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Originality is a bourgeois parlour game. Getting salty about things looking like other things has to evolve.
There are no new ideas, there never have been. There are only new ways of thinking about old ideas and how they’re stitched together.
The problem we have is attribution. Or rather failing to attribute. Which, as a phenomenon, is fairly unique to our pocket of the creative world. Fashion allows itself to acknowledge ancestry. Music samples. True to the hall of mirrors that art “is”, entire bodies of work have been created celebrating appropriation. But not the “creative industry”. No. It might be something to do with the low self-esteem many in the advertising and design world have. A need to be liked generated from the fragility of the relationship between the buyer of work and the maker (“if they know we pinched it they won’t like us and work with us again”).
- Richard Turley on the originality myth and the perks of phoning it in
I’ve been in a very bad position – loss, grief, trauma all within the span of a month – and yet the thing that worried me the most was that, I could barely feel a thing. I was not able to even force a tear, all I felt was exhaustion, wishing that the ocean could swallow me whole, drown me to a deep, soothing sleep and I’d wake up in some places I’d missed, where the sunny rays seeped through the blinds of my old house, and I’d be back in my 17 years old flesh again, waking up for a school day.
If the past is a place that no longer was, then why do the warmth, the smell, and the noise still linger? Like it never left, and it’s just there – in a corner of this city that I could visit over, over, and over again. And yet, all places that I used to walk on, felt so strange and cold when I visit them now. Like those memories I held dear never happened. Like I have been living a long, solemn dream.
A family died, and sometimes when I woke up at night, I could still see her in her pajamas, bringing a jug of water to fill from the dispenser. At the office, before going home, I’d think of what she’d cook for the day – only for my heart to plunge with the realization that she is no longer there. When I saw her lying there in the coffin, motionless, I could swear I’d turn around and see her, wearing her old blouse that she’d wear to church, with my bright, green Kipling purse that I’d given her. I couldn’t even utter a word, I thought I’d say thank you or sorry to her for the last time, but my jaw was wired shut as the tears streamed down my face. That was the last time I cried.
Then a week after, police raided my home. I’d been woken up by my Mum, teary-eyed and gasping for air. Later I’d stand by the doorframe, looking at my defeated brother getting taken away. Before he went, I had the chance to hug him, and for a splitting moment I was not hugging my 6-feet grown brother who towered over me, but rather the 9 years old boy who used to play Tekken with me on the console all night long –laughing and shouting with all the joy in the world– one that would follow everything I did, his long lost innocence immortalized in the back of my brain and despite all the harm he had done to himself, he would always be my baby brother. The funniest thing, the stroke that broke me was not seeing him dragged by the police, or seeing him behind the bars – but it was the Dragon Ball t-shirt that he wore, he wasn't cut-out for this harsh reality. I have failed to protect my baby brother, and this is the result of my arrogance and callousness towards him all these past years. It broke me to think that in this house that my Mum and Dad built, there was not enough warmth for him to shelter, and so he turned to a foolish escapade that led to his arrest.
I went through that with my head held high – the funeral, the police report, the jail visit. I wish my Dad was here, my savior, my hero – but he wasn’t there at that time. So I had to become my Dad for my Mum, my brother and my sister. And there I was, sitting in a cramped room across a hardened cop as she asked me questions. I tried to be stern, and stiffened. These creatures are foul and I must be smarter. My heart was wrecked but my brain labored hard. I never thought I’d wished I had a man –smarter, and stronger than me– to shield me from this pain, but I finally caved, and for the first time, I hoped I had one on my own.
I’ve always wondered, how my man would be? I wanted him to be tall, strong, with compassion in his words and softness in his touch. I wanted him to be clever, joyous and yet still harness a depth that I could swim in. I wanted him to regard me with respect and in his warmth I could forge a loving friendship that could last a generation. But sitting there, in front of a cop who wanted nothing but to suck my Dad’s money dry for a bail, with my baby brother with his eyes sunken and my crying mother sitting outside – I realized that I had become my own man. I had been my own savior, and not only for me – but for my whole family.
I’ve always loved history. Ironically there was never a history to how I came to like history. I guess one day I gained consciousness and realized that life’s noise had become unbearable, I needed a haven, and the idea of a distant past, where everything was calmer, foreign and yet welcoming, came to be my salvation.
History was nothing but a place in our head, I once read it from a nameless writing on Twitter. I found it odd to think that even the most officiated turns of events in history, was nothing more than just someone else’s memory, immortalized through some writing or visual materials, but there were no longer there in flesh, and yet the truth that it bears is as valid as the present.
I didn’t like thinking that our meeting a month ago was just a place in my head, not a destination I could revisit and feel with my hands – the swampy air, the humidity that fogged your glasses, my shyness of trying to talk to you, and your polite kindness that probably did not mean a thing to you. Even more than that, I didn’t like facing the fact that that day meant a lot to me to the point of my wishing of its preservation, like a time loop in a jar that I could open and experience all the time. But for you? It was probably just another workday. Hell, look at me now, I am even delving into this philosophical conundrum, trying to make sense of my what I’m feeling towards you.
And I guess that’s why I loved history. It is an extension of my effort in trying to make sense of things, of me, of my feelings.
You probably didn’t know that I had orchestrated everything in my power for over a year, exhausting all my resourcefulness and the extent of intelligence (which was not much to begin with) to make our meeting happened. I didn’t even think it was fair to call it ‘our’ meeting, as I threw tens of thousands of company dollars, and created a convention with over seven thousand attendees – just to meet you. I spent days and night building the business case, the concept for the event, I jumped over corporate hurdles and bullshit, trying to convince my boss that having the event with you in it would drive profitability. I knew exactly there was no truth in it, I felt bad for a while, but I was so adamant of taking my shot at you, that after a while I could even start lying to myself, thinking that I was doing it for the business, and that meeting you was just an incentive that I deserved.
I know this would sound mental, but for over a year, the prospect of meeting you, imagining how you’d look like, or sound like in person, had been the beacon of anticipation hat made the year bearable.
I never thought that it would end up like this. I never made more preparations in my life than when I met you. I lost 5 kilos prior; I did botox and a bunch of other so-called ‘painless non-invasive’ procedures that left me in pain for weeks. I looked great, the old dress came to fit again. I looked pretty, or so I thought, until pictures of us came out and my teeth looked snaggy, my arms flappy and my back hunched. Was it just a bad photo, or had I always looked like that? Was I pretty when I stood alone, but standing next to you dimmed my light, for you were the brightest star of the night?
You were the light, Amine, and I was just a flicker that never caught the wood to burn.
My mind always raced back to our meeting, and the day after where I took you and the team to the Old City, where you called my name and I couldn’t contain my foolish smile as I answered, “Yes, Amine?”
“Why do you know so much?” I was staring at your lips and the way you dragged your words, but there was a lightness to it, almost playful, “Are you a historian?”
“I practically am.” I made an embarrassing chuckled, “It’s fun.”
“Nerd.”
I accepted the invitation to the banter with a dumbfounded look on my face, I knew it was my turn to come up with a witty retortion, and had I been succeeded it would be my first attempt at flirting with you, but I just stood there, staring at you, my brain failed to cooperate. You furrowed your eyebrows briefly and made a fluster apology, “Sorry I was – kidding.”
“It’s okay.”
I could feel awkwardness seeped between us, so you walked away to join the rest of the team that were taking photos of the big museum, before a cheeky, raspy voice chimed in from behind me, “That guy’s an asshole, huh?” and there I saw Joe grinning, with a dramatized look of disgust. His over-the-top gesture and expression burst the seams of any shyness or decorum that I tried to hold in front of Amine, and I blurted almost immediately, “Urgh, you had to put up with that?”
“Bleurgh,” another Jimmy Carey type of reaction from Joe, “you wouldn’t last a day in my shoes, baby.”
I was lame. Years of adolescence spent as the typical textbook loser had never prepared me to be called baby by a tall, muscular guy with bright, blue eyes. So, although Joe had never crossed my mind as it had always been occupied by the thought of Amine, I flushed like an idiot. And that reaction, was like opening the floodgate to a whole new turn of events. From shared laughter to an extended walk around the Old Town’s block away from the rest of the team that had succumbed to the city’s humid heat. Joe braced it, and I felt appreciated by his attentive nod as I explained the rather gory fun fact about the place.
Like a place that never existed, because it was a memory that I never had expected to happen or mean to carve in the indents of my brain, what happened between that day to making out with Joe all night in his messy hotel room and waking up within the embrace to his bare chest, was all a blurred memory. It was never what I expected to happen or wanted. And now Joe is across the two oceans that separated us, about to start his day while I hid away in the pretence of an early sleep. In a matter of minutes, I will see him on the broadcast that my company ran, and he’ll come out to the stage with his infallible strut, funny and confident – Joe always made sure the limelight shone on him. Beloved by many, he’s the soul of the team, and yet my eyes would always wander back to Amine. I couldn’t even recall for what qualities, since I realized I didn’t know him that much, but he remained a place in my head that I could never return from. As if I had built him a shrine too grand, too beautiful for a practical stranger I had never known about.
In the next hours, Joe would text me a good morning from his part of the world where the sun set as it rose in mine. He’d playfully beg to call me, which he would, and I would pick up while fabricating a raspy bed voice when in fact I had been awake since an hour ago. I’d ask him how his day went and how much I missed him. He’d echo my affection, and depending on the day, but if he had not fared well, he’d go to a corner of his team’s house, where he would utter how much he wished we didn’t need to keep our relationship secret. He wished I’d be more confident in claiming him in front of thousands of his fans, and he wished my company, that paid his monthly wage, would be more forgiving with our situation.
More often than not, I missed him too. But for what? I did not know. At this point I should have known already. We talked almost every day, not to mention the incessant texts between use, or his clingy, discreet voice notes that he would record in the bathroom, or his cryptic tweets intended to me that got his prepubescent fangirls on their toes, trying to decipher who were the tweets meant for. I supposed it’s his presence that I missed, the hugs, the kisses and the rest, but felt as much a stranger to me as Amine was when I wasn’t pretending.
We kept the knowledge of our relationship only to his closest ones – his coach and his teammates. And none from my side. I was too embarrassed, I had prided myself as the beacon of accountability, the shrewd, young manager who’s almost too professional. God forbid the truth of our relationship surfaced to the knowledge of my teammates, or anyone in the company directly handling Joe and Amine’s team. I would be devastated.
As Joe’s team gained knowledge of me, I often caught myself fell into a deep silent when Joe was talking from hear team’s house. My mind would wander trying to catch a glimpse of Amine’s voice or laughter in the background. Once I was lucky when Amine spoke my name, “Who are you calling? Oh, her? Hello from me!”
I didn’t think this was going to last long, I might as well enjoy it while it lasted, right? The whole situation had me questioning my intent, and my desire. It seemed to be so cruel and unfair for me to be in a discreet relationship with one man, only to fancy his mate and even worse, to personify the ideals in the form of his mate. But even then, in the sobering moment of truths, I realized it wasn’t Amine I was after, it was the idea of him that I made from months of watching him on the broadcast, and the endless scenarios I had created in my head to battle the boredom of building the event that got me to meet both Joe and Amine.
At last, I resorted to the history of me to make sense of me. I had gotten myself in a precarious situation because as a child, I was never given the proper consolation over grief. So, I always tried to bury the hurt and the loss with cheap thrills and excitement, and alas, it resumed. So stubbornly like a hereditary disease that has been ingrained too deeply into my DNA. And finally, the history of me brought me to a truth. That it was never Amine or Joe. I missed my boyfriend of three years that had drifted apart from me, or depending on several versions, it was me that walked away from him. But then again, it was probably never about Amine or Joe or my ex-boyfriend. It was probably the upbringing to which I have been conditioned with, that never accustomed me to the process of wound-healing, I’d just distract myself from the original pain by creating numerous new pains.
maybe this is strange but sometimes I think about you based on the ideas I derived from your posts on here. I just remembered that somewhere out there was a person who was frustrated with their job and speaking into the void on tumblr and like some weird working of fate led me to your blog to relate over misery we felt from different parts of the world
anyways, hi. welcome back. hope your job no longer sucks (though mine does)
That's very kind of you, anon. Very sweet indeed. This message made my day. I'm grateful some of writings here meant something for other people.
Fortunately, I seem to have found a resolve to some of my past frustration, despite learning that life would never be void of pain and difficulty. But I think I've come to accept that.
Best believe it will get better for you as it did with mine. Sometimes it's almost funny how happiness finds its way.
Good luck, anon. Have courage. And don't be afraid.
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Chars: Levi x Hange x Erwin
Word Counts: 1,105
Genre: hurt/comfort, post-canon
Levi is back at his favorite place in Shiganshina, where he met with some familiar faces. Levi's final moment. 47 years after the Rumbling.
There was a solitary teahouse by the river in Shiganshina that Levi used to go to. In front of it, the water flowed quietly in the dark. Too quietly, as it often claimed victims—usually the town’s drunkards, whose awareness escaped their minds as intoxication engulfed them. They’d fall into its deep water gates and die a miserable death.
That’s the most vivid memory that Levi had about the place, despite his hundreds of visits. Never mind the taste of the tea brewed or the names of fellow regulars with whom he often conversed. All he remembered vividly from that teahouse is perhaps the worst part of it—stubbornly entrenched within his now old, frail mind.
It has been 47 years since The Rumbling—‘Whatever it means,’ Levi thought. He could not seem to remember where the name, The Rumbling, was derived from. Was it from the deafening noise as the ground shattered itself? Or the unison of pained shrieking heard from afar—that all it resonated was a buzz of rumble?
He could not recall.
Maybe it’s his age that has finally caught up with him, evidence of a man in the twilight of his life. But even if it was his memory that was fading, then how come he could still remember, so palpable in his sight, the swelling dead bodies of the Shiganshina river? Never mind the drunkard fools that fell into it by accident, but also the torn bodies of children and mothers when Wall Maria first broke. The watered-down red as blood spilled into its current. The delirious final words of his fallen comrade. The sickening burnt smell of his dearest friends as they pleaded for a merciful death.
Levi could not remember his life past the horror he endured. As if he never lived. The only remembrance of joy and warmth had escaped his memory long ago. And for the first twenty years since The Rumbling, his being was held by a vulnerable string of vanity—from the honors the government awarded him with, the statue erected in his name, the young children that stopped him on his way to pin white roses on his pocket, or the fortunate survivors of The Rumbling that saluted him with painful tears budding in their tired eyes. But it had stopped some time ago.
As people healed, a new generation of life in peaceful times came rising. And so the memory of deaths grew distant, and that vulnerable string, the one that held him with the remembrance that all those horrors were meant for something, were meant for life, was starting to fade away. So the pain returned. Now at 87 years old, Levi no longer had the aid of a once healthy and strong body or the benefit of time, to shelter him from the growing pain within his chest. Levi had to finally face his agony.
“Your favorite was the jasmine tea,” a familiar voice of a man startled him. Stern yet affable. A voice of a friend. Levi suddenly found himself in a room with a wooden floor and worn-out paint on its walls, sitting on a creaking chair by the window.
Levi was in the teahouse by the river in Shiganshina.
The afternoon sunrays fell on Levi’s face, taking away his ability to see the figure that had seemed to apparate by his side. The man continued his words, “You were annoyingly adamant that it had to be brewed for exactly two minutes in hot water of no less than eighty degrees. It tasted fragrant, you once said. Whatever that meant.”
“And for God’s sake, Levi,” another voice chimed in. This one was light, melodious, and almost mischievous even as they were complaining, “this place reeked of rotten wood. Even the smell of all the tea brewed here cannot mask that. Let’s find some other place.”
“Let the Captain enjoy his tea for a while, Hange,” the man chuckled, just as Levi started to feel his body turning cold, “we can get a beer after this.”
“You don’t even drink, Erwin,” Hange retorted. Erwin chuckled. While the cold in Levi’s body started to travel from the tip of his toes to his knees and legs, “But that’s fair enough, I guess.”
“I think Levi liked it here because it faced the West, huh? The sun falls exactly in this direction. Tea and sunset? You’re so lame, Levi.” They laughed. It was Hange’s laugh. It sounded so familiar, so commonplace, like Levi had heard it every day in his life. Like it never left, “You’re a romantic at heart, aren’t you?”
“Never mind the dead bodies. Just tea and sunset. Not bad, Levi.” Erwin teased him, then pointed at the river flowing across the boardwalk, “They found another one floating here yesterday, didn’t they?”
“Yeah, that poor Garrison kid found it. He just joined. Not exactly a heroic way to get accustomed to deaths. Kid probably wanted some action against Titans. All he got was a dead fool stuck in the water gates for three days. What do you say, Commander?”
“About those drunkard idiots falling into the river as the rest of us tried to stay alive from the Titans? I’d say, good for them.”
“Yeah, good for them. What a dignified way to die,” Hange laughed, and so did Erwin, “I’d rather die like that, you know? Dying by my own account. What do you think, Levi?”
Levi could not fight the cold that was starting to spread to his gut. Despite the warm sun that shone on his face, the cold traveled still. “I don’t know. How does dying feel like?” Levi asked them. His most trusted comrades. His confidants. His friends. His family. Ones whose faces he had tried to remember every day for the past forty-seven years, but could not. Ones whose laughter Levi missed every day. They’re finally here.
“Might be different for everyone. But I felt cold,” Hange answered, while cleaning the lens of their glasses with the hem of their shirt.
“I didn’t feel anything but cold,” Erwin finally added. There was a certain kind of ease in his answer. He was smiling as if he was telling Levi that everything would be okay. As if he was telling Levi that they were here, for him.
“I feel cold,” Levi finally confessed. “Am I dying?”
“Yes,” said Erwin. “Do you want to go home now?”
“Yes.”
“Great,” Hange said. “Do you still want to get a beer before that?”
“You get a beer, Hange,” Erwin spoke as he readied to leave. “We’ll tag along. Right, Levi?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Let's go, Captain.”
Writer's Note: Three years ago I frequented this site to write fiction about my favorite manga/anime. Here, I talked and met so many beautiful and kind people who (despite them not knowing) helped me overcome some of my darkest moments. It was such a painful moment in my life, but I survived. I feel easy and happy now, thank God. But it's quite saddening to return here to find that no one is still around.
Maybe this could be my final fiction about AoT here. I no longer find ease in writing about AoT, maybe I'm past them. Maybe I'm past fanfiction? But still the fact that a simple product of pop culture could be so meaningful for some years in my life... prove that there is a magic in writing and reading fiction.
So as an homage to those short but memorable moments I found here, I wrote about Levi finally accepting that his time for death is nearing, but before he goes, he reminisces some of his moments of happiness he was once blessed with.
Whoever you are, wherever you are. If we ever talked, reblogged or liked each other's post. Or if you were a silent reader who left love on my writings. I just wanted to say, thank you. It meant a lot to me.
A year after graduating, Sebastian visits you unannounced and old memories stir.
Warnings: Smut, alcohol, making out, oral sex, PinV sex, explicit sexual content, strong language, Minors DNI!
Word Count: 4.4k
Read it on AO3 here! Check out my other stuff as well :)
There was no way to describe how you had been feeling for the past day, month, year. As a fresh adult in the world, life had been increasingly monotonous and usual. Nothing out of place, nothing exciting, nothing frightening, just plain. Hogwarts had been a dream the last three years, but now that you had to work you felt as though the magic had been sucked from your life.
It wasn’t just because of working and surviving, but because your social interactions had dwindled. Work was boring, but it was your own fault. You didn’t know what you wanted to do with your life yet, so you told yourself you had one single year to work in a shop and figure it out. That was in June, and now it is April. Time was running out, and you were scared shitless. Keeping in touch with friends from school proved harder than intended, and while you meant to send letters it became more and more difficult to find ambition. Which was particularly embarrassing, since Slytherin’s were meant to have a never ending supply of ambition.
It was a quiet Friday in the small garment shop, and you were looking forward to the weekend. Nothing out of the ordinary, other than perhaps how quiet the shop was. Sitting behind the counter, reading a book lazily, you glance up when the bell on the door rings.
“Welcome in-” you stop, staring aghast at the person who has walked in, before smiling at them and letting out a small laugh. Sebastian Sallow stood in the doorway, grinning sheepishly at you and your surprised expression. He was one of the few friends you tried to keep in contact with, despite being busy and unmotivated.
“What are you doing here?” you shout out as you walk out from behind the counter. He doesn’t say anything right away as you wrap your arms around him, engulfing him in a hug. You feel him press his head into the crook of your neck, and you squeeze him tightly.
“Figured I would take a little birthday trip down here, visit old friends. Wanted it to be a surprise,” he says, pulling away with a smile. “And I have come to kidnap you on the promise of drinks on me.”
“Oh gods, yes, happy birthday!” you tell him, trying to cover up the fact that you had forgotten. But yes, today was 17 April, and his birthday had only been a few days earlier. “How does it feel to be nineteen?”
He laughs, giving a shrug. “Underwhelming, if anything. Do you have much longer here for the day?” he asks, clearly eager to get out and drink. You shake your head, smiling. “Give me fifteen minutes to count the money and lock up. It’s almost five anyways, and then we can go!”
You busy yourself closing the small shop, glancing up at him with a smile every so often. It was such a delight to see him, after almost a year of being apart. He looked good, tall and confident, and you could tell that he had grown into himself in the last year. There were this lingering feelings for him, of course, when you received a letter or thought of him on occasion, but right now it was just good to see your friend.
With a turn and lock, you closed the shop and the two of you ventured out onto the high street in search of drinks. “I’m thinking that maybe we head somewhere small,” Sebastian said, leading the two of you down the street. You nod, eager to sit and talk and drink. He looked radiant almost, the glow of the low sun illuminating him and his smiling face, his freckles practically glowing. It felt like nothing had changed since the last time you were together, and you loved that.
There was a small corner pub that seemed to beckon him, and he quickly pulled you inside. It was a Friday, so there were few spaces to choose from in the pub, but the two of you found a tiny booth situated in one corner. He left you there to buy the first round of drinks, quickly returning with two pints. Scooting over the accommodate him, the two of you pressed against each other in the tiny space as you drank your drinks.
“Please let me buy the next round, since it’s your bloody birthday,” you say, laughing as he shakes his head no. “This is my treat, for showing up unannounced,” he says, taking a gulp of his drink. “How have things been for you? We really must try to write to each other more.”
It was true, the two of you maybe exchanged letters once a month now. Life had gotten busy, for you and probably for him as well. “I’m mainly just working, nothing exciting,” you say, and then giggle. “This is embarrassing, but I can’t remember the last time I was in a pub on a Friday night.”
“Do you not like going out anymore? We could have gone and just gotten dinner, or even just taken a walk,” he says, his tone concerned. You find these suggestions sweet, a reminder of how caring he can be when he wants to be.
“No, I just don’t have much of a social life, and it would be pretty depressing if I came to the pub alone on a weekend,” you say, taking a swig of your drink. The golden liquid blooms in your chest, creating a warmth inside you. Sebastian nods in an understanding way. “That you be pathetic,” he says, grinning.
You laugh, and he laughs, and it's as though you have not been apart for the past nine months. “What have you been up to?” you ask him, trying to give him a chance to speak. He shrugs. “Same as you, just working. I went to see Ominis yesterday, poor bastard was also not expecting me and is sick as a dog.”
That statement seemed to answer your lingering question about why it was just the two of you out tonight. Unless he planned on more people meeting you there later. “Is anyone else coming tonight?” you ask, trying to get an answer.
Sebastian’s smile wavers a bit, but only for a second. “Did you want other people to come?” he asks, almost trying to get an answer for himself. You shake your head, and he smiles. The two of you continue to drink your drinks, and soon you are staring at an empty cup.
Trying to fish out your wallet, he beats you to it and is at the bar in a flash. “Sebastian, I’m serious. Let me buy you at least one drink tonight as a celebration,” you protest as he comes back with full glasses. He only shakes his head, setting the drinks down.
“You can buy me one when I’m drunk,” he says, grinning. You don’t say anything, just sipping your drink while trying to hide your smile. You watch him out of the corner of my eye, how his throat moves when he swallows the alcohol. Perhaps it's the liquid running through your veins, but he looks better than he did in school. There was this new air of confidence surrounding you, and you wanted to say something bold but couldn’t bring yourself to it. Instead, you gulp the amber liquid in the hopes that the courage comes along the way.
“Woah! I didn’t actually mean that, neither of us need to get drunk before you buy me a drink,” Sebastian says, gently guiding the glass away from you. Giving him a funny look, you pull it back. “You don’t want to get drunk?”
He shakes his head, not smiling as big as he once was. “I don’t, not tonight, not with you.”
That makes you pause mid sip, thinking of all the ways his words could be interpreted. Looking at him, you furrow your eyebrows and hope he elaborates. Sebastian eyes you, looking shy and bashful in an instance. “Do you remember when we went to the Yule ball together last December?” he asks you.
You nod. Of course you did, even though the night hadn’t gone as planned. You had hoped that that was the night everything came full circle, that the two of you would get together. But instead, Sebastian drank too much and ended up throwing up in the bushes outside with you to witness it all. It was something the two of you laughed about later on, but you always felt disappointed.
“I wish I had kissed you that night,” he says, catching you completely off guard. “I regret drinking so much, but I was so nervous and wanted to feel confident, and I screwed it up. I screwed it up with you.”
Your mouth is half hanging open, not sure what to say. You are trying your best to process what he has just told you, just confessed, but you can’t for a minute. He waits expectantly for you to collect your thoughts and respond.
“So… you don’t want to get drunk tonight because… you want to kiss me?” you ask, feeling slow and out of touch. But when Sebastian laughs, it forces you to smile. “What?” you ask him, still smiling.
“I feel like wanting to kiss you is such an entry level requirement for everything else I want from you,” he says, his cheeks immediately turning red after saying that. Your’s go red as well, at what he could be implying. “But, I- why didn’t you say anything?” you ask, unsure of what else to say.
“I didn’t want to mess anything up. I would have rather stayed your friend than, I don’t know, have scared you off with a big confession,” he said quickly. You shake your head, trying to convince him otherwise. “I don’t think you understand how much I would have reciprocated that confession,” you say, smiling.
“And now?” he says, looking at you with a sense of uncertainty. The smile on your face becomes a shy one as you look at him, unsure of how to say everything that you want to say. “I think that I look at you now, and all those feelings seem to have stayed with me. Like nothing has changed even though it’s been nine months since we’ve had a conversation,” you say, speaking truthfully.
You don’t even get to look at the smile on his face for long before Sebastian leans in and presses a quick, soft kiss to your lips, pulling back after only a second. You instinctively lean forward as he pulls away, trying to catch his lips again, but he puts a hand on your arm. “Not here, in a pub surrounded by other people,” he says, his voice a whisper against your ear. You nod, understanding and agreeing. “Let’s go somewhere else, then.”
You nod. “I live with other people, though, and I have like, no privacy,” you tell him. He nods, and then continues. “I’m staying in an inn nearby,” he says, before shaking his head. You furrow your eyebrows in question, and he clarifies. “That just doesn’t seem right, me taking you to an inn. Not now, not after all this time.”
You shake your head at his words, not even having had that thought. “I just want to be near you, to make up for lost time.” The words out of your mouth surprise you with how bold they are, but you don’t back down.
“Let’s just walk around until the morning,” he says, grinning. You smile but you shake your head again. “Take me back with you. I promise, I don’t care where we are.”
He nods before standing up, offering you a hand. You let him pull you out of the booth, and hand in hand you leave the half empty pints on the table.
—-------------------------------------------
The inn room is small, with nothing but a bed, a lamp, and a chest of drawers. There is a small bathroom to the left, and you spot Sebastian’s bags on one side of the floor. The two of you stood a few feet away from each other, unsure of where to go from here. As comfortable as you were with each other, it was clear that neither of you wanted to jump into bed with each other right away.
“This is why I didn’t want to bring you back here,” Sebastian said suddenly, looking embarrassed. You shake your head. “I just don’t know where to start, and I want to do this, I do, but I can’t fathom where to begin,” you say flustered.
“Where to start? You don’t have to start or begin anything. I didn’t bring you here so you could perform or do anything for me. We can talk, or just stand here, or do whatever you want. Don’t feel pressured, and believe me, I’m probably more nervous being with you than you can imagine,” he says, running a hand through his hair with a smile.
His words bring a sense of ease to you, maybe just what you needed to hear at that moment. You step forward until you’re right in front of him, letting him take one of your hands. Gingerly, you stand on your tiptoes and brush a kiss to his lips, waiting for him to move into it. For a moment, the two of you stand nose to nose, and then he closes the gap between you.
The first few seconds are gentle and soft, testing the waters out for both of you. But soon, the movements of your lips become uncoordinated, desperate and fast. His hands find their way to your waist and you tangle yours in his hair. The two of you are standing, practically pulling the other person into them, trying to get as close as possible.
“Can we- go to- the bed?” you breathe out in between kisses. He nods, and you climb onto the bed, pulling his weight on top of you. You let him cradle you as he presses slow kisses to your lips, his pace changing. He stops and looks at you, staring up from underneath him. “We don’t have to do anything else,” he says, looking at your face for hesitation.
“I want to,” you tell him. “I really, really do.”
Sebastian has a look on his face that betrays both nerves and excitement. It’s the same look that he had when he asked you to the Yule ball, over a year ago. He nods again, before pressing another soft kiss to your lips. He pulls back again, looking at you, before attaching his lips to your neck. You sigh, and the soft noise seems to ignite something in his brain.
He rolls both of you over, you being on top of his body now. In one swift move, he maneuvers the two of you so that you are sitting up and straddling him on the bed. The two of you stare at each other for a moment before practically smashing your lips together. There is a sense of urgency as you move, hands exploring each other as lips and tongues move together.
You move your mouth, peppering light kisses along Sebastian’s jaw and down to his neck and you rock your body against him. He groans underneath you, your name leaving his lips as he rakes his hands over your back and down to your ass. Gripping you, he pulls you closer to him. Becoming impatient, you tug on his shirt in the hopes that he takes it off. The two of you break away for a moment, each tearing your own shirt over your body in a quick attempt to undress.
His hands come behind you, wanting to rid you of your bra, but he pauses. “Is this okay?” he asks, with a tone filled with concern. You press a light kiss to his lips, urging him to continue. “I promise I’ll say something if it’s not,” you breathe out, desperate for him to touch you. He seems to understand your urgency, and your bra is on the floor in the next second.
Sebastian stares at your chest, a look of marvel plastered on his face. In an instant, his lips are attached to your nipple, resulting in soft moans from you as you clutch his hair. “I need you, Sebastian,” you whisper as he sucks on the other nipple. He groans in response, pulling himself away from your chest.
You attempt to reach a hand in between the two of you to touch him through his pants, but he stands with you wrapped around him, turning so that he can lay you gently on the bed. He touches your skirt with a light hand, looking at you for any hesitation. You don’t speak, but instead start to gather your skirt so that it bunches around your waist. You look at him, your eyes doing their best to say fuck me, please. Without a single word, you shimmy out of your underwear and invite him in.
Sebastian practically buries his face in you. His mouth and tongue make these obscene sounds as he licks, sucks, kisses, and laps at every part of your sex. The noises mix with the moaning and babbling that emerge from your mouth, and you’re saying these things that you never thought you would say. Things like more, oh fuck, Sebastian, I need more.
His hands are gripping onto the soft flesh of your hips and ass, pulling you closer to him. It almost feels as though he wants to swallow you whole as he works you with his mouth and lips. One of his hands disappears, and then you feel his fingers working their way inside of you. Gasping, you clench around the two fingers he has in you, feeling so full already from him. He moans into you, vibrating your lower half as he starts to pump his fingers in you.
It’s too much, all too much. The way he is absolutely worshiping your body is going to cause you to explode. He’s curled his digits inside of you, his lips sucking like he can’t get enough, and you can feel your legs start to tremble. His name leaves your lips, and he does something extraordinary with his tongue that causes everything to shatter for you.
There’s no way to describe how good this all feels, except that perhaps you have touched the stars. He is still moving his fingers, his tongue, his lips, as you writhe and gasp on the bed. Once it becomes too much, you start to scoot away from his face, but he follows you with his hand.
“Oh god, it’s too much, please Sebastian,” you plead, shaking as he still pumps his hand into you. He’s watching you, his eyes dark and full of lust, as you try to move away from his hand. After a moment, he moves his hand and pulls his fingers out of you. You watched him, embarrassed, as he popped his fingers in his mouth. “Don’t do that,” you say, this shy feeling overcoming you.
“Why not? I just had my face buried in you,” he says, matter of factly, before grinning wickedly at you. You look down to where he is straining in his pants, and the desire to touch him overcomes you again. Sitting up slightly, you reach your hand out to the buttons on his pants.
He moves away from you, instead bending down to kiss you. “Please, let me touch you,” you say, reaching again for him. “I don’t want this to be over too quickly,” he says, cheeks running red.
There’s a pause as you consider what he’s saying, and you look at him with a question written on your face. “I want to fuck you properly, and I know I won’t last if you use your mouth on me,” he explains, now really looking embarrassed.
“Then do it,” you say, a sense of post-orgasm confidence running through you. You’re absolutely aching for him, and with your skirt hiked up and your flesh exposed you want him on you at this moment. There is a desire coursing through you, that only he can satisfy. “Please, Sebastian.”
Without another word, he climbs onto you and devours your lips in a needy kiss. Your bare core presses against his clothed erection, the sensation causing you to moan into his mouth. He immediately starts to grind himself against you, the two of you acting almost like crazed animals as you try to create a sense of friction.
“Take them off,” you say, fiddling with his pants again. This time, he stands and obliges. You watch as he removes his trousers and underclothes, and stare as he bares himself for you. Now there was no sense of hiding from him, no sense of unknown. You clenched around nothing as you watched him give his length two quick pumps, the thought of what to come already driving you insane.
“You know I’ve thought about this for a long time,” he says softly, climbing onto you again. “How I would take you, how you would look, what I would do to you. You’re perfect, absolutely perfect.” His head dips, kissing the outside of your breast. “And I want this to be perfect for you.”
“Sebastian,” you say, coming out more as a gasp than actual words. “Please, I think I might go insane if you don’t touch me.”
There is a hint of a smirk that comes over his face, and you feel him line your bodies up. His head bends down again to kiss you, whispering sweet things as he pulls his lips away. Gently, he slides himself into you, coaxing and teasing so that it causes you to feel every little bit. You both gasp in unison when he is fully inside you, a feeling of fullness and closeness like you had never experienced before.
He doesn’t move for a moment. “I want to hear everything that comes out of your mouth,” he says, commanding you. You nod, the feeling of him already leaving you dazed and delicious. Slowly, he pulls out. And then he pushes in again, slow and deep, and you can’t hold back.
There are these babbling words and sounds coming out of your mouth as he fucks you, rotating and snapping his hips. Words like fuck, oh god, please Sebastian, don’t stop, feels so good. Things you never imagined you would say, at least not before today. But now it feels natural as they tumble out, mixed with gasps and moans. You intentionally tighten slightly around him, and it brings noises and words from him. He’s calling you perfect, so good, an angel, beautiful, and everything else you could want to hear from him.
His thrusts are rhythmic, deep and precise. There is no great urgency between you, instead just relishing in the movements of each other. You bring your legs around his back, hands clawing at his back. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he says, his eyes shut as he moves in and out of you. All you can do is moan in response, no real thoughts left in your head.
But then you feel something else. Sebastian has slipped a sneaky hand in between you, pressing languid circles into your clit as he moves. He has started to get sloppy, his hips snapping with less of a rhythm, and you know he wants you to finish first. The combination of his hand and his length pumping in you cause you to arch away from the bed, his name coming out in gasps as you feel everything. You can feel yourself teetering on the edge of everything, and with one firm press into your clit you fall over.
Everything is on fire on your body, you can’t help it. You grab onto one of your breasts, needing to feel something more as you come. He is still saying things to you, things that only seem to drag out the feeling. “You’re doing so well, oh my god, you look so perfect,” he breathes out, his movement messy. You moan his name loudly one last time, and that’s it for him. He groans, thrusting three more times before collapsing on top of you.
Your legs are still wrapped around him as he buries his head into your hair. He lazily kisses your neck and jaw, as if he wants to taste your skin. Your fingers stroke his hair lightly, both of you breathing loudly and not really moving.
“Was that okay?” he asks suddenly, lifting his head up a bit to look at you.
“I feel like ‘okay’ is a massive understatement,” you tell him, a smile emerging on your face. He matches your smile, pressing a kiss to your lips.
“Why did you not want to bring me here originally?” you ask, causing him to drop his smile. Sebastian thinks for a moment, looking almost embarrassed.
“I just- I felt like you deserved more than the bed at an inn. And I have to go back home in two days, and it just didn’t feel right for you. For how I feel about you, the way I wanted you. But I’m glad you talked me down from thinking that,” he says, his smile returning. You nod, understanding what he means. “And how do you feel about me, or how do you want me?” you ask, almost shyly.
But Sebastian grins wider, and you feel foolish for asking. “I like you. It’s been hard, these last few months without you. And I think that we could be great together, that you should move closer to me or I should move closer to you. If you’ll have me, that is.”
You nod, a sense of relief flooding your mind. He lays his head back on you, and for a moment you say nothing. But then you remember something, and giggle. He lifts his head back up slightly, giving you a confused look.
“You’re still inside me,” you say, moving slightly. His eyes widen and he slips out of you gently, pressing a small kiss to your temple as he does so. He stands up, heading to the bathroom. Pausing in the doorway, he turns to look at you laid out naked on the bed. “So you’ll have me, then?” he asks you with a soft smile.
“Of course I will,” you say, it being one of the easiest decisions you’ve ever made. “Of course, Sebastian.”
Header image: @starrysallow
✦ 5439 words
✦ NSFW content (MDNI), unnamed female OC (no use of y/n), estranged friends to lovers, mild physical confrontation, some angst, oral, masturbation, intercourse, tw: choking
✦ Inspired by "Love is A..." - PVRIS
✦ Read it below the cut or on AO3
Events following catastrophe were called fallout for a reason. Oftentimes it wasn’t the disaster itself, but the particles of pain that amassed the body counts, thrown to the heavens and scattered. What goes up, must always come down.
After killing Solomon and being pardoned outside of a court of magical law, based on friendship and honesty at the decision of his closest two friends, Sebastian was never the same. He stopped regular class attendance, prioritized unhealthy friendships, and frequented the restricted section even more.
She worried, constantly, but each attempt to reconnect and rekindle had been dodged and ignored. Her poor owl probably thought her a right lunatic with the amount of return post that accumulated next to her bedside.
It was as if he breathed in strands of that wretched Killing Curse, and his former self was another casualty of that day.
Distance was the only solution, and weeks bled to months, then years. Hostilities were built, grudges cemented, and relationships wedged. A lifelong friendship built on mutual trust, obliterated by all counts without salvage.
It hurt her heart, to say the least. Even Ominis insisted on prioritizing Sebastian’s company, solely out of self-flagellating guilt in believing he could have, somehow, prevented all of this. Now, he felt like it was the best means of maintaining Sebastian’s composure, of averting further tragedy. Eventually, the infrequent study sessions and conversations in the Slytherin common room became a thing of the past. The Undercroft’s clockface locking mechanism collected cobwebs, of time lost and friendships standing still.
She withdrew; the end of her seventh year approached and she was consumed by the quiet, by research, by exams. By any and all distractions that held her focus long enough to neglect her feelings.
Until one sleepless evening, as she passed the time in the Slytherin common room, tracing shapes in the condensation on the windows looking out into the Black Lake. The sound of footfalls and deep snickers bit her focus and induced an automatic eye-roll, the tells of men being up to no good. She turned her back to the stairwell, opting out of asking what they were up to at one-thirty in the morning.
Nothing great from the sounds of it. The group halted at the bottom of the stairs, whispered amongst themselves, and let out hushed sounds of approval. And then, the last voice she wanted to hear in the middle of the night beckoned her attention.
“Hello.”
Fucks sake, she thought, hearing Sebastian’s unfortunately familiar tone. His cronies chuckled, and worry started to spread uncomfortably in her chest.
“Leave her be, Sebastian.”
Relief cooled her blood as Ominis chided his best friend. Nothing wary would occur if he was in their company, that was certain; the heir of Slytherin had a quiet but firm reputation that fellow housemates were keen to avoid fucking around near. She turned, and swallowed hard.
Sebastian was a ghost of his former self, having filled out the straight-up-and-down form of his early teenage years. His black button-down could have used a proper resizing, taut at the biceps, the slightest hint of his undershirt peeking through the first buttonhole. Had they maintained a proper friendship still, she might have found him rather fetching.
But that was off the table entirely, their friendship long past expiration, the unanswered letters like an obituary in itself.
Sebastian crossed the central chamber of the common room, walking with the subtle saunter of liquid courage and bad influence, smirking with a glassy haze in his eyes.
He stood far too close to her. “I said, hello.” Terse, unyielding. The firewhisky on his breath branded her cheeks, and at this proximity, she was painfully aware of how much taller than her he’d grown. His little band of brothers hung back much to her relief; Ominis stood between them and the tower of darkness, the only one of them with some decorum (and sobriety)
“What do you want?” She muttered, fists balled at her sides to hide their tremble.
Sebastian feigned a hurt expression but it immediately dissolved, replaced with a terrible implication in his grin. “You.”
His audience chortled, save for Ominis, who seemed to be carefully attuned to whatever Sebastian was about to say next.
She ignored his forward attempt, cursing herself inwardly for how excited it made her feel. “What happened to you?” She wasn't looking for an answer, at least not immediately. She would have preferred he give it some thought, then approach her the next morning with an explanation (and, perhaps, an apology). “What’s wrong with you? Ever since you-”
Chagrined by her prying question, he reacted abruptly, grabbing her by the throat and pushing her back hard against the window.
His friends seemed perturbed by the action, immediately noping out of any involvement and backing out of the room for what they believed was yet to come. Ominis however took a step towards Sebastian, his wand raised, pulsing red. “Release her, Sebastian.” There was an exercised firmness in his voice as if he’d done this before. She wasn't the least bit surprised.
What was surprising, however, was her arousal. For his hand to be large enough to cup her throat just right, she thought it unfair. His eyes commanded her gaze, nostrils flared and breath hissed over snarled lips. His words bore grit, and punctuation pronounced. “Watch. your. mouth.”
It was no suggestion, about as much room for argument as was left in her airways for oxygen to travel to and from; next to none. Her jugular pounded against the web of his thumb, and his eyelids fluttered, pupils contracting in the earth of his eyes.
He knew. He bloody well knew how she was reacting, he had to. It shredded her innocence then, flayed it on the rack and flung her into a pit that the bastard dug himself.
Sebastian’s lip twitched, the corner tugging upwards into a smirk. Fuck him, she thought before speaking her mind, an emphatically sharp remark cutting a web of spit that landed on his chin. It only broadened his grin, as he wiped it away with his middle finger before swiping it with his tongue.
Her sympathies were with Ominis who had to endure this display of power and obstinate threats. “You’re reprehensible, Sebastian!” he warned as a firm hand clapped his shoulder. “Leave her be. She’s gone through enough already without your mistreatments.”
But she didn't want him to leave her be. She wanted him to mistreat her even more, and leave nothing left.
Mercy was given as Sebastian released her, wringing his hand. He narrowed his eyes as she ran off towards the spiral staircase, leaving before Ominis could provide consolation. Only once she was safely out of eye and earshot did she suck in a breath. She winced, a sting of soreness at her swallow, coughing to clear her stuck esophagus.
But that wasn’t what she fixated on. Instead of fear, she felt curiosity. Instead of warnings heeded, she draped his red flags over her shoulders like expensive silks.
Deceived into tasting forbidden fruit by a fucking snake. She could have laughed if she weren’t so fixated on the abject deploracy of it all. Every detail was ingrained in memory, down to the searing heat exhaled from his nostrils, fanning her décolletage, his inferno blazing.
And still, tears sprung to her eyes as she ran to the only spot she considered would provide some quiet reprieve…
And somewhere she could moan freely without an audience.
Thankfully the greenhouse was left unlocked, most likely by a fifth-year tasked with watering the dirigible plums after dinner and forgot to lock up. She stepped into the classroom, the humidity warmer than the cold dampness of the Slytherin dungeons, and she found a quiet corner to scoot on her bottom out of sight.
Despicable as it was, her digits committed treason and slipped under the waistband of her pajamas, sinning herself, confessing to those immoralities to please with her pleas. Her eyes wrenched shut in concentration as she drew upon her new little devious spank bank, every reaction cycling on a loop as her wrist bones cracked quietly in her panties with the fervour of her ministrations. And as close as she managed to get herself, with the image of Sebastian tattooed on tight eyelids, she almost cursed out loud when the latch on the greenhouse door clicked with movement.
She wasn't alone anymore.
She might have anticipated Ominis following her in hopes of apologizing on his behalf, but she never would have expected Sebastian to be the one stepping into the greenhouse, not after what transpired minutes ago. Perhaps Ominis talked some sense and ordered him to reconcile in person.
He leaned against the door, his hands in his pockets. “I can see you,” He said quietly, gesturing to her slippers poking out of the shadows. “What are you doing over there? Please, can you come out a moment?”
“Or what?” She replied, still trying to steady her breath, the combination of running and masturbating making it draw shallow. “You going to strangle me again if I don't?”
He exhaled, and… pleaded? “Promise I won't. That… I was out of line. You didn't deserve a moment of that treatment, not ever.”
She frowned, not expecting this change of pace whatsoever. She pushed herself up to stand, quickly wiping her fingers on the inside of her t-shirt, shuffling closer to him while maintaining adequate distance. With the enchanted heat lanterns angled at the massive venomous tentacula nearby, his face was washed with a glow that gave him a false sense of innocence. Her heart ached as she looked attentively at her former best friend for more than she had in over a year. “Sebastian,” she began, crossing her arms. “Can we talk about this in the morning? You’re drunk.”
“Not anymore,” he replied. “Ominis gave me a rather sobering talk.”
“Still.”
He sighed. “Please… we’ve gone too long without hashing this out. There’s a lot I need to say, and I’m certain the same rings true for you as well, no?”
She nodded, chewing her lip. It took several heavy seconds for him to continue, weighed down by the breadth of time spent apart. “I want to start by apologizing for how I threatened you this evening. I had a few drinks, and I wasn’t thinking clearly.” Even though it sounded like he was reading from a rehearsed script, his expression was genuine. “It wasn't right to scare you that way.”
If you only knew, she thought, but she wasn’t about to give him the benefit of the doubt. She looked down and focused on the small hole in the toe of her slipper. “It’s fine,” she replied, nodding. “No. I’m alright. Thank you for checking on me.”
Truth be told, she just wanted him to wrap it up so she could rub one out already. She couldn’t think of anything but his hand on her throat, and it was giving her a fuckton of bad ideas. When she looked up again he was eyeing her curiously, and the hint of narrowness in his gaze made her bottom lip tuck between her teeth.
“What were you doing here before I arrived?”
She wondered, at that moment, if he’d spent his free time studying legilimency. Her nonchalance did not convince him. The tells were there: flushed face, rumpled pajamas, the drawstring tucked into her waistband. Still, she didn’t want him to know that she was fingerfucking herself before his surprise appearance; Merlin knows what that would do for his ego. She played it off. “Just checking the growth progress on my mallowsweet.”
“You’re still a piss poor liar.” He huffed, though a shadow of a genuine smile made an appearance as he clasped his hands in front of him. He studied her, stepping closer. “I’ll need to be honest with you now, but I only ask that you be honest with me in return.”
“You weren’t before?” She raised an eyebrow.
“What? No, yes—- I was being honest there, truly.” He was tripping over words, evidently still feeling some of the alcohol in his system. “I won’t lie to you, promise.”
After consideration, she nodded. “Okay, what is it?” I’m probably going to regret this, she thought, leaning against a crate of potting soil.
Sebastian’s expression was thoughtful, the space between his brows creased. It appeared as though he were trying to choose the proper words. “Over the past couple of years, we’ve… well, I haven’t been myself.” The halfhearted scoff from her was not lost on him, but he continued. “Ever since, you know… that, happened, I’ve experienced these disturbing feelings, impulses that make me want to do terrible things. I don't know how to describe them, but they’re not inherently good. Ominis believes I’m dealing with guilt, but it’s not so simple. It’s not that direct.”
His quiet intensity doubled down then, and he looked at her. “I’ve wanted to… to hurt you.” His voice softened as he said your name. “I’ve thought of unimaginable things, truly awful acts that made me consider my very sanity. Things that you would never deserve in a thousand years. And they aren't just passing through.” The words seemed to leave a foul taste on his tongue. “They stick around. No one knows about it, because how could I admit such a thing? Even now I’m trying to cast them out. I don't know if it’s some kind of repressed anger that you decided against turning me in, forcing me to live with the consequences of my actions without trial…”
He shook his head. “Sorry, I’m prattling. I just want you to know, this is the reason I’ve been so… distant, with you. It ate me up inside to stay away and it wasn't fair to you without an explanation, but I couldn't trust myself. Even now, or earlier I mean… I don’t know if these thoughts will go away entirely.” Shame settled into his features. “Still, I miss you. I have missed you, and I miss our friendship. I miss…”
Sebastian blinked for a moment, and before she could interject he was standing right in front of her, hands on the crate behind her. She was locked in, his strong arms a barrier from freedom, but she wasn't about to attempt escape. To do so would mean she couldn't experience him this close, this intense. He towered over her, swallowing, Adam's apple bobbing. “I miss what could have been. Please, be honest with me…” He took her hand then, dwarfing hers. It made her chest tight as he murmured, and the heart was apparent in his words. “Even knowing what I’ve shared, knowing fully well that I want to fight these feelings for you, would you ever… even want, to be friends again?”
Her mouth fell open slightly, the wind out of her sails. The divisiveness in her was tumultuous, warring between slapping him across the face and shouting profanely for the blind selfishness. True that there was deep anger in her heart, but there was also a void that ran deep, a cut that never healed. She looked up at him, let out a sigh, and wrapped her arms around his torso, her face in his chest.
Sebastian was caught off guard, his inhale caught in his windpipe, but he didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her in return. He held her so tightly she winced, letting out a small groan, but she didn't shy away, hugging him with equal enthusiasm as they swayed with the shared experience of reconnecting a missing piece after far too long.
“Can you tell me when those thoughts are too much to ignore?” She asked after several seconds, looking up at him, ignoring the heartbeat that skipped attendance as a result. “I don’t want you to leave me again. That… that was the hardest thing to go through. I mean, we did everything together, and then to just, suddenly not…” She sighed. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
His brow furrowed. “Still relentlessly selfless, I see.” He smiled, and when he breathed she was relieved to find his breath no longer carried the smell of firewhisky, instead just purely him. “I swear to you, I’ll never put you in danger ever again. If I need to talk to someone or, I don't know, distract myself. I’d sooner fling myself from the astronomy tower than knowingly cause you harm.”
She nodded, but her mind was ping-ponging an idea around that made her reconsider her sanity. Rationality missed roll call and so when she looked up at Sebastian, when the rest of the world vignetted around him, the kiss happened all on its own.
And he was just as eager, holding her body close as he consumed in a heat that scalded her resolve. Those fucking hands of his knew precisely where to hold her, where to pull, an indication that he’d imagined this before into his fist under bedsheets. She moaned with a tender kind of tact, fingers laced in his hair, practically pulling him into her petite form.
He parted to catch his breath moments later, cheeks and nose ruddy with blood flush. “This is okay?” His eyes flickered about her face, honing in on any evidence of disagreement in her expression. “I promise I won’t be rough with you, I--”
“Sebastian,” She murmured, tracing his clavicle as she spoke. Time to come clean. With any luck, he wouldn't be horrified of her. “I… I liked it… when you choked me.”
Brown eyes blinked, and she could practically see the cogs in his head struggle to make a full rotation around her admission. “You… you enjoyed that? But--”
“I loved it.”
His lips parted then, and she saw a new look in his eyes. Perhaps this was what he sought to keep buried from her and yet here she was, laying in the very mound of dirt he turned up.
So much is communicated in their gaze. His expression changes, and the paradigm shifts. “Yeah?” His voice has a hint of heat, a sample of what is to come, and the way he comes to terms with this burned slowly in her belly. “You like rough stuff?”
Her face flamed. “I-I never knew… But when you…”
The thought clicked then, and he tilted his head. “…what did you say you were doing in here, again?”
“…I didn’t.”
A slow smirk of understanding spread and remained in place, even as his lips crashed into hers. He kissed her with more insistence this time, harder, more ragged breaths than taking her breath away. Sebastian leaned into it, teasing her with his words. “What a little imp you are, scurrying off to rub one out. I’m surprised you didn’t go to your dormitory, where I wouldn’t be able to find you, left to your own devices…”
She gasped as those tactile fucking hands of his settled at her hips, fisting the waistband of her pajamas so hard the woven texture and seams of the fabric left indentations on his palms. Her hands were put to good use then as well, attempting to unbutton his shirt without breaking their kiss, a feat in itself considering how little thought was in her brain regarding anything that wasn’t connected to his body. Sebastian resumed his little wordplay while she untucked his shirt from his trousers. “Someone’s eager, aren’t we?”
“Shut up,” she muttered, and he chuckled while swatting her hands away from his nearly open shirt, grabbing and hoisting her to sit on the crate. Her legs snapped open immediately and Sebastian let out the most beautiful breathy groan, leaning into her as his lips descended the column of her neck. The humidity of the greenhouse gathered a whisper of perspiration along their brows, but the heat between them was something else entirely. Finally undoing his shirt in her conquest, it fell from his shoulders and she couldn’t help but drink him in. “Sebastian, you’re…”
He seemed a touch vulnerable at that moment, but it faded lightning fast as he grabbed the hem of his undershirt and pulled it over his head.
Her brain was rendered a useless mound of matter as she ran her hands over his defined chest, her eyes darting to the enticing trail of hair that disappeared into his trousers.
“Fuck,” she breathed, and her intrigue spurred him on, fed the deviant within. His hand slid up her torso, deliberately over a braless breast, settling to hold her throat. The other, however, buried between her legs and cupped her mound from over her pajamas.
The sound she made was positively primal, and she crushed her bottom lip between her teeth as he applied pressure, rubbing his fingers in devastatingly slow circles that made her hips buck. He leaned in close to her ear as she whimpered, nipping a lobe. “That's my girl… sing for me.”
So she did, letting the moans out freely as he tightened his grip on her neck. Her back arched as his thumb pressed into the side of her throat, and the sensation made her acutely aware of her heartbeat. It throbbed in her head and her sex, her mouth agape as his dark eyes watched her reactions, and the wicked grin he gave her pronounced his excitement. “You like that?” He asked, voice hoarse and low, laden with lust. “You like how I touch you like this?”
She nodded eagerly, trying to control the friction between her legs with more measured motions, and he obliged with enough pressure that her wetness began to wick through the fabric, ample and abundant. “Merlin, you’re already so wet for me.” The way he spoke to her was nothing short of sinful, his voice reaching a lower pitch she’d never heard before. He sped up, letting her rock into his palm as he varied the pressure on her carotid. She could come just like this, pathetic and whining and without having taken any clothing off yet.
Sebastian seemed intent on making sure she did just that. He leaned down to mouth a nipple from over her thin t-shirt, pulling another beautiful sound of pleasure from her mouth. The cotton wet with his lips around her pebbled peak and it throttled her impending orgasm. Her moans ascended in pitch, and just as she came the hand on her throat loosened. Her climax rocketed through her then, echoing sharply off the glass panels of the greenhouse, and if anyone were in the immediate proximity they would surely know it wasn't the sound of a mandrake that wriggled loose from its pot. Thighs spasming and tight to his sides, she rode out her release against his hand, the soaked crotch of her pajamas goading him on.
His mouth disconnected from her, capturing her lips in an almost desperate kiss, despite the confidence in his tone. “You’re beautiful when you come for me,” Sebastian purred, and he finally pulled off her shirt, baring her chest. His quiet exhale signaled his enjoyment. “Fuck, look at you…”
“You like what you see?” She found her voice mingled with a new sense of boldness as she palmed her breasts for him, giving him a rightful show. Sebastian uttered an expletive to voice his approval and eagerly claimed her lips in a breathtaking kiss as he undid his belt.
“God, yes,” his response was airy and rough. “Look what you do to me…”
And look she did, as he untucked himself from his underwear, practically twitching with the reflex of his abs clenching, his cock so hard it could crush diamonds to dust. She bit her bottom lip as he palmed his member, a groan born deep in his chest as she scooted off the crate and sunk to her knees in front of him, the cobblestone floor biting her joints. His cock bobbed at the most beautiful fucking sight he ever saw, and with an eager grasp at his base, she took the tip past her lips.
Sebastian’s head lulled back as he let out a quiet “unh,” drawn out once she slid the rest of his length into her mouth. She took his wrists then, bringing them behind her head, and his body knew precisely what to do as his fingers combed through her hair. With an abrupt thrust, he pushed deep into her eager mouth, and the moan that vibrated around his girth was all the encouragement he needed to repeat the motion. He imparted a slow, but intense pace, and she kept up with a slacked jaw and willing tongue. His cock glistened as it slid past her lips, a delicious mix of her saliva and his precum dribbling down her chin as she let him fuck her pretty mouth. The tip hammered the back of her throat and the sound she made to suppress her gag reflex stirred something in his chest, as if the nature of his ability to determine true love had some dirty little kinks of its own.
Then again, looking down into her eyes, gone glassy with the effort of her fellation, he had to wonder.
She didn't offer much room for second thoughts as she bobbed forward, taking him to the very base and then some, her nose pressed into the tufts of hair at his pubic bone. He held her there as she swallowed around his cock, her throat clenched as she sucked hard. With her airways constricted her breath was caught with nowhere to go and she properly choked, her face going red. Sebastian had never experienced something this intense, and he panted with balled fists in her hair to pull tightly.
His hips snapped, withdrawing from her mouth as she sucked in a breath, so quickly that she coughed from the rush of air. “While I’d love to keep fucking your mouth,” he grinned, and she swore she saw the devil himself, “I need you to come around my cock while I choke that pretty little throat of yours.”
His words were music to her ears. She obliged, and he pulled her up by the hair to stand again, attacking her lips, all teeth and tongues. His fingernails scratched her hips as he wrenched her pajama bottoms down, her panties joining them at her ankles before he lifted her onto the crate again. The wood scraped her bottom but she had no room to protest as his cock commanded her attention, dragging deliciously between her puffy folds. “Sebastian, please,” she mewled almost pathetically, angling her hips in hopes of slipping him in on her own.
“Oh sweetheart,” he sighed softly, “you’re so wet…”
An unexpected moment of tenderness claimed his senses then and he looked up, their gazes meeting, hearts swelling. He cupped her cheek, swiping a spot of spit from her chin as he leaned in to kiss her with a softness that he wasn't accustomed to. For all the pain he’d known, for all the darkness that stained his being, she was the safe space to embrace.
And he dare not let go of her. Not again. Not ever.
Her name fell from his lips as he slid inside of her. She hissed quietly as she acclimated to his length, testing his girth with a tightness that sent shivers up her spine. He rolled his hips, and she faced the heavens.
Sebastian was an intense lover, she discovered, his forehead pressed to hers as he fucked her deep, rocking on her ass with his eager motions. She was keen to contribute, her legs pretzeled around his waist, hands gripping his biceps for support, holding on for the ride of her life. Her plush warmth enveloped his cock, a silken heat that pulled him in. Their pace was perfection, enough to build their pleasure without losing traction.
“Mm, here.” He scooped her up at the bottom, carrying her effortlessly to a nearby workstation, gesturing her to lay her back on the desktop. “I wanna see all of you…”
He grabbed her hips with an almost bruising firmness and continued to fuck her on the workstation, watching his cock pump in and out of her, and she realized with a soft chuckle why he’d chosen this specific desk. No doubt this was a slight dig at her previous crush during their third year, Leander fucking Prewett, when Sebastian had caught them snogging outside the entrance to their common room. He’d teased her relentlessly for it, and now she had half a mind to wonder if it was a little crush of his own developing back then. His wicked grin implied they were on the same page. “You little shit,” she chuckled, but it cut off as he slammed inside, pulling an especially loud moan from her. No room for Gryffindor thoughts in this snake pit.
Sebastian’s gaze darkened with lust, his hair tousled along his forehead. One of those perfect hands claimed her throat as he shrouded her. “Yes,” she rasped, and he clasped firmly, squeezing precisely where he had to to get her heart thundering through her temples. She realized then, as her pulse became dangerously loud behind her ears, that he was timing his thrusts to her heartbeat. Her back arched with the increased pace, a symphony of gargled moans singing his praises as she quickly ascended the peak of an approaching climax. “Sebastian, I’m—I’m close…”
“I know,” he replied, unyielding in his motions. The edges of her vision greyed, and before she could protest the impending blackout, he eased his grip. At the precise moment that oxygenated blood returned to her brain, she came hard around his cock, hollering his name as she convulsed on the desk. Sebastian didn't stop, however, chasing the tails of his release with reckless abandon, hips pistoning so hard the table jostled and scraped against the floor. When he did come he punctuated it with a growled expletive, holding his hips flush to hers as her spent, quivering sex milked him for all he could give.
He collapsed onto her chest, kissing her sternum between shallow breaths. “You felt so, so good,” he whispered, craning his neck to offer breathless kisses as she cradled his head adoringly. She gestured to sit upright and he pulled out, sooner than he’d wanted, but he could tell by her soft groan that the firm surface had to be brutal on her spine.
Instead, she held him, melting into another appreciative kiss. “As did you. That was… I never knew it could feel like that.”
Sebastian chuckled, nosing her cheek with affection. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have left you alone after all.”
Her smile faltered, and he caught the echo of pain behind her eyes. “Sorry, I… I should have talked to you about this sooner. I was wrong to have shut you out this way. I was only trying to ensure your safety.” His thumb brushed her bottom lip. “I’ll make it up to you, for lost time.”
“You better,” she grinned again, this time with fondness as she brushed the bangs back from his forehead. “And, maybe… we can keep exploring these new enjoyments together. Perhaps by letting you indulge in some rougher activities, it will help.”
Sebastian nodded slowly. “You’d want to do that for me?”
“Of course I would,” She replied without hesitation. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t offer my assistance?”
A strong brow raised at that, and he smirked. “Oh, is this currently what you would define as friend behaviour between us?” he gestured to their naked forms, flushed pink with post-sex afterglow, glistening with a sheen of sweat. “Merlin, you’ve become awfully chummy.”
She rolled her eyes, thanking him wordlessly as he helped put her shirt back on before retrieving his own. “So you’re assuming I’m you’re girlfriend now or something?”
“Will you?”
She caught it; fleeting, but there nevertheless, a fond expression that brought back memories of his younger years, a boyish charm that captured her heart long ago. Her Sebastian was still living, hidden beneath layers of tarnish and grime, but certainly there, and she would polish him back to his original splendour and shine. She nodded, and they made plans to meet again sooner rather than later because later was an awful prospect in this touching moment of reunion.
She left the greenhouse with his hand in hers, a changed woman, gladly leaving the bodies of their former selves on the floor, all akimbo and forgotten, a distraction for the pain of the past to feast upon, releasing them from the confines of their creation.
• always high on weed/dabs/carts/edibles (doesn’t matter)
• his pale skin and green irises only accentuated the faint red tinge in the whites of his eyes, like a light blood splatter on american money
• hes tormented!! cut him a little slack. its not his fault his dad gave him the worst type ii bipolar disorder and narcissistic personality disorder a clinician’s ever seen
• gets horrendously horny when he’s high around you, starts touching and holding and kissing and biting you to get and keep your attention
• chews on his fingernails, jitters his legs, and licks and bites his lips as he stares at you, as he feels himself getting harder and harder at the thought of you getting wetter and wetter
• whines about how his throat is dry and he needs to taste you, to drink the liquid sliding out of you, until his tongue and jaw were cramping and his mouth was sore
• will pull you into his lap, gnaw on your shoulder and the lobe of your ear as his hands creep down your abdomen towards the source of the wet stain forming on his lap
• his voice lowers an octave as he begs to touch and taste you, as he asks if his hands and lips inching closer to your crotch is allowed and okay because he so desperately craves your approval
• “oh, baby, please, baby, only you can fix my dry mouth with your wet, pretty fucking pussy, god, baby, please, i’m so thirsty”
• moans so fucking loud when you finally give in and let him lick your clit, his fingers eagerly digging into your thighs as he pulls you so, so much closer, until there’s no air between his mouth and your skin
• devolves into demanding that you ride his face, hop and slide on his mouth with your shiny thick thighs with absolutely no hesitation, no regard for his lungs
zeke
• sad king who drinks most nights
• a gin and tonic or scotch on the rocks kind of man. likes the burn at the back of his throat on the way down
• confessed a similar reason to why he swims; liking the burning ache in his lungs when he holds his breath under the water. reminds him he’s alive
• has a poor relationship with his parents and half-brother. wants and sometimes tries to reconcile but he’s not really a people-person and he struggles to forgive
• divulges to you about his neglected dreams and pile of regrets, over analyzes situations until it all feels hopeless and meaningless
• holds you closer and tighter, at first because he’s fighting tears but then because he’s overcome with pure devotion because you’re here, with him, comforting him, every time
• and he’s certain you have so many other places you could be and more interesting people you can be with and yet you’re holding him too
• tells you that you mean the world to him, that he’s hopeless without you, that you give him something to smile and dream about, that he’d be nothing without you
• he’ll hold your wrists behind your back with one large hand and hold your neck with the other, prying your lips apart and re-introducing your tongues to each other, like he does every other night
• his hands roam as you kiss, his fingernails lightly tracing the goosebumps on your skin to the tail of your spine, the other hand following the curves of your ribcage to where your breast naturally interrupted
• “oh, i love your body, i live to please you, i live for you,” he’ll murmur for the thousandth time against your tongue as his long fingers clasp around your fleshy boob, squeezing with a fearful hold that you’ll pull away and leave him like everyone else
levi
• sex. with you. a lot.
• he doesn’t talk about his feelings or explain his emotions. there are no conversations about his past and his future. they all start one sided, and end in sex
• it’s a cop out. he knows it, you know it, but it’s so fucking good you don’t really care
• every time you try to ask about his family, his friends, his career, or even if he thinks there’s a future between you two, he’s avoiding the question and shoving his tongue down your throat
• he keeps his hand around your neck as he kisses you insistently, as he tries to kiss you until you’re dizzy and you forgot that he was trying to distract you in the first place
• gets needy and wanting, turning you around, stripping you, and bending you over before you could say a word
• impatient and selfish. he drops some lube into his palm and slicks his own cock up, shoving two or three fingers in you for short, to-be-desired thrusts before he’s gasping over you and inching the tip to your exposed muscles
• he chortles airily at the hearty moan you release once he presses inside, the euphoria encompassing his dick and shipping through his bloodstream
• he practically bends you in half, arranging you so he’s pounding into your pussy with your ass presented to his face and your own face shoved into a pillow, mascara and eyeshadow staining into the sheets at the growing desirable ache in your abdomen
• smacks your ass until his handprint is visible as he relentlessly shoves himself inside you, as he gives you every inch of muscle control and strength he has
reiner
• chronic cigarette smoker
• built balcony and patio attachments to your house so he could easily step outside
• you watched him build them shirtless and sweaty, a lighter tucked loosely in his low cut pant pockets and a cigarette lightly held behind his ear
• tries his best to cover the sour tobacco smell with rustic vanilla or mahogany colognes. up for debate when it worked, but the mix of scents really could be oddly pleasant sometimes
• he’s haunted by regrets he won’t even tell you about. doesn’t want to burden you, or rather burden himself with the knowledge that then you’d know too, and there really would be no running away
• you could see them as shadows behind his glassy eyes, always lingering when the lights were on and engulfing him in the dark
• you took it upon yourself to lift his moods, to break him free from the thought patterns that kept him chained to his lot in life
• brought the metaphor to life and bought handcuffs and rope, tied and locked his ankles and wrists to the bedposts, his vulnerability on full display
• his whole body was blushed pink as you gingerly caressed him, crawled up and down his rigid muscular body and ran your sharp fingernails and tongue down his center
• you reminded him he was chained down when he abruptly reached up and out for you, his wrists aggressively slapping back against the mattress or his legs threatening to break the post with fast squirms
• like a wolf chasing after a rabbit, reiner huffed and drooled over you and the sexy shapes you made with your hips as you wiggled all over him, grinded against him and relished in the whines and begs to be released from his holds and touch you
armin
• first got into gambling when eren convinced him to go to a casino for his 21st birthday
• and while the huge crowds and loud noises and overstimulating lights originally raised his anxiety, the adrenaline and excitement of playing and winning won out
• tried to quit a few times but always found his way back to gambling and betting
• card game aficionado. loves the tactile nature of it, always plays with the corners of the cards with his fingertips. sometimes you catch him shuffling and playing cards in his free time at home
• poker is easily his favorite, especially because he can read people like a book. you could never lie to or hide from him
• refuses to say it’s an addiction. it’s more of an intricate hobby, or a challenge he has to bet his way out of
• the worst part is he’s actually pretty good at it and wins more than seventy percent of the time. but when he loses, he loses and he obsesses over it for days
• during good streaks he buys you expensive knickknacks and trinkets and blankets and jewelry, takes you out to dinner more frequently
• feels extra confident when he’s on a hot winning streak, buying you lingerie and telling you to wear it, to turn it into a show for him in the bedroom with him sat on the bed and the lights on
• his hot hands and cold metal rings needily grasp at your sides, his wet tongue caressing the lacy line where the lingerie met your cleavage
• he’ll get impatient, too turned on with your dance to contain himself so he’ll pull you onto his hard erection and bite the nape of your neck to hold you in place
• he’ll stand up and turn you over, hover over you as the mattress shapes to your curves and armin’s hands follow
• loves fingering you with three to four fingers, his eyes doubling in size as he watches your muscles stretch and encompass the appendages. has to clutch the base of his dick like a cock ring to prevent himself from cumming at the site and at the warm, blankety feeling
• sometimes likes to be a bit cheeky and not take his rings off, letting the rings escape inside your opening and feeling it slide toughly against his skin in contrast to your so soft, so sensitive, so inviting body
• the cool metal of his rings was always enticing, and you always gasped heartily and physically thrived at the hard cold material inside
• “oh, shit, baby, i think my ring came off inside you,” he tells you calmly with a wide premeditated smirk, his fingers going limp inside you, “let me just get it out real quick”
• he’ll poke and prod and fold his fingers against your tissue as the ring moves loosely inside you, as you feel yourself building to an inescapable high with armin’s cheeky smirk between your legs as the ring just so happens to keep slipping from his grasp
jean
• jealous jeanyyyyyy
• glares at other men as they talk to you, even if it’s something as innocent as asking for directions or for a petition signature
• usually steps between you and the offending man, escalates the situation beyond necessity by antagonizing the man and firmly demanding an apology for wasting your time
• his blood just boils like hot water in a kettle when he sees you with someone else, someone that’s not him but it should be
• has issues sharing, so there was no way in hell you were slipping out of his attention, and he’s arrogantly insecure, to the excess point that you should only see and talk to him. he’s all you should need right?
• when he saw you calmly talking to eren he flipped his lid, said fuck it to the world and interrupted the conversation
• brings you to the nearest private (i.e., empty and lockable) room and pushes you against the wall or door, his hand firmly locking around your neck
• his hands were so large your whole neck was covered. his fingers were so long the tips touched at the back. his grip was present and firm, and maybe a bit threatening
• “do i speak another language to you? am i on another fucking planet so far you can’t even hear me?”
• he’ll slap the wall next to your ear with his open palm, smirk as you jump from surprise at the sudden outburst
• he leans closer to your ear, the pressure of his hand against your windpipe slightly increasing, his wet hot tongue flicking against your sensitive exposed ear
• “do i need to teach you another lesson?” another light squeeze. “on how to behave?”
Sometimes I stare at the computer screen when the words don’t want to come and I think, “Fuck, who am I kidding? This is terrible writing, and this story is shit, and no one cares, anyway.“ And I close the window and go do something else.
But every now and then I get an amazing, heartfelt, beautiful comment from someone who loved something I wrote, and it reminds me that, at least for that one person, I did write something worthwhile. And so I open the window again and I write one sentence, and then another, and then I start to find my way again.
So on behalf of all fanfic writers everywhere, I want to say thank you, thank you so much, to all of the readers who take the time to leave a comment and tell us that something we wrote mattered to you, that it brightened your day or made you laugh or cry or get horny or whatever.
Please don’t think we’re ever bothered by your comment, or that we don’t want to hear it, or that what you have to say isn’t important enough. It means so, so much. And on some days, it’s what keeps us going.
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Synopsis: Zeke loses his mind because monarch butterflies have taken roost in the trees by his house and he is tasked with keeping an eye on his little brother. You lose your mind because your crush on him is becoming too much to bear.
Word count: 2.6k
Warnings: A kiss.
AN: I edited this shit, but you know my ass is dyslexic. Also idk when part 4 (aka the END) will be out exactly, but like definitely before summer is over.
i've been out for two months and i return to see the new chapter of one of my favorite series up. idk man it's been some weird times for me but reading zeke being warm and sweet and whatnot makes me feel.... things. thanks sierra i love you and your zeke sm. im not ready for it to ENDS
i was only out for some times and i completely lost the ability to write a coherent review lmao but pls read!!
i don’t usually bring up social matters here but i think it’s unfair of me to have a large platform and not use it to speak up for palestinians. i have resources provided below for how you can educate yourself on the ethnic cleansing that is happening in israel right now and how you can help.
educate yourself
thread on what is occurring in sheikh jarrah
thread of infographics about misconceptions regarding israel and palestine
tw bombing video of al aqsa mosque being bombed
a website where you can learn more about palestine
a video breaking down the history of the israeli oppressing palestinians
free ways to help if you cannot donate
simply go to this website and click
watch this video to donate, it’s 3 hours long but just playing it in the background can help
watch this video to donate, it’s 1 hour long but just playing it in the background can help
if you are from the uk, follow these instructions to call local MPs into action
if you are from the U.S., text RESIST to 50409 to urge congress to help palestine
donate
help children and hospitals affected by gaza bombing
help hungry children in palestine
raise money towards nonprofit that directly helps palestine
donate to united nations relief
i’ll add more links as i continue to find reliable sources and proper donations. please dm me other resources and i can add them to this list. free palestine until it’s backwards, pray for palestinians who do not know whether they will be safe in their own country.
last but not least, if you are staying silent about this, or if you are a zionist, unfollow me immediately. i don’t need you on my tumblr.
Coming out of my hiatus to reblog this. As a child of a nation that has been colonized for hundreds of years, as a firsthand witness to how neo-colonialism slaughter my people, I stand with all the colonized, oppressed nations.
Remember: Criticizing, condemning and taking all actions against right-wing movement in Israel does not mean you are an anti-semite. This is not a religion-based conflict, as Palestine is a melting pot of all Abrahamic religions. This is the people's movement against a modern-day colonization.
very quick update: i'll be on hiatus until unforeseeable future
I'm sorry I won't be responding to your message, tags or other interaction for the time being. I'll answer to them once I'm back! I hope you're all well always. Love you all!
hello cal! congratulations for the 2K followers! thank you for all the great works that you have shared us with! for the event, i'd like to join if you don't mind? i am an: entp | taurus sun | good sarcastic comeback at nasty people | nasty people | aot! | any gender would do! | she/her | there's this quote from harry potter "Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?" and idk, the quote hits me everytime :( thanks again cal ♥
hiya! thank you so much, gorgeous !! of course you can!
I pair you with... Jean Kirstein !
Some activities you like to do together are:
♡ going to costume shops and trying on wigs
♡ ice cream dates !
♡ trying out new food places
Your relationship is...
Goofy as hell. You and Jean make an excellent couple. You didn’t like him at first, especially when he was younger and had a “nasty” personality. But as he matured, you found yourself inexplicably drawn to him. He, on the other hand, always liked you. When the two of you got together, it really just made sense. You both love to have fun and often make fools of yourselves in public but its okay because you’re together.
This is a divine intervention in the form of Cal's match-up to tell me that I should give more love to Jean youre-annoying-but-were-literally-the-same-person Kirstein.
Going to ice cream parlor and him bullying me because I'm a chocomint aficionado and he thinks it's literally frozen toothpaste. I'd call out his unrefined tastebud and we'd play fighting like two stupid giant adults.
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Part II of my love story with Reiner Braun. Angst. Implication of suicidal tendencies. 750 words-ish.
Part I
Reiner Braun once said to me, underneath a starless night sky when we roamed the night after-hours, "It doesn't make any sense." His tone was rather flat. Like he wasn't fully there beside me, detached from the vessel that held his soul.
I asked, puzzled, "What is it?"
"This," he said, sounding almost like a murmur, stopping his pace and turning to look at me, and when he saw I had no immediate reaction but a puzzled furrow on my brow, he then threw his gaze at the horde of girls and boys across the street, coming out of a nightclub, their boisterous laughter echoed in the dark, empty road we were walking in, "Life. Being alive."
I could feel my confusion grow, "What about it, Rei?"
He shrugged, leaving me hanging with no answer as he strode away to the nearby bus station, "This is my stop. See you tomorrow."
I gave him a friendly hug and carried the question home. It lingered all night in my mind.
When I woke up the next morning, my landline phone rung. Reiner was across the line, his voice dragged and drowsy, "I know it wasn't fair for me to not elaborate last night," he apologized. There was a deep pause before he continued, "I couldn't find a way to."
"That's okay, Rei."
He carried on nonetheless, and called my name, "I need something," he gulped down, nervousness was audible in his tone, "or someone. To make sense of me."
I had no answer to that. In silence, I remained. It gave him a cue for him to continue, "My mum never wanted me. It was never in her plan. Certainly not in my father's plan as well."
His breath was jagged and painful, "That's why he left. And I kept thinking, if the two people who made me never wanted me to begin with, who am I living for?"
Surprisingly he laughed afterwards. But I knew, he was masking his voice that was starting to break. Maybe the alcohol from last night hadn't worn off, and it was for the better. Or else Reiner would remain stoic until he had enough of himself and maybe, as how he had indicated a lot of time, chose to stop existing.
"And then I think, how stupid that question is," he began again. Trying to convince himself, "of course I live for me. I am the one who chooses to continue existing, right?"
"Yes. Of course. But also, your existence matters, Rei. For a lot of people," I hesitated for a while thinking whether the things I was saying was the thing he needed to hear, "especially for me."
He sighed, there was almost a low chuckle underneath it, "Thank you. I know that now. I understand that, but," he tried to persevere although all that I could hear was yet another troublesome sigh, "how do I tell him that?"
"Him?"
"You once said that the child in us never left us, right? And you said, we need them. Always. Because having that childlike wonder makes it easier to find the beauty in life?"
Of course. I remember it. That one talk we had over a cold bagel we shared on the boardwalk one cold evening. Children were laughing and about, in their Halloween costume with their trick and treat basket. Displaying curiosity even in the most conspicuous things.
"That child was hurting," he whispered over the line, "he still is. He can't still understand why no one wanted him. He's still thinking it was all his fault. And even now, I still don't know how to tell him that one day, he'd feel loved, he'd feel wanted."
The man finally broke, "Because even now, I still don't feel that way. No matter how much I try to convince myself."
And it hurt. It hurt to find a man so strong and so tenacious as Reiner to finally succumb into despair with the hurting child in him. And it made me sobbed, because I hurt the way he hurt. Yet still I could not find the right consolation for the friend I had loved, albeit in silence, albeit undiscovered.
"Rei," I spoke, in-between his restrained cry, " I love you. And I want you. I don't know how will your heart heals, but let it start from letting you know, that I will do every thing.. to make you feel loved, to make you feel wanted."
Silence suddenly hung over the phone, only our muted cries were heard as we pained for each other, before finally Reiner spoke, "I'm sorry."
"Sorry? What for?"
He sighed, trying hard to fight his emotion, "I can't."
A white dove flew through your open window and landed on your desk.. you noticed the tiny little scroll tied to it’s leg. After unraveling the message with your delicate hands, you began to read..
Hello, my most beloved guest, Miss Kojin.
A little birdie has informed me about your milestone. We’ve arranged a cozy banquet at Hotel del Durazno to celebrate YOU! Congratulations on 400+ followers and many more to come <3 You deserve the world and so much more! xoxo
- M
A rush of warmth runs through her chest as Kojin reads the letter, written neatly on a folded parchment. The weather is humid and dreary in where she lives, she wishes she is somewhere else. Folding the letter to its initial state, she sighs. Finally, she thinks as her mind wanders to a place she longs to be, home calls.
With a quill that has been sitting idly on her glass desk all morning, she writes back:
---
Dear Miss Michiko,
Joy is an understatement for the feeling I have right now as I hold your letter in my hand. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for the sweet attention. I am pleased to receive so much love from Hotel del Durazno, a place where I have anchored my heart in. I am giddily excited to depart for the banquet soon. Until we meet again (soon).
