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soobnny · 6 months ago

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dating him | han jisung

❝ you found my heart broken and you helped me make it whole again ❞

i think you’re a second love type situation for han jisung

the one where he thought he’d never recover from his first heartbreak

but then here u come

i think han’s the type of person to feel everything

if he’s in love, he’s in LOVE

and if he’s hurt, it would just be overwhelming pain

so imagine how he was when he got his first heartbreak

he’d lose a little bit of his spark

maybe keep to himself even more than he used to

u come to his life in the form of a friend first

and han has unknowingly planted a seed that’s grown and grown and grown

with every interaction

with every laugh you’ve brought back

with every moment he was coming out of his shell again

until it’s fully bloomed into a love that’s very very real and very very present

han jisung would also love so beautifully

he knows what it’s like to be hurt, and he doesn’t ever want u to feel that same pain

he rly makes efforts

he is FULL of efforts

and he makes u laugh ☹️☹️☹️☹️

he communicates

and when the boys finally meet u, they’re very grateful but also

????!!!! why do u they know ur favorite color

and ur go-to order at the cafe

and the hoodie u like to steal from jisung the most

well turns out, han loves talking about u to his friends

they just know everything about u before even meeting u

he’d get rly shy about it but never embarrassed

he’d tell the whole world about u if he could

what else can i tell u

han jisung is just someone where nothing sounds crazy to him

so i think all ur dates with him would be so fun and adventurous lowk

amusement parks !!!!!

ice skating and roller blading

both of u would fall on ur ass

but you’d also laugh so much and somehow that makes up for everything

you’d be holding hands and skating with each other and looking at each other with lovesick smiles

I FEEL SICK!!!!!!!!

he’s always trying to impress u too

he tries to imitate figure skaters

kids don’t try this at home

ofc he fails miserably

obvious blushes when you’d tell him he was cute for trying

or when you’d praise him

anyways when i said he’s always trying to impress u i mean ALWAYS

he treats the relationship like he’s still pining after you

being the standard fr

he never lets go of the love

sometimes he’d still get shy to ask u out

somehow he doesn’t believe u actually said yes to him

he thinks he’s the luckiest boy

anyways, aside from adventurous dates, he equally values his inside time and quieter dates

he’s thankful u understand his shifts in his energy

on days u stay inside, you’d probably watch horror movies

look…. he suggests it….

it looked cool in his head to be all protective

you’d hold onto his arm when the jumpscares come

but

womp womp

he ends up being more afraid than u

and now HE’S holding ur arm

yeah it looked way cooler in his head

you’d play silly little board games together

or maybe charades

he’s so easily amused by sexual innuendos

he’s just a man guys

anyways

there are two things he loves to steal from u the most

aside from ur kisses

and it’s (1) ur perfume and (2) ur lip balm

u’d catch him putting on ur perfume just bc he wants to be surrounded by ur scent

it’s very comforting

one time, he was sick and the boys were taking care of him

and when u finally had time to take over and care for ur bf

u just …. smell ur perfume

“did you put on my perfume?”

“i missed you ☹️☹️☹️☹️”

DOWN BADDDDD

he’s so pouty and so cute

let’s suffocate him with the pillow

KIDDINGGGGGG KIDDING

and then ur lip balm

sometimes he steals the actual thing

sometimes he kisses you so he can have it on his lips too

han jisung is also the type to avail every possible couple coupon

and he’s always begging the cashiers to let u prove u’re a couple

it’s so he has an excuse to kiss you

months into dating him also means a thousand love letters

he loves writing u love letters

and u know sooner that he also writes songs

on ur anniversary, he reveals a song he’s written for you

and when he proposes, he tells u about every single one he’d ever written about you and for you

wish that were me 😂😂😂😂😂

TAKE CARE OF HIM

note. credits to user @.luvknow for the layout of this post! let me know what you think! please discuss these with me i’m crazy

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the-90s-music-colosseum · 1 year ago

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Quarterfinals, Match 2

expand to see all propaganda received! (wall of text warning oh my god this is a severe cautionary message)

Lauryn Hill:

"she paved the way and was hot as fuck the whole time"

"Girl c'mon. Look at her. You're gonna try and tell me that isn't the most beautiful and attractive person alive? Okay. You're lying but okay."

"if u freaks don't give ms. lauryn hill the respect she deserves..."

"actually one of the prettiest women ever I'm such a lesbian for her. like irl I'm already a lesbian but she is helping"

Damon Albarn:

"Don’t think Damon should be here? Why don’t you get your head checked by a jumbo jet? Maybe you’ll feel heavy metal and calm down."

"If Damon is in the “some guy” category, he’s the heavenly and heartbreaking version. Damon is the sort of significant stranger I’d see on the train out of Colchester but could never speak to, just a face seen in passing yet too radiant to be real. I’d fall in love for an hour and carry the ache for a month."

"Damon sets the standard for me. I think he’s the most fascinating man alive. What I find attractive in Damon is not just his gorgeous bone structure and boyish charm, but how wholly he’s committed himself to music. Damon is an artist who walked the walk: in one of his roughest years with some of his rawest songwriting, he said he was no longer excited by anything except the creative process. He was disillusioned with the celebrity of it all, with his relationships suffering for it, and only wanted to make art: nothing more, nothing less. He would go on to compose film scores, write operas and stage musicals, produce other artists’ records, form collectives to fulfill his passion for world music, and create some of the most globally successful music of his career in a completely innovative format that placed him as the phantom behind the characters. Whenever one band takes a break, he makes a solo record or puts together a supergroup to stay busy. He’s uniquely collaborative and still writes personal letters inviting artists to record with him, and yet can function as a one-man show, acting as a multi-instrumentalist, a singer-songwriter and a producer. He’s been a constant voice of bringing British music to the world *and* bringing world music into Britain. Sure, he’s won Brit Awards and a Grammy among others, but he also has a Guinness World Record and was named an Officer of the British Empire for his services to music; his long work with Africa Express earned him respect even from peers who’d previously dismissed him, and his commitment to support his Malian collaborators in the face of violence earned him the title of Local King in Mali. There is so much talent in the world, but there is truly no one else with a career that looks like Damon Albarn’s. Damon is far more than just a prettyboy to look nice on a magazine cover, but looks are the ultimate point of this tournament, so make no mistake: he was terribly, terribly pretty. You watch him performing in the 90s, you sift through photoshoots and interviews and documentaries, and it feels *cruel* how beautiful he was. If his talent was god-given, so was his face. To put a bow on this thesis: I don’t know if Gorillaz and Damon’s musical universe would be the experimental, globe-trotting, boundary-pushing community affair it is if Blur hadn’t become such a central figure in Britpop and if Damon had not been made such a media spectacle, and I don’t know if Damon would have been that spectacle if he wasn’t so ungodly pretty. The domino effect is that Damon’s cherubic face launched a thousand multimedia art school projects for decades to come."

"I wish I was basically any bloke in the 90s so I could tongue Damon Albarn down. Damon will see a man and ask “is anyone gonna kiss that?” and not wait for a response."

"I have a pillow with his face on it. I sleep with it every night 😊"

"“I’m more homosexual than Brett Anderson, always have been. As far as bisexuality goes, I’ve had a taste of that particular fruit, or have been tasted you might say…” is just the rawest most Shakespearean statement ever"

"he is the ultimate Pretty Boy ™. his glorious golden locks, his electric blue eyes. he is if Princess Diana was a Britpop Dude. he is the Regina George of Britpop. he is if Aphrodite took male form. Zeus would come down to earth to fuck him if he knew. he is a caffeinated orange cat let loose. he is deranged. he is unhinged. you never know what will come out of his mouth. he had sexual tension with every single man who knew him. he pulled justine fucking frischmann. his aura knows no bounds. he is a siren. he is a weird guy. but being so gorgeous stunning ethereal didn't stop him from also being one of the most prolific songwriters of his generation"

"THE MAIN BLUR"

"literally where do i even begin. i could write entire essays on this man. a good place to start would be the beetlebum music video, i suppose. i'll never forget the first time i watched that music video. something in me changed, my brain chemistry was altered, my life was never the same, i view the world a lot differently now. and a lot of the viewing i'm doing is of pictures of damon albarn's face because of boy do i have a lot of those saved. every time i try to look for a photo of something on my phone i can't find it because there's so much damon. okay that's maybe an exaggeration but this man has the most unfathomable beauty ever. his eyes? HIS EYES. god dammit i love his eyes i want to stare at them until the end of time like nothing else exists. i'm so normal about this man (lying) and while i'm usually very shameless about my interests i'm actually incredibly glad this propaganda is anonymous because otherwise. yeah. but the world deserves to see damon albarn's beauty and also hear his fantastic voice because what the fuck. his voice is literally the most gorgeous sound ever produced like bro sounds like that and expects me not to fall in love? i want this man to sing his silly songs and talk absolute nonsense to me until the sun eventually blows out and the world ends. cmon damon girlies let's demolish this tournament i know there are a lot of you."

"He’s beautiful. He’s a little rat. He’s a sweetheart. He’s a dickhead. He’s a musical genius. He’s a dumb bitch. He’s a jock. He’s a weirdo. He’s real. He’s an illusion. He’s everything. He’s just Damon."

"DAMON DAMON DAMON where do I begin oh jeez I've hyperfixated on this man for a solid 4 years and still going strong. Damon makes me wish that British people are real. That says A LOT. This man created a whole ass ANIMATED BAND WITH A SHIT TON OF LORE as a SIDE HUSTLE??? Not to mention, what other man has collaborated with Stevie Nicks, MF DOOM, Del the Funky Homosapien, Snoop Dogg, AND Beck?! People, we're literally in the presence of a god. And he's STILL GOING. Anyways, TL;DR, damon is so so so neat and cool and he should definitely win this competition. Thank you."

"Okay 90s Damon is The Perfect Boy yes yes, but the people who parrot the Daily Mail and say "he's ugly now" will never understand. I would still suck every drop from him on his deathbed."

"Vote for whoever you want to. But Damon is so pretty."

"i did not spend hours admiring this beautiful man's face on pinterest just to see him lose."

"Damon Albarn just brings me joy. When I'm watching him perform, following along as the camera lingers on and adores his pretty face, I get butterflies like I'm 15 again. It's nice to still feel that totally unguarded giddiness sometimes."

"God let the intrusive thoughts win making Damon. What if he's a beautiful blond twink with eyes like saucers and dick to his knees, he reads Herman Hesse and plays footie and is insufferable about both, he'll be the most prolific musician of his generation and write operas and seminal albums in 5 different genres and also he's gonna be the dumbest bitch alive? He'll also be kinda bi, but only kinda. And send."

"when i found out about his existence, my life was changed forever. i wish i could use him like the hannah montana boot milk pillow and chuck him at the wall so he makes a loud thud"

"Think of the drama and anon fights it'll cause if Damon wins it all! And think of how quiet it'll get after Damon's out. You'll miss him when he's gone, like memories of a noisy house years after it's grown silent. Choose Damon, and keep the messy train chugging."

"Even the Gallagher brothers have the hots for him."

"Kiss kiss I love him also you can't vote for any of the Seattle men they're literally copy and paste it's not fair. We need Brit representation"

"I want to take care of him, I want to provide for him. I need to gauge his baby blue puppy dog orbs out to I can clean them with wood varnish, paint shades of Pantone 320 C in his eyes, spray eau de parfume by dior in them and sew it back into his eyes like that scene in Toy Story 2."

"Seeing as simply filling the page with ‘Damon’ written 10000000 times isn’t going to cut it 😅 may I admit/submit: I DO have him tattooed on my being (no descriptive, is this anon?); he’s inspired somewhat unhinged late night/early morning fandom conversations in which I’ve served as ‘parish’ priest hearing confessions from all manner of folk about what they’d like to do to him/receive from him; sadly I lost an essay where I detailed why the letters that make up his name suit him so well, and described him as the hot caramel sauce to Graham’s cool vanilla ice cream. He’s a faerie princess with a nose that makes people weep and a voice that feels like the warmest home and he gives amazing hugs. He loves trains and chickens and his tuxedo cat. He’s annoying and sweet and somewhat unhinged and his music saves people and all this is on top of that fantastic dick. He’s a dream yet very real and we’re fucking blessed to be on earth at the same time as him, amen"

"Damon Albarn was a beautiful, beautiful boy. The world saw that, regardless of if every individual reading this has the same taste in men; it felt like a truth of the universe at the time. They don't make celebrities that angelic in face and erratic in personality anymore."

"I need to touch his eyebrows, nose and prostate just one time JUST ONE TIME COME ON"

#most attractive 90s musician #poll #polls #lauryn hill #fugees #damon albarn #blur #90s music #tournament

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mindfulstudyquest · 8 months ago

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❥﹒♡﹒☕﹒ 𝗯𝗲 𝘀𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗿 ( 𝗮𝗰𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 !! )

𝟭. improve your writing skills ( ✒️ )

i feel that not everyone has the perception of how important it is to know how to write. you don't have to be a poet, nor the new emily brontë, but fluid, conscious, rich writing makes the difference. really. you could write a page without saying anything at all, but if that damn page is written good and smoothly, then you can be sure that you will get extra points. take the time to improve your writing skills, the best advice i have for doing so is reading. read as much as you can. read novels (non-fiction in this case doesn't help because the content is preferred rather than the form), read contemporary authors – you don't necessarily have to read sophocles' tragedies, but read quality stuff. expand your vocabulary, your knowledge of syntax, learn to use punctuation! and then write, tell stories, write love letters, write reviews of films, books, cultural festivals, open a blog on tumblr and write to practice, reread what you write ad nauseam, until it is perfect, until the form of your essay is pulitzer prize worthy.

bonus some of my favourite authors (tell me in the comments about yours!): ian mcewan, banana yoshimoto, haruki murakami, george orwell, josé saramago, albert camus, khaled hosseini, hanya yanagihara

𝟮. develop critical thinking ( 💭 )

if you have always studied passively by absorbing information and vomiting it onto a test sheet then you have wasted your time. taking on information is not enough, you need to know how to rework it and develop your own idea about it. especially in the arts and literature one may disagree with certain information provided by a textbook. developing critical thinking is not easy, especially due to the school system that teaches us to standardize thinking. always consult all available sources on a given topic, compare them, analyze contradictions. it might be difficult and tiring – our brain spends more energy processing two conflicting pieces of information than processing two pieces of information that agree – but it will be worth it. by practicing critical thinking and improving your argumentation skills, you will not only be able to improve in your studies, becoming able to present complex topics and make interdisciplinary connections, but also in daily life, you will become much less influenced and manipulated by external information.

𝟯. find yourself an interest ( 🌷 )

it could be anything, but find an interest that excites you and you enjoy and do research about it. watch videos, documentaries, read articles. it doesn't have to be school-related, it must be an external topic that you are passionate about and that allows you to rediscover the joy of studying and learning every time school seems to suffocate it. sometimes i'm not in the mood to study for exams, so i dedicate myself to my personal research and finally find my spark, my seek for knowledge. for example, my interest is true crime, it has always fascinated me since i was little, but yours could be wild animals, makeup, comics, ships, planes, ocean flora, literally anything. there is no constraint.

𝟰. analyze your mistakes and recognize your wrongs ( 🫒 )

there is no shame in making mistakes. everyone makes mistakes, we are human, but the real sin is getting bogged down in mistakes, refusing to acknowledge them, and continuing to make them again and again. we should be continually growing, continually discovering ourselves, both intellectually and emotionally. how many of you were the "gifted kid" when you were little and then grew up into burned out high school / uni students desperately seeking academic validation? there comes a time when talent isn't enough, you have to put in the effort, and this doesn't make you less intelligent or gifted, in fact, quite the opposite. dedicating time and attention to your personal and intellectual growth also means having to ruminate on your mistakes. it's scary, but it's the most effective way if you really want to improve. take a notebook and at the end of the day reflect on the highlights and the wrongs, what you could have done better, where you would like to push forward tomorrow, what you achieved today. did you make a mistake? first ask yourself why and then look for a way to solve the problem, make every bad moment a lesson, a brick on which to build the version of you you wanto to become tomorrow.

𝟱. don't be afraid of doing researches ( 🧃 )

the amount of fake news and misinformation online is appalling. opening any app like tiktok or instagram we are inundated with information that is often (not always, but not so rarely) inaccurate. don't be afraid to conduct your own research, if you have time to mindlessly scroll through tiktok you will also have five minutes to read an article regarding that information provided. don't know the meaning of a word? look it up before using it. not sure about a piece of information? check it before using it in your argumentation. in the age of immediate access to data we have no excuse to be superficial.

𝟲. master communication ( ♟️ )

mastering communication is essential in both personal and professional realms. it's the cornerstone of building meaningful relationships, whether it's conveying ideas effectively in academia or fostering connections in the workplace. developing strong communication skills not only enhances your ability to articulate thoughts but also empowers you to listen actively, empathize with others, and resolve conflicts constructively. ultimately, honing these skills cultivates confidence, credibility, and success in all aspects of life.

𝟳. push yourself out of your comfort zone ( 🧸 )

build your confidence. confidence is uncomfortable. don't be afraid of it. you are young, this is the right time to experiment, take risks, discover who you really are. this is the best time for you to do those things that you would otherwise never do, you don't want to regret later in life that you didn't accept that scholarship, that trip abroad, that job opportunity, because you didn't feel comfortable enough. do things that take you out of your comfort zone until everything becomes your comfort zone. go on solo dates, be a social butterfly, tell the girl at the bookstore you love her t-shirt, go to the theater alone, eat at a restaurant alone, take that trip. if it goes badly, you'll only have one funny story to tell.

𝟴. stay informed about the news (but not too much!) ( 🌍 )

this might be controversial, but: stay informed about the news, just don't overdo it. personally, i am an easily influenced person and i realized that being constantly exposed to the bad things happening in the world had drained me and made me terribly depressed. don't get me wrong, you need to be informed about what's happening in the world and in your country, just being constantly surrounded by horrible news repeated ad nauseam on TV programs is of no use. be aware.

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gaywineauntsstuff · 12 days ago

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Arabic in the batfam

@leefail has gotten me obsessed with how arabic would work in the batfamily

because arabic is natively spoken by 230 million people and is taught in any muslim majority to country because its considered poor faith to recite the Quran in any other language.

its also the most inconvenient and stupidly difficult language to learn in human history.

why?

because it is a colonial language

meaning the Arab empire happened and we all switched to arabic but unlike English... there wasn't the internet for people to learn how the 'og Arabs' spoke it and Arabs didn't slaughter and replace like the puritans they just taxed and converted (slaughter optional im not ignoring north Africa but it was region specific)

so that means that arabic which has a collective vocab of about 12.1 million words as well as a nasty habit of giving 100 words the same meaning as well as assigning 1 word like 8 meanings got practiced by these arabic speaking countries differently

so certain words fell out of use or changed meaning in one country while being startlingly popular in another

it also means that a lot of arabic regions maintained their older speech patters

latinised softer letters in levant countries closer to Cyprus due to the presence of Aramaic, syrianic and latin.

harsher more guttural sounds in regions that were closer to Iran.

so what does this mean? and Why does this mean arabic is a bitch to learn

well for one you don't write in your regional dialect, you write in modern standard or fus7a which is a whole other beast. Meaning that you don't really learn to speak in school.

two the dialects are significantly different enough across the region that people who learned arabic in Lebanon won't understand people from morocco.

now we are all SUPPOSed to speak Modern Standard Arabic but you have to understand how little it is used outside of like legal jargon. so you kinda lose it once you leave Arab formal education.

Which means if you immediately default to MSA 99% of Arabs will assume you are a cop like if you know the word for government but not skirt... come on man be less obvious.

Now most us speak 1 -3 dialects and understand 9-10

me personally I speak a levantine dialect and can understand most Egyptian, Jordanian and Gulf dialects. Iraqi and the rest of North Africa (with the exception of Tunisia) not so much.

Now what does that mean for arabic in the batfamily

its too useful for the Bats to not use

so do all of the bats speak arabic 1000%

Do all of them speak different dialects 1000%

Here they are imo

Bruce: Bruce is a cop (MSA) He can code switch and speak all the dialects but he just genuinely likes MSA, its the most complex and intricate form of the language and what's most commonly used for things like poetry and literature. But it does mean that his speech comes off very stilted and cringeworthy to most Arab speakers. The first dialect he learned was definitely Egyptian because its the one that's the most common in music and television as well as having the largest group of people speaking it (110 of the 230 million are from Egypt)

Dick: now I have no evidence for this but Dick Grayson would speak Lebanese arabic. It's notoriously the softest of the dialects and has the most higher pitched and flippy tones. His mother also grew up in France which would Fit for Dick since Lebanese Arabic tends to substitute harsher arabic words with French. the most common greeting in Lebanon is 'Hi, kefak ca va' which is English, arabic and French. And for a cameleon character with such an interesting and convoluted ethnic background I think picking the softest dynamic tongue with the most intersectionality fits.

Jason: Jason todd speaks Jordanian arabic, Jordanians are the most hilariously creative people in the mid east imo. there are turns of phrase from Jordan that kinda make you pause and blink for a second because damn... okay then. I have never met a Jordanian without a degree in the most creative insults you've ever heard. Jordanian arabic is also very close to stereotypical Levant arabic which still maintaining a lot more of the harsher more guttural sounds that countries like Lebanon and Syria tend to exclude. Jordan also has a huge Bedouin population and I just think he'd match that vibe

Tim: Tims parents were archeologist.. Egyptian. Tim has the heaviest Egyptian accent when he speaks arabic. His parents definitely had him learn it in hopes he'd follow their footsteps. Ja become Ga and he works so damn hard to keep the accent out of his words to try and hide any identifiers and he fails miserably. He also uses it the most out of the kids and he can read and understand MSA fluently unlike Dick and Jason who are fine readers but cannot speak it for the life for them. Tim also does the international students Mix and Match where you sometimes just use a word that's country specific to other countries. Tim doesn't tell Damian he understands it and so Damian has the most intense shock of his life when Tim replies back to his angry arabic muttering.

Damian: So I know that talia studied at the university of Cairo but I feel like Ra's speaks a very old form of arabic so I think Damian code switches quite often. I picture him speaking like a Saudi upper court dialect when he's talking with Ra's and I think talia does the same. But I think Damian is most comfortable somewhere in-between Jordan and UAE arabic with more levant terms of endearment (because of the aforementioned softness and ik talia isn't a soft parent in canon but she is one in my heart so there) and more casual speech following GCC speaking patterns. Tho I think Damian can understand and speak all of the dialects including the less popular ones like Moroccan daraji.

Steph: I have zero evidence and not even an elaboration but if steph was Middle Eastern she'd be Iraqi bc vibes so that's what she speaks fuck you im right. It's definitely on the harsher side tonally but idk she gives the energy of using it and teasing Jason and Dick for using frou-frou arabic. Tho I will absolutely make the argument that she learned Syrian arabic for a friend pre her involvement with the bats.

Also Steph, Dick and Jason do sip and bitch sessions and they disagree on the correct way to make coffee. Jason is absolutely a traditionalist, Dick is a Turkish coffee believer and steph adds way too much cardamom.

also also Jasons favorite poet is Darwish, Tims fave is Al-muttanabbi, Dicks is Gibran (ik he spoke mostly in English but tell me Dick Grayson isn't gonna freak over 'your children are not yours they are children of the world') , Bruces is Qabbani. Steph doesn't like poetry but she has absolutely read memoirs of a woman doctor by nasal el saadawi and loved it

#dick grayson #bruce Wayne #tim drake #Damian Wayne #jason todd #batfam #batfamily #nightwing #batman #comics #red hood #arabic info dumps #im so homesick for the Middle East y'all #you don't understand #im writing this instead of studying for my exams #im arab so all my faves are vaguely Arab coded

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starkura · 7 months ago

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oh my good looking boy. | obanai iguro

note: not proofread, may be ooc

wordcount: 732

Obanai was a strict and unforgiving person. It was hard to build relationships with him due to his high standards. However, there was something about you that made him forget about his rude behavior. You’re cheerful and patient nature made him less fearful of you. There wasn’t anything for him to be afraid of. You slowly gained his trust day by day, and soon, you two were inseparable. When you’re both separated, you both write letters to one another. No matter how separated you two are, you guys always keep in touch.

You always figured that Obanai and you were very close. He talked and behaved comfortably around you, it was different compared to how he conversed with others. Obanai trusted you with his life. But, you didn’t exactly know everything about him. Obanai never mentioned anything about the bandages that covered his mouth. You were always curious about it, but he seemed avoidant and vague the first time you asked about it. So, you didn’t ask about it after the first time.

In truth, Obanai had reasons as to why he didn’t want to tell you. For one, he didn’t want to retell his traumatic past to you. He rather not have you know that side of him. And two, him imagining the number of reactions you could have to the scars underneath his face terrified him. Would you be disgusted by him? Would you be horrified by his scars? He didn’t want to lose you, one of the only people in his life that could make him feel at ease.

It wasn’t until one early morning when his bandages unraveled off his face. He woke up in the morning from a bad nightmare that included you and him. Obanai was gasping for air, his bandages were blocking his airflow. He didn’t realize it, but he pulled them down to breathe properly. He slowed down his breathing in an attempt to calm himself down. Obanai quickly started to panic again when you open the door to his room. He didn’t know what to do, he was usually swift with his movements. But, in this moment, his brain just froze. When the door is fully open, you see the sight of Obanai’s scars that follow his mouth. You were shock to see the scars that were imbedded into his face. Instead of being disgusted or horrified, you were absolutely worried. You had a tray of food prepared for him, however you dropped the tray and rushed to his side. “Obanai?” You say in a worried tone. His face was in your hands, and all Obanai Iguro could do was cry. “I'm sorry you had to see this. I know, I look horrifying.” He said softly. You wipe the tears off his face. You look at him with a sorrowful look. “Obanai, you don’t look horrifying.” You said reassuringly. He shook his head as a response. “You can tell me how it is, you don’t have to sugarcoat it.” He said. You move Obanai’s hair so his face has your focus.

Your fingers brush over his scars, feeling the roughness of it. His face is still as beautiful as ever, even if he thinks his scars make him hideous. Your mind started to wander, how did this happen to him? You give Obanai a small smile, tears slowly start to form from your eyes. You bring Obanai closer and wrap your arms around him. “I’m so sorry, whatever you went through, I’m so sorry that you had to go through that.” Obanai’s eyes widen and wraps his arms around you. You look back at him while still having your arms around him. You look right into his turquoise and yellow eyes. “I hope you know that your scars don't make you any less beautiful.” You look at him with a heartbroken look. “I didn’t show you my scars because I was scared that you’d be disgusted by them.” He admits. “I could never be disgusted by you Obanai.” You could tell that Obanai still had some worry and doubt, you wanted to reassure him that you didn’t think any less of him. Your hands moved to his face once again and you leaned in closer to him. You kiss his scars and then his lips. Obanai just sinked into you. You could sense that he was returning back to his calm and collective self again.

#obanai iguro #obanai x reader #demon slayer #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #kny obanai #obanai kny #demon slayer season 4 #x reader #demon slayer x reader #kimetsu obanai #idk what else to tag #angst #angst ig #i hate this

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platonicyanderereverie · 17 days ago

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Hello dear, I would like to request platonic Zhongli alphabet. The relationship will be a friendship and the readers age is roughly 16-19. The letters I’d like to see is A,C, J,T,U although if you want to remove any you’re free to do so. Thank you so much, take care.

Thank you so much for your request! Take care of yourself too!

Event link!

Platonic yandere! Zhongli alphabet!

[warnings!: implied kidnapping]

Affection

Zhongli’s affection would come in all sorts of forms. A reassuring or guiding hand on the back or shoulder is common. His hugs are firm but comforting; he’s overall a reliable and constant presence in this regard.

Cruelty

Zhongli wouldn’t mock you in any way. His goal is to help you adjust to this…slight…change of pace, and feeding your inner turmoil and bitterness won’t help at all. He would be reassuring but firm, shutting down any arguments and striving to remain as calm as possible. He doesn’t get upset when you lash out at him or demand to be let go, only shaking his head in disappointment.

Jealousy

Zhongli wouldn’t be the type to get jealous, per se. He still sees you as young and growing, so any company or friends you have besides him will have to meet impossibly high standards. However, he does try to give you some space when it comes down to it. That’s not to say he won’t take action if he deems any of their influences bad or unworthy of your presence.

Tears

Zhongli would stop in the middle of any lecture if you burst into tears. Regardless of how it happens, he would immediately try to comfort you…his own frustration can wait. He’ll remain calm as he explains things neutrally and tries to get you comfortable, promising a few rewards or options to uplift your mood.

On the other hand, when it comes to isolation, he would notice almost immediately. However, he would reluctantly give you the space you need. While he prefers when you set your stubbornness aside and come to him, he will give you what he deems a reasonable amount of time to collect yourself. Don’t take his generosity for granted, though.

Unique

Zhongli would take on a more mentoring role than the usual platonic yandere. Considering how long he’s been around and how much he’s seen, it’s almost instinctive and effortless when he shares his wisdom. He would also be more of the negotiating type. As the God of Contracts, he isn’t foreign to the concept of exchange, and his actions may sometimes feel almost transactional.

#platonic yandere genshin impact #platonic yandere writing #platonic #platonic yandere x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #platonic yandere #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere x reader #zhongli #zhongli x reader #yandere zhongli #platonic yandere zhongli #yandere zhongli x reader #platonic yandere Zhongli x reader

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cameronspecial · 9 months ago

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Let Me Tell You Something, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.7K

Summary: Rafe is a fictional man written by a woman and he never fails to remind Y/N of that.

A/N: This has a slight Twisted series spoilers.

Masterlist

It is no secret that Y/N loves reading, especially romance books. Sometimes she just needs a break from the academic side of life and to dive into another world. People said the books would give her high standards; she argues Rafe is the one who did that. He treats her like a fictional man written by a woman. However, there are times when she needs a reminder that he really is a fantasy come true. She is rereading one of her favourite series and it gets her thinking about her own relationship. She rests the open book on her chest, looking up at Rafe. He is sitting with his back against the couch while she lies down with her legs across his lap. “Rafe, what would you do if we broke up?” she questions. His eyes flick toward the book on her chest and he easily pieces everything together. “I would tell my dad that I won’t take over Cameron Development and move across the world to beg for your forgiveness. I would learn hundreds of ways to kill a man and a hundred more where I can make it look like an accident. I would abandon my dream vacation to keep you company. And finally, I would write you millions of letters begging you to come back home.” He doesn’t even look away from the game on TV throughout the whole declaration, telling her he has this response memorized and ready to go.

Her brow arches, “Did you read the Twisted series, Rafe?” He smirks at her. “Maybe I have, maybe I haven’t,” he teases, running his hand up and down her calf. She sits up to look him dead in the eyes, “Seriously, tell me the truth. When did you read it?” “After you finished reading it and would not stop obsessing over it. I had to know what my angel loved so much and see if I could use it to make her happy in real life,” he apprises. Butterflies fill her stomach, “How come I didn’t notice you were reading my books?” He holds up her phone to her and gives it a little shake. “Because I would read it when you weren’t home. And I didn’t love it 'cause you know I like reading a physical book, but I would read the ebook I downloaded when you were around.” “You sneaky bastard,” she giggles, giving him a little shove. “You read porno magazines because you didn’t like digital stuff and you are telling me that you bought an ebook just for me.”

Rafe turns her so that she is snuggled under her arm. His lips press to her temple, “I used to read porno magazines. Now, the only thing I need is you, Angel. I did do all of that. You mean the world to me and if you like something, I want to know why.”

“You didn’t have to do that just for me.”

“Let me tell you something, Angel. You are my whole world and I will do everything within my power to learn more about you. Even if it’s not related to something I like or my hobbies.”

“That’s really sweet. I feel bad that I don’t do the same thing for you,” she pouts, guilt filling her to the seams. His eyebrows form a wrinkle, “Don’t worry about it, Angel. You do it all the time without realizing it. You come with me to golf even though I know you aren’t at all interested in the game. You know all my favourite things and you come to all my events.” A small smile starts to form on her lips. “It’s not as much as you do though,” she worries. He rests his palm on her cheek, “It only seems that way because you don’t need to put as much effort into doing it. It happens flawlessly.” Y/N doesn’t know how Rafe always has a way of making her feel better, but she is so thankful for it. She nods and sets her book on the side. “Thank you for making me feel better. Can I watch the game with you?” He grins, “Of course, Angel.” There are a lot of things that they love about their relationship, except their effort in reciprocity has to be both of their favourite things.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

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ilovejeongintoo · 5 months ago

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ℂ𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕝𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕆𝕚𝕝𝕤

!WARNING NSFW Content ahead! !MDNI!

Genre: Strangers to ???, Idol Yeosang x Masseuse Reader Warnings: smut, sensitive Yeosang, dacryphilia, bottom leaning Yeosang Wordcount: 2920

There's not a single day that I can get that damn Yeosang vlog out of my head, I'm actually feral. I also tried writing from mutliple povs this time.

Summary: You've dealt with lots of customers and their wishes, matching everything to their tastes perfectly. The next client you get isn't just special because they're a celebrity, making you want to break some rules to experience everything they have to offer.

Getting gifts was fairly common in the idol industry, usually, it was from fans, but this time it was from one of Yeosang’s fellow members.

Jongho had handed Yeosang a small black card with the words: "Utopia" in cursive lettering, on the back was a fine written description.

"We can touch utopia, We can reach there, utopia". Jongho had told him that the studio was a very private and high-end massage parlor. Lots of idols bragged about the incredible service and how much better they felt after spending only one session.

Now that caught Yeosangs interest, as he was always looking to take care of his body, working out besides dance and singing lessons and taking his daily supplements. He was a health freak so it couldn't hurt to at least check the place out, and if the muscle bear Jongho liked the place it must be something special.

Especially with all the stress and tension making itself known on his body in the forms of cramps and stiffness he decided it was the time to use his gift. After a particularly hard week of filming, dancing, and recording for multiple shows he decided to visit the building.

It looked pretty normal from the outside, with tall windows, making him spot the reception immediately and some mood lighting in the lobby. The place wasn't huge but the furniture definitely made everything more luxurious, with black leather and golden accents being in every corner.

He felt a little out of place in the way he looked right now, in casual clothes, barefaced, and hair a white fluffy mess. He tucked his bag more into his body.

He was greeted by the friendly receptionists, with a bright smile as soon as she spotted him. She handed him some documents on a clipboard to fill out, pretty standard questions written on them.

Allergies...blah blah...target areas...and how he discovered the place. Until he got to the second page, dark red paper, bold lettering.

That made his brows crinkle a little, additional services? He decided to leave the page empty not knowing what they had even meant by that. If it was anything important they would just ask him about it.

"The option for additional services can be discussed with the staff that will be taking care of you."

He gave her the clipboard back with a nod.

"Alright Mr. Kang, please come this way. It is a standard procedure that guests at our establishment take a shower first and change into the clothes we provide after."

She began leading him away into a different, darker hallway that was lined with doors. She opened one of them, there was a big massage table in the middle some oils and lotions lined along some shelving. The room itself was illuminated with orange lights making it seem candle-lit.

The woman stopped at the door and gestured for him to enter.

"The shower room is right at the back and the clothes should be there already, I will get one of our staff that specializes in cases such as yours Mr. Kang, as the health of our clients is of utmost importance." She bowed and closed the door. Not giving him the chance to say goodbye and leaving him alone.

He walked to the door in the back, the bathroom he found there was like a luxury hotel, bright with beige marble and a big tub. There was a bathrobe with the words "Utopia" situated right on top of the sink.

He dropped his bag onto it and began his shower routine.

There was always something relaxing about working in a room that smelled like coconut and vanilla, some soft lights and essential oils. That's exactly why you loved this job and the next best part was the positive reactions of your clients after each session, giving people real relaxations, and time to just wind down. Celebrities often needed just that as they had to upkeep their perfect image.

You got lucky by being able to work in the number one massage parlor in the city. Though some services that were provided here were questionable in your opinion, it wasn't like the staff couldn't say no. It was always a mutual agreement, you haven't yet been able to experience that and you doubt you ever will. As it was rare that any clients piqued your interest enough to go beyond the normal massages. And you were more than satisfied with doing normal massages and therapy, no need to give anyone a blowjob. Some co-workers even slept with some of them. There was one rule, that must be upheld. Anything beyond hands and mouth has to be done after the first session. Which if you were honest didn’t make any sense. Maybe to get more than one session out of the customers.

The door of your office was pushed open by the familiar receptionist, that same customer smile still sat on her face. She handed you a clipboard which you didn't look too closely at.

"They're waiting for you in room 3." She finished, giving you a look and then exiting again. You sighed a little, you were hoping to be done for the day and retire in your office until it was officially closing time. You got up, straightening your dark ruby slacks and matching T-shirt, it almost had a surgical look to it.

You moved out of the room, clipboard in hand, and walked down the long hallway, stopping at the door labeled "3". You knocked twice and then made your way in.

The first thing you saw was a man with platinum hair sitting on the massage stretcher in the allocated clothes. Small face with pretty eyes, the man looked like a statue, he was pretty. The simple shorts and and robe made him look more human though.

"You must be-" You looked at your clipboard"-Mr. Kang?" Making sure you were with the right person.

"Yes." He replied with a polite shy smile on his face, he stood up and reached his hand out for a handshake. Must be nervous if the over-politeness was anything to go by, or maybe he just had good manners.

"Alright, you're here for a full body massage if I'm correct because of some muscle tension and in general to relax."

You read off, still seeing if everything was correct on the form. Your eyes settled back on the man and then you gestured back to the massage bed that he had left a moment prior.

"You can take the robe off and lay on your stomach, any scents that you would like? We have lots of different ones."

He nodded in agreement and then answered "Uhm, just any really, I don't have any preference."

You moved around setting the clipboard on a nearby table and then got a lighter and some candles. Sandalwood was what you had decided on, a woody kind of creamy scent permeating the air right after you lit them. Most people liked the scent plus it had a calming effect.

When you turned back around he was lying down on top of the bed, you grabbed some body oil on the way over pumping a good amount onto your hands and warming it up.

Your gaze settled on the broad back before you, taut muscles and pretty bones, however, that was possible you didn't know. Hetely more built than you would have guessed, his face looked so innocent almost not matching his body. As your hands first made contact with the skin he tensed. "The oil can be a little cold but try to relax, it'll soon get better." You rubbed in circles and lines down his back, tracing the curve of his shoulders and waist. You massaged out knots in his back whenever you felt some in his lower back, it drew out some noises from the man. Probably in pain a little.

As you switched over to just giving him a softer massage, he relaxed fully. Now whenever you would trace some of the skin on his side it made him draw in a sharp breath. Maybe he was a little ticklish. You moved further down his body to his legs, grabbing some more oil and then massaging the back of his thighs and calves. Those areas usually went by pretty fast so you picked up your voice from where it was quiet in the room.

"You can turn over on your back now." Which he did, a little slow seemingly still a little dazed from relaxation. You smiled at that.

You went over his arms you went along his shoulder and you then traced along the edges of his chest pulling your hands downwards to his ribs. That made him squirm away from you a little. You just continued moving to his hips and legs. You first went along the bottom part of his legs and then slowly massaged your fingerpads into his thighs, you made sure to get in there.

The thick muscle was harder and bigger than most, some noises left Yeosang at the pressure. The closer you moved to his hips the more he felt the touches, each leaving him more electrified than relaxed.

He tried his best to think away the erection that was making itself noticeable with each passing second. He tried thinking about math something neutral or just nothing, but nothing seemed to work. Not with the way that your hands were rubbing at him, but with the added scent and lighting, each sensation was highlighted.

When the press of your hands went to the space of his hips and legs that was when he knew he was fucked. A muffled grunt left him, you were at his side having lifted one of his legs, keeping it at an angle.

The pressure went from hard, deep tissue massages to almost dragging your fingers along the skin. It almost felt like you were teasing him, of course, that was his mind making up his own wild scenarios though.

The increase in arousal made Yeosang take a closer look at you, going along the line of your body and lingering on a few places. Your face, shoulder down to your chest then at those hips. He closed his eyes again trying to calm his breathing.

But there was just absolutely nothing stopping him from getting hard. Him closing his eyes just made him picture you in his mind, over this bed him on top plunging into you. Or maybe you would climb on top of him and ride him until you came all over him.

Your hands stopping drew him out of his dirty mind. You noticed the problem that had made itself very well known in Yeosang’s pants now.

“Would you like any additional services?” You asked in a very calm tone. It confused Yeosang not knowing what you meant, not until he saw how you were looking at him now. Eyes dark, big pupils that swallowed the color of your iris. The hidden meaning made itself apparent in the way that you caressed the side of his thigh and leaned closer.

Finally understanding that this wasn’t just a normal massage parlor.

It made his breath hitch and he felt himself nod in permission. Your hands moved to the waistband of his shorts rather fast, pulling them down to reveal his already hard cock. You reached down grabbing a bottle of lube from seemingly thin air, maybe this was part of the normal service here?

That would explain the lube that was in immediate reach of you.

That thought made him feel less nervous to continue this with a stranger. When your, now-wet hand grabbed ahold of his cock he gritted his teeth to not make a sound. There was no way that he would let anyone hear the embarrassing noises coming out of him. But with each pump, it was increasingly becoming more difficult to not make any at all noise. The wet noises were an added stimulus making it even harder for him to keep quiet.

The lack of noise prompted you to utter the next words right in his ear; “The walls are soundproof, don’t worry.” The relaxation of his jaw and the moans that followed were so loud that maybe even the thick walls wouldn’t be able to contain them. No one had ever been that reactive to your touch, no ex-boyfriend or hookup could compare with the way that Yeosang was panting and moaning from your touch. His enjoyment wasn’t just apparent from his loudness, the pre-cum and thin layer of sweat that had formed was an even clearer sign. Mixing itself with the neutral smell of the oil.

You traced your tongue on the planes of his abdomen until you stopped at his nipples, taking one into your mouth while the other was played with by your hand. You massaged his pec playing with the sensitive muscle.

The action made Yeosang let out the loudest of moans. You continued flicking his nipple switching from one to the other. Not stopping the continuous pumping of your hand which had him not even a minute later seize and cum all over your hand, coating it in his release.

You didn’t stop swirling your tongue and hand, too keen on having him melt into a complete puddle of his pleasure. His hips jerked away at the overstimulation until he grew hard again.

Your eyes were still locked on the sight of his dick when you looked towards his face. The teary-eyed look and flushed mess that he had become was a deadly combination. You ignored the pulse of your neglected pussy, which no doubt had soaked through your thong.

You kissed down his chest until your face was right in front of his dick, almost salivating at the messy and wet sight. It curved so prettily that if it was inside you, it would no doubt hit all your favorite spots. It would reach so deep, filling you up. Now wasn’t about you though, it was about the alluring man in front of you.

You caught the cute pink tip in your mouth, getting a clear taste of him. His hands landed on your head in a death grip with the most unholy of noises. It sounded like a choked moan, so raw that it made you look up into those same pretty eyes.

Yeosang looked like he was on the verge of crying, mouth just slightly open. You experimentally licked at the tip, his hands hardening their grip on your hair and coaxing another sound out of him.

Sensitive hm?

You smiled around him, so devilishly. You thrived from all the attention and unsaid praise that he was giving you in the form of those, sweet sweet sounds.

This was better than any wordy praise. You hollowed your cheeks and sank down completely, relaxing your throat and bobbing your head. You were slowly building a rhythm. Every sound Yeosang made sent another signal down to your pussy, making it gush and stimulate it without any touch at all. You were so close to just stuffing yourself with your fingers.

The tears that had been waiting to spill over this whole time finally did, streaming down his face. You sucked on his cock like it was delicious, you craved the taste of his cum down your throat. If your mouth wasn’t stuffed with it you’d be begging for him to fill it up.

And to see that tear-stricken face at the peak of pleasure. You got what you wanted, with Yeosang pulling you completely down and connecting your mouth with his pelvis for one last time.

A final groan and the white liquid spilled down your throat, his legs shaking and tensing. You tried your best to swallow some still leaking out at the sides of your mouth. You made sure to snap your eyes up to capture the exact moment that he came, his eyes squeezed shut and his head downturned to you. Pretty angled brows furrowed, pretty lips open, pretty cheeks flushed everything was pretty pretty.

You pulled off, licking his cock off making him look at you again. You stood up on shaky legs, running your hands along his thick legs for the last time before you reached over to grab his shorts off the floor.

You handed them to him with his robe and licked your lips off any remaining cum.

“The showers are open to use and wash off any oil, hopefully, I can be of service when you decide to pay us a visit again.” Completely professional, with a sly smile like you knew he would come back. The only evidence that any of this just happened was in your messed up hair and flushed cheeks, perfectly matching Yeosang’s.

You turned to the door ready to walk out and ready to go home and finish yourself off. The no-fucking rule in the first session was the least of your concerns right now, but losing your job was not on your list of things to do.

With each second you spent longer in this room you were considering it more and more.

So you would have to get out of here right now.

But not without saying a little something.

“If you ever feel the need to relax and let go for a day…well you know where to find me Yeosang.”

And with that, the door closed leaving a breathless blushing Yeosang behind.

#ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez x you #ateez fanfic #yeosang x reader #yeosang smut #kpop smut #bring back blonde yeosang im begging

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localplaguenurse · 4 months ago

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Falling Head over Heels (Pantalone x Male Reader) pt 6

So ever since my last update, I've gotten a new laptop because deadass the same day I posted chapter 5 like "oh hopefully I'll get it back soon," they told me my old acer aspire is so old they don't even make the parts for it anymore. This has nothing to do with the fic, I just thought it was funny.

Notes: still sfw, semi dysfunctional/controlling family dynamics (I assure you they will get progressively worse), ableism in the form of reader being coddled and patronized by his parents. Check masterlist for previous parts, will eventually make an actual masterlist for this fic.

@thedeimoshimself @eli-chris

You did not immediately tell your parents about your interaction with Pantalone when you finally returned, as once again they were in the midst of an argument. Your mother’s scoldings about how your father knows better, and your father’s arguments about how you’re a grown man who should fend for himself by now could be heard the moment you stepped through the door. Colleen gives you an awkward, sympathetic smile as you shuck off your coat. Before the maid can hang it up, you fish the letter from your pocket, and seeing your name in the Guuji Yae’s handwriting fills you with nervous excitement once more.

You can’t really hear the fighting from your study. If you try to listen, you can, but otherwise it is very peaceful. You open the letter again and set it next to your typewriter, while also tucking the briefcase with your manuscript under your desk. You proceed to load your typewriter, ready to type a response, when it occurs to you that maybe you should hand write this letter. Would it be disrespectful to just type a letter? Maybe. A handwritten letter is more personal, after all.

By the time you finish your letter, there are six other letters crumpled up in your bin, and you hear your mother’s voice informing you that it’s dinner time. The tense atmosphere of dinner keeps you from talking, let alone telling your parents about Pantalone. You really don’t want to set off yet another argument with how much these two have grown apart. As horrible as it is to think or say, you will not be surprised if the word divorce comes up in their next fight, and that next fight is probably tomorrow.

This tense silence continues the next day, and the day after that, until a full two weeks have passed where you have not heard a single argument. Not because your parents made up, mind you, but because they have barely spoken to each other. Nothing beyond standard small talk or informing the other person about meals or receiving something in the mail. The air is oppressive, and you try not to let it show how much it is starting to stress you out. Instead, you have been waiting patiently for a letter back from the Guuji, hoping to surprise them with some good news for once.

(You’ve also been replaying your last interaction with Pantalone in your head, because you know you did not mishear him.)

The silence breaks when your father throws your bedroom door open one morning, when you are in the midst of getting changed out of your sleepwear.

“You!”

You jump, having just put on your pants. Your face heats up in embarrassment. “Would it kill you to knock?” you snap. It’s not even ten.

You hear your mother somewhere behind your father. “Darling, calm down.”

Your father storms inside and an envelope is shoved in your face. “Do you care to explain this?”

You step back and take the envelope. You rub your eyes, shoot your dad a dirty look, and read the envelope. That’s your name and address, but you don’t recognize the return address in the corner. The name, however, you do recognize, and your father does too.

“Why is it that I haven’t had contact with the Regrator in two weeks,” your father asks, “but when I finally get a letter back, it’s for you?”

“Yes, why is Pantalone writing to you?” your mother asks in turn.

Your brow furrows, and with your father glaring daggers at you, you break the seal on the back of the letter. Before you can actually open it, your dad snatches the letter from you. He tosses the envelope aside and unfolds the paper within.

“Hey!” You grab your father’s arm. “If you’re going to barge into my room, at least let me read my own mail!”

“There has to be some mistake,” your father says. “There’s no reason for the Regrator to talk to you.”

“While I disagree with his approach,” your mother says, “your father has a point.”

“Maybe if you let me read my mail, I could tell you,” you reply sarcastically. Your father rolls his eyes but hands the now crinkled letter back to you. You straighten it out and let your eyes scan over the words.

Your father’s voice is impatient. “Well?”

You squint. “It’s an invitation.”

“An invitation?” your mother asks.

“What the hell for?” your father asks.

“An invitation for tea,” you answer, “for… tomorrow, at two.”

“Anything else?”

You flip the paper over. It’s blank. You flip it back over. “No, it’s just tea at two at his estate.”

“No, you fool,” your dad says, pulling the letter out of your hand again. “I meant if he mentions your sister or myself, because I find it hard to believe he’d invite you to his estate.”

You cross your arms. “Why’s that?”

“Your father means it’s odd that you would be invited over when you are not, ah, working with him,” your mother says, making up an excuse on the fly. “You’re not working with your father and sister, so if you were to be invited over, then that would include the rest of the family.” Though she’s out of your limited line of vision, you know she’s glaring at your father based on the way he averts his eyes from you.

“Then why is it addressed to him? It doesn’t address anyone else in the family.”

“I’m not sure, dear. Perhaps there’s been a mistake?”

“Pantalone would not make a mistake like this. Perhaps the post office lost our invites, but not his.”

“Or he just invited me,” you butt in.

Your father gives you a look.

“Think about it,” you say, “if we all got an invite, surely mine would have said something about it, right? Hope to see you and your family, or something along those lines.”

“Perhaps mine would have it,” your father retorts, “as he’s my business partner.”

More like marriage partner at this point, you think and know better than to say. “You’re also assuming this has anything to do with work,” is what you say instead. “What if it’s just tea?”

“No, a man like him wouldn’t invite someone over for just tea,” your mother says.

Your father goes to put your invitation in his pocket, but gives it back to you when your mom gives him a look. He clears his throat. “Well, we’ll have this sorted when we visit tomorrow.”

You blink. “Wait, what?”

“We’re not going to just turn down this invitation,” your father says, as if you’re an idiot for not understanding what he was getting at.

“We? We?”

“That’s right,” your mother chimes in, “we really shouldn’t go if we don’t know his intentions.”

“That’s not…” You groan, annoyed. You point at your father. “You aren’t on the invite.” You turn and point to your mother. “And we’ve talked about the coddling.”

Your mother shakes her head. “That was about when he visits us, I don’t want you alone at his estate.”

“No, no, we’re not getting into the semantics,” you say, “I have told you time and time and time again to stop treating me like I’m seven! I should be allowed to go have tea with someone else by myself.”

“Watch your tongue,” your father snaps, “and our decision is final. If you want to go to the Regrator’s for tea, then your mother and I are going as well.” He turns to walk off, and stops in the doorway. “And put a damn shirt on.”

The door slams shut, leaving you and your mother in your room. She offers you an apologetic smile, and gets the hint you want space when you pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh. Her exit is much quiet, a soft apology and a gentle closing of the door.

It takes you a moment, but you manage to find the envelope your father carelessly tossed aside. It slid most of the way under your bed, only the corner of it is immediately visible. You pick it up and feel your heart thump in your chest.

So this is what your name looks like in his handwriting.

----

While the novelty of Pantalone’s social status has worn off, the estate that comes into view through the snowstorm is a reminder of his intimidating wealth. It’s a beautiful building, and significantly larger than your family home. Your eyes are glued to the sight of it through the covered sled’s window. You can also just see your mother looking at it as well through the reflection of the glass.

“Remember what we talked about,” your father says, and you make a face of annoyance similar to the face your mother’s reflection makes. “Hey, are you listening?”

“Don’t touch, trip on, or break anything,” you reply, “and only speak when spoken to. I’m aware of the whole routine.”

“And watch the attitude.”

“And you remember what I told you,” you reply, not bothering to turn your head. “If it turns out Pantalone didn’t invite you over, you need to leave.”

“Look at me when you talk to me.”

There’s a thump. Your mother most likely gave your father a nudge with her foot. Silence takes up the last few minutes of the ride as it slows to a stop right outside the snowy steps. You slide over to the opposite end of your seat and open the door, sucking all the warmth out of the sled. You make no effort to wait for your parents before you step down from the stairs. The snow pelting you in the face diminishes your vision, so you only make it a few steps before you trip on the first step. You catch yourself before you tumble forward and smash your teeth into the stairs.

You hear your mother’s voice from the sled. “Please be careful!”

You shout back that you’re fine, and climb up the stairs. Pantalone must have just had the steps cleared off before the blizzard hit, as there’s no crunch beneath your feet, merely the puff of snowflakes puffing out of the way with each step you take. Your father calls for you to wait for them as you stand before the door. You grab one of the large knockers and give it a few hard knocks on the door.

You feel your father’s firm hand on your shoulder just as a gust of heat rushes out and envelops you. You find yourself standing face to face with an older gentleman dressed in pristine servant’s attire. The two of you lock eyes, and for a moment he offers a welcoming smile before he notices you’re not alone, then it becomes confusion.

“Oh, hello there,” he says, “this is a little unexpected.”

“We’re here for tea with the Regrator,” your father butts in before you can even open your mouth.

“I had assumed as much, but I was told we were expecting a single visitor,” the man says. He brings his gaze back to you. “Now, you fit the description, but these two–”

Somewhere behind the man, you hear Pantalone’s voice. “Fyodor, what’s going on? Why have you not let our guest inside?”

The man turns around to address his master. “Apologies, my lord, but there seems to be some sort of… misunderstanding?”

You hear heeled footsteps descending a flight of stares and across the floor before your host comes into view. You feel yourself salivate and swallow it down quickly. You’re so used to seeing him in mostly black clothing, so the white lace up shirt with puffy sleeves immediately catches your eye. It’s tucked into a pair of black corset pants, which you make a point to not look at either. His hair is not tied back, and the chain on his glasses seems different. Though he still has his rings, he’s not wearing his gloves. Even in more “casual” attire, the Regrator is the pinnacle of wealth and beauty.

This very beautiful man tilts his head at the sight of your parents, namely your father. “What are you doing here?”

“You… You invited us to tea,” your father says.

“No I didn’t.”

Your father is quiet, and you turn yourself to see the confusion on his face. “You sent an invitation, i-it had our address on it.”

“Yes, and I believe I put your son’s name on it, did I not?” Pantalone asks. When you turn back around to him, you find he’s looking right at you.

“You did, b-but I presumed you… you forgot to mention us, or maybe the invitations for my wife and I got lost in the–”

Pantalone lifts his hand, silencing your father. “If that were the case, I would have either addressed it to your family as a whole on the envelope, or I would have mentioned it in the invitation itself. Likewise, I did not send this through the post office, I had one of my staff deliver it personally.”

“But, b-but I’m your business partner!”

Pantalone turns to you. “Did you invite them with you?”

You stumble on your words, feeling too humiliated to answer honestly. What’s worse, saying yes, or saying no, but your parents wouldn’t let you leave unless they came along like they were chaperoning a child’s first field trip or playdate? You manage a shake of your head, and fortunately Pantalone seems to understand your plight after having many interactions with your family.

He sighs, and steps aside. “You’ve already made the trip, and the weather is taking a turn for the worst,” he relents, “you may come in.”

Your father pushes past and marvels at the interior of Pantalone’s estate. Your mother gives you an assuring pat on your shoulder. Pantalone whispers something to Fyodor, who nods and goes to help your parents with their coats.

The door shuts behind you, and you turn to Pantalone. You clasp your gloved hands together and lower your voice. “I am so sorry, I tried to tell them–”

“I know,” he replies in a voice as soft as yours, “perhaps I should have seen this coming, but I didn’t think I would need to be more specific in the invitation.”

With that, Pantalone stands up and claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Once you’re all settled, please follow me for a short tour on the way to the tea room.” He turns to Fyodor, who is carrying your parents’ coats. “Fyodor, please be a dear and let the chefs know to prepare some extra refreshments for our unexpected company.”

Fyodor nods, and you give him your coat before he leaves. Your mother is already hovering right next to you protectively, and Pantalone gives you a subtly sympathetic smile, which your mother seemingly interprets as an underlying threat judging by the way she wraps her arm around yours. You imagine your father is rolling his eyes.

The tour is short as promised, only staying in any given room long enough for Pantalone to state what the purpose of it is. You pass through the dining room, where Pantalone points out the doors to the kitchen, before you’re in a corridor passing by a ballroom entryway. You try to have a look at the oddly macabre paintings your host has displayed on the walls, but your mother is practically dragging you along so she can get this event over with quicker. You want to ask questions about what the chandelier in the foyer is made of, but your father already asked that in his never ending ramblings of praise for Pantalone and probably isn’t going to stop so you can actually ask the man anything.

Your father finally shuts up and your mother lets your arm go when the four of you step inside the tea room. Something you notice immediately is, while there are paintings on the walls, a table in the centre of the room, and a large cabinet with various tea sets, there is actually very little decor and furniture here. You passed by some sculptures and house plants and other miscellaneous extravagant pieces on the way, but the small room is oddly empty compared to the corridor just outside.

When Pantalone takes a seat, your parents end up taking a seat on either side of him. Your father is immediately praising the barely furnished room, while your mother acts as barrier. As such, you end up seated across from him. On cue, you hear two people come in through the door behind you. You hear a soft squeaking, and a servant pushing a cart with a tea set on top of it. The porcelain teapot and cups have a vaguely floral pattern, with the handles shimmering with gold leaf. You jump when the second person, another servant, comes up beside you with a tray of food to place on the table. Your father marvels as they get to work setting the table, your mother politely thanks the staff, and you just sit still as your cup of tea is poured.

“This is quite lovely, Pantalone,” your father says for the millionth time, “really, I expect nothing less from you!”

Pantalone gives your father a smile, a polite gesture that does not reach his eyes. “I’m flattered.” When he looks your way, his smile seems fonder. “How about you? You seem to have something on your mind.”

“Oh! Um…” You lean back and glance around the room once more. “I was just… curious about your decor.”

Pantalone tilts his head curiously. “Oh? And what would you like to know?”

You hesitate to answer out of fear you would offend the man.

“Well? Out with it,” your father remarks.

“This room is a little bit… um…”

“Bare?” Pantalone finishes. “Yes, I had some of the furniture moved around in preparation for your arrival.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your eye condition,” he answers, “you said you used to trip on furniture because you didn’t see it, correct? I figured with a room this size, it would be safer to move some of the decor out of the room while you were visiting.”

“Oh, that’s… actually rather sweet,” you say, “b-but unnecessary. I’m not as clumsy as I used to be.”

“Ah, yes, my suit can attest to that fact.”

You chuckle.

Your father chimes in. “Yes, it’s better we avoid any more expensive accidents.”

Pantalone hums. “While I would rather avoid paying for a replacement or repair job, I was more focused on ensuring your son’s safety. I would hate for my guest to get hurt at an event I invited him to.”

You pick up on his passive aggressive comment, and your father does not. That, or he’s elected to ignore it. “Ah, that too,” your father says. He gestures to your mother. “I would have never heard the end of it if that were the case!”

Your father was expecting someone to laugh. He is ignored by Pantalone and gets glared at by your mother. You just grab a couple pastries, honestly wishing you had just turned down the invite altogether.

Your father clears his throat. “So, about that thing I-I had proposed a few weeks ago–”

“How is the book deal?” Pantalone asks you.

“O-Oh,” you stammer, not expecting him to bring up your book, “well, I’ve decided to go for it, and I’ve written back saying I would like to move forward with the deal. Now I’m just waiting for them to get back to me.”

Pantalone smiles and nods. “That’s lovely to hear.”

Your mother looks at you, confused. “What is he talking about?”

Fuck. You swallow, and nervously, sheepishly smile. “Right, um… I was, ah, saving this for when the deal was finalized, but my book might be getting published now.”

“By who?”

“... The Yae Publishing House.”

Your mother’s squeal could shatter porcelain. “The Yae Publishing House?! Sweetheart, that’s amazing! Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

You awkwardly laugh, avoiding Pantalone’s knowing gaze. “They’re just s-such a big deal, you know? I didn’t want to get your hopes up before I knew for certain they were going t-to publish the book.”

“Still, you could have at least told me you sent your book to them! Oh, goodness, I’m getting all worked up now. My sweetheart, being published by the Guuji Yae…”

Pantalone chuckles. “Yes, quite exciting. It warms my heart to see hard work being recognized.”

“I’m very excited,” your mother says, “he hasn’t told me what his new book is about, he keeps telling me to wait until it gets published. I was worried I’d never get to read it when your first deal was cancelled!”

You sheepishly rub the back of your neck. “This one’s kind of, well, different from my usual writing. I wasn’t sure how people would react to it.”

“Your stories are lovely, sweetie,” your mother insists, “you should never worry about what your mother thinks because I will always support you.”

You hear your father lean over in his chair towards Pantalone, and in a room of four people, his whisper is very audible. “He was worried he would have to get a real job, haha.”

“Which would be difficult given my disability,” you add, “seeing as most jobs require you to have awareness of your surroundings, and my eyesight is only going to continue degrading.”

Your father glares, and clears his throat. “... It was a joke.”

“And it wasn’t very original.”

“You’re also one to talk, considering our little deal,” Pantalone remarks. Your mother looks at your father for an explanation, to which he just sips his tea, embarrassed.

The rest of the afternoon isn’t less awkward. The momentary embarrassment does not stop your father from badgering Pantalone with questions about what he’s been doing the past two weeks (settling some financial matters in Liyue), and praising him for the pastries he’s provided. Pantalone answers out of politeness, but his responses grow shorter and shorter every time your father opens his mouth. Your mother just silently eats, disinterested in conversing with the Regrator. You try to engage in conversation with Pantalone, but despite glares from everyone at the table, your father continues to interrupt you or answer questions Pantalone could not have more clearly directed towards you. You also just keep your answers short, not wanting to divulge too much about your book or true thoughts in front of your parents.

Your father pops the last cream puff in his mouth. He’s already eaten most of them. There is no more tea, bringing the meeting to a close.

Pantalone claps his hands together. “Well, this has been a meeting!”

“We appreciate the invitation, Lord Pantalone,” your father says.

“What invitation?” Pantalone asks. “Remember? You two never received an invite.”

“... Right.”

Pantalone leans forward, propping his head up in his hands. He’s looking right at you, and he smiles so sweetly. “Would you care to stay for dinner?”

“Oh, we couldn’t possibly overstay our welcome.”

Pantalone nods, acknowledging your father. He then looks back at you. “So? Would you care to stay?”

“We just said no,” your mother says.

“That’s fine, you two are free to leave. I’m talking to your son.”

Your mother and father lock eyes, before your father turns back to Pantalone. “Wait, why are you asking him if he wants to stay, but not us?”

Pantalone sighs, and grins at your father. “Well, I think I’ve played host to you two long enough, so I’ll tell you honestly.” At that, Pantalone drops his smile. The atmosphere immediately grows tense as he speaks, his voice cold. “I invited your son to my home because I wanted to discuss his upcoming book over tea. I did not invite you over to discuss work matters on my day off. Now, I would like to have the discussion I cleared my schedule for, and I would like to do it with the guest I actually invited.”

Your father balks, while you feel your jaw drop to the table and your eyes go as wide as saucers. You slowly turn towards your mother, and she is immediately seething. She stands up, her chair scraping on the floor. Pantalone smiles at you once more.

“So will you be staying for dinner? I have many questions about your writing process.”

“I–”

“Absolutely not,” your mother snaps. She grabs your arm hard and attempts to pull you up to your feet. Your father is torn between being shocked over being called out for his behaviour, humiliated for being scolded like a child, and incensed that your invitation did not extend towards him. Your mother tugs your arm again, and you stand up so you can better shake her off your arm.

“We’re leaving,” your father says. “Come along, you two.”

You brush some crumbs off your lap and sit back down.

Your father shakes your shoulder. “Didn’t you hear me? I said we’re leaving.”

“Have fun,” you reply dryly, “I’ll be home late.”

Pantalone absolutely beams. “Oh, wonderful!”

You flinch at your mother’s shrill voice. “No, you’re not! I am not leaving you with this disrespectful–”

“Violka, he has made up his mind,” your father growls. You feel him glaring daggers into the back of your head, and do not move. You hear your mother start to protest, but then the door shuts behind you.

Pantalone lifts a small plate up off the table. On it is the final little piece of cherry bublanina. He offers it to you with a sly smirk, like forbidden fruit.

With this in mind, you take it.

#pantalone #pantalone x reader #pantalone x male reader #blind reader #my fic #falling head over heels

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worriedvision · 11 months ago

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Letting him go - Dr Ratio

Gender neutral reader, au where Dr Ratio does get into a position he's wanted to for ages but keeps falling short due to the standard. Angst, no happy ending.

When he first got the rejection letter, you had gone to console him. He took this as you talking down to him, immediately pushing you out of the room as he thinks of his next project. He gives you a half assed apology, emphasising the importance of getting into this society he was interested in.

The second time, he grew concerned. He was a very smart and capable man, both you and him knew. You console him, listening to him talk to himself out loud about his next idea.

The third time, he casually chuckles before burning the letter. When you go to console him, he tells you that when he finally does get in, he won't need you anymore. This hurts you, and you take a short break before he reels you back in, talking about how much he loves you.

Oh, you were such a fool.

The fourth time, he gets a hidden message in the rejection he has to decode. Optimistic, he doesn't bother telling you. No doubt in his mind, he just knew he would finally win.

On the fifth letter, he doesn't get an acceptance or a rejection - he gets a time and a place. Rushing out the door past you, you begin to recognise the time was close to the latest announcement of new genius society members. Turning on your phone, you join the stream as you watch people bleed into the crowd.

Seeing your boyfriend there, as happy as you had ever seen him, you realise he finally has no use for you. No longer did he need someone to comfort him when he failed, and the relief on his face hurt you.

It made you realise just how delusional you were about him. You weren't one to want to join a society like he did, and you knew he didn't like people who couldn't keep up with him.

Turning off the stream on your phone, you go to your texts to break things off, but he beat you to it. He had blocked you, and when you went to look for any other forms of contact, you had zero luck.

You opt to write a message, thanking him for humouring you for as long as he had, before taking your overnight bag with you and leaving.

#dr ratio x gender neutral reader #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio #angst #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai star rail

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tinsnip · 12 days ago

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Ok, so bmouse says WIPs should be finished in honour of Garashir on Lower Decks, and I agree.

I'm writing again! It's nice but also work! If you like my Garashir, you might like what's below the read-more. Spoilers for "The Smallest Things" and this is a rough draft.

Dear Ezri,

I hardly know where to start.

I suppose I could start a week ago, when I moved into Garak’s home in Kardasi’or, but that seems to gloss over a few details.

Perhaps instead I’ll go back to two weeks ago when I arrived here on Cardassia and immediately got arrested for harassment of a senior official & resisting arrest. Really, it was immediately. About two hours elapsed from Cardassian soil to Cardassian jail. This is where you can pretend to be surprised, by the way. I was surprised: two hours is a new record for me.

Garak’s just passed by and has asked that I put in a hello, and has also charmingly added that given that it was me, he would have expected the arrest in closer to one hour. Ho ho. He hasn’t changed.

Actually, he has changed. But I don’t know what to say about that yet.

I’ve only been here in person for two weeks, and we’ve seen each other surprisingly little over that period. It turns out that being a person of seemingly some importance in the local government eats up a great deal of his time. He doesn’t sleep much.

But he does make time to cook dinner for us - actually cook! (He won’t let me, as I’m awful at it, which I agree with wholeheartedly.) We have a very small replicator, honestly quite the step down from even the worst standard repli on DS9 - but it can spit out a reasonable variety of ingredients I don’t recognize, and even a sort of facsimile of a tomato, which Garak managed to turn into something surprisingly close to a nice spicy arrabiatta. That was a treat (once I managed to forget that the pasta was some kind of fungus). And I’m getting used to a mostly-strict standard Cardassian breakfast and lunch regimen, as Garak’s not around when I wake up (or for most of the day), and the replicator’s pre-made selection is minimal. And bland. Fish soup is prevalent. Lots of little dry cakes. Not all awful, though - have you ever heard of ikri buns?

I keep putting this letter down and picking it up again. It’s so hard to put how I’m feeling into words.

I’m happy. I’m so happy. I can’t express it. I’m warm through with it. But I know myself, I know that’s new love. (It’s love! He loves me, Ezri! And I love him, God help me. I’m so in love.) And I know new love fades, and I know things get in the way of love, and I know I don’t see him much, and here I am on a planet that doesn’t like me much - a criminal record after two hours, remember - and also I stand out, and it’s not good for him to have a partner that stands out for a variety of reasons, especially a sort of quasi-Starfleet Human physician - not so much not good for him as not good for his position, which is him. You know it. You know him, and how he feels about Cardassia. You know what it means for him to choose me, despite what it could do to his possible influence here.

You knew better than I did.

And yet here I am in his house, and I’m very happy, and I’m also afraid.

I thought about crossing out that last bit, or at least rewording it, but it’s true. And anyway, I don’t need to watch my words with you, do I? I think you’re the only person I know who could understand what I’m getting at. Miles barely knows about any of this - he’ll be flattened when I next write to him and casually drop my new location (and the letter back will burn off my eyebrows). And Rijal doesn’t like Garak, and is also quite upset with me for leaving—

I’m on indefinite leave, by the way. I’ve taken leave from Starfleet Medical (hence the ‘quasi’ above). I can apply for re-entry at any time within the next two years, the form letter assures me, as I’ve not been discharged or formally resigned my commission. My former duty spot is, of course, not guaranteed, but they promise they’ll make every effort to accommodate my preferences. Once two years are up, it gets a bit more complicated. Manageable, but complicated.

So here I am, not responsible to anyone and far from what was home, without much of anyone to talk to except Garak. And I find I can’t really talk to him about this.

Ezri, I am terrified.

Everything has changed for me. I still can’t believe how this started out with something so small, with a letter and with you leaving (and I still miss you, by the way, and hope you’re well and happy, forgive my parentheses as I’m a bit all over the place). And then things got extremely complicated. A year ago I could never have predicted how things would change, how my life would suddenly seem to shrink to something so small, and then be so weirdly… expanded.

I think I have some idea how you felt when you were joined with Dax. If that’s not too presumptuous, which it probably is, but… I could never have imagined myself doing this, a year ago. I thought I could see my life rolling out comfortably in front of me.

And now this.

I’ve leapt before I looked, as you wisely knew I would. And I told myself I’d sort things out when I landed. But instead I seem to still be falling, with no idea where or when I’m going to land. And you told me so.

But, and please forgive my tortured metaphor, he’s here with me, and we’re falling together, and I know I’m being sappily romantic and this probably won’t end well, and I know I’m scared and he’s scared too even though he’d never admit it, and I also know that I am damned well going to try.

Cardassia can take all the shots it wants at me. I’m ready. Bravery is being afraid and doing it anyway, right? (Garak is now reading over my shoulder, and he says that no, that is not bravery, that is stupidity. He’s also put his arms around me, so I suppose my stupidity is either expected or forgiven.) I hope I can find a way to practice medicine here, but if that’s not what’s needed of me right now, then all right, I’ll adapt. Right now Garak says our best bet for this to all work out, politically and for the two of us, is for me look harmless and ornamental and not at all dangerous (I will never forgive you for the way you’re grinning). So I’m staying at home, and I’m reading, and I’m learning. When I go out I’m on his arm. I’ve done two public appearances at local reading-groups, and I’ve been a guest on a talk show, which has already invited me back. I’ve been told my looks are exotic and my smile is charming and I’m honestly one of the nicest Humans they’ve ever met, if one doesn’t mind the smell and the way we shed.

So I suppose in addition to giddily happy and stomach-churningly frightened, I’m also getting irritated.

This isn’t going to be easy, Ezri. Thank you for warning me. Thank you for telling me to be careful. And thank you for supporting me when you realized I was going to do whatever I wanted, no matter the consequences.

Perhaps in a year, when things settle down a bit, you could come visit? I could take you to see the Alik Dunes, not far from Kardasi’or. It’s a walkable distance from the furthest train stop, actually. They’re the site of the first successful regreening project in this area after the Fire. There’s a little tea shop, and an area where one can walk barefoot. The plants feel very good on one’s soles. Garak and I go there sometimes, and almost no one takes pictures. I think you’d like it.

I miss you. I hope you’re well. I hope you’re having grand adventures. I hope you can lend me a little courage as I start out on this one.

Best wishes, and all my love,

Julian Bashir

#myfic #garashir #the smallest things

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