#be a mindful consumer of media but its okay to take away your own meaning | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eureka-its-zico · 4 years ago

Text

Damage

Request: You meet JB in a bar and have a one-night stand

A/N: My friend has asked me for JB fics none stop. I haven’t been able to finish one, because I get stuck in my head and think everything is trash. I think this one is okay, at best. I’ve edited as much as my eyes can stand. Either way, she seemed to enjoy it. I hope you all enjoy it in some way too. Much Love, Jenn

p.s. It’s named Damage because I literally had the song of the same name from H.E.R playing on repeat the entire time.

Jaebum X Reader

Genre: SmUt

Words:5534

Warnings: semi-public sex, rough play, some ass-slaping - you get the picture -

There was a time that the idea of sleeping with a complete stranger from a bar would’ve never crossed your mind. It wasn’t that you were a prude. A part of you secretly wanted to know what it felt like to be so overwhelmed by another that they made you less cautious and more adventurous. No one ever seemed able to stir that emotion in you, however.

Until you’d met JB.

Now, as his fingers traced across your skin, his lips kissed at the hollow of your neck, you couldn’t imagine an alternate universe where you didn’t say yes. Where you weren’t pressed into the backseat of a stuffy cab not caring that you had an audience while JB’s hand made its way between your thighs. His mouth hungrily lapping up your moan as his fingers slid under the edge of your panties.

A part of you should’ve felt embarrassed. You were passengers in this cab. The obvious audience of the older man up front would’ve normally made you shove his hand away with your cheeks pink; pretending to care if they watched.

But JB was a force you weren’t used to. One that threatened to consume you and god, did you want to be consumed.

EARLIER

————————-

“Come on, Y/N. You can’t be sad forever about that asshole.”

Your fingers skimmed the paper of your beer smearing an image of a heart in the condensation. Your teeth drawing in your bottom lip as you thought about what your friend was saying. Of course, she was right. It was two weeks, give or take, since you broke up with Mark. You’d had your days of wallowing, eating copious amounts of ice cream, and crying on the couch watching rom-coms and asking why can’t your life be like this?

There wasn’t any doubt your ex wasn’t off doing the same. Hell, he’d made sure to take pictures of his latest escapades and made sure to share it to his social media. Not that you were looking at any of it or anything.

“You’re right,” you huffed out in defeat.

Why was it so hard to let him go? It wasn’t like he’d had such a hard time deciding to end your relationship.

“I’m sorry. What was that? Can you say it a little louder for me please I’m hard of hearing.”

You shot her a look of disbelief that sent her head falling back with laughter.

“This one time you might be a little bit right.”

You took a swig of your drink to hide your own smile.

“Plus, how can you be sad over that loser when the hottest dude is five feet away.”

You followed her eyes to see what had her making such a bold claim. There were plenty of good looking men and women in the bar. How could one person possibly hold the title when your opinion could be different?

It wasn’t.

You found him easily. No longer needing the guide of your friend to find who it was that’d caught her attention. And sweet Jesus he was hands down the best looking in the room.

He was leaning up against the wall. His eyes half crescent moons as he smiled. One hand holding a beer that was close to his lips as he replied back to whatever his friend said. You shamelessly watched how his lips wrapped around the bottle to take a drink. The sharpness of his jaw and the expanse of his neck.

You wanted to know what he looked like with his mouth on you and tasting the sweetness between your thighs.

The desire for it caused your legs to squeeze together to give yourself any sort of friction. Your mind still going over the fantasy you were creating with him in the starring role. Suddenly, he was looking back at you. A harsh blush rose to your cheeks at being caught but refused to look away.

God! What am I doing?!

You’ve never been the one to make the first move. Of any kind. Eye contact felt like a first move of showing interest, but you were more than interested and a part of you wondered if he could see it. See that even this far between your spaces in the bar how badly you wanted to know how he tasted.

A gasp brought your attention back to the position of your friend. Her mouth agape in shock but that threatened to spill into a smile at any moment.

“Hollleeeeey shit! Did you just give that guy ‘fuck me eyes’ from across the bar?”

You scoffed at the idea before shooting a cautionary look back in his direction. Using your elbows that were on the top of the bar you swiveled yourself to face the many rows of liquor. Fighting the urge to look back at him again or acknowledge your friend bouncing in her seat.

“Yes you fuckin did!”

Your reply was a quick swig of your drink as you tried your best not to grimace at the taste. You’d been babysitting it too long and now it was lukewarm.

“I've had my heart broken. I’m not dead,” you replied.

“Let’s go over and talk to them!”

Your head whipped in her direction so fast you swore you’d ended up with whiplash. Yes, you were looking. And yes, this man did provoke unholy fantasies, but that didn’t mean you were ready to be that close.

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. I think this will be good for you.”

She ignored your burst of panic and waved down the bartender who acknowledged her sooner than you would’ve liked.

“What can I get you ladies.”

“Two shots of tequila, please.”

“What are you doing?”

She wiggled her brows at you and rubbed her shoulder up against yours. Her weak attempt to pump you up with excitement for whatever diabolical thing she’d planned.

“Just a little liquid courage before we head on over.”

“Heading towards the door, you mean.”

Your words came out as a grumble. A pout setting in as the bartender set down the small glasses in front of the two of you. Which she quickly slid hers to click beside yours.

“You, my lovely friend, are going to have both.”

“Are you trying to give me alcohol poisoning?”

“Nope. Just trying to help you get some guiltless sex with a stranger.”

“Wow. You’re so amazing,” you deadpanned. Your hand snacking out to grab one of the shot glasses downing the first one. You were sure the reaction you were having looked like a cartoon character. God, this stuff was disgusting. “I’m pretty sure that stuff causes forest fires.”

The bartender offered you a lemon, amusement flashing in his eyes. You were hoping he could see the thank you in yours with your mouth shoved full of lemon.

You left it sitting in your mouth; teeth clenched tight against the softness and the peel exposed between your lips. You wondered if this was picture worthy and received your answer moments later when your friends’ camera flashed in your face. Your vision erupting in sparks of dark spots that left you unable to see.

“Sorry. I couldn’t help it.”

With the peel still held between your lips you made a face at her. Her mouth opened to reply, and suddenly it closed. Her eyes wide and darting from you to whoever was now perched beside you.

You remembered you still had a shot left and decided it was time to meet your fate. Your legs moved to turn you to sit straight on the stool when you realized someone was beside you at the bar. In perfect horror movie fashion, you glanced at your right and saw the man who’d caused your need for liquid courage.

He was just there. His body casually leaning against the bar with an air of coolness that didn’t seem forced. He was talking with the bartender. The two of them locked in a conversation like they were old friends and catching up. Maybe they were.

Up close he was even more striking. His hair was perfectly slicked back to make it appear short, but it was anything but. The gel he’d used was beginning to wear off and displayed hair that was beginning to fall into his eyes.

You wanted to run your hands through it. To grip it as you rode his tongue.

It felt like he must have had a sensation of what you were thinking. He ended his conversation and turned to look at you. A spark of laughter lit up the dark brown of his eyes and you swore you were swooning in your chair.

“I see you must really like lemons.”

Your brow furrowed as you wondered what the hell he could be talking about. He must have caught on to your confusion and patted a single digit against the lemon peel still peaking like a smile between your lips. Your eyes shot wide with horror as you not too gracefully spit it out onto the napkin.

“Oh...my...god,” you whispered at the wood of the bar. Praying that the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

“Hi!” Your friend shot an arm over you with her hand extended for him to shake. “My name’s Vanessa. This is my lovely friend, Y/N. The lemon sucker.”

Your head jerked in her direction and you hoped she could see how much you wish you could hit her.

The man beside you, however, looked nothing but amused and took Vanessa’s hand. You couldn’t keep your eyes from looking at his fingers; the way it practically covered all of hers.

“Nice to meet you both.”

He released her hand and shocked you by leaving his hand open and waiting for you to take. You glanced up at him and then back down to his hand. You took it without waiting too long, because you didn’t want him to think you were rude, or worse, weirder than he probably already did. The minute your hands folded around the other you swore it was electric.

“My name’s Jaebum. Everyone calls me JB, for short.”

Jaebum. JB. You would call him whatever he wanted. His voice was soft as he spoke and forced you to move closer to hear him. You wondered if that’d been his plan. It was the only thing you could think of as his thumb caressed over the knuckles of your hand before he took it away.

You dropped your hand down to the side of your skirt and fought not to rub it against the fabric. The attraction you felt for JB was something that’d come unexpected and you found yourself inexperienced. It felt overwhelming this need to touch him. To be touched in return. To know how he sounded with your lips wrapped around his cock and those same hands on the back of your head. Bending you over and smacking your ass until it was cherry red.

You were still staring at each other as these devilish thoughts played out in your head. His eyes roamed your face and you wondered what he saw there. If JB could see the dirty scenarios he held the starring role in. His gaze slid over you from the tips of your toes, over the exposed legs from your skirt, your chest, and back up to your face.

There was no denying he’d thought of his own scenario with you in mind. His pupils fully blown with lust when he brought his eyes back up to you. Your pulse thudded wildly as you struggled to remember how to properly breathe.

“Did you girls want to come back over to our table?” The question was meant for both Vanessa and you, but when he asked his gaze never left you. He only looked away to point to his indicated spot. “It’s just me and a couple of my friends. I promise, we aren’t weird or anything.”

A bright smile spread across his lips and if you weren’t swooning earlier, you were definitely doing it now. You were nodding your head yes, unsure if you could trust yourself to talk. Vanessa, unfortunately, didn’t seem to have that issue.

“That would be amazing and so good for her. Her boyfriend just broke up with her. She’s very vulnerable.”

Oh. My. God. Was she winking like an idiot?

You looked back at her and couldn’t keep the horror off of her face. Luckily, JB laughed it off. He reached out to grab the drinks he’d ordered and motioned with his head for you girls to follow. You waited for Vanessa to start forward before you fell into step beside her. Your arm shooting out to wrap itself around hers just so you could use it to pull her in tight.

“What in the hell was that!?”

“I’m trying to help you here. Most men love the idea of a girl on the rebound.”

“Because they think they’re easy, Nessa.”

“Precisely.”

She flicked her finger up like she’d just made a great discovery. The only thing she was about to discover was that you were, in fact, desperate but for a whole other reason.

No part of you could remember your ex looking at JB. And while the idea of any sort of relationship with him, physical or otherwise, made you excited there was still that small voice in your head. The not so fun responsible part of you reminded you that you didn’t know him. He could be a weird pervert or a serial killer. Ninety-nine percent of serial killers were usually attractive.

You let out a sigh not sure how to tell her nicely to butt out.

“Just, help me less. Ok?”

She regarded you for a moment. Her arm peeling itself out of yours before bringing you in quickly for a one-armed hug.

“Alright. Girl Scouts honor I won’t say anything else.”

“Thank you!”

And you meant it. Lord knew she only meant well, but in the end it came off embarrassing. Like the two of you were sixteen and in high school again. With you passing notes to all the boys you liked because you were too damn nervous to say anything to their face. You thought it was romantic. In reality, it just seemed well, kinda awkward.

The two of you stood beside the pool table and you did your best not to fidget with your bag. The weight of six new sets of eyes made you feel like an animal in a zoo.

“Guys, this is Vanessa and Y/N. I invited them over to hang out with us. If that’s cool.”

The friends all seemed to go from caution to excitement at seeing you in two point five seconds. All of them agreeing it was cool, and waving you all over to find a chair to sit in.

You were following Vanessa to seats in between two of his friends, when a soft hand on your arm stopped you. You knew without looking it was JB. Your body reacting instantly to his touch as if it’d been set on fire.

“You can sit next to me. If you’d like.”

“I’d like that very much.”

Your voice was breathy. Like you were telling him a secret the two of you only needed to hear. The chair in question that sat beside his own, was inches from him. So close that when you sat down your knees were next one another.

He regarded you briefly before he turned his attention back to his group. His arm snaking around your chair to rest on its back. You were aware that it was a show of dominance. Of signaling to his friends and anyone else who cared to look that you were his. The thought of it sent a thrill through your body of being claimed. Only wishing he would claim you another way too.

JB’s group of friends were fun and easy to get a long with. One of them in particular, Hyun-Bae, was incredibly funny. He told stories that were entertaining and knew when to use his humor to make everyone laugh. It was enough to make you almost forget the man beside you. Almost.

You weren’t sure when it had happened, but somewhere between everyone talking, JB’s hand that’d rested comfortably on the back of your chair had moved. His fingers brushed along your skin from your shoulder to collarbone. Each stroke deliberate; sexual and not. Like he could read that you found it comforting but also craved his touch.

You ached with the urge to kiss him. To taste the liquor on his tongue. All those times you turned to imagine yourself leaning in and doing just that, you’d met his gaze. The two of you shared a look of knowing and wondered if he’d just been waiting for you to close the last inches of space between you. You were looking at each other now; eyes hungrily glancing at the others lips.

You wanted to be brave. To just close that space and tell him just to take you home. Screw this dance of cat and mouse. You didn’t want to be chased. You wanted to be owned.

Instead, a soft, “Excuse me,” came from you as you rose up from your chair. You couldn’t get your feet to walk fast enough to the bathroom. You were moving so fast you practically took someone out on the way inside. Getting inside the bathroom, you quickly shut the door and turned the lock.

You were instantly greeted by your reflection in the dirty, marker-ridden, mirror. What you could see of yourself was defeated. A huff of frustration left you as you removed your bag from your shoulder and placed it on the hook on the back of the door. Your feet scuffing the ground as you took a somber approach to the sink.

You told Vanessa you could do this. You didn’t need help to tell a hot guy you wanted him to fuck you until your legs were far past jello and more like liquid. And every time you were given the opportunity to do something at all, you backed out.

You rested your hands on the sink and leaned in. Examining your makeup and how very un-messy it was.

“Note to self: just fuckin do it.”

Yup. The greatest of pep talks.

You weren’t ready to leave the sanctity of the bathroom but a knock sounded on the door. Reminding you very quickly that there were actual people who probably needed to use it. You moved to pick up your bag when another knock came.

“Yea, yea I’m coming. Chill.”

When you opened the door, however, JB was just there. His body pushing into the bathroom causing you to step back to give him room. He closed the door without looking back. His body fully facing you as the door clicked closed behind him.

“JB? Sorry I was just using the restroom-”

“Is that what that was? I mostly heard talking; no flushing.”

His lips spread in an amused smile no doubt at your expense. Your eyes were probably as white as the moon. How long had he been waiting out here?

“Sorry. I just got a little impatient waiting for you.”

In one fluid motion, his arm snaked around your back, and brought you to his chest. JB was prepared for you and his other hand was already holding your face giving him the perfect leverage to crash his mouth down on yours. The moment your lips met that electricity you’d felt earlier flared back to life. This time, it flared across your skin and sparked in every spot he touched.

The kiss started out a brush of lips and soon became more. His tongue danced at the edge of your bottom lip and you gladly opened up to him. Your hands plunging to make a mess of his perfectly gelled hair at the same time his tongue slipped inside your mouth.

You were eager to respond. Eager to caress his tongue with yours. His mouth tasted of the bittersweet liquor he’d sipped on for the last hour. Suddenly, the overwhelming urge to taste yourself on his lips made your body ache to be touched in other places. For your fantasies of his mouth on you to begin here. You didn’t care where.

JB seemed to understand what you needed. He broke from the kiss fast and turned you around. His body pressed against your back and his hands at the edge of your skirt. You watched in the mirror as he moved your skirt up to your hips exposing your thong to the room.

He watched you, his lips hovering over your ear before giving it a playful nip, and those same hands were now laced in the strings. JB moved back just enough to squat down so his hands could move them down your legs until he reached your ankles.

“Step out.”

You followed his command without question. Your head tilting back to watch the little bit of cloth he held in his hand get scrunched up even smaller and placed inside the front pocket of his jeans. His eyes looked up to meet yours, and your body froze with anticipation. Whatever he would ask you to do, you knew you would comply.

“Spread your legs.”

The demand in his voice was feverish. His own need on display as his hand caressed up your calf until it was between your thighs. A finger teasingly moved across your opening, causing a soft gasp to exit from your lips. You did as you were instructed and waited until you heard an approving, “Hm,” from his lips.

The room swelled as the anticipation grew. The reflection you’d seen moments ago was washed away and the woman who’d taken her place was eager and ready to offer up her own demands.

JB moved to stand on his feet with his hands traveling along the curve of your legs and up onto your hips. There his fingers dug into the soft flesh as he leaned into your back, his eyes on yours in the mirror, as he spoke into your ear, “Place your hands on the sink.”

“Spank me first.”

A shiver of shock ran through you. You couldn’t believe you’d said it, but after your request had left you, you’d refused to take it back. Your body craved to be reprimanded by his hands and the smirk on his lips told you plainly he was more than happy to oblige.

“Beg for it.”

“Please spank me. Please, JB.”

His hand curled up to wrap around your throat as his index finger danced at the edge of your lips.

“How bad do you want it?”

“I want I-“

The smack reverberated like thunder in the small room. The sting was instant and beautiful. The heat between your legs was aching and your ass jetted against his jeans for any kind of friction. JB stepped back, denying you any form of relief, and landed another smack on your exposed cheek.

This one made your knees wobble as the pleasure rolled through you. Your hands on the sink was the only thing that saved you from showing him what he’d done.

“You love that don’t you?”

JB already knew you did, but he wanted to hear you. He needed to hear you say how much you loved feeling his hand leaving its mark, red and angry, on your skin.

“Yes,” you gasped. “It feels so good.”

He landed another smack and you couldn’t keep yourself quiet anymore. Your moan loud and aching like your pussy. Luckily, his hand was still on your throat and silenced you by placing his fingers in your mouth. You sucked on them immediately and this time you could feel JB rut against your ass. The hardness of his cock pressed against the fabric of his jeans gave away just how turned on he was at your bathroom escapades.

He pulled his fingers free from your mouth and, with the same fingers, slick and wet, placed it between your legs. The two digits moving to slide between your folds. First, scissoring around your clit; caressing the delicate bud until you gave him the moan he worked for.

When the soft sound left you JB slid them deep inside you causing the noise to become louder. A shudder ran through your body as you backed up into him.

His fingers removed themselves suddenly, and you couldn’t keep the disappointment from escaping you. A whine you were sure sounded like you were close to tears. JB gave your ass another smack and all it did was drive the need inside you closer to madness.

His hands planted themselves onto your ass and you felt him kneel down. Those two strategically placed hands lifting up the flesh there leaving your pussy exposed and aching in his view. Your hands were gripping the porcelain of the sink so tight you’d thought it’d crack. Your body trembling in anticipation of what he might do and the need to cover yourself up playing tug-of-war in your head.

The idea of any sort of hiding vanished when his mouth planted itself between your legs. His tongue snaking out to flick across your clit made you back up to greet his mouth. JB quickly took that moment to slide his tongue from clit to ass. The sensation was so foreign and new to you, you weren’t sure if you should be embarrassed, but the pleasure you got quickly washed the thought away.

JB gave you no time to pull yourself together. His face was back between your legs with an eager tongue to lick up every last drop. His tongue swirled around your clit and sent light flicks when you were least expecting it. Each time your legs threatened to crumble, but JB held you there with steady hands.

His tongue explored you thoroughly and put to his memory what made your knees weak. What caused a soft mulling sound of need to claw up from your throat. And what caused your grip on the sink to become almost violent.

Between each languid lick his tongue would find itself taking long strides all the way up and back down to your peak. Your body had now grown accustomed to the new sensation, and you welcomed it greedily as you pushed back against his face.

When JB knew you were so close to your sweet release he focused his tongue more on your swollen bud. Each new caress of his tongue gradually made it harder for your arms to hold you up. For your legs to keep from shaking uncontrollably.

Your orgasm continued to grow; blossoming between your folds with an ache that your body felt. You were so, so close and with a final thrust of his tongue you felt your world spin and that sweet heat between your legs finally sent shockwaves all over your body.

You came moaning so loud anyone else would’ve thought you were screaming. Your head thrown back and riding the sensation of his greedy mouth taking everything you had to offer.

When his lips finally released from you, your body was still coming down from your orgasm. The loud panting that came from you as you leaned against the sink completely spent. You watched in the mirror as he pulled a golden foil packet from his pocket. His eyes sinfully watching you as he ripped it carefully with his teeth. JB’s finger moved quickly to take out the slick rubber from the packet and begin to work it down his shaft.

You’d been so consumed with recovering from his tongue that you hadn’t realized when he’d taken his cock out of his jeans that were now shameless at his ankles. He put a few fingers inside your wetness that caused you to gasp. Your body was still recovering from what had just taken place.

He used your cum to lubricate himself and placed himself at your entrance. Already the tip of him stretching you out with the delicious sting that told you he was thick. You couldn’t wait.

You moved to push back into him to help him inside and he pulled away. His hand smacking down on your ass making you even more eager.

“Patience is a virtue.”

He tried to be funny, but his voice was deep and throaty with his own lust. You were close to pleading with him again like before, but he let it be known quickly he had no intentions to wait.

JB slid inside you and you felt your pussy stretch to accommodate him. The feel of him making your breath catch. His girth much thicker than you’d imagined, and your body shook from the pleasure of feeling yourself stretch around him.

His thrusts started off slow until he knew you’d had enough time. His hands found an anchor on your hips and used them to pull you in to meet his hips. A string of curse words fell from your mouth as your hips rocked back into him.

Each movement felt like he was going deeper. JB’s hands on the cheeks of your ass kept you spread open to him and left no friction to catch his thrusts. Every single one was felt as he buried himself inside you in a rhythmic timing that left you moaning.

You caught your reflection in the mirror, and glanced over to watch him as he worked. The way his hips bucked up only to be brought down. His hands stationed on your hips and bruising the flesh there as his grip got tighter. JB looked up and caught a glimpse of you in the mirror. His eyes locked with yours as he continued that unrelenting pace.

He removed a hand from your ass and used it to wrap back around your neck. When he knew he had a good grip, he used it to pull you close to his chest. The angle of him in this new position somehow made him feel like he was pushing into your gut.

Your mouth opened to make another sound, a moan or a scream you weren’t sure which, when that hand in your throat tilted your mouth towards him. His own came crashing down on your lips with his tongue that tasted of you slipping inside. You eagerly opened your mouth to him, and your tongue quickly moved to get a taste.

JB deepened the kiss as his hips began to thrust harder into you. The movement building up your orgasm with each brutal movement until it threatened to spill over.

“You taste so good with me on your lips.”

Your words fell earnest from your lips. You meant every one of them. You’d never tasted yourself so pretty on anyone else’s lips. JB obliged as he took your lips back. His mouth silenced another moan as his last free hand found its way back to your clit. Your body jumped at the added sensation. Your mouth tore away from his as another moan dripped from your lips.

You were so close. You could fill yourself ready to cum if only he would let you. JB must have been close too, because his thrusts started becoming more violent and sporadic. Hitting in all the right places.

At the same time as his fingers made small circles around your clit, a singular hard thrust of his hips sent his cock deep inside you. Your vision erupted in a sea of white. Your orgasm sent your body rutting back against him.

He rode your orgasm and somehow made it grow in intensity as he continued to move his hips. His own breathing going ragged as you felt him finally release into you.

When you both were able to breathe again, you’d realized you were laying over the sink. JB’s forehead resting on your back as you both struggled to regain your composure.

JB was the first to move. The first to begin the arduous process of cleaning up. Like a voyeur, you watched him as he threw away the spent rubber and tuck himself back inside his jeans. A smirk creased your lips when you noticed he now had noticeable wet spots on his tee shirt.

“You know, I don’t even know anything about you.”

You weren’t sure why you made the comment or why it mattered. You’d just had sex with the man in a damn bar bathroom. But JB didn’t seem to mind. His own smile curling his lips as he salvaged what he could of his hair.

“What would you like to know?”

“Well,” you began as you started to situate your skirt. “What’s your favorite color?”

It was a silly question. By the look on JB’s face, he knew it was, but he humored you anyways.

“It used to be blue, but I think red might be a new favorite.”

“Why is that?”

You were wondering where your panties had gone until you spied a bit of the black cloth hanging from his pocket. JB walked over to you in a few steps and planted a soft kiss down on your lips. One that spoke plainly, this wouldn’t be the last time you’d see each other.

“Because it currently matches the color of your ass.”

JB was out the door and in the bar’s hallway before you’d even got a chance to respond.

188 notes · View notes

i8jisoo · 4 years ago

Text

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒 ⇉ skz with pregnant!reader

felix x reader | part six of dad!skz

↬ genre; fluff

↬ warnings; pregnancy, slight relation to sex, birth

↬ notes; this took so long lmfao i just had it sitting but i’m finishing up seungmin rnnn 🤓 i’ve been doing requests whew i just have EVERYTHING coming at once

u guys r really surprised

u two had been in a relationship for four years now so this was inevitable as u two were putting off the pressure of marriage for awhile now

“woah, i’m gonna be a dad!! does this mean u have to call me daddy now?”

0_0

u r s e n s i t i v e

felix first notices this when he gives u a kiss in the morning n ur crying like two seconds after

:((

“why are you crying??!”

“you just leave so early and i miss you!!”

felix skips the day, not rly caring he just wants to cuddle u 🥺

speaking of cuddling u two r so cuddly together now

u guys just cant get enough of each other

ur at practice less often just bc of media and he thinks the house is safer for u

so the boys come over a ton more to the dorm just bc they wanna see u and spend time with u

he is so cute, whenever he sees you he’ll instantly be on his knees to kiss your baby bump and leave u with a light kiss on ur lips

u guys go to ur scan at the beginning of the second trimester

its hush hush and ofc felix has u with the best doctor hes heard of

his hands are clammy asf, hes smiling and so dazed while he stares at the ultrasound

“look at that!! baby a and baby b!!”

felix is like,

“oh im gonna pass out”

now he gets these corny ass JOKES like

“wow lix has really GOOD swimmers!!!”

“felix knows his way around the bedroom!!!!!!!!”

poor baby jeongin :( they are POLLUTING HIS MIND

he doesnt but this boy is scared shitless now, two babies?? thats a lot to handle

he likes to shop, a lot.

for some reason everything is dog themed, puppies on everything and he’ll come home with bags of baby stuff everyday

lix is just so in love with your body

sweaters, t-shirts, hoodies, anything he owns, he 100% wants you to wear it

he might be a little excited at the thought of u in his clothes, it was usual but now u pregnant, he was a little MORE excited

abnormally this guy worships your body 100%

he loves how easily you can just unravel, to the point of tears and have u begging for him to stop

ok lemme not ill start writing shit type smut anyways chile yes lix loves u A LOT in and out of the bedroom

mmm he’ll always be brainstorming names

aeygo for the babies 🥺

tons of kisses he has plenty to go around

he acquires a new skill called cooking 😣

ur his new favorite taste tester

he’ll read books for them both

tons of research on expecting twins and what to do

“hey, okay.. so i bought a pregnancy pillow, and like, i wanna use it?”

felix has this smirk, holding the huge pillow that is supposed to be a maternity one, but he much prefers himself using it as a regular pillow

he actually goes public with this, knowing that the fans adored u after being his girlfriend for so long nd u soon became a favorite for them

some shit like ‘stays meet your new members’ 😣

this guy has a knack for painting, his newest canvas is your large baby bump, doodling little flowers n hearts or animals on it, sometimes painting characters on it or whatever it may be

u two have this rly cute vlive together which consists of him painting ur baby bump, plenty of fun while he asked stays to tell him what to draw on ur bump :v

“ooh!! a ladybug!!”

he posts the finished project in nice high quality on their official instagram, showing off the many things he had painted

the dreaded bed rest comes into play

u are now nearing seven months, which meant that u should be experiencing labor or maybe labor pains soon

he takes his paternal leave, now indulging in ice-cream and gummy bears with u, rather than working out and drinking nasty smoothies

guess who has that sympathy weight

(jk he just uses it as an excuse so he can just give up on his diet)

sleep all day

sleep all night

u two are honestly so tired for WHATEVER reason

lix is there to be a cuddle bug, pulling ur back close to his body, ur legs entwined and his hand on top of ur own that was on ur bump

its rly cute just try and picture it for a moment

u guys r trying everything to hurry and get to the end of this seemingly forever pregnancy

he’ll def buy two yoga balls instead of just one for u and he’ll bounce on them with u

who cares ab trying to hurry up y’all are having so much fun regardless of the fact u have to pee every ten minutes

u both forget the thought of it and just go with the flow

making a deal to go with the names for whomever u claimed aka baby a or baby b

i see ur guys timing to be during the summer so its miserable in ur house

its hot n stuffy

u two r just lounging n u both have popsicles, then ur just like

“oh! oh.”

it was a steady gush of fluid between ur legs and that was when the nervousness set in

u two just look at each-other in shock

“oh! we’re having a baby- um.. wow!”

he is abnormally good at keeping calm, helping u keep ur breathing steady and getting everything together

felix is a pro.

u guys r kinda chilling in the parking lot just quiet and sort of nervous that the next time ur walking out of there you both will have not one, but two babies

“i don’t know if i’m ready yet.”

felix groans, grabbing ur hand

“ur right, ur more than ready. look at us!! parents of two in at least the next twenty-four hours!!”

his hands r around u in a second to help u up and there to help u walk in

u two honestly decide to play games on ur phone to kill time

felix crawls into ur bed, seeing as how u looked extremely lonely, letting his arms and legs wrap around u n he’s just playing with ur hair

its honestly adorable

u two are really tired for whatever reason, falling asleep like this before u would be consumed in the late nights of being parents

these nurses wake u both up and are just like

“let’s see if we’re ready to meet ur babies!!”

felix is kinda scared but nonetheless he’ll grab ur hand and hold onto it with a smile

10cm woo!

if he wasn’t hyping u up before he is hyping u up right now

ur somewhat laughing and crying while in pain

yall r so weird

felix is there to wipe ur face with the wet cloth, or to give u a sip of water, rly whatever u need he is on it

poor baby just wants to be of help

“here’s baby a! it’s a girl!”

u two have at least a moment with her, taking in her small appearance, felix holding her out for u to see

abruptly cut off by baby b needing to make an appearance

“i don’t wanna do this again.”

“it’s alright, shh. we’re going to have two babies, two perfect ones. we have one little girl, let’s get ready for the next one, yeah? our two babies, you’re doing so good.”

they take away ur little girl while felix does what he already did beforehand

“here’s your second one!! we have a pair of sisters!”

u and felix are so overjoyed at this news, literally sobbing, u two r a mess

both r brought over to u, felix taking in the fact he’s a father of two girls, such small girls

ur both smiley while u kiss them n cuddle them, getting the nurse to take a picture of u two

ur obviously tired, felix emotionally worn out but having the brightest smiles on ur faces while u hold onto ur pair of newborn girls

he’s so proud, he’s the definition of a proud father

lix is holding onto one and he comes over to you, the other one cooing

“that’s it, my three girls.”

483 notes · View notes

kingofkingdom-archive · 4 years ago

Text

Recovery [Ezra (Prospect) x Fem!Reader]

A/N: Hello all! This is my first Pedro Pascal work and the first to be posted here to this blog. If anyone has any requests, don’t hesitate to send them my way! As always, please read the tags/warnings, you are responsible for the media you choose to consume. Also posted to AO3 under the same username (kingofkingdom). I did not use “y/n” or anything similar in this story.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You were taken from your younger sister, Cee, ten years ago. When you answered a distress call from the Green, you didn’t expect to be reunited with her, and you certainly didn’t expect to meet a man like Ezra.

Warnings: mention of past violence/death, discussion of medical procedure, discussion of disability (amputation/loss of limb), family dynamics, abstract discussion of philosophy, small SW universe cameo :)

Tags: considerable amounts of fluff, size kink, daddy kink, hint of dd/lg, copious use of various pet names, p-in-v sex, some breast play/worship, some dom!ezra & sub!reader

Word count: 9552

You hadn't seen Cee since your mother died.

Her father had taken her and left you in the care of your aunt, a woman you didn't know, a woman who jumped at the chance to send you off to boarding school on the Ephrate the moment you were old enough. Most of your memories consisted of your host family there, with a younger "sister" who reminded you all too much of the one you had lost. In your mind, Cee was still a toddler, all wispy blonde hair and big blue eyes.

Cee's father had never liked you. You were the evidence of his wife's life before him, and you looked too much like your own deceased father for him to have any affection toward you. It didn't surprise you that he left you behind after your mother died, but at ten that didn't make it hurt any less.

Since then, ten years had passed. Now, your aunt was gone, and your studies on the Ephrate completed. You'd taken to a rather nomadic lifestyle, catching rides from planet to station to planet and picking up odd jobs here and there. It wasn't much, but you'd become a strong woman in your time on your own, and thoughts of your half-sister plagued you only some nights now.

Jobs you took ranged from helping the lone-wolf prospector on an excavation to ship repairs at major stations across the system. In one of your darker moments, you'd even carried out a hit against some low-level merc who'd pissed off the wrong people. Those people paid well, enough to fill your stomach for a few days and cover a ride far away from that moon. The right circles knew you could hold your own, and that's what mattered.

This particular station was on the outskirts of the system, a rough-and-tumble place frequented only by prospectors and the people that paid them. You'd taken a shift at the bar here a few weeks ago, and knew the locals pretty well. In a spot like this, people could often get more information at your humble establishment than they could from the officials. You were lying low, and you itched to get moving again, like the nomad you were.

Hence why you kept the radio channels on all the time during your shifts, quiet and unobtrusive where you stood at the bar.

You were thankful, looking back, that it had been a quiet afternoon, and that you'd been so vigilant in keeping track of job openings.

"This is Kilo-Romeo 12, calling from Green sector 608. In need of assistance pronto, rapid extraction A.S.A.P."

The voice is faint, but frantic - a masculine growl laced with an edge of panic. Your radio isn't the best, and you don't recognize the prospector's callsign, but you know he must be in deep shit. A call like this from the Green is a death sentence if someone doesn't act quickly.

As with most of your decisions, you act entirely on impulse. As you hit the button to close up the bar's doors, the radio is already in your hands.

"This is Juno B-390, responding to Kilo-Romeo 12. Do you copy?"

You're down the hall by now, rushing to your quarters to collect your meager belongings. Everything fits in a single pack, and you're just pulling your helmet onto your head when the radio crackles to life again.

"I copy, Juno B-390," the relief is evident in his voice, even through the static. "We need extraction and medical care."

Well, that wasn't in the initial signal. "We? How many are with you? And what kind of medical care are we talkin' here?"

"Just me and one other. Deep trauma to the abdomen, I'm afraid."

You swear under your breath. Nothing you can't handle, but this guy's timer's really running out. You grab the necessary supplies and dash to your small pod racer, which is just big enough with its three seats.

"Hang on, Kilo-Romeo. I'll be there as soon as I'm able. You'll need to direct me to your exact location, is that clear?"

There's a moment of silence before his voice echoes through your racer one last time.

"Clear."

You descend upon the Green as fast as the forces of physics and gravity allow you to. Sector 608, as it says on your map, is a stretch of deep woods and rolling terrain, nearly unexplored save for the last rush. You slow up as you approach, and call out to the prospector over the radio once again.

"Kilo-Romeo 12, this is Juno B-390. I am approaching your location. Do you copy?"

It's quiet. Much too quiet. You slow the racer even more, as your heart begins to race. Just as you begin to worry that you're too late, the radio awakens.

It's not the man, however, whose voice you hear.

"This is Ez-- I mean, this is Kilo-Romeo's... uh... companion. He's gotten worse."

It's a girl. A young teen, from the sound of it. Your heart clenches, thinking of how scared she must be out there.

"Okay, hey there. It's gonna be okay. Can you tell me what landmarks you see? Help me find you."

"Um, yeah. We're in a clearing, there's another ship right nearby. It's not operational, which is wh-- uh, yeah. Clearing, big ship. Also sort of a gulley nearby."

You're about to respond when she speaks again.

"Please, hurry."

"I will, kid. Just keep him alive."

It takes you longer than you would've liked to find this clearing, but once you do you see a scene that brings more questions than answers. Dead bodies litter the field and a half-blown excavation site sits in ruins. Discretion's always been a virtue of yours, though, so you file the information away in your brain and swiftly land your craft. As soon as you exit, you hear the girl's voice not too far away.

"Here! We're over here!"

You grab the field kit and run over to where she stands over a slumped figure. The man you'd spoken to is now unconscious, and not only does he have a nasty looking wound in his chest, he's missing an arm. You look up at the girl. Her brows are furrowed, eyes like steel. You like her already.

"Go to the racer and grab the stretcher that's behind the passenger seat. We'll have to move him onto that and carry him over."

She nods and runs off. Immediately, you turn to the man and take stock of his injuries. The arm has been gone for at least a little while, so that's not of immediate concern. You set to treating the chest wound, making sure to purge it and his suit of dust. Nasty stuff, that which floats around this planet. His filter is as good as gone, so you quickly connect your own.

You drain the wound with the juice the locals here produce, which is generally in stock in the station's field kits. It smells rank, but it works, and the man below you groans. Good, he's still vocal, at least. It doesn't sound like a lung's been punctured. You set up a highly temporary pocket over his wound and torn suit through which you can patch the injury. You take some foaming antiseptic and apply it to the wound before adhering a sticky bio-bandage over the top of it.

It'll do for now. He'll need further treatment at the station, but this should keep him alive, at least.

The girl returns with the stretcher then, and places it next to the man. You glance up at her, and see momentarily a young version of yourself. Eager to help. Eager to make things right.

You shake your head, collecting your thoughts. "Okay, so I'm going to tilt his body towards me, and you slide the stretcher as far as you can under him. Then we'll let him down on top of it and secure him for travel. Can you do that?"

She nods, and you give her a small smile. You hook one arm around the man's waist, the other supporting his neck and shoulder.

"On three, okay? One... two... three!"

Quickly, you roll him up onto his remaining arm as she slides the stretcher under him. As gently as possible, you let him back down, and just like that he's mostly on the stretcher. You set to arranging him properly and tying straps down.

The girl fidgets, and you look up to her.

"Do you know how to stow the back seat in a racer like that?" you ask, and she nods.

"Good, go do it."

She runs off, and is back by the time you've gotten the man secured to the stretcher.

"You take the handles at his feet and I'll take his head. We have to be careful not to tilt him too much, to keep the weight on the stretcher even. Did he suffer any head trauma?"

The girl shakes her head. "No, I don't think so."

You probably should have asked that before moving him onto the stretcher, but then again no one's ever known you for your excellence in trauma care. Your knowledge of first aid comes only from what you've picked up in the field, so sometimes the order of operations gets a bit jumbled.

Whatever. He'll be okay. You can't let yourself think otherwise.

The girl stoops to grab hold of the handles at his feet. You do the same at his head, and again you count backwards from three.

"Up!"

Together you stand, and twin groans echo from both of you. The girl huffs, clearly struggling a bit under the weight.

"Okay, let's go. Slowly, remember."

You walk backwards, feet taking cautious steps so as to keep the same pace as the young girl. Her face is screwed up in focus and concentration, hands in a vice grip on the handles.

"You're doing good, kid. Just a bit further."

Before you know it, you've reached the ship. Carefully, you set the stretcher in the racer, and then the two of you slide it in. There's just barely enough room for it. You quickly secure it, and then close the hatch.

The girl is looking at you, eyes wide and chest heaving. You reach out a gloved hand and set it on her shoulder, giving a firm squeeze.

"He'll be okay. I promise. Now go get in the passenger seat and I'll get us back up to the station."

She nods, and seems to relax a bit at that. You can't help but wonder what she's been through, out here in this rough, unforgiving environment. "Thank you."

You smile, and sincerely hope that this young girl finds a way to leave this life of prospecting behind. You don't know how she got here, but it's no place for someone so young. You know that all too well.

"Let's go, kid."

The trip was pretty quiet save for a single groan from the man in back. The girl glanced back to him when she heard that, and then looked at you, concerned.

"It's okay. He'll be in and out of consciousness until we get to the station. I'll pull up to the emergency med-bay so the doctors can start treating him properly right away."

You look over to her, and she nods.

"Does he have anyone they can contact? Any family?" you ask. "The doctors will need to know."

She shakes her head. "I'm not sure. I don't think so."

You sigh. "Okay. Well, we'll deal with that when we get there."

It's not long after that you arrive at the med-bay. It's a whirlwind of nurses and questions and forms, most of which you have to leave blank, since you don't know the guy and the girl seems not to know much more. She does, however, give you a name.

"His name's Ezra," she offers, when she sees you pause at the line on the top of the screen.

You look over at her. "Ezra? Spelled E-Z-R-A?"

She nods. "Never told me a last name though."

"That's alright. A first name's enough."

She sits next to you and helps where she can as you fill out the form. Once you're done, you go up to hand the tablet back to the receptionist. You then sit back down next to her, crossing your arms over your flight suit. The girl's fiddling with her fingers, bag tucked between her feet.

"Do you think we'll be able to see him when they're done?" she asks, clearly trying not to sound as worried as she is.

You shrug. "Probably. It might be a while, though. Do you want something to eat while we wait?"

She nods, and when you look over at her, she's smiling.

As it turns out, it does take a pretty long time for them to complete the operation. It feels like hours that you two are sitting there. You watch the people come and go from the waiting room while the girl writes in some notebook, headphones secure over her ears, absently eating a chocolate bar.

She can't be more than 13 or 14. You think back to when you were that age - in the middle of your time at the Ephrate, moody and angsty like all young teens. It makes you think of Cee. She'd be about that age by now. You look over to the girl sitting next to you, wondering what ever became of your sister. Maybe she's at the Ephrate by now, or perhaps her father has taken her to some peaceful planet with beaches and a nice home, a few pets running around.

Hopefully a better life than the one you've led. Somewhere far from thrower blasts and gemstones.

This girl seems nice enough, and you're sure she's seen her fair share of shit. It's clear this guy's not only not her father, but that they haven't known each other long at all. You can't help but wonder how they ended up traveling together.

Images of the clearing littered with bodies flashes in your mind. Something went down there, and it clearly got ugly fast. It's amazing that the girl emerged relatively unscathed. You've seen a fair share of shootouts and fights, and never did you escape completely uninjured. It takes cleverness and a strong sense of self-preservation, the latter of which you don't often have.

You're ruminating on the mystery sitting next to you when the doors to the operating rooms swing open. A nurse steps out and looks at both of you. You stand, and she follows suit.

"He's awake, and asking for you," the nurse says. You nudge the girl slightly with your elbow.

"Go on, go see hi--"

The nurse cuts in. "He's asking for both of you."

Oh. You're surprised. He doesn't even know you, so there's no reason he should be asking to see you. Despite your confusion, you follow behind the girl as she follows the nurse to his room.

The hallways are sterile and white, cleaner than anything you've seen in months. The doorway is the last on the right, and inside is a single bed, with a small window looking out to the stars.

The young girl enters first as the nurse stands to the side, and you hover in the doorway to watch, still not quite feeling entirely welcome. You can just see the man's - Ezra's - hair behind the girl, with an unusual shock of blonde in otherwise dark brown curls.

"I was wondering where you went, birdie. One minute I was on the ground and next thing I know I'm sitting here like a babe in a bassinet, right as rain," he says, voice melodic with an accent you can't quite place.

"Do you feel better, Ezra?" the girl asks, voice wavering just slightly.

"I do. Are you faring alright yourself?"

She nods, and crosses her arms. Silence fills the room for a moment, then Ezra speaks again.

"Who was so kind as to bring us here, birdie?" he asks. The girl turns to you and steps aside so Ezra can see you.

"She did," she replies, a soft look on her face.

You step forward and look at Ezra properly for the first time. You hadn't really paid much attention to his facial features back on the Green, so concerned as you were with getting him out of there.

His dark brown eyes are kind, and his lips tease at a smile. He's got stubble growing on his chin and a mustache on his lip. There's a thin white line in the shape of a crescent underneath his left eye, the silvery remnant of a deep cut sustained long ago. He's older than you, maybe 40 or so. For some reason, you feel butterflies erupt in your stomach, but you're quick to snuff those out best you can. Mirroring the girl, you cross your arms, and flip your braid over your shoulder.

"Yeah, that would be me," you say, as nonchalantly as you can manage.

"I recognize that voice from the radio," he notes, looking at you intently. "I can't hardly give you enough thanks for getting the two of us out of that... sticky situation. You really are somethin' else, sugar."

You shrug, unused to such praise, such immediate kindness. You feel your face heat up with a blush, and you clear your throat.

"Well, it sure sounded like you were in need of some help. I'm happy to see you're doing better."

Your voice is softer than you intend. Spending even three minutes with this guy seems to have thrown you off balance. You haven't met anyone that talks like him since you were in school, and it's like a breath of fresh air.

His face turns serious at your words. Ezra's gaze is as intense as it is gentle, burning into your own.

"Oh, much better," he assures you, giving you a look you can't quite decipher. A smile quickly returns to his features. "It's a shame they couldn't get my arm to grow back."

You laugh a little at that, happy to see that he's in good spirits. The nurse steps forward then, tablet in hand. The three of you turn to her.

"Ezra will likely be discharged tomorrow morning, given how much progress he's made just today. He will need somewhere to rest, however, for the next week or so. We can help to make boarding arrangeme--"

"No," you interrupt, surprising even yourself. "No, he can stay with me. I have quarters in the 4th wing." You turn to the girl. "You can stay with me too, if you'd like." You don't know what's come over yourself, but you find yourself drawn to this unlikely pair.

The girl nods once, just as Ezra speaks up. "You're too kind, sugar. Your hospitality and generosity are appreciated beyond measure. Do let us know if there's any way at all we can show our gratitude."

You shake your head immediately, waving a hand as if to wave away the notion.

"No need for that. Consider it a celebratory gift for parting with the Green."

Everyone laughs at that - even the nurse, who hides her grin behind her tablet.

The next morning, you and the girl - whose name you still don't know, and who still does not know yours - visit the med-bay first thing after breakfast. Your quarters are small, enough to fit two comfortably and three at most. The girl has decided to take the sofa, since Ezra will need to rest, and a bed is most ideal for that. It seems you both tend to rise early, so you gave her some oatmeal and a cup of coffee. She took both without hesitation, and it warmed your heart to see her eat after however long she and Ezra had been out there.

When you two arrive, Ezra is waiting in his room, dressed in clean loungewear with a bag on his lap. He is seated in a wheelchair. You and the girl greet him, happy to see that he is rested and ready to leave.

"I told the kind folks that I am more than able to walk unaided," he comments when you begin to push the chair from behind. "They insisted, however, and I am not one to ignore the advice and orders of my physicians."

You see the girl try to hide a smile. It seems as though he's grown on her, and she struggles to admit that to herself. Before you can think better of it, you give Ezra a pat on the right shoulder, a small attempt at reassurance.

"You'll be walking in no time, I'm sure," you reply.

You feel his left hand cover your own, and you nearly stumble as you push him along through the hallway. His palm is rough and callused, a signature trait of most prospectors. It's large, too, covering your own entirely. Its warmth soaks through the back of your hand and into your stomach.

"With kindness as bright as yours to guide me, that will certainly be the case."

You don't know what to say to that, so you give his shoulder a squeeze and retract your hand.

The 4th wing is not too far from the med-bay; the station itself is smaller than most, so the distance is blessedly short. Ezra does most of the talking while the three of you walk.

"It would suit me just perfectly to never see that god-forsaken moon again so long as I live," he comments just as you reach the door to your quarters. You scan your ID card and the panel slides open, revealing a small but comfortable dwelling. "Forget the gems, forget the money. Prospecting is surely the most foolish endeavor of them all."

"The lust for wealth is stronger than the fear of death," you reply, almost without thinking.

Ezra looks up at you, smiling, a curious look on his face. "Asmolea. Ruminations, chapter seven. Color me impressed, sugar."

You look back, equally surprised. "You recognize that quote?"

"Why, yes, in fact, I do," he responds, and you notice the girl watching the two of you out of the corner of your eye. "I was an admirer of the great thinkers, long ago. When I was younger, and more -- well, more curious about such things, I suppose."

You wheel him into the small sitting area, arranged around a holo-screen. The walls are bare, lack of personality belying a short-lived residence here. You engage the wheelchair's brakes and take a seat yourself, across from him on an armchair. The girl sits on the sofa, where she slept last night.

"Philosophy is the sustenance of the mind," he continues, kicking his feet up to rest on the coffee table. He winces slightly at the motion, but keeps speaking nevertheless. "Without it, we decay. We risk succumbing to trivial errors of man. It is the sharpening stone to the blade of our intellect."

"What about literature?" the girl asks, her eyes firey and brow set. "I think that's much more valuable than what some ancient guy thought about a world we don't even know anymore."

You smile, pleased at this contribution. "I think great literature can convey philosophical ideas in the form of a modern narrative. You just have to keep an eye out for it, and understand its relevance to the story."

Ezra nods along. "I agree. Where did you read Asmolea, sugar?"

"At the Ephrate," you reply, and you see the girl perk up. You smile at her, hoping the two of you will have a chance to discuss that later. She seems entirely intrigued by you now. "I studied there for seven years, until I was eighteen."

"Why did you leave?" the girl asks.

You sigh, and bring your foot up to rest on the chair, so your thigh is pressed against your front. "Life there didn't suit me. I'm much happier on my own, not surrounded by stuffy academics and pretentious businessmen. The only ones I could stand there were the monks."

Ezra laughs at that. "The Neo-Carthusians?"

You nod, grinning. "Yeah. Considered joining, for about a month or so. I admire their lives of solitude and contemplation, but I couldn't imagine staying in one place for so long."

The conversation flows between the three of you so naturally you hardly notice the time flying by. They ask questions about you, and you return the favor by inquiring about their lives. The girl is quiet when it comes to her past, but you find out her father died on the Green. Both she and Ezra are hesitant to talk about it, which tells you all that you need to know.

Night falls quickly, or at least night according to standard time - on the station, there is no night or day, just a constant darkness visible out the windows interrupted by pinpricks of light. Everyone follows the standard clock, which runs according to time on the Ephrate.

You show Ezra to his room after the three of you have eaten dinner. It's a small space, just enough for a bed and a dresser. Carefully, he stands from the wheelchair, tosses his bag on the bed, and turns to look at you.

He's much taller than you are. The butterflies return as you look up at him, and a warm feeling radiates through the area below your stomach.

"Thank you again for the hospitality, sugar," he murmurs, voice low and deep. He moves the wheelchair out from between you, so there's nothing but air separating the two of you. "As I said, don't hesitate to ask if there is anything I can do to repay you. Anything at all."

You nod, at a loss for words. His hand comes up and gently brushes a loose strand of hair away from your face and tucks it behind your ear. You positively melt. This man is going to be the death of you.

"I'm just glad to see you safe, Ezra," you reply, and your eyes flutter at the way his fingers linger over the apple of your cheek. His lips look so soft, his eyes full of promises he intends to keep. You can feel yourself falling, as if in a dream.

You blink and lean back, away from him. This is a bad idea. For what reason, you can't say, but you dart to your room as soon as you begin to doubt yourself.

You shut the door and lean against it. There's no way, your mind whispers to you. He feels indebted. That's the only reason. You're too young, he just sees you as a kid.

In your haste, you didn't see the look in his eyes as you left so suddenly, or the way he stared at the door long after you shut it.

In the night, you dream of him. Dark eyes above you, heavenly, filthy moans filling the air around you, something thick and perfect filling the empty space inside you. His musical voice murmurs sweet words in your ear, and you hear the sound of your passion just as much as you feel it. Your hands grip his hair as he thrusts, your body trembling underneath him.

Your peak startles you awake, and you find your bedsheets soaked with the evidence of your fantasy.

Your bedside clock tells you it is the early hours of the morning. With a sigh, you toss back the blankets and emerge from your room quietly.

After a quick shower in the refresher, you step out and wrap a towel around yourself. You stare into the mirror, thinking about him.

You've never felt such an instant attraction to anyone before in your life. Sure, his looks contribute quite a bit, but it's much more than that. You and he seem to have a similar intellect, his passion and aptitude for prose matching your own knowledge and understanding of philosophy and the humanities. The girl is also equally respected by him as she is by you, and you both share a common want to see her thrive. You've known them both barely a day and a half, but they already feel more like family than anyone you've ever known.

You wonder if you're imagining his affections toward you. That could just be him, his way of communicating. You desperately hope it's more than that, but you also can't get your hopes up because of a silly dream.

A silly, beautiful dream.

Water drips from your hair, down your chest, and into the towel. As you begin to shiver, you decide to return to bed and try again for some uninterrupted sleep. You'll have to change the sheets, unfortunately, but that shouldn't take more than a few minutes.

You open the door and tiptoe back out into the hallway, quiet as a mouse. Just as you're about to sneak back into your room, towel clutched tightly in your fingers, you're startled by the door opposite your own sliding open.

And there he is. Dressed in little more than a pair of grey shorts, hair tousled and eyes weary with sleep.

He blinks a few times, and then his eyes widen, suddenly much more awake. You see him glance down, and his mouth parts ever so slightly before his gaze returns to your face.

You are frozen in place. Somewhere in your mind, you will your feet to dart away again, but the remnants of your dream still echo in your muscles, preventing you from leaving. Your hands tighten on your towel and despite yourself, you make note of his chest, his abdomen - the wound, which is an angry red line, held together with clear stitching, and which makes your heart clench at the thought of what would've happened had you not arrived - and finally, a rapid glance at his shorts, his thighs, before you find your sense and look back up at his face.

There's that intensity again, with considerably less gentleness. You inhale sharply, and spare a glance towards the sitting area, where the girl sleeps.

"She's quite the light sleeper, I'm afraid. I'd be mightily surprised if she didn't already hear --"

His voice is low, nearly inaudible to your ears as you look back at him. The tone of it causes the insides of your thighs to tremble, and your chest to heave with silent breaths. Ezra cuts himself off, clearly not having meant to say as much as he did.

Maybe it's the early hour that makes the words escape your lips with ease. Maybe it's the dream, the visions of which you can still see in your mind's eye as you look at him. Perhaps there's just something about Ezra that makes you bold, standing there with nothing more than thin terrycloth protecting your modesty.

"Hear what, Ezra?" you whisper, and set your jaw when his eyes widen ever so slightly.

Ezra reaches out, and his hand comes up to grip the back of your neck. His thumb strokes your jawline, behind your ear, and he steps forward. He's so close that you can feel the heat from his body on your own.

His lips press softly against your forehead, a surprisingly intimate gesture that makes you shiver. The hand that isn't clutching your towel moves to rest on his waist, golden skin warm under your cold fingers.

"Hear this, sweet thing," he murmurs against your skin, lips still pressed against you. "How strongly I feel for you. How deeply I know that it was divine providence that brought you to me. The ways I want to repay you for saving my life.”

His words are like molten gold, shimmering and hot as they slip over your skin and into your heart. You shiver, and your fingers curl gently into his side.

”I don’t - I don’t want you to feel obligated to... to do anything. With me. For me,” you whisper back, eyes closed, basking in the feeling of this quiet moment.

Ezra hums in dissent against your worries. “No... no...” he says, as his fingers slowly thread their way into your hair. “It isn't like that —“

He’s interrupted by a shuffling sound from the sitting room. You both freeze, wide-eyed, and look toward the room where the girl sleeps.

A moment passes, and then two. Enough that you know she is still asleep and there isn’t any risk of her finding you two like this.

It‘s like ice water thrown over you, the reminder of where and who you are. You look back up to Ezra, whose eyes are soft and knowing as they stare at you. His hand gently caresses the back of your neck, and then he brings it back to rest at his side.

"Go to bed, sweetheart," he murmurs, and then steps around you. He enters the refresher without another word.

You do as he says, but you find yourself struggling to fall back asleep once you return to clean, cool sheets. You watch the stars inch past outside your window as your mind races at the memory of his lips.

The next morning, you wake to sounds of movement coming from outside your door. For a moment you panic, before you remember your two visitors. And then you remember your encounter with one of those visitors last night, and the hushed words exchanged between you and him.

Beside you, the clock reads barely past 06:00, which is usually the time you wake up anyway. Today you have another shift at the bar, assuming you still have a job there after you ditched it the other day. With a groan, you pull yourself out from under the warm, soft covers and dress yourself.

The noise becomes more decipherable as you make your way down the hallway. Ezra and the girl are making small talk while something sizzles. You turn the corner and see Ezra standing at the stove with the girl sitting at the counter, the pleasing aromatic smell of pork bacon wafting through the air. You lean against the wall and watch the pair with a small smile, happy to see someone making use of a space normally reserved for microwave rations and alcohol snuck from the bar.

No one's ever accused you of being a particularly good bartender, that's for sure.

Ezra turns to look at you when he hears your footsteps, a bright smile lighting up his face.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he teases, and pushes the bacon around with a spatula. "I cannot emphasize enough how divine it was to wake up with a soft cushion beneath me rather than dirt. I could much too easily let myself get used to this, and I think Cee here agrees with me on that account. Don't you, birdie?"

The girl nods, but you don't notice it. The color has drained from your face and you feel a frantic, sinking feeling in your chest.

"What did you say?" you ask, pushing yourself off the wall and looking at Ezra with wide eyes.

He looks back, brow furrowed, confused. "I believe I said that I could get used to this...?"

You turn away from him and look at the girl. She's looking at you too, now, concern evident in her eyes.

"What did he say your name is?"

She blinks. "My name's Cee."

Your hand flies up to your mouth, and you feel tears gather at the corners of your eyes. It can't be. But she's the right age, and her hair's the same, and...

"What was your father's name?"

She looks even more confused now. "Um, it was Damon."

Oh my god. "Oh my god. You're Cee."

The two of them stare at you like you've grown a second head. You laugh, realizing how foolish you look.

And then you give her your name.

Cee's eyes light up like nothing you've ever seen before, and she nearly launches herself off of the counter stool to wrap you in the tightest hug you've ever been given. You laugh again, a loud and boisterous thing, as happy tears spring unbidden and flow onto your cheeks. Her hands grip the back of your shirt as you hold her head to your chest with both hands.

"I never thought I'd see you again," you mutter through the tears, pressing your nose against her hair. It's her. It's really her. Suddenly you think Ezra was right about divine providence, that the three of you were meant to find each other, the event arranged by some mighty cosmic force.

"Dad told me you were dead," she cries, as the two of you collapse to the floor. Propriety suddenly no longer concerns you, not now that you're cradling your long-lost little sister.

"I'm so sorry, Cee. I'm so sorry."

You can't say much more than that. There are simultaneously too many and not enough things to say to the last family you have left in the universe, to this girl who was so much like you even in the first moments of knowing one another.

Above you, Ezra clears his throat.

"While this is clearly an unexpected but happy reunion that I hate to interrupt, I do have to ask how you girls know one another, so that I might not be kept in the dark about your relation?"

You look up at him as you move backwards to rest your shoulders against the wall. His dark eyes look down at you from above, and though you've never felt so small, you've also never felt happier in your life.

"She's my sister," you answer with a smile. "Same mother, different father. We were separated when our mother died. She was hardly more than a baby."

Ezra's eyes grow soft at that, and he nods. You begin to think that maybe now you both have something to thank the other for. You may have saved his life, but his radio transmission brought you Cee.

You tighten your arms around her, and place a kiss on the crown of her head. You aren't sure how long you sit there - long enough to have surely lost your job when you don't show up for your shift, but you can't find it within yourself to care. This is all that matters to you right now.

The day passes with you and Cee doing most of the talking, for once. Ezra seems content to just sit and listen, though you catch him a few times looking at you like he did in the darkened hallway last night.

After lunch, he makes a point to sit next to you on the couch, arm draped across the cushions behind you.

If Cee notices, she doesn't say anything. You still aren't sure where your relationship with Ezra stands, but in the midst of sharing stories with Cee and learning about her life, you don't find time to sort that out.

Dinner comes and goes again, and the topic of the future comes up.

"When do you think you'll be healed enough to travel again, Ezra?" you ask, as the three of you work on cleaning the dishes.

He shrugs. "I'm fit to travel right now," he answers, and you give him a look. No, he isn't. He chuckles. "Alright, sugar. Maybe another day or so. The serum they gave me to apply daily has been working wonders, I must admit."

You nod, and look over at Cee. "Where do you want to go? The Ephrate? I have no doubt you could get into the school there."

She perks up at that. "You think so? Would you bring me?"

"Why not? I'm a traveler anyway, and I think it's high time I got out of this station. Ezra?" You look over to him, but he's already looking at you.

You feel his hand ghost over the small of your back. "I would be most honored to accompany you both to the Ephrate, if you'll have me."

"Yes, of course," you reply, leaning into his touch, and you turn back to the task at hand.

Later on, when Cee is in bed listening to her music, and Ezra's in his room, you sit on your bed thinking about what's to come. In order to apply to the school, Cee will need a guardian contact, and a record of education. You hope she can pass the entrance exam and submit a writing sample, and that that will be enough. Maybe you can talk some of your former professors into considering her.

It’s a pretty long trip from the station to the Ephrate, even with a ship that can travel at hyper speed. You can’t help but wonder what will become of Ezra after you get Cee set up in school.

The man captivates you, to put it plainly. His poetic manner of speaking and the gentle fire of his passion, when directed at you, gives you a feeling unlike any other you’ve experienced before. You’ve met plenty of men in your life. None have ever made you feel such a way.

Before you can think better of it, while the desire to see his sleep-ruffled hair still sits at the forefront of your mind, you get out of bed and leave your room. Quietly, so as to not disturb Cee, you knock on his door.

”Come in!” he calls out from somewhere within.

You slide the door open, slip inside, and close the door behind you. Ezra is sitting up in bed, looking at you.

”To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing such a beautiful woman enter my chamber in the night?” The question is teasing, good-natured, but the compliment still makes your stomach swoop.

You smile, and walk to where he lies in bed, leaning against the dresses. “I wanted to thank you, Ezra. You brought my sister back to me, which is something I’ll never be able to repay you for. Can we call it even?”

He laughs at that. “Sure we can, sweet thing. You know, when I first saw you in that recovery room, I thought I recognized you from somewhere, and that my brain had done me the disservice of erasing all memory of you. I now realize it was because you and Cee are so much alike. I haven’t known her for much longer than I’ve known you, and it remains a miracle that she has given me even a modicum of trust, but I see the relation between you clear as a bell now.”

You have to smile at that. It warms your heart to know you didn’t imagine it, that someone else noticed it too.

Ezra reaches out then, in the dim light, and you step forward. Thinking he's reaching for your hand, you extend yours - but he bypasses it completely and wraps his hand around the back of your upper thigh, thumb brushing against your sleep shorts. A giggle escapes your lips as he pulls you in even closer to him. Ezra leans forward and presses his face against your midsection, nose just next to your belly button.

Confused, but certainly pleasantly surprised, you place your hands on his head and thread your fingers through his dark curls. Gently you massage his scalp, not quite understanding this sudden show of affection. It's different than last night, though you can't exactly express how.

You decide you're really enjoying seeing these different sides of Ezra when the two of you are alone.

When you happen to massage a certain spot right behind his ear, Ezra groans, a low sound that ripples through your bones. His grip tightens, and you feel his next words more than you hear them.

"Come here, little one," he murmurs into your stomach, nosing at the hem of your shirt. The pet name makes you clench, desire flooding through your center.

He pulls you closer, shifting his face away so he can guide you down onto the bed. You swing one leg over his waist just as he slides his hand up to grip your ass, turning you further so you're on your back next to him. He's on his side, propped up by his elbow, leaning over you.

You're breathless, staring up into those infinite brown eyes.

"You have consumed my every waking thought since the moment I first saw you" he says softly, his voice a low purr that awakens some unknown part of yourself. You turn into him, resting a hand on his side, and he presses his nose against your cheek.

"I must have been a saint in a previous life to have earned this sweet embrace," he continues, breath warm against your face. "I want to learn you, to study you with the same vigor the ancients studied and examined the mind. I want to know you, sweet girl, in every way possible.

"But I must be truthful with you, because I could no longer live with myself if I were not. I am not a good man. I have lived a long life of violence and amorality, and death and deceit seem to follow me hand-in-hand. You are so young, little one, full of life and vitality, future bright ahead of you. I do not deserve you, and you certainly deserve better than me."

His words are like needles piercing your heart. You slide your hand up his chest to cup his face, tenderly stroking his cheekbone. You draw him away ever so slightly so you can look him in the eye.

"You and I are not so different, Ezra," you hum, making sure that he keeps the eye contact. "I have been on that same path, of death and violence, for years. I've lived for none but myself."

You slide your thumb across his lower lip, soft and pink and tempting.

"Let me live for you."

You punctuate your whispered plea by drawing him back down and pressing your lips to his. He gasps into the kiss before returning it with passion amplified twofold. His leg slides over your midsection to stabilize himself, knees pushing in between your own so your thighs stretch open around his.

Ezra deepens the kiss almost immediately. You surrender to his lips, one hand gripping his shoulder while the other tangles again in his hair. His mouth is hot, tasting faintly of mint but mostly a sweet flavor you attribute only to him. You let out a soft moan at the feeling building in your cunt, wet and warm and yearning for him, and he uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Ezra licks at your teeth, seemingly in an attempt to map out every part of you that he can.

All you're able to do is moan, melting into him like a candle to a flame.

You feel Ezra shift a little, followed by profanity muttered softly against your lips. He draws away, and you open your eyes to see him clenching his jaw.

"'M still not fully adjusted to not having a kriffing arm," he grumbles, frustration evident in his eyes. You hum, hurting for him, wanting to take his pain away.

"What do you need, Ezra?" you ask. "What can I do?"

He presses his forehead against yours and sighs. "I want to see you, sweet thing. I want to touch you."

You flush, understanding the meaning of his words and feeling your panties grow wetter at the implication.

"Yes," you breathe. "Yes." You push at his shoulders, urging him to sit back. He does so, sitting back. You rearrange your legs so that yours rest outside of his, and sit up. Your thighs are tucked against his hips in a position that feels much closer than before - you can just barely feel the heat of his groin against your own. A breath stumbles its way out of your lungs, chest heaving.

Before you can think any further on your insecurities, you grasp the hem of your shirt and draw it up and over your head. Ezra's eyes light up, glance at your face, darken considerably as he looks down again, and then he's on you once more.

His arm wraps around you tightly, hand pressing firmly into your ribs, and it's then that you really take in the size difference between you and him. As his head dips to press his lips against your breasts and nipples, you can't help but shudder at the way his body curls over your own. You feel distinctly small, in a way that would usually frighten you but instead makes you shiver.

This position is clearly more comfortable for Ezra, because he becomes more vocal as he lavishes your tits with attention.

"Gods, little one," he murmurs against the top of one of your breasts, tongue darting out to taste your peaked bud, "your body is divine, the sweetest fruit in the universe." He pauses to suck at your nipple, drawing it into his mouth, and the sight of it forces a whine from your throat. Something about it is so perfect, so perverse, for a man who's always been so sweet, that you can't help but press your clothed cunt down on his cock, the shape of which you can feel burning and hard like an iron through your clothes.

Ezra lets out a choked growl at that, a deep rumbling sound that you immediately commit to memory, in case of the unfortunate event that you're not blessed to ever hear it again. He releases your teat, now spit-soaked and throbbing, and looks at you with eyes so dark you hardly recognize them. His brows are drawn together, teeth bared like a feral animal.

"That's what you do to me," he growls, moving his hand down to cup your ass, squeezing harshly. You gasp, and press into him, bare chest to bare chest. "Feel my dick against your little pussy, baby? Think it can fit?"

You nod frantically, knowing your shorts are soaked through, as his filthy words send your mind reeling. You're not capable of thoughts beyond him and this any longer.

Ezra uses his grip on your ass to press your cunt against him once more, and he rolls his hips up into you in a mimicry of what he'd like to do you. You moan, completely unashamed, and drop your head to tuck your face against his shoulder.

"Please," you whine, nearly unaware of the words coming out of your mouth. It's quiet, hushed, this next utterance, and it's passed through your lips before you can think twice about it.

"Please fuck me, daddy."

Ezra freezes. It takes you a moment too long to realize what you've said.

"What did you say?" Ezra asks, the words rumbling from somewhere in his chest.

You get a frantic feeling in your limbs, panic crawling up your throat. Great, you think, I've messed it all up. He probably thinks I'm some freak, screwed up in the head.

You're broken from your spiraling thoughts by the feeling of his lips on your neck, teeth digging into the space beneath your jawline.

"I asked you a question, sweet girl."

You tremble in his grasp. He's not going to let it go. "Daddy..." you whimper, and he groans.

"You really are a perfect little girl for me," he mutters as his hand slides around from your ass to the front of your shorts. You tighten your grip on the back of his neck and lean forward, thinking he intends to pull your remaining clothes down your legs.

Instead, he clenches his fist and tears them, both your shorts and your panties, from your pussy. You yelp as he does so, and watch as the fabric goes flying somewhere off to the side.

"There you are, sweet thing," he murmurs, leaning back to look at you, hand back in position on your bare ass. "Look at you. Filthy and perfect for daddy, aren't you? A fantasy come to life, placed in my lap by the gods themselves."

You moan once more, pressing your bare cunt against the outline of his cock in his thin sleep pants. He reaches down to pull it free, and as you keep your balance against him, you look down and see perhaps the biggest dick you've ever laid eyes on. Ezra chuckles, watching your reaction.

"You ready, baby? Want me to fill you up, fuck you like you need?"

You nod, and lean in to press your face against the crook of his neck again. "Please," you whine. "I need your big cock in my pussy."

The words are completely unlike you - something about Ezra has awoken a completely submissive, unfiltered side of yourself you didn't know existed before. Sure, you knew you wanted him, and weren't a stranger to sex, but this is an entirely new personality, focused entirely on being his. It's almost like a dream, and for a moment you feel as though you're floating, with how relaxed you are in anticipation for --

Oh.

He's guided the head of his cock to your entrance, and is using his leverage on your ass to guide you slowly, slowly down. You gasp - he's certainly the biggest you've ever had, and the stretch is delicious. Ezra's restraining himself, going slow so he doesn't hurt you, but you have no such qualms.

You drop down in one fell swoop, and the way he fills you makes your eyes roll back in your head. His hand moves from your ass to around your waist, nearly encircling it entirely. He groans, loudly and deeply.

"You'll kill me like this, little one. You're just wrapped around my cock, aren't you? Desperate for it?"

You nod frantically. "Yes, daddy. Yes!"

Ezra moans at that. His hand grips your waist, teeth biting and sucking at your neck, as you push up on your thighs to lift off of him. The drag of his dick against the walls of your cunt is incredible, the head of it catching and pushing on hidden, sensitive ridges within you.

You drop down again, and begin to fuck yourself on Ezra's cock.

His hips piston up as you do so, finding and matching your rhythm with ease. His melodic voice mutters the dirtiest things you've ever heard as he slams his hips up into you.

"...That's it, sweet thing. You were made to fit on my cock, weren't you?..."

"...Wanted to do this that night in the hallway, take you right up against the wall..."

"...My strong, sweet girl, bouncing like a whore on daddy’s cock -- gods, look at your tits..."

You feel your climax building, rising like a fire about to consume you from the inside out. Ezra is close, too, from the way his hips stutter and his breathing becomes ragged.

"Sweet thing..." he groans, slowing his thrusts. "I can't... inside you..."

You shake your head. You know he's clean, since he was tested at the med-bay when he went in for the operation. And besides...

"I've got the implant, daddy. Come in me, please."

Ezra finishes with the most beautiful moan you've ever heard, and you come nearly at the same moment. It's an ethereal, heavenly experience, like the two of you have ascended and joined the gods who so graciously brought you together.

You fall asleep tucked into his chest, warm under his blanket, with the smell of him and you and both of you lulling you into the most peaceful sleep you've had in your life.

A month later, you and Ezra and Cee sit at a mahogany wood table, filling out a holo-tablet with the form for Cee's entrance into your alma mater on the Ephrate. Your sister is already taken with the place, and you couldn't be happier for her.

"Now it wants me to put in a parent or guardian's name," she says, stylus hovering over that section. The cursor blinks as it waits.

You're about to tell her to skip it, but Ezra speaks up before you can.

"Put my name down," he offers, and she looks over at him. "Is that okay with you?"

Cee nods, a genuine smile brightening her features. She turns back to the screen with haste.

"Ezra Stallard," he adds simply.

You look over to him, pleased with this revelation.

As you watch Cee enter Ezra's full name into the blank and select Guardian, you get a chill up your spine. Despite yourself, you think back to that night, and you know Ezra's thinking the same when his hand moves over to rest on your thigh.

You can't wait to have your ship to yourselves; the joy of seeing your sister thrive in a new setting is followed only by the anticipation of what is to come. You and Ezra have made no plans for the future yet - all you know is that he will be with you, and that's the only guarantee you need.

For the first time in a very long time, your heart sings.

#ezra x you #ezra (prospect)#ezra prospect #ezra x reader #ezra x female reader #prospect #prospect fanfiction #prospect (2018)#ezra x reader smut #pedrp pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fic #ezra fic #ezra prospect x reader #canon compliant #wrote this while listening exclusively to grimes #take that as you will

253 notes · View notes

jerepars · 4 years ago

Note

Back again lol. Even though the writing just hasn’t been the best this season, I’m not really that mad about the way they’ve portrayed Jeresa. Just looking at this logically, I feel that they gave us 5x02 as our Jeresa episode early on and there really was a lot of sweet moments. Now, inevitably we had to have angst in between. But it’s been constantly cemented that James is in love with Teresa, and strongly implied that she loves him too. They can’t just build that up and leave it unresolved. Plus, with TV shows in general, a couple being together early on in the series just leaves it open for unnecessary conflict and the ship just loses its intrigue. If they give us the Jeresa ending we’re hoping for then it makes sense to have not got them together any episode earlier than the final 2. And despite everything, I think the writers have been a hell of a lot better than others in keeping their ship alive and not causing a irredeemable issue between them. I probably shouldn’t defend them before seeing the next two episodes, but I am hopeful. All that being said, there most definitely should have been more scenes and dialogue between them. We should’ve had a Tony moment between them (I’m so mad about this, especially since the writers acted like it was such a pivotal part of the season and then only showed Pote’s ‘grief’). I’m very sorry for rambling, just wanted to hear your take.

Oh, yes hello, back again, I see. Your ask made me sigh because I think it opens me up to be honest and critical of this season’s writing, and that kind of opinion may not always be favored around here, and also because it requires a response of essay length. But I’ll do it for you, anon, I will. Okay. So you want my take on the portrayal of Jeresa in season 5. Here we go. After the jump:

Let me preempt this by saying the show isn’t too serious (try and tell me this is still a serious show after the kerfuffle that season 5 has been), so you shouldn’t take this too seriously either. I have an opinion but I’m just…me. I encourage everyone to stick to their guns about what they feel about QOTS; what you like about it, what you love about it, what gets you excited, what you think has been done well, what is worthy of praise, etc. etc. etc. I go in pretty hard on the show in the next several (LOL, yes, really) paragraphs. But I am in no way the ultimate authority on all things QOTS.

I don’t think Jeresa would have unnecessary conflict and I don’t think the good ship Jeresa would lose its intrigue. In lieu of conflict, we’ve gotten…*crickets* nothing. No conversations of real value, no meaningful exchange of ideas, no arguments, nothing. If anything, the conflict between Teresa and James that is necessary had been absent. In seasons 1-3, there were always disagreements between Teresa and James. There was never a point reached where it created too much conflict, or unnecessary conflict. It created tension, which is like the very essence of Jeresa, and it showed the dynamic they have that made so many of us fall hard for Jeresa as our ship, as our OTP. I don’t think making them a couple or having them together early on in the season would create unnecessary conflict. I think it could’ve created different conflict than what we’ve seen before, and wouldn’t that be a beautiful thing, to have seen them evolve and deal with each other in ways we haven’t seen before?

So, related to what I said about different conflict, as far as intrigue goes…I don’t think presenting Jeresa as a couple or in a relationship would ever make them flat or boring. When I think back to season 3, when we got Jeresa in 3x05 and 3x09, I wish we’d been offered the chance to see them succeed and see what happened with them if they tried. Like I said, it’d be a different kind of conflict, a different kind of challenge for them to face and have to face together. That sounds so opposite of lacking intrigue to me, anon. That’s a side of Jeresa I would have loved to see.

You’ve pointed out that, in general, on TV shows, getting a couple together too early usually means doom and gloom and failure for them. One of my favorite shows ever was Veronica Mars, the first two seasons especially. When the showrunner, Rob Thomas, has talked about the first kiss Logan and Veronica have, he refers to it as being earned. For QOTS, and for Jeresa, I really felt that when they shared their first kiss in 3x05. It took so much and they went through so much to get to that moment. It was earned. So, with that idea—of the earned kiss, of the earned get together, of the earned relationship—in mind, to me, there is no point in season 5 that would have been too early for Jeresa.

Talking about TV shows and how they usually go in general leads me to my next point: as a viewer, is that what I want and is that what I should expect, to be given more of what’s typical? Maybe the writers and critics and people much smarter than me will tell me it’s my fault, I’m the fool, for wanting to critically engage in media that’s not meant to be consumed that way. Maybe I’m just supposed to accept and enjoy and be happy with what I’m given. No one claimed this wasn’t going to be typical. So okay. It’s on me. It’s my bad. But here’s the thing. If I’m supposed to accept and enjoy and love this as it is…well, give me something to love. I’m not asking for a revolution or anything life-changing here, just something I can appreciate (and this season, in my opinion, has really lacked things that I can hold on to and appreciate). So as for typical TV…I’m not down with merely accepting that because things usually go a certain way, that’s how they always have to go.

Why do Jeresa have to fail if they got together earlier in the season? Why is it so out of the realm of possibility that they might succeed together? Are they so emotionally stunted, do they lack so much compassion and understanding of each other that it would be impossible for them to listen and move forward together? What if they could discuss their issues, tell each other how they feel, stop hiding, and try? Who says there wouldn’t be angst and tension between them as they try to work through their issues? What if they’re actually supposed to be together and it would make them stronger—individually and as a couple?

Now, forget everything I just said. LOL. Let’s say we have to go by TV in general and typical TV rules. Let’s assume if Jeresa got together early on, then we’d see them struggle and fall apart and break up. Fine. Okay.

Here’s how Jeresa could have played out after the first two episodes:

5x03 banging honeymoon phase, probably

5x04 arguments and frustration with each other as T embraces being the white queen

5x05 J finds out about T’s coke usage and has to walk away from the relationship because he can’t stand to be complicit and stand idly by while she destroys herself

5x06 classic Jeresa angst and tension

5x07 KG’s death leads to T’s breaking point and J is there to support her

5x08 honesty hour, where it’s made clear that these two mean so much to one another and they’re running out of time to let each other know that, so they tell each other

5x09 one last united mission + they hatch the plan to get out and be free + a farewell with the promise and intent to see each other in another life

5x10 reunion in another life

Are these all headcanons? Of course they’re headcanons. Of course I would never expect the show to go exactly how I thought it would or with my own ideas. My point is that if they would’ve gotten together early on and we’d been given a glimpse of what that would be like, even if they failed, it doesn’t mean it would’ve been impossible for them to ever find themselves together again before season’s end.

“There’s not enough time,” the writers said. “It’s an action packed season,” the writers said. Okay. Why? There was enough time to spend on backstory of minor insignificant characters. There was enough time to introduce characters, tell us a bit about them, only to see them dead by the end of the episode. There was enough time to focus on Kote’s story, over multiple episodes, with not just a baby plot but a kidnapping one as well. So why? Why was there no time for Jeresa? Forget about them getting together and kissing and sex. If that was what it was (and it was) they wanted us to not have, then fine. Some of my favorite Jeresa moments were in the first two seasons, when Jeresa getting together was very much not a thing, when tension was high. So if it was just the portrayal of them not being together, if we still got the scenes of tension and them having no choice but to communicate, that would be completely fine. Like I said, I know I’m never going to get exactly what I want, my headcanons are mine, so that’s okay. Oh. But…no. Oh no. There was not even enough time for Jeresa to have more than short, throwaway, blink-and-you’ll-miss it conversations? Well. It’s the writers’ decision. They wanted it that way.

“It’s a Teresa-centric season,” Dailyn claimed. Like I’ve said before, James is a big part of Teresa’s journey and story. If you’re going to have a Teresa-centric season, it’s hard to accomplish that without shedding more light on James and Jeresa. This isn’t a Teresa-centric season. This has become the Kote show. Teresa is the main character but her journey has been pushed aside, diminished, and downplayed in order to make way for Kote ultrasounds and Pote grunting and Kelly Anne thinking “positive” and hopeful that Marcel will come to a party at the safe house. Instead of getting conversations that would offer insight into Teresa’s relationships with those in her family, we got an extended deep dive into the most chemistry-lacking relationship we’ve ever seen on the show. Well. It’s the writers’ decision. They wanted it that way.

“It’s Queen of the South, not Jeresa of the South,” the writers will insist. If by that they mean it’s Kote of the South. Imagine for a second that it actually was a Teresa-centric season but they were adamant about keeping James in this minor capacity. Okay. It would still be different than it is now because we’d be in tune with Teresa. We would’ve gotten a glimpse into her thought process. Was this not, at some point, meant to be a story about a strong woman? I can even extend that question to Kelly Anne. Was this not, at some point, meant to be a story about strong women? Then why do we keep seeing them make asinine decisions? Why are their most extreme actions in reaction to what the men have done?

Moreover, if this show is about the people in the cartel, in Teresa’s inner circle, rather than just the Kote side plot becoming the main plot, there’s no way this is the James we would be getting. James, our beloved reluctant assassin…who we know nothing about. He can’t even get a backstory on a show on which he is supposedly one of the main characters. Five minutes—five seconds—couldn’t even be spared on James and how he came to be who he is, how he got where he is. But Isidro Navarro? By all means, I need to hear his life story. Who’s Isidro Navarro, you ask? Right. Exactly. Apparently we don’t deserve backstory and explanation and conversation and introspection from our protagonists. But a character who is there for ten minutes or less on a single episode and will never be heard from again in any significant manner? Of course he needs his screen time. Well. It’s the writers’ decision. They wanted it that way.

“This is not a romance show,” the makers of season 5 said. Honestly? Fuck that noise. Fuck that sentiment. Fuck that ignorance. When has Jeresa ever been about romance? Where do the people who make this show get off saying something like that as if we are so stupid we don’t know that? A romance story and a love story are not the same thing. Jeresa is love. God forbid Jeresa ever experience love within a successful relationship. God forbid Teresa and James ever become mature enough to use love as strength rather than weakness. But pile on all the Kote. Focus on them and emphasize how Teresa and James can barely even look at each other. Well. It’s the writers’ decision. They wanted it that way.

So now here we are, on the cusp of 5x09. We got a spoiler in the last promo trailer. We know, after 7 episodes since their last conversation that actually meant something, after the writers missed the mark and didn’t have Jeresa interact in a way that was significant and necessary over the course of the season, that there is at least one kiss. They might even have a conversation. They might even share more than one kiss that leads to more (but also, don’t be surprised if we get a mere few seconds of a kiss and nothing more before fade to black). This is going to make us so happy because finally, finally, they’re giving us what we wanted. And then what? What does it mean if those things are true? Is everything forgiven? Is the instant gratification of seeing our ship sail for a scene or two enough? Does it make up for the character assassination of the characters we love? If we somehow get the ending we want, or at least one close to it, is it even believable anymore? Is what has been broken all season so easily fixed?

Listen, I already know the counter argument. I’m going to be told I’m crazy, that Teresa has to be on her own, that it wouldn’t be interesting, that it would diminish the payoff for Teresa and Jeresa in the end. I get it. Typical TV rules, right? We have to go with what people know, what they’re used to. But what have we gotten, really, to preserve these ‘rules’ for TV in general? Teresa has been dumbed down and is now lacking a lot of the intuition and street smarts she had before. She makes bad decision after bad decision and she doesn’t see what’s coming. The actions she takes are in reaction to those bad decisions. James hates so much of what he’s been made to do but for some reason he keeps going along and carrying out Teresa’s orders; he’ll just stew over it quietly in a corner without saying anything. Teresa and James don’t talk to each other, at least not about anything important, and when they do talk, they give each other heart eyes but never scratch the surface—how could they when they talk for like 10 seconds at a time? So. Has this been a good portrayal of Jeresa? You tell me. If it’s fine with everyone else, then I guess it’s fine. I’m probably the wrong person to ask.

#answered #qots #queen of the south #teresa mendoza #james valdez #jeresa #i have opinions they are unpopular #unfollow me block me do what you gotta do #queen of the south season 5

44 notes · View notes

katribou · 4 years ago

Note

Maybe its not supposed to be a racism allegory. It still works for the story and worldbuilding. Just like Beastars, where attempts to compare it to real life won't work since the problems the characters face are really specific to their own society and their own nature, so the story wouldn't make sense if you replaced them with humans. But if the allegory really was the author's intent, then you're right and it was poorly done.

alright. i want to give you the benefit of the doubt, but there is a bit of ignorance to what you say. so i’ll be as thorough as possible about my thoughts.

authorial intent is really powerless when it comes to what a piece of media says or does. if a piece of media harms, but the author did not mean it to harm, does that make the harm any more less?

content creators and content consumers alike are likely familiar (and if not, should be) with the notion of ‘death of the author.’ from tvtropes’ summary of the concept:

Death of the Author is a concept from mid-20th Century literary criticism; it holds that an author's intentions and biographical facts (the author's politics, religion, etc) should hold no special weight in determining an interpretation of their writing. This is usually understood as meaning that a writer's views about their own work are no more or less valid than the interpretations of any given reader. Intentions are one thing. What was actually accomplished might be something very different. The logic behind the concept is fairly simple: Books are meant to be read, not written, so the ways readers interpret them are as important and "real" as the author's intention. [...]

Bottom line: A) when discussing a fictional work with others, don't expect "Author intended this to be X; therefore, it is X" to be the end of or your entire argument; it's universally expected that interpretations of fiction must at least be backed up with evidence from within the work itself and B) don't try to get out of analyzing a work by treating "ask the author what X means" as the only or even best way to find out what X means — you must search for an answer yourself, young seeker. Writing is the author's job; analyzing the work and drawing conclusions based on it is your job — if the author just gave away the answers every time, where would the fun be in that?

>interpretations of fiction must at least be backed up with evidence from within the work itself. okay, fine. so i argue brand new animal is a racism allegory. let’s look within the show to find evidence of this.

from episode 9: “But Nazuna wants to give a glimmer of hope and dreams to the beastmen who’ve been persecuted and suffered for so long.”

'the beastmen who have been persecuted.’ what exactly does that mean? persecution as defined in mac’s dictionary function (which cites new oxfords english dictionary): hostility and ill-treatment, especially because of race or political or religious beliefs.

the beastmen are not oppressed because of who they believe in, so not of religious beliefs or political beliefs, with the exception of believing they deserve rights, which plays into... that they are persecuted for race.

i dont really think i need to back up that statement, but for the sake of a sound argument, this is from episode 1.

it’s clear that this human dude has a distaste for michiru here because of what she is, a beastman, which is essentially what she is, her race. hence racial persecution, or, racism.

in your own words, “attempts to compare it to real life won't work since the problems the characters face are really specific to their own society and their own nature, so the story wouldn't make sense if you replaced them with humans.”

is the above exchange really so displaced from real life? this kind of thing really does happen; being targeted and even beat up simply for existing as you are is not something that is so specific to only the world of bna.

sure you may argue that replacing humans into the whole story would not make sense and well sure, yes. it is indeed a work of fiction so it won’t be a perfect replication of the human experience. but there is enough situations like the above to argue it mirrors racial prejudice in real life.

the evidence is there, so with the philosophy of “death of the author,” it is arguable this piece of media exists as a racial allegory, whether or not trigger wrote it to be that way. if they somehow did not have real race/minority relations in mind when writing this, which i would find very hard to believe, than it has still become bigger than them. because people who face racism will relate to scenarios such as beastmen being the target of hate crimes like the above, and nothing the authors meant to do really changes that feeling.

when such a scenario as above is set up in the very first episode to give you a picture of what this persecuted group experiences, while simultaneously likening itself to what minorities in real life experience, the treatment in following episodes of said group will reflect back as commentary on real life groups whether or not the authors intended that.

in bna’s case it’s rather damaging with implying this minority group is prone to rage and destruction because of their nature or dna:

episode 9: “Beastmen are easily influenced by their emotions. When their frustration builds up, the slightest thing sends them into a fury, causing confusion.”

episode 10: “The stress from multiple species invading your habitat accumulates subconsciously. In that situation if there is a powerful mental shock, the enrage switch in beast [dna] is set off, and their fight instincts take over.”

this is where you may argue in your own words ��the story wouldn't make sense if you replaced them with humans.” which, yes that is true, but again this is fiction. the dynamic they establish in that first episode with beastmen being persecuted by humans is one founded in real race relations so the show at large becomes a vehicle to which it addresses race relations.

ep 10: “They’re [the drug vaccine that cures beastmen of being animals] made to subdue beastmen who have turned savage.”

goodness this almost becomes about eugenics! which is another movement founded on racism and other -isms!

the word “savage” generally refers to wild, violent unconfined animals, which, fine, i suppose, after all these ARE animal people in the show. but the show has established this animal people group as a targeted victim minority. historically in real life, the word “savage” has been a label used to describe many persecuted groups, like indigenous peoples or african americans, in a way to dehumanize them by comparing them to animals and force the idea that they are uncivilized while making the people in power feel more justified about their rough treatment of the targeted group.

i suppose arguably they are using the word “savage” to describe animals as the word originally was intended, but after establishing the framework of these animals as being persecuted peoples, do you understand the implications? are they basically saying yes, targeted minorites, are savage? admittedly i will say that that idea is a big jump, but even if you stick to the world of the show, basically this establishes that everyone is at the mercy of their genes turning them bad... not a great message.

i kind of went beyond the scope of what you addressed in your message, but wanted to show an example of how i think it is very important to consider how a piece of media can very easily become bigger than its creators, and that you cannot hide behind authorial intent saying otherwise when media expresses potentially damaging ideas.

to reiterate the line from tvtropes: Intentions are one thing. What was actually accomplished might be something very different.

#anonymous #sorry for longwindedness i enjoy media analysis sometimes!#long post #words #katchat

205 notes · View notes

lorewhoresam · 4 years ago

Text

They Didn’t Even Have To Plot

AO3

Relationship: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Tags: Fluff

Summary: Castiel becomes human after losing his grace on a hunt. Charlie comes to visit, and gets Sam to make Dean talk about his feelings. It was easier than either of them expected.

Something I wrote for a fic exchange a while back, hope ya like it guys

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

Castiel should have known better.

He should have known a witch powerful enough to capture the Winchesters wasn’t actually interested in money. He should have known it was a trap.

No one that smart ever wanted money.

She knew he was an angel. She knew to pray when they asked him for the ransom.

When he arrived at the place the witch had ordered him to drop off the money, a flash of bright, white light blurred his vision before it went black.

Castiel struggled against the bindings on his wrists, ankles and neck, but found himself stuck, the cold metal digging into his skin. He can’t break free using his grace, so they must have been warded against angels.

“Witch! Let me go, I have your money!”

“My dear Castiel, did you really think I wanted money? I want your power. Your grace.”

She said it like it was the most normal thing in the world, and Castiel couldn’t help but be taken aback by it.

“Where’s Dean?” he hissed, glaring at her.

A smug smile spread across the witch’s face.

“Sounds like I got the right bait. So what’s going to happen now, is you’re going to give me your grace, or I will rip your little pets apart, piece by piece.”

Castiel knew what he had to do. It's not like he had a choice, Dean and Sam would both die if he didn’t do this. Besides, it’s not like he hadn’t been human before, and it hadn’t been that disastrous, even without any guidance. At least this time he would have a home.

“Get these off me. And give me my angel blade back.”

“So you’ll do it.”

“Of course.”

A few hours later, he was back at the bunker, Dean and Sam with him, alive and well, but without his grace, and without his angel blade.

“Cas, you okay? You seem a little out of it.”

Dean sat down next to Cas on the couch and looked at him, obviously concerned.

“Yes Dean, I’m fine, don’t worry,” Cas said, looking down to avoid Dean’s gaze. “Bullshit, but I’ll take it for now.”

Castiel knew he should have told him that he lost his grace, but he just couldn’t. He didn’t want to be a burden, and he knew Dean would blame himself, even though Castiel made that choice himself.

He’s exhausted, and although he has been human before, he’s still not used to it. falling asleep is easier than he remembered, but maybe that’s just because he has a home now.

Waking up is harder than it was before. Castiel fades in and out of consciousness, and he can’t force himself to stay awake for more than a few seconds at a time. Suddenly he feels a hand on his cheek, rough and calloused, but warm. He hears someone murmur words in his ear, but he can’t understand them, and he’s abruptly aware that he’s being held, and he panics for a moment, before the steady rise and fall of his chest let’s him know that whoever it is isn’t restraining him. He turns his head against the chest and drifts back off to sleep.

When Castiel wakes up, he feels the body under him shift.

“Hey sunshine, good nap?”

Castiel grumbled in answer and sat upright, stretching his body.

“Now, you wanna tell me what the hell is going on with you?”

“I lost my grace.”

Dean’s eyes widened in concern, and he gently put a hand on Cas’ shoulder.

“What happened?”

And he told him. And he could see the guilt form itself in his eyes.

“Dean, it’s not your fault. I made that choice. I was the one who did not realise there was something wrong.”

“I know Cas. I just– Fuck!”

Dean punched the side of the couch and jerked Cas towards him, holding him close.

“If you need anything, you can come to me. You know that right?” Dean said, without letting Cas go.

Instead of answering Castiel just pressed himself closer to Dean’s chest and let himself cry. He had considered becoming human before, but he wanted to choose that fate, and do it on his own terms, and now that choice has been taken away, and he didn’t know what to do. He was lost.

----------------- Castiel hid in his bedroom the few days after the incident, only coming out to go to the bathroom or to eat. It was very frustrating, hunger and exhaustion, and it didn’t help that he was constantly fearing the moment the Winchesters would decide that he was never going to be useful again, and kick him out.

His thoughts were interrupted at once by a loud knock on the door.

“Cas, can I come in?”

Castiel got up from his bed to open the door for Dean.

“Hello Dean.”

They both sat down on the bed, and Castiel looked at him expectantly.

“Alright, so Charlie’s here, and we’re going shopping, because you need clothes.”

“Dean, I have clothes.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, mine. Not that I mind, but it would be nice for you to have your own. And you need to get out of here for a while. See some actual light.”

Castiel sighed, and agreed reluctantly, if that is what it takes for him to stay even a few days longer, he’d do it.

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

It was actually quite nice, browsing through clothing racks, chatting about nothing in particular with people he loved. After a few hours, they decided to go to a diner— mainly because Dean wouldn’t stop whining about how hungry he was.

“So how are you doing Cas?” Charlie looked at him worried.

“I’m fine.”

“Cas,” Dean said sharply.

Cas sighed and rolled his eyes.

“I’m fine, I just… I don’t want to be a burden.”

Dean looked at him in disbelief before hugging him.

“You’ll never be a burden,” he whispered, and pressed a soft kiss to his temple before releasing him.

“You two are so disgustingly cute together,” Charlie said while making fake gag sounds.

Dean and Castiel both flushed and stumbled over their words trying to clarify that they were not, in fact, together. Charlie just raised her eyebrows and smiled knowingly.

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

“So, Sam, what’s going on between those two?”

Charlie sits down on top of the map table where Sam is reading a lore book.

“You know perfectly well what’s going on Charlie. They may be too stupid to see it but you definitely aren’t.”

She rolls her eyes and claps his book close.

“We should do something about it.”

“What do you mean?”

Sam would complain that he was reading that, but this was definitely more interesting.

“Oh you know perfectly well what I mean Sam,” Charlie mocked him, a mischievous grin appearing on her face.

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

“Cas.”

“Yes Dean?”

Dean looked at him worried.

“Come tell me if you need anything at all. You’re not a burden.”

“Dean, I know that without my powers I am useless to you. You don’t need to pretend I’m not for my comfort.”

“Fuck Cas! It’s not about whether you’re useful to us or not, you’re family! We love you!”

Castiel stood there, paralised, when he felt a tear roll down his cheek, and suddenly he was sobbing uncontrollably. He felt himself be enveloped in warm arms and pressed against his chest, but it was as if it was happening to someone else, like he was just a spectator to the scene. He only realised his breathing had sped up when he heard Dean tell him to stay calm and take deep breaths.

“Hey buddy, I’m here, you’re okay, you’re gonna be okay.”

Dean rubbed soothing circles on Cas’ back until he had calmed down.

“I think I just had a panic attack,” Cas said matter-of-factly. “Thank you Dean.”

“Do you want to go get some air?”

Dean stood up and reached a hand out to Castiel.

“Yes, that would be nice.”

He took the hand and stood up as well. To his surprise, Dean didn’t let it go and they walked handed-in-hand into the cool autumn air.

“Maybe we should plant a garden here. What do you think Cas?”

“That would be nice.” Does he know he’s still holding my hand?

“We could put a bench over there.” Does he mind that I’m still holding his hand?

“Hmm.” Does he mind?

“Are you okay, Cas? You look a little pale.” Am I making him uncomfortable?

“I’m fine, Dean.”

Dean gave his hand a light squeeze.

“You’ll tell me if you’re not, right?”

Cas gave him a short nod in response.

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

Sam leaned against the door frame of Dean’s room.

“Hey Dean, how’s it going with Cas?”

“He’s not doing so well, but better than a few days ago.”

“At least he’s getting better. And how are you holding up?”

“Me? You know me Sammy, I’m always fine.”

“Yeah, but this stuff with Cas, it’s got to be taking its toll on you too.”

“I mean yeah, but not any more than on you.”

“Dean. The way I feel about Cas is very different from the way you feel about him and we both know it.”

Dean reddened at his ears and stared at the ground.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he murmured, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

Sam raised an eyebrow and looked at his brother expectantly.

“Yeah, okay, you’re right. But he’ll never feel the same way, so it’s no use admitting it.”

“Dude. You were holding hands an hour ago. And yes, me and Charlie both saw that.”

“Look, I don’t– I don’t think he gets the meaning of that. It’s probably normal for angels!”

“Dude, he literally has every single piece of media Metatron ever consumed in his head, I’m pretty sure he knows what it means. Just please, talk to him.”

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

A few days later Castiel is obviously less miserable than he was before, and he’s gotten used to being human again.

“Hey Cas, do you want to watch a movie?” Dean yelled from the kitchen, where he was making popcorn.

Cas had agreed, naturally, and so it happened they were on the couch together, a bowl of popcorn and a healthy amount of distance between them, and The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly playing on the television.

They were about twenty minutes in when Castiel began to complain.

“Dean you’ve made me watch this movie five times already, how are you not sick of it yet?”

“Dude, you can’t get sick of Clint Eastwood, it’s just not possible.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and grabbed another handful of popcorn. Dean cleared his throat and turned around to face him.

“Uh Cas?”

“Yes Dean?”

“I uh– Sam said– I need to tell you something.”

Cas turned off the tv and turned to him, worried.

“Is something wrong?”

“Uh, no, not– not really. I uh, I just need to get this off my chest.”

Castiel nodded for Dean to continue.

“I uh, I think I–” Dean shook his head firmly. “No, I know I’m uh, I’m in love with you.”

It stayed silent for a while, the air thick with tension.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“If I still had my grace the lamps would be shattered.”

“Cas!”

Castiel gently cupped his face with one hand.

“I love you Dean.”

He moved forward and pressed a soft kiss to Dean’s lips. A warmth spread throughout his body, and he smiled into the kiss.

“I guess good things do happen,” Dean whispered softly, before leaning forward to kiss him again.

“I guess they do,” Cas said after they pulled apart, and he put his head on Dean’s shoulder, smiling in satisfaction.

#I'm sorry this is so cheesy #my writing #destiel fic #deancas #charlie bradbury #creative writing

29 notes · View notes

st-just · 3 years ago

Text

Barely coherent rambling about nation-states, culture, the Hapsburgs, and Canada

Because why have a blog except to occasionally purge one of the essays floating around half-formed in your brain. To be clear, it’s still half-formed, just on tumblr now. 1,666 words, here’s the Deveraux essay mentioned. Book is Martyn Rady’s The Hapsburgs: To Rule The World

So I’ve had like, nationalism on my mind recently.

And so there’s a kind of recurring beat in left-of-centre American political discourse (like, not ‘internet rnados screaming at each other’ discourse, ‘people with doctorates or think tank positions having debates on podcasts or exchanging op eds’ discourse) where you have some people on the radical end list some of the various horrible atrocities the country is built on, the ways that all the national myths are lies, and how all the saints of the civic religion were monsters to one degree or another – this can come in a flavor of either righteous anger or, like, intellectual sport. And then on the other end you have the, well, Matt Yglesiases of the world. Who don’t really argue any of the points of fact, but do kind of roll their eyes at the whole exercise and say that sure, but Mom and Apple Pie and the American Way are still popular, and if you’re trying to win power in a democracy telling the majority of the population that their most cherished beliefs are both stupid and evil isn’t a great move.

Anyway, a couple weeks back Deveraux posted an essay for the 4th of July (which I don’t totally buy, but is an interesting read) about why the reason American nationalism is so intensely bundled up into a couple pieces of paper and maybe a dozen personalities is precisely because it isn’t a nation at all. Basically, his thesis is that in proper nation-states like England or the Netherlands or wherever, there really is a core population that is the overwhelming demographic majority and really have lived in more or less the same places since time immemorial, and that once the enthographers and mythologists finish their work, all those people really do identify with both the same nation and the same state as its expression. America, by contrast, is by virtue of being a settler nation whose citizenry was filled by waves of immigrants from all the ass ends of Eurasia in a historical eyeblink, even before you add in the native population and descendants of slaves lacks any single core ethnicity that is anywhere close to a majority, as well as any organic national traditions or claims to an ‘ancestral homeland’ that aren’t obviously absurd (and we are trying to include the descendents of slaves and the native population these days, to varying levels of success). All this to say that his point is America is a civic state, not a national one, with the identity of ‘American’ being divorced from ethnicity and instead tied to things like the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, the whole cult around the Founding Fathers, Lincoln, and [FDR and/or Reagan depending on your politics].

Which, like I said, don’t totally buy, but interesting. (to a degree he overstates how homogenus ‘actual’ nation-states are, he makes America sound very special but if his analysis holds that it’d presumably also apply to several other former settler colonies, in the American context there’s a fairly solid case to be made that the whole ‘nation of immigrants’ story and the racial identity of whiteness were constructed to function as an erratz national ethnicity, with incredible success, etc, etc).

But anyway, if we accept that the American identity is bound up in its civic religion and the mythologized version of its political history, it’s absolutely the case that there’s several segments of the left who take incredibly joy in tearing said civic religion and national mythology apart and dragging whatever’s left through the mud. I mean, hell, I do! (reminder: any politician whose ever had a statue dedicated to them was probably a monster). And, well, call it a greater awareness of historical crimes and injustice, or the postmodern disdain for idols and systems leaking out through the increasingly college-educated populace, or the liquid acid of modernity dissolving away all unchosen identities, or a Marxist cabal undermining the national spirit to pave the way for the Revolution or whatever you like, but in whichever case, that critical discourse is certainly much more prominent and influential among left and liberal media and politics types that is was in decades past.

And, okay, so I finished Martyn Rady’s The Hapsburgs a few days ago. And I mentioned as I was reading it that the chapters on the 19th and 20th centuries reminded me quite a bit of courses I’d taken in school on the late Ottoman Empire and Soviet Union. Because all three are multi/non-national states (Empires, in Deveraux’s terminology, though that’s varying degrees of questionable for each, I think. Moreso for the Hapsburgs than the rest) who outlasted their own ideological legitimacy. And in all three cases it just, well, it didn’t not matter, but even as all the ceremonies got more absurd and farcical and the politics more consumed by inertia punctuated with crises, things kept limping along just fine for decades. Even in the face of intense crisis, dissolution wasn’t inevitable. (The Ottomans are a less central example here, admittedly, precisely because of the late attempt to recenter the empire on Turkish nationalism. But even then, more Arab soldiers fought for the Sultan-Caliph than ever did for the Hashemites, and most prewar Arab nationalism was either purely cultural or imagined the Empire reformed into a binational federation, not dissolved).

But as Rady says in the book – losing WW1 crippled Germany, it dissolved Austria-Hungary. And in all three cases, as soon as they were gone, the idea of bringing them back instantly became at least a bit absurd.

And okay, to now pivot to talking about where I actually live but about whose politics I (shamefully) know significantly less than America’s. I mean, maybe it’s because most of my history education from public school was given by either pinko commies or liberals still high off ‘90s one-world universalism, or maybe it’s just a matter of social class, but I really can’t remember ever having taken the whole wannabe civic religion of Canada seriously (the only even serious attempt at sacredness I recall was for Remembrance Day). Even today, the main things I remember about our Founding Father is that he was an alcoholic who lost power in a railroad corruption scandal.

Really, in all my experience the only unifying threads of national/particular Canadian identity are a flag, a healthcare system, those Canadian Heritage Minute propaganda ads, a bill of rights from the ‘60s, and an overpowering sense of polite smugness towards the States.

And that last one (or, at least, the generally rose-colored ‘Canada is the good one’ view of history) is taking something of a beating, on account of all the mass graves really rubbing the public’s noses in the whole genocide thing. At least among big segments of the intellectual and activist classes, most of the symbols of Canadian nationhood are necessarily becoming illegitimate as Canada is, in fact, a project of genocidal settle colonialism.

But it really is just purely symbolic. Most of the municipalities who cancelled their Canada Day celebrations are going to elect Liberal MPs and help give our Natural Governing Party its majority in the next election, no one of any significance has actually challenged the authority of the civil service or the courts. And, frankly, most of the people who are loudly skeptical of all the symbols of the nations are also the ones whose political projects most heavily rely on an efficient and powerful state bureaucracy to carry out.

(This is leaving aside Quebec, which very much does have a live national identity insofar as the vigorous protection of national symbols is what wins provincial elections. If I felt like doing research and/or reaching more there’s probably something there on how pro-independence sentiment has largely simmered down at a pace with the decline of attempts to impose a national Canadian identity).

I mean, Canada does have rather more of a base for a ‘national’ population core than the US (especially if you’re generous and count the people who mark French on the census as a core population as well). At the same time, no one really expects this to continue to be the case – even back in Junior High, I remember one of the hand outs we got explaining that due to declining fertility most or all future population growth would come from immigration (I remember being confused when my mother was weirdly uncomfortable with the idea when it came up). I suppose our government gets credit for managing public opinion such that anti-immigration backlash hasn’t taken over the political conversation. Which you’d think would be a low bar but, well.

But anyway, to try and begin wrapping this rambling mess up – it does rather feel like Rady’s portrayal of the late Hapsburg empire might have a few passing similarities to the future of Canada. A multinational state whose constitution and political system and built on foundations and legitimized by history that no one actually believes in anymore, or at least no more than they have to pretend to to justify the positions they hold, but persisting because it’s convenient and it’s there and any alternatives are really only going to seem practical after a complete economic collapse or apocalyptic war. (Though our civil service is a Josephist’s dream by comparison, really.)

Or maybe I’m premature, and the dominant culture will just be incredibly effective at assimilating immigrants into that civic identity. Anecdotally, the only people I know who are at all enthusiastic about Canada as an idea are first generation immigrants. I could certainly just be projecting, really – I’ve never really been able to get all that invested in the nation-state as an idea of more moral power than ‘a convenient administrative division of humanity’, and certainly liberating ourselves form the need to defend the past would certainly rectifying certain injustices easier.

Or maybe I’m just being incredibly optimistic. Half the economy’s resource extraction and the other half’s real estate, so decent odds the entire place just literally goes up in flames over the next few decades. BC’s already well on its way.

#politics #political theory #nationalism #in this essay I will #this is theoretically a writing blog #the hapsburgs: to rule the world

10 notes · View notes

4lix · 4 years ago

Note

hello, i’m so happy you’re making a comeback. since you’re in the mood to write abt chan, may i request a best friends to lovers trope?

friends to lovers ★ bang chan ↳ gender-neutral. fluff.

okay so falling in love with ur best friend is a big L but its one u are more than willing to take for christopher bang

first things first, chan loves people with his whole mf heart.

whether its family, friends, or romantic interests

so when it comes down to him falling for his best friend? idk if he’d really realize it unless someone literally spelled it out for him, he’d just mistake his affection towards you as just the same kind of best friend love he has for ˙his group members

he’d never think much about the fact that most of his song lyrics these days were getting oddly too specific in detail about a certain someone

or how whenever he felt down his gut reaction was to call you up because the sound of your voice seemed to make everything better

or how he really really likes cuddling with you after long days of practice

and when you stop by the studio when he’s stuck on a track and just pull him to the couch to lay down for a while to get a break from staring at that damned screen, he’d instantly relax in your hold, sighing in content as your fingers twirled around his curls

and yeah his stomach is filled with butterflies and his ears are all red all that corny stuff but you’re his best friend and best friends cuddle sometimes too right?

best friends also feel the urge to kiss one another on the cheeks? perhaps sometimes they fantasize about what it would be like to kiss each other on the lips?

ok maybe not.

chan knew some of his thoughts were a bit odd. but you were really pretty so it was understandable. you were his safe place and the closest thing he had to home besides his members.

unbeknownst to him, you were honestly no better, a bit more aware of the fact that you could possibly be in love with the idiot but you were still in denial nonethless

whenever felix or hyunjin would tease you about your relationship with chan you’d feign disgust like he’s my best friend that’s weird! but your cheeks are red anyways and you’re kind of stuttering and hey is it hot in here or what-

when you had tough days chan would spam you with encouraging texts, a million obnoxious emojis, memes, just anything to make you smile and it always always worked, just the sight of a notification from chan always made you light up but that’s what best friends are for right?

friends make the world seem brighter, that’s all chan was to you, a friend.

and chan cared a lot about his friends, so it only made sense..

but unlike his other friends, you always got special treatment

he’d give you gifts for your friendship anniversary despite all the suggestive looks from his group members, kissed your forehead when bidding you goodbye and always sent you good morning and good night texts each and every single day

he’d go out of his way for you always and all of that just seemed normal, natural to him. because he loves with his whole heart and he doesn’t even realize it

he wouldn’t really come to terms with things until one of the members like screams at him to just stfu already because he won’t stop talking about you and he somehow makes everything about you and it’s driving them insane

they’d be like we get it you’re in love with y/n shut up already

and he’d just be a stuttering mess like !! no im not !! and yet his heart is racing in his chest and everyone looks at him with an unamused glare

changbin would be like “everything you’ve written these last few weeks are all about them-”

felix would chime in like “you killed your phone battery texting them all day and then used my phone to call them so you could talk for three hours straight.”

jisung is like “yeah and you bought like ten different gifts for your friendship anniversary but you gave me a set of socks for my birthday-”

huh wait maybe he is in love with you.

“those socks were knitted and really nice.” would be his only line of defense

the rest of the afternoon the members would just tease him about all his lovesick puppy habits that he was completely unaware of

like how his face lights up the moment you walk into the room

or how he can never go shopping without picking up something for you because hey y/n would look really cute in this!

and that he even mumbles your name sometimes when he’s sleeping lord help the boy

things kind of go to hell because now he can’t look at you without blushing and stuttering

he’s panicking because how the hell could he have fallen in love with his best friend who probably only sees him as a brother? if you liked him back surely you would’ve let him know by now, i mean if he was as obvious as his members said he was with his feelings there’s no way you weren’t aware of his infatuation with you.

but you were on the same boat really, to you, it seemed as though chan was affectionate with everyone, he smooched jeongin’s cheeks every now and then, and the socks he got for jisung’s birthday were kind of nice? you weren’t that special right? there’s no way chan could fall in love with someone like you anyways... right?

you knew him better than you knew yourself so his odd behaviour definitely did not go unnoticed even tho your sheer lack of brain cells prevented you from realizing why he was acting odd in the first place

the good morning and good night texts stopped, the spams of memes stopped, it was just radio silence for a few days and it was starting to freak you out but it was close to the deadline for the new album so he could just be stressed and you could just be overreacting

you figured you’d stop by the studio at like ass o’clock like always with some takeout for chan because you knew he never ate much when he pulled all nighters, you even threw in some of his favorite snacks and energy drinks, bringing your laptop with you to get some work done of your own hopefully

you did your signature knock on the door before entering but chan still jumped at the sight of you, weirdly startled by your presence, avoiding your eyes and only managing to cough and give you a tilt of a nod in greeting before gluing his eyes back to his computer screen

your first initial reaction is did i do something wrong :( and you intend to ask chan about it but he puts his headphones in and seems rather busy, you remind yourself again that he’s just focused on the new album he’d never purposefully ignore you.

you’ll ask him later, taking a seat on the couch, scrolling through social media mindlessly as your thoughts can’t seem to drift away from the boy across from you and how fluffy and soft his hair looks today.

after a good fifteen minutes pass, chan still hasn’t touched the food you brought which leaves you no choice but to annoy him to ensure he takes proper care of himself. calling his name multiple times to no avail, you tap the space bar, pausing the track before removing his headphones.

“channie, you can ignore me if you want to but i won’t let you ignore getting your vitamins and nutrients. i know you didn’t eat dinner. so eat.” he’s still not looking at you, just nods, clearing his throat awkwardly before turning over towards the takeout you brought for him and taking a seat at the couch.

you follow behind him, sitting right beside him. just a week ago you were here with chan laying on your chest, watching tiktoks of cats but now here you were, in the same spot but this time chan was silent, closed off. the complete opposite to his usual warm and bubbly demeanor.

he didn’t even bother to deny the fact that he was ignoring you, he just ate silently and fear starts to consume you because maybe chan really was upset with you?

before you figured he was probably just stressed and overly focused on the track he was working on but now it seems obvious he’s blatantly ignoring you, not even sparing a thank you for the takeout which was really unlike him. he always thanked you for taking care of him with tight hugs and sloppy kisses on your forehead. now he didn’t even look at you.

half of you was agitated that he was giving you the silent treatment instead of just being honest with you about whatever was bothering him but the other half of you really wanted to smooch his chubby cheeks filled with rice because wow he looked really really cute.

as annoyed with him as you were, you couldn’t help but appreciate his bareface, it was you favorite look of all, when he didn’t look like a famous idol, instead just a regular boy with blemishes and unruly hair in grey sweats and a hoodie.

a grain of rice hugged the corner of his lip, you fought back the urge to kiss it away. he was so unfairly attractive it made you want to punch him

you lean forward, reaching out to him to wipe the stray food away but he evades your touch, leaving your hand raised awkwardly out in front of you in rejection. now he didn’t even want you to touch him?

“did i do something wrong?” you didn’t realize how hurt you were by his silence, by his disgust of you, how he felt like a stranger these days. you kicked yourself inwardly for sounding so broken but the tone of voice seemed to strike something in chan because he finally met eyes with you for the first time in what felt like forever.

“w-what no not at a-all what makes you think that?”

“chan you’ve ignored all my texts for the last three days. you haven’t talked to me in nearly a week and now you can’t even spare a hello when i come in? you’re even avoiding my touch like i have the plague or something.” guilt washes over him immediately and he puts down the plate of food and looks at you with those brown eyes that are all sad and regretful and you forgive him before he even opens his mouth because you’re just that helplessly in love with the idiot

“i-i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to, really, i just have a lot on my mind right now and i just...” he turns to look away again but you place your hand to his chin, turning him forward to meet eyes with you again, he doesn’t shy away from your touch this time

“chan if i said something or did something wrong that bothered you, y’know you can always talk to me right?” you said earnestly, cupping his cheek in your hand, he leaned into your touch, humming gently. relief enraptured your heart, along with warmth

“you didn’t do anything wrong, i promise.” his eyes don’t leave yours, nor does his voice waver, so you believe him

“then why are you ignoring me?”

“because...” he tries to get the words out but his brain is going a mile a minute and you’re really close to him. you’re turned to face him, sitting criss crossed, knees bumping against his, he can feel your body warmth and it’s kind of sending him into overdrive

“because?” you urge him further, unable to help your lips from curling downwards in worry. he’s silent still, biting his bottom lip anxiously and you consider giving up for a moment but then he pulls your hand away from his cheek, instead holding it tight in his.

“i realized something. the guys, they made me realize some things.” he starts, eyes flittering past each and every single one of your features, admiring them silently to himself. how did it take him so long to realize he was in love with you? you were beautiful, his best friend, his whole heart, his muse.

earlier, his eyes were glued to the screen because he was rereading the words he’s written over the last few weeks and he couldn’t quite believe he wrote lyrics that were literally entirely about you and he had no idea, just assumed he had some new rush of creativity or something.

of course he was in love with you, he always been in love with you.

“yeah?” you rub your thumb over his hand slowly in an attempt to ease some of his anxieties. whatever it was he needed to tell you, it was clearly taking a toll on him, he was fidgeting, sighing over in over again and shaking his head trying to clear his thoughts. you felt a bit bad, perhaps you were prying too much?

“look i just–– i know we’re best friends, and the last thing i want to do is jeopardize that so if what im about to say makes you uncomfortable or something j-just forget it ever happened okay?” unknowingly, you hold in you breath, fear for his next words knocking the wind out of you.

“i... i like you. like like you, and- i don’t know how to deal with it so i’ve just been avoiding you and i’m sorry- wait why are you laughing?” his eyebrows are all furrowed and his cheeks are bright red and he’s squeezing your hand in confusion and you just look at him and just die of laughter

why were you laughing? you weren’t sure. maybe it was relief? joy? just pure utter love for the idiot in front of you?

“channie-” you attempt, but your laughter still has control over your lungs so you just cling to the boy helplessly, looking up at him with so much happiness in your eyes that he can’t help but feel a bit hopeful that maybe this laughter is good laughter?

“why are you laughing! i just confessed to you, put my heart out on the line and your response is laughter?” he’s smiling despite the confused tone of his voice, nudging you playfully but you pull him into you, shoving your face in the crook of his neck trying your hardest to get out the last of your giggles. with one last deep sigh, you prepare yourself to finally give him a proper response

“i’m sorry for laughing channie i’m just really happy. and relieved.” you finally pull away from him, resting your forehead against his, cupping his face once again in your hands.

“i like you too chan, i’ve liked you for a really really long time.”

the smile that lights up his face is one you’ll never forget, his eyes practically disappear, his dimples protruding through those precious cheeks of his and you can’t help the small laugh in happiness at the sight

“thank god i was actually losing my mind you know, changbin and jisung have been making fun of me all week, clowning me for being a lovesick puppy.”

“is that why they’ve been wiggling their eyebrows whenever i walk by-”

“unfortunately yes.”

“chan you should’ve just told me!”

“yeah well! i thought you saw me as like a brother or something!”

“what- no! i’ve literally been in love with you since the moment we met you idiot-”

“yeah well i’ve been writing songs about you for the last month, songs that you helped with and you didn’t notice a thing-”

at that you just :O bc realization hits u like a train n yea wait a minute he was pretty obvious..

he just gets all red again and then you smile at him and he’s smiling back at you and with the dopiest grin on his face he’s like

“can i kiss u..” and u dont bother to reply you just grab his cheeks and connect your lips with his

the kiss is kind of a mess tho bc you’re both just so ridiculously happy that you can’t stop smiling so yea its not a proper kiss but its filled with giggles and each time you pull away chan only leans forward to peck you again and again because he cant seem to get enough really and he’s just so elated that he can finally do this as many times as he wants

in conclusion chan loml<3

requests are open! :) ↳ notes: tysm for all the kind welcome back msgs ily all sm omg <3 i ended up combining two requests as they were a bit similar i hope thats okay hehe <3 also sry if this is sloppy this is my first post in a long time & im kind of rusty .. whew

#bang chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan scenarios #bang chan imagines #bang chan requests #stray kids

113 notes · View notes

tristala · 4 years ago

Text

To Distant Lands...

It has been quite a journey.

I have been a fan of Adventure Time for over ten years. But it wasn’t a great start.

Foolish 12 year old me disliked it at first glance just because I wasn’t used to the art style and didn’t take it seriously. I ignored it for almost a year. Then on one faithful day in my tutor’s house, I watched the newly aired episode Mystery Train with her kids.

I was... charmed by it.

This new kind humor spoke to me and I... actually wanted to see more of it. Of course at first I was in denial for a bit but I got over that quickly. So from then on whenever I see it play on Cartoon Network I wouldn’t skip it anymore. I began to look forward to more episodes until I noticed that this series had an overarching plot.

The episodes that I thought were one-shot had purpose. Not all of them are great but they were satisfying for the most part. Like pieces of a puzzle being slowly formed over the years. When I got used to going online I started watch every single episode until I got to the latest. I would wait every week for a new one to drop.

Not everything was all sunshine and rainbows however. Around the mid seasons I thought that the plot was dragging, that the writing became pretentious in some episodes. I began to lose my love for it after 3 years by that point. So I just became a casual viewer.

It took 2 years for me to get back on going crazy over Adventure Time again and by then I was already 18 years old. But I was never ashamed by loving cartoons and my peers were also obsessed with this show so I had no problem getting back on track.

I know that they use storyboards to tell their stories and that writing was secondary. It’s a very risky way of creating a show. But for some reason it kind of works with a show Adventure Time.

A world were the unpredictable happens, a world were your own imagination is the limit.

The songs were always such a treat. They may sound simple but that’s what makes them so memorable and heartfelt. They capture the moments where the situations are laid out. The way they were made sounded on the spot and incorporated what the characters felt at the time has a touch of realism.

I will forever be astounded with the way they incorporated Jake’s powers. The ways the spells, the jokes and the characters work and being alive. The Land of Ooo has infinite possibilities. I love all of that jazz.

But what I love most about this show were the characters and their relationships.

Sure they’re zany but the situations they find themselves in still felt real no matter how ridiculous they got. There were moments when everything suddenly just made sense and I just began to feel for them.

Marceline was a character that I felt infatuated with the first episode I saw her in. It was when she was ‘helping’ Finn ‘woo’ PB into going to movies with him. I was like “Who’s this vampire chick and why is she so fun?”

Yeah I liked her, but I never thought that I would fall in love with the immortal known as The Vampire Queen.

Marceline is just a tragically beautifully written character. And the show has done something I never thought they would do: Address how being an immortal affected her and other people.

This silly looking cartoon has tackled topics regarding existential crisis and put with a lot of thought on it and I live for that. What Marceline felt when she lost the people she loved over the years, how messed up her whole situation was. She didn’t know what to do and instead dedicated her life in killing vampires because she wanted to protect the memory of only one person she had left who couldn’t even be with her. It was so heartbreaking.

Never had my younger self thought that Marcy would have relationship with Simon. When I saw the still image of them when I was about to watch Remember You I was psyched. Many scenarios were flowing in my head before I clicked the play button. I thought I was ready but I was so wrong. That episode was the first episode that made me cry watching this series. Afterwards I always looked forward to Simon and Marcy interactions.

I felt the utter hopelessness when Simon was declining onwards to becoming the Ice King we’ve always seen but never really known.

But even in his maniacal state, there was a semblance of the Simon who loved his Betty and Marcy with all his heart. It could be called hopeful but it could also be cruel. And that is the beauty of this tragedy.

Immortality will mess anyone up and they all cope it with different ways.

Princess Bonnibel Bubblegum is another immortal but had different priorities. She already had a goal set in mind and went through with it with almost no hesitation. She committed numerous acts with questionable morals in mind. She pushed everyone away and just focused on her kingdom. In her own way, she was winging it.

Her way of thinking clashed with Marceline and it was all the wrong timing for them. Her closest friend’s care for strangers was already almost nonexistent and she herself was too stressed.

In the process of finding their purpose and having the weight of responsibilities on their shoulders and just living, these two have lost themselves and are just so tired and broken.

This is one of the main reasons why I ship Bubbline. They are so different yet they understand each other in an unspeakable level. The lost moralities they had were slowly gained when they found each other. And it wasn’t even immediate. There were so many ups and downs with their relationship and it took them centuries to figure it out. Even in the present they’re still figuring it out but now they are healing and that’s what matters.

And let’s not forget the titular characters.

Finn and Jake’s brotherly bond is one of my most favorite things in all of the fictional media I have consumed. Because going through reincarnation together and being with each other for all eternity is literally the definition of their love not knowing any bounds.

Together Again was the perfect send off for Adventure Time. And while they’re brotherhood isn’t flawless like Jake not always being the best role model but he’s always there for his brother and Finn would do anything for the people he loves. They have went through so many things together, good and bad.

Their bond is unbreakable.

Finn’s breakdowns in losing his best friend was so painful to watch and I cannot help myself but cry for what these brothers have lost. I know people have to let go but maybe we don’t have to “let go” let go, you know? So imagine my surprise and delight when Jake decided to join his brother and said these very words:

“Because it’s great being alive with you.”

That sentence broke my soul into a million pieces and restored it at the same time. I just bursted into tears the second I heard that. It was so simple yet one of the most touching lines I have ever heard in my life.

This show had so much heart that it’s overflowing. The bonds that these characters have for each other. It has brought me so much tears of sadness and joy. It broadened my imagination for the unknown. The creativity of this series is absolutely outstanding.

I was the same age as Finn when the show started so you could say I grew up with him and the show. I wasn’t young enough for it to be a part of my childhood but it was there for me till I reached adulthood. And I think that it’s much better that way. It did help me grow up and let me see that there are a lot of things that while everything stays, they still change.

Adventure Time’s had a lot of messages strewn over its seasons and always had a melancholic vibe to it.

That’s life... and that’s okay.

It may get ugly and terrifying but Adventure Time has told me to just live.

Sing, dance, cry and laugh. Something simple as hanging out with family and friends has so much meaning in the grand scheme of things. Life goes on and things will seem to be familiar yet foreign at the same time. Linger on nostalgia, but also appreciate what’s happening in the present and look forward to what will happen in the future.

I am so grateful to have been on this wonderful adventure.

Like what they always said:

The fun never ends.

#Adventure Time #AT #Finn #Finn the Human #Finn Mertens #Jake #Jake the Dog #Marceline #Marceline Abadeer #Marceline the Vampire Queen #Bonnibel Bubblegum #Princess Bubblegum #PB #The FEELS #Mah Posts #Yes I know that there's still Wizard City but Together Again is the definitive end of AT #This show means so much to me :')

7 notes · View notes

nissakii · 3 years ago

Text

Scent. a Haikyu!! Fanfiction pt.16

[want to read all chapters right now? Our fanfictions get updated every monday on our blog, click here to continue reading!]

“Why don’t you tell me something about omegas and how you react to them”. The phrasing maybe wasn’t that ambiguous, but the words were spat out with poisonous intention. Words that should enter your head and linger for a while not until one realizes they consume you. At least that was my intention on that day. I’ve heard enough times that those kinds of mind games were allegedly ‘horrible’ and ‘insulting’, but I never understood what the big deal was. It’s not like I’m taking away a toy from a child. We are all adults here, and life isn’t about who is the nicest. It’s about who succeeds. And if some little mind game is what gives me the head start. I’ll do it. Albeit possibly that I lost my chances to be friends with Oikawa, I must admit my words to him were pretty harsh, I felt like he took it well. Which isn’t good. He wasn’t fazed by it at all, I had noticed his smile maybe twitching a little but he only retorted with a smart explanation of how natural pheromones worked and made me look like an idiot country bumpkin. I still remembered his smile as he asked me if I understood what he meant, and maybe I was just angrier than usual but I could swear he was being all smug about it too. So I found someone who was willing to play the same game as me. Hm. The other interesting thing on that day, which keeps replaying in my head, was that omega girl. It was honestly shocking to scent an omega for the first time. My curiosity ran with it and I was glad she was fine with me being so close, I have heard stories in which omegas retorted with less ‘accommodating’ ways. I even caught her gaze after a lecture of mine, but she didn’t budge and I wasn’t up for conversation. Still, the way she looked at me after coming for Oikawa was insane. She didn’t yell or tried to fight me, she didn’t shy away either. She just looked at me. And it was terrifying. Her eyes were piercing through me as if to provoke me to continue, her scent had doubled up in intensity which I wasn’t expecting at all, and her sweet caramel scent suddenly burnt to crisp. Her voice was sharp but not too emotional, it was distinct for me to listen to. “I would ask you to mind your own business”. Stone cold, I gotta say. It made me take a step back and raise my arms in defense with a smile and the situation immediately deescalated, Oikawa had caught her scent and was just as aggravated and I realised the rumours I had heard were partly true, but the incident seemed a lot more severe than I had imagined. I mean it was the first thing I heard when I came here, it was on social media and every other first year told me the same thing. “It’s good you’re an alpha, the rest don’t have it easy here”. Maybe I really shouldn’t have meddled too much, it’s still a school I really wanted to go to and Osamu is here as well, so I really shouldn’t destroy my own chances that much. The caramel girl was technically right, I should mind my own business. But was that fun? Nah. The door creaked open as what I would assume could only be my brother entered the dorm room I was in. “Samu!”, I chimed excitedly. … I only pushed in the door a little bit and already heard my brother squeak my name. “Samu!”, he chimed and I entered the dorm with a greeting. “Ossu”, I placed the plastic bag with some utensils I needed for my classes on my bed and looked at Atsumu sprawled on his side. The dorm room we were given was actually quite small. I was used to having a bit more space to myself, but with the scholarship I was glad I atleast got a twin room with my brother. Although when I looked at him I sometimes thought differently. The two beds were pushed to the far end of the room and to the walls on the sides, a desk separating the space in between. In front of Atsumu’s bed, which was the one on the right, the other desk was situated which was supposed to be mine. I remember when we moved in here the dorm looked horrendous, but with enough cleaning and the right duvets and covers it felt a lot better. And of course my side was a lot neater than his. “S’that my

shirt?”, I recognized the pattern on the front and he merely scoffed at me. “Uh, no?” “Really?” “Uh”, he intelligently mused to himself and I sighed. “Nevermind, you take what ya want anyways. Make sure to wash it later, I gotta head to the library”, I left the bag with the supplies on my bed and instead fished out a list with the literature I had to get. “Alright, see ya” “See ya”, I retorted and headed back outside. I grabbed the list in my hands and tried to check which building I had to go to. “Why are there multiple libraries?” Linguistics? Human sciences? Okay I definitely don’t have to go to the law department. With at least twenty minutes of running around campus I finally went up to someone outside and asked for help. “Oh yeah that’s pretty confusing I guess, uh so you need to search for building 4, the library should be the glass building right next to it!” Nodding and bowing with a slight smile I made my way to the mentioned building. The way over there was very pretty, the pathways went under huge trees and the ambiance felt really good, but I had no time to walk around exploring. Finally, I looked at the beautiful building in front of me. Still belonging to the campus, but it was obvious that it was either newly built or otherwise rebranded. The walls showed a tinted version of the life inside, the higher stories dimly shining in a warm light. I approached the entrance and two huge doors slid open when I wanted to step inside. Murmuring was to be heard everywhere, and for the fact that it was a library I was a little shocked at the rumbling noise. As if I was entering a mall, tall metal gates that I had to go through demanded my student ID. I saw other students move swiftly between the poles and swish their ID quickly at a screen and I tried to emulate the gesture, completely overwhelmed with all of the technology. With I beep the gates opened and I stood still to admire the interior of the building. Standing in the middle, and elevator right in front of me lead to the different levels of the library. When I looked to the right I saw a reception and an information center, and to the left the toilets and another gate leading to a cafeteria where to be found. Stepping into the elevator I looked at the signs that signalled me which level I had to go to and I pressed the button. Floor 7 out of 12. This crap is huge! More and more students entered and left the elevator again, stopping at every floor to change its inhabitants. After some minor bumps in the road, I finally got to my desired floor. When the metal doors opened, I finally felt the silence. Shelves and more shelves of book were to be seen, students rummaging through them to find what they were looking for. Maybe it was the fact that the library was so huge, but i didn’t see too many people here. Looking up at a sign that read “Arts and human sciences” I knew I was at the right place. Walking inside I started to look for my books. Big mistake. The labels on the books were highly confusing, and I had no idea where to look. I peered at my list again. Introduction into Culinary Arts vol.1 – [1998-TR-CA-54] Huh? What about the good old alphabetization? I had no idea what those codes meant, and after only finding books on history and other weird subjects, I had to check for help. I went back to the entrance of the library and followed the arrow sign that said ‘reception’ until I found a desk with a young woman sitting behind it. She was focused on her laptop, quickly typing away as I approached her. “Hi”, I whispered and she shot up in her seat. “Oh, sorry, uhm can you help me find these books please?”, I whispered again as she visibly relaxed and smiled lightly. “Yeah, sorry I’m a bit jumpy today. What books are you looking for? Wanna read them here or rent them?”, she asked in a hushed voice and I realised I didn’t have to whisper all too much. “Rent please, but I have no idea where to find these. The codes are really weird”. She stood up from her stool and walked around the desk towards me. “Are you new

here? The codes are confusing at first but you’ll get used to it”. I nodded and handed her my list, and she concentrated on that for a moment before showing me something. “See that code? It’s made so you can narrow your search. [1998-TR-CA-54] means you look for the shelf number 54, then for CA which stands for culinary arts, then the authors initials which are ‘Tatum Rebecca’ and then the release year 1998”, her fingers pointed on each letter combination and then to the shelves around us. Puzzled, I still looked at the myriad of shelves in front of me and she must’ve caught my expression because she stifled a laugh and took a step towards the shelves. “Want me to help you?” I nodded and she replied with a hum as she started walking. “The library gets a little confusing at first”, she mused as I walked next to her, “I think I might’ve seen you on a library tour before? Are you new?” I nodded, “I just moved here, so everything is a little weird to me still”. Her eyes crinkled shut as she stifled another laugh and suddenly looked a bit taken aback, she looked to the floor and back up at me but not fully, “Yeah I felt the same when I came here for my first semester”. She turned around to face me and I looked down at her nameplate. Asami. Beta Committee. I pointed at the name plate with a cocked brow, “so you’re a beta?” She stopped in her tracks and gave me a look. “Uh yeah, I am”, she followed my gaze and suddenly started talking really fast, “Oh my god! I didn’t even introduce myself. You’re new you must be taking everything in still!” “It’s fine, I mean I saw it on your nameplate. Is Asami okay?”, I inquired and she nodded lightly with a shy smile. “I’m Osamu Miya, nice to meet you”, I slightly nodded my head as well and she beckoned me closer to follow her. As she walked through the shelves and pathways she explained more about the library. There were way too many faculties and abbreviations to remember, but luckily they hung up a lot of flyers that showed which abbreviations stood for which topic. I only needed a couple of these, but after finding the first two books my head started to buzz with all the information. “And here you have the department of culinary arts, its quite remote from the rest of the library but I guess you’ll have your peace and quiet here!”, Asami chimed happily, her voice raising a little bit as there were almost no students here. It was actually quiet nice to have no background noise. It reminded me of home, when I walked to school and I left a sleeping Atsumu behind. The breeze catching my face as I made my way to school. I hummed and looked around to locate the last books on my list. For my business and economics classes we had already found the book I needed, well Asami found them, but this time I tried to get the book on my own. Walking towards the shelves before the beta could even move, I already found the correct number out of sheer luck and started to check for the right letter combinations. I felt Asami roaming behind me, I could smell her rosey scent behind my form but she didn’t budge. “Ah”, I exclaimed as I pulled out the book I needed with a little too much excitement. She clapped quietly and nodded proudly. “You caught on really quickly! We could use a bit of help from someone like you in the committee!” “The beta committee?”, I asked with my index finger pointing to her name tag again. “Yeah! We always have a place for new students, and you could even work here in the library”, she concluded and I smiled a little. “Well I am flattered I guess, but I am not a beta”. She staggered for a moment and looked at me confused, until I saw her nostrils flare up and she held her hand to mouth as she realized her mistake. “Uh, uhm I- I’m sorry I-“, she started stuttering and I cut her off with a relaxed shake of my head. “No worries, I actually get that a lot”. “Ugh, no it’s not fine, I shouldn’t have assumed your secondary gender that so weird”, she slumped a little and took a step back, her eyes not even reaching my face anymore. “It’s no big deal, I get

this often even at home. People think my scent is a bit more subdued so” She nodded but still looked away, a weird silence brooding between us now. It’s really not that big of a deal though. “Oi!”, hushed yell came from the door and we both looked towards it to find a lean man leaning onto it. “The reception was empty, what are you doing?” “Oh, no”, the beta mused and clasped her hands together anxiously before looking back at me, still more distant than at the beginning of our conversation. “I’m sorry, that’s Akaashi I have to go back to the reception!”, and she turned around to meet the other guy before I could say anything. She was so jittery all of a sudden. “Uh, yeah”, I mumbled back as I watched her interact with said Akaashi, before I turned back to my list. They both left soon after that, and I was left alone in the silence of the shelves trying to find the few books I had left. After a couple of minutes and endless shuffling, I counted off my list and stopped with a satisfied huff when I realized I had everything I needed. The books were actually quite bothersome to carry, so I snagged one of the book trolleys that were laid out to help with transporting the literature and leisurely pushed it next to me as I approached the reception again. This time, there were a couple of students standing around the computer, and I curiously walked closer. “No way, I can’t take Thursday. I have extracurriculars there!”, another male beta I assumed argued with Asami who was typing frantically on her computer. “Well I don’t have any other slot for you, I’m sorry. It’s either Thursday for you or Akaashi, and Akaashi is already taking Friday this time”, she mumbled a bit more annoyed than I expected. She really was different when calm. I already released when she assumed I was a beta that she felt comfortable, but when she suddenly drew back I felt her environment must be very precise for her to relax. Good thing Tsumu isn’t here. “I can take both days”, Akaashi mumbled, and I took another step and cleared my throat to interrupt. “Sorry, can I just check these out?”, I asked and Akaashi immediately nodded and typed up something into the computer even though Asami was still sitting in front of it. As a result she retreated into herself with a squeal and grumbled when Akaashi slightly pushed away her swivel chair. “Can you give me the books you wanna take with you?”, the aloof beta asked politely and I pushed the books towards him. As he scanned every item on the list, I felt the eyes of the other male beta on me. I wasn’t sure if I had seen him before somewhere, but he looked at me with slanted eyes before scrunching his nose and inhaling my scent. He suddenly calmed down a lot and even smiled a little, as if his cause for concern was suddenly gone. “You’re new here aren’t you? What’s your name hm?”, he tilted his head and leaned forward on the counter. “Uh, yeah. I’m Osamu Miya, nice to meet you”, I prompted back and the beta nodded, like he was pleased with the answer. “Any interest in joining the beta committee? It’s very-” Asami nudged his arm and furiously shook her head to signal something and I couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. Is it really that ambiguous? “What Asami? I’m trying to recruit fresh meat here! We need the help!” “Actually I am not a beta. I’m an alpha”, I retorted lamely, and I felt a twinge of surprise when Asami’s eyes shot up to me in fear. “What is it?”, I asked and felt annoyance crumbling up slightly. “Oh”, the beta I was talking to shot back with venom in his voice and Akaashi only sighed while typing in codes for the books,” and alpha are you?” I nodded with scrunched eyebrows. What is he getting at? “Well, then you can leave”, she kissed his teeth and looked to the side as if disgusted. “Futakuchi! You can’t say that! It’s borderline discrimination at this point!”, Asami pulled at the guys sweater and he broke away but kept looking at her as he spoke. “No way! We have enough alpha’s strolling around terrorizing us! What about us hm?!” “Don’t mind him. He’s very”,

Akaashi looked at Futakuchi and then back at me with disdain written in his features, “passionate”. “It’s about beta’s not getting the recognition they deserve! Beta supremacy!”, he whisper yelled at Asami who only sank her head into her hands. Beta supremacy? Somehow that didn’t feel right to me. Personally I didn’t take much care into being an alpha, the whole secondary gender thing wasn’t of much interest anyways. I generall talk to the people I wanna talk to, and when it comes to more serious relationships, I tend to not have a type. Although most Alpha’s go for omegas and vice versa, and most beta’s tend to stay in their own bubble, I felt it was almost restricting to think about that when choosing somebody. “Pay them no mind please”, Akaashi pushed the rented books towards me and I pulled them towards the small trolley with a nod. “You can take that one to your dorm, but please bring it back as soon as you can”, the calm beta continued and I thanked him with another nod. That Futakuchi guy still kept on glaring at me, while Asami swatted at his arm when she realised I stared too. “Yeah I’ll bring it over later, thank you”, I looked at the beta girl until she finally looked back and thanked her as well. She nodded and I turned around to get back to the dorm. My phone buzzed before I could even start moving and I checked my text messages. Tsumu: bring me pudding pls? You’re insufferable… Tsumu: thx o3o With a sigh I pushed the phone back into my jeans pocket and left the library behind.

Previous Next

4 notes · View notes

thejustmaiden · 4 years ago

Text

Fiction and Real Life Go Hand In Hand

This blog goes out to all those pro-Sessrin fans out there who refuse to acknowledge the very real effects fiction can have on our world and vice versa. I highly encourage other Inuyasha fans who defend/enable these shippers to read this, as well. I assure you, by no means are my intentions here to stir up trouble. Honestly, I just want some good healthy discourse for once if that’s not too much to ask. If you do decide to engage, please be mindful of that and treat others with respect and I will do the same in return. All in all, the goal of this blog is to exercise my right to speak out and be critical about content I believe to have very potentially detrimental repercussions. I ask that you not attack me or insult me simply for stating an opinion. Thank you!

It’s like the title says, meaning fiction does matter. Where do you think we get ideas for all the stories we tell? Where do we draw inspiration from in the first place?

Real life, that's where! And yes, always with a touch of imagination! Long story short: fiction matters because real life does.

Allow me to elaborate.

Shippers of the Sesshomaru x Rin (Sessrin) pairing say it's not fair of us to throw around serious accusations or use certain deragatory terms that suggest such awful acts like child grooming or pedophilia because of the harmful implications. One of their reasonings being that some people IRL have actually lived through these traumas, so we shouldn't dare to assume they're comparable since one is just fiction and the other is not. But this isn’t about which is worse than the other, because they’re both super problematic. All we’re literally doing is making a link between grooming in real life and grooming in fiction. They mirror each other. Same issue; different mediums. We’re not undermining any one’s past experiences with grooming or the like, nor are we prioritizing fiction to diminish real life abuse. They’re both awful in numerous ways and that’s all we’re trying to say. In fact, if anything we’re attempting to demonstrate just how crucial this correlation is between them. In order to protect past victims and prevent future ones, we must remain vigiliant of the content we consume, and yes, sometimes that means we have to challenge it too. Just because it’s widely-viewed does not make it widely-accepted or well-received. It is paramount that we educate ourselves on how to be more critical of some of the harmful tropes and images that are still way too prevalent in mainstream media. Sexualizing young and pre-pubescent girls is way more normalized than some of us even realize. It’s sad but true that Sessrin is just one of many examples. I know it feels like society has failed us in a lot of ways, but it’s never too late to re-evaluate and re-learn better and more improved ways of viewing and processing information presented to us.

Our mission: Let’s not show our kids that grooming or any other form of abuse are acceptable if they may ever come to experience or encounter it themselves. Be it the real world or on screen. Deal?

There have been a number of occasions where real life victims do speak up against the Sessrin ship and express how extremely uncomfortable it makes them feel by what it represents. The problem is that it’s becoming more evident now that many of their fans will dismiss anything purely on the basis that we pose a threat to their ship and nothing more. What it comes down to is they have no real leg to stand on and cannot possibly top any of what we have to say so instead they simply disregard it. Our inconvenient truths don't fit into their ideal *cough* OOC *cough* narrative so they just choose to be willfully ignorant. It conflicts with their fantasy, so rather than present a sound argument of their own, they flat-out reject it and offer no plausible back-up behind their reasoning besides "I don't interpret it that way." GUYS, CHILD GROOMING IS NOT UP FOR INTERPRETATION.

Just because you so desperately want your ship to come true does not mean you can up and decide to redefine a word so that it caters to your stance. Remind yourself that these are complex AND objective terms that we have no right to fiddle with to serve our own selfish purposes. This is why we can conclude that there's no debate about Sesshomaru's actions towards Rin embodying child grooming.

I apologize if any of my words are triggering by the way, so please feel free to take a break and return later if that’s more suitable for you. it's just really important that everyone in this fandom comprehends the extent in which Sessrin going canon is catastrophic. And no, I'm not exaggerating; I'm simply speaking the truth. Shippers justifying these horrible acts- yes, even in fiction- is usually due to the stubborn refusal to hear us out. No offense to anyone (just stating facts), but more times than not antis like myself feel as if we’re talking to a brick wall when we interact with Sessrin peeps. They go in circles and never expand on their perspectives.

Just a head’s up: THIS GETS LONG. Stick with me. :p

Just look at their take on the Inukag vs. Sessrin relationships for example. This isn't a question of age gaps, this is a question of physical/emotional compatibility. Inukag are the same age mentally wise regardless of one being demon and the other not, whereas Sessrin is not and never will be, and yes, even once she's an adult. The thing is we have debunked this time and time again, because they’re not the same and therefore not comparable, but for some reason these fans won’t drop it. Nothing has changed in their argument, yet they’re persistent in bringing it up. I choose to not go into more detail, since like I said, you can find it around everywhere. I just wanted to touch upon it briefly to prove a point. Maybe it will come up again later in my blog though!

Where was I earlier? Right, child grooming! Haven't you guys realized that what you’re doing is precisely what child groomers do to make excuses or deny any grooming took place at all? (FYI: I’m not accusing you of being child groomers yourselves.) “They reciprocated so the feelings are mutual" is a typical groomer response, but of course it varies. More often than not, victims of grooming aren't even aware they've been groomed until much later. That's how manipulative groomers are that they can legitmately convince you that maybe you're wrong in questioning their motives. Perhaps in the victim’s mind that because one huge indicator of grooming never actually took place it technically cannot constitute as grooming. They start to doubt themselves even though their intuition is telling them something’s off. They should just ignore it then since it can’t possibly be grooming if that one particular thing never happened, right? Wrong, grooming isn’t strictly this or strictly that. It's much more complicated and multi-faceted. This is why the “but Sesshomaru left Rin in the village” point upsets me greatly. HE WAS STILL INVOLVED IN HER LIFE, Y’ALL.

On top of that, are you aware that this is the exact same kind of predatory mindset pedophiles use to describe their infatuation with children? They'll say things like, "I don't see them as an adult and a child. I see them as two people with a soul connection." Okay no joke, I wish I was lying, but that is literally a point one pro-sessrin fan on here recently used to defend this ship. It both astounds me and terrifies me that they don't see the glaring similarities they share in common with actual pedos.

Alright, I want to quickly return to what I was saying earlier about fiction's impact on real life. (Sorry, I’m a bit of a scatterbrain!)

The characters and their worlds in our stories that we dream up and bring to life are nothing short of awe-inspiring and magnificent if we so choose them to be. If it wasn't for our imaginations, stories like Inuyasha would have never come to exist. Fiction provides us an amazing outlet where we are given the opportunity to express ourselves and explore its infinite creative possibilities.

But strip away all the demons and magical components of this show we all love so dearly and what are we left with?

At the very core, Inuyasha is a story that's very reminiscent of the human experience: love, camaraderie, a sense of purpose, and much more!

So perhaps we got a full-fledged dog demon like Sesshomaru, but does that necessarily mean we can't relate to him or understand him simply because dog demons don't exist in the real world? Well, I hope that's not how you view it or else you're missing the whole point of why humans create stories to begin with. We create them to make better sense of and thus connect with the world we live in. And when you really think about it, our stories are just a celebration of life- both our struggles and our triumphs. Now I'm no philosophy professor, but I'm pretty sure they'd say I hit that nail right smack on the head. ;)

All shitty jokes aside, the whole reason I’m mentioning this specific example in the first place is because this recently came up with another Sessrin supporter. That supporter tried to defend the ship by stating that we aren't allowed to use Sesshomaru as an example to judge by since his kind don't exist in the real world.

Now if it isn't evident already, this "it's just fiction" argument is a popular go-to stance many Sessrin fans will resort to once they've run out of ideas and are metaphorically backed into a corner. The funny/sad thing is that they seem to sincerely believe this is strong enough evidence to defend their ship with, but per usual, they fail to see how hypocritical that would be. I’ll clarify soon down below.

Seriously, since when did we decide that fantasy- or any story genre for that matter- stopped reflecting the real world we live in? I mean, we humans are the ones writing these stories. Our human influence is bound to make an impact in some capacity. In fact, we want it to!

Obviously none of us have ever met a dog demon like Sesshomaru, because how could we? Let me tell ya, this is gaslighting at its finest! This is a fictional story with fantasy elements, so of course there will be beings and creatures in their world that don't exist in our own. Does that somehow translate to the fact that nothing from the story of Inuyasha can be applied to our own personal stories or that there aren't meaningful messages to be taught and learned?

So on the flipside, if they're not screaming at us "it's just fiction" for the hundred billionth time, then they are, believe it or not, doing the reverse and comparing it to real world history. One instance of this is how they tell us we're making a big deal about something that isn't real, but go right ahead and use the history of feudal Japan to support Sesshomaru's decision to court (aka GROOM) a young girl because that's how it was done back then. And so, your point being?? It wasn't right then just because it was legal, and it's most certainly not right now. This is how all of their arguments go by the way, where you'll constantly witness a cherry-picking approach. It's agonizing to endure contradiction after contradiction in their arguments filled with nothing but holes in their logic.

I'd just like to add that if we're overreacting to this fictional ship like they love to say we are then technically so are they. They tell us things like "grow up" or "nobody is telling you to keep watching," yet fail to realize they're reacting just as fervently as we are but just on the opposing side of the same damn argument. I find it interesting how they're as invested in this show but pretend they aren't then STILL have the audacity to say it's only us who care this much!? So thank you Sessrin shippers for further proving our point that fiction is more than capable of affecting reality and the people- YES, US- who reside in it.

It's insane that people act like pedophiles and other creeps don't enjoy entertainment too like the rest of us. Believe it or not, they look just like you and me most of the time. Yes, that means they can easily pass as a “regular guy” if they so wished to. My question to you is how do you think pedophiles will take it when they discover others- underage fans more specifically- who dig the same kinda media they get off to? Maybe not in the exact same way, mind you, but there's a thin line between them when you really think about it. I mean, what other explanation is there for why literal pedos on the internet have been known to sneak into pro-sessrin group chats here on Tumblr before? (Thankfully, they were later kicked.) I know that for a fact! It's almost as if the universe is trying to tell them something they refuse to listen to elsewhere. Hhmmm I wonder what that may be.

I imagine it’s possibly one of the hardest things to admit out loud and to themselves, but I can almost guarantee you that most of these Sessrin shippers who are victims of CSA and who still see no issue with Sessrin must be living with some sort of unresolved trauma caused by the very abuse they claimed to have undergone. It's been proven that victims who do not seek or properly receive the help and treatment they need in order to address and live with a traumatic experience such as this are more likely to perpetuate that very same abuse themselves in some way, shape or form. What if in this case fiction is enough for them, but who's to say it won’t eventually manifest itself in other more dire and far-reaching ways? It's not like we haven't seen this vicious cycle before, and I can promise you that Sessrin won't be the last. LET'S STOP NORMALIZING & GLORIFYING THE ROMANTIZATION & SEXUALIZATION OF CHILDREN. Fictional example: Usagi Drop. Need I say more? Real world example: Woody Allen. Again, need I say more?

Bottom line is that Sessrin shippers don't want us to think too critically about this ship of theirs, because if we dig too deep then they're forced to face the very troubling implications this pairing really stands for. Of course they'll never admit to them, because instead they rather double down and grasp at the same old straws as long as it means their precious ship is protected at all costs. Screw everyone else if that's what it takes, because they'll threaten to burn down legit buildings in real life if that ensures Sessrin goes canon! (True story, this happened on Twitter.) They’ll taunt and bully anyone who disagrees. Even if all you literally say is that you don’t like the ship, they’ll gang up on you. Tell them about your past experience with being groomed? They’ll laugh in your face. I wish I was kidding, but I assure you I am not. And they say we're ridiculous and taking this way too seriously? Yeah...

The typical behavior of a Sessrin shipper demonstrates an overly aggressive front since they're usually on defense mode anyway. They only want to ship their sick ship in peace in other words. But just because neo-nazis have a right to spew their bigoted ideology, doesn't mean we don't got the right to punch them! Freedom of speech doesn't equate to freedom from consequences. And Sessrin shippers wonder why they got so many haters. Just sayin'.

Their presence on other platforms like Twitter and Reddit are some examples of how delusional and unstable some Sessrin fans are capable of becoming. Even recently, an anon here on Tumblr sent Richard Ian Cox (English VA for Inuyasha) a totally uncalled for ask telling him that "sessrin is love and there's nothing he can do about it." (That's not verbatim, but if you're interested I'll link you to it.) It appears they discovered that he didn't like Sessrin based on how he had been replying to asks, and just for that reason alone they thought they had the right to harass him. For simply stating his opinion, y'all. They didn't even have the decency to show their face either. Talk about immature and cowardly!

Just yesterday (or was it the day before?) a fanatic Sessrin user on Tumblr- who’s also been known for hateful remarks on Twitter but those tweets have of course been deleted since then- went out of their way to not only lurk in a group chat they don’t belong to on here but to then proceed to harass a few of us in there. They had the guts to take screenshots from that group chat, tag us in posts on their page regarding what they read in there, and without our knowledge or permission went ahead and actually blogged them?? I mean, who calls out people behind their backs while they're just minding their own business?? It worries me how unhinged and out of touch with reality some Sessriners are. Not all of them, but a whole lot of them.

It seems all they are doing is looking for trouble, as they just can't stand how much we hate this ship. So it's more than okay if they love on their ship but it's not okay if we don't and we should just keep our mouths shut. But since when do Sessrin fans have authority over our opinions? Even if they were officially canon, nothing is ever gonna change our opinion. Now when they actually do decide to participate in discourse with antis, you'll see them fishing for excuses to bow out. How they normally go about this is by fabricating a way to blame us antis for their exiting a conversation as if we're being the irrational ones here.

There’s no denying that some antis can also be overly blunt or aggressive (nobody is saying we’re perfect here), but speaking for myself, I know I would never make such nasty comments about other fans and their personal lives. And honestly? It would make me feel like shit talking bad about someone I don't actually know. Nah, I won't stoop to that level or give haters that satisfaction. I may not attack them as people, but that doesn't mean I can't attack some of their messed up ideas that threaten to distort how we should or shouldn’t perceive certain dangerous situations and events. Seeing as how for me this is more than just a matter of opinion- it's a moral responsibility and even an obligation.

I know it's difficult to remain civil when things get heated and people start taking things personally- yet more proof that fiction impacts our lives- but that's the only way any of us will ever have constructive discussions about serious topics like this. Unfortunately, Sessrin shippers, from what I can tell, are incapable of engaging in real discourse for the most part. They may be vocal but that doesn't mean they can pack a punch. I’d really love to be proven wrong someday.

Okay, moving on! If they're not involved in some big-time gaslighting then they're using their infamous strawman argument approach.

Sessrin fans’ sole purpose isn't really to defend their ship, per se, but rather to deflect and antagonize. They like to mislead in order to shift the focus/blame onto their opponent or something else that's not related so that they can stray from the main point.

Take the drama CD for example. It's officially NOT considered canon, right? But that hasn't stopped many fans from referencing it anyway so let’s too consider it for a moment. The point is that they use its "existence" whenever convenient then deny it or downplay it whenever it’s not. So on one hand, it's plain as day that they celebrate it as proof of a romantic future for Sessrin. But then later once we point out to them that Sesshomaru is essentially confessing to Rin that he will wait for her until she's of age, they'll brush it off and quickly add that they didn't interpret the scene that way and leave it at that. I mean how else would you interpret it? And if it's not a proposal of sorts then why exactly are you bouncing off the walls about it to begin with?? If that's all it means is nothing then why are we even talking about this?! You see what I mean here??! And somehow we're the crazy ones?

Let me to be frank with you. If you haven’t listened to it already, this proposal he offered her sounded like a declaration of love in a multitude of ways, which is wildly inappropriate since Rin was only 12 at the time. Signifying that Sesshomaru was/is indeed grooming her. Well, that is if you choose to recognize the drama CD. Nevertheless, whether you do or not, I personally hate that this non-canon satire is even associated with the Inuyasha name to begin with. Ugh.

Intentional or not, Sesshomaru made a deliberate decision in that moment to tell a little girl- and not just any little girl mind you but a girl he's taken in under his care for a good year- that he would wait for her if she so chooses once she's old enough.

The issue is that it isn’t only age of consent we’re concerned about regarding this pairing. What Sessriners fail to see is that this grown male authority- her vassal, her guardian, her adoptive father, or whatever you wanna refer to him as- is basically making a move on this girl he had in his company for quite some time. There's no sugarcoating that. Us antis call it how it is, and I'm sure as fucking day other people who don't watch the show would most certainly agree that the Sesshomaru/Rin bond is filial. Set aside those rose-tinted glasses of yours, and going by everything we’ve been delivered in the manga and parts of the anime (and NOT the drama cd), there are literally no hints that indicate a blossoming romance between this adult male demon and this small human girl he’s taken under his wing. You can imagine them all you want if it pleases you, but that doesn’t mean they’re there. Adult!Rin is a figment of your imagination, nothing more. The idolization of this pairing is pretty disturbing seeing as all we have to go off of in canon is Child!Rin. There have only ever been sweet and innocent moments passed between the two, which is why I’m positive that an unbiased viewer or an outsider would state their dynamic resembled something akin to a father-daugther relationship. I would bet a shit ton of money on that, believe you me!

Rin's inhibitions are low because children are naturally naive and don't know any better. Remember, she adores and trust this man with all her heart, so why would she think any of this so-called grooming is not normal behavior. (I only say “so-called grooming” because I don’t think Sesshomaru bringing her gifts in the village has to be a romantic thing.) Or how would she ever be able to understand that she’s being taken advantage of if she has no previous experience with it? Maybe if she was present for that time Inuyasha and the gang scolded Miroku when they had learned that years previous he had supposedly proposed to this young girl in the village they were visiting, then Rin would. And he didn’t even assist in helping raise her but look at how they reacted! How is this any different than Sesshomaru hooking up with Rin later? It’s actually worse in Sessrin's case. Do you honestly believe that Inuyasha and the others would take kindly to this?

It's not uncommon and considered harmless for young children to have crushes on adults, after all, but the adults in these scenarios should never resort to using and abusing the position of power they held or continue to hold over this child for any reason whatsoever.

What I'm trying to get across here is that no matter how you spin it, Sessrin can NEVER be deemed a morally acceptable pairing. Like ship what you want, we're not saying you can't ship Sessrin. What we're saying is this:

STOP referring to their bond as "pure" and not expect backlash for your grossly inaccurate statements. Just admit it's toxic, because it's extremely harmful to many viewers- and not just victims- to pretend and suggest otherwise.

Please remind yourself of the very real canon fact that Rin traveled with Sesshomaru and they established a bond all while she was just a girl. Oh, and he saved her life too many times to count, not to mention brought her back from the dead TWICE. This is why I don't care much for your counter argument "that dynamics can change over time," because although that's true, like with everything in life there must be standards we adhere to. Exceptions to rules, if you will. Our own basic morals demand it.

For instance, it’s normal that some childhood friends begin to like each other as more than friends years down the road. Nothing wrong with that, because that's a natural and healthy occurrence. Now you cannot apply this to an adult and a child for obvious reasons, but what you also cannot do is apply this to an adult who met and knew another adult while they were still just a child. Why? Well, because it'd be like betraying and perverting that former child's view of you. They were never your equal because your established dynamic resembles that of one an adult posesses with a child even once they've grown up. Think about it this way: it's in the same bracket of family members or family friends who've watched you grow up and mature into an adult. Then later just because they're all grown up, does that mean that those children "are not off bounds" - that's quoting a Sessrin shipper by the way- to these certain family members and family friends?

If you're still struggling to grasp this, I urge you to take a moment (or all the time you need!) to really put yourself in that child's shoes and self-reflect. Would you truly be alright with a family friend you haven't seen in years (but sorely missed because they used to occasionally babysit you) just someday coming back into your life and then very inappropriately flirting with you or even making sexual advances on you? (Sorry for the run-on!) Or even worse, can you picture this happening to one of your own children??! Seriously, ask yourself that and sit with that for a while and really take it all in. It’s not fun, I know, but if that’s what it takes to help you finally understand then please try and practice more ways to utilize your self-awareness in the future. It’s for everyone’s benefit, not only yours, I promise! You'll also find it makes it tremendously easier to empathize with others.

I got news for those fans who don’t view Sesshomaru as a father figure to Rin. The title we give him doesn’t hold as much weight as a lot of us are making it out to be. Let’s try to be neutral here and stick to the hard facts, shall we?

*Sesshomaru is an adult male authority whose protection Rin is under*

*It’s safe to assume that Rin has grown attached to him and maybe even looks up to him*

*They care about each other and the other's well-being*

*He has has played a crucial part in her supervision and care for a significant period of time (yes, even if it’s just passing a message along to Jaken)*

Not so random anecdote: In an Inuyasha episode I recently revisited, Sesshomaru had just rescued Rin from Kohaku who had been possessed by Naraku and was ordered to kill Rin. Anyway, at the end of their scene you can hear Jaken ask out loud, “what should we do for dinner, Lord Sesshomaru?” And that’s about the most domestic thing I’ve ever heard come out of his mouth. They’re such a family dammit and nothing will ever change that!! <3

This is precisely why I could never in a million years view those past students of mine in a romantic light. I don't care how many years have passed, it's just not possible for me. Just the idea of pursuing a romantic and/or sexual relationship absolutely repels me.

Speaking as a former teacher, you don't need to be a parental figure who's around all the time in order to have great love and affection for a child. I would've done absolutely anything in my power to protect them even though they weren't my own. Then again, I did consider them my children in a way even if wasn't in a familial sense. Does that make my love for them any less unique? No, it's just different but not inferior. When you stop to think about, it really doesn't take as long as you may think to establish rapport with a person, particularly children. Connecting with a child is almost instant (but of course some are more receptive than others), and once you do make that special connection one can only make with a child, a strong and overwhelming need to guide and protect them kicks in almost automatically. The unconditional love an adult feels for a child is powerful and constant, and nothing should ever change that. As much as some of you really want to believe otherwise, that feeling doesn’t just go away because they turned 18. In your eyes, they’ll always be that kid.

I get it, sometimes when we escape into these fictional worlds of ours, it's difficult not to project our own wishes and desires onto certain characters. I don't blame fans for picturing themselves with Sesshomaru- I know I did haha- but never once did I self-insert myself as Rin. I know she's one of the biggest catalysts for his character growth- if not THE biggest- but how and why does that need to turn romantic? There are other antis who I have spoken with on this. They informed me that they used to live vicariously through Rin and ship them together, as well. As they got older, they later learned how weird and twisted this ship actually was. That's what's supposed to happen, y'all, you're supposed to grow out of that fixation.

Now take your mind out of the Inuyasha universe for a second and hypothetically (or not hypothetically if you have kids) answer me this: if and/or when you ever have a child, would you genuinely be comfortable with the idea of them dating and eventually marrying their father’s best friend who was also there to witness them grow up? Be honest please.

I highly doubt you would want that- or at least I hope not. You see, that's another MAJOR point I've made a few times already and yet you Sessrin shippers continue to avoid the question. It's pretty obvious it hasn't been rhetorical either. Ignorance is bliss?

Finally, I’d like to address one more point. It seems there is a HUGE misconception and I'd like to clear it up real quick. That is Sessrin shippers misinterpret one of the issues we have with this ship. They chalk up our complaints of Sessrin being canon (which is a LIE, nothing has been confirmed yet) to us just being salty because that somehow means our ships aren't or won’t be. I assure you, readers, other antis and I will attest that this ain't about dumb shipping wars, this is so much bigger than that!!!

I noticed recently that some Sessrin fans have even begun calling us Karens lolol like if anybody is a Karen it's them! This ain't about some mere difference in taste, this is very likely to have LONG-LASTING NEGATIVE EFFECTS. Sessrin going canon is a very harmful message to send viewers and children/teens especially. So if anything, it’s these shippers who are being the entitled ones here thinking that the fact we don’t support their ship is the worst thing in the world. NO, THE REAL PROBLEM IS CHILD GROOMING. GET OVER YOURSELF.

Out of nowhere, some of them even started assuming all us antis were white, which in their books is also equivalent to Karens or even white supremacists somehow?? Those aren't one in the same, but it's easy to make it appear that way when the US is currently tackling major systems of oppression and racial injustice. Because to them, all antis must be from over here. (Yes, I'm American. But no, I'm not white.) How else can anyone explain not shipping Sessrin, right?! Somehow they have it in their heads that ALL of Japan and surrounding places are super approving of this ship, and that everyone else isn’t because of their upbringing and “Western way of thinking.”

To give you an idea of what I mean, look back at what I talked about earlier with their incessant mention of Sessrin vs. Inukag. Because THIS is another popular example of how these shippers present their side and then ignore all the facts. Many fans have already proven how fucked up and inaccurate it is to label whole countries and cultures. It’s like they simply think mentioning it makes it count even though we’ve discredited their points over and over. Nah, you got to back it up with good reasons that support your side of the argument. That’s How To Have An Argument: 101. So at the end of the day, all they're actually achieving in doing is making dumb and entirely unrelated accusations based on nothing just to lead to deductions that are equally unfounded. Nothing at all is accomplished but more gaslighting and hurling of insults on their part = a complete waste of time for antis = an excuse for them to peace out early from the conversation & that’s what they wanted all along

We’ve reached the end (finally! sorry for all the rambling!), and I hope those of you who stayed till the end or read enough can take something positive out of this. As many Inuyasha fans are aware, there will be a livestream with the VAs for Sesshomaru and Rin coming out within the next few hours. We don’t have all the details yet, and afterwards we probably still won’t. I’m not just talking about Sessrin here but about the sequel in general. Whatever happens, please just remember to be kind to one another. If you don’t think you’re capable of doing that, then it’s best you vent and fume elsewhere. Easier said than done, I know, but just try. Throughout this blog, I admit there were moments where I got frustrated and took some jabs at Sessrin shippers. Please believe me when I say that I do not and would not ever wish any of you ill will.

Inuyasha was such a huge part of my childhood, and I’m not gonna lie, I’m anxious as hell that Sunrise will ruin one of the best things I loved about this show. So pardon me if my reactions are too visceral for your liking. haha Also, like the movies and the drama cd, this sequel is not in fact canon. Therefore, for those of you who disagree or who still plan to enjoy this new series, respect the fact that some of us fans will definitely “cancel” it if we feel that’s what we have to do to come to terms with it and move on. Fans have that right, after all. Why should we get on board with something if it’s so uncharacteristic of and unrecognizable from the original source material? If all this is some sort of cash grab of Sunrise’s doing, then count me out. I truly hope that this sequel turn outs being a lot more promising than a lot of us are expecting. I’m begging you, Sunrise, I wanna believe you’re better than this. Please and thank you!

By the way, if you’re interested, feel free to check out my two other blogs on this same subject. Click here and here. The last two screenshots do not come from something I’ve written myself. If you’d like to read more from where those came from, let me know and I’d be more than happy to send you the links. Okay, bye for now. Peace out and stay safe, everyone!

#inuyasha #hanyo no yashahime #anti sessrin #sesshomaru #rin

66 notes · View notes

yeoldontknow · 5 years ago

Text

Light Sakura

Author’s Note: welcome back to chanvember 2019! this is a much heavier offering. when i was in japan in april, i wrote some of my thoughts and feelings into notes. there werent many, but i decided to turn them into this beast a fic. this is a very personal story - personal and heavy, and is probably me at my most raw and honest. more than anything, this is me letting you in to watch me process life. i hope you can still appreciate it <3 Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Genre: romance; angst; travel!au; fluff; light smut Summary: While taking your honeymoon in Tokyo, alone, you meet Chanyeol, a man who reminds you of the person you remember being long before you learned to forget yourself. After spending one full day together, you question if you could walk away from him - especially when it feels like walking away from yourself, again. Rating: R Warnings: some intense, adult angst; the most beautiful chanyeol ive ever written; and an explicit makeout session Word Count: 15K

Barely half nine in the morning and already the cherry blossom trees of the Shinjuku National Gardens have decided to whelm you.

Overhead, they sway in the breeze, elegant in their movements and peaceful in the way they seem to exist for no one and everyone, but most of all, themselves. You relate to them, in only this half-formed similarity, alone on the linen blanket you’ve spread across a soft patch of grass.

The blush pink of the petals puts the flavor of hope, faith, and healing on your tongue - you’re unsure if this is what they truly mean, if this is the ascribed symbolism to pretty, delicate things, but it feels like they matter. You feel strongly and passionately they mean something beyond the aesthetic of paradise, filtered and filtered again through Instagram as proof of experience.

To you, they are the herald of change, the transience of perfection contained neatly in the blossom, fading almost as soon as they appear. Always, they depart swiftly, detached and long missed yet remaining somewhere just beyond reach, a memory of perfect bliss; the wonder, and the healing, and the euphoria of existence, and the grief and melancholy of the inherent loss.

From the corner of your eye, you see it, a large mass of struggle and frustration. Intrigued, you look over to find a man, tall and gangly, battling with himself and the blossoms and the sun to take a selfie. On this cloudless day in April, the sun seems to find his eyes from every angle, even this early in the morning. Blinded yet, somehow, ignited, he becomes at once a man both at peace and at war with nature, challenged by the haze of morning to outshine the blossoms. Even under the sakura tree, the sun seeks his shapes, gives him a glow that speaks of reverence and admiration.

It’s entertaining to witness, though only serves to remind you that there is no one with you to laugh or to watch, to share in the delight of such a vision, and so you look away, having already seen enough for yourself.

Glancing down to your blanket, you see the array of items spread before you, gaze drifting to the sakura mochi. Your lips fall to a grimace, the humor of the morning dissipating on sight. Nothing about the confection tastes right, or truly like a confection at all. One bite, and all you could think was that some things are meant to be witnessed and admired, never consumed, their delicate lightness bitter on the tongue but sweet to the iris.

Lured by motion in the distance, you look up once more and find he is still there, spinning in circles beneath the trees. The longer you watch, the more you find he is somewhat familiar in his unfamiliarity, the strangeness of not knowing his name or personality or history its own sort of comfortable adventure, the thrill of it settling over your nerves in a way you had long abandoned. The sight of him overtakes you the same way he is overtaken by the sun, almost immediately and without escape. Though, for you, you know you are overtaken by the nostalgia of an imperfect youth and the mistakes that come from letting the wrong person in - not dangerous, not lethal, but deadly just the same and always just as reckless.

And so you don't know why you speak, why you even rise to a stand, allow yourself to disturb the peaceful solitude of your morning, wanting, rather suddenly, to ease his struggle. Even more, you don’t know what exactly it is about him that makes you reach out, giving yourself yourself away and over to the feeling of longed for and missed connections.

'Do you want help with that picture?'

A small noise of surprise leaves his chest as he turns to face you, seeking your voice with his lips set in a full pout. At once and against your better judgement, you swoon, transfixed by how arresting he truly is. Arresting, a word you’ve never really used for people or even art made after 1945, the term reserved for pain and poetry, but he becomes it, embodies it, in every sense of the meaning.

His smile take it time as his gaze walks over your features, taking you in, beguiled and amused and delighted for the help - relieved too, a grateful smile falling on his lips as though he'd been waiting for you, relaxing at once into the comfort of not knowing you at all. It strikes you how easy it is to connect when you aren’t really trying to, when you aren’t thinking or overthinking, and people can just be themselves.

The warmth in his smile remains, even as he speaks, the genuine contentment of it infectious. 'Do you mind?'

Taking a few cautious steps towards you, he runs a hand through his hair, anxious.

'Happy to.' You close the gap between you both, extending your hand, palm upwards, for his phone. 'It's funny, I thought this would have been easy given how long your arms are.'

The joy of his smile spills into his laugh as he hands you his phone, the sound boisterous and altogether too loud for the quiet stoicism of Japan, his unbridled energy turning the colours of the gardens into something far more rich than the human eye could bear.

'Sorry,’ you giggle, carried by the sound of his pleasure. ‘I don't mean that as an insult.' It’s amusing, you think, how awkward this exchange is. How terribly exciting it truly is to not be comfortable. ‘You just don’t realize how hard good selfies are until you’re short, like I am.’

'Well,' he concedes, 'the limbs are helpful for group photos but when you're perpetually under the sun and in the way and having to duck, it's just as difficult.'

Far more lightly than you would have imagined for someone of his size, he settles on the edge of the wooden bridge, the water of the pond glistening behind him, gleaming much like the cityscape in the distance. At once, he is radiant, another word you’d never used for a person until you saw him, the tips of his ears catching the light, the sunbeams finding him in a way they don’t seem to find other people. Or, perhaps, they don’t find him at all, and simply are born of him entirely, emerging from his core and lifted into the atmosphere.

A warm breeze moves through the air, rustling your hair, and he leans into it, almost imperceptibly. Eyes closed and expression soft, he lifts his head towards the sky and smiles, blissful in his quiet contentedness.

An image such as this, you think, is poetic, the kind of portrait that resonates throughout the city long after the person has left, adding weight to their photo collection and adding weight to all of those who witnessed its capture. But your finger hesitates, the slowness of your muscles taking its time to luxuriate in his expression. His delight, his happiness, his easy way of coming alive as though it were natural, and as though you could learn to do it, too.

And so you are slow, paused in your admiration long enough for it to dissipate altogether, his mercurial personality shifting his pose almost immediately into one of casual nonchalance.

'Let me know when you're ready,' he says, regarding you with a calm, yet detached smile.

'Okay.' You're unsure when you became so breathless, when the air left you and went in search of somewhere, or someone, else, but you're unsure it matters. Moments like this, of intense feeling and abrupt emotion, you know, usually do not last. 'Three. Two. One.'

The moment you press capture to take the picture, his expression changes. Eyes going cross-eyed, he sticks out his tongue and wrinkles his nose, making a mess of the scenery, and the image, altogether. And all at once, you laugh, overcome and overtaken by the shock. The abrupt force of it makes you sputter, your breath lurching forward in a cough as he rises to a stand, pleased with himself.

'How did it come out?' Pride drenches his words, smile wide and large and eyes glistening in victory, as you realize he meant it - he meant every detail of it.

Catching your breath, you study the picture, the absurdity of it, and turn it around to show him. 'You don't want me to delete this?'

He shakes his head, reaching for the phone and regarding the photo with a smirk. 'Absolutely not.'

‘Who is this picture for?' you question, confident a photo like that has a home, a purpose, a place. It’s not pretty, the expression and the energy tarnishing any hope of it living on social media.

'Just me,' he clarifies with a small shrug. 'But does it have to be for anyone?'

You fall silent, mind empty by the simplicity of this statement and mesmerized by his lightness of being. A talent, you are aware, you simply do not share. 'No,' you agree, voice soft, 'I suppose not.'

'Do you want me to take one of you?' he offers, pocketing his phone and cocking his head to the side.

In truth, you hadn’t considered it - hadn’t considered any part of this morning, likely would have come and gone with only pictures of the trees and none of you, your essence moving through the city without leaving a trace. It would be nice, you think. Something for your mother or, as he said, something for no one at all - something to remember yourself by.

'Do you mind?'

He nods, enthusiastically, offering his palm with eager fingers. 'It's the least I could do.'

Sitting on the bridge railing in the same place, the breeze moves through your hair once more, and you understand why he eased into the feel of it, almost tender in its smooth traverse between the strands. Sweetness lingers in the air, the smell of blossoms and food and a distinct characteristic, definitive to Tokyo, that you will never quite place. Hands gripping the wood, your mind wanders, seeming to forget there’s a purpose to your position here, a purpose for this crowd and a reason the petals move through the air, lifted much the same way the wind gives flight to wings.

Would you have wanted to share this moment, you think, with someone else, or share it at all? Are you truly sharing this moment, with the people around you and the man preparing to take your photo? Would another person have made it better - would he have made it better? Could it really have been more joyful than this?

Mostly, you think you would have been pressured, too aware of everything, especially he needs of another person. Aware, most distressingly, of the crippling necessity for plans and the way you are forever bound to the beginning and the end of an existence, all actions reduced from their experience to little more than a point A and a point B, with little room for the journey in between.

As if on cue, your new found partner coughs, approaching you with a placid expression.

'Sorry,’ he mumbles apologetically. ‘You're getting a facetime call.'

Gently, almost reproachfully, he hands you the phone and you look at the name, the iridescent letters making your stomach sink. Guilt overtakes you, mind racing even though it feels so impossibly empty, each glimmer of the name and the sad, almost solemn image of your face running your tongue dry. Briefly, you are reminded of the sakura mochi, and the way beautiful things so easily sour.

The shadow of your new, strange friend lingers, his own body taking on a sway that distracts you enough to decline the call with a tap of your finger.

'It's okay,' you say, handing your phone back to him with a smile you know is partially vacant. 'I can call him back.'

He simply nods, expression neutral, both somehow aware that you will not.

With only a few long strides, he returns to his original position just as swiftly as he returns to his original mood, jovial and easygoing all over again. 'Tell me when you're ready.'

'Ready,’ you announce, unsure if you’ve ever really meant it.

Loud with enthusiasm, he counts down the same way as you had, but you find you don’t carry the same playfulness to be as creative or amusing as he was. He was mesmerizing, and you are entirely uncertain how to attain that same radiant sense of optimism he seems to exude even beyond the frame of his picture. Instead, you simply look at him, trapped in a state of wonder and loss, a limbo that feels worthy of being captured.

It is not, you think, that this is a moment you’d like to return to, merely that you think you’d like to see how it looks. More than anything, you want to know how to capture and hold and maintain the fleeting experience of growth. Down to the depths of your marrow, you simply want to give permanence to the in between, your desire for control a habit you could never quite shake, regardless of how often you try.

Humming, he approaches you with your phone in hand, pleased with himself, though the corners of his mouth are downturned in pensive consideration.

'Who is this picture for?' he muses, parroting your earlier question and handing you the phone.

You meet his gaze for a single moment, mystified by the way his thoughts run wild in his irises, before looking down at the image. The person in the photo is you - she looks like you and wears your clothes, but you are aware that you are entirely absent from the image. Instead, you have been replaced with someone unfamiliar - neither hopeful nor resentful, she simply appears lost. Not lonely, not lacking, just learning, having neither retreated inward nor retreated at all, here and nowhere and delighted by the confusion of it.

'No one,' you say, proud with your success. This is not a beautiful picture, and you are glad for it, the ability to witness the discomfort of evolution. 'Everyone.'

Looking up at him once more, you finally offer him a smile you believe in, a smile you know is genuine.

'Does it matter?'

He shakes his head, returning your expression with childlike wonder. 'No, I suppose it doesn't.'

For a few, intangible moments, you remain like this, both regarding one another, a little unsure how to feel or what to say or what to even make of one another, smiling because it feels right and it feels good. He leans forward, inches closer as though pulled by a magnet, and the motion draws your attention to the queue that has started to form behind him. Each passing moment, more people arrive to the gardens, people wanting to view the blossoms and wanting the same photo as you, patient and yet hardly patient at all giving the bounce in their knees.

'Do you want to have breakfast with me?' You’re entirely unsure where the question comes from, and find yourself pointing in the direction of your blanket, the food and the bags still exactly where you left them.

You are unsure where the question came from but you are not upset that you asked, not even appalled. At this moment, the only thing you can truly fathom is that you want to remain in his company if only because it is spontaneous.

He glances to where you pointed, narrowing his eyes. 'Are you sure? I don't want to impose.'

'Do you have somewhere else to be?’ you press, allowing him a way out should he be too polite to take one for himself. ‘Plans?' The word feels heavy in your mouth, weight and severity of it unsuited for him entirety.

'Not really,’ he grins. ‘I'm just exploring today.'

You return his smile, glad that he gets it even if he does not. 'Me, too.'

'In that case, yeah, I'd love to join you.'

Together, you make your way to the blanket, his stride slightly unnatural as he adjusts to your pace. The kindness of it fills your chest with a heat long absent in your connections with others, and you welcome it, delighted for its return.

'I'm Chanyeol,’ he says, angling himself on the blanket so his shoes remain on the grass. He extends his hand towards you once more, friendly and personable.

'Y/N.'

The press of his palm into yours warms your nerves, a thrill of newness gliding up your arm and into the nodes of your lungs. Swallowing thickly, you maintain your smile, wondering if he can see that his presence threatens to send you floating, a too much too soon rush of blood to the head. His gaze remains on yours too long, the same way his hand remains twined with yours too long, and when he remembers himself, separating you, it does not escape your attention that he presses the flat of his hand to the blanket, knuckles tense.

It’s the same for you, the memory of his touch lingering long after he has left you, skin tingling and feeling tattooed.

Blinking, you avert your gaze and nudge the wooden box of sakura mochi towards him, gesturing for him to try it.

'Oh you got one of these?’ he begins, slowly, tentatively. ‘They're...'

'Awful?' you offer, hoping he agrees.

'Yeah,' he laughs. ‘It’s really surprisingly terrible. I didn’t want to say in case you love it.’

Your laugh joins his, the sound new and refreshing - yours in a way that it hasn’t been for a long time. You recognize the sound of it, the crystal ring and high echo a sound you made when you were nineteen and unafraid of the distant expanse of life. Back when you were fresh and bright and untarnished by the way a person can wake up and demand so much of you before the sunrise - demand parts that do not exist, and so you must create them, calling the shell of this action a compromise.

"I’ll give that up because you’re asking so nicely," you hear yourself say. "But be warned this is a slippery slope, and I don’t think you’re ready for the fallout."

He thinks you’re teasing. You know that you aren’t.

"One day," you hear yourself say, "I will give it all up for you and there will be nothing left of me for you to take."

Hours later, the linen blanket folded neatly into his backpack, Chanyeol joins you on the trip to teamLab Borderless. Because, you have two tickets and it would be a shame to waste them, a thing you said as a method of reasoning, a means to rationalize the fact that you felt good about asking him. Because, he had attempted to buy tickets and found he was too late, the day already sold out and the next available date after his departure. And you smiled, glad for his company and for the ability to make irrational choices, the magic of both these things making the tips of your fingers tingle with adrenaline.

And he smiled, you like to think, because he was glad to be with you, with someone, glad that you wanted him, continuing a conversation that never seemed to stop.

The art museum swallows you, takes you in and refuses to release your bones, turning you to carrion flowers. The dark shadows and blurred edges entrap you in a state of awe. At every corner, the impenetrable blackness looms but it is not foreboding, the contrast giving way to smears and arrays of colour so unlike the usual refractions your eyes choose to witness.

Even covered by this darkness, still, Chanyeol finds a way to glow. Through almost every room, the colours adorn his skin, craving contact with one they recognize as their own. Or, perhaps, it is you, learning to crave all over again and shedding the weight of responsibility, of choice over carnal desire, mind over matter, and the physicality of your wanting suddenly made manifest for all to see, staining him with the residue in the process.

He seems at peace in the falsehood of this magic, touching walls and touching lights with long fingers and delicate caresses. Standing behind him just enough to give him space, privacy, you watch as a light show animals, flowers blooming from their backs as they walk, passes along the wall. For a moment, you are transfixed, wondering where the lights are, how someone as tall as him doesn’t interrupt or break the lines of their imagined flesh, until he reaches one arm up and runs his fingers down the wall.

Slowly, gently, sweetly, he caresses these false animals, long fingers offering a gentle touch to the wall, and you step forwarding, moved by his bravery. Peering at his profile, you regard his serene smile and half-formed dimple at the corner of his cheek, softening for him as the seconds pass. Mirroring his actions, you do the same, running your hand down the wall and feeling the fabric, stroking the necks and limbs and arms of animals, the press of your fingers sending flower petals cascading to the floor, gathering, and not gathering at all, at your feet.

Chanyeol smiles at you, pleased with the entropy you have introduced, and walks down the hall with his hand still at the wall, touching and touching all he is allowed with the same tenderness he would provide a lover. It seems, to you, that he will never truly have his fill of the sensation of feeling, the smile he wears too satisfied with himself to really pull away, only doing so when the wall ends and he absolutely must. Standing in front of a new room, his hands clench into fists, wanting to touch but refraining from smearing his prints on the glass.

He leads you further into the museum, into a room full of lights and lights and lights, strung from the ceiling and glimmering not unlike diamonds. It takes you a moment to realize the lights are just that, and not refined quartz, natural pieces of the earth uprooted to display their shine. Chanyeol weaves away from you, looking at you over his shoulder with a playful, tempestuous grin, and you struggle to keep up with him, his long limbs carrying him away faster than you can move through the crowd.

Alone in an open expanse of light, you turn and turn, spinning in circles looking for him, rationalizing this sudden separation and wondering if abandonment always feels so abrupt; if you, and your over eager feet, did this to him, pushing beyond your limits out of righteous indignation. Was it always going to be this way? Would you always find yourself in solitude, just when things started to feel good?

From the distance, you hear Chanyeol’s voice and the noise of delight he releases, a sound that says he found what he’s looking for. You almost see his shadow, the length of him mirrored and rendered into an iridescent form behind the lights, a luminous mirage in an oasis of illusions.

‘Y/N,’ he calls, voice rippling through the room with some restraint, his efforts of being polite likely going unnoticed. ‘Watch this.’

At once, the lights change from soft hues of green and pink and purple to white, pure and endless white, the room igniting in a flash before turning blue and blue and blue, the sound of rain consuming the room. All at once and all over again, you feel weightless, as if the limits of nature and the limits of physics could no longer root you to the earth.

But then, you suppose, that is the point.

Limits don’t exist, likely never existed at all, your own mind creating the borders just to give structure and rules to things never meant to be thought through, only felt. Always felt and touched and bent by your hands and no one else's, and you find you thrive when there are no rules, just light and sound and art and Chanyeol; always Chanyeol, leading you into the light and ensuring you feel it.

The light hits you like a flood, shimmering in all the ways you wish you could. Your clothes and skin and hands become kindling for alchemy, granting you permission to glow, still differently than the holy way Chanyeol seems to smolder within the magic. On you, it attaches and pulls at you, breaking the boundaries of your flesh until you stand, palms up and regarding the ceiling, feeling a mist the sound of rain surely did not bring with it. But still, you are wet, wet with tears and relief and memory, emptying yourself of the things you keep buried within, letting them run free simply because Chanyeol gave you the aural, cosmic permission to do so.

He comes to stand before you as the lights turn to a shade of red, the glimmer making his dark hair appear auburn and putting a false flush at his cheeks. His very presence seems to change the atmosphere, molding the energy to fit and suit him, your own breath halting in your lungs, your blood, your heart, giving you pause to take him in, making room to fit him inside and never let him free.

‘Beautiful, wasn’t it?’ he asks, soft and thoughtful and the quietest he’s been all day. ‘That’s my favourite.’

You can only manage a slight nod, too vulnerable to give shape to words, fully aware the sound of your own voice would break you. Chanyeol steps closer, the lights behind and around you changing from red to purple, romantic in their shift, and the electric shock between you both looms, running down the light strings the same way it runs down your nerves.

‘Do you want to get some tea?’ he tries, keeping his tone even and soothing.

Once again, you nod, needing to be near him and needing to feel close, healed, and warmed by something other than the sight of his deep, affectionate eyes.

The pressure of your tea cup on the table causes flowers to bloom, a trick of light and science that makes it hard for you to speak for a long time. Your flowers are different from his, all pink and yellow and gold, where his swirl in deep shades of purple, the rich green of his leaves sprawling not unlike ivy, reaching, as best they can, towards your petals.

'This was meant to be my honeymoon,' you announce abruptly, keeping your eyes fixed on the foamy liquid and watching the petals bloom in your cup. Mentally, you compare them to the blossoms that line the street and the park, aware that these colours are too strong to be natural, but are equally as ephemeral.

Chanyeol doesn't say anything, just watches you patiently, expectant.

'I have two for everything,' you continue, running your finger over the petals and watching them bleed into your skin. 'It's cheaper to travel as two, in every sense. No one ever wants you to go alone, or go alone and feel good about it.'

'Why did it end?' As soon as he says it, he recoils, apologetic. 'I'm sorry if that's personal.'

Hissing through your teeth, you sigh. 'He didn't cheat on me, if that's what you're asking.'

'I don't really know what I should be asking,’ he counters, still so resolutely encouraging, ‘but I'm glad that's not true.'

'I wish he did,' you admit bitterly. 'It would have made sense. There would have been a reason.'

Chanyeol softens, hand coming to rest on the table, inching forward and back again. 'That's okay,' he reassures. 'Sometimes, things just don't work out.'

'He was perfect.’ You aren’t really sure why you say it, aware that you are announcing things you would share in a conversation with someone else. Perhaps that’s what this is, a conversation with no one, not even Chanyeol. 'Anyone would have loved him.'

Still, he smiles. 'But anyone doesn't have you be you.'

When you turn to face him, your expression feels cold, and you wait for him to reel back, shocked and pained, but he remains calm and patient. You love him, then, love him and hate him all at once.

'I could have.'

'So why didn't you?'

“Are we spending too much time together?” you asked, the sadness in your chest pulling at your lungs, tearing the nodes in the hopes of creating irreparable fissures.

“No?” he replied, also a question and sounding just as distressed as you.

You shook your head. “We are.” It was so obvious. Everything, to you, was so obvious. “We’re starting to sound like one another.”

It was such a silly thing to say, silly and cruel. You were so aware of it, of his crestfallen expression and the way you burdened him just by letting him know, by letting him see. Doubt painted his features, and you felt guilty for the thrill of watching him collapse.

“I just want to sound like me again.” This too, should have been obvious, but it crept up on you, slowly and when you absolutely didn’t want to look. “I don’t really don’t even understand my references, anymore.”

All you can do is look at him, look at him and smile in a way that feels hollow. But Chanyeol, for all his goodness and all his kindness, doesn’t seem to mind, he merely smiles back in a way that does not demand words. With him, there is no pressure, simply the understanding that not every question deserves or has ownership of an answer.

Chanyeol, for all his boyish charms, is the first to understand that, sometimes, questions just are and you cannot expect them to be solved.

Beside your glass teacup, your phone rings, silent and depicting the face of a person you’ve spent days trying to let down easily.

You decline the call.

The petals in your cup begin to fade.

Akihabara is his idea, silent suggestion tucked at the corner of his mouth, nestled behind his smile. A suggestion after a late lunch that leads you, seemingly aimlessly, to a train, an alley, and his outstretched hand, extended calmly and held in pause, waiting for you to take it and to not let go. It’s likely he does this to ensure you do not get lost in the throng of people, the tight crowd of commuters making their way home or simply making their way, shaking off the energy of a long shift - or, perhaps, still at work, likely in the last third of their work day, seeking a brief release in the form of distraction.

It’s likely he does this so that you do not get separated, but the tightness with which he holds you puts hope in your chest, a hope that he clings to you so desperately because the fear of separation runs deep and runs longer than either of you would like to admit. It’s nice to think this way, even if the sense of power it provides is fleeting.

But he offers you his hand, assumes that you will follow, assumes, beyond any measure of doubt, that you will be beside him, his mirror, and expects little else from you at all, undemanding of anything except your company.

At sunset, it's hard to fathom anything more golden - the river swallowing the sky and taking it whole, reflecting that which they consume like a jealous lover, proud and greedy. Chanyeol is all smiles and loud laughs, weaving through the people, the overwhelm, to show you everything - everything, yet conversely, nothing at all, at home with the chaos.

The city seems pregnant with potential, a gleam of untapped and just bloomed magic starting to unfurl within the lights, the rate of change a slow descent that eases you into another universe altogether - seen always without being seen until the totality of it is noticed all at once.

And when the sun disappears from view, the blue black of early night casting its protective shadow over the earth, Akihabara changes the sky. All at once, it is a metamorphosis of progress that eats the cosmos, transmutes the atoms and the clouds and the stars into fuel for its electric sheen. It's impossible to know where to look, if you should look anywhere at all apart from Chanyeol. The neon lighting of the signs puts shadows on his cheekbones, cuts his jaw into a rough shape that turns him from a boy into a man, his smile neither menacing nor tempting, simply alive and aware, a man in his element, brought to life by the electric current of energy.

It's a sensory overload, the city street and Chanyeol's protective, possessive grip. With his hand clasped tightly in yours, the light burrows beneath your skin, seeking the pores along your flesh and rooting itself down and down, into your inbetween. Every stroke of his thumb against your knuckles, every laugh, is an electric shock traversing your nerves and pushing you the edge of excitement.

You keep your eyes trained on the tips of his ears and the smooth line of his neck, his long legs always a few steps ahead of you - like he’s figured it out and like he’s lived this street hundreds and hundreds of times. Store signs pop on as you pass, and his ears catch the light, the tips taking on every shade of the rainbow, and your own heart struggling to memorize the person he becomes under each.

There’s something wild about this feeling, the admiration and the adoration of watching these asymmetrical pieces of him become beautiful and charming, that reminds you of craving, of the intensity of it, and, most of all, of the hunger that always seems to follow. It’s been years since you’ve wanted someone, wanted them beyond comfort and understanding, wanted someone and the mess of having to learn them all over again, aware that true intimacy follows and accumulates over time. But desire, desire always comes first, and it is always what makes you want to let a person in.

Chanyeol stops abruptly at a taiyaki vendor, eyes wide and full of fascination as he lingers by the window, watching the red bean paste rhythmically get dropped into dough molds. Still, he does not release your hand, only squeezes it twice, ensuring he has your attention, your touch, and your focus.

‘Have you ever had one of these?’ he asks, still watching the chefs and the mold press.

You hum. ‘Yeah, in New York there’s a place that makes them. Obviously, I’m sure these are better.’

He turns to you, wrapped in a state of pleasure and excitement, and everything about him is infectious. You smile at him, simply happy to be smiling with him, and he pulls you along, ordering one pastry in skilled Japanese. Blinking at him, you watch as he speaks with the cashier, wondering how you could have missed such a practiced accent or confident speech pattern, but quickly remember it was you with the tickets, you who spoke first, and even at lunch, you ordered separately, walking away from him to wait patiently at a table.

So much of him you’ve missed or glossed over, so much of the man he is rather than his heart escaping your attention, and when he holds his treat in his hand, you find it difficult to look away from him, watching him take a large, impressive bite.

Once again, a laugh erupts from your chest, and he pauses mid bite, regarding you with curious eyes.

‘Your mouth is so big,’ you clarify, and he smiles, proud and laughing with you as he continues to eat. ‘It’s just so impressive.’

Chanyeol closes his eyes happily as he eats, giggling in delight at your pleasure or the pastry, or maybe both, content with every detail of the moment. Smirking, he tilts the pastry towards you offering a bite, and the simple generosity of this action halts your breath in its path. This is intimate, should not be so intimate, especially when you are aware, so aware, of the true meaning of the word, but still it settles over you, like dust and the light and the acceptance that, again, you feel good about the risk you’ve taken.

Placing your lips where his have been, you wonder idly if the sweetness on your tongue is the dough, the sugar, or him, a residue left behind comprised of his laugh, his words, his soul filling your mouth and keeping it wet and wet, inspired to transform into someone else. Neither new nor different, just cleansed.

You chew slowly and he keeps his eyes on you, waiting for your reaction, and the intensity of his stare, the heat and the wonder sends you reeling.

You told him even though he said, clearly and repeatedly, that he didn’t want to know. He didn’t need to. Think of him what you will, he was smart, smarter than you ever gave him credit for, and he already knew. Saying it would just confirm his doubt, breaking him all over again in the most unnecessarily cruel way.

“I have something to tell you,” you announced, even though you both already knew.

“Not tonight.”

But you said it anyway, aware that every tomorrow hinged on his reaction, whether it would mean losing himself or losing you. You just wanted to know which he would choose, waiting to see which direction he’d take.

‘It’s sweet,’ you say, watching Chanyeol beam and nod and agree, delighted. ‘Sweeter than the one I had before.

He takes the pastry back and swallows the marks your teeth made whole, turning away to chew and watching as the cars pass along the street. Sugar lingers on the corner of his mouth as he eats, lips and cheeks sweet in a full pout as he savors the pastry, but you can’t really look away from. Tokyo is diverting and distracting, but you can’t fathom a better view.

'Hold on,' you laugh, his pause of confusion entirely too endearing for a man his age, however hold he is or is not. 'You have something on your...'

You might never know what compels you to reach up, your finger extended and your touch gentle, moving the sugar away with one slow, languid swipe. You decide it's another question that likely will never have an answer, because there is no answer, but just as quickly as you also decide it does not matter. Chanyeol's smile of gratitude is bewitching, the blue and green lights pulling the gold and red from his skin, and the reverent way he looks at you answer enough.

For several moments, you remain this way, silently regarding one another and letting thought, emotion, and need grow between you. A moment of silence in which there is no silence at all, the noise of the city a soundtrack of wanting that gets drowned out, stifled beneath the prism of affection that blooms and blossoms between your chests.

'Thank you,' he says, as though nothing at all had transpired, as though there was no pause, as though time did not stop at all. 'I'm a messy eater, sometimes.'

'I can be, too,' you muse, looking away and hoping for a distraction, a thing that should not be so difficult to find, yet still proves to be. 'He always hated that, my ex.'

Chanyeol snorts, finishing the desert with a large bite. 'I don't think that's something you can help,' he counters, mouth full.

You shrug. 'He would always laugh while he complained. I imagine he thought that made it better, like he found it endearing, but you can always tell, can't you? You can spend so long with a person you eventually can hear what they don't say, even if it's not in their tone.' Tugging your lip between your teeth, you wonder if you should continue, if it really matters. 'After so long with a person, I think your language changes, your sentences become the same, and it takes time and distance to unlearn it.'

He releases a long hum, eyebrows raised. 'I get that,' he nods, allowing you to speak without challenging anything at all.

It strikes you that he seems to understand so much of you, understands your motives, your solitude, and you imagine he would be happy with anyone. It strikes you that is is not with anyone, and you find it hard to fathom that he would be without a partner to join him.

'Why are you alone, Chanyeol?'

The question both sounds and feels abrupt, but he doesn't react unfavorably. Chanyeol pauses, crumpling the bag with one large fist, his earlier nod slowing but not halting.

'I'm sorry if that's too personal,' you clarify, reminding yourself not everyone is running or needs to. You and he are different people, even if it feels as though you have become bound together, a sensation that accumulated over time, the same way nondescript, vague senses of time do.

How long have you been together? A while.

How long have you known you love him? Not long.

'It's not,' he affirms, looking around for a bin before realizing there would not be one. Opening his bag, he licks his lips twice, wetting his mouth for the words he attempts to gather and drops the crumpled mess inside. 'It's not personal, it's just that there's no reason.' Raising his eyes to meet yours, he purses his lips in thought. 'I don't like waiting for adventure or waiting for someone to come with me. Maybe that's my flaw,' he suggests, resting his hands on the straps of his backpack as he straightens his spine. 'That I'm too impatient to properly share.'

'I don't think you need to have a flaw to want to be alone,' you reason, 'or that wanting to be alone is even a flaw at all.'

'Maybe,' he agrees, although passively. 'Come on. I want to show you the arcades.'

The game centers are a terrain you find impossible to imagine, to fathom, if you had not been given reference to start from. They pull you in from the street, yellow and red and blinding, luring you to them with the impossibly clear sheen of their glass containers. Chanyeol dives into a building, holding your hand once more and looking over his shoulder with a grin, leading you to a claw machine tucked towards the back of the room, away from heavy foot traffic.

Releasing your hand, he digs through his pockets for coins, gesturing towards a One Piece figurine he regards with competitive delight.

'I've been trying to get this since yesterday.'

The box stands tall, compressed between two plastic bars that grip it tightly, unforgiving in its hold. Your eyes narrow as you regard the stronghold the machine seems to have on the figurine, feeling confident that such a plight is futile, but he slides his coins in, lip caught between his teeth in thought as he aims the claw.

He takes great care in this process, hand delicately wrapped around the knob to guide and settle, calculated and focused. For a moment, you see him as an architect, an artist, a chemist, an alchemist, studied and careful, lovingly breathing life into things that currently do not exist. Triumphantly, he slaps the button to initiate contact, stepping back with eager interest as he watches the claw drop, the lights on the machine sparkling and playing music to maximize the tension.

He is unsuccessful.

'Damn,' he curses, but still his smile remains, reaching up to his cheeks and replacing the dimple you did not know you missed.

Eyeing him conspicuously, you cock your head to the side, gaze moving between him and the machine. 'Isn't this all just a cash grab? A way to waste your money?'

'Sure,' he agrees, sliding another coin into the slot. 'But it's nice to forget for a while, isn't it? It's the thrill, the tangibility of maybe, possibly. Gambling thrives because the odds never appear to be out of our favor, and we all like proving ourselves wrong.'

The last few syllables to his words take on a lilt of loneliness, and you are unsure how to argue with him or this feeling, given that he does not leave any space for it. But, for a while, you are content to watch him, watch the way his smile never seems to disappear, not even from his eyes as he tries and loses and tries, and loses again. Six rounds pass and still he is unsuccessful, and you wonder when you got so engaged with the rise and fall of a claw, but you know the real question is: when did you get so addicted to a stranger who promises the world but delivers the sun, a man who never really lets joy die?

When he leaves to go change a cash note for more coins, you depart too, in the opposite direction, the machine losing its glamour as soon as he disappears. Aimlessly, you wander, walking down aisles and rows, looking in without really looking, hoping to maybe find your own game to play.

Around the corner from Chanyeol's game, you find a claw machine with a set of towels trapped inside, something you don't need, but remember needing, wanting, and putting on your registry with a soft smile, finally feeling optimistic about your future.

"We don't need these," he countered. "We've lived together for two years. Shouldn't we ask for money for the honeymoon? Something we can’t buy everyday?"

"That's practical, sure, but these are nice." They were so lovely. When you were young, you imagined having towels just like these once your got married - adult towels, wedding towels you sometimes called them - towels that proved you were Of Age and ready, but for what you did not know.

Even now, you do not know.

You do not need these, but they're sweet, the characters of My Neighbor Totoro woven into the fabric and a silk lotus leaf shimmering in the light. You do not need these, much the same way Chanyeol likely does not need an anime figurine, but they are nice and they are charming, and there's something about the possibility of winning something, even if it is useless, that makes you slide a coin into the slot.

Time disappears around you, much the same as your money, but you don't think about that. Not truly. It's the first time you don't think about the loss or gain of money in years, mind falling back in time once more.

"Why don't we leave the list on the refrigerator?" he suggested, as though he were talking about a shopping list, a list of needs for the apartment, a bucket list.

"Do you want to?" you asked. But what what you meant to say was: I don't want people seeing how much I owe you. I don't want anyone to know how much we've invested in one another.

There's a nostalgia to the claw machine, something that feels like a regression and resulting in little else than making you feel young, as though you never really grew up at all. Somewhere along the way, you buried the child in your heart, tucked her deep inside and left her in the shadows, abandoning the sense of play that came with living. You're not sure how long you stand there, sliding coins and sliding the claw, focused and diligent, buying happiness rather than buying towels.

And when they fall into the slot, the thrill of success runs through your fingers, eyes wide in amazement because, yes, this was far easier than you thought it would be, and you stand still, shocked and pink with the joy of it. You blink a few times, lips parted in a daze, catching up with reality and yourself, remembering both the you you've become and the you you lost precisely at the same moment.

'Did you win?'

Chanyeol's voice resonates around the room, enthusiastically encouraging and sounding pleased as the machine plays celebratory music.

Glancing up at him, you're aware your expression appears torn, wanting to celebrate and wanting to return the towels, likely having paid far more than they were worth. But he beams at you, proud and happy, and you find that you are happy too. They are not adult towels, not even wedding towels, but they are yours - the first frivolous thing you've bought in years and the lack of consideration you gave to them feels impossibly, delightfully refreshing.

'Yeah,' you laugh, unable to look away from the ecstasy that adorns his smile, 'I did.'

Chanyeol releases a yell and lifts his hand, demanding a high five, acting as though these towels are an award and offering you more praise than you deserve. 'Let me see.'

Pulling them from the slot, he leans over your shoulder, inadvertently tucking you against his chest, and sharing his warmth, his breath, his radiance. You settle against him, holding the box in your hands and admiring the neat stitching, wondering if you too could learn to embroider. But it feels natural, you think, to smile this much and to feel this warm and to win so easily, even if these experiences are transient at best. It feels natural under his chin and against his heartbeat, your hands clutching the plastic as a means of keeping them to yourself, wishing instead it was his hands you had won.

It feels natural, hearing how vital he is and feeling how alive he is and knowing, with all of you, that underneath your years of pretend and experience and regret, you are exactly the same as him: enraptured by the beauty of the universe and demanding you hold it in your palms, never letting it go.

'These are so you,' he announces, breaking your thoughts with a low whisper.

You swallow thickly, always caught off guard when he's quiet and his voice takes on a rasp that makes him sound aged, beyond time. Looking up at him, you let yourself become awed by his soft expression, curious and enamoured. 'How do you know?'

Again, your voice is breathless when speaking with him, and you wonder if this is truly his habit. If maybe, more than anything, his talent is taking your breath away.

'You're like Satsuki,' he says simply, as though this is answer enough. 'You're Satsuki and I'm Totoro.'

It's not an answer you expected, mind falling through the layers of such a statement as he departs from you. Is it his height that makes him Totoro? His propensity for cute, magical things? His service to you? Or, perhaps, his heart, his devotion and loyalty and awareness that you are alone, by choice but not really by desire, not anymore you think, his heart able to see straight to your core before you could grant yourself permission.

Chanyeol returns before you can decide what he means, shaking a bag with the word WINNER printed over and over on the plastic. Wordlessly, he takes your towels and drops them inside, handing you the bag looking pleased.

'I wasn't nearly as successful,' he says with a small pout. 'But, I did get this.'

Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a plush Rilakkuma keychain, the item almost dwarfed in his large palm. Immediately, you erupt into laughter.

'That's absolutely hideous.'

Chanyeol laughs too, giggling at the poorly sewn face and unsettling clown pattern. 'I know,' he says, happily. 'It's horrendous. I don't want it.'

'Then why did you bother?' you ask, laughter fading while your cheeks still ache from the force of your smile.

'Why wouldn't I?'

He simply shrugs, as elated with his success as he is yours, proud and proud and moving through the arcade back into the street, and taking the light with him.

Half past midnight and karaoke feels like the only logical thing to do, the only place you think you'd truly be welcome at this hour - the hour late, your body tired, but still unwilling to leave Chanyeol.

Throughout the day and all over the city, you'd seen the signs for a place called Big Echo, their sprawl and reach, white sign looming from the corner of some of the most menacing sky scrapers, enough to lure you in. Their contrast keeps you curious, office buildings standing above you, higher than most buildings you remember seeing in other cities, windows black and impenetrable with a sign that heralds hours of karaoke. It's impossible to understand, and you are glad for this incongruity.

Most of all, you find you are hungry. Chanyeol kept you out in Akihabara well past dinner, dining on street food and winding from arcade to arcade, and now, emerging from Shibuya station, you are looking for something more to fill your stomach. He pulls you along, links your arms together as you walk, bound and united and happy, holding you against him as though it is where you belong.

This late at night, Shibuya makes your eyes hurt, the colours and signs frenetic and fractious in their vibrancy, demanding your attention, your focus, perhaps even your soul. Chanyeol's eyes sparkle as he looks from sign to sign, smiling upwards at nothing at all while you smile directly at him, keeping your gaze trained on his ecstatic pleasure in the effort of ensuring your heart gets used to it.

You know that it won't, that no matter how long you spend with him you will always be caught off guard by his beauty, by the way even his dark hair appears illuminated in these lights. He seems to eat the stars while the light feasts on him, a give and take of reciprocal lumosity and, somehow, you have been selected to watch. Even in a crowd as immense as this, you know you'd find him, drawn to him, heart seeking its magnet.

Standing on Shibuya crossing, Chanyeol pulls you close, rests his free hand on your arm and leans gingerly to your ear, close enough to feel his breath move through your hair. Naturally and instinct, you lean into him, positive that you will likely never be close enough, hoping and wishing that his lips will graze your skin, thinking you might finally know the true definition of bliss in the wake of such a happy accident.

'When we cross,' he says, close enough to rest his head against yours, lips kissing at the shell of your ear as he speaks and your heart breaking and reshaping in one single instant, 'don't let go of me. Don't let go but make sure you watch.'

'I won't,' you say, tightening your grip even though a crowd like this does not phase you, Times Square at Christmas an entirely different sort of test. But you tighten anyway, keeping him close, certain that he will try to rush ahead of you and, for just this once, you want him to be yours. 'I won't.'

The crossing sign turns green and all at once you are taken by it, moving forward as though something as simple as this has purpose, meaning, a symbolism of initiation you will bear as a cross. A smile pulls at your lips, widening with each step, feeling anonymous and feeling terribly insignificant, drowning in a sea of people with Chanyeol as your oar.

Someone laughs. You think it might be you. Another takes a picture. You know it is not Chanyeol. Lifetimes and stories pass you by, and you are drunk on it, wired into obsession simply because you feel as though you've crossed the world again and again, forty steps and still more angles to traverse the same path, new ways to witness the same thing. Different people, the same shape, nothing ever really the same again.

The Big Echo is tucked inside a dark amber building housing offices, stores, and restaurants. The elevator to the eighth floor seems far too elegant to be taking you to karaoke, a place where most people drink to celebrate or drink to forget or simply drink, aware that it is Friday or Sunday and the weekend has passed by with the same unyielding speed as life itself. Comprised of floor to ceiling mirrors, you and Chanyeol, standing side by side, are eternally, endlessly refracted into infinity.

Yet, in every reflection, every angle, all you can truly see is him.

At such close proximity, the closest you've ever really been - with no way out and only one way in - and the most alone you've ever been, you are suddenly aware of his strength and magnitude. Eyes drawn to the length of his arms, you regard the veins that rise as canyons down to his hands, keeping the secret of his power within his knuckles and joints. The tattoos adorning the skin captivate you, their pointillism blackness so rich and detailed, standing out on him better than you've ever seen on anyone else, the darkness resting on him with the same pride as the light.

Lifting your gaze, you study the regal line of his posture, the confidence rooted in his spine and shoulders, and feel your fingers twitch. You have held men before, held a lover in your arms and against your body, aware of the weight and aware of the heat, but never have you wanted to hold anyone quite so solidly, or quite so physically.

You wait for him to stop you, so obvious in focus you devote to his features, but he does not, simply inches closer, wordlessly encouraging your stare. And you do, letting yourself become haunted by the slope of his lips, the false phantom memory of their touch igniting along your skin. Perhaps it is your awareness of his dimples, the clandestine softness he keeps nestled at the corner of his mouth, that keeps you on the edge of anticipation, hoping and hoping to see them again.

Like this, you drink him in, admiring the tips of his ears and the thick, softness of his hair that makes your fingers begin to ache. How would it feel to card your fingers through the strands? Would he smile and lean into the touch? Would he watch you, eyes wide and speechless at the gentleness you'd provide? Would he ask you to do it again and again, craving your hand and your warmth, as badly as you seem to be craving his?

This was always your biggest flaw, you think, hyper aware of your detachment and the way your mind would always wander. During sex, during dinner, during long drives, or even during conversation. Always, he would find you looking away, looking nowhere, hearing without listening, seeing without witnessing, and he would call you back, asking where you went.

But you always wanted to say the most important thing was that you looked back. Always, you would return to him.

With Chanyeol, it’s impossible to be anywhere other than absolutely with him, resolutely and down to your core. To look away from him would mean pain; to break away from him would hurt, sever parts of you long buried but still connected, still whole, still vital, just neglected. And the same way you refuse to depart from him, so too does your skin refuse to truly let him go. The press of his body against yours is a preview to all the wishes that settle on you like a fever, sending a flush of heat up your chest and neck, and down to your thighs, wanting to be full of him.

And so you don’t look away. You simply won’t, aware and waiting, feeling his touch before and without it happening, imagination running wild while your heart battles against your sternum.

Feeling your gaze on him, he turns to look at you, on floor six when there's so little time to truly have all of him, but he blushes, receptive to the ferocity of you. Bags have taken root under his eyes, exhausted by a day of sightseeing, and giving him a puffy, purple hue, but he’s glorious in the mess of it, unable to be anything but majestic.

He keeps his eyes on you, unwavering and demanding, the most demanding he's been since you met him, turning his chest towards yours hardening, not in cruelty but with a sensuality you did not expect to see. Like this, he makes you aware that he does not only feel your gaze but relishes it, feels it deeper than you mean it to go. With one hand, he clenches the evaluator railing, leaning closer and closer while his other clenches into a fist before straightening, touching while touching nothing.

And with his eyes on you, your body wanting his body, the air in the elevator becomes thick, elevating your heart rate the same way it elevates you.

When the elevator dings, he breaks from you, lips parted and eyes searching, pupils dilated for a different kind of light and a different kind of relief. His strides are quick where yours are sluggish, wanting to remain in the bubble of desire that cradled you. But he looks back, lips wet from where his tongue has just been, knowing you are there and unable to look away.

You smile, rolling your shoulders back to lift your breasts, following blindly while not really following at all.

Settled in your private room, Chanyeol orders more food than you know what to do with, his only explanation that you said you were hungry before he takes a skewer of yakitori into his mouth, consuming it all in one go as he chooses a list of songs. His fingers are quick, selecting a number of songs and creating a queue before you even read the titles.

'I've only ever done this when I was drunk,' you admit, eyeing the digital pad with apprehension before you find the button that says ENGLISH.

'Really?' He adds a second songs, not lifting his gaze to you in the process. 'It's the most fun when you're sober.'

'It's the most embarrassing, I think you mean.' Looking up, you see he has already added nine songs. ‘How often do you do this?’

‘All the time,’ he beams. 'You just need to do it with people you trust.'

Chanyeol hits start, rising to a stand before taking another skewer into his mouth. Grabbing both microphones, he keeps his eyes trained on you and winks as Time of My Life Starts to play. The absurdity of it patterned with the sudden darkness of the room and the glow of a disco ball makes you laugh, watching him with a grin you know to be adoring, but don’t bother to mask.

'God, this song?' you laugh, rooting yourself to the floor. ‘Shall I be Jennifer and you be Bill?’

Refusing to let you sit still and hide in the shadows, he offers you the second microphone, eyeing you in earnest.

'Come on,’ he says, flicking the microphone in a gesture of lifting and delivering you to him.

'You're serious.’

You’ve done karaoke countless times, watched drunk friends and bad friends sing off key, or on no key, demanding attention and turning the evening into a concert about their pain, their nostalgia, their childhood, simply themselves. Any silliness or playfulness is always overrun by the desire to be seen, but Chanyeol holds the microphone, totally sober and fully prepared to abandon himself and his ego.

'Deadly.' The melody begins to play, yellow words turning pink, and he pouts. 'Look, you made me miss my cue.'

He doesn’t wait for your response, just places the mic in your hand and walks backwards towards the center of the room, keeping his eyes locked on yours. His eyes remain on yours as he starts to sing, exuding the kind of energy that says he could command a room if he so chose, and is aware of it. Walking into a bar with him would be like watching into a bar and watching every head turn, all eyes on him and you knowing the eyes are their eyes are there, challenging you to feel doubtful.

Chanyeol is talented, voice rich and warm, chocolate that drips down into your soul, nestling inside your blood to bring you comfort. You almost keep silent, content to spend the night listening to the way his mouth gives shape to words, the way his voice handles syllables with a tonality that speaks of unpracticed, natural ability. But he eyes you, expectant, and when you finally join him you regret not having done so sooner.

The smile he offers you is blinding, warm enough to combat the dawn, content, just as you were, to watch you for the rest of the evening. At the end of your first verse, he claps against the mic, delighted and proud, watching you with a focus he had not devoted to anything else throughout the day.

For you, karaoke comes as a relief. Having spent the majority of your life singing, it hits you, abruptly, that it has been years since you last did it freely. Moving in with a roommate boxed you in, kept you quiet in ways you weren’t sure you wanted to be, afraid of being annoying, inconvenient, or of judgement, and so you stopped. Moving in with a partner, making a home and a life, rather than a room, you tried again, only to find that this desire, too, soon began to fade.

Did he ask you to? Did he ever demand you keep quiet? You can't remember. Perhaps you just did so, returning from the shower one night to find his greeting and welcome cool, so unlike the way his smiles used to feel like champagne. You thought, then, it was your singing, a distraction from late night emails or work, but now, with Chanyeol, you think maybe it was something more, something not about you, taking on his anguish just because you thought you should.

From the start, he makes it easy and fun, song after song of terrible pop music, several you’ve never heard and others you know, and wish, secretly, that you did not. But it does not matter if the music is good or bad or even music at all because, with him, every sound is a work of art. And, with him, everything is easy. He doesn’t mention if a note is wrong and does not cringe or skip a song if he does not like it, he simply cheers, drinking and eating and laughing, joining when he knows the words and watching when he doesn’t.

Somewhere around 2AM, the alcohol refuses to leave you, your limbs heavy and restless, eager for hands and for touch, and eager to be held. At some point, he curled into you and over you, tucking you under his arm, light hearted and light headed, his nose pressed into your hair and yours into you his chest, breathing the bergamot musk into your lungs, deep enough for them to ache.

'It's going to hurt to leave you,' you announce, staring blankly at the screen.

An old woman reaches through her window to stoke the head of a yellow sparrow. The scene changes, a school girl running for her train. It changes again, none of the scenes depicted cohesive or coherent, but they bring you comfort, a confirmation that life is little more than a series of impressions.

Chanyeol moves away from you briefly, looking down at you with a small frown, lips red and wet with sake. He appears hurt, pained that you’d bring up such a suggestion, as though the alcohol has removed him from time entirely.

It would be so easy to giggle, but such a feeling is hard when you’re this drunk and this afraid of losing him. 'Don't look at me like that,' you hiss. 'It will make me want to kiss you.'

He only blinks once before he takes your face between your palms, firm and commanding, and kisses you, pulling you close against him as though he’d been waiting all day to feel you. Your hands wind around his neck, pressing against him as much as you can, ensuring that he has to tilt to keep kissing you, angling himself in the accommodating way that comprises all of the best kisses. A small noise of pleasure leaves his chest, and you smile against him, sucking his bottom lip between your teeth, invigorated.

Lifting his head, the heat in his gaze is threatening, jaw set and unwavering in the knowledge that he will not let you go so easily. A hand on your hip glides up your spine, sending a shiver up into your shoulders, as he fists a hand in your hair and tugs it, exposing the full length of your neck to him. Chanyeol latches his tongue and teeth to the tendon, rubbing circles into your hip with the same pressure his tongue provides your skin. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, grinding down into him once more for a reprieve, but he bites, hard enough to leave teeth marks and moans, a roll of thunder in his chest that makes your thighs clench.

At your core, Chanyeol's cock strains, the hard thickness of it causing wetness to pool at your underwear, eyes rolling back and vision hazy as he sucks and sucks at you, refusing to let you be free of him.

When he pulls away, your pulse quakes, blood rushing hot and heavy as you watch him, mouth wet and eyes dark, memory forever etched with the way he looks at you - certain you are the epitome of craving, and you, certain that he is all of your desires made manifest.

His gaze falls to your neck once more, a prideful grin pulling at his lips.

'Don't cover that mark tomorrow,' he demands, voice full of gravel. 'I want everyone to see it.'

Tomorrow. Today. Now. Time catching up with you all at once, shattering the drunken eternity you've created in this room. You think about waking up without him. You think of who you will be when he is not there. You feel yourself sober up, and hate it. Perhaps, you hate yourself, the feeling sickly and full of regret.

You lean down to kiss him once more, wanting to feel sheltered, but he leans away from you, eyes sensitive and scared.

'Are you still with him?' he whispers, nervous but unafraid of the question’s inherent weight, the edge of uncertainty falling in the spaces between the words.

Keeping silent, you blink at him, feeling your stomach drop.

'Your fiancé,' he presses, as though there is someone else you could have been with. 'Are you still together?'

Still you do not speak, unsure of the answer or if there is anyone apart from Chanyeol. In truth, had you ever actually been with anyone else?

'You're not wearing a ring.'

Chanyeol's voice is small, withering beneath your silence and coming up with reasons he should not be so scared. His eyes search your face, hoping for an affirmation or a confirmation, anything that would give him permission and you watch, once again, as you become a vicious thing, leaving men crestfallen in your wake.

'No, I don't want to be with him,' you murmur, aware, beyond any shadow of doubt that this statement is true. 'I know that I don't - '

Chanyeol interrupts you, the hope in his voice sharp as glass. 'So I can keep kissing you?'

You furrow your brow, feeling yourself sober up, and wishing for the warm bubble of pretend to return. 'What do you want out of this?' you ask anyway, shattering your sense of idealism.

He flinches at your question, the words sending him reeling as though they are an act of betrayal. 'Just you.'

You snort, the natural humor of the sound absent. 'You're drunk.'

He narrows his eyes, defensive. 'I'm not that drunk.'

'What will you do tomorrow?' you counter. 'It's just one night, Chanyeol.'

'Does it have to be?' he tries, the optimism he carries making acid rise in your chest.

For a moment, you try to picture it - another day with him, another day holding his hand and laughing, making noise, making a mess, making something. It's hard to fathom you'd be the only one he'd choose to do this with, and so you mirror his expression, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed.

'Do you have a girlfriend?' You don't mean for the words to sound so biting, but you feel possessive, hating yourself for it, knowing you don't have the right but letting it move through your blood, regardless. 'A boyfriend?'

'No?' he says quickly, offended. 'Do you think I'd be here if I did?'

'I don't know,' you shrug.

It's hard to imagine he wouldn't have someone wanting to follow him, someone impatient to share things with him, to see as he sees and to laugh and cry and yell as loud as he does. Impossible, you think, to imagine him alone, and so you justify your questions with the sense that he deserves someone, even if you don't deserve him.

But Chanyeol still sees through you, does not let you escape or make it about him, his expression becoming hard. 'Not everyone is running, Y/N.'

Leaning back, you frown. 'I didn't say you'd be running.'

Sliding off his hips, you settle back on the couch, facing the screen and not him, neither afraid nor unwilling to look at him, mostly uncertain what it would mean for you if you did. All day, his eyes on you have been pretty. You're not sure you can handle another cold stare.

'Is it so hard to fathom that I could want to spend all day with you, because I want to?' he demands, words curt and tone clipped.

Bristling, you look at him, falling back into a pattern of control and detachment, heart breaking all over again, this time infinitely, indescribably worse. 'I don't know. Maybe? Strangers don't do this.'

He laughs, the sound empty. 'This is how a lot of people meet. You're just so used to your boxed structure.'

It happens quickly, the firing of your nerves that tell you to leave, the motions of your hands as you gather your things, messy and disorganized. You did this before, not long ago, mind vacant and body acting in its own reaction, but this time, you are present. This time, you are aware of the hurtful experience of running, hurting yourself, for the first time, in the process.

'This was a bad idea,' you mumble, hearing yourself say it and hating that you do.

Chanyeol stands, moving to stop you before stopping himself, the boundaries suddenly drawn and nowhere for him to fit. 'No, please don't -'

You cut him off, moving past him towards the door. 'I'll pay for my share at the till.'

Chanyeol reaches for you, but you're already too far, far beyond the length of his arms. 'No, please - '

The sound of his voice echoes, even after the door shuts.

Shibuya without Chanyeol is cold, more shades of blue than you had noticed before, and you shiver, dropping your bag to put on your coat. Even with it wrapped tightly around you, you still shiver, missing him but, mostly, missing yourself.

The trains are no longer running - you remember reading this before you came, preparing for a city that only pretends to sleep - but Shibuya is still busy. The faces surrounding you are no longer fascinating or full of stories, but the gaunt faces of the lost and lonely, the tired and groups of people too social to notice they are actually alone.

You're not sure how long you stand on the sidewalk, watching people pass and wondering where you fit with them. Do their eyes follow you too, the sake still warm on your cheeks but your eyes alive with rage and frustration and sadness? Do they watch you cry? It's strange, you think, to feel parts of yourself become damp with emotion while the rest of you remains still and expressionless.

Strange, you think, to remember the person you were when you were drunk, drunk on Chanyeol, drunk since 9AM, at the same time as you remember and relearn this you, the sober you, who misses Chanyeol more than the man you signed a lease with.

'Please don't run away from me like that again.'

Chanyeol's voice emerges behind you, sounding breathless and terrified, but commanding. In this, he is unwavering, delivering an order as though he as the right.

Turning to face him, you crumble, seeing the wetness at his cheeks that mirrors your own, the mess of his hair, and the change you've brought onto him. Now, he does not smile. Now, he does not glow, the light stolen by your hands and your words, reducing him to an ashen state of grief.

'Isn't that dangerous, Chanyeol?' you try, focusing on keeping your voice calm. 'That you don't want me to? We don't know each other.'

He takes several steps closer, not letting you get away. 'I'm telling you I want to get to know you.'

'I leave everyone first.' You're not sure what it is about him that makes you say this, his eyes and his desperation pulling your greatest anxiety from your chest, but you keep talking, hoping he didn't hear and hoping he's still too drunk to care. 'I'm not worth this and I have a mess back home. I don't even know where you live?'

He laughs, looking past you momentarily, patronizing were it not for the shimmer of tears on his cheeks. 'Geography doesn't really matter when you have technology.'

'So, what?' you counter, bewildered. 'You want to date me? After a day?'

'No!' he says, looking back at you, running a hand through his hair. 'I don't know!'

'That's the point, Chanyeol!' Hearing your voice echo through the air, you look around, silently apologizing for interrupting the conversations of those around you, but there is no one, just you and him, and the eyes of everyone else not on you. 'You're so used to just going through it alone and making a fantasy out of everything. That's not real! There's nothing about that mindset that lasts!'

'And what about you?' he counters without hesitation. 'Acting like you know me when you've been too selfish to ask anything all day, talking about yourself even when you're trying to talk about me?'

Blinking at him, you regard him in silence, thinking back on the day and the words you've shared and the questions you've asked and realize he's right. Throughout the day, Chanyeol has been nothing but himself, unapologetically forthcoming when the question is asked, honest and supportive, and completely unselfish. Now, with him standing before you, looking empowered and looking violent in his need to be understood, you realize you'd only let yourself see half of him.

And this part, this new, emboldened part, excites you even more than the softness he carries.

'You got hurt,' he finishes, jaw set and tense, 'but you and I both know you hurt yourself.'

It's the fury in Chanyeol's eyes that ignites you, the raw and vulnerable tether to the totality of human emotion that puts a flame in the center of your chest, warming you and waking you. You cannot recall the last time you've seen someone mad, or had an argument that felt just as wild and passionate and important as you needed it be. Years have passed in which you were never allowed to be angry, only sad, the fire in your chest deemed dangerous, and brutal, and cruel, and absolutely never meant to be shared.

Years where every expression of emotion went against the way you needed it to feel - productive and intense and whole - reduced and belittled to just the embers of grief.

'You're right,' you admit, honest in your concession but still unforgiving in your honesty. 'I unmade myself for someone totally wrong for me. But you can't tell me you think you can be that hero. Don't be naive enough to think you can heal me. You know nothing about me.'

"I am constantly saving you from yourself!" you shouted, smiling at the way your voice sounded, beautiful in its natural timber of loudness.

The paradoxical contrast of how it sounded to how you felt - exhausted, burdened - made you want to laugh, but you held back, aware that one battle cry was enough for the evening.

"Why are you so angry?" he pleaded, the shallow edge to his voice infuriating you. “Why do you always resort to anger?”

"I can't be your wife and also be your hero. I don’t have that in me."

A death sentence. A gesture that would permanently be yours.

'I've been watching you put yourself back together all day,' Chanyeol retorts, matching the volume of your voice. 'All day it's been you, doing things because you want to, not because you had to. I know, with confidence, that you don't need me. But I'm saying I still want to be here. For you. I had too good of a time with you for it to mean nothing.'

The passion and raw veracity in his tone sends you reeling, and you sway, at once unsteady in this feeling. In one day, just one day, Chanyeol has proved he knows how to fight for you, the way you always needed someone to - with violence and impatience and a blunt, almost menacing honesty. You'd softened yourself for someone, surrendered pieces of yourself in the acceptance of comfort, neither love nor desire nor attraction, just safety, assuming this is what it meant to feel secure.

In one fell swoop, Chanyeol had unmade you, unmade these falsehoods and rendered you back together, somehow already having learned the map and the truth of you.

And as you watch him, chest heaving as though he had been to war and won; arms crossed over his chest, in victory rather than defense, you agree, smiling, aware that you haven't felt this good about anyone, not once, not in your whole life.

'I know what you mean,' you murmur, knowing that he hears you, would likely always hear you.

As if he's had enough of being apart from you, he steps forward, unfurling his arms and reaching for your hand, twining your fingers together. Whole conversations live and die between you, conversations that don't require words, the understanding that there is no requirement to have your plans defined, the mess of learning one another and learning your way through connection infinitely more exciting. Forehead resting against yours, he closes his eyes and breathes deep, his inhale uneven and warped with emotion.

'Come back to my hotel with me,' he whispers, keeping his eyes closed.

Closing your own eyes, you smile. 'Okay.' It feels good to take this risk, to be uncertain and to be passionate and keep him for as long as you are allowed. 'I have to go back to mine for clothes.'

Pulling away from you, he extends his hand, impatient. 'Let me see your phone.'

When you hand it to him, he opens the camera and leans down for a selfie, and this time, you make a face you haven't made since you were twenty-six and standing on the precipice of choosing security - you cross your eyes and stick out your tongue.

Chanyeol laughs, a messy uneven sound that makes you blush as you watch him stare at the picture.

Returning to the home screen, he presses the home button and turns it to face you. 'Unlock this for me?'

Pulling out his own phone, he calls himself and adds the numbers to both, intently focused on this task as though it is his lifeline. You remember getting the number of your ex - the man you left behind and have no desire to return to - and how getting that number felt practical, a need in order to coordinate rides to work or rides to mutual friends houses. A passionless exchange that grew into the pretense of passion, empty of chemistry from the moment you typed the digits.

'There,' he says, handing your phone back. 'Now we won't lose each other.'

Staring at his number, his name, the sakura flower emoji on either side of the letters, you smile, feeling twitterpated. 'You're serious about this, aren't you?'

'There's so much about me you don't know.' His smile is devilish, possessive. 'I'm greedy and impulsive, and right now I'm selfish. I want you to myself. I never make promises, but I promise you right now I believe there's something here.'

It's the kind of things you would have said before you had to change or settle for someone who kept you comfortable, safe but entirely not yourself. Long ago, at a bar or in bed or on a street with someone who made you feel wanted, you would have said these same things.

Had the tables been turned, you would have said them to Chanyeol - you imagine you will say them to him, different words with the same impact.

'Let me get my things.' A statement with no direction, your eyes wandering over the streets looking for a taxi or a landmark to center your location in relation to your hotel. 'I gave you breakfast yesterday,' you say, glancing at him with a coy grin. 'It's your turn.'

Chanyeol laughs. 'You got it.'

Unable to contain it, he leans down to kiss you once more, pulling you flush against him and kissing you first with his soul and then with his mouth. Now, you are completely sober, the cool night breeze and Chanyeol's rough words having dissolved the alcohol and your light sense of affection, replacing it with the fervor of ardor you'd been aching for. With his hands on you, pressing into the muscles of your back, and his lips moving against yours, smiling and laughing and kissing you over and over, you realize it's the first time you've ever felt anything from a kiss.

Now, you let him swallow your breath whole, willingly and without protest. He kisses you until you feel dizzy. He kisses you until you both are gasping, until you remember these sorts of displays are unfit for Japanese streets, and you break apart laughing at the thrill of breaking rules.

'I've never wanted to do that with anyone as much as I want to with you,' he admits, resting his forehead against yours once more, looking bashful.

You hum, attempting to prolong your absence from him. 'Me too.'

Slowly, you pull away from him, separating only when you absolutely must, Chanyeol holding into your hand until he absolutely cannot anymore. You walk backwards, much like he did at karaoke and much like you think you will always do, never wanting to look away from him.

When you finally do, you pull out your phone, walking in a direction you assume to be correct while you open the map on your phone.

Your phone rings.

A laugh erupts from your chest.

You pick up the call.

846 notes · View notes