#this is obviously a joke for legal purposes or whatever

[stylecouncil]

I’m kind of a blonde dyke. kanye where you at.

[cantgetworsethanthistbh]

YES YES YES I GO CRAZY ABOUT IT

there was a piece of analysis in the notes of a gen fic i read a while back where it basically said that (30s!)ford was fine putting their relationship on pause until ford was ready to reconcile or needed something from stan. there was never any consideration that stan wouldn’t “want to make it up to him” or even a passing thought that stan would reject him despite presumably never mentioning stan to fiddleford or anyone in the town he lived in, and not talking about him at all with family

anyways that piece of analysis still keeps me up at night.

God its actually so insane to think about. I was mostly joking in my post, but its pretty crazy how Ford is very much aware of Stan's loyalty to him and we've seen how far he's willing to stretch it for his own benefit without anything in return. Ford is so clearly aware of the fact Stan would literally do anything for him.

I think much of it boils down to his own belief that Stan is willing to do whatever it takes keep him around. I mean, didn't Stan ruin his future prospects at his dream school specifically so they can keep adventuring together? Why would Stan deny Ford anything at that point if he's willing to cost the family literal millions for his "selfish gains"? (and again, Ford is under the impression Stan destroyed the machine on purpose and is essentially trying to baby trap him with the Stan O War lmao)

He internalizes this, like some vault in his brain that assures him he would always have his brother, even when he doesn't want him at that moment. Or at least, believes he doesn't but he does, and that is even something he's very obviously ashamed of or else he wouldnt hide the literal decades worth of memorabilia of Stan from Fiddleford or would be writing his real feelings in secret code.

But back to the point: Ford has no qualms using this to his own benefit and he does it multiple times. He does it when begging Stan to come to Gravity Falls, he does it when he expects Stan to just shut up and take the book away even without sitting him down and explaining why these journals are so important and dangerous in the first place. It's something he even utilizes right after getting out of the portal, by telling Stan to shut down his thirty year long and successful business and leave after the summer is over and Stan agrees.

But it's worth noting too that that's the last time you will ever catch Stan doing a total favor for Ford without something in return. Stan at that point is done doing things for Ford without the proper reciprication and its not like you can blame him. He has to be convinced by Mabel to save Ford again and he puts his foot down on getting that thanks he was owed over fixing the portal even though there was a literal apocalypse happening. Make no mistake though, because until then, Ford wasn't under any delusion that Stan wouldnt do anything he asks because Stan pretty much proved he would. This is also why Ford was pretty comfortable asking Stan to join the circle because other than "Who the hell would deny holding hands to save the world?" there's also a "How could Stan ever say no to me?" Having to swallow his pride for even half a second and actually reciprocate literally 1/100 of the things Stan was willing to do for him was how we got "Grammar, Stanley" lmao

and this is my own headcanon, but i suppose that other than essentially killing Stanley by erasing his mind, I think that's also a moment where the vault opens in Ford's head and he realizes he won't always have his brother like he believes he does. The same brother who travelled halfway across the country for a brother who he hadn't contacted for 10 years. The same brother who was willing to keep him fed and sheltered under a roof that legally technically is more Stan's than it is Ford's and rescind his one condition of staying away from the kids to give Dipper his blessing of hanging out with Ford. That same brother is going to forget all about that, forget his loyalty and unconditional love towards Ford and Ford realizes he loses the one person who was always willing to fight for him, more than anyone else in the world. Its really really good shit man

[onihcinimkcin]

This is absolutely true, and super fucking frustrating—perhaps more so because there's a degree to which it's inescapable.

A slightly older journalist once tried to clarify to me something about legacy publications by relating a decidedly pre-Internet joke that went something like "as long as there are kids moving to the city after college, Vice will have a built-in customer base."

Obviously, what the internet broke about that was not the built-in customer base—it was the monopoly of legacy periodicals on dissemination of information.

In other words, one inescapable facet here is that the number of people who have not encountered media studies 101 is always increasing at a faster rate than the number of people who have encountered media studies 101. (Obviously, this is true of all sorts of information, especially if it is to any degree historical.)

And whether it's via a 1990s print article, or a Buzzfeed Community post, or a YouTube video, there seems to be a serendipitous collision of curious people who want to share what they've learned (regardless of how accurate, let alone comprehensive, it is) and other people who are curious to learn whatever things through a (sorry) gatekeeper but not to do the reading themselves. (r/TodayILearned, which currently coexists with whatever form du jour, is further proof. And frankly, each of us has specific topics for which we are in the latter group, so it seems unproductive to blame them per se.)

What drives me fucking crazy is the elision (by editors, writers, whatever) of "new to me" and "new." When I get cynical I feel like it must be purposeful, but let's be honest: most of us are not very well informed about anything, and there are plenty of culture creators that i would rank a standard deviation behind, depending on the subject. And on some level these regurgitators, whatever their form, are simply meeting the audience where it is. No one who watches YouTube analysis is going to read an old Buzzfeed post, just as no one reading Buzzfeed posts was going back to magazine articles, just as no one reading magazine articles, etc.

To be clear, there is a logic to the cynicism: You can't sell subscriptions or ads to something someone else did that happens to be new to you. Ironically, the direct plagiarism of James Somerton really underlines that the work of reading something and summing it up for someone else is work, and in particular, it's work that people consider valuable above and beyond a legal framework. (And many of his most blatant errors underscore that he didn't actually do that work himself.)

But in ~the marketplace of ideas~ that means that if I publish something for which media studies 101 is a prerequisite, I'm already a specialty publication with a limited audience, so in terms of impact (let alone monetization) I'm dead in the water. (I can envision one exception: building an audience that grows with me, so I do media studies 101 first, and then people like my article/video/whatever and keep following me, and then I can say "building on my previous video" or whatever. But that still means I'm doing yet another regurgitation of media studies 101.)

Honestly this is kind of what has led me to follow a lot of the people I do on Tumblr and elsewhere. They are where I try to be: realizing their thoughtful, interrogative analysis has no audience and writing it anyway.

And yet, even within that framework, I would need more than two hands to count on my fingers the examples of good analysis on social media that has been lifted, in part or in whole, occasionally with citation but often not, by academics. Some have become so demoralized by this—understandably—that they have simply stopped.

I guess all of this is to say none of this is new and I hope someone else sees a way out, because I don't!

When i started youtube i did a survey of video essays to make sure like what i wanted to do wasn’t already being done.

And i looked at a bunch of black and queer video essayists in particular to see the field.

i did watch james somerton’s knock off Celluloid Closet video and i clocked it immediately like girl that’s everybody’s first intro to queer cinema. the doc was put up in 10 min chunks on youtube since 2006. they put the whole thing up on youtube the same year it lifted the 10min limit back in 2010. you not slick!

but every other queer film person on youtube does it too. they’d be nothing without Vito Russo. And they take from b ruby rich’s new queer cinema reader. that’s the scope of their understanding of queer film. And in the NQC reader there’s an essay on Queer Third Cinema which is just queer cinema of the Third World….which is a complete misunderstanding of Third Cinema. the NQC reader had its share of critics at the time of its publication. but they don’t know that.

And the black film people are hopelessly trying to reinvent Donald Bogle. every black video essayist has their own proprietary trope that is a manifestation of a tom, coon, mulatto, mammy, etc. There’s a reason bogle was, in a sense, generic because how these tropes continue to live change with the times but the core remains the same.

I’ve seen videos about the LA Rebellion as a movement from UCLA. I can’t remember if she said it in spirits of the rebellion or w/e but Julie has a line that goes something like “we weren’t a movement just a bunch of black kids at the same film school” and everybody hated UCLA. The LA Rebellion happened in spite of UCLA. Elyseo Taylor, who headed the program that we attribute to the LA rebellion —the ethnocommunications program— was fired after a year and the program shut down at the same time because the white failsons of producers weren’t getting the special funds the “blacks” were. And the LA Rebellion existed outside of UCLA too. The major actors of the movement studied or worked at The Performing Arts Society of LA (PASLA); Larry Clark taught cinematography there as well.

i know the hbomberguy video is about plagiarism but the other major issue with the youtube video essay industrial complex is that it’s giving “hey guys i’m taking media studies 101 and i just learned something that’s gonna blow your mind! It’s called the male gaze”

[drawlfoy]

detention, retention, and draco malfoy being a little shit

masterlist request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: no not really

summary: golden trio friend y/n y/l/n tries to extract information out of draco malfoy after being placed in detention together.

warnings: swearing, panic attack kinda stuff, just the dark war things that would come w having the task that draco does

a/n: ayo so i started this as a fic i was originally planning on writing in a week. i discontinued it bc i didn’t think anyone was that interested, but i’ve written for it on and off. it’s about 16k words right now standing, but i’m reposting this as a 2 part series. here are the first ~12k words....enjoy :) IMPORTANT: if you’re like “hey i started reading this in october why tf are you reposting the first two parts” just keep reading ok lmao i promise there’s more there’s about through part 6 in here hehe. i just wanted new readers to be able to pick up on it without being turned off by the fact that it was part 3. this will b e 2 parts and at least 20k words

word count: 11.6k

taglist: @gruffle1 @missmultifandommess @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @naiomimoonshard @jejegu @ophelia-enthusiast @alwaysbeanunknownfan @nearly-memories @litty-dumb @callieclearwater @malfoy-wife15 @charlenasaxen @belladaises @fiantomartell

happy reading y’all

For legal purposes, the york pudding she lobbed at Pansy Parkinson’s head on Monday evening was simply meant to be a joke. She didn’t know that her aim was bad enough that it was going to get in Snape’s hair instead--honestly, it wasn’t even supposed to get past the Ravenclaw table, much less veer to the left to make a beeline for the professors--but no matter how much she tried to explain this to McGonagall, her sentence remained the same: detention every Friday. For two months.

Her life was ending for sure.

“I honestly don’t know what you were expecting,” Hermione told her as she gently wiped off the nib of her quill later that night in the common room. “Even if you had hit your mark, that’s still technically assault.”

“Did you even hear what she said to me? She told me that I looked like the type of kid that bit people in primary school,” complained Y/N. “I didn’t even think she knew what primary school was!”

Hermione snorted. “How long ago?”

“Two days. I’ve been waiting until there was something throwable on the dinner table.”

“How very analytic of you.”

“I’m going to hit you.”

“And you wonder why you’ve got detention.” Hermione tsk-ed at her, her face stone serious but her tone light hearted. “Maybe take this as an opportunity to, I don’t know, do your homework for once? So you won’t have to have a breakdown over the next Potion’s essay and beg me to write it for you?”

“I’m going to go to sleep and think terribly mean thoughts about you.”

“Have fun.”

~ 

Detention.

Something that Y/N wasn’t completely unfamiliar with--she’d done her time organizing Snape’s cabinets, just like every other Gryffindor--but it was different when it came to McGonagall. An impressive old lady, she thought that McGonagall saw something in her. She was always the first to chuckle at Y/N’s jokes and hesitated to reprimand her stupid behavior. And she never gave Y/N detention.

Until now, she supposed. 6th year was changing a lot of things--even their Potions professor--so McGonagall turning a new stone shouldn’t have been anything shocking.

At least, not as shocking as the first thing Y/N saw as she walked into her house head’s office.

“Malfoy?” she spat.

The platinum blonde didn’t even bother to look up from his desk.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall chided. “I think we would all prefer if you restrained yourself from getting into any more physical altercations with Slytherins.”

She huffed, plopping down in the chair furthest away from that foul git and reaching for her satchel.

“I’ll be back in two hours,” said the elderly professor. “If I hear anything, and I mean anything, other than the sound of studying, consider your sentence doubled.”

With a swish of her robes, McGonagall was gone, leaving her with Malfoy. 

“So what’d you do to get in here, huh? Did the administration finally get a hold of that video of you licking Voldemort’s toes?”

“What the fuck does that mean?!” he snapped, whipping around to glare at her.

“‘s just a joke,” said Y/N. “Like--how everyone says your family houses him and everything--but whatever. I can tell it’s a sore spot.”

His gaze, never withering in intensity, remained trained on her face. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Apparently so. What’re you here for?”

He exhaled sharply. “If I tell you, will you shut up and let me think?”

“No promises, but maybe.”

“Late work. I forgot to turn in the Transfiguration exam last week.”

She made a tutting sound as she lazily shuffled through the crumpled parchment in her satchel. “I expected more from you. Aren’t you gonna ask me how I wound up here?”

“No. I am going to ask you to stop talking now, though.”

~

“That’s terribly unfortunate,” Hermione said over breakfast the next morning. Ron and Harry were nervously chit chatting at the other side of the table over the Saturday Quidditch game against Hufflepuff--supposedly it was supposed to be quite a high stakes match. Not like Y/N cared much, though.

“Yeah! And the worst part was that he won’t even tease anymore. Like, he just sits there all broody and woe is me. We’re all witnessing our nation’s descent into war--he’s not special!”

“Who are you talking about?” asked Harry.

“Oh, just Malfoy,” said Y/N. “We have detention together with McGonagall. He’s such a nasty little greaseball, don’t you think? I mean, look at him right now, glowering over his cereal.”

“Wait! That’s it!”

“What’s it, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“It’s genius, really,” he said. “Y/N has to spend time with him alone every week, and we know that something is up with him. Malfoy is absolutely a Death Eater and has connections to You-Know-Who, but I just need to find a way to prove it.”

“I vaguely forecast where this is going, and I hate it already.”

“Listen, Y/N. It’s not for that long, and it’s for the health of the wizarding world. If you just get to know him--”

“Ick!”

“If you just get to know him, maybe get him to trust you and find out his secrets...we’d finally have enough to turn him in and throw him out of Hogwarts for good.”

“Is that really necessary, Harry?” Ginny butted in from her seat further down next to Dean. “Malfoy’s probably just exhausted like the rest of you. 6th year is difficult, and we have no solid evidence that he’s a Death Eater. I’m sure being stuck in a room with him for 2 hours is hard enough without pretending to be nice to him.”

“But what if Harry’s right?” said Y/N. “What if he is actually a Death Eater? What if he’s an active danger to the student body?”

“Exactly!” The joy written across Harry’s face at the prospect of someone else finally agreeing was infectious. “So will you?”

“Er…” She dragged her spoon across the top layer of her porridge. “In theory, sure. In actuality, I’m not sure how I could do it. Malfoy doesn’t want anything to do with me, either.”

“Love potion?” offered Ron.

“I don’t care how much of a prat he is, I’m not roofying him.”

“I rarely agree with you, Y/N, but I think you’re right. If you want to do this, you need to get him to trust you for real.”

“Your back-handed compliment skills never disappoint, Hermione. Do you think you could help me out with a plan?”

A slow smile spread across the girl’s face as she nodded. “That’s my strong suit.”

The plan they laid out over the remainder of the day was ambitious but at least do-able. Each week was split into different subtasks, the end goal being a somewhat tentative friendship between the two. 

“If you can flirt with him and get him to have a crush on you without scaring him off, you’d be in the best possible position,” Hermione told her as they walked back from the Quidditch pitch among the screaming Gryffindor fans. They’d won--yet again. “Obviously I don’t foresee that being likely, but if you pull it off somehow he’d probably be willing to tell you anything. The fact that you’re a pureblood is going to carry you through this whole ordeal. He’ll at least be accepting of your existence in the wizarding community.”

The bitter edge in Hermione’s tone made Y/N’s blood boil. There was no reason for Malfoy to be as prejudiced as he was--he’d spent his adolescence in Hermione’s academic dust. She was obviously smarter than him. 

“You got it, ‘Mione,” she said. Her voice barely carried over the cheers of her peers as they ascended the steps to the common room. “We’ll take this little ferret down. I can’t wait.”

“Don’t get too cocky, now.”

The Gryffindor after-party was crazy...per usual. The charmed self-filling goblets, the blasted playlist of Wizpop pumping through the air, and the buzzing energy of the room was giving Y/N a giant headache. She stood with Hermione and Harry by the edge of the crowd, watching Ron get hoisted up on the shoulders of the chasers. 

“No wonder the Slytherins think we’re Neanderthals,” Y/N mused. For once, Hermione didn’t respond. “Hermione? Is everything okay?”

The second she turned away to look at her best friend, gasps and whistles filled the room. She whipped back just in time to see Lavender Brown, a sweet but slightly ditzy girl in their year, pull away from a kiss with Ron.

“Oh shi--Hermione!”

Harry and Y/N shared a glance before darting after the witch--who had impressively already made it to the door. 

“Hermione, wait!” Y/N called as they jogged after her, throwing open the common room entrance and finding her sat by the tapestry on the other side of the hall, knees to her chest.

“‘Mione, what’s wrong?” asked Harry.

“Don’t be daft, Harry,” said Y/N. “You saw exactly what the rest of us did.”

“I don’t understa--”

“Harry.” Her voice was taut. “I know you’re just trying to help, but I think that it might be best if you let us be. Go back and enjoy the party.”

He gave her a tight, grateful smile before darting back through the door. Y/N wasted no more time in walking over to Hermione and throwing her arms around her shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, hugging her tight. Hermione made no move to detach them, so she continued. “Ron is an idiot. You deserve so much better--your first kiss was Viktor fucking Krum, after all. You’re hot stuff and this place is just unfortunately running dry of men who are impressive enough for you. Once you’re out of here and working in the Ministry, you’re gonna have the time of your life with men actually in your league.”

Hermione managed a sniffly laugh as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s just so fucking embarrassing, you know. Like, I have a crush on him because I think he understands me and I smelled him in my Amortentia and I thought he’d like me back, but…” She hiccuped. “Then he goes off and kisses Lavender Brown, of all people. There’s nothing particularly wrong with her or anything, but she’s so different...I’m so bookish, and she’s so girly and everything I’m not…”

Y/N took the opportunity to tuck a lock of Hermione’s hair behind her ear as she listened.

“And it can’t help but make me think--was I ever anything to him but a friend? If the girl he ends up choosing is the opposite of me?”

“Girly, don’t think like that,” murmured Y/N. “He’s a teenage boy. They don’t think of love the way that we do--to them it’s a game of availability, not of choice. At least for Ronald. You intimidate him, and by extension, you’re not available.”

“That shouldn’t matter!”

“You’re right. It shouldn’t.” Y/N drew a long breath. “So you should find someone who always has you as their first choice--someone who isn’t intimidated by your intellect. They’re out there. I promise.”

Hermione managed a shaky smile. “Thanks, Y/N. I mean it. Do you mind if I have some alone time? I don’t think I’m ready to go back to the party but I just want some quiet.”

“Of course. Let me know if you need me,” she said, brushing herself off and making to walk down the hall.

“You’re not going back to the party?”

“Nah. It hurts my head and I want fresh air. If I’m not back here in a half hour, assume that I’ve been kidnapped.”

With that, she started her walk. She wasn’t planning on going on a long stroll--there was a small balcony that she often went to when she needed to clear her head. It was beautiful, especially on a snowy night like this.

But the walk was creepy.

There was only one way in and out--a narrow, damp hallway that had absolutely no light fixtures. If Y/N really wanted to, she could cast a quick lumos, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see what lived on the walls. The stairs were steep, too, but she managed to bound up all 40 of them in record time. 

“Who’s there?”

The sudden voice ripped a scream out of Y/N’s throat as she reached the top, catching a glimpse of the shadowy figure at the edge of the balcony that spoke. She clasped her hand over her mouth and she crept forward to the opening, getting a better look at the person that was in her secret spot.

The clouds shifted in the sky to allow more moonlight to cast a soft glow on Malfoy’s face, hardened with irritation.

“Malfoy?” Y/N asked, rather dumbly.

“What stellar observational skills,” he drawled. 

She felt her cheeks grow hot. “What are you doing here? This is part of the Gryffindor tower. Shouldn’t you be...I don’t know...playing hide and seek with the sewer rats in the dungeons?”

“Very funny.” His flat tone exposed the fact that he did not, in fact, find it very funny. “There’s no rule barring me from coming up here.”

“But why? This is my spot!”

“Because I wanted to get out. Now, I was here first, so unless you want your detention extended, I suggest you leave.”

Y/N bit the fiery comebacks on the tip of her tongue as the memories of her plan with Hermione began floating back to her. 

Week 1 -- Hold one neutral, civil conversation with Malfoy.

“I’ll be quiet. You won’t even know I’m here,” Y/N decided upon. leaning up against the balcony. The rogue snowflakes that made it past the overhanging roof melted on her cheeks. 

“That isn’t a suggestion,” said Malfoy. “I’m demanding you leave.”

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” Y/N asked, pointedly ignoring his words. “I’ve always loved the snow. It’s so quiet.”

“And it would be even quieter if you left.”

“Aren’t you the conversationalist?” said Y/N.

“If you don’t leave, I will hex you,” Malfoy told her through gritted teeth. 

“I just love how the moonlight reflects off of the snow,” continued Y/N. “It’s so...pure.”

“Please leave.”

On her walk back down the dank stairwell, she allowed herself a little smile. 

Task 1? Technically done.

~ 

The first week went largely as planned. Malfoy was cold and certainly suspicious of her, but he wasn’t completely venomous when Y/N asked where he got his quill from in Potions. It was silver, charmed to shimmer with flecks of forest green. He told her Barnaby’s in France, and that was that. She walked away from his table with all of her limbs attached. Perhaps that was all the progress she was going to make in the next few weeks, but the task at hand certainly made the prospect of her lost Friday afternoons more bearable. 

Harry was going completely batty, rambling on about how Malfoy was behind the mysterious cursed objects that had been floating about the castle without explanation. 

“And why would Malfoy bring cursed objects to Hogwarts if he has aspirations other than being expelled?” Hermione would ask over their books.

“You don’t understand, Hermione! You girls need to be careful walking around at night--especially you, Y/N. I don’t want you going missing after detention because of that slimeball.”

Y/N always gave him a laugh, berating him for his slight misogynistic commentary and turning back to whatever her task was, but the truth was that she was worried for him. The mental weight of the impending war and the fact that he couldn’t do anything about it was certainly getting too difficult for him to bear. It was heartbreaking to see the vivacious boy she’d grown up with crumble under the responsibilities of something he should never have to worry about in the first place.

Friday came much sooner than expected, and Y/N reluctantly left her friends in the common room to trek to McGonagall’s office. The walk was frigid and the wind bit at her cheeks as she rounded the last outdoor hall.

Why was this castle so dark?

A thump behind her made her jump, and Harry’s words came floating back to her. 

Remember all those cursed objects? What if there’s someone just...stalking the school grounds, waiting for someone like me to snatch?

She shivered, throwing herself at the office door and slamming it behind her.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall greeted, her eyebrows raised in amusement. “Something giving you trouble?”

“No, Professor,” she answered, setting her bag down on the desk next to Malfoy. He sent her a curious look as well. “It’s just cold outside.”

She chuckled. “I need to go speak to Headmaster Dumbledore. I expect that, upon my return, you both are in one piece and alive.”

“I’m not sure if I’m the one who needs to be given that speech,” said Y/N, bored and testing the waters.

“She’s right, Professor,” added Malfoy. “There’s no projectiles here.”

McGonagall exhaled a long, shaky breath before brushing herself off. “Please. Behave yourselves.”

“You got it, boss,” she said as she watched her Professor walk out the door. “So, Malfoy. How was your week?”

“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’d way prefer if you didn’t speak to me,” he said, refusing to make eye contact.

“I’m not up to anything! We’re in detention together and, I dunno, since I see you sometimes at balls, I thought it’d be nice to be on good terms.”

“Good terms?” He scoffed. “You’re a Gryffindor. I’d rather you be a bloody Hufflepuff.”

“How about neutral terms?”

Even though he wasn’t looking at her, she could catch a glimpse of him rolling his eyes. “If neutral terms mean you being quiet, then, yes. Please.”

“I’ll be plenty quiet. After I hear about your opinion on what happened in Potions today with Brown and Weasley. When Snape yelled at them for holding hands.”

He let out a sharp sigh. “Believe it or not, I actually have better things to do than keep up with whatever stuff your house does.”

“But…?” Y/N pressed. She may not’ve spent her time at Hogwarts as Malfoy’s best friend, but she had grown up with the boy, and she could tell when he was holding back.

He stared blankly at her.

“Come on. I’m literally the only person in my house who’ll openly admit that they’re disgusted by that dynamic. I’m begging you.”

She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but she thought she saw a flicker of amusement dance across his face for a moment. “Your house sounds more like a cult than a student group.”

“Oh, says the one from Slytherin,” said Y/N. 

“We only act like that because our families are close. What’s your excuse? Hormones and Quidditch culture?”

“Touché.” As much as she wanted to fight back, she bit her tongue. Whatever she was doing was making progress, and quicker progress than she was expecting. Her next task was to make him laugh, and she was emboldened by the fact that she could potentially be able to kill two birds with one stone. 

They sat in silence for a little bit, but this time, it was a comfortable silence. Malfoy wasn’t staring at the clock on the wall or rolling his eyes at her every move, so she had time to plot.

On one hand, she could make a fool of herself--drop her inkwell, say something stupid in class, fall down the stairs--but she had a sneaking suspicion that her sorry attempts at slapstick humor wouldn’t land well with Draco anymore. He’d become so serious lately, so solemn. This was the most light hearted she’d seen him, even compared with how he acted with the rest of his Slytherin lackeys. 

On the other, she could try to sell out her friends. She could confide in him how “big” Hermione’s teeth were (they weren’t even big) or tell him that Ron smelled of eggs (true, but that was a low blow). Something told her that this would be much more successful, but she wasn’t willing to turn to that so quickly--she was already a week ahead as it was. 

“What is it?” 

Malfoy’s bored drawl cut through her flurried thoughts. Her cheeks turned pink as she blinked, noticing that she’d been staring at him for far too long. “Nothing. Sorry. I just spaced out.”

“Sure,” he mumbled, giving her another suspicious look before turning back to his work. “Can you maybe space out somewhere other than my face?”

“Where’s your vanity, Malfoy?” she pressed as she leaned back in her chair, hair swinging over the back. 

“Shut up,” he snapped. She could tell that whatever connection they’d had in the fleeting moments beforehand was being burnt by the second, but her embarrassment and pride drove her forward.

“Merlin, what’s got you so wound up?” she prompted, noting how deliciously unraveled he looked at this. “Where’s my cool, collected Slytherin?”

He slammed hands on his desk at this, whipping around to glare at her. “What’s your angle, Y/L/N?”

“What?”

“Why are you bothering me?”

“Because I want to.” She beamed.

Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair, mussing up the usual neat manner in which it normally laid on his head. “Compelling. What do you want from me?”

“What do I want…?” She tilted her head at him, narrowing her eyes. “What?”

“You never talk to me,” he explained. “Obviously, I prefer it like that. I can’t help but wonder why suddenly you want to be making small talk. So, what is it you want from me?”

“Malfoy,” she said. “I think you’re a spoiled prick who thinks far too highly of himself and drives me insane. But I also think that you’re funnier than what my friends give you credit for. Granted, you’ve always been annoying, but I don’t want anything from you. I just want to, I dunno, make these next few months less insufferable.” Somehow the lie slipped through her teeth easier than any of her previous bluffs. 

He frowned, his mouth opening once before firmly screwing shut into a scowl. “Oh.”

“No offense, Malfoy, but what else can you offer me other than your dazzling personality?” she teased. “You know my family. I don’t need to blackmail you to pay for jewelry I’ve had my eye on or anything.”

He scoffed. “As if I’d say yes.”

“Exactly my point. It’d be fucking weird. Merlin, I’m not trying to butter you up to buy out Borgin & Burkes for me. Do I give off gold-digger vibes? Is that what this is about?”

“Fucking hell.” Malfoy turned to her in disbelief. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Answer my question. Or better yet, pull out your wallet. Wait, did I say that out loud?” She mimed surprise and covered her mouth. “Oh no! What will my mother say now that I’ve squandered my last chance of hitching you? There’s no way I can go home for Christmas break now.”

He rolled his eyes so hard she found herself worried for a moment that they were going to just permanently get stuck in the back of his head. “Hate to break it to you, but you didn’t really have a shot to begin with.”

Ouch.

She huffed and dramatically flopped over the back of her chair, hoping he couldn’t see that she’d flinched. “So you don’t think I’m pretty??” 

“Y/L/N,” he snapped, his voice a low warning. “Can I please just work? What is with you today?”

Y/N sent him a sour look before giving her Charms work another look. Malfoy was awfully quiet, and when she snuck any glances at him later on, he was angled to face away from her. 

Why did she feel like such shit all of a sudden? She cataloged the past events, trying to pinpoint the exact moment that her stomach dropped. It all made sense when the words “You didn’t really have a shot to begin with” echoed around her head once again. She’d failed Harry. She’d failed Hermione. There was no way that she was going to be able to get him to reveal his secrets now--it’s not like he was confiding in even his closest friends as Harry made apparent when he explained how vague his statements were to his fellow Slytherins on the train. Her only chance would’ve been to somehow get him to fall for her, and that wasn’t going...great. And it had been a pipedream to begin with.

When McGonagall swished back into the classroom to dismiss them, Y/N shot out of there without even looking at Malfoy again. It felt like something was lodged in her throat and she was not going to cry in front of him. No, no. She had to make it to Hermione to tell her what was going on. 

“Y/L/N?” 

Malfoy’s voice made her pause in her flee as she nearly rounded the corner in front of her, but she refused to look back. It was far enough away that it was possible she didn’t hear him.

“Wait!”

She was up the stairs and speed walking as fast as her legs could carry her to the Gryffindor tower before he even saw which way she went.

~

“I don’t think you understand,” Y/N wailed by the fire as Hermione rubbed her shoulders and Harry sat awkwardly perched on the couch. “I can’t do this. The only way this was going to work was if he had a crush on me, and I don’t think he ever will. I fucked it up! The one time you guys need me, I fuck it up! I let you down!”

Hermione’s left hand stopped its rubbing to rest firmly on her shoulder. “Please don’t be upset. You didn’t let us down. Plus, you’re only, what...two weeks in? You don’t need him to like you to make it work. Just getting him to trust you will be enough, and you’re good at that.”

“I don’t think so,” continued Y/N. “Harry said that he wasn’t even that open on the train when he overheard him talking to all of his friends. And those are purebloods that he likes! That he’s trusted and known for years and years! I’m a friend of you guys, and he knows it. I think he’d figure it out quick.”

“We should take every chance we can get,” said Harry from his spot a few feet away, his eyes lazy and unfocused on the fire crackling in front of them. “You won’t let us down if you can’t get anything, Y/N, you know that! But if you got anything from him, it’d be incredible. It’s a win-win. I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”

“I’m not upset,” she said, her tone becoming defensive. “I just...don’t want to mess this up. I know how much it’d mean if I succeeded.”

“So just try!” Hermione said. “There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m sorry he was kind of mean to you today, but I don’t think that should bother you too much. He should be more afraid of what you’d say if you didn’t care about being a good person.”

“Fucking right on there,” she said, wiping away the frustrated tears. “If I was honest with him, he’d leave crying. He should be grateful that I’m taking this bet so I actually have to be nice to him.”

“That’s the spirit.” Harry leaned over to smack her back like he did his Quidditch teammates after a winning match. 

After they’d parted their ways with Harry, Hermione and Y/N made their way slowly up the stairwell to the girls’ dorms. 

“Y/N?” Hermione asked, breaking the silence. 

“Yeah?”

“Do you think, er…” She paused. “Do you think you were really upset about failing us today? Or was it something else?”

“What do you mean?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. “I don’t see what else it would be.”

“I’m sorry,” responded the bright witch. “Forget I ever asked. It was a stupid thing to wonder about.”

“Weirdo,” she teased as she waved her a goodnight and made her way to her dorm.

The next morning, Y/N busied herself with revising her Charms essay over her breakfast--a cup of tea and a half-buttered piece of toast--while Hermione leaned over her shoulder, nodding or grimacing at the corrections she made. 

“Did you work during detention? Like, at all?”

“‘Mione,” moaned Y/N. “It’s too early for this. I don’t want a lecture. I just couldn’t focus.”

Her warm brown eyes narrowed as they bore into Y/N’s face. “Why were you distracted?”

“Oh, I, uh…” She stumbled over her words as Hermione drew closer. “Merlin, Hermione. I told you last night. I just felt like I was letting you all down.”

“Mhm,” was all she got in response before her best friend tilted her head back down to the parchment in front of her. 

Y/N sat, completely puzzled. What was Hermione on about? She’d been straightforward with what was hurting her--she didn’t want to mess up the only task the Golden Trio had ever given her--and, even if she hadn’t been, Hermione was smart enough to deduce things for herself. So what was she thinking about?

Her eyes drifted over to the Slytherin table where the usual 6th year pureblood gang loitered about, drinking black coffee and sulking--but Malfoy was not to be seen. She jumped when her eyes met Parkinson, her dark eyes burning into her soul as a deep scowl was written across her face.

“Malfoy, what the fuck do you want?” Ron’s voice pulled her back to reality to see him glaring somewhere behind her.

“I wasn’t here to talk to you,” a familiar voice drawled. 

She turned to see Malfoy standing behind her, a sneer written all across his stupidly pretty face.

“Miss me already?” asked Y/N as she raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to the side. 

“For fuck’s sake, stop doing that,” he mumbled, reaching into his pocket and throwing a box at her. “You forgot your quill. I took the liberty of properly storing it, because it seems like you lot like to just throw them in your bag. Makes me physically ill to watch.”

“Oh.” Y/N studied the intricate box in her hands before tucking it away in her knapsack. “Thanks? I guess?”

He nodded curtly, contorting his face into one last scowl to send to Ron before turning and leaving,

“So,” Hermione began, cutting her omelet at a much brisker pace, “I think we need to have a little chat. About...all of this.” 

“Why?” 

“Not right now,” she said, her voice low and her eyes flicking at Ron and Harry sitting across from them. “I don’t think it’d benefit us for them to hear.” 

“Ok?” She cautiously took a bite out of her toast and continued staring Hermione down. “You’re scaring me.”

“It’s...I don’t know. I thought I was crazy for thinking this, but it seems like we need to talk about it anyways. For this little mission of yours to work, we need to be totally open and honest with each other.”

“Sure.” Y/N took another bite. “I honestly have no clue what’s got you so on edge, though.”

“Who’s on edge?” Harry asked, leaning over the table and stealing the croissant on Y/N’s plate. 

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “Do you not see the entire plate of them over there?”

He laughed, sending her an easy grin and dunking a piece into the hot chocolate in his mug. “Finders keepers. Say, Y/N, are you busy next weekend? Ron and Lavender are going to Madame Puddingfoot’s together, and I know Hermione isn’t going to want to take a weekend off studying to go to Hogsmeade, so I thought that maybe we could go cause some trouble at the Cauldron.”

“If you stop stealing my food we can talk about it,” replied Y/N, the corners of her lips tugging up into a grin. 

“Deal.”

Hermione tugged at her arm. “I just realized I need to get something out of my room before we watch the Quidditch game. Will you come with me, Y/N?”

“Sure!” said Y/N. “Gee, I’m rolling in invitations today.”

Once they exited the dining hall, though, it immediately became evident that they were not actually heading up to the dorms. Hermione dragged her into the nearest bathroom before casting a quick silencing charm.

“Myrtle! Are you in here?” Only when she was sure silence was the only response to her question, she seemed satisfied to turn to Y/N and begin talking. “When were you going to tell me that you have a thing for Malfoy?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Y/N felt the heat that had risen to her cheeks from the last quill-encounter re-emerge.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” said Hermione. “Are you seriously going to expect me to believe that you nearly sobbed over some random pureblood git telling you you never had a chance with him because it might slow down your progress with helping us? Actually? I’ve seen you look more ecstatic about hearing that your dear granny passed away.”

“To be fair, she had really good life insurance,” Y/N cut in. “And she was an old hag. Never had a nice thing to say to me.”

“Life insurance or no life insurance...you can’t seriously expect me to believe that you were just upset about not being able to help us as much. That was ridiculous. I don’t buy it. And the way you blushed like crazy when he came over to talk to you--the way you try and pretend like you can flirt...please. Y/N, it’s clear as day. I know you, and I know you have a crush on him.”

“Hermione!” hissed Y/N. “You have no clue what you’re talking about!”

“Yes, I think I do,” she pushed. “And you need to be honest with me if you want to be of any help right now.”

Her bossiness lit a fire of rage in Y/N’s chest, but she sucked in a deep breath, shutting her eyes before releasing it. “Believe me when I say I haven’t ever acknowledged any feelings I may or may not have towards him.”

“Ok.” Her face softened. “I know it might take time, but I honestly do think I’m right. Please just...be careful. This is a really odd situation to get caught up in if you actually have feelings for the other person. You’re trying to manipulate him, for Merlin’s sake.”

“And if I have these feelings for him, I’ve done a pretty damn good job of suppressing them for however long they’ve been here.” 

Hermione sighed. “That’s true. I’m just saying that spending this much time with him is probably only going to make things worse. Will you please tell me if anything changes between the two of you?”

“Anything changes?” Y/N’s voice was dripping in disbelief. “You’re joking. Even if I was obsessed with him I don’t think there’s ever a chance of hell in anything ‘changing’ between us. He said it himself.”

“You know what I mean, Y/N,” responded Hermione. “Just promise me, ok?”

“Ok,” said Y/N. “I promise.”

That seemed to satiate Hermione as she nodded approvingly at her friend. “I think it goes without saying that Ron and Harry shouldn’t hear about this.”

“There’s nothing to hear about, but yes.” She shuffled her feet before meeting Hermione’s eyes again. “Er, I’m sorry for this being a weird question, but would you mind coming along with me and Harry to Hogsmeade? I don’t really see him like...that...and I don’t want to read into it too much and reject him if he is doing it just platonically, but just in case. Y’know.”

“Sure,” said Hermione, even though her face took on that curious expression yet again. “Anyways, you actually did forget something--you’re not wearing a single piece of Gryffindor colors for our game today. You should probably run back to your dorm before Harry and Ron notice.”

After they said their goodbyes, Y/N found herself turning over the things Hermione had said to her in her head. Did she like Malfoy? No, no fucking way. But a part of her really did think he was funny. And of course it was natural to feel rejected when anyone insinuates that they’d never consider you as a romantic interest without jest. 

Once she’d made it up to her room and grabbed a few scarves, Y/N made to put her red cloak into her satchel. Her fingers ghosted over the box that Malfoy had given her and scoffed once she saw the Malfoy crest engraved into the rich wood. 

Narcissistic snot.

Her curiosity got the better of her as she reached over to open up the elaborately decorated box. What met her was not just one quill but two--one of which was most certainly not her own. 

She took them both out, tossing the old one in a pile with her other trusty familiar white feather quills and picked up the other one. It looked familiar--identical to the quill that she’d complimented Malfoy on in Potions about a week ago. Butterflies began to flutter like crazy in her stomach as she turned it over in her hand, watching the gray and green glitter together and the magic sparkles cast a gentle light over her bed. She generally avoided dipping into her family’s pockets to get school supplies any more than she had to--it’s not like it made her friends feel good about themselves when they were reminded how rich her family was--but this might be what she could consider to be an exception. She hadn’t even liked his quill all that much when she first saw it in Potions--but it was one of those things that was so noticeable that it made sense to compliment him. 

She gave it one last look before tucking it back away into the elaborately decorated box. Perhaps she had spoken too soon when she’d told Hermione all hope was lost. 

~ 

When Monday morning Potions class with the Slytherins rolled around, Y/N wasted no time. Malfoy was alone--even his Slytherin lackeys seemed to know not to bother him. Just what she needed.

“Malfoy,” she greeted, setting her bag down on his table and looking him dead on. He raised to meet her eyes, his eyebrow raised.

“Can I help you?”

“I just wanted you to know that I also really like your immense fortune,” she said. “And your manor.”

“Well, a lot of people do,” he mumbled as he looked away to dig through something in his bag. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought he was blushing.

“I’m just letting you know,” she continued. “In case you were wanting to give them away. It worked for the quill, so I thought, well, why not?”

He exhaled, a deep and annoyed sound escaping his lips as he rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “I knew I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You really didn’t have to.”

“I was getting sick of it,” he told her. “I never can stick with one quill for too long, and I thought it’d be a shame to toss it. I thought it’d be better to be charitable--it’s not like your family could get an appointment at Barnaby’s if they tried.”

“Hey!” Y/N said indignantly. “You don’t know that!”

“I’ve heard your parents try to speak French,” he said. “If you’re anything like them, you'll be barred from ever entering the country.”

“Malfoy!” 

His lips turned up into a smile, a soft laugh escaping his lips. Y/N suppressed the urge to grin in return. Task 3? Done. “What?”

“I can’t even argue with you,” she said. “It’s tragic.”

She stared at the empty stool next to him, wondering if she should just take the leap and sit with him. Malfoy seemed unbothered by her presence as he opened up his Potions book and set it next to his cauldron. “Do you want a partner?” The words left her lips before she could stop them.

He cast her a curious look before glancing at the empty stool. “It depends. Are you going to be annoying?”

She gasped in faux-offense. “What makes you think I could ever be annoying?”

“On that note, I think you better get back to Potter.” He motioned with his head towards the side of the room where most of her Gryffindor friends were chatting. Harry was staring at her, his fists clenched by his side.

Y/N smirked and sent him a wink. 

“On that note,” she said, careful to imitate Malfoy’s drawl and sending him a smug grin, “Maybe I better sit here.”

“Hm.” He awarded her one more uninterested look before rolling up his sleeves and setting out the ingredients for the potion they were brewing--Amortentia. 

She tried not to make it too obvious that she was staring at his left arm, but there was nothing on it like Harry had told her. It was just pure, unblemished pale skin that shimmered under the light. Before he could catch her looking, she quickly sat down and started pulling out her own things. After a short pause, she decided to take out the silver quill. She’d left his box back in her room--she wouldn’t be caught dead with something that had the Malfoy crest on it--but she’d wrapped it in a pouch with her own family’s emblem on the front, shimmering in gold and red.

“Why don’t you just buy your own charmed quills?” asked Malfoy after they had chopped all of the gillweed. 

“You already know. We’re an abomination to the French. We aren’t allowed entry.”

“That’s not what I mean.” His tone was meant to read as exasperated, but his words still seemed good-natured.

“I...well.” She frowned. She’d never confessed this to anyone, but she supposed that Malfoy wasn’t going to find a way to use it against her. “I don’t like to flaunt my family wealth. I think it makes people, at least in Gryffindor, like me less. I learned that pretty early on.”

He hummed something in response before sliding all the gillweed into the cauldron, turning the clear liquid into a bubbling forest green. 

“Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?” she asked. 

He took his time finishing the note he was jotting down before he answered. “I’m not being nice. It’s just called being civil. You said it yourself, we see each other at balls sometimes.”

“We probably won’t anymore, though,” she mused. 

Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up, but his voice remained low and steady. “No. I suppose that we probably won’t. Is your family part of the Order?”

“Hm. Are you a Death Eater?” she asked brazenly. He had no business asking her something like that, and he knew it. Especially not with his family connections.

“What do you think?” he drawled, waving his bared left arm in front of her face.

“Bullshit. That doesn’t mean anything after we learned Glamour spells last year.”

“Guess you’ll just have to trust me, then,” he responded, focusing intently on the bubbling liquid in front of him instead of her face. 

“I guess so,” she replied. The weight of her Glamour comment began to sink in--she was right, after all. How had she not thought of it before? 

But he was right when he told her she just had to trust him. Could she? Y/N rested her chin in the palm of her propped hand as she watched him work. A piece of disobedient moonbeam blonde hair dangled over his forehead as he diced up the unicorn tail, his eyebrows furrowed in focus.

“Is this why you want to be my partner?” he finally asked after a few moments of silence. “So you can just stare at me while I do all the work?”

“There’s the vain Draco I know,” she said, grinning as she leaned over to punch his shoulder. 

He rolled his eyes again, scooting out of arm's reach before flipping back to Amortentia in his book. “You’re insufferable. And it’s Malfoy to you.”

“Fine, fine, Malfoy,” said Y/N. “What do you want me to do, then?”

He shoved his cutting board towards her, the half-diced unicorn tail staring up at her. “Finish dicing this and then stir it in. 9 times clockwise. I did almost all of the work, but it should be finished after that.”

Y/N sent him another glare before doing as he said. The glittering quill kept catching her attention from the corner of her eye, and she couldn’t help but notice that Malfoy was writing with just a plain white quill for the time being. HE really did just give it to me. 

After the final ingredients were diced, she began to stir, each rotation around the cauldron turning the potion to a different color. It began as the bubbling green, then a deep sea blue, then a royal purple, a crimson blood red, a glimmering gold--before settling into a pale silver.

“Wow. It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “It’s like...liquid starlight.”

“All thanks to me,” said Malfoy. “You didn’t even have to crush the Mandrake root.”

“You’re such a gentleman, Malfoy.” Her voice dripped in fake sincerity. “So, what do you smell?”

Y/N was expecting him to scowl at her and tell her that it wasn’t any of her business, but he actually leaned over the cauldron and shut his eyes. 

“I’ve never been good at explaining what things smell like.” 

“Fair.”

Once he leaned back, she took his place, shutting her eyes and breathing in a tendril of the beautiful potion. “Whoa.”

“What’s it for you?”

“I don’t...know,” she admitted. “It’s not something I can describe note by note. It kind of reminds me of something, though.”

“Something with Potter, I presume?” he said, casually twirling his generic white quill around his fingers.

“No,” she answered, surprised at how honest she was being. “It’s…I’m trying to think. Er, it’s very lavish. It reminds me of when I was younger and my parents would drag me to galas and balls and whatnot.” 

He stared at her in silence.

“What about you? Does it remind you of anything?”

“Yeah.” Malfoy reached forward to put a lid on the cauldron, effectively shutting out the steam from reaching either of them.

“Ooh, have you figured it out yet?” she teased, crossing her legs and turning to face him head on. “Let me guess. Is it someone like…”

She paused, a wicked smile stretching across her face. “Oh my god, is it Hermione? Or Luna? Or...help me out here!”

“No.” His voice was sour. 

“Ah, it’s Parkinson then, isn’t it? Tell her I’m sorry for throwing food at her if you ever have the chance. Make sure to add the part where I’m more sorry that I missed.” 

“Y/L/N!”

“It’s okay. I’d be a little let down, too.”

“Can you please just…” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Please just stop. I haven’t figured it out. Okay? Happy now?”

“I’ll leave you alone,” said Y/N. “Under one condition. You give me a hint. I’ve given you everything I know! This isn’t fair.”

“This doesn’t have to be fair,” he hissed.

Y/N kept the easy smile plastered on her face while she waited, her eyebrows raised in anticipation.

“You’re not going to let up until I tell you, are you?”

“You’d be right on that,” she said, sugary sweet.

“Fine. It’s something kind of floral.” 

“How descriptive,” she snorted as she slumped back in her stool, thinking hard. Where had she smelled it before? Y/N shut her eyes, leaning her head back and trying to immerse herself into the memory that had surfaced. It smelled like grandeur, like an open ballroom full of guests wearing expensive perfumes. She could feel spinning, spinning like she was with a dance partner. Who was it? She couldn’t quite remember--the last ball she’d been to had been years ago--but after she leaned forward and smelled the Amortentia once more time, she came to a conclusion.

“I had to have danced with him at a gala before,” she announced to Malfoy, who was looking quite unimpressed. “So I know it’s no one from Gryffindor.”

“Interesting,” was all he said before turning to his parchment and jotting something down.

Late that night, while Y/N was settling into bed, a strange idea struck her. Sure that the thought that was nagging her was completely fruitless, she had no trouble with reaching into her desk and pulling out the Malfoy box. She just had to check if she wanted to sleep well.

Here goes.

She closed her eyes, imagining the expensive scent of her Amortentia. Then she opened it, stuck her nose into the fabric, and breathed in.

Well, fuck. 

~

The internal debate going through Y/N the next day at the breakfast table was intense. On one hand, she really, really wanted to just tell Hermione that Malfoy had been in her Amortentia and she was completely fucked, but on the other…

She glanced at the witch next to her as she methodically sliced her toast into perfect, equivalent squares before dunking them in jam. Y/N liking Malfoy was not going to fit into her toast cubes. If she said anything, she would lose her excuse to talk to her about him. And her excuse to try and get close with him. 

Perhaps I can figure it out tomorrow. 

When tomorrow came, she still hadn’t made progress. Y/N was beginning to think that her so called “revelation” after they brewed Amortentia was truly just complete and utter bullshit. So what that his quill box smelled like it--all rich people kind of smelled the same at some points, and so did their houses. There was a reason why she couldn’t immediately pin the scent to anything--it wasn’t like she even knew what Malfoy smelled like.

But the truth remained that she was still attracted to someone who happened to be a rich Slytherin--so naturally, her mind began to wander. There’s no way it was Zabini--his mother owned a fragrance line, and she would’ve instantly recognized the cologne that she knew Mrs. Zabini made him wear--and there was absolutely no way that it was Crabbe or Goyle, so the only other Slytherin it left was...Nott? But that didn’t make sense either--she’d never spoken to him before in her life, even less than Malfoy. So perhaps it would be better if she didn’t think on it.

The next day of potion brewing came on a stormy Wednesday. Malfoy and Y/N worked silently together to brew a Draught of Dreamless Sleep. She was surprised to see how practiced his movements were--he didn’t even have to reference the book to recite the exact measurements and directions.

“Do you have bad dreams or something?” she asked, mostly as a joke. He didn’t seem to pick up on the light-heartedness and stiffened up.

“No?”

“Gee, you’re talkative today,” Y/N said, trying to ignore how her hand brushed his by accident when she added the scoop of anjelica. 

“Excuse me for not entertaining you,” he drawled. “I wasn’t expecting to have such a needy potions partner today.”

“I am not needy!” she gasped, smacking his arm. “I’ve sat in silence for a full hour!”

He rolled his eyes (he was always rolling his eyes) and gave the potion one more final stir before setting the lid on the cauldron. “Think you can do that again? It needs to simmer for that long.”

“Just because you’re so sweet to me,” crooned Y/N before pulling out a heavy book from her satchel. Her Charms exam was tomorrow, and, naturally, she had decided to save all of her revising work until the night before. The textbook stared back at her as she jotted a few notes onto a previously blank sheet of parchment. The quill in her hands was light and glided across the paper like the tears of Merlin, something that she had forgotten quills could do. All of her familiar basic quills were okay, but they were prone to skidding and breaking. This nib hadn’t worn down in the slightest, still at a smooth and defined peak.

Y/N couldn’t believe that, out of all people, the person to give her such a thoughtful gift was Draco Malfoy. She tried to sneak a glance at him then, moving her curtain of hair away from her face. It took all she had in her to not be startled at the fact that he was already looking back, a slightly concerned expression etched into his face.

“Is something wrong?” 

He snapped out of it the moment the words left her lips, his face hardening. “No.”

“Forget I ever asked,” she responded, turning away from him for good and focusing on her textbook. No, there was no way he could be what she smelled in her Amortentia. She liked to think that her subconscious wasn’t secretly a masochist.

~

Friday evening swung around again, much to Y/N’s dismay. She’d had a talk with Hermione later on in the week, confirming that no, she did not smell Malfoy in her Amortentia, and that yes, she was still abiding by the plan that Hermione had so carefully laid out for her. It did bother her a bit that she could be lying to her on both fronts--but at the end of the day, she was going to get the answers that Harry wanted, no matter what. 

She just had to get through the scary ass castle first. She’d forgotten how spooky Hogwarts was after her previous sprint to the door, and this time she was positively trembling by the time she turned another dark corner on her way to McGonagall’s office. Yet another cursed item had been found in the girl’s lavatory on the 3rd floor, right by some of the classes that she had taken earlier in the week. The fact that whoever was out there was capable of dark magic and actively wanted to hurt people terrified her, all that Gryffindor bravery be damned. 

So when she heard footsteps suddenly right beside her, it was no wonder that she jumped feet in the air.

“Fuck!” she sputtered, turning to see a very familiar blonde in Slytherin robes. He was frozen in place, curiously looking her up and down.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Malfoy,” Y/N said, resisting the urge to melt into a puddle of relief at the sight. This wasn’t right--wasn’t he a suspected Death Eater? “You scared me.”

He scoffed, digging his hands into his pockets. “You’re supposed to be the brave ones, right?”

“Huh?”

Malfoy motioned to her Gryffindor jumper. 

“Oh.” Heat rushed to her cheeks as she realized what he meant. “I dunno. I just get jumpy around the castle at night.”

“No shit.” They’d begun to walk now, side by side. Y/N couldn’t remember ever walking with him before--she’d always been late. “Do you think I forgot the way you screamed when you saw me at the tower?”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, reaching over and giving him a healthy shove. 

They walked in silence together. Malfoy moved noticeably slower than he normally did so he wouldn’t leave Y/N’s shorter legs in tow. McGonagall seemed pleasantly surprised to see Malfoy hold the door open for her.

“I’m glad to see you two getting along,” she said, giving Y/N a hesitant nod before grabbing the stack of papers on her desk. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

After she exited the room with a swish of her deep maroon robes, Malfoy turned to her. “Are you scared of the dark or something?”

She turned, ready to send a biting retort his way, before she noticed how gray his pallor looked...and how big the circles under his eyes were. “You look like shit, Malfoy. Is everything okay?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Oh. Um…” Y/N pause before deciding that the little tidbit of information she was about to reveal wasn’t that important anyways. “I’m just on edge at night at Hogwarts is all. Especially with all that weird shit going on with all the cursed objects. So I kind of hate walking to and from detention.”

Malfoy let out something that sounded like a strained laugh.

“You didn’t answer my question. Is everything okay?”

“None of your business,” he snipped. “I just had a bad night.”

“Do you have trouble sleeping?” she asked, unable to keep herself from prying.

“Something like that.”

“Have you tried lavender?”

“I’m sorry?” He frowned.

“Lavender. Like the essential oil. It’s nothing magical,” she explained. “I just like to spray it in my bed sometimes before I sleep. Or I’ll use a few drops in a diffuser. I have trouble sleeping too, all the time, actually.” She shut her mouth before she had any chance to ramble further.

“It sounds a bit too floral for my taste.”

“Here.” Y/N dug around in her satchel, searching for the tiny spray bottle she kept with her at all times. “Borrow this and spritz your pillow with it before you sleep, and then tell me it’s too floral. I promise it helps.”

He glared at her. She extended her hand with the white bottle that was covered in purple decor, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “I won’t tell anyone that you have it if that’s what you’re worried about or whatever.”

“Fine,” he snapped, snatching it from her hand and dragging his fingers over her palm for just a second. “Don’t expect me to actually try it, though.”

“Just give it a sniff.” 

He huffed, but to her surprise, he actually uncapped the top and held the spray hole up to his nose, inhaling in once.

The effect was immediate. Malfoy’s face completely drained of color, becoming even grayer than he’d been when she first saw him under the light. The briefest expression of surprise fleeted over his face before he wiped it off, replacing it with something unreadable and tossing it back at her. “I’m not using this.”

“Why not?”

“Not quite my taste,” he spat.

Y/N was shocked by the sudden outburst, watching as he continued to glower at his desk. “I don’t understand. It really does help you sleep. I know it seems stupid, but I...really think you should try it. Just once, if anything.”

“Why does it matter so much to you?”

“Because I--” Y/N stopped herself before she let her mouth run without check. “I know what it’s like is all. I feel like shit if I don’t sleep. Plus, I have to spend time with you every Friday. I imagine that you’ll be slightly more tolerable if you sleep more.”

“Hm.” He sent her a particularly venomous glare. “Thanks for your concern. Consider me uninterested, though.”

“You break my heart,” she teased, pulling back her hand and placing the bottle on the corner of her desk. An idea struck her.

“And just what are you smiling about?” Draco said. His lips were turned into a sour frown. 

“Nothing, nothing,” she responded, her voice adopting a sing-song quality. All she had to do now was wait. 

He exhaled, a deep and exasperated sound. Then he turned back to whatever was in front of him.

McGonagall entered the room a few minutes later, nodding cordially at the comfortable silence the two students were in. What she didn’t know was that Y/N was waiting, just waiting for Malfoy to dig through his satchel and stop paying attention to his quill.

She got her opportunity a few minutes later, when McGonagall called him up to look over his latest Transfiguration homework.

“Mr. Malfoy, I’m happy to see that you’re taking more initiative in getting your assignments done...I have to say that you had me a bit concerned…”

While her professor kept Malfoy occupied, Y/N darted over and grabbed his quill. 

Ha.

Malfoy frowned down at his desk when he returned, giving Y/N a suspicious look.

“What is it, Malfoy?” she said, hoping her voice conveyed nothing that might hint that she took something of his.

“Nothing.”

“Hm.”

The rest of detention passed without any more discussion. Y/N was eager to run up to her dorm and set up her plan to be carried out the next morning, but she calmed her bouncing leg and forced herself to keep a straight face when McGonagall dismissed them.

“Got somewhere to be, Y/L/N?” Malfoy’s voice called after her as she sped down the hall towards the Gryffindor tower. 

“What’s it to you?” she fired back.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he picked up his pace until he was walking next to her.

“Aren’t the Slytherin dorms the other direction?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Are they?” 

She allowed herself to be amused by the way words flowed out of his mouth when he was slightly out of breath. “Why are you walking with me?”

“You said it yourself.” He kept his eyes cast on the cobblestones below them. “You don’t like walking alone at night.”

“Uh...oh.” Against her will, her feet froze and she was glued to the ground. “You’re joking, right?”

If the lighting wasn’t so dim, Y/N would have good reason to believe he was blushing with how intently he was studying his fingernails. “By all means, I can be.”

“No! No, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth. “Er...I’d like you to. If you want to, that is.”

He shrugged, an elfish expression spreading across his face as he took in how nervous she was. “Well, come to think of it, you didn’t ask me to. I suppose I better get back to the Slytherin dorms anyways. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the Gryffindor Tower right now.”

“Why?” she squeaked.

“Oh, you know, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that most of the cursed things showed up on your side of the castle, yeah?”

She gulped.

“I gotta get going. Don’t want to stand around here too long. This place gives me the creeps.” With that, he turned and began walking away.

“Malfoy?” She hated how timid her voice sounded. “Consider this me asking you to walk with me.”

He slowly faced her, a sly grin plastered all over his face. “Oh? Did I hear that correctly? Do you want me to?”

“I’m only going to say this once,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and trying her best to look intimidating. “Walk with me. Please.”

“I guess I’ll take it.” Malfoy glided down the hallway to her in just a couple steps, sending her yet another smug look.

“You made up that whole ordeal about Gryffindor Tower being targeted, didn’t you?” asked Y/N as they rounded the corner to reach the staircase leading up to the common room.

“You bought it, didn’t you?” 

“Who says I didn’t just want you to walk with me?” pushed Y/N. This was as close to flirting as it would ever get for her--but it looked like, somehow, things were falling into place. The heat in her cheeks must’ve been from the excitement of making progress. 

Malfoy’s toe caught on the first stair and, if it weren’t for Y/N’s steady grip on his arm, would’ve made him go sprawling across the stone steps. 

“Merlin, Malfoy,” she said, immediately dropping her grip from his shoulder. “What’s gotten into you?”

He responded with an unceremonial snort and a withering glare. The rest of the walk was done in silence, and Y/N noted how careful his footwork became around the Gryffindor steps.

“This is me,” she finally said once they reached the tapestry for the Gryffindor dorms. He seemed surprised, and only then did it strike her that he’d probably never seen the entrance himself before. “Thanks for being such a gentleman.”

“I live to serve,” he drawled.

And just like that, he was gone.

~

Her plan was simple. She had located an extra monogrammed pouch in her cabinet, a rich mahogany color with her family crest in a vivid gold, and placed both his quill and the lavender bottle. She would corner him after breakfast or follow him out of the Great Hall and show him then.

However, it was becoming increasingly obvious that Malfoy was not coming to Saturday morning breakfast. Many people didn’t, but Y/N had never known him to miss it. His normal spot was vacant, and it certainly wasn’t a house-made decision as all of his Slytherin friends were present and accounted for. Y/N couldn’t say for sure, but she could see Parkinson turning her head to the entrance every time the doors thudded open before glancing back to Malfoy’s empty seat when it turned out to be someone else.

Where was that loser?

“Excuse me,” she said to the trio as she stood up and brushed off her skirt. “I think I’m going to go get some fresh air. I have a bitch of a headache.”

Hermione and Harry expressed their sympathies while Ron gave her a characteristic mumble through his mouthful of bread, and she was off with the pouch secured in her cloak pocket.

It was a clear November morning, clearly Mother Nature’s attempt to slowly move the world from the crisp autumn to a cold winter. The sky was clear and the sun’s rays warmed her skin at a slanted angle, casting weak shadows across the courtyard.

If I were Malfoy, where would I go to sulk?

The obvious answer was either the Slytherin common room or his own dorm, but that was without a doubt out of question for her. She wasn’t even sure if she possessed the knowledge to guess which corridor the entrance was in, much less work out the password herself. Beyond that, just getting into the common room and waiting would be...She shivered. It would be a terrible idea while she was clearly wearing a cloak in Gryffindor red and gold trim. 

As she continued her aimless wander around the castle, she heard the slightest sound from the girl’s bathroom on the second floor. It wasn’t ever really in use--no one came in there to actually use the loo unless they wanted Myrtle to materialize and tell them her supernatural troubles while they were in the middle of their personal business--but it was often the source of strange happenings. 

Like the cursed objects she thought to herself, her nails digging into her palms. But did she care about that right now? Surely cursed objects seemed somewhat...suspicious. Dark magic was difficult to hide, and to a pureblood eye that grew up around magical objects, cursed things shouldn’t be impossible to spot. 

And, plus, it was Malfoy she was looking for. None of the students had died from the curses so far, and if she was able to break through and learn something, or at the very least gain his trust, the reward to the Order would be more than worth it.

She stepped in, expecting to see an entirely empty bathroom with perhaps a ghost rattling around at the sink. Instead, a different sight awaited her.

Draco Malfoy was clutching the edge of the cracked sink basin in front of him, rocking himself back and forth and shaking. From her vantage point, she could see that he was dressed in his normal garb--a black ensemble--but his hair was unruly and messy, sticking up in the back like he’d hurriedly tugged something over his head.

A strangled gasp grounded her and halted her curious observations. Malfoy began to make these awful sobbing sounds, like he could barely manage to breathe. 

Y/N was frozen in place as she surveyed her options. If she stayed and tried to talk to him, he might react in anger or hurt her. But if she just left him, like this, all alone...She swallowed once before stepping forward.

“Malfoy? Are you okay?” Obviously he’s not, you bint said a voice deep in her brain. She pushed it aside as he swung around, his wand raised and his eyes blazing. “Whoa! I’m not going to...Put your wand down!”

He stared at her, his eyes wide with horror as he continued to shake, so much so that his wand slipped out of his hand and clattered to the floor. Without thinking, Y/N reached into her pocket and flung her wand away, holding her hands up.

“I’m not going to try anything. I promise.”

As she drew closer, she could see the remnants of tears on his wet cheeks and the way that his silver eyes were rimmed with a bloodshot red. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he hissed, his voice weak and cracking. 

“Neither should you. This is the girl’s bathroom.”

final a/n: ok so lmk if you guys wants me to continue. i really did not edit the last half fjkdsal;f also kinda made this an au where malfoy tried to assassinate dumbledore. with more than one cursed object but dw it’ll all make sense ill clear that up 😭

[yedamismymom]

Reaction to you teasing them (legal line)

lmao i finally wrote something for treasure..hope ya like this and thanks for requesting!

Treasure’s Reaction to you Teasing them

Pairing: Legal Line x Reader

Genre: Reaction; Suggestive, Sexual Themes

Words: 900+

Warnings: Sexual Themes. Please read at your own discretion. I tried writing for Yedam in this, wasn’t so bad, his part will be under the read more in case anyone wants to read it.

Hyunsuk

You squeeze his thigh and drag your nails over it

I see him getting very flustered initially

He doesn’t understand why you did whatever it was that you did

But when you do it again, he gets the memo right away

Suddenly he doesn’t know what to do

You’re being very explicit with your actions

The longer you tease him the more it’ll turn him on and the harder it’ll get for him to stay still

It won’t take him too long to give in

He’d probably want you to go down on him and give him a nice suck before really getting into things

He can’t resist teasing for the life of him

Jihoon

You sit on his lap, facing him and leave a feathery kiss below his ear

He knows exactly what you’re up to and he refuses to give into you so easily

There’s no point in teasing the biggest tease ever

He’s just going to make this harder for you

He’ll grab your waist, preventing you from going anywhere and start kissing your neck

But the kisses will be very restricted, like he’s not giving you as much as you want

He loves hearing your needy whimpers

Its not easy to tease him

If you want him to fuck you all you’ve gotta do is ask

There’s no guarantee that he won’t continue teasing you though

Yoshi

You wrap your arms around his waist and slip your hands under his shirt

Your touch certainly isn’t subtle so he gets a faint idea of what you’re up to

He likes when you take incentive to initiate things 

So he’ll let you continue for just a bit before turning to face you

Once his lips are on yours you know he isn’t going to disappoint you

Maybe he’ll take you right then and there (depends on where y’all are at though)

He will never pass up an opportunity to satisfy you

So just know that even if his reaction isn’t immediate, he will still give into your secret demands

He’ll most probably treat you better than you’d imagine, simply so that you know he’s always gonna give you everything you want

Junkyu

Maybe you whisper something naughty in his ear and give him a certain look

He might scream

So be careful

Mainly because he’ll be caught off guard

Teasing him can be very entertaining

He’ll be so conflicted and say things like “really? now?” or “omg someone might hear you!”

Nervous gulps x 100

He might even start sweating because of how anxious it makes him

He obviously wants to listen to you and give into your demands but the time and place is too sudden for him

That’s why you’ve gotta leave him an ultimatum

Do that, and he’s running behind you without another question

Mashiho

You wear something revealing on purpose

You know he loves catching small glimpses of your body

He’ll just smirk shamelessly

Maybe he knows what you’re up to, maybe he doesn’t

It turns into a whole game 

Who’s gonna make the first move

Eventually one of you gives in 

Everything that proceeds from there is incredibly rushed and super needy

All in all, he can put up with teasing, but not forever

Jaehyuk

Please you literally just tell him that you’re horny and want to ride him

He giggles

And then he realizes that you aren’t joking

So now he’s like super expectant

You probably have to tease him some more to rile him up

Cause he’s just gonna be fascinated by your straightforwardness

I think I’m going on a different tangent with this (hit me up if you wanna know where)

So yeah I think if you tease this boy first he’s not gonna know what’s happening and when he finally gets it he won’t know what to do

Super clueless but at least it gives you a chance to top him

Asahi

You lean in to kiss him but just before his lips can touch yours, you pull away

He hates it

You can see it on his face, all that dissatisfaction 

But instead of getting what he wants he’ll be super stubborn and just sit there

You could’ve gotten what you wanted but its your fault that you decided to be a tease

So even if you apologize and start begging, he won’t give in

That’s a lie actually, if you keep begging then he’ll get impatient, stop holding himself back and give you what you want

Well not what you want but more whatever he wants to do to you

You just need to shut up and take what you get and stop being a greedy little whore (i’m sorry i went off)

Tease him and face the consequences my friend

Yedam (this is so vague lmao fuck me)

So you both are cuddling and you rub you ass into his nether regions (i’m sorry)

He doesn’t know if you did it on purpose but he definitely felt it

But since he’s unsure about if you were trying to initiate something, he doesn’t say a word and tries his best to control himself

However, since the action was intentional, you keep doing it

Kinda embarrassed, he grabs you hips and stops you

He doesn’t know how to tell you that he’s got a boner, even though he’s pretty sure you can feel it pressing into your ass

Eventually you have to turn around and face him, asking him if he wants you to take care of it

He’s so thankful for that…lmao 

[blakelywintersfield]

Minors

Okay so, I originally wrote this in response to this post (my friend's reblog is linked instead of the original because OP either deleted it from their blog I guess?), but I feel like this constitutes as its own post.

I know this may sound like an overbearing parent "don't trust strangers on the internet" talk, but like. I don't think a lot of you understand just how quickly a situation can escalate; it's scary. I mean that not in a condescending "you think you're untouchable you stupid little child, you don't really know what the world is like" way either, but as in, I don't think internet safety is being taught realistically, so those things you're told to watch out for are far-fetched or already seem suspect.

Predators don't work the way TV shows joke that they do -- most predators aren't going to try and message you at random posing as a teenage girl and attempt to strike up a friendship. A lot interact in community spaces like tumblr, where some level of anonymity is allowed, and it's not odd for there to be people of both minor and adult ages. They interact with a variety of people -- not just targets. They will have full-fledged social circles. Their blogs and social interactions will look like literally any other person's on here.

Then, of the different blogs they follow, they end up interacting a lot with a certain user. Maybe the kind of humor clicks, or similar opinions, or interests. Nothing out of the ordinary; that's how people make friends. Maybe then they start by sending an ask, or a message, or whatever, and that continues for a bit until you two are kind of acclimated to one another, and then, as far as everyone is concerned, it's just a new friend! Neat! That's how you make friends on the internet. They most likely did this with their other friends on tumblr. Nothing weird. In this hypothetical, the minor party has their full name and city public.

But then this person you make friends with -- the way you would any other person on this website -- turns out to be 10+ years your senior. Which like. Honestly, you don't have to cut them out of your life and block them immediately, but you inform them you're 10 years younger than them. A responsible adult would respond to that knowledge with anything from the range of "oh holy shit you're baby uhh I feel a little weird interacting with you so personally" to "oh goodness you are a youngling I will now enter caregiver/parent-like mode". And there will be an established tone from there of "we may still interact but there is going to always be a set emotional distance". It'll have a different dynamic/feeling to the friendships you have with people your age. And it should. Both parties can still care about each other! But this isn't someone you would like. Hang out one on one with. You wouldn't hang out with your mom's friend one on one, or at your teacher's home alone. That'd be weird, right? That should be the same kind of vibe you get with any adult "friendship" you make online (I put friendship in quotes because I feel like... there's a better term for it, or should be one that establishes that adult/minor relationship, but if there is I can't for the life of me remember it).

But maybe that person doesn't go down that path. Maybe it comes off that way at first, but there's a subtle level of emotional manipulation that is subtle enough that you're not certain you can accuse them of being manipulative. "Oh wow, you're so much younger than me... do you still want to talk to me / be friends / etc.? I can leave you alone now if you want." Warning sign #1: they are pressuring you to make the decision; they are placing responsibility on you. And it might feel a little mean to just drop communication all of a sudden because of age -- you got along fine before. Why should that change anything? That's a rational thought process, but it's also the one that benefits them too.

So hypothetically, you say "no it's okay, we can still talk. we were talking just fine before we found out each other's ages so why should that change?" And then maybe the conversation continues normally from there. But then they continue interacting with you as your peers would. You guys talk about stuff that's been stressing you or your problems, just like you would with your peers. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. Warning sign #2: That form of emotional connection isn't normal with an adult/minor relationship. I have minors that follow me. They have talked to me about their problems, and I've offered advice and wisdom; I don't condemn that because, well. As adults, we should help guide the younger if asked. But when it comes to my troubles, I limit how much I discuss with them. I don't bring them up myself (it's often brought up by the other party because I'll post about it on here, like a vent post or whatever). And while I don't brush them off with a short "don't worry about it", I make it clear -- I appreciate that you care enough to make sure I'm okay (because their sympathy / care is just as valuable as an adult's), but even if I'm not okay, the burdens and problems surrounding my troubles will be dealt with by me. I don't ask them for advice. I don't goad them for sympathetic words. And it's not that I believe they couldn't give good advice, or their sympathy means less, but an adult should not be relying on a minor for those levels of emotional labor. That established emotional connection where both parties exchange advice and comfort is how predators manipulate their victims because it's subtle and seemingly harmless, and difficult to paint them as a bad person when you have that level of emotional trust.

And once that emotional connection is established, that's when things can escalate, and get scary, quickly.

One day while talking they will probably bring it up -- the way one of your peers would. Something along the lines of "hey can I tell you something?" or "there's something I want to tell you but I'm afraid you won't want to talk to me anymore if I do" etc. etc.; with that peer/peer dynamic, that'll make you anxious, sure. You'd probably get anxious if they were your own age and said that too. So then, it comes out in some form that "I like you, but like... as more than a friend" or "I think you're really cute; I have for a bit now actually" or something similar. Obviously then it's uncomfortable.

But then you realize -- this is an adult. This is someone who has access to transportation. This is someone that doesn't have to report to someone (i.e. a minor can't just say "I'm going out of town for a week bye!" like your parents would, or SHOULD, be like "uh okay where are you going, who are you going to be with, why, etc. etc. etc."). And they know your full name and a general idea of where you live. You could just block them then and there and remove that information from your blog. But what if they already saved it? What if they already used one of those websites where you can look up a person's address by name for $5? What if they already know where you live, and they had planned on asking to meet up? They might know where you live. And you can't confirm or deny that they know. You can't say for sure if you removed that information before they saved it and used it for that purpose. Suddenly, there's the very real possibility that a pedophile that admitted to being attracted to you knows where you live.

Then what do you do? You should tell your parents or a trusted authority figure. But you're also a teenager and there's the likelihood that your parents might brush it off, or get angry with you, and you might get your internet taken away, etc., which is stressful because that takes away a major social area. To build upon the anxiety with that, there's the risk of unknowing if this person does know where you live, and if they do, if they are just unstable enough to do something drastic, like, y'know. Kidnap you. Because they know where you live. And they may know your school schedule too. And if your parents or trusted authority figure doesn't know about this situation, you may end up a missing child never found at worst, or found with far more trauma (5 years of life being kidnapped as opposed to a few months) that could've been avoided had someone known the situation.

But to 100% ensure your safety, it would have to be reported to the police. Because your parents can't do anything about the fact that a pedophile on the internet might know where you live. They can't confirm or deny that they know, and if they did, there's not much they can do other than keep an eye out for someone that looks out of the ordinary. But if they're most likely not home at the same time you are all the time. So, having the police involved ensures your safety -- if you open a case. You can report it to the police, and they'll ask: do you want to press charges (because it could be considered a form of child endangerment). If you say no, then that guarantees if you are kidnapped, that person would be the first they'd look to as a suspect. But to avoid that kidnapping risk at all, you'd have to say yes. And you're a kid that's now having to get involved in court just to avoid any risk to your safety because a pedophile may or may not have your address and may or may not be someone that would abduct their target, and so even if they didn't have your address and wouldn't kidnap you, you are now in a legal situation, which is. extremely. stressful. As someone's who's dealt with the court system a lot it's stressful no matter what.

And sure, you could omit the last step. But then you'll have that looming anxiety for as long as you're a minor that there is a possibility this person may show up at your house at some point. And that anxiety is fucking torture. I know it firsthand, I know all of this up to the legal portion firsthand, because this is exactly how I got tangled up with a pedophile in high school. That anxiety can make you paranoid. It impacts your sleep, which impacts your emotional tolerance and your concentration. It looms and there's nothing you can do to get rid of it other than convince yourself "they probably don't have my address; they probably won't find me". And that logic becomes sounder as time passes. But it requires time to pass, and in the meantime, you sit in constant suffering suspense.

It's just not fucking worth it, okay? You might think "this would never happen to me" but like. I was the fat emo weirdo in high school, literally considered attractive by no one and told so by peers and I still had it happen to me. So don't think "I'm not appealing enough" or whatever. Put self-esteem issues aside here, because to them, you're underage and at a power dynamic disadvantage not just physically, but most likely emotionally too. They care that you're a certain (under)age and can be manipulated into sexual acts. They will target you no matter how ugly you think you are or how unattractive your peers have convinced you.

So please. As an adult, that went through this situation (and could've had it turn out a lot worse tbh) -- do not disclose your real name (especially last names), location more specific than country, phone number, or school publicly online or to anyone you cannot 100% trust. I practice half of these in adulthood just to err on the side of caution since a full name and phone number alone could be used to find my address, and there are some preeeeetty unstable people out there. As a minor, absolutely no one needs any information unless you plan on meeting them in person, which should only be done after you've gotten to know them extremely well and both parties' parents know and are involved. It doesn't need to be on your public profile, and it shouldn't be on your public profile. I want your social media experience to be as enjoyable as possible, I don't want you feeling like you have to constantly keep an eye out for predators. But to keep yourself as safe as possible, don't purposefully make that information public. It's simple, but it’ll help you avoid so much potential stress.

Please stay safe.

[hargrove-mayfields]

Day one of the Horror on Cherry Lane Challenge! I’ll be participating this month as a writer! The prompt for today is Knife!

warnings for mentions of suicidal ideation and attempts, death, child abuse, and blood.

Billy met Steve in the psych ward.

Well, they met officially at Tina’s party, but that wasn’t the real Steve. That was the King Steve. Deeper than that though, even the Steve Harrington everyone else saw even after the breakup and the fall from grace still wasn’t the real thing.

That was fake smiles, overdone nonchalance to cover up the wound from his fallen status. Now he was stripped down to himself, all bloody bandages and tired eyes, the boy he was pretending to be finally broken down to reveal this.

Apparently, Ruthie Harrington found her son with his grandfather's switchblade- all the other objects in the house sharper than a spoon and with less sentimental value had already been tossed -bleeding all over her freshly polished linoleum floors. She dropped him off at the hospital a night ago and nobody’s been by to see him since.

Now, it’s by pure coincidence that Billy’s already in on the same day Steve’s admitted.

He’s been locked up the past three days compared to Steve’s one. These small town hicks are jumpier (ha) than he thought, and don’t think doing the walk and turn test on the edge of the quarry after downing a bottle and a half of fireball is as funny as he does. Whatever. Cid would’ve thought that was badass as hell.

So he was admitted, on suicide watch for a stupid joke that wasn’t really worth it, or even really a joke. Max came to visit once. She punched him in the chest as hard as she could and cursed him out for an hour. She’d never done that before. By the time she left they were both in tears, and maybe Billy realized a thing or too about his carelessness. Realized for the first time that someone cared.

But he’s still in here for another week and a half by law, so. He’s not going to mope about it. And while Steve Harrington showing up is about the last thing he’s expecting, he decides that’s at least something he can work with. Definitely brings a little life to the place.

He waits until Steve’s intense watch period is over to bug him, once they’re out of their cramped little rooms for a couple of hours to “socialize” (see, the more sound of mind keep an eye on the other patients while the nurses take their smoke breaks) Billy goes straight to Steve. Him and Harrington are far from friends, but that’s pretty much irrelevant when the only other choices for company are kids younger than them too scared to approach them and people too deep in their midlife crises to bother with teenage drama.

Throwing himself down in the blue plastic chair across from where Steve settled in, Billy kicks his feet up on the table,, “What’s up Harrington? Didn’t expect to see a familiar face in here.”

But Steve, poor Steve, takes one look at Billy with those haunted brown eyes, and his face just falls completely apart. There are tears on his way too pale cheeks before Billy even has a chance to breathe.

The smile drops off of Billy’s face, “Jesus Harrington, I know m’not looking my best surviving on hospital food and cigarettes without a hairbrush, but that’s a little unwarranted.”

“Shut up. Not everything’s about you, Hargrove.”

“Oh I disagree with that. But I get the point. I’ll let ya be.” Billy hums, scooting his chair back and getting up. He stops when Steve starts to speak, “Y-You outta be careful saying that kinda stuff in here.”

“What?”

“That the world revolves around you. They’ll come up with a diagnosis for that and keep you here forever. Drug you ‘til you forget your own name, let alone your status.” Steve tells him with humor, wiping the tears off his face.

Billy nods in understanding, sits back down with an interested smirk, “This ain’t your first time here, is it?”

“Is it yours?”

“Nah. I’ve done some shit on purpose, some on accident. Once it wasn’t even me. But s’never done anything to help so far.”

Steve puffs out a sigh, “Don’t I know it.. I’ve been in and outta this place since I was like, ten. Clearly nothing’s changed.”

“Why? What’s your dirty little secret, Harrington?”

“I cut myself, dumbass.” He deadpans, looking at Billy with a bluntness in his expression that reads more concerning, more like indifference to what he just said than matter-of-fact.

“No shit. But that ain’t the secret.” Billy probes further, can tell he’s getting under that mask Steve wears, “Why do you do it?”

“Legally, I can't tell you. And I don’t think I would anyways.”

“What about if I tell you all about me first? I got no reservations ‘cept the one that got me a bed here.”

“It’s not a hotel, Hargrove.”

“Eh, might as well be. Feels like the damn hotel California.”

“Is that why?”

“Huh? Oh no, I been pullin’ stunts like this long before we left Cali.”

“Like what?”

“Like downing two full bottles of my mother’s meds after she left. Not at the same time obviously, or I wouldn’t be here. Mostly ‘cause my dad didn’t even wanna take me to the hospital either time.” Billy doesn’t look at Steve while he elaborates. Not because he cares, he’s an open book, if a random old woman at the grocery store asked about his last attempt, he’d tell her.

But. He doesn’t like watching people’s faces. Seeing sympathy and concern there. It makes him feel all stupid and guilty. It’s usually not like that with other kids like him, but Steve’s different. He’s got a big heart. Even if there’s no room for himself.

And Billy hurt Steve before. He doesn’t want to see someone he caused pain caring so much about him. He already cracked when Max came to see him. This could be what splits him open, spills out all the things he’s covered up.

So he keeps going, “And like runnin’ out in front of traffic with my friends. They thought we were just playin’ chicken ‘til I stopped dead in front of a station wagon. Metal rims’d done me in for sure if one ‘a the older boys hadn’t pulled me outta the way. Damn near ripped my shirt in half how fast he grabbed me.”

“I’m guessing your parents are the reason why then?”

“Yessir.” Billy deflects, not good at getting deeper into it, “You wanna tell me yours then?”

“I started cutting because Tommy Hagan told me about it. He thought it was freaky, but when he ran his mouth about how they found the neighbor kid in his room, drained of all his blood from his wrists, I wanted to try it. I’ve tried liquor and drugs and all kinds ‘a shit I shouldn’t, but nothin’ stuck like cutting.” Steve pauses for a long time, his eyes going blank, staring right past Billy, “When my mom found out she.. she.. Forget it.”

“Hey, you seen my skeletons. Can’t I see yours?”

“No. I don’t wanna fucking talk about it anymore.” Steve answers, despite his assuredness, his tone wobbling with some unidentifiable emotion.

Talk about mood swings. Billy doesn’t get how nobody would’ve noticed something was up before Steve started carving into himself. Really, he knows someone would have seen it and just ignored it.

It only gets worse though, the reservedness turning to sadness and frustration. None of the words are coming out, but he can tell Steve’s thinking of the stories, reliving all that got him to the here and now. Billy can also tell there’s nothing he can do no to stop him from doomsdaying.

So when Steve is inevitably in the thralls of a panic attack, he tries to hug him tight, to try to get it to stop maybe, that always worked for him at least, but Steve swats him away. Judging from the way he winces, it’s not easy for him to do either, with those thick ass bandages constricting his wrists, but the tears and the pain on his face are buried behind his resolution.

He’s hiding something from Billy.

In hindsight, talking to a new patient about past attempts probably wasn’t his brightest idea anyways, so he switches the subject while Steve works on coming down from his panic attack. He brings up Max and her little nerds, trying to bridge the healthier connections between him and Steve that they’d both been ignoring since the fight. He mentions basketball too, another something they have in common other than trying to kill themselves.

It doesn’t really work, though Steve does stop shaking as bad, just curling up in his little chair and sniffling, pretending not to listen while Billy rambles on and on. But he doesn’t talk. It’s probably better for him not to anyway. Billy himself has been known to say some dumb shit when he’s in distress.

Ultimately, even once the conversation runs out, he stays with Steve until dark. He can tell from the way his gaze sticks to the floor that Steve recovered from his fit a while ago, but he’s embarrassed by having a breakdown in front of him, as if he isn’t in here for the same reason. It helps that he gets it though, and they sit in a comfortable, albeit very prolonged, silence.

Long after Steve gets xanned up and knocked out though, while Billy is still free to wander until the midnight curfew as a low risk patient, he decides to stick with him in his room. Billy’ll never admit it, but he gets nightmares, and he doesn’t want to face that just yet, so with a new friend as an excuse, he’s up half the night watching Steve sleep.

He remembers what happened earlier, how focused Steve was on keeping him away from him, despite his panic, and decides, with a glance at how deeply Steve is sleeping, his greasy hair all strewn about on stiff pillows, that he’s going to figure out what it was.

He snoops around in his bedside drawers, in the bathroom, in the locker in the corner. It’s there he notices the knitted jacket Steve was wearing before, hanging heavy to one side, like there’s something in its pocket. He touches it and feels the outline of something small, so he pulls it out.

He regrets checking though, because it’s a knife. Judging from the old looking engravings on its handle, and the coppery stains within the grooves, it’s specifically the very same one that got Steve hospitalized.

He shoves it in his own back pocket and keeps looking, with a quick glance at Steve, finding a note tucked where the knife had been. Written in perfect scrawl on bond paper that’s been folded a dozen times and stained with tears,

“Do it right next time, why don’t you? Your mother is too soft on you. I’m not paying for this again.

- J.Harrington.”

Billy doesn’t know what to do but throw the note in the trash. Not really in shock, but definitely more than a little fucked up from reading that, he sits on the end of Steve’s bed. His own dad, who'd more than once been the one putting him in the hospital, had never even said anything like that to him.

He didn’t get to talk to Steve much today, but they’ve got as long as Billy’s stuck in here together to fix that. Longer if he just pulls something in front of a nurse. And he wants to, really really wants to.

Because he knows he just met the real Steve, can recognize another broken boy when he sees one, and he knows too, that he never wants to meet a pretty boy like this again.

And if that’s his declaration to get clean, then so fucking be it.

But. He never promised not to hurt anyone. Ultimately he’d still need that outlet.

He keeps the knife. To make sure his pretty boy doesn’t get hurt again.

[syubub]

Hey I'm not sure if readings are open now, so feel free to ignore if they're closed, but can you do what you think bts will do for their weddings? Like will it be big and formal or small and spir of the moment. Thank you I love ur blog and all your readings just feel right if that makes sense!💛

I love this so much???

Disclaimer: this is for entertainment purposes and not to be taken as fact! This is my interpretation~

Seokjin

Sun and starseed.

Right off the bat it's gonna be lively and full of jokes and fun

Very light

Leaning a bit towards traditional

Maybe a bit...extravagant?

Like the outfits and decorations will be very cool

Probably a lighter color scheme or some fun pop of color!

Probably all the friends and family come so it big but not BIG

Probably a really fun reception with great food and I wouldn't be surprised if it was in a venue that has a nice outside?

Even outside tbh

I could definitely see it happen in the summer time!

Just so nice and inviting

Maybe on the beach

Yoongi

Ace of cups, death, chariot and take a break

I pulled death and was like ??? Imma need some clarity on that

Now it makes sense

So cute and lovey and he probably wrote the most heartfelt, emotionally raw and beautiful vows known to man

Formally informal

The experience itself at the ceremony almost transports everyone to a whole new plane of existence lol

Like everyone in the room is 100% drawn into the intensity of the moment

The wedding might not happen in korea

Think destination wedding/ in a place that isn't korea

Very relaxing and just cozy, lovey and nice reception

Obviously lots of fun at the reception too but yoongi and his newly betrothed are just in a world of their own

A darker color scheme

I could see him and his betrothed both wearing black

Wouldn't suprise me

It's a bit untraditional but so very them

I wonder too if the ceremony itself might utilize a mesh of traditions?

You know the music would slap.

Definitely smaller and more intimate

(What if yoongi wrote a song to preform??? Or the members made a song without telling him and they suprise him???)

Maybe in an old building or something with a beautiful view.

Hoseok

HOBI

The lovers and align your self

So romantic

Like every cliché kinda romantic

He 100% cries

It would be very hobiesque?

Like its cliche and everything but in a hobi kinda way

Probably a romantic color scheme??

Twinkling lights and dreamy vibes

Pretty traditional and formal at the ceremony

Hobis reception would be so crazy fun

Infections laughter

Dumb childhood stories

Nostalgia

Just so much happiness

It's the shit you would see in a movie

Probably a wedding hall or a "classic" wedding venue

Namjoon

Lol

2 of wands, 2 of cups, queen of swords, council of light

All these came out together

2 of cups is romantic partnership so I think honestly it's so centered around him and his betrothed just being in love that they wouldn't care what the wedding was like?

Like I'm sure they'd care but it's the kind of, "I don't care as long as you're by my side" kinda thing

Very future oriented? So I think they get married simply bc the legality of it? Like by the time they get married, it's like they've practically been married for a long time before that

Maybe a bit spur of the moment

Very straightforward

Idk about where yall live but in America you can just go to the courthouse and be married

So... that might be a thing

Or just a very simple, no fanfare kinda wedding

Maybe a very natural color scheme?

Jimin

Omg

The star, two of coins and awakening

So jimims wedding is an EVENT

and I think it will be a blend between him and his partner you know?

Like, so extravagant

I feel like everyone would want an invitation

A lot of people but still exclusive

Big but exclusive

Not a cheap wedding at ALL

It's very much the most libra wedding the world could think of

Gold and black would be a good choice

It's very much something for people to look at but also very sweet and delicate too

Bold and delicate

Luxurious for sure

I wouldn't be surprised if jimin had 2 weddings?

Like one to actually be married and say the honest vows

And one for the experience and spectacle of having a fantastic wedding

It's extra and so so so fairytale meets bad and boujee

So charming too?

Like it is in no way obnoxious, it's just an experience!!

A cool ass venue or an absolutely decked out wedding hall

Taehyung

Cute

Strength, play and the fountain

Everything you could ever dream of tbh

It's very beautiful and might even influence a new generation of wedding culture?

Like the wedding will be traditional ish but very... modern? Like morphing the beautiful traditions with some newer and unique things

So very tailored to him and his person

Probably a nice uplifting atmosphere

Very romantic and joyful

So. Much. Fun

Dancing and singing and the whole 9 yards

The fountain card is about oneness and being absolutely awake. It's not having to search anymore because you've found it

I honestly don't no what else to say

It's just a beautiful and perfect wedding

Probably not a million people but its full of the people that have been important to them in whatever way

Like, the people that are ment to witness it

Marriage is definitely something special and almost spiritual at this wedding.

Really nice

I would like to think its at a farm or a wedding hall

Jungkook

Three of cups, four of cups and get grounded

Very chill

Definitely with family and friends and not many more people

Everyone is enjoying and celebrating and being themselves

The ceremony might be pretty traditional or formal but it's kinda like when jk had his school ceremony and he was all nervous but everyone was cheering him on

Could also be an informal "wedding" at a Vinyard

Very close and comfy and just love

Sharing an important moment with important people

Maybe sings a song

Maybe plays pop punk and edm at the reception lol

It's just so nice

Wouldn't be surprised if purple was in the color scheme

Definitely lots of drinks to go around as well!

Everyone cries

Maybe an outside reception or even an outdoor ceremony?

I think fall or spring would be the perfect time for his wedding!!

Very familial

Very nice

[helloaugustmoon]

I do get what you’re saying re: those that overdo it (for example there’s a tumblr account that regularly floods the Michael Jackson tag w ai generated “jungle” nudes of Michael which is SO weird and creepy, as well as those who I’ve seen look into things like Michael’s autopsy for information about his body which - altho the documents are public like any are that aren’t legally hidden away for whatever reason, which in itself is a massive breach of privacy of the death and a whole other issue - is SUPER strange) but in terms of general thirst comments, that is…inherently fangirl a term I use very loosely btw bc it’s obviously not just girls but the term is applied to the obsessive nature of the culture. any celebrity when they reach a certain level of fame will have people thirsting over them in some capacity, particularly those who are marketed in an attractive way on purpose (actors/singers in particular) and there are ALWAYS going to be people - particularly impressionable teenagers who are developing their most passionate interests that a lot of them will hold for the rest of their lives and thus the discovery of them is a very overwhelming state of being that I’m sure we can all relate to in some way or another - who take those things a little bit too far. most outgrow it, some have a wakeup call very suddenly, and some don’t learn from their mistakes; it’s those people that should be talked to, not teenagers (which, in the age of the internet, a high percentage of any super active fanbase for anyone, will be bc media is engineered towards them as an audience likely to engage).

the whole notion of shunning people from a fandom, PARTICULARLY a fandom belonging to Michael whose entire message was love and accepting those that are different from us, is redundant. those who take it inherently, objectively too far, by all means should be spoken to, but it shouldn’t start with a take as aggressive as the tiktok I linked. if those people are spoken to and persist, by all means argue the point and try to teach them the error in their ways, but anyone who is unhappy with a particular representation in their fandom has the facilities to block that person or certain trigger words from appearing on their feed/accounts to protect themselves and their peace, which nobody should be scrutinised for. people slip through the gaps, of course, and that isn’t nice, but they can be dealt with individually and spoken to or simply blocked.

as it stands, Michael Jackson was a grown man who made many a song pertaining to sexual themes and while he was a philanthropist with a heart for donating to children’s charities and care efforts, he was a sexual man who was marketed as a sex symbol for his revolutionary dancing, ability to express more androgynous styles without being perceived as too “out there” for the way he dressed, and wrote, produced, performed inherently sexual songs. there are also countless videos available online of him referring to female fans as “fish”, commenting on their “titties”, and offering to give “more than a hug” - he was a man who made dirty jokes who, by default, cannot be immune from the feral nature of fanfirl culture.

there is a way to be respectful about it, but those who sexualise Michael to a disgusting degree are just as bad as those who deem Michael to have been a sweet little baby man incapable of a single sexual thought - both are misrepresentations to be handled with the appropriate response Michael would have wanted: love and care, not shunning.

a lot of this isn’t in direct response to the person I’m reblogging so I just want to clarify this isn’t any kind of personal debate or anything I was just adding to my original post at the prompt of your reblog bc you raised some really good points that made me think of others to add! ♡

guys omfg this is bringing me back to my days of arguing w random ppl on twitter on things they clearly know nothing about and I’m gonna rant

this person is trying to act like some kind of martyr for saying it’s wrong to sexualise Michael (apparently Michael is the only one to ever experience fangirl culture bc my point about The Beatles and Elvis all generating teenage fans in all generations got NO response lol)

but what really pissed me off? despite this being an mj fan account who advocates for Michael’s innocence, this person DEADASS on the last point of the second slide is basically saying (and I asked them to clarify in the comments bc I couldn’t believe this) that “people say Michael liked kids but the children are the ones liking him” AS IF CHILDREN HAVING CRUSHES IS EVEN REMOTELY COMPARABLE TO THE ABUSE OF CHILDREN ???????? why would you even MAKE that point and IMPLY that in relation to Michael when he was literally innocent??? girl wtf. seriously.

Idk if there’s an age/language barrier here bc this person seems to only be talking about kids making accounts w weird usernames and sexualising Michael (which is unverifiable unless they’ve got their age stated in their bio and even that isn’t necessarily true) but all the comments they seem to be interacting w on this post do come across as literal children talking to each other? Idk it all just sounds v childish to me bc I cant imagine a single adult fan of Michael being this vexed abt this topic

and also, Michael - if he was here - would be embarrassed by internet culture and the level of obsession w him, PERIOD. would he ask/demand people to talk about him in a certain way? absolutely not. but do you rlly think the man who wrote about rockin with you, makin sweet love til the break of dawn, if it’s aching you have to rub it- is some kind of saintly virgin who would be completely appalled by every person online expressing their attraction to him? pLEASE. Michael was an angel in a lot of ways but he was also a man, as demonstrated by his songs. he would be thrilled by the attention and love in whatever form it comes in online, but I’ll hold your hand when I say this: Michael IS NOT here to see it. even if he faked his death and is out living his best retirement life somewhere, that man is NOT scrolling on tiktok??? some cognitive awareness would go a long way lol

[fa-by]

Hello babies and dear Anons 👋🏼🤗 I'm back with a new ‘Q&A’ post. Sorry, it took me longer than usual. I'll explain to you at the end of the post. For now, enjoy 🙃

I've already talked about it here, dear Anon, https://fa-by.tumblr.com/post/648194553804881920/%C9%9F (first question) and then here https://fa-by.tumblr.com/post/648194746313031680/%C9%9F (fifth question).

And who said I think Camila is a lesbian, dear? 😏 Maybe you mistaken me for some other blog? Because, I've never said that, dear. I've never been asked about it 🤷🏻‍♀️

You must be new to my blog if you're asking me this question, dear Anon. Welcome 🤗 and my answer is no, dear. Neither of them has ever cheated on the other. They're both way too loyal for that shit.

No, dear Anon. And always keep in mind that this is just my opinion and that therefore I could be wrong.

Hello to you too, dear Anon 👋🏼😄 First of all, thank you 🥺🥰 Thank you very much for your words, dear, you're super nice and I really appreciated it very much 🤗

As for stuck, we didn't fight or anything like that. I guess we just drifted apart 🤷🏻‍♀‍ even before she entered the Marvel world, but I can't tell you why she never liked and re-blogged my posts, dear 🤷🏻‍♀️

Let's call it my flaw if you want, but I don't like any posts myself (not even my girlfriend's), but that doesn't mean I don't like many posts I see. It's just the way I am 😅 I leave comments every now and then though 😅 And neither does it mean I wouldn't like to interact with you guys if you ever want to contact me or tag me or get me involved in something. It may not seem like it maybe because I don't re-blog and put likes around, but trust me, it's not like that.

Going back to stuck, I really can't tell you why. I mean, I'm not her so I can't answer you. Maybe you should ask her directly, dear. @stuckinapatriarchalbullshitland​

I hope you have a very nice day too, dear Anon. Thank you so much again, and please, be sure to take care of yourself too 😘

Hello to you, dear Anon 👋🏼😄 and don't thank me, dear 🙈 It's really a pleasure for me to interact with you guys and help you in any way I can 😊

So. Yeah, I think what you think, dear. Mila was definitely the one to make the first move, but as far as putting aside pride and the decision to give it another try, it was something they both did because they each had their own reasons. Remember, dear, there are two people in a couple.

Hey dear sneaky little one 👋🏼😄 I'm good. How are you? It's a pleasure, dear, you don't have to thank me for that 😊

I'm not sharing them with you guys yet just because they're personal observations that not everyone can agree on and, as you may have noticed, I like to tell you guys what I think with real facts that I can prove. In this case, it would be like in this picture:

I hope that with this example you understand better what I mean, dear sneaky little one. Come back any time you want and take care of yourself too 🤗😘

Hey dear Anon, why are you so down? 😟 Don't be 🤗 I know it's hard to think positively about them, but think about everything we've endured so far. Think about how strong we are. Whatever's thrown at us, it won't change our minds because we know the truth. Now, come on, dear, smile 😁 Enjoy the small wins instead of having them ruined for you by the possible eventuality of them doing something. And remember, we're in this together 💪🏼

I swear to you that when I saw it, I was like 📢🔊 Your loving takes me higher 🎵 You set my heart on fire🎵 When you touch my body got me singing like Mariah!!!! 🎵🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Hello to you, dear Anon 👋🏼😄

1) No, dear, you can't force something on someone who agreed to do things like this in the first place. I'll explain better. PRs are accepted by those directly involved, who then sign a contract. It's a commitment they're bound to respect from the moment they have accepted and signed the contract. If they don't respect it, they then have to pay the consequences (if you’re interested, I wrote a post about how PR relationships work here: https://fa-by.tumblr.com/post/648193061847023616/pr-stunt-relationships-%C9%9F). I'll give you a silly example. Think of it as when one day you didn't want to go to school but you had to go anyway. It's pretty much the same dynamic because even if you didn't want to go that day, or several days, you knew you had to and you did. I hope it went well as an example 😆

2) Yes, but which of the two teams, well, that depends, dear. It depends on who's reaching whom and where. It depends on whether they're traveling together or not. And it depends on the purpose of that particular stunt, like if is some particular event or not.

3) No, dear, absolutely not, don't worry 🤣 Everyone has their own room. The rooms are very likely to be close together though, or at least on the same floor, that's for sure.

4) Yes, when possible, of course. The more people see the couple doing everything together, the more believable they seem.

Don't thank me, dear, it's really a pleasure 😊 Have a good day too ❤️

Not necessarily, dear Anon. Mila started work on her third album during the pandemic in her studio, so no one had to pay for her. Besides, when a contract expires and there's a re-sign, it doesn’t necessarily mean that an announcement will be made about it since the record label is still the same. Announcements are made if there's some kind of important addition, such as for example happened with 5H when they had to re-sign as a quartet for legal reasons with Syco/Epic, and it was only announced because of the addition of a contract with Sony Music as the sponsor for their last album.

Having said that: 1) Since her movie has been postponed again, I would say in 2022. 2) I really hope not because they would be really stupid to do it again. Plus, I don't think the PR will last until the released of her album. 3) I have to admit you made me giggle here, but no, dear 😂 don't worry. Producers, composers, songwriters, etc., work with a lot of different artists who have different styles. Mila’s nothing like Chimp, and she can’t do anything boring. It isn't in her blood. No pun intended at all there 😏🤣

Hi to you, dear Anon 👋🏼😄 and you got it right, buddy! We think the same way!

They had gotten to a really bad point in their relationship. A point where they were no longer themselves, either in the couple or individually. For me, what happens in the Havana music video is what happened in reality as well. It was obviously told in an artistic and funny way there. Like the scene of Juan literally ‘coming out of the closet for her’ because he thought it was the best thing for their relationship. In that scene, he gets down on his knees to ask her to marry him, but in reality, at least for me, it represents December. It represents the ‘begging’ in a disguised and artistic soap opera way. It represents Lauren's last attempt to make things work between them. Which is related to the “You love me”, “I do love you. But I love me more” scene in which Camila leaves everything behind. And if you think about it, we can also find this connection somewhere else: 🎶 “Nobody talks about walking away when there's still love” 🎶. Always Love by Laur. Luckily, at the end of the video, she really is ‘took back to her Havana’ as it also happened in reality.

It's all connected, dear. There's a connection and an explanation for everything they do artistically. Just pay attention and you'll be able to connect the dots like you did in this case too. Give me a virtual high-five! 🖐🏼 And have a good day too, dear Anon ❤️

Hello to you, dear Anon 👋🏼😄 Thank you very much, dear, and don't worry, I've been never asked that. So. Before answering your questions, let's take a look at the facts, okay? Especially for the baby Camren shippers.

Leilani is Dinah's aunt by marriage. She has always interacted with fans and we saw her in several videos even with Dinah herself, but the first time she showed herself to us as problematic was on July 18, 2016. Leilani tweeted an attack on Taylor Swift and apologized the next day by saying of having been hacked:

Yeah, suuure, because hackers around the world were waiting for nothing but hacking her 🙄 But let's move on. September 8, 2016, was the day Laur cried several times during the concert in Phoenix, Arizona. The next day, on the 9th, before the concert in Irvine, California, Laur tweeted to thank the concerned fans, and Leilani replied to the tweet by exposing L because of the ‘her’:

On December 21st, 2016, she did a live where she talked about Camren after fans asked her about it: https://va.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_qvandqF63c1ykfr3q.mp4  (I also put the sub in the video myself)

On January 8, 2017, she posted two Snapchat stories in which she spoke again about Camren with one of her nieces: https://va.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_qval74yFz61ykfr3q.mp4 

On January 29, 2017, both Camila and Lauren blocked her on social media:

She continued to strike by attacking Camila months later. On July 13, 2017, the same day the 5H interview with Billboard came out, Leilani attacked her by basically calling her a whore. Tweet to which C replied with suspense dots and a Rihanna GIF:

On December 5, 2017, Camila posted the album cover and title by saying that the pre-order would've been possible from the 7th. Because of the album cover picture, Leilani attacked with the first tweet on December 5th, and continued on the 6th:

Then nothing else problematic.

Yes, of course she knew about Camren. All the people close to them know about Camren. Leilani has always been a person who likes attention. She has always liked to show off and be noisy and messy in doing so. It didn't matter how ridiculous she was or that her actions fell upon her niece. The fact that she seemed to be joking and that she was always so evasive and confusing on the subject, is because she herself knew she was going to pay the consequences. She could never have said “yes, they're real” and stick to it. Also because the one who would've paid the most consequences would've been Dinah. You know, being her aunt, it was like her responsibility. And I think D really paid the consequences for something she didn't do. At least, before the sharks took the reins and told her what to do (Leilani through Dinah). It’s happened to a lot of people close to them to get involved over the years. It has been noticed a lot more from 2015 onwards, but especially in 2017 to increase the story of the fake feud between the girls.

So basically, yeah, she was problematic and loud and messy and all of that, but for the most part, she was just following the script.

Hi to you, dear Anon 👋🏼😄 welcome and thank you very much 🙃 My answer to your question is yes, they've been for a long time by then. You'll find more details on all of that dynamic below in the next ask, dear.

Kinda? 🤣 Okay, let me explain, dear Anon. There was no cheating if this is what you thought with my first answer. But let's go in order. I'll shed some light on the story with Luis once and for all.

Luis Santos' first appearance for us was on January 13, 2013 when Laur posted this picture on IG:

One year later exactly, on January 13, 2014, L posted this picture:

Then we have the one on February 24th (when the girls arrived in Miami because they had three dates in Florida for The Neon Lights Tour) and those of February 25th, 2014 after the concert (posted the day after):

We have the one of April 13, 2014:

The prom ones of May 17, 2014, which were the last pictures with Luis that Laur posted:

And lastly, we have Laur’s birthday one posted by Luis:

The latter lets us understand that their story officially began on January 27, 2014. We don't know when it ended exactly (let's suppose at the beginning of July) because we only had confirmation of it in August thanks to the explanation that Clara gave for that fake scandal:

Now. This is the official story. The one we should’ve bought. But let me show you the behind the scenes. This is Melanie Mueller, Luis's ex:

Luis was in a relationship with Melanie from early August (unfortunately, Luis and Melanie's profiles are all private, but not Melanie's old Twitter) until, according to the narrative, late November 2013:

And this is where the juicy stuff begins. Luis stated that he and Mel were no longer together:

The date coincidentally matches the beginning of his relationship with Lauren on January 27, 2014, right? Right. So how do you explain the fact that Luis and Mel were on a romantic date exactly 13 days after he said they weren't together anymore?

As you can see from the date, it was February, and weren't Lauren and Luis already together since January 27th? 😏 The funny thing is that they kept interacting and taking pictures together:

And then there's the best part. The Camren shippers went wild that year in replacing Luis's face with Camila's twice. The first one with the prom picture 🤣:

And the second one with April picture. Sorry, I really tried but I couldn't find the original manip. But don't worry, I have two better things 😏:

Ohh, I think we know, Mel 😎

And how can we forget one of the many things that remained in the fandom's history and which coincidentally happened just in February a week before the picture of Luis and Melanie's romantic date:

Now that I've given you proofs, it's theory time. We know about the friendship with benefits, the Like Friends Do situation that Camren had, and we know that Lauren was in denial. Luis was a shield. Her shield, especially for the public. It wasn't a PR created by the labels, but by Lauren herself. Laur and Luis were friends, and I mean, they still have been for years. Laur simply asked him for a favor and he accepted. Laur stayed in Miami throughout the Christmas period until the first week of January 2014 before flying to L.A. with the girls. It was then, in that time spent at home that she asked him, and despite knowing the risks, despite knowing he would face fans' hatred, and despite having a girlfriend, Luis agreed to be the fake boyfriend just to help his friend in need. I don't think she told him the real reason behind it right away, but she definitely told him once she and Mila finally got together. Laur came out to her family in early 2015, but it doen't mean she didn't to her friends before. Especially once she and Mila became official in April 2014.

So, dear Anon, yes, in a way, Lauren was with Camila and Luis, but in reality, she was never with Luis.

Hi to you, dear Anon 👋🏼😄 Thank you very much, dear, and that's okay. I don't mind helping when and if I can. It's not a problem at all for me 😊

So, as far as Lolo's situation is concerned, I honestly think Columbia has very little to do with her situation. I mean, Columbia is the biggest record label under Sony Music and has always had a lot of successful artists. From the great names that have made history to the most recent but still famous ones: Michael Jackson, Freddie Mercury, Aretha Franklin, Frank Sinatra, David Bowie, Bob Dylan, Celine Dion, Paul McCartney, Mariah Carey, Beyoncé, Jay Z, Adele, Alicia Keys, Ricky Martin, Pharrell Williams, Robbie Williams, Katy Perry, Shakira, Snoop Dogg, 50 Cent, Diplo, OneRepublic (Ryan Tedder), Miley Cyrus, Harry Styles, Zain Malik, Little Mix, Calvin Harris, BTS, Lil Nas X, Meghan Trainor, etc., etc., etc. Believe me, there are really, but really many names that I haven't put in this list.

The purpose of a record label is to make money. To do that, the label finds an artist. The label decides if it's worthwhile for them to sign the artist by investing and advancing the money on them, and if the label believes they can make money with their music, then they don't think twice before signing them. So they invest in the artist, develop them, promote them through the artist's team, and distributes their music in exchange for a percentage of the revenues. If things go smoothly and well, there's a gain, but if things go wrong, the label loses money. [If you want to know more about how the music world works and what the girls had to go through, I wrote a post about it here: https://fa-by.tumblr.com/post/648192055443619840/how-the-music-world-works]

Now, what did I mean by that? As I said before, Columbia is the number one, the biggest and most important umbrella music label under Sony Music Entertainment. So why on earth would a label as big as Columbia Records have signed Lauren and invested in her, but then thwart her and lose a lot of the money they invested themselves? It wouldn't make any sense because it would be like self sabotaging themselves! And what did I say is the purpose of a record label? To make money. Don't be fooled by anyone about it, dear.

I could have understood if this had been an isolated case; if Laur had been the only one among the girls (LAND) who hadn't released an album. But it's not like that. Something, and I'm 100% convinced it's something from their old contracts, has held all four of them up until now. We'll see, dear Anon. Sooner or later, the truth will come out because it always does. Even if it takes years.

Don't apologize, dear, really 😊 Hope things are great with you too and please, take care of yourself too 🤗

Hey to you, dear Anon 👋🏼😄

Nada is a song that is part of Tainy's EP called Neon16 Tape: The Kids That Grew Up on Reggaeton, and it's about how two people in an unofficial relationship want completely different things. The guy doesn't want anything serious unlike the girl.

Now. I understand why you're confused, dear. After reading the lyrics and thinking about Camren, you've surely wondered “Where the fuck is Camila in all of this? But does it have something to do with her, or not?”. Well the answer is no. You see, dear, we're used to hearing a lot more Mila's songs than Laur's. When Mila writes, she writes for herself. She writes from her point of view and according to her experiences. Same thing Laur does. But Mila, unlike Laur, can't write a song for other people. She can't detach herself from them when she's writing them. Take as examples all those songs she gave away after finishing them, like Anyone or Ain't Easy. When you listen to them, you can clearly hear Camila all over it even if the song is being sung by someone else, like in these two examples, Justin Bieber and Elijah Woods. But with Laur? Nah, because Lauren can completely detach herself from them.

Take More Than That as an example. Laur didn't write More Than That for herself; she just ‘decided’ to keep it (because it was okay for the narrative she had going on at the time). If she had really given it to someone else and then you had listened to it and knew she was the one who had written it, you would've thought “Really?” with a wtf expression as the first thing. Right? Because you recognize Laur in the song only because you know she's behind it. Am I wrong? And don't get me wrong, dear, this is not by all means a bad thing at all. I'm not saying this as an insult or anything. Quite the opposite actually. I think it's absolutely amazing. Think about it. It's basically the work of songwriters and ghostwriters who only work behind the scenes for other artists. Gosh, they're both so fucking talented 😍

Anyway. What was I getting at with this? To the fact that the same thing happened here with Nada. Nada was written by four songwriters and we have two different points of view to represent the couple in the story. The one of the girls, Laur and Cris Chil (she also worked and wrote with her for Lento), and the one of the boys, C. Tangana and Tainy (like Cris, he wrote with her and produced Lento). Now. I can't tell you who the real protagonist behind the story of the song is because none of them said it, but it's definitely not Lauren. Laur just went with the flow.

Before starting, I would like to also publicly thank my girl @romanticentropy​ for helping me with the translation (her first language is Spanish), so thank you again, my love 🥰 And I'm not talking about the literal translation. I'm talking about the real meaning behind it since the meaning of many sentences or words can change even based on a simple comma. Therefore, here below you'll find the real translation along with notes placed in parentheses with various explanations. I don't know if you speak Spanish, dear Anon, but we did this for all those people here who don't speak it so that everyone can understand the true meaning of the song.

That said, let's get started.

Verse 1:

“Como te arrimes sí te voy a dar

If you dare come close, I’ll give you [implied: my dick]

Me he puesto guapo pa' verte pasar (Yeah)

I got myself all dressed up to watch you go by (Yeah)

No me pregunte', no quiero pensar

Don't ask me, I don't want to think

No tengo tiempo, no me pue'o casar

I don't have time, I can't get married

Pero, puedo quererte de nuevo

But, I can love you again

Dejar todo el resto pa' luego

[implied because the two sentences go together: And] leave everything else for later

Quedarme pa' ti, que más quieres de mí

To stay for you, what else do you want from me

No odies al jugador odia al juego

Don't hate the player, hate the game

Yo no me he inventado na' (Qué va)

I didn't make anything up (Not at all / Of course not) [‘Qué va’ is an expression, particularly from Spain, that means something like ‘How could you have thought that? Of course not’ said in a casual tone. So, ‘not at all’ is a possible interpretation because he's reassuring he really didn't make anything up]

Sobrevivo en la ciudad (¿Qué?)

I survive in the city (What?)

Me la busco pa' ganar, cien monedas pa' gastar

I'm looking to earn, a hundred dollars to spend [In this sentence, the comma is very important because in ‘me la busco pa' ganar’ read alone, it means that he's finding his ways to earn a living or a better life. When you add ‘cien monedas pa' gastar’, it extends to ‘he's finding his way to earn $100 to spend’, but the comma is important because it keeps alive the idea that he's not only working for the 100 dollars, but also for a better life (possibly a rich kind of life, but that's not necessarily implied)]

Una cama pa' dormir, y un yate pa' vacilar

A bed to sleep in, and a yacht to show off on”

What do we understand from this? That he's actually the one who doesn't want to have a serious relationship because his goal for the moment is to earn and live a good life, not to settle down and get married.

Pre-Chorus:

“Tú ya sabías to' lo que había

You already knew what to expect / You already knew what the situation was

No me hagas cambiar, vida mía

Don't make me change, my darling [He sings ‘vida mía’, which means ‘my life’. Calling someone ‘my life’ is not used in English because it makes no sense in the definition of the language itself. So, in this case, it's translated and used as a loving nickname. As you could call someone ‘my love’, ‘my heart’, ‘my baby’, or ‘my darling’]

Yo te doy hasta que se haga de día

I'll give you until it's daylight

Yo te doy hasta que se haga de día

I'll give you until it's daylight [‘Darle a alguien’, ‘to give to someone’ in Spanish has a sexual connotation. It means you're going to have sex with that person. It’s especially used from a male point of view; particularly this last line, he means he'd have sex with her all night until it's day again]”

He basically tells her: “You knew I'm an asshole. Don't try to change me because it's useless. The only thing I can give you is whole nights of sex”.

Chorus:

Sigue' dándome na', dándome nada

You keep giving me nothing, giving me nothing

Can't keep up with your vibe

'Cause you're up and you're down, 'round and you're 'round, babe

I can not read your mind

Conté lo' día' pa' volverte a ver

I counted the days to see you again

Y tú ni sabe' qué quiere' hacer

And you don't even know what you want to do

Cuando me vaya no voy a volver

When I leave I won’t come back

Sigue' dándome na', dándome nada

You keep giving me nothing, giving me nothing”

This is an ultimatum. “If you keep giving me nothing for much longer, I'll leave you without looking back”.

Verse 2:

“Yo no estoy para regalarte

I'm not here to please you [The literal translation of that is ‘I'm not here to give you’. The incomplete sentence opens an ambiguity where you don't know if she’s saying ‘I'm not here to give you anything’, or ‘I'm not here to give you things’, or ‘I'm not here to fulfill your wishes’, or ‘I'm not here to please you’, or things like that that make you understand that if he's not ready to pay attention to her right now and give her the love she needs, and he's clearly not because he's ‘giving her nothing’, she's not just going to wait there by begging for some love or collecting the crumbs that he leaves behind. She's saying “give me the love and the attention I need or I'll go away on my own”. So overall, ‘I'm not here to please you’ is a decent interpretation]

Ni tampoco para esperarte

Nor to wait for you

Ese dinero no te va a cuidar

That money won’t take care of you

No te pido matrimonio, yo sólo tu arte

I'm not asking you to marry me, just your love [That's the real meaning behind the sentence despite the literal translation being this: I'm not asking you to marry me, just your art]

Cuando no estoy ahí

When I'm not there

Sé que preguntas por mí

I know you ask about me

Sé por qué eres así

I know why you're like this

I know you're afraid of falling in too deep

We can pretend like we’ve only done this for the fun of it

Pero no te sorprendas si te enteras que así como tú hay mil

But don't be surprised to find out there are a thousand just like you around”

Basically: “I'm not asking you to marry me, just to have a real relationship. An exclusive relationship. We can continue to pretend that we just had fun, but I know there's something deeper. I know you're afraid of falling in love with me, but if you keep wanting this kind of relationship, then I'm gonna go find someone who wants the same things as me; also because there are a lot of guys out there and I'm starting to get tired of waiting”.

And that's all, dear Anon. Now that you know the real translation *thanks once again, mi amor 💖* , can you see anything that has to do with Mila? Because I don't. In fact, if I really have to find an association with Camren, the only thing that comes to my mind is that Lauren could have written some parts of her verse from Camila's point of view when they were still just fuckbuddies. You know? Since it was Laur who was initially in denial and was afraid, and not Camila. She was the one who was afraid of the idea of even liking Mila, let alone falling in too deep. But it's not like that. There's nothing of Camila here. There's no Camren here. For me, this song is the story of one of the three (Cris Chil, or C. Tangana, or Tainy) and Laur only contributed to it with her talent.

Of course I can, dear Anon 😉

So. Camila created In the Dark the day after going to the Grammys' after-party (February 12, 2017) with which she went with Ashlee as her date of hers. Mila said she got the idea for the song because of the encounter she had at that party with this unnamed famous guy. Yeah, sure, Jan. We know very well that this is not the case. Just as we know very well that that was the same night in which Tyren had their first public appearance as a fake couple. If you're interested, I've already explained all this also with proofs in my previous post: https://fa-by.tumblr.com/post/653296412485894144/romanticentropy-fa-by-hiiii-babies-and-dear (last question in my All These Years' interpretation).

If you don't mind, dear Anon, I'll start with the verses because they're the only parts of the song where Mila isn't addressing Lauren directly. In the verses, Camila just observes her by describing their surroundings.

Verse 1:

“Blank stares, faithless

Vampires at the same places

Shadows, traces”

Okay, let's talk about those types of parties for a moment. I bet that when you think about it, you picture a lot of celebrities having fun and dancing, glam, alcohol, drugs, music, and all those kinds of things, right? Well, that's just as true as it isn't. You see, there aren't just celebrities at those parties. There are one or more of they team members, there are A&R representatives of various labels, CEOs, publicists, producers, marketing representatives, radio and television presenters, reporters, designers, advertisers, etc., etc., etc. Those parties are the epicenter of business-talk. Very often, this is where ideas for collaborations, for PRs, for endorsements and sponsorships, for movie and TV appearances, etc., etc., happen. For those celebrities who have to be there for business reasons and not for actually having fun, those parties are pretty boring.

With those sentences, Mila describes all the people around her during that party. Those people who aren't having fun because they're surrounded by what she calls vampires. Before they marketed them by making them sparkle in the sun because of the crystals on their skin, or before they made them wear a gemstone in daylight rings, bracelets, and amulets to make them walk in the sun, you know? Before they become basically trendy, vampires were always the villains. But don't get me wrong with that. I saw the Twilight saga and I love love love The Vampire Diaries, but the fact remains that before all of that franchise, vampires have always been used in horror and scary genres because they're evil. Also because if you think about it, what do vampires do? They suck blood by basically feeding on the life force of creatures by draining them to survive and not decompose since they're undead. They need to take a life to keep living theirs, so yeah, they are the bad guys.

So Mila here describes both the bored people, the ones with blank stares who in those cases are the shadows of their true selves because they're pretending to be who they aren't, and those people of power as bloodsuckers, life-suckers: vampires. And I don't blame her at all because that's what they do. Vampires, or puppet masters, or parasites, or as you guys know I like to call them: sharks.

“I know that you feel me”

Now. Now, now, now, now, now, now. What does this sentence make us understand? Picture you're in a place full of people. Picture pretending that you're having fun because you can't show how much you actually want to be somewhere else. Picture smiling and forcibly laughing at the bullshit someone's saying. It's all about image. Now picture seeing someone you know amidst that sea of people. You and this person are far from each other, and at the moment, you both are busy talking to other people. Even though you turned around to keep having this oh so great conversation with those people, you can feel the person you know. You can feel their presence despite being on opposite sides. You can totally feel that they're still looking at you, and you have confirmation of that the moment you turn towards them again.

Apply all of this on Camren now. We know how they've always attracted each other. We know how they've always searched and checked each other when they were on opposite sides of a room. We know how they've always felt each other. So it's not that hard for me to picture how it went in this case. I understand what Mila means when she says she knows Laur could feel her despite the place and all the people around them. Because it's always been that way between them, and we've actually seen them do it many times.

Verse 2:

“Plus one, guest list

But you don't even know what her name is

Secrets, endless

I know that you feel me”

This is a repetition similar to the first verse. Mila here continues to describe the people around her and those around Laur. People who are there because they're on a list thanks to someone they don't even really know. People who in those events become totally fake because they all have secrets to hide, including the two of them. People who pretend to be friends with each other just for a matter of image without even knowing their real names, their real selves. People who are so used to wearing a mask that they've by now become that mask. And among all the sea of these people, Mila knows that Laur can feel her. Evidently as much as she can feel Laur.

Refrain:

“You’re runnin', runnin', runnin', runnin' (oh)

Making the rounds with all your fake friends”

As I said before, many celebrities wear a mask, this facade for protection. They do it to show themselves as unproblematic and to show themselves almost as perfect in the eyes of others. If you think about it, it's the same thing we see in many celebrities and even in Camren when they have to promote something. Neither of the two of them has problems showing themselves to us in a vulnerable, authentic way, without make-up ‘al natural’. But as soon as they have to promote something, bam! Dresses, nails done, make-up, and hair. It's quite normal on the one hand. I understand that. But the problem, as Mila herself said, is when this fake persona takes over your authentic self.

In this part, Mila explains how she was observing Lauren's behavior. This facade that she was wearing because they were in that kind of environment with those kinds of people and those fake friends (yes, including Tabloid). This mirage that allowed her to run and hide her true self from everyone, even from Camila herself.

“Runnin', runnin' away from it (away)”

Especially in this part, and despite having seen her fake act many times before, Mila lets us understand how Lauren was 'running' and suppressing/hiding her authentic self in front of everyone. [I remember that period. Lauren didn't act like Lauren for a while]

You can strip down without showing skin, now”

Okay, this? This sentence right here, it's magic. It's pure art. “It's okay to show the realistic side of yourself without exposing yourself and also having to show your secrets or what you want to keep to yourself. There's no need to act like a completely different person from who you are”. Camila leaves me more and more speechless with her way of writing and expressing such true and profound concepts.

Pre-Chorus:

“I can see you're scared of your emotions

I can see you're hoping, you're not hopeless

So why can't you show me?

Why can't you show me?

I can see you're looking for distractions

I can see you're tired of the acting

So why can't you show me?”

The pre-chorus explains itself quite well. Mila's saying “I know you. I see what you're doing. I see your fear. I see the way you want a way out. I see how tired you are of this farce. So why are you faking it? Why are you faking it in front of me? Why are you faking it with me? Show me the real Lauren. Not this industry puppet. Show me the Lauren I know”.

Chorus:

“Who are you in the dark? (I, I)

Show me the scary parts (I, I)

Who are you when it's 3AM and you're all alone

And L.A. doesn't feel like home? (I, I, I)

Who are you in the dark?”

Who are you in the dark? = Who are you when no one's watching. Who are you when no one can judge you. Who are you when you're alone and you can really lower that protective barrier you create around you. Show me that. Show me all of you.

Camila mentions 3AM because, as we well know thanks to their other songs, it was the nighttime hours when they were able to spend more time together freely. She also mentions L.A. to make a comparison with Miami since Los Angeles is the second city they spend the most time in due to their careers.

If in the pre-chorus Mila really asks her to show her her true self, here in the chorus she instead asks her a rhetorical question accompanied by the explanations themselves like the specific examples 3AM and L.A. to make/show her point even more. Basically the same explanation as the pre-chorus: “Who are you, because I know, I know you, so why don't you show me?”. And I really love this connection between pre-chorus and chorus.

Bridge:

“Darling, come on and let me in

Darling, all of the strangers are gone, they're gone

I said, darling, come on and let me see”

The difference between the pre-chorus & chorus and this, is the more affectionate way she addresses her. She's asking her in a cute way also thanks to the use of that classic old-school pet name, to open up and show herself. She's telling her that it's okay now that they're alone. And most importantly, she's reassuring her with this:

“Darling, I promise that I won't run”

After hurting each other, after the omissions and the secrets, after the fights, after the non-communication, after that toxicity, in short, after everything they'd been through in those years and the way things had ended between them almost two months prior, this is really serious. She's promising her that she'll stay. That's the first step, or at least what we know was the first step thanks to this song, towards a healthy relationship and towards a real positive change in their relationship.

And by the way, wooohh, this whole transition is amazing!

Outro:

“Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah

Who are you in the dark?

Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah

Who are you in the dark?

Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah

Who are you in the dark?

Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah

Who are you in the dark?”

And that's all, dear Anon. I hope you liked my interpretation 🙃

P.S. When Sinu said “Number nine is my shit!” during that live, I felt that. Mama Sinu was right. Even after all this time, this song is still the shit 😎

🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍

Aaand I'm done 👩🏻‍💻 I hope I was helpful in this case too 😄 Thank you all for your asks and as usual, know that I'm available for those who have questions, so feel free to ask 😊

Before I go, I wanted to apologize for this huge delay. In addition to my job, it was due to the fact that I'm in the middle of a relocation. For about two months for 21 years, I always go to a place by the sea for the summer. I'll be there from today and I'll be back in September. Unfortunately there isn't much connection there, but there's a single wi-fi. I don't know if I'll continue to answer the asks all together with a post or individually. I'll see how to organize myself once I'm there. I apologize in advance if I'll take longer than usual to reply, but at least you know that it's because there's not much connection there (and you have to keep in mind that I’ll continue working normally because I’m not on holiday yet). Everything will be back to normal in September.

That being said, always remember to be kind, to others and to yourselves. Be a good example. Be patient. Be safe and take care of yourselves. Don't let our ship sink. Keep shipping them, but please respectfully 🙏🏼 Sending you virtual love and hugs 🤗🤗🤗 I love you, babies. Always with love, F ❤️

[writersmorgue]

I'm in a nightmare but I didn't fall asleep

TW: noncon, vague description of said noncon, kidnapping, non-consensual oral sex

17+ to interact

“That’s TWO out of three sports festivals you lost, Shouto. I’m beyond disappointed in you.” Endeavor’s booming voice leaves nothing to the imagination as it echoes across the barren stadium halls.

Well, almost barren.

Sero cringes from his hiding place behind the nearest wall, making eye contact with Bakugo next to him whose brows are furrowed in concentration.

“You know what, I’m fucking done. You’re going to give me one thing, and it’s going to be the future number one hero. A hero who will beat All Might, something you will NEVER do. My faith in you has been destroyed. I’ll tell them to retrieve you on Friday.”

Shouto makes a choked noise, and the two boys look at each other in confusion.

“Father please, you don’t mean-”

“I absolutely do. I gave you three chances Shouto! You’ve wasted my time and money, and now you’re going to be used like the useless bitch you are. Only serving me one purpose.”

“Please I can do better! Please don’t take me I promise I’ll make it worth your resources- AGH!” There’s a strangled shout as Endeavor grabs his daughter’s long ponytail in his flaming fist, charring the white hair

“You will do no such thing, and don’t even try escaping, I’ll hire more men if I have to. You will be useful.��� There’s a scraping sound as Shouto drags her feet as she’s pulled away.

A shrill scream lets out, quickly cut off as Endeavor’s scorching palm slams over his daughter’s mouth with a sharp shut up.

Sero turns to Bakugo, gulping, as he raises a pointed thumb towards the exiting duo, “Uh, that didn’t sound good.”

Bakugo purses his lips, “No, it did not.”

-

Endeavor shoves Shouto into the van head first and she tumbles in, careful to mind the several men surrounding her as she skids to a stop.

“I don’t care how you go about this, you’re all suitable donors. Get her pregnant in a timely manner. Do what you want with her when the baby is born.”

Shouto whimpers as the door is slammed shut, locking her in complete darkness with a group of unfamiliar voices as they discuss who gets to fuck her first.

Her right ankle is grabbed as the van begins to move, the first man growls as she tries to pull away, and his grip tightens.

She screams, hoping someone will hear her. Her mouth burns from her father’s hand.

“NO!!! LET GO! I DON’T WANT IT!” The sound of zippers undoing around her head is what finally sets her off.

Her flame erupts, burning half of her competition shirt, save for her specially made sports bra, and singes the second-place medal strap around her neck. The disc clanks on the metal floor and the men around her shout with frustration.

“He said we could do what we want-” One of them grunts, patting some embers off of his shirt, “Someone subdue the bitch.”

Her head is slammed down onto the metal floor, and she fades away.

-

“Did-” Sero’s voice cracks, and he doesn’t continue.

“Yup.” Bakugo nods, explosions popping behind him as they sprint towards the speeding van, “He just facilitated the rape of a fucking minor.”

“A MINOR!?” Sero screeches, fumbling his tape as it catches on a tree branch, launching him forward “That’s not just a fucking minor, Katsuki, that’s our fucking FRIEND.”

“SHUT UP!!” Bakugo yells right back, “I’m sort of busy trying to save her ass. Obviously, since that van isn’t a puddle she can’t get out on her own. Probably quirk proof or some shit, knowing the asshole.”

“I’m calling Aizawa.” Sero reaches one hand back to his pocket to get his phone.

Bakugo grunts something that sounds like an affirmation.

A few moments later Aizawa’s gruff voice is asking who the hell is calling him at this hour.

“Aizawa-sensei!!”

“What, Sero.”

“So um, Todoroki! She, um, her dad!!-”

Bakugo growls and snatches the phone, blasting himself with just his left arm. Sero would be impressed if he wasn’t screaming internally as the van takes a sharp left, causing them to slow.

“IcyHot has been kidnapped by her dad.”

“Bakugo, I’m pretty sure that’s called having a child legally, give Sero his pho-”

“No you don’t fucking understand!!” Bakugo shouts, “We watched him drag her away and shove her in a fucking van with a bunch of assholes. He told them to rape her Aizawa. She’s been fucking kidnapped.”

“I- you’re joking.” Aizawa’s slight increase in background noise indicates he’s finally taking action, but the goddamn attitude sets Bakugo the fuck off.

“WHY WOULD I JOKE ABOUT THIS YOU OLD BASTARD!!”

“No, you’re right, sorry. I’m getting Nedzu and sending Midoriya your way.”

“NOT FUCKING DEKU”

“Bakugo Katsuki you will shut up and help your classmate with whoever I send to you or you will be expelled.”

“FUCKIN’- whatever old man. We’re just passing the corner store.”

He shuts the phone off before throwing it carelessly at Sero.

“Bakugo!!” Sero whines as he misses the catch and watches his phone shatter on the pavement.

“Not my fault you can’t catch.” Bakugo retorts, speeding up and launching himself at the van.

Sero follows close behind.

They hear a rhythmic thumping from the inside, Bakugo pales.

“Fuck I think they’re-”

“All the more reason we should blow this fucking van open!” Sero shouts into the wind, shooting tape onto the door handle and yanking the entire thing off.

He pulls the nearest guy out by his leg and throws him onto the median.

“C’mon dipshits!! Quit-”

All fight drains out of him, instead replaced with blinding fury, when he sees Shouto.

Practice uniform already torn to shreds, she’s bleeding profusely from somewhere on her head right onto the cold metal floor of the moving van. Surrounded by several other grown-ass men, all staring at Bakugo like deer in headlights, she’s knocked out cold at their feet.

“You bASTARDS!!” He screeches, storming into the van and grabbing Shouto’s limp body into his arms, thankfully her pants seem to be relatively unharmed, it’s the glistening by her slack mouth that has Katsuki concerned.

The men seem to be too shocked to retaliate, but one of them stands, seeming to prepare some sort of excuse. Sero is faster.

Hanta whips through the vehicle, grabbing both Katsuki and Shouto with his tape, flipping the van onto its side in the process, and carrying all three of them out the other door.

The human scum scatter onto the pavement as the students roll, relatively unharmed, into a parking lot. It’s somewhere in those few seconds when Aizawa arrives, followed by a somewhat feral Midoriya.

“Where’s Shouto,” He picks one of the men up by their collar, throwing him violently back onto the asphalt when he sees his three friends laying in a heap a couple dozen yards away.

“SHOUTO!” He calls, practically teleporting to their location and digging through Katsuki and Sero to reach her.

“Jeez we’re fine too, Deku, thanks for wondering.”

Izuku rolls his eyes, pulling Shouto’s limp body into his arms, “Is she- what happened?”

Sero starts nervously explaining, wringing his hands as he looks back and forth between Shouto’s unconscious form and Izuku’s increasingly rage-filled eyes.

He WHAT?!” Green lightning crackles over his skin, stopped abruptly with a firm hand from Aizawa on his shoulder.

Aizawa walks over and crouches, pulling a swab out of his scarf, “Had Momo make me one,” He grunts at Sero’s confused expression.

He sighs, reaching over to Shouto’s face and swiping it around her lips, “Unfortunately I figured we’d need it.” He tucks it into a plastic bag and stuffs both into his suit pocket.

Katsuki huffs, an unreadable expression fixed on his face as he stares down at the girl.

“They got her pretty good,” He reaches a hand out and tucks a strand of hair over, so Aizawa can get a look at her head injury, “probably tried to put up a fight.”

The teacher nods, “and you heard her father approve this- kidnapping?”

“Yes sir,” Sero speaks up, and Midoriya growls.

“I fuckin’ knew he was bad news,” Katsuki scoffs, “always draggin’ her around and shit. Probably paid for them to fuck her up too. Said he wanted her knocked up.”

“He,” Sero’s voice is strained, “he said she was a disappointment that he was giving up on her. She knows that’s not true- right?”

Aizawa hums, pulling out a bandage to wrap Shouto’s head, “well you’ll just have to show her.”

The boys make eye contact, and Izuku pulls her closer.

“Yeah,” Katsuki agrees, “we will.”

-

Shouto wakes up screaming, clawing at her face as blood begins to seep down her cheeks.

“Todoroki wait!!! Todoroki you’re okay! They’re gone!

Hands pry her bloodied nails away and her energy is sucked away as a kiss is pressed to her cheek.

“You kids I swear, never a dull moment.” Recovery girl tuts.

She passes out again.

-

The next time is much calmer, warm light pools around her eyelids and she cracks them open, reaching a hand up to rub the sleep out of them. But in doing so she jostles the hand that had been resting on her own.

“Todoroki?” Sero whispers, raising his head up slowly, eyes widening, “Todoroki!!”

He lunges forward, encasing Shouto in a bear hug.

“Oi, hands off, she’s in a hospital bed for fuck’s sake tape face.”

“Right,” Sero smiles sheepishly, pulling back, “right sorry.

“It’s okay,” Shouto admits, because she really has no idea why there’s any need to be careful, “I’m fine.”

“Oh?” Katsuki’s raised eyebrows suggest she said something wrong, “You call a nasty concussion and almost clawing your own eyes out fucking fine? Guess we have different definitions of the word.”

Shouto frowns, “I don’t remember that last bit.”

Her head hurts slightly, but she feels like she would remember something like that even through a concussion.

She tracks her memory back to before, but she can’t quite seem to remember-

The van, the men, the smell, the sound as he shoved his-

“Shouto?”

She snaps her head up, “Huh?”

“Sorry, you were quiet for a bit,” Midoriya rests a hand on her blanketed leg and rubs it back and forth, “god nervous. You alright?”

They’re all staring at her now.

“Does he know I’m here?”

All three sets of eyes darken, but it’s Midoriya who speaks up.

“He doesn’t matter. Aizawa has custody of you as of now. Your pitiful excuse for a sperm donor has been taken into police custody for aiding in the rape and kidnapping of a minor.”

Shouto gets a distant look in her eye, “Oh” is all she says.

“They didn’t get that far,” Sero gestures to her bandaged torso, where one of the men had tried to take off her uniform pants.

“But they still-” She begins, suddenly nauseous.

“Yeah, they did. And that bastard has been taken into custody just like the rest of em’, he’s not getting out for awhile, especially since the DNA samples matched.” Bakugo informs her.

“Oh,” Shouto hums absently, “there were samples.”

“Shouto, you with us?” Midroriya squeezes her ankle gently, but she doesn’t respond, “Everything’s gonna be alright now. You can rest.”

And she does.

[thekitschdiet]

the kitsch diet part II

part one alr posted!! this chunk is about 3,000~ words long... let me know what u think :-) thank u all for all the luv already!!! looks like I really will hit 31 followers by easter!!!!!!!!

  Who is the Kitsch Girl? 

 I think this is more loosely defined, but The Chic Diet did a truly admirable way of reducing a girl to her YSL bag and her really skinny legs. Now, that implies an archetype, or a population in a specific location. I think kitschness is kind of the niche you fill when you’re not really much of anything else, sort of your own conglomerate of mainstream-specific. One major requirement, though, is being a little too into something somewhat uncool. And the whole illusion falls apart if you have any sort of outward insecurity. See, the Kitsch Girl is somewhat undefinable because she is so much of everything. She exists in multitudes, in a way that is also quite simple to understand; think of a list of axioms, or principles to live by. And now add a section to each one that says “but…” to make a collection of verified exceptions. Say, the kitsch girl will never wear jeans. But she thrifted this pair of vintage flares she just loves. She doesn’t reply to texts efficiently, but sometimes she will within a couple seconds. No mascara, no dinner forks, candles are to be collected not burned; but that was a gift, or something. It’s not personal, of course, those are just the contradictions she exists in. Don’t try to understand it, the enigma is essential to the facade. Or maybe she just lives like this, and her character is so homogenous with her inner world there’s no sense in trying to separate it. You have to have a little bit of an individuality complex about the whole ordeal, which is normally so eugh, but if you’re kitschy enough it works on you. Trust!The Kitsch girl is not someone unlikeable, but amiable and well heeled. I double checked that last one, assuming it meant liked by most, but apparently means affluent. I suppose that is an aspect of the kitsch girl too, having seemingly endless frivolous expenses with no real strain, but that’s not important right now. People that don’t like her think so out of jealousy, or something. Envious that her clothes are all kind of shake-it-up-esque and her highlights desperately need touching up, but she still seems so enthralled with the whole of life… How does she enjoy her own company so much when other people want to know her better? Doesn’t she feel weird about blowing people off to make a joke about reading Kafka in the bath? Why would she document her cluttered, unexciting life on Instagram so delicately, so vibrantly? Of course, no one would say this to her face because they are really baseless claims. She’s nice, generous, and valuable to have as a friend. Trade-offs exist, as they do with anyone. But I like thinking it’s easier to overlook a forgotten birthday when your kitschy best friend gave you a multi strand pearl necklace to celebrate the welcome breeze of June. Or some other made-up holiday. She is so unassuming if you’re not really looking. Girls want in on her inner circle. Or they just don’t care. Nothing wrong with being liked or thought of naught, for the most part. Boys are either enthralled or repulsed by her. Her doctor knows her as something of a hypochondriac, but only minorly. It’s just carpal tunnel, don’t worry… The sales staff at CVS turn a blind eye when she slips an eyeliner pencil into her tote bag. She shoplifts on occasion, just to see if she still knows how. But she is not a shoplifter. $9 here and $6.45 there doesn’t really add up to much. Everywhere she goes, she makes a tertiary friend or two. The term of friend is loosely used here, of course. But it is nice to tell a stranger you like her earrings. Or her phone case is so fun, is it Wildflower? The kitsch girl has an eye for this kind of detail. Simply put, she is sort of unspectacular. But in a way that makes you sort of wish you knew her better.

Phone cases

The phone case is, like, religious for the kitsch girl. Sorry, but there’s just no other accessory as flippant and expensive and single-purpose as a trendy little iPhone case with some semitacky stickers plastered over the design. I used to have an iPhone XS- extrasmall-  with like, 18 phone cases. It was kind of a sordid affair. I jest, but really… owning that many phone cases was kind of sick. We get it, you are frivolous and spontaneous and sooo stylish! Stop posting mirror selfies on your Instagram story, your crush isn’t going to see it. Kidding again. Having an extensive collection of phone cases is just so fun because while attainable, most people just simply do not partake in it. That makes you kitschy and unique. I really thought I had more to say about the IDEA of the phone case, but I guess in practice it is all very, very simple. You can slide your driver’s license in the back of a clear case. At what point does it stop being cool to have legal operational control of a vehicle? I don’t display mine because I don’t really like the photo. I look round. In the eyes but also just in general, swollen, unglamorous. Whatever. Not like I drive a Nissan or anything. I drive my *Mom’s* Nissan. Playing Bladee in the car seems sacrilegious. She would hate it.Back to phone cases. Sonix ones are cute but kind of overpriced retail- unless you have like, an iPhone 12 Pro Max or whatever the fuck is new this year, just go to Winner’s. They always have Xs and 11 cases. I had a cherry one for my previous phone, like the exact one Lana Del Rey had? Thank god I sold it before she got outed as a copfucker or whatever. Casetify is for an inadvertent flex. Flexing your lame, lame taste. Sorry, I know you bought it because you liked it, but what you failed to consider is just how un-Kitsch they are. SO common, and they advertise on Instagram. Sorry, I just can’t get into it! Kind of how I just never liked the Brandy Amara tanks. Or lowtop converse. Otterbox is just distressing. Like, if my boyfriend gave me an otterbox phone case I would probably break up with him because somebody clearly isn’t paying attention- one of my favorite, potentially overused joke is how Otterbox cases are the equivalent of orthopedic insoles. Sorry but if you have poor arch support or whatever, but no pain is worth giving up a good pair of Margiela slingback tabi heels. Obviously I couldn’t afford that right now because all loose income goes directly to Wildflower and my cig boy. But like, one day. I hope you want to punch me in the face a little bit after reading that.  If Wildflower isn’t your thing, at least have the decency to get a beaded phone strap. But not from String Ting. Pray tell you aren’t keeping score, but they are one of my several parasocial enemies. That should have been ME collaborating with Wildflower! Should have been ME mailing shit to Caroline Calloway (more on her later, but she is the only blue check I follow. I adore her! I was on her patreon for a bit I thinkl!!) …. Side note. Phone cases are cute but there is no way to properly protect your laptop without looking just absurd or colossally lame. The foam sleeves… ick.

Having the shittiest music taste ever

So like, here’s the thing. I’m an Apple Music user, which sort of reinstates my status as an unironic My Bloody Valentine Hyperpop Death Grips kinda gal. Read; volcel. My most recent conquest ended up being a huge L on my part, but also… I totally dodged a bullet. The guy had an iPhone 11 (female trait) and didn’t know who Rei Brown was, which just seemed suspicious given his Niche. I just know he had a “making out playlist” comprising entirely of like, Joji. Which isn’t a bad thing I guess but so unembarrassing it horseshoes back to being humiliating.Like I said. Having the worst music taste. It’s nice how subjective and deeply personal your music taste can be; no one really Needs to know you’re a die hard drainer. But there’s also no point in being a die-hard drainer and Not capitalizing off it somehow. I added it up and I have well over 150 hours of just Bladee and Yung Lean. Which is so yass? The more I write, using myself as a case study, I realize just how desperately jobless I am. And Yogenfruz isn’t even hiring! UGH!I think there is something very kitschy about liking hyperpop in the least ironic, least obnoxious way. Sort of feeds into a “I’m not like other girls” thing, but I mean… That’s kind of the idea of kitsch, isn’t it? Be a little different but also the very same as your lipgloss brethren?!Side note. If you make monthly playlists I am genuinely kind of afraid of you. That is just so organized!! I just make playlists with esoteric titles and then make a new one when I’m sick of the stuff on the last. I have exhausted most genres but I think my favorite is the “I’m wearing f****ng air forces and my teeth are SO white”. Guess what genre it is. Or don’t, but it’s probably what you think is. Okay, moving on….

Curating a scent

I like thinking I smell like mango and peach, Glossier you, whatever citrus is in that Lush shower jelly and mint 5Gum. But of course it is probably less distinct and just kind of generally fruit-floral-mint. Anyway. I think Glossier You is the perfect scent for anyone with a rather elementary understanding of the whole.. Perfume business. Every bottle of intentional fragrance I own was made via aesthetic choices… it really helps that Glossier You is so cute And so universal. Now, Glossier is kind of interesting to me because it really is at the intersection of cheugy and kitsch. Kind of basic, overplayed, unspectacular. But also…. Often popular things are popular because they are good. Glossier has excellent customer suurv, they ship SO fast (and no import duties! W!) and their stuff is just so sweet and nice if not unoriginal, in kind of the same way strawberry ice cream is. Which is still my favorite, of course, especially if there’s a vegan option. I was talking about Glossier. What the hell! It’s really worth trying out. A huge principle of kitsch is just… having as many possible layers and appendages to your composure as possible. And adding a signature scent just really completes that! When curating your own, I say this as a complete amateur, know-nothing; make it something that comes kind of naturally to Your Character. Like, I’m just not a Chanel No 5 kind of girl. Odds are you aren’t either. My bottle (before she asked for it back when I told her I didn’t use it, in exchange for a Nordstrom’s gift card) was from my grandmother. Ummm.. Yeah, I really have no expertise in curating a scent. But it is nice to have a signature. And having a bottle displayed on your dresser next to your aughties McDonald milkshake themed beanie baby and a handful of lip products is just way too fun! This is the kind of girl I am, everyone! Cluttered, but prioritizing pretty-delicate things!

Cheugyism

Cheugy is a relatively new word that has unfortunately wormed into my vocabulary to replace “uncouth”. Which I use to mean graceless or tacky, but if that isn’t what it means…. Don’t tell me. That would hurt more than weighing myself after a “feast” slash pastry binge at my dear Grandmothe’s house. Like I was saying. Cheugy. It’s sort of a fucked up concept to me because it is a critique on consumption, but not the pace or volume or magnitude of it. But rather… the idea of not being “good” enough at engaging in microtrends, or involvement in the fast paced fashion cycle. Don’t get me started on TikTok, or do, but… yeah,. No. That will require a cigarette because I’m so sorry, but writing a thinkpiece on social media is so lowbrow I would need to find about six ways to aesthetically counteract it…. Moving on.  I think the idea of cheugy is good, we really do need a word to simply and efficiently define “out of date/uninspired/lame”. But the way it is used to shame others for not liking the same trends or whatever is kind of gross. If you use cheugyism to put other people down and not as a neutral identifier umm… you will become what you fear. Sorry, that’s what happens. Some things that I think are cheugy or embarrassing, or just not part of my stylistic lexicon are… 1. Hooded or zip up clothing, or things with a large graphic on the back. Bingo if it's all three! I just can’t get behind it. Side note, my summer home outfit is brandy sweats and a tube top (Urban Outfitters tank I ripped the straps off) and a large cardigan that should have belonged to a stoner, but probably didn’t. I can dunk on bulky, uninspired clothes because I would honest to God NEVER be caught DEAD out of the house wearing any of it. I’m so serious. Next segment should be about the kitsch girl’s inadvertent affinity for diuretics. Remind me….. One of the ports of my laptop is dead. Not really sure what to do about that.

Eye makeup and what it means to me….

Personally, I am one of those people who never wears foundation and kind of has a complex about it. The kitsch girl wears fluffy eyelashes and owns a plethora of sparkly eyeliner. Or maybe she doesn’t, but she has something distinct and a little ritzy, if not haphazard. We all saw Euphoria and it like, totally imprinted on us. The way glitter sits on your face after a long day is so resplendent. When it’s shining and a little bit melted off from your long, semi-productive day… ugh! Just made for film. Pictures on film. But not the Prequel app. I keep getting fucking ads for it. But it’s so embarrassing. Like, isn’t the whole point of film the authenticity of the moment? The texture of the afternoon? Why would you fabricate that? Prequel is just so cheugy. More on that later. But anyhow. Wearing a ton of eye makeup kind of fits with the idea of film too I think. Like, look at you, in the moment. With your strip lash falling off! It’s all so tres-chic. Plus, for whatever reason, it’s kind of unique or notably dedicated to ~Pull up to the function~ with more eye makeup on than everyone else. Sorry, but it really doesn’t take that long! But yes I will gracefully accept your praise… it’s kind of like the dropshipping of complements if you think about it. Easy to source with little to no effort in the curating. Side note, lashes are like $20 for 40 weeks if you cut them in half and use each pair about 5 times. You could probably do more but I lose track. How the fuck is it almost June? I was trudging through the snow to check the mail for my Online Ceramics shirt just last week, I swear. The trick to cutting your lashes (the way I do it anyway) is pretty simple. Get out two lashes that are symmetrical. Find the middle and cut one slightly to the left and one slightly to the right. This means you have two sets (one set is a little more dramatic than the other but at least they are symmetrical) with longer outer edges. Glue this to the outer corner of your eye and you will look so Composed… obsessed with how this layers with three eyeliner tails (one traditional one pointing up and one pointing down directly below it, sort of like the tail light on a 2019 Lexus UX) and one below your eye, like a clown. Fun, irrelevant fact, is the first time I added this third tail to my eye makeup, my dad had just gotten home from the hospital because he was sure he had like appendicitis or something and it was actually.. Not that. Typical indie hypochondriac. He made me bring him cottage cheese on a plate with a teaspoon that evening. I put black pepper on it for flair, which he hated. Walking up and down stairs with a plate of cottage cheese is much more imprinting than most of the multiplication tables. Don’t forget to use a bright shimmer eyeshadow in your inner corner. It really opens up your eyes. I recommend Too Faced.  One time I got a little bit too high and tried to film an “editorial” makeup tutorial. You will never, ever, ever see that video. But I essentially covered my whole eyelid in the ABH shadow “palermo” and smudged out the edges with a tan Tartelette Toasted shade, coupled with my long-expired Milk Makeup holographic stick. Lopsided lashes and near-blinding eyeliner experience aside, it was kind of cool. My point is, you really cannot go wrong with an arsenal of shimmers, taupey mattes and a good eyeliner pen.

[songficsbyrissi]

Lost Ones (Spooky Diaz x Reader)

Warnings: cursing, angst, mentions of pregnancy, abortion, and deadbeat fathers.

“And I ain't too proud to tell you

That I cry sometime, I cry sometimes about it

And girl, I know it hurt, but if this world was perfect

Then we could make it work, but I doubt it” - J. Cole

****************

Oscar “Spooky” Diaz sat on the edge of the bathtub, holding the blue and white stick tightly like you didn’t just pee on it. For some reason, he thought staring at the digital screen would change from 1 word into 2. Unfortunately, it was still that one word.

Pregnant.

You, his girlfriend, was pregnant. When you had suspicions that you were pregnant, you secretly went to the store to purchase 3 pregnancy tests and once you took them, they all said that same word.

Pregnant.

You and Spooky were expecting a child and this was not good news at all.

“Oscar, please say something.” You whispered so softly, staring at him with dried tears on your face.

He remained silent, still staring at the test. His head was swimming with thoughts. Maybe you weren’t even pregnant. Maybe it’s a prank and you were lying, but you were not this good of an actress. Besides, you would’ve busted out laughing by now.

Then the thought came to him that maybe it wasn’t his but that thought got shot down quickly in his head. You loved him with all your heart. You wouldn’t do that to him.

Did you purposely get pregnant? What happened to birth control? Then again, if you were to purposely get pregnant, you would be jumping in joy and not sitting on the floor in despair.

You got up from the floor and walked up to him, taking his hands. Your pleading eyes made contact with his.

“Please talk to me. Say something.”

Spooky finally spoke. “How did this happen?”

You sighed shaking your head. “Well when a man and a woman love each other very much or like each other or they’re just drunk enough, they wanna express it in a physical way which happens to produce a baby.”

Spooky had an unimpressed scowl on his face. “That’s not funny.”

“Do you see me laughing?” You shot back, tilting your head. Your head came back into its original position and you sighed once again.

“We need to talk about this.”

“What’s there to talk about? We can’t have a kid. Talk over.” Spooky got off the bathtub, tossing the pregnancy test in the trash. He washed his hands and went into the fridge to get a beer. All you could do was watch him do all this in shock. He chugged down the beer and you stared at him with your arms folded.

“Seriously, Spooky?”

He slammed the fridge close, glaring at you. “Seriously what? You really think it’ll be a good idea for us to have a child?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “It’s not like we never talked about it.”

“Yeah, we talked about it. FOR THE FUTURE.” Spooky got close in your face, emphasizing the last 3 words. “The future where we’re older, smarter, making a lot of money and most importantly, married. We are none of that right now.”

“I know that, and I know that this isn’t the ideal situation to bring a baby in, but like it or not, it’s here.” Your arms were folded again. You were hoping he would have a better response to this.

“Not for long because you’re getting that abortion, right?” He questioned taking a swig of beer.

You had a look on your face, as if he slapped you hard across the face and spit in it. You could physically feel your heart break. The man you love doesn’t want you to have his child. You couldn’t believe it. He had to be joking. Spooky saw the shocked and hurt expression on your face and sighed. He didn’t mean to hurt you. He never means to hurt you but he had to be realistic here. This is a life that was being discussed. 

“I’m not trying to fight with you, Princesa. I’ve just been actually thinking. How are we going to raise a kid by ourselves? We are only 23!” He gestured all around you. “Does this seem like a good place to raise a kid? This neighborhood is dangerous. Where are we going to move to? Somewhere safer? Somewhere safer costs more money. Baby, I’m an ex-con. Only the jobs that barely pay shit hire ex-cons. We can’t live off your little receptionist job alone!”

You didn’t say anything. You just kept staring

at him with tears in your eyes. He took it as a sign to continue.

“Listen, I don’t want to bring mi hijo or mi hija in this world if I ain’t got shit to give them. I’m not going to leave but you gotta really think about it. Would it be smart for us to bring a child into this?”

Once your boyfriend finished his speech, you just backed away from him and stared out the window where kids were playing jump rope and riding their bikes outside. Little girls playing patty-cake and hopscotch while little boys played basketball and tag. You couldn’t stop the small smile that appeared on your face.

Looking out of the window gave you a bit of hope but Spooky didn’t see it. Maybe he didn’t want to see it.

“We have less than 9 months to figure something out.” You croaked out, still staring at the scene outside the window.

You heard a frustrated sigh behind you. “You’re not getting it.”

You finally turned around with angry tears flowing down your face. “No! You’re not getting it! You must’ve forgotten all the conversations we had way back! You remember those fucking conversations, Oscar?!”

He stared at you as the flashback hit him.

“It’s really crazy how Toya got pregnant. We’re only 21. We just became legal to drink and now she can’t.” You sighed as you laid your head on your boyfriend’s lap as he watched TV. He cleared his throat and didn’t say anything. He was always a man of a few words. Part of the reason why people feared him so much. Other than his little brother Cesar, you were the only person he would actually hold a full conversation with and talk for hours.

“Baby?” You said as you rose from his lap making eye contact with him. His hooded eyes focused on you. “What if we-“

“We’re not.” Spooky cut you off, already knowing where you were going with this.

“But what if.....we did?” You questioned softly. “And what would we do about it?”

Spooky groaned throwing his head back. “It’s not gonna happen. We’re smart.”

You folded your arms. “Smart people get pregnant too.” Your boyfriend inhaled deeply and didn’t say anything.

“The only 100% effective way to prevent pregnancy is not having sex and we’re obviously not going to do that.” You stated causing your boyfriend to snort in amusement and you elbowed him, rolling your eyes. “Seriously, Oscar. What if I was to get pregnant now? What would we do? What would you do?”

“I would do whatever it takes to make sure you and the baby are good. No matter what. The baby’s created and we gotta take responsibility because God don’t make mistakes. So if we tried to prevent it and you still ended up pregnant, we would just have to deal with it and make sure our child is born into a good situation.”

You just blinked because you were relieved that he wasn’t dismissing this conversation. He was actually thinking realistically. You saw him clench the bottle of beer he was drinking in anger.

“My father.....left me and Cesar and I still hate him for it. How am I supposed to be a father to him if I never got the chance to be a son? I always told myself that I would never put my child in that situation. It just starts a fucked up cycle and who knows when that cycle will be broken?”

Oscar shook his head as if he was trying to shake tears that were threatening to fall away. He took another drink of the beer. “I refuse to be him. I refuse to be a coward and turn my back on what I created.”

You smiled planting a soft kiss on his lips. “You’ll never be him.”

“Or did you forget that? Did you forget telling me that you wouldn’t turn your back on this? On us?”

“I’m not turning my back! I’m thinking realistically, Y/N!” Spooky began to shout now. He rarely shouted at you. That’s how you knew you were really under his skin.

“Oh really? Your exact words were-“

“I know what my exact words were! What you’re not getting is I changed my mind. People change, Y/N.”

You snorted in disbelief, laughing sardonically. “You sure did.”

“Don’t do that,” Spooky warned in a low voice coming closer but you didn’t back down.

“No! Fuck you Oscar! I should’ve known this is how you would act! You said you love me, now look at you! Singing a different song now that shit got real! I should’ve known you weren’t different from the rest. The rest of those guys who say whatever to get what they want! I LET YOU HIT RAW!” You pushed his chest as hard as you could, with your chest heaving up and down. “I let you fuck me raw, and now, I’m pregnant and you got the nerve to get in my face, talking about some abortion. This is my body, Oscar! I’m not aborting this baby! The only person taking this baby from me is God and last time I checked, YOU AIN’T GOD!”

“Y/N-“

“No! Shut the fuck up! I let you speak, and now it’s my turn!” You shoved a finger in his face as tears continued to roll down your face. “I’m going to love this baby, with or without you! My mom raised me by herself, and I’ll do the same with this child! I still don’t understand how you could be standing in my face, saying that when you said you hated your father and you would never be like your father! That you wouldn’t do that shit he pulled, but look at you! Doing the same shit! You ain’t shit! You ain’t shit to me, and as far as this child is concerned, you ain’t gonna be shit to them either.”

You got out of his sight, still holding a hand to your belly, and headed into the bathroom to continue crying your eyes out.

Spooky took a deep breath, trying to figure something out. He figured you didn’t mean what you said. You were just really upset. He had to make a decision. Stay here and wait for you to come out so you can probably talk about this or go out for a drive, giving you and him some space to cool down. He chose the latter, grabbing his keys and heading out the door.

On the drive, Spooky watched the scene where kids were playing and having fun. He began reminiscing about the times when Cesar was little and he would play with him outside. He remembered the tiny smile on his innocent face. He remembered how scary it was keeping Cesar safe on his own but he did it. He managed to raise his brother on his own and seeing that Cesar doesn’t want to be part of the Santos, he’d like to think he did a pretty good job.

Spooky doesn’t know how he did it but he managed to drive right to the park where he and his brother used to play on. There were still kids there. His hazel eyes focused on a little girl being helped by her dad on the monkey bars, giggling uncontrollably. Somehow, the little girl turned a little boy and her dad became....his dad. The little boy was him. He saw his younger self grin as he hung off the monkey bars and his father giving him a small smirk. The grin dropped a little. That memory happened before his father left his life and never came back.

“What about your seed, man?” His younger self looked straight at him and asked. Spooky’s eyes narrowed in confusion and he could’ve sworn he was seeing things.

“What about your seed?”

The vision returned back to the little girl smiling as she finished the monkey bars with her father grinning in pride. She hugged her father’s legs and he lifted her up, kissing her cheek repeatedly as she giggled in happiness. It was a beautiful sound.

He pulled off after he came to the conclusion that you and him had a lot to discuss. Maybe, he was too hasty, telling you to abort the baby. Maybe he was just scared and freaked out that he wanted the easy out but now he’s realizing it’s not necessarily what he wanted. But you were not going to find that out while he was out. He gotta go back home to you.

“Y/N?”

This house was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Spooky began to investigate. He went into the bedrooms and the bathroom. No sign of you anywhere. Your clothes were gone and you left no trace of you anywhere. You left him.

He took his phone out of his pocket to call you when a piece of paper on the counter caught his attention. It was handwritten and it only said two words.

You won.

Spooky clenched the note, falling onto the chair and just kept staring at those two words that managed to completely break his heart. What hurt the most is that he wasn’t sure what you meant by saying he won. Did you leave him for good, dedicated to being a single mother or did you change your mind, got the abortion, and left him because you hated him? Either way, you were wrong.

He was no winner at all in this situation.

TAGS: @karmawaelualani @chaneajoyyy @ctrlszn @witchything @sabrinafey @penguinpower17889 @robingreysantos @namjoonwatcheshentai @pananegra @bloatedandlonly @blackmissfrizzle @chonisberonica @flamingweasley @cynthetic @momobaby227 @this-glitter-pussay

If you wanna be added or removed, just let me knowwwww

[omegatheunknown]

AEW Double or Nothing 2021

In which the spirit of WCW is alive in confusing and delightful ways and we are left to parse whether overbooking and extracurriculars are offset by having actually very good wrestling happening at the same time.

- Lessons learned from Revolution on the production side? Maybe just cool it on pyro, though the rappelling adventure in the Stadium Stampede showed some of that now-characteristic 'trust us it'll look better on TV' flair. Hot crowd tends to paper over most woes, and the crowd was pretty hot. My one gripe is that the casino theme is hanging around like yesterday's takeout containers. Nothing wrong with clinging to a theme, I just think it's time for season 2. My suggestion? Under the Sea.

*Pre-Card Serena Deeb (C) v Riho for the NWA Women's Championship (***1/2) - Serena Deeb's star has finally risen. She's a remarkably consistent technician and she can get a match out of anyone at this point. She's working at the level of Mercedes Martinez or Madison Eagles at this point, it's amazing that she was overlooked or considered fit only to be a coach for so long. With the NWA belt she has this new swagger, she's basically everything Tessa Blanchard might bring to the table with none of the downsides (Serena has a lot of friends and seems like a lovely person, even!) - Riho's back and here to stay. Her time in Stardom didn't do much for my evaluation of her, which is that there are many better wrestlers that would be better representatives of the joshi style and she's merely pretty good. - The match was very good. Serena showcased a champion's aggression against a sympathetic Riho, they really work well against each other, Deeb's technical prowess against Riho's flexibility led to a very dynamic finish.

*Main Card Hangman Adam Page v Brian Cage (***1/2) - Here the shenanigans start. Brian Cage is on Team Taz, Team Taz has nothing else much to do tonight, so why wouldn't Team Taz flex their muscles, bait us with HOOK, etc? (Because it would be nice to have some variety in the card in terms of a match where one competitor stands across from another competitor?) - Hangman is (checking notes) yeah, still over as fuck, as befits the Anxious Millennial Cowboy. Cage terrifies me, he's a child's drawing of a body builder. He do be very agile for a man of his immense musculature tho. They match up well, Page is biggish for a flyer, Cage loves to play catch. Nothing much to write home about, other than Hangman's beautiful moonsault to the floor and what was overall a very good curtain jerker. - Okay fine, I am curious about Cage's reluctance to lean on the goons, Starks can't come back soon enough.

The Young Bucks v Jon Moxley & Eddie Kingston (***) - I will not be referring to Mox & Eddie as (The) Wild Things because it gives me 'he calls it the wacky line' flashbacks for some reason. - The Bucks have to cheat and abuse Rick Knox's attention span constantly to be on even footing with Mox & Eddie, which is a clever sort of thing that gets washed out by the appearance of LG and Karl Anderson, which again, is cool in a vacuum but was the story of the evening. - Pace was weird - repetitive in eliminating Eddie, then Mox fights back, failed hope spot, Bucks team up, Eddie saves x2/3 in a row. - Mox, unlike Cody (in so many ways,) will probably actually be taking some time off with Renee, which is the kind of thing I would prefer not to know in terms of booking, but they really uh, put him down on the canvas here, and it felt pretty finale-esque.

Casino Battle Royale (n/r, but on the balance pro) - Any changes to the theme of the PPV would likely include changing up the nonsense suit format of these largely joyless slogs. - Obviously anticipating a NJPW talent, or... I dunno, actually -- Lio Rush was a surprise. Got in a quick demonstration of his otherworldly quickness, and you know what, there's probably a fun place for him in AEW. He'll need some friends, of course, feel like Team Taz might fit his temperament. I wonder if he was aware of the Mark Henry news... - Christian does not need to win this kind of match to get a title shot, obviously, but that said it was super lovely to use him to give Jungle Boy the shine. Jungle Boy would be a license to print money if he was even as big as Hangman. - Could register some continued griping about how Penta is not getting his due in AEW but he also literally was dressed as the Joker so I'm low on sympathy on this one particular night.

Anthony Ogogo v Cody Rhodes (*) - I did not like this. It's hard for me to read jingoism as a face move to begin with, and Cody's was egregiously tone deaf and kinda silly yet delivered without a trace of irony because Cody doesn't do irony on purpose, ridiculous neck tattoo aside. - Great argument to be made that Ogogo just isn't experienced enough to be winning matches against Cody. But like, what are we doing here? Cody needs to take some time off, maybe. I thought that's what was happening when he had his mini feud with Penta that really just ended in quick decisive Cody win. I though maybe Cody was being turned when QT and The Factory snapped-- sure, they're a group of impotent player 2s, but Cody is an out of touch elitist with a callous and manipulative streak. Alas, also no. America #1. - Cody is approximately 8 times as tough as Billy Gunn based on his weathering of the one punch man. Match ran a bit long given how little there was to go on. Cody gigged? Quelle surprise. - Cody had the best match on the card like, 3 out of the first 4 AEW events or something, and that was all booking and storytelling. I do hope Cody follows Moxley's lead into a little sabbatical.

Miro (C) v Lance Archer for the TNT Championship (**1/2) - Card's hossiest hoss match, a quick burst reminiscent of a car wreck. Absolutely hit on what it should've hit on but a little slow moving considering it went all of 10 minutes. - I will not complain about Jake the Snake, who I love. And also the gimmick spot, with Miro very astutely yeeting what was definitely a snake in a bag (surely.) back down the tunnel.

Dr Britt Baker, DMD v Hikaru Shida (C) for the AEW Women's Championship (***) - Picked up a lot of steam toward the end but seemed a little toothless (heh) until the last five. - Shida 'deserved' some more time as champion in front of crowds but also it's time to let heel Britt reach her peak, I can't even imagine how obnoxious she can be as the champ, it's going to be great.

Sting & Darby Allin v Ethan Page & Scorpio Sky (***1/2) - Such is the power of STING that I feel like I might be underrating this match... I mean it was an okay match about very simply getting some revenge and the sixty year old man did a very subdued Code Red and a slightly less subdued dive. He's also Sting. They missed an opportunity in calling it the 'Scorpio' Death Drop, but the main takeaway here is you see something like this where it's The Icon and you start to understand why WWE trots out their legends to come out of incredibly still kick ass without bending their knees. - The difference, I guess, is that Sting is absolutely being used to build up Darby Allin, whereas it's not like the fed brought back Goldberg and his attendant aura to pump up... anyone but Goldberg?

Kenny Omega (C) v PAC v Orange Cassidy for the AEW World Championship (****) - Off the top I have to say I'm very sad that the rest of the Galaxy's Greatest Friends were seen only very briefly, nice of them to bring OC's backpack. - Also have to point out that PAC's promo featured one of my favourite jokes, that Kenny must be short for Kenneth as a sort of legal/birth name belonging to a professional wrestler. (See also: Samoa Joseph) - And Mr Cassidy certainly did try in this match, ragdoll sells and all. Kenneth and PAC are absurd talents who bring aerial, power and technical maneuvers in equal measure and OC is not doing any of those on the same level, but he picked his spots, showed his genre savvy and hung in there to the point that he wasn't just the fall guy. - The extracurriculars continue in a match that was already a little overboard for silliness due to asymmetry... I think if you're the Invisible Hand it would've made sense to save up all your tricks for this match, but who am I to question the golden goose? - Sure, Kenny and Don ran the classic heel manager interference spot and taking out the ref in desperation spot but having to take out the ref because PAC wouldn't break the hold is fun, as is the stupid/inspired sense in running the 'smash opponent with the belt' spot four times so as none of your heavy gold prizes feel left out. (I love that AAA Mega Championship, they weren't on TV so we get to see it?) - "Fuck You, Don," indeed.

The Inner Circle v The Pinnacle in 'Stadium Stampede II' (***1/2) - This one had to grow on me for two reasons, first that it's usually pretty unforgivable to co-opt the main event spot from the championship match, and second to law of diminishing returns on dumb gimmick matches. - But grow it did. There's a full on meat locker? Commentary will refer to a cardboard cut-out of Shahid Khan as Tony Khan's father (that's canon now,) and Jericho will lovingly pat it? Konnan happened to be the DJ at whatever night club there is a Jaguar Stadium? Spears surrounds himself dramatically with chairs and his hoisted by his own petard? - Ultimately it comes down to letting Sammy shine. His involvement with the Inner Circle has sometimes come at the cost of being able to showcase that prior to AEW he was an ascendant talent in PWG, on his way to Ricochet level feats of acrobatic excess. Still feel like Sammy could've/should've been the one tossed off the cage a few weeks ago, but even better is being the guy getting the pin in the ring.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Out Tonight (Part 6)

K!nktober 2020 Kink Bingo!: Nipple Play

<- Part 5

Summary: Backstory, Spanish lessons, and finally some sober sex! 🥳 (This chapter is very NSFW/18+)

For @thatesqcrush​​’s Kink Bingo challenge! And with this, I finally finish a row! 

5,420 words

The twenty-minute coffee date Rafael Barba had been dreading somehow turned into hours without him realizing it. The summer morning passed quickly until the sun was at its zenith above the turtle pond, and all of the work-related responsibilities he would have been grinding himself to death on had slipped his mind as he wandered through the park with your hand in his.

It turned out that you did have a few things in common. You both grew up in the Bronx. Though when you told him where, he snorted and joked, “What is an upstanding young lady from Spuyten Duyvil doing with a boy from the projects?”

Your jaw dropped when he told you what neighborhood he grew up in. It was an area you were familiar with mainly as a place to avoid, especially, god forbid, at night. The clean-cut lawyer in a sharp suit did not look anything like what you’d expect from the poverty he came from. You just assumed his family was wealthy.

“That’s incredible,” you said, a new surge of admiration for him stoking the fire of your attraction. You scooted closer on the shaded bench beneath a tall oak you’d stopped to sit on, your bare leg pressing against his slacks. You still hadn’t kissed, everything just barely skirting the romantic. The touch of his hand shot electricity through your skin, just from his fingers brushing yours. Neither of you wanted to push things too far, too fast, considering the guilt still lingering between you. “You must be a genius.”

Instead of boasting with the sly, cocky grin you had learned was among his favorite facial expressions, he grew serious, all but a trace of a smile leaving his lips. “I just worked hard,” he said.

“Really hard,” you said, knowingly, squeezing his hand. “Even people who work hard, who are smart… it’s almost impossible to escape that kind of poverty. The fact that you did it is…”

His inquisitive eyes, matching the foliage behind him, were strained as if deciding whether to share something or not. But he did, quietly. “I still work hard. Every day. It feels like if I make one false step, everything could fall apart. But, I have enough to support my mother.”

“And an impressive collection of ties,” you chimed.

He smirked, lifting your hand to casually press a kiss to the back of your knuckles. “And suspenders.”

Your pulse raced. Looking up and down this flawlessly stylish man, it all made sense. “Dressed to kill,” you muttered. “You wear it like a disguise.”

He frowned, the warmth leaving his eyes. You had touched a nerve. “Would it be a disguise if you wore it, or just because I’ll always be poor deep down?”

“I didn’t mean—OK, I get how that sounded. I just mean… you are exceptionally attractive. Like, really attractive. I mean, why am I telling you? You know that. Look at you.” You continued the obsequious flattery until a sarcastic smile appeared in the corner of his lips. “You know, actually,” you admitted, “I only grew up in a good neighborhood because my dad re-married rich. The weeks I was with my mom… she worked three jobs just to support me and a crummy apartment. I could never actually count on what the step-family would pay for, so sometimes I rode on boats with rich people, and sometimes I lived off canned pasta. It was weird.”

He looked at you appraisingly as he assimilated this new tidbit of information. “It isn’t easy, straddling two worlds.”

“Except you worked your ass off to break into one, and I ran away into the woods and got really into trees. Trees don’t judge you for not fitting in.”

“I’m sorry for judging you,” he whispered, his voice turning surprisingly tender. He lifted a hand and gently brought it to your cheek. You closed your eyes as it made contact, his palm warm against your skin, the pad of his thumb soft as it began stroking your cheek. You leaned forward, and he closed the remaining distance, his lips capturing yours, slow and sweet. It was chaste at first, and careful, but neither of you wanted to break it, and as it continued, his arms wrapped around the small of your back and your shoulder, drawing you in deeper as his heady scent enveloped you, the taste of coffee on his tongue as his lips parted.

“Barba?”

Rafael practically jumped out of your arms as an inquisitive voice called his name, leaving you kissing the air. The voice belonged to a tall brunette woman pushing a toddler along in a stroller.

“Liv!” he practically shrieked in alarm, straightening himself.

You looked between them and the kid, and felt like such an idiot. “Oh my god, you are cheating!”

Liv gave you a look, and burst out laughing. “Sorry, sorry, nothing like that. I’m Sergeant Benson, SVU,” she extended you a firm handshake and explained, “I work with Barba on a lot of cases.” She turned back to Barba with an amused smirk. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your date, I just couldn’t believe my eyes. Counselor, I didn’t realize you had a personal life.”

“It’s a new thing I’m trying. How’s Noah?”

“He’s perfect,” she smiled, cooing at the curly-haired child. “He loves the turtles, so we’re going down to the pond. Beautiful day for a nature walk.”

“She knows every tree,” Barba volunteered, puffing his chest out with the same cockiness he used to talk about himself, tipping his head at you. “Go ahead, test her.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Liv said, bemused. She gave a polite nod and a reminder that she still owed Barba a coffee for some legal thing he had come through on (which only gave you a slight pang of jealousy), and then waved goodbye, walking down the path toward the water.

You sat in silence, recovering. Barba was obviously scandalized to have been caught in a compromising position by a colleague, the tips of his ears turning red. You were glad she wasn’t his wife, but didn’t love having to suddenly confront the fact that he had an entire social life you knew absolutely nothing about. It sort of ruined the intimacy of the moment, tearing the cardboard moon out of your sky too soon.

Barba broke the silence first with a low, drawn-out groan. He turned to you, his eyes soft but flashing with passion, taking your hands in his again. “If we start seeing each other… there is a good chance you will get to know Liv in some capacity.” He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, and on the exhale beseeched, “You cannot tell her how we met.”

The earnestness with which he implored you, holding both your hands, made you burst out laughing. He did a poor job hiding his smile as he watched you double over. When you finally contained yourself, you pecked an innocent kiss to his lips. “We can say we met at a bar. We don’t have to mention all the, uh...” Karaoke. Drunken shenanigans. Dubious consent. Whatever you call we-didn’t-have-penis-in-vagina-sex-but-you-fingered-me-until-we-orgasmed. He grimaced with you as you both recalled all of the things you would not be telling anyone about your meet-cute. Then you started remembering his fingers gliding in and out of you, his hungry lips marking up your skin, and a warm shiver ran down your back. He swallowed, seeing the lustful heaviness creep into your eyes and responding with his own.

He nearly kissed you again, wrapping you in a passionate embrace that would have hastened you to a bedroom, but you pulled back. He said “seeing each other.” You thought this was a fun fling with no strings attached, and the idea that he was already thinking about more made your heart sink with guilt. “I should tell you...”

You never got to finish your thought. Liv had only gotten fifty feet when her phone rang. She was yelling into it frantically, demanding answers. Barba’s phone buzzed with an incoming message. Liv stormed back up the path, waving to him. “There’s been a… development,” she said, censoring the case details in your presence. “They need me at the precinct. You’re probably going to want to come, too.”

“I believe I am already being summoned,” he replied, checking his phone.

“Good. I need to call the sitter. Please let everyone know I’m on my way.” She hurried off, and any hint of flirtation was gone from Barba’s eyes as he stood, fully back in cold lawyer mode as he made a phone call, then another to order a Lyft.

He was already walking with quick, purposeful steps toward the nearest exit of the park when he hung up his last call and turned back to you apologetically. You had been trailing behind him, unsure if he wanted you to follow, and didn’t miss that you were an afterthought. But his regret was sincere. And the truth was, you didn’t mind this serious version of Barba at all—the sober Barba who poured his soul into getting justice and would forget a date he had been enjoying the instant duty called—because you’d seen the drunk version who fell apart, sobbing in your arms when he let down the victims. He had a hard side and a soft side, and so far, there was nothing about him that you didn’t like.

Oh god, you had a crush on him.

“I’m sorry, I have to go. It’s an emergency,” he explained, brow furrowed heavily over yearning green eyes.

Oh god, this was only supposed to be a one-night stand. Maybe a few nights, but a stand nonetheless. How dare he look at you like that?

“It’s alright. It sounds important,” you half smiled.

“Can I call you later?” he asked. His hands were shoved into his pockets, and he had none of the confident swagger usually in his voice. It was a small, hopeful sort of question that told you there were real emotional stakes to your answer.

Oh god, did he have a crush on you, too? Did you have a crush on each other? This was terrible!

Drawn in as if by a magnetic pull, you closed the short distance, threaded your hands between his arms and body, and clasped them together behind his back. His lips quirked as his confidence returned. His hands cupped the sides of your face, then his mouth crashed against yours, fired with all of the passion of desire realized and reciprocated, relief, and longing. It was the type of kiss that would have been drawn out and sensual if it hadn’t been condensed by necessity into a hurried goodbye. You were out of breath and overheated when he broke it, seconds later.

“I’ll be waiting,” you breathed. He gave a hungry growl and a sharp, promising stare that sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core before running to catch his ride.

***

Barba hated intelligent psychopaths. Even after they’d been put away, there was always some new appeal to fight, a new witness to come forward, some clever misdirection to cast their crimes into doubt. He’d been running around since noon working out deals with witnesses, obtaining warrants, and warning Liv’s detectives that they were being played. Now the sun was hanging low in the sky, and he realized he had never heard Carmen’s futile warning for him to go home already because his secretary didn’t work on weekends when he was pulling overtime. It was just him and his headache.

The time. What time was it?

He sat bolt upright in his leather office chair and groped for his phone. There was a notification from you from an hour ago that he vaguely recalled hearing buzz.

“How’s the emergency?”

He cursed and checked the time. It was getting late. Too late to make a reservation at any of the swankier restaurants he could take you. But he called you anyway, and was delighted when you answered.

“Hey. It’s Barba,” he said.

“I know,” said your amused voice on the other end of the line. “Your contact is in my phone, Sexy Karaoke Lawyer.”

He groaned in a way that was secretly a laugh. “Alright, Lorax. Are you free tonight? I’d like to take you to dinner. Actually, I thought I could make dinner. At my place?”

You gasped with mock scandalization. “Is this a booty call, Mr. Barba?”

He choked. “No. I just—” He stopped stammering when you started cackling like a grinning idiot, and his voice dropped low. “What if it is?”

The sudden shift in confidence caught you off guard, and he heard you swallow. “Then I’ll be there.”

***

It had been ages since he’d had time to make his abuelita’s costillas de puerco recipe. Or rather, it had been ages since he’d made time, considering he hardly had the time to do it now. He rushed through the corner deli at lightning pace to pick up what he needed, and rushed through prep, knowing you’d be over in less than an hour.

He had no idea why he felt such a drive to impress you. Why he needed to see you again so soon when you’d spent hours by his side that morning. The entire short time he had known you had been strange, anxiety-inducing, and guilt-ridden, but instead of hating you, he found himself wanting more.

The truth he didn’t want to admit was, every interaction with you, no matter how awkward, had been underscored by a potent sexual chemistry, and at the moment, he was nothing but a horny teenage boy who wanted to get laid.

That was all. This was some mid-forties hormonal resurgence. Madre de dios, it was a midlife crisis.

Or maybe this was what happened when he stopped getting in his own way. He’d spent years nursing a broken heart, years that turned into decades guarding himself against anyone getting too close. He never thought he’d feel this way again for somebody new. It was too late in life to meet someone who would know him as well as his childhood friends from el barrio, and they were all married by now. But he’d opened himself up just an inch, just for a night, by mistake, and let someone see past the hard, cynical facade, and now he wanted you to know him. He wanted to know you. He wanted to see how this ended. Maybe this was a revelation.

His heart jumped in his chest at the buzz of the door intercom.

***

“Hola, Rafael,” you greeted, and he grinned at the way you pronounced his name with the correct accent. “Oh my gosh, what smells amazing?”

He stood aside and nodded you in. The apartment was tiny, as most city apartments are, but tidy and well decorated. You were immediately drawn to the sturdy dining room table made of solid burl, and admired the natural chaotic pattern of the grain.

“It needs fifteen more minutes,” he said, observing with amusement how you completely ignored the good silver he’d broken out and started stroking the wood.

“What ever shall we do to pass the time?” you pouted innocently. Barba growled low in his throat, cupping a hand around your hip to draw you close, and you responded by pressing your hips flush against his, smiling lustily. Well, you had more or less agreed that dinner was a pretense for a booty call—no reason not to get right to it.

You hadn’t changed, but he was wearing a more casual wine-colored cashmere sweater, and you ran your hand up it, relishing the velvet softness under your palm as well as the shape of his chest. His lips met yours hot and searching, but didn’t stop there. They trailed over the side of your mouth, kissing down your jaw. He pressed wet, hungry kisses along your neck, and you moaned as his tongue lapped over the soft underside of your throat, his hands gliding over your hips. He pulled back by an inch. “Are you sure… you want this?” he murmured.

“God yes,” you moaned with your lips in his perfect salt-and-pepper hair, arousal raising your temperature as your body responded to his touch. “You haven’t been drinking this time?”

“Not a drop,” he replied huskily, somehow making it sound lewd as he resumed kissing the crook of your neck, and over your shoulder. You curled your fingers through his hair, and backed you up until your legs hit the edge of the table, and rested your weight against it, enjoying the feeling of being pinned as you angled your pelvis to grind against his growing erection.

“Oh, Rafa...” you moaned. “Can I call you Rafa?” you asked, not sure if the nickname was too personal. With the emotional baggage of your first night together, you hadn’t been sure if being on a first-name basis was respectful enough.

“You can call me anything you want,” he purred, his teeth gently pinching your shoulder.

You made a deep, chesty noise, sinfully considering that. “Don’t give me such broad permission, or you might regret it… papi.”

He groaned, and you felt his cock kicking against your cunt. Bunching up your skirt over your hips, you rocked your hips against him, panting just from feeling the strength of his arousal through his clothes. “Yes,” he hissed softly, holding you firmly against him as he worked his clothed erection against your panties, growing more excited with every mewl and shudder it drew from your lips. “That night was… moronic… but I remember the way I felt… how much I wanted you.” He turned his head and sucked a light bruise into your neck. “Do you still feel that way?”

You dipped your head to coax him back to your mouth, his pink lips wet with saliva as your tongue tasted them. “I wanted you to fuck me so bad,” you groaned, jerking your hips for emphasis on the word fuck. “But your fingers are very skilled… and your mouth...” You kissed him again, and felt his hand reach between your legs to slide your panties off.

His fingers paused halfway down the elastic. “Is this moving too fast?” he panted, suddenly trying to be reasonable. The kind of thing you would worry about if you were building a long-term relationship.

“Shh,” you hushed him gently. “I don’t want to think about too fast or too slow, or how different our lives are, or what’s going to happen after tonight. We’re just two strangers having fun. Can’t it just be that?”

He kissed you so softly, then. So tenderly that he could only have been subliminally trying to convince you of something more. His heart drummed with possessive affection; he already knew he wanted more than just tonight. At least the primitive, reckless part of him that didn’t overthink and over-plan every decision did. The rational part of him and the part that would say anything to please you came to an accord as he nodded, lips moving against your skin, “It can be.”

You grabbed his wrist and helped him slip your underwear the rest of the way off, stepping out of them and kicking them aside. His fingers didn’t immediately plunge themselves into your drenched folds, and his hips didn’t immediately return to grind against your wetness. His intelligent, cocky green eyes gave you a probing stare.

“Y qué quieres hacer esta noche?” he purred, low and seductive, giving you a choice.

“Oh, papi, me encanta cuándo hablas español. I want you to do anything you want to me. Anything,” you moaned, fairly certain that, with one or two exceptions, you really meant it. This man turned you on in ways you’d never experienced. There was nothing you wouldn’t try if he wanted it, and you knew he’d stop the second you asked, which made you feel bolder.

He chuckled. “Don’t give me such broad permission, dulce naturalista.”

The promise of mischief in his voice made you shiver, your cunt dripping. “Anything, papi. I just… want to know that you want me.”

He hummed. “This dress, this flimsy thing,” he hooked his index fingers through the narrow shoulder straps and tugged. “Did you know I’ve been staring at it all day, thinking about doing this?” He pulled the front down, just by a few inches, and freed your nipples. He dipped his head, and you gasped as he took one in his mouth.

“Oh god, it feels so good,” you whined as he began to suck, rolling the other between his thumb and forefinger. It was like he had a direct connection to your clit. He wasn’t even touching you there, but a hot pressure began to build between your legs as he devoured your sensitive nipples.

Then he suddenly released, your hard peak popping out of his mouth with a wet sound, and you whined for him not to stop. “Tu no dominas el español, verdad?” he asked.

“Qué?” you blurted, confused, but answering his question by not understanding it.

“I didn’t think so,” he said, a devilish look in his eyes. “You need practice, so I’ve decided I’ll only give you what you want if you say it in Spanish.”

“Pero… Qué pasa si… yo no sé… how to say it in Spanish?” You did want to learn more dirty talk, but this game didn’t seem fair. You wanted him to keep sucking your tits.

“You said I could do anything I wanted...” he reminded you, bringing his hand back to one of your breasts and kneading it tormentingly slowly. “Si no lo sabes, intenta. Practica, practica, practica.”

You wondered if this was some sort of dominance thing, or if he just liked watching you struggle with his native language. It was a bit exciting, though, you had to admit. Your pulse was racing with a mixture of arousal and embarrassment, because you genuinely had no idea how to say what you wanted. “Mis… pechos? Tu lengua. Por favor.” you pointed from his mouth to your breasts.

“Por favor, chupa mis pezones,” he corrected. “Repite.” You repeated it, and before you’d finished the last syllable, he replied, “Con gusto,” and began stimulating your nipples to the point of torture with his nimble lawyer’s tongue.

“Oh god,” you whimpered, your voice high and pleading, “It feels so good.” You bucked your hips into his and curled your fingers around the back of his head trying to force him to keep going, but he pulled back.

“En español,” he chided.

“En serio?!” you complained, but he simply watched you with his eyebrows quirked, waiting. “Me siento bien?” you tried. He smiled approvingly and lowered his sultry mouth to your skin again, flicking your hardened peak while pinching it between his lips. This time he pushed his hips back against yours so you could feel the heat of his erection on your pussy, and it sent new waves of electricity coursing through your body, which was already heaving just with the attention to your breasts. “Por favor, más... Oh god, yes,” you whimpered.

“Qué sabor muy rica, tu piel,” he murmured, muffled in your skin. “You taste delicious.” The vibrations from his speech tore a choked whimper from your lips, and you bucked your hips against his cock.

You bit down on your lower lip, fighting your rising climax even as you lifted one leg, wrapping it over his hip, to hasten it. “I’m gonna—oh god, you’re going to make me come just from this!”

“Voy a venir,” he coached you in a firm, teacher-like voice that nearly made you double over with arousal. “O puedes decir, ‘Me vas a poner a venir.’”

“M-me pon… ah!” he lightly nipped at your sensitive peak, turning the rest of what you were trying to say into helpless babble. “Please, please fuck me… oh god.” Before he could correct you, you remembered what he’d taught you in the bar right before begging you to leave with him so he could fuck your brains out. “Dámelo duro, papi.”

His whole body shuddered as he took in a shaking breath, but sober Barba never lost control until he decided to surrender it. As much as he wanted to fuck you, he was having too much fun teasing you. “You could also say, ‘Quiero que me coges,’” he explained academically, and you growled with frustration, writhing under him, your cunt seeking purchase against his cock. “If you’re going to speak a language, you’ve got to practice it,” he said, his voice far too calm and even for the circumstance, even with its wicked undertone.

“Dámelo! Por favor! Dáme tu pinga!” you begged frantically, rapid-firing off every way to ask for his cock that you could think of. You reached between your bodies and grasped his engorged sex through his tightened pants and stroked him hard from balls to tip. Your efforts were rewarded with an involuntary whine, Barba’s hips jerking forward.

“Me rindo,” he whimpered in surrender. His breath was ragged and he looked ready to fall apart. You purred with victory, but as you slowed the furious pace of your stroking, he recovered enough of his senses to smirk through his lust. “Pero primero, quiero saborearte.” His voice was thick, and his eyes dark as a tropical storm on a Caribbean island. He lifted the leg you’d wrapped around him up onto the table, and knelt beneath you. “Con tu permiso?”

You nodded, gasping sharply even before his tongue made contact with your soaked pussy just from the obscene expression on his face as he opened his mouth and extended the point of his tongue as he slowly leaned toward you. Your hands braced behind you on the table for support. Then you cried out loud when that tongue did hit you, slightly cold from the air, but quickly warming to match you as his mouth closed over your whole cunt. “Ah, que rica,” he sighed into your pussy, lapping at your slippery arousal with broad, languid strokes of his tongue, unhurried, as if he were aiming for no particular goal but to enjoy your flavor. “So wet for papi. Qué buena estudiante eres. Good students should be rewarded.”

He finally stood back up to his full height in front of you and removed his pants and underwear, letting them fall around his ankles, and his cock sprang free. You gaped down at it in awe. “Oh god, look at that cock,” you practically drooled. You automatically reached down and started stroking it, babbling on about what a thick, beautiful cock it was. He was too lost in the touch of your fingers wrapped around his shaft to even complain that it wasn’t Spanish.

“Ah, condoms!” he interjected before pushing himself inside you like every muscle in his body was screaming to do. “I’ve got some in the bedroom.”

You chewed your lip, not sure if this would come off the wrong way since he wanted to be responsible, but you slowly said, “We don’t need to use one if you don’t want. I’m on the pill, and I don’t have any STDs.”

His stormy eyes pierced into you, clearly tempted, but he couldn’t help remarking cynically, “If you give me a disease, I swear...”

“I’m afraid I don’t have my medical records on me, so I understand if you don’t want to take my word for it. I don’t know why I’m blindly trusting you.” That was a lie. Everything about Rafael Barba screamed precision, caution, and consent, and even after such a short time knowing him, you were absolutely certain he would never put you at risk. In fact, there was no way he’d ever have unprotected sex with a stranger.

Except his very next words were, “Fuck it,” and he hooked his arm under your elevated leg, and began rubbing his thick cock through your folds, coating it with your slick arousal. “You are absolutely sure you want this?” he looked at you with soft, understanding eyes, checking for any doubts.

You let out a needy whine, rolling your hips to rub your pussy against the tip of his fat cock. “Te quiero,” you whimpered, intending to say you wanted it, but his cheeks reddened and his heart flipped as you said something better translated as I love you.

You wouldn’t realize your mistake until much later, thinking back on it, or understand why his face was suddenly frozen between tenderness and panic, and then dawning realization, relief, and a small, barely noticeable wince of disappointment.

He entered you slowly, letting you feel every inch of stretch from his cock. Like the rest of his build, it was not the longest you had ever seen, but it was impressively girthy, and each blissful inch he worked you open brought the slightest fraying edge of pain. He knew his size could be a challenge, and was practiced at preparing, and patience. You were already so dripping wet, you didn’t need extra lube, though he had it on standby, and watched you carefully, pausing to let you rest every time he advanced. As he waited, feeling your walls relax to accept him, he ducked his head to your breasts, savoring the helpless squeals you made when he gave attention to what he learned was one of your most sensitive erogenous zones. Every time he flicked his tongue over your nipple or sucked its hardened peak into his mouth, your cunt twitched around him and your back arched to take more of him. It worked so well, he never stopped teasing your breasts, and your silent cries of, “Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god!” grew in intensity until you were screaming with pleasure, fist clenched in his hair as you held him to your chest, and his balls were pressed tight against your ass.

Panting hard and moaning into your breasts, he began to thrust, slowly at first, but you wrapped your legs around his back and used them as leverage to buck your hips into him, pushing back into each of his thrusts, deepening them and coaxing him to increase his pace. As you angled your hips, he began hitting a deep point inside that made your legs turn to jelly. “Dámelo bien duro,” you tried to say, but it mostly came out as unintelligible gasps and whimpers. His mouth never left your tits and you loved the angle it gave you, being able to watch his face, strained with concentration and clouded with lust, and his tongue working diligently to bring you to a climax that took you off guard with how suddenly it crashed over you. You couldn’t say there was no buildup to it, because you had been in throes since he first pulled down your dress, but he had barely begun to thrust when the heat coiling in your lower back suddenly tightened and snapped, shooting sparks behind your eyelids. “Ah—Rafa!” you wailed, squeezing your fingers in his hair.

He gasped, releasing the globe of your breast from his mouth at the wracking of your body in his arms. Your pussy convulsed, clenching tightly around his cock, coating it in your sweet release, almost too tight for him to thrust through. One more jerk of his hips through your rippling, fluttering muscles and he let out a string of swears, and you felt his abdominal muscles tense up against your belly. He pulled back and thrust into you once more, balls swinging against your ass, and his hot seed flooded you. He panted, trembling, still trying to hold onto you, though halfway sitting on a dining table without knocking off any of the plates was not the most ideal location for post-coital recovery cuddling. He grabbed a few paper napkins from behind you to catch the drippings as he pulled out.

It was over too fast, a testament to how long it had been for him. Both of you, really. But you weren’t disappointed. He made you come almost entirely with that silver tongue of his, and you were still shaking too much to take your weight off the table and put it on your legs.

The timer on the oven rang shrilly, announcing dinner was done.

“After dinner,” he promised, pulling his pants back on. “Quiero más de tu cuerpo.”

You were satisfied, but not yet sated, and looked forward to round two.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

@beccabarba​ / @caked-crusader / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush​ / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy​ / @mrsrafaelbarba​ / @da-po / @madamsnape921 / @charlottegrice / @onerestein

[lyta-roca]

Fictober - Day 1: “No, come back”

Fictober- Day 1: “No, come back” // Fanfiction.

Fandom: Ducktales (2017)

Warnings/Tags: None 

________________

“No, come back”

The fact that B.O.Y.D. visiting the lab from time to time was no problem for Gyro. In fact, it used to be somewhat reassuring to know that even though the little one legally had "fathers", he will still consider him a father figure. The visits consist only of talking about their new projects, a review to see that no B.O.Y.D. was failing and sometimes, (to everyone's surprise), he used to go out with the little one for a walk or two.

But what was a problem, is that it came just when he needed to be more focused on a new invention (which he hoped it would not turn evil), in addition to that he did not have the assistance of Manny (as he had decided to take the day free), nor Fenton's, since he was in the streets doing his daily patrol, and that he came accompanied by McPato's red nephew.

- So, Dr. Gearloose, what are you working on today? - Asked B.O.Y.D. politely, giving that look of curiosity and tenderness

- It's not something important, B.O.Y.D. - Gyro replied trying not to sound brusque, as he had been managing his attitude with other people. He had repeated to himself several times that he had made that decision on his own account and not because of Fenton's current insistence on doing so.

- Is everything okay, Dr. Gearloose?

- Yes, it seems that he is somewhat tired and in a bad mood (well, more than normal) - Huey added to the observation

- I just need to finish this project, that's all - he replied after a few seconds

- And you don't have someone to help you? - Huey spoke - Where's Manny?

- Unfortunately Manny's day off is today

- What about Dr. Crackshell-Cabrera? - B.O.Y.D's sweet and innocent voice felt like a dagger stabbing near his feathers as he asked that question.

- H-He's outside. So no, I don't have anyone to help me. And no, don't even think I'll let either of you get close to this - he commented when he saw in their eyes the characteristic glow of planning something. Obviously his comment was met with a pout from both of them.

The talk seemed to be over as no one else said anything in what seemed like perhaps ten minutes. But as is well known, a child (especially if it is a nephew of McPato and a creation of Gearloose) cannot go long without trying to find something to talk about or learn about.

- You like spending time with Dr. Crackshell-Cabrera, right?

Finally. The arrow had been fired and by no one else and no less than innocent little B.O.Y.D. I knew that from his little knowledge of this kind of thing and from the way in which he had asked the question, that he had not done it with any malicious intention, but that did not mean that it was something he did not want to talk about at that precise moment. .

But if, lately, it seemed that his relationship with Fenton (as they had agreed he would call it now), had been changing. It started with the fact that she would now call him by his name, just as Fenton would call him by his. This had only been a problem when Gyro forgot or when there were moments of sheer stress when he really just wanted to yell at the world and revert to the old habits of calling him only by his last names or simply "intern". His attitude around Fenton was also one of the things that changed. At first, why this had insisted that he should change his attitude with his "public relations", since it was more than obvious that the cards that McPato had given him were not serving any purpose. So they began (reluctantly by Gyro) to work together to change some aspects of how they act and treat others. Its progress had been somewhat slow but it looked promising (in Fenton's words). Which became more apparent when he responded to Fenton's jokes, even to Gyro, doing this was a very comfortable and comforting thing to do when he was around Fenton. It was something he didn't want to admit out loud, because he knew that once he did, there would be no going back and the truth was, he didn't want to screw things up.

Gyro inhaled deeply trying to accommodate the words he would use next. I knew kids were just trying to find a conversation piece, but I really didn't have time (and didn't want to) talk about it.

- He is a good colleague who has shown himself capable of several things

Gyro's own answer had come out perfect, but to both boys it had sounded somewhat forced. They both shared a knowing look.

"Yes, but I mean outside of the workplace, Dr. Gearloose," B.O.Y.D.

"Yes, you know how to talk, go out for walks with him, those things," Huey added in the most innocent way possible.

Both children may have been somewhat oblivious to some things that were going on around them, like McQuack's little affection that grew day by day with this Drake Mallard, but of course, Gyro must have assumed that the children would be more interested in his newfound discovery of feelings for Fenton.

Look, kids, I'm too busy to talk right now. - I knew that I should end this conversation once and for all, because if I continued it might end in something that I would later regret - So I will ask you both to withdraw. Go bother someone else.

- I don't think it's a bad thing to open up to your feelings, Dr. Gearloose - Huey commented - After all, every time he's with Fenton he seems more relaxed

- Yes, especially when they both take me to the park - added B.O.Y.D. remembering all those times Fenton had accompanied them on their outings. It was kind of comforting to see the usual tension in Gyro's shoulders disappear with Fenton's presence.

Gyro sighed with some irony and rage. Despite his attempts to ignore his recent feelings for Fenton, he knew there would be something that would push him to the limit.

- I just don't want to talk about it! - He exploded desperately - Besides, the fact that I am accepting Cabrera's company is simply because McPato ordered me to! Also, she didn't trust him to take good care of the armor on his own!

He looked at both children with some disgust and anger but quickly changed to confusion as soon as he saw that their expression was one of discomfort and fear, and that they were not looking at him.

Almost robotically he followed the children's gaze until he met Fenton's eyes of disappointment mixed with anger and sadness. Apparently he hadn't been there long, as he was still wearing parts of the suit, but it was clear that he had heard everything he had said.

Fenton just watched him, as if waiting for Gyro to say or do something. Gyro wanted to speak, to say that nothing he said had been true, that it had only been an outburst of the moment, but he couldn't get a word out.

So much for B.O.Y.D. as it was more than obvious to Huey that the place had been sucked into an atmosphere of discomfort. They felt like intruders.

Without saying a word, Fenton placed the suit in the bag and placed it on the desk where Gyro had been working and without doing or saying more took the elevator to leave the place.

The last thing Gyro saw before the metal doors closed were some treacherous tears streaming from Fenton's eyes.

He had really screwed it up.

_____________

By the time the day was done, Gyro was already running as fast as he could towards Fenton's direction. As much as he knew the project he was working on was important, he couldn't focus on it again, instead he had spent the rest of the day thinking about how he could fix everything he had said.

He would rather tell Fenton the truth a thousand times than for him to believe that all those things he had heard were true. He knew it was a risky move, but remembering the disappointment in his eyes, he could only think of fixing things.

When he reached the threshold of the door, his body abruptly stopped.

And what was I supposed to say?

He had been so desperate to try to explain what he had said but never stopped to think what he would say. He was good at many things but when it came to talking to people he was the worst, especially if it included a sentimental streak.

But there was no turning back. Determined, he finally knocked on the door and waited as patiently as he could for someone to answer.

For what seemed like hours to Gyro, the door was finally opened. He mentally thanked whoever was listening to his thoughts that it was Fenton who came to the door and not his mother, because if that had been the case, he knew things would end too badly for him.

It was a bit painful to see Fenton's characteristic expression of kindness change drastically to a mixture of hatred and sadness at the sight of him.

- Me...

- Whatever your intention of having come to my home, Dr. Gearloose, I do not want to know - he interrupted - I think he made it very clear that you are only forced to work with me by Mr. McPato

- I know what I said and it was wrong - he quickly admitted before Fenton said anything else - And yes, I deserve your hate, you have the right to yell at me and offend me all you want

- What good would that do? - He questioned - I could yell at you right now that you are a horrible person or I could just tell you all your flaws in order to (minimum) try to get out of my frustration but tell me, Ciro, what the hell would that do? I think that will give you more satisfaction than me knowing that your actions affect me, when it seems that nothing does

For the second time that day, Gyro was speechless.

- Now, if there is nothing more to discuss, have a good night Dr. Gearloose

Despite Fenton's determined action to close his door, Cyrus for once in his life acted without thinking. He stopped the door before it closed completely and entered the residence.

- Gyro! But what...

- Listens! - He spoke decisively - I know that all the things I said were wrong, but believe me when I tell you that none of that was serious. I just ... - never before in his life did he think that at some point he would find himself in this situation - He didn't want to lose what we had formed.

- What?

- I mean our routine. - He tried to explain in the best possible way - It is very easy for me to feel comfortable with you, and I never thought that one day I will be making and answering jokes with someone.

Without either of them noticing, they were both face to face and kept getting closer to the other. The angry expression had completely left Fenton, being changed by surprise.

- You were so friendly with everyone, and you always try to see a positive side in everything, even when it is more than obvious that it does not have it. - Noticing that he had left the subject under his eyes somewhat embarrassed - What I want to get to is that I think I have developed a much stronger feeling for you, and I was afraid to express it because I know that there is a risk that you do not feel it same for me. I said all those things because I refused to say it out loud.

After that explanation, the only thing that could be heard was the light breathing of both and some other noise from the street.

- Did you think I would not accept you? - Gyro looked up again and although it was not noticeable with the naked eye, there was some hope in his eyes - Gyro, regardless of what I had answered, you should have said how you felt. Hiding those kinds of things only leads to worse.

By this time, the two of them were only inches apart. And without a second thought, Fenton took Gyro by his cheeks and kissed him. At first Gyro was surprised at the new touch, but once he found himself enjoying it, he wrapped his arms around Fenton's waist. For his first kiss, he admitted that it was a very good thing (removing the discomfort at the difference in height between them).

By the time the kiss ended, the two of them saw each other directly. Gyro had heard around, that a look says more than a thousand words, he had never believed in that until now.