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hoe4hotchner · 2 years

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Chapter 3 - The party scene

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Summary: In an upper-class residential Virginian neighborhood, monogamous values rarely get broken. A dangerous serial killer chooses to lay into dormancy exactly there for the next five years with his latest victim. Or for as long as it takes to catch him. Two highly trained and widely different agents go undercover, posing as a married couple to scope him out and make the arrest. They’ll be nothing more than professional for months, working under the same roof.

Word count: 5.1k

Warnings: Alcohol, mentions of both Haley and Jack being killed by Foyet.

A/N: I feel the need to explain what a recovery brew is, because I don’t think most of you actually know what it is, since it’s Danish beer slang. But... It’s a term that we use for a beer the morning after you’ve been out drinking, and it’s supposed to help you recover from your hangover (which it actually does :))

Masterlist

Gif credit: @ropoto

You woke up to the sound of chirping birds outside your window. Waking up in the Hills was so much different than waking up in your own bed. Maybe it was the thought of not having to walk more than a couple of steps before you were “at work”. Maybe, it was the Disney-like princess life you’d always dreamt of. Or maybe, it was just the fluffy plush sheets you’d been entangled in all night; having gotten the best sleep you’d had in a while. Your peaceful morning was disturbed by the sound of backfiring from the exhaust pipe of what could only be a car that didn’t fit into the neighborhood. Rolling out of the bed, you slipped on a pair of fuzzy slippers, you’d found in one of your boxes last night and pulled a robe over your outfit. Before stepping out on the balcony, you smoothed down your hair, not wanting to give off a bad impression to the neighbors that surely would be investigating the almost unbearable noisy spectacle that was waking everyone up early in the morning.

The morning breeze washed over you, making you feel refreshed as you stepped outside. Down on the street, you noticed an old, rusty, pale blue Volkswagen beetle parked, it looked like something you’d see rusting away in a gutter somewhere, abandoned by its owner, but perhaps it once had been.

Martha had come out on her porch to investigate too. You made eye contact with her, quickly fluttering your hand in a wave, politely acknowledging your newfound “friendship” from yesterday before you watched her stomp over to either reprimand, hopefully, Corbin, or welcome them to the neighborhood. You watched as a thin, red-haired woman stepped out of the passenger seat of the beetle. She looked taller than you, her hair was pulled into a low hanging bun and her fingers clad with rings. She turned around as Martha approached. Anna. Which could only mean that Corbin was still sitting in the driver’s seat, either waiting for Martha to leave or for Anna to signal him to come out. At this point, you were sure that he had groomed her to some extent, making sure that she wouldn’t try to run or scream for help.

When it felt safe to leave the balcony without drawing too much attention to yourself, you stormed down the stairs and into the living room, practically jumping down the stairs and landing with a thud on the floor.

“Over here,” Aaron called in an assertive tone, having watched you frantically look around in confusion when you hadn’t found him sleeping on the couch like you had thought he’d still be doing.

“How long have you been up?” You questioned, scrunching your face in confusion, seeing him fully dressed, his hair still damp from the shower he had tiptoed past your sleeping form to get. “They’re here! And Anna’s with him!” You exclaimed, interrupting him right as he opened his mouth to answer your first question. Aaron could feel the slightest tint of anger starting to bubble within him. He hated being interrupted. Especially, by you. You did it so often that sometimes he wished you were outfitted with a button to silence you. Or a muzzle, at least.

“How are they fitting in?” Aaron saw his cut to break into the conversation. His tone was as stoic as ever, in fact, you wouldn’t be able to tell that he was more relaxed than he had been in years. More relaxed than he had been since Haley and Jack were taken from him. There was something about getting away from everything, from the majority of the team, somewhere so secluded that he had no choice but to stop stressing over everything and everyone he was responsible for at work. It was not his responsibility now, at least not while he was working on this mission.

“They aren’t. The most “Emerald Hills” they look, is Anna, she’s glammed up with golden rings and a little tight-fitting dress. If I’m not wrong, Martha’s jealous of her. I noticed her husband peeking out from behind the curtains of their kitchen. He couldn’t keep his eyes from her boobs. Corbin didn’t show himself yet, but they drive this disgusting-looking rusty beetle. If it hasn’t happened yet, people will start talking. I don’t think he cares that the car doesn’t fit in. But it’s so far off of his MO that there must be something deeper. He overthinks everything too much to just waltz in here with a crap car.” You rambled. As much as Aaron hated to admit it, he felt his lips slightly twist into a smile as you were looking away from him. He couldn’t help it, seeing how enthusiastic you were doing your job. He remembered how he’d been when he first started out in the bureau. How different he had been back then, how young, dumb and naïve he had appeared to his superiors at the time. It was crazy how civil you were able to act towards each other when alone, or at least when work consumed at least one of your minds.

“He might be becoming disorganized, but that would be very unlikely when he's about to become inactive. We don’t usually see that change in this stage of the unsubs behavior,” Aaron recalled, pacing a little while sipping the glass of water he’d been in the middle of pouring when you’d entered the downstairs area.

“He could be on the cusp of going insane. Maybe his childhood trauma finally caught up to his receptors or neurons, whatever sets his sails... DON’T! I’m not Reid. I have no clue how the brain works.” You raised your voice as you noticed Aaron subtly laughing at you when you had mentioned the workings of the brain. Finding it hilarious that you had no idea what you were talking about. Aaron almost spat his water out trying to control himself. “Whatever.” You grumbled, getting up from your seat. You knew he would never take you as seriously as he did JJ or Reid, even Anderson seemed to be more credible to Hotch through your eyes, and he was constantly annoyed by the agent. It hurt that he never even had told you something as simple as a “good job”, but then again, you’d probably fed into it as well, being at each other’s throats all the time, constantly barking hurtful things. You couldn’t lie if you said you were over what happened last night, it hurt, a lot. Hearing those words, yelled at you by the person you had once sought approval from felt absolutely horrible. But you pushed those feelings to the side, they had been cried about once. You didn’t need to do it twice.

Michael Corbin and Anna hadn’t shown their faces since they arrived yesterday. You were sure that the angry stares from the neighbors had been enough to make him hide away for the rest of the day, trying to lay low until he was simply another neighbor. For the most part of the afternoon, you had spent it working on the reports, writing down every single detail you’d managed to sniff out from your brief glimpse of the two and your talk with Aaron. At one point, Martha had shown up, already thinking that you were the bestest of friends. She wanted to talk about her new next-door neighbors, how loud their car was, how rancid he looked compared to her. For all you could tell, Martha was only willing to let Anna live in the area, but you simply sat and nodded at her statements, giving her pointers and inputs on her statements about the pair. Without realizing it, Martha gave you great knowledge on Corbin that could go straight into your work, but of course, you knew you had to discuss your findings with Aaron, get him in on the ordeal to make sure that he didn’t mess things up if he got with the boys alone at some point. At this point, you now knew that Anna’s name had been changed to Michelle Smith, making you believe that she was posing as Corbin’s wife and that one of the rings on her fingers was a “wedding ring”, perhaps even a souvenir from one of his previous victims.

You were sitting on the vanity counter in the bathroom, applying a thin layer of makeup as you made yourself ready to go to Martha’s welcome party. You were happy that she’d let it slide that they were in fact attending. At least you didn’t have to doll yourself up for nothing. The gentle splashing of Aaron’s shower filled the room, none of you were talking, feeling awkward for needing to be in the same room when you were getting ready. And although Aaron had been done with his shower minutes ago, he waited for you to leave, not wanting another fight to unfold between the two of you, not when you had to be on your best behavior all evening. It was better to stay neutral with each other for as long as you could, knowing that you would have to caress, maybe even kiss each other to keep up your act of being newlyweds. You were the hardest to convince when it came to how public you wanted your “relationship” to appear.

Slipping into a sleek rose color midi dress, you were almost ready. The satin enhanced your bosom, while also accentuating the shape of your butt, making it stand out to the people behind you. Aaron walked out of the bathroom, still drying his hair with the towel as you were slipping on a simple pair of nude heels, with a low heel. You caught a glimpse of him, he was only wearing a pair of boxers. You could sense the outline of his cock through the fabric. Quickly looking away, you didn’t want to stir any attention to where your gaze had been focused. You just hoped and prayed that Aaron hadn’t been paying any attention as you grabbed your clutch, the same rosy color as your dress, and left the bedroom.

It didn’t take longer than five minutes before Aaron was ready. Dressed in all black, his polo hugged his bicep, making him look beefier than someone supposed to appear ten years older than they really were. His leather shoes looked glossy in the light, well-taken care of, and overall like he had just bought them. Which at first you thought was the truth, until you realized that these were Aaron’s personal shoes. He checked the time on his watch, the silver Rolex resting comfortably on his wrist.

“Time to go.” He confirmed, walking towards the front door, he opened it, waiting for you to walk out first, like a gentleman, but in all, you knew the neighbors would be watching and that this was an act to convince them of your status. You waited for him to lock the door behind you, feeling his hand on the small of your back as he led you across the street to the Walton’s place. Martha was ecstatic to see the two of you, you were by far overdressed for the occasion, but something told you that no one minded it, in fact, they all looked pleased to see you setting the standard higher than their expectation of you.

You were pranced around amongst the other residents of the Hills, politely greeting them with a handshake and exchanging names that you were sure to have forgotten in the morning. Or at least forgotten who they belonged to. It was probably better to just let them pass and be apologetic about it the next time you had an encounter with them. Martha presented the two of you with glasses of alcoholic beverages, already staking the night up to be a cocktail party, without the dress code. Taking a sip, you instantly tasted the fresh, fruity, almost pear-like taste of an elderflower, mixed with what you assumed to be some sort of citric fruit. You almost couldn’t taste the alcohol in it, except for the burning after taste. Martha had definitely mixed too much gin into yours. Or the whole batch if you were to guess. The passionfruit wedge was a nice touch, you thought, gently sipping the drink, trying not to get too drunk to keep up with your work. But, soon the first cup had been drunk, which was noticed by Martha, who came up with another one for you. They were delicious, you couldn’t lie about that, and as the night progressed, you got more and more intoxicated from the number of drinks you’d had.

Aaron had made his way out into the garden, where you were sitting with a bunch of the wives laughing about something. You looked angelic in the moment, happy. He smiled at you, watching you scrunch your nose when you laughed, genuinely listening to the people around you as they told tales of their lives.

“You’re a lucky man, Nick. She’s a beauty.” A guy, Sam, Aaron recalled, as he strode up beside him, patting his shoulder. They had a short conversation with each other in the upstairs office. Martha’s husband, Jerry, had wanted to show off his collection of taxidermy animals from his hunting trips. Especially the birds caught his eye, he instantly thought of how outraged Gideon would’ve been if he had been alive to see this, how he would’ve been at Jerry’s throat accusing him of something outrageous.

“Yeah, she is.” He sighed. Aaron was calm, at least until he noticed your enlarged pupils, seeing you sip at what he could only recall being your third drink, but there was something about the way you engaged with the other women, that told him that he was way off his count. He confidently made his way towards your circle, silently eyeing the woman next to you, asking if he could have a seat next to his “wife”. She complied, scooting to the side, probably not complaining about the big hunky man sitting next to her. Aaron gently took your glass from your hand and sat it down on the table next to his. You snapped your head to look at him, your pupils fully dilated to the point where you couldn’t tell what color your eyes were. Thankfully, you stayed silent. Aaron had been sure that the biggest whine would slip from your mouth, that you’d fail to keep your real identity hidden and call him everything under the sun that wasn’t either Nick or Aaron. At least he could try and pass up his real name as his middle name if he was lucky.

“Remember how you get when you drink too much baby? Can’t have you stay in bed all day tomorrow with a hangover.” Aaron played into the role of playing your husband, splashing a pet name of endearment in, pulling you towards him, he let you lean your head on his shoulder. His hand was wrapped protectively around your waist, almost with a bruising strength compared to how little of a struggle you were putting up. Aaron noticed the quiet awes and whispers around him. Some were even staring at him with a hungry look in their eyes. He thought back to what you’d mentioned about Martha on your first night, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious about how much of their attention he was getting.

Anna and Corbin didn’t make much contact with the rest of the party, Aaron had kept an eye on him since the moment he sat down next to you, feeling your drunken state immobilize your training. Aaron had strategically emptied his drink down the drain, changing it out for a can of sparkling water he found in the fridge. He managed to make it look like the drink he had received from Martha, hours earlier when you’d arrived. Corbin looked nervous like he didn’t want to be there, constantly keeping Anna within reach. He didn’t make much contact with the other residents, it was hard not to notice, they mostly stood in the shadows, his hand wrapped harshly around her waist. Aaron noticed how hard he had been holding you, loosening his grip up a bit as he heard a small whimper leaving your mouth. It was barely audible, but it was enough.

“What is it, babe?” The nickname rolled off his tongue, it felt so natural to say it, so… pleasant. You stared up at him through your blown-out pupils, barely able to form a coherent thought in your head, until you remembered why you’d made a sound in discomfort.

“My stomach hurts Aar… Ouch!” You whined, feeling him pinch your hip swiftly, apprehending you from revealing his name to the rest of the group you were sitting with.

“Come on, let’s get you home then. Poor thing had too much to drink.” Aaron directed the last part to the group, apologetically furrowing his brows as he stood up from his spot between you and the woman drooling over him. Aaron deemed that there was no harm in leaving the party, not when Corbin acted the way he did. It was dark and cold, and truthfully, he was tired after everything that had happened the past couple of days. He managed to gather you in his arms, cradling you like a baby as he carried you through the party, nodding a brief goodbye to Jerry. Who only send him a knowing smirk back, probably thinking that he was taking you back home to bend you over the back of the couch in the state you were in. Aaron didn’t deny nor confirm anything to Jerry. Knowing that you’d probably go off on him for pinching you if he knew you right.

“Hey! You up there? Tiger?! Can I have kissies?” You asked innocently as he stepped out on the street with you in his arms. Aaron had never in his life thought he could hear something as cute and cuddly coming from your mouth as he just had. He stopped in surprise, amused at your sudden change in nature, purely based on your intake of alcohol.

“If I’m a tiger, what are you then? A bunny?” He quipped, gently putting your feet down on the floor as you entered your house. Aaron couldn’t help but grin when he watched you nod your head madly in agreeance with his words. He was sure that you’d be pissed if you had seen yourself right now, the way you looked so vulnerable up at him in the moment, probably would’ve let him bend you over without a fight if he had been that kind of man. “Well, will the bunny hop off to bed then, cause the tiger is very tired and they have to work tomorrow.” Aaron’s voice had gone soft, like the tone he had used on Jack when he was alive, before Foyet, before the tragedy. It was his dad voice. You stared up at him through heavy lids as you barely were in a conscious state. The hint of defiance that usually burned behind your bright orbs was nowhere to be found. You didn’t say a single word before scurrying off to bed, giggling. It was the first time he had heard you giggle like that. So… carefree. So… pleasing. Whenever he’d heard your giggles, they didn’t last for long, merely caused by a joke or something you’d just watched, but never something as genuinely pleasing as the way you sounded right now. Aaron followed you up the stairs, wanting to grab a clean change of clothes and his pillow before heading back down to the couch.

“Where are you going. I thought the tiger was tired?” You peaked out from underneath the covers. “Stay here?”

“And you won’t be mad in the morning when we wake up in the same bed together?” Aaron quirked his brow, watching you dwell on the thought for a split second. You couldn’t have been thinking about it any less than you did. And Aaron knew that, if you’d been rational, you would’ve bid him goodnight and good riddance as he stomped down the stairs, hurting his back by sleeping curled up on the couch. Reluctantly, he scooted in on the side that you weren’t occupying. Facing away from you in an attempt to make this less awkward in the morning. You were fast asleep before he shut his eyes. He listened to the soft sounds of your breathing, in and out, they calmed him, lulling him to sleep quickly too.

Waking up, you felt something draped over your waist, holding you tight. Upon turning your head an inch or two, you spotted Aaron’s face, nestled in the crook of your neck. He was snoring lightly, dreaming even by the way he sometimes pressed you closer. You felt disgusted, instantly flipping the covers away from your body, making sure that nothing had happened last night. You knew you’d fucked up, letting yourself accept one too many cocktails at Martha’s party. You barely even remembered seeing Corbin and Anna there, at all. Hopefully, Aaron had made some observations, so the night wouldn’t be wasted after all. When his grip loosened around you, you managed to slip out of the bed. Feeling the pounding in your head as you managed to stand up. Finding yourself in the bathroom, you desperately searched the cabinets, looking for the closest thing to a pain killer you could find. At this point you didn’t even care if you managed to get your hands on a recovery brew, knowing that it could effectively ease your hangover, maybe even cure it if you were lucky. You groaned in frustration, finding the cabinets empty. You hoped that you hadn’t woken Aaron up with all the noise you were making. Not ready to face his mocking smirk before you’d at least taken care of your headache.

The kitchen was to no avail either. How could Cruz plan this whole operation, down to the smallest detail, and then forget something as simple as paracetamol? You winced as the doorbell rang, quickly glancing at the clock hanging in the kitchen, it was eight-thirty in the morning, who was up at this hour, except for you of course. With heavy, dragging steps, you opened the door, quickly smoothing your hair down with your free hand as you were met by one of the women from last night. You didn’t remember much about her, except for the fact that she lived next door.

“Hi?...” You greeted, trailing off in hopes of her mentioning her name again.

“Camilla.” She confirmed, smiling at you before walking inside as you moved away from the entrance, offering her to enter. “You went pretty hard with the drinks last night, sweetheart.” Her posh British tone was almost condescending as she took a spot at the island, her handbag placed in her lap as she pulled both her legs up on the bars of the stool.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I hope I didn’t give off a bad impression. Martha just kept handing me drinks, you know.” You explained, hoping that she wasn’t a stickler for rules and that she’d be able to look the other way, but then again, you didn’t really know her, at all.

“Don’t be sorry. I thought it was quite nice actually, gave the rest of us an excuse to keep drinking. Our husbands usually don’t let us have that much to drink, it was a wonder you got as far as you did before Nick stopped you.” She giggled, even her laugh sounded posh and proper, you felt like a sewer rat compared to the women constantly surrounding you. They had all seemingly grown up in or around the likings of rich people. Living in lavish mansions, never working a day in their lives. Most, if not all, had probably inherited their fortune. Meanwhile, you’d grown up in a tiny apartment with your parents, living day by day as you tried to make ends meet. It had been a living hell, having had to walk a newspaper route at the earliest possible moment you could, helping support your family to the best of your ability.

“Nick stopped me?! I’m sorry, I barely remember anything from last night, except the first hour maybe.” You smiled, trying to push your genuine surprise away from the conversation, hoping that she hadn’t caught onto the slight panicking tone. Hotch surely wouldn’t have stopped you, unless you’d been a danger to the mission, had you?

“Yeah! It was so sweet. The way you clung to him afterward. You looked so in love. I’ve never seen anybody in this neighborhood look as happy together as the two of you did. He even carried you home when you started feeling a little sick. What a gentleman.” She explained, visibly swooning a bit at how Aaron apparently had treated you last night.

Speaking of the devil. You heard the weighty steps of his coming down the stairs. Only dressed in a simple grey t-shirt and his boxers. He yawned as he stepped into the kitchen, his body finally feeling well-rested after having felt the scrumptious sheets crinkle around him all night.

“We have company.” You lightly tapped his chest with the back of your hand, startling him for a second as he snapped out of the trance he had been in. Aaron caught the hint of annoyance in your tone, shooting a glance up at Camilla to see if she’d caught it too, her eyes were only trained on the two of you, how pure your relationship seemed. If only she knew.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll go change right now.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not bothering me. Besides, your wife is still in her PJs too.” Aaron was about to mess up. His trail of thoughts immediately went to Haley, perplexed by how she could still be dressed in her pajamas when she wasn’t even alive. “And I won’t be staying too long anyways. I just wanted to pop by to check in on Amy, see how she was holding up. Seems like the two of you had fun last night.” Camilla smirked, hinting at your bedheads with a single nod. “You’re a nice, fresh change to the neighborhood, don’t let the originals tell you otherwise. Us “newcomers” all adore you.” Camilla left as quickly as she had arrived. Leaving you surprised, your eyes wide from the pure terror that you actually could’ve slept with Aaron last night.

“Did we!?” Your voice was lowered, as you subtly yelled at him after having closed the door behind your new friend.

“God, no! I would never!” He furrowed his brows in disgust, matching the tone you’d given him. “And don’t you dare hit me in front of our neighbors like that again! They could get the wrong impression of us already!”

“Take a chill pill, Hotch! It was only a fucking tap, no one is going to think that I’m abusing you. Not after we apparently "looked like the sweetest couple last night" according to our next-door neighbor. You could’ve been a little more thoughtful about how you stopped my consumption of liquor because now all the wives think that, YOU, are as controlling as the rest of the men around here. And is that really what we’re going for, sir?” You hissed at him. Mocking his authority as your boss. For all in the world, you wanted to scream at him, wanted to punch your fist against his chest at the stunt he had pulled last night, making it seem like you’d been tangled in the sheets all night, making sweet, sweet love to each other. And the fact that both your hair looked the part, the rumors would soon spread. “I hope you at least got some good intel on Corbin.”

“You know what? I don’t have to answer to you. You fucked up! You drank too much. Figure it out yourself! I’m going for a run, and so what if all the women around here are drooling over me. At least I know who I can cheat on you with if we ever need to stir up some drama.” You didn’t hear more from him the rest of the day, barely seeing him at all. After he had left the house to go on his run, you’d been sitting, cross-legged on the couch, thinking about what he’d said. How he’d tracked back to the argument you’d had on your first night. And the truth was, none of the men seemed to have an eye out for you, which could potentially, as Aaron had mentioned, be a problem if you needed the trouble in paradise to appear all of a sudden. Somehow you found yourself imagining what it would look like if he suddenly went for Martha or Camilla. He would look so misplaced in a relationship with them. Sure, Martha was closer to Hotch’s age than you, although she was older than he. And Camilla was a posh prissy, who could turn any committed guy into his own homewrecker with a single syllable rolling off her tongue.

Your eyes had been scanning over the files for the bigger half of the afternoon, trying to figure out what it was that was so off about how Corbin acted around everyone. At one point, you’d even thought of calling Cruz, asking him to send in Reid already, you were sure that the genius could crack this in an instant. But sending him in now? It would look weird to the other residents. Barely having moved in and gotten situated within the circles around you, and then your fake brother arrives, also needing to fool everyone around him that the two of you are siblings, when you look nothing alike. Something told you that you’d have to come up with a diagnosis for him, maybe autism or ADHD, to make it more believable to everyone. Reid would flip, you could almost see it before you. He’d go absolutely insane, like that time Morgan had given out his number in a press conference just to annoy the doctor. But maybe that was just what was needed to really convince your neighbors, maybe Reid did need to have his buttons pushed a little. Get him all riled up and angry. But you had to wait, wait for the right time, now was too suspicious. Too early.

“I’ve got a chance!” Aaron slammed the door behind him, startling you as you hadn’t heard him enter at all. He was covered in sweat, chest heaving as he tried to regulate his breathing. He pushed his hand through his messy mop of sweaty hair, waiting for your response. When you turned your “full” attention to him, he finally finished his sentence. “I have a chance to close in on Corbin! Tomorrow afternoon!”

@bitchwhytho @ashhotchner @ssahotchslover @witchybitch2 @wheelsupkels @red-red-rogue @katiehall99 @mintphoenix @slytherinprincess00 @skylar666 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @cheyxfu @hotchnerxo @rousethemouse @itsemohours

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californiannostalgia · 4 years

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Tangled the Series Character Analysis: Childhood Trauma POV

I can't believe Tangled the Series really created two incredible antivillains and threw them in direct contrast with the pre-existing golden couple. I love what the showrunners did with the main quartet, so I made a very subjective analysis post about it from a Childhood Trauma POV. (Spoilers, obviously.)

The Boys

The series' focus is on Rapunzel, and by association her direct opposite, Cassandra, so the boys get comparatively less screen time. But it doesn't take long to figure out that Varian is meant to be a parallel for Eugene—these are two people dealing with the absence of parental guardians, struggling to reconcile the lives they previously had with their changing ideals in relation to a less-than-perfect Father Figure.

They both respond to the helpless state of being young, alone, and powerless by trying to take back power in any way they can. Eugene reinvented himself and buried his desires for a family. Varian throws in everything he has into recovering what he lost, because he's a child and the best solution he can think of is to return to the familiar safety of his father's presence. A significant portion of his desperation is fueled by fear of his father’s disapproval, because as much as Quirin loves Varian, he wasn’t the dependable voice of support. Varian needs approval from outside sources, which was also Flynn Rider’s purpose in life, once upon a time. (Again, parallels.)

Throughout the series, the boys' relationship with each other transforms from exasperated incomprehension to easy understanding. The process is hastened as Eugene lets himself realize he cares a lot about troubled kids who remind him of himself. He becomes aware that children should not be required to survive on their own like he and Lance had. Spurred on by his significant other's love and encouragement, Eugene is able to acknowledge the adverse affects of his childhood on his life and start moving on. His extending a ready hand to Varian is his process of healing. Though Eugene's first priority will always be Rapunzel, he truly wants to save Varian from the uncontrollable volatility of risky decisions because he knows that downward spiral intimately.

Of course, there is a difference between thieving from the rich and planning the destruction of a kingdom. We'll get to that later.

The Girls

Rapunzel and Cassandra are the biggest driving forces of narrative power in the show, and they are survivors of child abuse. Every one of the main quartet has Parent Issues, but Rapunzel takes the crown (figuratively speaking) with this one. She was kidnapped and groomed into a life-giving doll, and she was only able to escape her abusive adoptive mother through incredibly traumatizing means. For Cassandra, it was neglect, and even her loving adoptive father couldn't leviate the scars left on her childhood mind.

They're a classic case of Golden Child vs. Scapegoat, which is a common case seen in siblings raised by Narcissistic parents. When one child is "favored" more than the other, the kids experience vastly different childhoods, resulting in resentment that stems from their inability to understand each other. Rapunzel and Cassandra are both jealous of what the other had—Rapunzel wants Cassandra's casual, practiced ease with freedom and personal agency, while Cassandra wants the attention and respect that Rapunzel is given by the status of her birth. Because they're unwilling to speak candidly about the unique hardships of their childhood, what results is a series of miscommunications that put a strain on their friendship.

Cassandra and Rapunzel both want the other in their lives, but how they attempt to make that connection is very different. Cassandra wants to be a helpful, essential force in Rapunzel's life. Unfortunately, Rapunzel has been raised on the idea that when push comes to shove, no one will help her survive. Cassandra interprets Rapunzel's desire for independence as Rapunzel scorning the connection that Cassandra is attempting to create. Add in some manipulation from an ancient evil, and Cassandra decides she is done exhausting her emotions for Rapunzel.

Rapunzel, on the other hand, wants absolute honesty in her relationships. Gothel raised her on lies, so she spurns deception. But Cassandra knows the merits of protecting herself by holding her opinions in, which is where the misunderstandings occur. Rapunzel cannot trust someone who isn't completely forthright with her. She's tired of dealing with liars, and she grows afraid that Cassandra will cause her the same pain as Gothel did. But the thing is, Cassandra is not Gothel, and Rapunzel loved Gothel. She couldn't save Gothel, but maybe she can save Cassandra. It's not too late.

Rapunzel doesn't know when to give up on Cassandra because she is aware that she and Cassandra are similar people. Giving up on Cassandra would feel too much like giving up on her own hopes for a happy life. Rapunzel can't let Cassandra be unhappy. This princess cares too much, loves too hard. She never learned how to write people off because you can't survive a childhood like hers with that much cheer if you don't hang onto your optimism like a goddamn lifeline.

This is Rapunzel’s method of taking back power for herself: saving others. Rapunzel could have been Cassandra. Rapunzel is trying to believe she herself is worth saving—therefore, Cassandra must be worth saving as well. Rapunzel's significant other is giving her a stable source of love and support, but without a proper resolution to Cassandra's struggles—a final proof that despite Gothel's influence, they can both be happy—Rapunzel would feel incomplete.

The Golden Couple

At the end of the day, Rapunzel and Eugene are fundamentally good people. If it comes down to it, they would be unable to sacrifice the world for their own desires. (Eugene's thievery doesn't count as an expression of true desire because it was literally his method of survival. An expression of true, selfish desire for him might've been something like manipulation and abduction for the purposes of making people stay, but Eugene is not Gothel and he would never do that to anyone in a million years.) (On a side note, Rapunzel's selfish desire might've manifested in the abandonment of all duties and personal connections in favor of eternal exploration, or revenge towards a kingdom that failed to save her, or a thorough destruction of authority figures—but she loves people too much and would never be able to forsake her family.)

Life threw a lot of rocks at them, but these two came through it marginally well-adjusted. They affirmed their love for each other in a violent, unforgettable manner, which makes it easier for them to trust in each other's affection. Eugene would've been okay with never finding his biological father, just as Rapunzel had been okay with her biological parents' inability to protect her. They have no wish to punish the world for what they suffered. They’re content with who they are. They're just glad they made it, that they're finally allowed to love someone without being afraid. They're each other's saving grace.

The Antivillains

This is the difference between Hero and Antivillain: Cassandra and Varian are willing to punish the world for what happened to them. There’s a very faint line between justified retaliation and venting. In their desperation and anger, they cross the line, and they’re unable to stop themselves once they get going. Unlike the Golden Couple, Cassandra and Varian refuse to settle. They want what is owed.

Also, they really, really hate themselves. (This is important.)

Varian believes Quirin is the ultimate source of affirmation. The fact that he lost his father by way of his own dangerous experiment, coupled with the fact that no one prioritizes his call for help in the face of national disaster, is enough to make him feel isolated from the world. Though he is burdened with a growing sense of remorse for his deeds, he doesn’t stop resorting to drastic, harmful measures to get his father back until he is forcefully stopped by betrayal from his allies. He finally makes the full transition from “antagonist” to “protagonist” when Rapunzel risks herself to save Quirin from the rocks. If Quirin could not be saved, there’s a possibility Varian might have stayed an antagonist, unenthusiastic though he may have been in his villainous role. As long as Quirin is trapped in those rocks, Varian remains the villain who put him there.

With Quirin safe, Varian allows himself to take huge steps in healing. He slowly rediscovers his self-worth, one that is separate from Quirin’s approval. Rapunzel—and by extension, Eugene—play the friendly, supportive role to Varian’s ingenuity, helping him along in his quest for self-acceptance. Varian still has trouble working through the heavily ingrained self-hatred, but he recovers enough confidence in his own judgment that he takes Eugene’s warning to heart and is able to install a safety device in his father’s helmet, just in case.

This is the Varian who meets Cassandra in the Tower that once belonged to Gothel. At this point in time, Cassandra has been manipulated into thinking of herself as weak and unimportant in comparison to Rapunzel. Her adoptive father, much like Quirin, was too gruff to be vocal with approvals. Her efforts have not been met with successes. She feels like a failure, and she hates feeling like a failure. This is Cassandra’s method of taking back power: by turning herself into someone unforgettable. If she can make something of herself, she’ll finally be able to prove Gothel wrong. She can be just as special as Rapunzel, if she’s given the chance. She wants that chance.

Similar to Varian, Cassandra doesn’t stop her downward spiral until her supposed ally and mentor betrays her and forcefully takes her power away. Only when there are no options left does she allow herself to admit that she was wrong. She is then rewarded for her honesty with Rapunzel’s love and trust. Armed with a new confidence, the sisters vanquish the evil together in an epic showdown that will long be remembered. Cassandra finally gets her dramatic hero’s tale.

Rapunzel and Eugene have an internal compass that lets them make snap decisions. They don’t have the healthiest self-esteem, but they can at least stand by what they think is right. Comparatively speaking, Cassandra and Varian have terrible self-esteem. They don’t trust their own judgment and are heavily influenced by outside forces. Without the constant barrage of trust and affection from Rapunzel, who is akin to a blazing sun when it comes to personal loyalty, these antivillains might never have reached their redemptive ending. They wouldn’t have been able to let go of their twisted priorities without outside influence. Can’t blame them for it, though.

It’s no surprise that Cassandra and Varian are relatable to many people. Who wouldn’t want to reclaim what was taken from them during childhood? (Of course, the problem occurs when you start hurting others to reclaim what you lost.) Their journey is a different kind of vulnerable from Rapunzel and Eugene’s journey, and it’s extraordinary in its detail. This show is essentially a long exploration of the various ways a parent can mess you up and the coping methods of kids who want to become more than their past, which is totally up my alley of expertise. I’m grateful I got to watch them grow taller than their trauma.

Finally, here’s a parting gif of Lance, because I love him and he’s a well-adjusted ray of sunshine. We all wish we could be as mentally stable as Lance—the main quartet included.

#tangled the series #rapunzel #cassandra #varian #eugene fitzherbert #character analysis #my thoughts #child abuse #trauma recovery #when the villain origin story is self-hatred

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logically-asexual · 3 years

Text

I want to give you your grin

this was written for the prompt Crook/Aftermath of loceitweek2021, so the last chapter will be posted on monday ♡

summary:

After Thomas chose to go to the wedding, Janus has a lot of work for his plans to work out, and that includes getting Logic on his side. Logan currently is constantly being left out. He is trying too hard (and failing) to make himself fit in with the others, so he will try anything to feel useful.

Janus decides to take advantage of this (and Logan's denied feelings for him) to get away with his scheme, but what neither of them expect is actually falling for each other in the process.

warnings: emotional manipulation, Logan is very insecure. let me know if i should add more.

Read on AO3

Chapter 2

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words: 2169

The following day, Logan was called to a conversation Thomas was having with Patton. They quickly explained to him that Terrence was going to be in town this weekend, since he had some unexpected time off, and he really wanted Thomas to go help him with a project. However, Thomas had agreed with Logan before that he would use his free time this week to catch up with revising a script the team needed on Monday, and to make a meal plan for the following week so Thomas could practice his cooking and avoid ordering takeout every single day.

Logan was surprised that they wanted to hear his opinion before making a decision, so he made an effort to come up with a fair solution for everyone.

Thomas could meet Terrence on Saturday. He would need the entire morning to get ready, probably, since usually several hours are required for Thomas to motivate himself to go outside, and he would also need time to recover his energy afterwards. So the entire day would be out of the question for work. That meant he could look for recipes and make a simple plan on Friday after work, go buy the necessary ingredients on Sunday morning, and revise the script the rest of the day.

“Well,” Logan started, before being interrupted by Deceit appearing next to him.

“You’re going to tell Terrence that you two can hang out for a couple hours but you’re otherwise occupied and do not have the energy for anything else.” He said with determination.

Patton started to protest but Deceit interrupted again.

“What? I thought you were the one so keen on “keeping one’s word” and “not going back on your commitment”?” He said, with a hint of disgust as he put air-quotes around Patton’s words. “Or are other people more important than the promise you made to our friend Logan, here?”

Everyone was looking at Logan now. Patton began stuttering, maybe wanting to apologize, so Logan tried to reassure him before the conversation got more complicated.

“I don’t mind, actually. I was going to propose an alternative that would free our schedule for Saturday so Thomas could meet Terrence for however long he finds it necessary.”

“Oh, right, because he is so full of energy these days to work on his own job, his personal life and doing other people’s work for them in his free time.” Deceit replied, sarcastically.

“Hey, he doesn’t want me to do his work for him!” Thomas objected. “He just said he needed help with something.”

“Yes, sure, he is definitely only here in town by chance and not making excuses to take advantage of the fact that you don’t seem to have the word “No” in your vocabulary. Logan agrees with me, don’t you?” Deceit turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

Logan had to look down to avoid everyone’s intense gazes on him. “I... well... Thomas does know that word, it’s actually one of the first words he learned as-”

“You’re avoiding the question.” Deceit was clearly irritated, and Logan couldn’t endure his disapproval for some reason, but agreeing with him would upset Patton and that would be counterproductive, as well. Thomas needed a decisive Side to come to an agreement, he needed Logan to have an answer for him, but what answer did he want? Maybe they should just skip the meal plan and try again next week, or-

“Logan, are you okay?” Patton’s voice was gentle.

Of course Logan was okay. This is his job. He was just struggling slightly to keep his breathing steady. “I- I’m sure I can come up with some arrangement, if you give me time. Maybe if- We could try asking first what is it Terrence needs and decide depending on-”

“Oh how sweet,” Deceit drawled, narrowing his eyes. “And I can tell Morality would be just thrilled to let Terrence know that Thomas’ support for him is conditional.”

Patton seemed conflicted by the accusation, but didn’t deny it. He looked expectantly at Logan, as if pleading for his support, but Logan was at a loss.

“Logan,” Thomas chimed in, “it’s okay, I don’t have to make a decision yet. I haven’t opened the text and I can call him later.”

But Logan knew taking longer to think would only prolong those judgemental looks in both Morality’s and Deceit’s eyes, and he couldn’t take it any more. His face was starting to hurt from the clenching of his jaw.

Still not looking anyone in the eye, he muttered “No, Thomas. You should do as Deceit said. He’s right, you’re going to be tired next week and won’t work properly if you don’t take time to rest and get adequate nourishment.” He didn’t look up, but he knew Patton well enough to imagine the defeated frown on his face. Still, he was used to it, and it was more bearable than whatever sensation Deceit’s disfavor was making him feel.

Janus smirked, proud that his plan had worked. Now he just had to finish convincing Logan that this was the correct decision and soon he’d have him wrapped around his finger. He was pleasantly surprised by how easy it had been, but it was true that Logan has had to put up with the other’s neglect far too long, he only needed a little push in the right direction.

“Okay fine.” Thomas said, cutting the awkward atmosphere that had just been created. “I am going to tell him that I’m a little busy but we should meet to hang out and maybe play video games and he will probably get the hint and not insist on the thing he wants me to do?”

Patton smiled widely at him and nodded. “Yeah! I’m sure he’ll understand and no feelings will get hurt in the process! And Logan said we could still free Saturday so you can use the extra time after returning from Terrence’s to relax.”

“Yes, perfect!” Thomas exclaimed with the same excitement. “Thank you, all. I’ll go text him back now.”

Janus groaned silently. Baby steps, he repeated mentally, getting Logan was the focus right now. Logan looked up at him shyly, and Janus couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Logan blushed slightly and turned away, and Janus’ expression turned sharp and smug again.

A moment later, everyone was back in their rooms.

Logan evaluated once more the day’s lessons. It didn’t go as bad as he had expected, he could finally take note of positive results, he just had to make sure he knew the right causes of this success.

What went differently today than all his previous attempts? Other times he has come up with new arrangements so whatever Patton, Roman or Virgil’s new proposals can be taken into action without interfering too much with his previous plans, and they seem to accept it in the end but still become upset with him, or not acknowledge his efforts at all. This time, Deceit seemed happy with Logan’s final decision. He would never act based on emotions, but the way Deceit looked at him after sharing his opinion felt... right, somehow. Like he wasn’t alone, and the sides of the debate were more balanced.

Of course, this was only a hypothesis, other factors could have influenced this discussion greatly and Logan would have to continue verifying his theory. He wouldn’t dare openly contradict Deceit, however; the distress caused by Deceit’s contempt wasn’t something he was looking forward to experiencing again. But he could try agreeing with him on occasion, and test if it helped Thomas find more satisfying conclusions.

Now he just had to make sure Thomas finished his work on Friday, and postpone the meal plan for Sunday, instead, just in case things went well and Thomas saved enough energy.

✩ ✩ ✩

Thomas, as he normally does, strained himself more than he was asked to, and two days were required for him to feel satisfied with the work he had done for his friend. Luckily, Logan made sure Thomas finished his more important task with the script on Friday. The rest of the week Logan just had to verify that the food Thomas ordered wasn’t too unhealthy or expensive, and the following weekend he was able to buy fresh ingredients to do some actual cooking.

As days passed, Logan was faced with more decisions to make. He should be able to ponder and reach conclusions without problem, but he found himself constantly... distracted. Thomas’ inconsistent diet and sleep schedule was probably impairing Logic, although he noted that the distractions most of the time came from the selfish Side that was joining their discussions more and more often.

Perhaps the strong feelings Patton, Roman and Virgil had against Deceit were affecting Thomas and, by extension, also Logan. That could explain why he was alert to every action the other made; it must be Thomas’ feelings because Logan didn’t have feelings, let alone have any strong emotions for Deceit for him to perturb his work like this.

However, solving this problem wasn’t in Logan’s control. Dealing with feelings was not his department, and the conflict the others had with Deceit was something they would have to fix on their own. In the meantime, Logan just had to adjust.

Adjusting was easy, honestly. As the Side that represents logical thinking, he was used to constantly adapting to his surroundings. He just had to keep Thomas focused and under control until the day of the wedding. After that, Patton could take over and deal with his emotional conflict.

One of the tasks in Logic’s to-do list was getting a gift for the bride and groom. Logan thought a household appliance would be suitable since Mary Lee and Lee would be moving in together, but he had to argue with Roman at the mall, since he wanted to go overboard and spend more money than Thomas should. Deceit joined them to suggest they buy something as cheap as possible, and then use the rest of the money Thomas brought to get himself something. When Logan agreed that Thomas could use new kitchen supplies, since he would be cooking more often, Deceit smiled at him.

After that, it didn’t take long to compromise, and they agreed on getting a detailedly decorated memory box, for the pair to save items as souvenirs of significant events, or so Roman explained. It was significantly less expensive than anything Logan had in mind, and they all thought the sentimentality made it a more adequate gift. When Logan made a comment about how sappy feelings finally had a use, Deceit laughed.

Later, Deceit led them to other stores, to find something for Thomas to buy with the rest of the budget. He suggested an elegant set of wine glasses, and Logan couldn’t argue the fact that they counted as kitchen supplies. Once they made the transaction and walked back out of the mall, Deceit held Logan’s hand, and offered him to test together the wine they bought to match with the glasses set.

Logan agreed, of course. It had been a long day.

As days passed, Logic’s list of tasks was being smoothly completed. Deceit came up with suggestions that made the others angry or upset at the beginning, but Logan found merit in them, and since there were now two of them, it became easier to convince the rest. Or if the opposite situation occurred, Logan wasn’t as affected by it, because at least it was the two of them losing or being shut down, unlike most of the time, when he was on his own.

He found that even if Deceit’s ideas weren’t what he usually would support, it was easier to endorse them. The arguments ended sooner, and Thomas reached clearer conclusions, either strongly in favor or (the more common case) strongly against Logan and Deceit’s position.

Furthermore, Logan found Deceit’s approving gestures motivated him, and made work more pleasant. He wasn’t used to physical touch, but he didn’t have to worry about initiating any, because Deceit would pat his shoulder or hold his hand when they advocated for each other. Deceit smirking at him made him involuntarily smile back. He didn’t know why this happened, but he knew smiling sent signals to the brain to boost one’s mood, similarly as with the other affectionate expressions, therefore, he wouldn't complain.

One time, Virgil was particularly irritated about Thomas’ decision to go alone to the event, and intended to take it out on Logan for prioritizing other things over finding a partner. Deceit stood between both of them, and confronted Anxiety about his constant indecision.

At that moment, Janus was facing Virgil, but he could notice in the corner of his eye how Logan blushed at the protective gesture. He was able to swiftly calm Virgil down, but was slightly distracted by the feeling of heat on his own face, the image of Logan’s flustered expression not leaving his mind. He was definitely pleased with the progress he had made.

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#logan sanders #janus sanders #loceit #sanders sides #deceit sanders #logic sanders #loceitweek2021 #ts #i want to give you your grin

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hobidreams · 5 years

Text

The Early Shift | Last Cup {M}

the last sip of coffee is always the most bittersweet.

pairing: barista!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst, sprinkling of fluff words: 9.5k contains: coffee shop au, enemies to lovers, jealous/awkward yoongi, condomless sex, softness (ish), dirty talk, spanking, oral (f), hair pulling, the truth index: first sip - second taste - last cup

“H-Hyung?” The word is foreign on your tongue as you swivel, catch sight of Yoongi’s face. He’s gone ashen, stony as he barrels towards you two, abandoning the inventory checklist with a clatter onto the counter.

Yoongi’s hands dig into your wrist as he forces you behind him, taking your place instead right in front of Jiwon’s still smiling face. Except the grin is now somewhat plastered in place on his handsome lips. “Jiwon.” Yoongi drops the familiar term, his eyes more combative than you’ve ever seen them. Combative, yet not with the fires of passion he usually turns on you. Instead, a chill so cold, so empty you hardly recognize it.

“Ahhh...” Jiwon exhales, covering his mouth with a broad palm, scratching the skin just beneath his lips with a groomed fingernail. “It’s been a while… I’m still your hyung, you know.”

“Bullshit.” Yoongi whips the word at him, but Jiwon doesn’t back away.

“I thought you hated the night shift.”

Yoongi scoffs. “Is that why you’re here then? To ruin something else for me behind my back?”

The tension is so weighty it settles in the pit of your stomach as you look from man to man, neither one offering any explanation. Deadlocked in a standoff of stares or glares depending on the man. Their only weapons are their words, which could cut just as deeply as any blade.

This isn’t good. Especially because there’s still a customer left in the store.

So you throw yourself into the fray. “Yoongi, what’s wrong?” You ask in what you hope is a calm voice. “How do you know Jiwon?”

The second Jiwon’s name comes out of your mouth, Yoongi jerks towards you. “I don’t. Nothing’s happening. He’s just leaving.”

“Yoongi, you can’t just kick out a customer.” You feel bad – Jiwon is starting to look like a kicked puppy with his lips drawn down, somber.

“Can and will.”

“Yoongi…” Jiwon clenches his coffee. “Listen—”

He’s cut off when a blare of familiar song whips through the café. “I KNOW, we don’t talk together!” Volume turned up to the max, the music reverberates off the walls themselves.

“Sorry!” The only customer squeaks, the ringtone obviously hers as she answers the call. “Hello?” She hurries out the door, leaving awkward silence in her wake.

You didn’t think it was possible, but Yoongi’s scowl deepens further. It just had to be this song, the damn reminder of what he’s lost. The lines carved into his face are so hardened and painful you wish you could offer relief. Instead, you swallow that look and all its implications. Then something clicks in your brain.

“Wait, Yoongi...” You gesture to Jiwon, hands slightly shaking, “is he…”

Yoongi grunts, irritated that he can’t hide it any longer. “It’s your lucky day. Meet DJ Alex.” His voice is deadpan. “Or should I say, Do Jiwon.”

“Do… Jiwon.” You repeat in a whisper. “DJ.”

“Yup.”

Another silence, but this time it covers you in its heavy grasp. This Jiwon. This charming, handsome Jiwon that you almost asked out, imagined yourself possibly dating. This Jiwon that’s actually nothing but a thief.

Said man rakes a hand through his dark hair. “Yoongi, let me explain myself, please.”

With another scoff, Yoongi breaks the stare-off. He turns. His eyes find yours of all things and he just exhales as if it’s all too much. “Jiwon. Just… Just go.” He steps away from the counter, tensed fingers finding your wrist. He means to drag you both into the backroom. Running away from this mess like he always has.

But you’re not done yet.

Your mind is exploding with questions, with emotions bolstered by the absolute fatigue in Yoongi’s eyes. Why isn’t he defending himself? He so eagerly goes head to head with you but here? Here is where he loses his nerve? He’s just going to let Jiwon get away with it all without so much as a scolding? When Jiwon took his best chance away from him and his inspiration with it?

No. No damn way are you going to stand there and take that.

You jerk your hand free. Before Yoongi can grab you again, you storm back to the counter. “What the fuck, Jiwon?”

Some carnal part of you relishes the shock in Jiwon’s eyes when your voice whips at him, respectful honorifics dropped.

“What the actual fuck? You just come back here just to offer excuses about what you did?” Your finger jabs at the air over his chest. “If you want to call yourself his hyung, then you should make yourself fucking deserving of that name!” Your volume raises with every word you sucker punch at him. “But no, instead, you betrayed him! Just abandoned him!”

Jiwon’s mouth flaps but nothing comes out.

“How dare you come back into his life and remind him of all that? Of the shitty thing you did and are still enjoying now?” You’re on a roll, apparently. You didn’t even know you had it in you to defend Yoongi so vehemently when you usually spend your time doing the exact opposite. But the resignation in the way he bites his lip scrapes at your heart.

“Yoongi trusted you. You were his partner!” Jiwon shrivels with every syllable. “The only thing worse than a coward, which you are for dodging him, is a goddamn liar.”

You’re left slightly breathless at the end of your tirade, tense hands splayed across the bar You glare at Jiwon, but he refuses to meet your expression, your anger. Instead, he burns a hole in the counter for half a minute before he dares to looks up. Then his eyes flicker to Yoongi. You stiffen, ready for an explosion.

“…You’re right.” When Jiwon finally speaks, his voice has lost all flirtatious flair. It sounds small, pathetic. “I did a shitty thing. A shitty, selfish thing.”

What an ass—

Wait.

Wait, what?

“Y-Yeah!” You can’t quite hold on to the full amount of anger in your tone when he’s not feeding your fire. But having Yoongi in your peripheral vision keeps you from moving an inch. “Damn right it was shitty!”

“The producers, they just. Fuck.” Jiwon sighs, gritting his teeth. “Fuck, I know I can’t take back what I did. But. But Yoongi…” Your hands clench into fists, ready to counter whatever excuse he comes up with. Or his anger, which would be apt considering the venom you’ve thrown his way. “Yoongi, I’m sorry.”

You actually take a step back.

“I’m sorry. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

This is… Not what you were expecting. And judging by the way Yoongi’s mouth just falls open, he hadn’t predicted it either. He just keeps blinking as if he figures he’ll wake up at any minute.

Jiwon stutters something unintelligible as he fishes in his jacket for a wallet. It’s much fumbling before he drops a white card onto the table, his name embossed on the front. “I-If you want, I can introduce you to some connections and we can get your music out there, Yoongi. Let me help you! Please.” He pushes the card across the counter. “Call me. Let me make up for this.”

Oh, hell no.

You take one look at the flimsy card stock and snatch it up. “He doesn’t need your pity!” You scrunch it up in your fist. Whip the paper ball towards the door. “Just get out!”

Finally, Jiwon gets the point. He gives Yoongi one last look (regret? sorrow? who the hell cares) before he whirls around. Even leaves his coffee behind in his haste. The chime goes off and now, you are left alone together.

You both stare out the door for a long minute, neither of you sure how to proceed. Eventually, your fingers stitch together, oddly flustered as you slowly turn to fully face Yoongi. He seems to have recovered from the initial jolt. He’s closed his flabbergasted mouth, opting for a thin-lipped glower instead. Except this one seems directed at you.

You feel like you should say something, but what? The tension nips at your mind, begging to be shattered. Needs to be, if you are going to move forward.

“Yoongi—”

He beats you to it. “You know what? I don’t need your pity either.” Then he disappears into the backroom, door slamming decisively shut.

He just leaves you standing there like a fish caught on a deadly hook, stuck with bleeding thoughts, hands numb, trembling. You weren’t expecting gratitude, no. Still, you didn’t think he would react like… this, either. Not when the other option was to let Jiwon go.

But you don’t see Yoongi again until an hour has passed. Those two lines, spat like poison, become the last words Yoongi says to you for the rest of the night as he stalks, still mute, to the OPEN sign. He whips it CLOSED precisely one second after the proper time and begins the mopping duties without even so much as a glance your way.

You can’t muster the courage to even try knocking on the wall he’s suddenly re-erected between you; all you can do is look down at the change you’re counting and try to not let it get to you.

You finish the evening in this same solitude. The cleaning gets done. The store is locked, shuttered. Eventually, you go your separate ways in the darkness without so much as a wave of acknowledge. Yoongi’s hands remain stuck in his pockets, closed off, while you pick at your nails in nervous habit as you walk away from him.

Tomorrow, Yoongi is back on his regular shift. Meanwhile, you still have two weeks of your night shift trade left to go. That means your paths don’t have any opportunity to cross.

And so, they simply don’t.

To your credit, you try your best not to think about Yoongi. But your mind just keeps playing that scene over and over again, determined to force you to analyze every word, every gesture. And that song is making a comeback on the radio, if only to serve no other purpose than to antagonize you.

Perfect. Just freakin’ perfect.

You make it all of a week.

“Hey Jungkook… Can I ask you something?”

“Always! Shoot.” Jungkook leans against the bar, letting his adorable, earnest smile shine through.

Here goes nothing. “H-Have you spoken to Yoongi at all?” You’re trying your best to keep your voice casual, not wanting to betray the hours of contemplation spent pondering whether or not you should be asking this question in the first place. Clearly, you’ve been real productive these past seven days.

Jungkook doesn’t look surprised at your query. Or maybe he just hides it well. Either way, he nods. “Not much. Just a little bit when our shifts overlap.” His huge eyes may look innocent, but there’s a gleam of mischief as he deliberately refuses to elaborate any further than that.

Brat. He’s not going to make this easy on you. “Is he… Is he okay?”

Jungkook shrugs. “No injuries. He hasn’t gotten into any fistfights.”

“Yah, you know what I mean.” You smack him on the arm.

He laughs, infuriatingly carefree. “Sorry, sorry. But seriously, he just looks normal, maybe a little tired. Then again, I only see him for like half an hour. Not a lot of time to have deep, soul-searching conversations.”

You don’t know what answer you were hoping for, but it still leaves you disappointed. “Hm.”

Hm, indeed. He looks fine, while you’ve been replaying last week over and over again in your mind like a broken record. Cool. That’s totally cool.

“So he hasn’t… talked or asked about me or anything?”

Hoseok, coming up from behind Jungkook, is the one to answer instead. “Well, actually.” It’s comical how your heart soars at that, leaping bounds and valleys from just two words. But you come crashing down when he ultimately ends up shaking his head. “Wait. Sorry, shit. I… can’t tell you.”

Your eyes narrow. “You can’t? So he has said something?”

Hoseok casts his gaze downward. “It’s really not for me to say.” He purposefully smooths out non-existent wrinkles on his apron.

Jungkook’s doe eyes turn on you. “Noona, have you tried just asking him yourself?”

…Kind of. The text you sent a few days, the careful ‘Hey, Yoongi, are you there?’ had gone woefully unanswered. You eventually had to archive the conversation altogether, to prevent your obsessive checking over whether or not he had replied. Altogether, a disaster.

“It’s… It’s fine. It’s whatever,” you end up muttering. Thankfully, the door sounds and you vehemently turn towards the new customer that’s just entered the shop, grateful for the distraction.

You know your coworkers are much too clever to believe your stammered words. But at least they’re kind enough not to probe any further.

It is on a Friday, the last night of your month-long shift swap, that reality smacks you in the face.

Reality is this: you will be forced to face Yoongi in three days, and things remain extremely awkward between you. He is still ignoring you. Not that you can really blame him, after these two weeks to contemplate that decisive moment. While you don’t regret what you said to Jiwon, you probably shouldn’t have stuck your nose into Yoongi’s issue and taken over for him. Should have respected his decision to back off, no matter how unjust.

Which means you should probably apologize.

Just one problem. You hate doing that. Especially to Yoongi.

But you were the one who committed the wrong, so you have to be the one to extend the olive branch. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, nothing like the lattes you prefer but more like a dark roast: rich, full, and awful. That’s how Yoongi had tasted too, his tongue sliding against yours so feverishly like a man possessed. You hadn’t minded the flavor then.

“Hobi, how do you apologize to someone?” You rest your hands on the top of the mop, then your cheek on top of that.

Hoseok tilts his head to the side, a cute “hm?” coming out of his heart-shaped mouth. “Depends on how bad the situation is, I think!”

“Pretty bad, I guess?”

He hums, as if he knows exactly what this is in reference to. Then he raises a finger in triumph, like he’s just discovered the secret to the universe. “Go with a gift! You can never go wrong with a present!”

Hm! You nod approvingly. That’s a perfect idea.

Thus, your Saturday becomes dedicated to making a gift for Yoongi.

Yes, making, because you can’t exactly afford expensive music equipment. You don’t think Yoongi would appreciate a bag of coffee beans from his place of employment. Somehow, a stuffed animal doesn’t seem to fit his aesthetic either; you also really don’t want to add to the clutter of his place. So, your genius mind has settled on creating a mixtape. A playlist full of songs you hope can express how sorry you are, and how you hope to move on from this.

There’s one surprise at the very end of the CD: a piece that’s self produced. It’s just two minutes of you, a shitty phone microphone, and some heartfelt rambling. Look, apologizing is hard, okay? You don’t think you have the gall to do it in person, so this is the next best thing.

The sun is just beginning to set when you reach Yoongi’s apartment, finished present in hand. You’re contemplating whether to knock or just leave the tiny bag you have on the handle. One of these options is easier than the other. But maybe you owe it to him to at least ensure it gets to him.

Your knocks go unanswered.

Eventually, you have to accept that he’s out, a fact that has relief pouring over you. You loop the bag straps around the door. He’ll get it whenever he reaches home, you suppose. And if he chooses to snap it in half without listening to it, well, that’s his prerogative too. You’ve done your part. You’ve been the bigger person.

You manage to get all the way back to your apartment without thinking of the package, blasting music from your headphones to drown out your thoughts. You eat your dinner, watch an episode of the latest KBS drama, water your plants. Hell, you even start actually doing the research for your paper due in three weeks. But throughout it all, you can’t shake the listlessness that sits beneath your skin like an unwanted visitor, ever so often poking you with a sharp stick.

You know too well why it’s there: your damn curiosity that won’t leave you alone.

You want desperately to know if your gift has been received, and how. Will he understand what you’re trying to say? Maybe you should have put your apology at the beginning instead of the end. Maybe you shouldn’t have gone with Super Junior’s Sorry Sorry, even though you needed something in the middle to break up the torrent of sappy songs. Oh god. The what ifs threaten to drive you stark wild for the utter lack of answers. (Though judging by your current state, perhaps they already have.)

“Uggggh, that’s it!” You announce to your succulent, desk chair clattering as you shove viciously to your feet. “I’m going to bed!”

With great, groaning creaks, the elevator doors open on the floor of Yoongi’s apartment. Yoongi drags his exhausted body through them, reeking of smoke, stale cologne, and alcohol, courtesy of the bar he just left. His head is still a little fuzzy, but it’s not too bad. A nice haze. The walk here in the cool night air has already sobered him up some. He just needed to get out of the house. Needed to stop thinking for a while.

But the pressure lingering in his system had refused to budge even after the second shot, fifth drink in total, which was what finally prompted him to get his sorry ass back home. He’s desperate for something to relieve what’s been pent-up, the ugliness building and bubbling uncontrollably inside him these past weeks. Sex distracts him, usually. But a meaningless hookup… that would erase the memories of your pretty mouth on him, the heat of your body tangled up with his. He can’t bring himself to do that. Not that he can admit this, even in his own mind. So, he resigns himself to another night of his fist wrapped around his own length and a mediocre climax.

Yoongi sighs as he rounds the corner, digging in his pocket for his keys. Just as he pulls the ring out, he spots the conspicuous bag tied to his door. Who would be sending gifts like this? Jimin? No, his friend from college is currently out of town, he remembers. But nobody else would leave—he peers inside—a CD of all things, with his name scribbled upon it. This handwriting is familiar, but he can’t quite place it.

He grabs the bag and enters the darkness of his place. He drops his jacket on the couch, then makes his way to his computer. Slides the CD inside the console. Waits.

The first song is something indie, something sorrowful. Yoongi doesn’t recognize it but he gives it a listen. It’s not bad. But the next song is even slower, even sadder. Most definitely not his usual type of music, and for good reason. He cringes at the third piece.

The songs just keep coming, all playing off the same apologetic theme. Whoever put together this playlist has no idea what they’re doing, he thinks. The genres are all over the place, with no coherent flow like a proper mixtape should. They all just happen to contain the word ‘sorry’ in the title or lyrics. “The hell is this,” Yoongi mutters, laughing at the absurdity as he stands up halfway through, deciding to take a shower without even bothering to turn the music off.

Yoongi takes his time beneath the hot water – lets it wash away the grime of the night. It helps remove some of the buzz from his mind. By the time he steps out of the bathroom, he feels almost completely sober. He’s distracted with towelling off his hair; he doesn’t even notice that music is no longer playing until he hears speech.

“...eah, so, I guess what I’m trying to say...”

He freezes.

But that’s your voice.

The voice he hasn’t heard in weeks but could pick out of a crowd in a second. The voice that once hammered on his brain on a daily basis but now douses it in undeniable relief, comfort.

Yoongi is glad no one is around to witness him rushing to the desktop, hurriedly replaying the track that’s currently on. He plugs in his headphones, dragging them over his head even though his hair drips with water.

“Hey, Yoongi.” You sound so uncharacteristically quiet it makes his chest tight. “I-I know you’re trying to avoid me, and I don’t blame you.” He gnaws at his bottom lip as he listens to you explain your thoughts. Even though your tone wavers at certain moments, you just keep pressing on. It makes his chest feel inexplicably tight.

“Yeah, so, I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m sorry. I won’t interfere with your business again. And I won’t cross the professional lines between us anymore. I hope we can still work together. Okay. That’s, uh, all from me. Goodnight.”

Yoongi sits in the silence for all of three seconds before he hits the back button. Plays it again. Then again.

“God damn it!” He rips off the headphones, surges to his feet. “You’re so damn silly. It’s not your fault! How could any of this be your fault?”

But then whose is it?

Jiwon is the easiest culprit. But he’s apologized. He’s trying to move on, even trying to help Yoongi, even though that’s just salt in the wound. The only person still mired inside this self-made prison is Yoongi. He made his home in these concrete walls, punishing himself, thinking it was the easiest way out. Still bitter and trying to pretend like he can just stay angry forever because the only person it fucked up was himself.

But now it’s affecting you.

Hearing your voice like this, it’s all laid out for him. Reality and truth stab him in the gut, forcing him to finally acknowledge how he’s hurt you, the one person who has nothing to gain from helping him, yet continues to do so again and again.

Yoongi rubs at his temples, regret radiating through him in waves. He should have realized it earlier, if only he could have pulled his head out of his ass. Hearing this, hearing your voice with that undercurrent of worry is like a punch to the gut and to his mind, blasting out any residual hesitancy.

You don’t deserve to sit in this uncertainty and pain of misunderstanding any longer.

A text isn’t enough. Nor is a call. He needs to see you. He needs to see you right now and tell you face to face just how sorry he is. How grateful. And maybe he just wants to see your face, because he kind of misses the way you scold him.

Haphazardly dressed, Yoongi rushes out the door, almost forgetting his keys in his haste. His slides slap against the floor as he frantically dials Namjoon, hoping he’s awake to get the address he so desperately needs. He jams his finger into the elevator call button, silently willing it to come faster.

No more, Yoongi thinks. No more running away from the hard shit, from his feelings. This time, he’s running right towards his future.

The clock blinks 1:00AM when you check it next, still as wide awake as when you shuffled beneath your covers two whole hours ago.

Damn it. It’s a good thing you have tomorrow off, because there’s no way in hell you could wake up at the crack of dawn otherwise. Counting sheep has proven to be useless, especially after you get up to Sheep #482 (it’s a cute one. Okay. They’re all cute.) Doing math equations in your head usually gets you conked out pretty quickly from sheer monotony, but it’s also futile tonight. Your mind is much too alive, active, overactive to let you doze off.

Then you hear the knocking.

Well, it’s more like a clatter. The sound of something hard slamming against your door, followed by a few wimpy taps. Yikes. Are you going to get murdered?

You slip out of bed, pick up your baseball bat. Weapon in hand, you creep towards the entrance, forgetting you’re not even wearing any bottoms. You press silently to the thick wood, maneuver your eye over the peephole to see what crazy bastard is here at this hour.

What you see has you yanking the door open, the bat clattering uselessly to the ground.

“Y-Yoongi?!”

It feels like a lifetime since you’ve last seen him. You didn’t know how much you missed that stupid, irritating, attractive face until it’s in front of you. Doubled over and breathless, hair a wind-blown mess.

“How the hell did you get my address?”

“Namjoon.” Yoongi is panting so hard he can hardly breathe. You swear he’ll keel over in the next minute. You don’t look forward to cleaning his body off your carpet. “Namjoongaveittome.” That’s all he can get out before he takes another gulp of air, face red with strain.

“Jeez, come in so you don’t bother my neighbours with your dying.” You usher him in, watch him stumble to your couch as you flick on a lamp to cast a glow over the room. He’s wearing a plain tee and sweatpants, but it’s the slides on his feet that probably explain his current discomfort. In his hands, he clutches the same bag you left on his doorstep. You try not to think about the implications of that. “Why didn’t you drive or take the bus or something?”

“Bus broke down… halfway. Had to run…”

You shove a glass of water into his hands and he gulps at it. A few droplets leak from his mouth. He wipes it away with the back of his hand. Classy.

“Thanks,” he finally says as his heart seems to stop threatening to jump out of his chest from fatigue, then speeds up again for another reason entirely.

You stare at each other wordlessly for a few beats.

“What’re you doing here, Yoongi?” It comes out in a harsher tone than you’d intended but your heart beats a drum in your chest, a rude rhythm that is mirrored in the trembling of your fingers.

“I should be saying that to you!” Yoongi reacts to the perceived animosity in your voice, lifting the bag and shaking it. “What is this supposed to be, huh?”

You force yourself to focus on fiddling with a loose thread on your shirt. Quelling the unease in your veins. “…Did you listen to it?”

“Yeah, I did.” Yoongi sets the cup on the coffee table with a smack. “First of all, you have awful taste. Secondly, this CD is completely unnecessary.”

“Oh.”

This squeak of a noise is accompanied by the sudden skydive of your heart, right towards the floor. At least that you can hide. But, against your will, disappointment and exhaustion create a cocktail of tears that prick at the corner of your eyes, threatening to spill over by the next second. No, no, no, you scold yourself but the lump swelling in your throat refuses to be swallowed down. You hate that more than anything, hate that it makes you look wimpy and weak.

When you turn your head, Yoongi catches sight of the glimmer of wet tears. “Oh, shit.” He throws the bag behind him. Scooting towards you, he puts a warm hand on your shoulder and his voice is right beside your ear and god damn it, why is he getting closer? But even you can hear the panic in his voice when he says, “no, no, oh god. I didn’t mean it like that.” He brushes your hair back to expose your downturned face. “Shit. Please don’t cry. Please.”

“I don’t want to cry either, Yoongi!” Your words sound waterlogged, but you force them out. Hope it’ll make him back off.

Instead his thumb comes beneath your eye to catch the stray tear that leaks out. He wipes it away as he murmurs your name so softly you can scarcely believe the noise came from his lips. “Look at me. Please.”

What can you do but obey? Min Yoongi will be the death of you, you swear it. That sentiment is doubled when you find his eyes and see nothing but sincerity in their darkness. He’s never studied you this way. It steals your breath, renders you in silent anticipation for what comes next.

“Look, I’m a fucking idiot.”

That actually makes you laugh, though it’s somewhat strangled as you wipe away the last of the tears. “Well, we both knew that. But why this time?”

“I… I shouldn’t have ignored you.” He drops his hand from your cheek. It sits against your bare thigh, the skin growing hot where you’re connected. “But I was scared. I felt ashamed and more than a little pissed off that you stood up to Jiwon when I couldn’t.” You say nothing. But that seems to make him even more jittery as he bursts out with, “E-Especially since you’re so god damn perfect all the time!”

“Perfect?” You repeat, bewildered as it couldn’t be further from the truth. “What the hell are you going on about?”

“You know… You just. You have your shit perfectly figured out! It just reminds me that I’m a mess.”

“No, I really don’t. Trust me.” Is that what he’s thought of you this whole time? No wonder he was so irritable. It’s almost laughable. “But Yoongi, why didn’t you confront Jiwon?”

He sighs at that, long and deep. “Just… After the whole incident, I had trouble writing. I had all this anger inside me. I didn’t know what to do with it. I wrote diss tracks but they all sounded unoriginal, whiny. Pop songs were the same. Generic and boring. I kept trying to write something better than ‘We Don’t Talk Together’. I was obsessed.” Yoongi is babbling faster, like a dam finally broken and flooding. You’re not afraid of the waters.

“It was easier for me. Easy to just blame everything on Jiwon, say it’s his fault the songs weren’t coming to me. So when he apologized…” He gives a laugh, but it’s a self-deprecating one. “I’ve spent the past weeks getting to this point, I guess. Of accepting that this shitty thing happened. I think I’m finally ready to move the fuck on. I hated that you made me confront that at the time, though.”

“You’re welcome,” you whisper, unable to resist the opportunity to poke at him. Hey, he made you cry. He deserves it.

“Uh huh.” Yoongi reaches behind his back to find the bag he threw momentarily aside. “So that’s why this CD is unnecessary. You don’t need to apologize to me.” He hands it to you. “Thank you. For helping me out. Even though I don’t deserve it.”

You set the bag on the table. “Of course, Yoongi. I wouldn’t just abandon you.”

“I know.” He actually smiles, eyes waning as your heart gives an extra loud thud.

The conversation peters out. You sit soaked in tension, unsure what the hell to do now. Especially because you’re hyperaware that his knee is right against yours and it feels like a million degrees, but neither of you are moving away. Your eyes are still locked to his, unfathomable and unyielding as you awkwardly hold wimpy grins. Even in this situation, your mind won’t stop running to inappropriate places, urging you to lean forward and kiss those pink lips.

But how does Yoongi feel?

“I, uh...” Yoongi gives a start as if he’s read your mind, but he doesn’t finish his thought.

“Anyway...” He hangs his head, cuts himself off again. “I was going to say...” Another trailing, unfinished sentence.

“You okay?” You murmur, his apparent nerves soothing your own.

“Agh, damn it. Okay. Here. Just – listen to this, okay?”

Yoongi whips out his phone, taps on the screen a few times before he places it on the table. Seconds later, music starts to play, a song you’ve never heard before. You tap your foot along to the opening synth, feeling the jazzy beat. Then a familiar voice comes on.

“Yoongi, is this you?!” You cry out, immediately reaching for the phone to turn the volume up.

Yoongi nods, saying nothing but his grin grows at how excited you are. You see the flash of gums, recognize it as the smile usually only reserved for customers. God, how your heart continues to flipflop at the sight.

You lean forward, trying to catch the fast-flowing rap. It’s poetic, weaves a story of a couple around the metaphor of a seesaw. A constant back and forth that ends in heartbreak, a dissolving that’s ultimately better for both parties in the end. When it ends, you instantly want to listen to it again – it’s that addicting.

“This is the song I wrote for the competition. I wanted to show you, since… Yeah.”

“Wow, it’s so good, Yoongi. I swear, you’re going to win.” You want to put this song in your music library and play it on repeat until you know every line. You play it again, listen silently as you really absorb the piece. “I really love the lyrics. And how it progresses. Also, how the singer leaves in the end, alone. I think too many songs out there promote the exact opposite message, even if it’s a shitty relationship, ya know?”

Yoongi nods, cheeks slightly flushed, but he looks so pleased. “Actually, this song,” his breath hitches, “I wrote it about you.”

“Me?”

At first, you’re flattered, beaming even. Then you remember the song’s contents.

“Umm... Wait...” You frown. He’s not saying... “You want to ‘put an end’ to us?” Hell, you didn’t even know there was an ‘us’ to be had!

“Ah, no!” Yoongi’s sleepy eyes blow wide, almost comically so with panic. “No. Definitely not.” His hands clench his knees tightly, as if to stop them from shaking. “I... wanna stop this ambiguous back and forth. This seesaw that we’re on. Of not being just coworkers but not really being anything more than that either.”

“...You want to be more?” Your voice comes out in a whisper as if you can scarcely believe it.

“Yes.” He exhales. “I want more. I want to be with you. Try things out with you. See where they go.” He drums his fingers against his leg. “You make me a better person. And I want to be there for you too.” His lips quirk up, not sure what expression to land on in his nervousness. “That is, uh, if you’ll have me.”

He’s adorable. So freaking cute. You never thought you would see Yoongi like this, and it’s just about the most endearing thing you’ve ever seen.

You lean forward and press your lips to his in answer.

Yoongi is soft.

You feel him hesitate for all of a second before he’s kissing you back, really kissing you back with all of his might. It’s sloppy and your rhythm is all off, but the passion that radiates from him pours the sweetest honey into your system to douse you in heat. He scarcely breaks away to breathe as he tilts his head, searching for a better angle to move against your mouth, to reaffirm this is truly happening and not just some fever dream.

His arms wind around your frame, tugging you closer as if he can’t bear to have any space between you while his tongue traces the outline of your lips. You open for him instinctively, unable to refuse any of his silent requests to taste. You’ve both been denied for too long, but time has not made you forget the curve of his mouth, the nibbles he loves to inflict. His breath tickles your skin as you finally find your pace together. A wild beat you thought you’d lost forever but now roars back to life.

That’s why you’re practically scrambling into his lap, shoving him backwards on the couch in your urgency. Having him against you, tongue flicking against yours, wipes away all thoughts save for him and how incredible this feels, how he feels. It makes you greedy for more, especially more of the muted groans of need that you coax from his throat and swallow.

It’s only when you scrunch your fingers around the back of his neck and come away slightly damp that you finally pause. “Ew, you’re all sweaty,” you tease with a cheeky grin.

He rolls his eyes. “Shut up and kiss me, damn it.” There’s the Yoongi you know so well.

“Rude.”

“You like me rude.” Just to prove his point, he shifts his hips, grinds his bulge against your needy core. Separated only by thin layers of fabric, you can feel him so well you can’t help but get wetter from the mere promise of him.

“T-That’s a damn lie.” But you’re flustered, distracted by the desire surging through your veins at the danger in his tone. It’s all too easy for you two to bring out the sass in each other, but now it keeps you on your toes, thrill in your system.

“Oh? So you don’t want me to throw you onto the bed and spank you until you come?” He accents his filthy words with hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your jaw, down your neck. This feels right. So fucking right, he wouldn’t stop for the world. He guides your loose top away, sucking wetly at the skin he exposes. Promising much more in the way of dark violet marks, but not giving it just yet.

“Well, I-I’m not saying that...”

That makes him laugh as he digs both hands beneath your ass and hauls you into the air. “That’s what I thought.” Your legs wrap around his hips, arms around his back. Hold him like he’s yours.

Though it’s a short few steps from the couch to bed, Yoongi keeps his mouth on your skin as if he’s mapping – every bit as desperate to know your body as you do his. He runs his tongue along the curve of your shoulder, obeying his instinctual desire to test your tolerance with the occasional bite. He grins at your yelps. You repay him by tugging at his scruff of hair, nails scraping the skin.

When his leg knocks against the bedframe, you expect him to fling you onto the sheets as promised. Instead he bends, lets you tumble down softly before joining you on the mattress with one knee. Yoongi glows in the dim lamplight, fair skin glistening with lingering sweat as he tugs off his shirt. You’ve never seen anything sexier in your life as he crawls between your legs, forcing them to spread with the hands that slide up your thighs.

“You look like you want something,” he utters in a low tone, toying with the seam of your panties. They are unfortunately plain, but he drinks them in as if they’re made of gold. Touches them with none of that delicacy though, as he hooks fingers under the band and threatens to rip.

You shift your hips, needing friction but he just teases you, lets the cotton drag across your skin only for him to pull it infuriatingly back into place. “Are you going to give it to me if I say yes?”

“Maybe, if you’re a good girl.”

Oh god. You’ve never been called that in your life but when he growls it out in that languid, devil-may-care way, you think you might just be whipped. You’d thought Yoongi devastating before, but that was nothing compared to the intimacy dripping from his fingertips as he removes them from your panties, begins the torturous ascent up your waist. Your whines of protest melt into moans when he eases your top over your head, exposing your naked body to him for the first time.

“Oh, fuck.” Yoongi goes blank. He swears every ounce of blood in him rushes to his swollen cock at the sight of you laid out like this, ready and wanting for him. The fantasies he’s conjured in his mind are nothing, crude sketches of the masterpiece that is your body, your smile, you. “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous.”

The honesty in those whispered, reverent words bolsters the flush creeping beneath your skin. It’s with a smile that you arch into his mouth when he wraps his lips around your nipple in a perfect fit. He sucks hard, noisy and lewd, forcing gasps that make you glad your apartment walls are somewhat thick. But when his tongue swivels amidst the bites he lavishes on your peak, you are reduced to whimpers in his hands. He’s an expert at combining pain with absolute pleasure until your mind is in utter shambles. Shattered even more so when his fingers find your neglected breast, his remaining free hand cupping greedy handfuls of your behind.

When you shift your knee to rub against the pronounced bulge in his sweats, he smacks his palm against your asscheek to a satisfying crack. “Patience is a virtue,” he warns, trailing his tongue to the valley between your breasts. Slathers wet heat on your skin, the curves of your chest even though you’re already burning up from his touch.

But you’re more than willing to play his game. You prove so when you grope his fabric-swaddled cock, massage until you hear the music of his hitched breaths. “I’m not trying to be virtuous.” Then you steal his smirk for your own use while you run fingers along the side of his shaft. His frenulum is sensitive as ever beneath your persistent hand; he bucks when you grind your thumb into the nerves.

“A-Ah!” You yelp when you feel the fresh sting, looking down to find that Yoongi has left his first love bite at the swell of your breast. It blooms in deep, sinful red. Damn if you don’t want him to leave five, ten, twenty more. You want that damnable mouth on you anywhere he can reach until you ache with the reminder of him.

“Thought I told you to be good.” He stares down his nose at you. The act is not nearly as intimidating as it had been in the backroom of the café, but still every bit as arousing. Especially when he pairs it with a sly finger trailing down your slit, the sensation frustratingly dulled by your soaked underwear.

It’s a miracle you can summon the strength to talk back. “Oops. My bad,” you reply in a voice that tells him you’re not sorry in the slightest. Goading Yoongi is a form of art that you have perfected.

Amused and more than a little turned on by your disobedience, he rocks back onto his knees. “On your stomach. Now.”

Oh, yes please. You obey without hesitation, pressing your chest to the warm sheets. You shiver when you feel his hands fit along your waist, as if testing his grip for later use. How hard would he squeeze as he fucks you? As he feeds you every hot inch of his erection, the skin taut and hard for want of your cunt? You tense your thighs in longing, not wanting to wait a second longer to feel him inside you.

But you don’t have a choice.

You lunge forward when the first smack lands on your ass. You cry out, face half-buried in the pillow as pleasure radiates from your burning cheek. Yet you’re still raising your hips for more. You love the pain, addicted to the visceral reaction it beckons from your body.

But your squeal gives Yoongi pause. “Is that too hard?” He asks, breath brushing across your skin.

You throw a coy glance backwards. “Never.”

Your answer is accepted with a second slap, a punishment that makes your body shudder further into your mattress. “My little slut,” Yoongi snarls, enjoying the way the possessive words feel on his tongue. “Bet you’re ruining those panties of yours.”

Smack. Fuck, you swear he’s leaving imprints of his palm behind. You wish you could see.

“Totally soaked.” You rock onto your elbows, push your sore ass into his palm. Hope you can convince him to lose control and just fill you up. “So ready for your cock, Yoongi...”

You don’t see how he squeezes his eyes together, biting back the surge of hormones; they bid him to throw all restraint away to sink into your heat. “Not just yet.” Your undies are tugged down, rendered useless and tossed somewhere onto the floor. Chills run through your spine as you’re bared for the second time tonight. He forces your hips up and before you can even breathe, licks a long stripe across your cunt.

“Oh, fuck.”

You cannot stand Min Yoongi and that devil’s tongue he curls around your clit. He drags the tip across your sensitive bead, understanding where you’re too sensitive and then deliberately stimulating that very spot to make your knees buck. Pleasure floods your body, makes your every limb white hot and weak, a mess for one man. You knew he was dangerous from the very start, but that never could have stopped you. Your body reflects just how hopelessly you’ve fallen, pushed to the brink of climax faster than you’ve ever been before.

“So fucking sweet.” His fingers dig dimples into your ass, spreading you wide so he can have his fill. His tongue glides along your curves, taking his time instead of being so focused on chasing climax as he had that first time. Now he’s hungry for knowledge, for intimacy he can only find with you as his landscape. And if he makes you cum a thousand times in the process of that quest, well. You’ll survive somehow.

When his tongue slips into your heat, you almost lose it. He thrusts it like he fucks: ruthlessly, flawlessly. As if you’re the only thing that matters right now, and his only desire in the world is to have you quivering on his lips. A wish he’s getting twofold.

“Close, so close, Yoongi, ah—”

“Yeah, I can feel it.” He sounds utterly entranced, the drawled words thick with longing. “Want you to cum around my tongue. Can you do that for me?” He poses the question as if you have a choice. As if you can do anything against the onslaught of bliss tangling themselves in your veins, demanding that you release.

All because of that accursed mouth that has you at its mercy, whether between the sheets or out. Too compelling for your weary nerves to resist when his hand whips across your skin and without warning, you’re cumming. Tears prick, rolling down your face as he spanks you again, this time even harder, and your climax becomes unbearable in bliss. You were not prepared for the tsunami it is, crashing onto you, sweeping you away.

“Yoongi!” The name is muffled by the pillow you stuff your face in, muscles screaming at you to stop tensing but you can’t, you goddamn can’t. Crest after crest of sensation radiate through you in time with the throbs of your sodden walls. You swear he grins against your pussy as you rock your hips like you’re in heat. Your skin is so sensitive it almost hurts but you couldn’t care less.

“Fuck me, Yoongi, please, god, I need your cock in me right fucking now.” Your voice is desperate and begging and any other time, you would be mortified but all you can think of now is how you need to be filled. To have every crevice of your throbbing pussy stuffed with Yoongi’s cock so he understands just what he’s done to you. Wrecked you, ruined you for anyone else.

“Oh fuck.” He was not expecting you to turn the tables but here you are, fucked out and still so needy for more. His sweatpants join your panties, cock springing free, the deep-red tip leaking from all it’s been denied. God, how he wants to fuck that pretty whine in your voice into moans.

“All of you, Yoongi. Wanna feel the stretch.” He’s taking too long; you’ve always been impatient.

Yoongi will never forget the sight of you spreading your own cheeks to show him, seduce him with how your cunt drips from anticipation. But it’s the look in your eyes, the affection mingled with the heat that has him plunging half of his cock into you in one stroke.

“So tight for me, h-huh? What a good girl,” Yoongi growls, trying his best not to cum instantly from the way you take him. Just swallow him with such ease, yet still squeeze him like a vice. He’s missed this pussy so much, hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since that night. He’s finished himself countless nights to the memory but now you’re really here; now you cry for him in that tremulous tone that drives him wild.

One of Yoongi’s hands goes as promised on your waist, but the other weaves into your hair to grip at the roots. He doesn’t tug yet, testing your limits, careful to respect them. He’s rewarded with a moan as he bottoms out at the same time he gives his first light tug. Now every thick inch of cock is finally swathed in you, and you are filled to the brim, just like you craved.

“This okay?” He asks, massaging the crook of your perspiration-dotted back with his thumb.

“Mhm...” You slur it like you’re drunk but it’s just the moment, the pleasure forcing you into submission. You love the juxtaposition only Yoongi brings out for you, how he instinctually knows exactly what you seek.

“More?”

You rut into him, feel that friction kindle something indescribable, deeply carnal in your core. “Always.”

It is here that Yoongi realizes how gone he is for you.

You’re incredible. Fucking incredible. He tries to tell you this with every pump he sends into you. So damn hungry but still careful not to pull too hard on your locks even though he thinks you might like that, minx that you are. The gasps just continue to fall from his mouth as he just feels himself drown in you. You fit around him like you were made to take his cock and then some. He wants to give you everything. But first he’ll start with pleasure. Pleasure so intense you’ll forget even your own name.

You’re closer to that goal than he knows. You’re falling into the rough staccato rhythm he sets, bodies slamming together again and again until your mouth feels dry for all the moans you can’t staunch. It sends you soaring: the ache of his fist in your hair, the burn of the stretch that you know will stay with you for hours after. It’s all in service of the inevitable crash that will ruin you.

Yoongi’s thighs have started to burn with strain but he doesn’t dare stop, doesn’t think he could. Not when you’re both teetering on the cusp; ready to fall, not apart, but finally together.

“Y-Yoongi...!” On one particularly hard thrust, you rear up, back pressed firmly against his sweaty chest. He lets go of your hair to curl his arms around you, clutching you as he thrusts upwards to hit your core. You focus on the sole task of breathing. But you fail even that when his fingers find your clit, rough and imprecise in his animalistic movements. It’s still enough.

This is how you cum – speared and full and deliriously sated.

He can’t hold out any longer when you find your peak. His teeth scrape your shoulder, but you can only register pleasure as he grinds out his own orgasm against your ass. You feel him spill deeply inside; it feeds some innate need you didn’t even know you had. Reaching behind, you hold him close as he does you, heartbeats pulsing to the same beat as you let the noises speak for you.

When the high relents, you collapse onto your palms, practically faceplant into your pillow as the aftershocks shudder their way through you. It’s a good few moments before you can roll onto your side, to face Yoongi who has done the same on your right. You feel like a mess, but he looks at you as if he’s never seen anything more stunning in his life.

“I... Wow.”

“Yeah...”

For a minute, all you can do is grin at each other, silly smiles stretched wide across your kiss-bitten lips.

Eventually, Yoongi flips onto his back, chest still heaving. “That was actually meant to be gentler,” he mumbles, staring pointedly at the ceiling. “Since our first time was me getting carried away. And the second.”

“Looks like you just can’t help yourself around me, huh?” You tease, hoping you’ll make him blush, or hit you back with something equally sarcastic.

“Yeah. I really can’t.” He says it so honestly, you melt a little into the sheets.

You shuffle closer to him; he automatically raises his arm to let you in. “Stay over tonight, okay?” You say, kissing his bare chest as you cuddle in. Relish the fact you can just reach out and he’s there. Solid, warm, there. “Not like you have work tomorrow, right?”

“I’ll stay as long as you want.”

He kicks the light covers up with a foot, pulls it over your body so you don’t feel the chill even though his body keeps you running hot. You hum as he runs his fingers down your back, rubbing at that sore spot just right. You fall into cozy silence, tracing the contours of his damp torso, running over the curves you couldn’t before.

“On Monday, I’m going to give Mina my two weeks notice.”

Whoa.

You shove up from Yoongi. Turning with utter surprise on your face, you cry, “What?” You unintentionally crush blankets in your fists. “Why?” When you’ve finally worked things out between you?

“As much as I want to stay, I’m… I’m going to try to produce full time.” His eyebrows furrow together. He sucks in a breath. “Being at the café took up all my spare time and while it was a good distraction after the whole thing, I... I don’t need it anymore. I’m going to chase after what I really want to do.” The relief that soaks his voice tells you he’s finally figured it out. “And I’m going to do it on my own. Without Jiwon. Without his help.”

“Oh, Yoongi...” Your heart floods with nervous excitement. You are not really a fan of change, but this is different. This is a step in the direction he was always too afraid to take. You flop back beside him, let him eagerly draw you back into his arms. “I’ll support you as much as I can. I know you can do it, babe.”

“Babe?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Don’t like it?”

“Mmn. Like it... more than I thought I would.” His voice is practically a mumble by the end as he hides embarrassment with a nuzzle into your head.

You’re grinning as the most welcome thought strikes. “Hey, maybe whoever replaces you will finally be on time!”

Yoongi smirks. “Unfortunately, your boyfriend may sometimes still be a little late.”

You tap his cute nose, his squishy cheeks. “Oh, is that what you are now?”

“Yup.” He proceeds to bury his face into your hair, pressing kisses and inhaling the scent he doesn’t think he’ll ever get his fill of. “You’re stuck with me.”

You chuckle as you snuggle further into his warm embrace. it just feels right to be here somehow. Ironic, that ‘here’ is pressed up against the man who can get under your skin like no other. Maybe you’re a masochist, but you can’t think of anywhere else you’d rather be.

Lying here, listening to him slip into slumber, the apprehensive energy in you just melts away despite the feeling that you’re about to embark on a journey that you’re sure will be anything but easy. But as long as you’re with him... You smile. Then you let the anxious thoughts go, finally surrendering to the sleep that his steady rise-and-fall brings.

Turns out, Min Yoongi isn’t the absolute worst after all.

a/n: yeah, i know, who still makes CDs in 2019? :p but sending over a Spotify playlist isn’t nearly as romantic. hehe. thank you for sticking with me until the end of my first series. i learnt so much through writing it and had a ton of fun! please let me know what you think of the ending, yeah? ;) i hope you all enjoyed TES ♡

huge, enourmous thank you to my betas: @hoseoksdior, @sweetlyseokjin, @jiminspjm, @mypurplelamp, @bigtiddiejoon! 💖 this fic would not have come through without their efforts!!

special shoutout to MISS ARI @flowerymoonlight who hyped me TF up & had to survive the snippets i sent her at 2 in the morning. ily babe, you have a special place in my heart ALWAYS.

p.s. you can find more minis of this couple on my masterlist!

#btssmutclub #bts smut #bts reactions #bts imagines #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #coffeehouse au #college au #e2l #rain writes #the early shift #it's ended ahhhh #i can't believe we got here in (mostly) one piece

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misterbitches · 3 years

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i keep thinking about this and coming to more conclusions like both as an artist and me.

we always think first about the aggressor and not the victim. so, for example, with history 4 and yong jie what will their relationship look like now given the trauma? if they have no interest in fleshing this dude out and having him just be an annoying clingy little ugly bitch then acknowledge that pain and how it will affect them. it’s so easy for xing si to get over being raped? what about xing si’s relationship with his mother? what about the fracturing this does to the family when there’s an intense violation that was aided and abetted by the mother?

that would be far more fascinating trying to figure out and they could still have them be together if they so desperately need it but they can’t ignore everything. that means the trauma will permeate through every part of your life. it’s hilarious that so many fans say the portrayals are realistic because they are not. these shows do not have the time and many of the writers or producers do not have the care or prowess—or will have to cut things to please the state—to execute this. they expedite the healing process but we are left reeling.

in film school one of my teachers was always like, “what happens in the world when the film ends?” and this is something to ask. are we approaching it from: a man falls in love with his brother who raped him and the mother encouraged it and the shock and taboo of that or are we approaching it from a man is forced and trapped into a rship and stockholm syndrome and how that plays out. even if they stayed together even so it would give us more reason and understanding and then we see and know the foundation is built on nothing but darkness and may never recover. after this chapter ends there may be destruction; it’s possible because that’s how it all started.

but after this story ends, in the way it is presented, what will happen? it’s not just entertainment and that doesn’t mean it’s as big of a deal as i think it is even as i write these things. these are just things to keep in mind and things i think the younger viewers absolutely need to see. for themselves like as creative people and enjoying the media they consume and seeing what works and what doesn’t especially when a work serves a purpose. nothing is made for no reason so don’t expect it to be. to me i’m like: why was this made and what could have been better?

there is NO improvement which is why we run around in the same circles. the way to untangle that is being clear about the message and its faults. the audience can’t be clear about it if the show isn’t doing its job for a team of professional fucking writers trying to entice people by poorly approaching topics and leaving them empty handed. life is not as hollow as these things make it and yet we eat it up hook line and fucking sinker.

time and time again we see what these things must establish and how far they can push themselves. it isn’t until the material world gets better that we see a turn in the media but time isn’t linear. sometimes things are worse in years, sometimes things are better. these tropes last because they are a direct reflection of life and the failures in society. so of course it’s about the perpetrator and how they can get their prize but not how we can manage these things when there is a clear victim and we pretend like it isnt there under some sense of potential reform. 1. people do not need to be reformed in a story and that isn’t what this needs 2. is that compelling? 3. yes morally grey things exist but this is not morally grey when it is a violation adn that person’s action was not morally grey. there was a victim and he neeeds to be away from that victim. if he is going to stay we need to see the affects of him being there as real things and there is nothing realistic about that. in no fucking world would someone like xing si a grown adult fucking man be able to temper things that quickly as in the show. NONE. that shit lasts forever but we are supposed to see them kiss and be liek “aw wow morally grey” like what about him is morally grey in relation to xing si? specifically. whihc is the personhe will be with forever.

no it’s how do we get ourselves to see him and engage with him. you can engage with him or be enraptured sure but that doesn’t mean anything and it doesn’t mean the writers are even doing anything with it! i’m glad eveyrone can garner there own idk ideas or get what they want out of a work but what about the victims? what about the relationships? what happens when the story ends? what are dinners like? cos their lives don’t stop when it’s not being recorded (as in these worlds we are shown are always going to exist so they continue on even without us seeing it. so the characters don’t have a stop point we just usually see their happy ending and many times with shitty relationships it’s like why are we here now?) at this point it’s comical and it’s boring.

there’s a film i like with cameron diaz where she falls in love with someone who kidnapped her for a job. there’s no perosnal connection which really helps as well. he did it for a job, doesn’t know her, they fall in love. they get together at the end. that still affects her but it’s also way less psychological trauma then somoene stalking and grooming you and violating you and trapping you by direct action and constant manipulation. there’s no way to turn that around and it’s even worse when you try to with literally no other explanations. like who are these fucking characters and why should we even want them to continue to be here? yong jie could have even been a vehicle to help xing si like idk unpack everything in his brain in a helpful way even through his violation. they chose none of that lmao i could write a better fucking script and im a moron

why should we believe in their love? why should we believe in yong jie? why should we believe in any of these people when they don’t prove shit to us. they just exist. why is that interesting? why do we root for them? that’s certainly not something they even asked themselves cause they sure as shit don’t know. the writing here cannot make up its mind on its own morality and i think the idea of morally grey only works if you have a fucking idea of what you want to do not just throwing shit at a wall. and we feel something for these “morally grey” characters—frankly this term is also a mistake because it’s so much about good/bad and ignores history and peoples lives and what leads to events and it is a super WASP-y concept in its current iteration anyway with a belief that punity is justice when it is not. that is why i say get the fuck away from this dude instead of going to jail. we could see yong jie grow but FUCKING OUTSIDE OF XING SI.

aey from lovely writer is one where im like wow i feel so bad 4 u i think ur gonna like kill urself someone get this messy ass bitch some help. people hate this kid and they totally can! i feel bad for him! dont love him and maybe i wont even want the best for him but rn im like “omg i dont want u 2 die sir.”

i dont feel that way in many other shows. i feel fucking nothing for these men. not yong jie and not even the old guy from modc im just like ok you exist and i’m going to ignore you. there is nothing in my chest lmao. i look at them and feel cold, couldnt be drier, cos it’s stale and boring and trite and nothing new at all. it’s not realisitc and it’s not even entertaining. it’s just...there.

i mean it’s there with the reminder of “oh man i am not interested in your love story also isn’t your boyfriend like 40 and you’re 17? why do you like each other again? does this kid have parents? Wait, what’s happening? uhhhh am i supposed to like this? where are his parents? what’s gonna happen when he turns 23 and realizes how fucked up that shit is? can we see that?” and before u know it the sex on screen is over so that was just unpleasant all around.

and i cannot give u a single reason for so many couples why they like each other. like literally what on earth is there for the two of these people to be attracted to. at least one is being swayed by power but what’s the other one doing? oh nothing he just sucks? ok got it.

if we don’t approach it from a “how do we get people to like a shitty person or a person who does things that harms others” it continues on like this. questioning questioning questioning the comfortableness and never thinking about what the fuck the victim can do, what the fuck is even going on in their heads. and if they can’t do that then we go back to the question: what is the purpose of it? if the answr is “just because” then you have a failure on your hands and a lot of annoyed people. sorry not sorry

#history 4 #history 4: close to you #lovely writer #a thot

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banshee1013 · 4 years

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Suptober Day 12 - Rewind

So, as soon as I saw today’s promp, I couldn’t get “Satisfied” from Hamilton out of my head, and I knew I had to do something with it.

SO, here’s something. It’s pretty crazy!

Overall Title: The Road Less Traveled

Overall Rating: Mature (may change to Explicit, we’ll see how it goes)

Tags: Castiel/Dean, mention of Sam/Eileen, Post-Season 15, ExAngel!Cas, MostlyRetiredHunter!Dean, Road Trip

(Note: all ficlets are unbeta’d. At the end of the month, I’ll wrap up whatever I manage to get written, clean it up, get it beta’d, and post to AO3. So please pardon any mistakes!)

========================================================

CHAPTER SEVEN - REWIND

Words: 1442

Cas quietly sings along to the song playing through Baby’s speakers, fingers tapping on the wheel - a song from that musical… what was it… oh, yeah, ‘Hamilton’. Dean had never seen it (hell, hardly anyone he knew had seen it, the thing was impossible to get tickets to), but Sam had picked up the soundtrack somewhere and had raved about it. Cas must have asked Sam to copy it to cassette at some point, for it had been among the cassettes Dean had recovered from Cas’ truck at the lake house and added it to the collection in Baby’s glove box.

After stopping for the night in a quaint little seaside town in Oregon (“It’s called WINCHESTER BAY, Cas, we gotta stop!) and breakfast at a nearby diner, Dean had tossed the keys to Cas. It took some convincing that yes, Dean was serious about Cas driving his baby - but it had been worth it just to see Cas’ rare (but increasingly less rare) bright, gummy smile.

Cas had seen the Hamilton tape when Dean pulled the tape box out to choose a one to listen to, squawking in excitement (“That one, Dean! Play that one!”). Dean had protested - no way was his baby (or him, for that matter) gonna be subjected to a Broadway musical - but Cas had used his own rule against him.

“I’m the driver, Dean. I get to pick the music.”

“Yeah, but you picked the last one we listened to.”

“That may be the case, but it is not my fault that you chose to abdicate to me your right as the driver to pick the music. I do not plan on relinquishing my right as you did.” He waved a finger at the Hamilton cassette. “Put it on, if you please. Don’t make me tell you to shut your cakehole.”

Dean had grumbled and slid the tape home.

Now, three or so songs in, he begrudgingly admits that it’s pretty catchy. Currently, the song playing is about finding a right-hand man or something.

The big breakfast, the purr of Baby’s engine, the hum of the wheels on pavement, all conspire to make Dean sleepy. Leaning against the passenger door, he soon finds himself drifting off.

The strains of a song seeps into his ears…

Rewind… Rewind… Rewind Helpless... Skies... skies… Drownin' in 'em... Drowning

Rewind...

Dean is in a familiar warehouse. Sigils painted on the concrete floors and all along the corrugated steel walls. He’s sitting on a table, waiting for something. Bobby sits across from him on another table, strewn with weapons and the remnants of spell-casting.

Waitaminute, Dean thinks. I know this warehouse… I remember this night….

I remember that night I just might (rewind!) I remember that night I just might (rewind) I remember that night, I remember that… I remember that night, I just might

Regret that night for the rest of my days

The panels of the warehouse’s roof began to shake and flap, as if caught in a hurricane-force wind. Dean and Bobby jump from the tables in alarm, snatching the rifles from the tables and aiming them at the now vigorously rattling sigil-covered wooden doors of the warehouse.

I remember those soldier boys Tripping over themselves to win our praise

Dean looks down at the table next to him, full of every weapon they owned. Wondering which one would be able to kill the thing coming for him, the thing that had blinded Pamela.

Someone... something... called ‘Castiel’.

I remember that dreamlike candlelight Like a dream that you can't quite place

The warehouse lights burst in a shower of sparks, lightning the room in an eerie blue-white glow. The beam over the doors cracks and snaps as the doors slowly open, and a shadowed figure strides in.

Dean and Bobby pump him full of shotgun lead, but he is unfazed and continues to approach, the sparks flying through the air highlighting the approaching figure - a dark haired man in a suit and tie, trench coat flapping like wings behind him.

But Alexander, I'll never forget the first time I saw your face I have never been the same

Dean is frozen in place, unable to move or speak as the man approaches. Finally he manages to tear himself away, grabbing Ruby’s knife from the table.

Intelligent eyes in a hunger-pang frame And when you said "Hi, " I forgot my dang name

Dean turns back, knife held behind his back, and is stunned by the man before him. Wide, ice-blue eyes seemed to glow from within, boring into his as if seeing directly into his soul. Hair wild, full lips pressed into a shy smile, as if Dean and Bobby hadn’t just opened fire on him.

He was beautiful.

“Who are you?” Dean manages to croak.

The man speaks, his voice rumbling and dark like whiskey over gravel, eyes wide, expression earnest. “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition.”

Set my heart aflame, ev'ry part aflame This is not a game

Even after Dean stabs him and Bobby tries to take him out with a crowbar, the man’s expression merely changes from earnest to slightly annoyed. Power pours off him as he presses fingers to Bobby’s head, watching calmly as Bobby slowly sinks to the ground.

He turns back around. “We need to talk, Dean. Alone.”

Those beautiful blue eyes meet his, so open and earnest, and he is suddenly…

Helpless And her eyes are just Helpless And I realize

Three fundamental truths at the exact same time

Number one: he’s a man who’s been raised to believe having feelings is a weakness.

Images flash through his mind of all the times he’s been happy with Cas, starting to allow himself to acknowledge there might be something more than friendship there - and him shutting them all down, not wanting to be weak.

Number two: he’s a man who believes he doesn’t deserve good things, or to be loved.

More images, this time of all the horrible things he’s done - going to Hell, becoming a demon, freeing The Darkness; all the people he’s killed. He’s not worthy of love, especially Cas’.

Number three: He might be all these things, but he would do anything to make Cas happy - and that means accepting the fact that maybe he is worthy, if Cas thinks him so.

All the times Cas has been there for him; always returning, always accepting. Even when he’d had enough of Dean being stupid and bullheaded and finally walked away from him, all it took was a heartfelt prayer and Cas was back at his side. Just wanting him to be happy, and to accept that he was deserving of happiness.

To the groom! To the groom, to the groom, to the groom To the bride! To the bride To the bride (to the bride)

Dean is suddenly in a beautiful garden, green grass under his feet, dressed in white.

He looks up - he’s surrounded by all his loved ones, living and dead. And just past them all, Cas is waiting, practically glowing in a matching white suit.

Wait, what? Is this a hint, his subconscious trying to tell him something…

May you always Always Be satisfied

---------------------

Should I? Should I ask Cas to marry me?

I’ve known it, this whole time… it’s been there, even from all the way back in that warehouse...

“Why would an angel rescue me from Hell?”

Cas’ expression had grown soft, concerned as he stepped closer. “Good things do happen, Dean.”

Dean swallowed, his heart stuttering at the angel’s proximity.

“Not in my experience.”

The angel’s head tilted in confusion, the blue eyes filled with sadness and disbelief.

“What's the matter? You don't think you deserve to be saved?”

Cas told me I deserve good things, even after all I did to him - having to go to Hell to rescue me just to have me shoot him, stab him - and still thinking I deserved to be saved.

I deserve Cas. Now I believe it. Finally.

-----------------------

Dean wakes with a start, and Cas glances over at him, smiling and reaching an arm to steady him.

“Welcome back. Did you rest well?” His voice, soft and so full of love, causes Dean’s voice to stick in his throat.

Swallowing, he hears his voice croak out, “Cas, marry me.”

Realizing what he just said, Dean groans and closes his eyes, mortified. That was NOT how he planned on asking.

But Cas is completely unfazed by Dean’s outburst, his hand sliding from Dean’s shoulder to his hand, picking it up and raising it to his lips.

“Of course I will, Dean. I thought you’d never ask.”

#suptober20 #Day12 #art #fic #destiel

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furiousgoldfish · 2 years

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Emotional and psychological abusers will sometimes make you feel like you owe them to allow the abuse to go on. You don’t feel it as if it was abuse, your experience is that you’re helping them heal, you’re being a rock for them, you’re someone they need, or you’re making up to them for everything they did for you. And if it hurts you sometimes, you’re just supposed to bear with it! And you tell yourself that any harm inflicted is accidental, they didn’t mean it, or maybe it’s only there because you’re not strong enough, because you allowed it to hurt you.

It can mean continuous draining your energy with their new drama, jealousy or accusations, it can mean putting you in situations that inevitably end with you giving them a lot of care even when you’re uncomfortable and neglected yourself. It can be them expecting you to be their fantasy, their dream, their ideal friend or partner or caretaker, and you not daring to disappoint them, wanting them to be happy more than you want yourself to be free of the pressure. It can feel like their emotions are so large, so important and so demanding, that yours don’t feel relevant anymore, that you feel selfish for even thinking about yourself next to them. It might turn out in you getting used to certain types of abuse, and not even reacting to them anymore, because it’s been established this is your duty, your role, what you have to endure in order to make them happy.

It can feel like you have to keep doing something you desperately want to stop doing, but deep inside you feel like if you do stop, you’re no longer a good person. You feel yourself ungrateful and selfish, unless you do as they want you to. Sometimes you have invested so much energy and time into them, you fail to find a good reason to rationalize stopping now. You feel like you’re looking stupid if you stop, like you’re admitting defeat, or like you have failed them, and are admitting you can’t even do this one thing they once thought you good enough for.

And these people will have no trouble casting shame and guilt on you, your feelings will come second to their needs and their opinions of you. They’ll corner you with your fears, even your fears for them, when you try to leave, or quit whatever role they have given you. They’ll call you out as if you owe them, like controlling you is now a privilege they’ve acquired, and how dare you take this away from them. They’ll trigger whatever pain they can in order to keep you under their control, and the second it doesn’t work anymore, they’ll hurt you worst they can, and discard you like you’re worth nothing to them. You can sense that if you stood up to them, they would react with anger and blame, and it’s hard to put yourself thru that.

This kind of abuse is something that is difficult to recover from. Your own value is degraded to nothing, your sense of self is attacked, and you’re groomed into making decisions that don’t benefit you. Your life is drained and exhausted for someone else’s pleasure, while you get to feel like your emotions are unimportant, shouldn’t get brought up, and are completely wrong, and to be shamed. It takes a lot of time outside the abuse, to be able to see it, to recognize it. Then to face it, to be aware that someone can do this to you, that they can emotionally put you in a place where you’re just a resource, and you’re almost helpless to stop it. It hurts because you loved this person, you did so much to make them happy. And in return, they dehumanized you. They accused you of hurting them, when you did nothing but sacrifice yourself and your well being for them. The lack of acknowledgment, lack of gratitude, lack of humanizing your experience, it all hurts so badly. It’s enough to break a person.

Nobody deserves this, and once it does happen, nobody should tell you how you should react, or deal with it. It is devastating to have your trust broken in this way, and to have your life appropriated by a person you held dear to your heart.

#abusive relationships #abusive friendships #toxic relationships #psychological abuse #emotional abuse #grooming #trauma

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hilltopsunset · 3 years

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4 Ways to Breathe New Life into the Pokémon Franchise

I love the Pokémon franchise. It’s because I love it that I truly want new installments of the game to feel meaningful, to make an impact, and to provide players with something new, different, and worth coming back for without relying on complexities that could turn away new players.

As I will talk about in a later blog post, Game Freak seems afraid to stretch Pokémon’s creative muscles any further; meaningful innovation has been petering out since the end of Generation IV in lieu of minigames like Pokémon Contests and Super Training alongside inconsequential time sinks like Secret Bases and Poké Pelago. While I do enjoy the inclusion of things to do outside the main storyline, these additional events and sidequests should not be the only significant additions to new generations of main-series Pokémon games.

The main attractions of recent generations have provided slight twists to gameplay with the addition of mega evolution and Z-moves, but these changes don’t fundamentally change or challenge the way players experience the game on a moment-to-moment basis. And despite the graphical and processing power of recent gaming devices, and even the long-awaited shift of the franchise to a main console, we are still getting the same low-effort and outdated battle animations we’ve been seeing since X and Y. We are continually denied a more genuine battle experience with Pokémon physically interacting with each other through animations that more appropriately suit each Pokémon’s unique identity.

So what can be done? Here’s a short but detailed list of 4 things I would like to see in a new Pokémon game, in no particular order of importance.

1. Let the Player Character Be an Active Part of the Story

When has the player character ever been a consequential part of a Pokémon game? They never speak; they never have any personality whatsoever. They never experience any growth, regardless of NPC’s trying desperately to iterate how much the trainer has grown over the course of their journey. Certainly the Pokémon carried by the player character have some impact on the story, but the trainer?

Let them speak! Let the player character actually interact with NPCs in meaningful ways rather than just listening at all times. Give the trainer a personality of some sort. Don’t just slap a never-changing pleasant face onto the model regardless of tense, frightening, or sinister scenarios (I’m looking at you, Sun and Moon).

Giving the player character a more active role in the story provides intrigue—as a player, it doesn’t feel compelling being pulled from one place to another; it’s not interesting when the only thing pushing me forward is NPCs telling me I need to get the gym badges, or stop Team Rocket. It would be much more interesting if the Player Character had some imperative reason to pursue these endeavors, rather than get involved simply because “it’s the right thing to do” or, worse, “it’s the ONLY thing to do.” I want to watch the character I’m controlling grow as a person and make choices that have positive or negative consequences on people they care about and the places they visit, rather than be a perpetual observer of events with no real stake in the game.

2. Trainer Levels

Speaking of the player character, create a leveling system for them. There are so many possibilities for a system where the trainer more actively impacts gameplay. For instance, there could be a class system and each class can have unique skill trees that provide access to passive and/or active abilities that improve how the trainer interacts with the world throughout the game. It could be required to choose your path at the beginning of the game, or perhaps you can access them all throughout the game, but can only have one active at a time.

Here’s a list of example possibilities:

Explorer: The explorer class specializes in travel, as well as tracking and catching new Pokémon—this tree can be subdivided into those paths: Travel, Tracking, and Catching. This tree provides skills that assist them in accessing otherwise inaccessible locations, increasing encounter rates with rare Pokémon, and specializing in different types of Poké balls to improve catch chances. Experience for this class is gained through catching Pokémon, encountering rare Pokémon, and exploring (walking in new places, finding treasure, accessing hidden areas, etc.).

Combatant: The combatant class excels at offensive battle prowess through its three branches: Type Affinity, Commands, and Reputation. This tree allows a trainer to specialize in certain Pokémon types (up to 2) to improve their STAB damage. Eventually, you can get a skill that provides STAB for your specialized types even for Pokémon not of those types! You gain access to in-battle shout commands that provide momentary buffs to your party, like improving damage, resisting a big attack, or improving critical hit ratio. A strong reputation will allow you to avoid battle even with trainers who have caught your eye; and in battle, an enemy Pokémon may flinch due to your intimidating presence. Experience is gained by knocking out Pokémon, winning battles, using moves of your type specialization, and issuing commands.

Breeder: The breeder focuses on developing deep relationships with their Pokémon. Skills of this class can be divided into the Breeding, Bonding, and Healing branches. Through this tree, trainers can hatch eggs more quickly, improve high IV chance from newborn Pokémon, develop friendship levels more quickly, etc. Bonding provides Pokémon with beneficial defensive capabilities during battle, like providing a chance to survive an attack that would otherwise bring HP to 0, and having a strong will to resist abnormal status effects like paralysis and confusion. A Breeder’s knowledge of caretaking allows for healing outside of battle, and can even teach Pokémon how to slowly recover in-battle. Experience is gained through hatching eggs, developing friendships with your Pokémon (through feeding/petting, etc.), participating in Contests/minigames, and having Pokémon in your party with whom you have developed a close relationship.

The establishment of a class system like this, where experience is gained through different means relevant to each class, incentivizes players to participate in those aspects of the game, and provides extra rewards for players who already want to get involved. It makes the trainer feel like a relevant and impactful part of the team, rather than a hollow vehicle strictly used to lug the real heroes—your team of Pokémon—from battle to battle.

And for those who think the inclusion of such a mechanic would trivialize the content, I have several suggestions: first, they could easily make the game content more difficult to compensate. Second, they could mitigate the strength of these class skills during key battles like Gym Leaders, the Elite Four, the Enemy Team (Rocket, Galaxy, etc.). Third, NPCs (especially the aforementioned key NPCs) could have access to these skills as well. Remember, I’m asking for significant changes, and this would provide something new, interesting, and impactful.

3. Battle Animations

Update them. It’s that simple. Let Blastoise shoot water out of his water cannons rather than out of his face. Let Scorbunny run up to its opponent and give it a nice kick! Get rid of the old, outdated animations of a drawn foot—we now have well-rendered 3D monsters on gaming systems capable of handling the graphical processing necessary for this to happen. Give each Pokémon a more unique identity with their animations; make them feel like they’re actually in a battle with one another. It’s time.

I acknowledge that providing significant animation updates for the 800+ models is an enormous undertaking that would require a massive amount of time and manpower to make possible. To this I say: spend the time doing that rather than developing Dynamax or whatever. Spend the time on more significant animation development instead of wasting that time on another gimmick that isn’t going to significantly impact gameplay anyway.

To be honest, this point alone would be enough to convince me to buy a new Pokémon game.

4. Populate the World with Pokémon

I know that the Let’s Go series and Sword/Shield did this a little bit, and while it certainly wasn’t executed perfectly, it was fun running around and actually seeing all the Pokémon that inhabit it. Spawn rates in both games were often a bit too high, resulting in cluttered areas. Adding aggressive Pokémon would further enhance the immersive experience—being required to sneak around certain stronger Pokémon could be a really fun mechanic and provide tension; it was a bit too easy to avoid Pokémon in Let’s Go and in the Wild Area. While it was nice to get through Mt. Moon without encountering a single Zubat, imagine instead running through a section of the cave with a trail of 15 Zubats on your tail? Make me work for it a little!

Ultimately, I want to see Pokémon behaving more naturally in their habitats, and not just in sections of the world that I can’t get to. I want to run into a Caterpie hanging from a tree, or a Fearow fishing for Goldeen, or a Pikachu grooming itself. I want to interrupt Pokémon from their lives, not run into a giant gaggle of automatons circling tiny areas for no reason.

So there it is: a look at just a few things Pokémon games could include to make things more interesting and breathe new life into an aging franchise. These changes would require work, but any new game should—I would hate to see Pokémon continue the troubling trend of easy and/or insignificant content when there is so much potential to do so much with what they have.

With all that said, I do want to offer a bit of praise—Sirfetch’d and Galarian Ponyta are pretty awesome, and Galarian Weezing is perfectly ridiculous. But I ask that you keep in mind what your money is telling Game Freak when you purchase their games: it tells them that you don’t mind the severe lack of innovation and improvement. It tells them you don’t mind Scorbunny hopping in place as a giant, orange, human foot strikes its opponent. It tells them that you’re willing to fund their copy/paste animations from 6 years ago, their uninspired gameplay updates, and their ever-increasing focus on gimmicks and minigames.

As for me, I will continue holding Pokémon to a higher standard and hoping that, eventually, Blastoise will fire water from his cannons.

#pokemon #game review #game freak #hilltop sunset #suggestions

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ears-awake-eyes-opened · 4 years

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The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes — my first impressions

(I’ve shared my thoughts and feelings about the book in the spoilers chat group, but I’ve waited awhile as a courtesy before posting them on my blog. The book has been out for over a month now so ***TBOSAS spoilers ahead***. These musings are not particularly organized and are a bit rambling and repetitive.)

***

I read the book over the course of 3 days, and then recovery afterward took several days beyond that. I love the disturbing coming of age tale that Suzanne Collins has crafted for Snow. Everything she wrote for him was trauma-informed. He experienced the severe early life attachment trauma of losing both parents between ages 3-7, which is old enough to have developed the capacity for love because he received that from his mother, and young enough for the severity of the trauma to be difficult to impossible to integrate, especially in an environment of poverty, hunger, manipulation and deception to hide the family misfortune. He spent his whole life trying to control the chaos which was really just trauma on repeat within himself. This showed up as perfectionism in school and ambition for more than survival. He was the ideal candidate to be groomed by Dr. Gaul. Under all those conditions, the kid didn’t really have the capacity to become anything other than a tyrant.

I enjoyed the unfolding of his relationship with Lucy Gray. I felt the intensity between them (trauma bond), and I felt their mutual recognition in 12 that the intensity didn’t mean they were compatible. The running off together near the end was a last-ditch effort for both of them at survival. If they hadn’t found the guns and actually had run north, then in time they probably would have abandoned one another, since they wanted opposite things: safety and control VS freedoms and song. In a short time I believe they would have resented and detested each other. 18 years old was too late for him. His patterns were already well established.

I think SC showed us every ounce of fluff that Snow had in him. There just wasn’t much fluffiness to work with. The book ended with me believing he had a capacity for love; he wasn’t a psychopath just a deeply traumatized person. I think it’s telling how in the middle he said something like, “I think she (Lucy Gray) may be in love with me.” Rather than, “I think I may be in love with her.” In that relationship he felt excitement within idealization which faded in reality and would have moved toward increasing disgust toward her if the ending had played out differently. It’s hard to have fluff when the characters motivations are self-centered. The opposite of Katniss and Peeta whose relationship unfolded as they were both trying to protect others. Snow felt as much for Lucy Gray as his capacity allowed, but the chaos in feeling and in relationship was the opposite of what he wanted for his life. When he started being irritated with song, that was ultimate sign of death for that relationship. Lucy Gray WAS song. And beyond the idealization phase he would have detested her.

The plot was so thick with characters and details. SC used 3rd person perspective for this one but it wasn’t omniscient. We only got to see through Snow’s eyes. I enjoyed those moments that felt more fluffy where we saw clearly the complexity of his character and humanity. This really is a coming of age story. He’s becoming the man he already is. Gaul’s influence was the clincher. She was a predator and manipulated Snow on the path he actually wanted most. I feel for him. Throughout the book and still. I even feel now for the tyrant he becomes. That’s masterful writing right there.

I like how in the end Snow vowed to marry someone he didn’t love, recognizing that love was too chaotic. I’m thrilled that Lucy Gray added verses to the hanging tree song for him and then all those years later Katniss sang those verses. I love all the insight into Snow’s obsessive hate for Katniss, not just everything she stood for but also everything she reminded him of that couldn’t be controlled. I like understanding how Snow grew his affinity for using poison. I believe he’s haunted his whole life by the memory of Lucy Gray, but he flips it around in his mind that he controls the haunting. Maybe he eventually poisons his wife because he grows tired of sharing space with someone he doesn’t care about and doesn’t desire possession of. He’d justify the killing of course, like with all the killings. Self-justification and execution will only get easier for Snow as time goes on, especially under Dr. Gaul’s tutelage/mind-control.

My favorite aspect of this book was SCs willingness in this sociopolitical climate to make bold statements about the value of freedom and its ability to endure as a human quality despite years of tyrannical control and propaganda. I view her as a hope-giver. Her writing is courageous. I felt deeply for young Snow, even knowing how his story would play out. The predictability of the novel was my only complaint. After reading a couple of chapters I said to my daughter, “I think Lucy Gray will win the Games and then Snow will end up killing her.” When Gaul showed up, I said to my husband, “She’s going to groom him. She’s going to manipulate him and in the process turn him from a manipulator into a master manipulator.” Done. Possibly done. And done. I like the idea that Lucy Gray lives on and makes a free life for herself. I like that Snow would be eaten alive his whole life by that possibility which is beyond his control.

I mentioned in a previous post that the conversation between Snow and Lucy Gray about safety and control vs freedom and song is the most important conversation of our time, and SC has solid guts to acknowledge that freedom will endure long after the Capitol is gone. And the conversation ended there. Because it’s the deep truth about humanity that propaganda is designed to fool us into not believing: People are fundamentally enduring whether or not they have the “protection” of government control. I was beyond thrilled to read that conversation in YA novel because it’s fringe now to speak this truth openly and her readership is gigantic. I loved watching the connection between Snow and Lucy Gray begin to disintegrate in this mutual understanding that they wanted different worlds, and the world that they each wanted was fundamentally appalling to the other, regardless of those moments when they felt an aliveness in each other’s presence , the kind of aliveness that’s always present in the idealization phase of a trauma bond.

This book was so raw in its presentation of starvation in the Capitol, cannibalism, the Snow’s salvation in those awful lima beans. All the pressures that would drive a young person to grow to detest chaos and wild. This lineage of trauma in the Capitol informs my understanding not just of old tyrant Snow, but the other Capitol characters. And makes the likes of Cinna and Cressida and Plutarch all the more awesome to have chosen a different path. Even Effie who is so much about control and appearances in this singularly thinking way ultimately sees through the veil and understands this kind of control is a profound injustice. I view the book as a prequel in that it’s so intimately connected to the series of 3 and makes those characters, plots, settings, and other details so much more rich. It’s been years since I last read the books. I’ll do so again next time with more clarity.

Dark novel. Not graphic, but oozing with the darkness of humanity. It’s great, and I’m not sure I can ever read it again. There’s so much real. Though I’d LOVE to see it on film. It would be easily translatable to a couple of screenplays. They’d need to cast a Lucy Gray who can sing well and act even better, and a Snow who can carry both the film and carry a tune but without the quality of a professional singer.

I didn’t expect to feel so deeply for young Snow. SC is deep into midlife, and she knows real shit about trauma. She is able to convey it to a YA audience without being overly graphic or disturbing — unless people are ready to be wholeheartedly disturbed. There were a few plot points that felt contrived, like housing tributes in the monkey enclosure, otherwise this book was smashing. I know this because days later I was still smashed. I’m recovered now and ready to reread The Hunger Games trilogy.

I can’t see myself writing TBOSAS fanfiction, but I feel like the bit of writing I do about that universe has already been influenced by the prequel.

#tbosas spoilers #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #suzanne collins #coriolanus snow #lucy gray baird #hunger games musings #childhood trauma #trauma bonding #attachment trauma #freedom vs safety #chaos

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queerchoicesblog · 4 years

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Broken Dreams

Hiya, folks! So, as previously announced, the wlw writing project continues after a break with a miniseries set back in the City of Lights - & Love - at the time of the Belle Epoque, at the turn of the century.

The story of Élodie and Léa continues a bit later than usual but here we are!

Next and final chapter of this story will be out next week: stay tuned for the finale!

Tagging: @scottishqueer

Previous chapters: Paris, Paris ; One Night At The Moulin Rouge , The Handkerchief, The Cage of Fools, La Vie Bohème

Hope you enjoy it: if you do, please consider spreading the word!

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The morning after, I arrive home early. When I left the apartment, Élodie was still sleeping, wrapped in a shawl. I enter my room like a ghost, I take off my favourite dress, so carefully picked last night, and let myself fall to the bed like a dead body, feeling empty and heavy at the same time. I close my eyes and doze off for an hour or two, I cannot tell. I am awaken by the voice of Marie in the other room. My friend is back. I sigh and stand, joining her and my roommates in the kitchen after putting on my robe. When she sees me, her smile is soon replaced by a concerned expression: I don't look well, am I feeling alright? No, actually not really, no. I feel sick and hurt and tired and I barely slept. A roommate dismisses her concerns, informing her that my night out is probably to blame. "Yes, I went out with some of the girls last night and I suppose I had a bit too much" I confirm: sometimes a white lie is easier than the truth. It is now,at least. "Girls...we believe she has a secret lover" the other says, handing Marie a glass of milk and a small plate of biscuits. Their words hurt more than they surely meant with their idle maliciousness: I wouldn't have given them much thought under normal circumstances, but they ring differently after Élodie's party and refusal.

My friend can't refrain a surprised gasp. "Is it true, Léa? You didn't tell me anything" "If she did, it would no longer be a secret affair" the first who spoke argues. "No, Marie, it's just a crazy theory of the ladies here" I sigh, taking a seat too. "How was your journey?" Luckily, my abrupt shift of topic works. Sipping her milk, Marie tells me of her stay in Argenteuil. Being back home after all that time has been nice and weird at the same time: so much has changed since the day she left. Her mother's hair is now turning grey and his little brother announced his engagement to the butcher's daughter, a shy gracious girl named Marguerite: they'll marry next year. Despite what the doctors feared, her Aunt is now recovering, slowly but steadily. The illness debilitated her quite a lot as she's still among the living, which is all that matters. Marie's mother is looking after her now: she's in good hands. Our conversation distracts me but less than usual. I try not to notice. I join the three of them for a late breakfast even if I have little appetite, out of inertia. Then, I go back to my room, Marie in tow. As she start unpacking her bag, I lay back on the bed, unsure of what to do. I wrap myself in the blankets, overcome by a sudden cold. "Why don't you get some rest? It helps with hungovers" she suggests, folding her clothes. I look at her, wondering if "hungover" is truly what makes me feel so wrecked. What last night truly was, a side effect of vie bohème. "Are you nursing me?" I smile weakly. "Of course, you're my friend!" she chuckles, throwing me a sympathetic look. "Close your eyes, I'll be as quiet as a little mouse" Too tired and heartbroken to protest, I do as she says. I slowly descend into a dreamless slumber, a sweet merciful oblivion I anchor to like the victim of a shipwreck holds on to a piece of wood floating in a dark stormy sea. Isn't a shipwreck a good metaphor for my condition? I dared too much and tumbled overboard... Over the weeks that follow, I do my best to blend in my old life as if nothing happened and it was all a dream, a gorgeous dream I had to wake up from sooner or later. I work twice as hard as I used to and my efforts don't go unnoticed, especially now that we have so many orders and so little time on our hands. One day our infamous supervisor gave me an appreciative look and a surprisingly polite smile: keep up the good job and a promotion might be in store in the new year, she said. Marie overheard and winked at me from her desk. As the year inexorably comes to an end, we don't get to see our friends as often as we used to before she left but we keep in touch somehow and make plans for the New Year's Eve celebrations. Something to look up to, right? Life goes back to the way it was and I am grateful. Yet I cannot fool myself, I know it too painfully well. I miss Élodie terribly, unbearably but I don't dare to try and see her again. I avoid crossing Pigalle and Montmartre, I keep my distance from the Moulin Rouge. After what she said, I think she wouldn't like to see me. I've waited weeks for a letter, a note, whatever sign from her but nothing came. It hurts, especially at night when at times sleep is slow to come and I am left all alone with my thoughts. I shut my eyes and she is there, laughing as we gallop down the corridor, whispering my name like a prayer, kissing my lips in the moonlight. Then she dissolves when morning comes, an hurtful remainder that she's gone. A week before Christmas, Marie reads me a letter from home: after hearing what I did for her while she was away, her family invites me to spend the festivities at Argenteuil. If I have no plans to travel back to Roscoff, they would be delighted to have me as a guest. Of course going back home is out of question, so I accept. They welcome me with the warmth everyone would reserve to a relative they don't see often but who hold a special place in their hearts and I must confess, it touches me. Marie and her brother show me around while her mother cook us one of the best meals I have ever had. Even Aunt Odette helps, despite Marie's concerns. Sitting at their table, listening stories and eating a delicious Galette Des Rois, I feel at home, for a moment. I wish I could have felt that way in Roscoff too but it never happened. We leave after an interminable series of hugs and wishes. Marie's father makes me promise to attend the wedding next year, I offer to help sewing the wedding dresses, the groom's and Marguerite's. They all keep waving at us until our carriage takes a turn and disappear from view. We arrive back in Paris just in time for the New Year's celebrations: we greet 1890 drinking cheap champagne and dancing by the river, barely acknowledging the sleet withening the streets of the City of Lights. On our way back home, we share our dreams and hopes for the new year before the mad routines of our lives sets back into motion. I must say that for once I am thankful to the routine I complained about at times through the years. There is something oddly comforting in it now that I am trying to be a whole again. Then one week later, something unexpected happens. I am at work, cutting fabric for a new dress when our supervisor storms in. At first, I fear I am in trouble because she makes a beeline for me. Luckily, I am not: she is just going hysterical because the secretary of a certain Monsieur Toussaint, a loyal costumer and 'a most respectable lawyer', is here to collect an order with urgency but she has no idea where the suit is: the girl who took care of - and made a mess with - the order is sick that day. She adds other anxious mumbling but I don't understand a word. It's clear though what she wants. I assure her I will go find it immediately: as I leave my desk, she squeals to hurry, faster, faster! Away from her hysterical pressure, I find it in no time and head to the hall downstairs after checking myself in the mirror: we must look put together when meeting costumers. Or costumers' secretaries, I suppose. When I reach the ground floor, I see her. A young woman is waiting, patiently looking out the window. The cloak looks oddly familiar: it must be pretty popular these days. I address her with the dignified politeness and affability we have been instructed to have with our costumers. When she turns, I stop mid-sentence: it's not just the cloak, even her face is familiar. "Oh hello, Amélie..." She blinks twice and for a moment a shade of pink colours our cheeks as if our being acquaintances and the circumstances of our meetings make us suddenly shy. She recovers quickly though, and offers me a hand to shake. We chat a little but we don't have much time: duty calls for both of us. She's already heading towards the main door when she suddenly stops. I'm about to ask her if she forgot something, her gloves maybe when she speaks again. "You...don't know what happened, then?" I freeze. A name immediately crosses my mind followed by a growing concern: Élodie. "What? What happened?" She winces and walks back to the counter. In a somber tone and keeping her voice low, she tells me that it was New Year's Eve. The Moulin hosted a huge party to celebrate the success of its opening. Élodie performed in la quadrille that night, as usual. The routine was running smoothly and the dancers lined up for the hat kick. Out of the blue, a visibly drunk spectator grabbed Élodie's foot and pulled her, probably in an attempt to take off her boot or whatever he was thinking. Two gentlemen nearby promptly intervened, pushing him back and freeing her from his clutches, but damage was already done. Élodie lost balance and took a bad fall to the ground. She stood again, helped to her feet by Laurent, and kept dancing till the end. But when she made it to the backstage, she collapsed again, in tears and great pain. "The doctor said that with an ankle in that conditions, it was a miracle she even managed to stand up again" Amélie explains. "Oh God...I knew nothing of it" I cover my mouth with my hand. "I thought so" she grimaces. "How...how is she now?" "Very depressed: she spends her days lying in bed and refusing to see anyone. I had to insist and almost force my way in her room to visit her" She takes a pause. "You see, the doctor told she cannot dance now. Maybe anymore. Not as she did, anyway" I cannot even fathom the effect those words must have had on Élodie: dancing is everything to her. It's like saying to a bird it will no longer fly because they will tie one of its wings. "It can't be..." I reach to the counter for support. No, it can't be... "I know....a tragedy" she agrees. "But you should go see her. I'm sure it will make her happy and maybe you can make her change her mind" Cold dread washes over me as she leaves but I have a new steely resolution now. The following day, after work, I am knocking at Élodie's apartment's door. I am greeted by a young man with a pair of blonde moustaches who introduces himself as 'Louis Renard, painter extraordinaire'. I explain him the reason of my visit and he nods sympathetically, letting me in. He and the other roomates are all worried for El, he says: she's refusing to eat and talk and they only hear her cry. They don't know what to do to help, but "maybe you can, maybe she will listen to her friends", he adds encouragely as we stop in front of her door. Luis clears his throat and knocks but no answer comes. "Él, sunshine? Guess what news I bring? You have a visitor...a friend here came to-" "Go away, I don't wanna see anyone" Luis shakes his head and throws me a pained look. Her voice is so different from the last time I heard it. "But she's here, she came for you. At least-" "I'm tired, I need to rest" Luis opens his mouth for one last attempt to reason with her but I raise my hand, gesturing him to let me try. "Élodie? It's me, Léa, remember? I've heard what happened and I just want to check in on you. If you're tired, I will let your rest and wait here until you wake up. But I will not leave without seeing you" No answer comes again, only silence on the other side. Luis and I hold our breath for a moment then I say: "I will let you sleep, I'm in the other room" Luis shows me the way and we walk down the corridor. I grimace: what was I expecting? Amélie said it all herself... I am taking a seat, bracing myself for a long painful wait when her voice resounds again behind the closed door. "Come in" Luis and I exchange a look then he smiles. He has to go now, he must deliver his latest painting, but I am welcome to stay. Keep an eye on El in the meantime, would you?, he asks. My heart is racing when I open her door: I have gone through what to say to her on my way here so many times but I can't remember a single word now. I take a deep breath to steady my nerves before stepping in. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't work. Élodie is sprawled over the bed and props herself up when I enter the room. She offers a weak smile, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders before diverting her eyes. She looks tired, a shadow of her usual self. "Léa, what a surprise..." Her voice is feeble, a whisper; her hair askew fall on her face, hiding her visage. At the bottom end of the bed lay her legs, barely covered by wrinkled blankets, the same that once welcomed our passionate embrace. My heart aches at the memory of it and at the sight of her right ankle, wrapped up in tight bandages and held in place by wooden sticks on each sides. "I came as soon as I heard the news" I grimace. She nods somberly, always avoiding my gaze. "I-I should have known you would but you didn't have to after-" Before she can complete the sentence, her voice breaks and even if I can't see her face, I know she's crying. I don't even have to think: I run by her side and pull her into a tight hug, tight enough to hopefully offer her an anchor. She immediately wraps her arms around my waist and I feel her tremble against me as she succumbs to her grief. Her career is over, she says between sobs, she will lose everything and what will she do now? She always knew it wouldn't have lasted forever but now it's too soon, she's still young, too young to end it so soon. I caress her hair, calming, soothing. She buries her head against my side. It's a terrible thing to see: lovely mirthful Élodie shattered, defeated. The worst thing is I can do very little for her apart standing here by her side and holding her as she cries her heart out. I keep stroking her curls even when her sobs subside at last and she takes long breaths, grasping for air. "We'll figure something out" I say out of the blue. She parts and meets my gaze, her eyes puffy and red. "We'll figure something out" I repeat, brushing away a tear with my thumb. I have no idea how but there must be a way out of this, I don't know. In the meantime, I do the only reasonable thing I can think of: I take care of Élodie. I visit her almost every day and bring her food so she won't starve herself. She's a bit hard to convince at first: she keeps saying I don't have to do this but I am more stubborn than her. One day, she takes my hand into her and she apologises for disappearing on me: she regrets it dearly and missed me more than words can tell. Her voice trembles as she speaks and I believe mine does too when I smile to her and say I missed her too. Funny how a bunch of words, the words we need or hope to hear, can make the world around us a bit brighter and warmer even in the heart of winter. One evening, I head towards her apartment with my usual gifts. As I take off my coat and hand it to Luis, I hear her: Élodie is singing a doleful song I have never heard. A memory of her childhood maybe since she recalls the words so well. I hear her from the main room: her voice, albeit a little uncertain, is utterly beautiful. Melancholic, modulated, melodious. That kind of voice you would never get tired of listening, over and over again, like a lullaby. When I reach the threshold of her room, she's looking out of the window, absentmindedly, playing with a loose strand of her. She turns towards me and stops, offering me a smile instead. "What was that?" I ask, walking closer. "Oh, nothing, just an old tune" she shrugs. "I don't even know why it even crossed my mind after all this time" "I got you a book and a little treat" I hand her a cheap edition of a novel a colleague gifted me and a slice of cake I bought on the way there. Élodie's eyes bright up as if I brought her a shiny diamond rock. "You're spoiling me, little pearl" she smiles, unwrapping the sweet. "Here, have some!" I lean down to press a kiss on the top of her head. "No no, it's for you only" She takes a bite and scoots over so that I can take a seat beside her. "Charming" She reaches out and kisses my cheek. The crumbs on her lips tickle, making me chuckle. "What's the story of the book?" she asks, mouth half full. I pick it up and adjust at her side. "I'm not sure honestly...I think it's a romance. I thought it might keep you company" "Sweet" she comments. "....or spicy. Let's see! You're not leaving so soon, right?" I smile, brushing a strand of hair away from her eyes. She leans into the touch, a sweet expectancy in her eyes. "No, I'll stay. We can read it together when you finish" She smiles again, nodding and checking the back of the book to get an idea of the plot. As I watch her eating and skimming the book I brought her, I cannot stop thinking of the little tune I caught her singing a moment ago. I look at her and she seems so blissfully unaware of the gracious beauty she filled the room with. When she takes the last bite, she hands me the book to read. "Sounds like a nice story. Shall we?" I take the book in my hands but I hesitate. "Sure, but first could you sing that song again?" I knew my request would surprise her. "Yes but...why?" she asks, sitting straighter. A smile crosses my lips as I place a hand over hers. "I have an idea"

#wlw writing #wlw writing project #wlw miniseries #lgbtq art #wlw love #original work #paris #belle epoque

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4homiesfilm · 3 years

Text

So I had to talk about this with you all. This weekend Thomas has been out of town so I have been trying my best to use this time of solitude to my advantage. I definitely went into it with high hopes of productivity, still on the creative high from the time spent with you all. But then Saturday morning came. It was rainy in Atlanta. Gloomy, muddy, gross kind of rain. The kind of depressing rain that weighs down trees like saggy skin and the robs the recently bloomed flowers that optimistically promised a new season of their colorful petals. It was a low day for me. I spent far too long laying in bed, unable to find any strength to get out. It was the kind of day where you probably need to just go for a walk to feel better, but the weather won’t allow it so you end up wasting the hours feeling sorry for yourself listening to sad music (which ultimately does more damage and brings you lower). I anxiously searched in vain for an umbrella just to be able to leave, but ended up collapsing on the couch in defeat. Trying to avoid being the victim of yet another empty Saturday, I took out some paper and began just recollecting moments of my life in an attempt to work on my film idea. It was a painful and gritty process, often leaving my in angry tears. I couldn’t physically write much. Just small bullet points of moments of feelings, remembering being a teenage girl.

After a small writing session I wanted to watch a movie that would make me ache. I felt like I had these feelings inside me that desperately needed some cathartic release. I went to Videodrome and pick up a couple of things. I began watching A Elephant Sitting Still by Hu Bo. It is definitely a thick movie. I have yet to finish it (since it is like over 3.5 hours or something). About two hours in I turned it off because I knew what I needed to watch. I’m not sure if any of you have seen Jonathan Demme’s Rachel Getting Married. It is a film that I have been putting of since it came out in 2008, because I was nervous. I knew it would hit a little close to home, but a gloomy, lonely Saturday night, after couple of beers, it felt like the right time

Kym (Anne Hathaway), a recovering drug addict, gets released from rehab for the weekend to attend her sister Rachel’s (Rosemarie DeWitt) wedding at their large house in the countryside of Connecticut. As you can imagine, the weekend opens old wounds and resentments. You find yourself simultaneously hating and rooting for the egotistical Kym. Your heart aches for her despite probably never wanting to spend a minute with her.

The camera weaves its way through the weekend like a silent observer. You get the sense that camera captures moments by simply being in the right place at the right time. It feels far from a planned movie. You feel like you’re there dancing and eating and crying and laughing with everyone There is no soundtrack, but it is a gathering of musicians so there’s constant music being played. It feels like a beautiful home video. Actually, I think I read Demme and the DP, Declan Quinn, described it as “the most beautiful home video.” The house is always a flurry of people coming in and out chaotically prepping for the wedding. Some of the most intense conversations happen with a gathering of people around, but this never feels strange, because Demme creates such a rich tapestry of minor characters from the step-mother to childhood friends to in-laws. Despite the tensions, it is a house of love. The great Bill Irwin plays the father and he just fucking nails it. He is overly attentive to the struggling Kym yet at the same time Rachel yearns for his attention. There is this scene of an innocent competition between him and his soon-to-be son-in-law that is fun, chaotic, and high energy, but it abruptly ends when an item from the past is found and the good-nature mask that Irwin holds for most of the film cracks.

There is a lot going on. And there are a lot of scenes that impacted me. In the wedding scene, there is a moment where the groom, played by musician Tunde Adebimpe, from the band TV on the Radio, sings an a cappella “Unknown Legend” by Neil Young and it just found it so fucking beautiful. Despite the tension and the history and the pain, there is so much love and joy.

There is this continuous tension with Rachel. She is obviously very torn between loving her sister and desiring to connect, but also despising her and her constant need to take up every inch of a room. It is her wedding weekend yet her father is so intent on making Kym feel included that Rachel bristles. There is a moment when Rachel and Kym just had a fight and Kym is missing. Rachel is talking to her father, Paul.

PAUL:(not getting it) Where is she now?

RACHEL: Where am I now, Dad?

Later in the same scene, Kym returns and they have a discussion about the past that really fucking hit me.

KYM: Why would anything I said or didn't say at the hospital hurt you? It wasn't about you!

RACHEL: Why not? Why wasn't it about me?

PAUL: Rachel...

RACHEL Dad, stop. (to Kym) Why not? I was hopeful. I was on your side. I still am. Do you have any idea what that means? Do you have any idea how lonely it was with everybody gone into your terrible world? There was nothing left. Everybody was just empty. You think they remembered I was alive or needed anything during your... life? And after all that loneliness and Mom and Dad blaming each other and worrying and death and divorce and that stupid hopefulness and Dad not even being able to listen to music, you were in the hospital, lying about us! Instead of telling the truth about yourself!

This struggle is something that I am trying to figure out how to put on paper. The simultaneous need for love from the very person who caused you hurt. The desperate need to forgive yet also needing your anger, hurt, and resentment acknowledged. Or not knowing what you need from someone in order to forgive them or if it’s even fair to need that. How do we forgive people who have shattered us? I don’t know, man. I am just rambling. Trying to figure out how to put what I want on paper.

I miss you all like crazy. Having you here filled me with air that I haven’t breathed in a long time. I just needed to get this all off my chest. I wrote it pretty quick so I’m sorry if some of it doesn’t make sense. It just was a movie that stuck with me and I was in a pretty vulnerable place after writing a bunch about my own sister.

Love you all.

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thestarsaroundyourscars · 5 years

Note

55 and 56 from the prompt list for reddie????

Thank you! Somehow this turned into a 4K smut fic. You can read it below or in AO3 by clicking on the title (I even named it!).

55. What happened last night?

56. You’re fun to touch

man of (questionable) honor

Rated E

Weddings were supposed to be fun.

Music, fancy food, free drinks. And as the man of honor, the opportunity to embarrass your best friend in front of everyone with your speech.

Weddings when you were single were supposed to be even more fun. It was a great opportunity to meet people, Richie’s friends had told him.

Wrong.

Richie was currently alone, sitting at the open bar with a beer, watching the people on the dance floor. It seemed that love was really in the air⎯ like the song Ben and Bev had picked for their first dance said. Every person at this wedding seemed to have brought a date, leaving Richie with no one to chat up for the night or just chat with. The newly Mr. and Mrs. Hanscom were too caught up in each other already in a honeymoon mood, making googly eyes at each other while dancing and feeding each other cake. Mike and Stan, the only other people Richie liked here, had already disappeared to their room in this same hotel.

Richie was thinking of doing the same thing, not realizing he was frowning at the dancing couples until someone else acknowledged it.

“What’s with the face dude? Aren’t people supposed to be happy at weddings?”

Richie whirled his head around to see a man sitting on the stool next to him, trying to get the bartender to pay attention to him. He was handsome, very handsome in fact, with large brown eyes, neatly combed hair and dimples that were visible even if he wasn’t smiling. Cute. Richie’s frown disappeared only to be replaced by a smirk.

“I’m definitely happier now.” He said in a sultry voice, leaning towards the man. “Hey.”

He arched an eyebrow at him, frowning slightly. “Uh hi.” He said before his eyes drifted to the bartender. He raised his hand, only for the kid to ignore him again. “Damn it. What do you have to do to get a drink here?”

“I got it.” Richie said, raising to his full height and gesturing at the bartender, who noticed him immediately.

He heard the man curse under his breath. “How the fuck did you do that?”

Richie shrugged, sitting back down. “It helps when you’re not short.”

The man glared at him and if looks could kill Richie would’ve dropped dead on the floor. Even then he couldn’t help the only thought going through his head, cute cute cute. “Fuck you asshole. I’m 5’9 that’s like the average height on most of the world.”

Richie flashed him a shit-eating grin. “That’s something only a short person would know.”

He opened his mouth, no doubt to tell Richie to fuck off when the bartender approached them and asked Richie if he wanted another beer.

“Yeah and for my friend here⎯”

“White wine, please.” He said and as soon as the bartender left, he went back to glaring at Richie. “And I’m not your friend.”

Richie chuckled, finishing his beer with one final gulp. “And here I thought we were getting along quite well.” He said and the man rolled his eyes, clearly disagreeing. “No? Okay, let me get that drink for you then.” He added, he didn’t want the man to leave, talking to him was the most fun he had tonight since he his man of honor speech, when he embarrassed Bev and Ben so much that Stan had to drag him away from the mic.

He gave Richie an unimpressed look. “You know this is an open bar right? Drinks are free.”

“It’s the intention that counts.” Richie said with a shrug, he leaned forward, supporting himself on the bar. “Please man. You’re like⎯ the first single person I’ve seen the entire night and I really could use someone to talk to.”

“Who says I’m single?”

Richie’s face dropped. “Fuck, you’re not?”

The man narrowed his eyes at Richie for a beat before his face broke into an easy smile. “Oh no, I am single, though I don’t appreciate you assuming that I was. Do I just scream undateable to you?

“No!” He said, faster than he would’ve liked. “No, definitely not. You’re very dateable. I would definitely date you! I mean- uh.” Richie felt himself starting to blush especially with how the man was smirking at him. “Shut up man, you know what I mean.” He added with a laugh.

Their drinks were placed in front of them and Richie expected the man to grab his and saunter away, instead he settled further into his seat. Richie didn’t try to hide the bright smile when he saw that he was staying. “I’m Eddie by the way.”

“I’m Richie.”

“I know.” He said, taking a sip of wine. His face scrunched up slightly at the taste. Cute. “You’re the maid⎯ sorry, man of honor. I heard your speech. I almost died from second hand embarrassment man.”

“That was my goal all along.” Richie said, grinning.

“Did you really walk in on Bev and Ben having sex in the kitchen?”

Richie barked out a laugh. “Yeah, Ben couldn’t look me in the eye for a month after that.”

“I bet.” Eddie said with a chuckle.

“I’m guessing he’s the reason you’re here? I think I would know if you were friends with Bev.”

“Yeah, I’m on the groom’s side. I only met Bev today, she seems great though.”

“She is. The best.” Richie said with a soft smile, lifting his beer to take another swig of beer but stopping before the bottle reached his lips. “Just don’t tell her I said that.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” Eddie let out a snort. He whirled around on his stool to stare at the dance floor where Ben was twirling Bev around, both of them laughing and singing along to the music. “They really love each other, don’t they?”

“Yeah.” Richie said, unable to stop himself from smiling at his friends. “It’s fucking gross."

Eddie chuckled, nodding along. "I’ll drink to that.” He said, knocking his glass against Richie’s beer bottle. “To the happy couple.”

“Happy and gross, don’t forget that part.” Richie said, taking a swig from the bottle. “So, how do you and Ben know each other?”

“We went to college together.” Eddie explained. “We stayed in touch but I didn’t see him again until I moved here this year. We actually bumped into each other in the street and I didn’t even recognize him, he changed so much. He used to be shorter than me in back then⎯”

“You say that like it’s hard to be taller than you.” Richie muttered with a grin and Eddie kicked him in the shin.

“Are you going to make jabs at my height all night?”

“Aw Eds! Are you planning on spending your entire night with me?” He teased, his grin widening.

“Fuck you man. Fuck you.”

Richie flashed him a sly smile. “If you keep saying that, I’m gonna start thinking it’s actually an offer.”

Eddie blushed furiously and choked on his wine, coughing a couple of times but once he recovered instead of denying it or telling Richie to fuck off again, he gave him a nervous look. “What if it is?”

It was Richie’s turn to choke on his drink, only his coughing fit lasted longer. Eddie waited anxiously for him to recover, one foot on the ground, looking like he was ready to flee depending on what Richie said. “I’m⎯ shit.” He cleared his throat. “You can’t say shit like that man.”

Eddie’s eyes widened in panic, he stood up. “Shit, I’m sorry I thought⎯”

Richie grabbed his wrist to stop him from leaving, waving off his apology. “Wait no, you thought right, you just caught me by surprise.”

Eddie laughed nervously but he sat down again, even if it didn’t seem that he was leaving anytime soon, Richie didn’t let go of his wrist, instead running his thumb over his pulse point. Eddie stared at their hands, resting on his lap. “So, does that mean you’re like⎯ interested?”

“Fuck yes, so interested.”

Eddie smirked, his cheeks were a bright red color. He looked up at Richie through his eyelashes, Richie could swear his heart skipped a bit when he saw the desire in them. “Good. Do you want to get out of here?”

Richie nodded urgently, tilting his head towards the elevator. “I have a room upstairs.”

Eddie stood up, they were the same height this way, he stood in the space between Richie’s legs, their faces only a breath away from each other. “Show me?”

Richie put his beer bottle on the bar, grabbed Eddie’s hand and dragged him towards the elevator. He caught Bev’s eye as he was leaving the room, she gave him a knowing smile and a wink before going back to dancing with Ben.

They kissed in the elevator after Eddie pushed Richie against the wall the moment the doors closed, eliciting a surprised yelp from Richie, followed by a moan when his hands weaved into his hair and pulled. Eddie tasted sweet, like the wine he’d been drinking and Richie chased the taste with his tongue while Eddie made little noises of approval.

Richie’s hands had just found their way under Eddie’s dress shirt when the elevator stopped moving and the doors opened. Thankfully the hall was empty and they didn’t have to pretend that they weren’t just making out in the elevator. Richie struggled to open the door to his room with Eddie plastered to his back, grinding his hips forward, letting Richie feel how hard he was. They stumbled inside after his third try to fit the key card into the slot and Richie immediately turning around, surging forward to kiss Eddie again, so hard that he stumbled back against the door.

They lost their jackets and ties quickly after and as soon as Eddie’s neck was visible, Richie dived in, kissing and biting at the newly exposed skin while Eddie struggled to unbutton his shirt.

“Richie⎯ ah. Richie.” Eddie said, breathing heavily. “Damn it Richie I’m trying to⎯ ah!” Richie bit down on Eddie’s collarbone and his words trailed off into a moan.

“I’m sorry Eds, am I distracting you?” Richie teased, capturing the skin between his teeth ever so gently, soothing his tongue around the area while running his hands up and down Eddie’s sides, under his shirt.

“Yes you asshole.” Eddie snapped but there was an underlying whine to his voice. “If you don’t stop I won’t be able to take off my fucking shirt.”

“Oh but Eds.” Richie said in a low voice, grinding his erection against Eddie’s hip. “You’re so fun to touch.”

“Fuck. Fuck this.” Eddie said, hands abandoning his shirt to push at Richie’s chest. He was strong for his height and Richie stumbled back, taking in the sight of a very disheveled, very turned on Eddie. He advanced on Richie and pushed him again and again, until the back of his knees touched the bed and then one more time so that Richie fell back on the bed. Without Richie distracting him, Eddie undid the remaining buttons of his shirt, tossing it on the floor. Richie was glad that he was sitting down or his legs might have given out at the sight of Eddie’s naked chest, which was covered in tattoos. Fucking hell.

Richie groaned, pulling Eddie in by his wrist before tracing his fingers over the tattoos on Eddie’s arm, making his way up to the ones on his chest. “Fuck.”

Eddie fidgeted under his stare. “I got them in college. It was a big ‘fuck you’ to my mom for all the years she⎯” He stopped himself, letting out a nervous laugh. “Sorry you probably don’t want to hear about my mother right now.”

Richie flashed him a shit eating grin. “Oh no, keep going. It’s hitting all the right buttons.”

Eddie scrunched up his nose. “Seriously man?” He said. “Can we go back to⎯” He gestured at Richie and then at himself.

“Yeah. Yes please.” Richie said, staring up at Eddie with lust blown eyes. Eddie grinned and climbed on top of Richie, straddling his legs. Richie groaned, Eddie’s weight putting pressure on his already straining erection.

Eddie slammed their lips together, kissing him sloppily while trying to get Richie’s shirt off to even the field. Richie couldn’t be bothered to help him, his hands tightening on Eddie’s waist, pulling him against his body.

The buttons came undone, revealing Richie’s chest. There were no tattoos there and his chest wasn’t as smooth as Eddie’s but that didn’t stop him from staring hungrily at him, especially at the course line of hair starting below his navel and delving beneath the waistband of his jeans.

Eddie licked his lips, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead and his chest rising and falling from his heavy breathing. Richie felt his heart swell with pride knowing that Eddie was looking that way thanks to him. Not that he looked any more composed, his dick was straining against his pants and he was one accidental shift of Eddie’s hips away from blowing his load like a fucking teenager.

Eddie shoved the shirt down his shoulders and by a silent agreement they broke away after another sloppy kiss to remove their pants, knowing it will be easier and faster that way.

They fell into the bed limbs tangled together and kissing, if it could be considered that, rather just moaning and gasping against each other’s lips. Richie landed on top and he used the opportunity to grind down against Eddie, the friction feeling better now that it was just their underwear between them. Eddie followed Richie’s pace, thrusting his hips up when he pushed down, pulling at Richie’s hair and dragging a string of involuntary moans straight from the back of Richie’s throat.

“Fuck Eddie, wait wait⎯ I’m too close.” Richie said, pausing the movement of his hips, eyes shut tightly but Eddie pushed up one last time making him whine. “Fuck, Eds.” He said, a shiver running down his spine and adding to the fire in his belly. He looked up and saw Eddie smirking at him, at how much he was affecting Richie. “I’m gonna wipe that smug smile from your face you little shit.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow in a challenge. “Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try.”

Richie nodded, smirking. “I’m gonna make you swallow your words Eds.” He said, fingers grabbing the waistband of his boxers and tugging them down, exposing Eddie’s dick. His mouth watered and he licked his lips.

“I don’t think I’m the one who’s swallowing anything tonight.”

Richie snorted out a laugh and he looked up to see that Eddie’s eyes were crinkling in the corner from his own smile. A smile so cute it seemed like it didn’t belong in a moment like this but at the same time was absolutely perfect. “Nice one Eds.” He said and then leaned down to run his tongue along the vein on the underside of Eddie’s cock, circling the tip with the flat of his tongue. Eddie moaned, hips rising from the bed and Richie had to hold them down before he repeated the action.

“Fuck, Richie.” Eddie moaned, weaving his fingers on Richie’s hair. “Richie. So good.”

He pulled off, a string of saliva connecting the two and smirked at Eddie. “Where’s that smug smile now, eh Eds?”

Eddie let out a frustrated groan. “I can’t believe you can’t keep quiet even with a dick in your mouth.”

Richie chuckled, giving a half shrug. Eddie tried to push his head down and, catching the hint, Richie took him in his mouth, bobbing his head up and down, using his hand to work what he couldn’t fit into his mouth. He must have been doing a good job. Before long he could tell that Eddie was close by the way his thighs started shaking and his moans and whimpers grew louder. He picked up the pace but soon Eddie was pushing him away instead of pulling him close.

“Wait fuck. I⎯ Richie I want⎯”

“What? What do you want Eddie?” Richie asked, voice rough and husky.

Eddie met his eyes, his bottom lip was a deep red from him biting down on it. He looked absolutely wrecked. “I want to fuck you.” He said and Richie’s hips stuttered against the mattress, dick twitching in his boxers.

“Fuck. Yes please.” He said, voice coming out desperate but he was beyond the point of caring.

Eddie grinned before a crease appeared on his forehead. “I don’t have anything with me though, lube or⎯”

“I do.” He said, noticing the way Eddie’s eyebrows rose but he didn’t complain. “Wait here.”

He pushed himself off the bed, nearly tripping on the way to his suitcase. He heard Eddie laugh at him and he doubted he looked very sexy then but when he turned around, bottle of lube in one hand and a condom in the other, Eddie was staring at him like he was the hottest thing he had ever seen. It did wonders for his self esteem.

Eddie had taken his boxers all the way off, leaving him completely naked. It was only fair that Richie did the same. He tossed the supplies on the bed and remove his boxers, climbing in bed with Eddie. This time he laid down on his back, knees falling open and Eddie moved to kneel in the space between them. He popped the bottle of lube open, coating two fingers and making Richie shiver with anticipation.

“Were you expecting this to happen?” Eddie said conversationally while rubbing his fingers on Richie’s entrance. He gestured at the lube and condom on the bed next to him.

“I was hoping it would.” He said, biting on his bottom lip when he felt the first finger starting to push in. “I’m glad⎯ ah. I’m glad it’s with you Eds.”

Eddie flashed him an amused smile. “Good answer. I’m also glad it’s you Richie.” He said, slowly pushing his finger all the way in. Richie gasped at the feeling and moaned when Eddie started thrusting in and out, opening him up.

“Fuck Eddie. I can take another, come on.”

“So fucking impatient.” Eddie muttered, pulling out his fingers but only to pour more lube on them, pushing two inside Richie this time.

“Eddie.” Richie whined, digging his heels in the mattress, trying to fuck himself on Eddie’s fingers.

“I got you Rich, you’re doing so good.”

“Fuck.” Richie’s dick was rock hard, leaking against his stomach, if Eddie touched him right now he would surely come right away especially after Eddie’s fingers found that spot inside him that made him see stars and made his toes curl. He let out a soft cry. “Eddie. Fuck fuck fuck."

Eddie thrusted his fingers faster, scissoring them and making sure to rub against that spot until Richie was a shaking mess, mouth hanging open, eyes rolling to the back of his head behind his fogged up glasses.

Eddie added more lube and a third finger, feeling Richie relax and open up for him. He sped up the pace, his other hand wrapping around his own cock to try and relieve some of the pressure. He was as desperate as Richie to fuck him and it was clear neither would be able to hold it for longer.

"Eds, fuck. Eds baby I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?"

"Yes! Please⎯ fuck. Please fuck me Eddie.”

Richie whined when Eddie pulled his fingers out, feeling empty. “Don’t worry Rich, I’m going to make you feel so good I promise.”

He rolled the condom on, coated his dick with lube and moved forward on his knees until Richie felt the head of his dick pushing at his entrance. He tensed up at the intrusion instinctively and Eddie rubbed his thumbs into Richie’s hipbone to try and get him to relax. “It’s okay Rich. I got you baby, come on breathe.”

Richie let out a shuddering breath that trailed off into a moan when Eddie pushed forward. “Oh fuck.”

Eddie let out a breathy moan. “Richie. Fuck, you feel so good.” The praise made Richie whine, arching up to get more of Eddie inside him.

Slowly he bottomed up, stilling his hips to give Richie a moment to adjust. Eddie was hovering over him, hands on either side of his head watching his face closely for any sign of discomfort. Richie couldn’t see him but he could feel his stare, even if his own eyes were shut tight. “I’m good. You can move."

Eddie hesitated. "Are you sure?"

Richie nodded, opening his eyes. He felt a tear escape and he hadn’t even realized he was close to crying but Eddie’s cock felt so good and he felt so full and he needed more. "Please Eddie.” He said in a voice so wrecked and desperate it didn’t even sound like him. “I need you to fuck me.”

Eddie moaned, “Fuck okay.” He pulled out until just the head was inside before snapping his hips forward, pushing Richie up on the bed.

“Yeah, just like that Eds.”

Eddie repeated the movement, thrusting into Richie with abandon, falling into a rhythm that had Richie moaning and whimpering. “Fuck Richie you’re so fucking tight. So good, oh god.”

Richie wrapped his legs around Eddie’s waist, changing the angle and making his cock hit his prostate every couple of thrusts. He gripped the sheets with one hand and clawed at Eddie’s back with the other, unable to form words. Eddie grinned down at him.

"What? No⎯ uh. No snarky comment? Who would’ve thought the way to shut you up was with a dick up your ass?“

"Fuck⎯ ah. Fuck you man.”

“No Richie.” Eddie said, grin widening. “Fuck you.”

He picked up his pace, shutting down whatever comeback Richie was about to make. He was close, really fucking close and he could tell Eddie was too. “Eds I’m close.”

“Yeah? Me too.”

“I need⎯ fuck."

Eddie nodded, reaching between them to wrap his hand around Richie’s cock, jerking him off. Richie gasped, heat coiling in his lower abdomen until he felt like he was about to explode.

"Come on Rich. I got you, come on.”

“Eddie kiss me, fuck. Please.” Richie gasped, the last word being swallowed by Eddie’s mouth when he leaned down to capture Richie’s lips in a kiss.

It was too much, Eddie kissing him, Eddie’s hand on his cock, Eddie’s cock inside him and it pushed Richie to the edge. It was when Eddie bit down on his bottom lip, landing a particular deep thrust that was aimed just right that he finally toppled over, coming over both of their chests with a cry of Eddie Eddie Eddie.

He opened his eyes just in time to see Eddie’s jaw go slack as he gave one last thrust and with Richie clenching around him he came, emptying into the condom with a deep moan. Richie rolled his hips, helping Eddie ride out his orgasm. “Fuck, Richie.”

“You just did.” Richie muttered with a lazy smile.

That made Eddie snort. A proper, unabashed, embarrassing, piggy snort that made Richie think cute even if his cock was still up his ass. “You’re fucking ridiculous.” He said but his words were undercut by him leaning down to kiss Richie. He kissed back and they made out lazily until it became uncomfortable with Richie’s stomach covered in cum and Eddie still inside him. They broke apart and Eddie discarded the condom on his way to get a washcloth to clean both of them up.

“Thank you Eds. I don’t think I could’ve made my legs work long enough to get to the bathroom.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Eddie said with a sly grin.

“As you should. Your dick is fucking amazing man. 10/10 would use again.”

Eddie laughed, lying next to him and giving Richie a front row seat to his dimples and the way his eyes crinkled, he stared, enraptured. “Your⎯ your ass is amazing too.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh.”

“How amazing?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, pushing at Richie’s shoulder. “Now you’re just fishing for compliments. Sorry man, wrong lake.”

Richie laughed, before they both fell silent. He was lying on his side, facing Eddie, tracing the lines of the tattoos on his arm with his fingers. “Are you staying at this hotel too?"

"Yeah, I have a room upstairs.”

“Don’t use it.” Richie said, surprising himself and Eddie who raised an eyebrow at him. “Stay here tonight. I’ll buy you breakfast in the morning.”

“Breakfast comes with the room asshole.”

Richie grinned, giving a half shrug. “I told you, it’s the intention that counts.”

Eddie couldn’t help but smile. “I have an early flight tomorrow.”

Richie frowned, fingers tracing the star on Eddie’s chest now. “I thought you lived here.”

“I do, this is just a business trip. It’s only for a couple of days, there is no need to look so disappointed.” Eddie smirked.

Richie schooled his features but he knew he had been caught. “I wasn’t!” Eddie raised an eyebrow at him. “Fine, maybe I was but that’s just because I was hoping for round two.”

Eddie snorted but he didn’t deny the possibility or tried to leave. Instead he retrieved his boxers from the floor, put them on and climbed under the covers. Richie followed his lead, turning off the light on his way back to the bed. They laid awake talking for a while, it was easy⎯ talking to Eddie, and by the time they fell asleep Richie had come to the conclusion that he really liked him.

The next morning, Richie woke up to an empty bed. That didn’t strike him as odd at first, his brain still catching up with the events from last night until he shifted on the bed and felt a dull pain in his lower back that shouldn’t have been there.

“Fuck what happened last night?” He muttered under his breath, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. As soon as the words left his mouth, his mind was flooded with images from the night before, up to the actions that led to his back aching. “Eds.” He gasped, looking around the room as if it was possible that he had missed the other man. He had a split second to feel disappointed that Eddie left without saying goodbye before he noticed a note on the pillow next to him. He reached for it at the same time he put on his glasses.

Richie,

I’m sorry for leaving but I had to get to the airport and I didn’t want to wake you.

I had a great time last night with you.

Call me and when I’m back in town you can take me out for a drink. One that you actually have to pay for this time.

Eddie.

Richie smiled at Eddie’s words and his neat handwriting and the phone number scribbled on the bottom of the page.

Maybe weddings weren’t so bad after all.

Tag list: @daddyphantomtbh @yes-dillman-yes @richietoaster @beepbeeprichiellc @its-stranger-than-you-think @lemonaayyee @pennys-pet-kitty @tinyarmedtrex @richiefuckfacetozier @sam-i-am2468 @richardtoz @s-s-georgie @reddie-for-anything @eddiefuckinkaspbrak @constantreaderfool @thundercatseddie @captainbartholomew @mirandonsky @proton-disaster-blaster @alargedepresso @purplepoisonedgem @pan-ini @reddie-to-cryy @reddieforlove @trashmouthnick @multi-fandom-wby @wheezyeds @did-someone-say-reddie @madi-personal @reddie-tozibrak @lover-mouth @atownofeggs (if you want to be added, let me know!)

#reddie #meeting at a wedding #notsfw #bottom richie #tattooed eddie #very important tags right there #monse writes #anon ask

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lostgirlrewatch · 4 years

Text

1x11 - Faetal Justice (gettin real tired of your puns, Michelle, jk I never will)

Written by: Peter Mohan

Directed by: Robert Lieberman

Original Air Date: November 28, 2010

Oops. I missed a week. Sorry :( I’m back with episode 1x11.

Dyson gets framed for murdering some Dark Fae, and the gang has to prove him innocent.

Hey, remember the club, guys? Remember what that was like? Also Vex is back. Yay.

I wish my kitchen looked that fancy. I can’t keep vegetables that fresh. Their setup only looks like it will produce tasty food, though, because apparently they can’t cook for shit.

I am excited enough to see Hale that I took this screenshot for no reason.

But anyway, Bo and Kenzi are of course investigating the crime, as they do, while Dyson invokes sanctuary back at the Dal. Which basically means that Trick clears the whole bar out and lets Dyson hang out there for some amount of time where the Dark Fae can’t immediately come after him for killing one of their own.

They end up back at the club that Dyson woke up next to, which is Vex’s club. They start to suspect Vex may have something to do with framing Dyson for the murder. I can’t imagine why.

Vex makes a comment about how “another killer in the room (Bo) adds to the excitement,” to which Kenzi fiercely replies that Bo isn’t a killer. Vex is skeptical, considering how many people she has killed over the years, and suggests that he and Bo compare “scores.”

That hit below the belt.

Evony arrives at the Dal to pick up Dyson, in spite of sanctuary, because she has decided that the rules don’t apply to her. “Just think of me as a VIP,” she says. “I do.”

What a queen. Listen, is she wrong? Do the rules apply to Evony? Need they?

She has such queen energy that I love every time she shows up, even if she does absolutely nothing except make snarky comments. You have to appreciate the dominating energy of the woman in charge of the entire darker half of the supernatural underworld. She eventually backs off though.

Meanwhile, to Bo’s surprise, Lauren shows up at the precinct to discuss the case with her and Hale. (Hale invited her, and didn’t think to tell either of them that the other would be there, because he has no idea what’s going on between them.)

Bo is still pissed as fuck. I didn’t bother getting a screenshot, but the glare she gives Lauren is just as withering as it was last time.

So Lauren does...science-y stuff, I guess. I don’t really listen to what she’s saying when she talks about her science shit. I think Lauren is suggesting that Dyson turn himself in to the Dark Fae, though? So they can compare bite marks or something? Okay, I just rewatched the scene. Lauren suggests that Dyson turn himself in and wait while they go through a whole forensics analysis of the scene to determine his innocence (not acknowledging the possibility that evidence against Dyson may have been planted). Bo is like, “fuck no.” Lauren claims that in spite of the fact that she and Dyson “haven’t always been on the best of terms,” she is “actually trying to help here.”

It doesn’t end well. It’s awkward.

Hmm...*narrows eyes* Wait.

Stick around, Lauren fans. You’ll love this. I’m analyzing Lauren.

Lauren’s solutions to problems are always very...clinical. They’re clinical without fail, often to the point of being...not good solutions.

Lauren’s solution to Dyson’s problem--being accused of murder--is to have him turn himself in so that they can run tests and have the evidence prove him innocent. This is such a clearly half-assed idea, I don’t even really know why she suggested it. This idea is like if you could not care less about Dyson or this entire situation at all but you were dragged into being a part of the brainstorming session and you were forced to contribute something. It scans as laziness. Like either Lauren’s brain is too exhausted to put any energy whatsoever into trying to help Dyson, or she actually doesn’t care about him at all and is only there out of obligation and because of Bo. Hm.

Lauren’s solutions to problems don’t just rely on science, I get she’s a scientist and those are the skills she brings to the table. She goes a step farther. Her solutions are always devoid of emotion. Think about why that is.

I mean, turning Dyson in to the Dark Fae is objectively a terrible idea, first of all because they would one hundred percent immediately string him up and torture him for information. (Which is exactly what they do later in the episode!) Lauren is not stupid. She’s a smart gal. She should know this. If she knows that Dyson would be tortured, why would she suggest he turn himself in unless she has absolutely no emotional investment in his physical or mental wellbeing whatsoever? Again, it’s a clinical solution that treats the people involved as though they are pieces in a puzzle.

Second of all, Lauren suggests they run a bunch of tests and rely on forensic evidence to determine whether or not Dyson is innocent. She says, “Hopefully [the animal hairs on the body] won’t match Dyson’s DNA, and hopefully we’ll get [the results] on time.”

“That’s way too many ‘hopefully’s,” Bo snaps back.

Lauren doesn’t seem that concerned with whether the hairs do or don’t match Dyson’s DNA. I mean, “hopefully” they won’t, but she is content to take the risk, let the situation play out, and let the evidence speak.

But she is also completely ignoring the possibility that even if the evidence incriminates Dyson, it might have been planted there by whoever is trying to frame him. What then? There would be no way to prove that it was planted in time--the Dark Fae would instantly execute him, and no one could stop them because he’d be in their custody. Even a cursory review of Lauren’s half-assed, not-thought-out plan reveals that it’s past risky and more in the realm of stupid.

So you tell me. I’m more interested in hearing what anyone else has to say about her than writing what I think. What is the deal with Lauren? Why is she like this? Is she so cold and unfeeling that she doesn’t have any concern for the physical and emotional wellbeing of others? Does she just not give a fuck about Dyson specifically? Or is she so burnt out and exhausted by the mental strain of her job and her enslavement that she can’t summon any emotional energy whatsoever, and has to completely rely on cold logic to offer anything at all?

I said Lauren fans would like this because I was analyzing her, but I neglected to mention that I would also be dunking on her. Sorry if you were duped. I feel like I offered her a way out at the end there, though. Give me all your pro-Lauren arguments if you feel so inclined.

Anyway, Bo and Hale have a nice little mini-conversation afterwards. Hale confesses that he once thought Bo might be bad for Dyson, that she’d break his heart or he’d destroy himself for her.

He tells her he was wrong, and that she’s “the real deal.” How sweet.

The only witness to the crime is apparently this human girl named Porscha, who reminds Kenzi a lot of herself. Porscha is also young, on the streets, and a runaway from a bad home situation.

I don’t really care about her or like her as a character, but I do appreciate that her presence prompts Kenzi to drop a few more tidbits of information about her past here and there. For instance, she mentions that she’s been on her own since she was 15, which seems like a long time but is actually only like four years because Kenzi is 19 and therefore a literal baby.

More interesting is this exchange. Porscha comments that it must be nice that Kenzi and Bo have each other. Kenzi responds a little awkwardly. She agrees that it is nice, but then she says that she’s still getting used to it. She’s still getting used to “being noticed.” Because when she was at home, she says, it was always better to not be noticed. “That’s when things got ugly.”

Yeah. So as if we didn’t already know, Kenzi comes from an abusive home. A home that was so awful that it was better to run away and be on the streets at 15. Then she was completely alone for four years, and homeless for that entire time.

Think about it. Living with Bo like this must feel so odd. Kenzi has never lived in a house with another person before where it actually felt like a home and she actually felt safe. The way she sort of averts her eyes, tenses a little bit when she says she’s still getting used to it (Ksenia is fantastic as always by the way) is such a realistic portrayal of a response to recovery from trauma.

The way I like to think of it is this. Going from being in a long-term traumatic situation to being in a safe and loving situation is kind of like putting a frostbitten hand in warm water. Warming it up is good, it’s healing, but when your hand is so used to being cold, warming it up is going to hurt like hell. Recovering from trauma is kind of like that. Good things can hurt, especially when you’re not used to them.

But it doesn’t hurt quite so bad for Kenzi that she’s ready to flee and go back to being alone the streets, which is what is familiar to her. It just seems like it’s mildly uncomfortable. And that’s good. Because it means she can get used to being loved and having a family.

Jesus, why am I writing these things every week, they’re so long. LMAO help

So the episode ends with the reveal that it was the bartender all along! GASP! Side note: the whole reason this episode happened is because this bartender, who is clearly an adult man (physically in his 20s or 30s but actually much older since I assume he’s Fae?) was apparently “in love” with the human girl Porscha, who, based on her conversations with Kenzi, is definitely supposed to be a teenager. And also based on her conversations with Kenzi, Porscha has even “stayed over a few times” at his place. Can you say creepy? Adult man taking advantage of a young girl on the street who has no family and nowhere else to go? Grooming her? Just saying.

In a moment that I find somewhat disturbing and rather cold, the main gang all walk out and leave the bartender to be (most likely) brutally tortured and murdered by Vex and the Morrigan. That’s him up there. I mean, I know the Dark Fae are a practically untouchable political powerhouse, and there’s not really anything Bo and the others could do, but still. They totally just left this guy to his death.

But significantly, the episode ends with Bo and Dyson sharing a kiss, as they reaffirm their feelings for one another, and seemingly enter an official romantic relationship.

Oh boy! How cute. :) I wonder what’s next for these two.

Surely not heartbreak and suffering?

Big plot developments of the episode: Bo and Dyson are (it’s implied) officially an item now. This is Bo’s first legit committed relationship in the series. #dybo #neverforgetwhereitallbegan #rip #F and respect to the two people and a potato chip who like this ship #will this actually tag this post

#lost girl #bo dennis #kenzi malikov #lauren lewis #dybo #dyson #lost girl rewatch #1x11

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