#imagine the possibilities of what happens in white London when we aren’t looking

[glassesmcfancyhair]

Son of a bitch, I guess I’m going to have to write all the depraved, unhinged porn I want to see between these two.

[purpledogcreations]

The Aftons (Our Version)

Dog and Purple

All art commissioned from @/scarabeesoleil on instagram 

William J. Afton, 35 years old, came from an affluent family in London. After marrying Cora Afton, maiden name Cora Schmidt, at age 18, both of them immigrated to the United States where uh- he went to Brown University, majoring in Engineering and minoring in Business. Although from the outside he may appear to be a perfectly normal and doting father to his 3 children and a devoted husband to his wife, behind closed doors William is far from the loving and caring man he portrays himself to be.

1. Initially, I didn’t want William to be wearing purple, but after consulting with an artist friend and sending her this rough plan for his outfit, she changed it to purple and I figured well…it is his staple color.

2. William’s whole deal is that he’s sorta cosplaying the working class. William is rich, but in a small town being rich and appearing rich wouldn’t benefit his social status, he wants to appear as approachable and down-to-earth as possible.

3. The apron was a bit of a compromise. William wouldn’t be caught dead in coveralls because he views that as too beneath him, but he can’t go to work wearing a suit and tie because that would sorta wreck the whole “not looking rich” thing he’s going for. So business casual with an apron to keep his outfit clean was what we landed on. And of course, when the apron fails there’s always a change of clothes in the trunk.

4. And as a bonus- here’s his eye color.

Cora Marguerite Afton, 35, was born to a lower-middle-class family in London and is the youngest of 4 daughters. She began dancing ballet at 13 years old and quit before marrying William. She immigrated to the United States with her husband in 1966 and gave birth to her first child in 1971. Cora is used to letting other people make decisions on her behalf but isn’t afraid to argue when she feels something is wrong. She’s a hard-working mother who truly loves her children, but she’s in over her head.

1. For Cora, I didn’t want her to appear very fashionable for the time period. I also wanted her to be in an outfit that covered most of her body. Although this choice for her was more born out of necessity than a desire to be “modest”.

2. Cora’s hair is curly, but her curls aren’t well-maintained, she dry- brushes them out and then doesn’t bother much further with them, she’s far too busy with her children to really take care of herself the way she needs to.

3. O- here’s Cora’s eye color (s). Her eyes are hazel which is a mixture of brown and green.

Michael J. Afton, 12, eldest of the Afton children. Michael isn’t exactly vicious, but he has trouble knowing when he’s gone too far. The apple of his father’s eye, Michael can seemingly do no wrong and gets away with far more than his peers and younger siblings do. Being the favorite/treated the best doesn’t mean he gets treated well, though, and he has taken to bullying and starting fights with his peers and his younger siblings in order to get the attention he desires. When push comes to shove, Michael still loves his younger siblings.

1. We mostly stuck with canon Michael’s appearance with our design, some jorts, and a t-shirt that he’s cut the sleeves off of. Why is it white? Well, he owns more than one t-shirt and he has a habit of cutting the sleeves off of them. He really wants to show off his non-existent muscles.

2. Michael is 5ft which is pretty tall for a 12-year-old, but his dad is 6’2” so he still has a ways to go when it comes to growing.

3. Fun fact: he’s wearing converse if you couldn’t tell already. And here’s his eye color.

Anthony Afton, 8, middle Afton child. Anthony has always been a sweet and sensitive kid, much to his father’s dismay. Still, he wasn’t always this sensitive, and he wasn’t always this prone to clinging to his mother for support. Something happened, something that sent Anthony back a few steps, and something that turned his wild imagination into something he can no longer control.

1. Anthony has a sort of deer-in-the-headlights expression, we wanted him to contrast with the rest of his family who are mostly looking to the side, instead of that he’s staring directly into your soul.

2. I wanted Anthony to look like he’s wearing hand-me-downs. His clothes are sorta baggy and ill-fitted.

3. Anthony’s eye color.

Elizabeth L. Afton, 6, youngest of the Afton children. Elizabeth is a true daddy’s girl, and can often be found tinkering with various stolen scraps of her father’s animatronics. She wants to be just like him when she grows up. But no matter how many little projects she puts together, or how many times she tries practicing his mannerisms in her mirror, she can never quite seem to catch his attention. She just doesn’t know why.

1. Elizabeth is the only Afton kid wearing purple, it’s her favorite color, but initially, we planned for her to be wearing more pink or yellow. I looked up a lot of 80s dress patterns when picking her dress and I had the most fun picking out her outfit, to be honest.

2. Elizabeth is fucking short.

3. Elizabeth’s eyecolor.

You might be asking us “DOG, PURPLE, WHY THE FUCK DO YOU NEED CANON DESIGNS? THIS IS AN AUDIO DRAMA.” well comrades it’s because we’re going to be using these designs for promo and thumbnail art. That’s why.

Bonus bonus: Here is a height chart. :D

[scripttorture]

You mention in posts how torture doesn’t make people obedient and usually makes them spiteful (which obviously makes sense), but isn’t it realistic for someone to comply out of fear rather than loyalty? Whether that was giving up information or obeying orders or something else entirely. I imagine it depends on the person, and they would probably still be willing to turn on their torturers if given the chance, but would it be possible for them to obey orders in hopes of avoiding more pain?

This is a much more nuanced and complicated topic then we’re taught to assume.

 When it comes to giving up information it’s pretty clear cut. No, torture can’t lead to accurate information for a lot of interconnected reasons. I have about six separate masterposts covering the reasons for this.

 One of those is the antagonism torture produces. Another is the memory problems torture causes. Another is the effect that the use of torture has on organisations and the chain of command. Another is the effect torture has on torturers.

 Torture drastically increases the chances of memory loss and it also increases the chances of inaccurate memories. So not only is a torture victim less likely to talk, they’re more likely to be wrong if they do talk.

 But the effects on victims aren’t the main reason torture doesn’t work as a way of getting information. You’re assuming that torturers have access to people who have information.

 The reality is that torture destroys an organisation’s ability to gather accurate information. Most information comes from volunteers: when torture comes into play less people volunteer information. This means that an organisation which tortures is more likely to be questioning someone who knows nothing. That person is then abused until they start making things up.

 Because there’s less access to volunteered information and because humans are very bad at telling when someone is lying, a lot of these made up stories are believed. And this then effects who else the organisation arrests and tortures. This creates a sort of spiral, with lies leading to more lies.

 Additionally the torturers themselves make things worse. There’s less quality research on them, but the research and anecdotal accounts create a pretty clear picture of their behaviour. They undermine the chain of command, they lose the skills the originally had as they turn to torture, they’re aggressive, incredibly competitive and they have a… fracturing effect on their organisation.

 Basically they’re incredibly difficult to work with and totally convinced of their own importance. And this effects their colleagues. It totally divides organisations. The worst case I’ve read about involved members of the same organisation killing each other over access to prisoners.

 That’s a short run through of the main factors. Torture, in the legally defined sense, means all of these factors are in play. Plus a few more I’ve omitted to keep this shorter.

 With all of that together you just can’t get accurate information.

 If you want longer posts I’ve made on the subject I suggest looking for the ‘torture doesn’t work’ tag and the ‘torture as interrogation’ tag. You can also read the masterposts. If you want a much more in depth look at why torture consistently fails as a way of getting information I recommend O’Mara’s Why Torture Doesn’t Work and Rejali’s Torture and Democracy.

 O’Mara is a neuroscientist and goes through the effects torture has on the brain in a way that’s accessible, explaining the damage torture causes and how that destroys the evidence torturers claim to be seeking. Rejali’s book is a breeze block but it’s really a must, it is the textbook on torture in a broad sense. He ties together information from across the globe creating a broader picture of what torture does, not just to victims but to societies.

 The question of compliance under threat and pain… is more complicated.

 People can be forced to do some things. That much is obvious from a brief glance at human history and things like slavery. But it’s important to listen to what people in these scenarios say.

 And my opinion, based on what I’ve read, is that what these people say doesn’t support the idea that humans will easily obey instructions when they’re hurt or threatened. I think instead these people are making hard headed, rational choices in absolutely awful situations. I think when we don’t have these experiences of torture or slavery, it’s easy to look at the surface of the situation and assume that pain alone assures obedience. I think that happens because it’s hard for use to understand the rationale when we don’t have that lived experience.

 Let me give some examples. So it probably goes without saying that slavery goes hand in hand with physical abuse. One of the major researchers on slavery, whose data I quote pretty regularly, assumes throughout his writings that pain is the deciding factor which ‘makes’ people obey.

 But he also describes a couple of very obvious consistent patterns in the ways slavers behave. Slavers almost universally do the following things as well as using physical abuse:

Separate enslaved people from their community

Bar enslaved people from other forms of support

Make enslaved people financially/materially reliant on the slavers

Tell enslaved people that going to the police/authorities will lead to the enslaved person being arrested

Try to convince enslaved people that they will be better off if they comply, usually by framing it as a debt to be worked off with promises of riches after a period of time

 Now here’s the thing: we know from studies on cults and studies on ICURE techniques that a lot of these strategies will result in obedience when there is no violence or physical abuse.

 Given that I don’t think we can assume that violence is the deciding factor. In fact I think the evidence we have from forced confessions under torture suggests the violence may lead to less obedience and a lower ‘success’ rate then a set up that used emotional abuse or other exploitative techniques without violence.

 We have two sources of historical data that are used for statistical studies on forced confessions. One is from historical France. We think that this data set only involved torture to force a confession; no other method of coercion just violence. The rate of forced confessions varied a little in different areas but over all it’s about 10%. The second data set is from the ‘London Cage’ a British prison during the second world war. Here we know that torture was combined with blackmail, bribery and other kinds of coercion. The rate of forced confessions there was about 30%.

 And while this is just two studies, while the data is lacking… That is one hell of a jump.

 Let’s circle back to ICURE. ICURE stands for Isolation, Control information, create Uncertainty, Repetition and Emotive responses. It’s a set of techniques which can, sometimes, change someone’s beliefs when it’s applied consistently over a long time.

 Notice the effort slavers put in to isolating their victims. Notice that the behaviour pattern I’m describing means the slavers are creating uncertainty over seeking help and repeating those messages as well as messages that the victims will be better off if they just go along with it.

 Slavers will generally also try to control the information their victims have access to, taking phones and blocking access to news sources and other resources. Now a lot of slavers will transport their victims to other states or countries putting a language barrier in place. They sometimes also use emotive responses in attempts to persuade victims to comply.

 I’ve read multiple accounts where survivors of modern slavery described slavers telling them that the money they were making was being sent to the victim’s family and without it the family would not survive. (Sometimes the slavers do send small amounts to the families of their victims, sometimes they pocket everything.) I’ve also read accounts where gangs of slavers used religion and oaths taken in a religious setting to persuade their victims they’d be punished by God for not complying.

 Even with all of this, all these techniques we know can sometimes ‘work’- lots of people refuse. Lots of people disobey. Lots of people escape. Lots of people actively sabotage the operations the slavers put together.

 And if you look at that same history of slavery, that shows us people can sometimes be forced to work, you’ll see that this has always been true.

 We have records of historic enslaved people attacking slavers, forming organised militias, forming parallel societies, sacking towns, taking over an entire Caribbean island and beating off four European armies in the process. We also have records of smaller acts. Sabotage, worship of banned deities, speaking banned languages, destruction of property, aiding in the escape of others.

 What I’m saying is: this isn’t black and white. The evidence, modern and historical does not paint a clear picture of violence leading to obedience.

 Instead I believe that it shows humans are resilient, stubborn, adaptable creatures. People can survive all kinds of horrible situations. It is more accurate, more human, to assume that people make rational choices.

 Sometimes those choices involve short term compliance while looking for a better option or a way out. But we tend to hear less stories about the people who completely refuse to comply. We tend to treat that as an impossible fiction when it is a recorded historical and modern reality.

 Bringing this back to writing as a general rule the more complicated the act the less likely you can force someone to do it. Because the more complicated it is the more opportunities they’ll have to sabotage it or use it against their abuser.

 I recommend reading up on the history of Haiti pet. Then Brazil via Palmares.

 I’ll end this by bringing it back to those statistics on forced confessions in historical France. Imagine the conditions with me for a moment. Unsanitary, cramped cells. Dehydration, starvation and disease. Plus the kinds of scarring torture that are conjured up in the minds of most Western people when the word ‘torture’ comes up; thumb screws, leg irons that tighten until the bone snaps, whips.

 Picture it. Try to imagine the pain those people went through.

 And remember that 90% of them did not comply long enough to sign their name.

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[liunaticfringe]

(via Lucy Liu's Independent Woman - Interview Magazine)

There have been many great sidekick pairings in the history of modern literature. Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer, Phileas Fogg and Jean Passepartout, Winnie-the-Pooh and Piglet…the list goes on. Yet, it seems there has never been a delightfully tumultuous relationship that comes close to echoing the one embodied by rogue detective Sherlock Holmes and his faithful friend and assistant Dr. John Watson. Written in the form of short stories by Arthur Conan Doyle between the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the opium-den loving Holmes would terrorize London with his intellectual, astute, and stubborn prowess, with Dr. Watson providing medical expertise and chronicling their entertaining exploits along the way.

Doyle’s works have now long been entered into the public domain, with many film and television adaptions cropping up every few years. Still, when CBS announced in 2012 that it would be turning Doyle’s works into an hour-long crime-drama series titled Elementary, it elicited an unusually high response—this was mostly due to the news that a woman would, in fact, be portraying Watson. Her name would be Joan, not John. And she’s now a fallen from grace surgeon-turned-sober companion and private detective, forfeiting her “Dr.” title in the process. The woman chosen to take on this exciting, contemporary role of Joan Watson was none other than seasoned actress Lucy Liu.

Liu, who’s best known for her roles as a fierce and ill-mannered lawyer in Ally McBeal, an ass-kicking “angel” in the rebooted Charlie’s Angels, and an equally ass-kicking bad girl in the Kill Bill series, certainly provides the yin to the yang of Jonny Lee Miller’s gritty portrayal of Holmes. Elementary chronicles the duo’s relationship as they consult for the NYPD on various criminal cases while living in a shared brownstone in Brooklyn Heights. Initially starting off in Season One as a substance-free friend to the fresh-out-of-rehab Holmes with a keen interest in solving crimes, Watson quickly transformed into a sharp and observant right-hand woman who now clearly has the aptitude to work on her own. And it appears she’ll be doing just that—the end of Season Two left viewers witnessing Watson’s decision to move out of the brownstone and start a new career as a solo private detective, seemingly fed-up with Holmes’ erratic behavior.

The warm and delightful Liu recently called up Interview from her home in New York City to discuss Elementary’s upcoming third season.

DEVON IVIE: Were you on set today?

LUCY LIU: I was running around like a maniac, yeah. It’s beautiful today, it started getting a little bit cooler again. But of course I’ve been bitten by the two mosquitos that are still alive in New York City.

IVIE: I know you were recently at New York Comic Con. How was it?

LIU: It was amazing. It’s such a spectator place. Not only do you get super fans, but you also get people who are curious and inventive and imaginative. It’s fun.

IVIE: Did you run into any cosplayers dressed as Joan Watson?

LIU: Oh, no, I don’t know about that. That’s funny! We did a panel with a huge audience so I couldn’t really see if anyone was wearing anything specific, but it’s an excuse for kids and adults to get dressed up and just be crazy. You know you’ve made it when you have super-fans out there.

IVIE: When you first read the scripts for Elementary, what was it that attracted you to the role of Joan?

LIU: I liked the fact that it was going to be about [Joan and Sherlock’s] relationship and their friendship, and bringing that into modern times. And I thought it was wonderful to change up the gender.

IVIE: Did you immerse yourself in Arthur Conan Doyle’s work as preparation at all?

LIU: I did, I did! I started reading the short stories. I never read them before so it was a really great excuse to read them. I can’t believe it was written so long ago, because it’s so current. The characters are so colorful, which is why I think there are so many incarnations of Watson and Holmes.

IVIE: Do you have a favorite story? I love “A Scandal in Bohemia.”

LIU: There were some pretty amazing stories. The one that stood out to me, which was a Watson story that I got to know him a little more through, was “The Hound of the Baskervilles.” He really is on his own in that. Of course it turns out that Holmes has been there all along, but it’s interesting looking into his interior.

IVIE: Yeah, the entirety of “The Hound of the Baskervilles” is narrated just by Watson. And his diary and letters, too.

LIU: Yeah, I think it’s really cool. We started incorporating that into the show, too, the letters and journals.

IVIE: Has this detective genre always appealed to you? Did you grow up watching or reading detective whodunits?

LIU: I remember more of the old school Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys sort of thing. I also grew up with the Scooby-Doo mysteries. Remember when the villain would go, “I would’ve gotten away with it if it weren’t for you rascal-y kids!” Those were the kind of the things I immersed myself in. I have to say that my mother has always been a huge fan of Columbo and Murder, She Wrote, so this show was her dream come true. I don’t think she totally understood what was going on with Ally McBeal. [laughs]

IVIE: I’ve enjoyed witnessing Joan’s evolution throughout the course of the show, starting off as a sober companion and eventually ending up as a trusty sidekick and confidant to Sherlock. What can we expect from Joan in Season Three?

LIU: When you see them in the third season, you see some friction between the two characters. Joan is now on her own, she has her own detective agency, has a boyfriend, and has been without Sherlock for eight months. She’s got her own apartment, she’s settled, and he shows back up. I think she’s a little bit hurt by what happened and how their relationship and partnership ended, which was basically his decision and his choice, and he left it all in one little note for her. I think she felt that their relationship was much deeper than that, and that he was dismissive in the way that he handled that.

IVIE: How would you define the relationship between Joan and Sherlock?

LIU: I think that it’s a really positive and good relationship, overall. They really have a good chemistry together, work really hard together, and understand each other. They acknowledge each other and respect each other, which is a really important way to have a friendship. And they can learn from each other, you know? She’s very curious about him and I think he sees that she’s a very smart person—that’s vital for him in having respect for someone, having them be intelligent and thinking for themselves.

IVIE: Do you see any of Joan in yourself?

LIU: I do to a certain degree. She’s a lot more measured and patient, for sure. She’s a very curious person, which I think I am, and I think she isn’t afraid of change. She was a doctor, and then became a sober companion, and then jumped off and became a detective. I think sometimes it’s good to make big leaps.

IVIE: You’ve probably been asked this question many times, but do you think a romance between Joan and Sherlock could ever fittingly happen?

LIU: It’s a question that’s often asked and I think it’s really up to the executives. Rob Doherty, the creator [of Elementary] really feels incredibly strongly about keeping their relationship platonic. He has already taken great strides to keep the relationship as clean as possible according to the literature, but he has also changed so much of it by changing the gender of Watson. To have them have a romantic involvement would turn the whole thing upside-down in a way that might really jump the line. [Doherty] felt really strongly about it and I think that’s the one thing he really wants to stay true to.

IVIE: I totally agree. Even on the BBC’s Sherlock, there are campaigns to get Benedict Cumberbatch’s Sherlock and Martin Freeman’s Watson to become romantically involved. It’s like, enough already, no!

LIU: No way, that’s so weird! People do have that level of friendship oftentimes, but it doesn’t mean it’s physical. I think that everyone just assumes because there’s chemistry the next thing should be happening. I would vote “no” for a romance. I think for sure the creator would vote no on that, too.

IVIE: I’ve talked to both women and men who watch Elementary, and they all consistently mention how well dressed and fashionable Joan is. Do you collaborate with the wardrobe department on styling decisions at all?

LIU: That’s awesome. Yes, I collaborate with Rebecca [Hofherr], who’s the costume designer, who’s wonderful. She’s very easy to work with. One thing we try to maintain about Joan and her style is that she’s a bit wrinkled, you know what I mean? Sometimes it looks like things are really put together, but we always want to make sure things aren’t too tight and are comfortable, kind of like she throws things together. We don’t want it to seem so business-y, so we go away from suits. Chic, but not corporate. Also just to make her seem like her outfits aren’t so put-together all the time. But I’m glad that people really seem to like it, it’s a relief! We don’t splurge a lot on the show, we try to do cheaper things, like things Joan would wear a lot. She wears the same white jacket and shoes frequently.

IVIE: Will we be seeing more of the infamous Clyde the Turtle in the upcoming season?

LIU: Clyde will indeed be in it again. We have to share custody of Clyde.

IVIE: Is it true that Clyde is actually two tortoises? Pulling a Mary Kate and Ashley in Full House on us?

LIU: Yes. It’s just like having twins on a show. Just in case one is crying and screaming and passed out or something.

IVIE: You made your directorial debut for an episode of Elementary last season [“Paint It Black”]. Do you have plans to direct an episode again soon?

LIU: That was so exciting. I’ll be directing another episode again very shortly in December, so you’ll be seeing it in a month and a half.

IVIE: Where did your interest in directing come from?

LIU: I guess I was curious about it. Having been in this business for a while, you kind of see and get a glimpse of everything doing film and television. I think it seemed like a natural progression to go into directing, and I hope to explore more of it, because it’s very exciting and a really good way to collide all the things that you’ve known and experienced in the business and put them all into one.

IVIE: Is there an ideal guest star that you’d like to see on the show in the upcoming season?

LIU: I would love to see Mycroft come back. I really think there was a wonderful tension for Mycroft and Sherlock as well as the triangle that occurred when Joan became involved with him. There’s something very deep about that relationship, and I also think that Rhys Ifans is a fantastic actor. He commands the screen, but off-screen he’s incredibly lovely. A real treat to have on the show.

IVIE: I remember the first few episodes that I saw Rhys in, I was like, where have I seen this guy before? So I looked at his Wikipedia page and it became obvious: he was the crazy guy from Notting Hill!

LIU: Yes, the roommate! So good! Everything he does, he just kills it, no matter the role.

IVIE: And it’s always good to have some MI6 action on the show, which Mycroft provided. Some international flair.

LIU: [laughs] International flair, exactly, some added spice. Just throw some spy stuff in there to throw people off their game. You just don’t expect it, you know? It came out of nowhere.

IVIE: That whole three-episode arc at the end of the second season…

LIU: That was awesome. I was lucky enough to direct one of those episodes, which is more narrative in tone. It’s more fun in some ways, too.

IVIE: You’ve done a range of acting work for both television and film. Do you now find yourself preferring one to the other?

LIU: I love both of them equally. The lack of predictability with television is something that’s constantly changing what your perception of who you think your character is. Suddenly I have a father that’s schizophrenic, or I discovered something else, or I have a relationship with Mycroft. The things that pop up and change the game for you and always keep you on your toes. The wonderful thing about film is that you have something that has a beginning, middle, and end, and you have a concrete amount of time to shoot it. And the process of that can be longer, like editing and advertising and testing the movie, so it’s very different. Television you just continue going, no matter what’s happening outside of your world. You get lost in that vortex a little bit.

IVIE: It’s interesting that America is now embracing the “mini-series” format that has already been so heavily utilized overseas, where there are a set amount of short episodes, and that’s it. In a way, it’s kind of like a cinematic experience.

LIU: I like that, too. It allows you to have a freedom of creativity and at the same time you don’t feel like you have to be contracted to something for that long; you’re really working on a piece of art. And then you’re done and you move on, or it comes back, like Downton Abbey. You don’t know. Those things become little masterpieces. The thing about television is that you see a range of actors now that you may not have seen five years ago even, 10 years ago absolutely not, and I think now there’s no wrong about doing television. There’s no definitive category for what kind of department you fall into anymore.

IVIE: What’s a fun, secret fact about your costar Jonny Lee Miller?

LIU: A fun fact about Jonny Lee Miller is that he oftentimes does handstands on a wall before he does a take, sometimes with pushups, to get blood to his brain and get him geared up for a long monologue that he may have. He stays there, hangs a little bit, and then turns around and does the scene. Most of the time in the brownstone more than anywhere else. He’s in full costume and everything. That’s trivia!

IVIE: I wish I could do wall-handstands by myself.

LIU: Oh my god, I need someone to push my legs up and then hold me there. I’m a cheat!

ELEMENTARY PREMIERES THURSDAY, OCTOBER 30 ON CBS.

[citrina-posts]

Avatar: Cultural Appreciation or Appropriation?

I love Avatar: the Last Airbender. Obviously I do, because I run a fan blog on it. But make no mistake: it is a show built upon cultural appropriation. And you know what? For the longest time, as an Asian-American kid, I never saw it that way.

There are plenty of reasons why I never realized this as a kid, but I’ve narrowed it down to a few reasons. One is that I was desperate to watch a show with characters that looked like me in it that wasn’t anime (nothing wrong with anime, it’s just not my thing). Another is that I am East Asian (I have Taiwanese and Korean ancestry) and in general, despite being the outward “bad guys”, the East Asian cultural aspects of Avatar are respected far more than South Asian, Middle Eastern, and other influences. A third is that it’s easy to dismiss the negative parts of a show you really like, so I kind of ignored the issue for a while. I’m going to explain my own perspective on these reasons, and why I think we need to have a nuanced discussion about it. 

Obviously, the leadership behind ATLA was mostly white. We all know the co-creators Bryan Konietzko and Michael Dante DiMartino (colloquially known as Bryke) are white. So were most of the other episodic directors and writers, like Aaron Ehasz, Lauren Montgomery, and Joaquim Dos Santos. This does not mean they were unable to treat Asian cultures with respect, and I honestly do believe that they tried their best! But it does mean they have certain blinders, certain perceptions of what is interesting and enjoyable to watch. Avatar was applauded in its time for being based mostly on Asian and Native American cultures, but one has to wonder: how much of that choice was based on actual respect for these people, and how much was based on what they considered to be “interesting”, “quirky”, or “exotic”?

The aesthetic of the show, with its bending styles based on various martial arts forms, written language all in Chinese text, and characters all decked out in the latest Han dynasty fashions, is obviously directly derivative of Asian cultures. Fine. That’s great! They hired real martial artists to copy the bending styles accurately, had an actual Chinese calligrapher do all the lettering, and clearly did their research on what clothing, hair, and makeup looked like. The animation studios were in South Korea, so Korean animators were the ones who did the work. Overall, this is looking more like appreciation for a beautiful culture, and that’s exactly what we want in a rapidly diversifying world of media.

But there’s always going to be some cherry-picking, because it’s inevitable. What’s easy to animate, what appeals to modern American audiences, and what is practical for the world all come to mind as reasons. It’s just that… they kinda lump cultures together weirdly. Song from Book 2 (that girl whose ostrich-horse Zuko steals) wears a hanbok, a traditionally Korean outfit. It’s immediately recognizable as a hanbok, and these dresses are exclusive to Korea. Are we meant to assume that this little corner of the mostly Chinese Earth Kingdom is Korea? Because otherwise, it’s just treated as another little corner of the Earth Kingdom. Korea isn’t part of China. It’s its own country with its own culture, history, and language. Other aspects of Korean culture are ignored, possibly because there wasn’t time for it, but also probably because the creators thought the hanbok was cute and therefore they could just stick it in somewhere. But this is a pretty minor issue in the grand scheme of things (super minor, compared to some other things which I will discuss later on).

It’s not the lack of research that’s the issue. It’s not even the lack of consideration. But any Asian-American can tell you: it’s all too easy for the Asian kids to get lumped together, to become pan-Asian. To become the equivalent of the Earth Kingdom, a mass of Asians without specific borders or national identities. It’s just sort of uncomfortable for someone with that experience to watch a show that does that and then gets praised for being so sensitive about it. I don’t want you to think I’m from China or Vietnam or Japan; not because there’s anything wrong with them, but because I’m not! How would a French person like to be called British? It would really piss them off. Yet this happens all the time to Asian-Americans and we are expected to go along with it. And… we kind of do, because we’ve been taught to.

1. Growing Up Asian-American

I grew up in the early to mid-2000s, the era of High School Musical and Hannah Montana and iCarly, the era of Spongebob and The Amazing World of Gumball and Fairly Odd Parents. So I didn’t really see a ton of Asian characters onscreen in popular shows (not anime) that I could talk about with my white friends at school. One exception I recall was London from Suite Life, who was hardly a role model and was mostly played up for laughs more than actual nuance. Shows for adults weren’t exactly up to par back then either, with characters like the painfully stereotypical Raj from Big Bang Theory being one of the era that comes to mind.

So I was so grateful, so happy, to see characters that looked like me in Avatar when I first watched it. Look! I could dress up as Azula for Halloween and not Mulan for the third time! Nice! I didn’t question it. These were Asian characters who actually looked Asian and did cool stuff like shoot fireballs and throw knives and were allowed to have depth and character development. This was the first reason why I never questioned this cultural appropriation. I was simply happy to get any representation at all. This is not the same for others, though.

2. My Own Biases

Obviously, one can only truly speak for what they experience in their own life. I am East Asian and that is arguably the only culture that is treated with great depth in Avatar.

I don’t speak for South Asians, but I’ve certainly seen many people criticize Guru Pathik, the only character who is explicitly South Asian (and rightly so. He’s a stereotype played up for laughs and the whole thing with chakras is in my opinion one of the biggest plotholes in the show). They’ve also discussed how Avatar: The Last Airbender lifts heavily from Hinduism (with chakras, the word Avatar itself, and the Eye of Shiva used by Combustion Man to blow things up). Others have expressed how they feel the sandbenders, who are portrayed as immoral thieves who deviously kidnap Appa for money, are a direct insult to Middle Eastern and North African cultures. People have noted that it makes no sense that a culture based on Inuit and other Native groups like the Water Tribe would become industrialized as they did in the North & South comics, since these are people that historically (and in modern day!) opposed extreme industrialization. The Air Nomads, based on the Tibetan people, are weirdly homogeneous in their Buddhist-inspired orange robes and hyperspiritual lifestyle. So too have Southeast Asians commented on the Foggy Swamp characters, whose lifestyles are made fun of as being dirty and somehow inferior. The list goes on.

These things, unlike the elaborate and highly researched elements of East Asian culture, were not treated with respect and are therefore cultural appropriation. As a kid, I had the privilege of not noticing these things. Now I do.

White privilege is real, but every person has privileges of some kind, and in this case, I was in the wrong for not realizing that. Yes, I was a kid; but it took a long time for me to see that not everyone’s culture was respected the way mine was. They weren’t considered *aesthetic* enough, and therefore weren’t worth researching and accurately portraying to the creators. It’s easy for a lot of East Asians to argue, “No! I’ve experienced racism! I’m not privileged!” News flash: I’ve experienced racism too. But I’ve also experienced privilege. If white people can take their privilege for granted, so too can other races. Shocking, I know. And I know now how my privilege blinded me to the fact that not everybody felt the same euphoria I did seeing characters that looked like them onscreen. Not if they were a narrow and offensive portrayal of their race. There are enough good-guy Asian characters that Fire Lord Ozai is allowed to be evil; but can you imagine if he was the only one?

3. What It Does Right

This is sounding really down on Avatar, which I don’t want to do. It’s a great show with a lot of fantastic themes that don’t show up a lot in kids’ media. It isn’t superficial or sugarcoating in its portrayal of the impacts of war, imperialism, colonialism, disability, and sexism, just to name a few. There are characters like Katara, a brown girl allowed to get angry but is not defined by it. There are characters like Aang, who is the complete opposite of toxic masculinity. There are characters like Toph, who is widely known as a great example of how to write a disabled character.

But all of these good things sort of masked the issues with the show. It’s easy to sweep an issue under the rug when there’s so many great things to stack on top and keep it down. Alternatively, one little problem in a show seems to make-or-break media for some people. Cancel culture is the most obvious example of this gone too far. Celebrity says one ignorant thing? Boom, cancelled. But… kind of not really, and also, they’re now terrified of saying anything at all because their apologies are mocked and their future decisions are scrutinized. It encourages a closed system of creators writing only what they know for fear of straying too far out of their lane. Avatar does do a lot of great things, and I think it would be silly and immature to say that its cultural appropriation invalidates all of these things. At the same time, this issue is an issue that should be addressed. Criticizing one part of the show doesn’t mean that the other parts of it aren’t good, or that you shouldn’t be a fan.

If Avatar’s cultural appropriation does make you uncomfortable enough to stop watching, go for it. Stop watching. No single show appeals to every single person. At the same time, if you’re a massive fan, take a sec (honestly, if you’ve made it this far, you’ve taken many secs) to check your own privilege, and think about how the blurred line between cultural appreciation (of East Asia) and appropriation (basically everybody else) formed. Is it because we as viewers were also captivated by the aesthetic and overall story, and so forgive the more problematic aspects? Is it because we’ve been conditioned so fully into never expecting rep that when we get it, we cling to it?

I’m no media critic or expert on race, cultural appropriation, or anything of the sort. I’m just an Asian-American teenager who hopes that her own opinion can be put out there into the world, and maybe resonate with someone else. I hope that it’s given you new insight into why Avatar: The Last Airbender is a show with both cultural appropriation and appreciation, and why these things coexist. Thank you for reading!

[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | 25

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff

; Word Count: 4.2k

; Warnings: Drunken behaviour

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: This is a fun chapter and I hope you all enjoy it too :D please let me know what you thought in the comments and reblog it so others can read it too!

; Flower Masterpost

-

“Aren’t you bothered that he’s over there and not with you?” Jungkook asks, pointing over to the bar where Hoseok is currently standing and having what appears to be a very serious conversation with Namjoon, Eden and Jimin. Though given how tipsy he had been half an hour ago, you weren’t sure whether it was ‘meaning of life’ serious or ‘were all the children on Barney on drugs’ serious. 

Smiling, you shake your head and take a sip of your Coke that you’ve been nursing for an hour now. “I’m his girlfriend, not his keeper. Besides, it’s his birthday. He can spend it wherever and with whoever he wants.” 

“Very nice of you.” The younger man mumbles and you note the way he keeps shyly looking over at Soyeon, currently sitting opposite you in the booth you’d all situated yourselves in upon arriving. There were too many of you all now with Hoseok’s friends combined with you, Chungha and Soyeon, so they were also sprawled onto a table next to you.

“I’m just saying, but you’d both make a great couple.” The words whisper light against Jungkook’s ear and he shivers slightly as your breath tickles the small hairs of his neck. But he doesn’t say anything in response, instead just setting his jaw before looking back at his bottle of beer.

You’re not sure why you suddenly got bold enough to tell him that, but you were always braver when it came to helping your friends. On your own, you hated talking on the phone but if they needed you to talk on the phone for them then god dammit you’d do it.

Still though, you decide not to push it any further. You’ve said your peace and indicated to him that not only do you think they’d work well together, but also that you would most definitely approve if they decided to actually try out a relationship. The thought of it was quite exciting and you wondered if this was how Chungha and Soyeon had felt when you’d started dating Hoseok.

Leaning back, you casually listened in to the conversation that Chungha, her girlfriend Dahyun, Soyeon, Yoongi and Amelia were all having while Jungkook occasionally added his input. He was a naturally quieter guy, like you, which meant you both ended up simply observing for a lot of the time. Though you were even quieter than him as you weren’t drinking unlike everyone else.

From the glazed look in Chungha’s eyes, she was well on her way to being inebriated and you wondered whether it was the glass of white wine in her hand that was doing it or the two double Southern Comfort and lemonade’s that she’d practically inhaled earlier. Dahyun didn’t look much better and you chuckled as she struggled to get out a word, tripping over her own tongue as she slurred.

Amelia was also sober, due to her normal baby duties outside of this event, and you were pleased that she’d finally been able to come out for something. She’d told you earlier that the baby was being looked after by her sister for the evening, meaning this was the first time that Namjoon and her had been able to socialise like this with their friends in months.

You were pleased that she’d come for Hoseok’s birthday and as you looked over all his friends that were dotted around the room in his favourite bar, you felt a warm happiness swell in your chest at the knowledge they’d all come out for him. You couldn’t imagine being this cosy with this many people like he was but you’d long ago recognised that you were both different people with different needs.

So while you’d inevitably grow bored and tired of being around so many people in...okay well you were already there really, you knew that Hoseok would happily keep going until the early hours of the morning. And he’d made his intentions of getting absolutely fucked earlier in the day to you after he’d opened his presents.

Your vinyl player had gone down very well thankfully and he’d been ecstatic about it, desperate to begin playing some of the many records he’d already been gifted from his family and friends. Along with that, he’d begun drinking at noon with a bottle of special ale that he’d been given by Seokjin and had declared that for the first time in almost a year, he was going to get absolutely wrecked tonight.

The idea of that was horrible to you, someone who hated drinking, but you knew he didn’t let loose like this anymore. So you were more than happy to watch him drink himself into blissful happiness, surrounded by his beloved friends before driving him home later when he was probably too drunk to walk straight.

You were just very thankful that he didn’t do this often as you weren’t sure you could handle it.

“You should go to England, it’s great with a lot of history and beautiful landscapes outside of London. Plus, you can travel to Europe really easily as it’s so damn cheap. I mean, they can take a train to Paris! What the fuck?” Yoongi says, his voice a tone higher than it’s normal deep and rumbling level. 

Laughing quietly, you watch as Chungha nods in an overexaggerated manner before pointing at Yoongi to make a point. Only she’s completely off and is instead pointing out towards the bar. Smiling, you gently take her hand and move it to the correct position and snicker when she doesn’t even realise you’ve done it.

“Right?! I mean...I mean a train! To another country! Like...woaaah. It’s crazy. Can you imagine? Do they have planes over there? Or is it all trains and stuff?” Dahyun gasps at Chungha’s slurred questions and you bite your lip in amusement, rolling your eyes at your best friend’s drunken ramblings.

“Chungha, you know they have planes. You flew from Greece to Italy, remember?” There’s a really blank expression on her face for a moment before realisation hits and she ooh’s loudly, excitedly waving her hands in front of her face.

“Oh my god! Yes! I did! Oh, Greece was so pretty. So...so blue. Pretty.” Jungkook is the one to snort this time and you look at him, raising your brows in question but he just shakes his head, a small smile dancing on his lips.

Finally, you decide to get involved with the conversations, leaning forward so that they can hear you better. “I’ve never even been out of the country before. Hoseok’s been to England though, some metal festival or something.”

“Yeah! That’s the trip I went on. We went to Download Festival and travelled around the UK after that. Went to Wales and Scotland too to get the full experience but we couldn’t get to Northern Ireland in time. Sucks, I wanted to see those big stone thingies in the sea. Man, Hoseok got seriously fucked at Download though. Like, he got into a drinking competition with these guys from the UK in the tent next to us and they absolutely destroyed him. He was vomiting everywhere all night.” Your brows rise at that, looking over at your boyfriend where he’s stood at the bar.

Well, he hadn’t told you that. Made himself sound far more cooler than what Yoongi had just told you.

“I thought he could hold his drink?” You ask, though you’re wondering about that as you watch him down another glass of beer. He’d never got so drunk that he’d vomited around you yet, but given his history you wouldn’t put it past him.

"He can, to a degree. But he was mixing all kinds of alcohol that day and it just...was bad. They thought it was hilarious. Hoseok did not enjoy the next day as he still went to the stages and watched the bands. Idiot almost got a migraine."  Despite his words, there’s an incredibly fond look on Yoongi’s face and you note that he’s probably not quite as drunk as you’d initially thought.

Soyeon snorts with laughter and you look at her with a frown before noting the way she nods with her head towards your side with an amused smile. Glancing over, you realise that Jungkook has left and your boyfriend has taken his place. 

There's a glassy look to his eyes that tells you he's a bit drunker than before and you wonder what Jimin had been giving him at the bar. The mischief maker, who you'd been well warned about by both your boyfriend and his friends, had sworn to make sure Hoseok had a great night. Which evidently meant he had to get the birthday boy absolutely shitfaced.

Hoseok feels overwhelmingly warm as he leans a little too heavily against you, his face having gone incredibly red from the alcohol he’d spent the day consuming. But as soon as you look at him, he gives you what you presume is meant to be a charming smile but instead makes it just look like he has wind.

And then he blinks really hard, causing you to tilt your head at him in confusion. He does it again before blowing you a rather sluggish kiss and you realise what he’s doing with a snort, holding your hand against your mouth.

“Baby, you’re not winking at me. You’re just blinking very hard.” The smooth skin of his forehead wrinkles immediately as he obviously thinks about what you’ve just said before he tries again, getting the same result. And then he purposefully holds one eye open with his fingers, causing you to laugh even harder as you take his hand to stop him from potentially hurting himself.

“Oh my god, please stop." Reaching out, you playfully cover his face with your hand and giggle when he simply flops his head into your palm, eyes closing with a ridiculously loud sigh. It was just after 1am and you were a little surprised he seemed to be flagging already.

Then again, you remembered that he'd been drinking in some form since noon now. The fact he could barely hold his head up right now was possibly the least surprising thing you'd heard all night.

“Are you okay?” Leaning closer to him, you make sure that he can hear you over the raucous talk and laughter of the other bar patrons and the music that’s blaring over the speakers. For a few seconds he doesn’t respond and you wonder whether he heard you, but then you see his face wrinkle and realise he was just taking that long to comprehend what you’d say to him.

“I’m not a baby.” He whines, bottom lip jutting out almost comically and you have to steel yourself to stop from laughing at him. Because he was certainly acting like one right now. But it also endeared you to him and you simply pushed at his lip till it was back in place. Each blink looks particularly slow and lethargic, telling you that he’s probably reached his limit.

“I didn’t say that but okay. Do you want to go home?” This time, you speak clearly into his ear as close as you can get. Almost immediately he makes a noise of protest, his shoulder coming up as he cringes from your voice being so close. ASMR always made him shrink away and you felt a little bad.

But he doesn’t start protesting wildly like some drunk people might, proclaiming himself to be perfectly fine and ready to troop on through the night while downing beer after beer. Instead, he stares blankly at the bottle in his hand for a minute or so, oblivious to the chatter of which 90s boy band was better before nodding slowly.

“‘M tired.” He sighs out and you watch closely as he lifts the bottle to his lips, about to take a sip before sighing and placing it back down on the table with an overly loud thunk. It makes some of them jump around the booth, their eyes widening in drunken surprise and you give them all a smile of apology.

“Here, enjoy this,” You say to Yoongi, hanging him the beer that Hoseok has rejected. There’s no point in letting it go to waste when there’s someone more than willing to have it. “Birthday boy is done for the night it would seem.”

That makes everyone pause, all of their gazes moving to your boyfriend. Hoseok doesn’t notice them, though you’re not sure he notices anything really given how it looks like he’s about to fall asleep right there. Chungha pouts dramatically and holds her arms out, wanting a hug from you which you give her with a laugh.

Looking over at the others, who are slightly more sober, you give them a stern face. “Please make sure she doesn’t drink too much and gets home okay.”

“She’ll be fine.” Soyeon says and you realise she’s the closest thing to sober on the table outside of Amelia. It even looks like she has a big glass of water to keep her going too and you give her a relieved smile before gently persuading Hoseok to leave the booth. He wavers dangerously on his feet, once standing, trying to get his balance before staggering off with his weight leaning heavily on you.

“God, you’re much heavier when drunk.” You mutter, shifting yourself to cope better with the dead weight of his arm on you. There’s a brief pause by the bar to say goodbye to everyone else, and you’re not surprised when no one protests you leaving when they see how far gone Hoseok is now, before you successfully manage to navigate out of the busy bar and onto the street.

Your car was in the nearby parking lot and what had been a two minute walk ended up being ten minutes with Hoseok walking at a snail’s pace. Though that was because he’d almost fallen over about three times. He was surprisingly quiet though, which you found odd as he was pretty loud and boisterous when tipsy.

Not a single word leaves his mouth until he’s slouched in the passenger seat of your car with his seatbelt finally secured, looking very much like the drunk person he was with his limbs placed wherever they’d happened to land. His head rolls back on his shoulders until it thumps against the window, letting him look at you as you fasten your own seat belt and turn the key in the ignition.

“‘Luff you.” He mumbles, the words slurred but still audible to you over the quiet noise of the car engine. Glancing over at him, you can’t help but smile as your heart squeezes at the sight of him. His eyes are beyond glassy now, so unfocused and yet it’s almost like he’s looking at you with his own heart. Hoseok is not only a quiet drunk, but a sappy drunk too apparently.

The speakers kick to life as it connects to Spotify on your phone and you cringe slightly as Metallica starts playing. You’d let him pick the playlist for the night and now you were going to have to suffer for the rest of the journey home as you’d already started driving.

Hoseok is so quiet on the trip back that you keep panicking, looking over to make sure he’s okay only to be met with his blank, impassive stare. Though you think it’s probably only blank because thinking is likely too hard at the moment. It makes you want to giggle at the thought but you don’t, biting your lip to stop yourself.

“You’re pretty,” Glancing at him quickly, you note the way his hand is wavering as he attempts to touch your cheek, only his aim is wildly off and you make a noise of protest as he instead bops you on the nose. It doesn’t deter him though and for the sake of driving safely, you take his hand and press it to your cheek instead. “So pretty. Love you.”

“Okay Hobi, I get it. Thank you. Now, please stop poking my face while I’m driving, okay? You can touch my face all you want when we get home.” You ask him, giving him a persuasive look before taking his hand and squeezing it before placing it back on his lap. For a moment, you think he’s going to argue but he quietens down again, slouching and you’re not sure you’ve ever loved him more than in this moment weirdly.

The rest of the journey is much easier and you pack up outside your apartment building with ease, Hoseok’s car next to your own. Getting him to your apartment is a bit of an issue given he doesn’t appear to have really sobered up any since leaving the bar and you have to cajole him into getting back up when he slides down the wall of the elevator, giggling to himself as he sits. It’s only with the promise of cuddles and Kasumi that he finally gets back up and staggers down the hall to your door.

“God, I really hope I don’t have to do this too much.” You mutter as you get him inside, watching as he toes off his shoes while leaning heavily against the wall. As much as you love him, you hate dealing with drunk people because there’s just no reasoning with them sometimes. Thankfully, at least Hoseok appears to be an amenable drunk.

“Hello my baby! My little angel, oh hello chicken. My little Kasumi-pud, my beautiful girl. I’ve missed you! Aren’t you the cutest kitty?” Hoseok has become immediately distracted by the sight of Kasumi as she walks over to greet you both, the soft chirp causing Hoseok to explode into even more drunk nicknames that get increasingly ridiculous.

And then you curse as he gets a little over eager in his attempts to pet her, bending over instead of crouching and soon toppling onto the floor due to his lack of balance. Kasumi starts, her eyes wide and every inch of her primed to run before moving back over to Hoseok, sniffing his nose and mouth curiously as he simply giggles and strokes her in a surprisingly gentle motion.

“Hoseok! Come on, get up. I don’t want you to hurt yourself now.” You grumble, helping him to stand despite his protests at wanting to stroke his ‘ickle chicken’. Why he was calling her that, you had no idea.

You’re soon shown that Hoseok is even more of a handful once home as you turn around to take your own shoes off and hang up your coat because as soon as you’re back, you realise he’s gone. Eyes widening, you wonder where the fuck he went before you hear the shower turning on in the open bathroom door.

Rushing inside, you see Hoseok has half undressed himself and is standing in the shower, eyes closed as the water beats down on him. Only he’s still wearing his shirt and is only naked on the lower half, causing you to sigh and roll your eyes. 

“Hobi, come on. I don’t want you to get hurt or...drown or something.” Grasping his arm, you try to encourage him out of the shower without causing him any harm but he yanks his arm away in protest, a sound that he must assume is a word leaving his mouth before he goes to grab his shampoo.

“Fuck sake.” You mutter, realising he is not going to let you take him out of the shower. Fine, if he won’t leave then you’ll at least make sure he doesn’t drown himself. It takes a bit of encouragement to get him to take his soaked shirt off but you appease him by instead taking over the hard work of washing his hair and body for him. Why he’s so insistent on this you don’t know, until he mutters when you wash his arm.

“Icky. I’m icky. Stupid Sambuca.” It’s then that you realise his arm is ever so slightly sticky beneath the water. Someone evidently spilled Sambuca over his arm instead of actually drinking it, and your nose wrinkles at the thought of him going to bed stinking of aniseed, alcohol and being sticky.

Drunk Hoseok apparently makes the occasional good decision.

Once out, you manage to help him get a towel wrapped around his waist before he decides he wants to impale himself on his toothbrush. Brows rising as you watch him, you wonder if this is just general drunk Hoseok behaviour. He was a generally neat person normally but you don’t particularly remember anyone getting this drunk and demanding to be clean before bed.

Still though, you don’t want him to hurt himself so you carefully brush his teeth for him. And try not to notice the fact he’s giving you that sappy look once more. It’s not quite as cute when his mouth is full of toothpaste foam. Or maybe it’s even cuter given he’s evidently incapable of controlling his facial expressions.

After coaxing him to spit out what was in his mouth, and not swallow it like he’d almost seemed like he was going to, you finally get him to the bedroom where you make him sit on the bed. He does so pliantly, his lips pressed together in a content smile that makes his dimples show and causes him to look far younger and sweeter than the extensive tattoos on show do.

Brushing his hair for him, you press a kiss to his forehead before pointing at him with narrow eyes. “Stay here. Do not move. I’m going to get you a glass of water that I want you to drink and then we’ll dry you off and get you dressed, okay?”

His response is a nod, looking very much like a child with how eager it is and you snort in amusement before leaving to the kitchen. You’re probably gone a minute, if that, before heading back into the bathroom with a glass full of fresh water and pausing in the doorway at what you’re seeing.

Hoseok has not sat still like you’d told him. Instead, he’s stood up and is now completely naked. Only he apparently appears fascinated by the fact he has a penis and is too busy giggling to notice your arrival. 

Clearing your throat, you watch as he looks up with wide eyes. If you’d thought it was because he’d been caught doing...whatever he was doing, then you were wrong because instead he just gives you the brightest smile. You’re about to ask what’s wrong when he proceeds to point down to his groin with excitement.

“Look! A helicopter!” And then he gyrates his hips until his dick swings in a circular motion, causing you to sigh so deeply that you’re not entirely sure if you haven’t just felt your soul leave your body. Taking a moment to yourself, you stare at the floor before looking up with a smile.

“That’s great Hoseok. Now please drink this while I get you dressed.” He pouts at your lack of reaction but you figure it’s probably the best route right now. Otherwise he might be encouraged by your laughter to do something even more silly. The last thing you need is for him to wake up having injured himself doing something stupid in your bedroom.

He takes the glass from you and begins to drink, the sound overly loud and exaggerated but you don’t question it as you make him lean against the wall, allowing you to get him into some boxers without him falling over and hurting himself. A shirt gets childish whines, apparently he’s too hot, but you finally get it on him and get him to sit back on the bed.

“I’m going to get you another glass. Please...just sit there, okay?” There’s no response this time and you wonder what he’s got upto this time when you head back to the bedroom, only to find silence greet you. 

Silence, because Hoseok has evidently decided it was time to sleep. He’d curled himself up under the covers, despite his insistence of being warm, on your side of the bed and appeared to be completely gone. Smiling fondly at him, you place the glass on the bedside table next to him before finding his phone from the jeans he’d thrown off in the bathroom and plugging it in to charge next to yours.

Thank god he’d taken these off before showering.

Going through your own nightly routine, you crawl into bed next to him on his side and sigh as his scent overwhelms you. Hoseok doesn’t move at all and you wonder how strong his hangover is going to be in the morning. Or if he’ll even remember anything that’s happened.

You’re definitely telling him about his dickcopter though. Chuckling to yourself finally at the memory, you shift forward till you can kiss his clothed shoulder fondly and get yourself into a more comfortable position.

His tattoos were never going to look intimidating ever again now.

[swissmissficrecs]

Hello! I really like your blog, it's great. I'm wondering, since I already finished all the fics that you have in the Fake relationship section, can you recommend us some more? Those are my happy place, thanks in advance, you're great :)

Reply: Thank you very much, that’s lovely to hear. You’re right, it has been a while since that list, so let’s see if I can add a few:

Fake Relationship Part 2

A Promise Made to Be Broken by PlantsAreNeat (37K, E, Johnlock) A young John makes an ‘if we’re still single at 40, we’ll get together’ pledge to a woman who ends up all wrong for him. She keeps reminding him of the promise, and won't let go of it. John asks Sherlock to pose as his boyfriend at a family wedding, so as to dash her hopes permanently. Sherlock, who has at last acknowledged his feelings for John, reluctantly agrees despite knowing how painful it will be to ‘have’ John, but not keep him.

Bridging the Ravine by SilentAuror (58K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock and John go undercover at Ravine Valley, a therapy centre for same-sex male couples in an investigation into a possible human trafficking ring. As they pose as a couple and fake their way through the therapy sessions for the sake of the case, it quickly becomes difficult to avoid discussing their very real issues. Set roughly nine months after series 4.

Chaperones by MissDavis (34K, T, Johnlock) Right. Of course. Everyone assumed they were a couple and no one would question it. John put his elbows up on the table so he could rest his head in his hands. "You want to pretend to be a couple so we can chaperone a trip to Disney World with Rosie's class and you won't have to share a room with a stranger?"

Classified(s) by blueink3 (36K, E, Johnlock) Clara's American father is the ambassador to some such territory that Great Britain probably used to own, but she (and Harry’s undying love for her) is the reason John is getting on a flight at 12:30pm, flying across the second largest ocean in the world, and pretending to be in a perfectly happy, healthy relationship with an undoubtedly perfectly coiffed stranger.See, Clara is not only American (and wealthy to boot), she's also best friends with John’s ex-fiancee. Whom she's placed in the wedding party. As Maid of Honor.And John just happens to be Best Man.Bloody brilliant.

Cockaigne by HollyShadow88 (38K, E, Johnlock) When John’s contacted by an old uni friend about problems in his new art exhibition, he doesn’t think it will be worth Sherlock’s time. After a glance of the crime scene, however, they’re both pulled into the project in ways John didn’t expect. Will a week of erotic performance art finally be enough to bring them together in the way they both secretly hope? (Spoiler: it’s a tropey fic, of course it will)

"finally kiss the bloody idiot" by Salambo06 (30K, E, Johnlock) "John and Sherlock know the Yard has a pool going for when they’re finally going to get together. It’s been running forever, and it’s worth thousands of pounds. It’s all fun and games, hahaha, until they find out Lestrade is in dire financial straits (dog needs emergency surgery, he’s putting his kid through gymnastics training, I don’t know, something), and they decide to fake a relationship to win the pool for him. Sherlock figures out the day and way that Lestrade thinks it’s going to happen, and they act it out. It’s all for a good cause, fake relationship style, until it’s not."

Hello You by weeesi (21K, T, Johnlock) John kind of can’t believe he’s doing this and kind of can’t imagine doing anything else. He dips his head, heart pounding.

Mountebank by Odamaki (26K, M, Johnlock) “I am calm,” John snaps, leaning on the door to glare out at the dark streets around them. Sherlock’s not said where they’re going; all he knows is they came off the ring road to the west of London and have vanished somewhere into the depths of Berkshire. All he knows is that he’s been trussed up in a suit that wasn’t hired from anywhere and if brought new would edge up into the triple figure margins. “Be calmer,” Sherlock advises, with a trace of irony. “We’re going to a party.”

Roommates are for little people by alexxphoenix42 (69K, E, Johnlock) John was looking forward to seeing his friends back at uni, but a new year brings new complications, not the least of which is a dorm room with only one bed, and a stroppy roommate with an utterly spectacular arse. God, John doesn't need the headache.

Sherlock Is All Tied Up by wendymarlowe (13K, E, Johnlock) It was Sherlock's bright idea to go to a sex club while on the trail of a killer.  It's up to John to help them blend in.  Luckily, he's got some experience in this arena.

Ten Years by toyhto (28K, M, Johnlock) A friend tells Rosie Watson that her parents aren't together for real, because they don't kiss. But we do, John says. 

Thanks to the barbarians by queen_jadis (10K, E, Johnlock) John and Sherlock get married for a case, which both of them find hilarious - until they realise that they can't get a divorce. The offensive piece of paper has more effect on their relationship than John thinks it has any right to do.

Wars We Fought, Things We’re Not by blueink3 (55K, M, Johnlock) “Oh come, John. Could be fun,” Mycroft taunts, accompanied by an eyebrow arch he’s gotten far too good at. “Besides, it’s not as if it’s your first time pretending to be a couple.” Five months after John's world has fallen apart, Mycroft sends the consulting detective and his doctor on a case that neither is prepared for.

White Knight by DiscordantWords (69K, M, Johnlock) Green. The word green was used to convey a great many things. Illness. Envy. Inexperience.Standing there amidst Janine's chattering bridesmaids, watching Sherlock furrow his brow and study fabric swatches, watching him smile and simper and flirt, John thought it a remarkably apt colour choice. Because he felt quite sick to his stomach, he feared the source of said sickness might very well be jealousy, and he had absolutely no idea at all what to do about it. Or: Sherlock needs to fake a relationship for a case. He doesn't ask John.

[twohearts-hs]

‘Two Can Play That Game’ - Harry Styles Imagine

Words: 5.8k

Pairing: Gang Leader!Reader x Gang Member!Harry

Warnings: Swearing, death, smut

Summary: She rules a deadly gang, he has a price on his head. He works for the enemy, she is the enemy. What happens when Harry begins working for Y/N when really he is working with her rival.

|| Masterlist in bio }}

-

He caught her eyes the moment he entered the room. The way he presented himself, dark suit and little curls. She was in awe. His eyes held a mystery to them as she made contact with his. There was something about him that she was intoxicated with, possibly his heavy cologne, the lust in his eyes or the muscles that were hidden under his shirt. She was infatuated with him at that very moment. 

The mysterious man shook hands with her father. A smirk plaster on his face as he nodded towards the stranger. Y/N watched, standing next to him; she knew the mob was a messy job and she hates that she was brought up in it. Yet, here she was about to take the reign from her father.

“Mr Styles, this is my daughter Y/N, she just took over, so please get comfortable,” the older man told me, “Mr Styles will be our new right-handed man since you know what happened, darling,” he winked at her. She smiled but felt the deep shiver in her body from what happened to the last man.

Her father walked away, heading to his office as she stood in the living room with this new stranger.

“Call me Harry,” he said, taking the whiskey cup he was offered and sitting on the couch. She smiled.

“Call me Y/n then,” she replied, cocking a brow as one of the server handed her a glass of Merlot. “My father told me that you use to work with the FBI,” she began making conversation.

“Yes, I did. I didn’t enjoy following the rules, working for the government to look into people like us. I like the freedom than the constant breathing down my neck. With a job like this, I can do what I please,” he said, moving his hand from his side to sliding it on top of the couch. Y/N stayed still, keeping her movements clean and proper. 

“Fair enough,” she mumbled.

“Why is a lady taking over London’s most dangerous mob?” he asked.

“Why isn’t a lady taking over London’s most dangerous mob. Maybe unlike you, I have been raised in this world. I have seen people dying since I was born, saw blood from the moment I was conceived and I know pain before it was shown to me. I am lady, I am wealthy, yet most importantly, I am deadly. So please, Mr Styles do not offend me or else you won’t be calling your mother on Mother’s Day to apologise how anti-feminist you are,” she told him, looking him up and down as she got up from the white leather couch.

“Y/N,” Harry began, placing the glass down on the golden side table in the lavish, French traditional home to follow the beauty he now calls his boss. “I am sorry, I have been in this business for a while, therefore I was simply shocked, darling,” he said, grabbing into her arm to turn her around. 

Eyes meeting eyes as they locked. Of course, there was some sexual tension but both were too stubborn to recognise it.

“Don’t touch me,” she said sternly, raising her eyebrows to the curly-haired man.

“My apologies, madame,” he said. She was different, standing there with curled hair and a white dress; so odd for the mob. In his eyes, she was innocent, young and dumb...like Bambi. 

Y/N watched the man across from her, she pressed the glass to her plump glossed lips as she looked at the exotic creature. He was different, seen the dark world, mysterious, full of lust and just plain intoxicating.

“How much has my father told you about my mob?” she asked, keeping the distance between them.

Harry, standing in the black Gucci suit, rings at home on his fingers and whiskey glass in hand began walking up to her. “Not much. I am just here to protect you,” he began, her feeling his breath from the closeness, “protect the mob, sell drugs,” his breath moved to over her ear. His lips were so close, and a shiver went through her body. “Kill some people on the way,” he backed up, a smirk on his lips, as he filled his glass.

“I am your boss,” she placed the glass down and grabbed the whiskey that was his. She walked away as he stared at her ass, and she sat on the leather couch. “You do what I say and you don’t question it,” she began as he leaned against the bar in front of her. “There’s a second mob on the other end of London, we don’t talk to them. We aren’t at peace but we aren’t at war, so don’t fuck up,” she states, raising her eyebrows at Harry.

“Got it,” he nodded towards Y/N. 

“No, I am not done, Styles,” she stated, “No funny business with anyone on the team, that makes things extremely awkward for you. Nobody is allowed to talk to me unless I direct them to. You are to give me messages, no one else. If I want something, you get me something. If I ask you to do something, you better fucking do it,” she says. “Finally, mi casa es su casa, Harry, make yourself at home.”

Then she just walked out.

-

She was a stunner. He knew it and she knew it. The way she acts, she knows affects every person in the room either gender. Y/N was sex on wheels. Harry had a job to do and he was bloody good at his job. He had never let feelings get in the way before, therefore this would be easy. 

“Y/N, the Fester’s are here,” Harry said, entering her office. It has been a few weeks since their initial meeting. He went to Spain for a few days, she went to New York, therefore it has been a while since they saw each other.

“Thank you, Harry,” her hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail as she walked out with a feminine suit on.

“What’s the deal with the Fester’s?” he asked, as they walked down the hall to the dining room.

“Christian!” she smiles, walking in to see a tall, broad, blonde man. The two of them hugged one another and placed kisses on each other’s cheeks. Harry watched with a frown on his face. 

“Harry, this is Christian. He is my arms man, my assassin,” she said with no hint of remorse in her voice. “Christian, this is Harry, my second man.”

Harry nodded towards the blonde with multiple tattoos, yet he ignored him the whole time. The two were friends, he noticed. Yet, he hated the way the Italian touched Y/N like that, the gentle touches on her arm or the chuckle that escaped from her lip from a stupid joke he made. Harry just watched from the corner.

“I have someone you need to deal with,” she began, “remember Luke? Luke Harrison?” “Didn’t you fuck him?” he asked. Y/N rolled her eyes.

“He is a Harrison, I had to get information from someone and touching him made it happen. Anyway, he placed his nose somewhere he shouldn’t and I need him gone.”

“He is a Harrison, Y/N, you are gonna start a war,” Christian said.

“Kill him. He found out the route of my sales to America. I need him dead and once doing so, thirty million will show up in your bank account.”

Then she walked out. 

“Harrisons?” Harry said catching up to her.

“The Southside mob, Harry. Keep up, you should know this stuff,” she said, walking towards the black car outside. 

Y/N got into the black Range Rover, closing the door as Harry spoke, “Where are you going?”

“To deal with some business. We have a snitch, Harry, and I, of course, have to clean up after those idiots like their mother. I’ll see you when I get back.”

-

Harry rode up to the mansion he was very familiar with after all these years working with the Harrison’s. His motorcycle stopped in front of the golden doors to the London bound home. He knew he shouldn’t do this to her, but it was his job. He worked with the Harrisons, and he has for a while.

His ringed hand pushed open the big wooden door to the grand foyer, dark, dirty, mysterious, unlike her. Two sides - so different - he learnt. Y/N was an angel, or so he thought; dressed in white, a charming smile, bright home, yet Caleb Harrison was the opposite.

“Harry!” a booming voice came from the stairwell and a broad, muscular man emerged...Caleb.

Caleb Harrison was a twenty-eight-year-old mobster, his job was the oldest out of the town. His family has been doing this since time and law existed. Everyone had a hidden truth, both Y/N and Caleb do, Harry knew. He knew that once upon a time they lived in peace until Y/N did something, that thing Harry has yet to figure out due to the harsh whispers of even mentioning the beauty’s name.

“How is she?” he smirked, patting Harry on the back. Harry managed to get a smile out as he was handed a glass of whiskey. “My finest, aged twenty years, I only bring it out for celebration so tell me something good.”

“She,” he tried to say, “She is going to kill one of yours,” he managed to say. It was hard, he has never had this issue. He brought down multiple mobs before, whether female or male-led, but she, she was something in her eyes.

“Of course she is. The Devil always likes throwing a fit,” Caleb said, pushing back his dark hair. The Devil that name echoed in his brain, he never heard people call her that before.

“The Devil?”

“Born and raised by Hell itself,” he said, taking a sip from the glass, “Don’t be fooled by her looks, she always gets what she wants. That is why I put you on this case, you are just like her. Harry, you always get what you want. Yes, Y/n is a looker, her personality is out of the world and damn, that body will keep you moaning for ages, but she’ll ruin you in a snap of her manicured fingers,” Caleb said, moaning with the mention of her name.

“You love her,” Harry spat out, Caleb’s eyes widened.

“I did, but who doesn’t? I just need her brought down. Who is she going to kill?” he asked, sitting down at his desk. Harry leaned against the wall, looking out to the distance, red velvet couches, black wallpaper and a musty smell lingered. Her home was gorgeous, traditional, clean and French with a rose smell lingering. He preferred her home to his.

“Luke,” he muttered. Caleb let out an echoing laugh.

“Let her kill him. He is a drug addict, hasn’t done any good for me.”

“She screwed him,” Caleb shook his head and let a nasty smile grow.

“I thought you were smarter than this, Styles. That woman screws anything that walks as long as it benefits her.”

Harry let out a puff of air, “She is paying this man thirty million because she was believed he found out about her trade routes in America.”

He didn’t like Caleb, the self-righteous, narcissistic, self provoking asshole, but he made a contract all those years ago when he made a bad move with the government and he still has to pay it off. 

“I know about those trade routes because she told me five years ago as we fucked. She isn’t as smart as you think. Sometimes dancing with the devil gets you something, try it sometime, Harry,” he winked, getting up from the leather chair and patting him on the shoulder on the way out. “If you want to fuck her, go ahead. Just don’t tell her your dirty secrets. She’s fun though, enjoy it while it lasts. I’ll see you next week,” he said, walking out of the room.

Harry let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he moved out of the dark and gloomy room to his bike. He didn’t like the way men talked about her, like an object, a feared and loved object. Something to pass around. The blood in his veins began to boil as he thought about the words of Caleb over and over in his head. Anger had to come out. Therefore he left with a hole in Caleb’s gross black wallpaper.

-

“They call you The Devil,” Harry said, walking into the greenhouse, seeing her in her robe and hair down. It was nine in the morning on a Sunday. Sunday was her day to do nothing. \ He leaned against the doorway in the famous black suit she began to love as she smirked to her book. Her sunglasses perched on her nose, designer, expensive, is what screamed from just looking at her.

“So I heard,” she replied, charming being spat at you the moment she opened her glossed lips. “It is a Sunday, Harry,” she muttered, turning the page.

He walked up to her, hands in his pockets as he sat next to her. “I know.”

“Sundays are my day off. Not your day off, how come you aren’t in the meetings I assigned you?” she placed the book down on her lap.

“I cancelled them, moved them to tomorrow,” he calmly said looking out the open window. “Beautiful view, by the way, look at that pond,” he winked.

“You did what?” she raised her eyebrow.

“I thought you and I should get to know one another, so I booked this day off to play with one another,” he smiled, nodding his head to her.

A chuckle left her lips, a chuckle like honey due to him initiating that chuckle. “To play?”

“To play. I thought we could go into town, get some coffee, go for a walk, shop maybe, whatever you like to do on your days off with your friends.”

“I don’t have friends,” he rolled his eyes.

“Of course you do, what am I to you?”

“Fine. Give me half an hour to get ready,” she said, placing the book on the side table and walking out of the greenhouse.

-

Harry knew she was hard to get to. The girl never opened up, she was witted, stubborn, charismatic and she tended to always be ten steps ahead. And he hates to admit it, but he was falling for her. 

The two of them were walking down the streets of London, ending up in the shopping area then sitting in a café looking over the busy streets they call home. She was beginning to loosen up, her ‘leader of a mob’ vibe was slowly beginning to fade as chuckles were exchanged over a cup of coffee.

They sat together, on a booth looking onwards to the street. She was so close, touching thighs then hips and now he threw his arm on the back of the sit. 

“I heard a little rumour,” he said, looking at her as she pursed her lips and locked eyes with him.

“Did you now, what is that rumour?” she raised her eyebrows and letting a smile come to her face. 

“What’s the history between you and Caleb?” he asked, no more flirting, just straight forward. Her eyes instantly stopped looking at his as she placed the mug down.

“Who told you about that?”

“Y/N…” he tried.

“I loved him until he came and almost killed me. He wanted my empire. That’s it,” she told him, refusing to look at him again.

“Y/N, I am sorry,” he began, “you truly don’t deserve that—”

“Kiss me,” she interrupted him, looking at those emerald eyes and just whispering the words that both of them wanted to hear.

“What?”

“You heard me, Styles, kiss me,” she states again. He keeps his eyes widened, not knowing how to respond to her. She leaned in closer, “and here I thought you weren’t a pussy. So kiss me,” she mumbled into his ear, trailing her breath across his jaw to his lips.

Their eyes locked as a smirk appeared on his face. “You are a tease, my darling,” he states. He moved his hand to her hip, cupping it and pulling her closer and ramming their lips together and letting them lose control.

Her hand went to his jaw, cupping it as his fingers began brushing against her exposed thigh. Seconds later, heavy breaths filled the room as they pulled away. A laugh interrupted the silence as she let out a chuckle. He began laughing too as she placed her head on his shoulder. 

“Why are we laughing?” he asked as she still silently chuckled for a second.

“I don’t know. I kissed you,” she says.

“And that’s funny?” he asked amused.

“No, I just never let my emotions run wild, but you change me for the better, Harry.”

“Well, I am glad I do,” he said with a beaming smile, “now let’s head back.”

-

“Mr Y/L/N,” Harry said walking into Y/N’s house as she saw the man in a suit and tie watching him. The older man smirked, a chuckle erupting as he welcomes Harry in. The Italian man sat down on the white couch he knows so well as he tsks his teeth trying to find the words.

“My daughter, you would say she runs the mob well, eh?” he begins, getting up and pouring himself a scotch at the bar. He walked back, handing one to Harry as Harry took a deep breath.

“She is amazing, sir,” Harry said, nodding towards him, appreciating the beverage. 

“It is hard, watching her run it when I am back running the other half in Italy. She does it so well, just like her mother. She is beautiful, intelligent, stubborn and a bit of a bitch, my daughter, wouldn’t you say?” he asked.

Harry bit his lip, “I can only say good things about her.”

“She likes you, Harry,” he states, turning his head to him, “I have never seen her so fond of a man before. She isn’t even that fond of me. The only man she had remote interest was Caleb and I am ready to punch that bastard’s brains out,” he told him. Lorenzo patted Harry’s shoulder, looking into the Brit’s eyes, “You like her back. You’re a good guy, Harry, I would love to see you take over the business, but if you break my little girl...there will be some consequences--”

“Father,” Y/N walked in, seeing her father and Harry together. Lorenzo got up, placing his cup down and kissed his daughter on the cheek. 

“Just talking to Harry, my dear,” she smiled, watching him exit her home.

“You don’t like him,” Harry said walking up to the girl and placing his hands on her hips.

“Who doesn’t? He practically stole me from my mother, and then placed me in this business,” she said, placing a kiss to his cheek. She began walking away, but Harry grabbed her hand spinning her around.

“We fucked last night,” Harry said, with a stern face. Y/N raised her eyebrows. He grabbed her by her waist and pulled her in, “I don’t fuck around, Y/N.”

“Aww, I’m honoured,” she winked, bopping his nose.

“I am being serious, what are we?” he asked her, glaring her down.

“You are my partner?” she innocently said, giving a wink and a smirk.

“Partner in crime, bed or in life?” he asked, she laughed getting out of his grip and skipping down the hallway.

“All three, now help me with this idiot in the basement.”

-

Y/N wandered into her bedroom, wrapping the white silk robe closer to her body as she placed the glass of red wine on her bedside table. It was time to relax and rewind, it hasn’t been a pleasant day in her eyes. She looked at herself in the mirror and a little smile came to her face as she brushed her fingers across her shoulder. He left marks on her and for some odd reason, she loves it.

“What are you doing?” Harry walked up to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and whispering in her ear. Her fingers held onto his hands as she melted into his touch. A little smile came to her features as he whispered in her ear sweet nothings.

‘I’m admiring the marks you made,” she said as he began kissing her neck, turning her rapidly and placing his lips back on her plump ones. Their lips worked as one, as they fumbled towards her bed. 

Harry rid his t-shirt as she dropped her robe, leaving him in just his jeans. His hands gripped her waist as he littered kissing on her face. Harry kept pushing her closer to the bed as her little hands compared to his underdid his belt, pushing his jeans and underwear done as she fell on the bed. Giggles erupted the silent room as she kissed his shoulder.

“Are you ok?” he asked, rubbing his hardened cock as she mumbled a yes into his neck. He smiled, pulling back, straddling her as she smiled. He didn’t know what it was but every time they met eyes, he fell more in like with her, possibly close to love. Her hands ran over his shoulder, tracing the tattoos lining his toned body. He pushed forward, kissing her again as she wrapped her body around his. Y/N’s hands gripped his butt as they made out, sexual tension increasing by every second. Their hunger for each other was too much now and Y/N pulled away, grabbing a condom from her bedside table and taking a sip of her red wine as she crashed her lips back on his, more than just needy for him.

Harry took the condom from her as he opened it and rolled it on his cock. She looked into his eyes as he looked up.

“Ready?” she mumbled, he nodded as he grabbed her hip, pushing her down on the bed as her legs opened. He lined himself up with her entrance as he slowly slid in. A slight moan came from her as he pushed himself in. Y/N grabbed him by his face and placed a hungry kiss against them as she slid her hands down his hips to his butt, grabbing it as he began to move to a steady movement.

Moans and groans escaped their lips as they fucked in her bedroom. The sound of slapping of skin and light little huffs, as well as pleasure sounds, were now heard in the once quiet room as they fucked the shit out of one another.

Y/N’s hands moved from his butt to his hips, grabbing them as she pulled away from their quick kisses to one another. She mustered the strength as she pushed him over, swinging her legs over his thighs, riding him and wrapping her arms around his neck.

“You are so cheeky,” he muttered, pushing her sweaty locks of hair as he smiled to her, trying to not let too much noise escape from his lips as she rocked her hips against his swollen and hard cock. 

Y/N smirked, kissing his cheek as she whispered in his ear, “I am only cheeky for you, mister,” he moaned at her words as she moved her hips faster. She pulled his hair, letting his head push back as she captured his lips once again.

“Grab my hips,” she muttered as his ringed hands gripped her hips, pushing her harder on his cock as they fucked. Both bodies covered in sweat as they moaned each other’s name.

“I’m going to cum soon,” she muttered in his ear as he nodded.

“Me too, cum with me,” he whispered back as he pushed her body back on the bed and towered over her.

Harry’s ringed hand grabbed her thigh, wrapping it around her butt as he fucked her harder. Y/N couldn’t take it anymore, so close to her finishing that she just let sounds out. He was truly amazing at pleasuring her and she thanked him.

They finished together, heavy breaths exchanged as he rolled off of her, snuggling himself against her body. 

“I know we have known each other for only a few months, Harry, but I think I am falling for you,” she said, playing with his hair as he placed his head against her breasts and wrapping his arms around her.

“I think I am falling for you too.”

-

“Why the grin, Styles?” Caleb asked, walking out from the corner to him. Harry stayed quiet.

“I can’t work for you anymore,” he stated, placing the phone given to him down on the desk.

“You have a debt to pay, Harry,” Caleb said, clicking his tongue as he pulled his suit jacket back, showing a gun.

“I have been working my debt for a while. I think I’ve cleared it,” he pushed back.

“You’re fucking her, aren’t you?” Caleb responded, rolling his eyes, “Here I was thinking that you’re the smart one here, Styles. You are fucking The Devil.”

“It doesn’t matter what I am doing, all I know is that you’re the bad guy here, Caleb. I am done,” he responded, turning away.

“I take it back. You aren’t just fucking her, you are in love with her. Stupid Harry Styles, he’s gonna get his heartbroken by that slut,” Caleb responded. Harry instantly turned around, walking quite fast to Caleb, raising a fist.

“Don’t talk about her like that,” he said glaring down the man.

Caleb snickered, rolling his eyes and shaking his head, “You’re in love with her. I sent you on this mission six months ago and you’re like a lovesick puppy. It’s funny in all honesty,” he pursed his lips, Harry lowered his hand.

“I want out of this, Caleb. I may be in love with her, but I paid back my debt and if you refuse to let me go, I’ll tell her about our history--”

“So she can fix up your mess? You humour me, Styles,” Caleb said, “You’re not off the hook. Here’s your next mission.”

-

Harry sat on the couch at her house, as she walked around the room talking about her day and grabbing herself some snacks and a glass of wine for the movie they are about to watch. He loved seeing her like this, in her natural state as she expressed her feelings, her words and what was in her head. Y/N wasn’t calm, collected, stern or cold when she was with him anymore. She was soft and every second, she was falling for him and him for her.

“You’re not listening to me, H,” she said, sitting next to him as he wrapped his arm around her.

“Of course I am, love,” he told her kissing her temple.

“I am meeting Caleb tomorrow,” she said, kissing his lips, and looking up to him.

His eyes widened, “Why?”

“Because, my dear, I have a plan,” she said, poking his nose and winking.

“Now, why are you being so quiet?” she asked, kneeling in front of him and cupping his cheeks. He smiled gently at her, looking away as he tried to form the words on his tongue.

“I lied to you,” he said, she stopped rubbing his cheek as he pulled away and ruffled his hair. “I lied to you, Y/N.”

“Lied to me about what Harry?” she responded to his frazzled voice. Harry still couldn’t look her in the eye as he tried to form the words he desperately wanted to say. “Harry, baby, I love you, remember? Nothing is going to change that,” she said, “I’m getting worried,” she grabbed his cheeks and pulled him to her. “Look at me, tell me,” she pleaded.

“I lied. I had a price on my head and Caleb helped me to pay it off as long as I worked for him. I, Y/N, I was a spy. I was hired to tell everything about you--”

She pulled away instantly, “And did you tell him, Harry?” he nodded.

“Not everything, just in the beginning. The moment I got feelings for you, I stopped. Please, love, forgive me. Let’s move past--” “Stop,” she said, pulling away from his embrace as she walked out of the living room. “You broke my trust, Harry. I fucking trusted you, I fucking trusted you. I fucking love you and this happens. Get out!” she said, looking at him with such anger that he didn’t recognise her orbs anymore.

“Please,” he pleaded, walking towards her to try again to grab her hand.

“No. I love you so much--”

“Then forgive me. I have been feeding you information for months.”

“Why haven’t you told me sooner?” she asked, rubbing her temples. 

“Because I was afraid of this, darling,” he said, taking a piece of her hair and twirling it.

“Just get out. I’ll call you when I am ready to see you again, Styles,” she told him, walking past him, bumping shoulders as she left. Then she was gone.

-

She sat, biting her nails as she looked around the darkroom. Y/N recognised her bodyguard by the door as she waited for the man she loathed so much. The man that was truly a snake in disguise and an artist of vileness. A man who crushed her heart and spread rumours around that she’ll open her legs up for anyone and they call her the Devil. They call her The Devil when really it was him who was the devil.

She was supposed to meet Caleb a few weeks ago, but she refused to go when she was in that emotional state. Its been three weeks since she saw Harry and it was the hardest three weeks of her life. The beauty felt lifeless, lost and sad without him and she just wanted him back. Yet, she couldn’t, she had a business to run and she had a plan.

“Why’d you cancel?” The Devil walked in, she rolled her eyes, looking at the bloodstain on his cheek.

“You have a little something,” she said, rubbing her cheek.

“It’s for you to lick off later, you love it when I get all down and dirty,” he winked to her and she just gagged in the inside.

“Oh, you wish. I am here on business, let’s talk.” Just then, her Harry walked in. Suit on and hair fixed perfectly as she watched him sit next to Caleb. He was hurt, she recognised. She could see it in his eyes.

“My associate and I have come with a proposition, we’ve seen how you run your empire and we’re impressed. But there is room for approvement and we’d like to offer our services,” Caleb said, lighting a cigarette and placing it to his lips.

“Hi, Harry,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “We all love a traitor,” Y/N said, standing up and walking across the room, brushing the chairs with her fingers types as she pulled a chair out and sat on it. She leaned forward, forehead almost touching with Harry’s, yet pulling back.

“So, you think you’re so superior. With your little suit and tie and the Rover on the driveway. You really thought you could just take my empire, like that,” she said, snapping her fingers. Y/N placed her palms on the table, “You’re wrong and here I thought you’re so smart, Caleb. Don’t make a deal with the Devil, is what they say, huh? How come you wanna mess with that shit?” she smirked to him, glaring the man down.

“Do we have a deal?” he asked, voice stern. Y/N turned her back on him, placing her hands on the hip.

Three men were stood behind Harry and Caleb; three bodyguards. Y/N turned around, whipping the gun from her holster as she took three easily shots to the men. “No, we don’t,” she mumbled, blowing the smoke from her gun. “Didn’t your mother taught you to play nice? If you play dirty, two can play that game.” Harry stood up, fixing his suit jacket as he walked towards Y/N.

“You nasty piece of shit. You bitch,” Caleb said, pulling his gun out and pointing it to her. Harry pulled his and pointed it to Caleb.

“You may have street smarts, but at least I know what the fuck I am doing,” she told him, “Shoot me, my gang won’t go to you. Shoot Harry, that won’t change anything except make me really sad. We don’t want me sad, last night, I killed your brother. So, make a smart choice here Caleb. If you don’t kill me, we could forever be in this fight where everyone knows you love me. You won’t kill me. Kill Harry, I’ll kill you. Make your decision,” she said, no hesitation in her voice.

“You were also smart,” he told her.

“I know,” she told him, as he lowered his gun.

“You two will make beautiful babies,” he said again, looking at the floor as he tried to buy time.

“I know that too. I wish I could send you an invite to the wedding or the baby shower. I have an old friend who wants you, Caleb and not in a good way. He’s standing outside. What is going to happen, is Harry’s gonna open the door and you’re going to not resist. He’ll take you away and we’ll never have to see each other again. Harry and I can move on, and you will be dead. There are some people who actually know how to make a deal with the devil, sugar, you just aren’t one of them.”

-

Y/N walked out of the bathroom, silk robe wrapped around her as she made her way to bed. Harry sat, with a book in his hand. Its been six months since Caleb was taken to Japan where he made a bad deal with a gang leader there. They have been happy since. 

“You’re so badass and beautiful,” he cheekily said, as she climbed in bed and met him with a kiss. She giggled in between the kisses as his hands drifted to her butt. “Here, I thought you hated me in the beginning,” he said, kissing her cheek as she pulled away.

“What?! No! I never hated you when we first met,” she said, cupping his cheeks as she straddled him with her knees in the queen size bed.

“You so hated me,” he told her, smirking and dragging out the “oh” sound. 

“No!” 

“Yes, no kiss me you little bugger,” and she gladly did.

“I really love you,” she mumbled, against his lips. He hummed in agreement.

“If you really love me, bug,” he kissed her again, “then marry me.”

-

Tag list - dm, inbox or comment to be added/removed :)

@alinashawn @mendesnecessary @i-am-bisexual-and-a-girl @un-limit-edd @ashwarren32 @harrysahottie @iimagineloves @claredolphinbear24 @purple-cream-cheese @particularlymendes @lilya-petrichor @laggyphone @winchesterwife27 @neverlandqueen15 @kissme-hs @mutuallynotmutual @why-are-all-the-teens-gay @min-amani @a-classy-asian @bandsandanimefreak @for-harrys-eyesonly

[bowieandqueen11]

Worked Out For The Best / Aziraphale Imagine

Request: YOU WRITE FOR GOOD OMENS !!! If request are open could you write one where the reader is also an angel and after the other angels gang up on aziraphale the reader is there to help him and comfort him. Maybe she lets it slip that she has feelings for him ? Thank you!! I’m sorry if request aren’t open i just got so excited 😭 

I’m sorry this took so long @haleysucks00! <3

Comments are much appreciated!

His smooth skin was oddly juxtaposed to the crispness of his suit.

Tailored to perfection, it was an old suit he had bought at a long gone high end London shop, way back a few centuries ago. He was feeling less than pleased today, but Aziraphale wouldn’t let that get him down. The other angels may be, quite frankly, dreadfully rude and downright nasty, but you, his oldest friend would always brighten his day. His eyes had a look of long yearned for mischief beneath the heavily crinkled corners, ancient traces of laughter. He could never forget, the day the two of you had lounged near the Roman Baths, he never thought he would laugh so hard again. He walked in with an uncharacteristic stoop, yet moved swiftly into the marbled lobby of the restaurant.

He didn’t want to keep you waiting, especially since you had been so kind as to book ahead.

He greeted the maitre d’ that approached him with a vigorous hand shake and the best smile he could muster in his current state, golden locks bouncing, faltering somewhat when the greeter didn’t match his joviality. His smile waned, then came a raucous cheer of delight when he spotted a delectable looking parfait on the table to his right. He nearly scares the daylights out of the young couple digging their spoons into the glass bowl.

‘No, Aziraphale, we’re sitting over here!’

‘But...the parfait, Y/n, it looks delicious!’, he says with a face almost fully aghast.

You only laugh as you grab his hand, pulling him away towards the stone pillars of the balcony.

‘I, uh, I hope you don’t mind. I ordered us wine, thought it might be nice to do go for something a bit fancier for a change. Plus, after the day you’ve had, and with Armageddon coming and all, I think you deserve it.’

~

Viewed in isolation, the balcony could be anywhere with its grey stone floor and velvet clothed tables. But instead it lies less than two feet from one of the busiest roads in the city, adorned with little green bushes around the edges, and two very full angels. Aziraphale sits there motionless for a moment, feeling better for himself with a full stomach and rich conversation, just allowing himself to soak in the ambient classical music that swirled jovially in the background for a few moments, wondering what the words were and drinking in the fragranced air.

He looked down to observe the fork in his hand, the ceramic handle brining a welcome coolness after the heat of the afternoon. It was fashioned by a poetic artisan for sure, the simple cream stem had become a welcome canvas for their floral dreams. He doesn’t see you watching him, wine glass in hand and a frown on your face,The rim of the wine glass was a perfect band of black and white, as if a fragment of starlit sky raced around it.

‘Azi, are you going to tell me what exactly happened now?’

‘Why would I ruin such a splendid afternoon, my dear.’

‘Because someone else has ruined your morning, and I want to figure out what exactly Gabriel is up to so we can stop it. So me, you...and Crowley can stop it.’

He places his spoon down next to his empty plate with a reserved glance at you, his eyes dipped in his characteristic sign that he was afraid of what might happen next. He licks the last bit of cream off the side of the porcelain, before sighing like a slight spring breeze, soft and gentle, almost lost against the drone of the traffic.

‘Well, if you insist, we must have tea first.’

It takes him another full twenty minutes before the tea has been ordered, and he’s satisfied with the two steaming cups he has sipped in your company.

‘Azi, I’m sorry they were so horrible to you. But I’m here for you. You know, I’ve always been here for you and always will be, as long as we stop the end of the world of course, but I have faith in us.’

His eyes shifted to the bottom of his glass as he swallowed thickly, and became glazed with a glassy layer of tears. As he blinked, they dripped from his eyelids and slid down his cheeks, and he swipes them away with a rather unconvincing laugh.

‘I know my dear, but you shouldn’t have to be burdened with my problems too. It’s very kind of you, but I can handle them myself.’

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t fallen in love with Aziraphale nearly a thousand years ago. It was hard watching him, knowing him, sometimes. He was too kind, his eyes holding too much love for his own good, his words too gentle, his ability to treat everyone as if they were the most precious thing in the universe. The way he poured over old books with his little reading glasses he refuses to replace, the low rumble in his throat before he begins laughing so hard his belly aches, the little droplets of hot chocolate that lay on his chin during winter nights.

‘But I want to Azi, I want to be there for you.’

He reaches his hand out shyly onto the table, his long coarse fingers lying flat against the top, his telltale sign that he wants to hold your hand when he’s too anxious and too nervous to ask. As you oblige happily, giggling lightly as he lets out a breathless laugh, he feels his heart flutter, his eyes locking onto yours and seeing the galaxies in your swirling pupils. Having you in his life makes him feel like everything’s possible in this world, like he can conquer anything.

‘I don’t know why you’re so good to me, dear.’

‘That’s because I love you, doofus.’

Realising what you had just done, you slap your hand over your mouth, You try to back away quickly, but his grip remains steadfast on your hand, his expression softening.

‘I love you too, Y/n,’ he breathes out, ‘and I must say, this is the best outcome I could have wished for such a subpar day.’

The same giddy smile that was on his face grew on yours. The pair of you leant forward and rest your foreheads together, sharing the tender moment the two of you had deserved for hundreds of years.

Please support me on Kofi!

[moon-in-daylight]

Save you (Part 4) / Dhawan!Master x reader

Summary: Traveling with The Doctor had shown you incredible things: The existence of extraterrestrial live, the possibility of time travel and the most beautiful and remote places you could have ever imagine... But being with her had also made you develop some strong values. To be kind and always help those in need. But would you be up to help The Master now that he is the one who needs to be saved?

Words: 5124

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Finding The Doctor wasn’t easy when you didn’t have a time machine. You weren’t sure where or when to look for her, but you thought maybe some friends of yours would have an idea. The first thing you did was trying to contact the fam to see if they were travelling with The Doctor, but when you found them, they still believed she had sacrificed herself in Gallifrey. As soon as you gave them the news that both you and her were alive, the four of you started to move heaven and Earth to try to find her.

It took a few weeks of trying to retrace her steps before she suddenly landed her TARDIS right outside of Yaz’s house in Sheffield, where you had been staying at for the past days. The look on The Doctor’s face when she saw you was one of disbelief at first, barely being able to believe that you were in front of her. When she processed that it was really you, she quickly ran to hug you.

Before she had the chance to ask you how you had escaped of Gallifrey, a worried Yaz asked her where she had been all along. The Doctor explained the both of you that she had been jailed by the Judoon right after leaving Gallifrey.

“But how did you survive?” She immediately turned to you. You weren’t sure how to tell her everything that had happened since the last time you had seen each other. “It’s not that I’m not happy that you’re alive. I’m happy, very glad. Just surprised.”

“The Master saved me.” You told her, a confused gesture appearing on her face. Yaz, who was the only one you had told about it all, stayed silent.

“Why would he do that?” She frowned as she tried to decode her enemy’s intentions. You simply shrugged, not feeling ready to tell her about everything else that had happened. Suspicious, she used her sonic on you. She was even more surprised when she saw everything looked normal. “Well, you seem to be okay. Did he just brought you back to Earth?”

“It was a bit more complicated than that.” You admitted. “But basically, yes.”

“I’m listening.”

After taking a deep breathe, you told her everything. You told her about the Cyberium, about your plan to save The Master’s life and about how you had fallen for him. You even told her about how he had offered you a place on his TARDIS, and how everything had ended between the two of you. She listened carefully to every word you said, without judging you, showing you nothing but support. You had feared she would get mad at you when you told her, but she was incredibly understanding, which only made you wish The Master would have been too.

The Doctor didn’t say much to you, she didn’t know how to comfort you. But she understood what you had been through, and even if she wasn’t good at expressing it, she let you know that she was there for you, in her own socially awkward way.

Soon, you were travelling with The Doctor again. Visiting all kinds of planets and witnessing the most important historical events with your friends. Everything had gone back to normal, except for you.

Everywhere and 'anywhen' you went reminded you of The Master. You couldn’t stop thinking about what he would have said about the places you visited, or what he would have done whenever things got dangerous. Even when you were at the TARDIS, you imagined him messing around with the controls, being all bitter and sarcastic at whatever question you asked him. There was no way to get him out of your head, and it didn’t take long until it showed to the rest.

You were always distracted, almost as if you weren’t there. It was as if you had lost interest in seeing the universe, which you used to love before. Reality was you were still excited to visit new places and know new cultures, you just wished he was there with you. It was stupid, you had your friends with you and that should have been more than enough. You should have forgotten about The Master in a week or two, but you simply couldn’t.

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t help yourself from thinking about what would have happened if you had gone with him. If you had had the chance to go back, you would have probably still chosen to return with The Doctor, you just wished that hadn’t meant the complete disappearance of him from your live. Maybe if you had said something different, if you had tried harder to make him understand… There was no use in asking yourself those questions, yet they were inside your head at all times.

Your friends were worried about you, but they didn’t know what they could do to help you. You were distancing yourself from the rest, you didn’t talk anymore than the strictly necessary and every time they tried to brought up the subject you quickly tried to avoid it. You hadn’t exactly been the most approaching person lately. That’s why, not knowing what to do about you, the fam got The Doctor into trying to help you.

She wasn’t really sure of what she was supposed to do to cheer you up, but she had also noticed the change in your behavior and wanted to make you feel better. Only problem was, she wasn’t good at talking words of support. Or at talking, in general aspects. She knew she wouldn’t be helping you much that way, so she tried to think of something else.

The TARDIS had landed back in Sheffield to leave Yaz, Rayan and Graham back home, and The Doctor was supposed to drop you back to London when she casually had an idea.

“What do you think of us doing a little trip together? Just the two of us.” She proposed. “We can go anywhere you want in the universe, completely your choice.”

“Okay.” You accepted with a little shrug. The main reason you agreed was because you hated being alone at home, but you didn’t really wanted to do anything in particular.

“Great!” She smiled at you. “Where to, then?” Before you could answer her question, she quickly offered some destinations. “Have you ever been to Midnight? I haven’t been to Midnight in ages, it has great SPAs, but I don’t have a really good memory of the last time I was there… Or we could go to Apalapucia. You have to visit Apalapucia, it was voted the second best destination for the discerning intergalactic traveler.”

“Anywhere you choose will be okay, Doctor.” You assured her.

“It’s always my choice. I’m tired of choosing.” She sighed, beckoning for you to approach the console. “What place or time in the universe have you always wanted to visit?”

“I don’t know…” Making your way to her, you doubted. “I can’t think of anything… You know the universe way better than me, you should choose.”

“I have an idea!” The Doctor exclaimed as she started to press some buttons. You thought she had already chosen a destination and was now flying you there, but you got surprised when you saw a compartment of the TARDIS getting opened and a round device emerging from it. “This hasn’t been used in forever.” She said as she guided you to it. “You know that the TARDIS is a living being, right?” You simply nodded. “She’s also a telepath. She can read not only your mind, but she can see through someone’s entire timeline and decide where and when you’re supposed to be at a certain moment in your life. That’s the reason sometimes we don’t always end up where I set the controls to.” The Doctor clarified as you looked at the console intrigued. “Okay, sometimes I just mess it up with the coordinates. But this also happens sometimes.”

“Is that what this thing is for?” You asked looking at the Time Lords’ technology.

“Exactly.” She gave you a smile. “If you can’t decide where to go, let the TARDIS make the choice for you.”

“What do I have to do?” Looking at the mechanism in front of you, you frowned. It was just a big white ball connected to the rest of the ship by some wires. Were you supposed to fly the TARDIS with that?

“Put your dominant hand in there and close your eyes. Don’t worry, it’s completely safe.” She indicated and you did as you were told. “Oh, important thing! Do not move, if you do you could end up looking like mashed potatoes. Other than that, completely safe.”

Trying to do your best to follow her instructions, you closed your eyes and tried not to think of anything at all, your body completely still. You waited for several seconds, but nothing seemed to happen. Just when you were about to remove your hand from the device, you heard the characteristic sound of the TARDIS landing.

When she finally materialized, The Doctor looked at you with excitement.

“Where are we?” You questioned, your hand still placed on the ball.

“Wherever the TARDIS thinks you should be.” The Time Lord gave you an enormous, playful smile. “Aren’t you curious to find out where that is?”

You smiled back at The Doctor to hide the fact that you weren’t even as half as excited as she was. You didn’t want to be rude to her, so you ran beside her when she grabbed your hand and guided you out of her ship.

There was nothing especial waiting for you outside the TARDIS’ doors. Or so you thought when you found yourself in the middle of a forest. For a moment, you thought you hadn’t left Earth, but giving a second look to your surroundings, you realized the leafs in the trees were all golden and, behind where you both stood, there was a beautiful lake made of liquid gold. When you saw a whirlpool forming you immediately realized where you had ended up.

“Catrigan Nova.” The Doctor confirmed your suspicions. That was the planet The Master was planning on taking you to. “Look at that! Whirlpools made of gold! This is the only place in the universe where that happens.” She pointed in the lake’s direction.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything and The Doctor got worried when she saw your lack of reaction. She was used to you being marveled by every planet you visited, and even if you hadn’t been that enthusiastic lately, she had expected you to at least ask her some questions about the planet. The TARDIS had decided that that was the place where you were supposed be at that precise moment of your timeline, and knowing how naturally curious you were, The Doctor couldn’t believe you could just simply stand there in silence. What she didn’t know was that you were completely aware of why her TARDIS had took you there.

“Hey, why don’t we have a look around, investigate the place?” She proposed, trying to get you out of your thoughts. “Catrigan Nova is also known for its incredible cities and advanced technology. If I remember correctly, the capital must be over…” She looked at the position of the sun shining above as she tried to place herself in the planet. She pointed over towards the North. “There, I think. So, what do you say?”

The Doctor knew how much you loved going on adventures, so even if her plan wasn’t going that well so far, she still hoped that your visit to Catrigan Nova could cheer you up. If she couldn’t get you to be yourself again by reminding you of the things you enjoyed the most, she had no clue of what else she could do.

“Okay.” With a little nod, you started walking in the direction your friend had pointed.

You felt her worried look on you as you walked with your head down. It wasn’t your intention to worry her, but you just couldn’t get out of your head. All you could do at that moment was to think about The Master. About how would have been to visit that planet with him when he had offered you to. Why, of all the times and places in the universe, the TARDIS had decided this was the right place for you? Did she really hated you that much?

The situation was beginning to upset you, and not wanting to cause any more concern on The Doctor, you decided to take a moment to clear yourself. “I left my jacket on the console room.” You suddenly pointed out, using it as an excuse to go back and have some time by yourself. “You keep walking, I’ll catch up with you later.”

“I can go with you if you want.” She said, trying her best not to sound worried and failing at it.

“No, it’s okay.” You forced a smile in an attempt to make her think that you were fine.

“Then I’ll wait for you here.” She gave you a thumbs up that you returned in response before making your way back to the ship.

When you were far enough from her, you let out a loud sigh. You knew you couldn’t carry on that way, that you needed to move on desperately. But the devil was in the details, and every little thing brought you back to The Master. There, in that planet, everything reminded you of him. The whirlpools, the golden plants… Actually, you had never been there with him, but that was the most frustrating thing. You didn’t even have the memories and that made you long for something that you never really had. For the chance that you had wasted away.

The saddest part for you was when you asked yourself whether The Master missed you like you missed him. Would he thought of you as often as you thought of him? Would he wished you were there with him when seeing things that reminded him of you? It broke your heart to realize that, most likely, he had forgotten all about you. He would have probably moved on as soon as he got into his TARDIS.

You closed your eyes as you tried to push those thoughts away. The Doctor was trying to do something nice for you and she didn’t deserve to get that attitude from you. Getting closer to the lake and looking at your golden reflection, you tried to put up a smile on your face. If you couldn’t do that for yourself, maybe you could try to do it for The Doctor.

Just when you were about to go back to her, you heard what seemed to be the crying of a little child. You were confused at first, thinking that maybe it was all in your head, but then the sound got louder. Not thinking about it twice, you followed the crying in hopes you could help whoever made that noise. Judging by what you could hear, you supposed that it was a child that had gotten lost in the forest.

You didn’t have to wander far to find the figure of a seemingly human boy sitting on the floor with his hands covering his face.

“Are you lost?” You asked him with your best intentions. “Don’t worry, I’m here to help… What happened to you?”

Slowly so you didn’t scare him off, you kneeled in front of him. Seeing that he was crying bitterly, you carefully placed a hand on his shoulder to try and comfort him. It caught you completely out of guard when the figure of the child turned into a humanoid creature with a big forehead and needles instead of fingernails. You weren’t fast enough to get away from it before it stuck one of its needles on your forearm. Holding your arm in place, it started to introduce a dark liquid in your veins.

You tried to struggle, to get rid of its grip. But it was way stronger than you, and every second that passed you felt yourself getting weaker. You had completely gave up when suddenly, the alien in front of you turned into a tiny doll. Intrigued, you took the small figure in your hand. You only knew one person capable of doing that. You dropped the figure when you saw someone else approaching you

“Can you be anymore stupid?!” You heard his voice, his silhouette kneeling beside you as you did all you possibly could to keep yourself from losing consciousness.

“Master…” You mumbled his name, not being sure if he was truly there in front of you or if it was just a venom-induced hallucination.

The Master was quick to remove the needle from your skin and examine the wound it had left on your arm. Your veins were turning black with the poison flowing through them.

“I told you to stop getting yourself into these situations.” His tone switched from anger to one of deep concern as he tried to think of a way to get the dark liquid out of your system before it killed you.

Putting your free hand on his cheek, you tried to check that he was in fact there. When you felt his light stubble under your skin again, you gave him a small smile.

“I’ve missed you.” You confessed as you felt your voice weakening and a burning sensation running through your whole body. The pain was starting to become unbearable.

He looked closely at you, judging by your words that it had been some time since the last time you had seen him. In his own timeline, he had just left you on Earth and had gone to Catrigan Nova to try and clear his head from you and everything that had happened. The last thing he had wanted to find there was you senselessly putting your life in danger yet again.

Without replying to you, he grabbed your forearm within his hands. Taking an old tissue from his inner pocket, he started to cover the wound with it as you silently groaned in pain. It didn’t take long for you to realize that that tissue was in fact the sleeve you had teared off of that 19th century dress to bondage his own bullet wound long ago. You were surprised he had kept that with him.

“If you’re not dead by now it’s because I’ve arrived just in time.” He informed you. “A few more seconds and your organs would have been paralyzed.”

“Good thing you were there.” You interlocked your gaze with his, but he immediately looked down at your arm.

“You still have enough poison in you to kill you in within an hour.” He informed. He knew he needed to get you back to his TARDIS to get the right material to extract every drop of venom out of you.

“What have you done to her?” The Doctor, who had went back looking for you, confronted The Master.

He didn’t even turned to her when hearing her voice. It wasn’t a surprise when she appeared anyway, he knew you couldn’t have gotten to that planet on your own, so it was obvious that she was going to be somewhere around. But in the situation you were all into, The Master couldn’t have care less about his oldest friend’s presence.

“Get away from her!” She shouted at him, kneeling beside you and trying to see what he had done to you. She was completely astonished when she realized that The Master was in fact making a tourniquet around your arm to stop the venom from spreading through your body. Looking at the color of your veins, she identified the creature that had attacked you, a Shamboni. “Have you removed the needle?” She asked at the fellow Time Lord.

“Of course I did, I’m not an idiot.” He clarified as he knotted the bandage around your arm.

“We don’t have much time.” Using her sonic on you, The Doctor stated. You barely could keep your eyes open.

“Don’t fall asleep. Not now.” The Master grabbed you by your shoulders and shook you in an attempt to keep you awake.

“Let’s take her to the TARDIS.” The Doctor rushed him.

Taking you in his arms, The Master started to walk towards his ship, The Doctor following close behind. You felt yourself getting numb as you struggled to keep your eyes open, your hands clinging to the collar lapel of his coat. With the little strength you had left, you turned your head towards The Doctor to give her a reassuring look before looking back to The Master. They were both clearly worried about you, to the point where they were working together again. You had never thought you would see that alliance, but even at the state you were, you couldn’t feel more safe knowing that they were the ones taking care of you.

You felt peace as you closed your eyes, the golden leafs above being the last thing you saw.

The both of them were quick to lie you down inside the TARDIS and extract the venom out of your body with the proper tool. The color of your veins returned to normal almost immediately, but that was no real guarantee. You wouldn’t be out of danger until you finally woke up. That was, of course, if the poison hadn’t reached your vital organs, in which case you would silently die in your sleep. They could only hope they had arrived in time.

The Master was sitting right next to you, waiting for you to wake up. He checked your pulse to find that your heart was still beating, just at a very slow pace.

“If she dies, it’s completely on you.” He turned to The Doctor. She stayed silent.

The Doctor looked at him in confusion. She already felt guilty for what had happened to you, and having The Master telling her that didn’t exactly help clear her conscience. But, beyond that, she was more shocked about how much he truly seemed to care for you. At first, when you had told her about your adventure with The Master, she had immediately assumed that he had been using you. Of course, she had never doubted your feelings, but suspicion came almost naturally when it came to him. The Doctor knew how twisted he could be, she expected him to do anything to hurt her and the ones she loved, but now that she saw on first hand the way he acted around you, she was starting to believe that his feelings for you might also be true.

“I know I should have been there.” She admitted in all honesty.

“She is your pet, you are supposed to look out for her!” The rage on The Master’s voice was more than obvious, but there was also worry in it. The Doctor even struggled to recognize her enemy.

“She’s not my pet, and neither is yours.” The Doctor clarified. “She’s her own person, so stop trying to objectify her.”

“At least I would have protected her.” He turned to you to watch you sleeping peacefully. All he wished for in that moment was for you to be your annoying self again, just to wake up and be fine.

Silence took over the ship as they both waited for you to give any sign of life. It wasn’t typical of them not to have nothing to say, it wasn’t their usual dynamic, but that was just a proof of how much you meant for them both. Every second that passed felt as long as a century.

“Y/N’s been a little down lately.” The Doctor mentioned, observing your resting body. The Master turned to her in curiosity. “Since she came back from being with you.”

“How long has it been for her?” He asked. The look on your eyes when you had seen him earlier had been of disbelief, leading him to believe it had been more than some time since your last encounter.

“About 6 months, maybe 7.” Confirming his suspicions, The Doctor got closer to the both of you. For The Master only a bit more than 2 hours had passed since your fight.

It broke his hearts not only the fact that you had chosen to stick with The Doctor for all that time, but to see you in that fragile state now that you finally got reunited with him. If you had chosen to stay with him, he would have made sure that you were always save. It was infuriating to see how dispensable you could be to The Doctor. If anything happened to you, she would simply get another human aboard on her ship. He wouldn’t have cared the slightest if that happened to any other of her companions. But then again you weren’t just another one of her companions.

“She chose you.” He reminded, his attention completely set on you.

“I don’t think she did.” The Doctor sighed. Even in despite of the terrible situation you had gotten into, she had never seen you as happy as you had been with The Master the few minutes before passing out. “I think she did what she thought was the right thing to do, but not what she truly wanted.”

“It doesn’t matter what she wanted, she made her choice.” The Master replied, taking off the tourniquet from your arm and putting the tissue back in his pocket.

“Don’t you see she never really had a choice?” She asked. “Her moral compass didn’t let her go with you. But maybe we can give her another chance…”

The more The Doctor thought about it, the more sense it all made. There was a reason to why The TARDIS had brought you to Catrigan Nova, and it was right in front of her. The TARDIS had brought you back to The Master.

Leaving a kiss on your forehead, she walked away from you. It was hard to let you go, but she knew it was for the best. She couldn’t make you happy anymore, and it seemed like The Master was willing to take good care of you. You desperately wanted to be with him, so she decided the best was to get herself out of the picture. Plus, she hoped that having you around would calm The Master down a bit.

“Where are you going?” The Master turned to her.

“I’m leaving.” She informed him. “I know you’ll take good care of her, you better not prove me wrong... Just tell her when she wakes up that she’s one of the most remarkable humans that I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet.” She looked at you one last time with a smile, amazed by how you had achieved in so little time what she had been trying for around a millennia. She had already assumed that it was impossible, but you had gotten him to show a better, kinder side of him.

“There’s a big chance she won’t wake up.” He reminded her. “I swear that if she doesn’t-”

“But she will.” The Doctor reached The TARDIS doors, opening them to get back to her own ship. “And she’ll choose to stay with you. I’m sure of it.”

The Master stood beside you at all times, making sure to check your vital signs from time to time as he desperately waited for you to give the minimal sign of life. If you didn’t survive this, he would go and kill The Doctor for real this time, without any plans or unnecessary complications. You were one of the few things in the universe he had grown to love, so losing you now wasn’t an option.

When several minutes later you opened your eyes, he barely gave you a second to sit up before kissing you passionately, as if he was trying to relieve all the pressure he had been under through that kiss. You happily corresponded his kiss, your lips moving at a slower pace since you were still trying to get back in yourself.

“Glad to see you too.” You told him with a huge smile when he pulled away. Both of his hands were resting on each side of your face, his eyes looking at yours with deep appreciation.

“How are you feeling?” He asked you in concern. The smile on your face grew bigger at the sudden demonstrations of affect. Maybe you should get yourself to the verge of death even more often.

“I’m still a bit dizzy, but I’ll be fine.” Assuring him that, you looked around at your surroundings. The place you had first known as O’s house, The Master’s TARDIS… It was unbelievable how much you had missed that place.

“If you’re looking for The Doctor, she has left.” The Master immediately began to explain.

“I know.” You told him. “I’ve overheard everything you both said before, I was awake the entire time, just paralyzed.”

The Master looked down at your arm to find the wound the Shambani had left on you still there, but looking much better than before. You would be as good as new in a few days, but the fear of being about to lose you still remained on his body. He couldn’t let you go again.

“So what is it going to be now?” The question came out of his lips with a noticeable less confidence than usual. “Are you going to stay?” Carefully, you embraced him, placing your head on his chest and listening the calming beatings of his hearts.

“Only if you still want me to, of course.”

A smile appeared instantly on his face at your affirmative answer, his arms surrounding you too. Now you were officially his companion and could stay with him for as long as you wanted, which you both hoped it would be a long time. For him, it felt strange the idea of not being alone in that infinitely large time machine, but it was definitely for the best. He had so many places to show you, so many things to teach you… He barely could wait to start.

“Where do you want to go next?” The Master asked you with a surprising excitement.

“Anywhere.” You answered, your body still pressed to his. You would visit every single place of the universe with him if you had the chance, and now you did. As long as he was there, you simply didn’t care where or when you were. Closing your eyes, you focused again on the rhythm of his hearts. “But can we just stay here for now? I like it here.”

[goodguydotmp3]

1) Hi, I just came across your post on Harry & although we are looking at him differently i absolutely agree with you on alot of what you say.  I never was a 1D fan, I worked for an arena & was lucky enough back in those days to see 1000's of concerts.  I remember thinking 1D was awful.  12 months ago now I fell down the rabbit hole with Harry.  I can't say i'm a fan because I only like a combination of his songs from both albums, which I listen to often on a playlist.

2. the others I listened to once and never again.  I never bothered to listen to his CALM app nor do I obsess over wanting his merch & quite frankly didn't bother to buy a ticket to see him.  In fact I kinda find him a bit cringe at times on stage.  However, I think he is one of the most charismatic sexiest humans on the planet. This has caused me to want to study him.  A lot of what I think you actually said.  He is 100% a brand.   

3. He is a smart guy & i'm pretty sure a lovely person but I also think he is a shrewd businessman.  He has allied himself with professionals who know how to make millions off of his brand.  Classic example was the beauty pages (which I despised btw). Probably in partnership with the magazine knowing it would sell out in seconds.  I'm sure him & his team are laughing all the way to the bank, and on the fans coin.  

4. I could analyse as well why I think he queerbaits, which I believe he does for his image.  That being said I truly think he is open to anything, he is at a level in his life that he is able to do whatever he wants.  I certainly don't want to paint him as a nasty person which he certainly isn't.  But again why his silence on social media ?  I do think it's because he wants privacy but at the same time he could be more open to his fans if he wished.

5. Other stars do live random Instagrams with their fans.  You don't have to give anything away  & it wouldn't hurt him to do now & again.  Yet I don't think he wants to.  He did facetime interviews with DJ's in London who all happen to be his friends, but nothing to the people who give him the lifestyle he has become accustomed to.  

6. There are a few things in his past that don't sit right with me & again, I don't hate him, I find him very charismatic & alluring, but I certainly don't think he is anything personally like his fans think he is.  Anyways sorry for all the asks. 

okay so let me just start by sating you really probably could have gotten away with just one ask but since we here let’s go. 

second (okay last one fore i go in) is this a white? you can be honest. that’s not why I’m judging you I just have hunch.

Lemme just say I already can’t take you seriously if you gone sit up here and tell me wondee is awful. WHERE? Especially Four and Midnight Memories! I also can’t imagine being privileged enough to see their live performances with raw vocals repeatedly and still have the nerve to say with yo whole chest one d is awful. Especially in comparison to Harry!! Where are the vocals?? Where are the riffs??? Every time I see a solo Harry video It’s never about the amazing things he does with his voice, it’s always some joke he made, or his dancing, or how he messed up, or an outfit someone’s talking about. one time I saw where there was a difference between shows where he was louder in the latter bc of the confidence factor. Like?? Go girl Give us nothing!!!

And even with songs, you already said he ain’t all that! You already said he’s barely passable, You already know he’s not an artist so what exactly are you even holding on for?

I know you’ said he’s “the sexiest and most charismatic man on the planet” but I promise you that 1) no he’s not so don’t even lie like that 2) not even in his own band 3) not even in the music industry.

I pinky promise you there is better out there for you, hell there are better rich white man out there just waiting for you time, attention, and coin.

Rich white men who haven’t built stadiums that hurt the smaller stadium in the same town and only benefit the large artists who would be able to sell it out, who doesn’t associate with the Kardashian-Jenner clan, who are notoriously racist and elitist and make money off of doing so, white male artists who don’t travel across countries during a pandemic, seemingly doing the most to spread as many germs as possible, at a time when his home country is among the worst county handling the spread of a deadly virus. 

Other white men who are just straight up not Zionists, which I feel should have been the point where people were actually upset but apparently not because I see “free Palestine” this and that but then scroll down and see his ugly mug in a closeup (and not no old “oh he looks like a baby” picture neither, one of them recent “my name is earl” lookin ass photos, posted uncritically). Other white men who don’t use a deadly global pandemic to squeeze for coin out of folx, 

Other white men who aren’t okay with racism, transphobia, homophobia, Zionism, and would gladly denounce any fan who felt like that. 

Other white men who aren’t just using gender ambiguity as an aesthetic, and can actually recognize and use other pronouns besides he/she when prompted.

Other white men who hire black and brown people to work with and for them, and don’t just wait until the next blm wave to try and score brownie points with prominent (white approved) black people. Other white men Who don’t take that amazon money! Other white men who don’t buy your data to make more money! Side note please tell me we’re all still pissed about that???

Harry Styles is a Nasty Bitxh and will do anything to get what he truly wants: money and fame. If you can stan a husk of a man because you think he looks pretty and his scripted remarks from some of the best pr managers money can buy sound real good when he says them, do you boo. But please don’t try to make excuses for this ho. 

At the end of the day he might as well be Mr. Monopoly himself, and if that’s okay with you, that’s between you and your bank account, but I have to ask why you feel the need to defend him (especially seeing as he has an entire team of people to do that for him), and if all the defending is worth it. If you have to make this many allowances for him, is he really that great?

 If you keep turning a blind eye, at some point you just blind.

[joon-ipersgirl]

O4 - “serendipity”

genre: strangers to lovers!au, angst, fluff

pairing: jimin x reader (f)

summary: they say home is where the heart is. you’re convinced yours was taken the day your father died. until you meet jimin. 

you believe in love but after watching men cycle through your mother’s arms, rocky relations with ex-boyfriends, and broken friendships, you no longer see it in your future. so much so, you never settle in one place long enough to create ties and call it home, choosing a job where you’re always on the go and on your own. 

on a chance encounter on a flight from new york city to bali, indonesia, you meet. flustered by jimin’s flirty advances but understanding and good-natured tendencies, you start to fall. what starts off as a work-trip soon blossoms into a budding romance, but will jimin’s secret destroy the relationship before it’s had the chance to truly begin?

word count: 5.5k

warnings: cursing, lots of fluff lol

a/n: part 4 wow! this is my favorite part i’ve written so far. it was a little difficult to edit but we made it. i hope you guys enjoy it. it might be a while before the next part is posted because i have to finish writing and i’ve had major writer’s block lmao, but i’ll try and update my updates page as often as i can. thank you guys for your comments and likes. as always, they are very much so appreciated. thank you to vi for listening to me rant about my stories. enjoy everyone!

full masterlist // series masterlist // previous // next

Jimin looked drained by the time his conversation was over. His hair was out of place from the numerous times he had run his fingers through it out of frustration. Even his eyes looked like they had lost their usual glimmer, instead clouded with anger and exasperation. Though you hadn’t known him for long - in fact,  you’re sure it had really only been 40 hours - you knew something was wrong from the downturn of his lips.

“Ready to go?” Jimin asked as he shoved his phone into his pocket.

“Is everything okay?” you asked as you stood and pocketed your own phone, your own happiness taking a backseat to check on him.

“Yeah, yeah.” He ran his fingers through his hair again and looked away from you. “Just some stuff back home.”

“Work stuff?” you suggested with a wry smile. He returned it.

“Yeah, work stuff,” he said with a laugh.

As you headed back in the direction of the hostel, your thoughts drifted back to Milo. Seeing his photo made your heart pound in your chest in the best and worst way possible. He still looked like your little brother, but you knew time had brought changes you weren’t around for. Though Adele said she had given him your number, it was quite possible that he wouldn’t want to speak to you, not after you left him at the worst possible time. It would be a miracle if you could fix what was broken. What you broke.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?” You blinked up at Jimin.

“I asked if you were hungry?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. Food sounds good right now,” you replied.

“Great, because I owe you a meal anyway,” he grinned.

“Oh, you mean for not finding me breakfast at 2:30 in the morning?” you teased. He rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment.

“Yeah, that,” he mumbled and slipped his hand in your as he tugged you through the streets of Hong Kong.

Jimin maneuvered through the bustling crowd with ease, their chatter filling the spaces between you. The evening was still as hot as the daytime and your hair started clinging to the side of your face. You knew there was a fine sheen of sweat present on your skin; you could feel it. You passed by numerous food places, but none of them were up to Jimin’s standard. All the while, his hand never left yours. You were actually starting to like it even if you didn’t want to admit it to yourself.

“Yeah, this looks like the spot,” Jimin commented as you stopped abruptly in front of the establishment.

Mingsu’s was a quaint little restaurant nestled between some larger chains. Four sets of plastic tables and chairs sat on the sidewalk under a clear awning. The smell of food wafted from the open front door and your stomach grumbled. Yeah, this was definitely the spot.

“Your seat m’lady.” Jimin pulled out your chair and you sat carefully in it; these were the kind that would lay you on your ass and not think twice about it.

“Why thank you, kind Sir.” You bowed your head as a lady would curtsy. He sat across from you looking like he really could be the son of a mighty Lord during the Anglo-Saxon time period come home from the hunt, his hair sticking to his forehead.

It didn’t take long for your waitress, a middle-aged woman who looked to be just as hot as you were, to come and take your order. You listened in awe again as Jimin translated your orders. To think that it would be just your luck to be stranded in a foreign country with a man who also happened to speak the native tongue. God really looked out for you here and you couldn’t be more indebted.

“So how exactly did you learn to speak Cantonese?” you asked, swirling your straw between the ice cubes in your glass full of water, the condensation sliding down the sides. Your curiosity had finally gotten the best of you.

“My dad, actually. He taught me Korean and Cantonese simultaneously,” he replied, sipping on his Coke. “It wasn’t that fun in the moment, but I guess it comes in handy every now and then.”

“Like when you’re stranded in a foreign country because your plane got fucked up?”

“More like when you want to impress a pretty girl.” He grinned as he rested his chin on his palm while he stared at you. You blushed under his gaze.

“I can only imagine how flirty Mr. Park senior is,” you said with a laugh.

“Actually, he’s not. All the traits of me you find quite insufferable -” he added air quotes around the word “- are from my mom. Dad always thought we were ganging up on him when I was a kid, but Mom and I just have the same sense of humor,” he said with a shrug.

“Your mom and you are closer then I assume?” You couldn’t fathom being close with Adele, not after all of her shit, but it was nice to hear that someone enjoyed their mother’s company.

“As close as you can be when she lives 4,242 miles away,” he chuckled. You gasped. Before you could continue your conversation, your waitress returned with your roasted pork buns, stir-fried beef and flat noodles, steamed sticky rice, and an array of side dishes. Your mouth watered at the sight and you and Jimin wasted no time tucking in.

“Wait, I thought you were a vegetarian?” you asked after swallowing. Jimin glanced up at you with a mouth full roasted pork bun like a deer in headlights.

“Not really. Well, I guess that isn’t correct. I do my part to reduce my meat intake when I’m at home, but when I’m traveling, I like to indulge a little in the local delicacies of the world,” he answered.

“And that doesn’t fuck your stomach up?” You grimaced at the thought.

“Why? Are you worried about me?”

“No, I’m worried about that cramped bathroom we have back at the hostel.” Jimin laughed. “Especially if you decide you need to -”

“I promise you Y/N, I’ll be okay. Trust me.” you continued to eye him warily as you chewed some noodles. You hoped he was right.

“Does your mom really live 4,000 miles from you?” Jimin nodded but told you to hold that thought as he called your waitress over. Throughout their brief conversation, you thought you heard the word ‘sake’ being mentioned and you panicked slightly at the thought of drinking with Jimin. You didn’t know how you would act. Hell, you weren’t sure how he would act if drunk words were sober thoughts.

“To answer your question, yes. She does. She lives in the United Kingdom. Has done for the past 11 years. We text a lot and talk on the phone whenever the time difference permits.”

“Wow, your parents must love it there!” you exclaimed, picturing the London Eye, the double-decker red buses, and Buckingham Palace. London had been on my list of places to travel for a long time, but it had never worked out.

“Mom does, Dad didn’t. He’s back home now, home being Korea. No, they aren’t divorced or separated,” Jimin said, answering your unasked question after noticing your wide eyes. “They have a long-distance relationship and fly out to see one another every couple of weeks.”

“Sounds expensive,” you muttered.

Jimin graciously accepted the teapot and two porcelain white cups your waitress brought over, somehow finding space for them in between the various plates. He poured you a full cup and pushed it in front of you, waiting for me to accept his challenge as he raised his own glass, his usual mischievous glimmer back in his eyes. You carefully picked it up and watched the wispy tendrils of steam evaporate in the air.

“Sip, don’t toss it back,” Jimin guided you. “A toast! To friendship. And to love,” he tacked on playfully. You smiled as you clinked glasses and sipped the clear rice wine. Though it looked like water, it definitely didn’t taste like it.

“And it is expensive,” Jimin continued. “But they do it because they love each other.  I guess you could call it an unconventional marriage. They realized they work a lot better apart than being in the same space. They tried to do it the traditional way, Dad convincing Mom to move back to Korea with him while she was pregnant with me and the two of them getting married. She did it for a while too until she just physically couldn’t. She loved my Dad, but she loved herself enough to be honest with him when things weren’t working and they figured it out together. Now, they’re extremely happy,” he ended with a laugh and finished the remainder of his drink.

“So you were born in Korea?”

“Yes.”

“But you live in the United States?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No, I just -”

“Is it because I don’t speak in accented English?”

“No!” you cried out in embarrassment. “That’s not what I meant at all!” Jimin’s unrestrained laugh rang out and it was only then that you realized he was teasing. Again. You tossed back the rest of my drink, unsure of whether your face was burning because of the alcohol or him.

“Relax, Shutterfly. I’m not offended. Dad took me to the U.S. after Mom moved back to the U.K. I lost my accent when I got to high school because you know, teenagers suck and they like to bully you when you’re different.” You nodded in complete understanding. The harsh whispers of girls older than you and with the memories of them shoving you onto the ground because you were smaller and looked like you were easy to pick on trickled down from the deep recesses of your mind. “Enough about me though,” Jimin said as he refilled your cup, “How about you? What’s your family like?”

You paused as he waited for you to answer. You toyed with how much you would say to him, how much he really deserved to know. Jimin could afford to be open with you; his family sounded normal, cool even. Your family was a little bit more fucked up than his. you sighed and pushed your fingers through your hair.

“You know, the usual. Dad’s dead, mom’s a bitch, brother hates me,” you replied, your words blending into one another as you waved off the subject with a hand. Jimin stared at you evenly as he processed what you had just said. He cleared his throat before asking if you wanted to elaborate.

“Not really, but it’s okay,” you answered.

“No, Y/N,” he placed his hand on top of mine. “If you really don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to.”

“Seriously, it’s cool. It’ll probably do me a lot of good to finally let it all out,” you said with a sigh. “My parents’ love story isn’t like yours. I mean, it kind of started off the same, but it definitely didn’t end that way.” Jimin nodded as he chewed in silence. Your own plate was now left untouched.

“So my dad named me. I was his little girl, his princess. He wasn’t from the best side of town and often got into it with a lot of the local gang members. He saw a lot of shitty stuff and so he left as soon as he turned 18. He landed in California and that’s where he met Adele. Her family had just moved there and she decided to be rebellious and hook up with my dad, acting out because she didn’t want to leave her old life behind. She ended up pregnant with me 2 years later at 18 after they ‘fell in love’,” you said, adding the air quotes around the phrase.

“Being the honorable man that he was, he decided to marry my mother and moved her to New York where he thought he could take better care of her. More job opportunities as and what not. Two years later, my brother came along and things were going pretty good, except when Adele started demanding more and more shit. Dad tried to provide, working longer hours, but it was never enough. Eventually, it was too much. He died of a heart attack when I was in high school. I was sixteen,” you finished. You didn’t look at Jimin as you drained your sake.

“Thank you for sharing that with me even though you didn’t really want to. I appreciate it,” he said solemnly. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“No, it’s fine. Only fair.”

“I don’t think fair is in this equation,” he chuckled and you laughed along with him. “Why do you think your brother hates you?” he asked after a beat.

“Because I left him,” you responded. “I left him alone and ran away from all my problems as soon as I turned 18.” Regret bubbled in your chest as you remembered purposefully ignoring the wave of text messages he sent you and carried on with your new life, focusing on your new man.

“I don’t think he hates you, Y/N.” you laughed bitterly. “Where’d you run away to?”

“California.”

“You sound a lot like your dad,” he replied with a smile. “Viva la revolución right?”

You groaned and covered your face in your hands. “Please don’t tell me you speak Spanish too.” you muttered a string of curses in the language before clamping your hands over your mouth in case he could hear and understand you.

“I don’t, but I see you do. You never told me you could speak Spanish,” he commented as he sipped more sake.

“You never asked,” you teased, your smile humorous as you stared at him from over your own cup.

Jimin’s cheeks had a pretty pink hue from the alcohol. In addition, the alcohol seemed to amplify the gleam in his eyes further as he teased you throughout your conversation. Under the low lighting of Mingsu’s, his skin glowed, a thin sheen of sweat present that you found oddly attractive on him. You closed your eyes gently as you willed the troublesome thoughts away. This was not the time nor the place for them to pop up, not with more than a few ounces of sake under your belt.

You finished the rest of your food, Jimin eating much more than you, and chatted more. You found out he was a freelance museum curator that was under contract for a few different small museums in New York City. A huge downplay on his part, but it explained how he knew so much about art and had all these artsy friends. He was well-educated with a Masters in Fine Arts, a concentration in Art History, and you felt intimidated as you���d barely managed to scrape together an Associates degree.

“Hey look!” Jimin turned his phone screen to you after it chimed. “Looks like we really are leaving tomorrow. Joy even got us seats next to each other like she promised,” he said.

“Of course she did,” you mumbled, remembering Joy’s enthusiasm over Jimin.

“What was that?” he asked as he cupped his ear with his hand.

“I said ‘Yay! Joy managed to get us to sit together. How fantastic. Now we can sit together again’,” you lied with fake zeal.

“Hmm. That’s what I thought you said. Though for a minute there I thought you were jealous of the attention I was getting from other women.” You could tell the nonchalance in his voice was just as fake as the enthusiasm in your own.

“Me? Jealous over you?” You snorted at the thought. Jimin held his chest, his face falling in a look of fake disappointment.

“Damn Y/N, all you had to do was say you didn’t like me -”

“I never said that!”

“Ah, so you do like me then?” He wiggled his eyebrows as he leaned across the table.

“I never said that either!” you giggled and pointed your finger at him. He pretended to bite it and you pulled it away squealing. Jimin laughed at your reaction as the waitress came over. He pulled out his wallet and you scrambled to take out your own until you realized you’d left your own wallet back at the hostel. You blanched.

“Jimin I can’t let you pay for all this!” The mountain of empty plates a reminder of just how much you had eaten.

“Of course you can,” he said as he handed over his card. You scrambled for something to say, to make him return his card, but it was already too late. You shook your head furiously.

“I can pay you back, seriously. This was a lot of food. And then the drinks!” you squeaked. Alcohol was expensive and you had consumed two full teapots of sake. “Please, Jimin,” you begged.

He held his ground as he signed the check and the waitress began removing the dirty dishes. “Absolutely not, Shutterfly. I still owe you an actual breakfast and think of this as me showing you what it’s like to be wined and dined. Mr. Park senior taught me never to let a woman pay for a meal, and I won’t start now, especially not with you.” He stood up and came to stand in front of you, holding his hands out as if he knew you could potentially wobble from the alcohol flowing through your system. “Let someone take care of you for once, yeah? Let me take care of you.”

You stared up at him, surprised at his words. It had been a long time since you’d heard anything like that. It had been a long time since you had let anyone come close to caring for you, determined that you would do it for yourself. Jimin was truly worming his way under your skin and you didn’t like it. You closed your eyes at the thought of Jimin really being there for you and it shook you to your core. Letting out a shaky breath, you placed your hands gently in his as he helped you to your feet, accepting his offer. On one condition.

“Only for tonight,” you whispered into his chest, not daring to look up into his deep brown eyes, but he forced you to as he dragged his lips tenderly against the back of your knuckles.

“Okay,” he agreed. His eyes never left yours and you started to squirm under his intense gaze. He pulled you into his side, tucking you under his arm. “Come on, I want to show you something,” he whispered into your hair as if the words were a secret only meant for the two of you. A shiver ran down your spine as his lips brushed against your temple though you were hotter than before from the alcohol in the humid night.

Jimin took you down the streets of Tsim Sha Tsui, pressing you close to him as you walked along leisurely. Little street vendors lined the sidewalk selling sweet treats that made you wish you hadn’t eaten as much so you could try one. You inhaled the scent and tried to commit the smell to memory, wanting to always remember how untroubled you felt though so many things had gone wrong, wanting to really remember how many things had gone.

“We’re here,” Jimin said excitedly and removed his arm from around your shoulder, settling for just holding your hand. You immediately missed the warmth of being against his side.

Here was a hole-in-the-wall restaurant and lounge called Switch!. Its outer brick walls contrasted with the smooth window panes of the establishments next to it. A heavy wooden door rattled as the thumping bass echoed off it. There were a few stragglers standing outside smoking cigarettes as they laughed and joked with one another. Jimin turned to you and grinned, excitement etched across his features.

“Jimin,” you said with uncertainty. “It’s getting kind of late,” you trailed off.

“It’s only a little after ten, Y/N. Come on. This place is really cool,” he insisted. You chewed your lip, not sure whether you could make it a minute longer. Between the alcohol in your bloodstream and the cigarette smoke starting to swirl in your lungs, you were feeling a little out of your element. “Please, Shutterfly,” he pouted. “I promise to have you back home by midnight and before your carriage turns back into a pumpkin.” You rolled your eyes but remembered Michael’s words about enjoying the moment.

“Fine,” you huffed and pulled open the hefty door. Jimin followed closely after.

Switch! resembled your favorite grunge dive bar. It was extremely dark, the only source of lighting being a few strips of LED lights lining the floor and ceilings, and some weak yellow light bulbs. The bar itself was long and made with beautiful redwood that somehow managed to shine in the dim lighting. An extensive alcohol collection sat on the numerous shelves behind the bar. Next to it was a corkboard that was nearly filled with little polaroid pictures of previous patrons. A live band was the source of the thumping bass you had heard outside and you let it wash over me, vibrating the very core of your bones. It seemed like Jimin had a knack for choosing great places.

The two of you headed over to sit in one of the small booths, a waiter appearing immediately to take your order. Jimin asked for two sake bombs to start you off, something about keeping the trend of the night, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the rickety wooden table. You watched him start to lose himself in the music as he kept time with the beat, his head swaying slowly. His posture exaggerated the broad expanse of his back and you stewed silently behind him, almost cursing his parents for creating a man as attractive as this. You crossed your legs at the knee.

Your waiter returned with your drinks and Jimin yelled a thank you over the loud music. Internally, you were grateful that it was too loud for you to continue your conversation as you were sure Jimin would continue his fervent flirting and you weren’t sure how much more you could take. Not after accepting his offer of letting him take care of you for the night. You took a large sip of the alcoholic mixture. Jimin leaned back and turned his head to you, his hand resting on your bare thigh.

“Do you like it? Are you having fun?” he asked loudly. You winced as his voice pierced through your eardrum.

“Yeah! This is cool. The band is really good!” you yelled back and he grinned, his smile a little lopsided no doubt from the alcohol. His eyes continued to sparkle as he stared down at you. With his hand on your thigh and his face seeming to move closer, all the air felt like it was sucked out of the room. Your heart pounded in your chest as his eyes drifted down to your lips -

“Excuse me?!” Your head snapped around to the individual yelling at you just as Jimin had closed the distance between you, his lips brushing the corner of yours. You could feel his lips stretch into a smile against your cheek as his nose pressed into your skin. You were quite positive he could feel the burn radiating off your cheeks. “Would you guys like to take a picture for our polaroid wall?” the man yelled again. In his hands was a teal polaroid camera.

“Is it free?” you yelled and tried to create some distance between you and Jimin. The photographer laughed and nodded his head.

“Can we get a copy of them to keep?” Jimin asked.

“Sure! I can take a few extra for you guys,” he replied with a shrug. “You guys ready?” Jimin nodded and slipped his arm around your waist, his hand resting on your hip with the other still resting on your knee. He smushed your faces together as the first picture was taken. The photographer took an additional three more after determining your smile wasn’t wide enough in the first one.

“I’ll leave these with you to develop. When you choose the one you guys want us to hang up, just drop it off at the bar. Thanks again!” He disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

“I’m going to go use the bathroom!” You didn’t wait for Jimin to respond as you eased your way out of the booth and scurried off.

Locking yourself into the single-stall restroom, you tried to catch your breath. You and Jimin had nearly kissed. It wasn’t something you’d dreamed about in an alcohol-induced haze. He had really leaned in like he wanted to kiss you. You pressed your hands to your face to stop the smile from bursting across your cheeks. You covered your face with your hands as you recognized the familiar tick in your chest. A crush. You giggled to yourself as you pushed your hands through your hair. You had a fucking crush on Park Jimin and you were a teensy bit okay with it. A knock at the door burst your bubble of revelation and you quickly washed your hands, apologizing to the other woman as you slipped by her.

“So I think we should give this one to them,” Jimin suggested, pushing the four photos over to you as you sat beside him again. He was pointing to the second one of you where we were both grinning like mad men as he had pressed his face against your own. “The other ones are too cute.”

He was right. The third was Jimin kissing your cheek and you covering your mouth in shock at his actions. The final one was him smiling into your cheek, caressing the other side as he pulled you against him and you smiled with your eyes closed and rested your hand against his arm. This one was your favorite.

“Yeah, you’re right. These came out a lot better than I thought they would,” you said, the bar much quieter as another band got prepared for their set.

“Why wouldn’t they turn out great?” he asked confused.

“You know, the lighting and stuff. Plus my hair and we’ve been drinking so I know my face is all -”

“Stop. You look amazing. Look!” Jimin held the pictures up for you though you were already looking at them; it seemed he was a little more drunk than you were. “Absolutely beautiful,” he added. You smiled softly at him as he placed your favorites into his wallet. “Okay, I’m going to go give them this one. Do you want another drink?” You shook my head no, still nursing your first, and watched him meander his way through the crowd gathered to hear the band. They started up a moment later, a smooth rhythm of R’n’B playing out through the speakers. The beat was infectious and you closed your eyes, dancing in your seat. It felt good to not be concerned with anything, though work still plagued the back of your mind.

“I didn’t know you could dance!” Jimin yelled over the music. You hadn’t noticed his return and his voice startled you.

“I don’t dance!” You said with a laugh.

“But you just were!”

“I really wouldn’t call that dancing, Jimin.”

“Well, show me what is then.” He held his hand out to you. More people had started to dance as well, the change in the atmosphere quite apparent. “Don’t you want to see what dance moves we have stored in the Park family?” You laughed and nearly fell out of the booth trying to imagine Mr. Park senior getting down at the family parties. You were quite intrigued.

“Okay, okay. Let’s go.”

You grabbed his hand after taking another generous mouthful of beer and led him onto the makeshift dance floor. Jimin spun you around to face him and guided your hands around his neck while his hands rested on your lower back, the two of you swaying in time to the song. It was gentle and sweet and you hid your face in his chest as he spun you around. Jimin looked happy as you danced hand in hand, laughing when you stumbled from being inebriated. You hoped that his phone call was as far back in his mind as you physically were from the United States.

You danced for God knows how long until your feet started to hurt and the two of you were almost wet with sweat, lost in the music and the soft touches of one another. Jimin made good on his promise and had you back at the hostel before midnight. If anyone had been downstairs, you would have looked like any lovesick teenagers sneaking home in the dead of night. You were grateful that William and Sonia hadn’t decided to wait up for you as you giggled your way to your room, you hushing Jimin as he unlocked your door.

“Thank you for taking me there, Jimin. I had a really good time tonight,” you said as you kicked off your sneakers and grabbed your sleep shirt and toothbrush.

“It was no trouble at all. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I had a really good time too,” he replied as he tugged his shirt over his head. Your eyes widened as you took in his smooth torso, the sprinkle of hair starting at his belly button and disappearing into his shorts that he was currently removing -

“Okay! I’m gonna go wait outside while you change! Let me know when you’re done,” you squeaked out and winced at the force at which you closed the door. You could hear Jimin chuckle from the other side. It was becoming quite tiring being flustered around him.

After receiving the all-clear from Jimin to re-enter, you slipped into the bathroom to change and brush your teeth. It was stupid at how happy you were to see your toothbrushes sitting next to each other in the little holder. Tugging the shirt down as far as it would go over your hips, you poked your head around the door to see Jimin already under the covers, one hand holding his book and the other tucked behind his head. So much for getting into bed without being seen. You folded your shorts and shirt, placing them on top of your backpack as you mentally prepared to face Jimin.

“I hope you don’t mind me not taking a shower. I didn’t think it was a good idea with the amount that I had to drink and I definitely don’t think you’re strong enough to pull me out of the shower if I fell,” he said, still not looking at you.

“Hey! I could probably manage!” you yelled, slightly offended that he thought you were weak.

“A naked me? Y/N, you can barely look at me with clothes on,” he snorted and set his book down on the nightstand and looked at you. You blushed as your eyes fell on the gold chain around his neck; he had decided not to wear a shirt to bed tonight. You watched him take in your figure, his eyes roaming over on your bare thighs for a few seconds longer than necessary. “But, if you think you can, I can go -” he started pulling the covers back but you cut him off.

“Nope!” you yelled and held your arms out as if you could magically force him not to move. “It’s fine, really. We can just go to sleep. Wouldn’t want you to get concussed or anything before our flight,” you mumbled. Double-checking the door was locked, you flicked off the light. You stubbed your toe just as you were about to climb in and Jimin laughed.

“Not as fun when it happens to you, right?” You punched his shoulder as you settled under the covers facing away from him, pretending to be mad. “Ah Y/N, come on.” Jimin shifted so he was cuddled up behind you, his hand thrown over your waist. “You’re not really mad at me, are you Shutterfly?” He pressed a chaste kiss to the back of your neck and you shivered. You could feel his grin against your skin again. Truly the bane of your existence.

“No, I’m not mad at you,” you mumbled.

“Good,” he replied and gave you a squeeze. “Thank you for telling me part of your story, for trusting me with that. Thank you for also letting me take care of you tonight. I hope you let me do it again,” he said as he pulled you closer against him and you sighed.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He punctuated his sentence with a kiss against your cheek, his lips lingering once again.

“Goodnight, Jimin,” you whispered back as he buried his face into your shoulder.

That night, you dreamed of museums, Mingsu’s, and live music.

full masterlist // series masterlist // previous // next

ⓒ joon-ipersgirl, 2020

[my-fanfic-library]

Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader} [27]

Masterlist

Warning: gore ;)

~^*^~

Stalking down the hallway, Jack was in a fury. Trust Daniel to take advantage of a desperate situation. Turning the corner, Jack almost collided with a very familiar person.

“Hi Jacko!” She beamed.

“Don’t call me that.” Jack grumbled.

“Oh,” her eyes landed on Dracula, “hello again, you.” Immediately, her eyes glossed over. She was clearly trying to flirt.

“Hello again, Chelsea.” Dracula smiled, which faded when Jack glared sharply at him. He didn’t know what had happened but considering how badly Jack’s nostrils were flaring, it wasn’t good.

“I’m surprised to see you here. Considering the situation, I thought you’d broken up with [First].”

“They did.” Jack replied for Dracula, and Chelsea sent him a look as if to say ‘shut it!’

“Shame. Well, should you ever want another young adventure...”

“No thanks,” Dracula began, “I’m afraid I prefer my food a little less... handled.”

Her face immediately reddened and Jack had to admit that pride swelled in his chest. Dracula was slowly becoming a pro at comeback culture. Oh god, he wish he had a camera to take a picture of the shock and offence settling on Chelsea’s face because he knew that you of all people would have loved to see it. Thinking of you, he needed to hurry to the apartment.

Chelsea quickly composed herself to scowl at Dracula.

“You’re too old for me anyway, granddad.” Dracula chuckled at her words.

“Touched a nerve?” He teased with a low and soft voice.

“You wish.”

“You wish.”

“Alright!” Jack interjected nervously, “we need to go pick [First] up.”

As if on cue, the door halfway down the hallway burst open and a bag flew out, smashing against the wall and crashing to the floor. Following it, your voice, screaming all sorts of profanities. Okay, you were upset.

Dracula narrowed his eyes, pushing past the pair and making his way further down the hallway. Your voice was strangled and hoarse. Were you crying...?

A male’s voice came in, cutting off your own in an angry rant. Dracula did not know what had gone on, but nobody - nobody - made you cry. This green fuel coursing his body was unfamiliar. It was strange. He didn’t know why it burnt in the bottom of his chest, or why it was making his steps grow with each passing second. He just knew that he was about to grab this asshole speaking to you like you were nothing and throw him through a wall.

You stepped backwards, out of the door, still looking inside of the apartment. Your face was red with tears streaming down your face.

“Was this your plan all along?” You were trembling, “accept me into your life in my hour of desperation and just use me for a quick shag?!”

“We aren’t even dating! I don’t get why you’re so upset!”

“Because you- because you kept telling me how much you’d missed me! You kept begging me to give myself to you again! And I did and then- then- you bring that filth in! You fucked her like you fucked Lucy!”

So it was Daniel after all. Infamous Daniel who had shattered your heart. Dracula had to thank him in some respects. Had you not needed to flee to Whitby, you may have never met. Right now, Dracula couldn’t imagine waking up in the 21st century and not meeting you. How differently would it have gone? Would he still have had to kill Zoe? Would Jack even be here? Would Lucy have died?

Who knew? The only thing Dracula knew was the green seeping into his mind, and the red beginning to cloud his vision. Not a soul on this fucking planet was allowed to upset you.

“That’s- not fair.” Daniel’s voice softened.

“Is it not?!” You shrieked, “but you bringing that-!” You cut your self off with a noise of anger, running your hands through your scalp and tugging on the roots of your hair. You bit your lip, turning and freezing.

“Don’t let me halt you from finishing your sentence.” Dracula spoke, voice very soft. His eyes had also softened at the sight of you. You were at breaking point.

“Drac...?” your voice was so sweet, so hoarse. Dear god, you oozed sadness in every fibre of your being right now.

“Hello, darling.”

“Why did you bring him?” You were looking past him now, a furious gaze at Jack.

“I thought maybe you’d like to-“ Jack began.

“You thought wrong. You-“ you turned back to the apartment, pointing at the male who was still inside. Dracula had not seen him in person yet, “you can fucking rot in hell. If I ever see you again, I swear to god I will literally tear your voice box out of your throat.”

“[First]-“ Dracula began, but he was the next one to receive your anger.

“Don’t you even start. If you had just controlled yourself for once-! If you had just a tiny,” you motioned with your fingers, “tiny ounce of self control and left Renfield alone, this wouldn’t have happened!” You were in a rage, “I really don’t want to see you right now.”

Ouch.

“You’re being a right bitch, you know that?” Daniel’s voice came from the apartment and you flew into a fury. You turned, the bag that had fallen to the floor was in your hand and you launched it at him.

“Shut the fuck up, manwhore!”

“Um, ow?”

~^*^~

The guest bedroom at your parents’ house felt weird. You refused to sleep in your own bedroom, though.

In all honesty, you didn’t really know why you were angry at Dracula. You were just being... difficult. You were, of course, fully blaming him for turning Renfield, but how was anyone to know that Renfield would suddenly become obsessed with hunting you down? All of you knew that Dracula wouldn’t have turned him if this was the outcome. He probably would have fired him on the spot, had he known.

How had it gotten like this?

You wondered what Dracula was doing right now. After your outburst, he was either on his way to kill you himself in a possessive outburst of his own, or he was going to leave you and let Renfield find you. There was no way that he would possibly stand up for you now.

Oh, how wrong could you possibly have been...

A new box was sitting in the place of the old one - the centre of the room that usually remained locked. It was rocking violently. Dracula tutted. What a shame. He didn’t have any time to waste with his newest addition. Oh, no, he had somewhere very important to be. Anger had been bubbling in his chest all day. He looked quite disheveled, his usually neat white shirt untucked, the first few buttons undone, the sleeves lazily rolled up.

The drive to his destination was slow and bothersome. Rush hour traffic - especially in London - was a force to be reckoned with. Even against a vampire. But Dracula didn’t feel like making a magical entrance. He wanted to make sure he was understood, that his point would come across.

Too long, he had been bothered by this whole ordeal. Too long, the pain had been felt.

He was going to put a stop to it.

He remembered the way easily, slamming his car door and stalking forwards. This was going to be so fun. He smirked.

And then, he was at the door. He knocked.

“Who is it?” The voice called.

“Open the door and find out.” Dracula called back.

He heard a sound. Then silence. Perhaps he was expected to leave if the door didn’t open for him. He rolled his head, readying himself. Limber up. He was technically an OAP, after all. He’d need to ready his body.

Silence.

He stepped back, and then the sound, like an explosion as with all the force he had, he kicked the door in. It flew open, smashing against the wall, the handle lodging itself into the wall. Standing on the other side of the room, almost cowering, the being that made a snarl come from Dracula’s mouth. Undeath wouldn’t do. Utter destruction. That would be the only way.

“Hello, Daniel. We haven’t met. I’m Dracula.” He grinned, a demented kind of grin. The kind you’d associate with a murderer.

“You-...” how could he say anything?

“Cat got your tongue?”

“What are you doing here?”

Dracula took a good look at him. 5’7”, 8” at a push. He wasn’t very muscular, he’d be easy to overpower. He was trying his hardest to look intimidating, but Dracula, who just stood there, doing nothing at all, was clearly the alpha here.

“Well, you see, I just couldn’t stop thinking about the way you treated [First] today,” Dracula began, “or the last time you were with her.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Boy, he couldn’t hide the terror in his voice no matter how hard he tried.

“You treat women like they’re nothing. You treat them like toys to be disposed of once you’ve had enough. [First], Lucy, Chelsea, goodness knows how many more...” Dracula turned, and Daniel watched as he plucked the door from the wall as if it were merely a dart, and shut it softly behind him. He closed in, towering above the younger, “you hurt her. You have no respect for her. I can’t let you get away with that.”

“You’re fucking crazy.” Daniel whispered.

“I’m crazy...?” Dracula amused, pulled up an eyebrow, “you dared to hurt the only thing a vampire cares about.”

“...vampire...? Now I know you’re batshit.”

“Actually, just bat.”

His eyes darkened. His lips curled. He was overcome with the anger, the jealousy, the sheer... whatever the fuck it was. It was all in his chest and the urge to just dive into ruining the pathetic man before him swallowed him whole.

The screams that filled the room would never have been able to truly disclose what occurred in that room. Limb from limb, Dracula tore Daniel apart, taking his sweet time. Starting with each of his fingers, moving to his toes. He wanted the pain to last as long as possible. Blood was already soaking the carpet, Daniel’s body shaking violently with the shock. Using his nails, Dracula ripped his skin to ribbons, creating such a mess of his form. The blood... for the first time, Dracula knew that it wasn’t worth tasting. He didn’t need to inherit any part of the filth that he was slowly picking apart. Instead, he let it colour the carpet crimson. Occasionally, ripping off a digit, a jet of red would spurt out, splashing the wall.

The screams that ripped through Daniel’s throat concealed the sound of flesh and skin and bone tearing away from each other as Dracula tore his left arm away.

“Never again will you wrap your arms around my [First].”

Daniel was close to fainting. No longer bearing toes or fingers or an arm. He was bleeding profusely. The pain throbbed through his whole body. It was so intense that every other sense was drowning away.

Next came his other arm, torn off wth just as much vigour and he collapsed to his knees, sobbing.

“I don’t think so.”

Digging his hands into the blond locks, Dracula pulled him back up to his feet. His nails cut into the skin, blood flowing over his fingers. How he was able to withstand the stench of the blood, he didn’t know.

“Stay there.”

Dracula stood back to admire his work. Blood was seeping down Daniel’s face, mixing with his tears, dripping from his chin. Where his arms should have been, blood was pouring, too. The white of the bones where his arms should have connected poked out, flesh rugged and torn. Mangled strands of muscle flailed as the body shook with the terror, the shock, the sobs, the screams of utter agony. He was finding it hard to stand with the lack of his toes, each little space where the toe should be losing blood by the second, the whites of the bones also showing.

Dracula snarled, moving forwards once more. Daniel recoiled, but Dracula reached out to grab his nose. A disgusting crack filled the room, followed by a high-pitched, pain filled scream. Dracula twisted, feeling the cartilage crack and bend to his will. He pulled. A long strand of skin, from the bridge of his nose to the top of his hairline came off with the cartilage. Blood erupted from the gaping hole in his face and his eyes rolled back. He collapsed to the ground.

But, he was still conscious.

Dracula took his time dismembering the rest of his body, and then sat for a while, picking the flesh off of the bone, as if bored. He was slumped against the radiator, which was hot against his back. His raven locks were dripping crimson, specks of the same colour on his face. The white shirt was stained a deep red all over and he knew that the moment he left this room, he’d cause uproar.

The room was beginning to really stink of blood and there were chunks of flesh everywhere, over every piece of furniture, the walls, the ceiling. The only thing still intact was his head, resting on the sofa, nose and ears gone, blood oozing from the bottom. Dracula had really made a mess.

His eyes snapped open.

What had he just done...?

What would you say when you found out?

~^*^~

If the fire in the middle of the room wasn’t a cause for concern, the naked vampire standing next to it definitely was.

“Jesus!” Jack cried out, covering his eyes with his hand, “did you suddenly forget that nudism isn’t exactly accepted in the 21st century?”

“Actually, I just had to do a little airing out with some of my clothes.” Dracula explained.

“Is that why you’re having a bonfire in the middle of the apartment?”

“Something like that.” Dracula turned away from Jack, who refused to uncover his eyes.

It was late, and he had simply come to tell Dracula that you were safely dropped off. He wanted to go home almost straight away, but something about the scene he had just walked into made him have a feeling that something wasn’t right.

“Why...?”

“I just told you-“

“No, why are you burning those clothes...? What did you do to them...?”

“I will tell you, Jack, but, you must promise not to fall out with me.” Dracula turned back to him and Jack uncovered his eyes, but held out his hand to block Dracula’s... well, you know, from his vision. The look of disgust was evident on his face.

“Dracula, what did you do?”

“I killed Daniel.”

Jack froze up in shock. Dracula had gone to Daniel’s apartment? Oh god, what was he going to tell you? Was Dracula out of his mind or was he just driven by stupidity? Of course, you were currently in a place of hating Daniel, but for him to be killed by Dracula...

“Again, why...?” Jack asked warily.

“Because he hurt [First].”

“You’re crazy.” Jack whispered.

“Funny, that was one of Daniel’s last words.”

“She won’t forgive you.” Jack stated, stepping backwards towards the door.

“...I know.”

“I’m gonna-“

“Don’t tell her.”

“I have to, Dracula.”

Before he could make it to the door, Dracula had gotten ahold of him, and pinned him against the wall by his neck. The look in his eyes was deranged.

“Don’t.” Dracula growled.

But it didn’t matter if Jack told you or not, because your mother had just received a phone call, and was rushing up the stairs in tears to break some very bad news to you.

~^taglist^~

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[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (18/?)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

A/n: Thank you all for being so incredibly kind to me all of the time! You don’t have to do that, and I can’t thank you enough! We’re back from London in this chapter, and they’re having that “sleepover” that was talked about. In a totally not cheesy (or at least my tolerable amount of cheesy) way ❤️

Thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke​ for beta-ing, and @carpedzem​, I think you might like this one! 

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list: @eala-captian @galaxyzxstark @xellewoods @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings

-/-

“I have four days off of work, and I feel like you.”

Emma sighs the words as she drops a bag in the entryway of Killian’s apartment, the black and white bag making a small thud against the hardwood. He’s got absolutely no idea what she has in there, but it sounds like every book she’s ever owned plus a brick or two that she somehow picked up on her subway ride over here.

Killian fakes a laugh, rolling his eyes a bit as Emma walks up to him and wraps her hands around the back of his neck, pressing up on her toes to gently brush her lips over his in greeting.

“You’re so funny,” he says sarcastically. “You know for a fact what I do on my days where I’m not pitching. I work a solid two hours a day on all of those days.”

Emma hums as her fingers curl into the back of his hair, and he can practically see the mischief dancing in her eyes. “You poor, hard-working man. I don’t know how you do that.”

“I put one pant leg on at a time like everyone else in the world.”

“You are basically a hero.”

“I definitely think I have a mark in a hero column.” Killian dips his head to run his lips over hers again in a better greeting than the one they just had. “I’m happy you have four days off. Whatever are you going to do with them?”

“Tonight, I was promised a sleepover with my boyfriend where he’s going to bake for me. Tomorrow, I think I’m going to go hang out with my nephew and take him outside to sweat it out in this insufferable July heat, and then for the next two days – who knows? I think I might just sleep while you spend your days exercising and suffering outside.”

“I am particularly interested in the activities you’re going to do on the first day.”

“I thought you would be. Can I take a shower first, though? I went to spin class with Ruby this morning, and I feel super gross.”

“I mean, I wasn’t going to say anything about the smell but – ”

Emma slaps his chest and laughs before baking away, a smile on her face. “Shut up, you ass. I’m finally going to go see what kind of shampoo it is that you use to make your hair soft and smell so good. You can learn a lot about a man from his shower.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to join you, love? It feels wrong that you’re seeing my bedroom and bathroom for the first time without me.”

“Oh no, it’s awesome. Like I said,” Emma sighs as she picks up her bag supposedly full of books and bricks, “I’m about to snoop. Be back in however much time it takes me to go through your stuff.”

“The hot water twists to the right,” he yells at her before picking up his mug of coffee and taking a sip, laughing under his breath at Emma.

Ridiculous woman who he loves.

So much.

Every part of him wants to tell her, wants to say the words out loud so that she knows just what she means to him, but he’s still biting his tongue. He thinks Emma might love him too, that she might be in the same place emotionally, but he doesn’t know. There have been moments in the past week where he thinks maybe just maybe she’s going to say something, but then she’ll change the subject or smile at him and he’ll know that the words aren’t coming.

Emma’s been burned so badly in her past, from her parents to her exes to the assholes she works with, and he’s still so amazed that their relationship is going so well. They very obviously had a rocky start, but the faith and trust that he has in her and that she has in him to share the depths of her heart astounds him.

This is – this is everything that he never thought he’d have again, and he keeps telling himself to calm down in his future thoughts because it’s still so soon.

When has his timing ever matched up with conventional standards?

But she makes him so incredibly happy, and even when they get into little arguments, he’s glad to be having those. Weirdly, he missed them. He missed having someone to debate dinner plans with and to have to schedule time to spend with and all of those other little things.

Emma was so good with his nieces in London last week too. He knew that she would be since she has so much experience with Leo, but it was refreshing to see how taken she was with Addy and Lucy. Or really, how taken Addy and Lucy were with her. Killian knew that asking her to come to Addison’s birthday party was a bit of a gamble that she likely wouldn’t take him up on, but he’s so glad that she did. Watching her walk around the room in that yellow dress effortlessly talking to his family was absolutely everything to him.

Logically, he knows that once they decide to share that they’re dating with those closest to them, Emma’s going to have to do some kind of reintroduction to the family, and he hopes that it goes well then too, that no one is mad at them for hiding such a big thing right under their noses.

That’s not going to happen. It simply won’t.

Elsa and the girls had nothing but nice things to say about Emma after that day, especially when the girls kept trying to sit next to her on the plane ride home, and all Liam did was tease him about asking her out and how she must be the most forgiving woman on the planet.

She must be.

Killian can hear the water run through the pipes to the shower in his bathroom, and since he heard no screaming, he assumes Emma figured out how the shower works well enough on her own. So, he opens his fridge and starts pulling out the ingredients he needs today. He had to go grocery shopping this morning, which was a bit of an ordeal since he had no idea what he was shopping for, and he feels like his fridge is stocked with food to make enough baked goods to stock one of those insane sales that Addy and Lucy have at their school every few months.

How much money can they really raise through selling baked goods? Donating money would likely be more effective, but he is very obviously not on a PTA board.

But he told Emma that he would bake for her one of these days, or really, that he would bake with  her, and he’ll be damned if they don’t finally do that today. He swears that things keep getting more and more hectic lately in between traveling for work and then doing actual work, and they never get a moment to just breathe and be in each other’s company.

Or talk.

They have a hell of a lot to talk about as well, and there never seems to be time. Hence why they’ve been home from London for over a week and still haven’t been able to talk about telling their friends and family.

What is life going to look like during the off-season? He wants to imagine, but he can’t. Not quite yet. That’s getting ahead of himself once more.

As the water in the bathroom runs, he starts mixing the ingredients for the crust of the strawberry lemonade bars they’re going to make. He knows that Emma is a bigger fan of chocolate while he is not, and on another day, they’ll do something more up her alley. He’s got things for smores, mostly as a joke, and he imagines she wouldn’t mind simply eating the chocolate bars.

The water turns off in the bathroom, and yet twenty minutes later, Emma still hasn’t emerged from his bedroom. Curious, he puts the whisk he’s using down and wanders back down the hallway to his bedroom, his door open so that he can see Emma sitting on his bed with a brush in hand as she works at a tangle in her damp hair, gaze focused out of one of floor-to-ceiling windows to the city skyline below.

“Hey.”

Her head twists toward him, a soft smile curved on her lips.

“Hey,” she smiles, tugging at her brush, “you have a super nice shower, and I’m totally going to utilize that more often. Also, your bed is comfortable, and it is a shame we have never used it before. Like, I love your couch a lot and the times we have had on it, but I think the bed may win.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing in here this entire time? Thinking about my bed?”

“Yep. I wasn’t really going to snoop. That’s weird. I just wanted to make sure your bed was comfortable, and I was right.”

Killian chuckles under his breath as he steps further into the room and bends his knees to brush a kiss across her temple. “I wouldn’t have minded if you snooped. There’s nothing to hide in here.” She arches a brow. “Really? You don’t have some kind of super weird shrine of me hidden in your closet?”

“Hmmm, no. I have one of Erin Andrews though. She’s my favorite blonde sportscaster.”

“You’re the worst,” Emma groans even as a chuckle passes through her lips. She tosses her brush behind her, letting it bounce on the mattress, before falling back onto the mattress herself. It’s then that he notices she’s wearing a matching set of pajamas, pink and white striped shorts with a button down with the same pattern. “Your jokes are not homeruns today.”

“Yours aren’t either, darling,” he sighs before sitting down next to her and running his hands up her inner thigh before messing with the hem of her shorts. “Did you bring matching pajamas simply to mess with me?”

Her head pops up to look at him, golden hair darkened by the water and her face bare of makeup. “Yep. You said we were having a sleepover, and I am taking you to your word. If it makes you feel less like we’re teenagers, though, I do not have a bra on under this shirt.”

“Really now?” he growls, twisting on the bed and crawling toward her, his mouth hovering over hers as his hand snakes up underneath her shirt to feel the soft skin and the very obvious lack of a bra covering her breast as he flicks his fingers over her nipple. “Ah, you weren’t lying then.”

“I tend to like to tell the truth.”

“That’s good. Me too.”

His tongue slides into the warm heat of her mouth as Emma gasps beneath him, her hips arching up while her mouth explores his even though she’s most definitely already got it mapped out. It’s as intoxicating as ever to kiss Emma, to glide and nip and tease as arousal tricks down to the base of his spine and his groin. This is not at all what he came into his bedroom for, but intentions were very literally left at the door now that he’s teasing her breast and tangling his tongue with hers in a passionate slide.

It’s quick as he unbuttons the buttons on Emma’s shirt, quicker still as she pushes him onto his back and slides his joggers off of his legs so that she can bite at the skin at his hip, nibbling a bruise into his skin that he’s sure will be there for days. There’s no time to worry about that, though, because then Emma’s hand is settling at the base of his length while her mouth settles around the tip, and he nearly implodes right then and there.

Fucking glorious.

And he tells her so in a stuttered breath, one that he can barely catch from the way that she’s working him higher and higher. His hips arch up off the bed when she hums around him, and his head presses back into his pillow while his eyes shut. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t…and then the heat of Emma’s mouth is gone, and his eyes open as his heart wildly pounds in his chest. He’s just about to ask if she’s okay and then if she is, what the hell is she doing, but then he watches her slide a condom down his shaft before she settles over him and sinks down onto him so that he can feel the most glorious heat of all.

“Holy fuck,” he mutters, reaching forward to grab onto her hips, holding on tightly enough that his fingerprints might as well be inked into her skin. “How many times do I have to tell you, love, that you’re going to be the death of me?”

Emma rocks above him, her still-damp hair falling down her back as she arches it. “A few more times, at least. Or until you die.”

“I love that you can be so morbid in a moment like this.”

“I, ah, I try.”

As much as Killian wants to thrust up into her, to control the movements and the pace, he lets Emma do just that as he watches her move above him in what is very well the most glorious sight he’s ever seen. He can turn his head to either the right and see a skyline of Manhattan that looks out onto Central Park, but nothing can compare to this. Not the view from his bedroom or the view of miles and miles of ocean stretching out ahead of him with the sun beating down on his back.

Not even the view of thousands of people cheering for him in the stands.

Nothing compares to Emma.

The muscles in her thighs flex as she continues to move, her hands curled into the hair of his chest and pulling at him, and he can see sweat beading at her forehead. He imagines that later she’ll complain about how she just showered, how she was already sore from going to spin class, but there are no complaints now as his orgasm rolls in on a slow motion that has him cursing Emma’s name instead of confessing his love for her.

That may very well be the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, but thankfully he could focus on his own falling apart and then Emma’s, her orgasm coming to her with her flushed cheeks and parted lips.

That’s another glorious sight right there. They seem to be never ending.

“Just for the record,” Emma sighs several minutes later when they’ve cleaned themselves up and changed back into clothes, “that was not my intention for this morning.”

Killian cocks a brow and moves to cross his arms behind his head from where he’s propped up in bed, a sated smile on his face. “Am I simply that irresistible to you?”

“You smelled really good, so obviously I just had to fuck you.”

“Oh, well, of course.”

Emma giggles against his shoulder before looking up at him and brushing her lips over the corner of his mouth. “And maybe. I feel like I can’t tell you that you’re irresistible because then I’ll inflate your ego too much.”

“Ah yes. That could be an issue.”

Emma opens her mouth to say something, and he feels his stomach twist in anticipation only for Emma’s stomach to audibly growl. “I feel like now would be a good time to get that baking done.”

“Oh shit,” he curses, gently moving Emma off of him so that he can get up from bed, “I left the ingredients out on the counter before I came in here. They’re not supposed to sit out that long.”

-/-

“You’ve got a little something on your cheek, love,” Killian teases as the two of them stand in his kitchen, his countertops covered in bowls and pans with cartons and bags left open. It’s far from the tidiness that he usually keeps, but no part of him minds this morning as he and Emma get more time together.

Emma scrunches up her nose in response, reaching her hand up to wipe at her face on both sides and only managing to get flyaway hairs from her still-damp braid stuck to her cheek.

“Did I get it?”

“No,” he lies, squinting his eyes so that he can focus in on her face just that little bit more. How is he so enamored with those freckles? “On your left cheek, Swan. Right in the middle.”

She huffs with a slight roll of her eyes before raising her hand and rubbing at her cheek while he reaches into the bowl of icing for their strawberry lemonade bars they’re (mostly him) making and swipes his finger through the cream before running his finger down Emma’s cheek as her lips part and her eyes quickly blink up at him.

“Did you just make up me having something on my cheek so that you could put icing there?”

“Yep.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“You’re calling me that a lot today.”

“Yeah, well,” she scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest as the pout that’s on her face begins crack, the corner of her mouth ticking up the slightest bit on the right, “you are being one.”

“Hey, love?” he asks, knowing that he’s about to start truly pissing her off, “you have a little something on your cheek. You should probably get that.”

If her eyes could roll to the back of her head, they would, and while Emma says that he’s the one without a great poker face, she doesn’t have too great of one right now either. She uncrosses her arms, and she looks like she’s going to wipe at the stripe of icing that’s on her cheek, but at the last minute, she lunges for the bowl only for him to grab her wrists and pull her arms upwards so that she can’t get the icing.

“Asshole,” Emma repeats while he laughs, nudging her knee away from his so that they can move out of the kitchen. Or at least a little. He’s pretty sure that Emma has her knees locked so that she won’t move. “You can’t just put icing on my face and not give me the opportunity to do the same to you.”

The words “love isn’t fair” almost escape his lips, but he bites his tongue, one particular word in that sentence not something he can say unless he’s calling Emma “love.” Even that sometimes seems risky, but it’s as natural as saying her name.

“Maybe later,” he falsely sighs, dipping his head to brush his lips over her cheek so that he can taste the icing that resides there, a sweet taste of strawberry. “You’re sweet.”

“You’re cheesy.”

“I don’t think I’m covered in cheese.”

“Oh my gosh,” Emma groans, leaning forward so that her forehead presses into his chest, her laugh loud enough so that he can feel the vibrations of it. “I cannot believe that I’m actively choosing to date you.”

“Trust me, darling, I ask myself why you’re dating me every single day.”

“As you should.”

They eventually get back to actually baking, the two of them working in companionable silence even though he keeps having to tell Emma to keep going on mixing the batter. She wants to use a mixer, which is fine most of the time, but this is always better if it’s done by hand. Emma is not a baker in the slightest, and while he knew that, it does surprise him the slightest bit when she asks questions that he thinks most people know the answer to. Then again, she never had someone to teach her to cook or bake or any basic life skills, which is probably why she loves grilled cheese sandwiches and other simple foods like that. They were something she could teach herself.

Liam taught him how to cook. Brennan never cared enough to.

But then again, past the knowledge that Liam gave him and that he learned from watching the Cooking Channel, he’d know nothing about baking if it wasn’t for the accident and his broken arm and torn rotator cuff. Almost instinctively, he rolls his shoulders back and begins stretching his right arm to loosen it up. It’s felt fine the past few days, but he felt a slight pull in it late last night and is hoping that it’s not going to start acting up again. He knows that his injury is most likely going to have a permanent effect on him, but like always, some days are better than others. And he’s doing everything to prevent it. He honestly doesn’t know what he’d do if presented with another long injury lay-off. Would he even have the motivation to try to come back?

That’s not a thought that he wants to have.

So, he doesn’t. He goes back to telling Emma about his day yesterday and how well he thinks the team is going to do for the rest of the season. His confidence with his arm may fluctuate, but his confidence with the team does not. They’re playing damn well this season, better even than last season, and he can’t help but hope that they’re going to be standing on the field as winners at the last game of the season.

Getting ahead of himself. He’s got to stop doing that.

“Yeah, well, if that happens, you still can’t ask me out on air,” Emma teases, bumping her hip into his while she pours the batter into the pan.

“Swan, we’ve very much established that only you ask me out in this relationship.”

“Exactly. I’m obviously the person who always makes the big moves.”

Killian shakes his head before kissing to top of her head and turning around to put the tray into his oven, closing the door and setting a timer for thirty minutes on his phone. He and Emma settle down onto his couch, Emma throwing her legs over his lap and stretching her arm over his shoulder while his hand settles on her inner thigh. It’s comfortable, relaxed, and he could fall asleep with the way the sun is softly coming through his windows and the television is playing quietly in the background.

But he doesn’t. Mostly because Emma starts talking.

“So, we need to talk.”

His head twists toward her so that he can look in her eyes. “I feel like that’s something you’ve said before.”

“Funny,” Emma laughs, nibbling on her bottom lip, “because I have, and we’re about to have the same conversation.”

A sigh passes through his lips as his mind connects the dots. “Ah, well, what is it you want to say? I figure you have an itemized list in that head since you’re the one who brought it up.”

“It’s not itemized, per say. It’s just kind of there all mixed around.” Her free hand moves as she says this, and she sinks a little further into the couch, splaying her legs out over him even more. It’s the most comfortable and awkward he thinks she’s ever looked in his presence. “I’m…it’s hard, okay. Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing,” he says even as he laughs, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip while Emma glares up at him. “Okay, okay. You’re just so flustered, and it’s adorable.”

“How do we ever have serious conversations?”

“Usually we’re in a hotel bed.”

“Damn, you’re right. I’d say we go back to your bed, but I feel like I’ll get distracted by how soft your sheets are.”

“Oh, and not by me?”

“Nope,” Emma chuckles, bopping his nose, “not at all.”

His hand taps at her hip, fingers curling up underneath her top so that he can pinch the skin on her stomach. “Share what’s on your mind, darling.”

She sighs, her lashes fluttering closed against cheeks.

“So, I really, really want to tell people about you and me. I want to be able to not have to lie to Ruby about where I’ve been or not be able to tell David and Mary Margaret what’s going on in my life. And I want you to be able to tell Liam and Elsa. I don’t want to go to any other parties where I just happen to be there and have to act like I don’t’ know all of this information about your family. But then it’s just so complicated because, like, what about your team? Obviously, we can’t tell everyone, but you probably want to tell Robin and Will, maybe even Eric. And telling Eric means telling Ariel, probably Belle too, and then it’s just this wide web of people who know and can’t say anything. And it really doesn’t change how we spend our time together except adding a few apartments for us to hang out in. By the way, there’s a dude with a camera hanging out outside the apartment building, and I had to wait for him to leave his spot to come inside. So, there’s that too.”

Emma just spewed a couple hundred words at him in what must have been a singular breath, and he feels like he’s whiplashed as he tries to work through them all and pick exactly where he needs to start.

Damn, okay. This is complicated. This is all so complicated, and it’s very much his fault for his actions of nearly a year ago. There are other factors and complications, and while yes, the two of them could very much say that they’re dating and be able to live their lives more freely, they both know that it’ll be easier to possibly share once the season is over. It’ll make Emma’s life and job less complicated and while things are obviously going well, those few extra months will make it easier for them to actually know what they’re doing here.

“Okay,” Killian finally sighs, figuring he might as well take it item by item, “so first of all, I can get you a key to the back entrance so you don’t have to deal with the occasional obnoxious paparazzi who obviously don’t know that I’m not that interesting. I should have already done that, but I felt like that would be a bit presumptuous.”

“Yeah, I would have freaked the fuck out.”

“You’re not doing that right now?”

She shrugs. “Only a little.”

“So that’s one problem solved,” he sighs, tapping one finger against her stomach for emphasis. “Next, when you go home tomorrow, I want you to tell Ruby and Graham, okay? That’s going to be step one, and I’d honestly really like to come over and see your apartment and meet them. The same goes with David and Mary Margaret and even Ruth. Those people are all your family, and if you want to share that you have the most handsome lover in all of New York, I want you to do that.”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to tell Ruth and David. I’m going to call you my lover and see which one freaks out more. I bet David asks me for sex details.”

“Swan,” he groans as his head leans against the top of his couch, his lips curling into a smile, “that sounds like a good way for me to get murdered.”

“David is not that scary.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve found that no matter how progressive the world gets, older brothers tend to be far too protective, and no offense, but David is that type. I bet when we meet that he’ll squeeze my hand far too tightly in the handshake.”

“I hate that you’re right about that.”

“Exactly. But we’re clear on that. You tell your family, and I will tell mine. We’ll both make it clear that this doesn’t get out, and since we trust them, we know they’re going to respect that, yeah? And just so you know, I guarantee that Liam is going to insist on meeting you again and pull all of that older brother shit too.”

“Maybe we should just let he and David hash it out.”

“That’s exactly what we should do,” Killian chuckles as his phone starts to buzz, the timer for the oven going off. Emma’s legs slide off of him for him to stand from the couch and walk to the kitchen, grabbing two oven mitts to remove the hot pan and place it on the burners. “But seriously. We take this slow, okay? I know that I’m going to tell Liam and Elsa first, and you’ll likely tell Ruby first. And if it goes well, we take baby steps to move onto other people.”

“Are they going to totally hate us for keeping this a secret from them?”

“Maybe but not once they see how happy we are.”

Emma stands from the couch and walks over to him in the kitchen, leaning over his island to eye the cooling lemonade bars. “So, when are we going to be able to eat those?”

“In about an hour, so you have to be patient.”

“I’ve never been particularly good at that.”

-/-

Walking around the apartment, Killian starts opening up curtains to let the florescent lights of the city in, his bedroom painted in a soft glow of red and greens and yellows. The only light he has on in his bedroom is from the television, so he keeps seeing Emma’s features in flashes. It’s likely the laziest day he’s had in years, and while they did hash out details of letting their under-wraps relationship be a little more public, most of their day has been spent in bed exploring each other or watching Netflix and eating their baked goods and the pizza that he ordered. He knows that he and Emma teased each other about this being a sleepover when they’re both grown adults who are dating and not teenagers who are spending the night at their friend’s house, but they’re somehow falling into all of the stereotypes they teased each other about.

The glass of rum he’s had and the glass of wine Emma’s nursing surely help.

Maybe a little bit of boredom too.

“Truth,” Emma says flatly, pulling his comforter further up over her lap.

“Hmm,” he hums while he makes his way back to the bed, crawling under the covers and shifting to run his legs over Emma’s so that he can feel her smooth skin, “tell me the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“My boyfriend asked me out on TV.”

“Is that your serious answer?”

“Yep.” Emma twists in the bed and scoots down further under the covers, her blonde hair still twisted into a braid, but a lot of the front pieces have fallen out and are landing on her bare shoulders. “That’s what I’m sticking with for now. It’s your turn. Truth or dare.”

“I feel ridiculous playing this game.”

“But it’s fun.”

“Aye,” he laughs, reaching over to grab her hand and tangle their fingers together before resting their hands in the small space between them. “Truth.”

Emma’s eyes close as she thinks, her lips pursing, and he’s got absolutely no clue what’s about to come out of her mouth. “What is your least favorite thing about me?”

“Damn, Swan, that’s dirty.”

“Usually you like that.”

“Different kind of dirty. Um – ” Killian clicks his tongue as his mind runs through a short list of things that annoy him about Emma as he tries to think of something that won’t get Emma truly pissed at him. “I don’t like how difficult it is to get you to answer the phone.”

“That’s a copout.”

“So was your last answer.”

“Fine. I’ll accept it. Dare.”

“Kiss me.”

Emma rolls her eyes right after he says the words, but she still presses forward to briefly brush her lips over his, a soft, slow kiss that has his body aching for more. But Emma pulls back before he can deepen the kiss, and he’s left with the feel of her lips on his.

“That was also a copout,” she murmurs as her hands reach down to pull the covers all the way up over her shoulders, her breasts disappearing from sight. “Truth.”

“Tell me your absolute favorite movie.”

“The Princess Bride. Feel free to quote it with me any time, and I will quote it right back.”

“As you wish.”

Emma’s eyes widen and her lips part at his words, and earlier he should have said that his least favorite thing about Emma is how hard it is for him to read her even when she’s an open book to him. But an open book half printed in code where he partially knows what’s going on but can’t quite decipher the rest.

“Your turn,” Emma whispers, snuggling further into the pillow. If he doesn’t watch out, she’s going to take his pillow home with her like she did his Vandy sweatshirt.

“Truth.”

“If you could talk to your dad again, would you?”

It’s a question out of nowhere, one he wasn’t expecting, and as much as it makes his blood boil to even think of his dad, he doesn’t mind being open like this with Emma, not when she squeezes his hand to reassure him and looks at him with green eyes that might as well hold the stars for all the light overshadowing the darkness that he sees in them.

“No,” he answers immediately before biting his tongue. “Maybe, but only to tell him how much he’s screwed up my life. I don’t – I believe in forgiveness and learning from your mistakes. I would be nothing without all of that, but I – a dad should love his kids and be there for them no matter what, not on the condition of how well one of them is playing baseball. I know that if I ever have kids, I want them to feel everything that I didn’t at home. I want to be more like my mom in all of the love that she showed, you know?”

Emma doesn’t say anything then, but she does release his hand to reach forward and grab the chain around his neck, letting his mom’s ring fall into her palm. “You’re a good man, you know that, twenty-nine?”

“Eh.”

“You are. I promise.”

Emma moves across the bed so that she can wrap her arm around his waist, simply sitting still with him in the quietness of the room as sirens and car horns blare outside, the life outside the city continuously moving as they stay still, reveling in the silence of the cocoon of his bedroom and not letting the outside world get to them. This has been one of his favorite days this year, which is saying a lot when he’s had so many that have already meant the world to him. He doesn’t know how it could get better.

Lips brush across the muscles on his stomach, soft and gentle and everything that Emma can be. “Killian?”

“Yeah, love?” he mumbles, absentmindedly running his fingers up and down the smooth expanse of her back.

“Dare me to do something bold.”

He chuckles, not entirely sure where this is coming from, but he does what she says anyways. “Emma, love, do something bold.”

Her intake of breath is something that he feels against his chest before she says, “I love you.”

[lynsunrise]

After episode 8. Feelings...

Again thinking aloud. Expressing what I am feeling at the moment. Forgive me for causing pain. For many spoilers (I must warn you) that will be in my flow of thoughts. I have never found it so unbelievably hard to start writing what I feel. At first on Monday I thought I should type every word of pain and anguish squeezing my heart, I should have typed 100 pages of my most fierce ache, I should have done it, but the pain was so mortifying that I could not sit down for a long period of  time to write just because I was absolutely restless and I still am. I never found it so hard to raise my hand above a keyboard to press those letters. Just because inside of my heart the weight of feelings was crushing me. I don’t remember if I ever was so deeply wounded and moved by a cinema creation. I have given it such a power over me, I put myself in its power. And must suffer the consequences.

I feel bitter that I could not write earlier but maybe as they say time is the best judge. And days pass, a million sensations of different caliber are flashing through my mind and heart but what is adamant in its absolutely unchangeable persistence is the deep dull pain that speaks incessantly even when the sharp one subsides a bit. This dull pain inside, it is like in the core of my heart, it reminds me of what I didn’t say, of what I should say. I am balancing among three things: anger, sadness and denial not knowing which of them really dominates. Maybe all three are there together, equally wild and implacable, and that is why it is so hard to pull myself together. This week passes as in delirium, I can hardly recognize myself. But what I have been listening to all the time inside of me, what I have heard very distinctly and clearly was the cry of my heart begging the reason to start saying something, otherwise it would simply wither because of everything it is keeping inside of it. This was like a soft painful whisper haunting me. My thoughts at first were shouting in my head, my soul was covered with heavy clouds, it was such a rainy day in it, not a glimpse of light, and now I feel like even my thoughts discourse in whisper not to disturb my perturbed spirit.

But this happens when I am at some denial stage, and it is enough for me to remember the scene of Charlotte and Sidney before he left for London to start realizing that I still am in the most prominent anguish phase of feeling.

I see so clearly, I see that scene before my eyes no matter what I do, no matter where I go. I see that it contains the message of centuries' experience of being in love of millions of people. I see in it everything... The legacy of the most beautiful books and films about true love. The visual side. Contrasts own my heart. Black and white, strength and tenderness, wistfulness and trust, agony and hope, the captivating height difference, powerful statuesque tall figure of the man and beauteous charming fragile figure of a woman, broad shoulders and narrow shoulders, hot strong hands and tender small ones… And the way they close their eyes. The longing to kiss, to embrace. To remain like this forever. To stay close like this forever. Forever. Forever. This is echoing in my mind. Always when I watch them being together I have one thought “To remain like this forever”. There is such a powerful essential deep-rooted trueness of Feeling and beauty in them, they are the quintessence of how I always imagined a true romance that I do not question myself why I have given them my heart and a weapon to destroy it or redeem it. I am a hopeless romantic. And I sense in them the true essence of Love that “moves the stars”. Man and Woman, eternal force of life and beauty. The energy of romance, of never ending infatuation, of feelings that will never feel worn out, the picture in my mind when I am completely sure that they will be as passionate and in love every day of their life as at this moment. I am looking at them and I see this image so clearly, I see them always enchanted, always feeling the incandescence of affection, every day of their life ahead, I see: they wake up every morning, they smile at each other and there is never triviality, there is never just habit, there is never dullness. There is always intensity, hot intensity of feelings. It is like the sensation of putting freezing cold and the wave of heat together, this electricity of touch, this feeling when warm skin touches cold marble and even marble becomes calescent. Eyes look in eyes, hands in hands, the perfection of face falling in love with the perfection of another face. Faces like Narcissus fall in love with themselves reflected in each other’s eyes but aren’t punished for that. Firmness soft inside and softness strong inside. A fuse of the most alluring sensations. And so much more… This is only a small extract from an endless range of most fiery thoughts running through my mind and heart. It is like trying to capture the lightning in the middle of its path. In its motion.

The most prominent evidence of my being totally under their spell is that no matter what I do I never stop feeling that dull pain in my heart talking to me all the time, pleading to be expressed at least somehow. Time passes but the pain is not moving anywhere. It is as if it has always been there, with me. Maybe it is there partly because of ever existing fear to encounter the  possibility to see with my own eyes the harsh reality trying to make us more severe by “teaching us a lesson”. But if they chose Sidney and Charlotte to teach us the harsh lesson of the “reality” that often is different from what the heart wants they could not make a worse choice. Sidney and Charlotte are not the ones who should teach us that. NOT THESE TWO PEOPLE should pay the price of “portraying the cruel reality”. Not after what we sensed in them, not after what we saw, not after we saw them even for the first time. And I cannot believe they are not together. They are created for each other. In my head and in my heart they are already searching for a way to be together again. And all the Universe must help. They cannot be let down by it again.

First of all Sidney, because to not be saved this second time would be so cruel that I can hardly express it through words. What the creators were trying to tell us when posting the clip of his conversation with Tom in London and saying that Charlotte has healed him and this new man could not but save his brother? What are they trying to say to us through it now? Charlotte healed Sidney and now Sidney sacrificing himself will still be healed??! Or the thought of sacrificing himself must make Sidney content with this illusion of life? I consider that Sidney is a victim here. He saves Tom but does Tom know at what cost?.. Even if he does not, Sidney deserves happiness. Sidney sacrificed his Love for them. But why not give Sidney one more chance? Why to give these second chances to everyone besides the one who truly deserves it? They can say what they want but to leave Sidney like that just DOES NOT FEEL RIGHT. “Reality or not reality”, it does not even matter. Who cares for “reality” when such a man must be trapped? He had his portion of sadness, punishment and anguish of love in his life. Give him time to breathe. Give him happiness. He had already gone through hell, he cannot just go through it endlessly, all his life! This is what bothers me very much, very.

And I agree with what I read on Tumblr that Eliza just does not care about him, his opinion. Nothing. She only wants to win. It is an enigma for me. Cannot she see that the man is in agony near her? How cruel or absurdly indifferent in a way she is! We did not see it (scenes in London in search for money) but as it was brilliantly written on Tumblr, and I agree with it, it was like a deadlock for Sidney, he used every opportunity to avoid such a disaster I am adamant sure. Now imagine his despair… I imagine and cry. He loved E. long ago, she passed him over, he suffered ten years, he let her go. He let all the illusions of the past go. He found his true love. Love that he was waiting for all his life. And he realizes that in order to save his family he “voluntarily” must return to the hell on earth. He has an excellent heart. “The same man but much improved”. The same: willing to save, kind-hearted, honest, brave, witty. Heart able to love as few can love. Sensitive and vulnerable. Surrounded by walls to save itself from devastation. And now what? To throw this very heart in fire. For all his life. Charlotte I believe was too wounded by the fiercest pain imaginable to see that Mrs C. does not love Sidney. Now what is torturing me very elaborately is a devilish thought that if Charlotte had seen how little Mrs C. loves Sidney she could have told him not “You must not speak like that. She loves you…”. This is a hellish torment. What if…What if! But we understand it is impossible and that she was in so much pain. Poor girl!!!! Our sweetest Charlotte. Charlotte will never marry anyone else. It is either Sidney or nobody. So, with such a “realistic” end nobody gets happiness. I want to curl up in a ball and hide somewhere, when I imagine her pain after returning home and clarifying her thoughts a little more. She made him to be not a better man, she made him be himself, kind and soft. I am sure she forgave him, she is wise and she knows he had no other choices at that moment. He did not choose money. He chose the welfare of the beloved ones of the family and Charlotte understands everything. But to understand is one thing. When she will realize that Mrs C. cannot love him, does not love him, this will be agony indeed. Because his heart is in the prison of a woman that does not love him and will torment him. So there is no such illusion of consolation that Eliza loves Sidney. And I am sure Sidney feels how much Charlotte loves him. She loves him so much that she wishes to believe Eliza loves him. To know that you leave the love of your life in the prison of sadness is unbearable. He may try to lull the pain by making himself to believe that Charlotte will move on without him. She did not stop him then… But it is because she understood his situation too well. She loves him for who he is and this is torture again. Who he is, is the man who sacrifices his life basically for his close people. She knows, she sees. She loves him for all he is. And to love him so much but being forced by understanding to let go…it is like to cut the heart in two. Sidney was ready to abandon everything if she had only said but I guess we can understand why she did not. As was said by an amazing person, she is absolutely selfless. They both are selfless. Pure souls. They both are people who cannot love by halves. It means that no matter how well they understand each other, they will suffer all their lives if being apart. And this I cannot forgive. At least in my imagination I have portrayed episodes 9 and 10 and s2 when facing all deadlocks they find a way to be together.

The thought that he saved Tom and the family won't be able to “support” him all his life! Am I not right? The same situation is with Charlotte. The thought that she did not let him not to save his family…It is all sensibility, but what about the heart? The soul slowly dying inside. Shattered totally to pieces. No, it should not be like that. The creators must see this.

Also about Tom. I also understand clearly now that Sidney could not ask anybody for that money. Neither lord Babington because even he is not so rich and I cannot imagine Sidney at all asking his friend to do that, nor Georgiana because they did not reach that stage of their relationship when it can happen at all, because she does not trust him and I sometimes even think that even for Charlotte she could not do it because we simply did not have the time to pass through different stages of solving the conflict between her and the society around her, nor Esther yet because money belongs to Lady D. He must have gone through hell during that week in London. I remember Sidney's tense features of the face and intense gaze in the carriage when heading to London, he had a gut feeling but in his worst nightmares could not he imagine what will happen. As a fan was writing on Twitter “£80k would be £4.5 million”…now this sum is like a sword of Damocles over my soul. Poor Sidney! Poor Charlotte!  The bright side indeed is that we have Lady Susan that I believe haven’t played her major part yet. And Georgiana who still has a lot to say. There are so many loose ends, so many stories to tell!

I am as all admirers so crushed by the end and I am also sad that Sanditon might suffer because of the low ratings of its last 20 minutes. Otherwise, the ratings are good. The acting there is outstanding as in every second of the show.  It must not suffer because of its plot in the end. But I hope all this activity will help to make the creators know HOW much we love it.

Acting is superb. The quality, the power of it. It is more than one can ever dream about. Each feeling and each emotion is multilayered. So complex. There is not a single empty glance or phrase or movement. Every look, sigh, flutter of eyelashes, movement of body is charged with a lot of meaning and spiritual fire and energy of emotion. You do not feel betrayed or deceived when you stop at every step just to savour the beauty, complexity and genuiness of every emotion, every feeling. You know you can discover layer after layer, you know that each emotion has such a powerful inner background and of course it has such power because of the aesthetical perfection of the main characters.

Theo James is like a Jewel. He is Sidney, Sidney is he. He is simply created to portray him. The most mysterious, sensitive and long-suffering Austen male hero, the last Austen male hero…He is so brilliant that I lack words. His eloquent eyes, his voice, his figure…Regency era gentleman indeed. I was walking along the passages of history and came across a perfect man and never returned to the 21st century. His presence is what made Sanditon such a hit. As well as Rose's. She is so brilliant that I always lack words!! The way her voice broke in the last scene…It felt like earthquake for me. Also the way he was looking at the carriage being forced to stay behind… 💔

Whoever chose them for the role is Genius. I hope that when reading all heartbreaking comments they see how much we LOVE them and this is only the not happy ending that we are angry with. Not the show itself of course. 🙏🏻I am praying for season 2, because Charlotte and Sidney deserve to be happy, and this feels like the rightest thing on earth.✨🔥

Also I find it absolutely amazing how our thoughts complement one another, as if we fill in the possible gaps when searching for answers. Reading many outstanding analyses of my friends here, summing up thoughts, weighing opinions, reaching some unexpected depths of conclusions due to comparing my own thoughts and the wisdom of other amazing people. I am grateful for that. The Sanditon fandom is a place where my heart is at ease, all lovely beautiful supporting people, my friends are here, always ready to help. Thank you, Sanditon fandom. I learn so much from you.  I love you.

Also they wrote that Sidney and Charlotte are divided for now, this FOR NOW gives me so much hope. I will cling to it with all my heart. Still cannot watch the last episode from the beginning to the end. The kiss scene is my salvation. And what a scene!.. God... 😩🔥I wish we had more!!💔😩✨

Those two most heartrending scenes deserve all possible acting awards too because they just fracture one's heart: when Sidney tells Charlotte they cannot be happy and the last scene. Their eyes say it all. The tears, broken voice, heavy sighs, crushed chests. I hope that both Theo and Rose will be nominated many times and for many awards for their outstanding performance.

😩💔

It is hard not to think about Charlotte and Sidney every time time because there is this feeling that they are ALONE in their grief and there is nobody close to know about it and who can really ease that pain and comfort them. They need each other. And we need them. 😭

Can never forget their scenes. And that last scene.

“But after all the days of despair

I will meet you up there

Between the sky and heaven”

There on that clifftop where we first kissed

That was like a miracle, a heavenly bliss

Promise me you will never forget

The day when we first met

We are divided…for now

But I believe, I am sure

We'll endure every hardship

The cruel fate has in store…

“I will be right here waiting for you” season 2!!! Come quicker!!! We need happy Charlotte and Sidney in our lives.💔💔💔 We need that. To make the world a better place. Thank you.

[wanderlustlanguages]

Brazil study abroad roundup

So since I failed at posting during my study abroad I am going to attempt to sum everything up here. I hope this might be helpful for people who want to study abroad in Brazil in the future.

Disclaimer: This is written based on my personal experience which is of course affected by who I am (20-year-old, female, Austrian, introverted, straight, white,...) and the people I happened to meet and a million other small factors.

If you have any specific questions don’t hesitate to inbox me or send me a message.

Rio de Janeiro

I spent my exchange semester in Brazil or more precisely in Rio de Janeiro. Rio de Janeiro is without a doubt a city unlike any other (I have ever seen at least). My favourite thing about Rio is its diversity in both its population and the landscape. Rio really has it all amazing beaches, lush-greenness and a buzzing city. The city itself was probably my favorite thing about my exchange. I remember the first day I arrived and drove through the city to get to my apartment. I was fascinated by how the rich and the poor lived so close to each other and how there were 15 story buildings right in front of green hills and corporate office next to a beach.

Culture and People

The culture is completely different from anything I have ever experienced before. People in Brazil are so friendly it is shocking. Everyone seems to be open to have a chat and help you out. The one downside I found to this (as an introvert) while everyone is open to having a chat it can be hard to find real, solid friends. People tend to talk about hanging out or doing something but as you are talking about it both of you already know that it will never happen. So while in general, I cannot complain about people since they are very friendly to foreigners I have not made any real friends.

Language

However, not making friends might also have something to do with the fact that my Portuguese wasn’t really good enough to speak much when I arrived here and most people don’t really speak English. While it has improved greatly (especially my understanding of native speakers) I am still missing the practice to come up with words quickly enough to have a fluent conversation. Also, slang is still an issue while I have learned some of it there seems to be an endless amount of slang terms that I will probably never know (the fact that Brazilian Portuguese slang changes quickly and varies by region isn’t helping either):

Food

I have a love-hate relationship with Brazilian food. There’s some food I really enjoy but then there is even more food that I don’t particularly like. The food that I did enjoy seemed to get too monotonous quickly. In general Brazilian cuisine tends to be very much meat-based (being a vegetarian is still somewhat rare here) with carbs also playing a big role. As someone who prefers to eat a bit more plant-based and lighter it was a bit difficult to imagine eating a typical Brazilian diet every day. But of course, this wasn’t really an issue I just bought my vegetables in the supermarket and prepared them the same way I would have at home. But I did miss typical dishes from home and also Maki with avocado or cucumber (for some reason they only have sushi with actual fish here).

Money

Brazil is not as cheap as some other Latin American countries, especially Rio is quite expensive. I would say on average the living expenses here are as much as in other European cities (not London or Paris). The prices for food are pretty moderate with imported goods, of course, being more expensive. The metro is cheap compared to European standards and while it does cover much less area than the underground systems in most other major cities it really does take you pretty much everywhere that you’ll need to go. Uber is also surprisingly cheap. If you can split the ride it might just end up being cheaper than the metro ticket. My monthly living expenses without trips and rent were around: €500.

Housing

The rent prices vary greatly depending on the area you live in, however, in general, the standard of living is lower so even if you pay €500 a month the apartment might have all the necessities but often just doesn’t look as pretty (not an issue just something to keep in mind). I personally chose to live in an apartment in Ipanema which I shared with another girl from my university we paid about €500/month each. When choosing an area to live in you should keep in mind that there are areas that are not so safe. Personally, we booked our apartment on Airbnb but many people find theirs on facebook or upon arrival.

Trips

I managed to go on quite a few trips but getting around Brazil can quickly get complicated and expensive since it is such a huge country. If you have a place you already know you would like to visit I recommend booking the airplane ticket as early as possible the closer you get to the date the more expensive they tend to get. The cheapest airplane ticket I managed to get was about €70 (one hour flight, no checked bags). There are buses almost everywhere and they can be significantly cheaper however it is debatable whether you would rather pay €60 and drive for 14 hours or pay €150 - 200 and fly for 2 to 3 hours. For shorther distances buses are of course completely fine and you can book most of them online or buy a ticket directly at the central bus station.

Personally, I visited:

Paraty Salvador Belo Horizonte Ouro Preto Buzios Blumenau Curitiba Porto Alegre São Paulo Petropolis

Education system

Like in many countries getting a good education in Brazil means getting a private education. Since my university had a contract with a private university that’s the kind of educational environment I experienced. Personally, education is a topic I feel quite passionate about or more specifically I feel quite passionate about the belief that education should be as accessible as possible to as many people as possible (I am not going to go in-depth here about why..). The Brazilian education system is built in a way that greatly advantages people who are more well off than the average Brazilian. I personally was not a fan of my university since I felt the entire thing was just this bubble that didn’t in any way mirror the Rio that I experienced outside of university. 

Society

I touched upon this briefly in the previous section. One of the most interesting dynamics about Brazil is the society. There seems to be this strange dichotomy were Brazilians are proud of the diversity of their population yet there is some kind of deeply ingrained, probably to a large degree unconscious (like in many countries), racism going on. People who are noticeably darker in complexion are mostly still part of the poorest of the population while the richest look astonishingly European and nothing is done to change this. Brazilians are proud of their diversity yet the order of their society still reflects one of the colonial times. (I am in no way saying that every Brazilian supports the way things are. This is more a reflection of the politics going on in the country which are unfortunately corrupt to a large degree so we cannot exactly consolidate the current societal state with the actual opinion of people)

Touristy things + Leisure time

Now for a lighter topic. There is plenty to see in Rio and when I say plenty I mean a lot as in I didn’t even manage to see everything that I wanted to see. I plan to make a more comprehensive post on places to see in Rio (well-known ones and some not so well known). Leisure time is to a large degree spent outdoors on the beach, hiking, or at parties. One disadvantage of Rio is that it is a quite outdoorsy city so when it rains there aren’t many options for entertainment.

Party and dating culture

Parties here are a lot more spontaneous often happening on the street in front of university buildings. They are also a bit wilder it is quite common for one person to make out with several different people a night and it is almost unheard of that someone doesn’t drink alcohol. Dating culture from what I experienced (which is admittedly somewhat limited) is very relaxed. Casual relationships are extremely common and break-ups are usually quite pragmatic. At the same time, the macho culture is still a bit more prevalent than in many European countries. As someone who is introverted and doesn’t really enjoy casual relationships or just dating for the sake of dating it wasn’t my thing but each to their own.

Conclusion

Would I want to live here forever? No. Did I really like the experience? Yes. Brazil is what I like to refer to as an “extrovert country”. So as an introvert it can be quite exhausting to navigate the social life here even more so than in european countries since people here are very talkative and open. However, this was a thing I was prepared for and since it was a dream of mine to got to Brazil one day despite that I can’t say that I didn’t have a great time and that it wasn’t worth it. I definitely see myself coming back to see more of the country. I simply personally enjoy the openness for a short period of time but it would probably be too much for me to live like this for the rest of my life. I am also quite thankful to have been born in a european country with free education, pretty good public health care, less corruption and overall more stability. Still I would not ever tell anyone NOT to go to Brazil, or Rio especially. I like to think of Rio as the bad boy of cities. It might be a little dangerous or more uncomfortable than others but it’s just so pretty, fascinating and mysterious you can’t help but fall in love.