#and adding another person to the scene always feels like such a violation

[drowsyr]

to be so real. to me the stobin coming out scene is sacred. it literally cannot be changed in fics. it’s so wrong to me when people have somebody else there or even have steve come out to robin right back bc like that ruins it i’m sorry… like the scene isn’t really about robin being a lesbian it’s about how much they each value this relationship and that they realize they can be truly vulnerable with each other. like steve has to put aside his crush/feelings to recognize that he values having robin in his life more than any other relationship and robin has to recognize that steve is someone she can fully trust and believe in when he says he’ll be there for her!! i’m emotional

[mcalhenwrites]

A break from social media and how I use it has really been good for me. I need to be careful not to be sucked back in again. I should aim to mostly just post updates, but I do want to talk about my characters/writing as well. I will continue promoting my book, and ofc my Patreon and KoFi which are both "MCalhen" ;) I've been thinking about taking most (not all) of my fics and original works out of the private collection on AO3. I have a dilemma with one fandom (it's a nightmare circus of drama and several authors were chased out or hurt well before me), but I hope to eventually have the nerve to overcome that and say, "Too bad, you have to put up with the existence of my writing alongside yours. Get over it." Another thing is that Rascal isn't coming out of the collection. I plan to delete it. It's getting edited, I'm adding a couple of scenes I think would benefit the storytelling, and I'm publishing it. :) I'm on the fence about whether or not to release the original Seasons with comments closed, bc while it might be fun to compare it to the new one... so many things have been improved. Maybe it's also important to realize that if someone is that fixated on saying an earlier draft is permanent, that's a them issue and has nothing to do with me. A lot of my current WIPs are divided between if I'm going to publish them or post them on AO3. I have a few that I'm uncertain about either way. I want to share some work for free, and I have some stuff that's dark enough, self-publishing isn't much of an option right now. Note that when I promote my patreon and kofi, it's for original writing and art. No fanfic or fanart. The only link it has to AO3 is that I draw sketches of things from original stories posted to AO3. I will never post commercial links to the site, as that is against TOS. Seasons will always be free. Which leads to another thought: I wonder if I could get away with crossposting it to any sites? (I considered fictionpress.) I'm feeling better and want to keep sharing my work. I want to keep monetizing some of it. I want to be an author. I also really want to share things for free. Seasons is one of those stories that resonates a lot with people, and I know how badly I've always needed a story like that told. It's why I write, is to tell stories I need. But that one is... uniquely special and personal. I always want it to be accessible without any paywall. But I still need to make a living. So some books will be sold. Some will not. Just slap me if I ever get to be one of those big names who thinks I can do whatever I want, like those people on AO3 who say that they won't update their fics unless you pay them on patreon. (That's something you report to AO3 as a violation btw) I don't know where a good place to ramble about my stories is - probably here, since people can send me asks about characters and stories - but I'd like to do that, bc I enjoy doing it. :'D Anyway, I have my goals mostly figured out. Maybe someday I can post more of my work without hiding it away (yes, what you see is a fraction of what I write). Maybe I can also publish and make enough money to afford things I need, including a house with a yard and garden.

[arrow-dodger]

When I was 12, my mom bought the soundtrack to The Phantom of the Opera movie with Gerard Butler. She must have gotten the CD from the bargain bin at Wal Mart or something. She started playing it all the time in the car, insisting she loved that kind of music (which she had never listened to before, as far as I'm aware).

I became obsessed with it almost immediately. I made her get me the movie and I watched it almost every night. At that age I hated Raoul because I thought he was lame and weak. The Phantom was my sexy sad boy and for some reason I thought I could fix him. No offense to Christine, but I was built different. The idea of being someone's entire world was very appealing to me, because I never felt important to anyone. I wanted someone to take me away to be theirs forever. That was a romance I could read fanfiction about for years to come.

I've always listened to it and watched the movie from time to time since, but I revisited it more specifically recently. It occurred to me that I only know the movie version of the songs, which are probably the worst ones, so I started listening to the original Broadway cast and the 2011 recording.

The vibe is... very different. I am very different. Gerard Butler's Phantom IS kind of a sexy sad boy in comparison, and the stage Phantom has much more "muahahaha" energy. I mean, he's a devious, cringe little bitch. But the thing is that he's also scary as hell. Actually, this entire thing has always been scary, and I was kind of blind to it because of how sexy Gerard Butler is, maybe. Listening now, it's a horror that sends chills down my spine.

Now as an adult the romance angle doesn't work the same. I've had men make me their entire world before and convince me they'd die without me living to care for them. I've had men give me things without me asking and then use that against me later. I've had men seek out my very specific weaknesses to exploit them in their favor. I've had men threaten violence and violate my personhood because they wanted to own me so badly. I had a man essentially brainwash me for so many years.

I always hated Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again as a kid. I thought the song was boring and would skip past it sometimes, because I just didn't get what it added. Now I get that it's the entire linchpin to the plot of this thing.

When I watch that scene now, I realize that Christine's trauma about the death of her father IS the plot. That's what all of this is about, in the end. During the Wandering Child bit afterwards, when I see her say "wildly my mind beats against you, but my soul obeys," I know that very feeling... and it isn't romantic, it's DARK. When she says she has endless longings, she doesn't mean she longs to have a sexy phantom boyfriend, she means she longs to feel safe! Feel loved! Protected! She wants to feel like her father is still around and looking out for her! And she spent all these years thinking she would get these things from this person who's convinced her he's an avatar of her dead father, who spends this song calling her a lost child who needs his guidance, specifically poking at the wound he knows she has to give himself the upper hand. That isn't hot! That's awful!

When I see Christine crying as she turns away from the Phantom at the end of the 2011 production, I don't think she's sad because she's in love with him too. I think she's sad because she's leaving behind this person who is the architect of her entire consciousness. Someone who has convinced her that they need each other, that they're each other's destiny. She's realizing that she needs to leave her father behind. When he says "Christine, I love you," she's hearing her father's voice. She doesn't know who she is without him, or if she'll completely collapse if she takes another step away. And bitch, same. I've been there too. I thought I'd die myself.

The angles that art can stab you from change with you as you age. Stranger than you dreamt it!

[nfr-reviews]

NFR Reviews #7: The Endless Summer

Released 1966 / Inducted 2002

Surfing momentarily took over pop culture in the first half of the 1960s. Post-WWII experimentation with new materials like resin, fiberglass, and later foam made more maneuverable, easier-to-produce surfboards. Media production followed suit. The music charts featured surf-rock artists like the Beach Boys and Dick Dale, while movies like 1959’s Gidget, 1961’s Elvis vehicle Blue Hawaii, and several following beach party movies used the sport as a selling point. It wasn't difficult to see the appeal: a combination of idyllic beach scenes, a sense of freedom, and a little bit of thrill and danger. 

Despite all that, director Bruce Brown struggled to find distributors for this low-budget movie due to perceived lack of mainstream appeal. It was a hit on its first screenings in Wichita, Kansas, but distributors weren’t sure about it until after a successful run at Kip’s Bay Theater in New York City. It set itself apart from other films cashing in on the trend. Other surf films were more commercialized and focused more on hedonism and romance subplots than the athleticism of the sport itself, its creators often having little direct surfing experience. Many early-60s beach party movies leaned towards clean-cut characters with parent-generation-approved behaviors and values despite a lack of onscreen adult supervision, starring teen idols like Fabian and Frankie Avalon. This one had a niche target audience of other surfers, to be exhibited at surf clubs, placing it in the subgenre of “pure” surf movies. Other surf media portrayed California as an object of escapist desire filled with bright colors and suntans; this one has the state as an overcrowded locale with an inconvenient winter season. This sets up the central concept: surfers Mike Hynson and Robert August leave California to travel around the world, following the summer season through Africa, Australia, and the Pacific Islands to find the perfect wave.

The Endless Summer does share one quality with all the surf exploitation movies and music: its intention to be seen as young and hip. Thanks to the postwar economy and baby boom, the mid-60s had an abundance of young people with disposable income. It gained traction in the mainstream despite its niche roots, which the director attributed to a desire for innocence and escapism during the Vietnam era. Another big factor is how the movie makes you feel like you’re an accepted member of a cool, trendy club. Bruce Brown’s narration offers a fresh distinction from the average documentary narrator. He positions himself as the viewer’s buddy and not a teacher or authority figure by peppering the script with jokes. He refers to himself by saying things like “he’s the only surfer I’ve ever seen do this,” aiming for the specificity and relatability of his personal experiences instead of having the narrator be a detached, objective presence. Due to its origin as silent footage screened in clubs with Brown adding live commentary, the official script and music recordings were added after the fact. He’s the sole voice heard through the majority of the film’s runtime. Instead of hearing either the surfers or natives speaking on camera, Brown often-jokingly recreates interactions and voice impressions in a similar manner to retelling old stories with a friend. The repetition of “You should’ve been here yesterday” in the Australia section, referring to how the best waves always happen the day before a surfer arrives, gives the audience the feeling of being let in on an inside joke. 

As soon as the two surfers arrive in Senegal, waves breaking outside their hotel are accompanied with a narrative of unconquered wilderness, complete with waves no surfer had ever ridden or perhaps even seen. In the Ghana section, comedy is mined from the locals being clueless about surfing. There’s jokes about Africans potentially attacking over violations of unknown religious taboos or spearing the surfers, too. The film claims the American surfers were the ones to introduce surfing to the area and no one else had seen anything like it. The film later admits the fishermen's canoes weren’t so different, albeit intended more as practical tools for work than a sport. Surfing developed in Polynesia, and was introduced to the US through Hawaii. It held major spiritual significance, and the best surfing spots were reserved for royalty. However, similar wave-riding practices developed independently throughout Africa, with one account dating back to the 1640s in what’s now Ghana. They used canoes, yes, but also 12-foot longboards and smaller boards of 3 to 5 feet in length. Onscreen, the surfers have little issue sharing their knowledge with the kids and appear to get along with them. However, the additional in-film framing and narration portrays them as an “other.” The narrative is of Americans who have the means and leisure time to travel the world versus some countries they visited whose ways of life that haven’t changed in millennia and are more tied to daily labor such as fishing. Many elements in modern surf culture did originate in Polynesia–equipment innovations like the long, narrow olo board, surf forecasting, and techniques of trimming across the wave face being some of them. However, the concept of using a board to ride waves for fun and sport developed across most warm-water coastal cultures, including Ghana.

The perfect surfing spot contains a finite amount of space. In the mid-1960s, Surfer magazine began keeping some spots secret so tourist overflow wouldn’t ruin the experience. Author Matt Warshaw suggested journeys to far-flung locations were less about new discoveries and more about getting away from crowds. The Endless Summer team found the perfect wave in South Africa, a country they previously noted as having long stretches of uninhabited space. Like many subcultures, surfing enthusiasts formed in-groups and out-groups. Endless Summer takes steps to define its own identity through who it wants audiences to identify with and who is used as a point of comparison. Its breezy sense of humor twists the traditional documentary format away from “narrator as objective teacher” into “friends joking around.” It captured a youth culture of the time that was distinct from their parents’ mores in a more naturalistic way than the commercialized offerings of big studios. Unfortunately, it also makes comparisons by flattening other countries into unexplored wilderness areas filled with primitive people. The movie’s methods of identity-forming are strongest when the subculture defines itself as who they are, not who they aren’t. A film lacks the limited space of real surf spots, and this one found a wide audience outside niche surf clubs by making viewers feel like they’re included in the club, whether they've ever surfed themselves or not.

Sources

https://e-space.mmu.ac.uk/617596/1/Endless%20summer%201%20Nov%2004.pdf

https://e-space.mmu.ac.uk/617593/1/surf%20rhetoric%20in%20british%20magazines.pdf

https://lagunaartmuseum.org/exhibitions/surf-culture-the-art-history-of-surfing/

https://core.ac.uk/download/pdf/37438736.pdf

https://www.surfertoday.com/surfing/things-you-didnt-know-about-the-endless-summer

https://www.surfer.com/news/africans-surfed-long-before-bruce-brown-showed-up

https://www.fairobserver.com/history/how-ancient-polynesians-conquered-the-pacific-on-their-surfboards/#

https://www.pbssocal.org/shows/lost-la/clip/the-endless-summer-defined-surf-culture-on-its-own-terms

https://www.theinertia.com/surf/where-was-surfing-actually-born-a-look-at-the-origins-of-wave-riding/

https://www.surfertoday.com/surfing/hawaiian-words-every-surfer-should-know

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Endless_Summer (Tumblr link limit strikes again)

[cultleaderyoongi]

Opposites Attract – pt.1 | myg

☆ pairing: Yoongi x f. reader, (Namjoon x f. reader)

☆ genre: s2f2l, hints of e2f2l at first if you squint (one-sided sentiment though), love triangle • angst, fluff, eventual smut

☆ word count: 12.7k

☆ warnings: bro-code violations (it's up for debate if reader is fair game); mature language; mentions of alcohol; virgin shaming to some extent; the word wh*re being mentioned

☆ synopsis: You're Namjoon's girl – kind of. So why does Yoongi, who has never been too fond of people in the first place, get that weird feeling in the pit of his stomach around you? And most importantly, why can't he seem to stop himself from falling for you when you're supposed to be off-limits anyway?

☆ navigation: pt.1 | pt.2

☆ playlist: Chase Atlantic – Friends | The Neighbourhood – Heaven | Chase Atlantic – HER | The Neighbourhood – Nervous | Joji – SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK | Juice WRLD feat. SUGA – Girl Of My Dreams | J. Cole – Wet Dreamz

☆ a/n: Hi there! I'm back after an almost 6-month hiatus, and this was supposed to be out for Yoongi's birthday, but I guess this is my gift to you in celebration of my birthday now as well lol though also a week too late to that lmao And since it's gotten kinda long, I spontaneously decided to divide it into two parts which also gives me more time to finish up the last few lines oops As always, I hope you enjoy reading. If you do – thank you! Lmk how you like it, I love feedback ♡

(P.S. special shout-out to whoever can guess which album they're talking about in the record shop scene!)

(also P.S. I'm part of a fun, little Discord server created by the dearest @kooala​​ where we share our favorite fics, simp over our biases, etc. and we'd love for it to grow. If you're looking for a cool place to connect with people and discuss anything K-pop, feel free to join here ♡)

☆ taglist: @bangtansjonas

© cultleaderyoongi on tumblr | do not repost or translate on any platform

There aren't a lot of things in the world that catch Yoongi's attention. He's most interested in music, creating his own little world as the beat becomes one with that of his heart. Basketball is another interest of his, the satisfying swish of the rubber globe falling through the hoop like music to his ears.

One thing is for sure though, and that is people aren't at the top of his list – meeting new people, that is. There's only a handful of people he actively cares about in his own aloof kind of way. Human interaction isn't his forté, so he's more than thankful that the people he does hold dear to his heart understand his weird antics. He would have a hard time admitting it, but losing even one of them would tear him apart. Breaking his hand-signed vinyl copy of Kendrick Lamar's DAMN. in half would hurt less, he concludes.

Having his set group of friends also means that the idea of adding another person fills him with frustration. For as long as he can remember, it has always been him, Namjoon, Hoseok, and Seokjin. No one else but him and his three best friends since childhood days. He convinces himself it's already too late to add another person into the mix anyway, almost two decades of friendship making it impossible for anyone to feel remotely comfortable among the four of them. But not everyone shares the same belief from the looks of it.

"I hope that's okay," Namjoon probes, hands buried in the front pockets of his chino pants as he leans against the red-brick façade of the faculty building behind him.

"More than fine by me," Hoseok drawls while running a hand through his chestnut hair. "Maybe you should worry about Grumpy Cat over here." His lips pull into a half-smirk.

At the mention of the all-too-familiar nickname, Yoongi peels his gaze from the concrete steps he's sitting on, turning towards his friends. "Why? Think I'm gonna rip someone's head off with my sharp fangs?"

"The risk is minimal, but never zero," Seokjin states in amusement, the hand curled around his iced coffee lifting into the air in emphasis.

The eldest's comment draws a scoff out of the man in question. Yoongi has grown used to the light punches at his reserved persona and granted, he would feel weird if the teasing stopped at some point. No matter how old the jokes have gotten.

"What am I? The mom in the group that tells you no all the time and grounds you for no good reason?" he grumbles, fixing the snapback covering his platinum-blond tresses.

"No," Hoseok retorts, "you're more like the uncle with the shotgun that everyone's secretly afraid of."

The group exchanges words in agreement leaving Yoongi with nothing but an annoyed glare. As the commotion dies down, he sighs in defeat. "It's fine or whatever. You already invited them anyway."

Namjoon nods, his face lighting up ever so slightly. "Okay, cool. You won't even notice she's there."

"She? You invited a girl?" Yoongi exclaims in confusion, loud enough to catch the attention of other students lingering around.

"Ah, Yoongi... You weren't paying attention again, were you?" Seokjin playfully nudges his friend in the elbow with the tip of his suede shoe. "Namjoon invited this girl to hang out tonight because he has a thing for her but is too afraid to ask her out on a proper date."

"Hey! That's not what it is," Namjoon grumbles, adjusting the black-rimmed glasses sliding down the slope of his nose.

"But you think she's hot?" Hoseok probes with a raised eyebrow.

The youngest barely responds, a breathy chuckle and a hand scratching at the nape of his neck enough of an indicator.

"That answers that."

Yoongi absentmindedly toys with a pebble, creating white marks as he scrapes it across the concrete surface. Who in the world invites a random girl to hang out with a bunch of strange dudes? he thinks to himself, the scratches becoming harsher until there's nothing but wild scribbles.

"Can you stop fussing around already?"

Namjoon mumbles out a quick apology to Hoseok beside him, immediately halting the shaky movement of his leg.

It hasn't even been five minutes since the quartet arrived at the movie theater, awaiting the arrival of the youngest's secret date.

"It's not a date," he fends when Seokjin teases him again, a hand running through his short – notably freshly cut – hair. "She's a friend, and I invited her out because– Oh! She's here." As he practically jumps up from his seat on the black leather couch, Namjoon storms towards the entrance.

"Not a date my ass," Hoseok comments, earning an affirmative chuckle from the eldest.

With the rest of the group rising from their seats, Yoongi reluctantly follows lead, hands immediately finding harbor in the pockets of his jeans.

"Oh, she's pretty," Seokjin muses to which Hoseok hums out in confirmation.

As Yoongi's focus finally shifts from the dark blue carpeted floor to his friend and the stranger standing next to him, he raises a brow. Yeah, she's pretty, he thinks to himself. At first glance. Yoongi isn't one to be easily swayed by looks though, so he mindlessly trails behind the other two.

"Guys," Namjoon turns towards the others, "this is _____. _____, these are my friends."

You beam a friendly smile at Seokjin who is the first one to extend his hand out to you, shaking it lightly before letting you move on to Hoseok.

Yoongi is slightly taken aback when your eyes land on him, nothing but warmth emitting from them. Usually, no one ever even dares any attempts at approaching his cold exterior. When he gives you his name, he swears your grin grows impossibly wider. Who in the world has the energy to be this friendly?

"Alright," Hoseok starts, "why don't you guys"–he nods towards you and Namjoon–"go get some snacks while we buy the tickets?"

The group separates as suggested with you and Namjoon heading towards the snack bar while Yoongi follows Hoseok and Seokjin to the ticket booth. Stealing a glance at his friend, he silently scoffs at the sight. You're deep in conversation, head lolling back in laughter at something Namjoon says. He finds your reaction so over the top. Sure, Namjoon can crack some jokes from time to time, but it almost looks like you're losing it. It's such a weird sight, and your clashing outfits underline that. You stand out in your yellow, ruffled top and cherry-red Vans against the beige and white hues of Namjoon's ensemble, the same shade of red showing up on your nail beds and the tint on your lips. This is definitely a date, he concludes. And now we have to play wingman. Great.

When the group gathers again to exchange tickets and snacks, Yoongi slightly flinches in surprise as someone thrusts a bag of popcorn in his face.

"Another salty popcorn enthusiast, I heard?" You smile up at him, the telltale rustling noise of popped kernels sounding as you lightly shake the bag.

Taking it with hesitant hands, Yoongi manages to muster up a nod, murmuring out a quick Thank you.

"Salty popcorn is barbaric," Hoseok's voice blares, breaking the unknown tension. "All it does is make you thirsty."

"Oh, allow me to prove you wrong," you counter with a wicked grin, eliciting a laugh from the man.

Throughout your discussion on why salty popcorn is superior, Yoongi doesn't realize he's been behind you this entire time until the five of you are looking for your respective seats in your assigned row. Now he has no other choice but to sit in the middle with you to his right. Fantastic.

Once the movie commences, the entire room falls silent lest the occasional rustling and crunching noises surrounding Yoongi. Absentmindedly taking a big gulp from his blueberry slushy, he proceeds to put it into the cup holder compartment of his chair when suddenly his hand comes into contact with another one.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!"

As he retracts his hand in a flash, he turns his head towards the source of the voice, the outlines of your facial features becoming visible via the blue flashes reflecting off of the screen. "Ah, you're fine," he manages out, the hold on his plastic cup tightening.

His focus is back on the opening sequence when someone invades his space once again.

"Do you want some?"

With furrowed brows, Yoongi's vision steers to the side, your hand holding a package of strawberry flavored Pockys coming into sight. "Uh..." Hesitantly, his eyes flicker from your hand to your face, then back to your hand. "Y-yeah, sure." He takes two of the chocolate sticks, mumbling out a stunned Thank you while he munches on them.

It's an unusual scene – not once has Yoongi come across someone this unhinged and outgoing without inhibition towards him as a stranger with what people call a resting bitch face. Usually, people don't even dare an attempt at building some sort of a connection with him. This leaves him wondering about you: are you always like this or is this all an act in order to stay in Namjoon's good books?

The setting sun outside serves enough light to guide the group through town, yet not enough to cause any discomfort after having spent the last two hours in complete darkness. Namjoon with his sensitive eyes in particular is thankful for that.

"Anybody else hungry?" Seokjin inquires, craning his neck as he takes a look at everyone individually.

"How can you be hungry again?" Hoseok blurts. "You had part of my half of the popcorn after annihilating yours – and then an entire pack of...what was it? Skittles? M&Ms?"

"Both," Seokjin announces proudly. "These were to tend to my sweet tooth though. Now it's time to satiate my savory needs."

Hoseok rolls his eyes at the eldest's response. "Can you believe this guy?" He turns to the rest before a sigh passes his lips. "Alright, I could go for something."

As everyone else hums out affirmative answers, the group settles on their go-to diner for classic burgers and fries.

"So, _____," Hoseok starts, a hefty sandwich haphazardly lodged in between his hands, "how come you know this guy over here?" With a tilt of his head, he gestures towards Namjoon.

You hum as you take a bite of your portion of fries. "Oh, we have the same major. We're also tutoring a class together this semester."

"Someone who matches his intellect, I see," Hoseok answers, a hint of a smirk hidden behind the large patty.

You don't get a chance to chime in when Seokjin continues, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

How subtle. It comes like second nature to Yoongi, a roll of his eyes a common reaction in a situation like this. It's when your eyes meet for a second, the corners of your lips curling upwards in an amused manner that he realizes his rather obvious slip-up.

"No," you chuckle with a shake of your head.

"Girlfriend?" the eldest follows up shortly, several expressions going around the table ranging from awkward laughter to annoyed sighs, the latter most notably sounding from Namjoon and Yoongi.

"Also no," you simply reply.

Seokjin shrugs his shoulders. "Can't hurt to ask."

"Why? Are you interested?"

Yoongi can't help but cackle at how the words leave your lips in such a deadpan yet entertained way, and for a second he's worried the others notice his change in demeanor. Your counter has the eldest choking on his drink though as he erupts into his characteristic windshield-wiper laugh, catching everyone's attention as Seokjin furiously wipes the bottom of his chin covered in soda.

"What happened to the standard ice breakers like What do you like to do in your free time or What's your take on mint chocolate ice cream?" you probe further, lips curling around the straw of your drink.

"Mint choco? Not a fan," Hoseok retorts, his face contorting into a disgusted grimace.

"Also hate it," Seokjin chimes in now with Namjoon following suit, the youngest going as far as mimicking puking noises.

As Yoongi makes no move of joining in on the conversation, you carry on, "Am I the odd one out here again? Guys, this could determine the future of our entire friendship if there's ever gonna be one."

The group erupts into laughter at that until Yoongi decides to come to the rescue. "I like it," he mumbles out nonchalantly with his arms crossed in front of him on the table.

"Thank you!" You turn to him, eyes sparkling in surprise at his sudden contribution. "At least someone with taste."

For the rest of the night, Yoongi can't help but steal glances at you and his best friend across the table, studying your interactions. They look cute together, he thinks to himself. As far as I can tell. And from what he can see it's easy for you to engage in conversation with the other guys as well,  effortlessly exchanging quips and revealing facts about yourself. Yet, Yoongi can't seem to figure you out. Namjoon invited you out to hang out with his friends. Of course, you're going to be nice to everyone including him. Nothing to worry about, and as far as he's concerned if you happen to fake it he doesn't care. He never cared.

When you catch sight of him inspecting you, your lips curl into a small smile causing him to avert his eyes as fast as humanly possible. Awkward.

After everyone finishes their meal, you step back outside to say your goodbyes, the cold breeze of the night air brushing past.

"You sure you don't want me to walk you home?" Namjoon inquires, his stare set on you.

"Nah, it's fine," you decline, shaking your head as a shiver runs through you. "My friends are around in the area. They said they can pick me up."

He solemnly nods at your words, pulling you into a half-hug before stepping aside.

"It was really nice meeting you, _____. And hopefully, we'll get to see you again soon," Seokjin notes.

You send the eldest a pleasant smile, waving him off before doing the same to the other two.

When your eyes land on Yoongi, the man in question musters up a meek smirk and when you practically outshine him with a bright beam, he catches himself almost cursing. How are you so fucking friendly?

"So," Namjoon turns to the group once your silhouette disappears into the backseat of a black car pulling up at the curb, uncertainty clear in his features, "what do you think?"

"I like her," Hoseok is the first one to answer.

"Yeah, me too," Seokjin joins in.

It's quiet for an instance before everyone's eyes turn to Yoongi in anticipation.

"What?" the man grumbles, hands burying into his front pockets. "You need my blessing or something? She's alright, I guess."

Hoseok huffs, patting the youngest on the shoulder. "That's the most you're gonna get."

The mellow sounds of some lo-fi hip-hop song paint the perfect atmosphere while Yoongi scours around the store. It's like a safe haven for him, a place where he can replenish his power after a straining week of classes and assignments, unbothered and undisturbed. With swift fingers, he browses through the plethora of record sleeves in search for –

"Oh, hey!"

A somewhat familiar but also not-so-familiar voice startles him. Lifting his eyes from the rows of vinyls before him, you come into sight, cheeks risen into globes as you send him a bright smile. "H-hi," he croaks out, slightly confused. For some reason, the record shop is the spot he least expects to run into you. He's not sure why, but you don't strike him as a person to enjoy these things – though he knows little to nothing about you.

"Any good finds?" you inquire, head tilted to the side as you roam through the selection on your side.

"Uh..." he trails, "yeah, actually." Eyeing you for an instance, he ponders whether to elaborate or not. But why would you ask if you weren't interested? "I was looking for"–pulling out the record in question, he holds it up for you to see–"this one."

"Oh my God!" you exclaim as your eyes land on the colorful cover, splotches of pink and orange mingling with blue and purple hues. "It's such a good album. I waited ten years for this, but it's so worth it."

Stunned, Yoongi sends you a look he's sure he's never given anyone before. "You know it?"

"Yeah," you answer nonchalantly, "track number seven and eight are my favorites. Oh, and also–"

Yoongi flinches slightly when you lean forward until he catches onto your action, flipping the record around to let you check the tracklist on the back of the sleeve.

"–track number four. I'm a sucker for movie sound clips." You beam him a bright smile before continuing, "I'm a fan of Act I and II especially, and the features are expertly chosen." Retreating to your initial position, you finish, "Overall, one hour of excellence I can only recommend."

Yoongi regards you as if you just found the solution for world peace. He didn't expect you to be so enthusiastic about music – let alone hip-hop. You don't strike him as a person to enjoy this type of genre, but who is he to judge a book by its cover? "More of a reason to check it out then," he finally replies with a light chuckle after listening to your rambles. When you grant him another smile of yours just to return to your own business, he continues, "What have you got there?" A little small talk shouldn't hurt, right? After all, you're being exceptionally nice to him, so he should reciprocate.

Your eyes dart down to the vinyls lodged in between your folded arm. "Oh, just a random mix. Some rock, some pop, some R&B." Pulling your shoulders up into a shrug, you finish, "All kinds of things."

He nods in understanding. It's such a superficial thought, but he never imagined you to be so enthusiastic and versatile with your music taste. Not that he ever wondered in the first place, but he knows essentially nothing about you. Hearing about your interest in music piques his interest in you in turn though – on a friendly level, of course.

It comes naturally, falling into conversation about your favorite artists and albums, giving each other recommendations, and it's not long before you step out of the store together after paying for your purchases.

"Which way are you going?" you ask with a hand shielding your eyes from the midday sun, the light adorning your face in a yellow glow.

Yoongi hums out in thought. "I gotta stop by Namjoon's and Hoseok's, so this way." With an outstretched thumb, he points to his right.

"Oh, okay," you answer, cracking a small smile. "Is it fine if I walk with you part of the way? I'm supposed to meet up with Namjoon for a project tomorrow, and I need some books from the library."

"Uh..." The male studies your features, your eyes set on him expectantly, lips slightly pursed yet not losing their curved shape. Despite your outgoing and to him somewhat outlandish nature, you seem to make sure not to overstep any boundaries. He grows fond of the thought, letting out a light chuckle at that. "Yeah, sure."

Throughout the entire way to the library, the two of you converse mostly about music. Yoongi is specifically interested in the fact that you own vinyls as well.

"My brother got me into them," you explain, fingers carding through some strands of your hair being swayed by the breeze. "He has this huge collection he's been accumulating since he was like sixteen."

He listens attentively to your words, soaking them up like a sponge. It doesn't dawn on him at first, but there isn't a single moment of silence – and he doesn't hate it. Usually, it takes him a great amount of effort to stay energized during social interaction, to not feel like he's either faking or half-assing it, or even the need to take flight. As soon as you arrive at the library though, he figures the contrary is the case here, a huge power drain suddenly coursing through every crevice of Yoongi's body.

"I guess I'll see you around?" You turn to him, hand curled around the iron door handle of the entrance.

Yoongi nods leisurely, a small smile forming on his face.

You mirror his mimic though tenfold in vivacity, offering him a wave of your hand in addition. "Tell them hi for me."

Lifting his own hand into the air, he answers, "I will."

And with that, you're gone and an indescribable feeling follows Yoongi to his friends he can't seem to shake off.

"Dude, that was whack!" Hoseok's shrill voice blares across the court, harvesting the attention of several onlookers.

"Yeah, okay. I know," Namjoon fends, watching the basketball bounce off the backboard onto the ground. "Everyone and their dog knows. Fuck!"

The group grows silent as they watch the youngest strut over to the bleachers, rummaging in his backpack.

Seokjin scoops up the ball from the gravel, shuffling over to the remaining boys gathered in the middle of the court. "What's up with him?"

Hoseok sends the eldest a simple shrug of his shoulders.

"What's up with you?" Seokjin shouts across the place but receives no response from Namjoon as he plops down on the bench, swallowing his water in big gulps.

"Okay, water break," Hoseok huffs out, trudging over to his friend followed by Yoongi and Seokjin.

As they reach Namjoon, said man simply shoves his water bottle back into his backpack before springing back into a standing position.

"So, are you gonna tell us what your problem is?" Seokjin tries again, locking eyes with the taller man.

Namjoon sighs in defeat, running a hand through his sweaty strands. "I'm a little on edge, I guess."

"You don't say," the eldest retorts, taking a swig of his water bottle. "But what's the reason?"

It's quiet for an instance before Namjoon continues, "I'm not sure how to go about things with _____."

"What do you mean?" Hoseok takes over this time, drying off the droplets of sweat on his forehead with a towel.

"We've been meeting up here and there. Sometimes for school, sometimes to hang out. But..." He stalls, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"It's not going anywhere?"

The youngest nods, his jaw set and tongue pushed into the inside of his cheek.

Yoongi zones out halfway through the conversation. Over the course of time, get-togethers with you and either Namjoon or the whole group have become a frequent occurrence. Whether that be in between classes to have lunch or hang out later that day for a drink or two – Namjoon has been making an effort of incorporating you into the clique. And from the looks of it, you and the guys are getting along well.

In addition to that, Yoongi ran into you at the record shop again once or twice. He wouldn't necessarily deem it a notable fact as you parted ways to go on with your days every time, but the moments spent in there remain valuable nonetheless as both of you walked out with new discoveries each visit.

"Have you made any moves on her?" Seokjin questions now, leaning back onto the row of benches behind him.

The man in question tilts his head to the side. "Not per se, but I give her signals."

"What kinda signals?"

This entire time Yoongi remains silent, watching the scene unfold in front of him like an outsider. It's somewhat of a familiar sight, a memory of Namjoon trying to confess to his high school crush coming to the forefront of Yoongi's mind. The boys practically had to push the poor guy into her arms before he could chicken out for the umpteenth time. And though the course of their relationship neared its end sooner or later, Namjoon has at least gained the experience instead of giving in to his doubts. What a shitshow that was, Yoongi thinks to himself.

"I compliment her whenever she's wearing something nice or did her hair and make-up differently, and I bring her coffee and snacks." Namjoon's voice pulls Yoongi out of his daydream.

Hoseok musters his friend with furrowed brows. "You're doing the bare minimum, man."

Seokjin agrees with the former, adding, "You could spare all the second-guessing and straight-up tell her."

At that, Namjoon exhales loudly through his nose. "But she's not showing any signs, you know? At first she did, but now not so much."

Yoongi can see the disappointment in his friend's eyes, and if he could help him he would. But the others are only right – Namjoon has to stop playing around and come clean about his feelings. Yoongi knows he would if he were in Namjoon's shoes. Even with the nearly non-existent experience and abysmal enthusiasm for romantic relationships he has.

"We're not sixteen, seventeen anymore," the eldest blurts out. "If you wanna get the girl, you gotta tell her."

"I know, I know. But..." Namjoon trails, his hooded eyes darting towards the distance. "I dunno. It's obvious something's off. Maybe I came on too strong? Just gimme some time to figure it out, and – oh shit! She's coming."

All heads follow Namjoon's line of sight, a familiar figure coming into vision.

"Hey!" You greet them with a wave of your hand and your signature bright smile. "Heard you guys were here, so I thought I'd come with refreshments." As you pull out a cup carrier from behind your back, the boys let out sounds of surprise. You hand out the drinks to each individually. "I hope I did okay. I got the usual for Joonie,–"

The man in question accepts the beverage from you, a wide grin splayed across his face at the gesture – and most likely the nickname as well – as if the conversation from mere minutes ago is already forgotten.

"–watermelon for Hoseok, pink lemonade for Seokjin, and–"

As your hand curls around the last cup, Yoongi blinks up at you with wondrous eyes.

"–I remember you mentioned Iced Americanos once, so here you go."

Yoongi's lips part, closing and opening again before he mutters out a small Thank you. His hands shake slightly as he takes the cold drink from you. He remembers pointing out his go-to order about a week ago when you joined the clique for a quick coffee break after morning class. You wore your hair up in a bun, minimal make-up yet your face looked as bright as ever, and an oversized–

Hold up. Why does he remember all of this and why does it matter? What the fuck? Yoongi mentally slaps himself on the back of the head.

"So, who's winning?" You plop down onto the bench in between Yoongi and Seokjin, the former going rigid when your arm shortly comes into contact with his.

Everyone's eyes go around the group before landing on Namjoon.

"Last time I checked, we were on a losing streak," he sighs, nodding towards himself and Hoseok.

The remaining boys raise their eyebrows in confusion, not expecting the youngest to paint himself in a bad light in front of his crush.

"I'm the problem though," his teammate follows up quickly, defusing the situation. "I pull him down like a rock. Today's just not my day."

Your lips pull into a pout before curling upwards again, giving him an understanding nod.

"But hey," Hoseok continues, snapping his fingers as if he came up with the perfect idea, "how about you two play together? I could use a break, to be honest."

You lean in further at the proposition, your elbows propped up on your knees with a mischievous smile creeping up on your face. "I'll tell you what – you two go 1v1 and I'll play with whoever wins against these two." With outstretched thumbs, you point to Yoongi on your left and Seokjin on your right.

Hoseok's eyes widen ever so slightly and his lips curl into the shape of a circle.

"Please? I just wanna see you play, Joonie," you add with a slight lilt to your voice, gaze lingering on the tall man.

Yoongi almost spits out his drink, splurting a little as he sucks the caffeinated liquid through the straw. That's not showing any signs? My ass.

"Okay then," Namjoon states cooly though a hint of a smile can be spotted on his features. Retrieving the abandoned ball from the floor, he tosses it into Hoseok's hands. "First one to score ten points."

The two exchange looks with each other before jumping into action, jogging back to the court.

"Oh, thank God," Seokjin sighs loudly from beside you, head slumping sideways onto his shoulder. "I needed to catch a breath. My legs are killing me." He stretches out his limbs as a means of demonstrating his fatigue.

"How can you be tired? I did almost all the work, old man," Yoongi suddenly chimes in, a hint of annoyance yet amusement laced in his tone.

"Yah! I'm only three months older than you," the older male retorts, hoisting himself into an upright position. "I'm exhausted because you're hopping around the place like a rabbit on steroids. You always play like your life depends on it." Seokjin lets out several other humorous remarks that have Yoongi chuckling when a muffled vibrating sound interrupts him. Reaching into one of the pockets of his backpack, he pulls out his phone. "I gotta answer that real fast. It's my mom."

"Tell her I said hi," the blonde comments nonchalantly, adjusting the headband holding back his bangs.

Seokjin gives him a confirming nod before standing up with a groan, finger hovering above the screen ready to accept the call.

It's silent for a few seconds once Seokjin disappears down the line when suddenly a low cackle leaves you.

"What?" Yoongi asks, eyes shifting from Namjoon dribbling past Hoseok and landing a lay-up to you.

You shake your head slowly. "Your friendship dynamic is kinda weird but cute."

"Cute?" he blurts out in disbelief, repeating the word in his thoughts like an echo. Cute... Not in a million years would Yoongi have thought anything remotely in regards to him could be described as cute. "Care to elaborate?"

A shrug of your shoulders serves as part of your answer. "I dunno. I just find it interesting how different you are around each other, but all fuse so well." You rest your head in the palm of your hand. "You and Seokjin, for example, are the bickering type yet you treat each other with so much respect."

Yoongi laughs at your analysis. "Yeah, I guess so."

"It's kinda endearing to see," you add with a small smile.

He reciprocates it with an equally shy smirk. Wow. No one has ever made the effort to look beyond his quote-unquote stone-cold persona. People usually write him off as rude and aloof, and most of the time it doesn't bother him – but hearing someone point out the opposite fuels him with pride.

"Hoseok matches your coolness, but he's more of a happy-go-lucky type compared to you which is a good balance."

Yoongi just smiles to himself at this point, listening to your ramblings. Cool. You called him cool.

"And then you and Namjoon–"

He clears his throat, unsure of what to expect next.

"–are more on the same wavelength intellectually. Like you talk about this and that on an equal level, but he looks up to you like an older brother."

The man regards you with utmost attention, rendered speechless. He's unsure what it is about you as he would usually brush it off, pass the words off as bullshit, but looking into your eyes he can see the honesty, the truth behind them. A mix of emotions comes crashing in like a storm, settling in the core of his stomach, nestling there and leaving him nauseous. What is this feeling?

Before Yoongi can make sense of things, you speak up again. "I can't give you a full breakdown of our friendship yet."  

His eyes widen as he lets your words sink in. "Our f-friendship?"

"Yeah." You lean back on the bench behind you. "I'd like to think we're friends." When he doesn't answer, you probe further, "Don't you?"

It doesn't go unnoticed, the barely significant change in volume and pitch of your voice, and it has Yoongi in silent panic. "Yeah n-no, of course we're friends," he stammers, his hand shooting up to brush through some damp strands of his hair.

At that, your signature smile returns, serving as a stark opponent to the orange light of the late afternoon sun. "Okay," you simply reply, licking your lips as you drop your gaze to a patch of grass on the ground. Yoongi does the same when your voice grabs his attention again. "How'd you like that Bryson Tiller I recommended, by the way?"

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he muses, "It was really good. R&B isn't usually on my radar, but I really liked it."

You beam him a grin that grows wider by the second. "For real?"

Yoongi hums out in confirmation, accompanied by a nod of his head. "I can see why he's one of your favorites."

It's apparent you're trying to form words to speak when a loud roar sounds from across the place, followed by Namjoon sprinting towards the two of you. Hoseok trudges behind him defeatedly, seemingly out of breath.

"I did it," Namjoon announces proudly, pectorals on full display through his sweat-soaked shirt.

You spring up from your seat, cheering and clapping for the male before you engulf him in a tight hug.

The sensation in the pit of Yoongi's stomach intensifies, growing into unbearable stages when he watches Namjoon wrap his strong arms around you. This is unfamiliar territory for him, the force of this inidentifiable feeling brewing inside of him, the unexplicable longing for an answer to something he has never experienced before. Is it possible that he's... No, he can't be. This can't be, Yoongi tells himself. No.

Then he realizes that he hasn't spared one single glance at the game – and neither have you.

"Why the fuck would you do that?" Seokjin utters, his torso pressing further into the backrest of the sofa with each passing second, tightly clutching a pillow in comfort. "Don't look back! Run for your fucking life!"

Everyone's attention is on the lead actress of the movie, her struggle to escape the creature chasing her leaving the group on the edge of their seats.

For tonight, the boys decided on drinks and movies at Yoongi's and Seokjin's place, and despite a democratic vote against a horror movie, you managed to convince the opposition – most notably Seokjin and Hoseok – otherwise.

In his peripheral view, Yoongi can spot the latter grabbing onto his hair in tension the longer the chase continues, mouth falling agape when the main character barely dodges falling into the hands of death.

"_____, why would you make us watch this?" Hoseok whimpers, leaning closer to Seokjin beside him, the elder clawing onto the other as they both cower in fear.

With a lifted pointer finger to your lips, you signal him to shut up when suddenly a loud screech sounds from the speakers, causing you and everyone else to flinch.

Yoongi's hands clench around the armrests of his recliner in shock, a low chuckle leaving his lips once the aftereffect of the jumpscare subsides. When he turns his head to the side though, his expression falls just as fast as it came.

Your hands are clutched around Namjoon's biceps, your forehead resting on his shoulder before you look back up, sharing a laugh with the man seemingly embarrassed at the frightening scene.

Throughout the remainder of the movie, Yoongi's mind wanders elsewhere, the horrifying acts happening on screen serving as mere background noise for his thoughts. Why does he feel so hollow witnessing you together with his friend? He shouldn't care about any sort of physical touch between the two of you. He should be cheering for him now that he's becoming closer with his crush instead. So why is Yoongi internally conjuring up an image where he's the one sitting beside you in Namjoon's place? Why does he wish it was him that you're looking at so sweetly with that sparkle in your eyes? Why– No, stop, he mentally slaps himself. Stop it – now.

The ending credits roll when Seokjin springs up from his seat, a slight wobble apparent in his legs. "That was...something. I'm gonna need another beer. Anyone else?"

Hoseok is the first to give an affirmative answer, followed by you and Namjoon which forces Yoongi to opt for one as well.

"Let's watch something more lighthearted next?" Hoseok pleads as he scrolls through the plethora of movies, and once everyone is equipped with another cold beer, you agree on a comedic drama this time.

Yoongi has a gradually harder time trying to ignore the soft whispers and the glances stolen at each other, so he accepts sleep with open arms once he senses his eyelids growing heavy – the last thing he sees being your eyes facing him.

About an hour passes when Yoongi wakes up from the flickering lights of the TV screen as it shows recommendations after being inactive for so long.

Rubbing his eyes, he looks around the room. Everyone is dead asleep with Seokjin having settled for a makeshift bed on the floor, leaving an entire couch spare for Hoseok. Namjoon occupies one half of the other couch, legs resting on the coffee table – and then there's you next to him, hugging a pillow almost as big as your body in your curled-up state. Yoongi can make out the folded fashion of your legs covered under the throw blanket. You can't possibly be comfortable in this position, he concludes, but yet you look so peaceful, so tranquil – so beautiful.

He barely registers your eyelids fluttering open, deep in thought yet no thoughts at all, so he finds himself flinching once your focus sets on him.

Confusion seeps through every crevice of his being when all you do is stare at him, eyelids still heavy from sleep, wispy eyelashes brushing your skin with every blink. Yoongi should feel uncomfortable locking eyes with you so intently, so intensely, but all he feels is a meaning behind it.

Neither of you break eye contact, the tension growing palpable in the silence of this room, only the ticking of the clock on the wall and the light breathing of your sleeping friends to be heard. It's like only you and him matter at this moment, and when your lips curl into a small smile, he reciprocates the same, watching your eyelids fall shut again.

Yoongi wakes up once more to the now black mirror of the TV screen an hour later – and a light fabric draped atop of him. Running his fingers across the knitted pattern, he realizes it's the blanket you were wrapped up in from before. As his head whips around to the spot to his right, you're nowhere to be seen.

She might've gone to the bathroom, he tells himself, running a hand through his tousled hair. As his throat feels somewhat dry, he rises from his seat in the recliner, trudging over to the kitchen to find the lights on.

You're sitting facing the door, so when Yoongi enters, you're quick to greet him, surprise evident in your features. "Oh, hey."

"Hey," he replies, voice still thick from slumber. "You're up?"

"Mhm," you mumble. "Couldn't fall back asleep."

With shaky hands, he pours himself some water before settling down onto the chair adjacent to you. It's quiet for a while – not the same kind of quiet as back in the living room though. This time, the buzzing sound from the ceiling light and the droplets of water from the tap render Yoongi queasy, the scene transpiring just an hour ago playing on a loop in the forefront of his mind. To break some of the tension, he says the first best thing he can think of at the moment. "Thanks, by the way." When you look at him in confusion, he clarifies, "For the blanket."

"Oh." A light chuckle escapes your lips. "Yeah, I figured you might need it." Fiddling with the cup you're cradling in your hands, you continue, "I don't get why you always walk around in short sleeves."

Yoongi lets out a low hum. "It's not like I'm immune to the cold, but I'm less prone to it."

"Really?" you question him with interest. "I feel like I'm freezing all the time. Here, look."

"Ah–" Yoongi winces in surprise when one of your hands curls around his, the surface of your palm frigid against his skin. Like hypnotized, his eyes are fixated on your fingers laying loosely atop of his, the delicate flesh of your digits brushing against his calloused ones, your meticulously manicured nails a shocking juxtaposition to the rough edges of his. He's taking in the soft pink of your nail polish, a similar shade to the tint on your lips and a stark contrast to the prominent purple veins raking across his knuckles like vines.

Despite the clear collision of different worlds, all Yoongi can think about is how this looks right and how this feels right. Your hand might be freezing cold, yet he's fighting the urge to intertwine fingers with you until the temperature of your limb matches his – but then he remembers who you are. "Yeah..." Slowly retracting his hand from yours, Yoongi's vision steers to a cracked tile on the floor, the memory of a clumsy Namjoon in drunken stupor coming to the forefront of his mind. "You're really cold," he murmurs.

As if some sort of spell was lifted, you empty the remnants of your water in one go before slowly rising from your seat. "I should probably get going."

"W-what?" Yoongi stammers with a slight delay, processing your words. "It's like"–he squints at the clock on the wall–"two in the morning."

"Yeah, well..." Placing your used cup in the sink, you turn back around to face him. "I have some things to do tomorrow, so I should probably get some good rest in my own bed instead of breaking my neck sleeping on your couch." You finish your explanation with a hint of a smile.

Yoongi watches you with caution, searching for any sign that might give away your innermost thoughts. He doesn't remember you talking about any plans earlier today. "Let me walk you home then."

"Oh no, it's fine. You don't have to." Vigorously waving your hands in front of you, you politely deny his proposal. Why are you so adamant about it?

"I think I do." He's unsure where his assertiveness is coming from, but the thought of you returning home in the dark all alone renders him with discomfort.

"Really, it's not the first time. I'll be fine."

The male scoffs at that. Even more of a reason now, he thinks to himself. Who in their right mind ever made you walk home by yourself? "I don't think so."

"It's really not that far and I have–"

"_____, I'm not letting you walk home alone at this hour. Over my dead body." Pushing his tongue into his cheek, Yoongi declares, "It's either that or I'm waking up one of the guys to take you instead."

When you look up at him with wide eyes, he's concerned he might have overstepped a boundary – but he's merely being sensible. What if something happened to you? The thought alone sends shivers down his spine. He would never be able to forgive himself.

Your small voice softly rings in his ears, barely noticeable but enough for him to be able to finally breathe again. "Okay."

The walk to your apartment is dead-silent most of the way except for when you mumble out directions. Once you arrive at your apartment complex, you send him a small smile, thanking him before turning on your heel without wasting another breath.

"_____!" Yoongi calls after you.

You halt in your steps, facing him again.

"Did I do something wrong?" He knows he didn't, but something must have happened that caused your change in attitude. There's no way you can be angry with him for wanting you to arrive home safe and sound.

When you walk back towards him, a weak smirk stretches across your face before you shake your head. "It's nothing," you reassure him. "It's not you."

The space in between his eyebrows furrows at your words. What do you mean by that? He's trying to study your face under the dim streetlight though all he can see is the faint outlines of your features.

"Thank you for walking me home."

The action catches Yoongi off-guard, but when you wrap your arms around his waist, cheek coming to a rest on his collarbone, he acts as if on autopilot, leisurely draping his limbs across your back. Man, despite you laying it down on him so strongly that you're cold all the time the hug feels pretty damn warm and cozy. He can sense your heartbeat through the layers of fabric, the swell of your breasts pressed against his chest –

Oh God.

Unfurling his arms, he releases you from his hold, stumbling a step backward before things can escalate any further. He's not supposed to have these thoughts – not about you.

You take the hint, your own limbs dropping to your sides as you send him one last look, the corners of your lips tugging upwards ever so slightly. And then you turn on your heel, leaving for good.

He waits until you've entered your apartment, a light igniting on the fifth floor an indicator that you have, but even then he can't seem to set foot until several minutes have passed.

It's still pitch-dark inside when Yoongi returns, the slivers of moonlight shining through the windows serving as his sole guide. Silently hanging his set of keys onto the keychain holder, he shuffles his way back into the living room.

In the meantime, Seokjin must have moved to his bedroom as no traces of him or the pillows and blankets on the floor are to be seen. He usually does that when the boys are over and they end up falling asleep with not enough space for everyone.

Steering his gaze to the left, he witnesses Namjoon's tall stature splayed out on the now entirely vacant couch, back turned towards him.

Realizing there's no need for him to retreat to the recliner, Yoongi stealthily moves past the sleeping bodies of his friends in search of his bedroom.

"Thank you, hyung," the deep timbre of Namjoon's voice suddenly sounds, just above a whisper but enough to startle him.

"What for?" he inquires, confused at his friend's words and the fact that he's still awake.

"For taking care of _____."

Clubs aren't Yoongi's terrain. He avoids them like a disease, the sole thought of being surrounded by sweaty strangers grinding on each other to shitty, repetitive music so loud it almost bursts your eardrums forcing him to gag. Yet here he is, sulky though dressed to impress – in his eyes – as he patiently waits for the rest of the group to finish up. He's well aware that he could have declined, but at the same time he didn't want to. She's gonna be there.

It's minutes later when the front door finally opens, revealing Hoseok first, followed closely by Namjoon – and then there's you.

This has to be some sort of fever dream. He's at high risk of being caught, but Yoongi can't take his eyes off of you. Your pearl-white dress paired with the matching heels sends his head reeling, the hemline of your skirt stopping about mid-thigh causing a blush to creep up on his cheeks. But he can't lose his cool in front of everyone. That would be stupid and weird – and not to mention outright treacherous.

"Ready to go?" Seokjin questions, clutching his car keys as the designated driver of the night.

Everyone quickly assembles at the front door except for Yoongi who takes a second to gather his thoughts.

"Are you coming?"

Yoongi lifts his head at the inquiry. When he realizes it's you who posed the question with your frame turned towards him, his heart starts pounding in his chest like a pump gun. If only you understood the insinuation behind those words... "Y-yeah, sure," he chokes out before clambering off the couch, and so the group steps outside to Seokjin's car.

"Hyung." Hoseok puts a hand on Yoongi's shoulder. "We already pre-gamed a little. You gotta sit in the back, or I get car sick."

Yoongi peers behind Hoseok's form, eyes landing on you. They're gonna make you sit in the middle because Namjoon would block the view through the rear window. He's fucked.

Without posing any further questions, he climbs into the right backseat. When you settle down next to him not even a second after, it's like all signs of lifeform leave him – his breathing becomes shallow, his heartbeat flatlines. Not even a single muscle moves.

Your bare thigh comes into contact with his when you squirm around in search of the buckle. "Oops, sorry." A small smile flashes across your face when you notice. "I think it's on your side."

Yoongi tries his hardest to avoid eye contact with you. He wouldn't survive it in this close proximity. "A-ah, yeah..." he mumbles, maneuvering his legs closer to the door, giving you enough space to fumble.

The entire ride to the club he remains silent, his racing thoughts drowning out the chatter in the background. He's so unbelievably fucked.

The majority of the time Yoongi spends at the bar, downing beer after beer to wash away the chaos inside his mind – though what he deemed his remedy at first turns out to be his poison instead. After the third beer, it's impossible to ignore the way your hair sways along with your movements, how well your snug dress hugs your silhouette, and how smooth your bare arms and legs look.

"Alright," you pipe over the loud music after swallowing your shot of tequila, "I'll be back on the dancefloor again." Sliding down the bar stool, you shoot a look at the boys, both Hoseok and Namjoon tagging along with you.

Seokjin sends an affirmative nod your way before turning back to the bartender, engaging in their current conversation.

Even among the crowd it's easy to spot you, the satin fabric of your garment causing you to stand out like a sore thumb. In Yoongi's eyes you easily lighten up this sleazy place though, this pit of hell where everyone devours each other with indecent looks. You're like an angel among demons, wearing that sweet smile of yours like a halo, glowing with understanding and genuine interest – only it isn't directed at him but Namjoon in this scenario instead.

He watches your face turn into something darker though when his friend leans in closer towards you, whispering something in your ear.

Oh... Fuck.

He can't do this right now. Not now, not like this.

Without giving it much thought, Yoongi gets up from his seat. "I'm gonna step out for a second," he informs Seokjin before trudging towards the backdoor.

Once he sets foot onto the asphalt of the back alley and the door shuts behind him with a loud thud, an exasperated sigh escapes him. The air is cold and crisp with a hint of humidity from a prior rain shower. "Fuck..." The curse comes out audibly this time. Walking around in circles, his hands come up multiple times to run through his tousled locks. Why does he feel so strongly about this situation? You're just a girl, some random girl, that one of his closest friends since childhood happens to have a crush on. Yeah, you're kind and you're smart, beautiful and funny... But why does all of that matter to him? Why does it bother him so much seeing you with him that his insides churn at the sole thought of it?

He fell for you. He actually fell for you.

The realization has Yoongi forcing out a laugh in disbelief.

"There you are."

A familiar voice brings him back from his manic trip.

"I found you."

Looking over to the side, he almost regrets his decision. Even underneath the dim streetlights and the red hue of the neon sign plastered on the concrete wall you look stunning. Pull your fucking shit together, he tells himself. So he musters up the faintest of smiles at the source of the voice.

Your heels click on the asphalt as you make your way over to him, the surface still wet from the rain as it emits a splashing sound with each step. When you lean next to him against the wall, you let out a soft whine along with a chuckle before retracting from the surface in lightning speed. "Ah, it's cold."

Yoongi can't help but react with a soft chortle. "And wet," he adds, shrugging off his leather jacket in an attempt to throw it over your shoulders though you don't comply.

"Oh no," you fend. "I'll just go back inside where it's warm. I only wanted to cool off for a bit."

For some reason, your words render him even more eager in his proposition. "Don't be ridiculous. Put it on, please."

"Really, I came out for a breather, and that's what I got. Besides," you gesture towards him, "you're wearing short sleeves again–"

"And you're practically half-naked, so don't try to argue with me." It takes him a second to register what came out of his mouth, so when you look up at him with a dumbfounded expression, he immediately backtracks from his statement. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I'm just–"

"You're just trying to be nice. I know," you finish for him.

Even though he would usually word it this way, there's more to it that he refrains from revealing. The alcohol coursing through his veins serves as a strong opponent though, clouding his senses.

With outstretched arms and pouty lips, you let him drape the heavy clothing over your torso, carefully looping your limbs through the sleeves. The sight of you standing there like a sulky child has him suppressing laughter.

"What?" You eye him, a glint evident in your glare before it softens again.

A small smile stretches across the man's lips, hinting at a confusing blend of endearment and disappointment. "Nothing," he simply states. He's in it – deep in it – with no way out. God, he wants to tell you that you're the most beautiful thing he's ever laid eyes on even though it would be wrong to admit.

"Can I ask you a question?" you finally break the palpable silence.

He gulps, unsure of your possible inquiry, but ultimately nods his head yes.

"It's two questions actually." Licking your lips, you shift your focus to a nearby puddle, the reflection of the light coming from the neon sign gifting it with more depth than it probably possesses. "Does Namjoon happen to have a crush on me?"

You come in straight with the facts, so Yoongi is taken aback, confused over how to go about it. "Uh..." he stammers, hand shooting up to scratch at the nape of his neck.

There are so many possible outcomes to this conversation. If he tells you the truth, things end right here, right now. Do not pass Go, do not collect 200 dollars. Does he think Namjoon should've confessed a long time ago? Yes, absolutely. Does he have it in his heart to shorten the process and do it himself instead? Absolutely not. First of all, it's Namjoon's wish to keep it a secret until he musters up enough courage to do so (which Yoongi can only so much as scoff at but still respect), and second and most important of all, there's this lingering fear of you reciprocating his friend's feelings – which isn't too far off of reality from the looks of it.

Realizing he hasn't given you a proper reply yet, Yoongi continues, "Well–"

"So it's true then." You cross your arms in front of your chest, your eyes finding his again boring into them with intent.

"I didn't say that," Yoongi counters, his glare holding yours in an attempt to ignore that glimpse of your cleavage framed by his jacket. It's not an easy feat as your folded arms give it an extra push, the pendant of your necklace sitting neatly atop of it.

"Yoongi, it's not like any of you are exactly subtle about it."

The words leave your lips in such a deadpan way, that trace of indifference within your answer shocking Yoongi as if you don't share the same sentiment. "Then why do you ask if you're so sure about it?" he fends in retaliation, finding no energy in himself to fight against your rebuttal. There's no reason to backtrack now. "Why do you ask me and not Namjoon?"

"I guess I..." The space in between your eyebrows creases. "I don't wanna have to break his heart."

Now it's Yoongi's turn to look at you in confusion. "W-what do you mean?"

He doesn't miss the way you roll your bottom lip in between your teeth, your eyes once dead set on him now avoiding the intensity of his. "Don't get me wrong. I like Namjoon, I really do – just not in that way."

For a second the world seems to stand still, your words slowly sinking into Yoongi's mind. He had it all wrong this entire time since you were dead convincing. Were you just playing some sick, twisted mind game all along?

You continue, "He's a great guy and everything, and I'm probably stupid for not seeing something that could potentially be there. But it's not him I'm interested in." Running a hand through your hair, you let out a loud huff. "I know I'm gonna have to tell him eventually. The thought already stresses me out."

"Namjoon appreciates honesty. Just right out tell him how you feel," Yoongi explains calmly despite the chaos raging inside of him. Honesty. His and Namjoon's friendship has never been of the complicated type, built on nothing but trust. Now he's committing the biggest crime in their twenty years of brotherhood, his eyes lingering on the sparkly sheen of your lips for a second too long wondering what they would taste like contradicting every principle he's trying to uphold. But wait – what do you mean it's not him I'm interested in?

"Yeah, you're right." Your words pull him out of his trance. "I'll talk to him as soon as I can."

Yoongi mirrors that weak smirk spreading across your face. "What's the other question?"

"Huh?"

"You said you had two questions," he recalls.

"Oh, yeah..."

It's quiet for an instance as he watches you deep in thought, struggling with whatever occupies your mind before you shake your head.

"Nevermind."

"Come on." His brows furrow at your curt reply. "Tell me."

"No, it's stupid," you counter, an embarrassed expression taking over your features.

"Nothing you say could ever be stupid." He doesn't think twice about the words leaving his lips, ignoring this weird mixture of regret and shame surging through him. "You brought it up, so just–"

"Do you have a crush on me, too?" you blurt out, eyes set on Yoongi's like your life depends on it.

It's almost as if all sense of being leaves him, his limbs growing rigid and his breath being knocked out of his lungs. How the fuck is he going to go about this? "What?" he merely responds, still in shock.

You blink up at him a couple of times, lips trembling as if you're about to elaborate – though you retract instead. "Forget it." Still facing him, you take a step backward before turning on your heel.

It can't be more than a split second, but within that time frame a million thoughts cross through Yoongi's mind. You have to suspect him for you to ask this question in the first place which poses several questions: how obvious has he been this entire time and why would you want to know the answer? Is it to ridicule him? Is it something entirely else? Whatever the answer may be, Yoongi needs to know – no matter the cost. "Don't," he croaks out, almost unconvincing in the way his voice wavers. "Don't go."

You watch him with wistful eyes as you turn around again, arms still crossed in front of your chest.

"What would you do if I said yes?" Usually, he would set the record straight right away, but this is unlike any other situation Yoongi has ever experienced before. Your presence alone renders him insecure yet the alcohol coursing through his veins causes him to come up with somewhat courageous statements like these.

Taking another step closer towards him, you lean against the wall beside you, one leg leisurely resting in front of the other. "I guess you're gonna find out."

With an incredulous chuckle, he mirrors your movements though his hands bury into the pockets of his jeans instead. You're not even two feet apart from each other, enough for him to feel the heat radiating off of your body. "What makes you so sure about that?"

Despite the shake of your head, the man can still make out the smirk stretching across your face. "Two things: one, you're stalling. If you wanted to say no, you already would've said so. And two," you lick your lips before drawing them into a thin line, "simple intuition."

"Intuition?" he repeats.

"Mhm," you hum out. "Maybe."

Another chortle escapes him. How has this turned into a cat and mouse game? And who is who?

"Or maybe you're just insanely obvious," you fend, a mischievous grin finding its way onto your features.

"Me?" He scoffs. "Obvious?"

A sole nod of your head seals your answer, and maybe his mind is playing tricks on him, but Yoongi swears he can sense some sort of chemistry brewing in between the both of you. But then again, why would you show any signs of interest in him? He's him and you're...you. Perfect, stellar _____ whom his best friend is pining for. He's stuck between a rock and a hard place, unable to deny his feelings yet the idea of Namjoon's heart being crushed comes to the forefront of his mind. Although the sheer thought of losing you tears him apart equally as bad as hypothetically losing his closest companion since childhood.

In hindsight, he wonders if things would've turned out different, if things could've been avoided, had Namjoon confessed to you and had you reciprocated. Yoongi wouldn't have developed feelings for you – at least he believes so. Now he's so deep in shit he doesn't see any way out of it without someone getting the short end of the stick. Either way someone's going to get hurt, and he decides it rather be him instead.

"Cat got your tongue?"

Yoongi comes back to life at the sound of your voice, the soft lilt alluding to your ignorance.

"Would it make things easier for you if–"

His brows furrow in surprise when you step closer to him, so close that you're almost chest to chest.

"–I said I liked you back?"

Did he hear you right? Did you just imply that you– There's no way. This can't be real. "What kinda sick joke is this?" The words leave his lips without much thought.

Now it's your turn to look at him in confusion, eyebrows creased with a deep-set frown. "What?"

Huffing out in frustration, Yoongi declares more deadpan than he prefers, "You're right – I like you, _____. And you say you like me, but..." He stalls, the residue of alcohol complicating the process of keeping his emotions in check. He can't have an outburst happen in front of you. The situation is already complicated enough as is. "Why do you act like that around Namjoon? I don't understand."

You look like you're about to reply with the way your bottom lip quivers, a hint of tears forming in the corners of your eyes, but a rusty creak along with a loud slam of metal and an all-too-familiar deep voice have you both turning your heads towards the door.

Shit.

"Namjoon," you two mumble in unison before rushing back inside.

Yoongi can already hear the commotion when you enter the hallway connecting the back entrance with the main room.

"Dude, calm down. What's going on?" Hoseok holds the younger man by the arm to stop him from storming past the crowd.

Namjoon looks back at the two of you. His nostrils are flared and his jaw set – Yoongi is scared he might pounce on him any second.

When his friend finally releases himself from Hoseok's hold and stalks over to you, he instinctively pulls you behind him. He knows Namjoon would never hurt anybody, but the thought of you being in this mess in your vulnerable state sends him into protector mode.

"I should've known," he starts. "It was crystal clear this entire time, but I didn't wanna accept it. Well," running a hand through his dirty blonde strands, he continues, "now I have proof."

"Joon, let me explain." Yoongi tries to defuse the situation. "It's not–"

"It's not what it looks like? Is that what you're trying to say?" Letting out a scoff, his stare shoots even more daggers at the shorter male now. "So I didn't see you confessing your feelings to the girl I like just seconds ago? This was all in my imagination then?"

Yoongi's mouth turns dry, a lump forming in his throat. "Joon, just hear me out–"

"Oh, I think I've heard more than enough." Clasping his head in his hands, he continues, "I didn't think you would stab me in the fucking back like that."

"Namjoon!" It's Hoseok's voice now calling the male's name in warning.

Another curse escapes him before he leans in closer towards you.

He might be mistaken, but Yoongi's hand suddenly feels heavier, another set of fingers weaving their way through his in search of comfort.

"Good luck with the virgin," Namjoon snarls, his eyes traveling from you to the male beside you.

"Kim Namjoon!" Seokjin steps in this time, fury evident in his face before said man can make his way to the exit, leaving everyone in shock.

Yoongi's ears fall deaf after that, a pit opening in the depths of his stomach, every fiber of his being becoming numb. He's neither particularly ashamed nor proud of this fact, but the way the words came out of Namjoon's mouth has him almost toppling over in disbelief.

He doesn't understand what's happening around him, but when what he believes to be your head drops onto his shoulder, he comes back to his senses. The contact is fleeting though as you detangle yourself from his grip.

"I'm sorry," you murmur, and without taking a look back, you disappear within the crowd, someone calling your name over and over again without an answer.

It's then that Yoongi realizes he and Seokjin are the only ones left.

"Stay here," the elder signalizes him, following your trail through the club.

Fuck. Fuck! How could things have gotten so uncontrollably out of hand? There's an uncomfortable tightness forming in Yoongi's chest, wrapping around him like a rope. Is this going to be the end of his and Namjoon's two-decade-old friendship? Is he going to lose one of his closest confidants because of a girl? The thought leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. You're not just some random girl – you're far more than that. He despises himself for even thinking of diminishing your worth, his heart clenching in disgust, yet there's no way this can be the end of things. He should've never fallen for you.

Your mind must be racing as well though, Yoongi concludes. You basically confirmed that you have feelings for him as well – if what you said was the truth because, after all, you have been heavily flirting with Namjoon in front of Yoongi. If so, how are they going to hold up after this mess? And – the idea has him swallowing down hard – are you turned off by the fact that he's a virgin?

His priorities are all over the place right now. Is he going to have to make a choice between you and his friend? Or are you both going to abandon him maybe? Fuck...

"Yoongi!" The familiar sound of Seokjin's voice appears at the perfect time, catching him before he can fall deeper into despair. "Let's go home."

"What about _____?" he inquires, not realizing your name slipping off his tongue first instead of Namjoon's.

"She's in the car," the elder explains. "Hoseok and Namjoon are taking an Uber home."

There's nothing much Yoongi can offer besides a solemn nod before following Seokjin outside to the parking lot.

The dusty green of his roommate's old Honda Civic comes into view, and for a second Yoongi considers taking the seat next to you when he catches a glimpse of you through the window, head hung low and hair falling in front of your face. The sight has him opting for the passenger seat instead.

Most of the car ride remains calm, not even the radio playing any sort of music. An incoming call from Hoseok informs everyone that he and Namjoon arrived at home safely and that the man – though still somewhat in distress – will be alright and won't do anything stupid in his drunken state. Yoongi is more than thankful for the eldest's sobriety and clear mind in this situation though it only does so much easing the nervous shaking of his leg and the incessant picking of his cuticles.

It's not long before you arrive at your apartment complex, once the car comes to a halt your fragile voice filling the silence. "Thanks for the ride. Goodnight." And without sparing one single glance, you climb out of the vehicle, shutting the door with a loud thud.

Silence settles again, no one daring to speak until Seokjin moves to ignite the engine again. It comes to life with a spluttering roar when suddenly the door to the passenger seat opens.

"Yoongi!" Seokjin calls out for the younger male only to be answered by the door slamming shut again.

You're already rummaging around for your house keys when his voice stops you in your tracks.

"_____, wait." He breathes out, a cloud of mist forming in the air. It's only then that he realizes how cold it has actually become – and that he's still without his jacket.

You slowly turn around, your arms wrapped around you for comfort.

The look you send Yoongi hits him straight in the chest. It's dim under the light of the entrance to your apartment complex, yet he can spot the streaks of runny mascara around your eyes. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice small and unsure.

Your arms fall to your sides lethargically. It's quiet for a long time before you speak up. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I'm sorry, I messed everything up."

Yoongi vehemently shakes his head at your apology. "You have nothing to apologize for. It's not your fault."

At that, you mimic his gesture, a small whimper resonating from you as fresh tears start to form again. "Earlier, you asked me why I act that way when I'm with Namjoon..." You stall, visibly swallowing down a lump in your throat. "At first it was because I wanted to give it a serious shot. I could tell he liked me, and I was actually considering it. But my heart just wasn't in the right place."

The first tears trickle down your cheeks. "So I thought if I ended things early I wouldn't have a reason to stick around anymore."

The space in between Yoongi's brows furrows at your explanation, but he lets you continue without interjecting.

"I was scared I wasn't gonna be able to be around you anymore, so instead I led Namjoon on and then this whole mess happened." In between heavy sniffles, the tears flow uncontrollably now.

Never in his life has Yoongi been so dumbfounded, so struck to silence by a hurtful truth. Words don't even come close to describing what he's experiencing in this moment, a mixture of frustration and disappointment concentrated in the core of his body, but something tugs on his heartstrings at the sight of you. Your presence comes across as frail, that damn black leather jacket almost swallowing you up entirely, engulfing you in darkness. It's kind of ironic, this comparison of images: Yoongi in his initial head-to-toe black attire if it wasn't for the white, slim-fit t-shirt on his torso, and you in your skimpy, white dress as your centerpiece though it's now being dominated by that foreign black piece of clothing. It's as if you traded pieces of each other, innocence and corruption cohabitating within the two of you – no one entirely good, no one entirely evil.

"God, I feel like such a whore!" you suddenly exclaim, your whines becoming louder. Burying your face in your hands, you cry with reckless abandon.

Yoongi is stunned at your response – and heartbroken that you would call yourself names like that. It wasn't an ideal approach, but at the end of the day everyone had their wrong-doings. He should've never given in to your advances, and Namjoon should've confessed to you.

It takes you a while to regain composure, and Yoongi feels compelled to console you though he refrains from it when you strut over to him, shrugging off the jacket in the process. "I'm not sure what kinda outcome I was expecting, but I didn't think it would tear you two apart like this." A huge question mark appears in Yoongi's head when you elaborate, your fist thrusting the heavy leather towards him which he takes with a slight delay. "I don't wanna take part in this if it means your friendship's on the line."

His soul leaves him in an instant, that unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach tightening, tenfold in severity now. The worst-case scenario has come to life – he lost his best friend and he lost you.

"I'm so sorry," you murmur for the umpteenth time this night, and with that you turn around, unlocking the front door and leaving Yoongi alone in the dark as it clicks shut behind you.

Seconds upon seconds pass by as Yoongi tries to come to terms with what happened, a lightheaded sensation creeping up on him, causing him to collapse at the knees. Now he's in a crouched position on the concrete platform, dismissing the freezing cold nipping at his exposed skin. His elbows come to a rest on his bent joints, his hands clasping around his head as if to shield himself from the outside world. Fuck... Fuck! There's no way things are going to go back to the way they were. Everything's fucked.

"Hey, man." Yoongi discerns Seokjin's voice beside him. "Come on, let's get you home."

The elder hoists him up by the shoulders, retrieving the leather garment that lifelessly lies on the ground to throw it over his shivering form.

"Hyung..." Yoongi mumbles out. "I fucked up."

[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 30

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 30 - This Venerable One Doesn't Want to Eat Tofu

"Hey, hey, did you hear? Elder Yuheng violated the sect rules. As punishment, he has to kneel in Yanluo Hall for three days."

In the morning class the next day, the disciples gathered on the Platform of Righteousness and Evil to practice and meditate. In the end, they are all teenagers and 20-year-olds, and they couldn't just do as they were told. If a master wasn't paying attention, they'll start whispering and gossiping.

The news that Chu Wanning had been punished quickly spread.

The disciples who witnessed the beating yesterday were not shy about sharing the gossip with others.

"Wow, why are you guys finding out about it so late? Oh . . . So yesterday Elder Lucun took you up the mountain to collect night dew flowers? Well then - you guys really missed out on a lot! Yesterday evening, in the Qingtian Temple, there was flesh and blood flying everywhere. It was horrible. Elder Yuheng was beaten with more than two hundred strikes! More than two hundred strikes! Not a single one missed! There was no mercy!"

The disciple made a particularly exaggerated expression every time he said a new sentence. No need to mention the show he was putting on for all his junior brothers and sisters surrounding him.

"Do you actually count all two hundred strikes? Even a big man could be killed, not to mention Elder Yuheng. He couldn't stand it and passed out. This made our young master mad. He rushed in and fought with Elder Jielu. He said not to lay another finger on Elder Yuheng. Ah, that scene—"

His facial features were wrinkled up like a steamed bun. He squeezed his eyebrows. Finally, he stretched out a finger, swaying from side to side, and summed it up in three words:

"Tsk tsk task."

Immediately, a younger sister disciple paled: "What! Elder Yuheng fainted?"

"Young Master and Elder Jielu got into a fight?"

"It's no wonder I didn't see Elder Yuheng in this morning class . . . so pitiful . . . what crime did he commit?"

"I heard that he beat a civilian in a fit of rage."

". . ."

Such gossips drifted into Xue Meng's ears from time to time. Life-Death Peak's young master had completely inherited his shizun's temper, so he was very irritable. It was unfortunate that more than one person was gossiping about this. There were groups all over the Platform of Righteousness and Evil, all muttering "Elder Yuheng was punished" and so on. It made him feel so irritated, but there was nothing he could do.

In one corner was Xue Meng, veins bulging on his forehead, and in the other was Mo Ran, unable to stop yawning.

Xue Meng couldn't direct his anger anywhere else, so he viciously spat at Mo Ran: "The plan of the day relies on the morning. You dog, you're so lazy in the morning! What has Shizun been teaching you?"

"Huh?" Mo Ran said with sleepy eyes followed by another big yawn. "Xue Meng, that's enough. I can handle Shizun's lecturing. Who do you think you are? I'm your cousin. Behave yourself when you talk with your cousin. Don't be so rude."

Xue Meng said fiercely: "My cousin is a dog. Be whatever you want to be!"

Mo Ran laughed: "You're so mean. If you don't look out for your elder sect brother, think about how disappointed Shizun will be once he finds out."

"You still have the audacity to mention Shizun! Let me ask you, when he went to the Court of Discipline yesterday, why didn't you stop him?"

"MengMeng, he's a shizun. Yuheng of the Evening Sky, Beidou Immortal. What did you want me to do?"

Xue Meng was furious. He drew his sword, his sharp eyebrows furrowed angrily: "What the hell did you call me?!!!"

Mo Ran's grin stretched from ear to ear: "Be good, MengMeng. Sit down."

Xue Meng bellowed: "Mo Weiyu, I'll kill you!!"

Shi Mei was caught between the two, listening to their daily bickering. He couldn't help sighing. He silently held the edge of his forehead, trying to concentrate on reading his book: "The sun and the moon are poured in the pot* when the spiritual core is first formed. The way of heaven cannot be interpreted, and life and death are involved in the process. . ."

*(T/N: 日月壶中灌 - referring to the Daoist practice of leisurely inactiveness)

Three days passed in the blink of an eye and Chu Wanning's period of reflection came to an end.

According to the rules, the next thing he had to face was a three-month grounding period. During this period of time, he could not leave Life-Death Peak and needed to go to Mengpo Hall to do miscellaneous chores, clean the corridor pillars of Naihe Bridge, sweep the steps in front of the mountain gate, and so on.

Elder Jielu was anxious: "Elder Yuheng, to be honest, I don't think you should do these things. You are the best shizun of your generation. Doing this kind of dishwashing and floor cleaning . . . it feels wrong." He trailed off, leaving half the sentence unsaid --

The main reason is that the old man doubts whether you can even sweep floors, cook and wash clothes!

Chu Wanning didn't doubt himself at all and went to report to Mengpo Hall in an orderly manner.

All of Mengpo Hall, from the chief steward to the servant, was shocked to hear that Chu Waning was coming to do hard labour. They were terrified, as if they were approaching the enemy.

Chu Wanning, dressed in white, arrived in a flutter.

His handsome face was cold and calm, completely expressionless. If you added an auspicious cloud under his feet and a whisk between his arms, he would've looked like the picture-perfect immortal.

Manager Meng Potang felt very ashamed and uneasy. He was actually supposed to make such a beautiful man wash vegetables and cook.

Chu Wanning didn't have the self-image of being a beautiful man. He stepped into the kitchen and coldly swept his gaze over the crowd, who couldn't help but take a step back.

". . ." Chu Wanning was straightforward. "What should I do?"

The chief steward coyly pinched the edge of his hem and thought about what he should say. He cautiously went with: "How does this elder feel about washing vegetables?"

Chu Wanning said: "Okay."

The chief steward was greatly relieved. He originally thought that Chu Wanning led a very pampered life. He might be reluctant to do this kind of labour, however, all the other jobs were either dirty and tiring or required some skill. He was worried that Chu Wanning wouldn't be able to do a good job. Since Chu Wanning easily agreed to wash the vegetables, he didn't need to worry about it.

As it turns out, the chief steward was really naive.

There was a clear stream in front of Mengpo Hall. Chu Wanning went to the stream with a basket of green vegetables. He rolled up his sleeves and began to wash the vegetables.

This area is under the jurisdiction of Elder Xuanji. Occasionally a disciple of the Xuanji sect passed by. He saw Chu Wanning actually washing vegetables and was so scared that he couldn’t even get a word out. He rubbed his eyes three or four times to make sure he wasn't seeing things. He said in astonishment: "Elder Yu-Yuheng -- good-good morning."

Chu Wanning raised his eyes: "Good morning."

Elder Xuanji's disciples shivered and fled.

". . ."

Chu Wanning didn't bother to talk with them and continued with his business. He broke the leaves, washed them, and threw them back into the basket.

He washed them very carefully. He broke each vegetable leaf apart, repeatedly brushing them thoroughly. The consequence of that was -- come noon, the basket of vegetables still hadn't been washed.

The man waiting in the dining room was anxious, pacing around in circles: "What should we do? Why hasn't the elder come back yet? If he doesn't come back with the vegetables, how are we going to make the stir-fried beef and vegetables?"

The chief steward looked at the sun and said: "Forget it. Hurry, let's replace it with braised beef."

So, when Chu Wanning returned, Mengpo Hall had already served the beef. The stew was so crispy and flavourful that there was no need for vegetables at all. Chu Wanning frowned. He held his vegetables, rather unhappily, and coldly asked: "If you didn't want the vegetables, why did you make me wash them?"

The chief steward's hairs stood on end. He wiped the cold sweat on his forehead with his handkerchief and said something that he regretted: "That's not it. I was thinking you could make a pot of stewed tofu with vegetables?"

Chu Wanning had no expression. Still holding his vegetables, he tilted his head and pondered silently: ". . ."

The chief steward hurriedly said: "If you don't want to, that's alright--"

He hadn't even finished speaking before Chu Wanning asked: "Where is the tofu?"

Chief Steward: ". . ."

"Elder Yuheng, do you . . . know how to cook?"

Chu Wanning said: "I'm not completely ignorant. I'll give it a try."

At noon that day, all the disciples happily entered Mengpo Hall as usual in groups, looking for somewhere to sit. Then, they headed to the counter to get their food served.

There was no shortage of food on Life-Death Peak. The food had always been plentiful and today was no exception.

The braised beef was fatty and lean, the fish shreds were vibrant and rich, the farmhouse pork was golden and crispy, and the chopped pepper fish was red and tempting. The disciples rushed to grab their favourite foods, lining up around the hall, asking the chef to add a spoonful of sweet and sour pork ribs to them, pour some marinade on the rice, or add some spicy sauce.

The ones who always made it to the front of the line first were Elder Lucun's disciples. The little guy at the head of the line had a big pimple on his nose. All he had on his mind was some Mapo Tofu. He skillfully carried the wooden tray to the last counter without raising his eyes and said: "Shizun, I'd like a bowl of tofu."

The shizun, with pale, slender fingers, handed him a plate full of tofu.

However, it wasn't the Mapo Tofu he was familiar with. Instead, it was a plate of strange food with a charred black colour and indistinguishable ingredients.

The disciple was surprised: "What is that?"

"Tofu boiled with bok choy."

Mengpo Hall was full of people, so the disciple didn't pay attention to answering the other person's voice. He said angrily: "Are you an alchemist? Can you even call this tofu with vegetables? I don't want it. Take it back!"

While cursing, he glared at the shizun there. As a result, when he saw the person standing behind the counter, the disciple screamed in fright and almost knocked the tray over.

"Elder Yu-Yuheng!"

"Hmm."

The disciple was on the verge of tears: "No, that's not what I - I didn't mean that just now. I. . ."

"Since you're not eating it, I'll take it back." Chu Wanning said blankly, "Don't waste it."

The disciple stiffly picked up the plate, handed it to Chu Wanning then left with his tail between his legs.

In a short while, everyone knew that Elder Yuheng was standing at the last counter, so the originally lively Mengpo Hall was suddenly silent.

The disciples lined up like a pack of puppies, and they hurriedly grabbed their food, panicked. They went up to the last counter respectfully, greeted the elder, and stumbled away.

"Hello, Elder Yuheng."

"Mmm."

"Good day, Elder Yuheng."

"Good day."

"Elder Yuheng has worked really hard."

". . ."

The disciples were very disciplined and were acting with an abundance of caution, so Chu Wanning accepted the tense greetings from each disciple, but no one dared try his pot of boiled tofu with green vegetables.

Slowly, the line was getting shorter and the food in front of other shizuns was almost gone. Only Chu Wanning still had a pot full of food. The pot of vegetables was completely cold and untouched.

Chu Wanning's face didn't waver, but his heart was conflicted. He had washed them all morning. . .

At that point, his three disciples showed up. Xue Meng was still in silver-blue light armour, refreshing getup. He bounced over with excitement: "Shizun! How are you? Does your wound hurt?"

Chu Wanning was very calm: "It doesn't hurt."

Xue Meng: "Well, that's good."

Chu Wanning glanced at him and suddenly asked: "Do you eat tofu?"

Xue Meng: ". . ."

[starlightinhumanform]

Nothing Sweeter

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship: Romantic Moxiety, Platonic Analoceit (only mentioned)

Summary: When Virgil agreed to work a cashier shift at the bakery, Logan had assured him that they never get customers that late. Instead, Virgil comes face to face with the cutest customer he’s ever seen.

Warnings: None! (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: Bakery AU, Tooth-rotting Fluff

A/N: This was written for a request for @catemons-blog ! I haven’t written these babies in such a long time and to was so nice to write them again!! All reblogs and replies are greatly appreciated <3 Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3    Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info

Virgil could feel flour beneath his nails, the warm dough under his hands, his arms moving automatically in the comforting, repetitive shifts of kneading bread. The bakery was like a second home to him but, more specifically, he loved the kitchen. He loved the whole cafe but the front wasn’t where he belonged— Logan and Janus took care of that— but this world of warmth and sweetness and soft scents, that was his.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like people, they just didn’t seem to click. It seemed like he was always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time or missing some social cue that was apparently obvious to everyone else but invisible to him. No, Virgil loved people and he loved to share what he made with them; it was just a lot lower stress to work behind the scenes.

So he surprised even himself when he agreed to run both the front and the back of the cafe for the night. Maybe it was Logan’s promise that nobody came in on a weekday in the late evening. Maybe it was Janus’ bribe that he would make Virgil an extra special mocha coffee tomorrow. Maybe it was the combined power of their pleading eyes. Whatever the case, Virgil found himself alone in the cafe on a late Wednesday evening, with nothing but his hands and his work for company.

Logan had been right— Virgil hadn’t seen a customer since his shift started at 7:00 and as the time stretched forward, it began to seem less and less likely that some would order a coffee this late at night.

When the door chime ran at 10 pm, Virgil was half-expecting it to be Logan or Janus stopping by to see how he was doing (and probably to steal a jam-filled cookie or two).

Virgil walked into the front of the store to say hello but was instead faced by a stranger. They had a round face with large blue eyes and a mop of curly blond hair sweeping down their forehead— their face wasn’t ringing any bells. But Virgil didn’t really know the customer’s; he knew their orders .

He quirked an eyebrow as went down the list of regular customers this stranger could be and began taking guesses, “A dozen maple doughnut bars?”

“Um, no actually I want—” Their voice was soft but had a gravely quality that bite at the ends of their words. The voice was unfamiliar to Virgil but for some reason, he wanted to hear it more.

“Hmm, a ciabatta loaf and three everything bagels?”

“No… I was hoping you had—”

“Oh, I know! A loaf of rye, a loaf of pumpernickel, and a loaf of sourdough?”

The stranger began laughing. It was a nice laugh, Virgil guessed, but he couldn’t figure out what was so funny. He could feel his cheeks beginning to turn red; he had said something wrong again, hadn’t he?

They stopped laughing long enough to flash Virgil a bright, amused smile, “Are you going to keep guessing the entire night until you get my order right?”

The customer didn’t seem mad, he wasn’t even laughing at Virgil; he was laughing…  because of Virgil? Virgil had made them laugh and that felt very very different than being laughed at. Their laughs ran through the empty little dining area and bounced off the display case, almost entirely empty by this time of day. Their laughs made Virgil feel good, even if he didn’t quite understand what was so funny.

Virgil let himself take another look at the person in front of him. There was a warm, sweet sensation beginning to flutter in his stomach and he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

The customer was cute, no doubt about it. They were wearing large, round-framed glasses, nearly as gold as their hair. Behind the glasses, their eyes were one of the bluest blue Virgil had ever seen— like water drawn in a saturated kid’s cartoon. They were wearing a blue top tucked into a white pleated skirt and white mary-jane shoes. The skirt had attached suspender straps, one of which had a small pin on it. Looking closer, Virgil realized the pin was a small transgender pride flag with the pronouns “he/him” stamped over it. Ok, so the customer was a he ; and he was really, really cute.

Virgil tried to snap his mind back on focus. The man in front of him had stopped laughing but was still looking at him with a soft, somewhat lopsided smile.

Virgil looked down at his hands, feeling like making eye contact with this person was just a little too much right now. He cleared his throat, “So, uh, do you want to order something?”

“No, I actually was just planning on standing here for the rest of the night.”

“Really?” Virgil could feel his eyebrows furrowing together.

“No, no,” He stepped closer to the counter Virgil was behind, “I was just joking, sweetheart.”

Sometimes Virgil had a hard time catching social cues but the way he said “sweetheart” held too much kindness and sincerity for Virgil to miss its meaning. Virgil’s blush grew to a deep crimson.

He walked all the way to the counter so he and Virgil were only a foot apart. Virgil wasn’t sure if he wanted to flirt with him or run away to the kitchen. Somehow, putting a stove fire out seemed easier than talking to this customer.

Virgil shook his hands below the counter, hoping stimming would help release all of the energy and feelings bouncing around in his body. He tried to remember what Logan had told him in case customers did come in; there were specifically steps Logan was very particular about, “Could I get a name for your order?”

“Of course! My name’s Patton!”

God, even his name is cute.

“Your name’s Virgil?”

Virgil glanced down at his name tag as if he needed reminding of what it said. He nodded in confirmation of Patton’s question.

“That’s such a pretty name,” Patton’s smile reminded him of opening an oven door on a cold day, the warmth and sweetness rolling over him in waves. He felt like he was melting.

Patton’s eyes wandered over the menu board, licking his lips absentmindedly as he tried to make a decision. Virgil wished he could stop looking at his lips.

Finally he looked back over at Virgil, “Could I get three muffins—”

“Uh huh,” Virgil nodded as he jotted the words down on the receipt the way Logan had asked him to.

“—and, uh,” Patton leaned forward even a little closer, “Could I get your number?”

Virgil forgot how to talk in that moment, feelings of happiness practically vibrating through him. He wouldn’t be surprised if he just exploded, just nodding his head to answer Patton like his life depended on it.

Virgil moved as if he were in a dream, packaging the muffins as Patton paid. He felt like the planet’s gravity had suddenly been turned down and he was floating a few inches off the ground. He quickly scribbled his phone number on the bag before handing it to Patton.

“Oh! I almost forgot something!”

Virgil quirked an eyebrow at Patton’s exclamation, “You did?”

“Yeah! Your tip for such great service.”

“No, no you already gave a tip. See, it’s on your receipt beneath—”

Virgil froze as Patton leaned forward and planted a kiss on Virgil’s cheek.

“There! Extra tip for being so cute,” Patton gave him that lovely, warm smile before turning with a wave and walking out of the bakery.

Virgil sank to the floor, disregarding whether or not that was a health code violation. He didn’t care about that right now. His face was tingling and his heart was racing and he felt out of breath. He clapped his hands together, happy stims taking over for a moment as he processed the interaction he had just had with the cutest boy he had ever seen. Maybe working in the front of the bakery had its own benefits…

Virgil couldn’t stop smiling.

If you want to be added to my Sanders Sides fic taglist just send me an ask or reply to this post :)

General Sanders Sides Taglist: ~ @centimeter-tries-to-communicate @bee-syndrome @fandomfan315 @cas-is-a-hunter @reggieleigh07 @mossdeemo @im-actually-ok@softnic @catolicabuena @queer-disaster106 @lunawolf89 ~

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 25

Y/n puts an end to everything.

@dovahdokren @deadman-inc-bikeshop @lov3vivian @wisesandwichshark @scpdragon

⚠️HUGE⚠️ trigger warnings: rape, drugging, sex trafficking, VERY graphic descriptions of violence, physical violence (please let me know if I leave anything out)

Hannibal could walk through a valley of human suffering and not even flinch. You couldn't tell if that made him subhuman or superhuman. You, however, were just human.

You wanted to be a badass. You wanted to kick the door down and make a scene. But one woman was enough to break you.

She was wearing only a large t-shirt. A cloth bandage covered in blood covered her pubic area like a makeshift pair of underpants. She laid limply against a stone. Her arms were punctured where needles had been.

"I don't..." she mumbled, clearly intoxicated beyond function. "...don't make me..."

You knew you couldn't afford to stop. But compassion kept your feet firmly on the ground in front of her.

"What is Chase making you do?"

"I can't-" She said, pressing her forehead against the rock. "I can't be an unwoman-"

She began to slam her head against the rock with clear intent to take her own life. Without thinking, you grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her into the grass. She sobbed, a bloody, but thankfully, survivable, gash on her forehead.

"Tell me your name." You demanded, squeezing her shoulders.

"...Tiffany." She said with a sudden lucidity.

The name unlocked a memory in you. It was the still image of a sunny young girl, immortalized on a faded missing person's ad hung up at the grocery store. Tiffany Rose Pierce, it read.

"I'm gonna get you out of here, Tiffany." You whispered. "I'm gonna get all of you out of here."

"Vanguard won't like that." She said, slipping back into a state of minimal consciousness.

"Stay here." You instructed, pushing yourself back to your feet.

You readied your gun and slowly, carefully pushed the cabin door open. Suddenly, the stained glass window was the least of your worries.

The entire area was lined with cheaply-constructed bunk beds, like an overgrown henhouse. Women with distinctively long hair were shackled to the lower bunks. Their shaven counterparts, the unwomen, were forced to be the slavedrivers. They held the chained women down.

You heard the rattling of chains coming from the right. It was accompanied with screaming and wet slapping.

"Take daddy's cock you filthy fucking broodmare." A familiar voice grunted.

The only way you could look at him was behind the barrel of your gun. He was exactly how you pictured him while listening to his voice in the car. Unremarkable, middle-aged and serpentine.

"Pastor Armitage!" You yelled.

To hear someone call him by his title in the midst of violating a person was enough to send him into a panic. He sputtered and his entire face turned red.

He didn't suffer for long, though. A 12 gauge shell right through the face took care of that. Fragments of his head, his blood and brain matter splattered everywhere. His knees buckled and his limp body collapsed.

The room fell silent. Smoke trickled out of your barrel.

"Where's fucking Chase?" You asked the room.

Someone weakly pointed up the stairs. You met her eyes and nodded.

"Sorry about the mess."

Now you knew how Hannibal felt. Blowing someone's head off made you acutely aware of your own head on your shoulders. You held it higher. You felt no remorse as you ascended the staircase with your gun blazing.

You came across a room with some words etched in the door. 'Skin room'. You launched your foot squarely into the door, causing it to violently swing open. 

You examined the room from behind the gun. Chase had done a hell of a job dressing up this cheap cabin bedroom like a hotel suite, but the smell hit you before you could be fooled. A brick chimney, a wine cooler and a mahogany desk were positioned so the eye would gravitate towards the luxury while the nose picked up the brutality. The stained glass window was suspended in front of the real window, absorbing the mid-morning light and giving the room an eerie sepia tint. 

You cocked your gun to announce your presence. You heard the sound of running water, and then a side door swung open. 

“You’ll forgive me a couple minutes to freshen up.” Chase said, shaking his hands dry. “Cleanliness is close to godliness, after all.” 

You said nothing. You didn’t want to dignify him with a conversation. 

He bent over and pulled a bottle of wine from his cooler. He placed it squarely on the desk. You looked at it, then did a double take. He grinned sadistically. 

“Is that...” You leaned in to get a closer look. “1907 Heidsieck Monople Gout?” 

Chase shrugged. “You tell me. You’re the wine expert.” 

You’d heard many a conflicting story about the legendary 1907 Heidsieck. Some said as many as 2,000 bottles were pulled up from the depths of the freezing Baltic sea. Some said a single bottle could go for half a million dollars. With that kind of precedent, you never thought you’d ever have to worry about it. Yet, there it was. Right in front of you. 

“I’m saving it for a special occasion.” Chase said, suddenly reminding you where you were.

You returned to your gun. “For when you kill me?” 

“For when I save you.” Chase smiled, his unnaturally white teeth glistening in the sepia light. “See, Miss [F/N], you survived two of my attempts on your life. God has smiled down on you.” 

“Or, maybe,” You interrupted. “You’re just horrible at killing.” 

Chase raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

"A knife through the hand hurts like a bitch, but it isn't fatal." You shrugged. "And you didn't do a good enough job beating the fear of death out of Catherine. Else she might have actually gone through with it. Maybe if you'd sent Tiffany-"

"God loves you." Chase interrupted before you could poke more holes in his attempts on your life. "Why you're still alive when so many less deserving of death have died is beyond me, but god works in mysterious ways, doesn't he?"

"She sure does." You smirked.

Chase cleared his throat. You'd pegged him as the type to get irrationally angry at the implication of god being a woman, so his reaction surprised you.

"Well, let's get down to business, shall we?" He gestured to a seat across from him.

You narrowed your eyes. "I don't think so."

"Pity." He pouted. "Not even for poor Mr. Graham?"

It dawned on you that he probably still thought he had Will, and you could use it to your advantage.

You held your gun at your side and hesitantly sat down in the seat. A gluttonous smile spread across Chase's face.

"So it wasn't wine after all." He said. "It wasn't even your own life. You're only willing to save your soul for the sake of your precious Will Graham."

"What do you care?" You growled through your teeth. "This is just a power grab for you. You wouldn't know what genuine empathy for another person feels like."

He grinned, as if someone had just flipped his 'on' switch. "Jesus does."

"Did Jesus use his influence to lure teenage girls into a sick breeding ring?" You sneered. "I don't remember that from VeggieTales."

"Genesis 1:28." Chase said. "And God blessed them, and God said unto them, be fruitful, and multiply."

"I suppose you also don't eat shellfish or wear mixed fabrics." You rolled your eyes.

"It's always the same arguments from you atheists." Chase scoffed, adding a distinct bite to the last word. "When are you going to show some actual proof that the bible isn't an infallible model for human morality?"

"Maybe when you stop eating shellfish and wearing mixed fabrics." You repeated.

"They are minor sins at best." Chase grimaced. "I have gotten right with Jesus. You, on the other hand, oh, you. Your sins are weighty."

"I did just blast a rapist's head off." You admitted. "And it's going to be two very soon if this one doesn't get to the fucking point."

"I know about your exploits." He squinted. "With Mr. Graham and the man with the Nazi accent."

"He's actually from Lithuania, which, if you wanna be technical," you corrected, just for the sake of being annoying. "Is an ex-Soviet state, but whatever."

Chase tensed up at being corrected. "I know about your hedonistic sexual activities with two men, your exploration. But in the bible, Satan approaches these two people called Adam and Eve..."

"No he didn't." You shook your head. "It was a serpent. The devil wasn't a concept when Genesis was written."

Chase gritted his teeth. "God made one man and one woman. Each to fill each other's sexual desires, within the context of marriage, entirely-"

"But Adam had two spouses, didn't he?" You cocked your head and smiled. "Eve wasn't even the first woman in Adam's life. That was Lilith."

Chase heaved a frustrated sigh. "How do you know that?!"

"I was raised catholic." You said in the tonal equivalent of smacking him upside the head. "I was forced into religion at a young age and brainwashed to hate myself."

"See, that's where we agree." Chase tented his hands, thinking he found a genuine point of connection. "Organized religion is a cancer on society. Christianity is fundamentally about a relationship with god."

You laughed. It was the first real, good laugh you had in a while.

"Don't laugh." He scolded. "I am sorry that that was your experience with religion and that the Catholic church modeled a false teaching of who god is and what he wants. Not all christians-"

You wiped a tear from your eye. "Homie, you killed four people in front of me."

He placed his hand over his heart. "And christ forgave me. And he can forgive you too."

"Alright, this has been fun and everything," you said, standing up. You aimed your shotgun and cocked it. "But, I did come here to kill you, so, open wide."

Chase put his hand squarely over the barrel and pushed it out of the way. "You don’t have the guts to pull the trigger."

You pulled the trigger and blasted his hand clean off. Any hope of reattachment was shattered, as bits of his hand painted the walls and floor.

You opened the gun and let the two empty shells fall to the ground while Chase screamed in agony.

Instead of going through the motions of reloading, you smashed him over the head with the gun. He wrapped his good hand around the barrel and attempted to wrestle it away from you. You took this as an invitation to corner him against the wall with the still-hot barrel against his neck. He smashed his forehead into your nose, sending you tumbling backwards.

The shotgun fell to the ground. You pinched the bridge of your nose to control the blood flow. Chase wrapped a champagne towel around his stump and picked up a small revolver on his desk. He let off a shot, which lodged itself into your shoulder. By the time he let off the second shot, you were on the ground. The third shot didn't fire, just let out a flash and a bang.

"Goddamn blanks!" He cursed.

He tore open a drawer and rummaged around for bullets, giving you a window to come up from behind and gouge your fingers into his eyes. He screamed, dropping a handful of bullets. He flailed aimlessly, then charged backwards, slamming you into the cheap drywall.

He felt around for the bullets without the advent of eyesight. You knew you wouldn't be able to take aim with your shotgun with a bullet lodged in your shoulder, so you dove for the revolver.

Chase grabbed you by the ankle and dragged you down. You hit the floor with a thud, the collision making the bullets jump. Chase grinned, using the sound to place them. He turned around and reached for one, while you scooped up another that had rolled under the desk.

You scrambled to your feet. Chase's hand was just centimeters from the revolver. Thinking fast (but not so thoroughly), you grabbed for the revolver. You wrapped your hand around the barrel, putting yourself at a disadvantage if he fired off another blank.

Chase, however, wasn't that forward-thinking, and opted for a childish game of tug-of-war instead. Knowing he had the brute strength advantage, you waited for him to pull back and released your grip. Chase tumbled, cursing on his way down.

With no thought on your mind but ending this, you launched your foot into his sack, causing him to scream and drop the gun.

Just as you thought it was over, just when the gun was in arm's reach, he kicked your knees backwards and you fell. You swallowed the pain and army crawled for the revolver.

"I don't think so." Chase spat, smiling like a maniac. He grabbed your face with his good hand and his fingers slithered down your throat.

"Choke..." he demanded. "Choke, demoness."

Strengthened by animalistic instinct, you crushed his fingers under your teeth. The sound of snapping bone filled the inside of your head and a sudden rush of blood flooded into your mouth. He withdrew his hand, leaving a finger behind to limply fall down your throat.

You coughed and gagged while Chase screamed. A single bloody digit dislodged itself from your windpipe, flew across the room and landed on the desk.

Chase sputtered something resembling a laugh. "Maybe you're not such a dumb bitch after all."

You grabbed the gun and pushed yourself up with the help of the desk. The finger stared up at you as you loaded the single bullet.

You positioned the finger onto the trigger and guided it with your gloved hand. Then you aimed it at his forehead. Dead by his gun, by his trigger finger. Bleeding on the ground in his private bunker while the empire he built collapses around him. A coward's death. It was poetic enough an end as he deserved.

"You want to say a prayer before you meet god?" You offered.

"My soul is saved." Chase said through ragged breaths. "My place in heaven is secured."

Bang. One bullet, right between the eyes. A bloody fingerprint on the pistol. You dropped the revolver and collapsed. You just laid there, listening to your phone buzz.

[low-budget-korra]

Lets talk about Korra (again)

i already made this analysis, and it was well received but i dont know, i wanna do it again. Why not right? My english is better now than was when i made that analysis so i think  this one will be better written

What a way to introduce a protagonist. This line and this scene tell us everything we need to know about Korra at that time and everything she knew about herself.

In book one Korra is a 17′s old teenager who have no idea how the world, how life is outside the training center she grew up in and had been locked up since ever. So she is not only naive but have lack of social skills

Oh, and not everyone who lack’s social skills will act like Zuko and Azula okay? Korra can be confident, expressive and outgoing and still have problems when it comes to social skills.One thing dont exclude the other.

“I’m the Avatar and you gotta deal with it” did you guys notice that only for that line we can see the entire opposite on how she treat her role as avatar in comparisson with Aang? And im not here to judge because is two very different contexts.

As far as we know, Korra grew up without friends or romantic partners. Of course, she had her training partners but i believe that they are just that. 

So her entarely perception of herself was around her duty as Avatar, she didnt have personal life, she barely was Korra...She was The avatar and thats that.

So she came to Republic City, it was a mess. 

Its funny to see that she have no touch when it comes to simply talk to people, i guess when you grew up away from society, this happens. And yes, she is cocky and had to learn that people arent there to somewhat please her, and she learned that quicky. 

Thats why the Pro Bending was important for her character, not only for training but also as means of socilization.

Now lets talk about the villains: Amon and Tarrlok

The two of them represents two differents threats to Korra. Amon represents a threat to her duty as Avatar while Tarrlok represents a threat to Korra as a person.

In episode 4 we have what i still thinks is the darker episode from TLOK. In this episode Amon ambushes Korra in the final moments... Even knowing that they did their best to make Amon’s power and control be non-sexualized as possible still...He have her down on her knews, totally helpless and he even invades Korra’s personal space by touching in her face forcing her to look at him. He didn't have to sexually touch her to violate her.

And right after, the fear in Tenzin voice when asking what happened after seeing her laying in the ground like that, and how Korra is sobing in his arms teeling him how powerless and helpless she felt. I mean...Oh, and she keeps terryfied by him until he takes her bending.

Tarrlok in the  other hand doesnt do much different from his brother and started to harass Korra because he cant take ‘no’ as a answer when Korra didnt wanted to join his task force.

Whats interesting is that if it wasnt for Tarrlok harassement and maniputation, Korra wouldnt have joined his task force and wouldnt have confronted Amon and wouldn't have gone through that terrible encounter.

The thing is that Korra is caught right in the middle of a politcal power dispute over the city, something that she for sure wasnt prepare for it. And both Amon and Tarrlok woud hurt or kill her without think twice about it if that means gain  power. And that was exacly what happened

Tarrlok tried to manipulate her and keep her on leash where he could, and when his tatics didnt worked anymore he alreay had a plan B. Yes that whole metal box in that cabin in the middle of nowhere was made especifically for her and maybe Tenzin if he also get in his way.

In the end Korra lost the physical battle against both but won the ethical battle also against both. She was the responsable for expose both of them as corrupted and hypocrites. But at what price? Amon was able to remove the bends of the Avatar. And without them, how could she be the Avatar?

Remember that her entirely conception of herself was built around her duty as Avatar, be the avatar. After all, everything she was, everything she'd trained so hard for, had been destroyed in minutes. Thats why i still strongly believe that she was thinking about killing herself at the end, nobodys goes all sad and crying to in front of a clifft without thinking about jumping from it. 

But she, i think given up the idea and just sit and started to crying when Aang appeared and help her, giving her bendings back in one of the best scenes of the show. So after have everything solve and still managed to get the boy she was in love with, things where great and she “move on”

In that first half, Korra is unbearable. Everything she learned in Book 1 how to be more mature, less spoiled and all, was thrown in the trash and she was the same "child" of the book one only worse.

Until I stopped and realized that I was also unbearable and childish like this when I had my bad phases of anxiety and depression, as defense mechanism and keep people away. Returning to Korra, and if this way of acting of her was nothing more than this defense mechanism?

Because guess what, i dont think she “move on” from all that happened in Book One that fast, and for add more drama she discovered that was her father idea of keeping her locked up training in that training center we saw in book one and not traveling like avatars before her. No wonder she felt betrayed. And for adding even more drama, people still keep treating her like child, so she was despered for some validation. Something that she found in her uncles arms but she was betrayed by him after.

In the end, Korra again goes through a traumatic experience when she has her connection with past lives destroyed. We see how it affected her when she apologizes to Tenzin, through tears. And Tenzin, as the excellent master he is, tries to motivate her to face Vaatu again (now merged with Unalaq, her uncle) and again she saves the day even after go throught a traumatic event

In the final moments, we see the innocent decision to reconnect the world of spirits and the world of men. And we also see Korra and Mako permanently end their turbulent relationship.

Book 3 begins in a more mature, we see all the characters being presented in a more mature way and it seems that Korra now has overcome everything that has passed. We have the relationship between Korra and Asami deepening as well

In Book 3, called "Change" we have a great sacrifice from Korra. Her life goes down a notch when she decides to save the new airbenders from Zaheer and the Red Lotus, the only villain until now that really threat her life since their sole goal was to kill the avatar.

Korra won again but this time victory costed way too much. Yes she save the day again but now she was  physically and psychologically defeated. It was too much, she broke.

Book 4 begins and we only saw Korra in the final minutes and she is unrecognizable. We see that, once proud and courageous avatar, in someone depressed and cowerd. We never have saw Korra like that, even when she was afraid of Amon she wasnt like that.

Korra is afraid of being the Avatar again and her fight against PTSD is still one of the most sensitive, responsable and honest representation of Mentall Issues that i saw, and it was before this subject gain more space on media. It was before people started to give attention to this

I also think that she was having flashs from her other fights and not only the one against Zaheer.

Another thing I think is worth mention is that Korra took 3 years to feel safer and re-embrace her duties as Avatar. It was not 3 weeks or 3 months, it was 3 years. And anyone who suffers from some mental illness knows very well the stigma that is, the fight that is, because everyone wants you to be well faster as possible  when the truth is that many times you spend years fighting against this.  And this is a pressure that falls on you.Imagine, seeing all your friends moving forward while you continue "stock in the same place"?

Only after Korra confronts Zaheer, I think that was a way to show her coping with the trauma, she improves to the point of returning to be the great Avatar we know. I personally still struggles with this scene because put the victim in front of her agressor may not be the best idea but i understand that she needed to see that he was just a man and not the invencible monster her mind was telling her

One of the lines that stuck with me the most was in the TLOK version of the ember island players, the one that made a recap of the show before the finale. When Korra said “I was so naive” just before we watch her narration of her journey, we can feel pain, sadness and strenght. Janet was amazing in the way the delivered this line.

And this fucking quote i saw here on tumblr still is the goat: “The Last Airbender is a story of a boy who becomes a god. The Legend of Korra is the story of a goddess who becomes a girl "

And I still get really pissed when someone comes to talk shit about  Korra because she is such an incredible heroine and her journey is also so incredible.

The story of how life can be hard and unfair, how it can hurt and paralyze, but there is always a reason to move on. We should always move on.

Korra is definitely not weak, quite the opposite, she is one of the if not the strongest heroine I have ever seen. Korra inspires overcoming 

[firelxdykatara]

Let me start by saying I've never watched Legend of Korra. like, the most I've watched was any bending scenes/fights and all the Zuko and Toph clips (admittedly, I didn't watch any of the Katara clips because..well..honestly I didn't want to see her be so meek). But I've always felt kinda...bad for liking Mako since the few posts I did read made it seem like both Korra and Asami were better off without him and I didn't want to accidentally fall into the category of sympathising with a man who didn't treat women right. Even when I watched what few clips he was in -Mako seemed a little serious but not anything bad- I thought it was just because I didn't see enough of him to see why he was so bad for Korra and Asami.

And then I read your post on Mako and how he had to do anything and everything to take care of Bolin and my heart kinda broke. I don't know if this is right, but it kinda feels like Mako is being treated a bit like Katara's being treated. Like, they both fit the sibling-turned-parental-figure roles and some of the fandom seems like they can't accept that both are still teenagers who...well, still act like teenagers. seriously, I'm gonna be mad if I ever see another 'take' about how Katara is bad for acting more teenager than mother 😤. And the parallels between the non-con kisses that their respective Avatars gave them, with both Mako and Katara shouldering the blame (though in Katara's case it's more of a "she's supposed to like it! She's the Avatar's girl uwu") . It just rubs me the wrong way how neither of them get any slack for acting less than amazing when they both spent years carrying their trauma and shielding their siblings from that same hurt.

Sorry if this is bothering you or if it doesn't make sense; I'm just kinda fed up of seeing people side with the Avatar no matter what the situation was, especially when Korra and Aang were actually in the wrong *coughnon-conkisscough*

You're not bothering me at all, don't worry!

Honestly all of this makes a ton of sense, someone who's never seen the show and only has fandom's word to go on could be excused for thinking Mako's a fuckboy who was intentionally leading the girls on rather than a kid who'd been raising his baby brother alone on the streets since he was eight years old and maybe not the best at navigating personal relationships and didn't know how to deal with the fact that he had feelings for two incredible girls at the same time. That shit's hard to deal with even when you have parents and had a happy and comfortable life and are just in high school trying to get through the day, but you throw that in the mix with 'became a parent at eight years old' and 'struggled to get enough to feed his brother, nevermind himself, while they lived on the streets' and then everything that happened during the series, and it's like, cut this kid some slack maybe????

Also the comparisons with the way the fandom treats Katara are also spot on. Obviously in Katara's case there's also an added element of racialized misogyny, because she's a dark-skinned girl and the only dark-skinned girl in the main cast, so that gets added to the fact that she was also the gaang's 'mom friend' and you get fans unironically calling her a 'bitch' for -checks notes- getting reasonably upset after being pushed to her limit and losing her cool--but in Mako's case, he actually fills the same niche in the krew that Katara did in the gaang, and he gets a lot of the same treatment, which I think winds up coming at him from the opposite side of the fence so to speak. Because he's a boy, he automatically gets the blame for anything that goes wrong with the love triangle--up to and including the avatar violating his boundaries and kissing him without his consent--because Korra and especially Asami are precious girls and could do no wrong.

And the thing is that it gets kinda complicated because Korra did also get a lot of racialized misogyny flung at her by the racist&misogynistic dudebros of the fanbase who hated that a brown girl was now the avatar, but that wound up overshadowing the very real and reasonable criticisms that can be made of her character and her behavior. Especially in Book 2, where she gets angry enough at Mako for -checks notes- doing his job and not wanting to jump to conclusions that she TRASHES HIS OFFICE!!!!! IN A FIT OF RAGE!!!!!! (which of course Mako gets blamed for and a lot of fans will frame that as Korra getting 'reasonably upset' which lol no)--and the fact that this occurs in the same season as Bolin getting trapped in an explicitly toxic and abusive relationship with a Water Tribe girl (who happens to be Korra's cousin) that is played for laughs the entire fucking time makes me think that Bryke just have very troubling ideas about how it's ok for women to treat their significant others, particularly if they happen to be men.

(Although let it not be said that they didn't write toxic relationships from the other side, Varrick spends the entire series mistreating Zhu Li and then at the end he decides he's in love with her and they get married [in a very Western ceremony, incidentally], and nothing is ever mentioned of the awful way he treated her for the entire show.)

So yeah like, it really, really bothers me that Katara and Mako share similar niches in their respective teams and both of them get a whole lot of untoward hatred for -checks notes- being teenagers and having feelings and sometimes expressing them. They both deserve so much better from their respective fanbases, and I think the biggest reason Katara has a bigger and more devoted defense squad is because atla is still pretty widely regarded as the best installment of the franchise and a lot of people just don't care to even watch lok. The bulk of the lok fanbase is anti Mako and it's hard to maintain any resilience as a fandom in the face of that lmao.

But I'm always happy to talk about how much I love him and if I can only turn the tide one anon at a time then that's ok.

[mybg3notebook]

Hypothesis: Gale proposes you to “cheat"

Another one in the long list of the strangest statements I've read in this fandom. 

Disclaimer Game Version: All these analyses were written up to the game version v4.1.104.3536 (Early access). As long as new content is added, and as long as I have free time for that, I will try to keep updating this information. Written in June 2021.

Let's proceed with the basics, because clearly, anyone saying that Gale proposes Tav to cheat has some faltering concept of the meaning of the word:

The definition of cheating depends on the terms that a couple or more members in a relationship mutually decide. In general, cheating is an act involving a third party that violates the standards or boundaries of a relationship between romantic partners. More specifically, it is a unilateral decision by one romantic partner to become involved (physically and/or emotionally) with an external party that is motivated by a perceived or real limitation in the romantic partnership. 

Now that this is clear, let's see the facts. 

To romance Gale, Tav needs to share the Weave, and this is a must. If Tav did not share it, there is no way to start a romance with Gale in EA. During the Weave there are 3 options that may lead to romance:

Imagine kissing him: We don't need to state that this is obviously romantic. 

Imagine holding hands: At first, we can't say if this is a romantic gesture, but immediately after the Weave, Gale will describe this option as: "Amid the madness that has befallen us, it seems almost out of place to think of a romantic walk". So, clearly, it is romantic. 

Imagine nothing: This is a friendship option, which in the Loss Scene unlocks a dialogue option for romancing Gale. 

During the Loss Scene, if Tav chose kissing or holding hands, an option appears in which Tav can bring the moment of the Weave into the conversation: "Come, you know I care about you. I showed you when we shared that spell/The Weave". This is a reassurance from Tav. After the end of the scene, Gale will bring this concept again in his line: "I often think of that moment we shared together – one under the Weave. I'm glad to know you think about it too. " This means that ever since the moment of the Weave, Gale has been frequently thinking about it, knowing its romantic potential/intention.

If Tav uses any of the other options which don't acknowledge the event of the Weave, by the end of the scene Gale will state: "I often think of that moment we shared together – one under the Weave. I hope you think about it too." This time it is Gale who implicitly reassures that the connection had happened and had an effect on him: “it promises things to come”. 

So, if Tav shared the Weave in romantic terms, the Loss scene will reinforce it. Gale and Tav are making a point that both are interested in what has transpired during the Weave. 

If Tav opted the friendship option during the Weave, a unique dialogue option appears in the Loss scene: *You sense a moment of unspoken affection. You want to know where it may lead.* 

Gale will subtly test the ground, carefully, to see if both of them are on the same page with the same intention. He will show somehow an “unspoken affection” that Tav can decide to pick up upon or not:

Gale: I consider myself very lucky to have found you. 

Among the options Tav has, we find:

"I think perhaps we could be more than friends". Again, we can see that this is the obvious romantic option.

"I consider myself lucky too." A complete friendship-based option, in which Gale recognizes Tav as a good friend.

"Don’t get carried away imagining feelings that aren’t there." And this option allows any player to completely remove the romantic option here. It is not clear if this option can prevent friendship as well in EA. 

As if this were not enough, after the Loss scene there is another confirmation of their romantic interest: the serendipity comment. 

Then, the Party Scene follows. If Tav talks with Gale after arranging a one-night stand with another character, Gale will accept the situation without any reaction beyond some jealous comments. These comments are always available, even with an unromanced Gale, so I'm not sure if this is the way this scene is meant to be or it's simply there because its in EA stage. One can speculate that these comments should appear only in the particular case when Gale was romanced and Tav picks another character to spend the night with. Despite this display of jealousy after being led on, Gale still encourages Tav to follow their whims and enjoy the night with the one they picked

If anything, this seems to show that Gale would accept (even though he doesn’t like it) Tav's one-night stand, assuming that this scene, being in EA, is not meant to be in another way and we are watching an unfinished work in progress. 

Once Tav sleeps with their new LI and talks with Gale about the bedtime story, Gale will propose to retake what had been left up in the air during the party. The player should remember that Gale has been explicitly informed that Tav had romantic interest in him. And if this happened in the Weave, that confirmation has been done several times. The player could have been clear with Gale and stop the romance during the party by choosing the option "Let me stop you right there. That's not something I'm interested in." But this option is sometimes not available depending if you speak with Gale first or later (again, the Party scene is very unpolished). 

So far, what Gale has understood of that situation is that Tav had a one-night stand, but the commitment connection mind-to-mind and the relationship—will be established with him. 

This is the reason why in the next day Gale says:

Gale: You spent the other night with someone else, and I hope it was all you wanted it to be, but…  [romantic weave+ romantic loss scene] we shared a romantic moment of the mind while clocked in the Weave, didn’t we? And I seem to recall a fond allusion to that moment afterwards.  [more than friends path] we had a moment, you and I, a moment in which we expressed the possibility of becoming more than friends.

Gale is accustomed to being only another name in a list of lovers.. He says it during the revelation when he explains that Mystra had many other lovers, and this fact did not intimidate him because, in his youth, "he thought himself favoured among others": he was the “special one”. So, from Gale's perspective, Tav has shown interest in a deep connection with him, so he clearly understands that the night with another companion is a simple, casual thing. There is enough context for Gale to think that he is “the special one” for Tav. 

As a person who respects privacy, Gale will not use the tadpole on Tav to know exactly the degree of commitment they have with that person. He is merely assuming. As he explicitly says afterward if Tav says they will remain with the other LI:

Tav: I’m sorry, but I won’t betray *companion* Gale: I… I see. She/He ‘s a lucky woman/man. Loyalty is such a… such a very rare commodity. Dev's notes: Hurt by the player’s refusal. The reference to loyalty foreshadows Mystra leaving him. Gale: Apologies, I really did think you and I… Dev's notes: Hurt by the player’s refusal. Gale: But no. Perhaps it’s for the better. In fact, I’ll let you be the judge of that. After all, I still have a story to tell. Dev's notes: Composes himself.

From his perspective, he and Tav had been actively pursuing "a romantic connection of the mind". This rejection immediately makes him remember Mystra, so he alludes to her in the line of loyalty: he has been led on once more, similar to what Mystra did. For more details about Mystra’s style check "Mystra and her Chosen ones". If we see the datamining information gathered by pjenn, it's explained in the dev's notes that his comment of loyalty is directed to his experience with Mystra. 

I don't understand people that claim that Gale wants Tav to cheat. Tav has been leading him on in many scenes and then, during the party scene, they changed their mind. Gale—like Wyll—needs a connection to engage into romance (and sex "intimacy); this means that if Tav never expressed their romantic interest towards him, Gale will not look for a romantic relationship. Considering his surprise during the Weave, we can speculate that this aspect of his life had been forgotten or at least, rejected, since he is stuck in the bad experience of Mystra and his folly with the “orb”.

For some unknown reason to me, these people love to spread the misinformation that Gale invites Tav to cheat for this situation. A plain lie. 

What they think the game shows: Gale is asking Tav to cheat on their significant one.

What the game is showing: Tav led Gale on to believe they were interested in a romantic relationship. There is an option available during the party to make Gale stop the romance, but it depends on the interaction order chosen by Tav. After Tav slept with another LI, Gale will inform them that he is fine with that casual night and will propose to spend the next night together. Some people state this is Gale inviting to cheat. With the exception of Gale and Wyll, the rest of the companions state that such night is a mere casual encounter for pleasure. Shadowheart may be more obscure on that matter, though. In any case, there was never any commitment with the other companions either, so all that speech of “cheating on your significant other” is very ill-intended. The closest to a negotiation/promise we have ingame with any companions are the constant reassurances that Gale and Tav have several times along the EA and the subtle meaning for commitment during the explanation of the book of Arm.

Gale: A stolen glance- that sudden heartbeat... Sometimes the little things are worth more than kingdoms. They promise things to come. 

Gale: I often think of that moment we shared together – one under the Weave. I hope you think about it too. /I'm glad to know you think about it too.

Gale: I'm not a big believer in fate, but I do believe in serendipity. Life is a tempest of events that sometimes we brace against and sometimes embrace. You're one such event that one day soon perhaps I'd like to embrace. 

Gale: There is a book that circulates in Amn, detailing the first thousand nights of a newly-wed king and queen. They turned everything they did into an art. The art of conversation. The art of taste, time honoured and newly acquired. The art of the body. The exploration and acceptance of the self and the other. The art of the night itself. I say we take a page from their book.

So, if anything (if we truly want to force this concept even when nobody is in a relationship still), Tav is the one "cheating" on Gale, violating the implicit mutual interest in a potential relationship. 

In conclusion, Gale seems to be very obvious in wanting a commitment that could prevent Tav from abandoning him like Mystra did. He has an immature idea that sleeping with Tav would increase his chances for acceptance (not by chance Gale talks about the book of Amn in the way he does. It's not mere poetry or euphemism in my opinion. He is indirectly saying he wants those many aspects that a married couple turned into art, he won't mind making this relationship a "prequel" of that book: one can interpret this line as a suggestion that Gale wants to end up in a deep commitment.)

When we analyse this aspect of Gale, we can see that words like promise, loyalty and abandon are a bit frequent in his speech, and it may be displaying the constant abandonment issues echoing in his mind. A final example of this can be seen during a non-romanced Gale who receives Tav’s proposition to spend the night together after arranging the same with another LI:

Gale: You are all too quick to abandon the one you promised yourself to. It’s not a quality I admire

Again, Gale’s character is strongly attached to the concepts of loyalty and abandonment. For more details, read the post about "Gale Hypotheses- Part 1", section: "Abandonment Issues"

This post was written in June 2021. → For more Gale: Analysis Series Index

[solinarimoon]

Fields of Wildflowers, Chapter 4

Fields of Wildflowers - a Sihtric x OC story.

Chapter 4

A/N: This chapter is pretty heavy. I really tried to work on having the dialogue along with the imagery of each scene flow well. Constructive, but respectful criticism is always welcome. 

Warnings: Discussion of rape and trauma surrounding rape

Word Count: 2,749

If you would like to read the earlier chapters of this story, find them here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cwen sat still. Very still. Her eyes bearing down on Eadith across the flickering flames. 

The faces around the fire were frozen as well, none knowing what next to say or how to handle such a shocking admission. 

Cwen had not meant to allow her companions to know this secret pain she bore. But after being in such close proximity to Eardwulf’s sister, a constant reminder of his roaming hands and lingering bruises, Cwen’s nerves had been a coiled snake ready to strike.  And then Sihtric… then Sihtric and his watching eyes.  It had been a long time since she had felt seen. Truly seen. And he saw her. 

Cwen’s face didn’t hold hostility. It didn’t hold anger or resentment. 

There was pain. And loss. 

After many moments of shocked silence, Finan spoke up asking “Cwen, are you saying…”

Eadith spoke over top of Finan’s words. She didn’t need confirmation. She knew what Cwen was saying her brother had done. And she knew her words held the truth. 

“I didn’t know…” she spoke softly. Her words trailed off not knowing what else to say. 

“Of course not,” Cwen sighed, finally dropping her gaze from Eadith’s face. She stared at her fingers twisting and tangling in the tie of her brocade. 

After a heartbeat, she brought her eyes up once more to find Sihtric’s stare.  His mouth was a firm set line and his jaw flexed as he met her gaze. 

The fire reflected in his eyes mirrored the rage swelling in his heart, knowing that his suspicions had been right. 

He saw the unshed tears brimming on Cwen’s eyes. He saw the panic set in on her face as she realized now that they knew. That he knew. 

She spoke in a frenzied haste, “I am sorry… Excuse me,” and she rose with her cheeks burning red and the tears she had tried to hold back finally slipping down her face, “I am sorry…” 

With that Cwen stepped past Young Uhtred, Stiorra, and Finan and walked away from the light of the fire. 

Sihtric took a breath then began to rise but Uhtred placed his hand on his brother’s arm.

“Give her a moment,” he spoke quietly but firm. 

“She has carried this weight alone,” he paused.

Uhtred stared into the flames. His memories bringing him back to the night Isuelt had rescued Hild from such a violation. 

“And now she has bared her soul. Give her a moment.” 

At this Uhtred turned to Sihtric, “but then go to her. I see your eyes watching her. And I see her smiles when she sees you watching. Be strong for her and be gentle with her.”

Uhtred shifted his gaze back to the fire and continued, “but first give her a moment alone.”

Sihtric nodded his understanding. 

As he rose he said “I will, lord.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sihtric took his time finding her. She had walked back past the tree where the children slumbered. When he did find her, she was crouched down, knees up, and back resting against a large elm tree. Her cheeks were streaked and her eyes red and swollen. 

But her tears had dried.  She looked up as he approached. No words, no smile, no sigh, or grimace. Just a look. 

Sihtric sat next to her, close but not touching her. He did not want to do anything to make her more uncomfortable than she might be already. 

He sat with his legs crossed and watched the trees ahead of them. The breeze blew leaves up in small gusts and brought Cwen’s hair to drift across her face in gentle waves. 

She brought her hand up and ran her finger behind her ear bringing the tendrils that had escaped her braid to rest out of her face.

They sat in gentle and soothing silence for a long time. 

“I suppose I owe you an explanation,”

But Sihtric cut her words off, “No, Cwen, you owe us nothing. Me nothing. Your pain is yours to share or not share with the world.”

Cwen turned her face just a fraction to be better able to see him. His face was still watching the trees. His jaw firm and his arms, resting on his knees were clearly tense. 

My pain brought him this anger, Cwen realized.

“I simply wanted to sit with you if you wanted company.” He added while bringing his eyes to meet hers. 

The truth was that Sihtric did want to see her pain.  To help her heal or cope or come apart and be lost.  He meant it when he told her it was her pain to share or not share, but he wanted to be there for her for any and all of it.  He had never felt such a need come over him before.  The need to be everything for this woman.  He saw her in all her strength.  And he knew even the strongest person could fall apart.  

“Thank you, Sihtric.” Cwen didn’t know if she had ever meant those words more in her life. 

The pair sat like that for a long while. Sihtric could feel Cwen’s body begin to relax and unwind next to him. He had so many questions and wanted to share her pain. But just as she did with him, he would not ask. If she wanted to share her past with him, he would let her do it on her own terms. His own childhood and past were not filled with joys. And he had plenty he had thought of sharing with her. But he still held back. He respected her entirely too much to not give her the same courtesy. 

But he did watch her. While they sat in silence, he found his face turned to hers and watching as she breathed and returned to the same calm and gentle spirit with whom he had become completely captivated. 

Eventually, Cwen lay her head back against the tree and let her knees fall to the ground. 

She took another of her deep and calming breaths.  

She takes those steadying breaths often, Sihtric pondered.

“Rape is not about sex.” She said quietly. And with a calm and firm voice. 

“It is about exerting power. About control. And those are two things that Eardwulf craves yet does not possess.” 

She looked at him. His face was watching her. Waiting for her to continue. Sihtric knew she needed to speak more.  He could feel it in her, ready to breath it into the world.

“I have spoken of this to no one before tonight.” Cwen admitted, turning her face back towards the forest. 

After several moments, Sihtric asked, “The Lady Aethelflaed does not know?” His words held no judgements. There is no blame laid upon her. He just wished to give her an avenue to talk if she so desired. 

“No. No one.” She said again. 

“I have had a lot of time to think on this. And at first I was ashamed and scared and in pain. Mostly scared. But the more I thought about him and the things he would say to me, the things he would...do to me…” Cwen paused and looked down at her hand again. She took a breath and continued. 

“I was of two separate minds. One was that if I spoke about it then it would make it true. It would make it real. And I desperately wanted to believe it was not real. That this agony was not being forced upon me. And the second was to keep the power from him. If I spoke of it and allowed myself to try and find solace and comfort from a friend, it would be giving him even more power. Power over me outside of the moments when he was violating me. So I chose to bear the pain in silence. And find my own peace elsewhere.”

She finished speaking and kept her eyes trained on the trees ahead.

They sat together quiet and still.  And the wind whispered through the leaves. 

An owl cried somewhere in the distance.  

Cwen dropped her head to look at the forest floor.

“I do not wish for pity.  I am scared now that things will have changed.  I will not be looked at the same.  You will not look at me the same.”

Sihtric took his time in replying to Cwen’s fears.  Gathered himself.  He shifted his weight a bit and picked up a fallen leaf near his boot.  

“I told you once that I abandoned my father to swear my loyalty to Uhtred.” 

Cwen shifts her eyes to find his, but he is now the one staring off into the trees.  Seeing images that are not really there.

“The truth is that my father abandoned the thought of me before I was ever born.  Maybe there was never any feeling to abandon in the first place.  My father was Kjartan the Cruel.  A feared and infamous Dane.  My mother was a kitchen slave in his hall.  She, like you, was treated with no regard by a man who lived to exert power.  As an object for his lusts and I was the result,” Sihtric paused  and looked down to the leaf in his hand.  There was nothing left but tatters after he had picked it apart.

“He tolerated my existence and when I grew he allowed me to train and be a warrior for him. And at one time, I wanted his approval. I put up with his abuses. The slaps and the name calling. And the way he continued to treat my mother. But  I wanted for him to call me son.  It was the misguided desire of a wayward bastard.  I look back on that boy now, as a man and feel disgust that I ever wished for anything from Kjartan.  Knowing that he abused my mother and countless others.  I feel shame.”

Cwen reached out and grasped his hand to still his fingers still trying to find pieces of the leaf to tear.  She interlaced her fingers with his and shifted her body to lay her head on his shoulder.

“A few months before I found Uhtred, Kjartan had my mother killed.  He burned her alive.”

Cwen gasped and lifted her head to look at him. He had his eyes squinted. An effort to keep his tears at bay. 

“ He claimed it was because she was found to be stealing food from the kitchens.  It was true.  She used to give it to the other bastards and orphans.  The urchins of Dunholm. And he killed her for it. And my heart was broken. My mother was the only person in my life who showed me real and true love. I had been slowly losing my desire to be counted among Kjartan’s favored sons but that was like a knife to my heart. But I had to continue on as his whipped puppy if I was ever to find my escape. And I found that in Uhtred. Someone worthy of my oath.”

Cwen began, “Sihtric, I …”

But her words were cut off when Sihtric said “I do not tell you for your pity. I tell you this because we all have a past. And most of us in this group have a pretty bad one. The others’ stories are not mine to tell you. But trust me that there is pain behind them as well. And I also tell you because it is possible to share your pain and still be seen as strong. I will share your pain, if you desire.”

They were looking into each other’s eyes now. Faces merely inches apart. 

“I do not pity you or find you weak, Cwen. I feel rage over what you have been forced to endure. We all have pain. But knowing that does not make me want to take yours away any less. And I will do all in my power to see you are never put in that pain or danger again. But know that this does not define you. You have not given him that power.”

With that final declaration, Sihtric brought his forehead to rest on Cwen’s own. 

The pair rested like this. In each other’s solace until Cwen finally declared that she needed sleep and to check on the children. 

They walked back to find the others nestled in the roots of the tree. All except Uhtred, on watch for the early part of the evening. 

When he saw them approaching, Sihtric’s arm wrapped protectively around Cwen’s shoulders, he spoke. 

“Are you alright, Lady?”

“No. But I will be, Lord. I am sorry to have caused..”

Uhtred raised his hand and gently hissed for her to be quiet. “Nothing to forgive. You spoke truths and shared your soul. We value that. And we value you. As I know Aethelflaed does. Rest now.”

“Thank you, Lord.”

Cwen nestled herself between the sleeping children and exhausted from reliving and sharing such trauma, she was asleep within minutes. 

Sihtric watched her for a while longer. He had meant all he had confessed to her. He would do anything in his power to keep her from harm. But he also knew all too well that sometimes harm came regardless of someone’s desires and efforts to avoid it. 

It was this thought plaguing him as he drifted to sleep. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Upon waking in the morning, the group made ready for their departure. 

“Where is Ealfwin?” Cwen asked when she realized the girl was not still laying under the tree as she had been moments before. 

“She had wandered that way last I saw her,” Stiorra replied. “She was still in sight. But she must have just gone over that ridge.”

“We will find her, come on,” Finan said as the group spread out in the direction Stiorra had seen Ealfwin wander. 

Uhtred found her. Along with the sleeping forms of Mercian soldiers. And Eardwulf. 

Quickly and quietly, the warriors returned and found the others. Cwen wrapped Ealfwin in her arms as Sihtric rushed to her sidetaking her arm. 

“Eardwulf is here. Ealfwin nearly walked right into them sleeping. We must run.”

And they did. They ran as their lives depended on it stopping only for short minutes to catch their breath and check on the children. 

Ealfwin’s energy continued to fade. Her complexion grew paler and there was no denying that she felt warm to the touch. 

Afternoon found them at a slow moving river bed. Here they stopped to properly rest. 

Cwen sat cradling Ealfwin in her arms as Osferth and Eadith approached to offer the child some water and check on her well-being. 

“Thank you. Both of you.” Cwen said while meeting Eadith’s stare. 

“Osferth, will you sit with her a moment. I would like a word with Eadith.”

“Of course, Cwen.” Osferth replied. 

The two ladies walked several paces down the riverbed, near to a slow trickling waterfall. 

“I owe you an apology,” Eadith said with a start as Cwen slowed her pace to trim and look at her. 

“You do not.” Cwen sated plainly and gently. 

“It is not you who forced themselves on me. You are not your brother. And I am sorry that I have told you an ugly truth about him. But it is the truth.”

The two women looked at one another until Eadith turned her gaze to the water, “I know. I mean I did not know about this before last night. But I do know who he is. I am seeing him for who he really is more and more. And I know you speak truly. And I am still sorry. I did not rape you but I am sorry that you have been preyed upon. I am not unfamiliar with sexual coercion.”

Eadith turned her face back to Cwen. 

“You are tired of being controlled.” Cwen echoed her Eadith’s own words back to her. 

“Yes. And we deserve better.”

“You are right. And I believe we will find it.” Cwen stated. 

In that small moment at the stream’s edge, the women found kindred spirits in one another. It was a welcome thing. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To be continued….

Let me know if you would like to be added to my tag list.

Tag List: @maggiescarborough @pokeasleepingsmaug @nxrdist @mystic-shadows42 @emilyhufflepufftlk @magravenwrites @lauwrite1225 @morosemagick @thebohemianpenguin @mrsalwayswrite @notyourwildestdream @obipoelover @ecarroll1978

[local-ground-apple]

Hii!! I just read your response to my request and gaaaaahh!!! It was amazing!!!!! And if you dont mind, I have another request uwu. How would the dormleaders be with a very short male! Reader (who will kick ass if someone makes fun of him with bad intentions) ? Thank youu!! Sakura anon🌸

I’m glad you liked it! 🍎💜

Reader turned out to be g/n, so I hope you don’t mind it. Anyway, on y va!

❤️ you and him would be an absolutely terrifying and deadly duo when it comes to dealing with commentators,

❤️ heartslabyul students have no clue who is scarier when someone makes fun of height – you or riddle

❤️ the answer is - yOu bOtH

❤️ finally someone who is smaller than him. Although it’s just 2cm, it’s still a considerable difference to him and Riddle may remind you about it few times,

❤️ he’s similar to you in one way – Riddle absolutely detests malicious comments regarding his height and they often drives him up the wall,

❤️ generally, Riddle doesn’t mind when you kick someone’s ass, bah, he would join you if he could. Unfortunately, he has a certain image to maintain and he is in no position to violate school rules,

❤️ he lets your outbursts slip and pretends he hasn’t seen them, after all, he’s impartial, right?

❤️ yells at the person who made fun of you in bad way, while you floors him down,

❤️ truly couple goals

❤️ truly supportive,

💛 Leona heard rumors about you flooring down people with such ease after they had made fun of you. He laughed at Ruggie who told him that and dismissed him with a shrug,

💛 You? Small, feeble, lanky you? Taking down a corpulent opponent? No way it could be true.

💛 Leona finds the mere thought of your tiny form kicking someon’es ass amusing. To him, you’re just a feisty kitten trying to scratch big lions around you.

💛 or so he thought.

💛 Leona’s opinion changed dramatically when he saw you fuming with anger with clenched fists, after one of Savanaclaw member made a vicious remark concerning your height. He didn’t even have a chance to react and defeat you. You just casted him a forced, bright smile, before you landed a precise kick on your opponent,

💛 Leona did not expect that,

💛 he was utterly stunned and impressed

💛deep down inside it makes him feel a little bit more assured that you can take care of yourself. But if someone even tries to offend, that person will get his ass kicked twice - by you and Leona, of cours,

💙 we all know how Leech twins solve their problems and deals with any inconveniences they meet on their way, so when Azul found out your way to get rid of bullies, he seemed unbothered and unflappable,

💙 after all, the small ones are the deadliest, at least in this school,

💙 Azul is accustomed to the violence, since he had seen seen Leech twins resorting to it, for yonks,

Oh, you floored down that person? That’s marvelous darling, now let’s return to discussing this contract, shall we?

💙 He absolutely doesn’t mind you roughing up few students or flooring them down. Azul is a calculating businessman, so he often views that as an opportunity to interfere and offer poor, unfortunate soul (who you had just been beaten up) a contract promising to give him the strength,

💙 yes, even from your height Azul can generate benefits,

💙 deep down Azul wishes he had your defending skills when he was bullied in his childhood. It would certainly made things easier for him,

💙 absolutely forbade you to join Leech twins on their “kicking some asses who refused to pay the price” trip,

🧡 when Kalim saw you kicking one guy’s ass for the first time, he was quite speechless but utterly impressed with your skills,

”wooAAH, WHEN DID YOU LEARN THAT”

🧡 asked you to teach him some moves and self-defense techniques much to Jamil’s discontent, as he had to make sure Kalim wouldn’t hurt himself trying to repeat your moves,

🧡 Kalim always makes sure you didn’t hurt yourself after kicking someone’s ass. He tried to persuade you not to resolve to using force, but just to report the situation to Crowley. Let’s just say, you laughed and called headmaster useless,

,,My method is just more effective.” ,,B-but Y/N-”

🧡 it was rather hard to disagree with your statement concerning Crowley,

🧡 deep down he is happy that you’re more than capable of defending yourself, even if he finds the idea of you flooring down 6’0 feet tall human tad scary,

💜 Vil absolutely hates that, he detests that side of yours and finds it unbearable, 

💜he has to cover eventual bruises forming on your delicate skin, tend to them, fix your disheveled state and generally make you look presentable after the fight,

💜 but don’t worry, Vil is more than willing to help you overcome that bad habit of yours, after scolding you for the umpteenth time, of course, 

💜 he is not the type who likes to get his perfectly-manicured hands dirty. Vil much more prefers adding few drops of refined poisons or potions to someone’s drink or harsh, vicious words which would be sufficient to intimidate everyone (maybe with the exception of Malleus),

💜 with him on your side, you wouldn’t have to worry about nasty remarks concerning your height. You wouldn’t even noticed how quickly there was no need for you to resort to violence, 

💜 if not Vil himself then Rook will take care of any people who could offend you in the future, 

💜 may it be a small, “friendly” talk, a bite of refined apple or few drops of special potion, Vil will solve any of your problems tarnishing your beauty,

🖤 he left his room for the first time in a month just to see you flooring down a person in such badass way,

🖤 Idia certainly didn’t expect to experience an anime-like scene in his life. He blinked few times, ensuring it was your tiny figure taking down that guy, 

🖤 in his eyes you looked as cool as anime characters,

🖤you explained to him that you hadn’t learnt that through video games and offered to show him some moves. Idia politely refused, but you quickly convinced him to give it a try,

,,y’know, if you knew at least some basic moves, you wouldn’t get kidnapped by those ghosts” “IT HAPPENED ONCE” 

🖤 needless to say, you accidentally broke his wrist,

🖤generally Idia finds it comforting that you’re capable of defending yourself and doesn’t mind you kicking some asses, 

🖤 but please don’t teach him any self-defense, his bones aren’t ready for such revolution,

💚 after seeing multiple times Lilia brutally and with a bright smile dealing with anyone who dared to diss his height, he truly thought nothing would surprise him in that matter,

💚 well, for once in his long life Malleus was wrong,

💚 he finds it utterly amusing how your small figure takes down much larger than you guys. Lilia even offers to polish your technique, so one day you could surprise Malleus himself, 

💚 Lilia thinks the height difference between you and your boyfriend is cute and he will literally never shut up about this,

,,Big, great lizard and such tiny human, fufufu~~ what a couple” “lilia, I’m literally the same height as you” “I’m centimetre taller”

💚 most of the time, you don’t have to resort to violence,

💚 after the rumor of you dating THE Malleus Draconia run through the whole school, there was simply no need for you to fight off your bullies. Practically no one dared to offend you or make any vicous remark about your height, having in the back of their mind your intimidating boyfriend,

💚 Malleus knows very well that you don’t need his help in those situations, yet just his shadow can make the students tremble in fear and run away, so they don’t even have time to offend you,

me: it’s a normal situation, make Vil just a normal guy

also me: well...👁️👄👁️

Also sorry for the delay with your requests, I’m working on them~!

[pinktwingirl]

Loki Series Rewrite (AKA Loki Series but with Squirrel Girl): Ep 1

Hey guys! Long story short, I wasn’t a fan of the Loki series, so I decided to make my own rewrite (including my favorite Marvel character, Squirrel Girl!) These are basically a collection of scenes that I would’ve either added or rewritten to improve the show. Btw, this is a continuation of my Endgame rewrite where Loki comes back to life after dying in Infinity War, so the Loki in this version is modern-day Loki, not 2012 Loki. Also, the whole Loki x Sylvie self-cest thing made me VEEERRRRY UNCOMFY, so I got rid of it. Their relationship is purely platonic in this. Anyways, enjoy! (This work is in screenplay format.)

INT. TVA - DAY

We pan through the TVA and see agents at work, checking timelines and watching training videos. We see various TVA posters warning about variants and "protecting the sacred timeline."

We then cut to RAVONNA RENSLAYER in her office. She is at her desk, sorting through files. Suddenly, an agent bursts in.

AGENT

Ma'am, we have a situation.

Ravonna follows the agent to a computer, where we see a timeline branching off from the main one.

AGENT

Is this the variant we've been searching for?

Ravonna glances at the computer and nods.

RAVONNA

About damn time...

EXT. CHICAGO BAR, 1986 - NIGHT

We see a woman with long, black hair and a green dress chatting with a man in a bar. The song "Devil Woman" by Cliff Richard is playing in the background.

MAN

Can I interest you in another drink, beautiful?

The woman lets out a flirty laugh and blushes.

WOMAN

Oh, you're too kind.

The man turns to the bartender.

MAN

Hey, can you get my girl here a...

(He turns to the woman.)

What can I get you, honey?

WOMAN

Surprise me.

The man turns back to the bartender.

MAN

You heard her.

The woman has a devilish smirk on her face as she watches them. The man turns back to her as the bartender starts mixing a drink.

MAN

You know, I feel selfish. I've been talking so much about myself, but I still don't know a thing about you.

WOMAN

Well... what do you want to know?

Suddenly, another man approaches them.

MAN #2

Hey, what do you think you're doing with my date?!

MAN

Your date? She's mine, asshole!

MAN #2

I caught her first!

(He turns to the woman.)

I'm sorry, honey, is this guy bothering you?

MAN

Bothering her?! You listen here, shithead-

He grabs the other man and they begin to wrestle with each other.

WOMAN

(Playfully)

Oh no, please don't fight over me...

As the men grow more violent, a bit of green magic shoots out of the woman's hand, causing the first man's wallet to fly into her grasp. She slips by the men, undetected as the bartender tries to break them up. Outside the bar, the woman walks off. With a smirk, she shifts into LOKI, now in his male form. He unveils the tesseract with magic and disappears.

INT. THE BENATAR - NIGHT

Loki reappears in the Guardians' ship, where Thor and the Guardians of the Galaxy are waiting for him. Loki smirks.

LOKI

Another successful venture.

THOR

Did they fight?

LOKI

Like bilgesnipe.

Thor bursts into laughter, and Loki hands Rocket the wallet.

LOKI

I also got the wallet, as requested. Although, I don't think Midgardian currency will have much value on the far side of the galaxy.

ROCKET

Who cares about the money? I just wanted the wallet.

(He dumps out the dollar bills and admires the wallet.)

This is nice leather...

LOKI

Anyone else have any travel requests?

QUILL

Oh, I got a whole bunch.

NEBULA

Quit acting like children. An infinity stone is not a toy to be played with.

LOKI

Oh, please. The tesseract and I go far back. If anyone can control it, I can.

ROCKET

You know, I'm starting to think you've just gotten sick of being around us, and now you're just looking for an excuse to get away.

LOKI

I will neither confirm nor deny that.

THOR

By that, he means "yes."

ROCKET

That's pretty rude of you, grease weasel.

Loki scowls at him.

DRAX

Can you travel to Kylos? I would greatly enjoy having some trego fruit again.

LOKI

Certainly.

The tesseract starts to glow in his hands.

INT. TVA - DAY

The agent and Ravonna are still at the computer.

AGENT

He's using the stone again. He's going to time-jump.

RAVONNA

Block it. Intercept him.

The agent presses a button.

EXT. MONGOLIA - DAY

Loki crash lands in the Gobi Desert and wakes up, looking utterly confused as a group of villagers approach him.

VILLAGER

(in Mongolian)

Who are you? Why have you come to our home?

Loki raises an eyebrow and opens his mouth to respond. Suddenly, a portal opens and several TVA agents enter. They lean down to examine the tesseract, and Loki abruptly rushes over to them.

LOKI

Don't touch that!

The agents ready their prune sticks. Suddenly, HUNTER B-15 opens a portal and enters.

HUNTER B-15

It appears to be a standard sequence violation.

(She checks her tem-pad)

Branch is growing at a stable rate and slope. Variant identified.

LOKI

I beg your pardon?

HUNTER B-15

On behalf of the Time Variance Authority, I hereby arrest you for crimes against the sacred timeline. Hands up.

The agents activate their prune sticks.

HUNTER B-15

You're coming with us.

LOKI

I'm sorry, who's "us"?

Hunter B-15 activates her own prune stick.

HUNTER B-15

Last chance, variant.

Loki chuckles.

LOKI

Look, I don't know who the hell you seem to think you are... But if you don't mind, this is actually your last chance.

(Beat)

Now get out of my way.

Before he can attack, Hunter B-15 strikes him with her stick.

INT. TVA COURTROOM - DAY

Ravonna pounds her gavel.

RAVONNA

Next case, please!

Hunter B-15 forces Loki onto the stand.

RAVONNA

"Laufeyson"... Variant L1130, aka "Loki Laufeyson"...

LOKI

I prefer "Odinson," thank you.

After a pause, Ravonna shrugs.

RAVONNA

Very well...

(She crosses out "Laufeyson" on his case file and writes in "Odinson.")

Loki Odinson, you are charged with sequence violation 7-20-89. How do you plead?

Loki chuckles.

LOKI

Madam, a god doesn't plead. Look, this has been a very enjoyable pantomime, but I'd like to go home now.

RAVONNA

Are you guilty or not guilty, sir?

Loki smirks.

LOKI

Guilty of being the god of mischief, yes. Guilty of finding all of this incredibly tedious, yes. Guilty of a... "crime"... against the "sacred timeline"? Absolutely not, you have the wrong person.

RAVONNA

Oh, really? And who should we have?

LOKI

Well, in my defense, the only reason I ever came in possession of the tesseract is because the Avengers traveled back in time.

Mobius enters the courtroom.

RAVONNA

We're not here to talk about the Avengers. What they did was supposed to happen; you reviving yourself with the tesseract and running around time, causing chaos was not.

Loki laughs.

LOKI

I'm sorry - not supposed to happen according to whom?

RAVONNA

The timekeepers.

INT. TIME THEATER - DAY

Mobius is showing Loki clips of his life and trying to dig deeper into his psyche.

MOBIUS

You know, trying to kill all the frost giants, invading Earth, I don't see anything very mischievous about this...

He plays a clip of the bifrost nearly destroying Jotunheim. A family of frost giants runs in fear as the land is destroyed. A little girl screams as her father is vaporized by the blast. Loki is visibly uncomfortable.

MOBIUS

Look at that. Did you enjoy doing that?

LOKI

Enough of your games. You've made your point.

Ignoring him, Mobius plays the clip of him telling Kurse where to go.

MOBIUS

And then, you tried tricking the dark elves into finding Thor, but instead, you sent them right to Frigga.

Loki tenses when he sees Frigga fighting Malekith.

LOKI

I don't want to watch this.

He winces, trying to keep himself together, as he watches Malekith stab Frigga.

MOBIUS

Well, you're going to watch it. Because that's your life, that's the consequences of your actions, and that is the proper flow of time! Now, why don't you tell me, do you enjoy hurting people?

LOKI

I don't have to play your games-

MOBIUS

Do you enjoy killing?

LOKI

I'll kill you.

MOBIUS

What, like you did your mother?

Enraged, Loki tosses a chair at him. Mobius dodges it, and it flies through the hologram of Frigga's dead body. Loki lunges at Mobius, but he uses the time twister to send him back on the ground. Loki growls in pain.

MOBIUS

Sorry, the time twister just loops you, not the furniture. You weren't born to be king, Loki. You were born to cause pain and suffering and death. That's how it is, that's how it was, and that's how it always will be. All so that others can achieve their best versions of themselves.

LOKI

(Voice cracking)

That's not true. You're lying.

MOBIUS

It is true. Your life ended after Thanos snapped your neck, because you fulfilled your purpose of assembling the Avengers to destroy you. Your purpose was never to become a hero. You're a villain, and that will never change as long as the sacred timeline runs its course.

INT. TIME THEATER - DAY

After Loki escapes and returns to the time theater on his own, he finds a folder of papers on the table. He opens it and reads the first file. It reads "LOKI ODINSON - MAIN OBJECTIVES: MURDER, LIE, MANIPULATE. LIFE PURPOSE: CATALYST FOR THE AVENGERS. OBJECTIVE FULFILLED. LIFE TERMINATED. END OF FILE.

Horrified, Loki stares at the file as tears run down his face. After a moment, he starts laughing as Hunter B-15 enters.

HUNTER B-15

Something funny?

After a pause, Loki shakes his head.

LOKI

Glorious purpose...

INT. TIME THEATER - DAY

Loki is talking with Mobius after being apprehended again.

LOKI

I will admit, the TVA is... formidable. Even an infinity stone is useless here.

(Beat)

You're not going to let me return to my own timeline, are you?

(Beat)

MOBIUS

Normally, no, we wouldn't. But... if you help us... maybe the timekeepers might be willing to make an exception. A rogue variant's been killing our minutemen.

LOKI

And you need the god of mischief to help you stop him?

MOBIUS

That's right.

LOKI

Why me?

MOBIUS

The variant we're hunting is... you.

Have some actual Lady Loki yay! 

So yeah, the purpose of this episode was mainly to re-establish the show within the continuity of my version of Endgame. Squirrel Girl comes in next episode!

@drawntothedarkside Here’s your tag!

[txemrn]

How do you approach writing intense sexual scenes? Do you write from experience or what you've seen? I want to try to write things, but I'm afraid what I write will come across as awkward and cringe-y. 🤦‍♀️

Hey, anon! Thank you so much for the ask!

Believe me when I say that you and I are in the same boat! I get fairly anxious when it comes to writing smut for the exact same reasons you have: you want it to flow; you want hearts in your eyes while your fanning yourself, waiting for round 2. I have several smut scenes to write in some upcoming fics, and I can feel the excitement... and dread because I need fireworks, not a forest fire.

You don't want a trainwreck, something that literally makes you feel violated, wanting to scrub your skin afterwards. But, when you develop the perfect scene for your characters, it is soooooo delicious and beautiful. 🥰

I'm NOT the expert, but here's what I do... 🍋🍋🍋

First things first: ask yourself, "Does this fic/chapter even need an intimate scene?" I have mapped out fics before, where I think, "Oh yeah, let's get it on in this chapter!" And when it comes time to write, my characters want to tell a different story. Or, I realize it distracts from the purpose of the chapter.

Something to also consider that I think is just as powerful as having sex is what I call my "foreplay writing": just like it sounds-- the characters sexually teasing one another verbally and physically in a way that will probably lead to intimacy; I usually have a character say 1 or 2 moment-defining lines; then I end the scene delicately, leaving it to the reader's imagination.

One of my favorite characters to do this for is Liam from TRR. Here's a little excerpt of what I'm talking about:

This is the first chapter of my series called "Pour Two Glasses". In this particular chapter, Liam has a limited time with his wife before he goes back delegating peace treaties. The whole chapter has been this delicious love (and sexual) tension between them, feeling their connection as husband and wife. And... THEY FINALLY CAN HAVE A MOMENT ALONE, and they are stumbling over each other like teenagers, making out. They finally make it to their room, and Liam can't take it anymore. He passionately pushes his wife against the wall. She suggests that they have a bedroom. And he responds with this:

“We have walls,” he gruffly whispers, snapping his teeth just above her pulse point. “Now, open your legs.”

Anyway, the point of the story, though wasn't the sex. It was their connection, and I felt like if I added a smutty scene (which, I originally wanted to do), it might distract from the impact of what was about to happen.

Sorry, I need a minute now.... 🤣🤣🤣

Moving on...

Second, RESEARCH!

-READ! READ! READ! There is so much smut right here on tumblr. Pick out your favorite series for fanfiction, then look for the lemons! You'll get a good taste (pun not intended) of how to create it, how to build it up and fluff it up. How to make it loving, how to make it intense. Even the most intense of BDSM scenes can be lovely.

-Also, consider smutty books and harlequin novels. Yes, I'm talking "50 Shades..." Go to that section in Wal-Mart and pick out a few. Read and take note! For example, I have a desire to write a BDSM piece after hearing a song. Because I want to do it justice, I just ordered a book with some hardcore BDSM online to do some research.

-Don't be afraid: search the net! I have actually google searched "writing smut for beginners" and there are SO MANY blog sites that will teach you a TON. There are even sites that will tell you words that are generally accepted by audiences and words that generally make people cringe.

-Turn to trustworthy and helpful writing friends for 2 reasons!

Not the ones that simply say, "Oooo, that's hot," (even though we LOVE them, too), but the ones that will make your smut well-rounded and stellar! For example, I was writing a blurb about oral sex last week, and I turned to one of my peeps. She was encouraging and told me I was on the right track, told me what she loves, and then offered thoughts and sensations that could make my writing blossom.

EXPERIENCE. We all have different perspectives when it comes to intimacy. Now, I know, you can't talk about it with just anyone. But surely there is SOMEONE you can chat sex with, maybe even a best friend that is clueless about fanfiction! The purpose of this is to expand your knowledge of what people enjoy. What you personal enjoy might not be what someone else enjoys and they can offer intel as to why.

-Finally, and this might sound crazy, create a word/phrase bank. You know when you're reading some smut, and you read something that just... takes your breath away? Jot. It. Down. I actually have a word/phrase bank, and I abuse it. The bank includes words related to body parts, smells, sensations, tastes... but it's tailored to what I'm willing to personally write. There are certain words I personally cannot write seriously, and so I vow not to. But anytime I can think of a clever and beautiful way to say something, I add it to the bank.

I hope this has inspired you in some way. I know you kept yourself anonymous; BUT if you ever need some help, I am always here to brainstorm ideas. You've got this--writing smut is just like jumping into the deep end of the pool; YOU CAN DO IT, and it's going to be so THRILLING when you do. Good luck to you! 💜💜💜

[wylanvnneck]

This 2 part fic was written for the Secret Snusband Gift Giveaway hosted by @jurdannet​ and @jurdannetrevels​ for my lovely Knife Wife @lilacs-with-lavender​.

Rating: T for Tyrannosaurus

Summary: Inspired by an episode of my favourite Cop TV show, ‘Castle’, in which a bet takes place with pretty high stakes, although the plotline has been tweaked to fit this fandom. My Knife Wife said she loved the Enemies to Lovers trope so that’s what I’ve (tried to) write here and I hope you enjoy the story of Homicide Detectives Jude Duarte and Cardan Greenbriar and their mutual enmity.

Warnings: Not so graphic descriptions of murder and mention of drugs. (Really not sure what I need to tag, so please let me know if I’ve missed something.)

Posted as a Gift on AO3 | Part 2 | Masterlist

Part 1

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

“Victim’s name is Taryn Santorini, a metal sculptor by trade, she was found by her doorman fifteen minutes before we traced the address in Chloe’s hand back to her.” 

Detective Jude Duarte looks down at the motionless face of a scared looking brunette, a crimson splatter painting the tiled floor around her lifeless body. The room around her is a mess, clothes scattered everywhere, bed ruffled and unmade and metal figurines placed haphazardly throughout the little apartment.

“Lil, talk to me, what are we looking at?”

Before the white-blonde haired medical examiner crouched on the floor by the body can answer, a smooth dark voice that Jude so detests cuts through the air behind her.

“Why, Duarte, I’d say that the fact that Tara What’s-her-name was shot and killed is rather obvious.” The despicable excuse of a detective steps forward, a smug grin pasted to his face. Cardan Greenbriar, entitled little rich boy, over-confident bastard and sadly, her partner.

Patience, Jude reminds herself, patience was a virtue. 

“I meant, as I’m sure Lil knows, with what model was she killed and when?”

Liliver shoots her an amused sympathetic look before turning her gaze back to the victim.

“Looks to be a gun with a 45 caliber, same as the one used to kill Chloe Tatterfell. I’d say Taryn here has been dead for about 12 hours so pretty close to Chloe’s time of death, maybe just a half hour or so afterwards.”

“So chances are it’s the same killer.” Cardan interjects, the smug smile a little less vibrant now. 

“Yep. I’ll have to get her back to the morgue so  I can do a full inspection, see if I can find anything helpful.”

Jude steps back from the crime scene to give her some space, almost bumping in to the officer taking pictures of the area for later use. 

“Thanks, Lil.”

“Just doing my job, sweetie.”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Jude clips a glossy picture of their latest victim onto the precinct’s murder board. “Garrett and Van questioned practically all known associates of both Chloe and Taryn and none of them could recognise the other victim. There’s no obvious connection between the two and yet, for some reason they were both killed on the same day, by the same person.”

“And with the same gun.” Cardan is leaning back in his chair, his posture insouciant and his curly black hair falling lazily over his forehead. Surely that was a violation of precinct dress codes? Not that he’d care either way, rule breaker that he was. God knew it was only because of his daddy’s clout that he’d even graduated from the academy in the first place, whilst people like Jude had to work hard and save every penny and fight to get anywhere in the field of Law Enforcement.

“Ok, I’m going to head to the morgue whilst Van and Gare check through the victim’s phones and financials, see if Lil has anything for us.”

“I suppose, being the dutiful partner that I am, I should come with you?” Cardan’s drawl is as irritating as usual and Jude can hardly wait to get out of the proximity of his stupid raven locks and smoldering eyes.

“Please, you’d be doing us both a favour if you didn’t.”

“Aw, come now Jude you know you’d miss me.” He lets out a dramatic sigh as he half heartedly stands from his chair to join her as she speeds by towards the exit and she just barely resists the urge to throttle him.

Lil bustles around her examining room as she adjusts the fluorescent lamps shining down on both the victim’s bodies’. 

“So, apart from the type of bullets that killed them, the only similarity that I could find between the two victims is the fact that they both have tattoos.”

Jude raises a brow. “Everyone has tattoos.”

From across the autopsy table Cardan’s eyes gleam as he smirks. 

“Oh really? You got some ink on you, Duarte?” 

His tone is disbelieving and Jude can’t resist messing with him a little.

She pastes an obviously fake flirtatious smile on her face and drawls in a sugar sweet voice, “Guess you’d have to find that out on your own, Greenbriar.” 

She bites at her lip for good measure and thinks once more of how bad she would be at flirting in earnest. Lil certainly couldn’t keep the laughter out of her gray eyes. Cardan, however, has a strange look on his face, one that Jude can’t quite decipher, but she’s pretty sure she’s just one-upped him and she can’t deny the slight sense of triumph that the thought gives her.

 She turns her attention back to the victims. “You were saying, Lil?” 

“I’m saying that these tattoos seem to have been done by the same artist. Look,” she pulls back the white cloth covering the body of Chloe Tatterfell, gently pushing a strand of brown hair off of her shoulder to reveal the cartoonish character of a rose, inked in with dark black ink.

She then turns to Taryn’s body to reveal a similarly styled tattoo of a mermaid on her wrist. Just as she’s pulling back the cover Jude’s back pocket vibrates and the sound of her plain ringtone travels through the air. Quickly she swipes upwards to answer the call and it’s Garrett.

“Yo, so we looked through the victims’ phone records and found a connection. Both Chloe and Taryn made a phone call on the day that they were killed to the same number, belonging to a Locke McCutchins, he’s got priors including robberies and domestic assault.”

By the time he’s finished speaking she’s already waved a quick goodbye to Lil and turned to walk out the door, not bothering to check if her partner was behind her.

“Alright, text me his address, let’s go pick him up.”

“Locke McCutchins, open up, it’s the NYPD!” Garrett bangs on the door and the force is so strong that the wood vibrates as Jude clutches her pistol in her hand, body flat against the wall of Locke’s apartment with Cardan right beside her.

There’s no answer and the door is broken down as she, Cardan, Garrett and Van file into the room in a practiced motion that’s as familiar to her as breathing.

Right in front of them, sprawled across his couch, lies the dead body of Locke McCutchin, his tawny eyes still open and gazing unseeingly up at his ceiling, a dried red patch visible on his shirt.

Garret drops to the floor beside the couch, his sandy hair falling over his face as he leans over to check Locke’s pulse whilst the rest of them look on after having taken note that the apartment was clear.

“Body’s cold, he’s been dead for hours, entry wound looks to be about the same size as the other victims.”

Jude scrunches her eyebrows as she stands in front of the murderboard for the second time that day.

“So, Chloe Tatterfell, Taryn Santorini and Locke McCuchins were all killed within the span of 24 hours, all with the same gun, presumably by the same killer and yet so far the only connections we’ve found are Taryn’s address that was found written on Chloe’s hand, the phone call from both women to Locke and the similar tattoos on both Chloe and Taryn, but not on Locke.”

“Hmm.” Cardan seems to materialise out of nowhere, carrying a paper cup of what smells like freshly brewed coffee. Jude was convinced that he took his coffee with added alcohol but she had yet to prove it.

“What’s with the glare?” he asks.

“It automatically deploys itself when you're around.”

He scoffs. Twirls his coffee around. Takes a long, slurping sip.

“Hey, Duarte? Don’t get me wrong, I mean, the feeling is mutual, but what exactly is it that makes you despise me so much? I’d like to know so I can make sure to keep doing it.” 

Jude barely deliberates over her answer before she responds. 

“Being an overly cocky, obnoxious jerk who has only managed to get this far thanks to his Daddy’s fat purse will definitely be the best way to make me hate you, trust me.”

He grins but there’s no humour in the curve of his sensual lips, his eyes are cold metal.

“You think that the only reason I’m a detective is because of my father?”

“Yup.” She makes sure to add plenty of emphasis to that one word.

Cardan opens his mouth as if to speak, stops, presses his lips together so hard that they turn pale before the colour returns to them when a slow smile spreads across his face, this time full of humour, but the decidedly darker kind.

“Let’s make a bet. If you can figure out what the connection between our three victims is before I do, I’ll go right up to Captain Madoc myself and request a change of partners so you can be rid of my ‘overly cocky, obnoxious’ self. Deal?” 

He was extending a challenge and Jude was never one to back down from those. Besides, the chance to be rid of him with no cost to herself or her reputation was too good to pass up on. Still, there had to be a catch, with Cardan, there was always a catch.

“And on the complete off-chance that you figure it out first? What happens then?”

“If I figure it out first...you have to come with me as my date to this party that my dad’s having in a couple days.”

Those last few words come out in a rush and Jude has to take a moment to decipher their meaning. Followed by another moment to wonder if she’d somehow completely misunderstood what he’d said.

“You want me to what?”

“Be my date to a party. Honestly Duarte, do you have any idea how many women would jump at this opportunity?” His tone is disgustingly nonchalant. 

“I-” she struggles to find the words. “Take one of them then! Don’t you have a girlfriend, Nicasia or something like that? Blue hair and eyes? High pitched voice? Talks a lot about how much she gets seasick?”

“You know, for someone who’s only met Nicasia once you do remember quite a bit about her.” His steady gaze on her is intense.

For some incorrigible reason Jude has to resist the urge to flush.

“I’m a detective. It’s my job to study people.”

“Right. Sadly, Nicasia and I are no longer together, if we ever were. I got bored. Hence, why I need a date.”

“I’m sure you could just take one of your scores of female admirers, you don’t need me.”

“Is that jealousy that I detect in your voice?”

“Cardan.” 

“Look, the point is, I can’t be bothered having to deal with yet another simpering female who thinks that one night on my arm means a promise to a life-long relationship complete with marriage, a fancy mansion and exactly 2.5 kids. All I want is a companion for one night so I don’t get hounded by my mother for not having a girlfriend by which she can procure some grandchildren.”

“Oh so now you want me to be your fake girlfriend?”

He rolls his eyes up at the ceiling and she fights the urge to slap him. 

“It’s just for one night! Besides, I thought me winning was barely even a possibility to you.”

She makes a noise at the back of her throat. “It is.”

“Then I don’t see what the problem is. Do we have a deal, or not?” He holds out his hand, sculpted eyebrows raised in confrontation.

She doesn’t really think he has much of a chance of figuring it out before her, but he had admittedly also proven adept at figuring certain things out in previous cases so there was definitely no certainty that he wouldn’t win, for all her bravado. Yet, her competitive nature couldn’t bear the thought of surrendering, so she pushes her unease aside and grips his hand in a firm shake. 

“Deal.” 

There’s an awkward moment when he takes a little too long to release her hand from his grip. Once he finally does, the rather pointy tips of his ears reddening, they both turn back to the murder board and the view of their murder time line and crime scene pictures, furiously trying to connect the dots in their heads.

A random thought intrudes in her brain.

"Wait, what if Garrett and Van figure it out before we do?”

As one, she and Cardan both turn towards the opposite side of the office where the two officers in question sat in front of their computers.

Van was typing in data on his computer, eyes glazing over and the tuft of black hair atop his head trembling whilst Garrett, or, The Ghost - as he was sometimes called thanks to his tendency to take months before answering non-work related messages - stood eating glazed donuts with one hand and speaking to someone on the phone held in the other. Jude loved the both of them but she had to admit that they didn’t exactly paint the most inspiring picture. 

Once again she and Cardan are in sync when they promptly turn back towards the murderboard and proclaim, “Nah.”

Van’s excitement is clearly written on his face when he walks straight up to Jude’s desk the moment she arrives at the precinct the next morning, slamming down a manila folder with the NYPD crest printed on it onto her neatly arranged table top.

Immediately she reaches out to open it, desperate for a break in the case that would not only put a three time killer behind bars but also ensure that she herelf wouldn’t commit murder if she lost the bet and had to pretend to be Cardan’s girlfriend for a night. The thought makes her want to shudder.

“So, I was looking into all of our victim’s financials and I noticed an anomaly. Two weeks ago on the 7th they each deposited 95 hundred dollars into their savings accounts, but we’ve got no way of tracing the money back because the amount is under the IRS’s investigative limit” Van takes a quick pause before continuing, “but that’s not all, both Taryn and Chloe have credit card charges for small amounts at a tattoo place called Fair Folk Inks down in Queens.”

“Great, that’d be the place where they both got tattoos, I’ll go down there and ask the owner a couple questions, thanks Van.” She puts the sheaf of financial accounts back into the folder and takes a quick swig of her usual morning coffee, black, no sugar before preparing to head out once more.  

“Going somewhere, partner?” 

She’d bumped straight into Cardan when stepping into the elevator and she lets out a small groan of frustration as she steps back from his sturdy form. He looks annoyingly chipper, usual cocky smile in place and laughter in his tone as he looks down at her slightly shorter self. His cologne is strong and emanates the scent of the woods and sunlight in the small elevator. The woods and sunlight? Clearly foregoing the rest of her morning coffee hadn’t been a good idea.

She’d thought she could make it out of the building before he finally arrived, necessitating in having to take him along as well, but clearly fate had other ideas. 

“Tattoo parlour. Queens,” she grits out.

“Let’s go then,” his tone is sickly sweet.

“Hi there, you guys lookin’ to get inked?” asks the pink haired girl behind the counter in fishnet tights and a tank top, looking up from where she is perched on a stool behind the counter when she hears them enter.

The parlour itself is shiny and white, the smooth metal counter and two spaced out black leather tattoo chairs complete with wheeled stools are the only pieces of furniture in the small space. Mounted on the walls are designs, each of them evoking a sense of fantasy. A pixie there, a selkie here, an ornate dragon, all staring right back at Jude as she takes in their surroundings. She takes note of the fact that the pictures staring back at her were very reminiscent of Chloe and Taryn’s tattoos, solidifying her suspicion that this was where they had got them done.

Before she has time to explain the reason for their visit, Cardan pipes up.

“You know, I’ve been thinking of getting one of a slithering snake, maybe across my back? I believe it would add to my already abundant sex appea-”

“Actually,” Jude cuts him off with her most scathing glare, to which he irritatingly responds with a grin. “We’re here on official business, NYPD, we need to speak with the owner of this establishment.” She holds up the badge that she’s just extracted from her plain black wallet as she speaks.

“That would be Vivi, hang tight a sec I’ll go get her.” With a sway of her hips Heather trounces off behind a curtained section at the back of the parlour. 

Unable to stand still for even a few moments, her partner has already wandered over to the corner of the room, pointing at a pinned up design, ““That goblin over there reminds me of Van.”

She ignores him. 

“Oh come on Duarte, you have to admit, there’s a definite resemblance.”

She spares the quickest of glances at the design and it’s true, there’s a striking similarity, but she isn’t about to give him the satisfaction of agreeing so she simply makes a non-committal grunt of recognition.

“Tell me, are you always this tightly wound or is it just for the majority of your day?”

“Excuse me?” Her eyebrows have inadvertently traveled upwards on her face and she can’t believe he has the audacity to say what he just did, although really, she shouldn’t be so surprised.

“Come on Duarte, we’ve been partners for quite a while now and I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you laugh.” He’s standing a few feet away from her, his expression serious, not backing down.

“It’s called being professional.” She can feel the muscles working in her face as she hisses out the words through gritted teeth, blood pounding furiously. 

“Ahem.” She whirls around to find a tall bronze haired woman with striking cat-like eyes that were currently meeting her gaze wearing a lazy look of amusement.  

“Heather said there were some policemen who wanted to ask me some questions?”

Jude cannot believe that she had just gotten so sidetracked by her insolent partner that she’d forgotten why she was currently standing in the middle of a Tattoo parlour in Queens, clutching a set of regular sized close ups of three now dead people. She tamps down the irritation at her own actions as she thrusts out the photos in front of the woman facing her, Vivi, the pink haired girl had said.

“Yes, ma’am, do you recognize these people?”

She watches intently as Vivi carefully peruses the pictures before answering, “I know the two girls, Taryn and Chloe, we’re friends, I’ve even tattooed the both of them. I’m not really sure who he is.”

“Are you sure you don’t know him? Look carefully.” Cardan is all business now, stepping up to Vivi.

“I’m sure.” Vivi’s tone is almost defiant, daring him to question her again.

“You said that you were friends with the girls, how close were you?” 

“They came into the tattoo parlour at the same time about a month ago and we started up a conversation, we exchanged numbers and would meet up for a drink from time to time.” 

“Did they ever meet up with just each other?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Can you think of any reason as to why they’d both be killed by the same person?”

“They’re...they’re dead?”

Jude had intentionally asked the question in a way that would require a reaction and she wasn’t sure that she was entirely convinced by the shocked undertone of Vivi’s voice.

 “I’m afraid so, ma’am.”

“She’s hiding something.” Once again Jude is back in front of the murderboard, furiously capping and uncapping a whiteboard marker as her mind whirls. She’s full of nervous energy, on the brink of a precipice and she wants nothing more than to be able to push herself off of it.

“Agreed.” Cardan is pacing the floor between her and the murder board and his posture indicates that he’s just as worked up as she is.

“But what I can’t understand is why she would kill two of her acquaintances plus a random vending machine operator, I mean, there’s no clear motive.” She’s barely conscious of the slight pain that tingles as she worries at her bottom lip.

Cardan halts in front of the board, takes a hard look at the scrawled timeline on it before once more resuming his brisk walk.

 “And what the hell is the connection between these three victims? They lived in opposite neighbourhoods, worked in completely different areas and fields, never seemed to have been in the same place at the same time and yet somehow they were killed by the same hand. Also, where did all that money come from?” 

His phone chooses precisely that moment to start ringing and the sound of ‘Horns’ by Bryce Fox cuts through the tension. 

“It’s Liliver,” he mouths as he swipes upwards to answer and puts the medical examiner on speaker phone.

“You got something for us Lil?’

“You bet I do. I had scraps from the victims’ clothings tested to try and find a common link. What I found were traces of bleach, acetone, sodium chloride and ammonia.”

“Drugs. They were making drugs. That would explain all the money.” Jude is burning and luminescent with victory, until Lili’s next words cut her down.

���It’s not drugs.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because of what isn’t there. If your vics were making drugs, there’d need to be a couple more ingredients. That being said, they were definitely up to something.”

She lets out a sigh of defeat. “Thanks, Lil.”

Cardan hangs up before bringing his fingers up to his temples, massaging the sides of his head as he burns a hole into the board in front of him.

Jude bites back a scream. “This is like the start of a bad joke, a teacher, a sculptor and a vending machine operator walk into a tattoo parlour…”

He scoffs, “Yeah, except we don’t really have a punchline.”

“Other than ‘they made a bunch of money and got themselves killed.’”

There’s a lull in the air and the frustration is palpable. There was so much more than just their bet at stake here, there was the need for justice for these three victims, who regardless of their crimes likely didn’t deserve what had befallen them. Besides, there was no way that they could let a ruthless killer roam the streets freely.

Suddenly, Cardan whirls around to face her, once again bringing his pacing to an abrupt stop, with a speed to rival that of the animal that was his tattoo inspiration.

“Made a bunch of money,” he repeats. 

He sounds like he’s just jumped off of the precipice. She, on the other hand, remained firmly mounted to the ground. 

“What?”

“A sculptor who works with metal, a chemist and a vending machine operator...I know what they were up to.”

Slowly, the light starts to dawn on her and her pulse speeds up. Yes, she thinks.

“Think about it, when counterfeiting money, what’s the biggest problem you face? Finding the paper,” he continues.

“And a vending machine operator would have an endless supply of one dollar billls!”

“Exactly, then the chemist would come in, using the chemicals that were found on the vic’s bodies to white wash those bills.”

“And then the sculptor would be able to fashion a set of metal plates with which to type in fake serial numbers’ so they can get larger denominations of money…”

“Right! So, plates, paper, there’s just one missing ingredient.”

Beaming smiles break out on both their faces when, in unison they reach the same conclusion. 

The 12th Precinct’s interrogation room had contained many suspects from the time it was built. Some were innocent and some were guilty, but there was no doubt in both Jude and Cardan’s minds that the feline woman currently seated across from them with her legs up on the table was one hundred percent guilty. 

“So you think you’ve figured it all out, huh?” Vivi’s drawl is deceptively flippant.

“I think so.” Jude answers calmly. “For instance, we’ve figured out that you were involved in and likely the mastermind behind a counterfeiting operation that raked in a substantial amount of money. You provided the last ingredient needed, the ink from your tattoo parlour stocks that was used to print on the bills.”

Cardan leans forward. “We’ve also surmised that you killed your partners in said operation; Taryn Santorini and Chloe Tatterfell, both of whom you met through your tattoo parlour, just like you said.”

“And our third victim, Locke McCutchins? Yeah, we know he was your cousin, once removed on your mother’s side wasn’t it? A distant enough relationship for you to not be flagged when checking his family, but close enough for you to enlist him in your scheme so you had access to vending machine bills.” Jude continues, she and Cardan having perfected the art of interrogating together ages ago, their tactics working smoothly together alongside each other. 

Vivienne sneers. “So what? You have no proof.”

“On the contrary, ma’am, we do. You neglected to hide the metal plates that you got Taryn to make for you in a place that wasn’t under a loose floorboard of your room, easily found with the aid of a search warrant.” Cardan smiles.

“You also tripped up when you stored your used gun with matching ballistics to the weapon that killed our victims in the same place as the plates.” Cardan’s smile is copied on Jude’s face.

Vivi’s skin pales and her cat’s eyes narrow into slits as she bangs the table, hard, before slouching back in the metal chair, the fight leaving her.

“Well, I suppose the jig is up, as they say,” she drawls.

Satisfied, Jude stands up and gathers the notepad and pen that she’d left on the desk and then bends over the interrogation table to meet Vivi’s gaze.

“What I can’t understand, though, is why? Why would you kill them if you’d already paid them?”

The Accused smirks. “It was all that idiot Lockes’s fault. He’d gotten himself into debt with some mob shark and needed more dough to bail his sorry self out. I wasn’t about to give it, he had his cut and that was all. But then, he threatened to go to the cops and tell them about what we did. Couldn’t let that happen, so I figured I’d kill ‘em all of. Just to be safe.”

The casual way in which she speaks of her deeds chills Jude to the bone. Wordlessly, she turns her back on yet another cold hearted murderer and exits the room with Cardan right behind her.

They come to a stop in front of the now empty murderboard, its surface shiny and white, devoid of words, but not for long. There was always a murder happening somewhere or the other, Jude had been a detective long enough to know that.

“So, now that Vivienne Insmire, tattoo artist, mastermind and ink supplier of counterfeiting operations and killer of ‘friends’ and distant male cousins is safely behind bars, I think you and I have a certain matter to settle, Duarte.”

She’d been trying hard to avoid this moment all day, pushing back thoughts of her close defeat and what its consequences would be. It seemed like now, she'd run out of time. She gulps.

“I suppose-” she almost can’t bring herself to say the words, “I suppose you won our bet, then.”

“Yup.” He’s not even trying to hide his gloating, “and you know what that means.”

The noise she emits is one that is resigned. She knows what’s coming.

“I’ll pick you up at eight tomorrow.”

“Or I could just take a ca-”

“Don’t be late, Duarte,” he calls over his shoulder as he leisurely strolls towards the precinct exit, slinging his leather jacket over his shoulder.

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

If you’ve made it all the way down here, congrats! Here’s a link for part 2.

Tagging the lovely people on my short but treasured TFOTA taglist; @cupcakesandkittens​ (who helped immensely during the writing of this fic and who suggested adding in the interrogation scene❤) and my very own talented Secret Snusband, @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to or taken off of my taglist💕