#feminine urge to cut your hair on an impulse

[wis-art]

snip snip snip

[dyinggoosenoises]

i want to look more androgynous but everyone is always like 'just cut your hair short and wear gender neutral clothes' and like i already wear gender neutral clothes and i really really love my long hair so no thanks but then i look really feminine and i get the impulsive urge to cut my hair short so i can be perceived how i want to be but NO i dont actually want to do that because then years of growing my hair out is going to waste and itll take forever for it to grow back but i so desperately want to look more gender neutral

so um yeah

[ms-circely]

✨Dream Symbols✨🌌

A's:⭐⭐⭐

Abundance - desire for independence

Accident - something unplanned

Actor//Actress - desire for recognition

Adultery - guilt

Airplane (Transportation)

Altar - self sacrifice

Anchor - stability. Sometimes a desire for a permanent home

Anniffil - the feminine aspect of the individual. Guide to the inner world. Receptive, prospective, and nurturing.

Animal - defends on your feelings for the particular animal. A helpful animal normally represents the instinctive self.

Animus - the masculine aspect of the individual. Uncompromising conviction. Force.

Apple - desire

Arrow - pleasure, festivity

Auction - promise of abundance

Automobile (Transportation)

B's: ⭐⭐⭐

Baby: Crying - frustrated plans, Laughing - plans fulfilled, Sleeping - waiting period, patience

Balloon - frustration

Basement - a place of refuge or retreat

Battle - inner conflict

Bells - fulfillment of plans, joy

Bicycle (Transportation) - hard work will bring plans to fruition

Birds - usually transcendence from one being to another

Birth - transition to new phase or new aspect of self

Bridge - overcoming difficulties, a change

Broom - the ability to sweep or clean up

Bull - animal nature, stubborness

Burial - end of a phase, time to take a new direction

C's:⭐⭐⭐

Candle - constancy

Cane//Crutch - the need for support

Capital (City//Town) - the center

Castle - ambition

Cave - a place of retreat or refuge, a need for time to think and meditate

Circle - totality, perfection, infinity

Cities - gatherings of consciousness

Climbing - the self mastery process, rising consciousness

Clock - the passage of time, the need to take action

Clothes - attitude, personality

Coffin (Burial)

Cradle - potential for advancement

Crossing a River - a fundamental change of attitude

Crying - emotion, usually a sad event

Crystal - union of matter and spirit

Curtains - concealment, adornment

Colors🌈🌈🌈

Red - strength, health, vigor, sexual love, danger, charity

Orange - encouragement, adaptation, stimulation, attraction, plenty kindness

Yellow - persuasion, charm, confidence, jealousy, joy, comfort

Green - finance, fertility, luck, energy, charity, growth

Blue - tranquility, understanding, patience, health, truth, devotion, sincerity

Indigo - changeability, impulsiveness, depression, ambition, dignity

Violet - tension, power, sadness, piety, sentimentality

D's:⭐⭐⭐

Darkness - the spirit world, the subconscious, turning inward

Death - the end of something, opportunity for new beginnings

Dog - loyalty, laziness, anger

E's:⭐⭐⭐

Eating - need for new interests, stimulation

Evening - descending into the subconscious world

Eye - perception, self-examination

F's:⭐⭐⭐

Falling - failing to live to expectations

Fish - transcendence from one state of being to another

Fire - anger, purification, abundance of energy

Flowers - contentment, pleasure

Flying (Transportation)

G's:⭐⭐⭐

Girl - immature feminine aspect

Glass - perception, being able to see (sometimes in the future)

Graduation - initiation, completing a phase

H's:⭐⭐⭐

Hair - thought, grey or silver hair indicates wise thought

Hammer - power to drive forward

Helpful Animal - the instinctive self

Highway - the path, the way ahead

Horse: White Horse - symbol of life, prosperity; Black Horse - change of fortunes; Wild Horse - uncontrolled instinctive urges; Winged Horse - transcendence from one state of being to another

House: The symbol of personality and conscious interest from the spiritual view. The particular room represents particular interest >> Bathroom - cleansing, elimination of the undesired; Basement - place of refuge, retreat, concealment; Bedroom - place of rest and recovery; Dining Room - place of sustenance, refortification; Kitchen - a place to prepare the sustenancen; Living Room - place of socializing

I's: ⭐⭐⭐

Ice - coldness of character, frigidity, rigidity

Illness - boredom, delay

Individual Self - the "real" you, the inner you, the all-wise, all-powerful spiritual self

J's:⭐⭐⭐

Jail - confinement, frustration, inability to act

Journey (Transportation)

Judge //Jury - your conscience

K's:⭐⭐⭐

Key - the answer to a problem

Kiss - satisfaction, completion

L's:⭐⭐⭐

Ladder - ability to climb (note the length of the ladder)

Left (as in side of direction) - the subconscious side, sometimes the wrong side of direction, the logical side, the scientific side

Light - hope

Lines: Broken lines - represents the feminine aspect; Solid lines - the masculine aspect

Lizard - transcendence

Lock - frustration, security

M's:⭐⭐⭐

Man//Male - animus, the masculine aspect, the age indicates the maturity or lack of it in the individual

Mask - falsehood, deception, concealment

Mirror - need to reconsider

Mother - heaven, comfort

N's:⭐⭐⭐

Nakedness - real, true, without false attitudes, exposed, natural

Night - greatest strength of the super-consciousness

Noon - the greatest clarity of consciousness

Numbers 💯💯💯

Even Number - signify balance and harmony

Odd Number - signify imbalance and discord

The beginning, the source, the ego

Duality, the male and female, positive and negative

Father, mother, and child; past, present, and future

The material universe, consciousness, reality, and law, physical power, initiative, religion and spiritual evolution

It represents materialism, expansion, change, understanding, and change

The number of cooperation and balance. It represents interaction between the material and the spiritual, mental and physical. It signifies psychism, peace

Completion, old age, endurance, evolution and wisdom. The seven stages of spiritual transformation

The number of dissolution and separation. The law of cyclic evolution and invention

Rebirth and reformation. Intuition, travel, karma

0. The circle, infinity, the universe

O's:⭐⭐⭐

Ocean - opportunity, spirituality

Owl - wisdom, need for further evaluation

P's:⭐⭐⭐

Pearl - joy; Broken string of pearls - misunderstanding

Pirate - suspicion

Pyramid - thirst for knowledge, seeking

R's:⭐⭐⭐

Railroad - a set path to follow

Rainbow - great happiness, opportunity

Reading - learning, gaining in knowledge, perceiving

Riding (Transportation)

Right - the consciousness, correctness, the artistic side

Ring - completion, loyalty

River - spirituality, a boundary

Rocket (Transportation)

Rocks - the unchanging self

Rodents - transcendence or a less-than-nice person, distrust, betrayal

Roller Skates (Transportation)

Roses (Flowers)

Ruins - failure of plans

S's:⭐⭐⭐

Sacrifice - overcoming pride

School - a need to learn

Scissors - distrust

Sea (Ocean)

Self-image - the inner or spiritual self

Shadow - the subconscious, insubstantiality

Ship (Transportation)

Skeleton - the basics, the root of a problem

Snake - spiritual wisdom, transcendence into a state of wisdom

Snake-bites - infusion of wisdom

Soldiers - force, power, regeneration

Spade - cutting, tough work lies ahead

Sunrise - clearing of consciousness, awakening

Sunset - need to protect assets

Swan - beauty, comfort, satisfaction

Sword - conflict

T's:⭐⭐⭐

Table - support, a platform for presentation

Telescope - need to get closer to a subject

Thief - loss or fear of loss, insecurity

Thunder - anger

Touching - healing. On rare occasions it may mean a curse. Can be comfort, security. The manner of touch and your feeling about it is important

Trains (Transportation)

Transcendence - achieving full realization of the individual self

Transformation (Transcendence)

Transportation - spiritual advancement. The more efficient the mode, the more effective and rapid is the advancement

Tree - the life principle, psychic growth and development, progress

Tunnel - hiding, being afraid

Turning - changing or developing. Turning in a circle represents lack of progress

Twins - ego and alter ego

U's & V's:⭐⭐⭐

Umbrella - shelter

Veil - insecurity

Volcano - emotions

W's:⭐⭐⭐

Wall - frustration, inability

Water - spirituality, emotion

Wedding - culmination of plans, happiness, success

Witch - supernatural ability, wisdom

Wreath - self pity

[agent-cupcake]

First prize winner @elmentrysworld wanted a Claude x Yuri x Reader story that takes place after my Claude x Reader oneshot Aletheia. I’m splitting it up because my life has been… A lot these days and I wanted to post SOMETHING

I hope you enjoy it regardless?

Claude x Yuri x Reader - Part 1 of 2

This part is sfw, but the next part will not be

//

News spread throughout the palace like wildfire.  Even when it was meant to be kept quiet. No, especially then. Claude had a visitor. Mysterious, foreign, he came without notice and had been quickly hurried out of sight. It was strange to be sure. He hadn’t called for you, but Claude knew as well as you did that you’d find out and come anyway, no invitation needed. That was just the way of things, both of you were too nosy for your own good. The casual way in which you regarded the lapse of propriety once would have shocked you, but now it felt as natural as breathing.

It was his fault. Honesty, transparency, tearing down all the walls that would divide you.

Thinking about that made your chest ache in a hollow, bitter way. You still weren’t entirely sure where you were with him. Things had been unsteady since that night. Or, perhaps, too steady. He was so eager to get everything back to normal. And it worked. Mostly. When you were together, you could readily believe in everything Claude had told you. You could buy into his vision of what you were meant to be, who you were to him. But alone, well. Things were always harder when you were alone. Sometimes something frightening welled up within you. It was not the fear, or the anger, or the helplessness. It was the doubt create by the memory of those things.

You were almost able to ignore it, to cast aside your fractured memory of that night.

But that word was the kicker. Almost.

After being so flush with conviction, to be caught in uncertainty was agonizing.

It was his fault.

You shook that bitter thought from your head with a nearly violent jerk, taking advantage of the dark halls to cover the spastic movement. There were far more important things to focus on than your own personal melodrama. That was the way of it, of everything, wasn’t it?

A mysterious visitor. That would be a good distraction.

The door to Claude’s sitting room was cracked ever so slightly. A trap probably, left open just for you. Or you were reading too far into things. It didn’t matter much, as there was just enough space for you to pause, breath held and ears straining to listen through the narrow opening. There were voices from within, two of them. Male. Unaccented. You hesitated there, unable to make out any of the words, only aware of when they stopped abruptly.

“You can come in, you know,” Claude called from within, his voice raised enough to reach where you hovered. It caused you to start. A deserved surprise, all things considered. “How long were you hiding there?” Claude asked as you stepped past the threshold, not surprised to see that it was you. A trap, then. Or, more charitably —and Claude was so charitable— an invitation.  

“I wasn’t hiding,” you told him, although there was a certain unintended edge to the words that made them seem deflective. Claude sat in his usual chair, a big, comfortable throne of seat that was plush enough for him to take up any manner of unusual reading postures. In the chair across from him sat the guest, the second voice you’d been hearing.

Yuri Leclerc, apparently, had decided to visit. Instantly, every defense you were in possession of was thrown forward, your instincts recognizing the man as a threat before your mind could catch up. He was watching you with too-keen eyes and an unreadable expression. Yuri was the type of man that was almost always unreadable. Or smirking. Plotting, planning, not too unlike your king. Only, where Claude thrived in the sun dappled world of politics, Yuri was a shadowy figure in the night. The most formidable criminal player in Fódlan. And here he was, watching you approvingly in the familiar comfort of Claude’s sitting room like he belonged there.

A thousand questions jumped to mind, but you stifled them. That would be rude. After all, Yuri was a friend. Or so Claude said. You smiled. “I was merely trying to think of a good enough excuse so that when I interrupted, it wouldn’t seem so suspicious. Then you would so graciously invite me to join you.”

“And how’d that go?” Claude asked, playing into your game without blinking. “Did you think of one?”

”Oh, sure. I came to tell you about a strange visitor that’s come to the castle.” You looked at Yuri, meeting his eyes for as long as you could bear before looking away. Of all of the people Claude knew from Fódlan, he was the most interesting. And the most dangerous. You resisted the urge to squirm under the scrutiny of his eyes. “Very strange and mysterious. Probably a foreigner. Possibly dangerous.”

Claude laughed. “Right. Well, I’d hate to compromise on security. Would you like to join us?”

“If you insist,” you said, shutting the door fully behind you and taking in a big breath. “It’s been awhile, Yuri.”

“It seems that all of us have been quite busy,” he responded warmly, standing up to greet you. In all the time that had passed, you had forgotten about how pretty Yuri was. Or perhaps it just wasn’t something that you could remember, his image intangible and vague when you weren’t directly exposed to it, like the lingering tendrils of a dream that caught as fleeting fancy in the waking world. In fact, Yuri did possess a strange, elusive dream-like quality. At a glance, anyone could tell that he was most definitely from the west, what with that paper-white skin and light violet hair, his narrow features and that slim build. Considering his reputation, it was nearly paradoxical that he would be so strikingly feminine. But this, too, was a weapon.

You almost would have preferred he show up with a sword in your face. At least you would know how to react to that, would be able to keep a cool head.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again.” Yuri took your hand, pressing a kiss to its back when he bowed. Although you knew this to be a western tradition of introduction —Claude had taught you all manner of western traditions— Yuri’s method was disarming. Far too charming to be authentic, but not slimy enough to read as deceptive.

“You too,” you said, bowing in turn while doing your best to keep from seeming affected by his demeanor. Yuri, just like Claude, was the type of man who enjoyed playing with people. It was, you supposed, apart of his charm. The type of charm that made your teeth clench.

“Yuri and I were just discussing his trip,” Claude said, seemingly oblivious to Yuri’s flirtatious greeting. Or dismissing it as Yuri’s usual antics. Or, no, Claude’s smirk told you that he was fully aware of your flustered reaction and found it entertaining. You pushed down the impulse to scowl at the man. “Apparently, a group of bandits has been making a nuisance of themselves along Fódlan’s Throat.”

“A group of bandits had been making a nuisance of themselves along Fódlan’s Throat,” Yuri corrected, sitting back down gracefully. You followed suit, albeit with far less poise. You didn’t believe yourself to be an awkward person per se, but he could make anyone look like a lumbering oaf by comparison. “When I heard that there was trouble with a group of Almyran merchants coming into Fódlan, I got permission from Holst to gather a group of my best men and follow a shipment coming out of Fódlan into Almyra.” His lip pulled back slightly, a slight expression of disgust. Just a blink later, it had passed, his face composed back into airy calm. “For all the trouble they caused, they were nothing but a lousy group of thugs without a single shred of sense between them. The only reason they’d done as much damage as they had was because of their terrain advantage.”

“And?” Claude prompted dryly. For all of his personal dramatics, he often lacked the patience to indulge anyone else’s.

Yuri smiled, undeterred. “Let’s just say they won’t be bothering anybody else.”

There was no question as to what that meant with that suggestive grin. You didn’t envy the bandits. Then again, you didn’t pity them, either. As far as you were concerned, men like that deserved what they got. For all of the many ways Claude disagreed with you about acts of violence and death, he obviously felt the same. Or maybe it was just okay when Yuri did it.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting a reward for this good deed,” Claude said.

“I couldn’t possibly,” Yuri said with a wave of his hand. “Besides, several merchants have already made their appreciation abundantly clear. Their gratitude is all the reward I need. Besides, it wasn’t entirely unselfish. Bandits hurt my business, too.”

“You have my thanks all the same,” Claude said. “I mean that.”

“Will you be going back to Fódlan soon, then?” you asked. You didn’t meant to sound so eager, but the words came out that way all the same.

“I have business here, actually,” Yuri answered. One of his carefully manicured eyebrows raised. “Why, are you that eager to see me gone?”

Gods, his eyes practically cut through to your soul, twinkling in amusement. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you said, trying to remain steady. “But, you know, having a foreigner hanging around during times like this could be inconvenient. There’s quite a bit of unrest already and your line of work is, well, it could cause issues here.” Not to mention the fact that you still didn’t know if you could trust him and were at least mostly certain that him being here could cause upset in your relationship with Claude. That last thought came out of nowhere, hitting you hard and leaving you breathless. You cast a side eye to Claude, jumping slightly when his gaze met yours. Too perceptive. You looked away.

“I promise not to cause any trouble,” Yuri said, putting on an air of sincerity despite the small smirk he still wore. “Besides, it was quite an ordeal to get here, my men and I need some rest before we can make the trip back. You wouldn’t be so cold as to ask me to put myself or my men at risk, now would you?”

Your eyes narrowed, but you shrugged. “That’s my opinion as an advisor, it has nothing to do with me being cold. In any case, it’s not up to me.” You looked at Claude pointedly. His expression was difficult to read, his fingers resting on his chin as he considered it.

“As long as you agree not to cause any trouble, I welcome you to stay as long as you would like,” Claude finally said to Yuri. “And since you seem so concerned about his presence,” he continued, turning to you, “why don’t you keep an eye on him? I’m sure Yuri could use a guide. Assuming that works for you, Yuri.”

“I have no objections,” he responded, flashing you a brilliant grin. “I look forward to getting to know you even better. Who knows, maybe we can even become friends.” Gods, did he have to say everything like it was a proposition? Even the word “friend” was heavy with implications when it came from his mouth. In spite of yourself, you felt your stomach clench, the fine hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.

“Claude,” you bit out between your teeth. “I’m not sure-”

“Great! Then its settled,” Claude said, cutting you off. “Well, it’s getting late and I am just beat. I’m gonna hit the hay.” He stood, stretching and yawning in an exaggerated way that only he could make look like anything less than a farcically bad performance. “Yuri, you’re more than welcome to take a room in the palace if you can find a maid to prepare one for you. They have a thing about outsiders so it might be somewhat of a hunt, but I’m sure she’d be happy to help.”

“Wait a min-”

“Actually,” Yuri cut you off, standing. “I already have a place in town. Wouldn’t want to be too far from my men in case something goes wrong. I suppose that’s my not so subtle cue to leave.” He paused, his head tilting slightly as he looked at you. “I’m staying at the Silkstone Inn, in case you want to come keep an eye on me. I could use a guide to show me around the city.” He smirked. “I promise to make it worth your while.”

“That’s not necessary,” you said flatly.

“Heh, nevertheless. Goodnight.” Yuri tipped his head towards you. “Claude, it was a pleasure seeing you again. I hope we can catch up while I’m in town.”

“I’m sure I can find some time to entertain you. I’d love to swap secrets, for old times sake.”

“Now that sounds like fun. Until then.” Yuri didn’t wait for an answer, exiting without asking for Claude’s leave, dramatic cape flaring behind him.

Impudent scoundrel.

You stood. “Can we talk, Claude?”.

“Too tired,” Claude said, the words disfigured by another yawn. This one was far less convincing. Your eyes narrowed.

“You pawned me off to be a… A babysitter,” you said. “I had no idea he was going to be here, I didn’t plan for this at all.” You pulled in a large steadying breath, not that it did much to settle you. “Be honest, Claude, is this your way of punishing me?”

“I’m not punishing you,” Claude said, his facade of fatigue fading away as he read your expression, gaze holding yours. His eyes were too sharp, too astute. It made you uncomfortable, a sense of transparency rippling through you like a shiver. All the doubt you’d been secretly harboring was in your eyes. You knew it, and you knew that he did, too. “Truth be told, I didn’t know that Yuri would be coming, either. But… that’s not what you meant, is it?”

“It is,” you told him sharply, disliking that question intensely.

“No, no, this isn’t about Yuri. There’s something that’s been bothering you. After our little conversation the other night, I would have thought you’d be able to open up and tell me what you’re thinking. I can’t read your mind, you know.” Could have fooled you. He sighed, frowning. “You’re upset about something, I can tell that much. Are you… Angry with me? I hoped that it would get better, but it’s not, is it?”

A question. Yes or no. Simple.

Honesty was sweet and vile. Your hands clenched into tight fists and the taste of sugar was thick on your tongue, heat creeping in on the edges of your mind. It all came up, sugary bile in your throat and in your head. You hated yourself for your answer but he had asked you a question and expected the truth.

“I’m not angry with you,” you told him. “That’s the truth, you don’t even need to drug me to hear it. I’m not angry with you. How could I be? After all, you’re my king. My lover. For me, there is nobody else. And I’m-I’m okay with it, I’m not angry with you.” Words that had brewed as a cutting critique of his treatment, that you had meant to use to hurt Claude, ended up lacking any of the rage you had originally intended. That was the nature of the truth, the unpredictability of emotion. Looking into Claude’s eyes, you melted. The feeling wasn’t sweet, or feverish, or synthetic. Honesty was painful. Honesty was crippling. “How could I be angry with you?”

Claude’s expression fell. It might have been your intention in all the time those words had been brewing in your chest but actually seeing his pain nearly broke your heart.

“I’ve been going about this the wrong way, haven’t I?” He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. The silence was long and awkward, your words echoing in your mind, each pass creating a feedback of regret for having spoken in such a way. “Maybe we should take a break from this little scandal of ours. I’ve got the feeling you need some time to think.”

“Think about what?” you asked.

“What you want,” Claude said. At your scandalized expression, he was quick to continue, “I don’t mean give up your position, at least not for now, but we can’t continue on with this hanging over us. I’m asking you to help out a friend while he visits because I don’t trust anyone else to do it. That’s all there is to this.” He waved his hand in a vague gesture. “As to everything else… Please, just think about what it is that you really want. Whatever it is you choose,” he shrugged, “I suppose we’ll go from there.”

“After everything you’ve done,” you said, a block of ice in your stomach, “that’s it?”

“What? Not at all,” Claude said, seemingly surprised by your accusation. “But I can’t force you to feel something if you don’t. The heart wants what it wants, right? Right.” He yawned again, this one far more authentic. He really did look tired. You hadn’t noticed that before. “And right now, my heart wants a good night’s sleep. You should think about getting some, too. You’ve got a big day ahead of you.”  

You winced.

“Don’t make that face, everything is gonna work out just fine.” Whether he was talking about Yuri or you or your relationship, you weren’t sure. Maybe all of it, maybe none. Claude kissed your cheek in a shockingly chaste way and didn’t invite you to his bed, even though you were half certain you’d have agreed despite everything. He bid you goodnight.

The wind teased you that night, billowing in your curtains and kissing chills onto your skin as you thrashed around in your bed in the search of a comfortable position. You thought about doubt, and choices, but did finally get to sleep. Small mercies.

[soyeahitsmiddleearth]

Multi-Dimensional pt. 3

The Company x Reader

The dwarves and Bilbo discuss what they overheard and try to find out how to deal with it, and you give some wanted answers.

Trigger warnings: talks of domestic/animal abuse and bad puns.

@barbar126​

After that incident with Erick, you didn't come back down for the rest of the night. 

There were a few that wanted to go up and speak with you and offer immediate comfort, but Balin urged against it. 

"We heard what happened! The lass is torn up about it, we should do something!" Dwalin argues, getting some nods of agreement from others like Kili, Ori, and Gloin (a few others too). 

"No, did you see her face? She was mortified. We should give her a chance to calm down instead of berating her the moment she doesn't come down." Balin shoots back, shaking his head, "I see where you come from, brother, but I would urge against it." 

"Well, we can't just let her suffer by herself! She's taken care of us for free for days, and now we're sitting back and waiting like a bunch of idiots." Kili counters, arms crossed over his chest. He looks to his brother for support, flicking his head toward Balin to make him say something.

Fili shakes his head, though, reaching up to rub his chin, "No Kili, I think Balin is right. If we go barging in right now, we may only push her further away." 

"Exactly." The older dwarf agrees, clapping Fili on the back. 

"But he put his hands on her!" Ori reminds in a slightly high-pitched voice. He's not very keen on getting in the middle of these arguments. "We need to make sure he didn't hurt her..."

They go on arguing back and forth for a little while until Thorin finally speaks up with his two cents (and by that I mean decision). 

"Silence." He demands, making everyone quiet down. 

Once he's sure he has everyone's attention, he speaks again, "We must give her a chance to come down from this state she's in. We heard the vile things he spoke of and can only guess about what she and her Copper have had to endure, so it is important that we treat this situation carefully." It seems he's agreeing with Balin, much to the dismay of the opposite side. "A few hours to a day should be sufficient. Enough time to gather herself, but not too much that it seems we are ignoring it." 

Not all of them agree, but they don't argue either.

"What about supper? She needs to eat." Gloin states, scratching at his red beard while he speaks. 

"We will have Master Baggins bring her food later on." 

"W-Why me?" Bilbo stutters, having not said much as of yet. 

"Because you're the least overbearing of this bunch. Except perhaps Ori. You're the best option, and you're good at conversing with her." Thorin explains, nodding his head along as he spoke. It seems he agrees with himself, funnily enough. "Maybe you can bring a smile to her grim face." 

---

Unfortunately, you did not come down at all the next day either. The food Bilbo brought you remained outside your door and there was no movement or sound that anyone could hear from outside your door. 

The only sign that anyone was even in the room is when you opened the door to let all your animals out that next morning. 

You knew the dwarves and Bilbo would feed your animals, they did it themselves as is, so you didn't worry about them going hungry or anything like that. And you gave them access to the entirety of your kitchen so they won't starve either. 

When you still hadn't come down by the next night, all the dwarves (and Bilbo) came together once more to deliberate. 

"It's been a day like you said, uncle. She hasn't been down, nor has she eaten anything. So I really think we should do something." Kili started, looking up the stairs then back at the rest of them. "I'm worried." 

Dwalin nods along with Kili's words and crosses his arms over his chest, "The lad is right. We waited like you said, so now let us do it our way." 

Balin groans and shakes his head, lifting up a hand to show he's going to say something. "No. I don't know what you're thinking, but the answer is no." 

"Well good thing I'm not asking you, then." Dwalin growls, sending a glare to his brother. 

"She hasn't come down, so she doesn't want to speak of it. It's simple. We need to give it more time." Bofur urges when Balin nudges him, looking over to Thorin for support. 

Thorin doesn't say anything, though it does seem like he's thinking about it seriously. "I'm not yet sure." 

The uncertainty of Thorin prompts Kili to press further and exclaim, "So you think that I could be correct, then! It isn't right that we get her free care and do nothing in return, for all we know she's waiting for us to approach her about it first."

"Kili, that's a very big assumption. What if you're wrong and we only upset her further?" Fili challenges, shaking his head in disagreement, "We can't act so brashly on an 'if'. We need to be sure." 

Kili glares at his brother, refusing to back down, "So you want to just wait around and give the impression that we don't give a damn?" He's beginning to sound increasingly angrier, and this only makes Fili more irritated. 

"You know that's not what I mean. You're acting just as impulsive and emotional as usual, and it's really going to get us into trouble if you don't think clearly." Fili keeps his tone even and voice calm, but he knows his words only make Kili bristle. 

"Impulsive and emotional? Are you saying that we shouldn't treat this situation with emotion? That we should be cold and apathetic towards her when she's done nothing but care for the lot of us? Including your beardless rear!" 

Fili glares at him heatedly and opens his mouth to argue back, but he's cut off by Bilbo clearing his throat and piping up slightly awkwardly, "Well if you were to ask me, I'd say we give it to tomorrow morning, and then all go see her with breakfast. That way she doesn't have to worry about the lot of us tonight, and can have the day tomorrow to recollect her thoughts." 

There is silence after Bilbo speaks his piece, everyone seeming to think it over, before Thorin nods his head. "Yes, that sounds like a good plan. Bombur can prepare her a nice meal and you and a few others can visit her. Too many of us at once will surely overwhelm her." 

He gets 14 collective nods, some hesitant, and is glad to see everyone finally agreeing (mostly) on something. The raven-haired king goes to say something else, but before he can get a word out a soft, feminine voice halts him. 

"What are you all doing...?" 

14 pairs of eyes snap up to the top of the stairs at the speed of light, and lo and behold there you are. 

You could hear the commotion from your room and you got a bit concerned, so you decided to step out and make sure everything was okay, only to see them all huddled together and discussing something seemingly important. 

The state of you gives them a pause. You look tired and a little pale, and from your slow movements it appears you're not feeling the best either. Your eyes are sad but also curious, and your eyebrows are knitted together since it seems you're trying to figure out what's going on with them. The t-shirt your wear is disheveled as if you've only just gotten up, and your fluffy pink and white polka dotted PJ bottoms are hanging low on your hips and the legs are touching the ground since they're sagging so much. Midnight is also nestled in your arms, upright with her paws sticking out and face pressed against your chest, and there is darkened skin around your wrists where you were grabbed.

Nobody says anything for a solid minute because they're all just staring at you with shock on their faces. 

"Guys?" You call, slowly heading down the stairs with careful steps and a slightly worried expression, "I heard yelling..." 

Fili and Kili exchange a guilty look but don't say anything, and you only begin to feel more awkward. 

"We didn't mean to disturb you." Bilbo states, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. Instead of answering your questions, he asks, "Y/N, h-how are you feeling?"

Gosh, you really don't want to be asked that. But given all the worried and questioning expression's you're getting, you have to reply. 

And your approach is denial! 

"I'm fine of course. Why wouldn't I be?" You sound a bit more defensive than you meant too, but don't correct yourself. 

The little hobbit looks surprised by your reply and he glances up at Thorin with an odd expression on his face before looking back at you, "Well... because of what happened the day before. You haven't been down nor have you eaten anything since then." 

You look away and stop at the last step of the stairs, hugging Midnight a bit closer to your chest. "You don't have to worry about me just because I'm helping you out." Ever since Erick you've been the master of pushing away others and ignoring your own needs, and it seems that hasn't gotten any better. "You have no obligation to me, so it's fine. I'm perfectly fine." 

"W-What?" He splutters, completely bewildered by your cold words. "It's not that! None of us feel obligated! Right?" He looks back at everyone else who all begin to nod along when Bilbo looks to them for help. Oin doesn't but it's only because he can't quite hear them. 

"Bilbo is right. We don't ask for your well-being out of 'obligation', we ask because of all we heard." Thorin says to back up the hobbit, placing a hand down on his shoulder. "We just want to know if you are well." 

You walk off the final step and don't say anything, thinking over their words while you bring Midnight to the play-house-scratching post thing by the couch so she can play. 

She hops out of your arms and goes into one of the little compartments, peering out at you as she gets comfortable.

Animals are so uncomplicated. They're sweet and innocent, and they don't require anything from you other than proper care and love. They don't ask questions, don't take advantage of you, and definitely don't make you uncomfortable. 

Talking about your problems has never been your strong suit, and so you can't help but to feel anxious about dealing with this. 

Your stiff posture relaxes a bit but you don't turn to face them. "You're right, I'm sorry." A slightly shaky hand reaches up to pet Midnights head as you rack your brain for anything else to say other than a lame sorry, but you come up blank. 

"You needn't apologize!" Bilbo exclaims, padding over to look up at you. His voice is soft when he speaks, and there's a fair deal of empathy in his expression, "If anything we should be sorry for listening in on something we were not meant to, and then not doing anything when you were in trouble." 

Slowly you look down at the hobbit, brows knitted together and lip drawn between your teeth as you listen to him. "No... I told you not to come out." You shake your head and step away from the cat tower, diverting your gaze from Bilbo to look at the wall, "That was my choice, and I dealt with the problem, more or less." 

"Well, yes you did. And we stood by and listened and waited behind a wall like a bunch of cowards." Dwalin speaks up gruffly, he had been one of the ones moving around to go give that bastard a piece of his mind (one of them, there were many), "It would've been on our hands if something would've happened." 

His words surprise you, and when you turn and see multiple guilty and agreeing countenances, you suddenly feel worse, "Is that what you've all been doing since yesterday? Blaming yourselves?" 

Nobody meets your eyes this time around. 

A soft sigh leaves you when they remain silent, the quiet being an answer in itself, and you take a few steps forward, "You actually think I fault you for any of that? Are you nuts?" Your voice displays your shock and disbelief transparently, but your face is where the real shock is. "What happened with E... with that man is not your fault or problem in the slightest. Y-You all have barely even known me for a week and a half, so you shouldn't go feeling guilty for something like that." 

"The length of time we've known you has nothing to do with it!" The brunette nephew of Thorin says loudly, before back tracking and stating a bit more calmly, "How long you know someone doesn't dictate levels of trust and care." 

Oh, well that's pretty sweet. 

You look away again and rub your arm, tapping your foot against the floor a few times, "Well I've given you no reason to trust or care for me. F-For all you know I've already contacted someone to come and take you all away." You haven't and wouldn't dare dream of it, but they don't know that, and that's what's important. 

"You haven't." Thorin states confidently, looking at you a bit more pointedly, "I know you haven't. The thought never once passed your mind either." 

"How can you be so sure?" You shoot back, narrowing your eyes slightly. 

"Because a week is more than enough time to determine ones character, and yours is strange, yes, but also very considerate, kind, and generous." Oh boy, his words are really strumming your heart strings at the moment, "And I don't believe anyone who loves or speaks to animals as you do could be capable of malicious intent." 

Is that just a fancy way of calling you nonthreatening and gullible? Probably. Does it make you happy and flattered? Definitely. 

"Touché." You mumble, gaze sliding back over to them, "I'm sorry." 

"Stop apologizing." Thorin states, furrowing his eyebrows, "If you do not blame us, then we do not blame you." 

"Alright, alright..." 

It's quiet for a few moments, and you find your eyes locking on Butterscotch who is rubbing herself all over Balin's legs and mewling for attention. That damn attention-whore. 

"Are we allowed to ask questions about what happened?" Bofur asks suddenly, grunting when Nori elbows him hard in the side. "What?" 

You reach up and rub the back of your head, looking over at the hat wearing dwarf, "I... guess you can." The thought of talking about Erick is not the most appealing, but if you expect them to trust you then it's only fair you suppose. 

Balin, ever the darling, shakes his head and defends, "Maybe we shouldn't bother the lass too much with questions, she's only just come down after all." 

He's very thoughtful and sweet (much wiser than the rest too), and you find yourself feeling very grateful towards him, "Thank you Balin, but... it's okay. If I don't want to answer something I just wont."

"Well... are you feeling better tonight?" Ori pipes up nervously. 

You open you mouth to respond, but your stomach does that for you in the form of loud, hungry growling. As soon as that horrid noise reaches your ears you wrap an arm around your stomach, face going warm at the poor timing. 

"Oh, well of course she's hungry! A day and a half of not eating isn't good for you, lass." This time it's Bombur who speaks, and he seems to be very sympathetic over your hunger. "Let her eat before we bother her any more." 

---

That's exactly what they let you do. 

You had a nice sort of dinner (it's around 8 o'clock now), and after you ate you allowed them to ask whatever questions they wanted. 

They asked a plethora of different things, ranging from who he was to what happened between the two of you. 

It's hard explaining such a situation to so many people, male people at that, at once, but they were surprisingly good listeners. When you told them that the two of you were once 'betrothed' (as they put it) though, there was a lot more anger than you expected. Apparently such treatment of females in their culture is unacceptable and absolutely disgraceful. 

They had you elaborate on a few of the things said to you (after mostly everyone had calmed down) like why he would have any right to Copper, what a judge and suing is, and if he was actually planning on killing you and your animals. 

A lot to unload, but you answered their questions to the best of your abilities. 

When you explained how he bought Copper and gave him to you as a means to make you stay they were confused. 

"Why would you stay for the dog?" Dori wondered, not really understanding why someone would go through something bad for one animal. 

The lot of you had since settled on the couches, and Copper is laying on top of you (he's a big boy, but damn it he will be a lap dog forever). You stroked the top of his head and looked down at him, a slightly sad smile coming to your face, "He was all I had. I'd pushed away all my friends, my family, and most of the time I wasn't permitted to go out by myself. He was my only positive source of contact for a long time, and- well, I guess he's also what convinced me to leave." You squeeze him gently and look up at the ceiling, "He means a lot to me, and that's exactly why he bought him for me." 

Nobody said anything for a while after that until Bilbo asked from your left, "Is that why you became an animal caretaker?" 

"It is. Animals are a lot easier to handle than people." 

"And what is 'sue you'?" Ori inquires from his spot on the floor next to his brothers. "He said something about 'sue for assault and robbery'." 

"Well suing is when you report someone to the authorities and take them to court so you can take their money, essentially." A very vague explanation, but they don't need to worry much about it. "He wont though, because if he does then he'll have to tell them the reason I left and why he was at my house in the first place. It'll put him in a bad light." 

Your spotty definition of the justice system doesn't seem to clear their confusion much, but they don't ask about it further since it doesn't seem like it 's going to be a problem. 

At the assurance that you're not going to be prosecuted Kili feels comfortable asking you another question. "So if he will not report you, then he won't actually kill you or your animals either then, right? It was just stated to bother you?"

His question, though innocent and looking for affirmation, makes you unconsciously wince and your expression grim, "No... he's definitely going to kill me." You're not 100% sure why you thought it was a good idea to say it like that, but it seems your response has successfully put them all in a panic. 

"W-Wait, he's actually going to kill you?" Kili asks in alarm. 

Before you can retract your statement and clarify, there's more yelling. 

"So he's going to come back and try to hurt 'er?" 

"What are we going to do about this?"

"We can't let that happen, uncle!" 

"What? What is everyone sayin'?" That one was Oin, the poor deaf dear. 

"Hey!" You yell, startling Copper who is half covering your body with his still. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said it like that." 

"So he isn't going to kill you?" Ori says, a bit panicky still. 

You reach up and rub the back of your head, trying to find the right words. "The likelihood of him coming back and causing problems is... high, and he may try to murder me, but it's possible that he won't. So you don't need to worry." 

You just get 14 blank stares in response. 

"No offense Y/N, but that's daft." Bilbo is the sass master apparently, because he doesn't pull any punches. "How can you speak of being killed so normally?"

"Because I've been expecting it." Admitting it to yourself isn't the most pleasant thing, but it's true nonetheless. "I've come to terms with the fact that I may never know peace, so why go back and deny it now? I may be pathetic but I'm not stupid." Bitterness seeps into your voice and you immediately feel bad for speaking so pessimistically. 

Instead of apologizing though, you just bury your face into Coppers fur and stroke Midnights back (she came to join the two of you). 

"Is that really how you've been living your life?" The hobbit's voice is softer and less judgemental this time which only serves to make you feel more guilty. "Why have we only just noticed?" He wonders out loud, looking over at everyone else. 

His question does give you a pause, because truthfully you hadn't though about that. You lift your head and look over at him, then at everyone else, and then at Copper again, "Because... Because since you've all been here I haven't had to think about it. Having you here made it easy to forget." 

You shift up a bit to get more comfortable, but unfortunately Copper takes that as a sign to get off and meander away.

A pout comes onto your face when you try to lure him back, but he only walks off into another room. Great, now your shield is gone. 

You sit up normally and cross your legs, leaning back against the couch with your hands in your lap. 

"Well, Y/N rest assured that we aren't going to leave you to the mercy of fate after hearing all this. You've assisted us in our time of need, so it's only fair that we would do the same." Thorin says from next to Bilbo, Mittens snuggled in his lap and Yeti between him and the hobbit. "If I were to make everyone run off now anyways, I think they'd overthrow me."

There's more humor in his voice this time, and it brings a small smile to your face. "A coup from your own people for lil ole me?" Although you're joking, it does warm your soul to know that you've wormed your way into their hearts. 

Some of them laugh at the joke, and for the first time since yesterday you actually feel like things are normal. 

Suddenly a thought strikes you and you lean forward quickly, "Oh I have a question!" You declare, hands resting on your knees while you wait for everyone to direct their attention to you. 

Thorin is the one to answer you, "What is it?" 

"Why do you call Bilbo your burglar?"

You get a lot of bewildered and confused looks, before Fili slowly states, "Because... he is? He's supposed to steal the arkenstone back for us." 

These fools have fallen right into your trap. "Then why don't you call him your robbit?" You start to laugh as soon as you say it, because god you've been sitting on that one for a while now. 

Some of the more cultured dwarves begin to laugh after you say that (whether it's out of pity or actual amusement you don't know), while others groan and pray that they forget about your awful joke. 

When you look over at Bilbo he's smiling, and that only serves to make you laugh more. You reach up and cover your mouth with the back of your hand to stifle your giggles, and when you do relax you find that you feel infinitely better. 

"Look at that smile!" Balin comments with a grin of his own, very happy that things have finally calmed down, "Isn't that so much better, lads?"

There is a bunch of collective agreements, and while it does make you feel a bit embarrassed, it also makes your smile a bit brighter. 

Yeah, you're gonna have to keep 'em.

[cheonsans]

Summer Lovin’

Group: ULTRAVIOLET.

Featuring: All of UV, ab.z’s Nayun and Aeri ( @abzlnd​ )

Genre: Mostly just comedy!

Word-count: ~2.3k

Warnings: Some language but nah.

Summary: A companion piece to Avery’s! ULTRAVIOLET just want to relax and pass the time before they’re set to perform at a music festival, but ab.z’s Nayun has other plans for Siyun. 

“It’s too hot, and I can barely see my fuckin’ phone.”

Taesong’s voice is borderline a whine as he squints at the device in his hand, no doubt trying desperately to read whatever message Areum had recently sent him. It is sweltering, he’s right about that, and Siyun’s hand has hardly left the front of his silky shirt in the past twenty minutes, pulling it away from his chest in order to attempt the seemingly impossible feat of cooling down. In fact, the only two not complaining are Minsung and Jamie, the latter of which having said at least four times that the heat was nothing compared to home. King, on the other hand, is about as miserable as taesong.

The group is milling around waiting for the go ahead that the makeup artists are ready for them, and they are all equally thankful for the fact that they aren’t baking under layers of stage makeup that would have surely melted off by then. Siyun already feels like his hair dye is just about melting out of his hair, and he has to consciously suppress the urge to check the back of his neck to see if his hand comes away dripping in purple. After the recent change from silvery-blond back to a more saturated color, he’s still flinching like an idiot every time he sees a tuft of violet in his peripheral.

“So put your phone away and spend time with us, then, Taesong-ah.” Siyun replies to the other rapper, grinning at the absolutely disgusted expression he’s sent in return.

“What, and listen to Sungmin-hyung whine about being refused soju and Jamie yeehaw every ten minutes? I’ll pass, thanks.”

Siyun opens his mouth to reply, but is cut off by King dramatically swooning, slumping against the purple-haired boy’s chest with a groan. Siyun stumbles back half a step at the sudden weight, but he’s used to it by now, shoving the leader back into an upright position just as quickly. It is simply too hot for any prolonged contact, even if King were ridiculously needy when he feels like he’s not getting enough attention. Considering how unrealistic that quota is to meet, they all resort to mostly ignoring his pointed sighs and impatient grumbling for the time being. Unfortunately, any unbearable attitude King would usually have is only exacerbated by the heat, which drains their patience as much as it brings out only the bitchiest sides of each of them.  

Maybe Taesong has the right idea, sticking his nose in his phone and waiting for the time to pass. The performances wouldn’t be for a few hours, and the group is more than well prepared, having gone through their setlist earlier in the morning. It’s nothing too special, just the usual few title tracks and a dance stage so King and Taesong could murder basically everyone watching, and being the impulsively natured boy group they are, they haven’t bothered practicing any further now that their designated sound-check and rehearsal time has passed. As King always says, if they fuck up onstage, it was meant to happen.

“Do you think someone would get me soju if--”

King is cut off by an unfamiliar and enthusiastic feminine voice, cutting through the sluggish, heat-induced reverie that has settled over the group.

“Hey! You!”

King whirls around immediately, brows raised and expression almost revoltingly hopeful.

“Me?” He rakes his hair back from his face, trying to make the action seem cool despite the fact that his dark locks are thoroughly dripping with sweat and not even remotely close to styled.  

“Not you, hag,” She croons, “I’m talking to Siyun!”

King’s expression falls without hesitation, settling in what Siyun can only describe as his bitch-face before crossing his arms. “I’m not even that old.” His defensiveness and disappointment shift to shock, however, that mirrors Siyun’s own countenance once they absorb her last words.

She’s what now? Siyun blinks at her, hand coming up instinctively to point at his own chest, as if she has to be mistaken. Both of the girls coming towards them look vaguely familiar, and Siyun tries his best not to laugh at the manner in which the louder one drags a taller girl behind her, much to the latter’s evident dismay. The taller idol clearly wants to be anywhere else, and Siyun figures she may have been dragged along simply as moral support for the clearly younger fan, but he’s proven wrong once again.

“Siyun-oppa,” The shorter continues, tone positively saccharine.  “You’re single, right?”

Siyun blinks at her, mouth falling open in disbelief at the bluntness exhibited by the female idol. While he’s more than used to disrespect from the other members of ULTRAVIOLET, this sort of blatant flippancy is a bit unheard of from anyone else. Thankfully, years of Jamie’s bullying have prepared him for this, and Siyun keeps his expression only mildly affronted. She isn’t done yet, however.

“See, cause,” She yanks the taller forward, putting her on display like a butterfly on a corkboard...or, maybe a piece of meat at the butcher’s. “I have it on good source that this unnie right here likes Siyun and you should totally do something about it ‘cause she doesn’t have the guts!”

Siyun feels heat rise to his face within seconds. He knows he should bow or thank her or something, but all he can manage is a very nervous laugh, his hesitancy prompting a snort from Jamie that’s poorly covered up. Siyun’s brain is drawing a complete blank, staring at the older girl, and he finally snaps out of it as she  begins to nervously stutter.

It occurs to Siyun that the reception from the other members of ULTRAVIOLET clearly isn’t helping the already embarrassing situation, any. King looks bitter and as judgmental as ever (his few brain cells are probably still working on a rebuttal for the hag comment), Minsung is more interested in a vaguely-dick-shaped rock he found, Taesong is still glued to his phone...and Jamie is, predictably, leering like the nosy maknae he is. It’s up to him to be the group’s ambassador, yet again, and Siyun normally wouldn’t have an issue, but the idea that someone like this pretty girl is interested in him before any of the others...all common sense goes out the window, leaving only what he hopes isn’t too dopey of a smile. 

He’s normally so good with names and faces, too, but all he remembers is that their groups had debuted at around the same time. Logically, he knows he could just glance down to read the boldly printed hangul on their shirtfronts, but his stomach turns at the notion of it seeming like he’s just staring at her chest instead. Rather, he wracks his memory, and while it’s a far less effective method, his brain does manage to conjure up imagery of glimmering stage outfits until oh!

“I’m sorry about, her…uh…she just–” Aeri (he remembers her name on his own, thank you very much, but a hopefully casual flick of his gaze towards her nametag confirms that) bows, and Siyun starts to mirror her instinctively, hands coming up in an attempt to reassure her, but the younger girl is already cutting in. He doesn’t hear what she says, too distracted by Jamie punching him playfully on the shoulder, probably in response to Siyun’s now probably completely red face. Maybe he can play the blush off as heat-related? The heat feels heavy and molten, dripping down his back and settling in the spaces between his ribs. A mosquito buzzes uncomfortably close to his left ear.

“No, it’s okay, really, I think--” He means to mention recognizing her and maybe offer some sort of compliment on their music, but King interjects.

“I think we need to go get ready.” He grumbles, already beginning to stalk off. Taesong follows without looking up from his phone, happy to leave the scene, and Minsung hurries after, his new rock still clutched in one hand. Jamie begins to urge Siyun after the group as the taller boy hesitates, bowing at the same time as Aeri, which prompts another bout of nervous laughter from the rapper as the crowns of their heads almost collide.

“Um, thank you, it was nice to m--” Yet again, Siyun is cut off, this time being bodily yanked by Jamie until he follows the group, face still warm as hell as they make their way into the shade to get their makeup finally done. Once they’re indoors and settling down, Jamie rounds on Siyun within a moment, grasping the elder’s face between his rough-palmed hands.

“Hyung, she was cute!” He practically shouts, squishing Siyun’s cheeks until the rapper lets out a prolonged whine of indignation. “Siyunnie-hyung has an admirer, oh, they grow up so fast!” The maknae cooes, feigning a swoon as he narrowly dodges a swat upside the head. “You should get her number, maybe try not to crash and burn next time. I thought you might throw up on her.”

“Jamie, please.” Siyun smiles tightly at him helplessly, holding up his hands defensively as the high energy Texan yanks at Siyun’s arm again and shoves him down into one of the makeup chairs. Siyun didn’t have a chance to blink before Jamie’s phone is out and AB.Z’s profile is pulled up and shoved into his face.

“Ooh, she’s from Florida…the land of alligators and the infamous Florida Man.” Jamie reads and embellishes, before breaking out in obnoxious laughter. “She’s taller than Sungmin-hyung.”

King glances up at the mention of his name, expression affronted.

“I’m tall enough to kick your ass, don’t test me. Ow, fuck!” The stylist ignores the leader’s yelp of pain as she combs through his hair with a bit more force than necessary, and Siyun fights down a bubble of laughter as she catches his eye in the mirror and offers him a wink.

“No one asked you, hag.” Jamie shoots back at the leader, and King looks as if he might haul himself out of the chair to break Jamie’s wrist if the makeup stylist weren’t between them. Unintimidated, Jamie continues. “God, she seems so sweet…the other one was Nayun, it looks like. I liked her vibe, she had major BDE.” Jamie scrolls through the group’s profile until he reaches the end, resting his chin dreamily on top of Siyun’s head. “You have to talk to her, promise me you’ll talk to her?” The youngest member is a hopeless romantic, and he pouts at Siyun in the mirror across from them, arms slung about the elder’s shoulders. He sways them both back and forth, Siyun a bit awkwardly from where he was sitting.

“I’ll try, okay? You know i’m not good with this sort of thing.” Siyun mumbles, sheepish, and he drums his fingers on the edge of the counter. While there’s certainly intrigue in dating, it’s not really something Siyun has ever let himself have time for. He tried to take up a more casual approach to relationships a while back, mirroring Taesong’s attitude then, but the long and short of it is that it made him feel absolutely awful. It had taken him weeks to get over the guilt of a handful of one-night stands, a consequence that no one else in the group seemed to understand. Since then, Siyun can’t remember the last time he had spoken to a woman he found attractive, beyond conversations where he didn’t realize he’s been flirted with until hours later, when it was too late to do anything about it.

“Excuse me? Look at yourself! Need I remind you who scored number six on that list of top 20 handsomest rookies of 2017?” Jamie insists, oblivious to the true root of Siyun’s hesitations.

“That doesn’t mean anything.” It’s much easier to stare at his tattoos rather than meet Jamie’s eyes in the reflection. “I just don’t wanna mess it up or scare her off. She probably just likes the idea of me and probably doesn’t want to actually get to know me, y’know? Most idols really aren’t like what they seem on paper, anyways. I didn’t get her number, either, so I doubt anything’s gonna come of it.” Not to mention the fact that Siyun doesn’t want to risk a relationship being publicized before he’s ready, not only for his own sake, but for the fans’.

“...Bullshit, but okay, think whatever you want.” Jamie backs off as a makeup artist approaches the two, shooing the younger out of the way. “I’ll leave you be, Romeo.”

“That’s such an awful nickname. They both die at the end, Jamie.” Siyun’s brows crease in the center at that, but Jamie waves off his concern.

“I know that. I read the manga version in middle school, thank you very much. Just shut up and think about it, okay? You’re a good guy, hyung...there are a lot of guys who’d be taking advantage of a situation like this, y’know? Just try to relax, and focus on having fun, for once! You deserve it.” For someone who seems to know more about obscure Animal Crossing facts than anything useful, Jamie can be remarkably insightful, at times. Siyun’s lips press into a thin line before he nods, trying not to melt at the endearing and brilliant smile Jamie shoots his way.

“I’ll do my best.” Siyun acquiesces as the makeup stylist begins to apply serum to his sweat-tacky skin, the scent of roses whisking away his tension.

When it comes down to it, his best is all he can really offer, anyways.

[johannas-motivational-insults]

1, 22, 39?

1. Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

Angsty with plenty of arguments that cut to the core of a character’s trauma and trigger lots of processing, but with a happy (or at the very least hopeful) ending.

39. Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

Not usually on the fics themselves, but sometimes I get rude asks about my fics. Usually I either play diplomat or sass them right back, depending on my mood and the precise content of the ask. Believe it or not I’m not big on conflict, and I’m pretty good at understanding other points of view if something has literally upset somebody. But if they’re just being a troll there’s no point engaging.

22. Choose a passage from one of your earlier fics and edit it into your current writing style. (Person sending the ask is free to make suggestions).

I put this one last and under the cut because it’s long-ish. It comes from Chapter 1 of Loyalty, my Peacekeeper!Johanna fic. Anyone who hasn’t read it, come get a snippet of the OTP’s first meeting. :D

(Also keep in mind that the protagonist is pretty damn problematic at this point and kind of a dick, if a charming one. She isn’t like this for the whole story, or even the whole chapter. Several of the story’s themes relate to self-improvement and intersections of privilege, so she had to start somewhere.)

40 Questions — Meme for Fic Writers

The original

I’ve started to move my eyes from my own trail of footprints back to the path of sorts in front of me when they detect a scuffed up area of snow several yards to my left. I follow it with my eyes to its terminus, a tree a short distance away. I smile even wider, a familiar predatory urge rising up in me that I haven’t felt it in far too long. No animal leaves tracks like that. I start to approach the tree, examining it closer, and easily make out the gaps in the snow settled on the lower branches where it has been compacted by a human hand or foot. I strut the remaining distance to the tree and cock my gun, aiming it up into the branches.

“How about you come down before I shoot you down?” I bellow pompously. When there’s no response, I shrug and click my safety off. “Suit yourself.”

“Okay, okay!” a voice rings down from above me. It’s deep but feminine. I watch as a young woman in a leather jacket, tattered pants, and hunting boots emerges from the foliage. I grin when I spot the bag slung over her shoulder and the bow and quiver strapped to her back. A poacher. Maybe I’ll get to engage in some violence after all. She drops to the ground a few feet in front of me and I go to twist her arm behind her back and pin her to the tree, but then she turns around. She’s younger than I’d assumed. Maybe sixteen, if even that. It almost makes me want to be merciful. Her stunning good looks probably contribute to that same impulse. She’s a few inches taller than me but skinny as fuck, though her telltale Seam features explain that. Dark brown hair hanging in a braid over her shoulder, olive-toned skin, stormy gray eyes. I blink and try to regain my focus.

“What’s in the bag, huh?” I demand, taking a menacing step forward. She doesn’t resist me when I slide the bag down her arm and peek inside to see three dead rabbits. “Don’t you know what happens to people who poach off the Capitol’s land, little girl?” I drawl condescendingly.

“Little?” she asks, pointedly looking down at me.

I don’t feel like being merciful after all. I drop the bag and grab her wrist in a flash and slam her against the tree in the position I’d been planning to only a moment ago. “Oh, so you’re a poacher and a smartass?” I challenge her, rubbing her face into the bark. She struggles to free her arm but I twist it farther behind her back until she yelps in pain. “What was that?” I snarl.

“Please,” she pants, “stop.” I smirk in satisfaction and pull away from the tree, keeping an iron grip on her wrist as she spins to face me again. “Look,” she petitions, “you’re making a big mistake.”

The translation

As my eyes drag from my own trail of footprints back to the path of sorts in front of me, they detect a scuffed up area of snow several yards to my left and follow it to its terminus, a tree a short distance away. My smile grows wider, a familiar predatory urge rising up in me that I haven’t felt it in far too long. No animal leaves tracks like that.

Approaching the tree, I examine it closer and easily spot the gaps in the snow settled on the lower branches, obviously compacted by a human hand or foot. Strutting the remaining distance to the trunk, I cock my gun and aim it up into the branches.

“How about you come down before I shoot you down?” I bellow pompously. When there’s no response, I shrug and click my safety off. “Suit yourself.”

“Okay, okay!” The voice that rings down from above is deep, but feminine. A young woman in a leather jacket, tattered pants, and hunting boots emerges from the foliage. The sight of the bag slung over her shoulder and the bow and quiver strapped to her back makes me grin. A poacher. Maybe I’ll get to engage in some violence after all.

She drops to the ground a few feet in front of me and I move to twist her arm behind her back and pin her to the tree, but then she turns around. She’s younger than I’d assumed. Maybe sixteen, if even that. It almost makes me want to be merciful. Her stunning good looks probably contribute to that same impulse, honestly. She’s a few inches taller than me but skinny as fuck, though her telltale Seam features explain that. Dark brown hair hanging in a braid over her shoulder, olive-toned skin, stormy gray eyes. Blinking hard, I try to regain my focus.

“What’s in the bag, huh?” I demand, taking a menacing step forward. The girl offers no resistance as I slide the bag down her arm and peek inside, finding three dead rabbits. Giving her my best condescending smirk, I drawl, “Don’t you know what happens to people who poach off the Capitol’s land, little girl?”

“Little?” she asks, pointedly looking down at me.

I don’t feel like being merciful after all.

Dropping the bag, I grab her wrist in a flash and slam her against the tree in the position I’d been planning to only a moment ago, rubbing her face into the bark. “Oh, so you’re a poacher and a smartass?”

She struggles to free her arm but I twist it farther behind her back until she yelps in pain. “What was that?” I snarl.

“Please,” she pants, “stop.” Smirking in satisfaction, I pull away from the tree but keep an iron grip on her wrist as she spins to face me again. “Look,” she petitions, “you’re making a big mistake.”

…

Man, my past overreliance on starting sentences with the subject (especially I) and tendency to clump up paragraphs are just embarrassing at this point. I’ve always excelled at characterization, which is why my early fics were still so loved, but my readability was not the greatest, to say the least.

[quandongcrumble]

Tea Witch Tony

So here’s a little thing that I started writing forever ago and never finished or posted -- a magic tea shop AU based loosely on the gorgeous witch Tony art @hello-shellhead has posted in the past, and the Miss Marni’s Teahouse stories by reddit user sleepyhollow_101 on r/nosleep.

The cafe's called "Maria's", and from the outside it looks like the kind of overly homey, commercially southern joint that Rhodey would normally avoid at all costs. But the rain's starting to trickle down the back of his neck in icy fingers, and the shop looks warm and dry at least, and best of all, open at this late hour.

A bell tinkles when he opens the door, and again when it closes, and he stands dripping on the doormat for a moment, just soaking in the wholesome firelit warmth of the place. It smells like cinnamon and apple and tea and beeswax, and the whole shop just glows a kind of warm amber that whips the chill away from Rhodey's cheeks and ears like they were never cold.

"Can I get you something?"

The man behind the counter is a stark contrast to the shop's interior. Rhodey would have expected a plaid-clad teen or an older woman in a gingham apron, but the man is about his age. He has wild, artfully styled hair, an immaculate goatee, and is wearing a black t-shirt, grease-stained jeans, and the kind of smirk that could cause traffic accidents.

"Maybe a towel?"

The man's electric blue eyes sparkle invitingly and Rhodey suppresses the urge to smile for no reason. "Yes, please. And something warm to drink."

"Hang your jacket on the fireguard and I'll see what I can do." The man disappears into the kitchen and Rhodey tries to stamp the street grime off of his boots before picking his way past mismatched tables to the fire cheerily crackling at the back. He's only just finished hanging his jacket over the fireguard and leaning the wet side of his pack against the black iron rails when the waiter reappears with an enormous fluffy towel in one hand and a soot-marked kettle in the other.

"Here," he hands Rhodey the towel and hangs the kettle on a hook that swings in over the fire. "Sorry, the electric kettle's in pieces in the kitchen. This shouldn't take long though."

His hands have black stains around the nails, Rhodey notices, and rough callouses that look like they belong on a mechanic or a blacksmith more than they do on a cafe waiter. In fact, the man looks almost more out of place in this cozy feminine cafe than Rhodey feels. 

Rhodey dries himself as best he can without taking off any more clothes, while the man bustles around behind the counter.

"So," the man says, "what brings you out in the rain at nine at night?"

"A cancelled flight," Rhodey tells him. "After a very long string of flights."

"Ah." The man ducks down behind the counter. His voice continues, a little muffled. "And they didn't put you up in a  hotel for the night?"

"They did. I needed to stretch my legs. I got a little lost. It's been a long time since I was last in New York."

The man brings tray over bearing a small teapot, a heavy mug, and a plate with two slightly burnt cookies. He sets it on the table nearest the fire and—moving with a fluid grace that Rhodey can only admire without a trace of envy—retrieves the steaming kettle from the fire and pours water into the teapot. 

"Let that steep for five minutes and then drink it."

"What is it?"

"Just a little something that should warm you up and ease those tired muscles." He smiles disarmingly and Rhodey smiles back. "If you don't like it, I have a selection of other teas you can choose. I'll be in the kitchen."

Rhodey sits in the sturdiest of the mismatched chairs and watches the man walk away. 

"Oh," the man calls back to him. "Sorry about the burnt biscuits. My assistant isn't the greatest cook, but I promise they taste just fine."

Rhodey picks one up and takes a cautious nibble. They don't measure up to Mama Rhodes' cinnamon cookies—nothing ever does—but they're certainly edible. He basks in the warmth of the fire until the time comes to pour the tea and take a cautious sip.

It's delicious—herbal and not overly sweet, with a hint of aniseed that tickles the back of his nose—and warms him from the inside immediately. The stiffness in his legs and back melts away by the time he's drunk half the mug, and by the time he's finished the mug even the tension headache he's been nursing for two days has vanished. He pours the remainder of the small pot into the mug and tries not to practically inhale it. He doesn't remember ever feeling this relaxed, especially not after three days of hopping from flight to flight and sleeping on airport chairs. A feeling he can only think of as wellbeing suffuses him. When he closes his eyes he can almost imagine that he's at home in his Mama's kitchen, full of her amazing home cooking and the joy of being with family.

"Here I found a street map in back."

Rhodey opens his eyes and realises more time has passed than he'd noticed. The fire has burned lower, and the mug in his hands is now chilly, the dregs quite cold. 

"Sorry," he says. "I must have dozed." But his back doesn't hurt like it should after falling asleep in a chair. 

The man grins. "It's fine. But I do need to close up."

He hands Rhodey the street map. There's a little sharpie'd teacup drawn on exactly where Rhodey suspects Maria's sits. He can see the hotel only a handful of blocks away.

"Thank you," he says.

He gathers his jacket and bag and heads to the till, the man meeting him from the other side of the counter. He pays for the tea and biscuits, and impulsively grabs a small box of Ceylon displayed next to the till. His Mama always liked Ceylon.

"See you next time," the man says as he  holds the door for Rhodey.

Rhodey grins back at him. "Next time."

He hears he snick of the lock when the door closes behind him and starts the long trudge through the drizzle back to his hotel. Somehow, despite the rain and the late hour and the chilly rain, he feels warm and content. He glances over his shoulder at the little cafe, still glowing warmly amongst the dark shopfronts, and vows to himself to visit it again the next time he's in New York.

---

He doesn't get a chance to visit Maria's before his next deployment—thankfully on US soil at Edwards, he's had enough of foreign sand for the moment—but he tells his Mama all about the shop and to his surprise the first parcel he receives from her contains four little paper bags of tea, and a note written in a neat draftsman's hand. 

To James,

I hope you don't mind the familiarity. Your lovely mother asked me to write down some instructions for the blends I sent you. Three you can drink anytime, the other is a night time blend only. Please let me know how you find them.

Rhodey checks the packets to find them labelled in the same hand. "Soothe" and "sleep" smell similar to the pot he had at Maria's. "Focus" and "energy" smell like black tea, but with different spicy smells. Rhodey grins. They all smell delicious. 

He reads the neatly listed instructions for brewing each blend, and then flips the page to find still more written. 

I hope you'll come in again next time you're in New York. Your mom said you're an MIT graduate. Maybe we could share notes on Professor Carmichael?

Tony

Proprietor, Maria's Tea House

What exactly is an MIT graduate who'd taken Carmichael's advanced mathematics class doing running a cafe, Rhodey wonders. At least I finally have a name for the tea shop guy. He puts the letter aside and unpacks the rest of his Mama's parcel. Under the requisite new socks she always sends he finds what he'd been hoping for—a Tupperware full of cinnamon cookies. 

He takes the cookies and the paper bag of "focus" tea with him to do his reports. He's got enough paperwork backed up to wallpaper the mess with. If the coffee doesn't work at keeping him on track, maybe Tony's tea will. 

The tea is smoky, strong, and has just the slightest hint of vanilla to it. Rhodey brews it in a coffee plunger he finds at the back of the cupboard under the coffee machine—left by some serviceman who prefers French press to freshly perked. It works in a pinch to brew tea and Rhodey settles in with the pot at his elbow and his paperwork spread over his desk and knuckles down. The tea works a kind of magic that even a double espresso doesn't seem to manage anymore and Rhodey finds himself burning through forms without hesitation or distraction. He doesn't finish all his paperwork—he's not some kind of miracle worker—but by the time he has to move on to his next task for the day he has cut the mountain down to a manageable size to tackle tomorrow. He stretches the crick out of his neck and hides the tea away in his footlocker, smiling to himself as he remembers the letter and the invitation to visit Maria's next time he's in New York.

[starlessskies94]

The Saint and The Sinner (Negan/BlakeAU)

AU Vampire Negan and Mortal Blake cross paths but what will they make of each other? @neganandblake this is for you and I hope it doesn’t disappoint ❤️❤️❤️❤️ It is a long one and probably the only chapter I’ll write for this AU but I hope it’s okay and I think I edited most spelling mistakes (I hope) xxx

After six hundred years one might think you’d learn and see all there is to experience about life. But even the simplest of souls could live a mere seventy years and never grasp the truest moments of what it is to truly live.

Sanctuary Falls seemed like your average town, small and idyllic where everyone knew everyone. Surrounded by forests and mountains as far as the eye could see, it seemed like the perfect place to live. But what most innocent eyes couldn’t see was the darkness hidden in the depths. The creatures living in the underworld of the town ready to take the lives of any unlucky mortal that stumbled their way.

And after six centuries of bloodshed and death…Negan was ready for a change. After the death of his beloved Lucille he’d sworn he would never harm another human again. But it was hard, ignoring the instincts and impulses that came naturally after hundreds of years.

The house he’d seen advertised was an old scaled down mansion build; still with its original New England architecture intact. He couldn’t help but admire the workmanship on the place.

“As you can see the place is still in its original state for the most part, some parts of the property have been renovated mostly just to make it livable in the twenty first century. But I can assure you that you won’t find a better deal on an incredible home like this.”

He turned back to the preppy real estate agent. She stood by the kitchen door, that same bright illuminated smile dazzling her features. Looking no older than thirty-five at best, dressed in her best pants suit, her golden locks pulled back into a tiny neat bun with not one hair out of place. She’d been like a ray of sunshine throughout the whole tour of the house and to Negan’s surprise it’d actually brightened up his morning. He returned her smile with his own as his slipped his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Sounds great doll…I’ll take it.”

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It hadn’t taken him long to move in his stuff, mostly because he didn’t own much.

Stepping through to the kitchen on bare feet, his stomach crying out for food, he took a chilled blood pack from the fridge emptying the contents into a pint glass, taking a few swigs before placing it to the side on the counter.

He was running out and soon he knew he’d have to hunt for something more...fresh.

He winced at the thought, Lucille had always told him that he didn’t have to kill to survive but he was the head of his Clan, the Alpha; he had to lead by example. Lucille had always been human and turning her had never been an opinion because he hadn’t wanted her to be dragged into his world; that was of course until she got sick and it had been his last hope in the desperation to save her.

The thing was however, when a new vampire is turning they must feed in the first twenty four hours and Lucille had refused. She’d argued that it was unjustified that to save her life, she would have to take another...and so Negan had laid with her, holding her close as she slowly faded away.

That’d had been ten years ago and it sting stung as fresh as it did the day he lost her. He was trying...it was hard and he still slipped from time to time but he was trying. Leaving his Clan had been in service of that, in an attempt to lessen the temptation. 

He was pulled from his thoughts by a knock at the door, barely getting there in time before it was thrown open and slammed against the adjoining wall.

“Hey buddy! You know it has been hell trying to track your ass down!”

Negan rolled his chestnut eyes at the tall mustached man. Simon, his blood brother in every second of the term. They’d been turned at the same time over six hundred years ago, sticking side by side for centuries killing and slaughtering together. He had a sense that maybe Simon enjoyed the killing a little too much but he supposed he would have been a rather lousy vampire if he didn’t.

“Yeah, you know it’s almost like I didn’t wanna be found Si!”

“Bullshit! You need to come back! The Clan needs you, they falling over their own damn feet not knowing what to do with themselves.”

“Not my problem anymore.”

Negan didn’t even flinch as Simon slammed his first against the wall, rattling the framed pictures above.

“Don’t fucking give me that shit! This is your Clan we’re talking about, you’re seriously gonna let a goddamn human screw that up?! It’s been ten years Negan! Get. Over. It!”

With wind chilling speed, he flew at the mustached man; his large hands tightening around his neck. Teeth grinding as he spit venom.

“Watch your fucking mouth Simon, don’t forget who fucking killed you the first time!”

The man coughed out a wheezed breath, a drip of blood slipping from the corner of his mouth as it twisted to a wicked grin.

“See, this is who you are. Why pretend you’re something else when we both know this is what you do best?”

Negan’s snarl stiffened at Simon’s words, hand squeezing tighter around his neck before he growled in frustration throwing the dark haired vampire to the side before grabbing his boots and storming out the door.

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After hours of wandering the streets, the primal instincts screaming through his system, the urge to kill rising with every passing human and the smell of their blood, the sound of it pumping through their veins to point it made Negan’s head spin.

He eventually ended up taking refuge in the town’s local bar; The Kingdom. Run by a man named Ezekiel; who rumor had it in the supernatural community was an ancient shapeshifter. Some claiming to have witnessed the man changing into anything from a fearless wolf to a snarling tiger. Whether the rumors were true however remained to be seen. Not that it bothered Negan, he had no qualms with the shapeshifters; provided they kept out of his way.

Taking another sip of his whisky, he savored the numbing effect it had. The overpowering smell of booze and cigarette smoke masking any scent of human aroma left lingering in his nostrils.

Keeping to himself for most of the night, drinking away the hours his attention was eventually drawn to the blonde sat at the opposite end of the bar. The real estate agent that sold him the house. Now dressed down in more casual wear of a low cut t-shirt; blue skinny jeans and boots. Her golden locks left untamed as they swayed loosely down her back and over her shoulders.

What was her name again? Blake something? It was definitely Blake, he’d never forget a gorgeous face like hers. There was something rather alluring about her; drawing him to her like a moth to a flame.

Even as he began making his way towards her; he knew it was a terrible idea. Then again most of the best experiences of his life had all started with bad ideas...

“Anything else Miss Blake?”

“Give the lady whatever she wants Ezekiel, it’s on me.”

Her green orbs met his as she turned on her bar stool, flashing him a smile. Clearly remembering him. 

“That’s very kind of you Negan, I’ll have another peach schnapps please...”

Negan wrinkled his nose at her order; a small smirk playing against his lips. While she simply shrugged, taking the glass from the bartender.

“Before you say anything, I know it’s a weak drink order but I prefer the fruity stuff... so sue me.”

“Hey you’ll get no judgment from me doll.”

The time passed faster than Negan would’ve liked it too, purely from the genuine enjoyment of being in this woman’s company, they talked about everything from jobs to family and everything in between. He’d even had it in him to crack a few terrible jokes just for the pleasure of hearing the blonde laugh.

He’d noticed two things about her in the few hours they’d gotten to know one another...

One; she played with her hair when she was nervous, pulling small strands of her gold mane around her fingers while spoke and he found it goddamn adorable.

And two; she was single. She didn’t wear any kind of ring wedding or engagement and in all the hours they’d spent talking, she never once mentioned she was involved with anyone.

When the time came for her to leave; he actually found himself feeling disappointed. But he’d kept his cool and bid her a goodnight before eventually calling it a night himself and heading outside for one last smoke before heading home.

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Stepping into the cold brisk air; he felt the chill dancing down his spin as he leaned against the wall pulling his cigarette packet out his jacket pocket, drawing a cigarette to his lips, lighting it and taking a deep lung full of smoke before letting it out. A few more drags here and there, breathing out the cloud of smoke away from his lips.

He was interrupted by the sound of smashing trash cans in the side alley near the bar. Causing Negan to roll his eyes at the disturbance. Damn drunks. He’d thought about avoiding the alley on his way home, having no interest in whatever the assholes had decided to start throwing punches over. Wasn’t his business and he didn’t care. However when the very familiar feminine muffled voice followed the scuffle was when he stood to attention.

“Please let me go!”

Oh he definitely knew that voice, not even hesitating as he threw his cigarette to the ground and ran to the alley’s entrance.

There she was, Blake. Her mascara running down her face, blood trickling down from her forehead. Struggling in the grip of a man with his arms wrapped around her waist, his head craning round to the exposed flesh on her neck.

Fucking Alexandrian’s. He’d thought the deal they’d had with Grime’s Clan was solid until the bastard had decided to rebel and now his guys were running hell all over town…some going rogue and taking any human that struck their fancy, most of the time killing and letting Negan’s Clan take the blame for it. And the sight of her in pain so afraid, made Negan’s whole body shake with anger.

Letting the primal instincts take the lead as his face snarled in pure rage, fangs drawing out ready for the taste of blood.

He was at Blake’s side in an instant. His strong hands taking firm grip of the attacker and vigorously dragging him away from the blonde. He didn’t have time to react as Negan fiercely took hold of his neck, jerking his head to the side so hard with a powerful twist until he felt his spine click in his palms. But the opposing vampire continued to fight back, his strength fading rapidly.

Negan extended his fangs; a wolf-like growl leaving his lips as he plunged his teeth into the man’s neck. Chewing and gnawing throwing his head back as he tore the man’s throat open. Vampire blood was known for being bitter; he’d probably need another bottle of whiskey just to get rid of the taste. He let the body slump to the ground as it landed with a sickening thud in a pool of its own blood. Spitting the remain stains of crimson that coated his tongue, he wiped the corners of his mouth on his jacket sleeve before turning back to Blake, his fang now retracting back into place.

It wasn’t a surprise when he found the blonde cowering in the corner of the alley. But needless to say it still hurt. Seeing the fear in her eyes now after spending most of the night staring into them. But it was to be expected.

Looking at himself now covered in blood, Blake inching further away from him…he realized there’d be no way she could ever see him as anything else other than a monster now. She was an innocent, pure and light as air.

She fought back tears, holding herself as her arms hugged her sides, her legs crossed underneath her. He tried to move closer to reassure her that he wasn’t a threat but she just flinched away again.

“Don’t! Don’t come any closer!...What....What the hell are you?!”

“I’m something you do not wanna get mixed up in, Peaches. Trust me.”

After all, what angel could ever fall for the Devil?

[tumbleweedstillhaspanic]

The feminine urge to impulsively let a "stylist" at a pro cuts chop off all your hair and then you regret it so you throw purple dye on it to hide the sin.

[mossfaer1e]

the feminine urge to impulsively cut your hair short after growing it out for a year <3

[mjbanaag-blog]

What Does It Mean Being a Classy Woman?

Women keep hearing over and over from guys in different situations that men want to date and have relationships with a classy woman. Just take a look at most of the men’s dating profiles, and you will see that practically all of them want to meet and date a woman who has “class.” Indeed, being called “classy” is an ultimate compliment to a woman. But, what does it really mean being classy? After searching the internet for an answer to this question, I wasn’t very satisfied, because every attempt to define a “classy woman” had one fundamental flaw. A woman can have all the qualities that make her classy according to those sources and still not  have much class. The formal definition of being “classy” also doesn’t add much to understanding what class means in the context of dating and attraction.

For instance, being a sharp dresser, clean, and not using profanities are certainly qualities that flatter to a woman, but… they hardly make her come across as having “class,” if she talks too much and constantly draws attention to her persona. Being professional, educated, and having a great sense of humor are very attractive qualities in a woman. However, if she has temper issues this pretty much cancels out her potential to come across as classy.

I truly believe that just like in the case of distinction between flirting and regular conversation, being classy is not in the “what” but in the “how.” It’s how you act, how you carry yourself, how you express yourself and how you live your life that determines class. A very small minority of women who don’t have a lot of  class are able to develop that quality and become truly classy. Doing this requires reflecting on your own self, recognizing those qualities that you are missing and having which would make you more classy (something that few, if any women, would want to do) and working in all the necessary directions to build that attractive flair of class and sophistication.

However, if you believe that you belong to that minority of women who are open to constructive self-criticism and you are willing to take a few practical steps toward becoming more classy, here are some of the fundamental elements of a woman’s personality that makes her more “classy:”

1. Being a Classy Woman Means Having Broad Formal and “Real Life” Education, Wit, and Sense of Humor

There is no way around it – perceived class has little weight and value if the person behind it has no interesting thoughts, opinions, views or observations. Being a classy woman requires an ability to share and challenge ideas and be an engaging company. This doesn’t mean that you have to argue or try to prove that you are right all the time. You do have to be able to possess a degree of sense of humor and wit, and enjoy playful banter, as it’s an integral part of flirting and intellectual foreplay.

2. Being A Classy Woman Means Having Real Style

A sense of fashion is an integral part of class. While having an eclectic style may be considered “cool,” if you want to come across as a classy dresser, you can hardly go wrong with a business/casual look or a simple, clean cut, fitting (but not too fitting) attire. Simple, straight colors (white, black, blue) flatter most women. Following temporary, mediocre fashion trends and fads certainly does not add to being classy. This doesn’t mean that you have to look boring or that you always have to blend in, but it does mean that you should not look like someone who is dying for attention for those who are around her at any cost.

So many women (and men of course) out there are trying so hart to stand our and be different in all the wrong ways. Green/orange/blue hair, tattoos and piercings all over or otherwise looking like a girl with a dragon tattoo might help you express your individuality but they are surely not a sign of being classy or sophisticated.

3. Being A Classy Woman Means Having Feminine Demeanor and Manners

A classy woman is in touch with her femininity. Her mission in life is not in challenging men and competing with men wherever possible; she enjoys pleasing men without feeling ashamed of it, and is proud to be a woman. She recognizes the differences between men and women in psychology, physiology and sexuality and accepts those differences as laws of nature. As such, she does not hate men, and is not overly skeptical or pessimistic about her ability to fall in love and enjoy great romance.

4. Being a Classy Woman Means Being Elegant

This concept, along with femininity and style is hard to define, and the formal definition of “elegance” is again of not much use. Many guys would know elegance when they see it, but this kind of statement is of little use to a woman who wants to become more elegant. Elegance is the manner in which a woman carries her self in just about every situation. Elegance is in her voice, movement and body language, manner of speech, the way she stands sits, and responds to other people around her. Some of these traits, such as voice, and a walk – are part of our nature, while other elements of elegance, such as our interpersonal skills are strongly linked to our upbringing. Other qualities are acquired through habit or from friends and not all of them can be altered. Observing women who are known to be classy (whether on television or in real life), paying attention and trying to identify the specific elements of the behavior and actions that make them stand out and come across as more classy will take any woman who is willing to become more classy a long way toward that goal. It might be something as small and seemingly insignificant as a laughter of an actress that you would notice in a woman that strikes you as so much softer, feminine and attractive than the one you overheard the other night at a bar from a woman, whose entire body was covered with tattoos and piercings. However, when it comes to elegance and class, there is no such thing as small and insignificant. After all. being classy is a sum of many, many elements of one’s personality, behavior, and actions, some of which are more obvious than others, but all of which are essential for the “total package” to be considered elegant and classy.

5. A Classy Woman Knows the Importance of Subtlety

This is one of the most important qualities and distinguishing characteristic of having class. To be classy, you must be subtle in many areas of your life. Subtlety implies a degree of moderation, lack of flamboyance,  lack of impulse to attract attention, and generally not trying too hard. A subtle woman has style but she doesn’t look like a designer model. She dresses sexy but does not look trashy like a typical stripper when going out; she puts such a small amount of perfume and make-up that one can barely tell that she has any; she talks just enough but certainly not too much and tends to be on a quite side; her laughter is pleasant to hear but not too loud; she hardly ever swears; and her voice is soft and sensual. A classy woman will usually come across as “low-key” in a social situation. This is not to say that she is shy or lacking confidence. On the contrary – her confidence puts her at ease and relieves her of any desire or need to validate herself to her company.

6. A Classy Woman Knows that Success is More Attractive when Coupled with Modesty and Humbleness

A woman who has true class and strong sense of self does not need to run around and tell everyone how smart and successful she is, whether it’s in “real” life, or on Facebook, LinkedIn, OkCupid or anywhere else. This urge to validate yourself through bragging is a clear sign of insecurity and of not being classy in both men and women. A classy woman lets her actions, rather than words, prove to others who she is, and she is not in a hurry to announce to everyone around how great she is. Whether she is at a job interview or on a date, a classy girl is not going to act like she is God’s gift to this world or to the person who she is talking to.

7. A Classy Woman Understands When Showing Pride Is Appropriate

A classy woman knows how to get angry the “right” way. She doesn’t get “ballistic,” abusive or violent with guys unless the circumstances really justify this kind of extreme response, which is very rare, as she knows that there is always a better option – to simply walk away from a bad situation.

http://www.practicalhappiness.com/classy-woman/