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harstyle · 7 months ago

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the styles' nanny: part two

Summary: Harry finally realizes his mistake, but is it too late? Featuring a strange encounter with Jamie’s mother, another sad drinking session and an unfiltered conversation that changes everything.

Pairing: plussize-nanny!y/n + older-singledad!harry

Word-count: 10.2k

Warnings: age gap (13 years), mentions of alcohol and drinking, kissing, mentions of sex

here’s part one!

A/N: guys!!! It’s been three months!!! I hope you haven’t completely lost interest in this story :( I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting for so long, I just didn’t expect so many things to come up (plus somewhere along the way I lost motivation). I also hope you enjoy this second and (at least for now) last part. No smut, but maybe in a blurb/oneshot of some kind? Anyway thanks for waiting and happy reading!

—

I’m resigning. I will stay until we find a replacement but not longer than necessary. I thank you for your generosity during my time working for you, but I’m ready for a fresh start as I think it’s what would be best for me right now.

I’ll see you soon,

Y/N

That was the text Harry had received at 11am, just one hour ago. He’d called profusely, probably ten times in total, and had sent out a pathetic amount of text messages that had all gone ignored and unanswered.

Harry had lashed out— he could see that now; he’d been horribly unfair and he had taken advantage of Y/N’s inability to express herself in situations of distress. Harry’s worst trait was his short-temperedness and while he had gone through years of therapy to work on it, sometimes it took ahold of him in ways he couldn’t realize until after the fact.

Of course the last thing he’d wanted was for her to resign, which was exactly why her message had twisted his stomach a bit more intensely than he would’ve liked; he had no idea how to rectify this situation. Most things in his life went as he wished and if they didn’t, he found it was easy to make it so they did. But not now— no, he had to think about this carefully.

It had turned one when his phone rang; he was typing away in his office, trying to distract himself. Her caller ID flashed on his screen, but it wasn’t her voice that caught his ears— it was a man’s. A man’s whose name was Andrew.

“I’m from the viper,” he said, and Harry could swear he started seeing red, “your friend Y/N got a little too drunk for me to feel comfortable sending her away on her own. Is there any way you could come pick her up?”

Harry couldn’t help the string of curses which left his mouth as he gathered his house key. “Is she okay?” He asked, only to receive a conflicted hum.

“She had too many martinis and she was crying earlier. She said something about a fight.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks, man. Will you keep an eye out until I get there?”

“Of course.”

As Harry got into his car, he felt the overwhelming urge to chastise her, to keep talking until she finally listened to him when it came to her own safety. Not even one day had passed since he’d had to pick her up the last time— no lesson learned, no regrets.

But then, as he neared the bar, the rational part of his brain advised him against it. Y/N was no child, she was aware of her actions and she knew what was best for her— so for Harry to act high and mighty would be wrong and uncalled for.

He needed to just be there for her. Drop the barrier and be there.

He was ready to offer that to her.

—

Y/N could swear her eyes were playing tricks on her. It wouldn’t be unrealistic, really, her vision had become blurry about an hour ago— but, well, she would probably recognize that silhouette anywhere. He wore jeans and a shirt and his hair was still styled for work; Andrew was pointing at her, and so his green eyes followed. When he spotted her, Y/N felt naked under his gaze.

And before she knew it, he was walking toward her.

“What are you doing here?” She demanded, lower lip jutted out in a pout. Y/N had gone drinking in the hopes of distracting herself— and yes, maybe it wasn’t exactly working, but it definitely wouldn’t start working if he was physically here.

“Andrew called me. Stand up, I’m taking you home.”

Andrew was somebody she‘d met a few hours ago. Originally he‘d flirted with her, asking questions about her as she sat at the bar willing to answer all of them soberly— but once eleven had struck, all she could talk about was Harry. Y/N wasn’t fond of airing out dirty laundry so she‘d left the gory details of their fight out, but Andrew knew of a fight.

She was starting to regret it now that Harry was here.

Instead of doing as he’d asked— or ordered, more like, she leaned into the booth further.

“No.”

His eyebrow raised, “no?”

“I don’t leave or go out with dickheads. You taught me that.”

He looked ticked off and it satisfied something within her that had been needing it all night. When he breathed a sigh, eyes closing momentarily, she knew she had him.

“Y/N, would you please humor me and let me take you home? We can keep talking in the car, but not in front of these people.”

“What if I don’t want to go home, huh? Why are you always telling me what to do like you have the right? You’re not my dad.” Her words were slurred and her expression loose. Then she laughed to herself, giggled actually, ridiculously loud. “That’s funny, of course you’re not my dad cause he’s dead! Dead, six feet underground, you know? Probably lower, cause he definitely didn’t go to heaven! He’s, like, really deep underground.”

Concern warped his features.

“Y/N,” he warned, “please.”

She’d turned heads.

“But you know what you and my dad have in common? Yelling. Just yelling, for no fucking reason— yell yell yell, make it feel like my fault even though it isn’t. Right? That’s what my dad used to do to my mom, you know that? That’s why he’s in hell.”

She was pointing an accusatory finger at him, slurring even more than before.

“And you know what I said to her when she left him? That I would never let a man treat me that way. Never! Promised, hand on my heart and everything, I promised. But you’re different, aren’t you? Cause I like you, cause you’re not like my dad.” Her face fell again into the surfaces of her palms, “you’re not like my dad, but you reminded me of him. And I feel— feel like I’m betraying my mom.” Y/N hiccuped quietly, stumbling over a few words.

The gravity of her words were not lost on him— in fact, he’d never felt as guilty in his life.

“Hey,” he beckoned her to look at him, placing his tentative hand atop her arm, “we’ll talk about it. About everything. But not now. Not here.”

“You’re so confusing, you know that? One second you’re really nice to me and then— and then you aren’t.”

“Sweetheart,” he grasped her face as a last attempt to catch her undivided attention. Harry thumbed at her cheek and stared dutifully into her clouded eyes, “let me take care of you tonight. I’ll make it better.”

In all fairness, she’d lost the fight the second his eyes had met hers. There was something about them, maybe their deep shade of green or how effortlessly she could read them, that could probably persuade her into doing anything.

“Fine,” she mumbled after a minute, letting Harry wrap an arm around her waist as they walked. On their way out Y/N said goodbye to Andrew and stayed quiet otherwise, choosing to give Harry the silent treatment. Harry knew he couldn’t expect her to speak to him, so he didn’t force it.

As they drove, Harry couldn’t help glancing over every once in a while to study her expressions. There was barely a moment she wasn’t staring out the window watching cars drive by; even when his hand instinctively landed on her thigh she didn’t react, only moving it away slightly from his touch.

“Are you driving me to my apartment?”

And although both of them knew he’d really been directed toward his house, Harry still pretended to have chosen to take another route. “Course,” he muttered hoarsely, trying to mask his embarrassment with a quiet cough. Y/N sighed, her eyes pressing shut for a moment as she tried to let the guilt roll off of her back. He doesn’t deserve your sympathy.

“Where’s Jamie?”

He clicked his tongue. “Still at my mother’s.”

“Oh.”

The stubborn thing she was, Y/N refused Harry’s help getting out of the car. Instead she opened the door by herself, almost tripped when she jumped down from her seat and kept a distance anyway. Harry still watched, though, ready to help if needed.

Y/N unlocked the door (failing to find the keyhole several times) and kept it wide open for Harry to follow behind. The first thing she did was toe off her shoes followed by falling into bed.

“Y/N, have some water.”

“Stop telling me what to do,” she uttered, but accepted the glass of water anyway.

He ignored her. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m tired.”

“You can sleep as soon as you’ve changed and washed your face.”

She groaned, pulling a blanket over her head, “Harry…”

“Y/N.”

That stern mention of her name was enough to get her out of bed, limbs pretty much hanging loosely from her body as if she had no control over them— and honestly, it felt like she didn’t. Her eyes closed as Harry wiped a cool cloth over her face, ridding it of a light layer of makeup and sweat, everything that had accumulated at the bar. There were times she leaned into him, forehead falling to his shoulder and arms wrapping instinctively around his waist for support. She could swear that for a moment he’d pressed his lips to her forehead, but the daydream she was in barred her from really registering it.

“Why’d you go out drinking again?”

“Wanted to.”

“Told you not to do that. I meant it.”

“Well people keep hurting my feelings,” she mumbled, “and drinking your pain away is kind of a tradition in my family, so.”

Y/N had never really shared personal details about her family to Harry, but… well, the words were flowing right out of her mouth and the memories reincarnated newly in her head. She was referring to her mother, the former alcoholic in the family. Growing up her mother had drunk so much that she’d almost died from liver failure. As a small child Y/N had promised herself never to end up like her, but she was starting to understand more and more why her mother spent so many years drinking.

Harry‘s thoughts stayed internalized, but he made sure to make her feel heard. Rubbing over the top of her eyebrow, his breath hit her forehead as he spoke, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You didn’t deserve it.”

Her eyes peeked open, the previously warm towel no longer warm. Harry ran it under water again. “Deserve what?”

“Everything, especially the way I behaved earlier. I should’ve taken a moment to myself, instead I lashed out on you.”

It wasn’t until now that Y/N noticed the close proximity between her and Harry— obviously she knew he was cleaning her face for her, but it didn’t really click until now, she supposed. She could see everything, but it didn’t really matter; there was nothing about Harry, especially on him, that could deter her from thinking of him as the most beautiful man alive. Imperfections and all.

The towel met her neck this time, the other side held upright by his steady hand. She could feel his thumb tracing shapes on the surface of her skin and although she was trying very hard not to think of him in any inappropriate way, the image of his hand wrapped around her throat awakened something horrible within the confines of her intoxicated mind. It stayed there.

It was self destructive how often she spent thinking about him, really.

“You still there, baby?”

And he was so gentle— whenever he wasn’t yelling at her, of course— and soft, knowing the lines of what she could handle and what she couldn’t. No man had ever been this considerate and while it may just be his nature, it meant everything to Y/N. As the boundaries had begun to blur more and more, it became easier to misinterpret normal gestures for something more, something so much realer than it could ever be.

But he was calling her baby, and nobody had done that before.

“Yeah.”

“You were much more mouthy back in the bar,” he breathed out, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t wanna yell at me anymore?”

“No, I‘m not like you.”

“Ouch.”

Harry was humoring her and while it was really really nice; this whole thing, the gentle touches and the giggles shared in between a serious conversation, Y/N couldn’t let it get to her head.

“You were really mean to me and I didn’t do anything.”

His eyes searched for hers, but hers were stuck to his chest. “I know. I don’t know how to make it up to you, but I’ll spend a long time trying, I promise. You’re so sweet to me, so nice, I don’t mean to hurt your feelings. You know that, right?”

And although her heart was still furiously bleeding out, she was willing to ignore that for now. Throw bandages on and refuse a trip to the hospital because really she was just fine. There was just something about how he spoke to her that made it feel like she was floating— like she really was fine.

“Yeah.”

“Good, it’s very important to me that you do.”

Y/N’s eyes nearly glazed over when she thought about Harry being like this on the regular. It was a dangerous game they were playing.

“Look at me,” he breathed, beckoning her to do so with the grip he still had on her throat. Her eyes looked so innocent in this moment and although Harry knew Y/N was nothing if not tainted, she looked like she’d never been touched by the realities of life. “So pretty, you know that? So beautiful.”

She felt smaller in his gaze. “You think so?”

Y/N didn’t think anyone had said that to her ever. Nothing of the sort.

“I know so.”

“Thank you.”

“How about we go find you something comfortable to sleep in, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Y/N shook her head, willing to rid herself of this weird tension in her body before allowing Harry to lead her back into the bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed as Harry retrieved some clothes and looked up at him expectantly when she could barely keep upright.

“You sure?”

“I physically can’t stand up, Harry.”

And though he looked torn, he ended up reaching for her sweater to pull it over her body, revealing the lacy bra she hid underneath. Y/N’s breasts had always been the biggest ones amongst her skinny friends and growing up she often felt ridiculed for it, though she supposed she could count on Harry not to judge. They were just there, so why pretend like they weren’t?

For Harry, taking off Y/N’s sweater was a completely different experience and although he didn’t wish to be a creep, he couldn’t help but letting out an awkward but knowing cough when he accidentally stared right down them. He hastily threw the shirt he’d brought her onto her torso, scared of what would happen if he were to delay it any longer. Harry prided himself on being a respectful man, but being with Y/N had always tested that quality of his.

“What?” She asked, a touch of feigned innocence to her tone, and he rushed to shake his head.

She knew what.

“Nothing.”

“M’kay.”

“Stand up for me?”

Y/N felt less amazing about her thighs, to be frank. She couldn’t really explain it, but they weren’t visually pleasing to her; cellulite littered the back of them and she obviously didn’t have a thigh gap, but that had become less of an issue. Y/N felt like her thighs had no real redeeming quality. It was a destructive way of thinking, she would admit, but… well, she’d carried that around since childhood.

As Harry pulled down her jeans, she felt void of anything. She didn’t exactly feel great, but better than when other guys had taken off her trousers. It was probably his age. She figured maturity increased as age did, and if Harry were to dislike the look of her body, he would be graceful about it.

“Hold onto my shoulders and lift your right leg.”

He got on his knees in front of her, pulling one leg in after the other. After doing so successfully, he allowed her to get under the covers.

“I’m still mad at you,” she mumbled into the covers, eyes fluttering to a close.

He hummed, “I know.”

“But thank you.”

“Don’t have to thank me for taking care of you.”

“Mhm,” she breathed, “it’ll be the last time, I promise.”

Sleep was pulling at her eyelids.

“Last time what?”

He received no answer. Upon a closer look, he saw Y/N completely overtaken by sleep. Her lips were situated in a pout and her foot peeked out of her thick comforter in the way he had already seen last time he’d brought her to bed.

He allowed himself more time to watch over her this time, scared that if he were to leave it would be the last he saw of her. The anxiety settled on his chest in heavy waves and the image of a precious Y/N was slipping further away from his mind. He had been a horrible person, allowing himself to become the type of man he’d always tried not to be… and he couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t let this be that with her. He couldn’t bare it.

Harry had always thought of himself to be tattooed with imperfections. As he stared down at Y/N’s sleeping body, he couldn’t help the guilt that wrapped around him like a torture blanket. To him, she was perfect. She was kind and beautiful, she carried her heart out on her sleeve and overcame her past to grow in spite of painful trauma.

What he didn’t know, though, was that she thought the same of him. She thought of him as the most capable person, strong and kind. Her heart yearned for him in ways no one could comprehend.

She thought of him as everything but instead of embracing it, he’d pushed her away… and now both of them had to suffer the consequences.

—

Harry had stayed the night, but he hadn‘t slept; he‘d spent the night lying on Y/N‘s uncomfortable couch with various thoughts swirling around in his head. At eight he‘d stood up, started preparing breakfast and wasted time looking through social media to distract himself from the girl sleeping in the next room.

Y/N slipped out thirty minutes later, surprised when she saw Harry moving through her kitchen as though he knew it like the back of his hand. She coughed, not knowing where to put her arms and folding them in instead.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he tried to smile, “I hope you’re hungry, I made you a bagel with eggs if that’s okay.”

“That’s… yeah,” she swallowed a lump in her throat, stepping close to the counter, “thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“My pleasure. You—“ he pointed at the side of her face, “you have something there.”

“Oh, I—“ Harry reached forward to swipe at it, wiping his finger clean on his trousers and stroking her cheek once for good measure. “Thanks. Probably toothpaste.”

“Probably.”

Silence decorated their next few seconds, awkward glances and uncomfortable tension felt down to the bones. Then Harry straightened up and breathed in, simultaneously Y/N opened her mouth.

“I—“

“Are you— oh, sorry.”

“No, you go on,” she urged, waving a dismissive hand at him.

Harry smiled, “are you okay?”

“Uh, yes. Yeah, I am actually. Bit of a headache but that‘s expected. Thanks for…picking me up, I guess. I didn‘t want to be a burden, but I kind of told Andrew about you and he got a hold of my phone…“

Harry’s eyebrows drew together, “no, I’m glad he called. You should always reach out to me when you’re in trouble.”

“Yeah, but last time didn’t go over very well, so…”

Harry cleared his throat. “Right, I’m sorry about that. I was out of line, but that doesn‘t mean I don‘t want you to call when you need help getting home. There’s nothing more important than your safety, Y/N.”

“Yeah, but…” Y/N shook her head, overwhelming thoughts swirling endlessly inside rendering her speechless. There wasn’t anything she could say to efficiently express these concerns to him— Y/N had always been bad at communication and the last thing she wanted was to poke the bear even more.

“No go on, tell me.”

“I just… I don’t know. I felt like shit after last time.”

“I know,” he breathed out lowly, “I know you did, and I’m sorry. I didn‘t mean it.”

“But clearly you did if you felt the need to say it. I mean, it doesn’t just come out of nowhere, those accusations. You felt them. And I was thinking about it all day yesterday and… you were probably right, we are too unprofessional.”

“No, sweetheart. I enjoy our dinner sessions and I appreciate that you feel comfortable to talk to me when something bothers you—“ It didn’t matter, though. There was nothing he could say to change her mind.

The words that left her mouth were mostly involuntary. They were a protective barrier, a reason to say no, back off and a clear indication that she had no capacity for this. And although it hurt somewhere deep within her chest to express them, to become a viscous reminder of last night, especially when Harry’s eyebrows drew together in deep regret, it needed to be said.

“Harry, I meant it when I quit last night.”

A reasonable response was lost on Harry. For a moment he needed to think, to gather his thoughts— not that there were very many. He had to admit, he’d hoped they would gloss over her drunken text and pretend as though it hadn’t been. He’d hoped that Y/N felt a small spark of embarrassment when she thought about it, that she looked back on it with regret. Alas, she didn’t.

“Oh.”

He pulled back, shoulders tensing when the gravity of her statement had pulled him down along with it.

“Yeah. I mean, I love working with Jamie, I do, but I—“ I’m scared that I’ll form an attachment I will never recover from. I’m scared of the proximity we share, of how sometimes you let your fingers brush over my thigh. I’m scared because I don’t know what you mean, scared because psychoanalyzing doesn’t work on you. Or maybe— maybe I’m scared of love. With you. Or with anyone. Maybe I’m not capable of being loved. And maybe I’m not even capable of loving and maybe— just maybe, this will be the end of me. And for what? For you to say that the affection you extend to me is customary? That I have a tainted perception of reality, of love? Because I know I do. I know I do, and yet hearing it from you would hurt much more. And so maybe… maybe in this case, finding out isn’t worth the hassle. You’ll probably find I’m not either.

There was so much to say and such little capacity to say it. All Y/N could think to do was sputter words she didn’t mean and hope he understood because the alternative was ridding herself of every. little string of dignity she still possessed and she simply couldn’t do that. She couldn’t allow herself to unfold in front of the only person who’s perception of her she wanted to nurture most. No one had stayed. Even if he would come to leave, she wanted him to leave with a sound picture of her.

“But you…”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t… because of yesterday?”

“No. I mean, I guess that was a bit of an eye opener, but I—“ Y/N breathed in, “I think I’m getting too attached to you. You and Jamie.”

His eyes widened just a bit and he took a small step toward her. It was so small she hardly felt him entering her space. “I don’t mind that, Y/N, you don’t need to quit—“

“I do though,” she interrupted him, a stern undertone to her voice. She coughed and said again, “I mind.”

“I think you’re still angry about yesterday.”

She had to contain the urge to roll her eyes, “I’m not. This is separate from that.”

“So it’s the attachment that’s the problem?”

“Yes.”

Harry scoffed, “that’s ridiculous. There’s nothing wrong with attachment.”

“It depends on what kind, doesn’t it?”

“Enlighten me then.”

Y/N’s mouth closed. She couldn’t do that.

So she deflected.

“Harry, my contract says that as long as I stay long enough to find a fitting replacement—“

“Fuck the contract, Y/N,” the volume of his voice almost caused Y/N to flinch into herself, “I know what my contract says. What I don’t know is why you’re giving up a job that you love, a job that pays you well, for reasons you can’t even explain to me.”

“Is my resignation not enough for you? Would hearing my reasoning really change anything if I will keep insisting on resigning no matter how often you’ll advise me against it? I doubt it matters. I doubt you would even so much as give a shit, Harry."

Y/N shook her head, tears building in the ducts of her eyes. Her father had been of great emotional abuse, her mother had spent half of her life drinking herself to liver failure and her brother had moved to Madrid as soon as he’d turned eighteen, leaving Y/N to fend for herself in a household that contained not one ounce of love— and yet this felt worse. This felt like her heart was being ripped from her chest, dropped on the floor beating and bleeding.

“You think I don’t give a shit? Really?” Y/N couldn’t help rolling her eyes, huffing when he tapped her on the wrist, muttering with a steady furrow in his brow, “don’t roll your eyes at me.”

“You know why I’m quitting and yet you want to hear it come out of my mouth. I’m not going to do it.”

“I don’t know.”

She almost laughed, “sure”

“Sweetheart—“

“Don’t call me that.” She gave him a sharp glance before heading back to her bedroom, arms falling to the sides of her timid frame. Harry stopped her just short of the door, a steady hand gripping around her wrist. She couldn’t help the gasp that left her mouth, built up tears finally streaming down in heaps— embarrassment brewed in her stomach and she couldn’t bare to look him in the eye anymore. Harry’s touch elicited a spark on her skin, blistering with uncomfortable heat. “What?”

“You’re being rude. I really think you should consider this.”

“There’s nothing to consider, okay?! I… I feel too much for you, there’s too— there’s too much, okay? There’s too fucking mu—“

What would transpire between them next was a kiss. Initiated by Harry.

It was barely a kiss, more of a brushing of the lips— tentative movements, gentle breaths. It was the minimum and yet it was more than enough. There was an electric feeling that dragged through Y/N’s entire body as she closed her eyes and let herself feel. Harry didn’t seem very much like a gentle lover— generous, without doubt, but Y/N had always pictured him as a pin-to-the-wall, bite-to-the-lip type of man and she quickly received confirmation when he began squeezing her hand as if feeling restrained.

Y/N hadn’t kissed many people; less than five, probably, but she could say with certainty that this was already better than all of the other ones combined. She knew why. She knew the reason was that she genuinely liked Harry, that he made her feel things she’d never felt before.

But then again, Harry was her boss. He was off limits, taboo. And he was absolutely out of his mind right now.

“Wait.”

His breath fanned against her chin. “You don’t want me to?”

“No I do, I just—“ she shook her head, thoughts in a disarray like they’d never been before.

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

Her mouth opened but nothing came out, merely staggered breaths as she tried to regain the ability to think. The interruption came when Harry’s phone rang on the counter.

He groaned, took a glance at the screen and broke away when he saw his mother’s name flash as the caller ID.

“Yes?” He called into the speaker, frustration molding his features as he kept on listening. “Yes, okay, tell him I’m on my way. Give me twenty minutes… Love you too, bye.” When he turned to her, phone slipped into his back pocket, she could tell that he yearned to say more, that he yearned for her to say more. She knew he would halt his actions, leave time for her to get her words out before he left for whatever emergency he’d been called in for, that if she only said something he would consider putting her as a second priority after his son. She knew that he would make her feel important. But she said nothing. And nobody, not even the most patient person in the world could work with nothing. “Jamie’s asking for me. I need to go get him.”

She only nodded.

He sighed, running a tired hand down his face. “Alright. I need to go. I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

She stood at exactly the same spot as Harry slammed the door shut, unwavering.

Her heart was still pounding as the words she should’ve expressed minutes ago died on her lips.

—

Résumés had been sent to him, interviews were lined up, and Y/N had received no reply back. She hadn’t received anything, really, just a text on Thursday that he would arrange for another babysitter to come in for Jamie while he left for his late meeting, to which Y/N had typed a dry ‘ok’ and left it to sit in her inbox.

The week had started fresh and Y/N had finally left home again (only to her classes, but still). After days of not working, she was scheduled to pick up Jamie at two thirty and hoped for these last weeks to resume seamlessly. She’d gotten the car from the house, locked the door back up again and made the ten minute drive down— everything was fine.

Until now. Until Y/N set foot on preschool grounds and noticed another woman hugging her arms around Jamie’s shoulders. She seemed unfamiliar at first— glasses tipped back on her long blonde hair, a pencil skirt concealing her toned legs. Y/N had no idea who she was dealing with until she took a closer look and recognized this woman to be Stacie. Y/N had seen a picture of Stacie up in Harry’s study— she seemed to have changed a little, but the structural features she associated with her still remained intact through all these years (big blue eyes, defined cheekbones).

As soon as Jamie’s eyes set on Y/N, though, Stacie’s hands were torn away from his shoulders as he ran for her. She got on her knees, his familiar smile melting away all of the cold spots she’d developed in over a week of not seeing him.

“I miss you!” Jamie pulled away to plant a kiss right on the top of the apple of Y/N’s cheek, something he only started doing recently. She guessed he’d only really learned how to. “Daddy said you pick me up today.”

“I missed you too, buddy. I see somebody else came to see you?”

“Oh, Stacie. She wants to take me home but daddy said you pick me up.”

��Yeah, okay. Do you want to wait a second while I talk to her?”

Jamie nodded, moving to stand next to her (small hand clutched in hers, of course) while Y/N greeted Stacie. Well, greet was a bit of an exaggeration; she didn’t get to before Stacie decided to introduce herself first.

“I’m his mom, I called Harry in the morning telling him I’d come for pick up. I have a packed schedule, so I’d appreciate it if you could let go of my child.”

Y/N almost laughed, the audacity of this woman a damn near mystery to her. “Wait. Don't talk about him like some sort of property. Harry never told me about anyone else coming to pick up Jamie.”

“He must’ve forgotten. He’s a busy man, I’m sure he would confirm—“

“Well then let’s call him, shall we?”

Stacie wanted to interject, she could tell, but Y/N had dialed way too fast for that to happen. The phone only had to ring once before Harry picked up, his voice coming in clear.

“Hey, you‘ve got Jamie?”

“I’m here at preschool but Stacie showed up before me and wants to take him home. You didn’t tell me, so I…” she trailed off, hoping he’d fill in the blanks.

It seemed to take a minute to click. “Stacie? His mother showed up at school?”

“Yes, was this arranged beforehand or…”

“No. No, don’t let her take him home. Shit, we talked about this last week, I don’t—“

“You… you talked about this last week?” The confusion dripped from Y/N’s voice and all she could hear was Harry’s attempt at concealing profanities. “What did you talk about last week?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just get home, tell her to call me to clear this up. I don’t want Jamie knowing Stacie is his mother yet, okay? So just get out of there before she tells him herself.”

A frown settled over Y/N’s features before she continued to end the call, scoop Jamie up into her arms and walk away after quick word. Stacie protested, but both her and Y/N knew she wouldn’t do much more than that in fear of causing a scene.

Y/N failed to pay attention to Jamie as she fastened the belt on his seat, only registering when she looked back into the rearview mirror and noticed the little pout starting to pull at his small lips.

And when he finally asked her, little quips of fear polishing his quiet tone: “is Stacie my mum?”, all Y/N could do was pretend she hadn’t heard and hope he would forget, knowing he wouldn’t.

—

Y/N bombarded Harry with questions the second he‘d unlocked that front door.

“Y/N—“

“No, I’m entitled to know this time. I’m entitled to know when she ambushes us at preschool. Don’t you want me to know what I’m dealing with if it happens again? That woman almost fucking kidnapped him—“

“Calm down, Y/N. Sit down and I’ll explain it to you.”

She huffed in annoyance, listening nonetheless. She set herself down on one of the kitchen stools and tried to take control of her breathing. She watched as he took a seat opposite her.

“Stacie came to visit last week on Wednesday. She’d called beforehand, asking if it would be okay. She came and we had dinner, we talked some things out while Jamie was in bed. She apologized, asked if we could start working things out again. I agreed under the condition that she would approach the idea of Jamie as a friend first. She said that she would respect my wishes and that she wouldn’t come near him unless I gave my permission. That’s it. So far all Jamie knows is that she’s a friend of mine. I didn’t—god,” Y/N felt bad when Harry buried his head in his hands, itching to reach out in comfort. She chose to play it safe, settling a gentle touch over his thigh. “I didn’t think she’d do this.”

Y/N hadn’t seen Harry this distraught over anything. “I’m sorry. That’s heavy.”

“It’s—“ he sighed, “it’s something I keep having to deal with. All she wants is to have him on the weekends, have him pose as her cute son. But she doesn’t actually care about him.”

Y/N couldn’t do much more than nod. She was caught between playing the comforting role and being honest. She wasn’t sure if this was the place, if her opinion would be welcomed or if it would contribute to Harry’s sorrows. “She seemed… uncooperative when I spoke to her at school. Like she was in a rush or something, it scared me.”

“Yeah, she’s hardheaded.”

“Right.” Y/N pulled her hand away when Harry lifted his head, clearing her throat and averting her eyes. The change in her behavior didn’t go unnoticed, though he knew he shouldn’t ask. “So when you talked… when you agreed to working things out, you meant that in a friendly manner? Or were you going to be… a couple again?”

“We… I don’t know. We kissed— well, she kissed me a few days ago when we met up again for a playdate with Jamie. Never discussed it any further.”

“Do you love her?”

Y/N had begun to hold her breath in, but she didn’t notice it.

Harry did. He noticed the suction of a deep breath and he noticed how his own hands got clammy with sweat.

Harry looked skeptical, as though there was something on his tongue ready to peek out tentatively, only it couldn’t because he had to spare her feelings. Because there was little Y/N, intimidated by everything she’d ever had to face in her lifetime— little Y/N who had rejected him and still expected loyalty. Little Y/N who couldn’t have him, but had always wanted to.

“I think a part of me will always love her. I mean, she gave me Jamie and he’s… the best thing to ever happen to me, really. I love him, and I will always love her for giving birth to him. I will always love her for the good parts of our relationship.”

Y/N hated herself for hating his answer. It was a perfectly reasonable answer, truthful as Y/N expected, yet her mind wandered past the barriers, past the barbed wire. She couldn’t fully grasp how he could still love her— and yet she understood perfectly. There was Jamie, of course, but there were many other things. There was her hair, her bright complexion, the beautiful curve of her hips and the effortless look of her makeup. There was the fashion, the business-casual look that seemed to mesh so well with Harry’s. There was this calling when Y/N pictured the two of them standing side by side, almost like they were destined to be together. She could imagine it perfectly, the many years they had spent together. She could see it. And it looked perfect.

Y/N coughed, head nodding along to his words as if she were listening to instructions and not some heartfelt confession. It felt instinctual, though.

When it came time for her to speak, she let a smile mold her lips into a perfect crescent moon. She never thought faking a smile could hurt more than a physical injury, but she’d been proven wrong. Everything looked intact— Y/N was sure she almost seemed unaffected from the outside. She wasn’t, though, and she wondered if Harry would recognize that.

“That’s… yeah. I get that.”

This was the first time Y/N actually felt the age gap between her and Harry. He sat here, ready to air it out. He spoke about his concerns, about the state of his son, and the only thing she could fret about was herself. Her sadness had no weight, it was too insignificant in comparison to his and it made her feel pathetic. It made her feel young and stupid and pathetic.

Harry deserved better than this. He deserved careful consideration, security for his child. He deserved trust and honesty, a sort of transparency Y/N couldn’t afford to offer to him yet.

“That’s not to say that I want to approach her in that way, especially after today, but…” he trailed off, only finding his words when it’d clicked that she wasn’t responding, “I just want you to understand that it’s complicated.”

Y/N nodded. Then she cleared her throat, ready to rid herself of this spotlight. She always messed up in the spotlight. “Um, Jamie asked me if Stacie was his mum today. I didn’t answer, but you might want to think about what you’ll say to say to him next time. I also sent you a few résumés, I’ve talked to a few people and have set up interviews, the first one is scheduled for tomorrow—“ she visibly flinched when his hand came down on her thigh, “please, Harry. I can’t. Please just let me finish this.”

“Okay.”

A deep breath, “it’s scheduled for tomorrow after you come home from work. Do you want me to come on the call, or are you okay interviewing yourself?”

“I’d like you to come.”

“Okay. I’ll stay longer tomorrow.”

“Can we talk about us now? Properly?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Harry almost laughed, “there’s a lot to talk about. We just added on a good bit today.”

“I’m quitting. That’s it.”

“You know, I don’t understand why you insist that there’s nothing going on—“

“Because there isn’t,” she snapped. “There isn’t. I’m going to check up on Jamie.”

She was teary-eyed as she slipped from the stool, ready to conceal it all for the ball of sunshine sitting in the next room. She could do it all for Jamie— she would do it all.

Before he could say any more, Y/N disappeared behind the door. Harry could hear the two of them converse in the next room and his heart felt heavy as the gravity of the situation dawned on him. Harry had always known what to do— he was a CEO, for god’s sake. He was trained to find solutions, take control of seemingly unfixable problems, to make life easy. And yet, this girl thoroughly baffled him. He had no idea what the fuck to do anymore.

And yet, he was determined to keep trying.

—

Two people had interviewed over zoom and Harry had hated every one of them. His excuses were vague, something about the lack of experience (even though they both knew that Y/N hadn’t had any when she’d started either) and the supposed ‘wrong vibe’. One time he’d criticized a woman for her ‘ridiculously shrill voice’, at which point Y/N had rolled her eyes and proceeded to walk home in a fury.

The next day Y/N showed up again, ready to interview three more people. She sat beside Harry as he set up the video call and listened as he asked questions. Y/N was mostly in attendance to listen and give her honest feedback by the end (she really did want to find someone spectacular for Jamie), so the difficult part came later. For now she could be quiet.

This woman, aside from qualified, seemed very kind. So far, it’d been the best candidate.

“So how flexible is time for you?”

“Very. I do online classes for uni, so I can very well manage my time how I see fit.”

“That sounds fine. And you’ve had plenty of experience, I see.”

“Yes, I started babysitting when I was fourteen, so for more than ten years now. The last family I worked for just moved out of the country, which is why I’m looking for something new, but I was with them three years.”

This woman had nothing but good evidence she would be the best for the job; no doubt better than Y/N. She had the experience, she seemed mature, she looked kind— she would act in a professional manner, something Y/N had never quite figured out yet.

That didn’t matter to Harry, though, because as soon as she’d gotten off the call, he muttered a ‘no’.

“Why not?” Y/N asked, bewildered by his blunt response, “she was literally perfect for the job.”

Harry lifted his shoulders in a shrug, busying himself with his laptop, “just didn’t feel right.”

“Okay, this is just getting too unreasonable at this point. You didn’t like the lack of experience, fine, that one woman’s shrill voice, fine— but this? She just didn’t feel right?”

“I don’t expect you to understand—“

“No. We’re not doing that.”

“It’s a feeling, Y/N. When I interviewed you, I got the feeling that it’s right, that I’d feel safe leaving Jamie with you. It takes trust.”

“But she’s— she’s so qualified, she—“

“Experience isn’t everything. It’s important, but not everything. You weren’t experienced when you came for your interview but you gave me the right feeling. Thus you were qualified for the job.”

And she understood, really, but it still fucking pissed her off. “That’s fucking— you’re being too picky.”

“For good reason.”

“At least two of the people we interviewed were qualified enough for a test run.”

“We still have about fifteen to go and there’s no rush.”

Y/N found this ridiculous. She muttered under her breath, pushing some hair back with a sweaty palm.

“Why is it that everything I do makes you angry?”

“Because you’re fucking infuriating.”

He breathed a chuckle, “that’s nice,” and closed his laptop. “Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me. I’ll make your favorite pasta.”

“I don’t—“ but Harry had already gotten to work, tuning her voice out without much trouble. He smiled at her, almost mocking.

“Do you have another job lined up?“

“Uh,” Y/N didn’t want to admit no, that she hadn’t even begun looking properly (save for that one café down the street from her apartment), knowing the consequences and aware of the tiring reprimanding from Harry ahead. A pitied glance. A pathetic speech. “I’ve applied.”

“Where?”

“A cafe.”

“Where?”

“You wouldn’t know it.”

“Are you hired?”

She huffed, “no.”

“Where else?”

“Um, a… another café. It’s in... near my apartment.”

“Would be bad if it wasn’t,” he quipped, paying her a shortened glance from over his cooking pot. “Do you need help?”

“No.”

“Financial help, maybe?”

Y/N groaned, “no.”

“Because I wouldn’t mind sending you some money—“

“Harry,” she cut him off in an instant, glaring daggers at him, “I’ll just send it back. I’ve saved up enough to get by for a few weeks.“

“That doesn’t exactly ease my—“

“Can we just— can we not?”

And they didn’t. Harry closed his mouth— forced it closed, actually— having to clench his jaw to stop himself from voicing unwanted thoughts. Y/N looked away, pretending this conversation hadn’t happened at all. It was easier that way, to pretend he hadn’t conveyed such an open and honest display of care, to pretend that it hadn’t ripped her heart to shreds.

There was so much he wanted to say, but he couldn't. It was the first time in a while that Y/N stayed (somewhat voluntarily) after her shift, and he couldn't risk pushing her away further.

For now, he had to be okay with this.

—

Y/N couldn‘t keep her eyes off of Harry, images of last night flashing in between conflicting thoughts.

She was in bed. She was clutching her blanket, a wet spot and the outline of her body marked by sweat on the sheets. He‘d looked so real fucking her, he‘d sounded so genuine whispering into her ear as he thrust up into her cunt.

He‘d called her a good girl, and she‘d run with it, afraid to look back.

But it hadn‘t been real, had it?

It‘d been a dream. But god, was it a good one.

Would he do it all the same? Would be hold her close, spreading his fingers over the expanse of her breast as he kissed her neck? Would he glide them up, and wrap them around her throat? Would he— fuck. No. She couldn’t.

But he would. And they‘d look so pretty resting there. And she‘d feel so pretty as he overwhelmed her with his presence, his chest pressing against hers. He‘d look so right as he danced along the fine line of praise and degradation— the line of rough and sweet, cold and warm. Because he would know. He would know exactly what she would need.

Wouldn‘t he?

He would. As she watched him move through the space of his living room, she knew he would. She‘d always known, really.

And Jamie wasn’t here anymore, he’d fled up the stairs. And Y/N really, really shouldn’t be here with him alone.

She was biting on her nails, eyes cast downwards in avoidance as Harry read his book on the other end of the couch. He had an arm stretched along the back of the couch and her legs were tucked to her chest as she scrolled on her phone, trying her hardest not to let her gaze run wild. It proved especially difficult when his arm fell mere inches from her legs. And when he touched her, warm thumb rubbing comforting circles into the cold of her skin, she couldn’t help biting her lip.

“You okay?”

“Hm? Yes. Why?”

A smile stretched his mouth wide, “just seem distracted, is all. Squirmy.”

“What? No, I’m fine.”

God, she was feeling small under his gaze.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” she mumbled. Harry saw her eyes, though, tired dark circles resting where they didn’t belong. He saw how they widened, how desperate they seemed for something she didn’t want to disclose to him and he wanted so badly to satisfy that need for her. “I should go home.”

His grip tightened ever so slightly. “Would you like me to drive you?”

“Um, no. It’s okay. Thank you.”

But she failed to move.

Y/N had shut him out for so long that the effect he’d always had on her multiplied by ten. It was much much worse and the finger on her leg burned through her skin with ease.

“Sweetheart?”

“Hm?”

“Come here,” he demanded softly, watching as a war unfolded on her face. He could read her like a book, sensing the exact moment her heart won and her head gave up. He pulled her to him, fingers dancing up and down her shoulder. “You seem tired.”

Y/N cleared her throat, tips of fingers holding onto the edge of safety and threatening to let her cascade into the depths of danger. “I had three classes in the morning and I’ve been writing this paper, so—“ she allowed him control as he made her face the other way, legs outstretched, her back just inches from his chest and his hands massaging her tense shoulders. Her eyes closed in pleasure at the sensation. “And last night, I—“

“Last night you what?”

“I had… I had this dream and—“

She didn’t want to finish and he didn’t need her to.

“Is this okay?”

His voice felt soft and comfortable against her neck. “Yes, thank you. You’re good at that.”

He hummed.

“I really should go home though,” she mumbled, getting quieter with each word. She knew she wouldn’t dare push him away now, but she supposed it was more about convincing herself that she’d tried. “Cause I have classes early in the morning.”

“It’s only seven.”

“Yeah.”

Harry snickered quietly, her awful try at resistance not surprising him in the least. He had never seen her quite like this though, weak and smitten in his arms, on the verge of purring like a cat. He definitely couldn’t complain when she inched closer and dropped her head back so it could rest comfortably on his shoulder.

“Can you do my arms?”

“Of course, baby.”

She could’ve melted. In fact, she probably had without noticing.

And when she felt his lips pressing to her skin… well, then it was game over.

“Is this okay?”

She nodded promptly, heart racing.

Y/N was tired of rejecting this feeling, tired of pretending as though she didn’t want or need Harry’s affection. Because truly, it was all she wanted, all she’d longed for.

A love like his would feel so great.

“You look really beautiful, you know that?”

“Thank you,” she squeaked, sensing Harry’s chuckle rolling against her back at the response.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

“Me neither.”

“You’re the one who keeps running.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

Y/N took her time answering, grateful when Harry didn’t rush her. He would sit here waiting for an hour if he needed to, she was confident in that. There was no hurry, just soft hands on scalps and warm kisses on necks— Y/N hadn’t experienced such an overwhelming feeling of comfort in the arms of a man.

“I’m scared to stay.”

He sounded unfazed, giving her a surge of confidence when he asked, “why?”

“Because we’re such different people. You’re a dad, a very accomplished ceo. I’m a student, so much younger—“

“Don’t make me out to be so old, love.”

Her eyes rolled. “A little younger than you. And last week when I saw Stacie, I don’t know… it did something with my brain, I guess. You seemed so right together, you know? I didn’t want you to wake up one day and regret anything, don’t think I could bear that.”

“Look at me,” he muttered, tilting her head so that he could pin her down with a stern stare, “I couldn’t regret you, sweetheart. I regret much in life, but I wouldn’t regret you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Eh, I’m a pretty good judge of character.”

“Harry,” she warned, “I’m not the most lovable person once you get to know me.”

“I doubt that,” he retorted.

“Past experiences have proven as much.”

He gave gentle strokes to her cheek, a glaze he didn‘t expect overcoming her eyes, pulling him in, “so let me show you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, his nose mere inches away from hers. “Show me what?”

“How easy it is to love you.”

Time stood still, but it couldn’t not have with a statement of that kind. It seemed so easy for him to brush off concerns as something undeserving of thought, to create an allusion of simplicity where it didn‘t belong. Those words meant everything to her.

“You must know how wonderful that sounds coming from your mouth.”

Harry breathed a chuckle, nose nudging against hers softly. When he asked for permission, Y/N couldn’t deny him of another kiss.

And if it could’ve gotten any better than their first kiss, then it definitely had. There was a newfound sense of freedom and security with this kiss, unspoken thoughts reduced to small details rather than what had been when they’d spent time together last.

When they parted, nothing needed to be said. They already knew it all.

—

A month later.

“Y/N, will you hand me another bowl for the soup, please?”

As Y/N fulfilled Harry’s plea, she couldn’t help but let giddiness dictate her movements. Things were fresh, things were good— but they were also scary. He was scary. Anxious butterflies spread in her lower tummy at the mention of his name and infested it with the low sound of his voice.

She waited by his side as he tidied up, ready to be of assistance. It was pathetic, really, how awfully smitten she’d become for him.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

She hummed in reply, scared that if she were to speak all that would come out was a squeak. Harry chuckled, smirk molding into his cheekbones as he grasped Y/N by the waist and pushed his lips against hers in a gentle kiss. His hand slid lower, giving her a squeeze.

“Are you nervous?”

“Yeah.”

“It’ll be great, I promise. And whatever he says, we’ll work it out.”

“Okay,” a surge of confidence rode her to sunny dry shores, shoulders sacking in comfort, “yeah, okay. I trust you.”

“You ready then?”

“Yes.”

Things proceeded as they always had; Y/N and Jamie shared funny anecdotes of their day as Harry mostly listened, admiring the two of them with love filling his eyes. It wasn’t until desert had come that the setting changed, unbeknownst to Jamie, and Harry took the lead.

“Jamie, we want to talk to you about something.”

Jamie stared between the two of them, waiting.

“Do you remember when you came home from school and told me about Katie and Josh? That they’re boyfriend girlfriend?”

“Yes, they still are.”

Harry chuckled, “and do you remember what I said when you asked if I had a girlfriend?”

“You said that you don’t.”

“I did. And while that may have been true for that moment, things have changed.”

Her heart melted and sank all the same when his little green eyes lit up, “do you have a girlfriend now?”

“I do,” Harry laughed, “you know her.”

“Who?”

Harry smirked, motioning to Y/N with a nod of his head to draw Jamie’s attention away. Jamie’s gaze landed on Y/N and in the matter of a second it filled with excitement. His mouth dropped open in surprise.

“Are you okay with that?” She asked, timid at first but becoming more confident when a genuine smile imprinted small dimples in his cheeks, a feature he’d been lucky enough to receive from his father.

He nodded, full of movement, and hummed in confirmation.

When Y/N and Harry had put Jamie into bed later that night, and had vacated to the kitchen to enjoy a glass of wine together, things finally fell into place. The thought of happiness within a relationship was no longer a distant one— no, it had become a reality. Harry had kept up with his promise, he had shown her easy, he’d shown her effortless, and while there was no doubt in her mind that hard times were still to come, she was confident that no matter the circumstance, her gratitude for his open portrayal of love could never be put into question.

“I love you,” she shared, eyes glassy, head tilted. “You don’t have to say it back, but I just want you to know. I think I’ve loved you for quite some time, I just didn’t want to realize it.”

The silence was short lived.

He placed his glass back down on the table and smiled, though to her it almost looked awkward. “Wow.”

“I know, you don’t have to… cause I know it’s a big deal, so you don’t have to say anything.”

“I do too,” he then offered, hand traveling to rest on her knee. “I love you.”

“Really?”

“I do.”

This stumped her.

And now it was her turn: “wow.”

Harry’s laughter spread everywhere on Y/N’s skin, engraving itself into her soul and staying there to be kept and remembered forever.

“Good. Now that that’s cleared…”

She couldn’t deny him of a passionate make-out session, hands on thighs and lips everywhere they fit, everywhere they felt right. A moan slipped from her mouth, his smirk molded into her hot skin.

“Move in with me,” he muttered, dirty against her mouth, “we’re finding a new nanny for Jamie and you don’t have a new job planned yet. Just focus on university, move in with me, with us. Let me take care of you.“

“Harry—“ his mouth collided against her neck, her eyes closed shut, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Why?”

“We’ve only been together—“

“Doesn’t matter, I’ve fought for a long time to have you. I believe in us, I trust this.”

“I…“ Y/N felt torn— on one hand, she really wanted to move in with him. On the other, was that really wise? To move in with a man after a month of dating him? Albeit this was Harry, and she trusted him too. Fully. It was herself she didn’t trust. “Are you sure?”

And when she looked into his eyes, there was no not one ounce of doubt in them. They welcomed her.

“Jamie would love it just as much as me.”

“Would he?”

“Are you kidding me? He loves you so much.”

“I love him too,” she played with a strand of his hair.

“Then move in with us.”

A smile began to pull at her lips. “But I pay for groceries.”

“No,” he mumbled, “you’re too broke for me to let you do that.”

“Harry!”

“It’s true!” He laughed, massaging her thigh. “Baby, I don’t expect you to pay for anything living here. I’m more than capable—“

“I know you’re capable, but I just… I was taught not to burden other people.”

“You’re not burdening me,” he insisted, finger sliding under her chin, “it’s okay to let other people do things for you. It’s okay for others to show their love.”

“I know that.”

“So please don’t worry about it. Focus on your studies and make me proud in that way.”

“I need to make money somehow.”

“No you don’t. I’ll support you.”

“No,” she breathed right away, “I won’t depend on you for money. You’re not my… my sugar daddy.”

“Why not?” He grinned, “you call me daddy either way—“

Y/N’s eyes rolled, “shut up.”

“Told you not to roll your eyes at me.”

“Sorry.”

Harry hummed, “try it for a month. If you want to move in after, you can. If you don’t, I’ll help you find a new place. Or I’ll pay your rent while you’re here so you don’t lose out on money.”

Comfortable silence dictated the next few seconds as Y/N thought about her boyfriend’s offer, and then: “fine. We’ll try it for a month.”

Harry’s smile widened, “yeah?”

“Yes.”

“You won’t regret it."

He'd been right.

The end! Would love to hear your feedback :) but also like… don’t be too harsh cause I can’t handle it

tags:

@tpwk-mia @gem1712 @behindmygreyeyes, @sinarainbows @infixinfinity @adkmermaid2399 @daphnesutton @imaginexxharry @bry211 @haliastyles @watarmelon212 @impossibleme @cali-888 @dreamybabbyy @evie-119 @cumuluscranium @c-a-b3002 @buckybarnessimpp @freckles-things @harryedwardstylesluva24 @ihavesimpedovermanyfictionalmen @angelbunny222 @ivegotthecinema @harryscowgirl

I hope I didn’t forget anyone!

#harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x you #harry styles one shot #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles series #harry styles materlist #harry styles x plus size reader #harry styles x nanny #harry styles ceo #harry styles fanfic rec

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zoeyp03 · 1 year ago

Text

I'm literally just writing this at the request of a friend who wanted to learn more about my relationship with gender, so here goes

I had a rocky relationship with gender like.. ages ago. I was one of those people who at a very early age exhibited like heavily feminine qualities. I liked pink, I liked dresses, I liked princesses. And as an AFAB person this looked nothing out of the ordinary for like... a couple of third world country parents raising their "perfect A, gold star girl". But of course, there reached that stage, where there was no way in absolute hell you could allow someone, anyone, to be feminine at all. And of course, since society thinks that a single ounce of body fat immediately means that you... can't exist or something.

I'd started to get bullied for daring to believe I could look cute while being hyper feminine, bit by bit I began to resent femininity, and then... I was "not like other girls". If I wasn't allowed to be feminine, I wasn't going to even try at all. I was terrible, terrible to other girls. Maybe not the bully, but being an outcast doesn't immediately make you the victim. Yes, I was quiet about my resentment, but it was still there and very present for me.

Before I'd realized, my mom (bless her) took notice of this and just... asked me what was wrong. A little something called "learned helplessness" taught me that it's never ok to tell someone what id wrong with you, at all. So I never said anything. But at the very least I knew one thing: I hated being a "girl". I hated it because I felt like I was not allowed to do anything I wished. I hated it, because the word was always associated with being "lame", "weak", "lesser than others", and of course "ugly". Of course, these are very stupid, and not at all valid ways to reason being non-binary. So little me had a long journey before them to learn that these were not the reason they weren't a girl at all. And it all started with... internet.

The internet was my safe haven, needless to say. I didn't have to share my image with everyone to see, and ruin my reputation with how dreadfully ugly I was (again, child brain.) I had heard of Tumblr like a few years ago, I was told that it wasn't a safe place because all of the terrible people with bad takes went there. But I wanted to find that out for myself. Turns out, I didn't just stumble upon the bad people with the bad takes, I'd just met... people. Sure, more than half of them were misinformed children just like me, but they all taught me a valuable lesson that I hadn't thought of: breaking out the of gender binary.

Being trans was... beyond me. I had no idea that that was even a possibility at all, and when I'd learned that was a thing, I was impressed! You can just... change your gender? To the one that you actually are? That was amazing! ...But there was nooo way that could apply to me! I was a girl! Sure, not the prettiest girl, but still a girl!

Buddy, the signs were there. But alas, they needed a while to figure it out.

I had excitedly told about it to my rl best friend. She was just as amazed as I was. Another friend who at the time I was entirely aware that they were a lesbian, chimed in that they were aware of it and that it was a very cool thing. I was... very lucky that I was surrounded by people who could understand and be amazed with me. I could not even imagine if that were the case.

Anyway, I was made aware of what being transgender was at a relatively younger age, but the concept of being non-binary eluded me, even as I grew into being a teenager. What do you mean you're not a man or a woman? Didn't they just tell you what you were supposed to be when you were younger? How do you manage to just... ignore what people tell you what you're supposed to be? Something in me told me that I resonated with the concept, that there was a chance I was not a girl at all.

But with the life that surrounded me outside of my friendships, outside of my internet circle... I was still the "little girl of the family", the "only daughter", "the little miracle". I was always told what I was supposed to be by my family. That I was supposed to become an expert in English, get an amazing job as either a doctor or a lawyer, marry a good man and have at least 2 kids. My life had been planned out by my family ages ago.But that was not me.

By a certain period of time, I knew I was part of the m-spec, with the label of "bisexual" feeling like the most fitting for me personally. I knew I did not want children. Teen me says it's because they hate kids, present day me says that it's because they do not have what it takes to be a parent. Any children I could have deserve better than what I could give them. But that's besides the point. I knew I was queer, yet something always stopped me from believing I could be anything other than a girl. Maybe it's that feeling of "I could disappoint someone", "What's that going to change for my image?", "Who in real life could be attracted to someone like me even if I wasn't a girl?" (I apologize for the last one, I've been a hopeless romantic my entire life)

But time passes, and people change. Including the adults around me. I saw that my mom (bless her), had been watching and interacting with media aplenty that included transgender people in them. A Brazillian soap opera in particular had caught my attention. There was a trans man in that series, and as painfully typical and angsty as you would expect for a story like that to be in a soap opera, my mom was moved by it. I can't remember if the portrayal was misinformed, or outdated, but at the time it was what I needed. For once, I saw a family member understand and sympathize with a transgender person. For once, the possibility of me not being a girl at all didn't seem so out of the ordinary. There was just one thing I needed to get over.

I still continued to be more masculine, and I had considered the idea that I could be a trans man myself. And despite the fact that being referred to with masculine pronouns felt correct (thank you mom for confusing me and my brother from time to time), being referred to as a "man" didn't really fit... Not to mention, I felt like a part of me was missing. Something I hadn't quite tried and enjoyed, almost years ago.

I hadn't completely quit being feminine, because to my family I was still a girl. And a girl will be given girly clothes by other family members. Fortunately, as time passed and as I kept on learning about gender and to be more sympathetic to women AND TO MYSELF, I started to accept my femininity again. I wanted to learn how to do my makeup since it looked like fun, I loved painting my nails, and there were some dresses I felt comfortable and cute in.

At some point, I had this internal battle. Should I be feminine or masculine? Was I a man or a woman? I could not figure it out for the life of me. I identified as bigender for a while, but I didn't feel like it fit for me. I also tried identifying as a demigirl for another while, and while it made me massively happy to identify as such for a good amount of time, I came to the slow but sure realization that I was something else entirely.

I was non-binary.

It didn't come to me as a shock, or a revelation. But more along the lines of "finally figuring out all the pieces of the puzzle, and all of them falling into place perfectly". For once in my life, I was at peace with myself. Sure, the chances of most rl circles in my country not at all understanding what the hell non-binary could possibly mean was gonna be hurtful, painful even. It was gonna sting, and as a matter of fact, things were going to get even harder from this point forward.

But I am not in this for the simplicity of things. I don't want to simplify things for others' comfort. I am making it my life's mission to help educate others, but also to educate myself even more. I am literally only 20 years old as I am writing this. Hell, it may suddenly turn out that I could be a binary trans man, I could be bigender, there is still so much I have to learn about myself. It's not a journey with a certain destination. But I am more than willing to keep on going in this journey if it means I'll be satisfied with myself.

Non-binary feels right to me right now. If that is not the case anymore at some point, we'll get to that whenever. And if not, then I'll learn about something else about myself, something I had not thought about, and settle my feelings on the matter.

This story does not have a real ending, it's a never-ending journey. And I'm willing to go at it for as long as I can, if it means that I'll be happy with myself, with my friends, and my loved ones. That's what I've set out to do ever since I entered this world.

#cw weight #cw weight mention #non binary #cw self loathing #transgender #personal essay #q word tw

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thelightsmiles · 2 years ago

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wedesday morning

he's still asleep. i wasnt gonna get up yet. i was gonna sleep in on my weekend, like i always tell myself im gonna do bc i hate getting up early. its only 8am, and im glad im not waking up at 10 or something. i couldnt get his keyboard to work. he has this whole setup now, and i love it bc im totally gonna write more. im totally gonna make more art now.

we got a desk for the room. it reminds me of my old desk, at the house with all the memories. that was my little studio. i have so many memories in that desk. so many dark moments, too. but i like to look back at those years, i love to imagine myself back there, but i cant. its like i know i cant go back, but i just wish there was some way i could grasp it just enough to get those emotions i used to feel, to somehow be that person again for just a half of a second.

id like to think id be satisfied with half a second, but id probably hold on too tight if i found a way to do that, and never let go.

i had this little square of wood. im not sure what youd call it, what i used it for. it was my special block though, and i miss it. i miss how i used to create. so genuine and so easily. not always, but i let myself back then. i havnt let myself create like that in years.

its kinda funny, when i was 14 or 15 i would write these stories about how one day i got out of there, i escaped that stupid little town, i left and i never looked back, i created the life i wanted. in most of them, though, i just met someone and they saved me. they took me far away and i loved them forever. in most of them, if im being honest, tj came back.

he came back just like i fantasized about every night for months and then years. i dont remember when i fell out of love with him. it was longer than a year. i waited all that year, knowing he was gone but i couldnt handle it. i think i sent him an email once, and he probably didnt even log into his account, its probably sitting in there still.

id look at these pictures i had of him, and id think about how i could see us together in the future. i always thought about how hed be such an amazing dad. i wrote so many letters to him, i never sent them. i couldnt even give him that note id worked so hard on the day he left.

it took a really really long time for me to heal from that boy. and now that i dont idolize him, i cant imagine ever falling for someone that way again. i dont know how i could have, i didnt even know him. i think he was just the only boy whod ever given me some sort of hope that i wasnt unlikable.

so i did need that. i needed to learn all those lessons that taught me. i needed all those moments from that time period that ill never be able to remember.

all i know is i miss my childhood so much it hurts. id give almost anything to go back, and im not supposed to say that, bc i thought id let go of it ages ago, for the last time. i thought id accepted it was over and decided to finally live for that girl i used to be.

its kinda funny how all the little parts of our lives flow together so nicely when you look back, despite how incredibly different we were, how differnt the times were.

im still not sure when my depression was at its worst. there was one fall-summer that i wasnt there. i didnt exist. i dont remember myself.

id wake up at like 5pm and go out, id walk to the library and grab a random book, id go take my walk and sit by the water or stand on the bridge looking out at it. it was always so cold, but i dont remember being cold. i just remember the street lights, the snow, the music, the pain.

id get home and start reading, and then it would be 6am and id have finished that book, and i went to bed and cried myself to sleep, and then it would happen all over again.

#my writing #journal #spilled thoughts #thoughts #tw #childhood #words

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honeyheartsandkisses · 4 years ago

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A million times yes

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

One Shot!

Summary: You and Fred have always been really close. After a bad day, he tries to cheer you up and you accidentally confess. (You are in the same year as the weasley twins, one year above the golden trio.)

Warnings: Kissing, and maybe even a little grinding but no smut.

Word count: 2.6k

Sitting here in your potions lesson, you couldn't help but let your mind wander off. Professor Snape's voice droning on in the backgroun about the different kinds of spider venom and what they can be used for. The mildly pleasant smell of bubbling potions and the dim candles illuminating the dungeon all melded together, casting a drowsy spell on you.

"Miss y/l/n!" Snape's nasally voice pierced through your lazy state. You jumped to sit up straight, finding Professor Snape standing right in front of your desk. His face twisted into a nasty scowl.

He starts circling your desk like a vulture circling it's prey. You knew you were in deep trouble. "I suppose you find all this information boring Miss y/l/n?"

"No sir." You said. Staring down at the opened textbook on your desk. Snape always had a thing for torturing gryffindors.

"Humor me this, can you tell me the ingredients for a forgetfulness potion?"

"Umm... no sir."

"Not so smart now are we?" Snape grins, his long crooked nose twisting to make him look truly frightening. "Tell me the ingredients for a truth potion then."

You look up from your desk, and make eye contact with your best friends Fred and George Weasley. The red-haired twins who were seated just a table in front of you had turned around (just like the rest of the class) helplessly watching Snape humiliate you. A few slytherins were snickering, completely enjoying the show.

Feeling defiant, you wink at your two best friends before looking up to face Professor Snape. "With all due respect sir, you never taught us those two potions. How am I supposed to know what's in it?"

Your two best friends start cackling with laughter, clearly impressed by your sudden burst of confidence. A few gryffindors flashed you thumbs up signs, stifling their laughter.

"SILENCE!" Snape stops circling you and look down at you, administering a death-like glare. It instantly made you regret your decision from just five seconds ago. "Miss y/l/n. Very brave for an orphan." The word orphan struck a nerve. Your parents were muggles and at the age of 11, they passed away in a car crash. You were the only one who survived that night. Everytime someone brought it up you would relive it. The heavy snow, the thick ice, the feeling of the car skidding on the ice, and worst of all, your mother's screams.

"Perhaps they never got the chance to teach you classroom manners?" Snape continues in his low nasally voice. Your blood boiled. How dare he bring up your painful past.

"They must be disappointed to learn that their very own daughter turned out to be a failure." This makes your hands clench into tight fists.

You slam the table, standing up from your seat. "I am NOT a failure."

Professor Snape looked almost slightly surprised at your outburst. But within a second he restores his emotionless front. "Six hours of detention Miss y/l/n. Tonight. You will polish all the trophies in the trophy room, without the help of your wand. Be there immediately after dinner or it'll be eight hours. Do you understand?"

Still trembling with rage, you sit back down. "Yes Professor."

The moment Snape goes back to teaching, George quickly slips you a note. You felt slightly better knowing that your friends had your back. Holding the small piece of parchment under the table, you unfold it to see two familiar handwritings.

One of the handwritings had more rounded letters. You easily identified it to be George's.

It wrote: Wow six hours is going to be tough. I'm sorry he said those thing to you but i loved that you stood up for yourself.

The other handwriting was slightly crooked, and this belonged to Fred.

It simply wrote: Are you alright?

Your heart skipped a beat. It definitely was not out of the norm for the boys to show concern but everything Fred said and did made you want to scream. Your heart did backflips whenever you saw him. The way his messy red hair always seemed to fall perfectly into place when he ran his fingers though it, the way he always had a pleasant woody scent on him from all his quidditch practices, everything made you fall in love with him.

You flip the small piece of parchment around and write on the other side and write: I’ll be okay. Before handing it back to the twins.

You manage to stay out of trouble the rest of the lesson, and when Snape finally dismisses everyone, you scoop your heavy textbook into your arms and the three of you head toward the great hall for dinner.

“Maybe we should leave an exploding chocolate bomb on his table.” George says, holding the classroom door open for you.

You laugh, walking through the door with Fred following closely behind you. “Don’t be silly George. Snape’ll figure it out right away.”

“Still worth a shot don’t you think?” Fred says, winking at you.

You quickly shake your head. “I mean it boys. Don’t. Do. It.”

“Alright alright fine.” George says, while Fred swiftly grabs your textbook from your arms, carrying it for you the rest of the way.

“Actually we know a trick or two when it comes to cleaning the trophy room.” Fred says, looking down at you. Him being a whole head taller than you, he towered over you. It made you feel safe. “You could always bewitch a few sponges to self-clean. Sneak them in under your cloak.”

“Snape said no wands but he didn't say you couldn't do with a little... lets call it special equipment.” George adds.

You decide to take their advice, and before reporting to the trophy room after dinner, the three of you stop by a supply closet to bewitch a few sponges before they walked you to the trophy room where Snape was already waiting.

Professor Snape eyes you suspiciously before scowling. “Your little friends cannot stay with you y/l/n.”

Slightly annoyed, you snapped back. “Yes I'm well aware. They were just leaving.” The twins each give you a small pat on the back before hurrying off, leaving you with Snape.

“You will polish and shine all the trophies in this room.” Snape says in his nasally voice that always left you nauseous. Only when he steps aside do you see how massive the room was. With shelves extending from the ground up to the ceiling, each one of them crowded with trophies of all shapes and sizes. Some looked like regular muggle trophies but some seemed to be able to move. Some had faces on them whereas others were shaped like mystical animals.

“Maybe this will teach you not to disrespect a teacher.” Snape says, the corner of his lips turned upwards, clearly delighted to see you in misery. “I will be back every hour or so to check on you. If you’re not here, it’s another two hours of detention and fifty points from Gryffindor. Your wand will be confiscated until all these trophies are polished.” You reluctantly hand over your wand, wishing you could hex the professor. “Get started.” With that, he turns around and walks off, shoes clicking down the dimly lit corridor.

Cursing under your breath, you retrieved your earlier bewitched sponges from the supply closet, along with a couple other polishing solutions. To your surprise, they worked brilliantly. The small sponges scrubbed every inch of each trophy leaving it spic and span, before automatically moving on the next. While the sponges were busy at work, you headed over to a corner of the room and sat down. Just when you were about to doze off, a familiar voice jolted you awake.

“Tired already? It hasn't even been an hour.”

You look up to face it’s owner, coming face to face with Fred Weasley. Your heart swelled. Quickly rubbing the seep from your eyes, you laugh and pat the ground next to you, asking him to sit and he complies.

“What are you doing here?” “Wanted to say hi to Professor Snape.” Fred says, gleaming mischievously at you. Under the dim light, his brown eyes looked like honey and the smell of his freshly shampooed hair gave you the urge to pull him into a hug.

You roll your eyes. “Ha-ha. Very funny Weasley.”

“Are you really alright?” He suddenly says, catching you off guard.

You smile, hugging your knees. “Yeah I told you I’ll be fine.”

“But you’re not...” He looks down at you, almost like he could see right through you. “When Snape mentioned your parents earlier, you looked so incredibly sad. Like nothing could ever make you happy again.”

“I know...” you let out a big sigh. “Everytime someone mentions my parents I re-live that night. Id be lying if I said it wasn't terrifying. But this is something I have to deal with on my own. It’s not anyone’s job to fix me.” Before you know it, a tear escapes the rim of your eye, rolling down your cheek.

Fred puts an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. “I understand. I just wanted you to know there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. So don’t be afraid to let me know if you’re struggling.”

You snuggle closer to his chest, his arm still tightly wrapped around you. Feeling a warmness wash over you, your mood changed for the better. You tilt your head upwards, looking at him. He senses your movement and looked down at you with concern. Your face merely inches away from his, you fought the urge to kiss him. His eyes travel down your face, staring at your lips before looking into your eyes again. “Y/n I...” But before he could say anything else, you press a kiss to his lips, quickly pulling back to observe his reaction. He looked confused and flustered, making your heart sink. You just made a huge mistake.

“I'm sorry I didn't mean to... I just...” You stumbled over your words trying to find the right thing to say. You felt embarrassed and humiliated. Did you just singlehandedly ruin your friendship with the Weasley twins?

But all of a sudden, Fred stops you from freaking out. “Shut up.” He sounded urgent and needy. He crashed his lips with yours, and you could feel his passion and urgency. Like he needed this for a long time. Like he never wanted to stop kissing you. His hands cup your face, deepening the kiss, while you move to sit on his lap. A growing heat in your lower belly started to take over and you rocked your hips forward, grinding on him. He snakes one arm around your waist, pulling you closer while you kiss his neck.

Suddenly, you hear the sound of shoes clicking against the hollow corridor and you pull away from Fred in a hurry. “It’s Snape!” you whisper urgently. “You need to go now! He’ll punish you!”

“But-” Fred tried to protest, but you move off of him, quickly standing up.

“Please Fred I wouldn't want you getting into trouble because of me. You need to hurry!”

He gives you a reluctant pout, but finally agrees. “I’ll see you later.” He kisses your forehead before hurrying off.

Shortly, Snape arrives to see you hard at work polishing the trophies. He mumbles something about you having a bad attitude before leaving, and once again you’re left alone.

You sit back down in the corner, going over the past few minutes. Fred Weasley kissed you. The boy you’ve had a crush on since your second year in Hogwarts. He liked you. Being held by him was the most amazing feeling in the world. Kissing him made your head spin.

Time flew by and before you know it, Your six hours of detention had passed. It was now 1am and the bewitched sponges had obediently dropped to the ground lifelessly after polishing the last trophy. As if on cue, Snape returns, walking up and down the trophy cases.

“Very well y/l/n. You may leave.” He hands you your wand.

“Thank you Professor. Always a pleasure.” You say sarcastically, bolting out the door before he could lecture you again. When you made it up to the common room, you expected it to be completely empty. After all, it was 1am. But to your surprise, Fred was fast asleep on the sofa in front of the fire, his chest rising and falling in sync with his breathing. He had waited for you to come back. You couldn't help but giggle. Grabbing a blanket from a nearby cupboard, you lay it over him and kiss his forehead.

Just as you were about to tip toe over to the stairs to make your way up to the girl’s dormitories, he stirs from his sleep.

“y/n? Is that you?”

You make your way back to him, sitting down on the sofa. “Hey, what are you doing here silly? Shouldn't you be in bed?”

He sits up, pulling the blanket off him. “I wanted to be here when you got back.”

“Well? I’m here now. Whats the matter?”

Without saying another word, a mischievous smile spreads across his face. Reaching under the sofa, he pulls out his quidditch broomstick. “Let me take you on a flight?”

Your eyes lit up. For years you've been begging the twins to let you use their broomstick. Theirs was always better than yours because you weren't on the quidditch team. But they guarded that thing with their life. Not once did they allow you near it.

“Really?” Fred stands, holding his broom in one hand with the other hand outstretched towards you. “Milady?”

You laugh, taking his hand. Just like that the two of you sneaked out of the Gryffindor common room, creeping past Mrs Norris and Filtch’s office. After a few long corridors and several flights of staircases, the two of you finally reach the main door. He pushes it open, and you step out into the cold night. It’s so dark, it could be impossible for anyone to see the two of you zooming around in the air.

“It’s a little chilly tonight. Here hold this.” Fred hands you his broom before taking off his coat and handing it to you. He takes the broom from you again and says “Put It on. Wouldn't want you catching a cold.” You pull it on, thanking the heavens that its dark out. This way he couldn't see how much you were blushing.

He straddles the broom before lowing the back end. “You ready?”

“Just one question.” You say, stepping closer to him so your bodies were slightly pressed together. “Why’d you bring me out here?”

“I wanted to cheer you up of course.” He says, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead. “Wait... is it alright I did that?”

“Well, that depends.” You lean over his shoulder and whisper in his ear. “Are you my friend or are you my boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend.” he blurts out immediately. “If that's what you want of course.” he adds, looking rather embarrassed at his quick answer.

You giggle at his adorable display. “Fred Weasley are you flustered? For the first time in your life?” “Shut it y/l/n.” he laughs, “Come on, you know you're gorgeous, and funny, and kind and you have a cute butt. Now tell me, will you or will you not be my girlfriend?” Despite the nonchalance of his tone, you could tell he was nervous. His eyes gave it away.

“A million times yes.” Putting your arms around his neck, you pull him in for a long kiss. It was head spinning and life changing. The two of you only pull away when there was not enough air left. You think I have a cute butt?” You ask, smirking at him.

He smiles, rolls eyes eyes and simply says “Hop on princess.”

You climb onto the back of his broomstick, wrapping your arms around his torso tightly before the two of you take off into the night.

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black-streak · 5 years ago

Text

Waiting for the Worms - Bring the Boys Back Home

Part 11

Jason's time up until the blackout. Very few warnings for this bit... Umm, mention of guns and a touch of violence later? This part is a bit shorter than usual, especially in comparison to the last part.

CLOSED LIST. Tickets for the angst express are sold out!!! : @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

Explaining why 'Marinette' had a newfound interest in guns and weaponry had been difficult to say the least. Sure, she already took martial arts and Jason added kickboxing and trained with the team regularly, but her parents weren't aware of the latter and quite frankly, the team showed some confusion as well. Sure, Kagami already new fencing and regularly used a bow staff as she saw fit, but guns? That was something else. Jason always had an interest and refused to give up, especially with Bruce no longer able to restrict his training. Tikki, surprisingly enough, fully supported the decision while Plagg actually showed more caution.

Nevertheless, with the excuse of wanting to know how to disarm and be able to disassemble a weapon in case someone were to attack him, Sabine reluctantly agreed to allow him to attend lessons and visit a shooting range. After figuring out the basics and quickly dropping the lessons as to not raise suspicion for the real reason he wanted to learn, Jason took Kaalki and borrowed Plagg so he could transport to isolated locations and use Tikki's creation magic to summon different models and learn them inside and out along with explosives that he took apart and put back together under the careful guidance of Plagg. When he was done, he let Tikki remove it from the world once more, undoing any damage he might've caused.

With graduation in two weeks and Marinette's seventeenth birthday right after, Jason knew he had a few decisions ahead of him.

Honestly, he just felt grateful Marinette skipped a grade when they were younger. He's not sure if he could take another year of living like this. The fight to stay normal, to stay under the radar and appear okay itched at his skin, reminding him at all times that it wasn't his. Back before the nightmares began, he almost settled into the routine, almost adjusted to the too smooth skin, the brush of hair between shoulder blades, the small stature and feminine voice he spoke in. Living as her almost came naturally. Sometimes he forgot Tom and Sabine weren't actually his parents and that his teammates didn't know the truth of who he was. Then the dreams started and horrific imagery flooded his mind every few nights and everything felt wrong again. Suddenly he couldn't forget where he was, who this body truly belonged to, the fact that he was meant to be dead, not finishing schooling.

The methodical rhythm of disassembling and cleaning weapons eased the tension and grounded him in his worst moments. Maybe if he knew how every weapon worked and how to counter them, the constant attacks in his dreams wouldn't terrify him so much. While his dream self seemed to have no issue fighting back and taking out his unseen enemies, his brain couldn't keep up in his sleeping state and threw him into a breathless fit, shaking and panicking as he startled into wakefulness. The panic lessened since starting to learn, so he figured he just needed to learn more and adjust. Really he just wished the dreams would end.

His phone buzzed, startling him out of his contemplative state. Raising it up, he checked the caller ID before answering, the video chat opening up to show Marc.

"Hey, Marc, what's up?"

"Kagami said she needs you to transport back now, something about disappearing too much for your own good?"

"She's one to talk. Alright, heading back now. Have somewhere in mind?"

"Chloe's suite. We're all gathered here," Marc said, shifting in place, more comfortable than they once were, but still shy by nature and unable to hide the edging nerves.

"Oh really? Maybe I should just head home then. Sounds like an intervention."

He watched as his friend jumped a bit, surprised eyes widening rapidly. Before they could even begin to speak, Jason chuckled, cutting them off.

"I'm opening the portal now. See you in a moment."

Hanging up, he opened his bag and woke the sleeping kwami to transport them back to Paris. Upon arriving in Chloe's suite, said blonde launched herself at him, wrapping him up in a hug and swinging them about with the momentum.l, before immediately backing off before he could get annoyed, Kagami coming up from the side and gripping his sleeve in her own form of affectionate greeting. Marc and Juleka looked up from the couch and offered excited smiles.

"You're all entirely too happy. What's happening?"

"Your birthday is in three weeks," Juleka stated softly.

"You're finally hitting our age, oh fearless leader," Chloe drawled out.

"You say that as if you aren't already eighteen," he deadpanned back.

"Semantics."

"There are some highlights to graduating and be surrounded by legal adults," came from his side.

"Like?"

"Your parents agreeing to let you go on a trip with us, no real adults present. Happy Birthday, Marinette."

"What did you guys do?"

Marc spoke up here, "well, we were trying to think of what to give you and I remembered how much you use to talk about leaving Paris all the time and with how much you've been using Kaalki to escape, we figured you wanted out, especially now that Hawkmoth isn't necessarily holding us back anymore and your guardian training is complete. So then we had to think of where to go and what to do and maybe Chloe and I remembered back years ago, no matter how your list of places to go changed, one always stayed the same and-," they rambled in a spiral until Juleka landed a hand on their shoulder, cutting them off gently.

"We're going to Gotham," she offered.

He felt his pulse pick up and eyes widen, thoughts and emotions tearing through him too fast to hold on to.

"Mari? This is an excited reaction right? We can change plans if you no longer want to go," someone spoke. He had to stamp down his anger and tears, to reassure his teammates they hadn't done anything wrong.

"No no, I'm thrilled, I just never thought I'd be going there as an adult is all."

"Oh," Chloe flinched, putting two and two together first, having been the most present back when the connection broke and knowing something bad happened to Marinette's soulmate, "Mari, if it hurts to go there, we won't. I didn't realize," she trailed off.

"I want to."

"Are you sure? This trip is supposed to be a celebration for you."

"It'll give me closure. I want to go. Thank you or this," he forced a watery smile which ended with another hug from Chloe and soft smiles from the rest. They couldn't have realized what type of closure he sought out. Bruce, explaining why he thought it okay to let his soulmate pass on without a proper funeral, without any retribution or justice for their death. The Joker dead. Some people should not be allowed to live, he'd always believed that and the clown was one of those people. Sure, this would look like petty revenge, but how many others lost their soulmate to his hands? This was necessary. And his team had just given him the means to do so without raising suspicion. He felt a type of peace settle over him as he thanked them again for their thoughtful gift.

…

Two weeks came and went and suddenly they were graduates. Suddenly, her birthday was upon them and her parents presented a beautiful cake and invited all of their friends and family over to celebrate. Tom cried over his baby girl growing up and Jason teared up, knowing she never did. He hugged them twice as tight in apology, giving watery smiles mistaken for his realizing his own new status as an adult, if a young one. Gifts were given and promises were made and at the end of the day, it all hit like a whirlwind. She'd been dead for one week short of three years. On the anniversary of her death, he'd arrive in the place where it all began. That godforsaken hellhole of a city. It felt like poetic justice. He struggled to fall asleep that night.

…

His nightmare was more vivid that night. Throwing a blade at a barely seen threat, pinned beneath another, the streak of silver above him and downpour of blood. Moving out and up on instinct, and meeting terrified green eyes.

Moving down a path, a glance at the bodies in another. The woman from before, the other one with the jade eyes, among them. Twisting the kid out of sight and away from there. A dark tunnel. An abandoned building.

He woke then, bright blue and acidic green eyes watching him wearily from the other side of the room. Shoving it down, he shifted over and fell back asleep, use to these restless nights by now.

…

The airport was too bright and loud for this time in the morning. Their flight was at eight in the morning from Paris, meaning they would arrive in Gotham around ten in the morning. Time zones were annoying that way. All of them had stayed up the entirety of the night before and planned on sleeping for the duration of the flight as though that would help. Eight hours in a plane with only two hours difference in time was sure to throw them off no matter what.

Either way, they all boarded, tucked into their first class seats, courtesy of the rich kids, with blankets and reclined positions and went to sleep.

…

Landing, going through customs, and retrieving their bags went smoothly enough, making it to their hotel rooms by ten thirty. Now they were regrouping, having dropped off their things and changed out of their airport clothing. The urge to pass out for another eight hours was tempting, but none of them had anything in their stomachs and food took president for now.

Picking their way into a coffee shop down the road, Jason ordered a latte and a slice of pumpkin bread and settled in a corner table, blocked off from most of the place.

As the others slowly trickled over with their own findings, a tension slowly grew amongst the group. Amongst the entirety of the cafe actually. Looking around he couldn't catch sight of anything out of the normal. Surely none of the rogues would attack here. It was just a cafe, nothing worth holding up. Until he remembered where they were. On the very edge of where the penguin's territory usually landed. Right on the edge of where Scarecrow's usual haunts began. Glancing about more frantically to see why everything had fallen silent, the privacy of his corner table also blocking too much of the view, a scream picked up right as a cloud of smoke spread from the last table to their own.

Stiffening up in preparation for what was to come, the breath knocked right out of him as a sharp yank came from the back of his head. No, his mind. Right as the cloud reached his face, he blacked out.

…

Coming to, he jumped up, dizzy and disoriented. The room spun and he immediately fell back into his seat when a movement in his peripheral caught his attention. His hand instinctively yanked a knife off the counter (counter?) and launched it towards the figure while he twisted to face them.

When the room stopped spinning, he caught sight of the boy standing in the doorway to what appeared to be a bedroom, jade green eyes trained on him as he carefully pried the knife out of the wall beside his head. Once it was freed and lowered in his grasp, he turned fully towards Jason, eyes hardened with a wary glint. Everything went still.

"Marinette?"

#jasonette #maribat #ml x dc #WFTW #part 11 #just playing a bit of catch up #or am I?#next stop - terrible times!#hey i posted on time

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peterparkerstarker · 5 years ago

Text

Kinktober Day 28: Getting Caught (Starker)

As I mentioned last night, this fic is the most self indulgent, self insert fic I’ll probably ever write.

It’s very much based on my own experiences in my early 20s, when I was best friends/fuckbuddies with a ridiculously hot guy twice my age. People always assumed he was my dad, which amused us to no end. Some liberties were taken, but much of this is pretty accurate to my actual 21st birthday. I hope y’all enjoy!

Cw: Starker, age difference, college!Peter (age 21), greying!Tony (early 40s), drinking/drunkenness, incest kink, Tony lying/pretending to be related to Peter to strangers, pda, implied exhibition kink

@readysetstarker @jwolf18791 @warathena418 @pray4meireadstarker @thotticusmaxximus @mvrphyblooms @morgoona-stark @silkystark @untold-royalty @pollyparrot8 @sthefystarkersworld @katzenbaby1 @another-starker-hoe @tony-is-my-daddy @mystarkershame @plsstopgivingpetertrauma @hoeforthegays @lonleystarker @awesomeimportantfan @friendlyneighborhoodlosxr @hpspazz @starker-obsessions @starkershomelife @tightaroundthewebslinger @animefan1998-love @peterpissparker @starkercandy @loki-helmet @petecake @starkercrossedlovers vers @nerdylocksandthethreebears @thirstyhoe4yoongi @starker-reader @starkerissemiok @tomhollabel @momobaby227 @dragonskittysblog @sleepy-and-depressed @disneyprincessdominatrix @lesbianstarker @starkerintheparker @arachnioxide @caseysroses

“Cheers!” Tony said, kissing Peter on the cheek.

Their glasses clinked hard, liquid sloshing down Peter’s hand as he pulled it to his lips to shoot it back. He set the shot glass down a little harder than he’d intended, but it was a little hard to have as much control over his fine motor skills after a martini, a previous shot and a beer. This was the fourth bar they’d been to tonight, and it was starting to blur a little now.

When Tony had insisted on taking him out bar hopping on his 21st birthday he’d been so excited.

It’s not like he’d never drank before. He’d had glasses of wine at Tony’s on quiet nights in. He’d had a full bottle at that rager Tony had thrown a couple months ago followed by shots of Fireball. That had been a mistake, he’d discovered later that night as Tony tried his best to take care of him through the late night sickness and resulting hangover. He’d learned his lesson after that and had kept it to a couple glasses max ever since.

But he’d never been out to a bar before. And this was special. Tony had made a huge fuss about wanting to be the one to show Peter all the good bars now that he was of legal drinking age, and suggested they try a different drink at each stop so Peter could experience different kinds of drinks and figure out his favorites.

The first stop had been a British style pub, greasy sausages and fish and chips and roast potatoes abound. Tony had sauntered up to the bar and ordered them both some kind of dark beer that looked foamy and creamy smooth on top, but smelled vaguely of coffee and tasted like bitter sadness. Peter couldn’t help but scrunch his face up at the taste as Tony chuckled, but he’d finished it all the same, determined not to be outpaced by a man twice his age.

Peter had been excited to see a vintage red phone booth near the entrance, so he gleefully dragged Tony over to take pictures of him posing inside it. Tony had played the annoyed too-cool for all this role, but Peter caught him grinning when he thought he wasn’t looking.

They’d scarfed down the pub food, not paying a lick of attention to the rugby match playing on TVs in the background, and planned their next stop. Tony had compiled a list of options and drinks he recommended from each, and they eventually settled on a cool bar around the corner from their current spot that was famous for their lemon drop shots and crazy mod decor.

Their pub waitress had flashed a big grin when Tony set down big bills to pay for their meal and told her to keep the change. It was probably more than she’d make for all her other tabs combined tonight.

“You two are so cute, you know? I couldn’t help but overhear that it’s your 21st birthday,” she said, focusing in on Peter. “I think it’s so sweet you wanted to go out with your dad for your big day. More kids should have that kind of relationship with their parents,” she gushed.

Peter could feel his face heating up, a blush pooling in his cheeks fire-hot. “Something like that… thanks,” he muttered, not knowing what to say.

This wasn’t the first time someone assumed Tony was his dad, but it always embarrassed him a little in the moment. He understood it. Tony was literally 20 years older and if you squinted you might think they looked like each other. Plus the comfortable camaraderie they had didn’t help.

It wasn’t his fault that his best friend and fuck buddy happened to be a strikingly handsome greying man twice his age. He was pretty used to it by now, but he wasn’t expecting Tony’s bold response when it came.

“I’m so proud of you kiddo. You’re all grown up now. I remember when he was yeigh high and begged me to play Hot Wheels with him.” Tony said, flashing a dazzling grin at the waitress who cooed at the fake story. “I’m a lucky dad for sure.”

Peter shot a sharp glare at Tony, but he ignored it and the waitress didn’t seem to notice. She rang out their bill and wished them a good rest of the night, happy to have a sizeable take home pay for the evening.

“What the fuck was that?” Peter asked through gritted teeth as they left the restaurant and felt the cold bite of the breeze outside.

“What?” Tony asked nonchalantly. “I was just playing along.”

Peter rolled his eyes, adjusting his scarf against the chilly air and pouted.

“C’mon now baby boy. No crying on your birthday,” Tony teased, pulling him into an empty alleyway and kissing him feverishly. His tongue tasted bitter like the beer, but Peter found he didn’t mind it so much when Tony’s hands were roaming all over, playfully grabbing at his ass and caressing his neck. It was a delicious distraction from his irritation about the dad thing. All hunger and no sweetness. Just raw need. He liked when Tony took what he wanted.

They pulled away after a few long moments, startled by the sound of hooting across the street from some passersby. He’d taken a moment to re-adjust his scarf and knit hat before letting Tony lead him down the road to their next adventure. The taste of Tony’s mouth lingered like a bite on his lips.

The next stop had been quick. The bar was packed with college kids eager to blow off steam after midterms and he’d hardly been able to hear Tony over the din. The place was wild, crowded with mismatched plastic futuristic tables, chairs covered in dizzying floral patterns and bizarre lamps. It wasn’t his style, but he could appreciate their commitment to the theme.

The lemon drop shot was disappointingly warm when he drank it in one gulp. The bartender had been trying to crank out drinks for the impatient crowd, and he realized now just how much he disliked room temperature vodka. They hadn’t stayed long, just enough for Tony to pay for the shots and worm their way through the crowd to the exit.

“Sorry Pete. Weekend after midterms was probably the wrong time to hit that one.” Tony had kissed his palm sweetly and promised the next place would be calmer.

And he realized he didn’t care if the bars got increasingly shittier, because he was spending it with Tony and that was enough. He didn’t want to think about the implications that brought on for his insistence that he just wanted to keep things casual.

They’d gone to an upscale lounge next, sitting at the bar and chatting with the bartender as they sipped on dirty martinis. Peter relished in the salty bite of the olive juice and gleefully said yes when the bartender offered him more olives for his drink. It was much quieter, a jazz band played softly in the corner, setting a relaxed tone compared to the mayhem of the last place.

The bartender had looked dubiously at Peter when he ordered, and he had happily presented his ID, exclaiming maybe a bit too loudly that it was his 21st birthday. “Congrats kid. You out with your old man for the night?” he asked, nodding at Tony, who had played along, smirking at Peter in the dim candle light while he sat there silently.

The same hot flush rose to his cheeks and he wondered, not for the first time that evening, if Tony got his rocks off on everyone assuming Peter was his son. He certainly seemed happy to act the part when the opportunity arose. And the way he’d kissed Peter in the alleyway outside of the first bar had left his breathless and panting. Tony was an excellent kisser, but there had been an extra edge to that kiss, something sultry and sinful tinging the way he held on as he nipped and licked at Peter’s lips. He decided he didn’t mind the lies to strangers if it meant Tony would kiss him like that.

They finished their drinks and thanked the bartender, and Peter gripped a little tighter onto Tony’s hand as walked down the cobblestone street. He desperately hoped Tony didn’t notice.

And now he was in the basement of a laid back dive bar, the taste of butterscotch lingering on his tongue sweet and creamy. This one had been his favorite drink so far. He liked sweet things best. Tony liked to tease him that it was because he was so sweet. It was cheesy but never failed to make him giggle.

He’d laughed at the name of the drink, too, when Tony had ordered them. Buttery Nipple. He’d shot Peter a lascivious smile with a wink when the barkeep had her back turned.

She’d dutifully carded Peter and congratulated him on his big night, and said to let her know if he and his dad needed anything else. Tony, true to form, had thanked her for it and said he appreciated it, that he wanted his son’s 21st birthday to be special.

They found a spot in the back, away from the shitty band and the giggling drunk girls piling into an old photo booth to take snapshots. The bar was dark and moody, the cubby of their booth giving enough privacy that he could be a little bolder now.

He let his hand roam over Tony’s thigh, hungry and eager. He took a certain pleasure in seeing Tony let out a quiet gasp as his hand brushed over the older man’s cock, stiff and pressing tight against his jeans. Good. He wasn’t the only one who could do some teasing tonight.

Tony had let out a cute whine. It wasn’t often that Peter took charge like this, usually preferring to let Tony initiate. But he was finally feeling the effects of the alcohol, and it made him bolder, less afraid to get caught making out in the back of a dingy bar.

He leaned in, nipping at Tony’s neck and giggling at the groan the older man made. “C’mon Daddy. I wanna have fun,” he whispered in his ear. If Tony got off of that idea when he could play along. It’s not like the thought didn’t get him hard too, now that he’d had enough drinks to loosen up a bit. The sharp intake of breath followed by Tony grabbing his chin and kissing him deeply was all the answer he needed to know he’d made the right choice by calling him that.

They lost track of time, making out and groping like horny teenagers in the back booth of the bar, hands roaming under shirts and hips grinding through tight jeans. He’d definitely have a hickey tomorrow but he didn’t care. It was cold enough outside now that he could hide it under a scarf in class on Monday.

And every time Peter whispered “Daddy” in his ear, Tony would let out a low rumbling growl that made his cock twitch, leaking and wet and aching.

This was a filthy new development he could get used to.

It wasn’t until there was a loud clearing of someone’s throat that he truly came up for air, suddenly remembering they were in a public place with plenty of people around. He glanced sheepishly up at the same barkeep who’d served them earlier. She’d probably been trying to get their attention for a while now. He reluctantly peeled himself off Tony’s now sweaty chest. She looked judgemental and unamused.

“We have to close up shop early, there’s a blizzard coming in tonight and my boss doesn’t want to risk anyone driving home in the storm after drinking, so I need to cash you out now.” Her tone was flat and unimpressed.

Tony reluctantly signed the receipt she handed him, along with his card, leaving a very generous tip. Probably as an apology for the foreplay they’d been doing, Peter thought.

She started to walk away as they got up and slipped on their coats, but turned back with a glint of humor in her eye now.

“You said he was your son,” she said, the sentence rising at the end like a question.

And Tony’s devilish smirk reappeared, as he gave her a playful wink. “What can I say? We’re close.”

#kinktober #starker #my fic #my writing #peter parker #tony stark #day 28 #21st birthday

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mz-elysium · 4 years ago

Photo

Wow. That was a lot longer than I planned. Do we even do comic sans wip posts anymore? It it cool? Am I cool?

Photo ID below the cut because this is already way too fucking long of a post. And this ID, bc of it, is so so long.

Photo ID: a 13 slide Comic Sans font powerpoint about an original WIP. All slides but the first are white, black text, all font being Comic Sans to follow the meme.

Slide 1: black background, white text. Titled with red shadow: The City of Fallen Angels: (2) Hitaeth. Definition below: hiraeth: homesickness or nostalgia, an earnest longing for an idealised past, or a sense of regret. Around this title are a bunch of floating descriptors about the WIP: vampires, gothic-punk, regrets vs forgiveness, dark urban fantasy, historical 2003, 4 POVs, secrets, political intrigue, slice of life, compassion vs selfishness, vampires playing Game of Thrones, grimdark and also hopepunk. A Vampire the Masquerade canon divergent original novel.

Slide 2: Worldbuilding, about the Vampire the Masquerade world. Titled: The canon sects but like a little more nuanced. Three columns of bullet points follow.

The first is the Camarilla.

neo-feudal lords and princes

rule most of the world

want to rule the rest of it

scheming, old elders who don’t give a shit about anyone else

will kill your family to make a point

BUT ALSO.

stable domains; due process

clan culture, history, tradition

connected to wider vampire society

play their game and you can live as a peaceful peasant (mostly)

The second column is the Anarchs.

rebellious neonates/ancillae

in their Free States, there’s opportunity for power and to live your own life

neonates can actually own land??

ALSO

literal anarchy

no real oversight or leadership

can and will be killed by another gang

“if you can hold it, you can have it”

Third column is the Sabbat

worship Caine as the First Murderer (first vampire)

take “vampire” too literally

inhuman monsters

war cult readying for Armageddon

ALSO

profoundly religious

strict code of honour

accept their inhumanity (no angst)

tight-knit family-like packs

heroes/crusaders for their ppl

Slide 3: Titled: Have a shitty map. A Google map screenshot of Central Los Angeles, with highlighted sections in different colours, clearly done in Paint by a child. Seven sections are highlighted, explained on the next slide.

Slide 4: The lands are divided by the sect who control it.

Anarchs:

Angels Wasteland: remains of the #peaceful Barony of Angels. With Salvador Garcia’s death, it’s a shitshow chaotic warzone.

Tinseltown: Isaac Abrams, movie baron, just wants to be left alone.

East LA: ruled by loyalists of the Old Guard Anarchs, who are all dead/gone. Sabbat from further east are smelling weakness.

Downtown: technically “no baron” but also nines is baron. Typical Anarchs, shooting each other, living rough, living free. OR ARE THEY???

Camarilla:

The Valley: a praxis backed by legendary elders, who are propelled by faceless masters, using unwilling Prince Barty Vaughn as a pawn

Westside: greedy and ambitious LaCroix goes “hmm. la looks like shit. probably wanna get in on that” and calls up his contact, Therese Voerman and says “yo. u got a barony, huh? wanna be my seneschal?”

“Independent”

Silver Lake: a desperate grab by Monroe and co to build their own “utopia” … sorta like the Anarchs 60yrs ago… and look how THAT went. Monroe ate the last Old Guard Anarch.

Slide 5: Titled: Monroe’s POV, with a subtitle of The Captain. On the left, a photo of half of a man’s face in shadow. He has dark hair, pale skin, blue eyes, and a hard expression. Bullet points describe him as Matthew Monroe, Clan Ventrue, Embraced 1873, Humanity 5, age 28. On the right, a series of bullets describe his POV’s story.

this is a dude drowning in an ocean of Problems and his catchphrase is “I’ll figure it out”

he owes a life debt to the enigmatic powerful archon in the Valley (Jan Pieterzoon), who seems to respect/honour him more than most of LA.

he used to be besties with the Valley Prince (Barty Vaughn), who he can’t trust but seems? the same?

he turned his ghoul and secret love into a vampire (Hawthorne), against her wishes, and now she hates him. monroe: u kno what? that’s fair.

Silver Lake is held together with duct tape. monroe’s right hand (Ashley Swan) is a nightmare and untrustworthy. his people try to kill each other.

he’s got a lot of unresolved trauma/grief/abuse/anger and vampires sort of have “The Beast”, a spirit that haunts them with evil

and oh yeah, LA is about to explode

Slide 6: Titled: Monroe’s supporting characters. Four characters, each of them have a photo, a title, and brief run-on description.

First, a photo of a very pale man with purple eyes and a lock of ice blonde hair. Ashley Swan, the Thorn, Clan Toreador. Monstrously cruel, sarcastic, hedonistic, aggressive, sadistic, can’t be trusted, doesn’t wear shirts. Bisexual transman.

Second, a photo of a dour woman with dark hair. Audrey Hawthorne, the Lovechilde, Clan Ventrue. Blinded by the Embrace, furious, frustrated, grieving, snarky, over accomplished, creative, passionate.

Third, a man in a black suit looking over a ballroom with a crystal chandelier. Jan Pieterzoon, the Kingmaker, Clan Ventrue. 300 year old, archon, elder, sire is Camarilla big-shot, dignified, mysterious, chessmaster, honourable, elite.

Fourth, a man in a dress shirt, sleeve rolled up, hand extended with a cigarette and bloody palm. Barty Vaughn, the Valley Prince, Clan Ventrue. Former Anarch, Prince of San Francisco, now reluctant Prince of LA. Smokes like a chimney, lives to fuck Tremere and have fun.

Slide 7: Titled: Zari’s POV, with a subtitle of The Black Rose. On the left, a photo of a beaming dark-skinned Black woman with bouncy coily black hair. Bullet points describe her as Zari Adeyemi-Swan, Clan Toreador, Embraced 1973, Humanity 6, age 27. On the right, a series of bullets describe her POV’s story.

life sucks, it’s cruel, and there’s no point thinking on the past, even when the past comes to haunt you

she fled her foster sire and once-lover (Ashley Swan) for his cruelty to others, but now he offers maybe?genuine? amends.

thirty years ago, she left her human children. her daughter (Aisha Adeyemi) has been Embraced and brings bad news

her main way of #coping is working and distracting herself. she throws herself to infiltrate the Westside Camarilla court (Sebastian LaCroix), against all good advice.

soon after she arrives, she finds herself having a secret admirer (Mercurio), who reminds her how precious it is to be loved, held, and cared for — but they need to overcome their own instincts to accept what they could have

The Voerman sisters are in the thick of it all, making perfect cautionary allies and, if she can overcome her preconceptions, friends.

and oh yeah, LA is about to explode

Slide 8: Titled: Zari’s supporting characters. Four characters, each of them have a photo, a title, and brief run-on description.

First, a photo of a white man wearing mirrored sunglasses in front of orange-pink neon. It casts his face and smile eerily. Ashley Swan, the Foster Sire, Clan Toreador, monstrously cruel, charismatic, loyal, thorough, too clever, pleasurable. Bi transman.

Second, a photo of a white man in a suit, adjusting his cuffs. Sebastian LaCroix, the Westside Prince, Clan Ventrue, opportunistic benefactor, greedy, ambitious, petulant, ruthless, degrading.

Third, a white man in a paisley shirt, gold necklaces, putting a hand to a tattooed and exposed chest. Mercurio, the Admirer, LaCroix’s Ghoul, resourceful, sweet, empathetic, capable, romantic, salt of the earth, former Mafia hitman.

Fourth, a white woman in a black suit with delicate gold jewelry. The Voermans, the Mirrored Sisters, Clan Malkavian; one is brutal, calculating, patient, reckless, the other is seductive, fun-loving, innovative, insightful.

Slide 9: Titled: Charlie’s POV, with a subtitle of The Moonchilde. In small text, a line says “a.k.a. Me processing grief over my mother #coping. On the left, a photo of a sad-faced white woman with freckles, black eyeliner, and frizzy brown curls. Bullet points describe her as Charlie Bradley, Clan Malkavian, Embraced 2003, Humanity 8, age 20, lesbian. On the right, a series of bullets describe her POV’s story.

life is getting back to normal? well, “new normal”

as a new adult, she has a good ol’ fashioned “start of life” crisis: who am I? where do I fit in? complicated by her mother’s death a year ago. what sort of woman am I? how does this figure into my attraction to women?

maybe. maybe. maybe monroe is cold and distant and ruling a vampire kingdom, but he wants to look after me. maybe i should let him.

also, hey, you (Jesse Harper) get it. and you’re hurting. let me help, let me be your soft place to land. wow, okay, this is kissing.

she didn’t mean to ruin her sire’s (Rhys Wilson) life. but, she did. she killed his mentor. SHHH! secret! she feel bad. maybe friends? uh, okay, weirdo. maybe D&D.

she’s learning to deal with feeding on scumbags and giving what people got coming to them. and the Cobweb, supernatural psychosis

WHY ARE VAMPIRES LIKE THIS? WHY CAN’T WE ALL JUST GET ALONG? FFS

and oh yeah, LA is about to explode

Slide 10: Titled: Charlie’s supporting characters. Three characters, each of them have a photo, a title, and brief run-on description.

First, a white man in the middle of screaming, his head swaying back and forth so it looks like he has three heads. Rhys Wilson, the Sire, Clan Malkavian, weirdo, prime D&D fanatic and DM, just wants friends, and vengeance, pulls pranks to teach lessons. Gay.

Second, a very strong white woman with her arms crossed, a tattoo on one, and a t-shirt that is obscured but clearly says “The future is female”. Jesse Harper, the Darkness, Clan Lasombra, former vampire hunter, reluctant vampire, brooding, mysterious, sullen, black trench coat, buff as fuck, brave. Lesbian.

Third, a pair of clasped hands, male over female. Monroe, the Stepsire, Clan Ventrue, fucking old, inhuman, kills too easily, sincere, honourable, intense, gives good advice but really should shut his mouth hole.

Slide 11: Titled: Jack’s POV, with a subtitle of The Lone Wolf. On the left, a photo of a sad-faced strong Chinese man with a shaggy and tufted mullet. Bullet points describe him as Jack Shen, Clan Gangrel, Embraced 1955, Humanity 7, age 25, gay. On the right, a series of bullets describe his POV’s story.

why does he always end up alone? people leave, people die, people drift and change, but the good times were worth it

he’s always had a rocky relationship with his lover (Ryuko Saito), but now the dumbass has found a cult promising power.

he hasn’t lost him. he hasn’t. him and ryu just take time apart sometimes. but it’s been a long fucking while. and jack isn’t sure who he is alone anymore. a new human friend (Dustin Cohen), working at his animal hospital gives new life.

his former best friend (Damsel) has dove deep into Downtown and managing as Nines’ lieutenant, bringing him more and more dirty work to clean up

monroe relies on him to reign in the chaos of vampires trying to live without killing each other.

and oh yeah, LA is about to explode

Slide 12: Titled: Jack’s supporting characters. Three characters, each of them have a photo, a title, and brief run-on description.

First, a young white woman with dyed fire-engine red hair and an Iron Maiden t-shirt. Damsel, the Lieutenant, Clan Brujah, naive, brash, physical, loyal, loud-mouthed, smart.

Second, a skinny man in an ill-fitting Hawaiian shirt and jeans. Ryuko Saito, the Orphan, Mage, power-hungry, desperate, proud, ruthless, loving, isolated, crushingly lonely, gremlin, old and chronic pain, hides and “treats” it with magic.

Third, a white hand extending a hummingbird to fly free. Dustin Cohen, the Receptionist, Human, understanding, the best of Good Dudes, empathetic, kinda lame outsider

Slide 13: Titled: also. A moodboard on the right side includes two weeping stone angels, one at sunset, one in darkness between a tarnished and broken silver crown; a gas station in LA as seen through a rainy car window; grim-looking downtown city buildings; and a sidewalk curb with neon lights reflecting off a puddle and a plastic bag of takeout garbage strewn across.

On the left, bullet points follow.

about 100 million other characters. I legit have a spreadsheet

Everyone is capable of evil

Sins of the sire (father)

Never too late to start being a good person

Takes place about 6 months before Vampire the Masquerade Bloodlines

At least one more novel in the works

Subheading, 22/55 chapters written. Gonna start posting September 28.

End ID.

#wip intro #writers of tumblr #writeblr #vtmb #vtm #wip: city of fallen angels #vampires #urban fantasy #original writing #fanfiction #when does fanfiction stop and original writing start?

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pinkykitten · 5 years ago

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I was tagged by @writing-with-melon I hope my answers aren’t complete waste or if time and if so I’m sorry and I love you

Rules: Answer ten 10 questions, ask 10, and tag 10 people

1. What song automatically plays in your head when you look out the window on a long drive?

i dont really have an answer for this. i think i just automatically think about any song ive been listening to recently or any song that has been stuck in my head.

2. Do you have some snacks nearby when you write?

well i live in a two story house so the kitchen is downstairs and im usually lazy busy so since i have a mini fridge upstairs i just usually get water to drink while im writing. its kinda hard to eat and write cuz i loose focus really easily so when i am writing i am writing! i am in the zone! but if i am a little hungry ill usually snack on candy like chocolate kinder joys i love them but they r so expensive or snack on chips but i get like salt on my fingers or i like cheetos so cheetos dust and that just gets everywhere and later my hands and keyboard kinda smell like fart. 3. What do you do to combat creative burnout?

so burnout happens to me a lot so to get inspiration i either read other stories or fanfics which gets my head gears turning or i admire a piece of art or photography or a song. whats so unique and satisfying with writing you can explore and go anywhere with it, hehehe erotic if you know what i mean lol jk there are no barriers with writing just your imagination. there is inspiration any where you go and id advise to never stop writing. even if its a few short sentences or paragraphs about anything even bird poop its still progression and your mind is working and your searching for words like its all good for you bby. 4. Do you use (or like to use) prompts?

i do ill put the link here. im thinking of changing it though to do something different.

5. What is your favorite place to write?

lol boring, i know but my room. my room is really bright in the mornings and comfortable and chill and i have a candle of the pandora ride in disney that smells like the ride so its all good and relaxing and super peaceful plus i have a picture of myself the age of like 9 on my desk idk why but it encourages me and makes me focus to make sure i never get that cringy again.

6. What is a hobby or yous that you usually don’t talk about?

well i like working out HAHAHAHAHA jk that was a joke...get it...cuz i much rather be eatingokillstop. but i really like to draw which i have a art page you can see it if you click here pls look at my failed attempts to be hip and cool with the cool kids and being artsy fartsy. another hobby is i really like to do makeup and nail art, nail art is really tough guys no joke if you do it like you got wizard powers are something. maybe its bc my nails are shorter than pete davidson and ariana grande’s relationship, alright im trying to stop i swear!

7. Do you play an instrument? Which one?

no i wish though. i always wanted to learn to either play the piano or electric guitar cuz H.E.R looks so cool doing it.

8. How do you feel about your handwriting?

it sucks dont even try me. my sister can barely read it like no wonder nobody wants to steal my signature heck they can’t even read it!

9. Can you tell us of a story that marked your development as a person? As a writer?

ok sit back guys, sniff a nice amount of crack and get ready for the most cringy moment of my life but also a time when i knew i was meant to be *inhale* a fanfic writer.

so it was elementary school, i think 3rd grade and for my writing assignment we were given a prompt of idk what the heck tbh i think it was like be outside the box and im like ok imma nail this cuz im a weird child and yeah so i got my papers and pencil and i went TO TOWN on this paper. so i wrote two stories. one short story with a picture to go with it and one long story that yeah i buried years ago. so my first story was about a farmer was about that farming life. he had chickens and dairy. so i cant remember if the cheese was spoiled but doesnt matter. anywho these cheese and a chicken were alive like they could talk in the story and i gave them faces, yikes. but the whole story was the farmer was a b*tch and he was trying to eat the chicken and cheese so they hatched a plan to get away from the farmer. they did it successfully and they ran away. yay happy ending my teacher actually liked that one me too and my school mates were thinking what they heck is this girl on i made a story about how me and justin bieber made cookies for Christmas you know. so then my other story i was more proud of this one cuz it was a tone of paper, sorry trees, and this story was about how a female hippo (girl i was all about plus size and thicker girls and no body shaming) and an male ostrich were kidnapped from their own habitats and taken to become circus animals. failed version of Madagascar hey mine was before the circus movie OK THEY STOLE IT FROM MEEEEE. so they get taken and are treated to harsh punishment and the animals can talk and i think its in the point of view of the male ostrich guy thing. they are in the circus and they start to have this relationship happening. love starts blossoming its all good. im happy with this cuz i believed in love at age of 8. they find a way thru a kick butt scene of the animals escaping and the hippo and ostrich are so in love that they run away together and they have half hippo half ostrich babies and i think i named the species hipstrich or like ostppo idk but i was so proud of this story and when my teacher read it she was worried about me lol i think she thought i might like mate these two animals like secretly idk but she was like it was ok and i was like what this is frickin William Shakespeare writing or like F. Scott Fitzgerald writing. nevertheless it taught me a lesson that nobody else needs to like what im writing the main point and only thing that matters is if your proud of it and you like it and i really did. i will remember that story forever and thats what made me want to be a writer. lol sorry that was a lot.

10. @emdop I’m going to use this great question: Explain one of your WIPs in the most ridiculous way possible.

wellllll im working on my peaky blinders oc story its a lot of drugs money killing weapons jewelry rich profanities like its the show but written from my stubby hands so my oc and whatever its great and so excited to show it to you guys.

MY QUESTIONS:

1. WHAT MADE YOU WANT TO START TUMBLR?

2. IF YOU COULD CHANGE ANYTHING OF THIS WORLD, WHAT WOULD IT BE?

3. WHAT QUALITY IS IMPORTANT TO YOU?

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE OUTFIT?

5. WHAT MAKES YOU SMILE?

6. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SONG IN THE WHOLE WORLD?

7. IF YOU COULD VISIT A PLACE, WHERE WOULD IT BE?

8. WHAT SHOW OR MOVIE UNIVERSE WOULD YOU WANT TO BE IN?

9. WHAT IS THE SCARIEST MOMENT OF YOUR LIFE?

10. WHAT DO YOU WANT MORE IN THIS WORLD THAN ANYTHING ELSE?

im tagging: @thatlittlered, @ardentmuse, @acciosnapes, @lotsoffandomimagines, @collecting-stories, @blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms, @naughtyneganjdm, @lenahellgizibe and two random followers @spiritsent, @sucker-for-my-fandoms

i was tagged by @writing-with-melon again ty btw, ps i felt so much pressure lol jk 😊

Rules: Answer 5 questions, Ask 5 questions, Tag 5 people.

1. What is your favorite book?

fifty shades of grey hahaha naw my favorite book is obv you all know this is series of unfortunate events but i never usually cry period and i never cry for books ever so when i read mrs. tom thumb by melanie benjamin, its the part when her sister minnie dies i cried so hard idk it was just emotional the wording the way she described her pain it was so beautiful written yet so sad and that was just amazing to me cuz im like this book made me feel things and im like wow i would love to write a book one day and make someone feel something whether it be sadness anger happiness annoyance anything they are having an emotion and that is super powerful to do that with just words. pls go check out that book its a good read. also im a fan of the greatest showman so i really enjoyed it. there are many other books tho that i thoroughly enjoy so much.

2. What piece that you’ve written are you most proud of?

oh my god ive always wanted to be asked this question hands down i am always proud of my platonic gender neutral tony stark fic called in·con·sol·a·ble window to me i wrote it so sad and i was feeling like depressed lol when i saw peter die in infinity war like i didnt know what to do with my life tbh but im so glad that @impetrichorny requested it tysm i just like how its not based on romance or fluff or happiness it is based on when you lose someone the nightmares and sadness you go through and that there is nothing nobody can do about it except just be there for that person so i really like writing angst and something that was out of the box. ive been thinking tho of doing a part two since the fate of all the characters has changed after endgame. who knows tho.

3. What is the last song that inspired you?

well for art it would have to good news by mac miller when i did that kobe bryant memorial on my art page. i dont want to give it away though but ill just say some very powerful womens music inspired my oc writing and making.

4. How do you feel about letting people read what you write?

at first i was scared cuz i thought i wrote like trash which that feeling kinda doesnt go away like some days i feel that way others i feel confident or it depends on the request it just depends but anyways i was always insecure about my writing so when i started writing it was more like lets see how this goes if not ill delete the whole page. im glad to say it went great but in the begging it was hard cuz i kept putting myself down but i learned to accept or just understand that you keep learning with writing you always learn knew things with writing how you can explain something better or you words get more intricate and people see the improvement and you do too thats why i applaud those who dont speak english that english isnt their first language. you are doing a tremendous job and keep practicing cuz you’re gonna make it to the top. ive also learned that some days are not my days and you can take time off when youre not feeling it when you have writers block. just recollect your juices sip some tea go to the beach relax your mind a little and take as long as you need to come back and give it your all. also comments and reblogs and likes a follows those meant so much to me and encouraged me. thats why i cant express it enough how much all those mean to writers, artist, photographers, anybody who is truly trying their hard in this area of social media. its makes a person happy smile and confident in their writing but first train your mind into loving what you make not what others thing. you have to be happy with the outcome that is what truly matters and what makes your writing the best. look at me getting philosophical.

5. Do you get distracted easily? If yes with what?

yes and with porn haha i get distracted easily like very easily homeschooling was really tough for me. music distracts me, netflix, the urge to watch david dobrik or unus annus or buzzfeed unsolved on youtube, heck my farts distract me. i gotta be like troy bolton i gotta get my HEAD IN THE GAME!

MY QUESTIONS:

1. IF YOU COULD BE NAMED SOMETHING ELSE, WHAT WOULD YOU BE NAMED?

2. WHAT PERSON INSPIRES YOU THE MOST?

3. IF YOU KNEW THE WORLD WAS ENDING TOMORROW WHAT WOULD YOU DO TODAY?

4. WHAT DO YOU OFTEN THINK ABOUT IN THE SHOWER?

5. WHATS YOUR WEIRD COMBINATION FOOD?

im tagging: @thatlittlered, @ardentmuse, @acciosnapes, @lotsoffandomimagines, @collecting-stories AND WHOEVER WANTS TO DO THIS IF YOU FOLLOW ME OR LIKE MY STORIES TAG ME ILL READ YOUR ANSWERS. HOPE I DID THIS RIGHT SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING MWUAH

#ask #@writing-with-melon #rambles #writing #tips on writing #unus annus #david dobrik #netflix #buzzfeed unsolved #peaky blinders oc #kobe bryant #mac miller #tony stark #peter parker #the greatest showman #tom thumb #troy bolton #zac efron

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tigerlover16-uk-2 · 5 years ago

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Thank you, Sun and Moon

I know I'm a day early with this, but I wanted to get this out while I was still motivated. So, here we go.

To give an idea of what the Pokemon Sun and Moon anime means to me, let me start by going into my history with the anime.

I started watching Pokemon since the day it first aired in the UK. Back then, i remember Pokemon feeling like it was the biggest thing in the world, and for me it remained that way as i grew up.

I followed the show through the original series, Advanced Generation to well into Diamond and Pearl, and I always loved it. It was a constant presence in my life, and while I don't think I usually called it my number 1 favourite show, it was something I cherished and enjoyed more than most others. And at the time I was watching Diamond and Pearl and finding it possibly the best season yet, I was convinced I'd be following the series for pretty much the rest of my life.

And then, somewhere halfway through DP, something odd happened... I started missing episodes.

Like, id missed an episode of the series once in a blue moon due to extraneous circumstances, but I never actually took a break from watching the show, even when it was in reruns.

And yet for some reason, for a couple months, I couldn't be bothered to keep up with the anime. I'd later sum up that I was feeling burn out, but it felt odd how I'd just randomly seemed to lose interest when I'd been really enjoying Diamond and Pearl up until then.

Eventually I did start watching newer episodes again, but the same thing happened during the league arc, of which I only remember reading summaries on bulbapedia and only actually caught the last battle against Tobias. Something which... kinda bothered me. Not to a great deal at first, but the aftertaste felt more and more sour when I started watching the next series, Best Wishes.

I'll say right now, this is where I really started to question the quality of the Pokemon anime. I stopped watching the series after the dub got a few episodes past where the cancelled Team Rocket vs Team Plasma two parter would have aired. I did keep following plot summaries and checking new episodes pages on bulbapedia for a while, but that eventually lessened as I came to a realization.

The story was going nowhere. The show was just running in circles and making excuses to keep Ash's journey going in perpetuity.

I suppose maybe that should have been obvious already, but up through Diamond and Pearl, for all it's own backtracking, it still felt like Ash's journey was progressing and that the show itself was evolving and getting better in a number of ways. That we really were getting closer to seeing Ash becoming a master.

But between Tobias randomly being thrown into the league to eliminate Ash in a really lazy manner that felt unnatural compared to the last two times he'd lost a league, and a lot of the blatant bad writing decisions I was seeing like Zekrom showing up out of nowhere to nerf Pikachu so it could lose to Trip's Snivy, it really made me question where the story was going... if the show was even trying to tell a consistent story anymore, and they weren't just spinning their wheels and repeating the same patterns over and over again with no sign of ending or really moving forward.

At this same time I'd also been looking into the production history of the show and seeing what other people were saying about the anime online. I learned the show was originally supposed to end with Kanto and Ash winning the league, and I began looking back and noticing all the dropped plot points and mishandled story moments.

The GS ball plot never being resolved properly, the stuff with Ho-oh in Johto amounting to pretty much nothing, the mishandling of the Team Aqua and Magma plot, and a bunch of other things that made me realize...

This show is kind of a mess. There really isn't any kind of a plan or an end point. They're going to keep forcing Ash to lose at the league, reset his progress and keep running in circles because they don't want to do what Digimon and Yu-gi-oh did and let the story end and getting a new protagonist.

Needless to say, this coming at a rough time in my life where I was pretty miserable and becoming increasingly cynical with the world as well as more critical of media I watched, and in conjunction with what I saw people were saying about the show, left me feeling VERY disillusioned with the Pokemon anime.

Because I loved Pokemon, I thought it was the greatest franchise in the world and it had infinite potential. Surely, the anime should be better than this. Surely, Pokemon deserved better. SURELY, it should have been a great show for all ages like Shudo wanted it to be, and not some cheap commercial for the games?

I think the thing that broke me completely was Newtwo in the Genesect movie, because the anime's original take on Mewtwo is one of my favourite fictional characters of all time, and his story through his movie, Mewtwo returns and the birth of Mewtwo short and radio drama was what younger me had always thought represented how great Pokemon could be at it's best, and that the series was something meaningful...

And here OLM were giving us a boring copy of that character minus the nuance.

Did they even care, I thought? Was I just stupid for liking the anime as much as I did for so long? Was it even worth hoping things could get better?

By the time it was into XY, I had given up on the Pokemon anime and become disillusioned with it as a whole, spending the next few years bitter and pining over a better version of the series that only seemed to exist in my mind. I didn't even bother to keep up with reading about new episodes on Bulbapedia anymore, I didn't have a clue what was going on. And I was sure I didn't care, and I never would again.

What reason was there to be invested in a series that clearly had no faith in itself, and certainly no regard for people like me who had had faith in it and wanted a good story.

I did start listening in again towards the end of XYZ when i kept seeing so many people gushing about how great it was and how competent Ash had supposedly become. For a minute i almost got caught up in the hype that he might win the Kalos league, and that the writers had finally learned their lesson.

And then Ash lost.

I remember shrugging my shoulders and going "oh well" and then moving on with my life. I didn't even feel mad, I'd already resigned myself to what the outcome would most likely be, so what was the point in getting worked up when I don't even care about the show at all, right?

... Right?

I still remember the tepid reactions the trailer and announcements for the Sun and Moon anime got at this time. I'll admit, when I first heard the premise would involve Ash going to school I laughed and thought it was a stupid idea.

... but watching the various announcements and teasers for the show, something about it... intrigued me. I watched the first 5 episodes shortly after they aired and found myself enjoying them, but after that I got a bit distracted and didn't watch any more of it for a while.

A similar thing actually happened with XY, where despite my frustration at that point I did try to give the series a chance, but I quickly got bored, dropped it and stopped paying attention to the show as a whole until much later.

But unlike back then, I actually did pay attention to what was going on in the show, and what I was hearing did sound generally optimistic. I think it was a mix of the 20th movie coming up and the announcement of the Kanto two parter that convinced me to really sit down and watch the whole thing. And what I saw... was pretty darn good, I must say.

I was surprised with myself. I'd given up on the show, hadn't I? All the damage was already done, wasn't it? No matter what Sun and Moon did to shake things up, the show as a whole would still be inevitably tied down by it's status quo in the end, and nothing that happened here would matter or mean anything come the next series, right?

And yet, here I was. Having a good time and finding Pokemon Sun and Moon a pretty fun series overall. And I started to realize how much... just how much I'd missed the anime. How despite my insistence that I'd moved on and didn't care anymore... I never really had. I still wanted to love the series.

From that point on I kept watching Sun and Moon on a weekly basis, and eventually re-watched the entire series from start to finish, including everything I hadn't seen from BW and XY.

Slowly over time, my resentment and bitterness started to subside. For while so many of my problems with the show remained, I realized I could still have fun with it even though it wasn't perfect.

It felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

I won't pretend Sun and Moon was a perfect series. It had it's dull episodes and missed opportunities, just like all the series that came before it. There was plenty of stuff I thought could be better... and yet, the show never felt like it got bad or stopped being overall enjoyable despite those occasional gripes.

It didn't so much feel like the writers were just repeating all the same formulas and going through the motions anymore with Sun and Moon. There was a sense of fun to the show, a consistent level of joy and quality and, dare I say, PASSION to the series that I appreciated and kept me coming back to it.

And when the show was in top form, it honestly blew me away at times. I'll never forget the feeling of watching episode 108 and the scenes with Mallow reuniting with the spirit of her mother and thinking to myself "... THIS is a real episode of the Pokemon anime?"

I was happy. For the first time in so long, I felt content with the anime and not embarrassed to like it. But even then, I was thinking I'd have to like the show in spite of it's gaping, frustrating faults. I never dreamed the show or the writers would have the courage to break the dreaded cycles that pushed me away from it in the first place.

And then, only a few weeks ago now, the unthinkable happened... Ash Ketchum won the Alola league.

I'm still gobsmacked by it, honestly. I literally didn't think I was going to live to see the day. I'd resigned to the thought that the writers would always force him to lose... but against all my expectations, he did it. Ash won a pokemon league from the games.

And then just to really seal the deal, they even let him beat Kukui, a champion equivalent trainer, AND Tapu Koko right after that. Something that I never would have thought was possible to see happen in the Pokemon anime.

Honestly, watching that four parter, it felt like if you swapped out Kukui and Tapu Koko with Lance and Ho-oh, that could have been the ending I always thought the original series should have had... and it was GLORIOUS.

So now I'm sitting here, eagerly looking forward to the next series and feeling captivated by it's all regions premise and deviations from the formulas we'd come to expect as the eternal standard for this show, and I can hardly contain my excitement.

Because for the first time in a long time, Ash was finally allowed to achieve something extraordinary besides the obligatory "save the world from the current gen's villains" plot. For the first time since Diamond and Pearl, it feels like the story is actually moving forward into the next phase and the show is evolving.

For the first time in a long, long time... I look forward to the future of this series.

I could go on. There's plenty more I could say about Sun and Moon as a whole, discussing it's story, the characters and the writing, but... Honestly, there'll be plenty of time for that in the future. And for now, I feel like ive said all I needed to say.

At the end of the day, looking back on it all, I don't actually know if I'd call Sun and Moon my favourite Pokemon series. There's things about the Advanced Generation and Diamond and Pearl I liked more.

But Sun and Moon is, without a doubt, the Pokemon series I'm the most grateful for.

So, without further ado...

Thank you, Sun and Moon. Thank you for being a fun, charming, wholesome kids show.

Thank you for being entertaining and a joy to watch these past few years.

Thank you for being creative and not completely repetitive.

Thank you for fulfilling a childhood dream of mine I never thought could come true.

Thank you for helping Pokemon to evolve and move on to a new era.

Thank you, Pokemon Sun and Moon... for restoring my faith in the Pokemon anime.

Though I'm sure there'll be many ups and downs in the future, I swear I'm going to stick with this show until one of us kicks the bucket. And I'm content with that now.

It's late and I should go to bed. Hope the final episode tomorrow is a good one.

#Pokemon #pokeani #pokemon anime #pokemon sun and moon

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the-sanders-sides · 6 years ago

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inidan american (desi) logan

a sequel to this post because people asked for more and i decided that they shall receive (and also i love writing these)

fair warning, logans a bitter kid, and this isnt as positive and happy as romans post. ive experienced two different ways of being desi, one where i lived in fully asian and indian community and didnt even think id ever feel alone, and another where i moved to a place where i havent met another desi in like 7 years of living here in a 3 hour driving radius. in romans post i played into my first experience and how at home i felt. in the second experience, the one im in right now, i am much more bitter about who i am and not really knowing anyone who gets it anymore. so i play into that A LOT in this. so keep that in mind. (and he will get happier in a future part. m planning on making this into a series)

ok so first off. his name is logan sanders. people (mostly other indians) dont believe him when he tells them. he tells them they dont know indian history. they say they do. he tells them that the british fucked around (quite literally) in india for four centuries so of course english names would stick with that precise wording

sometimes when he’s annoyed enough and doesnt want to explain this for the millionth he defends himself with this russel peters skit (watch it, it’s hilarious) because it describes his family. to a T.

he grew up in a community with not very many asians, and knew no indians outside his family so he felt a sort of disconnect to his culture

while his grandparents and parents would teach him about indian culture, he felt so distant from it since he knew no one outside his family who was indian, and since he didnt have any siblings or any nearby cousins to hang around with

he had visited india once but he was too young to remember it properly or too remember his cousins

the closest mandir was an hour away so that also limited the amount of indian kids/people he knew

he barely knew hindi because everyone in his family spoke english, especially in public

he felt guilty over the disconnect he felt and would always try to bridge it but would never accomplish this because it he kept losing passion since he rarely saw other people like him in the real world and in the media and he didnt see the point of trying

this all changed in eight grade when he moved next door to the Kumar family in a north indian street of some south asian blocks in an asian community

when his family first moved, the Kumar family invited the Sanders over to welcome them

it turns out the Kumar’s had a son who was the same age as logan

“hi logan! im rohan kumar! but i like going by roman instead of rohan!”

this introduction pissed logan off

he was seething because why would this kid who got to have an indian first AND last name change his name to an english one! why didnt he see the value of his name!

he knew right away that such a difference meant they could never be friends

“im logan sanders, but thats all youll get to know about me because i see no use associating myself with someone as... well, ignorant, as you”

roman decides to whip out one of the swears his cousins taught him and whisper shouts “who are you calling ignorant, bhenchod?”

it became clear to him that this was new turf, and people on this new turf must be speaking hindi. and that he was the ignorant one if he couldnt talk in hindi. he made a vow to learn it as fast as he could to make sure this roman kid wasnt better than him

but, logan grits his teeth and says “you, and i know it must be true because you were too dumb to understand me the first time”

this evidently struck a sore spot in roman because he didnt fight back but just stalked away. logan smiled slightly, happy to have won that argument

logan asks his grandpa to teach him hindi and his grandpa gets super excited

they start lessons immediately and despite barely hearing it growing up, it’s as if his brain was made for this because he picks the language up amazingly fast and in a months time, while not able to speak back yet, he can understand most casual conversation

his first diwali in basically little india is the most magical thing ever

diwali at his old home was very quiet because there wasnt anyone around to celebrate with

everyone is so happy in this new home however. everyone is dressed up and all the houses are lit up and there are diyas everywhere and he doesnt want to admit it but the kumar’s have the best rangoli on the street and it’s because of roman and he knows roman did it because sometimes he’d stare out of his bedroom window while doing homework and have a perfect view of roman delicately working on it for two weeks

(the kumar’s front porch had been covered with tarp waiting for diwali to make sure romans precious rangoli wasnt stepped on or ruined. when it’s finally let up, everywhere where there could be art, there is. it’s insane how good at colors roman is, logan thinks)

diwali morning:

he fights his parents because he doesnt want to miss school for diwali because americans dont have a day off for it. his parents set the clocks in the house ahead to make him think he overslept so he would skip school. (logan didnt know that his parents had submitted an excused absence form for religious reasons and that the school was very understanding. he thought it would be like his old school where he wouldnteven bother trying since he wasnt christain and the school was lkinda discriminatory)

they spend the morning in mandir and it’s nice. for once he doesnt feel different from his peers because he goes to mandir and not church or synagogue. he feels at home.

diwali afternoon:

the afternoon is spent with frantic cleaning and cooking and digging around for the diya’s that were still in boxes, packed away from when they moved

logan offered to find them all to continue with a diya science experiment he started two years prior. his theory was that the diya’s were multiplying and there were more each year despite no one buying anymore

this held true, because even though he could only find half of their diya collection, it was somehow more than the entire diya collection of two years prior.

diwali evening:

theres a big potluck and everyone in the neighborhood is out talking to each other, looking at the decorations at everyones houses, eating samosas, and playing with sparklers.

logan feels content

he makes a new resolve to learn more about hinduism. if this is what ti was supposed to be, then he never wanted to be away from hinduism.

he looked at the metaphors and symbolism in everything and finally understood what his dad meant he told logan that hinduism is just science written in poetry and that string theory is written in the ancient texts

middle school in this new town is so much better than middle school in his old home. why?

a. doesnt get bullied for being a nerd

b. doesnt get called gay slurs

c. the classes are harder

d. much less racism

e. all of the above

soon enough, logans asking his grandpa to teach him how to cook Indian food

Logan spends the day burning dosas and making lopsided rotis

(eventually he gets the hang of it, and a he'll be cooking food for an infuriating Indian boy ;) ;) psst it's roman)

Speaking of boys

Coming out isn't an option for logan

He knows that his parents arent really religious enough to really look into hinduism and see that no, gays are not bad

But they are traditional and conservative enough to be homophobic

not homophobic as in spewing hate with the westboro baptist church at a pride parade

But homophobic as in "the gays are fine as long as they don't do it in front of me" kinda thing

So Logan stays quiet

the closet kinda sucks but i mean what can he do

it’s safer inside, and he as illogical as wishing is, he wishes that people would use their brains and realize there’s nothing wrong with gay

anyway

in school logan makes his first desi friend, who was dubbed as anxiety years ago and cant seem to get rid of the nickname and now has a whole complex about his name so logan doesnt know his name

logan and anxiety meet in the school library: logan studying and anxiety hiding

people dont like anxiety

especially non-indian kids

surprise surprise it’s an old buddy called racism, but anxiety’s story is for another time

(but even though no one really likes anxiety, whenever racist shit goes down, it has to go through roman)

so logan and anxiety become fast friends

and they make fun of roman (a+ bonding)

logan claims that roman is a hypocrite for changing his name to an english one while being so immersed in indian culture

anxiety doesnt dispute this, but says he has a past with roman

a past that involved getting stuck with the name anxiety

again, another story for another time

one day, when logan and anxiety are eating lunch they see roman destroy some homophobes who throw around the word f*g and keep calling caitlyn jenner, bruce jenner

logans chest surges

he’s all like “what?? emotions?? pride at roman?? is he better than me for being so open and standing up for what he believes in??”

gay panic basically

but logan masked it well and pushed it away

the next day roman comes to school with a pride patch on his jean jacket

logan feels like he cant breathe

logan is supremely jealous of roman.

he can be gay in peace

he can pretend not to be indian in a way that benefits him

and he’s not affected by stereotypes in the same way?? like what does this kid not have

and by stereotypes i mean

roman is the complete opposite of all indian and desi stereotypes: loud, flamboyant, theatrical

logan’s personality is exactly how the stereotypes are. he’s nerdy and likes science and math and it seems like he cant escape the stereotypes. they follow him. and he feels guilty that he likes science and math and is nerdy.

as illogical as it is, he wishes he was different from how he is

but logan later learns that there are more than just his perspective on being desi and that every desi kid growing up faces challenges about it that are different than his, causing them to experience being desi differently

and logan will accept that, in another story at another time

for now, he’s just bitter. and as illogical as it is, he wishes the world was better

and now, i shall tag some people who asked to be tagged and some other desi’s who loved this because i feel like you guys might appreciate this too. also i love u. desi famders squad up.

@sssixeyedrunt @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @caterpiller-tea @xxxbladeangelxxx @snufflesthegrim227 @cloudchaser7 @thelowlysatsuma

#logan sanders #logince #virgil sanders #roman sanders #desi #desi headcanons #sanders sides #mine #please love this #r #l #v

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iamgoingtohell---again · 6 years ago

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My journeying with gender

I know this isn’t a popular blog, but I’m going for it.

At 26 years old, my gender identity is being shaken to the core. The realizations I’m having are freeing, the reality of them are terrifying, and the skeletons of everything within it are soaked deep with Persistent Depressive Disorder, or dysthymia.

Honestly, I would appreciate any advice or thoughts, as long as it’s kind.

(Please be nice to me.)

And I’m tagging random - but double checked against transphobia - blogs I follow that I hope will be friendly, at least reblog, and maybe also give their honest opinion. (Some of them are popular, I don’t expect a response) @barnabyleeofslytherin @thatsthat24 @spaceyspades @hey-pretty-mama-its-johnny-bravo @tenoko1 @superwhoavengelock-etc @novamjohnson @arosecret @gayngelofthelordlovesdean @trans-matters @transboygif

So, let’s start with realizations. (It’s weird; I’m weird - just read three paragraphs down)

Not too long ago, I fell down a YouTube rabbit hole where I watched this video on reincarnation (more or less - it’s some dude’s near-death experience). Basically, when in regards to me, it comes down to: he asked the people he was talking to in this afterlife place if he could stay next time (because he had to go back this time), and their answer was (not verbatim): “We doubt it. You never stay long. You like your lessons.”

Which, okay, I get how that’s creepy, but I will also say that dude reported they seemed mostly amused with him the entire time. As in, okay, this guy again? Same questions. What a cinnamon roll.

At any rate, it was enough for me to actual consider if I could “come back”, and then what I would come back as? And the idea that I could come back as a gay man gOT ME SO HAPPY AND EXCITED I CAN’T DESCRIBE!

And that was when realization first hit me on the head: cis people don’t have these thoughts.

Which I know sounds like such a duh moment, but it actually was. There had been a couple of things poking at me, hinting similarly for a while, but this opened the flood gates. For the first time in my life, I began acknowledging that I have thoughts like:

“I’d give anything to be a man.”

“God, I’d love to have a penis.”

And even: “Why couldn’t have my balls just fucking dropped???”

I finally, after all these years, realized these aren’t cis thoughts (especially when they’re daily, and two of those pretty much are), but it clashes so much with who I have gotten used to being.

Which brings me to reality.

Accepting I wasn’t “cis” was surprisingly really easy. Like I alluded, it was freeing. Coming back down to earth, I had q u e s t i o n s. And being both the person I am and a long term mental health *whatever*, I asked them to myself.

Why didn’t I know/realize/get a hint before age 26? First off, when I look at my life, there a thousand hints that I’m not “cis”.

Second, I didn’t realize because of how I grew up. I grew up in an environment where there is literally a “how cute, let’s laugh” story of me where I cried because I was told by the women in my family not to play with the boys. The “laugh” part of it is them (the women involved) saying, “We should have known then you’d be a tomboy from that incident.” Catcher? The men in my family retelling that story don’t laugh. They say instead, “We realized then you weren’t like them.”

And that’s exactly it. I grew up with a family that had one foot in liberal things and one foot in conservative/traditional things. So, it was a stretch and active thing for them to allow me to always hang out with the “guys”, to build and paint houses with the men, and to do “manly” activities with the men of our family because it was very “feminist” and “independent” which they supported. (Not all, but my parents did so everyone else had to shut up.).

It’s an entirely different thing for that same child to be trans. They didn’t raise a boy. They raised a strong, female daughter.

So me saying things like, “I’d love to be a man,” and, “Can I get boy jeans?” was a part of the strong female identity. That was it.

And so, why I didn’t know?

I think because I did have such positive encouragement to more “manly” things in such a way, that my family simply comforted me in the “womanly” things I was obligated to. And there is so much about being a woman that I hate, but I had learned early on that there were things I could enjoy.

For instance, I sometimes like I having my nails painted. It’s not always, I have phases, but occasionally, I enjoy it. I sometimes like wearing makeup. I know I don’t know much about it, but I know enough. And I 50/50 enjoy wearing it, etc. I love shoes - I don’t like heels tho. And other little feminine things, I can get into the mood for.

So here we are for the last of it, which I will just title mental health and such.

I already have mental health issues (depression) - which, my brain has already began to ring a bell that some of it had/has to do with this - already plan to talk to my therapist.

But in my own encouragement of my mental health, I decided to approach the issue like we do for issues at work. Which means in my case listing what are both real and “in my head” problems.

Why to not ID has a trans man and possibly transition:

- I know I will lose half the family I have, possibly all (blood family)

- I am too old for this - if I was truly a man, I surely would’ve known so much younger and will never be taken seriously as a man

- I am too overweight for a transition

- Money

Why to shelf the idea:

- I’m just now beginning to allow myself permission to think this way, shelving and letting the thought(s) develop could be helpful (note: also harmful, to be considered)

- Even at my age, despite everything, I could be going through a phase. Let it pass.

- I know I am likable and employable right now, as is, so perhaps stay physically as I am no matter what I think/feel.

Why to actually “man” up:

- Because I actually got a lot of just life/maintenance shit done this week by thinking, “You’re doing this for the man you will become.”

- Because I have always looked at men as both “he is so hot” and “I wish I could be that” v looking at women as either “why would someone find this attractive?” and “this is what I’m supposed to look like/want to look like”

- Because I have always related to men, and I have always ever related to women when it was a direct issue involving this body I’m in

- Because throughout my life I have had detailed daydreams of how a situation/reaction/or-just-life would have gone if I was the man I wish I was

- Because the older I’ve become, the more I’ve hated the thought of being a woman and loved the idea of being a man

- Because if I was ever asked what to be, I would be a man. Full stop, no question about it.

But I wasn’t asked, and I can’t, and I just don’t know. So much about “being a woman” has been so grilled into me, expected of me, and the norm for me. And I’ve fought. I’ve tried. I just at best felt comfortable being the girl who never reaches out.

So, fuck it. I’m reaching out. And I’m tagging certain blogs I follow that I hope will be friendly but also give their honest opinion.

#trans #transgender #trans man #LGBTQA #lgbt #idek #trans people #trans help #genderfluid #maybe?#idk #idk idk idk #just throwing this out there #typos and all #lgbt+ community

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woodsens · 5 years ago

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The 12 Worst Types best beginner keyboard piano

Correction Appended

On an album of bittersweet childrens music that she wrote more than a decade back, the lady who arrived to get recognised only given that the piano teacher available what, in hindsight, seems like an eerie glimpse of her personal foreseeable future.

Im moving absent nowadays to a location so far-off, the place nobody knows my title, she wrote from the lyrics of a song referred to as Shifting.

When she wrote that music, she was young and vivacious, a piano teacher and freelance audio writer who liked Beethoven and jazz, sunsets and river Appears, lengthy walks and every little thing about The big apple.

On a kind of beloved walks, via Central Park in the bright Sunshine of the June day in 1996, a homeless drifter conquer her and tried to rape her, leaving her clinging to life. Once the assault, the terms to her music came legitimate. She moved absent, away from Ny city, outside of her outdated lifestyle, and all but her closest buddies didn't know her title. To the rest of the environment, she was — like the much more well known jogger attacked in Central Park seven yrs before — an anonymous image of the city nightmare. She was the piano Instructor.

Now, within the 10th anniversary of your attack, she is celebrating what seems to be her total Restoration from brain trauma. She is forty two, married, with a little baby. She is Kyle Kevorkian McCann, the piano teacher, and he or she hopes to explain to her Tale, her way.

Her medical professional explained to her it will take ten years to Get well, and Sunday was that talismanic anniversary. I come to feel my everyday living continues to be redefined by Central Park, she claimed a number of days in the past, her voice delicate and hopeful. Just before park; following park. Will there at any time certainly be a time Once i dont think, Oh, this is the 10th anniversary, the eleventh anniversary?

She spoke in her modest ranch household in a very wooded subdivision inside a The big apple suburb. She sat inside of a eating area strewn with toys, surrounded by images of her cherubic, darkish-haired 2-yr-aged daughter. A Steinway grand stuffed 50 percent the room, and at a single position she sat down and performed. Her playing was forceful, but she seemed humiliated to play various bars, and shrugged, as opposed to answering, when asked the title from the piece. She requested that her daughter and her city not be named.

She calls that day, June 4, 1996, the day when I was damage.

Hers was the very first in a string of assaults by precisely the same man on 4 women about 8 times. The last sufferer, Evelyn Alvarez, 65, was crushed to Demise as she opened her Park Avenue dry-cleansing store, and ultimately, the assailant, John J. Royster, was convicted of murder and sentenced to life in jail.

Still the assault over the piano Instructor would be the one particular people feel to remember probably the most. Part of the fascination must do with echoes in the 1989 assault over the Central Park jogger. But Additionally, it frightened men and women in a way the attack within the jogger didn't simply because its situations have been so mundane.

It didn't happen in a very distant part of the park late during the night, but in close proximity to a well known playground at 3 inside the afternoon. It could have occurred to anybody. The stress was heightened by the thriller with the piano teachers id.

For three times, as law enforcement and Medical doctors experimented with to see who she was, she lay inside a coma in her clinic bed, nameless. Her moms and dads were on trip and her boyfriend, also a musician, was in Europe, on tour. Last but not least, among her pupils regarded a law enforcement sketch and was able to detect her from the clinic by her fingers, mainly because her face was swollen beyond recognition. The law enforcement did not release her name.

The very last thing she remembers about June 4, 1996, is offering a lesson in her studio condominium on West 57th Road, then Placing her very long hair inside of a ponytail and going out to get a walk. She won't try to remember the attack, Though she has read the accounts from the law enforcement and prosecutors.

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To me its similar to a actuality I learned and memorized, she said. Just as if I have been a pupil in school studying record.

She won't take into consideration The person who did it. I may need been angry for any minute, although not much longer than that, she mentioned. How could I be offended at John Royster? He was declared not crazy, but I assume by our expectations he was.

Dr. Jamshid Ghajar, her health care provider at Ny Healthcare facility-Cornell Healthcare Heart, as it was identified in 1996, informed reporters that she experienced a 10 per cent possibility of survival. Medical practitioners experienced to get rid of her forehead bone, which was later replaced, to produce home for her swelling Mind. When her mother manufactured a community attract pray for my daughter, countless numbers did.

Soon after 8 times, she arrived outside of a coma, to start with inside a vegetative state, then in the childlike state. As she recovered, she slept minor and talked consistently, sometimes in gibberish. I used to be having mad at folks after they didnt reply to these words and phrases, she claimed.

Like an Alzheimers affected individual, she had very little brief-term memory and would ignore guests once they remaining the space.

More than various months, she had to relearn the way to walk, gown, examine and produce. Her boyfriend, Tony Scherr, frequented every day to Perform guitar for her. He encouraged her to Engage in the piano, in opposition to the recommendation of her Bodily therapists, who believed she would be pissed off by her lack of ability to Enjoy just how she at the time had. Mr. Scherr performed Beatles duets with her, participating in the still left-hand portion though she performed the correct.

That was my best therapy, she said.

In August, she moved again residence to New Jersey, together with her father, an engineer, and mother, a schoolteacher. She visited outdated haunts and named friends, striving to restore her shattered memory. I used to be pretty obsessed with remembering, she mentioned. Any memory reduction was to me an indication of abnormality or deficit.

Her therapists believed her development was fantastic, but her two sisters protested that she wasn't the deep thinker she had been.

What bothered her most was that she experienced lost the opportunity to cry, just as if a faucet within her brain had been turned off. A person evening, 9 months just after she was harm, she stayed up late to look at the John Grisham Motion picture A The perfect time to Get rid of. Just immediately after her father experienced long gone to bed, she viewed a courtroom scene of Samuel Jacksons character on trial for killing two Gentlemen who had raped his younger daughter.

The faucet opened, plus the tears trickled down her cheeks. I thought about my mom and dad, my father, and what they went by means of, she explained. Minimal by tiny, my experience returned, my depth of mind returned.

Urged by her sisters, she went back to highschool and acquired a masters diploma in tunes schooling.

Not every thing went nicely. She and Mr. Scherr split up 5 years following the assault, even though they continue to be good friends. She dated other Guys, but she usually instructed them regarding the assault straight away — she couldn't aid it, she mentioned — they usually hardly ever known as for the second date.

We have to uncover you anyone, her Mate David Phelps, a guitar participant, said four yrs ago, in advance of introducing her to Liam McCann, a pc technician and amateur drummer. For once, she didn't say just about anything with regard to the assault till she acquired to grasp Mr. McCann, and after that when she did, he admired her strength.

Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani, who had normally frequented her at her bedside when she was inside the healthcare facility, married them in his Times Sq. office. She wore a blue gown and pearls. Whilst she was pregnant, within a burst of creativeness, she and her mates recorded Even though Were being Youthful, an album of childrens songs that she experienced prepared ahead of the attack, including the tune Transferring. Her ex-boyfriend, Mr. Scherr, developed the CD. On it, her partner plays drums and she plays electric piano.

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Is her life as it absolutely was? Not accurately, nevertheless she's unwilling to attribute the discrepancies to her injuries. Her previous two piano college students still left her, without the need of calling to explain why, she stated. She has resumed taking part in classical new music, but simple pieces, for the reason that her daughter would not give her time and energy to exercise. As for jazz, I dont even attempt, she claimed.

She wish to generate far more, sensation stranded within the suburbs, but she is definitely rattled. She tries to be articles with staying dwelling and caring for her daughter.

Dr. Ghajar, a medical professor of neurological operation at what is now identified as New York-Presbyterian Hospital/Weill Cornell Clinical Center, who operated on Ms. Kevorkian McCann after the attack, said last week that her amount of recovery was rare. Shes basically usual, he said.

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Other specialists, who're not personally accustomed to Ms. Kevorkian McCanns case, are more careful.

Regaining the ability to play the piano might contain an Practically mechanical method, a semiautomatic remember of what the fingers ought to do, mentioned Dr. Yehuda Ben-Yishay, a professor of scientific rehabilitation medication at New York College School of Medication. When brain-wounded, you happen to be always brain-injured, for the rest of your lifetime, Dr. Ben-Yishay stated. There's no overcome, There exists only intensive compensation.

The greater telling Portion of a Restoration, in his perspective, is psychological, and on that rating he counts Ms. Kevorkian McCanns relationship and kid as a major victory.

For her aspect, the piano teacher understands she has changed, but she has designed her peace with it. I was type of a hyper —— I dont know if I used to be a Type A, but I was bold, she claims. Why was I so formidable? I used to be a piano Trainer. I dont really know what the ambition was about. I actually did return to the person Im purported to be.

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refractedglade · 7 years ago

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do all of them. or the odds. or the evens. honestly just do some I'm tired and dont feel like reading through them all :/

this is honestly a lot so it gets a cut. also wow way to abuse the question ask.

1. do you have any recurring dreams? what are they?

only ever had one I think, and that was back in… probably elementary school? I had monthly nightmares thanks to one of the least frightening episodes of Courage the Cowardly Dog, god bless you young me you tried your best

2. what is your favourite kind of fruit?

im torn between grapes and apples

3. sweet or savoury?

savory

4. what is your smallest/pettiest fear?

not even sure what the hell that means uhhhhhhhh

the fear that i am or will be mediocre at video games. it sounds dumb but at this point it’s one of the only quote-unquote skills I have that I can identify and im afraid to lose that

5. what is your least favourite vegetable?

peas

6. what is your favourite art movement?

surrealism I guess? I don’t know much about art movements tbh

7. do you drink milk?

fuck yes i do

8. what was the last line of the last book you read?

“A mob of Surly Thugs are there to greet you.

TO BE EVEN MORE CONTINUED.”

9. do you like bitter food?

not really

10. what is the most significant event in your life so far?

probably one of the several times i’ve moved since that always leads to meeting new people

12. what is your favourite breed of dog or cat?

I love labradors.

13. list your top 5 favourite turtle names.

what

Leonardo

Donatello

Michelangelo

Raphael

and uhhhhhhh

Coco Jumbo

14. what job would you have if you could have it without going through all of the school or experience that is required?

if I didnt have that Id probably get fired very soon for being shit at my job, but lets say public attorney, see how far I get in that bullshit

15. are there any names that you dislike so much that you would dislike the person with the name? what are those names?

no not really

16. what is your favourite letter?

either R or T, they’re both such helpful shortcuts for web browsing

17. are there any instruments you wished you played?

I wish I had continued learning piano when I was younger. I was in the middle of lessons when we moved for the second time and we just never got another teacher.

18. list your best friends.

@verbalmoonwalking and honestly even though we haven’t talked much in forever @wombathills

19. would you rather be a skeleton or a ghost?

a ghost, way more opportunities and less of a hassle (imagine trying to navigate through the world as reanimated bones)

also there’s already some people i’ve promised to haunt

20. do you prefer fish or lizards/snakes? (as pets)

i dont have much experience with lizards or snakes (although I did have an anole for a year or so). i guess fish, they’re just so incredibly low-maintenance

21. art or music?

weird way to phrase that considering music is art but music

22. what is your favourite type of flower?

unfortunately Ive never learned much about flowers, but I do really like when they’re blue

23. soup or salad?

souuuuup

24. are you good at keeping plants alive?

surprisingly yes! I’ve had two plants growing since late winter/early spring I think

25. do animals tend to like you?

heck yeaaaah

26. what is the worst book you’ve ever read?

the Book of Leviticus

there’s not really a good answer to this, if a book is terrible I either never got far enough to remember or read it for a school assignment and promptly forgot about it

27. do you collect anything?

too many thing, and most of them only for short periods of time. the only consistent collection i have is my Halley Labs music collection

28. how many pillows do you sleep with?

right now just two, used to be three

29. whats the latest you’ve ever woken up?

5 in the evening i think? I forget details since its been a few years, but after an all-nighter I pulled during my first finals of college I passed out at around 6 pm and woke up almost a full day later

no wait addendum: i think like 1-3 in the morning because of falling asleep around 8-11 am.

30. how many pictures are on your walls?

my room has… a painting and a poster

31. what age did you stop keeping stuffed animals on your bed?

honestly? i didn’t

32. what is your favourite candy?

Butterfinger, or if in moderation Twizzlers

33. what is your favourite baked good?

its not the real answer but a vivid image of a steaming baked potato keeps appearing in my head

actually the more i think about it the better that sounds, like its plain but theres a lot of room for customization there

34. do you have a camera? if so, what kind?

yeah, i actually sort of inherited it recently from my late grandfather, though I haven’t actually,,, used it yet.

35. do you wear jewelry?

nope, used to wear a fidget ring a lot but who knows where that went. if i ever find a really cool necklace I’ll probably start wearing that all the time though.

36. sunrise or sunset?

sunset, sunrises are pretty but its a pain in the ass waking up the early

also seeing something like that in the evening is just a better state of mind imo

37. do you like to listen to music with headphones or no headphones?

depends on both the music and my mood, generally at this point no headphones though just because when i listen to music its while driving

38. what was your favourite show as a child?

I had a weird sense of almost reverence for Digimon as a kid. My mom had forbidden me from watching Pokemon, and I only ever saw like 3 episode of DIgimon once by accident because a day care had their cassette tape. I barely saw any of it but I loved it.

Season 3 aka DIgimon Tamers is still a solid series, and I still vividly remember watching season 4 on TV when I was slightly older and finding it weird but cool (4 was where they could actually like combine with their digimon)

39. describe your favourite spot in your house.

im the basement goblin so the couch down there is for all intents and purposes mine. also its right next to the room with the heater so hell yeah.

40. do you like to be warm or cold?

I like to be in slightly cold environments so I can be the kind of warm that isn’t just warm but warmed up, like the feeling of being warm when things are cold is very good.

41. the best joke you have.

i think the best jokes i ever did done was editing like 20 different photos of a friend of mine into dumb joke images

one was his face on a tube of laundry soap with some dumb caption along the lines of “ah, this is my life now”

42. whats the weirdest thing that you’ve seen happen in a public place?

first thing that comes to mind is a futon frame on the side of a highway. now let me clarify:

-it was sitting upright, not like it had been tossed aside

-it was on the INSIDE side, not the outside

-no mattress in sight

just… there.

43. CD or digital?

CD, I’ve been conditioned to love owning physical copies of stuff. On that note, also cassette.

44. who do you miss right now?

good friends, my dog, my will to live….

45. if you could combine two places in the world, which two places would you choose?

if by world you meant universe, lets combine earth with some other planet and see what the fuck happens

if you meant earth then Michigan and Ohio, that’d make some shit way more convenient for me

46. describe the worst substitute teacher you’ve ever had.

one of my high school english teachers went on maternity leave, and so we had a sub for about ¾ of the school year. i forget a lot of why the class hated her but a lot of it just came down to she was not good at teaching, and we had to deal with that for almost a whole year.

47. do you believe horoscopes?

short answer is no. less short answer is that while I don’t really believe anything like that, i still enjoy looking at and considering them, especially when they’re in shitpost format.

my sister came back from a mission trip to Africa a while ago and brought me back a small gift she got overseas, a pair of small handmade dice. i’ve developed a habit where on some mornings I’ll roll them before my day starts to see how high I roll, and sometimes interpret that as what the day might be like. do i believe it? not especially. but I almost sort of pretend to believe it. that’s sort of how i treat horoscopes, except even a little less than that.

48. are you spiritual?

49. describe your pets ( or family if you dont have pets )

we had an extremely good dog named Zeus for a long time. yellow lab, energetic as hell in his youth and even in his old age. started having pain in his legs as he got older and eventually we had to put him down a year or so back.

he’s honestly part of the reason im not sure about getting pets in the future, i dont know if I want to go through that again.

50. are you good at getting over mistakes?

I guess? I mean I’m good at getting over that post-”I fucked up” anxiety for sure, that’s a skill I learned in college within like a year. After a bad test or something I just started forcing myself to say “fuck it it’s over can’t change anything now.”

#asks #saltierthanpearl

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tackyink · 7 years ago

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Okay. OKAY.

...

*deep breath*

SO. This is rather short and probably won’t make much sense on its own, but that’s why I’m posting it here. Other reasons are that it’s rather personal, that it isn’t going to be regularly updated and that apparently somebody came up with a similar idea and posted it just this week. What were the chances? Anyway. There’s more poorly written stuff that I need to redo before sharing. This is @luckystarchild‘s fault, by the way. Go read her fanfiction if you haven’t yet.

If this were the last day of your life, my friend Tell me, what do you think you would do then?

I’d always liked September.

I’ve always associated it with new beginnings. The start of the school year and the hope that it would be better than the last. New books and pencils. It was the month when the unbearable summer heat died out, when I met two of my best friends, when I changed schools after ten years in the same place, when I cut my hair short willingly for the first time, when I got my first real job after a drought of two years right after college.

Septembers gave me hope for change, and I’d learned long ago that I didn’t know how to live without it.

I was twenty-eight and hoping for another change. Anything would have been welcome at that point – getting fired, switching jobs, moving to another country – as long as it got me out of the hole. But of all the things I wished would happen, death wasn’t even at the bottom of the list.

I rather liked being alive. That was why I didn’t take to kindly to dying.

Or, more precisely, to my body dying.

I had joked a million times with my friends about going to the Spirit World when I eventually kicked the bucket. It didn’t happen, of course, because the Spirit World isn’t a thing in our world, but things didn’t go according to plan, exactly.

I wouldn’t know the mechanism of what had happened until years down the line, but I should start this story from the beginning. The moment where the wheel of fate got jammed and began revolving backwards for me, so to speak.

It was early morning, and I was heading to my work at a small marketing company located at the posh part of the city.

The rain was coming down hard that day, but I didn’t mind. It made the trek up from the subway station more pleasant.

My workplace was on a crossing of a long street with lots of transit during the day. Pedestrians and drivers alike, most hailing from that same district and on their way work, lived by the motto, ‘Screw traffic signs, I have money.’

Just on that street, I had witnessed two accidents during the last year and heard about another one. One I saw from the balcony of my office, where a biker got stuck under a truck. My coworkers and I never found out if he survived, because the paramedics rushed to the scene and blocked it from view with tarp screens. Just a few months prior, a pedestrian had been hit by a car and died at the opposite end of the street. And another time, as I made my way to the office, I saw a car turn from the wrong lane and hit a biker that flew, along with his vehicle, just a meter from me. Had it happened five seconds later, I would have been caught up in it as well. The biker wasn’t gravely injured, but he told me as we waited for the ambulance that it wasn’t the first time the same exact thing happened to him on that street.

It checked out. I’d nearly been run over three times, on a crosswalk just a bit further down, by bikers that took a turn in the wrong direction to park. Nobody seemed to think that traffic rules applied to them.

So I was always extra careful when walking up that street, never standing too close to the edge of the sidewalk, remembering daily how close I had been to getting a motorbike to the face.

It happened on that same crossing, precautions and all.

I was waiting for the light to turn green as cars drove by, looking at my now wet sandals and legs, and I didn’t have time to register what happened next before it was too late. A car turned from the wrong lane, again, and in order to avoid a crash, it swerved to the right at the last second.

The road was slippery from the rain and the oil. I saw the car skidding towards me in slow motion, blinding lights, heard the sound of brakes and screams and smelled the burnt rubber and the dirty water as I fell. I cried in pain and hit the pavement, acutely aware of the yelling of the witnesses and the blood seeping through my skirt. My head ached like it never had, and I remember thinking that at long last something had managed to crack it. I tried to move and failed.

I heard people talking to me, blurs in motion before my unfocused eyes, but I was quickly losing consciousness, and this time it didn’t feel like the other times I had passed out. But as always, no matter how much I tried to fight it, my body was firm in its decision to shut out, and I was helpless as I felt my eyes close and the world go black.

There was no light, no movie reel of my life, no gates to Heaven or Hell or anybody to pick me up, only the sensation of being pulled out, forcibly removed.

And then, I woke up.

At first, I thought it had all been a dream.

Then I felt a dull pain on the back of my head, and I winced at the ceiling lights when I tried to open my eyes. I heard sounds of people moving and people talking around me, but I was in a haze until I was able to focus my eyes.

I was in a hospital room, which meant I hadn’t died. There was an IV attached to my hand that I tried not to look at because it made me queasy, but that, along the headache and a slight pain on my hip, were the only signs that I had been in an accident. It hadn’t been as bad as I thought. Death cheated once again, I could add that one to my Tumblr list.

I looked at the people in the room. An Asian family that I assumed was visiting another patient, and a nurse and a doctor, Asian as well.

I wondered where my parents were, but maybe they had gone outside or they hadn’t had time to come yet. I didn’t think much about it until the doctor began talking to me in Japanese. I caught something about waking up, but my Japanese wasn’t exactly great and I was too groggy to decipher what was being said to me.

“I don’t understand,” I replied in Japanese, a thankfully ingrained response after years of lessons.

The doctor seemed confused. He said something else.

“I don’t understand what you are saying,” I repeated.

He frowned at my reply while the man and woman behind him stared at me with concern. There was also a little kid sitting in a corner of the room. He had stark black curly hair, a face peppered with freckles, and beady black eyes framed by thick glasses. Clutching a book he had been reading, he watched me with obvious interest.

The doctor took out a small lantern from his pocket and checked my pupils. He barked something at a nurse and the woman left the room in a hurry, then returned his attention to me. He checked my neck and my head, asked if they hurt. I said I had a headache. I felt proud of remembering the specific word for headache, too.

“Do you only speak Japanese?” I asked him as he ran his tests. “English? Spanish?”

The adults in the room shared alarmed looks. The doctor asked the man and woman something, and they denied it and launched into an unsure explanation. I didn’t get what was so strange about what I had said. As far as I was concerned, the weird thing was being spoken to in Japanese as if I had to know it. It was pure luck that I’d been studying the language for most of my twenties.

I let out a tired sigh, already knowing the answer to my question, and resigned myself to waiting until somebody saw fit to call someone I could communicate with.

A high-pitched, self-assured voice spoke up in English. “I do.”

My eyes flicked to the kid. I had never felt so much gratitude towards one in my entire life, of that I was sure.

“Thank God! What’s going on? Where am I?”

He blinked, looking thoughtful, and for a moment I feared he hadn’t actually understood, but my worries were unfounded. “You were involved in a traffic accident yesterday,” he said. “The paramedics tended to your wounds at the scene and brought you to the hospital, but you went into cardiac arrest in the ambulance and have been comatose until now.”

I noticed the kid avoided looking at me when he spoke, and that he was using some big words for someone his age. I had been that kind of kid, too, but from an adult perspective I understood how out of place it sounded. His English was also better than mine, which could have been mildly ego-puncturing in a different situation, but I was too busy feeling relief to think about that.

He said I’d been in an accident and fallen unconscious. That matched what I remembered. What I still didn’t understand was who were these people and why were they here, getting all wound up over me instead of my family. I had to ask.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but who are you?”

The kid, who until then had regarded me like I was a rat lab in the middle of an experiment, faltered. The man and woman stared at me with alarm.

The doctor said, slowly, maybe hoping that I wouldn’t have so much trouble understanding, “You don’t know them?”

The way he asked, expressionless, coupled with the shock of the other people in the room, made me finally realize that something was very wrong and I hadn’t grasped what it was. “No.”

The woman covered her mouth with a hand to hide a gasp, and the man beside her didn’t know whether to look at me or at the doctor.

The doctor asked something that I only vaguely understood as relating to me. When I didn’t reply, the woman approached my bed and asked me, teary-eyed. “Do you remember us, Satori?”

The words took a few seconds to sink in. I turned them around and around, trying to find an alternate meaning that I wasn’t catching. I didn’t. Who was Satori? They had confused me with someone else, though how they had managed it boggled the mind. I’d had my ID on me when I got hit by the car, and I was whiter than mayo on wonder bread.

I felt incredibly awkward when I spoke. “I am not Satori.”

Her face changed as if I slapped her. She broke into sobs, and the man that accompanied her put an arm around her shoulders and tried to comfort her. I felt awful. Meanwhile, the doctor, who appeared to be quite composed, told me, “Your name is Satori. These are your parents, and this is your brother Yu.”

They were all looking at me, waiting for my reaction.

“You’re wrong,” I tried scrambled to say my mangled Japanese. “I don’t know them. I am not Satori.”

The doctor listened, but there was no reaction on his part, too lost in his own thoughts to reply. I was sure that if I paid enough attention, I’d hear the wheels in his mind turning.

The nurse came back with another one, the doctor said something to them, and then he said to me something, that, again, I didn’t understand. The nurses got to work and drove my bed out of the room while the doctor stayed behind to talk to the family.

My family, I’d soon learn.

This was a mistake so gross that it was difficult to believe. How on earth had been those people able to confuse me with their daughter?

Every person I came across in the hospital was Japanese as well. The only explanation I could find, however feeble it was, was that I was in a private hospital that catered to Japanese expats. It didn’t make any sense, but neither did the whole situation.

I went through a scanner, several physical examinations and a blood extraction during which I managed not to pass out with great difficulty. I let myself get carted around, since nobody was listening to me and nothing that was being done to me seemed dangerous, but I was at a complete loss for what was happening until I asked a nurse to go to the bathroom, and she brought me to one in a wheelchair.

I noticed something off as soon as I got up from the chair and started walking, but I attributed it to the after effects of the accident, the painkillers and the overall weirdness of the day.

I caught sight of a reflection out of the corner of my eye.

I hadn’t even meant to use the mirror, but when it happened, I had to turn and stare, because for a second I thought I’d imagined what I saw in it.

The person staring back at me was a young girl with wavy black hair past her shoulders, parted by a white bandage stained in brown-red, dark brown eyes, and a face full of dark freckles.

I moved, and she did as well.

I felt my chest constrict, my breath shorten, and my heart accelerate as an all familiar pain burst inside of it. I saw the girl go deathly white in the reflection as a cold sweat covered my body – her body – from head to toe. I’d never suffered a full blown panic attack until that day, but there was a first time for everything, it seemed.

Even swapping bodies with a teenage girl.

#yyh crappy indulgent SI

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