#guys what other colleen hoover books are there
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if u see me reading a colleen hoover book within the next year JUST KNOW that i’m only reading it bc my friend got it for me (i didn’t ask for it) bc i was talking about it with her once and joking about reading it just to see how bad and uncomfortable it made me feel‼️
#random shit#colleen hoover#it ends with us#ugly love#nov 9#november 9#guys what other colleen hoover books are there#UHH#what the fuck
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Idc anymore i think i'm a good enough writer that i can say that when i noticed the pattern in what exactly makes a book "good" on booktok (and, bc of that, what makes it popular and top bestseller lists), it feels almost demeaning and denigrating to the entire craft. Idk if i should blame the way tiktok-esque social media has utterly rotted everyone's ability to concentrate and read more than three sentences, but literally none of those books are objectively good.
(Yes, yes, art is subjective. HOWEVER. Art is subjective when you look at style, at themes, at motifs, at plots and characters. Art is still a craft, it still requires skill. I've seen beyond the tiktok quotes of these books. Not even their editors are good given the amount of typos/spelling mistakes. That is not something that you should find in a traditionally published book.)
You look at these books, and you know the only reason for their existence is to make money. I cannot and will not accept that as art.
(I'm on Tumblr, of course I have to explain every point. Artists who make money off their art =/= people who only create art meant to be profitable. There is a difference between an artist who hopes to monetise doing what they love, who creates what they wish to see more of and who happens to then create something that other people wish to see more of, and a person who looks at what's trending and decides that making an unholy frankenstein's monster of a book that mashes all those trending tropes and motifs together would get them rich quick. The fact that a lot of these booktok books become popular because of nepotism is just the cherry on top. It's soulless.)
And to finally say what I wanted to say, it's because none of these books have any deeper message or even artistic value to them. You will find a few out of context quotes or paragraphs, ones written specifically so they'd look deep and beautiful when taken out of context, so that people would post them, so that people would buy the books. Entire books written just so those few lines could become viral and make cash. It cannot even be compared to a hook line writers would post to get people interested in their works, because in booktok's case, those are the only lines of quality and in the context itself, they are often out of place and forced.
I just hate booktok, i hate what modern social media has done to art. It's all created to be quickly consumed, for the few ☆aesthetic☆ glances, and then discarded. Just to make more money for those who are already nepo babies. As if artists needed more obstacles to jump over.
#of course historically it's always been the same#people with free time to create (rich powerful) created#very rarely did you see someone from a humble bg make it as an artist#which is why killing maiming everyone saying Shakespeare was actually a rich guy btw#but like it makes me angry personally#before you call me just jealous - i don't have any wish to monetise my art#my career ambitions lie in a different field (tho adjacent i suppose since i'm a linguist)#i'm saying it makes me angry for other writers who want to make money doing what they love most#it's always been hard. you've always had to have connections or fight tooth and nail for a chance at being published#why? because of how SUBJECTIVE it is#but at least if your skills distinct you and if you bring a truly unique concept you'd have better chances#then modern social media rolled around and no longer can we just publish and disappear no no#WE have to market our works. on twitter on instagram on podcasts on the radio and tv it's up to the authors#i already found that demeaning enough as an introvert#but now it's not even that. publishers no longer look for unique and distinct#they found out booktok is the real cash cow. they look for colleen hoovers who publish fifty books a year#all of poor quality but with enough aesthetic lines that they can easily be marketed thru#the youth who uses AO3 tags and ''omg it's so girlboss!'' and ''it has representation! (not really it's always piss poor rep)'' to market#it to others. who take the same line over and over and go ''omg... this is so deep'' but the lines never look good in context
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ok I am a hater but it would do a lot of people who make "literary criticism" content a lot of good not to have bad faith readings of every stupid little word an author puts on paper
like I remember reading a sporking/blow-by-blow of some cassie clare book here on tumblr years ago, this character was saying shit that you were obviously supposed to find objectionable--because he was a villain and he was saying it to his traumatized mother who felt like a bad mom already because of the crap her husband pulled on her in the backstory--but then the person writing this critique went off on this tangent talking about how oh no ladies you aren't a bad mom just because of this that and the other thing and I was sitting there like, are you for fucking real right now, like they were acting like cc was sitting here saying "oh yes, this obvious bad guy is totally parroting my own opinions about women and moms in particular" I felt like I was idk I felt like I was going kinda crazy
#are there a lot of bad messages in a lot of ya novels? yes#but this was obviously not supposed to be taken as like something the author was condoning#idk what tf the poster was smoking but it was crazy town. legit unhinged to believe that was anything the author agreed with!#and this isn't close to the only time I've ever seen this#I was watching a video about a colleen hoover book yesterday and just about everything the guy who made it was saying#was like the most nitpicky bullshit#and like he was trying to psychoanalyze coho and all this shit and it was like bruh please. occam's razor#like he was trying to ascribe all these real funky motives to her writing process#but obviously if she's putting out two books a year she's on a pretty tight schedule and since her books are popular#her agent and publisher just kind of pump her books out. like it's not that deep#and I mean I lost all respect or patience for the guy when he revealed himself as a fan of brandosando so#I was like oh so some pulp authors are good but not colleen hoover huh?? why's that???#sanderson's books suffer from the same rushed crap as coho's or any pulp author's#just because he's also a nerd doesn't mean he's better at writing necessarily lmao#I hate people who hero worship authors like this it is so obnoxious man#there are so many tells that sanderson is just as rushed and given no room to think or refine his ideas as coho and others like her#but oh it's different because he writes fantasy ooooo
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not just a distraction — park seonghwa
in which it’s too easy for the new literature professor to pick a favourite.
literature professor!park seonghwa x fem!reader. genre. fluff, angst. warnings. LEGAL teacher-student relationship, implies age-gap, an argument, suggestive, nickname (baby, angel, doll, princess). wc. 10.4k. rating. pg-13.
lilo’s notes. this is my comeback yessss~ anyways, this is part 1 of 2 because the next part will have some… fun activities >:) i hope you guys enjoy this, i’m sorry for being so inactive for the past month but i have lots for you guys to look forward to! excuse any errors i did not proofread this.
listening to. training wheels, melanie martinez / angel, kali uchis.
masterlist.
the first class of the new literature course at your campus garnered the attention of quite a few of the students from the arts department.
there was, of course, a literature class that existed before that one, though a few students had been unhappy with it since the introduction of more contemporary works. the classic masterpieces, they thought (including you), should not be bunched together with colleen hoover.
with enough pressure, the faculty were able to introduce a new course; classic literature. the few students unhappy with the initial course switched into this course instead, delighted by the fact they were allowed to keep their previous credits. a completely new teacher had been hired too, stirring anticipation. all you knew of him was his name, given in the description of the course when you signed up.
so you found yourself in one of the many lecture halls, around fifty others surrounding you. when you walked in, the new professor was at the long chalk board at the front, looking down at a book in his hand while the other wrote something down. you tried catching a glimpse of him, but his positioning faced him away.
but from what you could see, he was quite slender. his grey slacks, neatly ironed, were secured around his hips by a thin black leather belt. his white button up seemed a little large, though it complimented him well, tucked into his trousers with the sleeves rolled halfway up his arms elegantly—his blazer, a grey matching his slacks, shucked off and placed around the back of the chair at his desk. you could also see his hair was dark, a slight waviness to it, a little longer in the back.
finding the most convenient seat, you chose to sit in the left-most seat on the second row, next to a girl you recognised but couldn’t remember the name of even if you tried.
you catch a glimpse of professor park glancing down at his watch, prompting you to do the same. nine in the morning, on the dot.
“literature,” he starts, underlining the bold word on the chalkboard before turning around. and you nearly choke at the sight of his face.
he’s handsome, almost impossibly so, and a lot younger than all your other professores. dainty glasses sit atop the bridge of his nose, carefully placed strands of his hair framining his face as he begins pacing in front of the seats, making sure to look at each students individually.
“it’s many things, but at its core, it’s all about the manipulation of language. language, simply put, is food, nourishing literature. and so, with the intricacies of the art, literature becomes one of the sweetest passions known to man. because what is it if not love and hatred and disgust and every indescribable feeling thrown into a melting pot of prose.”
his voice is captivating, making you feel just a little lightheaded as you listen to his passion intently, all precise words and confidence as he paces, his hands clasped behind his back. you’re hanging off his every word, watching as he stops by his desk to place down the chalk.
it isn’t after a few moments that you realise you were admiring his hand, how it moves to elegantly. the way his fingers gently curl around the little white stick is almost artistic in itself.
he turns around, resting his hips against the edge of the mahogany desk behind him, legs crossed at his ankles and arms crossed over his chest. his eyes scan the room as he continues speaking, occasionally locking with yours. “is it not poetic? how morphemes, for example, or adjectives or conjunctions are the morsels of literature, small parts that are put together to create meaning? of course, something may be described in one word, but there’s something quite magical about being more metaphorical, more intimate.”
he catches you leaning forward in your chair slightly, a small smile tugging at his lips at how captivated you look before he schools his expression. but his focus is quickly redirected when another student raises his hand.
“yes?” professor park pushes himself off the desk, clasping his hands behind his back.
“professor,” he begins—you recognise him as a jock that calls himself dylan, but you know it’s not his real name and he’s probably here to fulfil a requirement to keep him on the volleyball team—his tone incredulous, “don’t you think all this romanticisation of literature is a bit dramatic? we don’t need fancy words to describe everything.”
professor park arches his eyebrow, a soft huff escaping his nose as he took steps in the direction of dyland’s seat. “dramatic? perhaps,” he nodded, eyes fixed on him, “however, as a literature professor, i enjoy the romanticisation of it. my job is to introduce others to the passion that is literature, and therefore i will romanticise it all i wish… what is your name?”
“it’s, uh, dylan?”
his eyebrow quirked once more as he gave the jock a once over, evaluating him. “i see… well, dylan, have you ever felt the rush of emotion when reading something truly spectacular? have you ever read a sentence and felt it like a punch in your chest or a sudden breath of fresh air?”
dylan’s opens his mouth to respond before he is interrupted with a raise if professor park’s palm. “think before you answer, please.”
you nearly laughed at his baffled look, never having seen him so silent, pondering the question for a moment before answering. “well, yes i have.” he answers honestly, earning a nod of approval.
“describe that feeling for me. can you find the correct words to explain the way you felt in that moment?”
dylan tries to explain it the best he can, but your teacher only shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “close, but no. see, it’s difficult putting into words such strong emotions no matter how many synonyms of ‘joyful’ you use.”
he turns away from him to address the rest of the class. “and that is the beauty of literature—it can be used to describe the most indescribable feeling, stringing together individually meaningless words to create something so much more.”
you smile at that, enjoying the link he made. your eyes meet for another moment, a split second that made heat rise to your cheeks under his perceptive gaze. but you blink and his pretty brown eyes are gone.
he takes a moment’s pause, glancing over at the clock in the room before finally addressing the rest of the class again. “i want an assignment from each of you by next class that demonstrates the true beauty of the language we know. it can be anything you feel like writing. a short story, a narrative, an essay, a poem,” his eyes flick over to land on you once again, “i want to see the feeling you want to convey in this written form. and i don’t just mean the happy feelings—get raw and descriptive. write something from the heart.”
the class is dismissed and you pack up your things, heading out but not before trying to catch another glimpse of him in the moving horde of students.
though you hadn’t noticed it, throughout the lecture his eyes lingered on you as well. of course, there were so many students for him to focus on, but none of them seemed quite as captivated as you. judging by the evident fascination on your face as he spoke, he knew you understood every word he said. unlike dylan, apparently.
the next class is on friday, four days away. you take that time or write the assignment. instead of writing a story or a poem, you decide on writing an essay. something where you can really write without the constraints of sticking to a plot. when you’re not in any of your other classes, you’re at your shared house, writing. and if your roommate is being too loud, you take the short bike ride to campus, sitting in your usual corner in the library, also writing.
by the time friday comes around, it’s ready and you’re happy with it, confident in your works as you walk into the lecture hall between some other students. you follow them as they stop at his desk, placing their papers on a stack of other turned in assignments, following suit before sitting at the same seat as last time; far left, second row. this time there’s more people sat at the front, whispering and giggling as they gaze at the professor.
he’s sat at his desk, a similar suit to last like on except a beige colour. his glasses are off and placed on the wooden desk, a book partially obscuring his face as he reads and waits for it to be nine on the dot.
he can vaguely hear the students talking amongst themselves as he reads, but he doesn’t pay it too much mind. it was normal. a lot of his students found him attractive, and that was clear just by the way they talked while he was around. after a while, he glances up at the time, noting it was almost time for class to begin.
he closes his book, setting it off to the side before standing up behind the desk. his hands clasp behind his back.
he glances around the room as more students trickle in and take their seats. he notices you at the second row almost immediately, and he can’t help the small smile that crosses his face. he lets his eyes roam over you for a second before he looks away, noticing the other students chattering in their seats. he clears his throat, loud enough to make them stop and look at him.
“good morning, class.” he says loudly, glancing around once more before resuming, “i’ll be looking over your assignments after class, but for today i’d alike to talk about some literary devices. i know this is classic literature and you’re all expecting to be reading classics, but some groundwork should be set before we jump into analyses. for example, can anyone tell me what a hyperbole is? any guesses?”
he scans the room, as if challenging one of the students to answer. the students in the class are quiet, no one wanting to take the challenge. he hums after a couple minutes and walks around to the front of the desk to lean against the edge of it.
“no one? how about you,” he suddenly says, nodding to you.
you blink, taken aback by the fact he chose you in the sea of fifty-something students. after clearing your throat, you simply say, “an exaggeration, sir.”
he gives a small nod of approval, a smile accompanying it. he expected you to know it, one of the most basic terms in the subject, but could he really be blamed if he just wanted to hear your lovely voice?
“that’s correct. a hyperbole is an exaggeration. it’s also a useful tool in literature to convey specific emotions. i’m sure you’ve come across sentences such as... ‘i could kill him’ or ‘i can’t believe it. this assignment was a literal death sentence.’” he adds the last part in a joking manner, and the few students in the room who were paying attention let out a quiet bout of snickers. he gives you one last small smile before moving on.
he spends the rest of the lesson talking about all sorts of techniques used to enhance literature and the effects they have on the readers. sibilance creates a smooth flow and double entendres are often used to amuse the reader.
nearing the end of the class, he instructs everyone to start on their reading of “the picture of dorian gray” by oscar wilde while he starts going through the turned in assignments. you pull out the book, having borrowed it from the library the other day. you’ve read it before, but it was entertaining enough for you to be willing to read it again, leaning back in your seat comfortably as you flip to the first page.
professor park gets through the first couple of assignments, grading them and adding comments here and there. he finds your essay on the third assignment, and glances up to look at you sitting at your seat, reading so serenely. he takes the time to look you over for a moment before his focus turns to your paper in his hand. he can’t help the slight curiosity as to what you have written, so he begins reading.
he can tell from the quality of the writing alone what kind of writer you were. not like the others, you weren’t rushing with each sentence. no, each word was well thought out, each word placed delicately in the paragraph. it was obvious you had taken the time to write it, and it was obvious that you enjoyed writing even before he finishes reading the introduction. there is passion in the way you laid out your paragraphs. the way it seems so effortless for such words to spill onto your pages.
he finds himself rereading some of the sentences and paragraphs, just to see the way you had worded things. the way you describe how literature can make a person feel could be compared to a piece of art itself. a smile tugs at his lips as he finished reading, having become completely entranced in what you had written. he wanted more, he wanted to read even more of your writing, see more of your passion, more of you. he had expected to have to read through mindless writing but instead he had been surprised by something actually worthwhile.
at the end, he writes a decently-sized comment, a perfect grade circled in his black ink right below.
as he dismisses the class, it takes you a moment to register his words and the people filing out of the hall around you. but once you do, you fold over the corner of the page you’re on and start packing away your items.
as the class is now empty, the only person left in the room besides himself is you. he watches from behind the desk as you pack up your things, noticing the slight hesitation in your movements when you glance towards him. he takes a moment to just watch you before speaking up, his voice firm and clear.
“stay a moment, if you don’t mind.”
you glance up at him before looking around, making sure he was speaking to you before you nod, taking the steps down from the second row to the first, standing at the end of the seats expectantly.
he picks up something from his desk before making his way over to you, his long legs carrying him effortlessly.
he studies your face for a moment, holding up the stapled stack of papers that were your essay. he takes in your features as he speaks, his tone softer now that you’re alone, “you enjoy literature, i take it?”
you glance at the papers before meeting his eyes again, heat rising to your face at the realisation that his full attention was on you. that he was standing so close, just a step away, looking down at you ever so slightly. you give him a nod.
he hums softly in acknowledgement, his eyes looking at your face curiously. he can see the flush of your cheeks clearly, the way you’re keeping your gaze averted from his for the most part.
he glances down at the paper in his hand, tapping it against his fingers gently before looking back at you.
“your assignment. i read it,” he starts, flipping through the pages absentmindedly to keep him from staring at you too long, “it’s quite well written, and i can see the care you put into the language of it. i enjoyed reading it.”
he watches as your eyes queen ever so slightly, a certain sparkle that does not go unnoticed by him; can see the gears turning in your head as you take in his words, your face growing to an endearing mix of shy and embarrassed. he couldn’t exactly pinpoint what he was feeling, couldn’t describe it in any way other than a bloom of warmth in his chest, akin to familiarity.
“oh, thank you, sir.” you smile at him lightly, having been worried you were in trouble and about to be in the receiving end of his scolding.
he hums again, still looking at your face. he can’t help the slight grin that forms on his face as he hears you call him ‘sir.’ he liked the sound of it coming from you. he glances down at the paper again before speaking again, holding the stack out to you.
“i should be thanking you, really. you seem to be the only one to have put some effort into it,” he gave you a soft smile before nodding towards the door, “you may go now, i’ll see you next class.”
you smile and nod, giving him a slight bow before straightening up again. “have a nice day, sir.” and with that you leave, making a beeline to leave campus since you didn’t have anything else to do for the day.
the next time you see him is on monday, in class. he teaches as usual, introducing some context for the book you’re all supposed to be reading. he doesn’t talk to you during the class, though occasionally his eyes find yours and you can’t help but think they soften ever so slightly.
soon enough, you pick up on the fact that you have a similar routine on wednesday evenings. usually, you stay in the campus library for a little longer on those days, whether it’s to read or to work. you like it then because there’s usually barely anyone there, the library big enough for the students that are there to disperse out of each other’s views.
you notice him on your way in, talking to the librarian with a stack of three or four books on the counter. but sometimes you’d see him at a table or couch, or browsing through the shelves. and each time you smile at the sight of him before making your way straight to the second floor, ducking between some bookshelves on the far end to sit in your usual seat.
this may be your favourite spot on campus, maybe the whole city. a little sofa tucked against a big window, two bookshelves—historical fiction—on either side hiding you from the prying eyes of your peers. at this time, the sunlight is just right, a copper glow feeding the two little plants on the windowsill and providing a warmth that felt like a blanket on a cold winter day. it wasn’t too bright, able to look outside without squinting your eyes, enough light to read comfortably. there’s also a little round table that you use to place your laptop on if you need to work, though often you push it aside, favouring to relax on the plush sofa against the soft pillow and get lost in the pages of whatever book you got your hands on.
he’s noticed you there before, on his way to pick up a book from the bibliography section, right next to the historical fiction section where you resided. he soon comes to notice your form among the bookshelves that he passes by, doing a double take before he forces himself to continue along his way. when he finishes the bibliography exactly a week later, he offers to bring it back to its previous spot; in reality, he just wanted to see whether or not you’d be there again.
and sure enough, you were. and he slows down in his movements, looking at the way you’re curled up comfortably in the sofa.
he finds himself watching you silently from a distance for a while, just watching you flip to the next page in your book as you lay comfortably against the pillow, to absorbed in the story to notice him. you look completely at ease there, he finds himself thinking. the sunlight from the window seems to caress your features softly, and a part of him wondered what it would be like to be the sunlight for once, to touch your skin so softly and admire the details of it.
he watches you for a while, taking in your expressions as you turn the pages, before deciding to make his presence known. he takes a step, his leather shoes clunking against the polished wooden floors, “mind if i join you?”
your eyes dart up at the sound of his voice, flinching as you were caught off guard. once his words process, you offer him a smile, nodding as you retract your feet from the sofa to make some space for him. “yeah, of course, professor.”
he smiles warmly at your reply, settling into the newly available space on the sofa. now sitting, he realizes just how small the space is. it’s a two seater, so he ends up sitting very close to you, his side pressed right up to the armrest to prevent from being pressed against you. he glances at your face, noting the small reaction you had when you weren’t expecting him to approach. cute.
he leans back a little to get comfortable on the sofa. it’s quiet between them for a moment, both of them looking outside or at their books. the silence isn’t awkward, he finds. in fact, he quite enjoyed it in such proximity to you. he turns his gaze to watch your face, studying you; the curve of your nose, your lips that are pulled into a frown ever so slightly as you concentrate. his gaze then flicks down, to your sweatpants-clad legs tucked under you on the sofa, and lower to the hand holding the book.
you sit together in silence for a while, reading your respective books. you can’t stop yourself from glancing up at him occasionally, however, just wanting to catch a glimpse of his soft hair or perfect plump lips or the slope of his neck.
but when the sun go too low and the lights too dim and you could barely keep your eyes open, you let out a soft yawn, stretching. he glances up, opening his mouth to say something before his throat suddenly feel to dry to produce any words, distracted by the arch of your back and the curves of your hips. you look so inviting.
“tired?” he manages to force out with a slight chuckle, watching you slump back into your seat. he has the urge to brush away the stray hairs that fall over your cheeks.
you glance at him, nodding as you pull yourself off the couch for one last stretch before gathering your stuff and facing him. “i should probably head home,” you mutter.
“alright,” he pushes himself off the couch, closing his book, “i’ll walk you out.”
too tired to argue and insist he didn’t have to, you just nod, turning on your heels to walk out of the shelves, waiting at the end for him. the walk is silent, holding your breath and heart thumping in your chest each time his fingers brush against the back of your hand as you walk side by side.
this became a new routine. every wednesday, you’d find him or he’d find you, sitting in the little brown leather couch. and you’d stay there together for a while, talking or laughing or working or reading. there was no longer an awkward space separating the two of you, happily resting against each other, far from worried that anyone would see.
neither of you mentioned it, but it was the elephant in the room. you didn’t know what to call it, whatever was happening between you. but it felt good, it made you want to cling to his shirt and bury your face into the warm curve of his neck and never let go. but you couldn’t, no matter how much either of you wanted to.
and as the lines between professor and student blurred, you found yourself looking forward to your wednesdays with him.
and so did he. still, he often thought about how he behaved around you, like it was a secret meant for him and you and you and him.
the way he would find himself sitting closer and closer to you. the way he’d find his gaze lingering on you for too long. the way his mind would wander on how it would feel to run his fingers through your hair, trails them along your thighs. oh, how badly he wants to feel your skin against his own. the idea of what he was doing was dangerous, foolish for someone of his position.
but it’s hard to care when you’re right there next to him, in the soft light that makes your skin glow, your face relaxed and content as you read beside him.
one particular friday evening, it’s pouring, and you’re standing outside under where the roof of the humanities building entrance protruded, protecting me from the rain. this morning you had decided to walk to school instead taking the bike, though you suppose it wouldn’t have been much better with a bike.
your shoes are already wet from the puddle you had accidentally stepped into on your way out, your clothes soaked from having walked into the rain for a minutes as you hug your messenger bag close to your chest.
he’s on his way to his car when he spots you standing by the doorway, and he frowns as he notices you, soaked from the rain that pours mercilessly. he glances around, noticing the lack of anyone nearby thanks to the weather, before making his way towards you.
he stops a few steps in front of you, opening his umbrella to block the rain above both of you. "what are you doing standing out in the rain?"
“i walked to school this morning,” you look from him to the pouring rain, just a step away, “didn’t check the weather.”
he takes you in for a moment, taking in the way your clothes are sticking to you, your hair slightly damp. a small part of him found it quite adorable to see you like this.
"you’re soaked," he says, his voice firm and concerned, "you’re going to get sick like this." as if on cue, a shiver racks through your body. he notices, his expression softening as he takes a step closer, offering his free hand. “come on, i’ll drive you home.”
“oh, you really don’t have to,” you smile at him, grateful at his offer, worried about getting his car wet with your clothes, “i can just wait here until the rain stops.”
his eyes narrow slightly, taking your wrist lightly. "don’t be ridiculous," he scolds, "you’ll freeze to death if i leave you here."
you blink at him, not used to being on the receiving end of his firm tone. his concern making the corners of your lips tug up, you sighed softly, nodding, “alright, lead the way.”
a small smirk pulls at his lips as he watches you relent, giving in to his words. he steps to your side, releasing your wrist and putting a hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the parking lot.
he pulls a tissue from his pocket, unfolding it and using it to gently pat your face. you giggle softly at his attempts to dry your face, reaching one of your hands up to take the handkerchief, your fingers brushing against each other before you dry your face yourself, your other hand helping him hold the umbrella in the strong wind, hand a little lower than his on the handle.
he looks at you with a small smile as his hand rests on the umbrella’s handle, moving to cover yours. his hand is a little bigger and warmer than yours. but as he guides you further towards the parking lot, he notices you shivering again, the cold air starting to get to you.
"if you get a cold, it’s your fault." he teases slightly, pulling you closer to his side, making you stumble a little before you regain your footing.
“oh no, i won’t be able to attend your 9 am lecture on monday, whatever will i do?” you gasp dramatically, holding back a laugh as you joke around, instinctively glancing around in case anyone saw. but everyone was gone, rushing home in the midst of the downpour.
he lets out a low laugh at your dramatic response, rolling his eyes playfully at you.
"stop that," he chastises, his hand on your waist keeping you from falling. it was hard to miss the nervous looks your threw around, and he knew exactly why.
“hm?” you glance up at him as he stops in front of what you assume is his car. it’s a black mercedes, sleek and modern. you clasp your hands behind your back, tilting your head, “no idea what you’re talking about.”
he pushes open the passenger door of his car, gesturing for you to get in. he shakes his head slightly with a scoff, his gaze raking down your figure for just a moment.
“sure you don’t,” he says in a slightly teasing tone, “just get in the car, angel.”
you blush lightly at the nickname but shake your thoughts away, looking down at the leather passengers seat before looking up at him again “but i’ll get your seat wet and mess it up.”
it takes him a moment to process your words, distracted by how the flush of your cheeks makes you look even lovelier. the thought that he was able to make you blush like that because of a simple nickname makes him bite back a giddy smile.
he shakes his head. “i’ll take my chances. just get in, you’re shivering.”
you don’t move for a moment, weighing your options; get his seat a little wet, or walk in the rain. deciding the former is obviously the better choice, you thank him silently as you slip into the passenger seat, securing your seatbelt after resting your bag in your lap
he shuts the door behind you and circles the car, walking to the driver’s side. his steps are a little rushed, eager to get out of the rain and into the warmth of the car.
he gets in the car, pulling the door shut behind him before he looks over at you. you sit quietly, your head down and hands in your lap.
it’s silent for a brief moment before he speaks up. “i’m gonna need your address, you know.”
“oh, right.” you hum, leaning forward to the screen on the dashboard to type in your address. it takes some effort, your muscles mostly focused on your legs as you try not to seat my full weight in an attempt to not ruin his seat despite what he said earlier.
he says absolutely nothing, his gaze glued to the arch of your back. he swallows hard, clenching his jaw as he keeps his eyes trained on you, fighting the urge to reach a hand and touch you.
he clears his throat, “just lean back into the seat.”
before you can protest, he’s pushing down on your thigh until you’re fully seated. you give him a playful glare as you finish typing the address. it’s just over a five-minute drive, while walking in this weather would’ve taken you nearly twenty.
he looks at you with a chuckle, his hand still on your thigh, giving it a slight squeeze.
“now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he jokes, giving your thigh a tap before pulling his hand away, turning the ignition on and pulling out of the parking space.
the drive to your place is quiet except for the sound of the rain outside. he has the heat on full blast to keep you warm. every now and then he glances at you out of the corner of his eye.
the heat makes you shudder, holding your fingers up to the air to warm them up a bit.
he can’t help as his mind thinks of how cute you look, all bundled up with your bag in your lap. and the urge to touch you, god, the urge to run his fingers through your hair.
“we’re almost there, don’t worry,” he mutters as he tears his gaze away from you.
“hey, um,” you start after a few moments of silence, glancing at him, “if you want, you can come up and we could have some coffee or tea or something together. if my roommate doesn’t mind, which she probably won’t, she’s really nice so i wouldn’t worry. but you don’t have to if you don’t want to! i just, uh, wanna thank you properly… for this.”
he watches with a fond smile as you ramble, stopping at a red light. he’s about to accept the offer, tell you that he’d love to, but the realisation of your roommate being there changes things, his expression turning solemn.
“i don’t think that’s a good idea…” he mumbles, avoiding your piercing eyes.
your brows furrow ever so slightly, a frown threatening to override your features. “why not?”
he swallows, pulling over in front of the address you had typed into the gps.
“i’m your professor,” he starts, his tone firm, “it would be unprofessional if we’re caught.”
he hopes you can’t notice the way he’s gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary.
“that hasn’t stopped you so far, though,” you muse, chuckling lightly despite your confusion of his suddenly change in sentiments, trying to ease the tension.
“but don’t you think it’s a bit suspicious that we’ve been sitting together in the library every week, completely hidden away?” he mutters, “if someone saw us, someone who didn’t know, it would look bad. this could be worse.”
“i thought you liked being there with me…” his words get to you this time, actually frowning as you turn to look out the window instead of at him, noticing you were in front of your house.
shit.
he mentally berates himself upon noticing the slight change in your expression, realizing with a pang of guilt that his words bothered you, having come out the wrong way.
“oh, angel,” he starts, letting go of the steering wheel. his hand reaches for you, and before he can stop himself, it’s cradling your face.
“i do. i like being with you there,” he sighs, gently pulling your face to make you look at him, his thumb caressing your cheek. “you have no idea how much i enjoy it.”
his touch on your face feels warm, and his words even warmer as his directs you to look at him. you don’t say anything.
he’s not used to this, to you being quiet and still. he’s too used to your carefree self being full of jokes and laughter. he doesn’t like you like this, looking at him with disappointment written on your face.
“what i meant is,” he murmurs, the pad of his thumb moving across your cheek to your chin, tilting your head up so your eyes meet his, “i’m just worried about your roommate.”
“i like spending time with you, princess,” he continues, his tone firmer this time, “i like it a lot, alright?”
your frown eases at his words, nodding as you answer in a whisper, “okay.”
he lets out a small sigh of relief, his fingers tracing down from your chin to the side of your neck, and then your collarbone. he gently caresses your skin with the lightest of touch, letting the pad of his fingertip graze your skin.
he tries to ignore the voice in the back of his mind telling him to tug you across the console and kiss you. he shouldn’t.
he shakes himself out of his thoughts, pulling his hand away reluctantly. glancing out the window, he sees your place right in front of him.
“we’re here,” he murmurs, looking back at you. his gaze softens when he sees the remnants of the frown still on your face, and his hand gently reaches out to give your thigh a light squeeze.
“come on,” he says quietly, “let’s go.”
you look out the window before nodding, unbuckling and stepping out, walking to your front door as he accompanies you with an umbrella. you rummage around in your bag, trying to find the keys. groaning as you realise you were in such a rush this morning you must’ve forgotten them in the bowl where you and your roommate place your keys so you don’t lose them. with a sigh, you ring the doorbell, waiting for her to answer.
but she never comes. and that’s when you realise she had the late shift at work today. you groan, frustrated as you thump your forehead against the wooden door.
great, he thinks to himself as he watches you struggle trying to get inside. and then you turn around, with a frustrated sigh, and a thump of the door.
he can’t help but feel like the world is against him. the universe wants to punish him, to test his limits.
he bites the inside of his cheek, watching you and listening to you as you mutter about your locked door.
“i don’t have my keys, my roommate isn’t home,” you explain, kicking the door light before burying your face in your hands, your voice a little muffled, “oh, i’m so sorry, hwa.”
he stands there, watching you explain your situation, and he fights back a smile at your last sentence.
hwa*.*
he likes it when you call him that. spending three months growing closer, you’ve evidently given each other little nicknames.
he glances over at the parked car behind him, before back at you. “do you need a place to stay?” he asks, trying to keep his tone neutral again.
“i don’t wanna bother you too much,” you shake your head, running your hands over your face “please, i can just wait here for her to get back.”
he doesn’t like how you’re trying to push him away. frowning, watching you as you shake your head and run your hands over your face in defeat. he closes the distance between you, taking hold of your wrists and pulling your hand away from your face gently.
“it’s pouring,” he reminds you, “your clothes are soaking wet. and you think you can just sit here on the front porch until your roommate comes back?”
“i don’t want to inconvenience you any more,” you murmur, your hands relaxing as he pulls your wrists away from your face.
his chest tightens at your words, at how stubborn you’re being. he sighs.
“you’re not inconveniencing me,” he insists, “i’d feel better knowing you’re inside with dry clothes and a warm drink than out here soaked to the bone.”
you contemplate his offer for a moment before sighing, nodding, “okay, if you insist.”
his heart nearly skips a beat at your agreement, and it takes all his willpower not to visibly show the relief that washes over him.
he tightens his hold on your wrist for a moment, before gently guiding you back to his car. he opens the passenger door for you, waiting until you get in before he shuts the door and circles around to the driver’s side.
he starts the ignition again, the warm air blasting through the vents yet again. you hold your hands in front of the hot air again, glancing over as you hear his door open and close as he slips. “in is it a long drive?”
he lets out a scoff, looking over to you with a teasing smile. “it’s a whole two minute drive. i’ll try not to bore you too much.”
he turns back to the window, pulling out of the parking spot. the rain starts again, and the sound of it pounds against window before he turns on the wipers.
“oh dear me, i can already feel myself falling asleep,” you slump your head back and pretend to snore, back to being playful.
he turns to look at you, watching your dramatics with a fond grin. “shut up, you,” he says, reaching out to pinch your side gently.
you giggle as he pinches your side, opening your eyes again to look out the window, watching buildings and cars glide past as he drives smoothly. true to his word, just a few minutes later he’s pulling into the underground parking lot of an apartment building.
he parks in front of a spot numbered ‘407’, cutting the ignition as soon as he does.
he glances at you briefly before nodding almost to himself.
“come on,” he says with a jerk of his chin, gesturing for you to follow as he gets out of the car.
his longer strides have him walking faster than usual, and it takes him a conscious effort to slow down for you to keep up.
he presses the ‘up’ button and the elevator doors part within seconds. he steps into the elevator, holding the door open for you to enter.
it’s a silent ride up. his mind is racing, though he doesn’t show it outwardly. his hands are in his pocket, and he keeps his eyes trained on the blinking numbers signifying each floor.
the elevator dings and the doors open and he steps out without looking back to see if you’re following, striding down the hallway, making a turn to a door marked ‘407’.
he fishes for his keys in his pocket, pulling them out before unlocking and opening the door as you look around the empty hallway, your gaze lingering on the mass-produced paintings hanging on the wall that he knows can be seen on every other floor of this building.
the apartment is spacious, with plenty of open floor space for the front room. the color scheme is simple and neat, with a large armchair and a small couch that sits in front of a flat screen tv, as well as a wooden coffee table.
he steps in, taking a moment to kick his shoes off and set his stuff down. he looks over his shoulder, watching you step into the apartment as he places his umbrella in the umbrella rack and hangs up his coat.
you grimace as your shoes squelch when you step in, muttering apologies as you take them off and leave them outside of the door in the hallway instead, not wanting to mess up his flooring.
he raises an eyebrow, watching you as you leave your wet shoes in the hall. he’s about to say something when he’s interrupted by the sound of a small meow.
a ball of black fur appears at his feet, nuzzling against his ankle, and he smiles, scooping the cat into his arms without a word.
he scratches behind the cat's ears as it purrs in his arms, the sound of its soft mews filling the room. he can see a hint of confusion on your face, watching the cat with interest as he holds it, its front paws resting on his chest.
"his name is kuma," he explains, bringing the cat up to his face and letting it rub against his cheek.
you nearly melt at the sight, stepping into the house with wet socks as you coo at the cat, the front door falling shut behind you automatically. “i didn’t know you have a cat.”
he has to physically stop himself from grinning as you nearly swoon at the sight of his cat, covering up his smile with a cough. he shakes his head, lowering the cat gently to the floor. it runs over in your direction, nuzzling against your ankles much like it did to him moments ago, before disappearing down the hallway into the heart of the apartment.
"i got him a couple months back," he says, taking in the sight of your soaked clothes once more. he lets out a sigh, tilting his head toward the hall.
he glances down at your feet, eyeing your soaked socks, before looking back up to your face.
"you can shower if you'd like. I can lend you some clothes to change into," he says, pointing down the hall toward the bedroom.
“oh, yes please,” you nod, relieved that he offered instead of you having to ask.
he nods and starts down the hallway, motioning for you to follow him. as you follow, you look around. just like his car, the design of his apartment is sleek and modern, glowing in warmth as he uses a variety of floor lamps and shelf lamps to light up the interior instead of headache-inducing overhead lights. the furniture and walls are light in colour, a variety of whites and beiges.
it’s an open floor plan, the kitchen and living grouped together, separated by a counter island and some stools. the countertops of the kitchen have a glossy white finish, everything clean. a narrow hallway leads to some three doors, which you assume are his bedroom, a bathroom, and guest bedroom or office.
he stops first in front of a door, where the cat lies on the floor, tail flicking back and forth. he bends down to pet the cat briefly.
"that's the bathroom. the towels are in there. I'm just going to grab some clothes for you," he says, giving you a quick glance before striding away toward the bedroom.
your eyes follow him as he walks away, before letting out a soft yelp at the feeling of something furry wrapping around your ankle. looking down, you realise it’s kuma, giggling as you crouch down to pet him.
he returns a few moments later, taking a moment to watch as you play with his cat so nicely before clearing his throat, making you stand back up as he hands you the stack of clothes.
“feel free to use whatever you need in there,” he nods towards the bathroom door, “you can leave your clothes in the basket, i’ll put them in the laundry later.”
“thank you, hwa.” you grin at him, accepting the clothing before disappearing into the bathroom, locking the door behind you.
you shower with warm water, relaxing every muscle in your body as you wash off the rain. without any other choices, you’re left to use his shampoo. it smells of him, a deep vanilla. when you finish, you dry off and change into the clothes he brought, using your own previous undergarments as he obviously didn’t have those on hand.
the clothes are quite large on you, hanging off your body as you tighten the string of the sweatpants. you pat your hair partially dry with the towel before tossing everything in the laundry basket, stepping out to go to the living room.
only to see he wasn’t there. shrugging, you figure he’ll return soon as you flop onto the couch, kuma coming to sit with you after a moment. you sprawl out a bit as you realise just how spacious the couch is, the cat padding all over your body, playing with the drawstrings of the hoodie he gave you before curling up on your stomach.
meanwhile, he’s in the shower of his bedroom’s en-suite bathroom attempting to get himself together, both physically and mentally. the water feels amazing on his skin as it beats down on him, and he tries to relax his muscles as he lathers shampoo in his hair.
but his mind keeps going back to you, and how you’re probably already in his living room.
wearing his clothes.
he sighs, leaning his head against the shower wall as he tries to push those thoughts out of his mind. he stands there for what feels like hours, letting the hot water hit his skin before shutting off the shower and stepping out. he dries himself off, quickly drying his hair enough so that it’s not dripping all over his floor before he getting in record time, pulling on an old pair of sweats and a loose black shirt.
he takes another deep breath, opening the bathroom door as he ruffles his damp hair. he starts to make his way toward the living room, hoping that you’re just as nervous as he is.
he turns the corner and enters the living room, nearly freezing in his place at the sight of you sitting on the couch with kuma. you look good. comfortable.
by the time he makes it back, you’d be kuma are no longer sitting calmly, practically rolling around on the couch as you try to get away from the playful punches of his paws. he feels his heart flutter at the sight and the sound of your laughter.
there’s just something about seeing you getting along with his cat that makes his heart nearly skip a beat. he silently watches from the hall for a moment, just gazing at the two of you playing together before clearing his throat to make his presence known.
you look up at the sound, grinning at him stupidly. you glance at his clothes, noting that he’s wearing comfortable clothes now rather than his usual suits. “oh, hey,” you say between giggles as kuma continues to jump all over you.
his heart stutters at the sight of your grins and the sound of your giggles, at the joyful look on your face. he swallows, forcing his arms to cross over his chest to keep himself from reaching out and pulling you against him.
trying to appear nonchalant even though he’s having a hard time doing so, he walks over to the couch, standing at the end of the coffee table and looking down at you.
“seems like you’re having fun together,” he remarks with a slight nod towards kuma.
“uh huh,” you nod before squealing, covering your face as kuma’s paws swat against your cheek, attacking you, your stomach hurting from laughing.
he lets out a scoff, watching kuma pawing at you and your failed attempts to shield your face from the attacks. he can’t help but let a small smile settle on his face, his heart fluttering again at the sight of you two.
“he’s playing rough,” he comments with a smile, walking to the couch and plopping down beside you.
you crawl over to his other side, hiding your face under his arms as kuma chases, “help me, hwa.”
his heart skips a beat as you hide under his arm, ducking away from the harmless kitten. he can’t help but laugh, finding the situation both endearing and adorable.
“I think you can handle kuma, doll,” he teases, grinning down at you as you continue to use him as a human shield.
“he’s a beast,” you try to sound serious, your voice muffled against his sleeve as kuma starts attacking him instead.
“he’s not that bad,” he teases, grabbing the cat by his little body and lifting him up in front of his face, “see? look at this face. he’s not even one bit menacing.”
“that’s the face of evil!” you exclaim, sitting up and placing the back of your hand on your forehead to fall into his lap dramatically, feigning death, my body draped over his thighs faced down.
he looks down at you as you go limp against him, and he can’t help but laugh at your antics.
“don’t be so dramatic,” he grins. he lets kuma go, watching as he climbs down your combined bodies to muzzle against your cheek before moving away to curl up in his usual spot in the corner of the couch. “i think he’s gonna end up liking you more than me.”
“good,” you hum, closing your eyes and relaxing in his lap, forearm under your chin so it doesn’t dig into his legs.
he rolls his eyes jokingly, resting his hand on your back and tracing down your spine, “very funny.”
you chuckle at his response, sighing softly, content where you are. in the privacy of his home, you’re not scared of being affectionate, especially not as his hand traces down to rest against the small of your back, eliciting a faint shudder.
his heart hammers in his chest as his hand trails further down to the back of your thigh, the feeling of your plump flesh beneath the fabric, under his touch igniting something in him. he has to remind himself to breathe, trying to control the rush of blood that is steadily flowing downward.
enjoying the feeling of his hand kneading the back of your thigh, you go a little silent before turning to look up at him, a question that’s been balancing on the top of my tongue for three months finally spilling out.
“hwa… what exactly are we? what is this?” you point between the two of you as you mutter the question.
his hand freezes the second he hears it. he’s been avoiding that question since the two of your really started seeing each other every wednesday months ago, but he knows he can’t anymore. not when it’s thrown straight at his face.
he takes a deep breath, avoiding your gaze for a moment. he lets the silence sit for a few more seconds as he considers his answer, then looks down at you.
“i don’t know,” he mutters, his hand moving to rest on your waist, “i’ve been asking myself the same thing.”
“well, what is this to you then?” you ask softly, sitting up to be eye level with him, kneeling beside him.
the question sounds more demanding coming from you face to face, eye to eye, and his heart is beating fast enough that he fears you can hear it. he swallows, looking into your eyes.
“a distraction,” he mutters, his gaze flitting to your lips for a moment before going back to your eyes, preparing his next words.
but before he can continue, you visibly deflate at his answer, sitting back as i nod. a distraction. “i see,” you tear your gaze away from him, getting up, making his hand drop from you, “i’m gonna go to bed, wheres the guest room?”
he feels his heart twist at the sight of you leaving his touch, a dejected look on your face.
he’s never seen you back off so quickly before. not like this. he watches you get up and stand over him, a step too far for him to reach for you agajn, his heart tightening in his chest.
“wait, doll-“ he starts, reaching out to take your hand.
“what? you said what you said.”
“i didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters, his tone firmer. he stands up from the couch, towering over you. he holds a hand out to you. “come here, please.”
“then how else could you possibly mean it,” you scoff lightly, eying his hand but not taking it.
“listen, doll,” he mutters, holding back a huff of frustration. “you can’t seriously think that I would call this a distraction,” he gestures between the two of you. “a distraction. you really think that you are just a distraction to me?”
“well is that not what you said?” you mutter, trying to prevent your lips from trembling as a lump latches itself onto your throat.
he lets out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. he reaches out and grabs your wrist, tugging you closer to him. he can feel the tension in your body, and he hates it. he hates himself for causing it.
“you didn’t let me finish. i didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters, looking directly into your eyes, resting your hands in his chest. “you’re not just some random, meaningless distraction to me.”
your fingers flex slightly as he holds them up to his chest, right over his heart, “then tell me how you really feel about me if i’m not a distraction”
he looks into your eyes, holding onto your wrists firmly but gently, his thumbs rubbing against your skin, the inside of your wrists.
he’s never seen you like this before. this vulnerable and open in front of him. he can feel the tension in your body, the stiffness in your shoulders and the tightness in your jaw.
he wants to smooth out those frowning lines on your face, erase that look of uncertainty in your eyes.
“you’re more than just a distraction to me,” he mutters. “you’re an obsession. you’re all i think about, doll. i think about you constantly. i don’t know how else to describe it other than an obsession,” he continues, his voice getting softer as he speaks. “i can’t shake you. you’ve gotten in my head and you’ve been living in there rent free for months and you refuse to get out. even when i try to ignore you,” he lets out a scoff, looking into your eyes, “even when i pretend to ignore you, you’re still there. you don’t leave my mind.”
his heart races as the words spill out of his mouth, like there’s a dam bursting inside of him. the feelings that he’s been bottling up for months finally coming out, and he doesn’t want to stop, letting those words tumble out and onto you. he can see that you’re listening intently, that you’re listening intently as his grip on your wrists tightens, almost as if he’s scared that you’re going to run away from him.
“you’ve got me so distracted i can barely focus on anything that doesn’t involve you,” he admits in a low voice, glancing down at your wrists. “i can’t even teach my own goddamn class without thinking about you.”
you’re speechless, even as he finishes, staring up at him with wide dumbfounded eyes, feeling his hammering heart beneath your fingertips just as how he feels yours under his as his thumbs continue to rub the inside of your wrists.
you suppose you can always rely on a literature professor for an extravagant, dramatic confession.
he continues to hold onto you. he’s never seen you this speechless and dumbfounded before, and he’s torn between how good it feels to see you like this and how bad it things could go now that his feelings were out.
he swallows, looking down at your wrists. he can feel your pulse point under his thumb. “say something, angel,” he murmurs, a pleading tone in his voice.
instead, you pull your hands out of his grip to wrap them around his neck, pulling him down, placing your lips against his urgently, your eyes falling shut.
his heart hammers in his chest as he kisses you back, his hands gripping your waist and pulling you against him, his fingers curling into your hoodie. he wants to kiss you forever, wants to make up for all those months of holding back, but his lungs are burning from the lack of air and he’s forced to pull away to breathe.
he lets out a sigh, his forehead falling to the crown of your head. his hands stay on you, still holding you against him. he can still feel your heart racing against his chest.
“that was your idea of saying something?”
“uh huh,” you hum, chuckling softly as you thread your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, mind full of him. seonghwa, seonghwa, seonghwa.
he closes his eyes as he feels your fingers, enjoying the feeling of your fingertips against his scalp. he still has his arms around you, unwilling to let go yet. he leans down just enough to press a kiss to your temple, his lips brushing softly against your skin.
“but seriously,” you snicker, pulling away from him a little “i am kinda tired, wheres the guest bed?”
he almost lets out a whine when you pull away from him, opening his eyes reluctantly. he looks down at you, a frown on his face.
“you’re really gonna go sleep by yourself?” he mutters, an almost petulant tone in his voice as he quirks his brow.
“is that not what i’m supposed to do?“
“you really think i’m going to let you sleep alone after… that? come on now, you’re not that dense.”
“i know, i just wanted you to say it,” you giggle after a moment, grinning up at him as you lean down to scoop up kuma from the couch.
he lets out a scoff, rolling his eyes, but he’s unable to hide the small smile of his own. he reaches out and ruffles your hair, letting out a scoff. “you’re insufferable.”
“and you just said you’re obsessed with me,” you shrug, kissing his cheek as his hand find the small of your back, leading you don’t the hallway, “where does the kitty sleep?”
he looks down at kuma, still curled up in your arms, practically purring himself to death. “baby, he’s a cat. he’ll sleep wherever he wants.”
you snort, setting him down on a little armchair in the corner of his room, next to some bookshelves stacked with books upon books, and more books. you lean down to pet him a few more times as seonghwa watches you with a fond smile.
he watches you as he sits on the bed, his heart clenching at how good you look in his bedroom. it feels almost surreal, having you here in his home. he pats the spot next to him.
“get over here, baby.”
networks. @cromernet @cultofdionysusnet @wonderlandnet @atzhouse
permanent taglist. @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb @seonghwasbbgirl
@likexaxdaydream @dreamingofyeo @yalyallic @yunhoswrldddd
@coffee-addict-kitten @thunderous-wolf @chngbnwf @okdudeiime
#cromernet#wonderlandnet#cultofdionysusnet#pirateeznet#atzhouse#ateez x reader#ateez#park seonghwa smut#seonghwa x reader#seonghwa headcanons#seonghwa angst#seonghwa fluff#seonghwa imagines#ateez reactions#ateez smut#ateez fluff
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books and love
you think your brainrot addicted boyfriend doesn't care about your interests enough until he surprises you.
a.n : hamzah x gf!reader, y/n loves reading, written thanks to this request
you've been dating hamzah for a few weeks now, and most of your time at home together was spent the same. him scrolling on tiktok to keep up with the new trends, "it's for work," he always says.
while you're in another room, flipping through the pages of the current book you're reading.
right now, you found an interest in otessa moshfeg's my year of rest and relaxation, which you idolise a little, thinking about how you would love a year with sleep as your only goal. obviously, you can't, but imagining yourself as the wealthy main character is enough. at least your boyfriend is better though.
"oh my God y/n, y/n" hamzah practically screams, making your reading come to an end, you make your way to the living room where your boyfriend's holding his phone at arm length in your direction.
"how hilarious is this?" he says almost dying laughing. you look at the video, which features a "chill guy" with some silly text written next to it. "ha ha" you say, not very amused.
hamzah looks at you a little annoyed, not understanding how you're not laughing at something that he considers as the height of humour. you shrug, and go back to your comfy bed, where your book is awaits you.
after a few chapters already, you watch as the room's door gets opened, your boyfriend entering. your peace gets absolutely disrupted when you hear the loud "mama a girl behind you" meme coming from his phone.
he makes his way to the bed while you're staring at him, visibly annoyed. he gets closer to you, and tries to hug you, the sound still playing. "hamzah pleaseee what's with your tiktok addiction" you say while pointing at his opened phone in a dry tone, pushing him away.
he apologises quickly before turning it off. you spend the rest of the night still a little distant, hamzah is still scrolling, now on reels and with headphones in. meanwhile you're on the last pages of your book.
you can't help but feel frustrated at hamzah being so uninterested in your hobby. he never once asked you about what book you're reading or which is your favourite. but he sees no problem in sending you dumb memes every second of the day.
while hamzah's showering you end your book, and grab your phone, scouring the internet trying to find hamzah a christmas present. he's probably going to buy you some dumb thing isn't he?
the next day, you wake up to a blinding light coming from the window. you get up, admiring the snow that's covering the landscape.
you yawn, wondering where your other half is. you decide to get changed, putting on one of his silly shirts, "mama needs a blunt" you read out loud.
once you're ready to go eat breakfast, you notice little pieces of paper on the floor. you kneel down and see that they're ripped pieces from a book with little arrows marked on them. you follow them, concerned by a potential book of yours getting destroyed, but quickly stop thinking about it when you see hamzah.
he stands in the middle of the living room, with a huge smile on his face. you approach him, feeling overly excited by whatever he seems to be hiding behind him.
you're left speechless when he takes a step on the side, letting you see his surprise.
it's the cutest thing ever : a christmas tree made off piled up books, they're all from your goodreads reading list.
"aw hamzah this is the cutest thing ever, thank you so much" you say, taking him in a hug.
"i'm so happy you like it baby, also sorry for yesterday i used my phone to find book christmas tree tutorials", you look at him speechless, tightening your hug but quickly going back to the ripped pieces of paper you found on the floor.
he starts giggling, taking a visibly ripped up book from behind the couch. you look anxiously until you notice it's a colleen hoover one.
hope you liked <3
#hamzah the fantastic#hamzahmoodboard#hamzahthefantastic#martin and hamzah#slushy noobz#slushy virus#hamzah imagines#hamzah x reader#hamzah x y/n#hamzah fic#hamzah smut#hamzah#hamzahthefanatasticxreader
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Ft headcanons nobody wanted part 2
-natsu will occasionally get genuinely jealous over his friends owning appliances for heating. Why should they need those things when they have him, if they just call him over her do a way better job then any of those stupid gadgets. He finds out gray owns a hair dryer and immediately becomes a jealous ex girlfriend. He confronts Lucy in her apartment one night acting so serious he she doesn't even get mad that he broke in, then just goes "care to explain this?" And puts a lighter on the table.
- Wendy is very very quiet. Creepily so. Not elaborating but I think you can imagine the kinds of situations this leads to.
- Mira's eyes glow in the dark and it creeps everyone the fuck out
- erza has the worst hoarding problem. Her dorm room is entirely piled floor to ceiling with boxes of meticulously organized random items she refuses to throw out for some reason
young Mira: "alright this is ridiculous why do you even have this"
Young erza: "say what you want but when you need 746 packets of Mcnolias sweet and sour sauce and find your supply baron I'll be laughing"
- levy is one of the few members of the guild who actively sought it out to join. Before fairy tail she was an orphan and a student studying magic. She left to join fairy tail to learn more about magic in general from real world experience.
- laki will sometimes build creepily realistic wooden statues of her guild mates and leave them around in inconspicuous places so when you find them they scare the shit out of you. Sometimes she hides them too well and it takes years to discover them.
- Lucy has actually written several unpublished novels and the only other person who's ever seen them is levy. Lucy thinks their crap but levy carefully annotates every single one.
- laxus used to occasionally be forced to go on jobs with erza and Mira when they were young both to help and to make sure they didn't kill each other and he hated it.
- I think I might have said this before but I firmly believe levy, Lucy, freed and jellal later on all form a book club because they love reading, the problem is they all have vastly different tastes in book so they can never decide what to read each week and usually just end up playing Scrabble and talking shit about their various teammates
"please guys trust me this one's good"
"I am NOT reading Colleen Hoover Lucy and that's final"
- this one's based on city hero but I personally believe erza and Erik find a shocking common ground over motorcycles. Erza likes vehicles in general and Erik took up bike racing as a hobby, since discovering this is the longest they've been able to be in the same room together without someone throwing a punch.
- Wendy visits lamia scale regularly still to hang out with chelia. she usually brings romeo and they all go out to do whatever dumb kid stuff they want. (Tbh I just like her having friends her own age)
-lucy sometimes randomly lets her rich girl's heritage show in random conversation and it's always jarring. You'll be having a normal chill convo with her and then she'll look you dead in the eyes and ask you what colour your personal carriage was growing up.
- Natsu is genuinely a really good cook he just has a terrible taste so nobody wants to eat his food. For reference he only ever cooks his food because he enjoys doing it to him it tastes fine either way.
- if you had asked the fairy tail guild who the scariest guild member was in early season 1 the answers would have been erza, guildarts, laxus etc all the usual suspects. Once season 2 starts however the answer is unanimous. It's juvia. Juvia is fucking terrifying when she gets mad. You don't realize how scary water can be until it's filling your lungs and as your vision blurs until all you can see is her merciless stare.
- Mira and freed can drink blood for demon reasons. gray can too after getting devil slayer but he thinks its gross. Surprisingly so can gajeel because of the high iron content.
- gray the type of guy who's bed has only the smallest thinnest blanket on his bed and usually it's on the ground cuz he gets too hot
- meanwhile erza is the type of girl to have so many pillows, blankets and plushies on her bed you wonder how she fucking sleeps in it. Mf has a NEST.
- Lucy isn't even surprised anymore when she finds people in her house, she doesn't know how they keep getting in and honestly she doesn't care anymore she's to tired to deal with it.
- freed plays a lot of really fucking weird instruments. Idk it just seems like something he would do.
- bixlow can speak most languages and it's always really surprising when he randomly says smth like "oh yea I can speak ancient nirvid no prob" like that's totally normal
- if laxus and freed ever did get together (in my heart it's cannon) evergreen and bixlow would be their biggest haters. Yea they love them and they're happy for them but also EW. GROSS. GET A ROOM.
#fairy tail#natsu dragneel#lucy heartfilia#gray fullbuster#mirajane strauss#laxus dreyar#jellal fernandes#levy mcgarden#gajeel redfox#erza scarlet#wendy marvell#freed justine#erik/cobra#laki olietta#headcannons
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Hey, guys -- remember when Blake Lively made fun of Kate's disappearance and the photoshopped Mother's Day card on social media? And then when Kate announced her diagnosis, Blake basically went all "whoopsie 🙃" on an Instagram story?
Well, let me clue you in on a lil bit of pop culture drama going on.
Blake has a new movie that's just come out, It Ends With Us, a film adaptation of Colleen Hoover's book. She plays the female lead, Lily. The director of the movie is Justin Baldoni, who also played the male lead, Ryle.
First, there's industry backlash from Blake's behavior on the film:
At the premiere last week, Blake revealed that Ryan Reynolds (her husband) rewrote dialogue for a pretty significant scene at her invitation - which is a big no-no in the film world because it implies you're hard to work with and it could have industry implications for Blake if she isn't careful.
There are also rumors now that Blake commissioned her own cut of the film and wanted the studio to release her version instead of the director's cut. According to the rumor, she even went so far that she demanded the studio test her version against the director's; however, test audiences preferred the director's version, which is what the studio ultimately released and Blake was very unhappy about it.
Basically these two things make Blake seem difficult to work with on set, which could complicate her ability to get future work. Hollywood doesn't want to work with people who unilaterally rewrite scenes and directors equally don't want to work with other people who will try to steal the production from them.
One person who's definitely not happy with Blake's behavior is Justin. He hasn't done any media appearances with her (which is unusual). He did not pose with her at the premiere (she brought Ryan Reynolds and Hugh Jackman to pose with instead). And he's made comments that could be interpreted as a dig at her, suggesting that she should be responsible for the film sequel.
The second part of Blake's recent drama is the public backlash from the media tour. The movie is about domestic violence. It's a serious movie. But you wouldn't know that from Blake's interviews and appearances. She's treating it like (to use a comparison I saw on Twitter) it's the Barbie tour. She's bubbly. She's talking about her fashion. She's talking about her liquor line. She's cracking jokes and making besties with her interviewers. And it's pissing people off because that's not the message of the movie. (Compared to Justin's interviews, where he spent quite a lot of time advocating for victims of domestic violence and raising awareness of it.) People are so pissed that Colleen Hoover - who's been doing the media circuit with Blake - has privated some of her social media because of the backlash.
Anyway. I'm not saying this is karmic revenge for kicking a woman while she's down but...man, it's a lot of fun to watch.
Recap of the Hollywood drama
Recap of the media tour backlash
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Different needs ( t.k. )
Fic based on a poem by (@korijanes) on TikTok
I was oblivious to the fact what is toxic. When I stumbled upon toxic, amazing voice, looks decent, beautiful thoughts we shared. Then poison spread.
He grew up on a porn addiction, rockstar concerts and nicotine from an early age. Sexual views upon all women, expecting them to fall in his bed when they made eye contact. She grew up on unrealistic Vogue magazines, romance novels and midnight walks. Expecting men she read about to show up on her doorstep to sweep her off her feet.
He searched for meaning everywhere his day to day life went. Resulting in highschool parties, liquor sliding down his throat and sex every night that never left him content. She searched for romance everywhere she stepped, settling for Colleen Hoover books and dates every weekend, never finding her prince charming perched up on a white horse.
They met through the same class they took, this is no romance story after all. No Romeo and Juliet, no stolen glances, no love at first sight.
She shouldn't be expecting anything much from his chilled aura and baggy clothes, but she did. She expected a bouquet of flowers and a pulled out chair the first time they met for dinner. Just like he expected her hands on his body, her lips on his after he paid for their food and drinks, in his own mind seeming like such a gentleman.
They were both disappointed, but life was slow, nothing happening, boring. So because of their need for something more they went out the next morning.
Were they friends or lovers? Nobody knew the answer. No labels used for each other, no I love you's whispered in between them. They weren't slow dancing in the rain, her notebook fantasies was something he would never meet.
He wasted his time by giving her validation. He did this only to have her naked by his side, bare skin deep attraction. She wasted her days by giving him her innocence. Her body, her voice, her soul. She did this in order to use him for intimacy that had no real legitimacy.
They were told many things in life. He has heard that chasing a girl would be true ecstasy, but as he looked at her tear stroked face the feeling was far from euphoria. She'd been told that undressing for a guy would be pure heaven, but as her clothes dropped to the floor all she felt was a mess.
They both were the villians of this story, mutual usage of a human shared between them. No real feelings, no true love.
He left her with less of a meaning to his life than before, she left him with lowered standards and soaked tissues. They both had issues.
And even after she had gone, he could feel her in his pillows through the sweet prolific sillage left by her perfume.
#thenighthekate#tokio hotel#tom kaulitz#tom kaulitz angst#tom kaulitz fluff#tom kaulitz smut#tom kaulitz x reader#tom kaulitz x y/n#tom kaulitz x you
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Giyuu Tomioka x Fem! Reader.
Murder Mystery AU!
Also Modern Times AU
Giyuu Tomioka is your rival since middle school. You two always argued who got better grades. Not only you two went to the same highschool, college but also now university! What will happen if you two will end up on the same party?
Warning: NSFW! Strong language! Death! Suicide The fanfic was inspired by the movie "Bodies Bodies Bodies." English isn't my first language.
-Reader, are you ready for fun!?- Mitsuri asked me as she walked into our room. She's already in her pink-green dress. Of course as always showing off big part of her chest. It's not like I don't like it but she's going to give Iguro a heart attack. Again...
-Yeah, but there are like millions of parties. Why do we have to go to one that is in forest?- I asked her. I was (if you want you can wear something else but I will now write canon) wearing a little red top, blue jeans, and red sneakers. I was showing off my midriff.
-Becouse Tengen is inviting us.- Mitsuri said. That says a lot. Tengen's parties are always the ones that you never forget, no matter how drunk you are. He's a big party freak, from making out with his three girlfriends in front of everyone to dancing break dance on the ceiling while being high and drunk.
-I'm scared what he wants to do in the middle of the fucking forest. It's scary enought that we know he has orgies with his girlfriends everyday which is I don't know if healthy for his prostate. What if he wants to I don't know... I DON'T FUCKING KNOW! He's unpredictable!- I shouted.
-Don't worry Reader about Tengen's prostate, it's his problem. I'll make sure nothing too sexual that could give some of us HIV won't happen.- Shinobu said as she walked into the room. She's wearing a violet shirt and black skirt.
-Thanks, Shinobu. You're saving my vagina.- I said and stood up from my bed.
-As always.- Shinobu added.
-Let's go and not get STD!- Mitsuri shouted exited.
TIME SKIP.
-Tengen, you motherfucker. Where do you get money from? Your dick?- I asked Tengen as I got out of the car. This isn't a fucking house. It's a villa or penthouse, I don't know. Kanao looked quite scared so I took her hand in a gentle grip.
-Good shot but not that close. My family is old money. My great great something gradpa was in a clan but got out of it and made quite a fortune himself by being some warrior.- Tengen said as we walked into the house.
-Is Iguro already here?- Mitsuri asked looking around.
-Is Sanemi already here?- Kanae asked also looking around. She came with us becouse Shinobu is her sister.
What simps. I'm never going to be like them. I looked outside into the garden and yard. Uhhh Giyuu in swimsuit, nice view. It's not like I like him or smth but oh my God. These abs, this six pack. NO READER YOU ARE NOT HORNY FOR A MAN THAT LITERALLY IN SOME WAY MAY STALK YOU! IT'S NOT COLLEEN HOOVER BOOK!
-Iguro is in the pool with Sanemi, Giyuu, Kyojuro, Genya, Tanjirou, Zenitsu, Inosuke, Hiroshi, Atsushi and Nana . We'll start partying in the house when it'll get dark or start raining.- Tengen said and opened door to the pool with garden. Our friedns were there.
-Hey!- Rengoku said while swimming. It looked as if he was training as always.
-Hey Kanae! And... others...- Sanemi said while sunbathing.
-Hey Mitsuri.- Iguro said while sitting in the in the shade of a tree.
-Hey everyone!- Tanjirou said while trying to swim as fast as Rengoku.
-Hey!- Genya said with a smile while sitting next to Sanemi (my baby Genya...).
-Hey, girls. Why aren't you in swimsuits?- Zenitsu asked with a blush while sitting on a inflatable duck.
-Does any of you want to compete with me in who can do the biggest jump!?- Inosuke asked and jumped into the water.
-Hey...- Giyuu said while just standing beside the pool.
-It's nice to see you guys!- Mitsuri shouted as we walked into the garden. I tried not to look at Giyuu.
-What about our two biggest nerds drink a little?- Tengen said and pushed me into Giyuu. I quickly moved away from him annoyed. Tengen gave everyone just not Tanjirou, Zenitsu, Inosuke and Kanao cups of alcohol.
-Nice to see you Giyuu...- I said reluctantly.
-Also nice to see you Reader...- He said also reluctantly and we both drank.
-Jesus Christ. It's...- I didn't end the sentence.
-Strong. Tengen plans now to have us all drunk. Making drama and funny situations I guess.- Giyuu said and put his cup on the table.
-I think that it's better for us two to stay sober if something happens. You never know with Uzui.- I commented and also put my cup on the table.
-Yeah, pool and alcohol isn't a good match.- he agreed with me.
-What about you girls go and change into swimsuits so we can get the party started? The bathrooms are on the left.- Tengen said and pointed at the deep of the house.
-Kanao can you stay with the boys while we go change, okay?- I asked her and she nodded her head. Kanao didn't like swimming around so many people so she didn't bring the swimsuit.
-Okay! Shinobu! You have our swimsuits, right?- Mitsuri asked her.
-Of course I do. What would you guys do without me?- Shinobu said while holding the bag with swimsuits.
I gave Giyuu one last glance and left him with Kanao.
TIME SKIP
-Reader! Why are you dry? Go swimming with us!- Misturi said and got out of the pool. As always she's showing a lot of her chest. It's not like I don't like it. I'm now sitting on the sunbed.
-Sorry but I can't swim today.- I said. I had on myself shorts and top of the swimsuit.
-But!- Mitsuri tried to reason with me.
-Mitsuri, I love you but I really can't.- I said. Mitsuri got closer to me and whipered to my ear.
-Why didn't you bring tampons?- Mitsuri asked me.
-My vagina doesn't like tampons.- I whispered.
-Mitsuri! I chellenge you for a swimming contest!- Kyojuro shouted with energy and happiness.
-YEAH!- Mitsuri quickly jumped into the water leaving me alone but not really.
I looked at Tanjirou who was now sitting on a chair tired. Hope she won't look like that after this.
-So you can't swim?- Giyuu asked me. He was laying o the sunbed next to me.
-Giyuu, don't make a small talk. That's american. And yeah I can't swim today.- I answered not really nicely.
-You don't really show up to parties often. What made you come here?- Giyuu asked me and put on his sunglasses.
-First off. You're my stalker or something? Second off. You look funny now.- I said and laughed.
-We just know each other for a long time and I can see it when you're not in the group.- He said like if it was some big problem.
-I have sometimes just more important thing, you know? And I came today becouse I want to relax a bit.- I said and gave him a look.
-Guys, it's starting to rain!- Zenitsu shouted.
-No it's not! You're just wet!- Inosuke shouted and splashed him with water. Few rain drops fell on me. I got up with Giyuu.
-Zenitsu is right it's starting to rain.- I said. Everyone started taking their stuff as the rain began to fall more heavily.
I took my bag and started heading inside. I slipped on the grass and fell.
-Fuck.- I cursed and sat up. Giyuu took my arm and helped me get up but then he didn't let go of it and ran with me to the inside.
-As we see our love birds as always together.- Tengen commented. Everyone were already inside and we were the last ones to get in. Giyuu let go of my arm and looked away.
-Okay, okay. Don't shit yourself.- I said and put my bag on the couch. Everyone started to have their own conversations mostly about how no one knew about storm coming.
-Reader, how is it that you say that you don't like Giyuu and don't want to be around him but on parties you always sit near him or talk to him the most?- Shinobu asked me.
-Coincidences.- I said and put on a shirt. I looked out of the window. It was already dark outside.
-I don't really belive it. Do you possibly have a crush on him?- Shinobu asked me and I got nervous.
-Me and him? Yeah maybe in other universe.- I chuckled and gave her a shirt to warm up.
-In other universe you proprably said the same thing.- Shinobu said with a little smile and put on the shirt.
-Yeah yeah. Stop looking for some drama's. You're not going to find any.- I said and crossed my arms.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!
A scream and loud banging came from the window outside. It was Atsushi. His stomach was bleeding. Hew as banging on the window in agony and horror. After a second he fell on the grass.
-OH MY GOD!- Mitsuri shouted terrified. Iguro quickly hugged her and covered her eyes. Sanemi did this as well to Kanae.
Others screamed. I quickly opened the door to outside and ran up to Atsushi.
He wasn't moving, proprably also breathing. I checked his pulse.
-He's dead!- I shouted so everyone could hear through the rain.
I heard screams and cries. Giyuu, Kyojuro, Tengen and Genya walked up to me and the dead body. I looked at the Atsushi more closely. His shirt was put on front on the back and back on the front for some reason.
-Turn him around!- I said and started trying to turn him around. Men without asking did it with me.
He was stabbed on the back, few buttons of his shirt were taken out.
-What psycho would do such a thing?- Genya asked himself while looking at this.
-I don't know. Sanemi! CALL POLICE!!!- I screamed to him.
Sanemi took out his phone and dialed the number.
-NO FUCKING SIGNAL!!!- Sanemi screamed back.
-OF FUCKING COURSE!!!- I cursed and looked down at Atsushi.
-We need to get back into the house. Whoever did this is proprably still outside.- Giyuu said and got up.
-Giyuu is right, let's go.- Kyojuro said with serious expression on his face.
-But... Okay...- I sighned while looking at the dead body and stood up.
We walked into the house and locked the door.
-Okay, everyone. Atsushi is dead. We're all sad becouse it's death but we can't forget about our safety. Lock every window and every door that leeds to outside. The killer is proprably outside. Now! Quick!- I shouted.
Everyone started closing the windows and doors in the house except for Zenitsu. He was just sitting on the couch looking at a wall.
-Hey, are you okay?- I asked him and sat next to him. Zenitsu was still looking at the wall.
-Reader-chan. How is that possible? He died in front of us... I saw him alive just twenty minutes ago.- he said quietly.
-Don't worry, Zenitsu. Now he doesn't feel any pain.- I hugged him and took a deeep breath to also calm down.
-But who will be next? Me?- he asked and started crying. He held onto me tightly.
-I will make sure that no one will be next. Not today.- I said. I moved slightly away and touched his shoulder.
-Thank you, Reader-chan.- Zenitsu tried to smile but it didn't really wokred.
-So everything is closed we need to think what we need to do next.- Kyojuro said as everyone walked into the living room.
-Surely we all need to stay in one room for no one to get attacked.- Shinobu hummed and sat on the other couch like the others.
-Yeah, what if one of us is the killer?- Inosuke asked and everyone started looking around.
-Don't say something like that Inosuke! We all we're inside when Atsushi got stabbed. The killer must be someone who wasn't invited to the party or we just don't even know.- Tanjirou said bravely.
-Wait, why Atsushi didn't go inside with us?- Genya asked everyone.
-I don't know...- Kanae said.
-Me too...- Tengen exclaimed.
-Okay, no one knows why he didn't go with us be we all know that it's not safe here. Why won't we just drive to the police station?- Sanemi asked with as always rushed and rough tone.
-Exactly. Get the keys. We left them at the entrence.- Hiroshi said and pointed at the door of the hallway.
Everyone walked into the hallway. Sanemi, Kanae and Giyuu took keys to their cars. We got out of the house after getting out things and walked into the little parking that was part of the property.
-Are you fucking kidding me!?- Sanemi shouted. A big tree fell ealier on the three cars. Lightning proprably struck it. The rain and night sky made everything so gloomy.
-Ehhh, let's head back inside.- Tengen said, the rest agreed and we went back to the house.
-Fuck, I have nothing to change into.- I said while looking at my soaked clothes. Everyone got into the living room.
-Have this.- Giyuu said and gave me a blue towel.
-Thanks.- I sighned and put the towel on myself.
-If you need anything just tell me.- Giyuu said and touched my shoulder.
-Thanks???- I looked at him confused.
-It's kinda suspisious.- Sanemi said.
-What is?- Tengen asked him.
-Giyuu, Atsushi and hour ago died and you're already making a move on a girl he had a crush on?- Sanemi walked up to Giyuu.
-I'm not making a move. Just helping her.- Giyuu said not intimidated by Sanemi.
-Atsushi had a crush on me?- I asked Sanemi shocked.
-Oh hell yeah he did. He told everyone including Giyuu how he wants to confess to you at the party and bum. He gets killed. Giyuu and you were close in some way since middle school so I wouldn't be shocked if he got jealous and snapped.- Sanemi explained while looking directly on Giyuu. Everyone looked at him.
-Giyuu couldn't kill Atsushi becouse he was with me inside at the time of the murder.- I said and walked up to both of them.
-Yeah.- Tengen said.
-As always you're making sure your 'innocent stalker' gets away with things.- Sanemi argued.
-He isn't a stalker and I'm saying truth. Stop trying to blame Giyuu when you know he's not a killer.- I argued back.
-Yeah, but how is it that we never talk about how he has pictures of you in his closet?- Sanemi said it louder so everyone could hear. All eyes were on us.
-Everyone has few pictures of their friends somewhere.- I crossed my arms.
-Yeah yeah, but only you are on them. No one fucking else. He hides something or you two hide something!- Sanemi shouted.
I looked at Giyuu and he just nodded his head.
-We've been secretly dating since college.- Giyuu already said it. Everyone freezed.
-What?! But Reader is so mean to you!- Mitsuri shouted shocked.
-We did that so you guys wouldn't realise that we're dating.- Giyuu answered.
-Is that true, Reader? Giyuu isn't black mailing you or something?- Shinobu asked me.
-It's true. And that's why we didn't tell you. Most of you look for dramas in relationships. We only told Kyojuro, Tanjirou, Kanao and Kanae becouse they don't talk bad about couples behind their back nor tell anyone about this.- I explained.
-I'm sorry...- Mitsuri said and looked down.
-You have nothing to be sorry about. It's just your nature to talk about things that you think about.- I said and hugged her as she hugged me back.
-Damn, so Giyuu is not a virgin.- Tengen commented.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!
A scream and few thuds came from the other side of the house.
-What was that?- Kanae asked shocked.
-Let's go and see.- Sanemi said and ran.
Everyone started heading towards the sound. I took an umbrella in case to fight off someone.
When we got there we saw Nana at the end of the stairs laying on the floor in blood.
-Not again...- I said and walked up to her with the others. She was laying on her back lifeless. I checked her pulse.
-She's dead.- I sighned and covered my eyes with my hand. Giyuu made me stand up by gently holding my shoulders. He then hugged me.
-I think that someone may have pushed her. If she fell herself then she would lay on her stomach.- Shinobu said.
-This had gone too far.- Iguro said.
The lights went off. It was pitch black for few seconds.
-Why did the lights went off?- Mitsuri asked.
-Proprably becouse of the storm. Giyuu and Reader, go look for flashilights in the basement. You two are the only ones who had some classess like karate or smth. The rest of us will go to the living room. Okay?- Tengen asked us.
-Eh, okay.- I said with a sighn.
We went the other way to the basement.
-I feel weird now that everyone knows that we're dating.- Giyuu said while holding my hand.
-Yeah, me too. You really have hidden pictures of me in your closet?- I asked him and he blushed.
-I may or may not have them.-Giyuu answered.
-I didn't really knew Nana nor Atsushi but I seeing them lying like that is just... Fucking traumatising.- I changed the subject.
-I know. It's very fucked up. I hope you will forget about this.- he said and his grip on my hand became a bit tighter. I opened the door to the basement and we started going down the stairs in silence.
When we reached the end of the stairs I quickly lit a match to see something.
-Look...- Giyuu whispered and pointed at some box. We walked up to it. There were flashlights in it, Giyuu took one and turned it on. I blew out the match.
-This basement is weirdly small, but there are doors to some other room. Are we going in?- he asked me. I took a flashlight for myself and turned it on.
-Yeah.. You live once.- I said. We walked up to the door. He stopped me from opening it and opened it himself.
-Jesus Christ.- he said with a sighn as he got into the room.
-What? Oh my god.- I said as I saw it.
There were a lot of monitors on the wall that showed views from cameras.
-How Tengen could forget about having cameras?- I asked Giyuu and sat on a chair in front of the monitors.
-He had few shots before you came.- Giyuu answered while standing behind me.
-Look, there is a camera where Atsushi died.- I said. I started changing time on the monitor.
-Already we can see who killed him unless it's someone with a mask.- Giyuu said.
The scene showed Atsushi who is was putting on the shirt backwards. He took the knife and started taking off the buttons of his shirt with the knife He fell becouse of a lightning which had previously fallen a tree on our cars.
-He literally stabbed himself!- I shouted and threw the towel I had on myself on the floor.
-Look what happend at the stairs.- Giyuu put a hand on my shoulder calming me down. I did what he told me.
Nana was walking down the stairs with her cup of alcohol then suddenly she accidently dropped it and tripped over it.
-Are you kidding me?- I said and hit my forehead with my hand.
-So there is no killer.- Giyuu sighned.
-Yeah and I'm happy about it but, we were so fucking scared for nothing!- I said and crossed my arms.
-I know.- he murmured. I stood up and he hugged me.
-So do we go to them and tell them that there is no killer in the house?- I asekd him.
-Yeah, we actually do that now or Zenitsu will have a heart attack.-
TIME SKIP.
-So really she tripped on the stairs and he stabbed himself? We need to see that.- Tengen said.
-Then go, we are tired as hell and going to bed.- I leaned on the Giyuu as we started walking towards one of the guests bedroom.
-Together?- Mitsuri asked with a smile.
-As you can see.- I said.
NSFW STARTS HERE
We walked into the bedroom. As soon as I saw the bed I threw myself on it and layed on my stomach. Giyuu started taking off my pants.
-What are you doing you pervert?- I asked him and chuckled.
-Helping you in getting ready to sleep.- He answered when he took them all of and threw them at some chair he squished my butt gently.
-More in getting ready to fuck.- I commented and opened my legs wider. He took off my top and then my bra.
-Two in one.- he said. For a while he didn't do anything to me but then I heard him threwing his clothes somewhere.
-Are you going to just sit behind me or do some... fuck.- I moaned as I felt his hand touching my clit through my panties. His fingers started to press on my button and at the entrence. I started streching out my butt out of sensation. Giyuu lay down on me.
-I love you...- He murmured while kissing my chin.
-I love you too but fuck...- I said and started grinding my butt against his boxers.
-I see you're already wet and horny as hell, me too. What about we take these off?- He asked me while making circles on my clit throught my panties.
Hope you liked it :)
#x reader#fem reader#demon slayer giyuu#giyuu smut#kimetsu giyuu#giyuu tomioka#kny giyuu#giyuu x reader#demon slayer#kny#tomioka
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Weekend links, June 9, 2024
My posts
MY ABELIAS HAVE POWDERY MILDEW. We have now acquired a fungicide and sprayed down everything in a six-foot radius of Patient Zero, a crape myrtle that had “mysteriously” not grown much foliage back this year. Thrilling, I know.
If you want to know what post-exertion malaise is, it’s me cleaning for an hour and then being laid out for three days. Coincidentally, I had someone else’s post about chronic fatigue and taking constant breaks in my queue. To round it off, here’s an old post of mine about giving yourself and your fatigue the same grace you’d give other people’s.
Side note, I have realized that mobile now cuts off my profile bio to
She/her. Classy dame, sparkle consultant, vampire
New followers, I have some very disappointing news for you.
Reblogs of interest
Pride Month: Spotlight on activist/drag queen Marsha P. Johnson
Related: I think the Pride Moth should become the next Tumblr Animal Mascot.
Great Uncles Angelo and Bill, a love story
The Hot Vintage Lady to Rule Them All: Eartha Kitt.
Hozier Watch 2024: Here’s “Too Sweet” on--I nearly said “The Colbert Report” and I kind of wish it was.
Dante inventing the circles of hell: It’s the “Thank you king I am commissioning fan art of you” that always sends me.
The flowered houses of Zalipie, Poland
I have had to get a few crowns because I grind my teeth, and I am very excited about the idea of this tooth regeneration therapy, which my dental insurance won’t cover either.
Come for the five things food banks want most (money), and stay for the tale of the chaos penny drive.
“One of the most dangerous things we tend to do is treat insights as rules”
Translating Sappho is more complex than you might think
The more you know: a breakdown of the differences between “Rromani,” “Romany,” “Ro[u]manian,” and ethnic slurs in Dracula
Vampire Therapist, available to wishlist on Steam
1000 Books You May Have Actually Read: The implied “you” here is “U.S. readers,” I think. I hit 200 (”better than 86% of users on this list”) because I have read a lot of Shakespeare, “I’m Bella Swan and my hobbies are English class” books, and Stephen King. If you have read YA of the last 20 years, James Patterson, or Colleen Hoover, you will blow past me.
Video
“The Golden Sandwich, made 95% out of aid package contents, 5% with love and resilience 🍉🚨”
Hey, so, Adobe is forcing you to agree to let them go through all your shit. Adobe responds, and I don’t believe them.
Philadelphia Flyers mascot Gritty raising the Progress Pride flag
A guy playing piano and the cat who loves him
“cut to me, playing my horror instrument at 4 am” Okay, but now imagine a hellhound nestled up lovingly against the player of this instrument.
A roan, a rider, a pride flag, and no tack
The sacred texts
The duality of bun
“Poob has it for you” is probably too new to be a sacred text, but I’m investing
“why are you microwaving carbonated drinks” is not the shocking part
Personal tags of the week
Dune, for some reason, bunnying, and tumblr therapy, a tag that will just body you over and over.
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Sometimes I’ll see someone praising Colleen Hoover books on tiktok and it makes me pause and wonder if this is their first time reading since middle school. Cuz so many people have been saying that it’s like reading something done by a 13 year old. Tho I’ve seen some of those video essays on YouTube where some people read her books and share their thoughts, and say one where they think she should switch to horror instead of romance from the way she writes some of the things in 2 of her books called verity and layla I think?
I can’t fully remember which book this next but is in cuz I saw one girl’s video that was reviewing Hoover’s worst books so there was a few in there. But it’s like each thing that I learned was like getting hit by a truck. Like why was there 2 characters laughing about how big their son’s balls are before running off the road and into a lake, and leaving the baby to die cuz they apparently couldn’t get him out the car seat. Like damn I sure do love to think of our last moment with our son, laughing at his balls before drowning. Or a different book where the main chick is trying to manually eject the fetuses she’s carrying cuz she’s jealous that the main guy is already saying that he loves those babies. And that’s just one of the things that is just so ?? And that’s just been a small part from those strange books
i actually do think a lot of colleen hoover fans are people that are rediscovering reading and probably went a long time without doing it, or weren't really readers when they were younger. most people i knew who grew up reading or writing a lot developed a very strong sense of what's good writing and what's not because when you read enough, the line between good and bad writing becomes very, very clear. i was telling someone the other day about how when i was a kid i used to dnf books after the first paragraph because the writing was just so off from the get go. but i suppose, if you're getting into reading later in life and didn't pay attention to writing quality when you were younger, then yeah, you're gonna pick up some books that aren't the pinnacle of literature, and that's FINE.
i will always encourage and support people reading at any age...even if they choose to read colleen hoover. but that doesn't mean i can't criticize colleen's writing, which is trash. i have yet to read a line from one of her books that doesn't make me physically cringe. from the writing to the tropes to the characters, just awful. i recently read a twitter thread that had a bunch of pages of it ends with us, and i was just so baffled that she got a movie deal over that shit like there are so many better stories to adapt. and btw the shit show that was the it ends with us press tour...jesus christ.
anyway, i'm only familiar with her more popular books. i was actually gifted a copy of ugly love (the book about the baby with the big balls) for my 16th, and i just haven't been able to bring myself to read it. it's at the absolute bottom of my tbr list, and it gets moved further down every time i buy a new book. but all that to say, i was not aware of little miss "ejecting fetuses"? and against my better judgement, i will be looking into that.
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TBH, I don't consider reducing/hiding scars a minor pet peeve at all. Activists for facial differences have been talking for years about 'disfigurement' being used as shorthand for moral failings. I could blame wanting to lighten the burden on makeup artists, but there's never any hesitation to make villains scarred. It's only if the character is meant to be sexy or heroic that their scars get toned down or removed.
DEFINITELY!
I think there are many aspects to this, the biggest one being the one you mentioned, this dynamic of villain = scarred, hero = not scarred.
And another thing that I hate about it is how especially in adaptions they take a facial difference and make it much smaller, less visible, move it etc. - and then try to pull off the same narrative about this character being perceived as not conventionally attractive. Which immediately becomes incredibly condescending and makes it even worse, especially when they choose a conventionally good-looking character to play that role.
An example:
He is supposed to look "monstrous" - like bro, what does that make the rest of us?
(And just to make the dehumanisation of people with facial differences more obvious: In the source material, this guy had half-lion features)
Another aspect I can think of is the fetishisation of self-hatred in this regard. It is portrayed as "good" when a character with a facial difference (especially a woman, in these tropes) puts herself down - but then in swoops a love-interest to tell how beautiful they are. Meanwhile, a character with a facial difference or something similiar who - for themselves - says: "Hey, actually I like the way I look" - is treated as arrogant and the butt-end of the joke. (There is this Colleen Hoover book I'm thinking of here, as one example, that in my defence I only watched a pretty scathing review of)
But I also think that there are some racial aspects and gender aspects to this. There are probably a lot of people more qualified to talk about these racial aspects of this and maybe I am imagining things or don't see the full scope of it but I definitely feel like they feel far more comfortable doing this "villains have scars" thing with characters of colour - at least relative to the amount of representation characters of colour get to begin with. And it feels like...well, again, I'm not the best person to put this into words but since it usually goes hand in hand with the villain-trope, it feels like an effort to dial up the othering, especially in older shows and movies that use stuff like rituals or something for shock value. To make other races or cultures look sCaRy and DifFeReNt.
Or - just the first example that comes to my mind: The original mirror-verse episode of Star Trek. The reason I'm mentioning this is because it is a piece of media where you can see side-by-side which visual cues writers settled on to make our characters look "evil": One is dialling up the sexy - especially with the women who are all much more horny - another is giving mirror!Sulu a big facial scar. And on the surface level, the reasoning even makes sense - that world is a lot more brutal so it makes sense that someone would have scars. But for one, there is the interesting choice to make Sulu the character to give it to. Not to mention: Our "normal"-verse characters also see fights and injuries. They could have scars very reasonably. Star Trek is all about inclusivity - but there is a notable absence of e.g. scarring of visible body differences in the original show - they even used body doubles and selective shots to hide James Doohan's missing finger. But the moment we go into an "evil" universe, there is facial difference and it is on the body of a man of colour.
And then you have the issue that female characters must not have visible scars in most cases - because they have to be eye-candy for the audience. And considering the huge pressure that is already placed on women to be beautiful, it feels like another body standard in the media ("we will show women suffering in all shapes all the time to the point of being exploitative, but also they heal back perfectly and don't appear changed at all. So the audience gets to eat their misogyny cake and eat it too.) Meanwhile, some male hero characters (usually action heroes, video game heroes) do get to have scars or some facial difference to show their "journey" and how much they hardened and what they survived - which I think can be a positive message - "hey, your scars talk about what you went through and what you survived and that you're a badass!" - but women get this to a much smaller degree despite having extra tons of pressure placed upon them to look beautiful so it feels really cool (also - referring back to my first point, self-empowerment is also treated as negative and almost egomanical because informing a woman that she is beautiful is a man's job)
(An example: I watched a a Netflix adaption of a book I had read recently and in the book, two major female characters have an identical scar on their face and that is pretty relevant to the story - and they just decide to place in the palms of her hands instead where it is much less visible and the scenario behind the first woman's injury becomes a lot less believable than the one in the novel)
And the thing is, I don't even always buy that it to save on make-up or effects in a lot of cases because often they are productions that have tons of budget for other things and a lot of movies and shows can show their characters for half the episode/movie with scrapes on their face and blood on their face etc. I have a hard time believing that this is so much harder to do than a scar.
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Introduction
Name: Laya Pronouns: she/her
Personality type: INFJ (I took the test so many times but it still says I'm INFJ but guys I really don't judge anyone, like, NEVER)
What is this blog about: basically shitposting, ranting, fangirling and you'll find some random bursts of motivation. nothing productive, to be honest.
My hobbies:
singing in the bathroom
listening to music (english and hindi)
reading novels
trekking
sketching portraits (pencil and color pencils)
traumatizing my cousins
ranting
fangirling
Books I've read:
riordanverse (haven't read kane chronicles, though)
harry potter
the hunger games
the maze runner
little women
the song of achilles
the seven husbands of evelyn hugo
they both die at the end
children of blood and bone
shatter me
colleen hoover (i like her books, don't judge me)
shadowhunter chronicles
the folk of air
the fault in our stars
turtles all the way down
13 reasons why
all the bright places
every last word
we were liars
looking for Alaska
the boy in the striped pajamas
the book of tomorrow
the silent patient
my heart and other blackholes
a good girl's guide to murder series
the love hypothesis
love on the brain
loathe to love you
two can keep a secret
diary of a young girl
how to be a bawse
List of things/people I love:
fictional characters>>>>
oscar wilde
disney movies
memes
tom felton
tom holland
shawn mendes
nature (trees, moon, sun, water, etc.)
Also, um, I'm kinda writing a fic.... idk how long it'll go but for what it's worth, here you go
Part 1 Part 2 a glimpse pf Aria Das
my blog is open for everyone who wishes to rant or vent out their feelings. i'm a supporter of the lgbtq+ community. blank blogs and porn bots will be blocked.
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If We Were Villains: a book review
Or, the power of environmental storytelling, amazing characterization, theatrics and what it does to a STEM student with a passion for the arts
A/N: This is my first time writing a book review, and I decided to make up a little formula for myself to follow for the rest of my reviews. Truthfully, IWWV is not my first book, but it has defintiely inspired me enough to write something for it that isn’t fanfiction so here it is. Feel free to share your thoughts and bring up discussions, as this book is dear to me in many ways and it deserves to be talked about. Do note all of this is my opinion and that is all it will ever be. Hope you enjoy this review/semi-analysis of IWWV that I am less than qualified to talk about, but that is the beauty of self-expression. Please be warned of spoilers which will be marked as to where they Start.
How I was Introduced to the Book
I first learned of the book through booktok. And I know the implications of that statement and the reputation of booktok in the bookish community. I, myself, don’t think too highly of booktok (as it is where all the colleen hoover fans worm about), but I have to admit that it is, by far, one of the best avenues to discover authors and books, no matter the romanticization of reading as a hobby or the misinterpretation of these books. Truthfully, without booktok, I would not have asked my friend to buy me a copy of If We Were Villains for my birthday and I wouldn’t be enamoured by its narrations and characters as I am right now. There was a specific tiktoker that I followed for the fact that they have read a lot of dark academia books – which is a genre that I’m getting into right now! If We Were Villains was introduced to me as a really great book with a lot of twists and turns, and I went into it with that expectation.
The Book Itself in My Own Words
Imagine that one picture that comes up whenever you search “dark academia aesthetic” on pinterest. There is a manor at the far end of the photo, distant and castle-like. Vines and greenery cling to it as if it were the old cobblestone shrine of a forest God and its windows are hauntingly grey with dust as if it were lived in by no one except ghosts. You are only outside looking in, and there is no scene you can manage from the manor. What you can observe, however is a lake. It reflects the greyish bluish white sky above it and it does not move against the life, the nature that surrounds it. It is ever present and everlastingly still; ultimately very boring to the people who spare it a glance, but go beyond depths you and I can comprehend or imagine. Think of that image, but in book form. Oh and add several other complicated things in it too, just for flavor.
If We Were Villains by M. L. Rio is a hauntingly, tragic mystery about 7 friends who made the mistake of being gay theatre kids. It’s the found family trope in reverse as you watch as their life fall apart in the incident of a murder that no one is really sure who did. We follow Oliver Marks, essentially the main character and the narrator of the story as he describes what his life is like and how it’s about to be ruined because some guy was too petty to accept that he isn’t always the star of the show. Watch the 6 of them go through the motion, pretending everything is fine and that they’re all not mentally ill in some way while quoting shakespeare that no normal person does.
As sarcastic as I sound, it is genuinely a wonderful, captivating story about grief, friendship and art. Everything is so complicated (in a good way) and you’re not really sure what to feel about all of it, but at the same time, you stay for the ride because the feelings are worth it, just to see this show to the end just so these characters can reach their epilogue finally. The way I would describe it is imagine all those reading assignments and book reports you had to do in your english class about a sonnet or play, then mix it with all the gay fanfiction one would read in the witching hours of 3 am as you sob quietly to yourself because you know your ship will never be canon. It is a culmination of these two things, and it’s awesome.
First Impressions/Last Impressions
I struggled with getting through Act I of IWWV. And I do genuinely believe that this was not at all the fault of the author or the story as the set up was interesting and mysterious and curious enough for me to get hooked. It just so happened that the fish was uninterested and busy with other things that I did not get into immediately as I would have hoped. Despite this – and after several months of not reading – I managed to pick up the book again and return to where I left off.
Perhaps it was the fact that there was a large gap of me not reading IWWV and then the sudden bolt of me reading it religious explains why I found the first parts of IWWV quite slow. I do recognize this as a part of the set up and exposition of the book and was entirely necessary for the emotional impact that it would give me by the end, but prowling through those first few chapters was hard as someone with a short attention span and have several hobbies aside from reading and writing.
But now, after almost a year of trying to finish this book properly, I have to say that I am wrecked and I will never be the same again. I thought I was going to hate the endng, truthfully, as its implications was bleak and somehow, undermines the efforts of its characters. But, the epilogue had me pleasantly surprised and relieved, that I would have to say that the ending was exactly my cup of tea. I’m still not sure on where I stand with happy endings or tragic endings, but I do in fact love open endings – endings left to interpretation, the kinds that will make you tear your hair out because where is the rest of it? Why is the book just- done? And here is where fanfiction comes to play, my friend.
The journey has been a journey, and I definitely have to say that I have learned a lot from this book and that it was easy to fall in love with the book despite the rough beginning.
//SPOILERS START HERE//
How I fell in Love with It
The atmosphere IWWV gave me which was extremely immersive and can only be described as delightfully haunting. It is peak gray – and gay – atmosphere that I really enjoyed as it felt like the right amount of theatrics to not be too dramatic and satirical. Something also surprising is the fact that it is oddly humorous despite being a book about murder, shakespeare and what makes a tragedy. Actually, considering it is inspired by shakespeare, the humorous aspect is not so surprising if you take into account some shakespeare being pretty absurd as it is. The unironic things these characters do like randomly quote shakespeare out of nowhere is so pretentiously funny, but also contributes well to what the book is going for.
As unnatural as that would be for like a normal person, because Oliver and his friends are so deep into the shakespeare of their classes, they make it feel natural and you get used to that as the story progresses. Oliver had a really good justification for this which he explains to Colbourne in a way that I truly resonate with. This book, as well as the characters, are so in love with Shakespeare’s words that it’s hard to not find yourself enamoured by it to. I love the way they describe taking art like this as I feel, as an artist and creative, that this is an artist’s ulttimate purpose. To capture the things that cannot be said properly through ordinary words, and to encapsulate those moments of heightened emotion and feeling. Any piece of art is an attempt to reanimate emotion, and we use art to deliver those emotions that we, ourselves, cannot fully comprehend.
This is what I love about this book, aside from its brilliant storytelling and interesting and raw characters. It feels like it was made with the intention of appreciation for art, and I really respect that as art means so much to me. This book is art and it is about art as much as it is about this specific friend group dealing with whatever just happened, and I really really love and appreciate that about this book.
Strong Points/What I learned from It as a Writer
IWWV is genuinely a master class in environmental storytelling. The Castle, where everyone stays at during their time in Dellecher is the most effective use of environment I’ve seen in a book (which I’m sure there’s more, I just haven’t read it yet in which I will at some point). The way the castle has a place for everyone, and the scene wherein Oliver is seen cleaning the different rooms of the Castle goes to show the amount of detail the author puts into each little cranny of their descriptions of the Castle. One specific detail I remember was in Richard’s room where a chess board was described with one horseman toppled over and another missing. I may be tweaking, but that might just imply something about story. Aside from the environments, IWWV also makes good use of its inspiration material which is shakespeare.
I definitely should have gone into IWWV with some knowledge of shakespeare and I would encourage anyone who wish to read IWWV to read at least one shakespear book, because I didnt and I am incredible lost on how IWWV uses those narratives of Shakespeare’s plays to reference its own tragedy and characters and I am extremely upset that I didn’t get to experience that other narrative of the what the play were trying to tell the reader. But of course, you don’t have to have a background in theatre or shakespeare to read IWWV. It would extremely as they constantly quote shakespeare and if you don’t know what those quotes mean, you will get lost at some point, but you can manage through it (as I said, the book does well with these quotes that it starts feeling natural enough that you, too, would start to make sense of these quotes even if you would struggle at first). But, from what I have heard from people who have read the book and Shakespeare, the plays do reference and foreshadow the story within IWWV.
The play Ceasar directly reference how Richard is going to die and who’s going to kill him. Like Richard is the modern Julias Ceasar, he is someone who has caused tyranny in their group of friends and provoked James to hit him on the head which led to his friends eventually leaving him for dead. I still struggle sometimes with that betrayal because in truth, Richard was their friend for 3 years and then they’re just gonna throw him away like that? I think it’s just how I view friendship, but to be fair I don’t like Richard enough to be angry that he died. And that’s a good way of utilizing source material! Because who killed Ceasar if not his most intimate of friends.
This is kind of like Chekhov’s gun in a way except we’re talking about multiple guns and you’re in a gun shop and the fact that the guns are constantly being fired. Everytime the environment is being described, it doesn’t get boring or go into super great detail. I’m always seated for those descriptions of the environment because at some point one very specific detail will mean something to the story more than you expect it would. Otherwise, it contributes to the atmosphere and helps you feel incredibly immersive. I think much of what I read are heavily character-driven (which isn’t a bad thing!) and IWWV is also heavily character-driven in terms of plot, but it uses its environment well. Like it exists and isn’t just an extension of the actors themselves, but it doesn’t just exist as a setting, it exists as a plot device. A carefully crafted set for a performance. IWWV was a wonderful case study for me to be able to spot those little details in the environment and try my hand in interpreting what they mean, like a detective looking for clues – which is very fitting!
Characters and characterization was also very good in IWWV. Every character was equally flawed and all of their actions warrant a “What the actual fuck?” from me. The amazing thing about IWWV is that despite its title, none of these characters are bad people, just very flawed with poor decision-making skills. Even Richard, I would argue, is still a gray character despite being an asshole! It was entirely his fault for becoming needlessly petty and aggressive towards his friends, but I don’t really think that undermines their 3 years of friendship together. I genuinely believe that Richard was just a guy with a big ego that was too fragile for his own good and he did really dumb and shitty stuff about that. He isn’t your 2D Villain, because his actions were triggered by the event of something – being casted as someone that wasn’t the main focus of the play. And his friends and the reader have in their every right to be angry at Richard for the shit he’s done, but you have to admit he wasn’t always like that. He changed and that is the most admirable thing about the character writing in IWWV.
Everyone is very dynamic, but not too drastic for it to be jarring. They fit well together despite having contrasting personalities and all of them have something going on in terms of their personal life. It’s a shame we don’t exactly see ther perspectives as we are limited to Oliver’s narration, but we do get glimpses of it and I believe that is enough for the characters to feel real. My favorite character, Filippa, is the most mysterious one from the group in terms of backstory, but I know enough that she is willing to do everything – even hide a murder – just to protect her friends, her family, probably because she doesn’t have one of her own in more ways than one. And I got that from a single line that she said to Oliver when he asked why she hid the fact James did it.
“You all were the only family I had. I’d have killed Richard myself if I thought it would keep the rest of you safe. [...] I was terrified you’d do exactly what you did.”
Each main character of IWWV have their own tragedy to their character which is rooted upon the “type” of character they are in the beginning of the story. They all both defy and fit perfectly in their own roles in the narrative and that is their tragedy. Oliver is the sidekick who became the center of attention by his arrest, James is a hero who murdered a friend, Richard is a dead tyrant, Meredith is a temptress who wishes she was seen as anything but, Wren is the broken and frankly, no longer as innocent as she ought to be ingenue, and Alexander is the villain with good intentions. Filippa is the curious case as she does not have set role, this does not excuse her from being tragic, but it does makes sense how she is the only able to stay relatively stable throughout the story. In the very beginning we were already told of what tragedy these characters would have and it is all connected to their role in a stereotypical narrative, how they are type-casted in their plays.
I would go into each of the characters and their own personal tragedies and flaws, but that would be really long, so I won’t. But these characters and the play on the type-casting of these actors are perfectly executed. I would like to cite James’ arc for this as he is described as being the hero, but slowly, as we see how he and everyone else copes with Richard’s death and how he gets casted into the villain role, we saw how this changes him and how his archetype of being the hero slowly crumbles to make way for a darker James filled with immense amount of guilt that only perpetuates with Oliver’s arrest. We see how it breaks him as his hero persona is no longer his. He takes up the role of the villain, and that kills him because he was never meant to play that role. Everything about him screams hero and I think he himself believed that, so his sense of self crumbles away as it is slowly revealed that he is in fact, the villain of this story. And yet, what makes him the villain is still technically a heroic act. He killed a tyrant after all. And that is just hella clever.
IWWV almost reads as really complicated fairytale if you think of it as these characters as the archetypes of their roles. It is definitely the most fascinating and creative way of character writing I’ve ever seen and that is a feat on its own. It follows a formula, yet it defies the routinely-ness of that, the audience can understand what’s going on like in the middle of the book and I think that serves well in this scenario because now, it’s only a matter of dread and waiting for the final act to commence. I never felt like I was reading an intermission in any parts of it as everything, both character and environment, serve the plot really well.
Criticisms/Pet Peeves
But of course, despite all my praise, this book is not free of the criticisms and I did feel frustration for some parts of it whether it was good or bad frustration. It’s not a perfect book and I have a few gripes with it.
The way it treats Meredith and Wren specifically is appalling. It, sadly, goes into that really bad trope in some queer books of the women getting in the way of the men hooking up. I really feel bad for these women because, even if they still have their own things going on and they are able to be their own characters, they somehow become extensions of the men that they are involved with, and everytime, it is extremely unfair.
I’ll just say it, Oliver is just using Meredith to forget about James. I don’t doubt he loves her or doesn’t think of her as attractive because he does, but there is an aspect to their relationship that they both don’t deny is really connected to Oliver’s and James’ relationship. This is a flaw of Oliver’s character that I don’t like because it’s so unfair for Meredith and the way they started their relationship is also kind of dubious? I mean, Meredith went for Oliver not only because he was “nice”, she also went for him because he was the only one available and the complete opposite of Richard. Meredith had no interest in Oliver in the first few scenes of this book and Oliver also didn’t really think of her much because she was already with Richard, but he couldn’t deny she was pretty. I just don’t like the implications of their relationship to Meredith’s character and her struggle with objectification and her constantly being sexualized by the men around her. I know Oliver wouldn’t do that, but at the end of the day, isn’t he just using her?
I desperately want to believe in their love and I do! But it gets so bad when you mix in James because suddenly, Meredith no longer exist to Oliver. He literally went to jail for the guy, of course, his love for James isn’t equal in any way to his love for Meredith. I also just don’t agree with how the ending has Oliver and Meredith together only for Oliver to essentially leave Meredith because he finds out that James might still be alive. He admits that he was still in love with James! I understand that polyamorous relationships are a thing, but clearly Oliver has shown to be neglecting of Meredith whenever James comes to his peripheral vision! I just think that, maybe, Meredith deserves better than how Oliver is treating her.
And god, don’t get me started on James and Wren. They, frankly, came out of nowhere! I think its because we are limited to Oliver’s perspective so we don’t see how their relationship developed and how their dynamic would go. I do see that James cares much for Wren and vice-versa and that they could totally work, but god, when you mix Oliver into it, Wren just doesn’t exist. I am extremely upset about the part where James gets incredibly drunk and then drags Wren to sleep with him for the same reasons Oliver sleeps with Meredith! And I hate it.
It’s very messy, and very well-written and very in-character, but god the implications. The way these women are being treated in the relationship drama is just to serve the men’s own relationship and how they totally belong to each other, but somehow they’re not together and they have to stay with the women and it’s really messy and Oliver is a disaster bisexual. Maybe I just don’t like love triangles or love squares, but this is just a prime example why you shouldn’t date someone in the same friend group. It’s messy and sometimes, I debate with myself if it was necessary. Either way, it happened and I can’t do anything about that.
Overall Thoughts/Scoring
I have a lot of thoughts about IWWV and the book itself has a lot of themes and messages that really struck me. One thing that I really liked about IWWV as an aroace-spectrum person is the friend group’s relationship because despite all the tragedy around them, they manage to be really wholesome and there examples there of platonic intimacy that I don’t usually get to see in books. I love how Oliver and Filippa are essentially like siblings with how they are always there for each other and Filippa is always looking out for him and their other friends. I love the brotherly relationship between Oliver and Alexander. And despite my gripes, there are moments in Oliver’s and Meredith’s relationship that remind me that they were friends first and lovers second, and I really appreciate that.
I didn’t mention Oliver’s and James’ relationship as much because I’m pretty sure that’s what you would expect for me to say. It’s a good relationship, I like it since I’ve always been a fan of that kind of dynamic where they transcend the meaning of best friends, they’re gay essentially, but they are also each other’s person and their intimacy is beyond physical. I’m just describing sexual/romantic tension here but everytime they are in screen together, you just know that they are looking at each other with so much emotion. And of course, what Oliver did for James was incredibly stupid, but also just states what James is to Oliver. And it’s really codependent, don’t get me wrong, but it’s a kind of love that makes you feel thing.
I also would like to comment on how it tackles grief and guilt as those are major themes in the story. I appreciate how despite being dead, Richard is still ever-present in Oliver’s mind and everyone else’s that no one even bothers to go to his room aside from Oliver who just has to because he has to clean it. Guilt haunts everyone in If We Were Villains and I feel for that, especially when it comes to grief. It captures perfectly what mourning for someone who did some really bad stuff to you is like with the added guilt that you somehow contributed to his death. And it’s cruel how these people just have to deal with that major change; nothing is ever the same when someone dies and we can’t do anything about it. The show must go on, unfortunately. And that’s what happens to these characters, on or off the stage, life will continue with or without them and they have to go with out, otherwise they might end up drowning in their own misery. I think that is much the moral we can find in IWW, if it even has one.
//SPOILERS END HERE//
My scoring would be an 8/10. It’s really good and I recommend it to anyone who’s a fan of shakespeare or really into dark academia. I wouldn’t say it would be the best introduction book for this genre, but it got me into it so maybe it could work for you too!
#if we were villains#iwwv#if we were villains spoilers#booklr#bookish#book review#book recommendation#iwwv spoilers#this was 7 pages in my gdocs#writer things
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Heyeyeye ok so I’m losing some motivation (IM NOT QUITTING!!!) so to gain some back I decided to do a crackshot! I haven’t done one in a while so I’m suspecting that it might help get my mind flowing :) Anyways here ya go!!
Masterlist
Reading Songs
Superstar!Sans x Reader
Words: 641
Published: 5-26-2024
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I was crowded by the huge crowd all around me. It was a huge rave that my friend convinced me to go to but now she left me. I hate this. I hate all the noise and people. Everyone is so loud and obnoxious. It’s just a rave, can’t they be quiet? Anyways, I was standing near the side of the room while the DJ played some music. I was reading my book, It Starts With Us by Colleen Hoover. She is my favorite author ever. I can relate to every one of her books, it’s like she writes them just for me.
The DJs loud voice over the microphone cut me out of my reading world as I sighed in frustration. Couldn’t they have some compassion for a booktoker like myself? Grumbling out my anger, I listened to what the DJ had to say.
“Yo yo yo! What is up with my gangstas! Tonight we have a special someone just for you guys!!! Let me hear you holler! It’s the one, the only, Funny Bone!!” The DJ introduced the star, an extremely famous idol known for his comedy songs. Smoke filled the stage as a figure appeared. Once in view, I saw him. I saw the most hottest and majestic man there ever was. But he wasn’t even a man….he was a skeleton. From his tall 6’4 height to his buff bones and ribcage. But, I wasn’t like all these other girls. I wasn’t going to swoon over some guy I don’t even know.
I ignored how he was dancing and doing a hot jig while his voice serbaded the room. I continued to read my book. But soon, I heard the music louder and more direct. Looking up, I saw the singer in front of me. He was holding his hand out for me to grab while looking in my eyes. The skeleton continued singing a love song.
“Cause I don’t mind if the world spins faster
Music’s louder, the waves get stronger
I don’t mind if the world spins faster
faster
faster
Just let me take you to a better place!”
I am in shock. I slowly grab his boney hand and he pulls me onto the stage and holds me close in his arms. My beautiful orbs look up to him through my long fluttery lashes. He looks in my colorful spheres while still singing. Funny Bone spins me around in a circle. Soon enough, the song and concert is over and the crowd cheers loudly before leaving. But I’m still on stage with Funny Bone. Once the entire audience leaves, he turns to me with a big smile.
“I saw you down there reading, I didn’t know someone could be so beautiful and so natural!” He complimented me with those dark eyes, only lit up by a blue dot in each. I laugh nervously as I look at this hunk of a man in front of me.
“Oh yeah, I’m just not like those other girls who swoon so easily.” I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. I’m so small compared to him. He chuckled this deep and beeping chuckle.
“Yeah, you’re different. I like that about you. Anyways, my name is Sans. Sans Undertale.” He smirked at me with his husky voice. I blushed deeply.
“O-o-o-o-oh I i i i i i i i’m Y-y-y-y-y-y-y/n…” I looked down anxiously. He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look back at him. His eyes were half lidded as he gave me a dark smile.
“That’s a beautiful name, Y/n. And you’re so petite too, why don’t we go back to my room and talk more?” He suggested. I was shocked but hooked.
“Y-y-y-yes pl-p-please…” I accepted quietly. I’m just some nerdy girl. He is a superstar. How could he ever like me?
#x reader#betterthanyalls#crackoneshot#crackshots#crack oneshot#sans undertale#sans au#sans#sans x reader#sans undertale x reader
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INTERVIEW WITH A WRITEBLR — @idreamofhamandcheese
Who You Are:
Isabel || She/her
I'm from literally everywhere and my dream is to be Donna Tartt. I am a horrendously form over function type person who has deranged tendencies.
What You Write:
What genres do you write in? What age ranges do you write for?
Drama, horror, mystery, and paranormal. Young adult and adult.
What genre would you write in for the rest of your life, if you could? What about that genre appeals to you?
I'm a third culture kid-- born in a country that doesn't align with my ethnicity and moved away from it at an early age, and I think that my writing, too, tends to be a blend. I can't decide between mystery and horror because for me, they're so intertwined. I have a preoccupation with legacy (last power of the written word and all that) which translates well into both genres-- in horror, I am fascinated by the past, and I think the same can be said for mystery.
What genre/s will you not write unless you HAVE to? What about that genre turns you off?
Romance, or anything really fluffy. I think it's wonderful that other people can do it, but I can't not add something twisted. I'm more interested in exploring the dynamics of friendship than romance.
Who is your target audience? Do you think anyone outside of that would get anything out of your works?
Teenage girls. I think modern YA is doing them a great disservice, and I say this as someone who loves the Hunger Games. Publishers are printing money with these identical books which I truly think are a bit insulting to your average teen reader-- most of whom are really into The Bell Jar and Virginia Woolf and Dorothy Parker. I will never disparage a teenage girl's love of fluffy YA (I loved These Violent Delights) but I think there's a gap in the market for a lot of young girls who ache for something that doesn't shy away from their ugly side.
What kind of themes do you tend to focus on? What kinds of tropes? What about them appeals to you?
Always friendship. Best friendship, the sort that's deeper than romantic love and the sort that can turn hideous. Murder, both for gore and the questions it raises. I like messy characters, unlikable ones, ones that get worse as the book goes on. I like writing train wrecks. I want rubbernecking readers, really.
What themes or tropes can you not stand? What about them turn you off?
I'll really try anything. What I don't like are books that present themselves as fully rounded, complex novels, but are actually only about the main character's devotion to some guy. It's fine to write a romance book with only that relationship plotline, but I'm very turned off by the main character having no agency. I can't stand much of Colleen Hoover's It Ends With Us because of this-- Lily just didn't feel like a person. I was acutely aware she was words on the page or a microphone stand for CoHo.
What are you currently working on? How long have you been working on it?
It isn't titled because I cannot title things for the life of me, but in brief, a story of a girl with vengeful tendencies and mortician parents who becomes intertwined with an it-girl flapper murdered a hundred years prior at the elite boarding school they both, at a point in time, attended. It's a lot about my own complicated feelings toward justice and anger and all the things we keep buried deep. This iteration is new-ish, but the story has been with me a while.
Why do you write? What keeps you writing?
Of course I adore the craft, but really my biggest goal is for my book to mean something to someone like my favorite books have meant to me.
How long have you been writing? What do you think first drew you to it?
Forever and ever. I was an obsessive reader (I'm an obsessive person) and I parroted my earliest favorites, which tended to be the more macabre-leaning children's series (Goosebumps, Unfortunate Events, etc.).
Where do you get your inspiration from? Is that how you got your inspiration for your current project? If not, where did the inspiration come from?
It feel like thin air, but really it's everywhere. A first line generally springs to mind without a plot to back it up. From there, it's a quilt of things-- a lipstick imprint on a Starbucks cup, my eBay typewriter, watching a friend wipe hairdye from her temple. Anything and everything goes in my notebook.
What work of yours are you most proud of? Why?
Always my latest one. Writing is not easy for me. I work incredibly hard at it, and I like to think I find something to improve with every work.
Have you published anything? Do you want to?
Some journalism, no fiction. Publishing a book is my singular dream.
What part of the publishing process most appeals to you? What part least appeals to you?
I think writing the acknowledgments and dedication. I have a lot to say about writing and a lot of thanks to give. This would be my "I made it" moment, I think. As for least appealing, I have the patience of a shrew, so querying is terrifying.
What part of the writing process most appeals to you? What part is least appealing?
Very boring answer, but I love drafting. Word on page type stuff. Can't stand editing.
Do you have a writing process? Do you have an ideal setup? Do you write in pure chaos? Talk about your process a bit.
Wherever, whenever the mood strikes. I've finally learned there is no writing magic. I try to write every day, but I don't force it anymore. I have picked up awful habits from NaNoWriMo, as much as I appreciate it for getting me involved in the community. I like a bit of background chatter, ideally, and to work late morning, early afternoon. But I am too busy to be fussy, really.
Your Thoughts on Writeblr:
How long have you been a writeblr? What inspired you to join the community?
Been on tumblr far too long but only this past year as a writeblr. Honestly, I just think I was bored one day.
Shout out some of your favorite writeblrs. How did you find them and what made you want to follow them?
@the-stray-storyteller & @avocado-frog are great and from a little discord server.
What is your favorite part about writeblr?
It's an unusually serene corner of the internet.
What do you think writeblr could improve on? How do you think we can go about doing so?
I would love to see more organized events like this one!!
How do you contribute to the writeblr community? Do you think you could be doing more?
To be honest, I mostly stay in my little hovel. I'm ridiculously behind on tag games.
What kinds of posts do you most like to interact with?
poetry, little snippets of your work. it isn't self indulgent. i want to read it.
What kind of posts do you most like to make?
love a good tag game.
Finally, anywhere else online we may be able to find you?
nope.
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