#feeling especially German today I guess

[mikashisus]

MAY THE WIND PROTECT YOU

SYNOPSIS: kinich recalls each time he heard you speak mondstadtian, each memory making him miss you more than the last. meanwhile, you return home to mondstadt.

PAIRING: kinich x gn!reader

TAGLIST ! @aphrodict @wystiix @tragedy-of-commons @pixelcafe-network @papiliotao

contains: poorly translated german, ajaw, intense pining (on both sides), down bad kinich, last part is not edited

word count: 4.4k

notes: THIS IS A PART 2!! writing this was sm fun guys, i had a field day with each scene. i wanted to post this yesterday on his bday, but gwen told me it'd be such a power move if i posted it today bc today is MY bday, so that's what i'm doing >:) crazy that his bday is a day before mine.

i was listening to this ost the entire time i was writing the mond scenes. when the mc mentioned the lullaby, that song is what i was referring to! anyw enjoy! TY ZIRA FOR PROOFREADING!!

part one!

The first time Kinich heard you speak in Mondstadt’s native tongue was two weeks after you arrived in Natlan. 

A merchant from Mondstadt had set up shop at the Stadium of the Sacred Flame. By pure chance, Kinich had been showing you around the Stadium that day. 

(Somehow, it slipped his mind that you were from Mondstadt— despite the fact that you unintentionally made it abundantly clear you were a foreigner by the way you dressed and your poor attempt to speak the language of Natlan.) 

As soon as you set your sights on the merchant’s wares, you were sprinting over to his stall, eagerly shouting in what sounded like an aggressive tone to the people around you. Kinich followed, worry pooling in his gut at the sudden commotion you just made. 

All your worries about wanting to set a good first impression had been thrown out the window the moment you saw a familiar face. With the way you and the merchant were animatedly speaking, anyone passing by would’ve assumed you were lifelong friends. However, that was not the case. 

Mondstadters were well known for being extremely welcoming and hospitable, especially within their own nation. Anyone who ever traveled there always put in a good word about their stay, claiming that although the nation’s ways of greeting foreigners was a bit odd, the entire populace had this unique charm that made everyone instantly feel at home there. Paired with the ever-flowing wind and the ideals of freedom and peace, Mondstadt seemed to be a true paradise. 

The few merchants Kinich had run into in the past were fairly kind people, though there was always this edge to them that made them feel a bit aggressive. Maybe it was their way of speaking… or their blunt honesty. 

Joining your side, Kinich realized you weren’t speaking the universal language of Teyvat anymore, and that now, you were speaking a language that sounded rough and throaty.

This must’ve been the language of Mondstadt. He only ever heard a few words here and there in passing through merchants he met in the past. 

He couldn’t understand a word you were saying, but he liked hearing your voice in its primitive state. 

The merchant made a gesture towards you, and you threw your head back in raucous laughter. Kinich wondered what you were talking about. A few moments later, he heard the words ‘Dornman Port’ fall from your lips, and he assumed that the topic shifted to where you were from. 

“It’s not everyday you see a Mondstadter down here in the South! Where are you from?” 

“Dornman Port!“ You answered eagerly, ”my family’s been living there for generations, but recently my grandparents moved to the city to get better access to healthcare.” 

“Ah, I see. No wonder your accent sounded familiar! My family’s a bit North of Dornman, more inland towards—“ 

From the excited way you two were speaking, Kinich guessed based on context clues that you and this merchant were from the same hometown.

Finally, you seemed to turn your attention back to the merchant’s wares, and your eyes practically sparkled once you set your sights on his entire alcohol supply. 

(You weren’t a true child of Mondstadt if you didn’t cherish your booze.) 

Pointing to a vintage bottle of something that was labeled in Mondstadt’s native tongue, you fished some mora out of your satchel.

“I haven’t seen many Mondstadters down here,” you said, resuming your earlier conversation, “not that we can’t travel to other nations, I just mean—“ 

“It’s strange?” The merchant finished your sentence. “I get that a lot from the locals. Usually, Fontainians visit Natlan the most, though I suppose that’s not too surprising. The hot springs are great!” 

“Speaking of Fontaine, I was suspected of being Fontainian my first year here. The looks on the locals’ faces after hearing I’m from the Crown of the North were priceless!”  

You took the bottle of Dandelion Wine and smiled. “I bet! I got questioned a bit too on my arrival a few weeks back.” 

He eyed the journal in your hands. “Akademiya student?” 

“Yes, sir! Vahumana Darshan!” You nodded. “I’ll be here in Natlan for six months to work on my thesis.” 

Glancing at Kinich, you suddenly felt a pang of guilt rush through you. Unintentionally, you had been making him wait this whole time. You quickly wrapped up your conversation with the merchant, explaining that Kinich was your ‘tour guide’ and you had to leave. 

“Good luck with your studies!” The merchant shook your hand, his grip firm. It reminded you of your father’s handshakes. “Let the Wind lead, youngster.” 

“Danke! May the Anemo Archon bless you! Tschüss!” 

The second time Kinich heard you speak in Mondstadt’s native tongue was when a yumkasaur had stolen your journal and decided not to give it back. 

(He didn’t think he’d ever heard someone curse so much in his life— aside from Ajaw.)

Although he couldn’t understand what you were saying, he just knew you were cursing that yumkasaur to the high heavens. And as soon as he helped you get your journal back, you cursed the yumkasaur out again as it hissed at you and flew away. 

It took a heavy amount of restraint for Kinich not to burst out laughing. You could’ve sworn a small snort had escaped from his lips as he raised a hand to cover his mouth, but that was the least of your priorities. 

Your main focus was on the big chunk taken out of your journal. 

A few pages of your journal were missing, meaning you had to rewrite three pages (front and back) of all the research you found in some Dahri ruins nearby the Scions of the Canopy. 

To say you had been angry was an understatement. You hadn’t stopped rambling in Mondstadtian for the rest of the week, and Kinich was more than a little worried you were going to throw yourself off the balcony outside your villa. 

(You didn’t, but other people from his tribe did say you spent the remainder of the week in those ruins — which, to be frank, was concerning considering you always outright refused to go exploring during the day. 

When he found you, you were mumbling to yourself and teetering on the edge of becoming someone’s sleep paralysis demon. Long story short, he had to drag you back to your villa.)

Needless to say, that was a fond memory of his, despite your imminent despair that entire week. 

It had been five months since you returned to Sumeru. Five grueling months of convincing himself he didn’t miss you as much as he truly did. 

There was a significant decline in his mood since then. 

Ever since he walked you to the borders between the Children of Echoes’ settlement and the Sumeru desert— where an escort from the Eremites was waiting (he remembered you addressing her as ‘Dehya’) —he’d been all down in the dumps. 

At first, Ajaw had a field day teasing him, until eventually, the mini pixelated dragon got tired of his sour attitude and stopped mentioning you altogether. 

One mention of you and Kinich became snappy and pissy. If he saw something that reminded him of you, he began sulking like a kicked puppy. It was amusing to Ajaw… at first. But as time dragged on, it just made him more and more annoyed. 

(“Are they all you think about!?” Ajaw screamed once after Kinich bought a bottle of Dandelion Wine from that merchant you would always talk to. 

Kinich didn’t answer, but the pout on his lips was enough to make it clear to anyone that yes… you were all he thought about.) 

He found himself back at the same merchant’s stall, immediately putting Ajaw in timeout before he could even utter a word. 

The Mondstadt merchant greeted Kinich with a firm, friendly handshake. “Welcome back! Did you enjoy the Dandelion Wine?” 

Kinich nodded curtly. “Yes. It was quite good. My tribe enjoyed it, as well.” He paused. “Where was it made?” 

The merchant’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. He probably wasn’t expecting that question. He stroked his chin. “Well, you’ve probably heard of it if you’re a wine lover, but most alcoholic beverages from Mondstadt are brewed by the famous Dawn Winery.” 

Kinich had heard of it, though only in passing from merchants. 

“The Dawn Winery’s the reason Mondstadt’s even known as the wine capital of Teyvat. Without the winery, Master Diluc, Mondstadt’s fertile soil, and the wine brewing methods taught to us by Lord Barbatos, we wouldn’t be where we are today.” 

“The Anemo Archon taught you how to brew wine?” Kinich raised a brow. 

The merchant nodded. “Why, of course! Back when the people of Mondstadt migrated to Cider Lake, Lord Barbatos taught our ancestors the intricacies of wine making, and over time, his original technique had been refined into what it is today!” 

Interesting. So that was how Mondstadt’s wine business began. 

“We even have wine festivals to honor Lord Barbatos,” the merchant continued, piquing Kinich’s curiosity, “Weinlesefest is the most common. Every harvest, families come together to brew wine and offer it up to Lord Barbatos as a sort of ‘welcome home’ gift for the western wind. If he’s satisfied with the wine, he blesses us with a refreshing breeze.” 

Weinlesefest. He heard you talk about it once in passing with a different merchant. He couldn’t understand what you were saying, as you had been speaking Mondstadtian, but he knew it had to do with a festival; seeing as it was one of the first things the merchant had brought up in conversation. 

“I see.” Kinich nodded curtly, making a mental note to ask you about the Weinlesefest in his next letter. “So… does the whole nation celebrate?” 

The merchant nodded. “Yep! It’s a time of gathering together with family and friends. Mondstadters living away from home usually come back for Weinlesefest.” He let out a heavy sigh. “In fact, it’s happening right now. But work is work, so I can’t visit my wife and kids. I can only hope Lord Barbatos will keep them safe in my absence.” 

Kinich was slowly learning how Mondstadt worked the more and more he talked with Mondstadters. He sent a small smile to the merchant and bought three bottles of wine this time, even going as far as to pay extra. 

“I hope you can return home soon and see your family.” A small pang of something bitter settled in his chest. 

Family. 

“Tschüss.” He muttered, the word feeling odd and unusual on his tongue. 

The merchant’s face lit up with pure, unbridled joy. He shook Kinich’s hand once more, firmer and more enthusiastically than the other times. It was obvious Kinich had just made this man’s day, even if it was something so simple as saying ‘goodbye’ in his language. 

“Tschüss!” 

That night, he sat on his bed, writing out another letter. He occasionally glanced at the last one you had sent him, his fingers gently tracing your elegant handwriting. 

(Name), 

I visited the Stadium today to receive a commission. The merchant you always talk to, Klaus?? was there again. He told me the history behind wine making in Mondstadt. 

It’s interesting that your Archon taught you that. He also mentioned that Weinlesefest is happening right now. I remember you mentioning that festival a few times before. Did you go home for the festival? What does your family do to celebrate? Speaking of… how is your family? And your grandparents?

Everything is going well in the Scions of the Canopy. We’re recovering from the losses of the war, along with the nation as a whole, but there is still a large scar. The toll will be great for a while, but all we can do is move forward and honor the fallen. 

You don’t need to worry about us, by the way. Mavuika is strong. Speaking of Mavuika, she’ll be heading off for the final fight in a few weeks’ time. Everyone’s antsy, but we know she’ll pull through. She isn’t the Archon for nothing. 

-Kinich 

P.S. - Mualani insisted on taking you to visit the People of the Springs the next time you’re here… but knowing you, I don’t think you’ll like the hot springs :P 

P.P.S. U BETER RETURN IN 1 PEACE LOWKY HOOMAN OR I W1LL  KILL U  >:( -AJAW

The day your vacation was confirmed, you jumped for joy right in the middle of the House of Daena. It earned you a halfhearted glare from Alhaitham, the Akademiya’s scribe, but you didn’t care in the slightest. You were just happy you finally got your much needed vacation. 

You weren’t close with the scribe. Your relationship was far from anything like that, but you saw him enough on a daily basis to consider him an acquaintance. He often occupied a table in the House of Daena, either reading a book or writing furiously in a notebook. 

There were a few times you visited his office to drop off parts of your thesis for peer review, though he was never there when you did. His office hours were listed right next to the door in bold letters, yet he was never present for them. It made you raise a brow and wonder how he was even still employed if he never even showed up for his required office hours. 

Though, he did give you the proper feedback you needed for your thesis, so you couldn’t really complain. 

“I didn’t know you oversaw vacation notices,” you said, glancing up at your senior as he stood next to you. “I thought your only job was to record things for the Akademiya. Oh! That reminds me, when is my thesis presentation?” 

He sighed. “Being the scribe is more complicated than that. And yes, all proposals for vacations go straight to my office from the drop box.” 

You hummed. “So like, how does that work? Do you just check a box that says ‘yes’ or ‘no’?” 

“If the proposal was sent in during a break period, then it gets approved. Any proposals sent in after the break period are denied. The presentation for your thesis is scheduled for three months from now in the Vahumana Lecture Hall at two o’clock sharp. The Dendro Archon will be present alongside the Vahumana Sage and the Grand Sage. Be prepared to answer any and all questions from all of them.” 

“Yeah yeah yeah,” you waved him off dismissively, “I already received that info in my mailbox.” 

Three months from now… Did you have anything planned for that day? You thought it over. 

“Shit.” You muttered.

“Something wrong?” Alhaitham questioned, his arms crossing over his chest. 

“My hometown has its annual food festival that week… Ah, well, there’s always next year.” It still stung, though. It would be the first time you missed it. “Besides, I’ll be home for Weinlesefest, so that should be enough.” 

Your parents would be upset, but they’d understand. Your thesis was a big deal, after all. As long as you were home for Weinlesefest, you knew they wouldn’t mind you missing out on Dornman Port’s annual food fest. 

You stood up and grabbed your bag. “Well, I should pack. And mail my letter before I leave.” 

“I’ll be stopping off at Port Ormos later. I can mail it for you.” Alhaitham offered. 

Although he didn’t show it, Alhaitham was kind. This was something you had to learn the hard way after a few misunderstandings. He had his own way of showing kindness, and it was often through his actions rather than his words. 

“Really? That’d be awesome! I have so much to do before I leave, I was beginning to think I wouldn’t be able to make it to the mailing office.” You dug through your bag and pulled out a letter, handing it to him. 

His eyes scanned the envelope, his brow raising slightly in surprise. He shot you a knowing look, but he didn’t pry. 

“Thanks, Scribe!” 

“Alhaitham.” He corrected, nodding curtly before taking his leave. 

You smiled as you watched him go. Friendship with the scribe: secured! 

The boat ride home to Dornman Port was long and grueling, but the crew was friendly and had a good sense of humor. You found yourself making a few new friends in unexpected places. 

The soft breeze of eternal Spring shifted to a biting chill in the air as the boat neared your beloved hometown. The wind whipped violently, howling like the infamous Wolf King of Wolvendom. 

Up North, the winds were harsher and colder. There was a legend in your hometown— that a god ruling over this section of land during the Archon War had died with many regrets, and therefore, cursed the land with a wintry wind that would never cease. 

Whether or not that had been true was a mystery. The god’s name was long forgotten from Mondstadt, and so too was their legacy. The only person who could possibly provide evidence to those events would be the Anemo Archon himself. 

The boat docked and the sailors let out heavy sighs of relief. One clapped you on the back cheerfully. 

“How’s it feel to be home?” He questioned, a big smile on his face as he kicked a wooden plank onto the docks. 

You smiled, inhaling the cold air you missed oh so much. The same air that you had been longing to feel on your skin for months. 

“Good… great, actually!” you answered, thanking him as he helped you off the boat. 

You looked around, taking in the sight of the familiar bustling port with navy rooftops and tightly packed houses. Lanterns were strung between lampposts, ornate garland hung from the sides of houses and wrapped around streetlights. Market stalls occupied every corner, accompanied by the occasional yell of a merchant trying to sell their wares. 

Dandelions were blown up into the air as children roamed the streets, waving around wooden swords and weaving between adults’ legs. A stray dog followed behind the group, barking happily. 

The sweet tune of a lyre and a flute rang in your ears from a distance, and you quickly realized it was that same familiar Dornman lullaby that all Mondstadtians knew by heart— specifically those of you born in the far North. The song was soothing and nostalgic to your ears, opening the floodgates to a whole range of memories from your childhood. 

You inhaled the biting air again, this time with your eyes closed. “Yeah… it’s more than great to be home.” 

The sailors bid you farewell, claiming they’d see you again once you returned to Sumeru. Enthusiastically giving them your goodbyes, you watched as they loaded trade goods onto their ship before taking your leave. 

Dornman was exactly how you left it: serene yet lively. 

You stopped to chat with a few of the elders, greeting them excitedly. They asked about your studies, how your thesis was coming along, and wished you luck in your future endeavors. 

Passing by a group of kids you swore were only a few apples tall the last time you saw them, they called out to you and asked if you brought any souvenirs back for them. Showing them your empty hands, they began to pout and call you old as you playfully threatened to kick their asses. 

They ran away giggling, pretending to scream at the ‘scary monster they provoked.’ 

Shaking your head with a smile, you continued on your walk home, greeting other familiar faces as you did so.

Tucked away behind a few hills and farther from the main streets of the port, was your parents’ house. Seeing the same, old rickety wooden gate still standing tall was a surprise. You could’ve sworn that thing had fallen by now, but it was still here, on its last leg. 

The eager barking of two dogs could be heard as you unlocked the gate and walked up the stone path. Spotting the beds of flowers outside the windows, you smiled. It seemed as though your father had been participating in his yearly flower competition again with the old ladies that lived just down the road. 

You leaned down to take in the smell of the fresh cecilias, your favorite. 

The old door of your home hadn’t changed, and the decorative basket of flowers hanging from the front hadn’t either. You picked up the handle of the dove doorknocker and waited, listening as the sounds of barking got louder and louder. 

A series of locks clicked before the door swung open and two black and brown dogs came tumbling out, knocking you onto the stone path. You laughed as they licked your face, excited for your return. 

“Millie! Hashbrown!” You hugged each of them, placing kisses on their heads before you stood back up. 

Your father embraced you, hugging you tightly. You returned the hug, smiling as you pulled away. He took your bags from you and ushered you inside, claiming your mother had baked a few pies to celebrate your return home. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent catching up with your family, telling them all about your studies in the Akademiya and your long trip in Natlan. You told them about Kinich, a man from the Scions of the Canopy. 

That’s when your mother sent you a knowing look. Nothing ever escaped her know, especially when it had to do with crushes. You assumed it was because of that rumored sixth sense that all mothers possessed. Or maybe the smile on your face as you talked about Kinich was just too obvious. 

You told them how you and Kinich wrote letters to each other as much as you could, though it was getting harder for you to keep that up when exams had rolled around. 

“Speaking of mail,” your father interrupted, standing up, “we received a letter a few hours ago from a ‘Kinich.’” 

He handed you the envelope and you snatched it from his hands, ignoring the way he snickered at you as you did so. He took another sip of his beer and sighed. 

“Oh, and there was a package too!” He rummaged around on the kitchen table before handing you a tightly wrapped package. 

Confused, you took it. You had no idea what could even be inside it, but assuming it had arrived at the same time as Kinich’s letter, you guessed it was from him. Your mother stood up. 

“Let’s give them some privacy, dear.” She patted your father’s chest and ushered your siblings out of the room before sending you a wink. 

You rolled your eyes and opened the envelope, smiling absentmindedly at Kinich’s somewhat messy handwriting and the complete scribbles at the bottom of the page that were nearly indecipherable. Judging by the chicken scratch, you deduced the last message had been from Ajaw. 

You ripped open the package and set aside the note. Inside was a handmade blanket with a small note that claimed it was made by the Flower Feather Clan. 

You admired the swirling designs and hugged it to your chest. So he had remembered how much you loved blankets. Receiving such a high quality gift meant the world to you, as did the thought of him going to such lengths to have it handmade just for you. 

Digging through to the bottom of the box, you found a neatly wrapped vintage bottle of Dandelion Wine, silently cheering. You’d enjoy this with your family during the rest of the festival.

One last item sat at the bottom, so small you almost overlooked it. Pulling it out, you slipped it out of the velvet bag it was in and your jaw dropped. A gold necklace with purple and blue crystals fell into your palm, cold to the touch. 

Based on the fine craftsmanship, you could tell it had been crafted by a blacksmith from the Children of Echoes, and the crystals had been from the Masters of the Night Wind. 

Kinich really didn’t have to get you all this. Was there some sort of special occasion, or had he just wanted to send you gifts? You weren’t sure, but you were already thinking of some Mondstadt specialties you could send him in return. 

Heading up to your bedroom, you placed the gifts on your bed and grabbed a piece of paper from your desk. You sat down near the windowsill and unclasped the latch, pushing your window open. A cold breeze wafted inside, the scent of dandelions invading your room. The wind chimes hanging from your window sang in the wind, their sound comforting to your ears. 

You began to write. 

Dear Kinich, 

Thank you for all your thoughtful gifts!! Based on the fact you mentioned Klaus in your letter, I’m guessing you bought the Dandelion Wine off him, didn’t you? 

Pass on my regards to him! Möge der Wind dich beschützen! 

Weinlesefest has officially kicked off! Unfortunately, I missed the opening ceremony in the city, but tomorrow we’ll be opening the wines in my hometown! At least I haven’t missed that! The opening of the wines is the most important part of Weinlesefest, as it honors Lord Barbatos. 

My family is doing great as ever! Same old, same old, honestly. I’ll be seeing my grandparents in a few days, as my family will be taking a trip to the city to celebrate the festival with them! Unfortunately, I have to go back to the Akademiya in a week to continue my studies and refine my thesis per the Scribe’s suggestions. I wish I could be home longer, but school is school :( 

I’m glad to hear everything has blown over somewhat smoothly and all of you are safe. I can’t imagine everything you’ve had to witness, but I’ll offer up prayers of my own for the fallen (is that okay? That isn’t insensitive right…? Please tell me if it is). 

I hope the healing and rebuilding is going smoothly. If I was there, I would help in a heartbeat. Oh! I have an architect acquaintance in Sumeru! Maybe he and his team could help…? Say the word, and I’ll request his help! 

NO, I think I would melt into a puddle if I ever even stepped FOOT into those hot springs… Sorry Mualani, but I’m good… I’d rather stay in the brisk trees of the Scions of the Canopy.

Thank you once again for the gifts. I’ll cherish them. 

Mögen die Feuer von Natlan immer brennen. 

Sincerely, 

(Name) 

P.S. I’ll return back safely to you, Ajaw. Don’t worry! :)

notes: including all the german words were sm fun to do bc i'm german (not too familiar with the language but i'm in the process of learning!) and i am a firm believer that teyvat has their own languages, and dialects within those languages. some translations: danke = thank you, tschüss = goodbye, Möge der Wind dich beschützen = may the wind protect you, Mögen die Feuer von Natlan immer brennen = may the fires of natlan stay ever burning

© 2024 mikashisus. do not plagiarize, copy, repost, feed to ai, or translate my works to any other platforms.

[pauline-sunshine]

Guilty as sin?

rbr! Sebastian Vettel x Fem! Reader

inspo: guilty as sin?, by taylor swift

Warnings: mentions of masturbation

Word count: 1656

A/N: I apologize for any errors! English is not my first language. Enjoy!

Even the toughest people need to catch their breath at least for a second. Especially when their lives move at 230 km/h. That’s when a summer break becomes quite handy.

At this point, your life seemed to be perfect. You love your job at Red Bull, Sebastian is fighting for another title. You have the opportunity to support him at every race. You are his friend and he feels comfortable sharing personal things with you. Sometime he sends you his favorite songs because he wants you to listen to them or teaches you german slang. What’s to wish for, right?

For this summer break Luis and his girlfriend Liz invited some drivers, wags and buddies to their villa. It was a week vacation for everyone to have fun with friends by the pool. And it would’ve been fun indeed if you didn’t have a major 1 yearlong crush on Sebastian Vettel. It was easier to bottle up all your feelings when you both were at work but now…seeing how freaking adorable he is, observing his natural behavior, his good humor being mixed with his high intelligence and looks. It was just way too much for your poor little heart.

Well, long story short, you were just in love with this man. He was the object of your desires and dreams. It took you less than a second to become all wet and start whispering his name while touching yourself imagining it was him. Everything, even the smallest interactions with the driver made you a complete mess and after you would spend hours imagining things you would do if he was yours.

The vacation was going as planned. The weather favored you and it was another day by the poolside. You were sitting there reading a book and sunbathing while others were swimming.

“Y/N, please, come to the pool. I need you to win Luis” pleaded Sebastian.

“Seb, sorry, I’m not in a mood for all your water fights” you quickly looked up to him.

“Is that a no, schatz?”

“It is a no, Seb, and stop calling me that unless you tell me what that means” trying not to pay too much attention you just casually continued reading as the loud splashes were your calming background music.

“And what about this?” You heard the whisper in your ear and felt cold wet hands finding their way from your hips to the waist. You gasped at this cold touch and the next thing you remember is finding yourself in the pool in Sebastian’s embrace, which was accompanied by his laugh as a reaction to your screams.

Needless to say, shower that day took you a bit longer. As you were recalling his hands leaving trace on your skin, your labored breath mixed with his name upon your lips.

///

“Jees, it has been raining science the night” Liz spoke as she was staring to the window

“No pool today, I guess” answered Luis as he hugged the girl from behind and gave her a kiss on her head.

During the day everyone was trying their best to occupy themselves. Boys were having a passionate discussion about their season; the ladies were chatting in the kitchen while cooking dinner.

“So, you and Seb, huh?” inquired Liz being supported by other wags smiles.   

“Oh, giiirls, seriously, stop. We’re just good friends” you laughed.

“Well, maybe you consider him as a friend but he’s definitely not. Luis told me one day how he just couldn’t shut up talking about you”

“Liz, what do you mean?”

“Are you truly don’t see how he looks at you, he is just…well…different around you. Softer and more caring, and we know that usually he’s a super energized pain in the ass” explained Hamilton’s girlfriend.

At this moment your eyes were wider than the planet Earth. Are they serious or just using your feelings to have fun? The fact that the dinner was ready saved you from continuing this conversation.

As you were setting the table you caught yourself daydreaming, fixing your gaze on the german driver, and replaying what Liz told you. Is there even the slightest chance you two could be together? Right now, you felt so privileged just by looking at him. Yes, this was Sebastin without his car, race suit and image he had to show. It was just Seb with his soft naturally curvy hair, wearing a bit worn out t-shirt. There was something so soft and so cozy about the way he looked. It was just the man you loved.

“The dinner is served!” Liz called everyone to the dining hall.

Men came to the room filling it with loud voices. The big wooden table, decorated with long white candles burning, mixed with a view of rainy gray skies peeking through big windows. The combination was bringing unsensible touch of warmth and calmness.

“Smells so good,” Sebastian exclaimed with a smile, “schatz, did I tell you look great today?” he now approached you fixing his gaze on yours “do you mind if I sit with you?”

After the dinner you found yourself looking at the piano. It was standing in the corner of the living room next to the big couch. You’ve noticed it on the first day of your arrival but never got to play. Now seemed to be the perfect time as almost everyone left to their rooms and some stayed at the dining hall.

But it didn’t go as planned. Obviously. As you were in the middle of playing you heard a voice which made you stop.

“Y/n, you are a woman of many talents!” Liz was applauding as you turned to her.

“Oh, I really didn’t want to disturb anyone” you apologized.

“Are you joooking?! That was amazing!” she continued, “EVERYONE go down here!”

Eventually the room filled with people. They were sitting next to you with expressions of pure joy and excitement on their faces.

“Can you sing something for us?” Luis asked.

“Well, there’s a song that I really like at the moment, I think it would sound great with the piano,” and you started playing.  

As you got to play firs notes you smiled because you new the reason why this particular song was playing non stop in your mind and this exact reason was sitting in this room. Every line, every single word screamed “it’s him”.

Drowning in the Blue Nile

He sent me "Downtown Lights"

That was the song you two were obsessing over recently and wondering how come the band was so underrated.

Crashing into him tonight, he's a paradox

I'm seeing visions

Am I bad, or mad, or wise?

Sebastian Vettel made your life filled with joy and laughter yet he was so out of reach for you with your unrequited love. You would imagine you two being together which made you drowning in your visions. Were you bad or mad for thinking about that? Were you wise for bottling it all up when he was actually close to you?

What if he's written "Mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind?

One slip and falling back into the hedge maze

Oh, what a way to die

Sometimes just thinking that you were only his was enough because your heart belonged to Sebastian.

I keep recalling things we never did

Messy top lip kiss

How I long for our tryst

Without ever touching his skin

How can I be guilty as sin?

On the days you knew Sebastian were coming to the Red Bull headquarters you were running to the office just to see him, to make sure he is happy and alright.

If long suffering propriety is what they want from me

They don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly

I choose you and me, religiously

Your friends told you a million times during this year to go out more, go on dates but it wasn’t for you. Even if you gave some guy a chance you would quicky realize his not even close to Seb. They were not funny, not clever, they just weren’t as good enough as him. He was always at the back of your mind.

He sent me “Downtown Lights”

I hadn't heard it in a while

Am I allowed to cry?

As you were singing the last lines your eyes met Sebastian’s and he smiled back at you.

The room exploded with applause. You played a couple of songs more and then all of your friend group was just sitting in the living room and chatting for a little longer.

“Good night, everyone” you wished as you were leaving the room and going upstairs to your bedroom.

You mind was a mess after realizing what song you just sang.

“Was it too bold to sing that song? Does he know something now? But it was just a song and moreover it isn’t even my song. Can we call it a good cover version except a love confession to Sebastian?”

As you were beating yourself up and pacing around the bedroom, the door opened and Sebastian entered.

“How come you never told me you knew how to play piano?” he questioned cutting the distance between you two.

“I don’t know, it just didn’t come up, I suppose. You know, we don’t have pianos standing around the paddock,” you beamed and slightly bit your lip.

He smiled, “I guess you have a point”, he came even closer to you, “I actually wanted to ask if you’d agree to be piano to my guitar.”

He realized everything during the time Y/N was playing a piano. His feelings are mutual. He couldn’t help but smile when you were singing. Still, it amazed him how you had more courage to confess than him. You always fascinated him, to be honest.

“What?” the only thing you could say with a completely blank mind, which was caused by his question.

Sebastian shortened the distance and you felt how the man intertwined your fingers.

“I love you, schatz,” he grabbed you by the waist and left a soft kiss on your smiling lips.

[pedropascallme]

Office Hours

Pairing: professor!Damien Haas x f!Reader

Summary: "'I’m sorry,' Your gaze settled on the knot in his tie before moving upwards to look him in the eye. 'I’ve been—I guess I’ve just been getting easily distracted…big room, lots of people.' Hot professor."

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), implied age gap (Damien is his actual current age, reader is 20-22), student/teacher relationship, spanking, dirty talk, praise kink, fingering, oral (m & f receiving), p in v, spitting, cum play, Medieval German literature (it needs a warning trust me), mild dom/sub dynamics, kinda softdom!Damien. If I missed anything please let me know!!

AN: Fuck it Damien Haas fic because that man has been tormenting me with his new hair and 5 o'clock shadow. I guess I write for the Smosh cast now.

He wasn’t wearing his glasses today.

His hair was pushed up, and you noticed he fiddled with it out of habit; short bangs falling over his face when he got into a point he was making before he pushed it back out of his face. It was an endless cycle.

His tie was ever so slightly loose around his neck, the first button of his shirt undone so that you could see the muscles in his neck quirk when he laughed.

If only you spent as much time studying for Professor Haas’s class as you did daydreaming about him, you might not be struggling to follow along with the lecture he was giving. But it all went in one ear and out the other; too focused on the way you could see his sharp upper teeth when he smiled at one of your peers, happy to answer a question. You liked the topic, in theory—really, you were taking the class for a reason, if Intro German Literature hadn’t appealed to you, you wouldn’t have signed up for it during your course registration, never mind that the man who taught it was young and pretty and sharp as a fucking tack. But you got so caught up with your own imagination, listening to his voice and the way he read lines of text that you otherwise wouldn’t have tossed a second glance toward.

And suddenly, it was your favorite class, and your lowest grade.

Your eyes flickered to the clock on the wall just as Professor Haas dismissed the class, his own line of sight cornering you where you sat. You packed your laptop away into your bag and began to follow your classmates out of the room when you heard your name called.

“Do you have a minute?” Dr. Haas leaned against the podium at the front of the room, looking concerned. You walked to the front of the lecture hall, fiddling with the straps of your bag and silently encouraging him to speak up again. “You’re not in trouble, I just—your grades are slipping. It feels unlike you.” He furrowed his brow, standing up straight to face you, and you hoped the fluorescent lighting did an alright job of hiding the blush that crept over your cheeks.

Busted.

“I’m sorry,” Your gaze settled on the knot in his tie before moving upwards to look him in the eye. “I’ve been—I guess I’ve just been getting easily distracted…big room, lots of people.” Hot professor.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” and he spoke with such sincerity that you almost believed him, the mortification seeping into your bones as if he knew exactly what was distracting you. “I know you’re a good student—honestly, I don’t blame you for getting distracted in here.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame, especially since Hildebrandslied is usually such an easy read.” You tried your hand at a joke to ease the tension you felt. He smiled.

“We could make it easier. Do you think one-on-one time could help?” He grabbed his jacket, laying it over his arm before returning his attention to you. “I have office hours tomorrow; I could carve out some time afterwards. Why don’t you swing by my office, we can go over some stuff.”

You tried to stop yourself from swooning, “I think that might help, yeah.”

“Great! Bring any questions you have. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

You let him walk out ahead of you, leaving you alone in the classroom to consider what it would be like to spend time alone with the biggest crush you shouldn’t have.

~~~

“Come in!” You pushed the door open, standing idly in the threshold and cradling your laptop in your arms. “C’mon, sit.” Professor Haas looked up at you from the seat behind his desk. You’d never been inside his office before, but it had a cozy feeling to it; dark wooden furniture and cushioned chairs, a faint scent of lavender hanging in the air. He had knickknacks on his desk, characters you didn’t recognize, a small German flag hung over the door, and a bookshelf full of titles you were mostly unfamiliar with.

“It’s nice in here.” You spoke up, sitting in one of the chairs opposite him. He took off his glasses.

“Would’ve been nice to have a window. Dr. Topp, in psychology, is across the hall. Great window in his office.” You broke into a smile, and he did the same, keen to break up any awkward feelings to help you focus on your work. “What’d you bring for me?”

You set your laptop out in front of you, “I just…I don’t get it. And I knew I wouldn’t get it, since nobody gets it, because it’s, like, the worst, and it’s inconsistent, and riddled with copying errors—”

“Woah! Take it back a step,” He cut off your frustrated rambling with a laugh, “First things first, tell me which dialogue you’re having the most trouble with.”

“I guess…Hildebrand’s second speech? The one where he’s talking about Hadubrand.” You clicked your mousepad to open the PDF you had of the Hildebrandslied, highlighting the passage you were talking about before turning the screen towards your professor. He clicked his tongue at you.

“Think it might help to have an actual copy?” He arched a brow. You bit your lip, nodding an affirmative. You closed your laptop, watching him stand and walk over to the bookshelf, scanning the spines of the books with his finger before landing on the copy he was looking for, pulling it out of its spot on the shelf and bringing it back over to you.

“Thanks,” you expected him to return to his seat, but he remained behind your chair, leaning over you with his hand on the back of your seat to thumb through the pages until finding the passage you were confused by. “Maybe it was just the screen distracting me. Blue light, or whatever.” You offered, a shy joke to take your mind off of the way he loomed over you.

“Yeah? Wouldn’t be shocked. Helps to have it all down on paper sometimes.” His voice was deep, and it echoed through your whole body. He scanned over the words now, trying to find a good starting point, before letting out a triumphant exhale and pointing to the beginning of a sentence, “Start here.”

You began reading, painfully aware of your professor’s presence behind you and occasionally stumbling despite reading the modern English translation. You stopped when he cleared his throat.

“Tell me what that passage was about,” He prompted.

“I—I dunno, he’s talking about Hadubrand.” You felt yourself suddenly giving into the frustration this book had been causing you all semester.

“But what about Hadubrand? What’s the theme?” He pushed, trying to encourage more than a blunt, apathetic answer from you.

“I don’t know, Professor, you tell me.” You bit back, forgetting yourself and who you were speaking to for a moment, overwhelmed by him. “I’m sorry…” You mumbled, peaking at him from over your shoulder. He crossed his arms, looking down at you.

“What’s distracting you?” His voice was soft and calm, remarkably still for a man whose subordinate just snapped at him.

“I don’t know…” You lied through your teeth.

“Tell me. I can’t help if I don’t know what you need.”

You sucked in a breath, sharp and cold in your nostrils, before letting it out slowly, turning your body in your chair to face him fully. “…You.”

“Hm?” Professor Haas furrowed his brow, mouth parting slightly as if to say something before quickly closing it.

“You’re…distracting me.” You swallowed. The air around you suddenly felt thick, and you were prepared to hear him tell you how wildly inappropriate this was, how you needn’t even explain yourself, that you should just leave.

“Huh.” You watched him bite the inside of his cheek, raising an eyebrow. He walked back to the chair behind his desk, sitting with his legs spread, the fabric of his pants pulled taught over his thighs. “Come here,” he beckoned.

“Wh—” Now your brow furrowed.

“You need a little motivation. Come here. Sit.” He patted his thigh. You stood, pulse quickening as you walked toward him, hesitantly lowering yourself over him, thankful that you had chosen to wear a skirt that offered you the room to spread your legs wide as you straddled him. “That’s it,” he drank you in with his eyes, raking them over you, and you preened at his actions, arching your back into him slightly to give him a better view of you on his lap. “I think…for every wrong answer you give me, I get to punish you.” His voice took a wicked tone.

“And for right answers?” You whispered.

“So confident now,” He teased. “You’ll get what you deserve.” He smiled again, and you realized how beautifully dominant it made him look. “What’s the main theme of the story?”

“I—mm…” You racked your brain, now more distracted than ever, but trying desperately to make Dr. Haas proud, “I don’t know.” You answered meekly. You felt a sharp smack on your thigh, and you yelped, bunching the collar of his shirt in your hands.

“Try again.” He ran his hand in soothing circles over the spot he had hit.

“It’s—is it honor?” You felt him squeeze gently at the meat of your thigh before his hand glided over your skin to knead your ass.

“Good girl.” He gave you a particularly rough squeeze and you moaned, falling forward onto his chest, sticking your ass out to offer him easier access. “That’s right. See what happens when you do a good job?” His fingers dipped under the waistband of your panties. You mumbled a yes into his shirt, and he gave you a light spank. “What’s that?”

“Yes, sir.” You corrected yourself, hoping that’s what he was waiting for. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you flush against him so that your nose touched his.

“You like doing a good job?” His words were growled, and you nodded enthusiastically, “Gonna keep doing a good job?” You nodded again, and he continued his line of questioning. You remembered characters you thought you had no recollection of; names and places that had otherwise escaped you, as if sitting on his lap and letting him manhandle you was all you had needed to succeed. You lapped up the praise he offered you when you did well, and squirmed and whined when he punished your forgetfulness.

After 20 minutes, you found yourself huddled against him, face nuzzled into his neck as he recounted the things you needed more practice with, his hands roaming over your body. He pulled you out of your hiding spot gently, coaxing you to make eye contact with him. “Do you need anything else?” His fingers traced your jawline.

“Mm…” You leaned into his touch, “Need you, sir.” He halted his movements, and his hand found the back of your neck.

“Can I kiss you?” He scanned your face, dropping the façade of dominance; you saw his eyes anxiously searching for signs that he was overstepping any boundaries you had. You almost laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck, and closing the distance between you. You moaned at the taste of him against you, eagerly slipping your tongue into his mouth. He pulled at the hair on the back of your head, stepping back into his dominant role and setting the pace, showing you that he was in charge. He bit at your bottom lip before running his tongue over it to soothe the sting, then repeating the action over again. Your hand came to rest on his chest, fingers sloppily attempting to undo the buttons of his shirt, and he smirked against your lips. You felt one arm wrap around your waist, the other gripping your ass, and he stood up, holding you tight before placing you onto the desk. You wrapped your legs around his hips, and he undid his tie, giving himself space to undo the buttons of his shirt that you had been unable to.

“So pretty,” He broke from you briefly to untuck his shirt from his pants, “So pretty, so fucking good. Smart, pretty girl.” He reconnected his lips to yours, his hand on your jaw forcing your mouth open wide, allowing him to lick into you and watch saliva pool over your bottom lip. “Just needed a little discipline.”

You mewled, reaching out to trail fingers over his now uncovered skin, relishing the warmth of his abdomen as your palm connected to him. He moved down to kiss your jawline, nipping and sucking shapes onto your neck, pulling moans from you as he did so.

“Please,” You breathed out when he sucked on a sensitive spot over your collar bone, biting at the new bruise before licking over it. “More.” You felt his hand reaching between your bodies, flipping up your skirt, fingers pressing against the growing wet spot on your panties. You unwound your legs from around him, giving him space to touch you properly.

“Like this?” He was taunting you, watching you lean your head back on nothing and move your hips against his fingers in an attempt to gain friction where you desperately needed it.

“Yes, s—oh!” You wrapped your fingers around his forearm when he moved your panties to the side, plunging two thick fingers into your heat and moving his thumb in tight circles over your clit.

“There y’go,” He looked absolutely filthy like this; his hair falling over his eyes, muscles in his arm tensing as he pushed his fingers in and out of you, jaw clenched in focus, “need a reward for all the work you did today?”

You whimpered, grinding against his hand and choking on your breath when the tips of his fingers brushed the sensitive spot inside you. “Yes, sir—need you.”

“I know, baby,” He curled his fingers, pressing his palm against your clit and watching you squirm for him, “Let me see how pretty you look when you cum—show me how my good girl looks when she cums for me.” He feathered his fingers over your g-spot; fast, ticklish touches that made your toes curl and your back arch, and he soon had you trembling for him, cunt squeezing him when you came. He removed his fingers, and you felt yourself clench around the emptiness when he brought them to your mouth and told you to suck. “Yeah, good girl…” He palmed himself over his pants, and you hummed, licking your cum off of his hand before releasing his fingers with a quiet pop and reaching down to undo his zipper. He let you, watching you pull his cock from its confines.

You dropped from the desk and onto your knees, pumping his length in one hand and spitting on the other, joining them together to stroke him. He felt heavy in your hands, and you felt excited heat building in your stomach when you took his tip in your mouth, looking up at him from under your lashes to see his mouth agape, eyes focused on your movements. He pulled stray strands of hair out of your face, tugging them into a ponytail and guiding your mouth over him.

“God, I want to fuck your face,” his thumb swiped at the drool slipping from the corner of your mouth. “Want me to do that next time, baby? Use your mouth whenever you get an answer wrong?” You moaned, muffled by his cock in your mouth, thrilled by the promise of a next time. Your jaw quickly became sore, the stretch of his thick cock almost too much, and you gagged when his tip pushed against the back of your throat. He laughed softly watching you struggle to take it, hand guiding you backwards to give yourself room to breathe.

“You wanna get back up here and let me fuck you?” You pulled yourself off of him, clamoring to sit back on the desk and stripping your clothes from your body as quickly as you could, then letting him spread your legs open as he lined himself up with you. “So fucking eager—is this what you kept daydreaming about? Sitting in my class and thinking about letting me fuck you?”

“Yes—yes, sir. All I could think about,” You pulled him closer, letting him crowd you and pressing kisses into his neck while he stroked himself against you, “Needed it.” He grabbed you by the chin to bring your line of sight up to him, forcing you to look him in the eyes while the tip of his cock pressed against your entrance.

“Open your mouth,” you did as he said, shivering when he spit into your mouth before forcing your lips closed with his hand, “Swallow it.” You obeyed, opening your mouth once more to show him you followed his instructions, and he smiled, repeating the action, then dipping his tongue into your mouth to taste himself on you. The head of his cock still nudged your cunt, and you began to feel impatient.

“You want me to fuck you?” He was baiting you, had you exactly where he wanted you, and now all he needed was to hear you beg for it. It worked; rambled pleads and begged gibberish fell from your lips, imploring him to take you, hungry and desperate to feel his cock split you open. He pushed forward, nearly overwhelmed by the wet heat of your cunt as you swallowed the first inch, then the next.

“Fu—ck,” You let out a strangled cry, and he clapped a hand over your mouth.

“Gotta be quiet for me, baby,” though he desperately wanted to hear your moans, he knew it would be best to keep quiet, to not draw any attention to yourselves. Still, it didn’t stop him from pushing the rest of his length into you, watching your face contort in pleasure when he bottomed out. You let out a string of soft, pathetic whimpers, and he pulled you against his chest, letting you muffle your cries into his skin.

“So fucking perfect—fuck!—oh my god…perfect girl, take it just like that.” His voice came out in a growl as he rocked his hips into you roughly, pushing you back with the force of his thrusts until you were lying on the wood of the desk with your legs swung over his shoulders, eyes glazed over with satisfaction, completely cockdumb for him. His hands ventured upwards, squeezing your breasts before reaching back down to massage your clit. You arched into his touch, eyes rolling back and letting out whispered pleas for him to give it to you harder, faster, rougher, please, sir.

He gave you what you wanted; one arm enveloping your legs where they rested against him, guiding your body over his cock and watching the way your cunt hugged him, fluttering around him when he told you how pretty you looked, how his smart girl was taking his cock so well. The fingers on your clit sped up, primed to pull another orgasm from you.

“One more, baby, you can do it—let me feel you squeeze me nice and tight.” He leaned over you, thrusts still harsh and fingers on your clit moving with precision as he brought his lips to yours again. You let your legs drop from his shoulders and wrapped them around his torso, pulling him into you and letting him bury his cock inside of you. He rewarded you with a groan.

“Wanna cum—cum for you,” You stammered, fingers laced through his hair while your other hand gripped his bicep, “make me cum, sir.”

Your words spurred him on, and his thrusts became slow and deep, remaining absolutely carnal, pushing against your most sensitive spot and making your vision blur behind tears that threatened to spill. You pulled him down by his neck for another kiss, climaxing when his mouth connected with yours, legs spasming and thighs squeezing around his waist.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you watched his head loll forward and his eyes squeeze shut, nearing his own high. His thrusts were sloppy now, frenzied with need. He pulled out, fucking his fist before spilling over you; his cum painted your pussy, dripping over your swollen clit, your lips and inner thighs, before disappearing between the plush skin of your ass. He swore he would remember the image forever.

He got on his knees in front of you, pulling you closer to the edge of the desk before nipping at your thighs, licking his cum off of your skin. You sighed, before letting out a whimper when his tongue licked into your hole. He groaned at the way your taste blended perfectly with his own, sucking softly on your overstimulated clit while you tugged at his hair, mewling when he dipped his tongue into you again. He continued his ministrations for a while longer, returning to your thighs and sucking bruises onto the flesh. He returned to your core again, and the messy, wet sounds of his mouth on your cunt were music to your ears.

He stood again, panting, planting his hands on the desk on either side of you and head falling onto your chest. You combed your fingers through his hair.

“C’mere,” he straightened up and pulled you towards him, letting you wrap yourself around him and feel the warmth of his flushed skin against your own. His hand came to grip your jaw and you opened your mouth, "You learn so fast when you're paying attention." He mused, spitting into your mouth and watching you swallow. There was a moment of drawn out quiet; both of you steadied your breathing, remaining intertwined with each other. Professor Haas broke the silence first.

“Was that ok?” He stroked your hair, making ringlets around his finger before letting them unravel and repeating the movement with another strand.

“Just what I needed.” You spoke, voice still shaky from pleasure.

He cupped your cheek in his hand, analyzing your features with heavy lidded eyes. “Can I kiss you again?”

You rolled your eyes with a smile, “Your cum is dripping down my leg. You can do whatever you want.”

“Can’t blame a guy for asking,” He grinned and pulled you into him, taking his time with the kiss and savoring the way you tasted, his tongue occasionally bumping into your own as you patiently explored each other in your post-coital bliss.

“Think you’ll be able to pay attention during class time now?” He leaned his forehead against yours.

“Absolutely not,” you giggled, and he kissed your forehead, “might need more one-on-one time.”

“Yeah?” He smiled, the hand that was cupping your face moved to trace shapes on your back and shoulders, “think we could work something out.”

[1d10tch1ld]

Being Winterqueer should be the norm

(Message me if you need, I am not going to attack anyone over this subject even though it does frustrate me.)

Like how Queer Activism is the norm because guess what? Making assumptions that all white people or white passing people could not be going through severe trauma or could not be gaslighted into thinking their a bad horrible person because of their race or adding to their pre-existing trauma is not funny.

Racism is Taught, Not a Biological "gift."

Save your opinion for after you've heard me out, I know I am like the only white person affected by this but I am also autistic and have a hard time being sure on certain tones.

Most of my trauma stems from TikTok, but the thing is I don't view my trauma as that much connected to it since that'd be avoiding responsible that the creators should be taking with over 1Billion people I think the person/people should be held accountable.

I can't force someone into my opinion but I hate being spoken over, I don't mean to trigger anyone but if you are then please scroll past this post.

Racism hurts everyone, including the relationships and friendships someone can have so even if the racism is not explicitly aimed at a white person it can still hurt them because majority of people hate seeing the ones they love in pain.

2. Calling someone a colonizer for being white passing or having white genes is just as bad as calling a German person a Nzi for being originally from Germany, years after the holocaust ended many Germans were hated for being German whom did not even support Nzi's (such as children who were born after the event, It's not the childs fault for their parent including if someone has a parent who is a murderer, the child had no choice in who their parent is such as with their ancestry.)

3. I support everyones right to talk about their experiences whether they are white or not, but putting one over the other or any kind of forced ethnocentrism is wrong and gross. (as in claiming stuff that didn't originate from their country as originating from their country is wrong.)

4. the conflation between feeling good about being white and being a white supremacist is gross, I don't support stuff like the KKK or NeoNzi's. But I want people to feel good about being white since someone who is proud of their heritage may be less likely in certain situations to be against racism especially fi the person was taught to be racism because they thought or were taught into thinking that all Black people for example hated them or would steal from them (which is a huge lie but someone already told to think that when they were searching for researchs to feel good about their race from their insecurity can fall into the pipeline of becoming a NeoNzi).

5. I think it should be taught in schools or universities for people looking to become psychologists that emotional manipulation can be helpful or can provide a good tool to make people avoid becoming racist or even if it's given into someone's selfish point of view they should still use it but not to gaslight them into hating themselves. such as an interaction like this:

"I hate xyz people"

"Why do you hate xyz people?"

"Explain here or something."

:0 Then the therapist can gain knowledge on how to redirect the persons thought process to avoid any hatred against people of "xyz" race. but that should be the norm of what is used in therapy to negate those feelings of shame or doubt in someones feelings towards being or towards people of "xyz" race.

I love how black activists act like white people are the problem when for years majority of them don't care about Black men, or cared about George Flloyd yet did nothing to actually change laws or change things for Black men like putting a better system in place for them? If George Flloyd lived today he'd still have been klled which to me prove as a society we did nothing. we are the society, traditional is not mainstream society so stop conflating traditional with society.

Like the same for White people, majority of racism that would come from a white person is likely feeling threatened by POC people so it's good to teach that out of them but somehow POC people took that to mean making fun of their trauma or paranoia! Making fun of someone with Paranoia about something no matter what is ableist and I will not stand for it but purposely inducing Paranoia into someone is also ableist.

I would argue that black men are often dispositioned into roles where they are more likely thought to be dumber or less-human then black women. the whole George Flloyd thing did not get to the root of the issue which is the Police System --- since no one thought to take it to the Police Department / Head of the police to have honest discussions on what to change to make sure its less likely to happen since it'd influence the training style or it'd still make a remembrance day or something??? Like guys words aren't all you need to make a change.

(NO!) No, more gaslighting someone into not being able to talk about their experiences, some people act like therapists are just robots pre-programmed with automatically knowing how to make someone better yet these lies from POC people (not all POC people but like a lot of POC activists) do reach therapists yet a white person can't say they feel gaslighted or they feel like their trauma is not taken serious for being white --- or other white people shut the white person down, not wanting them to label their trauma as racism when it technically is.

Like the whole argument over, "white racism does not exist" so what am I to tell my therapist if the therapist thinks like that? It does not prove anything to them, it just makes it harder for a lot of people to access therapy as they may refuse or think the therapist is weak because they are basing their opinion on "empathy" and not every feels empathy.

No one is arguing that white racism is as bad as any other types of racism but yet people want to know why so many people go from being White at birth to go identifying as Trace like??? I don't want people to have to identify as Trace because it's just been adding to the trauma I have because I want people to be able to work through their trauma and what I mean by that is not the current gaslighting therapy style we have now. So please stop the way you talk or act about race, you don't need to be an activist based on the colour of your skin.

That goes to everyone, you can be an activist if you genuinely want but know this It doesn't change if you are morally right or wrong as long as you hear people out then its fine but if your not willing to on any issue then you can't really get your own activism across to them.

[nthspecialll]

I saw what you posted about Arthur being Not Actually A Good Guy and you’re so right, he’s… not cool by today’s standards. However, I was wondering if you could go a little into Charles’s stance towards this stuff/whether he’s actually a good dude or not? No pressure, just curious as to what your thoughts on him are since I’m THIRSTY for analyses on my Favorite Guy <3

Charles Smith ethics analysis

Arthur Morgan was very easy to do this with because he is the main character and with the antagonize button we get to hear all his thoughts, we don't with Charles and he is especially hard to look into because doesn't talk much and we don't see much in a lot of situations were we could get to see his stance on women for example, so this is me and @heavenlymorals combined thoughts.

When thinking about Charles's in camp interactions, at least one I think about first is the one where he and Uncle are eating and Charles only really replies only with yes and no. At first I thought that maybe he just does not like Uncle, but then I discovered that he has a similar conversation with Lenny which goes like this:

Lenny: "Good food." Charles: "sure." L: "And fine conversation." C: "Why do you feel the need to talk so much?" L: "Why do you feel the need for silence?" C: "I guess I prefer people when I don't have to them to them." L: "Point taken."

This is especially interesting because Lenny does feel some sort of familiarity and safety around Charles at other points in the game so he is trying to talk to him but Charles does not feel the need to talk to Lenny. And the way that Charles shuts down Lenny is also quite rude and mean, I don't know if I will directly call it disrespectful but at least there is a missing link between his wants and letting people down softly.

Something else is that I always saw Charles as a bit impulsive and aggressive due to two instances, the bison hunters and when he throws Micah on the ground and later tells Arthur" next time he won't get up," however there is a conversation with Uncle that makes doubt his impulsiveness.

The conversation is basically Uncle calling Charles stupid due to the fact he doesn't talk much and Charles replies with "if the choice is folk thinking I am dumb but not knowing for sure or knowing for certain because I sound like you, I would rather keep them wondering." Now if we were really talking about an impulsive character, he would have acted out when being disrespected, this could hint at that he might chose to act out against these bison hunters and Micah because he does not like them.

Now why does it matter that he hurts people he doesn't like? Well he does say "I only kill when I need to" which doesn't sit completely right with the bison situation, yes they most definitely deserved it but it wasn't needed. A few other times we also see him hurt when it isn't essential.

In the grand scheme, Charles is at least not friendly towards any of the gang members other than Arthur until chapter 5 where he has to step up and in chapter 6 where he warms up to Sadie and John as well. He doesn't speak much to any of them, just kind of gives them the cold shoulder.

Charles is lost, he says so himself and says he feels he is on earth to cause hurt, if he wants to change that, talking nicely to people could be a good place to start especially because he is a criminal and in the grand scheme is he is going to hurt people so it is the small things he has to change.

Now to talk about other vulnerable minorities it is hard, we only really have one or two situations where Charles hints at his stance at women. He does seem to have some form of respect similar to Arthur for women, he respects the German lady and chooses to help her even when there is no need, but he also enjoys the company of working women in local towns which we can see in Valentine saloon where he literally leans over to keep touch with the girl for a second longer.

Now racism, I don't see any, which is not surprising considering that he is a person of color. He helps the natives a lot in chapter 6 even though it is dangerous for him because Dutch lashes out at anyone that breathes without his command, and we can actually already in chapter 4 have the chance of Charles coming up to Arthur and telling him he will be gone a few days to help Eagle Flies break some boys out of reform school.

One thing before we sum up to mention is that Charles is highly aware unlike some of the others, he knows the Van Der Linde gang is violent for the sake of money, and he doesn't try to cover it up with some ideal like Dutch does or say "oh it is for the better" or whatever.

To sum up, Charles seems to be a fair man because he is nice enough but he gives the cold shoulder to quite a lot of people who are just trying to be nice, and if he dislikes someone he isn't scared to act violently towards them. Now when it comes to minorities such as women or other people of color such as Chinese people who were hated by pretty much everyone during this time (I have to admit I don't know especially natives stance on Chinese people), I wouldn't feel comfortable saying he absolutely doesn't hold any "hatred" towards them simply because he doesn't talk. Does he respect them or is it because we haven't seen him in situations where he gets the chance to tell his opinion?

[octuscle]

Hey Support!

I'm a Highschool teacher. Many of my adult students are speaking Arabic while I'm teaching them. It annoys me that I didn't understand them talking and laughing. So I downloaded the chronivac app and wanted to change that I also speak and understand arabic. Something gone wong because I fill my English and German are getting more bed. And I feel the urge to pray 5 on a day... And ma skin colour change

Whats go on?

You have made a number of less than optimal settings. Let me stop the process and restart it.

Thursday evening 8:00 p.m.: As usual, you sit in front of the TV after dinner. First the news. Then a crime thriller. Okay, you could use the evening differently. But at the latest when you turned 40 two years ago, you became more domestic. You like to cook. You like crime thrillers. What's the problem? Interesting question… Somehow the thriller doesn't really grab you today. After an hour, you turn off the TV, pick up your cell phone, and study a lesson or two of Arabic before you go to bed.

Friday morning, 6:00 a.m.: It sucks that the gym your students recommended is so far from your townhouse. And it's not exactly on the way to school, either. But for almost a year now, you've been making your way there in the morning. Your discipline and the success of your training have definitely earned you the respect of your students. Only they still make fun of your broken Arabic. At least they are more careful to speak Arabic in your presence. They know that you already understand a lot.

Because most of your students are Muslims, you finish class early today. Not without giving homework for Sunday. Carrot and stick. You have a reputation as a strict and fair teacher. And you take advantage of Friday afternoon to go for a long bike ride.

Saturday morning, 8:00 a.m.: For three years now, it has been a tradition that you are the first customer of your Turkish barber on Saturday. The full program for beard, hair and face. The conversation turns once again to your Turkish great-grandmother. Wouldn't she turn over in her grave, that you speak quite good Arabic. But not a word of Turkish. Laughing, you ask to change the subject. You can vaguely remember Turkish lullabies. But you can't learn another foreign language.

With your beard freshly trimmed and your undercut in shape, you head to the studio. On Saturday, most of your students are also here early to pump themselves into shape for Saturday night. Sure, you could easily be the father of even your oldest students. But you are definitely the coolest teacher at the school. That's why you're allowed to go smoke a shisha with your students after the workout. And as usual, you stay in the café after your students have moved on. You enjoy your tea and chat with the host.

Sunday morning, 06:00: You don't go to the gym on Sundays. But you start the day with a long run through the city park. It's a matter of honor that you run bare-chested. Yes, you are 37 years old, but the hard training of the last years has given you a really crisp body. And you love to do some pull-ups with it in the open-air gym in the park. And you love it even more when you hear some appreciative remarks from the mostly Arab brothers here. A few know you, of course, but most wouldn't guess that you speak fluent Arabic. After the shower, you prepare the next week's lessons and correct exams. In the afternoon, two of your students come for math tutoring. You have adopted a bit of the weekly rhythm of your predominantly Muslim students, and Sunday is becoming more and more like a workday for you.

Monday morning, 5:00 a.m.: If you want to go to the barber before school, you have to get up earlier - especially when it's raining cats and dogs like today. You can forget about cycling. And with bus and subway the way takes even longer. But to skip the training? Or to go to school with your neck not freshly shaved? Unthinkable! And like every day, a few of your students are in the studio with you. You are a role model for most of them. Also because you respect their religion even as an infidel. This has also earned you a lot of respect among your colleagues. With no other teacher do the otherwise testosterone-driven young men cooperate as well as with you!

Tuesday evening, 8:00 p.m.: You love to let your tuned Audi roar in front of the shisha bar in the evening. Sure, you had to go into debt for the car. But when you see the guests craning their necks at you, it's worth it. Just like it was worth every minute at the gym when the waiter raises his eyebrows respectfully at the sight of your biceps. It's your 32nd birthday. For ten years you've been working hard for your body and your career. You're celebrating today in your favorite bar. With friends, family, your students and a few colleagues. They are rather skeptical about you. But those who are there get along with your German as well as your Turkish and Turkmen cousins. Although five of your eight great-grandparents have a Muslim background, you are still socialized as a Christian. But you are cultural tolerance in action. And people who have no understanding for this have no place in your environment.

Wednesday, 7:30 a.m.: Your car rolls into the teachers' parking lot, freshly polished. Your muscles are freshly pumped up. The day can come. Your colleagues complain that you live in a small two-room apartment in one of the worst neighborhoods in the city, but drive a sports car for EUR 150,000. All envious. Have no style. And besides, the apartment is perfect for you. Gym, Shisha, Barber… Everything directly in front of the door. And why do you need a big apartment? You can meet friends at the gym or over a shisha. And you prefer to correct your exams directly at school. Your colleagues are all weaklings anyway…

In the evening you smoke a shisha with some lads from the gym. It's almost 8:00 pm. The transformation has been going on for six days. Five of your great-grandparents are already from the Arab environment. And as you take a deep drag from the shisha, the sixth of your ancestors also becomes Arab. Your mother has a Turkish mother and a Turkmen father. Your father has a Moroccan father and a German mother. Three quarters of your roots are Muslim. And you are becoming, as you exhale, a good Muslim. And the improvement of your genetics makes your eyebrows bushier, your beard thicker and your hair darker. Yes, you still carry genes of the infidel in you. But you are an Arabian stallion.

Thursday, 04:30: You like the summer. Sunrise prayer is lovely early, so you can perfectly combine sports, barbering and an early start to work afterwards. Before work you have to go to the principal's office. Parents of non-Muslims have complained again. That too much Arabic is spoken in class. And that the break times are based on prayer times. Once again you pull the tolerance and diversity joker. And you point to your successes in integrating difficult cases into the classroom. And at the same time you knead the bulge in your pants. You know that the principal can't refuse you any wish. Not even the wish that you can't start the day without having cum. The conversation ends with the principal blowing you on all fours while you sit wide-legged in his chair.

Friday, 14:00: Your transformation is actually finished. In a few hours, your last German genes will be replaced by Moroccan ones. You are 26 years old. You have lived in Berlin since you were ten years old. You have had to make your way as an immigrant child. But just because you speak fluent German, Arabic, Turkish, Turkmen and French, you left the infidels behind early on. At school, in sports and also at university. Actually, you always thought that teachers were complete losers. Nevertheless, you let yourself be persuaded to study math and sports to become a teacher. You are now 26 years old and have completed your teacher training. You are the secret weapon for classes with young men from immigrant backgrounds. They accept a fellow believer with big upper arms. And even the other lads in your class emulate your example.

Tank tops in your classes are standard. Arabic is obligatory as the language of instruction in physical education. Attendance at noon prayer is mandatory for Muslims, morning and afternoon prayer is optional. And Muslims don't blow, Muslims get blown. At least once a day. But don't worry… Whether it's in the principal's office, the teachers' lounge, or the locker room in the gym, you can always find an infidel to do it!

Hot pic found @tufas 

[barefoot-a-pregnant]

What has the husband taken into account about his wife?

Thats the tile from a german website, that I found years ago! *laugh* I will try my best to get it to you in english, because I know not many speak german here. Please forgive mistakes, as english isn't my first language. "Never forget that your Wife is a Lady too. Don't allow yourself to be inconsiderated forwards her; you woudn't be inconsiderated forwards another woman. * Don't hurt her feelings with swear language *Don't made yourself the house Tyran, that everybody fears *Don't let yourself go slop. Groom yourself. *Don't carry the trouble of the workface into your home. *Please your wife sometimes with a little present or special attention. Don't forget her birthday or namesday; even so your wedding date; and think hard and thoughtful about her presents. It will look bad, when you just give her money to buy her presents, so that you don't have to trouble yourself. Go on a Date once a while, because your wife will love the change of scenery and attention. Don't always look at your wife as housewife and housekeeper, but as a companion and comrade too. Don't make fun about her Hobbys, especially if these are intellectual or artistic nature; but try to share them or at least respect them. Don't allow yourself an unpleasant Comment about her or her comments in the seight of others. Always remember your kids, even the adult ones, to respect and reverence her. Do for her, what you would do to other woman too. Stand up to greet her; pick something up, when it falls down; give the better seat to her; help her into her clothes; let she going first (except when you enter an restaurant); always be as thoughtful forwards her as you were before marriage. Trust your wife in therms of money and never let she guessing about your financial situation.

Measure your household money adapted to your circumstances; never let her beg for it. The same goes for her private needs; that will her and you save tons of unpleasentries. The love between husband and wife will get polished trough good manners. If the Housewife is working outside...

Today it will happend, that the married couple or even the wife alone will provides the income. Than it isn't good, that the woman have the burden of the household all alone. This will damage her health in short time. The husband, in such times, will try his best to lessen her burden. In the war- and after war times many couples were exemplary in doing these.

Note:

*Being in a heated state should never be an excusion for bad behaviour *"Whatever Thing, talk about it to your wife; and if she's small, bend over to her." (Talk to her on her "eyelevel" and not from above.) *Misunderstood woman are often ignorant woman *Talking badly about your husband to others is the first step to cheating *Ongoing needles made more pain, than one serious wound (just don't nag and nag. If something is wrong, name it clear and loud.) Quelle: Erinnerungswerkstadt Norderstedt (Found it in the book: "Der gute Ton" from Konstanze von Franken. 1953)

[adarkrainbow]

Your post on Bechstein's "Hansel and Gretel" makes me think Humperdinck's opera must have been inspired more by that version than by the Grimms'. The opera also features a desperate mother instead of a wicked stepmother and has both parents happily reunite with the children in the end. It also has the Witch urge Gretel to look in the oven to "see if the gingerbread is brown yet" rather than to "feel if it's hot enough," and has Gretel be warned of the Witch's real intent (in the opera by Hansel) rather than guessing it herself.

Well if there are these elements, yes, the opera is DEFINITIVELY based on Bechstein's fairytale rather than the Grimm's.

Though ultimately we can say that the Grimm are still down there in the end, because Bechstein wasn't just aware of the Grimm as his direct predecessors - he was literaly inspired by them and when he originally wrote his versions of their fairytales (such as "Hansel and Gretel" here), it was mostly as an "answer"/expansion/continuation of the Grimm's own tales, so to speak. I think I said it before but the first editions of the brothers Grimm fairytales were not meant for your "average audience" - they were scholarly, "scientific" editions mostly aimed at folklorists and linguists and people who were interested in German culture. The brothers only realized people bought their book as an entertainment afterward, and then decided to re-edit and modify their book to become a more "regular" fairytale book.

Meanwhile, Bechstein directly aimed at writing a book that could be read by parents to their children, or casually enjoyed by the average reader not interested in small obscure nonsensical folktales - which not only explains the aim of his rewritings, but also why his book had an immediate success in Germany that overshadowed the Grimms, and why the Grimm's tales had to take their time to "build" themselves as the dominant "fairytales for children".

So yes, very likely the opera is based on Bechstein's version, especially since as I said Bechstein's tales were more well-known than the Grimms in Germany itself for quite some time (and we can still see this in a lot of German media which takes elements from Bechstein's variations rather than the Grimm's takes).

[That being said I do want to precise a little detail with Bechstein - I think twenty or so years after the publication of his fairytale collection, he ended up editing his book thoroughly. And what he did was add a bunch of new tales not originally present, but more importantly remove a good deal of others. And those removed tales included those that were too similar/overlapped too much with the Grimms. For example, I got my hands on a recent French translation of Bechstein's fairytales, complete and all, but the problem is that it is based on the later editions, so tales like "Hansel and Gretel" and "Little Red Riding Hood" are absent, and merely listed in appendices as tales that were cut from the book - so I had to go check them online to have the text. Might also explain why today we tend to forget they exist.]

[elisysd]

19. Ask me what I earned from all those tears

Chapter soundtrack: Karma - Taylor Swift

She was comfy, very comfy. Never had she slept so well in a plane. She usually was a very light sleeper when it came to them. She hated having to rely on someone, to literally entrust someone else with her life. So most of the time, she wasn’t really sleeping, she was resting, all her senses in alert in case something was to happen. But today, she felt good, safe and protected. Her head was resting on a chest where she could hear regular heartbeats. It was calming her down, it was reassuring. It was there. She could also feel warm breaths on her face and she snuggled deeper as an arm around her shoulders was pulling her closer. Really she could stay here forever.

But her peace was soon disturbed by turbulence that awoke her brutally. That’s when she saw who she was sleeping on. It shouldn’t have surprised her, after all she was sitting next to him but still, she couldn’t help but to feel slightly embarrassed. Ethan was also sleeping, if his eyes were giving her any indications. She quickly straightened and put back her seat belt, intercepting Romy’s gaze on her, who was arching an eyebrow as she looked at Ethan and then at Julia.

She hated turbulence, it was never fun and she always felt sick. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on her breathing. In and out. In and out. In and out. She was gripping the armrest so strongly that she could feel her fingers hurting until a warm palm was put over hers applying a light pressure on it. She looked over to Ethan that was smiling at her and somehow, she knew that everything would be alright. Finally, it didn’t last long or at least it seemed, and soon she stood up to go to the bathroom followed by Romy.

“You are not coming with me in there.” warned Julia.

“I can wait, don't worry.”

When she went back, Romy was still here. Julia moved to let her pass but the German stayed where she was.

“You were cute, sleeping on Ethan.” she said with a cheeky smile.

“I was just really tired.”

“Sure, sure.”

“Romy…” sighed Julia, looking at the boys to make sure no one would arrive.

“Julia…” replied Romy, in the same tone as her best friend.

“I know what you are about to say. And the answer is no.”

“As long as it makes you sleep better at night. Speaking of, you and I need to organize a sleepover. It’s been so long since I’ve come by to your place. I’m sure your mom misses me.”

Julia rolled her eyes, playfully punching the blonde’s shoulder who squealed, attracting the attention of them. As Julia came back to her seat, she noticed the change of positions. Ethan was now next to Kyle, his headphones on his ears and barely looking at her. She can’t help but wonder what she had done to deserve to get ignored like this. She looked over to Kyle as he was now sitting in front of her but he shrugged, giving her an apologetic look. They still had two hours of flight and Julia hoped it would go fast.

She was even more disturbed when, as soon as they landed, Ethan was the first to leave the place, not caring about any of them. As she was walking to retrieve her suitcase, she went to Ludwig.

“Do you know what’s wrong with Ethan? He seemed off.”

“Ethan is Ethan, you shouldn’t pay too much attention to him, he has his mood swings. Worse than a pregnant woman sometimes.”

“He got a text from Ashley, the PR rep. He is heading there.” explained Kyle that had heard Julia.

She didn’t understand, then, why he had not talked to her about it. After all, she might be involved. Especially if it was PR. She took her phone and tried to call Ethan but went straight to voicemail. She texted him, but still no answer even if she could see that he was online. This was starting to piss her off. And she knew she shouldn’t. After all, he didn’t owe her anything. No calls, no texts, no explanations. She just thought that after everything they had been through together, he would be mindful and wouldn’t leave her in the dark. But she guessed that some things would never change.

As for Ethan, he never thought that having Julia resting against his chest would make him feel strong emotions. After all, she has just a girl snuggling against him. Not the first and not the last. But never, in his entire life, did he feel the need to pull her closer or to keep her there forever. Usually, he found that repulsive. But not with her. To avoid being teased by his friends, he pretended to be asleep as well, so if questions were raised he could downplay and deny everything. And faking being asleep was harder than what he thought would be. And then, he had received a text from Ashley asking him to meet her as soon as he landed. When he asked if Julia had to be here, she had just told him no, without further explanations. It made him worried and angry and just as he had been about to talk to Julia, he had received another text telling him to not to.

So it’s a frustrated Ethan that entered the room to find Ashley, his team principal and a woman, sitting around the table. When the woman got up, the first thing Ethan noticed was the girl’s belly and he didn’t need long to connect the dots.

“Carla,” he said.

“Ethan, long time no see.” She greeted him.

Now he remembered her. Her tanned skin, her red lips and curly hair. He remembered the Montorelli’s party where he had to go, being one of the very expensive watches. He remembered her black dress, her seductive smile and the kisses in the bathroom. He remembered how fun it had been. But that was all it had been, for him. Fun. Meaningless. And seeing her in front of her, clearly pregnant, he suddenly felt sick. All this time he had hoped she was lying. It would have been easier. But now, seeing her in front of him, it made everything real. All too real.

“What do you want?” he asked, coldly.

“To make things right.”

“How nice of you, after dragging my name and reputation through the mud.”

“I’m sorry, okay!” she was about to cry. “I… I don’t want my baby to grow up with a lie. I don’t want to feel guilty. I want to start my life with this baby, knowing that the hurt I caused has been erased…”

“Well good luck with that.”

“Ethan, please. Hear her out.” Ashley intervened.

“You are not the father. Ha… Harun is.” she confessed.

“Harun is the father? Are we talking about the same Harun? My teammate?”

Ethan was shocked. Utterly shocked. Harun, the guy that barely knew how to say hello. He was too stunned to speak.

“But… but… Why, then? Why say I was the dad if you knew I wasn’t?”

“I didn’t know for sure, it could have been his or yours. But before Singapore, Harun came to see me and we had a paternity test that will need to be confirmed once the baby will be born but it’s safe to assume that you are not the dad. And… I guess it was easier to say that it was yours? It was… I don’t know… fancier? Because of your family name, and all… I was ashamed to even think it could be Harun’s. It was stupid, I know that now, but when I saw those two lines I panicked. It doesn’t excuse the pain I caused you and the team, but I hope I made things right, at least a little bit.”

“No, it doesn’t excuse anything. Because of you I could have lost my seat and everything I worked for. And for what? A lie? I’m sorry Carla, but you can put your excuses where I think.”

He was harsh, he knew that but he didn’t care. Maybe he would later or tomorrow, but right now he was mad. For the most part. But a tiny, tiny one was thinking that without this lie, he wouldn’t have gotten closer to Julia and he would have missed a great friendship. So, everything was not negative in this story. But he would never say it out loud. For a moment, he imagined what his life could have been if it had been true and he felt his throat turn dry. He had never pictured himself as a father, he didn’t know if he would be a good one. He wasn’t even sure he would like to have kids. And he would need a girlfriend first. And would he be a good boyfriend? How was he supposed to be one? His last relationship was back in high school and had lasted three weeks. How do you have a serious relationship with someone? How do you find that special someone?

“That’s why I’m here! To make amends and make things right! I’m trying to be a good person.”

“Adn what about Harun, then? What is going to happen to him? Are you going to fire him?”

“He is going to leave the team after the Japanese Grand Prix. A statement will be released tonight saying he will focus on family matters.”

“So you are firing him.”

“We are letting go of him… gently.”

“He is taking his responsibilities with the baby. I’ll post one as well to clean your reputation.”

“Good luck with that… What is done is done. I just want to forget you and this story.  I want to go back to my old life.” mumbled Ethan, massaging his temples.

“My PR team will be in touch with yours, if you want to make a joint statement…”  Carla started.

“No. Post whatever you want, I don’t care. As long as it’s the truth and not some new lies.”

She got up and gave him one last look that Ethan was careful to ignore, before leaving the room. Ashley approached Ethan and opened her mouth to talk to him but one look from him quickly dissuaded her.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“We need to talk about the PR…”

“Fuck the PR! Fuck you and your stupid ideas! Fuck Carla and her lies! Fuck everything! Leave me alone.”

He went to the door and slammed it. It was too much. Too much information to process, too many consequences to face. And no matter what, his first thoughts were Julia, Julia, Julia.What would he tell her? How would he? He just wanted to see her and to tell her everything. Because after all, they were in this together, for the better and for the worst. He went to the reception and asked for her room number. It took a little bit of persuasion but he managed to get it and he went to the third floor. A few minutes later, he was there. Right in front of her door. He stayed there for a few minutes more before finally knocking. He heard some footsteps and then, the door unlocked revealing her, still in her airport clothes. The glare she gave him made him gulp.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“I needed to see and to talk to you.” he explained in a tired voice.

“Oh now you want to talk to me? After purposely ghosting me? Who do you think you are, Ethan?”

“Julia, please, not now. Really.”

“Fuck you, Ethan. I don’t have time.”

She was about to slam the door to his face but he put his left foot in the doorway, preventing her from doing so.

“I’m not the father.”

It had the effect of stopping her dead in her tracks. She looked at him, her mouth agape. She slowly opened the door more, and let him pass by her before sitting down on her bed. He sighed deeply and Julia could see how tense he was. She approached him and sat next to him, putting a hesitant hand on his shoulder and she felt him relax a little bit.

“Tell me what happened.”

And he did. He let go of everything. His frustration, his anger against Carla, his confusion, how lost he felt now. He felt used, betrayed, dirty. Why him? Why did it have to happen to him? Why did he have to be born as the son of a fifth world champion? Why was having his name so hard to carry? Why couldn’t he be a normal driver, like Kyle or Ludwig? Someone that fought hard to be where he was. Someone that deserved to be here because of his talent only and not because he was the son of. Would people still use him? Would people still love him?

It frightened him how easily he could talk to her about everything. And how she listened, without a word, just rubbing his shoulder from time to time. When finally he stopped, he looked at her. She was looking to the ground, pensively and biting her bottom lip, something she did when she was feeling anxious or when the wheels in her head kept turning without interruption.

“What… What does it mean for us? I mean… your reputation and name will be cleared. You don’t need me anymore.”

“We keep going as planned. If we stop now people will understand that everything we posted and the paparazzi pictures were fake. It will do more damage than repairs…”

He didn’t know if it would even be true. But he didn’t want to stop whatever was going on between them. He was not ready. He didn’t want to have to be ready to let her go. It was selfish, he knew it but today she was one of the only people he could trust and rely on and he didn’t want to lose that. To lose her.

“So we are still faking?”

“It has always been about pretending, Julia.”

“Has it, though? Are we still pretending? Or have we stopped a long time ago?” she whispered, her eyes anchored in his.

He had to fight with all he had to not kiss her here and there. To make her his.But he was in no state of mind to do so. It wouldn’t be fair. To him or to Julia. She deserved better than an emotionally unstable guy. She deserved better than him.

“I’m pretending, Julia. None of this is real. It has never been.”

He had to leave. Coming here was a bad idea. Seeing her was a bad idea. Losing himself in her arms and in her scent was a bad idea. His life was a succession of bad ideas. But it was his life. And he didn’t want to be her bad idea. So he got up.

“Where are you going?” she asked, trying to come closer to him as he was going for the door.

“Away.”

“Shit, Sherlock. I can see that. Ethan, you are in no state of mind to be left alone. Stay. With me.”

Never his feet seemed so heavy. Never had he ever wanted to run back to her. He was about to leave when he finally turned away and rushed to her, taking her in his arms and pulling her against his chest, his arms squeezing her waist and his nose buried in her neck. He heard her gasp, surprised by his reaction but put her arms around his neck pulling him closer to her. And as fast as he came to her, he left. Without a second glance.

Julia barely slept that night, replaying her conversation with Ethan again and again. Trying to make sense of the situation. Why? Why come to him now? Why did she suddenly change her mind and try to make amends? She had never been one to believe in a sudden change of heart. It never came without a reason. So when she left the next day for the paddock, she was determined to find Carla and have a conversation with her. And to find Carla, she needed to find Ashley first. She managed to meet her in front of the Maserati hospitality.

“Where is Carla?”

“Good morning to you too, Julia.”

“I don’t have time for politeness.”

Julia was about to reply when Carla came from the hospitality, looking tired.

“I’m Carla and you are?” she asked with disdain.

“I’m one of Ethan’s friends.”

She saw the girl flinch.

“I have nothing else to say. I told Ethan everything.”

“Or have you?”

Carla avoiding her gaze told Julia everything she needed to know. There was more. Maybe it was not a huge thing and maybe it wouldn’t change anything, but Ethan didn’t know the whole story.

“I’m just looking out for Ethan.” explained Julia, in a calm voice.

“He won’t hear from me anymore. As I told him, I’ll make things right.”

“But why now? Why so suddenly?”

“Do you really need a reason? “ asked Carla in return.

“I just want the truth.”

Carla looked around and indicated to Julia to follow her. They went through the installations before finding a peaceful area, away from everything.

“I… Ethan is not the dad. I didn’t lie about that…”

“So you did lie about something.”

“It happened a few weeks ago… I was in Milan and coming back from an interview for a job when I saw him in front of my doorstep. Ethan’s dad. He asked if he could come inside to talk to me. I knew what it was about, of course. It was about the baby and the press stunt I pulled. You have to understand something… My family threw me out when they learned I got pregnant. They said that they were ashamed of me, that I wasn’t their daughter anymore. They said terrible, terrible things. I was alone, with no possibilities and terrified. I thought that if I released my story in the press it would force Ethan to support me. I knew he had money and influence. His family’s reputation is important. He knows all about keeping a clean facade. How important it is for the media and sponsors. I knew that I had a bomb in me, literally.  And I hoped that despite his bad boy attitude he was loyal and wanted to do the right thing. I hoped that if he thought he was going to be a dad he would help me. But it didn’t turn out as I planned. He didn’t drop anything for me. I was desperate and alone. And then, his dad arrived. He offered me a way out, he told me that I had to do the right thing, a paternity test first to know if Ethan was the dad. He paid for it and he helped me find a private hospital and he paid the medical staff to keep their mouths shut.” explained Carla, her hands shaking.

“I’m scared to ask but… what would have happened if Ethan had been the dad?”

“He would have paid me to leave Europe. And he would have put the baby in an adoption center away from here. Erase all the proof. He was ready to pay me millions to make me abandon my baby.” she was about to cry and a part of Julia was hurting for her while another one was mad at Ethan’s dad.

“He would have lied to Ethan…” she couldn’t believe it.

“He didn’t want his son to waste his career for me. He didn’t want him to throw away everything he had fought so hard to get for a mistake. That he deserved better than being trapped in a life he didn’t want. He paid me to not say anything to Ethan about his visit. He said that it would crush him. So please, it is my turn now… I beg you. Don’t say anything to him. I’m already responsible for almost ending his career, I don’t want to be responsible for his family falling out.”

Julia didn’t know what to add. She expected many things when she went to talk to her but certainly not to learn about Max’s whereabouts. She couldn’t believe it. She knew that it was coming from a place of love, that he had wanted to protect Ethan, but forcing a mother to abandon her child… she never thought he would go this far. And a part of her regretted to know. Because she couldn’t say anything to Ethan. She wouldn’t. Carla was right it would crush him. He would act stupid and would end up doing something he would regret. But she knew she couldn’t keep it to herself. It was too much. It was another lie and one she refused to carry with her. So she did the only thing she thought of, she called Max.

“Julia? What a nice surprise? Is everything okay with Ethan?”

“I know what you did to Carla.” she blurted out and there was a silence on the other end of the line. If she had hoped it was another lie from the Italian girl, Max’s reaction confirmed that it was not.

“Please Julia…”

“Don’t ask me to not say anything to him. I can’t. I can’t do that to him.” she didn’t know when she started to cry but tears were falling down on her face.

“I will tell him, just… I need to know how.”

“It will hurt him so bad.”

“I love him, Julia. I’m ready to do anything to protect him. Including protecting him from himself” Max told her.

“What do you mean?”

“You know him. He would have stepped up knowing full well he is not ready to be a dad. He would have thrown away his career. He would have been resentful towards the kid and would have ended up hating them and himself in the process. I couldn’t let him do that. And I couldn’t let an unwanted child feel like they didn’t matter. No one should experience that.”

“I.. I think that despite everything, I understand why you did it. It doesn’t make it right and Ethan deserves to know even if he is not the dad.”

“I’ll tell him when you guys will be back. Maybe you should be there, he will need you.”

“I’ll always be there for him.” answered Julia with confidence.

Author's note: The truth is finally out!! What do you think will happen next? Let me know your theories, I love to read them.

Don't hesitate to leave a comment or an ask, as well as reblogging and leaving a like. It helps a lot for the story to find its audience. I also have a taglist for this story, so if you want to be added so you never miss a chapter, let me know.

Taglist:

@herondalism @aundercover @musingsbyshreya @karmabyfernando @reengard @mycenterfold @smoooothoperator

[benkyoutobentou]

31 Days of Productivity Reading: Day eighteen

Before: I'm going to the bookstore today! The plan is to study more Mandarin, then pick up the book for that book club that I'm crashing as well as a thank you note for the person who sent me all those volumes of manga. I especially want to mention the thank you note here because I really don't want to forget...

Also, I've been seeing more and more people online talking about that Ali Hazelwood book Check & Mate, and despite how little interest I have in anything she writes ever, seeing a book about chess being talked about so much makes me want to continue reading 3月のライオン so I'll probably pick that up either today or tomorrow, depending on how I'm feeling after I finish 独り舞.

And now that I have more free time, I really want to start that ASL course! So much to do, so much to do... I think I might do some thinking about how I want to schedule all my different languages...

After: As usual, I didn't get to the bookstore until quite a bit later than usual. I started my day with my favorite Sunday ritual (which had to be put off until today), which is watching the latest ゆびさきと恋々with a cup of tea. I love this series so much, I can't believe it's ending next week. It's so sweet, and I love how we got even more of Itsuomi speaking German this episode.

When I was finally ready to go to the bookstore, my dog begged for a walk. I can't go anywhere without taking her out first, and I can't say no either lol.

I have a few rituals that I use to get myself going and start being productive, and pone of them is making a cup of tea. I made myself a cup of tea to drink while I read, and then I drank my entire cup of tea while talking to my mom and still have not read a single page today.

I finished 独り舞！ I ended up reading thirty pages today over an hour and thirty five minutes, with an average reading pace of (miraculously) 3.2 pages per minute. I must’ve just been zooming through it, I never felt like I was sacrificing comprehension for speed (other than my usual ignoring of unknown vocabulary words). I guess this is what happens when I read in an undistracted environment?

Even though I didn’t have the best time reading 独り舞 I’m glad I read it. It’s a good book and one that I definitely want to return to when my Japanese is a higher level, because I think I could really enjoy it at the right times. That being said, it’s definitely not a book for everyone. It’s extremely depressing from beginning to end. There were moments that I thought would be the turning point, and then something got in the way. I really liked the way it presented the main character’s almost dissociation from herself with the way it only referred to her as 彼女 in the narration, and the linguistic aspects when writing in both Japanese and Chinese were cool to see as well. In a strange way, the end reminded me a bit of 僕らの地球の歩き方 despite the tones of the two being almost complete opposites.

[pruszided]

Happy..-what should I call this day?- for Hungary!!

Since today is the 940th anniversary of the consecrate of the first king of Hungary, I. István (I. Steven, I guess..), who spreaded western christianity in Hungary 1001-1038 (his reign), I thought I make a little, hmm.. parody out of it. He is the man next to Hungary's right elbow.

Hungary says: "Benedicat tibi Deus!" (latin) - God bless you! (since she is also spreading christianity)

And yep, pour me with critism, please! I like this artstyle, and I wonder, what do you think about it?

For more ramblings about this topic, you can always click "Keep reading"~

So, about the celebrateds. I. István is a really important figure of the hungarian nation, his face is even printed on the 10000 HUF banknote:

He had a little struggle with the inheritance, but in a nutshell, he managed to beat up the other racer named "Koppány", with german help. (He then chopped Koppány to 4 parts, and hanged out these parts on different castles, to show, he isn't someone to mess with.)

He was really strict with christianity and reign, as he claimed much territory for his own, in today lands of Romania, Slovakia and even Bulgaria too.

But overall, he mainly was distracted by Hungary and its domestic politics. He made up the structure, and the 'currency', which was pretty precious and famious, as there were found counterfeits in Scandinavia!

And if I didn't made it obvious, he cared a lot about christianity, as he created the first archdioceses. (Esztergom, Kalocsa-> which I have as background in the drawing!) King István supported the parishes, and even the pilgrims.

He even has legends, which are pretty cool.

You can ask, though I think my answer won't be too surprising- Why does Hungary speak latin instead of hungarian? In the medieval times, latin was the usual used language, especially in creations, such as poems and documents, as a heritage of the religion.

What about the guy in the lower left corner of the drawing? Well, hungarians didn't really appriciated that they literally will live a new lifestyle, as they were kinda nomad before the kingdom. And as I said, I. István was kinda strict about his ideas (see: Koppány).

What do you, hungarians celebrate exactly at augustus 20th? In 1083, King I. László decided to consecrate I. István. The planned date was augustus 15th. (the day of the death of I. István, and also Blessed Lady), however, they were unable to open the coffin István's corpse was in (they needed the dead body for the ceremony).

But! They finally managed to open up the coffin at augustus 20th! And the first King's body was covered in a pink water, and the corpse had the scent of balm. This opening was followed by the magical healing of many! Pretty cool, right? -> And our first king finally wore the name I. Szent István (I. Saint Steven) since that day. We celebrate this specific event of the hungarian history.

(Feel free to as me, if you're interested in Hungary, and its history. I can try to be a little guidebook for ya!)

[thekittenkait]

today i randomly remembered a poem we had to write in our German class in high school

and like. i wish i still had it. i have almost all of my high school exams and homework but for some reason this one poem is missing

and i want to read it so badly again bc for one: i was so proud of that poem, i though it was so good

and for two: bc i wrote it when i was obsessed with d.gray-man and especially with the Insanity amv (you know the one)

in fact i wrote the poem based on the amv

and like. i still remember that lesson so clearly. bc the teacher collected our poems and students had to draw one and then read it aloud and then guess who's it was

and everyone had poems about like.... going to the gym. or meeting friends. and i think one was about family? and in the middle of it was just this fucked up poem about insanity and forgetting who you are and trying to remember the people around you and feeling trapped

in this stupid exercise where out teacher told us "just to get to know poems, write about anything that comes to mind!"

and the fucking funniest thing about this is that one girl, who i barely knew, looked up at me when someone read out the poem and went "that's yours, isn't it?"

like. that's a core memory right there

[fraeuleintaka]

Introduction to Little Thief

This is the 51st post in the Ace Attorney Investigations Collection Countdown: 30 days left until release!

Today's topic: Introduction to Little Thief!

In addition to the added character introductions the website also added introductions for special game mechanics for each game. Basically what I wondered why it wasn't included in the first place but I guess better late than never 😄

The first one of the two is Little Thief, Kay's "gimmick". The description given is pretty similar to what I already talked about previously, that it's used in situations where it's impossible to investigate something directly, that Kay puts in information that is then used to make a simulation, for example, of the crime scene at the moment of the murder and that you can then investigate as usual to get new information and move closer to discovering the truth.

There's nothing groundbreaking really but I do love the way it's presented. My favourite aspect is the chibi sprite animation of Kay in the bottom left corner. It's the animation of her starting up Little Thief, tapping in the information, starting the hologram and scaling it up to life-size. It's wonderfully detailed in the new HD style, amazing the intricacies you can see of the screen she projects and I especially love the light effects of the hologram when she starts scaling it up. You really get a feeling of the power that thing has!

Apart from that we see a few game images of Little Thief in action which is also nice. It demonstrates how it works - like a normal investigation - and how good the simulation graphics look in the updated version. We love to see it!

And one last aside, I love the German name they chose. "Mini-Dieb" (literally "Mini-Thief") is so cute!

[josefavomjaaga]

Hello! To start out, I REALLY love your page! The detail put into your posts and responses are so fun and interesting to read. I especially love when you interpret quotes with, like, I guess “stage play” versions. They’re so funny.

So I wanted to ask something of you for the first time. I’ve been writing a story that takes place in the Napoleonic Wars era for a while now, so I’ve been doing a lot of research in that era (and a lot of that research is guided by your posts haha). There are several important characters who are supposed to be police in an 1805 French town, but I’ve been having trouble finding good info about them, like what those police wore, what they carried, what their responsibilities were, etc. I’m not even sure if they have like a police station kind of headquarters or something in 1805 France. If you have anything that’ll help me out just about those french police at the time, that would be much appreciated. So far, I’ve been drawing comics about them, but whenever a police shows up I just draw him in the normal napoleonic soldier uniform…although that’s probably not accurate. Thanks!

Well, first of all: Thank you! 💖 Truth be told, I often feel quite impertinent, mocking all these illustrious personalities, who have both achieved and gone through things I cannot even imagine. But sometimes I just can’t help it. Laughter is the weapon of those without power (and in my case, without merit). Plus, it renders all these grim warriors a lot more human, and, as far as I am concerned, more amiable.

As to your question – as I’ve said in the other Ask below, it’s quite easy to find the end of my knowledge 😁. That would be one of those cases.

I actually have read up a bit on the development of what we call police today, but only for German territories. But I presume developments in France were similar, with innovations usually starting a little earlier. The German word »polizey« originally was applied to all sort of public tasks, from the organisation of markets to cleaning of the streets. It was only during Napoleon’s time (and presumably under French influence) that the term was somewhat reduced to public security measures (but that still included, for example, firemen). When it came to crimes, it usually meant what we today would call a »secret police«, i.e., surveillance of the population rather than investigation of crimes already committed.

But investigation could be part of it. Napoleon’s famous minister of Police Joseph Fouché (that one has to be named first) is mostly known for his spy network and his detailed files on pretty much everybody who was somebody in France. But, for example, after the »infernal machine« asassination attempt his men did some excellent investigations and found the culprits within days. I do not know where in Paris the Ministry of Police was located.

One of the main task of the police was to look after foreigners in town and to issue passports, as in theory nobody was allowed to travel without one.

For Paris, the police headquarters was the Préfecture de Police. It still exists today, but I do not know if it’s still in the same location. The different arrondissements of the city all had their own chief of police, who answered to the préfecture. An interesting personality to look into more might be Jean-François Réal, a co-worker of Fouché and possibly more the kind of »policeman« as we understand the term today.

As to keeping up security in the capital, that was – I think! - at least to some degree also the job of the gouverneur de Paris (who commanded the military forces stationed in the city and for a very long time happened to be one Andoche Junot, so I hope maybe @snowv88 can either confirm or correct me 😊).

It is to be noted that Fouché’s (secret) police was not the only police under Napoleon’s rule. Actually, there were several police organisations all spying on each other. On top of that, the army units had their gens d’armes who kept order and investigated possible violations among or by soldiers.

From what I have read, outside of Paris the police may have been subject to the préfet of the départment, but I am not even entirely sure about that. There seem to have been »bureaux de police«, police offices, so some kind of headquarters for the local police agents must have existed.

And that, I fear, is already all I have. I very much hope for input from people with more knowledge, because now I’ve gotten interested and want to learn more myself.

Thank you for the question and all best wished for your stories! Please share whenever you feel like it!

[takaraphoenix]

What are your motivations to writing fanfictions? What made you start writing fanfictions? And why did you keep writing them and what motivates you then vs now? How do you find the motivation or reason to write a particular fanfic? I hope you don't mind me being curious

That's such an interesting ask to get, I totally don't mind!! I never mind asks ;)

Mh, my motivation when I first started writing fanfiction was... greed, I think? Like, when I was a kid and discovered fanfiction, that totally blew my mind. I could get more with the characters I love in the world I love? And then I realized that I could let things happen that I want to see with said characters in said world, things that canon wouldn't let happen, and that just unlocked something in me, I guess.

My first fandom was Beyblade and it was very... warm. The fandom, I mean. The German Beyblade fandom in the early 2000s was a real community, you met each other at cons, you had forums where you talked about your fics and organized events (bit like Discord does now, bless it). And that was what really made me keep writing, because I had all these friends, we supported each other and helped each other improve (plus, I was very young back then and the majority of the people in the circle were 20+, so there was a lot of mentoring and guidance and people teaching me how to behave in fandom spaces).

When the German Beyblade fandom started fizzing out and none of my friends wrote for it anymore, I... lost my motivation too. I felt like I was only writing for myself anymore, and it was also kind of... lonely? Since most of the friendships also faded out, with us moving into different fandoms.

I didn't really write, for a few years. Until I discovered FFNet and got good enough at English to actually read/write in it.

What got me back into it was actually Sky High - little fun fact here, part of my username today is still rooted in that; I used to go by Peace Phoenix back then, which was my headcanon for Warren Peace's hero name, but later on, when I got into PJO, I kind of merged my old Beyblade username (Firefox_Takara) with Peace Phoenix to create a new identity as a writer for myself that still tied to my Beyblade roots but also kept part of the username by which I had been writing my fics on FFNet at that point. So, that's why my username is Takara Phoenix.

Sky High got me back in the groove in the sense of me reading so many fics for it and trying to write one myself (I never posted that though), and though I didn't end up with this becoming like a fandom I'd really write for, that one fic reminded me just how much I love writing, and how much I love exploring worlds.

And that's when the Percy Jackson movie aired in cinemas and I got hooked on that. Loved that movie, bought the books, dove into fandom to read all I could get.

Which is where we'll get to the part to what motivates me now.

Still greed, in a way, but also... I don't know what to name that, but when you want something and you can't find it, it isn't there, so you make it yourself. That feeling.

The fandom was smaller back then, there wasn't all that much, especially not on the things I enjoyed, so I decided to make it myself.

Which is, in general, what motivates me to write specific fics. Because I want to see it. More of a specific ship, certain tropes or AUs for a particular ship, exploring a certain character, or a platonic dynamic. I want to see it, so I'll make it happen.

Also, the ADHD brain helps too, to be quite frank. When I hyperfixate on something, my brain won't let it go until it's done. Currently hyperfixating on Stiles Stilinski and fully sucked into Teen Wolf because of that and... there's a difference. Like, there really is a difference between just writing for something that I like and enjoy and genuinely hyperfixating on it because everything else around me just kinda fades and I can spend hours on it until it's done.

I hope this answered your questions? ^^

[justice-is-a-weapon]

In vino veritas [Dazai x gn reader]

·•━━━━━━━⋆⋅☆⋅⋆━━━━━━━•·

Chapter 9 / ?

previous | next

TW: like one suicide joke from Dazai

Me and Dazai began to grow closer throughout the following weeks. We began to meet or text almost every day, even if it was just for an hour or two. I felt truly happy in Japan. Maybe this would be the place I finally began to settle, having been a wanderer for such a long time.

As we walked the streets of Yokohama I began to lose myself in his words. He had completely bewitched me, my body and soul. He was far too interesting for his own good. I knew that I should keep my distance. That was what my whole life had been about after all. But he? He made it way too difficult for me to do so. I had begun to accept that I had grown fond of him by now. I had grown closer to Dazai and I thought he probably did too, never letting me fully see inside his mind but having me understand his certain quirks. He made an effort to have me understand him just a little bit yet not too much. So I felt like he wanted to let me in, have me closer. Especially now that our shoulders were touching, cramped under my black umbrella. It was raining cats and dogs, yet we had decided to go for our nightly stroll around the town.

We reached an alcove for shelter at some point.

“Ah fuck me. My bandages are all wet.”

I laughed at that.

“I think I might have some toilet paper left at home. You could use that. Wouldn’t look any different.”

He gave me a sour but playful look. Then he began to smirk.

Oh? OH.

Then he pushed me. Right into the rain. I had tried to keep myself dry with the umbrella the whole way here but now my hair clung to my face, wet just like my clothes. I shook my head in disappointment.

“You’re a manchild Dazai.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Nah… I’m just being fair and you are just being boring.”

I took a step forward, now standing directly in front of him but still in the rain. I looked him directly in the eyes.

“Boring?”

He leaned forward, then whispered.

“Yes.”

At that I quickly grabbed him by the hand and pulled. He began to stumble forward. Into the rain with me. His already dark brown hair was becoming even darker with the rain pouring onto it and lost part of its previous fluffyness. He had to move it out of his face with his hands.

“You son of a-“

He looked at me.

“Oh I’m gonna get you good for that!”

Dazai charged at me and I began to run. The few passerbys looked rather confused watching us goofing around and chasing each other through the rain.

Panting, we stopped at some point. The rain had slowly begun to clear up, now only being reduced to a drizzle. It had become quite late.

Dazai asked for the time. After I told him he began to speak.

“I’ve got to go now I’m afraid. Can’t have Kunikida ripping my head off. I want to do that myself. Maybe I could use-“

“Dazai. Not now.”

“Alright, alright… But yeah I have to go. Another case, y’know? Apparently a bigger thing. Something mafia related. So I won’t be getting any sleep today I guess.”

“Ah yes, the sleepless nights of Detective Dazai.”

He had to smirk at that.

“You’re the only one who calls me that.”

"Oh, am I?"

“Yes and I’m not quite sure if I like that.”

I gave a small huff.

“So what shall I call you? What title does our dear Dazai long for?”

“Ideally, I would wish to call myself ‘a good man’ someday.”

I looked at his face. There was a hint of sincerity in his eyes. Although he tried to hide it behind a sly smirk. I had a feeling being “a good man” held much more meaning to him than he’d like the world to know. He tried to have me forget this previous sentence by continuing.

“But Dazai Osamu works as well I guess.”

“Your first name is Osamu?”

“Yeah yeah, quite basic I know.”

“Well I’m German so not really basic to me. If you were you’d be named Paul. Or Jonas. Or ew you could be a Jakob.” I shuddered at the thought “Imagine your name would be Jakob.”

This made Dazai laugh. I loved Dazai’s laugh. At least when it was a sincere one. It made me believe I was doing something right for once. So now it had kind of become my personal mission to hear and make him cackle as often as possible.

We were interrupted by his phone making a noise, telling him it was time to go. He looked at me again. There was something in his eyes that I couldn’t quite place. But I was content with this. I was happy and looking at him, he was too. That was all that mattered to me.

Dazai then took a glance to the side before speaking.

“I guess it’s time for me to leave?”

It came out as more of a question.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“I don’t want to go if I’m being honest.”

“I know. But they’ll be needing you.”

I gave a sigh feeling a soft smile forming on my lips.

“And you can bet that I’ll be waiting for you and greet you with open arms once you come back.”

“Would I also be greeted with open arms now?”

Yes. You would. I got what he was probably hinting at. So I opened my arms. I didn’t know when I last hugged someone before but getting to hug Dazai felt great. Yes, he may have been still wet from the rain and we were both a bit awkward at first, not knowing where to place our hands and generally the hug didn’t last long at all, but it felt comforting. Dazai smiled afterwards.

“Bye Ophelia.”

“See you around Dazai.”

With that he turned around and left. I decided to shout after him one last time.

“Don’t catch a cold and be careful! You hear me?”

A shout from him came back.

“Yep! Will do!”

I got home with a smile on my face that day.

What I did not know however:

I would end up not seeing Dazai for two and a half months after that.

·•━━━━━━━⋆⋅☆⋅⋆━━━━━━━•·

[Hello hello! We’re going the angsty route from now on. At least for a little bit. Enjoy this last bit of fluff you got this chapter. I have the next chapter written out already so it won’t take that long. I’ll probably upload it in a week. Also please tell me you got that dark era reference. Fun fact: while searching for the ao3 chapter title “Don’t Leave Me Now” by Supertramp was playing (I was looking through some of my old vinyls at the time) and I thought “Yep that’s it. That’s the title.”]