Paxton may be the hot, cool guy, genuinely sweet and kind guy - great guy to have as your “first love;” but Ben is there for the long-run. They share that playful flirty banter, and Ben understands her in a way Paxton (at least at the moment) does not. Paxton doesn’t know half of the struggles Devi has gone through, I don’t even know if he knows she suffers from PTSD. When Paxton picked sobbing Devi up from the sidewalk, it would’ve been the perfect opportunity for Paxton to put his anger aside, dig deeper, and try to comfort Devi and understand what she was going through. Devi even gave him a window to do so by saying something about everyone being mad at her. But he didn’t help her. He did the kind of saving that he had done before - physically saving her from a situation, but not emotionally.

Ben has seen Devi at her worst and at her best, he sees the subtle changes in her, and even when he’s mad at her - when his heart has been broken by her - he knows how best to comfort her. They’re intellectual equals and make a great academic duo; they’re a power couple that want to go to an Ivy League. That’s soulmate material right there.

The way I see it, Daxton is the super cute high school couple that end up cutely together at the end of a romcom. Paxton has become a hero character, experienced massive character development, and has viewers swooning over him. After everything he had gone through, it’s painted to feel like like he’s “deserved” the female lead at the end of the movie. But, As Devi says at the end of season 2, “I wonder what that’s going to be like (being Paxton’s girlfriend).” Now that they had their cute romcom finale, the curtains have closed… what’s next?

On the opposite end, Ben and Devi are the slow burn couple who just “get” each other, and for some reason constantly find their way back to each other. They’re enemies, then friends, then once they’re fully matured, they’re lovers. When fully mature and at their best, when the credits roll after a romcom ends, they are what a real, true life romance looks like.

#devi x Ben #rant #Ben x Devi #benvi #bevi

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luxurybrownbarbie · 2 years ago

Note

Yeah so many young bloggers on here get very popular off of TERRIBLE advice. I can think of three off the top of my head that are between 19 and 22 years old who get 500+ notes per post within hours, and if it’s not pedantic repetitive drivel, it’s something so bizarrely WRONG in every moral sense of the word that I know 95% of people over the age of 25 must scratch their heads in confusion reading it. One particular blog I see people reblogging EVERYWHERE lowkey made an argument based off a cursed tik tok in favor of using MODEL AND BALLERINA DIETS (notable for the prevalence of ED, unhealthiness, and overexertion) to appeal to men by whatever means necessary. Shit got 1500 notes in hours. I was baffled. Another straight up told an anon to give up on her dreams of making six figures and marrying up (not even a millionaire, just a well off man who was comfortable) because she went to a state university and not an Ivy League. Young bloggers are the actual worst.

And this isn’t to say all young bloggers are terrible, I just wish they were more in a receptive energy of learning and expanding their world view than presenting themselves as an authority on life matters. I lived through A LOT by the time I was 21, but I would never have dreamed of telling adults about things I’d never experienced by then. There are literally some things that young people cannot be an authority on because they haven’t lived through it. A 19 year old should not be giving advice on how to navigate your 30s, period. It’s going to be bad.

~~~~~

I… don’t really have anything to add. That’s very worrying. (I have noticed disordered eating is a pattern around these parts).

I am full of pride, but I’ll never tell someone how they should handle their 30s, I’m just excited for mine. 😭

Centering yourself will always be the best way to get what you want out of life. I leverage my looks, I don’t depend on them. I know that at the end of the day, my ambition and belief in myself will always take me over the finish line. I think it takes a minute to recognize that.

#answered

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what-the-water-gaveme · 2 years ago

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trigger warning: sexual assault

2am, staring at my Google search bar, furiously typing and retyping and retyping and retyping my question: “can a thin man rape a fat woman”

anxiously, i awaited the results. would my fears be confirmed or denied? would i find comfort and solidarity in the vast world of the internet, or would the answer to my question be what i feared?

I met him in the fall of 2020. I moved to the greater Philadelphia area from rural Ohio to pursue graduate school, a move I was often applauded for due to the pandemic. I was excited by the prospect of dating in a big city. I had never really had much luck with dating in the past, and I mainly attributed it to being in Ohio.

Hinge seemed like a promising option. I rarely ever liked other people’s profiles, mainly due to a lack of confidence and a mixture of anxiety and self-doubt.

A notification! “___” liked your response. I remember exactly what our first conversation was about. For the next few days we chatted about everything from favorite cocktails, what books we were currently reading, and what we had been doing since the beginning of the pandemic.

He was nice. He was kind, cool, and whip-smart. For the most part, I really did want to possibly pursue something. My self-doubt and insecurities came to surface though and I dodged hanging out with him at every opportunity. His suggestions were always met with an excuse on my end.

For context, I am fat. I’ve been fat for over half of my life. I was a slim child, but around age 8 or 9 I begin to fill out overwhelmingly. My mom met this with panic, encouraging me to lose weight with incentives such as toys, trips, and games. She even went as far as putting me on Weight Watchers at the ripe age of 10. None of this is to take a jab at my mom. She did what she knew, and I love my mother.

My whole life has been a constant struggle to accept and appreciate my body. My strong, yet soft body that houses and protects and feels. I was taught that loving my body was wrong. I should hate it and want to completely change it. And I did, and sometimes, I still do.

Dating as a fat person is, for a lack of a better word, hard. It’s a constant worry about if you’re going to be rejected, ridiculed, fetishized, or even in some cases (like mine), harmed. The trope of the secret fat girlfriend is one I know like the back of my hand. Good enough to fuck, but not to date. It’s happened countless times to me, and to many other fat people I know. A secret shame men face around the idea of being attracted to a fat woman.

I often feel like I have to prove that I can be sexual, that I can be satisfying. Every sexual encounter I have, I feel shame surrounding the way I look naked. “I am not worthy, I am not worthy, I am not worthy.” I definitely believed that. Sometimes I still do.

He seemed interested, even after I gave the “Im not skinny” spiel that every fat woman knows all too well. Months passed by, and we would intermittently talk. A few months later in November of 2020, we briefly discussed BDSM. I was 22 and did not know the slightest thing about principles of BDSM. Looking back now, what he was suggesting was straight up abuse. I asked him if this was something he did often. He responded, “I only have this kind of sex with fat women.” I was disturbed, but admittedly, I was also intrigued. I asked why. He said, “They have low self-esteem, so they let me.

I should’ve ran then. But he was so conventionally attractive, Ivy League educated (which I am learning means absolutely nothing), and he seemed to align with me politically. He was right though, I had low self-esteem, so I let him.

The first time wasn’t that bad. Some light punching to the face, hitting me with a belt on my backside; nothing i couldn’t handle. The sex felt good. I felt satisfied.

A whole year passed before I saw him again. It was November of 2021. He had moved out of the state by then to pursue a job elsewhere, but was in town to visit family. A testament to my own insecurities, I reached out to him.

I have a lot of anxiety surrounding sex. I am now a 3 time survivor of sexual assault, which complicates intimacy in so many ways for me, as I’m sure it does for many other survivors. At that point, I had been feeling so lonely that I felt myself wanting to have another sexual encounter of the like with him. I think, in this case, my need to already be familiar with my sexual partners played a key role.

He had expressed unbridled interest in consensual non-consensual sex play. I questioned if I was genuinely interested in it, as I had a lot of concern surrounding the logistics and credibility of this “kink.” I entertained the idea but ultimately, I never said yes.

He haphazardly texted me that he was in the area and I needed to make up my mind if I wanted to see him or not. I said yes, because I thought this encounter would be similar to the last.

“Here.”

I walked to the door to let him into my complex. Some pleasantries were exchanged, but as soon as we walked into my apartment and I shut the door behind me, he punched me in the face.

I was shocked and sort of chuckled as a reaction. He hit me again. At this point, I am thinking to myself, “What the fuck am I going to do?” He gestures to the direction of the bedrooms in the back of my apartment, “Which one is yours?” I point to my bedroom and silently follow him in.

I knew I could handle some punches, but these were a thousand times more aggressive than the time before. He told me to take my clothes off. I did.

His biggest fantasy became my biggest nightmare. Punch after punch to my face resulted in a severe concussion and horrific bruising. Repeated kicking to my stomach resulted in excruciating abdomen pain.

I shyly whispered through tears, “Please stop. Please stop. Please stop.” He didn’t. I thought for a second that maybe I was going to die.

He was playing out his fantasy of consensual non-consensual sex play. Except it wasn’t consensual on my end. He even forced me to say (more than once), “I want you to rape me.” Threatening to hit me even harder if I didn’t.

He finished, abruptly put his clothes on, and left. I was so delusional as to what just happened, that, I too, abruptly put my clothes on and walked him out. As headed towards my door, I wryly joked, “See you around this time next year.”

I didn’t hear from him after that.

I sat on my bed and cried. I slept. I cried some more. My roommate came home from work later that night. I hid my face and said I was tired, and I’d see them in the morning.

I didn’t quite process what happened to me until the day after, which was, coincidentally, Thanksgiving. I woke up to a bruised and swollen cheek, and I told my roommate.

I had to seek medical care because I was in excruciating pain. After hours of waiting, I was finally seen, but the doctor questioned my credibility when I told him what happened. “This is why you don’t get yourself into these kinds of situations.”

I filed a police report, almost immediately regretting it. I was met with what I can only describe as complete and utter disrespect. He asked me what he looked like. I described. He asked almost mockingly, “What’s his build.” It was a statement, not even a question.

I told him an approximate guess of his height, and that he was of average build. He audibly stifled a laugh. He said, “Did you try to fight back…?” I couldn’t find a response. I sat in the exam room alone, on that bed, in a hospital gown, with a black eye and a swollen cheek in front of a police officer who had just laughed at me as I tried to recount the most traumatic event of my entire life.

He asked me a few more questions, and I explained that it had began as a BDSM encounter, but consent was never freely given in the first place and it was audibly withdrawn numerous times throughout the assault. I told him that a safe word was never established because my rapist said we didn’t need one.

I admitted that I was probably foolish to even entertain the idea of entering a BDSM encounter without a safe word, but I didn’t know much about BDSM and that I trusted him as a previously established sex partner to guide me. The police officer just sighed.

He eventually said he had all he needed and left.

I got dressed and drove myself home.

The next few days were generally a blur, and I didn’t really comprehend anything that was happening. I only told a few people, and I found myself sort of wondering why they even believed me. I was second guessing my reality; playing back every second of every moment of that encounter with him. Did it happen the way I remember?

The detective looking into my case called me the next week. He said there wasn’t anything he could do because he didn’t have any prior criminal activity and he lived in a different state. He said I could press charges, but he highly doubted that anything would come from it. I thanked him for his time.

Flash forward to seven months later. I am here. I’d be lying if I said I think about it everyday. Truthfully, I don’t. Sometimes I don’t think about it for weeks. But right now it’s all I can think about because there is now a new precedent set for survivors.

Survivors are seemingly encouraged to share what happened to them. yet, when they do, they are chastised, shamed, and called liars.

If a wealthy, blonde, thin, white woman such as Amber Heard is mocked on every single surface of the internet, what does that mean for me? Or you? Or your cousin? Or the girl you sat next to in Psych 101 your first semester of college?

I am sharing my story not because I think this is the perfect opportunity for a think piece moment, but because I can’t continue to live with it stuck inside of me anymore. I only shared the full story of what happened to me with one person. But now, I think it’s time for me to let it go.

Believe me or don’t. But next time you share an article or tweet about how Amber Heard got what she deserved, remember this. Amber Heard won’t see your post on facebook or your story on instagram or your retweet on twitter. Your friend who was raped will. And your friend who was raped will know that you mock and question and belittle the credibility of survivors.

To every survivor out there: I believe you. And I hope you believe me too.

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