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#hi hello I made the original edit like a year ago now
zelkam · 2 years
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— abd ar-rahmān jāmī, by the garden // (remake of an old edit)
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joelsmochi · 10 months
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Dirty Lies
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SUMMARY: Joel realized how much you matured since he last saw you 4 years ago and can’t resist you. WARNINGS: age gap [reader is 22, joel is 35], smut minors dni, no descriptions of reader aside from having shoulder length hair & having a girly sense of fashion, pervy!joel, shy-ish!joel, needy!joel, reader seduces joel. 18+ WARNINGS: infidelity if you squint (technicalities people), brief objectification, masturbation (f), oral (f receiving), dirty talk, reader was a lying little shit in high school but it paid off WC: 7.3k [please read author's note]
A/N: this was originally going to be a 15k word long smut as part of my LDR series, but........ I figured the more parts I can make out of it the more content I can produce, so here is part one of Us Against The World. Enjoy :) Edit: I’m rereading this and noticing a few typos, I apologize about those! Grammarly isn’t so helpful sometimes…
There you were in your blue tank top and yoga pants laying with your father’s dog in the middle of the front yard. You had just returned from New York a few days earlier from college, which your father amicably told Joel about over a few beers the week before.
Joel was expecting to see your 18-year-old self: long hair, sparkly eyeshadow, dressed in your late mother’s hand-me-downs from the 80s. But that was no longer you.
You dressed more modern and age-appropriate. Your hair was shorter, looked curlier, and you had highlights. Your eyebrows were thinner and your face was free from the loud makeup your teenage self was accustomed to. Joel would make jokes from time to time about how he believed you were just born with glitter all over your eyes.
Joel felt a little silly thinking you wouldn’t have changed. Who doesn’t make a drastic change when they leave high school? He hadn’t found the time to stop by and say hello but he wasn’t necessarily rushing it.
He’d met your father when you guys moved in next door in 1993 and he remembered you introduced yourself the second you saw him and Sarah playing outside despite your father’s protests.
You told Joel about how your dad was only being grumpy because he’d just turned thirty-six. Something about getting old. You didn’t bother to retain that information.
But here you were: all grown up. It reminded Joel of the day he overheard you and your best friend talking about how handsome you thought he was. He wondered if you still felt that way.
You sat up, feeling the sense that someone was watching you; your eyes scanned around until instinct made you look to the same window Joel was standing in.
For some reason, he didn’t feel embarrassed about being caught staring. He offered you an energetic smile and you took in his appearance.
He hadn’t changed much — his hair was a little longer and he had a few more fine lines across his face, but he was still the handsome man you remembered and admired.
You stand up and walk over to the window prompting him to open it.
“Hey, creep,” you teased with a big grin, “how ya been?”
Even your voice sounded different with its blend of Texas and New York. It was sultry with a hint of confidence. He tried not to let his weaknesses show.
“I’m doing all right… Sorry for starin’. Could hardly tell that was you,” he responded.
You just barely saw his eyes glance down to your chest, and it made you smirk.
Had this been any other man you’d have your fist meeting their jaw, but it wasn’t any other man. It was Joel. You hadn’t forgotten that he was attractive, but you did forget just how attractive. Or maybe his sexiness came with his age.
Not like it mattered anyways. It wasn’t like you could make a move.
“I been gettin’ that a lot… Dad tells me you’re a contractor now with Tommy.”
Joel nodded and said, “Yep, hated workin’ for other people, so…”
You were unsure if you were being awkward or if it was just… Awkward.
“Cool. Yeah, no, I get that. How is Tommy, by the way? Is he still really cute?” You giggled.
This made Joel roll his eyes. “Not cuter than me,” he answered begrudgingly. You watched how his eyes faltered again, trailing from your lips to your belly ring. “Your dad let you get that?”
You scoffed and waved your hand lazily as if you were swatting his condescending tone away. “One, Dad can’t tell me what to do with my body. And two, Tommy was always the cuter one.”
“S’that so?” Joel grunted as if he were tempted to laugh.
You gave him a cunning look and nodded. “Yeah. But you were always more handsome.”
Joel found himself blushing at the compliment, trying to wipe the redness away with his calloused palm to no avail.
You let out a quiet teetering laugh and looked back to make sure your dog was okay for a moment. “He get that dog after I left?”
Joel focused on you again and confirmed it once he noticed the dog again. “Yeah. I think your dad likes having something to take care of.”
You looked back into Joel’s eyes and bathed in them for a moment. He seemed more like himself, more certain of who he was. It made you a little sad to know how much time has passed, but maybe it was better this way.
“He was always like that. I think it started after… Well, you know.” You took a deep breath and tried to change the subject. “How’s Sarah? She still my little rockstar?”
“She’s more of a pop star, now,” he said. “She still wears that bracelet you let her have, the… The silver one.”
Your chest swelled with joy and you couldn’t contain your excitement. “Really?! Aw, man, that’s so cool. I remember I would throw a fit if I didn’t have that damn thing on.” The dog barking grabbed your attention once again. He was just barking at the mailman but settled once the worker started petting him. “Sorry!” You shouted before returning your focus to Joel. “Well, Joel it was nice seeing you. We should… Catch up. I could use some… Life advice.”
“I’m free tomorrow night if that works?” He tried to contain his excitement.
You slowly backed away, giving him one more nod and smile. “Perfect. Just come over whenever like old times.”
Joel decided to be respectful enough to not ogle over your ass as you walked away. He turned away from the window wondering how the hell he was going to get over this… Crush?
Is that what this was? A crush?
He decided to not torture himself with his intrusive thoughts.
“Hey, kid,” Joel greeted. You rolled your eyes at the nickname but greeted him back. He entered the backyard slowly trying to get a feel for the mood. He sat next to you in the extra papasan chair and snatched your beer out of your hands. You glared at him, unable to hold it for long when he shot you that infamous smile. “Everything all right?”
He tasted your strawberry chapstick around the rim of the glass and let the taste linger on his tongue. His eyes fell to your lips as he thought about how the chapstick would taste coming straight from you. Raw and unfiltered.
You held your breath, wishing you had enough courage to ask your father these questions. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust your father, you just wanted an opinion from an outside perspective. You were hoping Joel wasn’t as inclined to protect or embarrass you as much as your dad.
“There’s this guy I’ve been dating for a few months now… I…” You sigh frustratedly with the tension surrounding the question meanwhile Joel grew tense and jealous? He asked himself why that was the way he felt about you having a boyfriend.
You apprehensively said, “We had sex a few times before I left and it wasn’t…good.”
“Okay?” Joel asked as a way to tell you to keep going.
“How should I go about telling a guy that?”
He cleared his throat uncertain of how to answer your question. He didn’t want his newly discovered feelings to cloud his judgment as the chances of you two becoming a thing were slim to none. He wouldn’t want to sabotage you or your relationships. Especially when you trusted him enough to ask such a burdening question.
Joel accepted the awkwardness of the topic and put it aside. He didn’t want you to feel embarrassed. “Well, have you tried suggesting things that he can do to make you—it feel good?” He asked.
“Yeah, but I’m starting to wonder if it’s me,” you admitted.
“Does he do the things you ask him to?”
“Kinda?” Your cheeks flushed and your eyebrows furrowed tightly.
He gave you a look that said come on now.
“He like… Does half of it?” You could just die of embarrassment right now.
“Wh—? How does he do half of it?”
You groaned obnoxiously and chugged some more beer. “I don’t know?! He does what I ask for like five minutes and then just does what he’s used to I guess.” He watched you poke your bottom lip out to pout as you stared into the glass bottle. “I really like him, Joel.”
“Does he like you?”
“Well, yeah,” you said as if it were obvious. “Fuck is that supposed to mean?”
He inhaled sharply through his teeth and stole your beer bottle again. “All I will say is that a man that truly likes you would try harder, especially during sex, and especially if you’ve told him how he could make you feel good.”
“So… What do I do?”
“Do you think he likes you?” He asked again. “Think about it for a second. What does he do for you?”
“Well, he…” Your voice trailed off into silence as your mind went blank. Surely this guy did something for you to make you like him, right? But anything that did happen to come to mind was the bare minimum. You didn’t want to give Joel the satisfaction, so you said, “I think it could work.”
“Who’re trying to convince? Me or yourself?” He saw the frustration on your face and propped a finger below your chin to make you look at him. “If a guy really likes you, sweetheart, you wouldn’t have to ask more than once,” was all he said after he took a sip of your beer.
“What do you mean?”
Joel’s sigh almost sounded irritated. “I mean… A guy that truly likes you and deserves you won’t make you suffer through sex. A real man’ll take care a’you.”
“A real man, huh?” You bantered.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Like you?”
“I’d like to think so.”
“Do you like me?”
Why the fuck did I ask him that?! You thought as soon as the words left your mouth.
Joel didn’t couldn’t answer right away. His voice just stumbled over his tongue and out of his mouth.
“I think you’re a sweet girl,” he finally said, “and you’re smart enough to know who’s worthy of your time and attention. Doesn’t sound like it’s him.”
You couldn’t defeat the growing smirk on your face as he fought the urge to look over your body. He wasn’t so good at hiding it.
You turned your body in the chair slightly and dauntingly lifted your leg to touch your bare toes against his calf. You watched his breath get caught in his throat and your mouth fell open in awe at how easy it was to get him riled up.
He looked at the ground, not moving a single inch of his body. He was overwhelmed by your confidence.
The amount of attention Joel’s given you in the last ten minutes already seemed to surpass the attention your “boyfriend” (can you even call him that?) had given you.
Your foot trailed up Joel’s leg before you rested it upon his knee; Joel’s eyes screwed shut as if he were praying to not get caught like this, but your voice brought his gaze back to you.
“You didn’t answer my question, Joel,” you whispered seductively. Your foot left his leg and you got on your knees in the chair, then you leaned forward, hands around the rim of his own seat, and leaned in devilishly close to his face. “Do you like me?”
He swallowed hard, his fingertips turning white as they pressed into the bottle.
His lack of an answer caused an impatience to grow inside you. You leaned in even closer and strengthened your eye contact with him. Your fingers absentmindedly trailed over his knee to the midpoint of his clad thigh.
His spine shivered and his arms grew goosebumps. “Why don’t you have this attitude with your boyfriend?” He asked lowly in a poor attempt to further evade answering you.
You snickered and looked over his beer-covered lips, craving to taste them. “If I’m being honest he’s technically not my boyfriend… You’re tellin’ me things about men and how they should act. It’s making me feel like… He just can’t handle me.”
He smirked at you, fighting the way his body pleaded to touch yours. “If that’s the case then, sweetheart, I don’t think he’s the one for you.”
“Oh?” You got even closer, your nose touched his and you heard him choke on his breath. “Do you think you could handle me?”
He chuckled rashly and straightened his posture, now sensing you tense up. “I could,” he confidently confessed. “But this ain’t right, sweetheart.”
“Please,” you scoff, “you can’t keep your eyes off of me.”
“If you keep actin’ like a spoiled brat you won’t be able to keep my hands off of you.”
“Maybe that’s what I want,” you retorted, a cocky essence in your eyes.
“That so?”
“Maybe you can show me how a real man should be taking care of me.”
Joel had to stop himself from speaking as it would have potentially led to consequences. His flustered cheeks and wide lustful eyes created a hunger you’d never felt before.
However, you wanted Joel to earn it. Push him to the point of begging for just a taste of you. You needed to know if he craved you. Something you longed for from other men that just could not deliver.
You hovered your agape lips over his so dangerously it tickled his nerves. You gave him a soft kiss on the cheek then sat back in your original position.
Joel was both relieved and disappointed with the kiss. Relieved it didn’t end up with his head buried between your thighs, and at the same time disappointed that it didn’t.
For the next few days, you settled into your room as best as you could and got everything how you wanted it to be. Well, almost. You wanted a shelf to go over your closet so that you could display your most prized possessions.
When the idea sparked in your head you remembered that your dad said he was going to be gone for most of the day. You figured you could hold off for one more day. That was until you heard some power tools and heavy grunting from beyond your window.
Joel.
Joel had followed your lead as best as he could and you had to admit that the lack of physical contact was making it harder to resist him.
You felt a bit strange, however. After all, this is Joel. Sweet, caring, next-door neighbor Joel. You and your friends had a crush on him and his brother, Tommy, sure, but this wasn’t that. And you surely weren’t a child anymore. But still, you couldn’t help but think of how strange the dynamic is.
It wasn’t enough to stop you from taking your sweatpants off and changing out of your t-shirt into a stretchy tank top. You poked your head out of your window and shouted Joel’s name a few times until you successfully got his attention.
“Hey!” You said with a proud smile.
“Hey, kid!” He shouted back.
“Can you build a shelf for me? I wanted to get my room done today, but my old man’s gone!”
“Right now?” He tried to seem indifferent.
You just smiled harder and motioned for him to come over. “Please?!”
He huffed and looked at his half-done project, ultimately deciding to help you instead. The sooner he helps you the sooner he could create distance, he figured. Though deep down he knew that wasn’t the real reason.
You patter downstairs to unlock the door for him. He could see from the corners of his eyes that you were half naked, only in white panties and your top.
“Couldn’t a’put pants on?” He asked grumpily as he walked past you, not giving you the satisfaction of staring. You shut and lock the door before guiding him upstairs.
“Yeah, but I figured since you were doing the job for free I could at least give you something to look at,” you flirted. He didn’t even bother trying to stop you.
“What d’ya need done exactly?” He asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
“I want those shelves to hang over my closet right… Here. I have a power drill here already, I just couldn’t figure out how to get it.”
He was doing a decent job at keeping his eyes anywhere but on your body, but in his mind he had already taken your clothes off and fucked you against the wall.
“S’alright, I can get it for ya,” he said while giving you an earnest look.
“What?” You asked after a moment of silence.
“Nothing,” he answered with a shrug and a smirk. You lightly smack his arm and plop down on your bed.
You lay on your stomach and flipped through a fashion magazine, occasionally smelling some of the perfume samples. You snuck glances at Joel’s broad back as he made sure everything could be lined up, smiling to yourself at how efficiently he worked.
“How’s your boyfriend?” Joel randomly asked after about ten minutes. You looked at him through your eyelashes as he peaked over his shoulder. 
You stifled your laugh and began looking at the magazine again before answering him. “He actually ended things with me two days ago. But like I said, he technically wasn’t my boyfriend. He never asked.”
“Oh… You doing okay? Seemed like you really liked him.”
“I like someone else more,” was all you said. Joel took a second, then just nodded even though you weren’t looking at him anymore.
“This someone have a name?” He asked after a few more moments of silence.
Joel’s internal conflict was teetering between giving in and giving up. He wasn’t sure why he was so drawn to you, but that’s what fueled his filthy thoughts even more.
“Yep, he sure does.”
Your tone was the exact opposite of what you were feeling. You felt hot and desperate, but you (almost) fooled him by sounding bored. He didn’t want to give into your childish game of beating around the bush, so he kept his mouth shut and began hammering a nail into the wall.
Suddenly you had an idea. An awfully sinister one.
You tossed the magazine on your nightstand and sat up in the bed, leaning into a few pillows and angling yourself so that Joel could get the perfect view if he dared to look.
Your hands traced uneven lines and patterns over your clad breasts and you gasped softly at your nipples perking up quickly. He couldn’t hear you over his hammering.
You rid yourself of your wet panties, kicking them to the edge of the bed. You spread your legs and began working big and slow circles over your sensitive clit. You used your free hand to pinch your nipple over your shirt, the combination of stimuli making you give a more audible moan.
Joel didn’t think much of it at first — he figured you were moving around on the bed to get more comfortable. So when the next moan came and he stopped his work to look at you he was taken aback, to say the least.
He said your name, but you shook your head in protest. “Is this okay?” You asked, innocence spreading across your face.
He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe.
“Joel?” You snapped him out of his daze. “S’this okay?”
He nodded and watched your trembling hands dip down into your glistening slit, collecting your wetness and coating it over your clit. Your body was stiff with anticipation, watching him watch you.
He took in all of your beauty like the way your eyes fluttered halfway shut and how you bit your plump lip to quiet your mewls. One hand cupped your breast so gently and the other rubbing steady, taunting circles over your sensitive bud. He watched the way you pleased yourself and let this picture of you engrave itself into his memory.
One day, Joel thought, I’d be able to make her feel as good as she makes herself feel.
He ignored the hardening of his cock pressing against his jeans, not caring enough to touch himself if it meant he didn’t get to feel you. He found the situation quite sexy and the lack of physical contact made him feel good.
You were showing him that he didn’t need to touch you or talk to you. He didn’t need to do a damn thing. All he needed to do was stand there and let you look at him.
Your moans were quiet and soft, barely heard by him. You squeezed your nipple harshly and jolted at the shock of electricity it sent throughout your body, your eyes screwing shut and your legs curling up into an almost fetal position at the feeling.
He saw you swallow the lump in your throat as you looked into his eyes again, soon scanning over his body and imagining how he would feel on top of you. The imagination was more than enough to get you going.
You imagined he felt strong and heavy above you, trapping you with his burly arms and using his lean thighs to keep your legs open for him as he rolled his hips to meet yours.
You absentmindedly curled your middle and ring finger into your creamy pussy, chasing after the feeling of being stretched out by Joel. Your pussy effortlessly squelched as your discharge poured out of you like a waterfall, coating your plump ass cheeks in your juices.
You got a bit louder but remained mindful of the open windows just a few feet away. You watched the movement in his jeans from his cock that twitched, longing for just some fucking relief. But he didn’t move, he didn’t even adjust his pants. He wanted you to know that you were the one in charge and that he was willing to suffer just for you.
“Joel,” you breathed out in between helpless murmurs.
He almost caved at how sweetly you said his name like you were asking for help. You reached even further into your sex, pressing into your sweet spot carefully. You pretended it was him.
Allowing your eyes to shut and your mouth to open, your mind dove deeper into the fantasies of Joel. You imagined him fucking you slowly, steady enough to not make your bed squeak too loud. Your fingers followed your mind, bumping against your g-spot the same way you wanted him to: carefully, yet forceful.
Joel felt awkward just standing there watching you, but you looked so beautiful. Sprawled out just for him with your fingers dipping into your sopping cunt as if you were made just for him. He saw your shoulders twitch and a hiss escaped your lips.
A ripple of ecstasy shocked your nerves, your walls tighten around your fingers, and your clit tensed up with a tickling sensation.
Your face twisted from the overwhelming feeling that began to encapsulate you from your core to your mind. Your moans became shallow and louder. Your clit throbbing beneath your palm motivated your to work your fingers faster. You fucked yourself with more desire than you had before, still twisting your perky nipple between your other fingers.
You were a lot more gentle with yourself than Joel would have expected. You took your time, didn’t overwhelm yourself.
He knew he loved it when the ever-growing pressure inside of you burst into a million flames throughout your trembling body. He saw that the slower you were with yourself the more intense the orgasm was.
He accidentally groaned at the sight of you: clinging to your bedsheet with the very hand that toyed with your breast, eyes refusing to open from the immense pleasure soaring through your veins, curling up into a ball because your body couldn’t comprehend just how good you were feeling.
He noticed how your cum gushed around and below your fingers creating a wet spot on your blanket. He carefully watched as you opened your eyes, still slowly fingering yourself. You continued to feel your orgasm, exploring how much of it you could endure.
You moved your free hand to your clit and rubbed tiny and fast circles around it. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you refused to moan anything but his name.
You shoved your fingers deep inside of you to press against your g-spot relentlessly. Your toes curled at the mix of pleasure.
You knew your orgasm was coming back more powerful than before already, and you braced yourself when your walls flexed against your fingers basically forcing them out; you chewed hard on your lip and laid your stiff fingers flat against your clit to rub from side to side at the arrival of your squirt. You squealed behind your swollen lip and let your squirt splash everywhere.
Joel palmed his rock-hard cock for some relief as he watched in awe at how you came for him. You looked so fucking delicious soaking yourself in your juices. His heart punched against his chest and his mind nearly blank, only filled with you.
Your lips formed an ‘o’ shape as you eased up on your clit. You let out sweet hums of bliss and you opened your eyes again, carefully analyzing his body language.
He practically reeked of inferiority. He was your marionette, your toy, whatever you wanted him to be. He didn’t recognize you in the best way possible. You were an unwrapped present that he couldn’t wait to open and play with. Your confidence grew at his puppy eyes that were low and dark, filled with a need to serve you.
Your fingers collected some of the creamy nectar between your folds before you brought it to your mouth and darted your wet tongue out to taste it.
You never broke eye contact once, observing how his body shuddered at the filthy action. His breath was heavy, his chest heaved in anticipation. You stuck your fingers inside of your mouth moaning at the salty goodness coating every single taste bud.
It wasn’t until your fingers dropped back down to your side and you gave him a shit-eating grin that he finally looked away, sighing loudly.
He felt ashamed of himself.
He’d known you since you were a child.
How could he ever look you in the eye again?
How could he ever look your father in the eye again?
You slipped your panties on again while he wasn’t looking and just grabbed your magazine, flipping through the pages again like nothing ever happened though the wet spot on your bed clearly said otherwise.
When Joel saw you had returned to your previous activities he did the same. Drilling and hammering your shelves onto the wall like nothing fucking happened.
“Here you go sir, you have a lovely day,” you chirped at the customer as you handed him his food waiting until he left. You turned around to straighten up the counter behind you when the bell on the door jingled. “Hello, give me just one moment and I’ll be with you!”
You gave the counter a lazy wipe with the wet washcloth before tossing it into the sink nearby and turning around, being met with a smirking Joel.
“My, my, you working at a burger joint? Never thought I’d see the day,” he teased.
You made a face and told him to shut up. You tried not to notice the sheer layer of sweat that coated his partially exposed chest. “What can I get you, sir?”
His face contorted with arrogance and he placed a hand over his chest. “Sir? You callin’ me sir now? Oh, you are just too cute.”
With a roll of your eyes, you huffed out a stream of air, waiting for him to stop fucking with you.
“Okay, okay,” he laughed, dropping the act. “Can I get a burger and some fries?”
“You don’t want a drink?” You asked before writing his order down quickly and sliding it through the kitchen window.
“Are you tryin’a make me tip you more?”
You shrugged. “Nah, it’s just that the cola here is really good.”
“Mmm,” he hummed as if he didn’t believe you.
“If you want a cola I’ll make it extra cold for you,” you whispered as if you were telling him a dirty secret.
“Mhm, okay. Fine, I’ll take your word for it. Gon’ and get it f’me then.”
“You can ask that a little nicer,” you scoffed. You walked off, breathing in a gust of smoke on your way to the soda machine. “F’here or to-go?!” You shouted.
“Mm, I was gonna get it to go, but I think I’ll stay and keep you company.”
You could just hear the smile in his voice.
“Awe, how thoughtful of you,” you bantered before rinsing out a clean cup and filling it with ice. The cook called out the order was ready and you thanked him before finishing up with Joel’s drink. You grabbed the tray and walked over to the end of the counter where the stools sat, setting the food in front of Joel with a weak smile.
He watched you closely as you leaned onto your elbows waiting for him to try his food.
“What r’ya doing workin’ in a restaurant? Didn’t you graduate for like… Fashion or some shit?” Joel asked, unable to keep his smile down at how pretty you looked in your uniform: a teal skirt and a mustard yellow shirt, but so, so tacky. You hated the fucking outfit, it was everything you would never wear, but Joel thought you made it look good.
“I did,” you confirmed, “but I wanted a humbling job before I truly entered the world of fashion.”
Joel’s thick and somewhat dirty fingers unraveled his greasy burger after he dumped the fries out chaotically. He took an unnecessarily big bite, not seeing how your eyes watched the trail of juice trickle down the corner of his mouth to his chin before he swept it set with his thumb.
“Humbling, hmm?” He questioned before swallowing his barely chewed bite. “You’re a wise girl, you know?”
“So I’ve been told,” you smugly replied. You stole a fry off of his tray and smiled at his frowning face while eating it before washing it down with his fizzling soda. “Best drink that ‘fore it goes flat.”
You walked away momentarily to help a customer that just walked in; she only wanted a dollar milkshake so you told her not to worry about paying. You took a dollar and some change from your tip pocket and put it in the register before grabbing a styrofoam cup and packing her cup.
Joel noticed halfway through you making the shake that whenever you tapped the bottom of the cup against the counter your breast jiggled against your arm. He felt the lady nearby staring at him so he turned his head just enough to see the mix of disgust and concern on her face.
If only she knew how filthy you were for him just last week…
He didn’t care enough to stop though, he just went back to looking at how your clothes hugged your body.
You finished up her shake and popped a lid on it before grabbing a straw and walking back to give it to her.
Joel heard the lady ask if you were okay, and he promptly rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and tried his best to not laugh. You were confused by her question, simply nodding your head and saying, “Yeah?”
She looked at Joel once more, choosing not to say another word before leaving.
“Fuck was that about?” You asked, watching her walk away.
“She saw me starin’ at your tits,” he said between obnoxious bites. “If only she saw—“
Your eyes widened. “Do not finish that sentence.”
“Whatever you say, doll,” he teased before taking another bite.
You pretended to be grossed out by seeing the chewed-up food in his mouth as he spoke, swatting his hand gently. “You’re so gross.”
“You love me,” he quipped with a simper. He took a sip of his drink, humming at how refreshing it felt. “This is good,” he told you.
“Told ya.”
“What time are you out?”
You looked at the door when your manager came in, apologizing for taking longer than she expected.
“You’re fine, it’s a slow day,” you told her as she walked to her office. You looked at Joel and slammed your book and pen on the counter near the register. “I’m out now. Why?”
“Your dad asked me to pick you up.”
You felt a rush of worry. “Why? Is he okay?”
“Yeah, honey, everything’s fine. He forgot about pickin’ you up today and got drunk with his buddies and called me—well, he called Tommy. Said he wouldn’t be back home ‘til tomorrow.”
You raised an eyebrow at the mention of his brother’s name. “Oh? Well, why isn’t Tommy here?” You strutted around the counter and stood next to Joel as he inhaled the last of his food.
“Think you know why,” he grunted.
Anxiety pang inside of your chest, but you convinced yourself it was excitement. You were hoping that he wanted to get you alone somewhere and fuck you into the next week.
But you didn’t want to seem desperate. You kept a straight face, waiting for your boss to come back out before getting your things and punching out.
You followed Joel to his Chevy and thanked him when he opened the door for you. He huffed when by the time he got inside the car himself you were already flipping through his book of CDs.
“I got a good one in already—“
“Is it The Writing’s On the Wall by Destiny’s Child?” You interrupted after you found said CD.
“No, b—“
“Then it’s not what I want to listen to.”
Joel endured your (arguably bad) singing for the ten-minute ride back to your house. He thought about a few things in that ten minutes:
-Sarah wasn’t home, so he didn’t need to worry about food (or getting caught), so this time was optimal to make a move on you.
-If he were to make a move on you, then you two wouldn’t get caught.
-If he were to make a move on you, how exactly would he do it?
Once he arrived in his driveway, you both stepped out of the car and he walked over to your side.
“You not working tonight?” You asked.
“No, we finished early.”
You looked at him with lush eyes and bit the inside of your mouth, a flirty smile coaxing your lips. He looked hopeful for something, anything.
“I was just gonna watch TV all night,” you started, “and maybe make some dinner. I know you just ate, but you and Sarah are welcome to come over.”
“Sarah’s at a friend’s tonight, doing some studying,” he answered. His voice trailed off as if he weren’t finished speaking his thought aloud, but you picked up where he reluctantly left off.
“Do you want to come over, then? Just you?”
He looked around the quiet neighborhood as if he had to think about what he wanted. “Uh, yeah, sure.”
You lead him to your house, kicking your shoes off at the door and he followed. He felt unsure of his decision. He wondered if this night would play out platonically and just be filled with conversation and dinner, or if this was truly the beginning of a secret he’d have to keep forever.
“Spaghetti okay?” You asked him once you both entered the kitchen, decorated with oranges and reds, and yellows, reminiscent of your late mother. You tossed your half apron on the island before making your way to the refrigerator.
You heard his feet patter on the linoleum quickly but before you could turn around on your own Joel did it, pinning your back against the refrigerator and knocking down some of the bottles inside of it.
You gasped when his fingers peacock over the outsides of your thighs, gripping at the hem as a means to pace himself.
His eyes were bright yet lustful as his proximity alone sucked the air out of your lungs. Your chests heaving against each other’s created the only other physical contact you had with him.
He then dropped to his knees before you got the chance to speak; his calloused hands rose beneath your skirt, hiking it up enough for him to pull your wet panties down to your ankles. You stepped out of them for him and he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder before meeting his mouth to your clit tongue first.
You moaned at how he just dove into it, not bothering with kissing or easing you into it. Your digits laced through his messy curls while his tongue coated itself in your juices.
His tongue did crazy laps around your clit and he smacked a couple of firm kisses in between his licks. You tried to watch his work but your stupid fucking skirt was in the way. You settled, however when his eyes opened, the only visible part of him from your view.
You tasted so good to him, he tasted your day of work mixed in with your salty precum and he couldn’t get enough of it. He moaned when you tugged at his hair, burying his face as deep as he could and closing his eyes.
You let out a stream of obscenities while using your calf to push into his back, afraid that if you didn’t hold on tight enough he’d vanish.
He wrote out his full name over your clit like he was casting a spell that anything you or someone else touched you there you would only think about him.
You were amazed at how good he was eating you out — you didn’t think he’d be bad. You just didn’t know it could feel this good. It was like you felt him touching and kissing and licking all over your body, swimming in an endless pool of dissolution.
His touch was decadent through remembering how careful you were with yourself. He wanted to cater to you and to make you feel as good as you made yourself. And on top of that, he just really wanted to eat your pussy.
Savor it.
Taste it.
Drink you until you fucking ran dry and begged him to stop.
Nothing could have torn his lips away from your pussy. Hell, someone could have walked in and he’d still keep going.
“Joel,” you gasped, throwing your head back and grinding on his face.
He loudly moaned, tightening his grip around your thighs and wagging his head furiously from side to side to provide more stimulation.
Your hips bucked into his face roughly and you screeched, pulling even tighter on his hair.
“Joel, oh—fu-fuck!”
He smirked and pulled at the skirt to unveil his eyes again. His dick angered in his jeans, but he ignored it. He’d much rather focus on the way you writhed from his touch. Your panting growing heavier fueled his already intense movements. He began to suck while still shaking his head earning another screech from you.
You never felt out of control with how loud you were before. Every motion sent a million shockwaves throughout your body. You always did a good job at keeping quiet enough so that the neighbors wouldn’t hear, but fucking hell was Joel the one to break that evergreen streak.
You felt his hot breath collide with the fluids coating your sex and his nails leave indents on your flesh.
His tongue darted out to collect a stream of your cum, but his nose butted against your clit as he continued shaking his head making your hips buck once more. Then he realized… He got to stimulate your sensitive bud and lick between your folds.
He loved it.
Your moans became more distressed and uneven; he felt you chasing that high. He wanted you to cum so fucking badly. To let all of your pent-up cum pour over him.
You held the back of his head gently and he angled it just right enough for you to ride his face.
“Use my fucking face,” he moaned loud enough between your legs for you to hear. “Use my fucking face to cum.”
Your body gave in finally at his hoarse voice; your hops sped up, still using his nose and lips to overstimulate yourself. The orgasm was forceful, your moans strident.
Joel felt a pool of your cum leak out and drip down his chin onto his neck. He watched you crumble and curl into him and he was attentive enough to hold you steady while your balance dissipated.
Your head was dizzy and your vision blurred. You slowly halted your movements and just stood there being held by him while he placed light, but loving kisses along your dripping cunt.
He finally pulled his face out from underneath your skirt and carefully put your leg down before standing. He tucked some loose hairs back or behind your ears, then caressed your cheek and gave you a peck.
You wiped some of your cum off of his wet chin with your thumb and held it up to his mouth which he gladly sucked on. He grinned at you afterward and fixed your skirt for you.
The silence was soothing because frankly, neither of you knew what to say. It left you speechless, but that could just be the aftereffect of your climax.
The night was beginning to close in sooner than either of you wanted it to. You two just talked, truly catching up on the past four years. He was a lot funnier than you remembered, your cheeks were aching from how much he was making you laugh.
"You are a real gentleman, Joel Miller. What can I say? Dinner and an orgasm?!"
He lifted you up from your spot on the couch and pulled you into his lap so that you were straddling him. "I don't have to be," he murmured against your lips. His fingers flexed into your feverish skin, holding you upright and close by. He chased you with his lips until you finally let him kiss you. "Be honest with me... Did you really think I was handsome in high school?"
Your face grew warm and you hid behind your hands in embarrassment. "Oh, my God."
"Why are you actin' all shy now?"
"Because you weren’t supposed to know about that."
"Know about what exactly?"
You crossed your arms, deciding to let him win this time. "You want details?"
He smirked and leaned back to get more comfortable.
"Well... I used to lie and tell my friends that we fucked," you admitted.
"Really?" Despite his surprise the smirk never left his face. If anything it grew wider.
You sheepishly nodded. "I used to tell them how good you were. Everything you would do to me."
"What would I do to you?" His cock was already throbbing against his jeans, and just like every other time, he ignored it.
"You would fuck me up against the wall," you explained. "Sometimes, you would bend me over the edge of the bed and spank me for being naughty. Or just 'cause you felt like it. I'd even tell them about how you played with my ass so gently because you didn't want to hurt me."
Every word went straight to his dick, making it jerk and prod your thigh.
"Maybe I do need to bend you over and spank you for all that lyin' you were doin'. Your friends probably think I'm some creep now," he said; his tone wasn’t scolding or cold. He sounded thirsty for more of you. Like his throat had already run dry despite how much of you he drank earlier.
"I'd tell them the truth, but if I were to do that now then I'd be lying again," you whispered against his lips.
"We certainly cannot have you spreadin' no more dirty lies, now. Can we?"
-
Read Part 2 here.
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blossom-hwa · 1 month
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a yellow scarf in winter | w.jh
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pairing: Jun x gender neutral!reader genre: fluff, angst, magical realism warnings: mentions of minor character death (offscreen) word count: 7.3k notes: this is a rewrite of something from maybe a year ago - it's gone through extensive edits and while the original premise is the same, it's changed a lot, so even if you read it before I hope you find something new :) When your grandmother passes, a spirit arrives on the sun and the snow, asking for a place to stay. As the years pass, you learn grief, love, and the complicated art of letting go. 
Original Ver. | Seventeen Masterlist
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When he arrives on your doorstep, hands cold from the snow and eyes warm as the sun, the moon has already been dim for a year. 
The knock comes gentle against the worn wood of the old inn’s door—so gentle at first that once, twice it sounds before you truly hear it. By the time you’ve put down the pile of pale yellow wool turning into the beginnings of a scarf or a shirt or something in between, it has sounded a third time, and when you finally open the door, his hand is raised like he was bracing for a fourth. 
You stare. He is the first to have approached your grandmother’s inn in the weeks since you moved in, and you do not recognize him from the town. Brown eyes stare back at yours, slanted almost mischievously at the tips yet deep and soft and sweet, while pale blond hair the color of your wool seems to sparkle like the sun on the snow outside. Light pink lips curve in an awkward smile, showing a hint of white teeth, and it’s not so much that he glows himself but that sunlight glints off the pale skin of his face, reflecting a soft sparkle around him that only makes it seem brighter. About your age, perhaps—late twenties, early thirties. Maybe a little younger. His eyes look like they have seen many more years than he seems, though. 
It’s been too long, this silence, but still you have to look for a moment more. For it feels like you know him, even though you’ve never seen him before. 
—Hello, you finally say, cautious, quiet. 
—Hello, he replies, lowering the hand he had raised. The gesture, awkward and almost bashful, brings a curve to your own lips. Someone in town told me I could some here for a place to stay.
Words rise in your memory, unbidden. Never turn a stranger away from your door, child. A wink, with one wrinkle-lined eye. They just might be a god in disguise.
Your hand tightens around the worn doorknob. The inn has been closed since your grandmother left it to you, and locked inside you’ve kept the stories she told—of deities who once walked this plane, spirits who left remnants of magic in the earth beneath your feet. In the weeks since her death you didn’t allow yourself to remember, didn’t allow yourself to acknowledge the sparkles of magic that she used to point out to you day after day—the bright green laughing grass now covered by the snow, the howl of the wind whirling in the breeze. 
You haven’t reopened. You’re still not sure you will, not when the ache of her absence continues to fill every room. Those of the town should know the news by now, but perhaps they thought this might still be all right. 
Part of you urges to shake your head, give an apologetic smile, and close the door. He’s a strange man in a strange place, and where exactly could that go? But as a chilly wind whips through the tall stranger’s hair, his long fingers fidgeting quietly as fading sunlight catches on the single silver earring in his left ear, you wonder if, after all these years, a spirit has finally made its way to your grandmother’s inn once more. 
Stories and legends, tales you could never tell were true or not. You fight back a tear as a thought surfaces—that your grandmother sent this spirit to you, to make sure you would be all right.
—Of course. What is your name?
When he smiles, it seems as though the rising moon regains a touch of its original shine. 
—Thank you. My name is Jun. 
. . . . .
And—that’s it. For a time. It’s all he tells you about himself anyway, just his name and nothing else. What you learn in passing comes from casual action and conversation, things he lets slip as he accompanies you on your wanderings through the many rooms of your grandmother’s old, empty inn. It’s not so much him letting things slip, though, as you noticing the way he simply falls into place like the last pieces of a puzzle you never realized was unfinished—the shyness of his laugh sparkling through the dust motes spinning through the air, his long fingers drawing back the heavy drapes that once covered the lobby windows. He takes the room across from yours on the first floor, and when you open the door the next morning to see him stumbling out of his, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, it feels like you are only saying good morning to an old friend when you smile.
Which makes no sense, of course. Because you don’t know him. You’ve never seen this man once in your life before he showed up at the inn’s front door. What could you know about a man as enigmatic as the moon, who reflects all the light in the room and makes it brighter all on his own? But as the days go by, as you learn his shyness, his gentleness, the way his crescent smiles come soft and slow, a waxing and waning curve of his lips that reflects the sunlight streaming through the inn’s large windows and cuts through the dark chill that had seemed to fill the inn before, it doesn’t feel like you’re learning much at all. More like…remembering. Settling. Reacquainting yourself with the characteristics of a good friend you haven’t seen in ages. Somehow, though he is only one person sleeping in the same one room every night, the stately old place your grandmother left you doesn’t feel nearly as empty as it once did, not with his comfortable presence around. 
He’s quiet. Calm. Prone to confusion when you use a phrase he doesn’t seem to know, and giggling fits when he sees something he deems cute or strange. He’s eager to help when you slowly rouse yourself to sweep the dust from the rooms, and he doesn’t ask when you pause in front of a larger door on the top floor, then turn away without a word. He has a lovely little laugh that sounds like the first spring flowers coming into bloom, bringing warmth to the silent hallways you’d long forgotten how to walk, and joy etches itself in the tiny wrinkles around his eyes that appear when he smiles. You find he has a special affinity for the cats that sometimes show up on the inn grounds and perhaps, you think, it’s because he’s a little like them himself—closed off and skittish at first, but soft, and sweet, and so, so warm when he finally turns to you with his truest smile. 
In the cold remnants of winter, you learn his favorite tea, how he drinks it slow, sip by tiny sip. The long fingers that twist and fidget and eventually like to tangle with your own become still when he wraps them around his favorite mug of yours, white porcelain with the figures of three kittens playing around the edges. Those same fingers lift up the lid of the lobby grand piano one day, untouched since your grandmother last played, and begin to dance on their own across the yellowing keys, spinning starlit melodies into the air. His hands always seem to be cold, or at least take a while to warm up after being outside, but the tea helps. So does playing scales. And, eventually, holding your own hands that he always says are so much warmer than his. 
When spring tints the air and flowers begin to bloom, you almost wonder if Jun’s warmth will fade, somewhat, in a season marked by the sun, by the blue sky, by the days that grow longer at the expense of the moon’s soft glow. It doesn’t, though—grows, even, as you walk with him through the soft grass on the outskirts of the town, his smile tossing sunlight kind, carefree, into the air around him. On walks like these you come to learn his favorite blossom, the pale jasmine he settles gently behind your ear, and how he never picks them, only gathers up the blooms that have already fallen on the ground to create lovely bouquets you set at the dining table later in the night. When summer hangs cheerful in the sky you begin to leave the lobby windows open, the heavy curtains brushed to the sides by Jun’s delicate hands, and you learn how far the cheer of his laugh can carry and how his voice accompanies the piano as he sings, melodic threads twining sweetly in the air. You show him midnight recipes—cold noodles, cookies, cool milk that you share with the cats milling about outside—and his hand in yours is always warm, but somehow, despite the heat of the sun on your skin, you can’t find it in yourself to pull away, not when he reflects the sun’s glow in his waxing and waning smiles, not when he squeezes your hand tighter and pulls you closer to him. 
Finally, when the last dregs of autumn begin to pass and the first year winds to a close, you learn how Jun’s laugh softens with the fading sun, how, no matter the biting chill in the air, he still reflects the sun’s quiet glow until he seems to be the one who warms the room (and perhaps he is, with his moonlit melodies and starlit smile). Under the gentle rays of the sky’s fading light, the fast-growing chill of the billowing wind, the curve of Jun’s enigmatic crescent smile steadies you as dead leaves crunch beneath your feet. And as the first snows begin to swirl through the wind, mimicking the dust motes Jun helped you sweep away, you look outside at the moon that had faded, and you can’t help but think that perhaps, over the year, its smile has finally grown a little brighter. 
. . . . .
And so the first year comes and goes, and when the chill of winter fully returns, you don’t worry as much about the empty rooms, the once-faded moon, the memories of your grandmother that still fill the air. There is Jun, and there is his warmth, and for now that is all you need. 
But then he disappears. For a few hours, first. Then a few days. Until twice a month he leaves without notice, and with such irregularity that it slowly becomes regular. 
He always returns, you learn. But the first morning you wake up and he doesn’t greet you with sleepy eyes smiling as he opens his door, you panic. Because what happened to him and where did he go and does he need help and what if he left, left you alone, left you in this  empty house to cope again with the memories just like your grandmother did when she died—
—Where were you? you ask when he returns the next night and you can finally speak without wanting to cry? Where did you go? Why didn’t you let me know?
—I’m sorry, he replies, his long fingers fidgeting again. The dimness of the barely crescent moon outside casts dark shadows across his face, only a thin sliver of his cheek illuminated by starlight. I didn’t realize you would worry this much. 
—How could I not?
—I don’t know. No one really has, before. 
Candlelight flickering, silence hanging oppressive in the air. 
—I was worried. 
When he smiles, heavy and tragic, it is as though the moon’s darkness never left. 
—I know. 
(That night, when you crawl under the covers in a room too big for you and the questions you don’t have answers to, you remember where you live, where Jun came. And you remember something your grandmother told you when you were old enough to know, to understand. 
No one stays forever at an inn. 
No one.)
. . . . .
You think—hope—that might be the end of it. Or that, at least, he’ll tell you before he next goes. But despite his apologies, he still leaves a second time, and a third, and then a fourth and fifth, all without warning. And though you never truly grow used to the way each room echoes with a renewed emptiness in the hours and days he is gone, you force yourself to accept it. That his irregularity is his regularity. That he cannot—or will not—fight against what drives him to leave. 
(Acceptance doesn’t stem the fear that someday he will go, and there will be no warning, and when that day comes, he will not return.)
So winter fades with its ice and snow, and spring comes, then summer, with their warmth and flowers. And on a night where Jun isn’t here, where the faded moon shines fully in the dark sky, you find yourself in front of a room on the top floor that you ignored when you two cleaned the inn the first time. The room where you stopped. Thought. Passed without a word, where Jun didn’t pry. 
This time, you open the door. 
Your grandmother’s presence folds around you like a warm cloak of boxes and drapes, warped wooden floorboards and old furniture sitting on top. Almost immediately your knees give out. You catch yourself on the floor, sending up a cloud of dust, but for all your watering eyes you don’t really notice because she is so strong here. So warm. So comfortable. As though you could reach out a hand to the air and she would materialize before you, her fingers clutching yours, her eyes already wrinkling into a mischievous smile. 
For a long time, you only sit. Stare. Take in the things she amassed during life, the things she packed away that were never the inn’s but hers, and hers only. An old, moth-eaten armchair. A couple of trunks tied with dusty rope. Boxes with spidery handwriting on the sides labeling things you can’t quite read through the tears bubbling in your eyes, a few tarps draped over it all. 
—Did you send him? you ask the dust swirling through the air. 
(And if you did, why did you send someone who had to leave? Who couldn’t stay?)
She doesn’t answer, of course. But you sit there, waiting as though she will, until the gray light of dawn begins to peek through the folds of curtains you didn’t part, and you finally pick yourself up from the floor to return downstairs and wait for Jun to return. 
. . . . .
He returns that evening amidst summer showers, rain glittering on his face like little diamonds pressed to his skin. You’re back in the room on the top floor, sitting, staring, and only when a soft knock sounds at the cusp of afternoon-evening do you find it in yourself to move again. 
—Hi. 
Jun’s eyes, deep brown and cratered wide. His graceful nose, his pale face, his thin lips, still covered with the thin diamond sheen of rain. You can hear droplets pattering against the window from where you still haven’t managed to push the drapes away. 
—You’re shivering. 
You hadn’t realized you were, but when he says it, you become aware of the slight tremble in your shoulders, at the vague chill in the air from the day’s confusion as to whether it is still summer, or if the winter will be coming soon. At the concern on his face you try to smile. 
—I’m all right.
You don’t expect him to believe you. But you also don’t expect him to take a step closer and fold you into his arms.
He’s warm and cool at the same time—peaceful, a tiny respite from the overwhelming presence of your grandmother in all the boxes and drapes in this old room. His long fingers tap soft rhythms into your back, his breath quiet against your ear, and when you finally pull away, your eyes are wet not just with the remnants of rain but with tears again, too. 
Jun smiles quietly. That little silver earring that has never left his ear glints in the evening darkness, a piece of light reflected in his eyes. Outside, you think the moon has begun to rise, faint light pooling right where he stands. 
—Do you want help?
. . . . .
It takes several long days to bring the room to a semblance of cleanliness, dust swept from the corners until your nose no longer itches, the floor mopped until you no longer fear tracking grime into the halls when you and Jun leave. But one night, it is done. Mostly. The boxes remain unopened, the tarps not yet pushed away, but the floor is clean and you can breathe a little better. 
Jun rubs his nose, which is red from sneezing. His eyes follow you as you kneel in front of one of the trunks, reaching for the knot in the rope tying it shut. For a moment you fumble with the tie. Then it falls away, and your hand grazes the edge of the lid. Ready to open. Not ready to open. 
You pull the lid up. 
A cloud of dust wafts up and you whip around, coughing into your arm as Jun laughs from a few feet away. When you stop choking you find that he has come to you, his eyes bright and cheerful, and for all you wanted to scowl at him when he started laughing, you find you can only smile. 
—What’s all this?
You hold up a candle carefully, squinting into the trunk’s contents. Immediately you know, though you’ve never seen any of the books before. 
Music. 
Jun’s sharp intake of breath brings you back to earth. When you look at him his eyes are shining bright with wonder, and you think to his hands waltzing across the lobby piano’s yellow keys, drawing sounds from its depths the way only your grandmother had been able to, years before. 
—Let’s take them. You pick up a few books of your own, their dusty paper covers rough against your skin as you smile. I want to hear you play. 
He plays piece after piece that night, some that you recall from childhood, others you remember having learned yourself, even more you have never once heard in your life but that your grandmother must once have known, learned, and cherished when she lived. And after you see Jun to his room that night, you take the stairs softly up to the room again. Take in the sight of the dusty, empty trunk still sitting where you left it. 
It feels a little easier to breathe.
. . . . .
As summer winds to a close, as the slight chill of fall begins to take to the air, you slowly empty the boxes and trunks in the old storage room, airing out their dust, unearthing the bits and pieces of your grandmother that she left behind for you to find. Pictures of her and your grandfather, who died before you were born. Small trinkets from travels she told you about when you were little. Financial papers yellowed with age, letters bound in ribbon that you can’t find it in yourself to read, novels with worn covers and crinkled pages. And music. Not quite as much as the stacks of books you found in the first trunk, but sheets scattered here and there that Jun happily picks up, adding to the miniature concerts he plays for you in the evening to ward away the chill.
He helps you through it all—works at the knots in the ropes with you, folds up the tarps you lift away, sweeps up the dust that falls from newly opened boxes and trunks, holds you when the memories overwhelm and you find it hard to breathe. And in those moments when he is there, you almost forget that this is an inn, and that he must leave. But he always does. New moon. Full moon. New moon. Full moon. And as the moon grows brighter when he is gone, like it is happier without you, you begin closing your window against the light that still permeates your room anyway. 
The words slip out on a night when it is more fall than summer, after the remnants of dinner have been cleared away and only the stars are awake to hear you speak. Bravery or stupidity, courage or fear, you don’t know—a desperate bid for something, anything to hang on to when Jun next leaves and you’re left to cope with the memories, music haunting your ears, ghosts tracing the walls. 
—Where do you go when you’re gone?
He pauses at the piano, long, pale fingers stopping between the turning pages of his music. Silence reigns for a while, long enough for you to nearly backtrack and say never mind, never mind, despite the need to know curdling in your veins. 
—I go to a place I once called home. 
Your throat threatens to close, but you get the next words out, somehow.
—Do you not still call it home?
In response, he takes a single sheet of music from the piano, one he just played—a soft melody that barely lasted two minutes, but that resonated through the room, deep, heavy nostalgia that had drawn the question from your throat. Every piece he plays is beautiful beneath his fingertips but for some reason, the echoes of this piece stay with you, merging into your breath, tickling its way through your ears, as he hands the score to you. 
—The composer was far from home when he wrote this, Jun says quietly as you trace the black notes on the worn, yellow page. He needed to run. To escape. He never saw it again after he had to move, but…in the end, he only ever wanted to go home. 
Dark eyes flicker to the window, pale skin reflecting the starlight and the glow of the full moon. It’s your turn to watch him, this time, as the faint moonlight lends a familiar golden tinge to his face that you have never seen but that you know, anyway. 
Only a few physical feet separate the two of you in this moment, the distance between Jun’s piano bench and your armchair easily traversable in just one step, maybe two. For all the look in his eyes right now, though, you could be centuries apart. 
—I once wanted to escape. I was so lonely. I wanted to find someone who could care for me. Who could make me feel worth something. 
—Did you?
He looks at you now. Traps you in the moment, his blond hair illuminated by the moon, pooling around his feet. An enigmatic smile dances on his lips. 
—I did. 
Silence falls gentle, heavy, the leftover notes from the melody fading softly into the air, the dust of the old sheet music settling on the floor. Against your will, you stare at the piano with its worn and yellowing keys that your grandmother once showed you to play. You were never as good as she, though Jun would have been a match. 
What might she have thought of Jun if they’d met now, in the physical plane? She would have liked him, you think—liked his soft-spoken voice, his sweet, awkward nature, and the way he seems to amplify the warmth and light of the room with his cratered eyes and waxing-waning crescent smile. Their musical styles are different, from what you remember of hers, but she would have enjoyed his interpretations of the same pieces she loved.
Tears nearly spring into your eyes. Yes, she would have liked him. She would have liked him very much.
A question burns on your tongue as he stands, as you stand, as you both walk to your rooms and bid each other goodnight. You don’t ask. But he must hear it anyway, lingering in your eyes and on your tongue even as you shut your door.
(Where is your home?)
You’re not sure if you can hear his answer, not when you don’t have one yourself. Because while you’re still trying to escape, Jun has already made peace. 
He knows his home, even if you don’t.
. . . . .
Still, though, he stays. For you or for something else, you’re not sure. But through the end of summer and the billows of fall, still he comes and he goes, wanders and returns, and though his presence comforts, something about it—you’re not sure what—has begun to hurt. 
He’s playing the same piece when autumn has begun to give way to winter, when you find a familiar pile of yellow wool in the drawer of one of the little tables beside the lobby couches. Part of it has been knit into some shape, but only barely—easy enough for you to decide it will be a scarf, a decision you didn’t get to make two years ago, and easy enough for you to pick up the needles from where the universe left them and for their gentle clicking to accompany Jun’s music flowing about the room. Not so easy anymore when the cat Jun let inside begins batting at the pile of yarn, little claws catching on the wool, but easy enough. Easy enough.
The night before, when Jun was gone, you went up to the storage room yourself. Though the room has been mostly cleared, boxes opened and some things rearranged around the inn, others pushed in neater piles against the walls, your grandmother’s presence still wrapped around you the second you entered. Something in the walls, you suppose, in the notes of dust that still flicker, magical, in the air. The fact that this room was hers, the way the rest of the inn was and wasn’t. 
You didn’t open the curtains. You thought about it, even touched the heavy cloth with a single hand, felt it fold beneath your palm. But the moon was so bright then, so full. It hurt so much. So you kept it closed. The memory of those closed curtains, unable to shield you from the glowing contentment of the moon, helps you meet his eyes as his hands leave the piano, the knitting needles flashing between your fingers, their rhythmic clicking steadying your heart.
—Where is your home, Jun?
The lobby echoes with the silence after your question, broken only by the kitten batting at your wool. Her little head butts against your hand and you stroke it gently, eyes still trained on the spirit sitting in front of you. 
He draws breath. Sighs. Looks down at his hands, down at yours, and looks back at you. 
—Wherever I am not lonely.
The clicking between your fingers stops. Silver needles bury themselves in the yellow yarn like the cat’s claws, the cat that now detaches itself from the wool to jump into Jun’s lap instead, purring softly. You stare at it, at the yarn, at the empty spot on the couch it used to occupy. The spot someone else used to occupy, once, smiling fondly as you played with her own yarn on her knee. Someone who belonged here far more than you. 
—Where have you been lonely?
—Many places. Jun’s smile turns small, wan. Not all are as welcoming as you have been. 
Your mind returns to the first time he disappeared, the first time he returned and you couldn’t speak for several hours without crying. 
I didn’t realize you would worry this much, he had said. And you had found it so hard to believe no one would—that no one would worry about this lovely spirit disappearing without a word. But it’s true. Not all are kind. And perhaps, before your inn, Jun had encountered more unkindness than you were willing to believe at the time. 
You swallow. 
—Are you lonely here?
—No. The answer is quick, certain. So is his next question. Are you?
His eyes won’t allow yours to flicker away, moonlight holding you captive as it flows around the two of you, encasing you in pale light. The cat purrs in Jun’s arms, but he only looks at you. 
It hurts to admit it, but you do. 
—Yes. When you’re not here. 
He nods. Nods again. And then he sets the old page back on top of the piano, and you speak no more until the music has stopped for the night and he asks a final question to you. 
—Who’s that for?
You look down at the half-finished scarf, and the needles you’ve just stuck into the rest of the unknit pile. I’m not sure. 
But as you lie awake in bed that night, staring out of your window at the full moon and its familiar golden tinge, you realize it was a dumb question, with an even dumber answer. Because it’s obvious. Even though the universe had you begin the scarf with no thought of its future owner, as it grows longer and longer under nights of soft music warmed by the reflection of sunlight on Jun’s lovely face, when you look at the man whose smile waxes and wanes with the phases of the moon, you know, and the world knows. 
Of course the scarf is for him. 
. . . . .
In the days after, as the scarf grows longer, as the wind turns colder, as the moon fades to black and Jun disappears again, you think. Ponder. Try to confront the fear in your heart that sprang fully formed when you realized who the scarf was for, because as the woolen links drape across your lap and the cushions of the lobby armchair, you can’t shake the feeling that giving him this yellow scarf, this warmth woven of sunlight reflecting off of sparkling snow feels…final, almost. Like something ends with the tying of the last knot, something you’re not ready to give up just yet. 
Jun is ready. You know that, and it hurts and terrifies you. Because he must have suffered—must have gone from home to home, begging, pleading for someone to recognize the lonely spirit he was, and found nothing but a frosty chill instead—but he found the strength to continue. And eventually, he found you, who would love him. Who would cherish him. And somehow, that is enough for him—enough that he no longer feels lonely, even when he is away from you. Enough for him to pull away, because he knows this is not the plane on which he belongs, even though it is yours.
But you’re not ready. You still—you still need him. Need his warmth, need the moonlight reflectance of his smile to guide you through the day. Without him, how do you return to the emptiness of the inn where everyone leaves and no one stays, where the polished wooden floors and walls echo with the silence of your footsteps, memories haunting everywhere you look? 
Deep inside, you know he cannot stay. That the spirit plane, however it may intersect with the mortal world, is separate from yours. And it makes you laugh, a little, when you remember how you felt you had learned Jun during the first year of his stay—because you will never know the moon. Will never understand his enigmatic smiles, never parse the way his fingers trace so cool and so warm against the skin of your cheek, never dissect how he can stand to be so selfless, returning to you from each of his trips home because he knows you cannot live without him. 
—How do you continue, Jun? you force yourself to ask under a waning gibbous moon, three days after his last foray to a place he once called home. The autumn-fading-winter wind blows crisp through the air, ruffling Jun’s hair where he sits beside you in front of the inn, petting one of the stray cats that has settled on his lap. You trace the lines of the cracked stone on the ground, ripples of time rough and bitter beneath your fingertips, hoping he knows what you mean from the five brittle words you managed to speak.
(How do you move on? How do you make peace with the memories? How do you let go of the grief, how do you remember someone as who they were and forget about how they left you, forget how they will never be able to stay?)
He’s quiet for a moment. When he looks at you, you brace yourself. 
—I cannot answer for you, he says, and your heart plummets. That is for you to find in yourself. 
He takes your hand, though. Presses it between his own, and even through the despair closing up your throat, you find it in yourself to take comfort in his moonlit warmth. 
—But I will tell you this, he says quietly. To me, to know that there is someone who I love, and who loves me—that is enough. Even if I am not with them. Because my home is in the memories we share. 
His smile is blinding, bright as the moon and more. And through the gnarled desperation twisting in your heart, you allow a piece of that brightness to prick its way into the brambles. 
. . . . .
Letting go, you decide, is an art. A painful art, disentangling the nettles from the brambled wall you’ve built around your heart to shield you from the pain of reminiscence, but an art all the same in the way you carefully examine each thorn, stinging your fingertips and palms as you pull the branches apart, pinpricks of blood scattering across the canvas of your pain, your grief, the loss you feel every time you look up at the dim sky and the empty rooms around you, your grandmother’s presence lingering in every corner and crevice. 
Some days, when Jun is gone, you nearly give up. Nearly decide the thorns in your hands aren’t worth it, that the brambles prevent more pain than they bring, that letting go is an art you will never master—because you can’t, and you won’t. You can’t give up the only person, spirit, who’s brought you comfort in this time, you can’t willingly give up what you have now because you need him here or you’ll drown in the emptiness of these large, quiet rooms. 
But that’s unfair. Because the moon doesn’t belong on earth, and the earth doesn’t belong on the moon. For all the semblance of home Jun has found with you, you are not the only home he carries with him. Where he lives—what he is—it’s not here. It’s not here, not in this old, empty inn, with you, because an inn is never a permanent home for anyone but the owner. For anyone else, it is rest, respite, temporary comfort. More temporary for some than others, but it is a place of letting go.
Nights pass. The scarf grows longer, the storage room cleaner. And though the pain of Jun’s absence still aches in your chest, the cool silver needles and the heavy window curtains begin to soothe more of the sting. When you look up at him on the days he is here, his own fingers gliding across old piano keys, you breathe, and you remember, and you let yourself into the thorns and nettles of memory once more. Because what is Jun’s home cannot be yours. 
And so you will find your own, in a place where you once never felt lonely.
It’s slow work, slower than you would have liked. In what world does anyone not want to dash the pain away quickly, strip off the bandages in one fell swoop and find the skin and tissue already unscarred and whole beneath? But with every disappearance you’re running out of time so you work at the thorns, slowly and slowly and slowly, and as Jun’s enigmatic smile grows a little wider every time the scarf grows a little longer, as a hint of something soft begins to chase away the aching sympathy in his eyes when he looks at you under the faded night sky, you find in his smile a quiet balm for the pain in your fingers, in your palms, in your heart. 
When you pull the final branches away, there are scars etched in your chest that will never fully heal, patterns of time to mimic the lines carved on your skin. Memories of thorns still prick your palms and something aches awful in your heart as you stare at the mess you have made of yourself in forcing memories out of their old home to avoid the pain you thought they would bring, but then you look at the moon as you tie off the final knot on the pale yellow woolen scarf and when you do he smiles back, something akin to pride, and maybe gratitude, in his eyes. 
That night, after seeing Jun off to bed, you walk upstairs to the room where your grandmother stored her memories. The moon is almost full and its light shines bright, strong enough to just barely filter through the heavy curtains still draped across the glass. 
Taking a deep breath, you take one curtain in each stinging, thorn-wounded hand. Push them aside. Let the moon’s smile bathe the room pale light.
No blood stains the fabric, even as your heart aches at the sight.
. . . . . 
You give him the scarf the next day, a night where winter is stronger than fall, loop it around his neck when he leaves the piano to sit at your side. He played that piece again, the composer’s reminiscence of home, and its notes still linger in your ears as you settle the scarf at his throat. 
Jun doesn’t react at first, only touches a finger to the wool, the color of the sun on the snow the day he first knocked on your door. It’s as though he knew it was made for him, even before you did. The way you knew his crescent smile, the wax and wane of the brightness in his eyes, the reflection of the sun off his skin, before he even arrived. 
He stops you before you go to bed that night, puts a hand on your shoulder and gently turns you around. For a moment you only look at each other, candlelight reflecting off your faces, a glow that joins the pale moonlight pooling on the ground. 
Thank you for the scarf, he says quietly, his fingers tangling with yours. His breath ghosts past your cheek, eyes crinkling at the corners into a soft, slow smile. And for letting me stay. 
You go back to the storage room when he closes his door, sit on the moth-eaten armchair and stare out the window at the full, full moon. Sometime later the first snow begins to fall, floating pitter-patter against the glass, and, lulled by its soft rhythm, you allow yourself to sleep. 
When morning comes with the shimmering sun on ice, Jun is gone. 
This time, he doesn’t come back. 
Reality seems to blur as the days go by, one without Jun, two without Jun, three, four, six, ten. Sometimes you sit in the inn’s empty lobby and squint at the grand piano still standing in the middle of the floor and for a moment, you can’t quite recall whether it’s always been there, or if it simply came into existence when Jun’s music followed him into your home. Everything feels dim, faded, like the shadow that had settled over the moon for so long, and sometimes you debate leaving. Leaving the inn and memories of a loving grandmother and laughing spirit that lie here, burying what you had with those you loved and running away from the remnants that chase you. 
But where would you go? There’s nothing in the world you have except this inn and those memories, and for all remembering hurts, they were treasures. Treasures that sparkle with a happiness that hurts a little too much right now, but that you wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. Treasures that will be a balm, in time, to the scars they left behind. 
Treasures that tell you, someday, you will have your home. 
Sometimes, sitting at the old piano, you wonder if he was real. If he really existed, the spirit with cratered eyes and hair the color of the sun on icy snow. But it doesn’t matter, really. Because you remember him—the sleepy eyes, the wide smile, the soft voice that waltzed with long fingers across ivory keys and spun music to life, tapestries of notes that settled gentle, ephemeral in the night air before a single breath blew them away. You remember him, and you remember an album of pastel memories and watercolor laughs, pages left to dry under winter sunshine, the color of a pale yellow scarf that a laughing man wears around his neck, its ends fluttering in the breeze. 
An album leaf. A page of memory. Loved in the moment that it was there, and someday, later on, turned over and smoothed with care. Remembered. 
And when you look out of the window at the full moon glowing brightly in the sky, you know the memory will be treasured, too. 
One evening, when the seasons have passed and winter has come to your inn once more, you sift through the music you had unearthed from that trunk so many months ago, the music now stacked around the piano in haphazard piles. You pull a single yellow sheet from the depths. The few guests who have settled at your inn since its opening retired to bed hours ago, leaving you alone to sit on a restored armchair pulled out of storage and trace black notes printed on old, crinkled paper, letting their melodies shiver through your skin, your ears, your memory.
That night, you take a walk along the streets of the town. Lamps light the way, but you follow the path of the full moon on powdered snow, not a single shadow draped across its cratered surface. There’s music in the wind and you walk with it, fingers tapping where they rest in the pockets of your coat. 
A flash of movement catches your eye. You turn and there’s a little cat slinking through the powdery white streets, moonlight glinting off its smooth, pale fur. It looks at you, and you look at it, and then you crouch down and extend a hand as it shyly pads closer through the snow. 
You smile, remembering a shy man twisting his fingers at your door. Hair blond, not white, but gentle and sweet just like this creature cautiously butting its head against your palm. 
—Hello there, you murmur. The moon looks lovely tonight, doesn’t it?
The cat purrs, like it agrees. Like it also knows the man you knew, and knows that he is where he needs to be, like you. 
Smiling softly, you glance up at the moon and its reflective glow. It seems to brighten as you stare at it, moonlight pooling softly on the glittering snow. 
The cat purrs again and you turn back, soft with the moon and the memories. Sweet laughter, dark eyes. A crescent bright smile, an album leaf. 
A gentle melody humming through the air, and a yellow scarf rippling in the wind. 
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Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)
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bonbonchocolates · 3 months
Text
Tinder
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Yandere Taehyung x Reader
Part 1 Part 2
Summary: When your best friend creates an account on Tinder account for you....
Warnings: yandere Taehyung, stalking, obsessive behaviour, horror themes, major character death, minor character death, tae is kinda creepy here
A/N: Again originally from my Wattpad account. I hope you like it and if you did please leave a like.
Masterlist
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"You did what?"
"Chill Y/N, just calm down."
"How can you tell me to calm down when you made a profile on tinder for me without asking my permission."
Your best friend Rose sighed.
"This was the only way left. I set you up on numerous dates but you refused and even so many boys proposed to you and you rejected."
She exclaimed.
"Y/N you are 24 already and now you need to spice up your love life. I am your best friend and I care about you."
You let her words sink in your mind. She is right. When was the last time you were in a relationship? If you remember correctly it was almost six years ago. What was the boy's name? You couldn't even remember that because the relationship only lasted for a week. After that you had never been in a relationship. Though you went out on a few days but it didn't work out. All you want is a long term relationship but all the boys you went out on a date just wanted hookups.
"I get it"
You exclaimed, a smile appeared on her face.
"Y/N at least give it a try. I'm sure you may get a perfect match for you here."
"Ok I am re.."
You got interrupted by the sound of beeping of your phone. Rose quickly picked it up and checked the notification. A huge smile made its way on her face.
"Y/N you won't believe what happened?"
She started to jump in happiness. You were very curious to know what happened that made your bestie go crazy.
"Rose stop, now tell me what happened?"
She sat down on the couch beside me.
"Y/N they found a perfect match for you."
"Really?"
"Yes, wait let me check his profile."
You don't why she is so over excited for finding a boyfriend for you when she, herself has never been in a relationship.
"Ahhh...ohhh Y/N look"
She yelled your eardrum was almost about to blast. She then showed you a picture of a man, who was supposedly your match.
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You don't want to say but he is so damn handsome.
"Y/N isn't he handsome?"
Rose said busy admiring his picture.
"He is but..not that much."
"Y/N are you blind? How can you say he is not that handsome? When he is the most good looking person I've ever seen in my life."
She again shouted. You are sure that one day she will make you deaf.
"You can't trust people online what if the picture is edited. Moreover my baby brother Jungkookie is more handsome."
"That rabbit.."
"Dare you say something about my brother."
You threatened her that got you both laughing. Then you heard the popping of notification on your phone. Rose checked it and her eyes widened seeing whatever she saw.
"Y/N look Mr. Handsome text you."
She handed you the phone and got up the couch.
"Bye Y/N I need to go my girlfriend must be waiting for me."
With that she hurriedly left your apartment and closed the door behind.
Wait girlfriend, that means she is-
Once again the sound of beeping of your phone grabbed your attention. You checked it and found another message from Mr. Handsome.
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VANTAE: Hello!
VANTAE: I'm Taehyung, Kim Taehyung.
You: I'm Y/N, Jeon Y/N.
VANTAE: I already know that.
You: But how?
VANTAE: From your profile, silly.
You: Oh yeah.
You: I'm so stupid.
VANTAE: No problem.
VANTAE: I was wondering if we could be friends and get to know each other?
You: Yeah offcourse, why not?
VANTAE: So we are friends from now on.
You: Yep
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Unknowingly a smile appeared on your face. You don't even know him and text him a few minutes ago but you don't know why are you feeling so comfortable with him. You got so happy when he asked you to be his friend instead of asking something weird.
There are few men like him in this world today but you are glad there are. If he is good to you throughout you are planning to meet him for real. And if he is not faking anything and is interested in you. You are ready to give this relationship a chance.
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Time Skip:
A month passed and you and Taehyung have been really good friends by now. You both shared all your interest with each other through text. You also got to know that he is a photographer and is currently twenty-six years old.
Only two years older than me.
He texts you early in the morning wishing you good morning. In the evening asking how your day went and in the night wishing you good night.
This small gestures made him really sweet in your eyes. You just hope he is not faking his personality because if you get to know he is you will be heartbroken. Your trust in good men still exists in the world would go away.
You told about everything to Rose and she is really happy for you. You even thanked her because due to her you met Taehyung.
Another important thing that happened in my life in this one month was Namjoon. Almost three weeks ago he joined our company and he is my colleague now. At first when you saw him he seemed cold and serious but as you got to know him you really liked him.
He was so good to be true. He was the second good thing that happened to you in this month. He was so kind and helping. He even would casually drop you your home. In this few weeks you two got really close. You are glad that both he and Taehyung came into your life.
____________________________________________
"Hi Y/N!"
You heard the beaming voice of Namjoon. You looked up and found Namjoon standing right in front of your with a huge smile on his face.
"Hi Namjoon"
You said returning a smile to him. You heard the pop sound of the phone. You checked it and it was a message from Taehyung. You got busy replying him and completely forgot about Namjoon standing there.
"Whom are you texting?"
"Just a friend of mine."
You replied without looking at Namjoon being busy in your phone.
"Rose right?"
"No he is a friend I met online."
"Can I know his name?"
You don't know why Namjoon is inquiring so much about it.
"If you don't mind.... obviously."
"Why would I mind? His name is Taehyung, Kim Taehyung."
As Taehyung's name left your mouth a sad expression took over Namjoon's face. This is the first time seeing him like this.
"What happened Joonie?"
"Actually I had a younger brother, his name was Taehyung too but he passed away almost two years ago in a road accident."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"It's okay I'm over it now. Anyway I should start my work otherwise our boss will fire me."
With that he left from there. You had no idea that Namjoon had a younger brother who passed away. He only mentioned about having a elder brother named Seokjin before.
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Time Skip:
Today Namjoon asked you out on a date and you agreed to it. Almost two months passed and now you have developed a small crush on Namjoon because he has been always good to you.
You told about this to Rose and she was happy for you. She told to do what your heart says and right now you want to give your and Namjoon's relationship a chance. You are so lucky to have such a supportive best friend.
About Taehyung it's the same, you both are very good friends. You always text each other but it seems like he is not interested in you and wants you to remain just friends. You have no problem with that because of have Namjoon now.
After you came back from work you got a message from Taehyung. You ignored it as you need to get ready for your date. You don't think he will mind. After getting ready you decided to reply Taehyung because Namjoon is still not here to pick you up.
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VANTAE: How was your day Y/N?
You: Mine was good. Wbu?
VANTAE: Mine was good too.
VANTAE:Can we chat now?
You: Tae I'm sorry but I can't chat with you today because I have to go out with a friend of mine. I hope you don't mind.
VANTAE: No worries. We can chat later.
You: Thanks for understanding.
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You didn't say him about the date because he doesn't need to know your personal life as you don't know about his personal life. Moreover he is still a friend you met online and it doesn't matter how good friends you both are you can't trust him totally.
It was almost half an hour but still there was no sign of Namjoon. Did he ditch you after asking you to go on a date with him? No, no, you should not think negative he must be here any moment. Your train of thought got interrupted by the pop sound on your phone. It was a message from Taehyung.
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VANTAE: Btw you look good in that black dress.
____________________________________________
You dropped your phone from your hand. How did he know that you are wearing a black dress. Is he a stalker or something? No maybe it's just a coincidence. You picked up your phone and text him back.
___________________________________________
You: How did you know that I'm wearing a black dress?
VANTAE: Babe you don't know how much I know about you?
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He was joking right? It got to be a joke. But why did he call you babe? He never called you that. This is the first time he is making you feel uncomfortable.
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VANTAE: What do you think you will go on a date and I'll have no idea?
You: How do you know?
VANTAE: Y/N I thought you love me.
VANTAE: How could you do that to me?
VANTAE: The girl I like is going on a date with my own elder brother. Dressing so sexily for him.You can only dress like that for me and no one else.
VANTAE: If anyone dares to lay their eyes on you I'll take their eyeballs out.
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What happened to Taehyung? From the past three months he never behaved this way. You thought him as a friend and he was stalking you. If he wasn't stalking you how did he know about your date and what are you wearing?
Date with his own brother- he is Namjoon's brother. But Namjoon told his brother passed away in an accident two years ago. Nothing was going into your head and you were terrified. The person you thought to be your friend turned out to be your stalker.
And if he knows what you are wearing that means he is watching you or maybe is somewhere very near to you. This made you more terrified than you already were. You quickly dialled Rose's number but to your bad luck there was no network.
"Trying to call that little friend of yours is useless, babe."
You heard a deep masculine voice from your appartment. You swear you are alone here so whose voice is it? You searched your surroundings and then your eyes landed on the balcony. You found a tall, masculine figure, dressed in all black standing there near the door.
Your phone fell from your hand and unknowingly you let out a scream
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yellowbluemoonshine · 8 months
Note
Hello!
I short time before started Hell's Paradise. Actually, I had prejudices.  For example: Chobei is really look like Bakugou and people says He is like Bakugou ( his Character)  actually I love Bakugou but I can't  stand second Bakugou but After watching it, I realized I was wrong because his Character  is so different I love him He is good brother and Caring and good towards those he loves. 
People says Aza brothers relationship like kiribaku and bakudeku but this Sounds stupid
I am  actually angry with those who kept comparing the two.
What do you think? I'm curious.
Sorry for my english.
Hello, thank you for the ask! (And your english is fine) ^^.
Bakugou - Chobei Comparison;
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I get you because the same thing happened to me in.
I hate all those comparisons because its not true, people tend to overlook Bakugou's mistakes, he is seen as 'actually not bad guy', 'he has soft side too', 'misunderstood angry boy', even though he is not so i think people are kinda projecting it, they wish Bakugou was like Chobei but its not.
I had the same prejudice about Chobei at first. (I erased Bakugou-Chobei edit-picture but put it in this post).
Here's my old edit-picture and now i think it is kinda trash/useless.
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There were some visual similarities with both Gabimaru and Chobei. My first posts in this tumblr was literally about this. Gabimaru who is similar to Shigaraki, is groomed to be murderer since childhood, white hair, red eyes, empty heart, actually kind person but needs to be saved, only difference his redemption starts earlier than Shiggy's. Still different character and i think Shiggy is a deeper character than him but similarities are there. Edit picture is in here.
And here my thoughts about Bakugou and Chobei;
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When i first read the manga, when i first saw Chobei, i was like 'Another Bakugou...' because he has a very similar design and that loud, agressive, arrogant behavior with the fact that he is kinda rival to main character made me think he was just like Bakugou. Not even mentioning his little brother blindly idolizing him, just like how Bakugou was idolized but i was so wrong and i am glad that i was because he is actually in fact so different.
1- Character-Story Comparison;
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First of all, the origin of their characters is different. They both are aggressive, arrogant, tend to be violent, loud and all but why makes them that way is so different.
Bakugou is just a school bully, he is just a kid with ego issues. He is blessed with power and he gets away with bad behavour that made him the way he is. His define character is his desire to win, being better than others. While competition is good thing, it can be easiely toxic, which is what happens with Bakugou.
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Chobei is just a normal kid who wants make his family proud. Especially, he is big brother first, then everything else comes later. He isnt a bully. He is a survivor. He lost his mother at a young age. His father was executed in front of him and his brother. He was the son of samuray but had to live at streets, and no one helped them. Then he was kidnapped by bandits so that they would sell kids for God know what reason so he had to do something about it, to survive. And he manipulated them because whether they were gonna take advantage of them or the opposite. He took advantage of the people around him. Of course, living a life of a bandit would make his ego blow up, it makes sense why he is so self-absorbed because he won, he survived agaisnt horrible people as kid. It makes sense why he doesnt care about other people because noone helped them as kids. Thats why he doesnt believe in the justice of others. It makes sense why he has the mindset of 'us vs others'. Lets be real. If he wasnt like this, he would've been killed years ago.
His character is intimidating on purpose so people wouldnt dare to hurt him. It is his persona to survive. And all those things isnt just for him to survive. He did all this to protect his little brother and his actions isnt excused but there is something so heroic, so pure about this. And this is the origin of his character. He is a protector. He might not be kind person but he is the type of person who would pay attention the needs of those he loves, even at his worst.
Chobei is tragic and deeper character and his story is very different than Bakugou who just needs to learn not to be awful to people around him for no real reason.
And not just as characters, the way story handled them and how they interact others is very different.
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Bakugou is (anti) hero in the story and he doesnt get any real consequences for how he treats others. He bothers people for no reason but most of the time, other characters just endure it. Most characters likes him, even though in real life, everyone would hate jerks. (Like they feel uncomfortable from Monoma's actions but them being okay with Bakugou is weird). The person he bullied brutally still admires him. He gets many screentime, clearly more than he needs because most of the time, it feels very irrelevant (For example, him learning OFA did nothing useful for Izuku, except worse, because he had to endure bakugou's anger). And he kinda gets character development.
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Chobei is more like league of villains in this story. I think the way he was treated as character feels a lot more realistic than Bakugou's. Because the thing is, no one really cares about Chobei in Jigokuraku because they have no reason to. The only person who cares about him and who idolizes him is his brother Toma but honestly, of course, he would. Its his family and Chobei literally made many sacrificies for him such as cutting his right eye etc. So he doesnt magically get along with everyone, even when he kinda saved everyone/and kinda died at the end of story but none of the characters (except Toma) cared. He doesnt magically win. There is a logic in his power, which is adaptation. He even loose to mc. The story doesnt even force him to get redemption or character development, though he could get one, story only show that there is humanity in him, just like Gabimaru, which is enough. He is also very relevant to the story since beginning to the end. (I am not saying his writing is perfect but at least, better than other).
Chobei and Bakugou only looks on superficial level (angry blonde boy) and their dynamic with others are different too.
2- Dynamic Comparison;
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First of all, Toma's character is different than Izuku and Kirishima. Toma is very silent, negative, feminine boy. If i ever find similar character to him, i would say Kalluto from Hunter x Hunter. Just a dark, silent, mysterious feminine boy. They are very loyal towards people they love, and passive. Compared to this, Izuku is negative but he knows when to scream to others, he is also not necessarely silent. I think as character, he is a lot like Sagiri in Jigokuraku. He is kind, he also empathizes and try to understand world around him and helps people, just like her. And Kirishima is also very different because he is even louder than Izuku and he tends to be more positive and social. I think he is a lot like Tenza in Jigokuraku, than Toma who silently endures and lives in his own world. Kirishima is also have that naive, kind, youth energy, just like Tenza, they both even have the negative old self in past so basically, as characters, Toma is not similar to Izuku and Kirishima.
And as dynamics, they are nowhere similar to another.
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Chobei and Toma are very opposite natures, yin and yang, thats why they match perfectly. Well Bakugou is very different than Izuku as character too but thats doesnt make it same because sometimes, opposite dynamic might be toxic. Bakugou is Izuku's abuser. He brutally bullied him, he violated his personal space, he made him feel worthless and even then Izuku continued to idolizes him. Both Izuku and Toma admires their unyielding ego and they both feel inferior and follow them but it makes sense with Toma because Chobe iis the only person in this world for him because Chobei is Toma's protector, not abuser. Chobei might act like jerk but he wouldnt violate Toma's needs. He would do, he does most of the things he did so that Toma would get the best life he could have. Their dynamic is nowhere similar to him because Chobei would never hurt Toma, not on purpose at least, if he knew it is hurting him, he would change it.
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Yeah, Bakugou also learn to change but that doesnt change how he treated Izuku. He couldnt care less how much he hurts Izuku, he wouldnt care when other hurt Izuku (in the past, at least) and even with redeemed Bakugou, their dynamic isnt similar. They just have to common point, with their admiration with Allmight and becoming hero and thats it. While Chobei would kill everyone, even himself, if anyone hurts Toma in any way. Toma is his exception. Bakugou met Izuku, looked at his pure eyes and he decided the ruin him while Chobei met Toma, looked at his pure eyes and he decided the protect him at all costs, lol. Chobei also likes teasing Toma but thats the thing, Bakugou doesnt just jokely tease Izuku, he abuses him, thats a big difference. Also i am pretty sure that Chobei actually loves to spoiling Toma.
Yes one is childhood friend and other one is brother but i think even if Chobei wasnt brother of Toma, he would still have same dynamic. Not because he finds some common point or understands him, just that their opposite sides would attracts each others and they eventually get along.
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Bakugou's dynamic with Kirishima is a lot healthier than bakudeku dynamic. He is Baku's first friend, he is calmer with him, its like they have a connection but its still different than Chobei-Toma dynamic because Toma and Chobei are yin and yang, they get along so well because they are opposite. Even they are not brothers, they would still would invested in each others and become partners anyway. They do find something interesting about other one while the reason Bakugou and Kirishima come to a sense is that they understand each others better because they are similar. Loud, masculine, positive. Thats how they become friends and of course, this dynamic is okay too. The thing is its just different than Toma and Chobei's dynamic.
I think Toma-Chobei dynamic is a lot more similar to Sam-Dean dynamic in Supernatural than others. (More details in here.)
Bonus; Gabimaru might be kinda rival with Chobei too, they just find a common point but thats it. Though, they could be friends, still i think it wouldnt be their primary relationships. They would just be friends so his dynamic/interaction isnt similar to Bakudeku and Kiribaku either.
It is okay to enjoy any of those characters and ships/dynamics/relationships etc but as characters, Bakugou and Chobei is nowhere similar to each others at all. And Chobei-Toma dynamic is also different than Bakudeku-Kiribaku dynamic. And i hope people understand this.
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azerothtravel · 11 months
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Secret Origin
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I'm just an old time Warcraft nerd who's too dumb to quit. My first WC game was Warcraft II, when I was in high school. I gravitated toward the Horde because they were funnier. I liked the game, but wasn't too good at it. Jump ahead to the release of Warcraft III, it's a whole other thing. I read all the lore in the huge manual. I was completely taken with the concept of orcs as once noble, tragic victims trying to make their way in the world and atone for their crimes. A friend of mine had me read some of the novels. I was suddenly way, way into the setting. Plus, I knew a lot of people who played WC3. I enjoyed the Orgrimmar campaign in Frozen Throne with no idea it was more or less a test run for WoW.
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But I didn't like MMOs. I wasn't sure about WoW. Then I got into the beta. I hauled my whole-ass desktop over to the house of the same friend who loaned me those books, and we were up til 4am downloading the client and then getting started. Gormorash the orc warrior was born that night (And so was Skarsnik the troll hunter, but he lost interest after BC). I was immediately sold. Running around Azeroth at ground level, full of detail from the RTS games, was a ton of fun. Gormorash went on many strange adventures in beta, like a hilariously inept "raid" on Westfall where half our group died before we got there and none of us were even level 60.
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Then Gormorash was rebooted on Argent Dawn US when the game launched, a member of <Flaming Skull Clan> with several other friends of mine.
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By middle 2005, almost literally everyone I knew played WoW. My oldest friends, friends from college, friends from the internet, relatives. Basically 2 friends and my parents were the only people not playing. Friends of mine who didn't know each other met and bonded through WoW. It was a glorious time.
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By the end of 2006, I'd been through 2 guild collapses and one server move, as they opened up free transfers to Eitrigg and my friends all took it. I wasn't sure I'd keep playing. The novelty had worn off for most of my friends. I wasn't that into raiding, and doing Arathi Basin over and over was only so interesting (Gormorash just lived in Hammerfall for like a year). I was maybe gonna quit. And then, in early 2007, my brother found 2 Collector's Editions of BC just sitting on a shelf in a store, and asked if I wanted one. I had the vanilla CE, but I'd missed BC when they were released, and didn't buy BC at all. He bought them and shipped me one, and we leveled 60-70 together. It was a lot of fun.
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Along the way, I started a new guild with some online friends, and Gormorash is still in it. He's never missed an expansion. Most people have fallen off the wagon. Our guild typically only has 3 active members at any given time these days, but that's fine with me. Sometimes a couple people come back for major content. It was lore that got me into all this, and that remains my primary motivator for playing. My endgame is more PvP and leveling alts than raiding, but the game has literally never supported those 2 things better than right now (2023), so that's pretty good. I still have a good time. And that's why I have hundreds of screenshots to choose from stretching from the 2004 open beta to just a few days ago to post on this blog. With the sad exception of most of 2006, lost in a hard drive failure, I have a comprehensive collection of every screenshot I ever took, and that's what this blog is all about.
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I've made a few other Gormorashes on other servers, but rarely leveled them very far. Someone out there made a Gormorash that isn't me, a fact that shocked me when I found out. Who stole my name? Was it you? I have characters of every race on both factions, but still tend to prefer Horde. If you see me, say hello!
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Gormorash is an orc warrior who came of age in the camps. With his brother, Rugurrash, he's led a guild of adventures for many years, with trusty allies Snarfner, Vallkillmore and Canon rounding out the core group. His hair's started to gray after saving the world 8 or 9 times, traveling through space and time and the realms of death, but he's still out there, still exploring, still getting into trouble and mostly getting back out of it. He's an alchemist and herbalist in his spare time, and has a completely unmanageable collection of pets. He is really, really tired of being forced to fight his own Warchief, and really hopes the gods don't lean on that already very tired trope again in the future.
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chartcarr · 5 months
Note
Hi, I LOVE your song called HEAVEN SAYS, so I was wondering what it was like making this song
Hello,
I wrote the original HEAVEN SAYS around a year ago as a Deltarune fan song because I had just played Chapter 2 and was thinking about other darkworlds and where they could take place in the town and I thought one in Toriel's classroom would be fun.
A little bit after that original version I made the remake that most people know because I wanted to try to make something simple to try out some new samples I found.
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[HEAVEN SAYS. Remake project file]
As for making the song itself, I always wanted to use samples from a Speak and Spell in a song because I thought it had a really interesting sound and so I'm glad to have finally done it. I mainly just used FL Studio and a bunch of free soundfonts you can get online. Looking back at it now I think the song is a little simple and the melody really is almost non-existent, I'm not really sure if I even like this song anymore lol. But it has a vibe to it I guess and people seem to like it.
The lyrics really don't mean anything and I picked them almost at random with the limited words the speak and spell had. I also would have removed the direct Deltarune/Undertale reference in the lyrics had I known how popular it would be with people outside of that community.
The response to the song has really been overwhelming, which I mean it's not like a super popular song or anything but for me it has been a lot. I didn't want to write music because of the amount of attention it was getting it kinda spooked me. But I think it's good that people have been enjoying it (I mean mainly enjoying Gameplayah's cover lol). I've enjoyed seeing all the edits and covers people have made. I've also made some good friends through it like my friend Yuki who helped make some character designs for the song although we never really ended up finishing them... I still want to use something similar to these characters in a game I want to make but I don't know if I'll be able to finish it.
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[Early concept art for characters to be the secret boss attached to HEAVEN SAYS by Yuki]
...But that's all I've got to say I guess. Thanks for your question!
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shwarmii · 8 months
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hi, i'm @/shwarmi, and tumblr tERMINATED MY BLOG (AND ALL MY SIDE-BLOGS WITHOUT WARNING ME) and i messaged them to get it back but idk when theyll get back to me, so here i am in the meantime, hello, i guess this is my back-up account now, yes, my url is a pun on Roman numerals, anyway, sure do fucking hope i gET MY BLOG BACK JFC
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edit: i've been filling out a ticket form about Account Termination once a day (here's the link to it if you ever need help finding it for yourself in the future; please don't try to help me via spamming the ticket form or anything, they explicitly ask to not involve other people uninvolved in your account AND i feel bad enough doing spam once a day already; but, anyway, yes, i recommend doing what i did and having bookmarked the aforementioned link and just copy&paste my form answers into the ticket from a seperate document, like from Google Drive or something, so you don't have to retype it everytime), and i have recieved no reply nor even a confirmation e-mail. hence the lack of updates on how my account is doing. there's no other way to contact staff, except maybe via Twitter, as their support e-mail is no longer accepting messages (hopefully bc of the following they will be in contact with you sooner than they have been with me, bc i didnt know this following tip this past week i've been filling out that ticket and noW YOU DO, you lucky bastard. do what i did with a seperate document to prep in case this is a multi-day process, but hopefully you'll get farther in less time than i have bc jfc i wasn't even getting a confirmation e-mail beforehand big McYikes)
BUT!!1! a friend of mine who was terminated last year said to attach my un-terminated e-mail's account (aka the e-mail i am using right here for @/shwarmii, and not for the terminated @/shwarmi like i had been doing liKE A DUMMY APPARENTLY) to the ticket's general "Put your e-mail here" slot and to explain within "The more details, the better" part your original e-mail attached to the terminated account in addition to the rest of your explanation. and i finally got a confirmation e-mail that my ticket has been recieved! yes, it was just an automated response but yay! finally!! progress!!1! i at least got a fUCKING CONFIRMATION E-MAIL, HAHA, VICTORY!
god i fucking wish i knew about the "just dont use your e-mail linked to your terminated account" tip a week ago jfc on a hot dog stick, my guys, finally, a confirmation e-mail, gahhh
since i now have a confirmation e-mail, i will wait five buisness days (so today is the 8th and a Monday, therefore, i'll wait until Saturday which is the 12th except i said "business days" ergoooo Monday the 14th) to e-mail them again. i hate waiting tho ughhh like, fine, i'll do what i gotta do but also ugghhhhh
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↳ additional note: this update/edit was made on 8 August 2023. @/shwarmi has been terminated since 31 July 2023 (or 30 July 2023, and i just was too exhausted to make the account/post until the 31st. i forget. i was in the middle of moving and im disabled, so i was over-exerting myself big-time. i had processed that my account had been terminated at the time and just responded by taking a nap lmao rip but yeah, therefore, it's all been a blur)
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NOTHING HAS HAPPENED. COOL. (Narrator: It was not, in fact, "cool".) I WAITED AS PLANNED (this update is being written on 14 August 2023) AND STILL NO FOLLOW-UP TO MY CONFIRMATION TICKET. HATE THAT FOR ME.
instead of sending in a new ticket as i originally planned, i replied to their confirmation email since it said i could do that (for permalinks or whatever) so that they will HOPEFULLY get back to me without me having to be a pest about their automated systems, ugh.. (i have cropped out my email and the Ticket Number(? i assume that's what that string if letters and numbers are anyway) for privacy reasons, but here is what the confirmation e-mail looks like and how i replied. i am including this mostly to help out anyone who may be terminated in the future have an idea of what to expect and an expectation of "OH, okay, so i can reply to THIS email-address, got it" kind of nonsense or whatever. why not lmao)
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i will wait another five buisness days, so that'll be on the 21st of August 2023. hopefully, i will update with good news before then (aka: they'll haVE REPLIED MAYBE PLS PLS PLS) but i guess i will have to be annoying if not
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it is the 20th (so they have one more day before i have to be annoying anD I DONT WANNA BE.. pls send me ideas of how to be annoying that doesnt include the Hateful Xitter pls, my only idea is to DM them there and i dON'T WANNA) and even my gmail thinks the lack of response is fucked up lmao rip
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having a Bad Brain Day streak rn due to my (abusive) dad's failing health and unpacking and all this other shit i have to do post-moving like switching my insurance and renewing my liscence and fuck all, so bothering tumblr about not replying to me is gonna take a bit more of a backseat for a minute, hold on
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it.. is now August 30. brain still in gutter, but i forced myself to make a xitter/twitter (don't follow, ill delete the account after they help me or not). and it wouldnt let me dm, so i had to just @ them and post. brain so sad that i cannot even be amused rn that @/shwarmi on there was taken by a shwarma restaurant. @/tumblrsupport's Replies tab shows signs of helping people as recently as 2 hrs ago, but idk if there's another queue here. i guess we'll find out?? i just want my accounts with all their posts and shit back pls, this has taken so long to try to do 💔
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edit: if you're curious, it is 3 Sept 2023 and i am still waiting (it looks like they are looking at people who @'ed them on Sept 1 rn and iM LIKE "PLSSSS, I @'ED YOU ON THE 30TH OF AUGUST PLSSSSSSS", gonna give them until the 5th before i tweet again i guess 🥺)
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i am not god's strongest soldier. i continue to cry out for help, alas, i have yet to receive an answer
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it does not help that the twitter account sometimes says to people: "What is your Tumblr URL? We can check and see if there was a glitch of some sort. But be advised that if it is a TOS violation situation or a bigger tech issue, we cannot assist/reply on Twitter" so that doesnt make me panic aT ALL that maybe i broke TOS without any form of a warning or knowledge that i wasnt following tumblr's terms of services regarding things like nsfw and whatnot (narrator: they were panicking)
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i hate it here. staff should at least be able to tell me (via email, if not twitter) that i wont be getting my account back or whatever else instead of just saying NOTHING??????
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going to do all this again (tweet support, make a whole new ticket (i still have the info saved thankfully), reply to my old email confirmation) on September 27th (an arbitrary date based on I Have A Lot Going On Rn) if they continue to not reply. if i hit the 30 images limit, guess ill be reblogging and adding even MORE to this thread jfc juST TALK TO MEE!!!1!
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chdarling · 2 years
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Hello!! I've sent an ask a while ago but I think it might've been swallowed up by tumblr lol
I'm really sorry you get so many weird messages and I hope it's not bumming you out too much, some people are weird ://
But I truly hope you can see how much this story means to most people. You put so much thought and care into your writing!! It makes sense, I think, that something made purely because of the joy of it has such a strong impact.
I mostly wanted write this message to talk about your Lily and how much she has grown to mean to me. As someone who is currently Lily's age and in the same year in school as her i really feel like I'm growing up with her 😅 That, and that I have never connected to another female character as i have to your Lily
In most of the media i've consumed the girls are always super studious and perfectionists or incredibly popular and outgoing and while those characters are amazing and very important I was always left to relate to the male characters (in HP i always related to Harry, not Hermione) Even now it's easier for me to immediatly latch on to the male character and not the female one.
So all of Lily's imperfections (moodiness, quick to snap, somewhat cold exterior etc..) her traits and struggles (esp. loneliness, how to not compromise your values for other people) and insecurities ("high horse", how she feels like she has to hide from her familly), and how she ultimetly tries to be a kind and understanting person while still being a stupid teenager (the PAIN) - all of it feels like somewhat poked around in my brain and created a character that is everything I'm trying to be and to overcome
And I hope this doesn't come off as me trying to boast that I'm as amazing as her or anything, because I'm not and I'm definetly not the same as her, ultimetly, I am living a completely different life, but I feel like as she grows into the person she wants to be I'll be able to do the same. (Even if it's a long long road to that 😅)
Wow this got super sappy but I wanted to share this and I hope this is something that you would be glad to hear 😊
And I'm definetly not forgetting all of the other characters and maybe someday I'll write about all of the details that you've put into this story that I love but this ask is insanly long as it is
Anyway, to thank you for reading this essay I want to share some of the art I made for TLE!! (i've never used tumblr before and i don't know if this is the best way to post images (i don't like sharing on social media) so if you can't see them or they're cut off please tell me and then maybe I'll post the on my account) ANYWAY have some suspicious Lily with her favourite book and Florence ready to have a lovely time!!! ❤️❤️
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Hi! I totally thought I did respond to your previous message? Idk what happened! Tumblr what are you doing to me 😭😭
ANYWAY: oh my god? These are so GORGEOUS!! Look at Florence with her little champagne flute! Look at Lily with her radical political text! I love it so much 😭 Thank you so much for sharing these! I definitely understand being hesitant to be on social media (honestly, wise), but if you ever do start posting your beautiful art to tumblr, please let me know so I can reblog accordingly. ❤️
And thank you so much for sending such a kind and thoughtful message. It truly means so much to me, and I’m so beyond happy to know that Lily resonates with you!
Sending you so much love ❤️
Edit: I forgot to mention how much I love how you did the style of the robes, in particular Florence’s little capelet. So cute and original!
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Text
December Project 09
- The Boy In The Black Dress
Pairing: Joonas x Reader
Category: Angst/Hurt/Comfort
TW: Angst, Self-Hatred, Homophobia, implied/referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Bullying
Word Count: 1847
Request:
"Hello again this can be for the December thing. Joonas reaction to you ( partner) staring to quite drastically change how they look due to people not believing that they are a good fit. The partner being the complete opposite of joonas in style and how they are???? You can either make it into fluff/angst/smut. What ever you feel like ❤❤"
Requester: @biancathecool
Note: I loved the request so much you have no idea! I rewrote the story about 3x and originally didn’t want to make it into something so personal, it just happened 😔❤️‍🩹
I’m actually a bit sorry for hijacking your request to cope with some of my own struggles, but I needed that 🥺😅
Hope you still enjoy! 💜
~ male reader ~
Tears streamed down your face as you scrolled through the comment section of your boyfriend's latest post. Only days ago you had decided to make your relationship public. You had been with him for almost a year now. And he was the best thing that had ever happened to you.
The photo he posted showed the two of you, his arms wrapped around you as he kissed your cheek. You stood in front of him, happily smiling wearing a plain black dress, phone in hand to take a photo of your reflection. It was shot a few months back, in the dressing room before their show, you two wore matching make-up and nail polish. The caption simply read: "My love 🖤"
There was nothing wrong with the photo itself, but with you, at least that was what people made you believe. You were a guy, wearing a dress, make-up, and nail polish. And for some reason, it was okay that Joonas and the guys wore make-up and nail polish themselves, but it was not for their partners, at least not if they were male. It should not be that much of a problem in 2022, but it was. The comments under his post went from insults, like "faggots" to "He should have chosen a girl instead". And these were nothing compared to the disturbing headlines going through the finish rainbow press ever since you made it official. "BLIND CHANNEL GUITARIST GAY?!" "WHO IS THE GUY IN A DRESS NEXT TO BAND HOTTIE JOONAS PORKO" "WAS JOONAS PORKO FORCED INTO THIS RELATIONSHIP?"
Each comment and caption increased your self-hatred and your wish to simply eraser yourself. The post was supposed to take the weight off both of your shoulders and end the hide-and-seek. Show the world how much you loved each other. But sadly most fans did not take it well and the press made a big fuss about it to generate more clicks and views. Of course, none of this came unexpectedly and you two were prepared to get some hate and backlash, but you thought it would not hurt that much.
And maybe today was the right moment to put the black dresses down forever and start dressing like a decent man. To show those haters, that you were a good match for Joonas. You wiped away a single tear as you threw your black dress into the closet. …………………………………………………………………………
This was about a month ago, and oh you wished you were over it! You still got insulting messages or even death threats almost daily. And Joonas had people swiping into his DMs telling him to break up with you. There were weird edits on TikTok, rumors spreading over Twitter, people leaking personal information about you, and so on.
On the outside you remained strong, not wanting to make Joonas worry or feel bad or even guilty for coming out and making your relationship public. In the past weeks, he had found you more than once in bed, crying your eyes out and you were sure he was already sick of your whining.
Honestly, you were incredibly proud of him for taking the step and not making a big deal out of it, and you were even prouder to be on his side. His bandmates were supportive as well, they also were the reason why you two started dating in the first place, but was another story to tell. You were glad for him having such great friends and for you they had already become a family as well. And with these guys having your back you almost could ignore all the hate being thrown at you. That was until one day some girl attacked you at a bar, spilling her drink over you when you and Joonas were out for date night. That's when it simply got too much for you.
All this bullying made you relive your darkest memories from your childhood and school days. You had always dressed more femininely and loved to play dress up with your mother's clothes and make-up. You had been expelled more than once for violating the school's dress code. While growing up various people told you that boys were not allowed to wear dresses and skirts and that make-up and nail polish was for girls. You had been bullied over your bold outfit choices, and you could not count the times you were beaten up or had your clothes ripped and ruined.
You thought you had left these memories behind the day you moved out of your parent's house, but all this recent hate had opened up old wounds which you thought had been healed years ago.
Now you found yourself in front of your closet, searching for an outfit. You held back tears when your fingers brushed against the soft fabric of your newest dress, the one you were supposed to wear for the award show tomorrow night. Instead, you took out a suit jacket and a white buttoned-up shirt, hanging them next to Joonas' outfit. You had not worn a dress or skirt in weeks now, hoping people would stop commenting about your looks, sexuality, and relationship, but it did help, in fact, it made you feel vulnerable because now you felt like walking around without your armor.
"What's that?" Joonas appeared behind you, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts, blond curls still wet from the shower he just took. "My outfit for tomorrow." You said, trying your best to sound happy while you searched for a matching pair of pants for the jacket. "What happened to the black dress we bought?" He sounded slightly concerned lifting his brows. Him mentioning the dress brought new tears to your eyes and you swallowed heavily, trying to get rid of the knot in your throat. You two had found the dress in your favorite vintage store, the day after you two had made your relationship official. Originally you had bought it to provocate people and show them an imaginary middle finger, but now you felt more like burning it, together with your whole existence. "I felt like it wouldn't fit the occasion…" You mumbled the answer into the closet, not wanting to face him and hoping he would just stop to ask questions. "Sweetheart, are you okay?" He stepped closer, lightly touching your shoulder. You did not react, still pretending to search for the pair of pants, although you had already found it. "Y/N, please look at me!" Reluctantly you turned around to him, looking at his feet instead of meeting his gaze, hiding your tears. Joonas cupped your cheeks, forcing you to lift your head, his blue eyes full of worry when they locked with yours. It broke your heart to see him like this and you wished you could pull yourself together, but a sob escaped from your throat, new tears following seconds later. Joonas brushed a few of them away, before pulling you into a tight hug. You could not hold back longer, all the negative thoughts now crashing down on you like a tidal wave. You collapsed in Joonas arms, sobbing into his naked chest, barely noticing that he carried you over to your shared bed and pulled you into his lap. His hands drew soothing circles on your back as he patiently waited for you to calm down.
You held on to him, the contact of his warm soft skin slowly helping you to get back to reality, as you buried your face in his chest. Soon your sobs turn into even breathing again. He kissed the top of your hair, causing you to slightly lift your head. His eyes were gentle on you but you could see the worry in them. And you could not help but feel pathetic for your breakdown, you should not have let it out on him. Joonas shifted and sat up against the headboard of the bed, his hands not leaving your back as he loosened the embrace to examine your face better. "Wanna talk about it?" His voice was soft, still, you could feel it vibrate in his chest. You swallow heavily, trying to find your words. "I just can't do this anymore…" He looked down at you in shock, realizing what you had just said. "Are you about to break up with me?!", the sadness in his voice almost made you tear up again. "No…I…I don't know, wouldn't you be better off without me?" you stammered out. "Hell no! It's still about what these dumb people said about us online, isn't it?" You nodded silently, not capable of answering without starting to sob again. You did not want to break up with him, but you felt you were the main reason for all his troubles and he deserved so much better than this. Joonas took both of your hands in his. "Y/N! Is that also the reason why you changed your clothing style?" He lightly squeezed your hands. "I…I didn't want to embarrass you. I didn't want to cause any more trouble." You looked down at your intertwined fingers, exhaling sharply. "You are not causing any trouble! Fuck those people and their opinions! I love you for who you are and I don't want you to change for these idiots!", one of his hands found your cheek, wiping away another tear with his thumb. "I saw how happy you were the day we bought the dress for the gala, and in these clothes, you don't look happy." He went on, gesturing to the clothes you were wearing as well as to the jacket and shirt hanging next to his. "But…" you wanted to disagree again, telling him that the press would have their eyes on you two tomorrow night, and you did not want his band's success to be overshadowed by another wave of weird headlines about his sexuality and relationship. "No buts! We are going to prove them all wrong tomorrow!"
Your vision was still blurred from tears when Joonas leaned in for a kiss, to prevent you from talking back again. Lost in the kiss, your eyes closed and you finally felt yourself relax. One last tear rolled down your cheek as you realized how much you loved him.
He broke the kiss after a while, his hand still lingering on your cheek.
"Do you think I could pull one off?" he suddenly broke the silence.
"A dress? Absolutely!", you told him instantly. Joonas was the type of guy who could wear almost anything without looking ridiculous; although Joel strongly disagreed with that.
"Can I borrow one for tomorrow?" He had a sly grin on his lips and you needed a second to understand what he had just suggested. His question made you smile, probably for the first time in a week or so, and you could feel happiness spark in your chest. "I love you so damn much!" Was all you managed to say before you pulled him in for another, more passionate kiss.
"I love you more…And now let's get you out of these clothes…"
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p1tt3rpii · 5 months
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Hello guys! Sorry I haven't been posting anything lately. My laptop charger broke for
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days, and I had to use my brother's money to buy a new one. Despite it all, I'm back with more art and another speedpaint!
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Some weeks ago, I made two OCs. Lucian, a vampire boy who's conflicted between love and survival. Carlos(Zane Graves), a goth edgelord and serial killer. I wanted to change their designs for a while, as I felt it was a bit rushed. 
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The vamp and the goth teens, all in their glory.
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The second edit, as always. I like this one a lot more. ^u^
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I updated their bios and added more detail to it.
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Lucian - A vampire stuck between love and hunger. Originally homeless, he travels from family to family in hopes of satisfying his codependency. Lucian, in his vampire form, always finds himself craving blood. One day, in a moment of desperation, he meets a woman who takes him in. However, when she hurriedly leaves to visit her family, Lucian follows her. He regrets his decision as soon as he gets to her home. But before he can leave, he meets Carlos, who seems unfazed by Lucian's trespassing. Lucian feels drawn to Carlos and falls in love with him. He is intrigued by Carlos' personality and lifestyle and feels like their fates have crossed.
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 Carlos (Zane Graves) - A 19-year-old goth boy with a fixation on death. He despises preps and wants them gone. Lucian murdered his family while semiconscious, but he paid no heed. Taking advantage of Lucian's vulnerability, he now manipulates him to assist with his murders. His objective is to live in isolation, and he thinks that with Lucian's complete obedience, he can truly make it happen.
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Transparent (Unedited) ver.
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I referenced the goth and vamp kids in South Park. They're my favorite characters, I love them so much. (Though they probably wouldn't like me due to their hatred for emos... :p)
Bonus:
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Zane is a bit of a narcissist, but he means well... In a blue moon.
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The speedpaint is on my Bitview page. Hope you enjoy - <3
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x-post from spacehey.
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thenerdthatwrites · 10 months
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A/N; I’ve wanted to do this for a while now, and with a more edited version, and with a bit of encouragement from @beardedhotchh​ I’m doing this, (Genuinely right now, I’m freaking out inside but hey! What could go wrong!) so I’m proud to present my original story ‘You’re on Your own Kid’!
Chapter Synopsis; When a forbidden romance between a princess and a painter, hidden by both, protecting themselves from ridicule and heartbreak, but will another secret endanger themselves or others?
part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 / part 16 / part 17 / part 18 / part 19 / part 20 / part 21 / part 22 / part 23 / part 24 / part 25 / part 26 / part 27 / part 28 / part ...
Story Masterlist
Words; 888
A Normal Day
22nd May
It was supposed to be a pretty standard day. Pretty normal at least for me.
Wake up, get dressed, have breakfast, brush teeth, and go do something productive.
Except for the one difference, today is that I went down to the village.
When I went down, Father forced me to have a chaperone. I, of course, argued back saying that I don't need a chaperone.
We ended up making a compromise.
Father made me have a chaperone, but I got a choice of who did said job.
He sighed learning the chaperone I had chosen was Xander.
Xander and I had been friends since we were kids. At the time of his birth, his father was my father's right-hand man. His Guard of Honor. His lead Knight.
I groan every time Xander mentions this story as he adds a ridiculous list of names after it.
So, as we approached the village, I was surprised to find Jameson, the Blacksmith's son, sitting hunched over on a rock, watching the sight before him intently.
"What are you doing?" I ask, walking forward and tapping him on the shoulder.
He drops his stuff and picks it up as I mutter a very bashful 'sorry'.
"Drawing," He blurts out as I smile.
I've always thought Jameson was a great artist. A few years ago, he even painted me and it's now one of the only few paintings of me looking formal.
Xander jogs up to us and gives a small, acknowledging nod to Jameson and he replies with a small 'hello'.
We stand there in awkward silence for a few, very uncomfortable, minutes, just waiting for someone to break the silence.
Before, all three of us had been such good friends. Sadly though, as we got older, we drifted apart as we grew and had more responsibilities to our roles in the kingdom, mine ultimately being the next ruler of the kingdom. That’s at least the story others got when asking why I wasn’t friends with Jameson anymore.
Eventually,  Jameson was the one to break the silence.
"So. . . Kaitlyn, what are you and Xander doing down here?" He said.
I looked down at my shoes and cleared my throat before replying.
"I wanted to visit the village, and my father forced me to take a chaperone, so I chose Xander," I said, even though it wasn't the truth.
"Hey! You said you just wanted my delightful company to join you," Xander retorted.
“You know I only say that to get you to come with me,” Jameson and I laugh after I say it as Xander stands there and pouts.
“Fine then,” Xander says “I guess I won’t teach you how to sword fight anymore,” I look around, the smile dropping from my face as the puppy dog eyes come out.
Jameson just laughs more as Xander has to try and deal with resisting the eyes and when he finally says yes, I pick up my skirts and start to skip down the path to the centre of the village.
When I heard the boys start to run to catch up behind me yelling ‘Kaitlyn! Kaitlyn wait up!’ I got butterflies. Especially hearing it from Jameson.
I eventually slowed down as I approached the main stream of people and the boys caught up.
I laughed a lot for what had felt like a long time.
{----------}
After a while of running around the village and just relaxing, I felt as if I were floating. I knew I would eventually have to go back to the castle, but I was having so much fun.
At one point we stopped by Jameson’s so then he could go put his stuff in his room, while I gave a letter to his dad to give to Jameson when we got home.
So, when I finally got home, I waited until the time was right to sneak out and run down to the lake.
My favourite place to read.
I sat there for a while, reading, and I felt the voices in my head grow stronger.
‘The day your father dies will be the day you become pregnant with your spouse's baby.’
The chant had been going on through my head all day long, growing stronger with every thought.
I’ve had the voices since I was born, as when my mother was in labour, she almost died. My parents ended up making a deal with a sorceress to save me and my mother, but from what happened, voices now cloud my thoughts. Sometimes they get so extreme, I do things like scream in my sleep.
As I read the voices get louder, and as it does, it gets harder to concentrate, so I try to get up, but as I get a few metres away, I bump into what feels like a wall, but the voices are too loud at that point so I collapse into the person's arms. 
The last thing I hear is the words ‘Kaitlyn, come on wake up! I don’t know what’s strong but I really care about you. . . and you just can’t die on me Kaitlyn!’ as the darkness consumes me, the chant still goes through my head.
‘The day your father dies will be the day you become pregnant with your spouse's baby.’
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papermoonloveslucy · 1 year
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RADIO on TV!
Radio Shows on Lucille Ball’s TV Sitcoms
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Television was an outgrowth of radio. Many of our best loved shows originally came from radio - including “I Love Lucy,” which was inspired by the success of “My Favorite Husband”.  Here are a few stragglers - radio shows that were mentioned on Lucy TV! 
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There was some thought about creating an “I Love Lucy” radio show to run in simultaneously with the television series as was being done with “Our Miss Brooks.” A pilot show was produced, but it never aired. It was created by editing the soundtrack of the television episode “Breaking the Lease”, with added narration. It included commercials for Philip Morris, which sponsored the TV series. Philip Morris eventually sponsored a radio edition of “My Little Margie” instead.  Here’s Ricky’s opening narration:
“Hello. I’m Ricky Ricardo and I’m the guy who loves Lucy. The whole thing started ten years ago.  I had just come to this country from Cuba and I didn’t know much about your customs.  The first girl I had a date with was Lucy. It was a romantic night and after all I had a reputation to live up to as a Latin lover so I kissed her goodnight. It was right then that she told me that under the Constitution of the United States if a man kisses a girl he has to marry her. Then I found out that she tricked me. I didn’t care. Because after all, if I hadn’t married her, I’d would have married someone else. And Lucy’s just like any other American girl, who is pretty, charming, witty, and partly insane.”
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FREDDY FILLMORE QUIZ SHOWS
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“The Quiz Show” (1951)
With Lucy’s household accounts in arrears, she goes on a radio quiz show to win a thousand dollars. All she has to do is pretend a complete stranger is her first husband in front of Ricky.  A tramp at the door throws a monkey wrench into the scheme!
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This is the first of three episodes to feature Frank Nelson in the role of Freddy Fillmore, game show host extraordinaire. He is the host of “Females Are Fabulous”.  The announcer who encourages the audience to applaud is played by Lee Millar. The premise of the show has Lucy being pelted with various items (mostly liquids) when Ricky sings a trigger word from a safe distance. 
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“Lucy Gets Ricky on the Radio” (1952)
When their TV breaks down, the gang tunes in to a radio quiz show. Surprisingly, Ricky correctly guesses the answers to all of the questions, so the next day Lucy signs them up to be on the show. Little did she know that the quiz was a delayed broadcast and that Ricky overheard the answers while at the studio!  This episode is based on Lucy’s radio show, “My Favorite Husband” “Quiz Show,” which aired October 23, 1948. In the radio version, the show was called “His and Hers” and is hosted by Smiley Stembottom (Frank Nelson). 
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On television, the quiz show is called “Mr. and Mrs. Quiz” and is hosted by Freddy Fillmore (Frank Nelson again). 
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Everyone on the series loved Roy Rowan’s on-screen announcing for "Mr. and Mrs. Quiz” so much that he then became the announcer for “I Love Lucy.”  To be sure Ricky wins, Lucy steals the questions. Unbeknownst to her, Fillmore changes the questions at the last minute so Lucy’s answers make no sense. 
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The next time we see Freddy Fillmore he has made the transition to television with his latest quiz show “Be A Good Neighbor”.  
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“Off To Florida” (1956)
Radio plays an integral role in the plot of the episode. Lucy and Ethel hitch a ride to Florida with a Mrs. Grundy (Elsa Lanchester), an eccentric woman. To fall sleep in the parked car, Lucy turns on the radio for some soothing music, until... 
NEWSCASTER: “Now here's the latest bulletin on the Evelyn Holmby case. Police have definitely established that Evelyn Holmby, famous gray-haired hatchet murderess who escaped from New York State Prison Thursday, is heading south in a cream-colored convertible coupe. Stand by for further bulletins. And now back to our recorded music.”
Having found a hatchet in the car’s trunk, Lucy puts two and two together and is wonders if their driver is the wanted criminal on the lam!  Lucy and Ethel chalk it up to coincidence. In the morning, they try to cat nap while Mrs. Grundy is driving. When they are sleeping, she turns on the radio. 
NEWSCASTER: “That winds up the news from Washington today. And here's the latest bulletin on Evelyn Holmby, escaped hatchet murderess. Police have learned that, before leaving New York, she dyed her gray hair red, and is heading south with a blonde companion.”
Now Mrs. Grundy suspects Lucy and Ethel!  
The radio announcer is voiced by Roy Roberts. The big band music in the background was also heard in “Country Club Dance” (1957).  
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“Lucy is a Chaperone” (1963)
Lucy and Viv chaperone a group of Chris’s friends on a beach vacation. When the girls are dancing to music on the radio, Viv mistakes the Mashed Potato for the Jitterbug. When Lucy attempts the steps, Viv remarks that she's got “lumps in her gravy.” The Mashed Potato was a popular dance craze of 1962 made famous by James Brown.  A companion dance song was titled (appropriately) “Gravy”. This marks the first of many appearances by the red transistor radio - albeit in black and white!
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“Ethel Merman and the Boy Scout Show” (1964)
During a tribute to show business, radio is represented by Mr. Mooney as a radio host presenting a lady saxophone player (Lucy) from Altoona, Pennsylvania, playing “Glow Worm” (poorly). 
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“Lucy and the Beauty Doctor” (1965)
At the start of the episode, Lucy and Viv listen to the radio show “Morning Magazine of the Air” which presents Lady Cynthia's Beauty Tips. It is from this broadcast that Lucy hears about a $25 beauty treatment by Dr. Fleischer.
LADY CYNTHIA (voice on radio): “Good morning, ladies. How would you like to have your biggest beauty problem behind you?”  VIV (listening to radio): “That’s where mine is now.”
Lady Cynthia is voiced by Carole Cook and Sid Gould is the announcer. 
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Now easily identified in color, Lucy’s red transistor radio will turn up many times on “The Lucy Show”, even after she moves to Los Angeles.
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“Lucy the Disc Jockey” (1965) 
Lucy wins a mystery sound contest on the radio, winning $25 and the chance to be disc jockey for a day. Naturally, things don’t go smoothly when she takes over the studio. 
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The host of the radio show Gordon ‘Fair’ Felson (Pat Harrington). The call letters of the radio station are WLDJ representing the first letter of each word in the episode’s title: “Lucy the Disc Jockey.”
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After playing the mystery sound, Felson announces the return to “the swing sounds of Jan Garber.” Garber was a bandleader known for ‘sweet’ and ‘swing’ jazz. His nickname was “The Idol of the Air Lanes.”  
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Mr. Mooney says that the ‘Name the Sound’ contest is the silliest thing since ‘Mrs. Hush’. The Mrs. Hush contest was a feature of “Truth or Consequences” radio show in 1947.
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“Lucy the Rain Goddess” (1966) 
Herbie (Marc Cavell), the bank office boy, is blaring “Do The Watusi!” on his transistor radio. The song (without lyrics) was also heard in “Chris’s New Year’s Eve Party” (1962).  
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“Lucy’s Burglar Alarm” (1969) 
At the start of the episode, Craig is practicing guitar and Kim is listening to a transistor radio playing an instrumental version of “I Know a Place” by Tony Hatch. The song was made popular in 1965 by Petula Clark. This is the third time the song has been heard on “Here’s Lucy.” 
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“Lucy and Jack Benny’s Biography” (1970)
Helping Benny write his memoirs, Lucy plays all the women in Jack’s life. In the fourth flashback, Jack Benny is a radio star broadcasting with Mary Livingstone. In this sequence, Lucille Ball lip synchs to the voice of the real Mary Livingstone, who became Mrs. Jack Benny in 1927. 
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“Lucy, the Other Woman” (1972)
While having breakfast, Lucy listens to a radio news report about a marital triangle that caused a Mrs. Mercedes Smith of Sherman Oaks to shoot a Mrs. Vivian Boone for breaking up her happy home. The newscaster is voiced by Roy Rowan. 
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beinfriends · 1 year
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( Alright, pretty sure I've basically collected everybody in the Mother RPC at this point, so looks like it's time for me to say... hello! I'm Rabbit, or better known as Psy in this community (which you can see I continue to go by... because I am too fucking lazy to redo my promo assets. But I still really do just use Psy still.), and I was in the Mother RPC previously from 2018-2021 (I think? or 2020, I don't really remember) and wound up leaving due to mental health reasons, but recently I randomly got the urge to come back, so here I am with a remade blog. I was previously twinsmily, pigmonarch/allhailkingp, and beinfriends, a blog I have since moved from in order to make this blog.
I've added a lot of muses since the previous iteration of this blog. I feel like I should warn people, even if you knew me prior to rejoining (i.e. Neg and Star. hi btw) that my muse priorities have shifted quite a bit, although Lucas/Claus/Porky are still main muses for me. I replayed Mother 3 last June and got really into the Tazmily villagers for some reason, hence why I added all of them to my muse roster. If you remember the original version of this blog, my list was like <10 muses. We're at 50 now, and I didn't even list everybody.
As to why this even happened... I was playing chapter 3 and read Paul's text during the scene where Fassad tries to get everyone to pick up Happy Boxes and he said "I don't need happiness. It's standing right next to me." and I just really admired his wifeguy-ness... I thought that was so cute, since I'd never really thought about him before. And then my brain decided I liked literally all of them so here we are.
As mentioned in my rules, I did recommend the worldbuilding page + considering reading my fic recs per each character, but overall, I feel I should plug this directly. If you're interested in seeing the Tazmily that I have built in excruciating detail, consider giving A Change of Heart a read. The fic is about Leder telling everyone the truth about their past and everyone being forced to reckon with their trauma and memories.
Up front, it's 200,000 words. But it's a fic I wrote over the course of 5 months last year and is a huge basis for how my Tazmily now functions. The main verse of this blog is directly tied to this fic. Per my timeline, the final events of ACOH concluded one year prior to the events of this blog. BUT it's okay, I do not expect you to know all this shit. I will tell you things as necessary, I just thought I could cut out the middleman a bit is all.
What do you need to know about the default universe of this blog? Here's a few simple things to make it clearer:
The events of Mother 3 concluded 4 years ago.
ALL Tazmily villagers have regained their full memories of the past. The story is generally gone, though people didn't abandon their roles/jobs.
Tazmily has been rebuilt in the old style, but the world is a mix of old and new; people still use DP, but bartering has come back in a major way in terms of doing business.
There are multiple new settlements to account for all the New Porkers.
In all, it's pretty simple, but again, highly recommend you check out my worldbuilding page for a more in-depth rundown of the world, but still shorter than a 200,000 word fic lol. I still have some stuff I wanna add, but I got a lot of it done yesterday.
Also, I have a lot of posts queued from my personal about villager lines, or edits I made, so on, so expect to see those posts in the coming days. I have chronicled a vast majority of lines you can possibly see the villagers say. I got plenty o' lines you've probably never seen. There's only a handful of lines I cannot find, and am assuming went unused. So yeah, enjoy that!! It'll be your crash course on the villagers if you, like everybody (including past me), know very little about the villagers. I look forward to it.
This blog may or may not wind up being low activity, but it remains to be seen. I start my new job today, so I'll see how the work-life balance is. Bios are still a WIP. As I said yesterday, I have 19/50 completed. I will hopefully do the secondary bio batch soon, but probably not today, and probably not tomorrow, because work. But everyone in the main tier has a bio, so check 'em out!
If you made it this far, thanks for reading! I hope I get to know all of you better in the coming days and weeks! Starter call will come after this post for everyone. See ya soon! )
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khoicesbyk · 1 year
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The Royal Romance.
Love Everlasting.
A/N: I had a different name and plot for this fic over a year ago. But after being in the RP community for more than a year, I've decided to write the current Royal Life of my favorite OTP.
Rated: Mature (at times can and will be Explicit. I'll be sure to change the rating when and if that happens). | Contains sexual content and strong language. (You know? The usual. Y'all should be used to this from me by now 😁) | Bolded and/or italicized words are conversations and thoughts of the characters. | Main Characters: King Marquise Rys (LI) and Queen Shanelle Miller-Rys (MC) | All Characters and names: (except MC and original characters created by me and/or other authors [their characters have been mentioned and/or used in the story with their permission] ) are property of Pixelberry.
Current Word Count: 40K words. (may be slightly more or may be slightly less. Look, I stop counting after editing and re-editing and driving myself insane. 🤷🏾‍♀️).
If you’d like to be added to my tag list. Just reblog or dm me and I will gladly add you! 😁😘
This series is rated Mature and/or Explicit. It is NOT reading material that is safe for those under 18. Reader discretion is STRONGLY advised!
Missing a chapter or want to read a chapter again? I got you covered! Click ——> Here!
Tag List: @choicesficwriterscreations @shewillreadyou @txemrn @twinkleallnight @peonierose
This goes without saying but MAJOR SHOUTOUT AND THANK YOU TO @shewillreadyou! I swear! She always helps me untangle the tangled mess that is known as my brain when it comes to writing and story ideas. I love you girl! 😘
Listen this chapter has 8 different ideas and story plots that I had all dumped into one chapter. Hence why it is so damn long. I just kept writing until I knew it was done. This will be a four-part chapter. This is part one.
Chapter 7.) One Last Goodbye. Part 1.
Shanelle was sitting at her desk going over her business model for Rys International with a fine tooth comb, when her phone started to vibrate. When she looked at who was calling her on FaceTime she rolled her eyes. It was her best friend's twin brother Cassian, who just happened to be her childhood ex-boyfriend.
“Hello?” 
“What the hell is wrong with you Shanelle?” he asked. 
“Excuse me?”
“When were you going to tell me Nina was in rehab?!”
Shanelle looked around like she was hearing things. 
“First of all, who the fuck are you talking to like that? Second, I didn't tell you because it wasn't my story to tell.”
“I had a right to know!” he snapped at her. 
“Cass. You got one more time to raise your voice at me before I make you a distant memory.”
Cassian backed down.
“When did this all happen?” he asked. 
“The night she came home,” Shanelle replied.
Cass shook his head. 
“Well, that explains why you walked right past me and didn't say anything that night at the hospital.”
“Your memory must be slipping. Because I stopped talking to you long before she came home. Why the hell would I have talked to you that night?” Shanelle asked. 
“Because I'm her brother Princess,” he replied.
“That's Queen you dick!” she hissed. 
“You should've told me, Shanelle.”
“Okay, I'm gonna say this again. No, I shouldn't have.”
“I'm her brother. I should've been kept in the loop.”
“Exactly. You’re her brother. Not your father. Although you constantly like to act like your dad.”
Shanelle watched him roll his eyes.
“How did she even get to rehab?” he asked.
“Not that I owe you an explanation but, remember when she moved in with me when I worked in D.C. for a few months?” 
“Yeah, what about it?” he asked.
“That was the cover story we came up with to put your parents at ease. The truth is she wasn't staying with me, at least not the whole time. She was an hour away at an inpatient rehab facility in Virginia. And before you go flying off the rails, I called and checked on her every day. And she was allowed to come to my place on weekend passes. I made sure to keep up with the staff treating her. And when she got clean and felt strong enough, she went back to New York, and moved in with Chut and continued at an outpatient rehab facility.” 
“And you didn't think I needed to know any of this?” he asked Shanelle.
“Nope. Not in the least. My priority was her and her well-being not you and your need to know. Besides, the last thing she needed at that time was you and your constant condescendence.” she replied.
“That is not fair and you know it Shanelle.”
“Yeah well, neither is life, Cass. But hey! We all gotta deal with it somehow.” 
“Whatever.”
“Yeah. So are we done here?” she asked. 
“No. I'm not letting you off the hook that easily,” he replied.
Shanelle groaned. 
“Last time I checked, I don't answer to you. Hell, I don't answer anyone for that matter.”
“You could've told my parents. Hell, you could've told Chut or my brother. But you decided to keep your mouth shut. You decided to keep her family in the dark.”
“Yeah, I did. Because I had to, she begged me to keep quiet. It was the only way she would ever agree to go to rehab. So I swore to her that night that I would take it to my grave. Only she and I would know. She needed help, Cass. And I did what I had to do to get her that help. And if it bothers you that I didn't tell you or anyone else, then it's just gonna have to bother you. Because I will never apologize for helping her and not telling you about it.” 
“You have a really misconstrued view of what loyalty means Shanelle.”
“First of all, go fuck yourself. Second, hello pot. My name is kettle. You wouldn't happen to be calling me black, would you?”
“I would've told you if the roles were reversed, Shanelle.”
Shanelle rolled her eyes. 
“A.) you’re lying through your teeth. Which means  B.) you wouldn't have said a damn thing to me.” 
“I'm not lying.”
Shanelle pinched the bridge of her nose.
“I know I've said this to you before Cass, but I'll go ahead and say it again for old time's sake: you are a terrible fucking liar. You have a Tell, you idiot. And it's quite literally the easiest thing in the world to spot.” 
She watched him cut his eyes at her.
“How did you even find this rehab place in Virginia?” he asked.
“The Cordonian Consulate hosted an event for a D.C. charity that provided rehab services to veterans. So I called the director of the charity and he put me in touch with the rehab facility and the rest is ancient history. Or it should be.” she replied.
“So you got her in for free?” he asked.
“Nope. I had to pay for it.”
“How were you able to do that?” he asked.
“I did what I always did. I signed my father’s signature on a check,” she replied.
“You committed check fraud?! What is wrong with you?!” he asked.
“Oh, I'm sorry. Are you complaining? You? Mr. ‘Hey Nelle. Listen um I don't mean to ask this but I'm a little short this month, do you think you can help me out a little bit?’ Are we really having THAT conversation?” 
Cassian kept his mouth shut.
“Oh, well would you look at that? Sweet silence!”
Cass let out a frustrated sigh.
“How much was the check?” he asked. 
Shanelle shrugged.
“$9,800.00 for six months inpatient,” she replied. 
“Does your father know you forged his name on a check that big?” 
“No, he doesn't. At least he doesn't know about it to my knowledge. But my husband knows about it.” 
“Oh so you can tell him but you couldn't tell me?!” he asked.
Shanelle rolled her eyes.
“No, I didn't tell him. There was a 7-day hold put on the check because it was way over the international limit of $5,000.00.” she replied.
“Meaning what?” he asked. 
“Meaning that since it was written from my dad’s Cordonian Account, it had to be cleared by The Royal Treasury. And at that time, Marquise was the head of the Treasury so he was the one who had to clear it.” she replied.
Cass scoffed.
“So he busted you?” he asked. 
“Yeah. He figured out that my dad didn't write the check, so he called and asked why I wrote a check that big. All I told him was it was an emergency and that I needed the check cleared immediately. He cleared it and warned me never to write a check that big without telling him first. Otherwise, I would've had to get approval from either his father or my uncle at the time. And he knew that I would rather have a root canal from Edward Scissorhands without any Novocaine than face either one of them.” she replied. 
Cass shook his head.
“You're lucky I don't have my badge anymore.”
“Oh bitch, please! Even if you had that stupid ass badge you still wouldn't have been able to do shit about it.”
“I could've busted you for check fraud Shanelle.”
“First off, you God awful twat, you were a low-level marshal! You couldn't bust anybody. Second, Diplomatic Immunity exists for a reason. Third, even if you were somehow able to bust me for it, you'd then have to turn around and explain every single check that I ever wrote for you, because of course there is a record of each check.”
She watched a muscle in his jaw tick.
“So in conclusion, I'm gonna need you to get off your self-righteous high horse. Because you are no hero. You love to act like one because you have a severely fucked up hero complex that isn't satisfied unless you’re riding in on your white horse to save the day, but you sir are no hero. Far fucking from it.”
“You always did know how to cover your tracks.” he sneered. 
“I know you mean that to be an insult Cass, but I'm choosing to take it as a compliment. Because you’re right, I do know how to cover my tracks. That's why I'm a lot better at playing the game called life than you are.” 
She watched as Cass rolled his eyes.
“Now, are we done?” she asked.
“I should be even more pissed at you than I actually am.”
Shanelle rolled her eyes.
“My dear Cassian. Allow me to say this so that it is crystal clear: I don't give a flying fuck about you being pissed at me. I did what I had to do and I would do it again.”
“That's the problem. But I am thankful that you were there for Nina. And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that.”
Shanelle scoffed. 
“Classic Cassian Keane ladies and gentlemen. You are STILL the same pigheaded, impulsive, arrogant idiot that you have always been. You never change.”
Cass shook his head.
“Could be worse. You could've called me a son of a bitch.”
“Nope. Calling you a son of a bitch is an insult to your mother. I'd rather just call you a piece of shit.”
Cass sighed.
“Thank you, Shanelle. I don’t understand why she didn't lean on family. But at least she had you to turn to. And whether you believe me or not, that means a lot to me.”
Shanelle scoffed. 
“You're right. I don't believe you. Not for a second. Because knowing you, you don't mean it. But you’re welcome all the same. She would've done the same thing for me.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Good. Now get ya sorry ass off my phone.” 
“Bye Princess.”
With that Shanelle hung up the phone with a groan, just as her husband walked into her office.
“Uh oh. I know that look on your face. What happened?” he asked her.
“You will not believe who just called me,” she replied.
Marquise started to guess.
“Your father?” 
“Nope.”
“Your cousin?”
“I would never be that lucky.”
“Okay then who called?” he asked.
“Good old Cassian Keane,” she replied.
Marquise rolled his eyes. 
“Why did he call you? Also, why does he still have your number?” he asked.
“A.) It was a FaceTime call. B.) it was about Nina,” she replied.
“What about her? Is she okay?” he asked as he sat on the edge of her desk.
“She's fine. Do you remember the check I wrote from my dad’s account a few years ago for almost $10,000.00?” she asked.
“Yeah. What about it?” He replied.
“I wrote that check so she could get into rehab without anyone knowing.”
Marquise nodded.
“That's what you meant by it was an emergency.”
“Yeah.”
“So how did he find out about it?” he asked.
“Nina’s personal page on Instagram went dark a few days ago. And nobody could find her. So Cass and Lo hopped on a plane to New York and when they got to Nina’s they found Fentanyl in her bathroom.” she replied.
Marquise exhaled slowly.
“Damn.”
“It wasn't hers.”
“Then who's was it?” he asked.
“It was Sam’s.”
Marquise choked on a laugh.
“Wait! Are you telling me that Sam Dalton is using?” he asked.
“No. At least I hope not. It apparently belonged to his dead wife. And he carries it as a reminder to not be neglectful and be present in someone's life.” she replies.
“So, what does any of that have to do with you?” he asked.
“The boys got the girls and me together to talk about it and I let it slip that she had gone to rehab.” she replied with a sigh, “I can't believe I didn't trust her enough to know she would never go back. She probably hates me right now.”
That's when Marquise stood up and then pulled her to her feet and into his arms.
“Stop that. She doesn't hate you.”
“You don't understand, I promised her that no one would ever find out. Not even you. And I panicked and blurted it out to our entire family.”
“My love, that just proves why you’re her best friend. You kept this a secret from even me, your husband, for a reason. Just so you could protect Nina. You shouldn't feel guilty about that.” 
“You sure?” she asked.
“Positive,” he replied before softly kissing her forehead. 
“Then why do I feel so horrible?” she asked.
“Because I know you. I know how your emotions work. You feel like you betrayed her but I promise you that you didn't. She's not gonna love you any less because you told everyone. My love, you helped save her life. She can never hate you for that.” he replied. 
Shanelle smiled softly.
“I don’t know why I'm so in my head about this.”
“Because that idiot called, riled you up, and it upset you that's why. You swore to your best friend who needed help at one of the most difficult times of her life that you wouldn't say anything. And no matter how upset your ex is, even he can't hold that against you.” 
“How much do you wanna bet that he will?” she asked. 
“If he does then I will deal with him,” he replied. 
“Ever the Knight, my King.”
He chuckled low.
“For you? Always my Queen.” 
Just then there was a knock on her office door from an attendant carrying a large box. 
“Pardon me, Your Majesties. But this came for the Queen, and I was instructed by Mrs. Geaneaux to deliver it to you.” the attendant said as he set the box down. 
“Thank you very much,” Shanelle replied with a smile.
“You're very Welcome, my Queen.” the attendant replied before he walked out. 
Marquise looked at the box with an eyebrow raised. 
“Now what could this be?” he asked as he reached for the box.
“Quit being nosy! It's addressed to me. Not you, Your Majesty.” Shanelle replied as she swatted his hand away.
“First of all, ow! That was uncalled for! Secondly, it's in my palace.”
“Our palace sir.” Shanelle corrected him.
Marquise shook his head with a smirk.
“Okay fine. It's our palace. Now, what's in the box?”
“What do you care?” she asked. 
“Call it curiosity killing my cat,” he replied. 
Shanelle rolled her eyes good-naturedly as she read the shipping label on the box.
“Ahh. This must be one of the boxes I had when I moved back to Boston. The shipping label is covering what it says is inside it.”
“What's in it?” he asks.
“Nosy ass!” she replied.
“Very. Now let's open this box.”
Shanelle took a letter opener out of her desk and opened the box. In it were several old photos, old birthday cards, her old diary, her high school yearbooks, and one item she had completely forgotten she had packed. 
“Why do you have a jacket in this box?” Marquise asks as he peered inside.
“It's not mine,” she replied as she glanced at it.
“Okay, then whose jacket is it?” 
“This is Cass’s letter jacket that he got our senior year.” 
“Why do you still have his old letter jacket and why does it smell like mothballs?” he asks. 
“Because he left it at my parent's house and never came to get it before I moved. I must've packed it out of habit.”
Shanelle saw the look on her husband's face and raised an eyebrow at him. 
“You're not jealous are you, Your Majesty?” she asked teasingly.
“Hardly,” he replied. 
“Liar.”
Marquise gave her a side-eye.
“I'm not lying.” 
“Marquise, the same way I know when Cass is lying is the same way I know when you’re lying. You two dumbasses wear your jealousy, annoyance, and anger on your sleeves.”
Marquise had a disgusted look on his face. 
“Did you just compare me to your ex?” he asked. 
Shanelle shrugged with a smirk.
“I can not believe that you just compared me to him.”
“Not my fault you and him are two sides of the same idiot coin.”
“I don't have to stand here and take this slander from you! I'm a King dammit!”
“You forget how easily I can read people. Especially the two of you.”
“You dare insult your King?!” he asked in mocking disgust.
Shanelle winked at her husband.
“Yes, I dare to insult my King,” she replied with a smirk that matched his.
“That's it! I'm leaving! I will not just stand around and be insulted like this!”
Shanelle shook her head with a smile.
“See you later babe.”
“I'll see you later, my love.”
With a quick yet sweet kiss, Marquise was out the door. Leaving Shanelle to reminisce about her past life. Before she had kids, King, and a kingdom to call home.
As a kid growing up in Brooklyn, life was as simple as it gets for Shanelle. Her dad worked at the United Nations as Ambassador of Cordonia and her mother was a 5th-grade teacher at the time. She had her best friends Nina and Chutney. The three amigos. They were always together. Always running every classroom they were in together. Especially her mother’s 5th-grade class. Try as Shantel might, she couldn't separate the girls. 
And then there was Cassian. He was her childhood sweetheart and she was his. They had been together for as long as she had known him and his twin sister. When her grandfather died, Cass was there. When she needed him, he was always there. Whether or not he liked getting bossed around by her was another story. Like the one time, they went to the movies.
“How much farther?” he asked her over his shoulder.
“Just a few more steps. Stop complaining,” she replied.
“My arms are getting tired, Princess.”
“Well, that's what you get for having pseudo-chivalry.”
“What does that mean?” he asked.
“It means you don't want me to carry anything because according to you, the guy in the relationship never lets the girl in the relationship carry anything, just for you to turn around and constantly complain about having to always carry everything,” she replied
“Okay, if I drop all this stuff because my arms fell off.”
“Cass, if you drop damn near 28 dollars worth of popcorn, candy, chili cheese dogs, drinks, and those nasty ass Coney corn dogs that you love so much, that I paid for, I will kick your ass from here to kingdom come.” 
Cass grumbled under his breath but kept walking down the steps to their seats. 
“Stop and turn to the right,” she said to him.
He stopped and turned to the right. 
“Keep walking…and stop,” she instructed.
He walked 5 steps and then stopped.
“Now you can sit down.”
“Finally,” he said as he sat down slowly.
“Exactly. Now if you'd be so kind as to hand me my food.”
She took her chili cheese dogs, a box of M&M's, her drink, and a small popcorn and sat down. Cass looked over.
“Greedy ass.” 
Shanelle set her drink down.
“You get three loaded corn dogs, two boxes of Peanut M&M's, one box of plain M&M's, a large Coke, and two boxes of Reese's Pieces on top of the large popcorn with extra butter and salt. But I'm the greedy one?” she asked.
“Yes. That’s way too many calories.” He replied.
“Hotshot, you’re literally eating your way to clogged arteries and type 2 diabetes. Also, you forget I have track practice after we leave here. So unlike you, I will burn these calories off.” 
“Still too many calories, Princess.”
Just as Shanelle started to speak up the previews started. 
“Saved by the previews,” Cass said triumphantly.
Shanelle rolled her eyes and went back to eating her food. Only to feel his arm around her shoulders. She laid her head on his shoulder.
“Wanna bite?” she asked him, holding up the chili cheese dog in her hand. 
“Nah. I'm good. Thank you. By the way, what time is your track meet next Saturday?” he replied.
“1:00 PM. But I have to be there at 10:00 AM. Coach Howard’s orders.”
Cass scoffed.
“I still don't like her.”
Shanelle snickered.
“That's only because she said you have chicken legs. And she wasn't wrong.”
“Who's side are you on?” he asked. 
“Mine,” she replied. 
Cass rolled his eyes with a smile.
They were together all through middle and high school. Made plans to be together forever. Even though he had objections to always being bossed around by her. After graduating, each went off to different colleges. It was a long-distance relationship but they vowed to make it work. And it did work until it didn't. 
They went from texting and checking in with each other every day. To once a day, to once a week, to sparingly, to complete radio silence throughout her freshman and sophomore years. And Shanelle couldn't figure out why. No matter how many times she texted or called, he never answered. So she decided to drive to see him at school. She had to know why he wouldn't talk to her. 
After texting his then-classmate Robin, she hopped into her Jeep and drove 5 hours from Boston to Philadelphia to see him. When she pulled into the dorm parking lot, she met Robin outside.
“Hey, babe. Are you sure you’re okay?” Robin asked Shanelle.
“I will be once I talk to him. Have you seen him?” Shanelle replied.
Robin scoffed. 
“Not lately. The knucklehead has been avoiding me.”
Shanelle shook her head. 
“Probably because of me.”
“If that's true, I am gonna beat him within an inch of his life.”
Shanelle scoffed. 
“You get whatever part of him that I don't beat, break, batter, or bruise.” 
Robin nodded.
“He always said that you have a scary right hook.”
“And if he doesn't answer the door, you'll get a front-row seat to what happens.”
They walked into the coed dorm. When they got outside his dorm, Shanelle started to wonder if this was the right thing to do.
“Rob, can I ask you something?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Robin replied.
“Am I tripping? Should I even be here?” she asked.
“No, you’re not tripping and yes you should be here. You have tried to contact him every which way. And he's just been silent. At the very least he could explain why he's been silent. He owes you that.”
Shanelle closed her eyes and nodded.
“You're right. Thank you. That's why I like you. Well, that and the fact that since I'm not here to get on his ass, someone has to.”
“Thank you. And to think your man was scared for us to meet. And now he hates it that we met.”
Shanelle snickered.
“That's because we became friends and his worst nightmare.”
Just as Shanelle went to knock on the door, it swung open revealing a shocked and shirtless Cassian. 
“What are you doing here Shanelle?” He asks. 
“I came here looking for you. You haven't been answering the phone and apparently, you've been avoiding Robin. What is going on?” she replied.
“You shouldn't be here, Shanelle,” he said to her. 
She turned to Robin. 
“Give us a minute?” she asked.
“Sure. I gotta get ready for my next class anyway.” Robin replied. 
“Okay. I'll text you later.” 
Robin smiled at Shanelle before walking down the hall to her dorm. Shanelle watched her disappear around a corner before turning back to Cass.
“Go home, Princess. Now.”
“Not until you talk to me.”
“I can't.”
“The hell you mean you can't?!” she asks him.
“Look, you just gotta go,” he replied.
“I'm not going anywhere.”
“This is not the time for you to be stubborn!”
Shanelle scoffed. 
“Pot meet kettle.”
“Shanelle please, just go. It's over. There's nothing left.”
“Cass, what are you talking about?” she asked.
“Us, Shanelle. There is no more us,” he replied.
“No. You're not serious.”
“Yeah. I'm serious. It's over between us. Go home.”
Shanelle was stunned. 
“What is happening?” she asked.
“I have to do this. I have to let you go. So go. It's over. There is no more us.” he replies.
“Cass, why are you doing this?” she asks.
“I can't tell you,” he replied.
“What the hell do you mean?” she asks.
“I can't tell you and I'm not going to tell you. So go home!” he growled. 
Shanelle took a step back from him. She couldn't believe what was happening. It was over.
“Wow. Okay then. I guess that's it. I got the answer to the question I had.” 
“I'm sorry, Shanelle. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that.”
“No. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that all I wanted was to get some kind of an answer. I'm sorry that the only place I was ever going to get that answer was from you. I'm sorry that I drove 5 fucking hours for those very answers. I'm sorry that I came all the way here with the hope that if I could've just talked to you and gotten to the bottom of the problem then maybe we could've fixed whatever the issue was between us. I'm sorry that I came all the way here for nothing.”
Shanelle closed her eyes to stop the tears from falling.
“Look Princess, I'm sorry.”
“You know. I always knew you were a lot of things, Cass. But never in my life did I think that you, of all the people in this world, would be a coward.”
“That's not fair Shanelle.”
“Oh! So you wanna talk about what's fair and what isn't?! Okay fine. Let's talk about it, shall we? So it's fair for you to break up with me without at least giving me the common courtesy and decency of telling me why, right? But it's not fair for me to call you a coward? Did I get that right?”
Cass just shook his head. 
“Alright then. I guess I got what I came here for and now I can go.” Shanelle said to him with tears in her eyes.
“Shanelle, you can't drive back to Boston like this.”
She scoffed.
“Why the hell do you care, Cass? It's over between us, remember?” she said to him before walking out of the dorm. 
Shanelle got in her Jeep and peeled out of the dorm parking lot without a second glance back. She got to a stoplight before tears blurred her vision and she couldn't see clearly enough to drive. So she pulled over into a grocery store parking lot, killed the engine, and broke down into tears. It was over. And there was no going back. There was no more pleading for answers. The only thing she could do was pick up the pieces of her broken heart, move on, and move forward. 
Two weeks later after her abrupt breakup, Shanelle started taking classes at a local MMA gym. It was a way for her to channel her anger, learn self-defense, and ease her heartbreak. She spent the next two years, which was also the remainder of her college years going to that gym. She would be in the gym 3 times a week. But little did she know, she was being watched. 
Every day she was at the gym, she would notice three guys always watching her. But she put it out of her mind. What she didn’t know was those three random guys were actually guards the Prince had assigned to follow her and keep tabs on her whereabouts. Within a few days, the guards had her routine down to a science. They knew when she was on campus, where she went for coffee and for lunch, how she trained at the gym, and things like that. Whatever the Prince wanted to know about her, his guards found out. 
He had the guards set up a secret feed at the gym through its shoddy security system so he could watch her train in the gym. He was impressed with how good she was. He knew he would one day want to spar with her, so he began to study her fighting style with his lead guard Alex. 
“She's good Marquise,” Alex said to him. 
“Indeed. That's why we're practicing. I want her to be great. Not just good.”
“From what I've noticed, she's become a master at the chokehold and the armbar. Are you sure you'd want to spar with her?” Alex asked. 
“Yes. By practicing I can learn how to counter her.” Marquise replied.
“Won't that just piss her off even more?” Alex asked.
“That's the point, Alex. The angrier she is, the more adrenaline. She's a fighter who's highly competitive and hates to lose. Now shall we get started?” Marquise asks. 
“Sure. Although she and I are in different weight classes.” Alex replied.
“You'll be alright. This isn't the first time that I've tossed your sorry ass around like a rag doll and it won't be the last time that I've tossed your sorry ass around like a rag doll.”
The two smirked at each other before they began to train. Within 3 weeks, Marquise had her fighting style down and knew how to counter every move in her move set. All while she was none the wiser. 
Meanwhile, Shanelle had another problem that had nothing to do with the Prince but everything to do with her best friend Nina, who had been kidnapped by her abusive ex. It had been 3 months since anyone had heard from Nina, but it didn't take long for her family and friends to realize why. Nina’s ex Slater had kidnapped her and had no plans of ever letting her see the light of day until Nina escaped and was able to make it home. 
Shanelle had come home for Memorial Day weekend and was asleep when her phone started going off. It was Chutney.
“Helluh?” Shanelle answered half asleep.
“Wake up Nelle!” Chutney shouted. Causing Shanelle to bolt straight up in bed.
“What the hell Chut?” Shanelle asked, trying to get her bearings before turning on the bedside light in her room. “Why are you calling at…2 in the morning?”
“It's Nina,” Chutney replied. 
Hearing Nina’s name sent a chill down Shanelle’s spine and she began to fear the worst.
“What about her Chut?” Shanelle asked.
“She's alive! I'm with her now.” Chutney replied. 
“What?! What do you mean she's alive?!” Shanelle asked.
“She showed up at the hospital and they called me,” Chutney answered.
“What hospital?” Shanelle asks.
“Mercy Hospital.” 
Shanelle looked at the time on her phone and made a decision.
“Chut I'm on my way. Do NOT let her leave! Do you hear me?!”
“Yes, I hear you. Just hurry.” 
Shanelle threw on some clothes, grabbed her keys, and nearly broke the sound barrier trying to get to the hospital. She had just gotten into the hospital lobby when she saw Chutney. 
“Where is she, Chut?” Shanelle asks.
“Down the hall. ER room 7. I was able to get her to get some sleep.”
Shanelle nodded.
“Go call your uncle. Tell him she's here and that she's alive.”
“Okay.”
Shanelle hugged Chutney who was shaking.
“It's okay babe. She's home. That's all that matters.”
“I know. I just…she's so scared Nelle.”
“I believe it. As I said, go call your uncle. I'm gonna go talk to her.”
Chutney nodded before going to call Nina’s dad. Shanelle walked down the hall as fast as she could until she got to Nina’s room. When she got there, her heart seized. Nina was alive and asleep at the moment. Shanelle was relieved, terrified, and angry. All at the same time. 
“Nina?” Shanelle asked gently, rousing her from her sleep. Nina slowly woke up and looked sleepily at Shanelle.
“Nelle?” she asked.
“I'm here baby. I'm right here.” Shanelle replied while gently squeezing her hand.
Nina bursts into tears before she threw her arms around Shanelle. 
“I am so happy to see you, baby.”
“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”
Shanelle hugged her tighter.
“Don't you dare apologize. This wasn't your fault. This is that monster’s fault.”
Nina buried her face into Shanelle’s shoulder and cried. 
“I messed up.”
“No one is mad at you Nina. Certainly not me. I just wanted you home and safe.”
Shanelle rocked her best friend as she cried. 
“I trusted him. And he…”
“Shhh! Baby. You don't have to tell me.”
Nina looked at Shanelle before rolling up her sleeve. Revealing needle marks much to Shanelle’s horror.
“Oh my God.”
“The hospital gave me Narcan.”
Shanelle nodded slowly.
“Do you think you can answer a question for me?” she asked Nina.
Nina nodded.
“Are you going through withdrawals?” she asked her.
Rather than answer Nina just clung to Shanelle.
“My God. I'm so sorry.”
“I said no. I tried to stop him. But he forced me. I tried–”
“Shhh! It's okay babe. You do not need to tell me anything more if you're not ready. Okay?”
Nina nodded. 
“But you need help. You need to get into rehab.”
“No. Shanelle no.”
“Listen to me. The Narcan the hospital gave you will only last for so long. I don't want to see you like this.”
“I can't afford rehab, Nelle. I can't.”
“You won't have to. I'll pay for it.”
“What?! No. I won't let you.”
Shanelle smiled at Nina with tears in her eyes.
“Try and stop me. I will do whatever I have to in order to get you the help you need.”
“You would?” Nina asks.
“Absofuckinglutely!” Shanelle replies.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Yes. Whatever the costs are, I will pay for them. I don’t care.” Shanelle replied. 
“Okay. I'll go. But you can't tell anyone. Please.”
“I swear to you. I won't tell a soul. It'll be our secret.”
Nina nodded tearily.
“Thank you.”
“It's what best friends are for. We stick together through thick and thin. I got your back. You got mine. Remember?”
Nina nodded just as Chutney returned.
“Nina, your parents and your brothers are here.” Chutney said to the girls. 
“And that's my cue,” Shanelle said.
“You're leaving?” Nina asks.
“Yeah. I don't want to be around your brother right now.” Shanelle replied. 
“Okay.”
Shanelle hugged Nina tightly.
“But I promise. I will come to check on you later. Okay?”
“Yeah.”
Shanelle stood up and dried her eyes.
“You call me whenever you need me, alright?”
Nina smiled at her. 
“I love you, Princess.”
“I love you too baby. I'll see you soon.”
Shanelle hugged Chutney just as Nina's family showed up. 
“Thank you for calling me,” she whispered to Chutney.
“Of course. We're the three amigos, remember? We always look out for each other.” 
Shanelle walked down the hall walking past Cassian without so much as a second glance. Within a few days, Shanelle had Nina with her in D.C. and they were getting her settled into the rehab facility.
“Now you have my number, right?” Shanelle asked Nina.
“Yes, mom. I have your number.”
Shanelle snickered. 
“If I want to deal with your sarcasm, I'll call your brother.”
The two laughed. 
“I'll call you if I need anything.”
“Okay. I'm an hour away. Well, 30-45 minutes if I don't do the speed limit.”
Nina snorted before shaking her head.
“Get some rest, love.”
“Will do.”
A week after getting Nina settled, Shanelle was sitting on her couch flipping channels, when she got a surprise late-night FaceTime call from the Prince himself. 
“Hello?”
“Well hello, Princess.”
“Good Evening Your Majesty.”
“It's Your Highness, love,” he replied, correcting her. 
“Your Highness, what can I do for you?” she asks.
“I'll get right to it. Have you spoken to your father?” he asked.
“No. Not today anyway. Why?” she replied.
“Well because of a curious thing. Did you know he wrote a check for nearly $10,000.00?” he asks.
“No. I had no clue,” she replied.
“Are you sure, Princess?” he asks.
“Your Highness, why would I know anything about the checks he writes?” she replied.
“Because you see the thing is, he didn't write a check for nearly $10,000.00. And neither did your mother.”
Shanelle went quiet. She was busted. 
“Princess, why are you writing checks in your father's name?” he asks. 
She cursed under her breath.
“I had to. It was an emergency,” she replied. 
“A $10,000.00 emergency?” he asks.
“Yes. How did you figure out he didn't write the check?” she replied.
“I'm glad you asked. It was quite easy actually, had he written it, he would've never gone over the international limit of $5,000.00. It's not his style. Not without alerting the Royal Treasury. But you on the other hand.”
Shanelle groaned.
“Also there's a hold on the check until it gets cleared by the Treasury.”
“What do you mean there's a hold on the check?” she asked.
“Every time a check is written over the allotted amount, a 7-day hold is placed on said check. It's standard procedure,” he replies.
“Would it be too much to ask for you to go ahead and clear the check?” she asked.
“It must be important to you,” he replied.
“It is. I need it cleared immediately. Please.”
The look on his face was unreadable and when he switched his camera off, Shanelle started to panic.
“Done.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Yes, Princess. It's been cleared,” he replies.
She let out a sigh of relief.
“Thank you, Marquise.”
“You're welcome. Now I want you to listen to me and listen closely. Don't you ever write a check for that big of an amount without telling me first.”
“Why? What's the big deal?” she asked.
“The big deal is if I hadn't caught it and cleared the check you wrote in time, bad case it would've had to go to my father or worse case it would've gone to your uncle for clearance,” he replied. 
The thought of having to deal with either one of them made Shanelle shudder.
“Exactly. So next time, if there is one, you are to let me know the minute you write the check. Do you understand?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied quietly.
“Listen, I'm not trying to scare you or reprimand you. I just know that my father and your uncle would've instantly rejected the check.”
Shanelle nodded.
“Again, thank you.”
“Of course. It is a curious thing though. What's so important that you had to write a check that big?” he asks.
“I can't tell you,” she replied.
“Must be serious.”
“The check didn't say?” she asked.
“No. It just shows me the check number, the amount written, and the routing numbers of the Treasury and the bank requesting that the hold be lifted.” 
Shanelle internally sighed in relief.
“In other news, you look beautiful.”
“I look homeless.” 
Marquise groaned. 
“Just take the damn compliment, Princess.”
She broke out in a small smile.
“There's that pretty smile. Much better. That's what I like to see.”
“I've never seen you be all business-like. It's kinda hot.”
“Of course, you like it. You like it when someone else takes control. That way you can be as reckless as you want to be.”
Shanelle tried and failed to hide the blush on her cheeks.
“How was your day?” he asked.
“Long and arduous. How was yours?” she replied.
“Boring. Budgets, Cordonian tax laws and guidelines, and more budgets.” 
“Oh, you poor thing. Are you at your Duchy?” she asked.
“No. I'm in my office at the palace,” he replied.
She grimaced.
“You sound thrilled.”
“Oh yeah. Positively enthralled.”
Shanelle snorted.
“Are you off the clock?” she asked.
“I've been off the clock for three hours now. I just had a few loose ends to tie up,” he replied.
“I didn't mean to keep you up so late.”
He waved her off. 
“You weren't.”
“So you say.”
He smirked at her.
“I'm actually on my way to bed now that business is done. It's a shame you won't be there when I get there.”
Shanelle rolled her eyes.
“Oh my God! You're not even subtle.”
“I don't have the time or luxury to be.”
Shanelle shook her head.
“I know I'm going to regret this but hypothetically speaking, what would you do if I was there?” she asked.
Marquise cocked his head to the side with a smirk.
“Curious are you?” he replies.
“Morbidly.”
Marquise put a finger to his lips with a thoughtful expression on his face.
“Let's see. Well for starters you wouldn't be wearing any clothes.”
“You pig!” she hissed.
“I'll be Wilbur if you be Charlotte.”
“Ugh! You are so fucking irritating.”
The smirk on his face made her thankful she was sitting down.
“Okay fine. So you wouldn't be completely naked. Is that better?” he asked.
“Much. Now continue. Correctly.” she replied.
“To be honest, you'd either already be asleep, laying across the bed flipping channels like you are now, or you'd be out on the balcony with a glass of wine watching the stars.”
“Not bad. And nowhere near as disrespectful as I thought you'd be. Also, I didn't know your room had a balcony.”
“Every room in my wing has a balcony.”
“You have an entire wing?!” she asked.
“Mmmhmm. 12 bedrooms all to myself. At least for now,” he replied.
“And here I am thinking that I'm a spoiled brat.”
“You are a spoiled brat Princess.” he quipped. 
Shanelle shook her head. 
“So let's say I was out on your balcony, what would you be doing?” she asks. 
“Your curiosity must be killing you,” he replied.
“Humor me.”
“Very well. As you may know, I am a servant of the people. But none more than you, my future wife. I would always want you to be comfortable. No matter what. And nothing is more comfortable than a couples’ bubble bath.”
“Oh really?” she asks. 
“Mmmhmm. It would help me forget my day and would give me a reason to put my hands all over you. If you know what I mean.”
Shanelle couldn't help but blush. And he noticed. 
“It's okay to say you like the idea, Princess.”
“Okay fine. So I like the idea. I love bubble baths and as much as I hate to admit it, you are good with your hands.”
“There you go. Now that wasn't so hard, was it?” he asks.
“Get off my phone!” she replied with a smirk.
He smirked.
“Goodnight Shanelle. I'll talk to you soon.”
“Goodnight Marquise.”
When she hung up the phone she couldn't help the butterflies in her stomach. She turned off the TV and went to bed. When her head hit the pillow, she dozed off dreaming she was falling asleep in the Prince’s arms. 
As the months went on, Shanelle watched her best friend flourish and become herself again in rehab then eventually move back home to New York while she stayed in D.C. Shanelle also found herself more and more enamored with the Prince. He would text and call her every day. He would have a dozen roses sent to her office every Friday. He was starting to wear her down. Not that she minded. 
And it showed in one of their nightly FaceTime calls.
“So how did your parents meet?” he asks.
“My mom got a summer internship at the United Nations and would ride the elevator with my dad every day. She worked on the floor below him. And one day he finally mustered up the courage to ask Shantel Fletcher out on a date.” she replies.
“Your father has courage?” he asked.
Shanelle snickered.
“Yes, every here and again he does,” she replies.
“How long did this go on?” he asks.
“Maybe 3 weeks? They would go out for lunch every day until her internship ended and she had to go back to D.C.” she replied.
“And he chased her?” he asks.
“Yup. He transferred his assignment to the Consulate,” she replied.
“Talk about dedication.”
“He was in love. When mom found out she called him and told him to go home but he stayed. And they started dating again and then got married.” 
“He got married and didn't tell his parents?” he asked.
“Yup. They got married at the D.C. magistrate with her parents as witnesses,” she replies.
“When was this?” he asked.
“June 1st, 1986,” she replied. 
“That's a long time to be married to your dad.”
“She loves him. Someone has to.”
“Did you ever meet his parents?” he asks.
“Yes. The first time I ever went to Cordonia was because of them. It's how I was granted my title.” she replies.
“Really?” he asked.
“Yup. I actually met them by accident,” she replies.
“How'd that happen?” he asks.
“My parents had barely been married a year and a half when my mom got pregnant. She was excited while my dad was apprehensive,” she replies.
“Why?” he asked. 
“Because he was sent to America to work for Cordonia, not get married and have a kid,” she replied.
Marquise nodded.
“I met them after the betrothal agreement was signed.”
“How old were you?” he asked.
“I was 10 months old. As I said before, I met them by accident,” she replies.
“How?” he asks.
“My dad had gone to the store for milk and eggs and more baby food. While my mom stayed and worked on her thesis paper,” she replies.
“Where were you?” 
“I was in my room sleeping. It was naptime for me.”
“Where did you all live? Embassy Row?” 
“Nope. We lived here at the apartment where I am now at the Consulate.”
“So what happened?”
“As I said, my dad was gone and it was just me and my mom. It was a pretty typical Saturday. Until there was a knock at the front door. My mom went to open the door and when she did there stood my grandparents.”
“Awkward…” 
“Very. According to my mom, they stared at her and she stared back at them until my grandfather asked her who she was. That's when it clicked that mommy was staring at her in-laws.”
“Yikes!”
“Oh, it gets better. So when my mom realized who they were, she said ‘you must be Damien’s parents’.”
“Wait! She addressed the former Iron King of South Cordonia like a common parent?” Marquise asked with a cackle.
“Yup. And that's when my grandfather said,  ‘young lady my name is King Dominic Miller. And this is my wife Queen Angelique. And we're here to see our son Prince Damien. Thank you’, according to her.”
“Well did she let them in or make them stand there?”
“I'm getting to that! Of course, she let them in. She had to move some of her papers and books out of the way first before they could sit down. And about 10 minutes after my grandparents arrived, my dad showed up carrying grocery bags. Much to his mother’s horror.”
“Oh. My. God!”
“You see, the former King and Queen didn't inform their youngest son they were coming. Based on a suggestion made by their eldest son.”
“Your uncle didn't tell them about you and your mom?” he asks.
“Nope. He thought it best they find out about us on their own,” she replies.
“So he set your father up?” he asked.
“Yup. They wanted to surprise him and boy did he get a surprise. And so did they,” she replies.
“Wow!”
“Just wait. I'm just getting to the good part. When my dad walked in, my mom looked at him and was like ‘when were you gonna tell me your parents were coming?’ to which my poor dumb daddy goes ‘I couldn't tell you because I had no idea they were coming.’”
Marquise cackled. 
“So after my dad set the groceries down, my grandfather asked him who this common woman was, meaning my mom, and why was she there. And just as my mom got ready to respond, guess who woke up from their nap and was very fussy.”
“Uh oh!”
“Yeah. So my mom disappeared into my room and when she reemerged, she had me on her hip. My grandparents were stunned.”
Marquise stared at her.
“That's when my dad took me from my mom and turned to his parents and said ‘Father, mother, this is Shantel. My wife of two years. And this beautiful little girl is Shanelle. Our daughter. Your granddaughter.’ and as I said, his parents were stunned.” 
“You know your grandfather had a reputation for being everything but quiet right?” he asks.
“That's what I've heard about him,” she replied.
“So what else happened?”
“After several minutes of my dad’s parents being in shock, his mother finally spoke up and asked if she could hold me. And he placed me in her arms. Which was a miracle, because when I was a baby, I didn't like being held by anyone except my parents and my grandma Venita. Apparently, my grandmother had this diamond brooch on her jacket lapel that I kept reaching for, and she took it off and gave it to me to hold. And that was the first time I had ever smiled at her.” 
“Wow.”
“Apparently, I looked over at my grandfather and crawled into his lap and was giggling and waving my grandmother's brooch around. And according to my dad, that was the moment I melted my grandfather's heart.”
“Wow!”
Shanelle shrugged.
“I am their oldest grandchild after all. Anyways, after watching me play in my grandfather's arms, my grandmother asked my dad why he didn't tell them about me and my mom sooner.”
“What did he say?” 
“He was honest. He said he just knew that if he showed up with my mom and me, they would reject his new family and disown him. And he couldn't take the risk of losing his family. Besides, he didn't want me to grow up in the palace. He wanted me to have as normal of a life as possible.” 
Marquise nodded.
“So your dad does have a backbone?”
Shanelle snickered.
“I mean it's flimsy but yes, he has one.”
“What did your grandfather say to all that?” he asks.
“He was furious with my dad. According to my mom, he said he still should have been told that he had a granddaughter. And he was hurt and disappointed that my dad would think that they'd disown him. Because at that time, I was the oldest living child in the family, that meant that I would be the new heir to the throne.” 
“You?” he asked.
“Yup. Me. Because you have to remember, Edward was not married and had no children. Which meant that if he died after taking the throne, South Cordonia would be without a Monarch. But because my dad had me…” she trailed off.
Marquise nodded.
“South Cordonia would have their Monarch.”
“Bingo! But that's not why he didn't tell them.”
“Why didn't he say anything?” he asked.
“He was afraid that something called a Coventus Nobilis would be called?”
Marquise whistled low.
“Yikes! No wonder he was afraid.”
“But why? What is a Coventus Nobilis?” she asks.
Marquise sighed.
“It's an old and antiquated law that dates back to when the 7 Great Houses Of Cordonia were the ruling body of all Cordonia,” he replied.
“What does that mean?” 
“A Coventus Nobilis is a vote of no confidence.”
“No confidence in what?”
“If the safety and upbringing of a Royal heir is ever called into question by a Head Of House, a Coventus Nobilis can be convened to address the matter. And a vote of no confidence must be unanimously approved.”
“You're not making any sense.”
“Had a vote of no confidence been reached, your parents would've been stripped of custody of you.”
“WHAT?!”
“As I said, it's an old and antiquated law. It hasn't been called upon since at least the 1600s.”
“Can it be changed?” she asked.
“Nope. All Monarchs are forbidden from ever touching the law. That's what your father was really afraid of. And that's probably why he agreed to the betrothal agreement. It protected you in case your grandfather had the law called upon as King and tried to have you taken away from your parents.” he replied. 
“He wouldn't have done that.”
“Shanelle, your grandfather was notoriously known as the Iron King. I'll let you figure out the rest.”
Shanelle exhaled slowly.
“Well, that explains why my grandfather extended his retirement by at least a year.”
“I remember that. Kinda.”
“Yeah, he extended it so I could have my coronation when I was 18 months old. That was the first time I had ever traveled to Cordonia. And it was on Easter Sunday so I had on my Easter Sunday dress with bows, barrettes, and those white shoes with frilly white socks. And because I was granted a title, my mom was too.”
“I'm sure. Your grandfather had to grant her a title. She was the Mother Of The Heir at the time.”
“But all I cared about that day was eating my first ever sugarcake. It was my grandmother's favorite too. That's why I love it so much. It came from her favorite bakery in Gianko.”
“I know that bakery. They make amazing Paninis.”
“Of course, you know it. You live there.”
Marquise smirked.
“I don’t remember much about it but, one of the last things my grandparents did with me before they died was they commissioned two portraits. An official Royal portrait of me with my parents and a portrait of me with the two of them.”
“Really?” he asks.
“Yup. Daddy is actually in Cordonia now. He always goes back for a month to lay flowers at his parent's graves. That and to bring me back a box of sugarcakes. Anyway, according to my dad, he hasn't seen those portraits in years. He thinks Edward may have gotten rid of them after their parents died.” she replies.
“Nah. He didn't. I can assure you of that.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because it's illegal to do so. Instead, he would've had to turn them over to the Cordonian Hall Of Archives.”
“Oh.”
Marquise noticed she was biting her lower lip.
“Shanelle?” 
She let her bottom lip slip from in between her teeth.
“Huh?”
“You're biting your lip.”
“So?”
Marquise shook his head with a smirk.
“You only do that when you're scared to ask a question.”
She went quiet.
“Is there something that you want?” he asks.
She nodded her head yes.
“What is it, Princess? What do you want?” 
“Will you look in the Archives for the portraits?” she asked.
“I mean of course I can. But why would I do that when it serves me no purpose?” he replies.
“You're gonna make me explain why I want you to look aren't you?” she asked.
“Naturally,” he replies. 
Shanelle whined.
“My dad’s birthday is coming up and I want to be able to give him something special when he comes home. Also, I would love to have something to remember my grandparents by.”
“Very good. So you can be taught, I see.”
“Don't make me regret asking.”
“You won't. I'll put the call in to have them retrieved and sent to you before he leaves here. Shall I have them gift-wrapped as well?”
Shanelle snickered.
“I know you’re being funny but yes, I would like it if you could have them wrapped.”
“Consider it done.”
She smiled before hiding a yawn.
“Sorry about that.”
“Don't be. You should go get some sleep. I'll talk to you soon.”
“Goodnight Your Highness.”
“Goodnight my future wife,” he replied with a smirk.
Shanelle rolled her eyes before ending the call. 
Sure enough, the portraits arrived a few weeks later gift-wrapped and in pristine condition. They arrived two days before she moved back home to New York just in time for her father's birthday. When she moved back in with her parents she had the portraits stored in the attic. 
Being home felt good and weird at the same time. She had her job working for her dad's office at the United Nations. She had her friends who were happy to have her home for more girls' nights and gossip. She even had endless other suitors that were interested in her. Each suitor was wealthy, connected, and powerful. But none of them were as wealthy, connected, or powerful as the Prince. 
Also, most of them were boring, stuck up, narcissistic, stuffy, and stiff. They were perfect for someone that didn't want anything out of life. Not her. She wasn't trying to be some diplomat’s smiling trophy. And at the end of the day, that's what she would be with those other men. So she skipped them and stuck with the one man that wouldn't turn her into the black version of a Stepford Wife. The Prince. 
You have reached the end of part 1! Stay tuned for the next part!
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little-cereal-draws · 2 years
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Hi feel free to respond to this privately but Hi, i love your animated videos, especially the shadows ones! What program(s) do you use if you don’t mind me asking and do u have any tips? I would love to start doing animatics but idk how/where to start. Thanks in advance! ^^
Hello! I'm so glad that you enjoyed my videos! My software is not fancy at all and might be a bit of a letdown tbh lol
For drawing I used to use Paint tool sai (which i think is what a lot of ppl use) but it wasn't working right on my computer, it wouldn't let me save my images. I got it off of some Japanese website and it was $19 (USD). Now I use the app that came with my computer. I have a Windows computer. It's called Sketchbook (oOoOh, so fancy lol) and it is limited in terms of brushes and pen pressure but I like it. Very easy to figure out. I also have Krita which I think I had to pay for. I don't remember how much tho, I want to say $15 (USD)?? Maybe? It is much more complex and lets you do things like animate but I don't use it bc I'm too lazy to figure it out lol I know there's a lot of great tutorials online tho. I also know a lot of ppl use Procreate which is much better especially in terms of brushes but it's not compatible w my computer :( Procreate costs $10 (USD) I think.
As for editing, I use Shotcut. It's a free software that I downloaded from somewhere, I don't remember. It is definitely limited in terms of filters, camera angles, and what you can put in it but hey, it's free! The one thing I hate the most abt it is you can't pan. It drives me insane. But it has zoom, text, filters, etc. I used to use Filmora which is also free but is even more limited and I think it puts a watermark on your videos.
Now for tips!
Uhh, I guess the most obvious is practice. I started doing animatics four years ago and I can't watch any of my old ones now, they're so bad lol
Another thing is vary your shot type. If you have a couple ppl doing smth together, do close ups, medium shots, and wide shots. Try different camera angles. It's ok to do the same type of shot a couple times in a row but after a while it can get boring.
An extension of the last point, if a character does smth like knock a thing over or move it or whatever, show the object moving and then their reaction. Reaction shots are very important for character's emotions. Wide shots to establish a setting.
As an extension of that point, watch your favorite show/movie and watch how they film it, when they zoom in, how they frame the characters etc. I've spent so much time doing that lol (WWDITS might not be the best example bc it's a documentary but it should still work pretty well)
In terms of moving characters/making it smooth, layers are going to be ur best friend lol I end up with so many layers when I make a video. It's partially because I'm scared to delete layers in case I need them later but it's also helpful to see a character's last position. If they're on the left and need to move to the right, draw them on the left, copy the layer, and move the new layer a little bit using the original one as a reference point. Continue until they've made it. Same thing if they're moving their hand up or whatever. Use old layers as reference points to avoid jumpiness.
Because animating/drawing in general is hard and time consuming and I'm lazy I try to reuse shots/poses as much as I can. Again if you have a character going from left to right and then later in the video going right to left, save the left to right layers. You can just flip them to make it look like they're going right to left and now you don't have to draw it again! This can be tricky tho bc you don't want your video to get repetitive like I said before. So do it but do it sparingly lol
THUMBNAIL FIRST! This is very helpful. Just make a bunch of little boxes with stick figures mapping out what's going to happen in ur video. It doesn't have to look good at all, it's just so you don't forget what's going to happen/get lost. This is mine for the video of Laszlo and Nadja dancing:
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I put notes on this one so I remember what the actions and camera angles are. Since I was copying an already choregraphed dance here, I did that in black and then put in more interesting camera angles in blue on a different layer so it wasn't two minutes of the same full body shot
And uh yeah I think that's it! Hopefully this is helpful!
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