#any kinda takeaway you have is accepted as a response

[fangirl-erdariel]

Strangely enough, I've come to realize that I don't really see a whole lot of point in the fandom discussions regarding who/what Tom Bombadil is

Like, I've played around with the question myself a bit at one point or another, I have some thoughts regarding it, but the more I think of it, the more I feel like answering that question would be pointless (to me, at least; this is of course a personal and subjective opinion)

It's just... well, we know Tom Bombadil has certain... power, for lack of a better word, even if the specific extent of it is a bit unclear (let's be honest, the specific extent of any character's explicitly magical/supernatural abilities is a little unclear, middle-earth is a very soft magic system kinda world). We know his power at least seems to be bound by some (possibly self-imposed?) rules to a specific geographical area. We know he's, well, he's Tom Bombadil. He seems a little fickle, a creature of the moment acting on his own whims and habits which may seem nonsensical and inexplicable to an outside looker, but at the same time he's primarily friendly, vaguely benevolent toward the hobbits - but then again, the hobbits mean no harm to him or his; who knows how he would respond to hobbits or other people who came to the Tom's lands with ill intent?

Ultimately, what would the sure knowledge that he is a maia, or that he's Eru Ilúvatar, or that he's the physical manifestation of The Music or The Secret Flame or of the world as it was in the beginning in a primal state before Morgoth and then Sauron actively began to try take over it, or... whatever, what would the sure knowledge actually change? It would remove the mystery about what he is, but it wouldn't really, as far as I see, really explain anything about his behavior or what we see him do, I can't see how it would actually affect the way you see his actions in the book? (The only explanation/headcanon for his identity that I will accept is that he's, like, all the valar taking turns to go on a holiday and get away from the responsibilities of their job and all the other drama and bullshit, because at least that's funny)

Like I genuinely think that at the end of the day, the best explanation for who/what he is is the same one Goldberry gives to the hobbits when they ask: "He is."

Plus, besides the fact that I don't think it would add anything truly worthwhile to the character, I think removing the mystery, having a sure, true, canon answer, would take something away. Like, part of what makes Tom fun is the mystery, the fact that he just is there and is sort of inexplicable.

Part of what makes Middle-Earth overall fun, if you ask me, what creates such depth and richness and sense of adventure to the world, is the mystery, the unknown. The fact that as much as we get to see across the books, it's clear there's still more we do not know. There's always more lands beyond the horizon, that we get only vague references to and never see.

There's vague references to mysterious, dangerous, "Nameless Things" lurking in the deep dark places of the world. Some places in the nature, apparently, have some kind of spirits, enough at least to be conscious and have some kind of will and ability to act, such as Caradhras (yeah in movies it's made to be Saruman explicitly, but my takeaway from the books has always been that it was most likely the mountain itself, that while not necessarily actively in league with the evil forces, is kind of vaguely malevolent anyway) - and is the River-Woman, Goldberry's mother, also some kind of spirit of a place/natural feature? the name at least implies so. And what is the Watcher in the Water that the Fellowship encounters at the gates of Moria anyway, and how did it end up in the lake? Why is Beorn - and his ancestors - able to change into a bear, and are there humans in the world who are able to change form into some other animals? Oh, and then in Silm there's that one single instance of a sword just talking, but no other recorded instances of talking weapons in the rest of the legendarium, what's up with that? And what are the Barrow-wights anyway, ghosts or evil spirits or what?

Some of those may have Doylist explanations; Beorn and his shapeshifting can probably be chalked up to "Hobbit wasn't initially meant to be part of the same setting as Silmarillion, and therefore wasn't written with same rules and worldbuilding applying to it, so certain parts seem a bit strange in the hindsight". The talking sword case is definitely "Tolkien copied the scene almost directly from Kullervo's suicide in Kalevala, in which the hero asks his sword to kill him and the sword replies" (for those interested to see what I mean, send me an ask and I can show you the relevant scenes). And so on and so forth.

But the Watsonian explanations are... more up for interpretation.

And I just like the fact that the world has so much mystery, so many unexplained things and vague references to stuff we never really have the time or opportunity to look at in detail, it just makes the world feel so huge and so rich and so strange. And quite frankly, some parts of that mystery are, in my opinion, better when they're left mysterious and untouched, and there's no explanation that could make it better than the mystery is. Although some, of course, are fun to toy with and try to explain with headcanons. But to me at least, Tom Bombadil falls into the "better when unexplained" category

[peppertaemint]

Hey I am the anon who sent in the ask about the Jimin hate and the fandom discourse around it. Maybe you thought it was a usual rant from an army. I was a bit surprised with your response from a previous ask about Taemin fans going after Jimin. Because it seemed like you didn’t think it was right but in that same ask you were kinda indirectly justifying it since armys come after Taemin. Your hastags were kinda giving the message that you sow what you reap? So it kinda came across that at some level you thought the hate thrown at Jimin was fine because armys come after Taemin (I like Taemin and I absolutely do not agree with any kind of hate thrown at him. I love his and Jimin’s friendship)

Anyways I won’t send any more asks on this since it is clear you didn’t think it warrants any discussion. My takeaway from all this mess I have seen for these weeks is still the same. No other fandoms have any moral high ground to stand on after the unbelievable amount of hate thrown at Jimin.

Take care!!!

Anon, you can send whatever you like as long as it's not creepy or abusive. That doesn't mean I'm going to post it. I've got at least 100 Asks sitting around, which I'll chip away at.

Everyone does reap what they sow. If you have read my posts more thoroughly (no shade; just being honest) you would have seen the chicken or egg bit. Who threw the first stone? Idk and it doesn't matter.

But no Anon - no fandom wreaks the kind of cruelty and hatred that army does every single day. You can say it's a numbers thing; there's just more army so more of it, but I don't care. There's more of it, and that's not acceptable. I don't agree with anyone from any community being vile, but I do think that if many fandoms went after Jimin fans over the solo stuffC maybe army now understands how the rest of the fandoms feel every day. Again, I'm opposed to this. I don't condone it, and never would.

[something-named-vexxie]

"Just finished crying, have decided I won’t let a stranger that knows nothing about me or the way I process things make me cry again ☝️

Yall will NEVER be playing with me its over 😈

#i say this and its bouta happen again just watch lmao#fuckin bullies bruh i should be immune to yall by now#9-10 years and not being used to it is insane!!!#this is a vent post#please ignore this"

i really dont think this is the right takeaway to have. you went to a post about jazz music, which was pioneered by black people, just to talk about a pop song made white people. its like trying to buy clothes at the soup store. imagine talking about rock music and someone mentions bach in the notes. a song wont be considered jazz Just because it uses a saxophone. theres more that goes into genre categorization. like a guitar or bass wont make something automatically a rock song obviously, no one deserves to get bullied and im sorry you cried and felt any sort of stress for what happened. but i dont think "fuck them haters" is the right takeaway to have in this specific situation. what happened was you missing the point of what OP said OP responded with "you dont have to interact with this post if youre going to say that." thats mild criticism, not bullying a better takeaway would be "oh, looks like i dont understand what jazz music is. i could do some research and listen to actual jazz music to get a better understanding." bc youd be learning from a mistake youve made. instead of something that sounds defensive as "wow OP knows NOTHING about me." i have RSD (a symptom of adhd), so criticism can be a tough pill to swallow sometimes. but learning to accept it will let you grow into a better person. if you want to listen to some jazz artists, i recommend ray charles, cab calloway, louis armstrong, ella fitzgerald, lena horne, billie holliday, dizzy gillespie, miles davis, and john coltrane. i hope you have a nice rest of the day :)

Oh shit my bad, thank you for this information, i didnt know it had anything to do with race. I see why it came across as offensive, I’m sorry about that

I still feel like OP could’ve been a bit nicer instead of just telling me to “Get a grip” with no further explanation. I could’ve probably thought it through and made a rational response, but I can’t do that most of the time, so I just assumed the quote I used was somehow secretly really rude when I was just trying to agree while apologizing for not knowing shit in the tags (and I was right on accident unfortunately, I’m sorry)

I was trying to figure out what was wrong but didn’t get anywhere, so I kinda dumbed it down to pure bitchery and put it with the other stuff I’ve dealt with and that’s on me. (I’m not gonna use any of this as an excuse, but I’d also like to say that specific post I made wasn’t specifically about OP, it was mostly a general thing I decided after reflecting for a bit that understandably looks bad with only 1 of 50 contexts, sorry)

Shoutout to whoever this observant anon is, I would’ve been up all night for years trying to figure out what I did wrong! Sorry about that jazzy OP. And I will happily check out those artists, thank you <3

Have a delectably nutriocios rest of your day too, sorry if my initial post made you uncomfortable or mad ^^

[freyjuseggr]

okay so with the huge massive disclaimer that im in no way a philosopher in any sense and you would be better off just. reading the essay, heres my absolutely clumsy understanding explained very poorly

so to start, a very common idea in polytheistic theology (polytheology) is Neoplatonism. which comes from Platonic philosophy. to my understanding, its specifically related to Plato's Theory of Forms. which basically says there is a distinction between a reality that is perceptible/imperceptible and unintellegible/intellegible. basically theres stuff you can see and interact with your senses but cant understand and stuff you cant interact with but can understand (science vs math is the wikipedia example)

this is where we get platonic ideals which is basically the idea of a perfect thing and forms which are the actual things. so there is a reality in which these things exist in their ideal state that we cant interact with (clumsy explanation but i think thats the idea)

Neoplatonism says okay you have this world of perfect stuff and our world of imperfect stuff. so what caused the perfect stuff to manifest imperfectly? and Plotinus says okay so theres a creative force that is the first principle of reality that we'll call "The One" (or The Good) simple and unknowable its the thing from which all things come. It also has emminations which in a sequence make the world as we know it (both forms and ideals) including the gods. (afaik Gnostic philosophy is neoplatonic but dont quote me on that)

so object-oriented ontology (OOO) says well thats all well and good if you accept the fundamental premise that there even is a distinction between these two realities. its not a direct response to neoplatonism, and is very modern, but it is a good alternative, as it rejects undermining "objects by claiming that they are an effect or manifestation of a deeper, underlying substance or force" (from wikipedia)

according to OOO there are objects, human and nonhuman that relate to each other. but objects are independent of one another and also from their qualities. the existence (kinda) of an object outside of relation to other objects is "withdrawl" which means there may be qualities of an apple (which was Hensley's example) that define an appleiness but every apple will have those qualities to different extents. therefore each individual apple is withdrawn, independent from both itself and appley qualities

so the important takeaway for polytheology is that the gods, like everything else are objects. they can have certain qualities in common (a group of sky gods for example) but theyre also withdrawn in that they have independent existence from one another and the archetype of the sky god or the qualities that sky gods have in common. they also do not have an ideal vs form, so there is no The One (or demiurge for that matter) from where they emminated. it has no basis in monism. it is a fundamentally different way of doing theology in polytheism which is so so nice because i hate monism so so much lol

this ended up being longer and a lot more clumsy of an explanation than i planned but hopefully you understand what some of this means now

(if anyone more knowledgable than i would like to correct anything please feel free lol)

on idols and myths: the gods as real and sensory objects by brandon hensley from ascendant II is honestly actually really fucking good. breath of fresh air after all the stupid neoplatonic polytheology ive seen. fuck the one i love object-oriented ontology. friendship ended (was never there) with neoplatonism now OOO is my new best friend

[spectrumscribe]

lonely and craving feedback

below is a rough draft section from my original novel, North of the End of the World (wip title), and i just.... wanna see what people think of it’s tone so far? i’m gonna come back and smooth shit out later, but for the most part this is the basics of what i want it to be like.

all below the cut. it’s a dystopian setting, with adult characters, so while nothing too pg happens in this tidbit i still wanna remind yall to be careful with yourselves.

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

Colorado City. It’s the biggest one in the province, the rest of them scattered towns, clinging to other ruins. Colorado City is tangled, dirty, and overly full, even with it’s large size. It’s not even in ‘Colorado’, wherever that is. It got built on some other city, up in the northern of what was Alberta, Canada.

Colette doesn’t really care if the name is all wrong; it’s a city, it’s where she lives, that’s the end of things. She doesn’t need to know more than that to get by.

Colorado isn’t anyone’s home, far as she’s concerned. It’s just a place they’ve all gathered to clamber over one another; clawing out lives for themselves in a toxic environment, with nowhere else to go. Wasteland towns pop up and get swallowed up in the same month, sometimes. The only consistency anyone can find is here, or another big city. For whatever reason, the biggest of the ruins stay where they are; persevering through the fallout and standing tall.

They’ve even remained sturdy enough that new structures could be built around them, and under them. There are so few places left for humans, where they can defend themselves from the world. They’ve had no choice but to remain in cities like this, forcing it to accommodate them. Multiple levels, suspended between buildings, created to provide more room in their crowded metropolis. The same treatment done downwards; just as equally tangled and packed in.

Colette likes her burrow on the below ground levels. She likes it because the lights in the area are always malfunctioning, because skittering creatures make home in the shadows, because everyone else hates it and she enjoys being contrary.

She also likes it because finding work is easy. Someone who knows the underground like her is valuable, good for odd jobs. Colette has a near flawless success rate in whatever errands she’s given- be it locating an item, delivering something, just about anything, really.

And, unlike most other folks, Colette isn’t scared of the dark, or what hides in it. She’d walk through a pitch-black tunnel no problem; she wouldn’t even flinch. Nothing there is of any real threat, honestly; nothing to be afraid of. It’s what’s inside of people that scares her.

Still, she needs to eat. So, whenever she wakes up each day or night, Colette rolls herself out of bed to get dressed and head out. She knows the hotspots for the sorts of jobs she wants; quick and short, but decent enough pay. The people who frequent those hotspots know her well enough to refer interested parties.

Tonight, Colette wants something she can get done in a few hours. She’s still sore in her left leg from where someone got a lucky kick in. Serves her right, underestimating the thief she’d been sent to steal from. Stupid kid couldn’t have been older than fifteen, but he fought like hell to keep the package he stole.

Colette had kicked the shit out of him in exchange, and pried the package out of his singed hands. The consequences of his theft far outweighed the gain from it, in Colette’s opinion. All the kid had to show for it were burnt fingers and an introduction to the heel of her boot.

She kind of feels sorry for the nameless thief, because that’d been her at some point. But, she learned. She got smarter and tougher. If the thief is lucky, he’ll live long enough to do that, too.

The bar she’s visiting tonight is closer to a giant hole in the wall than a proper establishment. The painted sign on the concrete ceiling says High Street’s End, but the tunnels have no real streets, so most people just call it Jerry’s. Colette calls it a shithole, personally.

She’s woken up in the afternoon today, so the dinner rush hasn’t started yet. There’s plenty of after work drinkers, though, scattered in numbers large enough Colette knows she’ll get to eat tonight.

She lifts her scarf a little higher, over her chin. The strung-up lights of the bar wash out her already sun deprived skin, bleaching her long, tangled blonde hair to near white. Colette has two layers on, a thick sweater and long coat. It hides how lean she is, bulks up her small stature. Doesn’t help the fact that her feet dangle when she sits down on the metal bar stool. A glass of water is set in front of her on the counter, clean and clear.

Colette takes it and drinks it in just a few gulps. Good water is hard to come by; many sources are tainted. Jerry’s bar is special because of that. He can purify it, no matter how filthy.

He’s also older than nearly anyone else around here, making it to the point where his hair is almost pure white and grey. Colette doesn’t much like people, but she has something like fondness for Jerry. He’s a stout set man with a trim beard, paired with a sense of humor that’s as endearing as it is annoying.

“Evening, Russian Colette,” Jerry says with a cheeky grin, leaning on the counter. “You on any particular errand right now? ‘cause I’d rather you didn’t break my furniture again with a brawl.”

Colette shakes her head no. She digs a coin out of her pocket and flashes it in front of Jerry, the five-dollar digits imprinted on it making her point clear.

“Ah, job hunting,” Jerry says, nodding. He takes the coin and digs into his own pockets, producing a notebook. He flips through it, the arthritic swell of his fingers stiffening the action by the slightest margin. “Well, let’s see here… got a few requests for runners up to the topside, two for finding missing persons, an advertisement about a prophet geared educational group…”

I hate being upstairs, Colette signs, though it’s mostly for her own benefit, and those missing people are dead or shipped off already. The group thing is a scam. Probably another con to catch any young magicians without anyone watching them.

“What’s that?” Jerry is bemusedly confused by her hand signs, like always. “You know I only recognize my name in all that hand waving, right? Use a paper, woman.”

Colette raises one hand and lifts a single finger. Jerry guffaws.

“Now that I know the meaning of,” he says, chortling still. “Sorry, but that’s all I’ve gotten today. And you already refused everything else I have.”

Colette snorts. The other jobs Jerry has on offer are as shitty as the newest ones. She passed on all of them because they either paid like shit for an enormous amount of effort, or because she knew she wouldn’t be able to complete it and so wouldn’t be paid.

She taps her glass pointedly. Jerry obliges her a refill of water, right from the tap alongside his beer options. As he hands it to her, he says, “Think on it a little more before you leave, alright? Your good business is good my business, and you haven’t taken a job from here in a few weeks.”

Colette shrugs. She’ll think about it, sure. She’ll think about how stupid the jobs are, and then she’ll leave to find better ones.

Jerry moves on, going to greet other customers coming in. Colette sips slowly at her water, enjoying its sweet freshness. As much as she’d like to buy another five waters, and a hot meal on the side, Colette is counting her coins and not liking the numbers. Jerry’s right; she’s been skimming without serious jobs for a while. Any longer and she might have some trouble.

And speaking of trouble; Colette turns on her stool, hearing a chair be knocked over and rancorous laughter. She raises an eyebrow at the poor guy who’s the butt of the joke. He’s big, bigger than almost anyone Colette’s known. Tall and well fed. He’s also got clothes that lack the level of wear and tear hers has, that everyone’s around here has. Nice deep green coat and a shiny leather satchel; boots that could be new, all the buttons on his shirt still.

He doesn’t look like someone who’s a member of the Families in the city, though. Those sorts never come down here anyway. The guy looks about her age, maybe younger. Early twenties, likely. He’s got a soft cheeked face, with equally soft dark curls framing it. Colette looks at his skin and thinks of the grove of acorn trees she once saw; nuts light as sun to dark as earth. He’s between that, the sort of brown that lets you know it’s not too early or too late to eat the nut.

Colette pushes away the memory of that warm fall, from somewhere far in her past. The guy picking himself up off the ground may look as strong as an oak tree, but he’s clearly no better than a dried twig. Colette can give him a single glance and know he’s easy prey, a target for anyone to take advantage of.

Not her scene. Colette does some pretty terrible things to make ends meet, but she doesn’t cross the line like that. Kicking a thief around is one thing; robbing someone of everything they have is quite another.

Colette grimaces, watching the out-of-towner huff and scold the group of men he’s sitting with. Now she feels all melancholic about how awful everyone here is. She finishes her drink of water, annoyed that her evening has barely begun and it’s already been spoiled.

Colette whistles at Jerry to get his attention, rubbing her fingers together to show she wants one of the jobs. Her mood is quickly sliding into prickly grumpiness; she might as well ruin it further.

When Jerry asks which job she wants, Colette jerks a thumb across her throat.

tbc

[wackybuddiemewbs]

Yet another snippet of a WIP no one is definitely writing…

AKA: Here I go again, right back on all the bullshit that doesn't exist though it kinda does (in some, ugh 115k words of random snippets and not at all outlining outlines??? Whyyyyy???). I guess I just have to accept my absolute lack of impulse control, as further proven by this snippet, that other snippet, and that moodboard that started the madness. But whatevs. No one's writing it, after all. Not for real, at least. What's my problem is now your problem. Caring is sharing. Something to that effect. You know the drill! Cheers! Much love! *flies into the sun*

The Girl in the Pond III

"Home, sweet home,” Buck sighs as he tosses the keys on the counter.

Hen ordered him to go home and get some sleep after he spent the night at the lab to reassemble the skull. Buck hadn’t even noticed until Chim handed him a coffee and he realized the sun had already risen. Not that this is anything new. There is that tunnel when Buck reassembles bones, when he puts those fragments of a person back together. Nothing else matters at that point. Ever, really.

But now he needs sleep, replenish, and then head back in. Some of the tests are still pending for the microbes and larvae. And then there is still the issue of the metal chain.

Buck rubs his eyes. He knows he should leave more work at the lab instead of bringing them back to the apartment. He gets told on the regular. But it’s tough for him. A smile spreads across his lips when he opens the fridge.

He found the Tupperware boxes stored in there already last night when Eddie brought him home. But Buck was dead on his feet, so he didn’t eat any of the food Bobby was kind enough to box for him. Just like he was kind enough to take care of his plants and water them in his absence.

Grinning, he puts one of the containers in the microwave, taking a look around his apartment. He also didn’t do that last night, hasn’t in a while, really. By all accounts, it is his apartment, but he will admit, it hasn’t felt like home like it used to.

Maybe he should sell it after all. But then he’d never hear the end of it from Chimney for having been right. And Buck is petty enough not to give his friend the satisfaction. The apartment is a vast improvement to the flat he shared before. A place that smelled of beer and booze. Where the dining table was never used for dining but for beer pong. Where he never really invited his friends to. The kind of place Bobby likely wouldn’t have set foot in to store food or water his plants. Granted, they didn’t have plants at his old apartment. No one was responsible enough to keep them alive.

So this apartment is actually a sign of his growth. He is no longer that frat boy kind of guy, busy partying instead of working. He was in a dedicated relationship with someone he loved. He is a better man for it, Buck dares to say. So wouldn’t selling it deny that in some way?

Ping.

Buck turns his attention to the deliciously smelling food instead. Turning up the volume, he lets the low thrum of the music blaring over the loudspeakers blur out the rest of the world again, like he normally does on the job. He sets down on the couch and digs in. The food is nothing short of fantastic, which is to be expected from Bobby, of course. But still, did he miss that food.

Thankfully, Bobby made it a tradition around the Jeffersonian to have meals together. To cook together. Buck got the 101 of cooking thanks to him. Before, it was just vegetables, fruit, and takeaway. Anything you didn’t have to process, that is.

It isn’t long after he finished his meal that Buck retreats to the bedroom and just drops nearly dead on the mattress. He is sound asleep no five minutes later, letting sweet darkness take him away.

He wakes up to a noise he can’t detect some hours later. He sits up straight in bed at an instant. Buck leans down slowly to grab the baseball bat he always keeps beside the bed. He moves out of bed slowly, making sure not to make any noises.

There are some grim images flurrying up before his eyes, but Buck pushes them as far back into the darkness as they will go. Because the past can’t have his present, let alone his future. He tiptoes ahead into the living room. But in the dark, it’s hard to see, naturally. And his eyes are still heavy with sleep.

Buck detects movement by one of his potted plants. Buck takes a swing, only for something way too small to be human rushing past his leg. Buck turns around, stunned. His fingers find the light switch at last.

And there sits the intruder, right on the kitchen counter.

Buck drops the bat, letting out a shuddered breath. He closes his eyes.

“You’re back home,” he reminds himself. “You’re back home.”

Once he somewhat gathered himself, Buck takes a look around the apartment. A quick check of the window confirms his suspicion: He left it open before going to bed. It is raining outside. And there is a drenched cat in his apartment now.

Go figure.

“Last time I checked, I didn’t have a pet,” Buck tells the cat busying itself with digging through the remains of his dinner. “And you’re welcome, by the way.”

The cat looks up from the bowl of food, then resumes eating.

“Suit yourself,” Buck mumbles. He turns around to close the window. While Buck loves animals, he doesn’t need every stray to come into his apartment, right?

Buck looks down himself. His knees are still shaking, as are his hands, so he decides to sit down on the couch for a moment. It’s nothing he is unfamiliar with. Coming back from a mission like that, people tend to be somewhat jumpy. It’s all natural. What annoys him is that he won’t stop shaking, even though he rationally knows there is no danger. There is just a cat, and he still finds it hard to breathe.

In an effort to distract him, Buck watches the cat picking out the pieces of salmon of the pasta dish Bobby prepped for him. He places his elbows on his thighs and leans his face against his palms.

I am home. I am home. I am no longer there. I am back home.

Rubbing his face furiously, Buck looks back at the cat on his kitchen counter.

“Okay, so tomorrow, I gotta head to the vet, see if you got a chip. And then we gotta see what to do with you,” Buck mutters, making a mental note to look up animal shelters in the morning. “But you’re welcome to stay the rest of the night. Seems like you made yourself feel at home already.”

Seems like this place attracts strays no matter the species, huh?

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

“Good morning, everyone!” Buck calls out as he strides into Chim’s office where Hen and Chimney are already waiting for him. Just as he puts down his bag, he notices an unfamiliar presence.

“Morning,” said presence wearing a suit says, waving at him with a way too bright smile at that hour of the day.

“He brought coffee for everyone,” Chim mutters under his breath.

“Good coffee,” Hen adds, smirking.

“You think we are that easy to bribe?” Buck asks, nodding at the cardboard cup holder Eddie promptly picks up to hand the remaining Styrofoam cup over to him.

“Considering what I had to do for you to take as much as a look at the case, I know that it takes a lot more to bribe squints,” Eddie answers, grinning.

“Coffee’s a good start, though,” Buck says, taking the cup Eddie holds out to him. “Thanks.”

He smirks at him. “Welcome.”

While Buck is already on his third cup this morning after last night left him with almost no sleep, he is more than grateful for the extra shot of caffeine. He inhales the rustic smell, noting that Eddie actually remembered that Buck drinks his coffee black with sugar.

“Okay, guys, I’m set,” Chim says, gesturing at his tablet. Sipping her coffee, Hen moves over to what they coined as the Chimnator.

“I don’t think you’ve seen this before?” Buck questions Eddie as they step over to the apparatus.

“If by thisyou refer to that ominous table, then no,” Eddie answers, shaking his head.

“Okay. Chim? The stage is yours.” Buck nods his head, then gestures at the apparatus.

“Thank you very much,” Chim laughs, feigning a bow. “Okay. It’s actually quite simple: This computer program, which I designed – patent pending – accepts a full array of digital input, processes it, and then projects it as a three dimensional holographic image.”

“O-kay.” Eddie furrows his eyebrows.

Buck looks at him. “You get that?”

“Sure,” Eddie snorts. “Patent is pending, I’ve heard.”

“Buck reassembled the victim’s skull and applied tissue markers. Thanks to that, I can reconstruct the facial features of the victim and project them here,” Chim goes on to explain.

Eddie smiles at him. “Now we’re talking.”

“Her skull was badly damaged, but racial indicators, cheekbone dimensions, nasal arch, and occipital measurements suggest African American,” Buck points out, folding his arms over his chest.

Chim switches the device on. Eddie stares in awe as the holographic image of the victim appears. A young woman, only a representation of her, of course, but a young woman with any prospect of a future snatched from her. It was stolen from her, leaving them with nothing but an image of her, trying to put her fragments back together, to put her story back to where it belongs, with her body, her bones.

“Whoa. Gotta admit, that’s pretty cool.” Eddie gapes. “I know someone who’d lose his shit over seeing something like this.”

He reaches out to let his fingers slip through the rays of light projecting the image. Buck resists the urge to swat his hand away. Because admittedly, it ispretty damn cool.

He focuses back on the victim instead, tries to really see her.

Wait, could it be…?

“Chim? Do me a favor and rerun the program, substituting Caucasian values,” Buck requests, which has the other man frown at him. “Why?”

“Just do it, please,” Buck demands, leaning in closer.

Chim starts to adjust the parameters on his tablet, projecting the result. “Okay. Here you go.”

Buck watches as the image morph.

That’s more like it. Not quite, but almost, almost...

“Does she look familiar to anyone?” he asks. There is something. She is there, he can almost see her. She is right there.

Hen shakes her head. “No, Buckaroo, sorry.”

Buck blinks.

Maybe...

“Chim, split the difference, mixed race.”

“Lenny Kravitz or Vanessa Williams?” he asks.

Buck blinks at him. “Hm?”

“Nevermind.” Chim adjusts the parameters once more. The woman’s features change once more. And that is when Buck starts to see it. Underneath all that, in the bones, there are the answers.

Almost there, almost there...

“Reduce tissue depth over the cheekbones to the jawline, please,” Buck requests, watching the image change another time. “Does anyone recognize her?”

It can’t be just him, can it?

“Not me,” Chim says, holding up his hands.

“Wait, is that who I think it is?” Eddie gapes.

So I’m not the only one.

“The girl who had the affair with the Senator?” Hen gasps.

“Her name is Cleo Louise Eller. Only daughter to Ted and Sharon Eller. Last seen approximately 9 p.m., April 6, 2017 leaving the Training Loft on Melrose Avenue. She didn’t even make it to her car,” Eddie says, his eyes fixed on the image.

“Pretty good memory,” Buck notes, rather impressed.

Eddie grimaces at him. “Yeah well, it’s my job to find her.”

“Well, in that case, congratulations on your success,” Hen sighs.

“This isn’t exactly the way I wanted it to end,” Eddie huffs.

She offers a sympathetic look. “Yeah, I know. No one ever does.”

“But at least we’re one step closer to find out what happened to her,” Buck points out. They have a name now. They have a way to start and find out what happened to her.

“Right, right.” Eddie scratches the back of his head. “Okay, I need to make some phone calls, request the files for review. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”

Buck watches as the agent leaves the room, looking distressed. He tears his gaze away and back to the holographic image.

“Hi, Cleo. It’s just about time we get you home,” he mutters under his breath, studying her features.

Because now they have her.

Now all they have to do is find out what happened to her.

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

A few hours later, Buck finds himself sitting in his office with Eddie taking up most of the couch, heaps of files spread out on the table and either side on the sofa. He will have to give the agent that much, he is a meticulous worker. Even without having much of the details, Buck understands that Eddie dedicated a great deal of his time to finding Cleo.

Buck turns the page in the folder he picked up, getting stuck on the photo attached. Cleo smiles back at him, full of life, charming, kind eyes. And for far too long, she has only been food for the fish, somewhere down in a pond. Why? He has no clue. Buck only understands that this, how she smiles back at the camera in that image, is how she should be right at this moment, too.

But reality is sadly not always what it is supposed to be. In fact, it rarely is. Knowing Cleo’s background a bit more by now, he can safely say that from that nice smile, you cannot deduce the hardships she faced. Because she had a lot of reasons not to feel like smiling.

“That’s my favorite picture in the bunch,” Eddie notes, not looking up from the folder he is currently reading through.

“It’s a good picture,” Buck notes. “Natural. A lot of photos look… staged.”

It’s all the more his favorite because it is rather recent. Cleo had some good days, even when she was deep in her depression. And Buck just hopes that she had more days that made her smile, even though no one was there to take a picture of it.

“That’s what I liked about it, too,” Eddie chuckles softly. He puts the folder down, then, studying Buck instead. “I have a question, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“How did you recognize her before she even had her own face?” he asks.

Buck shrugs. “I recognized the underlying architecture of her features, the rest is just window dressing.”

He isn’t lying when he says that he sees a person when he is looking at those bones. To Buck, they are more than collagen and calcium phosphate. The bones are more than what keeps your body upright. In them lies a big part of your history, the part of history that can outlast you for much longer than muscle and flesh. Sometimes, they are the only things that can get someone back home, to their families, to reunite with their stories and finally find peace.

“Amazing.” Eddie shakes his head, smiling.

Buck blinks, then puts his focus back on Cleo’s photo. “You don’t seem too happy about this finding, though.”

“Oh no, believe me, I’m happy,” Eddie argues, though it comes out rather flat.

“Then what’s the issue?” Buck questions. “I mean, aside from the fact that Cleo is sadly dead?”

“The issue is that this investigation now involves Senator Bethlehem,” Eddie answers.

Buck makes a face. “So?”

What does that have to do with it?

“He chairs the Senate Committee overseeing the FBI,” Eddie continues, expecting Buck to catch on in some way, but he still doesn’t see how that changes anything.

“Okay,” he says quietly.

Eddie rolls his wrist. “So you might be able to see the conundrum…”

“Not really,” Buck answers simply, which has Eddie frown. “Hm?”

“If he is a suspect, he needs to be held accountable. His position shouldn’t weigh in on whether he is questioned, let alone persecuted, should he be found guilty,” Buck points out, though he has a hard time understanding why he has to. Shouldn’t Eddie know this? And shouldn’t he look at it the same way?

“I agree, but what should be and what is the case… are two pairs of shoes at times,” Eddie sighs.

“So what? It’ll be covered up?” Buck asks, feeling his muscles tighten. Because far too often, that’s the end of so many stories. People deciding that certain people don’t matter as much, that it’s okay for them to disappear in a shallow grave. People deciding that other peoples’ stories are not as important or can be altered to what they need it to be.

And Buck won’t ever stand for that.

“Not if I can help it, but we need to play it smart to keep that from happening,” Eddie lets him know. “So the best we can do is keep quiet for now, plan the next moves.”

“Well, that’s as much as we can provide you, given the evidence. If you want us to find more, we need more context, more facts,” Buck ponders. “Thus, the only logical conclusion would be to confront the Senator, right?”

Eddie shakes his head with a small hiss. “Bones, it’s not that easy.”

Buck rolls his eyes. “I told you not to call me that.”

“Sorry, force of habit,” he exhales. Though something tells Buck that this won’t be the last time he is going to hear that stupid nickname.

“So? When are we going to talk to the Senator? Or one of his staff or whoever?” Buck keeps asking. Because it just boggles his mind that they keep their feet still instead of moving forward. Isn’t that what the FBI does? Kick down doors? Raid buildings? Wave their guns around dramatically?

Eddie scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, about that… I know we talked about you coming out in the field and all…”

“Ugh, you rat bastard!” Buck cries out.

He knew it. He knew it and he still agreed. Because he was stupid enough to think that people may actually change. That he was just wrong in his assumptions about Eddie, but he was right. Of course he was right.

“With a case this big, the Director is going to create a special investigation. And if I line all my ducks up in a row, I could maybe, just maybe, head it up,” Eddie argues. “But as I said, for that, I need to play it smart.”

“I don’t know what that means, but I think I could be a duck,” Buck insists, grimacing.

“You’re not a duck, okay?” Eddie chuckles softy. “On this one, we gotta stick to the book. Cops on the street, squints in the lab.”

Here we go again...

“Did you ever have the intention to let me take part in this case, for real?” Buck questions, feeling his jaw tighten almost painfully. “Or was that really just to squeeze out some information from me, to kickstart you on the case?”

Eddie looks at him rather shocked, but Buck knows that this is a valid conclusion to draw from this. So he doesn’t get to act insulted, right?

“No, it wasn’t for that,” Eddie argues. “I asked for your help because I knew you were the only one who could.”

Buck sits back with a huff. “There’s another forensic anthropologist in Montreal.”

“But that guy isn’t you,” Eddie points out, which has Buck smile. “It’s a woman, but okay. I also think she’s not as capable as I am. She is pretty damn good, though. I read some of her papers.”

“I was sincere in wanting to let you come along. It wasn’t a hoax. It wasn’t to trick you,” Eddie insists.

Buck looks back at Cleo’s photo instead of Eddie’s pleading eyes. Because then he’d be inclined to believe the guy, but Buck also knows that his people reading skills are by no means as good as his skills as a forensic anthropologist, to say the least.

“But this case just leveled up way above my pay grade. I have to be even more careful. Because I can’t afford to blow this, Buck,” Eddie continues. “So if I don’t want that case taken away from me, I gotta stick to the rules – rules I don’t make and rules I don’t have power over, do you understand?”

“Oh, okay, so maybe in the distant future, if there is a case that is completely unproblematic… that’s easy to solve… then maybe I get to ride shotgun as you do some detective work, pro forma? So I get to tag along, like a good little trained duck?” Buck snorts. “Quack that!”

Eddie licks his lips. “No, I’m just saying that this case is different.”

“And what tells me that you won’t say that about the next case… or the case after… or the case after that?” Buck argues.

“Because I promised you,” Eddie answers.

Buck shakes his head. That won’t do. “You promised me full participation on thiscase.”

“Yeah, but I just explained to you that the circumstances changed,” Eddie retorts, clearly frustrated, which Buck somewhat enjoys. He is frustrated, too, so at the very least, Eddie has to share in it.

“Well, if your promises are all circumstantial, how am I supposed to build on them?” Buck counters.

How is he supposed to take the man’s word for it if he can’t keep it for less than a week?

“It’s just this one case,” Eddie sighs.

“I somehow have a feeling I might hear that again soon.” Buck shakes his head.

Because he’s heard stuff like that before. It’s just temporary. It’s only a few months. It’s for the better, for you and your sister. Everything will be as it used to in no time. It’s just a new city. A new state... It’s just a trip to find myself again. I won’t be long. I’ll see you soon again. I love you.And in the end, those were all just a long list of promises not kept, of lies.

Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose. “My hands are kinda tied on that one, can’t you see that?”

Buck really should have known better. But then again, Buck is not where he was last time they worked together, he won’t go back to the person he was before. He only focuses on the present, heading towards the future. The past stays in the past.

So let’s change things up a bit, shall we?

“Well, my hands are also tied. Because in that case, the Jeffersonian will be issuing a press release identifying the girl in the pond as Cleo Eller,” Buck retorts. “Because the Jeffersonian is dedicated to the truth, not making things comfortable for politicians or federal government alike.”

Eddie gapes at him. “You do that, I’m a dead duck.”

“Quack?”

“What are you trying to do?” Eddie asks, narrowing his eyes at him.

Buck puckers his lips pensively. “… Blackmail you?”

Eddie blinks at him. “Blackmail a federal agent?”

Buck rolls his shoulders. “Yeah?”

Like it’s hard.

“I don’t like it,” Eddie grumbles.

“I’m fairly certain you’re not supposed to. It wouldn’t classify as blackmailing if the other party wanted it…,” Buck wants to say, but Eddie cuts him off, “Fine, you’re in.”

“Really?” Buck furrows his eyebrows. He actually imagined that to be much harder.

“I don’t fancy being a dead duck,” Eddie answers. “But as I said, we need to play it smart.”

“I am smart,” Buck replies.

Eddie laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, right.”

“Bobby was right, I have a steep learning curve,” Buck chimes, pleased with himself. “Blackmailing actually works if you do it right.”

“How about you try to steepen the curve on humbleness for a change?” Eddie snorts.

“Nah.” Buck waves his hand in the air dismissively.

“Seriously? That’s all you’re going to say to that?” Eddie chuckles, amused.

Buck grins. “Quack?”

Eddie rolls his eyes at that, leaning back on his chair. “Cute. Let’s pack up and go, then. And just remember: Ducks in a row.”

“Quack.” Buck makes a mock salute, which Eddie ignores as best as he can as he puts his jacket back on.

Time to walk ahead, even if it is in a row.

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

“So you’re certain it’s Cleo Eller,” Romero asks, scratching his chin as he skims through the report.

Because just like in high school, you tend to wind up at the principal’s office more than once.

And Eddie can just hope that Buck knows how to be a duck. Because if they get off to a bad start, lining everything up in a row is going to be so much more difficult than he knows it’s going to be anyway.

And he really can’t afford that. He owes it to Cleo’s parents to find the person who did this to her. He promised to do whatever it takes. And now he finally has a chance to make good on that promise. So Eddie will do whatever it takes to give the parents the peace they belonged for two long years already.

“The profile’s dead on, age, race, height…,” Buck explains, to which Eddie quickly adds, “Plus, the timeline fits. I mean, Cleo Eller didplay tennis in college. Too much of a coincidence, don’t you agree?”

“Coincidences don’t exist,” Buck argues, grimacing at him.

Eddie sighs, then smiles at the Director again. “As I’m saying, it adds up.”

Buck looks at him confused, and on most other occasions, Eddie would take heart and explain it to him. Because Eddie understands that this is new for Buck. This is his first time actually out in the field. In the lab, things look very different. But he can’t do that right now.

Ducks in a row, after all.

“Talk to me about the Senator,” Romero says, at least intrigued enough for Eddie to have a small hope that they are going to get through with this.

Eddie hands him a photo of Bethlehem, licking his lipsd. “Cleo Eller, the victim, worked for Senator Bethlehem…”

“It was reported that they were involved sexually,” Buck cuts in, and it takes all of Eddie’s impulse control not to roll his eyes.

“We couldn’t confirm that,” he points out instead.

“That is true, but it was reported, so it should be taken into consideration,” Buck argues, tilting his head to the side. “It may contribute to figure out the motive, right?”

For that he is as smart as Eddie knows him to be, the guy can be really dense at times.

“Oh Bethlehem��s a hound, everybody knows that,” Romero snorts, thankfully not too put off by Buck’s interjections yet. And Eddie can just hope that it stays that way.

Buck looks at Eddie with an expression oozing with “Told you so!”, but he isn’t having it. Eddie understands that Buck has a certain way of looking at things and thus wants to argue for the Senator being the culprit, but that’s just not how it works around here. And it seems, Buck needs to learn that lesson rather fast.

But he says he has a steep learning curve, so here’s to hoping.

Eddie hands the Director another photo. “Ken Thompson, Cleo’s boyfriend.”

“Thompson’s still Bethlehem’s aid. Thompson keeps Bethlehem’s calendar. No way the Senator has an affair that Thompson doesn’t know about,” Romero ponders. “No sexual relationship, no motive. What about the ugh, nutcase?”

“Nutcase?” Buck frowns.

Eddie slides over another photo. “Oliver Laurier. The stalker. I still have my money on that guy.”

“Why would you place bets on that?” Buck asks, seemingly genuinely convinced Eddie means that literally. Considering just how brilliant Buck is – after all, three doctorates, right? – he can be surprisingly slow on the uptake.

“I am not…,” Eddie whispers, then turns back to the Director. “Look, the stalker? He’s been obsessed with her. He’s been following her. There was a restraining order. It may very well be that he couldn’t cope, finding out that she slept with Bethlehem. You know how those guys can be. So I’d want to look more into that. And I think that guy may be a good starting point.”

“Walk me through it, then,” Romero says, intrigued enough not to turn him down, which is good. “What’s your first move?”

Eddie nods his head. “I’d like to inform the Ellers that we found their daughter.”

Romero grimaces at him. “Don’t you find that rushed?”

“We can confirm her identity,” Buck jumps in. “It is Cleo Eller, we can say that with a certainty. We just don’t yet have enough evidence to confirm who killed her. So there is no objection to inform her family. This isCleo Eller.”

“That’s not what he’s implying, Buck,” Eddie says quietly.

“Then what’s the implication?” he questions, blinking at him, then the Director.

“Simply put: It’d be better to keep this quiet, for the sake of the investigation, Dr. Buckley,” the Director answers. “That’sthe implication.”

“I still don’t understand,” Buck insists, looking at Eddie now almost pleadingly.

“The Director is making a point that making the information public that this is Cleo Eller may cause setbacks for the investigation of her murder. Because then the murderer knows that we’re looking for him,” Eddie explains, hoping that a rational reason will get through that brilliant yet thick skull.

“And you agree with that?” Buck questions, now looking almost shocked.

“It’s been what? Two years? What’s another few days?” Romero ponders.

“With all due respect, Sir, I’ve come to know the family pretty well in the course of the investigation. Especially the Major. Two years of not knowing what happened to your child? That’s worse than hell,” Eddie swallows thickly.

He doesn’t want to imagine that pain, ever. He can’t. And he will do whatever it takes that he won’t.

“So you areaware of the consequences of informing them at this stage of the investigation?” Romero questions pensively.

“Yes, Sir. But I think they will do what’s best for Cleo. I’m very sure about that, actually. I know them. They just need to know what happened to their girl,” Eddie tries to reason. “They deserve not to be kept waiting.”

“Okay, fine. Your call.”

“Thank you, Sir,” he says.

“That’s all?”

“Yes, Sir,” Eddie confirms, then looks at Buck. “Let’s go, c’mon.”

Buck follows after him somewhat stiffly. Once they reach the elevators, Eddie finds he’s had enough of the awkward silence and asks, “What’s the matter?”

“… I feared you were going to follow the Director’s lead and not tell Cleo’s parents,” Buck admits, his voice barely audible, his eyes fixed on the numbers flashing up on the panel in front of them.

Eddie turns to look at him. “I mean, it would probably be the more rational choice. Something I’d think you’d appreciate.”

Buck meets his gaze. “You trust them, the Ellers?”

“Yes?” Eddie answers, not yet sure where the other man is going with this.

“Then it’s a rational choice to decide to tell them. It’s also the right thing to do. They are entitled to the truth about their daughter,” Buck tells him. “Which is why I think it’s the best choice on all accounts.”

“Glad that we agree on that,” Eddie chuckles softly. “So let’s go and see them. But remember…”

Buck nods. “Ducks in a row.”

“Exactly that.” Eddie shakes his head with a smile, then looks at Buck with more sincerity, “But I really mean… in a row. So please, let me do most of the talking. I know them. I know what to tell them.”

“Sure, I’ll only give the facts,” Buck replies. “I know what to tell them regarding that.”

“Somehow I had a feeling you were going to say that,” Eddie mutters, grimacing.

Because somehow, this does not at all sound promising, even though Buck says it like a promise. But yeah, it’s his task to keep his ducks in a row. It’s his job. He can do it. He has to.

[bigskydreaming]

I know that you don't think there should be conflict between Dick and Jason because of Robin and I get that, but I was just wondering since it so often does happen that way or is referenced happening in the past what do you think the most ideal resolution for that would be?

I mean to be honest, I don't think there is any ideal resolution if its JUST between Dick and Jason, is the thing? Like its not even that I dislike the trope because its not canon based, its that it COULD be an okay conflict if it kept the right things centered instead of just casually bringing them up but without ever putting focus on them.

What I mean by that is like....the reason this trope is usually such a problem IMO beyond just being unnecessary, is that.....people always try and just address it as this issue that exists between Dick and JASON.....

Even while acknowledging - but just in passing - that the REAL issue is and always was between Dick and BRUCE.

So like, you can't EVER adequately resolve a conflict IMO, if you're not actually resolving it between the right parties. Its not something that can be 'fixed' just by Dick and Jason because it isn't something that was CAUSED by Dick and Jason. It wasn't even caused by Dick! The conflict in as much as it does exist, stems entirely from possible reactions Dick did or could have had to BRUCE's ACTIONS.

And people keep trying to erase Bruce from that equation on the back end, even while paying lip service to the acknowledgment that he's part of the equation on the front end, and that just doesn't work and it never can, IMO. You're retroactively making it a problem between the wrong people entirely, and it shouldn't be surprising then that resolutions that only involve those specific people don't ever fully adequately resolve the problem caused by another person entirely.

Like, the 'resolution' is almost ALWAYS just Dick saying he realizes he was an ass to Jason and it wasn't Jason's fault, and then makes it all about making it up to Jason. And there's soooooooo many ways to address this issue, that for that to be the one and ONLY resolution we pretty much ever see - and with it not even involving Bruce at all - that's a problem.

There are SO many ways to still have this as a kind of conflict to some degree or another and resolve it WITHOUT just throwing Dick under the bus and acting in PRACTICE like he's the one doing something wrong even while saying something else about Bruce.

But pretty much all of them involve BRUCE doing SOMETHING....because ultimately....it all goes back to Bruce and not Dick.

So if Dick is behaving like an ass to Jason in a story? Dick 'realizing this' and apologizing still isn't that strong a resolution, because either Dick explains his side of things and why he reacted that way, in which case there's a high likelihood that its going to still read to a lot of readers like him weakly making excuses for himself but not actually justifying anything he said or did to Jason in the story....or the other possibility is that Dick takes full responsibility so as to NOT come across as just trying to make excuses for himself, and dives into the reparations and accountability whole-heartedly, in which case Dick never actually gets his side of the story delved into and his emotions and reactions upheld as valid or even just understandable or sympathetic to any meaningful degree.

But the problem I have even here is then.....well, why is it treated like Dick is the only possible person who can even speak up on Dick's behalf? Why does he always have to self-advocate? Even if Bruce is still being obtuse about what he did wrong - Alfred was there, he knows what happened and is more than capable of grasping the real root of Dick being upset, you can have Barbara explain to Jason why this hit Dick so badly and how it really had nothing to do with Jason, one of the other Titans can step in on Dick's behalf, Clark or Diana can say something....

There's a dozen other characters who can advocate FOR Dick and speak up for him TO Jason, explain the FULL situation and try and put Dick in a better light so as not to sour Jason on his new brother and try and preserve whatever potential relationship they build in the future once Dick's better able to move past his hurt or make his peace with it, via Jason having just....more information and being in a position to be more sympathetic about it rather than just hurt and reactive on his OWN behalf - which is literally all Dick is doing in the first place, so Jason's more than capable of understanding that mindset!

Like, Jason's a very empathetic character, and he more than ANYONE else in the Batfam is capable of grasping the nuances of having barely anything left to remember your family by, anything good to hold on to, and to see THAT just given away to a total stranger by someone who has no right to give it away in the first place? Jason is the MOST likely person to be outraged on Dick's behalf if he hears the whole story from someone unlikely to downplay it the way Dick usually does in order to not make Jason feel worse about it. He'd be like...what the fuck, who the fuck thinks that's okay?

It is so, SO easy to preserve Dick and Jason's potential brotherly relationship by just....letting someone else speak for Dick and cast him in a positive light specifically because Dick DOES believe in accepting full accountability when he thinks he's done anything wrong to any degree. He's not someone who tries to spin his own mistakes, he takes more blame than he usually deserves.....so its kinda what I was saying earlier about how people tend to take advantage of him being an unreliable narrator. Why is his side of things so often limited to just HIM defending himself to others when its well established that a core part of his character is he doesn't really believe in going all in on defending himself in the first place? That he's more than willing to take the fall? (With this of course having a ton to do with his self-esteem issues and his uncertainty or lack of trust in the security of his place in his home or family, but I digress).

But you see what I mean? We KNOW Dick's not the best advocate for himself because of his well advertised guilt complex....so why is he so often left to be the only one to advocate for himself even in situations where there are many, MANY other onlookers with as full a grasp of the problem as he has himself, and no reason to pin the blame on Dick or cast him in a negative light?

And for me, it always comes back to fandom's tendency to try and divert attention away from Bruce's own accountability in this matter - because refusing to have anyone else speak up for Dick comes from the same place IMO as not having Bruce step up to volunteer his own accountability in the matter. People don't WANT Jason being mad at Bruce for this or resenting Bruce for getting his relationship with his new brother off to such a poor start by literally giving away the only thing Dick had left of HIS family, the one thing in the world he still had that didn't come from Bruce originally, the way Dick didn't himself.

So like....the answer to your question is I don't think there can ever be a true resolution between JUST Dick and Jason alone, because the second you make any kind of real conflict between them on this matter even if just initially, Jason IS valid in being hurt by ANY degree of distance or being treated coolly by Dick, because Jason did absolutely nothing wrong....so its not on Jason to resolve this......but by the same token, there is this tendency for Dick to default to being an unreliable narrator here and UNDERSELL how much he was actually HURT by this rather than just acting like an ass because of this specifically - which means the FOCUS is still always going to be on WHAT Dick did rather than WHY.....and thus ensures that there's never going to be a true focus on WHY Dick felt hurt and HOW Dick felt hurt.....and thus there's never going to ever be any real resolution to THAT specifically, either.

And THAT'S the ultimate problem. That addressing this conflict between Dick and Jason - its not enough to just have Dick 'get' that he's hurting Jason who doesn't deserve it, and apologize for that and do better, and thus things are resolved and made better for JASON.....but ONLY Jason. Dick still, in this scenario, has to essentially just get over it.

And if your conflict on any level acknowledges to any degree that Dick's attitude or whatever is still ultimately just coming from a place of hurt....

Dick 'getting over it' isn't good enough. That's not actually a resolution. That's writing Dick as settling for an acceptance that HE'S never going to get a resolution so the best he can hope for is to get over it himself in order to make things better for him and Jason instead of just spreading the hurt all around. And that sucks, pretty much.

So I'd say in any case, you're still better served in this conflict by having literally anyone OTHER than Dick broach the subject with Jason first and at least pave the way for Jason to be sympathetic and understanding, so that Dick's not just 'immature' or 'spoiled' or 'acting like an asshole' as the prime takeaway - no, he's a nineteen year old who's been on the outs with Bruce for well over a year by this point and he's hurt by Bruce's seeming thoughtlessness over how he'd be affected by not just giving away Robin, but adopting someone else without even notifying Dick himself of a new addition to their family, or even attempting to first clarify with Dick what the status of Dick in relation to this family actually even is.

But ultimately, I'm always going to fall back on saying that if you're going to make this a conflict between the brothers initially, to ANY degree....the only TRUE resolution requires BRUCE being the one to take the initiative and resolve things for ALL of them, by being frank and just saying hey, he fucked up here, and explaining to Jason why Dick was hurt by what he did and how it had nothing to do with Jason, which in the process of that demonstrates for Dick that Bruce actually GETS how what he did was wrong and how it hurt Dick and why Dick feels the way he does about it....thus allowing everyone to get on the same page via the resolving actions of the one party who ACTUALLY had the most to do with setting this particular conflict in motion in the first place.

Anything less will always read like a half measure IMO because like....the conflict began with Bruce and what he did.

It should end with Bruce and what he does too.

[cienie-isengardu]

Lin Kuei: food

RELIGION <> ORIGINS / ARCHITECTURE <> FOOD <> FOR THE LIN KUEI <> ART <> CRYOMANCERS <> LIN KUEI SOCIETY <> MONEY & MATERIAL GOODS

The continuation of the morgianesffs-blog’s awesome list of questions about Lin Kuei. I initially divided them into smaller categories and the food will be the subject of the essay.

For the formalities, the original questions:

Food.  What foods do they normally eat? What foods do they like?  What foods don't they like? What foods do they absolutely love so much they'll stop what they're doing to get it?

I guess the Lin Kuei take on food may be stricte pragmatic one - they eat what is available. Preferable something that will keep them in top shape but everything will do, if necessary. Self-sufficiency and the art of survival are part of training so Lin Kuei would not have any second thoughts about eating stuff that people normally would not even think about. At the same time, there is a big chance that every adepts to some degree suffered from hunger and thirst, either as a part of punishment or test for endurance or a simply lack of skill to catch (steal) the food. I doubt the clan cares to feed warriors any fancy food, even more since the Lin Kuei headquarters (Temple / Fortress) is usually located in a harsh environment in which food is hard to grow to begin with. Because of this natural disadvantage, hunting seems like a good additional food source. It fed the clan but also gave opportunity for adepts / warriors to show their skills and gain experience (or in case of coming back with empty hands, bring them shame?). MK: Armageddon had the ice beasts marauding through the Arcika region - killing them could provide: food, furs, maybe some magic ingredients and safety.

Also, Lin Kuei knew about and used portals leading to Outworld - one of old comics, Battlewave #5, outright says the clan had a hidden passageway.

So the Lin Kuei could also get food from different realms, either by stealing the necessary stuff or as payment.. I kinda think that Lin Kuei has a system of related villages that serve the clan and satisfy the material needs like food and clothes. Maybe they pay tribute to the clan out of fear or maybe it is a more symbiotic deal? 

Anyway, I don’t think the clan would spoil their people with any fancy food to keep the rigorous discipline in check - albeit the clan could put on a suitable feast in honor of a respected guest/client like Shang Tsung if the occasion required it. At the same time, I don’t think it is forbidden to taste new dishes once the warriors were on mission. Especially not on a long-term kind of job when clan members must pretend to be normal human beings.

Because of that I suspect that those warriors who work undercover in various parts of Earthrealm and/or Outworld may indulge in eating all sorts of food, from expensive to the cheapest trash food. Whatever the budget / occasion would allow them, at least. And who knows, maybe the warriors like to challenge each other to eat the weirdest possible food, as some sort of courage test? Or just for personal fun? You know, like many young people do taste the freedom once they are on their own, far away from a strict “family”? 

At the same time, in times when there is not enough food, I can see the best parts or full portions being given to the most useful / essential members so the position in hierarchy may influence what and how much warrior is allowed to eat. Because let's be real here, (the old) Lin Kuei does not have a good track with empathy for weaklings. 

Now, I’m gonna head into headcanon-ish territory, so keep that in mind, please.

I know it is a pretty popular joke (included even in the game itself as part of “friendship” finish moves) that Sub-Zero likes ice cream but honestly, I do think that cryomancers in fact prefer cold food over anything else.

(Human hybrid) Cryomancers are said to develop their powers as an young adults(*) and growing the freezing skills with passing time (which Bi-Han being the exception to the rule because he developed ice ability earlier than usual), so the older they get, their bodies are more and more adapted to hold the toll of cryomancer nature (like temperature dropping to negative degrees?). So getting inside them anything remotely warm sounds more like torture than feeding. 

(Of course, it could be the other way, as needing the hot food to keep cryomancers from freezing from inside but the drastic temperature differences are not human-friendly. First aid in case of frostbite even cautions against heating the body too fast with too high a temperature to avoid negative effects. Which is why I’m sticking to cryomancers preferring cold food over anything warm)

The cryomancer kids may be less sensitive to the difference between temperature of their bodies and eaten food / drink - though I suspect cryomancer genes should not be dismissed even at such young age - but in all fairness, I can’t imagine Bi-Han or Kuai Liang eating anything else than raw food, preferably not touched by fire or at least deep-frozen / cold and ice-creams are both cold and can provide necessary minerals / calories to keep them going. 

So yeah, I can totally see Bi-Han and Kuai Liang buying dozens of ice-cream boxes for breakfast, dinner and supper like it was the normal thing in the world. And probably keeping various deep-frozen foods in the fridge and eating it raw. To Tomas, Sektor or Cyrax’s horror, whoever was unlucky to be stuck with cryomancers on an undercover mission. Okay, I lied. Bi-Han would probably just send others to do the shopping so he would not need to deal with annoying people.  

Bi-Han and Kuai Liang are capable of eating and drinking hot food because they were forced to learn that. That is why Kuai Liang was capable of brewing tea and why he used such a ceremony as a sign of good will toward Hanzo Hasashi even though drinking hot tea is, by nature, painful. 

As for taste, I think both Bi-Han and Kua Liang like plain flavors. Especially Bi-Han with his minimalistic nature. Kuai Liang seems more willing to taste different food and drink under Smoke’s challenge or suggestion. Ice creams may be the exception but less because cryomancers care for taste in itself and more because they are okay to eat any flavor as long as it is cold and available. Otherwise, they may just freeze various liquids (water, milk, juice) and eat them as ice creams. Something that actually could be pretty frustrating for other warriors if they left a carton of milk out of sight for a moment only to find Bi-Han or Kuai Liang freezing it and eating its content with a spoon. Because of that, the idea of coffee or tea with milk could be problematic (controversial) matter. Bi-Han accepts only Hydro’s need for milk added to coffee or tea - once Hydro gets it, the rest of milk is a fair game. And Cyrax seems to be bold enough to guard any open carton of milk or juice and keep it out of reach of Bi-Han, especially if he was the one responsible for shopping.

(Also, if Bi-Han even decided to smuggle the outside food for young Kuai Liang, I think it wouldn’t be anything sweet. More like frozen french fries just to tell his little brother how earthrealm people eat it heated up. Just imagine the shock and outrage of little Kuai Liang at the human stupidity!)

Comics!Hydro, as a close companion of Bi-Han is the most used to weird cryomancers eating habits. Because of water-related powers, Hydro likes everything liquid or with liquid consistency - soups, broths, jogurths, smoothies, everything will do. Somehow not really into meat. Also, the one advantage of such power is that Hydro can feed on water if necessary. 

In contrast to cryomancers, I imagine Tomas actually likes deeply fried or smoked stuff. Because without a fire there is no smoke and I like to think Enenra draws energy from fire / heat. Except the moments when Tomas is triggered by something from his past - then the smell or taste of burnt / burning meat (skin, hair) disgust him completely. May actually not like ice creams. Otherwise, he likes Czech food or in general, Central European / Central Eastern European cuisine because its taste is one of few things he remembers from his previous life. This is Tomas’ comfort food.

For me, Sektor with his obsessive behaviour is the one that tries to balance his food and reject the idea of eating anything for fun or out of curiosity. He wants to be in perfect shape and does not care for taste at all. To some degree, he also worries about how the foreign food will affect his strength, weight or body shape when on a long-term mission. The same as Bi-Han, Sektor is the last person that should be sent on shopping. However in case of the older Sub-Zero the problem lies in his abrasive nature and how he doesn’t conform to social norms (thus standing out too much) while Sektor won’t buy anything unless he reads the whole ingredients list and all additional information put on the package. Which means a shopping trip that takes like 10 minutes at best for other warriors usually takes Sektor around two hours, at least. You send him alone to shop for food and you are going to be hungry for the next few hours.

Considering how Cyrax is the most normal (balanced) Lin Kuei, he probably has the most healthy approach to food. Will eat anything that looks good, including fast foods ‘cause why not, it is cheap, edible and takeaway. And trust Cyrax to convince Sektor to eat that damn food too (the trick is to not let Sektor read what is - or is not - inside his meal). I don’t think Cyrax has a favorite kind of food because he doesn't like to limit himself. The same as Smoke, he may miss cuisine from his homeland but the general idea is to enjoy small pleasures like eating good food with companions.

Also, Cyrax is the only one that should be trusted with a shopping list if the Lin Kuei group for some reason ends in a shopping centre. A shopping list and the control over the trolley.

(Frost, like Bi-Han and Kuai Liang is all about cold / frozen food)

(*) From Mythologies Sub-Zero: “Sub-Zero learned of his ability as a young adult [...]. The ability to harness the element of cold is one that takes years of practice. It's full potential realized only by those who've mastered it at the latest stages of life. Sub-Zero's skills have the ability to develop much faster than those of the other Lin Kuei.” The fact that Bi-Han A) learned of his ability as a young adult and those B) develop much faster than usual at least suggest most modern cryomancers get their ice powers rather as grown up.

[onemistresstorulethemall]

Mine

Hello, litte sinners. Did ya miss me? Hope so, cause I'm back again. This is Leviathan's piece from a series I'm starting called "Home, sweet home" and it's gonna be about each of the brothers reacting to MC's return to Devildom. Obviously, with nsfw elements cause let's be honest, it's not mine if it doesn't have at least one sex scene.

The povs alternate here kinda weirdly, but I hope it doesn't get too confusing.

This piece is pretty tame, there's only a bit of nsfw at the end, but it's still 18+

Word count: 2328

F!MC

Enjoy! ✨

A lifetime of boredom, that's what Leviathan was sentenced to after you left Devildom. The days became a blur. He was on autopilot, fulfilling his responsibilities just so he doesn't get in trouble with Lucifer and counting the days until it was his turn to call you.

Although he absolutely adored your voice, it wasn't enough. It was never enough. Just telling you about what he watched or played recently never satisfied him as he longer to share the experinces with you. So, he usually asked about you.

True to his nature, he was boiling with rage, but attempted to keep it concealed as to not ruin the already short time you two had. He couldn't stand the fact that others had your attention. They could see you, touch you, watch you smile and...he wasn't able to. It was excruciating.

"Y/n...", he gathered the courage to say.

"Yes, Levi? What's wrong?"

"You know...", he took a deep breath, "I won't blame you if you find someone better in the human world."

It was easier to say things like this if he didn't have to look into your eyes.

"Levi, you know I'm going to come back to you. I could never find someone better. You're the only one for me."

Your words were meant to soothe him, but somehow ignited the spark that broke him down.

"W-what if you can't!? What if you will never come back? You'd have to settle then and accept it and you'd find someone else... But I'd have to live an eternity of sorrow and regret! I can't lose you, y/n!", he managed to express through sobs.

"I'll find a way to come back to you, just wait for me. I'll always come back to you."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Unfortunately he had to wipe his tears and hang up, his time was up. However, this conversation would linger in his mind for a long while, maybe forever.

Fast forward a few weeks and there he was, sitting at the student council desk listening to a meeting that he was dragged into. There was no way he could focus, not when tomorrow was his day to call you. Levi wasn't able to pay attention to a word of Diavolo's but, instead, planned in his head all the things he wanted to catch you up on and everything that he wanted to ask. He developed this skill that made it seem like he was taking notes, but instead he was doodling your avatar from your favorite game.

He was so out of it that it took two of his brothers shouting your name to make him snap back to reality and realize that it was you, it really was you standing in the middle of the room holding onto Solomon's arm. In any other scenario he would have been pissed, but this time, the sight made him the happiest demon alive. Almost instinctually, he rubbed his eyes to make sure this wasn't some intricate daydream his mind played out of loneliness. Could it really be true?

His brothers were talking to you, even Diavolo was asking questions, but he was still in shock. Levi just couldn't move. His heart was beating so fast and his hands were shaking. To him it was absolutely stupid. He waited and craved to see you, to have you, so badly and now you were here and he was glued to the goddamn chair.

Although you were hugging Asmo, your eyes still lingered on Levi as you were watching him over Asmo's shoulder. He looked so anxious, almost like he was about to cry. You didn't take it to heart that he didn't immediately come hug you, the poor soul must've been in shock.

When everyone was done with their hugs, you got the keys for the House of Lamentation and you basically got sent home so they can finish the meeting.

Before leaving you snuck behind your favorite demon and embraced him lovingly.

"I'll see you home. Okay, baby?", you whispered before exiting the room.

Solomon walked you home and you politely asked if he wanted to stay for a cup of tea. Surely, after he took you back to them, the brothers wouldn't mind if he stayed for tea. However, he refused the invitation, saying that he had business to attend to, whatever that may mean.

You weren't too bothered by it, since you actually wanted to be left alone. It's been a long time since you've been home, you kind of wanted to walk around and take it all in.

You checked to see if there was any food to work with so you could surprise the brothers when they came back, but the fridge was mostly empty. They were probably getting takeaway. Seeing you didn't really have anything to do after unpacking, you wandered to Levi's room which was surprisingly opened. He was probably in a hurry in the morning and forgot to lock it... Whatever the reason, you were grateful.

The room was a bit of a mess, but you didn't really mind. It vaguely smelled like him and you missed his smell so goddamn much. One of his comfort hoodies laid on the back of his chair and you couldn't help but bury your face in it an inhale his scent.

You probably shouldn't have, but you slipped it in on over you clothes and it all spiraled from that moment on.

On his way home, Leviathan was being extremely self conscious. Why were you the one that had to come to him? He loved you, so why couldn't he move? Why was he such a pussy? He shook his head. No matter what, he was going to make up for it. He wanted to show you how much he missed you, how much he loved you. He carved to make you remember that you're his. All the way home he attempted to hype himself up and it was relatively successful, although his hands were still shaking.

When he got home he rushed to his room. The demon wanted to freshen up before he went to meet you. Damn, he actually forgot to lock his door. Thank the devil nobody was home...

His jaw dropped the moment he swung the door open. It was the sight he least expected to see. This wasn't how he planned it in his head... Ugh, this was so unfair. It's like he never got to have his way.

He mentally slapped himself for letting his sin take over. You were there, in his room, with his goddamn hoodie on, seemingly smelling one of the sleeves while playing with yourself. He couldn't ever ask for more. Fuck his mental plan, this was better.

"Oh, hi... I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself", you mumbled.

The liliac-headed demon locked the door to make sure nobody could disturb the two of you.

"Don't be sorry, this is perfect, you're perfect.", he could feel his cheeks heating up.

"I didn't even mean to, but I could feel your scent and I...lost it..."

Soon your hands were around his neck and his on your thighs while your lips intertwined in a dance of longing and relief.

Did you crave him wholeheartedly? Yes. But if he wanted to stop and just hold you, you wouldn't mind. What you craved the most was feeling him close, as close as possible. You needed to feel his skin and his hands on yours, to feel his breath and his heartbeat, the warmth of his body and everything in between. You craved his whole being.

You would've kept going, deepening the kiss even further, but you became startled by a strange feeling around your torso. Turns out, it was just Levi's tail wrapped around you. The golden-eyes demon seemed to have missed you so much that feeling you up triggered his demon form. Truth be told, he wasn't the best at containing his excitement.

When your gaze met his, those pretty eyes were almost in tears. He couldn't have been sad, right? You were here, it was something else, but you couldn't put your finger on it.

"What's wrong, baby boy? I'm here and I'm not leaving your side again. I told you I'll always come back, so don't worry.", you cupped his cheeks to make sure his eyes wouldn't wander off to the floor.

"I just... I thought you wouldn't come back. I was scared. I don't want to lose you. You're mine, y/n. You're mine. You hear me?"

"Loud and clear, admiral!"

You both chuckled and thankfully broke off the tense atmosphere.

"Sooo...what was that about me being yours? I think I'll need a demonstration.", you stated playfully.

His eyes lit up again like a jar of honey on a windowsill as the rays of the sun shines through. Granted, Devildom didn't have a sun, but Levi's eyes were enough to light up your world.

"Gladly.", was a he said before his hands wandered off under the hoodie to feel your skin.

You were already burning up, it was overwhelming to be able to touch him again. You fantasied about this moment hundreds of times, you couldn't believe it was finally coming true.

His movements were soft and gentle, as if he wanted to savour it, to try to remember exactly how your skin felt against his hands, to engrave in his memory exactly how your breath became heavier when he caressed certain spots, to save you up in case you disappear.

With one hand on your thigh and the other on the back of your neck, he lead your head to the side, gaining access to your neck. Soft kisses turned into hungry bites and licks as if he could devour you whole right that instant. Usually he was more gentle, even a bit shy, although you've done this plenty of times, but this time around he did a number on your neck, marking you up. Granted, you did ask for a demonstration of how you belong to him and he delivered.

The hand on your thigh slowly moved between your legs, towards your wet folds, teasing you with soft brushes of the tips of his fingers against them. You squirmed under him which only made him smile against your neck. He was always the boldest when you couldn't see his face.

"Please, Levi... I need this as much as you do."

"Alright, but just because you asked nicely."

His thumb started rubbing circles on your sensitive nub, while his index finger slowly entered you. Fuck, it felt like ages since you've felt this good. You brought a hand up to your mouth in an attempt to muffle your moans but your wrist was promptly grabbed by his tail.

"None of that, my love. You're mine, right? Let them know."

His words paired with your movement being limited and the pure bliss of his touch brought you really close to the edge. You moaned louder and dug the nails of your free hand into his shoulder.

"Are you close, my love?"

All you could do was nod pathetically. To which he replied by stopping his motions and pulling his finger out of you.

You were quick to protest by whining. However, you calmed down when you saw him undoing the zipper of his pants.

"You're not the only one in need, you know?"

Of course, it must've been unbearable for him as well. So you waited patiently for him to get out of his clothes. Thankfully, it didn't take long.

He didn't enter you right away, no, he took his sweet time, rubbing his member against your clit, gathering your juices onto his tip.

"You sure you wanna do this, y/n?", he asked almost mockingly.

"I fucking need your cock Levi, please give it to me already! I can't take it anym-"

You were cut off by the feeling of being full again. Your eyes rolled in the back of your head almost instinctually and you let him take over you.

Both of your wrists were pinned above your head by his tail, while his hands rested on your waist. He was pretty much squeezing you, but you didn't mind. It wasn't often that he got rough, so you went along with it. The unexpected feeling of his nails into your skin made you moan in pleasure. It was like his goal was to leave as many marks on you as possible.

"You're mine, y/n...", he whispered into your ear.

"I'm yours, Levi and I'm never leaving. I promise."

One hand left your waist and, instead, focused on your sensitive nub that was just begging to be touched.

"L-Levi... Please don't stop..."

"Are you gonna cum soon?"

"Y-yeah... Fuck, if you keep going... I will."

"Good. Let's do it together."

He kept rubbing circles on your clit while his tail slithered into your mouth. You were so full of him, it felt like heaven.

All of the overwhelming sensations brought you over the edge and soon, with a few feel thrusts, Levi's passion spilled too, filling you up even more.

"I love you.", you confessed after his tail left your mouth.

"I love you too, y/n."

A knock on the door snapped you back to reality.

"When you two lovebirds are done, come eat. I don't think we can hold Beel back much longer!", Satan stated before you could hear his footsteps fade into the hallway.

"Fuck. I don't have time to clean up...", you came to the realization.

"Then don't. Pull up your panties, dress up and let's go.", Leviathan said as he was pulling up his pants.

"B-but I..."

"You're mine, right? Let it serve as a reminder.", his back was turned to you but you could see the tips of his ears getting red.

"Alright, baby boy. You can clean me up after dinner.", you flashed a playful smile.

[helloalycia]

never fell out of love // rory gilmore

summary: you and Rory broke up, but that doesn't stop you from teasing her and wishing you could still be together.

warning/s: none.

masterlist | wattpad

I walked into Luke's, not bothering to look around, and approached the till where Luke was writing something down on his notepad.

"Hey, Luke, please can I get two cheeseburgers to go?" I asked with a smile.

"You want fries?" he asked, finally looking up from his notepad.

"Please," I replied, taking a seat at the counter.

He nodded and gave the order to Caesar in the back. I was prepared to wait for my food, until I suddenly heard someone call my name.

"Y/N!"

"Mom, no..."

I turned and saw Rory sat at the table near the window with her mum, Lorelai. Lorelai seemed confused as Rory tried to avert her gaze from me.

I merely smirked and approached the table. "Hey, Lorelai." Lorelai smiled in return as I looked to Rory with a teasing smile. "Rory."

Rory, who was trying her best to not look at me, forced a smile and waved a hand.

"Did I miss something here?" Lorelai got straight to the point, pointing between us. "Last time I checked, you guys were friends."

I chuckled. "Same, Lorelai." I looked to Rory with an amused expression. "Do you need to catch me up on something, Rory?"

Rory, going a deep shade of red by now, finally looked up and flickered her bright blue eyes to mine. "Hey, Y/N. Yes, we're still friends. You doing good?"

I grinned. "Perfect, darling, and you?"

Rory couldn't hold my gaze for long, as she slowly looked elsewhere. "Awesome."

Lorelai looked at her daughter with a puzzled expression.

"I should go wait for my food, but it was nice seeing you," I said, mostly to Lorelai, with a friendly smile. "Enjoy your lunch."

Lorelai nodded and waved. "Bye, sweetie."

I headed back to the counter and took a seat, feeling those familiar butterflies tugging in my gut. What can I say? Rory's presence did that, and she knew it all too well, hence her ignoring me. Or trying to.

As I waited for my food, I realised I kinda wanted a drink now.

"Hey, Luke, can I get a coke? I'll pay now too," I called for the diner-owner as he made some coffee.

Luke nodded and got me the drink. After paying for it, he went to check on my food. I waited and suddenly felt a presence beside me. When I looked up, I saw Rory had approached the counter and was purposely staying silent, despite being fully aware of my presence. She was obviously waiting for Luke to return.

"You should make it less obvious that you hate me, your mum is starting to suspect otherwise," I teased her, hoping to get a response.

She pursed her lips and glanced at me. "You know I don't hate you."

I breathed out, still smiling at her. "I know. It's just fun seeing you squirm."

She rolled her eyes and leaned onto the counter, impatiently drumming her fingers. I admired her appearance today – her long hair half pulled back into an up-do style, her bangs covering her forehead and making her eyes stand out that extra big more, her white blouse rolled up to her elbows and left untucked, only accentuating her figure. She was stunning and I wasn't sure if she even knew what she was doing to me.

"Two cheeseburgers with fries," Luke finally returned, holding out a takeaway bag. "Enjoy."

I smiled and accepted the bag. "Cheers."

"Can I get a cup of coffee, Luke?" Rory asked, relieved he had returned.

Luke nodded and moved to fill her a cup. I stood up straight, bag in hand, and turned to leave, but decided to do one more thing before I left. I pretended to grab some napkins so I could lean next to Rory and get close to her ear.

"You look really beautiful today," I whispered, before grabbing a napkin and stepping back.

Rory clenched her jaw and glanced my way, her eyes soft and questioning. I merely smiled and went on my way.

As fun as teasing Rory was, I did wish I could say all of this to her face. As a couple. The reason she was giving me the cold shoulder was because she wasn't ready to be official with me. We'd been together, though on the down low about it, for a few months, but she decided to break it off when she admitted she was too afraid to come out about us to everyone. Of course I couldn't stop her, but I never fell out of love with her. And I know she still felt something for me.

Leaving Luke's that day left me with a hollow feeling inside, as I realised I probably wouldn't ever be able to say how I felt about Rory out loud.

–

Of course Stars Hollow – or should I say Taylor Doose, town mayor – would find some reason to celebrate and throw some kind of party. At this point, I didn't even know what holiday we were celebrating, I just knew that somehow, Taylor managed to convince pretty much everyone in Stars Hollow to party in the centre of town.

"Taylor did a good job, I must say," Lane commented, looking around.

"Yeah, it sure does look pretty," I agreed, taking everything in.

The gazebo had fairy lights strung all around, matching the ones lighting up the surrounding town stores. It was nighttime, so they shone like little stars. There was also balloons tied around and little streamers hanging about.

"God, this song is awesome." Lane grinned, bopping her head to the song Kirk was playing on the speakers they'd hooked up. "Wanna dance?"

Half the town was dancing like it was their school prom all over again and it was actually really lovely if it weren't amusing.

"Sure, why not?" I shrugged and followed Lane onto the 'dance floor'.

The two of us laughed as we danced around like fools. Nobody cared because everyone was bad as each other.

When the song ended, Lane and I stuck to swaying to the music for a bit, tired out from all the jumping around.

"How isn't your mum scouring the seven seas to find you right now?" I asked Lane, curious to why she hadn't been dragged home.

Lane smirked. "I am currently at Jessie Davis's house reading the Bible."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Who is Jessie Davis?"

Lane tapped her nose and I laughed at her antics. She had her ways, as usual. A pro at deception.

"Hey, there's Rory– Rory! Over here!" she shouted behind me.

I turned and a playful smile fell upon my lips when Rory's expression turned from a grin to a frown. She sucked up a breath and approached Lane and I, a forced smile on her lips.

"Hey, how long have you been here? I tried looking for you earlier," Lane said, still dancing to the music.

Rory waved her hand dismissively. "Not long. Did I miss much?"

Lane laughed. "Just Y/N and I dancing terribly. Not much."

Rory suppressed a smile as she spared me a glance. I almost forgot to breathe because of how adorable she looked.

"Gosh, Kirk actually has a decent playlist tonight," Lane complimented, obviously impressed as yet another good song played. "I'm gonna go check it out."

Lane left to go check out Kirk at his place by the gazebo, leaving Rory and I stood surrounded by terrible dancers.

"Wanna dance?" I asked, quirking an eyebrow hopefully.

Rory crossed her arms nervously. "Erm..."

"Nobody will suspect anything. We're friends. Friends can dance," I reassured her, dropping all hints of playfulness for the moment.

She sighed and nodded, a real smile tugging at her lips. We both began to dance, joining in with the horrible dancing around us. It was lovely to be able to just mess around with her without having to worry what anyone else was thinking – nobody was paying us attention. Plus, she was laughing and I hadn't heard or seen that in a while. Not since we broke up.

Eventually, Kirk slowed down with the upbeat songs and put on a somewhat slow song. Not awkwardly romantic, but something anyone could dance to. So, of course, as Rory tried to pull away and leave, I grabbed her hand and pulled her right back.

"One more dance and I'll leave you alone for the rest of the night," I promised, nodding at her. "If you want me to that is."

Rory said nothing, but rested her hand on my waist and the other in my hand. I smiled and we both slow-danced around the gazebo, not drawing any suspicion because tons of 'friends' were doing the same, some even doing it for a laugh. But nothing was funny to me about the fact that Rory was closer than she'd ever been to me since we broke up, and her eyes wouldn't leave mine.

She was wearing a lovely purple dress tonight, her hair left out and curled, framing her face. I wondered if she was thinking about us. I knew I was. I missed her the longer she was with me, strangely enough.

I leaned forward, making her nervous and tense up a little. But I only glanced around before moving my mouth to her ear.

"I really want to kiss you right now."

I pulled back and acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary. As we twirled around Miss Patty, smiling as she waved at us, I made sure to act the part. Though, Rory staring at me like I'd said the worst thing ever did make me regret it a little.

Finally, the song ended and everyone clapped for Kirk, who was unsure how to react to people actually thinking he'd done a good job at something. I pulled away from Rory and took a step back, sensing her discomfort. I hated that when I looked at her, I felt the urge to kiss her still.

"I'll go," I said.

She stared at me, her expression unreadable, until suddenly, she stepped forward and pressed her lips against mine. I was surprised, wondering why she would kiss me in such a public place. But I didn't get much time to think about it because I soon found myself kissing her back, missing the taste of her lips and the warmth of her skin.

She pulled away when we ran out of breath, but her hands were clutching my waist tightly. Her eyes darted from my lips to my eyes and I saw that she was still a little confused, but she was smiling.

"Erm, you know you just kissed me, right?" I asked her to be sure.

She nodded.

"Okay, just checking," I said. "You also know people saw, right?"

Already, bystanders were talking between themselves, pointing conspicuously at Rory and I. No going back now.

"I love you," she said, grabbing my hands.

I felt my heart rate speed up. "You do?"

She nodded, eyes flickering down to my lips again. "I'm ready."

I bit my lip to contain my grin. "Rory... I love you, too."

She grinned, pressing a small kiss to my lips before pulling me into a hug. I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her close, smiling into her shoulder.

I was glad to finally be hers for real now.

[sleepingrenjun]

nervous | ML

the gorgeous banner was made by the one and only @hyuckiebabie

Genre ♡ angst, badboy!Mark Lee 

Length ♡ 16.9k

Pairing ♡ Mark Lee x reader

Warnings ♡ character death, violence, making out, mild swearing, mild alcohol consumption, kinda mafia, uhh shitty parents? Basically just angsty badboy!Mark, it’s rather tragic I do apologise.

Playlist ♡ nervous playlist

Summary ♡ You find yourself falling deeper and deeper into Mark’s fiery touch despite the dislike you once felt for him. But Mark Lee is dangerous and nefarious despite his gentle desire to love and protect you; the two of you are star-crossed and you will forever be damned into the very pits of hell.

-

Your clothes were beginning to stick to your skin, the rain blurring each and every neon sign into one big mess of colour against the onyx canopy of the sky above the city. The faint sound of cars screeching along distant streets could only just be heard over the music blaring through your earphones. You stumbled ever so slightly against the sudden outcry of wind as you rounded a corner and looked up through your lashes to see the refreshingly familiar street which housed your favourite late night coffee shop. You looked down again in order to give your cloudy eyes a break, eyeing your slightly scuffed, and now very soggy converse as you trudged a little further until you made it to the door of your beloved safe haven.

 You used your right shoulder to help you push the heavy door open, relieved to see that the lights were still on. You pulled your earphones out, shoving them into your tote bag unceremoniously.  

 “Oh hey, y/n,” you looked up to see Donghyuck smiling sleepily at you from his position behind the counter as he raised his golden hand in a small wave.

 “Hi Hyuck,” you threw a lopsided smile in his direction before carefully drying the soles of your shoes on the mat which lay before you.

 “It’s a little late for you, is everything okay?”

 “Yeah, yeah, I just got caught up with uni work, I guess,” you tell him as you take your phone out of your soaking wet hoodie pocket, before tapping on the screen, thus confirming that it was indeed later than you had realised, 10:53pm. He hummed in understanding as he continued to steam-clean the tea cups which sat on the polished granite in front of him.

 Donghyuck studied at the same university as you and so he understood that sometimes the workload would cause you to spend hours on end in the dusty, old university library situated on the top floor of the main building. His major was in English literature, and if he wasn’t in the coffee shop working then he could often be found studying with his nose buried deep in a coffee-stained book with his exhausted round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Donghyuck was lovely, in every sense of the word. His strawberry blonde hair looked gorgeous against his honey-stained skin. He was warm and flamboyant and just, quite simply, alluring. His raspberry-stained lips were soft and full, just as his cheeks were. Donghyuck was the type to wear tight black jeans paired with an eccentric, ill-fitting jumper and a pair of beaten up doc martens, yet he wore it so well.

 You weren’t exactly friends, but you had a sort of routine. You confided in eachother more often than you liked to admit, but only inside the safe environment of his workplace, you didn’t really speak at any other time. Every Thursday, without fail, you would stop by to order a latte from the lonely coffee shop that he worked at. You were studying fine art, which meant you had to spend a lot of time at the university, whether it was using the studios for various workshops, or losing yourself in copious amounts of books in the library in order to help you write extended essay after extended essay. With that said, it was usually between 7 and 8pm when you stopped by to order your coffee on your way home, hence Donghyucks concern.

 “The usual?” he spoke up after a moment of tranquility.

 “Mmm, please,” you hummed in response as you fiddled with the slippery metal of the rings on your fingers while you waited for the coffee you had been looking forward to for several hours prior. You took out your money and left the correct amount by the till and then proceeded to make your way quietly over to your usual round table before flopping down languidly, the table was situated by the window, allowing you to watch the world outside go by peacefully as you tapped your nails along the surface of your phone screen restlessly.

 The coffee shop was warm and cozy, the smell of coffee beans welcoming anyone into the glowing space. Your weekly visits were something that you looked forward to now, although you did sometimes make an appearance at other times, Saturdays, for example. Occasionally you popped in for a cup of tea in the morning and engaged in polite conversation with Taeyong, the owner of the place. Taeyong was delightful, in a different way to Donghyuck, though. He was sharper and had a witty sense of humour to match the bubblegum shade of his hair. He was kind and wise beyond his years and so much more – but you didn’t have the same unspoken understanding with him that you had with Hyuck. Perhaps that’s why you looked forward to Thursdays, Donghyuck understood you without even trying, as did you with him.

 Donghyuck slid the disposable cup onto the table in front of you, snapping you out of your daze.

 “Thanks,” you smiled up at him before you realised that he was, in fact, now sitting opposite you at the table, with a coffee of his own in hand.

 “What’s on your mind, princess?” he asked you with a cheeky smile as he leaned back into the chair before sipping a little of his coffee. You chuckled at the nickname and hummed as you thought of how to reply.

 “I’m just exhausted, Hyuck,” you said as you let your head flop softly onto the rough wooden surface of the table before closing your eyes gently.

“Uni deadlines are exasperating; my parents are driving me mad and I just really need to sleep” you breathed out drowsily as you peered up at the boy through half closed eyes.

 “Yeah, I feel the same. Uni has me really stressed too,” he cupped his steaming coffee with both hands and leaned across the table, “what’s up with your parents, though?” he squinted at you, genuine curiosity adorning his friendly face.

 “Just the usual, you know,” you sighed after taking a long gulp of coffee, not feeling up to explaining everything to him at 11pm on a Thursday. Donghyuck vaguely knew about your relationship with your parents, if you could even call it that, although you liked to avoid bringing your friends into that side of your life; you weren’t proud of it.

 “Care to elaborate, princess?“ Your reply was soon cut off by the sound of the front door opening suddenly and the fierceness of the storm outside immediately filled the peaceful room, the sound of the ‘open’ sign hitting against the wall alerting you to the fact that you were no longer alone in the coffee shop.

 You looked up in surprise and proceeded to try to fix your composure at the realization that the person who had entered the premises was none other than Donghyucks best friend; Mark Lee. The two were polar opposites. While Donghyuck was late nights by a crackling fire and cups of steaming hot chocolate, lazy afternoons spent surrounded by blankets and makeshift pillow-forts and summer evenings spent reading during the golden hour. Mark Lee was everything that Donghyucks general aura protested against – he was burning hot embers and cigarettes, sunrises and motorbikes screeching along empty streets at 4am. Mark Lee was cold yet hotheaded and harsh and a lot to take in. You had only seen him from a distance, picking Donghyuck up from the university on the back of his bike. The two were so different but they were the best of friends and it baffled you.  

 “Hyuck, what the fuck is taking you so long? Let’s go-,” he voiced as he ran his hand through his damp hair and shook his head a little, completely ignoring your presence. He was clearly irked about something, his eyes were dark, black almost, and he was clutching his bike helmet under his arm tightly. Hyuck looked across the room to the vintage clock which was perched just above the coffee machine behind the counter, before muttering a profanity to himself and looking up at you with apologetic eyes.

 “Shit sorry y/n, I completely forgot, I was meant to close up 10 minutes ago,” it was nearing 11:15pm now.

 “Oh yeah, it’s fine, I should probably get back home anyways” you offered in acceptance before tearing your eyes away from the two boys in front of you to look out of the window at the storm you would have to brave once more. Mark cleared his throat as he made eye contact with you for the first time,

 “are you two done now or…?”

 Mark opened the door, a subtle hint that he was leaving and that Donghyuck should hurry up if he wanted to accompany him to wherever the two were off to at this hour. You scoffed as you took in his appearance, his damp, jet black hair was falling into his eyes in soft curls, his tanned skin was wet, and the neon yellow hoodie he wore under his signature leather jacket had darkened by at least two shades from the rain, as had the black skinny jeans which were tightly clinging to his legs.

 “Will you be okay to get home?” Hyuck asked you as he turned off the coffee machine and motioned towards the door with a light tilt of his head. You nodded and replied with a “yeah” as you swiftly picked up your takeaway coffee cup and headed out the door which mark hadn’t managed to hold open for you. Hyuck followed you out after turning the lights off and grabbing his own helmet, locking the doors behind you. You nodded towards Donghyuck, turning away from the boys you clutched your arms around yourself in an attempt to keep warm as you walked in the direction of your shared apartment.

 “See you, y/n.”

 You turned your head and waved in return at Donghyuck who was smiling at you as he put his jet-black helmet on whilst he leaned on the back of Marks motorcycle. Mark offered you a smirk as he took a long drag from his cigarette before dropping it to the floor and putting out the glowing stick with a swift movement of his foot, his tattered black converse catching your eye. You continued forward in the torrential rain and not a minute later you could hear the revving of the engine as Mark and Donghyuck pulled away and sped past you, Mark deliberately not avoiding the growing pool of floodwater on the street next to you, splashing dirty water at you in the process. “Fucking fantastic,” you groaned in exasperation.

 -

 It was the following Tuesday when you next saw Donghyuck with his best friend in tow. You were packing up your things after a long day in the library, sneezing and sniffling every so often; you had managed to catch a rather bad cold after walking home in the pouring rain last Thursday. You had just turned around after placing your last book in your beaten-up bag when you heard Donghyucks contagious laughter coming from your left, he and Mark were walking towards you and away from a small group of three boys you often saw Hyuck hanging around with between classes, you weren’t sure of their names. Mark was once again holding on tightly to his helmet as he mumbled something to the velvety boy beside him and ran his other hand through his disheveled hair.

 You fished your phone out of your pocket and turned it off airplane mode before stuffing it back into your pocket and looking up, just in time to hear your name being spoken from a few feet away.

 “Hey! y/n!”, Donghyuck exclaimed, looking surprised to see you, “you got home okay then? On Thursday?” he queried, stopping before you, causing Mark to roll his eyes at his friends genuine concern.

 “Yeah thanks, Hyuck. What are you guys doing here?” you chuckled in reply, it wasn’t unusual for you to greet him in the library as you both spent a fair bit of time there, Marks appearance, however, was a little less common.

 He was obviously there to pick Donghyuck up, probably just to take him home or to a party or something; what was unusual was that he didn’t usually come inside. If you ever saw him at the university, he would be leaning against the outside wall, by the doors, often holding a cigarette in one hand and his phone in the other. He was a couple of years older than you, only a year older than Donghyuck, and although you knew that he had graduated from the same institution that you attended, you didn’t know what his major was, not that you particularly cared. Your train of thought was interrupted by Donghyucks reply,

 “Oh, Mark just needed to talk to Jaemin about something,” he gestured towards his friend, who was clearly already bored with your conversation.

 Just as you were about to speak, your phone started ringing. You took a deep breath once you saw the caller ID, before picking it up and holding it to your ear.

 “Dad?” you breathed out, his timing could not have been worse. You had a complicated relationship with your parents; your father was controlling to say the least, and it frustrated you to no end.

 “So, you finally decided to pick up the phone then?”, he greeted you harshly. “I’m sorry, I’m in the library, my phone was off,” you offered him an apology, hoping it would suffice. You looked down at your shoes and wrapped your free hand around your waist, turning away from the two boys who were waiting patiently before you, hoping to gain some privacy for what would most likely not be an enjoyable conversation with your father.

 “You’re always sorry, it’s not good enough y/n,” he complained, “anyway, I called because I need to ask a favour from you.” He only ever called you when he needed something, and he certainly wasn’t one for pleasantries, he always found a way to try and make you feel bad about yourself – although you’d grown a sort of immunity to it now that you knew what he was trying to do. You remained silent, signaling for him to go on, “your mother and I are hosting a dinner party tonight” you place your hand on the back of the chair in front of you, “and we expect you to attend, can you be at the hotel for 7pm?”

 Your grip on the chair tightened to the point that your knuckles were beginning to turn white, you looked at your watch and groaned softly so that he wouldn’t hear, it was already 6:47pm. “Dad I don’t think-“ you started, knowing perfectly well that you wouldn’t be there on time – it was nearly a 40 minute walk to your parents’ hotel from the library.

 “Great! See you then, don’t be late!” he cut you off, not allowing you the time to tell him that you wouldn’t make it for 7 before he ended the call. “Jesus Christ,” you exclaimed as you let your iron grip on the chair go, moving the same hand to push your hair out of your face.

 “Is everything okay?” you turned around to see Donghyuck and Mark both staring at you in confusion.

 Your parents frustrated you a lot. They could never be bothered to make time for you but the second they had the opportunity to use you to their advantage, they would milk it. Your father loved to patronize you and put you down while your mother loved to brag about all the wonderful things you were supposedly doing, she loved to make you sound like their perfect child, when really, they were nothing but disappointed in you. They were disappointed in your art major and disappointed that you chose not to intern at your fathers’ company – you wanted as little to do with his illegal activities as possible - so disappointed that they actually felt the need to lie about practically everything you did.

 “Oh, yeah I just-,” you paused, trying to clear your head and come up with a way of fixing the mess you were about to get into, “sorry but I have to go, I have to be somewhere in like 10 minutes and it’s a 40 minute walk so-,” you rushed out, panicking as you grabbed your bag, flung it over your shoulder and proceeded to walk quickly down the hall towards the staircase. You didn’t make it very far however, as Donghyuck managed to grab your wrist and turn you around.

 “Hey, wait!” he exhaled deeply, “do you need a lift? Mark can give you a lift, right?” he suggested, turning to his friend in question.

 Mark looked as horrified as you felt at the thought of being perched on the back of his bike, “yeah, not happening,” he exclaimed, “she doesn’t even have a helmet or anything-” Donghyuck cut him off by thrusting his own helmet into your arms unceremoniously “now she does!” he retorted cheekily, throwing a smug smile in Marks direction.

 “No, Hyuck really-” you started, the idea of being in such close proximity to the stranger not sitting right in your stomach.

 “Donghyuck, what the fuck?” Mark exclaimed in obvious annoyance at the lively boy who had seemingly already made the decision for you both as he sauntered off down the hall, leaving you alone with his best friend.

 -

 Mark didn’t speak to you as you made your way down the stairs side by side. You felt your heartbeat speed up as you walked through the automatic doors and saw the back of his motorcycle come into view. The model was sleek and rather elegant, the matte black of the main body suited Marks nefarious persona perfectly and the egg-yolk yellow accents made it all the more beautifully daunting.

 “Ever ridden a bike before?” Mark exhaled at you, already knowing the answer to his foolish question.

 You shook your head, “I haven’t. But you already knew that”.

 Mark nodded his head in response before putting his helmet on and climbing onto the bike in front of you. You mirrored his actions and secured Donghyucks helmet into place with shaky hands; the jet-black helmet was a little big for you, but you managed to fight against the strap until it was tight enough that you felt somewhat protected. You shuffled into the small space behind Mark and had barely just lifted your feet off the ground when he revved the engine and kicked off, sending you surging forward into his firm back in order to not fall off.

 Mark snickered at your immediate reaction, “you might want to hold on, sweetheart,” he told you in amusement as he turned his head towards you slightly. “I’m gonna need directions,” he announced as he turned back to the road and pulled out of the university car park, the sudden acceleration encouraging you to grab onto his shoulders firmly in an attempt to balance yourself.

 “Yeah, okay. Continue down here for a bit and then take a left just before the gym.” You instructed as you assessed the road before you.

 “Alright,” he responded casually, veering off to the right to overtake a car, causing you to stiffen even more.

 Sitting on the back of Marks bike was rather unnerving, but it was also thrilling and rather freeing. You could feel the wind in your hair and you were able to let yourself go a little. You closed your eyes for a moment and embraced the carelessness you felt bubbling up in your stomach; if your parents ever found out that you’d been on the back of a boys motorbike they would be livid, but in that moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You leant forward and informed Mark about the next turn he needed to make, to which he responded with an okay and as if sensing your sudden carefree nature, he applied a sudden pump of pressure on the gas and sped up even more. He was trying to scare you, to irritate you, and it was working. The wind in your hair suddenly felt too cold, too loud, and the traffic surrounding you too fast.

 “Mark,” you warned him as you moved your hands from his shoulders to wrap them tightly around his waist. “Hey, slow down!” you shouted in his ear once you realised that he wasn’t letting up.

 “Relax, baby. You’re alright,” he chuckled over his shoulder, sounding completely unbothered.

 You tightened your grip around him and closed your eyes as you tried to calm down, no longer finding the experience enjoyable. You could feel the soft flesh of his toned stomach through his shirt; the vibrations of Marks laughter as he felt your grip tighten and your forehead press softly into his shoulder. He was warm and deadly and you could feel your hot blood rushing through your veins. You breathed him in slowly; his aroma was cigarette smoke and peppermint; his shirt stained with the faint scent of his cologne and cinnamon. You hated to admit it, but Mark Lee smelled heavenly despite being the embodiment of Hades himself, and it was intoxicating.

 “Sweetheart, you need to look so you can direct me,” he said blatantly, you opened your eyes briefly before closing them again with a shake of your head.

“Take the next right and then pull up on the left just before the hotel,” you breathed out.

 Mark was soon slowing to a halt and you let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding in. “Thank fuck that’s over” you exclaimed before releasing your grip around the devilish boy in front of you, feeling slightly embarrassed that you’d been holding him so tightly. You swiftly removed your helmet and thrust it into Marks arms with a mumbled thank you before turning on your heel and heading towards the front door of the building. You faintly heard Mark calling your name, but you weren’t really listening as when you reached the door you felt your stomach drop, your dad was waiting for you and he was furious.

 Ten minutes later, you were seated next to your mother and opposite to your father, you were trying to settle the growing pit of nerves in your stomach as you knew you would be confronted by your dad soon enough. Around an hour into the meal, one of your parents’ guests decided to ask your mum about how you were getting on at uni, they were trying to make polite conversation, although your mothers response irked you rather.

 “She’s doing great! She’s loving her classes, aren’t you honey?” she directed at you with a knowing look in her eye. You simply nodded and replied a polite “yes, it’s great.”

 The same guest then went on to ask what it was you were studying, to which your parents simultaneously responded with ‘law’, as if rehearsed, which it most likely was. You knew your parents had never been happy with your decision to study fine art, and you couldn’t say you were surprised to hear that they were lying about your major, but it pissed you off, nevertheless. You clenched a fist underneath the table as they continued to brag about how well you were supposedly doing at law school. The evening continued like that for the next hour; your parents telling their ‘business partners’ about all the achievements you had made and how proud of you they were. Your family was built on a mound of lies.

 You knew that they were careful about what they told you about their business, but you were alert enough to be aware of the fact that the deals they made were not what might be expected of a typical hotel chain. They lied in front of you to try and cover the illegal activity that was going on, and while you weren’t entirely sure what that involved, you had an idea.

 Your parents walked with you to the entrance of the hotel when the dreadful dinner party was over, and you braced yourself for what you knew was coming.

 “You’ll never guess how our y/n arrived here earlier, love.” Your dad gestured to you while speaking to your mum.

 You looked down at your feet and fiddled with the hem of your jumper in anticipation. Your dad was business suits and stainless steel while your mother was sterile surfaces and fake smiles and you hated it, you hated them and the stupid lifestyle they had dragged you into. Nothing about it was real, nothing about it was fair.

 “She arrived on the back of a boy’s motorcycle,” he informed her with disgust evident in the tone of his voice, his facial expression unsettlingly straight. Your mother gasped in horror and you had to hold back from rolling your eyes at her dramatic reaction. “y/n what the hell were you thinking?” she asked you with a raised voice, anger evident.

 “I needed a ride, it’s a forty-minute walk otherwise!” you responded honestly. You weren’t going to let them manipulate you into apologizing to them.

 “Imagine what the guests would have thought if they’d seen you arrive in such a bedraggled way!” she screeched at you, to which you just responded with a shrug; not having the energy to argue with her.

 “You will reply when your mother addresses you, y/n.” Your father seethed through his teeth at you, anger taking over his stout features. You turned away from them in an attempt at getting away from their suffocating presence, talking back to them was not going to get you anywhere. But before you could walk through the now half open door, he grabbed onto your wrist harshly, “if you pull another stunt like this, there will be consequences, y/n, and stay away from that boy, he’s bad news.” He spat the coarse words into your left ear no louder than a whisper.

 You could feel your eyes beginning to water a little, “don’t touch me.” You breathed bitterly before yanking your wrist out of his forceful grip and slamming the glass door behind you.

 You finally let yourself go once you were outside, the tears flowing freely and silently down your cheeks. You were tired, exhausted even, of trying to mask how much their actions hurt you. Nobody at your university had a clue, not your roommate, Lisa, none of your art class acquaintances, not even Donghyuck, who you often found yourself confiding in when things got a bit too much and you found yourself on the verge of a breakdown.

 You were looking forward to getting home, your apartment was cozy and warm and just what you needed after dealing with your exasperating family. Your parents had bought you a 2 bed flat on the top floor of a crumbling apartment building, which you had the pleasure of choosing. After being brought up in a mansion-like house that didn’t even look lived in, you opted for something small and homely so that you weren’t rattling around in it. Two weeks after moving in, it still felt a little empty to you and so you advertised for a roommate – that was when Lisa came into your life. The two of you had your differences but you loved each other, you supposed she was probably your best friend, not that you were one to give people titles. Lisa was away on a two-week trip to Florence with a few of the people from her major, meaning you had the place to yourself; you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

 “Dinner party went well then?”

 You turned around and were met with the sight of Mark leaning against the wall next to the door of the hotel, he was somewhat hidden from view, his dark clothes melting in to the ebony of the sky. He held a cigarette between his lips and a lighter in his left hand, he took a long, slow drag before plucking it from his lips with his free hand and blowing the smoke in your direction.

 You stifled a cough and rolled your eyes at his actions before continuing in the direction of your apartment, “why are you still here, Mark?” you asked him as you lifted a hand to wipe the tears away from your rosy cheeks, curious as to why he’d hung around for you.

“I thought you’d want a ride home,” he shrugged as he caught up with you, lifting the cigarette again and this time leaving it hanging from his pink lips, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

 “The last thing I need is for my parents to see me on the back of your fucking bike, again.”

 Mark chuckled dryly in response, “did your dad give you a hard time?” he cooed, clearly finding your upset state funny. When you didn’t show any signs of amusement, his cheeky smile turned into something more sincere.

 “I heard what they said to you, you know,” he gave you a pitiful look, “I’m sorry that they treat you like that.”

 You raised your eyebrows and bit back a laugh, “cut the crap, Mark.” He looked a little taken-aback by your curt response, giving you a questioning look as he slowed to a stop beside you. “Don’t act like you suddenly care,” you sighed at his obliviousness, turning to face him.

 Mark Lee was not known for his kindness, caring nature. He was known for being cold and troublesome, he was like a snake; constantly shedding his skin and becoming a different version of himself. One minute he was dangerous and sinful and all things devilish and red, yet the next, he was soft like the feathery wings of an angel with kind eyes; and it was impossible to tell which version of himself he would present to you each time you met.

 You looked at him, really looked at him and took in his appearance. His soft dark hair was falling in his eyes with a slight parting in the middle, his sun-kissed skin rich and deep under the soft, golden light of the street lights you were bathing in. Your gaze fell to his cherry-stained lips and to the glowing stick he held between them, soft clouds of smoke occasionally leaving his lips as he exhaled. The heartbreaking truth was that Mark was attractive, you found him attractive and you didn’t know how to stop the way your breath hitched when you looked into his dark eyes. He was looking at you, observing you in the same way you had been observing him, and it was unnerving. His eyes flitted between your own and your lips briefly before he pulled his gaze away from you and towards the now-familiar motorbike which was sat just a few feet away from where you were stood.

 “Come on, let me take you home.”

 You didn’t talk to Mark as he drove you home aside from directing him to your apartment, it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, though. You were exhausted, and you found yourself feeling a little numb as you clutched Marks waist tightly and pressed a cheek into his back as you closed your eyes. You couldn’t find the energy to think about your father seeing you on the back of Marks bike. If he saw you, then so be it. You were utterly sick to your stomach of the way they pried and warped you into what they thought was the perfect child, the child that their fellow businessmen and women would want to hear about. They objectified you and they underestimated you and it royally pissed you off.

 You found yourself almost enjoying the feeling of betraying them, perhaps you’d take it up as a hobby. Perhaps you’d befriend Mark just to get under their skin, you’d undoubtedly relish in that feeling if you were a little more like the boy who you currently had wrapped in your tight embrace. But you weren’t like that, you were good and caring and you had so much love to give yet nobody to give it to. You couldn’t intentionally play someone like that, it wasn’t within your capability, nor was it your true desire. You didn’t want to use Mark, no matter how perfect it would be or how much it would irritate your parents. So, you pushed your delirious thoughts aside and tightened your hold on Mark as if to thank him for not asking too many questions or rubbing in your ill-fated situation. In response you felt a tight squeeze on your left thigh as he reached back to comfort you subtly, and that was all that was needed for you to begin to feel a little better.

 Mark pulled up outside your apartment building after what felt like forever. You heaved your heavy body off the padded seat behind him, your worn shoes scuffing against the edge of the pavement as you did so, causing you to stumble forward briefly before a strong hand gripped at your waist and pulled you back. You turned around at the sudden feeling of Marks arm wrapping around you, only to notice that you were standing a lot closer to the raven-haired boy than you’d anticipated. He had leaned off his bike a little in order to reach you and you now found yourself brushing up against his jean clad thigh.

 “Easy there, princess,” you could feel his hot breath on your cotton-candy stained cheeks and you struggled to appropriately place your gaze. You’d never been this close to him, face to face anyway, and you found it unsurprisingly intimidating. You observed and noticed his perfectly placed eyebrow piercing, the two silver balls gleaming even in the dark of the night. Marks eyes were deep and dark, black almost, a heavenly contrast to his honey-stained skin. They were half lidded and verging on sultry as he blinked and brought his eyes to meet with yours, his tongue briefly darting out to wet his lips before he gently brought the hand which wasn’t wrapped around your waist up to eye level. He hesitated briefly before he lifted his hand and started to unfasten the strap on the helmet you had borrowed from Donghyuck, “here, let me get that-”.

 Your breath caught in your throat as his hand brushed against your soft skin, the rough texture of his calloused hands contradicting your own smooth, milky complexion. You looked into his eyes as they were concentrated on removing the heavy helmet; he looked so innocent like this, so pure and refined. It was almost like the fire inside him had been dampened momentarily and the ice around his heart was beginning to melt, of course that wouldn’t last. You knew that the next time you saw him, it would be like this hadn’t happened. He would go back to smirking at you or blanking you entirely. It would have been a moment of utter serenity if it weren’t for your caged heart beating at ninety to the dozen inside your chest. You were nervous. Mark made you nervous.

 Once he’d lifted the helmet off, he realised he was still holding you and quickly moved his hand from your waist to rub the back of his neck, you became suddenly all too aware of your close proximity and took a small step back, clearing your throat and crossing your arms in the process. He roughly planted said helmet into your arms with an “I’ll see you around” before he kicked off and left you standing by the side of the road, looking a little flustered.

 Needless to say, the second your head hit your pillow that night, you were out like a light.

 -

 You entered the coffee shop two days later, Thursday, at your normal time of 7:15pm. Only this time you had more of a purpose; you, of course, were looking forward to your latte, but you had also brought Donghyucks helmet since Mark had left it with you.

 “Donghyuck!” you greeted the familiar face as you made your way towards his position behind the counter. “Here” you lifted the heavy black helmet onto the counter for him to take. He thanked you as he took it from you and went to put it in the back room.

You took the chance to look around the room, noticing a few familiar faces, mostly students huddled over their laptops or buried in a pile of dog-eared books. You spotted your usual round table and smiled at the site of the empty chair sat by it. You would soon be just like most of the other customers in the coffee shop, head down and engulfed in a heap of Gustav Klimt books, your chosen artist for this semester.

 “Hey, have you seen Mark around?” you were brought out of your thoughts by the return of the radiant boy in front of you, who was now busying himself with making your coffee.

 “Not since Tuesday, why?”

 “I haven’t seen him since then either, he normally drops me off for my shift today, but he didn’t show,” he replied sounding a little concerned for his troublesome friend. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” you hummed in response.

 You thanked Donghyuck with a warm smile as you paid him for your coffee before taking it over to your table and getting your notebook and a couple of books out of your scruffy bag. The next hour went by relatively quickly, you alternated between writing notes and actually annotating the books in front of you; you had a bad habit of defacing books. Whether it was folding pages or actually drawing on the pristine pages, you enjoyed making them look used and a little haggard.

 You had been so engrossed in your work that you hadn’t noticed Mark’s brief appearance in the cozy coffee shop, he was only present for about 30 seconds before Donghyuck excused himself and stepped outside to talk to his friend. You had your head down when you left through the heavy doors, you weren’t listening as they hushed their conversation at the sight of you, and you didn’t notice when Mark, who was sporting a bruised cheek and a bloody lip, cast his gaze over to you from behind his friends’ shoulder.

 You were living in your head as you walked home that evening, thinking up your future, where you wanted to live, and what you wanted to be doing. You’d just decided that you liked the idea of settling in Paris or somewhere similar when you felt the first sign of rain hit your cheek. You cursed to yourself as you pulled your hood up over your head in an attempt to shelter yourself from the inevitable downpour. You were never prepared when it rained, you usually just wore a hoodie and jeans to uni and you had never got into the habit of carrying a jacket or an umbrella around, you should probably change that, though; it rained a lot in your city.

 Not even two minutes after the rain started, you heard the screeching of tires on the wet road as a familiar looking bike skidded to a stop alongside where you were walking.

 “y/n get on!” Mark yelled over the deafening downpour surrounding you, taking his helmet off as you jogged over to him.

 You weren’t sure why you decided to listen to him, especially after he tried to scare you the last time. Perhaps it was because you knew you’d be home in a fraction of the time if he took you, walking would be at least another twenty minutes. Or maybe part of you actually liked the idea; somewhere deep down in the burning embers of your soul, you quite enjoyed the cryptic boys’ presence. He was everything you had stayed away from up until now, and although you would never admit it aloud, you found yourself reveling in the risk of it all.

 You tried to refuse his helmet, saying that he needed it more, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Just put the damn thing on,” he argued, only moving off once you were sat behind him with his helmet sat snugly on your head.

 Your arms curled around him in the same way you had recently become accustomed to. He was soaked through to the bone and cold, so cold, it seemed Mark wasn’t one for dressing according to the weather either. While you were at least wearing a hoodie, he was only wearing a t-shirt, a white one at that. His muscular back suddenly became painstakingly obvious through his soaked shirt and you tried to focus on the road ahead as you rested your chin on his left shoulder.

 Not even 10 minutes later, you had arrived at your apartment building.

 You jumped off the bike as soon as it had stopped moving, keen to get inside and rid yourself of your drenched clothes as soon as possible; a hot shower sounded absolutely wonderful right now. You expressed your thanks and looked up at Mark to return his helmet to him once you’d wrestled to get your wet hair untangled from the strap, only to see that he had his head hung low and turned away from you.

 “Hey, Mark?” he hummed in response, seeming somewhat distracted. “You good?”

 “Huh? Yeah, I should really go-”

 “Why won’t you look at me?” you hesitantly reach across and hear a sharp intake of breath from him when you grip at his jaw, turning his head to face you for the first time that night. Your breathing faltered at the sight of his black and blue cheekbone and your eyes scanned the rest of his face to discover that his lip was also rather swollen and coated with dry blood.

 “Mark…” you whispered as you ghosted your hand over the tender skin, blinking down at him as his hand gripped at your wrist.

 “It’s fine, y/n,” he gritted his teeth, still not looking up at you.

 “Who did this to you?” you thumbed at his puffy lip gently, the question more rhetorical than anything else.  

 You had never seen the boy before you look so worn out. In fact, you weren’t sure if you had ever witnessed someone being hurt like this before. You blinked twice and moved your hand away from him in order to brush your own disheveled hair out of your eyelashes as you realised that the rain was only becoming heavier.

 “Come inside,” you said unexpectedly, surprising both yourself and the bloodied boy sat before you. You tugged at his sleeve, “just let me help you, as a thank you of sorts”.

 “I really shouldn’t, I-,” you didn’t let him finish, you instead found yourself dragging him away from his beloved black and yellow bike and into shelter.

 He followed you up the stairs until you were on the top floor, you had your key in one hand and his bike helmet in the other. He didn’t speak as you walked up the five flights of stairs, the only sounds were your sopping wet shoes squelching each time you took a step and the shaky breathing coming from the pair of you.

 You stepped into your small apartment with Mark in tow, switching on the lights as soon as you were in the door. You placed your stuff down alongside Marks helmet on the long wooden coffee table in your little living room before disappearing into Lisa’s room to find something for Mark to change out of his wet clothes into. When you walked back into the living room, he was still standing there, hands clasped together and rocking back and forth on his toes lightly.

 “Here, I think this stuff should fit you.”

 Lisa sometimes had boys over, usually they were just one-off flings but sometimes they’d come often enough that she had managed to accumulate a growing pile of their clothes. You’d found a pair of loose black shorts and a large light-grey hoodie that looked around Marks size.

 You directed him to the bathroom so he could change, before turning to your own room and stripping off your drenched clothes, changing into a pair of sweats and a loose fitting shirt as quickly as you could. You grabbed some wet cotton wool and a bag of frozen peas to help take down the swelling, you didn’t have a first aid kit in your apartment, so this would have to suffice. You found Mark sitting on your sofa when you returned, his head leaning on one of his hands whilst he texted someone on his phone with the other. He heard your fluffy sock-clad feed padding against the hard wood floor as you neared him, looking up and instantly turning his phone off and placing it next to him once he realised you had reappeared.

 You knelt down in front of him, placing the frozen bag on the floor beside you and turning your attention to the injured boy.

 “Stay still,” you could feel Marks eyes following your every move. You dabbed at his wounded lip, trying to help take the edge off the sting he must be feeling. You steadied yourself by placing your free hand on his shoulder, causing him to turn his attention to you rather than whatever he found so interesting behind you.

 “Where’d you get the clothes from?” he gestured to the hoodie he was now wearing.

 “Oh, they’re from Lisa’s- my roommate’s ex, I think,” he nodded at your reply.

 “Don’t move,” you whispered as you held his head still and wiped away the remainder of the blood. “It’s not like they’d be from my ex, given that I don’t have one. Or a current boyfriend, for that matter.” Your weak attempt at a joke fell flat as you suddenly realised the implications of what you had just said. Your eyes grew wide, “that was stupid, I don’t know why I said that. I just-”

 Your ramblings were cut short when Mark gripped your arm and took the bloody cotton wool from your hand, dropping it to the floor while keeping his half-lidded gaze on you. He moved your hand to hover just above his heart, resting it there. You kept your eyes on his hand as it covered yours, not daring to look up at him for fear that you may crumble. You felt like putty in his hands and all he was doing was touching your hand. Your face flushed as your hands began to tremble subtly.

 “Do you feel that?” you did. You could feel his heart beating rapidly, just as yours was. “Baby?”

 You dragged your eyes up to meet his and nodded delicately as you let yourself tug at his hoodie a bit, trying to cease the nerves rising up from the pit of your stomach to the very tips of your fingers. Mark lowered his head until his forehead was brushing against yours from his elevated position on the sofa. You could smell the faint scent of cigarette smoke coming from his lips, which were now barely three inches from yours.

“What are you-,” he rubbed his nose against yours and murmured a barely-there “shh,” as his eyes fluttered shut.

 Mark pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips and moved his soft grip from your hand to angle your face up towards him, bringing his other hand up to cup your jaw before moving to plant a slow peck on your plump lips. “y/n?” you hummed when he pulled back a couple of inches, keeping your eyes closed. You didn’t want him to stop and you hated yourself for it. You tugged at his hoodie again, hoping he would understand your signal for him to continue. You didn’t have confidence in words, opting to not say anything and instead moving your left hand up further to reach the nape of his neck, pulling him into you.

 The feeling of having another’s lips pressed against yours was unfamiliar and yet, strangely addictive. Your breathing was getting heavier in sync with his as he left long, drawn out kisses on your lips, alternating between your bottom lip and your top. You found the angle was getting a little awkward and so, with the help of Mark, you sat up on your knees, only staying like that for a moment before you found yourself situated on his lap with your legs on either side of him.

He barely paused for breath before capturing your lips again, this time prodding at your entrance with his slick tongue. The sensation was effortless with him, your lips slotting together over and over again with such ease and precision. His tongue massaged against yours as he relocated his calloused hands to rest around your waist, squeezing the soft flesh as your shirt rode up slightly.

 You let out a soft whimper as his cold hands touched your hot skin and you threaded your fingers through the damp locks of hair at the back of his head, your other hand clenching and unclenching, taking fistfuls of his hoodie as you tried to make the feelings in your chest evaporate. The air was hot and sticky, and you gasped into each-others open mouths, you couldn’t get enough of him.

 Kissing Mark Lee made you feel more alive than you had ever thought possible, it was both heavenly and sinful, and he took all your breath away as if it was nothing. He tasted sweet and smoky and he was enthralling for he was the devils incarnate, yet the most celestial being you had ever laid eyes on. You hated him, you wanted to hate him. But he was radiant and god-like and you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away, for Mark Lee was magnetic and you will forever be drawn to his sacrilegious self.

 You were panting and breathless as you took his lower lip between your teeth and looked into his amorous eyes, but he winced, and you found yourself pulling away from his swollen lips as a coppery taste lathered your tongue. You were flush against him; your immediate proximity making you blush, given the circumstances. “Sorry, I forgot- about your lip I mean,” you stammered out, feeling rather flustered.

 “I’m fine, don’t worry about it,” Mark leant forward to press his lips to yours again messily as he dragged his hands along your thighs, he couldn’t seem to sit still.

 “Mark,” you tried to pull away again, you knew he was using this situation as a distraction. He hummed as he ran one hand up your side until he was cupping your jaw, trailing his wet lips down the side of your neck. “Mark, stop.” You said firmly just as he nipped softly at the flesh under your ear, pushing him tenderly by his shoulders until he was far enough that you could look at him properly.

 “Did I do something?”, his panicked eyes searched your own for an answer.

 You sighed, “no,” as you slid off his lap and made yourself comfortable on the sofa next to him. “I just- why?”

 “Why what, baby?”

 “What did you do to deserve this?” you asked him tenderly as you crossed your legs and turned to face him, tracing your fingers from his harsh eyebrow piercing to the soft skin of his cheekbone. Under the soft light of the lamps in your living room his bruises were faint and indistinct, but they were still there. The black and blue painted on his skin somehow looked pretty, it was a deep contrast to his normal warm tone, but it didn’t exactly look bad – just sore.

 “Can we not talk about this, please?” he groaned as he dropped his head into his hands.

 “Just tell me what happened!” You argued, your voice raised a little in exasperation. You didn’t understand why he was so reluctant to talk to you about it. Everyone knew about Marks reputation, he was known for sporting the odd black eye and not holding his tongue when he should. But as you were sat next to him, you realised that you didn’t actually know why.

 “I can’t-“

 “You can, please-”

 “No, you’re staying out of this y/n,” Marks voice was deep and hoarse as he spoke loudly to you, letting you know that his decision was final.

 “Why won’t you talk to me? Doesn’t this mean anything to you?” you breathed out, as you covered your face with your hands in frustration, letting your elbows rest on your knees, you looked up at the boy before you. “Is this an act of pity or something? Did you only come in because you felt sorry for me?”

 “What? No I-,” his phone ringing cut him off before he could speak further. Mark cursed once he saw who was calling him, “I’m sorry, I have to go, I’ll see you around.” He grabbed his stuff from the table before rushing out the door to answer the phone, leaving you alone and bathing in the now strangely silent room to process everything that had just happened.

 -

  “So, tell me about Florence!”

 Lisa was finally home from her time in Italy, and she’d somehow managed to persuade you that catching up over a drink or two was a good idea. You’d never been the type to drink to get drunk, not that you hadn’t been drunk; it just didn’t happen very often. You were more of a coffee lover, that’s where you and Lisa were different. While you would spend your free time slaving over a book with a steaming mug of coffee, she would spend hers sharing secrets with strangers over a bottle of beer.  You supposed your dynamic wasn’t so different to Donghyuck and Mark, like earth versus fire, air versus water; you were somewhat dependent on eachother, the perfect contradiction.

 “It was incredible, the architecture was phenomenal, as was the art and gosh you would’ve loved the culture!” She gushed excitedly after taking a long gulp of her fruity cocktail.

 If you didn’t know her personally, you might have been jealous of Lisa. Upfront, she seemed unmistakably perfect, her hair was thick and shiny, her skin was clear, and she flourished in social settings. But you did know her, well enough to know that her happy exterior wasn’t always genuine and that she too found life to be rather stressful at times, she was just better at relieving that stress than you were; hence her tendency to party and pick up boys every now and then.

 The two of you talked back and forth about her time in Florence and your time without her, although you failed to mention anything involving Mark, the last thing you needed was Lisa breathing down your neck about something that you weren’t entirely sure about yourself. She raved about the museums and galleries she’d visited and made sure to recite each and every individual piece of art that she’d enjoyed; yes, you were jealous. You were jealous of her freedom and you were jealous of her carefree nature, you wished you could be like that. Perhaps if it weren’t for your family, you would be a little more like Lisa. You thought back to a few days prior when you were sitting behind Mark, clinging to him tightly as the two of you rode through the rain; that was the most unburdened you had felt in a long time.

 You were snapped out of your train of thought by Lisa standing up from her seat next to you at the bar, “I’ll be back in a minute,” she signaled to the bathroom before traipsing away from you, leaving you with your thoughts and a half empty glass of vodka and lemonade.  

 As you waited you found yourself casting your gaze around the busy room; the bar seemed to be teeming with students like you, apart from the odd older guy. You spent a lot of your time observing people and their actions, it was almost like a hobby, being a bystander. There were booths filled with youngsters, chanting and laughing and having the time of their lives, there were bar stools filled with friends downing shots and getting plastered, and then there was you. You, who would rather be at home, curled up and watching a movie with a bowl of shitty popcorn. So, when you were approached by a sleazy looking man who seemed to be rather under the influence, you were somewhat bewildered.

 “Two shots for this lovely lady and I!” He hollered to the barman over the blaring music as he gestured roughly towards you. He reeked of alcohol and sweat, a rather nasty combination which could absolutely not be considered attractive.

 “Oh, no I was just leaving-”

 “C’mon, just one drink!” he interrupted you, sending a ratty smile in your direction.

 “No really, I’d rather not” you raised yourself off the tall stool you had been perched on, reaching for your bag as you desperately tried to remove yourself from the situation. This was why you didn’t like going out, you were terrified of exactly what appeared to be happening right now. You felt vulnerable as soon as he appeared next to you, your instincts quickly telling you that the man before you was bad news.

 He grabbed your wrist firmly, making you wince at the abrupt action. “Don’t touch me,” you seethed as you tried to pry away his painful grip on your wrist.

 “You’re a fair handful,” he slurred as he moved closer to you, moving his other hand to clutch around your waist under your shirt, making you feel uneasy. You could feel tears of panic begin to sting at the corner of your eyes as you looked around frantically in exasperation at the fact that nobody seemed to be aware of what was going on. He pressed himself against you and you were struggling to get away from him as you felt him begin to trail his hand to your backside.

 “Get your fucking hands off her,” a familiar voice threatened from beside you, although you couldn’t quite figure out who it belonged to.

 He didn’t comply. You felt sick.

 He was suddenly ripped away from you as a large hand grasped at the neck of his shirt and a swift punch was thrown, and then another two. “I warned you,” your eyes widened at the scene which was playing out before you.

 “Mark, stop!” you shouted as soon as you recognised the dark mop of hair that you were now well-acquainted with. Of course, he didn’t listen to you.

 The drunk man tried to retaliate but was soon rendered defenseless as he took one final hit to the face and staggered backwards with blood dripping down his chin, “sorry man, didn’t realise she was yours,” he laughed as he spat blood onto the floor and disappeared into the crowd.

 You looked away from the man who was swaying away from you and, sure enough, standing before you was Mark Lee in all his grandeur. He was dressed from head to toe in black and his bruised cheek was mostly faded now, barely visible unless you were really looking for it. His knuckles looked red and sore as he splayed his hand out to check for any broken skin.

 Your devilish savior ignored his distasteful comment as he diverted his attention to you, “are you alright?”

 You shook your head, “I just need to get out of here”. You felt claustrophobic, like you couldn’t breathe. And, god, you were itching to shower and scrub off the feeling of that man’s grimy hands on your body.

 You pulled your gaze away from Mark for a second, just long enough to see Lisa walking your way from the bathroom. “Y/n? What’s going on?” she asked as she looked between you and Mark, who was standing so close that you could feel his hot breath on your neck.

 She undoubtedly knew who Mark was, everybody at your university did. He was striking in both appearance and in demeanor, although not always for the right reasons. And so, she would most likely be wondering what someone like him would be doing speaking to someone like you. The two of you were so drastically different; if he was the devil then you were the purest sinner to walk this earth. He was dripping in warning signs, he radiated bad news, yet you found yourself being drawn to him like a moth to a flame, and it would appear that he too found himself unable to shake you from his mind.

 “Nothing, it’s fine.”

 “Why is he here?” she nodded to the boy standing behind you, sending you a look of questioning.

 You heard Mark scoff under his breath as you glanced round to him, trying to think up an excuse to leave the bar that wouldn’t lead to a lengthy conversation with Lisa later.

 “Something came up, I’m sorry. I can’t stay,” you offered her with pleading eyes, praying she would understand your need to leave, even if she didn’t know the reason behind it.

 “Alright, be safe,” she responded with a sigh and a quick hug, and with that, you turned on your heel and walked quickly out the door.

 You could feel Marks presence behind you as you walked along the pavement with your head hung low, your feet dragging and scuffing along the stone as you sifted through the multitude of thoughts that had gathered in your head. The two of you walked in a comfortable silence for a while, you breathed in the cold city air and exhaled heavily through your mouth as you tilted your head to gaze up at the dark sky which was faintly painted with the warm glow of the city lights.

 You could breathe clearly out in the fresh air, the sticky heat of the bar finally cooling on your skin; it wasn’t a particularly nice feeling but it was better than being coated in the sensation of a strangers touch.

 Your phone buzzed, pulling you out of your trance-like state, you reached into your pocket and fished it out, stopping dead in your tracks as you read the message on your lit-up screen.

 [dad]

One of my business associates just saw you leaving a bar with that boy, remember what I told you, y/n.

 You rushed to turn around as you looked back along the long stretch of street in search of someone looking at the two of you, but you saw no one. You were nearing the canal just to the west of the city centre and the street lighting was limited, not giving you the best view of the road you’d just walked down. Mark looked at you in confusion as he lifted his hands to rest on your shoulders and looked into your fiery eyes, “is everything okay?”

 You shook your head and shrugged off his hold on you, already beginning to walk again, more hurriedly this time. “You have to leave, Mark,” you told him firmly as you breathed in shakily.

 “What, why?” he questioned as he crept up beside you, easily matching your determined stride.

 “Please just- it’s for your own safety, I can’t be seen with you,” you told him truthfully, knowing that it sounded a little harsh. Your dad was, however, a powerful man, and you didn’t doubt for a second that he would do whatever he deemed necessary to get what he wanted; and if he wanted you to stop seeing Mark, then he would not hesitate to dispose of him in some way. All for his stupid business and riches. All your parents seemed to care about was their reputation, as long as their names, yours included, were untarnished, the company would keep raking in stacks of money and numerous money-making deals. And they would do whatever they had to, get rid of whoever they had to, in order to keep it that way. They’d been like this for as long as you could remember and there was no part of you that would ever be able to challenge your father’s threats. Because that’s what they were; threats. And he meant every word that he said.

 “Y/n, what the hell are you talking about? If this is about the bar or the other night then I’m sorry I-,” he shut up when you turned to face him once more and gripped both his hands in yours, lacing them together intimately. His brows furrowed as he looked down to your interlaced fingers and then back up to your eyes.

 “Please, Mark.”

 “I don’t understand?”

 You sighed up at the dangerous boy before you, trying to think of an appropriate way of telling him that your father probably wanted to kill him just for being near you. “My dad doesn’t – he doesn’t like you”

 “Your dad? I haven’t ever met him, though?” his face twists as he processes the information, struggling to fathom how your father could possibly have an opinion on someone who he’d never even spoken to before.

 “That doesn’t matter, you don’t exactly-,” you paused and chewed at your bottom lip, tilting your head to look at your feet and lowering your voice to a whisper, “- have the best reputation.”

 He squeezed your intertwined hands comfortingly as he sighed, dragging your hands up to rest around his neck gently before circling his arms around your waist and pulling you close to him.

 Mark wasn’t particularly proud of his not-so-perfect character, he knew that people talked about him, he knew that he didn’t do himself any favours by consistently sporting some form of bruising or blemish and getting himself into fights. But Mark was soft, too. He had a heart of gold when it mattered; he was like the purest form of oxygen in a smoky room, he never failed to show his good side when his loved ones were in need.

 “I’m not all bad, you know, princess” he chuckled soothingly, his breath tickling against your face.  

 Your fingers played with the soft tufts of hair at the nape of his neck, “I don’t want you to get hurt-,” you started, stopping to think quickly. You weren’t sure where these feelings were coming from. You’d barely known Mark until a couple of weeks ago, the two of you having never payed eachother any great amount of attention before, but Donghyuck had introduced him into your life and now you couldn’t seem to shake him from your mind.

 “-because for some reason, I care about whether you get hurt or not,” you laughed breathlessly, rolling your eyes as you looked up to the sky once more, perhaps searching for the answers to all the questions swimming around in your head at the moment.

 “Can I kiss you?”

 You shook your head, chuckling nervously at his question, it was so very Mark. He managed to completely ignore your concern, instead opting to act on his own thoughts. “Have you listened to anything I’ve said?” you said in exasperation, feeling somewhat frustrated.

 “Yes, I have, but I don’t care, y/n. I’m not going to leave, your dad doesn’t scare me, and you make my heart beat far faster than I’d ever care to admit - I know you feel it too. So please, y/n, let me just have this,” he pulled you closer by your waist as he let himself wear his heart on his sleeve momentarily, pleadingly looking into your eyes.

 “He’ll kill you, you know,” you warned faintly.

 “I can take care of myself.”

 “I know I just- I think you’re underestimating this. He’s powerful and he warned me to stay away from you. Hell, you barely even know me, Mark, I’m really not worth this-,” you gasped as you felt one of his large hands squeeze your waist and he used the opportunity to shut you up completely, mumbling a soft “stop talking,” before pressing his lips to yours in one swift motion.

 You stayed like that for a moment, your body flushed against Marks chest as he held you tightly to him, as if he were afraid that you would disappear if he wasn’t too careful. He soon pulled back just far enough to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed. You admired his dark lashes fluttering against his satin skin and the way his lips were full and wet from your kiss, he was breathtaking. You couldn’t deny your attraction to him, your heart practically begging to be released from its cage whenever he was close to you like this; he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

 “This is dangerous,” you whispered, encouraging him to open his doe eyes as he parted his lips a little in thought.

 “You look so good right now, I just- I can’t,” he stumbled over his words, his voice breaking under your gaze. “God, I like you so much.”

 You would have giggled at how he sounded like a schoolboy if he hadn’t kissed you again, gliding his right hand up your body until he was cupping your velvety skin and pulling you closer still. He kissed you with so much feeling and emotion, you barely recognised him as the boy you had first met anymore. His cold, harsh exterior completely melting away under your gentle touch. He let himself groan as you kissed him back with just as much ardour, letting your tongue gently pry his lips apart as you tried to convey your feelings for him. You let yourself momentarily forget the posing threat from your dad, enjoying Marks successful attempt at distracting you from it.

 His touch was fiery-hot, his hands leaving a burning trail in their wake as he touched you delicately, as though you were a doll who might break if you fell into the wrong hands. He pulled away once more and grasped your hand in his before leading you away from the canal and towards his home.

 -

 Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of a hushed voice nearby, propping yourself up with one hand and rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with the other. You blinked groggily several times before you managed to keep your eyes open for long enough to sit up with your legs dangling off the side of the unfamiliar mattress, the cool air of the room making your hairs stand on end. You looked down at your cold legs and noticed that you were only wearing an oversized shirt with your underwear – the shirt, you recalled, was Mark’s.

 He’d brought you back home with him last night, you didn’t really feel like going home and explaining the events of the night to Lisa. Your brain was still half asleep and hazy as you tried to recall all that had happened yesterday; you could remember Mark offering to sleep on the sofa, but you also recounted that you’d asked him if he could stay with you, his presence alone helping you feel at-ease. He made sure to keep his distance, to keep to his side of the bed, even if he was itching to reach across the sea of sheets to hold you. He made you feel warm and safe and at-ease and that scared you a little – how quickly he’d earned your trust, if that’s what you could call it.

 You couldn’t make out the muffled voice coming from next door, but you imagined he was probably just on the phone to someone. You stifled a yawn as you reached for your phone, which had been thrown onto the carpeted floor by the mattress in haste before you knocked out fast asleep last night. The time was only just gone 7am, you wondered who Mark could be speaking to this early, a friend possibly? A parent? It was when you thought about things like this that you realised just how little you really knew about him. You knew that he liked living more dangerously than most, that he had an unhealthy love for driving his motorcycle too fast, too late, and too often, you also knew of his friendship with Donghyuck; but after that, you struggled to find anything you could add to the list. You barely knew the boy.

 “Sorry, did I wake you?” he called from the doorway, startling you out of your tired thoughts. You looked up and felt the air leave your lungs as you saw him; he looked ethereal. He was leaning with his left shoulder against the flakily-painted frame, his navy-blue hoodie was too big and his honey-coloured collarbones were only half hidden by the drooping neck of his bed-attire. His boxers were fitted to his thighs and you had to pull your gaze away to stop the inevitable blush that would otherwise creep up your neck. He’d probably already noticed your staring, anyway.

 “Yeah, but it’s okay,” you said groggily as you stretched your arms back to relieve your aching shoulder-blades – you must have slept on them funny.

 You made the effort to stand up but were swiftly turned back around as Mark placed his warm hand on the small of your back and guided you back to the plush mess of bedding and blankets. You lay back down on your side, with your head facing the door and your back to Marks side of the bed. The sheets smelled of him, you realised. A little musky perhaps, like cinnamon and spice. His aroma was warm and comforting as you pulled the duvet up to rest just beneath your chin to try and keep out the chill of the room, your hands clasping together just below the covers. You felt the bed dip as he sunk into the pillows beside you, his breathing was shallow and yet you could somehow still just make it out over the quiet sounds of the city outside waking up.

 “Do you mind if I- can I lay with you?” he asked you, sounding unusually shy, although maybe it was just his lack of sleep.

 “You lay with me last night, Mark” you chuckled.

 “No, I mean-,” he cut himself off, shuffling around behind you until you felt his arm reach around your waist tenderly. His chest was radiating his body heat, just a couple of centimeters from touching yours. “Like this,” he whispered in your ear, softly pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear as he grasped your clasped hands in his blindly.

 “Oh” you replied, barely there. He made your brain go mushy and you were still so tired, having not gone to sleep until late. You wiggled yourself backwards a little, just enough so that you could feel his heartbeat on your clothed back as arm tightened around you. “Let’s just stay like this forever, it’s so nice,” you murmured, letting your eyes fall shut as you basked in Marks warm embrace.

 A few hours later, you find yourself back in your apartment. You’re nestled into the warmth of your sofa with your legs tucked into your chest and a pillow hugged tight to your chest. Lisa was sat next to you, in an equally relaxed position, her fluffy socks tickling at your side faintly.

 “He gave you a ride? Twice? On his bike?” she repeated fragments of what you’d told her back to you. You’d told her more than that, but her eyes grew wide the second you had mentioned Marks name. You nodded in response, “yes?”

 She breathed out heavily, “he’s hot too, do you know what you’re getting into?” she wiggled her eyebrows at you, making you laugh and throw the pillow you were hugging at her. She shrugged, “hey! I’m just saying, the attractive ones always cause the most trouble”.

 You didn’t reply, instead you placed your head in your hands and lulled to the side, looking up at her and sighing like a lovesick puppy. “I really like him, Lisa,” you mumbled, the atmosphere turning more serious, “I just don’t wanna get hurt”.

 “You have to see past that. Live a little, y/n, let yourself loose for a bit,” she told you. You knew that she was probably right, and that she was only encouraging you to do what she knew best. It was easy for Lisa to say that, she was renowned for her extroverted, care-free personality, and you did sometimes envy that. But maybe it was time to take a leaf from her book, you didn’t know what would happen with Mark, you just knew that there was a strong connection between you two that you couldn’t ignore anymore. You couldn’t keep fighting against it. No matter how much you willed yourself to hate him, you never could. He was so much softer than you thought, there was more substance to him.

 He was bright and full and carefree, almost the exact opposite to you. He was a little similar to Lisa, actually, just more devious. More devilish. You could see that his harsh front was beginning to melt around you, though. You seemed to have some kind of effect on him, and he hated that. You loved it. You found yourself wanting to get to know the boy hidden beneath all those layers of toughened-up skin. “Maybe I will,” you replied, with a knowing smile on your face.

 -

 Your lips parted as you panted, out of breath as you pulled back for air, throwing a quick glance to your buzzing phone, signaling yet another call from your father; you ignored it. Marks lips trailed lazily down your neck as he kissed faint flowering bruises into your soft skin, his teeth occasionally nipping and biting at the juncture of your neck. You closed your eyes in bliss and threaded your fingers through his curly, raven hair, tugging at it to signal your enjoyment.

 Your father had been texting you and leaving you voicemail messages frequently over the past week. At first you were concerned for Marks safety, but it seemed that his threats were empty as nothing had come of them yet. And so, you found yourself seated in Marks lap for the third time that week. He let out a low groan as you tugged at his hair once more and shifted slightly in his lap, “stop moving, baby,” he mumbled into the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly as he squeezed you into his embrace.

 A knock at the door of Marks small, one-bed apartment stilled the pair of you. He lifted his head up to look at you with a cheeky smile, “what?” you looked down at him with wide eyes.

 “You’ll see,” he replied as he placed a soft kiss on your plump lips before picking you up off his lap and placing you down on the warm blanket-covered sofa, you crossed your legs and looked up to him in anticipation.

 He padded over to the front door, just out of your line of sight, you heard him open the door and engage in conversation with the visitor. You glanced around the room and took in your surroundings, observing, as you always did. You’d been in Marks apartment two or three times by now, he seemed to keep it relatively clean, everything seemed to have its place.  You squinted as you noticed a sliver of silver on the bookshelf in the corner of the room, it seemed to be an expensive looking watch, a rolex, perhaps. It looked to be of that sort of style. You wondered briefly how Mark would come by such an expensive watch but didn’t think much of it, perhaps it was a family heirloom?

 Your gaze trailed down as you noticed a hard, black case protruding from its space under the shelf. It didn’t look like a briefcase, in fact it looked to be rather heavy-duty and you wondered what on earth Mark would have one for, you’d only ever seen things like that when people were housing weapons or something similar. You knew this because your father liked to keep cases full of handguns around your house, not that you were supposed to know, you were merely a curious child who went snooping where you shouldn’t have.

 “Hey, so pepperoni or cheese?” you snapped your gaze from the case over to Mark who was just emerging from the hallway to the front door, two greasy pizza boxes in hand. A warm smile lit up your face as the delicious smell of pizza filled the room, “you ordered pizza?”

 “Yeah, I figured you’d be hungry, you do like pizza, right?”

 “Of course,” you hummed, shuffling over to make room for Mark to sit next to you.

 You spent the next two hours sharing the food between you and talking, laughing like normal youngsters should. It felt good to finally be in each other’s company without watching your back or worrying about the future. You had the television on in the background, it was playing an old black and white film that you weren’t really paying attention to, and you felt at home.

 Mark placed the empty boxes on the coffee table once you’d finished with them, pulling you into him and tangling his legs with yours as you rested your head on his chest and listened to his quickened heartbeat. “What do you do? You know, when you’re not causing trouble”

 He visibly tensed at your question and looked away from you as he thought of what to reply “I work for a company, just running errands. It’s nothing special,” he shrugged, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You mind if I smoke?” you shook your head.

 “That sounds a bit boring,” you yawned into his chest, feeling the vibrations of his chest as he let out a soft laugh. He leaned over you momentarily to reach for his pack of cigarettes before leaning back again and fishing his lighter from his pocket.

 “Yeah, I guess it is,” he replied as he caught a cigarette between his lips and brought his lighter up to encase the stick in a flame, leaving behind a glowing tip. He took a long drag, letting his eyes flutter shut in bliss for a second before blowing the smoke out, angling his head up so as to not blow it in your direction.

 “Why don’t you quit?” you coughed a little, fanning away the smoke that had snaked its way down to you.

 “Smoking or work?”

 “Work,” you chuckled, glancing up at him and tracing a finger along his jawline. Admiring the way his jaw flexed as he exhaled another plume of smoke.

“It pays well”

 “You get paid well for running errands?” you raised an eyebrow at him, not quite believing his reasoning.

 “Yes?”

 Before you can say anything else, Marks phone rings from its place on the floor by the empty pizza boxes. “Shit I better get that-,” he lifted the cigarette from his lips and stubbed it out in the ashtray on the table after taking a final, lengthy drag from the glowing stick.

 “It’s okay, I should probably head home anyway,” you cut him off, it was getting late and you didn’t plan on staying the night, you had a 9am lecture the next morning.

 “Alright, baby. Get home safe,” he stood up, pulling you up with him and pulling you in to press a peck on your supple lips, and then another slightly more drawn out kiss before you dragged yourself away from him, not wanting to get carried away. He tasted like wispy smoke and peppermint again and you could so easily get lost in his lips, the effort to pull away proving to be gallant.

 “I’ll see you later,” you blushed up at him, fiddling with the sleeves of your jumper. You turned your back and walked towards the exit, hearing him pick up his phone and answer the incessant ringing. His voice was muffled through the thin wall of his main corridor, and although you knew it was wrong, you found yourself listening.

 “Hey, Sicheng. What’s up?”

 “No, not yet. Hey, can we talk about this later? Now’s not a good time, man.”

 You could picture Mark furrowing his brows in frustration as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration, smiling softly to yourself as you slipped on your shoes.

 “Yeah, y/n just left, actually”

 “Yes, Sicheng. I know”

 “I’ll do it soon, I swear”

 Your ears perked up at the mention of your name and you suddenly felt like you were invading his privacy by staying and listening to this conversation. You didn’t feel comfortable hearing information you probably shouldn’t have been privy to. And so, you slipped out of Marks warm apartment as quietly as you could and walked home at a brisk pace, eager to jump into the comfort of your own bed and fall asleep.

 -

 “That’s all for today, don’t forget your deadline next week!” you stood up from your seat in the lecture hall and stuffed your laptop and notebook into your scruffy bag before walking down the stairs to the exit. You’d just finished a two-hour lecture on the history of fine art, the one part of your major that you didn’t absolutely love. It’s not that you didn’t find it interesting, you just felt that it dragged on sometimes; half an hour felt like twice as long in that class.

 You left the room as quickly as you could, already imagining how good your Thursday latte would taste once you made it to the coffee shop. You were too wrapped up in your own thoughts to notice the boy walking in your direction until you bumped into a firm structure, far broader and taller than your own.

 You looked up and smiled as your eyes were met with the pretty sight of Mark’s curly black hair - messy as always, yet still so perfect. “Hi” you grimaced up at him through your lashes.

 “Hey, princess-” he chuckled, “-mind if I join you?” He didn’t give you time to reply as he took your hand in his and pulled you out of your lecture building. “I’m guessing you’re heading to Hyuck’s café?”

 “Yeah” you replied quietly as you glanced down at your intertwined hands, a rosy blush spreading its way up your neck and onto the apples of your cheeks, you tried not to smile too much. You hated the effect he had on you. He had the ability to turn you into a blushing mess at the drop of a hat, and he made it look so easy, it’s like he didn’t even have to try. You wiggled your way out of his grasp, remembering that you were in public. The last thing you wanted was for one of your dads associates to report something back to him, again.

 “How was your day?” he peered across to you, ignoring the way you had separated yourself from him.

 “It’s been alright, pretty standard. How did you know where to find me?” you replied in question, wiggling your eyebrows up at him, “stalker” you giggled, watching as he opened his mouth to respond, shutting it before he could say anything. He looked like a fish.

 “You mind if we take the bike?” he nodded his head towards the striking motorcycle just ahead of you, it wasn’t parked very carefully. He had obviously just pulled up and jumped off in a rush.

 “Oh, it’s okay I can just walk-”

 “Nonsense, baby. Hop on,” he picked up his helmet, placing it on your head and fastening the strap under your chin. “Perfect” he smiled once he was done, admiring how you looked in the soft light of the early evening for the first time. His smile was sad, though you didn’t really think anything of it.

 The two of you usually crossed paths when the sun had set, and the stars were visible for the night, it was nice to see Mark in the golden hour of the day for once. His skin was glowing as he bathed in the light, his black curly hair a stark contrast as his messy locks fell against his forehead and into his eyes. He looked breathtaking, although you supposed that shouldn’t really come as a surprise to you anymore; Mark always looked breathtaking, ethereal even. It was as if he was sculpted by the gods themselves, his beauty truly not of this world.

 You rode through the city, the warm air blowing your hair over your shoulders as your arms automatically wrapped themselves snugly around Marks toned core.

 You found yourself in a state of serenity when you were close to him like this. His warmth and his intoxicating aroma were the deadliest of all combinations. Truthfully, if Mark was an erupting volcano, you would most likely swim towards his lethal inferno. You didn’t understand why you felt this way; he had some unknown, invisible control over you and you were sure you were already addicted.

 “Oh, crap,” you heard under a hushed breath from in front of you. Mark was looking from side to side in a frantic motion, his sudden state of distress immediately alarming you.

 “Mark?” he muttered something that you didn’t quite catch, ignoring your questioning plea. The air around you turned static at the revving of an engine or two coming from right behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck raised into goosebumps and you called out his name once more.

 “It’s fine, baby- shit-” you heard a sharp intake of breath and you lifted your head slightly so that you could rest your forehead on Marks shoulder, letting your eyes screw tightly shut.

 The bike swerved violently to the right as you heard the first gun-shot ring out, it’s deafening sound leaving a painful ringing in your ears. “What the fuck was that? Was that a gun-shot? Holy crap, oh my God-” you stopped yourself and were now verging on terrified as you buried your face further into his warm body. “Mark? What’s going on?”

 “Just hold on real tight, okay?” he briefly glanced back to your quivering, hunched over figure, placing a reassuring hand on the lower part of your thigh, hoping to send you some form of comfort – it didn’t really work. “We’re gonna be fine”

 He seemed determined to get you both out of this mess unscathed, urging his bike to reach dangerous speeds as he steered you both through the bustling traffic of the city, weaving between cars and turning down backstreets, trying desperately to lose your unwanted companions. His entire body was tensed - you could feel it. The adrenaline that was rushing through his blood was causing his veins to pulsate and protrude and his arms were firm with concentration, his grip on the handles of his motorcycle never wavering.

 Another shot rang out. The bike juddered speedily along a small one-way street as you both felt the impact of a bullet nestling itself into the framework; luckily not hindering your getaway speed. “For fucks sake” he cursed as he noted the damage to his precious motorcycle.

 You were muttering a mantra under your breath as you prayed to the Gods that you didn’t believe in; you prayed to Ares and Dionysus and Hades. You chanted and begged to Marks Godlike entity, willing the gunfire to end and for you to be able to have him in piece. You just wanted to be with Mark. That was all. You wanted to enjoy his presence without constantly feeling the watchful gaze of someone lurking in the shadows. You’d been on edge about it ever since you’d received that text, maybe this was your punishment. Perhaps you’d have to endure this as your comeuppance, your retribution for disobeying your fathers’ wishes. What you didn’t realise, however, was that your father wasn’t your greatest threat.

 The wind only grew colder as you sped along the quiet streets, it seemed that Mark was leading you out of the city and away from the bustling streets. The cloud of polluted air covering the city faded until you could only smell fresh, salty air and the never-ending traffic blurred into the soft sound of waves crashing against the sand of the nearby beach. Mark had brought you to the sea.

 “They’re gone” he called over his shoulder as you slowed to a halt at the empty end of the beach. You didn’t dare move from your place behind him, holding him so tightly you feared you may be suffocating him, but he didn’t complain. He instead hung his head low and released his grip on the handlebars, opting to drop his head into his hands and let out the breath he’d been holding in for the past fifteen minutes. “C’mon”.

 You took the hand that Mark offered you once he’d stepped onto the rotting wood of the boardwalk next to you, letting him help your shaking form stand up. You looked up at him with fearful eyes, you didn’t know what to think. Who were they? Had your dad sent them after Mark? After you? You weren’t sure if you wanted to know, you were just glad to be standing back on your own two feet and by the safety of the ocean. You felt safe with Mark, regardless.

You let him guide you down the grassy dunes and onto the soft white sand, neither of you exchanging any words for quite some time. You were in shock, perhaps. You weren’t really sure where to begin. The two of you took your time drinking in the lengthy stretch of sand before you, hands loosely linked together in an attempt to reassure one another that you were both okay.

 It was Mark who spoke up first. He let out a shaky sigh after you’d been walking aimlessly along the beach for several painfully silent minutes. “I guess I should probably start talking, right?” he let out a nervous laugh and lifted his free hand to rub at the back of his neck, something you’d picked up on as a nervous habit of his.

 You looked up at him, the look in your eyes enough to tell him that he should explain himself.

 “The company I work for, the errands I run aren’t exactly legal” he started, not even able to look you in the eye as he spoke. “I’m so sorry you’re caught up in this, y/n,” his voice breaking as he spoke.

 “What do you mean? I’m not caught up in anything. We lost them, Mark. We’re alright.” You stopped walking, tugging on his hand until he turned around and stood in front of you. The almighty, Godlike figure you’d first met suddenly looked like a trembling mess, his tough gaze breaking under your scrutiny.

 “God, I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you.” Mark whispered softly as he looked into your eyes, his pupils flitting around your face, he seemed uneasy. You weren’t entirely sure you’d heard him correctly, though. Mark loved you. He loved you, and you were too stupid to see it. “Why did it have to be you?”

 As you looked up at the raven-haired boy, you realised something. Or rather, you understood something. You understood what it felt like to have something that you never wanted to lose. In the few fleeting weeks you’d known Mark, you’d grown to care for him. His towering frame made you feel small and helpless but being in his presence somehow also made you feel powerful and free. When you were with him, it felt like nothing else mattered, he was everything; he was the air that you breathed, the drug that you were addicted to, the celestial being that you didn’t know you craved so badly until he’d first kissed you. You needed him, and perhaps you did love him, even after only a short time, you’d grown so attached.

 He plucked his phone from his pocket and looked at the text he’d seemingly just received, swiftly putting it back in his pocket before you could see, “Not now, God. Not yet.” He muttered frantically, he was manic, the look in his eyes unlike anything he’d ever expressed to you before.

 “This wasn’t the plan, this wasn’t meant to happen. I’ve fucked this all up and I cannot express how sorry I truly am-,” he cut his rambling off when you reached up to cup his face in the smooth palms of your hands, stroking your thumbs lovingly over his cheeks. He was a wreck, a trembling cage of beauty in your hands, and you wanted nothing more than to kiss his fears away.

 “They gave me an assignment and I don’t know what I was thinking when I accepted it,” he searched your eyes in panic, lifting his own large palms to cover your dainty hands, pulling your hands down to rest on his broad chest. “They’ll kill me if I don’t deliver, I always complete my missions, I-” he heaved out a deep breath and gave himself a moment to think. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

 “Baby, it’s okay. We can figure this out together, alright?” you were calm as you spoke, although your heart was racing ninety to the dozen. You were scared, yes. But Mark made you feel safe, you had nothing to fear when you were with him, that much you were sure of now.

 You grasped his hands tightly in yours as he held them against his own chest, the thundering beat of his heart hard to miss. “I love you.”

 “Let me love you, Mark,” you trained your eyes on his lips and leaned into him, melting into his embrace completely the second your lips met his. You kissed him so delicately, letting your feelings mold into every fibre of his being with each and every peck, each time your lips met becoming more and more heavenly. He wrapped you up in his arms and you couldn’t possibly be any closer to one another no matter how hard you tried; your chests were pressed flush against each other, your hands touching every inch of skin as your tongues met in a passionate dance.

 “Don’t shut me out any longer,” you gasped as you broke away for air momentarily, before reattaching your lips to his in a drawn-out kiss. “I can’t get enough of you, Mark,” you panted, digging your fingertips into his shoulders in utter, blown-out bliss.

 Marks hands travelled from yours to meet around your waist, your lower back, your hips, your neck. He was touching you everywhere, like it was the last time he would touch you, kiss you, like this. His lips sucked on yours and his kisses were feverish and open mouthed, his thigh propped between your legs as he tried to keep you both steady. He finally settled one of his hands to rest between your ear and your jaw, pulling away to admire your wind-swept state in the heat of the moment. “You’re beautiful, y/n. You know that?” you could see tears beginning to form in the corners of the gorgeous, doe eyes you’d fallen into so deeply, his gaze leering so heavily into your own.

 He pressed a final, barely-there kiss to your supple lips before dropping his head into the crook of your neck languidly. His hot breath stuttered against your neck, your hairs standing on end as you bathed in his being. His hold on you felt like molten lava against your skin, his very touch burning hot onto your sensitive skin, leaving red trails wherever his fingertips travelled.

 “I love you, please forgive me,” he sounded distraught.

 You felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, and another shiver once you felt the cold metal come between your bodies, although you didn’t have time to react before you felt it, before you heard it. The sound in itself would have been enough to make you faint, it was piercing and deadly and you were gone. The gun between you fell to the floor as Mark shook violently in horror at your now limp body, which had now fallen, crumbled lifelessly into his arms. Your heart. He’d shot you straight through your heart, he’d put a bullet through all your love for him.

 “I’m so sorry,” he was hysterical, yet unnervingly tranquil at the same time.  

 “They told me I had to kill you. Your fathers’ company is our biggest threat and I-,” he paused, shaking his head as the tears began to cascade silently down his cheeks. “I had to do it. I had to make him vulnerable, I had to put work first.”

 “I didn’t have a choice, I’m so fucking sorry, y/n,” he lowered himself to the ground and sobbed as his arms thrashed into your unmoving body, his fists clenching at your blood-soaked clothes. The colour drained from your skin and in turn, Marks face paled in trepidation, his heart felt heavy, yet so incredibly empty. He loves you, but he’d shot you. You were dead.

[the-nysh]

So apparently there’s been a particular reaction among a part of jp fandom regarding 284, that Bakugo evaluating his feelings for Deku is seen as him accepting “stalker Deku”. Have you seen this take yet? If so, what do you make of it?

Interestingly enough, I just so happened to be browsing reddit when I got this, and recognized some very familiar rewordings from my asks by the user PocketPika over there on some of their threads, where this very topic gets mentioned too (so hey, if this is just a coincidence, or if you’re truly here reading/interacting with my blog, then hi! :D) I’ve also happened to see it vagued about on some of Roo’s tweets the other day, since she’s interested in the jp fandom’s reception of the latest chapter too.

Since I don’t have all the context (and cause I can’t follow/read what the jp fandom says either) apparently it’s kinda like a viral meme reaction? (Not that serious?) Or perhaps it’s from some of the hardcore Bakugou stans feeling the need to see some sort of equivalent acknowledgement/check from Deku’s side of the behavior. Because it is true that when they were kids, Deku always kept following and observing him as his closest inspiration, no matter how many times Kacchan pushed him back to stop that. (Kacchan most often kept his distance and did not actively seek Deku out as many might assume; the worst behavior was actually in response to Deku either getting in his way, or encroaching far too close for his comfort...while both misreading and fearing Deku’s intent too.) Going so far as to call that behavior of Deku’s ‘stalkerish’ seems a bit extreme (since they were kids? and many current instances of that behavior seem to be read as gags) but it’s also true that Deku was not 100% innocent either. (He’s not some ‘uwu helpless baby’; he’d stand up for himself and not back down no matter what, which is the kinda spirit that clashed and would get Kacchan to react so strongly back.)

Anyway, my main takeaway is that...if this is a legitimate concern (and not just a meme/joke) from the jp fandom, and something they really wanna see addressed someday in the manga too (about how Kacchan truly felt about that side of Deku too, not just the unease from his self-sacrificial side) then...perhaps it could be another thing for Kacchan to bring up whenever he works up the courage (and gets the chance) to come clean and talk to Deku about all his concerns/worries for him. As it feels like Hori’s really building things up and pushing for another...point of ‘contact’ (DvsK3?) between them soon. Whether that’s Kacchan admitting his worries for him and finally getting thru to Deku about making him realize how dangerous his reckless self-sacrificial tendency is, combined with an apology from his side of the past poor behavior...then in that way, I could see where some of the jp fandom might be coming from, to not make such a future ‘apology scene’ seem so heavily one-sided without Deku also owning up to those other behaviors (in this case, what they refer to as ‘stalking’) that rubbed Kacchan the wrong way too. :O For more of that equal acknowledgement on both sides, to come closer together on the same page. (However, I can also see Deku overly apologizing for upsetting Kacchan in any way too, and that would...unfortunately derail from Kacchan’s attempt to honestly come clean/approach him during his big moment...so ack, they’re disasters.)

However, I also feel that Hori won’t cover everything so soon (as in a ‘get everything over with now’ kinda deal), cause this is a slow burn after all, and these things take baby steps and time. Cause right now, my biggest concern is how on earth they’ll make it out of this current Shiggy battle intact! D8 There’s gonna be so much damage (both physical and emotional) for them to deal with and recover from first, and there’s really no telling how the battle will end or what Hori’s planning for the climax (maybe Kacchan does something himself for a direct intervention). Whatever Hori’s planning, for right now and down the line for them, he’s also shown he knows what he’s doing (handles things carefully when the topic needs that level of attention). So in general I’d say hang tight without concluding things before they actually happen, but also how it seems he may be privy to some of the fandom’s takes as well (esp the jp side). To at least be aware of and perhaps take their feedback into consideration when he eventually covers these things too. I’m willing to see what Hori’s got first, at least!

[captain-flint]

(1/2) Buck really is the best 😍 this has been my main takeaway from 911. Kinda frustrated that his team seems to think he’s stupid (Maddie wrote the essay for you; you can’t do math) and that he doesn’t really get to do any of the EMT side of the job since Eddie came along. I hope Buck Begins establishes that he actually is smart (like an old teacher/professor can come by and be like “my best student!” and the firefam can be like 😦)

(2/2) Also hope at some point the lawsuit stops being about “forgiving” Buck & starts to be something the firefam accepts responsibility for. Like Bobby treated buck unfairly compared to the others. Buck fought so hard to get back & nothing about his health changed when he was allowed back on active duty so we know it was BS. Eddie blamed Buck for his anger & stopped Chris from seeing him. Chim & hen were forgiving but still Buck didn’t get a welcome back party like Hen insisted on for Chimney. 

YOU’RE RIGHT AND YOU SHOULD SAY IT! 

the thing that hurts me the most is the firefam mocking buck whenever he doesn’t understand a pop culture reference or gives off the ‘dumb blond’ vibe. i really don’t think he’s an idiot, he’s the one who always thinks outside the box and comes up with foolproof solutions to  certain problems. his eagerness to please or simple frustration sometimes make him do or say something before he thinks, but that in no way means he’s stupid. he reads a lot when he’s on his own, even autobiographies, or goes through borderline obsessive internet researches to familiarize himself with whatever is currently going on around him. he has great memory and he wants to know more! i think him not knowing popular references has a lot to do with his upbringing, which i hope we’ll learn about more. there’s no way he wouldn’t know who rambo was if he was growing up like a normal kid. i hope the writers don’t make buck 1.0 his actual personality in ‘buck begins’, bc it felt more like a coping mechanism for whatever fucked him up as a kid/teenager, rather than who he really was, which is what we’re seeing now. buckaroo is SMART and he deserves to show it!

as for the lawsuit, i feel that too. after rewatching it a couple of times, i now firmly stand on buck’s side, even though the rest of the team didn’t really deserve to be brought into it and dragged as they were, so i understood their anger. i understood bobby’s overprotectiveness too, but i think he grossly underestimated buck’s ‘newfound’ maturity and devotion to the job. it was so frustrating watching him keep buck at arm’s length and denying him work over and over to the point it just became mean and vindictive. eddie on the other hand, yeah i think a good part of his anger stemmed from the lawsuit. buck wasn’t there when eddie needed him and he lost some of that impulse control. eddie went through a lot of pain and grief in a short period of time, so i understood his anger and frustration and why he couldn’t see that buck was struggling too. but he thought bottling up feelings was the best way to deal with problems, meaning he didn’t exactly realize that buck lived through five months without the job and his family on an almost daily basis. we don’t know if eddie was there for him all the time, or enough to make a difference. we know buck has abandonment issues, and then all of a sudden he learned that his family was seemingly moving on without him, replacing him with another firefighter who became eddie’s new friend. that must have hurt. what really messed me up is that at that point buck thought so little of himself that he didn’t even realize eddie and chris might miss him once he filed the lawsuit. he was so broken up about being left out that he convinced himself he’s not a part of the diaz family anymore. i think that’s what hurt eddie the most and why he was so upset at buck, but instead of working it out with buck he just yelled at him. i was also super bummed that buck then threw himself under the bus and stomped his own feelings and problems because he felt he owed eddie an apology for not being there. like he actually believed eddie should’ve punched him for it. i mean ???? excuse me but buck had every right to stand up and fight for himself. maybe it wasn’t the best course of action, maybe he should’ve been more patient, but that boy became desperate. he deserved to be heard and he deserved to be treated equally, if he was then none of it would’ve happened

[living-on-the-virge]

Delphiniums & Desire [CH 2]

Summary: Remy Savidge is just a broke 22 year old guy. His life is going terribly wrong and at this point he has nothing to lose, so with encouragement from his best friend Roman… He finds a sugar daddy. Except falling in love wasn’t quite part of the plan. Pairing: Remile (Remy x Emile) Warnings: Sugar Daddy stuff. Note: Nope. [AO3 LINK]

“Girl, holy fuck!” Remy yelled and he collapsed down onto the couch in the Prince twins’ apartment. Roman laughed as he set down two cans of soda on the table next to an open box of takeaway pizza. Remy kicked his legs up onto the arm of the couch and grabbed a pizza slice. “I have so much to tell you.”

“Well don’t leave me waiting!” Roman replied, picking up his own slice and watching Remy.

“Ok, ok, so-“ Remy sat back up normally and crossed his legs. “He shows up to this like, small café, right? It’s that one just off the main street that looks way to nice to be here. Anyway- He shows up, and he’s fucking tall! Like six feet at least.”

Remy ran his fingers through his hair, already feeling his mind race at the thought of Emile. “And he pays for my food and he’s so fucking sweet, Ro? And he asks what I think I should get a week, so I say three hundred because that seems reasonable, and he fucking laughs at me?”

“He what? Wait, wait, wait. Was that too much?” Roman asked, eyes full of interest.

Remy shook his head and threw his hands in the air. “No! This hot, rich man goes and offers me eight hundred a week! That’s so much more than I expected!”

Roman’s eyebrows raised in surprise and he jumped up, flapping his hands before pulling Remy up with him. “That’s so good! You’re gonna be ok! See, I come up with the best ideas.”

“Your other idea was for me to move in.”

“You really need to get over the fish thing, Rems.”

There was a moment of silence before they both burst into laughter. Roman pushed Remy back down onto the couch and sat next to him. “So, any other juicy details? When are you next seeing him?”

“Uhh…” Remy checked his phone. “Sunday. Same place as last time I think.”

Roman smiled and hugged Remy. “That’s great. I’m proud of you.”

Sunday came around a lot faster than Remy had hoped. He’d spent the few days between the two meetings growing increasingly more anxious. He hadn’t received many texts from Emile, a few ‘good mornings’ or little positive messages when Emile had some free time between sessions, but other than that Remy was left to deal with his worries alone.

He texted Roman as he walked down the street towards the café.

Rems: i don’t know if I can do this anymore

Princey: Girl you totally can!! Go get that cash!! I’ll be here with pizza and coffee when you’re done.

Remy sighed and pocketed his phone as he pushed open the café door. Just like before, Emile wasn’t there yet. He sat down at the same table as before. Patton came walking over the table with the same warm smile that he’d last greeted Remy with.

“Mornin’, honey! Nice to see you again. What would you like?” He asked.

Remy shrugged, his hands clenching and unclenching in a nervous response. “Uh..”

Patton noticed and quietened down a bit. “Are you stressin’ out a little? I got a back room you can go and relax in, if you need to. I’ll send Emmie through when he’s here, or he can wait out here until you’re ready?”

Remy shook his head. “It’s like, fine. I’m just… I’m not used to this.”

“Aw, honey, I get it. Emmie’s a sweetheart, I promise. If you’re struggling with something you just gotta tell him.”

“Thanks, Patton.”

Patton smiled again just as the bell above the door jungled and Emile walked in. He picked his notepad back up. “Now, what can I get you, honey?”

“Uh… Hot chocolate and a chocolate chip cookie?”

“Of course! Emmie, I’ll bring you over your usual,” Patton said with a nod and a wink towards Remy before walking off to make their orders.

Emile took off his jacket and placed it over the back of his chair before sitting down. “I’m so sorry I didn’t reply to your messages last night,” He apologised, gently patting his shirt to straighten it out. “Some issues at work left me with a bit more paperwork than I planned for.”

Remy nodded and fiddled with his sleeve. “It’s fine.”

Emile raised an eyebrow. “Are you doing alright, sugar?”

Remy’s eyes flicker over the table, taking in the slight bumps in the wood and the scratches in the paint. He shrugged. “I don’t like, know what I’m doing. You’ve got experience. So, it’s like… Kinda intimidating I guess.”

The older man smiled and nodded. “We’ll do thing however you’d like, if that makes you feel better. We don’t have to do anything more than dinners if that’s what you’re comfortable with.”

Patton came over, placing their orders onto the table before going back behind the counter, not-so-subtly listening into the conversation.

Remy stared down into the melting marshmallows on top of his cocoa. He shrugged. “I’m a sugar baby, right? So, like, I have to… Provide some sugar or whatever.”

Emile reached over the table and gently took Remy’s hand in his, giving it a small squeeze. “Remy, I’m not going to pressure you. Arrangements don’t always involve sex. I’m perfectly fine just having dinners or hanging out.”

“The sex isn’t really the problem though,” Remy said slightly louder than he’d. He flinched back slightly at his own words. He was never one for being so shy about this sort of stuff, but something about all of this just seemed a bit much. He quietened down. “I can do sex. I love that shit, I’ve had a fair share of hook-ups and I’ve screwed my best friends. Sex was never the issue. I just-“

Remy looked up, his eyes meeting Emile’s. Emile sat patiently with a soft smile on his stupid cute face and Remy’s mind wanders slightly as he thinks about kissing that stupid smile off Emile’s face. He takes a breath before continuing. “I just… I’ve always like, felt weird accepting money and help from people. I was raised to work for stuff- I can’t even accept help from my friends. And this arrangement is just like, I get money just for hanging out with you? And I don’t feel like I’m really earning it.”

“Well, sugar. What would you like to do to feel like you’re earning it?” Emile asked simply.

Remy once again felt himself fall back into the thought of kissing Emile. “I don’t know.”

Emile gently ran his finger up Remy’s arm. He bit his lip slightly and hummed under his breath. “If you’re open to it… Maybe you can come over to my apartment on Wednesday, and we’ll see what happens.”

Remy shivered and nodded. “Yeah, yeah. That works.” He pulled his hand away and finished off his hot chocolate.

The two sat and talked for another 30 minutes. Emile laughed as he brought up past childhood memories of himself and Patton (Who Remy noticed was working with a fond smile on his face, looking up at the two very so often.). Emile eventually drove Remy home, gently brushing a stray hair out of Remy’s face before saying goodbye.

Remy gently touched his face where Emile’s hand had rested. He smiled softly as he walked inside.

[lemonysnidget]

Dead Wrong

Or “Who is Beatrice Snicket’s father?”

Reading The End when it first came out, I remember finishing the book and being somewhat bewildered, somewhat dissatisfied, thinking “okay how is that related to anything that came before????”, but also overall thinking “Wow, I’ve got more questions than when I started reading this book.” That’s not to say that I didn’t like the book, or that I didn’t feel like it wrapped up the overarching theme of the series is a really great way. I enjoyed The End, but it’s very different in tone from the rest of the series, and it doesn’t answer a lot of questions you go in with. And even before Chapter 14, you have so many more questions that also won’t be answered. That’s a bold move on Handler’s part, and it’s a rare thing in Children’s Lit (and a lot of fiction overall). 

One of the big questions that has stuck with me as a fan throughout the years - and sparked a few conversations during lunch block with my friends - is Just who is Beatrice’s father? It’s a question you don’t even realize that you could ask until 13.13, and then you’re just kind of stuck with it for the rest of your life. Are the Baudelaire orphans raising the daughter of their former enemy? It’s a great question for Handler to leave the audience with. 

Let’s dive into the significance of why wondering about Beatrice’s father is big, and what implications it has for the meaning of the book.

Reading the series the first time around, you might not even think to ask who is the father of Kit Snicket’s baby. Kit’s presence in TPP is so quick that you might not even have the chance to wonder - I certainly don’t remember even thinking about it, since there were so many other questions to be asked at the time. But, once you have Dewey whisper Kit dramatically before he drowns, the answer seems obvious. You do wonder why Kit didn’t mention Dewey’s existence to the Baudelaires, but you don’t linger on it. You realize that “my brother sends his regards” in Frank’s note is actually talking about Dewey and is kinda cute (or creepy depending on how you’re looking at it) and not a code. And if you didn’t get all of that because the book moves at such a breakneck speed, by the last couple pages of the book, you get this line: 

For another terrible moment, it felt like the boat was going to sink into the water, just as Dewey Denouement had sunk into the pond, guarding his underwater catalog and all its secrets, and leaving the woman he loved pregnant and distraught. (12.13)

Pregnant? Distraught? Sounds like Kit Snicket. So, we have confirmation that Dewey loved Kit (or that Lemony thinks that Dewey loved Kit). And it’s phrased in a way that really makes you inclined to think that there’s little ambiguity on the matter of who impregnated the Snicket lass. 

You get to The End, and everything seems to continue down that same train of thought. Kit asks the Baudelaires specifically about Dewey, and hopes that he will join them too. And then when she finds out Dewey is dead, she just gives up. She tells the Baudelaires: “I've lost too many people—my parents, my true love, and my brothers” and you immediately think she’s talking about Dewey (13.13). You don’t even question it. You just accept that she’s talking about Dewey and move on. But then... suddenly it changes.

"I've lost too much to go on— my parents, my true love, my henchfolk, an enormous amount of money I didn't earn, even the boat with my name on it." (13.13)

There are very few times I’ve actually mentally heard a record scratch in reaction to something, but this was one of them. I remember just stopping and staring at the page for a few seconds, thinking I had misread something. I then flipped back a couple pages to confirm that yep, the parallel structure between Kit’s and Olaf’s statements wasn’t in my head. And I knew that there was absolutely no way that it was an accident. (The in-universe record scratch for the Baudelaires happened with the kiss.)

Handler’s a skilled writer, and he knows enough to be extremely deliberate with his words and phrasing. He knows the importance of punctuation. Even if he might make fun of Aunt Josephine, he uses grammar so well that it’s clear he does care how sentences are structured and how punctuation or the splicing of sentences can provide nuance. No writer worth their salt would have these two sentences in the same chapter (let alone a flip of a page away) if they weren’t trying to say something. Not only do you have similar words and sentiments, there’s similar sentence structure and punctation! These two lines are supposed to go together. And this isn’t even the first time that Olaf and Kit have had very similar lines, in fact in TPP, both Kit and Olaf say "A taxi will pick up anyone who signals for one” matching each other word to word (12.1, 12.9). Perhaps while reading TPP, you didn’t notice it or you assumed it was some kind of code or aphorism of VFD, so you didn’t pay it much mind. But, in hindsight, it seems that Handler was already hinting at Kit and Olaf having a very deep connection. 

More than just parallel structure, Handler has a major, major departure from tone of the whole series and the characterization of both Kit and Count Olaf. ASOUE is not a series that focuses on romance, and it certainly does not advocate the notion of true love - maybe you’d find that in The Pony Party or The Littlest Elf. Love in ASOUE is not a permanent thing, and it is not a good thing. Beatrice 1 moved on from Lemony and was very happy in the life she chose. Charles’ love for Sir was not at all healthy. Esme and Jacques marriage is hardly a fairy tale (more a Russian novel). And even though Lemony seems to carry an ever enduring torch for Beatrice, he never refers to her as his true love. No one mentions true love. But, at the end of The End, pragmatic, Machiavellian Kit brings it up for the first time. It’s a little bit jarring. And then when Count Olaf says it, the reader is asked once again to step back and re-evaluate their understanding of the story’s villain, and the story itself. 

Continuing on that theme of forcing you to re-evaluate a man readers have spent 13 books seeing as a deplorable/disgusting/unloveable individual, Handler gives Olaf and Kit the most intimate moment in the whole series when Kit reaches out to touch Olaf’s tattoo and recite a love poem to him. Two dying individuals on the opposite side of a war, just connecting one last time, to recite poetry to each other. Taken out of context, it seems pretty damn romantic. 

And what does Olaf do in response to Kit’s love poem? He ruins the moment by abridging a poem about the cyclical nature of misery and pain, how children inherit their parents trauma’s, and the best way to avoid passing that burden on is to not have kids and die. Let Olaf say fuck, cowards. Charming thing to say to a pregnant woman in the process of giving birth, eh? Definitely a very Olaf thing to do. Is he just being an asshole? Or is there something else going on? 

At that point, there is no choice but to consider the possibility that Olaf is the father of Kit’s baby. Handler wants us to wonder if Beatrice’s birth is book ended by her parents deaths. 

No doubt, in the year that follows on the coast shelf, the Baudelaires asked themselves just that. Are they raising the child of the man who relentlessly pursued them and who they believe murdered their parents in revenge? They would have definitely done the math and realized that their series of unfortunate events took less than 40 weeks, safely allowing Olaf to have fathered Beatrice before becoming their guardian. 

You can almost see Violet, Klaus, and Sunny searching Beatrice’s face as she grows up, looking for any similarities or clues as to who her father is. Unfortunately, Beatrice “look[s] very much like her mother” so they might never have come to a conclusion (13.14). But, the fact that even with the ambiguity and doubts the Baudelaires still lovingly raised the possible child of the person who they believe made them an orphan is huge. It shows that VFD’s cycle just might be broken. Unlike Olaf, who wasn’t able to let go of the fact that his parents were murdered by at least one of the Baudelaire’s parents and who let it turn him into a twisted villain, the Baudelaires give Beatrice a family, and they don’t let any doubts get in the way of raising her and loving her. And that flies right in the face of everything that has come before.

Instead of the intergenerational passing down of trauma, abuse, and pain that is a part of VFD and the story as a whole, the Baudelaires stand up and stop the cycle. The Baudelaires did not become like Count Olaf, despite their unfortunate events. The Baudelaires rose above their trauma. 

They directly contradict Olaf’s dying words. Man doesn’t have to hand misery to man, and your parents don’t have to fuck you up. Trauma does not have to be something that’s passed on as an epigenetic trait. You can have a terrible childhood, and you can grow up and make sure that whatever you suffered doesn’t happen to the next generation. This is a major takeaway point from the series. 

The ambiguity over Beatrice’s paternity is essential to the overall arc of ASOUE. It completes the circle, and it is a powerful message. So powerful, in fact, that Handler actually decided he had to include it, even if originally, he hadn’t planned on it. 

Handler has talked about how he had to rework some of TPP because of one throw-away line in TBB. But, he hasn’t talked about how suddenly, between TGG and TPP, Kit became 9 months pregnant.

In the driver's seat was a woman the Baudelaires had never seen before, dressed in a long, black coat buttoned up all the way to her chin. On her hands were a pair of white cotton gloves, and in her lap were two slim books, probably to keep her company while she waited.(11.13)

The Baudelaires can see her lap in TGG - Kit was not in her third trimester when Handler originally penned TGG. But, “her belly had a slight but definite curve” as of TPP (12.1). This is a ret-con, folks. Handler can’t change the fact that he had the Baudelaires be able to look into the car and see that she had two books in her lap instead of resting on top of a very pregnant belly, so he tries to act like nothing happened and hopes the readers won’t notice the contradiction. A woman who is about to give birth would have more than a slight curve, I might add, but that’s not exactly important.

Obviously, Kit being pregnant was vitally important to Handler’s story. So important that he contradicted himself, something that he went to great lengths to avoid doing in the same book. If Beatrice’s father was supposed to be Dewey - a character who was only in one book, who supported the Baudelaires rather than challenged them - then Handler would not have done this. Beatrice wouldn’t have been written in if Dewey was meant to be the obvious father. The Baudelaires raising Dewey’s daughter doesn’t really add anything to the story, and it would present far too small of an arc (just the last two books) to be worth it. 

So why even have Dewey be romantically connected to Kit at all? Why not just not give a candidate for who the father of Kit’s baby is until we see her with Olaf? Well... to quote the show:

ASOUE is filled with mysteries. Handler loves weaving them. He loves giving you a few clues here and there, and sometimes giving you enough clues to solve the puzzle on your own, and other times, he deliberately withholds stuff just because it suits his narrative aesthetic. And a lot of the time, he deliberately misleads or misdirects you. 

When it comes to Dewey and Kit’s relationship, Handler gives us enough to connect the dots, but connecting them isn’t necessarily the right thing to do. While it is entirely possible that Dewey and Kit were sexually involved, it is very important to note that Handler does not actually give us any confirmation that Dewey’s feelings were returned or if he and Kit actually were intimate. Dewey loved Kit, yes, that is a fact, but loving someone is not enough to create a baby with them. That’s not actually how it works, even if a lot of sex talks might want you to think so. 

Kit and Dewey were not living together. If Kit and Dewey were planning to co-parent together as a couple, Kit would not be solely responsible for “[choosing] wallpaper for the baby's room” - they would be choosing it together, but instead, Dewey is still living with his brothers at at the Hotel at all hours (12.2) Further support for this is that were Dewey and Kit together, Frank wouldn’t have to act as a go-between for Kit and Dewey by telling her “my brother sends his regards” (12.2). Dewey would have been able to give Kit his regards himself... and he probably wouldn’t be giving regards. For a couple that’s romantically involved, that sounds incredibly formal! In fact, Kit actually describes Dewey as “a wonderful gentleman” (12.2). A similarly stiff way to refer to someone... not to mention the fact that referring to someone as a gentleman is frequently used in the context of a guy not being to forward or taking advantage of a situation sexually where he could have ignored the woman’s boundaries. It really does sound like Dewey, despite loving Kit after years of working with her, wasn’t actually physically intimate with Kit. Dewey’s love, therefore, seems to have a lot more in common with the courtly love of Dante and Beatrice rather than an erotic love.

That doesn’t mean they weren’t mutually emotionally intimate, creating a very strong bond. Kit was obviously extremely distressed by his death and they did work together for years. But, it’s hard to know if Kit was upset to find out about the death of her child’s father or if she was upset because her friend and everything that they had worked for was gone. Or both. Either one is pretty devastating. 

Olaf in book canon is more likely than not Beatrice’s father, for meta reasons and “in universe” reasons. Olaf being Beatrice’s father is consistent with the textual evidence, whereas the textual evidence does not support Dewey and Kit having a serious or even sexual relationship. The Baudelaires considering the possibility that Olaf is Beatrice’s father is absolutely essential for the meaning of the series. The Baudelaires, who unlike us cannot go back and pick apart the text, have to have their doubts, but they treat Beatrice in a way that the prior generations of VFD could not comprehend. 

So you might wonder, Does Olaf know? Does he consider the possibility for Beatrice being his daughter? For him, the matter might be pretty unambiguous, since he has knowledge that the Baudelaires, Lemony, and us the readers don’t have. Perhaps he knows that she isn’t, perhaps he knows she is, perhaps he doesn’t know one way or the other. Regardless, Olaf doesn’t care. Olaf was more than willing to claim he’d kill Kit and her unborn child at the start of The End, but when it comes down to it, Olaf chooses to suffer a lot of pain, prolonging his death, to help the both of them. Darwin might argue that Olaf being Beatrice’s father takes away the selflessness of the act. But, Darwin would be ignoring Count Olaf’s dying words: “Don’t have kids yourself.” Count Olaf did not want to become a father, but he suffers greatly to ensure that Kit’s child is born. 

That is a noble act. 

You could say it would be more noble if it were Dewey’s daughter, but I disagree. Why would Olaf care whether Dewey’s daughter lived or died? He wouldn’t. Olaf’s act is selfless because Beatrice isn’t Dewey’s daughter. 

On the topic of Netflix, and speculation for the third season: 

Do I think the show is going to go this route... possibly. Though the casting of a younger woman to play Kit and a younger man to play the Denouements makes it seem a little bit less likely that they would go for it. But, I do find it interesting that Netflix deliberately added the cake tasting scene in TBB.

Perhaps it might have just been to foreshadow to complicated relationship between Lemony and Olaf, but, it’s interesting that it’s cake when we know that cake is what Beatrice Snicket wants to bring along with her on the boat to escape the island - "Cake!" shrieked the baby, and her guardians laughed (13.14). 

“Cake” is the only non-babytalk line that Beatrice says, and the fact that Handler chose to have Beatrice love cake of all things not to long after he has Lemony inform of us of the fact that Dewey was able to document twenty-seven cakes “that Olaf has stolen” (12.13). Handler wanted to remind us of just how much Olaf loves cakes just before The End. Sure, he’s not the only character who likes cakes, but it is an interesting choice on Handler’s part, and an interesting choice for Netflix to include that scene.

In about a week, we’ll know what route they decided to take with the Netflix adaptation, but I do believe that they have set up the potential for Beatrice being Olaf’s daughter should they choose to keep Beatrice’s line about cake. 

And there you have it, the meta I have had in my ‘drafts’ for six months because I kept on writing it and scrapping it. 

[pekorosu]

no.6 novels thinky thoughts

--------

so… i ended up finishing all 9 vols in about a week haha.

my overall impression? it was… alright, i guess.

not that i didn’t enjoy it, in fact, the first half was great! by the time i reached the end though, i had mixed feelings. sat on it for a week or so but a lot of it remains a vague hhhmmmmmblah blob that i’m not done figuring out. 

i still wanna make a post as a form of closure for myself though, so i’m just gonna dump whatever comes to mind here. don’t mind me.

so... the ending. i guess it was supposed to be open-ended in a hopeful way, but it just came across as unsettling to me. the ~chosen one~ thing rubbed me the wrong way, because shion was entrusted with an enormous responsibility that no 16 year old should even be shouldering in the first place. (i mean yea okay he did willingly accept it, but still. why only him? why aren’t they all collectively responsible?) 

meanwhile the actual perpetrators get to escape all the consequences by just… dying. just like that. and the rest of them, especially the adults… they’re pretty much useless? even the ones that wanted to do something by staging a revolt ended up being unreliable either bc 1. they were drunk on revenge or 2. all that power was getting to their head. ironically, rou was like “it’s all on us, the adults” but in the end even he decided to just spend the rest of his life chilling out underground -_-

on top of that, shion had to let go of nezumi. idk about y’all but that ending, that “promise to meet again” kiss was like… i couldn’t help but wonder if nezumi only did that because shion was all “a world without you is meaningless” and he had to give him something to cling onto. followed by shion’s devoted “i’ll keep waiting” which… idk, something about it felt utterly depressing. to be fair, nezumi always keeps his promises and the epilogue was vaguely hopeful i guess, but it still didn’t give me the sense of closure that i needed. 

to clarify, i’m not saying it’s a bad ending. it’s realistic and the implication that there’s still a lot of work to be done is very much in line with the story’s themes. just that something about it didn’t work for me personally, plus the lead up to it felt rushed, so it left me feeling :/ when i was done.

the plot… well, it started out exciting but turned out to be rather anticlimactic? the shift from science to supernatural had a proper build up, but still felt like a letdown for some reason… 

i think... maybe it’s bc dystopian stories tend to culminate in a huge battle and stuff like that, while this one just… didn’t. there was no final showdown with the Big Bad. there was chaos, but it hadn’t descended into total devastation yet, with the ultimate message that maintaining peace is always more preferable in order to prevent any more senseless deaths. and i guess that threw me off a little? not in a bad way, it was just unexpected bc i’m so used to the whole “final boss” format.

speaking of which, the antagonists were very one-dimensional, and for dictators they were surprisingly… weak. i mean, i get that hubris was precisely the reason for their carelessness and subsequent destruction, but it felt too convenient, too simple.

and i was sorta expecting something more gruesome when they got to the top floor of the correctional facility. idk, i guess brains floating in tubes just couldn’t compare with that scene of them climbing a mountain of corpses+half-alive people, which i had the misfortune of reading right before dinner. that was straight up horror.

and for all its depiction of the horrors of a police state, of poverty, famine, genocide… i felt like it stopped short of something. this isn’t meant to be a proper critique ofc, just that i remember feeling like the writing came across as wishy-washy or superficial at times, even though i knew the author’s intention wasn’t to hand out answers, but to get the readers to think. something about the way it was handled left me feeling unsatisfied i guess. 

that said, there were stuff that i did like! eg. i liked how the story dealt with the “we’re all human beings” statement from shion. it started out as a simple, idealistic “all lives matter” kind of thing, only to be turned on its head when he comes face-to-face with the kind of atrocities no.6 has committed. then it becomes less about that and more “our shared humanity means that we too have the capability to become cruel and apathetic.” or at least, that was my takeaway. 

hmm… in hindsight, i think it does what it set out to do well enough. that is, to convey a certain message to a certain group of people (teenagers i guess. this is YA after all). to inspire them to think for themselves, to realise that apathy is dangerous and to take responsibility for their own learning, but also to know that doing the “right” thing is not just about good intentions; it is constant hard work but still important work... among others. all of which are solid themes and messages. god knows when i was younger and learning about all this for the first time, even the simplest things would leave me mindblown for days. if i’d read this back then i imagine it would’ve left a bigger impression too.

the main highlight for me though, was probably the character scenes. i was surprised to find out how introspective the story was, with the majority of it dedicated to the characters’ internal thoughts and conflicts. 

sadly though, the side charas’ POVs (like inukashi’s and karan’s) ended up becoming tediously repetitive and draggy despite starting out strong. and safu… poor safu, she pretty much got the shortest end of the shit stick being the Plot Device Damsel In Distress Who Is Eventually Fridged. i had higher hopes for her ):

as for the rest… i don’t really care about rikiga… and who else… oh right! small nezumi team! hamlet, cravat and tsukiyo. 10/10 love them, would never get tired of their cute little squeaks.

and the protags… shion started out kinda bland but ended up being the easiest to relate to haha. eg. his constant struggle to reconcile his personal ideals with practical reality. and it was interesting to see how he confronted and came to terms with some harsh truths. he always tries so hard. sometimes it hurt to read, but it made me want to root for him and in a way, it gave me strength too. 

also his apparent “lack of interest” in sex/women/etc... i know it’s generally played for laughs or to highlight his ~naivete~ or ~immaturity~, but whatever lol it’s something i can relate to it v strongly.

nezumi took a while for me to warm up to even when i understood why he is the way he is. the callousness, hostility, volatility… they’re all defense mechanisms rooted in his trauma, but still, knowing that didn’t make him any less irritating lol. he could be deeply hypocritical at times and his tendency to randomly explode at shion was grating. on the plus side, it’s always very satisfying whenever we do get a glimpse of his more vulnerable side.

them as a pair though… i’m not a huge fan of the “fate brought us together” trope so i was skeptical at first. nezumi being so prickly and moody at first didn’t help either, but shion. oh shion, he tried so hard to worm himself into nezumi’s heart, to prove himself worthy, that i couldn’t help but be charmed. to me, they started out more like “snarky senpai and curious kouhai” as opposed to “friends” or even “potential enemies” as nezumi liked to insist they were, which made for an amusing dynamic. 

and while they did grow on me over time, they don’t make me feel that INTENSE CHEST STABBING feeling that i get with other ships. idk why, i mean, their sarcastic exchanges were amusing, their brutally honest arguments were compelling, and the pining (which is my #1 weakness) was through the fucking roof with shion. but still, something was missing.

sidenote on something the author mentioned in the guidebook interview (my own rough t/l):

I like writing about relationships between people of the same sex, not just boys. When it comes to the opposite sex, the end result of being attracted to each other is always romantic love, or getting married…… To a certain extent, the “template” for that is already fixed, isn’t it? But when it comes to the same sex, there can exist a connection that can’t be expressed in the usual cliched words like friendship, camaraderie, love, hatred… I think there’s meaning in writing about relationships that can’t be clearly defined. What’s between Shion and Nezumi is a “one-of-a-kind connection” that’s born out of a certain situation, out of certain experiences that only they have gone through. I wanted to find out what exactly that connection is, which was why I wanted to try writing it. Of course, that “one-of-a-kind connection” would probably exist between people of the opposite sex as well. After all, the feelings that emerge from a chance meeting of two human beings can never be something that’s mass-produced. But still, I think the one thing that I really enjoy writing about has got to be the unique emotions that develop between people of the same sex.

i know she doesn’t mean anything negative here, but idk… it kinda reminds me of the way yoshida akimi discussed ash and eiji’s relationship in banana fish, and the way she discussed what she found so special about same-sex relationships that is lacking in m/f relationships. and something about it bugs me so much. i don’t even know why or how to explain it… 

it sounds like to them, there’s something fundamentally “different” about same-sex relationships. "different” doesn’t necessarily mean “bad” and in fact, it even sounds positive in this context because the implication is that that “difference” allows for more freedom and variety in relationship dynamics. but i guess, the closest thing that i can come up with is that it sounds… othering? i don’t know….......

speaking of which, i suppose shion/safu is a subversion of that typical m/f relationship. shion can never love her the way she wants him to, which is heartbreaking, but also refreshing in a way.

and you know what… it just occurred to me that maybe, maybe… it’s the same with shion and nezumi. and maybe that’s why something about them feels off to me. i mean, obviously the strength of their feelings for each other is indisputable, but idk if the essence of it is the same. 

shrugs. anyway, yeah.

the honest truth is that, while i enjoyed their interactions immensely, they just don’t ignite the same fire in me as all my other otps. that said, i still do have a lot of thoughts on them! maybe that’s a post for another day.

some other stray thoughts:

- was it ever explained how nezumi built his robo rats? or where tf he managed to gather so many gold coins? was this something the story just handwaved or did i just forget?

- nezumi wanting to leave on a journey at the end baffled me. even though him eventually leaving was foreshadowed a couple times, he never really struck me as a wanderer to begin with. but now that i think about it… i wonder if he’s leaving bc he wants to, or rather, needs to look out for any other remaining forests and natural environments. that’s what his people did, didn’t they? protect the forests. i wonder if he’s going to go look for others like himself. after all, he’s the only surviving indigenous person left in the area surrounding no.6, isn’t he? hmmm.

language-wise... this is my first proper japanese (light) novel so i’m feeling kinda accomplished rn! lol. it was surprisingly not as tough as i had expected. i think the most difficult part was actually reading the quotes at the beginning of each chapter bc it’s in a font that’s so hard to make out.

oh, and again, some parts felt really redundant. i kept wondering if it was a language thing or an author thing. either way, i felt like there were quite a few unnecessary rehashes that could’ve been omitted to improve the pacing. 

sequels, other adaptations...

i’ve not read “beyond” yet, which apparently has sequel-ish bits? i’ve ordered it, it’s on its way, but i have a feeling my impression won’t change that much even after i’ve read it. heck, it might get worse judging by all these lukewarm reviews. i’m definitely gonna see this through to the end, but i’m feeling kinda scared now lol.

i might check out the anime? based on the summaries on wiki, it sounds like quite a lot has been altered, but i’m still curious about the visuals. dunno if i’d wanna check out the manga. if it’s exactly the same as the novels or the anime then maybe not…

oh yeah, their anime/manga versions look quite different to how i imagined them! mine’s closer to the novel covers i guess. especially nezumi. i imagined him with short hair. maybe not all super saiyan like the one below, but yea.

lastly, i just had a good look at all the vol covers and i actually think they look pretty cool! i’m really glad i chose to get this version instead of the bunkobon. i mean, i don’t know if i will ever reread this again, but at least the covers are nice to look at haha.