#when it's nobody else's business how some stranger on the internet feels

[seaofreverie]

How weird it is to be at the funeral of a close relative and still feel like I'm not allowed to cry or grieve and that everyone deserves sympathy but me. Because you know, I've never been to a funeral before, so that only makes me lucky, because I didn't have to deal with something like this until I was almost 23 years old. But maybe that actually makes me not lucky because otherwise I would have had some idea how I should feel and how to process this. I feel like this just doesn't make me special in any way, everyone experiences this and I mostly ache for my dad and my grandma. And even then I've been dreading the day this happens for years and it was inevitable that it would happen, and my grandad was almost 90 years old and I wasn't even that close to him so I feel like I should just not think about it so that it doesn't feel real (because nothing feels real to me anyway these days). And even by posting about it here I feel like I'm just begging for sympathy when I don't deserve any. And I feel like most of my sadness now comes from how alone I feel in both this and just in every other sense and how I feel like this makes me a bad person because I don't feel about it all the way I'm supposed to be feeling

[queers-gambit]

Hello,I wanted to say I admire your work and hope you continue with your wonderful stories.

I would like advice as a new fic writer myself. How long did it take before your work got noticed. Did/do you have any doubts? I know I have. TYSM for the fics -🍋‍🟩

hey, poppet. thank you for popping in, it's so very kind of you! more advice? fuck yeah, 50 points to Slytherin!

this got a little longer than i anticipated.

new fic writer, huh? so... you're, like, the new sheriff in these here parts? well, i only got ONE thing to say to the likes of you...

that's exciting! welcome! this town is big enough for all of us!

let's jump in -

soooo i've been reading fanficition since i was a kid, right? it's a comfort, it made sense in my brain, and it was something so deeply personal, i never shared it with anyone - friends or family. so this was always very niche to me.

being said, i've been an author most of my life. i've been legitimately published a few times - first when i was about 9/10 and last around 5ish years ago. no, not professionally, i didn't make a cent on those publications. so, i've been in the game for a while - BUT i didn't start PUBLISHING my fanfictions until the past, say, 3ish years?

now, look: technically, i started writing fanfics when i was first hospitalized in my early teens, using a pen and notebook because i was poor and couldn't afford a laptop (no shame, pen and paper are underrated). night shift came every 3 hours for vitals, so, i didn't get a whole lot of sleep - but i was able to write. a lot. it distracted me, it comforted me, and it was 100% mine which meant i never had to show or explain to anyone what i was doing.

i say this to try to illustrate, i didn't just walk on the scene as a writer and BOOM! got all this recognition. i started writing for myself, nobody else.

the thing to remember is that you're not writing for instant gratification - and if you are, you're setting yourself up for failure because it's going to feel stressful and "not worth" because your fics aren't getting hundreds of likes. don't let your self-worth be decided by numbers: height, weight, money in your bank account, fanfiction notes...

however, being said, i fucking get it. first thing i published was HC's about dating Eddie Munson because i had read so many and felt a couple ideas were missed or overlooked, so, i just had this compulsion to write. then, it was this thought of, "well, if i had this idea, maybe other people have, too, or at the very least, might like to read it." so i sat on the front step of my house, overtagged my HC's, and hit publish. it garnered a couple hundred likes within a few hours, then every time i opened Tumblr, there was 99+ notifications. i felt like my soul lifted, realizing, "hey... maybe i could write some more? i have a few other ideas and it feels SO good to be recognized. validate me, internet strangers!"

so, i weaponized my mania and published some more.

but i still struggle with this on occasion. yes, most of the times, my fics warrant X numbers of likes, but i find myself disappointed in the amount of written responses - like comments or messaged praise. i see other authors having full on debates, conversations, theory projections, and being inundated with messages; and think "damn, maybe i'm really not that great since nobody comes around to express their impression; to feed me compliments!" but you see what that is, right?

it's Imposter Syndrome. none of this shit actually matters.

your writing is GOOD whether at 2, 20, 200, 2k notes and the only person who can bestow this title or confidence is yourself. you're the architect, the driver, the artist - so stand by your writing. stand on business. then nothing can touch or phase you; you'll become your own worst enemy and most supportive critic.

nobody's opinion matters if YOU have pride in YOURSELF.

got it? great. now -

here's my advice:

🍒 learn to tag. -> tag your fic appropriately by Muse, fandom, pairing. -> the more tags, the wider the audience it'll reach. -> if i want to read Aemond Targaryen, that's the tag i go to. if i want Daemon, that's the tag i go to. Readers do not want to scroll through Daemon fics on the Aemond tag - so learn to do it properly. -> it's respectful, you know? and it def helps picking up a few followers because they peep you respect the rules.

🍒 practice summary writing. -> give Readers just enough to hook them. -> i recommend just giving the basics so Readers can decide if your fic has the general gist of what they're interested in reading. i like alluding to plot twists in summaries because it piques Reader interest. -> i personally do not read fics that have no summary. i want to know what i'm jumping into, if this is worth my time to read, if it'll satisfy whatever craving i have. -> you can use a trick i learned in a journalism class where newspaper headlines have to be a single sentence that essentially answer "who, what, when, where, why?"

again, tag your fics properly because if i'm looking for angst (in the angst tag) and the summary alludes to something more fluffy, i can move on.

🍒 sharpen your diction and syntax skills. -> diction is your word choice and syntax is sentence structure. so play around with what sounds most natural in your head. -> what words would your Muse actually use? how would they say it? do they use flowery language (like TROP Elrond) or are they gruffer (like ST Billy Hargrove)? -> diction gives stories personalities. i said what i said.

🍒 give "enough" detail in your introduction. -> this is your fic's elevator pitch. -> i like listing: what's the summary, who's the Muse, what fandom, word count, any author notes, and content warnings. it gives your audience an idea of what you're about; like dipping a toe in water instead of diving in. -> a very frustrating feeling trying to read something that you have no genuine interest in but you don't know until you get X% of the way through it. -> again, i can't speak for others, but i won't entertain fics that don't have introductions - or at the very least, summaries.

🍒 get comfortable with your own humility. -> not every fic is going to be a hit. own that. accept that. -> do not gaslight yourself into thinking just because a fic has less notes (or kudos, whatever) it's lesser-than writing.

example: i was SO excited to publish Don't You (Forget About Me) because i thought it was so good. like, arguably some of my better work, but it didn't do well with Readers. it was disheartening but also humbling because while the fic picked up traction, i remind myself that i'm still a fanfic reader at heart and so long as i like it, who cares how many notes it has?

🍒 if you have a story, write that shit. -> don't be discouraged, "oh, nobody is gonna read this, nobody wants this," because who cares about that? you have a story to tell, so write that shit! tell your story! i promise there are people out there that will entertain it!

🍒 praise yourself because if you wait for strangers on the internet to do it, you're not always going to get the response you WANT.

🍒 be kind. -> to yourself. -> to others. -> to me... please 😂

i gave another anon some advice a bit back, you can check that out here if you'd like!

i hope this helps even a little. i encourage everyone to write, no matter what the driving factor. have fun with it, challenge yourself, practice practice practice.

come back anytime, poppet, and when you publish (or not, whatever), send it my way - i'd love to give your work a read! all my very best! i hope writing can do for you what it's done for me.

all my love 🖤

[chrisgraves09]

Hey.

This year has been the most stressful for me. Everything that has happened for the past few months has been rough for me, not just online, but in my personal life as well. People that I’ve looked up to getting into controversy, college is really kicking my ass and I have just started on it this year, and the passing of a family member that I’ve known ever since I was very little. It feels like everything I go or even do something, something bad happens. Like I have some kind of curse or something, I don’t know. It’s really getting into my head that I want to yell out in anger.

Plus, there are times where I really question my placement in the world. Like yeah, I draw and make models. But, what else do I offer besides those two? Nothing else. I’m just one of those random strangers that some person will randomly find on the internet who just so happens to have a standard and regular hobby that’s really passionate about it when I was like, 12? 14? Eh. Basically, I’m just like everyone else on the internet: A nerd that draws on sketch paper and models on their laptop that makes fan art of different franchises that I have an interest in.

Sometimes, I do have… thoughts that I kept to myself for a while and I keep on wondering: What would the internet be like if I wasn’t here at all? Like, I just disappear one day and never came back? I wouldn’t worry about stress, drama, or anything else. I would just be nonexistent. I keep those thoughts to myself and not burst it out like I’m a attention seeker. I’m not saying that I’m actually going to commit suicide, just a what if scenario. I don’t know, I’m just rambling at this point.

I’m fine with people not noticing me, I’m completely fine with that. Again, I’m just some random person on the internet. Though, I may get left out and a little lonely on a few occasions. I completely understand that though, everyone is busy with stuff and got no time for chitchat. I ain’t asking for attention, just wanted to say what I’ve bottled up for in my chest.

If you read all of this to get here, congrats. Uh, have a gold star. I just wanted to say what I’ve been holding on to what god knows how long. And yes, I’m completely fine, not gonna jump off a cliff or anything like that. Just know that I’m a nobody on the internet, not a somebody.

[spicycowboyhole]

posting because the psychicatrist decided to get sick when im having a crisis?:

idk where to start tbh LLOOL but i think im NOT DOING WELL. like on the outside evertytthings fine like nothings changed at all but i think im going insane. i think ive just realized how i have like 0 emotional suppoport system and whenever someone says something genuinely nice about me it makes me feel emotional because like i had family visiting this past week and my mom and my cousins tarted talking about college and my mom was saying how i wasted money going to college. i said that i didnt feel like i wasted my money becasue i have a degree now and i could always go back and get my bachelors but she said "BUT WHAT ARE U DOING EITH IT" and it just pissed me off because i feel like shes negating my accomplishment.

what made me cry last night was when i was messaging this guy and he was telling me about how he had class in the morning and we started talking about college. i told him how i was thinking about going back to school in january and he said i should.

for some reason i feel like getting my degree in psych would be cringe or a waste of time/money because my friend told me everyone she knows who did thinks so, like its some useless art degree. but when i asked this guy if it was cringe he said "so cringe... imagine having ambitions" im fucking stupid and didnt notice the sarcasm and i said "might as well start playing bucket drums on the street ig" because idk i guess i imagine getting a degree in psych would be just as dumb as someone trying to make it in the music business by playing on the street or something. he said "everyone thats going to college has ambitions. So in that case we all need to go play street bongos" and that perspective completely exploded my brain and i started crying LMAO because i guess going to college is a risk no matter what and u just have to believe in urself or some gay shit. it made me think of a taz cameo where he told someone that "nobody is gonna support your journey no matter how much they love you until youve proved to them that your journey was worth supporting" and that made me sad kinda because like i said i dont think i really have any kind of support from family rn and i kinda just have myself but i have like 0 confidence and negative self esteem and my family just being dissapointed in me and saying negative stuff really doesnt help. so i guess the moral of the story is that i have to trust and believe in myself because no one else will! really sucks i think. yeah but i only just started talking to that guy like YESTERDAY and im sure he prob felt like what he told me was nothing but it really did impact me and pulled the last tiny string that was emotionally holding me together. i apologized for being cynical and i told him i appreciated his words because i was kinda responding in a joking way that might have come off as rude i think? the silly bandaid just isnt working so good no more.

but fr i think while my anxiety is a lot better i think my depression is getting worse just due to my circumstances. like can u believe i almost went to the movies with some stranger internet guy just because i didnt want to be with my family?? i think somethings making me more impulsive than usual. i was going to buy cigarettes today and the only reason i didnt was because my appointment got canceled.

some other things tho i kinda didnt like having my cousins come visit because i just feel so inferior to them. like they look better and are just doing kinda all the stuff i should be doing yk? makes me feel shitty AND i feel like my mom just kinda infantilizes me like my parents treat me like nemo and i just cant do some things for some reason. its just so frustrating like my parents make me upset and i just want to move far away from them but also like they dont encourage me to do stuff on my own and when i try theyre like how are you even gonna do that you cant do that you have a bad fin like HELLO HELP ME FIX MY FIN THEN? I WOULDNT HAVE A BAD FIN IF YOU DIDNT HELP PREVENT IT IN THE FIRST PLACE LOL BUT IT JUST SUCKS THAT I HAVE TO DO ALL THIS BY MYSELF

i just dont want to be living here in like 5 years. thats a goal huh? if i had been asked where i wanted to be in 5 yrs when i was in high school id be like idk but i somehow managed to grow a goal somehow just out of misery i guess. and the steps are so cleaar in my head but then the voices tell me i cant do it because im scared BUT thats the point of life or something right??

jesus chhrososttt in reality nothing is really changing irl but im having some sort of crisis rn

ive even been trying to talk to boys LOL ive just been wanting some kind of escape from my life,, some independence, i want MY OWN LIFE that my mommy doesnt know everything about. i want to go to the movies with someone im not related to.

ok these paragraphes are all fucked up and i would fix it but i dont wanna go through and reread them

[leave-a-whisper]

idk if you care but lemme just get this off my chest: I look queer. There's no way getting around it. The way that I dress, how I act, my hair; all my life people have assumed I'm somewhere on the not straight spectrum. It didn't really bother me at first, but as time went on I got really annoyed at people just automatically assuming things, every "well you're obviously gay" was like dismissal of my own identity. I just wanted people to leave me alone because it wasn't any of their business and I was tired of all the subtle nudges and fucking eyebrow waggles. I feel like this whole thing with Kitt Connor goes the other way too, when I tell people I'm straight they usually don't believe me, and then get angry and ask me why I look the way that I do if I'm not. Can we all just leave people alone, and let them live their lives how they please?? Nobody 'owes' anyone else an explanation of their sexuality, not even straight people.

Also, I look the way that I do because it's hot and I'm comfortable with my sexuality so fuck everyone else and their weird norms and boxes they keep putting people in

Yes! This!!!

You're absolutely right that not even straight people need to explain anything to anyone. No one owes anyone their sexuality. You could be straight and questioning, or you could just be straight but you still feel like it's nobody's damn business (which it isn't) and you have the right to not explain yourself to keep other people happy. So many people feel like they're entitled to know someone's sexuality once they suspect they are straight, which either results in someone being outed, or making a straight person feel really uncomfortable and shitty, which, and I can't believe I have to fucking say this, is NOT A GOOD THING.

I really understand where you're coming from because I definitely don't look or act queer. I'm into sports and I dress 'normal' so to speak, so people not only constantly assume I'm straight, but I feel very out of place in queer spaces just because of the way I look and my personality somewhat standing out.

So many people have been forced out of the closet and I'm honestly tired of it. At the end of the day, some people really just could not handle the fact that a 'straight' person (in their eyes) did a fantastic job at playing a queer character, because that idea goes against everything the internet has taught them.

They're not only perpetuating the ridiculous standard we place on people (men especially, let's be real) to act however we see acceptable (whether they think they're not "queer enough" for a queer space, or "too queer when they're obviously straight") but they're also pushing the harmful idea that you have to put yourself in a box in order to truly be respected and accepted.

Some of us just don't belong in boxes. Some of us are maybe still searching for one. Some of us may have one but just prefer to keep that information private. And some of us just don't want to fucking explain ourselves to strangers and then have to re explain ourselves five years later when something inevitably changes.

One reason a lot of famous people may prefer to keep their identity private is because they have the eyes of people who look up to them on them at all times. And if we're talking about Kit specifically, he's a teenager who was just thrust into fame. Heartstopper wasn't the first thing he did, but it was incredibly significant that it not only widely expanded his followers, but it specifically expanded to a predominantly queer following. People who don't understand that real people don't solely exist to be representation were already curious about his sexuality, and that speculation only got worse when he stated he didn't feel comfortable sharing it.

You don't need a label in order to be in queer spaces or participate in queer stories, and honestly you don't even have to be fucking queer. We're supposed to be accepting, and yet all I see are people harassing anyone they think is suspicious because the core of it all is that there are queer people out there who think that straight people don't belong in our spaces and are not welcome.

This is a mindset that hurts all of us, old or young, queer or not. The internet has perpetuated a sort of black and white thinking that is devastating to people everywhere.

I hope something changes soon.

[astranva]

Falling Duet

Word Count: 2.4k

Category: Fluff but it’s so 🥺

Warning: Nothing

Request: harry dating singer!reader: he has to perform at some awards and he invites her to sing with him but no one else knows? love your writing🤧❤

Summary: You and Harry sing an unreleased version of Falling at an award show.

The lyrics used are of “Falling (other POV)” by THE cutie, Ally Naso 🤍

// masterlist //

**reposted bc tumblr is messing up the tags & nobody can view it. sigh.

..

It all started when a friend of yours had recorded you singing in your school’s bathroom during senior year.

7 years ago, you wouldn’t have believed it if somebody told you that you would be a 13-time Grammy nominated artist, as well as having 6 of that very award sitting on your shelf at your childhood home – one for Best Artist, and one for Album of the year.

You would have laughed even.

But it wasn’t a joke nor was it a dream you wished to never wake up from; it was as real as life could be.

You were successful in the industry and if any of your fans were asked, they would say that it was because of your immense talent and unproblematic, empathetic, kind character.

It was one of the many reasons why so many people on the internet had shipped you with a certain English man, him having been only 20 when you went viral and got signed.

A year into the industry, it was one day when you remember your Twitter notifications going crazy;

“HARRY STYLES JUST SAID HE LOVES YOUR MUSIC AND THINKS YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL”

“omg pls tell us you watched 1d’s interview with jimmy kimmel”

“IT’S FINALLY HAPPENING! CAN YOU PLEASE BE TOGETHER ALREADY???”

Looking back at that memory, you remember how you were a shaking and overwhelmed mess as you had clicked on the link everybody was sending you.

The video had begun with the audience cheering as the camera was on Jimmy and the 5 men near him.

And there he sat; in a black suit with a white shirt underneath, medium-length hair looking like he had run his fingers through many times, his hands clasped as he looked at Jimmy.

“Who’s most likely to let a woman split the band?” Jimmy had asked.

They had looked at each other, not answering for a moment before Niall chimed in with a laugh as he pointed at Harry, “Harry would let his celebrity crush do that.”

Harry rolled his eyes jokingly as his bandmates agreed and laughed, slapping his hands against his thighs in feigned annoyance.

“Who is that? Who’s your celebrity crush?”

“Just this talented person.” He had tried to smile his way through the question, but no one was having it.

“You know Y/N Y/L/N? She’s an amazing singer,” Louis told Jimmy.

“Y/N!” Jimmy beamed, “We had her on the show two weeks ago.”

“Yeah, he watched that.” Liam had gestured towards Harry.

Hiding his face in his hands for a moment, the audience cheered as his friends continued to laugh.

“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” Jimmy asked Harry in a teasing manner.

Having had decided to get it over with, Harry nodded as he clasped his hands together again, “She’s very talented and beautiful.”

“Lovie, can you help me with the necklace? My nails are still drying.”

You looked up from your place on the couch, sitting in your long dress looking so beautiful that Harry had lost track of time of getting into his own suit because he was too busy giving you a photoshoot on his phone.

Standing up, you reached and clasped his necklace for him, dusting his shoulders to signal that you were done.

Turning, you were met with your boyfriend of 4 years beaming at you before he leaned to press his lips against yours.

“You look so good.” You smiled up at him, “So beautiful.”

“Have to try to catch up with how you look tonight,” he replied with a wide smile, “Nervous?”

“Not really.” You admitted.

Amusingly and completely and utterly in love, Harry tilted his head slightly, “Any reason why you’re not? You usually hate those.”

It was true. You didn’t really like award shows because of how tiresome all the process was; hair, makeup, dressing up, walking only to pause every second, the repeated questions you have been answering for years, how more judgmental the world was on nights like these.

But it was always when Harry was able to be by your side that you liked the night, and the tall man knew it, but he had always loved hearing you say it.

To feed his ego, you wrapped your arms around his neck, “Because you’ll be there.”

“Music to my ears.” He joked, shaking his head slightly.

“Just feeding that already overfed ego of yours, baby.”

“Excuse you.” He pecked your lips, “Let me add food for Evie then we can leave.”

“I’ll do it, don’t mess up your nails.” You patted his chest before moving away to attend to your cat.

The fans and reporters all had anticipated the moment of yours and boyfriend’s arrival, and the both of you knew it.

You were fairly private with your relationship. While everyone knew you were together, the both of you didn’t always post about one another but when you did, it went viral – something you and Harry, shamelessly, enjoyed.

It was why during moments like this, everyone was eager. Reporters were hungry for content, all having different intentions, but you spend enough time in the industry and you sort of begin knowing what to say and how to say it.

Harry was scheduled to perform, something everyone knew of, but it was the fact that you were joining him not on the red carpet, but on stage that they didn’t.

Getting out of the car together, the screams and flashing lights were then doubled.

Harry closed the door behind you with a polite smile to the security standing. Bending a little, he adjusted your dress’s short train for you as you looked back at it before you looked up at him.

As if they weren’t snapping pictures like crazy yet, you reached and fixed Harry’s hair at the front, his eyes looking up with a smile as you did so.

“Thanks, love.”

With that, Harry placed his arm around your waist as you walked to the first spot on the red carpet.

“When was the last time we appeared together? They’re going mad.” You whispered, looking at Harry as he smiled to the cameras.

He chuckled, looking at you, “I think we deprive them too much.”

“Let’s give them enough content to last a year.”

Nobody but the both of you knew what you meant, and it was why the flashing lights and camera shutter sounds were then tripled the moment Harry’s lips were on yours in a soft kiss.

“Can we sign stuff?” You asked a woman standing on the sides, “Can we see the fans?”

When she nodded at you, you and Harry ignored posing for a few minutes to converse and meet fans.

“I love you and Harry so much!” One fan said shakily as you signed a paper for him.

“Thank yo- Hey! I saw you in Amsterdam last year, right?” You grinned.

And that was another thing not only your fans loved about you, but Harry, too.

You were no stranger to connections. You were no stranger to making people feel seen and treating them in a way that no fan expected to be treated – a friend, and you remember friends.

“Harry, do you think Y/N will win Songwriter of the Year?” A fan asked.

Harry shrugged with a smile, “I hope so but we all know she is anyway.” He waved his hand with a joking manner, making the closest fans laugh.

“What about you? Do you think you’ll win Artist of the Year?”

“I don’t know,” he smiled, “There are so many amazing artists. I wish them all the best.”

“He’s a humble man,” you teased, patting his shoulder, “We all know he is anyway.”

You were confused as they, Harry included, laughed in shock. “What?”

“He literally has just said the same thing about you.”

You laughed, looking at Harry, “Shut up, no way!”

“The both of you have been doing that for years.” One fan commented with a grin, “It’s adorable. It’s like telepathy or something.”

“Oh yeah, we are telepathic,” Harry nodded, “It gets a little scary sometimes.”

“Heeey!” You laughed, “It’s actually helpful. One of us would be just walking at home and we’d look at each other and know that the other just means something like “feed Evie” or “take out the trash””

“This is so cute!”

“Harry, what are you performing tonight?”

“You’ll find out in a bit.” He pointed.

Shortly, you and Harry had to take more pictures and do interviews before you were escorted inside.

It was the little moments that fans also lived for; how Harry held your hand as you sat so discreetly, how the both of you chatted and giggled among one another and those around you, how Harry fist-bumped the air the moment your name was called to receive your award of Songwriter of the Year before kissing you. It was how they knew this was real – how love wasn’t something you only listen people sing about or write novels for.

It was in how Harry’s eyes didn’t move from you as you gave your speech, a wide smile on his face and eyes resembling twinkling stars for crying out loud.

It was in how you ended your speech with: “This is to the man who has inspired and pushed me forward to write every single day. I love you.”

It was in how you looked more nervous than Harry himself when his category was called before you were the first to get out of your seat with a happy “yes!” once they announced that he won.

It was in how Harry cupped your face that moment to kiss you before walking to receive his award.

It was in how you remained standing, those behind you only smiling instead of being annoyed, with your hands clutched together against your heart, tearful eyes, and the brightest smile in the room.

“You’re going to tell me this is cheesy,” Harry chuckled slightly, giving a shrug as he looked at you, “But I wouldn’t be standing here, holding this, if it weren’t for you. I love you, too.”

But then Harry was about to perform and you weren’t in your seat.

The award show had decided to make a skit of it, the host being Miley had held her microphone as she stood in the empty isle beside yours and Harry’s empty seats.

“We know Harry Styles is performing in minutes,” she said, looking at the camera with a playful smile, “But where is Y/N Y/L/N? We know, we know,” she nodded, “Probably backstage for some extra good luck but-” people laughed, causing Miley to pause and chuckle, “But seriously, guys. There’s a show and it must go on.”

“It’s going on.” Harry said from backstage into his mic before the stage went dark.

It wasn’t until piano tunes sounded that the arena grew dim, a spotlight on the piano at the center of the stage where you sat, your fingers gentle against the keys as you played the beginning notes of Falling.

“I'm in my bed,

And you're not here

And there's no one to blame

But the drink in my wandering hands.” Harry sang as he came on stage, holding the mic in his hand before taking a seat beside you.

Everyone had expected him to sing the next verse, but it wasn’t his voice that they then heard.

“I'm in my bed

Instead of yours

Cried to sleep turned off all of lights and locked all of the doors.” You sang, eyes on the piano keys.

“Forget what I said

It's not what I meant

And I can't take it back

I can't unpack the baggage you left.” His eyes were on you, body turned slightly towards you as he felt like the both of you were in your living room in front of your white piano.

“I replay what you said

Don’t know if it’s true

Left with two broken hearts and there’s nothing that we could undo.” You sang, closing your eyes as you got ready for the chorus.

“What am I now? What am I now?

What if I'm someone I don't want around?

I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm falling.”

“What am I now? What am I now?

Don’t want to cry ‘cause I can’t stand the sound

I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm falling.”

The both of you sang together, your voice being softer and quieter than Harry’s.

“What if I'm down?

What if I'm out?

What if I'm someone you won't talk about?

I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm falling.”

“What if I'm down? What if I'm out?

What if you’re someone I can’t live without?

I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm falling.”

It was a version nobody had heard before, and it was why everyone was quiet, the only sound coming from you, Harry, and your lone instrument.

It was something you had written together following a rough patch of your relationship, and everyone knew that it was more personal with the way the both of you sang.

When his eyes weren’t closed, Harry sang as he looked at you, and he knew that performing this song meant more to the both of you than anyone could imagine. One look at your face and Harry knew you were reliving the night of when the both of you had written this; eyes a little red from crying, bodies hot, Harry wearing a hoodie of yours while you sat in your underwear with his purple fluffy robe on.

“Can I do this alone without ever needing you again?”

“And I get the feeling that you'll never need me again.”

You both sang the bridge together, yours being shorter than Harry’s note as you carried a softer tone, closing your eyes as you played the piano, feeling your throat close up before gulping.

He knew.

It was why the final chorus was sung softer and quieter, Harry’s forehead resting against your temple for a moment as the both of you sang.

“I’m falling again, I’m falling again, I’m falling.” Harry finished, putting his mic down as he stared at you with a small smile, watching you in your element as you played.

Managing to look at him as you played single soft notes, you sang, “I’m falling again, I’m falling again, I’m falling.”

You played the end single notes, looking at Harry with tearful eyes and a bashful smile.

It was like you were unaware to the erupted cheer and round of applause, you threw your arms around Harry, feeling his arms wrap around you instantly.

Crying from the overwhelming emotions, you were thankful your mascara was waterproof. You called it.

“I love you,” Harry whispered in your ear, “I love you so much.”

[thefeedress]

FFA MUSINGS

I was 17 when I learned the terms "feeder" "feedee" and "feederism" from stumbling across one of those trash documentaries about the kink. Apparently, my sexuality revolved around extremes and predators: creepy straight men coercing naive women into transforming their bodies and their lives - the women didn't particularly seem to be getting off on it or even have much agency in the whole thing. The men were awful. (Sometimes, these days, I look back and wonder how much all the negatives of what I saw were exaggerated by the editing…)

That was my lightbulb moment, where I discovered the label for something very personal and private that I'd had all my life but always felt confused and ashamed about. I now also had the pleasure of feeling extra disgusting and very alone, having been shown what horrible company I was in, and that I now knew I was a feeder, but apparently all feeders were men.

Any furtive investigations online (in the reasonably early days of the internet) seem to confirm this suspicion: female feeders were not A Thing, there might possibly be one or two others out there at best. Male gainers only seemed to exist in their own niche in gay subculture, and although I was happy they were out there somewhere living their best lives, they were obviously Not For Me.

I was 34 when after years of pushing it all to the back of my mind, I finally gave in. I've been with the same (non-feedist) partner since my early 20s, so I just assumed that I'd never be able to explore it irl anyway, and that was that. I can't remember what happened or why I decided that I had to try to find some others to connect with, even just to chat with, but in the end (with my partner's blessing) I found and joined Feabie (of which I have many opinions but I'll leave those for another time…) and interacted with other feedists online for the first time in my life.

Guess what: straight male feedees exist. They exist, and there's fucking loads of them!! Tons of the buggers in my inbox all day every day for weeks. Pretty heady experience going from outcast freak to Much Sought After Item - apparently female feeders really are quite rare, or we don't have much of an online presence (or most of us are lurking in a secret lair somewhere that the others haven't invited me to, rude….) or they're also out there somewhere thinking they're the only one.

The unbridled glee of feeling popular and desirable for being something I'd always felt ashamed of did wear off a teensy bit after the endless onslaught of "hey" "hi" "how u" "ayy babygurl" "I'm looking for a feeder please accommodate all my kinks even though I'm a total stranger and I clearly don't give a shit about you as a human being" "You're a woman on the internet I'm entitled to your attention don't be difficult what's your problem" and my current favourite, the bizarrely ominous "Can I ask ur opinion?" (The answer is no my friend, if I wanted to be spammed with anonymous torso pics that I'm meant to manufacture comments about that you can get off to I'd have asked YOU.)

But. I'm still completely overjoyed that male feedees exist, that I've spoken to so many cool and interesting and lovely guys, that I've had experiences I'd always assumed I wouldn't, that I FINALLY MET OTHER FFAs and they are awesome and now I'm close friends with one and it's freaking GREAT. All of this has also lead my partner and I to discover polyamory and now I'm in love with two people who love me back NOBODY EVER SAID YOU WERE ALLOWED TO DO THAT WHY THE FUCK DID NO ONE TELL ME

There are so many nuances and preferences I'd never considered. I knew what I liked and that's what I sought out in terms of porn and that was that. Actually talking to feedees and learning about the whole spectrum of things they each did or didn't enjoy or want to participate in was a revelation, and also helped me clarify my own preferences myself.

There are still things I've yet to come to terms with or decide how to feel about. The main things I'd always felt guilty or ashamed of were less to do with fat or fat guys, it was the feeding itself.

Where being an FFA is concerned - I like to think that if I'd ever been lucky enough to have a fat boyfriend when I was younger, I wouldn't have been shallow enough to care what anyone else thought. It's possible I'm giving my younger self too much credit; I know for certain that some people in my life would have made nasty comments, I was also hugely insecure myself, and I have no idea what it really would have been like. I have no doubt that living all my life in a fatphobic society has affected me in more ways than I'm even aware of (same as everyone else in some way, I'm guessing....). I think any uneasiness I felt there was less worrying about shallow friends or family members, and more how to find potential fat partners without offending them. I have always been conscious of the fact that the majority of fat people would very likely be horrified to be thought of and objectified through the lens of this fetish. You never know what someone's relationship to their own body is, but it's safe to bet that it's a more complex one than it seems, and also, unless you're expressly invited into that relationship by that person, it's none of your fucking business.

But anyway, the main reason I never had many hangups about it was that I don't think I even *was* attracted to fat people when I was young - sometimes I'm not sure I was even attracted to anyone. I had crushes on boys all the time, but I never thought of anyone sexually. My teenage fantasies were pure belly kink: stuffing, chugging, bloating, inflation, any kind of ridiculous fantasy belly expansion - the actual fattening aspect of feeding was less a part of it, and fancying fat dudes was never connected to it. By the time I'd begun to join the dots and wonder if I liked fat boys, I'd started to happen across media that portrays the worst of Feedism, and since I liked sadistic fucked up stuff and already felt ashamed of it, all of that just confirmed to me that I was right to hate myself. Even now, when I'm exposed to much more conversation about this kink than I ever used to be, I notice a lot of love for soft feedism, wholesome fatness appreciation, body positivity, romance (all of which I absolutely love, don't get me wrong) and I still sometimes feel Iike I'm being left out of the party. Keeping my fingers crossed for more consensual femdom-feedism love (and content, ugh…)

But… what would have happened if I hadn't gotten the fuck over myself and put myself out there, tried to find others? How many other young people see themselves portrayed horribly in the media and hide parts of themselves FROM THEMSELVES forever? What happens next? I've apparently found the one person who likes all the same twisted things I do, but actually getting to see him irl ever or do any of the things we want to do seems impossible, and not just because of Covid.

This fetish is lonely for most of us I think, in some way or another. There aren't many feedists, there don't seem to be as many female feeders or male feedees, there probably aren't many people who will share the same preferences within the fetish that you do, and frankly when you filter out the people who aren't crazy or creepy or don't know how to hold a conversation, the pool shrinks even further. I've seen plenty of posts bemoaning how hard it is to find someone, but seriously, having spent most of my life in a vacuum where this stuff is concerned, I'm still buzzing from having engaged with the small handful of people I've engaged with, even just to chat to.

What I want to say to my younger self is: you're a good person. You're just a kinky bitch, that's all.

I feel like this description probably applies to all the best people, I can live with that.

[nowandajenn]

Can i ask for a fic wich chris and reader had a fight and broke up and chris really want to take her back but can't find her because she was mad and change her adress and number but he didn't give up and finally find her but also find out that she has their new born Triplet ?!

So I’m finally just now getting around to writing this, and I apologize for it taking so long to get done! I did decide to make it twins instead of triplets, because triplets is a fucking lot lol. I hope you still enjoy it!

Not proofread. All mistakes are my own. 

It had taken months to find you. After the break up, you had essentially become a ghost. You changed your phone number, you moved, and it seemed like nobody knew where you had gone, and the ones that did know sure as hell weren’t about to tell him how to find you. He had been a complete idiot; going to lunch with Jenny and spending time with her while he had a girl that he was slowly falling in love with waiting for him. They had such a strong history together though, and so many memories shared together, that he couldn’t seem to just walk away from it all. 

Of course, they had been snapped out at a restaurant together, talking and laughing, and it wasn’t long until the pictures hit the internet and your friends and family had been blowing up your phone, asking what the hell was going on. Your relationship with Chris was still fairly new, as you’d only been seeing each other for about eight months or so, and you were trying to enjoy just being with Chris and being happy while also worrying that you were a rebound for him after he and his ex had broken up a second time.

Chris had come home later that evening with flowers for you, only to find you going around the house packing up all of the stuff that you had kept there. He had recently been bringing up you moving in with him since you spent most of your time there anyway, but you felt like it was too soon, and you didn’t know if he was quite as ready for that step as he said he was. Now you were really glad that you had held off. 

The two of you had stood there and fought and argued, you telling him that you deserved more than to just be a rebound to try and help him get over the girl who he once claimed was “the love of his life” and you weren’t going to stick around if he was going to go behind your back and spend time with her and try and rekindle things for a third time. You told him that he was an idiot to think that the third time would be the charm when it hadn’t worked out the first two times they’d been together. He tried to explain that even though they had broken up, he still cared about her and just because they spent time together didn’t mean that they were getting back together. He told you that you absolutely were not a rebound, and he was falling in love with you, but you weren’t hearing it. You had picked up your duffel bag, and with a kiss to his cheek and hugging Dodger around the neck and stifling a small sob into his fur, you had walked out of his life. 

It didn’t take long to see what a huge idiot he had been, and how wrong he had been to see Jenny and not tell you about it or have any sort of conversation about it. He hated that you had been blindsided, and he hated that he made you feel like he was using you as a distraction or something to fill the void left after Jenny left. He tried to text you and call you, but all the texts were left on “delivered” and you would reject his calls, until one day he tried calling you and a stranger answered and told Chris that he had the wrong number. He finally psyched himself up enough to try and swing by your apartment to see if you would at least see him and let him try and apologize, but when he showed up, your apartment was empty and the landlord said that you had moved out and hadn’t left a forwarding address. He was heartbroken. He had tried talking to your friends, but they were unfailingly loyal to you, and wouldn’t tell him anything. 

It had taken just over seven months, and a lot of failed tries, but he finally had an address in his hand. It was in Chicago, where you had grown up, and he had booked the first flight that he could. He wasn’t sure if you would slam the door in his face or punch him or even open the door to him, but he had to try. If he didn’t, he knew he’d regret it. 

Chris takes a deep breath and knocks on the door, nerves suddenly overtaking him and making his stomach turn itself into knots. After a few seconds, he knocks again and hears a male voice yell “Coming!” His heart drops, immediately assuming that you had moved on from him and he lost his shot. 

The door swings open, and he’s surprised to see an older man, probably in his mid 50s, standing in the doorway. 

“Can I help you?” 

“Uh.....sorry, I think I have the wrong address. I was looking for y/n y/l/n. I’m Chris.” 

The man steps forward onto the porch, making Chris fall back a couple steps. 

“Oh, I know exactly who you are. You’re the one my daughter wouldn’t shut up about for a few months, and then never wanted to speak about again.”

Chris swallows hard, his mouth dry as the desert and feeling a little scared, because  your dad looks kind of mean and like he could lay him out if he wanted to. Your dad turns around and walks back into the house, slamming the door behind him. 

He exhales hard and turns around to walk back to his rental car. 

“That went about as well as I thought it would.” he mutters to himself. 

He’s halfway back to the car when he hears your front door open. He looks up and his breath catches when he sees you standing there, your arms crossed over your chest. You’re wearing a pair of jean shorts that show off your legs and a baggy Tshirt, your hair thrown up in a messy bun. You look like you’ve gained a little bit of weight since the last time he saw you, but it looks good on you. 

“Hey.” he breathes out. 

Your jaw clenches. “How did you find me?”

“Well, you didn’t make it easy. I had Josh track you down. It took a lot longer than I wanted it to. I would have been here about seven months ago if I had known where you were, but nobody would tell me.” 

You scoff. “Yet here you are. Because Chris Evans just doesn’t know when to give up.” 

He winces slightly, knowing that you’re not just referring to his search for you, but the whole thing with Jenny that caused your breakup. 

You both stand there in silence for a few minutes, unsure what to do next, when you breathe out a heavy sigh and wave your arm towards the house, gesturing for him to come in. 

“Come on. We have a lot to talk about.” you tell him.

Your dad shoots him a glare as you lead him into the house, and he swallows hard and follows you into the kitchen, taking your offer of a bottle of water and sitting at the table with you. He’s so focused on you that he doesn’t really take in his surroundings. If he did, what comes out of your mouth wouldn’t have almost shocked him into a heart attack. 

“I tried calling you a couple times over the past few months, but every time I did, I got your assistant, or a P.A. or someone else. I left a message with my number with someone, but I’m assuming that you never got it, or you just didn’t care.”

He shakes his head almost violently. “I never got it. I don’t know who you gave it to, but it never got back to me.” 

You lean back in your chair and take a deep breath. 

“About a month after we broke up, I found out I was pregnant.”

Chris is pretty sure his heart stops beating for a few seconds, and then he realizes that he’s holding his breath. He lets it out in a deep exhale and his heart starts hammering in his rib cage. 

“You.....we.......what?” he gasps.  

“The doctor said I was 7 or 8 weeks at the time. I......I was due to get another shot but I had been so busy that I forgot about it, and.....well. At first, I wasn’t sure I was even going to keep the baby, honestly. We had just broken up and I didn’t know if you even wanted kids right now, or with me, and it took me a while to come to terms with everything. I tried calling you once I decided that I was going to keep it. I knew you had a right to know, even though I was pissed at you and hurt.”

I look over and Chris is just staring at me, gaping like a fish. 

“So....you had a.....we have a.....” he takes a deep breath. “We have a baby?”

“Uh, well......I guess you must have some really strong sperm because we kind of.....have two.” 

Chris looks like he’s about to pass out, and I shove his bottle of water towards him and he drains the rest of it in one go. 

“Look, I don’t need anything from you. We’ll be okay. We’ve been staying here with my dad and he’s been helping out, and I’m getting help from the state. We never talked about having kids, and I know that this is just being dropped on you out of nowhere. If you want a paternity test, we can go today if you want. I’m not trying to trap you into anything or trick you. You have your own life and you’re.....well, you’re you. And I’m nobody. Nobody outside of your family and close friends even knew we were together.”

I know I’m rambling, but I’m nervous and I know I should just stop and let things sink in. We sit there in silence for a while, and I can tell that Chris’ brain is working to try and digest all of the new information and the fact that he’s a father twice over now. I need to do something to keep myself busy, because I can’t keep just sitting there in silence, so I go over to the sink and start washing dishes. 

Chris gets snapped out of his reverie when he hears a sharp cry ring out. He looks around wildly before realizing that it’s coming from a baby monitor on the kitchen counter. You drop the dish your holding in the soapy water and wipe your hands on a dish towel before turning and running upstairs. 

Chris isn’t even really sure he realizes that his feet are even moving before he finds himself upstairs in the doorway of the nursery. He stands there, feeling like his head is disconnected from the rest of his body, watching as you lean over the crib and lift out an impossibly tiny baby who can’t be more than a month old. 

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay.” you whisper, holding the baby against your chest. You turn around and see Chris standing there in the doorway, still looking shocked out of his skin. 

“Come here.” you say softly, beckoning him over. 

He walks over to the crib slowly, his eyes on the infant in your arms and then on the one still sleeping. 

“This is Steven Lucas Evans” you say softly, kissing the baby you’re holding on the forehead, “and that is Christopher Michael Evans.” 

Tears immediately fill his eyes and he inhales deeply, his breath stuttering. 

“How old are they?” 

“Three weeks and two days.” you tell him. 

Chris can’t keep his eyes from drifting in between his two sons, and not wanting to be left out, his namesake wakes up and starts making soft little noises. 

“Go ahead. Pick him up.” you tell him softly. 

“Yeah?” he asks. 

You nod. 

Chris leans over the crib and gently lifts Christopher out, holding him gently against his chest. He’s soft and perfect and has that amazing baby smell that drives people nuts, and Chris feels like his heart is about to explode. He walks a few steps over to you and gazes down at his other son, taking note of both babies’ bright blue eyes. 

“How can you love someone so much you’ve just met?” he breathes. 

You give a small, watery laugh. “I ask myself that every day.” 

Watching Chris with his baby sons is everything you didn’t know you needed. You told yourself that even if Chris didn’t want to be involved, you would get through it and you would be fine. But seeing him sitting in the cushy armchair in the nursery with a baby in each arm is more than you could have hoped for. 

“Tell me about when they were born.” Chris pleads. 

“I went into labor on the 23rd of last month, but they weren’t born until about 6pm the next night. I was in labor for about 20 hours. The doctor wanted to go in and get them, but I knew they’d come on their own time. Christopher was born first, and then 15 minutes later, Stevie showed up. He was screaming before he was even fully out.” 

He squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I wish I could have seen it.” 

“You still can.” 

You pull up a few videos on your phone from different stages of your labor, and one of Christopher being born and then Steven coming along. Tears are running down Chris’ face as he watches, and he’s laughing and crying at the same time, completely overwhelmed with emotion. You flip through a ton of pictures on your phone of you through the pregnancy, and then of labor, and the first pictures of you and the babies. 

“Can you sent these to me? Just....everything you have?” he asks. 

“Yeah. Not a problem.” 

After making bottles and feeding one while Chris feeds the other, a double diaper change, and laying them back down in the crib, you both sit back down. 

“You didn’t get two cribs?” Chris asks. 

“No. I couldn’t really afford two, and when we were in the hospital, they would cry if they weren’t near each other, so the nurses just put them both in the same bassinet and they would calm down. So it all worked out.” I tell him. 

“Come back to Massachusetts with me.” he blurts out. 

He says it so suddenly and with such conviction that I’m speechless for a minute. 

“Chris.....” 

“No, just please.....I love you. I love you and I was an idiot and you had every right to leave me. But being without you has been hell, and I don’t want to be without you. And I can’t go back and not have you or them there with me. I want to be there for everything. I want to see everything. I won’t let you do everything on your own. You don’t have to struggle and get state aid. You can move in with me, or I can get you an apartment close by........just......please come home with me.” 

“Chris, slow down. Listen, you’re their father. You can have as much access to them as you want. I’m not going to take them away from you or keep you from seeing them. That’s the last thing I want. But moving back to Boston......I don’t even have a job right now. I’ve been doing freelance articles for the last few months to get by. And we have all this stuff....and there’s furniture and......” 

“You can write from anywhere. You’re so talented; you’ll find a job in no time. I promise. Until then, I can take care of you guys. That’s my job now. As for all the stuff, I can get a UHaul trailer and we can drive back. Or I’ll get a moving company to move it and we can fly back. It doesn’t matter. We can make this work.” 

I can see the desperation in his eyes and how badly he wants this, and it’s enough to break my heart, and I don’t have it in me to tell him no. 

I sigh heavily. “We have a lot to work out and talk about.....but I don’t want you to miss out on anything with the boys. So.......I guess we’re taking a road trip.....with two infants........halfway across the country.” 

Chris grabs me and hugs me to him tightly. 

“It’ll be our first family vacation. I can’t wait for Mom to meet them. She’s going to lose her mind over them. And you.....she’s missed you so much. You have no idea the verbal ass kicking I got from her after you left.”

You smile. “Glad to know that a grown man is still afraid of his mommy.” 

 The Usual Suspects: @averyrogers83 @wordywarriorwrites @imanuglywombat @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @hlkwrites @reminiscingrogers @mom—nicole @jtargaryen18 @alexakeyloveloki @kelbabyblue @sarahp879 @moonlessnight14 @mojean13 @mrskokitztelford @artisticrogers1972 @southerngracela @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @mybesttobobcratchit @gracethegeek9902 @mdemontespan1667 @marvelfansworld @capslut2014 @dispatchvampire @jamielea81 @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety​ @nerdy-bookworm-1998​ @southerngracela​ @what-is-your-plan-today @letsdisneythings​ @theladybiers @lexeeehhh @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ @autumnrose40 @donutloverxo​ @harrysthiccthighss​ @jessaywahh-blog​@smediumsmeatbae @before-we-get-started​ @lizette50 @littlegasps @rageshots @what-is-your-backupplan-today @clairebubbles @patzammit @sweet--catrastophe @pandaxnienke @redhairedfeistynerd @hails270105 @syms-things-5 @chezdricks @denisemarieangelina @christ0pher-evans @supersquirrel1996

[peeterparkr]

invisible string;tom holland.

summary:  life has a way of pulling you and Tom close to each other, then it pulls you apart. 

 “It is like an invisible red cord or thread which connects you to that one person you’re destined to meet, your true love.” 

soulmate au

word count: 6.4k

pairing: tom holland x reader

warnings: breakup mention, fluff, angst. fluffy angst. 

LOOK I TRIED TO WRITE FLUFF BUT I’M NOT GOOD AT IT SO ANGST CAME BUT I TRIED BUT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT

heavily inspired by folklore and evermore by taylor

thanks @jambrosemc for helping me you’re amazing

So, this is for one of my best friends here, @badhollandfluff, Delaney I’m sorry this took so long but I wanted it to be perfect for you, surprise!!! I’m your secret Santa! Love you, hope you had an amazing Christmas and I wish you a happy new year, I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. 

Thanks to everyone who joined, happy holidays!! 

No one ever has time. We’re always running and rushing and trying to save a little, it’s always like we have it counted and we never truly realize time is passing by. The clock keeps ticking. You were a victim of that, sometimes, always running, never knowing why. Time always going faster than you wanted it to be. 

Until it stopped, it had stopped since last year. 

There you were now. A white mug. These days you don’t really see that. Everyone has the paper cups with the coffee collar. Their names scribbled on black that probably still smells like sharpie. But you were holding a white mug, that now was just slightly stained by your pink lipstick. 

The mug was stained inside too, with the leftover foam of your capuchino. You were letting it set cold, watching as the people would walk in. Waiting. 

You trailed your gaze around the room, there are some couples around you.

You liked the idea of this café, with people gathering around just for the simple fact of drinking a hot coffee out of a mug. You like to come here, to sit out your thoughts, sometimes you’ll find some time to work, read. But you’d be alone. You’ve been lonely lately. 

It didn’t matter, it’s fair to point that out. But today, you were going to meet him. Again. 

But you didn’t know that yet. 

You had once read about soul connections, interested if you’d ever find your own, seemed like most people around had met them. You hadn't. Not the one you were longing to find, that is. 

Bizarre. 

Honestly, you didn’t believe in them. Or you liked to say that to yourself, sad enough to admit you hadn’t found any type of strong connection. 

Or maybe you had. 

But it made absolutely remotely no sense, at all. 

How could you? There was absolutely no scientific proof that there were soulmates, and though everyone said you could feel them, that you’d sense it, and though the extinguished sadness on your friends could be proof enough, you were still sceptic. Maybe just doubting if you’d find yours. Or maybe you didn’t want to accept who was yours. 

Because Tom had left. 

Your friends had assured you that when they’d found it the world had turned idyllic, a pink life. 

Yeah, it had felt like that when you’d found Tom, but now everything was gray. 

However, you knew more about them than anyone else. You had researched about them, you had read about them and you were so informed that you sometimes didn’t even believe it. 

Though you liked to ignore that sometimes there was a song stuck in your head without reason or there was a sudden joy, that had no possible explanation. 

“It’s your soulmate,” someone would point out. 

It wasn’t, it’s just Tom’s favorite song. 

There was also a sense of pain, sometimes you didn’t understand why you felt such a heartbreak, how bad had they hurt them? If they did exist, that is. 

They didn’t, though. 

You’d read about that heart connection, that feelings connect trying to understand how it comes and goes.  

There are three types of connections. Karmic partnership, soulmates and twin flames. Different types of connections. 

First ones, karmic partnership, and it is as bad as it sounds. They’re often confused as soulmates and people like to cling to them. They’re… awful,  being the one heartache that is there to teach a lesson, the one person that is there to show you something about yourself, the one person who is strictly there for character development, let’s say. The one person you fall in love with and keep falling in love, but it’s not love,  no matter how many times they hurt each other they go back. It’s not love, though. Or maybe it is, but there reason they exist is strictly to make you reason. It becomes….Cyclic. Until you finally decide to break the cycle. Intense transformation, the one person that makes you see yourself from a different perspective and change. There is, however, no compatibility. 

Probably what you had with Tom. But… no, it wasn’t… There was too much compatibility. 

You’ve had your fair share of them, maybe you’ve had 

Then there are the soulmates. The perfect compatibility. 

The one connection that is beautiful, a person that you just… feel it. The one person you feel like you’ve waited for them your whole life. Strong compatibility, there are more than one soulmate, that is to say, it could be friends, it could be family. It doesn’t have to be a romantic partner. There are soulmates that you wonder how they can be such an incredible connection. 

Everyone has soulmates. You knew you’d met some of them, the friends one that is. None of them a connection strong enough to be your partner. Not that you didn’t want to, though. 

Or maybe you didn’t want to acknowledge it. 

You’ve read somewhere in the internet that there are connections that go beyond your wildest imagination. Go beyond soulmates. The… twin flames, the one your soul is so attached to, you can feel their pain, their joy. 

Journeys end when lovers meet. 

It’s fair to say, you’ve never believed in that information. Less after a heartbreak. 

You had a million thoughts over your head, oozing you with stress and feeding your not long enough sleep schedule. You were slightly angry, you’d say. You didn’t like him anymore. 

There are two kinds of people when it comes to liking someone. The ones who go forward it, fighting for it, hinting on it. Flirting as if there was no tomorrow. People like Tom. 

And then there’s people who run away from feelings and try to pretend to act natural around their crushes. People who definitely don’t want to overstep boundaries and are afraid of ruining friendships. People like you. 

But there was nothing to ruin now, was there? 

Because there’s also people who give up. People like him. And people who never dare to forget. People like you. 

It was never even. 

But you keep daydreaming about him and can’t help that tinge of red spreading across your cheekbones every time he was near you. You shouldn’t have given in. You should’ve fought, but you were reckless. A sunrise dropping by again, and you wondered what had gone wrong.

Tom wanted to talk, you didn’t. You loved him, he didn’t love you. 

Tom was gone. For good.

An unstoppable force meets an immovable object. 

It’s the kind of love that you’d probably want to avoid. You at least, avoided all kinds. After him, who’d want to love anyone else? He was the only one who could tell if you dared to smile with your eyes only. 

How stupid were you to believe he was your soulmate. 

But no, this wasn’t right. Because feelings make everything blurry and it’s something not exact. If it wasn’t for science and numbers you didn’t like to believe anything.  If you don’t know how it’ll turn out then you’ll probably avoid it. And when it comes to relationships, you never truly know. Or sometimes you do, but it’s usually... not pretty. You’d learned that with him. 

Relationships end, and while you don’t want them to. You’ve sensed it, from the beginning. And you just hope that they’ll remember you in a nice way. Did he? Or had he just passed the page. 

You still felt stuck in a chapter. He had stopped reading. So hard to be on different books now. 

But with him, He was an exception. He was pushy and wasn’t giving up at the beginning until he did. You had seen him fall out of love, and that’s the worst kind of thing you get to face, when you see them slowly trailing far from you. 

Plans? Dreams? The willow tree in that park when you had first kissed was still crying over your breakup. Your head had been low since you’d last kissed him. Had you known it was your last, you’d probably would’ve made it last longer, you would’ve held him for more time. You wouldn’t have let him leave. 

But you had had your moment with him. It had been the last time you saw him. The one moment when you realized that his  fake smile was just that, how convenient and cliche. But you didn’t want to give you in, just yet. No, you wouldn’t. He’d changed, and you didn’t like who he was now. Too changed, too built up, too busy, too whatever you could come up with. 

You got tired of begging, and then he was easy to forget, you hadn’t forgotten. Just two years ago you thought he’d made a decision, you had made it. You wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. But he didn’t. And you couldn’t stop him, he was growing and growing and simply he escaped from your touch. 

Then it had been a goodbye, and nobody had seen it coming. You had, you’d known it for a long time. And it was weird, you were so in love with him that you knew that it was the best for you both, to get away because though you loved him, you knew he wouldn’t be happy with you. It’s difficult to let go of what makes you happy. 

You remembered it, how both of you would only smile at each other, like damn strangers, say a few hellos, and a fews how’s the weather, as if you hadn’t spent countless nights in between the sheets, as if you hadn’t danced in the middle of the night, as if you hadn’t given him each of the stars in the night sky, as if you hadn’t shared enough drinks together. Or as if you hadn’t fought for your love. You with that red jacket of his. How every path led to him. How every stupid weekend belonged to him, but now you wished they’d pass by sooner. 

Maybe that’s why you were always rushing, so you wouldn’t feel it. You didn’t like the weekends anymore. 

And now, she looked at him the way you were supposed to look at him. At first, it had hurt just a little, you hadn’t believed it. You knew it, everybody wanted to love him, but nobody knew what it felt, the crushing feeling that was loving him. How much it hurt, to watch him paddling with a precious smile, and those pair of angelic eyes, so pure and then turn into a devil just for you. 

Nobody knew how it felt. Anticipating a heartbreak every time he walked in, and to pretend that you didn’t feel that anymore. 

Last time only you thought you’d give him your heart, and he had pushed you away because his heart belonged to someone else. Then it was forbidden, to think about him, to dream about him, to still smell his scent on your pillows. It wasn’t right. 

How could his heart ever belong to someone else but you? 

And you had to smile, to say you were happy for him. Because you were, and that new girl was a fool because anyone who dares to fall for him is a fool, tangled in between lies. She who dares to love him is willing to have her heart crushed by him. And who but a fool is willing to let your heart be crushed by him. 

Last time you’d seen him had been a friday night, 10pm on that one pub he liked going to. You had gone out with your friends, and he was there, with her against his shoulder, her with the long hair and the perfect smile, perfect laugh. 

To think that had been your place once. You had avoided his gaze, ignored he was there. Pretending he hadn’t seen you. But he had. Pretending you hadn’t seen him. But you had. 

Someone had said there is life after love, but there is not love after him. It’s like you’d thrown everything to the fire, and he had watched it burn. Everyone said it: you’ll be happy. 

When? 

Sure, it’d come, eventually. But it had been a year. 

You’d heard he had broken up with her, a while ago. Then it was that hope again, probably why you were recurring to that café. 

It’s funny to think you’ll love someone forever, and then it just… disappears. Every promise eventually breaks, every kiss eventually fades, and love is eventually gone.

Then why wasn’t it? 

Time was your biggest enemy. 

Your story with him, from the moment you’d first seen him, he was just—perfect, you thought about it, how everyone said it was your soulmate. And you believed it. From the moment you’d met him, you had finally believed in soulmates, because it made sense. How your story had been built up to him, and how many times of sudden joy had you had before meeting him because of how close you were. 

Life had been so reckless. You were supposed to meet him several times before you actually met. It was stupid to think, how you were always thinking about it, now that you were apart. 

The first time you’d ever crossed paths had been when you had been very, very young. You didn’t know he had been there, not aware, at a park. And there had been this sudden joy. You remembered feeling it, you’d said it, felt a spark. 

Just children unaware of a flame burning too deep inside of you. 

That other time, at the supermarket when both of you had gone with each other’s mothers and both of you had been playing with the toys. 

You’d never forgotten that one very time, first time your hands ever touched, and it had felt like electricity. Two kids very confused by that spark, when both of them had reached to that one toy, confused. 

Or that one time at the café when he had walked in, you were sure he had walked in, you’d felt it, how your heart had started to beat so fast,  but before you could even glance at him he had walked out. Lost in the crowds, always. 

How both of you had had a broken heart at the same time. First kiss had been almost at the same time, just blocks away, actually. 

Or how you’d both been at that one party, but didn’t know about it. It made no sense how life had been so desperate to get you together but both your surroundings pulled you away. That night had been so close, both dancing behind each other, singing on top of your lungs to the same stupid song. 

Or that one time when someone had pointed him to you when you were at that one pub, “look, that guy is cute.” 

You had looked at him, he was. Shy smiles had only been directed in each other’s direction. 

You’d later learned he’d sent you a drink but the waiter had mistaken the table. 

That one time when you had run out of cash at that sandwich place because their card machine had stopped working, you were rushing, and you were missing only cents, and Tom had come to your rescue. 

Or how he worked near you and his dad had been friends with your mom at some point. How his favorite song was the same as yours, and how often you’d be at the same park, him on his phone, you reading a book. 

How you’d once met his dog that had run over to you. A dog that would learn to love you and did miss you from time to time. 

How Tom had randomly found that one book you’d lost at the park once, under that willow tree and he’d read it. Loved it and then lost it again at that same park, with a random paper note that read: “Jerry’s 8pm, wine.” he’d used as a book separator. 

Who was Jerry? What would happen at 8pm? Wine? What type? Red? Rose? White? Why were you so intrigued by that note? 

You’d kept it to this day. Still didn’t know what it was. You knew Jerry now, though, he was a friend.  And now you knew that he liked wine but preferred beer. 

You’d given him a pretty book separator. He still had kept it to this day, never used it, he always used random notes or napkins or whatever he found. At first it stressed you, how many book separators did you not have and he’d use napkins or those fortune papers that come with fortune cookies. So you had transformed into a better habit, you would write notes so he’d used them. You’d order chinese food more often, too. 

He said he’d always remember that, your little notes, the way you always stained your cup of coffee with lipstick, your two left feet when you danced, or the fact that your laugh would be heard across a room. He’d always recognize your laugh. 

What a Whimsical thing love is when it’s not the right time. 

How many times have you not felt like there was something missing? Until he appeared, at that one park near the cafe where you are sitting right now. The first time you’d ever officially met. Nothing out of a book, something very casual. Both of you at that café, it had been crowded that one day and the only chair available was the one in front of you. 

“I’m sorry, hello,” he had said, making you look up from your book. “May—I sit here?” He asked. “There’s no other chair left in the room and—“

“Yeah, yeah, hi, you can sit,” you had said, without really looking at him, but the moment you had, the moment your eyes had met his, you had…. felt like the whole surrounding had disappeared and you were the only people in the room, it seemed he had also noticed something.

A cold november evening, both of you had a reason to go home yet neither of you had  gone home. Both of you had found a way to that café, with coffees in a mug. The leaves falling outside.

He had sat right in front of you, you couldn’t help but blush when noticing he was attractive, very attractive. But there was something else about him, maybe it had been the way he couldn’t sit still. He had stared at you, and smiled. 

From the very first time you’d ever seen his smile, you knew three things,

His smile was the prettiest thing you’d ever laid your eyes on

His smile was so familiar 

His smile would eventually break your heart.

The third one wasn’t as cheerful but you could tell, he was one of those guys who could easily break someone’s heart in a blink. 

It didn’t take him a blink to break yours. You’d need a lifetime to break his. 

“I’m Tom.” 

“Y/N.” 

Both of you liked to debate over who’d talk to who first, it didn’t matter honestly. You both remembered how both of you had ordered the same drink, a cappuccino. Neither of you liked it, but apparently both of you had wanted to ask for something new. 

You’d always do that. Taste new drinks. 

And it had been… as if you’d met before. You had, multiple times before, but neither one knew, of course. Not at that point, but like you were meant to find him. The sun had gone down and it had been hours and hours of you talking to each other, like old friends who knew their deepest secrets and were catching up, laughs becoming one melody, and both of you had soon realized the cafe hadn’t been that crowded. Maybe it had been the damn destiny pulling you together. To that cafe near the park with that willow tree. 

He had asked questions you didn’t have the answers to back then. You did now. 

Before you knew it, you were walking with a stranger through the London night, seeing people walk by and not looking at them, because somehow you’d both walked to that one park. Both of you had discovered you both liked to sit on that one bench near the willow tree. How many times had you missed the other jusy by a matter of minutes. 

“You’re kidding, I love this place, I’m always here,” he had said. 

“I am, too, weird we’d never met before,” you had chuckled. 

You honestly didn’t remember how or why it had happened. A kiss. You’d kissed a stranger who didn’t feel like a stranger at all. 

“I’m sorry, I-” He had started. 

“No, it’s--” 

And then kissed again. Your stomach had dropped and had been replaced with butterflies. How had a simple cappuccino led to this? 

He’d given you a smile and a promise. You’d met him the next day, and the other one, and the next one. With that stupid smile of his. 

You missed that smile, or how he flirted with you, make you giggle with a stupid joke, or how he’d open his arms to you and kiss you, tumbling down to the couch. The way he’d make you listen to him ramble about his latest discovery. How he always found a way to make you smile in the crowds, always holding your hand, new dates in different places.

“What do you mean you’ve never gone paintball?” 

Weekends only for him, going for breakfast, for dinner, for lunch, for tea, for this, for that. . Then it was the weeknights too, always finding time for you, traditions you created and that you got rid off. Laying down on the grass, looking at stars, kissing in bars, dancing in his living room, your head on his shoulder in movie theatres, his scent on your pillow, his favorite movies next to your dvd, your perfume in his closet and your toothbrush in his bathroom. Notes he’d written to remember things all around your place. Birthdays, new year, parties. 

Endless nights of laugh, of wine and of nothing at all. Kissing. Video Games you didn’t understand, failed attempts to bake, watching sport games he loved and you… tolerated. Him finally agreeing to watch that movie with Ryan Gosling. 

“Why Ryan Gosling?” 

Building plans together, nights of both of you debating on something stupid. Singing on top of your lungs without knowing the lyrics. Getting lost together, that one roadtrip where neither of you knew the way and ended up at that one hotel in the middle of the road. Kissing. Learning to read every emotion, and being each other’s blankets. Hearing each other’s ugly laughs, and crying in front of the other. Being each other’s confort. Hugging him when you were scared at the movie. Meeting the parents. 

“They loved you, don't worry.” 

Always holding each other’s hands.  Fights under the rain. Making up hours later and cuddling to let go of it. Being friends with each other’s friends. Seeing friends getting engaged, going to the weddings. Talking about a wedding. Learning, becoming their best selves. 

Then…. Cold. 

He’d left you when you had been the most in love with him. When you thought he’d shows up with a ring. But he had said goodbye instead. With his picture on your phone and your hand cold with no one to hold. He’d changed your life, completely. 

You’d learned so, so, so much. And at some point you…. Realized it. 

You should’ve known, he was not your soulmate. 

You’d read somewhere about twin flames. Yeah… you had, about the one soul that changes your life. 

You’d learned about the importance of the sunrise and the sunset, how beautiful both of them are, and how dizzy you can get when you get to see both because you didn’t get to sleep because you had laughed and kissed all night. 

They say time is wise, yet you still were hurting and you still loved him. Because it was like his love was a thread still engraved to your own very soul. And though when you were with him it was timeless, you’d learned to give more minutes to the hours you were with him so you spend just a little bit more time staring into his eyes. How you’d learned about the importance of one’s sight, and how the eyes are the doors to the soul, he’d opened his soul completely to yours. And it was so beautiful and so easy to read. 

You’d learned a lot of things, like how to throw pebbles in the ‘right way’ to the river. You’d learned how to lie to your friends so you could go see him, late at night when the moon is the only light shining above yours. You’d learned that mistakes aren’t the end of the world and that you actually are very good at baseball. 

Tom had shown you how to distinguish between a guitar and a bass, not sure why you’d always confused them. And that it’s okay to sometimes leave the clothes on the floor if you’re rushing to get somewhere. Or that sometimes the clothes end up on the floor because you’re both… rushing. That it’s okay to have breakfast for dinner and that you can have dessert before the actual main course. He’d also taught you that facetime isn’t as good as being together but it’s enough to listen to each other’s voice. He had shown you that it’s okay to laugh at sex and that sometimes it’s not as romantic as it should be, that sometimes it is silly and other times it’s passionate. That it’s okay sometimes to say what you want to say before thinking. 

And you’d shown him how to enjoy a bad movie, or how to tie his shoes this other way, and that though the night kept changing, and you both kept growing and learning, you were still the same. You taught him that it’s okay not to know the lyrics and still sing the song, and that if you add a pinch of salt to the cookies you’re baking it’d make it sweeter. 

You’d taught him that Chinese legend. The red thread. 

“It is like an invisible red cord or thread which connects you to that one person you’re destined to meet, your true love,” you had told him. “In China it’s around your ankle, I believe… In Japan, male’s thumb and the female's little fingers, and in Korea are both little fingers.” 

He’d once, jokingly but not really wrapped around both of your pinkies a red thread. 

“I made it visible, see?” He had said. 

“You’re an idiot,” you had chuckled. 

“What happens if you’re apart?” He had wondered. 

“It’s supposed to bring you back together, it…” 

“Can I pull it, if I ever need you?” 

“I guess,” you chuckled. “I’m not sure.” 

“Can it break?” He asked. 

“I… don’t know,” you had confessed with fear.

Because you didn’t know. Maybe yours had been broken. 

But you kept teaching him things, and he kept teaching you other things. You’d also taught him not to never mistake salt for sugar to add to your tea. 

“They’re both a white powder I thought-” 

“Yeah I can think of more white powders that would’ve also gotten us in trouble.” 

You’d taught him that as long as you were his and he was yours, you’d shine as bright as stars. He’d shown you how to say ‘I love you’ to someone for the first time. Because you had, when you least had expected it, just about a weeks after you’d first dated. 

You wanted to order something for dinner, that one night, he was on his laptop ordering food,  you were cuddled against him reading who knows what. 

“Is it weird I want more fortune cookies? Would you be weirded out if someone was asking for more fortune cookies?” He had asked. 

You chuckled. “To get more fortune?” 

“To get more cookies, darling,” he had grinned. “Can’t be more fortunate than this, I am dating you, ain’t I?” 

“Very fortunate” you chuckled as he was ordering. 

“How much food would I have to order for them to send us like ten cookies?” He asked, mostly to himself. 

You laughed, “why don’t you bake them yourself?” 

“We both know we suck at baking, baby,” he reminded you as he kept adding food to the cart. “Besides we wouldn’t get the fortune paper thing, I like those as book separators.” 

He did use them as book separators and liked to randomly leave them on your nightstand  

“Why do you want them? We could buy them next week at the supermarket 

“They’re so good, darling and it’s not the same, they’re not fate then.” 

You only smiled, watching him. 

“Why don’t they sell like… the cookies?” He asked again. 

“They do—“

“No, not but like at the restaurants because they choose which ones to give you, that is fate,”  he continued. “Or like… Okay is this enough food so they think we are like ten  people here? Like if I order enough food they’ll send it to us, right?” He kept rambling to himself. “Like okay, we’d have to eat this for a while but baby look at the bright side we’d have more cookies and that would make me happy because I like the cookies, plus I wouldn’t steal your notes to use as a book separator and we could have like enough fortune things to… I don’t know wrap presents with.” 

And it had come out, so easily, “I love you,” you’d said without thinking about it, interrupting his rambling. You’d felt it for long enough, first time you’d ever kissed him  but somehow you’d never said it. 

And he had stopped worrying for the cookies suddenly, as he only looked at you, he hadn’t been prepared. He had only opened his mouth with surprise. He wasn’t as hungry anymore. 

“I--” he hadn’t said it back. 

“No, I’m sorry, no, no I’m sorry,” you gulped and sat up to get away. “No I didn’t--No, I don’t… I mean, no, yeah I do, I’m… Look you don’t have to… say it…I don’t love—No, I do, I do—“

He had smiled and took a deep breath, with surprise. 

You walked away. “No, baby, sorry—Tom, I’m sorry you don’t have to say anything I’ll just—Yeah.” 

You had tried to walk away but he had tackled you from behind, and turned you around to kiss you in his very way.  “I love you, too.” 

And the food had eventually arrived after kissing for god knows how long and you remembered opening that one fortune cookie. 

“Love, because is the only true adventure.” 

And it had been. The greatest adventure of your life, and it hadn’t been one of those crazy adventures. It had been small, but great. Good enough He’d forgotten one thing, he’d never shown you how to get over him. How to live without him. 

And you had said it, how it would never be too late for him to come back. He wouldn’t, you know. But he knew it, you’d always have each other. 

You had read about twin flames. How the compatibility and energy is so strong, so, so strong, so meant to be.  An intense soul connection, sometimes called a "mirror soul," thought to be a person's other half.  A same soul. And at times it did feel like it. 

But it doesn’t have to be forever. 

It should’ve been, though. 

But Tom was easily scared, and maybe he’d felt like his life with you would be forever, and you didn’t blame him for being scared. Finding the love of your life doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll have to spend your whole life with them. 

“I’m always going to love you,” he had said. You knew he wouldn’t. 

But he’d never leave your heart or your mind, no matter what, day, noon, midnight. He was always there, but he had moved on. Or had he, really? 

He hadn’t. But both of you had a very different version of the relationship. He had waited for you at that willow tree, you’d waited for him at that café. And it had been like that for a while, both of you waiting at the wrong place, at the wrong time. 

He did miss you, very, very much and he also couldn’t get over you. You didn’t know, but even when he was dating this other girl he kept going back to you. He had kept his promise, he would always love you. With every cell, with every bone on his body. With his entire soul, because it felt like it was missing its other half. 

He had stopped burning when he was apart from you. No light, no nothing.

Because everything led back to you, everything was about you. And he had bumped into you several more times, you hadn’t seen him, but he’d seen you walking in the rain, and he’d seen you when he stared at himself in the mirror. He saw you in every fortune cookie he ate, or in every book separator he found. He had felt incomplete when he wasn’t with you. 

And after you’d broken up, Tom had felt incredibly numb and sad, your pain combined with his. He’d always wondered why that happened how he knew how you were feeling, a hunch he’d say. 

He’d always have a song stuck in his head, and he’d be thinking of you at the most random times. He’d always expect to find your lipstick stain on his mugs 

He always wanted to call, he never did though. But he was there, even if you didn’t notice. Like how he’d randomly send you a coffee with your friends, asking them not to tell you it came from him, or how if he ever walked by your place, he’d clean the dust from the mailbox because he knew how much you hated when it got dirty. How he had become friends with that guy from the Chinese place you liked to order from and he’d told him to always give you extra fortune cookies.

Tom wasn’t the same when he was apart from you, he hadn’t slept, he hadn’t smiled. But he did see one bright thing because it felt like he was being pulled back to you. 

He regretted breaking up because he’d been too scared to admit you were on the other side of the string. He feared it could break. But he was also scared that he would become the person he was before you, and how you probably wouldn’t like who he was before that. 

He also didn’t believe in soulmates, until you came. Because he thought And he thought your connection was too strong to be a simple soulmate. His soul and yours were one. 

But he’d left because he had to learn the last lesson, the one lesson you couldn’t technically teach him, and that lesson could only be taught by missing you. And damn, did he miss you. 

Because no one was you, no one knew his smile like you did and no one could read him like you. Your perfume still lingered and he missed your toothbrush in his bathroom. He missed having to get your hair out of his face when you were asleep. He missed the way you’d leave your books around his house or the way that he heard you sing the wrong lyrics. Tom missed the way you’d kiss his temple when you woke up earlier than him and how you always covered him with blankets. Tom missed looking into your eyes and making you laugh by making a stupid joke, knowing you’d be the only one laughing. 

He missed having you around at parties, when all of his friends were talking about things he didn’t like and he looked for you to give you that one knowing look but you weren’t there. He missed you when he got drunk, he missed you when you he woke up, when he wanted to run to you and kiss your cheek from behind. When he wanted to watch a bad movie and laugh at it, he’d miss you all the time. 

Tom was gone, yes. But Tom was gone because he wasn’t with you, and he couldn’t be himself again. How could he after you? 

Was there life after love? 

And eventually he’d seen you, always running into you but not letting you see him because he knew it would hurt you, it hurt him too. But how many times had his shoulder not bumped into yours without you noticing because your head was low. Or how many times had he not heard your laugh across the room and seen you. You were everywhere. 

And he didn’t know why he couldn’t get the courage like that one first time when he’d first asked to sit with you, that one time when he’d first kissed you. No other pair of lips deserved to be kissed after he had kissed you. 

And life was pulling him back to you but he didn’t know if you’d take him. He was scared that you had moved on, but something told him you couldn’t. He somehow knew that you still loved him because he loved you too. 

So he’d sit there, under that willow tree waiting for you to come back. But he was always running out of time, always having elsewhere to be. Because no one ever has time. 

You did, too, always rushing and that’s why you never saw him. Until today, with that mug in your hands, watching people, couples. Soulmates. And there you were, at that cafe, waiting for him to come, near that one park with the willow tree where you’d first kissed. 

Wishing he would come. 

But life is a strange thing, and maybe it had been the fact that the foam on your cappuccino had spoken to you, or the fact that you’d still kept that one fortune paper on the back of your phone, hidden underneath the case, or the fact that you had almost poured salt into your coffee instead of sugar, or maybe it had been  that thread around your finger or maybe a coincidence by itself, but somehow you’d left that café that day, willing to go to that willow tree for the first time.

Because no one ever truly has time, but he had pulled the string. 

tagging some other people who might like this: tag list   @spidxrparkxr​ @mukesnugget @anxiousdesignerdancerbandlover​ @happywolves81   @happywolves81 @applenter @silver-winter-wolf    @applenter @claredolphinbear24​ @bookgirlunicorn​   @tomshufflepuff @avengersgirllorianna​ @nevertoofarfromivar @saintlavrents​ @herofiennestiffinashardinscott.  @tomzfrog @dark-infernal-instruments​ @awkwardfangirl2014 @spideysimpossiblegirl  @tomzfrog  @xapham @awkwardfangirl2014​ @xapham @tomhollandisagod @xapham​ @laurfangirl424 @vintageroses1014516 @cinnamon-roll-peter​   @the-lost-fairy-tale @the-lost-fairy-tale @lala-florez​ @lala-florez​    @ilcveyou3000 @xxtomxo @socorroann​ @muffinmari25   @cassindeansass  @rogers-obsessed-barnes-curious​ @southsidespideyy @southsidespideyy​ @nathaliabakes​ @nathaliabakes​ @embrace-themagic @embrace-themagic​ @sanniegirl1214 @sanniegirl1214​  @softholand @fairytaleparker @underooling​ @griff1ndor @griff1ndor @thatweirdomimic​ @avengersgirllorianna​ @reginalaufeyson-holmes @better-daisy @yeahimcrying @allmonstersxarehuman @spider-manholland @better-daisy​ @itstaskeen @georiaang @sebxstianbarnes @kissingtrutharchives  @snoopy3000 @prettymessygurl @spideyparkerstark @fanfic-4-you @lexshead @officiallyunofficialperson​ @mannien @whitewolfandthefox​ @melodiclovesong @bizzlepotter​ @bizzlepotter​  @localfangirlx @acceptance07 @witchythingscore @witchythingscore @swaggyspiderman @localfangirlx​  @queengemsworld @liberty0123 @stiles-banshees @itsjusttor @stretchkingblog97 @annathesillyfriend @itsjusttor​ @tomshufflepuff @thewayilookatbacon @petersdiaries @emjaywrites @emjaywrites @thewayilookatbacon​ @jungeunave @emjaywrites​ @ispiderdudei @ispiderdudei @literalfsngirltrash @quacksonhq​ @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes​ @desir-ae @desir-ae​ @desir-ae​ @peterporkpie @peterporkpie​ @smolpeachees @thenoddingbunny-blog @quackeroos @quackeroos​ @spideyyeet @astoldbydanid @astoldbydanid @hollandcreep @hollandcreep @astoldbydanid​ @hollandcreep @rebekkah4766 @farfromtommy  @rubberducky-jrr @oh-whatabeautiful-parker​ @coveredinthemessimade​  @shameless-self-promo-of-a-shrub @sweetiesangster​ @thatdamjoke​ @annathesillyfriend @annathesillyfriend​ @witchythingscore​ @witchythingscore @bookworm06  @bookworm06  @lala-florez @lala-florez @chaoticpete @bookworm06​ @peeterparkr @chaoticpete @shezzalocked​ @cosmichollands-blog @frenchfrostpudding @badbitchydecisions @w4ybefor3nir4na jj @saintlavrents @americaswritings @ilovepeterparker13 @lukesbabylon @lukesbabylon @iamaunicorn4704 @simple-things @simple-things @sip-portteam  @herondale-snow-carstairs @tony-starks-ego @quaksonhehe0 @stargazerholland @marvelslut-musicalnerd @hotrubycrab @sovereignparker @peter-parker-tony-stank-trash @belleknows @mysticalinsomniac @nycparkers @nycparkers @anythingthaticareabout @spn-assemble-seven @tanyalooovesyou @somethingchaotic  @heartofholland @peachybloomss @youcompletemesk @emyla3305 @emyla3305–butt  @hollandstanevans @farfromtommy @farfromtommy @southbeachfeeling @eridanuswave @tonguetiedholland @wolvesofthewinter @quacksonobrien @dcnerd98 @ifntelyinspirit @electraheart-3174 @julialucena5 @itsmilamawson @harryssuckz @harryssuckz @xstarbae @xstarbae @xstarbae @peterbparkerrwrites   @averyfosterthoughts @darethedragonknights  @hannahholland1811 @justanamesstuff @emyla3305 @abbiefangirls247 @onewithnomightypowers @itscaminow @youllbmineandillbeyoursbabelove @hotrubycrab  @spidey-holland-96 @awkwardnesshabitat @geminiparkers@primadonnasdream @slytherinambitious @maybecharming @where-art-thau-romeo @viagracex @viagracex @sspidermanss @pcterparxer @whatevshollandarchive @aleyabee @aleyabee @lovewolfspirit @viagracex  @xallyouneedislovexx @panicattheeverywherekid  @pcterparxer @thehauntingofmymind @redhoodparker @redhoodparker @cakepopcriss @allthisfortommy @aleyabee @perspectiveparker @let-me-luve-you @xxpeachyxo @m-a-r-i-n-t-p @superstarchick @notjustpenandpaper @morbiddanvers @runaway3 @runaway3 @runaway3  @lu-morningstar @th0ttie4tommy @riasaurusrex @riasaurusrex @frustratingpaperclip @readheadwriter @geesquariid @noxceleste @noxceleste   @peterparker-rickybowen-mybabies @witchything @peterporkpie @bookworm06 @panicattheeverywherekid @imthefloor @ohmyquackson @seaveyheartful @wangtan-boys @obiwanownsmyass @sadisticfries @not-some-docile-teenager @galaxystern08 @lovemarvelousfics @tomzfrog @calsthomas @thearchersupremacy @nikitajackson @dayazenn @the-fandom-life-forever @just-kickin-ass @quaksonhehe @dummiesshort @samaratheweirdo @fr3akingphantrash @i-love-superhero @mandeeleebeebee @captainamirica @dramaticdiva @halparkebitch @uglypastels​ 

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Cheryl//you can’t go through life trying not to get hurt

Request: So can I ask for a cheryl x reader where r does everything to make cheryl happy and just being supportive of her?

hey! i kind of got just a little bit carried away with this. but i think i pulled it back! i hope you like it! also, i know the title is an archie quote but i don’t really care because it fits and i like it! plus, they’re both red-heads so what’s really the difference? 

- We know Cheryl hasn’t had the best life 

- Her entire family and everything to do with it is tainted

- So for a long while, she thinks she’s tainted to

- And when she meets you 

- On a rainy Friday night, sat by Sweetwater River

- With your hair plastered to your face and the brightest smile she’s ever seen 

- She knows she has to stay away from you

- Because anybody who can be that happy sat in the pouring rain 

- Is somebody too pure for her 

- So she turns around and heads back to her car 

- Deciding that if she wants to be alone, she can just do it at home

- But then she hears it

- Your voice

- So soft, but so demanding 

- And you’re calling her name 

- Her name has never sounded so pretty 

- Even if it is coming from a complete stranger, who’s staring at such a dark place like its the most beautiful thing in the world

- ‘yea-yeah?’

- Her confidence slips for just a few seconds and its purely down to the way you’re looking at her 

- Like she’s filled with magic and wonder and mystery 

- A mystery you’re going to solve 

- Spoiler alert...you do

- ‘come sit’ You pat the rock beside you and she glances warily between you and it 

- It may have stopped raining but that rock is still very wet and she’s wearing a new skirt 

- ‘oh come on. live a little’ Your eyes sparkle as you speak 

- She eventually concedes and sits beside you

- Now she just has to make sure she doesn’t give too much away 

- Never let anyone else in

- Its the mantra she’s been repeating for as long as she can remember 

- This time she’s going to stick to it 

- Spoiler alert...she doesn’t

- Because thats easier said than done when a pretty girl is asking her questions 

- Or just paying attention to her tbh

- So she asks you questions instead 

- ‘how do you know who i am?’ 

- Normally she’d be afraid of a complete stranger who knew her name

- But this time, she’s just curious 

- She wants to know who you are 

- Why you’re in Riverdale?

- How has a town so full of dark secrets and awful people managed to capture you?

- She’s expecting a long winded explanation about how you just moved from a big city

- Because lets be real, thats the only place she can picture you living 

- But instead you just laugh 

- Such a light, unexpected laugh

- And now she’s unsure of what to say 

- What do you say to that?

- ‘i know a lot about a lot’ 

- ‘wow’ She mutters 

- She couldn’t help it 

- She is Cheryl Blossom after all 

- She can’t been seen as anything other than a bitch 

- But when she see’s the flash of hurt in your eyes 

- She can’t help but feel even more like the worst person in the world 

- She mumbles a quick apology and looks at the river instead 

- ‘its fine.’ You shrug. ‘you’ve been through a lot’ 

- ‘how do you know?’ 

- ‘i just do. but you will be okay cheryl, and don’t worry, you could never taint anything. i don’t think you’re capable of even leaving a trace of something bad.’ 

- She really wants to say something 

- But what the hell do you say to that? 

- And when she turns to face you, hoping the right words will find their way somehow 

- You’ve vanished 

- For a split second she thinks you’re a ghost 

- Its not the first time she’s had full on conversations with the dead 

- But then she hears a thud

- Followed by a groan and a small ‘ow’ 

- And it makes her laugh 

- Like properly laugh 

- The first she has in a while 

- She watches you stand and give her an awkward wave before actually disappearing 

- For the rest of the weekend you’re the only thing she can think of 

- By the time Monday rolls around she’s determined to find you 

- It can’t be hard 

- You’ve got to be a new student

- And Betty gives tours to all the newbies 

- She’ll just ask her 

- Thats easier said than done though

- She tried looking for her cousin before classes started 

- She even came in early 

- But no luck 

- So she has to wait until lunch time 

- And that makes her worry 

- By lunch time, you could have been told literally everything about her 

- How her brother was murdered by her father 

- How awful her mother is 

- She was almost assaulted 

- She attempted suicide 

- And she joined a cult 

- Just to name a few 

- Riverdale High is a breeding ground for rumours 

- Usually created by her 

- But they spread fast around here

- When lunch time rolls around, she’s sure you’re going to know how much of a train-wreck she actually is 

- Despite all of that though 

- Something inside her wills her to ask Betty about you 

- She then goes on to describe everything she remembers about you 

- Maybe in a little too much detail 

- ‘she had sparkly y/e/c eyes’ 

- ‘and y/c/h hair that framed her face in just the nicest way’ 

- ‘and her smile...it was wonderful’ 

- ‘...right. did you get a name?’

- ‘if i got her name do you really think i would be here right now?’ 

- ‘che-’ Betty is cut off by someone calling her name 

- The sound of it making Cheryl feel like she can’t breathe 

- She knows that voice 

- Even Betty’s name sounds nice when coming from her 

- From you

- But hold on

- You’re hugging Betty 

- Thats way too friendly for someone you’ve only known for half a day 

- ‘hi cheryl’ Your wave is less awkward than it was on Friday night, but your smile is just as cheerful as you look at the red head. 

- Okay, now she definitely doesn’t know what to say

- Betty quickly puts two and two together and smirk appears on her lips as she looks between the two of you 

- She has known about your small crush on Cheryl for a while 

- So she decides to help you out 

- ‘what were you saying about y/n’s smile? it was amazing? no! wonderful!’ 

- ‘shut up betty. i think your boyfriend wants you’ 

- She’s practically shooing Betty away and she mutters something under her breath but walks away anyway 

- Once she’s gone, Cheryl turns back to you and just stares at you 

- ‘so, you go here?’ 

- ‘yep?’ 

- ‘how long?’ She really doesn’t want to know the answer 

- ‘as long as you have’ You don’t seem annoyed when she looks at you 

- The opposite in fact

- You kind of look amused 

- ‘how have i not noticed you?’ 

- ‘you’ve been pre-occupied I suppose’ 

- ‘how can i make it up to you?’ 

- ‘notice me’ 

- ‘i’ve definitely already done that.’

- ‘take me to pops then’ 

- She never wanted to do something more

- But she’s torn 

- She wants to say no. To keep you safe from her and everything that come with being involved with a Blossom 

- But the way you’re looking at her makes her knees weak and her head dizzy 

- So she says yes 

- And its the best decision she’s ever made

- At first you take it slow 

- She’s been hurt before 

- And she’s hurt other 

- But something that makes it easier is the fact that you already know everything about her 

- Even if you were in the background during most of it 

- She’s so excited to get to know you

- One of the first things she learns is how you’ll do anything to make the people you love happy 

- Especially her 

- She’s quite literally never met anybody like you 

- You’re just so supportive of her 

- Nobody has ever treated her like that 

- So at first she doesn’t really know what to do 

- But then she remembers the night you met 

- And how you were so kind to her 

- Even though she didn’t know who you were 

- And she slowly starts to get used to it

- In return she learns how to be more supportive of others

- Something her friends are incredibly grateful for 

- To the actual supporting/happy bit because I kind of got a bit carried away 

- Whenever she’s sad 

- Whether it be because she’s missing Jason 

- Her mom/other family members have made an unwelcome appearance in her life 

- Someone has been rude to her 

- Or she’s just sad

- You will do literally anything and everything to make her smile 

- Cuddles? Hell yeah! 

- She wants to stay in bed all day? That sounds like an amazing day.

- She wants to watch her favourite film/tv show? Definitely

- ‘where do you keep your dvd’s?’ 

- ‘what century are you living in? you know there is a thing called the internet.’ 

- She wants her favourite food from Pops? You’re already out the door 

- You’ll go for drives around town while she tells you stories of her and Jason 

- Or you’ll let her teach your archery or some other weird hobby she has 

- Plus, you’ll tell her all the stupid jokes you know 

- Usually she laughs more out of pity than humour

- But it still counts 

- ‘sure it does babe’ 

- And if someone has made her angry 

- It doesn’t really take much

- But you’re working on it 

- You are 100% behind her if she wants to ruin their life (in moderation) 

- You go along with whatever crazy plan/scheme she’s though of that week

- She wants to start a business? Where do you sign? This is the best idea ever 

- Steal something from somebody thats wronged her? Where is the best place to buy spy-wear 

- Create a little chaos? You’ve already got three ideas planned out you just need her approval

- Its not just silly things either 

- She decides she wants to go to therapy (everybody in this town needs it, including Pop). You’ll go with her and wait outside of every single session if she wants you to. 

- You usually spend the time googling how to help her (she just thinks you spend the entire time on Instagram) 

- She wants to properly cut off her family (with the exception of Nana Rose and the twins). You 100% support her if thats what she wants

- As your relationship grows, so does your support 

- She’s literally never felt more loved than when she’s with you 

- And you make it a mission to make her feel like this for the rest of her life 

- Spoiler alert...you do

support my writing! if you want! 

[sugaxela]

AN ACCIDENTAL FIC REC LIST

So.. I’m a lurker who reads a lot of fics and I get annoyed when I can’t relocate my fave ones. I started making this list of my faves mostly for myself but then figured I’d share it...

I’m Yoongi biased and gravitate towards angst fics so it’s mostly that but there’s fics for every member tossed in here. Some of these are pretty popular so you might have seen a few. 

Also, I realized I need to read more Jin, Jimin, and Hoseok fics so if you have recommendations let me know!

Once again it’s a LOT of angst so I would just like to say... CRYING IS GOOD FOR U.

***

KSJ

Start Anew - @gukyi

Seokjin x Reader. Angst. Summary: it’s been five years since you left your hometown, vowing never to return, but a simple invitation to a christmas party and a yearning to know whether or not you’re truly over the heartbreak you left behind has you wondering if, maybe, the christmas spirit and promise of a new beginning can change your mind.

No Limit - @sailorbellewrites

Seokjin x Reader. Fluff. Summary: you and jungkook don’t even look alike. how was seokjin supposed to know you were off limits?

Lovely Little Mess - @guksheart

Seokjin x Reader. Fluff, smut. Summary: telling seokjin of your pregnancy should not be so daunting, but you hide it  as long as you can—at least until you are sitting with him in a bathtub and the secret comes spilling out. 

No Parking - @jungshookz

Seokjin x Reader. Fluff. Summary: “to the asswipe who owns this mini cooper - do you know how to read signs? this is a no-parking zone. no. parking. zone. that means you are not allowed to park in this zone. DO NOT park here.” (also I made up the title bc it doesn’t have one)

MYG

Seasons Change - @taetaesbaebaepsae

Yoongi x Reader. Angst. Summary: Min Yoongi and you, through the seasons, break up and come back together. Nobody said love was easy.

I’ll Float Away - @ppersonna

Yoongi x Reader. Angst. Summary: years after the breakup, yoongi, a successful award-winning rapper with an unhealthy addiction, finds your wedding invite on Facebook.

Memory Lane - @hayjeon

Yoongi x Reader. Fluff. Summary: grumpy husband yoongi au aka lots of fluff (mentions of sex)

Do It Again - @kimnjss

Yoongi x Reader. Angst. Summary: months after deciding to end their three year long relationship, a sex tape hits the internet. fans go wild speculating that rap star, min yoongi and aspiring model, yn are the stars. old feelings arise as the couple try to figure out a way out of this.

Cuddles and Kittycats - @dinoyoongi

Yoongi x Reader. Fluff, angst. Summary: After a night of drinking, you go to Yoongi’s dorm for some quality cuddles. Unfortunately, you’ve forgotten that you are currently giving him the silent treatment.

Overstayed Welcome - @kkaep-jjjang

Yoongi x Reader - Fluff, smut. Summary: Y/N decides to get over her crush by getting under someone else. Sounds fool proof right? Wrong.

Ghosted - @bloomsuga

Yoongi x Reader. SM AU. Summary: your new roommate is everything you could ask for: quiet, never makes messes, a killer dry sense of humor... and oh yeah—he’s dead.

Wildest Moments - @joonbird

Yoongi x Reader. Angst. Summary: “Min Yoongi is forbidden territory. And although you both know better, the two of you just can’t seem to stay apart.”

Romance is Dead - @dinoyoongi

Yoongi x Reader. Angst, fluff. Summary: You try to surprise Yoongi with a night full of romance but he manages to ruin all of your plans.

Fools Rush In - @sailorbellewrites

Yoongi x Reader. Drabble series. Summary: min yoongi, music executive and perpetual bachelor, marries a las vegas stripper he’s only known for six months. chaos ensues.

Pretend - @gimmesumsuga

Yoongi x Reader. Angst. Summary: “You know what they say: the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, right?” 

Aquiver - @floralseokjin

Yoongi x Reader. Idol AU. Summary: Yoongi can’t remember the last time he was able to successfully bring himself to the point of orgasm, then Namjoon gives him a business card advertising ‘Healing Hands’, and that’s where he meets you; pretty and innocent looking, who gets paid to provide hand jobs for a living…

Hidden Stars - @jungblue

Yoongi x Reader, Jungkook x Reader. Angst. Summary: It started out simple, but when your feelings start to grow for the idol who isn’t allowed to date, things get complicated.

Talk To Me - @btsrpp

Yoongi x Reader. Fluff, angstyish. No summary. But it involves a silent treatment.

No Title - @jungxk

Yoongi x Widow!Reader. Angst. No summary.

JHS

Hobi’s Girl - @v-hope

Hoseok x Reader. SM Au. Summary: after attending a bts concert and very clearly catching one of the members’ attention, you can’t help but get flooded with hate comments once people find your twitter account. who would’ve thought that would be the reason jung hoseok would find his concert girl, too.

Bloom - @jungxk

Hoseok x Reader. Smut. Summary: you’ve always had a crush on hobi and he’s always handled that gently. what he can’t handle is you now, nine years later. 

Blue Side - @minyoongone

Hoseok x Reader. SM AU. Summary: when you get a text from a heartbroken boy who you mistake for your ex

KNJ

Confirm or Deny - @dinoyoongi

Namjoon x Reader. Angst. Summary: You’re a member of the rising group FRNZEE. You’ve been dating Namjoon for years when Dispatch releases an article exposing your relationship. Your company confirms the relationship. Big Hit denies it.

You’ve Got That - @mikrksmos

Namjoon x Reader. Angst. Summary: After making a life-changing decision for your career, you’re unsure of how exactly to bring it up to your boyfriend after your relationship and communication has not really been in sync. Namjoon is ready to take this relationship to the next stage, and he is sure that what he needs to ask you will be the solution to all the problems you have been having. Both know this next move is the right idea, but are unaware of how parallel those ideas really are.

Duck and Cover - @versigny

Namjoon x Reader. Fluff. Summary: There were two things you never dreamed would become your biggest worries with your new job: Kim Namjoon, and that god damn camera.

Inked - @1997jk

Namjoon x Reader. heavy angst, slow burn, soulmate au. (no summary).

Try Me - @jjkfire

Namjoon x Reader. Fluff. Summary: You wanted nothing more than to leave behind your old self when you graduated from high school and moved on to college to play rugby but when you see your high school classmate, resident fuckboy and captain, Kim Namjoon, at the rugby department orientation, you feel like everything might fall apart.

Stitches - @glassbangtan

Namjoon x Reader. Angst. Summary: People always said getting married at a young age was a mistake - could they have been right?

All In - @kookiesjoonies

Namjoon x Reader. SM AU. Summary: you aren’t usually one to give out your number to strangers (let alone customers), but after you start talking to Namjoon and getting to know him, you decide that there’s no way you’re going to let him leave without it. however, he fails to mention that he’s one of the most popular rappers in South Korea. and it just so happens that one of your best friends ends up with an extra ticket to one of his shows. 

PJM

Come Home to Me Darling - @roses-ruby

Jimin x Reader. Angst. Summary: Jimin cheats and you try to make him stay. But whatever you do, it’s never enough.

Attention and Care - @your-daily-biaswrecking

Jimin x Reader. Fluff, angstish. Summary: Jimin must be the only person in the world who complains about his girlfriend not complaining... When Amy doesn't pester him to come home early (like the rest of the members) he starts thinking she might not care for him as much.

Daisies - @silverlightqueen

Jimin x Reader. SM AU. Summary: You’ve had a long-running feud with fellow idol Park Jimin, saving all the anger and bitterness for the yearly award shows and shooting each other a few dirty looks, not bowing when you walk past each other, or just generally throwing shade. After one particularly obvious encounter between the two of you, the fans start to notice, just in time for The Rose Tour!

Doubt - @heartkook

Jimin x Reader. Fluff, angst. Summary: Jimin gets jealous of your relationship with Jungkook, and needs reassuring that he’s the only one you love.

KTH

Of Lace and Lust - @hobidreams

Taehyung x Reader. Smut. Summary: friendship rule number one: don’t imagine how amazing your best friend’s cock would feel inside you. except that’s all you can think about after accidentally discovering taehyung’s kink for panties. specifically, the lacy ones you’re so fond of wearing. 

Queen Cobra - @fantasybangtan

Taehyung x Reader. Gang AU. Summary: when your boss offers the chance to take down the nation’s most lucrative gang from the inside out, you know you’ll do it no matter what the cost… even if that means entering an arranged marriage with the kingpin himself.

See You - @gimmesumsuga

Taehyung x Reader. Smut. Summary: The one where Taehyung notices you at a concert, and can't help but want to see you again.

Who Cares? - @floralseokjin

Taehyung x OC. Angst. Summary: what happens when Taehyung falls for someone who’s already taken? Can he control his feelings or will they take over and render him powerless? In the end is it all her fault or his…?

Color of Your Shirt - @firebettercallnct

Taehyung x Reader. SM AU. Summary: when you're close to your soulmate your shirt changes to their favorite color. yn hates taehyung's favorite color.

JJK

Comfort Inn Ending - @joonbird

Jungkook x Reader. Angst. Summary: “It was you who Jungkook gave his heart to- that is, until the day you broke it. And it is you now, hoping that some faultlines can be repaired, and that some broken hearts can be put back together again.”

After I Left You - @latetaektalk

Jungkook x Reader. Angst. Summary: “when you decided to meet up with taehyung for dinner to reconnect, you didn’t expect to see jungkook, your ex, on a date with his current girlfriend and not to mention, end up fake dating taehyung.”

Rattled - @gukslut

Jungkook x Reader. Genre: Single dad AU, Angst, Healing, E2L, F2L, Smut. (no summary)

Risk It - @kookiesjoonies

Jungkook x Reader. Sm Au. Summary: a drunken text ends with you wrapped up in the arms of your ex-boyfriend. aka the man that you dumped two years prior, after he refused to marry you. suddenly, all of the feelings that you’d seemingly had buried come rushing back up to the surface, and you’re not sure how long you can ignore them.

Damn the Delivery Boy - @deerguk

Jungkook x Reader. Fluff. Summary: Jeon Jeongguk is a computer science major working as a pizza delivery boy, and you are an uninspired published author who has just started an art degree. When you realise that the delivery boy is your old high school crush, he keeps coming back, but with more to offer than just puff pastry and vegetarian supreme. Though little did he know that he would end up giving you something much more that flips both of your worlds completely upside down in the form of two blue lines and nine months.

One Thing Right - @hobios

Jungkook x Reader. Angst, fluff. Summary: desperate to get your ailing mother into the best care possible, you ask your childhood friend turned enemy to marry you for his health insurance benefits. the only problem is it’s illegal. and he’s the sheriff. and you swore to hate him since the day he broke your best friend’s heart.

Hidden Stars - @jungblue

Jungkook x Reader, Yoongi x Reader. Angst. Summary: It started out simple, but when your feelings start to grow for the idol who isn’t allowed to date, things get complicated. 

Tamped - @chimoona

Jungkook x Reader. Smut, fluff. Summary: You and your business partner/best friend Jin have struggled to find good help to run your coffee shop. Employee after employee, it just never worked out. However, Jungkook is determined to impress and deliver. He wants this more than ever, and it always feels good to want something. To need, well, that’s even better.

Strawberry Kisses - @kimnjss

Jungkook x Reader. SM AU. Summary: an online dating app pairs him with the perfect girl. the two quickly start falling for each other and when things are getting good, he finds out she’s his best friend’s little sister.

Crush - @jungxk

Jungkook x Reader. Fluff, light angst. No summary, amnesiac jk.

Look Alive - @jamaisjoons

Jungkook x Reader. Angst. Summary: a year after you and jungkook break up, the two of you meet at your brother’s party.

***

I got a lot of these from some fic rec master lists.

Here’s a namjoon angst master list by @bts-ficrecs

Also this bts fic rec list by @platinumjeon

An infidelity list by @hellreads

Fic-Recs by @joonapeach

Top fics compilation by @xjoonchildx

There’s more but I’ll add those when I find them, and I’ll either update this list or make a new one when I have enough new fics.

[pitaparka]

keepin’ busy

request: 5. “I know a few ways we could keep busy…” 19. “Pornhub is giving away free premium right now you perv. Get away from me.” 20. “That’s a dangerous game to play if we’re gonna be stuck with each other for the next four weeks.” with Frank Castle? idk how many prompts per request we're meant to send so I picked my fave 3

summary: frank’s been a lot more… tense, since quarantine started. whether that’s because he’s not taking his rage out on bad guys late at night or because he’s stuck in your house without a little privacy? that’s anyone’s guess… 

pairings: frank castle x reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: suggestive content, frank has nice hands ;) 

a/n: if only we could go back to a time where we all thought we were getting like, eight weeks off… hah…haha…hahaha…whew… on a less depressing note, jon bernthal is really fucking hot. pretty pretty please send in some requests for my boy frankie :( i love him so much. If you’ve had any ideas floating around you’d like to see written out to completion, now’s the perfect time to see it happen! maybe some smut, or fluff, or angst, or anything really… big love <3

He wasn’t supposed to be staying with you. But apartment hunting when your face has been all over the news recently as one of America’s Most Wanted criminals in the state of New York is kind of hard to do, not to mention when there’s a global pandemic going on. You knew first hand, apartment hunting was hard enough as is. At first, you didn’t really notice him. He would always be out going on runs, exercising in the basement in order to not disturb any neighbors, and guarding the streets at night, like a vigilante cop. Soon, he was staying home more than he was patrolling. Frank still got out from time to time, but it was hard to catch bad guys when they were at home, drinking and sleeping and waiting to be able to go back to causing trouble again.

You hadn’t touched anyone in weeks. You were starving for affection of any kind. You missed hugging your friends, awkward cheek kisses from your family, even shaking hands with strangers at this rate. What you wouldn’t give for a nice firm handshake… 

It was driving you crazy. Frank on the other hand, was making the most out of his time stuck in your apartment. He had recently gotten into a netflix show, you had noticed, which was just one of the luxuries exposed to him during the pandemic. He strummed on your old guitar, the one you barely played anymore, if at all. It was a surprise to hear, but you knew from the familiar sounds of tuning and plucking strings that it was not coming from the television. It was a nice thing to see, him hunched over on your couch, guitar case open on the floor, fiddling with the capo for a song he knew by heart. It was nice he could let his guard down a little bit. He was even learning how to cook, and could make a mean fettuccine alfredo for the two of you. 

Frank was a very domestic man outside of his nightly routine of making New York a cleaner place to live. 

Nights were different now. You two sat together on the couch, your head on his shoulder, dozing off against him as he tried to clue you in on what was happening. It was a gangster show, but that was the only thing you gleaned from his run down. 

“I bet you were a mafia man in a past life,” you said, breaking the silence between the two of you. He tore his gaze from the television.

“What?” he said, smiling down at you. You didn’t look away from the TV, but continued.

“Like, a mafia boss or something. Yeah, I can see that.” “Where is this comin’ from?” he asks.

You hum as you imagine it, ignoring his question. 

“You’re weird,” he comments, and he puts his legs up on the coffee table.

“You can see?” he asks, and his feet are in the way of the screen but you’re not really watching it anyway, so you nod your head against his shoulder. He moves his arm behind your head and rubs your shoulder softly before resting it over the arm of the couch. You readjust yourself, head on his thigh, curling up into Frank. It became easier to listen to his breathing when he turned the volume down a bit, fully aware of you on his lap. It didn’t take long before you dozed off, but when you woke up, you were in your bedroom, shrouded in darkness, covered carefully by a comforter. 

OVER the course of the coming week, the two of you get closer. You’d even become invested in the show he’d started watching. 

With your closeness, you hadn’t noticed you started touching Frank a lot more. 

Nothing you wouldn’t do to your other friends. It was mainly just laying your head on his, playing old hand games you remembered from your childhood, and petting the back of his neck. It was absent minded, and it was only because he had shown you how to cut his hair with his old beard clippers. When asked about why you would run your hands over the prickly surface, you explained it felt nice, and that you had the right to admire your handiwork. 

Later into the quarantine you ordered a palmistry book, and since nobody else was around, you asked Frank to read his palms. He of course was hesitant, but did as you asked, handing over his right hand for you to examine. His nails were nicely trimmed, you noticed immediately. The tips of his fingers were calloused, as were his palms, the skin cracked under harsh and constant use. He held the flashlight from your phone as you read from the book and bent and pulled at the taut skin there. You read him his diagnosis, and he said it was all bullshit, like astrology. You just think he didn’t like being labelled as a dreamer. 

It really only heated up when you asked for the massage.

You said it as a joke, but Frank was by your side, rolling his eyes and pushing up the sleeves on his black Henley before you looked up at him.

“Oh shit, you’re actually gonna do it?” You mused, flipping yourself over. Very briefly you were self conscious of your lounge shorts and novelty shirt that was a size too big. But just for a second, because then Frank was straddling your back, considerately resting most of his weight on his knees, kneading your shoulders with his big hands. His palms work the knots out and you breathe a little lighter as he trails downward, pressing hard into your lower back. It makes you moan a little bit, but if he hears you, he doesn't acknowledge it. He takes precious time down there, all fingers and knuckles and palms, pushing hard into your soft skin, almost like he’s done this before. 

You feel him back up off of you, and you note the lack of contact, making you open your eyes for a second. His thumbs push and pull the soft flesh of your calves. It’s only moments before they move softly up your thigh, sending shivers down your back. He goes just a smidgen too high for comfort. It makes your heart jump into your throat, and you wriggle out from his grip.

“Pornhub is giving away free premium right now, you perv. Get away from me,” you say playfully, smile on your face. It’s not contagious.

“I thought that’s what you wanted?” He spoke, confused. Your brows furrowed.

“What?”

“You’ve been doing little things all week like that… ‘thought you wanted me to… God, never mind. I’m just… I’m sorry,” he apologizes, and stands up from the couch. 

You’re dumbfounded. You don’t know what to do. But you know you don’t want him to leave.

“What?” you respond again, this time with even more confusion.

“Don’t worry about it, you’re fine,” he says, making his way down the hall. Did he mean what he said? Did he say what he meant?

You stood up hastily to follow him, tripping over your own feet in pursuit. His hand is on the door handle to your office, which had since been converted into a room for Frank, complete with luxuries such as a pull out futon and fast internet speeds (thanks to the router being in there).

“Frank,” you said, stopping at the beginning of the hallway. You watched his hand grip the knob. His shoulders rise and fall with his breathing.

“I…” you start, but don’t know where to go. What to say. You’re confused, and you don’t want him to be upset. Not even at you, just in general. You can’t stand the lack of contact with the outside world already. It would suck to be alienated by your… roommate? If you could even call him that.

“What is this?” you say, and he spins around to look at you. 

Now it’s his turn to be confused.

“What?” he questions, and his shoulders are squared and tense.

“Where is this coming from? I mean… yeah, but… me?”

His brows are furrowed and he squints at you suspiciously.

“You?” He questions.

“I guess quarantine is taking a toll on everyone, and you can’t really see anyone else… do you… do you really want…”

“Do I really want what?”

You could barely look at him, eyes tracing the wood patterns in the floor and the door behind him. 

“Do you want that, Frank?” You ask. Your eyes meet his.

“Do I want what?” He asks again, irritated. You sigh gently, and your feet move on their own accord, anticipation and worry festering where your heart should be. He watches you come to him.

You stand in front of him, your feet almost touching, your hands by your side.

His eyes are dark in the dimly lit hallway. His gaze is intense.

You reach your hand out to him, taking one of his hands in yours and squeezing it, pulling it closer to you. He moves his head closer to yours, tentatively stopping within centimetres of your lips.

Then he’s on top of you, pushing his lips into yours, unyielding and feverish. His hand comes up to cup the nape of your neck and you breathe heavily into the kiss, softening under his touch. 

He pulls away, and you’re panting with the intensity of it.

“That’s new,” you say, backing up slightly. He smiles mischievously.

“We can take it slow.”

THE television in your room is smaller than the one in the living room, and has remained largely unused since Frank moved in. 

It’s nice to have Frank in bed with you. There are flashes of color bouncing off the walls of your dark bedroom. It’s not Frank’s mafia show tonight. It’s the news.

“It’s crazy out there,” you interrupt. “Never seen anything like it.”

Andrew Cuomo is on screen, making important announcements about the state of New York, when he changes your whole outlook in just a few words.

Statewide shutdown ends May 15th, adding another month on top of your quarantine with Frank. A lot longer than you had originally anticipated.

“That’s... two whole months, huh?” He ponders, your back pressed up against his chest in your bed.

“I know a few ways we could keep busy…” you suggested, tracing patterns up his arm. You tilted your head up to look at him.

“That’s a dangerous game to play if we’re going to be stuck with each other for the next few weeks,” he spoke quietly, tension thick in the air. He was so close you could feel his breath on your lips. 

His hand cups your chin and throat, and you swallow hard, gaze unwavering. You lick your lips inadvertently. 

He comes in even closer, and envelopes you in a soft kiss. Frank being a sweet lover, you never would have guessed. Your skull is cradled in his big hands, and it makes you notice how vulnerable you are to him. Your neck exposed, bodies pressed against each other in a hot passion. His lips are a little rougher down other parts of your body, but his hands are always soft and firm, touching and squeezing and dragging his fingertips down your stomach. He’s painstakingly slow with it, and it makes your breath hitch in your throat. What a tease. He knows what he’s doing to you, and it drives you crazy. It would be a long night. 

Frank knows how to take care of a partner, too. Only in his case, it’s not bandaging and stitching. It’s much, much more pleasant.

[ayellowcurtain]

(maybe) cute prompt for Sobbe: a meet cute in the subway, where Robbe, tired after a day in uni, gets in, doesn't get a seat cause there's just enough people for a few people to have to stand (but not extremely crowded, you know??) but at some point the train stops abruptly, and Robbe, who was busy on his phone or something and not holding on to the metal bar, stumbles back and almost falls and oops, guess who's arms catch him *winks*

would u be able to write something about celebrity!robbe?? I’ve seen a few fics with celebrity!sander and would love to see the roles reversed

Sander knew what he was getting himself into. He saw the big numbers on Robbe’s instagram page, but he never cared about it, never pictured the amount of people that number meant.

He wanted Robbe. Easy as that. He was falling for a guy that happened to be a big instagramer or whatever. And Robbe wanted him. So it was a very easy decision for him to buy a train ticket and go to Belgium. When he was a child he always hated coming here to visit his grandparents and now here he is. Back because of a cute boy.

They talked a lot through messages during the past month. On his good, confident days, Sander would even say they flirted a lot, but it was all still very new. And it was completely different being face to face now. Sander was nervous to fuck things up and Robbe was quiet, quieter than what was expected.

It was a really bad idea to come, it’s too soon. He’s not that into you. You two are still strangers, you should have waited.

Sander looks down at the dirty floor of the train station. Robbe is to his right, busy with his phone and they are not talking, just awkwardly waiting for the train side by side.

He thinks making an excuse, any excuse would do, for him to turn back around, go to the other platform and get another train back home. If they didn’t talk ever again, at least it would be easier to let go through social media.

But before he can gather the courage to run away and never look back, the train slows down into the station and stops in front of them, the door right where Robbe was standing, waiting, texting nonstop.

A few people walk out and Robbe automatically moved to the side to let the walk to their next destinations. He was so closed he almost stepped on Sander’s feet without realizing. Once their path was clear, Robbe moved forward, getting inside and Sander followed him.

It’s ironic, he thinks, how they met through social media - and followers they had in common - and now Sander is dreaming about grabbing Robbe’s phone from his hand and throwing down the rails, hearing the screen breaking into a million pieces as the train starts moving.

Once the real train starts to carefully move back into motion, even the gentle shaking of their wagon makes Sander shake his head, holding the metal bar in front of him, quietly looking up, back to watching Robbe through his lashes to not get caught staring.

He thinks about grabbing his phone and texting Robbe like they do on some cliche movies, asking for attention, but that’s the worst idea. It’s Robbe’s job, he’s probably doing something important. And it’s supposedly a short train ride. Sander knows it because he and Robbe were texting while they were both on their trains to go meet each other a few hours ago. Robbe rented a place for them to stay for the week while Sander was visiting.

Sander remembers how excited he was when he got those texts. Some pictures of the cabin even. He got all the butterflies flying inside his body with the thought of having a whole week with Robbe and nobody else. And now he’s scared he’ll be stuck with a cute boy that can barely look at him.

He bites the inside of his cheek, still watching Robbe now scrolling down the screen. He had so many different scenarios on his daydreams about this week. About kissing Robbe and looking at him in person and about talking to him for hours. On his more desperate hours, late at night, he thought about swimming naked with him, flirting, dirty talking if Robbe is into that kind of stuff.

He thought about the most mundane things, just sharing a small space with Robbe during summer, cooking, cleaning, falling in love.

The train stops abruptly and Sander is thrown out of his thoughts and back to reality quickly. He’s holding Robbe by his arm to keep the boy from falling. Robbe’s phone is on the ground, screen first.

Sander can’t tell but by the way everyone around is looking from them to the phone, he has a feeling it’s clear the phone is broken. Maybe it made a noise that Sander didn’t hear while daydreaming.

“Shit...” he whispers and lets go of Robbe’s arm once the train is back to normally moving like a turtle. Robbe grabs his phone and turns it in his hand. He and Sander are constantly standing very close together so Sander can also see how the screen is shattered. At first, he’s scared their week away is ruined.

Robbe needs his phone to work and maybe he’ll want to go back home to buy a new one or send his to repair. Maybe Robbe will be in the worst mood possible.

Robbe’s brown, soft, warm, doe eyes are finally on Sander, seeing him. He doesn’t look that angry.

“I’m sorry.” Sander says, even though it wasn’t his fault the phone is now useless.

Robbe laughs and Sander smiles without having a reason.

Sander started following Robbe and sent him a message because Robbe had the softest, warmest energy even through photos and Sander couldn’t help but feel so mesmerized by it.

He wants to kiss him so badly. He told Robbe that one or two times through text, but this moment, finally looking at each other makes everything so real.

“It’s not your fault,” Robbe tells him and Sander smiles because he had forgotten how his voice sounded. They exchanged very few, shy words when they met at the train station. And then Robbe got busy.

“You want to go back...? We can reschedule the trip if you want.” Robbe frowns, his eyes still looking very deep inside Sander, staring at him. Sander wants to keep Robbe entertained enough to have his eyes looking at him for as long as Robbe wants to do it.

“No, of course not!” Sander has to step back to give Robbe enough space, leaning against the bar while he opens his backpack in front of him, carefully putting his broken phone inside a pocket, “It doesn’t matter anyway. There’s no wi-fi in the cabin.”

Sander looks up again, was busy staring at Robbe’s long fingers closing his backpack for a second, and Robbe is looking at him too, moving to stand up again, holding the bar this time.

There’s no wi-fi. No internet or phone for a week. It’s just me and you.

[romanceforransom]

There was a writer!sander fic that i started a little while ago but didn’t know where to go with it. So, I decided to post it here 🤷‍♀️

I might continue it...? idk. but let me know what you think :) 

I ran into my local bookshop, the bell notifying my entrance as I swung open the heavy wooden door.

I had made sure to set my alarm extra early for that morning, giving myself enough time to get there before I had to make my way to work. There was a book that I had been waiting what felt like years for, and I wanted to pick it up as soon as humanly possible.

“Has it come?” I asked excitedly, rushing over to the front desk and locking eyes with an amused Zoë

She was used to my erratic behaviour by now, becoming desensitised to my hyperactive persona that I don whenever a new book comes out.

Not that I do it with every book. Of course, I love most things that come out, burying my nose in anything that I possibly can. But nothing gets me quite as excited as the books by Earthling Oddity.

Nobody knew this unknown author’s real name, or what they looked like. The air of mystery obviously created a lot of hype, gaining them a lot of followers trying to crack the code and reveal the hidden identity. What really made them popular, though, was the magical way they created stories.

I was always completely enraptured by the words written on the pages. Becoming engrossed in the fictional world they created and riding out the waves of emotions that came with the storylines.

They had come out with a new book recently, a new addition to one of their series, and I had been patiently (except not really. Unless pacing up and down the flat and checking my phone constantly for updates was considered as being patient) for it to be delivered to my bookstore.

“It’s here” Zoë replied, sounding amused “I reserved one for you, even though I knew you would be the first one in here today”

She reached underneath the desk and produced the long-awaited book

I stared at it in awe, admiring the bright colours and detailed art on the front cover.

“Wow” I breathed out, smiling

“You looking forward to reading it?”

I tore my eyes away from the book and looked up at her, squinting my eyes slightly “Seriously? I have been counting down the days for this book! Of course, I’m looking forward to finally being one step closer to unravelling the mystery that lies between the pages…”

She chuckled as I lifted my hand to tenderly stroke the front cover “Should I leave you two alone?”

“No, that’s ok” I said, picking it up and placing it gently in my backpack “I have to get going anyway”

“Ok, well keep me updated on it!”

I walked backward towards the door, grinning “Hourly updates are a given”

***

“Why are you carrying your bag so carefully?” Jana asked me curiously as I got to work

I had placed it gently on the ground in the back room with my coat, not wanting to damage the valuable contents lying inside of it.

“Seriously Jana? It’s got the book that I’ve been waiting months for”

Realisation washed over her face. I had been talking her ear off about it for a number of shifts. The amount of information she had actually been listening to and retaining would forever be a mystery, but she let me talk all the time without much judgement so that was the main thing.

“Aah ok, that makes more sense”

I pulled my apron over my head “What did you think was in there?”

She shrugged as she went back to stacking food in the display case “Judging by the way you were handling it, I thought for sure there was a bomb in there”

I shook my head at her amusedly “So your co-worker has a bomb, and you don’t do a thing to stop it? The least you could have done was taken my bag”

“We have a full shift ahead of us, Robbe” she deadpanned “Excuse me for not having much pep right now. I want to move as little as possible and retain the small amount of energy I have stored. Wrestling a bomb from you would probably take everything I had”

“Oh, come on. Shifts here aren’t that bad”

She raised her eyebrows at me “Go out all night drinking before our next shift and then tell me that again”

We both worked at a coffee shop in town. I actually quite enjoyed it. Being able to chat with people and brighten their day with coffee and cakes was a nice feeling.

Of course, it wasn’t something I wanted to do forever. Film making was my passion, the thing that I aspired to do in the future. Maybe even make some adaptations of Earthling’s books. Who knows? But, for now at least, I had to make do with making drinks.

Unlike me, Jana really did not like her job. She liked interacting with the customers, being the social butterfly she is, but the part where she actually had to serve and clean was never really something she enjoyed doing.

If I got paid every time she moaned when cleaning down the tables, there would be no need for this job. I would be rolling in money. She always claimed that it was manual labour, and she was going to sue the company for it. It did make me wonder what she thought would happen when she signed up for the job, but I never dared ask as she was always in a mood. It was best not to make things worse and just nod along.

“So, that book you have” she said “That’s the one with the mystery author, right?”

I nodded “Yep, they use a pen name. Lots of people have obviously tried to step forward and claim to be the author but the real one has yet to be revealed. If they ever will be. Fame isn’t for everyone, so I wouldn’t blame them for keeping hidden and basking silently in the glory of their writing”

“Aren’t you curious about who it is?” she asked me

“Well, yeah” I replied “I have always wondered who it is. I would love to be able to properly give my gratitude to the person that created such wonderful books… but I wouldn’t go out of my way to try and drag someone into the spotlight that doesn’t want to be there”

Many people on the internet have been trying to do exactly that. I have never understood why. Sure, you want to be the one to solve this giant question. But if it involves having to invade someone’s private life and tear down all the security and boundaries, they have built around them in order to remain anonymous, why would you want to do that?

What does revealing a random stranger’s identity add to your life? Nothing. It wouldn’t make you best friends with this person. In fact, you would probably end up as public enemy number one. Snooping in other people’s business isn’t cute, it’s creepy. Especially when they go out of their way to hide it.

The customers began flooding in. People coming in for their takeaway cups of coffee to beat away the morning tiredness. Monday’s were always especially bad. The weekend always wipes people out. Combining that with five days left of work looming over their head, a constant reminder of the seemingly never-ending week ahead of them, anyone would be exhausted.

Then, after a while, I spotted a familiar head of bleach blonde head of hair among the crowd out the corner of my eye.

“Robbe” I heard Jana hiss beside me as I continued making drinks for the awaiting customers “He’s here!”

Sander was a regular at the shop. He would always come in with an easy smile on his face and instantly brighten my day.

He was one of the most beautiful people I had ever laid my eyes on. Not only that, but he was also incredibly kind. Always dishing out compliments and making conversation with us while he patiently waited for his order. He has even defended us a couple of times when customers have been rowdy and impatient during the rush hours. Sander was just an all-round saint.

Jana knew that I had a small crush on him. I never told her outright, but she saw the way my face lit up whenever he was around and joined the dots herself.

I waited until he got to the front of the line and greeted him with a shy smile, trying not to blush like I normally did

“Hey, Robbe!” he said, grinning “How are you this morning?”

“I’m good” I squeaked “Will it be your usual, today?”

Ok, so maybe small crush was a bit of an understatement. He always seemed to make me tongue tied and act like a complete idiot. Which was a great way to act in front of someone you want to impress.

He nodded “You know me so well. Either that or I am in here too often”

“Nonsense!” Jana called to him “We love having you in here, Sander… some more than others” she muttered under breath, meaning only for me to hear it

As I was making his drink (a chocolate mocha – which was basically just a fancy coffee with chocolate, always with whipped cream on top) he leaned against the counter, making light conversation with Jana and me. He never seemed aware that we were at work and that he might be holding up the queue. Not that there were many of them at that moment. He had come just at the right time, most of the people filing out and going to their jobs.

“So, did that book come that you were talking about?” he asked me

“Um, yeah” I was surprised he remembered. I had made an offhand remark about it a few weeks back. But then, he always did seem to pick up on small details like that often “I got it this morning before I came to work. The first thing I’m going to do when I get out of here is run home to read it”

“Really?” he said, sounding faintly surprised “You are that eager to read it?”

I turned towards him, placing the steaming cup of coffee on the tray next to the croissant Jana got for him.

“Well, I’ve been waiting for it for so long… it takes priority over everything else as far as I’m concerned”

“You know Robbe” Jana said teasingly from beside me, jabbing me lightly in the side “forever a bookworm”

Sander smiled as he picked up the tray from the counter “When I come back, you’ll have to tell me how you’re finding it”

Just as I was about to reply, Jana jumped in “He’ll only have good things to say. He’s obsessed with this author, won’t shut up about them. It’s kind of annoying actually”

He smirked “Maybe I’ll have to check them out”

“You should!” I told him enthusiastically “Their works are amazing. Even if you aren’t really into reading, this person can have you drawn in with just a page of their writing”

“I don’t doubt that, I’m sure you have impeccable taste” Sander said, winking at me

He often did that but even after weeks of seeing it, I was still blown away each time. He always seemed to take my breath away without even trying.

Sander made his way over to a table, placing his tray down and taking out his small black notebook as normal. It was his daily routine and moved like clockwork every time. I don’t think there has been a single day he has come in when he hasn’t been scribbling away dedicatedly in there, pen moving furiously across the paper.

I was always curious about what he was doing in it, but never dared ask. It could be something deeply personal and private, I wouldn’t want to invade his comfort zone like that.

He was in his own world when he wrote. As soon as the book was opened it was like a protective bubble opened up around him, blocking out anyone and everything from his work. If we wanted to ask if he wanted a refill or anything else to eat, it would take a few tries to get his attention. Sander manages to block it out so easily.

Although it was a similar thing when I read. It was like escaping to another realm where nobody could reach you. Like a haven that you could take shelter in and escape from all your problems, if only for a short amount of time.

[iprefertheterminsane]

What I should be doing; Updating my current BFU/GoMens fanfic

What I am doing instead; drafting an entirely NEW BFU/GOMens fanfic

Here it is;

Story Idea:

BFU*Good Omens, but make it scary.

The Unsolved Crew are trying to return to the airport after a successful hunt in London. Shane suggests they follow a scenic route of no discernible town. They somehow find themselves in a town that is not on the GPS maps with weird vibes and, surprise surprise, their rental breaks down. They have all watched enough horror thrillers to know all the cliché-est plot points. What lives in Devil's Dyke? Are the Them serial killers? Is Warlock going to betray them? Shane and TJ are probably going to die. But most importantly; What does it all have to do with Ryan?

-This is Shyan centric. On their way back to the airport, Shane suggests the crew take a scenic route down South Downs on their way back from London with the promise of a beautiful lake. The London shoots had been rife with sexual tension, and Shane does not want the moment to end.

-They find themselves driving into a town instead, suburbania and quaint. The townsfolk frown at them as they pass by. RP Tyler straddles his barking poodle. They obviously don't like newcomers.

-The rental breaks down. The cliche Ness starts to dawn on them

-"Hahaha, next we'll find out this place doesn't have line!"

-There is no line. They all glare at Mark.

-In a fit of nervousness, Ryan starts offline vlogging. Shane suggests they go into town to ask for someone to call the two service and find someplace with line. Surely SOMEONE will recognize them.

-But strangers look away and walk faster away when they approach. Whoever they manage to start scowling or fidgeting, and none of them seems to recognize the duo. Some even claim to know only faintly of YouTube. It's getting unreal. They do not seem to be joking, and get only more upset whenever the Crew tries to convince or tell them otherwise. It is finally pushing dusk. The Crew stops by a beautiful park. There is no one around, but a young boy, who has a look in his eyes they find relief in: recognition.

-His name is Warlock Dowling, and he showed them a copy of his birth certificate to prove it, claiming that it happens often enough that he has to resort doing so. It's so fucking cliche it hurts. Ryan hates this movie already.

-But Warlock is the son of an American Ambassador who lives in the UK, and thus, likely the only child who seems to recognize them and their YouTube Channel. He is not a big fan, but it's a whole site better than literally everyone else. South Downs is a bedtime story, he claims. It's perfect in the way all the towns in children storybooks are perfect. Nobody plays the internet in a storybook town. It is not a prank. Devon is skeptical.

-Warlock invites them to go to the Ambassador's house a little ways down the airbase near the back of the town, (what kind of horror path will they take? Thought Ryan. Both feel like equally bad ideas.) but they decide to go tomorrow. He directs them to a bed and breakfast instead. All the rooms look the same. The lady barely looks up as she hands them their keys. There is electricity in the rooms, meaning they could charge their appliances. For naught of anything better to do, they are filming this entire experience. They somehow convince themselves that Shane is going to die because Ryan is evidently the Protagonist, and since Shane is his Best Friend, he is either going to betray them or die in a heroic act sacrificing himself for Ryan. In a fit of panic, Ryan tells Shane he has a crush on him. Which is great and sweet and all, but now REALLY seals the deal in because now Shane is a love interest instead. Hasnt Ryan heard of the bury your Gays trope?

-"I knew you guys were gonna end up gay" "what why." "they have to kill SOMEONE off and none of us are black and Ryan s the protagonist."

-They don't find Warlock in the park the next day, and are forced to look for him themselves. Walking of course. They find out about the satanic nunnery that caught on fire on a cafe because the waitress explains that they have to pass through that and the abandoned airbase in the back of the town to get to the villa on foot. They all sigh in exhausted manner, not much in the mood for dying.

-Trudge they do anyway. Nowhere out but through.

-The old satanic nunnery is....not abandoned

-They rush inside and find that it is a company teamwork support organization, and they give out paintball sessions. There is electricity. There is a line, even if the company wasnt currently in season. They try to find a worker.

-They find her. Sister Mary is haggard and busy running an entire company and booking sessions all by herself. She is in turns dismissive and annoyed to moderately tolerant....up until she learns of Ryan's name

-She suddenly wants nothing to do with any of them, practically shoving them out her door and face sheet white, mumbling about being busy and how it wasn't personal. The door slams in their faces. Ryan looks like he is about to cry. Shane snaps.

-He breaks the door down, to the shouts of surprise from the rest of the crew, and announces, with the loud, arrogant nonchalance of a white man, that he is not going to budge until she tells them everything they want to know about Lower Tadfield, the South Downs and yknow the fuck what? Neither will Ryan. The rest of the Crew follow his example and dig their heels in, pretending to film her for good measure. They are counting on the fact that she does not have security, and that even if she calls the cops on them, the building is far too suburbania to find very quickly. Mary looks absolutely terrified, and refuses to look Ryan in the eye. She eventually gives in, on the account that they will soon leave immediately.

-The find out that she was an ex convent of the Chattering Order of St. Berryl's, a satanic nunnery. She came back because she had been born here, and oddly enough, the convent meant something to her. A good dozen of the Satanists died due to a lightning storm catching the nunnery on fire the night two babies had been born, and three left through the gates. She's never been afraid of Lower Tadfield. Nothing ever happens here. They don't buy it, but it's apparent she believes what she is saying.

-They demand to use the present line to call for another rental, cancel their airport tickets, etcetera etcetera, emphasizing that they are excited about leaving just as much as she does. With this promise, she allows them to do so.

--They manage to get their raw footage to Cloud and cancel their tickets but just as they are about to call for a new car, the lights start flickering. The building rumbles. Mary looks straight at Ryan and tells them to run. They grab each other s hands and does so.

-There halfway down the road when TJ yelps, and Devon announces they are being chased by something. They decide to run into the woods down further down south to lose it.

-It is dusk. Nobody is happy. At least everyone is alive though, which is something. Ryan remarks that the chase scenes in the movies are exactly as tiring as they make it out to be.

-Mark hears running water, and the Crew finds an occupied cottage on the shoreline of the sea. Their sighs are loud; both relieved and annoyed. Mark starts chanting/praying that they are not serial killers. Shane announces that everyone must be ready to leave at a moments notice, and sleep in the woods of they must, to everyone's agreement.

-The man who opens the door wears glasses and low slung jeans, eyebrow raised rudely. His husband, blonde and plump, tells him to let them come in, and that it is nearly dinner. They are gracious hosts-old enough to be someone's grandparents. Cute and domestic as well. Shane goes strangely quiet when the couple dances in the living room, and Ryan chalks it up to their romantic relationship, for which they share talks. There are unoccupied rooms they could bunk in-five; each of them reserved for the couple's godkids. Despite getting their own rooms, Ryan cuddles with Shane. He is oddly tense, at least until they start making out.

-Ryan wakes at night to voices in his ear, and decides to get a glass of something to drink. Shane is out cold. He finds TJ in the kitchen, looking at his phone. It is a picture of his family-Kate and their daughter. This is hugely concerning, as it is a surefire telltale that TJ might not make it. Ryan promises him they'll get back home. TJ clasps him on the back and tells him not to make promises he can't keep.

-Shane wakes the crew at 4 am and tells them, quietly, to pack up and leave for town. He had found a map, and determined the way to navigate. They are confused but obliging. They do not wake their hosts-in fact, Shane seems to want to make sure they leave without their knowledge. They find their way back into Tadfield by 8.30 am, and it is only as they are having bfast that Shane tells them that there is no tech but the radio-which isn't plugged in. The water runs, but the pipes underneath the sink are not attached to anything. Crowley does not eat, and his eyes were....weird. Too many red flags. And as he searched the room for maps before Ryan came into his room the night before, he had found a crumpled poker card of the Antichrist, and Devon admits to finding one of War, a horseman of the Apocalypse, in hers. Mark taps his fork anxiously, and his eyes spell out what they all could tell. The climax is soon.

- It is not until Ryan walks and spots a bespectacled child of Warlocks age that he realizes he has barely seen any children in this town, and suggests that they follow him to ask whether he knew Warlock. The rest of the crew return to the BnB for some well deserved rest, but Shane and Ryan pursues the kid....into the forest.

-They lose him until HE found THEM. He immediately recognizes Ryan, who had to introduce his best friend Shane. Two other kids appear from between the trees. One of them, a girl, has a large wooden sword. They are surrounded. Shane grips Ryans hand, and asks, half jokingly, is they are serial killers, and if they are intending to kill him.

-The Them claims that it happened like, one time, and they do not plan to kill Shane, but their smile looks too wide to be genuine, like they are sharing a personal joke. The boys start walking away. The Them follows. Ryan asks if they know Warlock. They stop, sharing looks. Brian asks how they met Warlock. Ryan refuses to tell them . The kids get defensive, the way 13 year olds tend to get when they are about to justify doing a notable offense, like staying awake past bedtime The wind picks up, and the kids get visibly relieved. Brian tells them that Adam is coming, in a way that makes them feel like they definitely do not want to meet Adam. They scram it.

-They are being chased again. This time, when Ryan looks back, he sees what looks like a dog but isn't-like something is badly wearing the skin of a dog, like it has too many limbs to fit into four legs, a slobbering maw and hellfire eyes.

-They manage to leave the woods, and almost get hit by a three wheeled blue car. Shane bangs on the door and it opens for them, and Ryan shouts at them to step on it. It is only when they get to a quaint little cottage at the other end of the town do they acknowledge their saviours-a bespectacled, brown skinned woman and a jittery boyfriend.

-The woman is American. She recognizes them immediately, and says that she is a huge fan of True Crime. It is the most mundane , normal conversation they have for all of 2 days. They enter Jasmine Cottage. Shane slumps.

-there is a horseshoe above the door, and runes etched into the wood. The smell of incense burns strongly, and a redlined conspiracy board in a corner of the kitchen.

-The woman calls herself a professional occultist. A witch, basically. Which is...fine. She is at least honest and blasè about it, which made someone in this godforsaken town at least. Shane spots a picture of the Antichrist on her pinup board, the same one as seen in the poker card he's found in AziCrow's cottage. Anathema notices, and admits that it's complicated. They are confused, angry and terrified, and mentions their encounter with Adam, and everything else they'd had to suffer through as they are stuck in the village. Her facial emotions change from shock, to calculating, to confused, to skeptical, before finally ending In blank. She claims that it is very unlike Adam, as he usually does not go about scaring people from out of the village. He had welcomed her in just fine, and the town had followed short after. Shane asks about the Antichrist and Horsepeople symbolism. She waves that one away, claiming how it wasn't important and that 'They wouldn't believe her anyway.' She offers Meet to drive them back to their Inn, and they accept.

-They get back to the village; as they open the door to their rooms, knowing that the rest of the Crew is waiting for them, Warlock is also there. He takes a single look at them, and raises an eyebrow. They tell him what happened. Warlock frowns. Tells them the only reason they'd been hounded In such a way if Adam wants something from them, and TJ puts his face into their hands.

-They ask if they should lock the door. Warlock tells them not to bother-it won't stop him anyway. Devon asks the possibility of leaving this very night. Warlock shakes his head, but looks contemplating.

-That night, Shane gets kidnapped.

-Ryan doesn't see the culprit, but something tells him it's the Them, and the Hound, and Adam. He runs into the woods. The night is cold and still, but the trees shake like they could be alive. Ryan yells angrily into the void, asking Adam what is it that he wanted, that it's him they actually want, to let Ryan go. He faces the Hound, a slobbering, monstrous nightmare. Ryan thinks he is going to die. There is a boy sitting in a dilipidated throne above a chalk pit with blood red eyes.

-Two headlights pierce through the gloom. The trees still. The hound sits, and Crowley steps out if the Bentley.

-Aziraphale is in the car. Warlock peers over his shoulder. Crowley stomps over and tells Adam to come down-that his game is over, and it stopped being funny for quite some time. Shane stumbles out of the woods, dazed and terrified, and Ryan traps him into an embrace.

-After some chastising Adam admits that he's made a bet with Greasy Johnson in school that Demons and Ghosts are real, and that the Them had managed to convince him that it lives in the woods. He had not believed them, and made them bet that if it was really haunted, Paranormal Investigators would come and make a whole documentary about it. Warlock had showed him a few episodes of BFU, and Adam thought it perfect.

-Crowley scolds him, telling him against manipulating and keeping the Crew here against their will, and Adam looks appropriately chastened. Dawn breaks. The crew emerges from the Inn in a state of panic. Crowley pat's the van twice and it comes to life.

-Someone asked Crowley if the kids really HAD killed people. Crowley waves it away, claiming that it isn't important. In the light of morning, the kids and the dog almost looks normal.

- They decide not to prod any further. Aziraphale apologizes one last time, and tells the that they are welcome in Tadfield if they choose to come again. Ryan and Shane emphasizes that they absolutely will not, ever. Aziraphale nods like he understands. They pack the equipment and leaves the town, possibly England, forever.

-In a few days time, Adam gets an email- a video titled The Horrors of Hogsback Woods, and he grins cheekily to himself.

[amphtaminedreams]

Spring/Summer & Haute Couture Week 2021: Whoops, I’ve Missed a Loooot (Part 2)

Hey to anyone reading,

I’m so sorry for the gap between the last fashion week review post and this one! Argh. I had no idea I posted it as long ago as the beginning of March but I think we can all agree that lockdown has fucked with our perceptions of time completely. I wish I could say the delay in posting was as simple as me being busy but I’ve also started to reflect on whether or not I want to carry on this format of posts for the time being; on the scale of problems, this one is wayyy down there in the very lower quartile of the first world region, but my motivation to carry on this kind of content in the form of long-winded text posts is...meh...not so much there anymore. At first I was thinking the issue was that working on these was my last priority on my daily to-do lists but as I’ve got back into writing fiction, it’s kind of occurred to me that the fact I was putting these posts on my to-do lists in the first place along with things like doing the ironing and contacting student finance speaks volumes. When I’m back from work or winding down, opening up Tumblr and coming back to this draft isn’t something that I think of as a fun stress reliever in the way drafting stories is. It doesn’t feel like I’m using my imagination or my creativity or expressing myself in any way and it’s not much of an escape from day to day life in the way that writing dialogue or exploring characters is. Maybe it’s because I’ve done quite a few of these posts now but I just tend to feel like I’m repeating myself, you know kinda like when you’re writing an essay and trying to fill up a word count; of course there are collections that I do have a lot of opinions on but by and large, sometimes it boils down to THESE CLOTHES ARE JUST FUCKING PRETTY, OKAY?! There’s only so many things you can say about a tulle skirt or an exaggerated collar before you want to strangle yourself with said tulle. I used to think iF VoGUe RuNwaY wRitErs CaN dO iT WhAT's MY exCusE until I realised that 1). Vogue Runway writers actually get paid and 2). for the most part all they do is explain the designer's intentions behind the collections verbatim without giving a critical opinion anyway.

I think a lot of the pressure I feel to justify what are in reality quite simple observations and opinions goes back to some of the feelings I explained in my first ever fashion week review where people who know more about fashion and have a formal education in the subject tend to be kind of gatekeep-y and elitist. It can never be that you appreciate different things about a collection but rather than one of you has taste and the other doesn’t and if it wasn’t obvious, the taste level assigned to you by the powers that be tend to positively correlate with the amount of money you have available to spend on a degree that has a reputation for failing to provide a steady income, which for most makes it an unrealistic avenue to pursue. I know, I know, the pressure is totally self-inflicted and wholly imagined seeing as I have under 500 followers on here and those who do interact with these posts most likely do so for the pictures but I still feel it, and given that I’m going to have enough external pressure to write essays when I return to uni in September, why on earth am I wasting time putting it on myself? When just posting photosets of my favourite looks is not only actually enjoyable for me but is also what other people WANT to see too? Nobody wants to read a self-indulgent paragraph like this when they’re here for the clothes and to be honest, for the most part I don’t want to write them anyway unless it’s something I have strong feelings about or if a collection can only be properly appreciated with analysis. I think I’ve made pretty clear which designers I’m a fan of, do you really need to hear me raving about Gucci or Zimmerman or Miu Miu or Balenciaga again? Is there gonna be anything revolutionary in yet another rant about Maria Grazia? Course not. I mean, if you are reading, you might have to witness those things one last time because I do intend to finish off this season’s review in this format for consistency purposes and because I’ve already got all the notes now but on the whole, I doubt anyone will miss my rambles.

So, with all that in mind, I think after I finish my S/S21 posts I am gonna start just uploading these posts without the written part. I mean, for one, the simplicity of doing this means I’m much less likely to procrastinate making them which in turn means I’ll be able to get them out right after the shows as a kind of summary as opposed to months later when they’re no longer as relevant. This will also give me more time to work on the writing I actually enjoy. Right now I’m going through and editing my 17 year old self’s “grown-up” take on the Pretty Little Liars blackmail murder mystery style plot line which I wrote back when I was completely and utterly obsessed with the show and bitterly disappointed by the last couple of seasons. The writing is pretty mediocre and often hugely cringey to read back now but I am still a fan of the basic plot and I’m genuinely motivated to see if I can make it something actually worth reading, and to get onto that ASAP; this feels especially important right now given that the HBO version of the series’ apparent upcoming release has sent that ever-present writer’s fear of seeing-your-same-storyline-done-better-by-somebody-else-thus-forever-relegating-your-version-to-being-the-poor-imitation-so-you-gotta-get-there-first into overdrive (or maybe that’s just me and my neuroses). Again, it’s a totally unfounded fear based on the fact that the HBO show will probs get millions of viewers whilst I will be doing little more than shouting into the void but anybody who’s used Turnitin to submit an essay that ultimately counts for little more than like 1% of your grade or degree will know that no matter how irrelevant your work is, the concept of failing a plagiarism check, be it via a computer algorithm or one random stranger on the internet’s assessment, is enough to conjure visions of the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse galloping towards you screaming “START THE WHOLE THING AGAIN” before releasing a hoarde of 2015 Chanel vs. Walmart style comparison memes.

Now, speaking of Chanel, I should probably get back into the reviewing. 

So for the last time for a little while, here’s Christian Siriano:

Siriano’s designs are a great example of work I feel guilty enjoying. I know that when it comes to quality, the high fashion community have a lot of (negative) things to say and I really can’t speak to that because quite honestly, I know very little about textile manufacturing. Solely from my own point of view though, I do like his work a lot. I wouldn’t claim for a minute that he’s a pioneer in terms of his creations but I would 100% love to wear them and I DO hugely admire his commitment to putting women of all sizes on the runway and designing pieces that don’t simply cater to straight up and down types which is more than can be said for most brands. I get that his collections are pretty formulaic, taking what has worked for the likes of Chanel and Alessandra Rich, De La Renta and Carolina Herrera, Michael Kors too (who is kind of guilty of the same thing himself), but that’s not to say his work is bad. Let’s be real, we’ve been on this planet thousands of years, we’re all taking inspiration from someone, and maybe figures like Kors and Siriano could wait a *little* longer before taking said inspiration but their aim at the end of the day is to sell clothes, not break barriers, a task which although often left to the big name brands, they too often fail at. I’m not going to lie, I’m feeling this whimsical mid-century tea party vibe, it’s elegant and it’s cutesy and My Fair Lady-esque, and you bet your arse I would be absolutely thrilled to wear one of these looks on a summer red carpet. I just can’t say no to anything tulle-maybe it’s that I was on Toddlers & Tiaras in a past life or maybe it’s that I watched too many Barbie Princess films growing up, but I like pretty much everything going on here, especially Siriano is giving us matching fedoras too. Plus, can we take a moment to praise Siriano for his COVID relief efforts? Near the beginning of the pandemic, he turned his studio into a mask manufacturing factory in order to send them out as donations, and I think that is very cool.

Then there’s Christopher Kane who once again came through with the most insanely gorgeous prints:

I mean, paint splattering is hardly a new technique but I haven’t seen it done as a print so tastefully before-it eats the Moschino biro scribble print (which apparently was copied too speaking of the tendencies of designers to “borrow” inspiration) for breakfast. It’s shit because there weren’t many looks in this collection and they weren’t really shot in a way that does them any justice but I thought I’d include the few I saved.

Comme Des Garcons is a fave of the high fashion community and one I look forward to seeing at fashion week but can never quite get behind. I appreciate the what-the-fuckery of it all with this show totally being able to pass as a run-through of some kind of nuclear waste themed scare house at one of Thorpe Park’s fright nights. I assume given that and the plastic Mickey Mouse print it’s supposed to be some kind of reference to the part late-stage capitalism has played in the hellish landscape we find ourselves in today? Or something all intellectual? In which case I made my interpretation with farrrr too much confidence. But Anyway! Who knows! I’ll leave the analysis to the fashion students, and give it one word: trippy.

Onto Dion Lee, a brand I truly do get excited to talk about because it’s rare that I don’t LOVE his work.

Without fail, Lee manages to be confidently ahead of the curve without going out of his way to announce it and his genius to everyone with flamboyant shows and exaggerated designs and extortionate prices. He is very much an underdog in the fashion world in terms of big names but you’ll be hard pressed to find anyone who doesn’t love his collections. His S/S21 collection is one of my favourites of the bunch. I love seeing something I’ve never seen before and the palm leaf breast plate is so odd but so cool and so perfectly Dion Lee at the same time; we’ve seen jungle/tropical inspired collections sooo many times *cough cough D&G cough cough* and THIS is how you make them fresh and unique. I mean, never in a million years did I think I’d get behind the resurgence of the gladiator sandal trend but Lee has me changing my mind. This is one of the very rare times you will ever see me using this meme to praise a man but:

I mean, he has Fernanda Ly modelling for him, that the man has taste goes without saying.

Now for a bit of a full circle moment, given that I did actually praise Dior’s haute couture collection in my first ever post; Maria Grazia did GOOD. Well, with haute couture at least.

She’s always pretty hamfisted with her references, there’s no denying, with that Grecian Goddess style RTW collection typifying that statement completely, but luckily she struck gold this time round; as someone who studied the Tudors for A-level history, seeing a modern take on the exaggeratedly feminine renaissance silhouettes with the baroque prints and the deep jewell tones got me super excited especially when you throw in the dreamy tarot theming and the nods to the mystical and arcane. Seeing as the Heavenly Bodies Met Gala (I know, I know, I need to move on) was some time ago now and Cersei Lannister’s *SPOILER* been crushed by a rock (could also be seen as a metaphor for the irrelevancy David Benioff and D.B Wise condemned GoT to when they aired that shitty ending tehe) and so probably won’t be getting a collection based on her costumes any time soon, this is the only fashion take on this kind of period dress I’m going to get…and you know what? I’m okay with that. Thanks Maria, I guess?

Her RTW collection wasn’t absolutely awful either, and slightly better than the past few collections at least. Put a monkey in a room with a typewriter (or show it enough similar well-received collections) and it will eventually write something that makes sense, don’t they say? I like the nomadic feel of a lot of the looks and there’s beautiful layering going on but the aura of exotic opulence unsurprisingly didn’t stick around for long and I found that there was a decline in quality in the midsection of the show that landed a lot of the outfits in either awkward mother of the bride at a beach wedding or The Only Way is Essex Ocean Beach PLT sponsored poolside party territory. The looks picked back up a bit towards the end stretch of the show but I wasn’t a fan of the Gucci style oversized glasses which were so out of place with the rest of the theming that if anything they seemed like a cheap grab at relevancy. So yeah, a middling, subpar Etro-esque collection which is better than usual for Dior I suppose.

Next, Elie Saab, whose S/S21 collection was kinda disappointing, tbh. Oh how the turns have tabled given that positive Dior review and my usual love of Saab’s collections.

I know his dresses lose some of their appeal when we can’t see them in motion but even ON the runway I can’t see myself being dazzled by any of these pieces the way I usually am. They’re lacking the level of detail and craftsmanship I associate with the brand seemingly in favour of block colours and suits and the issue is that the whole Disney Princess fantasy has always been the appeal for me because the silhouettes aren’t interesting enough on their own. They’re not ugly pieces, they’re nice, but does nice really have a place in high fashion when the pieces are so basic in both their design and presentation that the shots could pass as ripped from a catalogue? The strongest parts of the collection were when it did go down the more delicate route with the muted blue suits and the white feather trimmed dresses, the small, ornamental gold details reminding me of a very toned down nod to Schiaparelli’s hardware, but with regards to the bright coloured pieces, I can’t lie-they did look like something you could find in the M&S Per Una holiday section. Then you’ve got the weakest parts, which were just flat out ugly: sheer giraffe print, sweat band style elasticated waits, and long chiffon shirts that I hate to admit read as frumpy. There are times where I’ve not been particularly excited by an Elie Saab collection in the past, but I do think this is the first time I’ve actively disliked parts of it.

Conversely, Erdem’s S/S21 collection was super strong, and solidified the brand’s place in my mind as a dependable source of kooky maximalism, this time round giving us  Anya Taylor Joy’s Emma wardrobe on speed. You could tell me Erdem Moralıoğlu had just raided the Bridgerton set’s fitting rooms and put it on a runway and I would 100% believe you and I mean that in a positive way because to give my unpopular opinion, the clothes were the only good thing about that show. The endearingly florid details of exaggerated bows and clashing florals were still there but this time in a way that felt more subtle and self-assured, as if the calming influence of the wooded set’d had a direct hand in the designs, giving the rugged, ethereal feel to the collection I associate with brands like Brock and Simone Rocha, all whilst keeping the parts of Erdem I’m so fond of.

Is it really much of a shock that I included pretty much every look from the Etro S/S21 show?  Like, you know that Christian idea of God, like, (the voice in my head is very much taking on the dumb valley girl voice that anybody who reads this is most probably getting too) knowing our souls? I think Veronica Etro knows mine. So no, no surprise. Though there were a few unconventional touches thrown into these looks (the campier prints and nautical theming we see with the 80s beach towel print, for example, reminded me a bit of Versace) the mystical bohemian it girl that Etro designs for would still be highly satisfied. Sure, it might be a wardrobe fit for a holiday less adventurous than backpacking but if she wanted a tropical poolside holiday, this collection is the one, the paisley print chiffon mini and maxi dresses especially. I’m just gonna pretend I don’t see the monstrosity that is leggings worn as trousers-it’s a fashion rule I refuse to abandon-because they are the only stain on an otherwise expectedly gorgeous collection.

Next, an unusually reserved RTW collection from Fendi:

More in line with the wardrobe of a European fashion editor than the glamorous trophy wife (who let’s say uses that facade as a guise to ruthlessly run her husband’s whole business empire from behind the scenes because in this house we do complex female characters only), these pieces are lot “smarter” and more professional looking than Fendi’s typical offerings; where I feel Fendi usually designs for the society girl who wouldn’t mind a front page scandal, these are the kind of outfits a young member of Monaco’s royal family would wear for a positively received but business-as-usual press tour. I know, Fendi is an Italian brand, but this is more Southern France to me. We’re talking some 2nd page shots of a Kate Middleton type on a yacht on the Riviera smiling and waving as her PR team’s ideal scenario. Still, whilst fewer exaggerated silhouettes, animal prints and overtly luxurious fabrics (real leathers, silks and furs for example) mean that the drama’s a little toned down, it’s all still very expensive looking and combines the classically feminine glamour of the past and the minimalism of modernity in the artful manner that we’re used to. Maybe it’s me being a basic bitch but I always love seeing Ashley Graham on the runway too, even if brands to tend to use her as their single token plus size model.

Kim Jones’ debut haute couture collection for Fendi, however, wasn’t a very well received one. I don’t hate it personally but I can see where the criticisms are coming from. Whilst it’s closer to the version of Fendi I’ve come to expect and there were some stunning pieces which completely encapsulated that distinctive aura of luxe and glamour, there were quite a few lazy pieces which could’ve been from any designer. I also felt the collection was a bit upstaged by what seemed to be a who’s who of the modelling world; having Bella, Cara, Kate and Naomi ALL walk in one show was a bit distracting and took the focus off the clothes completely.

Giambattista Valli’s RTW collection was gorgeous as ever; the man has undeniably mastered the art of delivering classic, objective elegance, the kind of designs I feel would make you light on your feet and smell like strawberries and cream the minute you put one on. Whilst as a brand his RTW shows are rarely trendsetting, they reliably produce a plethora of unfailingly graceful and demure pieces, as appealing to your mum and your grandma as they are to young women and little girls, and this collection is another victory lap for Valli when it comes to upholding his signature tea party and artisan cupcake making and rose garden strolling and bottomless rosé brunch appropriate aesthetic. There were a lot of outfits that were bordering on overly juvenile, with structures a little too basic to justify the amount of sequins thrown on, but when it’s good, it’s so sweet that regardless of how to formula it is, I can’t help but fall in love.

Valli’s haute couture collection was stunning too and for sure a more exciting offering than the RTW. There was of course a lot of the signature tulle but it was head-turning, over the top in a way that leant far more towards the experimental than I expected. The photos themselves are 100% believable as a some kind of Vogue behind the scenes editorial shoot on the set of live action Disney princess movie (in between takes of the climactic ball scene if you wanna get specific with the vision); if you are looking for a prettier alternative to the primary colours and disruptive shapes of a Molly Goddard collection, this is the one. It’s giving the themes of excess and abundance I associate with that of the Hunger Games Capitol but through the softer lens of a Sofia Coppola movie, and being the typical cinema loving white girl I am, I’m obviously on board with that vibe.

I did SUCH a 180 on Givency’s S/S21 collection from when I first saw it to writing a review. My initial reaction was one of disappointment, I guess simply because Givenchy has given us so many bold pieces and presentations over the last few years whereas this is more low-key. After properly considering it though as I would any other brand, I came to the conclusion that I do actually really like it. It’s still got the strange, androgynous silhouettes popping up throughout and the futuristic space-age details but with a more down-to-earth, streetwear feel, albeit a very slick, glossy spin on the trends of the rabble (that’s us guys) of course before we go believing it’s achievable. On the one hand, the devil horn accents are a touch Claire’s accessories halloween range but at the same time, done with confidence they’re kind of cool and bring something new and fun to the table in line with the dark theatre of Givenchy’s last few shows.

Now for Gucci, which for the first time I have to say, if I'm attempting objectivity, is not a standout. 

Like, can I just start by saying though the format it’s presented in is cute, it’s not ideal as a way of actually showing the collection. I get that the vintage shop bin vibe is a huge part of Gucci’s brand but polaroids make it SO hard to actually see the clothes, and that’s what we’re here for right? I don’t want to give the impression that I don’t like what I see here-the clothes are gorgeous, an idyllic ode to the off-duty wardrobes of Studio 54-ers, bohemian style icons like Charlotte Rampling and young Olivia Newton-John, psychedelic rock guitarists and the inhabitants of San Fransisco’s Haight during the late 60s and early 70s, Alessandro Michele’s favourite period of reference. I can’t pretend otherwise, or act like I wouldn’t want to wear the shit out of this collection. Buut, for Gucci? It’s a little underwhelming. These are the kind of filler looks we get in a typical Gucci show to go alongside the more statement pieces, which this collection is lacking. It’s just that these are designs which usually gets people talking and these pieces don’t do that. It sucks because for most other brands this would be a stand out collection, an immersive, luscious vignette of what people tend to think of as a cultural golden era, but when you’ve had a show that involved models carrying replicas of their own decapitated heads down the runway in the last 5 years, of course something more toned down like this is gonna generate a lot of “is that it?”s.

I owe Hermes an apology. Looking back, I have disliked all their previous collections for the same reason that I now really like this one; maybe it’s in part down to the frustration of still having to whack out the winter coat on occasion in May (fuck British weather and climate change), but suddenly I really appreciate the value of some good quality, versatile outerwear. Hermes is giving us that in spades here and for that, I bow down to them. The pieces on offer are clearly well-made and genuinely practical, and through the minimalist approach manage to retain both an air of timeless sophistication whilst also being youthful and on trend. The leather tactical vest co-ord I can easily see edged up and taking centre stage on one of those insane Seoul street style slow-mo TikToks that were big a couple of months ago and there are several pieces that could tie together a grunge influenced k-style look just as well as they could exist for years on end as the wardrobe staple of a high-powered businesswoman. Designer Nadège Vanhee-Cybulski’s strengths really come through with the simpler looks and it’s the patterned pieces that drag down an otherwise flawless collection; I guess because the aesthetic is very minimalist, the patterns can’t be anything overly decorative but unfortunately this has a bit of a dowdy effect when you pair it with such modest silhouettes. Disregarding those elements of the collection though, it was super good.

It goes without saying that Iris Van Herpen’s haute couture collection was breathtaking; if the fashion community can agree on anything, it’s that this woman’s work is consistently awe-inspiring. She captures the wonder of the universe, the biological structures and kaleidoscopic colours we don’t even register, through fashion in a way that others can only imitate, to mesmerising, truly transcendent effect; I can only assume Van Herpen has mother nature whispering into her ear because how the hell else do you explain her ability to take the kind of microscopic organisms they show you images of in an outdated GCSE science powerpoint and make a dress that resembles one so stunning? Care to explain, Iris? Because if there is some kind of line of communication between the two of you can you please tell the bitch I’m over this weather and that I have cute summer outfits I’m waiting to wear so can she pack this torrential rain shit in? K, thanks xoxo

See it seems shady as fuck to go from IVH to Isabel Marant like this because we are talking 2 designers with totallyyyy different approaches to fashion; Iris Van Herpen is haute couture for starters whereas Marant is commercial, and that’s her thing, but unfair comparisons aside this collection is still a bit of a let down. This is considering I do usually really like Isabel Marant collections based on whether or not I’d wear the pieces, which seems a more appropriate barometer to use to come to a quality verdict. Whilst there were a few of the elegant bohemian pieces my mind goes to when it comes to her brand, the steps outside of that comfort zone didn’t pay off; graffiti print (can be cool if done with some subtlety which apart from a few exceptions was not the case here), cheap looking reflective fabric, and MC Hammer style dungarees, it seems to be an attempt to merge 80s trends with modern urban culture, and an attempt that at times verged on the disastrous. It’s good for a brand to experiment, of course, and appeal to a wider client base than usual, but when it’s bad the unfortunate take away is that the design team don’t have the chops to pull off straying from familiar territory; designers wouldn’t be showing at fashion week if this was truly the case because disregarding the influence of nepotism, fashion is an area you need real talent, perseverance and business smarts to excel in, and so it doesn’t do a team justice when they do fail.

J.W Anderson, on the other hand, really put his best foot forward this season and presented this work in a really cool way too which only added to the positives; whilst the way the shots were edited was funky af, it didn’t detract from the actual outfits, and if we are to see the same limitations when it comes to the F/W collections being released, this is something a lot of designers and editing teams should take note of. The idiosyncratic exaggerated shapes that we see as a recurring feature of Anderon’s collections were still on show but this time round with added femininity, billowing skirts and trailing jewellery that channel the stage looks of Stevie Nicks in a way that’s modern and functional and maybe even fit for the office if you were to work in a more creative industry with a chill boss. Could also work for a coven of witches who practice meditation by bonfires in the moonlight and burn the letters of men who wronged them in some Arizonian desert, so like I said, functional! Who doesn’t like versatility? The only thing I’m not too keen on is the shoes but they’re not so bad that it affects my opinion of the collection and they look comfy I guess.

Lastly, we’ve got to talk about Jacquemus, one of the most influential names in fashion at the moment. And yes, this time round, I’m doing it: I’m buying into the hype.

This collection is gorgeousss! I can see already that a lot of the recurring elements of the show are going to be big summer trends for this year (the cut outs and strappy details on the blouses are everywhere already) even though it isn’t hot enough to have collectively decided the time to start dressing for heat is upon us yet, and that’s always a good indicator of how successful the designer was in their vision and attempts to assess the needs and wants of fashion enthusiasts; whether I’m as big a fan of his work as everyone else seems to be, there’s no denying Simon Porte Jacquemus has always excelled at this practice if the buzz around him is anything to go by. It makes sense given the last year of us all being stuck in and suppressed that a lot of us are already romanticising the summer ahead, anticipating picnics and beach days and general Theresa May running through wheat fields type shenanigans galore, in spite of how dubious an assumption it is to make that British weather will allow for this; Porte Jacquemus has very much catered to this wishful thinking and the popularity of the whole escapist “cottage core” aesthetic, sexing it up a little bit with pieces that hug the body in ways only Mugler knows how whilst being lightweight and relaxed enough to look good with windswept, sandy hair and a little dose of sunburn. I’m talking enough to give you some cutesy freckles and rosy cheeks not PSA on the importance of suncream territory, guys, what is it with those of us on the gen Z/millennial cusp not taking sun damage seriously!? Why do I have to beg so many of my friends to wear it!? Does nobody else remember those photos they’d show you in PSHE in English primary schools of burnt people’s skin under UV lights? Or is that just me being weird and only having such a vivid memory of the images because teachers told us we had to wait until year 6 to see them due they to their “graphic” nature only for my gore-loving self to be extremely underwhelmed when we finally did get that lesson? They showed us a woman giving birth in year 4 for fuck’s sake. THAT was traumatising.

Back to the actual point anyway, with just a couple of negatives, the first of which being that the pieces are very similar to those feminine looks we saw dotted about the Jacquemus menswear collection from last year that were all over fashion Twitter. In Simon Porte Jacquemus’ defence though, it makes sense that those tones and silhouettes would be revisited in a full womenswear collection for that very reason; considering they went down so well and that lockdown gave us a bit of a half-baked summer in 2020, expanding on those elements enough for a whole new collection makes good business sense. We did get some cool additions too, mainly in the form of accessories, with the hardware details on the belts similar to those included in the Givenchy collection and the abstract hair slides being standouts for me. It was all exquisite-the shoes, the jewellery, the styling, everything 10/10. My other nitpick, and I say nitpick not because it’s not important but because it’s an issue that’s hardly restricted to Jacquemus (this casting team are far from the worst offenders, Saint Laurent I’m looking at you), is that I WISH we’d see more diversity with the models. Despite what my body dysmorphia yells at me, I am small, and yet seeing all those fucking minuscule waists made me die a little inside; it’s crazy to me that in 2020 the lack of variety in body types on the runway is still such a problem.

I must have said this a million times but I don’t want to end on a negative note so let me reiterate: this collection was STUN. NING. Plus there were some others I’ve talked about in this post that I’m sure will make it into my top 20 in the final part, Jacquemus, Dion Lee and Etro for sure; we even got some gorgeous pieces from Maria Grazia which I thought was a sentence I’d never type out. Have I said enough to not leave a bad taste in the mouth of anyone who read to the end of this post? I hope so, lol! TBH, it’s impressive given everything that’s going on that the majority of designers did roll out collections in September as usual so serious respect to them and their design teams for that.

In the next post, I’ll fingers crossed be able to include everything from Kim Shui (exciting!) through to at least Off-White (actually pretty good this time?!) and make this whole thing a 4 parter before getting straight on top of the photo posts I’m thinking about doing for the time being for the F/W21 shows. So as usual, if you did read to the end thank you so much and I respect the perseverance you must have to get through all my rambling, lmao. Hope everyone is well and coping okay and again, my inbox is always open for any post suggestions, constructive criticism, or just a chat for anyone who needs a listening ear.

Big love and thank you again!

Lauren x