#i was looking for a less formal way to express that sentiment but i was always to reluctant to just Make The Change

[heytheredeann]

Whumptober 2023, Day 14 - "Just hold on."

Tags: Post-Canon, Sci-Fi Elements, Could be read as gen or romantic idk, Immortal Napoleon Solo, Temporary Character Death, Hurt Napoleon Solo, Napoleon Solo Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Gunshot Wounds

Notes: WELL it's been a while since I've written something for the immortal Napoleon series, I'd missed it! This one is a little different, because Napoleon has actually never died before, so this is as much of a surprise for him as it is for Illya LOL. Enjoy! (This is part of a series of stand-alone fics exploring the same general premise in different ways, because it has a lot of potential for whump. You don't need to read the others to follow this, though I'd say that the first fic in the series might have the most in-depth explanation of Napoleon's situation.)

.

He doesn’t immediately realize what happened, when he hears a gunshot and something slams against his back. The pain explodes belatedly, when he has already taken a stumbling step forward, trying to regain his balance, and then he can’t breathe.

The world starts tilting, but he’s caught before he can hit the ground, more gunshots resounding around him before two arms are wrapped tightly around his chest, pulling him back and easing him down.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Illya frantically says against his ear, pushing down against his back and chest. He chokes out a scream with all the voice he has left, which is admittedly not much, but the pressure doesn’t relent, and his head spins. “Just hold on, it’s going to be okay.”

It’s not. He doesn’t need to be lucid to know, it’s not.

He’s dying, he thinks hysterically, he just got shot and he’s dying.

Shaken by a full-body shudder, he leans back farther against Illya, because everything is beginning to feel numb around him, and he doesn’t want to get cold.

Illya is saying something else. The words don’t seem to reach him above the thundering in his ears, but it doesn’t matter, he likes the sound of Illya’s voice: it keeps him company, keeps him warm, just like the arms enveloping him in this weird, desperate hug.

[More on Ao3]

[reading-comp-posting]

Have you ever considered using AI tools to assist with writing your responses?

Well no, because I'm doing this blog for fun. I'm enjoying writing out reading comprehension questions for posts, so why would I automate that away?

But let's say that I saw myself as some sort of arbitor of reading comprehension who needs to post as much as possible to enlighten the lowly tumblr masses. Let's say that I'm interested in upping my output of questions by any means necessary.

I opened up chatgpt and input a certain request, which would hopefully make it write questions about the last post I responded to:

Write reading comprehension questions about a Tumblr post, written by a user named "echoeyee," that reads as folows: "my take on shipping aromantic characters is that if you're aro you get to do whatever you want and if you're not you have to write me a three page essay 12 pt font times new roman double spaced explaining in detail why you believe entering a romantic relationship would be an interesting and worthwhile storyline for the character and how you believe their aromanticism would affect the way they experience said relationship"

And it certainly did write a lot of questions about it. Let's go through them, one by one.

1. What is the primary stance expressed by the Tumblr user "echoeyee" regarding shipping aromantic characters?

This one is good. If you look at the set I wrote, my first one is basically the same, just with different words and a less formal tone.

2. According to the post, what conditions must non-aromantic individuals fulfill if they wish to advocate for romantic storylines involving aromantic characters?

Again, this one is good. It's basically my 3rd question but, yet again, more formal.

3. Describe the format and specifications outined for the essay mentioned in the post.

This is the part where the questions get bad. The exact details of the essay are irrelevant, other than the fact that they imply a formal, academic setting.

4. In your own words, explain the user's perspective on the autonomy of aromantic individuals in contrast to non-aromantic individuals when it comes to shipping characters.

This question seems to genuinely be a product of chatgpt pissing on the poor. The purpose of the post (and specifically the essay within) is to ask people who ship aromantic characters without being aromantic themself to consider said character's aromanticism instead of erasing it.

Meanwhile, chatgpt seems to think that the OP thinks that people who aren't aromantic should be forced by law or something to write an essay if they want to ship an aromantic character.

5. How does the Tumblr post reflect the user's views on representation and storytelling in relation to aromantic characters?

I think that this one is a bit too speculative, but it does actually relate to the OP's intended takeaway.

6. Discuss the potential implications of the requirements set forth in the post for writers and creators in the realm of fiction and fanworks.

This one is just a bit confusing. Chatgpt seems to be going off the assumption that OP is issuing a decree as the emperor of the world.

7. Reflect on whether you agree or disagree with the sentiments expressed in the post and provide reasons to support your viewpoint.

This could have been a "discuss with a mutual" question, and I actually did initially write a question like this one, but I ended up removing it.

Aromantiscism is already controversial enough and I fear that a discussion of whether OP's take on shipping aromantic characters is valid could quickly devolve into discussion on whether aromanticism itself is valid.

8. How might the user's approach impact discussions and representations of aromanticism in media and popular culture?

Yet again, chatgpt is taking the essay thing way too literally. Yes, forcing every single writer who isn't aromantic but wants to ship an aromantic character to write an essay about it would most likely lead to a decrease in people erasing their identities, but the essay isn't the point.

9. Consider the broader societal and cultural context in which this post is situated. How might prevailing attitudes towards romantic relationships influence reactions to the user's perspective?

Obviously historical context is important to keep in mind when you're reading/listening to/watching/whatever a text, but this question has almost nothing to do with reading comprehension. You need to understand the post to imagine how people would react, sure, but understanding how people would react to the post doesn't help you understand this post very much.

10. What insights can be gleaned from this post regarding the importance of diverse and inclusive storytelling in media and creative works?

This could be a discuss with a mutual question. The issue is that it's a bit to broad of a topic.

[pencap]

You really inspire me. I used to write poetry when I was a child. Good poetry, I was told. But then I got into novels. And then I got into academics and stopped writing for fun altogether. Everything was so formal, so proper, and I was good at that too, but I feel like I stopped being able to express deep sentiments.

I've just started writing again in the past few years, and I love it. The "creative juices" as they say are flowing again, and it's wonderful - I've missed it. But I feel like I write less descriptively than when I was young. Like, I've lost how to write prose, and connect with.... feeling. I stumbled across your blog a while back - when it was quiet and still. But I followed because your words were so beautiful. And suddenly you're back! And you really do write so stunningly. But the way you've spoken a bit about yourself, your journey, has really struck me.

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that you've had an impact on me as a reader. I feel by observing you get back on your feet again I'm getting back in touch with my past self, and that something is waking up within me. I want to write poetry again. And watching you do it, I feel like I can too. 💛

i have a distinct memory of the first poem i remember writing. it might not be the first i ever wrote, but it's the first i ever remember. it was handwritten, on a construction-paper-and-five-year-old-art notebook bound together as some children's art project. the poem was on a bright red page. i don't remember the words, but i remember writing it curled up against my desk, in shaky childish writing. it was about autumn, and colours changing, and leaves falling. it had meter and rhymes and very even lines.

on days that i do not feel like a writer, a poet, i remember that little girl who barely knew what a poem was. she was writing anyway. she was even good at it, i dare say. i wrote poems i didn't need to write all the way through middle school and high school, writing two and three and five times as many poems as assigned in my english classes.

but i stopped for a while, too. over the years, again and again, i stopped. i stopped because i lost touch with myself. i stopped because of schoolwork. i stopped because i left fandoms behind. i stopped because i felt like the words had dried up and i was scared that all i could piece together was flaking mud from a dry riverbed. i stopped for a hundred different reasons, a hundred different times, but i came back.

i don't write the way i did at seven, or fifteen, or even twenty-two. but then, i don't talk like i did at seven anymore, either. i don't think that way, or live that way, or even look that way. so maybe it's inevitable that my poetry changes, too. maybe it's good that my poetry changes, too.

and maybe it doesn't matter whether it's good or not. maybe what matters is that i am listening, and i am speaking. i am awake. maybe i am whole again, finding a part of myself that has been missing.

that little girl is still there, after all. she is always a part of me, and i think if i let her, she will always be talking to me. just like your past self is a part of you, too. all the words you said, all the words you never said. all the new words you are finding to say. they are all part of you, too. i know you will find your poetry again, because it has always been within you and always will be.

[cinnagall]

☆Welcome To My Gyaru Blog☆

♡ Intro ♡

Hiiiiiiii! My name is Jax, I’m 23 years old and from NYC! I’ve been gal for almost 2 years now. I don’t consider myself a vet gal by any means (obviously) but I’d like to believe that I have a good basis in the style and makeup! I don’t think my blog posts will be very formal at first but I want a space to share my opinions and document my journey.

I found gyaru and J-fashion through early Tumblr (around 2013/2014), and then rediscovered it in 2020 and fell in love with it all over again. I love gal because of how much tan skin is appreciated! Japanese gals created a space in a colorist society where you could say “I LOVE your tan skin!” I think that’s pretty amazing!!! I also love how gyaru as a style is very hyperfeminine but with a twist. Since becoming a gal, I have learned to care much less what people think. I’m not afraid to express myself or dress in a way that other people might not like. I am unapologetically myself and I partially have gal to thank for that! At first I was really inspired by Ganguro/Old School, I loved how early gals pulled inspiration from Western fashion trends, especially African American Y2K fashion. Though, I should acknowledge that there is a conversation to be had about appreciation vs appropriation, which I might talk about in a later post.

🌺FAQ🌺

I’ll answer some FAQ that gals get so you guys can understand a bit more about my personal philosophies on the style:

💄 Do you need makeup to be gal?

Yes, there are many, MANY different styles of gyaru makeup and all of them are valid, but the only thing that has stayed consistent across gyaru “substyles” is the makeup (and hairstyling/nails), but the defining feature of gal is the makeup. This is a sentiment that has been echoed in both the Gaijin and Japanese gal communities. You don’t need to wear heavy yamanba makeup every single day, it’s understandable that some days you might not have time or energy to do your hair, money to do your nails, ect. The important part is that you do these things as much as possible as well as incorporating gal into your life in other ways!

🌺Can you be gal if you’re white or not asian?

Yes, anybody can be gal!

👛Do you need brand to be gal?

NO. Even the most well known gaijin gals own Western fast fashion brands. A lot of similar items to the ones Japanese gals wore can be found second hand or in your local mall. Obviously, finding a dupe for an item can be difficult if that item has a specific print like the Alba Rosa coat and some MA*RS sets (though Shein did have a MA*RS dupe dress last year), but other than that a lot of gal outfits are easily replicable. Magazine scans are going to be your best friend if you wanna get the style right, it is much easier to get the gal look you want when you have a clear basis/inspiration for the coords and makeup you wanna wear. Also, simply owning brand is not enough to put together a good outfit, a lot of people who wear a lot of brand lack inspiration and originality. I am not anti-brand by any means. I have a huge list of brand items I want, and I even ordered my first brand piece recently (a MA*RS handbag). But it’s just not necessary, and some brands are essentially the equivalent of Japanese Charlotte Russe or Forever 21. The brands are still fast fashion and a lot of second hand brand items are falling apart, smell, have stains, ect. Don’t stress about brand unless you really want it! It took me almost two years to buy my first piece, you’ll be okay without it! Learning HOW to style, is a lot more important than WHAT you style. A good gal can make almost anything gal, but “bad” gal can end up making anything, even brand, look cheap and tacky.

(hint, hint: a lot of it honestly is and that’s why styling really matters)

Substyles I’m currently into and why!:

🦋Agejo🦋:

So, when you think of agejo, it probably looks something like this:

This specific type of agejo is what tends to be most represented on Google and Pinterest. Newbies to the style might think that pink, black, cheetah print, lace stockings, and big hair is all there is to the style. But boy would you be wrong!!!

Look at some of these scans from Ageha, most of these are from 2008-2012. Look at how many different types of agejo are represented! Of course the iconic pink and black MA*RS sets can be found in some spreads, but they’re much less common than most gals think!

See how different the above images are? Agejo literally translates to “butterfly lady”, so in a lot of Ageha editions, especially in the spreads for more formal dresses, you will see a lot of butterfly motifs! Isn’t it crazy that the style that has butterfly in the name, yet it isn’t commonly associated with butterflies at all? I also learned from my friend Haruka (@otknoharuka on Instagram) that in Japan, Agejo is considered a style under the Hime umbrella. It actually makes a lot of sense if you’ve seen a lot of ageha scans.

I know, technically you can argue that some of the outfits in these scans could be considered another substyle. But let’s just remember that substyles aren’t real and they’re something Western gals came up with to make sense of the scans/information that was available to them at the time!

I really started understanding this style more when I started to religiously scour Ageha scans. At first I was an Egg girl all the way but I’m glad I actually took the time to read other magazines. Egg is iconic but it’s far from all there is in terms of gyaru magazine inspiration. I totally fell in love with this substyle when I finally tried out the softer, more dolly makeup look that’s common in Ageha magazine (example below). It suits my features so much better than the harsher gal make I used to do.

An early attempt of mine at Agejo/Ageha inspired makeup:

A more recent attempt:

🐆Banba🐆:

Personally I’ve never been into more “out there” styles like ya/manba. I don’t think they really suit me, and it’s just generally not the gyaru vibe I’m looking for. But Banba has recently been resonating with me recently. If you don’t know, the term banba comes from combining “barbie” and “manba.” It’s a more toned down and hyper feminine version of manba. I also find that it’s more beginner-friendly than some other substyles (in terms of coords).

A lot of the outfits are composed of muted colors, tans/browns, black, white, and animal prints. These are all items that are very easy to find, it’s just a matter of learning how to style them! I also love how glittery the makeup is, and the nails are to die for. I’ve actually been teaching myself how to make nails and a big part of it is because I don’t feel complete without them, especially when doing styles like this!!

Some banba inspo I’ve pulled from recently:

Some recent attempts of mine:

I’m going to end this blog post here!! I had a lot of fun making it and I’m excited to do more posts in the future!! I think my next post will be a unpopular gyaru opinions post, might rial some people up but in classic gal fashion I simply do not give a fuck.

I hope you’re having an amazing day wherever you are!!

TT & IG - @cinnagal

☆じゃあね☆,

ジャックス

[daimonclub]

Christmas thoughts

The universal joy of Christmas is everywhere Christmas Thoughts, reflections, ideas, various opinions and some quotes on Christmas by the World of English and good will English-culture blog I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round, as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys.  Charles Dickens Instead of being a time of unusual behavior, Christmas is perhaps the only time in the year when people can obey their natural impulses and express their true sentiments without feeling self-conscious and, perhaps, foolish.  Christmas, in short, is about the only chance a man has to be himself.  Francis C. Farley A man is at his finest towards the finish of the year; He is almost what he should be when the Christmas season's here; Then he's thinking more of others than he's thought the months before, And the laughter of his children is a joy worth toiling for. He is less a selfish creature than at any other time; When the Christmas spirit rules him he comes close to the sublime... Edgar Guest Let Christmas not become a thing Merely of merchant's trafficking, Of tinsel, bell and holly wreath And surface pleasure, but beneath The childish glamour, let us find Nourishment for soul and mind. Let us follow kinder ways Through our teeming human maze, And help the age of peace to come From a Dreamer's martyrdom. Madeline Morse I hear that in many places something has happened to Christmas; that it is changing from a time of merriment and carefree gaiety to a holiday which is filled with tedium; that many people dread the day and the obligation to give Christmas presents is a nightmare to weary, bored souls; that the children of enlightened parents no longer believe in Santa Claus; that all in all, the effort to be happy and have pleasure makes many honest hearts grow dark with despair instead of beaming with good will and cheerfulness.  Julia Peterkin If a man called Christmas Day a mere hypocritical excuse for drunkeness and gluttony, that would be false, but it would have a fact hidden in it somewhere. But when Bernard Shaw says that Christmas Day is only a conspiracy kept up by Poulterers and wine merchants from strictly business motives, then he says something which is not so much false as startling and arrestingly foolish. He might as well say that the two sexes were invented by jewellers who wanted to sell wedding rings. G.K. Chesterton The great majority of people will go on observing forms that cannot be explained; they will keep Christmas Day with Christmas gifts and Christmas benedictions; they will continue to do it; and some day suddenly wake up and discover why. G.K. Chesterton

A Christmas candle is a lovely thing We hear the beating of wings over Bethlehem and a light that is not of the sun or of the stars shines in the midnight sky.  Let the beauty of the story take away all narrowness, all thought of formal creeds.  Let it be remembered as a story that has happened again and again, to men of many different races, that has been expressed through many religions, that has been called by many different names.  Time and space and language lay no limitations upon human brotherhood. New York Times, 25 December 1937 Scrooge went to the church, and walked about the streets, and watched the people hurrying to and for, and patted the children on the head, and questioned beggars, and looked down into the kitchens of homes, and up to the windows, and found that everything could yield him pleasure. Charles Dickens I sometimes think we expect too much of Christmas Day. As for me, I like to take my Christmas a little at a time, all through the year. And thus I drift along into the holidays - let them overtake me unexpectedly - waking up some fine morning and suddenly saying to myself: “Why, this is Christmas Day!” David Grayson The universal joy of Christmas is certainly wonderful. We ring the bells when princes are born, or toll a mournful dirge when great men pass away. Nations have their red-letter days, their carnivals and festivals, but once in the year and only once, the whole world stands still to celebrate the advent of a life. Only Jesus of Nazareth claims this world-wide, undying remembrance. You cannot cut Christmas out of the Calendar, nor out of the heart of the world. Anonymous We see Jesus in the manger. We adore Him; we worship Him; we glorify Him. We stand oppressed before such love--a love stronger than death--a love so strong that it did die that we might live. We thank Thee for the sweetness of human love, but how could we ever have dared to think that such love was in the heart of God for us! We look on nature and see Thy beauty and Thy majesty, but we are afraid, for we have sinned. And then we learn that Thou has sent Thy Son, to be bone of our bone, flesh of our flesh; and before such inconceivable love we can only worship and adore. We are so weary of our failures and our slow growth toward Thee. Cleanse us deeply from sin, strengthen our moral purposes. Maltbie Davenport Babcock We therefore welcome our Christmas in December. The "worship of Christ" could not have a better setting than amid the domestic festivities, social forces, and generous and man helping deeds of our merry Christmas-tide. In no more fitting way can we say farewell to the closing year, and All hail! to the new. "Christ is born." We therefore must put off the old man - his moroseness and selfishness, his sadness and despair, his peevishness and fretfulness, his feebleness and decay - and put on the new man, which, after Christ, is created in true joy, large faith, energetic service, lowly duty, devout obedience, and death-daring self-sacrifice. John Clifford If we were to fancy a wholly Christianized world, it would be a world inspired by the spirit of Christmas - a bright, friendly, beneficent, generous, sympathetic, mutually helpful world. A man who is habitually mean, selfish, narrow, is a man without Christmas in his soul. Let us cling to Christmas all the more as a day of the spirit which in every age some souls have believed to be the possible spirit of human society. The earnest faith and untiring endeavor which see in Christmas a forecast are more truly Christian, surely, than the pleasant cynicism of Atheists, etc., which smiles upon it as the festival of a futile hope. Meanwhile we may reflect that from good natured hopelessness to a Christmas world may not be farther than from star dust to a solar system. George William Curtis The lovely legends of the day; the stories and the songs and the half-fairy lore that gather around it; the ancient traditions of dusky woods and mystic rites; the magnificence or simplicity of Christian observance, from the pope in his triple tiara, borne upon his portative throne in gorgeous state to celebrate pontifical high mass at the great altar of St. Peter's, to George Herbert humbly kneeling in his rustic church at Bemerton, or to the bare service in some missionary chapel upon the American frontier; the lighting of Christmas trees and hanging up of Christmas stockings, the profuse giving, the happy family meetings, the dinner, the game, the dance they are all the natural signs and symbols, the flower and fruit, of Christmas. For Christmas is the day of days which declares the universal human consciousness that peace on earth comes only from good will to men. George William Curtis The "first Christmas" was a simple time of beauty and wonder. The birth of Christ was less about celebration than it was about family. Though many today may grow tired of the commercialization of Christmas, in reality it has opened the door for Christ to once again become the focal point of the season, and for family, especially children, to be at the heart of the celebration. Ace Collins Christmas is ... a time to mark our progress through this earthly journey. Every December we can look back and marvel at the designs of God and realize how very little we are in control of the events that shaped the past year. Then, with hearts full, look to the celebration of that silent, holy night, and all its certainty. Because of Christmas, this we know: Christ was born for us. He is love, and the plans he has for us always surpass those of our own. Karen Kingsbury I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round - apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that - as a good time: a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on their journeys. Charles Dickens More and more people each year are going abroad for Christmas... Fed up with the fact that commercial Christmas starts in October. Fed up with carols. Dreading the arrival of Christmas cards from people they have forgotten to send a card to. Unable to bear yet another family get-together with Auntie Mary puking up in the corner after sampling too much of the punch. You see in the airports the triumphant glitter in the eyes of people who are leaving it all behind, including the hundredth rerun of Miracle on 34th Street. M.C. Beaton Christmas has been a season of mixed interests and meanings, but the very foundation, of course, is its religious significance. No matter what other personal desires or crises we have faced, I've never forgotten that this is the time to celebrate the birth of the Baby Jesus, and the impact of this event on the history of the world. Jimmy Carter On Christmas Eve, down there in Texas, we always went to the church first for the lovely service, and then to the town square with its breath-taking, brilliantly lighted Christmas tree, where there were little gifts for the children. And when we woke up in the morning, there was another Christmas tree which had appeared "miraculously" as we slept; the whole family gathered around it, and again we sensed the spirit of love running through the circle. There were gifts for everyone - but not too much! How grateful I am for that now! The real gift was the love we had for one another and the sheer joy of just being together. Dale Evans The herald angels are singing still, and we hear their "Peace on earth, good will to men," once more, as we have often done. What can we do but answer back in glad strains: "Unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder; and His name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace"? It is His presence that fills our homes with mirth and song. If he will come again, turning life's water into wine, touching our sick that they may be healed, cleansing, pardoning, blessing us all- as He will if we make room for Him - then, indeed, we must be glad. Christian at Work Shorn, however, as it is, of its ancient and festive honours, Christmas is still a period of delightful excitement in England. It is gratifying to see that home-feeling completely aroused which seems to hold so powerful a place in every English bosom. The preparations making on every side for the social board that is again to unite friends and kindred; the presents of good cheer passing and repassing, those tokens of regard, and quickeners of kind feelings; the evergreens distributed about houses and churches, emblems of peace and gladness; all these have the most pleasing effect in producing fond associations, and kindling benevolent sympathies. Washington Irving

Marry Christmas with our thoughts And when we give each other Christmas gifts in His name, let us remember that He has given us the sun and the moon and the stars, and the earth with its forests and mountains and oceans - and all that lives and move upon them. He has given us all green things and everything that blossoms and bears fruit and all that we quarrel about and all that we have misused - and to save us from our foolishness, from all our sins, He came down to earth and gave us Himself. Sigrid Undset I am sorry to have to introduce the subject of Christmas into these articles. It is an indecent subject; a cruel, gluttonous subject; a drunken, disorderly subject; a wasteful, disastrous, subject; a wicked, cadging, lying, filthy, blashphemous, and demoralizing subject. Christmas is forced on a reluctant and disgusted nation by the shopkeepers and the press: on its own merits it would wither and shrivel in the fiery breath of universal hatred; and any one who looked back to it would be turned into a pillar of greasy sausages. George Bernard Shaw After dinner, eaten, let it be confessed, with more haste and less accompaniment of talk than usual, the parlour doors were opened, and there stood the Christmas tree in a glow of light, its wonderful branches laden with all manner of strange fruits not to be found in the botanies. The wild shouts, the merry laughter, the cries of delight as one coveted fruit after another dropped into long-expectant arms still linger in my ears now that the little tapers are burnt out, the boughs left bare, and the actors in the perennial drama are fast asleep, with new and strange bedfellows selected from the spoils of the night. Cradled between a delightful memory and a blissful anticipation, who does not envy them? Hamilton Wright Mabie There is something about Christmas that requires a rug rat. Little kids make Christmas fun. I wonder if could rent one for the holidays. When I was tiny we would buy a real tree and stay up late drinking hot chocolate and finding just the right place for the special decorations. It seems like my parents gave up the magic when I figured out the Santa lie. Maybe I shouldn't have told them I knew where the presents really came from. It broke their hearts. Laurie Halse Anderson There is a time and a season for all things, as we are told, and the time and the season to decorate our firesides and homes is at Yuletide, when with holly branch and mistletoe we make our Christmas green; with flowers we make it bright and fragrant; with presents we make it bountiful, and with the spirit of peace on earth, goodwill toward men, we make life worth living. Lee James Christmas Gift Suggestions: To your enemy, forgiveness. To an opponent, tolerance. To a friend, your heart. To a customer, service. To all, charity. To every child, a good example. To yourself, respect. Oren Arnold https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YpjlBzvesOk Read also: Christmas quotes ; 60 great Christmas quotes ; Christmas tree origin and quotes ; Christmas markets in England ; Christmas markets in America ; Christmas markets in Italy and Germany ; Christmas short stories ; Traditional Christmas Carols ; Ella Gray A Christmas story ; Christmas jokes ; Christmas cracker jokes ; Christmas food ; Christmas thoughts ; Christmas story ; Christmas in Italy ; Christmas holidays ; Christmas songs ; Christmas poems ; An Essasy on Christmas by Chesterton ; Read the full article

[lightcreators]

@rosa-geminae continue from here

He felt as if the wind was knocked out of him, falling on his rear unceremoniously on the polished floors of the training room. Despite the lack of formal training, Earl Trancy bested Francis before he had the chance to blink. He had to admit, his pride was slightly bruised from that.

"Why don't we take a break?" Francis asked, pulling himself up to wipe whatever grime stained his training uniform. "You must be parched after besting me four times already."

Circumstances around fancing had turned extremetly delicate. A long time ago, when he searched to exposing his extravageance everywhere whatever if the high society disapproving him in the shadows, he would have considering himself be good at it --- an hobby in which hours seemed less crushing for his mind, an temporary instant where he had the impression he could be accepted by everyone, an passing sentiment of normality … and an strange reminder about an noblesse position in which he used privileges without responsabilities. If his former demon butler had been stern on the lessons or if he asked someone to teach him --- had been forgotten. Single thing he could remember concerning that art was --- the circumstances were everything changed … When he had been so close to kill Phantomhive in middle of an game of life and death he proposed in the first place … The wound he had been receiving as consequence of his damaging pride of that time … When everything did started for him … Over the pretty face part, he had been playing with how angelic his features looked since a very long time (even if he didn't wanted staightaway remembering things about that), and now returning inside the high society, was his personal discrete weapon he could use, meanwhile remaining his silenced tourment and curse. Every smile, every contentement he seemed to picturing inside his expression resonated fake. Every moment of brightness who seemed to emerging naturally sounded illusionary. He cannot change an face reflected inside an mirror, can he ? He cannot neither damage or alter beauty of an face who was an remembrance of an memory to be protected!

Perceiving blonde features of Francis inside an innocence he long ago forgotten cannot helped to create an discomfort in which he didn't know what to do with it. He had been around another blonde boy who acted brightfully naturally, where he get the horrible sensation to touching another possibility over his own personality long enough after all … Thoughtfulness who get stopped over the proposition of the concerned. ❝ Oh, yes, we can take a break~ ❞ He mused playfully as he was looking the sword with a sort of pout.❝ I don't see time fly when I'm amused. ❞ Phantomhive can complain during hours over Trancy definition of distraction --- it somewhere involved to destroy something or remaining an annoyance presence in some way or another, anything that could triggering irritation … where sadly for him, he had SO MANY TRAINING to do for be at his highest annoying. As much his body had reacted with tiredness, he had been ignoring it. Inside noblesse sphere, an particular appareances needed to be reflected --- Hence, there was a slight laugh. ❝ I should be, I'm probably am, but probably I'm too distracted to pay attention to it --- ❞ He stopped that sentence before survival remembrance betrayed his lips. ❝ Sometimes win matter most. ❞ He thoughtfully confessed.

[boundlss]

There's a slightly abrupt gesture: unbefitting Chané's usual practiced movements -- hands somewhat clumsily holding out a small, brown paper bag with a note attached by a small amount of plain, black ribbon. Upon opening said note, Claire would find carefully written words to explain that inside is a portion of roasted walnuts (seasoned simply, with honey, sugar, and salt) -- a small form of exchange as a thank you for something or other, exactly what being left unclarified. It's about the only thing the man is any good for making, at the moment, but she's doing her best. This is behavior far outside of what she's learned to do or be, so her awkward, strange moments -- like a fish that's lost from the water for a moment, or a bird out of the nest -- are to be expected. Her expression is largely inscrutable, though if the other looks closely, her arched eyebrows are more expectant and neutral than anything else.

He understands the broader details of the gift without even needing to look inside of it, of course. Aside from generally being infallible, there's very little Claire doesn't understand about Chané---her expressions and behaviors, each minute change in the way her eyes shine is carefully catalogued away in Claire's mind, in a special place reserved just for her.

That said, it's still a pleasant surprise to get this sort of gift at all. Claire's usually the one giving them (not that he minds), so the change in routine excites him a little even though he can probably hazard a guess as to what's in it.

"Aw, is this for me? Chané, you really are the best fiancé a guy could ask for!" He laughs, an incredibly clear and genuine sound. Then he flips the note open with a hand, taking the time to read it even though it's really just a formality---it would be a shame not to savor every last bit of Chané's love put into this gift.

That said, he doesn't waste time on opening it either. Chané's the sort of guy who'd probably feel awkward if he spent too much time just admiring something like this, so Claire puts her out of her misery pretty quickly and opens the bag.

"Haha, I've been wondering what you were doin' with all that stuff in the kitchen, but your friends in the gang were pretty cagey when I brought it up." He pops one of the walnuts in his mouth, eyes lighting up from either the flavor or the sentiment---or both. "Hey, these are really good! Not that I expected less, but I haven't had this sorta thing before. I know you meant 'em as a thanks or something, but honestly... Well, I'd like 'em better if you shared 'em with me."

unprompted. / always accepting!

[gaevaer]

Cocktail parties had never been Caitlyn’s idea of a good time. She’d hated them as a child, and that sentiment hadn’t changed now that she was an adult. The formalities her mother insisted she learn always felt stifling at best — pretending to be polite to strangers who only cared about her family's name and status was the very exhausting act she could barely stomach.

She’d done her best to follow the rules, of course, but her expressions often betrayed her. And then there were the dresses. She despised every frilly, constricting one of them.

Tonight was no different. Caitlyn clicked her tongue in annoyance at every prying glance sent her way, silently praying no one would approach her. She nursed a glass of champagne she had no intention of drinking, swirling the liquid idly and wishing, no, praying for an escape.

When someone called her name, she almost cursed under her breath. But when she turned and saw who it was, her annoyance melted into a smile.

❝ Ah, a welcome sight,❞ she said, her tone light as she turned fully to face Jayce. She gestured to her glass, swirling it lazily as if it were part of her performance.

❝ Can’t a girl enjoy a cocktail party?❞ she joked, her voice dripping with mock sincerity. ❝ I figured I’d save my mother the trouble tonight and attend myself. So generous of me, don’t you think? It had always been my perfect idea of a Friday night to mingle with posh idiots here.❞ Her smile widened, though the forced curve of her lips and the pleading look in her eyes gave her away. She wasn’t fooling anyone much less Jayce, and she wasn’t trying to.

❝ What about you?❞ she asked, shifting the focus back to him. ❝ Council member duties got you mingling at these things now? Or is there something else dragging you to an event like this?❞

@gaevaer ♡'d for a starter !

it feels like it's been some time since he's seen caitlyn, not that he's been avoiding her by any means but the sudden overload of being a council member and working in the lab kept him beyond busy. approaching her from behind, arms behind his back in a manner of politeness, he slowly steps to her side. eyes shift, looking at her with a softened expression. seeing how grown she was, it makes him miss the years in which she was younger, eager to follow him around and help him with things. ❛ hey, sprout. ❜ the nickname he'd given her so many years before, it still suited her, even if she may not like it. ❛ what are you doing out here ? ❜ it's not like she was working, so he's curious as to what she was doing at an event like this.

[red-writes]

soft yan! shinsou x chubby! reader

summary: you keep receiving these letters in your mailbox from an unknown person, somehow you find yourself slowly falling for the creepy admirer until one day they decide to reveal themselves to you in the worst way possible—by looming over you while you sleep.

warnings: yandere behavior, insecurities, light smut.

Boo’s note: hi okay, this is dedicated to the annie that asked me for a shinsou fic, tbh I didn’t really know what to make it about bc u didn’t specify but here I hope you like it *^* uhh it’s also unedited im sorrrrry

Everyday at 7:00 am, the mailman drops off mail. Everyday at 7:10 am you’re rushing downstairs after stuffing half a bagel in your mouth to retrieve the stack of envelopes from the mailbox. The letters started appearing a month ago, pretty purple envelopes sealed with a cat sticker were amongst your mail everyday. You picked out the purple one and dropped the other unimportant, plain white envelopes on the coffee table. You took a seat on the couch and hurriedly opened it up.

My dearest love,

Last night I had a dream about you. You’re perfect face was smiling at me, you called my name and even held your hand out to me. You were so perfect I woke up crying. The more time that passes, the more I find myself falling deeper and deeper in the never-ending ocean that is you. So deep, so warm, comforting and gentle. Do you think that maybe one day, we could be happy together? That we could live a life together somewhere peaceful where you have me and I have you and that’s it. To me, that sounds like heaven, a world where the only person I only ever see is you. You’re my everything, my reason to live, to breathe and to continue living in this grueling world. I hope the rest of your day is good, I hope you enjoy yourself at the party.

xoxo,

shin.

After reading you couldn’t help the hard pounding of your heart, it was unusual yes, but you found his fondness for you quite endearing. You clutched the letter and held it to your chest. While it was strikingly odd that he knew about tonight’s party, you didn’t mind. Up until now shin had been harmless, never saying or doing anything too weird or creepy, nothing to warrant you to visit the local police station. You refolded the letter and tucked it back inside of the envelope. Instead of mulling over small details, you needed to find something to put on tonight!

+

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived. It was a charity event for the company you worked for, everyone from the hero deku to chargebolt was in attendance. Big parties like this were not your scene but you had to go, your boss invited you personally and you didn’t want to let him down. You took a drink off of one of the tables and made your way to a less crowded corner of the room. You took rare sips of your champagne as you sighed. This place was definitely not your scene.

“You look fabulous tonight” you hear from beside you, you’re quick to turn your head and your eyes lay upon none other than the mind-jacking hero, Shinsou!

You’re quick to bow, “ah! Mr.shinsou, sir, it’s an honor to meet you” you greet and he’s chuckling softly.

“Hey now, don’t worry about being too formal with me” he says, voice gentle as he rests a hand on your shoulder. Your face is burning, he told you that you looked nice! The number five hero just complimented you!

“Thank-thank you” you say and quickly take another sip of your drink to try and calm your nerves, “you look nice as well”

He gives you a genuine smile, “you’re so sweet”

You can hardly breathe right now, Shinsou first told you that you looked nice and now he was calling you sweet? Was this your lucky day or something?

“Well Shinsou I-”

“Oh! Hitoshi, I’ve been looking for you man!”

Chargebolt walked over to where the two of you were standing and wrapped his arm around Shinsou’s neck. He began pulling him away, going on about how ground zero almost slapped one of the patrons. Shinsou turned to wave goodbye to you and you did the same. Once he was out of sight you released a breathe you hadn’t know you’d been holding in. Tonight felt like a dream, you really didn’t want to wake up from it.

“y/n! There you are, I need to you take pictures of me and some of our guests!” Your boss yells and you’re sighing, downing the rest of your drink before you rest it on a neighboring table.

“Coming sir!”

well maybe you were ready to wake up from it now.

+

The next day at the same time you retrieved your mail, you’d shuffled through it several times and yet you hadn’t found that signature purple envelope. The day after that and even the day after that one there was no letter for you in the mail. It stung. Maybe they’d lost interest in you? Maybe they decided that you weren’t good enough after all?

The sixth day after receiving no letter you’d decided to give up, it wasn’t like you knew this was going to happen. You threw yourself onto your bed as soon as you got out the shower. You’d been doing poorly at work lately, your mind too busy focusing on those purple envelopes rather than the stack of paper work in front of you. You pulled the sheets up to your chin and shut your eyes, praying that you wouldn’t dream of that person or their kind words.

There was an odd sensation you got, it felt like cold air was hitting your body. Were you still dreaming? You didn’t leave your window open. Your eyes fluttered open, your vision still slightly blurry as you came to. Your sat up and rubbed your eyes. From the corner of your eye you saw a figure standing there. Fear that laid dormant until now began to unfurl itself in your gut, you slowly turned your head to face it and there he was.

“M-mr.Shinsou?!” You whisper yelled, he gave you a soft smile and held his hands up in front of him.

“You caught me” he says and begins walking towards you, you’re scurrying away from him on the bed.

“Why- why are you here?!” you hold the sheet up in front of you like a shield.

“I felt guilty about not sending letters for so long..I made you sad and I couldn’t forgive myself for that so I came to make it up to you” he explains and your still sleep filled mind was struggling trying to comprehend his words.

“Letters..you’re the one who has been sending me all of those letters?” You ask and he nods, he takes a seat on the edge of your bed and that familiar pounding of your heart is back. It was him, the person you’d been longing for, for so long now.

“Mhm, everything I said in those letters were true as well, how beautiful I think you are, how addicting your personality is, how absolutely sinful I think your body is..” he whispers and you feel air caught in your throat. Shinsou inches closer and closer to you and in a flash of purple he pins you underneath him.

“Mr.Shinsou..-”

“Hitoshi, call me Hitoshi” he corrects.

His head slowly lowers until his face is millimeters from yours, his breath is hot against your lips and you can’t help but shut your eyes, you’d been wanting this- wanting him for such a long time now. Shinsou’s lips press gently against yours and you find yourself kissing back, your lips move in a glorious synchronous. The kiss was one of passion and hunger; proof that the two of you had been longing for the other. You pulled away from him, lungs grateful for the ability to breathe again.

“Hitoshi..” you whisper and Shinsou sucks in a breath before his hands move downwards to pull at the hem of your night gown.

“Can I?” He asks and you find yourself nodding. The number five hero, the man who has been stalking you, sending you letters that if you were anyone else would find creepy, the man you’d fallen for…

You raised your arms in the air as he slowly began lifting the sheer cloth off of you revealing your nude body to him. Your cheeks burned in embarrassment, your arms folded to cover your exposed chest.

“Y-you might be disillusioned after seeing me completely naked..if you regret choosing me to give your heart to, I don’t blame you” you shyly confess and Shinsou’s eyes widen.

“I could never, I've merely dreamt about this day every night for months on end...you are the most beautiful person I've had the pleasure of laying eyes upon.” He says, his hands gently pry your arms away from your body and you can feel hot tears well up in your eyes as he lays you back against the soft blankets.

His lips are soft as they press themselves against every bit of exposed skin, his kisses don't shy away from stretch marks or any of your other insecurities. A warm, heated feeling that blossoms in your chest. 

Love? Desire? Serendipity?

It felt like all three combined into one big ball of sentiment. 

His hands gently massaged your breasts evoking soft mewls of his name from you. His hands slivered downwards to grope the flesh of your stomach.

“Soft beautiful...” he mumbles, his hands move even further downwards and cup the warmth between your legs. The feeling of his hand directly against you has your legs spreading, giving yourself completely to him. His fingers gently rub circles at your clit, your hips stutter up into his touch, moans and whimpers tumble out of your mouth dumbly. The situation you've been so eager for, for so long was finally upon you.

Your back arches off the mattress as he slides a slim finger inside of you, the sensation feels much fuller than your own fingers do. You beg him to go faster, add more and make you feel better than you have ever before and he's shushing your lust filled ramblings with a kiss. 

“I need to savor this moment, I won’t get many more like this” he expresses and your concern is evident on your face but he doesn't allow you to ponder on his words. He adds in another finger and curls them upwards, pressing them against the spongy sweet spot, his head ducks down and his lips wrap firmly around your clit and suck on the aching bud. Your eyes roll back into your head and your body shakes, unable to handle to the newfound euphoria.

“Ah- shinsou! I’ll- cumming!” your cunt spasms around his fingers as your orgasm hits you, you grip onto the sheets around you as your thighs shake.

“You look so pretty like this, so so pretty” he compliments, before you know it your eyes are involuntarily fluttering shut. You're scared, panic fills you at the thought of him not being here when you wake up, you don't want this to be another fever dream. 

+

When you awake the next morning you feel heavy. Your body slumped with the exhaustion of the previous nights activities. You're eyes widen as your hand feels around the bed, your fingers bump into the heat of another body and there is. The yellow halo from the sun is cast over his head as his chest rises and falls.

You scoot in close enough so that your noses are just barely touching. His eyes begin creaking open and purple gems meet your own.

“Good morning”

“Morning..”

Questions about what he meant last night could wait…you wanted spend your time right now loving him.

[ryosmne]

Tattoo artist! Sukuna x reader part 4

Hello, it's me your friendly neighborhood Sukuna simp, I don't have much to ramble about today, I hope you have fun reading this part :)

Series masterlist here

Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption, implied smut that I'm too shy to write.

The café was unusually quiet today, maybe it's because the other days y/n found herself sitting at that exact spot by the window, Mai was the one sitting across from her. Today was different, Nobara took Mai's place for brunch after class, to be fair she hadn't showed up in some time so both Nobara and y/n jumped at the opportunity to spend some time together.

"So, does it feel lonely now that Yuuji and Mai spend so much time together?" Nobara asked, evidently trying to make y/n admit to some form of jealousy she was sure she had. "Not really, I'm happy she's finally with someone so good for her and she's finally off my back about hooking me up with random dudes" y/n said and she was honestly happy for her best friend, Yuuji was a very nice guy and in the past few weeks he's been seeing Mai, he's nothing less of a sweetheart and y/n saw him a as a little sibling even though they were roughly the same age.

"Of course, why would you be lonely, Sukuna's been keeping you company too." Nobara's eyes had a glimmer in them, not because she wanted to tease y/n, but she was very invested in the girls business with the oh so attractive tattoo artist.

Nobara did her homework on the guy, he certainly wasn't as polite or well mannered as he came across the night they met. He did seem like trouble at first glance, but the way he looked at y/n that night, or the times he waited for her to get off class to have some time together, Nobara would say that even a blind man could see that y/n had been tugging on Sukuna's heartstrings.

"It's not like that" y/n was once again flustered. What was she to the pink haired man, who missed no chance to be around her? "You're making out in his car in broad daylight, what is it like?" the brown haired girl chuckled, her friend was an idiot if she worried for a second about the man who looked at her like she would disappear at any second. "I don't know, but we aren't together like that, he's an interesting guy" y/n longed to be with him, she had a faint memory about him talking about something like that the time he spend the night with her, but then again, she was drunk and that could be her mind playing cruel tricks on her.

"Ok then whatever you say, I really hope you're not doubting the dude that cooked you ten different options for breakfast, after he took your drunk ass home."

"Wait how do you know about that- did Mai? Oh I'm gonna kill her."

Despite the tiny voice asking 'what are we?' in y/n's head, her days with Sukuna have been some of the best she's had. Granted they couldn't see each other that often, whenever they did, it was always better than the time before.

Sukuna had taken her to all the restaurants he knew were good, cafes with the best tiramisu she had ever tasted, taking an hour and a half to get to the next place he'd see her smile listening to her excitement filled voice as she told him how delicious the food was, then giving him some attitude mumbling about how she didn't expect him to have such nice taste, was the easiest victory to him, the highlight of his day.

He hadn't managed to get her back to his chair like he needed to yet, he had been so busy finding the best places to take her to that it seemed like it completely slipped his mind. It hasn't slipped Sukuna's mind though, he's just been nervous to bring it up again, what if she doesn't want to do that anymore? What if she changed her mind? What if she just agreed because she felt compelled to do so? Sukuna didn't know which one was worse.

Even on the days they couldn't see each other they were in touch, texting silly things or messing with each other. If a day was anything other good Sukuna could vent and let out his frustrations talking to y/n and she often did the same. Sukuna preferred calling her for that, not only to get things off his chest but because her voice was so calming to him, the need to hear it grew stronger each day he wasn't able to see her.

Afternoon classes were always adding to her demise, y/n even accepted Mai's gossiping over paying attention. Yuuji as she expected was as sweet as he looked, Mai was once again gushing over him and his adorable nature. Y/n just smiled at her friend who rumbled about the boy who, by now had a very firm hold of her heart. "You and Sukuna?" She asked, prying for any information she didn't already know from Yuuji. "Me and Sukuna" y/n stated back, shit eating grin on her face, knowing how not entertaining Mai and not feeding her what she wanted completely pissed her off. Y/n's phone buzzed from her pocket, giving her a little break from her friends curiosity.

Can I take you out after class?

Y/n's lips tagged into a small smile. "Speak of the devil" Mai teased looking over y/n's phone.

Hmm depends. Where to?

Its a surprise, doll

You know I hate surprises, but I can make an exception for you.

Mai pretend to gag next to her, but y/n payed her no mind. She had already seen enough from her and Yuuji to do the same.

You won't regret it, I'll be outside when you're done.

"Just don't make out in the parking lot again, being in his car doesn't mean that we don't see you." Mai was being Mai again. Y/n shoved her arm lightly and told her that they all knew how her and Yuuji sneaked around the bathrooms, laughing as her face flushed red.

Sukuna entered her field of view leaning against his car, finishing up a cigarette, looking too good for anyone not to stare at him. The total black outfit he had on did wonders for him, even if it was the simplest of crew cut shirts and sweatpants, every piece of clothing complimented him. Waving at Mai, y/n walked towards him noticing he's cocky expression. "Feels like you're eating me up with those eyes" he laughed, why must the sound of his voice be this melodic at all times. "Don't worry I missed you too" Sukuna said laying a soft kiss on y/n's lips as a greeting. If her fellow students weren't staring already, now they surely were .

" Where are we headed tonight?" Y/n asked fastening her seatbelt, she still kind of thought of Sukuna as clumsy, even though he's driven her many places, it's not that she didn't trust him, he was a very good driver. Hey safety comes first.

"You'll find out" he spoke with a little grin, before starting his engine and driving off.

Unlocking his door, he let y/n step inside first. Sukuna's house was surprisingly neat, everything looked to be in place, the décor was minimalistic. It felt like Sukuna very home-y, but then it didn't. It was too tidy, y/n didn't really think of him as a tidy person. The place also had his scent of sandalwood so y/n easily relaxed into the new space taking some more steps forward to look around.

"Bringing me to your house like this without taking me to dinner first, tsk should've known you were that type 'kuna." Y/n said in a mockingly disapproving tone "Who said that, I'm cooking dinner for you." Sukuna said draping his arm around her shoulders guiding her to his kitchen.

Whatever Sukuna had on his stove smelled scrumptious, making y/n's mouth water, maybe how pretty Sukuna looked with an apron on and a little sweat forming on his forehead from the heat of the stove helped too.

"You know, I would have never guessed you knew how to cook." Y/n let some of her assumptions fly in the room, she was the only one with a pass to talk about whatever she wanted with him. Sukuna wasn't going to shut her down. Y/n had leaned back on his table, her eyes roamed his figure freely. Sukuna would look over his shoulder smiling to himself every time he caught her in the act.

"I had to learn, Yuuji and I lived with our Grandpa, when he passed, it was just me and him." Y/n's heart clenched in her chest, Sukuna sounded different saying that. The truth is, Sukuna had never talked about that with anyone, he never made word of his grandfather's passing or the hardships him and his brother went through when they were left alone. He had mentioned to y/n that his and Yuuji's grandfather raised them, but from the way he spoke about him y/n was sure his Grandfather was doing well. "I'm sorry for your loss" was all she could muster at that moment, the pain in his voice was much too real for her. "Thank you, at least my brother turned out pretty good" he quickly changed the subject to something ligter, surprised at his self for opening up to her so easily. "You didn't turn out that bad either" y/n let the words spill, she had spent the past half hour blatantly checking out his back, she had nothing to get shy about. Sukuna let out a laugh, gripping his wooden spoon a little tighter throwing a glance over his shoulder. "Is that what you think?" Y/n shifted in her seat, how could this guy go from sentimental to laughing about his brother and to whatever this dark seductive tone was, she had no idea.

"Come on don't get shy on me, you were having fun checking me out just a minute ago, see anything you like" in the blink of an eye, Sukuna was slightly bent down facing her. Even after all the makeout sessions they've had that usually ended with y/n slapping his arm worrying that someone saw them and Sukuna looking at her with a cocky grin reassuring her that they gave a good show to whoever was watching, he could still make her all flustered, and she looked adorable like this, a deer caught in headlights. Sukuna kissed the tip of her nose, telling her she looked cute before turning his attention back on the food.

"Did you find that movie?" Sukuna's voice came from the kitchen, y/n was fumbling with the remote on his couch. Sukuna insisted on eating in his living room, he didn't want this to feel too formal, he still had whine out with fancy plates and everything, but he only wanted to cook for his girl and see her eyes light up eating his food, like they always did when she tried the food on the restaurants he took her.

"Yeah, here let me help with that." She said getting of the couch to help him set everything. "No no no, you go sit down, I'll do the work." Sukuna insisted, y/n only raised a brow at him and complied.

"Okay, you have to teach me, this tastes so good 'kuna" that nickname stuck, not that Sukuna complained, his stomach still did flips every time y/n called him that. She was looking at him just the way he hoped she would. The dish was quite simple, chicken with some red salsa and vegetables, but it was better than anything she'd ever tasted.

"I can give you a little cooking class, as long as you go grocery shopping" He offered her a little smile and y/n rolled her eyes playfully.

Y/n was leaning on Sukuna's chest with her arm hooked around his waist, he had a firm hold of her too, mindlessly looking at the screen but not paying enough attention to it. The movie y/n chose turned out to be a barely watchable C grade thriller and the two glasses of wine they had didn't make it tolerable either. Bad movie or not, having her under his arm like this was all he needed to feel calmer. Sukuna was so calm that he forgot why he brought y/n over.

"Can I show you something?" Sukuna spoke softly, looking down at her, y/n nodded in reply and groaned loudly at the loss of his warmth when he got up from the couch, Sukuna could only chuckle at her .

"Just two drinks and you're already a brat."

"Shut up."

Sukuna came back holding a big folder and some sketch books, y/n's curiosity picked and she found herself straightening up a bit.

"I've been dying to show you these." Sukuna stated as he flipped through the pages. Y/n's eyes danced all over the various shapes and designs he had came up with. Her eyes traced a particular three headed fox, she had never seen anything like that before, she reached out her hand to feel his drawing on her fingertips.

Sukuna's heart picked up its pace, she was currently in aww at his favourite piece for her. "Are those what you told me you came up with form me?" She was amused, she stared at him wide eyed not believing that anyone would ever do something like that for her, "Yeah, every design here is meant for you, you can pick whichever you like, but if you don't want me to tattoo you, I'll understand, you don't have to let me if you don't want to." Y/n couldn't believe it, there were enough drawings in here to fill her entire body in ink. She had hardly believed him when he said he had a vision for her sleeve, but this, this was out of this world.

"I don't even know what to say, these are so beautiful, but why did you go through all this trouble?" She still couldn't see a reason for it. "You've given me so much inspiration from the first time you visited, I can't get your skin out of my head, seeing you in my work is just surreal. I would do anything to do it again" Sukuna's words had not yet sunken in properly, y/n was still in disbelief.

Sukuna placed his sketchbooks on the coffee table, his hand prompting y/n's chin up so he can look at her face in the dim lights of his living room. "I will decorate any part of your skin you're willing to give to me, I'll give you the best work I can, please let me do this much." Sukuna almost sounded desperate, his face was once more too close and his wine scented breath tickled her lips, he had almost gone mad drawing in most his free time, and every time he saw her, a new idea of what would fit her popped into his head.

"You can do that" the moment these words rolled out of y/n's tongue, Sukuna had heard all he needed, and latched his mouth on hers, allowing his hands to explore more of her body. Between heavy breaths, Sukuna whispered about the softness of her skin, how he couldn't wait to mark her again, how he wanted her to be his canvas, his and only his. Diving in her neck once more, littering her sensitive skin with bruises she'd have to cover up tomorrow and her hands tangled up in his hair. "Just be good for me and I'll be gentle" His words only made her anticipate more.

The next day Sukuna was walking like the happiest man on earth, he woke up and had breakfast with his beloved doll, he had a smile on his face you couldn't miss. His co-workers didn't miss it either nor did they miss the huge forder he had under his arm when he came in, but they didn't question it.

Gojo spent his time teasing him about his unusual demeanor while Geto laughed to himself assuming what everyone else did.

Teasing him and prying about Sukuna's previous day didn't really work in Gojo's favour, Sukuna would simply ignore him and his smile still hadn't fadded. Gojo took it as his personal mission to piss him off when he had a lightbulb moment.

"Come on man, you talk about her all the time and when she comes over we're all working, when are we gonna get to meet her?" Gojo pushed, for the third time today, he finally found a weak spot.

The entire crew was curious meet y/n, properly this time at least, but Gojo was the only one who could confidently voice that. "Tell you what, go one month without fucking someone in here, and we can all go for some drinks tonight." Sukuna said in a joking manner, there was no way Gojo Satoru would agree to something like that, the man couldn't last two days on that deal, he was not about to give his word to Sukuna and take one for the team.

Gojo stood before the pink haired man, his glasses low on the bridge of his nose "Then, it's a deal" he said, obnoxious as ever with his hand extended for Sukuna to take. Sukuna knew Gojo was a man of his word, and if he shook on something, he would no doubt keep his end. Now Sukuna had to keep his as well.

Hey doll, I was wondering if you'd like to go grab a few drinks with me and the rest of the guys after closing?

Sure, I'll be there before nine, what's the occasion?

No need, I'll pick you up, they just really want to meet you, you don't have to come if you don't want to though.

Don't be stupid, I won't pass the opportunity of collecting blackmail on you.

Sukuna was smiling at his phone, that was so typical of y/n, his grin quickly faded once his eyes met the idiots standing before him with hopeful eyes. "Just don't do anything stupid" he sighed defeated before getting back to work, this was going to be a long night.

Y/n easily spotted Sukuna's car, he was parked just further down her street. Carefully swinging the passenger door open, she expected at least extra someone inside, but it was just Sukuna.

"Hey 'kuna." y/n greeted stepping inside, Sukuna faced her with a half smile, lazily bringing his hand on her jawline, pulling her in for a short kiss. "You're looking very pretty today, dollface." he spoke, still inches from her face, as his eyes traced her figure. Every inch of exposed skin begging him to mark it. Sukuna halted his wandering thoughts when y/n spoke again. "Everyone ended up ditching you in the end? cause you could've taken me out without an excuse like that."

"I wish they did, but unfortunately for both of us we'll have to suffer through it, I know you'd rather have me all to yourself." The mare glance he gave her from the corner of his eye as he put the car on speed was enough to have y/n's hear thumping in her chest. "Speak for yourself, airhead." Y/n's tone didn't lack at all in sarcasm. She did want him all to herself but she also was very intrigued by the rest of his crew, Sukuna always spoke about them. Whether it was stories from his childhood, college or everyday work things, y/n kept hearing about Nanami, Geto, Gojo and Megumi so she looked forward to getting to know them for herself. She had only seen Gojo and Nanami. Megumi and Geto had always been occupied when she dropped by the shop she would catch a glimpse of them tonight.

Sukuna's hand had taken a grip of her thigh, making y/n not so focused in their conversation. Sukuna was mindlessly squeezing while warning y/n about his friends.

The bar looked more like a museum in her opinion, still a very beautiful, elegant place. Y/n expected no less from Sukuna, he's already accompanied her to the best small restaurants and patisseries, sometimes she wondered how he came to know this many perfect date spots.

Sukuna had managed to slip his hand in her's the moment he noticed eyes on his precious doll and guided her to the table his co-workers were sat.

"You owe me 50 Nanami, they did show up."

"You're making me regret this already." Sukuna said, his head dipping slightly

"Come on 'kuna don't be such a grump" had that been y/n's voice Sukuna would've smiled down at her and his demeanor would instantly change, Gojo's voice only offered him annoyance.

Y/n took notice and softly brushed his hand with her thumb, Sukuna let a little laugh and proceeded to introduce the girl under his arm to everyone. "Y/n this is Geto, Megumi and you already know Nanami and Gojo here" Sukuna spoke pulling out y/n's seat as she shook hands with everyone. Gojo took the chance to piss his friend off, after all he would have to strictly work for the next month, he brought y/n's hand to his lips, giving her a compliment on her dress, making Sukuna red in the face.

Everyone took a liking to her very quickly, seeing exactly why Sukuna was so taken by her, she was witty and smart with a silver tongue that was also very sharp. Geto begun telling her about Sukuna's embarrassing drunk nights in college while Gojo laughed and even Nanami snickered. Megumi made Sukuna regret the day he considered taking him in his shop when he told y/n how he always cried as a kid if he didn't have a cookie after his meal. "That's why you always grumble about dessert?" Y/n asked him choking in laughter, Sukuna mumbled a reply and went back to looking annoyed, he was really happy to see y/n interact with his friends so effortlessly. This girl was constantly giving him more reasons to be around her.

Y/n was in the middle of a deep conversation with Nanami about philosophy, her eyes gleaming when he mentioned Plato's allegory of the cave. Geto subtly tapped Megumi's leg to get him to notice how Sukuna was resting his chin on his hand staring at y/n, who was blabbering about Greek philosophers, with the most sweet expression on his face any of them had seen. Gojo also took notice of that and an unspoken pact of 'annoy the fuck out of Sukuna' was made then and there.

"Have you thought about the next thing you want done or did you just want one tattoo?" Gojo asked the girl, breaking her conversation with Nanami a little too early for her liking.

"Yeah, I'll be getting some more work from Sukuna pretty soon" y/n replied proudly, her mind wandering to the night before to Sukuna and the beautiful pieces he came up with just for her. Sukuna perked up, his heart thumping by how happy y/n sounded with these words rolling out her lips.

"You sure you want him to do it though? You know I'm free if you need." Gojo's voice was condescending like always. Sukuna tensed up, jaw clenching at the thought of anyone laying a finger on y/n's skin. "Are you crazy? with work like this, I wouldn't let anyone else do it." Y/n laughed, Gojo must've been joking anyway.

Sukuna found so much comfort in her reply, she loved his artistry and never hesitated to show it, no matter how much of a brat she could be with him. Geto butted in the conversation too "y/n is right, look at how beautiful Sukuna's work looks on her, there's no way she'd change him." Y/n nodded at his words. "But I also do black and gray, I'm sure I could come up with something for you" Sukuna's eyes were glaring daggers at the raven haired man next to him, he remained oblivious to it laughing on the inside, Sukuna was so predictable.

"Thanks, but you said it yourself, there's no way I'd change him." Y/n spoke confidently, taking a sip of her vodka, knowing that at this point she was stroking Sukuna's ego and it would only grow bigger. Sukuna had no idea what everyone was onto trying to tattoo y/n, probably piss him off. From the looks of it, y/n wasn't going to let that happen. Nanami was observing quietly exchanging a few more words with y/n, he was right about her not taking other people's bullshit, Gojo couldn't pull anything with her, Nanami could see what Sukuna saw in her.

"Y/n, when you first came you were going to get tattooed by Megumi right?" Nanami spoke, Sukuna never expected him to join the others in their stupidity. "Yeah, he takes the walk ins right?" Y/n said casually, paying no mind to what Nanami was trying to do, the rest of them were also shocked that he decided to join in on making Sukuna's night a little hellish. Oh the betrayal.

"Did you want to get tattooed by Megumi?" Such a simple question, but Sukuna was at the edge of his seat "Yeah, I did, he was the reason I chose Domain in the first place, everyone loves this guy's work, I was pretty excited." Sukuna's face dropped, it's not like he didn't expect that, of course y/n came based on the reviews, he couldn't be mad at her for not booking him, she didn't even know him. He was pretty happy that he ended up taking her in that day, even if his insides boiled with jealousy at this very moment "Sorry for ruining your plans doll" the same smugness echoed in his voice "I can only stay mad at you for so long." Meeting his enlarged pupils and darker eyes, she could tell Sukuna was indeed, jealous. He had nothing to be jealous of, she didn't plan on leaving his side anytime soon, but when Megumi took his turn in the game everyone seemed to play, y/n found it hard not to join them. "If you still want to I can tattoo you since I never got to" Megumi knew he was walking on thin ice when Sukuna gave him a look that made him wish he was dead, these two got in fights all the time as kids and ended up with bruises all over them, if Megumi didn't ease up Sukuna would gladly remind him of the past.

"Uh, yeah, if you've got a design" y/n said with a bit of hesitation, Sukuna was seathin next to her, his hand aggressively palming her leg just above the knee. The rest of the night Sukuna didn't really speak, only leaned in y/n's ear to tell her to slow down on the vodka, the rest of the guys continued to talk amongst themselves as if nothing had happened.

Exiting the bar, y/n was walking- trying to keep up with Sukuna who walked fast to his car after mumbling a goodnight to everyone. Y/n regretted playing along, she'd never seen Sukuna this quiet. " 'kuna, I'm sorry I really didn't want to upset you" she said her eyes on the ground, gently tagging at his jacket, how could he ever get annoyed with her when she looked like that. Sukuna wasted no time swiftly taking a hold of her, his lips ghosting her's "I'm not that upset, only a little" his voice barely above a whisper, lips grazed over hers briefly. Sukuna didn't know if that was his heart or hers thumping so hard "I'm tired of dancing around it" his breath was hot, warming up her face making y/n's face impossibly hotter. "Dancing around what?" She asked with visible hesitation. Sukuna dipped down once more, not so softly this take taking her soft lips into his own, gently tugging on her bottom lip with his teeth, letting one of his palms to rest on her cheek and the other taking a loose hold of the back of her neck. Her arms naturally found their way around his neck. "I told you I want you all to myself" . Did he mean what y/n was thinking? Did y/n want him to call her his? Sukuna almost crackled at her puzzled expression. Sukuna wasn't one to express things this openly, y/n was a bit dense in that department so he had to, at least he told himself that.

"I'm starting to get a bit disappointed, I clearly remember you saying 'i would say yes' with some romantic mumbling" Sukuna said, stroking her cheek ever so slightly.

Her breath was striped from her lungs, it wasn't from the kiss this time. So that did happen, y/n's mind was not playing tricks on her, Sukuna had in fact asked. Her eyes once again gleamed looking straight to his crimson irises. "So will you be mine?" He was more confident this time, they had grown closer, laughed more, shared more, Sukuna wanted this from the very first session they had together and the more time he spend around her, the more he couldn't bare the thought of anyone laying their fingers on her. Perhaps Nanami's little show got under his skin way more than he could ever admit, but there was no way he's letting anyone mark her. Y/n was his personal artwork, only the finest of pieces shall taint her skin. "Yes, airhead" y/n said, finally having enough air to form words, still in his arm with a smile on her face, indulging him on another deep kiss. "Let's seal the deal then."

Sukuna finally got to fulfill his need, y/n was back on his chair late in the afterhours of the night. He finished free handing another of his designs he showed her the night before, the outline of her sleeve, with the Cerberus foxes he created just for her.

Y/n was standing in front of his full body mirror, examining the very delicate lines of his marker. His arms snaked around her waist, Sukuna could watch her admire his art for eternity.

"You look so beautiful in it" he simply stated, looking at their reflection he could only note her beauty. Y/n looked beautiful, beautiful on her own, beautiful in his tattoos, beautiful in his arms.

"Your art is probably the most beautiful thing I've seen, but you too are a close competitor" her voice crystal clear, she managed to make a faint pink dust his cheeks. Sukuna wasn't one to take compliments, but from her? He could listen to her little praises all day. "Now, now get your ass back on this chair, you're not getting out of this"

"I didn't plan to anyway."

Bonus Domain shenanigans: Megumi had the pleasure of opening up the very next morning, what the hell happened here, he was about to call the cops when he saw Sukuna looking scruffy and sleep deprived, emerge from the back room, same pants and undone dress shirt as the night before. "What the hell" was all that he could say. Sukuna was thankful he let y/n out the back just so they could both avoid the embarrassment that was to come.

"What happened here?" Geto asked the moment he came through the door, although he already knew, Sukuna was predictable. "Nothing happened" Sukuna groaned trying to get them to shut up, he just needed some coffee. He disappeared in the back again.

"yeah sure, 'nothing happened' does he think we're stupid or something" Gojo said to Nanami, who already had a headache and he hasn't been in for 15 minutes yet. "Stop it already nothing happened" Sukuna said, coming out in the front to order a coffee. Gojo stared at him, walked closer to him and began laughing straight to his face, "fuck you're laughing at?" Sukuna was confused

"Next time, clean the lipstick off your face and neck." Nanami chuckled while Gojo continued to laugh at Sukuna's frustration.

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[tionpeake]

"thank you for meeting with me, lord yronwood. i appreciate your concern - but us marcher lords are not so delicate, i assure you." if nothing else, tion was a man who knew how to observe the formalities. despite his words, he looked every inch the pampered reach noble, doublet shimmering with threads of gold and rings adorning every finger, polished boots more suited to highgarden's halls then the uneven ground of the dornish border. since he had amassed it, tion had shrouded himself in his wealth as though it was armour, but underneath it was the same sharp-eyed pragmatist he had been in his youth.

his childhood had been shaped by lean years and nights where the hearth was cold, and there was no room for pride. it were the kind of existence that had needed him to learn, and learn quickly, and those lessons still served him well. the key was to look not only in what was said, but what was not, reading between the lines to hone in on what was so often overlooked. the glint in the eye of a merchant before naming his price, the slight change in pitch when a lord gave a promise. words and actions could be rehearsed, but if you looked hard enough, the cracks would always make themselves known.

he were searching for those cracks now, assessing armaan yronwood the way a smith weighs a blade. his tone was calm, carrying with it enough concern that a less observant man may be satiated, but it did not tally with his actions, the casual way in which he invited tion to sit, the flicker of arrogance he could not quite conceal. tion was under no illusions - they were calling this diplomacy, but it could all go up in flames just as easily as the granaries. he would need to tread carefully.

"most troubling," he agreed, expression unchanged save for the faintest lift of the corners of his mouth - an almost-smile that never quite surfaced. "which makes me all the more appreciative for your swift response." his tone was as measured as it ever was, but underneath it, there was something stirring - the dornish lord spoke all too easily of chaos, as though he had thought through the consequences already. it may have been innocent, but something told tion it was not.

his gaze flicked to armaan's boots, his casual sprawl across the table. if it were a slight, it was one tion chose, for the moment, to ignore. his fingers curled loosely around the stem of the goblet, and he moved to sip it before speaking. "the generosity of the people of nightsong is noted, my lord." he nodded, pressing one hand to his chest as though to emphasise his point. "it speaks well of the change of leadership that they are so soon ready to lend aid to another." he did not believe it, and yet he made no outward gesture of his thoughts.

"it is in the best interest of both of us that things in the marches remain... manageable." his tone was iron wrapped in velvet, soft yet unyielding. "as you say, it is both of our responsibilities to ensure this particular fire is limited in its spread." he let the sentiment linger for a moment, searching armaan's expression for any minute changes. he would not hold his breath, awaiting word from nightsong.

he already knew it would not come.

who: @tionpeake when and where: armaan travels to the borders with the reach to oversee any regional tension within the marches. its meant to be 'diplomatic' context: armaan and ryon arranged for one of tion's granaries to be burned down, in order to stir up irritation against tion in the region .... especially since nightsong, which is now dornish, borders starpike.

armaan yronwood stood on the rise overlooking the camp, his silhouette sharp against the hazy morning sun. the marches stretched out before him, a patchwork of rolling hills and scattered woodland, deceptively peaceful under the thin mist that lingered after dawn. the faint scent of charred wood still clung to the air, though the fires had long since died. beneath his outward calm, armaan allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. the granary’s destruction had served its purpose of causing stress, though he took care not to let that satisfaction show.

he turned at the sound of hooves crunching over dry earth, his dark eyes narrowing as lord tion peake approached. tion’s retinue was small, their banners subdued—a practical choice, given the tension in the region. tion himself dismounted with a sharp efficiency, his expression as severe as the situation demanded. armaan waited for tion to draw closer before stepping forward, offering a carefully measured nod of greeting. “lord tion,” he said, his voice smooth and low, carrying just enough warmth to feign sincerity.

“you honour us with your presence. i trust the journey here wasn’t too long - you reachmen hardly like being in discomfort.” armaan gestured towards a shaded pavilion where a simple table had been set with wine and fruit; and yet, his movement was dismissive, carefree. a brazen attitude, one there was no doubt tion peake would be able to pick up and detect. “sit, stand...whatever. we have much to discuss.” as tion settled into the offered seat, armaan took his place opposite, his movements deliberate, measured. he poured wine into two cups, the ruby liquid catching the light like blood against the dull silver of the goblets. the air between them was taut, as though the land itself held its breath.

“the recent events are most troubling,” armaan began, his voice calm but weighted. “the burning of your granary—it’s a tragedy that strikes at the heart of both your people and your lands. such acts sow chaos, disrupt the lives of the innocent, and breed resentment where there should be trust.” he paused, letting the words settle, studying tion’s face for any flicker of reaction. the reachman’s expression remained guarded, though his eyes betrayed the storm brewing beneath. armaan leaned back slightly, his fingers drumming softly against the arm of his chair.

the sun cast shifting shadows across his face, highlighting the strong lines of his jaw, the faint scar that traced the curve of his cheekbone.

"the smallfolk of nightsong were apparently ready to help." armaan’s gaze was unflinching as it met tion’s. his words were measured, carefully chosen, each one placed like a stone in the foundation of the narrative he was constructing. “the marches are a tinderbox, lord peake. the fires of conflict burn easily here, and it is up to us—leaders, not warriors—to ensure they do not consume all we have built.” his words, these false fabrications of diplomacy...it were not true. none of it, were true.

he was here to see how tion peake responded under pressure, and whether he needed to set a few more granaries alight - perhaps with some reachmen trapped inside. "and i am devoted to them. as devoted as your people are to be being where they don't belong." he laid further back in his chair then, putting both of his legs upon the table between them. his gaze swept over the hills once more, his expression unreadable. “these lands are more than borders,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet conviction. “they are a shared responsibility. a test of our ability to lead, to protect, to preserve. i assure you, should i hear any report of what occured within your lands, it shall be passed on.”

[beelovesnct]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐰𝐤𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

— 2020 [Resonance Era]

summary: the moment doyoung fell for aiko's charms

note: dialogues in bold - are in English

Who do you feel awkward around the members?

The video starts with that question, portraying a member seemingly dazed as she looked at a window, her head titled as her voice in the form of a voice-over filled the entire audio, the simple background music accompanying her naturally deep alto tone.

"Doyoung...ssi" Aiko showed a strained smile, unsure what to call the member (they weren't that close for her to call him oppa).

"Aiko...nim" Doyoung responded equally, the camera shifting to show his figure on another background, but the familiarity had presumed fans to think that it was in the same filming site.

"Aiko is usually very awkward with anyone she isn't close with." This time, the frame shows two members: Haechan and Mark, walkie-talkies in their hands as they were invited to 'help' the two members feel less awkward.

"That's true," Mark agreed with his sentiment.

"Although she does open up very quickly if she finds the person comfortable."

"But Doyoung-hyung, ah" Haechan sighed,

"Yeah, he told me he's scared of Aiko." Laughter ensued Mark, with Haechan scoffing but slightly guilty that he may have been the reason why the older member avoided Aiko. (He might have unconsciously told many stories about the savage side of the neko-member instead of her utterly adorable one.)

Shrugging, Haechan voiced out, "I would be too if I didn't know how cute she could actually be. Aiko, hah, is also such a tsundere."

"True; so we have a tsundere and a scaredy-cat, this is gonna fun."

First Meeting

The neko-member entered the set first, sitting properly on one of the chairs within the filming set, her hand politely placed together as she took a look around.

Suddenly, she heard a voice behind her,

"It's been long, have you missed me?" It was Doyoung, standing as if he wanted to be buried on the ground right then and there, as the whole of his face was red, his figure forced into a position that allowed their faces to be close.

After a few seconds of silence, Doyoung stood straight, covering his face with his hands as he tried to explain himself.

"Haechan told me to do this."

Aiko stifled a chuckle, accepting his excuse as she stood up herself and bowed properly, greeting the older member with respect. This bit surprised Doyoung quite a bit, finding her respectful nature something unexpected from Haechan's stories.

"Yes, I understand."

Back in the MC lounge, Haechan laughed at Doyoung's expression, "Wah, I feel like I've ruined Aiko's image to Doyoung, I feel so sorry."

Doyoung then took the chance to initiate and lead the flow of the conversation, starting with a:

"Do you feel awkward with me?"

"Yes." Aiko answered firmly, "But I would really like to get close to you, Taeyong-oppa told me you were a great person." She finished, showing a genuine smile that even the dreamies knew was reserved for people she actually adored and respected (but were still not closed with).

"Hah. I missed the days when Aiko would smile at me like that, now all she does is scoff at me and reject my love." Haechan sulked, making Mark pat his back and reassure him with a teasing smile,

"That's Aiko's love language to you now."

"I don't want it!"

Missions and Talks

"Introduce yourselves." Aiko's earpiece picked up Mark's command and was about to formally introduce herself when Doyoung suddenly stood up, raising his hands above his head as he cheered,

"I say Do, you say Young" The crack of his voice hinted at Aiko that this must be Haechan's doing, and so she played along, not wanting to embarrass the member alone.

"Do—"

"—Young!"

When it was Aiko's turn, Mark had challenged her to freestyle, and so Aiko introduced herself the way she did when she was back at Unpretty Rapstar (but of course in a more wholesome way).

Doyoung (Haechan and Mark—though it was not shown), clapped his hands loudly, genuinely amazed at the girl's talent.

"Wah, you're really amazing. I mean it." He stated with utmost sincerity, as her talent was actually one of the reasons why he found her so intimidating.

The segment moved on to smaller talks, eventually leading up to a guessing game between the duo.

"What vegetables do I hate?" Doyoung started, not expecting much from the member; having that question the only one to pop up the moment he was tasked to ask her something about himself.

"Coriander and cucumber?" Aiko answered, albeit unsurely.

"Oh, how did you know?" Now Doyoung was surprised, as the detail was rarely disclosed even to the fans.

"Taeyong-oppa told me about it when I asked about you." She admitted shyly,

"You wanted to know about me?" Again, Doyoung was shocked, but it was now more of how he found the situation absolutely endearing rather than how it was uncharacteristic of Aiko.

He was starting to realize that maybe what Haechan was saying was simply one side of the coin and that there's actually a whole lot more when it comes to her character.

Aiko unabashedly nodded her head as a response, "I really look up to you a lot, your vocal range is amazing to me; so I wanted to get to know you better without making you uncomfortable."

Doyoung scoffed in disbelief; now 80% sure that Aiko was just lovable, and now guilt was pooling in his stomach; having remorse over the fact that Aiko noticed and even avoided him for his own solace.

"Yah, I'm really sorry." He started, hand over his mouth as his expression showed subtle sadness.

The MCs were quiet by this time, letting the duo have their moment.

"Honestly, I was scared of you; but you never made me uncomfortable, that was never my intention for not getting close to you." He admitted sincerely.

Aiko nodded once more, "I know. From Yuta-oppa paired with Taeyong-oppa's stories, I've never assumed you were a bad person. I guess it was my fault also for not consulting with you directly." She showed a sheepish smile, awkwardly scratching her nape.

"Ah, no. It wasn't your fault at all. Yah, Aiko, I'm really sorry. I just look up to you so much, especially when you came out at Unpretty Rapstar so I found you intimidating."

His confession, this time, made Aiko shocked, "You watched the program?"

Doyoung bobbed his head, a little bit enthusiastically, "Eung, I even voted for you. I really think you're rapping is truly awesome."

"Wah. Thank you," She expressed, wholeheartedly grateful that someone, that she wasn't even close with, supported her at that mentally taxing time.

There was then silence, but both knew (and even the MCs knew), that it wasn't an unbearable one this time, but a rather serene silence.

After a few more seconds, however, and Haechan destroyed it with one command, the MCs back to teasing the now-not-awkward-duo with tasks they would never do on their own.

"Aiko say aing." He spoke without much thought, not expecting anything as he knew how the member hated aegyo.

"Aing." Everyone was stilled. Doyoung was wide-eyed, Mark was stifling a laugh, and Haechan's cheeks were red.

Not believing his eyes, Haechan tried to make the girl do it again,

"One more time, tilt your head and blink once."

Aiko, being in the mood, followed his instructions with relative ease (turns out when she's happy, she's willing to do anything.)

"Ainggggg."

Haechan dropped his device, as Mark was already doubling over in laughter.

"That's done." Haechan raised his hands above his head as if he was giving up.

"Doyoung thinks you're adorable now." Aiko's earpiece managed to pick up from Mark's talkie.

Confirming what her members thought, she looked over to the man in front of her; his face visibly red with an adoring gummy grin on his face.

Seeing his expression, Haechan grabbed his talkie back, a proud tone on his voice as he uttered,

"That's it, welcome to the I LOVE AIKO club, hyung."

[grandhotelabyss]

—Erik Hoel, “AI-art Isn’t Art”

AI-art confronts us with a truth we might prefer to deny: human-made commercial art has long been “inhuman,” because it was tailored by and for the ever-more-specified demands of the market. The artist was just a set of hands operated from on high by what was almost already an algorithm of the if-you-liked-this-then-you’ll-like-more-of-the-same variety. I think of one of the pulp writers who would bang out a novel a week by consulting the plot chart tacked above his typewriter, itself presumably based on what had already worked; for an updated reference, think Save the Cat! And a lot of the pleasure serious audiences—fellow artists, critics—have always taken in mass art comes from detecting signs of the artist’s irrepressible spirit in the otherwise automated production, i.e., the human touch, what the famous auteur theory was developed to describe in the case of commercial cinema. 

But then look at modern high art, its more and more desperate, strenuous, and indeed absurdist evasion of the “word coined by commerce”: eliminate depth, eliminate sense, eliminate human interest, eliminate humans, or so says the avant-garde, and then implement one or another formal protocol—Impressionist, Cubist, Fauvist, Imagist, Suprematist, Abstract Expressionist, Serialist, et al.—to make art in the absence of either organic mimesis or organic self-expression, lest you be suspected of a commercial appeal. So the work the avant-garde produced was inhuman too, less human than some of the mass culture they fled so fearfully. 

Not to mention academia: whether formalist or historicist, whether regarding the text as an impersonal freestanding structure whose origin is of no concern or as an impersonal social site where ideologemes converge, the scholars professionalized their disciplines by refusing to consider the objects of their study—works of art—as anything so unscientific as the products of individual consciousness.

Two of Hoel’s sources, Benjamin and Tolstoy, are unreliable witnesses for the humanistic defense of art; their own theories lead to art’s automation. The Marxist Benjamin was not lamenting the loss of aura; he was hopeful about the democratization and politicization of art it portended. Similarly, Tolstoy is a forerunner of socialist realism when he claims, in lines Hoel quotes, that the artist “should stand on the level of the highest life-conception of his time,” i.e., should transmit the wisdom of the collective, not the individual consciousness, wisdom that might as well be automated and programmed. Only John Berger among Hoel’s authorities makes the strict case that art, to be art, must be the product of the individual, though here his modernist sentimentality is somewhat at odds with his Marxism (and so much the worse for his Marxism). 

And I’m not assigning blame for all of the above, for the modern inhumanism: art really is the place where the human touches the inhuman, where individual consciousness must mix itself with recalcitrant matter and with the calcified social to produce new configurations and totalities. To value this transaction most for what it tells us about individual consciousness is a choice, one I agree with Hoel that we ought to be making, and ought to have made sooner, but one that can’t be reclassified as other than a choice by playing with the definition of art. I would go further and say that in the age of AI we will simply have to know whether a given work of art is or is not human-made, how and to what extent, and to decide to value it more if it is. 

We should return to the possibility of being moved by inhuman art when we know it was made by human minds and human hands, even if the artists toiled in a commercial cage or reacted so violently against this imprisonment that they caged themselves some other way. This cage or that, we’re capable of being moved all the same before a Jackson Pollock or a Jack Kirby, before a Samuel Beckett or a Lana del Rey. But that’s because we know someone’s in there, in the one cage or the other, a live soul beating wings against the bars. 

If we don’t know, will we respond the same way? And can we tell just from the surface of the work? Just by looking? If you’d never read Tender Buttons before and I showed it to you and said an AI wrote it, wouldn’t you believe me? And yet when you know an AI didn’t write it, when you find out what a fascinating character composed those lines, aren’t you—not me, I never finished that book, but you—capable of being moved? So knowledge matters first: a human being made this. After that, belief: a human being isn’t just any kind of being. The soul is never a question of evidence but always a leap of faith.

[daimonclub]

Christmas thoughts

The universal joy of Christmas is everywhere Christmas Thoughts, reflections, ideas, various opinions and some quotes on Christmas by the World of English and good will English-culture blog I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round, as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys.  Charles Dickens Instead of being a time of unusual behavior, Christmas is perhaps the only time in the year when people can obey their natural impulses and express their true sentiments without feeling self-conscious and, perhaps, foolish.  Christmas, in short, is about the only chance a man has to be himself.  Francis C. Farley A man is at his finest towards the finish of the year; He is almost what he should be when the Christmas season's here; Then he's thinking more of others than he's thought the months before, And the laughter of his children is a joy worth toiling for. He is less a selfish creature than at any other time; When the Christmas spirit rules him he comes close to the sublime... Edgar Guest Let Christmas not become a thing Merely of merchant's trafficking, Of tinsel, bell and holly wreath And surface pleasure, but beneath The childish glamour, let us find Nourishment for soul and mind. Let us follow kinder ways Through our teeming human maze, And help the age of peace to come From a Dreamer's martyrdom. Madeline Morse I hear that in many places something has happened to Christmas; that it is changing from a time of merriment and carefree gaiety to a holiday which is filled with tedium; that many people dread the day and the obligation to give Christmas presents is a nightmare to weary, bored souls; that the children of enlightened parents no longer believe in Santa Claus; that all in all, the effort to be happy and have pleasure makes many honest hearts grow dark with despair instead of beaming with good will and cheerfulness.  Julia Peterkin If a man called Christmas Day a mere hypocritical excuse for drunkeness and gluttony, that would be false, but it would have a fact hidden in it somewhere. But when Bernard Shaw says that Christmas Day is only a conspiracy kept up by Poulterers and wine merchants from strictly business motives, then he says something which is not so much false as startling and arrestingly foolish. He might as well say that the two sexes were invented by jewellers who wanted to sell wedding rings. G.K. Chesterton The great majority of people will go on observing forms that cannot be explained; they will keep Christmas Day with Christmas gifts and Christmas benedictions; they will continue to do it; and some day suddenly wake up and discover why. G.K. Chesterton

A Christmas candle is a lovely thing We hear the beating of wings over Bethlehem and a light that is not of the sun or of the stars shines in the midnight sky.  Let the beauty of the story take away all narrowness, all thought of formal creeds.  Let it be remembered as a story that has happened again and again, to men of many different races, that has been expressed through many religions, that has been called by many different names.  Time and space and language lay no limitations upon human brotherhood. New York Times, 25 December 1937 Scrooge went to the church, and walked about the streets, and watched the people hurrying to and for, and patted the children on the head, and questioned beggars, and looked down into the kitchens of homes, and up to the windows, and found that everything could yield him pleasure. Charles Dickens I sometimes think we expect too much of Christmas Day. As for me, I like to take my Christmas a little at a time, all through the year. And thus I drift along into the holidays - let them overtake me unexpectedly - waking up some fine morning and suddenly saying to myself: “Why, this is Christmas Day!” David Grayson The universal joy of Christmas is certainly wonderful. We ring the bells when princes are born, or toll a mournful dirge when great men pass away. Nations have their red-letter days, their carnivals and festivals, but once in the year and only once, the whole world stands still to celebrate the advent of a life. Only Jesus of Nazareth claims this world-wide, undying remembrance. You cannot cut Christmas out of the Calendar, nor out of the heart of the world. Anonymous We see Jesus in the manger. We adore Him; we worship Him; we glorify Him. We stand oppressed before such love--a love stronger than death--a love so strong that it did die that we might live. We thank Thee for the sweetness of human love, but how could we ever have dared to think that such love was in the heart of God for us! We look on nature and see Thy beauty and Thy majesty, but we are afraid, for we have sinned. And then we learn that Thou has sent Thy Son, to be bone of our bone, flesh of our flesh; and before such inconceivable love we can only worship and adore. We are so weary of our failures and our slow growth toward Thee. Cleanse us deeply from sin, strengthen our moral purposes. Maltbie Davenport Babcock We therefore welcome our Christmas in December. The "worship of Christ" could not have a better setting than amid the domestic festivities, social forces, and generous and man helping deeds of our merry Christmas-tide. In no more fitting way can we say farewell to the closing year, and All hail! to the new. "Christ is born." We therefore must put off the old man - his moroseness and selfishness, his sadness and despair, his peevishness and fretfulness, his feebleness and decay - and put on the new man, which, after Christ, is created in true joy, large faith, energetic service, lowly duty, devout obedience, and death-daring self-sacrifice. John Clifford If we were to fancy a wholly Christianized world, it would be a world inspired by the spirit of Christmas - a bright, friendly, beneficent, generous, sympathetic, mutually helpful world. A man who is habitually mean, selfish, narrow, is a man without Christmas in his soul. Let us cling to Christmas all the more as a day of the spirit which in every age some souls have believed to be the possible spirit of human society. The earnest faith and untiring endeavor which see in Christmas a forecast are more truly Christian, surely, than the pleasant cynicism of Atheists, etc., which smiles upon it as the festival of a futile hope. Meanwhile we may reflect that from good natured hopelessness to a Christmas world may not be farther than from star dust to a solar system. George William Curtis The lovely legends of the day; the stories and the songs and the half-fairy lore that gather around it; the ancient traditions of dusky woods and mystic rites; the magnificence or simplicity of Christian observance, from the pope in his triple tiara, borne upon his portative throne in gorgeous state to celebrate pontifical high mass at the great altar of St. Peter's, to George Herbert humbly kneeling in his rustic church at Bemerton, or to the bare service in some missionary chapel upon the American frontier; the lighting of Christmas trees and hanging up of Christmas stockings, the profuse giving, the happy family meetings, the dinner, the game, the dance they are all the natural signs and symbols, the flower and fruit, of Christmas. For Christmas is the day of days which declares the universal human consciousness that peace on earth comes only from good will to men. George William Curtis The "first Christmas" was a simple time of beauty and wonder. The birth of Christ was less about celebration than it was about family. Though many today may grow tired of the commercialization of Christmas, in reality it has opened the door for Christ to once again become the focal point of the season, and for family, especially children, to be at the heart of the celebration. Ace Collins Christmas is ... a time to mark our progress through this earthly journey. Every December we can look back and marvel at the designs of God and realize how very little we are in control of the events that shaped the past year. Then, with hearts full, look to the celebration of that silent, holy night, and all its certainty. Because of Christmas, this we know: Christ was born for us. He is love, and the plans he has for us always surpass those of our own. Karen Kingsbury I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round - apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that - as a good time: a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on their journeys. Charles Dickens More and more people each year are going abroad for Christmas... Fed up with the fact that commercial Christmas starts in October. Fed up with carols. Dreading the arrival of Christmas cards from people they have forgotten to send a card to. Unable to bear yet another family get-together with Auntie Mary puking up in the corner after sampling too much of the punch. You see in the airports the triumphant glitter in the eyes of people who are leaving it all behind, including the hundredth rerun of Miracle on 34th Street. M.C. Beaton Christmas has been a season of mixed interests and meanings, but the very foundation, of course, is its religious significance. No matter what other personal desires or crises we have faced, I've never forgotten that this is the time to celebrate the birth of the Baby Jesus, and the impact of this event on the history of the world. Jimmy Carter On Christmas Eve, down there in Texas, we always went to the church first for the lovely service, and then to the town square with its breath-taking, brilliantly lighted Christmas tree, where there were little gifts for the children. And when we woke up in the morning, there was another Christmas tree which had appeared "miraculously" as we slept; the whole family gathered around it, and again we sensed the spirit of love running through the circle. There were gifts for everyone - but not too much! How grateful I am for that now! The real gift was the love we had for one another and the sheer joy of just being together. Dale Evans The herald angels are singing still, and we hear their "Peace on earth, good will to men," once more, as we have often done. What can we do but answer back in glad strains: "Unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder; and His name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace"? It is His presence that fills our homes with mirth and song. If he will come again, turning life's water into wine, touching our sick that they may be healed, cleansing, pardoning, blessing us all- as He will if we make room for Him - then, indeed, we must be glad. Christian at Work Shorn, however, as it is, of its ancient and festive honours, Christmas is still a period of delightful excitement in England. It is gratifying to see that home-feeling completely aroused which seems to hold so powerful a place in every English bosom. The preparations making on every side for the social board that is again to unite friends and kindred; the presents of good cheer passing and repassing, those tokens of regard, and quickeners of kind feelings; the evergreens distributed about houses and churches, emblems of peace and gladness; all these have the most pleasing effect in producing fond associations, and kindling benevolent sympathies. Washington Irving

Marry Christmas with our thoughts And when we give each other Christmas gifts in His name, let us remember that He has given us the sun and the moon and the stars, and the earth with its forests and mountains and oceans - and all that lives and move upon them. He has given us all green things and everything that blossoms and bears fruit and all that we quarrel about and all that we have misused - and to save us from our foolishness, from all our sins, He came down to earth and gave us Himself. Sigrid Undset I am sorry to have to introduce the subject of Christmas into these articles. It is an indecent subject; a cruel, gluttonous subject; a drunken, disorderly subject; a wasteful, disastrous, subject; a wicked, cadging, lying, filthy, blashphemous, and demoralizing subject. Christmas is forced on a reluctant and disgusted nation by the shopkeepers and the press: on its own merits it would wither and shrivel in the fiery breath of universal hatred; and any one who looked back to it would be turned into a pillar of greasy sausages. George Bernard Shaw After dinner, eaten, let it be confessed, with more haste and less accompaniment of talk than usual, the parlour doors were opened, and there stood the Christmas tree in a glow of light, its wonderful branches laden with all manner of strange fruits not to be found in the botanies. The wild shouts, the merry laughter, the cries of delight as one coveted fruit after another dropped into long-expectant arms still linger in my ears now that the little tapers are burnt out, the boughs left bare, and the actors in the perennial drama are fast asleep, with new and strange bedfellows selected from the spoils of the night. Cradled between a delightful memory and a blissful anticipation, who does not envy them? Hamilton Wright Mabie There is something about Christmas that requires a rug rat. Little kids make Christmas fun. I wonder if could rent one for the holidays. When I was tiny we would buy a real tree and stay up late drinking hot chocolate and finding just the right place for the special decorations. It seems like my parents gave up the magic when I figured out the Santa lie. Maybe I shouldn't have told them I knew where the presents really came from. It broke their hearts. Laurie Halse Anderson There is a time and a season for all things, as we are told, and the time and the season to decorate our firesides and homes is at Yuletide, when with holly branch and mistletoe we make our Christmas green; with flowers we make it bright and fragrant; with presents we make it bountiful, and with the spirit of peace on earth, goodwill toward men, we make life worth living. Lee James Christmas Gift Suggestions: To your enemy, forgiveness. To an opponent, tolerance. To a friend, your heart. To a customer, service. To all, charity. To every child, a good example. To yourself, respect. Oren Arnold https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YpjlBzvesOk Read also: Christmas quotes ; 60 great Christmas quotes ; Christmas tree origin and quotes ; Christmas markets in England ; Christmas markets in America ; Christmas markets in Italy and Germany ; Christmas short stories ; Traditional Christmas Carols ; Ella Gray A Christmas story ; Christmas jokes ; Christmas cracker jokes ; Christmas food ; Christmas thoughts ; Christmas story ; Christmas in Italy ; Christmas holidays ; Christmas songs ; Christmas poems ; An Essasy on Christmas by Chesterton ; Read the full article

[roanniom]

Hey Issa, my sweet honey bun! I don’t send many requests to people, so bear with me. I’ll forever wait for the day you write Kylo, but until then I’ll throw this one at you for Charlie. I had a wander through the prompt list, and I kinda liked “I’ll feel better if you let me walk you home.” with Charlie being all protective of reader, unsure if she reciprocates his feelings. And because I’m a garbage can of filth, I also loved “I’m not made of glass. You won’t break me.” if you wanted to move into smut. I hope this gets the creative juices flowing? Take your time, no pressure ever! 💕💕💕

@paper-n-ashes as you know I have been holding onto this and chipping away at it steadily for FOREVER so I can get it just right for you, so I hope you enjoy it, my love <3

Push

Charlie Barber x Reader

Word Count: 6,862

Warnings: NSFW, fingering, PIV sex / unprotected sex, light light light choking (not even really), mention of infidelity (just canon from Marriage Story plot), a lil post-divorce angst/lack of confidence

The above photo is Charlie Barber, 1-year post divorce. He’s been working out as a form of anger management and because Henry, over many late night phone conversations, has shared his new love of hiking, a pastime he’s picked up since living in LA. Charlie plans to take Henry hiking on the Appalachian trail next summer break and wants to be on tip top shape to keep up with his enthusiastic son.

He’s been to therapy. Learning more about what went wrong in his marriage, but more specifically learning about how he can become a better person in the aftermath. How infidelity and self-interest were born of a deep-seated need for a love that he was not receiving. A love that was no closer to him prior to his indiscretions but all the same rendered unreachable as a result. He’s given himself time to grieve the man he’d thought himself to be. Because that is what had died with his marriage - not Charlie Barber himself. But the Charlie Barber he’d built in his mind. A man limited by support that came with conditions, love that came with caveats. That Charlie was a father and a husband. He was often suppressed, wound tight, on edge.

This Charlie is a father and a man. He is free to celebrate his own success without fear of wounding nearby egos. He’s limited only by what he feels he deserves. And granted sometimes those self-imposed limitations can really hold him down, as they did when he vowed not to jump into any further entanglements - affairs or otherwise - in the time immediately following his divorce. But that limitation was ultimately beneficial. It gave him space to be alone - with himself, for himself. He was able to finally see his own flaws with his own eyes instead of having them recited back to him by another, as if through a crude, second hand reflection. And in seeing these flaws, he also saw the virtues. Charlie was actually starting to like himself again.

And this is when he meets you.

You storm into his life with an energy he doesn’t recognize, introduced at a party by a friend of a friend, filling his senses with your too-loud-laughter and too-bright-eyes. In many ways that’s how he sees you: too much. Your enthusiasm makes you appear too young, though in truth you’re not that much younger than him. Your smile makes you appear too beautiful, though in truth there are often much more conventionally attractive women in the room at any given time.

“Charlie. Charlie Barber,” Charlie mutters as he shakes your hand. Its warm in his larger one and he’s suddenly a little self-conscious of the fact that he’d been holding his sweating scotch on the rocks just moments before the contact.

“Hello Charlie-Charlie Barber,” you reply with a massive grin, shaking his hand back vigorously and with seemingly no reaction to its clamminess. “The famous director, I assume?”

Charlie clocks the quirk of your eyebrow. A tease. A social cue he’s not used to. Not these days. He looks down at his worn tennis shoes, all too aware all at once of the way they dress down his sweater and jeans. He feels rumpled next to you and he’s not sure he likes it. You’re too put together.

You’re too honest, too fearless, too open to new things. Though Charlie’s beginning to grow, your presence reminds him of how stunted he’d been in his marriage. How the same old restaurants, the same old clothes, the same old glass of the same old scotch had become items of comfort for him, talismans of a previous life that he clung to for some semblance of familiarity. Around you, however, those same old things looks dull and uninspired. Quite the opposite of you.

You are the one to ask him out, though he’s not even really aware that it’s a date at all when he arrives. That’s how much he doesn’t see you coming. His affair had been one of convenience. An opportunity to blow off excess steam, and a pretty disappointing one at that, with neither party really find what they were chasing. His marriage had grown cold long before it had ended. All of this to say that Charlie wasn’t very familiar with warmth. With interest that occurred in the light of day, and attention that was given without anything sought in return.

You’re halfway through lunch before you realize that he doesn’t understand your intentions. So you explain them to him. Clear and empty of any pretense. You are attracted to him and interested in getting to know him further. It’s simple, really. He’s shocked by your openness and the absence of any games. In another life he’d once assumed that a relationship without strife, without agony, without strategic tug of war would be one without passion. However, as he soon learns while taking you out on the second date, that he couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

Over dinner this time he finds himself getting lost in your micro-expressions. Finds his eyes lingering on the animated way you gesture, finds his words getting twisted in his tongue as your gaze weighs on him, expectant and waiting for a response to some question. His bodily responses to your attention are no less potent in the absence of angst. In fact, he is surprised to find that his yearning practically triples when you part ways and he realizes not once had he been made to feel like he had to prove something, or fight, or challenge.

He learns over time that you challenge him in other ways. Challenge him when it comes to picking restaurants outside his comfort zone. Challenge him by dragging him, mid-lunch date, on a shopping trip with you, a trip where you gently help him to finally replace the worn out tennis shoes to which he’d been clinging. Challenge him by laughing with him, not at him, even when the subject of the humor is himself. Your laughter is lighter, more carefree, than he is used to. Then again, he’s not used to being around someone like you.

He kisses you after the third date – the lunch-turned-shopping trip. It’s quick and it’s light, on the curb before an intersection on the East Side, right before you both are about to walk in separate directions. You say nothing when he pulls away. Just smile and turn on your heel, already headed to your next destination. It drives Charlie crazy over the next few days. Not because he assumes you have some hidden agenda. On the contrary, he’s horrified that your interior thoughts match your exterior actions. You have been nothing but honest with him. It is Charlie who has been oscillating wildly in his mind. Between thoughts of how much it might hurt if you turn out to be too good to be true and thoughts of how much he’d love to feel your body on his. To explore the mouth you use so effortlessly to tease him, to compliment him, to charm him. You speak kindness like pleasantries, as if affirmations and praise were as easy to dole out as a cheery “good morning” on a stress-free Saturday. Charlie wants to know what you’re like on a Saturday. Away from the bustle of the city. Away from the common friends and the crowded shops and restaurants that have buffered all of your encounters.

But Charlie’s still afraid.

On your fourth date Charlie is more reserved when you arrive at the restaurant. You break the ice by pointing out that the formality of your dates is beginning to feel silly.

“Maybe it’s the fact that the tables have tablecloths,” you joke, swirling your pasta around a fork. “Or maybe it’s the fact that I’ve never repeatedly had meals with someone I wasn’t already in a relationship with.”

Charlie prickles at the implication, taking a labored swallow of ice water. He doesn’t want to comment on the relationship part of your sentiment so he chooses something more neutral.

“Should I remind you that two of these meals have been at your suggestion and you did, in fact, also plan them as meals.” He relaxes a bit when you laugh heartily at that, relieved that the conversation doesn’t get any more dicey.

“Touché,” you reply. Then you lean forward and whisper conspiratorially at him across the small table. He feels himself lean in, curious but also looking for a chance to just get closer in proximity. He wishes he’d had the courage to sit next to you rather than across from you when he’d first sat down. “Feeling adventurous enough to let me pick where we go after this tonight?”

And Charlie feels adventurous. Adventurous as he lets you whisk him across town and to your favorite arcade bar. Adventurous as he passes you a large handful of quarters he got from the little machine at the front, only to grasp your fist in his when he miscalculates how much of his handful you’d be capable of taking, narrowly avoiding a massive spill of loose change on the floor. Adventurous as he orders a couple of beers and lets you show him your favorite game, Burger Time – a silly little maze game where you collect burger ingredients. Adventurous as he shows you his favorite game, which is pretty much any pinball machine known to man.

“Yours looks cooler than mine,” you huff, walking over to the pinball machine he’s playing once you abandon the one that was definitely broken. Or at least that’s how you justify so many consecutive, immediate losses. Charlie laughs and pulls back the plunger but doesn’t release, effectively pausing his game.

“You wanna try it?” Charlie ushers you in front of him and puts your hand on the plunger beneath his, careful not to release it in the process. “The key is anticipating where the ball will go. It’s all about patterns after a while.”

“Then why does it seem so random?” you ask, looking up at him over your shoulder.

“You just haven’t played enough yet. Over time you can predict what will happen if the ball hits a certain corner. Where it will go if it ricochets juuust right at the last second.”

“Sounds fake but I’ll let you prove it to me,” you say with a laugh, focusing your attention back on the machine.

“We’ll let go in one…two…three.” When you feel the pressure of his hand let up you let go as well, letting him guide both your hands immediately to the buttons on the side of the machine.

For as great as his theory of pinball predictability is, he probably underestimates your ability to suck. Because you do, hard. But you laugh the whole way through, and you never quit. Never turn to him in frustration asking to do something else or even to leave. Instead you keep feeding quarters into the machine and bringing your hands back under Charlie’s on the machine. And no matter how shitty you are, you always at least try to focus.

Charlie, meanwhile, is having a very hard time focusing on anything that isn’t your body. His hips bracket your ass in this helpful position he’s adopted, and he feels your pressure against his pelvis with every enthusiastic wriggle and little jump of frustration that you take in response to the game. When he makes the unfortunate mistake to look down over your shoulder at one point he’s met with a direct view of your cleavage, exposed as it is in your low-cut blouse. Charlie begins to sweat and it has nothing to do with how packed the arcade is or with the exertion of gaming. When he remembers that the arcade is also a bar, he excuses himself to get more beer, hoping that one will cool him off and cool him down.

You dazzle him with a smile thrown over your shoulder when he approaches with the two fresh bottles, and he’s not prepared for how the sight of your face almost knocks him back on his ass.

“Charlie! I did better this time!” He chuckles at your enthusiasm.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, handing you your beer which you sip gratefully.

“I lasted a few more minutes than last time,” you elaborate proudly. “So I’d say that means I now qualify as a pinball wizard.”

“Move over Elton John,” Charlie says with a smirk. You slap him in the shoulder and immediately engage him in a spirited discussion of whether the Elton John movie version of “Pinball Wizard” was better than The Who’s version from the original album. However, after a few minutes Charlie realizes he’s lost in thought. Lost in your voice. Lost in your expressions. Lost in you.

When it finally comes time to leave the arcade, the night drawing much later than it had on your previous nighttime date, Charlie’s scared he’ll be lost without you. The two of you walk together for a couple of blocks before you reach that similar intersection. The place where you part ways.

“I think we really turned around that formality thing, don’t you?” you ask him, turning to Charlie and leaning back against the column of a pedestrian sign. Charlie moves into your space, swallowing his hesitation.

“I don’t know, I began to feel a little unworthy when you ascended past the role of pinball wizard.”

“Oh did I get a promotion?” You ask, tipping your head back so you can look up at him as he steps closer.

“The word wizard conjures up images of wizened old man,” Charlie says dismissively, as if that clears up everything.

“So if you’re saying I don’t remind you of a wrinkled old Merlin – to which might I say, shocker – then what exactly is my new title.”

“One that fits you inside and out.” Charlie braces a hand against the column above your head, his other in his pocket. His head dips down so that it’s closer to your face despite your height difference. You feel warm despite the slight chill in the air.

“And that would be Pinball….?” you prompt.

“Goddess,” he completes the title before pressing his lips to yours. His hands remain on the column and in his pocket until you reach forward and grab a fistful of his sweater, pulling him to you. Then his hands are at your waist, pushing you back into the column. His tongue is in your mouth and your hands are in his hair and he can’t breathe. But he doesn’t want to. He wants to suffocate, wants to asphyxiate on you and the way he feels so tethered to this moment, this intersection, this place where you cannot part ways.

When you break apart to, in fact, breathe, your chest heaves and your smile is radiant.

“As far as kisses goodnight go, I’d say that was top tier,” you say on a laugh. Suddenly Charlie’s throat is constricting and he has to fight his facial muscles to keep from frowning as his hands tighten on your waist.

“That wasn’t a kiss goodnight. Not yet.”

“Any longer and it’ll be a kiss good morning, sir. Have you seen the time?” Your tone is joking. You call people ‘sir’ all the time. It’s a weird quirk of yours, like calling someone dude or pal. But Charlie can feel himself choking on the word, as well as the implications of a ‘kiss good morning.’ All of a sudden he feels like if he could have only one more thing before dying, that’s what he’d ask for. But then he kicks himself internally for being so fucking dramatic and he fiddles with the hem of your shirt.

“Exactly. It’s late.

You survey him from under your eyelashes with a small smile.

“I’ve made this walk many times.”

“It’s dark.”

“I’ve made this walk in the dark many times.”

“I’ll feel better if you let me walk you home.”

Charlie’s heart clenches. Before he can overthink, you’ve ducked out of his hold, grasped his hand and started pulling him down the street.

“C’mon Charlie, hurry up. You’d keep a goddess waiting?” you toss back at him over your shoulder. But in truth it was taking all of Charlie’s self control and the fact that he didn’t know the way to your place to keep him from throwing you over his shoulder and breaking into a full sprint.

~*~

Your place is exactly like you. Eclectic, warm, inviting. There is a moment, as you pull off your coat and turn away to place it and Charlie’s on a coat rack, when Charlie feels much too big for the space. Like he’s some kind of giant invading the home of a sweet little wood nymph. But then his little wood nymph is grabbing him by the front of the shirt and dragging him to a bedroom and the worries fade right out the window.  

At first Charlie is gentle with you. His hands ghost over your body as you kiss him beside your bed. When you push him to sit down on the edge of the mattress and step between his open legs to kiss him with a different height dynamic his heart just about jumps clear out of his chest. He hasn’t done this – hasn’t touched or been touched – in so long. The affair had been transactional, just the mechanical motions of sexual gratification. Sex with Nicole, before it stopped, had been even colder, almost as if she had been begrudgingly completing some unwelcome chore.

You, however, are like fire beneath Charlie’s fingers. Your skin, your lips – everything is so warm it feels like you’re too hot to touch. But Charlie would rather risk burning up than to not become accustomed to the feel, the shape, the substance of you. He smooths over your body with a reverential softness, his muscles tense with restraint so as to keep from accidentally pushing you too far too fast. To keep from handling the way that, deep down, he desperately needs.

When your lips suddenly leave his, his brow furrows in frustrations. Before he can open his eyes a soothing finger smooths the furrow away, sliding down the bridge of his nose to press against his kiss-swollen lips. Charlie opens his eyes with a question present in them and you cock your head to the side.

“You’re tense. Like you’re holding back.” The statement isn’t accusatory but it isn’t a question. Charlie takes a shaky breath, unsure about how much he should say. Would his desperation read as too dramatic? Too undesirable? Would his enthusiasm come across as pushy or dominating? His brow must furrow again because your hand moves back up, finger pressing out the wrinkles. He shrugs.

“It’s been…a while for me. I didn’t want to come across as too…much.”

You laugh then and yet again Charlie is struck by how strange it is that you can laugh in his face directly in response to something he’s said without making him feel like you are laughing at him.

“I’m not made of glass. You won’t break me, Charlie.”

“You’re sure about that?” Charlie huffs out with a little chuckle. You give him a smirk and say your next words up against his lips.

“Try me.”

You probably were expecting him to require more cajoling. You probably were expecting him to gradually ease into something more. But Charlie takes you by surprise, grabbing you and pulling you onto the bed with him, rolling so that you’re laid out beneath his body, all the while maintaining hungry possession of your mouth. His body finds its place between your legs and you gasp at the feeling of how huge he is. How hard and insistent against your softness. He drinks from you like a man whose thirst can not be quenched. His hands find purchase on your waist and he squeezes. So hard you’re sure you’ll bruise. You smile against his mouth with the realization that you look forward to watching them bloom later.

Since Charlie seems too preoccupied with groping and making out with you, it is you who eventually takes the next step, beginning to pop open the buttons on your blouse one by one. When Charlie feels the motion of your hands between your bodies he ultimately pulls back to investigate, mouth dropping open at the slow reveal of the lingerie you’re wearing beneath. His hand shoots out to caress the delicate lace of your bra, teasingly not applying any pressure to the breast beneath.

“Do you wear things like this often?” Charlie’s voice is already rough as he asks this. You shrug.

“Whenever I want to feel sexy.”

“You wanted to feel sexy while out with me?” Charlie asks, lifting an eyebrow.

“You made me feel sexier than the lace, Mr. Barber,” you say with a smile before leaning up to capture his lower lip between your teeth. He groans and moves to practically swallow you whole. You’re entirely foreign to him. Enthusiasm, amusement, and enjoyment bundled up into one devastatingly sexy package. There’s no shame in your movements, no angst in your eyes. Just humor. Only an unabashed pursuit of pleasure. And if it’s pleasure you want, it’s pleasure you’ll get.

Charlie now aids you in the process of removing the rest of your garments, so it goes much quicker. When you move to pull off your bra, however, he catches your wrist in his massive hand.

“No…can these stay on?” Your eyebrows shoot up but you notice the way that Charlie is gazing at you with eyes slightly hazy and tongue running over his lips.

“This doing it for you, Charlie?” you tease, shimmying a bit. Charlie’s answer is sincere regardless as he dips his head down to sample the plush skin at the line of your cleavage.

“You have no idea.”

“So you’re a lingerie man, huh?” When you ask he stops to think for a second because, truly, he had never considered himself that way before. He’d never had any reason to. Sure lingerie models in magazines were hot, but it’s not a specific fantasy he’d ever explored previously.

But the sight of you here, strategically covered in lace and laid out beneath him pretty as a picture has him so hard he feels like a teenager unable to control himself. So, as you had urged him, he doesn’t.

“I might be. But really, I’m just enamored by these tits.” His teeth sink into your flesh and you sigh, especially when his tongue comes out to lave warmly at the spot. He moves down your body then, peppering kisses to the exposed skin of your stomach, sliding until your inner thighs rest against the sides of his face and his hands dip below you to squeeze your ass. “Although I feel like this might end up being my favorite part.” He says this last part directly into your clothed cunt, his lips just barely ghosting over the fabric with his words.

You wiggle a bit in his grasp, loving the answering way his fingers dig into your soft flesh. Your fingers card into his lush hair, tugging lightly at the roots, a feeling that shoots through his body and straight to his rock hard member. The way he discretely ruts against the mattress in response does not go unnoticed by you, so you drop a hand under his chin to tip his face back up to look at you.

“Will you fuck me, Charlie?” Your voice is clear and bright. Not playing coy and requiring any convincing. Just asking for something you want. And the hunger in your eyes seems unmistakable, though it still feels to good to be true. Charlie drops his gaze back down to the wet spot forming in your panties before looking back up and practically pouting.

“I’d like to taste you,” he counters. A brilliant smile breaks out across your face at the sound of that but you shake your head.

“There’ll be time for that later,” you argue, tugging on his shoulder to get him back on top of you. “If you don’t get inside me right now I’ll die.”

Charlie almost misses that last part because he’s still stuck on the first part. There’ll be time for that later. The possibility of later squeezes at Charlie’s hard and it’s only after a few echoing seconds that he’s able to process the rest of your statement with a delayed, choking laugh.

“Is someone getting dramatic on me?”

“Not yet, but I will if - ”

“If I don’t get inside you?” Charlie completes the statement in the exact moment a hand drops between your thighs and presses against the soaked fabric covering your slit. You inhale sharply.

“Exactly.”

“I didn’t take you for someone who was pushy in bed,” Charlie says good naturedly, swiping his fingers up the line of you to end with a swirl over where he assumed – correctly – your clit was. You tilt your pelvis to maximize his pressure before surging up to kiss him long and hard.

“I’m actually not. Not really,” you say breathlessly when you finally pull away and drop back down onto the pillows. You stretch luxuriously, almost like a kitten in the sun under his piercing gaze, the movement of your hips bumping his hand to rub you even better. Running your hands up and down the big, strong arms that cage you in and support him, you kiss his shoulder. “I’ve been hoping you would be.”

Suddenly your wrists are being pinned down above your head by one of Charlie’s hands. He’s got your legs open wide with his body sinking against you, hard and heavy.

“Pushy? You want me to be pushy?”

You grin big and wide at him.

“Yeah. Take charge like I know you want – oh!” You’re cut off by the welcome sensation of stimulation as Charlie’s hand drops inside your panties to slide around in your waiting slick. Without the barrier of the fabric between you, the feeling of your velvety slipperiness is enough to make him loose a growl.

He’s not hesitating and he’s not teasing anymore. Charlie has been waiting for this moment. He’s been waiting to care. Been waiting to feel. And what’s heightening the experience even more is the look on your face, the way your lips are parted and the way you gaze up at him longingly, expectantly. Providing all the evidence he needs to prove that you want this too. He wants you and you want him – what a novel idea. There are no angles or obligations, but also no shame or secrecy.

“Well if you wanted me to take charge you should have said so earlier,” he says, the corner of his lip quirking a bit as he dips two fingers inside your soaking cunt, not bothering to start with one. You gasp at the sudden intrusion. The stretch is a lot, but it is everything. Charlie sees the enjoyment register on your face, discomfort melting away almost immediately, and he begins to pull them slowly in and out to massage your walls.

“Maybe – ahh – maybe I should have,” you reply.

“Should I have caused a scene in the arcade?”

“Yes – fuck!” During an inward thrust Charlie curls his fingers up this time, rubbing against that spot in your upper wall that previous guys barely even knew was there. Before you know it he’s adding a third finger and you’re beside yourself. Charlie is elated to see how easily your body responds to his ministrations, how free you are with your reactions. He leans to down to suck a mark over your collar bone while his thumb meets your clit in tandem with his other thrusting fingers.

“You knew what you were doing when you kept rubbing that pretty little ass back into me while I taught you pinball.” His words rumbling against the skin of your throat.

“You made it so easy.”

“And you made it so hard,” Charlie counters, humor very present in his voice. You gasp out a laugh and try to tug your wrists from his grasp, but he doesn’t let you. Just keeps you pinned down as he continues to finger fuck you nice and slow.

“So impatient. I should have known. You’ve been impatient all night, haven’t you?” You whine out affirmations and screw your eyes shut as the pressure starts to build to a crescendo. Charlie picks up speed, his voice growing deeper as he continues. “Wanted me to fuck you on the pinball machine in front of everyone, didn’t you?”

You gasp and toss your head back against the pillows at that, hips bucking involuntarily. Charlie’s nose glides along the perimeter of your jaw, breathing in the scent of you as you fall apart. He’s never felt so powerful as he does with the feeling of your muscles tensing up under his fingertips. Never had the inspiration or audience for such language, but as you shiver and respond to his words, a surge of pride fills him and all he wants to do is dangle you over the edge over and over again.

“Charlie…” His name is a whimper when it falls from your lips. You’re so close. He feels it. So he pushes his fingers deep inside you, curling up with the motion, just as he sweeps one, two, three final circles into the throbbing bud of your clit.

You crest and you break against the tide of your orgasm, plummeting down from such heights you didn’t know you could reach from simple fingering. But there’s nothing simple about Charlie, the man who had been broken and put back together, only to find you, the universe’s overly generous reward for his perseverance.

Charlie’s slightly (unfocused) eyes focus on your heaving chest as you finally descend from the orgasm, but you’re the one to break the spell. Impatient is the perfect way to describe you as you wrap your legs around his middle and hook your ankles to trap him against you. You lunge up to arrest his mouth in a kiss. It’s sloppy, but just enough to distract him so that you can pull your wrists from his grasp. Once free you push him gently to the side so that you’re both rolling over, mouths still attached. He comes to rest on his back with you straddling him.

Charlie blinks up at you, taking in the way your breasts bounce in their bra cups as you busy yourself with the task of removing his clothes. He hadn’t even realized he was still in them until you began unbuttoning and pulling and pushing. Your impatience is clear once again in the way you divest him of the frustratingly excessive material and he finally gets the memo that he should help you.

With his pants and underwear pulled off and discarded, as well as the button up shirt that you had come to love as his signature look, you rest your palms flat on the plane of his chest. You’re still in your lingerie, as he had requested, only it is now beautiful askew. Your breasts now strain out of the cups, having been jostled into almost spilling out with your change of position. Your panties are sopping wet and stretched from his vigorous fingering and the evidence of your orgasm.

You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

But you become even more beautiful when you wrap your hand around his aching cock, lifting up on your knees as you do so. Your fists slides up and down, up and down and he watches it, mesmerized, until you lean forward to catch his eye.

“What should I do, Charlie?”

Your face is soft and open. You’re asking for him to continue taking the lead. And Charlie realizes right then and there that he will never want to disappoint you. Snapping out his daze he lets his fingers dig into your flesh where his hands curl around your hips.

“Sit down on my cock, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

The term of endearment is so sugary. He’s called his son that, but never a lover, casual or otherwise, and never during the first time. Your face, however, lights up and you do as you’re told, sinking down onto his long, hard length. The impact draws a moan from both of your throats followed by gasped phrases spoken over one another.

“You’re so big!”

“You’re so tight!”

You both laugh at the overlap but laughter turns to groans as you roll your hips experimentally. After a few moments of this, it appears that Charlie becomes the impatient one finally.

“Ride me,” he spits through gritted teeth. Your nails imprint half moons in his skin as you clench at his tone, not quite hearing the words. Charlie sucks air through his teeth at the squeeze.

“What?”

“Ride me. I need you to fucking ride me.” You can tell that he’s trying to remain cool and collected, but his brow is furrowed and his bottom lip is caught between his teeth.

So you do as he says. You lift up and drop down, feeling the length of his cock slide through your sheath with a speed that you set, establishing a rhythm that has your toes curling. You let out a particularly shameless moan and Charlie opens his eyes. They widen immediately upon seeing that you’re clutching and squeezing at your own breast with one hand while grabbing onto his hip to stabilize you with the other. The sight alone of your face, screwed up in pleasure, flips a switch in Charlie and suddenly he is thrusting up into you without mercy.

“Charlie!” you cry out, both from surprise at the increased jostling and from how tremendously good it feels.

“I should have fucked you in the arcade. I would have if I had known how good you feel.”

“I – oh fuckfuck – knew,” you barely get out. Charlie hoists you back so that he’s sitting up with his back against the headrest now. The position gives him more leverage and power so he can lift you up and down his cock, bouncing you now with a rhythm that vibrates through your entire being.

“What was that, sweetheart?” Charlie asks, engulfing one of your breasts in his huge hand. The added sensation is perfect, but not quite enough. You wonder if you can coax more.

“I knew you would feel good.” You reach down to the base of his cock, encircling it as much as possible with it’s girth, and fisting upward just as he pulls you up, therefore maximizing the squeeze on his length. Charlie inhales abruptly and drops you back down.

“Little Miss Know-it-all, are you?” His voice is harsh and it sends a thrill throughout your body. Before you can respond, you’re pushed and yanked around, losing your grip with the motion.

“What - ?” Charlie’s hand on your throat quiets you. Not because he’s truly squeezing, but because the solid warmth of his hand causes you to squeak your way to silence. His adjustments now find you pulled up to the edge of the bed, legs spread and pushed back, with Charlie standing between them. Bent over, he grounds himself with one hand on your throat and one on your hip, positioning his tip back at the entrance to your weeping cunt. You expect him to slam his hips forward, to impale you with his cock, but he pauses with the swollen head just inside your folds.

“This okay?”

This power and control, the way he is manipulating your body for your pleasure and his own – he loves it. It’s so new and yet something he now wonders how he ever did without. But he also feels the need to check in and make sure that you’re still with him. The nod you give, the sparkle in your eye, and the quirk of your lips is all it takes to convince him and then he is plowing forward, slamming himself back in again and again. You let out a full throated moan and Charlie revels in the way your eyes roll all the way back.

He wonders what else will make you do that. What else will make your eyes roll back and your toes curl and your teeth sink into your bottom lip? He wonders, as his hand presses softly into the contours of your throat, what it would feel like to squeeze a little harder, and if the pressure would make you even more desperate for him. He wonders if you like a little pain with your pleasure, as he has long suspected he might enjoy, though has never truly had the chance to confirm.

But there will be time for that.

So now, he does his best to focus in on the sounds you release. Sounds of delight and surprise and sensual thrill. He coaxes you to your second climax and you don’t fight it. You don’t demure or wait for him or hesitate. Instead you unapologetically allow yourself to get lost in the pleasure he’s built for you, seizing and quaking beneath him without shame.

The sight and feeling are so beautiful he can’t help but follow soon after, pulling out and allowing releasing all over the bra and panties you had so generously left on for him. The sight of his seed landing on the delicate lace, as you lay beneath him fucked out and smiling, causes another tremor to rock through him, and he finds that he’s still cumming long after he usually would have finished.

Charlie finds himself in a daze in the immediate aftermath of his release. He looks around for something to clean you with, and when you notice you point out a box of tissues on the desk. After he’s done his best to wipe you up, you give him a kiss on the cheek. The mundane intimacy of the act makes him blush all the way to the hidden tips of his ears. It is absurd because you had just had sex, however the press of your lips to his skin seemed to seal the deal. This was not transactional. It was something more, Charlie can’t help but think to himself as you get up from the bed and skip to the bathroom.

In your absence Charlie again registers the smallness of your room. How large – out of place, maybe – he is amongst your delicate things. He pulls on his underwear and sits back down on the mattress, unsure.

Unsure about your expectations. Unsure about whether or not you’d want him to leave. Or stay.

Before he can make a decision in either direction you are bounding back into the room, a smile on your face. Your face is freshly washed and you’re in a faded, oversized tank top, having divested yourself of your abused lingerie. Charlie swallows at the sight of your breasts, free and outlined beneath the soft fabric. He adjusts his hands in his lap. No need to let you see him getting worked up again so soon like some horny teenager. You don’t seem to notice, instead slipping easily into bed beside him, shimmying under the covers and patting the space beside you so that he does the same.

So stay he will.

Once you’re both comfortable and situated, you slide into his arms, drawing them around your body without a question or seemingly a second though. Much like the way you’d slid into his life, Charlie thinks ruefully, nuzzling his face into the top of your head as you tuck in beneath his chin.

“Charlie?”

“Hm?”

“I know you always go to that diner on 15th for breakfast,” you begin, and Charlie’s heart spasms. Both at the thought of breakfast with you and the fact that you so casually know details about him. About his likes and his habits. He pulls you in a little tighter and nods his head.

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind if I show you a new place in the morning? I think you’ll really like it.”

And Charlie laughs. Because of course you’d want to push him out of his comfort zone. It’s what you do – push him to try new things. Push him to do things he wouldn’t usually consider. Push him to be the man he’d been working so hard for the past year to be.

“Yes, but I’m not changing the way I order my eggs,” he grumbles with humor, kissing the crown of your head. “Not yet.”

~*~

The next morning you order first, and you’ve never had breakfast with Charlie before, so when he asks for the same dish, you can’t possibly know that this is his first time ordering eggs Florentine.

As you both laugh and eat and sip coffee in the outdoor seating area of the quaint café you’d picked, fingers intertwined between you on the wrought iron table, you also can’t know that this is the happiest Charlie has felt in ages.

But he makes it his mission, right there and then, to do everything in his power to make you feel the same.

~*~

Tagging some lovely friends (please let me know if you would like to be tagged or untagged in the future!): @celestiasin @tlcwrites @noocturnalchild @thedivinemissn @insufferablelust @edencherries @historyandfandoms50 @lostinthedrive @thewilddingleberries @mariesackler @safarigirlsp @direnightshade @sacklerscumrag @clydesfavoritegirl @wayward-rose @hopeamarsu @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @finn-ray-nal-beads @fizzywoohoo @maybe-your-left @aliveandlonely @han-not-solo @mrs-zimmerman @maryforyou @jynzandtonic @renmaulxo @millenialcatlady @soggywhore @transparentmeoo @leia-suns @alpha-lobito

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

Dear Nonnie,

thank you for your questions in regards to Thalia. I always love answering about my RE brainchild, and I need to show her more love. Thank you for allowing me to do this.

Also, something went wrong with tumblr, so I have to answer like this. I hope it’s fine.

without further ado, here you have the answers.

🌙What’s their sleep schedule like?

Sleep schedule?? What is a sleep schedule?? Joking aside, Thalia doesn’t have any problem sleeping, and her sleep schedule - when she is not super busy - is always the same: in bed around 10, waking up at 4, training with Chris, if he is up for any particular reasons, and then working. Because of the amount of mental energy she uses for her job, Thalia is able to fall asleep anywhere. So sometimes, when she has to pull an all-nighter, she is able to fall asleep for 10 minutes in her office and actually find a bit of respite from fatigue and tiredness. The number of times Chris had to pick her up from the couch and bring her to their bed is COUNTLESS.

🗣️How do they handle public speaking?

Like-a-freaking-champ. Thalia is confident, charismatic, and has titanium balls. She is literally unfazed by others. Plus, her job requires her to participate in countless meetings every day, so she cannot virtually be afraid of public speaking. And she isn’t. She is really comfortable speaking in front of an audience, and she actually thrives from it.

💓 What are some signs they’ve fallen for someone? How do they show their affection?

Thalia is precise; Thalia is detail oriented in all that she does; Thalia is punctual to the point of being annoying sometimes; But when she starts falling for someone, Thalia becomes distracted and more easily flustered. When she was falling for Chris, despite her STRONG denial that she was actually falling down the rabbit hole for him, she would start forgetting her stuff around, and found herself needing more reminders on her calendar because her mind was more easily sidetracked. This is partially also caused by anxiety, that stems from the toxic marriage with her ex-husband. Another sign is that she does become more soft-spoken, less brash, and less aggressive. She always keeps a 5-inches emotional wall between herself and others around her, but when she starts falling for someone and she has evaluated that the person under discussion is not a prick, she starts lowering down her defenses and her “virago” persona that she has to put up, especially at work. When she knew she was falling hard for Chris, some subtle way to show her interest was to stand closer to him, looking at him with more attention than before, calling him by his first name without sneering but with genuine sentiment. She would also blush more and fumble with her words. She is an awkward potato, when it comes to expressing her feelings.

☕Coffee or tea?

Coffee. Without even batting an eyelash. Without coffee this woman cannot virtually function, so she can always be found with a cup of coffee in her hands. It’s not far-fetched for her to drink the equivalent of 5 espressos. She needs the energy to stay focused. Chris always makes sure that the coffee supply is stocked for her.

👪What’s their relationship with their parents like?

Distant. She consider her parents almost like an aunt and uncle, rather than mother and father but there was a reason to it. Her parents have always been distant in their own ways, busy as they were with their careers: her father was the bassist of a rock band in the 70s and her mother was the Artistic Director at the French Branch of Condé-Nast. They had a fling together that resulted in Thalia’s conception, but they separated before Thalia was even born. She, much like her step-siblings Damien and Irene, was raised by nannies. Even as an adult, she has a polite relationship with her mother, almost bordering on formal, and a very distant relationship with her father, with whom she just exchange seasonal greetings.

🍽️What’s their favorite food?

Her favourite food is Gâteau Opéra. She absolutely adores it and it’s her treat each weekend. She just buys an enormous cake that she shares with her brother and sister, and eventually, with Chris as well. Thalia has one of the sweetest tooth ever to exist on this Earth, and she always craves something chocolatey and coffe-y (reasons why she always carries around a small bonbon called Pocket Coffee.). She keeps chocolate bars -90% bitter cocoa- in her desk drawers.

🥰 What pet names do their partner(s) use for them? How flustered do they get by them?

Chris doesn’t truly have a pet name for Thalia, aside from “babe” or “love”.However, he uses the nickname he has given her when they still weren’t together, there is to say “Red”. Initially, it was something that irritated Thalia to no end, because she thought it was done with mocking intent, but after a while, it had grown on her, and now she loves it (if anything because it reminds her fondly of the beginning of her relationship with Chris).

Sometimes, when Thalia feels particularly frisky but is unable to do anything about it because she is busy, Chris, who is the biggest little shit in the world, would just go to her office, tease her and growl that nickname in her ear. Each time she lives up to that name, blushing and glaring at him because she has to maintain an air of professionalism.



Again, thank you so much for your ask, Nonnie. I loved answering this.