#i knew it was a big disparity but i never realized how big

[grinchwrapsupreme]

That rarepair bracket got me curious so I went and made a chart of the top 10 pairings in the Torchwood AO3 and uh... well...

huh...

[timberlakefan96]

I have a theory for why Harris lost that I haven’t seen much, and it’s not glamorous or exciting.

Basically: EVERYONE knows who Trump is, nobody knew who Harris was. That’s it.

Harris had 107 days or three months and 15 days to get her word out there, and Trump literally never stopped campaigning since riding down that escalator 3431 days, or nine YEARS, four months, and 21 days before Election Day 2024.

There’s a lot of talk about which policies Harris should and shouldn’t have championed, but lest we forget, the anti-Harris messaging for a sufficient portion of her campaign was that she had no policies, because nobody could name them.

Even when she was given a public platform, any coherent argument she could give was drowned out by the opposition, even when given coverage was opposed to that opposition. Remember the debate? Remember how the news cycle was dominated afterwards, not by her 90 page economic plan, but by whether or not Haitians ate cats? That’s important.

With so little time to campaign and so much airtime dedicated to Trump, she had to rely on social media and word of mouth to get her message out there, but this is also a very flawed strategy.

I think, if you’re here on Tumblr, you’re probably very internet-oriented, so it’s easy to think that everyone is on the internet, but the internet is a much smaller, much more fractured place than we realize.

I wrote several paragraphs showing social media statistics, but it made this post much longer than it should’ve been. I’ll make a separate post later. The big takeaway is that social media platforms have vested interests to appear as big and far-reaching as possible, but actual engagement statistics are vanishingly small. On Facebook, the largest platform by a country mile, less than a quarter of a percent of people who view a given post will engage with it, and that includes looking at it for longer than ten seconds. On Twitter, 97% of the site’s content is created by less than 25% of its users. The number of people in the US who post once a day is smaller than the population of Michigan. The number of people in the US who post more than once a day could fit in Michigan Stadium.

Due to the short timeframe, Harris’s campaign had to rely disproportionately on the internet, and the internet has a hard cap on word travel. Even if every single American on social media had access to perfect knowledge of Harris and her policies, you’re still only reaching half of all voting Americans, at best.

This also explains, I think, the seeming disparity between all the “unprecedented” early voting/registration reporting versus final vote tallies: the people who vote early AND report on early voting are going to be more active on social media in general, and, again, there’s a hard limit on how many people that can be.

Also, she still got 74 million votes, which is the second largest number of votes for any Democrat presidential candidate ever, behind Biden in 2020. And Biden was, himself, a very public, well-known figure even during his own Vice-presidency, in ways Kamala wasn’t.

At the end of the day, I really don’t think Harris‘s policies or interviews or debates affected her campaign at all. I think it was simply not enough time.

And she still managed more popular votes than literally every other presidential candidate in history, save two. There are definitely discussions to be had about her policies and why she lost and where the Democratic Party is going from here, but I also think it’s important to keep those discussions within that context. Did she misstep, veering more right as the election drew near? Should she have given clearer answers when asked about Palestine or Trans rights? Absolutely! Would that have helped her get more votes than Biden, who was a publicly known figure running against *the* least popular president in modern history during a period of historic turmoil? Probably not.

This is why I push back against people saying Harris ran a bad campaign. By any measurable metric, (The big, obvious one notwithstanding) she ran one of the best campaigns ever run by a democrat. Factoring in her limitations, it was, at least on paper, nothing short of miraculous.

This is also why I push back against doomerist claims that the country is more racist or misogynist than it used to be. Trump’s voter tallies did not significantly change between 2020 and 2024. In no genuinely bigoted country could Harris get more votes than Obama. There’s roughly the same number of bigots in America that there have always been.

The country did not move further to the right. It simply moved *away* from the Democrats. And even then, not by a whole lot. Just enough. Because people tend to gravitate towards what is familiar, and Harris, in three months, could not overcome the familiarity that Trump built over nine years.

I really do think it’s as simple as that.

And more: I think anyone trying to tell you otherwise is selling you something.

[thebiscuiteternal]

I love your larger age gap Nie Bros au! I want to float the idea of a role reversal larger age gap au where Nie Huaisang is the much older sibling of the pair, and Nie Mingjue is the baby brother.

Whew.

Honestly, it would lean more towards the "bitter" side of bittersweet, because Nie Huaisang has spent his entire fourteen/fifteen years of life knowing that even if his father has tried to love him, even though he has tried to be a good son, he's not the kind of heir his father or the sect wants and never will be. He's sharp and clever, but also small and sickly and exhausted easily and will never be a good night hunter or battle leader. He's so very un-Nie-like that only the fact that he shares his father's eye color and a few of his facial features keeps people from making accusations about his parentage (and even that doesn't stop them sometimes).

But at least his father never tried to replace him or his deceased mother, right?

And then, right after his father has just died, a midwife shows up with a strong healthy baby and a bundle of paperwork declaring the child fully legitimate, and Huaisang has to grapple with the realization that his father did very much try to get a replacement, and since the paperwork is all nice and legal, the elders and senior disciples likely knew about it and said nothing.

He wants to scream or vomit or break things or hit someone, but he does none of the above and just sits beside the crib and stares at nothing while the elders debate his future like he's not even present.

Then there is a little tug on his hair, and when he looks down, little Mingjue has a fistful of it stuffed in his mouth and is staring up at him with big green eyes and... dammit, he can't hate this kid. Mingjue doesn't know what's going on, has no idea how he's destroyed what little of a life his older brother had just by existing. It's not his fault.

Huaisang sighs and gently tugs his hair free, then reaches in to let Mingjue clutch his hand and giggle and gnaw on his fingers.

It's eventually decided that Huaisang will be (a puppet) sect leader, with provisions that as soon as the sect has decided Mingjue is old enough, he will abdicate and leave, so as not to complicate his brother's position by hanging around.

Needless to say, this does not make Huaisang feel the slightest bit better, but he has no choice other than to at least try to do well by his new title, which proves to be more difficult than it has to be because literally every single one of his decisions gets argued and debated and he's constantly being patronized even though it's apparent he's not as stupid as people expect him to be.

Ironically, the son who will replace him winds up becoming his only refuge. Since they didn't have the years of being brothers from the Reverse Nie "canon" timeline, Mingjue never grows up absorbing the disdain everyone else has for Huaisang. Rather, Mingjue has already imprinted on him and throws unholy fits when people try to keep them apart.

It's more common than not that Mingjue sleeps cuddled against his brother's chest in Huaisang's bed instead of his own crib. He starts developing a fierce protective streak before he even knows how to walk or talk, scowling at anyone whose tone he doesn't like when they talk to his brother and trying to grab for hair or throw things at them when he gets really upset about it. People learn quick that if they want to badmouth Huaisang, they have to do it out of earshot of Mingjue, and that only holds more true as he grows up and begins grasping language and starts becoming aware of the disparity between how hard his brother is trying versus the things people say about him.

Everyone else better start watching their insults before they find that Mingjue has grown to have more loyalty to the brother who loves him and does his damnedest to care for him despite all his other duties versus the sect who wants to split them up.

And that's as far as I've currently gotten with this idea.

[gyundo]

“I’m so glad I forgot my towel”

Dong Si Cheng (WinWin) x Male Reader!

SMUT!! DNI if under 18!!

Gege kink, muscle kink, underwear kink, size kink

Plot: Y/N is a first year college student and he develops a crush on winwin, his first friend. Little does he realize the implications and depth of Winwin’s attractiveness.

It was Y/N’s first year of college. Choosing to attend a big state university, Y/N was scared that he would drown out in the sea of students and be forgotten once again.

Y/N had always been a quiet boy who kept to himself in high school. He never had many friends due to his interests in drawing, which kept his social battery satisfied. That being said, Y/N never had a crush either.

Ultimately choosing to study Mandarin, Y/N was excited to start in a place where nobody knew him as a quiet nerd who was always drawing all the time.

Y/N’s major was relatively small, yet something (someone one) else that caught his eye wasn’t.

Dong Si Cheng, the prettiest boy Y/N had ever seen, was sitting in the middle of the classroom when Y/N chose to take a seat next to him, entranced by his beauty.

His perfect pecs showing through his compression shirt, and his large back highlighted through its disparity with the back of the chair made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. He had never been attracted to anyone, let alone another boy.

And above all, winwin’s face was so perfect that even a greek sculptor couldn’t have thought of it. His luscious, elegant, and plump lips made Y/N feel a certain way. His eyes, full of warmth and mystery, made Y/N want to get to know him better. But his hair, was the best styled hair Y/N had ever seen.

So simplisitic, yet sicheng’s face was perfectly framed by his evenly cut hair.

“H-Hello, I’m L/N Y/N. ” Y/N muttered as he sat down, staring at Winwin.

“Hey there, I’ve never seen you before. My name’s Sicheng by the way. What year are you?” Winwin questioned.

As the conversation went on, not only Y/N come to realize that only to add to his list of perfections, Winwin also had a great voice, but that he was also one year older than Y/N. Y/N had forgotten that due to his advanced level, he was placed in a second year class.

Winwin asked Y/N to eat lunch with him that day, a gesture which warmed his heart, as nobody had ever asked Y/N for lunch before. He was always used to sitting alone in the cafeteria.

As time went on, Y/N and Winwin got to know each other. Y/N always felt flustered by the interested his senior showed in him and his interests, and he always found himself blushing when he saw the elder in especially attractive clothes.

“Gege—-,” Y/N would often call out when WinWin would grab a drawing object of his and hold it out to where Y/N could not reach it. Y/N was a short boy, (Y/N height) cm, and his precious Sicheng-ge always towered over him at 183 cm. He was always in awe whenever he saw his gege’s large hands, long legs, and well-built body. They sparked a feeling in him that made Y/N want to touch him.

Eventually, Y/N started wondering how large Winwin’s other body parts would be too.

“Wh-WHY am I thinking about how big THAT would be,” Y/N once questioned himself.

Although Y/N was confused about what he felt, he definitely knew it was well beyond what was to be expected in a crush. He knew his senior’s body made him feel a certain pressure in his lower body, although he didn’t know what to do about it.

Eventually, Y/N and Winwin’s friendship got to the point where winwin would often come to Y/N’s house to study with him or just to talk to him and tease him. Winwin also developed a small liking for the small boy. His cute little hands and angry pout whenever he hid something Y/N needed made him feel so precious to be able to share those moments.

It even got to the point where Winwin would stay for days on end, and even a part of Y/N’s closet had Winwin’s clothes for when he’d sleep over instead of in his dorm.

One day, on his usual trip back from the gym, winwin realized he forgot to bring clothes to change into after his workout and shower.

Thinking it was no big deal, winwin took off his shirt and walked over to Y/N’s place to help the younger with some of the idioms or cheng yu, that he was struggling with memorizing.

However, a monster awoke inside Y/N when he saw his half-naked gege opening the door to his apartment.

The washboard abs, strands of hair cling to his forehead with sweat, along with the well defined biceps and pecs that Y/N admired out in the open, was too much for him to bear.

Just as winwin was about to sit down, he also took off his sweat-drenched shorts next to Y/N before sitting down with only his boxers on. The smell of sweat with winwin’s musk made Y/N instantly blush and he felt his own asshole begin to quiver.

Y/N was unable to memorize any cheng yu, trying to memorize the shape of winwin’s muscles instead and trying to sneak a peak at the shape of his bulge instead.

He did, however, get to see Sicheng’s well developed thighs, which he wanted to touch so badly.

Winwin got up quickly, saying, “Y/N, you’ve been really out of it today. I hope you’re okay and I’ll go take a shower here before we try it again, okay”. He hugged Y/N to show his support, unaware that the waves of musk made Y/N feel a huge pressure in his lower body.

Just As Winwin was about to go into the bathroom, he took off his underwear outside and headed in to take a shower.

Y/N quietly sitting at the dining table, still reeling from the pheromone influx he got from the hug, was not ready to smell a huge amount of winwin’s musk again. It was like winwin’s underwear was a candle, releasing scent everywhere.

Y/N, feeling dizzy, walked to winwin’s underwear and slowly brought it to his mouth and nose. He began to sniff it deeply, and it brought out moans that Y/N had never made before. He quietly took the underwear with him to his bedroom, where he thought he could sit until his erection subsided.

However, Sicheng quickly rushed out of the bathroom and forgot to knock before opening Y/N’s room.

“Do you have a—-,” Winwin was about to ask, before he spotted Y/N, with his eyes closed, sniffing his briefs loudly.

Quietly walking over to Y/N, he shook the boy before admitting, “I didn’t know you where into me like that, Y/N.”

Y/N was left speechless as winwin got on top of him and started kissing him. Oh, how Y/N had wanted to know how his gege’s lips felt.

Winwin ripped off Y/N clothes and brought his cock close to his mouth before quietly putting the tip in his mouth.

“No-Gege-AAAH,” Y/N exclaimed as winwin quietly sucked on his cock. Sicheng, excited that Y/N was so attracted to his body, was excited to see his reaction when Y/N would finally see his cock.

“Now, it’s time for you to do that to gege with your small, cute little mouth,” Winwin grinned at Y/N.

Y/N was shocked as he saw his gege’s huge cock, roughly about 10 inches long, with a fat vein on the right side. His boy pussy felt extremely shaky, as it quivered upon this sight.

“Suck on it, baobei,” Winwin said as he brought Y/N’s mouth closer to his cock. As if it was instinct, Y/N immediately wrapped his lips around winwin’s cock, which barely fit in his small mouth.

Feeling winwin’s large hand on his head guiding him, Y/N began deepthroating Sicheng’s dong, while enjoying the heat winwin’s large fingers were exerting on his head.

Winwin had never felt such tightness in his life, and he rolled his eyes back as Y/N stared at his abs and thighs, touching them with his little hands.

Tears began to come out of Y/N eyes as his gege’s cock was still trying to fit in his mouth all the way. His throat felt full and despite being unable to breathe, the sweaty, musky taste of his crush’s large dick made him feel like he ascended to a seventh heaven. His nose in winwin’s crotch, the center of all the musky glory, made his stomach churn and want to taste more.

As winwin pulled his cock out of Y/N’s mouth, he could tell Y/N wanted something. Y/N immediately stood up and started licking Winwin’s armpits.

“Gege, I want to- I want to taste the way you smell. You smell so manly and good I can’t get enough of it,” he proclaimed as winwin flexed his biceps, which Y/N quickly moved his lips over. Winwin then sat down on the bed, and Y/N moved his mouth to Sicheng’s crotch, inhaling it over and over as he licked Sicheng’s huge dick, and sucked on his balls, as winwin continued to moan.

“Gege, I need something more, and I want more of this addictive feeling, but I don’t know what else we can do. I feel sad when I think this is the limit of how much I can absorb you.”

“Xingan, there’s much more we can do. Just be prepared for this to hurt a little bit,” Winwin moved his hands to Y/N upper chest, where he toyed with his nipples and then moved his fingers up to Y/N’s mouth.

“A natural slut,” Winwin thought as Y/N sucked his fingers like he enjoyed every ounce of musk on them. Y/N was so addicted to the feeling of winwin’s large body on top of him and feeling his large hands all over his chest, that he wasn’t prepare for when sicheng’s fingers began to touch his asshole.

“GEGE, it’s dirty there,” Y/N complained as Winwin pushed one finger inside, “ah-UNG”.

Y/N, as if instinctively for his virgin self, began to spread his legs open wider for winwin to finger him at a better angle.

Drool came out of Y/N’s mouth as winwin’s long finger hit a spot inside him. “AAANG,” Y/N yelled.

“Gege’s gonna push his huge cock inside this virgin bussy of yours and wreck it so good, you won’t be able to walk next week. I’m gonna make you pregnant and give you a present for saving yourself just for me,” Winwin said with a sexy smirk.

Y/N put his hands on Sicheng’s huge, muscular shoulders, as he was unprepared for what was to come. Thoughts about how it would feel and whether his ass could ever stretch back were overpowered by excitement of taking his gege’s oozing manliness and being able to interact with his large body.

Yes, what Y/N had subconsciously wanted all this time was to be dicked down by winwin, and treated like his personal boy toy. He wanted to be bred by the possessor of such a huge, muscular body. He wanted to feel his large body parts all over his petite frame and to marvel at the size difference.

“You ready?” Sicheng asked as he aligned his top at Y/N’s entrance. Y/N nodded, and Sicheng began to rub his tip up and down Y/N’s entrance to not only make Y/N want him more, but to also make precum for his cock to slide in easier because once sicheng would penetrate him, he wasn’t going to stop until he and Y/N cum repeatedly.

Seeing Y/N’s eyes that screamed he needed to be fucked, Sicheng pushed his large cock roughly into Y/N’s cute hole all at once. Tears immediately formed at Y/N’s eyes, as he hadn’t felt anything inside his ass before, but now a large, 10 inch cock was bulging his stomach and his hole felt overstuffed.

However, just the thought of Winwin inside of him and touching his still-sweaty back, Y/N’s horniness overpowered everything, even the pain and small drops of blood that came from the tiny rips from Sicheng’s huge cock penetrating him so roughly.

“Sorry, my precious Y/NN, I just couldn’t stand it anymore and I wanted to give you the cock you’ll be getting for the rest of your life right now,” Winwin said as he sluttily kicked his lips.

Y/N immediately began moaning, “AAAH SO-SO GOOD,” as Sicheng began to move his cock in and out of Y/N’s small ass.

Y/N couldn’t stop touching Winwin’s abs and enjoying the feeling of his thick thighs on his own body, in fact, winwin’s thighs seemed to provide warmth all the way until 5 inches from Y/N’s ankles. He loved how the taller man encapsulated his being, and wanted to be wrecked even more by him.

Y/N continued to mutter “G-ge-GEGE,” as he would try to say how good it felt to be stuffed by winwin’s huge, sweaty cock and how nice the residetual sweat from his body felt to him, and how good it felt to be taking such a large man.

Winwin moaned as he felt his cock almost being cut off with the tightness of Y/N’s hole, and he repeatedly began taking half of his cock out and pushing it back into Y/N from a different angle to stimulate his prostate.

In a state of euphoria he had never felt before, Y/N’s body felt hotter than he knew possible, until Sicheng leaned over him to lick his lips.

Opening his lips out of pleasure, his senior swirled their tongues together in a marvelous dance that connected them in another, wet dimension, as they both felt they could enjoy this moment forever. As winwin broke the kiss and left Y/N’s entrancing mouth, a thick strand of saliva connected his and Y/N’s lips.

Winwin immediately increased the pace of his thrusts to keep his junior in a state of constant pleasure. Y/N continued to yell for more and winwin kept dicking him down, addicted to the feeling of using the small boy as a cocksleeve.

Growing to a proud 5.3 inches itself, Y/N’s cock turned red and rock solid as Y/N felt an unfamiliar churning throughout his whole body.

Seeing the younger’s obsession with his body and cock, winwin stuffed his underwear into Y/N’s mouth before proceeding to pound him mercilessly.

“Take that, you slut. You love my body and want me so bad, so take all of my huge dick. I’ll fuck you so good you’ll only want me from now on, and you won’t be able to cum without me. I’m gonna breed you and cream you so good, cum will be dripping out of your ass for hours”

Y/N’s hole seemed to grow wider as Winwin repeatedly pushed his manhood inside of it, at a rate that was only increasing. Y/N, on the other hand, felt his eyeballs roll all the way to the back of his head from taking winwin’s huge manhood, basking in his musk, and touching his large body.

Winwin’s slapping of Y/N’s ass made it unbearable, and as Winwin pushed his tip right next to Y/N’s prostrate, a huge amount of cum spurted out of Y/N’s cock, splattering Winwin’s abs and chest.

Y/N’s body, wanting to absorb and take as much Sicheng as possible, still kept taking and enjoying the overstimulation . Winwin flipped over Y/N so they were in a reverse cowboy position and moved his humungous, veiny cock back into Y/N’s hole with a speed unmatchable by animals in heat.

Clasping Y/N down and kissing him more as he groaned, Sicheng’s cock shook around Y/N’s organs as it reached its climax and shot a huge spurt of delicious, thicc, juicy cum all over Y/N’s formerly virgin walls.

Y/N loved this feeling and realized that no matter how great the drawings he made were, the best painting was inside his own anus, made by the one he found created sexier than all.

Cum leaked out of Y/N’s ass as Winwin took his cock out. So much semen was inside him that Y/N felt half as full as he did with Winwin’s cock inside him.

“Gege, I love this. You’re gonna make me pregnant.”

Winwin admired his work as his cum leaked out of Y/N gaping hole that he made that way, by the tablespoons.

“I’m so glad I forgot my towel,” Winwin said before pushing his still/hard cock into Y/N and beginning to do him again mercilessly for what would turn into 4 hours.

Author’s Note: I would like to say that this is the first fan fiction i’ve ever written, the first smut, and I wrote this at 3 am! Please feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you thought. I’d also like to dedicate this to @jiyeonnnn, one of my most favorite male smut writers on this website!

[neonscandal]

What are your bakudeku fav moments? And what are your fav personal headcanons about them?

Okie, so I may have done a few head canons like this (and forgot to link the last five in the SatoSugu ask just like this... also the alternating colors was admittedly gratuitous but I'm not changing it now. Just know that I have regrets.). Maybe even drafted some moments like this but let's light this BBQ anyway. 💥

Horikoshi truly doesn't get enough credit for how perfect this panel and subsequent animation was. It's actually hysterical? Earnest Deku and Little Shit Kacchan. It's so them, I can't even.

HEAD CANONS

The Bakugo's are the Have's and the Midoriya's are the Have Not's but Mitsuki and Inko are so close that the boys never really knew the difference. Mitsuki helps Inko out where she can which is why Deku is a staple in their house growing up (free childcare for Inko and necessary socialization for her brat, Katsuki). You should see their childhood photo albums, they are both equally as embedded in one anothers' family histories.

When the boys first came to understand their economic differences, it was because of the disparity between their All Might merch collections and Bakugo realized it long before Midoriya. Subsequently, he staved off this epiphany by making it a point to always ask for "one for Izuku" until they fell out which Mitsuki obliged generously and proudly, knowing their relationship was precious but also a good influence on her gremlin.

I say they fell out but.. they didn't. Not in the ways that mattered. Bakugo is as big a nerd as Midoriya, he just has the sense to be more lowkey about it. Even when Bakugo was being a bully, he'd begrudgingly ask Midoriya (if Midoriya didn't ask first) to any midnight releases of All Might/hero movies and merch drops. They absolutely are the kind of dorks to camp out for limited release stuff. It's a lifelong tradition. Even if things went back to normal at school the next day, they still had that in common and both knew not to bring it up otherwise to maintain the balance of their twisted relationship otherwise. It's why, even after all this time, they're still so in sync. Also, by that point, the "one for Izuku" custom is so deeply ingrained that Mitsuki does it anyway. The turnover between Bakugo to Midoriya is so begrudging and awkward. All unspoken but a deeply rooted fact of their relationship.

Bakugo absolutely got them lost in the forest once. I think he took that fear and pivoted it into a refusal to ever be scared in nature again which is why he persistently enjoys the outdoors so much. It feels like revenge every time he comes back from a hike.

They made a blood oath to never tell anyone about how Mitsuki used them as drop in models for the Bakugo child clothing line because there was at least one season where they both modeled girls' clothes (Midoriya doesn't really care but Bakugo does). It's not that Bakugo cares or takes issue with a persons' gender, orientation or expression. He knows clothes don't define a person, he's confident and masculine either way and he knows he'd be the best looking person in a dress. He does, however, take issue with the fact that the hag likes to coo and lord the pictures over him because he was incredibly and disarmingly cute (which he acknowledges as "damn right" but despises the principle of the matter wherein his mom has anything over him).

Class 1A all notice the weird tension between the fire kid and the brittle boned dude who looks like he's never slept but just... awkwardly avoid it because they're just as emotionally underdeveloped as these two idiots. I also kinda think the confrontation between the two isn't always as bad as Midoriya's narration suggests because, I would hope in a class of hero students, someone would have intervened? But everyone picked up, day one, that they're just little weirdos and let them do their own thing.

In fact, no one finds Bakugo as intimidating as Midoriya does. Literally, no one. He's loud but compliant with a self-imposed bed time. His words are violent but his hands are skilled and intentional, never reflecting the carnage he threatens. Plus, he's a big ole dork! They know he's all bark and that's why people don't react to his rampaging (based in canon if you look at the provisional license exam, culture festival, Christmas, and Deku's secret training with Tsu, Ochaco and Sero). He used to be really bothered by Class 1A's lack of reaction to his yelling. They just kinda manhandle him to put him in his place and keep it pushing (again, see also Christmas episode and culture festival arcs). But now he accepts it as they accept him and he doesn't feel the need to be so abrasive and put up as many walls.

Midoriya, of course, notices this transition. Hyper fixated on it in fact. While he's super happy that Kacchan is settling in and finding his peace, he resents (but only a teeeeny tiny little bit) Kirishima in particular thinking this change is because of their friendship which he covets. He doesn't comprehend his own impact on or inspiration for this change, however. He never gives himself enough credit.

When Midoriya went all Dark Deku, Bakugo spent exactly one day a la Bella in Twilight sitting forlorn and waiting in the dark for the idiot to return. After the first 24, he pulled his Hermione pants on and got to work on the plan of recapturing the nerd by any means necessary.

Without spoilers, Bakugo's prized possession is the All Might card they both have because AM remains to be the pinnacle for everything Bakugo hopes to accomplish. But Midoriya's prized possession and the thing he hid before everyone did room tours at Heights Alliance is a picture of him and Bakugo. No fanfare, no merch, just a picture of the two of them with a smile that goes cheek to cheek. It's what gives him strength and resolve to keep moving forward. Aoyama's totally seen it.

Midoriya knows why Bakugo goes to bed at 8:30PM. Yes, he's a sleepy little guy. But also yes, this is his private time to read his shojo romance mangas in peace. ✨ Midoriya stays abreast of his favorite stories waiting for an inevitable "!!!" text when something big happens because Bakugo can't download his... excitement? confusion? joy? with anyone else. (Technically, Kirishima is also aware of this habit, quite by accident, but Bakugo would never tell Midoriya that).

Doesn't seem like it but Bakugo totally spoils Midoriya. It's masked in the harsh way he tends to package everything but he makes it a point to always cook for him, he's really weirdly thoughtful about gifts (no special occasion required but he'll shove it in the nerd's chest), he nags to make sure Midoriya is taking care of himself, etc. When Midoriya falls asleep in random places, Bakugo is the one who covers him with a blanket, quiets the surrounding extras down and leaves him with an excruciatingly gentle thumb across his freckles.

Bakugo pays rapt attention to Midoriya's muttering. Generally, he's interested in the subject matter because he's also an overly analytical fanboy. But also, his attention will sometimes drift from appreciating Midoriya's face and fall to his lips. This is when he gets flustered and "loses his temper". Really, he's worried he got caught lacking and is pissed at himself. It'll happen again and again.

MOMENTS

Much longer series thats focused basically on their relationship so these aren't really moment moments but rather... pieces of the story.

Better in the manga, but Midoriya running into the slime villain fray was just... so momentous. Even before knowing it's impact, it was it was just so chest fluttering. Through and through, that kid has always been a hero. Quirk or not.

In retrospect, everything about the sports festival makes me want to swallow a throw pillow. From Bakugo starting to warm up to people, Bakugo being an eavesdropping little shit, Midoriya (and Aizawa) explaining Kacchan to onlookers, Bakugo unwilling to accept victory. So much of their individual personalities are laid bare but still, that unavoidable link to one another.

I hated the exam against All Might, too much tension/confrontation. But I loved when Bakugo took a hit meant for Midoriya and Midoriya subsequently powered up to sideline All Might AND recapture Bakugo's unconscious body. So on brand for them.

Midoriya still having a psychic connection with Bakugo's enigmatic ass in Kamino by sending Kirishima in for the rescue. I know that burned him up but he's so used to sacrifice.

Generally, every time Kacchan inspired the unlock of another OFA quirk because let's be so for real. Midoriya is Captain Save a Hoe when it comes to Bakugo and even simply Bakugo's honor. Like Bakugo can't defend himself.

Super Secret All Might Meeting in the gif above. It's just so comical, how different they are, but deep down they're so similar.

Dinner at the Todoroki's because that, too, was just so comical. You mean to tell me Bakugo can be considerate? He has manners? He's not always feral!?

First Shiggy Showdown, Bakugo's hero origin story revolving around his body moving to defend Midoriya just like Midoriya's revolved around him.

Bakugo risking further injury and limb to see Midoriya because that's the first thing on his mind as soon as he opened his eyes.

Super Secret All Might Training (with Tsu, Ochaco and Sero). The fact that Bakugo comes to terms with how shitty he's been but also that he cares so much about Midoriya that he can come to terms with the fact that his idol may be withholding stuff that could negatively impact his childhood friend. That reckoning when Midoriya still struggles to not put All Might on a pedestal is peak overprotective Bakugo.

Bakugo putting on his tie properly to appeal to Nezu and Endeavor about bringing Deku back in and how, just as Midoriya can speak to Bakugo's inner workings, Bakugo can speak to Midoriya's. Which is hilarious considering how they're both still pretty dense.

THE APOLOGY. No notes. Just kidding, one amendment. The apology followed by the forced bath of city rat smelling Deku, group project edition.

⚠️ Spoiler Warning through MHA Chapter 411.

The moment Bakugo takes the field against Shigaraki. He tells Best Jeanist to watch over everyone, as he knows he'll be abdicating that role, and he thinks about Midoriya. Which we now know he's been doing this whole time!?

Volume 29 manga cover.

Just as Midoriya has been a driving force for Bakugo, we see once again that Bakugo was a driving force for Midoriya with the way he absolutely loses his shit when he sees Bakugo's discarded body.

Volume 37 manga cover!

THE TELEPATHIC WAY THEY LAUNCHED BAKUGO TO ALL MIGHT'S AID. Featuring heavily: Bakugo and his Midoriya pickled mind. That success was so cathartic. But also Bakugo verbalizing what he felt he's always been hell bent on doing, looking out for Midoriya. Which again, kinda twisted but I'm interested to see how their story ends because I think we'll get some exposure to more of their background lore.

[reimeichan]

how does functional multiplicity feel, especially as a system aiming for final fusion?

I thought "functional multiplicity" was going to be this great big thing once I got there. That I'd finally know I was there, and that maybe with a bit more of a push I'd make it to final fusion. I thought it was going to be this giant shift in my psyche and stuff.

When, in fact.... it's really not. The change to get here was so gradual that I didn't even notice until I was talking to a few of my other friends who have reached functional multiplicity themselves about our experiences and I went. Wait. Is that.... me? Did I get here already and I didn't even realize it?

I was convinced that I'd only reach functional multiplicity once I was done with processing my trauma and challenging all the negative cognition and dismantling the maladaptive coping skills I'd picked up throughout my life and stuff. I'm actually shocked that's not quite the case. Don't get me wrong, I've done so much of all of that, and that's likely why I'm finally where I am now. But also... I know there's still a lot of work to be done and I'm nowhere near where I actually want to be.

But, I'm no longer struggling every day trying to keep track of what happened the day before. Even if I don't necessarily remember stuff, I know I can trust the other alters, and I know that they trust me. It feels like we're on the same page now for what we actually want in life, instead of everyone having their own disparate agendas and having us all fight each other to see who's "right" or who's the "best". I feel like my thoughts and opinions are heard, and the rest of them do too. I can actually feel my feelings and it doesn't feel like the world is going to fall apart or that I'm losing control. The me from six months ago could never!

I think, for me, the biggest change is that I'm.... actually planning to go back to school. My mental health took a drastic nosedive when I was in college and it felt like I never managed to fully get out of that all these years later. I never ended up getting my degree despite wanting one, and it's been a major source of shame and guilt in my system but especially for myself (as the main alter who dealt with school). I knew I wasn't ready to go back despite the people around me encouraging me to do so year after year. And, this year.... I think I'm finally ready to try again.

I could go on about so much that's changed for me but I'd be here for a very long time, so I guess I'll wrap it up with this:

It feels like I've climbed out of the labyrinthine dungeons and made it out into the sun. I still have a long road ahead of me, but it no longer feels so daunting of a task. I'm actually excited to see where the next phase of my journey takes me.

[we-are-so-close]

Better Man pt. II

Pt. I Pt. III Porco Galliard x fem!reader ; Canon Divergent word count: ~2.4k |18+ Minors Do Not Interact Please| warnings: reader has amnesia/gets headaches and blacks out; reader has derogatory remarks made about her a/n: this is part two of my entry for the Paramour Collab hosted by @blkladyelle ! I'm really excited that I'm able to participate in this. I really tried to write smut in here, but I just couldn't find the right words. Feedback is always appreciated!

Background: A few months have passed since part I. Reader and Porco have grown closer since the rooftop outing. The warriors were allowed to go home for a day in order to spend time with their families.

"You're sure this is okay?"

"Yes."

"And Zeke was fine with this?"

"Yes."

"And I'm not going to impose or be a burden or anything?"

"No." He stopped walking and turned to face you. "You aren't a burden and everything is going to be okay. Now, stop asking questions and stay by me."

The blue band on your arm was enough of an indication to let those around you know that you didn't belong. You wished you could cover it up, tell the people that you're on their side, you fight for them. But hiding or removing the band was a very serious offense. A punishment that outweighed how embarrassed you felt. But being around Porco did ease your nerves ever so slightly. 

"Porco, I-I'm nervous." You fiddled with your fingers as you tried to keep in pace with him. "Everyone hates me."

Without missing a beat, Porco replied, "I don't hate you, ______."

Heat rose to your face, a little lump caught in your throat. "I’m glad you don’t hate me. Your opinion means a lot to me."

He quirked an eye at you and panic screamed through your body. That was supposed to remain a thought; he wasn’t supposed to know how big of an impact his opinion had on your well-being.

"Ahh, please forget that last part."

"Hm...are you going to stop worrying about what everyone else thinks of you?"

"Yes, I'll stop."

"Then perhaps it'll slip my mind."

The rest of the walk was silent, your thoughts trying to sabotage you every step of the way. The two of you were stopped once by some officers, and panic stretched through every part of your body. Porco did the talking and showed the officers a note that was signed by Zeke and Commander Magath. They deemed it valid enough and let the two of you go on your way. 

"You okay?" He asked as soon as you were out of earshot of the officers. 

"Mhmm," you hummed shakily as you nodded. 

"We're almost there," he reassured you. 

The houses in this part of town were very rugged. It made you realize the disparity between the classes of people. The closer you got to one of the houses, the heavier your legs became. His parents were not going to see you the way Porco did. 

An older woman rushed from the front porch and hugged Porco. 

"Welcome home, dear. It's been too long. Go inside and freshen up, dinner will be ready soo-" She stopped talking when she saw you. 

"Porco, why is this filth in our yard?" Her eyes scanned you up and down.

"Ma, this is ______. She's a warrior like me. She's been fighting by our side for a couple of years."

You give a meager wave, knowing that nothing you say or do will convince her that you aren't evil.

"I do not want this devil in my yard, let alone in my house. It has to go."

"Ma, she's not a devil. She's actually really nice and a great warrior."

"Really nice? You tell that to your brother." Her eyes were piercing, and it made Porco flinch. 

"She's not like the ones who took Marcel. She's different. Give her a chance, please."

She stared at you hard. It was one of the most uncomfortable things you had ever felt. You knew what she was thinking; you were evil and the reason why one of her sons never came back home. And could you be the reason her other son might not come back home? You wanted to tell Porco that it's okay, you could just go back to the barracks. But you knew you couldn't go back on your own. 

Porco hugged the woman, effectively breaking her gaze from you. She seemed to let up her incessant bickering and told him to make sure you acted right in their home. She walked back inside and Porco came back to you. 

"I'm sorry you had to hear that. She's a really good person once you get to know her." He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. You couldn't be angry with her; in a way, you knew this would be the reaction you were bound to receive. 

"It's okay. Just tell me what are the rules of your parents' household." 

Porco spent the next few minutes explaining the expectations of his parents. His mom was more strict than his father, but he wasn't a pushover. 

"Just...let me lead. You'll be fine." He put his hand on the small of your back, and your whole body felt like it was on fire. He guided you to the front door where you both took your shoes off. He led you to the dinner table, making sure you sat right next to him. His parents were on the opposite side of the table as you two. 

Porco prepared his plate and then he prepared a plate for you (if you had to guess, his ma might have yelled at him for preparing your plate before his). Sitting as quiet as a mouse, you graciously ate the food that had been prepared. The dinner was mostly silent, with Porco answering his parents' questions with one or two word answers. Every now and then your focus shifted from your plate to Porco. You dared not linger too long, because it felt as though his parents were boring holes into you with their stares. Their hate and disgust did not go unnoticed by either you or Porco.

“Pock,” his father started, his eyes not leaving his plate, “we’ve been gracious enough to let her into our house and eat our food, but our patience is just about out. She needs to leave.”

Embarrassment began to spread from your stomach up to your face. Your heartbeat began to pound in your head. 

“Pops, she hasn’t even said a word since she’s been here. You haven’t even given her a chance.”

“She doesn’t deserve anything from us. She doesn’t deserve the kindness you’re showing her. She’s a devil, and the only thing she knows how to do is take and deceive and hurt.” His silverware clinked loudly onto his plate, effectively cutting off Porco’s next words. 

The tension in the room was thick, an argument was bound to erupt. Porco was fighting for a lost cause, and you didn’t want him to be on bad terms with his parents. 

“Ma, Pops, you-”

“It’s okay, I can go,” you whispered as you gently and discreetly placed your hand on Porco’s thigh. His deep scowl slowly melted away as he looked at you. It made the thumping in your head pound even harder. Scooting the chair out from the table, you stood and bowed deeply toward the Galliards. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Galliard, thank you for allowing me into your home and for the lovely dinner. I will see myself out.”   

The voices of the Galliards rang through your head as you made your way to the front door. This whole trip had been wishful thinking, but deep down you knew that you were never going to convince people that you were anything but a devil. The emotions you were feeling were overwhelming, and, in addition to your headache, you weren’t able to think straight. 

“______, wait.” 

“Just give me the note from Zeke and I can go back. At least then you can spend some time with your family.” The room began to move, causing you to place one on your hands on the wall for stability as you tried to put your shoes on. 

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about, Porco. I knew this would happen. It’s okay.” You held out your hand waiting for him to give you what you needed. A sharp pain shot across your head, causing you to wince. 

“Is-is it your head, again?” Porco asked with concern. 

“Yeah,” you groaned. “It’ll be fine. I just need to get back before it gets too bad.” A cry of pain escaped your lips. You began to grow dizzy and the room started to fade to black. The last thing you heard was Porco’s voice calling your name. 

Screaming. Thundering. Whirling. Specks of light appear just out of your line of sight. You feel as though you are running as fast as you can, but something is holding you in place. You are shouting for someone, but your voice is stuck in your throat. Tears are streaming down your face. You reach your hand out in front of you, hoping to grab onto whatever you were trying to hold. 

You awoke with a gasp, sitting straight up, tears gently falling from your eyes. Using the back of your hand, you wiped your face, taking away any evidence of the dream you hoped you didn’t have to relive. A second or two pass by before your eyes fully readjusted to the room you were in. It was unfamiliar, but still comforting. A pristine, untouched bed sat on the opposite side of the room from you, a desk and chair sat in front of the window, and a bookshelf and a couple of dusty toys in the corner. A room for children. Or what used to be a room for children. 

“Hey, you’re awake! Don’t sit up too fast.” Porco was by your side immediately helping you to lay back down. 

“Where am I?”

“You’re in my bedroom. You fainted at the front door, so I brought you in here to rest. Um, here, I also brought this.” He placed a cool washcloth over your forehead. His hand grazed over your jawline, but he quickly pulled away. “You’ll have to stay here for the night; it’s too late for us to go back to the barracks.” He was shuffling through a closet and pulled out a pillow and blanket. He tossed them on the floor in front of his bed. 

“You can sleep in my bed and I’ll crash on the floor.”

“What? No.” You sat up again, staring hard at Porco. “This is your bed, your home. I’m sure your parents aren’t thrilled that I have to stay. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“You have a head injury. The floor is not suited for you. Quit being such a pain in the ass.”

“Bite me, Galliard,” you growled. 

He laughed. It was a genuine laugh and it had become one of your favorite sounds. You couldn’t stay mad or upset when you heard him laugh. 

“Porco,” a voice from the hallway called out.

“Hm, I’ll be right back.”

Carefully, you stood up to make up your spot on the floor. The quarrel Porco had between his parents was all on your behalf, and you didn’t want to be the reason they stayed angry at him nor did you want to give them more of a reason to hate you. So, the floor for one night was more than enough of a fair trade. 

"Did I not say that you could have the bed?" Porco asked as he closed the door behind him.

"You did, but," you paused to reflect on how harsh this might sound, "but I'm not wanted here, and don't deserve the luxury of a bed."

The air stilled and neither one of you moved or looked at each other.

"But I wanted you here," he finally said, breaking the awkward silence that lingered between you. "It's my fault you're even feeling like this in the first place. I just wanted my parents to feel the same way I feel about you. But I misjudged their perspective." He knelt down beside you and hoisted you back up onto the bed. He sat on the floor with his back against the bed frame, hands running through his hair.

"And how do you feel about me?"

"Just forget it. I've already made a fool of myself. It was stupid to bring you here."

The bed creaked as you got off of it once more.

"Will you stay in the damn be-"

He was caught off guard. The last thing he was expecting was for you to kiss him. Especially after everything he put you through today. Before he could register that you were actually kissing him, you pulled away.

A burning heat rushed to your face when you noticed his confused look. The thought of ruining the only good thing you had going for you in this place raced through your mind.

"Porco, I'm sorry! I thought you..I mean...I...I..."

In an instant, Porco's lips softly found their way onto yours. He lifted you up onto the bed without breaking the kiss. Heavy breathing and the sounds of you trying to catch your breath between each touch of your lips filled the room.

"______," he said in between breaths.

"Yes?" You responded back in between another breath.

He pulled away for a brief moment so that he could look you in the eyes.

"______, I've been thinking about this for a while. Trying to figure out my feelings...how you make me feel." He paused, his eyes leaving yours, trying to gather up the courage to say what he needed. One last sharp inhale through his nose before he finally got it out. "I love you."

A feeling of warmth and happiness filled you. Your hands rested on either side of his face, gently moving him toward you. The pads of your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, your eyes scanning over his face. When his eyes met yours, you leaned up and whispered, “I love you, too,” before kissing him again.

The rest of the night was spent in Porco’s embrace. The silence that normally sat awkwardly between the two of you finally felt calm and comfortable. Legs intertwined, his arms wrapped around you, your face buried in his chest; all of this gave you a sense of belonging. For the first time since you could remember, you felt wanted, you felt safe, you felt loved. A sense of peace and happiness befell you as the both of you drifted off to sleep. When you woke up in the morning, there was nothing that could take away what Porco had just given you. 

[desmondkane-of-ao3-fame]

i hc that willow can sing rather well, she probably has a very soft voice. its nothing particularly special but she enjoys singing and she’d have joined the hexside school choir if one of eda’s incidents hadnt resulted in it being disbanded

It’s hearing it for the first time that makes Skara confirm to herself that she loves Willow.

It’s a lovely day in the Human Realm, and when Luz sends them photos of just how clear and big the sky is, Willow and Skara decide to have an impromptu date in the Gravesfield park, where a place they’ve enjoyed together before. They get a few sandwiches for a picnic, find a perfect spot under a large oak, and enjoy themselves, laughing at personal jokes, talking about each others days, and enjoying each others company. An hour or so in, Skara curls up in Willow’s lap, yawning. She earns a smirk from Willow, who takes advantage of the opportunity to stroke Skara’s hair gently. And, of course, sing.

It’s an old Boiling Isle’s lullaby. Nothing incredibly special. And it’s the sort of song that Skara’s heard before, a thousand times, even from her own mom. But even so, when she hears Willow sing it, she stops, looking up at her in absolute awe. She’s never heard her sing before, but it’s just like Willow herself. Soft and gentle, but strong and confident. It’s this combination, these seemingly disparate elements mixing together so seamlessly, that made her voice so perfect.

It was these disparate elements mixing together so seamlessly that made Skara realize she truly loved Willow.

When Willow finishes singing, she see’s Skara staring up at her in awe, and starts getting nervous. She apologizes, talking about how she’s embarrassed at her singing voice, getting flustered and thinking Skara’s going to make fun of her, even if she knows she won’t but-

“I love you.”

It’s not the first time Skara’s thought it, but it’s the first time she’s said it aloud, and the first time she knew it wasn’t just infatuation, but genuine love. Willow wasn’t expecting that reaction, not at all, and she just stares at Skara, staring at her, still in awe of her and her lovely, lovely voice.

Then, Skara blushes beat red as she realizes just what she said, and now it’s her turn to be nervous and flustered as Willow stares. She says she’s sorry for making things awkward, that if she wants to break up and leave her alone forever she totally gets it-

And Willow just laughs and brings Skara to her chest, holding her close and telling her that she loves Skara too, before kissing her, smiling all the while.

Both girls are still blushing, but no longer in embarrassment. They’re both just happy to be loved. So Skara kisses Willow again and curls into her, asking for another song, which Willow proudly delivers, and which Skara mindlessly drifts off to, softly whispering ‘I love you’ every so often just to let Willow know she does.

And Willow, kissing Skara’s forehead as she drifts off to sleep, says “I love you too, Skary.”

[astecra]

Thoughts of a 23 year old living in a world of ever-evolving Materialism

Thinking of my childhood, and seeing old videos of my childhood homes, I see how many things we had as a family. We didn't have a lot of money and we didn't have a big apartment or any fancy things -but we did have a lot of things. The reason for that is because we took great care of what we had, and made sure to treat it with respect. I was the youngest of three girls, so naturally I had a lot of hand-me-downs. But I don't remember ever being annoyed about the hand-me-downs, or ever having a desire for owning my own things. I never really knew why hand-me-downs didn't bother me the way it seems to bother a lot of other 'youngest' children, but now I realize its because we were all raised, and lived in an environment, where we took care of the things we had. Any of the toys that were handed down to me were in tact. Granted, they didn't look brand new, but they didn't look old or overly used either; they just looked like they had been played with. Like they were loved. The same goes for all the clothes I inherited from my sisters. We now live in a time where two things happen: tangible items, 'things', are being mass produced because people constantly want to buy new things, and people want to constantly buy new things because things are constantly being mass produced. The supply and demand of basically anything you can think of has increased ten fold. And as a result, the quality of everything has significantly decreased, because you simply can't create quality work in a hurry. This then leads to incredibly high prices for things that take a little longer to be made, and feeds into the incredible economic disparity that we are all witnessing and suffering from. Also, obviously this all ties into how labor is being exploited on such a large scale - because it's nearly impossible to ethically produce all of these items in a timespan that meets the demand of consumers. But it really doesn't need to be like this, and we CAN change this. And no, you don't need to stop buying things that you see in the store or online and love, or that you have to restrict yourself from treating yourself to nice things. I'm a taurus, so I constantly see things I like, and rarely don't buy the things I love. I LOVE treating myself. What you can do however, is simply just take care of the things you DO have, value them and maintain them so that you can use them for a long time and wont need to buy something to replace it in a couple months time. This is not only more ethical and ensures you have nice things for a long time, but would also allow you to be more conscious of how you spend your money, and I guarantee that it will save you A LOT of money and make you feel less guilty in times where you do splurge on something. You'll get to buy nicer things because you'll have more financial access to them, which in turn will surely make you to want to take care of the things you buy. I'm not talking about the daily coffee you get that makes your day even just a little better. I'm talking about tangible items intended for long use. You don't need a new set of headphones every year. You don't need a new phone case, or water bottle, or jewelry every couple months. You definitely don't need 90 pairs of shirts. You're not Paris Hilton, chill. It makes me really sad how the quality of everything is decreasing, and how people don't see the value in the things they have anymore. I understand that this is very normal, because its impossible to constantly have something new and recognize the value of it when in a couple months if not weeks or days, you'll just replace it with something even newer. But I miss the simplicity of how things were, and hope we can all someday go back to loving the things we have, instead of being slaves to capitalism and materialism - constantly wanting more and more, and in turn losing the joy, appreciation and acknowledgement of value of the things we do have.

[gatheringbones]

["As they reached their thirties and forties, several of my interviewees lamented, their involvements with other lesbians, as lovers, friends, or simply acquaintances, were often highly emotionally charged and even "merged." As Cindy Ross told me,

Often I felt these incredibly empowering feelings which allowed me to break out of my isolation, and see myself at one with those around me. It was exhilarating and empowering. A lot of the energy I felt for being a lesbian came from the feeling of being a part of community of other lesbians. But sometimes the shit hit the fan. People were hurt. It was difficult for us to say why we did certain things: were we doing them for ourselves, or for our friends? We couldn't tell the difference between the two sometimes.

The earlier tendency to idealize and aristocratize lesbianism had been transformed into a sense that lesbian relationships were particularly problematic. Cindy talked about her realization one day that "everyone in her circle had slept with someone else." It was "fun, exhilarating at times, but also scary. We had lost a sense of ourselves." In the parlance of object relations psychoanalysis, this was a problem of merging: the loss of boundaries between self and other.

Karen Savo joked that when she became a lesbian, she first thought "everything was going to be so great. It was going to be tra-la-land— like you died and went to heaven. Women were going to be the answer to all my problems." She spoke of the way her idealism had faded as she had gotten older, referring in passing to her conflicts with an ex-lover. "But it was really only the beginning of my problems," she laughed. Sharon Liberman recalled witnessing two women she knew in a "marital" quarrel. "I couldn't believe anyone would be involved with a woman if she was going to call you things you would never tolerate a man calling you. One was saying: you bitch. The other was saying: you asshole. To me it was like: what's the big deal about lesbian relationships? They can be just as screwed up as any others— sometimes more so." Others spoke of the "trashings" that had taken place in many lesbian communities: the attacks meted upon women who slept with men, women who brought their boy-children to all-women's events, middle-class women who failed to renounce their "class privileges," and others who dared to step out of line— however the "line" was configured at any particular place and time. Particularly after the mid-1970s, in many lesbian feminist communities separatists initiated border skirmishes, a series of acrimonious battles for inclusion and exclusion that led to frayed nerves and even more rigid community boundaries. As I have suggested, women of color were acutely aware of the limits of such a politics.

Though few of my interviewees mentioned these challenges specifically, they clearly contributed to what I am here calling the "decentering" of lesbian feminism/ The brand of feminism that spoke of retrieving a lost sisterhood, which had animated many individuals' hopes and desires, was losing its clarity of vision. The fun and excitement women experienced during the initial period of lesbian feminist mobilization— posing challenges that had never before been articulated in public, building a new oppositional culture, and reshaping a sense of self— were dissipating.

Clearly, the terms by which sexual and close, nonintimate relations among lesbians were defined made them difficult to live up to. Because the stakes were so high— not only were lesbian relationships highly stigmatized in the dominant culture, but they were also highly prized within the subculture— they were heavily charged in numerous ways. But how could any relationship be devoid of power and conflict? The "aristocratization" of lesbianism had so simplified and romanticized the realities of human existence that when such tensions finally appeared, they were often doubly disturbing, because of the great disparity between expectations and reality. As the "little disappointments" accumulated, the initial euphoria felt by many women in lesbian communities began to fade."]

arlene stein, from sex and sensibility: stories of a lesbian generation, university of california, 1997

[therealvinelle]

Hi, I was reading a post here in Tumblr about how Edward has two gifts, he can hear thoughts and is super fast, so I wonder what is your opinion about this topic?.

Furthermore, what others power might the Volturi's leaders and guards might have?

Edward has one gift, and it’s telepathy. Being fast isn’t a gift.

Strength, speed and even senses is varied among vampires. Some, like Emmett, are on the extreme end, but that doesn’t make Emmett gifted, nor does it mean that the rest are at an equal level. The Cullens have clear variations between them.

Physique appears to play a dominant role in how these variations play out: Alice, who was malnourished and never made it past 4′10″, is the physically weakest of the coven, while Emmett at 6′5″ and a mountain of muscles is the strongest. This is made very clear during the baseball game:

“Emmett was hovering close to third (base), knowing that Alice didn’t have the muscle to outstrip Rosalie’s fielding." (Midnight Sun, chapter The Game)

There’s also the fact that it’s taken for granted that Emmett would be intimidating to other vampires, and he is dismayed when James is more worried about Jasper, who is lean.

I suspect this disparity exists simply because a large frame means more tissue to have blood in. Newborns, animal, and human-eating vampires all having a difference in terms of strength is proof that blood has the final say in a vampire’s prowess, so Emmett being able to contain more of it than Alice and therefore being stronger makes sense to me.

This isn’t the meta for me to get into that, but I don’t think vampires have muscles in the sense we do. Or rather, we can’t know that they do. Renesmée is proof that Edward retains his human DNA, or she would be a clone of Bella. Nahuel is proof that Joham retains a Y-chromosome. Does this mean that vampires have different cell types? Does a vampire’s stone-like skin still contain human DNA? One would think yes - except, if you rip a vampire apart, you get rubble. The parts are all solid. There’s also Carlisle theorizing that vampires digest blood by absorbing it through porous tissue, which makes me wonder why he dismissed his digestive system (my guess: vivisection fun times with Aro in Volterra. Carlisle couldn’t have done it on his own, and Aro is the only one mad and curious enough to be down for that). I’m getting off-topic - what I’m saying is, we don’t know how vampires work, meaning I can’t build this meta off of the assumption that they have muscles. I simply can’t know for sure that they do.

The important thing is that a vampire’s physique is a deciding factor in how strong they are.

There’s also Laurent’s warning about James, that he has “unparalleled senses”, meaning some vampires are better at sight, hearing, and smell than others. I can believe that, because we have canon examples of vampires being bad at tracking.

There’s Edward in Port Angeles, who couldn’t track Bella’s, his singer, scent to her location, and (I admit this one is conjecture but it’s so probable that I say it goes) Carlisle’s creator, who after taking care of the mob must have realized he’d bitten one of the humans, meaning a newborn would soon be loose in London. This is punishable by death by the Volturi. The fact that he didn’t return to finish Carlisle off means that he was unable to find him. I remind the audience that Carlisle was bleeding and suffering the effects by a venom intended to paralyze the victim. To put it this way, Carlisle wouldn’t have survived James, or anybody with a trace of tracking competence. By comparison, Carlisle was able to locate a dying Rosalie by the smell of her blood, even though there wouldn’t have been a trail for him to follow, as her body had not been moved.

When it comes to these disparities in strength and speed among the Volturi, I imagine Jane and Alec are the physically weakest members of the guard, and among the slowest. They’re prepubescent, meaning no muscle for them, and their height (a humble 4′8″ and 4′10″) implies very short legs. They’re simply not going to get as far as an adult would, not in the same number of steps. Renata at 5′0″ is another tiny vampire lady who likely isn’t very strong or fast.

That’s not to say I think these physically weaker members of the Volturi guard are necessarily useless in hand-to-hand combat, Alec at least is a boy stuck in a playful age, and the males around him are trained warriors. He’s probably picked up a few things over the years.

As for the others, Aro is described as frail-looking, which hints at him being quite thin. I don’t think he’s weak, if he couldn’t win a fight he wouldn’t be around, but I do think he’s probably below average in terms of strength. Caius I picture as a Harrison Ford type, so of course I’m gonna think he’s a bit burly, but this is me headcanoning and not actually hinted at in canon. Marcus is 19, so I imagine he can only be so strong.

Back to Edward’s speed.

He’s a 6′2″ teen, that’s code for “very long legs”, though I’m actually going to go ahead and posit that he’s not actually that fast. Strap in for this next part:

The guy was a teenager who lay dying for an undisclosed amount of time. The fact that Carlisle had the time to get to know his mother points to a few weeks, at least. And Edward was very ill:

Elizabeth worried obsessively over her son. She hurt her own chances of survival trying to nurse him from her sickbed. I expected that he would go first, he was so much worse off than she was. (New Moon, page 21)

Muscles atrophy quickly, never more so than when you’re a teen ravaged by fever, on your deathbed. And as I’ve explained above, I think your physique in life ties directly into your vampiric prowess.

I think Edward is certainly the physically weakest of the male Cullens, quite likely weaker than Rosalie as well, maybe even Esme.

Now, speed is not the same as strength. However, for humans, the two are connected. It’s the muscle fibers in our legs that determine our speed. Basically, type I fibers make an enduring runner, type II fibers make a speed runner. So, assuming that vampires retain their human musculature, one could argue that Edward had a lot of type II in life. However, Carlisle when he was human was able to outrun the mob he was with:

He ran through the streets, and Carlisle — he was twenty-three and very fast — was in the lead of the pursuit. (Twilight, page 158)

Carlisle clearly had a lot of type II fibers, and unlike Edward he was in peak physical condition when he died. He was also an adult who’d had more time to develop musculature, while Edward was a seventeen-year-old. If musculature was a deciding factor, one would think they would at the very least be of equal speed, though realistically Edward should be slower.

So, if it’s not muscles, what is it that makes Edward faster than the others?

It could be a matter of technique. Except, the way Bella describes movement when she wakes up as a vampire, it’s all very automated. Her body knows exactly how to do everything, and executes it without much input from her:

After that first frozen second of shock, my body responded to the unfamiliar touch in a way that shocked me even more.

Air hissed up my throat, spitting through my clenched teeth with a low, menacing sound like a swarm of bees. Before the sound was out, my muscles bunched and arched, twisting away from the unknown. I flipped off my back in a spin so fast it should have turned the room into an incomprehensible blur—but it did not. I saw every dust mote, every splinter in the wood-paneled walls, every loose thread in microscopic detail as my eyes whirled past them.

So by the time I found myself crouched against the wall defensively—about a sixteenth of a second later—I already understood what had startled me, and that I had overreacted. (Breaking Dawn, page 251-252)

Growling, crouching - those are all distinctly vampiric, non-human ways to act. Bella didn’t learn this, her body knew it of its own accord. When she later runs, she explains it as happening the same way - she just does it.

The way Bella experiences it, vampiric movement is like a package she downloaded, and that executes her instinctual commands with no need for her to actually know how to do any of this. Her grace is another example of this - Bella Swan may be in charge of her own consciousness, but the venom is entirely in control of her body.

Given these facts, I don’t think it’s technique that makes Edward a better runner than others. His technique is likely similar to everyone else’s. If it isn’t, if technique is what makes the difference, then who is and isn’t fast is an arbitrary process.

With that, we get to my controversial theory about why Edward is the fastest Cullen: he’s not.

Running and being fast is the only thing about vampirism that Edward enjoys. This is for another meta, but Edward is extremely depressed about every single other bit of it. Every aspect of being a vampire torments him.

Except the running. He enjoys all of it, especially being the fastest, so much. And as a newborn, he would have been faster than Carlisle.

But after that, when his newborn strength faded…

I honestly think that Carlisle decided to just slow down a bit when running with him, let Edward have this. It’s no skin of his back, and it makes Edward happy, so why not.

Esme joins the family, and of course she would be down for this. Nothing is more parental, more maternal, than losing at checkers to make your child happy, after all. Could also be she’s not very fast herself, but even if she were then she would downplay it to make Edward feel like Jesse Owens.

Enter Rosalie, who would think it’s completely ridiculous, yes, but she would also recognize this excellent opportunity to call in a big favor from Carlisle later on. There’s also the fact that I think Carlisle has a gift (yes, yes, meta is coming, people) that makes him very persuasive people. And also that for all that Rose gets a lot of bad rep, she is very generous and loves her family, if being fast makes Edward happy then alright.

Emmett is an easy-going guy, he goes along with things. Alice adores Edward and would go along with it. She also has tiny matchstick legs and couldn’t outrun him if she tried. Jasper could not care less.

Bella does get outrun by Edward after waking up, but she also did zero exercise in life (listing this in case musculature matter), had Renesmée devour her from within rendering her emaciated, and then died like a slasher movie murder victim. There’s not a lot of blood in her, and what little blood there is doesn’t have a lot to work with. She does defeat Emmett at arm wrestling, so I’ll concede that. However, there are enough extenuating circumstances surrounding Bella that I think my “Edward isn’t that fast” theory survives his ability to outrun her.

So, I believe Edward is the fast Cullen because Carlisle told a white lie in 1919, no one ever corrected that, and now it’s too late.

[ficsnroses]

𝑯𝒊𝒔 - 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜

johnny silverhand x fem! V [reader]. 

summary : johnny and you both want this, a physical exchange to feel relief. 

warnings : smut, nsfw. rough unprotected sex. swearing. 2.5k words. no spoilers other than johnny’s status.

notes : something new! next to zero plot, just some good ol fucking each other’s brains out smut. I had a lot of fun writing this, might write some more fics for him if readers are interested. enjoy! feedback appreciated as always. also! i’d love to read some johnny fics if you have recommendations :)

She’s slipping away, day by day by day.

Exhilarating, exhausting. The steps under her feet hurt, they mock. With each dragged, littered breath trudged out her lips, she crumbles. Crumbles in what feels as if the boneyard of a dream; the debris of a reverie.

She hurts, she needs relief. Something temporary to match what swills inside.

Relief that would come in something more than amber kissed crystal glasses, something stronger than the wash of bitter liquor searing down her throat. Alcohol feats in her head- but so does he.

He feats in her head, he’s taking over. Day by day, by day.

“Hey highness, why don’t you make yourself useful and get more smokes.”

His voice comes in loud barrels, thuds of lightening that crash in her veins. It’s sharp, pronounced. Gravelly, a contrast, disparity to her quieter, mellower one- one that caused a ruckus to be heard for the entirety of her being, to be remembered.

Yet, it hadn’t gotten her far. She’d been far from what she’d dreamt.

       Her voice, her quiet, broken voice that plead to be heard.

He stands crisp, muscled back brave against the cold metallic wall. Broken drags and hostile exhales haste out his throat, the tared smoke serving as a dire remembrance of what he used to be.

Real.

“Gonna move or what?” Strong, cynical. The tone he spits is rough, pessimistic. He’d come as a parasite, something humane no more, driven by a dream, a delusion. His delusion, he’d use her for. There’s no affliction in his voice, no compassion. His voice registers dimly through the rumble of her own agony.

Somewhere along blurred lines, parasitic growls became usual; anticipated.

It’s tough being angry at someone who hears you.

And somewhere along the dreary lines, he’d felt it too.

It’s tough being angry at someone who sees you. Sees someone, the world had long forgotten.

Her voice comes in sharp daggers, strident. “Shut up.” Long for relief brews in her nerves, threatens to overtake. Threatens to destruct. “Shut the fuck up for one second” She growls, a low huff under her breath. The burn is breaking her, the yearn scorches inside long empty walls.

He knows too, he senses the deliberation inside her. He feels it in cold, chilled ghastly bones. He could help her, and she could help him, with something more than the mission at stake. Something sinfully bigger than the dream.

Something to feel human, again. He walks, a hologram that leaves louder, heavier steps than anyone she’d known prior. She feels a tingle; a twitch in her skin ignites, she feels a dark warmth.

It comes from him; it calls from his body.

“You’re an asshole. Nothing more.” She pierces, the toxins fall her lips, a desperate attempt to keep him away. Keep him out.

The drags of his steps thud louder in her head, the shift of his holographic form closer. There’s a hoarse gravel in his throat, something so negative, yet so familiar. So painfully familiar. He lives inside her, he’s all she’s began to remember. “Cigarettes make me feel something.” The cool air that stings the nape of her neck sends a shiver down her spine. “Something fucking real for once.”

“Fuck off.” She spits, avoiding a sworn intense gaze. Her stare in the abyss out the distant paned windows causes a churn in her mid, something sickening. A quiet realization falls, creeping.

“You’re taking over me.”

A chuckle off his mouth, a smirk curled to his thin taut lips. “We are bound.” He growls. “And I am owed.”

Chained; she reminds herself. You are chained, shackled to him.

“You’re owned nothing.” She grits. He watches the way she tenses, visibly burning.

In his hallow shell of a mind long forgotten, he’d undressed her a thousand times; watched the way she slept so vulnerably, thought of the way the threads that hug her body like a lover could peel off so easily. So sinfully. “Can’t help but wonder what this pretty pussy of yours could make me feel instead.” A growl emits his throat, stocked fingers finding their way palming thin fabric shielding her cunt from prying gaze.

And the touch that registered leaves her panting. His touch, something she’d never felt before, was real. He was real. This ghost that drowns in her every thought was existent as day, dark as night.

“You want me, as much as I want you.” His voice comes in drowned out waves; the long inside her body for something physical slowly enveloping. “Fucking say it.”

She dreams of relief, of release. She dreams of good, pleasure that could wash her lungs; quench the burn. She dreams of something more than the familiar scald of liquor sent in cascades down her throat. She dreams of something physical, something filthy to satiate relief.

Sex starved, she succumbs. Sex longing, he smirks, and smirks,

       and smirks.

Stop, says her mind.

Go, haunts her body. Let him use you the way you’ve always wanted.

“Fuck me.” She mutters, breath rugged, crisp desperation rung on shade stained lips. “Fuck me. Now.”  The words rip, long pent frustrations urge. He’s far too appealing, perfectly groomed beard and lengthy locks raven on his mane; toned muscles, cryptic bolded ink litter his skin. Deep-rooted ink bedecks his un robotic arm, and she sighs at the way his smirk induced lips crawl at her neck. Lingering kisses, gentle bites leaving faint purple bruises to her delicate skin;

Something about the way he speaks, the way his touch held the power of a million fucking bullets.

Unmatched, unprecedented.

Cold and stoic, his bionic hand plants to her chest, above the valley of perfectly plump breasts. Slowly, he guides, her body finding refuge on her bed covered in a sea of soft sheets and cottoned pillows. The same bed, where she knew he’d fuck her into oblivion, now that she’d asked.

A fire burns in his belly, a smoke that matches lustrous eyes roving and bulging pants. Through brown leather, the outline of his impressive cock causes a gulp in her throat, the anticipation tightening in her ached cunt, long yearned for the fruit of any friction. “Take everything off.” His shallow voice demands, and she watches the way he palms a throbbing cock shielded from her gaze.

Johnny was equipped, experienced; expert to say the least. He knew well how to please a woman, how to mix the perfect blend of pain and pleasure. If there’s one thing groupie affairs taught;

all pussy is good, but only few, came heavenly.

He’d known since he’d saw her, since their first encounter. There’d been no place he’d wanted to be buried guts deep, no place as tight, warm, inviting than her cunt. Her movements follow obliged, skimpy cloth and thin bottoms tugged off for his view. Amatory lace bottoms and a matching bra unhook through the brittle fingers of her hands; her eyes never leave him. The way his prying eyes dig into hers, piercing. He palms, and strokes, cold hands moving to unbuckle a heavy belt that falls to the floor with a dense thud.

In the chilled air of the futuristic room, a cold shiver pecks at her skin; inch by inch a warmth blazes inside. The anticipation of what Johnny would, could do to her. He could destroy her.

He could ruin her, with every thrust.

Much to his splendour, her bare breasts sit perfectly swollen on her chest, pert, hardened nipples vibrant with tint. Silky skin, perfectly dewy. She was a fucking goddess in her own right; a sex siren his cock pulses for, in dire need. A flush to her skin ignites, visibly frustrated. “Haven’t been fucked in a while, have you.” He states firmly, less of a question than proclamation. A cold, robotic finger grazes her bottom lip, stony, iced, a snicker loiters. “Or haven’t been fucked well?” His finger trails down, gently, sub-zero, feather light as it glosses her skin, brushed against the petals, the slippery folds of her tender womanhood; two digits enter, curling inside her beautifully slick, warm walls.

“You’re gonna remember me for days, princess. Gonna wreck this pretty pussy of yours, show you what it means to be alive.”

In this moment, she’d swore she belongs to him. She’d permit his pessimistic soul to do whatever he sought, with her frail body.

“Gonna pull it out or what, coward.” She allows, that familiar confidence she’d so desperately tried to hold true finding light once again.

She tries, she pleads to be strong. Yet she knows, she’d be sure. She’d crumble under him; she’d fall mercy to his mechanical touch.

“Patience.” He sneers, motorized hands unzipping. “Patience is virtue, darling.”

Somewhere along the way, she’d gotten accustomed to snarky remarks, egotistical transcriptions.

His cock falls out of his pants, heavy, thick, big, beautiful. She swallows, intrigued by the grandeur, a rosy tip swells with beads of wet pre cum, seeps. A thunderous vein runs down a curved shaft, copious balls surrounded by a jungle of dark hair.

She swallows at the sight; his words stay true. Intimidated, she’d for sure remember him, for days. The ache he’d leave would triumph for days to come.

“On your back.” He demands, pants long forgotten to the flat below, a few meagre tugs jerked to his raw, throbbing member.

Johnny Silverhand had fucked countless women, yet none made his cock as painfully erect, tender as she did. In the most sinful of ways, his cock would become her prisoner, and they hadn’t even started yet. With a rock hard cock digging into the skin of her stomach, he takes positon above her, towering. The scent of need fills the air as silky legs spread for his taking,

She spreads for his taking. A gasp dies in her throat as his cock springs, the deep baritone moan in his chest grumbling as his erection dips forcefully into her tiny mouth, impeding down her throat with a sole thrust. His hips buck forcefully in her wet, tight mouth, lingering as his jaw tightens, before plummeting out.

He’d primed himself in her throat, preparing to be buried between feeble legs, drowned inside her tender cunt.

Glancing between sweat stippled bodies, she stares and stares when his hands line a pulsating cock up with her entrance, firm hands planting to her hips, his massive member sinks inside her, rough, robust. A heavy thrust implores, big, warm, beautiful. One deep, harsh thrust was all it took. All it took for her to ascend, a loud moan of pure pleasure let off her lips at the sheer weight of him inside.

The bass of his voice moans harsh, sucking in a sharp breath to the feel of her wrapped, glistening his cock with her creamy, wet releases. His pace proves animalistic, hard off the get go, minimal time for her to adjust before he pounds her hastily, laboured breaths and quickened heavy exhales channelling out both their bodies. Delicate, weak arms desperately hold his broad shoulders as he drills into her needily, sloppily, the sound of thick balls slamming her core echo grey walls, dark eyes and enticingly deep grunts kissing her ears as he takes her body whole. “Fuck…you’re...” He breathes, rugged, harsh. “You’re…so fucking tight. So fucking wet.” Growling, he watches her become a whimpering, disorderly mess under his weight as beautifully plump breasts jerk hastily to his hostile pace. Her eyes flutter closed, lips slightly agape as she breathes tiny, gasped moans, fingernails clawing into his fleshy shoulders.

His hips rock expertly, so rough, so quick she feels warm tears singe in he corners of her eyes at how well he fucks her, how guttural his moans fall. Praises for her pussy dawdle his lips in hasty exhales, chasing his orgasm as her cunt cocoons, moulds to his cock so perfectly; as if a glove, as if she’d been made just for him. Solely for him to use, for him to fuck. His hold on her tightens, hands kneading tantalising hips as one moves to squeeze her breast, tough. The stretch he leaves proves incomparable, eyes widening when the curve of his cock hits her G spot repeatedly, hisses of her name and rapt desire overtaking. A selfish pace conjures, her body jerks, stifling moans with each imperative thrust.

The pain, the pleasure. The unholy pleasure of this parasite splitting her inch by inch. His cock glides easily, slips in and out gratifyingly; whimpers and yelps brew her voice, a chant of his name desperately recited as if a prayer she’d held, punctuated by growls and throaty gruffs of his. With her tits bouncing vigorously to his pace, Johnny’s need only cultivates further, and he drowns in the feel of her heavenly cunt.

His, all, and only, his.

Her legs tremble, a bite sinks into her arm covering her mouth to cage particularly gruesome moans. The violent labour of his hips, over and over, and over leave every vein inside her snapping, every nerve ending sparking with lust, she feels him all. His entire cock barely fitting; she squirms under him, his buttery voice filtered with demand. “Tighten up for me. Milk this cock like it’s the last thing you’ll do.” His moans fall heavier, as his thrusts; sultry, stiff voice surging her ears as he shudders, shivering, buried deep, deep inside. A cocktail of glossy, creamed releases they’d create together drip to the sheets below, although neither cease to care.

A joint euphoria builds, something they’d needed dire. Her limbs wrap his frame, his muscles cage her tight. He pounds, he thrusts, he jolts, he relishes in the tender haven she’d given him to spoil in; the sound of his cock slicking in her wetness through unaltered thrusts proves far too much, she feels each ridge, each inch of his godly cock assaulting her core.

“Gonna cum,” Johnny asserts, pace never faltering. She jolts, and jolts, and cries, and whines to his speed, to his feel. Within a few particularly intense thrusts, lewd moans drive out her lips in frantic succumb, her pussy throbs for him, skin colliding, arousing him further. Holding dearly, she practically melts into him, hips bucking to meet his as a blissful, earthshattering orgasm washes over her in currents; in oceanic waves, a tsunami of all things good, all things filthy.

Her pussy falls sore, aching, delicate from the action when he grunts imperatively, the sound of hammering hips into her heat dying down when his cock twitches within her, slipping through silky arousal easily, slamming relentlessly when his high comes. It comes, he cums, deep, deep inside her trifling cunt, swollen thick and jerked as spurts of hot, scotching cum coat the insides of her pussy. The groans he lets out prove impatient, hoarse, coursing, currenting through her ears. She beats with his succulent release inside, a cocktail her juices and what he’d left behind coating the insides of her thighs.

In sex gratified bliss, her eyes widen when he collapses on top, thunderous arms holding her still, cock excruciating felt within. Tonight, she’d been told. She’d been shown,

Johnny likes it

Sloppy. Vulgar. Tight.

pornographic.

       Johnny likes it rough, hard.

Ruthless, and she’d crumbled in each inch of it. Addicted, long gone. He’d sworn the same, intoxicated by her unrivalled cunt, those soft, whingeing moans that flee her lips;

With their skin sticking together through beads of peppered exertion, laboured puffs and heavy huffs pound in their chests, bodied still fitted together as if a puzzle piece, cock still sheathed inside. Simpering, smirking, his cold, contemporary finger lifts the faint of her chin,

the world seemed to have ended in this moment.

her world had ended, shaken.

But time still passed, it passed, it tightened, clawed in her chest.

Nothing compared to him, nothing tasted as sweet.

“We are bound, kitten. This pussy is mine, and mine alone.”

       A declaration, a fate written.

He’d taken over another part of her; and this time, she let him.

Her body belongs to him, in all forms.

His fuck doll, she’d be.

And she knows, she feels it in her bones. He’ll be the death of her through what comes;

       he’ll love to ruin her.

 and she’ll love, to be his.

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

My taglist will be posted in reblogs, let me know if you want to be added or removed! :)

[whenrockwasyoung19]

As a historian, I really want to do a piece on how 9/11 has been commemorated and how it’s been remembered by the people who lived through it and the generation that came up after. So I need to see 9/11 memes so I can determine what jokes about 9/11 are deemed acceptable by society, if any, and which ones are purely tasteless.

Having lived through that time, and remember the South Park era of comedy, I saw a lot of 9/11 jokes in the years after the attacks. They were tasteless then but laughing at them felt cathartic in a way. We’d all been through this collective trauma, and laughing at some shitty jokes was a way of coping with that trauma. But were these jokes tasteless? Probably.

I feel like as we get further away from the event, our memory of it gets more and more distorted. I think for a lot of people who weren’t there and don’t share that collective trauma they can be more cynical about it than the people that were. What do I mean by cynicism? This refers to a couple of trends I see in 9/11 discourse. The first is tasteless jokes, usually in the form of memes. The second is discourse that usually makes a lot of (false) comparisons between 9/11 and some other tragedy. This can be a comparison between some military mission performed by the US military or a natural disaster and most recently the pandemic. The emphasis in these comparisons is that 9/11 wasn’t that bad actually OR what America has done in retribution for 9/11 is worse than the original act itself. The latter point isn’t necessarily wrong but using a tragic event in which thousands of people lost their lives to do it, while an effective rhetorical strategy, can also come off as cynical and disrespectful to the people who survived it or lost family members. I feel like the best way to make that argument is to emphasize how horrible 9/11 was but explain that what the military did in response was perhaps even more destructive and cost more lives. I think deemphasizing how bad 9/11 was or just using it to make a political argument can read as disrespectful and not enough people find that tricky balance between political argument and disrespect.

As for the but such and such was worse, those people can shut up. Like I can entertain conversations about the actions of the US government and military in response to 9/11 because those are conversations worth having. This sort of cynical worldview doesn’t actually yield effective discourse. It essentially posits that because more people died in say a hurricane or an Earthquake that that event was a bigger tragedy. But as a historian, I can tell you that historians don’t claim that something is more significant or even more tragic or less tragic just because at some point in history a worse thing happened. Like as a historians were more aware than most how many bad things have happened in history, so there is no point in comparing all the tragic things to all of the other tragic things like some kind of mad web. Like there is no point in comparing a natural disaster to a terrorist attack because they are in no way similar other than the fact that innocent people died. They are far more dissimilar than similar, and comparing to disparate events that may not have even happened around the same time doesn’t make any sense. What points of comparison are we drawing and to what end? What does that really tell us about the society we’re living in or were living in during the time of these events? So just the business of comparing tragedies is a pointless endeavor but it also posits that the only thing that measures how tragic something is is it’s death toll and that’s not true. 9/11 is a tragedy not just because innocent people died but because of how meaningless their deaths were. They were caught in the crossfires of a conflict that these random office workers, flight attendants, flight passengers, and first responders had nothing to do with. An ongoing struggle between the East and the West, the dynamics between the most powerful nation on Earth and tiny subsections of a massive global religion has nothing to do with these people who died and yet they lost their lives anyway. Now that is true of any civilian attacks. But that’s the thing: there have been far worse civilian attacks in history, even some conducted by the US military (the Dresden bombings come to mind) but that’s kind of the problem with drawing comparisons. I can’t really say if the Dresden bombings and the Blitz were worse than 9/11. It simply doesn’t feel like my place to say to someone that suffered that your tragedy is actually smaller or less significant than this other tragedy that happened some other time. They are all hugely significant in their own ways, they are all tragedies, and they should all be remembered and discussed with reverence.

I do feel that a lot of the comparisons between 9/11 and some other tragedy come from this place of “why does the US make such a big deal about 9/11 and not xyz tragedy?” And this is a valid question but not all of the answers come down to “the US doesn’t care about xyz tragedy” or “the US only cares about itself!” So let’s go through some reasons why the anniversary of 9/11 is so widely covered. Firstly, it happened on our soil. Countries are always going to honor things that happened to them. It’s just a thing. If it affected the people in that country, then yeah they’re gonna go on and on about it. Secondly, it happened 20 years ago so it’s still in very recent living memory. Most people alive on the planet have vivid memories of that day, so most people still remember what that day felt like and want to honor the victims and commemorate it. Thirdly, all the cynical reasons. Yes the US is less concerned about anything else that’s happened outside of our borders. What happened to us matters more to anyone else. No this isn’t great but I’m just reporting the state of things. And yes, the US is selective about what it remembers and what it doesn’t, and the government has a history of struggling to acknowledge the bad things America has done. And lastly, America never really stopped being overly nationalistic like a lot of other countries did after the rise of fascism scared them out of ever doing that shit again. America just maintains its nationalism. Maybe one day it’ll have a more nuanced perspective of itself like other countries do but we’ll see. So yeah there are a lot of reasons why the US makes a big fucking deal about this day and will forever and not all of them are bad or reason to criticize.

Ok now to acknowledge the memes. God any time I tell kids not to make memes about 9/11 I feel like a grandma. I mean I could go on and on about how it’s disrespectful but the people making them know this and don’t care. I guess I’m more interested in understanding why people make memes about a national tragedy. I think it has to do with how 9/11 has been remembered which is largely clouded by all of the political and military stuff that happened as a result of it. For people who learned about 9/11 years after it happened, they didn’t experience these events in real time. For those of us who lived through it, we didn’t know all that was going to transpire because of it. On that day, all we really knew was that thousands of people were dead and more were going to die in the conflicts that would result from it. We didn’t know that the wars would last decades or how pointless it would all be in the end. We had no idea how shitty George Bush was or how incompetent his administration was. We definitely had no idea that Trump was coming. So for a lot of us, we can separate the mess that happened because of the attacks from our memories of the attacks. It’s so much easier for us to think only about the events of that day because we were there. We have specific memories of it which we can latch onto rather than just thinking about news footage or events that came later.

And the cynicism that people feel is somewhat earned. The attacks obviously spurned two decades of Islamaphobia as well as countless military attacks in the Middle East. For a lot of young people, they feel like they’re supporting Muslims or standing against Islamaphobia by disrespecting an event that prompted so much Islamaphobia. And I get that. But also that’s not the way to do show your support or take a stand. Keep in mind that the people who died that day had no idea what they were dying for. Most in their last moments probably didn’t even know it was a terrorist attack. The American people didn’t even realize the first plane was an attack. So it doesn’t really make sense to disrespect their memory when it’s not their fault that their deaths resulted in so much pain and suffering for the Muslim diaspora. Disrespect the people who were openly Islamaphobic after the attacks, criticize the American government for their actions in the Middle East. But not the people who had no control how their deaths were remembered or used by politicians, military leaders, white nationalists, and other racists to attack Muslim people.

As a historian, it’s my job to try to apply a historical context to people’s actions. A lot of people have done this to observe why people responded to the attacks the way they did. Now I want to use it to understand why so many young people feel at best indifferent to the events of that day and at worst resentful and disrespectful towards ur

[zintranslations]

Kaleidoscope of Death, Extra 1

Kaleidoscope of Death by Xi Zixu Link to Chinese / Novel Updates

Extra: What He Is

It was an afternoon after they'd both returned to reality when Ruan Nanzhu figured out that Lin Qiushi had likely detected his little secret.

Ruan Nanzhu had nothing to do that day, and was flipping through a book on the balcony. And when he found an interesting line, he had read it out loud to Lin Qiushi.

He said, "when you gaze into the abyss, the abyss also gazes back at you."

Lin Qiushi was napping at first, but when he heard this, he mumbled back, "anything you do unto the abyss will be reflected back at you, is that it?"

"Probably."

Ruan Nanzhu didn't think too much about it, leaning down to kiss Lin Qiushi on the mouth.

Then he heard Lin Qiushi say, "then maybe I should pull my zipper down at you…"

Ruan Nanzhu went still for a moment before chuckling quietly. In that moment, he understood that Lin Qiushi knew everything.

"That's right," was how Ruan Nanzhu answered. "So you should treat the abyss better."

Regarding the oddities in their life—at first, because all his attention had been on Ruan Nanzhu, Lin Qiushi hadn’t noticed. After Ruan Nanzhu returned though, all these oddities began gradually floating up to the surface, like icebergs hidden under the sea.

In Lin Qiushi's memories, he did not smoke. Even if he carried smokes on him, it was for the convenience of handing to others in his line of work. But after leaving the doors, he became fully an addict. He could smoke multiple packs a day, and felt none of the disparity of a first-time smoker.

And the family that had once been so distant began constantly contacting him, saying all this stuff like how much they worried about him. Bai Ming too—he was supposed to be Ruan Nanzhu's good friend, but now was acting like he’d known Lin Qiushi for years…

All these things, Lin Qiushi took in without looking in too deeply.

The answers to some questions weren't all that important to have. As long as Ruan Nanzhu was by his side, he felt like it was enough. As for what Ruan Nanzhu was…

Lin Qiushi reached out and caught his lover's earlobe in a pinch. Leaning his face in close, he murmured against Ruan Nanzhu's cheek: "My dear, what in the world are you?"

Ruan Nanzhu was reading, and glanced up at Lin Qiushi. Suddenly, he smiled.

"I'm your milk tea," he said.

Lin Qiushi, "…"

Ruan Nanzhu, "aren't you going to ask me why I'm your milk tea?"

Lin Qiushi lifted a brow. "The last time I heard this joke I was still a virgin. And now I'm already a mother of three."

And the two began to laugh, the atmosphere filled with the feeling of joy.

Ruan Nanzhu thought at first that Lin Qiushi would pursue the question, but Lin Qiushi only stretched and got up off the bed. He said he was going to take a shower, and ended the topic there.

Ruan Nanzhu watched Lin Qiushi go and parted his lips, mouthing a few words. Had Lin Qiushi turned right then, he would have found Ruan Nanzhu telling him one thing—I'm the door.

I'm the door. That's right. What Ruan Nanzhu said was, I'm the door.

He was the twelfth door.

But the truth was, prior to the night-time riot of a hundred ghosts, Ruan Nanzhu had not been aware of this fact. His memories were flawless, as if he truly was the leader of Obsidian. As if he—having started entering doors as a teenager, having surmounted countless obstacles and tribulations, and having finally made it past the tenth door with great difficulty—was a completely normal person. Ruan Nanzhu had possessed no memories regarding the doors, and had also been of the firm belief that he was a simple human.

This firm belief of his, after the night of a hundred ghosts had ended for him and Lin Qiushi, had been abruptly shattered.

Back then, the hours of the day were getting longer and longer, while their nights got shorter. The time Ruan Nanzhu and Lin Qiushi had together too had entered a countdown. When night no longer came, Ruan Nanzhu thought he was never going to see Lin Qiushi again—he’d gone crazy looking for the key and trying to escape, but very faintly, he’d also realized that some things appeared to have slipped out of his control…

What he hadn't told Lin Qiushi was that he also saw ghosts during the day. At first, this was because he didn't want Lin Qiushi to worry. After, it was because he realized these ghosts wouldn't hurt him. Terrifying ghouls lived on every corner, and even when Ruan Nanzhu opened his own suitcase, he would find the horrifying Hako Onna hidden inside—she had on such an innocent expression when Ruan Nanzhu dug her out, was all.

From the initial shock tinged with terror to the cold numbness that followed, Ruan Nanzhu went through about half a month like this.

By the time he truly comprehend that he would never see Lin Qiushi again, Ruan Nanzhu could already coolly sock the lady-ghost perched at the head of his bed onto the ground, telling her icily to not squat above his head, that he wouldn't grow tall this way…And perhaps he was seeing things, but he thought that after he said this, the lady-ghost looked a little bit wronged.

Angrily, Ruan Nanzhu had thought why are you feeling wronged? I haven't even had a chance to feel wronged.

At that point, though the situation around him was growing increasingly eerie, Ruan Nanzhu was still completely ignorant. He had no idea what was happening, and even thought that this was the doors punishing him. That was what he believed until one day, a little spirit in red guided him to a particular location.

When Ruan Nanzhu got there, he instantly recognized it as the apartment where Lin Qiushi had once lived. Only, the apartment complex hadn't been fully constructed yet, and it was all still ancient builds of tongzilou.

That little spirit-ghost was standing on the fifth floor, waving to Ruan Nanzhu. Ruan Nanzhu looked up at her, frowning.

"The fifth floor? What have you brought me here for?" He observed the ghost's appearance a little more closely, and said in disbelief, "you're not Satchan, are you?"

As soon as he said this, the little ghost before him smiled shyly…though, her making such an expression with that ghastly pale face wasn't cute at all.

Ruan Nanzhu was in a hurry to leave, but had no lead on the key still. So he figured he'd try any last resort, and went to see exactly what Satchan wanted to show him.

Ruan Nanzhu went up to the fifth floor and headed toward the room at the very end. He pushed open the barely-shut door, and found an abode. There was nobody in the room, only an old and dilapidated television sitting at the head of the bed. It seemed to be playing some kind of program.

Ruan Nanzhu's gaze fell on that television, and a bit of shock came into his eyes. He even thought he was seeing things as he sped over to the screen. Only then could he be certain that the TV really was showing him a young Lin Qiushi.

Lin Qiushi was walking on a small path. Two people appeared at his side, and they were both people Ruan Nanzhu recognized—Xiong Qi and Xiao Ke, whom they'd met in their first door. Ruan Nanzhu held his breath, eyes stuck to the image on the screen.

"Where are we?" The young Lin Qiushi looked very youthful, and harbored terror in his dark eyes. He carefully asked next, "who are you guys?"

The images kept playing, and Ruan Nanzhu watched it all. What the television played was how Lin Qiushi passed his first door without Ruan Nanzhu.

Ruan Nanzhu's fingertips grazed the icy screen, gently caressing Lin Qiushi's cheek through the glass. Even this young, Lin Qiushi was so easily entrancing.

He was just like raw, undiscovered ore; anyone who knew true value could see that there were dazzling treasures to be had inside.

So smart and brave and calm. Someone who wasn't blindly kind and yet maintained a bottom line—Ruan Nanzhu thought that under any and all circumstances, his lover still so thoroughly captured all attention.

The program on the television became a TV show, and it was all about Lin Qiushi. It was about how he entered doors, how he met a group of friends, how he took over Obsidian…

Ruan Nanzhu watched obsessively. A thought even popped into his mind, that why, when Lin Qiushi was going through all this, had he not been by Lin Qiushi's side? If only he could be with him, then how wondrous an experience that would be…And then Ruan Nanzhu startled back to attention, having detected his own odd state.

He had been at Lin Qiushi's side, and had gone through the test of the eleventh door with Lin Qiushi. But if that was so, then why had such a thought come to his mind just now?

Ruan Nanzhu could sense that something was wrong.

And that sense of wrongness grew broader, following the development of the TV show, as if an unstoppable pandemic.

Ruan Nanzhu saw Lin Qiushi's family in the show, and saw that the way they interacted was exactly the same as how he and his own family interacted. Ruan Nanzhu even saw Bai Ming, who ought to have been his own friend. On TV however, he was Lin Qiushi's sworn brother…

Lin Qiushi slowly grew up. Out of youth, he became a grown, mature man. The people around him came and went, yet his initial resolve never wavered, as if any darkness that was cast upon him couldn't even leave a shadow.

After watching Lin Qiushi for three days and three nights straight, Ruan Nanzhu finally realized something…He, didn't seem to be human.

He hadn't so much as rested in three day's time, but he didn't feel hungry. Nor did he feel tired. He was still full of energy, and had maintained his optimal state.

Time was null where he was concerned.

The ghost who had brought him here squatted beside him, staring up with big eyes

Ruan Nanzhu had been wary of her at first, but later grew exasperated. He said, "what are you showing this to me for? You want to tell me I'm not human?"

Satchan twisted her head, and said nothing as she watched Ruan Nanzhu.

Ruan Nanzhu had more to say, but Satchan pointed a finger at the screen, indicating Ruan Nanzhu should keep watching.

Ruan Nanzhu thought, it wasn't like things could get worse. So he'd keep watching. He couldn't leave, and he couldn't see Lin Qiushi—it hardly mattered at all if he kept watching.

So Ruan Nanzhu kept watching as Lin Qiushi's time ticked on forward.

He was like a voyeur, peeking into every corner of Lin Qiushi's life after Lin Qiushi began entering doors. He watched Lin Qiushi cry, and he watched Lin Qiushi laugh. Watched his brilliant smile when he made new acquaintances, watched him sob himself mute when he lost a dear friend. Time ticked on bit by bit, and the Ruan Nanzhu who didn't need to rest had already lost all concept of the thing.

Finally, the images underwent a decisive change.

Ruan Nanzhu watched Lin Qiushi enter his twelfth door, and when the scenery twisted, Lin Qiushi appeared in a familiar rental apartment.

And at the same time, the scene around Ruan Nanzhu too began to change. Ancient decor retreated, and his surroundings became identical to what was on TV.

On the television, Lin Qiushi lied deeply asleep in bed. A dark shadow appeared beside him. There was no discernible shape to the shadow. It was only a clump of dark umbra. The shadow extended a finger and very carefully touched Lin Qiushi's cheek. It went from forehead to nose to lips, all exceedingly gentle, as if it was scared of waking the sleeping Lin Qiushi.

Then the shadow's form began to change. Black retreated from his body as he began to look more and more like a person, until at one particular point, he looked completely identical to the Lin Qiushi lying on the bed.

But the shadow didn't seem to want to have the same face as Lin Qiushi, and so quickly changed its appearance again. The moment the shadow decided on its final form, Ruan Nanzhu, who was watching all this from outside the television, chuckled bitterly—that shadow looked exactly the same as he did.

That's right. The shadow was Ruan Nanzhu.

Had it been anybody else, seeing this might have driven them crazy. But Ruan Nanzhu remained calm. Honestly, watching Lin Qiushi's life these past days, he'd already fathomed such a guess. It was just that seeing it with his own eyes now was still a little bit shocking.

On the television, Ruan Nanzhu smiled so longingly at Lin Qiushi. Then he began to fade, disappearing from Lin Qiushi's side.

And when Lin Qiushi woke up the next morning, the first thing he discovered was that Chestnut wouldn't let him hold it anymore.

The cat that had been so attached to him actually hissed and puffed up its fur at him, as if it didn't recognize him at all. And cat-slave Lin Qiushi, after seeing such a thing, was at a complete loss for what to do. Against the cat perched up on high ground with such a look of disdain on its face, Lin Qiushi could only mope, saying, "Chestnut, why don't you want daddy anymore? Chestnut?"

Once Ruan Nanzhu saw Lin Qiushi in such a state, his shoulders began to tremble. And then hearty guffaws were spilling out, because he knew that the story that belonged to him and Lin Qiushi was about to begin.

Sure enough, a few days later, Lin Qiushi opened a door.

The inside of the door ought to have been a sight he'd already seen, but because his memories had been altered, his gaze was completely strange. And this time, the path that he walked on had a new, unfamiliar face.

Ruan Baijie in women's clothes shuffled pathetically up to Lin Qiushi with tears in her eyes, asking Lin Qiushi where they were.

And when Lin Qiushi asked for Ruan Nanzhu's name, it was the three words “Ruan Baijie” that came out of Ruan Nanzhu's lips.

This was how they met.

The Ruan Nanzhu back then had also thought he was a regular human. He'd gotten his wish; in another way, he'd become an addition to Lin Qiushi's journey, and became an integral character who could not be removed from Lin Qiushi's life.

This was very satisfying to Ruan Nanzhu. Only, everything had to come to an end. Even the twelfth door had to end.

Ruan Nanzhu had still not recovered any memories of when he'd been inhuman. He only knew that he wasn't human, but what in the world was he? Ruan Nanzhu was still thinking of this question when he glanced at Satchan blinking up at him.

He suddenly said, "I'm not the NPC guarding the twelfth door, am I?"

Satchan peered at Ruan Nanzhu, not speaking, but Ruan Nanzhu spotted a touch of disdain in her gaze.

Ruan Nanzhu, "…" Ah fuck, it seemed he was.

To tell the truth, wiping his own memories to the point where it was likely he'd never get it back seemed to Ruan Nanzhu like something he was capable of. And now, he'd obtained his objective; he'd gotten the affection of the one he loved.

"I'm a bit happy about this, what do I do." There was nobody here, only endless ghosts, and Ruan Nanzhu sat in the dark softly grinning. "I just think about all that we've been through, and I feel so blissed out."

Satchan naturally wouldn't give him an answer.

"But now comes the problem. How do I get out?" Ruan Nanzhu lifted his head, looking around at the unfamiliar apartment. "I can get out, right?"

He thought about it for a moment before looking at Satchan once again.

"What else do you know?"

Satchan peered at a clock on the wall.

Ruan Nanzhu, "the clock?" He stood up, watching the ongoing, twelve-numbered clock, sinking deep into thought. Then he took the clock down.

He took the cover off the clock, and when he found nothing inside, pressed the button that controlled the hour hand, starting to turn it. Suddenly, he thought of something, and asked Satchan one last question: "That's right…When Qiushi and I crossed the doors, if I didn't successfully pass, would I have died?"

Satchan's expression at this went a bit strange, looking slightly like pity, and also like she was looking at a mental patient. In the end, she nodded.

Ruan Nanzhu snickered, thinking this really was his style—everything had to be done to perfection, and approximate reality as much as possible.

Ruan Nanzhu turned the clock. Moments later, two keys fell to the ground. He picked them up, read the words on them, and couldn't help but smile again.

Illusory life, an authentic death. No matter what kind of world Lin Qiushi wanted, Ruan Nanzhu would give it to him.

He could choose a cruel reality, or he could choose a beautiful dream. And the power to choose, Ruan Nanzhu had already set in Lin Qiushi's hands.

Only now that he thought about it, it was all probably superfluous; Ruan Nanzhu hardly needed to think to know Lin Qiushi's answer. He grabbed the key and left the building. He opened the door and found only one door in the hallway. That door was filled with gentle white light. Ruan Nanzhu approached and stepped inside.

The world-line changed accordingly.

The members of Obsidian, who first had no memory of a person named Ruan Nanzhu, felt a little extra something in their minds. So when they saw Ruan Nanzhu coming downstairs in the mansion, nobody looked shocked—Ye Niao even called Lin Qiushi in a state of excitement, telling Lin Qiushi that Ruan-ge was back.

On the other end of the line, Lin Qiushi was of course ecstatic.

Ruan Nanzhu, on the other hand, sat in the living room, silently observing his surroundings to make sure that it was no different from the ones in his memories.

"Ruan-ge, you're finally back," Ye Niao was saying to him. "Don't you know how hard Lin-ge had it this past year?"

"Year?" Ruan Nanzhu startled. "It's already been a year?"

"Yeah," Ye Niao said. "It's already been a year."

Ruan Nanzhu thought that it was a good thing he didn't hesitate. Had he waited any longer, Lin Qiushi's kids would already be three by the time he came out…

The two reunited in joyous embrace.

Lin Qiushi actually never asked why Ruan Nanzhu was only showing up now. The truth was, as long as Ruan Nanzhu came out, Lin Qiushi would never fault him.

But even immersed in happiness, Ruan Nanzhu quickly discovered one unfortunate thing. Ever since he came out of the door, the twelfth door for everybody else appeared to have been sealed off. A paper seal was stuck on it, as if telling the outside that the door was now empty.

With Lin Qiushi's intellect, after linking such an incident to other oddities, it wasn't difficult to guess that Ruan Nanzhu wasn't human. When he realized this, Ruan Nanzhu felt a bit panicked. He couldn't be certain, after all, whether or not Lin Qiushi would mind. At the end of the day, questioning whether or not your lover was a door god didn't seem to be a particularly joyous occasion.

And so when Ruan Nanzhu took the phone that Lin Qiushi had been browsing the forums on, he'd closely observed Lin Qiushi's reaction. Only when he found nothing changed in his lover's expression—that Lin Qiushi didn't seem to have noticed at all—did Ruan Nanzhu let out a held breath.

Of course, only later did Ruan Nanzhu realize that it wasn't that Lin Qiushi didn't know, it was that he pretended not to know; he didn't care at all what Ruan Nanzhu was.

"So how did you befriend Bai Ming in the first place?" Lin Qiushi sat on the sofa, remote in hand and watching TV as he idly chatted with Ruan Nanzhu.

"He was in coincidental possession of a high-level door hint, and I needed to bring someone through. So we hooked up," Ruan Nanzhu answered.

Lin Qiushi twisted around to look at Ruan Nanzhu, saying, "so what's he coming to chat with me every day for?"

"Hey, can you two stop pretending like I'm not here, chattering away like that?" Bai Ming munched on the sunflower seeds that Ruan Nanzhu had just fried up, angry. "Go take your banter somewhere else! Also, it was love at first sight from me to you, Lin Qiushi, isn't that alright?"

"No," Ruan Nanzhu said. "Get your claws off him."

Bai Ming, "hmph. Selfish."

Lin Qiushi's lips curved up, saying nothing.

Bai Ming got up and took his leave, saying his dearest had texted, that they were getting dinner.

"He still has time to get dinner with you?" Lin Qiushi commented idly. "Isn't he busy with his new movie?"

"He is," Bai Ming sighed. "But I like him making movies. Have you seen his The Way of Kings? I won't lie to you, on that set, we—"

"Shut it," Lin Qiushi and Ruan Nanzhu said at the same time, both of them hitting pause on Bai Ming's dirty joke at top speed. They didn't want unfortunate images coming to mind when they were watching the movie, after all.

"Damn." Bai Ming flipped up his palms. "You two are just getting more and more alike."

"Is it bad to be alike?" Lin Qiushi asked.

"You like dating someone with a personality so similar to yours?" Bai Ming said.

"I do." Lin Qiushi started grinning, but his tone was perfectly serious as he spoke. "My personality's great, why wouldn't I like it?"

Bai Ming, "…" He'd realized the two of them were intentionally stuffing him dog food, and so turned and left promptly, cussing out the two bastards all the while.

Lin Qiushi and Ruan Nanzhu shared a hearty laugh. Then, watching each other, they found in each other's gazes a certain profound meaning. Only, within that meaning, there was also love that couldn't be concealed.

Why must some things be so clearly thought out? Lin Qiushi thought. As long as Ruan Nanzhu was by his side, it was enough.

[Ch. 139] | [Extra: Shameless Couple (1)]

[corpsentry]

january: an art retrospective

i did some stuff last month (but it’s a lot of stuff and there’s a photodump + some Serious Fucking Reflection, so it’s all below the cut)

so ok, let’s start with this. here are some heads. each head has a red arrow. that red arrow is what i call the red line of the devil. it’s the slope of the face from the side of the eye to the cheekbone and then down towards the chin. up until like 2 weeks ago, i couldn’t draw it. i couldn’t fucking draw it. i would edit over that part of the face over and over again until i was frustrated and tired and i had a raging homosexual headache and it still never looked right. notice that each head is different. notice that each head looks wrong.

at the start of 2021 i finally admitted to myself, as per the image above, that i was deeply, deeply unhappy with my art. what was the problem? i dunno. but i decided i was going to fix it and i was going to do so via another one scribble a day event wherein for every day of january i would find a photo of a human head, and i would draw it.

january 1st, 2021. i was embarrassed to tweet this even on my private account where like 5 friends and a rock would see it. in retrospect, you can also see all of my bad habits emerging like dicks from a hole in the ground. it’s disproportionate. the brows look flat. the eyes are slanting upwards. the entire drawing looks flat, like this isn’t a 3d person but a caricature of one.

january 2nd, 3rd, 4th:

on the 2nd i decided to start a separate thread for doodles and applied learning. here’s the first set of tests

the rest of the week is kind of uneventful so we’re going to skip those. fast forward to january 11th

this one is especially bad. i am acutely aware, suddenly, that i am not changing anything at all. i’m stressed and miserable about it because i’m still trying to see people as people and trying to draw people that look attractive and proportionate and hot. my friend, leny, reminds me that i need to think about faces in terms of planes. i have a moment. my other friend masha sends me some links to anatomy tutorials. i have another moment.

january 11th. applied sketch

january 13th is when i start the troubleshooting process. the link above drives me mad because i’m pretty happy with the face but then i realize that there’s something very fucking wrong with the shape of the head LOL and then i realize that i’ve never had any idea what the proportion of the face to the rest of the skull is so i grit my teeth and i open a new canvas and i

bald studies. it seemed like the right thing to do. can’t draw heads? ok draw some heads. look at some photographs. i traced each photo but tried to stick to straight lines so that i could replicate the shapes more easily. i broke each face down into shapes. i thought about airplanes

i got really excited. i started doing studies, then applied studies, then stylized studies.

sketches. i’m not sure what’s going on (as always) and it’s very rough, but they look different from the sketches i did on january 2nd. that’s a start

january 16th’s daily study. looks more like a person now. juuuuuust a bit

more applied studies

on the 18th i take a break and go stare at some lips because i don’t understand how the fuck they work. again, i focus on shapes, on volume, on the fact that these things exist in 3d. holy fuck lips exist in 3d. holy fuck we are real

january 19th. i’m working on it.

january 22nd. some sketches + a daily study. it has finally occurred to me that heads can tilt up and down and that things look different accordingly. yes i was not aware of this before. yes i have been drawing for over a decade.

january 23rd. by this point after doing my daily sketch i almost always go back and do an applied study which is basically to say i drew a lot of fucking links. this one looks kind of okay. i’m kind of proud

january 25th. links. trying to make sense of everything i’ve learned

26th, 27th, 28th. daily studies

january 1st. january 31st

The End Of The Photo Dump (dab)

ok NOW i get to talk about what i discovered while studying the shit out of human beings

FIRST OF ALL, there is something precious and magical about drawing shit without the explicit knowledge that you’re going to tweet that shit out to 45 people later. it takes the burden of perception off your shoulders and that does something to you, or at least that’s my theory. i told myself i wouldn’t post any of this stuff until the end of the month (if i wanted to post it at all) and kept everything off my public social media accounts and that meant i could draw ugly as hell without worrying about who would point and laugh, which i absolutely fucking did. a lot of these are fucking trainwrecks. most of these are fucking trainwrecks. why do they look like that?? why??? this doesn’t look like the work of someone who’s allegedly been drawing since they were in kindergarten, does it?????

here’s why: because that person took a huge motherfucking swing at everything they’d ever known about art and spent a month building something new in its place. the abstract explanation is that i grew up on shoujo and weird old anime and my understanding of anatomy was unironically kamichama karin and while i love kamichama karin, when kamichama karin is your rule even if you try to break it, you’re going to end up going nowhere. “you have to know the rules to break them”, yeah? well i didn’t know shit. the abstract explanation is i’ve been miserable about my art for a few years now because i saw other people doing things effortlessly which i couldn’t and instead of going back to the basics, i tried to do what they did (not plagiarism, mind you, i mean i literally tried to copy the red line of the devil i mentioned above because i couldn’t even make that happen) and then i fucking failed.

the simple explanation is this. i had to unlearn everything, and relearn it again (like some kind of new renaissance clown, what the fuck is this?)

take this for example. all my life i’ve drawn faces in the order: eyes, nose, mouth, face shape, head. this works for some people, im aware, but it was something central to how i had always drawn, so i decentralized it. i said fuck you to the old me and changed the order up. now i start with the nose, then the eyes, mouth, the chin line, and the sides of the face. now i force myself to think about the human head as a series of parts interacting with each other instead of a bunch of disparate features which i want to look pretty.

or let’s use this zelda from last year. something about this looked wrong last october, the way something about all of my drawings looked wrong, but i couldn’t pinpoint it for hell the way i couldn’t articulate Any of my feelings about the visual arts. now, looking back, here’s what i see. that nose is sticking out far too much given how she’s not really facing very far away from the camera. that ear at the back shouldn’t be there. her forehead is too big. she doesn’t have a forehead. what the fuck is up with the shape of her head?

so apparently reject modernity embrace tradition has its roots in alt-right terminology and i’m not very horny for the alt-right (you understand), but the spirit survives here. you know sometimes you have to admit that you have no idea what the fuck you’re doing and draw people for 31 days. i’ve spent my whole life drawing stylized people and while again there are artists who have no issue with this, i veered off the track of the Good and the Holy and couldn’t get back on. i had no point of reference because i’d never thought about what an actual human being looks like, so i had no way to fix what i knew in my gut looked wrong but wouldn’t come out better.

this was hard. this was like oikawa tooru swallowing his worthless pride and admitting that ushijima wakatoshi had gotten the best of him for the last time in his high school career, but in haikyuu!! by furudate haruichi oikawa tooru fucks off to argentina and then joins the argentinean national team, and you know what, i think i’ve made it to argentina (not the team just the country). as per the golden rule of dont fucking move until you’re at least two thirds of the way through the month, i only started trying to draw Shit shit on like the 22nd or something, but i was happy with that i created. i am happy with what i’ve done. i’ve posted like 2 things this month that involve people with what i now call ~applied Knowledge~~ and they’re, like, not perfect obviously (perfection is an unattainable ideal), but i’m fucking proud of them. i didn’t spend 5 hours hunched over my laptop adjusting the red line of the devil because it’s not a devil’s line anymore. because i finally sorta get how people work. because i sat down and i said ‘we are not going to fuck with this misery shit anymore’ and then i did that. it’s just a line now.

here are 2 collages tracking my painstakingly carved out progress from january 2nd to february 2nd because i’m a slut for collages

and here’s what i’ve done to my art! the same person drew these but also Not Really! you know! for the first time in a year i don’t immediately hate what i’ve drawn. you know what guys? art is fucking fun. zelda’s forehead doesn’t scare me anymore because i know how foreheads fucking work now, and i don’t know everything, and i’m going to keep troubleshooting stuff as i go (i want to draw a skeleton. like a. i want to draw a goddamn skeleton guys) but i’m honestly and genuinely proud of what i’ve done in the span of a month, and i’m also in disbelief. i started this month-long challenge out as a last ditch effort to make peace with my art because i’ve been tired for a long time and i was ready to kick the bucket on drawing people altogether. i didn’t think anything would happen. nothing’s happened for years. i’ve been miserable for years.

this was the caption for january 1st, 2021. i was super, super fucking embarrassed and it looks like super fucking shit, but you know what, i think i did in fact triumph over the bullshit. surprisingly enough, when you put in consistent effort into something, You Will See Results. didn’t see that coming, did you? i know i didn’t.

this isn’t a success story. it’s a happiness story. i never gave a shit damn about the institute of art or whatever, i was just mad at myself because what i saw in my head didn’t match up with what was on the canvas. and now it’s getting better. now i’m calibrating the compass. now drawing not just backgrounds but also people is exciting to me, and i can stick my links in your face and tell you ‘they hot’. i’m going to keep doing that. i’m going to keep going until i drop off the side of the earth and then spiral towards mars like some kind of fairy, and then i’m going to create something beautiful.

thanks for reading. here’s a pr department link for sticking around until the end

[dracosaurusrex]

Bookworms (Draco x Reader)

Summary: Where Y/N and Draco discover that there’s much more to each other than what meets the eye.

Word Count: 11k

Genre: Fluff (slight angst in the beginning); enemies-to-friends-to-lovers ; No Voldy AU

TW: Self-harm but it’s not too much.

A/N: Hi friends! I want to say that I don’t really know where I was going with this, but that would be a lie. So a couple of weeks ago, a friend of mine (we’ll name her @minty-malfoy​) posted a tag thread and one of her responses involved her wanting to own a bookshop. It got me thinking of a bookshop romance and ugh YES. With dark academia, how could I not? Fast forward to last week, I ask her for a favor without realizing it was her birthday, and I felt so embarrassed LOL. So, yes, this is your gift my friend. I hope you enjoy it. Keep shining like the light you are!

Besides that, I genuinely hope that if you come across this, you enjoy this big chunggus of a oneshot. I apologize if it’s slow at some parts. I also didn’t proofread the end. I should probably shut up now before I start questioning my writing omll

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Written in pages bound by leather covers are worlds that bring you out of your own. An adventure. An escape. Within that escape sprouts myriads of emotions and thoughts, but what you value the most amongst them all are its gifts of perspective and solace. 

Y/N Y/L/N lived the majority of her life with her mother. Her father, who was an auror, passed when she was young, leaving them to surmount the challenges of the world alone. Together, they owned a decent bookshop in Hogsmeade. Its shelves lined the walls, occupying the entire expanse from the floor up to the ceiling. Within them were books of varying genres, filling your senses with the soothing aromas of old parchment, sounds of turning pages, and the feeling of warmth and coziness. To others, this little shop was known as Avenoir Books. However, you knew it as home, your safe space, your comfort zone. 

Your mother was the one responsible for introducing you to your love for reading. Growing up, you’d recall the sound of her voice as she read to you--the way that it cradled you with reassurance when times got rough. She always managed to disguise her worries, yet in moments when she thought she was alone, you had witnessed her at her lowest points. It was only within your knowledge that you knew life was difficult, for your mother would shield you from the problems that reality had actually  presented to you. She carried the weight of both your worlds on her shoulders, giving you protection by surrounding you with new ones to step into as you sat yourself in the confines of your cozy shop. It was because of her that reading became your refuge, and it remained so when you went away for school at Hogwarts.

Your mother’s resilience fueled your desire to become strong, to become great, to create a new life where you wouldn’t have to see her cry in secret. She was the reason you had been sorted into the Slytherin house in your first year, and she was also the reason why you’d been so successful within your 4 years of schooling by far. 

You were a quiet Slytherin, mostly keeping to yourself while observing those around you. The most interesting and exasperating individual of the entire student body was a proud and arrogant boy, Draco Malfoy. He had never picked on you, but there were countless times you had witnessed his relentlessness with others, especially with the Golden Trio. Each and every instance increased your despise for him, furthermore deepening your ardent desire to keep your distance. However, it seemed that the universe had other plans for you today.

Weekdays kept you immersed in bulky textbooks--notes constantly jotted down through endless heaps of parchment. On weekends, however, you swapped your robes for a work apron, helping your mother around the shop. She’d situate herself by the counter and typically manned the ground level, while you’d be propped on a sliding ladder, managing books that sat on shelves higher up. You had a system in Avenoir Books. Customers would typically roam about the main floor, which was occupied by books from famous publishers and authors. However, for books that were more obscure or specialized, customers would head to the counter and gain consultation from your mother. In return, she’d direct them to you, prompting you to slide amongst the shelves in search for the requested titles, genres, or authors.

The store typically had a steady flow of people passing through. You have come across many different personalities and backgrounds throughout your life. Today was quite different, however. The bustling noises slowly died down upon the entrance of a pair of notorious figures, the air suddenly becoming tense. There stood Lucius Malfoy. His chin was pointed up, platinum locks flowing over his shoulders, walking stick in hand, his eyes scanning the shop with a pompous expression on his face. Standing to his side was Draco. He maintained the same look as his father, which soon featured a scowl as it managed to grace his face. 

You heard the older man mutter, “Let’s get this over with, Draco.”

The two made their way through the vicinity as gazes were trained on them. Even you stopped what you were doing to observe their actions. Lucius approached your mother, who gave much effort to keep a welcoming smile plastered on her lips.

“Mr. Malfoy, what brings you the pleasure of stopping by?” Her tone was sweet and quite inviting, although it didn’t do much to shift the man’s attitude.

“You have quite the selection here at Avenoir--I’m impressed.” His tone on the other hand was laced with a tinge of venom and arrogance. Lucius' eyes kept trained on the expanses of shelves until they landed on you. 

“I assume that’s your daughter, Y/N? Draco’s told me much about her.” You couldn’t decipher whether he meant well, moreover what Draco could’ve possibly said about you to his father. You weren’t aware that the boy even knew of your existence since all you did was keep away from him at all costs. 

Your mother responds, “Yes, she’s a fifth year at Hogwarts. I assume your son’s the same?”

“You’re not wrong. Although, that’s not what I’m here for…” As Lucius continues his consultation with your mother, Draco takes the liberty to browse through the various genres of books featured on the ground floor. You don’t move from your position, rather you keep your gaze on him, observing his reactions. He picks up a familiar script. It’s a muggle book entitled, The Memory Police by Yoko Ogawa. You witness him flip through the first couple of pages before focusing in on the first chapter. Slowly, you see the scowl begin to leave his face--the tension between his eyebrows dissipates, his lips release the frown that had situated itself there, and his eyes take on a more solemn and concentrated expression. It contrasted greatly to the image he maintained at school. You realized then that when he wasn’t so obnoxious and loud, Draco was actually quite handsome. 

“Draco, drop that filthy muggle book!” You weren’t aware of Lucius approaching until the snake embellishment that topped his walking stick violently landed on the boy’s shoulder. You saw him wince in pain as he dropped the book, rubbing the area to soothe the harsh sensation. Before you could react, your mother calls out to you. 

“Y/N, Alchemy, Argo Pyrites.” You broke out from your daze and simply nodded in understanding. The duo now had their eyes on you as you charmed the ladder to take you to the location of the book. You actively scanned the spines for the targeted title, releasing a small “aha” when you find it. Once it’s in your hands, you blow off traces of dust and ensure that the book is in mint condition. It doesn’t take you long to make your way down. As you do so, you approach Lucius and lend the book over. He takes his time to check for any disparities before meeting your gaze once again.

“Y/N is it? Pleasure to meet you.” His tone was anything but kind, but you go along with it, doing your best to maintain courtesy.

“Pleasure’s all mine Mr. Malfoy. It’s very kind of you to stop by.” 

“Certainly. Draco, say goodbye to your friend, let’s get going.” Draco looks at you from top to bottom before releasing a smirk. With a quick raise of his eyebrows, he turns around and follows his father out of the shop. You watch their figures disappear into the crowd before making your way to your mother.

“Draco seems like a nice boy, doesn’t he?” You scoff and cross your arms in disagreement.

“Oh please. ‘Nice’ is the last thing he’ll ever be.” She gives you a knowing gaze. 

“Did you see how his father hit his shoulder? Even I was shocked. That poor boy never saw it coming.” You recall the pained expression that Draco had on his face. You supposed his parents imposed their pureblood supremacist ideals on the boy’s choice of interests as well.

“It’s not like he doesn’t deserve the pity, mother. You should see him at school. Obnoxious! Rude! Arrogant! He bullies others mercilessly!” You expected her face to contort in disgust and disappointment, but she only gave that familiar motherly smile.

“We can’t always assume the extent of a person’s character based on what they show, darling. Similar to how we should not judge a book by its cover.” She emphasized the last point knowing that you would understand. You could never fight your mother. Despite the difficulty of getting to where you were in life, she always embodied grace and wisdom through it all. 

She spoke again, “Did you happen to see the book he was reading?”

“It was The Memory Police.” You couldn’t understand why she asked. She approached the book that Draco had dropped and picked it up. When she returned, she looked at you expectantly.

“You’re going to see him again this Monday, are you not?” You nodded, “I want you to give this to him.” Your eyes widened.

“Mother, I couldn’t possibly-”

“No excuses, Y/N! A kind gesture never hurt anyone.” Her tone softens, and you knew you couldn’t say no. 

“The look he had on his face reminded me of you when you were younger. Do you remember?” You only sighed, remembering the relief you felt when you cozied up to a book. She continued, “He seemed more peaceful having a little bit of time to escape don’t you think?” Your shoulders, which were once tense, dropped. 

You groaned, “Fine! I’ll do it.” Mother, 1, Y/N, 0.

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Throughout the remainder of the weekend, you thought of ways you could slip the book to the platinum-haired boy without having to actually confront him. You couldn’t understand why your mother wanted to reach out to him so bad. Never in your entire life have you seen her extend that much sympathy to a customer before. Ever! That boy is a git. A rich one at that! Everything was practically given to him on a silver plate. Why would he care so much about a measly book?

These questions roamed through your mind as you packed your school bag the following Monday morning. The book was settled on top of your desk, staring and waiting for you to pick it up. With dread, you reluctantly take it and place it into your bag. With one last look in the mirror, you grab your things and make your way to the Great Hall for breakfast. As you enter the massive room, you take a seat by yourself in the Slytherin table. You took a glance to find a familiar blonde mop of hair. All of his friends were there in their usual spot with him being the only one absent, which was weird because he never skipped breakfast. Wanting to get your mom’s task over with, you approach the group. They were chattering amongst themselves, not noticing your presence.

You cleared your throat, grabbing their attention, “Um, hey. Do you happen to know where Malfoy is?” They only looked at you in awe.

“The famous Y/N actually speaks? Didn’t think I’d ever hear a word come out of you.” The girl, Pansy, pointed out. You rolled your eyes.

Another girl, Daphne, kicked the prior’s ankle, eliciting a loud yelp from her. She spoke out, “I’m sorry Y/N. He said he’s not feeling too well, so he’s cooped up in the dorm.” You appreciated the softness of her voice in contrast to Pansy’s strong tone.

“Why do you ask? You never talk to him.” It was Blaise’s turn to chime in.

“I have some business with him.” You stood there, feeling the awkwardness creeping up. Your fingers were twirling the ends of your hair and you casted your gaze elsewhere. They just stared at you, still comprehending the sound of your voice.

“Well?” You asked. 

“Ah, yes. He’s in dorm 7.” You nodded your head in appreciation and turned around to leave. You had about an hour before class, giving you ample time to make the delivery and go about with your day. At least that was what you thought.

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Once you enter the Slytherin common room, you make a turn towards the boys’ dormitories. As you take the stairs leading to it, you’re met with a corridor that takes a close resemblance to the girls’. Doors were lined on either side with numbers used to differentiate them--Draco’s room was located all the way down the hall. Oddly enough, the closer you approached it, the more nervous you felt. You never imagined yourself stepping into this part of the dungeons, moreover doing so to drop something off for a boy you despised. You yelled at your mom internally for putting you through this.

The distance between you and the door kept shrinking, and as you drew closer, you began to feel strange. Something was off. The uncertainty looming in the air grew thicker until you finally found yourself standing in front of the room. Before knocking, you press your ear against the entrance. There was complete silence. You also notice that the door was not closed all the way. The animosity you felt towards the boy was gradually replaced with worry and concern. 

“Malfoy? Are you in there?” You ask hesitantly. There was no response.

“Draco?” You press your ear further into the door in hopes to pick up any sign of his presence. When you received none, you pushed forward, entering the room with caution. You were met with the sight of a half-made bed, Draco’s robes and uniform laid out on top. His desk still had books turned to different pages, accompanied with an open ink bottle and quill left upon pieces of parchment. All these things, yet still no signs of the Malfoy heir. You stood in your place for a moment, trying to concentrate on his whereabouts. However, your thoughts were interrupted by the subtle sounds of sniffles. Your eyes widened as your focus redirected to locating its source. It was then that you noticed another door leading to what you believed was the bathroom. The noises became more prominent as you walked towards it. You felt nervous and uncertain about what you were going to find. As you wrap your hand around the knob to open it, your eyes widened at the sight of the boy grabbing his wrist, which was dripping with blood. On his side was a razor blade. 

You gasped as his eyes met yours, your heart breaking in the process. In front of you wasn’t the same bully everyone knew. No. In front of you laid a half-naked Draco whose eyes were filled with what seemed to be hopelessness, defeat, and fright. Tear stains stroke his cheeks, his eyebrows furrowed with pain. His hair stuck to his forehead as sweat accompanied his tears. The hand gripping his wrist was stained with blood, its pressure only forcing the flow to increase. 

“Draco!” You didn’t know what overcame you in that instance. You frantically threw your bag off your shoulders and proceeded to kneel next to him, taking in his wounded arm. The boy retaliated.

“What do you think you’re doing!?” His voice was defensive and strained, but it didn’t faze you.

“I’m trying to save your sorry arse! Look at how much blood you’re losing. Merlin!” You returned a gaze that matched the intensity of his. The concern in your own tone heightened as you dug into the pockets of your robes in search of your wand.

“I don’t want to be saved! Don’t you get it? Leave me alone!” He wriggled in your grasp, only inducing you to tighten the grip you had on him. He gasped at the stinging sensation, tears streaming down his face. Tears began to fill the brim of your eyes. 

“Stop spewing nonsense, Malfoy! I can’t leave you and I won’t!” The pained expression on your face caught his gaze. Tears had already spilled over. “Please, Draco. Let me heal you.” The boy stopped his protests upon hearing the desperation that was laced in your voice. You used the back of your hand that was gripping your wand to wipe the tears off of your face. After calming yourself down, you hover your hand over his gashes to perform the healing spell, a serious expression now spreading across your face. 

“Vulnera sanentur.” His blood begins to retract back to its origin, the rate of its flow slowing down.

“Vulnera sanentur.” Your wand continues to trace Draco’s wounds. The traces of residue begin to disappear. Draco looks at your concentrated face and then turns his gaze back onto his wrists.

You perform the incantation for a final time, “Vulnera sanentur.” The cuts disappear completely and you let out a sigh of relief. You cast a look at Draco’s stunned face before scanning his shirtless torso. It was also filled with scars that were most likely left to heal on their own. The frown on your face grows as a rush of thoughts suddenly occupy your mind. How long has he been doing this to have this many cuts and scars? Draco, behind his arrogant mask, was alone. You didn’t need him to vocalize that fact for you. It was written across his face. The expression glossed over his eyes longed for the company that he never truly had. 

In that instant, you knew your mother was right. You really can’t assume the extent of a person’s character based on what they showed.

“Would it be okay if I took care of you for a bit? I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone like this.” Your voice was soft as you released small hiccups signalling the end of your crying. Draco, who has no energy to object, simply nods. Your thoughts drift to your mother and how she was strong enough to carry both your burdens. As you recalled the love she gave you, the sour feelings that you had towards the boy faded. At that moment your only task of importance was to clean him up.

It was silent the entire time. You picked Draco up and propped him up onto a stool. He did nothing but keep his gaze on you as you walked to and fro in the bathroom. You took a face towel that was hanging on the side of the sink and wet it with cold water. You then wring the towel of excess water and wiped his face. The streaks that the tears made disappeared. You proceeded to his forehead, getting rid of the sweat and pushing his bangs upwards. You then began to wipe his neck, making sure that there was a comfortable distance between you two.

“Chin up.” You demanded. He obeyed, and you wiped over the expanse between both jaws, his throat, and down to his collar bones. You yelled at yourself mentally to focus on the action instead of the curves and crevices outlined by his skin. Luckily, you were able to keep a straight face, making no sign of being flustered whatsoever. You step back to wet the towel again before proceeding to wiping his shoulders. At this point, you began feeling warmth spreading across your face. Draco let out a small laugh.

“Like what you see?” He asks with a broken voice. You snickered at the way he managed to be funny at a time like this.

“I’m only being nice, Malfoy. Don’t let your head get big. Not that it hasn’t already.” You say, giving a coy smile. You gulp discretely as you make your way down his chest. His eyes never leave you. You purposefully wipe that area much faster to prevent you from blushing even more. Once you get to his wrists, you rub circles on the area where the cuts used to be before running the towel over it and to his hands.

“How do you feel?” You ask.

“Better.”

“Good. Cup your hands for me please.” He follows your instruction once again. “Aguamenti.” A stream of water flows from the tip of your wand and into his palms.

“Drink up.” He remains obedient. Once he finishes, you pour in water once again, having him repeat the act. You feel at ease as he gulps the water down. His body still looks limp, and his face still gaunt, but it was a huge improvement considering the state he was in when you walked in. 

Your gaze settles on the floor and the stray blade, both covered in dried blood. “Tergeo.” You mutter, cleaning up the mess.  

You point your wand to the blade, “Evanesco.” It disappears in an instant. You turn back to Draco. You wrap your arm around his torso and bring him close to you to help him maintain his balance as you step out of the bathroom.

“Where do you keep your sleepwear?” You ask. He points to the cabinet, and you go forth to take out a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. You hand him the articles of clothing and turn around to leave him to change. 

He laughs, “You’re silly you know? You’ve already seen me half-naked, yet you turn around.” You only shrug and chuckle before turning around to meet his gaze. He leans on the side of the bed, arms crossed.

“I have yet to ask, Y/N. What brought you here in the first place?” You were so absorbed in healing and cleaning Draco that your initial purpose for coming over flew past your mind.

“Oh yes,” You pick up your bag that laid on the floor, and rummaged through it before pulling out his copy of The Memory Police. 

“Mother saw how peaceful you looked when reading this book at the shop. She heavily insisted that I bring it to you, saying that you can use an escape too.” You lean on the space beside him as you hand him the book. His eyes widened as he cautiously took the book out of your hands, as if his father would appear right this instant. He scanned the cover, and flipped through the pages, his eyes glossed with disbelief. The sight of him like this made you imagine how much of his life had been kept in a cage. Wealth did not serve as a basis for happiness. You could only guess how much expectations were held for the Malfoy heir.

“My father would object to me having this.” You nodded in understanding, rubbing his shoulder to comfort him. He looks up at you.

“I won’t push you to tell me the reasons why you decided to harm yourself, but I’m certain that you need a break from whatever bothered you in the first place. Please, keep it. My mother will nag me without end if I don't deliver it.” He smiles.

“Thank you. I mean it.” Your jaw dropped. He rolled his eyes.

“Draco Malfoy actually knows how to say ‘thank you’.” You say, mocking a look of disbelief. He scoffed and his scowl reappeared in an instant. 

You raised your arms in defense, “What? You can’t blame me.” You both share a laugh before silence overtakes you once again. Your head faced downward, and you kept your sights on your shoes.

“Thank you for letting me take care of you. It frightened me to see you like that.” You fumbled with your fingers.

“It’s a miracle that you came, Y/N. I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself if you hadn’t yourself.” You smiled. You were appalled with the fact that there was a soft side to the boy. You looked at him, remembering the comfort that you found in your mother’s love through books. In that moment, an idea sprung forth in your mind.

“Ever since I was young, it was only me and my mother. Father passed when I was 2, and we were left alone to face the world.” You looked at him to find that his attention was on you. You continued, “There were plenty of times I felt hopeless and scared, but it was the comfort of her voice that washed that feeling away. She’d stay by my side at night to read me books, and she always managed to take me to worlds that detached me from the reality that we lived in. She told me that Avenoir, besides it being a bookstore, was established to become my safe space, my comfort zone, my refuge, if you will. She’s why I love reading.” You took Draco’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“And I want to extend that to you. Please feel free to come by whenever okay? We’ve never been that close, and you have been pretty gittish, but no one deserves to feel alone.” You gave the boy a reassuring smile. 

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Draco gazed at his hand, which was still squeezed in yours. He then shifted his view back to the smile on your face. Y/N Y/L/N, the most reserved and studious Slytherin in their year, surely had a lot to say, but it was surprisingly the most relief he has felt in a long while, if ever. She gave his shoulder a little squeeze before picking up her belongings from the floor. Before she left his dorm she faced him once more.

“Will you be okay on your own?” She asks. Draco nods and gives his signature eyebrow raise. She chuckles.

“If you need anything, I’ll be in my dorm. I don’t plan on going to class today.” As he watches her leave, he notices the warmth that spreads over his chest. He brushes it off before flopping on his bed and immersing himself into the world of the Memory Police. For once in his life, he manages to escape the burdens of his family name. He escapes the burdensome fear of being considered a let-down to his parents. He escapes the rabbit hole of expectations, worries, pressures--the need to be “perfect” Draco. He finds an escape from the reputation that he upholds through you. Furthermore, he finds himself desiring more of your company. Because of this, he moves from his bed, with his book in hand, and strides into the girls’ dormitories. He never got her room number, but when he sees an open door, he automatically assumes that it’s her inside. Without thinking, he barges at the sight of her stunned face. 

“Draco? What’s the matter?” The boy takes a good look at Y/N’s space. Her bed is made neatly and is stationed against the farmost wall in front of a large window. Her table is positioned at the end of her bed. There were a number of small bookcases that cover a majority of the perimeter of the room. It’s cozy.

He takes a moment to compose himself. “Is it alright if I can stay with you? Just a little longer?” The girl gives him a confused look, but agrees nevertheless. 

“Sure, close the door.” He does as she says, and looks around. Her dorm truly reflected her personality. Her words break him out of his daze.

“You can sit on the bed if you’d like.” As he gets himself situated, he observes her. Y/N was known for her hardworking nature, and mostly stayed away from socialization because of it. In that regard, she never really had much to say unless she was answering a question during lectures. She doesn’t say much once he’s situated. Instead, she quietly turns back to her desk to focus on her note taking, actively highlighting important bits of information from her books. Draco was amazed to say the least.

“Y/N, why is it that you study so much?” He asks. Her gaze remains rooted to her work as she finished writing up the last sentence before gazing up at him. She grins.

“I’m working hard, so I can earn enough to give my mother a better life.” She says simply.

“Is the life you have right now not enough?” He doesn’t mean to come off as ignorant or insensitive, but he asks out of pure curiosity. Y/N only rubs her chin to think of a proper response.

“Don’t get me wrong, we’re both happy. I just suppose it would be nice to know that she wouldn’t have to worry about her resources. Life was always uncertain before opening Avenoir. I remember how she would hide away to cry so I wouldn’t see her tears. I felt helpless and I couldn’t do anything about it. I hate being weak because of that.” Draco simply gawked at her. The availability of resources has never been an issue for him; it felt like a slap on the face seeing how hard Y/N worked for that level of accessibility.

“I feel like a lot of people have been gawking at me today. Stop it.” You chuckled as you scratched the back of your neck, recalling the reactions of his friend group as you held a conversation with them.

“You’re surely something else, Y/L/N. That’s all.” Y/N only smiled as she removed herself from her desk. She pulled a random book from one of her shelves and sat herself next to Draco. Together they get lost within their own worlds.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was a mutual feeling of friendship that emerged between you and Draco. However, the both of you never bothered to make it obvious in the presence of others. Actions so far were limited to discrete nods towards each other in the hallways. Nevertheless, you were content. You didn’t see him constantly, but you heard people talk about him and how he hasn’t been teasing or picking fights with students as much as he did in the week prior. It was a change you were surprised with, but one that you were pleased to hear about regardless. Besides that, you still kept yourself to your own tasks throughout the remainder of the week. It was a set cycle, which involved going to lecture and studying within the confines of your room. Although, you had to admit that you enjoyed the blonde’s presence, and secretly wished that you’d spend more time together.

The weekend arrived, which meant you’d resume your work at the bookshop. The day flew by fast. Customers came bustling in by the hour that you never had much time to talk to your mother while you were working. As you waited for demands to trickle in, you occupied yourself with another book, The Happy Prince by Oscar Wilde. It was a pleasant book about selflessness, however you found your mind drifting off often. When you weren’t reading, you kept your eyes peeled for the entrance, hoping that a certain boy would come in. However, no sign of the Malfoy heir showed as hours passed. Your hopes soon depleted. Giving up on the chances of him coming, you resumed your reading. 

It must’ve been about 20 minutes after 3 o’clock when your mother calls you from the counter. You heeded her request and made your way down the ladder. Behind her are large boxes filled with new books that were to be stored on the higher shelves. As you drag them to the base of the ladder, your back bumps into something hard. 

“I’m so sorry! Are you al-” As you turn to identify the person you collided with, your eyes widened at the sight of Draco. Your heart skips a beat as you scan his appearance. He sported a black turtleneck that fitted securely around his torso, which was paired with dark plaid pants, and black leather chelsea boots. Rings adorned his fingers, and his platinum locks are slightly disheveled from the wind. He looked delicious rather expensive. 

Draco was just as shocked when he realizes that it’s you he bumps into. You weren’t wearing anything fancy as he was--just a simple white shirt, straight jeans that ended just above your ankles, faded white sneakers, which was all adorned by the work apron that wrapped around your waist. Your hair was tied into a loose bun that settled at the nape of your neck with some stray strands framed around your face. It contrasted to your typical appearance at school. He preferred you in casual wear much more than in uniform, but he wasn’t going to admit that.

You straighten your posture, “Hey! What brings you here?” The boy in front of you rubs the back of his neck bashfully.

“I just wanted to spend time here. You offered on Monday.” His timidness made you smile. 

“You’re definitely welcome to stay-” You were interrupted by your mother’s gleeful shout.

“Draco! It’s so nice to see you! Please do make yourself comfortable. I assume Y/N delivered the book safely?” You rolled your eyes and let out a groan.

“Yes, mother. I did.” She only laughs in response. “I extended an offer to have him hang around if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all! Would you like some tea, dear?” The warm welcome fills the boy’s heart.

He gives a polite nod, “That would be lovely, thank you.” He looks to you with amusement plastering his facial features. 

“Would you like some help?” The smile that you give to him in response makes his heart flutter. 

“I’ll be okay. Like what mother said, please make yourself comfortable.” You reassured him, before urging him to follow you to the back of the shop. Past the counter is a corridor that leads to a small outdoor patio. Fairy lights are strung on the edges of the fence that borders the space, and a table for two is set near the entrance that goes back into the store. As the sun begins to set, the small set up becomes even more charming.

“It’s not much, but this is us.” Your arms spread as you step towards the center of the patio. Draco looks around and then back at you.

“It’s lovely.” He states with a happy grin stretched across his lips. The space doesn’t hold the same grandeur as his manor, but within the small and cozy confines, he feels safe and content.

“I’m glad to hear that. Take a seat! I still have work to do, but I’ll be clocking out soon. Stay as long as you’d like!” The joy in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed. It’s quite difficult to suppress the emotions after the anticipation that has built up throughout the day. With your spirits lifted, you return to work. The load of the boxes don’t seem as heavy as they used to.

Draco sits around in silence for a bit with his hands clasped together. The thought of being within your personal space makes his knees bounce up and down as he waits for his tea. Wanting to release his nerves, he explores the compound a bit more. He steps into the corridor, taking notice of the way it’s decorated. Pictures of you and your mother grace the walls. The sight urges him to look out in the front of the shop. He catches you piling books in your arms before making your way up the ladder. In doing so, he takes note of your focused face, the furrowing of your eyebrows, and the slight parting of your lips. Your eyes blazed in determination, sparking that particular warmth in his chest again. Draco tore his gaze from you and redirected it to the photos mounted on the wall. One that caught his interest was of you on your mothers back. Your small arms were wrapped tightly around her shoulders as your small face peered over her with a small toothy grin. He notices the light in your eyes. It had remained the same ever since. He stares at the photos for a couple of minutes.

“You found our pictures!” Your mother comes up from behind him, startling him slightly. She responds to his reaction with a hearty chuckle as she worms her way through the corridor, Draco following closely behind her. They sit across from each other, and the boy watches her as she sets a cup before him. She takes the tea pot and pours the liquid carefully.

“How do you like your tea, dear?” She asks.

“Slight cream, no sugar, Mrs. Y/L/N” Your mother looks at the boy. His shoulders are stiff and he’s tense all over. His hands look clammy. Basically, Draco looks nervous.

“I don’t bite. Don’t worry, love. Relax.” She gives the boy’s hand a reassuring squeeze. It was much similar to the feel of yours. He relaxes a little bit, adding cream to his drink.

“Y/N speaks very highly of you.” He states a matter-of-factly.

“Is that so?” A smile appears, “How’s my daughter at school?”

“She’s a really hard worker. Everyone knows her for her intelligence, but she is rather quiet. Much different than the way she acts here. She is so vibrant.”

Draco takes notice of the surprised look in your mother’s eyes, “Oh my dear, if I’m being truthful to you, it’s been so long since I’ve last seen her vibrant side shine through. She’s more demure in character. It’s not common for her to act that way.” Draco didn’t completely understand why, but hearing those words made his heart skip beats. He didn’t respond for a bit, allowing her words to sink in. Out of nowhere, Y/N calls out to her mother signalling the completion of her task. Her head pops from the door frame, and she glances at the tea briefly before shifting her view to the boy.

“Y/N! Why don’t you give Draco some company and have some tea? You can go to your room after!” You cough, but merely nodded in response. You seat yourself in the chair that was once occupied.

“How’s work?” Draco asks. He takes the kettle and pours you a cup.

“Busy as always, but it’s a pleasure to be here.” You thank him for the tea and proceed to adding your preferred amounts of cream and sugar.

“You look handsome today, by the way.” You took a sip of your tea so you wouldn't see his reaction. The boy only beamed.

“You look pretty too, if I’m being honest.” You chuckle as you set down your cup. 

“You’re telling me that when I’m dressed in a t-shirt and some ragged jeans?” You didn’t really know what kind of answer to expect. For the most part, you felt average in your get up. He, on the other hand, looked like a model.

“Yes I am. You are pretty.” You only smile at your feet and thank him. The boy was charming without the pompous get up. Ever since that Monday morning, you began to develop appreciation for this genuine side that he showed you. 

As time passed, your mother closed up the shop. Both you and Draco offered to help her, but she denied almost immediately. Instead, she insisted that you take the boy up, causing you to palm your face in embarrassment. However, you eventually agree and lead the way. Within the corridor were stairs that led to a second level. You and Draco climb them and turn to the first door on your right. Your room was slightly bigger than the one at school. It was furnished in a fashion that was similar to your dorm, but there were a lot more books--this time stacks of them could be seen littering the floor.

“Did you bring your book?” He nodded and fished it out from his back pocket. 

He briefly scans the room, “Did you read all of these?” You nod with an embarrassed smile.

“I bet you’d love the library in the manor.” Your eyes widened at the sound of it. A tinge of excitement sprouted from your gut as you begin to imagine its vastness.

“I don’t think you’re wrong. I bet it’s quite the sight!” Delight could be heard from your voice. Draco only tries to suppress a smile.

“Maybe one day.” He mutters to himself, hoping that you didn’t hear. However, when he looks up, he’s met with your wide smile. He blushes immediately and curses under his breath.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.” 

“Don’t worry. I’ll pretend I didn’t.” You wink at him, and pull out your book. You flopped on your bed, patting the space next to you. When he situates himself by your side, you begin to pick up where you left off, already pushing the outside world aside. Draco sits with his legs crossed, and copies your actions. Silence fills the both of you as an hour passes. However, he’d take opportunities to sneak small glances at you once in a while. Your focus on the pages never shifted. If anything, the furrowing of your brows deepen as you turn with every page. With his curiosity getting the best of him, he leans closer to you to see what was so interesting. His actions don’t go by unnoticed, though. As soon as you felt his knee come into contact with yours, you realize how close he has gotten since you started reading.

“May I help you, Malfoy?” You ask, slightly amused.

“What’s your book about?” He asks. You tense your brows as you come up with an answer, not wanting to spoil anything.

“It’s about the friendship between a statue of a very selfless prince and a swallow. What about yours?”

“I’d never thought I would like fiction, but I do like this one. It’s about a girl who protects a person who can remember.”

“Remembers?”You ask with genuine curiosity. Draco nods, his eyes expressing the interest he has for the novel.

“Things on the island vanish, and the majority of the people have no recollection of it after it disappears. The people who show any signs of remembering get taken away.” Your interest for the plot increases 

“That sounds very interesting. Do you think we can trade when we finish?” 

“I think it sounds like a plan.” You stare into each other’s eyes for a moment before a snapping noise is heard. Suddenly your hair loosens, and you realize that the rubber band holding your hair together gave out. Draco looked at you with an eyebrow raised. As you reach to pull the remnants of the tie away, your hair frees itself. Some strands framed your face, while the rest flowed over your shoulders and covered the expanse of your back. You run your fingers through the front and they fall into curtain-like waves. Draco on the other hand is taken aback at your sudden change of appearance. Prior to getting to know who you were, nothing much was thought of you with the exception of your brains. Besides that, you were rather plain looking, always having your hair up in a braid or a ponytail. 

It was a seemingly natural reaction to let your hair simply flow. You really didn’t think much of it. But, when you met Draco’s surprised look, it was your turn to raise a brow at him. He really didn’t know what overtook him, or why these particular words fell out without thinking, but both hearts were racing and ears turned warm after he spoke out.

“Merlin, Y/N. You’re bloody gorgeous.” It caught him off guard. Your expression was the only thing that made him come to terms with the reality of it.

“I- You- You weren’t supposed to-”

“Thank you.” Draco’s jitters stopped in an instant when he saw the way you smiled up at him. Noticing the silence that settles in, you quickly think of something to break it.

“Should I wear it down at school? I’ve been thinking about it. It’s time for a ch-” You were startled by how quick his response was.

“No! Absolutely not!” He speaks frantically.

“-ange. Okay, then. Sheesh.” You both just laugh at his sudden outburst. Draco’s, however, was a nervous one. 

After a couple more minutes of reading, a savory aroma fills your senses, and your mother calls out to you both for dinner. The food was pleasant, but it was the actual state of togetherness that lit Draco’s heart. Although the warm feeling of you and your mother’s company was foreign to him, he was glad to have been able to experience it. The entirety of his stay lifts a huge weight off of his shoulders. Moreover, he begins to acknowledge the budding emotions that he feels for you. He felt each beat of his heart more profoundly within the small moments that you shared, with every glance that he took, and with every laugh that spilled from your lips. 

You stare up at the clock, taking note of the time. It was already 7:30 PM. Curfew was at 9:00 for fifth years. 

“Mother, I think it’s time that we get going. I’ll see you next week.” You notify her of your departure as you help clear out the table. 

“Oh, it’s that time of the day already? Very well then. I’m so glad you stopped by today, Draco. You’re welcome here anytime. Let me see the both of you out.” After you give her a hug, you make your way to the main room of the store. Draco thought you were going to exit, and was brought to confusion when you suddenly stopped in your tracks.

Draco clears his throat, “So, do you know how exactly we’ll get back?” It was already late and the boats that transported students to and from Hogsmeade were closed for the day. 

“Are you a fan of portkeys?” You ask. Draco’s eyes widened.

“Have you created an illegal one?” When you don't answer, he just laughs. You rummage through your bag, picking out a random book. When you open it, there’s a postcard with a picture of Hogsmeade on the front. 

“It’s a touch-activated one. It goes straight into my dorm.” You look up at him to see a devious-looking smirk plastered on his lips.

“You really are something else.” He whispers. You roll your eyes and shake your head.

“Let’s touch it on the count of three, okay? 1...2...3.” At the touch of the object, Draco felt his body get sucked into a bind, lights flashing, and your surroundings blacking out until it wasn’t. He kept his eyes shut the whole time. The entire instance occurred for a second. When you arrived at your destination, you felt fine, having gotten used to the uncomfortable sensation resulting from the mode of transportation. The boy who isn’t as experienced, however, didn’t find himself so lucky, and opted to lay down on your bed for a moment, closing his eyes to regain his strength. As you gave him time to rest, you took the opportunity to change into something more comfortable, taking advantage of the fact that he wouldn’t be aware of you doing so. 

When he opened his eyes, he was surrounded by the familiar confines of your dorm. They  roamed around until stopping at your changing figure. You had slipped on a jumper, which was paired with loose fitting sweats, the waistband wrapping securely on your hips. The only source of light was that of the moon as it radiated through your window and onto your bedroom floor. It casted a surreal glow upon your features, and Draco couldn’t help but stare.

“Would you like some water?  I know the experience could be unpleasant.” Your voice was soft and was followed by the sound of your melodic giggle.

“Y/N, you’re mental if you tell me you do that every week.” He says astoundedly. You nod with a grin and shrug your shoulders as you passed him a cup of water. He takes it gratefully and gulps it down as you sit on the edge of your bed. 

“You should probably get back to your dorm soon and take some rest. Do you need any help?”  He shakes his head, but is betrayed by his body as he stumbles out of your bed. With quick reflexes, you hold him steady, allowing him to regain his balance quickly. 

“Are you sure?” You ask doubtedly. He reassures you by straightening his posture and flashing a smile. You return it as you walk him to the door. He stands in the hallway, facing you as you lean against your door frame. You rushedly look left and right to ensure no one was looking before shifting your attention back to him.

“It was nice having you today. Mother was really happy you came by.” 

“How about you?” The boy catches your gaze once more. You only looked at him with a raised brow, queuing the need for clarification.

“How do you feel about my company?” What he asked caught you off guard, but you couldn’t deny the joy that you felt being around him. The comfort you felt from reading alone didn’t compare to the calm silence that situated you both when you did it together. It was the simple yet overwhelming feeling of contentment--the feeling of someone entering your heart silently, gently, and with a rush all at the same time. Pure bliss was what it was, but you couldn’t formulate the words when he asked you. The boy smirked at your lack of response. Instead, he bent over to meet your eye level and leaned in. You held your breath within your throat as he drew closer, ultimately shutting your eyes in anticipation for who knows what. Draco noticed the slight change in your body language and softened the look in his eyes. His orbs, which were once filled with amusement, were now filled with adoration. He looked at your expression, before reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. You opened your eyes, meeting his gentle gaze.  Shocked, Draco backed away, shoving his hands into his pockets.

He stammered, “Y-You had something on your ear.” A flush had spread over his cheeks.

“Oh, is that so? Were you able to remove it?” You ran your fingers through your hair, oblivious of his frantic behavior. In your mind, you only wish it could’ve been more.

“Y-yea!” A nervous laugh leaves his lips. After he recollects himself for a few more seconds he says, “We should do this again sometime.” To which you happily agree.

You both bid each other ‘goodnight’. As you close the door, you lean your back against the wall, and slide down to the floor. You took note of the way your heart began to race when you recalled the events of today. The sound of his laughs, his subtle attempts to get close to you, his expression of interest towards the things that you treasured. Your image of Draco had begun to transform right under your nose.

Little did you know that as the boy walked back to his dorm room that night, the same thoughts ran through his mind. Although he was tired, he would constantly think about the way you looked when you were working, or when you were reading, or how your hair came undone. Moreover, he felt safe within your hospitality--it wasn’t forceful or intrusive, it just flowed naturally. This small escape made a huge improvement from the broken state you found him in that Monday prior. That night, as he laid in bed, he read his book peacefully until sleep took over his consciousness, filling his rest with dreams of reading with you by his side.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

It was a brisk Sunday morning when you found yourself at the Great Hall for breakfast. You were always one of the earlier students who came right when the doors opened. By the time you got yourself situated, only a few students trickled their way into the massive room. 

Your hand took hold of your book as the other filled your mouth with food. Your concentration blazed as you immersed yourself into the world of the Oscar Wilde that you didn’t realize how filled the hall became once you put your book down. The reason for you doing so stemmed from the sound of a presence that sat before you. You never had company when you ate, so when you looked up you were surprised to see Draco settling in the seat in front of you. Murmurs from other students could be heard at the peculiar sight.

“This seat isn’t taken I presume?” He asks. The typical Malfoy smirk graces his lips as he lowers himself down.

“Not at all.” You respond simply. You look around with a weirded expression. People had their eyes on the two of you. One in particular caught your attention. It was Astoria Greengrass, also dubbed as the Slytherin princess. She had an annoyed look on her face, but you brushed it off, turning back to the boy in front of you.

“Aren’t your friends waiting for you?” You nodded towards the familiar group of people.

“I can’t read around them. They’re too loud.” Once the statement leaves his lips, he pulls out The Memory Police and finds himself in the same stature you were in previously. You smile inwardly before taking a few bites of your food. It’s silent and you can still feel the lingering stares around you. They begin to get annoying after a while.

“Leave them be. They can stare all they want, but I’m not moving anywhere.” He says as though he read your mind. He glances at you from the top of his book, but his tone remains unfazed.  

“How’d you know?” You inquire.

“You have ‘uncomfy’ written all over your face, Y/N.” He keeps his gaze stuck to his book while stuffing a piece of scrambled egg into his mouth. You narrow your eyes at him before slowly opening your own again.

“What are you planning to do today?” He asks suddenly. You look up to see that his eyes never left the page. Your look at your own, except you’re not reading this time.

“Probably read at the lake, go to my dorm and read some more.” 

“Do you do anything else besides read?” 

“I study.” You could feel his eyes roll.

“Besides that.” You lower your hands seeing that you aren’t getting anywhere with the plot. 

“What else is there to do on Sundays?” You laugh, “Well what do you plan on doing today?” 

Your conversation gets interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. There stands Astoria Greengrass, arms crossed with an envious expression on her face. She looks at you then to Draco.

“Hey Dray. I just wanted to know if you wanted to hang out with me at Hogsmeade today?” She asks with a sickly flirtatious tone. She squeezes his shoulder while you just roll your eyes and look away to mentally gag.

“You must be blind to notice. I’m preoccupied if you can’t tell.” The sound of his tone is cold, much akin to the one he uses when he’s bullying someone. However, a smirk sneaks up to your lips as you keep your gaze lowered. The girl only scoffs before turning to you.

“Cute little book you got there Y/L/N. You always have your nose buried in one, don’t you? What’s that one about this time?” You take note of her condescending voice, which slightly pulls on your nerves.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Greengrass? Sorry love, I’m too preoccupied to explain.” You wiggle your book at her before getting up. You throw the boy your version of his eyebrow raise before turning to leave.

“I’ll see you around ‘Dray’.” You say, imitating Astoria’s tone. You looked at her from head to toe and scoffed as you walked out of the hall. You couldn’t be bothered to deal with the likes of her. For the most part, giving her any piece of your energy was not worth it. You find yourself walking down the corridor before hearing the sound of someone running to you. You stop in your tracks and turn around to see the familiar platinum-haired boy.

“You need some company at the lake?” He asks. Your face, which was once filled with annoyance, releases its tension, and transforms into a gentle smile.

“I don’t need it, but you’re free to come along if you’d like to.” You turn your back quickly before getting a response out of him. He follows you.

Throughout the walk, Draco notices that your hair is up in a braid again, smiling as he reminisces the sequence of events that occurred the night prior. Could you have kept it up because he said so? Such thoughts filled his mind with interest. The events that happened in the hall also made him wonder. He had never seen you agitated before.

“I never thought you’d respond like that.” He says to start up conversation.

“To Astoria?” He nods.

“Not worth my time or energy. I may be quiet, but I’m not a pushover...Dray.” You tease him with the nickname, although he doesn’t mind it when it comes from you.

“It sounds better when you say it.” He says, making you shake your head in response.

“I was about to choke myself. Merlin, did you hear the way she said it? It’s enough to make your ears bleed. Bloody hell.” The way you release your frustration gives the both of you something to laugh about. That familiar feeling of comfort overcoming you both once again.

“Do you think she’s going to approach me again?” You ask.

“Knowing her, she might.”

“Merlin, avada me now.” Draco only laughs louder at the sound of your displeasure. By the time you reach the lake, the sun is seen casting its rays upon the water. Clouds are still in the sky, but the overall scene is bright and beautiful, assuring that it was going to be a good day.

You sit on a patch of grass that meets the sand, while Draco assumes the seat beside you. Before you could even begin to read, the boy takes the opportunity to ask you another question.

“How far are you from finishing your book?”

“I’m almost done. Give me a few minutes and I should be finished.” His eyes widened slightly

“Fast reader aren’t you?”

“No, well, maybe. There are more stories in this book. The Happy Prince so happens to be one of them.” He nods, allowing that particular conversation to end. He lays down on the grass, ready to read in the process, but is caught staring at the expanse of your neck. Your braid reaches the middle of your back, swaying in the wind. When he takes sight of the band that holds it together, he reaches out, hoping that you won’t notice, and pulls it off. He swiftly drops it to make it seem like he hasn’t done anything, so by the time you turn around to identify the cause of the loosened sensation, he already has the book propped on top of his legs, gazing at the lines with much concentration. 

“Did you see anything?” You ask with a raised brow. He simply nods, trying to hide the smirk on his face. It doesn’t go unnoticed by you though.

“Draco. Was it you?” When he doesn’t respond, you laugh.

“You’re such a git.” Your fingertips trace the sand to locate the rubber band, but the boy stops you before going any further. He wraps his hand around your wrist, while catching your gaze.

“It looks better down.” He says firmly.

“But you said-”

“I don’t want you letting it loose for others to see. In front of me is fine.” He holds your gaze for what seemed to eternity before slowly loosening his grip on your hand.

He then proceeds to ask, “Can I touch it? Your hair?” You smile and nod at him. He takes the opportunity to scoot closer behind you. After he situates himself at a comfortable distance, he reaches out to your loosened braid, and gently runs his fingers through it, breaking it up entirely. Your strands are soft in his touch, and the light from the sun only emphasizes how shiny it is. You pay no mind to the boy’s doing. Instead, you continue reading while he plays with your hair. 

After 15, perhaps 20 minutes of reading, you finally finish your book. It is then that you notice that he’s still stroking your locks. Slightly amused, you look up from your book and decide to tease him for a bit.

“Are you having fun back there?” Your question is accompanied with a giggle.

“Most fun I’ve had in years.” Sarcasm laced through his voice. “Can you teach me how to braid?” Your head turns back, but you’re only faced with a serious expression.

“What’s the sudden interest?” As you ask your question, the breeze picks up, eliciting a shiver out of you. It takes a second for Draco to notice how thin your clothes were.

“Why don’t we go inside? It’s warmer and you can teach me how to braid your hair.”

“You’re so insistent, aren’t you?” 

“Not insistent, just ambitious.” You rolled your eyes as he lifted you from the ground.

You both make your way to the dungeons, taking the familiar route that leads to his room. You don’t protest the destination as much, only being grateful that it was warmer than the harsh change in climate outside of these walls. You can’t help but recall how much has drastically changed since the week prior, but it warmed your heart knowing that there was more to Draco than what meets the eye.

As you enter the dorm, you take notice of all the luxurious details that embellish everything from his furniture to the style of his clothes. It was much more put together since the last time you found yourself there. The crisp scent of apples filled your nose, allowing yourself to ooze into the comfort of the environment. You show no hesitance to flop on his bed, seeing as he has done so to yours a number of times already. While doing so, he discards his robes and hangs it over a coat rack. The sight of you brings out a small smile from him as he claims the seat next to you. 

“Now, where were we?” He asks. You proceed to sectioning your hair into two parts. You hand him one, which he takes gently all while focusing his concentration on the demonstration you show.

“Okay, so we start off with three sections…” He does as you say.

“Now I take this, and flip it over this section.” He repeats. Only the sounds of his breaths can be heard.

“Now you do it to the other side, and repeat the pattern.” As you demonstrate with your strands, a shocked expression fills his face as he tries to repeat your actions. He gets it eventually, although his braid is much messier and unkept in comparison to yours, which is tight and neat. A familiar scowl appears on his face, but you try to keep your laughter in. In all fairness, he really was trying.

“Here. Take all of it. Try braiding my hair.” You run your fingers, deleting both your work and his, and turn so that your back is facing him. You keep your sights set towards the window, as he begins to work his way through your hair. He starts off by combing his fingers through your locks, which felt annoyingly good. He then proceeds to repeat everything that he has learned within the last five minutes. Him doing so only proved how quick of a learner he was. Silence filled you both, and as time drifted on, you ended up dozing off into sleep. It is only when Draco finishes that he notices you. He tugs at his final product slightly to see the expression on your face, but in doing so, you fall onto his chest as soft snores find their way out of your lips. 

“And she calls me a git. Look at her sleeping while I handle her hair.” His eyes soften at the gentleness of your own expression before he scans the way your arms have wrapped themselves across your waist. Ensuring that you were sound asleep, he carefully reaches for your hand, forcing it to open as he slightly interlaces his fingers with yours. He takes a moment to comprehend the situation, his face warming up when he realizes that your back is slouched against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder, and one of his hands clasped delicately into yours. 

It’s when his eyes land on your resting face once more that he recalls all that you are, all that you have shown him. He then envisions the long-term, imagining all he has yet to discover about you. The care that you’ve shown him by far is more than what anyone has done throughout his life. He revisits the week before when you mentioned reading as a way to escape. Now that as he has you lying against him, he thinks of the possibility that his real escape is actually you. His mind finds pleasure in that thought, and it only makes his heart race when he thinks about what could possibly happen between you two tomorrow, or the day after that, a week, month, year. What answer would he receive by then? He isn’t even sure if you’d say ‘yes’ to an offer in a relationship, especially knowing how focused you are with your school work. Ridding the thoughts for another time, Draco slowly lays his back down against the mattress, bringing you carefully along with him. Your legs become entangled with his. His hand never leaves yours. 

Ensuring that you were certainly asleep, he whispers softly to the air, “I think I like you, Y/N.” He wraps his other arm around you before falling into a peaceful slumber.

A/N: I don’t think this is the end, but that’s not the point! I hope you enjoyed it :) Any feedback is very much appreciated hehe.