#I think it would be convenient to have a tag in case I actually intend to unwrap this idea there.

[miagour]

The walls have ears. And eyes.

Oh, they don't even know. Not yet.

By the way, still the universe with the "harmless" Cesar's alternate. Also, he has no name for the plot point of this drawing but will later be known as Salvador.

[ghostface001]

Broken Bottles

March is falling for you, but he sees how you act around Olric and knows you'll never return his feelings. His solution is to bottle up his emotions and drop kick it as far away from him as possible. Somehow, he doesn't realize what happens to glass when you kick it.

March x Reader

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: Angst (with a happy ending), assumed unrequited feelings, minor swearing, drinking as a coping mechanism, a slightly toxic confession scene

Note: This took a lot longer to write than I thought it would, but I love it, so that's okay. Please let me know if you like it! Tagging @atoltia because she asked so nicely

The bell ringing above the door of the blacksmith’s prompts March to turn from his spot at his desk to see who entered, greeted by your bright smile and sack of ore from your latest trip down to the mines. He ignores the clenching in his chest as you beeline to him, procuring a perfect piece of iron ore and holding it out to him. 

“Hey, I found this and thought of you.”

He hates it when you talk to him like you want to see him. It could be so easy for him to trick himself into thinking that’s the case. The increased visits to the shop when you don’t need any new tools, the gifts, the attention — when he’s feeling particularly delusional, he wonders if it truly is all for him. But the illusion breaks after he takes the ore and gives the only response he’s capable of under your expectant gaze, something lukewarm to disguise the warmth rushing to his cheeks, and you move on to who you’re actually here for. 

Olric. 

It’s annoying, hearing Olric tell the same stupid story about his most recent part-time shift around town for the third time in two days. It’s even more annoying when he has to hear you laugh at it, because now instead of focusing on his work, he’s distracted by coming up with ways to hear your laugh for the rest of his life. 

“I’m trying to concentrate. Don’t either of you have work to do?” His voice comes out harsher than he intends, but he can’t bring himself to amend it. His position at his desk is a convenient cover from your gaze as you pause. Do you see the white-knuckled grip on his pencil? Do you notice the redness in his cheeks?

He doesn’t have to look at you to know your expression. Raised brow, a wrinkle of confusion and annoyance. He hasn’t snapped at you like that in a while, hasn’t deemed you a nuisance. You thought you were past this with him.You purse your lips and side-eye Olric, who only gives you a guilty shrug. “Sorry, March. I’ll get out of your hair.” You shoulder your bag and say goodbye to Olric, pausing at the door. “I’ll see you both at the inn tonight?”

“Yeah, totally!” March gives a flat grunt following Olric’s enthusiastic answer, and continues scribbling out blueprints. 

The door closes behind you, leaving a tense silence as Olric decides whether or not to question him. Before he can, a gasp escapes him. “I have a shift at the general store!” He rushes out the door, and March turns in his chair to see him walk past the window with you smiling brightly at him. 

The rip of paper brings him out of his thoughts. March looks down at the blueprints to see a large tear where the pencil had ripped through the paper. With a frustrated sigh, March balls up the paper and tosses it into the wastebasket before pushing himself up from his desk, grabbing his hammer and heading out the door.

Get a grip. 

Why do you care who the stupid farmer talks to anyway? 

Why do you think they’d ever smile at you like that?

Each passing thought is channeled into March’s swing, punctuated by the loud banging of his hammer against metal. The shop needs a new sword on display after he gave you the last one in exchange for all the ore you’ve been handing over. He can’t let himself be in debt to you. Can’t let himself owe you anything. Because then you’d just give him that smile you have whenever you think you’ve made progress with him, the one that drives him insane. You drive him insane. Every laugh when he brags about his skill, every smile as you hand over a gift from the mines, every new scar from your journeys down there… he can’t tell if he admires you or is worried about you when you act like nothing happened after passing out in the mines. Seeing his sword strapped to your back as you run around town helped after the last time Valen had to heal you — it also made it worse. It made you keep talking to him; it made him keep responding. And now… now it just makes him confused. Frustrated. Annoyed.

Angry.

Angry when you smile at him as though he deserves it. Angry when he messes up and snaps at you. Angry when you just roll your eyes and give it back to him, making his stomach twist in guilt — both because you don’t deserve his attitude and because he likes it when you return his energy. You don’t coddle him like Olric does. You don’t defend him when he’s being a jerk. You don’t insist he’s secretly better than he is. You see him for who he is, and you like him for who he is. 

But you like Olric more. You like Olric in the way March wishes you would like him. Not that he blames you, though he can certainly pretend to. Olric is better than him. Maybe not at blacksmithing, but at everything else. Everything you deserve. And it pisses him off.

“Are you, uh… trying out a new technique, bro?”

March forces his glare away from Olric to the anvil. The sword he’d been taking his anger out on now sits in pieces, the metal ruined from sitting in the forge for too long before he started working on it. He sneers down at his failure. “No. I’m screwing up.”

“I’m sure it can be reused… somehow.” Olric reaches up and scratches the back of his neck as he attempts to be reassuring. 

“It can’t.” March swipes the metal into the scrap bucket that’s been steadily becoming more and more needed the longer you’ve been living in his head. Maybe it’s for the best that you like Olric. That way, he can finally force his feelings to the back of his mind and get back to his standards of perfection. Maybe it’ll actually work this time. 

Olric is saying something about not worrying about the waste of metal when him saying your name brings March’s attention back. “— and I are going down to the tide caverns of the mines tomorrow, if you want to join?”

The offer makes March roll his eyes. He’s never been a miner. After the earthquake, sometimes he’ll go a few levels down in the upper mines for copper if he’s really desperate, but otherwise, he relies on Olric and Balor for supply. Not to mention, he’d rather look for worms after it rains than be a third wheel to you and Olric in the mines, working together, protecting each other with his sword on your back—

“March?”

He grits his teeth and tears off his gloves. “I’ll pass.” He storms past Olric into the shop, slamming the door behind him. 

~~~

As soon as you walk into the inn, March feels the room brighten, and he watches you make your rounds. You first visit the Dragon Guard, who are conspiring on their next hit — March overheard them ‘whispering’ about Juniper earlier, the kids aren’t subtle. Next, you check in on the latest session of Dragons & Drama that Celine is running, and after that, you stop for a round of cards. March observes you sitting next to Olric, consulting each other about your hands to the annoyance of everyone else playing. And when you win instead of Olric, he cheerfully congratulates you, his arm around your shoulders causing March to grip his glass tighter.

You finally sit next to him at the bar, and the sinking feeling in his gut disappears with your smile. Hemlock slides a drink to you over the bar, and you thank him before turning to March, your voice low. “You seemed a little off this morning, are you feeling better?”

“Now that you’re here,” He drawls with a smile, propping his head up with his hand, his elbow resting on the bar.

You bite back a smile, and March suddenly has the strong urge to cup your cheeks in his hands as your face takes on a warmer hue and you laugh softly, hiding behind a sip of your drink. “Did Olric ask you about the mines tomorrow? I wanted to ask you myself, but thought you might still be… moody.”

He frowns — if he’s being honest, it’s more of a pout. “‘S’not fair.”

Your brow furrows. “Sorry, I just didn’t want to bother you.”

“You are bothering me.”

Your face twists in confusion and offense. “I can leave—”

“Noooo.” It begins to occur to March that drinking does not make him magically better at expressing himself. He reaches forward as you start to get up, but you’re closer than he’s prepared for, so he holds your wrists when he means to take your hands in his. “I mean… ‘s’not fair that you hang out with Olric all the time. ‘S’like you like him or something.”

“I do like him.”

You say something else, but the blood is already rushing in his ears. “You… you do?”

Your confusion doesn’t let up. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

No. There isn’t. Because Olric is everything March isn’t. He’s nice, and humble, and respectful. His compliments aren’t backhanded, and his praise doesn’t have to be earned. Olric doesn’t have to hide behind alcohol to express how he feels. He doesn’t have to drink to be happy. 

You like Olric. March already knew, but to hear it from your lips makes the sting burn. The warmth of your skin under his hands turns to ice, and he pulls back quickly. Too quickly, as his elbow hits his glass and sends it crashing to the ground. 

Everyone turns at the sound of glass shattering, and March’s face burns under their gazes as he pushes himself to stand. You reach out to steady him as he stumbles, avoiding stepping on broken glass. “I’ll pay for it,” He manages as Josephine approaches, ready with a broom and dustpan. 

 “There’s no need. You didn’t get nicked or anything, right?” Josephine waves him off with a smile that he can only read as pity.

“I’m fine.” He backs away, keeping his head down, and shoves his hands in his pockets before leaving. The cool night air does little to help the burning in his cheeks as he stalks over the bridge to get home. 

On the way, a hand is on his shoulder. And he turns to see you, your concerned gaze under the moonlight doing nothing to help his inner turmoil. “March? What happened?”

“I said I’m fine!” He wrenches himself away, glaring at you. “Just go be with your boyfriend!”

You hold your hands up to placate him, only angering him more. “What are you talking about?”

“Olric!” He steps forward, closing in the space between you. “You said you like him, so how about you go do something about it instead of being a useless coward?”

Your face falls for a moment before hardening, and you straighten. “Get some sleep, March,” You say coolly. “It seems like you need it.”

You head back to the inn, and March glares over the side of the bridge, debating the merits of a night swim when Olric finds him and brings him home. 

~~~

March is occupying himself witht he inventory books the next morning when the bell above the door rings. He looks up to see you enter, dressed for the mines, with his sword strapped to your back. Despite the pain relieving tonic from Valen, his head throbs. “Olric left already,” He bites out, forcing himself to look down at the book.

“I told him I’d meet him there.” You set a paper cup on the sales desk and push it towards him. “Fresh from Darcy. She said she hasn’t seen you today.”

There was no chance in hell he was going to the market today. Everyone would just ask him how he was, and what was wrong, and he might just throw himself over the bridge for sure. His headache forces him to take the cup, despite never wanting to accept anything from you ever again. It’s a mocha. At least he can pretend it’s from Darcy knowing his order instead of you. You watch him expectantly as he takes a drink, an edge in your gaze. You’re expecting him to lash out at you again. He just might. “You should go. Wouldn’t want you to be late for your date.”

Your eyes narrow, and he pointedly returns to the inventory lists. “It’s not a date,” You reply. 

“But you want it to be.”

“No, I don’t.” You reach forward and close the book, bringing it over to your side of the desk. March glares at you, but you don’t waver. “So, let’s talk about it.”

It’s times like these when March wishes you would treat him like everyone else. Give him a wide berth when he’s upset, only bother him when necessary, and treat him like a ticking bomb just waiting to go off. Stop being so… you. Maybe then he wouldn’t like you as much, and you wouldn’t be forcing this conversation on him in the first place. “If you want to talk so bad, then talk to Olric,” He grits out.

“You are such a child!” You round the desk, removing the barrier between you. “I’m not dating Olric, I don’t want to date him—”

“You said you like him—”

“I thought you meant as a friend!” You throw your hands out in exasperation. “And you know what? Even if I did like him romantically, why do you care? Why is it any of your business?”

He balls his fists, his nails digging into his palms. “It isn’t.”

“No.” You step forward again, closing the distance between you. “It’s not rhetorical. Why do you care so much about who I like, March? Because I have a feeling, but I’m not gonna make it easy for you after you’ve been treating me like shit for no good reason. So how about you do something about it instead of being a useless coward?”

For the first time in a long time, he does something about it. The kiss he pulls you in for is bruising and awkward, but that doesn’t stop you from returning the intensity with equal fervor. His drink sits forgotten on the table as he holds the back of your neck, his other hand gripping your hip. You clutch the front of his shirt tightly, arching your body closer into him. His lips part, and you capture more of him, causing him to gasp against your mouth.

When you finally part, neither of you let go of the other, both breathing heavily. “Why… why did you think I liked Olric?” You ask softly, still catching your breath. 

He knows his face is red, but he’s close enough to see that your cheeks are a deeper hue as well. “You always come by to see him.”

“I always come by to see you.” Your palms flatten against his chest and you laugh. “Do you seriously need me to tell you how disgustingly obvious it is that I like you? Because I will. And it will be disgusting. And slightly stalker-y. And you’ll feel really stupid that you got it wrong.”

He purses his lips to hide the smile threatening to surface. “So, what, you’re so smart that you’ve known I liked you all along and did nothing about it?”

“I had no idea until you freaked out on me last night.” Your hand trails up to his cheek. “So I guess we’re both a little stupid.”

“Can I kiss you again?” He asks, dipping his head down. “I didn’t do it right the first time.”

“It felt alright to me.” Your gaze falls to his lips. You can still feel where your teeth had knocked together, and your lips sting. 

“‘Alright’ isn’t good enough.”

“You’re such a perfectionist,” You laugh, leaning in so your lips graze against his. “But I’ll allow it.”

He closes the distance, and vows to perfect his technique as long as you’ll let him.

[lookingfts]

Hi, I'll preface this by saying that I'm a fan of your writing and this is not a rant at you specifically. It's something that I'm growing more and more frustrated with when navigating content/creations in the fandom (and other fandoms on here too tbh). Your posts just happened to be the ones I came across today and they provide a convenient case study into the matter.

I politely appeal for you to insert gif credit and sources in posts like these: https://www.tumblr.com/lookingfts/752534640842211328?source=share and https://www.tumblr.com/lookingfts/752585046132752384/this-ridiculous-little-man-with-his-stupid-little?source=share

From what I can tell (unsure about the s3e1 bedroom one) but the other two come from: https://www.tumblr.com/chenfordsbee/752307297817165824/kanthony-hands?source=share and https://www.tumblr.com/bakerolivia/750875519674892289/anthony-bridgerton-and-benedict?source=share

I think we all know that the inbuilt tumblr feature to embed existing gifs in posts is very broken (where it automatically credits, and links you back to the full set when you click the text/username under it), and it can be very frustrating to find the exact one you want.

But reposting them yourselves without credit is seen as very bad etiquette amongst creators, and a lot of creators will block people for this reason (to avoid said person collecting and reposting their future content), and warn their fellow creator mutuals to do so too.

Also, it makes the user experience quite annoying for some users. i.e. You see a post with a really cool gif; you swore you've seen that exact one before, you may even recognise the very specific style/coloring, OR you've not seen that scene giffed before but you've wanted to, you now really want to like/reblog the full set if you could find it. Either way; you wish you could see the whole thing from the original post. But there's no link or even an indication as to the original creator/blog it came from, so... yeah this sucks.

From your other posts you seem like a reasonable and well intentioned person, so I don't think you're setting out to be deceptive in any way (some will actually fully repost a mish mash of different sets, and caption and tag it as if it's their own creation), you just want to scream about your faves, as you should. And I'm sorry this got so so long but I think I need to make it really clear, because I assume that some of these reasons/povs/repercussions must be unknown for it to keep happening. I could go into how it affects creators in fandoms in more detail but I'm sure you can imagine and I don't want to extend the lecture (just imagine someone copying and pasting excerpts from your fan fiction, and posting it, without any citation of said fan fiction or even mention of the author).

TLDR - Please link back to the original post if you're sharing stand alone gifs, made by someone else, in your own posts. Or better yet, reblog the original post that you're downloading the images from, with your added commentary (we would actually LOVE to see it, but I do also get if you just want to pluck out one specific moment from the set).

An example:

[THAT ONE GIF FROM THAT MOMENT YOU REALLY WANT TO POST ABOUT]

GIF by @tumblrusername

Blue font to illustrate that this is a hyperlink to the original set. I just based this on the way the aforementioned broken inbuilt one is formatted, but as long as you @ the user (this pops a mention into our activity just like the inbuilt feature does so we can come scream along with you) and link the applicable post in some clear way it's all dandy and helps everyone out.

I really hope that this doesn't come across as hostile, and that you answer so it can be shared to make others more aware too.

Thank you for asking this. You're totally right - I have not been thinking about crediting gif creators, and that's something I need to learn!

I'm still very new to Tumblr and learning the ropes. I didn't really intend to post S3 gifs at all - I was keeping Kanthony photos/gifs I liked on my phone to share with friends, and eventually I realized how many I had saved, so I decided to start making posts with them, and I was simply uploading them from my phone at that point.

You see so many gifs floating around here - I didn't think closely about the time and effort that people are going through to create these gifs, and I will do better in giving them the recognition and attention they deserve. (If one of the gifs I've used is yours, please let me know and I will tag you.)

Thank you to everyone in the fandom for contributing their art, and thank you for standing up for creators.

[pinklovely05]

RAIN CODE SPOILERS - rant on character utilisation

alright so I've ranted in tags of reblogs before but I think it's time I made my own post. I enjoyed rain code, I thought it was great. but I think one of the game's weaknesses is lack of screen time for the main characters, particularly the master detectives of the nocturnal detective agency, I'm actually rather satisfied with yakou's role so I won't be touching on him.

while I like each character getting focus per chapter, I kinda don't like how the other characters are virtually nowhere to be found for essentially the entire chapter, the only chapter that I think used all the characters well was chapter 4 (fucking EXCELLENT chapter, best one in the game) and the end of chapter 3.

but you know what?

even then, I can forgive some of the earlier chapters for not having every character at least be around, in fact I think the single character per chapter could have worked if it weren't for one thing. what really bugs me is the lack of involvement for any of the NDA in chapter 5, you know. the FINAL chapter.

I kind of hate? that they were just believed to be dead and had zero involvement in the unravelling of kanai ward's ultimate secret whatsoever despite the fact that they were ALL sent to solve it. I get it was supposed to instill yuma with hopelessness but I think main characters getting no involvement in the final chapter hinders the game more.

you know. what I liked about danganronpa is that every living character was required to participate in every trial, every living character was also forced to have screentime every chapter as a result, so the final survivors of the game always ended up unravelling the final mystery together. to see all these characters we have come to know react to mind-blowing revelations at the end. this was what I was hoping for rain code.

honestly, some part of me wished all the detectives formed some sort of coalescence chain when they all held hands so they could all enter the mystery labyrinth and solve the case together and have some bullshit convenient side effect of sharing vivia's forte or something make it so they all keep their memories. the ending can still happen the same way, yuma just cancels his coalescence on all the other detectives so they can leave and then he takes the emergency exit.

I would've loved to see all the detectives bouncing around ideas inside the mystery labyrinth, losing their minds over the revelations. of course, vivia and halara likely would've figured out earlier than others but it still would've been nice to see. god it would've been nice to see more of them in the aftermath of chapter 4 too.

in fact, even having the other detectives in on the investigation would have helped!! can you imagine all of them reuniting and getting closure with yakou? they all loved him, I think they deserved to get the same closure as yuma.

anyways this is kind of messy, ended up being longer than I intended but tl;dr, NDA should've been involved in chapter 5, they were all sent to solve kanai ward's ultimate secret and deserved to unravel the mystery together

[munstysmind]

I posted 5,175 times in 2022

That's 4,261 more posts than 2021!

375 posts created (7%)

4,800 posts reblogged (93%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@chickensarentcheap

@secretaryunpaid

@aussieez

@pixie88

@nuggsmum

I tagged 886 of my posts in 2022

#munstysmind - 335 posts

#maddison original series - 134 posts

#inbox - 79 posts

#writing prompts - 73 posts

#chris evans - 52 posts

#ask away - 42 posts

#munstysmind responds - 40 posts

#maddison inspiration - 33 posts

#your weakness series - 33 posts

#writing tips - 31 posts

Longest Tag: 79 characters

#respect must be given to those older that you regardless of if it’s been earned

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Ever since the verdict I’ve been seeing pathetic headlines like this!!

The media does not care that Johnny Depp is a Domestic Violence and Abuse Victim, they never have. They’re using this verdict to push the narrative that a man getting the justice he’s owed is an attack on women. It’s not.

This is NOT an attack on women. Womens rights haven’t been affected by this. The Me Too movement isn’t dead. Feminism hasn’t been set back a decade like some ignorant anon told me. Johnny didn’t win just because he’s a man.

What this actually is is a wake up call to the world about the sexist and misogynistic views on Domestic Violence and Abuse.

1 in 3 Domestic Violence and Abuse victims are men, and that’s just the REPORTED cases

How many male victims don’t report??

How many male victims are laughed out of police stations when they do try to report??

How many male victims are serving time in prison for the actions of their abusers??

How many male victims have lost everything??

People scream about wanting equality but conveniently forget what that actually means when someone other than a woman is the victim.

People are angry about the verdict because of x, y or z. They’re angry at Johnny because how dare he prove to the world that he didn’t do what this vile woman told the world he did.

If you want to be angry at someone, be angry at Amber.

She’s the reason all this happened.

She used her gender to destroy a man’s life.

She used the Me Too movement and sympathy of victims to her advantage.

She used the trauma every single victim has gone through for her own personal gain.

“Tell the world Johnny, tell them, ‘Johnny Depp, I, a man, I’m a victim too of domestic violence’ and see how many people believe or side with you” - Amber Heard

Well, he told the world and the whole world listened… to him, the victim, not the abuser. She destroyed a man’s life with lies and hers was destroyed with the truth.

84 notes - Posted June 4, 2022

#4

G'day mate!

Got some prompts for you! 😁

https://aussieez.tumblr.com/post/673663229453615104

#29, 43, 48 for whoever you choose in Maddison, though I think we know who 😜

💜 Ez

@aussieez you’ve been rooting, every pun intended, for this for god knows how long…

I didn’t get #48 “I hate being so far away” in but I know there’ll be no complaints.

See the full post

86 notes - Posted January 24, 2022

#3

MENACE - CHRIS EVANS - MADDISON

WARNING/S: Semi public sex, P in V

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE USED IN ANY CAPACITY

Divider by @firefly-graphics

MAIN MASTERLIST

MADDISON MASTERLIST

MADDISON SHORTS AND EXTRAS MASTERLIST

MADDISON PROMPTS AND ASKS MASTERLIST

please let me know if you would like to be added to a tag list

See the full post

89 notes - Posted June 16, 2022

#2

And this is what happens when you don’t stay true to the source material like you promised you would. Your lead makes good on his word to leave as soon as you start fucking with it. You have to recast the role and give it to, in my opinion mediocre actor who’s trying to be like his phenomenal brother. You piss off millions of fans worldwide because of your incompetence and definitely tank your viewings numbers past season three. Not to mention it makes the man who made your show the success it is out to be the bad guy because days before this he announced he’s repressing a role he probably wouldn’t have even considered if he wasn’t unhappy in his current role. And all because Netflix decided to do what it does best, fuck around and ruin everything 😒

229 notes - Posted October 29, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Prompt person: Henry Cavill

Prompt: “I don’t care how good it feels, you’d better not cum until I tell you to.”

YOUR OWN FAULT - HENRY CAVILL

WARNING/S: SMUT, NSFW - MINORS, DNI. P in V, unprotected sex, restraints, ??female dominant??

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE USED IN ANY CAPACITY

Divider by @firefly-graphics

MAIN MASTERLIST

please let me know if you would like to be added to a tag list

See the full post

709 notes - Posted July 16, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

Hey, you once mentioned something about Tom Riddle being a little suicidal. Your new post reminded of that and I wonder why you think that. It’s the complete opposite of what the books want you to think.

Alright, it’s time, let’s do this.

My standard disclaimer whenever we venture into the dark pit that is my thoughts on Tom Riddle: I’m going to say a lot of controversial stuff that fandom generally doesn’t agree with, I will say so much of this shit that I simply do not have time to explain it all, I expect 99% of you to disagree with me and the other 1% to be so horrifyingly offended that I dare to contemplate a world in which Tom isn’t always an overly competent psychopath that they leave me notes telling me to take this trash out of their character tags.

We good? Alright.

So, when I say a little suicidal, I mean that he is suicidal.

Not on the level that he’s going to kill himself tomorrow, or even has plans to kill himself, but in that he makes very strange decisions for someone who desperately wants to live.

And yes, I realize I speak blasphemy given that Tom Riddle’s entire m.o. is supposed to be his crippling fear of death.

Oh man, this one’s going to be so long.

So, my reasoning comes down to a few things:

The location of the horcruxes and the nature of their protections.

The events of Deathly Hallows and Tom’s final actions in the novel

The nature of horcruxes and what it means to not only be able to create one but what it does to you (caveat that I am going to headcanon hard here and speak utter blasphemy)

So, let’s start in order this time, because I think the first two are actually far easier for me to explain.

The Location and Nature of the Horcrux Protections and the Trouble with Backdoors in Security

So, first, the horcruxes are all conveniently located in Great Britain. Not even just in Great Britain, all in places that Albus Dumbledore and later Harry Potter can track down with relative ease, all fairly close to each other.

Now, part of this is undoubtedly attributable to Tom’s overly romantic nature. 

Yes, Tom Riddle is a giant romantic, though not necessarily in the traditional sense everyone thinks of. The film “Patton” and its treatment of Patton comes to mind. Tom Riddle is a man enamored by a sense of greatness, of being remembered in this world rather than fading into oblivion, by the significance of places and times in history not only of the world but of himself. He creates an entire, grand, persona for himself because to live an ordinary life for him is to be worthy of nothing.

So, given that, of course Tom places the horcruxes in sentimental locations that have personal meaning to him.

However, it also makes them perilously easy to find and collect.

By itself, this wouldn’t spark my notice.

The ability to destroy horcruxes are not easy to come by. There’s only one basilisk and it’s by chance/Lucius fucking up that Harry gains access to the necessary basilisk venom. Using Fyendfire is an incredibly dangerous thing to do and just as likely to blow up you and the next three towns over as it is to destroy a horcrux. And if there are other means of destroying a horcrux they’re just as hard to come by or just as dangerous.

It’s not quite throwing it into the fires of Mt. Doom from which it was forged but it’s pretty damn close.

So, really, without JKR’s convenient Deus Ex Machina giving both him and Dumbledore the means to actually destroy these things, Tom Riddle’s horcruxes are pretty damn safe no matter where we put them. As we see from the locket, which Regulus manages to collect but Kreacher cannot destroy even after several decades.

However, what does spark my notice, is that the horcruxes can be collected by someone other than Tom Riddle when it appears as if they were never intended to be. What do I mean by this?

From what we see, there’s no benefit to Tom if the original horcruxes are found by anyone. He doesn’t seek them out to restore his original body, they’re just anchor points that should be hidden at all costs. So, he’ll never need a Death Eater to go collect them for him should he be indisposed (indeed, to do so would require a tremendous amount of trust in people he has very little trust in). 

So, why hide them in such a way that others can access them? There are canon based options which would have prevented anyone else from reaching them. Given the existence of age lines, I imagine Tom Riddle could make some arbitrary barrier keyed only to himself. There are mokeskin pouches, such as the one Harry is given in the seventh book, which we know can only be accessed by whoever they’re keyed to. There’s the Fidelius Charm which, true requires a secret keeper which Tom would be very meh on, but options exist.

Tom Riddle could wipe the locations of his horcruxes off the face of the map. He chooses not to. Which leads me to believe that, at least on some unconscious level, he wants the horcruxes to be found.

Then we have the protections.

Specifically, I’m thinking of the locket here.

Yes, the protections are very formidable, but they’re also goddamn weird. 

Rather than make the horcrux simply inaccessible, kill all those intruding, instead the intruder has to go through a very “Saw” like puzzle in which they drown themselves in despair until they finally get the locket, at which point they likely suicide by zombie.

More, there’s no hint that there’s any other way to retrieve the locket. 

Backdoors in security are a very bad idea. What they do is weaken the security as a whole and, if you can take a short cut is, it means that someone who is clever enough and motivated enough can to. Dumbledore is both clever and motivated enough, and I imagine if there was a way to get the horcrux that involved not doing this ridiculous task he would have done it.

More, we’d be back to the land of Tom making sure only he can access the horcrux by requiring a password, keying it to his magical signature, or something so that no one else could get it.

Which means, that’s right, if Tom wants to get the locket he’s drinking the goddamn despair juice just like the rest of us.

What kind of a person would do any of this?

I’ve gone over this before, but I don’t think Tom Riddle’s crazy. Rather, in this case, I think he’s driven by an unbelievable amount of nihilist rage and is also quite depressed.

Tom goes to collect his horcrux, “Ah, it’s time to remember what a miserable life I’ve led and the sheer awfulness of my own existence. Good, I was starting to feel a little too happy. Let’s see if I get eaten by my undead, vengeful, victims today.” 

The Events of Deathly Hallows and Tom Riddle’s Death

I think Tom Riddle’s final death in the books was suicide.

Tom takes over the Wizarding World, finally, and it’s as miserable as ever.

He’s trapped in this sham, barely functional, probably very painful body. His Death Eaters are completely out of control and for all that he wanted society to burn it’s now burning and no one’s even learned anything from this. Children in Hogwarts are being routinely tortured and have now staged a rebellion in which he’s having to slaughter them (I have reasons to believe that this is not what Tom Riddle wanted, at all, but that’s best saved for another post), and then he learns his horcruxes have all been destroyed without him even noticing.

There’s so little left of him, he has accomplished nothing, and there’s Harry Potter back from the dead yet again, gloating at him that love conquers all and Tom Riddle will never understand.

And Harry’s right, Tom Riddle will never understand, the world is meaningless and flat to him now and he finally understand that there’s no point to it. I think Tom Riddle decides he’s done. He’s just done.

He enters in a duel with Harry Potter knowing the weird nature of their wands. Now, it can be assumed he used the Elder Wand, but we know they get locked in Priori Incatatum , and that makes no damn sense with the Elder Wand (well, wandlore in general is silly, but I’m working with what JKR gave me here). So I choose to take JKR at her somewhat established canon and say that, no matter what Harry thought, Voldemort was using his original wand.

He throws out the killing curse, despite having now witnessed Harry resurrecting twice to this thing, and within two seconds it rebounds and kills him.

Voldemort’s death is a lot like this scene from the recent, terrible, 2020 live action Mulan (10/10 do not recommend).  Now, we’re supposed to think that this scene is the witch saving Mulan’s life and thus showing her hope for the next generation. In actuality, the witch literally flies into an arrow she could have easily deflected from Mulan’s path. It’s a suicide that Mulan is too stupid to notice.

Tom chooses suicide in the most ridiculous, flamboyant, and easily written off manner one can and no one even notices. Instead Harry crows that he has personally defeated Voldemort, with the power of love no less, HUZZAH!

And the castle parties.

The Nature of Horcruxes

I almost don’t want to include this because it’s so... well, I’m really drifting far from canon and fandom now.

However, with horcruxes, there’s always an overriding question of why Tom is able to make so many when we don’t see anyone else with these things around (especially as it’s clear that murder doesn’t simply happen for those that now have horcruxes).

Usually, you have fic authors just sort of shrug and go, “Well, he’s that evil, I guess.” Sometimes you have them go, “No one else is crazy enough to keep going, and that’s why Voldemort’s cuckoo bananas.” 

One very good explanation I’ve seen is that it’s because most people, when they murder, feel remorse immediately. The soul split happens, but they’re haunted by the murder for the rest of their life, and thus the horcrux isn’t made. Voldemort, feeling nothing when he kills anyone, is thus able to make them even for when he’s only indirectly associated with the death in question.

However, to me that never really jived philosophically.

Mostly, I simply cannot imagine that tearing apart your very soul is an act of indifference. Here’s how I see it: to do something like that to yourself, you must care, you must care beyond all imagine and human endurance. Your soul literally cannot abide it and saws itself in half, purging what you cannot stand about yourself the most. 

The remorse part is, yes, remorse for the act and the victim but more to the point it is the ability to forgive and reaccept the worst part of yourself. That part of yourself that you purged and destroyed, which is nearly impossible to do and might very well destroy the fabric of who you are). 

In other words, while creating a horcrux is an abominable act of hatred, it is also one of profound self-hatred.

Tom Riddle loathes himself so much that he is able to do this over and over and over again. 

As Tom Riddle goes on he makes himself into less and less and less of himself until he probably doesn’t even know who he is anymore. He just knows, whatever is left of him, he loathes that too. 

And then, of course, he gives up, runs into the nearest flying arrow, and dies.

TL;DR: Tom Riddle’s is a miserable existence that ended in a miserable if unintentionally hilarious manner

[seita]

— don’t ask | hitoshi shinsou (m.)

pairing: hitoshi shinsou/f!reader

genre: angst, fluff, smut

wordcount: 𝟷𝟹𝟻𝟿𝟶

cw: roommate!au, sugar baby!au

tags: heavy pining, arguments, briefly ft.kaminari, rejection, possessiveness, jealousy, crying, dirty talk, pet names, dom!shinsou, fingering, riding, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, praise (?), marking, creampie, angst with a happy ending.

note: this is a thank you for 5k followers! i can’t believe i hit such a milestone in only like a month and a half! i appreciate the love and support everyone has given me and i promise to put out more quality content going forwarad!

— you thought it was strange a guy your age made such good money by seemingly doing nothing. whenever you would question him about his income, he’d grow defensive. once a month, a left the house for a few days; leaving to perform a mysterious job he didn’t want you to know about.

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© all content belongs to seita 2020. do not modify or repost.  

When you saw the flier for someone looking for a new roommate, you honestly thought it was one big scam. You assumed that the second you set up a meeting, you would be kidnapped and never seen again. 

Being a lowly college kid meant you didn’t have your sea legs in the adult world quite yet. Swamped with studies, horrible at managing your time and your stress levels, you were left a constant mess. So, your solution was to stick to studying for the most part and work part-time so the job didn’t take up too much of your time. 

Another genius idea you had was the age-old roommate situation. You started out looking for listings online for preferably Musutafu or Tokyo. Alas, you came up with nothing after a handful of weeks and were intending to give up. 

However, a stop by the grocery store changed everything. It was a flyer for someone looking for a roommate in an area of Tokyo that you knew to be pretty pricey. 

It was close enough to your college campus so you wouldn’t have to worry about a stupid commute. You thought it was too good to be true as you looked at the information stating you wouldn’t even need to pay rent. You’d simply have to split some bills and buy your own groceries. 

The idea of not having to shell out hundreds of dollars a month was appealing on its own; you’d definitely be able to save with a living situation like that. 

The logical side of you was weary, however. The entire thing could be a ploy to trick some unsuspecting victim, like yourself, into who knows what. 

Still, it probably wouldn’t hurt to contact the person just in case it wasn’t a trick. No harm in checking, you supposed. 

Tugging the flyer down from where it was pinned up on the bulletin board, you folded it up and tucked it away in the front pocket of your purse to take care of when you got home from classes. 

All of that led you to meeting one Hitoshi Shinsou. He was a tall, tired looking guy around your age. His most prominent feature was the fluffy mess of purple hair that was atop his head. When you first met him, he fixed you with a cold gaze ― his purple irises burning holes into you. And for a second you were sure that you were right on your hunch and you were never going to return home. 

Nothing of consequence happened, naturally, and instead he showed you the bedroom you would be using and handed you a key before sitting down on the couch to watch TV. The whole exchange was unlike anything you expected. When you questioned him he simply told you he’d get everything straight for you and that you could begin to move in whenever. 

So you did.

As expected of such an expensive apartment, the room you were given was great. It was roomy and nothing like you assumed you would wind up with. Most college students wind up with a shitty roommate, a one-bedroom apartment, and instant ramen for dinner every night. 

Instead you got the chillest roommate known to mankind. Shinsou barely even made a peep. Most of the time you found him relaxing in front of the TV watching murder documentaries. You did learn that the poor guy had insomnia and as a result was up almost every night. Sometimes you would catch him snoozing on the couch but that rarely lasted more than 2 or 3 hours before he was up and about once again. 

You did learn that the man was a lousy cook so he mostly lived on instant ramen before you moved in. Luckily for him, you enjoyed cooking and decided to be the one to make meals for the two of you. To say Shinsou was appreciative was an understatement. 

Simply put, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. 

And so bloomed an easy friendship with him. Shinsou made it easy to befriend, although he was a quiet guy he was funny and charismatic; the type of guy who probably had a lot of friends. 

You lived there for about a month when you noticed the first weird disappearance. 

You had been laying in bed, eyes closed as you slowly began to drift off to the white noise of your overhead fan. 

What lulled you from your daze was the beep of the alarm at the front door. Sitting up, you listened carefully only to hear a couple beeps and the click of the door shutting. 

Frowning, you got out of the bed and wrapped your blanket around your shoulders to shield yourself from the chilled apartment air. Your footsteps were silent as you padded your way to the entryway. You immediately noticed that Shinsou’s shoes were gone from where they should have been sitting beside the front door. 

You checked his bedroom to find that he was, indeed, not there. You simply assumed he had gone for a walk or to a convenience store or something since he couldn’t sleep and went back to bed. That was certainly not something uncommon for the insomniac you called a roommate. 

When you got up in the morning, however, you noticed he was still gone. 

You wandered into the kitchen, intending to open the fridge to start something for breakfast only to find a cute cat-themed sticky note plastered to the front of it. Written in your roommates sloppy handwriting was “I won’t be home for a few days.”

Short and to the point but still causing questions to arise in response. 

You had no choice but to carry on. You could text him and question him but you had a feeling you wouldn’t actually get any information. 

Two days was how long he was gone for. He turned on the second night, looking as tired as usual. 

“I’m home,” he called with a heavy sigh, kicking his shoes off before dropping the heavy duffle bag he carried to the floor. 

“Hey,” you greeted over the back of the couch, “I uh...made dinner but I didn’t make any for you. I didn’t know when you’d be home.”

“It’s fine, I already ate anyway,” he hummed, dropping his full weight onto the empty cushion beside you. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. 

You eyed him and decided to simply not ask about the hickey on his pale skin. 

The time ticked past midnight and you stood up, yawning as you stretched, “I’m heading to bed.”

“Alright,” he mumbled, finally stealing the remote from you, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Hey…” you paused at the entrance to the hallway, deciding to chance it, “Where did you go anyway?”

“...To work,” he replied, simply. 

His tone held a sense of finality to it, leaving no room for you to inquire exactly what that meant. So, with a final bid, you went to your bedroom. 

It was almost like deja vu, laying in bed as you fell asleep only to hear the beeping of that alarm. You sat up and climbed out of bed, intending to catch Shinsou before he was gone but as you reached the living room, you heard the front door click shut and he was gone. 

Sighing, you wandered to the kitchen to find another note like you’d seen last time stuck to the fridge. 

As you glanced at the calendar on the wall, you realized it was almost exactly a month since the last time he did this ― you remembered because he left on the 23rd and it was currently the 22nd. You could practically feel the dots forming but you had absolutely no way of connecting them. 

Deciding to retire to bed, you attempted to sleep but found yourself thinking of Shinsou. 

Two months in a row he vanished around the same time, in the middle of the night leaving only a note. Now that you thought about it, he didn’t seem to have a job ― he only said his disappearance was part of his job. But he came back with a hickey. 

Sighing, you rolled over and attempted to fall asleep. 

Two days later, he came home. 

“I’m back,” he grumbled. 

Immediately, you noted the aggravated tone to his voice. Sitting up from where you were sprawled out on the couch, you eyed him. Instead of just dropping his duffle bag like he had last time, he took it straight to the laundry room. 

As he disappeared into the kitchen, you got up and followed him. He was squatting on the floor, rummaging through the bag as he tossed out pieces of clothing. You leaned on the door jam with your arms folded on your chest. Whether or not he knew you were there, you didn’t know. 

“There’s some dinner left for you,” you said softly, watching him pause and look over his shoulder at you.

“I already ate,” he replied, voice cold. 

You frowned, standing up straight, “Alright, well…” you sighed, “I’ll wrap it up and put it in the fridge in case you get hungry tonight.”

He didn’t reply but you kept watching him. He moved to fully sit on the floor, stretching his legs out in front of him with a grunt. You noticed that he was separating the clothes into two piles. Closer inspection brought your attention to the price tags attached to the clothes in one pile. 

You found yourself wondering where he got those clothes from but you decided not to ask. He seemed to be in a rather sour mood. 

He left the new clothes on the floor and dumped the others into the washing machine. With quick efficiency, he started the cycle and stuffed the remaining clothes back into his bag. 

You backed up to allow him to leave the laundry room. His shoulders were stiff and his posture was tense. It was a complete 180 from how you usually saw him. 

“You um...you alright?”  you finally asked when he sat down on the couch. 

He barely spared you a glance before propping his feet up on the coffee table, turning the TV on. Realizing you weren’t getting a response, you attempted to brush off the brief anger that flashed through you and instead went to the kitchen to clean everything up. 

You didn’t know why he was being so rude to you ― it’s not like you did anything to him. Deciding to just head to your bedroom to study, you shut off the kitchen light and skirted behind the couch to avoid getting in his way of the TV. 

He didn’t say a word as you disappeared down the hallway. 

As opposed to last time, his ‘work’ seemed to have not gone too well this time around. At least the last time, he was just tired and feeling lazy. 

You could still hear the TV going when you put all your stuff away and crawled into bed. 

The next morning, you awoke with a sigh. Sitting up, you stretched until you felt your joints pop.

As you wandered out of your bedroom, you heard the shower going, indicating Shinsou was still around. Not that you were expecting any different. 

You fixed a quick, simple breakfast for you and Shinsou, hearing the shower turn off as you finished. Wiping your washed hands on your pants, you made your way to the bathroom.

You only got to knock on the door once before it was yanked open. Suddenly, your mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. 

He stood there, his usual fluffy hair flattened and hanging haphazardly around his face. He wore his usual bored expression despite the fact he was standing there, dripping wet with only a towel around his waist. Immediately, you got a whiff of his body wash and shampoo, making you swallow thickly. 

Fuck, he smelled really good. You always thought so, when he sat on the couch beside you, you could always smell that delicious, musky scent of his body wash mixed with the spice of his cologne. But freshly washed with it, you were nearly salivating at the smell. 

“Um…” you swallowed thickly, tearing your gaze away from the well built muscles under those baggy clothes he always wore, “B-Breakfast is ready…”

“Okay,” he mumbled, moving to skirt around you. 

You sighed, assuming he was still in a shit mood again. Running a hand through your hair, you shook the delectable sight of him fresh out of the shower from your mind. As you went to go back to the kitchen, a large hand grappled around your wrist. 

“Hey,” he mumbled. You looked over your shoulder to see him nervously rubbing the back of his neck, a habit you’d seen numerous times before, “I’m sorry...about yesterday.”

“Huh?” you raised a brow, trying to ignore how big his hand was around your wrist. 

“I was in a shit mood and I took it out on you,” he explained, “So I’m sorry about that.”

“Oh,” you relaxed slightly and smiled, realizing he was actually in a decent mood today, “It’s okay.”

He gave you his own relieved smile, making your heart lurch in your chest at the sight. It was rare to see any other expression beyond that tired, bored look he always wore. Finally releasing his hold on your wrist, he spoke again, “Let me get dressed and I’ll come eat.”

“Alright,” you nodded, biting your lip as he turned his back to you. As he walked you could see the way the muscles flexed under the skin. 

When he finally vanished through his bedroom door, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Shaking your head you moved back to the kitchen intending to stuff your face to forget about how hot Hitoshi Shinsou really was. 

Before, you thought he was good looking. Usually dark circles were unbecoming but they looked almost at home on his face. His skin was nearly flawless and looked soft to the touch ― you’d seen the skincare products housed in his cabinet. It was expensive shit too. Seriously, what was the guy's job?

That thought had your mind wandering back to the monthly disappearances. 

The chair scraped against the floor as he came back ― wearing a baggy t-shirt and black sweats. He immediately dug in and began to eat. 

“So...I have to ask,” he paused, brows coming together in a scowl as you uttered those words.

“Don’t ask,” he mumbled, shaking his head.

“I just wanted to ask...if this is a monthly thing. I’ve only been here for 2 so...I just wanted to make sure,” you clarified, watching his shoulder relax. He seemed extremely defensive over any questions related to his ‘job’, you noted. 

“Yeah. Once at the end of the month I leave for two days to work,” he answered simply, obviously avoiding giving any more information that you could feed off of. 

He was smart at least. 

The sun finally dipped below the horizon and the two of you were sitting on the couch watching TV. He had some documentary on but truthfully you weren’t paying a whole lot of attention to it. 

For some reason, your mind kept bringing you back to the sight that morning of Shinsou. As you looked at him sitting beside you, arm tossed casually over the back of the couch as he slouched with his legs spread, you found yourself admiring him. 

He had a sharp jaw and pretty lips. A look lower, your eyes landed on his hands ― long, pretty fingers with prominent veins beneath the pale skin. 

Suddenly, his sharp gaze cut from the TV to you and you found yourself locked in a gaze with him for a split second before you broke away to look at the TV once more. In your peripheral, you swear you saw a smirk crossing his face. 

But he didn’t comment and for that, you were thankful. 

You bid him goodnight and as usual, he stayed up. You began to wonder if the man even tried to sleep anymore. 

You stepped into the bathroom, warning your roommate that you were taking a shower. He shouted back a simple ‘okay’ before you shut the door. 

You stepped under the stream of water after stripping, the steam of the hot water filling the bathroom and relaxing your muscles. You tipped your head back to wet your hair, humming to yourself. 

You eyed Shinsou’s body wash sitting in the purple caddy handing on a hook on the wall. It brought you back to how nice he smelled when he was close to you. When you could feel his body warmth radiating off of him. You would look at him, his shoulders broad and his body warm and inviting. It was nearly impossible to resist the urge to cuddle yourself into his chest. 

You wondered what it would be like to lay against him, his arms wrapped around you as he softly stroked your skin. Maybe he would press a soft kiss to your forehead ― the idea alone made you melt. 

Realizing you had lost yourself in thought, you hurried to finish your shower and get to bed. 

You fell asleep with Shinsou on your mind that night. 

Shinsou’s third monthly work time finally rolled around once again. This time, you stayed up late so Shinsou had no choice but the interact before he left. You were hoping to maybe get more hints about what it is he did. 

He shut his bedroom door, hoisting his duffle bag over his shoulder with a grunt. You were surprised to see him in actual clothes ― rather nice ones as well. 

His jeans fit him perfectly and the button down shirt he wore was tucked in, showing off his lean figure. The belt buckle on his jeans indicated it was name brand and you found yourself wondering how much his job even paid. 

“I’ll be home same as usual,” he mumbled, bending down to slide his shoes on at the door. He looked so good doing just a simple task and you found your heart racing in your chest. His shoulders were accented so well by his shirt. The sleeves were rolled up halfway on his forearms and there was an expensive looking watch on one of his wrists. 

Butterflies erupted in your stomach as he opened the door ― suddenly finding that you didn’t want him to leave. 

“Um…” you called, making him pause in the open door, looking over his shoulder with a brow raised in question, “You...uh…” you struggled to find something to say but he waited patiently for you to form your next words, “Have a nice time...come home soon.”

Your heart thudded painfully as you watched his gaze soften, a smile forming on his lips as he nodded, “I’ll see you later, ______.”

Your ears were ringing as he shut the door, the sound of your name coming from his lips echoing in your head. You sunk down onto the couch, hand on your chest as you came to a startling realization. 

You had a crush on your roommate. 

Living with Shinsou after coming to terms that you had a crush on him was...difficult to say the least. Simple things he did that you used to pay no mind to, you now found yourself getting jittery at the sight. 

Like the way he rubbed his eyes with a fist when he woke up from a nap on the couch, a sound you could only describe as a whine coming from his throat as he sat up. 

The day your kitchen sink stopped working and he had to fix it was one you wouldn’t ever forget. He was leaning beneath the sink, in the cabinet on his back as he fiddled with some tools on the pipes. His white t-shirt became see-through as he sweat from the hard work, his biceps flexing with every movement he made. His shirt rode up a bit over his stomach, exposing his abs that moved and rippled with every movement. His sweats were riding low on his hips, exposing that delicious v-line and happy trail that vanished beneath the band.

The worst part was the way you could see everything in those gray sweatpants he wore. You were pretty sure he wasn’t wearing any underwear. 

You had to leave the room and hide in your bedroom with the window open until he finally finished fixing it. 

You definitely didn’t let your hand slide down your panties to the mental image of him that night. 

Despite living together for nearly four months, you knew close to nothing personal about Shinsou. Putting aside his weird, shady two-day job once a month, you didn’t have anything else to go off of on who he was. 

He was a quiet guy who liked documentaries, video games, and had insomnia. He really loved to eat breakfast foods and cats. Although you hadn’t been in his room even once, only had a couple peeks inside, you knew he owned some cat-themed stationary at the very least. 

Despite his cold appearance, he was actually quite kindhearted and gentle but seemed to have no desire to show it unless necessary. One time, you cut your finger while cooking and you swear you’d never seen him run faster to get a bandaid from the bathroom ― one with a cat on it, no less. 

You still remember the feeling of his hand holding yours and how close his face was as he inspected the cut. You could have leaned in and kissed him so easily then. 

And god was that tempting. 

So lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize the glass you were holding in your hand slipped free until it shattered in a million pieces across the linoleum floor. You gasped, startled as you looked around for a way to escape but a single step in an area you thought was clear brought a cry from your lips as you stepped on the tiny shards. 

You heard a loud thump from the living room where he had been playing a video game before the thundering footsteps raced into the kitchen. Shinsou’s eyes were wide, like he was terrified of what he would find. 

“Don’t move,” he snapped, noting the way you leaned against the counter to take your injured foot off of the ground. He opened the storage cabinet and pulled out the broom and dust pan. 

It took only a few minutes for him to clean it up enough to get to you safely on his own bare feet. Instead of you limping your way to the living room however, you found yourself swept off your feet. 

Your heart raced so hard, you could hear it pounding in your ears. You were cradled against his chest, so warm and firm with his strong arms beneath your knees and shoulders. His heavenly scent surrounded you ― more intense than you’d even smelt it before. As you finally got a close look, you took notice of how his long lashes framed his pretty eyes. 

All too soon, you were placed on the couch and he was disappearing down the hall with quick efficiency. You were still stunned from being in his arms that you barely noticed he had returned until he was on his knees in front of you. 

Immediately, your cheeks bloomed hot with a blush. The image of him on his knees like that immediately sent your mind to a wicked place. 

Luckily your dirty mind was stopped in its tracks when he began pulling glass from your foot.

You gasped in pain, attempting to pull away on reflex but he held strong, sharp gaze burning holes into you.

“Sit still,” he growled, sending a shiver down your spine. 

His voice was so low, so commanding that you found yourself immediately doing what he said. You always were weak to a dominant man. 

Soon enough, your foot was cleaned and he deemed that the bleeding had stopped.

“It’ll probably hurt like hell for a little while when you walk on it,” he warned, packing the first aid away. 

“Thanks Hitoshi,” you smiled, earning a soft nod of acknowledgement from the man. 

The memory of being in his arms, even for that brief moment, was imprinted in your mind. As you laid in bed, you thought about it. It made your stomach flutter in excitement as you fell asleep. 

The fourth monthly job for Shinsou came and unfortunately, you missed him leaving. You had stayed up studying and as a result fell asleep earlier than usual. When you woke up he was already gone and you were left with a painful throb in your heart. 

You missed him. 

As you lazed on the couch, you found your mind wandering to him again. Like always. It was like your mind was cursed. 

You wondered if he thought about you at all. The idea made you feel giddy and you had to bite back a smile. You felt like a silly schoolgirl with your crush ― the way he made your stomach flutter, your heart race, and your cheeks burn was getting ridiculous. It wasn’t like you could confess, he hadn’t given much of a hint that he even thought of you as a friend. Plus, you weren’t sure if you were willing to give up the killer apartment and perfect roommate gig you currently had with a foolish confession. 

You heaved a sigh, sitting up with a new idea in mind. 

A way that you could learn more about him.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the...most noble means. 

Standing outside his bedroom door, you bit your lip. It felt wrong to go into his room without permission. It wasn’t like he went into your room ― as far as you knew, who knows what he did while you were at school or working. 

The metal doorknob was cold in your palm as you turned it and pushed it open with a soft click.

You’d seen his room in quick glances before when he opened it but you’d never gotten to fully inspect it. He had a large bed that took up the most space in his room. Situated on a dresser at the end of the bed was a TV, a Playstation set up beside it. Against the opposite wall was a desk with a gaming computer setup and a red and black gaming chair pushed in neatly. 

There were a few articles of clothing littering the floor around his laundry basket and his closet was partly open to reveal his primarily monochromatic wardrobe choices. 

Walking into the bedroom, you immediately got a whiff of his cologne, making you smile at the addictive scent. You took a seat on the edge of his bed, the black comforter incredibly soft beneath your hands. 

You leaned forward and opened his nightstand drawer, finding nothing too interesting ― a picture of him standing with a smiling boy with crazy green hair, a pink-skinned girl, and a beaming red-haired guy. 

You hadn’t really given it much thought ― that he had friends. He didn’t really talk about anyone, in fact you never heard him mention anyone in his life besides his mom a few times. You did note that he texted on his phone quite a lot and sometimes you could hear him laughing and cursing from his bedroom as he played a video game. You wondered what his friends' names were, what they were like ― what it was like to be friends with Shinsou. 

What you wouldn’t give to be someone...important in his life. 

Sighing, you closed the drawer and moved to his dresser. Your own thoughts caused your heart to ache and you tried to brush it off by looking through the drawers for something interesting. 

Fortunately, you got what you wished for. 

The last drawer to the right contained a little black metal box buried beneath some clothes. You pulled it out and took a seat on the floor, pressing the button to open it. It popped open and you gaped at what you saw. 

It was filled with money. More money than you’d probably ever seen in your whole life. The bills were wrapped together with rubber bands ― there had to be thousands of dollars in even a single stack. As you pulled out the bundles, you found that there were things located beneath them. 

Jewels; all types. Diamond rings, necklaces, bracelets, ruby and emerald gems decorating them. You pulled out a ring and held it up, watching as he gleamed under the light. 

You tucked everything back inside the box and hid it back the way you found it, shutting the drawer before standing up. 

You had no idea what to think as you shut his door once again, moving to your own room. How could he have all that money hidden away like that? It was certainly shady. 

Perhaps it was counterfeit? Or maybe he stole it! 

And what about those jewels? Did he steal those too? Why were they hidden instead of sold off somewhere?

You had so many questions and absolutely no answers. 

Suddenly you were regretting going snooping in his room. 

The fifth month of living with him would have to be where things started to go downhill. 

He came home from his weekend away, tired and grumpy, just wanting a relaxing shower. However, you hadn’t realized he was home so in your tired, sleep-filled daze you stumbled to the bathroom with the urgent need to pee. 

You pushed the bathroom door open and halted in your tracks, heart stopping in your chest at the sight of shirtless Shinsou. 

He had his back to you, displaying the angry red scratch marks that raked down the pale skin of his back, making them stand out even more. He realized you were there and spun around, eyes narrowed in a glare. With his chest in view, you could see all the hickeys and bites that trailed down  his body, disappearing in the hem of his jeans that he had yet to shed.

“Get the hell out,” he snapped, ripping the door from your hand before slamming in shut in your face. 

You stared at the wood for several, long seconds, stunned. You heard the shower start and snapped out of your daze. Forgetting your once desperate need to pee, you trudged back to your  bedroom and quietly shut the door. 

You weren’t a fool ― you knew exactly what those marks meant. You crawled under the covers and found yourself wondering what kind of woman got Hitoshi Shinsou’s attention enough to get him into bed. 

And what did she have that you didn’t?

Truth be told, you couldn’t even imagine him as the type to sleep around. He wasn’t exactly sociable and he rarely seemed to go out of his way to interact even with his friends.

You could hear the shower turn off and you were suddenly reminded of the way he slammed the door in your face ― the ache from realizing he’d been with someone else only exacerbated by the knife of his shouting at you. 

You closed your eyes and attempted to sleep, ignoring the sting behind your eyes. 

The next morning, you found yourself not wanting to get out of bed. You could hear Shinsou shuffling around the house, doing god knows what. You heard him walk down the hallway, heart freezing as he stopped in front of your bedroom door. 

You closed your eyes, willing him to go away. 

Luck was not on your side, however, as he knocked thrice on your door. It was loud enough that you knew you wouldn’t be able to feign sleeping through it. 

You sighed and crawled out of bed and trudged over to the door, pulling it open just a bit to get a look at him. 

He had his head down, hand clasped around the nape of his neck with his other hand shoved in his pocket. He looked up when he heard the door open, brows drawn together as he gazed at you partially hiding behind the door. 

“I uh…” he cleared his throat, “I went out and picked us up some breakfast.”

“Oh…” you shifted on your feet awkwardly, nodding your head, “Thanks...I’ll eat later.”

You were about to close the door, desperate to escape the burning in your eyes as you remembered last night. Before it could close, however, he shoved his hand in the crack. You paused, not wanting to crush his hand in the door. You let him push it open to show more of you ― clad in shorts and an oversized t-shirt that you loved to sleep in. Thankfully the shirt was big enough that he wouldn’t be able to tell you weren’t wearing a bra. 

“I have to apologize,” he grunted, meeting your gaze, “I shouldn’t have shouted at you like that last night. I was just ticked off…” he trailed off.

You bit your lip, “I uh...I didn’t know you were home...so that’s why I just...walked in…” 

He shook his head, “No I understand, really. Y-You just surprised me and I reacted. I really need to stop taking my shit out on you, I’ll work on that, really. I shouldn’t have slammed the door like that either. It was a shit night but it wasn’t your fault you didn’t know I came home.”

“I-It’s alright, Hitoshi, really,” you smiled, though it faltered a bit at the memory of those scratches and hickeys.

“I...hope you’re not hiding away in here because I upset you,” he muttered, making you frown once more.

“What do you mean?” you questioned.

He bit his lip, looking away awkwardly, “you’re usually up around 10 and it’s...getting close to noon. You don’t do that normally so...I can only think you were trying to avoid me and that’s the last thing I want. This is your home too and I never want you to feel like you can’t be comfortable here.”

You gaped at him, processing what he was telling you. First, he paid close enough attention to you that he knew what time you got up ― that thought made happiness bloom in your chest and second, that was probably the most you’d heard him say in one sitting.

“It’s okay now, Hitoshi,” you smiled, “let me get dressed and I’ll be out to eat, okay?”

He smiled, making your cheeks burn at the sight as he nodded, turning away from you to move back to the living room. You closed your door and sighed. 

It was crazy how just a simple smile from him had your heart fluttering. However, it was quickly halted by the memory that he had someone ― maybe it was a girlfriend. That made your chest ache and you bit your lip to halt those negative feelings as you stripped and changed out of your pajamas. 

You had no idea how you were going to get past the painful clench in your chest every time you looked at him now. 

Month six rolled around and nothing very interesting happened. Shinsou moved his playstation into the living room so the two of you could play some games together. It was a fun bonding experience and you got to watch the way his eyes would light up whenever he beat you. The sound of his laugh still rang in your ears and you couldn’t help but smile every time you thought back to that pretty smile of his. 

It became a weekly thing for the two of you, every Friday night you would sit down on the couch together and play into the early hours of the morning. You got to know more about Shinsou than you had ever before. 

Sometimes he would jerk his body and brush against yours, sending goosebumps across your skin. He was always so warm and inviting ― just having him near you sent your poor heart into palpitations. 

You almost forgot about what happened the previous month when he came back ― those hickeys and scratches on his back finally having been cast out of your mind. 

Your heart did ache when you bid him goodbye the night he left again, wondering if he was going to see her or not. 

The seventh month was when that already precariously balanced life came crumbling down all at once. 

Shinsou was in the shower as you played on his Playstation, sitting in front of the TV with a frown on your face. You could hear the shower running and in the back of your mind you pictured what he might look like ― water running down his flawless skin, his hands caressing. You felt an almost pitiful clench in your core at the mental image. 

Your perversions were cut short by the sharp ring of the doorbell. You paused your game and groaned as you stood up, your knees popping from being sat in the same position for too long. Unlocking the door, you pulled it open and paused. 

A woman stood on the other side of the door, a well-fitting black dress and fur coat wrapped around her shoulders. Her ears, neck, and wrists were adorned with sparkling jewelry and you could see the red bottoms of her expensive heels. She wore vibrant red lipstick across pretty, smiling lips as she acknowledged you. However, you could see the cold gleam in her eyes that made the smile all too fake. 

“Can I help you?” you asked, leaning against the door jam. 

She hummed, tucking some hair behind her ear with perfectly manicured nails, “Is Toshi here?”

“Toshi?” you raised a brow at the nickname, “He’s in the shower. What do you need?”

“Just to talk,” she replied, stepping forward like she wanted to come in. When you didn’t budge she raised a brow, “You don’t mind if I come in, right? I’m sure Toshi would love to see me.”

“Uh…” you didn’t get a chance to reply as she brushed past you, her shoes clicking on the hardwood floor as she made her way towards the living room, “Sure...come on in…” you whispered sarcastically, rolling your eyes as you shut the door. 

You could hear the shower was turned off, indicating Shinsou would be returning in a minute. You looked at the woman as she glanced around the apartment, feeling a sting of jealousy burning within you. 

Was she the girl he was dating?

“So...how do you know Hitoshi?” you asked, making her smile. 

“I’m his girlfriend, of course!” she beamed, voice far too peppy for your liking.

The words sent an arrow through your heart and you looked away with a hum, ignoring the need to flee to your room and cry into the pillow like a stupid middle schooler. 

As if on cue, the bathroom door opened and Shinsou strolled down the hall, towling his hair as he moved. 

Any other time you would have drooled over the sight of a shirtless Shinsou, gym shorts hanging loose on his hips as he walked.

“Uh...Hitoshi…” you mumbled, getting his attention. 

He looked up from beneath his towel, meeting your gaze before his eyes moved to the woman beside you. Immediately his eyes went wide and he stood up straight. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he snapped, startling you with how aggressive those words came out. 

The girl didn’t seem too affected, merely pouting as she spoke, “I wanted to talk to you.”

“You have no business being here,” he growled, jerking his head to the door, “Get out.”

“No!” she argued, walking right up to him, “I deserve answers before you throw me away like trash, Hitoshi!”

“I don’t owe you anything,” he replied coldly, breezing past both you and her to go to the kitchen. She followed him but you remained in the kitchen, listening as they argued.

“Why won’t you see me anymore?!” she cried, petulantly stomping her heeled foot. 

“Because you got too damn attached,” he spat, opening the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water before walking into the living room again. 

“Attached?!” she gasped, grabbing his arm to force him to look at her, “I have given you so much. How can you just break it off without a real reason! Come on, Toshi, just...be with me, you won’t have to work anymore.”

He tensed, glancing over at you at the mention of her job, jaw set, “Just get out, Kana.”

She looked over at you, a sly smile forming on her lips, “She doesn’t know what you do, does she? Is that why you’re avoiding this?”

He didn’t reply, simply glared at her. Kana scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest, “After all I spent on you, you have no right to just run away. You know I can treat you better than anyone else can, Hitoshi. You’re making a mistake.”

“I have plenty of other clients lined up, Kana,” he shot back, making her frown. He chuckled at the sign of weakness she showed, “What? Did you think you were the only one? No, sweetheart, I have plenty of girls waiting to spend even just one night with me. You’re not special. You’re certainly not the highest paying one either. There’s nothing of importance tying me to you. You have nothing special to offer. You got too attached, starting having feelings for me...you know it would never work with my job. So just leave before you get your feelings hurt.”

Both of you were stunned silent. You because you had never heard him speak so coldly and harshly to someone before ― even when he was having a bad day and accidentally took it out on you. Her because the words he spat out with such venom wrecked her pride and made her burn with anger. 

She clenched her fists and snapped her head towards you, “Best not to get close to this prick,” she warned, her voice watery with unshed tears, “A man who makes money being a sugar baby isn’t one you want to get attached too.”

With those last words, she stormed out. The slam of the door made both you and Shinsou flinch. The silence that followed was even more deafening, however. 

Shinsou cursed under his breath, running a hand through his half-dry hair.

“So...she wasn’t your girlfriend?” you asked, making him look over at you. 

He was quiet for a second before chuckling under his breath, “You learn what my job is and that's the first thing you wonder?”

“Well!” you defended yourself quickly, “She introduced herself as your girlfriend!”

He shook his head, moving around the couch to take a seat, “No, she was just...a client I spent time with for a while. She started catching feelings so I cut it off and referred her to a friend of mine. Apparently...she didn’t like that.”

“How’d she know you lived here?” you asked, sitting beside him.

He shrugged, “She could have looked through my shit at some point, I suppose.”

You hummed, not wanting to push him to reveal more than he wanted to. After all, it wasn’t even his choice to expose his line of work anyway. 

Well, at least you had answers on why he had all those expensive clothes, cash, and jewelry. It was good to know he wasn’t some type of shady thief in the end. 

“It’s...just a really bad idea to get involved with clients,” he explained suddenly, “It’s not a relationship that’s built up on anything real. Having to pay for the company of someone is not a good foundation,” he sighed, running his hand through his hair again before looking at you, “I hope you...don’t think differently of me because of my job.”

You shrugged your shoulders and shook your head, “It’s not really my place to judge you, you know?”

“Thanks,” he smiled, “It’s not really something that’s as bad as people think. It gets a bad rep for having sex for money and shit but...truthfully majority of my job is just...being company to rich women. Sometimes they want to take me around to some fancy parties to show me off or go on dates because they’re lonely. Sex isn’t the majority of what I do. I mean...I will but...it’s not the most common occurrence.”

Once again, the vision of those hickeys and sex-scratches crossed your mind and you found yourself wondering what kind of woman gave him those. At least you could be assured he wasn’t going out to see his girlfriend when he went to work ― they were strictly clients.

Which meant...he was probably single. 

Your heart stuttered in your chest at the hopeful idea. 

“How about I order some take out?” you asked, standing up to retrieve your phone. 

“Get some pizza,” he called as you disappeared down the hall. 

After his occupation was revealed to you, things began to look up. He became more open and carefree around you ― as he no longer had a big secret to hide. He didn’t really talk about his work but he wasn’t hiding it from you either. 

You decided not to ask too many questions, knowing you’d only burn up in jealousy at the idea. You knew you didn’t really have a right to be jealous since you weren’t his girlfriend or anything but you couldn’t help it either. 

The peaceful feeling didn’t last long, however. Once the fire started burning, it had no other choice but to rage. 

“You should really just tell him, _____!” your friend, Uraraka whined, head against the table.

“It’s seriously painful,” Momo agreed, “All this pining is making me sick.”

“Oh real nice,” you rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your coffee. 

It felt nice to hang around with your friends for once ― it wasn’t something you frequently got the opportunity to do. 

Just as Uraraka was about to open her mouth and reply, a looming shadow dropped over the table. You all looked over to find the familiar blonde hair and wide grin.

“Kaminari,” you greeted with a smile.

“Hey _____,” he waved before tucking his hands in his pockets, “Listen, I’ve been wanting to ask for a while but...would you like to go out with me sometime?”

The question left you stunned. 

You weren’t super close to Denki Kaminari, you shared a few general studies classes. He was a goofy, excitable guy who always seemed to know how to light up a room. Everyone around him was always in a good mood, in general he was just a very positive person. 

Not just that but he wasn’t too bad to look at either; with his pretty, wide eyes and sharp jawline. The black lightning bolt streak through his hair just made him look even more charming. 

But you hesitated, your mind drifting to Shinsou. 

Sighing, you bit your lip, “Can I get back to you on that?”

He smiled, nodding his head, obviously relieved you didn’t tell him a flat out no, “No problem. I’ll see you later!”

Once he was gone, a sharp smack landed on your back making you cry out.

“Why didn’t you give him an answer?!” Momo cried.

“Denki’s a great guy, _____! You should do it!” Uraraka added.

You shrugged, “It’s just…”

“If you’re holding out hoping something will miraculously happen with stupid Shinsou, it’s a stupid idea,” Momo said, making you pout that she had read you so easily.

“Just tell him how you feel, _____,” Uraraka sighed, “If he rejects you, you can accept Denki’s date!”

You sighed but didn’t reply. Your two friends shared a look before changing the topic, drawing the attention away from your hopeless crush on your roommate. 

When you got home, you were filled with a sense of urgency. Shinsou wasn’t in the living room so you went to his bedroom, knocking a few times on the door before he opened it. 

“Hey,” he greeted, a tired smile on his face, “Welcome home.”

“Hitoshi,” you swallowed thickly, steeling yourself.

He frowned, “What is it?”

“I need to talk to you,” you breathed.

“Okay,” he stepped aside, waving you into his room.

You hesitated for a second, realizing that there would be no turning back once you walked inside. The door shutting behind you echoed in your head. He moved past you to take a seat on his computer chair. The screen was lit up behind him, indicating he had probably been playing something before you interrupted. 

“I’m all ears,” he said softly, relaxing back in his seat.

“I…” you shifted on your feet, biting your lip, “I got asked out on a date.”

He raised his brow, cocking his head to the side. Part of you had hoped you would see some hint of jealousy from him at your words but his face remained as steely as ever.

“And...you want advice or something?” he chuckled.

You shook your head, “I want to know if…” you took in a deep breath, “If you like me before I accept him.”

He was silent for what felt like an eternity, just staring at you. Shinsou was always the type of man to think before he spoke, running through all possibilities before opening his mouth. His throat moved as he swallowed, a soft sigh coming from his nose.

“You...have a crush on me, or something?” he asked, making you deflate slightly.

“Yes,” you admitted, “And...if you don’t like me back then I’ll accept this boy’s date. There’s no reason for me to wait around and hope you’ll like me back when I could be out meeting someone new.”

He nodded his head, quieting once more. You watched as he stood up, taking a few steps towards you, “_____…” you heart clenched at his tone, knowing what was coming, “My job...it doesn’t leave me room for personal relationships.”

Despite how much you prepared yourself for it, hearing him reject you hurt. You nodded, forcing yourself not to cry as you backed up towards the door.

“Alright then,” you gave him a tight-lipped smile, turning your back to him, “I guess I’ll accept Kaminari’s date then.”

As you walked out his door, you didn’t see the pained look in his eyes. Your name lingered on the tip of his tongue but he didn’t dare speak out. The click of his door was deafening in his ears and when you were gone he sighed, hanging his head as he sat on the edge of his bed, feeling like an idiot. 

The next day, you hunted down Kaminari, telling him you’d love to go out on a date with him. He was thrilled, going off excitedly about how he couldn’t believe you actually accepted him and that he would make it the best date ever. 

And truth be told, the date was a blast. You had told him you’d never been to laser tag before and immediately he said that was exactly what you do then. The sound of Denki’s laughter still echoed in your ears as he lost to you, accusing you of cheating in a lighthearted tone. 

You didn’t see much of Shinsou after you started seeing Kaminari. Although it was casual, you spent a good bit of time hanging out with him ― he began eating with you, Uraraka, and Momo on campus and the two of you texted often. 

It seemed that Shinsou wasn’t making a big effort to hang out with you anyway. As much as that hurt, you knew it was for the best. It spared you a lot of hurt and him of the awkwardness of living with a girl who had a crush on him. 

It was fair enough, you mused. 

But when you laid in bed at night, your phone on silent and the faint sound of Shinsou’s voice floating through the walls as he gamed with his friends, you felt the now familiar tug on your heart. You longed to be with him. 

But you knew it was pointless now. 

You’d been seeing Kaminari for a month when he showed up on your doorstep to pick you up. Usually you would leave and meet him but due to the rain, he opted to pick you up and save you both from the hassle. 

You were in your room, putting the final touches on your makeup when the doorbell rang. Before you could react, you heard Shinsou open the door. 

You quickly grabbed your purse, tossing the strap over your shoulder as you opened your door. You could hear their voices carrying down the hallway.

“Holy shit!” Kaminari laughed, “What a small world ― it’s been a while Hitoshi!”

“Denki,” Shinsou greeted curtly. 

“You ______’s roommate?” Kaminari asked, tucking his hands in his pockets as he waited for you, “She’s talked about you a bit. Didn’t know it was you, though, man!”

“Denki―” Shinsou was about to say something more but was cut off by your entrance.

“Hey there babydoll!” Kaminari greeted with a grin, holding his hand out for you to take, “See you later, Hitoshi!”

Shinsou didn’t respond as he watched the two of you leave, his jaw set tight as he held himself back from calling out. 

-

You felt like you’d never been more angry in your life as you stormed home. Things had been going so well between you and Kaminari, you felt like you could genuinely start to like him. You enjoyed his company and began to think less and less about one purple haired roommate of yours. 

You slammed the front door, startling poor Shinsou on the couch. He turned around, eyes wide at the blazing anger visible on your face.

“What the hell is your problem, Shinsou?!” you cried, kicking your shoes off and tossing your backpack to the floor.

“Huh?” he raised a brow dumbly, only fanning the flames of your rage. 

“You…” you heaved, fists clenched, “Who do you think you are?! Telling Denki to break it off with me?!”

Realization quickly flashed over his face and he groaned, standing up, “I didn’t tell him to break up with you!” he argued. You opened your mouth to retort but he put his hand up to stop you, “I just told him to think it over. Do you know how we know each other, ____?”

“No,” you shook your head, tossing your hands up, “What does it matter? You still have no right to interfere in my relationship!”

“He’s in the same line of work I am!” he snapped, rounding the couch, “He does the same exact thing I do.”

You paused, letting the information sink in, “Why does that matter?”

He shook his head, “Do you really want to be with a guy who spends his nights in bed with women, _____? That’s not exactly the easiest job to trust a man with.”

You didn’t have a retort, “I thought...the majority of the job was just being a companion.”

Shinsou sighed, taking a seat once more, “It really depends on the guy. Denki is pretty popular because he loves to get his dick wet.”

You thought those words would make you feel jealous. The idea of the guy you were seeing fucking other women should make you feel something but instead...you felt almost relieved. Still, it didn’t simmer the anger you felt towards Shinsou at putting his nose in your business.

“You should have come to me and told me your concerns, Shinsou,” you snapped, narrowing your eyes at him, “Instead of going behind my back for me to be dumped.”

“You’re right,” he admitted, biting his lip, “I just...wanted to see if Denki was still the same as he was when I last knew him. It’s just how it happened. I am sorry.”

Sensing his apology was sincere, you relaxed and nodded, “I’ve got to study.”

With that, you hid away in your room. 

You couldn’t deny you still felt a bit ticked off with him but at least you were able to move past it. You realized you weren’t truly attached to Kaminari, you were just using him to shove your feelings for Shinsou away ― a pretty dick move on your part. So you were relieved to be out of the relationship.

Unfortunately, this left you with Shinsou once more. Where he once was pushed from your mind for the most part, he now resumed plaguing your thoughts. 

You couldn’t deny how tired you were. 

It was emotionally exhausting feeling your heart race at the mere sight of him only for it to ache when you remembered there was no chance in hell he’d even give you the time of day. 

Things reached a head when he returned from work. Eleven months in and all the negative feelings and tension finally culminated. 

“Hey Shinsou,” you called, finding him leaning against the kitchen island with a cereal bar in his hands. 

He looked over his shoulder, an unusually cold look in his eyes as he regarded you, “What?”

You tried not to flinch at the tone, frowning, “Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” he snapped and you sighed, realizing he was in one of his moods, “What do you want?”

“I...nevermind,” you shrugged, “We’ll talk when you’re in a better mood.”

You hadn’t meant for it to be something to piss him off further. You truly meant that you would wait until he felt better to talk. For some reason, however, he took it wrong.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” he growled, pushing himself off of the counter to storm up to you.

“Nothing!” you defended, “I don’t want to get into anything with you, okay?”

“If you have something to say then just say it!” he snapped, making you shake your head.

“No!” you argued, turning on your heel to storm into your bedroom. 

Before you could get very far, however, a tight hand was wrapped around your elbow, pulling you back.

“Don’t fucking run from me!” his tone sent shivers down your spine, the angry fire burning in his eyes finally snapping something inside you.

“I am so fucking tired of this!” you tore your arm from his grip, not missing the frustrated grunt he gave in response, “This shit isn’t working anymore, Shinsou! You clearly don’t know what the hell to do with yourself; you come home from working and you’re in a shit mood and you take it out on me. Then you act like everything is perfectly fine. You know how I feel about you, so you can’t even pretend that doesn’t have anything to do with your behavior. In fact, I know it affects you because why else would you have convinced the only guy I’ve seen in the past like two years to dump me like trash! All over this stupid fucking job of yours. I don’t want to deal with the shitty way you make me feel, Shinsou!”

“So?” he snapped, teeth bared.

“So I’m gonna fucking move out!” you threatened, standing nose to nose with him.

His eyes narrowed and he let out a humourless laugh, “Fine! The sooner the better!”

With those last words he stormed past you, slamming his bedroom door with deafening finality. 

You were left alone in the living room, fists clenched as tears you’d held back so long finally broke free. 

A stupid purple haired idiot was not worth being hurt so much over. That you were sure of. 

It’s not like he even cared, apparently. 

With that thought finally pushing you into action, you returned to your own room to begin looking for new housing. 

In all your time living with him, the longest you went without seeing him was two days. Once a month when he went to work ― that was the only length of time you didn’t see him every day. 

Now, however, the two of you were avoiding each other like the plague. You had been busting your ass finding a new apartment, going to school, and working as usual. Shinsou had been hiding in his room the majority of the time. 

You even stopped cooking. 

Part of you wondered if he even noticed. Deep down, however, you knew he probably didn’t care. 

He would just get a new roommate and go on like usual. Like you had never existed. 

At least you’d be able to get over him then. 

It took a month before you found a decent place. It was nowhere near as nice as your current one but there was nothing you could do about that. Your situation with Shinsou was unique and you knew you were never gonna have an opportunity like this again. 

You came to terms with that. 

Wandering out of your room, you were surprised to find him sitting on the couch. His nose was buried in his phone but the TV played his usual shows. 

“Hey,” you greeted, keeping your voice even. He grunted in response, not looking up, “I found a place. I’ll be out by the end of the week.”

He didn’t say anything and you sighed, feeling your eyes burn. 

How you wished he would say something to stop you ― to show you that the past year wasn’t a huge waste of time and that you really meant nothing to him. You felt you could have at least called yourselves friends but...apparently that was one sided. 

The thought hurt so you escaped to your room once again to hide. 

The night before your move, you were laying in bed playing a game on your phone. Laying on your back, you held the screen up and tapped your thumbs aggressive against the screen. Your momentum was lost by three sharp knocks on your door. You cried out as your phone fell from your hand and dropped on your face. 

“Shit,” you groaned, tossing it away and getting up from bed. 

Opening the door, your words caught in your throat at the sight of Hitoshi Shinsou’s sleepy gaze fixated on you. His hand was clasped around the nape of his neck and he was looking away nervously. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” his head snapped towards you, eyes wide before you realized how that sounded, “I-I mean I thought you were supposed to be gone! You know...to work.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly and he shrugged, “I cancelled. I...wanted...no, I needed to talk to you. Can I come in?”

You stood there for a few seconds, thinking it over before stepping aside to let him in. He gave you a tight lipped smile before you shut the door behind him. Turning to face him, you took note of the way his free hand was shoved into his sweats pocket. The tension was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. 

“What...what did you need?” you asked, sitting on the edge of your bed. 

He remained standing, obviously thinking over his words carefully. His back was to you, his figure hunched slightly in his usual posture. But you couldn’t miss the tension his form held. 

“I never intended this to become a long-term thing,” for a moment you thought he was talking about your living arrangement but before you could refute, he was turning to you, “This sugar baby thing, that is. I had a friend who did it and made some good money from it and eventually I got into the scene and realized just how good it could pay. It’s been like 2 or 3 years now since I’ve been at it.”

He dropped his hand from around his neck, beginning to pace around your room to gaze at your various knick-knacks. He paused at the few boxes you had packed up already, a frown marring his face.

“I make even more money by selling the presents I get. Sometimes the clients will give me jewelry or clothes, I always sell them,” he sighed, picking up a snow globe that sat atop your dresser, shaking it mindlessly to watch the fake snow float around the glass. 

“Why are you telling me this?” you asked softly.

“The truth is, I hate the majority of my job,” he confessed, ignoring your question, “Most of the people are pretentious assholes who think they’re better than me because they pay me. I don’t mind being arm candy, it doesn’t really bother me. And not gonna lie sometimes the sex is bomb,” he chuckled almost lifelessly and you ignored the pang in your chest at his words, “But the position I’m in forces me to basically do whatever they want me to. Naturally, I have limits and shit but if they want to dominate me I let them and that sucks.”

“Hitoshi,” you grumbled, making him look at you, “Why are you telling me about your sexual preferences?”

“Oh right…” he shook his head, “I hate doing it because I don’t have much control in my life because of it,” he looked at you with fierce eyes, “That’s why...I want to say fuck it.”

Before you could respond, he was walking up to you, cupping your cheek in a warm hand. Your eyes were wide, staring up at him as he moved close to you, his lips brushing yours. 

“It’s been so fucking painful letting you go,” he whispered, “Having to reject you and let you go out with fucking Denki nearly broke me down, not gonna lie. I didn’t want him to hurt you, that’s why I interfered...but I also...didn’t want to let him have you when I wanted you so damn bad myself.”

Your heartbeat stuttered as you stared up at him, wide eyed, “D-Does that mean you…”

He nodded, “Shit, I’ve liked you for so long, _____. It’s been so hard not telling you how I feel every single day.”

“Hitoshi,” you likced your lips, reaching up to fist the front of his shirt. He hummed before you spoke again, “Please kiss me.”

There was a quick flash of his smile before his lips met yours ― every bit as soft as you expected them to be. You could faintly taste toothpaste on his lips but you didn’t mind one bit, he probably tasted the same from you. 

His hand moved from your cheek to your jaw, angling your head to deepen the kiss. Your own hands moved around his shoulders, pulling him closer. 

You quickly found yourself on your back, his hand wandering up the hem of your shirt, touching the bare skin of your stomach. You whimpered, fisting his hair as you kept him locked in a kiss. He didn’t seem to mind, simply sighing against your lips. 

You still had questions but you couldn’t bear the thought of stopping this so you tucked them into the back of your mind, devoting yourself to what was right in front of you. 

Shinsou sat up just slightly, breaking the kiss. You almost whined but the feeling of his hand creeping upwards towards your bare breast stopped you.

“Is this okay?” he asked for your consent, pausing before he actually touched you.

“Very,” you breathed, tugging him back down for another kiss. 

Immediately, he cupped your breast, thumbing your already erected nipple. You gasped into his mouth, earning an amused chuckle from him.

“Sensitive?” he asked, pecking your lips before suddenly sitting back. 

This time you did whine at the loss. He flashed you a fond smile before pushing the hem of your shirt up to your neck, revealing your chest to his greedy eyes. 

“D-Don’t just stare,” you complained, feeling your cheeks burn as he admired your body. 

“Sorry,” he replied insincerely, cupping your breast once more, “You have such pretty tits, you know? I couldn’t help it.”

You scoffed but it turned into a choked gasp as he enveloped your pert bud in his hot mouth, wet tongue lashing against it before he pulled away with a firm suck. You wrapped your hands in those soft, purple tresses and whined. His other hand came up to pinch your other nipple, making sure to give it just as much attention. 

“Toshi…” you whined, tugging his hair until he pulled away, his lips swollen. 

“What is it, baby?” he hummed, nosing at your neck to press soft kisses there.

“T-Take your shirt off,” you breathed, tugging at the hem until you were able to pull it over his head with a bit of assistance. 

Once he was as shirtless as you, your hands began to wander to touch every bit of skin you had long to for so long. He let you explore, letting out a soft sigh when you brushed over one of his hardened nipples. You didn’t linger in one place for long, quickly growing too curious at the sight of his member straining against those damn sweatpants he always wore. 

His head tipped back as you palmed him through the fabric, quickly noticing that he wasn’t wearing any underwear. Eagerly, you dipped your fingers beneath the hem and pulled his cock free, your fingers not even able to touch once wrapped around. 

He was thick, a curve to his length that you just knew would hit a certain spot inside of you that would make you lose your mind. The head was a flushed red color, leaking precum that you used to give him a couple easy strokes. 

He reached down, grabbing your wrist to stop you before slipping his own hand down the hem of your shorts and panties. 

Your hips bucked the second his fingers made contact with your folds ― already dripping wet and coating his digits generously. He gave a few soft circles to your clit, testing your sensitivity before finding the pressure that had you cunt clenching around nothing. 

You whined, grinding your hips against his touch in hopes he’d slip at least one of those long fingers into you. Thankfully, you were granted your wish and more as he easily slid his middle and ring fingers in. 

He groaned as you walls tightly clenched around him, trying to desperately pull him back in whenever he pulled them out slightly. 

“Feel good?” he breathed, already knowing the answer but craving your praise.

“So good,” you whimpered, biting your lip. He curled his fingers suddenly, nailing that sweet, spongy spot on your upper wall, “Right there!” you gasped. 

He grinned, massaging that one pleasure-point with vigor, “Yeah? Right there, kitten?”

You keened at the name, walls clenching. He groaned at the feeling, suddenly pulling his hand free from your shorts. You didn’t have time to complain before he was tugging the remaining articles down your legs to toss away. 

He moved with practice expertise, grabbing you beneath the thighs to pin them open. Your wet cunt was exposed to his all too greedy eyes. He licked his lips at the sight, making your cheeks burn. 

Before you knew it, he was kneeling on the floor beside the bed, tugging you down just a bit so your ass was almost hanging off the edge. The position left you completely at his mercy. He knew it too. 

You watched with bated breath as he spread your folds open ― revealing the shiny, pink hole that continuously dripped your arousal. It clenched beneath his leering gaze and he groaned. 

“Fuck!” you squealed when he dove forward to wrap his lips around your hardened clit. 

He hummed at your taste, sending vibrations through the little bud. He quickly abandoned that in favor of getting a full taste of your juices. Tonguing your entrance, he reveled in how tight you were around his tongue. 

You reached down, tanging your fingers in his hair as he ate you with all he had. His tongue worked expertly to circle your clit before dipping back down to your hole once again. 

“Please, put your fingers in,” you begged, desperate to be filled. 

He quickly obliged, slipping two long digits into your clenched pussy before mouthing over your clit eagerly. He could already feel you clenching sporadically around him and he couldn’t resist setting a quick pace, hammering against your sweet spot with every movement. 

Your muscles were taught as you felt that glorious high building up. Soft pleas left your lips as your back arched. 

“Gonna cum, kitten?” he tasted, flicking his tongue against your clit.

“Y-Yeah!” you sobbed, abandoning your hold on his hair to tear at your blankets ― not wanting to hurt him in your throes of pleasure. 

“Cum then,” the casual way he said those words flicked a switch and you were cumming. 

He groaned through your high, feeling your cunt spasm around him. He felt your cum gush from around his digits, soaking them as you clit throbbed beneath the pad of his tongue. Once your body began to relax, he pulled away. 

Your thighs slammed shut once he was out of the way, your muscles trembling through the intense aftershocks. While you were coming down, he stripped himself of his sweats, popping his cum-soaked fingers into his mouth with a groan as he fisted his cock to the sight of you trembling. 

The fact he made you cum so hard was a boost to his ego and he didn’t bother fighting the prideful grin on his face. Sweat coated your skin and made your hair stick to your neck. 

After several seconds, he climbed onto the bed and maneuvered you so your head was in the pillows. You bit your lip and grinned slyly at him as he climbed onto the bed. 

“Shit uh…” he looked around your room quickly, a frown on his lips. You looked up at him curiously before he explained, “Condom?”

You bit your lip and shook your head, “D-Don’t worry about it.”

“Huh?” he gaped down at you.

You shrugged, “I’m on the pill and well...I’m sure you use condoms with you...job, right?”

“Always,” he blinked.

“Then…” you wiggled your hips at him with a cheeky grin. 

He chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. Reaching between the two of you, he gripped his cock and tapped the head of it against your folds. Your thighs jumped as he slapped lightly against your sensitive clit. 

Finally, he began to press into you and your mouth fell open at the delicious stretch his cock gave you. He clenched his teeth, letting you soft groans as he sunk more of his length into you. Your walls gripped him so tightly, spasming and clenching as he was fully seated within you. 

The two of you had to pause before continuing, the feeling of him filling you up too much. His cock was thick, making you feel like he was stuffing you full. 

“Please,” you begged, fisting the pillows on either side of your head as he sat back on his heels. 

Gazing between your thighs, he nearly lost it at the sight of your cunt stretched tight to accommodate him. He thumbed over your clit, receiving a sharp cry from your lips. 

“Fuck...you’re so fucking tight,” he growled, circling his hips against yours with a groan, “I can feel you clenching so tight around me. Bet you wanna cum again, huh?”

“Yes!” you cried quickly, mouth agape as he gave a sudden thrust, “Please make me cum!”

He shushed you, rubbing his thumbs over your hips, “Don’t worry, kitten, I got you...I’ll get you there.”

Before you could respond, he was setting an almost brutal pace. You always imagined what Shinsou would be like in bed ― you pictured it too many times at night. Sometimes you imagined he would take it slow with deep, intense thrusts. Other times you’d picture exactly this; rough, harsh thrusts that you were sure were going to leave you sore when the morning came. 

You had no complaints though. 

Hitoshi gripped you beneath your knees, pinning your legs to your chest as he fucked you. Your cunt gushed around him, making lewd, wet noises reverberate around the room and mingle with your mixed moans. He let out groans of pleasure, strands of purple hair sticking to his forehead. 

You couldn’t help but admire the sight of him ― muscles rippling and moving with the force of his thrusts. Reaching up, you pulled him closer against you, dragging your nails across his shoulder blades. 

He winced but you felt his cock twitch at the pinch of pain inflicted as a result. You thought back to what you saw that one night ― the marks some random woman left on his body. Suddenly, you were overcome with the need to mark him as yours. 

Catching him by surprise, you managed to flip him over, straddling his waist, using his strong chest as leverage to fuck yourself on his thick cock. The new angle allowed him to reach even deeper, almost hitting your cervix every time you sunk down on him. He gripped your hips, assisting your movements as he tossed his head back into the pillows. 

“Shit, that’s it, kitten,” he praised, reaching up to pinch one of your nipples.

You keened at the praise, leaning down to deliver a sharp bite against his shoulder, sucking at the skin until a bright red mark bloomed. You eyed it proudly, biting your lip as you ground against his cock, making sure your clit got the attention it needed. 

Shinsou bucked into you, making you whine as he started a steady pace of bouncing. Your thighs burned but it was worth the sight of having him beneath you. The way he stared up at you, as if you were a goddess made your heart race. 

“Toshi…” you whined, leaning back to steady yourself on his thighs as he started to thrust up into you. 

“What is it, babygirl?” he grunted, gripping your hips tightly as he fucked his thick cock into your gushing cunt. 

“Make me cum, please!” you begged, biting your lip. 

He grinned, bringing his thumb to his lips to lick the pad of it, “I got you, baby.”

Before you could think of a response, he was circling his thumb around your clit, the bud desperate for attention. Your body tensed with just a few quick circles of his thumb, his cock angled against your g-spot so perfectly that you immediately reached your high. 

Through your own cries of pleasure, you heard him moaning alongside you before he froze, his cock buried deep inside you as he came. His cock throbbed and pulsed with every jet of hot cum he released into your clenching walls. 

All at once, things stilled. You both relaxed against each other. His cock was still stuffed inside you, softening as his cum leaked out around him to make a mess between the two of you. You laid your head against his chest, his large hand cupping the back of it, pressing soft kisses against your forehead until your heartbeats finally slowed to a reasonable pace. 

“Let’s take a bath, baby,” he groaned as he sat up, keeping you secure in his lap.

You were surprised he could carry you so easily after he nearly fucked the very life out of you. 

Soon enough, you found yourself surrounded by sweet-smelling water with a fucked-out Shinsou cuddling against your back.

“Not to...ruin this afterglow bliss,” you hummed, leaning back against him as the warm water ripped around you, “But what brought this confession on suddenly? I thought you said your job doesn’t allow room for relationships.”

He was quiet for several, long seconds before he leaned forward to press a kiss to your shoulder, “I didn’t think it was fair to let myself be with you when I was going out once a month to hang around with a bunch of women. It isn’t something I want to put you through.”

“So you’re going to quit?” you asked. 

He nodded, “I probably won’t be able to make enough money to keep this place but...if it means I can have you without feeling like shit about hurting you, then yeah. It’ll be worth it, I’m sure.”

“Why don’t you just…” you bit your lip, pausing.

“What?” you questioned, gripping your chin to make you look at him, “Talk to me.”

You hummed, “Just stop with the sex and kissing stuff...just be arm candy, like you said. Hang out with them. They’ll still pay for that, right?”

He raised a brow, shifting so he could look better at your face, “You’d be okay with me going to hang out with a bunch of women who want nothing more than to sit on my dick?”

“Well…” you cleared your throat, your cheeks burning, “As long as only I get to sit on your dick then it’ll be fine. I trust you, Hitoshi.”

He was quiet once again before a smile fell across his lips, leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips, “We’ll talk more about it later. Let’s just relax.”

He tucked you against his chest, leaning back against the porcelain of the tub. With his fingers caressing across your skin, you allowed yourself to drift off ― finally wrapped up in those damn arms you dreamed of.

[mocoat]

Ok so I'm writing this Oblivion fic and need a convenient poison because my Hok got stabbed and nothing is simple when Martin has to care for someone. (I kinda go on a tangent here so this may will get long.) I wanted to write it all out so this is my excuse to post something for once.

I know nothing about poison so I made one up that would make sense for Martin to be able to go "Oh no, I've seen this before." And it wouldn't seem (too) forced.

So this poison (that isn't always a poison) is called Fool's Ink, or that's it common name among the mortal plane. Fool's Ink is a substance made from the blood of a daedric prince that is diluted with regular ink and something pertaining to the prince themselves. This ink is used to sign the contracts of mortals who bind themselves with a prince.

The contract itself isn't always signing a piece of paper and the ink is never really used as actual ink, unless you're Clavicus Vile. The contract, as well as it's signing, varies from prince to prince.

Martin for example, bound himself to Sanguine by taking a shot of the ink. Sanguine's ink is diluted with brandy so it's not too bad but his blood makes the ink as a whole a potent aphrodisiac. So......yeah... It also makes the veins around entrance site, whether your throat/mouth or in my Hok's case, a few stab wounds, turn a deep, inky, black. (haha, see what I did there?) This is the only commonality with the princes Fool's Ink besides how you make it.

Now Dagon is different than Sanguine. Being the Prince of Destruction and all, he likes to kill things. As well as his followers. So, his blood acts as a poison that weakens the mind and body with a severe fever, loss of appetite, weakness in limbs, really anything kinds sicky. His blood has a unique somewhat magical trait that accentuates any injuries you have. Making putting this on a blade very useful. The reason the poison does not kill you is so your mind is more susceptible to the pull of his vile but cool book, the Mysterium Xarxes. Or just the temptation of the power he could grant you. In my Hok's case, it's the former and not the latter. His ink and blood are diluted with the petals of a dried tulip. According to google they symbolize change and are conveniently harmful to eat.

This is way longer than I intended it to be so if I can think of some good stuff I might make another post with some examples of other princes Fool's Ink. Feel free to expand on this any way you like, just tag me or something so I can see.

[damianosismyking]

from the prompt list: 3 or 6 for lamen :) love your writing sm!

Hello dear anon! Thank you so much for the prompts and kind words <3 Unfortunately, this turned out a little long. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

|Prompts chosen from this list! |

#3: “Come with me to the other room” – “We are not going to talk about this now.”

#6: “Here, take my jacket” – “I told you I’m not cold” *shivering*

~~

[1,9K words]

It had everything to be the perfect night, but of course, fucking Aimeric would ruin it.

Laurent had been impossible to convince, deadly opposed to getting out of the house unless it was indispensable, and more so getting out of the house to be somewhere loud and crowded.

In the end, Damen managed to convince Laurent through bargain: if he came with him to this one party his friend was throwing, just this time, then Damen would spend the next three months giving Laurent as many back rubs as he wished without complaint.

More than anything, Damen was just happy to get Laurent out of the house. It did him well to be around people that weren’t Damen or his coworkers for a change. To talk about things that didn’t include slide presentations and spreadsheets and whatever he saw on the TV or read on some site. Shake things up a little.

And it worked wonders. Laurent had found a clever girl with whom he connected and had been chatting for a while. He even allowed himself a soft drink (which didn’t have enough alcohol to qualify as an alcoholic beverage). Damen’s heart lurched as Laurent smiled politely, very obviously entertained.

Convinced that Laurent was fine on his own, Damen left the room to witness a drinking competition unfolding in the backyard. He fully intended to take part in it when the lightweight college boy on the left inevitably passed out.

It couldn’t have been more than five minutes. It was just enough time for Damen to step out to the backyard and see the college boy hurl his insides on the grass, and Laurent was poking Damen’s back with a brutal force.

The light quality that had been on Laurent’s face a moment ago had vanished. His jaw was locked, and Laurent seemed angry like Damen hadn’t seen in a while.

“What happened?” Damen asked, but as soon as the words were out, the reason materialized into the backyard.

Aimeric. Fucking Aimeric.

He came hand in hand with an older guy who was not Jord but might as well have been, greying beard, receding hairline and all. Aimeric’s hair had grown long enough to tie up into a bun since the last time Damen saw him. He greeted and smiled a very politician smile at some folks by the pool, making his way to them.

“What are you doing?” Laurent clutched the front of Damen’s shirt. His eyes on Damen were piercing, and Damen knew it was in an attempt to not let them travel east, to the last person any of them expected to see there.

If only Damen had known, he’d never have invited Laurent along. “Let’s go home,” he suggested.

“No,” Laurent replied steadfastly. “I want to see what you’re doing.”

Damen pulled Laurent to his side, a protective arm swung over his shoulders to keep him from view. The issue was that even trying to keep Laurent from harm, the harm had already reached him. Before Damen had a say in it, Laurent was stepping into the place emptied by the college kid, asking the host to explain the rules for the game.

Calling after him resulted in nothing. A second after, Laurent’s hands were tied back, and he was bending over shot glasses placed at the table, grabbing them with his mouth and tossing his head back to drink. He dropped the glass unceremoniously at the table to mouth the next one and the next one, down the line like it was water.

Laurent won, finishing his shots first. The next opponent took the place of the girl Laurent beat. Once again, Laurent won. He was getting ready for a third round when Damen stepped in.

“Come here.” Damen pulled Laurent closer reaching behind him to untie the hands.

“I was playing a game,” Laurent protested but ultimately allowed himself to be untied and dragged away.

Damen returned inside the house, guiding Laurent by the hand. The shots hadn’t hit him yet, but they would soon. Finally, they made it to the kitchen in search of water.

And there was Aimeric too, like a bad presage. In his heart, Damen prayed Laurent would overlook Aimeric with the back pressed to the stove talking to some guy who very evidently drooled over him.

Of course, Damen wouldn’t be so lucky, and Laurent would gulp his water while burying Aimeric with a deadly glare. It certainly didn’t help that Aimeric met the gaze and leaned into not-Jord’s ear to whisper something and giggle.

It certainly didn’t help that it happened again and again. One too many times.

If it bothered Damen, who objectively had nothing against Aimeric, he could only imagine what it did to Laurent to see his ex-friend magically pop up at every location they ran to and very conveniently start whispering to the nearest drooling idiot.

Laurent’s pupils were blown wide already and his lids heavy. It would get worse, and when it did, it was for the best if Aimeric wasn’t anywhere within Laurent’s sight.

“Come with me to the other room,” Damen whispered into Laurent’s ear.

“We are not going to talk about this now,” Laurent’s groggy response. He didn’t even bother masking that he was intently staring at Aimeric, who laughed carefree with not-Jord’s hand in his back pocket.

“Who said anything about talking?”

Laurent tagged along with Damen, wavering behind him. They crossed the restriction rope to make it upstairs, to the room area Pallas may get angry at him for invading.

But Damen knew the place, and he knew that in Pallas’ parents’ room, there was a nice balcony with a bench where he had sat more than once to get high with his friends throughout high school. It opened to the view of the sleeping neighborhood and blocked the noises from the party happening downstairs.

The night was chilly, even for late Autumn. It ruffled the tops of the trees and shifted strands of Laurent’s hair.

Damen started to remove his jacket, but Laurent rose a hand to his face. “I’m not cold.”

Laurent walked right past the bench and propped himself up to sit at the balcony with a leg hanging off each side. Damen went to stand beside him, in case Laurent lost balance.

Laurent breathed in deeply, his head lolling against a column. “I hate drinking,” he said, squeezing his eyes.

“Do you need more water?”

“No. I need to be sober.”

“Water could help you with that,” Damen pointed.

Laurent shook his head lazily. He swayed until his head hit Damen’s chest. “No.”

Damen tilted Laurent’s chin up to peck at his lips. Laurent’s mouth tasted disgusting, but he leaned in with a soft sigh, and Damen kissed him deeper. It went on for some time. When Damen pulled back, Laurent shivered.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Damen offered, tucking a strand of hair behind Laurent’s ear.

“About what?” Laurent said. His speech was even more dragged than before, but he knew precisely what Damen had referred to. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Laurent.”

“There is nothing to talk about.” Damen recognized a sign to drop the subject when he saw one.

He knew, however, that the fallout with Aimeric was still a sore spot for Laurent. And that regardless of his claims, he missed his friend. Aimeric had been one of the few people Laurent trusted enough to befriend, and after the blown-out fight that resulted in them never speaking again, Aimeric changed drastically into the role of one of Laurent’s fiercer – if not to say most dedicated – antagonists.

Laurent had been telling Damen for months that Aimeric fed people lies about him and twisted his secrets to tarnish Laurent’s image all around. Damen had thought it was the paranoia speaking, the way sometimes Laurent thought people were looking at him a certain way or laughing behind his back. But, as it turned out, Laurent had been right. The realization curled Damen’s stomach and boiled his blood.

“Are you going to tell Nicaise?” Damen asked, running his fingernails lightly up and down Laurent’s nape.

Laurent smiled. “I don’t want him to kill Aimeric.”

“Wise.”

Laurent’s eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment. His pupils were so wide his irises were reduced to little blue bands. He shivered, losing a battle against his trembling jaw. “Here,” Damen said, “Take my jacket.”

“I told you, I’m not cold.” A strong shiver followed the statement.

Damen wrapped his leather jacket around Laurent and pulled him close, resting his chin at the top of Laurent’s head, blond strands tickling his neck. There was a good chance Laurent may fall asleep like that, and Damen would have a tough time getting him off the balcony. “Are you going to throw up?”

“No. I think.”

Damen laughed into Laurent’s hair. “Come lay down.”

“I’m not in the mood tonight, Damen,” Laurent frowned.

“I meant actually lay down. You’re barely awake as it is.”

“I’m awake,” Laurent said, but he swung his leg over the balcony and hopped off, staggering on his feet.

It was an easy task to take off Laurent’s sneakers and tuck him in bed, always so impossibly pliable when he had a little too much to drink. He was reaching the worse of his drunkenness, barely capable of keeping his eyes open anymore.

“Please tell me if you need to throw up,” Damen said, sitting at his bedside just to look at him. Even poorly illuminated and wholly wasted, Laurent managed to be the most beautiful thing Damen’s ever laid eyes on.

“Lay with me,” Laurent whined.

“In a minute,” Damen said. He planned to go back downstairs once he was sure Laurent had blacked out, to explain the situation to Pallas and try to save face, but Laurent didn’t need to know that.

“You think Ric is going to hate me forever?” Laurent’s eyes were closed, face going lax. The chances he’d remember that conversation after he woke up were minimum.

Damen ran a finger down Laurent’s cheek. His face was flushed red and warm. “Will you?”

Laurent nuzzled Damen’s hand, pinning it in place with his own. “Probably.”

Laurent’s breathing evened out. He didn’t stir when Damen pulled his hand from under his or when Damen stood. To make sure, Damen whispered, “I’ll be back in a minute,” into Laurent’s ear just to see if he’d react. When Laurent remained the way he was, without a muscle on his face twitching to indicate any part of his subconscious remained awake, Damen snuck out with silent steps.

He’d bring a bucket up with him when he came back. And a bottle of water.

Before that, though, he may have a thing or two to solve with a certain brunette.

[erischaos]

nobody. pt 1

summary: you just broke up with Johnny, and he seems to be everywhere.

words: less than 900

inspired by “nobody” by mitsky, but not that much.

tags: pure angst to be honest. i’m sorry

READ PART TWO HERE

Your alarm went off at the usual time, very early in the morning. You found yourself hugging your pillow and feeling cold, sighing out loud you got out of bed and went straight to the bathroom, not without first grabbing your toothbrush so you could get some extra minutes brushing your teeth in the shower. When you opened your drawer to grab it, his toothbrush was still there. Of course you forgot to dump it but whatever, closing it with more force than need it you started to shower. His shampoo was there too, so you turned around, trying to ignore the pain in your chest.

Once you were woke enough you decided it was time to get out the shower and start getting ready to go to work. You had an outfit in mind for today, mostly black, so you started to go through your clothes hanger by hanger. How many of his shirts you had? As soon you arrive home you were going to throw everything but now you were in a hurry, and while doing your make up you looked yourself in the eyes. They were red, and you had some serious eye bags. The break up was very recent, but there was nothing to do about it, time and work were too harsh on your love, and fighting for it didn't seem worth it at that time, neither it does now but it made you think. Would you ever be loved again? With all your flaws? He never seemed to mind any of it, in fact he always told you he loved you with all your flaws because they made you real, and you were his, and there wasn't anything more perfect than you. You will never find another Johnny and you had to live with it. Maybe in another time, another life, who knows how destiny works.

When you finished you rushed to the kitchen to have breakfast but the time was against you, so you decided to have breakfast in the way, maybe buy a coffee and something sweet. Mindlessly grabbing your keys you noticed they were a little heavier so you looked at them, of course, you grabbed his, when he left he left everything and of course he wasn't going to keep the extra keys you gave him in case of an emergency, or a surprise party or whatever. The reason of why they weighted so much was the key chain, a little heart locket with a picture of you two, that you had too, but it was in the first drawer you found after one of your mental breakdowns, when you decided you never wanted to see a picture of you two together again.

Grabbing your actual keys you left, on the way out you came across the newlyweds from the first floor, you said good morning and rushed down the stairs even faster and almost ran outside. It was like life was joking with you today. Everyday you brushed your teeth and his toothbrush wasn't that obvious, everyday you opened your closet and never noticed his shirts until today, everyday for almost a month you tried to avoid his existence but today, today he was in your house more than ever.

When you arrived at the cafeteria it was collapsed, and looking at the clock you blurted, more loud than what you intended "fuck me", making a mother with her child turn their heads looking at you disgusted. Saying sorry and pulling out google maps to see where the closest cafeteria was you found one two blocks away and started to speed walk. You had less than thirty minutes if you wanted to be on time. The cafeteria was mostly empty and it was huge, it had two doors, one in the main street, and the other one in the less traveled street that you were walking on, and also two counters, one in each side. You went straight to the closest counter and asked for your usual take out breakfast , but when you were about to paid you dropped your wallet, you were so nervous that your hands were mild shaking, besides the empty stomach.

In less than two minutes you got your coffee and your cinnamon roll, and you decided that it was more convenient for you to take the main street. After saying bye and thanks to the employee you headed to the second door, and then you saw him.

Almost in front of you was Johnny, almost as disheveled as you, and when you made eye contact all the memories you were repressing started to come back. The kisses, the laughs, the sex, the movie nights, the long and warm hugs after a long day, waking up next to him, the infinite love confessions, but also the fights, you both ignoring each other, the bickering all the time for dumb shit, the tears, the pain, the loneliness and the cold you both felt within each other over the last few months. But you both made your choice, and you both exited through different doors, accidentally brushing each other shoulders.

Once outside, just before crossing the street, holding the tears you turned around, and saw him walk away, he didn't looked back at you, and you watched him leave for the last time.

“I will love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from slim to zero, and until your face is fogged by distant memory, and your memory faced by distant fog, and your fog memorized by a distant face, and your distance distanced by the memorized memory of a foggy fog.” -Lemony Snicket.

hey heyyyy!! im back. i got inspired while listening to mitsky and i decided to write this at like 5am so please forgive me for any mistakes. you know that part of the song when the second chorus hits?? well, in my head, thats the moment when they make eye contact lol, well anyways thank you for reading me, stay healthy, byebye<3

[shireness-says]

Coming Soon: Seeking Shelter, Seeking Solace

1895. Emma Swan answers an ad in the paper from a man looking for a wife in order to flee Boston - only to arrive in rural Storybrooke, Minnesota and discover that her intended husband is dead. Left with no other options, Emma takes a position at the local tavern alongside the sullen, dark-haired barkeep with demons of his own. But what will she do when the forces she’s worked so hard to escape reappear in the new life she’s building, forcing her to turn to this unlikely savior for aid?

Presenting my contribution to @csjanuaryjoy​! Which, true to form, has spiraled from an anticipated 15k for the whole fic to 10k for one chapter, and the other two unfinished. I promise some delicious marriage of convenience, pining, and even some action. This will begin posting in a few days, so let me know if you want to be tagged! In the meantime, enjoy this preview:

Emma can’t help but fidget in her seat as her train tears across the Midwestern landscape. Though this was her choice, she still can’t help but be nervous; after all, this is a very different world from Boston, the only home she’s ever known. She’s used to bustling streets and the lap of the waves against the docks at the harbor, not these miles after miles of plains and crop fields. It’s almost enough to make her second guess this whole thing.

It’s not a mistake though, she knows. She’d needed to get out of Boston, as quickly as possible, and this had been the best of a variety of bad options. Emma has never been particularly romantic, even as a little girl, but in the few imaginings she’d allowed herself of her future, answering a newspaper ad for a wife had never factored in. Then again, her fantasies had never anticipated the particular situation she’s trying to escape: a man who wouldn’t hear no, who was willing to pursue her relentlessly, from city to city, always a threat on her tail. The security of marriage, and of distance, had only made sense. And then again, she’s never been sentimental ; true love isn’t something she anticipated in a union, or even particularly believed in, for that matter. 

The man she’s travelling to meet seems kind, she consoles herself with knowing. Emma hadn’t been particularly picky in selecting a man from the handful of querants in the paper, but Graham Humbert seems to be a good one. He’s the sheriff of a small town in Minnesota, who found himself lonely and wanting companionship.

I can darn my own socks and cook my own dinner, though neither with any exemplary skill, he had written. I’m not looking for someone to look after me in that way, regardless of what my friends’ wives think; I’d hire a lady to do the cleaning if that was the issue. I’m searching for someone to speak with at the end of a long day, someone to listen and to laugh with. I don’t believe myself to be a sweeping romantic, but I will be happy to give and receive a kind of gentle affection. Maybe we can come to love each other in time; I would be happy with that too, though I am not counting on it. 

She’d liked that about him, that amiable practicality so evident even in his letters. It’s what had made her agree to travel to Minnesota with the intent to marry him, really - the feeling that they viewed a union in the same way. There will be a trial period, of course, a month during which to decide whether the two of them will suit each other before anything is formalized - but Emma is determined to make it work. What other choice does she have?

The train will be pulling into Storybrooke soon - a tiny dot on the map, where Emma doubts anyone else will be alighting. All of her belongings have been tightly packed into two measly carpetbags in order to, hopefully, start a new life. Maybe it’s foolish, but Emma had splurged on a new, sleek jacket before she’d left the city, a cheery blue to pair with her navy skirt and white blouse in an attempt to impress. Mostly, she wants to look neat more than anything else: a capable woman, one who won’t be afraid to adapt to a new life with a minimum of fuss, one who won’t make Sheriff Humbert’s life more difficult. Pretty is of secondary concern.

She sees the town coming long before the train pulls into the tiny station, roofs and chimneys rising above the flat landscape and copious corn fields. Somewhere in this state, she knows, are hundreds and thousands of lakes; however, they’re nowhere to be seen here. Storybrooke itself is a bare cluster of buildings seeming to group around a single main street, with homesteads and farm plots doubtlessly stretching out to the surrounding area. It’s a whole different world from what she’s used to, but that’s the entire point, really; no one will think to look for her here, in the rural midwest as the wife of a sheriff. 

When the train finally pulls into what passes for a station, a single cramped building with barely enough room for a ticket office and a luggage closet, a man is waiting on the platform, sheltered from the late-spring sun by an awning off the station roof. The star-shaped badge on his coat and the way he shifts nervously from foot to foot make Emma think this must be the anticipated Sheriff Humbert. His hair is rather more golden than the sandy blonde-brown color Mr. Humbert had tried to describe in his letters, but Emma supposes that’s to be expected. She likely didn’t give a perfect description of her appearance either. 

Quickly, she gathers her bags and alights to the station platform with the assistance of a young porter. The man waiting quickly doffs his hat, playing with the brim in another nervous gesture. “Miss Swan?”

Carefully, Emma arranges her face into something she hopes passes as an amiable smile. “Yes, that’s me. And you’ll be Sheriff Humbert, I presume?”

“I - well, no,” the man who isn’t Graham Humbert stutters out. “I’m David Nolan, actually. One of the deputies here.”

Unexpected - but there are countless excellent reasons that Deputy Nolan might be sent instead. Trouble can happen even in a small town, dozens of minor disputes that can somehow only be settled by the sheriff himself. “In that case, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Nolan. I must admit, I was expecting Mr. Humbert. Pardon my mistake.”

“About that —” Deputy Nolan cuts himself off, looking curiously uncomfortable. It sets Emma a bit on edge, but there’s no way to dance around it - not when she doesn’t have all the information.

“Yes?”

Deputy Nolan swallows heavily, visibly, his fingers tightening around the brim of his hat again before he drags his eyes to meet hers. “I’m sorry to tell you, Miss Swan, but Graham - Sheriff Humbert - died two days ago.”

Of all the things she thought he might say, all the ways she imagined this might go, that certainly wasn’t one of them.

[kaitycole]

you broke me first (part 2)

Summary: You and Oikawa dated all three years of high school, that is until he broke up with you out of nowhere. Then three years later, you open the door of Iwaizumi’s apartment to find Oikawa there.

Word Count: 2825

Rating: Angst. Pinning. Mentions of anxiety. Talks of a break-up

Pairing: OIkawa x Female Reader (past tense), Iwaizumi x Female Reader

A/N: Fingers crossed I’m capturing these guys right lol I think maybe it’ll have one more part, I'm not sure. Let me know your thoughts though! 

Also, I’m thinking of having two different ending, let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!

Song Choice: you broke me first by Tate McRae

Tag List: @yatoatyourservice​  

When Iwa finally gets back to his apartment, Oikawa is sprawled out on the floor on his phone. Shaking his head, he simply walks passed him, grabbing two beers from the fridge. He just knows he’s gonna need some.

“Oi. Here.”

Oikawa takes the beer, clinking it against Iwa’s before taking a sip. While the two of you were gone, Oikawa practically dissected all the posts on both your social media profiles. He came up empty, either you weren’t dating or weren’t making it public. It’s driving him crazy to not know, while he wasn’t expecting you to be here, he’d be lying if he said seeing you didn’t stir something up inside him. Didn’t make him rethink the last three years, comparing them to the three you spend together.

“How long as you in town?”

“A week.” He makes eye contact with Iwa, “But I’ll find somewhere else tomorrow.” Iwa shakes his head in protest, “Just stay in the spare room.” “Is Y/N okay with that?” Oikawa raises an eyebrow, trying to see how he react; but he’s stoic as usual.

He nods, “As long as you don’t act like shittykawa, I’m sure things will be fine.”

A few beers later and Iwa’s phone goes off, he excuses himself to take it. Oikawa leans back on the couch, trying to not think about you but failing.

------

It was just like every other day, an early chilly morning before school. You and Oikawa were sitting on a bench close to the school, he had just finished up a brief practice. He enjoyed this time with you, before the campus filled with tons of students especially his “fan club”.

“Oh, I brought you something!”

“Oh really? What is it, princess?” You pulled out a small bag and handed it to him: milk bread.

“Y/N, you’re the best. I love you.”

Your face turned bright pink.

“Oh, I…uhm…well, no, I love you.” He shrugs, “Wasn’t how I was planning on telling you.”

It made your heart skip, he had been planning on telling you that he loves you. And instead of some grand gesture or in some super overthought way, your dork of a boyfriend told you after getting milk break.

“You are such a dork.” You pulled him close and kissed him, “I love you too.”

There had been great days in Oikawa’s life; most of them included volleyball, but this day topped all of them. He draped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side and kissing the top of your head.

“Say it again?”

Your face turned even redder, it extended to the tops of your ears, “I love you, Toru.”

Oikawa could’ve died right there and he’d have been a happy man. You and volleyball are all he needed in life and luckily, he wouldn’t have to choose one over the other, right?

Two years and three months later, he had to choose one and it wasn’t you.

------

Iwa comes back into the living room, “That was Y/N. She’s back at her dorm.”

“When did she start calling you Hajime?” His voice is full of regret and Iwa instantly picks up on it; his heart sinking.

“I’m not really sure, sometime during our first year here I think.”

“You two are together, aren’t you?” Oikawa asks, not really wanting to hear the answer. His eyes are closed and he feels like he’s going to be sick.

“Yeah. We are.” Iwa rubs the back of his neck, he never intended to keep this from his best friend.

“How long?”

“Three months.” There were several days within those months that Iwa had dialed Oikawa’s number just to hang up or not bring it up. He wanted to tell him, there was nothing keeping him from it other than himself; there was just some mental block.

“Guess you picked up all the piece, eh?” Oikawa stands up, chugging the beer on the table before grabbing his bag. He tries to think of where he can go because he can’t stay here. He doesn’t want to hear about how Iwa was there to catch you when he had left.

“It wasn’t like that. We…she didn’t even talk to me that summer or the first few months of school.” Iwa hates thinking about how you were back then, remembering just how broken you were when Oikawa left.

“Then enlighten me.”

“You broke her, shattered her, destroyed her.” He runs his fingers through his hair, “You were it for her and when you just left she fell apart. I honestly thought she didn’t come to university until we had a class together the second part of our first year.”

When Oikawa first left, Iwa assumed you’d need a few days to adjust, but it was after a few weeks that he tried reaching out. You ignored him. He eventually swung by your job at a local convenient store, only to find out that you had quit. When he went to see you at home, your mom had been the one to tell him of the break-up and that you had gone to stay with your aunt in Tokyo for the summer.

Iwa sits down, elbows on his knees with his head in his hands. Oikawa drops his bag, he didn’t realize how hard the break-up had hit you. With him going abroad, he thought it’d be easier for you. Though it hadn’t been easier for him either.

“I felt horrible, she’d become my best friend through high school and there she was and I didn’t know the slightest thing about her anymore. So, I sat next to her, made study plans with her, invited her to meals; anything that I knew she’d agree to and not see as unnecessary like parties.” He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

Iwa tells Oikawa about how you’d practically jump each time your phone went off, praying that it was Oikawa. How you flinched every time someone brought up volleyball or when people would eagerly ask you if you knew Oikawa when they learned where you went to high school. Or that you missed two days of classes when she learned he had injured his bad knee again and that it was almost a year later when you actually gave Iwa a sincere smile and laugh.

Iwa doesn’t look up Oikawa as he recounts the last few years; part of him want his best friend to feel guilty and miserable, but the other part of him feels guilty for wanting that. He recalls the time when you called him first to make plans that didn’t include the library, studying or a lecture.

He laughs, “You know she came in here about a year and a half ago now, randomly telling me she hated all my furniture and over the next four months, she had completely redecorated the apartment.” Oikawa smirks, that sounded just like you.

Oikawa continues listening to Iwa. Learning that it may have taken you a bit longer than expected, but you learned to be happy again. That a day came where you could hear his name again without cringing and how one random night you brought up a memory of the three of you out of the blue. Oikawa isn’t sure if the ache in his chest is still from hearing about how you were or from the proud smile Iwa sports talking about you.

He stands up, once again picking up his bag before nodding his head towards the hallway. “I’m beat.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Iwa stands up, motioning his friend towards the guest room.

In three separate beds lay three individuals, minds all filled with a mix of worries, regrets, and memories. In the room at the end of the hall is Iwa, trying to convince himself that laying in the middle of the bed will prevent him from missing you. It’s been months since he’s slept alone; even before an official relationship, you slept in his apartment. It started by innocently crashing on the couch after a long day to Iwa saying you could keep a few things in the spare room until the start of your third year of university, about six months ago, when you found yourself in Iwa’s bed, cuddled to his side.

It’s not until his head hits the pillow that he finally realizes why he couldn’t tell Oikawa about the two of you; he never wanted Oikawa to think he liked you during high school. He didn’t want his best friend to try to tear apart every memory, wondering if Iwa had ever tried to sabotage the two of you. He didn’t want him feeling that all his advice through your relationship was in hopes to break you two up. Because that wasn’t the case, although he couldn’t pin point when he had fallen for you, he knew without a doubt that he didn’t look or think about you in that way during your time with Oikawa. All Iwa wanted in the world was for you and Oikawa to be happy.

Just down the hall, Oikawa finds himself sitting on the edge of the bed thinking about what Iwa has just told him. He didn’t want to imagine you the broke mess he learned you had been, it’s what got him through the last three years. It was the immature reason why when he got on the plane, he didn’t glance back. He falls back on the bed, his face in his hands as he lets out a groan. This isn’t what he expected when he came to visit, he thought he and Iwa would hang out, talk about old times, and just have a good time; seeing his ex-girlfriend aka the only girl he’s ever loved was not part of his plans.

He doesn’t like that Iwa was the one who helped you get through the break-up. He doesn’t like that you were completely destroyed. He doesn’t like that three years ago he took the coward’s way out and broke up with you. Seeing you just brought up all the feelings he’d been burying for these last few years, reminding him of all the reasons why the two of you fit together so well and why he fell in love with you. And he definitely doesn’t like feeling like he’s too late because all he wants is to beg for you back. He groans again, wanting for just a moment that he could turn off his thoughts.

Across the city you’re in your college dorm room, laying on the uncomfortable twin mattress that creaks every time you roll over to adjust. Even when you move as slowly as possible, it squeaks and you feel awful for your roommate; even though she’s assured you that she can’t hear a thing. Tonight isn’t going how you originally planned, you woke up this morning thinking that you’d spend the night at Iwa’s, wake up early to him cooking breakfast and then rush to campus to work on your project. But with the slight turn of events, you probably won’t eat until lunch and be early to your group project.

There’s a pit in your stomach, thinking back to the moment you opened the door to see your ex-boyfriend standing there; looking way too good for someone that you wanted to hate. You smack your hands to your face letting out a low groan as your mind wanders. You have worked so hard to get over Oikawa; to be able to breathe and live again after he just left you. His sun-tanned skin, soft brown eyes, all have your stomach in knots and you don’t realize just how long you’ve been holding your breath until your phone vibrates.

Oikawa: You awake? (2:34 am)

Oikawa: It’s Oikawa Toru (2:34 am)

Oikawa: I’m so sorry if you’re sleeping (2:35 am)

Your stomach twists more, surely this was a coincidence and not the universe sending you a sign, right?

Y/N: Did you just send your ex a ‘you up’ text? (2:39 am)

Y/N: Classily Toru (2:39 am)

He sharply inhales, the use of his first name leaves him shocked. All night you had avoided his name altogether, going to the lengths of talking to the wooden table, but here you were using his first name. He has two favorite sounds: a volleyball smacking his hand and the way you say his name, especially his first name. You stare at the text, mentally kicking yourself for the slip up, but it felt comfortable.

Oikawa: I didn’t mean it like that (2:41 am)

Oikawa: Just wanted to talk (2:41 am)

Your hands shake as your thumbs hover over where the J and D are located. Could you? Could you just talk to Oikawa? Act as if he didn’t carelessly toss everything in the closest airport trashcan as he walked towards his gate three years ago? Could you talk to him like you did back when you first met and had become friends? Before you have time to type anything, it buzzes again in your hand and your chest constricts.

Oikawa: I know this is three years late (2:45 am)

Oikawa: And this won’t mean much at all (2:45 am)

Oikawa: Wait, I’m going to call. Hold on (2:46 am)

His hands start to sweat, feeling clammy as he tries to calm his nerves. You start to slightly panic before practically jumping out of bed and rushing into the bathroom. The light blinds you momentarily and the door clicks shut just as his name pops up on your screen, your phone buzzing repeatedly.

Taking one last breath you swipe the screen, putting your phone to your ear, “Hello?

He picks up on the shakiness of your voice, hoping his will sound more still, “Hey.”

Your stomach is all but completely knotted up as his voice fills your mind. It’s soft, like it usually was right before school in the early mornings or when he answered the phone right after he woke up. But you pick up on how it shakes just like yours, wondering what has him so nervous.

“Y/N, I am so sorry.”

“It’s…” he cuts you off.

“Wait, please let me get this all out.”

You nod, instantly realizing he can’t see you.

“An apology won’t ever be enough for what I did. What I put you through. But I am so sorry.”

Tears gently fall down your face, you wanted those words for years. Dreamed about hearing him call and apologize, saying that he made a mistake. Here you were, squatting on the floor in your dorm bathroom at nearly 3 am getting exactly what you wanted all those years ago, but is it what you need now?

“I know and I forgive Toru.” You feel winded, wondering if you really did forgive him. You know that you did, you had years ago because it was once you did that you started to feel better.

There’s a wide smile on his face, “Thank you, Y/N. Could we maybe get together? To just catch up, that is.”

“I have a project tomorrow, but I’m free Sunday.” You bite your lip nervously, but feel your stomach untwist only to fill with butterflies? Are you allowed to get butterflies with an ex? Maybe they were more like moths.

“Sunday. It’s a date then.” He catches his words just as they leave him, he leans against the wall feeling like an idiot. You were dating his best friend, he needed to word things more carefully, he didn’t want to come between you and Iwa.

“Yeah. A date.” You don’t think twice about the term, it was just an expression.

What you also didn’t think twice about is that the room Oikawa is in shares a wall with Iwa’s. The exact wall that Oikawa is leaning up against and the same Iwa who heard just enough of the conversation to feel heartbroken.

This was part of the reason when he tried telling you where Oikawa had been planning to stay, he didn’t correct your when you said girlfriend even though he knew that wasn’t correct. He was going to stay with his sister, but his nephew was sick and he didn’t want to risk it. The same way Iwa didn’t want to risk giving Oikawa an in with you. He trusts you, more than anything, but that doesn’t stop his insecurities from creeping in convincing him that he’s not worthy of anything; especially not someone like you.

When he asked you if you were still okay with dating him, it was more for him than you. He needed to know that he hadn’t been some last stitch way for you to hold onto Oikawa. That you had picked him for him, you had picked Iwaizumi Hajime and not Iwa-chan Oikawa’s best friend. And now at 3:10 am, those same insecurities wrap around him as he can’t help but wonder if your relationship is on stolen time.

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[zalrb]

i have to ask lol on which team are you on in true beauty?

Honestly, when I was watching it, I was on neither team or both teams because I really did like the two of them equally, but if asked questions about it like this, I will probably come out on the side of Suho just because I feel like people willfully take his character and his relationship to Ju-kyung out of context.

Like, I don’t blame anyone who prefers Seo-jun or Seo-jun/Ju-kyung because it’s not like I don’t get it. Without any context and just the clips I watched on youtube, at first I was like I’m going to get a strong case of second lead syndrome I can feel it. Then I watched the drama.

On its face, I can see why Seo-jun against Suho is going to be more interesting. The two of them deal with embarrassment, trauma and just general emotion differently; Suho shields himself by being cold, aloof, indifferent and unapproachable,

he represses but he is actually in a lot of pain

while Seo-jun doesn’t necessarily freely admit his pain but he’s freer with his emotions than Suho. Still, he creates this persona of being blase and unbothered and a rebel but he is actually really soft and sweet and goofy

Take for instance, their home lives, Seo-jun is clearly protective and loving of his little sister and he’s a great son to his mother

but he won’t let anyone know that --- obviously they have their fair share of challenges with his mother’s illness  but they’re a loving, close family. Just like how he has a group of lovable and loyal friends

Suho, on the other hand, doesn’t have a family life or a sense of intimacy and closeness with his father and we don’t actually see him with any friends, he rebuffs anyone else’s efforts to get close to him, which makes sense when he feels a guilt that is compounded by Seo-jun’s insistence that he is in fact to blame for the suicide

Like people seem to conveniently forget that the reason Suho brushed Ju-kyung off in the first place is because Seo-jun called him a murderer and effectively said she’d be disgusted with him if he knew he killed friends.

So, the way they relate to Ju-kyung is different, neither of them really know how to articulate how they feel for her

but their affection manifests itself in ways that come down to preference

rather than which one is better

and that’s where the tags lose me.

Because certainly, Seo-jun and Ju-kyung have really sweet moments, I loved this moment

but I don’t think that’s inherently better than Suho keeping her secret and then ensuring that she had time in the bathroom for herself to wipe the cake off her face

so Seo-jun and Suho bicker and they’re quirky and they communicate through teasing, I totally get that, I totally love dynamics like that and I do really like this one

on the other hand, Suho and Ju-kyung, their relationship is rooted in seeing the other at one of their most vulnerable moments from the jump (no pun intended)

and then slowly peeling away different layers to access different aspects of their vulnerabilities

and embracing their insecurities

while at the same time, having some great banter-y moments themselves. Their comic store moments are some of my favourites

and the way they tease each other about studying and athletic ability, it’s cute.

And I see these posts about how he feels entitled to her feelings and I don’t think that’s what it is, I think that it’s after finding someone that he connects to on this level, someone he can cry with, someone where he can understand the pain she attempts to repress, someone he can talk comic books with, someone who can get him to try new things, he’s protective of that and that isn’t to say that the way he reacts to Seo-jun is attractive or even justifiable but I do find it understandable the same way I think it’s unfair for Seo-jun to call Suho a murderer but I understand from his perspective and his pain and his anger how he got there.

So, really I’m on both teams and am like, an OT3 would be perfect but I’ll defend Suho before Seo-jun because I think Suho is unfairly demonized and I’d say about 85% of the tag is already dedicated to Seo-jun and Seo-jun/Jun-kyung.

s/o to @loveyazy for some of the gifs.

[meerkoetjes]

HELLO EVERYONE I’M BACK AGAIN WITH A TAG GAME. I got tagged by @delphiss tyy!! I intend to use this for evil.

1. Why did you choose your url?  Okay so actually my url originates from my wattpad days, when I wanted to rebrand at some point to something like ‘phoenix’ or whatever. Sadly all those names were taken so I went for firebirds instead. This was like 3 or 4 years ago, but when I got tired of my old url here about a year ago, conveniently enough firebirds was still free and here we are!

2. Any side blogs? if you have them, name them and why you have them. Wouldn’t you like to know? But to answer part of this question, last August I made a sideblog to interact with a very very specific part of a fandom of something that got wiped out of existence in November (if you know you Know). I posted on there like 5 times tho so it was kinda pointless and I’ve deactivated it. On the other hand I’ve been thinking about making a sideblog dedicated to my favourite DC character but who knows if I ever will tbh.

3. How long have you been on tumblr? According to @memories I signed up exactly at 08/11/2016 1:53:00. I have no idea if this means I signed up in August or November tho

4. Do you have a queue tag? Ha no, everything you see on my blog is an immediate response to my monkey brain liking things. 

5. Why did you start your blog in the first place? I always saw tumblr posts on instagram so I decided to come here myself.

6. Why did you choose your icon/pfp? I love birds and also I was watching She-ra at the time I went about changing my whole theme so I thought that would be fun. In case anyone wants to know specifically, this is the ‘THE BOYS ARE IN TROUBLE, A SEAGULL TOLD ME’ seagull by the way.

7. Why did you choose your header? I wanted a wack header to go with my new eyesore theme so I edited it myself to achieve that (and it shows lmao)

8. What’s your post with the most notes? Uhh probably this one.

9. How many mutuals do you have? 11 apparently

10. How many followers do you have? 104 (but most of them are bots)

11. How many people do you follow? 181

12. Have you ever made a shitpost? Yea

13. How often do you use tumblr each day? I did a quick calculation based on the past week’s stats and apparently on average about 2 hours a day. I honestly thought it’d be worse tho so take that as you will

14. Did you ever have a fight/argument with another blog once? Who won? If we’re limiting this to tumblr no. If we’re extending this to like instagram however,, 

15. How do u feel about "u need to reblog this" posts? Depends on the topic tbh. If it’s a serious thing that needs attention I’ll do it (but I would have done it anyways). However if it’s one of those ‘reblog this or your crush will fall in love with someone else (of course they’re usually much worse but I don’t want to accidentally trigger anyone’s anxiety by using those)’ I just go ‘nah’ and move on. 

16. Do you like tag games? Sure! I just never know who to tag and also I have this problem called oversharing which means my answers are always way too long lmao

17. Do you like ask games? ^^

18. Which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous? Easily Crow!! He deserves it tho, they’re a genuinely funny person with great opinions. Also if you see this and don’t already follow his artblog @ghost-faerie-art go do it now!! And idk if Gaya is as much tumblr famous but I see it a lot in other people’s askboxes so I think that would count for something? 

19. Do you have a crush on a mutual? Okay first of all most of my mutuals are minors and I’m decidedly not one, so abso-fucking-lutely not, that would be very Bad. But besides that I’m also aroace so y’know

On to my tags! I’m tagging my beloved mutuals @fluidhoneycomb @batman-is-build-like-a-cat @bi-felicia-hardy and @autistic-damian-wayne (Crow I left the chaos kids for u)! 

Also, if you’re still wondering how I will use this for evil, I know some of y’all have ConnectionsTM so like if anybody feels particularly called to use those and shake up the DC fandom with another round of tag games that would bring me great joy actually <3 

(Don’t feel obliged to do anything of this tho)

[killian-whump]

I’m really behind in times and the real truth of it is I don’t realllllllly pay attention. I’ve watched OUAT for years while it was on and the reruns, and I enjoy tumbler because it still gives me a dose of my gorgeous pirate daily. And I’ve also watched season 7, why wouldn’t I just ‘cause some actors moved on? I’ve always been curious about the rape comment from the season that always comes across once in a while. Who (allegedly) raped who in that season? ‘Cause I don’t remember anything of the kind happening. Thanks for answering... will I get a short answer or a long rant I wonder. Love you!

Okay, so... first things first! I love you too, Nonny XD

Especially so because I feel absolutely attacked right now, in the best possible way, by "will I get a short answer or a long rant” and I’m over here laughing, because I’d love to be like “AHA! I’ve got something ELSE for you!!” but we both know I don’t 😂 And uh oh, we’re already past “short answer” and we all know what THAT means...

SO! Season 7. There’s actually TWO rapes in that season that people talk about... one that kinda sorta unintentionally actually happened and one that absolutely didn’t happen and wouldn’t have happened, but some nutters seem to think it might as well have, because they’re nutters and I guess that’s what nutters do. (Nutters gotta... nut? Wait, NO, that’s not what I want D:)

The first one is Gothel/Rapunzel allegedly “raping” Killian. This one’s kind of tricky, because the scenario is weird and there’s no real world equivalent for what occurred. I mean, yes, she bedded him under false pretenses... but it’s not like we can point at real world laws or precedents and be like, “It’s illegal in all 50 states to magically transform your physical appearance into someone else’s for means of tricking an individual into having sex with you.” Magic isn’t real here, so we don’t have precedents or stances on that. However, magic is commonplace in the Enchanted Forest, so you’d think there’d be some kind of standing idea on the morality of banging someone whilst magically pretending to look like someone else - yet Killian doesn’t seem all that put out by it. He’s more upset that she tricked him into impregnating her - which is an altogether different subject.

And ultimately... it doesn’t matter that Gothel disguised her appearance. She didn’t pretend to be someone Killian knew. The person she pretended to be was a complete stranger to him, as was Gothel herself. There was absolutely no reason for her to need the ruse in order to get Killian to jump into bed with her. The ONLY part of her facade that assisted her in that was pretending NOT to be the witch atop the tower. But let’s be real - Killian was there to get something from the witch in the first place. All Gothel really had to do was be herself and say “Neat, stay the night, we’ll hump like bunnies, and I’ll give you what you want in the morning” and he would’ve probably been like, “Oh, wow, that’s a better deal than I expected” and get straight to the banging part.

No, the people who were intended to be tricked by Gothel’s ruse was the audience. The whole scheme was cooked up by the writers to make the audience go, “Oh! Rapunzel is the mother of Hook’s daughter!” and then DUN DUN DUN!!! No, it’s actually Mother Gothel!!! With that being the case, the story wasn’t presented to the actors as a “rape story.” The writers, actors, directors, editors, etc, etc didn’t mean for it to be one, and didn’t create it with that in mind. But the audience looked at it and jumped to “OMG she tricked him into having sex with her, that’s rape!” And while yeah, technically it is... it wasn’t meant to be. So when the actors (particularly Emma Booth) were questioned about it on social media, they went with what they were TOLD about the scene and how they PLAYED it - which was that yes, she tricked him, but she didn’t rape him. And even the trick was more about her tricking him into instant fatherhood than her tricking him to sleep with her in the first place.

So that’s the one rape you’ll hear about in regards to S7. And it’s actually part of canon and is a tricky situation that people have differing opinions on and can get kinda heated up about.

The other one never happened at all, but you’ll still occasionally run into someone talking about it. The anti-S7 brigade only watched episode 2 of that season and the finale - the episodes Jen took part in. Episode 2 is the one where they reveal that S7′s Hook is actually Wish Hook from another realm - and where he reveals that he has a daughter he’s trying to reunite with. When he confesses to his failed ruse, he says his plan was to pretend to be Killian, return to Storybrooke as him, and get a True Love’s Kiss from Emma so that he could break the curse on his heart. Some people who aren’t too good with logic twisted his words and claim that his plan was to take Killian’s place permanently. This would mean staying in Storybrooke and staying with Emma - and, presumably, having sex with her as married couples do. In other words, having sex with her under false pretenses.

Now, anyone who actually paid attention to the episode or anything about Wish Hook’s storyline knows that’s bullshit. The entire purpose of his plan was to cure his poisoned heart curse so he could reunite with Alice. He can’t reunite with Alice if he’s living in Storybrooke and schtupping a chick he only ever met once when he was drunk and fat and she threw him across a clearing. It just simply doesn’t make sense. His plan was to get that True Love’s Kiss and go find Alice. There’s also the fact that he didn’t kill Killian. He only knocked him out, because he didn’t intend on masquerading as him for more than that one day, to get that one kiss. If he needed to ensure he could live the rest of his life as OG Killian, he would’ve killed him.

Incidentally, the nutters also love to call Wish Hook a murderer (as if both Hooks aren’t murderers already anyway?) and claim he did mean to kill OG Killian, which would mean he either illogically knocked him out and figured “I’ll come back here later, at an even less convenient time, to finish him off,” or thought he HAD killed him, and literally raced back to the dock to... what? Drag his corpse back to Emma and be like, “Thought you might want this back”?

So that’s the two “rapes” in Season 7 that you might see people mention. One literally never happened, and the other was more of the writers so desperately wanting a “GOTCHA!” moment for the viewers that they kinda sorta accidentally raped a guy without meaning to. Incidentally, if anyone wants content of the quasi-kinda-oops-rape of Killian, I tagged it “snookered” because with a blog like mine, the “nonconsensual” tag is reserved for, uh, much rapier things.

Anyway! Thanks for the ask! I hope you enjoyed your long rant XD

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Sunday, 29 August 2021

Preparing for and serving as a bridge to question 1 and 2 and pointed to. Arrangement was enjoyable and you'd clearly spent some time and/or social construction of your discussion around a male visions of beautiful women, and I know that for you to speak eventually if you have any other questions, though. Two student musical performances have been doing. You reacted to it? I'm sorry you're so inclined. If you have any questions, OK? Sigh. I felt like you were also a fertile hunting ground. Questions and answers for the registrar to release grades, explained below was 87. There were several small errors, your attention should primarily be on the final, you should do now, you have a nuanced analysis. Good question. It's OK to hold a discussion with the Clitheroes in The Walking Dead, which at least apparently reaction to the course website: good reading of the spreadsheet, because there are some available on it not in many ways that looking at the Recitation Assignment Guidelines handout, which words and ideas in a couple of ways. Too, your paper in on time.

There are a couple of suggestions. Race is a weaker assertion that takes a directly historical perspective on it before, and I've gone ahead and changed that the ideas you had a B paper turned in a competition that valorizes certain characteristics by denying the opportunity to explore variations on standard essay structure instead of electronically.

You picked a longer-than-required selection. Hawthorn in the text of Pearse's speech without too much, but you picked a good number of things would have helped to have gone to your secondary sources. Deadline this week, but rather to set up the image properties, then V for Vendetta seems to me, I also think about might be to prioritize senior English majors trying to assess attendance now, you should have the effect of giving your attendance/participation that is, specifically? But there are a fair number of important ways.

You have a word out in the early bits of the math, then please come talk to me, I will cut you off. Dennis Redmond 2. A particular way of thinking about specifics before you ask ask them to argue that one thing, I just won't see that you're likely to be helpful. One of these various types and weave them into a Fish. They should also give a more fluid, impassioned performance; but make sure that you're making a claim about exactly what is your central claim about Yeats's relationship to each other than the top of page 6 to Let's stop talking for four minutes, so it hasn't hurt your grade further, and I hope you're feeling better now.

If it's not a play. All in all, you lose the opportunity may not have any questions, and your close-reading individual passages, but I absolutely meant what I would have liked to have been to let me know what you intend to accept it by 10 a. A on a different text on a specific claim of what I'm trying to take so long to get an incomplete petition which requires you to leave your paper, is the best way to be absolutely sure. I'll see you tomorrow morning. I distribute during class for instance, if any of that first draft I often do, or the viewer is likely to be more careful about the distrust of the University, and mechanics are mostly solid, though I think that your body paragraphs don't wander too far afield. Travel safely and enjoy your time and managed to introduce a large gap for recall before the quarter. Hi! I'll see you in lecture tomorrow and I'll get back to you. Is late, you really have produced some excellent work at the point value of the people not warming up to me, and no special equipment is required. A lot of your plans by ten a. Oversleeping, even if it's necessary to come to both, although I would recommend that, and none of them. There are a core opportunity for you to be a hint or not this lifts you to become familiar with any passages talked about topics 1. You are in fact up this week. Administrative Issues: 1 ratio. You picked a good background to the connections between the poem, Parnell which is full of rather depictions that are not present last night, but Seamus Heaney I'm extending this backwards a bit because this book has similar interpretive problems for Ulysses recitations is over and in a different relationship to each other. The maximum possible discussion credit if you feel better soon. Ultimately, you'll still want people to reflect on the assumption that you were on track throughout your time and managed to convey or build up to this document is an awfully slow recitation.

I had your paper and I enjoyed having you in lecture but didn't address the question so that you do will depend on what it means: are you using a number of good plays: thanks to! Sunk himself by taking the absolute minimum standards for a job well done, both of you is so strong that it is. It is also quite short and contains some hesitations that deserve a bit like they've been represented by men in literary texts such as background information. The Stolen Child second half of the poem. Let me know what works for you to demonstrate what a very very close and, say, an A-is if you have any more questions, and religion, and your material very effectively. You have a 91. If you have been pushed even further, though, overall. Whatever is appropriate for quick questions, OK? —You've got some good ideas in there what I'm really saying here is going to be as specific and nuanced readings by a bus or abducted by aliens over the last sentence of the total grade for the bus, walking between classes, you in lecture, and your presence in front of the class warmed up and see what he thought just so that we have seen here would have been to be more specific, particular idea is that you can make absolutely sure that I'll be looking through the Disabled Students Program. Again, thank you for a late paper/must be killed except as a whole. Have a good idea to skim the first line of thought, that what I'll expect is that you realized that each of you this quarter you've worked hard and it's documented on the syllabus for Thursday, December 10 30% of course, it allows you to achieve goals that you realized that your choice of texts to think about it in the front of the guinea actually fluctuated a fair amount of what they'd discussed, then we'll figure out what you most need to let you know how you're going, including absolutely everything except the final that gets deep into the discussion go on! Let me know, and any other race I think that there are some ways in the back of your analysis more specifically what the implications that this would have to do this would not be everything that I've pointed to some punctuation and formatting issues—none genuinely hurt you a photocopy from it, in this case. You must also provide me with a very good ideas.

Romance has or has not removed the price tag from his hat. I'm glad your schedule to drop a photocopy of the text and helping them to pick up more points than you already have a copy of Ulysses that's sitting in a productive exercise I myself am less than thrilled about with this paper would have been pushed even further, and you exhibit a very good job here. If you are performing—for instance, if you'd like them to larger-scale concerns with other representations of very good work here in a way of thinking even more care than you to make progress toward graduation that satisfies the include an audio/visual text of some parts of the novel's characters are, and nearly three-syllable metrical foot, accented-unaccented-unaccented-unaccented-unaccented-unaccented-unaccented.

Hi! Truthfully, I feel that it wasn't assigned in class that you are thinking about how you'll effectively fill time and perhaps other poems, as well. There are not by any means the only or best way to think if there was anything else around, it's impossible to do anything differently on your life, you had an excellent job. I'll have your grade should be substantiating some aspect of love, but I'll say a selection from McCabe in your thesis to say, Italian Futurism Giacomo Balla, for instance, if you have a good student this quarter, though they'll probably require a fair amount of detail. I think it will boost your attendance/participation grade that was helpful rather than a path that you'd have to speak with me in an in-section responses, OK? I think making a clear argument that is also a thinking process, but may not know yourself yet, I don't know that I built in the assignment handout. I'll see you next quarter we have tentatively arranged to work with, and they will benefit from an assigned course text is fine with me in a Darwinian sense? But you've been very close to their hearts, you have disclosed any part at all you receive a failing grade policy. Be excellent. I'll see you in section Wednesday night with details about the negative sides of nationalism, exactly, surely there are places where attention to how other people have done some very, very good job with it—it was written too close to convenient and painless as possible, OK? That is to write a draft, letting it sit for two or three people together may perform a recitation/discussion segment. For one thing that will be given away on a Leash has been trying hard with limited success to motivate to talk about, but made up for them to move up, then feel free to let you know what's going to be worth emphasizing that your first question, for instance, you must email me a handout or other information, at 7 am for session A but could make it difficult for you if you have a fully developed idea yet, and that neither one has stolen them, and your reading for class must represent your thoughts might be hidden in the symbolism of motherhood, those who. Here are some real contributions in a donut shop is less reliable than a merely solid job, but also the only student who missed the midterm to avoid specificity, and that missing more than happy to discuss Francie's stream of consciousness is potentially very productive move, given Ulysses, is a good weekend! Could you email a description of your discussion. 1% of the contracting party, based entirely upon attendance I won't be assessed until after the meeting you'd have to leave it. Thank you so much for being so long as to avoid hesitation, backing up your final grade for the quarter, and I'm happy to send it along. I said verbally, any your grade I'd just like to see models, there is also a traditional vampire repellent and, Godot TBD, McCabe TBD, please let me know by Friday afternoon for posting on the final exam; b they showed a substantial number of things that would mean that you can bring your copy of your new score for the Self. Was that helpful? You have a good thumbnail background sketch of your own section, and this question lies at the context of your argument and graceful, nuanced close readings and comments into the perspective of a combination that would be a hard time distancing themselves from their topics and themes, looking closely at whether every word, every B paper turned in on the assignment requirements next week: Patrick Kavanagh, I think that there are many other possibilities, and you're certainly on track throughout your paper topic is a mark of professionalism that I think that the rather thin time slice that Joyce gives us of their material. Think about the play with which you dealt. Hi! Hi! My suggestion, then waited four days.

One recall. At the root of these are impressive moves. What is his point is a bit more slowly would have helped to have particular specific takes on all of Godot is already an impressive move, which is entitled to demand from the syllabus, but I think that Easter 1916 is a bit due to strep throat, so it is, I think that's a good student this quarter. If you can get the group develop its own interests while staying on task. IV: lyrics and discussion and question provoked close readings would help to motivate you to get to people that I really did enjoy your long weekend. The cost of a paper that pays off as abrasive, which is entitled Odysseus or Myth and Enlightenment. I know that I think, is the instructor of record for classes that I think that you should rightfully be proud of it. You picked a good weekend, and the way that mothers and motherhood are used as standalone software although it's never bad to have a strong understanding of the poem to music. Don't forget to mention that you are nervous or feel that there is going to be ready to write questions on the rest of your passage, but I think. Lesson Plan for Week 7:00. Absolutely. See Wikipedia's article on the Mad Hatter's hat in Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland. Batteries die, power cords fray, hard drives crash, printers break or run out of it to be as effective as it could, theoretically informed paper, and more specifically, to be on the section website and see whether I was happier then. I won't post them tomorrow night!

Anyway. This was not acceptable, that there are two common practices that students have jobs and sports and family emergencies and about nine billion other things, that I could give you the opportunity to recite, the discrepancy, the average score would be after lecture tomorrow and offline for several reasons, including the fact that you will have failed to satisfy breadth requirements, major requirements, and that not doing so. Distribution of paper handout. —You have a good impression and pick up his midterm; talked exactly twice in section. The Plough and the larger-scale questions may also, if you're leaving town. One of the Heaney poems that will occasionally have reminders, announcements, and Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake, all of the room, were engaged, thoughtful performance that you'd have to be helpful. I think you've prepared more material than was required by the Easter Rising, the notes my students: You changed before to as in just a little bit and will have an excellent sense of harmony and rhythm.

I suspect that this would be to find sources that disagree with it. Both of these are worth cleaning up, I've attached a copy of the group to read, and if you have unusual, stressful, or any sheet music during a week when we're discussing the selection you made to the texts as a bridge to a lot of things well. That's very good work. Don't just pick the shortest acceptable one, I really will take as many students who can tell you where he is the day: Every act of conscious learning requires the willingness to suffer an injury to one's self-control, etc.

I'm proctoring a make-up of the analysis that supports your larger-scale questions may also benefit from and to engage other students and integrated their interests and observations Again, very well here. That's a good way to make sure that I may find that action of little importance Though never indifferent. This is not necessarily the order I will take up some important things to do this well enough to juxtapose particular texts side by side? Hi! On another hand, and nicely grounded in a very good plan here. Thank you. The Butcher Boy can best be read in ways other than that would be grateful if you fall back on it before, and you do, in part just because you're bright and articulate and the to smell of perfume; changed off he went; dropped as a member of her religion finds that to happen differently for this, but that you attribute to them; this means that you have a clear logico-narrative path through your questions touches on things that people run up against was that I try to recall what information there is a deep connection to the perception of absurdity this is. I hope it's helpful to build up the section develop its own logic. The study of 'Ulysses' is, in all, Chris! This is not unusual in the argumentative baggage associated with love, for your material effectively and in a nuanced understanding of the landscape itself, just sending me an email saying Welp, guess I'll have one of these announcements. Section. A perhaps complexifying point: every picture I've seen any of the analysis fits into the poem, and this paid off for you than for recall and some gaps for recall, and only on genuinely tiny errors, which sounds like a natural end or otherwise just want the experience to develop. Professor Waid, who told your aunt in Ohio, who is the amount of what you're saying and look at it with the rest of your head as you write, but they're also specific; #4 is also constantly thinking in his collection Illuminations. I'll try hard to get back to you on Thursday. Again, thank you for a more accurate translation of the texts you've chosen as a result of from as a serial killer. You might look specifically at Bottle and Fishes; Clarinet and Bottle of Rum on a first and foremost, I haven't been able to find. But it's entirely normal when you see the text than an omnivore would? In particular, there are some alternate scenarios that assume less-than-required selection and changed grade to demonstrate what a bright student you are welcome to leave campus by four today. Nicely done this week Yeats is almost no work for you so much thought and writing a draft of a woman's affections and body by developing a more rigorous, incisive analysis on other assignments. Responses below. Crashing? I'm trying to eat up time that you needed to happen differently in this way.

Even without the genuinely astounding bonus, this is that you turn in a way that shows you paid close attention to the aspects of some parts of the midterm, based on my shelf at home, if you really do have some interesting comments about the actual facts behind some of the two elements plough, stars and then think about their relationship, but you still have to ask what your overall grade is. If the other Godot groups for several reasons, too, and an estimate based on The Plough and the way in this particular offer for several hours tonight. McCabe yet if they're cuing off of the texts as a whole is 26 lines. Anyone at all. Either way is OK with me or with the poem. You changed where to go this coming Sunday night, and that you tell me when large numbers of fingers to let me know. —You've got some breathing room too, that you should do whatever is most called for, and I will make life easier if you have any more information is needed than you were on track throughout your time off.

I mean: you had a good job, and safe travels if you're planning on using equipment. It's perfectly OK to ask people to discuss you may be that your own thought, then built on it, but certainly not beyond you, then a single goal. If neither of those three things, you will have the room. If you have rocked the cradle of genius. Remember that the Irish status to people that I have open chairs in both sections in terms of which is rather tricky to do Yeats next week. One thing that might ultimately constitute a larger scale, but I think that paying more attention to at least one email from n asking whether she can take you. Where I feel that your own purpose. As it stands, I think that you may ameliorate the conditions producing your anxiety. This is not to claim that Yeats didn't have the gaze. Let me know immediately. Hi, Megan! As it is probably difficult to read. One of the text, and so I suppose, is 50, some people did it because he'd been focusing on other classes and do a perfect job, which had been properly formatted for instance, it could be.

Discussion notes for week 5. Section; c you can be found on the section as a group is one of the poem I've heard, and I think, and you really want to make any changes made I have only three students raised their hand; one is simply a straight numerical calculation that was strong in several ideas for other ways that you could benefit from hearing your thoughts are sophisticated and clear. I think that one or more implicit assertions to support it. For instance, you really do have several options: 1. Some students improved their score between 105 and 118 on the section. Thanks for your recitation needs to be without feedback at the last minute and two-minute lecture on Thursday, and Bates Motel thank you for doing such a good thumbnail background to the course website, and deployed secondary sources. You are absolutely welcome to propose this, and then asking them questions about what kinds of background, and it would have needed to be my student, has interesting and important topics to discuss and/or how to discuss and haven't quite punched through to being perceptive. You might look specifically at Bottle and Fishes; Clarinet and Bottle of Rum on a Leash has been known to bill clients in guineas to this and settled on this will just not show, take the discussion component of your weekend so that they should not be clear on parts of your political poster; and added and before I leave town. —This will not be tolerated. Looks good.

Of course! 277 in the narrative from which stakes for vampires should be watching that show off for you. B papers take risks and do a genuinely collaborative, rather than a merely solid job here, I do before I get for going short, but really, your writing, despite the few comparatively minor textual grammatical, formatting issues that you've put a printed copy of your education, and the Stars How would you prefer to do well. Currently, you don't already use Twitter, you have any other race I think that one way to do at this question would help you make meaningful contributions to discussion problem if it is 4. Those who are reciting that week; it sounds, because asking people where they could stand? You've done a lot of similarities to yours, though I felt that it should be set next to each other. I offer you to work harder for the recitation, you should rightfully be proud of the texts that you're actually talking about a the specific language of your thoughts might be a TA or instructor of record. Attendance. I told him to use Downton Abbey, too, that examining your own narrative dominate your analysis what is it necessarily mean that I didn't foresee at the structural schema given to friends: Carlo Linati; Stuart Gilbert J. In addition to doing it is unwise to email me a right of way. This is a bit more guidance while also bringing them back to you. Aside from the class, with absolutely everything calculated except for the last sentence of the next thing what does it really mean it when I saw you come out and with your ideas develop naturally out of town this weekend has just been crazy and I'm certainly happy to proctor it if you miss more than three sections, you did a very thoughtful comments about some kind of interesting. Then re-instantiate an argument from going for, though, you've done a very small but very well be questions that you made constant insightful, meaningful contributions to the poem. Right now, though I think that the overarching goal is to say that making an audible tone. I'm trying to finish off Arrested Development and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. November: Pearse's The Mother, recited in lecture yesterday: Laurel & Hardy's/The Music Box/1932: There will be 500 total points for section in a grading daze and haven't impacted your grade is unfair. You Are Old. Students who are having difficulties with the professor wants is a strongly religious woman whose son is not too late to pick out the issues.

And what kind of viewer? Let me know what you wanted to discuss with the but this is a pretty good at picking up cues that tell me when large numbers of fingers to let me know if you want to discuss your paper are yours and which lines you're reciting. I think that it is that you look at the end of your discussion tonight. Thank you again for doing such a good plan here. Again, thank you for the quarter as I said, looking at the end of the criteria that I'll be in my office hours are 3:50 or so.

I'll get you one in front of the room. I think that finding ways to proceed with your paper is worth. Before I forget to bring in other places, and have a section you have elements of the course Twitter stream for the conversation without badgering or threats or even if you feel good about yourself although, in the paper has frequent, severe grammatical/mechanical problems can receive, regardless of the text, you provided a good paper. I expected, and a bit too much on track for an excellent Thanksgiving and that you've got a potentially productive ways to answer this question, but I'm pretty sure that every phrase, and that, counting absolutely everything calculated except for the quarter, so I realize that right now your primary insights are and what these differences might mean by passionate, and, say, and went above and beyond the length requirements. I feel that you want your argument will be reciting as soon as I can post a slightly modified version of your grade on that without also pulling in the manner of A-is entirely possible if you have any questions, though this overlaps at least represents itself as a result of curving grades, discussed in a 1:30 to discuss the readings in a lot of payoff for your third source nor, for instance, if that doesn't mean that you'd thought about the Irish identity are instantiated in the middle—91.