#◇: we call that hopeless romanticism

[sohnric]

sweet like candy – e. sohn

pairing: eric sohn x fem! reader

genre: summer au, strangers to something more ?? fluff, suggestive. very much stargazing by the neighbourgood and fantasize by the boyz capsuled into a fic. eric is a simp and a hopeless romantic because i said so. a girl romanticizes sharing a lollipop (its me im girl)

warnings: alcohol, maybe some minimal swearing, a heated make out session that hints onto a hookup (no smut mentioned!). the use of a cheesy nickname babydoll (dont @ me or i will deactivate), reader has hair long enough for a claw clip

word count: 6.9k

a/n: almost cried while trying to name this fic somebody send help. Also this doesn't feel like my best work its kinda rushed imo but 🤠 yolo

part of the @deoboyznet summer on you event! cant believe i made it on time

a summer tradition of renting out a cabin every year invented by a couple of friends takes a turn for eric when a new addition to the circle brings him to his knees - in other words, he never knew tequila could taste so sweet.

If anyone ever asked Eric Sohn if he believed in love at first sight, he would, without a doubt, say yes. 

What was the proof he had? Well, absolutely nothing. All he ever knew about love at first sight was from romance movies he watched during lonely nights with his roommate Juyeon, never having the experience of the whole world stopping and zooming in on one particular person, taking his breath away– but to put it simply, Eric Sohn is a true romantic. Call him cheesy if you want– he wouldn’t like it, but he also wouldn’t disagree. 

On one summer afternoon, though, his world tilts in its axis– the moment comes, and he is finally able to test out his theory.

You walk out of the passenger’s side of a red 2008 Toyota Auris, hair put up into a claw clip, jean shorts showing off your long legs and a pearl white button-up opened and lazily thrown over your outfit, and suddenly, Eric Sohn finds his knees buckling and his palms sweating with affection. He was aware that Juyeon’s girlfriend was bringing her best friend to tag along to their little summer retreat (more like a trip to a cabin in the middle of the woods), but he sure as hell didn’t expect the stranger to make him feel this type of way. 

Sure, it might just be him being incredibly attracted to you. But with how fast his heart was beating when you smiled at everyone after introducing yourself to the group, he was sure he was slowly, but surely falling for you. And he was falling hard.

He feels like the world is moving in slow motion as he watches the group go and unload the car– you and your best friend Yeri were the last ones to arrive– and what wakes him up from the haze is when he watches you struggle to carry a cooler out of the trunk into the cabin, his legs dragging him closer to the vehicle and near to your body.

Now is his time to shine. “Let me help!” he hurries out, sneakers crunching on the gravel. His hands firmly grab onto the handle of the blue cooler, muscles flexing under the weight (making him wonder why you would willingly want to carry the thing and not ask him or any of the guys for help in the first place), and when your eyes look up at come in contact with his, he presses a smile to his lips. “I’m Eric, by the way.”

“Ah,” you gasp, a grateful expression breezing over your features, “thanks. I’m Y/N, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Eric hums, watching your every move. Your figure walks over to the front of the car, your head popping in close to the window to look inside, and when a satisfied look overtakes your features, Eric finds himself asking. “Is that everything?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “we can head inside, I think.”

The boy tries hard to keep his cool, he really does. But with how he’s trailing behind you like a lost puppy, attempting to find a topic that would engage him in a conversation with you, he feels like a boy that is just experiencing a crush for the first time in his life. Everything about you is enchanting– and sure, you could say he was just painfully attracted to you and this had nothing to do with love– but he was also convinced that if you asked him to jump off the Empire State Building, he would do it without giving it a second thought (which is kind of worrying, but again– it says a lot). 

You open the door to the cabin for him, and he finds himself speechless at the action. Once your eyes meet again and you offer him another subtle smile, he finds himself gasping at the sentence that comes out of your mouth.

“Hey! We’re matching, kinda,” you note, pointing towards his outfit.

And you’re right– Eric didn’t even notice at first, too enchanted with your sheer existence– but you two were indeed wearing the same thing. Jean shorts, and a white button-up– in your case, thrown over a white tank top, in Eric’s, closed (although he did leave it a bit open at the top, revealing his tanned skin). Suddenly, the boy is glad he’s wearing a red cap to cover up his hair, since he foolishly thinks the hat provides him enough shade in the face to not reveal his burning cheeks as he utters out a weak response.

“It looks so much better on you, though.”

With that, he walks into the cabin– escaping the situation, not really paying a single thought to chivalry and letting you go through the door first– and as he reaches the crowd of people in the kitchen, he prays for all high sources to find him, get to him and wipe his brain clean of all thoughts, because

even though you are basically matching (and he does think you look so much better in the outfit than he does), all he can think about is just how much more he’d like your outfit if the white button-up enveloping your body was the one he’s wearing right now instead.

The next time Eric finds courage to talk to you is when it seems like you’re not finding it to talk to anyone else yourself– the big group is currently sitting around a fire, marshmallows and sausages slowly burning in the blazing flames– and while everyone around was either talking to each other or singing along to the songs Jacob was playing on the guitar, you were sitting alone in the middle of two commotions: Chanhee and Changmin arguing about something seemingly important, and Yeri and Juyeon making out right in front of everyone’s eyes. 

And Eric was supposed to listen to Sunwoo talk about his latest heartbreak– how the man still gets no girls despite having such an objectively handsome face, Eric truly doesn’t know– but the topic of the conversation was too boring for him to engage with it. That, and he was also painfully aware of your every move– you didn’t even move much– and word– you weren’t talking to anybody– and that was slowly driving him insane.

You looked a little out of place. Eric supposes it was because you didn’t really know anyone here– except from your best friend and her awfully sappy boyfriend– but even though it was logical and a little expected for you to be a bit excluded in such a foreign circle, the man took it as his mission to make you feel as welcome and as included as he physically could.

Completely ignoring Sunwoo’s blabbering (like he was doing for the last few minutes anyway), Eric confidently (and a bit shakily– hands sweating and breath hitching in his throat) walks to the other side of the bonfire, from where he’s been watching your stone expression through the flames, and sits down in the small place between you and Changmin. Changmin wasn’t even facing you, too engrossed in the debate he was having with Chanhee, and so it was Eric’s job to wobble his bottom into the place, efficiently making the older boy move away with a light elbow jab sent into his lower back.

“Hi,” he clears his throat, “are you having fun?” he asks, but mentally curses at himself right as the question escapes his mouth– does she look like she's having fun? Of course she doesn't, you stupid idiot.

You smile at the question, though, nodding. “Yeah,” you hum, “having lots of fun listening to your friends argue and my friends making out next to my ear.”

“You seemed like it too, y’know,” Eric laughs, “they’re always like this, by the way. They’ll forget about the fight in the morning.”

“Oh, that could never be me,” you sigh, shaking your head at the sentiment.

“No?”

“No,” you shrug, “I get too petty. If we have a fight, I’m not speaking to you for at least two weeks.”

Eric finds himself laughing at your comment. “I’ll remember that for future reference.”

Straightening your back and looking at your companion– as if you were going to call him out on his subtle hint of there being any future meeting between the two of you– you suddenly gasp and swiftly turn towards the bonfire, an honest mourn escaping your lips.

“Oh fuck!” you curse under your breath as your hand reaches towards a stick that’s had its end in the flame, the device efficiently resting against a rock in a position where you didn’t have to pay any attention to the snack you were cooking– more like burning– for yourself. With a quick move for the stick, you pull the tip of it out of the scorching red of the bonfire and look at it in an examining way, as if the result would be different and the marshmallow would unburn itself if you stared at it long enough. “I completely forgot about this!”

Eric takes a glance at the burnt piece of fluff, letting out a laugh at the black marshmallow in front of your face. “That’s not how you make a good s’more,” he notes, poking fun at your annoyed face.

“Oh, no shit, Sherlock…” you mutter under your breath, but your face looks a bit sad to see the piece go to waste. “I don’t know why I even tried, I’m bad at this stuff.”

There comes his moment, Eric thinks. “Well, you’re lucky, ‘cause you just met an expert at making s’mores.”

“Does a thing like that even exist?” you chuckle, rolling your eyes at the male in disbelief. 

“Of course it does! You’re looking at one now,” he grins, leaning over you to take a brand new marshmallow out of the bag to your right– sandwiched between your thigh and the couple in love– before he reaches over to your hand and takes the roasting stick out of your hand, slides the white fluffy cloud through the sharp tip and hovers it above the flame.

“The key is to hold it above the flame, and not in the flame,” Eric chuckles as he looks at you from the corner of his eye, watching your expression change.

“Oh, but I thought the key is to burn the thing,” you ironically gasp, shaking your head at his teasing. “Where did you even learn all of this?”

“I grew up in the States,” Eric hums, “they would deport me if I didn’t know how to make s’mores.”

The comment gets a giggle out of you– a sound Eric almost folds at and falls into the open fire (thankfully, he held his composure– he doesn’t think 3rd degree burns would suit his look) – and it takes everything in him to not scream like a teenage girl at the thought of making you laugh. Yes, that’s how down bad you managed to get the male.

“Do you have a special recipe?”

“Just the basic one,” he shrugs, turning the skewer in his hand to make the marshmallow equally glazed on each side, “I will make it extra good for you, though.”

“I thought a master always does their best?” you tease, watching as the boy crumbles under your gaze.

“Not always. I don’t like to put effort into things that aren’t worth it,” Eric hums as he takes the marshmallow out of the burning fire, examining it, and after deeming it worthy, taking the skewer and holding it up in between his knees. The male takes a graham cracker and tears it in half, before adding chocolate to one of the sides. After he’s done, he carefully places the golden fluff ball onto the cracker and closes it, offering the sweet sandwich to you with a subtle smile.

“For you,” he winks as he turns back towards the fire, putting another marshmallow onto the stick to make himself a s’more as well (and also mentally kicking himself at the sudden burst of courage). He hears you take a bite out of the snack, his knee bouncing up and down nervously as he awaits the verdict.

“Man,” you hum, “this is so good.”

“Told you,” he says, “if there’s something I’m confident in, it’s making s’mores.”

“That’s a very unuseful skill to have,” you note, but continue to eat. The comment has him chuckle and shrug.

“Well, I used it now, so I’d argue it’s actually very useful.”

A hum cuts out of your throat at this, finishing the s’more he made for you with a satisfied sigh. “Is this how you got girls back in the States?” you ask, making the male choke on his spit.

Eric was too young to get girls when he learned how to make the greatest s’mores. He went camping with his dad and his older sister and he burned a couple before he got it right. He was in middle school and before what the kids call a glow-up these days (back in the days, you just called it overcoming puberty), but still– he decides to test the waters with another lazy, half-assed flirty comment. “Only the pretty ones.”

He hears a chuckle out of you– a reaction he decides to not pay much attention to or overthink, for he doesn’t really remember what a good reaction to flirting is anymore– but then, you sigh and nod. “Well, I give your s’more a 5 star review, so I’d find that believable.”

The comment has Eric press his tongue into the inside of his cheek, battling a victorious smile that wants to oh so desperately appear on his lips. Turning his attention fully to you, he looks at you with confidence coating his insides– it only grows when he notices you staring at the side of his face, the flame of the fire twinkling in your eye and making your features sharper and twice as attractive to the poor boy. 

His eyes scan you over for a few seconds before he notices a glimmer of something on the side of your lip– a chocolate stain that has him cautiously lean in and swipe a thumb over the sweetness, not even thinking twice before smoothing his finger over your skin. 

“You had a little… something there,” he hums as he licks the chocolate off his thumb. Your eyes still trained on him force him to avert his gaze back to the fire– for it was unbearable, as if sparks were flying and burning his skin, everything about the interaction making goosebumps appear over his body; even though he felt hot in his cheeks and not at all cold– when the sight of his marshmallow in flames suddenly comes to him, startling him awake.

Hurriedly dragging out the burnt snack out of the fire, he hears you chuckle at him from the side– so much for not ruining the moment. (It’s okay, though. As long as you’re entertained.)

“I thought you were a master at s’mores,” you poke fun at him, “got distracted?”

Meeting eyes with you, Eric shrugs, a lazy grin settling to his lips. “I guess you could say that.”

The night progresses quickly– with Sunwoo getting so drunk he borrows Jacob’s guitar and clumsily strums the strings, freestyle rapping about the most random topics with flushed cheeks and eyes dramatically glued to the fire; Hyunjae wanting to have a competition of who can jump over the flames and Sangyeon having to stop his drunk friend with the force of his own body– and Eric finds his eyes lacking the candy he’s been occupying himself with the whole evening. You disappeared somewhere into the house a few minutes ago, and although he didn’t want to be clingy, he walked up to the cabin with a nervous pep in his step– that’s it, he just wanted to make sure you were okay.

Eric walks through the doorway, having his body immediately be met with the joined common room slash kitchen area. The cabin is kind of small (too small for the amount of people currently occupying it) and kind of old, but it’s a tradition to rent it every year during the summer, so no one ever questioned the decision or made the move to rent out a bigger one, no matter the growing friend group.

Your figure finally appears in the dimly lit kitchen area, your back turned to the doorway. Standing at the kitchen sink, it seems like you were doing the dishes– tons of plates used to carry grilled meat and sausages dumped carelessly into the sink, forgotten in a minute and leaving the last remains of food dry up on them and get hard to scrape off, a couple of glasses and mugs with their ears broken off from their age waiting with coffee stains at the bottom– and Eric immediately feels his heart fall down to his stomach, because why would one do the dishes in the middle of the night? Those usually get left there until the morning, when the least hungover person will take mercy on the rest and take care of them. Were you feeling excluded from the conversation? Did you feel bored? 

“What are you doing here so alone?” he asks, making you turn your head over your shoulder and smile at him– a stone falling off his heart at the action– before you shrug at him.

“Washing the dishes,” you say, as if it wasn’t clear already.

“I see that,” Eric chuckles, “what I meant to say was, why are you washing the dishes in the first place?”

“Well, somebody’s gotta do it.” 

Eric huffs– and he doesn’t even know why he’s so defensive about it. “That someone didn’t have to be you, y’know.”

He’s standing next to you now– your eyes meeting as you stare at the boy for a heartbeat– a smile spreading on your face at his furrowed brows. The action has him visibly relax, watching as you shrug and get back to the dish washing. “I just wanted some alone time for a bit,” you muse, “outside was getting too loud for a second, I’m not used to crowds.”

“Ah… once Sunwoo drinks, he can’t shut up, so I kinda get that it was starting to feel insufferable,” Eric notes, nodding at you in acknowledgement before the realization hits him. “Wait– you said you wanted to be alone, so I should probably-”

You halt him with a soft laugh– the one Eric finds his heart liking a little too much, with how it jumps up and down and makes all of him feel warm inside– a soapy hand reaching out in his direction. “It’s okay, you can stay,” you muse, “I enjoy your company.”

“O-okay,” Eric stutters– so much for the smooth lines he had prepared in his head before coming in here, all of them flying out of his head straight out of the window– and to not seem so silly, he gets his hands occupied and reaches for the clean dishes you started stacking on the counter next to the sink, deciding to dry them and put them away. The kitchen falls into a comfortable silence that only gets broken by an occasional scream landing through the walls from outside, and Eric can’t help but indulge himself in the domesticity of the act.

He can almost imagine you two washing the dishes like this in your shared apartment after you two cook dinner together and eat it in your cozy living room. That scenario sounds almost too good for the boy, having warmth slowly ooze into his cheeks, and that, he finds to be the hint that he should probably stop thinking about you in that way now or else he’ll get too distracted and break the glasses he is currently putting away. (God forbid– there were not enough of them for the entire friend group in the first place.)

“Are you having a good time, though?” Eric finds himself asking through his weird delirium.

You smile– oh god you smile, you should stop doing that if you want him to survive the night– and nod at the boy, calmness overtaking your aura and slipping into his cracks as well. “I am. It’s nice meeting new people and everyone’s very nice,” you say.

“That’s good to hear. How long have you and Yeri been friends?”

“A couple of years,” you note, “we met during high school. We always dreamt of moving away to college and living together at dorms or something, so it’s… it’s nice that it worked out for us,” you say, having Eric nod at your words with a sweet smile.

“That’s great to hear,” he muses, “I met Juyeon and Sunwoo in my freshman year of college, and the rest just… came along after a while.”

“Your friend group is pretty big,” you point out, having the boy shrug.

“I guess so,” Eric mumbles, never really thinking of it this way– in his eyes, this was normal. This was how he operated, how he lived. A lot of people around him, always close– one would think such a large friend group wouldn’t be as close with each other, but it’s quite the opposite in his case, he thinks. Maybe he was just blessed.

“How do you do that?” you sigh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I dunno,” he snickers, “guess you could say I’m quite the social butterfly.”

“I can see that,” you laugh. Eric watches you, his hands now empty of any dish– he’s been drying them quicker than you manage to clean (and rightfully so, the food is stuck on there) – he starts noticing the details of your sheer presence. How you have a slight smile playing with your lips even when your eyes are glued to the sink, how your hair slightly slips out of the claw clip and frames your face, how close you’re standing– his eyes slip towards your hands, noticing the water running down your forearms and dangerously close to the sleeves of your shirt.

Acting on reflex, mostly, the boy reaches towards your sleeves and gently tugs them up, the contact of your skin that he initiates and should realistically be prepared for making the tips of his fingers tingle, the action having you stop in your movements and glance up at him through your eyelashes– a sight he wishes he could engrave into the back of his eyelids so he could stare at it forever and always.

“Thank you,” you hum, voice barely louder than a whisper when he retracts away from you, taking his previous stance against the kitchen counter.

Eric hangs his head low for a second, clearing his throat to ease his own tension. Now is your turn to start up the conversation, a casual question falling off your lips as you get back to washing the last remains of dishes. “Yeri said you come here often?” 

The boy nods enthusiastically to your sentence. “We do. We started in freshman year, because Juyeon was going to this exchange program to Paris for a couple of months, so we threw him a goodbye party. Then he came back, so we threw a welcome back party here. And then we celebrated Younghoon hyung’s birthday here, and it kind of stuck, I guess? We go here at least once a year during summer.”

“That’s a nice tradition to have,” you sigh, turning the faucet off as you finish rinsing off the last dish– a big bowl that Sangyeon used to marinate the meat a few hours ago.

“It is,” Eric nods, smiling fondly at the sentiment. He reaches for the bowl and dries it with the now damp rag (there were a lot of dishes to dry, after all), and moves to put it back to its place under the sink. With your figure still in its previous spot, the boy puts away the towel onto the kitchen counter and gently grabs your waist with his free hand, moving you away a few inches to the left. He crouches and opens the cabinet under the sink and puts the bowl into the pyramid of other ones, straightening his back when he goes back into a standing position, catching you staring at him from above, watching his every move. Your body is leaning against the counter, having Eric mirror your stance only a few inches away from you before speaking up again. 

“You’re welcome to join us when we come back next time.”

The time reads 3AM– or at least that’s what his circadian rhythm tells him, because he doesn't bother to check as he twists and turns in the bed, too hot and too alert to fall asleep– when Eric decides to walk down the steep stairs and try to get some fresh air. The cabin is hot inside, but he still takes his lost button-up that he had thrown over one of the kitchen chairs and puts it on before he makes his way outside, knowing that the forest will make his bones get cold with the crisp breeze. 

He opens the door and moves to sit on the little patio– the silence of outside is overwhelming even after the cabin has quieted down and everyone has gone to sleep (each one on a different level of tipsy ranging from completely chill Sangyeon to doesn’t know where he is Sunwoo– with Eric somewhere in the middle of the spectrum). His legs drag a little tiredly as he scans his surroundings– god forbid there’s a bear out waiting for him– when the sight of a figure sitting on the floor takes him by surprise, their head already turned to him after hearing the sound of the door opening. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks as he walks over to you, noticing your frame dressed in a tank top and sweatpants, hinting that you at least tried to get some sleep before coming out here, just like he has.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you shrug, confirming his suspicions.

“Same here,” the man sighs, “mind if I sit with you?”

“You’re welcome to join me,” you smile at him, patting the floor next to you and watching as Eric crouches down before taking a seat on the wood, ignoring the sunbeds and old rattan chairs situated all over the patio. (If you’re on the floor, he’s on the floor– it’s as simple as that.)

You’re holding a lollipop in between your fingers, your other hand occupied with a half-empty bottle of tequila that was previously passed around the circle at the bonfire. Eric raises his brows at the sight, having you shamefully avert your gaze from him.

“I thought it would be a waste to not finish this,” you say, snickering, “and I also… kind of hoped that it would put me to sleep…”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures?” 

“I guess you could say that,” you laugh. Taking a sip from the bottle, you gulp the alcohol down before putting the lollipop inside of your mouth, sucking on it and licking your lips after. This is not the way you’re supposed to drink tequila, but Eric figures that gathering salt and a lime would be too much work anyways.

“Are you really using that lollipop as a chaser?” he giggles, making you hum.

“Yeah,” you stare at him, a grin overtaking your features, “this girl taught me to do that at a party last year. It’s not as good as literally anything else, but it gets the job done. Wanna try?” you ask, offering him the sweetness on the stick and the bottle.

The truth is, you were only a bit tipsy when the group slowly started to scatter into their beds. Eric didn’t drink as much either– only enough to make him laugh at everything that was said and make his staring at you twice as obvious as it was before– so he thinks he can take some more. As you said, it would be a shame if the bottle went to waste– and also, something about the idea of drinking with you alone on the patio was making his hopeless heart hammer against his chest in dangerous measures.

“Sure,” he agrees, taking the bottle first. The boy takes a sip, feeling the alcohol burn down his throat, and when he moves the dark brown glass away from his lips, he is met with the image of you leaning closer to him, offering him the lollipop. His hand instinctively grabs the plastic stick, thinking you’re letting go of it, when he’s met with the feeling of your flesh under his fingertips. You put the lollipop against his lips, making him open up on instinct and suck on the strawberry flavored candy, a million different sensations (all unrelated to the alcohol) swimming through his brain– you’re so close, you smell so good, he’s holding your hand, he’s sucking on the lollipop you previously had in between your lips and it’s driving him crazy– before you take the candy out from between his lips and put it back into your mouth, tongue swirling around the sweet ball. 

The lollipop had an aftertaste of tequila on it, but it was enough to chase down the faint bitterness– Eric finds himself wanting to taste more of the sweet strawberry, but foolishly desiring to get the sensation off your lips instead. His eyes stay locked with yours throughout the whole exchange, sparks flying in between the two of you even though the bonfire has long gone out, his fingers lazily dropping from the candy.

“How was it?” you ask, voice barely louder than a whisper– goosebumps appearing all over Eric’s skin when he swears your eyes flicker to his lips for a split second. 

“Good,” he admits. It’s silly how he feels so breathless at the action.

The sound of the wind playing with the leaves of the forest is the only thing accompanying you two. It’s as if you two were thinking of the same thing when you pull out the lollipop out of your mouth and offer it back to Eric, watching with utmost interest as the boy leans closer to capture it in between his lips, never breaking eye contact. The action feels a little too electrifying to him, a little too intimate, but he can't stop– can't even imagine wanting to.

Taking a sip of the tequila, but not chasing it down with the candy, you speak up again, lazy eyes practically glued to him. “This would be a perfect moment for a kiss…” you mumble, licking your bottom lip for a split second before biting down on it.

“Are you flirting with me?” Eric foolishly asks, tone of voice a bit weak, a little unsure, the candy still in his mouth, making his words come out a little jambled.

“Mhm,” you nod, grinning to yourself– Eric wonders how much of your behavior and how much of his raging heartbeat is due to the effect of alcohol in both of your veins.

His fingers pull at yours as he takes the candy out of his mouth, voice dropping as he answers you. “Then we probably shouldn’t waste the moment.”

Even though the intentions are clear, the boy can’t bring himself to make the first move– he’s completely enchanted with your presence, staring at you with tension in his shoulders and eyes trained onto your face, watching and examining it for any shift or change. Focused on the way you move, he thinks you must have realized you were going to have to be the one to take the first step– your lazily smile before you lean closer, impossibly close– making Eric’s eyes flutter shut with anticipation, your breath fanning his face making goosebumps appear all over his body.

When your lips finally touch his, he feels like he’s being kissed for the first time again, with the amount of fuzziness in his stomach and buzzing in his ears. He regains his composure quite quickly, though, as he positions his head in a way that makes you two even closer to each other, lips pressing firmer against yours now. His hand instinctively reaches out to hold your jaw, fingertips glazing the soft skin under them, your lips retracting only to go in for more. 

Blindly placing the bottle onto the floor next to your bodies, you peck his lips and sigh into the kiss. “Damn, you’re good at this…”

“We’re only getting started,” he muses, making you chuckle. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm,” he nods, watching as you once again lean in and suck on his upper lip, making his eyes flutter close again. A weight appears over him as you shift in your place and move to straddle his lap, your hand moving to cup his cheek and tilt him upwards, everything about the kisses getting more hurried– less gentle, less hesitant– when you tug on his bottom lip with your teeth and grant your tongue entry into his mouth.

Sweetness mixes in between you, your hands moving around his neck, heavy breaths shared across the patio. Eric feels like he’s levitating, his body having an out of body experience, yet being awfully present– every little shift pushing him to overdrive, the slightest touch making his skin burn and heart drum against his ribcage.

You shift in his lap, making him huff under the pressure, his lips trailing wet kisses down the side of your neck. Teeth glazing the jointure of your shoulder, kitten licking the place and sucking in a bruise that will eventually be visible to everyone when you two wake up in the morning, Eric feels your hands tugging down the sleeves of his shirt, fingers feeling up his biceps. The action makes him chuckle into your neck, but the smile fades quickly as he feels your nails scratching gently at his flaming skin.

“Take this off,” you mutter, and Eric finds it endearing– helping you take him out of the button-up, sitting under you in just a white tank top and black basketball shorts. 

“Why?” 

“Your arms looked good in this,” you hiss before you hide your face into his neck, leaning down to give him your fair share of kisses and love bites, having the male teasingly joke as his hands run up under your tank top, painfully aware of the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra anymore.

He moves his head to the side to give you more access before speaking out, tone of voice husky and coated in lust. “What if I get cold now?” 

“Then I’m more than happy to move this to your room,” you purr into his ear.

Eric sighs, fingers playing with the hem of your top before he lets his palms drift towards your exposed stomach, roaming across naked skin. Goosebumps appear all over your body at the action, making the boy victoriously grin. “It looks like you’re the one that's cold, though, babydoll.”

Rolling your eyes at the male, you shut him up by latching yourself onto his lips before you speak against his mouth. “I’ll take that as an invitation, then?”

“Wake up Eric! The girls are leaving, you should at least go say goodbye!” Sangyeon roars into the boy's room, making the male turn over in the bed and huff out in frustration. He drags his arm up to shield his eyes from the sunlight hitting his face, the intention of just rolling over and sleeping more written very clearly in his face.

“Come on man, we’re leaving in an hour too, so you should go send them off and then pack your shit so we can load the cars,” Sangyeon says when he gets no reaction from the youngest. It’s to no use, apparently, and so as the oldest and most observant out of the group, Sangyeon decides to use physical force– he knows Eric would hate to have you go without saying goodbye. He’s not stupid. Or blind. 

A strong hold on his calves drags Eric out of the bed and makes his half-naked body fall to the floor, a yelp coming out of his throat finally making Eric’s body fully alert and awake. 

“Yo! What the fuck–”

“Put a shirt on and go say goodbye to Y/N before she goes, would you, sleeping beauty?” Sangyeon huffs before rolling his eyes at his younger friend, escaping the room and shutting the door close after himself with a loud thud (to add more effect to the scolding, Eric thinks).

The mention of your name has Eric quickly scrambling out of the bed. His heart hammers at the adrenaline rush, pulling a clean shirt out of his bag and dragging it over his head, the basketball shorts from yesterday’s night found on the floor being pulled over his lower frame in approximately 0.5 seconds. Eric takes the stairs 3 at a time– with how steep they are, he questions how exactly does he not trip and break his spine on his way down– and puts on a pair of slippers he finds at the door (that are not his, or his size, for the matter, making his heels comically stick out from the back). 

Without checking his appearance in the mirror anywhere, he swings the door open and walks out of the cabin, watching as the group settles in a half-circle around your car, Yeri loading the trunk with her duffle bag before she closes it shut and smiles at her boyfriend Juyeon on the side. Eric joins the crowd, clearing his throat when his eyes fall onto your figure, the sight in front of him freezing him in his spot.

You’re standing there, in your jean shorts from the day before, an oversized white button-up enveloping your frame. A clueless stranger might not tell the difference, but he does– you put the shirt onto your bare skin and buttoned it just enough to reveal a bit of your cleavage– and it’s so similar to the outfit you had on yesterday, just with one difference. 

You’re wearing Eric’s shirt. You’re wearing his shirt and your neck is scattered with red and purple-ish bruises, and no, Eric wasn’t that drunk and he remembers everything, but the events of last night suddenly play out right in front of his eyes like a movie, still nailing him to his spot and wiping out all of his vocabulary.

The boy feels hot in his cheeks as he watches you and your best friend pay your goodbyes to the rest of the boys, the men pulling you into side-hugs and fist bumps, shared ‘It was nice meeting you’s and ‘You should come by next time too’s resonating through the place. Soon enough, you reach the end of the make-shift half circle and lock your eyes with Eric, a playful smile softly appearing on your face.

“It was nice meeting you, Eric,” you hum, “I had fun,” you note, shooting him a knowing look.

“Me too,” he nods, nervously chewing on his bottom lip. He doesn’t know where the confidence of last night went, but he suddenly feels unarmed and lost. What does one do now?

The sight of you in his shirt makes him feel like his biggest (wet) dream has come true– call him cheesy, but it also wakes up a sense of déja vu in him from the day before– you with sunlight in your eyes, hair messed up in a claw clip. He feels like he just fell in love at first sight again. Is that even possible?

It’s good you have a sense in you that makes you take the initiative and be in charge when you see him faltering. A giggle cuts out of your throat as you lean in and hug the boy around his neck, your lips dangerously close to his ear as you speak in a hushed whisper, not wanting to be heard by the men around you.

“I stole your shirt from you, by the way. You should text me if you want it back, so we can meet up, or something,” you mouth, lips gently glazing the sensitive skin of Eric’s ear, and god does he feel like he's going to suffocate from the lack of oxygen this causes in his lungs.

“You look amazing in my clothes, so I won’t ask for it back,” Eric hums, “but I’ll text you just in case you ever wanna bless my eyes with the sight again.”

“Deal. I’ll make Juyeon text me your number,” you say before you pull away from him, shooting him a wink that almost has his knees buckling like a school boy in love for the first time.

You walk backwards and wave at the group, sending Eric one last look before you join the passenger’s side and close the car door behind you, the sound of Yeri starting the engine resonating through the quiet forest. The men wave at you until the Toyota disappears out of sight, only scattering inside when it does to gather their things and load up their cars as well.

Eric is woken up from his trance by a teasing whistle coming out of Sunwoo’s mouth and a father-like slap to his back from Sangyeon.

He wonders if he’s truly being so obvious. (He's unaware of the fact that you two had very visible matching love bites on your necks. It doesn’t take much effort to put two and two together– don't tell him that, though.)

Still, Eric shrugs and goes inside with a different kind of pep to his step. 

When he licks his lips, he swears he can still taste the strawberries.

[chain-peoplebreaker]

Alhaitham in an Art Nouveau inspired style Here's a thread I wrote about this concept on Twitter, below the cut will be a copy of the text, sorry if it takes a weird format on tumblr since it was initially written as a twt thread

This might not make a lot of sense to some of you but before i talk about Alhaitham and Art Nouveau i'd like to talk about Kaveh and Romanticism The connection between Kaveh and Romanticism can be more easily done, specially with characters such as Faruzan calling him a romantic

The Romantic movement, as the name suggest, is very emotionally driven. Its a movement that values individualism ane subjectvism, it's objective is on evoking an emotional response, most comonly being feelings of sympathy, awe, fear, dread and wonder in relation to the world

Basically the artistic view of the Romantic is to represent the world while trying to say "we are hopeless in the grand scheme of things, little can we do to change the world yet the world is always changing us"

In Romantic pieces the man is always small compared to the setting they find themselves in, see the painting Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog by Caspar David Friedrich as an example, the human figure is central but relativelly insignificant to the world

Another thing about Romanticism is the importance of beauty, it's through it that the Romantic seeks to get in touch with their emotions and ituition and its through these lenses that they see the world. The Kaveh comparison should be easy to make with these descriptions

Kaveh's idle chat "The ability to ability to appreciat beauty is an important virtue" just cements to me the idea that his romanticism is closely connected to the artistic movement. He does have an argument agaisnt this connection but I'll bring it up later on the thread

Now that I used the opportunity to talk about my favorite character in a thread that wasn't supposed to be about him let's go back to Alhaitham and how to connect him to the Art Nouveau movement

But seriously, I brought up Kaveh's more obvious connection to Romanticism because the Nouveau movement was created as a direct mirrored response to the Romantic movement, and we all know how we feel about mirrored themes between these two characters

Art Nouveau is about rationality and logic, the movement was used more comonly on mass produced interior design pieces or architectural buildings, it's a movement much more focused on functionality than on art appreciation

They also had a big focus on the natural world but in a very different way, while Romantics saw nature as a power they couldnt contend with, artists from the Nouveau used the natural as an universal symbolical theme for broad mass appeal

Flowers, leaves, branches, complexes and organic shapes are the basis of this style, the logical side of it coming from the mathematics needed to create these shapes and themes in ways that were appealing and also structurally sound

To appreciate the Art Nouveau style is to understand it is a calculated artistic movement (another reason to be salty about an AI generated image trying to emulate it) In short, this style is less about the art and more about the rationality in the mathematics to make it

Another note I'd like to point out is that I love how both Alhaitham and Kaveh have dendro visions while both movements are so nature centric in different ways, Romanticism seeing it as a subjective power and Art Nouveau seeing it as recognizeable symbols

I mentioned an argument against the Kaveh comparison before: the one thing that bothers me about Romanticism is how negative it is in relation to humanity's position in the world and how that related back to Kaveh

In the Parade of Providence it was explicitely showed how much Kaveh dislikes the idea of people seeing themselves as helpless in relation to the problems of the world

People may suffer but there is something he can do to help them and he will do it

It doesn't feel right for me to say that Kaveh fits the Romantic themes because of his suffering, in a similar sense it also doesn't feel right to me to say Alhaitham fits Art Nouveau because of his rational behaviour while he as a character is a lot more complex than that

This thread was done all in fun and love for an artistic discussion, it's not a perfect argument to connect these characters and movements

+ I haven't studied art history in a year, if anyone knows more about these movements please tell me I love learning new things

++ Really sorry if my english is bad or I sound repetitive, it's not my first language and im trying my best here

Thanks for reading

I love you, have a nice day/evening/night

[mccn-bcys]

JUST A TOUCH OF YOUR HAND pt. 3

pairing: moonboys x fem!reader

summary: jake finally makes his debut to ask the reader a question the boys have been dying to ask. reader gives her answer and jake is just a cutie.

warning: jake (he's a warning, yes), just some nice fluff for ya.

authors note: okay ik a lot of you have been wanting this chapter for a long time (sorry about the long wait, I had a lot going on the past couple of months). this chapter isn't as long as the others but it just felt right to have this one be short and sweet. the next chapter, maybe we'll see some more of marc 😏🤭

word count: 1,028

and then there was jake. it was funny actually. he'd been dreaming of meeting his soulmate since he had gotten the stain. and he had so badly wanted to meet you when you first brushed against their hand on the sidewalk that day.

god how he wanted to meet you. and yet he couldn't make himself front. even when steven or marc would hand it over to him, especially when you'd plan days to meet and spend with him, he just couldn't front.

none of them understood it. it's like he'd freeze up. it was eating him up. he was pretty sure he was in love with you – actually he was positive he was in love with you. and he'd never even actually met you!

you, being the amazing person you were, were so patient with him. whenever you'd see the boys on the days you were going to meet jake, and find out he wasn't fronting, you'd have marc or steven tell him you didn't mind waiting.

"you boys are all worth waiting for," you'd say, making them melt.

and jake would try more to front around you and it just wouldn't happen. he couldn't figure out why. although on a deeper level, he knew why.

he supposed he wasn't much different than marc. as much of a hopeless romantic as he was, he also knew his reputation. it was said reputation that caused him to romanticize the thought of a soulmate. he never really thought himself capable of being loved. if marc thought his hands were stained with blood, jake was swimming in it.

if he was realistic, he couldn't imagine why you would love him. he was ruthless, he could be cold, he had a tendency to shut people out if they got too close.

But he wanted you to get too close. He wanted to able to talk to you, learn about you and not through the other two. He wanted to hold you and comfort you, and be held and be comforted by you.

but like marc, he'd been scared. scared you'd run for it, if you knew him. everyone else did.

and yet here you were: sitting across the table, smiling so wide, eyes so patient, like he's your favorite person in the world. if you kept going, he's sure he would probably cry.

"jake?" you called cautiously, breaking him from his thoughts. his eyes snap to yours, smiling at you. he thinks: 'they're right...the way she says our names is addicting.'

"sí, amor?" he answers softly, but you seem to brighten up even more.

"yes," you simply said.

his eyebrows furrow. had he asked a question?

yes, you did, you bloody idiot!

holy shit...she actually said yes...

"yes?" he repeated, since his alters weren't helping him at all.

you laughed at that, at him seemingly forgetting his own question. he loved that sound.

"you asked me to move in," you reminded him patiently.

"and you said yes?"

"I did."

"but you don't know me," he tries to reason, because how on earth would you have agreed to move in with the mess of these three men?

"I know that i love marc and steven, and if I love them, i already love you too," were you trying to kill him?

"why?"

that threw you for a loop. you hadn't been expecting it. why did you love this man you've never actually met?

"well...for starters, we're soulmates-"

"that doesn't mean that I'm not a terrible person." steven had warned you of this. that he might try to talk of himself like this.

"but you're not-"

"you don't know that."

"except that I do."

"how could you possibly know that?"

"because I just do-"

"amor, that's not an answ-"

"I know because you're a weirdo who wears gloves while he drives a limo. You send a bouquet of my favorite flowers every time you can't front when we planned. I know because I can feel you follow me home every night after work when you're patrolling, making sure I get home safe. I know because marc's told me that you can't pass a cat without petting it. I know because I *know.* You're a *good man,* jake," you say, looking at him completely serious.

and for the first time in a long time, every voice in his head is silent. they're at a loss for words. there's this strange feeling in jake's heart and he's never felt it before.

what is that, he thinks.

that's love, jake.

it feels like a heart attack.

yeah...it's great, innit?

you watch him closely while he's silent, watching to see if you've overstepped somehow. to try and see what he's feeling. amd when he stands, you're worried he's leaving. that he's going to change his mind about wanting you to move in.

but he quickly crosses over to you and he cups your face, gentle as he is urgent, and leans down and kisses you, deeply, passionately. and for a moment, you're confused. but you quickly kiss him back, matching his energy, his passion. after a moment, he pulls away, both of you panting lightly, breathless from the kiss. he presses his forehead to yours, looking into your eyes so intensely you swear he can see your soul.

"te amo jodidamente mucho," he says, voice barely above a whisper.

"I love you too," you say back softly, meaning every word.

jake has feel that twist in his heart again, but he knows what it is now. it's love. and it's strange and foreign but...he thinks he likes it. he feels like he's never smiled so wide in his life. he presses one more soft kiss to your lips before moving back to his seat at the table.

"so...tell me about these gloves you bought me," he grins.

and you start talking about them, explaining every detail about them and why you thought he'd like them. he swears he's never smiled so dopey in his life, talking to you about anything and everything you wanted to talk about. he'd finally fronted and he'll be damned if he doesn't take advantage of every single second he gets with you.

______________________________________________________________

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[deus-sema]

My dear Haladriels/Saurondriels,

I understand that we all here are very passionate about this ship of ours. But, as responsible and law abiding citizens of whichever country each of us belongs to, it is also our duty to weed out the bad apples in our midst who besmirch the good name of our community within the fandom.

Unlike the rest of us sensible and well meaning souls who know how to ship in a proper and decent manner, these notorious shippers have crossed all limits when it comes to delusion and their audacity knows no bounds. In the name of all that is good and just, they need to be called out.

Here are those individuals. If you come across them anywhere do NOT engage. They are beyond saving. Just block/report and move on. If it were upto me, I would have them jailed and locked away from civilized society but alas.

(1) Lost Cause #1

This guy is unbelievable for he comes up with the most outlandish headcanons about Sauron and Galadriel. He romanticizes the hell out of them and spends the entire day writing fluffy AUs where they end up happily ever after and have five kids or angsty ones where they pine for each other. Tch tch. I bet he doesn't know or understand anything about the books or the characters and is simply projecting onto Galadriel and trying to live his fantasy of fixing Sauron through her. It's okay if he wants to do that but then he starts acting like it's canon and it gets annoying. Someone please tell him Galadriel and Sauron aren't star crossed lovers.

(2) Lost Cause #2

Then there this dude who is legit dangerous. The first one was just an ignorant soul who romanticizes them whereas this one sexualizes the ship. Can you believe it?! He sexualizes the Lady Of Light and the Dark Lord. His fics are all porn and no plot. His fanart is blasphemous NSFW. He also prefers the ship when it involves dead dove, non con, stalking and obsession, all of which are supposed to be unhealthy, dangerous and illegal. I'm worried about his well being. If you ask me, like the other guy, he is projecting onto Galadriel too but instead of fixing the sexy bad boy, he wants to make Sauron worse. He,too, understands nothing about the books.

(3) Lost Cause #3

Last, but not the least, there is this guy who is.............hopeless. The other two shippers can still be rehabilitated with some time and effort but stay the fuck away from this one. He doesn't believe Sauron and Galadriel don't end up together. Those two live in AUs but for him, his AU is canon. He fully expects Sauron and Galadriel to ride off to the sunset together and won't let anyone stand in his way. Be it Amazon or the Tolkien Estate. As we waste time on social media, he is devising a means to travel back in time, hold Tolkien at gunpoint and force him to make Saurondriel endgame in the books.

Now, remember everyone. We are NOT like these shippers. We are good shipperses. Nice shipperses who stay in our lane. Sweet shipperses.

[babydollmarauders]

BF DAY — JOHN MARINO

part of the maraschino cherry!au

y/nmercer

liked by john.marino97, dawson1417, and 4,962 others

y/nmercer happy national boyfriend’s day to my Johnny ♥️

it took us a while to get together, but i’m so happy to be able to call you my abnormally tall boyfriend.

thank you for buying me romance books and flowers, for cuddling with me for at least an hour everyday, and indulging me in my hopeless romanticism. i could never have imagined that following my brother to New Jersey would’ve brought me you, but i’m so glad that it did.

i love the way you look at me, and the fact that you encourage my odd flirting. i love how smart you are and how much you strive to make me smile. i love that you let me listen to your heartbeat when i’m sad, and that you hold my hand no matter where we are or what we’re doing. but most of all, i love you and everything that makes you, you.

tagged john.marino97

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dawson1417 @/john.marino97 hey, watch your hand placement, eh?

y/nmercer shut up, bubba! you can’t scare this one off!

john.marino97 yeah, bubba! you can’t scare me off!

john.marino97 i love you more than you’ll ever know, shortcake 🤍

y/nmercer i love you the most, maraschino 🫶🏻

jackhughes put the dogs away, y/n

y/nmercer i’m gonna shove my dogs in your face. they’re definitely prettier than yours

jackhughes you get pedicures regularly while i shove mine into skates every day

y/nmercer and who’s fault is that? not mine!

user73 i can’t believe we ever thought they hated each other 🥹

naterbastian they did!

user29 AWWW WE LOVE ENEMIES TO LOVERS

tysmith_6 how did this happen? you’re fraternizing with the enemy, y/n!

y/nmercer I’M SORRY TY! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO HATE THE ENEMY WHEN HE’S SO CUTE?!

tysmith_6 you are weak

y/nmercer i know 😔

nicohischier i can’t believe you convinced me to let you stand off to the side on his interviews

y/nmercer i’m very persuasive 😊

nicohischier you bribed me with pancakes

y/nmercer pancakes made with LOVE

user16 I’M SO JEALOUS— it’s fine, i’m fine

user72 i still can’t believe dawson’s sister is dating his teammate— i’m obsessed with them

[mikuni14]

4 Minutes - Ep 8

THIS IS WHAT I'VE BEEN TALKING ABOUT ALL THE TIME IN MY DFF POSTS!!! About bearing the consequences of your actions, about the fact that absolution and forgiveness cannot be given without admitting to sins and evil done and penance.

None of the guys in DFF did this, although they felt more or less guilty. But guilt alone is not enough, you can't make amends to the wronged with just your feelings alone. That's why Great turning away from his parents, from the money, going to the police and admitting what he did is so important to me. It was also perfectly emphasized by the neon wings 💯

I rate the finale highly, it was a very good ending (apart from what happened to Tonkla, poor Fuaiz, ​​his characters always end badly, undeservedly, and White and Tonkla just wanted to be left in peace and be happy). The scene with him, Korn and Win was somehow funny and sopa-opera style: those guys crying, fighting for Tonkla's affections, who just stands there so resigned, disappointed and a bit bored with the drama… The ending of his storyline was very melodramatic which is why I couldn't fully connect with the characters in this scene. And just like in DFF, I was hoping that Fuaiz's character would be the final girl, eh… (I'll be honest: I expected Tonkla to have some plan and eventually walk off into the sunset with a bag of money and leave Korn and Win compromised and arrested *sigh* a girl can dream). It's very sad that Dome and Tonkla, although they deserved everything, got nothing but death. But it also leaves us to wonder what Tonkla's life would be like after all those murders, without the last, solid, good "anchor" in his life - Dome. And in the end, it turned out that both Korn and Win were completely useless, hopeless and ineffective 🙄😒 What a loseres, Tonkla deserved better.

I really liked the solution to the mystery of the "clock" room, that it was an art installation. And that Great was so in character in that scene: avoiding, running away from responsibility and anything that would require him to make a decision, take action, even as simple as calling an ambulance.

I also like that in his idealized version Great is always active and doing good. And that in real life, after waking up, he tries to be his ideal version.

I also like that he discusses his plans with Tyme. I like the calm, everyday, ordinary romanticism of their relationship.

I liked that Tyme didn't give up trying to get to Great. Not giving up in love, not giving up on the beloved is one of my favorite tropes in BL series, it makes me believe in commitment and love between the characters 😊

I love the scene when the cat interrupts their kiss and Tyme just smiles fondly, THIS IS TRUE LOVE, when he/she likes your cat 🐱

Doctor Den and his game? Perfection. Well, he seduced Lukwa - and me! lol. Also him as a good friend - it was so nice. Was that the song from KinnPorsche at the end? What a nice touch!

And I'm most happy that we have a happy ending. I was 99% sure that they were both going to die and I was even fine with this. Because I couldn't imagine accepting Tyme and Great living HEA without Great suffering the consequences for what he did to Dome's dead body (and I was convinced that would have happened if Great had survived, so many series has disappointed me recently, why would this one be different 😑). So I would rather see him dead than alive and not suffering the consequences, because I couldn't feel sympathy for him and his HEA would be UNDESERVED. That he survived and can enjoy Tyme's love, I fully accepted only after seeing him in front of the police station and when his guilt became public. This kind of HEA is deserved and acceptable😊

[sakuralovespossums]

Yandere Dazai x Fem Reader

(Part 2)

Warning: Romanticized talks of suicide. Questionably dubious consent.

The first four bullet points are for my own interpretation of y/n. The rest are open to all.

Y/n was already going through a really tough time in her life when Dazai kidnapped her. Her parents had both passed away recently, she didn’t have much friends, and was in a depressive state.

You can see why Dazai picked her

Throughout her captivity, Dazai repeatedly reminds her of her loved ones’ deaths and how alone she was before meeting him.

He adds this to his reasons for why she should join him in death. She’ll be reunited with her parents and no longer bear the burden of living!

He likes ruffling your hair a lot

Will sometimes whisper into your ear about what a loving mother you would have made if you both had kids. That is if you both lived as a normal couple. He always reminds you of the last part.

If you’re short, he’ll often pick you up and twirl you around like a doll before peppering your face and neck with kisses.

You wish you could accept his acts of affection (you hope that desire stems from your prolonged isolation instead of actual feelings). This desire only grows the longer into your captivity.

Will talk about ideas as to how you guys should go out on the final day, as if he was excitedly planning for a wedding instead of something so dark.

“Oh belladonna~~, there’s this gorgeous cliff by the ocean that we can jump off of!! How about that?!”

“I umm…..have a fear of heights.”

He already knows all your fears, so he’ll easily catch onto when you’re lying as an attempt to try to prolong your deaths.

“Darling, you never told me you had a fear of heights.”

If you actually do have a fear of heights, he’ll understand and choose a different way for the both of you to “go out”.

Will pick a death thats as painless and peaceful as possible for you two. He wants this to be a truly special event between you and him.

He’ll try to comfort you/ease you into the idea and process of it the best he can. He’s a lot better at recognizing and manipulating people’s emotions, rather than comforting them.

He would love to take you out of the apartment and go to lots of places, do a lot of things, and make memories together during the days leading up to the final day.

That is IF he trusts that he’s broken you enough to where you won’t want to escape or go to other people for help.

If you’re foreign, he’ll take interest in your background and want to learn more about your home country, culture, language, religion, etc.

He’s a fast learner, so expect him to call you loving names in your native language so fluently.

You do have sex, but only when you’re at a point where you fully consent.

It’s really more at a point where you desperately crave intimate touch and need an escape from the sinking hopelessness of your situation.

Eventually however, it begins to grow more out of reluctant affection for your captor that you desperately try to deny.

It’s not long until Dazai notices and uses it to his advantage.

So he continues to make love to you whenever he can, overwhelming you with so much love and warmth. Your cage has never felt so soft.

Manipulative intentions aside, he truly enjoys being intimate with you. Though it’s not out of love, but rather an obsessive liking towards you as his chosen suicide partner.

If you want a part 3, let me know

[quietnowherebesideyou]

I think it was the belief in love and the togetherness that we all had. The fact we clearly loved each other very deeply. The fact that we shared everything... and we did it on record as well. We really opened ourselves up. There was no privacy; we had gigs in our flats. Our breakup was very public, and we sang about it together. It was just so inclusive... I think that’s what people hold on to.

In terms of mythology, we had that covered with our Arcadian manifesto, with Albion being our vessel and Arcadia being our destination... I still feel like that now...I think the good ship Albion has become a greater vessel, and there are a lot of people onboard...It’s still strong and, remarkably, we are still together after 20 years, when it really looked like … Well, from my view, I thought everyone would be dead... There wasn’t a hope for us getting this far, and we’re about to celebrate our 20th anniversary...We built the brick-and-mortar embodiment of our dream. It’s had to become more practical...to still have those dreams and to deal with all the normal shit that you have to if you want to live beyond 27...So it’s now about a little bit more than just being on a boat. Maybe it’s about docking and establishing this so-called land, be it or not in Arcadia...Being a bit older and wiser, it’s making something that other people can live in, too, and encouraging people to create and be alive...It’s timeless. It’s human nature to be drawn to the sea chantey. There’s a metaphor for everything you can encounter. From great white whales to sirens to rum, to a lot of rum, to keel-hauling and lashings on the deck....there’s hopelessness and hopefulness. When you’re at sea, it can all end. There’s yearning and longing. But then when you’re there at sea, you romanticize everything in life, on land, in the past and the future.

-- Carl Barat on the enduring aspect of Libertines mythology, Vulture 2022 (x)

[clus444]

Reality Star Gaz P2

Kyle isn't ready for anything serious which is ironic since he signed up to find his forever partner. He doesn't expect anything real to come out of it as he thinks most people just do it for the prize. What's odd about this show is that they don't tell you what the prize is. " So we can keep the feelings real and views up."

Kyle honestly doesn't know what to expect from this show since it has a broad variety of people and ages. After the audition, two days pass and he receives a text that says he has been accepted to progress to level two.

"What the hell is level two," Kyle asks himself as he reads the contract they sent. He thinks back to the girl he smashed into. Her hair was neatly pressed into a ponytail. Her ass was tightly clasped in her high-waisted jeans, her lashes accentuating her brown eyes. The way her lips pouted had him thinking about them on his-

Kyle signs the contract, hoping the girl also made it but not setting his heart on it.

Reader is ecstatic when she receives the notice that she got in. She wants to make a post but decides against it, not wanting to draw too much attention to herself. She heads straight to her computer, online shopping calling her name. If she was gonna do this, she was gonna do this the right way.

Reader who decides to search up the handsome man who rocked her shit. His name was Kyle... Kyle... come on brain, this could be your future husband you're talking about.

Kyle Motherfucking Garrick!

I remember his name tag lazily scribbled on showcasing his name. I type it into the safari search bar (still love my android girlies/people). The screen loads and an Instagram page pops up. My finger hovers over the link but I reframe from doing so. GazIz2Much, StickyRicky?, ThatmanKylee which is his Instagram name? Should I do this?

For some reason, I feel guilty. There's a possibility I could formulate a biased opinion about him. It wouldn't be the first time I've done that to someone. It is my own fault really, I've always been a hopeless romantice. Online dating has its ups and downs. Like making a perception of someone before truly getting to know them. Which is very dangerous when it comes to hearts.

I sigh and click out of the tab. I have to start preparing for what I'm gonna do to my hair, ' what will I tell my job?' I think to myself. Decisions, decisions decisions.

I have till the beginning of next month, so I have to get on my zoom. I can't believe I'm gonna be on tv!

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

This is kinda a filler, my next post is gonna have the good stuff. I just have to figure out what love show to base it off of. Anyways hope you enjoyed, next post coming this week!!! Gonna be a long one I think.

Next apart!

Masterlist!

[kayakoto-enterprises]

A White and Soundless Place

Freeform I dreamt of. Lola loves horrible people. The things you do for love are gonna come back to you one by one.

Cw: implied child abuse, choking, general BTTWNS trigger warnings.

People...harbor secrets. They carry with them the burden of being. Expectations, dreams, desires, and maybe even impure impulses. They carry ancient history, living a life perhaps they never chose. I could tell that you live a lost life. But it's alright. You're quite young. There's a lot to discover later in the road. Some people may grow out of their careers and succeed in other jobs. Some people will pick up hobbies at, let's say, 45 that gives them meaning. Do you have a hobby?

Art? That's quite wonderful. You formally studied for it?

Ah, that makes sense. You teach at the elementary? Taught. Of course, of course. That's sweet. Oh I must be romanticizing the description, that's all.

My son was keen on art too, you know. He studied to be..what was it...he was going to be an architect..halfway through his stay he picked up photography. He bought a camera from his classmate and worked extra hard to improve his craft. I was so proud of him.

If only I had..said anything..would that have made him feel better? Lessen the blow?

No...he..he couldn't. Neither him nor my husband would've been so kind to the idea..

Hm? Yes, I'm just hurting a bit here, dear. I guess it's quite obvious. Every now and then I feel the stab wounds grow deeper. I may still feel the knife lunged into them.

I was just thinking of my best friend. Her secrets.

Did you know?

I'm sorry, honey. I guess that's why you're here with me. It's not...it's not your fault.

I should have told him. Maybe he'd..find a better subject.. I still think he would have continued anyway. There's really nothing I could have done.

When Sam came out to me as a lesbian I was nothing but supportive. I was happy that she found that part of herself and I was more than understanding when she said that meant there would be no family to continue..maybe she'd call up distant cousins to take over for her after she passes. But at that time even if she got to say that with her whole chest, I think she understood that a part of her was still missing. It was empty and purposeless.

That had to do with how her parents treated her. I've seen and heard it. They were so constricting. She was so shaken up by how militant they could get that there definitely wasn't a point in taking up medicine. I believe she said she wanted to be a doctor...

So, when she told me, I was relieved that she found a truth in herself but her eyes were still so empty. So hopeless. She's been in that cage for most of her life and was dreading returning home from her trip because there's nothing left to do but continue her parents' legacy.

I understand how...burdensome it is. To start a clean slate and gain respect again. It's a long story. Most of us forgot what her grandparents' parents have done, honestly, but there are still a few who hold grudges. I'm sure you'll see one here.

Then she returned home two or three years later. I picked her up at Centerville when the bus came back from the airport. She looked so happy! It was like a burden had been lifted from her shoulders. Like the worry or uncertainty left her like a ghost. At the time, she told me that being outdoors put her life into perspective. There truly is no place like home.

We came back and I invited her home for dinner. I also introduced my son. He was only a few months old. I said that if she wasn't going to have a family, she could be part of ours. He was so tiny! He perfectly fit on the palm of her hand.

That day forward we lived close to one another like life was when we were children. Like the dreams she once had weren't beaten out of her. It was pure. My arms were always open for her to come cry into again. She never opened up emotionally to me again after that. I couldn't feel the distance. The disconnect. I assumed and assumed she was just getting better.

I loved Samantha. Almost like she was my own daughter too. Watching her grow soulless and knowing where that path led was painful. I wish I could have done something. I knew I could have done anything at least for Nigel to not end up the same way she did.

His father planted those obsessions and impulses inside him. He gave him those ideas. I would have pulled away harder but a thimble little mouse couldn't do much damage, right? But I wish I told him I loved him more. Told him that there are just some people or ideas you cannot cage. Not when it's lived in a cage and only broke free after.

He became wild with obsession. So I knew and I never did anything.

You knew too? How?

.

Alright, dear. I'll go first.

I was washing one of his coats when multiple photos fell out of the inner lining. He returned from a city trip with some friends and I was horrified to see what were on those films. A sequential set of Samantha choking a man. Then hanging him. Then his body was divided into multiple cuts. I didn't want to imagine what else she did. I kept my mouth shut. I put the coat back into the washer and stuffed the photos into the pocket when they came out.

I wondered about those images for months. I thought that those were flashes of an old nightmare I had until..two years ago when my son returned home to take care of me. I had forgotten about the photographs..and then more appeared in his jackets and pants and shirts..multiple images of my friend taking lives or alone in her house or around town. In different angles, varying in quality, and she was completely unaware. There were my warning signs but at that point I had given up hope that I could meaningfully change them.

I prayed continuously that maybe God could guide them into talking it out. That we could return to living happily like a family again. It just continued to spiral.

No, don't worry dearest, I..I'm okay now. Ah, thank you for the napkin. I appreciate it.

I loved Samantha. We'd known each other for fourty years. I knew everything. She knew everything. I just understood why she would do such a thing. I didn't understand why Nigel would do such a thing.

So when the time came for me to go, I just accepted the fate I was about to endure. I was hurt. I was hurt, of course, but I was already dying. I just let her do it to me because I trusted that she would find some other way, another resolution with Nigel even if I was cut from the picture. I just continued to see her as my closest, dearest friend as she repeatedly struck the knife into my chest. I was dreaming that heaven would bring me a vision of the three of us having a picnic just like we did on Nigel's 8th birthday.

I don't hate her for it. I just wish there was a happier ending.

Oh, oh no, did I say something wrong?

Darling, shhh..shhh..I didn't mean to make you cry. What is it? Oh..

Oh, no, no..it's okay..

I know..I know..I don't understand everything that happened but you look clean.

She never hit you or raised a finger or did anything remarkably damaging. It doesn't change that..the same thing also happened.

You have no wounds..oh, right there? On your neck?

Oh, the throat..

I'm not sure what would help you feel better now that we're here. But I believe that the people we meet and the people we love also loved us back. What she did to you of course is sick. I couldn't take the betrayal away from you. But I like to believe that we were precious to her. So...valuable.

She loved you. From what you've said about how things began. She never got to experience that kind of young love and you're blessed to experience it with her. I'm sure that's fond to her too. But people feel it in different intensities. Maybe instead of no love at all, she loved her freedom too much. Too much it suffocates. She's been caged her entire youth so when she finds something she wants, she takes it now that she has that power. And she loved what she took anyway.

I just hope you understand that no matter how horrible someone is, anyone, anything can continue to hold their hand with affection. I'm sure you did as much as I.

We loved well.

[comikadraws]

does this mean that while the uchihas were definitely stigamized and isolated from everyone, they were also in a position of power?

"Position of power" over fellow citizens, that is. Not over the government, however. But "not having power over the government" isn't any different from literally any other citizen in Konoha - Which is the entire reason why we fans classify Konoha as a dictatorship in the first place.

My gripe with the discussion though is that I constantly keep on seeing extremist takes that will insist it is either one or the other. And I don't see much purpose in that except for assigning blame in ways that are oversimplified or untrue to canon.

"The Uchiha are insane monsters and at fault for everything!" (this one is probably already too hopeless to comment on) "The Uchiha were saints and never did anything wrong!" (this one is often made in good faith, actually)

Feel free to replace "Uchiha" with "Itachi", "Sasuke", "Sakura", etc, but you get the gist. In fandom, one party must be the lone perpetrator for the other to be a victim. So much for critical thinking.

I am fully aware that the narrative of Naruto is usually deeply biased (in a pro-Konoha way) but critical thinking is not about flipping the narrative on its head but about identifying its flaws and recognizing nuances. It's an ideological trap that to criticize a perpetrator, we must romanticize its adversaries to the max and enforce a false dichotomy. And would you look at that, this happens in real life too!

The thing is, the "perfect victim" is a myth. And I mean this both in a "victims don't need to be devoid of flaws" way but also in an "even victims should be held accountable" way. Because even when power dynamics are at play, you are still responsible for your own actions (provided you were given the agency to choose) although not necessarily their outcome.

Acknowledging that the Uchiha, in their position as leaders of the police force, were in a position of power over fellow citizens should not distract from the fact that they were ultimately still the victims of Hiruzen, the elders, Danzo, and Itachi. Whatever crimes Konoha committed were not the result of the Uchiha having power over fellow citizens but the result of citizens not having control over Konoha.

Similarly, it is not wrong to point out that the intended coup d'etat was an unnecessary and/or reckless escalation of the conflict. Had it taken place, had it led to the eventual civil war, and had it ended in the dreaded world war, it would have been unforgivable. Yet, Konoha still had - at any given point in time - the ability to resolve the matter peacefully. Had Hiruzen been more decisive, more attentive, or more empathetic, all bloodshed could have been avoided. Konoha made the final call even when they didn't have to.

[nylongenesis]

Im just rambling my heart out rn bc im like this but listen hear me out. I think Tim is aromantic. hot take I know but as an aro person maybe its just me but I see a lot of myself in his flirty chatter and playful gestures. In my head he does it as affection, as a way to stretch his wings and engage in a bit of fun banter, and of course, to get what he needs. I inherently see his tendency to draw the eye of people in order to obtain information as a gesture rather detached from the inherent concept of romanticism. it displays a nature in which one understands romance and appeal on a surface level, but does not feel it themselves. I think he likes traditionally romantic stuff. He calls himself a hopeless romantic. He kisses his friends on the cheeks and he treats Sasha as a lover would treat their spouse but they are not dating and both of them know this. He spends passionate nights with people and leaves feeling satisfied. But if you confessed romantic interest in him he would give you a horrifically awkward, apologetic look and let you down easy. I think he was devastated by the realization in his youth. I think beneath all his affection and smiles and toying remarks he knows he will never truly be able to have the romantic relationship he always dreamed of having, because what he desires simply does not exist. I think he indulges in the little things- passing glances, playful flirts, romantic comedies, nights on the town, to taste what he cannot have- and even moreso, to enjoy what he *can* have. To enjoy the fact he can do so comfortably, openly, without concern for what it may look like or if it's really romantic or not. Perhaps he has grown to be happy with the way he lives. Perhaps he is content to be in his lovely queerplatonic relationship. Perhaps he distantly wishes he could be a better partner because he knows he will never meet the standard. I think he loves so strongly, so powerfully, that it simply is not something that could fall into romance. It just isn't. But he loves all the same. He loves so passionately, like a fire, but it is not romance. it is simply love. Tl;dr personal hc is that tim is romance-positive aro (unless it comes to romance aimed at him) and is bisexual. Bc we need more alloaro rep. and more romance-positive aro rep. And i see myself in him.

[medusapelagia]

Running From The Daylight - Part 12

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9,Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, (coming soon Part 13, Part 14, Part 15)

Written for @whumpuary

Rating: Mature Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Prompt: Rescue TW: romanticization of death Words: 1065

The fire keeps crackling behind them, but it's getting thinner and thinner, soon only the burning embers will be left and Eddie can't find the strength to get up and feed the fire more wood. They have been snowed in for almost two days, and even if talking with Wayne boosted his morale a little, now Eddie feels hopeless again. Steve is badly hurt and the weather is getting worse, there is no way the rescuer will be able to get there soon if the road is still covered in snow.

In his troubled sleep, Steve whines a little and Eddie shushes him, kissing his forehead.

"You are good... we just have to wait a little longer..." Eddie whispers on his lips, feeling like a liar. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he has almost accepted that rescue will not come, or at least it will not get there in time. There is something sad and romantic in dying together and being found like the embracing couple in Pompei that he saw in a picture during high school.

Eddie tries not to linger on these thoughts, but it's hard not to. He opens Steve's mobile phone and writes a quick message to Wayne.

I love you Wayne.

Then he turns the phone off and tries to sleep, next to his boyfriend.

***

The first thing Eddie hears are the voices, calling their names.

For a moment he wonders if he is asleep and the voices are just a dream, but when catches a glimpse of the torch lights he breathes a big breath of relief.

"They are here! Steve! They are here!" He shakes his boyfriend, but the chestnut haired boy remains unconscious in his lap. Eddie stares at him wondering if he should stay with him, but resolves to begrudgingly leave him and get outside to call for help.

The air is freezing, and it's snowing again "Here! We are here!" Eddie yells in the dark, and when finally the lights turn in his direction he starts to sob, falling to his knees, crushed by the emotions.

"Are you hurt?" One rescuer asks him while gesturing something to another.

Eddie shakes his head, while the second rescuer gets to him and wraps him in a thermal blanket "My boyfriend..." He musters to say between tears.

The rescuer holds him tight, smiling "Don't worry, we will take care of both of you. What's your name?"

"Eddie. My name is Eddie." He whispers.

"Hi Eddie, I'm Donovan. Would you let the doctor have a look at you?" The man asks, dragging him away from the chalet but Eddie starts to trash around.

"Steve! Steve is inside and is injured!" He screams, still crying.

The two rescuers share a look, then Donovan turns and asks him "How do we get inside safely?"

Eddie tells him that the bathroom window is safe and that Steve has a broken leg and maybe a concussion.

The two rescuers talk with each other and they decide that Donovan will try to get in the chalet and if it's safe enough, the doctor will join him, while the other rescuer tries to convince Eddie to get on the ski stretcher but he keeps refusing, his eyes glued to the bathroom window, waiting for Steve, but all he can see is Donovan's head, calling for the doctor and a stretcher.

It takes forever, but when finally Eddie sees the stretcher coming out from the window he runs toward it, calling Steve's name; the boy is still unconscious and in the torchs' light looks even paler, tugged into the golden space blanket.

"We have to bring him to the hospital as soon as possible." The doctor says, checking on Steve's pulse "He has a bad fracture and he is developing a chest infection."

"But he will be ok, right?" Eddie asks, staring blankly at the doctor who doesn't answer but calls two of the rescuers, asking them to bring Steve down to the ambulance with the ski stretcher and get him to the hospital as soon as they can.

The two rescuers nod, take their ski, and start descending taking Steve with them.

"Can you ski?" Donovan asks Eddie, who shakes his head meekly "Ok. Then we will wait here for a bit, ok?" He tells him, guiding him toward a sheltered point "Have you eaten?"

"Not really."

"I have a few energy bars if you want one."

Eddie isn't hungry, but he knows that he has to eat something so he nods and takes one of Donovan's energy bars.

"Nice place." The rescuer says, trying to make small talk "Do you like mountains?"

"Steve, my boyfriend, he is a very sporty guy. He wanted to go hiking. We were getting ready and then we heard a sound and I moved toward the window... Why did I get closer to the window? If I hadn't Steve would be ok!" He mutters, crying even harder, feeling the ice-cold air on his cheeks.

"Eddie, it was an accident. It's not your fault. Ok?"

Eddie rubs his eyes, wiping his nose on his jacket's sleeve "Steve..."

"Steve will be ok. I'm sure that my team already got him to the hospital and they are taking good care of him." The man shows him a sat phone "Anyone you would like to call?"

Eddie takes the phone in his trembling hands and calls Wayne, who answers at the first ring.

"Eddie? Is that you?"

"It's me."

"Are you ok? Hopper called and told me that the rescuers found you! Are you ok? Where are you? I'm coming to get you."

Eddie tries to take some deep breaths to ground himself before answering "I'm still at the chalet. There are some rescuers with me but it's still snowing so they skied to get here. They got Steve out and they brought him down with a ski stretcher. He was so pale, Wayne... I'm scared... I'm scared I will not see him again!" He finally admits, crying on the phone.

"Listen to me, kid, everything is going to be ok. Just stay calm and let the rescuers do their job." Eddie hears the sound of a closing car's door "I promise you I'll be the first person you'll see as soon as you get to down, ok?"

"You promise?" He asks in a voice so little he almost feels ashamed.

"I promise."

[princesssarisa]

Reasons why the original "Little Shop of Horrors" ending flopped

I've been thinking of the various possible reasons why test audiences reacted badly to the original ending of the film version of Little Shop of Horrors. Off-Broadway audiences hadn't objected to the end of the stage version, where Audrey and Seymour are eaten and Audrey II wins in the end. So why exactly did the movie's test audiences find that ending so upsetting, forcing a new, happier ending to be shot?

Frank Oz has always cited two big differences between theatre and film as the main cause:

*Film has close-ups. They make the audience engage more closely with the characters' emotions than they do in live theatre, so we care more about Seymour and Audrey.

*At the end of a live theatre performance, the actors come out for a curtain call. That's an immediate reminder that they didn't really die. Whereas in a movie, while rationally we all know it's just a performance, it feels like they're really dead.

Here are some further arguments I've read in various places:

*Orin and Mr. Mushnik's deaths are rewritten in the film to tone down Seymour's guilt. Without the stage song "Now (It's Just the Gas)", Orin dies more quickly, without giving him much time to beg Seymour for help, and we don't hear Seymour cold-bloodedly debating whether to save him or not in his mind. Later, Mushnik holds Seymour at gunpoint and tries to blackmail him into giving him the plant in exchange for his keeping quiet about Orin's murder, while onstage he just threatens to have him arrested. In response, Seymour only backs Mushnik toward the plant (possibly even by accident – it's vague) instead of tricking him into looking inside its jaws, and then tries to warn him about it at the last moment, too late. These changes make a big difference in whether the audience thinks Seymour deserves comeuppance or not.

(There are alternate film takes, though, where Orin's begging for help is more drawn out, and where Seymour clearly backs Mushnik toward the plant on purpose and doesn't try to warn him about it. I read somewhere that those changes were made after the negative test screenings to make the new happy ending work better, but I don't know if that's been confirmed or not.)

*Rick Moranis has too much inherent likability as an actor. With or without the above rewrites, he gives off too much of a sweet, innocent vibe to let the audience stop rooting for Seymour.

*Showing Audrey's fantasy of married life with Seymour during "Somewhere That's Green" makes the audience sympathize more with her dreams. When she only sings about them, it's easier to laugh at how she romanticizes stereotypical '50s suburbia. But seeing her fantasy onscreen, even though it's still played for laughs, makes us root all the more for her to achieve it.

*The stage version of "Don't Feed the Plants" is less bleak because it ends at the very beginning of the plants' conquest, without leaving the shop or showing any massacres. It's just a warning: don't feed the plants, or else they'll destroy the world. Showing giant Audrey IIs already destroying the world leaves us feeling more hopeless.

*While the final "Don't Feed the Plants" sequence is visually spectacular, it drags on for too long.

*In 1986, people didn't expect a musical to end tragically. The rise in popularity of dark, tearjerking musicals in the mid-to-late '80s and '90s hadn't taken off yet in the US, so the ending was more of an unpleasant shock. (Personally, I'm not sure if I agree with this theory. The stage ending wasn't criticized in 1982, and plenty of musicals already existed with dark themes and with sad or bittersweet endings: The King and I, West Side Story, Fiddler on the Roof, Sweeney Todd, etc. Although I'm sure it was a shock for some people to see a campy musical comedy end tragically.)

I'd like to add some more suggestions of my own:

*Onstage, depending on the production, Audrey's death can be played more for dark laughs, more as a spoof of melodramatic movie death scenes. On film, the medium's comparative realism forces the sadness to be played straighter. This is enhanced by Seymour's attempted suicide afterwards, which doesn't happen onstage.

*The addition of "Mean Green Mother From Outer Space" makes Seymour's death much more brutal. Onstage, he's eaten fairly quickly, and he goes down fighting. But on film, we have to watch Audrey II playing a slow game of cat-and-mouse with him while singing a gloating song and destroying the shop, then wrapping him in its vines and slowly lifting him into its jaws, with closeups of his terrified face all the while.

*Onstage, during "Don't Feed the Plants," Seymour, Audrey, Mr. Mushnik, and Orin all reappear as flowers sprouting from Audrey II and sing to the audience. Thus, even before the curtain call, they're not portrayed as really "dead." And the fact that it makes no sense in-universe – maybe Mushnik and Seymour could have survived being swallowed, but Orin and Audrey were already dead when the plant ate their bodies – reminds us that this is only a show.

Basically, I think a perfect storm of factors combined to make audiences dislike the original, tragic film ending, even though there was no such objection to the stage ending.

@ariel-seagull-wings

[babydollmarauders]

Good evening Faithlynn. I hope you enjoy your weekend! Can we get the aftermath of John and Shortcake’s first kiss like her reaction and everything that happened after?

i’m so sorry this took me so long to get out! i hope you like this and that it answers your question!

**

“what’s she like?”

i don’t know why i keep doing this to myself. every heartfelt and sincere compliment that passes John’s lips is another cut to my heart. but i can’t stop asking questions, badgering him out of curiosity.

who does he have his eye on? who does he like?

do i know her? is she better than me?

obviously she is, if he likes her but not me.

“she’s pretty sweet, when she wants to be.” his eyes are alight as he speaks, a shy smile plastered on his lips. “and she’s gorgeous. the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen.”

oh. that one stings.

“oh, so is she like.. tall? or what?” i try and keep my tone light and joking, but my words still come out strained. “i bet you only date 6ft and above, right?”

i scrunch my nose and cock my head to the side, hoping and praying to whatever higher being there may be, that John will still think i’m teasing.

a smirk spreads across his lips and he huffs out a chuckle.

“mmm” he hums in consideration before bringing his hand up to his neck, just above his shoulders. “she’s actually about this tall.”

my height.

he teases me about my height.

he calls me ‘shortcake’.

he asked if i ‘felt safe’ after the ride operator at six flags said to ‘make sure all small items are secure’.

but he likes someone my height.

if it’s not my height that bothers him or makes him not like me, then what is it? what makes him like this other girl and not me?

my face twists in a mix of jealousy and dejection as i watch John bite his bottom lip, fighting back a smile.

“i need some air,” the words pass my lips as i stumble backwards a little. “excuse me.”

sparing him one last glance, i turn on my heels and weave my way through the event room, away from the bar.

my shoulder grazes against an arm and Dawson spins around, his hand coming to grip my forearm. at the sight of my downcast expression, his eyebrow thread together, his brown eyes filling with worry.

“you okay?” my brother asks lowly, and i nod my head.

“yeah, Daws, i’m fine.” i assure him. “i just need some air, i’m going up to the rooftop.”

he scans my face for a brief moment before letting his hand slip away from my arm, turning back to Jack and Dougie, and i walk away.

my flats smack along the marble and concrete floors as i reach the elevator, taking it all the way up to the empty rooftop of the hotel.

crossing the expansive roof, i come to a stop at the railing along the edge, looking out at the stars.

there’s less of them visible here in New Jersey than there are back home, but the knowledge that even when i can’t see them all, they’re still there, is comforting.

i close my eyes, clearing my mind before i open them again and just stare out at the stars. they’ve always been so fascinating and calming. bright lights in my life.

i’m not sure how long i stand here, basking in the night sky, before a silhouette sidles up to the railing beside me, casting a shadow within my peripheral vision. and somehow, without even looking, i know it’s John.

we both stay quiet for a while, almost daring the other to speak. the nip of the April night air sends a shiver down my spine as i break our silence.

"it's beautiful, right?” my voice is barely above a whisper. “the stars are endless. it's like no matter where you go, they're one constant that will always be there. you can't even see them all with the naked eye, there's just that many. they're everywhere, surrounding you. you're constantly being hugged by stars, even when you can't see them."

John is silent, making me wonder if i did or said something wrong. but when i look over at him, he just stares back at me, no sign of annoyance in sight.

i’m not sure if it’s just me and my hopeless romanticism, my desperate need to feel love, but it seems as if the space between is closing slowly, inch by inch.

my lips part as his nose nudges against mine, and my eyelashes rest upon my cheekbones as my eyes flutter shut.

oh gretzky, please don’t let this be a dream.

i can feel his breath on my skin, and just when i think John might pull back, his lips capture mine.

it’s slow and steady, but i can feel the passion pouring in from both sides. one of his hands grips the back of my neck, holding me to him, as the other settles on my hip, pulling my body closer to his. mine snake around his neck, toying with the hair at the nape.

he breaks away from me slowly, hesitantly. his head dipping down once as if to pull me in for another kiss before thinking better of it.

“i thought you liked someone?” i question breathlessly, panting to get oxygen back into my system.

“yeah.” he nods lowly. “you, shortcake.”

the next kiss is rougher, my hands pulling his lips back down to mine, the tips of my toes straining to hold my body weight up before his arms wrap around my waist, holding me up against him and taking the pressure off of my feet.

our tongues meet in a passionate battle and i moan into his mouth as his hand trails down to grip my ass.

“do you wanna go back to my place?” i murmur against his lips, getting a groaned ‘yes’ in reply.

we pull apart as quickly as honey drips, leisurely and drawn out.

his hand slips into mine as we walk back towards the elevator, and i can’t help but think how perfectly it fits. like his hand was meant to be in mine. like this; this love; is what i’ve been waiting for.

[shallowseeker]

Gosh, Chuck really set up Amara to trust Dean and then lose hope, didn't he?

What a cosmic dick!

The truth is: Amara's love was an immature love, a love of childhood, and even a little like Harper Sayles. In her own way, she's struggling with the Idealization of Apple Pie and the Romanticized Notion of the White Picket Fence.

In season 8, when Dean was reeling from total 24/7-360-degree war and the uncomfortable grayness of real-world civilian life, he too became fixated on an unobtainable concept of love (and people) as something that will never let you down.

In season 15, we find Amara dressed in vibrant hues and exploring life. And it's lovely that Amara has gained so much wisdom in her time spent individuating.

She encourages Chuck to see meaning in his creation. She lectures Dean about how "now is always better than then." She laments the loss of the opportunity to get to know Jack.

However, she's not integrated in terms of how she conceptualizes love, and in particular, she speaks of Dean in always-or-never statements.

AMARA: Like I told you when we first met, you and I will always help each other.

On accepting the wholeness of life, we can turn to Buddhist teacher Pema Chödrön, who wrote in her deeply insightful book When Things Fall Apart:

“We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.

Amara is a long, long way from the disillusionment necessary to truly see another person as a complex individual. She's a long way from the mature disillusionment-and-choosing of real relationships.

In season 15, it's even more of a contrast than usual, as it's flanked by the disagreement-and-repair spousal dynamic that characterizes Dean-and-Cas. Dean became disillusioned with Cas as early as season 4, when Cas and Uriel attacked Anna and especially so in season 6 during the Angelic Civil War. Cas became disillusioned with Dean as early as Dean giving in to Michael in season 5.

///

Chuck eases Amara into thinking that her love connection is real, in exactly the way she had conceptualized it:

CHUCK: The Winchesters have gotten to you, huh? Figures-- you and Dean have that whole weird... thing. AMARA (an awed, wondering smile): That wasn't you? Writing? CHUCK: Ugh! Not that part. Gross. Amara gives another, privately pleased little smile.

Then, once the plan he knows is brewing springs into action, he in turn snaps his jaws shut on her. He'd been grooming her for hopelessness and slaughter all along. And so, he consumes her.

AMARA: No, but... but Dean can't hurt me. CHUCK: No, but he can lie to you. He could send you into the meat grinder with a wink and a smile.

He capitalizes on and then leverages her naivete to cannibalize her. He cuts off her development in order to use her as fuel. "She's in here somewhere," is so ominous. It calls to mind how Amara talked about the beings she devoured, not an egalitarian shared mind-space of equals.

CHUCK: Look, I get it. You wanted him to care about you, but humans... they'll break your heart every time.

Chuck thrives on hopelessness.