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lovelykhaleesiii · 3 years

Text

Newcomer: Chapter 2

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x fem!Reader

Words: 2.3k

Summary: The Outer Banks was a place you’d only heard of until recently. The unfolding changes in your life had led you to this very moment, and it appears you still have much to learn...

Warnings: swearing, (***) minor time jumps

A/N - sorry for the delay, had a huge assignment due and work <3 I know this is a slow ass start to the series, but trust I’m trying to build momentum LMAO

It had been just over a week, and seemingly still trying to settle in. Majority of your belongings, clothes and other sentiments have now been unpacked and neatly placed away in their new space, although you felt the hardest part wasn’t over just yet. Yourself, Caleb and Anya still struggled to find your way around town, mostly succumbing to the help of Topper, who despite initially being ever so welcoming, had grown slightly agitated from the coercion of having to always help. He’d be dragged out of whatever event or plans he had made, just to help out, especially during the grueling days of the unpacking stages of moving. Not to mention the not so discrete argument you’d overheard, just a few days ago, that he had with his mother, complaining about not being able to enjoy his own summer break.

You couldn’t deny that your presence did somewhat impede on his break, therefore, the guilt was there. You knew you’d have to start taking on some accountability, with or without Topper’s help.

“Y/N, can we just run to the store real quick, I need to grab a few things and you know how hopeless I am with directions…Please, come with, or else I’ll have to get Topper and we both know how much he loves-”

“Yeah, yeah-”

With a reluctant sigh, you tagged the page you’d just turned over in your book and propped yourself off the bed, adjusting your midi skirt before nodding in agreement.

One of the most convenient things about the Outer Banks was that nearly everything was within walking distance. It gave you a chance to explore the scenic landscape and water front, and perhaps even chat with a few of the locals you hadn’t yet properly met.

“So, how are things looking with that JJ guy? He seems pretty cute,” You intrigued, nudging your sister’s shoulder into conversation.

“Yeah he’s great actually, he's a really funny guy. He, uhm, he wants to meet but-”

“But what, Anya? That’s exciting! We sure could do with someone else’s company that isn’t Topper.”

“Yeah, I know but, I, well we, don’t really know him that well. Who’s to say he isn’t some sociopath, Y/N.”

“I highly doubt anyone around here is a psychopath, Anya. Look around, this is a place people come around to relax or retire.”

“Don’t speak too soon, Y/N…”

For some odd reason, you hesitated in a response. Anya was right, you had no familiarity with the people of Outer Banks, although it just seemed like an outrageous place for crime. Ever since arriving, you felt some unexplainable ease here.

“But I mean yeah sure. I’ll probably meet up with JJ some time… In public though, and you need to promise me that you’ll be on the lookout. Not like you’re busy with any plans at the moment, huh,” Anya remarks, as you appeasingly roll your eyes: God she could be so paranoid.

“Yeah, yeah. I promise. Think we turn right up ahead-”

Continuing right on the pathway, you could just faintly decipher the movement of people bustling in and out of the stores, and with that a wave of relief settled over you. Seemed like you knew your way around after all, having doubts along each turn of the walk.

“Make this quick, Anya, the sun’s starting to set, okay.”

��Whatever, Mum!” Anya quips, before rushing off into the convenience store, leaving your lonesome self outside waiting.

You watched the crowd across the street at the diner, enjoying their dinner, as you observed the locals in action, contemplating who was who, as you heard Evelyn exchange many names with your father over endless dinner conversations.

One name that stuck by you was “Cameron.”

Evelyn mentioned it countless of times, although you’d simply assumed they were one of the many well-known families that had established themselves in town. There wasn’t much else you knew, or wanted to know. You hardly met anyone else outside of the house, nor were you in any rush to.

“Hey!-”

Instantly snapping from your extensive thoughts, the familiar voice dragged you back to reality, as you turned your sight to its direction.

“It’s Y/N, right? Anya’s sister! It’s me, JJ, the waiter-”

“Yeah, of course, I remember you-”

As formal and proper as your manners from childhood were, just as you’d gone in for a handshake, JJ wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in warmly for a friendly embrace, before letting you go.

It had caught you off-guard, although not at all in a distasteful way.

“How are you? How’s Anya?” He asked, folding his arms as he leant against the wooden post of the front deck.

“Yeah we’re good! I’m sure Anya’s kept you posted, we’ve pretty much moved in now. How about you? I haven't seen you around.”

“Yeah, I’ve been pretty good! Oh that’s great to hear, that would mean you guys are free to come to the Boneyard tonight!”

“The what?”

“The Boneyard? Where we have this party with a kegger, Topper didn’t tell you?”

By the puzzled expression reeked across your face, JJ knew to take that as an immediate no, not questioning it any further.

“Well if you’d like, I could meet with you guys later and escort you there myself. There’s a few friends of mine I’d like to introduce you guys to.”

“Yeah, sure. That would be lovely, JJ-”

And as perfect as the timing could get, Anya returned from her little store run, stunned by JJ’s unexpected presence.

“Anya- I was just telling Y/N, I’d love to take you guys out tonight to the Boneyard, I was going to text you about it before, but something with my Dad-”

“That’s fine, but we just don’t know where exactly the Boneyard is.”

“That’s okay, JJ’s got us covered,” You exclaimed, before exchanging a friendly wink to JJ who just managed to catch it.

***

“You texted JJ our address right?” You persisted, growing anxious by the thought that perhaps JJ might’ve forgotten about you two.

“Yes, for the last time Y/N could you just relax. He should be here any minute now!”

And just on cue, in the close distance, the roaring sound of an old engine with dull headlights belonging to one of those old, retro “hippie” vans had pulled up through your drive-way. JJ’s head popped out excitedly by the window, waving for you guys to join, and immediately you both walked over.

It was difficult to convince your father of going out tonight, in fact, he’d been pestering you both to get out and mingle. As soon as you’d both approached him with the idea of heading out to some party, he leaped with relief, and encouraged you both to take up the offer. He was easy going like that, trusted you both knowing how well he’d raised you both. Of course, he covered some basic ground-rules: no drinking, no drugs, no smoking.

By the time you’d both arrived to the van, you could just make out the silhouettes of some figures inside the van through the grimey windows. JJ was out of the van, as the courteous man that he was, pulling the side door right open.

“John B-” Pointing to the boy on the driver’s seat, who gave you a friendly wave, made himself known.

“Kie-” A lovely, young girl, exchanged a gracious smile and nod to both Anya and yourself, before JJ finally introduced “And this is Pope-”, a young, pleasant man sat beside Kie.

“Guys this is Anya, and her older sister Y/N. They just moved here like a week ago.”

“Nice to meet you all, thanks for letting us join you guys tonight-” You warmly proclaimed, before gesturing Anya into the van with you following her behind.

As JJ was carefully closing the door behind you, John B mentioned how JJ spoke of you two, confessing you to be the “mystery newcomers” before kindly welcoming you to the Outer Banks.

You felt Kie’s over gaze fall between yourself and Anya, and felt somewhat intimidated, although it there was no threatening intent to it, however more of a protective sentiment.

“So you guys are Kooks, huh?” Kie blatantly questioned, before Pope nudged his elbow into her, as though to signal her to stop whatever interrogation she had planned.

“Sorry, what?”- Anya questioned in response, frowning as she looked around the van, back to you.

“Kie, stop. They don’t know about any of that stuff. Just drop it, okay!” JJ insisted, as he ran his fingers through his blonde locks, almost in frustration.

“We really have no idea what this whole Pogue-Kook business is, but perhaps you could enlighten us one day, Kie-” You suggested, as amiable as possible, not wanting to already cross the line with the few locals you’d just met.

“I sure will, I just can’t believe you guys live with Topper. He’s such an-”

“Ass?-” Anya intervened, finishing off Kie’s sentence precisely the way she intended, making Kie smile in agreement.

“Yeah, I don’t think he likes us very much,” Anya confessed, and as much as you hated “gossiping”, you couldn’t deny this one.

“Well Kie, you’re on to talk… What about your Kook year?” John B laughingly mocked, as Kie infuriatingly shoved his shoulder.

“S-So what exactly is the difference between a Pogue and a Kook?” You intriguingly questioned, shifting your gaze from Kie to Pope.

“Well, to put it short, Pogues live on the Cut, which I assume Topper would rather die than enter. Whereas yourselves and our Kie here, live on Figure 8,” Pope answered.

“So it’s just a social class thing?” You quipped, being reminded again of how very unprogressive things were around the Outer Banks.

“Exactly!-” Kie shouted, a hint of relief, as though finally finding someone who’d shared mutual understanding with her cause.

“I mean there’s more to it-” JJ added.

“But it’s best if you guys don’t get as involved, your only just new here-” He calmly reassured.

“Just keep an eye out for the Kooks, they usually come to these sort of events anyways for the booze they can’t afford-” Kie ridiculed.

“Yeah, especially Rafe-” Pope uttered, his tone reeking of bitterness to the name.

“Wait-Who exactly is that? The name just sounds familiar-” You brush off, not wanting to vex Pope any further.

“Good God, he’s the worst of the worst-” Pope scorned.

“An asshole-” Kie provoked.

“He’s the older brother of Sarah Cameron, I’m sure you’ve met her. She’s Topper’s girlfriend,” John B confessed.

“HA! Topper has a girlfriend, since when?!” Anya broke out mockingly laughing: as Kie and JJ chuckled to her comedic outburst.

“He must be that bad, huh?” You uttered, as the rest began to settle themselves.

“He’s a terrible person, Y/N. If I was you guys, I’d avoid him at all costs,-” Pope insisted, although by the seriousness of his voice, it seemed more of a warning than anything.

***

The Boneyard was a secluded location of the island, where the ashy white trunks of dead logs were arranged in a way to accompany large crowds, and rowdy parties far from the complaints of the adults. As you’d all arrived, kegs ready at the hand, the party had already commenced, as people from which John B described had consisted of Pogues, Kook and tourists. Regardless, all strangers to you.

As you finally eased yourself into that party mood, you found yourself enjoying the company of the Pogues, they were quite the friendly bunch. And it seemed ANya was letting loose as well, no thanks to her new-found companions: it always seemed like an impossible mission for Anya to enjoy herself, although witnessing her from the standpoint of a bystander, you felt comforted.

“I’m just going to go grab myself a drink-” You assured John B, as he nodded in agreement.

As you crammed yourself through the crowd, you felt a tight grip pulling on your elbow, making you topple in the direction of whomever it was that grabbed you.

“Topper, what the fuck?”

“How the hell did you get here, let alone find out about this?” He exclaimed, by the faint smell of the beer oozing with each breath, you could tell he was slowly becoming intoxicated.

“No thanks to you-” You snapped, before jolting your arm out of his strained grip.

“Seriously, Y/N. Does your Dad even know you’re here?”

Before you could even respond, some sort of internal sixth sense, felt an intense pair of eyes on you. As you shifted your gaze, to a bunch of people standing behind Topper, you’d immediately recognised his face.

For some odd reason you felt a shiver crawl down your spine, as though in fright of seeing some ghostly figure. His intense, blue eyes just fixated on you and only you, as he took sips of his drink, with one hand snugged away in a front pocket. It seemed he was in conversation with a bunch of other guys, all dressed quite similarly to one another in their polo shirts and summer shorts, and yet he was not at all engaged... Only to you.

“Earth to Y/N!” Topper loudly interjected, stirring you to snap back, as you fixed your view on him.

“Y-Yes, yes he does. Now could you just let me be?”

And before you knew it, you instinctively stormed off, before Topper had the chance to drunkenly question you any longer. As you disappeared into the crowd, heading for the kegger, your mind persisted in contemplation.

That was Rafe, surely. You vividly remembered the whole, minor incident during your first encounter with him.

After what the Pogues had confessed about him, and by his looming nature, you’d never felt so unnerved by someone, you’d in fact, never even met.

But why?

TAGLIST - @juliep7654 @foggybanditgardenprune

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glowingbadger · 3 years

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You may have a little Lorenz Prompt as promised. As a treat. Here goes~

Lorenz taking thorough notes to surprise his s/o (is it the blog owner? the reader? some random character? It doesn't matter~!) with the most lovely, romantic date imaginable based around everything they like. He wouldn't put in this much effort to TRULY impress someone, but you're worth every step and more.

Enjoy where this takes your thoughts~!

(and pls don't eat it, Tumblr)

Y'know what, I've had a shitty day and I just finished writing some darker content- so I am going to ~indulge~. Normally I try to make my Reader character as broadly relatable as possible, but today we're going with MY preferences and interests because I WANT A NICE DATE WITH LORENZ GODDAMNIT

Lorenz (FE3H) x GN Reader - perfect date

Fluff - SFW

Today simply has to be flawless- the Gloucester heir will not accept any less. Not when it comes to you. Of course, Lorenz holds himself to high standards in all things, but the thought of providing anything less than perfection for you is one that pains him to even consider. Especially now that he'd finally gotten the courage- or, rather, found the right and proper time to ask you to spend the day with him.

You approach him at the Monastery gates not long after noon that day, and find your pace slowing as you eye him before he's noticed you. Without his usual elegant set of armor, you can appreciate the way constant marching and training has toned his slender frame- and appreciate it, you most certainly do. Though he soon turns to face you, and your eyes dart back up from a rather ignoble place to meet his instead.

"You're as radiant as ever, I see," he says with a warm smile. He offers you an arm and you take it, replying with a grin,

"You've already got me for the day, Lorenz, there's no need for flattery."

"'Flattery' implies a measure of falsehood," he says with confidence, leading you towards town, "and I could never bring myself to lie to one so lovely."

As your time together proceeds, you can't help but feel that, some way, somehow, Lorenz has some kind of psychic insight into your preferences. Everywhere you turn, whatever your heart could desire is immediately available and set before you with hardly any negotiation at play. At the first flower stall you find, Lorenz takes a moment to exchange words with the owner while you admire the sprawling array of colorful blooms; and by the time he's returned, he's holding a woven crown of delicate little white flowers. With an admiring smile, he carefully places it on your head, a hand trailing down a lock of your hair as he pulls away to observe you.

With a shy grin, you perform an exaggerated curtsy, prompting Lorenz to laugh fondly and take you by the hand. He twirls you slowly under his arm, watching you all the while, then says,

"They suit you every bit as wonderfully as I'd thought."

"They're my favorites," you reply.

"I know- erm, that is- I know of a superb bakery down the block this way," Lorenz seems a bit red in the face, but you chalk that up to nerves.

He's not wrong though- this bakery is something else. The selection and quality of ingredients is on an entirely new level compared to the Monastery's dining hall, and you find yourself overwhelmed even reading down the list of items posted to the wall. By your third pass over the full range of options, the words are starting to dance in your eyes- but a warm touch at your arm shakes your focus. Lorenz leans close to be heard over the rapidly growing crowd at the bakery's counter,

"Might I make a recommendation?" you nod, and he goes on, "I happen to have it on good authority that there's an item not included on this menu that you may like. It incorporates three different treatments of Brigid cocoa, if that is of any interest to you."

Your eyes light up and you can practically feel the rich sweetness across your tongue already.

"That sounds incredible," you reply, enraptured by the very thought. When you start to ask how he'd heard of such a thing, Lorenz has already turned to speak to the worker taking orders, and your words drown among the crowd of customers. The speed at which he acquires this mythical pastry only fills your mind with more questions. How did he manage to purchase an off-menu item so quickly? Wouldn't the cost of something requiring those many luxurious imported ingredients be astronomical?

But then, Lorenz returns to your side and guides you out of the crowded shop, and the sight of the delectable chocolatey treat in his hands dashes all other thoughts from your mind. He hands it to you wrapped in a handkerchief, and you can't help but immediately plunge in for a bite.

"Mmmm-!" you wear an expression of pure bliss as your mouth fills with sweet, savory chocolate, "Oh- Lorenz, it's so good!"

When you glance up at him, he's watching you with a strangely heavy expression. Once more, his fair complexion is painted a light red. You tilt your head curiously, and he seems to resurface from whatever thoughts had taken him for the moment.

"Here- you should try some," you break off a piece and hold it up to him.

"Are- are you certain? I had intended for you to enjoy it to your heart's content," he stammers out, evidently still a bit flushed.

"I want you to get to have some too. Please?" You hate to resort to puppy eyes with him, but it's hard to argue with the results. He leans forward and accepts the piece of pastry from your hand. You don't shy away from him in the slightest, and so a brief brush of his lower lip along the tip of your finger simply can't be avoided. Lorenz does his best to move past this without acknowledgement, and you two enjoy your treat together as you take in the bustle of the town around you.

The day continues in kind, with Lorenz apparently having painstakingly arranged every element of this date from start to finish. At a local seller of antiques and luxury goods, he secures permission to view and explore rare and dazzling paintings from around the world. Here, he's rather uncharacteristically reserved. Wandering the storage area like your own personal art museum, he watches you with evident warmth as you exclaim at the rich and varied pigments, the innovative expressions of human form, and so on.

After this, he brings you to a tavern at the far end of town, where he's reserved the second floor exclusively for you two to enjoy a quiet, intimate meal together. By this point, you've finally gotten around to considering just how much gold must have gone into this singular date.

"Lorenz," you say cautiously, "are you sure it's okay to go through all of this and spend so much just for-"

He raises a hand to cut you off, then replies,

"I assure you that it is," he takes your hand in his, holding it warmly from across your private table, "wealth has no value that we ourselves do not assign to it, and I have chosen to spend it on your pleasure. I can think of no greater use for a bit of coin."

The rest of the early evening is filled with pleasant chat and the occasional subtle sweet-talk. As you discuss everything you've seen and experienced that day, Lorenz engages you with surprisingly astute comments and observations. He's always at his best when he feels permitted to simply talk with you, as one person to another, free of the pressures and expectations of his birthright that he shoulders without a thought.

The sun is steadily lowering behind the hills and walls of the surrounding town by the time you make your way back together. As you walk hand in hand watching the Monastery gates rise ahead of you, Lorenz clears his throat abruptly and says,

"If I may steal you away for just a little while longer, there was... actually someone I thought you'd like to meet."

"Oh? What an honor," you say with a smile, "Do I get any hints?"

Lorenz gives a good-natured chuckle and says,

"Only that I think you'll get along splendidly."

And of all places throughout Garreg Mach's grounds, you begin to recognize that he is leading you towards the stables. You've met Lorenz's horse before- a lovely mare with a calm and agreeable temperment. If not her, then...

"Eloise?" Lorenz calls out in a gentle voice, "Eloise, come say hello- Ellie? Come now, don't tell me you've chosen tonight to become bashful..." at his call, a svelte black cat with delicate little white paws comes trotting out to meet you. Your heart positively aches and melts at the sight of her eagerly approaching Lorenz with clear comfort and familiarity.

"Lorenz, you... have a cat?" You say with obvious disbelief.

"She's one of the Monastery's strays, to be clear," he says, "She helps with the mice in the stables. Evidently, she had become quite fond of my preferred horse- and so eventually became fond of me as well."

Fond seems an understatement- she very clearly adores him. With a chorus of happy little mews, she circles his legs and rubs against him until he crouches down to offer her his hand. As he does, a shred of parchment flutters from his pocket onto the ground. Eloise targets it like a seasoned warrior and pounces at it with gusto. With a laugh, you kneel down to retrieve whatever this paper she's captured might be.

"Now Eloise, none of that- you must behave genteel-like with guests."

As he firmly lectures the cat, you glance at the paper in your hand. Nearly every inch of it is covered in an elegant, curling script that you imagine must belong to Lorenz. It looks like a... list of some kind. As your eyes scan down the page, you begin to recognize a pattern. Your favorite flowers, favorite desserts, favorite types of books and places around town- plus, to the side, the word "cats?" underlined several times. For a moment, you simply cover your mouth to hold in a snort of laughter. Then, you come to kneel beside Lorenz as he's failing to convince his feline friend to stop swatting at his hair.

"So- you've been taking very thorough notes lately." you say, nudging his arm playfully. He turns to face you with an immediate look of panic. Lavender eyes widen and glance down to the parchment in your hand, then back to you. He visibly deflates and says,

"Goddess- you must find me such a fool-"

You press your lips firmly to his before he can say another word. With a soft noise of surprise, his eyes flutter shut and he leans into your kiss. His lips are wonderfully soft, and the subtle scent of his cologne surrounds your senses as you tilt your head to seal your lips to his more firmly. You're not certain how long you remain like this, but only the dull ache of kneeling on the dirt and the incessant sound of Eloise bapping her paw against the paper in your hand bring you back to your surroundings. When you part from him, you brush aside the silky curtain of his hair to run your hand along his face, and say,

"I had a wonderful time today, Lorenz- and it means the world to me that you put so much thought into this. But next time, you don't have to study so hard, okay?"

For a moment, he seems speechless. Then, he gives a shy chuckle.

"You have bested me yet again, it would seem. How can I ever hope to become a man worthy of you when you are ever more lovely with each passing day?"

Eloise gives an insistent chirp and rubs once more against his leg, evidently tired of distractions from the attention she feels she's owed. Your smile widens, and you scratch her ear fondly.

"I think there's at least two of us who like you just as you are, Lorenz."

#no one's gonna read this why is it so long #fe3h #feh #lorenz hellman gloucester #lorenz x reader #fire emblem #fire emblem x reader #fire emblem imagines #fire emblem fic #fluff #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem fluff

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emma-what-son · 3 years

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(Echee post) Emma Watson criticises 'dangerously unhealthy' pressure on young women

Posted on March 30 2014

From theguardian.com March 2014 Emma Watson has criticised the "dangerously unhealthy" image projected by the fashion industry and said the pressure to look perfect has taken its toll on her. The actor has also described her doomed attempts to merge into the background as a student at an American university, where she found herself being trailed everywhere by British photographers. After the recent New York premiere of Noah, she tweeted a photograph of the array of cosmetics – and a guardian angel pin – that she said were essential aids to her flawless appearance, and another of herself in a backless dress captioned: "I did NOT wake up like this." The actress said she is better at taking criticism these days than she once was. "As a younger woman, that pressure got me down, but I've made my peace with it. With airbrushing and digital manipulation, fashion can project an unobtainable image that's dangerously unhealthy. I'm excited about the ageing process. I'm more interested in women who aren't perfect. They're more compelling." Watson became famous playing Hermione Granger in the Harry Potter movies and has been constantly in work since. She is about to start filming a thriller, Regression, by Alejandro Amenábar and is also trying to complete her degree at Brown University, Rhode Island. She enrolled in 2009 for what would have been a four year course, but has taken several breaks for film work, and spent a year studying at Oxford. "After Harry Potter, all that mattered was university," she said, in an interview with the Sunday Times. "It wasn't always easy to break down barriers, as having men from the British press following me with cameras didn't help my mission to integrate. The American press, by contrast, "afforded me so much privacy", but her fellow students recognised her at once. "On the first day, I walked into the canteen and everyone went completely silent and turned around to look at me. I had to say to myself 'it's OK, you can do this'. You just have to take a deep breath and gather your courage."

GUARDIAN COMMENTERS SAY: So something like this Burberry campaign she did a few years ago? Hypocrisy at its finest. She flaunts with the fashion industry and enjoys its perks all the time, but hops on the 'female beauty' bandwagon and enjoys a moan when it suits her. I'd find her socially conscientious pleas convincing if she hadn't profited in the hundreds of thousands (if not millions) from the big, bad, evil fashion/beauty industry. A few years ago, Emma Watson appeared in high-profile advertising companies for posh Paris fashion house L'ancome. I'm guessing she was handsomely remunerated for her 'work'. Certainly she was not forced into letting her photo shopped image be used to market expensive cosmetics and perfumes. Did she only discover how 'oppressive' the fashion industry is when L'ancome cancelled her lucrative contract? Ms Watson is essentially a third-rate actress, and her pronouncements on large and complex issues, such as the pressures on women, are so idiotically vapid that one is brought to conclude that she really can have very little aptitude for higher education. I mean, her comments are hardly indicative of an educated person, or even of a moderately literate or intelligent person. By the way, I understand that she spent a year at Oxford as a visiting and/or exchange student while enrolled at Brown. How come? She is a British national, and so by rights she should not have gone to Oxford on a visiting/exchange student programme, irrespective of whether she happens a student at an American university. If I am wrong about this, then I should like to have some explanation as to her status at Oxford, and how she came by it. Otherwise, I suppose that one might be forgiven for thinking that it is yet another case of a once respectable academic institutions bowing down before the false idols of celebrity and money. (This is quite apart from the fact that all that one has read about her since she began life as a student concerns her acting career, her modeling and her various boyfriends.) SOME COMMENTS FROM THE DM ARTICLE Notice how it's always people who are very aware of how attractive they are that babble on about how it's okay to have physical blemishes? I'd like to see an ugly person say the same thing. Only someone young, beautiful and with her whole life before her can say that, and mean it. Sometimes, her comments maKe her more stupid. Get lost and Wingardium Leviosa. What a daft thing to say. But, then again, this is coming from someone who can't seem to finish uni. I feel like I've aged about 10 years reading this article. Annoying girl. Not only annoying, but also pretentious and disingenuous. ^None of this is my words. It from commentators from two sites emma-what-son posted many more so check out her page

Here's what I think As for what she is saying about Brown it's a complete 180 from how she described it before 2013. In 2013 she started to elude to the fact it was not as great as she made it out to be. She gushed how wonderful her experiences had been to so many magazines. Now I think she's looking for pity and to have excuses why she never stayed at Brown. She preached how she was staying put. I am so fucking tired of having to post quote after quote proving my point with this when she lies time after time. She is not honest! What the truth is doesn't matter because she always lying. It's a constant thing with her. As for the pressures on women she is really a piece of work. The guardian commenters summed it up nicely. She had no problem attaching herself to Burberry and Lancôme. She's had no problem giving them praise and talking about fashion and make-up in just about every interview. That part where she talked about photo shopping and air brushing. Just wow! Did she see the Wonderland magazine she edited? Some photos it didn't even look like her. She'll continue allowing her image to be manipulated no matter what. She thinks she’s aging? She still looks 15 without all the make-up and photo shopping. Last year she was stopped at JFK because they thought she was a unaccompanied minor. Did you know one of the product she pushed when modeling for Lancôme was an anti-age cream? That's the dumbest comment in her entire interview. But really she's said this kind of stuff the last three years and most notably in 2011 where she had a various quotes about body image and being comfortable in your skin. I wont bore you with those quotes since I have before. She gets lauded for those comments and people place her in role model status but when you closely look at it they were just words that meant nothing at the time other than to make people think, “Emma is so anti-Hollywood!! She’s a role model for women and young girls” but meanwhile she never believed in any of it in the first place. At the time she said those things she was at a more healthier weight than she ever was. In 2011 you can tell she either stopped working out or ate more. I thought she looked her best then. Now she’s back to stick thin and even surpassed it a way IMO is unhealthy. She sending a bad message to women. From standard.co.uk July 2011, “She sees modeling as an extension of acting, in fact - just playing a role - but is conflicted about its demands. “I think the pressure the media and the fashion industry put on women to look a certain way is pretty intense. There’s a certain tyranny to trying to achieve that kind of beauty. I don’t know, I’m maybe not the best person to speak about this because I obviously completely adhere to it,” she laughs nervously. “ ^She really needs to start taking her own advice and quit being a judgmental hypocrite. Not just with this topic but everything she tends to speak out against that she does it herself. Recently she tweeted a photo of all this make-up and I posted this on my tumblr days ago

^Same phone in this photo is what they're using in the bottom photo that I also posted on tumblr She said something else recently (Sunday Times interview) that is just typical Emma. I covered this a few times. From emmawatsonbelgium.blogspot.be March 2014, "For someone who has starred in eight blockbuster movies and is worth an estimated £30m, she is endearingly modest about how green she felt leaving Harry Potter behind in 2011. Emerging from that magical machine was “really intimidating”, she says. “I’d done two tiny plays when I was, like, six and eight, but I wasn’t driven to act. I wasn’t doing Oscar acceptance speeches into a hairbrush." Yeah it might have no been a hairbrush but who knows she could be lying about that. She'd practice her speeches in mirrors. From telegraph.co.uk July 2007, "Pauline is utterly obsessed with being an actress and I was just like that when I was younger. I dreamt of it. I practised speeches in front of mirrors. Whenever there was a part at school, I went for it. I was probably a bit of a show-off in the sense that any chance to get up and be seen, I did it. I was such a drama queen. I used to wail and moan and cry, and little things were blown up into being big things. I don't know how my parents stood it, really. I've grown up a bit. I've had to. I actually really want to be an actress, a proper actress who makes it her career. I'm always expecting to be found out and I thought, If I'm no good, now is the time to find out." She really wants people to think she all of a sudden wants to act. What I think is she is really trying to distance herself from her lack luster post Potter career by making it out like she now wants to act and that’s why she has no lead roles because her resume does not equal her hype. The last few years she’s separated herself from “always wanted to be an actress” to “I was not sure”. She’s being disingenuous as usual and people believe it. Plus she said she did modeling so directors and producers would look at her differently so that's why she used Burberry and Lancôme. And she did a course at RADA in 2008 so if she was not sure or didn't want to than why did she do these things? One more thing from the Sunday Times interview From emmawatsonbelgium.blogspot.be March 2014, "It’s about as close as she’ll get to revealing anything about her newest relationship, with Matt Janney, rugby hunk and Oxford’s most eligible bachelor. “I can’t comment on it, I’m sorry,” she says, suddenly jumping up and hastily bundling her things back into her bag, which has exploded across the sofa beside her. “I’m trying to keep my private life sacred, although I don’t want to lock myself up and never go out. So I guard it, because I don’t date people who are famous, and I don’t think it’s fair that, all of a sudden, intimate details of their personal life are public as a direct result of me. I find that so uncomfortable, and I wish there was a way I could protect those people, but it’s not in my control.” When I suggest her boyfriends are consenting adults, she looks worried. “But you don’t choose who to love, who you have feelings for, do you?” She throws her phone into her bag and retreats home to pack, as she’s flying to LA. Just a normal girl, then, off to present an Oscar."

So she can go to international magazines and complain she can't find a man or that men are intimidated by her? She had in the past before Will Adamowicz. It was in almost every one of her interviews for a few years. So she can use Matt Janney (this new guy) on a beach in a bikini PDA session as a publicity stunt to cover up her ex boyfriend being caught rolling coke bombs and also use him to product place an iPhone in Madrid but she wants to keep it private? And she doesn't date famous guys? What about Johnny Simmons (Young Neil) and George Craig (Front man for rock group One Night Only)? If you can Google their name and you see them in movies or music videos, they're famous.

#echee #echee post

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whatdoesshedotothem · 3 years

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Friday 16 May 1834

7 5/..

12 ½

Fine – ready in an hour F57° at 8 5 - reading till 9 ½ from page 25 to 76, volume 24 British prose writers to the end of Horace Walpole’s Reminiscences. Letter from Mr Scotts’ book-keeper ‘GW. Ellis, 3 Dove street, near the Nunnery York’ to say Joseph had brought away his livery hardly worn at all and to beg me to desire him to send it back again - the poor lad brought it away in ignorance, never dreaming, as nobody said anything to him about it, that he ought to have given it back. Letter 3 pages from M- (Lawton) dated Thursday 8th inst and lastly last Tuesday night 13th instant – hoped to have heard from me – disappointed tho saying she had now no right to be so - and indeed ought not as she had neither asked me to write to her at Lawton, nor had I promised to do so - they arrived at Lawton on Tuesday 6th inst and were to leave there on Wednesday the 14th - writes to ask me to pay the ‘new servant James for a greatcoat Thomas had bought of him’- Found her scholars more stupid than formerly dined at Rode nothing interested her ‘Mary is not what she was or the same things would produce the same pleasures but it matters not’ ‘Time will do its best and worst, and after all is the short span of life worth a thought? A few short years and all is over and mine neither have given nor promise sufficient of comfort to induce a wish that they might be prolonged no one knows not, even you dearest Fred, what I have gone thro’ and at this moment I feel as little caring for the future of this world as if 24 hours would close my existence perhaps I should be thankful to know its duration was so limited – you, at least, I trust will be happy for you deserve to be so, and earnestly do I pray that it may be so’. And that those you love best may secure to you all the comfort necessary to your wishes for the present adieu then writes the more than half page of conclusion on Tuesday night Poor Mary how she has always marred her own happiness but how was it when I was so low two years ago she shewed no great pity for me. Breakfast in 20 minutes at 9 ½ wrote the above of today till 10 20 - some time out with Pickles and the rest -P- finished re-levelling the ground in front of the house before 12 and was at the railing in the afternoon with his 2 men. Had Joseph up twice for a good while about correcting his letter to Mr Ellis respecting the livery - had ½ hour’s nap. Wrote 3 pages and ends to M- as follows ‘Shibden Hall, Friday 16th May 1834. I have in this moment, my dearest Mary, received your letter dated lastly the 13th (Tuesday last) – three days from Lawton! These shews me, that my letter written on Sunday, and sent on Monday (the 12th) would reach Lawton a few hours after you were off. Surely it would be sent after you immediately and surely you have reached it ere this. Mary! I am very very sorry my pages were not with you at Lawton! - but they will convince you, you were not out of my thoughts, are not and are not likely to be – the more, my dearest Mary, I reflect upon the past, the more I am confounded at the appalling inconsistency of your conduct - that you should grieve so deeply over its consequences, is a heavy misfortune to us both. But this I can truly say, that whatever you may ‘have gone thro’ I can’t earnestly believe it to exceed the misery, the ruthless desolation of heart that fell upon myself – to me it was more sudden than the lightness glare - you had long warning – the storm came not but at your bidding, and from your own breast, sprang up the rock on which the hope of 20 years was wrecked. In pity and in common justice, remember this. Think too, that you can never have had one feeling of wounded pride to add its sting to all the rest. It was your own hand drew the card that sped the deadly shaft hope to the heart that had no shield but its affection Mary! Your aim did seem so coolly, so deliberately taken, the arrow scarce could miss her way. But no more - my regard is still perhaps worth having, and it will not be my fault if it does not serve you faithfully. For my sake, at least, take my advice this once more. Cheer up - rally round you those hopes that are scatted, rather than destroyed – let not your spirit turn coward but gather together your resources, calculate them fairly, manage them well – remember that you have a tried and steady friend who will help you to the uttermost, and, trust me, you have no need to despair of happiness even in this world. Despair is always a false calculation we can’t tell the good that may be in store for us and when our horizon seems lowest who knows that the brightest gleams of our existence are not at hand? Mary! I will do anything in the world I can for you - and surely it is my power to be a greater comfort to you than I can possibly have been, ever since the first moment when your mind became unsettled enough to entertain the 1st embryo thought of the now as it appears, strange resolve you came to, 2 years ago. But perhaps after all you were more right than you now believe. If all your tastes were indeed so changed as you told me, while mine as I honestly avowed, remained so nearly the same, how would it have answered to be still entirely dependent on each other? For you must not forget that, as the circumstance, which seems more particularly to tell you the secret of your own heart, would not then have occurred , you might still have been ignorant of it as ever, and I should not have had the strong advantage of being valued as at present. Mary! Is not this reasonable? You find travelling insupportable - you had other interest dearer than mine - you could not bear to leave Lawton - you even made a point of my promising to settle near there - and you, above all people, knew how I was situated towards my own place, where my family had lived between 2 and 3 centuries, I being the 15th possessor of my family and name. Mary! The spirit of my uncle started up before me and had my life been the sacrifice, idolatry must have yielded to honour. Mary! My dearest Mary, you thought of me too lowly then, as you think of me too highly now. Reflect upon these things - you will be happier by and by - you will trust my friendship regard implicitly and this will not be the least of the comforts that I firmly hope will attend us both – ask me to write, or to do anything. I do not feel as if I should ever disappoint you much - I have no feeling towards you but of affectionate regard and my greatest anxiety is for your welfare. But cheer up, Mary! Be comforted, my dearest Mary, if it be but for my sake. How my pen still lingers on this engrossing subject. I must answer the purport of your letter. James Clayton is no longer my servant - he came to me on the 24th ult. refused to wear Thomas’s livery - on the 26th and left me on the 28th sorry probably for his folly and not calculating that I should not retract the warning given at the moment. Mrs Williamson, Register Office for servants, Colliergate

SH:7/ML/E/17/0034

(I think it is) York, is the only person I know of likely to know anything about the man. You will see from my last, as far as I can tell at present, what I am going to be about - I shall probably be in York by 12 on Tuesday and off in an hour towards Richmond. In my aunt’s present state of health, I cannot be absent more than a week, I do not expect her surviving another winter - my father’s life, too, is very precarious, he had a very slight paralytic affection , more particularly in the left arm, 3 or 4 days ago - Marian’s attention to him is quite exemplary. Her feelings towards me seem altogether changed into what is most comfortable. God bless you my dearest Mary! You can’t possible doubt my regard and how much I am always very especially yours. A. Lister’ Writing out this letter has taken me from 3 25 to 4 10 = 1 ¼ hour. What will π- think of it I see three tears had fallen on her paper What a goose she has been surely she never thought of losing she played upon me too much the history of our acquaintance may be summed in accepted refused accepted married offended refused repented. Reading over my letter and dawdling till out at 4 ½ - with Marian in the garden - with Mallinson etc - dinner at 6 ½ then coffee and Marian was with me till after 8 - then sent off my letter to ‘Mrs Lawton, Claremont house, Leamington, Warwickshire’ and Joseph took to the post his letter to Mrs Ellis to say he should have the livery hat and all on Tuesday - from 8 ½ to 9 ½ in the fields looking at the new railing - 18 posts and railing there to belonging set this afternoon - and all would be finished tomorrow if we had the posts but we shall not have enough by 8 - 2 plasterers came this morning from Shaw’s, and cleared away the dirt and plaster ready for pointing west side of the house - talking to Marian till 10 1/4 . Is Northgate, or will it be, sold or not – tonight at 7 the sale was to being – I have not thought much about it even this evening and not all during day. My day was spent over my letter and my eyes stiffish with the tears that fell or stood big in my eyes This weakness is too foolish - 10 minutes with my aunt and came to my study at 10 25 and wrote the last 10 lines - raining fast - seemed to begin a few minutes ago - fine day tho’ dullish - very good for growing - my father does not like the idea of flower-beds, so the ground before the front window is to be all sown down with grass and clover - till 11 ½ read from page 79 to 99 Horace Walpole’s letters British prose writers vol. 24.

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luthienebonyx · 4 years

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Can I have B, K and Q for the fanfic ask meme, please?

Fanfic ask meme

B: Any of your stories inspired by personal experience?

My stories come from the characters first, but there is also stuff in them that comes from personal experience. The Aussie coffee verse is set in some very specific places that I have visited more than once in the past. The Personal Touch takes a little from my own experiences with various kinds of physical therapy (though I never had that sort of relationship with any of my therapists!). In the past I’ve written stories that included stuff like bodysurfing, which I know about from growing up by the beach. There are other little bits and pieces of personal experience littered through my fic, but they’re generally not anything particularly important.

I guess History Never Repeats has potentially the biggest part of my real life in it, because I’ve given Brienne the profession that used to be mine, a long time ago. That was inspired partly because lately I’ve been encountering fiction in various media that keeps portraying that profession as the most boring job in the world/a cover for something ‘more interesting’/something done by unhinged megalomaniacs before they go completely off the rails. And yes, while I have met the odd unhinged megalomaniac in that profession, I wanted to present it in a more true way - so we’ll see what happens as the story progresses!

K: What's the angstiest idea you've ever come up with?

In my reply to one of the other asks, I mentioned that I’d written a major character death in a HP fic, long, long ago. That was The Rain Keeps Falling. I doubt anything I’ve written since tops that in the angst stakes, though one or two things have come close. When it was originally posted on LJ, it got several pages of comments that were pretty much all variations on: Your story made me cry. Still proud...

Q: Do you have any discarded scenes/storylines/projects?

Oh, loads of them. Most are handwritten in notebooks, but just a quick look through my googledocs shows ones I may yet get to, like the rockstar/musician AU, and ones I’d forgotten all about, like “angry sex draft” - whatever the hell that was supposed to be. Here is a bit from a half-written Rivers of London story called Stripping Off, which will never be finished because the canon has now moved on from the moment in which the story is set:

Nightingale always dresses well, in a strictly first-half-of-the-twentieth-century kind of way. It was one of the first things I noticed about him, that night we met in Covent Garden, and not just because, as a police officer, I’m trained to notice distinguishing details just in case they might be needed later. I thought he was going to try to pick me up, if I’m being honest. And it turned out I was right that he had an interest in me, but not in the way I thought.

He was wearing one of his beautifully tailored suits the first time I saw him, a bespoke number courtesy of Dege & Skinner, Savile Row, established 1865 - like all of his suits and most of his shirts, as I later found out. The perfect fit of his suits draws subtle attention to the width of his shoulders before nipping in closely at the waist. His shoes are handmade, because of course they are, by Crockett & Jones in Jermyn Street, which is handily situated just a few streets away from Savile Row and has been in business nearly as long as Dege & Skinner. And he carries a silver-topped cane, which fits the whole pre-war man about town aesthetic, but its origins and uses are… well, let’s just say that those are a bit more esoteric.

Nightingale’s entire look, not forgetting his Burberry coat, was more than familiar to me by the time I’d spent a year or two at the Folly, so I’m really not sure why his new driving gloves came as any sort of surprise – but they did.

Gloves of all sorts are a necessary evil in our line of work, but of course Nightingale’s driving gloves were nothing like anything that comes as police standard issue. They were made of thin, high quality brown leather, very supple, with ventilation holes along the knuckles, and lined with some sort of soft wool fabric – probably cashmere. But the day came when the quality of the materials and workmanship couldn’t disguise how well-worn Nightingale's gloves were. Not even Molly’s careful ministrations could make them look even remotely at their best, so eventually Nightingale bit the bullet and ordered – probably from some fifth generation family business with an ampersand in its name – a new pair of driving gloves.

I didn't even know that Nightingale had finally got… I'm sorry, procured, the new gloves until the first time we took the Ferrari for a spin, the one that used to belong to the practitioner formerly known as the Faceless Man and recently revealed to be one Martin Chorley. I'd been itching to take the Ferrari for a test drive since the moment it was impounded in the garage at the Folly, awaiting 'evaluation'. Nightingale still hardly ever lets me drive his Jag by myself, though - one of these days I'll actually get to the top of the priority list for that advanced driving test, but I'm not holding my breath - so I didn't bother asking if there'd be any chance that I could take the Ferrari out without him. Fortunately, he was almost as keen as I was to find out what the Ferrari could do.

I was vaguely aware that Nightingale was wearing his new gloves when he turned the key in the ignition, but at the time most of my attention was on the way the engine effortlessly purred into life. Russell Square isn't exactly the best place to drive, well, anything, let alone a Ferrari, so I waited as patiently as I could while Nightingale negotiated the London traffic and pointed us in the general direction of Oxford.

We were on our way to visit Professor Postmartin, a typical, even stereotypical Oxford don in every way, except that he moonlights as the official archivist for the Folly. He'd phoned the day before to let us know that he'd discovered some uncatalogued volumes in a hat box in a forgotten cupboard at the top of a cobwebbed spiral staircase - or somewhere like that - and he wanted us - well, Nightingale - to take a look at them.

"There's no great rush, Thomas. You can look them over the next time something brings you up to Oxford," Postmartin said.

Nightingale and I exchanged a look at that - he had speakerphone turned on, wonder of wonders, though it's possible he'd just hit the button by mistake - and decided without a word being said that the Ferrari was the thing that would bring us to Oxford.

The thing about being a passenger in a Ferrari? It's totally different to driving one. Those cars were designed for speed before anything else, which means a stiff suspension, thin tyres, and cutting back on extraneous extras like much in the way of padding beneath the beautifully finished black nero leather upholstery. All of which is fine if you're sat behind the wheel and feeling the thing rumble into life beneath your hands, and then having it do your bidding with every tiny change of course. But when you're in the passenger seat you feel it rumble to life beneath your arse, and you feel every. single. dip and pothole.

Apparently, my idea of patience is somewhat different from Nightingale's, because we hadn't even made it as far as the M40 when he glanced at me and suggested that perhaps I could find some way of keeping myself occupied on my phone until we got out of London.

I realised I'd been drumming my fingers on the leather-lined passenger door, and hastily returned my hand to my lap, trying to look the picture of innocence. It turns out that I'm no better at that than I am at pretending to be patient, because Nightingale snorted - actually snorted! - softly before he returned his attention to the road.

I really was intending to do what Nightingale had 'suggested', and I shifted in the seat so that I could reach into my pocket for my phone, but just as I did, Nightingale's arm moved and caught my eye - and I forgot to breathe.

I honestly didn't know why. I'd seen Nightingale drive before, many times. It should have been such an ordinary movement that I didn't even consciously register it, but his hand flexed as it closed around the gear stick and I swallowed. Hard. I probably should have looked away then. Okay, I definitely should have looked away then, but instead I took my first proper look at Nightingale's new driving gloves.

The new gloves were similar to the old ones, except in every way that they weren't. They were soft, high quality leather, and covered his hands as if… well, they had been made for him, but where the old ones were a worn brown, these were midnight black. At least, they were on the part that covered the back of his hand. Underneath, on the palm, they were smooth red leather. Not the fire brick red of the Ferrari's paint job; Nightingale wouldn't be caught dead wearing such a flashy colour. No, the leather of the gloves was a few shades darker than the red of the Ferrari, but there was no denying that the new gloves fitted this car - just as the old gloves had been a perfect fit with the brown leather upholstery and wooden trim in the Jaguar, I realised.

And damn, did they fit Nightingale.

I choked on the thought in utter horror before I even got to the end of it, and quickly turned it into a coughing fit. I hadn't really… had I? About my governor? About Nightingale?

"Everything all right, Peter?" Nightingale asked in mild concern.

I nodded, my eyes watering as I croaked out a not very convincing, "Fine." I reached down into the bag of supplies at my feet to see what Molly had packed for us. Anything not to have to look Nightingale in the face right then. Suddenly, being in the Ferrari was absolutely the last place I wanted to be.

#fanfic ask meme #intoni

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the-hetchia-universe · 4 years

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So i found i miciti disney of phantom blot!

And i wanted to share the translated version of the interview ! ( and i like he has some kinda story behind the interview. The extras will be on a reblog post.)

"If I didn't have a heart of gold..."

Meeting within the walls of the prison with the one who likes to call himself a villain unique in style, intelligence and personality. A true emperor of crime, if it were not for the too much sensitivity that makes him hate violence and has prevented him on various occasions to get rid of the enemy Mickey, for now.

When it was decided to dedicate a volume - and a coin - to The Phantom blot, it was prudently placed towards the end of the series, in the belief that sooner or later the person concerned would be available for the ritual interview.

The reasoning did not make a wrinkle: more than six months would have been enough for him to try to pull off one of his famous shots, which would have been followed by the probable (not to say inevitable) arrest, and so it would have been easy to meet him in the cooler.

And instead, time has passed and no news of the lantitante Phantom blot has been heard.

That he had decided to take a long vacation or, even worse, to retire permanently from...business?

The only hope of not being forced to write with blank pages was placed in the major expert of the black character and his nemesis for sixty years, and that is Mickey. Who immediately reassured us. "No, Phantom Blot doesn't know what the holidays are," he said convinced.

"And as for the idea of retiring, I don't think it ever even crossed his twisted mind. He's not the type to sit on his hands, and even if he was, he'd never retire before he took me off the streets. He swore it to me... and he's not the type to break his word."

But then how did you explain him not talking about himself for so long?

"He's on a break," sentenced Mickey. "he's preparing a big score... and I know which one too!"

At the Mousetown Research Center, very advanced studies were underway on a device to make people invisible. Very secret studies, of course, but not for Phantom Blot, as revealed by an ingenious electronic bug system discovered by chance at the Center.

There was no doubt that he was the one who planted them.

"Invisibility has always been his dream," Mickey said.

"And with that device, he'd have one that's perfectly good, not the handcrafted one that gives him his black cloak in the night."

the bug hadn't been removed, so as not to put the Phantom blot on the forewarning so that we could catch him red-handed at the appropriate time. Which, unfortunately, wouldn't be for a few months at the earliest. And to hasten the time was not even talked about it: even if it had been possible, an interview would hardly have been a sufficient reason to speed up the work.

I was already resigned to having to give up the interview when I had a dazzling idea. What if he just pretended to finish the job? A nice, exclusive benefit performance by Blot and his bugs and...

"And he'll bite for sure, because he doesn't know that we know that he knows!" exclaimed Mickey.

"Besides, if he has to act sooner than expected, he won't have the time to get his plans right, and it'll be easier to neutralize him. And there is another advantage: even if he gets away with it, he will have nothing to steal. But he won't get away with it..."

Mickey was a good man (not that it took long: all the precedents were in his favor) and so here I am, in Mousetown prison, visiting the blackest black character in the Disney world.

Who receives me in his usual cell. I'd like to describe him, but how do you tell something you can't see? The room, in fact, is in total darkness...

Interviewing an invisible subject is not the best, but taking notes in the dark is impossible...can't you turn on a light?

PB: Yes, but then you'll miss the right dark atmosphere.

Patience, I'll work on my imagination.

PB: I hope you've had enough. Anyway, I'm keeping the cloak and hood. Without them, I wouldn't be me anymore. Even the warden lets me wear them when I'm in jail. He has respect for my personality...

Me too, I assure you. You've always been my favorite negative character. The best villain. And don't get me wrong, when I say "bad"...

PB: There's no need to add anything else. I get it. On the other hand, how could you define me differently? Well, maybe instead of "bad," you could use the term "evil." I think it suits me better and is more exclusive. I'm the only one who's evil, and the comic book pages are full of villains.

And no one remotely has my class. Not to mention style, intelligence and personality.

Modesty, on the other hand, is quite common among you criminals...

PB: If you think you're funny, you're very wrong. I'm not immodest, I'm just telling it like it is. I'm not the kind of guy who's special, I'm not the kind of guy you're looking for.

That's what Floyd Gottfredson thought, too...

PB: He's designed me. You ever wonder why I made myself look so much like Walt Disney?

As a joke, if I'm not mistaken.

PB: Pff! That's the official version. The truth is, he wanted to pay tribute to a great man by making him play a great character. And who could you find better than me? Walt and I have a lot in common.

Certainly not a criminal record.

PB: Obviously not. But we're both geniuses.

With very different results, though. His career has been a little bit better than yours. Speaking of which, can you explain the long hole between your first compo, in 1939, and your return to action, in 1955? Sixteen years is a long time: what have you been doing in all that time?

PB: If you had that imagination you boasted about earlier, you wouldn't ask me such a question. It's obvious I've been in prison. Serving my long sentence and figuring out how to get revenge on the man who put me away. You should have known better. And if you're really a fan of mine, you should know that I almost succeeded. I had a diabolical plan, a revenge so subtle that only I could have imagined it. Nothing crude, no direct violence. Mickey sabotaged himself with his own hands! I hope you publish the story of my return to the scene, so that readers will also appreciate my genius.

It's the first of this volume, a real classic. You really missed nothing because you're getting rid of your enemy. In this regard, can you explain me why, even though you had several times - and since your first encounter - the possibility to eliminate Mickey directly, you never did it?

PB: Because I'm too sensitive. I hate violence and I could never get my hands dirty. I wish I could. It would be so easy to just get the rat out of the way! But instead I'm forced to make deadly contraptions or studying very complicated subjects. Imagine that once, in order to get rid of my hated enemy, I managed to erase it from the mind of every inhabitant of Mousetown. Of course, as you can gather from my presence here, it didn't help. Do you know what that crude Pete once said to me, who I often share a cell with? That without my good heart, I'd be the emperor of crime! I hate to do this, but I have to agree with him.

Yeah, if it hadn't been Mickey in his way... He's blacked you out plenty of times!

PB: Yeah ! That's some low-rent humor. Why don't you also say that it's...stained my career? I don't mind anyway, because I'm tenacious, me. I'll never give up. I know what I'm worth, and I know the day will come when I can get rid of Mickey once and for all. That is, if luck doesn't keep on helping him, of course. That nosy little chap's always got a dose to envy even Gladstone.

You're not saying that to console yourself? The way you're putting it, it sounds like Mickey doesn't deserve any credit for putting you in jail. I'll grant you that sometimes he got away with it because your sensitivity prevented you from giving him the coup de grâce, but to say that he beats you regularly just because he's lucky, seems too much.

PB: Is that what you think? Then let us examine this latest supposed success of the brilliant detective, the genius of investigators, the terror of criminals. Tsk! I was preparing a perfect score, according to a schedule studied in detail... and what happens? That those scientists realize much earlier than expected the invention that I was so interested in, thus forcing me into a hasty action that led to my arrest. Mickey was there waiting for me, but if I'd had time to make a proper plan, I'd have done it under his nose, always snooping around. Grrr! And you're telling me he's not lucky?

Well, yeah, maybe a little. I'll grant you that it's not his fault, but the case, if the microplashes you had installed at the Research Center were discovered. But he was the one who figured out you planted them and had the idea to leave them where they were so you wouldn't get suspicious. And the fact that the invention was ready before its time is not a stroke of luck, but simply... false news.

PB: What?! You made that up. I don't believe it!

And it hurts, because I know what I'm talking about. I'm the one who gave him the idea. I went to consult him to find a way to interview you... Hey! Why did you get up? You don't want to...

PB: ...hurt you? No! I hate violence, you know that. I just want to hug you to show my appreciation! You are living proof that Mickey beats me just because he is lucky. But do you realize? I ended up in jail because of an interview!

That we can continue...

PB: Ah no! Even if I'm not angry with you, I don't talk to my worst enemy's allies. It's a matter of principle... that brings us to the end. So I'd be grateful if you'd leave. And on your way out, turn off the light!

#phantom blot #the phantom blot #mickey mouse #disney #ducktales #the reporter is a sadist poor Blot...#fans like me will never rebate on him ...#But I'm happy Blot counterattack him in brilliance èwéb!

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harkasun · 4 years

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Fic meme

Rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 favourite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world. tag as many writers/artists/etc as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

***

Thank you to @bidnezz for tagging me; I really appreciate the inclusion!

I’ve written a ton (I have almost 100 documents in a malec fic folder on my laptop), but I don’t end up publishing a lot of them, so I don’t have a lot to choose from. I’ve only been posting on AO3 since the start of the year, but this looks fun, so:

1. Anything for a Quiet Life

Stuck working at his sister’s café in downtown Brooklyn, Alec Lightwood submits under the demanding wishes of his medieval-minded parents, until a over-dressed biker that Alec has been avoiding for years finally catches his eye. Magnus Bane is a riddle wrapped in an enigma, and, while Alec himself is hardly an open book, he is determined to understand Magnus and his mysterious past.

In which two tightly-wound men from drastically different worlds uncover one another and may just discover themselves along the way.

This was my first fic on my AO3 and the reaction it got was so inspiring and motivating. Before this, I just had WIPS that I never published. This was my start. It took up two pages in a notebook (including some haphazard sketches). The people who read it were so supporting and kind and made me feel so welcome into the writing community. I have @bakedgoose to thank for convincing me to post it, so thank you! Honestly, without you, I probably never would have done it.

2. An Angel in Marble

Magnus Bane is a struggling art student searching for inspiration on his final piece. Alec Lightwood is a suffering law student caught in a tangle of lies to protect himself from an oppressive family.

With the ghosts of his past at his back and a journal filled with so many unanswered questions under his arm, Magnus works through his creative slump and simultaneously fights to save Alec from a terrible fate. Chipping away at Alec’s hard exterior is a laborious task, but Magnus seeks out truth and yearns for life and the young law student may yet help him in uncovering his masterpiece.

My big, artistic follow-up to ‘Anything for a Quiet Life’. This is a ‘malec fake-dating on a Lightwood family skiing vacation’ fic. It’s still in progress and still has a lot of chapters to complete, but I wanted to include it just because it’s really important to me. I think I’m maturing as a writer from doing it and I’m actually kind of proud of this one and how it’s progressing.

3. Homecoming

Alec is a solider in the US army on tour in Iraq and due to come home in two weeks. Magnus is his fiancé back in New York, prepared to spend his birthday alone as he waits anxiously for Alec's return. A kind fate and a good-hearted Isabelle has a surprise for him.

Wrote this one through tears in about an hour after watching some soldiers coming home from war videos on YouTube. It was supposed to be a one-shot, but a commenter requested Alec’s POV, so chapter 2 was born and I’m so glad it was. I never received a request for writing before and I really enjoyed it!

4. High Warlock of Alicante

Magnus struggles with the return to the hectic life of a High Warlock and the new setting of Alicante. Alec comes to his rescue.

My first fic for the 5 Months of Shadowhunters Challenge was a tribute to my favourite character (Magnus) and probably my favourite fic of that series. I have @izzymalec to thank for making this happen. I’m getting so much more writing published because of this challenge (as well as a few edits!) and I’m really enjoying taking part in it, so thank you.

5. Roses are Red

It's February fourteenth and Alec has arranged a surprise for Magnus. They celebrate their first Valentine's Day as husbands, and as a couple. Featuring a romantic date around NYC and a blast from the past now shown in a better light.

I wrote this on February 13th when I realised it was Valentine’s Day tomorrow and I wanted to honour my boys. It’s inspired a few WIPs since then, which have so far gone unpublished, but hopefully I’ll finish and publish them eventually.

***

This kind of ended up as just me roasting myself about how I write constantly but never get anything published. I wish I was happier with more of my writing. I think I’m getting there, but we have a ways to go yet. I’ve seen a lot of people have done this already, so I won’t bug anyone with re-tagging, but if you see this and want to take part, then please do!

#i'm allowed to feel okay about my writing sometimes #i'll hate it all tomorrow #but today i can be proud #sorry for the long post #fic meme #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #my fic #malec fic #5mos

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back-and-totheleft · 3 years

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Romantic, freewheeling, containing fathoms

IT'S early in the piece but maybe the best way to explain the allure of Oliver Stone’s romantic, freewheeling autobiography is to tell you how one of my best friends took on the experience.

My mate, a self-confessed Stone nut, downloaded the audio version of Chasing the Light - as read by the author - and then proceeded to drive around Cork city with the Oscar-winning director and screenwriter for company. “Love how he paints a picture of post-war optimism in New York circa 1945-46,” he messaged me. “Take me there...” Throughout his storied but turbulent career, Stone has certainly taken us places - the steaming jungles of Vietnam, the (serial) killing fields of the American heartland, the fervid political theatre of El Salvador, the grassy knoll. Even if we didn’t always like the destination, more often than not it was worth the journey.

Reading Stone's words in Chasing the Light, it’s impossible not to hear that coffee and cognac voice. The words roll from the page, sentences topped off with little rejoinders, just about maintaining an elegant flow. Drugs are mentioned early and often, while the word “sexy” features half a dozen times in the opening chapters alone. As in his best movies, Stone displays a positively moreish lust for life, at one point referring to how the two parts of the filmmaking process, if working well, are "copulating".

The book tells the story of the first half of his life, up to the acclaim and gongs of Platoon, and it’s clear that his own sense of drama was underscored by his family background, which is part torrid European art flick, part US blockbuster. His mother, Jacqueline - French, unerringly singleminded - grew to womanhood during the Nazi occupation of Paris. She downplayed her striking appearance as the jackboots stomped the streets but quickly scaled the social ladder, becoming engaged to a pony club sort. Enter Louis Stone.

Considerably older than Jacqueline, Louis quickly zoned in after spotting her cycling on a Paris street. In no time Jacqueline has jilted her fiancée (who, remarkably, appears to have turned up as a guest at the wedding), Oliver is conceived and one ocean crossing later, William Oliver Stone is born.

This family contains fathoms, Stone's father straight-laced and Commie-hating on the surface, yet a serial adulterer (even threesomes are mentioned) and positively uxorious towards his own mother. "It was sex, not money, that derailed my father," he writes. Louis's infidelities nixed Jacqueline's American dream, and Oliver’s with it. Jacqueline ultimately cheats on Louis, not simply via a fling but a whole new relationship, and with a family friend to boot.

What’s even more interesting is Stone’s reflections on *how* it was dealt with. Already dispatched to a boarding school, he learns of the disintegration of his family down the phone line. It has the coldness of some of the best scenes from Mad Men, children of the era parceled off to the side even as momentous events in their home life detonate in front of them. As things veer ever more into daytime soap territory, Louis then tells his son he's "broke", echoing the impact of the Great Depression on his own father's business interests.

By now, Stone is unmoored. He has secured a place in Yale but blows it off for a year and heads to Saigon to teach English: "I grew a beard and got as far away from the person I'd been as I could." On his return he decides he is done with academia; he'll be a novelist in New York, much to the distaste of his father. "That's why I went back to Vietnam in the US Infantry - to take part in this war of my generation," he writes. "Let God decide."

And here we are at the pivotal moment in Stone's adult life. Plunged into the strange days of 1968 in the jungle, he recalls a scene in which his patrol group comes under attack, imagining itself surrounded. Time elides and a metre may as well be a mile, explosions going off everywhere and bullets flying amid paranoia and uncertainty that borders on the hallucinogenic. "Full daylight reveals charred bodies, dusty napalm, and gray trees."

Tellingly, Stone focuses on this arguably cinematic episode while other incidents in which he is actually wounded don't receive the same treatment. By the time he leaves Vietnam he has served in three different combat units and has been awarded a bronze star for heroism. So many of his peers were drafted, yet he had decided to go. You never get a direct sense that his subsequent career is in any way a type of atonement, yet it is never fully explained. "Why on earth did you go?" he is asked. "It was a question I couldn't answer glibly."

From this point on, Chasing the Light mainly becomes a love letter to the redemptive power of the cinema, pockmarked with acerbic commentary on Hollywood powerplays. Stone's firsthand experience of jungle combat gives him a sense of perspective that no amount of cocaine or downers can ever truly neutralise, and it also imbues him with a sense of derring-do. At NYU School of Arts, his lecturer is Martin Scorcese, an educational home run. Watching movies is a place a refuge, writing them a cathartic outlet. It leads to visceral filmmaking, beginning with his short film Last Year in Vietnam. That burgeoning sense of career before anything else brings an end to his first marriage - "'comfortable' was the killer word". The seeds are sown for the plot that would germinate into Platoon.

As he moves past the relative disappointment of his first feature, Seizure, the big break of writing Midnight Express, and then onto the speedbump of The Hand, his second movie, Chasing the Light becomes a little more knockabout, though no less enjoyable. Conan the Barbarian, for which he wrote the screenplay, became someone else's substandard vision, Scarface a not entirely pleasant experience as his writing efforts move to the frosty embrace of director Brian de Palma. Hollywood relationships rise and fall like scenes from Robert Altman's The Player. His second marriage, the birth of his son, the slow-motion passing of his father, and all the time Stone is chasing glory on the silver screen.

By his late thirties it feels like he's placing all his chips on Salvador, a brutal depiction of central American civil war based on the scattered recollections of journalist Richard Boyle and starring the combustible talents of James Woods and John Belushi. His own high-wire lifestyle is perhaps best encapsulated in his reference to Elpidia Carrillo, cast as Maria in Salvador: "Elia Kazan once argued against any restrictions for a director exploring personal limits with his actresses, and I wanted badly to get down with her," he writes with delightful candour. Yet ultimately "I convinced myself that repression, in this case, would make a better film." Note: in this case.

Salvador was a slow burner, not an immediate critical or commercial success, but then in the style of a rollover jackpot, it started climbing the charts just as Platoon is about to announce itself to the world. Despite some loopy goings-on, that shoot in the Philippines had never gone down the Apocolypse Now route of near-madness, the drama mainly confined to warring factions within the production team. Ultimately, Platoon was the movie mid-Eighties America wanted to see about Vietnam. The book finishes in triumph, Stone clutching Oscars for Best Director and Best Picture.

There are piercing insights and inconsistencies dotted throughout. Stone lusts after good reviews but rails against the influence wielded by certain writers, such as Pauline Kael. He makes frequent reference to his yearning for truth and factual accuracy, yet hardly raises a quibble with The Deerhunter, the brilliant but flawed movie by sometime ally Michael Cimino which - particularly in the infamous Russian Roulette scenes - delivers an entirely concocted depiction of North Vietnamese forces. But then again, Stone revels in what he says is the ability to "not to have a fixed identity, to be free as a dramatist, elusive, unknown."

We've come to know him more in the decades since - through the menacing Natural Born Killers, the riveting but wonky conspiracy of JFK, the all-star lost classic U-Turn, even the missed opportunity that was The Putin Interviews. As my friend, who is the real authority, correctly observes, Chasing the Light is also weighted with nostalgia for a time when political dramas and anti-war films were smashing the box office, something hard to imagine today.

The second volume, if and when it arrives, will surely make for good reading - or listening. Buckle up your seat belt and take a spin.

-Noel Baker, “Oliver Stone’s freewheeling autobiography tells the story of the first half of his life,” Irish Examiner, Jan 17 2021 [x]

#chasing the light #oliver stone #reviews #book reviews #books #irish examiner

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hellzyeahwebwielingessays · 4 years

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‘The Absent Father and Spider-Man’s Unfulfilled Potential’: Rebuttal Part 6: Tony Stark

Master Post

It’s time for another confession.

I actually began writing this essay series a long while back but took a hiatus for various reasons. Back then I was summarizing Fettinger’s own words and responding because I had no access to a digital edition of his essay.

Now I’ve got (a little) spare time on my hands and so can finally finish what I started. But since my time isn’t limitless I’m going to save myself time and energy by just use screengrabbing passages s of his essay from Google books.

Where Google books has blank pages I have improvised and taken photos of the pages myself. It’s not a neat or tidy solution I admit but it was the best I could do on such short notice.

Notice here how Fetinger acknowledges Peter had to struggle for financial support whilst Tony never had that problem. It’s almost like he’s pointing out a huge difference between them which makes his initial comparison to them back in parts 1-2 a massive false equivalency or something.

Again with this bullshit. Yes peter would benefit from an upgraded outfit but he never had access to the tech and resources that Tony had. He was never in a position to construct a nanotech suit.

Peter was 30 YEARS OLD during Civil War. Fettinger even did the math on that himself in one of his articles that’s been lost to time.

How the fuck is 30 a ‘young man’??????

Not to mention, the example Tony set is a false equivalency. Tony didn’t have any loved ones particularly vulnerable if people knew his secret identity. They would’ve been in slightly more jeopardy at worst. But Peter had school students, a young godson and dozens of civilian friends and acquaintances that didn’t have the same protection Tony could offer Pepper, Rhodey, Happy, etc.

Not to mention there was less than 18 years between Peter and Tony. Hardly a father/son dynamic is it. Big Brother/Little Brother maybe. But it never made sense in the comics Fettinger is referring to.

HORSESHIT!

Let’s put aside how Peter wouldn’t be as impressionable as Fettinger makes out because he was a 30 year old married man who’d shouldered an adult’s responsibility for half his life and matured fast as a result.

Fettinger frames the discussion disingenuously. He plays it as though Peter is actively opposed to authority or somehow resents it. On the contrary, Peter tried to join the police force in Untold Tales #1; a fact Fettinger himself referenced in the George Stacy segment of his essay. He changed his mind specifically because he’d have to reveal his identity.

Spider-Man is only subtextually an anti-authority figure, and even then it’s never been consistent. Peter clearly holds a certain belief in law and order as he makes it his business to catch criminals and protect the public from threats.

He respects the police in general in spite of their disdain for him. Even that’s not wholly consistent because figures like Captain Stacy, Detective Jean DeWolff, her partner Stan Carter, Arthur Stacy (brother of George) and (in JMS’ run) Detective Lamont were more tan willing to work with the wall-crawler.

Peter hasn’t got a problem with authority nor does he have a craving for acceptance by them. If he did he had various options to obtain it. He sabotaged his own chances to join the Avengers in ASM Annual #3. He has used alternate identities that received a better public reception than his Spider-Man persona but actively chose to remain as Spider-Man instead.

He respects authority but he just values his independence too highly is all. Which is another reason why Fettinger’s point about Tony taking Peter AND Spider-Man under his wing doesn’t fly. Peter isn’t some kid looking for legitimacy. He was a respected teacher to children. He was a mature adult who’d cared for his family off his own back for years. He was a happily married man. He’d come of age and self-actualized as an adult long before Tony showed up to be his benefactor.

This would’ve maybe added up for a 25 (at most) year old single Peter not too long out of college. But as things stood Fettinger’s assessments are totally hollow.

Tony didn’t even give Peter legitimate employment considering Peter was still a teacher at the time. His employment under Stark was for appearances sake. Peter was also too old to care anymore about his stature or legitimacy. Maybe it might’ve irked him but he wasn’t going to sell out for the sake of it.

Indeed ASM #532 depicts Peter unsupportive of unmasking until Aunt May convinces him. Even then he changes his mind the next day before changing it back.

But this change, along with the over all decision, is simply ridiculous.

Peter teaches children. He has a pre-teen godson. His friends are predominantly normal civilians, many of whom are middle aged at least. His aunt was in her 70s and his wife has been targeted by various super villains throughout the years. His first love was murdered because a single lunatic learned who he was.

Simply put Peter would never agree to unmask. Not for Tony or anyone. It’s simply not the responsible thing to do. In a contest between his stature/legitimacy and loyalty to his (very new) benefactor Tony vs. the lives of his loved ones (including his mother and wife, both of whom he’s believed dead before) the latter will always win.

Indeed Peter alludes to this mentality in ASM #530.

The idea that 30 year old married man Peter would compromise on that because a man not old enough to be his father (who had never had as mature a relationship with a woman as he had) took him under his wing is…well…it’s a broken interpretation of the character.

That’s not a hero. That’s not responsible. That’s not even flawed. That’s a man without his own mind and agency who can be swayed and sell out with ease.

And baby, that ain’t Spider-Man!

According to Fettinger this is Spider-Man.

Oh and you know Peter himself!

This is yet another reason why Peter siding with Tony was horseshit. He’d be inclined to support Cap much more than the guy who took him under his wing for a few months.

It’s almost like Peter holds higher values that trump any affection or ‘gifts’ Daddy Stark bestowed upon him.

It’s almost like there is less than 18 years between them or something?????????

Fettinger can’t seem to make up his mind.

Is Peter going to alter his value system to comply with Tony’s desire for him to unmask? Or is Tony’s value system incompatible with Peter’s?

Because if it is the latter then why would he endanger his loved ones by unmasking!

Master Post

#Tony Stark #Iron Man #Anthony Stark #Spider-Man #Peter Parker #Civil War 2006 #j. michael straczynski

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kyndaris · 4 years

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A Single Step and Then Another

Writing is no small feat. Ever since I was bitten by the writing bug, I’ve struggled with keeping projects afloat and maintaining interest in blog management. Before Tumblr, I tried to start a blog twice on Blogspot (now known as Blogger). Much of that came from my desire to track my days. Like keeping a diary or journal. But interesting things were far and few between. The days of my youth largely blurred together and I could hardly find the time to sit down and jot down my thoughts on school or university.

During primary school, when computers were still churlish machines that chugged along at a snail’s pace, I tried my first attempts at writing fanfiction. I didn’t know what it was called at the time, but my curiosity led me to tease out what happened after the Happily Ever After’s that were promised in certain Disney films such as Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. As ever, I proved an astute business woman, selling my perfectly printed books that were stapled on one side on the market for $2 a pop.

Alas, the only person that bought my works of genius was my mother.

High school was when I rediscovered my hobby. I was already an avid reader. Writing, while a more difficult challenge, once more sunk its claws into me. As always, I wrote to entertain - imagining daring mercenaries in a fantasy world or anthropomorphic animals clinging to a dying kingdom. Most were inspired by the stories I read and the video games I played. Many of the characters were named after my friends or were poor caricatures.

There were times, however, when I was writing that I wondered if perhaps I was stealing too many tropes from such classics as Eragon and the Fire Emblem franchise. As such, I often hewed and hawed over many of my works. By the end of high school, I deleted the one major story that I had sitting on my FictionPress. Mostly because I had no proper idea of where I wanted the narrative to go. And I was just filling it up with utter nonsense.

Yet the idea of a mercenary and a hidden princess persisted. I tried to use it again in my next writing project. Still, the land of Thlandaris never quite reached my lofty expectations. Changing everyday animals into weird fantasy creatures with fantastical names also didn’t help.

And so my writing stalled once again.

It was not until I began working, however, that I found my way back again to the world of writing. Though I hadn’t opened up a blank Word page in a while (at least for anything other than a university assignment or a job application), ideas aplenty danced and tossed around in my head. That, of course, was when I decided to restart my attempts at keeping a blog. Yes, I knew it would never really transpire into something majorly popular (though the hope remained that one of my many articles would become viral and a newspaper would decide to feature it), but I thought it would assist with my attempts at writing.

The going, however, was slow when I began work on Divided We Fall. The story itself went through three drafts. With the last one being the most complete. And while I would have sorely liked to have edited it, it had taken a good four years to arrive at what I had been hoping for. Even during those gruelling years of crafting the characters of Feryden, Elisander, Kiralt and Lathin (who were based on many of my earlier characters), I was also tempted by starting up a new project. Like many before me, it was easy to simply toss away an idea that was taking too long and do something different.

Despite that, I decided to keep a record of my many ideas for future stories. After all, if I could just finish one, then surely I had accomplished something.

Back to Divided We Fall, I went. And gosh darn it, I finished it in 2018. Along the way, of course, I had written several short stories. And, I had also managed to be consistent with my blog updates. Yes, many were just impressions and reviews of the games I played - but churning out one a week was also nothing to scoff at.

But I still had ideas aplenty filling my head. While I was quite taken with the idea of writing a reinterpretation of Snow White, my dear friend Hayatedragoon convinced me to stick with my first idea. The one that I hoped would be published as a short series of books. The Adventures of Lacet and Idana.

Throughout the writing of my stories, there were many times when I wanted to give up or delete everything that I had written. As with most creative types with a hint of perfectionism, I was my own worst critic. No-one would like my characters, I said! My dialogue is atrocious! The singular starting sentence was not enough to capture the attention of readers!

With time, however, I managed to silence those thoughts (mostly). There are times, still, when I have wondered if it has all been worth the blood and sweat. It isn’t as if I have publishers and agents beating down my door. Nor do I have a thousand followers on FictionPress leaving me with positive reviews of the things I have written.

I will be honest, a part of me yearns for the praise. And my genius to be recognised. But to do so, however, would go against the very reason why I began writing. The reason why I wanted to write was to weave my own tales. To explore the stories of characters that do not usually get the spotlight. While Lacet and Idana follow many tropes that are stereotypical to the fantasy genre, I like to think I’ve subverted a few expectations. Lacet is no wise wizard. Nor is he young (and incredibly hot) upstart mage. He is middle-aged. His hair is balding and he has a bit of a stomach.

Of course, as more chapters of Wild Child are uploaded to my FictionPress, I cannot help but worry if my writing will fall into the trap that so many others have done. Will I have ruined the characters by putting too much of myself into them? Will they all become Mary Sues by the end of it all? Will I overcompensate and so they all become terribly unlikeable?

In other news, I finished editing Monsters Beneath My Bed a couple of months ago as well. Yet I’ve delayed uploading it until I’ve the entirety of Wild Child is up. And before I could even think to rest on my laurels, I began another short story (which is still in progress at time of writing up the blog post) and committed myself to another novel length story. This time, however, the genre is a departure from my usual stomping grounds. Forget fantasy. Let’s try and commit to a modern adventure/ thriller!

Already I am regretting my decision. Nothing seems factually accurate and I fear that my attempt might just be deleted given another month or two.

But I will persist. The key to forging ahead, at least for myself, is to worry not about how perfect the quality of the writing is. That is what the editing process is about. Of course, even after editing, slip-ups can still occur. But by carving out the crude gem can one polish it. Such is the process of writing. And if you think I’m talking out of my arse, well, the first few seconds of Neil Gaiman’s ad for his masterclass in writing also provided the perfect analogy of driving with one headlamp and hoping the editing will make people THINK you knew where the plot was going from the very start.

Getting caught up in the nitty gritty of the perfect prologue (for almost two years) did not allow me to craft the entirety of the story. Nor did it allow me much exploration of the characters and other important facets of the world.

So, for those that are thinking of trying to write their own masterpiece, all I can say is start it as soon as the idea comes. And never waver. Sure, it might not be as good as you hoped, but all of that can be fixed later on. Also, never be afraid to look up synonyms on Google (or a thesaurus).

But what I found helpful as well was to learn by reading widely. I mean, authors were published for a reason, right? Let them inspire you on your own writing journey. And question what you can make better.

#personal blog #writing process

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peanutbutterandbunhuggers · 4 years

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helllllllllo internet pals. i’ve hardly been active on this page for a few years, dropping by to occasionally reblog some photos, think about the goals i used to pursue, and remember this slice of my identity i so enthusiastically curated.

a lot of the reason i couldn’t keep up with posts is that, well, i left my college team and transferred after being sexually assualted, experienced some really severe mental heath crises, worked 30+ hours/week while being a full-time student, and fell further away from the person (and runner) i once was. aka i went through some SHIT that forced me to step into a new reality that was not concerned with how many miles i finished in a week.

during the first year after i transferred, i gave away all of my team gear, threw out my shoes and spikes and memories of a team i thought i could find family in, and ran maybe a dozen times. the year after, i was still wrapped up in dead goals, an old identity. each year that passes, i’ve run more consistently, even thrown down a couple of 5k PRs just because. the past two years have had their moments, runs logged in mountains, runs logged with sweet friends, like kate who is pictured above.

i just graduated but we’re in this Global Pandemic together, and my new job won’t start until end of july. which means i have a lot of limited freedom and a lot of time to think. i’ve stopped smoking weed daily so that i can, perhaps, find a healthy balance again. if i’m being honest, i also have a lot of time to dread running. i’m stuck in a rut where i can’t convince my legs and heart to slow down so each run i’m draining my battery, not to mention being enveloped in anxiety and i’ll-never-be-good-or-disciplined-enough-to-race-confidently-again pain. running alone is terribly lonely, and i don’t consider myself strong enough to find the joy in a solo pursuit. still, i manage to tie my shoes and throw up my hair and think of a future me who runs happily, wiser, freer.

old habits die hard, right? the two years before i quit competing, i spent most of my runs longing for that peace, that excitement, that celebration of each step. this isn’t a post to say that i’ve found it or that i think i’m even remotely close, but i’m on the search-and-resuce team, the one where i won’t give up until i find a dead body.

if old habits die hard, identity is even more stubborn. somewhere long ago, on a trail or empty road in a hometown i hardly visit, these tiny cells that make me decided that running was going to be lifelong. right now, it feels like a lifelong battle, and i’m trying to be okay with it. pain becomes knowledge once you learn to listen to how it speaks.

it’s a cold but easy morning here; i’m drinking coffee and thinking about what this blog might become over the next few months. it’s hard to post only about running or fitness, when in truth, it seems like such a small portion of my life nowadays. but regardless, if you made it to the end of this, thanks for reading about the musings in my brain! questions? please ask them. advice or thoughts? send them my way too.

- chris

#musings #running #thoughts #life update

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a-wired-one · 4 years

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My Wired day: Layer_63 8/2/20

When I write a new diary page I hardly ever re-read what I wrote previously, if not after a long time. So I don't even remember what I wrote exactly in the last post, but I know I've been away for a long time and that many things are moving now. In which direction, however, I don't know very well.

I fight while looking for myself. I don't know which way I'm going, I'm just looking for one road and in the meantime I travel many. I will do the karate referee course. I'll talk about Asperger with the university's most important student association. I started studying again (not much, but I started again) and I just have to do the term paper to finish the internship (I will no longer do productivity posts, because they make me waste time and the concept of productivity is very vague: it can be productive even just getting up out of bed and being able to eat). Then I will take back various projects, mainly "Anna" and my writing projects. I am active in a Free Company on Final Fantasy XIV. I want to train physically more when possible. And maybe there are other things, but I can't think of it. Too many things? Surely! But I can't stand still. My mind is a running train and my body suffers the fatigue, in fact I often collapse in a nightmare sleep.

You will remember how convinced I was that I had to leave university and take some courses that would not lead me to anything... Yes, I had a bad crisis. Now I fight for my degree and in the meantime I can continue to give vent to my creativity and passion. It's very tiring, it's scary, but that's what it does for me.

Yes, I search who I am, I try to connect, but in the meantime I fight.

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alvaar-aldaviir · 4 years

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Wondrous Tails: First “I Love You” (replacement) / Bandaging Wounds

("First "I Love You"" is a replacement for "Going on a Cruise")

Time Frame: Post Canon (years after Shadowbringers(?)), Minimal Spoilers for 5.0 end. Notes got long so they are under the cut.

Notes:

I continue to refer to Alphinaud as a Scholar instead of Academician for no reason but laziness and bad habits.

I understand the ‘time bubble’ issue of MMO’s, but for writing I subscribe to time actually passing between expansions. I don’t keep a hard and fast rule, but sort of lean toward roughly 1 year per expansion if not longer. Otherwise everyone would be mired under so much PTSD I don’t know how the Scions would get anything done, and please let my WoL breathe?

Somehow, someway, Alvaar has gotten the better of me and it’s eventual committed relationship polygamy with the Leveilleurs up in here. After actual months of telling myself no, I give up. If you hate that, pass on my stuff and have a great day.

Just for posterity, there will never be twincest. I don’t have a personal stance on people’s fiction about fictional people, but it just doesn’t make sense for the twins to me.

The first time Alphinaud hears Alvaar utter those words, he’s seventeen. Seventeen and full of fire and determination to help right the wrongs of a thousand-year war and maybe redeem some of his own foolishness.

Seventeen and half scandalized to catch his Warrior of Light buried against Lord Haurchefant’s chest before they readied to infiltrate the Vault after Ser Aymeric.

It wasn’t as if he’d gone looking of course. Such things would have been kept a better secret behind a closed door and not front and center to whomever strolled into House Fortemps expecting an audience. But romantic subtly wasn’t... exactly Lord Haurchefant’s forte and neither was it Alvaar’s. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t known when it was the talk of Camp Dragonhead and the house servants anyway.

But it is perhaps the first time the Arcanist had seen any hint of the word “love” meaning something beyond dutifully repeated and expected phrases. Spoken as if it’s some personal secret, or more of a promise than just a response. Something alive and wild instead of the light and flippant ways he’d heard it used in Sharlayan and among nobility.

There’s a weight to those words that’s like aether humming in an incantation.

It means something when Alvaar says it and the Lord’s sharp features soften as he nuzzles into blond hair, and it means even more when Haurchefant answers in kind and some of the tension in the Bard’s shoulders ease. There’s a thousand words held in that phrase, like pages and pages of information distilled in a single line of arcane shorthand. History condensed into a lone footnote.

He never had to ask why Alvaar’s wails of pain as he’d held his dead lover mere hours later sounded like a heart breaking in two.

The next time he hears them, it’s not quite the same.

He’s twenty (or was it twenty-one?) and farther from home than he’d ever dreamed. Fresh from facing off against Emet-Selch as they’d fought to save the First from destruction. Twenty and exhausted and content to doze quietly in the newly returned night alongside the beds two other occupants, arms draped over Alisaie and Alvaar both. He remembers feeling Alvaar’s knuckles brush his cheek, tiredly meeting the Bard’s gaze in the dark and hearing those words again.

They don’t mean the same thing, but it doesn’t overly bother him after the torture Alvaar had endured for the worlds. After the last several months Alphinaud had spent fighting sin eaters, stubborn short-term mindsets, and bitter loneliness in Kholusia.

Being called family, being called ‘home’ had only echoed what he’d felt too. The Scions, his Sister, and Alvaar, were what felt most like home. Not a large but empty feeling manor back in Sharlayan, cut off and indifferent to the world.

It’s a different kind of love but it doesn’t mean any less nor is it remotely insincere.

And even if there’s a faint disappointment in his heart he would never admit to, it’s fine. More than anything he’s simply happy that they’re still together. Still alive. Still able to fight and produce another miracle for the people of the First and the Source.

He’s twenty-two and he knows Alvaar loves him deeply. He’s said it in every other conceivable way. Let poetry and sweet words fall from his lips or sent the meaning across in those brushes of familiar contact. Had the feeling burned into his body and mind more times than he could ever hope to keep track of...

But Alvaar hadn’t ever said it.

It’s silly and he knows it. He has no reason to doubt Alvaar and truly he knows the way the Bard feels for him isn’t anything less than his previous lover. That there was room enough in that gentle heart for all three of them. Jealousy is a terrible thing after all, so he convinces himself it doesn’t matter. Comforts himself and chides Alisaie gently when she inquires on it herself. Alvaar had been through a great deal of hardship and pain. And as they both didn’t doubt the depth nor truth of his feelings, the specific words should hardly matter.

He’s twenty-three, and when Alvaar finally says them he barely notices. There’s too much blood, and Alvaar’s laugh is too weak and lilting from it. His mind is too busy on spells and incantations to register it as he works quickly.

Alvaar is fine. He’s always fine. He comes back beaten and bloody and smiling and laughing and visibly delights in being doted upon and taken care of. A routine scouting of the border wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near as deadly as the hopeless situations he’d been sent into before. He’s fine.

The Scholar is internally utterly terrified of course, but he knows from too much firsthand knowledge that there’s no room for panic as a healer. If he panicked, things would quickly turn into ‘not fine’ and neither of them had time for that.

So for right now, spells and aether humming in his veins, it’s fine.

“Did you get a haircut recently?” Alvaar asks, letting Alphinaud clean, tape, and bandage his wounds. Magic had healed the critical damage and stopped the bleeding, but it would take time to heal the rest and a few more applications of white magic tomorrow. Cleaning and bandaging would ensure a smoother transition through the process, so it’s a step he takes anyway, perched on the edge of the medical bed while the Bard sits propped up against pillows.

“You should be taking this more seriously,” the Scholar returns flatly, pushing Alvaar’s hand away from his hair gently so he can keep working.

“I am. But I’m just so... very happy,” Alvaar murmured, a smile stretching across his exhausted face. “I made it back this time, I’m here, and you’re here, and it will work this time.”

It’s said with such offhanded confidence it makes the Scholar blink. “What? Alvaar you’re delirious, stay still.”

A hum of agreement rings in the Bards throat as he nods. “Okay. Let me know when you’re done and listening. He said I didn’t say it enough... That when I made it back to be sure to tell you something.”

He wants to pay more attention to Alvaar’s curious words but there would be time for it later. Though he was comfortably stabilized and would no doubt make a full recovery in a matter of days with the Warrior of Light’s sometimes obnoxious recovery speed, it’s never something he likes to leave to chance. If he overlooked something now, it could be disastrous later.

“He?” The inquiry slides off his tongue in a distracted manner, during which his moonstone carbuncle chirps with interest where it’s bedded down along Alvaar’s legs.

“Don’t worry about it,” Alvaar replies, glossing over it as his attention shifts back to the carbuncle eyeing him expectantly. “Can I have my hand back now?”

Another deft turn of the roll of bandages, a swift snip of the medical shears, and a tidy tie off had him releasing Alvaar’s arm with a nod. “Sure. Other arm if you would.”

Swapping obediently, Alvaar quickly settled his freed hand into plush white fur, grinning brightly. “Hey Carbi... I missed you too,” he cooed, chuckling at the fond chirp and purr he got in answer. “You’re the best summon ever aren’t you?”

Snorting under his breath, Alphinaud keeps at his work until he’s finished, letting his summon keep up its job of distracting Alvaar’s focus from pawing at him so he can work in peace. Alvaar was always a good patient, but woozy with blood loss he sometimes got sillier than was helpful. It made his moonstone carbuncle an utter lifesaver, and there were few helpers he would rather have working beside him. Though he had long developed more potent summons, Alvaar’s preference and the sheer number of revisions and intricacies of its design had left moonstone as one of his masterpieces. The patient bedside manner and attentive nature had made it a nursemaid second to none, and given the way it was currently cozied into Alvaar’s side and subtly keeping him quiet and still as it soaked up affection like a sponge, it remained a staple of his repertoire for good reason.

Inspecting the last of his work, he gives a satisfied nod before starting to pack things away. After almost seven years of chasing Alvaar’s shadow and tending to his wounds, his first aid is as neat and tidy as an experienced chirurgeon. A far cry from his fumbled and panicked work the Bard had coached him through with grit teeth in Coerthas. It’s only once he sets the supplies back on the shelves that he finally gives himself leave to think about anything but healing.

He’s seated back at Alvaar’s side before he realizes he’s made the steps, a bandaged hand curling warm at his jaw and pulling him closer until they bump foreheads together. It’s a movement that he’s long used to, a familiar gesture that helps to quiet the panic that had boiled over in his chest if not the emotion that threatens its place.

“I would appreciate it if you would refrain from frightening me like that again,” Alphinaud murmured softly, a faint tremor in his voice but refusing to cry. Alvaar was fine! There wasn’t any reason to overreact!

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to. Was the best I could manage,” Alvaar replied in the stilted way he picked up when he was exhausted. Given how much harder he was leaning into the Scholar, none of it surprised him.

Making a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat he leaned the faintest bit back into the Warrior of Light, soaking up the steady warmth that wicked off him and the silent reassurance he was still there. “Just... be more careful next time. For now you should focus on healing.”

“Thank you for saving me Alphi,” Alvaar whispered with a heartfelt gratitude.

It was enough to make the Scholar flush. “I... Any other healer would have done the same.”

“Maybe. But any other healer wouldn’t be worth me dragging myself back to. Sides, Alisaie was too far,” he joked fondly.

Alphinaud tutted under his breath, pulling back to grip Alvaar’s face in his hands and press a featherlight kiss to his brow before burying his nose into soft golden strands. “Jokes aside, thank you for coming back. If scaring me half to death means that you’ll pull through, then I would take that burden every time.”

There’s something about the way Alvaar relaxes into him, the faint breath of a sigh before tension eases out of his neck and jaw, that has always meant the world to him. It was too many emotions to articulate clearly, but it always made his heart feel warm. Reminded him that even if he wasn’t able to command the same fear and awe as the Warrior of Light, to be a brilliant blade that cut through the dark and evil that threatened them, the rallying cry that brought their forces to victory, what he could do was no less important.

All great hero’s needed a home to return to, else they would eventually feel they had nothing left to fight for.

“Alphi?”

“Yes Alvaar?”

Pulling back enough to regard him a moment with scrutiny, the Bard leaned in with a purposeful ease, lips brushing against his chastely for a moment before murmuring something against his skin.

This time he heard them. Felt their movement and the warmth of them against his lips and burning against his skin. Poetry and promise and providence all in one.

“I love you.”

It was no big deal. It was a sentiment he’d always known from 1,001 things Alvaar did all the time. Something he had long convinced himself didn’t matter. A phrase used over and over until it’s meaning was practically lost.

But oh.

Oh...

How those words shook him to the depths of his soul and cut him in two regardless.

He’s twenty-one again for just a moment. Full of questions and a heart fuller still with longing, listening to Alvaar speak of love he’d known with that easy and sincere air of his. Brutally honest as ever.

Love was ruinous. Love would destroy you in ways you didn’t think were possible. Love was thirst and hunger. And all your days, when you’d known the taste of true love, of something that clutched past your heart and into your soul, you would always want for more of it.

In the present with his face buried against Alvaar’s shoulder, tears welling over and soaking into clean white bandages, he feels like a beast half starved.

“I would really like it if you stayed,” Alvaar murmurs, still running his fingers along the Scholar’s back soothingly. He’s infuriatingly casual for having just reduced his lover to tears. If he hadn’t just spent an hour healing and bandaging him up, Alphinaud would probably have swatted him.

Instead he just nods.

He’d never been very good at refusing that particular request anyway. Even when he was the one chastising Alvaar on why sharing a medical bed was in poor interest of his health.

But it’s late, and he’s tired, and nuzzling into the warm muscle of Alvaar’s shoulder he doesn’t want to leave anyway. So, he pulls himself up onto the bed fully, curling up beside him and keeping his cheek settled against the Bard’s shoulder that’s free of bruises. He knows he won’t sleep well but the situation is unfortunately familiar enough he knows that he’ll still get plenty of rest for tomorrow’s troubles.

“Alvaar?” he asks softly after they’ve both settled into the pillows, sheets, and each other accordingly.

“Yea?”

“You really need a shower.”

It has Alvaar laughing enough to make him wince, “Brat... don’t make me laugh that hurts.”

Alphinaud just smiles softly and hums an amused note as Alvaar settles further against him.

“Alvaar?” he asks again after a few minutes, getting a soft grunt of acknowledgement.

Shifting enough to study the soft and unguarded profile he’s sketched a hundred times before from memory, he presses a brief kiss to the Bard’s jaw and settles in for sleep.

“I love you too.”

#alphinaud leveilleur #alphinaud #wol #warrior of light #alvaar aldaviir #ff14 #ffxiv #mywriting #writing #wondrous tails #wondrous tails of ffxiv #sfw #oc #alphinaud x wol #wow. it finally happened. established relationship time. bless.

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quilleth · 4 years

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Morning Confidences

This was an exercise in trying to really channel some pining into my writing, and also playing with that week 4 scene with an MC who has discovered the Historians and also encouraged Jasper to talk, because I love that scene. I’ve tried writing it from Elisabeth’s POV before, but a) it was on my old phone which is not turning on right now, and b) Elisabeth doesn’t really do the pining until week 5 so she’s mostly just Very Concerned because that is What Friends Do; she’s oblivious that way. I’m still not convinced I was successful but @timelord-in-hogwarts and @virtuallyinlovewithyou have said otherwise, so I decided to post this anyway (Thank you both for the encouragement!)

Need it say it? Spoilers for the extended demo ahead! Read at your own risk!

In the dim corridor, Jasper paused, a breakfast tray expertly balanced in his hands. There was no tell-tale glow from a candle gleaming under the door, and the room was hushed, the only sound a faint rustle of blankets. Good, he thought as he eased the door open soundlessly. If she’s asleep then I can leave the tray for her for when she wakes, then I can finish transcribing that last page of notes regarding the servants’ testimonials and then—

“Good morning, Jasper,” Elisabeth smirked at him from where she lay, propped up against the pillows.

No doubt she had seen him startle—he did not know why she seemed to forever be trying to catch him off his guard, but she had finally succeeded at it. However, judging by her subsequent pout, he had regained his composure quickly enough to appear calm, sterling the tray down without any of the dishes rattling. “Good morning, Lady Elisabeth. You are awake early,” he said with a slight bow. “I am sorry if I woke you.” He had hoped to leave her undisturbed, but clearly, that was not to be the case. It would, after all, be quite rude to leave without paying her the formalities.

She smiled and wriggled into a somewhat more dignified sitting position, saying as she did so, “You didn’t. I was already awake, simply trying to decide a course of action for the day. You are rather early yourself though, Jasper.”

It was not a question, not quite, but he felt compelled to answer it all the same. “I’ve been preparing your tea and breakfast myself this week. Or attempting to. I have not been able to manage it every morning, but when I can…” Why am I telling her this? He thought, trailing off. This is not something she needs to be burdened with now.

As if sensing his hesitation, Elisabeth sat up straighter, one eyebrow raised, though her voice was light and teasing when she asked, “Are you afraid someone might try to poison my food Jasper?”

“I wouldn’t imagine anything impossible,” he replied, adding under his breath, “It would hardly be the first time someone has made an attempt.”

“O-oh, I see,” she said, her freckles standing out against cheeks suddenly gone pale, even in the dim early dawn light, as she fidgeted with her hands. If he hadn’t become well acquainted with her, Jasper might have been worried he’d frightened her by admitting his concern; as it was, he began to wonder if perhaps his worries were not entirely unwarranted. She abruptly folded her hands neatly in her lap, and added, “It is certainly very considerate of you to go to such lengths for me, although I worry about the strain it must be putting on you.” She sighed. “Only, forgive my bluntness, but you look utterly exhausted, Jasper. I fear you may be pushing yourself too hard!” Brow furrowed, she frowned at him in obvious concern.

“I apologize Lady Elisabeth. I shouldn’t let anything effect the quality of my service. I shall attempt to correct it.” Jasper felt rather like he had when he was younger and still in training, and it needled at him, though he’d never show it. Of all things, he had not expected a reprimand from her.

Leaning forward, she shook her head quickly. “No, I didn’t—that’s not what I meant!” Elisabeth puffed her cheeks out and crossed her arms. Apparently deciding courage was the better part of valor, she addressed his last comment directly. “You will never manage that if you don’t ever lay down your burdens, Jasper.” In a softer tone, she added, gazing up at him with wide, earnest eyes, “You can talk to me. I am sure it will help.”

Almost against his will, Jasper sagged into a chair, apparently surprising Elisabeth nearly as much as he’d surprised himself in doing so, as she flung her blankets off and swung her feet out of the bed, looking for all the world like she would jump up to help him if he’d needed it. Warmth unfurled in his chest at the obvious sincerity behind her suggestion and display. He sighed, a wry smile on his face as he tried to figure out where to start. “I suppose you already know the most difficult of my secrets.”

Elisabeth chuckled nervously and motioned for him to continue.

“I…I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, Elisabeth. This trial is a farce! And we both know it. And the lives involved—I hate that they are seen as so unequal, even by some of the staff. Who are we to judge what life has value and what does not? Is that not something we leave to the purview of future history? Or any god or afterlife one might believe?” Once the words started to flow, Jasper found he could not stop them. They poured out of him like a dam had broken, leaving him drained and oblivious to his surroundings. “And this Summit! How can it all be going so wrong at once? Is everything we all built and sacrificed for going to be destroyed so easily? And am I truly doomed to do nothing but watch and record as everything I care about, save perhaps my honor, crumbles into dust?” Looking up from the spot he had been staring at, unseeing, he met Elisabeth’s bright, concerned gaze, feeling every bit as exhausted as she’d accused him of being.

“Oh Jasper! I do wish you’d said something sooner!” she exclaimed from her perch on the edge of her bed where she leaned towards him, one hand resting on his arm in an attempt, it would seem, to offer comfort.

Funny, he hadn’t even noticed her touch before, but once he did, he was too aware of the odd—if not entirely inappropriate—circumstances yet could not bring himself to rectify the situation. He was so tired, and Elisabeth was right; he did feel a little better for having told someone his worries. Accepting comfort where it was offered (it couldn’t hurt, just this once) he placed his hand over hers where it rested on his arm and was rewarded with a pleased smile and a gentle squeeze.

Elisabeth sighed and shook her head. “You aren’t alone, you know. The Summit itself…I don’t know if I can save that. Things do seem to have gone all squiffy at the moment. But,” she met his gaze, a look of determination on her face, a look he’d seen before, but never with quite so much conviction as she said, “Imogen I can, and will save! I will not let gross injustice happen if it is at all in my power to prevent. Leave it to me, Jasper. You don’t have to act; I will.”

Had this speech come from someone else, he might not believe it, but when he heard her speaking, he didn’t feel the doubt he expected. He shook his head slightly, and replied, “I…Thank you, Elisabeth. You don’t know how much lighter I feel having heard that. You—just thank you.” He paused, and carried away by feelings of relief and gratitude and, it had to be admitted, affection, squeezed her hand lightly before rising from the chair, ignoring her soft noise of protest. “I should go. We both have duties to attend to, and I have kept you long enough. May whatever you believe in watch over you this week, Lady Elisabeth, for I will not be able to. Not as much as I would wish.” He bowed before turning to leave, a new vigor in his step as he closed the door on a soft “You as well, Jasper.” The memory of Elisabeth, sleep disheveled, bare feet barely skimming the carpet, her messy golden hair lit from the dawn light breaking through the shutters, telling him that she would act where he could not remained with him like a benediction over what would sure prove to be an otherwise grim and dreary week.

#7kpp #quilleth writes #elisabeth of jiyel #elisabeth and jasper #jasper 7kpp #i've been feeling kind of bleh lately so that could be why i'm not happy with this #but also the very obvious lack of cavity inducing Fluff and Awkardness that i usually write with these two #probably also because i generally tend to not use quite as much text from the game itself as well and just wing everything

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hot-tae-with-suga · 5 years

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This Looks Bad || 3

Summary: Taehyung and I were just horsing around, but someone took a picture, and now everyone thinks I’m cheating on my boyfriend Namjoon with one of his best friends. Which I’m not, because I don’t (let myself) think of Tae that way. And neither does Namjoon. Right?

Reader (1st person unnamed femme OC)/Namjoon/Taehyung

Idol AU

36.2K total || Rated M || Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3 || Masterlist

Genre: fluff / smut / angst with happy ending || Warnings: Misunderstandings, Failure to Communicate, Bisexual characters, Threesome, Smut

Originally Posted 2019-03-29

Thank you so so so much to my editor S, and my wonderful betas from the JAG discord (L, V, and D)

45 Days P.I. (10 days after deciding to give it a chance)

By the next Wednesday, I was a nervous wreck again. This time over my thesis defense, rather than the relationship issues that had been plaguing me for weeks.

I had prepared as much as I could, spending hours memorizing the smallest details of my results and analysis, and practicing answering potential panel questions with Namjoon on the phone. I knew I was as ready as I could be, but I was still pacing outside the door to the conference room when Joon and Tae arrived.

They each had hats, sunglasses, and masks on, which wasn't an unusual look for students, but they both had that confident air about them that drew onlookers’ eyes. Thankfully the mathematics building wasn't a particularly popular destination, so they were unlikely to be noticed.

Namjoon pulled down his mask and gave me a quick kiss, and Tae hugged me with a tight squeeze.

"We're not too late, are we? You haven't gone in already?" Namjoon asked, noting the empty seats that had been set up outside the conference room for participants to wait.

I shook my head. "No, you're just in time. The last student ran a little late and just got their verdict, so my panel just got inside to settle in. They should be calling me in-" I was interrupted by the conference room door opening and my advisor beckoning me inside.

"Are you ready?" she asked as I got closer, and I nodded. "And these two are with you?" Her eyebrows shot up when she realized who I had brought with me. She'd known I was dating Namjoon, but it had never really come up between us, as he hadn't had any reason to visit me on campus before.

The four of us walked into the room and Namjoon squeezed my hand tight before releasing it to take a seat with Taehyung at the far end of the long table, while my advisor and I went to the other end, where a podium had been set up. The panel for my thesis, 4 tenured professors from my and other local universities, plus my advisor, ignored the audience and turned to me, asking if I was ready.

The next hour and a half was a haze in my memory; I only knew it was tough but my nearly obsessive preparation had paid off. I was able to mostly answer every question, and my advisor smiled proudly by the time I was wrapping up.

Once my defense was concluded, I stepped outside with Namjoon and Taehyung so the panel could deliberate and make their decision. I was warned it might take as long as half an hour, or even more, so I returned to pacing the hall.

"Babe, don't worry! You did amazing in there," Namjoon assured me, grabbing me by both hands in an attempt to make me stop walking and start to calm down.

"Yah, noona, you sounded so smart. The guys in there looked super impressed," Tae added. "I didn't really understand what you were talking about, to be fair, but math has never been my strong suit."

"Statistics, Tae-ah," I corrected. "Not math. Well, kind of math, but also sometimes not really?" Between the two of them they pulled me over to the uncomfortable chairs and sat me down with one of them on each side, physically restraining me from getting back up or even from anxiously bouncing my leg.

The panel only deliberated for twenty minutes in the end, and we were all invited back in. We resumed the positions we'd occupied before we'd left, with them seated at the end of the table and me behind the podium.

As soon as I heard the words, "We have determined that you have passed this defense and you will be awarded your doctorate in statistical mathematics," the rest of what the panel chair was saying faded into static. I could see Joon's giant grin and my advisor's proud smile, so I knew he was complimenting me, but I couldn't hear it over the rushing in my ears.

I shook each of the panelists’ hands and thanked them for their time and effort. The last one in the line, Dr. Jeong, a man in his 40's who I had only met once when he was introduced as a member of my panel, stopped me as I moved toward the door. "Don't tell me you'll sneak out before introducing your guests, miss?" he said slyly, and I knew he must have recognized my boyfriends. They'd removed their disguises, since sitting in a stuffy room for an hour and a half was torture enough. Plus, it had made it easier for me to see their encouraging faces as I answered the panel's questions.

I bowed and made introductions, the eldest panelist in the room obviously unaware of exactly who Namjoon and Taehyung were to their endless amusement. My advisor quietly asked them for their autographs, which they added to the page she'd been using for notes during my questioning, a fact that I found strangely amusing.

"You must be very proud," Dr. Jeong said to Namjoon, nodding in my direction. "She's a compliment to your own impressive intellect. I was quite a fan of yours when you appeared on Problematic Man, you know."

The way he said it struck me as strange, and it must have done to Namjoon as well, as he replied with, "She’s smart enough for both of us. I might be able to solve a few problems on a silly game show, but her mind blows me away every single day." He spoke to the professor, but his eyes were on me. "I'm so proud and amazed by what she's accomplished, and most of the time I count my lucky stars that she's with a dummy like me." I smiled at his compliment, and we bid the panel goodbye and took our leave.

As soon as we were out of the hallway and headed for the main staircase, Namjoon started muttering as he put his mask back on. "Can you believe that guy? I was ready to punch him!"

I was shocked to hear him speak that way, as was Taehyung, both of us looking to Namjoon for further explanation. "What do you mean? Which guy? One of the panelists?"

"Dr. Jeong," Namjoon bit out. "I'm pretty sure he was trying to insinuate that I helped you with your thesis or something."

“Yeah, that guy was weird,” Taehyung agreed. “You’ve been working on the background for your thesis project since before you even met Joon-hyung.” He grabbed my hand and quickly kissed the back of it while we were still alone, giving me a proud smile.

I reviewed the conversation in my memory, shaking my head. "I'm sure he wasn't," I tried to placate them. "I think he was just trying to impress you by showing that he knew more about you than just your name, or something."

Namjoon put his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer as we approached the doors out of the building. "If you say so, babe. Just, I dunno, don't take a position in his department, if he offers?" I rolled my eyes at his overprotective nature but nodded. "In any case, he continued, "we should celebrate. What do you say we all go out to dinner tomorrow night?"

Taehyung nodded eagerly, bouncing around us as we walked across the thankfully empty quad. "Yeah, let's go out! Maybe we can even go dancing after? We haven't been out in ages."

I rolled my eyes at his exuberance, but nodded. "Sure, if you guys are free."

47 Days P.I. (2 days after thesis defense)

The boys had an event scheduled the day after my defense, but they were able to clear time to take me out on Friday. I hadn't realized that Namjoon and Taehyung had intended to invite all the members of Bangtan, but I was delighted to celebrate with them all the same.

Having the whole group with us meant more security, but also more privacy since Joon had rented out the entire restaurant. Tae pestered all of us through the whole meal, trying to convince us to go out dancing once we were finished. Jimin and Hoseok both joined in his efforts, though Yoongi and Jungkook bowed out, claiming work and rest were more important.

The club we'd chosen for the night was getting crowded by the time we got there, so we mostly stuck to the VIP section we'd been given tables in rather than risking it in the writhing mass on the main floor. The six of us remaining ordered several rounds of drinks, and I lost count of the number of times we raised our glasses to cheer my success.

My head was spinning a bit, both due to the alcohol in my system and the way Namjoon and Taehyung were looking at me, making me squirm with anticipation. They both became bolder when we started dancing near the table, stepping closer to me and to each other, hands lingering on hips and shoulders, and heated glances all around. I was sure one of the members would say something, but when I looked they had all wandered down to the main floor and found dance partners of their own.

We danced and continued drinking for almost two more hours before I finally started whining about my shoes getting uncomfortable, and Namjoon gathered everyone to start heading home for the night. I was all set to grab a taxi back to my place, but Tae and Joon insisted I come back to the dorm with them, and I was too tipsy to disagree. We'd all switched to water before we'd left the club, but the heady floating feeling of the alcohol still ran through my veins. Tae was the closest to sober of any of us, his intense dislike of the taste of booze meant he went hard and fast at the beginning of the night but had stuck to soft drinks and water for the remainder of the evening.

"I'm kind of really looking forward to getting to sleep next to you again," I whispered in Taehyung's ear, the confession making me giggle. I was pressed between my two...suitors? Lovers didn't feel right when we’d hardly touched since our aborted surprise threesome, and while boyfriend was more accurate, it felt like it was too soon.

Tae turned his head and shot me a wicked smile, slowly easing his large hand onto my thigh and squeezing, slow enough to (hopefully) go undetected. I knew Joon had noticed when he mirrored Tae's actions, as well as leaning in to press an open mouthed kiss to my neck. It was all a bit overwhelming and made my head spin more than any amount of booze.

We finally reached the dorm building, and everyone piled out and shuffled upstairs. Hoseok reminded everyone to drink some more water before turning as we all said our good nights and made for whichever bed we were sleeping in.

As soon as the door to their bedroom closed behind us, both boys had their hands all over me. Namjoon reached for the zipper of my dress, but Taehyung pulled me against him before the clothing could slide off. His mouth slanted over mine, tongue demanding entrance as he kissed me so hard I nearly forgot to breathe.

"I've been dying to do that since last week," Tae confessed when he finally pulled away. "You have no idea how hard it is to know you want to kiss me but not be able to do it."

"Mmm," I hummed against his lips. "But it was certainly worth the wait."

Namjoon looked surprised. "You guys didn't even kiss after you talked? Taehyungie was looking so pleased with himself once we got back that I figured he'd at least made it to second base." I turned to swat at him playfully.

"Excuse me, weren't you the one who asked us to hold off because you wanted to be there?" I reminded him.

"Yeah, for the first time you fucked," he clarified, putting up his arms in self defense. "I didn't mean to put a hold on everything, I'm not the sex police."

I pouted. "Maybe it's for the best, I'm not sure I would have been able to stop myself once we got going."

"Mmm, me neither,” Tae admitted, looking a little guilty. He shook his head, as if to clear it. “We’re kinda drunk now, though…”

"I'm not that drunk," Namjoon insisted.

Tae rolled his eyes. "We’re all that drunk, Joon-hyung." I whined in protest; as much as the logical side of my brain agreed with his assessment, I had spent the entire night being intentionally seduced by these two men, and I was ready to pop.

Namjoon also made a noise of protest, his hands returning to the back of my dress and completely lowering the zipper before sliding his hands back up and pushing the straps off my shoulders. "Are you sure about that, Taetae?" he taunted his dongsaeng. "I think our girl needs a proper fucking." His hand followed the fabric of my dress as it slid down, past my bra and over my soft abdomen before resting over my panties. "She's so hot for us, so wet she's practically soaked through her panties."

I moaned, nodding my agreement with the direction Namjoon was trying to lure Taehyung. I reached up to tease my fingers over my own nipples, which were hard and pressing against the thin fabric of my undergarment. "A proper fucking is exactly what I need," I added. Tae groaned, balling his hands into fists and biting one to stifle the sound.

"I want to, you know how much I want to," Taehyung muttered. "So, so badly." He leaned forward to kiss me again, then pulled away and turned slightly to Namjoon, kissing him over my shoulder. I couldn't help the whimper I let out, I was too lost in my arousal to control it.

It was Namjoon's turn to groan in frustration. "Babe, those noises are just making it harder for me," he warned. I grinned and swiveled my hips back into him, feeling evidence of exactly how hard I was making it.

"Noona, pretty noona," Tae's words were sweet but his voice took a harder edge, beginning to sound a bit desperate. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you."

I looked up at the two of them, tall golden god-like mean who both looked back down at me with eyes darkened by lust. I wasn't sure if I should feel threatened or just aroused, but I licked my bottom lip deliberately before rolling my hips between them again.

Taehyung's hands gripped my hips and pulled me along with him as he walked backwards across the room, making me stumble as my foot caught on my dress, which had gathered around my ankles. I felt Namjoon reach down to disentangle me before following behind.

"I'm feeling a little underdressed here, guys," I commented, realizing I was down to my underwear while they were both still fully dressed. Once Tae reached the bed he'd been aiming for, he spun me around and used the momentum to push me down onto it. I didn't care which bed it was we'd landed on, only about the man crawling on top of me and laying a kiss onto my collarbone.

Namjoon hummed his approval of the younger man's move and pulled himself up onto the bed next to me. "I dunno, I'm a big fan of this look," he assured me, trailing fingers up and down my arm, leaving a path of goosebumps. I turned my head toward him and stared into his eyes until he got the hint and leaned forward to kiss me.

"Now," Tae said carefully, pushing himself up so that he could look at both Namjoon and I. "We’re all on the same page here, right? No one’s worried they’re being set up?"

I slapped at him lightly. "Ugh, don’t bring that up any more," I griped. "That has to be the least sexy threesome proposal ever."

Taehyung raised an eyebrow at me. "Hey, last time we were in this position you freaked out because our intentions were unclear. Just covering all my bases here."

"He has a point," Namjoon agreed, and earned another smack from me. "Hey, what's with all the violence tonight? You were never this prone to hitting me before."

"One annoying boyfriend, I could handle," I argued. "Two of them just makes me want to hit things."

Taehyung cleared his throat. "So, uh, is everybody on board? Do we need to grab some condoms or anything, or are we all clean?"

I shot him a look. "What happened to ‘we’re too drunk’, hmm?” I teased. He opened his mouth to answer, but I cut him off. "In any case, I'd really like to get off at some point tonight, and I think you and Joonie would too." I accompanied my bold words with caresses on their still clothed erections, Tae's with my knee and Namjoon's by twisting my torso to reach my hand to his. Both boys gasped at the touches, and Namjoon chuckled.

"That's my girl, straight to the point," ha laughed, giving me a quick kiss to the temple.

"Our girl," Taehyung corrected quickly.

I rolled my hips and arched my back, desperate to remind them of what we were supposed to be doing together on this bed. "Yes, well, your girl has one of the world's hottest men between her legs and another at her side, and she'd really like to suck one of their dicks, if they're interested," I whined.

True to their natures, Taehyung froze in place at my invitation and Namjoon sprang into action, undoing his belt and divesting himself of his clothing as quickly as possible.

"Yeah, babe, how do you want me?" he asked. I sat up, shifting so I didn't push Taehyung off of me entirely, and looked around. There was enough room at the far side of the bed for one of my favourite positions.

"Off the side?" I proposed, scooting myself across the bed until my head was hanging off the side, upside down. Namjoon scrambled to meet me, spreading his feet wide to as to line his cock up with my waiting mouth.

He lost his balance and fell forward a little, his impressive erection sliding across my face as his aim was slightly off. I looked to see what had distracted him and saw Taehyung undressing as well, peeling his designer clothes off carefully and laying them on the other bed for safekeeping. Once he was down to his black boxer briefs, he returned to us, smirking to see us watching his every move. It was like watching one of the large cat species, or a master at work, he knew just how to move, to angle himself, to maximize the impact he had. It was almost unfair (and would have been completely unfair if I hadn't known that body would be on top of mine again momentarily).

Tae looked me over, telling me, "Now you're the one who's overdressed," as he crawled back onto the bed and trailed those long fingers down my sternum, dancing around my belly button before teasing at the waistband of my silky panties. I was glad I'd made the effort to wear a cute matching set of underwear, even though I'd told myself I wasn't going to go home with them. Funny how a few drinks and heated looks will change a girl's mind.

Namjoon "helped" by trying to dig his hands under me and unhook my bra, until I reached up and arched my back in order to do it myself. He did peel it off of me once it was loose, while I was busy lifting my hips to wiggle my underwear down over them, so that Taehyung could slide them down my legs and toss them aside with far less care than he had for his own clothes.

My attention was drawn back to Namjoon, who was kneading my breasts excitedly, as he did any time they became bare in his presence. Exuberant massaging quickly became softer caresses, though, as he knew what I liked in order to turn me on even further. I moaned as he stroked his thumbs over both my nipples simultaneously, letting my head drop back down off the edge of the mattress, and once again faced his weeping cock.

There were several reasons I was particularly fond of this position, one of the biggest being that it softened my gag reflex enough for me to take Namjoon's entire cock down my throat. It was one of the reasons he was also a big fan, despite the awkward splits he had to do to get level with me; that, and the fact that he was able to play with my breasts while I sucked him off. It also left my hands free to play with myself, but this time there would be someone else available to take care of me.

"You have no idea how hot this looks," I heard Taehyung mutter as I reached over my head to pull Namjoon's hips closer, shifting to line him up with my mouth and finally slide his hardness past my lips. I moaned at the feeling, which I knew would make Namjoon thrust deeper and draw a grunt of some kind from him throat as well.

I did my best to concentrate on the task in front of me, but Tae's nimble fingers dipped between my legs, sliding easily due to the arousal slicking my thighs. "She's so wet, hyung," Tae commented. "And sensitive," he added when I twitched at the quick brush of his thumb over the hood of my clit.

Namjoon made a noise of agreement. "I think, between the dancing at the club, and feeling her up in the car, we worked her up real good." He was starting to build a steady rhythm of fucking into my throat, making him catch his breath every few words and reminding me that I needed to sync my breathing with his thrusts, though that was getting more difficult to do when Taehyung's ministrations between my legs had me gasping.

I was aching for those long fingers of his to make their way inside me, but Taehyung was taking his time teasing me, drawing figure-eights over my clit and trailing from there down to my perineum, even ghosting over my asshole a couple of times. It was so hard to keep still as I was twitching every time he hit a particularly sensitive spot, which was more frequently than I'd expected.

Perhaps it was due to the heightened emotions I’d experienced over the past few weeks, or even the alcohol still in my system, but I was beginning to think I'd been missing out during all those years of monogamy. Having two men, two wonderful and generous and talented lovers, concentrating all their efforts on me was nearly overwhelming. Feeling the stimulation to my aching pussy while Namjoon fucked my throat and continued to caress my breasts was driving me to my peak faster than I ever remember.

Taehyung's free hand slid over my collarbone and trailed over my neck, where I knew the bulge of Joon's cock was visibly distorting my throat. “That is so hot," Tae growled, his voice low and husky with need. "How is that so hot?"

"She takes my dick like a champ," Namjoon bragged, starting to pant and sweat from exertion. "Don't you, babe?" I couldn't move my head to nod so I moaned my agreement, which set off a chain of sounds from Namjoon and then Taehyung when he saw how his hyung reacted to the vibrations.

I arched my back and rocked my hips against Tae's hand, trying to encourage him. The hand between my legs, which had paused while he examined my throat, resumed it tortuous path through my arousal slickened folds. This time, however, instead of teasing around the edges, Taehyung finally slid one of his fingers inside me, making me moan again.

"So tight," he commented. "Fuck, you feel like heaven, noona. I can't wait to fuck you, I'm gonna fill you up so good, gonna make you come on my cock." I rocked my hips up against him again, trying to fuck myself on his hand. He took the hint and pumped into me a little faster, but not before adding a second finger and adjusting his angle so that his thumb was able to circle my clit while he moved.

I had lost control of the noises that tried to escape my throat, only to be muffled by Namjoon's cock still fucking it. His rhythm was beginning to falter and I used one hand to caress his balls, which I knew would bring him closer to the edge. "Fuck, babe, fuck- I'm gonna come. Where- Where do you want me?" he asked, as though I'd be able to answer him.

In reply, I used both hands to grab him by the ass and pull him closer to me once more, burying him as deep down as I could, my throat contracting around him in protest. He didn't come in that instant, but he was nearly there, and got the idea that I wanted to swallow all of him down.

He grabbed my upper arms and used the leverage for one, two, three, four more hard thrusts before I felt more than tasted his release. The loud groan he let out was also a good clue.

I started to be able to breathe through my nose as Namjoon's cock softened and I cleaned it off as best I could. I couldn't even properly catch my breath as Taehyung assaulted my pussy and my ears with the most delicious pleasure.

"Yeah, you did so well, noona, you look so beautiful taking his cock like that." The praise falling from Tae’s mouth filled me with pride as I shifted myself to the side a bit, in order to give my neck some support. He moved with me, never taking his hands off of me, still fucking me with his fingers and teasing my clit. He curled his two fingers up inside of me and hit that spongy spot that made me see stars. "You gonna come for me, pretty noona? Gonna come on my fingers and soak the bed, aren't you? I can't wait to be inside you, noona, I wanna be in you while Joon-hyung fucks your throat. Or maybe we should share this perfect little pussy, leave you wrecked after taking the both of us, you won't be able to walk the next day..." The patter of dirty talk continued, Taehyung describing everything he'd ever dreamed of doing to me while dragging me closer to ecstasy.

Namjoon returned, holding a shirt he'd pulled from the laundry basket and used it to wipe himself off, and I realized I'd never registered him stepping away. He nonchalantly reached over with his free hand to pinch one of my nipples and that pushed me over the edge.

My vision went white as a wave of pleasure originating at my core spread through my body in an instant, rushing down each limb and leaving a tingling sensation in my extremities. A wordless cry escaped my already abused throat.

I was able to bask in the sensation for a few seconds before the continued stimulation from Tae started making me twitch painfully. "Enough, please," I begged hoarsely. Taehyung smiled wickedly at me and redoubled his efforts, but Namjoon pushed his hand back.

"Overstimulation isn't her thing," he explained to his disappointed looking dongsaeng, who nodded and leaned back. Namjoon handed Tae the shirt he had used to clean up and Tae wiped his hand clear of my mess before pulling my thighs apart to give him more room to gently run the cloth over my sticky body.

I lay back and let him care for me, until I shifted my leg and brushed up against Tae's stiff cock, still trapped in his underwear. I sat up slowly, leaning forward until I was pressed up against him, running my hand over the hardness that was leaking a wet spot onto his black boxer briefs. "I think I owe you an orgasm," I said huskily. I wrapped my hand around the impressive girth and squeezed, making him shiver against me.

I moved to kiss him, but Namjoon leaned in to stop me. "I think you've each had a turn to get someone off tonight," he commented. "My turn now."

I gasped as Namjoon manhandled Tae away from me, laying him on his back and roughly pulling off his underwear. My eyes widened when I finally saw the cock I'd been squeezing. "You weren't kidding" I breathed, and both men turned confused looks at me. "That's a dick too good to waste," I supplied, making Taehyung roll his eyes and Namjoon only look more confused.

"Ignore her, I think you were saying something about making me come?" Tae encouraged his boyfriend.

I had to stop myself from squealing a little, realizing that Namjoon was also Taehyung's boyfriend, as well as my own. They were both my boyfriends and they were also each other's boyfriends. Which meant they were going to do boyfriend things together. Boyfriend things like give each other blow jobs, and it was totally okay if I watched and even got off on it, since they were my boyfriends.

None of the fantasies I'd ever had involving Namjoon's mouth (of which there were many) were anywhere near as hot as seeing it actually wrapped around Tae's cock. I laid back to get a better angle, unable to look away from the way Joon's soft lips stretched around it, how his tongue escaped from his bottom lip as he came back off of it, the string of saliva hanging from his mouth as be gulped down a breath.

Namjoon's hand continued to pump up and down Tae's erection, spreading the mix of pre-cum and spit over the entire length. "Talk about wet, baby," he teased. "You keep leaking like this, I don't even need any extra lube."

I wasn't able to deep throat Namjoon all the way unless I was in a position like I'd been in earlier to dampen my own gag reflex, and Taehyung was even bigger than Namjoon, so it was not surprising to see Joon use his hand to stroke the base of Tae's cock where his mouth couldn't reach. He was still trying to get as much of it as he could, though, backing off a couple of times until he gagged so hard he started coughing.

"Hyung," Taehyung cautioned, sitting up a bit and using one hand to push Namjoon's head up higher so he could look in his eyes. "Don't hurt yourself, okay?"

Namjoon allowed Tae to push him up, but kept one hand wrapped around Tae's dick, slowly stroking it. He rocked forward, pressing up against Tae's body until he had him pinned to the mattress, and kissed him deeply.

I don't think I will ever get tired of sights like that, of seeing them so intimate with each other, not only physically but emotionally, the warmth in their gazes as they pulled apart striking something inside me. Sure, it made my lady parts tingle, but it also did the same to my heart.

"I think I'm the luckiest woman in the world right now." I didn't realize I'd said the words aloud until they both turned to smile at me fondly.

As Namjoon resumed his position between Taehyung's legs, the younger man said, "Here I was thinking the same thing."

I quirked my head. "You think I'm the luckiest woman in the world, too?"

His sigh turned into a gasp as Joon took him in his mouth again. "You know what I mean," he whined at me. He cried out again at something Namjoon was doing with his tongue, reaching to fist his hand in the other man's hair while beckoning me closer with his chin. "Come here, I want to kiss you some more."

Kissing Tae severely hindered my view of him getting sucked off, but I was able to sneak a glance every time he broke away to praise or plead with Namjoon. It wasn't long before he was grunting at Joon that he was close.

"Hyung," he begged, tugging at Namjoon's hair. "Hyung, I'm gonna- Hyung, please I wanna come-" Tae cried out as he came, hips arching off the bed. Namjoon swallowed once, thickly, and again before allowing Tae's cock to slip from his mouth.

"Easier clean up," he reminded Taehyung. "You know I don't mind."

Tae grunted, sitting up and grabbing the soiled shirt to wipe himself off. "One of these days, I'm going to come all over your face before you expect it, hyung. And I'm going to take a picture. And frame it and hang it on my wall." Namjoon rolled his eyes, apparently accustomed to this point of contention between them.

"Whatever, you can dream about covering me in come some other time. Let's just get some sleep, we've done enough celebrating tonight." Namjoon stood, gave us each a kiss laced with the taste of Tae's cum, and walked to the other bed. He picked up the clothes Taehyung had left there and tossed them back towards us. I scrambled to join him on the clean dry bed, and Tae piled in after me (after making sure that his clothes didn't land on any of the wet spots).

I ended up in between them again, facing Joon with Tae clinging to me from behind. In contrast to the last time we'd been in this position, though, this time my heart felt settled and content, like things were finally where they were supposed to be.

48 Days P.I. (The next morning)

As I regained consciousness, I was significantly less comfortable than I had been going to sleep in the early morning hours. When we'd climbed into bed, I'd been warm, slightly tipsy, and basking in the glow of both physical and emotional satisfaction. Upon waking, I was faced with a pounding headache, gross sticky patches on my skin from the hasty clean up, and one boyfriend sprawled over half the bed, snoring loudly, while the other was trying to suffocate me with his body heat while grinding his morning wood against my ass.

"Ugh," I groaned, trying to extract myself from Tae's clutches and the mess of blankets tangled around us. Finally free, I stumbled around, pulling on a pair of soft sleep pants I kept in one of Namjoon's drawers and a clean(-ish) shirt from the floor.

I padded down to the kitchen, heading straight for the cabinet where I knew they kept a large bottle of painkillers, and was confused when I didn't see it in it's usual spot. I heard a rattle behind me and turned to find Jimin and Jungkook looking words for wear, shaking the bottle I'd been in search of. I hadn't noticed them when I walked in, too hungover to look away from my target, but they seemed to be after the same thing I was.

I accepted the bottle Jimin passed me with a nod of thanks and poured a handful of the little round pills into my hand. Grabbing a big glass and filling it with water, I took a couple of the painkillers and slid the rest into my pocket, to take back for Namjoon and Taehyung.

"I know why you're feeling it this morning," I nodded at Jimin, who looked cranky but adorably rumpled with his over-treated hair sticking out at all angles. "But what has you looking so haggard, Kookie? I thought you stayed home to get some rest." Jungkook's brown hair looked like he'd been running his hands through it all night and the bags under his eyes were shockingly purple.

The maknae grunted, running his hands through his hair again. "I haven't even been to bed yet," he admitted. "I didn't realize what time it was until Jimin-hyung got up." I nodded in sympathy.

"I'm surprised you're walking straight, noona," Jimin finally chimed in, a cheeky grin making his eyes disappear.

I tried not to let my shock show on my face, and tried to think of an innocent reason why I'd be walking funny. "What do you mean? My shoes weren't that bad, I just wanted to come home because I was getting tired."

Both boys laughed. "You know Taehyungie is, like, the loudest person in the world, right?" Jimin reminded me. "And, uh, neither you nor hyung were especially quiet either. These walls are pretty thin.”

I felt my entire face heat up at the implication. "Oh," was all I could think to say.

"Don't worry, noona," Jungkook tried to reassure me. "They told us that the three of you are dating or whatever." I wasn't sure how it was possible, but my cheeks started burning even hotter.

"Yah, you think Jin-hyung or Hobi-hyung wouldn't have teased you, the way you were dancing all over each other?" Jimin added.

I dropped into a crouch, covering my face, I was so embarrassed. I had assumed they'd all been too distracted to notice us dancing, but knowing that not only had they noticed, they'd known exactly what was going on, made me want to disappear.

"Hey, have you guys seen noona?" I heard Taehyung ask from the hallway. No one said anything, but they must have pointed to where I was because Taehyung's bare feet appeared in my field of view. "Noona, are you okay? Did you drop something?"

"No," I said, my voice muffled by my arms wrapped around my head. "I'm just trying to melt into the floor, leave me here to die in peace."

There was a moment of confused silence before Jungkook supplied, "She didn't realize that you'd told us about the three of you."

"Or quite how loud you all were last night," Jimin added.

I felt arms slide around me as Taehyung crouched next to me. "I'm sorry, noona," he apologized softly. "We should have told you that we told the members. We needed to do it before they found out on their own. I promise, we haven't told anybody else." I twisted to hug him back, and he pulled me up to my feet. "Imagine what you would have had to say about last night if they didn't know? You're not that good a liar." I let our a reluctant laugh and nodded into his chest. He hadn't bothered to put a shirt on, so my nose rubbed directly against his soft, honey coloured skin. I liked the sensation, so I nuzzled into him again.

Once I calmed down enough that I felt my face no longer resembled a tomato, I turned away from him and looked at the other boys. "You guys are okay with this? I mean, you don't think two of your members dating each other is going to affect the dynamics or anything?"

Jimin and Jungkook both shook their heads, looking amused. "Of course not. I mean, they've had their thing together for years, and it hasn't affected us. And, I mean, if you think those two are the only ones who've ever fucked-"

"That's enough!" Tae cut Jimin off with a shout, taking me by the arm and dragging me out of the room

"What? We've lived together for more than a decade, with little to no chance of having normal dating lives. We're all young, healthy, attractive men-" The words followed us as I was marched back toward the bedroom.

Tae turned to look at me as we reached the door, noting the dreamy look in my eyes. "Oh no you don't," he practically growled at me. "I know exactly what you're thinking, and I'd like to remind you that you already have two boyfriends to satisfy your every fantasy. Stop thinking whatever it is you're thinking."

***

The three of us went back to my place after we'd all woken up and grabbed showers, since apparently there was even less privacy at the dorm than I'd realized. We still needed to have a serious discussion about the burgeoning relationship between the three of us. We had probably crossed a line the night before, anyway, so the talk was long overdue.

Even though we'd all slept hard, I was exhausted, so I collapsed onto the couch as soon as we all filed inside. Taehyung thought this was a fine idea, so he fell on top of me, effectively pinning me in place. "Mmm, this couch is so comfy," he commended, wiggling and making me gasp in pain as all his sharp points managed to dig into my in the process.

"Let her breathe, please," Namjoon requested, settling into the armchair to watch Tae and I flail around until we were more comfortably seated.

I looked between their faces, my head on a swivel since I managed to take the seat between them. "So, who wants to go first?" I asked nervously.

"Um, do we need to take turns?" Namjoon seemed a bit confused.

I shrugged. "I don't know, I've never done this before. You guys sound like you know what you're doing, at least."

Tae chuckled. "That is...a gross over exaggeration of our competence in this area. I just know that from everything I've read about polyamorous relationships, communication and boundaries are very important, so we should start there."

Namjoon nodded, adding, "Yeah, and since not communicating has already gotten me in trouble, I want to make sure we're all on the same page."

"Well," I said thoughtfully. "We agree on the basics, I think. We're all equal partners in this, right? No primary or secondary partners?" They both nodded. "And both of you are my boyfriends, and you are each other's boyfriend and I am your girlfriend." More nods. "Okay, but what about publicly? We've been lucky that Namjoon and I are public, but I honestly think ARMY would riot if I was dating two of you."

"Yeah," Namjoon agreed. "I don't even know if we can let the managers know. The members do, of course-"

"Yeah, thanks for telling me that, by the way," I interrupted.

"Sorry, babe!" he apologized quickly before continuing. "We thought it best to tell them, in case they caught us or something. So they wouldn't think anybody was getting cheated on."

"No no, I get why," I replied. "I was just a bit embarrassed, especially when I realized they, uh, could hear us last night."

"Yeah, sound carries pretty well in there," Tae said with a shrug. "We're used to it though, we mostly don't mention anything we hear and the others do the same."

"Babe?" Namjoon asked suddenly. "When's your graduation?"

I was a little surprised by his abrupt question, but answered, "Early next month. Why, do you want to introduce Tae to my parents? They'll be coming for the ceremony, but I'm not sure they're ready for their daughter to be dating another idol..."

He shook his head. "Not that. There were just some other things we were gonna talk about after you graduated."

Tae looked confused when I gave Namjoon a sharp look. "Oh? Sexy things?"

I shook my head at the same time Joon said, "Very sexy things, at least I think they are."

"Namjoon," I whined. "Not the time."

Ignoring my objections, Namjoon told Taehyung, "She made me promise to wait until after she graduated to talk about her moving in to my apartment. And to talk about when we can start a family."

I watched Tae's eyes widen and said, "See, Joonie, it's too soon! We should at least wait until we have this whole new relationship thing figured out before we start talking about babies."

Namjoon smiled when Taehyung started shaking his head. "No no, please let's talk about babies," the younger man encouraged. "I'm thinking four or five. Probably an even number so we can each be bio-dads to the same number, so four or six then. Ooh! Can we name one Chi?" My shoulders dropped and I shook my head.

"Never count on Tae to be on the anti-baby side of an argument," Namjoon reminded me in a stage whisper. "He's been wanting kids since before he could grow facial hair."

I looked back up at them and smiled at the joke, but I wasn't ready to let the argument go just yet. "Guys, I haven't even graduated yet, I don't have a job lined up. I didn't go to school for so long to earn a doctorate just to quit and be your...baby factory. I'm not stay-at-home-mom material, or kept woman material for that matter."

Tae wrapped one arm around my shoulders and squeezed me close. "No, noona, I wouldn't want that for you. I just can't help but get excited about the idea of our future together."

"Moving in to my place isn't about you being a kept woman," Namjoon argued. "My place is closer to our dorms, in a better neighbourhood, and has better security. It's more for my peace of mind than anything else." He grabbed my hand and pulled me into his lap, wrapping his strong arms around me. "And we don't have to start a family right away, I just want to be able to talk about it. You didn't want to discuss it when I first brought it up because you were so focused on school, but now I want to be able to start planning."

After a moment of silence, Tae asked, "So, you guys were talking about talking about having kids...were you talking about getting married, too?" The look on his face worried me, so I moved off of Namjoon's lap and cuddled back up to Tae.

"No, Taetae, we talked about it ages ago and neither of us have ever felt the need to actually get married just to prove we're committed to each other," I said with a smile at Joon. "We're both people of our words. And it feels unfair that we'd be able to do something that is denied to so many other couples in the country, just because we happened to fall in love with someone of the opposite gender." When Taehyung's expression didn't change, I climbed into his lap and beckoned Namjoon to join us on the couch. "Besides, at this point I don't think either if us would get married without you being part of it."

"Right," Namjoon confirmed, sliding his arm behind Tae and hugging him. "Especially now, I wouldn't want to get married unless it was to both of my partners."

"I don't want you to deny me," Tae said quietly, pivoting back to the earlier focus of our conversation. "We don't have to tell anybody that we're all together, that's none of their business. But I don't think I'd be able to stand it if I read somewhere that you said you're not dating me."

Namjoon and I exchanged a look, but he was the first to speak. "Sure, we can find something to say if we get asked. Like, 'we are in a happy and healthy relationship', or like, 'we have a great relationship with Taehyung' or something. Something true, even if it doesn't tell the whole story."

Tae seemed to brighten at the thought. "Yeah, that would be better than flat out lying, at least." He sighed again. "I just...I don't want to feel like I'm the third wheel in your relationship. You guys have been together for years now, talked about having kids and how you don't want to get married, and now I'm just- Our relationship is so much newer, and we aren't really ready to be talking about those kind of things yet."

Both Namjoon and I hugged him tight, squishing him between us. "The romantic side of our relationship might be new, but it's not like we haven't had any relationship up until now," I pointed out. "You've probably been my best friend for these years I've been with Namjoon, and I mean, you guys have been together for ages, longer than I've been around." I swallowed, ready to admit my insecurity. "I mean, how am I supposed to compete, physically, when you two literally live in the same room and can be with each other all the time?"

Namjoon spread his arms further to envelop me in the hug along with Tae. "Don't worry about that, babe," he assured me. "If we're too tired or busy to come visit you, we're too tired or busy to do anything with each other."

Taehyung nodded in agreement. "Yeah, and we can, like, call you or something if we do," he offered. "Just, like, so you know it's happening?"

I chuckled at that idea. "I don't want to police your sex life, either," I said. "You shouldn't have to ask permission to be intimate with your partner. I just...if I start feeling like you're not sexing me up because you're already getting enough from each other, I'll say something."

"Promise?" Joon prompted.

I nodded. "I promise. And Tae-ah, you promise to let us know if you're feeling like a third wheel?" He nodded his agreement.

"And I promise to let you know if I start feeling like an old toy you're both done playing with now that you have each other," Namjoon added. I saw the shy sincerity in his eyes. "That's my current biggest relationship-based fear."

I hugged both men close, giving an extra hard squeeze before releasing them and relaxing into the arm of the couch behind me.

"So, just so we're all on the same page, sex doesn't have to be reserved for when all three of us are present, right?" Tae clarified. Both Namjoon and I nodded. "I figure unless someone starts feeling left out, we can just go with the flow."

I added, "I do want to make sure to have time alone with each of you, though. I love all of us together, but we had one-on-one time before, and I don't want to lose that."

"You won't feel left out because Tae and I get a lot more time together?" Namjoon asked softly.

I shook my head. "I think its a bit different with the two of you, since you've lived and worked together for so long," I admitted. "Oh, but the tour is going to be pure torture for me. You two will have each other, and I'll be back here by myself."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Joon promised.

Taehyung looked curious. "Well, what did you do before, other than the sappy love letters? Lots of phone calls and FaceTime and sexting?" His face lit up with a new idea. "We haven't even talked about kinks! What are the two of you into? Do you have any hard stops? I mean, I'm willing to try pretty much anything once-"

Tae was cut off as both his and Namjoon's phones rang almost simultaneously. They each scrambled to answer, Tae informing the person on the other like that Namjoon was talking to Sejin and they could all talk on speaker.

"Okay, have you guys checked your SNS yet today?" Sejin asked once he confirmed both of them were on the line. Both Namjoon and Taehyung confirmed that they hadn't been online yet. Sejin sighed. "Alright, you guys have managed to create the same scandal twice. Someone had a camera at the club last night, which you didn't tell me about going to but we'll get to that later. Anyway, there's another picture of Taehyung and your little girlfriend grinding on each other, Namjoon-ah. We're doing our best to kill the story, but..."

Sejin went into the details of the lengths they were going to and the money they'd have to spend to cover up this new picture, but I tuned him out and went searching for myself. It wasn't hard to find, the picture was all over Twitter, but something about it looked off to me.

"...I don’t think you'll be able to just brush it off this time, you're going to have to break up with her and make a public statement-" Sejin was saying when I cut him off.

"Sejin-ssi? Look for the whole picture," I advised. The man on the line sputtered a bit, apparently unaware that I had been listening as well. "Yeah, whatever, hi. I don't think you'll have to bury this one, jut change the angle. Find the whole picture, cause the one being spread is obviously cropped to cut out Namjoon, who was dancing right behind me. The three of us were dancing all night, there's nothing noteworthy about me and my boyfriend dancing with a friend, is there?"

Namjoon grinned, the darkness and worry that had threatened his expression melting away. "See, Sejin, I told you it's better to keep her around. I guess the three of us are just going to have to go out together a lot, and remind the public what good friends we are."

He squeezed my hand and I squeezed Taehyung's. We'd done this once before, we could do it again.

[Several months later]

I rushed to pack up my computer and shove it into my bag as I wrapped up class. "Remember," I spoke loudly. "No office hours on Thursday, I've got some personal business to take care of."

A few students nodded in my direction, but most of them were already filing out of the lecture hall. I'd have to send an email reminder, though even with that I was sure I'd get at least one annoyed message asking where I was. Teaching first year stats was a thankless job, but I was paying my dues as the newest member of the faculty, only hoping that someone else would be hired next year and it would be their turn.

One of the more engaged students, fresh out of high school with the glimmer of hope still shining in his eyes, approached my desk. "You haven't missed office hours all year, Professor," he said respectfully. "I hope it's nothing serious."

I smiled as I wound the cord of my charger around the power brick. "Honestly, it's not. Its just that my partners' coming home from a long overseas trip and I want to spend some time with them." Thankfully none of my students has yet to connect the dots between their nerdy professor and the woman who was dating Kim Namjoon, leader of the biggest boy band in the world. I could only hope they never did. I waved goodbye to the young man, who looked a little disappointed in my answer, and rushed toward the office I shared with two other younger faculty members.

Once I finally made it back home, I nervously started checking everything I'd set up before I left for campus that morning. I changed from my more formal teaching wear (intentionally chosen to make me look as little like an idol's girlfriend as possible) into a pretty sundress since it was still warm enough to get away with, and even prettier underwear. I knew it wasn't likely to stay on long, but I wanted my boys to know how excited I was to see them.

The apartment Namjoon owned was much bigger than my student housing had been, which meant we had space for a giant oversized bed in the master and a cozy office/library/mini studio in the second bedroom. I'd moved in not long after graduation, finally agreeing that all of their arguments had merit. I did pay rent, probably nowhere near as much as the place was worth, but while I was technically the only person who called it home, the boys were constantly staying over unless schedules interfered.

I had worried, at the beginning, about how Taehyung would adjust to spending so much time away from the other members, knowing how much he loved and depended on their constant company, but he claimed he got enough of that while they worked, and he almost always had Namjoon around when he was staying over with me, so I stopped asking. Admittedly, it gave me hope that at some point, they would actually move out of the dorms and we could live together for real.

They were headed home from almost two months away, though, so I wasn't thinking about moving in together, I just wanted to see them again. Eight weeks was a long time to wait, and it had taken both of them to convince me not to join the throngs of fans who greeted them at the airport. The claimed it would be a recipe for public indecency, so I awaited their arrival at home.

A burst of noise at the front door had me scrambling out of the office where I'd been grading some tests, and running toward them. I threw myself at the first one in, which happened to be Taehyung, and jumped into his arms. He laughed and spun me around, kissing me senseless before releasing me so Namjoon could give me similar treatment.

"What took you so long?" I asked as soon as my mouth was free again. "Your flight landed ages ago."

"Had to drop off our stuff at the dorm, and then Manager-nim was there so we couldn't immediately run off," Taehyung explained. I nodded, knowing that while the managers wouldn't bat an eye at Namjoon rushing off to see me as soon as he landed, it would raise eyebrows if Taehyung went with him. There were already enough rumours about the three of us that the managers had been watching very closely for any hint of truth to them. The other members had been invaluable in helping to throw them off the scent.

Taehyung grabbed my hand and pulled me in the direction of the bedroom, dragging Namjoon along since he was holding my other hand. "How was your trip, are you tired?" I asked in a rush. I was so ecstatic to be with them again; it was the longest the both of them had been away from me since we all started dating, and I was feeling a bit needy, unable to let go of their hands.

"I slept on the flight," Tae assured me, waggling his eyebrows. I checked behind to make sure Namjoon was also feeling rested, and he just smiled. "I don't need any more rest, I need my noona."

My heart and my worry melted, making way for the deep feeling of want that had been bubbling under the surface to come to the forefront of my mind. Being away from them for so long had begun to affect my sanity, so I made no move to protest when Tae collapsed onto the bed and pulled me with him, causing me to let go of Joon's hand.

A moment's kissing quickly turned hot, and soon my mouth was parting from his to follow a trail down his neck and across the sharp points of his clavicle, left exposed by the deep v neck of his shirt. I began fumbling at the buttons, trying to expose more of his skin to my touch.

Taehyung's deep chuckle shook the chest I was pressed against. "Feeling desperate, noona?" he teased. "Did you miss us that much? We sent you lots of pictures to keep you company."

At the mention of the pictures they'd sent, I moaned and changed my focus. Leaving his shirt as it was, rumpled and half undone, I instead backed off the bed and began working at undoing his pants.

I glanced back to check on Namjoon, who had followed us into the bedroom and taken what had become a familiar stance, seated on the cushioned seat of the big bay window. Rather than the jealousy he had feared he'd experience at seeing Taehyung and I together, he'd instead discovered a rather powerful voyeur kink that we had learned to exploit to the fullest. I had found it incredibly convenient that the quickest way to turn on one of my boyfriends was to seduce the other; it made requesting threesomes very efficient. Namjoon gave me a knowing smile with our eyes met, raising an eyebrow as though challenging me to get on with it.

Get on with it, I did, quickly loosening and removing Tae's pants, followed by his black boxer briefs, finally releasing one of the dicks I'd been missing so badly the past eight weeks. "You guys were so mean to me," I complained, leaning over him and running my hands over the tops of his thighs, his hips, everywhere around the base of his cock without actually touching it. "That last video you sent, the one of Joon blowing you? I haven't been able to think of anything else since."

"Noona, that was like, four days ago," Tae moaned. He ran his own hands over his chest and torso when he finished taking off his shirt on his own. When I didn't reply, He angled his head up and looked at me, "Well, now's your chance then. Didn't you want to get a taste yourself?"

I glared at him, but finally wrapped my hand over his erection and stroked it a few times, the precum already leaking out of the tip easing the friction. "Don't get cocky," I warned before licking up the length and sliding my mouth around the tip.

Taehyung's moans and the slick sounds of my mouth were the only noise in the room for several minutes. He wound one hand into my hair, setting a pace he liked and encouraging me to take him deeper with each subsequent thrust. It was a trick he'd picked up from Namjoon, who delighted in sharing all the little things he'd discovered that turned me on, from subtle acts of control like the hand in the hair to the best places to kiss me get get me wet in an instant. In turn, Tae had pushed my boundaries even further than Namjoon had ever dared, striking our own power balance between us.

It hadn't been all sunshine and roses, of course, once we'd officially become a poly triad. Negotiating the new dynamics had taken time, communication, and a lot of patience. We were desperate for each other after the long separation, but I knew that it was likely to bring up old issues, and new ones, between us. That, however, was a problem for the future. I had my boys back with me, and dammit I was going to get thoroughly fucked.

Tae's hand pushed me down far enough to make me gag, and I made a choking noise as tears sprang into the corners of my eyes.

"Careful with our girl, Taehyungie," Namjoon warned, and I could tell he'd moved from the window by the direction of his voice. "Don't want to hurt her on our first day home."

I backed off of Tae's cock long enough so say, "It's okay, I'm all good," before returning to the task at hand. Namjoon's large palm rubbed my back as I bent over Taehyung, but it soon descended over the curve of my hips and tugged my skirt up enough to slip between my thighs.

Joon hissed when he felt the dampness of my panties. "Babe, is this because you missed us? Or because you love sucking his cock that much?" I moaned a response, not really an answer, but that's because I didn't know which it was myself, only that I was absolutely dripping and desperate to get fucked.

Thankfully, Namjoon seemed to be on board with my unspoken idea, pushing my skirt up above my waist where it wouldn't impede his view and ran his hands over my pink lace covered ass. "So fucking gorgeous," he murmured before sliding the panties down just far enough for gravity to pull them down to my ankles where I had to blindly step out of them if I wanted to spread my legs any further. Namjoon's attention was back between my legs, his fingers now covered in my slick arousal and teasing at the sensitive flesh there.

"I can't wait to be inside you, babe," he admitted. "I haven't fucked anything other than a hand or a mouth in way too long, I need to be inside your tight pussy." Dirty talk was something he'd picked up from Tae, and I can't say I minded. Hearing their deep voices telling me exactly what they wanted to do to me only served to turn me on further every time.

He wasn't exaggerating about his need to be inside of me though, as I felt the blunt tip of his cock pressing into my entrance moments after his fingers moved away. Settling his hands on my hips to steady them, he began fucking into me with a slow deliberate rhythm.

The pace Namjoon was setting was still slow enough to be able to continue blowing Taehyung, but the drag of his cock over my g-spot was making me cry out each time. I pulled off of Tae, breathing hard and grunting with every thrust Joon made.

"Damn, hyung," Tae cursed. "How is it that I am getting sucked off my the most wonderful girlfriend in the world, but I am still jealous of our boyfriend?"

I could head the satisfied grin in Namjoon's voice as he replied, "Yeah? Here, I have an idea." He pulled out of me, and a whimpered at the empty feeling.

I stood up straight, waiting to hear what Namjoon's idea was. In addition to his voyeuristic tendencies, sharing the bedroom had revealed a different facet of Joon's desire for control. He was the one who suggested activities and specific positions, which Tae and I were usually eager to comply with. He wasn't forceful in the way Taehyung could be with me, but he always exuded this aura of power that was hard to ignore (and amazing to follow).

"Babe, you lay down like Tae was," Namjoon indicated, and I moved to do so, squeaking when he stopped me to pull my dress off entirely. He had me lay down on the bed one way, then changed his mind and moved me so that my head was on the pillows at the head of the bed. He grabbed a couple extra pillows and put them under my hips, and I started to get the idea of what was coming. Taehyung was directed to join me, and he braced himself on his knees to line up with the angle Joon had put me at.

Namjoon took in our positions, then said, "Okay, Taetae, now fuck her like you mean it." Tae smiled down at me and did just that, filling me with his generous length and making me moan in appreciation.

Joon grabbed a bottle of lube from the dresser and tossed it on the bed before climbing up behind Taehyung. At the first touch of Namjoon's slicked finger against his hole, Tae paused his thrusts until encouraged to continue.

"Fuck Tae, did you prep?" Namjoon moaned, finding Tae already slicked and loose.

"What else was I supposed to do while we waited for Manager-nim to leave?" Tae teased in return, winking at me. The sloppy sounds of Namjoon adding extra lubrication joined the slap of Tae's body against mine, Tae alternating between telling me how good if felt to be inside me and begging Namjoon to just fuck him already.

"Hyung, please, it's been so long," he pleaded. "Two months, hyung, because we promised we wouldn't but please don't tease me any more I need to feel your cock inside me." The way he whined only went to demonstrate how much they'd missed this part of their relationship.

It had been one of the rules, while they were on tour, that they could get each other off, but only with hands and mouths. I hadn't been the one to suggest it, but they felt so guilty about being away from me together for so long that they'd placed their own restriction. Anal may have not been a huge part of their relationship in the past, but once they'd started to explore it within our triad where they had more time and space to enjoy it, they'd both confessed that it was one of their favourite things to do together. Tae was more likely to be the one begging to get fucked, but Joon still couldn't resist the allure of having Tae's giant cock inside him occasionally.

I was certainly reaping the benefits of having Tae inside me, with each stroke glancing against that special spot and making me see stars. I was barreling toward my peak and Joon hadn't even started fucking Tae yet.

"You just gonna play with his ass all night?" I demanded, not wanting to come too early and risk over stimulation if Taehyung wasn't finished yet.

Namjoon chuckled as he finally got into position, using one hand to bend the younger man forward so that Tae's chest was pressed to mine and the other to guide his cock into Taehyung's eager little hole. His hands now gripped Tae's narrower hips and it was Tae who had to find the rhythm between the to partners he was pleasuring.

It was almost like a collapse and expansion, Namjoon's thrust cascading into Tae's which only pushed him into me with more force, and then the slow retraction of them both. This position did not lend itself well to fast frantic fucking, but the power behind it more than made up for the slower pace. It was fascinating, watching Taehyung fall apart between us, each thrust making him shudder and moan. I saw the signs of his impending orgasm, and stopped trying to hold off my own, concentrating on letting the feeling build with in me.

I was nearly there, the edge of pleasure in sight when Tae grunted that he was close. "Inside me," I begged him. "We're safe, please I want to feel you come inside."

I was on birth control, and had no plans of stopping any time soon. The two of them had bugged me repeatedly about when we would start trying, or at least stop preventing, but I'd shot them down. Once I explained that I didn't want to risk having a baby when the two of them were only a year apart and the chances of them being enlisted at the same time were actually fairly high, they stopped asking. I knew it was still something they each thought about, especially any time we were out together and saw a baby or a small child; Namjoon had even bought a pair of ridiculously expensive baby shoes as "decoration" for his studio. But we were still young, we had plenty of time for those things down the road.

Luckily I was able to come just before Taehyung did, or maybe the feeling of me coming around him is what finally pushed him over the edge. Namjoon continued fucking Tae, who actually enjoyed the over stimulation, holding him up when he nearly collapsed on top of me. Joon had always said that seeing and hearing us come, knowing we were experiencing pleasure, was one of the things that got him off, and sure enough he followed soon after we did.

Namjoon stepped away to grab a couple washcloths and returned to find Taehyung still smothering me. Joon cleaned up Tae's backside before helping me to roll him off and wiped down his front, murmuring praises and words of affection as he did so. Once I felt like I wouldn't make a mess, I pulled on a robe and grabbed some water from the kitchen. Upon my return, I saw the two of them already cuddled together, their eyes closed despite their assurances earlier that they were well rested.

"Welcome home, my loves."

Previous (Part 2)

#bts fic #namjoon x reader #taehyung x reader #namjoon x reader x taehyung #ipurpleunet #my fic #bts smut #namjoon scenario #taehyung scenario #idol au #bangtan smut #namjoon au #taehyung au #bangtan x reader #namjoon fic #taehyung fic #bts au #bts au fanfic #fic: this looks bad

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