“The Stones' marvellous drummer Charlie Watts is a lovely, gentle guy who dressed like a Beau Brummel dandy. His waist was as small and elegant as his style icon Fred Astaire's and he had the shoes to match his outfits; handmade by Hobbs and beautifully polished. He travelled with a standing Louis Vuitton trunk, which he never unpacked, he just opened it and made sure the hangers were evenly spaced.

He came to stay with us once, for a week. He followed me around the house talking to me while I folded clothes from the dryer. He kept putting everything straight - the pictures and the books and the nick-nacks.

Unlike the others, who found it hard to settle down, Charlie had married his wife Shirley in 1964, before the band got famous, and they are still together. He was always loyal to her and she was sweet and beautiful and elegant. 

Charlie was often the wise, calm, cool-headed one who would turn up on time and sit for hours with his drumsticks, twirling them and keeping his fingers and wrists nimble, waiting for everyone else to get it together. I adored him - and I couldn't help noticing that Mick got a bit irritated by that.”-Jerry Hall, 2010

Der Geliebte

Pairing: Jungkook x artist! Reader

Gender of the Reader: female

Word Count: 6.4k 

Rating: 16+

AU: non idol! Jungkook x artist! Reader AU!

Genre: strangers to lovers AU; friends to lovers AU! (idiots to lovers AU!); love at the first sight! AU; soulmate to lovers! AU (kinda?); unbelievable amount of fluff; a little angst (fluffy angst!!,); tiny amount of smut (one paragraph xD)

Warnings: tiny bit of smut/some sexual tension between both of them; Jungkook is a poor shy thing and is fucking nervous around the reader all the time; teeth rotting fluff; both are so in love with each other that they’re getting stupid to not realize it; both are insecure that they’re not meant for another... just fluff, fluff, fluff and painfully obvious pining over each other! 

A/N: Hallelujah, I finally did it! After I made Sibi @borathae​ wait over three months for her Christmas + Birthday Fanfic I finished it two weeks to late for my sweetest Darlings Birthday! I am so incredibly sorry that I made you wait for such a long time and really, Sweetie, you have all the rights to be still mad at my stupid ass! Nevertheless... I love you so goddamn much and I hope the fic made at least a little bit up for it... Love you!!!! 💕 💕 

Summary: You and Jungkook met right at the first day you opened your own atelier in Seoul after you had to leave your old home behind you. You love paint canvas with landscape motives, other people just roll with their eyes when they hear that you choose such usual, almost boring things to paint. Not so Jungkook, he seems to be different than most of visitors. It’s almost like he can read your feelings through your paintings...

Status: Edited (I am sorry for any still existing errors in here!) 

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I’ll not accept any kind of reposting, stealing or using/editing my work!

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Thank you.

* Jungkook’s POV * 

"In what are you getting yourself into, Jungkook?"

 I quietly ask myself as I get rid of my clothes behind the paravent and throw the dressing gown over his body which you laid out for me. My hands are sweaty, they tremble slightly and my heart beats wildly, as if it wants to jump right out of my chest. Excitement spreads throughout my body, leaving a faint feeling in my stomach and a certain blush rises in my cheeks. I still can't believe what I've gotten myself into . But... you looked at me so pleadingly with your dear and downright innocent eyes that I would have done anything for you with that look of yours. I want to make you happy, see that happy and contented smile on your lips, which always makes a whole horde of wild butterflies break out in my belly. 'Normally I was the shyness and silence in person and with you... with her, I feel for the first timesomething like peace and security. Especially when I consider how shy I usually am around women.', I ask myself and I don't really know the answer to that. But what can I do against my feelings? I don't really know, on the one hand they scare me, on the other hand they feel so exciting and new that I don't want to eliminate them at all.

I don't even know exactly when the whole thing started. In which moment my feelings for you grew, when I felt more than just fascination and admiration for you and your artwork. Six months ago, a small studio had opened in my district, your own studio. On the day of the opening I simply went to it of pure curiosity, I had always had such a weakness for art and photography.

I can still remember exactly how I stood in front of one of your works and was literally speechless and overwhelmed by this picture and all his small details. This painting represents a classic image of the countryside, which was often to be found everywhere. But this work was different. So full of small details and ornaments. It was so much more... As a viewer you can see a beautiful clearing, which is surrounded by trees and protected from too many curious eyes. The ground of this clearing is overgrown with dense and lush green grass, which from the incoming sunlight almost invites you to let yourself fall into the grass. It reminds me instantly of my carefree childhood, when I rolled in it without overthinking my actions too much and those times when I playfully wrestled with my best friends around until our clothes had grass stains all everywhere. I could almost smell the scent of wild, untamed nature. The longer I look at the picture, the greater the longing became. Maybe I could visit this beautiful place one day, together with my partner, my significant other. Playing around with each other, chasing your beloved one until you fall into the grass breathless laughing and cuddling. Maybe we could have a picnic there and feed each other with homemade sweets? 

I didn’t know that such a "simple" landscape painting could touch and awaken so much more in me, in my soul. Suddenly, such a wanderlust came over me that I gasped for air and a heavy lump formed in my throat. My whole body was tingling and my heart was literally screaming to get away from this dreadfully grey and monotonous daily routine of my boring single life, for at least some weeks. I want to go to this place, where I could draw the warm and fresh, natural air could deep into my lungs and pamper myself with homemade delicacies. Just to let the soul dangle and don’t stuck with my closely clocked work life. Maybe sleep until 10 o'clock in the morning and then maybe have a nice nap later. Enjoy the warm nights and hear the crickets chirping. This longing was... irrepressible. This particular wanderlust for nature, just to be out of the city, this longing for exactly this abandoned and untouched forest clearing literally overwhelmed me. What was it for an artist who could trigger such feelings and emotions in me?

I had been so absorbed in the artwork that I had not even noticed that a person step next to me. "Do you like the work?", asked a soft melodic voice, which spoke perfect Korean, but was pervaded by a light accent, which I could not quite assign. I flinched a little, but this bright, happy laugh gave me a tingling goosebumps all over my body. What a beautiful laugh... I turned to the person who was the owner of this beautiful voice. I was startled when I realized that the artist and owner of this studio was standing in front of me personally. I recognized her again, as I had seen a small photo of her in the newspaper article that drew my attention to this beautiful studio in the first place. Already in this picture she had radiated something so strong, colorful, cheerful and lively, which caused an excited flutter in my stomach. 

I admit, I already laid an eye on her just by her appearance. Unfortunately I always had a hard time getting to know people ever since, let alone to talk to women. And now having you, Y/N, personally standing right in front of me, made me feel fluffy and excited in my stomach. Nothing is left of this otherwise so sassy and self-confident  man that I used to be. Only a nervous and stodgy twenty-three-year-old idiot, who did not know what to say or wanted to say, now stands in front of this stunningly pretty and intelligent woman.

Her eyes sparkles like jewels, full of joy, struck me with interest and a playful smile lays on her lips. "Did you not understand my question?", she asked kindly, but nobly reserved. Immediately a rosy puff settled on my cheeks and I stuttered nervously: "Y-Yes, excuse me! I... I was just somewhere else with my thoughts and was completely surprised that they were addressing me personally.... Your works are truly unique! They still show such ‘usual’ motifs and yet they are so special because of these finely elaborated details and this passion with which this work of art was painted. They really are... Unique artworks that you do not forget so quickly. Even for untrained eyes as my owns, I can see that a talented artist has worked on it. I am very impressed by your work, especially this work here!" You could hear the honest admiration from my voice and my heart leapt as she reacted bashful to all of my compliments.

"Thank you, really, thank you so much! I really appreciate to hear such nice words like yours, even if it is rare. I am often criticized for my ‘lack of creativity’, caused by my chosen motives. I just love the rough, almost untouched landscapes of my hometown, I try to depict the ‘normal’ as something beautiful, unique. I would like to ‘really see’ what we already take for granted again. As a wonderful creation, a work of art. Nature is a wonderful example of this, or the architecture of buildings as well. Architects are also artists, although unfortunately they are not seen as such. I just want to offer the obvious things a more meaningful space again.... People like you have become rare. I have observed how you have recognized the true meaning, this beauty and aesthetics in such a ‘usual-looking’ motif. And this pleases me so much that you can read 'between the brushstrokes'. Oh... Excuse me, I always talk way too much when someone shows an interest in art or music, my personal passions. Besides that, I have not introduced myself to you yet, I am Y/N! I was obviously so pleased to see your understanding, empathetic look at this work, if you understand what I mean... Anyway... I can guess that you knew my name already, don't you? What about you? May I know your name?", asked you, beautiful artist, with her really stunning smile.

I swallowed nervously, never before had a young lady mixed my emotions so much in me. Even the picture of her in the newspaper article, which I had read out of boredom in one of my lectures, got me so emotionallyconfused. I didn't want to say it in front of my teasing friends, but I had been really excited when I set off this Friday night. And now the creator of these works of art stood before me and seemed to want to have a longer conversation with me. My heart beats to my throat and I got sweaty hands from this nervousness in my poor body. Honestly, as soon as I wasn't surrounded by my clique of friends, I automatically turned into a nervous, slightly abashed blushing and stuttering guy who behave like an inexperienced teenager. 

In private life, without my best mates by the side, I am not so confident and daredevil. After all, I always had someone who could cover my back when things get tough, while I am on my own without anyone I know. You could usually only believe and trust, not control. That's probably why I struggled with interpersonal relationships. I always overthink too much and have some struggles with my self-confidence.

And now this attractive young woman looked at me with such interest and joy, just me. I was actually the reason for her interest. A joyful and blissful tingling seized every pore, every fiber of my body. Yes, in fact it was just me! Not my best buddy Seokjin, whom I have known since childhood and always sought the attention of everyone. It was no exaggeration to say that he was perhaps a little narcissistic, but only to cover up his own insecurities. Never would I have thought that someone would manage to get this personification of self-love under control. I admired his wife for standing up to Seokjin and keeping him and his dad Jokes at bay. Believe it or not, she of all people had the pants on in the house and knew how to deal with my best friend.

My gaze glided over the figure of the person in front of me and once again I took a sharp breath. I was so nervous to face her personally, a person I already deeply admired and had quite a respect for. I simply did not want to do anything wrong, even if this charm of hers was almost tangible and paralyzed my entire brain with its function. I can already picture how my mind waved wildly goodbye to myself and went to the summer holiday in the Caribbean.

This carefree smile and these beautiful eyes harmonized wonderfully with your complexion. Your features were awake and alive, seemingly always a slight smile surrounded the corners of your mouth, which provoked almost paradoxical reactions in my body. Your smile awake countless butterflies to flutter around in my stomach, which made me quite nervous and at the same time you radiated such a sense of security and calm, as if there was no reason not to get a word out of shyness. My gaze, which I hope examined you unobtrusively enough, wandered to your hands. You had long fingers, I could really imagine how they elegantly held the handle of the paint brushes and worked on these small details extensively in such a calm behavior. Which satisfied and concentrated calmness you possibly radiated while doing that...

A small, noble clearing of your throat again tore me out of my fantasies and speculations. God, what was I today but inattentive! How rude I must have seemed to you...

"Oh, sorry... I... I have not been able to keep my thoughts together all day..." I lied to seem at least a little more credible. Nervously, I pulled on the knot of my tie to loosen it up a little before I have a circulatory collapse. Before I went here, I thought for a long time about what I should wear for this occasion. Jeans and T-shirt were out of the question, too casual and almost an insult for your atelier. A complete suit, however, seemed too overdressed to me and so I decided for a black dress pants and a dark blue dress shirt.Understanding, Y/N nodded and gave me a cheering smile, which made my body tingle again. This woman drove me half crazy alone with his friendly gestures. How could it be that this polite lady got me confused right away?!

And somehow, it gave me a frenzy to leave my secure, anonymous side as a visitor to her exhibition and irrevocably reveal my true identity to you.

"My name is Jeon Jungkook."I answered in a slightly trembling voice, hardly daring to look into her eyes and rubbing my neck unobtrusively.

* Jungkook’s POV *

If only I had guessed what would change in me, how you changed me. That so much more would develop from a pure interest and a simple formal business contact... that you want to make me one of your artworks.

I take another deep breath before I dare to step out from behind the dark red paravent. It is pleasantly warm in this room, I should not freeze, if I am already so freely clothed. My gaze wanders through the small room with the huge, floor-to-ceiling window, which floods the entire room with light. The walls of the room have been painted in a dark orange and red colors and dark wooden planks lay out on the floor. It looks so comfortable due to the warm, dark tones. The orange-yellow evening sun dipped everything into something so cozy... sensual. Somehow into even a little erotic?

Y/N wants to work a lot with the light of the evening sun in this painting, which could be a little complicated if it is not suitable or if it is cloud-covered. But if you have put something into your head, especially in relation to your art, then you do everything you can do to go through it! Also the changing forces of nature cannot stop you from trying to realize your idea. Sometimes, you’re  someone who is quickly frustrated and dissatisfied with yourself as well, especially when something doesn't work as  you wants it to. Nevertheless when it comes to your passion, drawing and painting, you don’t let your idea go away, if you want something, you’ll find a way to make it happen. These are qualities that I know all too well of myself and thus my fascination about you only grows even more. The more time we spent together and I get to know more and more sides of you, the more attracted I became to you.

Your art means a lot to you and you’re quite tough in this respect, can not be overcome by the reproaches and the crushing criticism. That’s exactly what I admire so much about you, having the courage to stand up for personal passion. When I get criticized, all too often I think about really giving up on it, so that I don't have to endure all this criticism anymore. And then I look at you. How focused you are in this moment and carefully prepare for your next project. How you adjusts you easel to the right height, let your self-stretched canvas snap into place, spreads brushes of all sizes and shapes on the small side table next to you and prepares youracrylic colours. I swallow again, as I watched this happen. I am about to become one of your next artworks.

A little uncertainly I walk towards Y/N, the thin dressing gown tightly drawn around my body... never before have I felt so naked and vulnerable. This here is something else. I feel something about it... I feel something for you. For this pretty lady, who sprays her cheerfulness around her and could conjure a smile on the lips of even the most grumpy person. This joy almost kills you, completely engrossed this person and gives you the feeling of floating. You will get the feeling of being welcome at Y/N. To be accepted, with all the flaws and weaknesses that one has. She just smiles at you so gently and lovingly and just says, it's okay. It's okay to be the way you are. Imperfect.

"It is precisely this imperfect, this contradictory and also unpredictable thing that makes us human. That makes us an individual and also interesting. If we were really all as we are expected to be, it would be boring and monotonous. The surprise is only a real gift. Each of us is a very individual gift to a very specific addressee, who is the only one who can truly appreciate this gift. Only then did the recipient find the right person as his gift... Well, if the recipient knows about his gift...", Y/N once said with such a certain look at me, when we went out to dinner together in a restaurant in the evening to clarify some details. I wanted to help her find good contacts in Seoul and help her sell her works.

I can still remember it exactly... it was a quite... extraordinary evening. I was of course once again incredibly nervous and excited. At that time, I did not want to fully realize how much I already like you. Secretly, I had observed my opposite. Your positive and friendly disposition had turned my head all around... and in addition, this beautiful body and her elegant fingers, which already haunt me in the most erotic way unintentionally in my dreams. 

I could not prevent my dream pictures from shooting through my head, which is why my cheeks turned dark red in embarrassment. These fucking fantasies in my head! My eyes stare at the cutlery as if it were incredibly interesting because I didn't dare look up. There were scenes in my mind that made my ears turn red and I would’ve loved to hide behind the menu card. Your body, which made her look like a Greek goddess.

Naked, body covered in sweat, your body shook in lust, you sit up with a wonderful moan... You are on top of me, I could admire your beautiful, almost divine body as you sat on top of me... and rode me. This breathtakingly beautiful distorted face of yours, as if all this pleasure you feel is carved in marble... lids closed, your lips, swollen from all the kissing, are slightly opened which let    your lustful whimpering escape. This grace and elegance, as you rose from me and  then lowered yourself again... as your hands glide erratically over my stomach, searching for support... you suddenly threw your head back and clenched even more tightly around my length. The addicting sounds you’ve made... it’s like the most beautiful melody in my ears... squelching noises and even more of yourjuices gushing out of your sweet, so sweet pussy when you came...

An all-too-familiar laugh tore me out of my extremely indecent thoughts, which quite relieved me at first. Until I raised my head and not too far away I recognized no one but my best friend Kim Seokjin, who made very questionable hand signals in my direction. Oh my God, no! I knew that he had recently changed his job and got accepted for a position as a chef in a new restaurant... but not in this Restaurant! He will never let me life after he found out I was on a “Date” with a woman...

Even though Seokjin was on the other side of the restaurant, I could almost feel his smirk on my own skin. Fuck it, just pretend as if you do not know each other and hit him really hard tomorrow morning in the gym where we meet up for our work out. I quickly turned all my attention back to the person sitting opposite me and tried to ignore Seokjin as best I could.

It was only at the end of the evening, when I had said goodbye to Y/N, that I realized that this meeting had much more of a date than a "business dinner". How familiar we had talked with each other... how much I had thought about licking Y/N the drop from the chocolate sauce of her lava cake from her lips... how it would be... to kiss and touch you...

A noticeable blush has settled on my cheeks as I attended our first meeting together... or even Date in this Restaurant thought back. Four months had passed since then and I suffered from longing for you. You would never see me like I saw you. The reason you wanted to draw me was simply that she needed someone as a model. In addition to landscapes and cities, you want to devote herself gradually to more other motifs. And since I have been the first inquired. Your pleading eyes made me say yes. But I know that for me you have  no more than the feelings for a casual friendship. It hurts to see how you flirt  around so casually with all those other people. I would never be the gift for you as you are for me. If only the recipient would notice that there is a given heart laying in your hands...

"Ah, Jungkook! I’m glad that you're ready!", your cheerful and melodic voice cuts through the silence of the room and you’re walking towards me with excited shining eyes. "Come~," you say and lead me to the chaiselongue, which is placed in front of the large window. The soft, orange light of the evening sun falls on the wine-red fabric of the restored chaiselounge in baroque style. The upholstery has frames covered in gold and also the lion feet on which this historic furniture stands are gilded. Everything was decorated with so many Details, it looks so incredibly elegant and luxurious. On the left side there are some cushions in the same color and an elegant design is carved on the backrest, literally inviting to get used.

"Surely you know the movie 'Titanic', right? Do you remember the scene where Jack used charcoal pencils to draw an nude coal picture of Rose as she laid on the sofa? I would like to draw you in a similar position. I hope it's okay for you if I look at you more closely without a dressing gown... i want to get an overview of your body proportions.", you say, looking me straight in the eye. I notice that you’re very concerned about my privacy and does not want to overstep any of my personal boundaries without my consent. I nod slightly at first until I get a clear yes over my lips. She looks at me silently for a few seconds before reassuring me once again that we can always stop at any time if I feel uncomfortable. Especially your patience and mindfulness of my boundaries shows me how important it is for you as well and how I actually relax noticeably. Y/N smiles cheerfully at me and I slowly loosen the belt of the dressing gown and let the last garment slide to the ground. I feel her in-depth look at me... he is not uncomfortable... only... exciting... in a few different ways.

I swallow again and lie down on the chaiselongue as instructed. You correct my arm and leg position, also rearrange all of the cushions correctly. To my own relief, you put a red cloth over my crotch area. Not that I am ashamed of anything, I am more than comfortable with you already... I just have some worries that I will get a visible problem if I constantly feel your look on my bare skin.

 "It should be able to guess something, but not be allowed to see everything right away...", she whispered with a smile, before her fingertips unintentionally glide tenderly through my happy trail. One of your last smiles are... not really to interpret. Then you return to your easel.

* The Reader’s POV *

Carefully you sit down on your old painting stool, already quite worn out on the edges and stained with the most different types and tones of colors. It had originally been dark brown. You smile dreamily when you think back that you’re used to dangle your legs around when you were a little kid because it was way too big for you back then. For eighteen years now you have exactly this stool and this easel. They had been a gift from your grandfather for your fifth birthday. He had awakened the passion of painting and drawing in you and passed his talent on to you. A certain melancholy seized you when I thought back to how you used to paint your first real picture on canvas with your new easel in the old music room in your grandfather's country house. 

It had been the old, dusty grand piano, which must have been more than a hundred years old at that time. How the country house survived all these wars unscathed, you ask yourself to this day. Perhaps there had already been something magical about it at that time, which should remain untouched. Perhaps the small estate should remain an inconspicuous symbol of hope, the hope that at some point the sun and peace will return when the unbearable suffering and sorrow of this cruel time is over. When the wars were over and all those seeking protection who had fled to this country house were able to return to their own homes again. This house, this estate you can explain your childhood with a single word. Home.

You lift your thought-lost look from your empty, folded hands and look to Jungkook. He takes your breath away every time you see him. He is so special, such a wonderful and yet you firmly believe that he has not been chosen for you, such an ordinary woman as you are. He would belong to someone else with whom he would be happy, although he is the only one who was able to understand and read your works, the language in them. It... it had been such a beautiful moment when, six months ago, he stood in your newly opened studio, so absorbed by the painting of the forest of your childhood. All the other visitors had only looked at it briefly and smiled wearily at the fact that it was again only a landscape painting, but did not grasp what the story behind this work was. Why the artist chosed this very motif, to see, to feel what the creator wanted to communicate through the work. 

But Jungkook had been different. He had given the work, your personal heart, a chance to unravel the true meaning behind it. He did it slowly, bit by bit with his eyes... grasped with his whole mind and heart and finally let himself be influenced as a whole. You could tell from his body reactions that he felt exactly what you had felt when you painted it last summer. Longing. Infinite Longing. Mixed together with melancholy, a little homesickness and sorrow to a unique emotional color. The day you painted it was the last time you saw the house in your official possession. Your grandfather had left it to you. But unfortunately you lacked money, you had to pay some debts and with the best will you could not earn the money in other ways. So you had to sell it with a heavy heart. Your beloved birth and childhood home and the associated lands, you had to sell your true home away. The picture is the only thing left of it. And Jungkook was the only person who understood what you wanted to express with the painting. Longing. My Homesickness.

When all these sensations came upon him, he involuntarily clenched his hands tightly, his chest lifted and lowered quickly, his Adam's apple hopped repeatedly. His eyes were glassy. He experienced your longing as directly as you did. He... is so special. So infinitely amiable. He... he is the only person who’s able to read your true feelings in your works. He is able to read between your brush strokes.

So today you will try him... to paint a confession of love with this act. Maybe he could read... what you feel for him. Even if you know that you will probably never see him again. Because you would not be the recipient of his love and affection. He's just too... too... gifted for a simple artist like you. He would never be your gifted person.

Your gaze glides tenderly and caressingly over his body. Trying to absorb every little detail of his body, his charisma and his character into you and let it flow into the painting. Every birthmark you want to put on the canvas and hold on. You want to show Jungkook how beautiful he is. How godlike he lies before you on this majestic chaiselongue, how masculine and muscular he is, as if he wanted to embody an Adonis. You want to paint every muscle, even the smallest visible muscle, on the canvas in a realistic manner, you want to capture the strength and security that he conveys to you over and over again and make it visible to him. And yet... his gaze often corresponds to that of an intimidated, insecure fawn, which does not dare to want to get up on his legs on his own. The fear of falling again is too big. Through this painting you want to show Jungkook what he really is, what he represents for you and what you feel for him. He is... so contradictory. He is strong, godlike, powerful... and at the same time, so infinitely uncertain, vulnerable... almost pure.

Silence enters your little studio, only the regular breathing of the other and the muffled noise of the busy world outside the door could be heard. Here... here, it feels like time is standing still for a moment for the two of you. Your shared eternity had begun.

To your happiness that it is summer right now and it stays bright for a long time. Today you take more time than usual to mix colors. You want to mix a shade that perfectly matches his skin tone. You want to get the exact color of his black hair down onto the canvas, and the perfect brown for his beautiful eyes. The evening sun and the leaves of the huge treetops in front of the large window conjure up the most beautiful patterns on his immaculate body. A game of light and shadow. It seems to you that Jungkook's body, every single pore of his body has a tiny diamond, so that he begins to sparkle in the sunlight like an infinitely precious jewel. The evening sun warms him, lays a thin layer of sweat over his body. Every detail you try to bring to the canvas, every feeling, every movement of my heart, everything you feel for him, you want to bring to this canvas. You want to make him a masterpiece. Because for you, he is the most beautiful specimen, the only true crown of the human creation.

Some black strands have come loose from his manbun and have fallen on his forehead. It looks stunning, to see him like that. I had never seen him with a messy or even completely open hair... but even now these strands loosened from the braid make his facial features look so much softer and more relaxed. In it, the adult and strong man united with a young, vulnerable, shy boy. The result is... infinitely beautiful. He possesses both sides, so he makes the seemingly inexhaustible divine human being.

His eyes, drawing his eyes with that expression in them, cost you a lot of nerves. Too often you misunderstood this infinite longing that you find in his dark, brown eyes. Again and again you have to restrain yourself, not just to get up, to go over to him... and to kiss him.

This longing look you misinterpret is as longing as you own... according to your closeness, your touch, your affection... according to your love. Because you love him. You love everything about him, his sheepish laugh, the way of rubbing his neck shyly, the way he speaks and explains his point of views about things, how he smells... just everything... every blemish he blames on himself, you think it’s like an artwork on him. He is so perfectly imperfect that you just fell in love with him.

The sun has already set and only the last pink and purple streaks could be seen in the sky, with which the past day says goodbye to the world. One last time you can hear the velvety stroke of the brush over the canvas before you finally put the brush aside. It is finished. You have given everything that is in your power, used all of your artistic abilities and knowledge to the utmost and you have incorporated everything that you feel and think about into this artwork. And what you see put a smile on your lips, but also makes your pulse rise. What will Jungkook say when he looks at it? He will see it... can he read what you feel for him in it?

With a trembling voice, you call Jungkook and look at him one last time. The last time the sight of this male beauty was granted to you. One last time.

After Jungkook has wrapped himself in the dressing gown again, he slowly comes towards you and your easel. Your heart is throbbing as if it really wants to fearfully flight and jump out of your chest. Your body gets hot and cold at the same time and suddenly your hands get sweaty, the dried color on your skin mixes with the sweat to a uncomfortable mess in your palms, which somehow makes you even more nervous. Then he stands next to you. Looking at the canvas for the first time himself. The last brushstroke is still drying.

Once again there is silence, which makes you incredibly nervous and with every second that passes, you want to follow your instinct to escape. Jungkook's pupils are dilated and blown out, whether with bewilderment or horror, you can not recognize. One of his hands shoots up his mouth, he trembles all over his body. Suddenly you hear a suppressed, throaty sobbing. Surprised and a little appalled, you look at Jungkook, who has shut his eyes tightly and presses the palm of his hand even harder on his mouth, as if he wants to muffle every sound. Tears escape the corners of his eyes. This is a reaction... which you would not have expected...

Gently, mindful of any kind of resistance, you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't sob, he doesn't whimper. He just cries. Tenderly, consolingly you hold him, without wanting to distress him. He literally presses his face into the crook of your neck. Salty tears drench your blouse, but it doesn't bother you. The reason why he had such an emotional outburst, you just don't understand. But still... it's okay. It is valid.

As he slowly calms down and his breathes becomes regularly again, he carefully lifts his head out of the crook of your neck and wipes the last tears out of his eyes dry in slight embarrassment. He slowly releases himself from your embrace until you finally stand silently in front of each other.

"What title you’ll give this artwork?", he asks softly, in a rough, throaty voice. You swallow . "It shall be called 'Der Geliebte'. ...it is german and translated it means... ‘The beloved’ ", you say barely audibly and lower your head. After this confession, you can no longer look him in the eyes.

Jungkook takes a sharp breath in and you're actually just waiting for a devastating response from him that would be like a death threat. But nothing of this happened. Instead, your chin is suddenly raised by his fingertips and you look into Jungkook's beautiful eyes. He bites his lower lip a little uncertainly,his own gaze falls on your pretty shaped lips. 

"Do you... do you allow me to kiss you?", he asks quietly... barely audible for you even though you’re standing so close to each other. He doesn't dare to look you into the eyes after such a question, he is too afraid that you deny his request. But you can hardly believe your luck, a high pitched ‘yes!’ flew over your lips and before you can control yourself, you press your own lips right onto his. They are incredibly soft and kiss you back in such a delightfully and endearing insecure and shy manner as no other could ever have done it.

Your heart beats full of joy and bliss and in your belly, the butterflies fly somersaults of all different kinds that your whole body began to tingle. Your mind cannot get a grasp of all this yet, but this... you don't need any more of it at this moment anyway.

The kiss is tender, shy and somewhat uncertain from both sides. Jungkook is very insecure and shy, but before he can escape like a frightened deer again, you put your arms around his neck and let your hands rest in the nape of his scalp. Again and again you detach yourselves from each other only for the fraction of a second to get a breath of air into your lungs in order to find each other lips again... until you stopped for a few seconds.

"I like you... I like you really, really much, Jungkook... I even dare to say that I fell on love with you.", you mutter softly against his lips. His shy, happy smile was too much for you, so you immediately kiss him again. Perhaps because of the sheer joy and maybe of the certainty that he feels the same for you, the next kiss turns into something more passionate than before...

So it's been four days so here's part two 😁 Just wanted to say a huge thanks to everyone who read/liked/commented/reblogged the last part! It was such an amazing response, especially given it was my first time posting my writing here, so thanks for all the love you shared 🥰🥰

Heads up, this part is actually part one from Elain's pov. Initially I wanted to continue from where the last part left off in Elain's pov, but as I was writing the background, I realised I'd written too much to just skip when Az gets to the estate and cut straight into a continuation of part one, so I ended up rewriting the whole thing in her view. So there's no new elriel moments, but you'll get a lot of new stuff anyway 😅 I would've said you don't have to read this part to understand part three, but when I was rereading the later parts a few hours ago, I realised there's some stuff that alludes to things in this part, so I strongly recommend you don't skip this 😅😅

Also, wow, some of my fave paragraphs I've ever written are in this part 😁 Bonus points if you can find them; there are four I'm thinking of in particular 😉

Word count: ~ 3.1K. Lemme know if you'd like to be tagged/removed 😊 Next part up in two or three days 😊

AO3

Ashes from the Deep

Part II

__

It had been a pretty uneventful day as Elain worked through her new plant textbook. Feyre and Rhysand had decided to spend the weekend away at the mountain cabin, Cassian and Nesta were away doing things she wished not to think of, and Mor was at the Winter Court.

Amren had only been round in the mornings, probably to check Elain was still alive. She'd glance round the living room, examine some of those fine crystal glasses in the display cabinet and then leave. There was no difference today, though Elain always felt Amren's scrutiny upon her even when that muted silver gaze was directed elsewhere; perusing Rhys' wine collection had become a tired ruse.

So besides preparing and taking her meals with Nuala and Cerridwen, Elain had spent her afternoon with her book, making notes and copying drawings. The twins had gone off on some errands, so she'd wandered into the garden at some point to tend to her many plants, telling them how lovely they each were. The crocuses looked particularly stunning this autumn day, their pale violet colour breathing life into the shades beneath some of the trees.

With her book, she'd identified new weeds, digging into the soil to rip some pesky ones out. Sometimes she didn't want the help of a tool; sometimes she needed to feel those roots on her bare skin.

Harvesting the carrots and beetroot was also on the agenda today, along with seeding for some spectacular displays next year. She'd been collecting the seeds from some of her summer blooms, like those soft clouds of baby's breath, saving them to replant. These she sowed directly into ground she'd prepared days before, her fingers digging into the crumbly clumps of earth.

Autumn onions she'd plant tomorrow, perhaps. Feyre always remarked on how their strong taste complimented meats well, so Elain wanted to harvest some fresh for her sister for once. It'd take a few months of waiting, but there was little else better than picking out and eating food one had grown with their bare hands and the essential ingredients of love and care.

Setting her book on the patio table, Elain surveyed the garden. It was a good day's work. Plants watered and sown, weeds uprooted, and hands sweaty and soiled, Elain was proud of what she'd achieved today. There were no distractions, nothing to take her from the one thing she always found satisfaction in.

After a long shower, she found herself back in the garden with a cup of tea and a blanket. The sunset washed the sky in a blaze of red and orange glory before it yielded to the cool tones of twilight then night. Elain sat in silence, hands wrapped around her mug. How long would it be until someone's arms were wrapped around her, until she felt the warmth her sisters finally had?

Silly, these thoughts. Immortality stretched far ahead, there would be time to develop that companionship. Months and years were but a heartbeat in the life of a High Fae. She wouldn't even notice the years pass.

Or so everybody else kept saying.

With her tea finished, she perused the book of recipes she'd borrowed from Nuala. Some recipes jumped out, ingredients for which she'd been growing for a few months now. Pumpkin pie sounded especially delightful, the gourd having almost darkened and hardened to ripe quality just a couple days ago. They should be ready for harvest tomorrow.

A chill wind sent Elain inside to prepare and have her dinner in pleasant silence. Even her mind was quiet tonight. After washing her dishes, she stood by a bay window, fingers idly tapping the windowsill.

Faelights bobbed like tiny lamps, dotted through the garden. The full moon was now high in the sky, its ghostly glow illuminating the datura flowers she'd seeded half a year ago. She pulled on her blanket and went out again for a better look at those gorgeous blooms, the petals opening only at night.

Elain couldn't be happier she'd found seeds of a triple-flowered variety. They'd grown to produce large trumpets, three layers of petals ruffled against each other. Somehow she thought of her sisters as she crouched and stared at the flowers, each layer so similar, yet fighting for space and breath as it unfurled before another. It was only when they were all fully open that they could sigh along the night breeze as one, an ethereal song of togetherness, tinged with notes of poignancy, only heard by those with the will to look deeper.

The white petals were stained with velvet violet, a true vision in her garden. While the others had given her passing compliments on the flowers, Azriel had seemed stunned the first time he saw them, citing them his favourite of all the plants Elain had grown so far. Something about their shape and contrasting colours, he'd mentioned.

She smiled fondly at the memory, where his eyes sparkled as he reached for one of the soft petals.

Her hand lashed out to grab his wrist. 'Don't touch them; the leaves and stems are highly poisonous.'

His brows rose. 'You wouldn't think that at first sight. But they're beautiful, Elain. Truly magnificent,' he said, his smooth voice so low, a voice that was night given sound. And how befitting, as even those datura flowers seemed enraptured by his presence, one shy petal finally unfurling towards him.

She beamed at him. 'They like you. Flowers like it when you talk to and compliment them - but these ones haven't given me the same reaction as they have to you. I think they really like you, Azriel.'

His answering smile was heartbreakingly tender.

A few more seconds passed before she realised she still held his wrist. She silently let go.

It was a shame she'd have to dig out the datura shrub and move it inside for the winter; it did look magnificent in the moonlight.

The sky shifted past its midnight velvet, and still Elain crouched, admiring the flowers. She shivered in the night's chill. The stars above twinkled and glistened, cold and distant as ever, yet stunning - infinitely more striking than they'd ever been when she was human. A thousand different colours sparkled in that vast expanse, the moon a phosphorescent queen in the centre of her court.

The Night Court truly lived up to its name in the wee hours of the day. Its opulence never failed to mesmerise her; the enhanced Fae eyesight was at least one thing she was grateful for from this body.

Her eyelids became heavy and she yawned. Why was she still out here? It was late into the night; she should be in bed by now. But the night was so beautiful and it was so quiet and she wanted to appreciate it all just once. Just once without the expectations of others, without having to wear that miserable smile all the time.

Of course, it didn't look miserable, which is probably why almost nobody ever bothered to look deeper into Elain. She should be used to it by now, but it still felt - wrong. That most overlooked her so long as she wore a smile. That most didn't think her capable of feeling the utter bitterness and loneliness she had once seen so plain on her sisters' faces.

And in acknowledgement of her sisters' hardships, Elain didn't fault them for not looking, for not seeing her. To see past the thick blanket of darkness in one's own mind was a trial in itself. But it had been years since the war now. And still they didn't notice.

They didn't notice that Elain was being shredded from the inside out.

It was almost laughable. But not funny enough.

No, it was not funny that people still treated Elain like a child, that people wanted to keep Elain in some weird impasse of a stage between child and adult. She'd thought finally carrying out her duty and giving her hand in marriage would show everyone that she was growing up: Elain Archeron, middle born but first married. Of course it was still on her own terms, to a man whom she'd loved. A man who'd seen her through the rubble of her family's lives. But she'd overall hoped doing what was expected of her would be enough.

Clearly not. She didn't even know who she was any more. Did she ever? Everything she'd once yearned for, gone. That fragile human life would soon be just a speck on the horizon of her past.

She sighed. Rebuilding herself was going to take a long time.

But what would she have to do for people to see her, to listen to her? Throw a rage? Fall into a drunken stupor and break a few dozen bottles?

She definitely could, but those were not her. She was Elain Archeron. And so she would wait. Patience wasn't a bad thing at all; she saw it on the shadowsinger's face all the time, that tranquility and calmness she so wished to feel inside.

Azriel. Her heart softened as he entered her mind again, and she dug her fingers into the soil, if only to occupy her fidgety hands. As sure as the chaos of her visions these days, there was a mess of butterflies related to him she wasn't willing to show. Or understand.

Elain and the spymaster? Now that was laughable. Truly laughable. He was wise and patient, while she - well, everyone already thought her a child, and though he listened like no other around her, surely even he couldn't glimpse the adult she so desperately wanted everyone to see.

No, it was foolish to entertain the idea of a relationship with him. No matter how much he saw.

No matter that he was the first to see her since Graysen.

Elain exhaled. She stifled another yawn, smoothing out the soil, then brushed her hands clean. She wrapped the blanket closer around herself and stood. Twinkling stars and velvety darkness and -

There, a knot of shadows materialising at the far edge of the garden, collecting and swirling into a larger mass before Azriel himself stepped out and sagged against a tree. His shadows whirled and obscured him, a dark fire with him burning at the core.

Elain's voice left her throat before she even thought to call him and she ran over to his figure slumped in the dimness.

She couldn't help but say his name again as she neared. 'Azriel!'

Those beautiful hands fiddled with a Siphon, but he looked even worse up close. Fatigue dragged at his body, a second weight to all the muscle and armour he already had to carry. Sweat and dirt clung to him, his hair. At least the shadows were parting, swallowing each other and misting away as they often did around her. Perhaps she should ask someday why they did that. But not today, not when his breathing was so laboured.

She raised a hand - to do what, she had no idea. She couldn't just touch him right now. 'You don't look okay.'

Something else limned his features as he huffed a light laugh and said, 'I'm fine, don't worry.' His voice was raw, so starkly different to its usual icy smoothness. It was common for him to guard his emotions, but in his state, this kind of thinking was just unhealthy. What would it take for him to be honest with her?

'You don't have to pretend with me, Azriel,' she said, lowering her hand. She studied the ground, embarrassed that she'd come up to him. What could she even offer in her pathetic childlike state when he was so clearly affected by his mission right now?

His hand rose. Her heart faltered, she had to do something, and she blurted, 'Can I wash your hair, please?'

His eyes widened, his entire composure crumbling. It wasn't often that the shadowsinger looked startled, but Elain was far too shy to show that she quite liked the effect her question had on him.

'You want to wash my hair?'

His face was so exquisite, it hurt to look at it. His eyes would be even worse; it wouldn't be the first time she was rendered speechless by their kind gaze. A myriad of colours swirled in their glistening depths - gorgeous greens and brilliant browns, all so natural and rich, if only she could look at them long enough to find their matches in the garden around her. Though, his eyes were an entire spectrum of colour in their own right. How would she ever pick out each and every shade?

And if she somehow did have the courage to meet his eyes now, what would she see of herself in their reflection?

A lovesick puppy? A doe-eyed, fearful fawn?

No, she didn't want to know.

So she swallowed and focused on his hair. Perhaps this Fae eyesight was a curse, for even his hair was shockingly fascinating. Only flat black from a distance, the faelights bobbing about the trees highlighted layer upon layer of silky raven locks up close. His hair was so dark it seemed to absorb the surrounding light. Mud stained one side of his head, and it was an effort to keep her hands from brushing it away, so she said, 'I'm positive that's mud and you shouldn't sleep with that in your hair. It'll only take a few minutes.'

He ran a hand through his hair, clumps of dirt falling out.

'You've managed to get some on your face, too.' There were light specks of mud and blood across his face, a more noticeable patch along his cheekbone, thrown into sharper relief by the faelights and his own weariness. Was that a cut beneath the patch? And another on his temple?

She leashed her arms.

What had happened? He wore the signs of a fight, but why would he come here when he knew Elain was the only one home?

His eyes bored into her face, but she refused to meet them. He seemed to lean forward then, stumbling.

Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous that he wouldn't even acknowledge he was in need. Azriel rarely stumbled. Any fatigue Elain had felt just a while ago was now burrowing down a little longer. Her voice was firm when she spoke. 'I'm washing your hair. It'll help relax you into falling asleep.'

His brows rose, but if Elain stood there one more moment she wouldn't have the courage to do anything for him. For herself - she could take care of someone else. She could do for Azriel what she hadn't done for Feyre all those years as a human.

And for Azriel, she could tend to the male who'd provided her with comfort and safety in this world of distress and danger.

So she pulled him along, clenching her jaw and refusing to look back. Her heart hammered in her chest but she continued, hand wrapped round his armoured arm. Her hand slid down to his wrist but just as she was about to replace her grip, he grabbed her other hand and pulled her into him.

The shadows instantly began to ensconce them, dozens of those cool tendrils twining like vines. The estate loomed huge before them, and Elain gripped Azriel's hand tighter. 

'My bathroom,' she said. Beneath the low whisper of those shadows, her blood thrummed, her heart so painfully obvious against her ribs now. It would be a wonder if the spymaster wasn't aware of it. Though she did hear another flutter above, right by her ear. But as expected, the shadows made quick work of their journey and she didn't have the chance to dwell on it further.

Now out of the comfort of Azriel's hold, Elain set down her blanket and made to grab a chair from her bedroom. His dark presence was so overwhelming that she exhaled lightly as she entered the room and took the chair. She dragged it to the sink, avoiding his gaze, and pulled a towel, soap and a large jug from the cupboard by the door.

As she settled the soap and jug on the sink, she dared a glance at him. He was still clad in full armour, those black scales gleaming like obsidian over his skin, his Siphons glistening jewels across his body. 'I think you'll have to collapse your armour for this,' she said.

He inclined his head and tapped a Siphon, those scales lashing back into each other with cruel elegance. They were a mirror of their master: cold, controlled and unyielding, forged from scintillating darkness. He was a night sky riddled with stars; light existed if only one bothered to look for it.

Azriel's great wings righted themselves as he stood straight, now looking smaller in just his black tunic and trousers. Something about him seemed vulnerable without the armour, so Elain breathed, 'It's beautiful, all of it.' The hulking armour, the classic simplicity of the tunic and trousers, and the male who wore them all.

He was just so wonderful, Azriel. An enigma that could see her own. Her heart clenched.

Azriel rustled his wings, colour blossoming on his cheeks.

Elain blinked and pulled the chair out a little. 'Please sit.' As he sunk down, she rested the towel on his shoulders, hovering her fingers above his forehead. Her body tensed and her fingers remained suspended. It was like a spark of tension flickered in the space between their skin, teasing her, tempting her, taunting her.

After all, she'd offered to wash his hair, an act that would certainly require touching. But why was she so hesitant? She'd touched him before - kissed his cheek, even. Although that had been in the heat of adrenaline, a mark of her gratitude where a simple thank you wouldn't suffice, not for risking his own life for hers.

This was - what was this?

She finally lowered her fingers through that tense spark, pushing his head back against the sink. It was exhilarating, this contact, but he lowered his wings, shifting on the seat. Elain moved into the space he gave, turning on the tap as he went still. Just as her body was taut, taut as the skin of a drum.

She checked the water. Warm. It was time to start.

Azriel was looking up at her. Something like yearning swirled in his eyes.

He looked so tired. It made her heart ache.

'You can close your eyes,' Elain whispered. And he did.

___

Feedback's welcomed; thanks for reading 😊

If anyone wants to know what the datura flowers look like, CTTO:

@illyrian-lover-flower @julesherondalex @nooriee @mis-lil-red @verifiefangirl @tswaney17

Hey, everyone.

I've tried to compose myself before making this post. This is a subject that I've touched on a little bit in posts, but I've never done a deep dive into JUST this topic. I was going to make a post solely about this subject sooner, but this one in particular is really hard for me to talk about without getting emotional...and yet Dhar Mann has talked about this on quite a few occasions in the most insincere, toxic ways. I'll do my best to discuss this topic without getting too emotional.

It's about a serious subject that people still are ignorant about and don't take seriously. Even to this day, with the body positivity and body neutrality movements. (I don't know of a better way to describe just being neutral about your body. Sorry if it sounds weird.)

For anyone who doesn't know what I'm referring to (honestly, I don't blame you, as this is a subject that's often seen as normal and is encouraged in society for the most part), I'm talking about fatphobia. Hating on people for being fat. Discriminating people because of their weight in the workplace, at the doctor's office, just in general. Not many stores having inclusive sizes. People being treated like they're subhuman because they're fat.

I want to say this first, before I bash on Dhar Mann again: I'm a plus-size young woman. This is something that I have personal experience with. Your weight has no significance to your worth as a person. If you do happen to be overweight, obese, whatever, you're not subhuman. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. You're worthy of being loved, listened to, treated with kindness, and respected, just like anyone else who isn't fat.

If you treat people like utter shit for their weight, get some help. Why do you care about somebody else's weight? Obviously there's an exception to this, like if they're so big they can't move or they're so skinny their organs are showing....because those are causes for concern, but other than that, mind your own business. Even if they are in those extremities, unless you're their doctor and/or their family, STILL mind your own business. How the fuck does a fat person simply breathing and existing affect you in any way? News flash: there will always be fat people.

Before I get to the weekly ritual of tearing TWO of Dhar Mann's videos apart (the next one will be in another post or I'll reblog this post and continue on there), here's an obligatory trigger warning for the video analysis itself and my response: The following post contains fatphobia, fat shaming, a man being super fucking misogynistic and treating women like they're objects, and there's even a touch of some racial aggression. How shocking. Because Dhar Mann really seems to get a kick out of writing about racism to make it all cute. Oh yeah, you're totally solving racism, Dhar Mann. /s

My response contains my experience with fatphobia, relationships with food, mentioned/implied thoughts of s3lf h@rm, feeling like I'm unworthy of being treated like an actual person because of my weight, and absolute rage. Like usual. My responses are very heated. This one especially. It's LONG. Buckle up.

With all this out of the way, let's get to the first video that I want to tear apart. This one is about the auditions for a record deal. I will get to the video about a kid wanting to be a host of a radio show later.

To sum up the first video, a plus-size white woman (Krissy Elliot) is singing for an agent (Isaac) and his assistant (Evette) so she can follow her dream to become a singer. Isaac cuts Krissy off to viciously bash her for being a plus-size woman. Evette stands up for this woman, and says she sounded fine and to let her finish. Isaac doesn't listen to Evette, let alone take what she said into consideration. He continues to ridicule Krissy for her appearance, that she'll "never make it in the music industry" (WRONG, do you know how many plus-size people are in the fucking music industry? There are A LOT more now than when I was growing up and it honestly makes me so happy. There were more plus-size people in the entertainment industry than in the music industry back then.), suggested that she "become a chef or a food critic" because she apparently loves being around food (being a chef or a food critic are noble professions, but NEVER fucking assume ANYONE'S relationships with food), to the point where Krissy left the room in tears.

Here are a few screenshots for context:

When this skinny, conventionally attractive woman (Jesse) comes in, Isaac's mood does a COMPLETE 180° and he's all sunshine and rainbows. Then right as soon as Jesse did her audition, Isaac is over the fucking moon, complimenting her physical appearance, treating her like an object, and signs her up for a record deal RIGHT AWAY. Pay attention to Isaac's facial expressions in one of these screenshots.

Evette suggests that they sign Krissy for a record deal instead. Because she was "the best singer they've had all day". Isaac, still all hot and bothered by a skinny, conventionally attractive woman that he's treating like an object, tells Evette that people like Krissy don't make it in the music industry because they're "overweight and unattractive", and is verbally aggressive towards her when she does nothing but explain her stance. Isaac sees this as Evette "talking back" (remember how I mentioned that there's racial aggression? He says that Evette is "talking back" because she happens to be a black woman) and fires her. He signs Jesse a record deal and has a blast with her.

The award ceremony comes around, and they're picking a winner for Best New Artist. They pick the winner, and it's....guess what? You'll never get it! It's Krissy Elliot! Why? Because Evette became her agent after Isaac fired her. Krissy goes into her whole story about how she was laughed out of every single agency and that she worked hard. Good for her. Jesse is obviously very happy for Krissy. We gotta love women supporting women.

This video was again another dumpster fire. As usual. Like I said, with this video in particular, I couldn't get through the first thirty seconds the first time around. Because I've dealt with shit like this. Obviously not with the music industry because I don't even think I'd be good enough to step into an agency...but I mean in my personal life.

Being told by my own dad that he was "tired of buying bigger clothes for me" when I was a young teenager, despite him buying almost nothing but "junk food".

Having my abuser make comments about my weight and talking about diets while I'm trying to eat my food, despite her being overweight.

Having someone I know (not anyone I'm friends with) make a comment about me eating a few things (ONE small piece of broccoli, two baby carrots, a small handful of chips, and ONE small piece of pineapple) and said to "save some for everyone else", even though I was saving food for everyone else, which is why I took so little. She tried to justify it with the fact nobody was there yet (why do you think I took very little food?), and she "was saying that to everyone" (why did she look at ME when she said that instead of making it clear that she was talking to everyone [saying "Hey, everyone" before the comment about saving some for everyone else IS NOT HARD]?), even though I know it was just to save her own ass. I knew she said that to me because I'm plus-size. She didn't say anything to anyone else, nor did she make it clear that she was talking to everyone.

Another person I know (not a person I'm friends with) saying that I overreacted (I did not overreact; SOMEONE TRIGGERED ME and you did NOTHING about it) even though they all KNEW my relationship with food is complicated. They KNEW that I don't really like eating in front of other people. I was upset that someone MADE A FUCKING DISGUSTING, TRIGGERING COMMENT ABOUT ME EATING VERY FEW FOOD ITEMS, ALMOST ALL WERE HEALTHY, DESPITE OTHER PEOPLE EATING A LOT MORE THAN I DID AND PICKING AT EVERYTHING. That day, I was begging one of my friends (one of the people I trust to eat around) to PLEASE take me home because I didn't want to be there (never wanted to be there in the first place), I was tired (I worked all night the night before and was forced to go to a meeting before all this happened), I didn't feel comfortable there anymore, there were way too many people (four individuals plus all their staff from another house were in the house I work in), I couldn't breathe (I was either about to pass out, have a panic attack, or just start crying), but nobody listened to me. I ended up getting a bus to go home.

(Sorry about all that. I was trying not to get emotional in this post. I just needed to share how this can affect people.)

Onto my response, which is all in the screenshots below.

ETA: I know the screenshots for my response are very jumbled right now and it’s difficult to read. I apologize to anyone who’s unable to fully read it! Because this is part one of this whole subject of fatphobia (I’m making a post about the boy wanting to become a radio host very soon), my response here will tie into that post. My response to that video is vastly the same, despite not making a comment on that video as of right now (the radio host one). 

I’ll be typing out my full response here. I apologize for weird formatting. Instagram wouldn’t let me break up my response into paragraphs. I’ll break them up into paragraphs here instead.

CC (Combination of the first, second, and third screenshots, aka, the first part of my response):

 I have a few questions before I get into my thoughts on this video. One, how the hell does your weight have any significance on your worth as a person, and if you do think this way, why would you think that? Two, do you know that fatphobia is a lot more than just judging a person for being fat? Three, why do you feel like you can speak for fat people like myself with this piss poor excuse for a video that I could barely get through the first thirty seconds of the first time? 

You can’t speak for any of us. I can’t speak for every fat person because not everyone has the same experiences as me. 

I’ve been bullied for my weight in real life as well as online. People have called me ugly just because of my weight. By the way, your weight doesn’t equal beauty, and that’s what I’m still learning. Beauty comes in all shapes and sizes. 

On quite a few occasions, I have actually thought about doing dangerous things to my body that I don’t feel comfortable going into here. All because I had people try to boil me down to my weight, call me ugly, and destroy whatever self-esteem I had left. You don’t know what fat people go through, so don’t act like you do. 

There are many factors that go into why a person may be fat, including medical conditions, mental illness, trauma, genetics, etc. All of those things are none of your business unless those people decide to be open about it. 

No, it’s not always healthy to be fat (obviously there are extremities on both sides of the spectrum of weight that are extremely unhealthy), but it doesn’t make a person any less of a human being. Fat people are human too. Quit treating us like we’re not. We deserve to be treated like everyone else who isn’t fat. I’m not saying put all fat people on a pedestal. I’m saying treat us like human beings.

CC (Combination of the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh screenshots, aka, the second part of my response):

Remember how I said that fatphobia isn’t just about judging people for being fat? Well, there’s the “fat tax” on plus-size clothing (even though it maybe only costs a little bit more in fabric, if there’s any difference in making clothes for people who aren’t fat), limited styles for fat people in stores (making a lot of us have to buy fast fashion or have to spend a fortune on clothes that actually flatter us), not very many stores have inclusive sizes still (if you don’t at least carry max 5XL or a size 38/40 in pants size, you cannot call yourself inclusive), and a lot of other things.

Many fat people, myself included, are afraid to seek medical attention for anything (even checkups) because of doctors who only focus on our weight and not on what we came in to see them for. They write it off as if our weight is the sole cause of our problems, which isn’t always the case.

How about we talk about how expensive it is to eat healthy in a lot of places? Not everyone can afford to make fresh meals every day, let alone once a week. Maybe they were never taught how to due to their upbringing. You don’t know.

I’ve had people comment on my weight, what I’m eating (even if I’m eating something healthy like fruits and veggies), talk about my weight or diets EVEN WHILE I’M TRYING TO EAT, and it’s caused me to wait until I’m alone or around someone I trust to eat anything. As a result, I have a complicated relationship with food now.

Telling someone they’re fat doesn’t help them. They know that. They see themselves every day. People may want to change, but they either are afraid to ask for help, or they don’t know where to start. Some may not want to change. It’s up to them, honestly. If you want to help them lose weight, maybe suggest any physical activity they’d have fun doing and do them with them? I dance for fun. Also, you could help set up meal plans with them. 

If you’re not going to at least try to help them lose weight if you’re so concerned about them (this is all if they actually want to change things and don’t know where to start), I cannot say this in a sweeter way: shut your mouth and mind your own business. Because you’re just being a cunt at that point.

CC (eighth screenshot, aka, the third and final part to my response):

There are quite a few plus-size people in the entertainment industry as a whole who are/were very successful. Remember the late Chris Farley and Aretha Franklin? Chris Farley was big, but that didn’t change how great of an actor he was, how funny he was, or how much of an impact he made in the entertainment industry. Aretha Franklin was a plus-size black woman in the music industry, but she’s inspired SO MANY artists we have today! There are many plus-size men, women, and I believe even nonbinary people in the public eye in general. Like I’ve said, beauty comes in all shapes and sizes. That’s why the body positivity and body neutrality movements are a thing.

(I know I implied that I thought about sh here in my response, but please don't worry about me as far as that goes. I'm fine now. I would never go through with anything like that.)

In the last part of my response where I mentioned some plus-size people in the entertainment industry as well as the music industry (the late Chris Farley and the late Aretha Franklin), I was going to name more people, but my comments were getting too long. I'll name some more here off the top of my head:

Lizzo (rapper), the Piggy Dolls (the first K-Pop girl group made up of actual plus-size women), K*v*n Sp*c*y (I don't feel comfortable saying his name because he's a disgusting person, but he's another plus-size man...he was in King of Queens and in A LOT of movies), PSY, Greyson Gritt (a genderqueer person in the music industry), Elle King, Produce Pandas (the first music group in China full of plus-size men), Martha Wash, Chubby Checker, Fats Domino, Big Angel (a J-Pop group of all plus-size women), Chubbiness (another J-Pop group of all plus-size women), Pottya (another J-Pop group of all plus-size women)...there are so many that I found, but if you want to add more plus-size artists, plus-size actors, plus-size comedians/comediennes, feel free to add them in the comments!

Dhar Mann, you'll never know what plus-size people go through. You don't know what we go through. You have NO IDEA what we go through on a daily basis. Stop acting like you do. Because you don't, and you never will.

By the way, Dhar Mann, this will NOT be the last post I'll make about you or your videos. The more you make fucking deplorable, poorly written bullshit, the more posts I'll make! Teehee!

If you got this far, thank you so much. The next part of this is coming very soon. I'm sorry for not posting too many screenshots from the video. I wanted to fit in my response because it's important for people to see.

Have a good day/afternoon/night, y'all. Love you!

sunbathing

A/N: What a nice little summer throw back in the dead of winter. I hope this rewrite is as good as the original and that you all enjoy a little bit of pool Harry and some Sarah content as well. I think I originally wrote it out with Lou, but I liked this version with Sarah a little bit better. Anywho! Feel free to leave feedback or comments and I hope you’re having a great day. Love you! 

Warnings: Self-doubt, body image talk...I don’t think there are any others! 

Word Count: 1.9K

You never liked going to the pool.

Even at the mature age of twenty-three, you couldn’t stomach the memories that the chlorine and screaming children conjured up from the depths of your childhood trauma. Memories of girls in your class, who hadn’t developed as quickly as you, teasing you for wearing a one piece instead of a bikini. Teenage boys pointing and laughing at you, tossing names in your direction until you were hiding behind a scratchy cotton towel, hiding in the locker room until your Mom finally came to pick you up after school. You wished that it didn’t bother you still, truly. You wanted nothing more than to put the hurtful words and terrible feelings lingering in your chest behind you so that you could move on like a proper adult.

 But sometimes, you felt like those bullies had only grown up with you. Bullies from the playground and the classroom were long gone, replaced with paparazzi and celebrities who wanted to see you fall from grace. Magazines, news articles, and blog posts replaced teasing taunts with long paragraphs about the cellulite on your legs and the pudge around your stomach. Backhanded compliments and snarky sneers replaced children’s laughter and your closest friends took the role of the supporting teacher telling them to fuck off. 

As you wiped the sunscreen on your skin, watching your thighs jiggle and ripple under your own palm, your boyfriend sent a few droplets of water in your direction from the deep end of the pool. You looked up at him, pushing your borrowed sunglasses down as he squinted back up at you from the crystal blue water of the hotel swimming pool. His tattoos were on full display, the dark ink contrasting beautifully with his pale skin. You were sad to see the natural tone of his wintery skin go as the sun started to turn him red, causing his freckles to become more noticeable. 

“You comin’ in, love?” He asked, taking the green and gold cap off to ruffle the damp curls matted to the top of his head. “It’s nice and cool in here.”

“I’m not ready to come in yet.” You held your hand up as Harry held his cap out, insinuating that he was going to toss it in your direction. You caught it with ease, setting it on top of your pool bag between your sun lounger and Sarah’s. “Go on and have fun with Mitch and the guys. I’m just going to do a bit of sunbathing.”

Harry hauled himself out of the pool before walking over to you. 

He leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

“Alright, then.” He sighed out, pressing his hands to his hips with a cheeky grin. “Did you put on your sunscreen, casper?” 

“You have five seconds to get back in the pool before I push your ass back in.” You grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest as Harry tossed his back with a loud laugh. “Of course I put my sunscreen on.”

“You’re very pretty and I love you very much, my little ghost.” He pressed another kiss to your lips before darting off towards the pool, jumping in with a huge splash. 

Sarah laughed next to you as you rolled my eyes, dropping the aforementioned tube of extra strength sunscreen into your pool bag before situating your glasses on the bridge of your nose. You carefully leaned back against the sun lounger, doing your best to keep your sunhat in place so that your shoulders and face didn’t crisp up. You didn’t care so much about the rest of your body. You figured it could use a bit of sun and vitamin d after a long, cold winter in London. 

Sarah was engrossed in a book that Mitch bought her for Christmas and you were careful not to fidge too much so that she wouldn’t be disturbed during her time of rest and relaxation. It was a little hard not to fidget, though. The hairs on your skin stood up as you lifted your glasses up slightly. Just as you suspected, other patrons of the hotel pool were staring at you, whispering amongst themselves before giggling like little girls. 

Suddenly, you felt vulnerable on your sun lounger as you dropped your sunglasses back to the bridge of your nose. There was a good chance that it was merely a coincidence, and those girls weren’t even talking about you. They might have just looked in your direction after sharing a friendly joke about a boy they liked or a person they used to know. Your mind was often responsible for creating scenarios in your head that made you feel as though the world was against you when it really wasn’t. So you inhaled sharply and tried your best to let it go. 

But your brain had latched onto the idea that you should be uncomfortable in your not-so-revealing one piece. Your fingers twitched and your legs felt awkward against the sunlounger. When you shifted, you heard it squeak underneath you, causing you to let out a frustrated breath. Next, you sat up, suddenly hyper aware that you probably had a double chin when you rested your back against the back of the sunlounger.  

Your entire body felt hot, and you knew that it was more than just the sun causing you to perspire at your hairline. Your heart was beating rapidly against your chest and your breathing was a little heavier due to the anxious and frustrated feelings swirling around inside of you. It irked you, knowing that you were working yourself up instead of relaxing like everyone else. It took you a few moments of deep breathing and a few sips of cold water to calm yourself down.

“Are you alright?” Sarah asked softly, her finger holding her place in her book as she glanced over at you with furrowed brows.”You seem a bit tense, love.” 

“Sorry.” You muttered out, lifting your knees towards your chest as you rested your hot cheek on your knee. “I’m trying to relax, but I just feel like everyone is looking at me.”

“Why do you think that?” She inquired, sitting up as you shrugged. 

“I just feel like a beached whale, you know?” You licked over your bottom lip before turning your gaze to Harry playing around with Jeff and Mitch in the cold water. “Being here is bringing back a lot of unwanted memories from my childhood and it’s crushing any self confidence that I’ve built up over the years. I haven’t been back to a pool since I was fifteen, and I honestly never intended to come back to one.”

“I just want to say that you’re an extremely beautiful woman, Y/N.” Sarah said softly. “You have a really lovely shape, and you should be proud of your body for all it does. You take such good care of it when we’re on the road, and I know that everyone has hard days, but don’t beat yourself up. I promise that everyone is minding their own and enjoying the sun. If anyone has their eyes on you, it’s because they find you absolutely stunning!”

“I’m hiring you as my personal hype woman.” You chuckled, glancing over at Sarah with a bright smile as the weight lifted off of your chest. “That was really sweet of you, Sarah. Thank you so much.”

“I meant every single word.” She said proudly. 

You took another few deep breaths, focusing on the sounds of the water splashing against the side of the pool, and the joyous laughter that filled the air instead of the crushing doubt in your mind. As you settled back against your lounger, you tried to focus on the good things happening in your life instead of the sinking feeling in your chest. You were having a great time on the North American leg of Harry’s tour. He was spoiling you to bits, waking you up every morning with a shower of love and a lavish breakfast ordered from room service. 

He spent every waking moment holding your hand and talking to you as if you were the only person that he shared the earth with. He had always been an amazing boyfriend to you and if there was one thing that could lift your spirits, it was the curly haired boy in the pool less than twenty feet away from you. As you continued to think about how perfect Harry was with a smug smile on your lips, you felt a slight chill on your skin before a few water droplets landed on your legs. You pulled your sunglasses off of your face, squinting up at the shaded figure in front of you. Harry stood with his hands on his hips, his chest heaving as his hair dripped. 

“Looks cozy over here.” He mumbled. “Can I join ya?”

“Course,” You said, scooting your bum over to the edge the best that you could. Harry collapsed down next to you, dropping his arm over your stomach, his head resting on your shoulder and his legs hanging off as he rested on his side. “Did you enjoy your swim, darling?”

“Mhmm.” He hummed softly, turning his nose to brush against your neck, his lips puckering slightly against the warm skin. Your whole side was damp now and his hair was dripping little rivers on your skin, but you didn’t mind. “Are ya enjoyin’ your snooze?”

“It’s not a snooze,” You grumbled, turning your own head to kiss his forehead. “It’s called sunbathing, handsome.”

“You look gorgeous doin’ it, whatever it is,” He smiled, squeezing your side softly. “Like this color on you as well, looks nice.”

“Thank you,” You smiled, your lips still pressed to his forehead along with your nose. The chlorine had wiped away all traces of his cologne and it was a little overbearing, but it was nice to be so close to him regardless. You slipped your arms around him, cuddling him back as you got comfortable. “You smell like chlorine.”

“You smell like the sun and banana boat.” He countered playfully. “I don’t know how much longer I can lay here like this, knowin’ exactly how beautiful you are, and knowin’ exactly how much I want you.”

“Is that so?” 

Harry shifted around, moving his hips closer to your thigh. He pulled your foot between his ankles, tucking your leg between his to make it known that he was growing harder with every second that passed. 

“You look fucking exquisite.” He groaned. “Like a sun goddess.”

“I feel exquisite when you talk to me like that.” You chuckled. “And I feel like I need to turn so the other half of me doesn’t look pale in comparison to the front.”

“You can sunbathe later.” He whined playfully. “Come on, lemme love on you.”

“You can always love on me later and let me sunbathe now.” You suggested with an amused snort. “You can love me all night long if you wish.”

“All night?” He lifted his head up, smirking at you. “S’that a promise, love?”

“It is,” You rolled your eyes. “Now either lay on your own lounge and sunbathe or get in the pool, I need to flip.”

“Alright, then.” He grumbled, still smiling. “Suppose I could use a bit o’ sun anyhow.”

Harry landed a playful smack to your ass when you turned, causing you to laugh loudly and Sarah to groan in playful disgust. As the three of you continued to make casual conversation, you realized that suddenly, you didn’t hate going to the pool so much anymore. 

Which of Your Fics

Tagged by my wife @leo-moon and my love @murdermewithbooks

Did you think would get a bigger reaction/audience than it got?

I feel like I have nothing to complain about in terms of “readership” because I never expected anyone to read anything. But I suppose the light of stars. i think it does a bit better on ao3 but overall it’s probably my least read fic on tumblr and yet the one i love the most.

Got a better reaction than you expected?

Honestly? All of curriculum vitae. I expected exactly one person to read that hella niche academic indulgence fic and that person was me. 

Is your funniest?

full sabacc. What was I on when I came up with playing strip poker with a Mandalorian because I need to get to that state of mind again???

Is your darkest/angstiest?

I’m weak when it comes to angst but the light of stars really got away from me. chapter seven is probably the angstiest of the angst. At least... up until now.

Is your absolute favorite?

It’s hard to pic between my multichapter fics. tlos and cv have a lot of my heart and soul in them so I’m going to call it a tie. 

Is your least favorite?

Probably my two semi-connected frankie fics. Not because I don’t love him but they just don’t seem like anything special special.

Was the easiest to write?

I think keep quiet was the easiest simply because paz vizsla has a grand total of like three lines and a minute of screen time so I got to take “creative liberties” to a whole new level. 

Was the hardest to write?

Right now, the next chapter of tlos. It takes a lot of time for me to write each chapter because there’s just... a lot going on. lol. And I’m busy, unfortunately. But this fic really has my heart. Here’s a little out of context sneak peak for anyone who actually read all of this:

“To be fair,” you offered over your shoulder as you walked into your small bunkroom, “Paz called me an idiot too.”

Din froze. “He told you his name?”

“Yeah.” You said it almost lightly, but Din knew you understood the brevity of the act and a slight edge undercut your words. He could see it in the way you teased your bottom lip between your teeth.

Has your favorite line/exchange/paragraph? (share it)

cv chapter twelve. It’s probably my favorite (so far) and has a couple of exchanges between javier and our professor!reader that just make me so happy. narrowly beating out the part when he deals with her shitty landlord is when he finally finds out about the ~tenure drama~

“It doesn’t matter now,” you started, “But they told me there wasn’t enough money in the budget for me. Except that couldn’t have been true because…”

“They hired me,” he finished for you. “They’re paying my salary with–” He sat up, leaning his weight on one elbow, so that he could look at you. “Fuck–” he spat as he realized what that meant. Suddenly, it all made sense. Everything made sense. “Fuck. No wonder you hated me.”

“I shouldn’t have,” you rushed to assure him. “None of that was your fault. You didn’t even know–”

“No. No, baby.” His head fell to your chest as his heart broke for you. He couldn’t even imagine what that would feel like for you. You. You poured your heart and soul into your work and cared about your students more than anyone else at that university. “No.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he said flatly, his voice muffled as he spoke into your body. He lifted his head and locked his gaze onto yours. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

“I would’ve understood,” he said firmly, begging you to believe him. To trust him.

I just.. I love them.

Have you re-read the most?

I always have to reread cv and tlos to remember wtf is happening but I’ll admit I like to reread two halves when I wanna feel soft. It’s like a warm hug for me. I really love that one.

Would you recommend to someone reading your work for the first time?

At the risk of sounding repetitive, cv! Starting with the prologue of course.

Are you most proud of?

tlos chapter nine: curiosity. It’s not often I compliment myself but I’m just so happy with the way I developed both the plot and characters. 

No Pressure Tags: @huliabitch @unstoppableforcce @forever-rogue @generaldamneron (I’m not sure who’s done this so forgive me!)

tagged by @danieljradcliffe! thanks, christine!!! this was a lot of fun but definitely took some serious thought, haha

1. name 4 fictional characters who showcase your personality the best, with explanations if you want.

david rose - too many reasons. don’t know how to comment on this one without sending my lil five paragraph notes app essay on the subject

leo fitz - dramatic, hopelessly romantic, sarcastic, deeply loyal, family issues

carol danvers (as voted by my gf and best friend - this character’s more aspirational than someone i’m like) - 90’s lesbian, has a cat, ready to fight most any man at any time

i genuinely cannot think of a fourth character to put here

2. aesthetic

crunchy leaves underfoot, fresh coffee with cream, old-school christmas lights glowing, expensive candles, glass vases full of roses, thick sweaters, road trips with great music, pumpkin flavored pastries, wood, simple things beautifully crafted, maker’s/artist’s fairs, chunky knit blankets, tv flickering with a rom-com

3. favorite musical/play? (If you’ve never seen a musical or play, one you’d be interested in seeing?)

the only musical i’ve ever been ~into~ is hamilton, but i’d love to see more so i can be educated

4. what is the best compliment you’ve ever received?

i have a fatal flaw that makes me only remember the bad things people have said about me but many people on this site from the sc fandom have said lovely things to me, and my girlfriend will just randomly say shit like “hey you know you deserve to be loved, right?” and make me cry

5. how many times have you been in love?

hard to say. all i know is that i am very much in love now, and it’s the real deal.

6. embarrassing story or fact about yourself that makes you laugh now?

my whole life is one very long embarrassing fact and there is literally nothing that i am able to laugh about

7. favorite disney/pixar movie?

i don’t know if i have a favorite at the moment! little me’s favorite was mulan, which i will happily stand by. also cinderella. 

8. favorite flower or plant?

i love most plants/flowers (except gerbera daisies, which i have a weird vendetta against), but favorite flowers include roses, peonies, and carnations. i can’t keep regular plants alive to save my life but i think anything with big leaves is 10/10.

9. what’s your favorite holiday?

christmas!!! i’m not super religious anymore, but i love everything about the winter holiday season.

10. name three things that made you laugh or smile this past week.

my partner, schitt’s creek, a picture of a VERY cozy cat in a soft blanket

11. what song would you play to introduce yourself to someone?

jesus christ this is SO much pressure and i have too many answers. i don’t know? am i trying to make a good impression or am i just like, laying it all out there? ok, i can’t possibly choose just one answer to this question so i’m tentatively going with oh no! by marina, no need for dreaming by misterwives, and i wanna get better by the bleachers. and i’m rationalizing this by saying that handing someone a playlist when they asked for one song is as good of an introduction to me as anything else. (also pretty much anything by taylor swift)

12. name something that truly makes you feel peaceful even at your most stressed moments.

my partner always knows how to calm me down/reassure me, even at peak freak out. outside of her, driving + listening to music or ordering food + movie + chilling out.

13. what do you, did you, or would you study at college?

i got a cinema and media studies bachelor’s!

14. this is kind of a weird one, but which outfit of yours makes you feel most like yourself?

okay i’m gonna say it again: this is SO much pressure???? different outfits say so many different things? (my partner is reading my answers over my shoulder and just went “yeah, everyone who reads this is gonna know you have anxiety”) um. okay i will stand by that this answer changes based on like, what i’m feeling that day? but last week i wore black jeans with a nice ribbed white t-shirt and my platform vans (a la julia roberts in notting hill) + my usual jewelry and i thought that was a great outfit.

15. what is a quote you live by?

i feel like it doesn’t count as a quote but the line “and i will learn to love the skies i’m under” from hopeless wanderer by mumford and sons means a lot to me

16. name the funniest playlist name you have.

i have a patrick playlist titled “🏳️‍🌈💙🗄🎸” which i think is pretty funny. i also have one just titled “BEST MUSIC” and it’s literally just the black panther soundtrack and the into the spiderverse soundtrack, which my friend and i made to jam to one night

17. make a reference to an inside joke you have with someone you love with zero context.

jimbo

18. what is a message you would give your younger self if given the chance?

none of this is your fault.

19. who is your favorite family member? (If you have no good blood family members, feel free to mention someone in your found family)

kaitlyn

20. what’s a secret dream of yours? i don’t know that i have any semi-secret dreams! i guess maybe that someday i’ll get married and my family will be able to peacefully co-exist in the same room together (prob won’t happen, but a person can dream, haha).  tagging: @fitz-and-simmons, @bipeteparkley, @rosebuddsmotel, @bestwisheswarmestregards, and @brighter-than-sunshine (no pressure to do it/sorry if you’ve already been tagged!!)

🍓 🍓 🍓 🍓 🍓 🍓 🍓 🍓 ( is it too late to send these in )

you’re like “is it too late” and im like “blossom my pal i have been waiting my whole life to talk about how much i adore you without it being weird.” we first met ,    back on that warm summers eve (idk i forgot when it was) when my life changed for the better forever . i remember how much i was simping over lorenah and the amount of work that you had put into this oc and looking at you longingly, and then you were in my life ! and i learnt that not only were the things i knew about your oc the coolest, but that you had the biggest brain for character development i have ever seen. fast forward to wherever the fuck we are now, and you are not only literally my favourite writer ever, but also one of my best friends. im paragraph breaking this because i wrote so much bc i love u so so much.

firstly, i’m going to gush about the characters you write because i have never seen you write anyone without them becoming the love of my life and someone i adore so much, even when i know nothing about the source material (one day i will play one video game for you i promise... as long as it’s easy and not expensive and i dont repeatedly die in the first five seconds.) the sheer depth of exploration you put into everyone you write is honestly just astounding and it is the joy of joys in my life that i get to write these characters that are so intwined with whoever you are writing. the fact that we appear with matching blogs and matching tears is an aesthetic i love for us always, and i am always saying that you cannot follow my characters without also following yours for the full picture. you write so beautifully and i know how much love and care you put into all your characters because i get to see it and discuss it with you all the time. anyone who gets to write with you is just generally so blessed and so lucky to be a part of your world. (even tho i have more rights with our one braincell.)

and onto you as a person. it’s not like i literally wrote you a three page letter about how much i love you except that i totally did, you are the best friend i could wish for and just such an amazing person to have in my life and i hope you know just how much i appreciate you and everything you do for me (and if you dont after the letter and this ask then what the FUCK do i have to do.) i love how much we both love soup and i love sending you videos of my sunday soup making (garlic chicken and rice this week) baby, and i am still hoping we reach the day when we tell everyone to fuck off and go live in a cabin in the woods. you have the biggest heart in the world and are just one of those genuinely kind people the world needs more of. thank you for all the times you have listened to my anxiety ramblings and just being the best best friend on the planet. one day i shall run through an airport into your arms and we shall probably fall down but it will be cute, okay?  10 million soups out of 10. 

@miserystole  ,           send me a     🍓    and i shall compliment you!

So, there’s this reply to that “do you ever read you friend’s writing and you wonder why they even put up with you” post, about how that’s an unhealthy attitude that will only hurt both you and your friend, even if you pass it off as a joke. About how you should try to better your writing because you love writing and it gives you joy and improving makes you feel proud, not because you keep comparing yourselves to others or because you’ve been told you can’t be too confident in your achievements and now think hating everything you create is the way to improve when it’s really just a way to both destroy your self-esteem and make creating unnecessarily difficult. And the thing is, I agree with it. The wording feels a bit harsh to me, but I’m kind of an oversensitive softie, and I suppose people do need a good kick in the pants once in a while. And I really do agree.

I think love is fundamental, and if you don’t love writing or what you write, you should either stop or take a good, long pause to figure out if you can love it, again or at all. I write because I love it. Or at least, I feel something close to love for it. I don’t really think about it. Sometimes a sentence, a description or a line of dialogue or a simile or anything else, pops into my mind out of the blue and I’m like either, “Oh, what is that? Who or what is it about? Where do is it lead me?” or “Yes, that’s it, hold that until a less ungodly hour/a moment when I’m free to try and do something with it or at the very least write it down.” Sometimes I’m watching or reading or doing something and my brain says, “Yeah, but you know what would be cool? If this thing happened to these characters!”, and the thing that should totally happen to the characters may or may not be related in any way to the thing I’m watching or reading or doing. And sometimes I have a sudden craving for a certain story or character or scene, or a want that has built up through years, but of course I know I won’t find any piece of fiction that fits my tastes exactly and precisely and because I don’t know any writers who happen to be mindreaders and I’m not about to become the kind of prompter who feeds the plot almost line by line to the unlucky writer their asking for a story, so in the end I go, “You know what? This is actually a very good idea and it’s a shame no one has written it yet so I’ll just do it myself!” And sometimes I feel frustrated or unsatisfied or irritated or even just a little too frantic and in too deep to actually feel any love or joy or anything else while I’m writing rather than when I take a step back to reread and edit what I’ve written, but I wouldn’t trade all those other “sometimes” I’ve just mentioned for anything in the world. And honestly, I wouldn’t do it even with these less pleasant “sometimes,” as much as I like to complain or joke or jokingly complain about them. Because they are all part of what makes me me and the idea of ever giving them up, even for some relative peace of mind, feels as absurd and unnecessary as the idea of consciously trying to change my tastes in food or music or fiction or jokes or pets --- I can only guess at where some things come from, so how would I even go about upturning or taking away things that feel almost more like instinct than anything else? And why would I ever wish to? And I don’t think I’ve never been in romantic love, I’m not even sure if I know how that’s really supposed to feel like or work out, but this is kind of love I know. The kind of love I feel for my family and my friends, who all have annoying, stupid habits because that’s what people do and I’m sure they find my habits annoying and stupid, too, and that’s fine, and the kind of love I feel for our cat, who yells at me when he’s hungry and scratches me when we play and bullies the neighbour’s overly friendly, peace-loving dog and does a lot other things that made me fear and wonder, “Oh, god, what if the novelty of having a cute little cat all for ourselves wears off after a while and we don’t want him anymore and we become one of those families that take in a pet and change its whole life only to immediately give it back and give it trust issues in the process because they’re not actually fit to have a pet” before we’d actually gotten him but now they’re just part of him and you’ll have to fistfight each and every one of us in a parking lot if you try and take him away from us. That’s the kind of love I have for writing, and even if it’s not always joy, and sometimes it’s annyoing or irritating or no more pleasant than merely, simply breathing, what does the unpleasantness or the lack of enthusiasm really matter? Nothing, or at least, very little. It’s my love, I can only guess where it really comes from, it’s always with me and I can’t imagine it ever going away, and you can fight me in the aforementioned parking lot.

And I think it’s this love that allows me to... not quite be carefree about my writing, but something a bit like that. What do comments and reviews and kudos matter, if my love expresses itself through fandoms most people don’t even think can be considered as fandoms or themes nobody but me thinks or cares about? Sure, validation and compliments and people genuinely enjoying what I create make me feel great and may even warm my heart, depending on how much thought and effort I put into a particular work or how long I’ve wished to be able to find other people interested in a certain fandom, but they’re not my reason for writing or even something I really need -- I’ll keep doing my thing whether I get a hundred kudos and fifty comments or only three views. I did use to compare myself unfavorably to other writers and despair over all the ways I found myself inferior and lacking, but then I realized... what good is wishing I could be as good as someone else, or even someone else altogether, if my writing is part of me, stems from who I am? What influence on me could another writer’s success and the methods and techniques used to reach that success even have? I should strive to satify myself while doing what I want, to become as good as I can be according to my standards and through the methods and techniques that work for me. I can take what I like and analyse it and try to make it mine and incorporate it in my style and my ideas, there’s nothing wrong with that and it’s a good way to broaden my horizons and challenge myself and improve my work and love writing even more, but in the end, I can’t be anyone but myself --- and I may have lots of flaws, but in the end, there’s nothing fundamentally wrong with that. Actually, there is some joy, and even pride, in that. And so, I reread my old works and see them with new, more charitable eyes, remembering the fun and the satisfaction and the need to write precisely that specific thing, pushing aside the old doubts that gave me nothing but endless nitpicking and rewriting and saying, “You know? Maybe my use of em dashes wasn’t actually as overbearing and cringy as I thought, maybe I should start using them a bit more freely again.” I reread my new works and tell myself, “Fuck it, of course I enjoy this and I am actually a bit proud of it, I wrote it for myself, according to my own tastes and following my own inspiration and putting as much effort and care into it as I thought it needed!”

I still have doubts and fears like everyone else, but they’re more along the lines of, “I know I can write better than this, so why am I not doing it right now? What is the problem here?!” or “I love and care and believe so much in this idea and I want to be good enough to do it justice and make sure it’ll make me feel perfectly satisifed and proud with the final result”, than “Everybody is doing the thing I feel is my thing better than me” or “I’ll never be this other writer I admire.” My writing blocks are usually more about getting stuck in the middle of a work while struggling to find the right words to put the exact feelings and actions I have in my mind on the page precisely as I’ve imagined them (”No, thats not it! There’s something missing and I can’t go on until I find out what it is! The words here don’t sound right!”), or struggling to find the Right Words to start a new project at all because I still have to work on internalizing that perfectionism is the enemy and a first draft is meant to be changed and corrected and maybe even kind of suck even if rationally I understand both concepts, or having Something Big in mind but knowing I usually just follow the flow of my ideas until it dries up and feeling my best works really come from truly getting lost into it and then worrying about how difficult Building An Actual Plot Like A Rational Person will be, or having scenes or even whole stories feels just so complete in my head that laboring to get them out of it feels like doing the same exact work twice for nothing (which isn’t true, but tell it to my brain), or just... not being able to start or go on or even end even if I have everything from ideas to motivation ro the right, relaxed but willing and driven state of mind, for some reason. Or, like, utterly dumb stuff like, “This paragraph will only make me feel good if I manage to get the lines to align in this specific way without changing the meaning or ruining the tone and atmosphere, so I will now modify it four or five times until I get it right even if I know this doesn’t make any sense.”

Except... there’s this friend. Her writing is the kind that uses a scant amount of sharp, essential words to tell whole worlds made of unsaid things, so soft they make you feel like you’re inside a dream or so harsh they're like a punch in the gut but always so clever and full that you always feel you’re always missing somthing, you just aren’t smart enough to figure it out. I have to make a conscious effort not to compare them to my works, because then mine feel overwrought and overdramatic, childish and naive.

And I know, believe me I know, that despite how much of yourself ends up in your writing, despite how much your writing can be a part of yourself, skill as a writer is not synonymous with worth as a person. You can be a good and/or succesful writer and be a complete shithead, and thinks like kindness and open-mindedness will always be fundamentally more important than the ability to string words together in a pleasing manner. But she’s kind (perhaps kinder than I deserve, because I know sometimes I can be a real dick), and open-minded, and sweet in her own way, and brave, and confident, and so smart and cultured, and sharp, and funny, and interesting, and she seems to understand people a lot better than I do. And even when we’re just chatting, I’m not always sure I understand every layer to everything she says, I’m not sure I can keep up with her wit and her mind. The confidence I feel while writing evaporates and I feel slow and shallow and boring and dumb and wonder why she puts up with me, how she hasn’t realised she could be talking to her people more like her yet.

The worst thing is, it’s not even her doing anything to make me feel like this and I know it too well. I don’t even think she knows, and I hope she never finds out. She’s not just kind to me, but affectionate and supportive, and in a honest and genuine way, and I know it’s irrational and stupid to think I might have tricked her into behaving like that with me, or that she’s not being sincere, or that she just doesn’t care enough to  take a good look at me and find out what my brain thinks is the truth. I know it would be hurtful and ungrateful to tell her. 

I also know she’s not perfect, because no one is. She has her flaws, too, and sometimes she says things that make me roll my eyes or sigh in frustration. There are some things I know more about than her, too. And we don’t even live near each other so I’ve never even met her in person, so I know if that happened at one point, I’d probably find out a bunch of annoying things about her.

But when she compliments my writing, sometimes my brain either shortcircuits for a moment or starts coming up with all kinds of bullshit like, “She’s just saying that because you’re friends and she’s a very supportive person. You’re pretty much the only one writing for this ship, so this is more like when you’re desperate enough to run fics in Russian and Chinese through Google Translate and you still leave kudos even though half of it came out as gibberish. It’s like when you read something you know is actually not well-written or well-plotted at all just for a certain specific character or trope in it, she’s just the type who doesn’t believe in guilty pleasures. She’s using a very happy and pleased tone but that doesn’t mean anything on the internet, almost everything here is hyperbole anyway so her actual reaction must have been a lot more lukewarm.” And when she writes to me or says she enjoys talking to me, sometimes my brain will go, “That’s great and I appreciate it! ... but seriously, why.”

*sigh* I guess that’s another thing I’ll have to try and work on this year. Being more open about what I feel -- at least on a sideblog read by only *checks* fourteen people, none of whom are the friend in question or any friends we have in common or any of my regular internet friends at all -- instead of keeping everything bottled up inside at all times is another one, apparently. Let’s see if it’ll really make me feel lighter.

12.30.19

       Though this won’t be my final blog post, it is my first one written while being back in the United States. In recent months, the writer within me—who sits at a desk that is covered in post-it notes, half-empty coffees gone cold, and pages of unfinished thoughts—has only wanted to stare off into the distance. Ironically, that distance has been me. While many variables combined have created the perfect situation for some high-quality introspection, my instinct always has been to document the maelstrom of thoughts that run through my mind in large volumes. At first, this took place as fiction, then I turned to poetry, but as of late nothing else seems quite right to write except for my own life. I do value introspection highly, but never before have I felt inclined to share so much of my life with any other living soul, so count yourself among the lucky few, dear reader. It feels entirely wrong to do so, but at the same time, it seems like such an extraordinary waste to keep it to myself.

       It is presumptuous to assume anyone is even reading this, which I think makes it easier to write when my audience is more of an apparition than actuality.

       All of that to say, however, that part of my process is writing random bits here and there, and that ultimately these blog posts become Jess's monster, one big body (paragraph) built of many different parts. This will likely be a mixture of things because returning to the United States has, emotionally, been a mixture of things.

Written 12.26.19, in reflection on 11.28.19 

       I was pondering my trip to London today, particularly the day that Lindsay and I saw Phantom of the Opera. That day has such a glimmering quality in my memory. We were both giddy on anticipation for the theatre, and we were all dressed up as we walked arm in arm, our music split between us in our knockoff AirPods. It was one of those powerful days where nothing could really go wrong if it tried. As we sat in the theatre, drinking overpriced Prosecco and basking in the sophisticated and somehow imposter-ish feeling of being in an ornate theatre in London, I could feel a strange sort of shifting around me, like everything was changing and undoing and becoming all at once. I was realizing, I think, that nothing would ever be quite like this moment again. I would never be in London, with Lindsay, on the cusp of everything ever again.

       Between the theatre and the DLR, as we trotted through the city at London speed, the crisp air and bustle of a populace that is always up to something, I kept getting hints of it. Catching my unquenchable joy in the reflections of the windows we passed, my full moon cheeks aglow with my smile. Our reflection showed Lindsay facing what was next resolutely, while I looked into the present and attempted to hold it there in my mind.

       On the DLR, as we watched the city shift from old to new and back, black water glittering with nightlife, side by side as the present flew past us, I was filled with some inexplicable settling within my chest. It was a sudden and rapid, heavy but not in an unpleasant way. It was just a falling in love, or a re-falling in love, with my life, and with the present, and the past that had somehow led me right up to the brink of what was to come. Lindsay, on this evening, paid me one of the loveliest compliments I think I've ever received.

       "You've taught me to see so much beauty in the world that I never saw before,", she told me as we looked out over the diamond cut cityscape.

Such a simple, perfect day.

       I think I was settling into the knowing that the near and inevitable future would not be easy. That I would come home and feel the initial surge of excitement over what my heart had missed for these months, but that a hollow and aimless feeling I am so accustomed to would creep in around the edges. I would feel the siren call of the city in the soles of my feet. Knowing that feeling would come, I still pushed my heart into the hands of those I loved, even though trusting people who have the power to hurt me has gotten me before, and would again. Because others have taught me that there is no point in bottling yourself up and pretending to be someone you’re not. My soul, in all it's wild and whimsy, will always be spilling over, and why not free it.

12.14.19

       I feel that my time abroad was a transformative experience, I just don't quite know how to sum up what changed. I feel different, not in the way that I expected. London, sleek, elegant, historic, magical London left its mark on me in a new way. I saw so many real aspects of it, the hidden places that aren’t the ‘London’ that we imagine.

       It all began with me accepting that my depression was too much for me to carry alone, which didn't magically solve my depression, but when I say that it felt like a fifty-pound weight had been lifted from my shoulders, I am not even kidding. Dealing with the scope of my complex and often confusing chemical imbalances and how they manifest in my every day, well that was a whole other beast. I am still on that path, and will always be. Sometimes I don't feel like getting out of bed, sometimes I feel nothing at all, sometimes everything all at once. 

       I stepped through a looking glass and into Ireland, where I met a cute stranger, and things immediately fell into place and then promptly apart again. In London, I moved in and became very close with two very lovely and wise Norwegian ladies, and I found my feisty personality doppelganger from Iowa, and nothing ever really went according to plan, or exactly as I imagined, but it was right, and it was one of the best semesters I've ever had. The last week was one of the most bittersweet moments of my life. As we wandered around the flat, we all felt a bit lost. I don't think any of us were quite capable of figuring out how to transition to not seeing each other every day. We ate most of our meals together, sometimes in companionable silence, just to be near each other. Lindsay essentially just moved the rest of the way in. On our final evening together, we had the last supper, and then we had our own small Christmas. When all the gifts had been exchanged, and the dinner tidied up, we dragged their beds into my room and had a very large slumber party.

       On the way to the airport in the morning, as the four of us struggled to carry two people's worth of luggage from flat to bus to tube, we laughed to push back tears. At the airport, tissues were passed out, goodbyes were attempted, final words were choked on, and then we parted. Just like that, it was over. I felt a bit numb as I moved through the airport, alone. A full heart is a heavy burden to bear. All I could think as I sat on the plane as we taxied was, 'I feel very lucky, to have met such amazing people'.

       As every mile between myself and London increased, I took deep, calming breaths, feeling a bit lost and very found, and every glance out of the window reminded me that life is magical and that castles seen from the sky are magical and oceans of clouds are magical, I really couldn't seem to do much else aside from sit in awe of what I had experienced in the past three and a half months.

       It sounds like an exaggeration, or too good to be true. Don't get me wrong, there were plenty of mistakes, screw-ups, awkward times (did I tell you about how I fell down some castle steps, or completely forgot my ID the one time I tried to get into a club? Not me at my best, but me all the same).

       But, those were all the pinches for the moments that often felt like dreams.

       I learned a lot about my own mind, which I couldn't have done without the wildly intelligent, kind, and intriguing people that I met along the way. I learned a lot about the world too, and about how I interact with it. I learned a lot about kindness and the Universe. I learned valuable lessons about confrontation, which were stressful, and upsetting, and so very necessary. I learned a lot of Norwegian words, which I was not expecting. What I did not learn a lot about, was creative writing, at least not in the academic sense. Actively writing did teach me endlessly though.

       Just a few nights ago, I saw a shooting star in a sea of other celestial bodies. I have gotten to play with my chickens on the farm, and with our baby cow, who is very hungry all the time because he is a growing boy, and with our baby goats, who are absurdly tiny and very vocal. Also, since I arrived at home, our cat, Tabitha, a proper aloof feline in all regards, has decided that she thoroughly enjoys my company, and will often stretch herself out on the floor next to me for rubs. This is a very large win because she is an adorable, fickle creature.

       Now, as a new year looms before me, although 'looms' isn't the correct word, because looms sounds scary, and while change is nerve-wracking, I have so much to look forward to, as I keep reminding myself, and so much to look back on. So, as the future dawns before me, I feel apprehension, of course, but also great powerful hope and excitement, because there is so much unexpected goodness stored there. I know that it is not always sunshine and even if it were, that I cast my own shadows. Yet here I am, showing my shadows that if I dance, then so must they.  

   Until the next time, or perhaps, until next year,

jess

P.S. I’ve decided to grow my bangs out. If getting bangs signifies a mental break, does growing them out mean I’m starting to figure things out?

I've basically fallen from. The face of the earth, I ended up doing construction full time??? It's awful 10/10 do not recommend. Have ghosted everyone and everything. I come back and peep but am a giant scaredy cat to interact. If you're still down I'd love to hear director's commentary about Fatal Ties?? 😭

It’s very flattering that you’re this interested in my writing. I already sent you a private message about the other parts of this ask so this is all commentary. I had way more to say than I thought but it was fascinating to re-visit these passages and realize some things I missed before, and just expose myself I guess haha.

Before I start this is one of two warnings. I hardly ever get to talk about my writing in depth so I’m going to be indulgent. In other words, this will be lengthy. I’m putting it all under a read more.

Fatal Ties Director’s Commentary

Chapter 1:

Firstly, I’ve edited this chapter on my own and it reads completely different now. No, I will not be posting the edited chapters here. I’ve change the pov and given each character a different name in order to make it a full, original mafia story. I have not gone back and read this story in months at this point though so the thoughts that spring to mind should be interesting/informative if not entertaining.Also of note real quick, there will be dark and less than savory topics mentioned; namely violence, child abuse, human trafficking, nonbinary erasure, drugs, and sexual violence. None ad nauseam, but they are themes strung throughout this story and I feel it’s important you’re warned before continuing. If you are sensitive to these or think you may be triggered please do not force yourself to read this. Most of it is in chapter 5, but still. That being said, it won’t be all doom and gloom so let’s just jump into it.

Typically I enjoy starting off a story with dialogue or an action. Here, it was dialogue. Baekhyun entering the Boss’ manor to meet them. I think the best starting point for a story is the inciting incident for the main plot-line. Many mainstream scripts are structured so you see what the main characters lives are like on the regular before the balance is upset, but in writing I feel that bogs down the first few chapters so I skip it. This is fanfiction for fun so who cares about setup. It’s Baekhyun. There’s an arranged marriage. You know the drill.

For “Fatal Ties” the Boss has been working on this truce for years, but the main plot of the telling is them actually meeting Baekhyun, and how that changes them as their relationship grows. The Boss doesn’t like the idea of marrying a stranger. Let alone someone from the rival syndicate. Who would? Baekhyun, as they find out rather quickly. He’s too amorous about it all. They don’t trust Baekhyun. They believe he’s a honeypot the other boss sent to spy on them. I mean, of course they think that. Baekhyun is clumsily flirting and overly flattering. Spitting compliments out excitedly at every turn even though it’s clear he knows nothing about them. Calling them princess and doll. They’ve worked too hard for too long, and sacrificed too much to suffer being mis-gendered in their own home by some immature idiot. They don’t suffer being looked down on or erased anymore. They will be recognized for who they are, and as an equal to every other mafia boss. 

Their rage boils inside them with every slip. The moment the Boss grabs Baekhyun’s collar is when I tried to set up how precarious this all is. That threat isn’t empty. The Boss will kill him and the rest of his family if this contract doesn’t work out. They’d rather just sign a contract though. Less work and no sloppy transition times as mentioned in the next chapter.

Speaking of which, this contract isn’t legally binding. It’s more an honor contract than anything. That’s why Baekhyun is there to marry the Boss. It’s really just another business deal to the Boss. That’s how real mafias joined their houses in the past. I made this more clear by adding this line to the Boss’ dialogue in the edit: “Also contracts in our…realm of business aren’t legally binding so it’s insurance. Symbolic more than anything, really, but that’s that.”

As a side note, I ended up doing far more research than I anticipated for this. Most of the knowledge I acquired hasn’t been utilized yet, but I refuse to think I wasted hours of my life reading business, money laundering and fraud law for nothing. Limited liability, shell corporations, deficits, ugh it’s giving me a headache just thinking about all the jargon I had to sift through.

Okay back to the thing. I made a conscious decision to describe the Boss’ manor as such. Their dad built up the drug business. They’re just tweaking it to be more profitable. It hasn’t been revealed yet, but their dad wanted to surround himself with expensive things to feel more important and successful since he started from near nothing. The Boss, on the other hand, doesn’t enjoy living in this big house. It’s too cold and empty. They want to live in a normal home further from the city and have their only worry be about if their garden is getting enough sunlight. A peaceful life. That won’t happen unless a truce is called between them and Baekhyun’s family. It truly means everything to them that this marriage go well.

Had someone tell me it was so satisfying when the Boss smashed that mug over Baekhyun’s head. That felt good. I figured that’s the first major tell of their character. They get annoyed at being mis-gendered and harassed, but instead of leaving or yelling or anything a regular person might do, they lash out with violence. They were raised in the mafia where mistakes were atoned with blood. You ever seen “John Wick 3”? Fucking love Keanu Reeves. Some of my favorite action movies. Anyway, sort of like that. The Boss has very little mercy in them. Or patience. Bad combination. But for good reason. Any small slip-up could result in life in prison, so yeah.

The other major tell of character was in what the Boss did right after. Cleaning up the broken mug. They take responsibility for what they knew was a mistake. They clean up their own mess. They immediately know to call for Yixing the doctor and calmly explain things to Baekhyun when he wakes up. I intentionally never had them say “sorry.” They admit they were wrong to hit him, but they don’t apologize. Even so, the moment Baekhyun sees a glimmer of a chance for approval from the Boss he jumps in to help cover it up. Knowing that if his parents found out they hit him any peace that might’ve been forming would be tenuous at best. More likely, his dad would take it as a personal attack and retaliate.

Then right at the end Baekhyun shows some kind of guilt and/or concern for causing their hand injury and it throws off the Boss’ instincts. Suddenly he’s willing to shoulder the blame and offering to help. Being respectful. A total flip from before. It makes the Boss harden their guard more. Proving he shouldn’t be trusted. Or, at least, they can’t entertain the possibility that he’s trustworthy. Not yet. Still, he’s saving them significant stress by lying to his parents about his head, so the Boss is much more gentle in turning him down before going to bed.

Chapter 2:

Despite what it looks like, this sex scene was not put in gratuitously. It’s very, very important setup for just about everything else, and it’s filled with foreshadowing. I knew it would be important to get a glimpse at the Boss’ secret affair in it’s normality before it got twisted a few chapters later. It shows a peek into the Boss’ hidden personal desires. They crave real affection. Their issues prevent them from actually believing that Kyungsoo loves them, but deep down they hope it’s true. They’re wary of entertaining those hopes however, because that means they could have a weakness for others to exploit. See literally any secret agent plot-line ever. The loved ones are threatened first and used as leverage for the villains. So the Boss denies that it’s anything more than physical.

I tried to convey the timeline a bit better later, but just so it’s clear Baekhyun meets the Boss three years after they’ve taken over from their dad. So Kyungsoo and them met back then and very painfully slowly the tension grew. I will admit to having fun imagining this bit in my own head just cause I love sexual tensions that build until they break and it’s this massive burst of passion. The Boss doing their best to keep everything professional, turning Kyungsoo down when he tried to talk to them, until finally they caved. Realizing after having a few conversations with him that, “fuck…I’ve liked him this whole time.” They’re around each other literally all the time. A bond had formed without them even noticing. Once it was noticed it took yet another year of Kyungsoo flirting and finding excuses to touch them, like, on the base of their spine, their hair, their hand, etc, before their will broke and they gave in. They’re both horrible at communicating it, but they do care for one another. Maybe at varying degrees, but they care. I hope that was made clear in this chapter.

Of note, Kyungsoo’s immediate hatred of Baekhyun, the fact he brought it up after the Boss had already switched off their brain to be submissive, the pet names he uses, the fact that the call for silence at the end is explained from the Boss’ perspective, and when he brings up the idea of wiping out Baekhyun’s family without a contract there’s this sentence: “He was back on this nonsense again.”

The theme here is control, if you didn’t notice. The Boss enjoying a space where they’re safe out of control, Kyungsoo trying to convince them not to give up sole control of their business by partnering, etc. That’s not all the foreshadowing, but I don’t want to make the plot too easy to predict by giving them away.

The last few paragraphs are the deep dive into the Boss’ motivations and reasoning. I think it’s also the second time Baekhyun’s family’s business is alluded to, but I’ll reveal that in a later chapter commentary when it’s possible for the reader to have deduced it on their own. It also shows in the last few lines where the Boss’ priorities are. The contract is number one. They will sacrifice everything for it. Even what may be their only chance at something close to love.

Chapter 3:

This is the second time I’ve written the main character eating eggs on toast. It’s delicious, and I lack the creativity to describe different foods. It’s just to pace the scene with actions because they’re eating instead of just sitting around. If one day my works are looked at by English professors they’ll probably say it symbolizes the Boss’ practical, fast-paced lifestyle. It doesn’t. I just like eggs on toast.

The fact Baekhyun doesn’t lie about snooping is the first big revealing thing showing that he doesn’t really want to. He doesn’t care about being caught because he just doesn’t care that much. He makes the remark about firing the guards posted outside his door as a joke. Ha-ha I walked around your house doing nothing with no supervision. He doesn’t realize how grave a mistake that was. He doesn’t realize that remark was the cause of two lives being ruined by the Boss. He will understand later because, as you learn later, he listens in on the Boss’ meeting with those guards via bug he put in their blazer. I have not written the effect of that yet, but it did affect Baekhyun. There’s a very clear butterfly effect from this one small choice.

Next he tries to get Kyungsoo to talk. He plays it off as trying to get to know the head of security. Needling the Boss to try and prove his hunch that it was Kyungsoo he heard them fucking the night before. I didn’t bother insinuating he had suspicions about anyone else because Baekhyun is smart and he knows that 1) Yixing is the only other person he’s met so far and that wasn’t his voice. 2) Kyungsoo is at the Boss’ side all day, and he hasn’t spoken around Baekhyun yet.

When he sees the Boss is about to leave he uses the name “kitten.” Baiting them by antagonizing them. Switching his tactics. The day before he had played up the whole “I’m here to do what you want” thing and now he’s realized he should be more domineering. He doesn’t always succeed because that’s not entirely in his nature, but here it sort of works to, as John Mulaney and JJ Bittenbinder would say, “throw them off their rhythm.”

I amuse myself by adding in little quirks to the Boss. Each time I describe a room it’s meant to be pictured immaculate and modern with everything in perpendicular lines. Showing that they’re a little peculiar about style and cleanliness. Anal retentive one might even say. All their clothes are tailored, most of them are suits, the mass of cabinets in the kitchen so the counters are clear, etc. Another side note, this is set in the 2000’s mostly for law reasons. Some didn’t exist until later which made what the Boss does near impossible to get away with, but I wanted cell phones and I’m picky about realism like that. So 2000’s decor. Black and white with pops of color in the decorations, chrome, clean finishes. I work in interior design so I was a little particular about some stuff for no reason other than my own amusement like the big kitchen with white countertops, and the blue and grey paisley wing-back chairs. When I edit this chapter I’m going to go into more detail on the rug though to give a clearer picture when the blood ruins it. Which really did cause the Boss dismay just like the bloody hand wrappings. For cleanliness but also they don’t like conducting business at home outside of paperwork and research. I thought it showed more about their character that they were upset over the bloody wrappings rather than the dead body and such.

My favorite part about writing the Boss’ character is how they’re constantly in a shade of darker grey. Everyone operates in shades of grey, but I love it when I see characters that are closer to the black and yet you’re still cheering for them. They’re morally corrupt and objectively not a good person, but you still like them. They’re still the hero, so to speak, of the story. That’s what I’m trying to achieve with the Boss. Back to “John Wick.” He’s a good example. So is Loki. They’re mass murderers, but we as an audience still love them because they feel like real people. Their motivations garner sympathy, and it’s their methods that are skewed. I love the challenge of threading that line between the Boss being the protagonist and villain simultaneously. Referring back to a line Kyungsoo had; they may need to be protected from themselves. Disney villain style I guess. Their actions cause their own doom. Not necessarily because the hero did anything. Gaston, Clayton, The Evil Queen, Frollo, Scar, etc, etc. You get it. I love that. That’s not giving away the ending, by the way. I don’t like following formulas too much. I honestly haven’t even decided on an ending yet. There’s lots of options. I’ll decide when I get there.

Anyway, this chapter was my attempt at showing more of that dark grey for the boss. They could have just as easily let the guards off with a warning, or broken a finger or something, but instead they went for the extreme. “Their offense was too great” as the chapter says. All they did was let Baekhyun out of his room, you might say. The Boss doesn’t see it that way. They don’t know what Baekhyun did unsupervised all night. But somehow he already found out about one of the few secrets that could topple everything out of balance. Their affair. Not that his family is sensitive over infidelity or anything, but it was what the Boss was afraid of; Kyungsoo being used against them. A weakness. Baekhyun found their weakness just like that, and they thought the reason was the guards letting him out. If Baekhyun hadn’t gotten restless legs, or just not teased the Boss about walking around that morning, they probably wouldn’t have checked the security footage, and those guards would’ve survived.

Instead, the Boss outright kills one and mutilates the other. Framing him so he’d go to prison. They enjoy taking out their frustration on the guard. In their mind he deserves it for being careless.

Had someone comment a reference to Yixing with the whole “act of kindness, act of cruelty. Balance” thing, but that was actually inspired by a scene in season 2 of Fargo. Although both people end up dying in that show. Love that show. Inspired this whole thing actually. I know I’ve mentioned that somewhere else before, but it’s true. It’s one of my favorites it’s so brilliant. I don’t think this will ever be up to par with that, but I’m okay with that.

Point being, consequences. Baekhyun’s choices had a ripple effect, and they continue past this chapter.

Chapter 4:

Obviously you find this out later, but Baekhyun was listening to the Boss and Kyungsoo on those headphones. Not music.

The Boss gives in to talking with Baekhyun in the car because they find it cute he’s acting like a puppy. Also because he might let something else slip. Oh, also, the line about them lying about nothing being wrong was them being worried about Baekhyun blabbering about their affair with Kyungsoo.

Baekhyun attempts to have a normal conversation, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. All the Boss can talk about is work. If you’ve ever watched “Hot Fuzz” I imagine this interaction playing something like the first day Nicholas and Danny are together. It’s not as sharp as in that movie, but the feeling of a less experienced person questioning this serious person with the least serious questions. Baekhyun sees this as a game or a movie more than something real and dangerous. He only heard the meeting in the last chapter, after all. He doesn’t realize yet that the gunshot killed that guard. He’s watched his mom get married to a mafia leader and live rich like an actress. He’s naive of the price it takes to stay comfortable like that. It’s still a movie where people are killed off screen and there are no major repercussions. Even in his answer about the knife he says he would kiss them as if it were some James Bond film.

I tried to make it clear, but just to spell it out, Baekhyun is the rival leader’s step-son. He has two step-brothers from the rival leaders’ two previous marriages–Minseok and Jongin. So he didn’t grow up in this dark, depraved world like these other characters. He was folded in at an older age. He’s more the black sheep of the family because he’s not blood related. That’s why he says he was happy to marry the Boss. But it’s still seeing through this movie lens. He doesn’t know what it really means to learn how to run a syndicate, and the Boss sees that. They scoff at him and can’t take him seriously.

At the meeting the reason the Boss wants to crack the mask of Minseok is to feel out his real personality. In their mind, every lawyer is an actor who writes a script before trial and reads it for an audience–the jury. They wanted to see Minseok when not acting. When they see he has a spine, oh buddy, they would’ve dropped Baekhyun for Minseok right then and there if it was their choice.

Oh, yeah, and they’re totally straight up manipulating Baekhyun. Using that nickname as faux affection. Letting his family think Baekhyun’s honeypot skills were working, and Baekhyun that his regular charm was getting them to like him.Baekhyun’s mom mentioning they operate hotels, yes, interesting. She’s also in fantasyland if you can tell. Planning their wedding as if they were in love and not out of business arrangement. She’s not naive to the real purpose of the meeting, but her focus and excitement is in the wedding which is why everyone’s just kind of letting her do all the planning.

The last thing I’ll say on this chapter is from part of my response to someone asking about the Boss’ goals. They want to gain customers, profit and influence. Expand their drug empire. It’s a smart business move. Simple as that. If you want more detail, then they want symbiosis. It’s a hassle having to work an underground drug ring when there’s cops, let alone another gang out for their blood. Getting Baekhyun’s family to stop the violence against their group and help is the only smart move in their eyes.

Chapter 5:

Oofda strap in this one gets real dark. This is the chapter most of those warnings at the beginning were for so feel free to skip to the next chapters commentary if you want.

Yes the lapel grab was an intentional mirror of the one Baekhyun did at breakfast in chapter two. Just felt like it. No special reason.

An extreme disconnect from human lives? Hotels? Even the Boss thinks it’s wrong? What the fuck does Baekhyun’s family do? Congrats if you’ve figured it out already. The major giveaway is in a bit though.

The whole, “I like things that are beautiful and strong” thing is a reference to a video game character named Zevran who’s a pansexual assassin and one of the loves of my life. Life-changing, that dialogue. Perfectly worded how my pansexuality felt. It meant a lot at the time so it’s stuck with me. When I edit this though I’m gonna change it around a bit. It’s too close to the actual game dialogue right now.

When the Boss retreats it’s because they felt breathless. They’re in denial about being afraid, but it’s cause they’ve never felt attraction like that before. Sincere fondness, and it went both ways. They actually felt something for Baekhyun. So they counteract it to the extreme and pretend to be emotionless and dismissive. To the point of being cruel when speaking about him to Kyungsoo as if he were a dog that needed to be locked in its kennel.

The throwing things is just Baekhyun being petty. He is angry, but not super mad. Enough to want to make the Boss hear his anger. Not enough to keep it up for long though.

More foreshadowing once Kyungsoo comes in. There’s been other stuff in between too. I like reading it and cackling in villainy because I know all the secrets.

Now let’s take a moment while reading the first part of this sex scene and just reflect on how Baekhyun is listening to everything happening.

…

…

…

Alright let’s continue. We stan a man who’s good at oral.

Okay sorry let’s actually continue. I’m delaying the inevitable here.

This section was hard to write, and I know it’s hard to read too, but it’s important to the story to have it described. Not only for awareness, as I have experienced something very similar and didn’t know what was wrong, or why I felt the way I did afterward, until much much later. But also because this is a major event that drastically changes how the Boss interacts with just about everyone, and their relationships. I know there are stories out there that use sexual violence as a plot device, and I’ve tried my best not to do that. I hope I’ve handled it with sensitivity and care. Being mindful of how certain things are worded and such. If you don’t take anything else away from this I do want you to know this: this is consensual. It is not rape. The Boss is just as confused about what happened as I’m sure some of you are. They’re deeply conflicted about it, but they push it down and ignore it at first. That’s the point. Shades of grey. Conflict. Revelation of characters. Okay, on with the rest of it.

The consent. The unreadable twinkle in his eye. If it wasn’t obvious, Kyungsoo gets off on having control over the Boss. This possessiveness is turning into a poison. Hearing that they want him unequivocally ends up being the toes hanging off the edge of the cliff before the plummet.

“He took what he wanted from you and you gave willingly.” That’s the line that explains why the Boss doesn’t do anything when Kyungsoo starts going too far with the pain levels. Gripping their thighs too hard. He already gave them the tension release and satisfaction. They were reciprocating, they thought. They felt safe with Kyungsoo. That’s why their trysts worked. They trusted Kyungsoo to keep them safe at all times. They could let go and not think, but for some reason that night turns out to be different.

When Kyungsoo screws his eyes shut, it’s the point of no return. No matter what they did from then on it would end the same way. He’s blocking out the expression on their face. He’s trying his damnest to focus on finishing. He’s lost control. As stated, some conflict is making him frustrated, and he’s taking it too far. He should have stopped, but something makes him keep going.

When they hold Kyungsoo closer, they’re in denial. And they’ll stay in denial that anything wrong had happened for a while. Kyungsoo slows at this point and there’s hope that he’ll come back to himself. He moves them into a more comfortable position and removes his hands from their bruising grip. Kissing their neck and chest even. The pain when he thrusts inside is more layover from the previous actions than rough treatment in that moment. They could still call the night rough play. Let’s call this the good timeline.

I still have so many emotions when his hand clamps tighter on their mouth and he mutters, “almost there.” The desperation and pain and guilt laced through his tone in my head breaks my heart a bit.

The Boss is not a fragile person. They’ve always been able to exert some amount of control in their life. But when they can’t stop Kyungsoo suddenly they feel helpless. The person they trusted is hurting them, and it’s not even malicious. They can’t even think through all the pain.

After Kyungsoo finishes neither of them have time to process what happened before Baekhyun screams. By the emotions flickering on Kyungsoo’s face though, it’s implied he knows he fucked up very, very badly and is experiencing clarity.

I really just added in the Baekhyun struggling with guards in his underwear thing for some levity in the transition between heavy things. He could’ve been dressed and just yelling from his doorway, sure, but that’s no fun.

Baekhyun ends up confessing to planting multiple listening devices after convincing the Boss to get Kyungsoo to leave. But instead of their first thought being one of anger or worry over leaked secrets, the Boss thinks about his confession. It’s the second time this chapter they’ve thought about Baekhyun in a positive light when there were more pressing matters.

“I know the difference between playing rough and abuse. I know what real pain sounds like. Trust me.“ And, "Kyungsoo is much more suited for working for my family. You know that right?” are the two biggest clues about what Baekhyun’s family does. Have you guessed yet? Locked in your answer? It’s prostitution and sex trafficking.

When Baekhyun says he was terrified hearing their screams it’s because he’s scarred from his step-dad’s "hotel business.” Saying that Kyungsoo is more suited for his family’s work implies things about his character that the Boss refuses to question. However Baekhyun crying is also out of relief that he didn’t find them more severely injured. With his family he was powerless to help the people they extorted and manipulated and took advantage of. He was able to do something here, though. He was able to scream and kick and call attention to it, even if he was a little late. He was able to help. Which is why he so readily agrees to get rid of the bugs to get the Boss to call Yixing.

Right before he leaves he contemplates trying to kiss them. His relief doesn’t overpower his smarts though, and he thinks better of it. I think the Boss would’ve called Yixing anyway, but they couldn’t pass up the opportunity to also get something from Baekhyun.

Chapter 6:

I am so…emotionally exhausted from that last chapter, but there’s not much left at this point so let’s finish.

Jongdae calling himself Greased Lightning. Just felt like referencing Grease that day I guess. Wanted a dumb code name no one actually uses.

Agh that should say white collar crime oops.

“I’d call you a genius, but I’m in the room.” Lazy reference to Sherlock. Should take it out.

“Opening him up balls to brain.” Honestly that’s just straight up out of Game of Thrones. I loved the line too much haha. Took inspiration from Petyr Baelish on the bit about killing an innocent man with the guilty one to throw off suspicion too.

I actually did math the figure out the dimensions of the tie grid cause I’m like that I guess.

Originally the Boss was gonna reward him by just spending more time with him, but after the…incident, they decided to teach him a bit too. They realized he was smart and amicable to change.

“They know, and they know when to bail” is actually a reference to Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood with something Olivier said up on the North wall.

The “there are plenty worse than you” realization hits a lot harder knowing his family does what they do. It still gets me reading that line. He’s been through so much.

Pretty self explanatory on why the Boss doesn’t give in to their desires about Baekhyun. He’s too submissive still. They want someone to challenge them. Baekhyun gives them a glimpse at the possibility he’s capable, but it disappears just as fast.

As I was describing the city they’re driving home from I was thinking of Chicago, but as someone who’s visited many major cities it could be any of them really. In my head it’s Northern California though, mostly because 1) there’s plenty of stories out there now about mafia in New York or Chicago or Las Vegas. 2) they have history with mafia in real life that moved up there from the L.A. areas. 3) lots of coastal cities up that way where Baekhyun’s family could be doing business. Let’s not even get into all the organized crime in San Francisco and San Jose. Of course for this fanfiction version it could be in South Korea who knows. I only know American law so that’s how I think in terms of writing the Boss avoiding cops and what-not.

The fact the chapter didn’t end with the ties being purchased should’ve been the warning that something bad was gonna happen. This chapter was going too well, and there’s still no major conflict. Enter gunmen.

Also side note, I always end up doing way more research than necessary on almost every story. Spent a few hours reading about and looking at videos of bulletproof cars being shot with different calibers and doing 180’s and stuff to more accurately write this chase. I just like doing research I suppose. Definitely love learning new things. I’ll go down several google deep dives on any given subject during a month. It’s fun learning new things. The last one I did was a deep dive into fashion in the 1700’s which I think I’ve decided to use in the next requested story. They didn’t ask for it to be historical, but now I want to write about elaborate dresses so there.

“It was lucky.” It wasn’t. I can’t explain why yet though.

Chapter 7:

Y'all ever experienced stitches before? The scars are hard to get rid of. Okay that’s my commentary on that.

Actually no. If Baekhyun had gone to a legitimate doctor they probably would’ve used glue so the scar would be faint, but mafia doctor. Okay moving on.

There are handguns that hold more than seven rounds, but I couldn’t pass up referencing “John Wick 2.”

“I don’t know. Were you thinking, ‘holy shit holy shit, I just almost got shot’?” is a reference to the movie “Get Smart.” Y'all seeing a pattern yet? haha. Mostly just wanted a joke there. It sprung to mind. Although I do have a few lists with lines or words that I’ve seen and written down to use later, then I try to work them in somehow. It’s a dangerous method. It’s breed whole chapters and stories before. But I have a horribly inconsistent memory. Gossamer is a good example. Saw that word used somewhere, went, “ooh I like that word”, wrote it in the list, then used it in this chapter. While we’re on writing technique, I also really love using alliteration to emphasize certain sentences or pretty-up descriptions. It started because I was writing a character that talks in prose and poetry, and he does that all the time, but I liked how it sounded so I just kinda kept doing it. That character is Cole from Dragon Age by the way.

The rest of this is just setting up the mystery. Who in the car was the target? Who was shooting? Who’s the mole? Is there even a mole, or is someone simply following them? Will Baekhyun keep pushing for answers? Will the Boss cause the trouble they’re trying to avoid by retreating inward? Will any of them get killed? How could Baekhyun’s decision near the beginning possibly butterfly more?

Interesting, yes, hm. Time for more sinister cackling.

My Trip to the 2019 College Football Championship Game!

The 2018 season had its ups and downs but after all of that excitement it became clear that two teams were the obvious choices to play for the National Championship. Alabama and Clemson went a perfect 12-0 in the regular season and won their respective conference championships. They then plowed through their semifinal opponents with ease, setting up a title game that would be completely undisputed, featuring the only two choices to be called the best team in the nation for the 2018 season.

Maybe the matchup was boring, after all there are 130 teams in the highest division of football and for the fourth straight year the winner of national title was going to be either the Alabama Crimson Tide or the Clemson Tigers. Boring yes, but they’re in the game because they’re the most deserving. Plain and simple.

It did seem like people were getting a bit fatigued for this fourth go-around. After all, ticket prices started to fall once Notre Dame and Oklahoma got knocked out of the running. Though I’m sure a lot of it also had to do with fans of these Southeast universities checking the cost of travelling to the Bay Area on short notice after the match was set and thinking twice. Their loss was my gain.

I was born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area. I moved to San Diego to attend SDSU and spent a good 5 years in sunny SD before moving back up to the Bay around this time last year. It was quite a fun coincidence then that the College Football National Championship Game would come to Levi’s Stadium the year that I made my return. My dad--who introduced me to college football and sports in general--and I had been planning on going until the cold reality of paying $1500 per ticket hit us in the face. It was a nice thought, but ultimately too hard to swallow. Then, in late December, the prices started to fall. I wish I could say we waited until they bottomed out around $150, but we were too excited to have that kind of patience.

Just to be cautious, we took public transit to the game. We knew that it would be a hassle to drive to the stadium, it turns into a zoo when we went to 49er games. Plus you never know what kind of state you’re in after being around football for most of a day. We took the Caltrain, the SF to SJ commute, down from our station and my dad began chatting up a nice couple from Huntsville, Alabama in the seats across from us. Their son was in the band and they were nervous about the game. My dad told them not to worry, he was fully confident in a Tide victory. They asked me and I said I wasn’t that certain.

We changed over to the VTA, the local light rail, along with the Bama couple. My dad gave a guided tour of the Silicon Valley offices that we passed to the couple, who snapped pictures at the nondescript, box shaped buildings where Google, Amazon, Yahoo, and Youtube make their magic happen. At the Great America stop we bade them goodbye and good luck, and sauntered over to the pregame tailgate. It was around noon and the game wasn’t going to start until the evening.

We slipped through the still rather small-ish crowds, past the ESPN booth and its caravan of buses, and made our first trip to the beer and merch stands. I had to pause and admire one of the food areas: there was brisket and pulled pork for the Southerners who made the trek but also crab fries for the locals. We wandered around as the crimson and orange fans kept filtering in. Every once in a while we’d encounter the odd unaffiliated passerby, most of them wearing PAC-12 shirts and occasionally the out of place Silicon Valley techie taking in the scene. I got a few compliments on my SDSU sweatshirt. One kind old Alabama fan stopped me and asked if I went to South Dakota State, he had kids and grandkids who went to the USD. I had to let him down gently.

We got our pulled pork and crab fries, whose preparation likely pleased few of the fans in attendance, and went down to a tented area with tables to eat. I spotted perhaps the only open table in the tent the same time as a Clemson fan and we agreed to share. He was a nice guy and was at the game with his parents and uncle. We chatted for a while about various sports history moments that a Clemson man could share with a Bay Area family. Dwight Clark was mentioned more than once (later that night we passed by his statue on the way out). His group came over after a while, having spent time in the now considerable lines forming around the food and drink. After a nice half hour or so of conversation we went our separate ways, but not before my dad and I were gifted the famed $2 bills, with a perfect orange paw print stamped in each one.

We spent the next few hours hanging out, waiting for the game to start. We bought merch, bought drinks, and watched the predominantly orange crowd start to buzz with a nervous energy. Alabama fans were concentrated on the other side of the stadium. I checked twitter and felt tried not to feel angry that my favorite accounts were making fun of the projected low attendance. It seemed like every Greenville, Mobile, and San Rafael resident who made the trip was having a good time. Then again, the game hadn’t started yet.

I’ve written nine paragraphs and the game hasn’t begun so let’s fast forward a bit. My dad and I were comfortable in our fancy indoor digs but we just had to be outside for kickoff. We walked the long way around the stadium and up and up and up to out seats. We were one row below the highest in the house, and smack dab in Tuscaloosa West. The anthem and flyover went off without a hitch, and suddenly we had a football game on our hands. Oh yeah, and the stands were full after all of that fuss made by the press.

Clemson’s first drive isn’t worth mentioning but Alabama’s certainly was. On the Crimson Tide’s third offensive play of the game Tua Tagovailoa, undefeated in his college career, gave up a shocking pick six to put the Tigers up 7-0. No matter, on the third offensive play of the second drive, Tagovailoa threw a bomb to Jerry Jeudy to even things up. Then on four plays the Tigers scored. And Bama marched right back down the field.

We watched the first four drives of the game, which was turning into a very unexpected score-fest, high up in our seats before we began to make our way to warmth of the United Club.

[Redacted because we snuck in to a better part of the stadium and I can’t say how]

It’s a good thing the first quarter turned out to be so long, we didn’t actually miss a whole lot. The game was developing in a strange manner. By the time we got indoors and got some food Clemson had grown their lead to 28-16 midway through the second quarter. My dad noted that the Tigers hadn’t actually stopped Alabama on any drive. The Tide had scored two touchdowns, kicked a field goal, and Tua had thrown two very ill-advised passes that were intercepted. It definitely felt like a near-even game, with Bama slightly outplaying the Tigers but nothing to show for it.

In the last minutes of the first half Clemson finally got a stop and not for the last time either.

Halftime was spent indoors away from the marching bands. The only college football tradition I’ve never enjoyed went totally ignored on my end. A million dollar band can’t buy my attention, my apologies to that nice couple from Huntsville.

The third quarter was surreal. Suddenly Alabama couldn’t score to save their lives. The Tide spent minutes and minutes grinding out drives that went nowhere against a defense that had solved them. The fake field goal was just the beginning. Bama couldn’t convert on 4th down in three straight attempts. Meanwhile Clemson made every possible (and perhaps impossible) play conceivable to score. The scoreboard crept up from 31-16 to 38-16 to 44-16 before the third quarter was even up.

Back in the United Club, we were again sitting in a predominantly orange part of the stadium and the atmosphere was charged. When the Tigers began to pull away the feeling was a nervous excitement, then giddiness. By the fourth quarter it was absolute delirium. It wasn’t just obvious that Clemson was going to win, it was obvious that they were about to absolutely embarrass the alleged best team in football. The Alabama machine, the dynasty of the 2010′s, was being completely humiliated on the biggest stage in the sport. 

This wasn’t some flukey upset like the A&M, Ole Miss, and, yes, the earlier Clemson title in years past. This was a mauling. Nick Saban’s Alabama hadn’t lost like this EVER. This was Saban’s best offense on what looked like his best team and they were getting lapped by the understudy. Dabo Swinney, a former backup wide receiver for the Tide, had built--essentially from scratch--a program that could BTFO of Alabama on a good day. And it was a pretty good day for those Tigers.

And we still had the fourth quarter. It passed pretty quickly. Alabama was still futilely grinding out long drives that went nowhere, but now Clemson joined in bleeding the clock dry. They could've hung 50 on Nick Saban’s Crimson Tide if they’d wanted to, but against the wishes of the more vindictive (and scorned) fanbases, the Tigers pulled the plug. The last few minutes were a bit of an anticlimax, the game had been won, some time just had to be spent to make it official.

The confetti cannons sprayed out the orange and the Clemson band played, though I never got a handle on what the cheer was. If it was fun for an outside observer it must have been exultant for the tens of thousands of Tiger fans who made the trip, and the thousands more who were watching on tv.

I’ll cut my travelogue short here. I stayed for another hour enjoying myself before my dad and I slowly made our way home. The denouement felt good but is hard to verbalize.

What I would like to say is a great, big thank you to all of the Alabama and Clemson fans who traveled so far to see their teams play. I had a great time and both fan bases were perfectly charming the whole way through. I’ll forgive the one bit of bad behavior I saw when a despondent Tide fan in a sea of orange had words with a guy in an OU sweatshirt who was hollering his way. I doubt I could’ve composed myself any better. If looks could kill.

I couldn’t fit this in anywhere else but before I go I must comment on the weather. It rained buckets the days before the game and hasn’t let up since. I’m sure it dampened the plans of most of the tourists who came out in droves, many of whom had never seen the Golden State before. But, just like the Rose Bowl, whenever there’s a special game to be played, clear skies of sunny California suddenly appear. There’s some kind of magic attached to it, I’m certain.

It was a strange feeling watching that game. For once in my life I was watching sports without a vested emotional interest. It was a very liberating feeling going in without a nauseous nervousness or the thought of “what if?” permeating the game.

Thank you all for reading if you made it this far. This was a pretty singular moment in my life as a college football fan so I wanted to cover it properly and give all of my thoughts. I hope you don’t mind the extra details, I’m sure you were watching it yourselves so you didn’t need the straight retelling anyway.

I should also probably thank my dad for getting me into football, paying for my college, and buying the tickets.

-thecfbguy

Holding Onto Hope: Chapter 6

Hope

My workload prediction was nothing short of accurate. By Thursday afternoon, I knew the most enjoyment I’d get for the weekend would consist of staring at lines of ink in three different books and working the muscles in my hand until it cramped from writing so much. Now that it was Saturday evening, I couldn’t help but wonder why I didn’t just put my work down for this one night and attempt to have a bit of fun like everyone else I associated with. After taking about two and a half hours to get herself dolled up, Destani left with Taylor for a supposed "date" consisting of dinner and a movie. I was only speculating, but I was sure the two of them were really starting to enjoy each other’s company since the day they’d met and for once in the decade that I’d known Destani, I actually praised Taylor for making her so obviously happy.  I’d never known her to have decent taste in guys, but after meeting Taylor and watching the two of them become smitten for one another, I felt like a proud mother. I was starting to feel restless in the position I was lying in on my bed, but I refused to shift my focus from my work for even a second… I was nearing the last few sentences of the last paragraph I had to write for one of my classes, when a sudden thought struck me… I’m almost done with my work. Plucking my phone from my side on the bed, I nibbled into my bottom lip as I considered the possibilities of what I should do with the spare time I’d have left after I finished my work. It was almost ten o’clock and I knew I certainly wouldn’t want to stay stuck in my room for the remainder of the night.  Rushing to jot down a few more lines of my barely there thoughts, I finally input my thumb print on my phone to unlock it and flipped through my contacts for one particular number. I was a tad curious to know if his offer still stood, because in all honesty I didn’t really want to sit in my room alone. I assumed Chris was already off with a few of his fellow bulldogs at the party he originally wanted me to accompany him at. I didn’t find it necessary for the two of us to constantly be tied to each other’s hip, so he wasn't the first person I thought to call. Another philosophy that I’d mentally composed for a healthy relationship… a few days of separation here and there would only benefit the two of us. If we were constantly in each others faces every single day, we would eventually get annoyed with each other.  Finally highlighting his name in my contact list, I flattened my thumb against the green phone symbol and waited patiently as the device rang.

“Hello?” He answered, invading my ear with velvety smooth voice.

Smiling and nibbling at my bottom lip, I cleared my throat and slid to the edge of my bed “Hey, it’s um… it’s Sy’Diyah.”

“Really?” He asked, obviously faking his tone of surprise, “And what has prompted you to ring me up on this lovely evening Ms. Sy’Diyah… just wanted to say hi?”

I rolled my eyes at his mockery and scoffed, recalling the comment he’d made a few days ago regarding me calling him just to say hi “No… yes. Okay, I’m sort of calling to say hi… and I also wanted to ask if your offer still stands.”  “My offer, huh? Well… what if I said it’s kneeling now and it’s no longer standing to entertain your consideration?”

I couldn’t help but smack my lips as he outwardly mocked me and my persistent I can’t party this weekend attitude “Well if it doesn’t stand anymore, I guess it’ll be pretty useless if I tell you that I just finished all my work and I really don’t wanna sit in this room all night.”

I could hear a bit of shuffling in the background and seconds later he cleared his throat “Nah, that whole sentence was actually very useful to me… especially since I’m sitting here in my room right now, bored out my mind.”

I laughed and stood entirely from my bed, moving swiftly toward my closet “So since you’re sitting in your room, bored out of your mind, and I’m sitting in my room… done with my homework, I think we should probably drop by this party you told me about…” -- Slithering one neon orange strappy heel out of Benny’s BMW and planting it firmly on the sleek ground beneath me, I used the handle of the passenger side door to pull myself from the dim confines of his car and stood to my full height beside it. Taking a moment to smooth my hands down over my white tight fitted v-neck and ripped boyfriend jeans, I raised my gaze and swung a slew of crazy curls back out of my face just as Benny rounded the front of the car to approach me.   “You know, I really can’t get over how… appealing you look.” He stated, stepping to my side and placing a hand on my upper back, prompting me to move forward. I smirked as I walked beside him, biting back a full grin from the sound of his suave compliment.

“Why thank you… you look quite, handsome yourself.”

I could feel his orbs bearing down at the side of my face and I glanced up, catching him in the act of gawking at me “Thank you.”

With a nod, I turned to face forward once more and decided it would probably be in my best interest to keep my eyes glued to where I was stepping to avoid tripping in these heels.  Making our way up a strenuous three flights of steps, we finally arrived at the vivacious entrance of the party. I focused my attention on Benny just as he gently gripped my wrist and pulled me through the crowded doorway and into what I assumed to be the living area of the apartment. I was quite surprised by the size of the place, only because of the dancing and sweaty bodies packed into the space. There were even people lining the hall leading to two reasonably sized bedrooms and a currently occupied restroom. 

“You okay?” Benny asked, leaning close to the side of my body to be heard over the music. I nodded, roving my eyes over the scene of people, hoping to catch a glimpse of at least one person that I was familiar with. I saw no one and for that I was only a tad nervous, but that snippet of fear quickly vanished after feeling Benny’s hand make its way to my lower back, barely pushing me forward toward the kitchen. The moment we crossed the threshold of the kitchen, the immediate stench of smoke taunted my nose and my face fell right into scowl as I inhaled. “You want something to drink?” Hastily shaking my head, I turned and took a few steps toward the entrance of the kitchen, only to be blocked by Benny’s lofty stature.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, a look of concern plaguing his features the moment he got a look at my face.

“The smoke is really strong.” I replied.  He merely smirked, stepping backward through the door to push it open. I stepped past him, making haste to inhale as much of the so called “fresh” air in the living room. I could hear him chuckling behind me, but I paid him no mind… I was too busy trying to gather my composure so that I could turn around and reprimand him for even thinking to take me in that tainted kitchen. 

“Can you dance?” He asked, not even giving me the opportunity to turn around before he pressed his nimble fingertips into my lower back, blowing a rush of sweet, warm breath against my neck as he spoke. I shuddered a bit, feeling the sensation of my face heating and morphing into a light shade of scarlet from his actions.

I turned my body to face him, gazing up into those intoxicating brown orbs “I believe I can… can you?”

He stared at me for a few seconds before cracking a small smile and flicking his tongue out over his lips “I can do a lil bit… I’m tryna see what you can do though.”

Surrendering my arm to his hand, I allowed him to pull me out onto the makeshift dance floor and into the midst of the gyrating bodies dancing carelessly to the bass of the music.  

Chris  I didn’t even bother to bite back the urge to groan as I tossed my head back with my eyes squeezed shut. The sight of her bobbing head was giving me quite a rise and I wasn’t tryna catch my nut that damn quick… I wanted to savor the feeling and relish in the slurping sounds of her plump ass lips gliding back and forth over the head of my dick. No lie though, it was seriously starting to fucking annoy me that she seemed to be having a problem moving her damn lips any further than the tip. Lowering my head and staring at her through squinted eyes, I buried my fingers in the thick tracks covering her head and yanked back, stopping her mid slurp and depriving her of what she’d apparently been previously enjoying.

“The fuck are you doing?” I asked, pulling her head further back from me when she attempted to reattach her lips.

“I’m giving you head like you wanted me to… why’d you stop me?” She asked, eyes wide and bottom lip trembling slightly as if I were depriving her ass of food and water.

“I ain’t want you to do shit… you wanted to do it. You made it seem like you knew what the fuck to do.” I said, pushing her away from me and tucking my shit back in my boxers… I would probably walk the fuck outta here with my dick on ten, but it was cool though. This bitch was being too generous with her head game and I wanted my shit aggressive… like, you either take every fucking inch of it, gagging or not, or get the fuck outta my face.  “Wait, what are you doing?” She asked, pulling my hands away from my zipper and quickly slipping my dick right back through the hole in my boxers.

With a sigh, I licked my lips and stared down at her “You fucking around ma. You act like you scared to take the whole damn thing and I don’t like that shit.”

Flicking the tip of her rosy tongue over the head, she raised her chinky eyed gaze to meet mine “I’m not scared, you’re just too big.”

“Well if I’m too big, maybe I should find somebody else to make me nut, huh?” I smirked.

“No you shouldn’t. I’m gonna do it,” She slid her lips over the tip and flicked her tongue around it a few times, forming her lips into a tight O and pulling back with a loud pop, “You taste too good for me to let another bitch suck this dick.”

Bringing my hand back around to the back of her head, I gripped a handful of her hair and pushed her head forward “Well how bout you use that mouth to suck, not talk.”  Gulping in a gust of air, she spread her lips and surprisingly, maneuvered her mouth until I felt the head of my dick thumping against the back of her throat. She gagged noisily and pushed her hands against the front of my thighs, fighting desperately to get me to release her head from my grasp.

“You can’t handle that shit, can you?” I full out grinned, adoring the sight of saliva drippling down her chin and onto her chest. Holding onto her hair and tilting her head back just slightly, I gnawed at my bottom lip as she gazed up at me, eyes watering and mascara running. Figuring she was probably nearing the first stages of choking to death, I pulled her head back only to have her knock my hands away from her head and slide my dick further down her throat.  I knew I could sense her aggressive attitude from a damn mile away when I first met her ass and now the shit was finally coming to light. The way she boldly removed my hands from her sewn in tresses was definitely starting to turn me on more and I fucking loved how she was so confident that she could look me dead in the eyes as she blew me like a champ. She continued to deep throat me, occasionally pulling back to gather an ounce of breath and spit out accumulated saliva and precum. I’d never really been the type of nigga to get into that sloppy head shit, but I was either sexually frustrated from getting absolutely no pussy all week, or I was just abnormally turned the fuck on right now. Whatever the case was, ‘ole girl was putting in some serious work with her mouth. Gripping the edge of the counter I leaned against with one hand, I used the other to grip her hair and jerk her head forward the moment I felt that toe curling, tingling sensation in the tip of my dick. With my shit now balls deep in her mouth, I squeezed my eyes shut and thrust my hips forward, bumping her head back and sending her into a gagging fit. Grunting lowly, I pried my eyes open and stared down at her as she temporarily formed her mouth into a little suction, sucking with a certain prowess that tapped at every fucking nerve in my body. With no warning on her behalf, she pulled her head back simultaneous to my climax and I frowned, fighting back the urge to snatch her ass up by her head and shake her until she explained to me why she moved back before she could catch this nut.

“Unh-unh ma… I ain’t tell your ass to move. I want your mouth on this dick til every fucking drop is gone.” Shocked by my own sudden outburst, I stared blankly at her as she eyed me cautiously as if I would strike her at any moment. I wouldn’t hit the girl for not abiding by my demands, but for some reason I wanted nothing more than to plow my entire shaft back into her mouth until she couldn’t breathe just so she could swallow every fucking drop, and any other time besides right now... I woulda been completely turned off by even the thought of that. Finally releasing what felt like all of my little children, I pushed her away from me, catching a handful of her hair in the process and dragging her ass up until she was as close to eye level with me that my height would allow.

“Swallow that shit girl,” I growled, pushing one hand up against the bottom of her chin to keep her mouth shut, “Swallow it… all of it.” I really didn’t have to insist that she do it because she seemed more than willing to gulp it down like it water. After taking it all down like a pro, she opened her mouth and flicked her tongue out, showing me that she had done the deed.

“Good girl.” I said, smirking at her and stroking her chin as she licked her lips and leaned forward close to my mouth.  Reflexively moving away from her, I glanced at her as I readjusted myself in my pants and zipped my jeans “Aye, the fuck did I tell you when we came in here Nicole… I got a girl and these lips are only for her.”

“But the dick is for every other bitch, right?” Her question caught me off guard and I stared at her blankly for a moment, but quickly gathered my composure.

“Nah,” Stepping closer to her and a leaning in a bit to reach her level, I smirked and stared directly into her eyes, “But what nigga can’t resist a hoe when he sees one?” With a smirk, I finally turned away from her and retreated to the bathroom door.

-- After my rendezvous with Nicole in the bathroom, I decided that I should probably go soothe my nerves after the comment she made with something strong to drink. At the moment, I stood with my back against the wall near the kitchen, nursing some dark liquor in the cup in my hand. My eyes steadily roamed the scene, catching a grip of chicks staring directly at me with pure lust in their eyes and obvious sexual antics displayed in their dancing bodies. Nothing about any of them interested me though… I had already had my share for the night and I wasn’t planning on leaving another mark of regret on my soul with any of these other females.  Glancing to my right, I caught a glimpse of a grinning Shawn coming my way with a cup in his hand.

“Wassup bro?” He greeted me, slapping my available hand then moving so his back was to the wall beside me.

“What you grinning bout nigga? You walking through here like you just saw a celebrity or some shit.” I noted.

He licked his lips and shook his head, continuously grinning as he raised his cup to his lips and lowered it after taking a sip “Nah man, but I just slipped up outta some celebrity status pussy though dawg.”

I chuckled and shook my head… this nigga was a fool.  “But yo,” He muttered, taking another sip from his cup,” I thought you said ya girl wasn’t coming through here tonight.”

“She wasn’t… she said she was loaded with homework.” I replied, drinking the burning liquid from my cup as well.

“Well I coulda swore I saw her over by the balcony dancing with Benny.”  …dancing with Benny… My cup damn near slipped from my grasp as I replayed those words about sixteen different times in my mind just to be sure I heard this nigga right. Dancing with Bennny. He could not be fucking serious... this nigga had to be kidding right now.

“Are you sure it was her man?” I asked, tryna maintain my composure for as long as I could, though I was quite sure by now my fucking face had already flushed a bright shade of red.

“Yeah dawg… I don’t mean to come off like I be staring at your girl or anything, but uh… she got long ass curly blonde hair and a slim, curvy frame, right?” He asked.

Staring at him for more seconds than I gave a fuck to count, I eventually did drop my cup somewhere on a random surface near me and stepped away from him, absolutely positive that the girl he was referring to was my girl.  I marched with every intent of tackling Benny’s ass out onto the balcony and throwing him over the fucking side of the thing and I found myself squinting to focus as the most deadly feeling washed over me. I was pissed beyond belief at this point and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t seeing red and my head didn’t feel like it was steaming like the engine of a train. I hadn’t felt this way in months and I was honestly scared outta my own damn skin at the feeling. Everything in my peripheral began to blur and the only thing left for me to gaze at were the dancing bodies of Sy’Diyah and Benny, who stood feet away from me and mere centimeters away from each other exactly where Shawn said they were. Neither of them noticed me approaching, even with the random people being pushed the fuck outta my way as I got closer.  Finally closing the distance between the three of us, I caught Benny’s eye first and he smiled at me, like… the nigga actually smiled at me.

“Wassup Chris?” I barely paid any attention to his greeting as I glared at him, feeling the biggest rush of anger surge through my entire body. Punch him in the face Chris… just do it. Don’t be a pussy, just do it. Forcing the overbearing and dominating thoughts to the back of my mind, I approached the two, never once tearing my eyes away from Benny.

“Aye,” I blurted, breaking Sy’Diyah out of her daze of dancing, “Come on.”

She didn’t even hesitate to stop dancing and walk toward me. I could only imagine she’d already caught the flash of anger in my eyes and she knew not to argue against me.  Gripping her wrist, I dragged her away from the fuck nigga and back toward the kitchen, past Shawn and to the front door. I was having a hard time focusing on walking straight and not turning around and slamming her ass against the nearest wall. The one thought keeping me moving was getting her to my truck to express exactly how the fuck I felt… if I turned around and happened to catch Benny even glancing in my direction, I was sure to lose it and crush the niggas throat with my bare hands.

“Chris, let me go. I can walk without you pulling me.” She said, through what sounded clenched teeth. I ignored her and continued on out the apartment and down the first flight of stairs.

“Please Charlie… you’re hurting my wrist.” Still, I refused to face her until I got us both to my truck so she would just have to deal with my hand on her fucking wrist and sprint to keep up since she decided to get all dolled the fuck up with these five mothafucking inch stilettos on!  “Aye man, let her go… she said you hurting her wrist.” Stopping dead in my tracks, I slowly turned to face Benny, who stood about five steps away from me. He eyed me for a moment, obviously surprised by the sudden change in my entire demeanor compared to the first day I met his bitch ass.

“Why don’t you just let her arm go dawg?” He mumbled. Abiding by his request, I released Sy’Diyahs arm and watched her as she discreetly nursed it with her other hand as if I really put a fucking bruise there. Slowly moving up the steps toward Benny, I kept my breathing at an even pace, my head cocked to one side, and my eyes squinted at him rather than the crowd of people bustling through the door to get a look at a spectacle that I refused to satisfy them with. Now chest to chest with Benny, I moved him back against the nearest wall and leaned in close. “Lemme explain something to you, Benny… I’ve tried, so fucking hard to keep my mouth shut with you, but you just making it so hard. I’m a territorial nigga, right… and that...” I raised a finger in Sy’Diyahs direction without even bothering to face her, “Is my territory. I don’t want this shit to escalate between us bruh, I really don’t. I wanna keep it civil with you nigga, ‘cause I’m not tryna go to jail for assault or murder. Now Imma keep it at this and only this… I will not catch you speaking to my girl again. Period. It’s shit you don’t know about me Benny…  because of fuck boys like you, there’s shit from my past that haunts me to this very day that I vowed to never bring to my fucking present, but you… you bringing it all back right now homie… slowly but surely.” Standing nearly nose to nose with this lanky ass nigga, I sized him up about three times with my nose turned up in disgust before finally ending the confrontation. Turning to make my way back down the steps toward Sy’Diyah, I snatched her by her wrist once more and dragged her ass down the remainder of stairs. 

Hope My wrist was burning, my feet were aching, and I was nearing a random outburst of tears. The entire night came crashing to a screeching halt right before my eyes and now, here I am… sitting in Chris’s truck, plagued with silence and nearly losing my mind as I watched Chris from the corner of my eye silently driving us to our destination. He hadn’t uttered a single word to me since he dragged me out of the party and at one point I started to truly believe he had completely forgotten that it was me he’d latched his powerful hand onto and dragged down three flights of stairs in death defying heels. I knew the moment I looked up at his daunting stature while Benny and I were dancing, that nothing but trouble and turmoil would come through the night. I was used to this from him, well not necessarily used to… more so trained with the thought of him getting upset with me for some unknown reason and giving me the silent treatment for what felt like decades before blowing up in my face. Now all I had to do was sit there… and wait for the explosion.  Pulling into a vacant parking space in McWhorter Hall’s student parking lot, Chris shifted his truck into park and left it running, thankfully so, because without the low hum of the engine the tension would have been too much to bear. I discreetly slid my hand down to the passenger side door handle, reaching for the lever to pull the door open so I could silently excuse myself from this awkward predicament. I was caught off guard by the sudden sound of the doors clicking and I looked down at the lock to see that he’d locked the doors and placed my door in particular on child lock, forcing me to stay stuck in this truck with him.

“Don’t touch the fucking door.” He mumbled, barely raising his voice above that of a menacing whisper.

“I’m sor…”

“And don’t apologize for shit you not sorry for.” He interrupted, rendering me speechless.  He laughed at humor that was clearly not present in this situation and my skin crawled at the thought of how angry he must be.

“You know, this is so… so fucking backwards to me.” He muttered, still, laughing. I kept my head low, cutting my eyes in his direction to see that his entire face was now a light rosy shade. “I always… always, believed it would be the nigga in the relationship to lie to his female and do some shady shit like… show up at a got damn party with another person.” 

“I didn’t lie to you Chris.” I argued.

“Well what the fuck did you do, Sy’Diyah? You sure as shit ain’t tell me you would be showing yo ass at that damn party, let alone with… Benny. You know what Sy…” With haste, he unlatched his seat belt and swung his body around to fully face me, pointing a finger at me with his lips briefly tucked into his mouth, “I swear to you girl, I was this close… this mothafucking close…” I stared at him, watching as he demonstrated “how close he was” to doing whatever it was he apparently was gonna do back at the party “I didn’t know I was gonna go Chris, Geez. You act like I have to report to you whenever I wanna do something that doesn’t involve you.”

He blinked at me and reached for the brim of his hat, turning it so that the back was facing forward, giving me a full view of his handsomely contorted features “Please don’t catch attitude with me in this got damn truck Sy’Diyah… please don’t do that.”

Rolling my eyes and turning to look out the passenger side window, I scoffed and ran a hand over the top of my loose hair “Can you let me out, please?”

“Nah, I can’t do shit. Tell me what the fuck you was thinking about when you walked up in there with that nigga… knowing full and got damn well I don’t like his ass.”  “First of all, Christopher, I was thinking that it wouldn’t be a good idea to call you because I knew you had already gone out for the night, so I was trying to be considerate. And second of all, I didn’t even think you were gonna be at the same party…” My words clearly went unheard because he incessantly interrupted me as if what I had to say wasn’t important.

“But why the fuck would you show up at any party with that dude? He’s not me… you shouldn’t be going no damn where like that with any other guy but me.”

“You know, you should really break this habit of telling me what I can, cannot, should, and should not do,” I stated boldly, rolling my eyes back in his direction and staring directly into his dim orbs, “You’re not my dad.”

Squinting one eye and twisting his face into the deepest frown, he tactfully formed his right hand into a fist and without warning, threw a punch at my armrest, which was pulled up right next to my arm “Stop being fucking sarcastic.” 

I flinched at his actions… his fist landed just centimeters from my arm and I could have sworn he was aiming at me and not the seat. Noting that his face was clearly beaming a darker shade of crimson, I licked my parched lips and sought control over my erratic breathing “If you hit me in this truck, Chr…”

“Ain’t nobody bout to hit yo ass girl, but you and yo lil boyfriend keep fucking with me and you gone get that nigga knocked the fuck out.” He said, leaving me to wonder if he was entirely sober.

“Why would you say that, asshole? Clearly he’s not my boyfriend.” I fussed.

“The nigga may as well be, shit.” He muttered, slumping back in his seat.  Focusing my gaze straight ahead, I released a gust of a laugh through my nose and shook my head “Why are you being so insecure Chris? Are you… jealous?”

The question flooded from my mouth before I even had a second to rethink it and I quickly turned to face him as he slowly crooked his neck to one side and tilted his head to glare at me. He seemed to stare for a least a full minute without speaking or even moving for that matter. He slowly nodded his head, as if he’d just come to a mental conclusion about my statement and readjusted his hat so that the brim was forward and pulled low over his eyes. He mumbled something, but it was too low to hear, so I quickly asked him to repeat what he’d said.

“Get the fuck out.” He demanded in a low tone, pressing his finger into the unlock button “Since you so fucking into this nigga all of a got damn sudden and you apparently think I’m jealous of him… get the fuck out my truck and go fuck him with him.”  I was appalled… even stupefied by the way he spoke to me. I didn’t know where it was coming from and I didn’t want to ask. I simply wanted to scramble out of his truck, race up to my room, and bury myself in the corner of my bed so that I could drown in my own tears. My eyes were already watering as I replayed every word he’d just unleashed on me and with one last glance at his profile, I tugged at the handle of the door and slid one foot out. Stopping just before both feet were safely on the ground, I instinctively reached into my purse, grabbing the trinket of my love and adoration for him from the side pocket. My actions happened without thought and I found myself quite satisfied with the sound of him cursing lowly after feeling his own Charlie Brown pendant hitting him square in the right cheek.

Explicitly Honest

After witnessing several marriages of close friends over the last few months, I have come to realize a downfall that I have. However, I am most definitely not a lone wolf in this mindset. The world we have all come to know, at least locally, has tainted the view of intimacy. I have always known that sex is to happen within a marriage. This fact has always struck my curiosity from a young age. Due to curiosity, I was exposed to pornography at an extremely young age. That exposure led to further curiosity as a got older and became more independent and naively adventurous. The further along I have gotten in life, the more skewed my definition and image of a sexually intimate relationship became. Not only do I have a messed up version of a physically intimate relationship, but I also seem to have a terrible outlook on the meaning of marriage. I could preach all day on what the meaning of marriage is, but believing it to be true for myself has become impossible. You see, my whole pursuit of “relationships” has been primarily based on physical attraction. If I cannot keep my hands off of someone, that seemed to be a good start. Getting to know them was the secondhand way that I would determine if we were a match. It wasn’t until recently that I discovered I am capable of liking someone for who they are before being physically attracted to them. It is only after getting to know that person, that they became more physically attractive to me. At first, I was turned off by this, but over time, it seems to be more and more worth the wait. It is even more of a blessing to have the distraction of the need to pursue physical intimacy removed from the forefront of my mind. After noticing this about my current relationship, I realized that I am deeply rooted in adulterous tendencies. All these years, my goal has been to get mens’ eyes on me for my physical appearance. It took someone liking me for who I am to wake me up. I can see so vividly how much deception I have caused in this world. I have likely caused so many eyes to stray for the wrong reasons. To think that some of these men are my brothers...

This has been a revelation to bring repentance. The Lord led me to take a two year break from dating, wearing make up, and drinking September 3, 2017. I have had a few slip ups over the last several months, but I have remained true to my vow by repenting and seeking forgiveness. Approaching the one year mark seems surreal to me. Time has truly flown by. The past year has held much growth and love from God. I have gotten to know myself so much more, but, even more so, I have gotten closer with the Lord. 

In fact, God is beyond good. I am sure that you may have likely been distracted in your thoughts over the last paragraph. I mentioned my “current relationship” in the one previous, while following with talking about my current devotion to singleness. I will elaborate...

While spending a short three weeks at school, I worked at Publix nearby. It was there that I would meet someone who would change my life. Our first conversation was on theology. We had that passion of interest in common and that would be the beginning to many days and nights of hours of conversations. On our first “date” we were already speaking along the lines of marriage. Everything seems to line up, so it came up naturally. The next day, I had to share my commitment of singleness. I cannot explain to you the expectations I had. On one end, I expected a unicorn answer of, “I will wait.” On the other hand, I expected him to say, “I guess it just wasn’t meant to happen.” Guess what his response was...“I can wait.” Not only had he brought me a new level of self confidence with his chivalrous endeavors and affirming compliments, but he is now willing to wait over a year to even ask me to be more than friends. 

Let me just stop there...

No one has any clue the amount of anxiety and stress that I have gone through all of these years, lowering my standards while maintaining a stupid fantasy that I never thought would come. And then, this happens. Of course, I went through a little bit of slight anxiety, but was able to talk myself off the cliff on several borderline anxiety attacks. I have always feared disobeying God, so my anxiety was a reaction to making my own decisions and thinking I would go to hell if I made a wrong decision. We should all know that is not how God works. 

Anyways...

After my third week was up, it was time to head home. I had to decide if I was going to continue to have this long distance “friendship” or if I should cut it off. Due to lack of overwhelming physical attraction, I decided I would end it. We made plans to have dinner after work on Friday, then I was going to drive home Saturday morning. That night, I became anxious to tell him it was over then flee town and never look back. I was going to run away. I told several coworkers, who had seen the whole thing flourish before their eyes. That night, I was driving back to meet him for dinner when he let me know that I could, “Take my time,” because he, “had a little accident.” I responded so fast with, “???” When I stopped for gas, he told me he had cut his hand while cleaning the bandsaw. Woman instincts kicked in at that moment and I knew our plans were about to change. I knew the Lord was working something within me. He was pushing me to hang on. He wanted me to be patient. I told him I would be there in a minute, but he assured me it was nothing serious, but he would have to go to the ER. I fully intended to go with him. I got to Publix and rushed to find him. Needless to say, he really just needed a bandaid, but due to covering all the bases, the manager made him go to the ER and he had to stay on the clock. We spent an hour or so at the ER, then it was time to be discharged. As we sat at the desk, I continued to contemplate my decision. I was seeing him in a real life situation and we were kind of going through it together. Not to mention, I checked in and got a visitor badge with his full name on it, which I wore proudly. 

After we got back to Publix to give our manager the paperwork, we walked to our cars and started to say goodbye. I knew that I had to decide my next move. What was my final decision? 

I decided to be honest. I wanted to completely humble myself and let him know exactly what was going on. I explained to him that I fully intended to end it as of several days before. I had prayed about it and decided we just needed to remain friends. However, after that night’s events, my mind had understood what I was supposed to do very differently. I had to reinterpret what I was supposed to do. I knew that we had taken things very quickly and discussed all the serious matters before anything else. We jumped straight to marriage and that was all we had in common: pursuit of marriage and theology. We had not found any normal things in common. I took this as we needed to work on our friendship intentionally over the next year and a quarter. Of course, his response was the perfect one that I wanted, but did not expect. He fully agreed and even explained his own thoughts and feelings, which were basically identical to my own. We continued to talk about things for an hour or so before I decided I needed to get a move on my two hour drive to my half-way destination. I had no idea what the future held for us being four hours away from each other. 

Here I am, weeks later. I became overwhelmed with school and kept telling my grandparents that I wish I could move back to school to escape all the responsibilities and just focus on school and work. After some time, I came to realize that I could live with my dad! He lives two hours away from home, as well as so many other advantages. After a little talk with my dad and my managers back home, I decided to transfer to Publix twenty minutes from my dad. 

All that being said, I am moving to my dad’s in a matter of weeks and will be joining the Navy in April! There is so much more to go on about, but this is all that is necessary.

I really just wanted to emphasize God’s greater plan to play out in life. I have struggled with fear of disappointing God in my decisions, but I must trust that I have the Holy Spirit living in me and that He is guiding me in my choices. I see the potential in all of these decisions and I cannot wait to pursue each of them! 

God is so good. It is amazing. 

And old slew

posted 3/7/2021

I think my number one requirement is that you keep up, which only the mentally ill do.

What does it say about me that all my friends are ADHD?

The black boys, they pass and bob and chat to rap like it’s beat poetry in the 1960s. Here with them I am in a modern historical moment of art discovering my aesthetic and true calling. I see this after a bias worry on repeat, looking back it was not a real fear, just a humorous societal conception, and who have I ever been to subscribe to society. Me and my white girl friend out smoked them in their own home and my friend, I hugged him in front of his friends, and he walked us out of his house like a true gentleman. It was truly the part of my soul that I wanted to share in a social setting.

“You’re not in charge of me, T[redacted] is.”

It’s 10 degrees in the dark and it’s just me and my skin wrapped in tight black fabric flying up the powdered hill like I was never meant to touch the ground in the first place. It is still 10 degrees and I’m replaying everything that has ever happened like maybe I’ll get a second chance that I don’t need, but want still. The 10 degrees rummage around in my bones and all the pain this new year brought, the pain of becoming women, intertwines itself with my heart so there is no difference. The 10 degrees keep me warm, from the pit of my stomach to my chest and red cheeks. It’s enough right now.

The concept of solidarity flowed from Budimir’s lips along with sweeties and engagement, and I truly think it is the first concept I ever truly understood. I do not know respect or love or good. But I know solidarity, I know solidarity deep down in my bones and my blood and my soul. And it just goes to show, it was never me, I just never met a good teacher.

My lust still rides with you, for safe keeping.

I don’t remember what your voice sounds like anymore, I used to be able to hear it in my head.

Every man both looks like you and the man who wanted me dead.

Sometimes I am hollowed out enough that the only feeling I have is my hands and they don’t seem to bare my heart’s intentions. But it is a much deeper part of my being they represent, one I wish someone worse would fulfill for me. Pity I am the only beautiful thing.

Part of my soul is an iris in the wind.

A wealthy woman in the glass, a thesis sustaining the validity of age regression in design and mini-practice, and collections combatting change in order to hold on to something.

There was a few moments of my life where I was obsessed with the devil in the woods by the ocean and the magic I would be allowed if I could just exist somewhere beautiful to be a little odd in peace with equally passionate companionship. While the other burn outs dream of fantasy I dream of psudeo-realistic peace because I could never get there by myself, let alone with the chaos of another sentiment being.

You wouldn’t like me anymore. I’m an existentialist bc I am completely and totally unsure of myself as a concept. And it makes it immensely easier to flow along with the process of getting what I want.

In the dark the voice pokes at suicide in the highest of highest and I drown out the noise with the hope that in that grainy moment 5 guys ago you flicked away my perfect tears with your tongue and I was too intimate and vulnerable to fully feel it.

With a face this expressively cute and a brain this overwhelmingly neat I deserve a man to compliment my abundance completely.

I bet no one thinks about me at all. But that would be naive and hopeful.

If he is only supplying money as his position in your life, as soon as the money stops he no longer needs to be taken into consideration when making decisions because he is no longer a part of your life. If the only value you have is the provision of the bare necessities and no emotional connection you have no purpose after you no longer supply the means of survival because you made the decision and only did a quarter of the work needed to take responsibility for that decision.

Time isn’t who she used to be. Time used to drag and suffocate and strangle. Now Time is broad watercolor strokes to blurry, cotton eyes. I live the same day over and over with the same amount of nothing but I still do not feel the suffocation of monotonous repetition, not like I used to when I was young. I feel unfulfilled still, empty still. But it is not overwhelming. And this nothing that happens, the absolute repetition of activity happens so quickly now. Not like it used to. I feel like I’m always playing catch up. There’s never enough time, or maybe I am newly blind to her movement? Whatever the case, Time and I are strangers now, which is such a shame because I used to know her intricately, anxiously so.

Sometimes I dissolve into words, I think that’s why everything moves so fast.

I’m going to force my oddity on man and disregard everyone that has anything at all to say. I always said I was crazy, which drew extensive attention, but I no longer think that is fitting for me and who I aspire to become. I think I desire much more to be odd than to be mad. Eccentric.

A man bought me six and a half hours (after tax) worth of stuffed animals. And I haven’t even had sex with him. Fuck, that kind of feels like debt. Can I like hang out w him and like “drop” $50 somewhere he’ll eventually notice. I’ve never had to do that before, but I am willing to go that far. Actually, I did that to my GM last break (and I shouldn’t have, I deserve better compensation for my labor, but I refuse to be rude ever).

Why would I want a man that smells like wood?

Hanging out w me is like just me saying “no babies” over and over in different voices.

The feeling drips like sunflower blue syrup down my back. It feels too sharp to be harmless, but too quick to enjoy. And it leaves my chest hollow after it’s appearance. My limbs are heavy and my head is worried about the fluttering around that happened inside my chest last night, I wasn’t sure if it was death or symptoms of suffocation. My lungs just filled and I grasped my body from within my soul and when it was sufficient and neat, I dove back into the harmful thoughts of lust and the gripping behavior caused by being lonesome. This feeling doesn’t flow, it’s too stuck, it remains mine. So instead it drips.

I want to scream that I am good at what I do because a piece of me always felt that you doubted me. I am good enough that I read a love poem out loud to my high school class with the girl in the class and I didn’t get bullied for it, it didn’t scare her away, and my teacher complimented me about it. I was known by the whole high school as a writer and it wasn’t in a bad way. I used to write and edit peoples papers and I was an English tutor for middle school. My English 101 professor told me I should Publish my paper based on the three paragraphs that I wrote in twenty minutes right in front of him. I have not read a full book since sophomore year of high school and I am able to break down structures and themes of books by picking through about 30 pages, and from that I can developed a thesis, a five paragraph outline, research questions, and eventually a 6 page paper from 30 pages of a novel. I hung out with someone, read then my poetry and they were surprised that it was not cringe. Every English teacher I’ve ever had has loved me. I was already so familiar with the English language and the concept of grammar rules and their functions that I could speak in limited vocabulary sentences in Spanish when I was taking Spanish 2 (did I cry every single day, yes, but did I get an A, also yes). When I tell you I am a writer, I mean that it is my soul. It is the only reason I am alive. When I tell you I am good at what I do I mean I’m already published. Twice. I am good at what I do. So yeah, I know what a fucking genre is, bitch.

Even my abusers will tell you I’m good at what I do.

I need someone to press their soul into mine so that I am sure I have one.

Good morning honey bun 💛 I hope you have a wonderful day today and I’ll be sending good thoughts your way all day :) love you ❤️❤️

8 year old me would think I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. I remember how critical I was of other women, I remember the way I used to pick them apart in my head about all their imperfects. It’s bc I only heard those things about myself. And I’m not proud, but I was a child and I am completely different now. I remember my favorite parts about women too. I remember how I used to melt for long hair and belly button piercings and being unashamed. I am tall and wealthy and have a million expressions. 8 year old me would stare at me in the store and hope to be her, 8 year old me would love to be 17 year old me. It’s all she ever wanted. I am everything I ever wanted. I am gorgeous.

Sometimes it’s claymation filter and my body is yellow and I am ugly and when I laugh my teeth are bucked. I get so clear that I am ugly. I get so outside of my own perspective that I have never uttered my own name.

I am so self aware and violently gone and ridiculous. And I’ve been wanting this. That I thank god for planning and hard work.

I’m a slut. :) beep

Newt- Love you to pieces part 2

Newts eyes turned big as saucers. He couldn't have heard her right. “ You want to what?” He managed to say. “ I want you to take me with you.” Logic started creeping into Newt’s thoughts. “ Y/N. What I do is dangerous and not luxurious in the slightest. You have a life here. You run a whole department at the ministry! They need you. The kids need you.” Newt watched as Y/N’s E/C eyes pleaded with him. “ Newt...I’ve always done things for other people. I always tutored other students even though I wanted to join classmates at Hogsmeade. I always do everything for the department to get these kids to school while my youth is slipping away without enjoying anything life has to offer. For once in my life I want to be selfish and do what I want. I want to stay with you. I want to have adventures that won’t always be fun but, that's an experience too. Even if it's just for a little bit. Please let me stay by your side.” Newt’s cheek went red. He knew she didn't mean it in a romantic way but, he was over the moon. Newt had fallen in love with Y/N when he was in second year. He admired her passion, intelligence, compassion and, her playful smile. Newt watched her always from a distance. His shyness got in the way of letting his true feelings be known. Y/N always encouraged him to follow his passion for animals. She was the only one who thought he was great. He played off every compliment thinking she was just too kind that her judgement was clouded. Newt felt defenseless. He was too shy to stand up to bullies who called Y/N a pauper. Newt sometimes replayed those moments in his mind regretting being so cowardly. He remembered Y/N sobbing when he left Hogwarts. A bit of his heart was left with Y/N when Newt left Hogwarts. He barely recognized Y/N when he saw her again. The sixteen year old girl was replaced with a beautiful twenty three year old woman. Her smile never changed. He was so glad of that. Her expressive eyes pulled him into every conversation. Her beautiful compassion for the children in her care made Newt fall even deeper in love with her. He truly loved her to pieces. “One month. Just a trial of one month with me. That's all I ask.” Y/N begged following Newt into his suitcase. In the shed Newt looked at his small space. “ How would I comfortable fit us both in here?” He hastily walked to his desk. “ I don’t want you to get hurt.” Newt tried to say sternly. “ I could heal you if you get hurt. I’m good at potions and healing spells!” Newt sat up straight. “ One month?” He asked defeated. “ Yes. If you absolutely hate me being with you I will leave.” Y/N’s eyes pleaded with Newt. “ Fine.” He passively replied. Y/N tried her best to hide her excitement. “I’ll write to the ministry!” She ran out of the suitcase towards her room. How was she going to tell her bosses at the ministry she would be gone for a least a month? Y/N sat down with her stationery set. She decided to say she was taking time off to further study muggle customs and expand the operations of Y/N’s Palace. This was of course a lie. She felt bad for the people she worked for who would have to pick up her slack but, Y/N knew she had to do this. For her own sanity. Y/N spent the afternoon preparing to leave. Letters were sent, rooms were cleaned and, belongings packed up. Covering the furniture with sheets was bitter sweet. She wanted to make it easier for people to dust when the new batch of children arrived. “ Have you packed all you need?” Newt asked expecting huge bags of luggage. “ Yes, right here.” Y/N had a large beaded purse. She placed a new black suitcase in front of Newt. “ That's all of it?” Newt asked picking up the light suitcase. “ Yes only the bare essentials. Are you ready for our adventure together?” Newt gave a nod heading out the front door. Y/N locked the front door. Looking up to the Y/N’s Palace sign she smiled. It was time for a new adventure. Newt couldn't believe it. He was living with Y/N. He thought it was a dream at first. He watched in awe as she diligently followed his directions with his beasts. Newt watched as she spoiled them with little bits of food and loving words of affirmation. Newt sat at his desk trying to sketch Pickett. “ Stay still please.” He asked struggling to see the back of Pickett’s neck. Pickett was restless he had been sitting on the spool of twine for half an hour. “ Here you go little darlin.” Newt watched as Y/N’s slender handed bit of a wood lice. Pickett’s favourite rite. “ It’ll only be a few more minutes lovely. Than supper will be ready.” Pickett sat contently eating while Newt finished. “ Thank you. I got the part I needed.” Newt said with a shy smile still drawing. Suddenly he felt Y/N gentle hands across his cheek. Y/N brushed his hair out of his line of vision. His cheeks felt like they were on fire. Y/N sat beside Newt. “ What are you drawing?” She asked looking over at his brown covered sketch book. “ Oh I wanted a in depth diagram of Bowtruckles. I know what they look like inside. I had a little fellow died a while back. Pickett is a handsome specimen of the outside.” Pickett turned hearing his name. Y/N giggled. Leaning her head gently on his shoulder. This was the bliss she had been looking for. Y/N watched Newt writing at his desk from her bed. Newt looked different. Something was there. It wasn’t there before. Newt seemed more regal and mature. His brow furrowed in concentration as he took detailed notes about Pickett. He looked almost...Handsome. Newt saw Y/N’sgaze from the corner of his vision. “ Is something wrong?” Newt asked scanning Y/N face. Y/N’s face turned scarlet. “ Nothing.” She insisted. Newt smiled and went back to his work. Y/N sat patiently mending Newt’s jacket. How could he stay warm with so many holes? She had become excellent at mending clothes. The young boys in her care always seemed like they needed their clothes mended every single day. Suddenly, Y/N heard a scream coming from outside of the suitcase. She dropped the coat knowing the scream had to be Newt. She stood outside to see a hunched over Newt. “Newt!” Y/N ran over to him. The closer she got the more red she saw his white dress shirt become. Y/N propped newt up with her shoulder. “ Let's get you inside.” Y/N said in her calmest voice. Y/N laid Newt down on his stomach on the cot. She could now clearly see his shoulder was clawed to shreds. Calmly Y/N grabbed the scissors and started cutting the shirt off. “ Sorry, I know you just mended this shirt.” Newt said between sour looks of pain. “ Hush. There's a millions shirts and only one of you.” Y/N reached under her bed for a blood replenishing potion. With her wand Y/N skillfully slowly started mending his shoulder. “ Drink up. One dose every hour.” Newt smiled a little. “Very familiar with the dosage.” Y/N glanced at the array of thin white scars scattered around Newt’s back. Tears threaten to leave her eyes. Newt was mortified. He had vowed to be more careful now that Y/N was by his side. He was used to the occasional scar or two but, he knew she wasn’t. Newt lay face down still sore from Y/N’s healing. He couldn't muster to courage to look Y/N in the eye. “ I’m sorry you had to see that. I’ll be more careful next time-” Newt felt warm pressure against his back. After a moment of confusion he realized in was Y/N. Newt felt all the heat in his body rise to his face. “ Y-Y/N?” Feeling something new on his back. Warm tears. Y/N was shaking holding in silent sobs. Newt’s heart sunk into his stomach. He recognized this cry from all those years ago. Newt quickly turned around a pull Y/N into a hug. “ I’m alright. It’s simply a scratch. See! I feel better already!” trying to put on his cheeriest smile and tone of voice he possibly could. It didn’t seem to help at all. Y/N buried her face deeper into his chest. She had never been so scared in her entire life. Y/N tried to regain her composure. Newt watched as Y/N’s face went scarlet red. “ What’s the matter?” She quickly composed herself handing him a new shirt. Newt looked down to realize the whole time he hadn’t had a shirt on. He screamed internally accepting the shirt. Y/N sat up late into the night thinking about Newt. Why was she destroyed by him getting hurt? He’s my precious friend of course...right? She turned in her cot to see Newt fast asleep. Y/N smiled. It was rare to see Newt asleep at all. Today must have worn him out. She had to sudden urge to touch him. As if her hand had a mind of it’s own she moved his messy hair covering his face. Realizing what happened she quickly pulled her hand back to her side. She rolled over to turn away from him her heart beating fast. All she wanted to do was touch him. This was like what she had read in her hundreds of novels. This was love and it was terrifying. Y/N didn’t know how to act around Newt anymore. She seemingly had to sit on her hands every time she sat beside him. Y/N found herself noticing things about Newt she hadn’t before. How his eyes would dart when he was thinking of things to write in his field notes or how his brow furrowed when he concentrated. She had it bad. Newt noticed a change in Y/N. she seemed to avoid his glances and never freely touched him. Was she still upset about him getting hurt? Newt put his pencil down from writing a paragraph on unicorn hair. “ Y/N?” She seemed to jump at his voice. “Y-Yes Newt?” Newt sighed. “ Are you alright? You have been acting..different.” Y/N began to panic. He had to know she was in love with him. He probably hated the idea. “ Y/N? Oh my! Are you alright?” Tears unconsciously fell down her cheeks. Newt quickly held both of her hands. “ I’m sorry! Is it because I got hurt?” Y/N shook her head. “ Do you miss home? I could take you back!” Y/N shook her head more violently. “ I want to stay with you.” She choked. Newt got on his knees in front of her. Hands still clasped around hers. His piercing blue eyes full of concern. “ You can tell me anything Y/N. Just tell me.” “ I love you!” Y/N blurted out. “ I love you too.” He said like he always had in every letter. “ No Newt! I love you as a man!” Newt was stunned. Did she really just say what he think she did. “ A-as in like a lover?” He asked to clarify. Y/N nodded between tears. “ I’m sorry Newt.” Y/N rubbed her eyes and opened them to see Newt now looking nervous. He took a deep breath. “ IWOULDLIKETOCOURTYOUWITHTHEINTENTIONOFMARRIAGE!” He yelled loudly as fast as he could his face as red as a beet. Stunned laughter escaped Y/N’s lips. “ What?” Newt took another deep breathe. “ I would like to Court you with the intention of marriage! My mother told me to say that when I met the woman I wanted to marry! I’ve thought about it for years and years! Oh how I wish it came out more graceful!” Y/N laughed placing her forehead against his. “ She told you that decades ago. A little old fashioned but, cute. I would be honoured if you courted me Newt.” Newt was in bliss. The woman he loved to pieces loved him back. In his field notes he wrote. June 27th 1923. The first best day of my life. Plenty of more to come