#until suddenly something clicks it into place and I intellectually know it but then also there’s an extra step that is feeling it and Idk

[b-blushes]

chill Saturday night u know how it is but the past couple of days I’ve been trying to work out how I’m feeling and what I’m thinking about and I can’t really crystallise it. But one sentiment I have put together is that one thing about getting better and wanting to get better is that part of the process is Realising that things have been/are uhhhhhh. Not Good. And I will be honest that is a challenging thing to force to occur in myself. Connecting with discussing really bad pain in my neck/back/shoulders with drs for over a year and then seeing a specialist who was like ‘well obviously you have chronic spinal pain’ and although it was very obvious to me and I had in fact been talking about it intermittently for a very long time I also had not particularly internalised this until then. There’s some leaps between ‘well I know things are happening and maybe I can even explain those things’ and also really really Knowing those things and I don’t know what the deal with that is or how to explain it. And then a step after that which is like fully feeling it with and in your whole body and feelings I think. But that’s the progress I’ve made so far 👍

[garbagevanfleet]

Brightest Blue (series)

PART SIX 

Pairing: Josh x reader Warnings: major marijuana usage!!  Summary:  Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place. Notes: say hello to your new potential love interest - he’s cute, no? let’s see how he compares. 

As always, if you see @lantern-inthenight​, tell her thank you for being the very best editor. 

taglist: @valleyd0ll @satingrass-maidensfair @guitarfingers @thebohemianpenguin @peaceisouranthem @oblvions @hansonobsessed @myownparadise96 @lara-gvf @anditsmywholeheart @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies @bigblack-catattack​

On Monday it had dusted snow, but tragically, it had happened while you were in class. You hadn’t even known until you were leaving campus and had seen the lightest coating left on some spots of the grass by the treeline. 

When you got back to the apartment, Josh was already there, stirring a huge pot of something on the stove. The room smelled like a restaurant.

“Josh, oh my god, it snowed and I missed it!” you exclaimed, tossing your jacket over the back of the chair. 

He paused what he was doing to look up at you and chuckled. “Don’t worry, I promise that’s not the last time.”

“What are you making?” you asked, padding across the linoleum to peer over his shoulder. 

“Vegetarian chili,” he answered, lifting a wooden spoon to your face. You blew on it for a moment before taking a taste. “It needs something, but I can’t figure out what.”

“I think it’s perfect,” you replied and meant it, suddenly excited to have a bowl of it. 

He hummed at you. “Thanks, but it’ll be a while before it’s done.”

You watched as he swiped the scraps from vegetables from the cutting table into the compost bucket. 

“You want to watch a movie tonight?” he asked. 

You frowned back at him. “I wish I could, but I’ve got a lot of work to do on my presentation. I’m supposed to be reading it to the class in like two days.”

“Alright,” he agreed, just a shade on the solemn side. There was one thing you knew for sure, and it was that there was a lot you would endure to make sure you didn’t have to see him looking sad. 

“I think I can still concentrate on it if I sit with you during a movie.” 

He laughed under his breath at your bargain. “It’s okay, you can work in your room instead if you’d like. Or, you can have the living room and I’ll keep to my bedroom.”

You scowled at him and pointedly replied, “Don’t be stupid, Joshua. Okay, I’ll make you a deal. I’m going to work on my paper until dinner time, then we can watch a movie.”

“I’ll take that deal.” He reached out and took your hand, shaking it once in a faux professional manner. 

“But, that means I have to work all night on it tomorrow,” you warned, looking directly into his eyes. 

He just grinned back mischievously. 

+++

“So, what happened?” you prompted, dipping a spoon into a cup of strawberry yogurt. Kate peeked up at you over the rim of her cup, crunching a piece of ice as she set it back down on the cafeteria table. 

You had been expecting Josh to join you for lunch, but you’d gotten a text telling you that he had to bail to work on production stuff and he’d see you later. You had been a bit disappointed, but you had to admit that you envied his dedication. Plus, you had Kate to keep you company. 

She poured more of her Diet Cherry Coke from the bottle into the cup of ice as she talked. “Not much, honestly.” She looked like she was going to continue until her gaze caught on something over your shoulder. 

You were just about to turn your head to find what she was looking at when she spoke again abruptly, making you halt all movement. “Don’t look, but there’s a guy by the vending machine that keeps looking at you.” 

You gave her a surprised look. “Oh, what does he look like?”

“He’s kinda handsome - short blonde hair, probably a little taller than you, a little shorter than me.” She paused, fiddling with the cap of her soda bottle as he snuck peeks at him from across the room. “Okay, quick look.”

You chanced a glance over your shoulder and hummed as you turned back to her. “I think I’ve seen him around. I don’t really know him though,” you stated. “Are you sure he’s not looking at you?”

She huffed amusedly at you. “Pretty sure he’s not.”

“Ooh, speaking of,” you started, reaching out and nabbing one of the waffle fries off of her plate and popping it into your mouth. “Have you been texting Jake?” 

“Not really.” A scarlet-colored smile was forming on her lips. 

“Does that mean yes?” you pressed when you realized that was all the information she was going to give you. 

She shrugged at you, already collecting the remainder of her lunch to toss away with a cheeky look. 

It wasn’t until your last class that you realized where you’d seen that boy before, and embarrassingly, it wasn’t until he was already sitting next to you. 

You glanced over at him, trying not to look too surprised. 

“Hey, do you care if I take this spot today?” he asked, seemingly knowing what your answer would be. You kind of wanted to say no, just to prove him wrong. 

“Yeah, sure,” you agreed sweetly instead. 

“I hope this isn’t weird, but I saw you at Bennie’s party on Saturday and I guess I just wanted to formally introduce myself. I’m Trevor.”

He held out an open palm for you to take, and you cautiously did. “It’s nice to meet you.”

He looked pleased that this was going as smoothly as he had clearly intended - not that he was lacking confidence, but something about his facial posture told you he had expected you to give him a hard time. 

“So, I’m not going to lie, this is partly because you seem to be really good at this class, but would you like to study together sometime? We could maybe get coffee after class.”

You looked at him for a silent beat before replying. “What’s the other part of the reason?”

“You seem nice, and I think you’re very pretty,” he said honestly, giving you a smile. 

You mirrored it back to him with a nod. “Coffee sounds nice.”

+++

You had made it a point to message Kate, telling her exactly where you were and who you were with, and you had texted Josh, telling him you’d be back in a couple of hours. 

Trevor was nice and somewhat funny. He seemed a little intellectually shallow, but you couldn’t actually judge that from an hour and a half long hang out in a coffee shop. 

When you got back to your apartment and checked your phone, you had six messages from Kate. 

Oh i’m kinda shocked

Good for you tho

Is he cuter up close?

Are you guys actually studding

*studying

i’m going to ask around and see if anyone knows anything about him

You snickered to yourself as you were reading them, before quickly typing back, let me know what you find out tomorrow. 

You were greeted by an empty living room and kitchen, but you could see that Josh’s bedroom light was on, so you headed that way as you shedded your extra layers of clothing. 

You knocked on the door frame, though the door was wide open to reveal Josh laying out on his bed with a lit joint between his lips and Penny on his bedside table. Folk music was playing from his laptop in a tinny quality. 

He peeked an eye open at the sound of your entrance, greeting you with a smile. 

“You’re not falling asleep with a lit spliff, are you?” 

“This is my second one,” he replied as if that was supposed to answer your question or quell your concern. “You want some? Or do you want to work on your paper?”

You ran your teeth over your bottom lip. “I finished my paper in class today. My professor gave us the whole period to work on it.”

He perked up then. “I can’t help but notice that wasn’t a no.” And after a pause he finished, “And congratulations - I’m proud of you.”

You gave him an awkward thumbs up that he promptly barked a laugh at.

 “You wanna?”

“I’ve never smoked before,” you reminded him like it might change his mind. 

“C’mere. I’ll help you.” 

You held a finger up at him. “Hang on, I’m going to change. Don’t look at me like that, I don’t want my new sweater to smell like pot, dude.” 

You returned back in your pajamas, still nervous, but now comfy. He patted the spot in front of him on his bed, prompting you to clamber on. Once you were situated, you tugged his comforter over your shoulders from where it was bunched up at the bottom of his bed. 

“Are you good?” he asked. 

You nodded at him, nervous enough that he could sense it. 

“I’m going to shotgun you, okay?” He put his hand on your knee for comfort, and you had to admit that the touch helped ground you. 

“Okay,” you replied quickly. 

“Okay?” he prompted again, looking less convinced. 

“What does shotgun mean?” you whispered like it was a secret, making him giggle into his shoulder. 

“I’m going to blow the smoke into your mouth. Since it’s your first time, I don’t want you to get super high.”

“Oh. Yeah, that wouldn’t be good,” you agreed. 

“Okay, I’m going to take a drag, and you’re going to open your mouth and suck in the smoke when I blow it out.”

You watched him raise the paper to his lips, the cherry turning bright orange as he inhaled. It wasn’t until he leaned forward with a closed mouth that you realized how...intimate the moment was. 

You weren’t positive he wasn’t going to press his lips directly to yours until you opened your mouth and pulled in his exhale. 

“Hold it in a second if you can,” he instructed, his voice a bit deeper from the smoke. 

You did as you were told, grimacing as you exhaled. “It tastes like dirty socks.”

He snorted a laugh, tipping his head back until it was rested against the wall. 

“I’m not sure what I expected though, because it also smells like dirty socks,” you continued, prompting his laughing to continue until he was sighing contentedly. 

“That’s cute,” he said through a grin. “Innocent.”

You could feel your cheeks warming by the second. You rolled your eyes at him playfully. 

“Do you feel anything?” he asked, sitting back up to attend to you. 

You shook your head. “Not really,” you admitted. 

“You wanna try again? You can just take a hit yourself if you want.”

“Actually could you do it again?” you asked, embarrassed, but not enough so that you were willing to do it alone. 

He gave you a grin, lifting the blunt back to his lips, but this time when he leaned forward, the fingers of his right hand found your jawline, pulling you into him too. When he blew the smoke to you, it was just inches from your lips, and this time you drank it in, forcing it deep into your lungs and holding it there. 

It started to hit you moments after you exhaled it - this pleasant, warm feeling. 

“Hang on,” you said excitedly, throwing the blanket off of you as you scrambled to get off the bed. When you returned you had a little speaker and your phone. The playlist that the two of you had collaborated on for cleaning days started playing, and even though he was laying out flat on his bed, you could see his lips turn up into a smile. 

You laid next to him, resting your head on his arm and giving a pleasant sigh. 

“What’s it feel like?” he asked, a rasp behind the words. He lolled his head to the side to look at you. 

“Warm and fuzzy. Kinda like being in love or seeing a really cute kitten. But also kinda like being on a sailboat in the middle of...I don’t know, some European sea. I can’t think of a single one right now if I’m being honest though.”

When you met his eyes, he was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Damn, that’s awesome.”

He sat up on his elbow and reached past you to grab something from his nightstand. You were going to look and see what it was, but staring at the little speckles of plaster on his ceiling was suddenly the best thing you’d ever experienced. 

“Do you always wear cologne?” you asked, suddenly unsure if you were talking really slowly or if your brain just couldn’t process the sound on time. 

“Usually.” When you were able to look over at him, he had a bag of Tootsie Pops by his side, one of the sticks hanging out of his mouth. “You want one?”

You agreed by holding out your hand, letting him give you whatever flavor chance had picked for you. 

He had unwrapped it already, which you thanked him for as the flavor of grape hit your tongue. 

“What flavor did you get?” you asked, turning over so you could lay on your stomach, head propped up by your hands. 

“Cherry,” he replied through a smile, opening his mouth to show you after he asked, “Is my tongue red?”

You giggled at him. “Yeah, it definitely is.”

There was a long, comfortable pause, but you were in no state to determine how long it lasted. 

“I went on a date today.” It came out like an admission, despite your efforts to keep the statement casual. 

He had an impressed look on his face ”Oh, yeah? With who?”

He sat up with what looked like some effort until he was sitting cross-legged. You breathed a laugh, casting your eyes to the pendant of his necklace where it rested against his sternum.

“This guy, Trevor.”

The shocked smile he gave you felt a little surreal in your state. “I didn’t know you even knew any other people here.”

“I actually met him today,” you admitted. 

“And you went on a date with him?” And before you could answer, he continued. “How did it go?”

“It wasn’t really a date, per se. We just had coffee,” you informed. “And, actually, I even bought my own. “

He raised his eyebrows at you until you realized he wanted you to answer the other part of his question. 

“Oh, it was okay. I liked him.”

“Was he kind to you?” he asked, keeping his expression level. 

You nodded. “Yeah, he was. He offered to get my coffee, but I didn’t want him to think he was like. Doing me some big favor, you know?”

Josh huffed a laugh. “That sounds about right. Sounds like you.”

“We made plans for him to come over on Thursday and study.”

Josh tossed the stick of his sucker across the room, landing it perfectly in the little trash can by his door. “Would you like me to be gone for that?”

You frowned at nothing in particular. “Two things. One, how did you just make that shot? I can’t even move. And two, no, why would I want you to go?”

He shrugged, popping another sucker into his mouth. “I’m full of surprises, you’ve just gotta stick around.”

“Well, I live here so I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” The way you had muttered made him smirk at you. “But no, you obviously don’t have to leave while he’s here. Actually, I’d prefer if you didn’t - I don’t know him very well.”

Josh looked up at you through his lashes for a moment. “Then I’ll be here.”

The both of you hung out on his bed for an indiscernible amount of time, and not once did you ever feel less high. You had intended to get up and brush your teeth, but it didn’t happen, and there was nothing you could do about it. Your eyelids started to feel heavier than you could ever remember them being - like something had ahold of your leg and was dragging you down into sleep. 

The last thing you could recall was the sound of Josh’s smoked-out voice, quietly humming along to the chorus of a song and the visualization of the sound behind your eyes, sweeping back and forth between notes. 

[wonderrdies]

if love be rough with you - part 2

In which you and Harry are professors at a prestigious Art and Language university and the animosity of part one is discussed. Also, you fuck.

disclaimer: just a huge thank you to everyone who said nice things about part one, especially @for-fucks-sake-h​. I hope y’all enjoy this one!

warnings: it has sex, folks. I’m not that good at writing it, but it’s in there. also, use condoms; these intellectuals are very fictional and also horny dumbasses. 

word-count: about 6,000 words

part 1

As the car rolled to a stop, lighting tore across the sky.

 “Come upstairs,” you said. Obnoxiously loud thunder boomed, providing much needed context for your invitation. You didn’t like the idea of him in your space, your privacy and vulnerability out in the open where he could pick them apart. The alternative was worse, though. Finding him annoying wasn’t the same as wanting him dead in a ditch.

“No need,” Harry said calmly, the way he did everything else.

“Look, just come upstairs and leave once the rain stops. You owe me, remember?”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting you to fight him on this. His coat was still draped over your shoulders and you had spent the last fifteen minutes in his comfortable leather seats, sipping on a water bottle he got you at a gas station. There was also a milk chocolate bar on your lap, the kind you used to eat during movie nights in university. You knew what he was thinking: if he had owed you, that didn’t look to be the case anymore. But half an hour of kindness didn’t erase the sound of his condescending darling making you feel small and embarrassed, especially when you were the one trying to help him. 

“I’m not going to say please, Harry. Let’s go.”

So you walked out into the pouring rain, barely keeping from slipping and falling on your ass. His coat precariously covered your hair as you fumbled for your keys and finally got into the building. 

Harry was right behind you, not saying a word as you climbed the stairs. The apartment looked so much smaller with him in it. You refused to feel embarrassed, but you could see him examining every corner from his spot next to the door as you dropped your purse and keys onto the counter that separated the kitchen and your bed.

"I—" you stopped yourself before telling him I know it's small. Having a home of your own, no matter how small, was not something you would apologize for. "Do you want something to drink or eat?"

You proceeded to take off your shoes, tie your hair back in a ponytail and brush your teeth, all while Harry stood, stiff, in the same spot without giving you an answer.

"Styles, what the hell?"

"Huh," was his brilliant response.

"Huh what?"

"You just look a little different, 's all." 

"Must be the gin," you said. "Speaking of which, do you want water or wine?"

"Water's good," smiling to himself, he said: "Thank you."

"What's so amusing?" 

His smile faded and you instantly regretted asking. While you poured his glass of water to the sound of heavy rain, Harry leaned on your door as if ready to run away at any second. It was a little hurtful, if you were being honest.

“You can have a seat, you know,” you handed him the glass, hoping to sound breezy and relaxed, or whatever. It didn’t come naturally. “The rain’s not going anywhere for awhile.”

Harry nodded and sitted on one of the two kitchen stools. The fact that he was so quiet almost made you miss his usual outspokenness. 

As he drank his water, you sorted through the drawers of your dresser in the awkward silence, pushing aside turtlenecks and pencil skirts so you could get dry and actually comfortable clothes. Two t-shirts, two boxer shorts.

“I’ll change into something dry, you should probably do it too,” you pointed to the clothes you just dropped onto the bed, his eyes on you the whole time. “I figure these might fit you.” And before you could talk yourself out of it, you said: “You can also practice saying words while I’m in there.”

The bathroom door clicked as it closed between the two of you. Taking a deep breath, you undressed while listening for any sign that he had moved from the kitchen stool. A sign that he was mirroring your every move, peeling off wet clothing while trying to picture the other side of the door. It was foolish to project your filthy thoughts into Harry, but you couldn’t help it. You just wanted so badly to believe that he was out there wanting you too, that he didn’t bring up that night so often just to humiliate you. 

The soft cotton of the old university t-shirt you wore to bed looked like something out of a time machine under the bright bathroom lights with him standing outside. How many nights had you worn that same thing and smiled at him from across whatever room, beating yourself up for not being able to just say hello? Maybe more than hello. 

All of it seemed to have happened many lives ago.

“Can I come out? Are you decent?” you asked, barely recognizing your own voice. It sounded too casual. 

“Decent, me?” his answer came muffled. “Never, darling.”

You walked out, only to find yourself in a scene straight out of a porno. Harry was leaning on your kitchen counter, amusement in his eyes, dressed in your shakespeare is my boyfriend extra large t-shirt and way-too-tight boxers. His lilac pants and cream sweater laid in a pile on your bed looking like an afterthought and, even though he looked so different from his usual posh self, his pearl necklace was still decorating his absolutely maddening neck. He looked so much bigger. Maybe it was the way your clothes clung to his biceps and thighs, or the fact you hadn’t been this close to him without heels in years. Maybe your apartment was just too small.

“Am I wearing some other guy’s underwear?” Harry asked, suddenly serious.

“Huh?”

He looked down, pointing to his restricted and very prominent bulge, and your face was suddenly on fire. This certainly couldn’t be considered an appropriate move for a co-worker, right?

“It’s mine, Styles. I wear them to bed,” you cleared your throat, looking up again. Tugging at your own, admittedly much looser, shorts, you said: “See?”

“Yeah,” his voice was rough, barely more than a whisper. You could feel his eyes all over you, like they were fingertips threatening to touch you but never quite doing so. A shiver, like the one in the pub, ran through you, and you were suddenly aware that your nipples were very much visible and poking through thin cotton.  “I see it.”

You stood still as he spoke again, trying to keep your eyes above his chin. But then again, those lips and eyes were not that much better than his cock straining against your clothes.

“Sorry about the weirdness earlier,” he continued. “I was just trying to get used to all this.”

“What’s all this?”

“You, so careless, in your natural habitat. It’s like the inside of this place is an alternate universe.”

-

An alternate universe, indeed. The hours of uninterrupted storming had eventually tired both of you out; you couldn’t let him stand in a corner or sit in a stiff stool all night. As it became clearer and clearer that he’d spend the night, you suggested watching a movie, even though it was obvious the two of you were exhausted. The whole thing was a poor attempt at avoiding the fact that there was no place for him to sleep but your bed. You certainly could handle smirks, teasing looks, sexually charged remarks, even handle his thighs and the outline of his cock in your clothes, or the vanilla smell he would definitely leave on your nerdy t-shirt. Would sitting in bed together and watching a movie be hard? Absolutely. But falling asleep next to him crossed some terrifying line; it had happened before, and the slightest possibility of having it happen again only so he’d use it against you later was just too much.

So now you were on your bed, backs resting against the headboard as you watched Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. While his legs stretched out beneath the shared gray comforter, yours were against your chest; if you curled up a little more, you’d probably disappear into thin air. His slightest move could be felt by you just by the shifting of the mattress, and the movie was next to inaudible for the sole reason that you couldn’t help but focus on the sound of him breathing right next to you. On your bed. Every few minutes you’d feel him staring at the side of your face, but your gaze remained stoically on the TV screen until he called your name in a whisper. 

“Yeah?” you answered, glassed over eyes still on the movie. The second task of the Triwizard Tournament had just begun. 

“I’m sorry.”

That got your attention. “What do you mean?”

“I just—” Now Harry was the one looking away from you. As if talking to the movie, he said: “I know the whole darling shit I say gets to you. And I know it’s gross to keep bringing up that night.”

Your breath got stuck in your throat. The whole thing was just too much; how dare he apologize and catch you off guard like that? Out of everything in this world he could say, that was what you least expected. It was not that you found him to be disgusting and immoral, or that you believed he acted mean because he was a genuinely bad person. You wouldn’t have put up with all the teasing if that had been the case. But you also couldn’t have imagined that he’d be brave or mature enough to apologise. 

Maybe that was related to the fact that you, out of pure pride and spite, couldn’t see yourself apologizing to him. 

“I think I do it because—”

“Styles,” you finally cut him off. “You don’t have to.”

“No, I want to. I want to tell you I’m sorry that I’m a dick to you only because I’m insecure and kind of a coward, to be honest.”

You scoffed before realizing how rude that was. 

“What?” he asked. You could see him tense up, his brows furrowing, and guilt started burning in your cheeks.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “It’s not funny, I just find it hard to believe you do things out of insecurity.”

“Well,” he said, “I find it hard not to be insecure when things happened the way they did.”

Great. 

“And how did things happen, huh? What are you even talking about, Harry?”

He sighed. His hand was halfway up to his face before it fell back onto the mattress af if he’d changed his mind about putting something between your eyes and his. Again, braver than you figured he could be.

“Look, I don’t want to fight. I guess I was just trying to make sure you didn’t forget.”

Suddenly there was no clarification needed. You looked at him as he nervously tugged at his pearls after having just admitted whatever happened between you two had meant something to him. At least it had meant enough that he needed you to remember it. How could I ever forget it?, you wanted to ask him. But it was stupid and cheesy, so you settled for wondering it in silence. How could you ever forget the giggles as he shut the bathroom door behind you, or the way you gasped as he fucked you with his fingers against the wall, his warm breath on your neck and his other palm keeping you quiet? There certainly was no forgetting his gaze through the rest of the graduation party, the brush of his hand against his lips like he wanted you to see what he was thinking about.

Once the party was almost over, he had walked over to you and said Please in the softest of voices while taking your hand. How could you ever forget that?

“I didn’t forget,” you told him now.

Harry must have seen something true in your expression, because he didn’t say another word until the movie was over. 

-

“Should I go?” he asked, voice thick after just waking up. He had inevitably fallen asleep during the third quarter of the movie. Also exhausted, you had laid beside him at some point, making sure to put as much space as possible between your bodies. It wasn’t a lot of space. 

The room was dark except for the street lights shining dimly through your curtains, so you could barely see him even though you were facing each other. His head was already on your extra pillow, your calves already on the brink of touching. Your comforter already smelled of vanilla. Should he go? Probably. But what would be the use of him leaving? There was more damage to be done if he were to drive on dark and slick roads without enough sleep. 

“No,” you murmured back. “Stay.”

“That’s what I told you,” he said, sleepiness nearly gone from his voice. “Back then.”

The shadow of a smile settled on your lips. “Yeah. I was so fucking awkward about the whole thing, wasn’t I?”

“No, I thought you looked cute in my kitchen.”

You chuckled and looked at his shoulder, because it seemed close enough to his face that he wouldn’t notice you couldn’t look him in the eye anymore. The nervous edge to your laughter seemed to echo in the room. 

“And then you laughed, just like that, when I told you to come back to bed.”

“I was embarrassed, Harry.”

“I could tell,” he said. Harry shifted a little; you could feel his leg leaning on yours as he got closer. “You kept tugging at my t-shirt like you wanted to hide your thighs from me.”

“Kind of pointless,” you said. He stayed quiet for a second too long as one of his legs found its way between yours. Your breath hitched in your throat even though there was no pressure; his thigh was just there, and if you moved just a tiny bit—

“Yeah, but I sort of appreciated it,” his hand touched your chin so lightly you could have imagined it. So much for looking away. Staring you in the eye, as stern as you’d ever seen him, he said: “I enjoyed watching you squirm.”

Fuck him. That’s not what insecure men sounded like. You turned away from him, your core rubbing against his thigh in the process of disentangling your legs. Hopefully the gasp leaving your lips had been made quieter by the sound of the covers moving and your body hitting the mattress. With Harry’s breath on the back of your neck, you anxiously moved, trying to find a comfortable position in which you could forget, for even a split of a second, that he was right there behind you. 

“Hey,” he said, amused. “I know I just said I like it when you squirm but maybe you should—”

A careless shift of your hips and your ass was suddenly right against his cock. 

“—stop.”

And he was hard. Now still, with your back to his front, you called his name.

“Harry?” It wasn’t supposed to sound like a question, but your voice trembled at the last second. 

“Sorry,” but he didn’t sound apologetic at all. “We were just talking about you in my shirt and all of that, so…”

“God, Styles.”

Harry laughed, and you felt it in the spot right under your ear. You pressed your thighs together since your frustration with his shamelessness wasn’t able to end the urge of grinding back against him. Just a little bit more, and then maybe you could fall asleep and wait until he was gone to masturbate and pretend this all had been a fever dream. 

His hand grabbed your waist harshly as you moved your ass again. 

“Are you sure you want this?”

You didn’t answer him, or ask what exactly this was, but you did push against him once more. Some stupid part of you hoped he would play along and let things go unspoken, but Harry just used the hand on your hip to keep you still as he spoke again.

“Say you’re sure,” he murmured. His mouth was closer now, and you could feel every word on his lips against your neck. The hand that rested on your waist fell to your stomach, pulling you into him. “And I’ll help you."

"Styles," you breathed out, looking down as he lifted your t-shirt just enough so his fingertips would brush the skin above the waistband of your shorts. "I don't—"

"What?" his chuckle echoed through your entire body. There wasn't an inch of space between the two of you. "Are you going to say you don't know what I'm talking about?" 

You choked on a whimper.

"All you have to do is ask," a light kiss under your ear. That was the first time he kissed you in years, and it almost broke you. But that wasn't what did it. Harry broke you by whispering, so quietly you could have imagined it: "I won't hold it against you, love."

The realisation that you believed him was enough to make you say a soft okay.

There was no hesitation; his hand slid down the front of your boxers, the heat of his palm right between your legs. Your thighs closed around him, a moan caught in your throat as two of his fingers rubbed your clit through your panties. You were a mess, it was true, but Harry didn't seem much better. His heavy breath sounded obscene against your neck, his cock twitching at the small of your back.

"Spread your legs," he said, struggling to touch you in such a tight space. It sounded like an order. 

"Don't tell me what to do," you said, barely disguising your lust behind annoyance. Then you spread your legs, letting Harry move his fingers in small circles that got you dripping without ever being enough. You tried shifting your hips to get more friction, but he kept rubbing you slowly as you soaked through your panties, seemingly entertained by your desperation. "Harry," you called, breathless.

"Yeah?" 

The hand that wasn't under your clothes came to tug on your hair, and you burned. Your scalp, your skin, your pussy. He set it all on fire. One of your hands gripped his thigh, a soft moan leaving your lips as he responded to your touch by tightening the hold on your makeshift ponytail.

"Touch me."

He didn't try pretending to not understand what you meant, which you were thankful for. Then he fucked that up by muttering, ever so fucking smug, "Don't tell me what to do."

"Asshole," you hissed at the same time he moved the fabric of your underwear aside to tease your entrance with the fingers that had been touching your clit.

"Don't be mean, love," he started fingering you, slow but firm, the filthy sound of your wetness echoing in the room as his fingers curled inside you. "I know how you really feel."

There was no way you could muster up an answer; eyes hazy and jaw slack with arousal, you let him fuck you for what felt like ages without being able to form a single word. Sometimes he'd brush his thumb against you clit just so you'd clench around his hand, whining quietly as he muffled his own sounds on the crook of your neck. Once or twice he appeared to think you were gone enough to not notice as he tried to get his cock away from your body in a futile attempt of self-restraint, but each time you pulled him back by the thigh, grinding into him and getting fucked deeper as a result. Harry punished you for that by pulling harder on your hair, delighting himself in the fact that it only made you wetter, your movements more eager.

As your hips stuttered at another soft touch to your clit, Harry whispered, "Does it feel good?"

What a prick. He wanted you praising him, didn't he? Wanted you admitting how hot this all was, how you would have let him do anything to you. Harry wanted you to tell him how good he was at pushing your every button, clearing every thought on your head until him filling you was all that was left. 

"What do you think?" you said between gritted teeth. Sweat dripped down the back of your neck as his fingers shifted in your cunt and he hit that particular spot inside you. Your glassy eyes fell shut at the sound of his voice.

"I think I missed this pussy," he said. You moaned as a third finger slid easily beside the others and the hand on your ponytail went down to your throat, over the chain of your necklace. "I think you can tell I did."

You could feel his hand hesitate on your neck, so you squeezed his thigh to assure him it was alright. Within a fraction of a second, the pressure on your throat tightened. If you could look down, you'd see your golden cross gleaming right below the hand he was choking you with. It was too much. You were going to cum and he could feel it.

"You feel incredible," Harry confessed. "I missed you."

You convulsed, a silent scream shaping your mouth as you rode out your orgasm, his three fingers still stuck between your legs. As the aftershocks stopped, you could faintly hear Harry whispering your name, the tenderness in his voice bringing tears to your eyes. But then again, maybe that was the intense orgasm. 

“Are you okay?”

His easygoing voice, usually so grating, sounded quite comforting now. You relaxed your thighs, and the sound of his fingers leaving you was just a little louder than the sigh you couldn’t hold back. You mumbled an agreement to his question, and you could feel his smile at the back of your neck as he said, “Just sensitive, then.” 

A beat of heavy silence, and then: “Can I touch you?”

He didn’t answer right away, even though you could still feel him hard behind you, and it killed you a little bit inside. You were about to roll away from him, already forming an excuse about cleaning up, when he spoke.

“You don’t have to,” he didn’t sound like he was smiling anymore. You wanted to turn and check, to look into his green eyes and try to find out what he was thinking, but you were scared. If his hesitation meant that you had been vulnerable for him when he couldn’t do the same for you— “I don’t want you to think that's why I apologized." 

You rolled your eyes at his chivalry, but were relieved by it all the same. 

“Styles,” you said. “I’m trusting you here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you finally rolled on the mattress so you could meet his eye. “Now take off your shorts.”

He smirked as you shoved the comforter off of both of your bodies, taking a second too long to admire the dimly lit outline of his body. “Y’think you’re gonna boss me around now, huh?”

“I think you’re gonna let me, if it gets you off,” you shrug.

Harry opens his mouth to argue, but stays silent once he sees you reaching for the hem of your t-shirt. You throw it to the ground and hope he doesn’t notice your expression as you make a mental note to pick it up later, but that’s obviously unnecessary since he’s staring at your chest, the glinting of the cross between your boobs and your hard nipples monopolizing his attention. His right hand, still messy with your juices, reaches out to touch you, but you lean back and make him watch as you lower your shorts and underwear in one go before kneeling back on the bed. 

“So?” 

He shook his head, unbelieving, and took one final look at your naked body before meeting your eyes. “You love this, don’t you?”

Harry undressed like you’d done; t-shirt, then shorts, then kneeling back on the bed. You wanted to look down at his cock, see the proof of how much you got to him, but couldn’t leave his gaze. There you both stood on your knees, silently staring at each other’s mere silhouettes. Like the gold of your chain, the pearls on his neck were more visible than the rest of him. “You love talking like we’re at some game you can win,” he clarified, smiling. 

“Are you saying you don’t do the same?” skepticism dripped down your words.

“I’m saying you can’t win.”

The way he could go from earnest to cocky in the blink of an eye was sort of giving you whiplash. It did make things interesting, though. He threw whatever he felt like saying your way, apparently without thinking twice; for the second time that night, you surprised yourself by thinking of him as brave. 

His clean hand came to touch your face, his thumb brushing your cheek in the most romantic gesture you had witnessed since he’d held your hand all the way back to his place when you were graduating university. Harry called your name like a prayer.

“Can I kiss you?”

It was such a weird question, considering you’d just cum all over his hand. But it felt so fitting, so right. Being attracted to him and having teasing banter were not questionable, that was just how you operated.  It had been taken to an extreme, sure, but it wasn’t new. This was new. You nodded anyway.

He met you halfway, his lips tasting yours as your bare bodies touched for the first time in years. You whimpered into each other's mouths, Harry's hands tangled in your hair while you held his face like it could break. You could feel his erection between you, twitching every now and again when your tongue dragged against his, some precum getting on your belly. 

"H," you moaned between kisses when one of his hands descended to your chest and teased your nipple. 

He stopped kissing you for a second too long, leaving your swollen lips tingling as you waited for him to catch his breath. But he didn't kiss you again, just stood there touching your boob and the back of your neck, eyes going over every inch of your face. You could feel yourself blushing at the attention, already at the brink of an awkward giggle, when he said quietly "You haven't called me that in a while," he cupped your face gently, then planted the ghost of a soft kiss to your lips. "I like it."

You smiled and kissed him again, because you were worried about what you would say if you put that kiss into words. Each feverish movement brought you closer until you were practically on top of him, sitting on his thigh. Harry grabbed your ass, urging you to move; you gasped as he pushed you to grind on his leg, no longer able to keep kissing his lips but definitely working on making a mess of his thigh. 

"Love," he whispered in your ear. "I really wanna fuck you. Can we do that?"

The nails digging into his back made Harry let out a breathy laugh. You made a move to touch his dick, but his hand grabbed yours right before you could. "I want you to cum on my thigh first."

"But you—" 

You sounded broken, legs burning as you rode his thigh frantically.

"I'll have my way with you, don't worry," he said. "So desperate to get on my dick, aren't you?"

The only sound of outrage you could muster was a low growl as you threw your head back, neck exposed for his teeth as your clit pulsed against the muscle of his leg. Harry kept holding onto you, assisting your every move as his lips worked on your neck. The sharp sting of his teeth followed by his tongue as he tended to the bruises he had just created, his soft curls on the side of your face, a tight grip on your ass and your back. 

"Are you going to come for me again so I can fuck that pussy like I've been wanting to?" 

Your hips stuttered and you came for the second time, whimpering and refusing to let him go as he gently laid you down on your back, still shaking. Harry tried to get up but you wouldn’t let his shoulders go, and he laughed against your lips as your mouth searched for his. 

“Y’know,” you said, voice sounding unnaturally raspy, words practically breathed into his mouth. “You can’t talk like that.”

“Yeah? Why is that?”

“It’s not fair, H.”

He didn’t argue with that. You felt him reaching between your bodies, hissing a little when he touched himself. “I’ll make it fair,” he told you. “Like it used to be. Okay?”

Maybe you had been made insane by your post-orgasm haze, because that made perfect sense. You nodded, not a bit of hesitation, as he teased your oversensitive clit with the head of his cock.

“Don’t tease, Styles,” you said, and it sounded so much more like your usual self that it brought a sparkle of defiance to Harry’s eyes. “Don’t even think about it.”

He arched an eyebrow, smirking, but seemed to give in to your command. “You know me too well.” 

Then he fucked into you slowly, and you could feel your cunt gripping his every inch as he bit into your neck again, muffling whatever sounds he felt like making. His pearls hung between you as he thrusted, losing all the control he had seconds ago. Harry was doing it fast and hard, a little out of it, until you caught his necklace between your teeth and he moved his hips with such precision that you held back a scream.

"Like that, huh?"

He grabbed one of your thighs and lifted it just enough to get the same angle everytime he moved into you. Your wetness made a mess of his crotch and the insides of your thighs, your eyes rolled behind your now closed eyelids, you drooled all over his pearls. Harry called your name, desperate, when you pulled his hair with enough strength to leave his scalp sore.

"I can't," he mumbled into your ruined neck, holding your thigh so hard it would be sure to bruise as he used his other arm as leverage to fuck you, fist tight on the comforter. "Sorry, love."

He moved as if he'd pull out, and you held him closer, letting his necklace fall from your lips. "No, H," you said. "It's ok."

His brows furrowed as he hesitated, torn between listening to your words or his own head, that knew better than to cum inside you. Not wearing a condom had been reckless enough, and he wasn’t a stupid kid anymore. 

“I’m on the pill,” you told him. A particularly sharp thrust followed your statement, and you turned your face away from him, staring at the arm supporting his body so Harry wouldn’t see the entirely fucked-out look on your face. You kissed his bicep softly, just a drag of your panting lips against his skin. “Just give it to me.”

That was enough for him to cum with a low drawn out groan followed by a quiet whimper of your name, body shaking over your own. Barely any time had passed when he pulled out of you, spilling onto your sheets and your thighs. You shivered, feeling his cum staining your skin as he mumbled nonsense into your throat.

Apparently the nonsense meant he still wasn’t done with you, because Harry started kissing down your side as soon as his legs could move enough to get him up the bed and kneeling on the ground. “Styles,” you said urgently, sitting up. “You don’t—”

“Shut up,” he said against the crook of your hip.

“Don’t be a dick—”

He interrupted you by licking a stripe from your entrance, still dripping in his cum, to your neglected clit. You cried out, too sensitive, as he licked, sucked, and kissed your swollen flesh until he had you coming for a third time, his chin glistening with the mess you made together as your lifeless body fell back on the bed. 

Harry stood up, still shaking a little, and pulled the comforter over you before falling onto the bed himself.

“Next time we do this,” he said, breathless, while you were still twitching from your last orgasm, and you found that very presumptuous of him. “I’ll bring over that old t-shirt so you can wear it.”

You turned slowly onto your side so you could face him, letting him see your puzzled expression. Then you remembered what he was talking about. That morning, with you in his kitchen, you had been wearing his but daddy, I love him t-shirt. You laughed, incredulous.

“Want me to call you daddy, H?” you joked. 

His cock twitched against your thigh. “Oh my God,” you cried out, cheeks hurting a little because you couldn’t help the widest smile. “I can’t believe you!”

The echo of his laughter followed you to sleep.

-

Harry woke up to silence and an empty bed. From where you sat at the kitchen counter, you could see him anxiously looking around as if he’d find at any second that you had panicked and left, abandoning him in your own apartment. The moments he spent searching for you made guilt tug at your heart; he knew you could, at any second, decide to pretend last night hadn’t happened. 

But the fact that you could didn’t mean that you would do it, so when he finally turned on the bed and met your eyes, you smiled softly.

“Good morning, Styles,” you said. “How do you feel about tea?”

You lifted your own mug in a sort of awkward toast. Harry didn’t seem to mind, though. He just smiled and nodded, hoping that would suffice as an answer. 

“Your clothes are in the dresser, but you can just take mine if they’re more comfortable.”

Harry dressed in silence, his cream sweater over your boxer shorts, as you poured his tea. You laid his mug beside your own, watching him. His hair was adorably disheveled, eyes a little swollen with sleep, and his thighs looked just as amazing as last night in your clothes. He also looked very cozy in his sweater, and the realisation that you wanted to hug him didn’t scare you as much as it would have yesterday. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes with one hand and grabbing his tea from the counter with the other. He looked at you, fresh out of the shower and wearing a cardigan over a sundress, like Markham and your kitchenette had collided to form an outfit. “You look good.”

You shrugged but smiled, a relatively comfortable silence falling over the both of you.

“We should talk—”

“Do you want to—”

Harry put his mug to his lips to let you know you could speak first. You cleared your throat, at a loss for words.

"Last night was nice."

What a poet. Harry smirked, but didn't interrupt you.

"And I—” you took a deep breath, shifting your gaze to his hands so you wouldn't have to look him in the eye. He had very nice hands. "I'm sorry for the past couple years, too. I felt like you were trying to make my life harder just for a laugh, using whatever good thing had happened between us to hurt me. It made a little bitter."

He arched an eyebrow.

"Very bitter."

"And I was very childish," he said. "I was upset that you treated me like a stranger when I got to Markham, and I became a little shit about the whole thing."

"I just—I wanted to make something out of myself here. And then you showed up and I couldn't be that person around you. It drove me mad," you finally looked up at him. "You drive me mad."

Harry carefully put his mug on the counter, then took yours from you and did the same. With warm hands, he held your face while planting the sweetest kiss on your mouth.

"We'll do better," he whispered against your lips. "Won't we?" 

"Yeah," you whispered back. "We will."

-

But first, payback. Harry Styles could fuck you to the moon and back, or whatever it was he'd spent the last weekend doing, but he would not get away with last week's little stunt, or with robbing you of precious room 103. Your beige heels clicked on the creaking floors of the disgusting classroom where you taught on Mondays as you talked your students through next week’s lesson plan. Was it a little beyond your qualifications as someone with a master's on Literature? Yes. Would that stop you? Absolutely not. They seemed excited about the whole ordeal, and that was enough to convince you that you weren't being a bad teacher, exactly. Good teachers were fun, right? 

Maybe Harry had been a good teacher all along. Having that nice, kind thought cleared your conscience entirely as you proceeded with your plan. 

The teasing between you two wasn’t entirely gone throughout the week, but it did lose most of its mean edge. Calling him a fucking hippie, or whatever was something that could apparently be accomplished in a much more tender tone, the one you also used to say “Fuck off, H,” when he jokingly called you Professor Umbridge. Every day of the week he had driven you home after class, bought dinner that you ate together on your bed, and kissed your neck in very particular spots. Talking to him was surprisingly easy, and you could entertain each other for hours only by telling weird anecdotes both from university and Markham, friends and professors and colleagues and students all becoming the background to the life you had lived together even though you were apart. There was also so much you still had to learn about one another, childhood and teenage years and post-grad, and the time for all of it would eventually come. Now was the time for retribution. 

It was the next Monday, and both of your classes had started a few minutes ago. Well, his had. Your students were all standing around the corridor on the first floor, silently waiting in costume for their cue. 

The fact that Harry was so soft spoken made it pretty hard for you to pick an appropriately disturbing time to get the plan going, but at some point you could hear a few of his students’ voices. Assuming that meant a discussion was taking place, you nodded towards Richard, your Romeo, and he stepped forward.

Some of the other Drama students followed suit, prop torches in hand as the scene indicated, and together they burst into room 103 as Richard, with the poise of a Shakespearean character, recited loudly: “What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?”

Khalil, head held high, walked in right after and spoke as Benvolio. 

As the student playing Mercutio was saying something about gentle Romeo, you walked up the classroom door. 

Harry was standing behind his desk, your golden cross shining beneath his pearls; you had put the necklace on him as a joke during your Saturday dinner and he hadn’t taken it off since. His brows were furrowed and his mouth gaping as if he had forgotten to close it, while his students appeared to be mildly amused. Your kids without speaking parts were pacing between rows of desks on their way to a nonexistent ball as Mercutio, standing right before Harry, called to the Romeo at the back of the room. 

“You are a lover. Borrow Cupid’s wings and soar with them above a common bound.”

Harry smiled, and the part of you seeking silly revenge took the backseat for the slightest moment. He seemed to get over the initial shock of the disruption and watched them with a delighted curiosity. 

“Is love a tender thing?” Richard asked his classmate, but he could’ve been talking to the music professor. “Is it too rough , too rude, too boist’rous, and it pricks like thorn.”

Green eyes searched for you and found you leaning on the wooden door, ankles crossed nonchalantly and a triumphant smile on your face. 

“If love be rough with you,” Mercutio told Romeo,”be rough with love. Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.”

But Harry was not watching them anymore as you mouthed “Got you, Styles”, the scene unfolding behind the two of you as you won. 

[hopetofantasy]

‘HUMO’s big youth survey - Sex, love and relationships’ - With Nathan Bouts

- TW: explicit content and mentions of sexual assault, intimidation, getting drugged, (internalized) homophobia, slutshaming, dubious consent, sexualization -

‘How does youth look at love? Do they go all out or keep it safe with a round of virtual sex? An experienced trio may reveal it all: Billie Leyers (25) is the third child from the well-known family Leyers and singer-song writer. Marie Van Uytvanck (21) recently kicked it off with her band Kids With Buns all the way to the semi-finals of ‘Humo’s Rock Rally’. For the testosterone at this table we’ve got Nathan Bouts (22), actor in the youth series ‘wtFOCK’. ‘I long for some spontaneity again. May I squeeze your butt?’

- Note from hopetofantasy: Marie is the same person who made the LGBT+ podcast, where Yara Veyt talked about her sexuality. -

The first number: 6 out of 10 youngsters think a serious relationship is important. Do you guys dream about that? Billie Leyers: “A lot of my girl friends are really looking for steady relationships. I’m not that type of person, I’d like to see what crosses my path. But for some kind of reason I still end up in one. Since I’ve been sexually active - soon it’ll be 10 years ago: huray! - I’ve had three long relationships. Now I’ve been together with Jasper (Maekelberg, from ‘Faces on TV’) for two and a half years. Coincidentally, it’s the man I wish to grow old with.” Nathan Bouts: “I think a serious relationship is a nice idea, but at the moment I don’t have one.” What kind of boxes should a potential partner tick on your list? Nathan Bouts: “Sounds pretentious, but I want someone with a certain intellectual level, someone I can talk to. She must be sure of herself.” Billie Leyers: “It’s the same for me. It doesn’t matter if someone is a good plumber, an actor or a musician, he should come home and talk about his day with passion. The biggest turn-off is someone who just smokes joints on a couch and doesn’t know how to handle his life.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “I might have a really weird box to tick: if I get to know someone, I want to see her Spotify-playlist. I can be really attracted to someone with the right playlist.”

Has Spotify provided you with a relationship yet? Marie Van Uytvanck: “Not yet. The fact that I was stuck in the closet for a long time, sure has something to do with that. I think a lot of people might have wondered for a long time if I was asexual. So, no. It just took me seven years before I was completely ready to share it with everyone.” You made a podcast about it: the ‘Uit De PodKast’. There, you talk about how you’ve told your parents. Marie Van Uytvanck: “Friends knew it already, but I waited a long time to come out at home. Actually, my parents just know about it recently: I’ve told them during lockdown, with a letter. Their reaction was really sweet. They mostly felt shitty for me, because I felt unhappy about it for years on end - I’ve known I liked girls since I was 14. I’ve never had a serious relationship, but I’ve dated someone for a long time. Even that was very complicated, because I was still in the closet. So we saw each other in secret at a café across the country (*laughs*). Ridiculous: two girls could sit next to one another perfectly, without people thinking they’d be on a date.” How is your relationship with your parents? I’m wondering, because there doesn’t seem to be a conflict between generations with the current one: four out of ten would even like to live in the same area as their parents.  Marie Van Uytvanck: “Since I came out to them, our bond has strengthened. Right before my coming out, it was a bit weird. During that time we went on vacation together. I’ve never longed for my own dorm more than on that trip. But now, I like to hug my mom all the time. The big secret isn’t a road block between us anymore.” Billie Leyers: “I live with my partner, but I get a long with my parents very well. Sometimes too much, I guess. If I didn’t call them or one of my sisters by noon, then Jasper asks me what’s wrong. Why should we even rebel to our parents? I’ve got the impression that their generation was far more rock-and-roll than ours. My dad gets annoyed at the festivals nowadays: opening bags and searching people, what’s rock-and-roll about that? Back in his days, everything was far more relaxed. They were the generation of the orgies. I wouldn’t mind to go back to that. It’s all too goody-goody now.” RETWEET! Out of all the serious relationships between young people, one out of five people met online. Five years ago, that number was only 15 percent.  Marie Van Uytvanck: “I’ve done it a few times, but I don’t think Tinder dating is pleasant. The idea that you meet someone and have to approve them, doesn’t feel right to me. Spontaneously meeting someone in-person with whom it clicks, seems way more fun. Even when it’s not that easy, since I fall for people of the same sex.” Billie Leyers: “I’ve got zero experience with Tinder. My relationships always started at school.” Like 1 out of 3 youngsters.  Billie Leyers: “I’ve met Jasper at school too: he was the mentor for my thesis. So yeah, I’ve run off with the teacher (*laughs*). I’ve seen it in my environment though, online dating. They’d be chatting for weeks or months, eventually meet up and then find out that there is no spark between them. It’s a shame, three months of your life in the thrash.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “Of course: you’ve been idolizing them for a while. Also, in a chat conversation you can still think before you send something, so no mistakes either.” Corona has been an obstacle in the life of the single: 73 percent of them hasn’t had new dates since March.  Nathan Bouts: “I didn’t experience the lockdown as dramatic. I just completely focussed on my music. With results, since my first single will be released soon.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “So you didn’t do anything the whole time? Not that I’ve done illegal dates during lockdown, but afterwards I’ve had some new dates. And no, it wasn’t always with social distance or face masks. Dating like that, seems a bit weird, no? (*Speaks to Billie*) Wasn’t it hard for you guys, as a couple?” Billie Leyers: “With a lot of couples it was the one or the other: they fell in love more than ever or it was over. It went surprisingly well with us: we’re perfectly in tune with each other. We give each other the much needed space.” Nathan Bouts: “That’s a great relationship you have! It seems fun to have something similar during the next lockdown, even though I’m kinda attached to my own independence. I’ve had a relationship of three years. If we were together for a week, I needed a few days to myself afterwards. Also, I think it’s terrible to sleep next to someone.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “Retweet! I’ve got the exact same. During the day, I’m already all over the place: I’ve got ADHD and talk too much. So when I get home, I’d like to go to bed, lay in my own smell.”

SQUIRREL IN BED Only 5 percent of serious teen relationship have met each other at a café. Do you guys walk up to someone at the bar? Billie Leyers: “Only the creepy types still do that. ‘You seem nice. Can I have your number?’ Then you leap back immediately, if you’re a woman.” Nathan Bouts: “Really? I think a guy could still do that though. I don’t - I hate flirting - but I see a lot of friends of mine do the same. They even use me. Then they pull me along at my arm, until the girl - they like to hit on - sees me: “Look, it’s my friend, Jens from ‘wtFOCK’. My character is a somewhat chill dude without any complexes, who’s seriously confident, so that resonates with the ladies. I don’t want to use that to impress them, but my friends don’t get it: ‘Why don’t you use that attention to sleep around?’.” That would be the 14 percent who fits the statement: if you’re young, you have to try as many sex partners as you like. Billie Leyers: “I’m not a guy, but the time you could dance with a girl and suddenly kiss her on the mouth, is completely behind us, I guess. If you’re not careful, they could accuse you of sexual assault afterwards. I long for a time we could do that again. Not that I’m pro-sexual assault, but a little bit of spontaneity is allowed, right? Everything has a question mark now: may I kiss you? May I squeeze your butt? Life has gotten less romantic.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “At parties, I still see - excuse me: saw - that happening, though: squeezing the butt. All my girl friends are bothered by it.” Nathan Bouts: “(*nods*) Some of my friends can’t go out for an evening of dancing without some dude grinding against them.” Billie Leyers: “But those are the creepy types. Only them still dare to try. Although: a while ago, I was walking over the Groenplaats with my bike in hand. Suddenly some guy asked me timidly if he could walk along. First I thought it was weird, but it was kinda cute too. He walked with me and said goodbye in a polite way. He probably noticed that my ‘I’m taken’-light was on. If I was single, I might have given him my number. That would be a nice story, right?” Do you think, just like almost one out of three young people, that #metoo is being greatly exaggerated? When asked the guys, it’s even 38 percent. Billie Leyers: “Difficult topic. I’m not that into hashtag MeToo, I guess.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “You have to be careful with statements like that. I do think people abuse the #metoo to get attention. It’s a small amount of people, but like that, they ensure that serious issues get cast into the shadow and that people even use the hashtag as a joke.” Something is happening though: 1 out of 4 girls say they’ve experienced sexual assault and intimidation. Billie Leyers: “Are those also the girls who get squeezed in the butt? For me, sexual intimidation resonates more with skewed balances of power at work. It’s still disgusting of course, but different than someone who puts his hand on your arm at the bar. I think we’ve gone too far in that issue. We’re all human and fumble about.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “You’re right in that. One time, there was a guy a few meters away, starting at a girl on the dance floor. Okay, that wasn’t nice, but it was the ‘Gentse Feesten’ (= a 10-day music and theatre festival in Ghent, known for its partying until the late hours) and everyone was drunk. Suddenly that girl said: ‘I’m gonna fix this.’ She went to get security and they tossed the guy out, while everyone was looking at him as if he was the biggest pervert, who assaulted her. On the other hand, I heard a lot of complaints of girls that they’ve been drugged at parties too.” Nathan Bouts: “Not only girls experience that. I was at a party once and a girl put a bottle of water in my hand, while asking: ‘You thirsty?’. I don’t know if that water was meant for me, but I’m sure they put something in it: I felt weird and dizzy afterwards, I barely made it home with my bike. At home, I sat on the toilet for three hours, not knowing where I was.” Of the girls who had sex, a third did experience it (once) against their wishes. 16 percent of guys state the same. Marie Van Uytvanck: “Last year I was on a trip to Berlin with my class. In the club a woman drugged one of the boys and got him off. If that’s not assault, I don’t know it anymore... But the weird thing was: the boy acted as if nothing was wrong. He even seemed proud of it.” Billie Leyers: “For men, the cliché still stands: every guy likes to get a blowjob. If the guy was proud for real, though, there shouldn’t be a problem.” Did you experience sex against your will, Nathan? Nathan Bouts: “Not really against my will, but it happens that I lose the desire halfway through. It’s my own issue: I get distracted really easily. I could be having sex and suddenly think: why did Nelson Mandela die? Or which color should I paint my wall?” Marie Van Uytvanck: “So relatable. Do you have ADHD too?” Nathan Bouts: “Could be: I’ve got the attention span of a squirrel. Sometimes I can get distracted by the abstract aspect of ‘sex’ itself: what in god’s name is my body actually doing? Then it suddenly gets too graphic.” Now I’m very curious of your first time. Nathan Bouts: “Terrible! When I was 14, I was going to, but then she changed her mind. I didn’t mind that it eventually took a few years: I was 17. What can I say about it? The expectations were high, but not a lot happened.” Billie Leyers: “Isn’t the first time clumsy for everyone? (*to HUMO*) Don’t you have any statistics about that?” Not about that, but I do have numbers about the age of young people when they first have sex. Guess. Nathan Bouts: “Pretty young, I guess. 14? 15? That’s what I hear around me.” 16,7. That’s barely a difference with 2015 (16,6) or even 2010 (16,8). And everyone keeps thinking that young people do it at a younger age. Billie Leyers: “I’ve had a false start, like Nathan: when I was 14, it almost happened. But as soon it was clear that he was going for more, I thought: ‘ho, we’re not going to do that!’ After that experience, it took me two more years before I went all the way. (*to Marie*) So, question: have you ever felt something for a guy?” Marie Van Uytvanck: “Yes. I can feel sexually attracted to a boy, but not romantically. I don’t get butterflies in my stomach for boys.” Five years ago 70 percent of girls thought love and sex should always go together, now only half thinks that way - just like the guys. Do girls have more meaningless one night stands too? Marie Van Uytvanck: “Just with someone random? I don’t like that at all.” Billie Leyers: “I think it might be something. I told before that I usually have long relationships, but in that period between two relationships my inner Samantha from ‘Sex and the city’ emerges and then I could go for a one night stand. When I’m single, I’m a different version of myself, more animal than human, and totally focussed on the physical.” Never had a bad experience? Billie Leyers: “Oh, I did. Once I thought, even before it ended: oops, I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t stay the night, but I left at 6 o’clock in the morning. The regret already appeared. With a good one night stand, both parties are on the same wavelength: you both know it’s noncommittal, almost for sport.” Don’t you get looks for that, as a woman? Billie Leyers: “I’m not the last drunk girl on the dance floor and someone who sits on some other guys’ lap a half an hour later. If you go to your place with a one night stand in a discreet way, nobody will point fingers.” Nathan Bouts: “I wish I could do that, cut sex from love, but I’m too self-conscious for one night stands. Before I can be completely vulnerable, I have to know the other person through and through. Once, I’ve tried it, but as soon as we were laying in bed, I didn’t felt the spark anymore and I just wanted to leave. I couldn’t even get him up. I did went down on the girl and apologized: ‘Sorry, I don’t think more than this will happen’.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “Crazy that I heard that from a guy’s mouth, for once.” The young people who did have sex, have done it with an average of five different people. In 2015 it still was 3,3. With guys, the number is even higher than girls: seven compared to three. Nathan Bouts: “I’m far below that: I’ve only been with two girls in total.” Billie Leyers: “(*shocked*) Really? I’ve got more. That’s probably my Samantha that has something to do with that.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “I didn’t have that many sex partners either, especially with the whole closet-thing. If you have sex with a woman, then the question remains: what’s sex and what’s foreplay? Do you count going down as sex or foreplay? Even among us, dykes, we’ve got that kind of conversations. Everyone sees that differently.” Should you, as a girl, better name a lower number every time when it comes to sexual partners? Billie Leyers: “I guess you better not say a number higher than the average.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “I don’t have that impression. Don’t boys experience the same, nowadays? ‘He fucks everyone’.” Nathan Bouts: “Actually, yes. Men can be sluts too.” TRIO WITH A LOG From the survey we can conclude that girls go for partners of the same sex far more than boys.  Billie Leyers: “Between my almost-first time and my real first time, I’ve been with a girl for a year. She was my best friend. Our first kiss was a joke, but soon enough it turned into something serious. We were in love, although you should take that with a grain of salt: we were in love like 15-year-olds could be in love. They didn’t know that at home: I only stayed over at her place for a suspicious amount. I can still feel attracted to girls, but I couldn’t be with a girl anymore. Emotionally, it’s too much and physical it’s too less.” Nathan Bouts: “Boys won’t admit quickly that they would like to try something with a boy. We still live in a macho culture.” The statistics are worrying: 1 out of 6 boys think it’s a problem if there’s a gay friend within their group. A quarter doesn’t think having a transgender between their mates is okay. Nathan Bouts: “I’ve kissed a dude before. I don’t think it’s disgusting at all. I can still look at a man and think: that’s a handsome man. Not that I have the desire to give him a blowjob, far from it, but objectively, I can still find a man beautiful. I think a lot of men think like that, but won’t dare to admit it. For me, that seems like bottled up macho frustrations. I’m not bothered by it.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “When I was prepubescent, I had a weird phase where I didn’t notice that I might be gay, even though it was as obvious as it could be. Not that I participated in gay bashing or made homophobic comments, but I pretended that I thought it was disgusting. I was probably scared of how people would look at me if they knew. (*to Nathan*) Did you know you’re in my podcast? I’m using a scene from wtFOCK where your voice can be heard. It’s such an amazing tv series for young people who are gay, because you guys treat it as a normal thing. As a teen, I missed characters or storylines where I could recognize myself in.” Nathan Bouts: “We’ve often received reactions from young people who are grateful for what we did. Because of us, they took that step to come out.” For the first time, we asked young people to define themselves. 9 percent checked the ‘bisexual’ box, 4 percent call themselves ‘gay’ or ‘lesbian’. How do you guys define yourself? Marie Van Uytvanck: “I’m homo-romantic and bisexual, but you can call me gay. Rather that than ‘lesbian’, because that sounds ugly.” Billie Leyers: “I think all those labels are a bit tiring.” Nathan Bouts: “Me too. If I have to, I’ll define myself as heterosexual, but at the same time I think it’s difficult to label myself. Who knows if in one year, I’ll meet a man whom I could fall in love with.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “Nice that you can admit that, as a man.” Something seems wrong with the tolerance of boys: two girls who walk hand-in-hand, is a problem for 7 percent of them and 28 percent still thinks it’s weird. Marie Van Uytvanck: “I never walk hand-in-hand on the street, but I wouldn’t do that with a boy either. I simply don’t like it. From the girls who do, I hear that they keep getting sexualized: then they’ll get horny comments directed at them.” Nathan Bouts: “It’s because of porn: lesbian porn is the most viewed category - I read that somewhere.” Are you part of the 30 percent that has seen porn with their partner? Nathan Bouts: “With a partner, I wouldn’t do that. You still have each other?” Billie Leyers: “Nowadays everyone can admit that they watch porn. Watching it together has a certain thrill to it. You’re getting horny by watching the same thing, without touching each other. That’s part of the fun.” Nathan Bouts: “Hm, maybe I should try it.” Something else you could try: sex with multiple partners at once. 6 percent of the sexual active youth has done it. Nathan Bouts: “I don’t know if that’s my ambition, a threesome. It would make me even more self-conscious. And I would think of the practical stuff: how do I organize that? What’s my role? Do I have enough hands to pleasure everyone?” Billie Leyers: “(*laughs*) You’ll need a log!” Marie Van Uytvanck: “Nowadays you see that question pass by a lot on Tinder: couples seeking a third party.” Billie Leyers: “In that concept, I would only like to be the guest star. It’s probably terrible to be the girl in that couple. Immediately, the next day, you’ll think: ‘Will my partner think she was more pretty or better?’ I would only get more insecure.” RACY MATERIALS And what about virtual sex? Of the experienced youngster, a third has done it. In 2015, it was only a quarter of them.  Marie Van Uytvanck: “I wouldn’t dare. I already think that people spy on me through my camera. I would be scared to end up like those three famous people.” (= Two months ago, the nudes from three famous Belgian people were leaked and shared without consent on the internet, causing a storm in their personal lives as well as their fanbase and the Belgian people.)  Billie Leyers: “Every time the conversation comes up, I think: I’m so happy I didn’t have to go through that.” Nathan Bouts: “Absolutely. (*makes a cross for good luck*) I’ve send a nude pic once too, but never with my face on it. Even if that gets leaked, nobody will know that it’s me.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “Will we ever know what happened with those people? Who knows, it might’ve been a hacker.” Who of you have seen the images? Marie Van Uytvanck: “Someone pushed them in my face, but I’m kinda blind - my sight is 3 out of 10 - so I didn’t see a lot (*laughs*).” Billie Leyers: “I’m teaching at an art school and I’ve heard 13-year-old girls scream to each other: ‘I’ve got Peter de Veire!’ As if it’s about Pokémon cards you could collect. I corrected her: ‘It’s Peter VAN de Veire and don’t you have something better to do?’.” Do you still dare to do it, sexting? Billie Leyers: “Yes. If my partner is on tour for three weeks, then it might derail to sending each other racy materials. But our bond of trust is strong. Plus: it feels comfortable to know that you have as much incriminating evidence of the other on your cell phone as he has of you.” In ‘De Morgen’, there was an article about the sexting-scandal, with the headline: ‘The spread position between prudish and voyeurism.’ Which side is the youth leaning into? Billie Leyers: “I wouldn’t know. On the one hand, you’ve got Cardi B who’s rapping about wet ass pussy and that sex is the most normal thing in the world, but if you click on a clip of one of those famous people, you’re suddenly a criminal. A weird position, yes.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “Nowadays with every topic, you’ve got two groups. Is Cardi B now the ultimate feminist or is her song just vulgar? It’s the first one for me. I think it’s cool if women can sing about their pussy too, whilst men can rap ‘suck my dick’ for years and nobody bats an eye.” Nathan Bouts: “I’m not a fan of the song, but it’s good that they talk about it. Except: if I open TikTok and see 9-year-old grind on that song, then I think: what image are they growing up with? Two females with fake breasts and a collagen butt who roll over the floor: soon they’ll think that every women needs to look like that.” Let’s end with romance: do you see yourself ever getting married? Almost 1 out of 4 think marriage is outdated.  Nathan Bouts: “I don’t think so. Too expensive and too much effort.” Billie Leyers: “It doesn’t have to be expensive? I see the principle of marriage starting a revival soon. I would like to get married.” And then get two children? An average of two, like most young people? Billie Leyers: “I used to say ‘when I grow up, I want to have 12 children’. That’s because I’m from a big family myself, as were my parents. When the Leyers-clan organizes a family day, we need our own venue.” Marie Van Uytvanck: “I want to have kids, I just don’t want to push them out myself. The idea that a child grows inside you, I don’t like that.” Nathan Bouts: “I want kids too. Two to start, and then we’ll see. Some time ago, I saw a kid on the tram and thought tenderly: ‘A child of my own...’ A slight surge of nesting instinct, I guess.”

[lochrannn]

Warnings: Sexual Content (M Rating)

Characters: Lila Pitts; Diego Hargreeves; Allison Hargreeves; Klaus Hargreeves; Hargreeves Siblings (background)

Relationship: Lila Pitts/Diego Hargreeves

Roommates AU; Fake Marriage; Slow Burn; Mutual Pining; Emotional H/C

Chapter 7/9

Leaving his apartment actually helps.

Diego’s not sure how long he’s been out but he thinks he spent at least thirty minutes at an all out run and he’s out of breath and his muscles are burning pleasingly, but he feels a lot more settled and about ready for sleep as he jogs back towards his bed.

He’s just passing a children’s playground when he spots a figure through the chain link fence sitting on one of the swings, gently swaying back and forth.

“Fuck!” he says out loud and then makes his way over.

“Oh hey!” says Lila with mild enthusiasm when she finally looks up at him as he’s just arriving right in front of her.

Diego’s heart is beating in his throat at the realization that she didn’t even notice him approaching and he could have been anybody. This may not be an incredibly dangerous neighborhood, but it is three in the morning, she’s a woman sitting all on her own in a dark and secluded playground, and he doesn’t actually need to be a detective to work out that she’s completely shitfaced.

Diego tries to reign in the anger that is usually his initial response to intense worry and fear. She’s a grown woman and she’s entitled to make her own bad decisions, and he’s overstepped on this sort of thing with her before, but when she just slowly blinks at him and then looks back down at the bottle of champagne that she’s loosely holding in the hand that’s not gripping on to the swing’s chain, barely keeping herself upright, Diego asks, in a tone that’s meant to be even but comes out pretty tetchy even to his own ears, “What are you doing out here?”

“Oh, you know, I got married today… just celebrating on my own, I guess,” Lila answers, lifting her bottle a little in explanation, but not looking up at him again. She’s doing a remarkable job of not slurring her words, he’ll give her that, but they do come out a little too slowly, far too deliberate, which confirms his suspicion that she is definitely pretty drunk.

“Uh huh…” Diego responds. He’s completely uncertain of what to make of the mood she’s in. The fact that her response to getting married to him is to completely numb herself with champagne certainly gives him pause, but he swallows down the lump in his throat, now’s not the time to wallow, and instead he asks, “D’you think you might wanna do that back home instead of out here in a fucking playground?”

Lila looks up at him with an odd clarity to her for a second before she takes a swig from her mostly empty bottle and says, “Nah, I’m good!”

Diego can’t suppress the noise of frustration that escapes him. “Lila! I’m not leaving you here all on your own in the middle of the god forsaken night! You’re gonna get robbed or murdered and then they’re gonna suspect me of marrying and then killing you for your money, and I really can’t afford to go to jail right now, so come the fuck back home with me!”

“Pfff, stop being so overdramatic, Diego, I’m not going to get murdered. And I’m not going anywhere in these heels, I tell you, I’ll just sleep here on this swing!” She closes her eyes and then wobbles precariously as she presses her face against the chain holding one side of the swing up.

Diego is very rapidly losing what is left of his patience.

“Also, may I point out,” Lila mumbles in her drowsy state, “that you did in fact marry me for my money— eeeeeeh!” she squeals, as Diego lifts her up – one arm behind her shoulders, the other behind her knees. Her bottle clatters to the ground and starts spilling the remaining champagne, and somewhere at the back of his brain Diego thinks he probably shouldn’t leave it lying around on a playground, but at the same time he’s also dealing with an armful of slightly flailing, very indignant fake wife (he knows intellectually that she’s not his fake wife, but his actual wife, but Diego can’t think too hard about that, because it causes all sorts of tumultuous feelings to twist in his gut).

Though Lila immediately wrapps her arms around his neck, she’s clearly not particularly pleased because she begins to argue as Diego starts making his way out of the playground, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m taking you home,” Diego growls, trudging along the sidewalk, a little amazed at how easy Lila is to carry. She’s almost larger than life so much of the time and even when they’d slept together, she gave as good as she got, Diego has up until this moment forgotten just how tiny she is, and his heart almost stops again at how vulnerable she was, what could have happened to her if he hadn’t come across her completely by accident. Diego sucks in a breath to try and calm the sudden wash of useless fear.

“That’s quite presumptuous!” Lila retorts, and Diego doesn’t need to look at her to know there’s an annoyed line between her eyebrows. In fact, he doesn’t think he can even look at her right now, not with the way her face is currently only inches away from his.

“We’re literally fucking married, Lila!” he scoffs. He’s not sure why he says it, but Diego thinks he might be going slightly insane with the whole situation.

“And you think that entitles you to something, now?” Lila asks in genuine disbelief and Diego suddenly feels way too exhausted for this conversation. “Yeah, I think it entitles me to making sure you don’t die of hypothermia, alcohol poisoning, or murder!”

There’s a long pause and then Lila grumbles, “Whatever,” and leans against his shoulder, apparently also overcome by tiredness.

And Diego is overwhelmed at how quickly his anger at her reckless and bratty behavior dissipates and is replaced with a much sharper feeling that digs its way almost painfully into his chest, when Lila tucks her face into the crook of his neck and promptly falls asleep.

Lila is almost completely still as he carries her back home and it gives his overwrought and exhausted brain time to contemplate how unhappy she seems to be with the situation and how that makes him feel in turn, and on top of that he even manages to feel a little guilty about the fact that the feeling of her warmth and weight against him does significantly settle his nerves, despite himself.

Diego’s always known that he’s not great with feelings. He usually feels too much of them and is never quite able to tell the people around him what that means and so he’s gotten quite used to not doing so. And even though earlier he contemplated telling Lilla, he realizes he can’t add another burden to the pile of shit she’s dealing with, especially not while she’s struggling to stay in the country of her choice and has to rely on him for her only solution.

Carrying Lila becomes a little bit difficult when Diego tries to unlock the front door. He ends up jostling her, attempting to wiggle the key into the lock with the hand that’s also holding on to her knees and Lila stirs but doesn’t wake fully, just snuffles adorably and cuddles closer to him, arms tightening in some kind of reflex to stop herself from falling.

Diego tries to concentrate on anything else, getting the door open, not slamming it, when closing it, because his neighbors would probably not appreciate the noise in the early hours of the morning, and then he makes his way straight towards her room so he can put her down on her bed.

He sets her down gently and then struggles to find the will to pull her arms away from his neck so for only a moment he allows himself to sit down on the bed with her and very gently put his arms around her in a hug. He’s not sure whether it’s to comfort Lila or himself.

“See, had no trouble getting home!” Lila mumbles into his neck and Diego scoffs at that, but it’s more out of genuine amusement than derision and he gives her one last squeeze before letting go and laying her against the bed gently. This time around Lila does let go and immediately buries her face into the pillow, and though her face scrunches up and he knows it’s only a matter of minutes before she’ll start drooling onto the covers with the way her mouth is half open, he can’t help thinking that she does look absolutely breathtaking.

Diego makes sure that her short red dress hasn’t ridden up her thigh indecently high and then gets to work on her sandals. Once he’s got them off, he finds a blanket on a small armchair in the corner of the room and covers Lila with it as she’s lying on top of her sheets and is fast asleep again, so he doesn’t want to wake her.

When he leaves her to it and closes the door behind him with a soft click, hoping to at least get a couple of hours of sleep himself before he has to get up for work later in the morning again, Diego lets out a long breath. He tries to convince himself that maybe it will take a few weeks, but he can get over this, get over Lila, but a niggling voice at the back of his mind points out that he’s never felt a sense of devotion for anyone quite like this before and that he is quite certainly in much bigger trouble than he’s letting himself believe.

-

Lila gets the hangover she deserves after drinking a bottle and a half of champagne, but is, unfortunately, not granted the luxury of forgetting what she got up to.

She remembers her evening and her night in vivid detail but from a perspective of a powerless operator, sitting somewhere in her skull, able to look out of her eyes and watch herself make an absolute nuisance of herself, but unable at the time to do anything about it.

She remembers feeling sorry for herself because she was in this situation in the first place, a thirty year old trust fund baby with no perspective in life, no family to speak of and while other women her age nave their lives together and are getting married and having babies, she just paid her roommate who she also happens to have a pretty bad crush on – no point in trying to kid herself about that anymore – to marry her for a green card. What a fuck up she truly is.

And then, wallowing in her misery as a selfish part of her even felt angry with Diego for just abandoning her on their wedding day – what a silly notion, seeing as this is a business arrangement between the two of them – she went out to buy some dinner for herself and instead brought home two bottles of champagne “to celebrate”, started dancing around to sad music the more intoxicated she got, and in the end feeling like she had to leave the flat or she would go absolutely stir crazy.

She obviously didn’t get very far, and she has no sense of how much time she spent sitting on that swing before Diego came to get her.

Lila feels desperately embarrassed. He must be so annoyed with her and thanking his lucky stars that he’s only married to her for the money and not actually stuck with the a fuck up like her. She could tell he tried to remain civil with her last night, mostly even indulging her, but he was clearly angry and she’d only goaded him further, out of some sense of righteous annoyance of her own. But in hindsight, she can’t blame him, he’s honestly been trying his best with her, gone above and beyond to support her efforts for a visa, and she can’t even keep it together for a single day.

Well, at least he’ll get a break from her, Lila muses as she pulls her cover over her head, trying to block out the little bit of light that’s filtering in through her curtains, because there’s no way she’s going to face him in this state. But once she’s recovered, feels a bit more like a human again, she’ll apologise and make sure he understands just how grateful she is for his help. It’s not his fault she’s developed some distracting feelings for him and he certainly doesn’t deserve her anger and frustration for not reciprocating feelings he knows absolutely nothing about.

And so Lila spends her day in bed, drifting in and out of sleep, half imagining and half dreaming about strong arms holding her close to a solid, warm body, and soft lips pressing gentle kisses to the spot just behind her ear.

-

A day and a half later they meet in the kitchen and it’s predictably awkward.

Lila tries to apologise for her behaviour but Diego just waves it away, says he understands that she’s having a hard time, and though that’s not quite what she wanted to say and part of her thinks he deserves a real apology, she also doesn’t particularly enjoy reflecting on her own behaviour and jumps at the opportunity to move on when Diego promptly changes the subject.

“I talked to a friend at my gym, Rodriguez. His wife isn’t a citizen either and he gave me some tips for the visa process,” Diego explains.

“Oh yeah?” Lila’s interest is piqued, because she still hasn’t quite worked out what that whole interview thing entails and she’s finally getting an inkling that Diego didn’t actually know much more beyond the fact that there is an interview.

“Yeah! So, he said it’s different for everybody but that he’d talk to his wife and they’d put a list together of the questions they remembered being asked. He said some of them were…” Diego looks down at the counter and starts scraping off an imaginary bit of dirt with his finger nail, “a bit personal… So, uhm, we’re gonna have to prepare for those.”

“I think we already did...” Lila mumbles under her breath.

“What was that?” Diego asks.

“Eh, nothing!” she rushes out, she didn’t actually mean to say that out loud even if he couldn’t hear her. “So, interview, okay, what else?”

“Yeah, uh, Rodriguez said this doesn’t happen too often and it didn’t happen to them, but there is a chance of an agent coming to inspect our apartment unannounced, so I thought maybe we should move some things around. You know, bring some of your things into my room, put some clothes of mine into your closet, just make sure it doesn’t look like we live in separate rooms. We can always say we’re keeping yours for guests,” Diego explains with a shrug.

“Okay, yeah, that sounds sensible,” Lila muses and starts worrying the nail on her thumb between her teeth because despite the fact that Diego seems to have a pretty decent handle on the situation, the whole idea of the interview process is making her nervous.

“You’re not really into this, are you?” Diego asks tentatively, and when Lila looks up at him his expression is one of concern, eyebrows drawn together, he’s lowered his head to try and get closer to level with her, and for a moment the tenderness in his eyes leaves her speechless.

“Yeah, I get it!” he goes on and then smiles slightly, “Hey, what are you doing the day after tomorrow? Are you working?” he asks.

“Uh, no?” Lila answers, hesitating a bit because the sudden change of the subject has her somewhat confused.

“I thought maybe we could take a drive to the shore, bring Ben’s camera and fill the film with some honeymoon photos. It’ll be too cold to go swimming, but the forecast seems like it should be pretty mild and sunny.” Diego suggests and, it seems without thinking, he reaches out and just very gently pulls on her wrist, so she stops biting her nail and instead lets her hand drop uselessly to her side.

“Yeah, okay…” Lila answers. She’s not sure why she’s not that enthusiastic about the idea. It’s not that she thinks she wouldn’t have a great time, in fact she thinks it could be kind of wonderful, spending a day driving to the seaside with Diego and taking a walk along the beach, maybe getting some ice cream. She wonders to herself whether the pang in her belly comes from the fact that actually she’d love a beach date with Diego, only she desperately wishes it wasn’t fake.

[chibimyumi]

Hi

I hope you're doing well

I have questions if you don't mind

Who do like Axel von Fersen in Marie Antoinette or Axel von Fersen in 1789 les amants de la bastille and also do you like Marie Antoinette in Marie Antoinette or in 1789 les amants de la bastille

Thank you for answering my questions

Dear Anon,

I am doing well, thank you very much! I hope you too.

Hmmm, as a quick answer I would say I prefer both Marie and Fersen from ‘Toho MA’, but the full answer is slightly more complicated.

Firstly, it is almost unfair to compare them to each other because in MA they are the main characters, whereas in 1789 they are main-support or secondary-mains at best.

Secondly, MA has a far bigger focus on the characters because that is what drives the plot, while the opposite is true for 1789, which mainly sells a spectacle. I myself am more fan of subtle and deep story-telling rather than spectacular shows, so the MA versions of Marie and Fersen are more to my liking.

Thirdly, the quality of the characters also depends greatly on the cast. My first view of MA is the A-cast, and therefore my impression of the characters is that they are incredibly well written. After comparison with other casts however, I started to wonder whether it was just the A-cast being too good, and the musical itself being ‘fine’. (In short; I’m not fully sure how much I’d ‘clearly’ have preferred MA Marie and Fersen were it not for A-cast. Click here for a comparison between the two casts written by my friend @wildandwhirlingwords)

But, I shall go into more detail for both characters why MA’s version appeals more to me - someone who enjoys character writing most.

🌹Marie Antoinette🌹

M.A. 2018

In my opinion Marie Antoinette is better in MA because you see her journey and her motivations. We all know that the historical Queen screwed up majorly, but in MA we see why, and in what ways she indeed had very little other choice from her own perspective. She was a flawed foreign woman in a time and place where flawed foreign women were hated most.

In the beginning of the musical the King comes tell Marie that she’d have to live more economically. Marie is clearly not very enthusiastic to hear that, but she also never protests. She just asks ‘why’ and then accepts the answer - albeit broodingly. More importantly however: we need to keep in mind that despite being called Madam Deficit, the historical Marie Antoinette was actually quite economical at first because the Austrian court where she comes from was way less extravagant than the French. It was after her marriage into French royalty that she became more extravagant, because she was criticised for “not being a proper royal” by the French. According to the court, the 14 year old Marie was “a peasant unworthy of becoming Queen.” When you’re that young and criticised by your entire new life, you do everything in your power to make sure you can actually have a life; you adapt. So when Marie was then suddenly told to stop ‘adapting and be a proper Queen worthy of the French”, we can see why more is at stake than “Karen needs to deal with only 10 dresses a week.”

Something else that adds depth to her character as opposed to her 1789 counterpart is that as the story progresses, Marie actually grows. She becomes more mature and more serious, and you see in her how all the events have a clear toll on her. From her own perspective, she really was trying very hard, but anything she tried was inadequate to improve the situation. What she didn’t know is that no matter how hard she tried, the situation was already un-salvageable before she was even born. The populace AND the court had already decided to hate her for being an unintelligent foreign woman from an enemy state, after all. This is an insight most historians nowadays agree on.

In a later scene where Margrid confronts Marie, she asks the Queen: “what makes you think you are better than us?” Marie confirms nor denies, but replies: “I am merely Queen as I was appointed by God.” When she adds: “All I know is duties, you are free,” there is also a clear sense she genuinely doesn’t know why she was appointed by God, but as she is now, all she can do is her best. She is still ignorant, which was a genuine problem about her. She does not know the hardships of not being from the top rank, allowing her say something as insensitive as: “at least you’re free.” But again, despite her ignorance, her feelings are sincere. From all the unfair expectations she was made to live up to from age 14, you really do see why ‘a life without duties’ seemed so much more appealing to her.

1789 - The Lovers of the Bastille

Marie in 1789 is more of a side-character, and the musical itself just is not very character/story driven as MA is. 1789 has the tendency to take the tropiest of tropes and stay on surface level with the characters. Ouki Kaname is an incredibly good actress and she tries her best; but she cannot do more than the script gives her to work with.

In this musical Marie is not portrayed in a very relatable or sympathetic light. She is extravagant because she has escapist fantasies, but we don’t really see what she’s escaping from. The sympathy from the audience is supposed to be drawn from the tragedy that she’s married to the King but is in love with Fersen. Oh, and she has a son but he’s mortally ill. Meanwhile however, you don’t see how her life is so bad she needs to escape... and you also don’t see Marie really being worried about her son than an occasional: “Oh Ill again? Sucks I guess. Gotta cry my eyes out on my lover’s lap, AHHH FERSEN 💗” It was not until her son had already died that Marie woke up, but the lack of portrayal of Marie’s perspective and the pacing really makes one legitimately wonder whether the child did not just die of Marie’s neglect. And about the forbidden love ...we’ve seen enough love triangles with star-crossed-lovers... I don’t know about you guys, but I am numbbbbb to this “problem”.

When Marie receives message from Olympe that she finally gets to meet her lover after a long separation at the Palais Royal, one of the first things she says is: “is that not the place where revolutionaries and prostitutes are gathered?” This immediately sets up an empathy-barrier between her and the common people. This Marie clearly views herself too good for people who do anything to get by; why would you care about her then? Because Marie’s story is not fleshed out you don’t see parts that can make you go: “oh, the revolutionaries really hate her for reasons beyond her control, she is in danger.” Or “she was raised by a puritan society, making her hate on sex-workers; that’s part of her character flaw.” Instead it’s just this Diva being quite judgemental.

Ouki was trying very hard to make the focus about her own safety, but with the script being what it is... she’s still a mostly unsympathetic character who is a martyr of forbidden love.

There is one scene where we see her take on a much more mature and responsible role. That was the first time I personally felt like Marie from 1789 is an actual human being with feelings and personal difficulties. But in great part this is Ouki’s acting... (the other cast didn’t do much for me). What is also important is that Marie was ‘humbled’ because her son died. Marie did not have much of a personal growth, and then she changes to a more sympathetic person because of an external factor just... feels less earned.

In the finale Marie appears again in her execution clothes, and the way Ouki appeared really felt like a punch in the gut. She sings “as a recompense for our griefs, people have learnt forgiveness.” However, the story skimped over the characters so much I was left to wonder: “who learned to forgive whom?” Do you think the people forgave you? Or was there somebody you hated but now learned to forgive? What was your grudge? Do you understand the angry mob’s grudge?

The finale of the musical treats like after the heroic sacrifice of the protagonist (Ronan) the oppressive monarchy was replaced by a good democracy, and a Reign of Terror will DEFINITELY not happen under Robespierre or something. But if you’ve had a BIT of European history you just know it’s a blatant lie. So the finale just feels too simplistic, and this simplistic feeling was in part presented by Marie’s very empty, lip-service-y line.

⚔️Hans Axel von Fersen⚔️

M.A. 2018

Fersen is a bit harder to compare which version is better, because honestly, depending on who plays Fersen in MA, Fersen is either the most generic Hollywood sweeping-lover-hero, or a diamond mine to excavate. In the same post linked above by my friend, she explains in detail the differences between TashiroFersen and FurukawaFersen. K-musical fans, don’t @ me, but from what I can tell, the Korean Fersens are also very... typical.

In this post I have discussed Furukawa’s Fersen in great detail, so I shall skip over these for this post. But to summarise, when portrayed by Furukawa at least, Fersen in MA is very nuanced and restrained. Even if we do not fully credit Furukawa however, then at the very least the script allows enough space and material for an actor to flesh him out so phenomenally well (I think Tashiro and some other actors just.... really missed out on the potential).

Fersen in MA incredibly memorable because the main atmosphere of the imminent doom awaiting everyone is carried by him in a way nobody else does. The moment Fersen enters you feel the tension that the musical wishes to tell. Fersen has seen revolutions, he’s seen the power of anger; he knows shit is going to hit the fan because he’s familiar with this trajectory. 

Fersen has excellent self control because he knows how a lack thereof would hurt Marie’s reputation and escalate the growing chaos. You can see very clearly how Fersen does want the intimacy, but to him duty and the grander picture has priority. In all the small actions from Fersen you see how he is a savvy intellectual through and through. (More about reservation later).

In contrast to 1789, we also get to see so much more of Fersen in MA because he is the narrator and a main character. Throughout the musical he’s been trying to de-escalate the chaos and even though his plans were actually well thought-out, the problems were just simply too big for any one person to solve. When Fersen mourns Marie there is a clear sense that he is not really surprised, just really upset that things had to come so far. Instead of singing something accusatory to the angry and hungry people, he sings: “fate, why did you give her everything, only to show her hell in the end?” Fersen truly understands why the people were duly angry, but that not taking away his sorrow of losing Marie who he knows is a better person than people make her out to be.

Also in great contrast to 1789, the finale of MA is rather grim. It does not suggest hope or that all problems will eventually disappear. The story for these people have ended, but the problems and the world will continue to our days, and days far beyond ours. It gives a feeling that the world of MA is so extensive that we - the audience - are part of it. In the finale when we see Fersen again, he also stays in tune with this feeling. “How can the problems of the world be solved, what is true justice? We remain clueless” he sings, and the way he looks into the unknown distance is almost a reminder to us that nobody has reason to stop worrying and fight for justice.

1789 - the Lovers of the Bastille

Now if we were to compare MA’s Furu Fersen to 1789′s Fersen, we see a stark contrast between the two. Where Furusen was incredibly reserved and hyper aware of everything, 1789′s Fersen is just the over-romantic lover who had been pining for his love. For a moment Marie realises she probably should not be cheating on her husband and backs away. Fersen however, is the one to make further advances, actively pulling her back to his side.

When he embraces Marie you see how he is just dreaming and indulging, something Furusen would never do. Furusen might hug Marie, but not without sh*tting 50 colours. 1789′s Fersen is the sweeping Romeo that most of history makes him to be, and little more. But again, Fersen plays but a very small role in 1789, so it is also unfair to compare him to MA’s Fersen.

Regardless of whatever nuance might or might not be there however, it is also just quite hard to like this Fersen because he is ‘just another privileged aristocrat who is just needy’. When making out with Marie in Palais Royale they find out that Ronan fell asleep there drunk. Ronan simply complained that Marie was too loud and woke him, and Fersen immediately shuts him up, and then draws his sword at him for ‘speaking rudely’.

First of all Fersen and Marie, if you’re gonna do a clandestine meeting, you CHECK your surroundings. Second of all, FERSEN Ò.Ó, this peasant is untrained and weaponless; you can’t just unleash your high-ranking martial arts at him with a shiny sword. This is EXACTLY the reason the revolution happened; the people were sick of the suppression of the powerless by the powerful. UGHUM. It truly is mind-blowing to consider how 1789 Fersen and MA Fersen are both...Fersens.

This Fersen is not very involved with the revolution from either side. He just proposes to help Marie and the King escape once, but got dismissed immediately. The following time we see him it is in the finale.

There he stands, a knight in shiny armour singing a really hopeful phrase to a relatively upbeat and hopeful music: “do not rely on force, but seek for hope and courage.” Here again unlike with MA’s Fersen, you don’t really feel like this Fersen has experienced anything. It was like he was an employed special guard, told by his boss there’s nothing he needed to do, his boss is dead, and oh wellll, moving on!

Conclusion

Because Marie and Fersen in MA are main characters whose stories are fleshed out, it really is very unfair to compare them to their 1789′s counterparts in a race of ‘who is better’. In the end of the day, 1789′s aim is to sell a spectacle, and it realllly is a phenomenal piece if you’re there for the spectacle. The choreography, songs, stage, everything is masterpiece-level. So if you’re there for the spectacle you get exactly what you went there for. The story and characters however... not so much. If one is more drawn to a direct, glittery spectacle with hands-down-amazing-songs however, they’d probably find Marie and Fersen from 1789 more enjoyable. If you’re into first and impressive impressions, the MA counterparts might demand a BIT too much attention and patience to get into.

Related posts:

Introduction and character analysis Fersen ‘MA’ 2018

Comparative commentary on MA Cast M and Cast A

[docholligay]

I am so frustrated with this ahahahahah. Anyway, the request was “Avital, after Winston dies” 

“We are going to find a solution to this problem, and that solution will include my uncle in the ground here.” 

Avi’s accent was strange, even she was quick to admit, seemingly drifting around the world, despite spending the vast majority of her life on London’s East End. Certainly, you could hear that, as she sat around with her friends and laughed and joked, her h softening until it quietly disappeared. You could hear her Swiss mother, in moments, the lilt at the end of a word, the musical cadence of a sentence when Avi tried to comfort someone. Sometimes the simple American of her uncle seemed to suffice in the lab, or crept in as she sat thinking. Mostly, she was her own strange quilt of all she had loved and been loved by all of her life. 

There was no drift with her mother’s curt formality. It was a tool that left little room for ambiguity and questioning, and though Avi could not see herself in this moment, she knew she would be the match of Pharah in her body: chin straight, shoulders squared, stance locked. Her mother had a bearing that quashed opposition before it began, when she chose to wear it, and Avi had taken it for herself with pleasure. 

One could almost feel sorry for the man before her, taller than Avi but seeming so much weaker before her as Avital held a box in front of her and wordlessly stared at him with her falcon’s gaze, smaller than her mother but no less forceful. 

“Miss Ziegler-Amari,” he rubbed his hands together, “this cemetery has been in use since before the first world war, and there are traditions.” 

“Yes,” Avital nodded, “I imagine that to be true. I also imagine over the years, some of them have been amended. I imagine there was a time I could not have been buried in this cemetery for the crime of being a Jew, and yet that seems to have been rightfully amended, over the years. It is time,” she stood a little straighter, “For an amendment.” 

He went to his desk and sat behind like a child being send to the corner, and Avi did not oblige him by sitting as well. 

“It’s very difficult,” he cleared his throat, “in this country, to overcome years of tradition. Burying animal--” 

“My uncle Winston was not an animal.” She held the box more tightly. “He was presented with the full rights of a human being under British law, and I am more than happy to present the papers saying as much.” 

“Miss--”

“My uncle saved this city. He helped to save the world, and all he wanted, in all of it, was to be laid here with Lena. I promised him I would do it. I assure you that I will. I know there is one space left in her plot, for an urn, and that this was always her intention as well. It is also, my intention. I am very good at making my intentions into fact.” 

People said they reminded her of her Mutti, when she first met them, with her blonde hair and soft cheek, but it took only a matter of weeks for most to note that Avital Zeigler-Amari had more than a fair part of Fareeha in her, once you stopped looking at the wrapper. 

The man thought for a moment, and then grabbed for a piece of paper. 

“We’re having a meeting, March the first. I can’t promise anything,” he looked at her cautiously, “but I will bring this matter to their attention. We of course know of Win--,” he noted the sharpness in her eyes, “Dr. Oxton’s contributions to the city.” 

Avi nodded, clicked her heels together quite without meaning to, and went to go, wooden box still in her arms. She stopped at the door, and looked back. 

“I am perfectly capable of a promise, and that promise is, you will find my tenacity on this matter to be a hound from hell, biting at your ankles.” 

It was a bit dramatic, she supposed, which was unlike her, or her Mum, who would have offered the simple direct threat--no, not a threat, a promise--that she would pursue this until it reached a satisfying conclusion. She would mean, of course, that he would eventually fall before her like an exhausted fox, and just as likely to be torn apart, but she would not have said that. Her Mum, even in hyer most serious moments, was not given to dramatics. 

Well, she was allowed to have her own personality, even in her threats, then, wasn’t she? 

She walked out of the cemetery with the box held tight, and felt the rigidity and discipline that guided so much of her life falling away from her. She was angry, of course. Furious, that they would deny Winston this, after everything that he’d done, after all the good he’d brought to London on top of saving it, that simply putting a box in the ground where it was meant to go was just a bridge too far. The section he was to be buried in might as well be its own small Oxton park, and they had all said they were only too happy to have him laid there, but that still didn’t matter. Enraging. 

But she was also very sad, and very hurt, and it was this part of her that felt tears sting her eyes as she left the cemetery and crossed back toward the train, toward the place she had never been able to think of as an old warehouse, but had always been her Uncle Winston’s home. It was her home, now, much to her great and perhaps foolish shock, along with the royalties to a few patents and a few sentimental pieces. 

Avital had promised him. The Oxtons would be in charge of the funeral, for, it was well known, no one threw a funeral like they did, but Avi would handle all of the affairs in general, settle out the will, cremate him, and bury the ashes where Lena’s had been 20 years before. 

He’d never stopped missing her. 

It wasn’t that he had an unhappy life, or at least, he certainly didn’t seem to, but she knew that in the back of his thoughts, she was always there, smiling and laughing. It was a bit like living with a ghost, knowing of Lena, someone she had never met but felt she knew intimately. Avi had understood, and so Avi had promised him. 

She could fail him, and that thought made those tears pool onto her cheeks, which only made her flush hotter and angrier. 

The train squealed into the station, and she quietly thanked God for whatever English awkwardness it was that kept people from so much as looking her directly as she tried to dry her tears, never releasing her grip on that wooden box that held one of the people she had loved most. In fairness, she never looked either, claiming some English awkwardness of her own by birthright, which occasionally seemed to clash with her Egyptian directness. 

She took a deep breath and leaned against the bar as they headed further into the city. It had been less than a month, and there was no reason to imagine that she would be over the sadness of it by now. It was, she supposed, the first major loss in her life since her beloved cat died when she was ten, when she had learned in some way that those things we love can leave us, and since her Mum had taught her that in some other way, they never do. 

This was harder she thought, and then laughed at the thought immediately. How could she ever imagine that it would be the same to lose someone who had helped to raise her? She could be so terribly naive, even at the age of 20, and she had been so spoiled not to know death, not in the way that one feels its icy fingers close around one’s heart, until now. Her Mutti had lost her parents at 13. 

The high, painful screech of the train brakes whistled in her ears. 

Your parents are going to die.

It was a horrifying thought, and all the more horrifying for the fact that Avi knew it was real. She had always known, intellectually, in the way that she had known her uncle was fading when she had decided to live with him and care for him, but now it was suddenly too obvious and too real in her mind. She had felt it, as those fingers closed upon her heart. Her Uncle Winston had sickened and died, and someday so would her Mutti, and her Teta, and, even as impossible and horrible as it seemed, someday, too, would her rock-solid Mum. 

She rushed off the train, breathing hard, wanting to cry and scream all at once, that she had not been ready for her Uncle Winston to die, that she was not ready for the possibility that he had kept every promise made to her and she might fail the one she made to him, that all of this was so clearly unfair and yet the world seemed to go not caring much for her protests. 

She closed her eyes, her breath echoing in her ears. Calm. This happens to almost everyone. Something can be new, and painful, and very survivable. Open. The world became a bit clearer for a moment. It wasn’t that Avital had any particular problem with crying--she had done a fair amount of it this past month--but she did have a problem with spiraling into a breakdown in the middle of a train station about something that had yet to happen and with any luck, would not chase her down for many years. Just a ghost of the future. 

It would be so silent, back at the house, and she shuddered, rubbing at the lid of the box. It had been so silent, as she sat planning her life, reading her acceptance letter to the University of Edinburgh, a gifted language student, she was called. Silent as she remembered how her uncle had laid aside enough for her to easily have an apartment, buy books, anything she needed, for when she decided to go. Silent as she pondered the turn her life had taken, and where she would go next with it. 

Avital shivered. 

There would be ghosts in her home, tonight, the echoes of her uncle’s voice off the walls, his laughter now only a faraway note in the silent and still air. The potential of her failure would be there too, whispering, giggling, telling her that Avital Ziegler-Amari could not quite be the winner of all things, could she? The past could be so loud, when the future was so uncertain. 

But try as she might, she could not hear her uncle’s voice saying he was disappointed in her. Even failure could not make that true. Fear cannot make love lie, not if it’s real, and her uncle’s love for her was the loudest ghost of all, and she saw it shining out of the windows as she walked down the street toward the house that was theirs and then his and was now hers. It would become her home, too, and she stared at it, and held the box close, and let the ghosts of love and of joy, of Christmases spent in laughter with Lena and Hanukkahs spent in coziness with Avital, chatty dinners with the entire Overwatch family, a dozen birthday parties where he spoiled her, and all the ways that Winston had filled that place with warmth, wash over it. 

She took another step through the gloom and damp of the afternoon. There would be ghosts, but as many for her as against her, and she was no coward. 

Winston belonged in that cemetery, and Avital belonged here, and both would be nothing but fact, in the end.

[worldwidebt7]

Hell(L)ing || 03

§ — Pairing: Chimera!Taehyung x Empath!Reader (with mentions of Reader x Other Members)

§ — Genre: SciFi AU, fluff, angst, smut, horror

§ — Wordcount: 4,456

§ — Rating: M

§ — Warnings: None yet~

§ — A/N: Reader and Namjoon get formally introduced to Taehyung! Though he doesn’t really make the best first impression…. But he still cute af! Thank you so much for all your feedback so far guys! I hope you’re enjoying the story!

 Summary: You moved out into the wilderness to live a calm, peaceful life. Your abilities made it impossible to live in crowded places, so even if you wanted to you couldn’t return. But when something happens outside the realm of even your normalcy, you start to think that maybe having everyone else’s emotions bearing down on you isn’t such a bad alternative to being trapped with your own.

Before you knew it, you were preparing a light lunch for when Namjoon arrived for your book meeting on Monday, the previous nights’ events pushed aside, but not forgotten. When you had woken up Sunday morning, Yoongi was still soundly sleeping on your couch, face pressed into the back cushions and hands wedged between his knees. You had smiled fondly at the scene, nostalgia flashing images of his past sleeping habits like a slideshow in your mind. Somehow, you were perfectly content with being his friend— now at least, the first two years after the breakup had been filled with sad one-sided longing to be embraced by him.

You only lingered in the living room for a few moments before passing through to the kitchen, starting a pot of coffee immediately, knowing that the man on the couch would be in need of it when he finally woke. It wasn’t long after the brewing process started that the half-asleep zombie staggered into the kitchen in search of the dark liquid. You laughed when he walked directly into the kitchen island before sliding into one of the bar chairs at the counter. He never brought up the incident, nor did he comment on your disheveled appearance, ever the gentleman. You fed him a simple breakfast of cereal, and allowed him to drink more than half your pot of coffee before he slinked home, looking only a little more alive than he had when he first emerged.

The rest of the day had been just as unproductive as the last and you were significantly more relaxed than you thought you’d be, though you had gone to bed with all of the lights on in your house once more. Now you were making bibimbap and bulgogi for Namjoon’s arrival Monday morning as you struggled to keep the eerie feeling of being watched from creeping under your skin.

Cooking for Namjoon had quickly been established as tradition for your meetings. The first time you did it, it was due to the fact that the two of you were meeting at your house at dinner time and Namjoon had confessed to not having eaten. Instead of ordering takeout, you quickly whipped something up for the two of you and discussed the manuscript of your book over tteokbokki. He complimented your cooking to the point that you had unknowingly agreed to cook for him each time he visited, not that you particularly minded preparing food, you just weren’t sure how it had gotten to that point. It was nice, though, to share a meal with someone; especially someone as intelligent and handsome as your editor.

The rice for the bibimbap was just about done when you felt the familiar tingle of another person’s presence enter your perimeter, and judging by the inquisitive yet poetic nature of the emotions connected to this individual, you could only assume that it was Namjoon. Soon, a knock came at your front door and you called out, letting him know that the door was unlocked and that he may enter.

“Y/N?” He called, closing the door behind him. You leaned over the kitchen island, hands wet from washing lettuce, and beckoned him into the kitchen. You saw his form appear, clad in a tan trench-style coat, white button-down, black slacks, and think-rimmed glasses. He had a laptop bad slung over his shoulder, obviously containing his electronic device as well as several other packets of paper if you had to guess by the size.

“I’m just finishing up preparing lunch,” You hummed, happy that your company has finally arrived and you were no longer alone with your thoughts. The tall man placed his bag on the quarts surface and shuffled out of his coat— one that he clearly did not need as it was still early September and still clinging to the warmth of summer. He draped it over the back of one of the pub stools at the island and propped himself on his forearms against the counter, peering at the food being fixed.

“Smells good,” He mused, a pleased warmth spreading through your body and letting you know that he was happy with the cuisine he saw. You were suddenly then hit by the sharp pang of hunger he sent your way. Normally, you’d think nothing of it considering hunger is one of the most common things you experience from other people. However, this time it instantly brought you back to the faint, yet no less potent reading you received from the creature outside your house two evenings ago— its hunger crawled under your skin like an army of insects marching in every direction, the detached curiosity only making it more violent.

The ceramic cup you had pulled from the cabinet to offer Namjoon a drink with slipped from your hand, shaken by the memory, and it shatters on the floor, startling both you and your editor. You stare at the once beautiful cup before turning to Namjoon, who’s eyes were large and alarmed, with an embarrassed grin. You could feel the concern and fright spiking from the man in front of you, but most notably there was confusion.

“What happened? Are you okay?” You stepped back from the pile of shards on your floor with a small smile— Namjoon was a genuine person; caring, intelligent, lyrical, and even if you weren’t empathic, you feel as though you’d have no problem understanding him and his emotions. He made everything apparent in his words and actions.

“I’m okay,” You replied, slipping out of the kitchen quickly and retrieving your broom and dust pan before scurrying back to the mess you’d created. “Wet hands.” You gave a light laugh, trying to explain away your upset.

Your editor didn’t know about your empathic abilities, and you really didn’t feel the need to tell him. In a sense, it was nice having someone that didn’t have expectations of having their emotions perceived by an outside source, which, if you thought about it, was rather invasive and you could understand how it might make people uncomfortable. While you considered Namjoon a friend, he was also your editor, so it was less about you trusting him, and more about keeping your relationship on a more professional spectrum.

As you began sweeping, the kind man straightened completely and attempted to round the island.

“Do you want some help?” His inquire has you shaking your head and pleasantly grinning at him.

“No, it’s fine, I got it. Sorry about this,” you swept the fragments into a small pile and collected it in the dustpan before making your way over to the trash bin on the other side of the peninsula separating your kitchen from your dining space. Namjoon gave a snort laced in amusement.

“Why are you sorry? It was your cup….” When you returned to your original spot you noticed his left eyebrow quirked, clearly entertained by your needless apologies. You rolled your eyes playfully and began fussing with the food once more.

“Just go sit down,” you said turning your back to him when you heard the tell-tale ‘click’ of your rice cooker alerting you to the completing of the rice for the bibimbap. Thankfully, you had already placed two large bowls out in preparation and simply began filling the bowls about a third of the way with the steaming rice.

Behind you, you heard Namjoon treading away from the kitchen and towards your small kitchen table set up in front of the large windows that made up the entirety of the back wall facing the lake on the first floor of your house. You only had four chairs for the table in total, however you rarely ever had the need of all four and opted to keep two, as you usually only had one visitor at a time. He unpacked his bag into a neat pile and set it to the side, obviously intent on eating before getting to the heart of the meeting.

“Do you want anything to drink?” You asked, successfully removing two glasses from your cabinet without incident this time. You filled yours with iced barley tea, a favorite of yours in the heat of the summer.

“Whatever you’re having is fine,” He answered as he plopped himself into a chair at the table. You felt the anticipation buzzing in the air and stifled a laugh— the man really wanted his food. So, you poured his drink and delivered both glasses to the table before returning to the kitchen to bring the remaining items out for your lunch.

Once both of you were sat, the food presented appetizingly, the two of you settled into comfortable conversation. Lunch with Namjoon was always pleasant because Namjoon was pleasant— you could talk about anything, and any topic could easily slip into something philosophical. You enjoyed this; the intellectual talk kept your mind sharp and fulfilled, and you always felt the most satisfied after a long talk.

You had considered Namjoon a potential partner at one point, and when the two of you had first met, it was immediately apparent that he too had been attracted to you. But breaching the line between professional and personal relationship was not something that you particularly wanted to risk. Plus, you still had the lingering pain of your experience with Yoongi to keep you in check. And so, not wanting to experience another person falling out of love with you again, you kept any feelings to yourself until both yours and Namjoon’s sentiments faded into a fond friendship not unlike the one you had with Yoongi now.

Once the two of you had your fill, you placed the dirtied dishes in the sink to wash later and returned to the kitchen table where Namjoon was booting up his computer and sifting through a folder of papers. You almost huffed in disappointment— time to get down to business. You excuse yourself for a moment to grab your journal from your office.

You only needed to be in your office for a moment— just long enough to seize your journal and turn back to return to Namjoon in your kitchen. Your desk was facing the window overlooking the water; you liked looking out at the diamonds of sunlight dace across the ripples as you let your imagination carry you away too far off land. Whilst retrieving your notes you gazed out the window absentmindedly only to find something out of place. Or rather, something that didn’t belong.

There, standing at the edge of the water, was a man of rather average height and a mop of black hair on his head. You were frozen momentarily, something about the scene reminding you of your chilling visitor from the other night. Taking a deep breath to stabilize your racing thoughts enough to think rationally, your mind pulled a small piece of information out of your haze.

Seokjin’s roommate. The one he said would probably be wandering around. The one you saw on their property before. It must be him; it has to be him— the shaggy dark hair, though you only saw it from afar last time, was surely enough to tell you it was this mystery roommate.

You released a few more uneven breaths, holding your journal tightly by your side, and you took him in now that you had a better view. He was still outside your radius, so you couldn’t get a read on him, and his back was facing you as he stared out over the water, but you could tell he had a well-built form beneath his loose-fitted clothing. His stature though… was he smaller than your nightmare? Or was the presence of the specter looming outside your house that night so overwhelming that you had imagined him much larger than he truly was?

The man tilted his head slightly and you caught just the slightest view of his jawbone. You jumped slightly for reasons unbeknownst to you. It almost felt like he knew you were watching him silently from within your home. However, your startled brain soon posed the question: why on earth was he in your yard?

“Y/N” You heard Namjoon call, though he sounded close; was he calling from the bottom of the stairs? Backtracking, your eyes lingered on him for as long as your retreating form would allow before quickly darting down the stairs to find that your editor was, in face, awaiting you at the bottom. He wasn’t looking at you, though. He was staring out towards the back of your house and when you joined him on the ground floor you focused your attention in the same direction. “There’s someone in your yard…” You nodded at his statement, a still bit bewildered yourself.

“Yup…” You said, glancing at the tall man beside you before turning back to gaze out your window. “I think he’s my new neighbor,” you mused, more to yourself than your companion. You cleared your throat then, gaining his attention as you peered up at him. “Should, uh… should we go say hi?” Your brows furrowed, trying to express the uncertainty buzzing about. You could feel the same spike within Namjoon, however there was a bit of humor laced within it.

“We? He’s your neighbor,” he teased, causing you to send him a disgruntled, yet good-natured scowl. He chuckled at that, rolling his eyes as he nudged you with his elbow. “Like I would let you go out there with some weird dude.” Sighing, he began towards the back door, “Come on. We’ll say hi, send him home, and then finally get the meeting started.” You trailed after him, placing your journal on the kitchen table as Namjoon opened the door and stepped out. You followed suit, closing the door as to not let the cool air out of your house. The moment the door clicks shut, the mystery boy at the edge of the late spins to look at you, his gaze guarded at first. As you approached, what you felt made your blood run cold.

There was virtually nothing.

There were blips of emotions like caution and fear, even aggression. But there was nothing substantial to latch onto and this was both exciting and terrifying. How was it possible that he was evading your senses? How could he be keeping his feelings from flooding into you? Was he aware of your abilities? Or was he naturally repressive?

Not human.

You visibly tensed and stopped your approach, causing Namjoon to halt as well and turn to you in confusion, though you hardly noticed the taller man as you take in the daunting stranger. Now that you were within closer proximity, you were able to see his face— and he was stunning. You drank in his round eyes, sharp jawline, perfectly full lips, and flawless golden skin, each feature just as impeccable as the last. He was quite possibly the loveliest person you’d ever seen, and yet there was something unsettling about his beauty, the ethereal air radiating off of him almost too dreamlike.

Not human.

Your heart rate sped up, the same disturbing feeling from the other night creeping into your bones and setting your nerve endings alight. The dark-haired stranger locked eyes with you, and suddenly the small blips of intense emotions shifted— they were still on high alert, still nervous, but there was suddenly a softness to them, almost as if he were being cautious for you, rather than being cautious of you. At this, you couldn’t help the slight furrow of your brow as you regained your slow stride towards the boy, only stopping when you reached Namjoon’s side.

The unfamiliar man flicked his gaze between the two of you guardedly, looking as if he were to take off into the woods again any moment. You made no indication that you were going to initiate conversation, which Namjoon noticed and fortunately took the obligation from you at a low clearing of his throat.

“Uh, hello?” His deep voice and small step forward caught the other male’s attention and his eyes sharpened, locking onto your editor’s form. You felt a shiver at the aggressive spike in the air, both from Namjoon, and from the blips of emotion you could pick up from the stranger. Clearly Namjoon had picked up on the hostility directed towards him as well, and luckily for everyone, he was a smart man with a level head. However, he wasn’t immune to emotional outbursts, and the unwarranted behavior from this weird boy was clearly ticking him off.

“I-I’m Y/N!” you interjected quickly, trying to dispel the tenseness in the air to avoid a brawl. At your voice, the beautiful visitor snapped his eyes to you, still very much heavily guarded, and you sucked in a shallow breath through your nose. His gaze a piercing, almost as if he could see every muscle twitch, every pulse of your heart from where he stood— almost predatory.

You tried to control your heart beat, but with no success. Penetrating eyes, no stable emotional readings, predatory stare, defensive like a cornered animal…

Not human.

His eyes flicked between you and Namjoon, his body tense and when you glanced at his feet you saw that he was poised to dart off at any moment. What worried you is that you didn’t know if he meant to run at you, or away from you. You attempted talking to him again, hoping to calm him, but not before taking a step back away from him and sliding a bit closer to Namjoon.

“You’re Seokjin’s roommate, right? It’s nice to meet you…” You kept your voice as steady and pleasant as you could. He continued to scrutinize you, and you continued to try and hone in on what his intentions were, still only catching the small blips of hostility and distress at first until you saw his shoulders relax fractionally and you caught the smallest spark of the gentle caution you had earlier.

“Who’s Seokjin?” You heard Namjoon whisper to you, causing another aggressive spike in the air. This time, your head throbbed as well; an oncoming migraine more than likely caused by how hard you were trying to focus on your mysterious neighbor. You winced slightly, looking at Namjoon and withdrawing your abilities as much as you could.

“He’s—”

“KIM TAEHYUNG!” Speak of the Devil, and so shall he appear. All three of you snapped your head in the direction of the voice that you vaguely recognized as your new neighbor. You saw him before you sensed him, and usually feelings began faint and grew stronger as they neared you. However, when he entered the radius in which your abilities were effective, you were blind-sided by the power of his emotions. Anger, fear— panic, panic, panic. Always with the panic with this man; was he always going to be this intense? At least now his face matched his emotions. Breath knocked from your lungs, you nearly doubled over by the force and you immediately became overwhelmed, only finding little relief in your editor’s voice giving you something different to focus on.

“Seokjin?” He asked you, to which you nodded. The scattered throbbing in your head became a cutting pain, one that had you shying away from the sunlight and gritting your teeth. You felt a wave of concern come from Namjoon at your sudden change in behavior and your sent him a tight smile in return to reassure him.

“Yeah, he just moved into the house up the lake…” Namjoon nodded, taking in this information, and you both turned to readdress the other men before you. Seokjin had made his way to his roommate’s side quickly, clearly out of breath from his fast pace, and you expected the black-haired boy to be looking at the purple-haired man. Except, he wasn’t; his gaze bore into your own as you made eye-contact and you froze, unable to look away. His eyes were onyx, so dark that you couldn’t see his pupils, and completely bottomless, as if they were a gate to the deepest part of the universe.

“What are you doing here?!” Seokjin’s voice ripped through your hypnosis as you regained some of your composure, taking in the situation before you. Your neighbor was furious; his anger like hot coals burning behind your eyelids. His hand was wrapped around the boy’s forearm as if to ensure he wouldn’t be escaping his wrath. “When I said you could go outside, I specifically told you not to wander out of our yard, Taehyung! Why did you leave?!” Despite the fuming man’s temper, Taehyung, so you assume, gave very little as a reaction. He blinked at Seokjin and then pouted lightly like a scolded child. He glanced back in your direction before looking at his feet.

“I like it here better…” The baritone of his voice caught you off guard— the softness of his masculine face led you to believe his voice would be just as soft, but you realized that deep dulcet voice was a beautiful contrast to his looks. Strangely, you felt yourself eager to hear him speak again, as if his voice held some sort of magic over you. Instead, you heard Seokjin scoff.

“And that seemed like a good enough reason to disobey me? You know you can’t just be walking around—”

“Excuse me?” You nearly jumped at Namjoon’s interruption, as you had been too consumed by the unearthly boy with the deep voice. When you looked at Namjoon, you saw the exasperated irritation and confusion you felt lying beneath Seokjin’s anger written clearly on his face. You almost wanted to laugh, except you were just as confused as he was. What was going on here? This entire situation was absurd; a strange boy wanders into your yard, doesn’t speak to you, and then your furious new neighbor comes barreling in to scold the boy who is his roommate? So much for your peaceful sanctuary in the middle of the woods.

“Oh my God,” Seokjin finally seems to realize that you and Namjoon were in attendance, and the panic again overrides his anger to the point that you want to twist your face at it as if it were sour candy. Though, once more, you were pleased to find the panic present on his face. “I’m sorry! Did Taehyung disturb you?” Said boy’s pout deepened as he snuck glances at you, which you vigorously ignored due to the strange spell he had seemed to cast on you earlier.

“Actually—” You cut off Namjoon before his temper got the best of him. He was noticeably, and rightfully, annoyed at the moment. He had come here for lunch and a meeting, not to get wrapped up in some nonsensical drama that he probably had no time for. Still, you’d like to stay on good terms with your neighbors if at all possible, so you chirped up in an attempt to mellow-out the pressure hanging in the air.

“N-no! It’s fine, we just weren’t sure who he was…” You trailed off with an awkward laugh, hoping that Seokjin’s emotions would ease up and allow you the opportunity to breath. It seemed to work fractionally as you felt a small wave of relief. There was no hope for Namjoon’s irritation on the other hand— he would likely be in this mood for the rest of the day.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry about that,” the purple-haired man let out a tense laugh. “He’s not supposed to be out too much… he’s quite ill, so he’s often in bed.” Ah, there it is again. “I guess he got a bit restless and wanted to wander.” Again, more truths, half-truths, and lies and you were unable to decipher which was what. Still, that little voice inside your head was telling you to leave it be, Seokjin’s a good person. How frustrating.

“Oh, um, well my house isn’t too far from yours…He’s welcome to stop by from time-to-time if he’s able…” Perhaps then you could better understand why you couldn’t get full readings off of him. At your suggestion, you saw the boy in question look up at you, suddenly, with a child-like hope shining on his face. He was almost… cute. His hope was crushed, however, when Seokjin attempted to refuse your offer.

“No, I wouldn’t want to impose,” He looked at Taehyung, who looked back at him with the pout he had been sporting earlier. A melancholy leaked into the air slowly, something along the lines of remorse. At what you couldn’t place, but it was an unexpected emotion from the man who seemed to have no shame.

“It’d be no problem… It’d be nice to have company every once-in-a-while,” You assured him that having the sickly boy over wouldn’t be an issue, but it seemed to do very little to persuade him. Still, he seemed weak to Taehyung’s pouting face as you felt his resolve melt a bit.

“Well… we’ll see…” He said, looking back at you. Taehyung looked back at you as well, pout gone and entire demeanor brighter, sharp blips of excitement popping in the air like fireworks. He was cute. Namjoon, who had been standing grumpily at your side as you attempted to sooth the parties involved in this incident, had become quite impatient, and while you felt bad, you also knew that a smile was spreading onto your lips at his expense.

“Well, just know that it’s okay with me!” You placed your hand on Namjoon’s shoulder, getting the full brunt of his frustration though it was no less amusing to you. “We should head back in and finish our meeting,” You felt a string of emotions rolling off your tall friend that could all be condensed into the word ‘finally.’ Seokjin nodded, sliding behind Taehyung to grasp his other arm before he turned the both of them and began pushing the boy along back towards their house.

“I need to get him back home anyway,” He smiled— charming, lovely, and not completely sincere— and Taehyung sent you what you assumed was his signature pout. “Sorry for taking your time!” You wanted to laugh at their antics, but instead sent a friendly wave.

“It was nice to meet you, Taehyung!” You called after them, and you swore you saw his shoulders tense a bit. Once they were down the lake’s shoreline and out of view, Namjoon turned to you with an unamused face. You could only shrug, not knowing what exactly he wanted to hear from you, and he heaved a loud sigh and rolled his eyes.

“I still have a little time left. Let’s go talk about that book, shall we?” He said gruffly, making his way back to your house.

Ah. Right… about that…

[slytherinknowitall]

Potion Fumes and Cauldron Leaks

Chapter 17: Falling For The Underdog

(Click here for chapter 16!)

(Click here to start from the beginning!)

Disclaimer: I don’t own the “Harry Potter” book series. The story of “Harry Potter” is the property of J. K. Rowling, it is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

The following weekend, Severus found himself in a situation that he would have never thought possible – he spent the entire day with a woman.

Despite it being a Saturday, Granger had arrived at his private quarters quite early. While he usually woke up long before the rest of the castle, Severus had never really considered himself a morning person. He normally worked late and slept little, often waking up in a cold sweat after just a few hours of sleep due to horrible nightmares. So needless to say, he had been rather surprised when his apprentice had shown up at his door long before the house elves had even started to prepare breakfast. As he’d let her in, he had asked himself if perhaps she was suffering from the same problem as him.

The two of them had spent a lot of time together over the past week. Ever since he had given her unimpeded access to his rooms, Granger had come by even more often than before, and so they had often spent their evenings together. Everything inside him was still screaming that this was wrong, that they were becoming way too comfortable with each other. But yet, he could not help but feel a rush of ecstasy surge through his entire body every single time she walked into his sitting room.

He had given her the password in what had been almost a moment of mental aberration, and he had soon started to regret it. He had tried telling himself that the reason for that regret was that such an action was simply inappropriate for a teacher, but deep down, he knew that he was really just scared of rejection; scared that she would not take him up on the offer and that she would find it creepy and weird. But the next day, when he had come back from teaching the fourth year Slytherins and Gryffindors, he had found Granger in his sitting room, fussing over a small sandwich platter from the kitchens which was placed on the table in front of her. Severus still could not have described the emotions he had experienced upon seeing this. On one hand, he had felt massive relief. On the other, it had felt weirdly domestic for some reason; almost as though he had come home after a long day of work to a loving home – something which had been completely new to him.

Sometimes, the pair would be working on potions together, and other times, Severus would be sitting at his desk marking essays while Granger would curl up on his sofa as she studied. Today, however, they were doing what both of them loved the most: reading.

The Potions Master was seated in one of his big wing chairs, a copy of his favourite journal, The Practical Potioneer, in his hands, whereas Granger was spread out across the sofa as usual, deeply engrossed in his volume of Hélas, Je me suis Transfiguré Les Pieds by medieval French wizard Malecrit. Over the last couple of days, Severus had slowly begun to notice how eager she seemed to get her hands on classics from the wizarding world, and he did not exactly know how to feel about that – to him, it somehow appeared as though she was almost desperately trying to make up for the time she had spent growing up around Muggles.

They had both been reading in silence for a while when Severus stumbled across an especially interesting paragraph on the uses of Alihotsy in magical antidepressants. Opening his mouth to share this new piece of information with the knowledge-hungry witch, he looked up and instantly had to draw a sharp breath. Unbeknownst to him, Granger had shifted in her position a few minutes ago, and now her grey skirt had ridden up just far enough to reveal her toned thighs as well as barely the slightest hint of the subtle crease running horizontally underneath her behind.

Severus gulped. It was hard to ignore the way that the shadows of the fire burning a mere few feet away were dancing across her tender, milky flesh. Why was she wearing her uniform – a uniform with what now suddenly seemed like a ridiculously short skirt – on a day with no classes?! For a split second, the thought that she was trying to seduce him crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed that. Never in a million years would Granger be the type of person to try to recreate a scene from a low-budget adult movie, especially not with one of her professors. And if he was being honest with himself, he would have found her appearance bewitching even if she had been wearing a potato sack.

Having long forgotten about what he had originally wanted to say, he blurted out the first thing he could think of. “I do have to say, I find it rather bizarre that Miss Weasley of all people would behave in such a manner towards you. I would be terrified of making someone even remotely angry if they knew of my deepest secret.”

Granger did not even look up. “But that’s not how friendships work.”

“What?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“A real friend would never betray you just because you’ve had a fight with them,” she said as she pushed herself up into a seated position. Severus did not know if he was glad or disappointed that her legs were now covered again. “A promise is a promise. That fact doesn’t change just because you’re having a disagreement or because you don’t like each other anymore.”

Yet again, he was pleasantly surprised by her maturity; it made him feel a tiny bit less like a predator preying on an innocent girl.

“Plus, the real problem is Ron. I love him –“ Severus felt a slight sting at these words. “But he’s just so unpredictable sometimes. And at the end of the day, Ginny will always side with him, because he’s her brother, and Harry will do the same, because he’s his best friend and because Ginny is his girlfriend. All three of them are on the Quidditch team together, and they all share common interests. I am the odd one out, and so if someone has to leave the group, it will always be me first.”

Severus was stunned. He wanted to disagree, wanted to tell her that what she was saying was wrong – but he knew that it was the truth. Just like himself, she was and would always be an outsider.

“Anyway,” Granger continued, taking a look at her wristwatch. “I think I have to go. I still want to stop by the library to pick up some books before it closes. Thank you for having me, as always.”

And with that, she stood up, straightened out her clothes and put the book she had been reading back in its place on one of the countless shelves lining the dark room before making her way to the exit. But just as she was about to disappear through the hole in the wall, she lingered for a second.

“Professor Snape?”

Severus was caught off guard by how nervous she suddenly sounded. “Yes, Miss Granger?”

She took her bottom lip between her teeth. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, but the other teachers normally address me by my first name when I’m alone with them. So perhaps you could do that, too? Only in private, of course.”

Severus gave her a calculated look. It probably sounded nonsensical, especially after he had already allowed her into his chambers, but he was still somewhat afraid of getting too close to her. Wasn’t using her first name taking it a bit too far? But at the same time, her request flooded his soul with a feeling of genuine happiness.

“All right … Hermione.”

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

“Come on, Hermione, I know you’re in there! Open the door!”

The brightest witch of her age was surprise to hear what sounded like frantic knocking as she climbed up the stairs leading to her Head Girl suite. It was not long until she arrived at the top and discovered a certain redhead banging on her door.

“I know you’re really mad at me, but can we please just talk about it?”

“Ginny?” she said, making the other witch jump in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“Hermione!” Ginny exclaimed before running towards her friend at the speed of light and hugging her so hard that the two of them almost tumbled over. “I am so, so sorry! I know I treated you like crap, and for a stupid reason, too! I don’t know what got into me, I’m just so stressed right now, and I let Ron get the better of me! Harry is also sorry, but Ron is still mad, and so he feels like he’s sort of caught in the middle, and –“

Hermione took a step back and offered her a smile. “Gin, it’s all right. No hard feelings, okay?”

“Oh, you are truly too good for this world!” Ginny called out before moving in for another suffocating embrace.

Hermione could not suppress a chuckle. She was still upset about how she had been treated, of course; but she had learnt a long time ago that sometimes, being happy was more important than being right. War hero or not, at the end of the day, she was just a girl, and a girl needed her best friend.

Now that their frivolous fight was finally behind them, it did not take long before the two teenagers fell back into their old ways. They soon found themselves on Hermione’s bed, with countless Muggle nail supplies spread out around them, talking about this and that. However, the newest Hogwarts gossip was not really able to awaken Hermione’s enthusiasm like it usually did. Something had been occupying her mind for a few days now, and it took her a long time before she finally mustered up the courage to bring it up.

“Hey, Gin …” she said meekly.

“Yes?” Ginny replied, biting her tongue in concentration as she carefully painted the tiny nail of one of her little toes in a pastel pink colour.

“Um …” Hermione had absolutely no idea how to broach the subject. “I need your advice on something.”

It was only then that the sixth-year looked up.

“What’s going on?” she asked concerned.

“So …” Taking a shaky breath, she decided to just make it quick and painless, like ripping off a band-aid. “I think that I might be starting to like Professor Snape.”

Oh Merlin, she had finally said it aloud! After many sleepless nights of confusion, dismay and solitary pining, she had finally admitted it – to Ginny and to herself.

Too scared of her reaction, Hermione did not dare to look Ginny in the eyes. But to her surprise, the only response was a high-pitched giggle.

“Hermione, you like all teachers. So I’m not at all surprised that you like that tosser, too. Even though I do not know how you could, especially enough to become his apprentice and –“

“No, I –“ She rubbed the back of her neck with a trembling hand. “I think I might fancy him.”

“WHAT?!” yelled Ginny as she jumped to her feet, knocking over a couple of bottles of nail polish and spilling their content all over the comforter in the process.

“Ginny, please!” she tried to calm her down, but it was to no avail – the whirlwind that was Ginevra Weasley had already been unleashed.

“You have a crush on Snape? SNAPE?! The greasy git of the dungeons? The most hated teacher in all of Hogwarts? That Snape?!”

Her look was filled with nothing but disbelief and betrayal.

“Gods, I don’t know!” Hermione’s eyes were starting to burn and fill with tears. She could not help but feel embarrassed. “I have all of these confounding feelings, and I don’t know what to make of them, okay?!”

“Hey, hey, come on! It’s nothing to cry about.” Ginny hurriedly sat back down and rubbed her back reassuringly, though she still had horror written all over her face. “Even if we’re talking about Snape here.”

A salty tear rolled down Hermione’s blushed cheek. “I don’t even know when it started, I just –“ The words got stuck in her throat as she erupted into sobs. “How can I like a teacher in that way?! Like, maybe that could even get me EXPELLED!”

Ginny pulled her into a half hug. “Now, calm down, we’ll figure this out somehow! Why do you like him?”

Hermione sniffled. “I don’t know! It’s just that he’s being so nice to me!”

“Really?” Ginny tilted her head to the left, obviously doubting the statement. “Snape and nice?”

“Yes, extremely nice!” Hermione blurted out as she wiped her flushed face with the back of her hand. “You know, after our stupid argument, I felt so sad and miserable. But then he invited me over, and we had some tea, and he let me vent. He consoled me, Gin!”

In hindsight, the brunette would later realise that she did not know how exactly he had become aware of their fallout in the first place. She certainly had never openly mentioned it in front of him. But at that moment, with her raw emotions causing mayhem inside her mind, the thought did not occur to her even once.

“You’re kidding!” Hermione could only shake her head before she broke into tears again. “Hey, I’m sorry! It’s just hard to imagine that someone like Snape might actually have some real human feelings.”

“Well, he does! I feel like he actually cares about me, you know? Like, it almost feels as though he’s my friend. He even gave me the password to his rooms so that I would have somewhere to retreat to.”

“WHA–“ Clearly forcing herself to remain calm, Ginny took a deep breath. “Are you being for real?”

“Of course! I’ve been spending time there every day!”

Shocked, Ginny put a palm on her chest. “Hold on! Severus Snape, a grown man and teacher at this school, is allowing you, a beautiful 18-year-old student of his, in his private quarters where the two of you are completely alone? Ew, what a creep!”

“It’s not like that!” Hermione protested, her facial features contorting into a grimace. “Never once has he done anything even remotely inappropriate! We just work on something together or read some books, and sometimes we eat meals together. If anything, I’m the one who has taken it too far.”

“What do you mean?” No response. “Hermione?”

“I hugged him once …”

It was merely a whisper, but she heard her nonetheless.

“YOU DID WHAT?”

Hermione hung her head, burying her hands deep in her massive brown locks. “I hugged him in the Entrance Hall during the Hallowe’en Feast. We had talked earlier about how he didn’t want to come because of how much he hates dressing up, but then he surprised me by showing up with his teeth charmed to look like a vampire and … I don’t know, I just became so excited, and before I knew it, I was hugging him!”

Ginny could only look at her, baffled-eyed. “Did he, like, hug you back?”

She thought about it for a second.

“Yeah, I think so.” She scrunched up her face. “I liked it, too.”

No one said anything for a long time. Then, letting out a forced laugh, the redhead ultimately mumbled, “Wow, I … really don’t know what to say.”

“I’m screwed!” Hermione exclaimed as she teared up again.

Ginny let out a huge sigh. “Look, at the end of the day, you cannot help who you fall for. And while I’m certainly not a fan of the Dungeon Bat myself, you definitely could have done worse.”

Ignoring the other girl’s glare, she continued, “He’s smart, just like you, and according to what you told me, he’s also treating you right. And to be honest, he’s not really as ugly as we all make him out to be. So liking him is not as ridiculous as it might sound at first. Plus, maybe this infatuation is just a phase. So many girls get crushes on their teachers at some point. Chances are by tomorrow you’re already over it.”

She grabbed her hand. “The only thing I’m worried about is how friendly you two seem to be getting. This could actually get you into major trouble should anyone notice. And it will also not help you get over this silly crush if you keep seeing him this often. So maybe just try and distance yourself for a little while, ‘kay? I bet that once this whole thing with Ron blows over, your feelings won’t be all over the place like this anymore.”

(Click here for chapter 18!)

[yuukannahito98]

Upload New Fanfic for Emi's fans in AO3!!

as what I have been promise for, I will make a new fanfic which take the event after vol 21 ended! But like i said, this fanfic wasn't for maouemi fans cuz even though there will be maouemi scene at it, the story really not made for someone who want see Emi ended with Maou (because this fic was taken after vol 21, and you know how I hate Maou vol 21 version, even Alas=ramus dislike him in that vol, so...yeah). Thus fanfic just dedicated for Emi's fans who didn't like with the ending where Emi and Alas-ramus doesn't get their happiness in the real series, or if you want to see Chiho suffer and Maou jealous. And, this fanfic will also bring a problem between Shepira Earth and Shepira Ente Isla as the plot.

If you guys still interested with this fanfic, you guys could read about the characters and the summary for this fic below of ‘keep reading’ first! Or you can just click the link here if you want to read this fanfic immediately! Enjoy!

https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/26650105/chapters/64991062

Summary

Coinciding when vol 21 ended, Emi's daily life with her daughter, Alas=ramus, become a little different after Alas=ramus entered her first class as Kindergarten Student! The Yesod, who saw a loneliness in her Mama's eyes tried to fill the emptiness in her mother's heart.

However, the presence of a stranger who turns out to be related to their real identity appears! Is it their enemy? Or is it their friend?

At the same time, the problems between Shepira from Earth and Shepira from Ente Isla start to collide, making the Hero have to face various dangers and problems that suddenly arise! Will the child succeed in completing her mission to make her Mama happy? When the person who Alas=ramus thought would never interfere, instead become a great opponent she had to deal with!

This is the story about how The Hero and her daughter could find their own happiness and justice!!

Characters Introduction

(please not, I wasn’t the original illustration for this fanart, so if you find the face is similar with a certain character that because I took it from pinterest then I photoshop, edited, colored, and remake it so it looks like character which I want.)

Main Female Character:

Emi Yusa: 23 years old in Japan (21 years old in real)

Gender: Female

Race: Half Angel Half human

Power: Having Daath, and Yesod within her power and become the strongest human in universe (according to Daath)

Job: Currently a share holder of Café with Sadao Maou

Living: In Apartment Villa Sasazuka with her children

Personality: always on guard with people she hasn't known for too long yet.  Warm and caring to those she cared about, but sometimes strict if that comes for her children benefits.  Always thinking about other people rather than herself (I honestly confused if I should put this in weakness or not). Have a strong responsibility to protect and consider everyone feelings or safety. It's hard to showing her real feelings to someone, because of that she often referred to as a tsundere type.  Due to the strict and tough past, combined with all the responsibilities she now bears, it made Emi look more a lady and more mature compared to other normal girls of the same age as her.  Have a high sense of justice and are always wise in certain circumstances.

Weaknesses: have emotions that sometimes change and are weak.  Even though Emi herself often hides it.  Because she has been a Hero since she was a child, Emi can't act selfish at all (one of her personality which I honestly dislike from her) Very weak to romantic things because of that, she often blushes easily

Like: Rillakkuma and Alas=ramus

Dislike: illogical things, and when people do something injustice

Main Male Character

Timmy Goldman (in Japanese, can be written as Timi and I will use this version in the story as well): 26 Years old (*I put a wrong number in his picture tho lol

Gender: Male

Race: Second Generation Shepira Earth of Kether

Power: Have a similar ability with Kether (his father) but weaker compared with him.  His eyes will glow if he activates his power, and sometimes he will also emit a mist around him like Amane, but the difference is that Amane has a black mist, Timi has a golden mist. (I will leave his power just like this, until we reach a certain chapter)

Job: running a marine ship family business in Hawaii and America (description from vol 12)

Living: even though he comes from a rich family, he does not have a permanent home because he is always busy with work (and since he found it was unnecessary to have home) But he has apartments in various cities and countries, and will occasionally visit his father's villa on holidays in Hawaii or if it was an orders.

Personality: never shows his original expression.  He only often uses his smile on his face.  Manipulative and good at negotiating.  Even though he is always smiling, but he has a cold aura and is difficult to approach. he always easy to approaching women, because of his sweet and calm demeanor, but until now he have never considered in any relationship.  Although he often hides it, Timmy often misses his mother who died.  Very protective when it concerns the feelings of any children. He got the nickname Manipulative Prince in his company and between Shepira Earth Family because of his calm and cool characteristic like a prince, but still expertly able to tease the other or play with people's feelings without destroying his cool image.

Weaknesses: Dislikes mistakes. and is sometimes too serious in the job or task given.  Just treating emotions or feelings as one of the tools that can be used or manipulated, that's why never considering other feelings if that will lead into some mistake or if that unnecessary.  (I already write his dark past as well regarding this, but we will get it on certain chapter in the future)

Like: Coffe, and following the schedule.

Dislike: Mistakes. But he hates people who selfish the most.

Mentioned in Vol 12

Second Main Male Character

Sadao Maou: 24 years old in Japan (Um, since he became a human, does anyone know whether he should be branded as a newborn or what?)

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Power:…Uh, let's call he have a strength and spirit compared with the other guy.

Job: CEO at his Café with Emi

Personality: when it comes to his own feelings he always quiet.  Always try his best to fulfill his obligations in matters of his child.  Hard worker.  Does not like something that is not logical, still does not really understand things about romantic affair.

Weaknesses: Cannot act decisively.  Sometimes hesitant to make decisions.  If something is useless or of no urgency, he will delay the job.  Bad at managing money.

Like: Movie, and All food which tasty

Dislike: Illogical things and debt

Main Support Character

Alas=Ramus: 4 years old

Gender: Female

Race: Shepira Yesod from Ente Isla

Power: Having an ability and strength as a Yesod

Study: Currently at Yochien (Kindergarten) first year

Personality: Always smiling and cheerful.  Very fond to her family especially her mother.  She can be very protective when it comes to her mother and sometimes understands adult feelings better and is always honest with everyone.  Enjoy discovering and doing new things.  Want to be a hero like Emi.

Weakness: when it comes to her mother, she can be very protective and even attack anyone who hurts her mother's feelings.  Sometimes it's still too innocent and speak out frankly.  Still unable to manage the malfunction she has because she lives outside Ente Isla

Like: Rillakkuma, courn soup, and her Mama

Dislike: Everything or everyone who hurt her family.

Other Support Character

Goldman: 48/50 years (100 years in fact)

Gender: Male

Race: Kether from earth (Timi's father)

Power: as the first shepira who is nicknamed by The Crown; which therefore refers to things that are above the mind's abilities of comprehension, Kether is able to read, control and manipulate thoughts, even the minds of other shepiras.  as the highest Sefirah, is situated about the intellectual triad and is designated as “superconscious.” Keter is infinite source, a state of being, the field of possibility. It is the ultimate unseen reality, that's why can created any type of barrier (like Sariel, Geburah, or even Angel). Color gold represents purification, conductivity and malleability.  Can easily moving around the world or to make a gate. also have an ability to change his appearance.

Job: Running and leader of the Shepira Company family  on Earth

Personality:He can be really quiet or can be so expressive.  He is never serious in responding to a problem, unless he really need to do so.  Can easily read other people's attitudes.  Rarely uses his strength for a battle.  Can be very affectionate if he see cute animals or baby.  Very fond and protective to his shepira family

Weaknesses: will not hesitate to kill if it is needed without feeling guilty if there are enemies who harm the family or especially his son.  Never differentiate between good or evil plans.  For him all ways to accomplish the goals are the same.

Mentioned in vol 12

Other Support Character

Yamanaka Kozo = 55 years

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Power: Martial arts, swordsmen, and very strong.

Personality: flat and smart in making decisions.  He rarely speaks but is very wise and good at reading the situation.  Knowing the existence of shepira on earth.  One of the confidants and even the entire Shepira family

Job: Timi's right hand man.  Has been a butler to his young master when Timi was just born

He was the only OC which I made lol

Other Support Character

Harianak: 28 Years (appeared in vol 12, I will make his illustration next time lol)

Gender: Male

Race: Second Generation of Shepira Chochmah from earth

Job: Running a famous Family food company around the world

Power: Dark blue Mist can created anything.

Living: Often moves because of work, but has a place to live in Indonesia ( description from vol 12).  His place of birth

Personality: always joking around and loves to tease Timi. Amane and Tim's childhood friends.  Good strategy.  Never serious.

Weaknesses: Always playing with women.

Mentioned in vol 12

Other Support Character

Amane: 32 years old

Gender: Female

Race: Second Generation of Shepira Binah from earth

Job: Running a beach family business

Power: Strong, can be compared with the other second generation of shepira. Dark Mist governs the energy of the underworld like a spirit (I'm not really sure about this tbh, I will check it later on vol 4)

Living: Now live and take control of Shepira from Ente Isla at Mikitti's aunt's house

Personality: always ignorant and likes to tease Timi. Childhood friend of Harianak and Tim.  Easygoing.  Very affectionate and protective of Shepira's family and friends

Weaknesses: If lazy or find it unnecessary, then Amane won't do anything.

The other character from this series will appear as well, such like Suzuno, Urushihara, Gabriel, Chiho, Ignora, and as well as other shepira from earth and Ente Isla. I will update it if i find how their illustration would be. But because this is important for the stories, I will also put the explanation regarding Shepira (Which I got it from internet of course)

Shepira from The Tree of Life

1 Keter (Earth=Goldman, Ente Isla= Not Born yet) is Crown, as the highest Sefirah, is situated about the intellectual triad and is designated as “superconscious.” Keter is infinite source, a state of being, the field of possibility. It is the ultimate unseen reality. Color gold represents purification, conductivity and malleability.

2  Chochmah (Earth= Harianak's father, Ente Isla= Not born yet) is Wisdom: the seed of an idea, insight, inspiration, intuition, inchoate awareness. Color blue-black represents emergence of something from no-thing.

3 Binah (Amane's father, Ente Isla= Not born yet) is Understanding: fleshing out an idea, formulating the story, fashioning the structure. Color dark red represents the “something” congealing.

4 Chesed  (Earth = Uncle George, Ente Isla = Just born) is Unbounded Love: expanding ideas, enlarging the circle, empathic concern. Color blue for flow (water).

5  Gevurah (Earth = already born, Ente Isla = Iron) is Strength of Boundaries: setting limits, saying no, seeking focus. Color red for definition (stop).

6  Tiferet (Earth = already born, Ente Isla = Not born yet?) is Beauty: harmonizing and holding opposing energies, having compassion. Color yellow radiates light.

7  Netzach (Earth = already born, Ente Isla = Not born yet?) is Victory: overcoming obstacles, orchestrating intention. Color green for power.

8  Hod is (Earth = already born, Ente Isla = Not born yet?) Surrender: acknowledging what is, accepting and giving way.  Color orange for restoration and hope.

9 Yesod (Earth = already born, Ente Isla = Alas Ramus and Acies) is Foundation: telling or twisting your truth, testing authenticity. Color purple for growth and renewal.

10 Malchut (Earth = already born, Ente Isla = Nuxe, and...I forgot) is Sovereignty the final, lowest Sefirah of the culmination of the flow from Keter through the Sefirot, from possible to actual. Malchut is what manifests or is expressed. Color brown for source-ground.

11 Da’at (Earth= Mikitti , Ente Isla = Utsushihara) is Knowing: integrating the idea, identifying with it, an intimate connection. Color gray for integration.

Okay, the reason why I put my fanfic on AO3, was because i want to add another illustration and picture within the story as to for reader can imagined the story better!

[currantlee]

Should we boycott Inktober 2020? (+ Inktober Alternatives)

In short: Yes, we should. If you use the #Inktober, you’re promoting Jake Parker’s brand, which has been involved in some questionable practices, most recently including alleged plagiarism.

So, if you haven’t heard of this already: Jake Parker, the inventor of Inktober, allegedly plagiarized his book - or at least, it has a lot of uncanny similarities with Alphonso Dunn’s book Pen & Ink Drawing: A Simple Guide. I’d go into further detail, but Mr Dunn already posted a video that covers pretty much everything about this issue himself, which I highly recomment watching.

Ever since this was made public, people have been debating on whether Inktober 2020 and Inktober in general should be boycotted / cancelled. This has gotten to a new dimension after Jake Parker’s response to the claims in which he denied everything despite the fact that he literally copied some of Dunn’s wording. Overall his entire response comes off as very manipulative to me, especially seeing as he doesn’t even mention Dunn’s name and instead laments the fact that Dunn made it a public issue rather than reaching out to him privately. As many people have pointed out before, Dunn would likely have been silenced by Parker or his lawyers if he had taken that route.

So, here is my two cents on that. However, before you click on “Keep reading”, I’d love to remind you that I’m a human and not some holy book of ethics and morale. You can disagree with everything I’m saying here, I won’t fault you for it if you do. This is just my opinion on the matter and I wanted to share it in order to spread some awareness to what is happening.

That being said, let’s get into this. It’s going to be a long ride everyone.

Why I think we should boycott Inktober

If you aren’t aware of the drama around the #Inktober that has been going on since late 2019: don’t worry about it. The world and the internet are both huge places. There is no way to be aware of what is going on all the time.

That being said - let me be clear with this once more: this is merely my opinion. I personally can’t support the challenge and / or the #Inktober with what has been going on recently. However, if you don’t think that way, this is totally fine for me. Just because I can’t stand behind it from an ethical point of view and decide to boycott for this reason, that doesn’t mean you have to. Ethics and morals are a very personal matter and they differ from person to person. Which is not always a bad thing by the way, but that’s another story for another day.

Why I am sharing my opinion in that case? Because while this is how I think - I know not everybody is aware of what has been going on and I want to inform more people, enable them to make their own decision based on their own opinions and morals. And yeah - maybe influence said decision a little to match my own. I’d be lying if I said that this didn’t play it’s part.

What is the recent drama?

In short: Jake Parker, who created the Inktober hashtag, has decided to trademark the term and the logo so he is the only person able to make money off of it without asking for permission.

This video offers a pretty good rundown on what happened, so I’m going to leave the link here. If you don’t want to watch - here is the summary: in late 2019, Amazon suddenly started to send out Cease and Desists to independent artists who were selling books with titles that included the word Inktober. It turned out that Jake Parker has trademarked the term since 2017 and there were now guidelines on making money off of Inktober, which nobody had been previously aware of, seeing as Parker hadn’t announced it or posted said guidelines anywhere. To make matters worse, he only posted them after public pressure. And there are some other inconsistencies with his behavior that the video is touching on.

Let me be clear: trademarking something you created and that got immensely popular, like Inktober did, is not inheritly wrong in my opinion. Because if you don’t trademark it, someone else will. That’s what happened with the Smiley in the 1970s.

However, if you trademark something like this, then you should make the guidelines on making money of something that was previously public property and is now yours alone clear from the beginning in order to avoid something like this from happening. In addition, I think that if you do this, you shouldn’t trademark your idea to be the only one able make money off of it, but to protect it from harm (like others claiming your idea or inappropriate merchandise being produced). That’s just my view on it though and I wouldn’t bring it up if it weren’t for the other things that happened.

Now, Parker was clearly intent on making money off of Inktober, seeing as he is working on a book titled Inktober All Year Long. However, if it was this alone, it wouldn’t be a problem. The problem is that said book was allegedly plagiarized - or at least heavily borrowed concepts, from Alphonso Dunn’s book Pen & Ink Drawing: A Simple Guide (link to amazon.com). If you want more details on this, I again heavily suggest watching Dunn’s video on the matter or, if you don’t want to watch a video that’s almost an hour in length, any other YouTube video on the subject. At this point, there are several out there, so you just have to type into the search bar.

What is my problem with the situation?

To make this clear, let me clarify what isn’t my problem first.

My problem is not that Jake Parker trademarked Inktober. My problem is not that he is publishing a book titled Inktober. My problem is not even that he wants to be the only person to publish a book with Inktober in the title.

My problem is how he is handling all of this.

First up, I said this before: if you trademark something that was previously a public domain, you either don’t change anything about the rules and merely take the rights to protect your property from harm (like being trademarked by others who want to profit off of it or use it in a way that you can’t support) or you make the new rules clear to begin with.

What Parker did, however, was trademarking Inktober in 2017 and not making the rules clear until late 2019 after public backlash. And instead of apologizing for what happened he tried to blame Amazon for the mess. To be fair: yes, Amazon was the party that send out the C&Ds to the affected artists, not Parker or one of his lawyers. However, it could have been avoided if Parker had made the new rules clear from the beginning. So yeah, it is partly his fault, even if he didn’t send out the C&Ds.

Secondly, Parker’s behavior seems very manipulative and greedy to me. There is nothing wrong with wanting to make money off of your intellectual property - because the reality is that the world we live in requires us to make money. However, I think money should never be the top priority for a person, no matter what they are doing.

It seems to me like this isn’t the case for Parker though. This goes back to an Inktober drama in the past, where he spoke out against digital artists who wanted to do Inktober because it was supposedly not real inking or something like that. However, nowadays he seems to be fine with digital artists. Why? Well, as someone pointed out on Twitter this change of mind corresponded with Parker getting a partnership with Adobe. And while this could definitely be coincidence, it just adds to the picture of someone who is greedy if you take other things he did in account. I might be very nitpicky - and wrong - here, but this is just how I feel about it.

Parker also has a tendency to claim that he “would never do something like that” or that he “did never want that” when something goes wrong and place the blame on others (such as Amazon and now, with the plagiarism scandal, on Alphonso Dunn - without even mentioning his name, allegedly so no one checks Mr Dunn’s book or video out and comes to the same conclusion as he did). As someone who has been raised by a parent with a supposedly narcisstic personality, I know this pattern of behavior very well. Let me be clear here: I don’t want to say that Parker is a narcisst - I’m not a psychologist and aside from that, I don’t know him personally. I only know what he has been doing on the internet. That’s way too little to determine something like that. All I want to say here is that this pattern of behavior heavily reminds me on what my parent did to me. To me, that’s a clear red flag.

And even if he never wanted those things, even if he isn’t trying to be manipulative: he is still guilty of being careless.

And lastly... Don’t plagiarize. Never. Ever. Do that! No matter if you’re an artist, a scientist, an author, you just don’t do that! If you have sources - or even major inspirations - credit them! Not only do you express respect and love for something that way, you also acknowledge their work and might help them to get some more exposure and / or recognization. You might inspire others to have a look at what inspired you, something you love.

How does this tie into the #Inktober?

Simple. By using the hashtag, you’re using the name of Parker’s brand and the title of his allegedly plagiarized book. Therefore, you are promoting said brand and book, even if you don’t want to. That is the reason why #Inktober should be boycotted in my opinion, at least until Jake Parker has (properly!) apologized for his actions.

Making mistakes is human, however, mistakes usually cause harm. That’s why we apologize! And because everyone of us makes mistakes, that’s why we forgive. However, there is no forgiveness without a proper apologize.

So yeah. Until the proper apologize happens - if it ever will (I doubt it to be completely honest, but if it happens, I’m open for it) - I am boycotting Inktober, and I think you should as well. If you still want to do it, that’s totally fine though. However, if you are like me and want to do something else now: here are some suggestions for you!

Alternatives to Inktober

Someone on Twitter has already compiled a pretty much complete list of every alternative October drawing challenge to Inktober. Because I am lazy - and they get to the point much faster than I am - I’m leaving the link here. However, there are some additional drawing challenges not in the list (at least the last time I checked), so here they are.

QUEERtober

If you’re part of or support the the LGBTQAI+ community, you might like this challenge created by KreuzUndQueer on Twitter. One prompt is for three days instead of one and the prompts generally deal with LGBTQAI+ themes.

DRAWlloween

This is another popular drawing challenge, although it has more to do with Halloween than with daily prompts as far as I am aware. The goal is to create something awesome related to the Halloween season. Depending on the host of the challenge, there might be additional rules as well.

Tumblr Inktober Alternatives

This is a short list I compiled last evening. I’m sure that there are plenty more awesome, but I can’t include every single one of them, so I just included my three favorites so far.

First up, we have of course the Boycottober Prompts by @h0tleafjuice, Chardesair and Sleepingdreams_ (both on Instagram), which I’m also thinking about tackling because I think they’re awesome and I have some ideas for.

If you want to go with a more witchy theme for this October, then @gnomehuts‘ Witchtober Prompts might be the right prompt list for you.

If you like Disney, or if you’re like me and you love Kingdom Hearts so much that you find a way to mention said game franchise in an anti-Inktober posting, then you might like the Disn-ober Prompts by @hermioneblack. There are no rules for the challenge and the prompts, just from what they are, can be used for non-Disney related stuff as well.

Change the rules, name or create your own challenge!

What you can of course also do is to just make up your own art challenge. You can just create your own prompt list, your own rules for Inktober, your own name for Inktober (popular suggestions as of now are Artober, Drawtober and Notinktober), even an entire challenge.

As an example, I took up the challenge of creating a Halloween Story with five chapters this year, which I am also going to illustrate (or at least... I’ll try to do that).

Use the #Inktober without actually participating in Inktober

The idea of this is to change the meaning of the #Inktober - by posting stuff that is either criticizing Jake Parker’s actions and Inktober in general or just... Stuff that really doesn’t belong there (such as memes), if you’re more of a trolly person.

Now, I personally don’t hold anything against trolls - in fact, I have trolled myself in the past - as long as they’re not overdoing it and are ready to face possible consequences of their trolling (such as people getting annoyed because the #Inktober is being spammed with memes). However, be aware that in case you decide to take the trolling route, you’re still promoting Jake Parker’s brand (depending on what kind of meme you post under the #Inktober). Therefore, I’d advocate against the trolling route in this instance.

And that’s it! If you’ve made it this far - or even if you only read part of this post - thank you so much for reading! I hope that no matter what you decide to do, you’re going to have a wonderful time and a wonderful October / Halloween season.

Happy creating!

[quicksilverlightning]

The Interview

Might Tower is imposing, even on a clear day. Now, with the storm clouds rolling overhead, you could easily imagine it as a supervillain’s lair. You sigh wistfully, thinking of the umbrella you left on the bus.

You enter the lobby through the double doors and immediately head for the press entrance. The security clearance is swift and painless - metal detector, ID check, page though your notebook, nothing terribly invasive. The guard that has just finished patting you down gives an apologetic smile and a temporary badge that you clip on to your jacket. You ignore the main elevator and walk quickly over the glossy floor, passing the information desk where another guard is chatting up the redheaded secretary, and several cased displays of memorabilia, detailing both large and small moments in the long career of All Might.

The smaller elevator you’ve been directed to is tucked against the back wall and you swipe the badge, nodding to the guard with more confidence than you actually feel. You were invited here after all, one of dozens of reporters clamoring for the opportunity to interview All Might in the aftermath of Kamino Ward.

You nearly fell out of your chair when the boss tossed the press packet on your desk. It wasn’t until later, after the initial shock wore off, that things began to make a little more sense - the small-time office you work at was destroyed in the hero’s final fight. Even though you knew All Might was personally footing the bill for a significant amount of the reconstruction, you wouldn’t put it past your boss to put a guilty spin on the request for an interview; it was a small price to pay for recompense, surely?  

You shake these thoughts off as the elevator stops at the 48th floor, just a few flights short of the top. The door opens with a musical ding and you find yourself in an open room covered in a creamy golden carpet. The walls are a rich, warm brown between vast swaths of windows overlooking the cityscape. Large rectangular frames decorate the walls at regular intervals; the nearest one is just a few steps from the elevator, and you realize that they’re movie posters. You can see some superhero films, as expected, but also a Western, a few sci-fi flicks, some sort of period drama, and, surprisingly, a couple of animated movies. The one you’re looking at is autographed, and you suspect every poster in this room is as well.

“Admiring my collection?”

The voice is deep and smooth, a far cry from the boisterousness of All Might, but you jump all the same. The man himself is standing on the other side of the room, hands clasped loosely behind his back, apparently watching the city as he waited for your arrival. He raises his arms in a placating motion at your start with a sheepish grin.

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to startle,” he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly.

He’s tall is the first thing in your mind. You knew that of course, intellectually, but seeing it in person is another thing entirely. All Might towers over you even slouched as he is, folded over on himself as though he’s afraid to take up too much space. His face is gaunt, but not unpleasant, blond hair bursting from his head like a sunflower. Long, spindly limbs stretch from his torso - all in all, he looks more like a scarecrow than a professional hero, even a retired one. You jolt again when you realize he’s watching you, waiting for a response.

“Ah, no, sorry - I was the one spacing out.”

It’s your turn to fumble, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, clutching at your notebook a little tighter. You jump one more time when he throws back his head and laughs.

“Well, miss,” he swings an arm wide. “Welcome to Might Tower! I have to say, you got up here faster than any of the others.”

You furrow your brow. Faster? He doesn’t wait for you to ask.

“I let the security team give visitors a little hell when they get a bit too entitled.” There’s a spark of mischief in his grin. “Gives me an idea of what’s coming for me.”

You can’t help the breathy giggle that escapes, lifting a hand to stifle it.

“So, me being the fastest…”

“Tells me that you’re polite, and probably of a rather calm disposition,” he nods with a wink. He moves away from the window towards the middle of the room where two overstuffed couches sit on either side of a wooden coffee table.

“Please, have a seat. Can I offer you some tea?”

“Oh, yes, thank you.” A hot cup of tea sounds delightful after the chill outside. You seat yourself in the middle of the couch.

All Might looks startled at your easy acceptance for a moment then laughs again. He shuffles over to a small counter against the wall, still chuckling.

“I’ve been making that offer to every reporter that’s come up here for almost two weeks,” he sounds genuinely pleased. “This is the first time anyone’s taken me up on it!”

He bustles about, grabbing dishware and sugar packets, setting a kettle on a small warmer. He loads everything on to a silvery tray, leaving the water to boil. The tray is placed on the dark wood between you and he settles himself on the opposite couch.

"You’re from the Kamino office, yes? The one caught in the crossfire?” His tone takes on a more somber note. You can see the guilt resting in the lines of his face and you find yourself rushing to reassure the former hero.

“Yes, but it’s not your fault!” You cringe inwardly, worried your voice was a little too loud, too eager.

“No one was there that night anyway and, well, the building wasn’t all that great.” You offer a timid smile that grows a little wider when the tension in his shoulders eases.

“All the same,” All Might runs a hand through his mane of blond hair. “I am sorry,” he looks tired, guilty, and you search for something to say.

“It’s okay. Really!” Your voice is too loud again when it looks like he doesn’t believe you. “I’m looking forward to working in a nicer office. Something with an open floor plan, maybe a few more windows."

He chuckles at your burst of enthusiasm. It’s a low sound that rumbles around the room like distant thunder. A moment later, you realize it was thunder - you forgot all about the storm brewing outside. You glance over; it isn’t raining, not yet, but there are streaks of water against the large windows. All Might hums in the back of his throat, pushing himself off the couch.

“That’s one of the things I like about these tall buildings,” he moves to grab the steaming kettle.

“You like the rain?”

Steam billows from the spout as he pours water over the tea leaves.

“I do. I find it soothing.” He places a small cup on your side of the table before pouring his own.

“Well,” you decide to tease him a little. “I suppose being a hero is quite the stressor.”

“Indeed,” he takes a sip. “But I doubt you’re here to make small talk about the weather.”

Right. The interview. To business then. You open up your notebook and click your pen.. Am interview with All Might - the number one hero and dream client of every journalist. The rest of the office was seething with jealousy, but you’d been chosen for this because… well, nevermind that now.

You didn’t want to think about why.

“So… uh…”

He’s casually stretched out on the couch, one arm resting along the back, legs folded over each other at the knee, waiting. Your throat feels suddenly dry, tongue cumbersome in your mouth. There’s a memory of grit in your eyes, blood on your lips.

You thought you were ready for this; you thought the questions on the first page of your notebook would be enough to guide you through your nerves. The pen in your hand clicks and clicks before it suddenly slips from your sweaty hand. You fumble and fail to catch it before the pen bounces off the coffee table and lands on the carpet. All Might reaches to grab it just before you, long arms stretching impossibly far and you jerk back before your heads collide. He offers the pen back with an easy smile, and you can feel your face heating up as you take it.

“I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I?”

You pinch the corners of your eyes, frustrated and embarrassed. He surprises you by chuckling and leaning forwards.

“It’s perfectly all right,” he says with a light pat to your knee. “I promise you, this won’t be the worst interview I’ve taken part in. Take a breath dear, and ask me what you want to know.”

You do so, holding the air in your lungs a moment before letting go with a noisy exhale. You’re still fidgety, twisting the pen around your fingers, and it doesn’t escape his notice. He laughs again.

“There’s no need to be nervous,” he leans back into the plush couch. “I’ve given so many interviews over the years - there’s not a lot left you can shock me with.” His smile is crooked like he’s trying not to laugh again, and he gives you a cheery thumbs up.

You look down at the notebook in your lap, scanning the questions your boss and co-workers have scribbled down. It’s the usual parade All Might has been getting for thirty years - what’s your Quirk? What advice would you give to aspiring heroes? Are you single? - alongside a new set that has been making the rounds for the past few weeks - what will you do now? How could you hide this for so long? Is your presence at the school putting the students in danger?  

You came here to ask these questions, but suddenly find yourself annoyed. You want to rip the page out, crumple it into a ball, and set it on fire. Instead, you sigh and carefully tear the page out, passing the sheet to All Might.

“You’re right; there’s nothing on this page that you haven’t been asked before.” You can see his eyes passing quickly over the list.

“You must be tired of giving the same answers over and over again.”

“It’s all part of the job, my dear,” he passes the page back, still smiling.

“The job…”

Something in the way he says it gives you pause.

“But… being a hero wasn’t just a job to you, was it?”

He doesn’t answer, cocking his head to one side, sensing you have more to say. You rush forward, before the thought escapes.

“I mean, you’ve never just done the bare minimum - everything is above and beyond with you. You always have time for fans and autographs, there’s always a charity donation, always another villain, another rescue. You’ve given so much more than you ever had to.”

All Might isn’t smiling now, and you feel tears spring to your eyes.

“You’ve given so much - your time, your body, your health, to a world that takes and takes and never offers anything back. Even now, after everything… after you’ve given everything… people out there are trying to bring you down. And you’re still here, just giving the answers to people that are going to use them against you.”

You really are crying now, slow tears crawling over your cheek before being roughly wiped away.

“I - I don’t want to be another person that just takes something from you. But there’s nothing I can give.”

You’ve been looking down this entire time, watching the stains on your notebook get bigger, but look up when a hand enters your field of vision. All Might is leaning forward again, sliding his palm across the side of your face as his calloused thumb brushes your tears away. His smile is gentle and sad and the tenderness of the gesture is enough to make you cry harder, burying your face in your hands.

There’s a soft rustle from across the table and you feel the dip of the couch as All Might settles beside you, one arm resting across your back and shoulders. You sense rather than hear his quiet murmurs, vague sensations of it’s alright and don’t be sorry, and you realize that you’ve been apologizing for the last half-minute. You aren’t even sure why - for crying? For everything he’s lost? For the vultures circling, waiting to take even more from this good, impossibly kind man?

Something in your chest aches and you fold your palms over your heart, bent double, and his hand is still on your back, sliding up and down between your shoulder blades, rubbing little circles along your spine. He sits quietly and lets your sorrow run its course around him, like a boulder in a river. Each small kindness - his patience, the offer of tea, the soft half-hug he has you wrapped in - has only magnified his humanity. He’s All Might - he’s been a hero for longer than you’ve been alive, but here, his weakened form warm against your side, all you can think about is the blood he left on the ground that night, his uselessly broken arm dangling limp from the socket, the tattered cape he ripped apart with his teeth and used to tourniquet the leg of a woman rescued from the rubble.

Because you lied - there was someone in the office that night. You had slept there, pushing yourself towards a deadline you knew, that your boss knew, you weren’t going to be able to meet. It was why your boss gave this job to you; you were the only one who’d had a front row seat of the destruction. You were there when the ground shook you awake, the shockwave of the battle rattling the windows from over half a kilometer away. You were there with the crowd panicking in the street, confused, terrified, lost as the world simply crumbled and collapsed with each explosion. You were there as he stood alone against an enemy you couldn’t comprehend, that none of you could comprehend, alone against an unimaginable evil that sapped his strength and wore him down and broke him over and over again and he was still there, still standing between darkness and the people he swore to protect.

Once you’ve cried yourself out, some semblance of awareness of the world begins to return. You sit up slowly and All Might removes his arm, standing and grabbing the tea set from the table. He pours the lukewarm water away and begins a fresh pot, politely allowing you a few moments to gather yourself. You close your eyes and recline into the couch, letting your spine stretch itself out again, and breathe deeply for a few minutes. A soft clink tells you that All Might is back and you open your eyes to find him offering a new cup of tea with that same sad, gentle smile.

You reach out with a small thanks and if your fingers tremble a little, he doesn’t say anything.

“Sorry. Again.”

He pauses a moment while pouring his own cup.

“You know,” he places the teapot back on the tray.

“Many, many people have cried on me. Terrified children, thankful parents. Over-eager fans,” his grin is a little cheeky here, and you find yourself returning the sentiment in spite of yourself.

“Tears of relief, fear, joy,” he gazes into his teacup like it holds all the mysteries of the universe. He looks up and you find yourself trapped by the intensity of his gaze.

“But this is the first time someone’s ever cried for me.”

His eyes are full of strength and pride, gratitude and something else, something you have no name for. He holds you there for several heartbeats, each one pulsing in your ears until you can’t help but blink and the moment is gone. He sets his cup down.

“So thank you.” The sad smile is back.

“Thank you for crying for me.”

Your eyes are beginning to prickle again, and you hurriedly wipe the feeling away with a sniff. He takes a sip from his cup and looks away, giving you a moment to shuffle and settle. You take another deep breath.

“A-anyway,” your voice is shaky, but you do your best to press on.

“I guess… what I want to ask… well, no, I don’t want to ask anything really.” You really have messed this up, haven’t you? This interview has gone completely off the rails; you can already hear your boss yelling at the mess you’ve made. All Might reaches for your tea.

“Here, take a drink,” his voice is easy, placating. “Just breathe, dear.”

You wonder if he knows; if he knows who you are, that you were there that night, and that it’s all you can think about in this moment. The tea is sweet and the heat at your fingers steadies you, moves you away from the taste of blood. One more deep breath.

“I… what I want to know is… what do you want to say?”

He blinks at you with a puzzled expression. You bite at the inside of your bottom lip, not entirely sure yourself what you’re asking. He hums, fiddling with his bangs, clearly thinking, but you can’t read his expression at all.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

It’s your turn to blink. His smile is cheerful again, with a hint of playfulness.

“Sorry?”

“Thirty-five years,” he leans his elbows on to his keens, hands folded together, dangling between his legs. “Thirty-five years I’ve been a professional hero, and not once in all that time has anyone simply asked me what I wanted to say.” His eyes have you pinned on the couch like an ungainly butterfly and you cross and uncross your ankles.

“Sorry - I’m not very good at this, am I?”

All Might throws back his head and laughs. He laughs and laughs, deep from his stomach, hair brushing against the back of the couch, and you can’t help but feed off his joy, your own laughter small and soft in comparison, but there all the same. It cuts off abruptly when he coughs suddenly, one hand against his mouth, the other clutching at his left side.

“Are you okay?!” Now you’re the one reaching out, not quite brave enough to touch him, but he waves you off.

“It’s fine, I’m fine, this happens all the time,” there’s a smear of red at the corner of his lips. But his smile hasn’t wavered, so you decide to trust his judgement and let it go. Your expression must still betray your concern, because he offers an explanation.

“It’s the result of an old wound,” your eyes flick to where his left hand is bunched in his shirt. “Really, I’m used to it.” His grip loosens and falls away.

“I’ve already cried for you today; don’t think a few platitudes are going to keep me from worrying about you too.” The quip leaves your lips before you can even think about stopping it and you want to slap your hand over your mouth and take it back even as your face flushes red.

All Might laughs yet again, this time more of a asthmatic chuckle that makes your heart skip, ready to reach out if he starts coughing again.

“Thank you, my dear. Truly.” His eyes are shining in amusement. “But in regards to your question - may I think about it?”

You pause a moment, trying to remember what the question that started all this was.

“Oh - about what you’d like to say, you mean?”

He nods. “I’d like to mull it over for a little while, if that’s alright with you?”

“Of course,” you reach into one pocket, then the other before finding what you need. Your business card is simple - name, number, e-mail, web address. He takes it between his long fingers.

“Please, take as long as you need,” you offer a small bow from your seat on the couch.

“Thank you,” All Might stands and offers you a hand up. “I look forward to speaking with you again.”

You take his hand and he walks with you to the elevator. It still hasn’t started to rain outside - perhaps you can make the bus stop before the bottom drops out.

“Ah, you can just call or e-mail me if you like - we don’t have to meet in person.”

There’s a flicker of something on his face before he manages to school it into something more neutral.

“You don’t want to talk to me again?”

“No! I mean yes! I’d love to talk to you again! I just thought that you’re so busy and you might not want to waste time in person and I’m really not very good at interviewing so maybe you’d prefer something else,” you’re babbling, you know you’re babbling, but you can’t seem to stop yourself. You realize abruptly that the micro-expression you’d seen on his face was one of hurt. He places a hand on your shoulder, turning to you fully as you cease speaking.

“I would love to talk to you again,” his voice is deep and kind. “You did wonderfully; this has been one of my favorite interviews.” His smile stretches all the way across his face.

“I - thank you,” you drop your head in a hasty nod, sure that you’re blushing again. His hand drops your your shoulder and presses the elevator button.

“By the way,” All Might sounds hesitant for the first time all afternoon. You turn to him, puzzled.

“Do you like movies?”

You smile, thinking of his poster collection. “Well, not as much as you seem to. I don’t really go to the theater all that often.” The elevator dings and you turn to enter before facing him one more time.

“Thank you again. For everything.”

You hope he understands what you mean by everything. His hands are in his pockets and his body language is relaxed.

‘You’re welcome.”

You think he does.

[annelixa]

Trust Chapter 14

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Can also be read on AO3

Summary: Cassandra seeks Varian shortly after she stole the Moonstone so that she can use his intellectual gifts. Lucky for her, no one seems to be telling him what happened at the Dark Kingdom and he still sees her as the wise and trusted person he always knew. Utilizing that image of herself, she takes him for herself while under the guise of protection.

Fandom: Tangled the Series

The letter she had received from Varian had given Rapunzel momentary relief. It told her that he was safe somewhere, he was still alive somewhere. However, it disappeared when she read the contents of the letter.

Dear Rapunzel,

I appreciate the letters you’ve sent me.

What letters? She hadn’t written him any letters. Who was he receiving letters from that claimed to be from her?

I know you said not to reply but I had to. I also know it’s been hard to get them to me with everything going on.

What was going on? Things seemed calm at the moment, only somewhat tense since no one had heard anything about Cassandra in months.

Cass tells me how difficult it’s been to get those supplies to you but I’m glad they’re helping!

Cass?! Varian was with Cassandra?! And he was fine with it?! Didn’t he know what she had done? A wave of guilt washed over her. Of course he didn’t. She had never told him and Cassandra must be lying. And what supplies was he talking about? She hadn’t received any supplies from him.

I wish I could be there to help in person but Cass explained how you wanted me to be safe. This location is great! So secluded, the Saporians will never find me here.

Of course she wanted him to be safe but she didn’t want him safe with Cassandra! That was not a safe place to be! Also, what did the Saporians have to do with anything? They had only broken out of jail recently while he had been missing for over two months at that point.

Since I’m stuck here until this all blows over, please tell me everything that happened when I’m back! I want to hear how the Saporians were defeated! Cass tells me how bad the damage the war is causing Corona. When I return, I’ll help you all rebuild! It’ll only be fair since you hid me and I can’t fight with you all directly.

Varian

War.

Varian wrote about a war.

He thought the Saporians were attacking Corona.

What was Cassandra feeding him?

She had to get him back.

Sighing quietly, she looked out the doors onto her balcony and noticed something new. The tip of something large and black was just visible. She thought it was made from the black rocks Cassandra could use but what was it? She had to find out.

* * *

The sound of something moving woke Varian and he looked around to see the rocks concealing the entrance to his room disappearing into the floor. It took him a moment to remember why the rocks were even there in the first place but the memory of confronting Cass slowly resurfaced. His attempts to shove his proof in her face, the way she had suddenly turned on him, being dragged back to the room and left in the dark. Fear ran down his spine and he was not eager to see the woman on the other side of the wall.

“Good morning, Varian,” she called as she strolled in as if she owned the place. Well, technically she did, he reasoned. “There is a slight problem that I need your help with. You see, I noticed a certain friend of yours approaching the tower.”

“Ruddiger!” he cried, looking around for the almost constant animal.

“No, not him. I removed him for the time being. You acted inappropriately last night and he was taken away as punishment. You can have him back if you behave.” She clicked her tongue, somewhat frustrated. “No, a princess has come to pay us a visit.”

Hope rose in the alchemist’s chest.

“Rapunzel!”

Cassandra rolled her eyes.

“Yes, her.” She walked toward him. “Now stay still.” Before he could ask what she was doing, rocks burst from the floor and formed a cage around him. “That should keep you until she’s gone.” Behind him the outside wall fell away and he felt the ground shift under him as he was moved. A long platform slowly pushed his cage to rest hundreds of yards above the ground.

“Say hi to your friend, Varian,” the warrior called as she walked away.

“Rapunzel! Help!” he shrieked, trying to force his way out of the cage surrounding him.

At his voice, the princess looked up and gasped when she saw him.

“Varian! I’m going to get you out of there!”

Cassandra joined her at the base of the tower and smiled at her uninvited guest.

“Nice to see you again.”

“Let him go, Cass!” Rapunzel yelled, facing her old friend.

“Not even a hello first?” the warrior teased.

“Now!”

“If you say so, your highness.”

With a snap, the platform holding Varian in the cage crumbled and he dropped through the air. His terrified screams easily reached the pair.

“No! That’s not what I meant!”

“It isn’t?” A new platform burst from the wall and caught the cage, holding it steady. Above them, they could hear Varian’s frantic breathing. He was gasping for air as he tried to calm himself. “My apologies.”

Furious, Rapunzel demanded, “Release him!”

“If that’s what you really want.”

The bars around the cage melted away and Varian threw himself down, wrapping his body around the platform to avoid falling again.

“Stop that!” Rapunzel cried, eyes blazing.

“You really need to be more careful choosing your words, Princess,” Cass sneered, instantly reforming the cage around the alchemist.

“I came here for him and I refuse to go until you give him back!”

“Is that so? Just how are you going to get him? I’m not through with him yet.” The point of a sharp rock burst from the ground, stopping centimeters from Varian’s neck. Backing away, he scooted until he hit the wall which only allowed him a breath more space. He gulped quickly, trying to breathe steadily and not cut himself on the tip. “If you keep trying to get him back, I’m afraid he might get hurt.”

Rapunzel glanced quickly back and forth between the woman in front of her and the boy hanging far too high above her. She didn’t want to leave him but she didn’t want any harm to come to him either. Realizing the battle was lost, she called an apology up to Varian. She turned away quickly, not wanting either to see the tears in her eyes.

Once the princess was out of sight, Cassandra re-entered her tower. Walking up to the level Varian was dangling from, she focused on pulling the cage back into the tower. The alchemist’s terrified eyes met hers, trying to figure out what she was going to do to him now.

The moment he was safely inside, the walls crumbled once more and she helped him to his feet. Confused by her contradictory actions, he allowed the help while watching her warily.

“Are you alright?” she asked, looking him over carefully.

“Why do you care?” he replied without thinking. When his own words hit him, he flinched.

Meeting his gaze, she simply said, “I don’t want you to get hurt.” He started to question her words, compare them to her actions, but she started leading him back to his room. “Come on. You need to rest.”

They walked in silence, both trying to process the actions of the last half an hour.

Varian couldn’t understand what she was trying to do with him. She would threaten his life in front of Rapunzel but once she was gone, she was worried about him? Was it more emotional manipulation? Did she just want to make sure he was fit to complete his work? There had to be more to her plan that she wasn’t revealing to him. He would have to stay on his toes for his own protection.

Beside him, Cassandra wondered if she had gone too far. She honestly didn’t want to hurt the alchemist. Even though she had declared to herself that Varian would only be a pawn for her use, she wouldn’t hurt him if she could help it. No matter what she did, she couldn’t stop herself from caring about the boy and wanting to protect him while using his talents to help her reach her goals. She was being torn in two but she could manage it, she had to. Either way, she had to keep him in line and he had crossed it when he questioned his place. He would have to be punished once more. After all, kids need rules and a parent’s job was to enforce them.

[infpisme]

7 Tell-Tale Characteristics Of The INFP Personality

Comprising only four percent of the population, the imaginative INFP is a rare Myers-Briggs personality type that stands out from the rest. As an INFP myself, I’ve found that I frequently instinctually recognize other INFPs, sometimes after only a few minutes of conversation.

INFPs are complicated, magical, mysterious beings, and for a while I thought (in typical INFP fashion) that something cosmic was cueing me into the presences of others who share my four letters. After thinking about this for a while, I’ve realized there are some more earthly continuities that bind us together.

So, here are seven characteristics of the INFP personality type that will help you recognize when you encounter one of us introverted-intuitive-feeling-perceivers, too.

1. We’re selectively observant

INFPs think about everything — and then think about everything again, reliving it all in their dreams. It’s no wonder so many of us are writers and artists; it helps to have a space where we can externalize at least some of the thoughts buzzing in our heads.

When someone says something that seems unusually or even unnecessarily critical or thoughtful, like a hyper-specific statement about a small detail that most people wouldn’t bat an eye at, I know I might be talking to an INFP. That’s not to say that we’re super-observant — sometimes we’ll miss logistical details because we’re caught up thinking about something much larger (or weirdly specific).

For example, I took the same route to and from school every day growing up, usually spending the whole time staring out the window. But when I started driving myself, I discovered I didn’t actually know the way! During all those years riding the bus, I’d noticed countless details about the trees or specific signs, and of course I’d thought about many large-scale problems and questions, but I didn’t memorize the twists and turns of our actual route.

When someone is deeply observant and sensitive to the world around them but also gets so caught up in moments that they temporarily forget the existence of time — someone who’s willing to talk about everything with me until the sun comes up but forgets to check the time of the last train home — I’m pretty sure I know their personality type.

2. We’re deeply self-reflective.

When someone casually mentions complex personal observations about the nuances of their own mind early on in a conversation, you might be in the presence of an INFP.

For example, Fernando Pessoa, a Portuguese poet and intellectual from the 1920s — whom I firmly believe was an INFP — wrote an entire book consisting of observations of his own mind. Called The Book of Disquiet, it’s written from the perspective of several of his alter-egos and contains statements like, “My soul is impatient with itself, as with a bothersome child; its restlessness keeps growing and is forever the same… I attend to everything, dreaming all the while… I’m two, and both keep their distance.”

3. We have a strong sense of compassion and empathy.

Though we spend a lot of time thinking about ourselves, INFPs are not self-centered. Actually, I believe that our self-analytical minds generally make us very compassionate and open to others, because by observing our own thoughts, many of us (like the aforementioned Pessoa) come to the conclusion that we are fragmented beings, constantly in flux. This allows us to relate to many types of people — because we’ve seen them all in ourselves.

INFPs tend to worry a lot about how others are doing. We’re the kind of people who’ll ask if you’re okay, then become convinced that you’re lying when you promise that you really are fine.

Nicknamed “the Mediator personality type,” INFPs will never be content with lives dedicated only to themselves and their own achievement, nor will they be satisfied lodged in systems of inequality and complacence. We truly value compassion in ourselves and others, often above all else.

It pains us greatly when others are in pain, sometimes so much so that we take on that pain. This can be harmful, especially in relationships, where we may take on the entirety of the other person’s mental weight. Wanting to be close to the people you love can backfire when you have a mind as open and malleable as an INFP’s, because this sort of exchange can be like carrying another person’s backpack while hiking, then falling down the mountain under the weight of it, thus ending the entire expedition.

When someone seems at once very compassionate and emotive yet also hesitant, perhaps afraid to open up too much, this person might be an INFP.

4. We’re creative dreamers.

Growing up, my grandfather constantly said to me, “Earth to Eden,” and I’ve heard this expression from others in countless forms. I’m always “in my own world,” a “space cadet,” etc. When I meet someone who seems “out of it” — distracted, elsewhere — but who also seems to truly want to listen to what I have to say, I might be in the presence of an INFP.

Being dreamy has its perks and consequences. Many INFPs are great writers — J. R. R. Tolkien and William Shakespeare were some of our own — and we don’t spend all that time elsewhere thinking about nothing; our imaginations make us artists and visionaries, and they allow us to come up with big, grand ideas about how to make the world a better place.

Unfortunately, sometimes this compromises our ability to deal with the minutiae of daily life, and it’s often hard for INFPs to reconcile the grand vistas we discover in our mind with doing small tasks like cleaning the house, remembering dates, and completing tax forms.

5. We can be awkward and quite self-conscious.

Like many introverts, INFPs can be quiet and reserved. Even when we get comfortable around certain people, we’re rarely able to escape the coil of our own self-awareness, which wraps around us like a well-intended but overpoweringly cloistering grandmother’s hug.

INFPs can be a little bit — and I say this with all the love in the world — awkward, unsure of what to do with the collections of bones and flesh we have been given.

Certainly, we can be graceful in situations we are comfortable in. I, for one, have always thrived when performing on stage, and INFPs can ace interviews and presentations when we get into a groove. In conversations, we breathe sighs of relief when we can talk about things we’re interested in or know a lot about, or when we can listen to someone else talk.

But when making small talk with people we don’t know well, we can be identified by visual cues like shifting around on our feet, struggling to make eye contact, and not knowing where to put our hands. When I see someone squirming like an insect under a microscope at a bar or party, I take this as a hint that I’m not alone. Of course, many personality types share this trait (even some extroverts), but when combined with other INFP traits, awkwardness can be a surefire clue.

6. We love people almost as much as we love being alone.

One of my best friends is an INFP. She’s one of the sweetest people I know, yet sometimes she doesn’t reply to me for a week at a time. This doesn’t bother me, because sometimes I do the same thing.

As INFPs, we crave connection on an extremely intense level, but shallow interactions (like simple text messages) can be taxing. We aren’t satisfied with small talk, but once we meet someone we click with, we can easily spend all our time with them.

I sometimes can intuit an INFP’s presence when I meet someone who seems closed-off, even unfriendly, but who opens up in a big way once a layer of ice breaks. Maybe we’ll have a super awkward conversation when meeting for the first time, then suddenly one of us will say something very emotional, or unexpectedly revelatory, and then — if the other person takes the bait — the river starts to flow.

Even so, no matter how connected we are to someone, we always have to come back to ourselves and the natural world. We treasure our solitude, partly because we feel no one really understands us except for, well, us — and often we don’t even understand ourselves. Spending time alone and in nature can be immensely healing and re-energizing for INFPs, and we crave a good balance of solitude and meaningful human connection.

7. We’re hungry for meaning and inspiration.

We experience the world intensely, and it doesn’t take much for us to have spiritual, life-changing experiences. On the other hand, if we stick to routines and don’t spend any time stepping out of our comfort zone, we quickly become dissatisfied.

I recognize other INFPs when I come across someone who loves going on adventures, but not of the sort that others typically find interesting. INFPs might love exploring weird parts of the world like abandoned places, and a rundown old mill can be as beautiful as a royal palace to an INFP’s mind. We might enjoy taking road trips and frequenting the kinds of places that are easy to fill with our own creative observations.

There are so few of us INFPs. In a world designed around small talk, hierarchies, and competition, we dreamers have to stick together.

Source: Eden Arielle Gordon

[dearlazerbunny]

Lie to Me (Ch 1 of ?)

Pairings: Loki x Reader

Genre/Ratings: M eventually (aiming for a slow burn here); warnings for kidnapping and subsequent anxiety/PTSD (will be marked before every chapter)

Words: 2200 

Summary: If you had to guess what the captured, traitor, trickster god Loki Laufeyson wanted or needed at this moment, a babysitter would be far, far down on the list. (Set after the events of Avengers 1.)

If I don’t post what I already have it’s never going to get finished soooo have some Loki. Hovering around 20k rn But I still have a looooot left to write. If anyone is interested in beta-ing/helping me flesh out ideas hit me up! 

“You.” You look up with a very good impression of a deer caught in headlights. The woman beckoning to you is clearly high up in the SHIELD hierarchy; her suit probably costs more than your entire life is worth. “Are you free?”

You glance down at the coffee you were supposed to be delivering to your coworkers. That could probably wait. “Um, yes ma’am?”

“Come with me.” She starts off in a brisk walk down the corridor, her heels clicking sharply on the floor. You follow without question, trying not to tug on your uniform too harshly in an attempt to break it in a little better. You still aren’t used to the issued clothing, considering you’ve worn the default uniform of hoodies and jeans of a college academic most of your life.

She herds you into a bare bones room, just a table and a few chairs. You stand until she gestures for you to sit, not sure why she’s even glancing your way. You’re a lackey, nothing more. Certainly not worth the attention of Maria Hill.

The woman tosses a folder onto then table, and it impressively lands squarely in front of you. “I’m assuming you’re aware of recent events?”

You raise an eyebrow. “If you’re referring to Manhattan, then yes. It’s been a bit hellacious around here.” Like there wasn’t a person on earth who hadn’t seen the footage of monstrous black aliens pouring out of a glowing portal in the sky. Everyone has been scrambling to control the situation that is blatantly so far out of their control they might as well be fighting sci-fi aliens with Neanderthal tools. It’d be amusing if it wasn’t so terrifying. “Are you with the clean-up crew?”

“Sort of.” She gestures to the folder and you open it. Inside are crystal-clear photos of Earth’s newly minted heroes and a horde of special agents escorting a raven-haired man into a transport vehicle. “Look familiar?”

You release a small breath. Intellectually, you know this is the man- god- who just tried to make himself king of humanity and threatened the entire Earth to do it. But that doesn’t stop the wonder and amazement from washing over you. Loki, Norse god of mischief, real and in the flesh. In the background you can see the golden-haired Thor, swinging his mythical hammer. Well, not exactly mythical, is it? It’s real. They’re real. All the gods and realms and monsters and mayhem that have captivated you since childhood and ultimately lead to multiple degrees on the subjects- they’re real. It’s absolutely incredible. “Yes,” you say, probably a little more wondrously that you mean for it to be.

“We’ve got Loki in custody.” She says his name so nonchalantly, like she isn’t referring to a thousands of years old immortal demigod of the golden realm of Asgard. “And we have no idea what to do with him.”

“And this has to do with me somehow?”

“Yes and no.” She sighs heavily, like she needed to be done with this shit a decade ago. “SHIELD is treating the prisoner with kiddie gloves. Fury wants every single loophole filled and locked down three times over. So we can’t just throw him in a deep dark hole and forget about him- he needs to be afforded certain… rights.” The tone of her voice implies she doesn’t agree with this sentiment.

“Like what?”

“Like company, while we sort out all the red tape so we can prosecute him properly.”

“Company.” You’re completely lost. “He needs a babysitter?”

That makes a small smile flick across her lips. “If you want to call it that. We’re not happy about it, believe me. It’s an undeniable risk. But the lawyers are demanding it, and god knows we have to keep the lawyers happy.” A pinch appears between your eyebrows. You don’t like where this is going. “So. Will you do it?”

“Me?” You squeak, then immediately try to get yourself under control. “Why me? I was literally hired a month ago, I have no qualifications to do anything like this-”

She holds up a hand. “We know. That’s the point. All you need to do is sit in his cell for a few hours every day and pretend to look interested in whatever he’s rambling about. If he talks; he’s been completely silent since we picked him up. Take a book and a few snacks with you, don’t let him schmooze you into doing anything traitorous, and you’ll be fine. Plus,” she continued, “with your background we figured you’d be at least mildly interested.”

Damn. They’ve got you there. Several masters’ in mythology along with years of a childlike fascination means you’ve been ridiculously curious about Earth’s new visitors ever since Mjolnir landed in New Mexico. The spark in your eyes must have been obvious, because Agent Hill holds out a slender hand. “Have we got a deal?”

And so, not hours later, you find yourself wandering into the depths of SHIELD’s base. “Hi there.”

The room is depressingly stark and sterile- you thought you’d gotten used to being surrounded by the chrome and weird futuristic plastic that are apparently now the only two building materials left on Earth since starting at SHIELD, but this place takes it to a whole new level. And it’s newly constructed, based on the smell of drying concrete and fresh shavings peeling up around the screw holes in the corners. There’s a small, utilitarian metal desk and chair that’s been provided for you in the center of the room, so you drop your notepad and pencil onto the tabletop with a clang and pull out the chair. It screeches painfully against the floor, making you wince. Okay, no more of that. You suck in your stomach and slide in between the table and chair so neither have to move. A little tight, but you can make it work.

The other man in the room, framed behind a wall of glass, has not reacted to any of this.

He looks exactly how he did on TV, minus the leather armor and extravagant gold horned helmet. It’s all been replaced with the thin grey uniform SHIELD deems prison garb. You have to admit, he looks a lot less intimidating sitting pale and silent against the wall, handcuffs glowing faintly around his wrists.

“Um- can you hear me?”

Still no response. He doesn’t even seem to notice you’ve entered the room. Uuuuuuum, okay... There’s a microphone attached to the desk. You lean into it, frowning, fiddling with a few of the dials at the base. Then you tap on it and speak directly into the mic. “Can you hear me?” The man flinches wildly, a radical break in his composure, and his eyes dart to you angrily. “Oh, gosh, sorry, okay, let me-” you turn the dial down a few notches. “Better?”

The volume doesn’t seem to be at max level anymore- he doesn’t flinch again- but he also doesn’t say anything else. “I’m going to need verbal confirmation that you can hear me.”

He doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t seem to be looking at anything. His gaze is focused on some middling thing opposite of him, something invisible on the horizon, but he’s hardly glazed over- emerald eyes are bright and sharp, flickering lightly. They are not the eyes of a defeated man, far from it. More like one who has about fifteen thousand and twenty three plans all running through his head at once.

You suppose that should scare you, but SHIELD has reassured you that the cell is one of the most technologically advanced cells they’ve ever constructed. Also, those cuffs have some sort of magic-diffusing abilities, so no funny business there. Then again, he did basically destroy all of Manhattan, like, less than a week ago. You hadn’t even been in that part of the country at the time, SHIELD had called you in from D.C., but you can still feel the horror grip your chest in a vice watching skyscrapers fall to tatters on the news-

“Yes.”

His voice is so soft you almost don’t catch it. It pulls you from your thoughts nonetheless. “Oh. Okay, great.” You pull your pencil to you and neatly label the first page of your notepad with today’s date in the top corner. If you were going be stuck with him, you might as well take notes. Think of the papers you could publish! “Can you please, uh, state your name for the record?” That sounded professional, right? You’ve heard it on Law and Order a lot, anyways.

The prisoner raises one eyebrow slowly. “Really?” He draws out that one word into a three-second attack of sarcasm, but you simply shrug your shoulders.

“It’s protocol.”

“I am Loki Laufeyson, Prince of Asgard, God of Mischief and Lies.” With every title he spits from his mouth, his eyes flash dangerously.

“O-kay.” You jot that down on your notepad, giving it an underline for good measure. “And how would you like to be addressed?”

“Your highness.” He says it as easily as he might’ve said Bob or Ricky.

You blink. “Um. Not sure that’s within my pay grade, but we’ll see how it goes.”

“Where am I?”

“A very secure holding cell,” you answer confidently, and the god scowls at you. He’s apparently waiting for more information, but you shake your head- “that is literally all the information I’m allowed to give you about that.” You glance up at the camera tacked to the ceiling of the room. “Also, you’re being recorded at all times. Gotta tell you that for legalities sake.”

“SHIELD has always so been worried about legalities.”

That gets a small snort from you, and you tap the end of your pencil on your paper. “So-”

“Who are you, exactly?” He suddenly sounds very, very tired, and a little angry, like he’s already done humoring you. “And why are you bothering me?”

“Y/N.” You give him a little wave, since you obviously can’t shake his hand. “I’m a, well- archivist, of sorts. SHIELD brought me in to talk to you.”

“And you’re, what? Fury’s pet?”

“Hardly. I’ve been here less than a month. I don’t think this uniform has even been washed yet.”

Another eyebrow raise. “An interesting choice to interrogate their most wanted prisoner.”

You tap a little more frantically. “I think it’s so if you end up getting into my head, I won’t be able to give anything up,” you say thoughtfully. There’s a huff over the speakers you’re hearing him through. “Also, this isn’t an interrogation.”

“No?”

“Nope. I’m not really qualified for that.”

“Then what are you qualified for?”

“Jeg snakker norsk,” you offer, honestly wondering that question yourself. The look he gives you is a mixed amount of horrified and amused. “They thought it might be helpful speaking in a familiar language, I guess?”

“They do know I can speak literally hundreds of thousands of languages spanning any galaxy you care to name,” he says, apparently stunned by the new heights of SHIELD’s stupidity.

You sigh. “Yeah. I thought it was a stupid idea too.”

“This is laughable.” He’s on his feet now, close to the glass and staring you down threateningly. “Why have I not been removed to Asgard? They will presumably want to prosecute me for my crimes.”

“Um, I think they’re planning on it. But they want me to, um, talk to you first.”

“About what.”

“Well. Anything you want, really.”

“I have nothing to say to you mortals,” he spits, and the word splats on the ground like it’s a curse.

“That’s cool, I get that. But right now all the bureaucrats are running themselves in circles trying to figure out what to do with you, and all that red tape is going to take some time to untangle. In the meantime, they want to make sure you don’t go crazy from the solitude or something.”

“Since when has SHIELD cared about my well being?”

“I mean, you’ve still got rights and stuff. You can’t just sit here for who knows how long with only yourself for company.”

“And why not?”

“Wouldn’t you get lonely?”

“Forgive me, but I hardly think you are going to provide any sort of adequate mental stimulation.”

Geez, way to hit below the belt. “You can request someone else if you want. They pretty much just picked me out of a lineup and threw me on you, I don’t really think they care who sits here with you.”

“What would be the point? SHIELD only hires imbeciles and fools.”

“Well, then. I guess you’re stuck with me for a while.”

The man slumps back, apparently not encouraged by your words. Then he punches the wall with one of his restrained hands and screams angrily in clear frustration.

This is going to go so well.

A/N: Jeg snakker norsk = I speak Norwegian 

[mythologymonsterlover]

Male! Angel Lover

A girl who wants to be on her own for once, meets a man she never realize always been there for her in her deepest time of need. Welcome to her story about love at first sight~

Warning: sexual content, cussing

Female Reader X Male monster

I say this many times, but I'll say it again, I have stupid luck.

Ever since I was a little girl, I escaped death only by a hair. People always said it was because an angel was watching over me, but I never believed that for a second. Growing up though with this surprisingly good luck and being a restless kid, I managed to turn out as a somewhat normal person. I grew up in Florida but now live in Colorado, with my grandma who owns a flower shop. I moved here since I liked the colleges here more than in Florida, and also to get away from my over possessive mother who I love dearly.

It just hard to grow as a person when your mother is still reminding you to get up for school at the age of nineteen. So moving out to live in a totally different setting seemed like the best way in starting my new independent life. I started working for my grandmother as her store’s cashier, and I do classes in the early morning in order to earn my bachelors degree. everything seemed to be going well...until tonight unfortunately.

I was at my grandma’s store at eleven when I strange man walked in that looked homeless. I didn’t say anything at first since I didn’t want to be rude, but he picked up a glass vase then drop it with shaky hands. It made a loud crash, and shattered into tiny little pieces on the ground. Startled, I rush over to where the man was and pick up the broken vase, and when I look up I already see another vase in the man’s grasp. Before he could drop the other to the ground, I grab it out of his hands gently but forcefully and set it down. The man looks at me wide eyed,

And I keep a smile on my face as to seem less imposing on him.

“Sir, I’m sorry to say this, but I’m going to have to ask you to pay for that.”

I point to the place the shattered vase fell at and his facial expression turns from surprised to annoyed.

“It was just an accident, lady..” He says while scratching at his matted beard, and goes to walk away from me. Being annoyed and startled by the way his acting, I grab the back of his shoulder to get his attention once again. He turns his head slowly, giving me the stink eye, but I don’t waver. I point to the telephone and say, “If you don’t pay for that sir, I’m going to call the police.” With that I turn around walking away from him, back to counter with my arms crossed, and wait for the man to pay for what he's done. The creep gives me a disturbing grin, while shaking his head back and forth as he walks to the counter.

“Alright, so it’s like that…” he says under his breath, reaching for his jacket pocket. This is where I realized I’ve made a grave mistake,

as instead of pulling out a wallet, he takes out a gun. The points the barrel of the gun straight at my head, and I don’t even breathe as the man walks around the counter right next to me. He pushes me roughly to the ground with his other hand, and starts to rummage in the cash register drawer. Being filled with fear, I stay on the ground unmoving as he collects all the money putting it in his bag. After what felt like forever, he finally turns to me, still pointing the gun at my head. He grins mockingly, and with little courage but a lot of anger now I speak up.

“I’ll make sure the cops get you.” I say through gritted teeth, being so damn angry at the asshole I start shaking.

He looks at me wide eyed for a moment, but bellows out a laugh at my pitiful state.

“Oh sweetie, they won’t, since I'll make sure you never get to them.”

Being frightened by his statement I become dumbfounded until I hear a click.

The click of a gun.

He aims it at me with two hands on it now, and I can tell he definitely loaded a bullet in the chamber.

I realize in that horrible moment, that he was going to kill me.

I wanted to cry out, but because I’m so choked up with fear I stay paralyzed.

I’m going to die, and know one will know who did it because we don’t even have security cameras in the store. We hadn’t in years, and the fact that this man properly knew this sicken me to my core.

“See you in hell, sweetheart.” The frightful figure says to me, and i'm ready to feel the pain of the bullet go through me as I shut my eyes so hard, they hurt.

Yet I don't feel a thing.

I waited in anticipation for the shoot to ring out, but instead all I hear is a heavy breath from beside me exhale, and then a sudden thumb like something fell over. Breathing hoarsely by the fact that i'm not dead by now, I open my eyes to see something I never expected to happen in a million of years. Their right in front of me, a man who looks like a librean hold the gun up in the air, and is twisting the hobo’s waist so hard the guy yells out in agony. I don't make a single sound as the tall intellectual throws the gun across the room, and lifts up the jerk by the collar looking him straight in his eyes.

The creep freezes up in fear at being the helpless victim in distress now.

“Went through so much trouble to be a real pain tonight, didn’t you Jeremy?” the weird looking tall guy says with a hint of annoyance, and fixes his glasses on his face as he drops the hobo to the ground. The jerk looks absolutely feartrighten by the other man’s words and backs away to the edge of the room to create as much distance as possible.

“H-How did you know my name!?” He yells out, but before he could say another word the stronger man snaps his fingers, which forms a white gaping hole underneath the hobo. Then just as suddenly, the creep who was once a frightening figure before me, vanishes into a portal into god knows where, disappearing from my sights for good.

At this point, the shop is so silent it hurts, and the only noise I could hear was my own beating heart ringing in my ears. I didn’t know how to react so I just sat there on the ground shivering in fear, feeling tears stream down my face as I try to hold back my gasping sobs. The man who saved me just stands there, and he doesn’t moved from the spot like he should to make sure I’m alright. When I start to calm down to try and assess the situation, is when he finally looks at me. I don’t move again in fear, knowing it’s stupid to be acting like a rabbit caught in the head light, but it was a primal instinct that was natural to me.

I didn't move as the weird looking librean man walk slowly right in front of me, and crouch down to my eye level.

“My, ever since you were young you always seem to be on death’s list.” He mummer incoherently like he was speaking to himself, but not directly at me. Scared of what just happen and by his random closeness, I back away from him and bring my legs to my chest. The man then seems startled by my reaction, and back away from me as well.

“Wait, no, you can't..” He trails off as he reaches out his hand toward me. I react by flicking my head away then by lifting my hands to cover up my face. I don't want him or anyone to touch me, I just want to leave.

“Keep away from me please.” I say with a weak but frighten voice, making sure he got the message that I didn't want to have anything to do him.

This is when things just get even weirder though, as the man gasp backing away from me like I just try to punch him or something. Confused by his response I lift my head up to meet with his eyes. I didn't get a good look at him before, only what his back and side looked like, but that i know see him face first i'm bewildered at his appearance even more the before. He indeed is wearing glasses, but the color of his eyes are what startles me the most right now. Instead of being a normal color like brown or blue, they are a shining gold that looks like the sun. His hair is a deep sliver like an old man hair would be, but his face is as youthful as a man in his prime years. Young and handsome looking, he raises an eyebrow at me and tightens up his back.

“You..can see me.” This time he says directly at me, and I nod my head slowly at his oddness in his voice like he can’t believe it.

“Of course I would..you just saved me, right?”

He nods his head in confirmation, but has a sicking whiteness like he just seen a ghost. With shaking hands he walks towards me, bends down to my eye level once again, and speaks now with emotional strain in his beautiful voice. Feeling like I’m no longer in danger, I let him touch my face, letting him run his fingers down my cheek. I don’t know why, but his entire being feels so familiar that him being so close doesn’t bug me the slightest. As my eyes meet his golden ones, he snaps back from his trance like state and recoils away from me. Being more startled then confused, I get up on my own two feet once again and walk slowly towards him.

“D-Do I know you?” I say sheepishly, feeling like a preschooler asking if she did something wrong. The man though doesn’t make eye contact with me anymore, and turns around to walk away.

“Wait, who are you sir?” I say yelling out, but can’t move my legs to grab him.

It’s almost feels like I’m glued to the spot, so I don’t even attempt to run after him. He looks back only once, and I hear him mummer something under his breath.

“Don’t follow me.” Is what I think he said.

Just like that though, he walks out the door into the night, disappearing like a ghost. I didn’t move for a couple minutes at the very least, but when I finally do, I grab my keys and lock the store door.

I’m pretty sure I had enough for tonight I think.

…

My days after the incident were pretty rough, since I had to call the police and order security cameras for the store. I didn’t want anyone else to deal with what I had to ever again. Especially when my grandmother told me she had problems with that hobo in the past; that just caused me to be afraid. Yet after all the cameras were installed finally, I went back to work. I didn’t want my grandma to worry too much about me, so I promise I would work only in the day time. Also, the man that saved me that night never came forward about who he was. I looked all over town for him, but I couldn’t find the guy and assume he must have been a visitor.

This morning I decided to clear my head by walking into the woods, where there's a path that leads to the shop. I just couldn’t bring myself to drive to the place today since my anxiety was over the roof. Walking down the path this morning seemed to especially calm down my nerves.

That’s until I saw the man again...the man who saved me from that hobo.

I stop dead in my tracks when I saw him, not wanting to startle the stranger. Looking around at my surrounding, I see that we both are in the middle of the forest, which means we aren't too deep or too far from people. He hasn't notice me it seems, and looks relatively calm while sitting on the beach. Knowing this is my only chance to ever thank him for what he did, I walk toward him until I’m only an arms length away. I stand there for a moment, hoping that he’ll notice me any time now..However, he keeps reading a small book, not even noticing I'm near him the slightest.

He must really like that book.

I decide to take initiative and reach out to tap his shoulder. This is when things get weird again, as my hand goes right through him. I pull back startled, and feel my anxiety rise up in my entire being. He must have notice that my hand went through him, as he looks toward be bewildered.

“What are you!?” I yell out, not being able to register what just happened. The man is taken aback by my shouting and drops his book to the ground. Intensely, he just stares right back at me with what I can only describe as awe.

“..You can see me.”

I nod my head, confused as to why he thinks I can’t see him. He said something like that the last time we were together, and was fascinated by me looking at him which caused me to feel a little bashful. Right now, his looking at me like he did when we were in the shop, but I still can’t see why that would be.

“Why wouldn't I be able to see you? I mean, your standing in broad daylight..”

His taken aback for a moment, but seems to regain some composer as he straighten up his posture and adjusting his glasses. He coughs in his fist, like his trying to clear his nerves, and reaches for me to shake his hand.

“I’m sorry ma’am for being so...rude. My name is Chamuel, it's nice to meet you.”

I play nice, and shake the odd man’s hand. As I feel the embrace of his hand touch mine, intense pleasure goes through me. It’s not any kind of pleasure though, but unconditional love for someone that can’t be expressed by words. Not able to understanding these emotions, I pull my hand away quickly and hold it to my chest. Chamuel not being startled by my reaction this time apparently, lets out a small laugh as to calm down me down. I look into his natural golden eyes again, and reflect on his weird appearance. Still needing answers, I repeat the words I said to him just a couple of seconds ago.

“Are you even a human, Chamuel?”

It seems like an crazy question to ask, but not as crazy as when my hand went through his body. Chamuel doesn't look at me weirdly from my question. He picks up his book off the ground and sit back on the beach. His rubbing his chin as he sets his book beside him, while staring down at his lap in deep thoughts. He nods his head a couple of time to himself, then when his done he looks back up to me with more clearness in his eyes.

With a small smile, he says, “Your quite the unique one to be able to see me, and to answer your question, no, I’m not human.”

Feeling a little light headed, I back away from him to comprehend if this is really happening, or if i'm just dreaming. He looks at me concerningly by my reaction, and gets up to grabs my shoulder to ease my balance. He moves me to the beach, than places me right next to him. He keeps his hand on my shoulder, and I feel calmed by his presence more than frightened.

“Have you ever read the bible?” He says with the sweetest voice I ever heard. It literally causes me to melt in shyness in front of the handsome man.

I shake my head back and forth in response, as I never did believe in Christian beliefs. It just seemed ridiculous to believe in a being that seemed so unreal. Even most of my family were atheist, as they saw god as a figure of people’s imagination. The man nodded his head in understanding, and looked out to the green forests. It was so quiet that I couldn't hear a single bird chirping, which also happened at the shop when Chamuel appeared.

“Why are you asking me question? I should be the one asking you.” I say nervously, more to say anything in this uncomfortable silence. I also didn't’ even thanked him; which I just wanted to do and leave.

Talking about if god is real or not seemed to be a waste.

He looks down at me though like he understood what I was thinking, and simply says,

“It’s not important, I was just curious.”

Then with that, he gets up and puts his book under his armpit.

He smiles while waving at me warmly.

“If Jeremy comes back to the shop, just say my name and I’ll be there for you.” He says nicely, and begins to walk away.

I get up to follow him, but before I could even take a step, he evaporates into thin air.

I’m left speechless with only a single thought running in my head: Who the hell is he?

…

I started to do research on what I could have possibly seen, trying to connect theories I have by what he was like.

I’ve been up for a week, and read stories about ghost, demons, and whatnot. It’s only then do I realize he gave me the most important clue to what he was really.

The Bible.

He asked me if I read the Bible, and I think he was actually hinting to me about what he was. When I finally see what I’ve been missing, I go to the library and pick up a copy of the Bible.

It’s when I get home and into my room with the book I see him again. He was laying on my bed, and had a somewhat smug look on his face. I nearly had a heart attack by seeing him, that I grib the door handle as I huff out a angry sigh.

“How the hell did you get in here?” I say walking into my room, putting the Bible on the table.

“You wished for my presence.”

The man who claims to be called Chamuel simply states, and sit upright on my bed.

“Are you some kind of incubus?” I say annoyed, since he looks like his craving something. It would make sense as he is extremely good looking, and has a alluring nature that’s hard to ignore.

Chamuel though seems disappointed in my answer as he lets out a sigh, and gets up on his feet. There, he looks toward the photo of my mother and me which was taken a year ago.

“You grow up with quite a loving mother.” He says quietly, and turns to walk towards me.

I don’t move as he stands before me, and slowly move his hand to caress my cheek. He once again looks deep into my eyes with his golden ones, which causes the world around me to disappear suddenly. I emerge into what I can only describe as a different world, as I see Chamuel standing on a rocky shore looking into a vast ocean. His entire being looks different though - because instead of looking like a normal guy- he has now pure glowing skin and wings that spread across his back. I’m still uncertain about what this means, until a book I never seen forms before my eyes in midair. I grab it reluctantly, and the pages move on their own until they rest on a single page that states:

“I will help you realize judgmental attitudes, even if your unaware of them.

I will help you use your shortcoming as an opportunity to connect with your higher self...

As I am the angel of love and forgiveness, and I’m here to bring warmth into your heart.”

When I look up again, I truly see him.

Standing over my frame with so much love in his eyes, I feel I could break down crying on the spot. I move my hands to touch his face, and very calmly I move my

face closer to his.

I was scared, but I place my lips on his, not knowing why but feeling the need to be closer to him.

Chamuel does not refuses me thankfully, and kisses back with such love in his touch I feel light headed again. We stay like that for only a moment though, as we pull away with admiration in gaze of each other.

“Your an angel.” I say breathlessly, and feel his arms wrap around my back as he brings me back to his lips, sliening me with a kiss. Its deeper this time, and I feel my body react with pleasure from his tough engulfing into my mouth. He sucks on my tough a couple of times that causes me to shudder, and I move my hand to his chest rubbing it with love. When he detaches my mouth from his, he moves his lips to my chest and start sucking on a sweet spot on my breast. I let out a small moan from the pleasure, and move my hand down his pants as he does the same to me. Very soothingly, we stroke each other at our most sensitive spots. I was the first to feel my inner core heat up from his touch, as I felt the sweet release of myself come undone upon him. He kept stroking me even after I already came, and I felt the need to finish this before I passed out from the overbearing pleasure that I was receiving.

More braver than before, I move my hand out of his pants and move my head instead down to his couch. He looks at me bewildered for a moment, but seems to understand what I’m about to do when I pull down his pants. His dick comes out half hard, and with this being my first time doing something like this, I stroke him a little more before I emerge my entire mouth on his shaft. I let it go as deep as I can bear, and slowly move my head up and down with a somewhat strong need in my core still. I keep hearing him mummer unadible word under his breath, which then turn into louder grunts as he grabs the ground around him with his first.

After a few more up and down motions of my mouth, I feel his cum in my mouth and the heavy load it was. I don’t feel comfortable with swallowing it all, so I let some of it trail down my chin onto my bare chest. I look up at him, making sure I didn’t go to far with doing this, but he looks back at me with loving eyes as he wipes my mouth. He bring me up into his chest, and I happily lay there as I hear the claiming ease of his chest falling up and down. Chamuel rubs his hands down my back as I lay there, and I feel myself never wanting this to end.

“Chamuel, will you stay with me?” I speak somewhat afraid, not wanting to be selfish but also not wanting to let this holy man out of my grib ever again. Chamuel stops rubbing my back, and moves one of his hands under my chin in order for me to face him. There, his golden eyes glow radiantly with love, and he places his head to mine.

Then he says the words that I never knew were true, but what I needed to hear my entire life.

“I have always been here with you, and I will never leave your side until the end of time.”