#Now my standards are even more unattainable

[nocturniashifter]

𝓨ou in the eyes of your s/o | pick a pile

Hello, my angels! After a long time without posting any PAP, here I am with one that just came out of the oven. I really hope you like it and that it resonates with you ;) ♡

┈─★ Disclaimer: This reading is for entertainment purposes only and shouldn't be taken seriously or used as a substitute for medical and professional advice. It's also a general reading, so it may or may not resonate with you.

┈─★ How to choose: Close your eyes, take a deep breath and choose the image that catches your attention the most – trust your intuition.

MASTERLIST | PAID READINGS

── .✦ PILE 1

Shufflemancy: Where The Lovers Go - Ghost Kisses, The End Of Love - Florence, Please Be Angry - Pierz Barry, Smaller Than This - Sara Kays.

This is so cute, pile one! Your s/o has been in love with you since the first moment you met, but they never told you that before because they didn't want to scare you – and I'm happy to play my role here and let you know that ;). Honestly, you even made them nervous and shy when they were around you and that's so cute 😭

In the eyes of your s/o, you are much more than a simple romantic partner. No, you are their family – regardless of what your relationship with them is now, whether you are just friends, lovers or even married. This especially applies to those who met their s/o at difficult times in life or who are shifting to a DR with more adventure/action/danger. For them, you are a person who is there with them in both good times and bad times, whether in your personal life or in your couple's life for those who are already together with their partners. They see you as someone they can count on at all times and you can be sure that they are also the kind of person you can count on when you are going through dark times. In their eyes, you are each other's safe haven and they also think that you know them better than anyone else - so much so that you know when they are lying/pretending that they are okay. You make them feel safe and they trust you, so much so that they feel comfortable enough to open up to you and be vulnerable. Furthermore, because they love you so much, they are very afraid of ending up losing you at some point – but that is just an insecurity they have.

Wow, this is really sad but…many of the s/os in this pile feel awkward in their relationships. But not in a bad way, but because many of them may be dating for the first time, aren't used to being truly loved by those they love or don't have much experience with relationships in general that are healthy. For many, their s/o was raised in dysfunctional and/or toxic families and as a result, they carry a lot of trauma and emotional wounds that leave them feeling like “clumsy idiots” in your relationship. Some examples that illustrate this well are the fact that they are unable to express themselves effectively with words and even more extreme cases in which they would rather you be mad/angry at them than disappointed in them or that you leave them. In their view, they won't be able to handle it if you decide to leave them, so they do everything they can to keep you in their lives – I told you it was sad 😕. But, even with all the fear they felt inside about starting a new relationship, they decided to take the leap and can be sure that it was one of the best things that ever happened to them.

Your s/o perceives that you have self-esteem issues, that you have a distorted self-image and an inferiority complex. In their eyes, you may be trying to achieve an unrealistic/unattainable standard of beauty and this is costing you your mental health and your physical health. Some of you may even be skipping meals so if this is the case, PLEASE STOP FOR THE LOVE OF THE GODS!! To them this is crazy, because they love and accept you exactly the way you are and think you are being too hard on yourself – they care about you and your well-being, so they want you to take more care of yourself and treat your body like the temple it is. They would like you to see yourself the same way they see you, because in their eyes you are very attractive and hot and you shouldn't change anything about yourself 😋 (seriously, it was actually funny because I literally heard them calling you “hottie")

That was all, pile one! I hope you liked it and that it was accurate. You better take better care of yourself or your s/o and I will be forced to hit you 😠

── .✦ PILE 2

Shufflemancy: Laughing on the Outside - FLOOR CRY, Shade - Chymes, You Know Me Too Well - Nothing But Thieves, Heat Waves - Glass Animals, Still Feel It All - MARO.

From the first moment you met, your s/o couldn't take their eyes off you and with each passing day, they found themselves falling more and more in love with you.

There are two situations in this pile: the first is that you and your s/o are not together as a couple yet and the second is that you have ended your relationship.

Regardless of what your case may be, your s/o are madly in love with you ‍🧎‍♂️ and every day they have to pretend that they are okay even with the fact that you are separated or have to pretend to others around them that they are not in love with you – but as a good gossip, I am here to expose what they really feel MUAHAHA. But, stopping for a moment to analyze, deep down they feel very sad not to be with you and that leaves them heartbroken.

Seriously, they are so in love with you that they seem drunk with love. When you are together, their heart warms. They may even try to deny it, but they can't help the fact that they want you like they've never wanted anyone in their life so much. Absolutely all they want most is you and they want to give you all of them and everything you want – your wish is your command.

For some of you reading this pile, you and your s/o are still just friends and in their eyes, you know them very well. But, regardless of what your case is, in their view, you have no idea what they are going through. I believe that for s/os who are just your friends, it is becoming more difficult to deal with the fact that they have fallen in love with you and cannot reveal it for fear of rejection or the friendship ending. Some of them may be thinking that you don't feel the same way about them and that they should leave you – poor things, little do they know how wrong they are.

Help, they are really heartbroken for you. Many of them have been in love with you for a long time and they have never been able to get over it. Sometimes they may try to tell themselves that they are over you, but just seeing you makes them fall to their knees – just seeing your eyes, your mouth and especially smelling your perfume. They really want you to want them as much as they want you 😮‍💨.

They may think that every love story ends in tragedy, that they might not be enough or that you deserve someone better, but when it comes to the two of you, they are willing to try. Sometimes all they think about is you.

That was all, pile two! I hope you liked it and that it resonated with you. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD GO KISS THIS MAN/WOMAN SOON 😭 they're suffering-

── .✦ PILE 3

Shufflemancy: C’est toi qu'elle préfère - Alice et Moi, Breezeblocks - Alt-J, all my daugthers - dodie, Impossible - Nothing But Thieves, If You Let Me - Sinéad Harnett.

The s/os in this pile are an enigma to me 🤔 but I'll be able to solve them

Many of you reading this pile are not together with your s/o, but the other part already is. And, regardless of your situation, it seems that in your s/o's eyes, they are replaceable in your life. They feel like you will leave them or that you prefer other people – in some ways, they may feel like “the other woman”.

But, none of these scenarios are real and these things are only happening in their minds – these paranoias originate from insecurities they have due to negative experiences in the past, such as being dumped or not being the priority of the person who hurt them. These thoughts make your s/o's heart sink, but as I mentioned earlier, they are creating problems that don't exist - so one piece of advice is to reassure them that you love them, that you are there for them, that you really care and who will not exchange it or leave it. They love you so much and are so afraid of losing you, they are almost begging you not to leave them – even if you have no intention of doing so.

Your s/o can see that you have imposter syndrome even though you try not to give a shit about it – you always feel like you're a fraud in every successful thing you do and in every achievement you achieve, even if it's totally your merit and they want you to learn to recognize that you are good at what you do and that you should give yourself all the credit you deserve!!

Your s/o are fools in love with you – the type where sometimes they even catch themselves looking at you with a passionate smile on their face – and they themselves never believed that this kind of situation would happen to them but, here we are lol. Seriously, if you were the ocean, they would dive deep into you. They love the smell of your perfume, in their eyes it is unforgettable. They also really like your mouth – if you're already together, believe me, they love kissing you.

WHAT A BEAUTIFUL THING, PILE THREE!!

Your s/o's love you like never before, literally no one has ever loved you as much as they do. They love you so much that they would really do ANYTHING for you and they are such good partners that they will do for you even what you didn't even know you needed. But, in their view, you still won't let them in (or haven't let them in yet if you're already together). WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? For them to love you this way, you need to open your heart to them because they have a lot of love to give you and it is more than enough.

That was all, pile three! I really hope you enjoyed this reading and that it resonated with you. You literally won the s/o lottery, so DON'T LET IT GET AWAY!! 😠 Until the next PAP! ♡

© nocturniashifter – don't copy, redistribute or edit my content | dividers

[manal-ghorab99]

Did you eat tree leaves?🌿🍀

Famine is a tragic situation by all standards, and when it affects my children, it becomes even more painful and cruel. My children who are forced to eat tree leaves to survive, and cannot even find bread due to the crazy rise in prices.

Imagine my infant daughter Suwar, who knows nothing about the world, finding herself facing deadly hunger, no milk or food, only tree leaves that do not satisfy or fill the hunger. And imagine my young children, in the prime of life, deprived of their most basic rights, which is to obtain food. We are not talking here about luxuries such as fruits and meat, but about basics such as bread, which has become an unattainable dream due to the high price of flour.

The price of a bag of flour reaching $300 is a real disaster, and I cannot provide bread for my children, which exposes them to the risk of starvation. These conditions force me to search for anything to satisfy their hunger, even if it is tree leaves, in a desperate attempt to stay alive.

Innocent children are facing starvation due to circumstances beyond their control. Be part of the solution, donate now

📝Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #184 ) and the butterfly project (#1117).

donate here 🎁

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[loganwritesprobably]

See Me

A request from anon for my 200 followers event

Content/Warnings: Crocodile/GN!Reader, pining, pre-slash, Reader is asked on a date, Reader wears Crocodile's clothes, inspired by Someone to you by BANNERS

You’d been working for Sir Crocodile for not far off twelve months now. Almost an entire year. It was potentially the busiest, and strangest job you’d had in your life so far, but you enjoyed it all the same. You worked as an assistant to the warlord, helping management of the casino. All in all, it wasn’t the easiest work, not because of the actual content of it but because of Sir Crocodile himself and what he tended to get himself into. He didn’t only run the casino, you knew that from your own observations, but it wasn’t something that he’d told you directly, and so you didn’t speak about it with him. It was something criminal, you were fairly sure, but that was nothing to do with you. If you didn’t get mixed up in it, you couldn’t get yourself into trouble.

And yet, you knew you were a little too close to being involved in it and losing your plausible deniability, because you wanted to date Crocodile. Yes, you were a complete cliche. You’d started a cushy office job and gotten a little too close to your boss, only to end up with a crush on him. You hated it. And yet, you couldn’t make yourself will the feelings away, or force the fantasies aside when you lay awake at night. He was unattainable, though, and you knew that - so what did the fantasies hurt? He’d never stopped longer than a moment to talk to you, you had no chance of it going anywhere, so it was harmless, right?

Wrong.

It was a warm day, even by Alabastan standards, and you were cooped up in your office as usual. You hadn’t expected the turn in the weather, and so you weren’t quite dressed appropriately, but you would make it work. At least paperwork hardly made you work up a sweat.

Crocodile looked in on you at around midday, and paused in the doorway.

“What are you wearing?” He asked gruffly.

“My.. clothes, sir?” You replied, because what sort of question was that?

After just ten minutes, Crocodile returned, and tossed a large shirt at you.

“It’s much too warm for that.” He said, to elaborate on what he’d meant.

“Oh, yeah it is. I didn’t realise how warm it would be until I left the house this morning, then it was too late to go back and change.” You said with a soft laugh, giving a not quite grimace, but not quite smile. He grunted and regarded you for a moment, then turned away and left the room. Well, alright then. You brushed off the interaction to continue with your work, because the heat didn’t make the pile of work disappear.

“Sir?” You asked, taking it in hand, mostly to get it off the work you were trying to do.

“That should be cooler.” He said, and then was gone. What? You lifted the shirt up, realising it was incredibly large, which would make it Crocodile’s. Fuck. His shirt. You waited a moment to ensure he was gone, then lifted it to your face to take a deep inhale of the scent of Crocodile's cologne and cigars. You loved that smell. You slipped into the closest bathroom to remove your previous clothes and replaced them with his oversized shirt, using your belt from the previous outfit to cinch it at the waist, and then pulled some of the fabric up further to rest overtop of the belt rather than underneath, which reduced the length. Not too bad. You kept on the bottoms you’d been wearing before despite your now lack of belt, because you didn’t think it was entirely appropriate to be in the office without.

You returned to your office, startled by Crocodile's presence in your chair.

“How is it?” He asked as you lifted your hand to rest over your heart, more than startled by his sudden reappearance, making the muscle beat thunderously beneath your ribs.

“Is there anything else I can help you with sir?” You asked, resting your hand on top of your desk just so it had somewhere to be, with your pockets out of reach beneath Crocodile’s shirt.

“I made it work.” You confirmed, placing your shirt from before, now folded, onto a dresser for you to grab later.

“Yes.. you did.” Crocodile murmured, and you stopped in your tracks as if frozen as a result of his words. The way he spoke was almost sensual, and your skin burned in response. You quickly shook your head, then continued your walk toward your desk.

“Would you like to come to dinner with me? Tonight?” He asked, and he looked about as surprised about his own words as you felt. Clearly nobody in the room had been expecting that suggestion.

“That’s very kid, sir. I’d happily take that invitation, if you’d like to do that.” You said, remaining as professional as you could given the situation. How were you supposed to react to an invitation like that from your boss, especially when he himself looked unsure about it?

“I’ll have Robin go pick up something nicer for you to wear, and when your shift ends you can use my bathroom to freshen up and change before we leave.” He said, suddenly far more sure of himself, decisive with clear instructions. He stood from your chair and headed for the door where he lingered for just a moment.

“Do you like Dressrosian food?” He asked, and just nodded when you confirmed before turning to sand and disappearing.

All you’d ever really wanted was for someone to want you, to care about you. Maybe care wasn’t the right word just yet but Crocodile saw you, more than most, and he at least wanted to take you to dinner. Maybe it’d go nowhere, but you wanted to be Crocodile’s and now you had the chance you’d never expected to have.

Tags: @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots @cainnoable

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

At cane’s length

this song owns my heart, and i’ve been thinking about writing something with soft dom vibes for a while sooo. here you go.

cw: viktor x reader, smut, viktor is an unbearable tease, gn reader, gn pronouns for reader

word count: 2k~

art cr: @arcanescribbles. my inspiration for this fic, actually.

*standard ‘eng is not my first language so please don’t be mean to me’ bullshit i put before posting every single one of my fics*

reblogs and comments are highly appreciated <3

Viktor is handsome in a cruel way. In an untouchable, ‘tease all the remaining sanity of you’ one, to be precise.

Cruel.

That short, plain word spins on your tongue, threatening to roll off it any second. You audibly gulp, desperately trying to swallow the harsh adjective, and the longing flows down your throat, leaving you breathless — almost too turned on to think straight whatsoever.

You can’t call him that. Even though he’s not exactly opposed to the idea of being relentlessly cussed out by you. It’s the consequences of your boldness that attract him: after all, he gets to watch you all tied up and needy, doe-eyed as you desperately ask to be touched… And then wide-eyed as you switch to being utterly unfiltered and vulgar, trying anything and everything to make him fuck you tonight. Spending the whatever’s left of your wits on those incoherent mumble-like sentences, pleading mewls mixed with the sounds of your knees scraping on the floor from all the squirming you do. Completely and utterly adorable in this state of raw desire, and it figuratively makes your brain slip out of your ear, replaces it with debauched thoughts, with inability to feel anything except for the lust — so intense, that it’s almost painful.

The ingenious, irritatingly smug man or, as you so kindly dubbed him, ‘kinky bastard’ is seated above you, the corners of his mouth curled into a wicked smile, legs spread in this tauntingly inviting manner — testing your limits, mocking you deliberately. He knows that you crave to be between those legs, struggling to fit the aching swell of his cock into your mouth, to let it stretch your slick, heavenly warm throat — or even to be split in twain, fucked over his desk like the horny mess you are — desperate, sobbing, charming in the tantrums you throw just for him, begging to be taken care of. Well, not only begging, to be frank. It’s a full-fledged demanding now, which, decidedly, did flatter Viktor, but being a brat never works on him. You have to be good to obtain his mercy. Negotiating, perhaps. Even when your sanity is gone, even when the only thing you can think of is choking on his dick. Those are the unspoken rules of earning Viktor’s touch — the sweet in its unattainability treasure. And you’ve learned it the hard way.

Viktor thinks it’s only fair, since he can’t be rough with you physically. His body might be sore, but his mind? God, you wish it was sore at least once in a while. Yes, he might not be able to frantically pound you into the mattress, but he’s perfectly capable of coming up with new ways to edge you. Which you loved, of course, but fuck would you prefer the first option so much more. But he’s an incorrigible inventor to the bone. Even in the sheets. Well, more precisely, now — in his lab.

The ropes on your wrists are rubbing the skin, keeping your hands tied reliably behind your back. They serve as one of the numerous reminders of this embarrassingly unfair position Viktor had put you in: you can’t move unless he’s kind enough to let you — he’s not restricted in his movements at all, you’re kneeling in front of him with a vulnerable expression — he’s leaning in his chair with a shit-eating grin, legs spread, head thrown back as he looks down at you in a way a master looks at his servant. You’re fully naked — he’s fully clothed. Viktor calls it ‘the perfect balance’. You call it ‘please, just take that damn thing off’. The idyll.

“Viktor, why are you doing this to me?” you mutter, glancing at him with a weak sigh. He quirks an eyebrow, unbothered, divine-looking with those rays of sunlight peeking through his dark hair, forming a figurative nimbus. ‘Like a god,’ you think, and for the briefest of moments your gaze changes from desperate to enamoured. But then you remember that your god refuses to be worshipped. That he would rather watch you suffer, disregarding your every prayer. And so you frown again.

“Funny, you should ask,” he purrs, the thickness of his accent matching the thickness of sexual tension between you. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re supposed to keep your enemies at arm’s length.“

You scoff, ignoring the painful tingling in your knees, the once cold floor beneath you warm and sticky in the places your hot skin touched it.

“I’m no enemy of yours,” you mutter, sounding almost genuinely offended. But Viktor only laughs, mouth open in a silent, amused ‘oh?’. Your only response is a frustrated moan.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, dear,” he demonstratively clutches his cane, the sexy bend of his long fingers so tempting it nearly has you cumming on the floor. “Didn’t you mention hating me earlier?”

Of course you did. How couldn’t you, when you wanted so badly to open wide for him, to bite on the calloused thumb, the undefinable salty, with a mixture of something metallic taste of his skin so familiar you could easily make it out. Oh, and with accuracy sharp enough for its savour to become a phantom sensation on the tip of your tongue. However, the same tactic never worked for his cock. Whenever you tried to imagine him abruptly pushing it inside of you — the craving would just become stronger, more unbearable. Fantasies were never enough. You needed the real thing.

“Not that I care what label you’ve decided to put on me tonight,” he continues, obviously hinting at the ‘kinky bastard’ incident. “A lover or an enemy — you’re staying at arm’s length.”

“More like at cane’s length,” you mock, angry eyes swirling that white tie oh his slender neck, but the rope around your wrists stops you from tugging on it to angrily steal a kiss.

“Cane’s length?” curious, Viktor leans over you in his chair, and for a second you’re deceived, rejoicing at the proximity, but he’s quick to remind you what a fool you are, his unhinged expression turning into an entertained one. “You have quite the brilliant mind, darling. We should probably test that out.”

Your teeth instantly sink into your tongue, instinctively scolding yourself for the inability to watch your mouth. Why, just why would you say that?

“Test that out?” you mumble, as your gaze drops to his shoes, unable to handle the intensity of his amber eyes lancing through your face.

“Exactly,” Viktor confirms, slyly biting his lower lip. “You see,” he utters, as his crutch loudly taps on the floor, causing you to shudder, “I don’t think the distance between us is equal to the length of my cane.”

“You can’t be serious,” you snapped at him, sobbing frustratingly. “Viktor, it was just a metaphor.”

“I’m a scientist, my dear. I don’t do metaphors. I do calculations and proven facts,” he utters, placing the crutch into his lap, and you find yourself shamefully jealous of that stupid stick, wishing terribly it was you resting there instead of it.

Viktor gives the cane an evaluating gaze, as if trying to measure it with his eyes, cruel grin never leaving that sharp, currently reachless for you face.

“So, supposedly,” he clears his throat, hoarse voice unbearably seductive as he pensively looks you up and down, taking in the debauched arch of your back, the redness on your aching knees. “I believe that my cane is around… say, thirty five inches long. And you, my dear,” he grabs the cane by its handle again, pointing at your face, left eye closed as if he’s trying to measure something again, torturing you shamelessly, “are still too close.”

The annoyance is impossible to hold in anymore. It’s a pure torment — incredibly hot in a certain perverted way, if you were to be frank, but god did you hate him with every fibre of your being right now, dreaming of fucking this mocking sass out of him, of teaching him a lesson. Viktor deserved to be ruined purely for the way he keeps those skilled hands to himself right now, denying you the oh so craved pleasure.

“Well, I don’t think I’m close enough to you” a protest escapes your pouted lips, but it appeared to have fallen on deaf ears, just like all of your previous, hopelessly useless pleas.

“Eh, debatable,” he utters casually, driving you even more mad with a playful shake of that insufferably smart head. You bite back an angry ‘tsk’, followed by a pissed-off roll of the furious eyes. Viktor is quick to notice the bratty demeanour.

He’s smooth in his roughness. In testing your patience with the insatiability of his own. Something cold quickly brushes your chin, forcibly tilting your head up again, and you huff at the audacity, eyes snapping open as you realise that he’s coaxing you to look him in the eye with his fucking cane.

“The fuck?” you hiss at the cocky jerk, but the way he holds that crutch to your face disarms you, adds even more arousal to the mixture of intense feelings building up inside of you.

“Language, my dear,” he purrs, eyes sparkling with malicious pride, “we‘re in a respectable place.“

He bares the upper row of his teeth, smiling at his own witty remark, and you can swear to god that never in your life have you wanted to wipe a grin off somebody’s face so badly. With a kiss, preferably. But a fist would work just perfectly fine too.

“Oh please,” you hitch in breath when the same hard edge of the cane slips off your chin to fleetingly press into your neck, but something about the uncertainty of Viktor’s movements tells you that he’s not done with you yet, that there’s more ‘foreplay’ to come. “Your lab is not a church.”

“Oh yeah? Why are you kneeling then?” he teases, poking you with that sharp sarcasm. As if a goddamn crutch against your throat is not humiliating enough already.

“I want to slap you.”

Viktor hums, and the tortuous cane traces the curve of your shoulder, causing your breath to hitch in anticipation, the contrast of the cool material with your hot skin stealing a dreamy gasp from you.

“Slap me?” he murmurs, enjoying the way you suffer for him. Because of him. “Well, too bad I’m that good at tying knots.”

“You’re an awful person.”

“Oh, don’t flatter me like that.”

“No, seriously, why don’t you just allow me to make you feel good?” you practically cry out, arching your hips in a desperate attempt to get closer to him. But the cane is still there, gently dipped into your collarbone to keep you in place.

“You’re already making me feel good,” he whispers, pushing you away, and all you can do is groan, squirming like you’re facing grim death. But considering the current intensity of your overstimulation, that death might actually turn into quite the real one. In the guise of this devilishly handsome tease, which would make it the worst and the best way to go at the same time.

“But I can make you feel even better,” you beg, half-lidded, exhausted and so beautiful in this perverted state of such earnest vulnerability. Just precious. Sacred even, if the situation wasn’t so sinful. “Viktor, please. Aren’t you done torturing me? I could do so much better than just grovel here.”

“Perhaps,” he presumes, but you know him and his undying love for the eye-fucking too well. Hell, he might just adore this humbling staring even more than having actual sex with you. “But I would rather enjoy the exhibition for a little longer.”

You roll your eyes again. A rather dangerous choice of a reaction, because the crutch in his hand abruptly taps on your shoulder, drawing your attention back to his glistening eyes.

“Roll your eyes at me again and I’ll make it two cane’s length,” he threatens, and you bite your lip to suppress a pitiful moan so hard, that your teeth leave two crimson marks on it’s tender flesh.

And that sexy, secretly favourite torture of yours starts all over again.

[rosesradio]

hii can you do a leo x nyx!reader? if u dont feel like adding the nyx part that’s completely fine :) ty and take ur time!

hi !! here’s a bullet point fic for you 🫵💌

word count: 1,045

You thought there was no such thing as an abnormal demigod. All demigods were vastly different from mortals, so why would they hold each other to some unattainable standard of normality?

You were wrong. Ever since your first day at Camp, you were ostracized by the others. They avoided you, pretending you didn’t exist on a good day.

Being ignored was…manageable. Being whispered about, with lingering gazes, was less so.

You knew why they treat you this way. You are a child of Nyx. You were born of the goddess’s desire to embrace the stars, and so, starlight danced in your eyes. The mortals were less than intrigued by your appearance, always assuming you to be smug or mischievous.

You didn’t have a mortal parent. A tether to humanity. Based on what your mother told you before you had ran away to the Doors of Death, you had a mortal lifespan. Still, you are much more akin to a faerie child than a human or demigod.

The Hecate campers are a bit warmer towards you, all things considered. They share their magic with you, and you are able to perform small spells here and there.

Nico is also a good friend. It is a little odd to see him treated so warmly by others despite the similarities between the two of you. He never asks others to show more kindness to you, as you never break down and ask for his help.

You reflect on this, at first, when Leo sits across from you at breakfast one morning. He’s much more of an extrovert in your eyes, always outspoken and joking. His curls are messy, his eyes sparking with interest. In short: he’s cute, but his presence screams trouble.

You ask if someone sent him over, for kindness or cruelty or both.

Leo shakes his head. “I just wanted to see what your deal was, y/n.” He says, cocking his head to the side as he meets your eyes. Where his head is momentarily still, his hands are moving, nimble fingers fiddling with a piece of Celestial Bronze.

“This is my deal,” you shrug, nodding noncommittally towards your breakfast plate and open spell book. The current page displayed ‘Demons: How to Befriend Them After an Exorcism’.

“I don’t see why people avoid you, then,” Leo says. He makes a final touch on his momentary project and hands it to you. It’s a small, spiked sphere that appears to be glowing. It looks like a star—and you would know.

“You have, like, a million of those in your eyes.” Leo points out before his voice falters, and he looks down at the table with a flushed face. “I mean—sorry, that sounded weird, but—“

“It’s okay,” you shake your head, starting to smile. “I know it’s just a fact…most people don’t like to look at me because of it…”

Leo’s eyes lock with yours at that, an incredulous look on his face before his features soften. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile the entire time you’ve been here.”

You shrug. “I guess I’m just not used to people being that nice to me.” You hate the words as soon as you say them; they’re true, though there’s no need to guilt Leo about it.

Leo glances back down at the little sphere before meeting your eyes again. “Well, I’m here to change that. I think that’ll be some good decor for your cabin.”

You frown. “They haven’t, uh…they haven’t quite finished my cabin, yet.”

“What?” Leo asks in disbelief.

You nod. “I don’t mind. It’s in the queue, but seeing as I’m the only child of Nyx for now, it’s a low-priority thing. Really, I’m fine staying in the Hermes cabin. I think this little light will look good on my bedside table, anyway…that is, if the others don’t mind…”

Leo let out a hum, holding his face in his hand, his elbow on the table. He appeared to be…pouting. It gave you an abnormal sense of warmth and amusement to see it.

“The Hermes cabin is always overcrowded, even with the new cabins,” Leo said. “If you…if you promise to be chill about it, you could stay in the Bunker. It’s full of stuff, but it should be no problem getting your cot in there. Then, you won’t have to follow the Hermes cabin’s rules.”

You ponder the notion. “I’m sure you have rules, though.”

Leo shakes his head. “Um, I don’t think so. It’s an absolute fun zone! The only things I could think of would be…don’t touch the dangerous equipment, no dark magic past ten, and, uh…you have to hang out at least once a week. If you start rotting in the corner, I’ll have to kick you out like they did with the old Oracle in the attic.”

It was such an odd proposition. It wasn’t as if this boy you barely knew was inviting you to live with him—it was just him giving you a (presumably) quiet place to sleep. He was being nice…and he wasn’t being sent by anyone. Presumably.

“If this is some sort of prank,” you start uncertainly. “I will perform dark magic on you.”

“No pranks,” Leo promises. “At least, not yet. I’m not liable if I do a little hand-in-a-bowl-of-warm-water, but you don’t have to worry about that until you least expect it. Maybe…you could do a trial run. Come by and take a look around, watch a movie. I made a new projector, and—“

“You made a new projector?” You ask incredulously.

Leo nods, curls bouncing, his eyes alive with interest. “I’m still working on the popcorn machine, unfortunately…it keeps combusting, and the popcorn gets absolutely obliterated…”

For some reason, his utter melancholy over combusted popcorn makes you laugh. The sound surprises you so much, you cover your mouth with your hand.

Leo looks at you in disbelief, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “That settles it, then. We’re watching a comedy—I gotta hear you laugh again.”

You shake your head, cheeks flushed, positive the other campers are staring at the pair of you. For some reason, though, you can’t bring yourself to care. You are just beyond relieved to find yourself with a new friend…especially one as cute as Leo.

[midnight-black2]

hii! im sending in a request for Jann in the Archie Mademay event :) and this is my first time so sorry im nervous😅!

but prompt 11 really piqued my interest, thought about maybe a (before gt academy) nerdy and shy gamer Jann x popular sporty reader? thank you for your time bye bye :] !!

𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐒

pairing : jann mardenborough x reader

synopsis : you can't keep neither your mind off of jann nor your hands off of him either

disclaimers : not many, sub!jann, softdom!reader, kissing in public, pretty mild

note : i listened to the song sparks by coldplay while making this, so that's were i got the title, just so it doesn't seem as random lol

most people found it weird how much attention you showed jann. after all, he was close enough to a nobody.

man, society is weird.

all these unattainable standards set by messy, emotional, little humans. i mean, if you wanted to see jann, why should anyone try to stop you? you liked who you liked, and it's not like you could help it. besides, jann was sweet, cute, and ambitious. in your opinion, he was the dream guy.

you two would eat lunch together, walk each other to classes you had during the day, average college couple stuff. you never let anyone give him a hard time, and whenever you attended a social event, he was by your side (whether he wanted to be there or not). he attended all of your [sports] games, etc. the coupley stuff wasn't the weirdest part to people. the weirdest part to people was that you chose to do the coupley stuff with him. you had lines of guys and girls waiting, patiently. stalking and clinging, nagging and hanging--yet you chose him.

people talked, of course they did. negative or positive, they talked.

but over time, it got better. the jealousy never really subsided, but when the two of you walked through the halls, not as many people stared. and when you guys attended parties, not as many people ignored jann.

either way, you couldn't care less. you loved jann more than anything. nothing would change that.

you guys were sat a desk in the back of the library. quiet giggles and whispers could be heard. it was supposed to be a tutoring session, but it always turned out a different way. you always found him more interesting than algebra (or...calculus..?) and simply ended up making out. as jann explained the equation, your eyes lingered on him. you took in his facial features, admiring him not-so-subtly. he didn't notice until he looked over, and his eyes widened slightly. he smiled, before clearing his throat.

"so, do you understand? or do you need me to explain it better?" he asked, and you didn't answer. you didn't quite care, frankly. you weren't failing math, you had a 92%, which is borderline, but far from failing. so, it wasn't your biggest priority. in all honesty, you only kept up with these tutoring sessions to see him. you simply held his gaze, a look on your face he couldn't exactly read.

"were you even paying attention?" he asked, quirking a brow.

"no, not really."

"and by that you mean not at all, huh?" he asked, rhetorically. you nodded, with a small shrug. he laughed, before looking down. "so, uhm, what were you thinking about then?"

"three guesses," you said, smiling. you thought he had to have known by now, considering this is what you do every tutoring session.

"wha-Y/N, you know i'm not very good at this," he replied, cocking his head to the side in slight thought.

"oh cmon, it should be easy," you stated, with a playful eye roll. he lifted his hands up in defense.

"i really don't know," he said, and you couldn't help the laugh the emitted from you.

"gosh jann, you're smart, nerdy, but so incredibly dense."

"well then...just tell me. please?" he asked. and really, how could you say no to him? was it possible if you even wanted to? no. would you really ever want to? also no.

"i'm thinking about how cute you are. you and your perfect pink lips, how kissable they look, and your adorable curls--god, i'm thinking about you, jann. when am i ever not?" you say, leaning in closer as you speak your mind. he was slightly taken aback, before he leaned in as well. he didn't know what to say, so he didn't. he had this look in his eyes you knew all too well.

"can i...?" he queried, reluctantly. you grinned.

"you don't have to ask for a kiss, jann."

"right--sorry." you chuckled, before you kissed him. it was sweet, like honey. he was the one to pull away first.

"you know, you always do this," he said, with a head shake, but with an irresistible beam across his face.

"i know, just can't get enough of you," you said, kissing his cheek. you pecked his lips, nose, jaw, neck, everywhere you could. your hand cupped his face, and he seemed to lean into your touch. you went up for another kiss, which was a bit more feverish this time. your bodies felt hot, and you couldn't wait any longer. or...maybe you could, but you definitely didn't want to.

"let's go to my dorm, yeah?" you said, and he nodded eagerly.

goodness you loved that boy.

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 © 𝐤𝐲𝐚-𝐢𝐬-𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐥

𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐲? 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

[swallowedbymadness]

♡ a melancholy melody ♡ 

Pairing: pianist!hongjoong x writer!fem!reader

Genre: Period piece drama/romance/aka my ultimate fantasy

Summary: As a writer, love was something you naturally longed for but thought it to be unattainable. However, when a mysterious piano player comes to town one summer, you find yourself falling into a fairytale of your own.

Word Count: 10.2k (oops)

A/N: hello again, my darlings! I come bearing another romantic Hongjoong gift. I’m currently in the middle of writing another member, but this came to me like a vision in the night. I simply could not ignore it. 🥲 aka I watched a period piece drama and needed to write aristocratic Kim Hongjoong asap. 🫠 Please I encourage leaving some feedback for me. I would love to hear your thoughts, emotions, or anything really! 🤍 18+ content, so please, minors DNI. Enjoy!🥂

Warnings: ye olden times talk (lol), romantic fluff and sweet love makin’, pet names, sensory deprivation (blind fold & fabric restraints used on reader), unprotected sex, oral (f/r), if I missed any pls let me know. 🩷

Proofread: Of course! But, you know the drill. If you see a mistake, no you don’t. 💌

You found yourself at yet another party for people you really did not care to socialize with. But of course, you could not deny your dear friend the company she begged for from you. You would much rather be at home immersed in the newly acquired novel you picked up from the bookstore the other day, upset that you were almost finished with it already. 

     You lived in a small town in the countryside, so it was always the same guests with nothing special to celebrate. Usually parties consisted of single wealthy men in search of a bride, so her father was always happy to oblige in their search by throwing these lavish evenings in their ballroom. You weren’t sure why you still attended, seeing as you did not care for any of the men that made the guest list. Maybe it was the consistent nagging of your childhood friend or your parents giving you a hard time for still being unwed at your age. Either way, it felt more like an obligation to throw your best dress on for another night of mingling with socialites. But then again, this was better than sitting at home with writer’s block. You were trying to write a fairytale of your own, but life was just so dull and uninspiring. Artists needed a muse, and you simply didn’t have one. You longed to experience romance as you did in the books you read time and time again, but alas, the same boring people did not tick all your boxes to deem worthy enough for the romance you daydreamed about.

This predicament always arose when you found yourself at these parties. Every man who you became acquainted with stayed just that — an acquaintance. Half of you wished your standards would be lower so you could finally marry and have children, but you knew in your heart that that was far from what you craved. You wanted passion, risqué rendezvous at midnight, adventure, and all the in between that the novels you spent so much time reading described, but mainly you wanted something worth writing about. Maybe then you could finish the godforsaken book you’ve been trying to write for months now. 

     You were trying to pay attention to a current conversation you were having with a military official who was boasting about his assets when your eyes drifted elsewhere, his bragging tone of no interest to you. You dreamed about being whisked away by a magical force to a far away land where the flowers sang along with the breeze and the rays from the sun danced on your skin. It was so sudden, but when your gaze was shifting back on the man in front of you, they caught a pair of chestnut eyes burning into you.       

     You looked around, not sure if they were truly set on you or not, but to your surprise, there was no one else around they could be looking at. You held the stare, your interest piquing immensely. It was like a string was tied to you because you felt a tug from behind your ribs when his gaze didn’t falter. 

     “Are you alright, Miss?” The man in front of you brought your attention back to him, breaking you from your hazy dream. 

     “Ah, yes I uh, I just need some air.” You excused yourself from the ballroom and into the garden. You took a seat on one of the benches near a rose bush, the red and pink petals shining under the night sky, the sweet scent filling the air around you. It wasn’t long before you heard a soft melody erupting from the piano that sat in the ballroom. You got up and roamed back inside to see what the commotion was all about. You lingered in the corner off to the side, watching as everyone danced and laughed while others drank and talked with voices too loud. You noticed a group of women gathered around the piano, giggles and awestruck smiles adorning their faces. As you got a bit closer, you could finally see what they were fawning over.

Sitting at the piano was a man with tousled hair the color of coffee, his sharp features focused on his slender fingers as they skillfully danced elegantly across the keys. Your breath hitched in your throat when his fingers stilled and the music stopped, silence filling the room before thunderous applause took over the atmosphere. He looked up, and you swore time itself froze.

     Your eyes locked with chestnut once again, and suddenly the newly familiar tug in your chest returned, leaving you breathless.

—

     “Back so soon are we?” The bookstore owner teased, smiling when seeing your embarrassment displayed on your cheeks. 

     “The last story was so captivating. A boy who never grew up, a magical fairy and pirates? It was an adventure I couldn’t seem to put down.” 

     “Well, maybe you’ll find something that lasts you a bit longer than the previous tale.” He smiled, the wrinkles etched into his aged face a comforting sight for you. You placed the small green leather bound book on the counter and began your search for a new fairytale to be entranced by. Your fingers grazed the books on the shelf lightly as you walked down the ilse, reading the titles, waiting for something to cause that initial spark that made you giddy. You stopped over a blue book with silver color bindings, your finger buzzing as it hovered over the spine. You pulled it out and opened it to sample a page. As you felt your mind begin to wander off into the fictional world you were ready to dive into, you didn’t notice the creak of the front door open and the owner greet the new customer that waltzed in shortly after you.

     “Ah, Mr. Kim, it’s an honor. And what brings you into my shop?”

     “I’m just looking for a light read to fill the hot days with. Any recommendations?” The man asked, and the owner hummed in response, pondering over the options.

     “Well, the fantasy section might pique your interest. A good love story is perfect for the longer days of summer. It might even inspire you,” The hinting smile in his tone was obvious, but went unnoticed. The man chuckled at the old man’s words before headed towards the shelves with the recommended genre.

    “I’ll have a look then, thank you.” He said with a smile. You we’re so enraptured with the words on the worn pages that you didn’t realize the presence that lingered just behind you. 

     “Good day, Miss,” A tenor voice from behind you brought you back to the present and away from the book in your hands. You turned around and the tug instantly returned as your eyes met with chestnut once again. 

     “Oh,” you stuttered, unable to form a coherent thought with the pianist from the other night, but now he was standing before you. “Good day, sir.” 

     “It is a good day indeed, now that my eyes have stumbled upon you again.” You felt your cheeks heat up from the sudden flirtatious advances. “I believe it is fate that brought us here to find each other again, don’t you?” The corners of his mouth turned upwards into an honest grin. 

     “Hm,” you contemplated playfully, noticing how his gaze never faltered from your face. “Fate indeed that the stars wanted our paths to cross once again.” 

     “Maybe this time I will be allowed more than a few stolen glances. Perhaps I’ll have the pleasure of knowing your name?” You clutch the novel in your hand a bit tighter, letting your name slip from your mouth carefully. You saw a small flicker of something you couldn’t quite figure out in his expression, a firm smile and kind eyes still exposed to you.

     “It’s a pleasure to formally make your acquaintance.” He bowed, extending his hand out in front of you, waiting for your hand to be placed into his. Once obliging, your palms met and his rosy lips brushed lightly over the top of your hand, lingering over the warm flesh for more than what was deemed appropriate. 

 “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Kim.” You hated how your heart fluttered slightly at the delicate touch. His eyebrow shot up in surprise without his cool exterior faltering as his name fell from your mouth so easily. He wondered how you’d known. Perhaps you overheard his previous conversation with the owner. 

     “Please, call me Hongjoong. No need for formalities.” 

     “Very well then. And what brings you here, Hongjoong?” You looked back over to the shelf, pretending to nonchalantly browse the titles under your fingertips.

     “Well, I play the piano, and very much enjoy writing symphonies. However, I am spending the summer away from the city to clear my head a bit. ”

     “Well, Mr. Kim. You’re quite the talk of the town as of late, and I hear that you’re currently the most eligible bachelor.” You recall from all the gossip from around town that you had not stopped hearing about since the party. You learned that he had just arrived that morning and was quickly invited to play that evening. 

     “Is that so?” He took a step closer to you, and you felt yourself subconsciously step a fraction back, not realizing the bookcase was so close behind you. “And what do they have to say?” He was baiting you, and you knew it. Kim Hongjoong was said to be one of those men who frequented the city brothels only men of his status could afford, or he would find his way into the beds of aristocratic women that you absolutely could and would never associate yourself with. Part of you didn’t want to believe the rumors, but the way his eyes trailed your body left you unsure.

  “Not much really, just how handsome you are, and how the way you play piano is a form of art all on its own.” He straightened his stance at that, a proud grin appearing across his features. But you noticed that it still seemed lacking, like the current compliment of the whole entirety of the town wasn’t enough for him or his ego. 

     “And what do you say?” His brow perked up inquisitively, eagerly awaiting another form of praise to drop from your lips. You lightly scoffed under your breath, just enough for him to hear it.

     “I have nothing to say about you.” You simply stated matter of factly. His smile didn't fade like you’d expected it to. Instead, it only grew, like you were challenging a lion waiting to pounce. 

     “I see,” he hummed in response. His eyes trailed down your body, fixating on your hands that were now crossed in front of you, your fingers slightly white at how tight your grip had gotten on the borrowed book.  “I see no husband accompanies you, and no band adorns your left finger. Why is a woman who possesses such beauty as yourself not wed yet?”

     “Because, I have yet to find a man who has any interest in what I love most.” 

     “And what would that be?” You adjusted your stance in hopes this conversation would end soon, his gaze suddenly feeling patronizing. You tapped your fingers against the book in your hands and nodded knowingly. “Books, I presume?”

     “Not just books, Mr. Kim, but the stories that lie within the pages. Fantasy, adventure, romance…it’s all so fascinating to me. It’s hard not to get lost in another world. Naturally, this is something I tend to fall victim to as I am a writer myself.”

     “Well, I see nothing wrong with that,” he claimed, his confidence filling the air around you both. “You’re a well educated woman. Any man would aspire to have a wife with that quality.” 

     “I dream in rose color, Mr. Kim, and I’m afraid no man takes a woman like me seriously.” He clicked his tongue, looking around the room before leaning forward to hover his lips just above your ear.

     “Not all men can handle a woman like you then, now can they.” He spoke low, his chest vibrating as his words rang in your ear and sent shivers down your spine, his breath hot against your skin. The breath you were holding in your lungs suddenly was lost as you inhaled, your senses being overwhelmed by citrus and bergamot. 

     “I-” you felt yourself stumble back and lose your footing, a quiet yelp escaping you. You prepared to tumble back into the shelf behind you when you felt his hand grasp the small of your back and pull you close to his chest. Instead, you found yourself crashing into the pianist, and the two of you hit the ground unceremoniously. You looked down into chestnut and swore you saw the sun when a toothy grin appeared across his face, followed by a hearty laugh. You sprung up after what felt like ages, not sure how long you lingered in his space with curious eyes trying to read him like one of your beloved novels. Once the both of you stood back up, the air turning awkward between you two, he picked the little blue book up from the floor that you hadn’t realized you’d dropped, and held it out to you.

     “Careful, people may think you’re falling for me already.” You felt your features twist into a mildly disgusted expression before a very audible scoff left your lips.

      “You’re…insufferable!” You pushed past him, not wanting to admit the way your heart twisted when you heard his chuckle from behind you.          

     “Good day, Mr. Kim.”

     “I’m sure we’ll see one another again soon.” He winked, but you pretended that you didn’t see it to avoid your face from flushing more than it already was.

—

     The days of summer were passing by in a blur, and you grew more frustrated that you couldn’t write a single thing without feeling mediocre, resulting in you crumpling the paper up and tossing it onto the floor. Inspiration still remained hidden from you, like a treasure you had to hunt down. Your days weren’t always bothersome though, seeing as you started seeing a certain pianist in the bookstore more frequently. You often found Hongjoong at the bookstore whenever you returned for another new read, but as the warm days came and went, you noticed he would sometimes be in the fantasy section browsing the books as if waiting for you to show up. Or, other days, he would be in the back at a little table with his brows furrowed and a pen in his hand as he scribbled treble clefs and b sharps to add to his stack of sheet music.

     You tried your best to stay away, you really did. Not wanting to be the next name in everyone’s mouth, but something wouldn’t allow you to keep your distance for long. It was when he was absolutely enthralled by his work one afternoon that you felt the tug again, the invisible string pulling you towards his hunched over figure. As you approached, you cleared your throat to make your presence known.

     “Ah, what a pleasant surprise to see you again!” He looked up momentarily from his jumble of ink stained papers, his hair a tousled mess and plum crescents circled underneath his puffy eyes. 

     “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.” 

     “Trust me, I tried.”

     “But?” A mischievous grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, his eyes sparkling like diamonds.

     “Well…you frequent the one shop in town that I do, so it’s unavoidable, I suppose.” Your excuse did not fool him, but he did not say anything about it.

     “I see…” he looked around the mess in front of him and stood up swiftly from the wooden chair, creaking slightly as it slid across the floor under his weight. “Would you like to go on a walk with me?” He blurted, as if the idea just came to him at that very moment. Stunned, you looked out the small window at the front of the shop and then back at him

     “Hongjoong, it’s nearly sundown.” 

     “Perfect,” he gathered the papers and shoved them under one arm, offering the other for you to grab onto. “I’ve been wanting to show you something.”

     You two walked not too far, the conversation light and easy as you strolled on his arm through town. Once you reached the edge, cobblestone soon turning to dirt and grass, you noticed a stone path leading up the hill and through a clearing of willow trees. You recall staring up at the aged trees as a little girl, always wondering what magic lied behind the swinging branches. You stopped at the first stone, your grip on his arm loosening as you allowed your arm to unhook from his.

     “What is it?” He turned around with a quizzical expression on his face at the loss of your touch. His eyes met yours, concern filling his dark irises as he looked into your own. 

     “Nothing, it’s just I…” you trailed off, unsure if it was appropriate to engage in such private conversation with a man you hardly knew. 

But that’s the thing. You simultaneously felt like you’d known him for lifetimes prior to this one, and it made your skin buzz at the possibility. The very thought confused you, yet you felt excitement lingering in your bones every time he laid eyes on you and the tug pulled you to him.

     “C’mon,” he held his hand out to you, his palm inviting yours to rest in his. “Do you trust me?” You weren’t sure what exactly possessed you to place your hand in his and slowly nod as a silent confirmation that yes, you did trust him. Why? You were unsure. But something inside you told you that you were supposed to go up that hill and beyond those trees that evening. So, you allowed him to pull you along behind him as you made your way up, up, up until you reached the very top.

     You felt the air get knocked from your lungs when your eyes set upon what was in front of you. A beautiful garden that lit up with fireflies, sprites dancing around the leaves of the trees as the warm evening breeze allowed the flowers to sway in time with the music of nature. 

     “Hongjoong, what…is this place?” 

     “Do you like it?” He peered over at you, the warm glow from the candles burning in their lanterns above casting the most radiate light onto your skin, your lips parting in fascination as you watched his garden come to life as the moon and her stars filled the night sky above. 

     This, he decided, was the purest form of beauty he’s ever seen — You adorning the moon’s elegant light upon you. He did not dare admit that he thought your beauty almost outshined mother moon’s in that moment.  

     “Like it? I’m captivated by it.” You couldn’t find the words, too awestruck by nature’s true beauty as it flourished and came to life in the beginning of the night.     

     “This is my home away from home,” he chuckled at the disbelief that had made its way onto your face. “I grew up here.” You looked just past the garden to see a large house with more windows than you’d ever seen, greenery overtaking the brick walls. You noticed that there was a metal staircase that spiraled up to meet a balcony, a beautiful stained glass window with florals depicted in the vivid colors.  “Would you like to take a look around?” He tugged you along, excitement flooding your veins as you walked through the various plant life, the different scents filling your senses. From roses to peonies, marigolds and tulips. They mingled together to create this Heaven on earth as magic hung in the air around you.

     You took note of the fountain in the middle, frogs ribbiting and grasshoppers chirping as the night came to life around you as you ascended up the aged metal staircase. Once utop the balcony, you ran over to the edge of the thick railing, crashing into it as you took in the whole garden from above. The wind blew your hair around your face, and Hongjoong swore his heart stopped beating in that very moment.

     “It’s like a fairytale.” You whispered more to yourself, but Hongjoong caught every word of it as he leaned against the half wall with you. “Oh Hongjoong,” you sighed dreamily, your chin falling into your palm as you rested your elbow on the marble below it. “Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?” He felt the corners of his mouth turn upward slightly, his eyes falling onto your lips, his hand clenched into a fist as he fought back the urge to press his body against yours and kiss you with everything he had. Instead, he chuckled under his breath, his eyes never leaving your face.

     “Yes, indeed it is.” 

— 

     When the middle of summer hit, you did not ever dream of feeling this alive. Hongjoong had let you into a secret garden that opened your eyes to a world beyond the books you found yourself lost in. That alone made your heart soar, and you felt your heart flutter every time you were around him. 

     Small, innocent brushes of his hand against yours as you made small talk about anything and everything, feeling completely comfortable in one another’s presence once you started spending more and more time with one another.    You hadn’t experienced this feeling before, but it felt like what every book you had read had described this feeling to be…but you were hesitant at first. 

     It wasn’t until you found yourself under the August full moon in his garden, your heart trembling as the energy in the air shifted that night. Something had changed, but you couldn’t figure out what exactly. As you popped various fruits into your mouth and drank the fizzy liquor he had brought out from the house onto the balcony to make “the perfect midnight picnic” he had claimed, you couldn’t help notice the way his eyes lingered on you for longer than usual. You saw his hands tremble ever so lightly and his features displaying a softer side to him instead of his usual charming facade. Your body was slouching back against the metal as you gazed lazily up at the twinkling stars that littered the sky, feeling completely at peace as you usually did in his presence. You heard him say your name under his breath, pulling you from whatever fantasy you’d made up in your head that evening, to see him standing inches from you. You’d noticed he had trapped your figure between his arms as he pinned you against the railing, his breath warm on your face as he inched closer, sending your heart flying manically within your rib cage.

     “I-I think I’m falling in love with you…” he stuttered nervously, bluntly, shamelessly. His eyes darkened and were full of something you couldn’t understand. You felt your breath hitch, your mind fogging over in a lavender haze as you tried to dissect his words.

     ‘I’m falling in love with you.’ His words rang in your ears, your chest swelling uncomfortably as you responded with no thought behind your response, but more so you just allowed your intuition to guide you through the dangerous storm that was your heart, your feelings for Hongjoong that you had suppressed and refused to acknowledge because he was a player. How many other women did he confess to just to get them into bed with him? For so long, you refused to be labeled as one of them. But now, you couldn’t, wouldn’t, deny yourself and your emotions any longer. You didn’t care about the rumors, you didn’t care about his reputation. You only cared about acting on your feelings that had recently began to surface. 

     “Kiss me.” You requested softly. You half expected his ego to ruin the moment you reciprocated his advance, but you were surprised when his playboy exterior had not returned. Instead, if it was even possible, his eyes shined brighter than the stars above you two as an innocent smile painted itself across his face as his hands came up to cup your face sweetly. You could feel the beat of his erratic heart through his fingertips as he closed the gap between you two. 

     His lips on yours was absolutely electrifying, like bolts of lightning shooting through your veins and you could have sworn you heard the sky unleash a crack of thunder as the rain began to pour down onto you both. You didn’t care, even your mouths refused to seize their movements against each other as your tongues crossed one another in the most heated kiss you’d ever experienced. Both his hands clutched your face a bit tighter, pulling you deeper into him, sucking your bottom lip in between his own pair and making you dizzy.

     He started backing up, taking you with him through the French doors inally and led you to the fluffy bed. He backed up into the mattress and collapsed against the warm fabric with you on top of him. You stayed like that, lips never leaving one another for hours, lazy kisses and fingertips exploring every inch of your wet skin until your lips were too swollen, and the clothing was too much to keep against your skin.      

     You swallowed the foreign feeling of surrender as you allowed your heart to experience the pleasure your body was. You instead focused on the way his calloused hands worked at the soaked fabric of your dress, the material slipping from your figure and to the floor, leaving you in your slip that stuck sinfully to you, leaving nothing to the imagination as the cotton fabric exposed you as if you were bare. He removed that as well in time, his jaw going slightly slack and his eyes becoming hooded once he had you naked before him. He did not dare rush, but simply wanted, needed, to take his time with you, savoring every little detail of your curves, your dips, and your edges. He felt the dam holding in his overwhelming emotions break, once your eyes locked again and he saw your smile.      

He knew in that moment that he was in love with everything  that was simply you.

     You woke up later that night, feeling absolutely blissful after recalling how his body felt against yours for the first time, memorizing the sounds he made as he burrowed himself deep in between your legs. You felt a blush dust across your cheeks as the memories played out like a play. 

     You were soon drawn from your visions when you felt nothing next to you in the bed, the sheets abandoned long ago. You looked over across the room frantically, only to find him hunched over at a table, a lantern illuminating the concentration on his face as he scribbled onto tea stained paper. You watched him for a while, but it wasn’t long before he felt your eyes on him, causing him to return your gaze. He smiled tiredly, standing from the table and making his way over to you, a thin robe exposing his chest as he strode over. 

     “Did I wake you?”

     “Not at all, I was just upset that the bed was cold.” He chuckled, his breathy laugh sending a soothing emotion through you. 

     “I’m sorry, I just needed to get this song out of my head…would you like to hear it?” You nodded, eyes lighting up at the thought of him playing for you. “Very well then,” he grabbed the sheet music and placed it at the grand piano just next to him, the chair squeaking under his weight as he sat down. He cracked his knuckles, shaking his hands out to loosen himself up before inhaling deeply and looking over the paper one last time before he began to play.

The room suddenly filled with so much emotion, it was nearly suffocating. Your eyes watched how his fingers strategically danced across the keys, the motions seeming so effortless as he swayed back and forth in time with each key being pressed. The melancholy melody painted the room various shades of blue and gray, the music reminding you of the midnight sky and the feeling it evoked when you longingly looked up at the stars and wished for your heart’s deepest desire. It was the sound of how it felt to talk to the moon when you prayed for your wish to come true. It was indescribable with words, but Hongjoong was able to convey every emotion lingering in the air with his fingertips. 

     When he stopped playing, you came back down from the cloud you’d perched yourself on top of as you lost yourself to the lullaby he had created, and you felt tears burning your eyes. 

     “That was lovely. You play beautifully.” You commented, voice barely there as you allowed your eyes to speak for you when words had failed you. 

     “Thank you,” he gathered the pages back up neatly, placing them back on the holder before reaching for the glass with a swig of amber colored liquor left in it that sat on the table. “It’s meant to portray longing. It’s an insatiable feeling that gets deeply rooted into your soul if you’re not careful. Even if you grab hold of something so tightly and never want to let go, sometimes you feel that sense of greed that you need more, even if you have the whole world at your fingertips.” You hummed in response, feeling the ache in your chest burn as you dared ask your next question. 

     “What was your inspiration?” His eyes finally settled on yours, a sad smile making its way onto his lips before he sighed.

     “You.” 

—

     As the sun began to burst into bright hues of oranges and reds, painting the sky as it set for the day, you unlocked the gate that led into Hongjoong’s garden, the sprites welcoming you back once again to the fairytale you longed to escape into. As you approached the spiral stairs that took you to a land that seemed far far away from reality, there he was, the handsome prince of your summer romance, waiting for you at the top. 

He was bent over the railing, a bottle of fizzy liquor half empty dangling from between his fingertips as his eyes searched the sky for something he would never say out loud. A miracle maybe, that someone would someday come sweep him away from the tower he deemed himself trapped in.  

     “That’s very Romeo and Juliet of you,” you laughed from the bottom of the steps, taking one of the leaves of ivy that wrapped around the railing in your finger, the leaf turning a bright green in the sun’s evening glow. You saw him shake himself from his daydream and look down upon you. He let out a breathy laugh as his eyes focused onto you and how your aura was a bright gold at this hour. Maybe this was his golden hour, you standing in his blooming garden, the butterflies and fairies dancing around you as you looked up at him like he was some kind of god that you worshiped. He pondered on the thought.

     “I suppose, but why do I have to be Juliet? I’m not a damsel in distress.” You giggled under your breath as you began walking up the steps.

     “Are you sure about that?” He rolled his eyes, taking a swig from the crystal bottle before extending his arm out as he waited for you to reach the top. “It’s okay, I’ll rescue you. Just don’t drink any poison before I arrive.” You reached for the bottle he gripped tightly onto but willingly gave over to you. He smiled, a kind of stoic look appearing on his face. 

     “I can’t make any promises,” he sheepishly grinned as his eyes diverted down to the bottle in his hand. Your heart trembled at the way his words rang with a hint of truth and a cry for help with how his eyes flickered with a hint of sadness, but that was something you would address another day perhaps. 

     He held the door open for you to enter, the last beams of the sun’s light shining through the stained glass and creating a rainbow of color on the walls. 

     “I’m only kidding, you know.” he made sure to assure you, you not noticing that he could see the sudden panic in your eyes as you approached him. He walked past you and collapsed onto the bed, a weight filling the air that suddenly caused you to follow suit. You crawled on top of the duvet next to him, waiting for him to open the door to his secret wonderland once more. His head hit the pillow, eyes looking up at the ceiling, hands laying flat on his chest. “I just…” he sighed, trying to find the words while seeking out the courage to let you through the door to his heart. He reached over and pulled you to him, his head rolling to the side to rest his lips against your temple. You were soon thankful for him closing the space between you. 

     You tiptoed around Hongjoong, like trying not to scare a fawn away. That was your biggest fear — losing him. But when the warmth of his lips met your burning skin, the thought of him running away vanished quicker than it had arrived. 

“So when do I get to read one of your stories?” He questioned, eyebrows wiggling teasingly. You groaned at the thought as you tried to forget that you had not picked up a pen to write since you started seeing Hongjoong more. 

“I don’t have anything to show you, unfortunately.”

     “That’s alright. Maybe you just need a little inspiration.” 

     “That’s exactly what I need. It’s not easy to come by when you’re surrounded by the same things and people everyday. There’s just nothing to write about.”

     “There’s enough gossip floating around town that you could find something to write about, I’m sure.” You hummed in response, the air in the room falling into a comfortable silence before he spoke again, much more softly this time. “They’re not true you know...”

     “Hm?” You turned to the side, your eyes focused on the shape of his mouth as he spoke.

     “The rumors,” he deadpanned, the words not easily slipping from his tongue. His jaw clenched slightly, and you knew you were approaching something touchy, but if he allowed it, you would slowly walk towards that door he was willing to open for you.

     “What do you mean?” An exasperated sigh fell from his lips, but you knew it wasn’t directed towards you.

     “I’m sure you’ve heard them by now, just like everybody else. ‘Artist Kim Hongjoong, the playboy, makes his rounds into a different bed every night.’ ‘Pianist Kim Hongjoong was seen leaving the brothel once again.’” He trailed off, the annoyance seeping into his tone.

     “You can’t truly believe that anyone believes that about you.” You supplied, but you knew Hongjoong wasn’t buying it when he let out a cold laugh.

     “Clearly you haven’t been around town lately.” Even though you knew it wasn’t supposed to be a jab, you could feel the knife pierce your skin with the way he spoke his words with a hint of venom laced between each letter.  “Besides, I’ve tried time and time again to save my image, I really have. I don’t know how it even started...” he paused, feeling frustrated, with hurt taking over his soft features, hardening him like a shell that wouldn’t crack.  “It’s like, if I pretend I don’t hear what they say, it’ll all go away if I ignore it long enough. I’ll forget about it and move on. But you don’t see the way people look at me…maybe I’m not cut out to be in the spotlight. Maybe I should just stop playing and-” You sat up and took his hands in yours, your heart beginning to jump within your chest like a wild rabbit.

     “That’s nonsense, and you know it.” You urged, your words beginning to get stuck in your throat. “You’re too talented to let this dream go. You’re already so loved here, who knows how far your music could take you.” You rubbed circles with your thumbs into the top of his hands, your eyes refusing to meet his own. “Please…don’t. Hold onto it…so tightly, even if it suffocates you. Don’t let anyone or anything take it away from you.” The desperation leaked from your voice, and you weren’t sure if you were referring to his music or yourself, but with the way he pulled you closer to his chest, you knew he wasn’t sure either.

     You wouldn’t push him to say more, and Hongjoong was silently thankful for that. The words you both didn’t want to speak were dangling threateningly over both your heads the closer Autumn became. You both knew the end of the summer was your doomed fate, but neither of you dared to speak of it. You simply pushed it away from reality instead, allowing yourselves the peace of existing in a garden of mystical creatures and fireflies as the long days blurred into shorter nights. Every moment spent together was filled with glitter and magic, and every bit of fantasy you could ever ask for. You wanted to be his, gods, did you so desperately want to be his, but you would rather have this little piece of him that he offered to you willingly, than nothing at all. 

     The little fragments of himself that he chose to share with you were so precious, whether that be a tender kiss to your temple as a silent confession, or when he stayed up until the sun woke up and the dew covered the gardens outside to write something beautiful just for your ears to hear later that night. You never asked for anything, but were grateful when he let you into his inner world, a place you knew no one but him was allowed to explore, reside or dwell in. 

     There were days you would just lay together, no words exchanged between the two of you, just the steady beating of your hearts. Those were the days you laid in bed waiting for the sun to set so it would welcome the moon and her stars into the sky, the air filled with laughter and sweet nothings being whispered onto sticky skin. Once the stars littered the sky, soft whimpers and gasps would fill the hazy atmosphere when fingertips grazed sensitive spots on exposed skin, when kisses were slow and drawn out, lazy but intentional. Swollen champagne lips and strawberry kisses melted into burning flesh that craved to be touched, to be loved. Ignoring the empty liquor bottles that littered the floor from the days you were not there fueled a new fire within you. 

     You felt the need to save him from everything that plagued him, a need to save him from himself, but you didn’t even know what this was between the two of you, let alone know if he even wanted to be saved. But, as the days blurred together like your vision when tears formed in your eyes when the sun was too bright in the early afternoon, you realized it would be harder and harder to stay away from him. All of you wished for it, but you knew both of you didn’t have the strength to comply with that, nor would you ever ask that of him. So, with a heavy heart, you decided that wanting was enough. 

     For you, it was enough. 

—

     As the cool September breeze rolled through the open window and past the sheer curtains, you let your eyes wander around the space you began to think of as home, reflecting on the summer days that had passed by in such a blur. You saw the wind chimes that played a symphony of their own, the large weeping willow tree just outside the window knocking into the stained glass harmonizing with the clanking metal. You saw the way the birds flew around, singing the beautiful lyrics of nature, the grasshoppers playing their legs like a violin as butterflies fluttered around in a synchronized dance with the fireflies. 

     Your eyes finally landed on Hongjoong’s ethereal figure next to you. Some strands of his hair stuck to his forehead as his chest rose and fell to steady his erratic heartbeat underneath his rib cage. Your gaze trailed down his bare chest, the smooth skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. The delicate sheet draped just over his lower half, his hip bone peaking out slightly. One arm was stretched behind his head for support as he laid there with his fingers combing through the hair at the base of his neck with his eyes closed. 

     His other hand trailed along the soft skin on your back, both of you bare and exposed to the walls surrounding you. Paintings you had created together when the air was sticky and the fruit he brought from the garden was sticky sweet, hung on any available space, making each wall feel cluttered, but it was how Hongjoong liked it. 

     All you, always. Compressed into an overwhelming suffocation. It was beautiful and made it hard for him to breathe in the most intoxicating way. 

     Your attention was brought back to the moment when you heard him exhale contently and felt the sheets rustle next to you, his front now nuzzling into your side. You felt the tip of his nose graze across your skin, inhaling deeply and exhaling with a content sigh.

     “I wish we could stay like this forever,” he admitted into your sticky flesh, his hand coming up to caress the exposed breast that was uncovered from the sheet. Your eyes fluttered closed as you felt his mouth place wet kisses onto the mound of flesh that adorned your chest, his lips taking your nipple in slowly as he let his tongue rile the bud up. You sighed, feeling a wave of arousal crash into you. 

     “Tell me you love me,” you whispered breathily, the air surrounding you warming up as you felt the disbelieving and honest chuckle rumble from within his chest, as if he couldn’t believe you’d tasked him with something as easy as breathing. “I want to hear you say it again,” His mouth came off of you with a pop as he looked at you through his thick lashes. He laid his head across your chest, his ear pressed just above where your heart was wildly beating like thunder during a vicious storm.

     “I love you,” he reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, not letting the fondness in your eyes go unnoticed. “I love you with everything that one human could possibly give to another.” He rubbed his thumb lightly across your cheek, a small smile forming across his lips as he stared at you. “I love you earnestly, passionately, and irrevocably so.” He paused, lifting his hand to cup your cheek lovingly. He scooted up, putting his arm over your abdomen and supporting himself up. He swiped his tongue across his bottom lip, and soon was dipping down to press a lingering kiss to your lips before continuing. “I would willingly give myself to you in any way you wish to have me.” You felt the blush dust across your cheeks at his words, as if pulled from one of your favorite novels.

     “I must admit,” you propped your head up with your chin on your forearm, eyes lazily looking into his as he laid back down beside you to get a straight on view of your features. He swore he would never tire of the sight before him. “I feel the same way.” He chuckled in response, his hand going to the back of your head as he used his fingers to comb through your hair. 

     “I would sure hope so. If you didn’t, I would be questioning your motives.” He joked, his smile spreading when you rolled your eyes and laughed under your breath. 

     “I’m serious! I have never loved another this way, nor do I ever want to.” Your eyes became glassy when you saw the sun shine in his own, the sunset painting an array of hues across his porcelain skin. His other hand reached down to grab yours, his lips pressing feather light kisses to each fingertip, his eyes never leaving yours as he did so, his gaze growing serious and intense. A shiver made its way down your spine in response to his affection. 

     “Would you die for me?” His lips stilled on your skin, waiting for your response. You could feel his hummingbird heart about to take flight in his chest the longer you let the air between the two of you stay silent. 

     “Of course.” You simply said, the words easily leaving your swollen lips to your own surprise. You weren’t sure when that had become an absolute truth in your heart, and you didn’t want to ponder on the thought for too long. “You’ll be the one to kill me in the end, anyway.” 

     “‘You say I killed you, so haunt me then.’” Your eyes darted up at him, a knowing smile making its way across his face. 

     “I didn’t know you read Brontë.” 

     “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he lightly traced patterns into your back, your head falling back onto his chest. “But I’d like to change that.” Next thing you know he is hovering back over you, his intense irises locked on yours. His strong arms pulled you into his embrace, the stickiness on his skin from your previous endeavors heating up under your touch like lava. He reached over to the nightstand and opened the drawer, pulling out three matching black satin ties and sitting up straight above you so he could see the entirety of you. “Do you trust me?” 

     “With my life.” You stated firmly, but you didn’t know if the answer was for him or yourself. He smiled, his eyes softening at the mere sight of your body underneath his, the sheet long gone from both of your bodies. 

     “Good. I want to make sure you never forget me.” 

     “I don’t think that’s possible.” Your eyes stared holes into his face, the passion burning your veins and begging for him to touch you. Your skin tingled, blood red hot and buzzing with adrenaline when he took your wrists in his hands and began tying a knot. Once your wrists were bound together, he sat you up straight and gathered your luscious hair into a messy pony, wrapping the second piece of satin around the bundled up hair. Some strands fell back onto your face, but he did not seem to mind. He finally held the third piece in his hands, reaching behind your head and covering your eyes. 

     “Are you alright?” He inquired, goosebumps forming across your skin as you felt his breath ghost along your ear. “Is this okay?” 

     “Yes,” you confirmed, feeling your scorching blood running thickly through your body, acutely more aware of everything around you now that you had lost your vision. 

     “Good,” you felt his fingers ever so lightly brush along you, shoved after shiver rippling through your body, your core beginning to dampen the bedding underneath you. You felt his breath hovering over your lips, and you so desperately wanted him to close the small space that separated your lips from his. Like he read your mind, he nipped at your lower lip, his tongue quickly swiping over it and backing away as you tried chasing his lips with your own. A disgruntled groan left you, the frustration only building the more he did it. 

     “Please Hongjoong, ” You whined, feeling the tension in your abdomen twist every second he denied you the touch of his lips. You felt your core tingle as his hands traveled over your body, but never really touching you. But you could feel the energy from his palms vibrating every atom within you. You leaned forward and were met with nothing, a frustrated whine slipping from your lips. You heard him chuckle, and it wasn’t long before his lips were crashing into yours feverently. You had never wanted your hands to be free more than you did in this moment. You had not realized how deprived you would feel restrained under his strong hold on your wrists as his mouth consumed yours. You needed to card your fingers through his hair, you needed to feel his muscles under your fingertips, you needed to touch.

     “I want you…” He panted into your mouth, his length hardening against you as he subconsciously began to grind on you. “So. Bad.”

     “Take me, for I am yours.” You pleaded, against his rushed kisses, your tongues waltzing with one another as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing firmly into yours. “Only yours.” You sighed into his lips, and you heard a small moan leave his own.

     You felt him grab your wrists and bring your arms up over your head, the tie in your hair loosening and soon your hair fell around you as he removed the strip of satin. You could hear Hongjoong working above you, and soon felt his grip on you leave, but your arms were still suspended above you. Your abdomen swirled with excitement as you realized he had tied you to the iron bed frame to keep you in place. 

You shuddered when you felt his breath back on your skin, this time it was much, much lower than before. His hot breath was blowing against your clit, causing you to writhe at the immediate sensation. 

     “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to taste you on my tongue.” You felt his nose brush along the sensitive skin near your folds. It disappeared just as quickly as it had come, but not without a deep sigh leaving him first as he took in the very sight before him. Your trembling figure above him, your dripping cunt waiting to clench onto something, your throbbing clit wishing to be abused.

     “To devour you, is my most absolute desire in this world.” He growled against the inside of your thigh, lightly nipping his way towards your heat once more. He suddenly licked a stripe up your center, your back arching instantly as you felt the air being ripped straight from your lungs, a gasp falling from your lips. The moan that exited his lungs was feral, and was now something you craved to pull out of his chest. Again, and again, and again.

     “No wine, no champagne, nor any fruit could ever taste as delectably addictive than you do, my love.” He said as he licked his way around your sex, making sure every drop of arousal that dropped from your awaiting pussy was cleaned up before he made an even bigger mess of you. 

He reached up and pressed two fingers against your lips, encouraging you to allow him entrance into your mouth. You allowed it, your tongue obsessively coating his digits with your saliva, sucking hard and needy. You heard a groan come from him, his dick twitching in anticipation at the feeling of your mouth on his fingers. He pulled them out and dipped back down, slowly sliding them into your soaked cunt, your walls inviting him in. You couldn’t suppress the noises that begged to leave your mouth as he reached a hand up and pressed down against your stomach, pumping his fingers in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace. 

     “Hongjoong, I-I need it faster,” you panted and begged into the air, the itch to grab a fistful of his hair so strong in your fingertips it felt like an ache. At your request, his fingers plunged deeper and at a quicker pace, his fingers curling inside to feel the spongy wall he was looking for. 

     “I want to make you see stars brighter than the ones outside that window as you cum for me, pretty baby.” He confessed into your core as his tongue flicked against your clit, waiting for your release and the floodgates to open onto his awaiting tongue.

     “I can’t, I can’t hold on,” you jumbled, your eyes rolling behind the blindfold as you squeezed your hands together like you were in prayer. 

     “Let go, my love.” He cooed, his honey voice making you melt under his words. 

One.

Two.

Three.

     You counted the amount of flicks to your swollen bud and until you were gushing around him, your slick running down the base of his fingers, your back arching like your body was possessed, the desperate moans escaping you as you felt liquid hot and completely on fire, everything going numb and your body exploding like a shooting star under his touch, the pressure of his hand on your stomach becoming overwhelming as he pressed down.

     Your ears rang, you felt the earth spinning and you tried catching the stolen breath to return it to your lungs as you laid there, arms exhausted from hanging above you. 

     “We’re not done yet, darling.” He purred, coming up to you and removing your blindfold so you could watch him put his fingers into his mouth, slurping up the slick that had coated his hand. You felt another tug in your gut and the familiar warmth returned to your core as he used the rest of it to coat his dick and stroke his length lazily, his eyes blown out completely and hooded as they bore into your sparkling skin.

     “I need more,” you pleaded weakly, the emptiness your felt while your walls clenched at nothing, waiting for something to grip onto. “I need you. Please Hongjoong, I need you.” 

     “You have me, love. I’m right here.” He grabbed your arms and untied you from the iron, your wrists still bound together. He draped your arms around his neck before positioning you over his throbbing member. 

     “Now,” he held your hips firmly in place just above him. You could feel his leaking tip barely touch your entrance, a string of precum connecting to you. “take what you want from me.” He sucked your earlobe into his mouth, his teeth lightly grazing the cartilage as you sunk down onto his length. You did not need time to adjust to him, your heat consuming his length effortlessly. Your rigid walls sent a shiver down his spine, the shock of your sex tightly encasing him in a safe hug brought him to near tears as he released your lobe and tilted his head back, a guttural moan shamelessly slipping from between his swollen lips.

     Your lips found his adams apple, it vibrated under your touch as you began to bounce slowly on top of him, grinding your hips in a circular motion against him. The lewd sound of your skin smacking against one another, the squelching when his member was pulled completely out and thrusted right back into your hole, your slick pooling out of any available space it could. His hands gripped your hips as he guided you to rock back and forth, his face dipping down in between your bouncing breasts as you moved in rhythm with his heartbeat.

     His nails dug into the sensitive flesh of your hips as he bucked his hips upward to meet your thrusts. The pace you had set was much too slow for his liking, but he didn’t want this moment to end so soon, the warmth beginning to build up in his abdomen. As your hips rocked and your body shook with each jab his dick made into your spongy wall inside of you, a waterfall of gasps and moans poured from your lungs, the stars in the night sky filling your vision completely with their dazzling light. 

     “Baby, I’m cumming, I’m cumming,” he panted into your neck, his own whines and moans filling the space between you in the most beautifully erotic way. 

     “Hongjoong, I-oh,” As you both released everything you possibly could while flying through the galaxy behind your eyes, it was like a nebula of stars bursting inside of your chest, forming new constellations just for him. All the love you could ever imagine giving to someone was bursting at the seams and overflowing from your skin. It was all consuming, and you knew you would never recover from this. 

Hongjoong was your undoing.

     Satiated, he collapsed on top of you, all of his weight melting into your body as you laid there. His member softened inside your walls, still holding onto his member desperately as you were his body on top of you. You felt his hand slide up your arm and untie the satin that kept your wrists bound in place so you could finally relax the aching muscles against him. You finally were able to run your fingers through his damp hair, your lips planting themselves onto his temple as he laid there breathing heavily. 

     “I love you…so much.” Your voice broke, barely above a whisper, hot tears falling from your tired eyes as you took in the comforting citrus and bergamot you’d come so accustomed to over the summer. Now that autumn was here, you were sure you had fallen just as the leaves on the trees that laid beyond the walls you resided in had. It was inevitable, unavoidable, and almost felt fated. 

     “You’re everything to me,” he pressed his lips to your pulse point on your neck, lingering there as he took in your sweet scent and committed it to memory. 

“Everything.”

—

     Once the leaves darkened and began to fall from their branches, the air cooling and the days getting shorter, you knew it was time for Hongjoong to go back to the city. 

     “I’ll write to you,” he said, his warm hands taking yours and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. The arriving carriage outside to take him was confirmation that your time with him was truly up.

     “I’ll tell you all about the fairytales I write, but only if you promise to write a song for me.” 

     “Oh my love,” he cupped your face, eyes softening with tears brimming and threatening to spill. “You’re my muse…the reason I will continue to write from every day on. Everything I do is all for you now.” 

     “Promise you’ll come back to me? Tell me this isn’t goodbye…” he brought you into his embrace, the autumn breeze sending a chill through you. His warmth surrounded you as his cheek pressed into the top of your head as he held you.

     “This isn’t goodbye…” He adorned a sad smile on his face as he tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear. “Besides, how am I going to marry you if I never return?” 

     “What…?” You pulled back a little so his face came into view, your heart freezing over as his words embedded themselves into your soul.

     “Marry me.” It wasn’t a question, which sent your heart soaring through the clouds above. “When I come back, I want to take you away. We can travel the world, see the stars from anywhere you wish. Just as long as I’m with you.” He gulped, his eyes turning glassy at the sight of you.   “I can’t bear to live a life without you in it...So please, wait for me. I won’t be gone long.” 

     “Oh, Hongjoong…I-”

     “Do you trust me?” His eyes bore into yours, nothing but absolute infatuation and devotion swimming in his chestnut irises, erasing any doubt you had lingering in your heart. You closed your eyes and leaned back into him, allowing his embrace to tighten over you once more. You allowed your senses to fill with his intoxicating citrus and bergamot before a sigh fell from your lips.

“Always.”

—

     That evening, you sat by your window with fresh pages and a new pen in your lap, ready to finally write. As you replayed every memory, every touch, every whispered confession from this summer, you felt a sense of ease wash over you when you realized that you had now found your muse. 

     You took a sip of the tea you had made, placing the tea cup on the sill as you gazed up into the night sky. Even if he wasn’t with you, you sought comfort in the way you could feel in every bone in your body that you were under the same sky, illuminated by the same glittering stars. 

     As you found yourself humming the lullaby he played for you that one august morning after you had shared another sleepless night between his alabaster sheets, you lazily looked up at the stars above, chin resting on the palm of your hand as the fireflies danced for you like they did when Hongjoong was there. You felt the familiar tug you’d grown used to over the summer pull at the strings that held your heart in place. 

You couldn’t help but wonder he was looking up at the moon and thinking of you too. Another tug in your chest was felt as the thought floated around your headspace. A small smile formed across your features as you nuzzled deeper into the cushion on the sill, eyes filling with tears as your heart sang.

Yes, he most certainly was. 

[too-antigonish]

The Great S7 Rewrite: 14 July 2024 Update

So here's a brief summary of where we're at so far plus new ideas:

Bone of Contention #1: Opera Rules

So far: 

Keep and maybe even go a little crazy with Opera Rules 

Possibly feature more of the opera written for S7

Possibly include opera theme towpath murders 

NEW:

@oeuvrinarydurian

Throwing this out here because so many of these options are potentially hysterical. https://tropedia.fandom.com/wiki/Opera

I will also suggest looking at TV Tropes Opera page. I’d also recommend checking out the various tvtropes pages for individual operas by title.

Bone of Contention #2: Ludo and Violetta?

So far:

Give them an evil plan that actually makes logical sense

And also make them people that Morse would actually want to be friends/lovers with

Consider extent to which Violetta is “Unattainable Fantasy Woman” 

Make Ludo a music journalist, etc.

NEW:

Keeping Ludo and Violetta

@oeuvrinarydurian

Violetta works better as a character if we turn her more aggressively into a black widow, who is fully on board with whatever overall plan the two of them have

Could work fine in Operaville if the various lures Ludo throws out include Violetta and her magical vajayjay.

Part of the fun and engagement is finding a way to make them work. I think it is cheating if we get rid of everything we hate.

I’m leaning towards making them much more loathsome and true operatic villains.

@fanficrocks

Agrees we should keep Ludo and Violetta but ramp up their villainy… not necessarily in an overt way

Making them on the surface believable as friend and paramour respectively for Morse; but beneath, they are fully invested in their villainy

@astridcontramundum

Agrees that they could both be villains. 

That’s what she did with them in her “After-comers” AU. 

Violetta was actually more of the mastermind in that story, because Ludo tended to give the game away with his theatrics 😂

Specific Ideas for Ludo and Violetta

Fanfic

Loves Ludo as music columnist covering the premiere of a new opera in Venice for the first meeting/supposedly short affair between Violetta and Morse.

Maybe Ludo attends pretending to be a single man because that is the only way he stands a chance at a real coup - an interview with the prima Donna starring as the female lead in the opera (she is well known for brushing off all other women, esp younger & prettier)

Astrid

Likes the ideas we have for how Ludo, Violetta and Morse meet! (I do think we need to keep them—we need a damsel and a villain.

The trouble for me in S7 was that Violetta’s storyline made no sense. If she was really afraid, it seemed she had ample time alone in which she could tell Morse the truth. 

And I didn’t mind Ludo as a villain—I had too much fun having Ludo and Bixby go head-to-head in my AU, I think. 😂)

Ludo’s Outfits

Astrid

…Ludo tended to give the game away with his theatrics 😂

Durian

…not to mention his outfits.

mystifying sweater vest and patterned shirt combination that’s burnt into my brain that I find incredibly upsetting. It’s so horrible, even by 70s standards, and I can’t quite figure out what the point of it is thematically . Do you know the one I mean? It’s godawful.  I think it’s what he’s wearing when Morse goes over for “dinner“ and Violetta is there. I think M’s wearing his Emo Black Turtle.

Ludo’s outfits, one after the other, just get worse and worse and worse. We have to put together an outfit  montage of stills for our storyboard as we craft our villain s/l. Perhaps we can all drop some LSD. Whoever was dressing him clearly was taking psychedelic drugs.

Antigonish

We *must* now include Ludo and Violetta's increasingly obnoxious  outfits as a sign of their escalating villainy. Emo black turtleneck Morse should be oblivious and baffled by their fashion choices.

Durian

Elton John's fashion evolution

Bone of Contention #3: Towpath Storyline

So far:

Streamline very cluttered storyline

Focus mostly on is the murderer Carl or is it not Carl

Possibly make them opera related so it is universe within universe for towpath killings.  Deranged fan? Thwarted performer? Gives more scope for Thursday/Morse conflict.

Make conflict between Morse and Thursday believable by providing adequate motivation—possibly Morse’s increasingly reckless behavior and lack of care for his safety

While there was a reconciliation at the end of S6, Morse would have still been carrying resentment about having been pushed aside

NEW:

Morse/Thursday Conflict

Astrid

And as for the Morse/Thursday conflict—since Morse is having this affair, and since the case is veering towards the operatic, perhaps Morse gets reckless, putting himself inti danger?

Thursday might think of how he had just gone off to Wicklesham Quarry alone and feel angry that Morse has learned nothing from S6.

Fanfic

Likes the idea of Morse rushing into danger in a parallel with the S6 finale. It is sort of what he did at the very end of Zenana, but if it happens earlier like the middle of Oracle, it would give us a very solid reason for their increasingly acrimonious relationship

Bone of Contention #4: The Episodic Storylines

Raga: 

Fanfic

Simplify to story of intra-family tension resulting in the killing of an employee who is also a friend and thus has opinions on the matter. 

Move the actual killing to a street corner or alleyway so that the political backdrop (hate-fueled campaign, race-based attack on the Asian teenager) works as an effective red herring

Then leaves the gay wrestlers story to be woven in - potentially as a second red herring overlapping with the first one of race hate (as several of the wrestlers in the group were persons of color). 

Loves Thursday’s disparaging parallel between wrestling and opera, and can see how that will really rile Morse

Astrid

Glad you like the wrestlers! I was thinking maybe their falling out could be over who was getting the starring role? Over who would get to play the lead “face?” 

Between the wrestlers, and the family drama (love you all’s ideas for them!) and the Ludo/Morse/Violetta storyline, we could have a theme of jealousy and thwarted love and temptation running throughout all of the layers, linking them all together. And tying in to the opera, too, framing it all into one?

Antigonish

If we make the family Bengali, they would work with the idea of incorporating the political tensions in the lead-up to Bangladesh's independence in '71.

Durian

I love what everybody’s throwing out as far as Raga. 

I think we could get rid of the poker and debt storylines as well and completely concentrate on some iteration of  intra-family political divisions . 

If we’ve got to have a murder about money, we can come up with a better reason… Maybe funding some kind of Pro-Bangladeshi political or social cause? 

Zenana:

Fanfic

The only bit in the entire episode that has anything at all to do with the title is the Lady Matilda’s college theme… limiting it to women only, and the women looking after their own (so to speak) when they trap, or more accurately try to inflict vigilante justice on, the copycat towpath killer

Durian

I am fully on board with jettisoning the Lady Matilda‘s storyline. It’s awkward.  

Overall S7 Themes

Astrid

That quote from Ludo* would be great to use too! I had forgotten he said that...that also brings all of the cast of characters together.

*Ludo sums it up—while also perhaps referring to his crimes—by saying to Morse, “Life, death, rich, poor. It's all a roll of the dice, Morse. There's no reason to any of it. You're not responsible. Some people are just unlucky.”

Between the wrestlers, and the family drama (love you all’s ideas for them!) and the Ludo/Morse/Violetta storyline, we could have a theme of jealousy and thwarted love and temptation running throughout all of the layers, linking them all together. And tying in to the opera, too, framing it all into one?

OK. Next up: a strategy for actually getting this done.

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/744655651809247232/honestly-as-a-diaspora-hyphenated-american-not-a?source=share

Remove "white" and replace "publishing" with everyone, and we're getting closer.

Diaspora in my experience are a lot more anal about "authenticity" and accuracy. The white people who care about it normally just parrot what the diaspora are saying without questioning it. The greatest sin is honestly that white people, but honestly everyone else as well, parrots "diaspora" without even caring about all the different opinions on topics or understanding it. Random diaspora said something with big words? Let's amplify it and spread it as gospel. There's this token diaspora, or the token diaspora group, and that's who now matters forever.

Diaspora put themselves up to the nigh unattainable measure of accuracy which even mainlanders don't hold themselves to. Mainland books can often end up with a lot more diversity, because they don't feel the need to be accurate, because everyone already lives that accuracy. Diaspora culture is a culture that many diaspora almost try to reject, and badmouth what diaspora culture is, and then try to get as close as possible to what they believe is authentic.

If a diaspora doesn't have much cultural authenticity, who'll notice? Completely unrelated to the culture people? Or will it be fellow diaspora who might have an idealized view on the mainland culture and therefore demand every diaspora do it justice? Maybe the diaspora are so anal about the authenticity because they still want to cling to the "pure" culture of the mainland, untainted by being diaspora, and they miss the mark.

White people, and "Outsider" diaspora might not even know enough about mainland culture to really have an opinion. They probably won't know and understand cultural quirks, habits, traditions, cultural events and festivities, and more, but you know who does? Other diaspora. Other diaspora will notice if you represent a certain cultural event "wrong." They'll notice if you take "too many" liberties in your reimagining, or if you take inspiration from cultural stories. Diaspora might be much quicker to criticize eg diaspora food culture for not being authentic enough. While mainlanders might be much more laidback. Which has been an ongoing debate for years.

Any white person, or once again "other" diaspora will just parrot what they hear. It's the diaspora who set the tune for march. Some even accidentally, or on pupose, overstepping into other cultures to make it a general issue, instead of a personal issue.

Many diaspora also write FOR diaspora. Stories about young diaspora children trying to figure out life as a diaspora? How it affects you living between two cultures? Books about understanding the culture as a diaspora? Navigating racism? Books which explains cultural events in great detail, which a mainlander wouldn't need because they and everyone around them live it actively? Books covering stories around not feeling lesser because your culture isn't the dominant one? Handling the rejections of your own culture because of majority-peer pressure? Maybe it's even a story set in the mainland, but with heavy tones of the experiences of a diaspora, which you wouldn't find in mainland stories. And obviously as mentioned all the quirks and traditions brought from the mainlands.

I can obviously just speak from a very shallow experience, but that's how I see it.

--

I do think that some diaspora might have a higher demand for accuracy and authenticity though, through the experience of having their culture messed and misrepresented by American media. Alternatively having observed other mainland cultures in that spot, and wanting to ensure that theirs doesn't end up in that same situation of being messed with, by outsiders or people who do not understand nor care, and just create cultural slop through wilful ignorance. This could lead to holding a higher standard for their fellow diaspora, because there's the expectation of knowing better, and being better, so you have to do everything to avoid messing it up like you'd have seen in mainstream American entertainment by outsiders. You end up with an artificial hurdle created by people who didn't understand your culture, but still affected diaspora enough to make that need for authenticity and accuracy a high priority.

I think a lot of how diaspora stuff plays out is directly connected to people feeling rejected by both the old culture and the new one.

[yns-world]

Not Everything That Glitters...

Pairing: Narrator x High Profile!Fem!Reader

Context: You’re a high-profile consumer--big city, bright lights, and big spending. It’s what you've been bred and raised for. You love the life of luxury. You’re a celebrity among friends and a big-wig among society, now how does that translate into your relationship with the narrator? 😏

Warnings: mentions of death, unstable and perfectionist reader, usual fight club warnings, slight spoilers of movie (if you squint)

a/n: yes the rumors are true!!! your fave writer is back and fight club has been the one and only thing that has been able to pull me out of my writing slump, thank you little meow meow movie 😩🤞:3

requests for fight club are open!!! i'm leaning more towards lil meow meow jack but i'll see if i'll bite with the other characters :3 enjoy!!!

(we need more jack gifs....we need more fight club gifs in general hello!!!!)

Narrator (Jack)

How you even got into a relationship with this man is a mystery to even those closest to you. 

Some speculate that you met through your lawyer when you tried to sue his company for all the shadiness in it and that Jack was a sacrifice to you to keep everything under wraps.

Others rumor that Jack had lay victim to you when you spotted him at an exclusive restaurant you visited one night; that you had locked eyes with that sorry sap and sealed his fate as your eternal slave.

Despite the stark (very stark) differences between the two of you, you had somehow evened each other out???

Powerful woman and her loser boyfriend dynamic. All the way. 

To say that Jack was intimidated by you was an understatement, but he wasn’t intimidated out of fear--no, he was intimated by the absolute front you put on; a front that has fooled an entire world.

And unlike most men who would love to drag a powerful woman to the grave, he respected your front. He knew what a reputation means to a person, he knew the name of the game, and the name of the game was you. 

Everyone had coping mechanisms--drugs, sex, rot, but your mechanism was a machine gun for a heart and a knife for a tongue. 

You were infamously loud--a charismatic, magnetic woman that held the breath of the room in her palm--and Jack was anything but. 

You didn’t have to control Jack, you didn’t have to bait your breath or gauge his reaction. As soon as you had met him, the weight to perform was lifted off your shoulders.

Jack was infamously quiet, yet when you had your first conversation all you could do was listen to his soft manner of speaking. With each vibration from his mouth, he lulled the demonic voices in your mind.

What you two had originally bonded over was your shared insomnia. While his was more expected, your insomnia was a deep, foreboding secret. Jack’s insomnia was due to his own work-life stresses and his inability to be true to himself, your’s was to an insane degree. 

You see, your entire life was built on an unattainable, violent, and damning standard of perfection. Countless nights spent perfecting your work, your voice, your hair, your face, your closet--even down to the minute glances you throw. Everything was a calculated war effort, but the only enemy was yourself. You spent your entire life terrorizing the one person you were meant to trust.

Jack was aware of your insomnia, but not to that horrifying scale. He only became aware when you had spent the night early in your relationship and found you staring down your reflection in the mirror. It was midnight, the city was finally beginning to hush in the background but the buzzing of the harsh bathroom light was deafening. Although, it was nothing compared to the varying shades of cruelty that crept out of their day-time cage and prodded at your flesh--the incessant pulling and scratching of skin; the internal and external wounds left of the verbal, physical, and mental battering of your relentless abuse; yet all you could was scold yourself with the voice of what could only be an elder that was supposed to raise a little girl, not a bioweapon. 

Jack became a material witness to your desecration. He watched from the dark corner of the room as you bathed in the light of your own false-arrogance that you pour over the cracks and crevices caused by your own restlessness and pressure to always, always be perfect.

You didn’t come back to bed that night. Jack watched for 6 hours, 53 minutes, and 47 seconds before your alarm hit and you transitioned from your nocturnal mania and into your daytime routine. The switch was automatic--the skin of a killer crept back into whatever hell-hole he would hide in for the next 12 hours before he would show again. 

Jack had just watched in silent horror a fraction of the continuous, eternal cycle of murder of an innocent woman, and could only stare dumbfounded as the murderer came to greet him with a kiss and a lie.

“Good morning, how’d you sleep?”

Months into your relationship, you still wouldn’t truly let yourself fully surrender around him. There was always a third party in your relationship, a 400-foot brick wall keeping you locked away in a tower. 

People don’t know why or how Jack puts up with the act--rather, they don’t know how he puts up with you, but you aren’t the insufferable cunt that your reputation would like him to believe. In Jack’s mind, he knows that these people are just as abominable as the murderer he came face-to-face with that night--in fact, these people are worse.

These are the same people that keep pushing an innocent woman to the brink of death, over the edge, and back again. 

“I hate my fucking friends.” Y/N chuckles as she lights a cigarette and brings it to her lips, but her face betrays her jovial tone as it sours at the thought. 

Jack was rubbing Y/N’s feet that sat upon his lap and knew better than to turn his head and give her the visual satisfaction--it was past midnight, that means the hunter is well out on the prowl and looking for any reason to lash out. If he gave her an ounce of attention, she’d take it as far as she can to get high off his reactions. He wouldn’t give her the ammo to destroy herself, but he’ll still listen. 

Y/N’s eyebrows twitch once and only once as she gives Jack time to process and see if he’ll bite--he doesn’t, so she continues. 

“They’re the fakest, meanest, two-timing bitches you’ll ever meet.” Another drag of her cigarette. “They only hang out with me to experience high-class treatment, or to treat me like I’m their fucking therapist and savior, or to just fucking play a sick mental game. I hate those whores. They never once cared about me.” Y/N laughs as another realization hits her. “Actually! Those scumbag bitches are what make my paranoia worse! I hope they fucking die.”

Y/N exhaled a cloud of smoke from her nostrils and Jack had the permission he needed.

As usual, you would host a monthly get-together with the rest of the hyenas you surround yourself with at the roof-top of some high-brow establishment on your dime. Though tonight, as you rounded the corner and made it to the block of the restaurant, the bright, sizzling fire reflected into the night as the smoke bellowed and obscured the stars. The entire roof of the building had been blown into every direction and whatever was left was melting into the fire, by now the building itself was threatening to collapse.

You stood among the crowd of sight-seeing leeches and lit a cigarette, all while trying to bite back the ever-growing smile on your face.

The news would later confirm what you knew all along. Your shit-eating friends were just several of the many victims of that bombing.

Jack was already heading over to an abandoned house on Paper Street, one full briefcase in tow, while you sent a prayer of thanks to the gods above. 

Some would expect you to grieve; others would expect you to make like a phoenix and rise above the ashes of this "tragedy"; but you took this opportunity to finally break free of your own shackles and live for yourself. 

You booked that plane to Italy with nothing but a single suitcase and the clothes on your back. 

Somewhere in Italy while you lived in a secluded village, you had locked on the same stars that Jack stared up at--you, wishing for safety and protection for Jack, and Jack--bloody and bruised--wishing that you were able to cut yourself free. 

In some ways, you guys were too different to ever work out, but you both believe that you were destined to meet. After all, some stars are only meant to collide to create something more beautiful.

a/n: if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging since that helps creators like me <3

DON'T BE A GHOST READER!!!! i would love to hear your thoughts and opinions!! comments are what keep writers going <3

i’m open for fight club requests!!! it feels so good to be writing again ugh 🫦

[yuikomorii]

hii i just wanted to say that you rlly changed my mind about ayato,at first i didnt really care about him (probably bc his drama cds are kinda always the same? idk how to explain and the beginning of his routes are kinda weird) but looking your blog i decided to give another shot and well.. i see his value now 😭😭 he became one my favs and its bc of you

// Haha, I’m glad to hear that uwu. I honestly get you though, I’m not very fond of Ayato’s CD dramas either but it seems the Japanese audience really enjoys those.

As for his routes, I have never really judged the beginning of them but if you think about this, they are unexpectedly complicated and hide a bunch of important stuff. HDB and MB felt weird at first but after finding out how he got unfairly cursed and the way everyone in his family treated him, they started making just so much sense in terms of his behavior?? I guess Ayato is probably one of those characters whose own routes aren't sufficient to learn about him and his background; you need to dig further to properly comprehend him.

Unfortunately, some people from the Western Fandom have negative opinions of him because of inaccurate portrayals. Although I don't really hold any of them responsible for falling into that trap, I do wish that they would give such characters a chance in order to establish their own opinions on them. As far as I can tell, a lot of DL "fans" seem to hold Ayato to this unattainable standard. They don't mind other Diaboys performing the bare minimum, but they want Ayato to constantly be there for Yui in every route, even when he is harmed or doesn't have anything to do with the Diaboy she chose there. Everyone overlooks it when the other Diaboys are nasty to Yui, but as soon as Ayato does the same, people will only remember him for that, regardless of the fact that he did more noble things than any of his brothers.

Such double standards are not a thing in the Japanese DL and otoge community, hence he’s considered the golden boy of the franchise (here are some of their opinions).

I have absolutely never seen someone who doesn’t respect Ayato… I mean, he got flaws too but his positive personality traits are indeed the most desirable, so I don’t get how anyone could hate him, especially after playing his DF route, which is viewed as the masterpiece of DL.

[momentsbeforemass]

Christmas Eve

Think back to your favorite thing about Christmas.

No matter what it is, nobody remembers all of the efforts (big and small) that went into that golden Christmas memory.

Or that it wasn’t exactly perfect at the time. Even though that’s how we remember it now.

That is the problem with those golden Christmas memories. The ones that we’ve endlessly polished in our minds. The way we remember them, we’ve smoothed off all the rough spots. We’ve made them perfect.

And nothing we do now, even if it’s literally the same thing. Even if it’s actually a little bit better. Nothing we do now can never quite measure up.

The reason that happens? The reason we do that? It’s a symptom, it’s a sign of something else that’s going on. Inside us.

When that happens, it means that we’ve turned in on ourselves. That we’ve become our own standard for what’s right and what’s best.

How can I say that about your favorite Christmas memories?

First of all, this isn’t something that you and I do intentionally. This is something that we drift into, without thinking.

And second, part of why we do it is because our favorite Christmas memories actually were something wonderful. If we could look at them objectively for a moment, we would still say, “that really was great.”

So where does it go wrong for you and me? It goes wrong once we tastefully embalm our favorite Christmas memories, or anything else for that matter, until we think of them as perfect.

Once they become perfect? When we compare other things to them, even though we think we’re trying to determine whether they’re objectively the same. That’s not what we’re really doing.

What we’re really trying to do is trying to recreate the way that they made us feel. 

The problem comes once we start down that road. Because it turns us into critics. Of feelings, of things, and eventually of people. As we focus on trying to recreate feelings that grow ever better and ever more elusive as we keep remembering them.

And when that impulse to be a critic starts to boil over into comparison and complaints – as it always does in the end? It will push us away from other people. And from God.

Think about it – how much time do you want to spend around someone who’s critical of everything? Right. As little as possible. People won’t want to be around us.

And it works in the other direction as well. We won’t want to be around them. Because we’re trying to recapture something that’s better in our memory than it was when it actually happened. And nothing they say or do will ever be good enough.

The longer we let that go, the more self-isolating it becomes. And that isolation doesn’t involve not being around people. It involves walling off our hearts. Slowly. Subtly. One brick at a time. Which is worse than a sudden break with God and everyone, because we’ll never see it coming.

So what do we do about it? The answer is simpler than you think.

We see it modeled by Joseph in today’s Gospel. Where Joseph finds out that Mary is pregnant. And it’s not by him.

Joseph knew how things were supposed to go. And what was happening with Mary, that was not it. That was not how it was supposed to be.

But instead of setting himself and his feelings up as the standard that everything had to meet. Instead of setting himself up to be angry, to be hurt, to be disappointed? Joseph turned to God about it. Joseph opened his heart to God.

Which is why Joseph was able to hear the message of the angel. And why Joseph was able to receive God’s best, even though it was different from how he knew things were supposed to go.

And you’re thinking, well that sounds great. But I don’t know if I could handle that. I’m no Joseph. I don’t know that my heart’s really open to God. I mean, I don’t pray much. Half the time, I don’t even think about God.

Alright, if you want to change things. If you don’t like where comparison against an unattainable standard is taking you. If you don’t like how the voice of the critic sounds, especially when it’s your voice.

If you want to break out of that. If you want a heart that’s open to God, then here’s where it starts.

With an intentional switch, to gratitude. By following the example of the angels. By intentionally being grateful to God for all that he has done for you.

Start small, with the smallest things you can think of. The things you and I take for granted.

Then look at everything that’s happened in our lives. Those moments where we had right opportunity, the right job, the right house, the right friend, the right person.

All of the things that, if you and I are honest, we could never do on our own.

Be thankful for them. And not in some general sense. Make it real by making it specific. Make the list. Then thank every day God for everything on your list. One thing at a time. 

God is the one who brought you this far. God loves you too much to leave you. And God is the one who will keep you going. Make that your focus.

Do it by thanking God every day for everything that’s He’s done for you. From the things that you and I take for granted, to our personal moments of deliverance. From all the ways that God provides, to the greatest gift that you and I will ever receive - the gift of salvation, given to you, by name, on that first Christmas.

Know this, that if everyone else here, and everyone else in the history of ever, was without sin. And you or I were the only one who needed to be saved?

Christmas, and all that flows from it, still would have happened. That’s how much God loves you.

Make that your center. Open your heart to receive the peace that can only come from God. By making time every day for gratitude to God.

May God heal you where it hurts the most, make whole what was broken, and bless you as only He can, this Christmas and always.

Readings for Christmas Eve

[sweetchaosbabe]

Hi honey, I love how they respond to those who ask with gifs.

I have a crush, he's from my college and gym but I find him unattainable and he looks at popular girls and also very pretty. He hasn't turned to look at me even once.

Hey babe! First, thank you so much for your kind words! And yes, I do love adding gifs to my posts—makes everything more fun and uplifting, right?

Now, about your crush… let’s switch up your mindset real quick.

First of all, nobody is unattainable when you’re the one creating your reality. You are the main character, babe, and you’re more than enough! If you’re feeling like he’s only looking at "popular girls" or that he hasn’t noticed you yet, it’s just a reflection of the current story you're telling yourself.

Let’s rewrite it, shall we?

Affirmations to help you:

"I’m magnetic, everyone is drawn to me."

"I stand out effortlessly and capture his attention."

"I am the standard of beauty, and he can’t stop thinking about me."

And don't forget: you don't have to be the 'prettiest' or the most 'popular'—you just need to own who you are. When you start radiating confidence and believe that you are the one he wants, he will have no choice but to notice. Trust that!

Keep affirming and shifting your focus. You got this, and I’m rooting for you all the way, babe! xoxo, sweetchaosbabe⋆˙⟡

[argesta]

Thinking about Perfect Victims again, as I frequently do, and I’m curious, is there a particular reason for the title choice??? Because I really like it, but am curious!

Omg bless you for this. Taking a break from chapter 4 edits and coming online to this question is sooo rewarding right now 😭

Hope it’s okay to answer publicly because it's a topic very close to me that I’d love others to at least summarily know about - but do let me know if you’d rather I private this post (and ofc it goes without saying, my tumblr direct IMs are always open!)

Content warnings below for mentions of SA, inter partner violence & structural racism and anti-Black. You know, as one does when discussing Western perceptions of abuse.

The title comes from the “perfect victim” myth, which is in itself a revisiting of anti-criminologist and victimology scholar Nils Christie's “ideal victim" concept. It is essentially saying that both public reception & structural validation of victim’s experiences require victims to fulfill an unattainable (not to mention racialized and gendered) model of ideal victimhood, i.e. the white woman or better yet young white girl who can do no wrong or who really exhibits no agency to “detract” from her victimhood. It holds all marginalized identities to a higher standard than their white counterparts, which contributes to both the initial marginalization & victimization itself.

It also asks victims of violence (all kinds, but most notably SA, domestic violence, power abuse, revenge porn and all such charged interpersonal dynamics) to be perfect people in a way that is never demanded anywhere else. (Un)victims must be morally, aeshtetically and socially beyond reproach before their stories can be heard - let alone taken action towards. As you can imagine, this is only compounded when you take into acount race (particularly in the context of the police state and the Black experience) and sexuality (such as inter partner violence in MSM - men who have sex with men, as well as in queer people that do not subscribe to a given framework through which gendered victimhood can be filtered).

It’s a field that saw a lot of contentious revisiting & critique in recent years which I’m all for, and what draws me to it is the psychological hook of internalizing ideal victimhood in ourselves. Like, people are really out here policing their own self-experience of being neglected/abused/subjected to all kinds of treatment because they somehow think that the agency they proved by ‘choosing’ that or ‘staying’ through it or even harbouring positive feelings & memories towards it nullifies their victimhood. Having agency does not mean you cannot be victimized - just like being victimized does not mean you lost all agency forevermore & cannot victimize others in turn.

Having agency really means no more and no less than just being like, an adult person on this earth. Of course you will make choices and of course you will adapt to all kinds of situation because it’s what you knew to do at the time. Agency is sort of inescapable - and yes, while of course in abusive situations or structural realities that leave you with very few options, your agency will always be limited, and in some cases even taken away, at the end of the day equating an image of “true victimhood” with “individual with no agency” is perhaps the most dangeorus and insiduous extremity of the perfect victim myth. Because it doesn’t just ask people to be good if they want to be validated as victims - it asks people not to be people.

Anyway! So sorry for this! I am among many things a decolonial scholarship post-grad and this ends up being everyone’s problem. I can be fun in Q&A's too - just ask me about chapter titles! No content warnings there! Not even a mention of Frantz Fanon, swear down!

[i-mybrunettelady]

im enjoying playing guardian again after not playing it for a long time— also having brainrot about nyra at the same time (i’ve been reading through her tag a bit 👀). so i have questions im curious about

maybe i need to read about her more, if you’ve already talked about this, but how did nyra’s guardian powers manifest? did she always have them since she was young?

& how did they develop over time? did her powers adapt with her as she traveled (like how you got a new elite specialization in each expansion)? is there anything unique with her guardian powers that other guardians don’t have?

omg hiiiiiii

i am so !! that you like my girl!! thank you!!! i'm so glad we are all unwell about her, actually, and i get very emo whenever people tell me they like her ;;; she's my dottir! and i'm so happy you're enjoying guardian!! if you ever have any questions for it (sans wb which i don't really play) my dms and inbox are open <3

a lot of my guardian nyra hcs and lore are like. old content almost and live in my head and i don't talk about them as much here, which i probably should since they're due for a review/revision. a few core things remain:

she was a magical late bloomer; humans generally are, seeing as they're not originally from tyria, but she was a late bloomer even for human standards. she got her magic at 15. i wrote some of it here for my commander week prompt!

she is a firebrand/dragonhunter mix in canon. her starter abilities resemble dragonhunter moreso than base guardian. she doesn't use firebrand tomes but she uses the mantras, and she doesn't have blue guardian fire. she doesn't use dragonhunter bow (even if i use it mechanically for her build.)

she can use light to transform it into physical objects.

her weapon pipeline goes like this: hammer (PS to HoT) -> staff (HoT - EoD) -> polearms/spear (SotO, JW and onward) + a crystalline weapon called Lightbringer that she can shape to be whatever she wants it to be, a gift from Aurene.

her powers progression is less tied to elites and more tied to her magical usage i'd say. in PS she's only had her magic for about four years, enough to know basics of how to operate it, but not enough to be the caster she will become in the future. we're talking spirit weapons as aids to her melee, hammer attacks. when mordremoth gave her her shoulder scar, she had to switch to staff because wielding a hammer with a badly healed shoulder is unattainable, and her magical abilities developed further.

during her time in elona, she spent some of it in the company of roni gehianu, who she got the knowledge of mantras from that help her to this day! i give little nods to this in my writing sometimes when i describe her making a motion and being suddenly calmer than she'd been before, for example, so she gave them day-to-day usage as well. by season 4 she developed her own blend of guardian that she technically is to this day :)

in cantha she never really took to willbender. she took notes on willbenders' mobility, which help with her spear fighting, but never quite leaned into that part of her training fully. this might change if i give wb another shot and i see if i like it, but for now, she isn't a willbender.

i will also add that if she wasn't a guardian at all, she'd be a warrior, and a spellbreaker at that, because her magical proficiency could've also been inverted and become an ability to repel magic. for an awesome exploration of this idea that i don't think i'll do well bc i'm too attached to guardian!nyra, look no further than Wayfarer, an amazing high fantasy interactive fiction novel that is legit one of my fav pieces of media of all time. Anyways.

thank you for dropping by and for dropping this question! i'm always down to talk abt my girl and abt guardian and like. get my brainrot constantly enabled further <3

[hismercytomyjustice]

I’ve been thinking about this on and off for the past few days, and just wanted to say:

Please be mindful of the things you say to people who are mentally ill. An offhand, poorly thought out comment can do a lot more damage than you think.

I’m not saying you have to walk on egg shells, but everyone is going through their own personal struggles and try to keep that in mind before you say something that might not be the kindest or best comment.

I’m okay (thanks to years of therapy), but I had a doctor say something to me the other day that could have sent me into a downward spiral if I wasn’t in a better and more self-aware place right now.

Basically she asked me if there was anything I thought might get in the way or make me struggle with the lifestyle treatment suggestion she gave and I let her know I have perfectionism OCD with compulsions primarily around rumination and avoidance. That it can and does often get in the way of me making changes, even positive ones. Even things I want to do. I see my sights too high, to the point of unattainability, and then inevitably fail because my goals are impossible or I become so overwhelmed I just shut down. And then I fall into guilt spirals about how much of a failure I am which, shockingly, makes everything worse!

I could tell she was genuinely trying to understand. And tbh, I didn’t even know perfectionism OCD was a thing until fairly recently. I just assumed my perfectionism was a good thing, a positive personality trait that I was lucky to have because it would make me an even better person! And I live in the US, where grindset and “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” and hustle culture are practically gospel. I’m sure it’s similar in other countries too, I just mean that it is the “American Dream” and has been for a very long time now.

Every advertisement promises if you do this one thing or buy this one product, your life will improve. And who doesn’t want their life to improve? There’s a cult-like obsession with progress and perfection in the US and elsewhere. The self-help industry is a multi-billion dollar industry that makes all kinds of silver-tongued promises.

It wasn’t until I picked up the book How to ADHD that I realized why self-help strategies and books often didn’t work for me despite the time, money, research, and effort I put into them. They all assume a regular/normal level of executive functioning in their audience. Something I, also having ADHD, do not have.

So when my doctor replied with “there’s nothing wrong with having high standards,” that was one of the absolute worst things she could say to me. Because yes, in theory. But I feel like that’s similar to telling an addict “one little hit can’t hurt.” Not to conflate the two, as they’re very different issues/struggles. But the problem with OCD is compulsions are coping mechanisms to reduce anxiety. In this metaphor, a compulsion is like a “hit.” It makes you feel briefly better in the moment, but it will ultimately make everything worse. The road to relapse in OCD is paved with lapses. Indulging in a compulsion is a lapse.

She also offhandedly said, “I’ll see you again in six months, so you have six months to get it together.”

I don’t think she was trying to be cruel or anything, especially since this is more so a preventative treatment suggestion than a do-or-die one, but wow what an objectively insensitive thing to say.

The old me would have been destroyed by this. I would have immediately fallen into guilt spirals and sank myself into research (reassurance seeking/rumination) to find the best, most perfect, most foolproof way to do what she suggested. I would have spent hours or even days coming up with a plan that accounts for every variable self-help culture has taught me I should consider.

I would have made SMART goals. Researched the perfect steps to take (even though I’ve already done this multiple times in the past and already know this info because this has been an ongoing area of frustration for me) . Would have written out my plan, sprinkling in elements of Atomic Habits (anticipating challenges and how to handle them, finding the right trackers, habit stacking, etc). I would have bought new equipment that would surely, surely, surely work for me this time because I just have to find the right solution and everything will fall into place and I won’t be a failure anymore. Right? RIGHT???

And, to an outsider, this would all look great! Lookit me go! I’m doing all the things self-help promises will fix me! I’m investing time and energy into this! Clearly I’m motivated and knowledgeable and this kind of behavior should be encouraged, rewarded, lauded!

The thing is, I’ve done this countless times already. The research, the goals, the planning… And it has never worked. Largely because of a mix of my OCD and ADHD. And I would have inevitably failed and been in an even worse place than I am now and I would blame myself for it every step of the way, dread my follow up appointment, and incessantly ruminate on how I failed, what I could have done better, and how this doctor is going to be so disappointed in me when I see her again in six months.

I am proud to say that I did not do any of that! And for me, that is a good thing! It’s a huge sign of progress and self-awareness on my part that has only been possible because of all the work I’ve done over the years in therapy and by getting treatment specific to OCD! My therapist would be THRILLED!!!

It’s not that I’m going to ignore this suggestion for my doctor, but I’m going to have to find a different, healthier way to approach it so that it doesn’t get wrapped up in my OCD.

I don’t know what that approach is yet, but it’s definitely something I’m going to work with my therapist on. And I’m so, so grateful I’m in a good enough place that this didn’t massively set me back on my OCD recovery process. I am trying very hard to get my OCD to go into remission. You can’t get rid of it entirely, but you can get it under control.

So yeah, this is just a super long-winded way of reminding folks to think before they speak, especially when someone with mental illness trusts you enough to share their struggle with you.