#because I resent it being reduced down to “this is about alcoholism”

[twobellsilence]

On Jimmy's cannibalization of Curly

Because this game gave me brain worms I found myself thinking way too hard about the second birthday party scene. Specifically, why Jimmy cuts off a chunk of Curly's leg and not only eats it, but also forces Curly to do the same, and what this says about him and his relationship with the captain.

Jimmy frames this as a matter of survival, but that's not really the case. "Judgement" happens 3 months after Daisuke states there's food left for around 4 months, meaning they'd still have resources left for a little while; still, let's entertain the thought, as I've seen people theorize that this potential lack of food is what ultimately pushed Anya over the edge, and suppose Dai overestimated the amount of food they had or they all simply mismanaged it and they really had nothing left when Jim set up the party. That still leaves him with other three corpses - Anya, Swansea and Daisuke - to chop up and consume without endangering Curly.

You could argue Anya's body is tainted by the meds she OD's on, and that Swansea's is too saturated with alcohol, and that makes sense. Daisuke, however, presumably quit drinking mouthwash two months before the end of the game if we were to take his "I don't want to look at this stuff anymore" line at face value and consider the fact that he was sober when the vent incident happened, meaning his flesh would be clean for consumption. But Jimmy still decides to mutilate curly, even risking him bleeding out, and at that point his "survival" argument falls apart pretty quickly. It isn't just survival - it never was.

See, to Jim, Curly is not a man but an idol, a symbol. He is simultaneously a source of hatred and adoration from him; he has everything he's ever wanted, is everything he aspires to be, and he despises him not only for being better than him, but also for being willing to throw his status away just because he doesn't feel like it's quite right for him, as if said status - the one Jimmy desperately wants to reach but can't, he simply can't - didn't mean anything, at least from Jim's perspective. He thought he could finally reach this level after Curly became disabled, but he quickly found out it was more than he bargained for, and even after reassuring Curly that he's a good captain - something he'd only ever mentioned as a jab, never as something positive - and being willing to give him the title back, that resentment lingered, because even in his current state Curly was better than Jimmy could ever hope to be, and at that point he'd ran out of ways to prove himself he could be superior.

I think this is why he decides to cut off Curly's leg. Yes, it is most certainly a form of punishment - to reduce him to livestock, to a mere tool for the survival of the crew, a parallel to his role as the captain where his blood, sweat and tears kept the cogs in the machine working. But it isn't simply because he wants Curly to suffer, he already did so with the crash and agreeing to keep him alive. Eating Curly's leg is, in a twisted way, the only manner in which Jim could ever hope to embody him well enough. If he can't be like Curly, perhaps he can become Curly by consuming his very essence. And this is also why he "shares" him with the rest of the crew - severing a part of him, this unattainable symbol of authority, and feeding it to his fellow workers is a way to equalize them all, to seize power from him, and absolve Curly's sin of being above them on the ladder. And now that Curly is down at their level, maybe even lower, Jimmy is willing to share this power with Curly too by force feeding him a piece of himself - the "forgiveness" he talks about on his speech.

[aliasl]

OK. You've made it clear where you're coming from. Let's restart the conversation (this is going to take me a long time to address everything I want to, so sorry if you feel left hanging while I get to responding).

I won't hold it against you for misreading my tone. I thought OP was being condescending! I thought they were disrespecting spn as heavy-handed and, I don't know, redundant in its storytelling. Which... yeah, that's a fair argument here and there. (Finale aside) I'm of the opinion that if you give spn the benefit of the doubt that "the over-arching plot lines flow into each other and respond to each other in a complimentary fashion," you'll get more out of appreciating what's there, rather than begrudging what's not - or holding your perspective against the text without acknowledging that that's what you're doing. You know, "good faith" reading. Liking or disliking things honestly.

So, when I saw OP making the claim that the show uses metaphors... and is somehow very LITERAL at the same time.... I asked for some clarification. Because that's a contradiction. And where OP ended up was internalizing the points I had made and agreeing that their original interpretation was/could be read as overly simplified and even incorrect.

Because, in fact, after thinking all of this over so, so much, I've come to the conclusion that if "hunting" is a metaphor for anything, it's a metaphor for the cycle of violence - not limited to child abuse, or family violence, or simply grief. And there's a grey morality there: violence can be justified or unjustified. It just depends if you're hunting irredeemable monsters or not. Because THAT, as obvious and reoccurring as it is, is the conversation of the show: are we doing the right thing? Are we using our violence for good? Are we choosing violence or are we trapped in a cycle beyond our control?

I've already pointed out how the metaphors are more nuanced than just one over-arching reading, and I've asked you to allow for more nuance - not for the sake of tptb, I started by invoking death of the Author - but because I want for you to have a more gratifying fan experience. Because you've made your arguments (that I don't agree with), and especially with regards to the "sexual assault metaphor," your final reading of the text is that... you think the writers deserve shade... for 15 years.... of metaphoric r*pe.... going basically unaddressed.

As I've already made clear, I can recognize how you could be reading a sexual assault metaphor into the many depictions of possession on the show, but I ask again: should you? Where it's unintended? Where it has nothing to say on the subject? You've disclosed that your personal experience has colored your perception of the show, so you can see the metaphoric sexual assault everywhere...... and I'm telling you that you've let your perception overshadow what actually happens in the show.

[Sam was sexually assaulted by Meg, as was Jo. The scene where Meg!Sam comes onto Jo and then traps Jo when she asks Meg!Sam to leave and bangs Jo's head against the bar is a sexual assault of both Sam and Jo simultaneously.]

..... I'm not denying that that scene was sexually charged, but that does not mean either character was sexually assaulted. No sexual acts occurred. No kissing. No sex. No groping. Once again, this is a CW show, not HBO.

[In Sin City, Ruby tells Sam that demons leave their hosts "rode hard and put up wet."]

"The phrase itself is derived from horseback riding. When a horse is forced to run quickly, it works up a sweat." This is from a Quora post. Just Google the phrase and you'll find the etymology. I don't point this out to erase the double-entendre being used, simply to say it's not the ace in the hole you think it is (this turn of phrase, even as it was later used to apply to people, was not sexual in origin). Suggestive language like this, dirty and unsavory jokes, are often employed by demons on the show, and is to establish them as casually cruel and... you know, the bad guys. Ruby was talking about why lots of people don't survive exorcism: because the demons are exhausting their hosts to death and getting them injured without care.

[And in s4, Sera Gamble had Ruby inhabit a brain dead vessel precisely because she was too uncomfortable with what would otherwise imply Sam's rape of Ruby's vessel.]

False! You are claiming to know what Sera Gamble was thinking when she wrote what she wrote, which you don't. Which is why I advised we keep the conversation to the text itself and not guess at authorial intent. In point of fact, Ruby found a brain-dead vessel to inhabit only after Sam (who had no romantic/sexual inclinations towards Ruby at this point) admonished her about trying to guide him on a moral path when she was possessing innocent people. And Sam wouldn't have entered that relationship if Ruby had been possessing a sentient person or if he hadn't been coerced! So you are crediting all the reasoning to the writer and not the character, retroactively assigning a reason outside of the text. Also, none of that is descriptive of "possession as a metaphor for sexual assault."

[In Repo Man, the A plot turns on a host who "wanted it" and became romantically attracted to the demon possessing him, while the B plot is about Sam reluctantly asking Hallucifer for help and then being told by Hallucifer that he wanted it too.]

THE WHOLE TWIST OF THAT EPISODE IS THAT JEFFREY WAS NOT THE INNOCENT VICTIM YOU WOULD ASSUME A HUMAN POSSESSED BY A DEMON TO BE. DON'T insult Ben Edlund by saying he wrote a "r*pe to romance" story; he did not. The demon who picked Jeffrey chose him because he already had psychopathic tendencies, he just "needed a push" by something unafraid to commit violence. The kill list was Jeffrey's kill list; the MO was that of a crazy PERSON, not a demon. Jeffrey was "forced" to enact his plans by the demon (non-sexual) and was so grateful he wanted his demon with him forever. The demon points out that their relationship was never sexual or romantic, and kills Jeffrey when he won't relent.

Hallucifer... is a part of Sam. So called "Hallucifer," because the devil is not actually, currently in the room right now (you'll recall that when Castiel transferred Sam's psychic damage/memories of hell unto himself, his experience shifted from seeing Hallucifer too, only for his psychosis to shift into seeing other things). So Hallucifer is the part of Sam that's the devil on his shoulder, his darkest thoughts, his trauma as a result of what he experienced in hell. Sam is not actually possessed by Lucifer, even in part. So there is no victim-blamey parallel between Sam and Jeffrey as possessed sexual assault victims either. The way in which Sam lets "Lucifer" in is by listening to those darkest thoughts inside himself and using them to solve the case at hand. We only get insinuations of sexual assault that occured within the cage, Hallucifer is not insinuated to sexually assault Sam. He's incorporeal, and all his does is psychologically torture Sam.

[In Devil May Care, Dean and Abaddon have a whole scene in which they both discuss her threatened possession of him in sexual terms while she forces him to kneel in front of her suggestively.]

Yep. But a demon making threats of sexual assault does not mean the same thing as "demon possession is a metaphor for sexual assault." You're not talking about the similarities between what Josie's life is like now that she's possessed by Abbadon and how that's like being sexually assaulted; you're talking about how Abbadon is threatening to possess Dean in a manner analogous to r*pe.

[Crowley.]

Crowley possessed Sam, already possessed by Gadreel, in order to alert Sam into ejecting Gadreel. So, as a metaphor for sexual assault... Crowley sexually assaulted Sam while Sam was already being sexually assaulted by Gadreel to help get Gadreel out of Sam? Is this some kind of insane DP scenario? (Bad joke, I know, but THAT'S WHAT THIS BECOMES WHEN YOU SAY THAT CROWLEY'S OFF-COLOR JOKES ARE PROOF OF SEXUAL ACTS OCCURRING, METAPHORICAL OR OTHERWISE!)

[But "free will vs outside manipulation" is not actually a bigger issue than rape.]

Not only did I not say that free will was a more important subject/issue than r*pe, I'm insulted that you thought I implied it. What is happening is that you are circling around and around the points I've made again and again, and stubbornly clinging to your interpretation as more important than what is reasonably offered by the text. I don't want to go there, but you know Mark David Chapman read The Catcher in the Rye and interpreted that he should go kill John Lennon, right? Do we offer that interpretation any merit?

You seem to think your reading of possession as sexual assault (all the time, even when unintended by the writers) is important and shouldn't be overshadowed by different or more nuanced interpretations, but why? Because all it seems to do is make you mad. I'm able to read the passage from Adam Glass above and laugh. Because the Sam-Gadreel storyline was never about Sam dealing with being sexually assaulted. So, an off-color joke like that (not a r*pe joke, btw; Teen Mom is not a show about girls who got pregnant after a sexual assault) doesn't trigger me as "OMG Dean is joking about Sam being inseminated by his r*pist to his face, and Sam just laughs?!" It's a joke! Angels and grace-tracking spells is fantastical high concept stuff! To treat it 100% seriously would make the show unbearably maudlin/self-serious, so the show has a track record of cracking jokes at itself. Adam Glass does not need to go fuck himself. Instead, consider extending some grace (heh) and take it easy!

This conversation with you has gotten me to reexamine and look more closely at some of the subtext/metaphor going on in the show, and that's been fun and engaging, but I really need to take a break from it for a bit now. Please, please, don't feel defensive when I say you should probably change your perspective to something more reasonable and enjoyable going forward. If you have it in you, please keep thinking about these things and keep an open mind. As I said before, if you have anything incisive to say about the metaphors being used in the show, I'd look forward to it. It would show growth if you could point to more instances where your current reading doesn't work.

@aliasl OP's post chain is getting very long and I don't want to clog it up further, but I am actually interested in talking about this further with you if you want, so I've moved to a new post. I thought you were being condescending to OP on a post he made where his point was correct, so I was being condescending in turn. But from your response here it sounds like maybe that wasn't your intent? Which, if that's so, I misread your tone, I apologize, and if you're interested, I'd like to have a do over.

Because, okay, I'm just gonna come out and say it: I hate r*pe. It is a trigger for me in media. If I feel like a piece of media is depicting sexual assault in a disrespectful or careless way - using it as shock value, not having more to say than "wow, that's bad" - I can't stand it, and I block that shit for my mental health. If you honestly think possession is THE metaphor for sexual assault, with the frequency it appears in Supernatural, I'd be appalled.

I think you should be appalled. I think contempt is an appropriate response. I was throwing shade, because I think the writers deserve it.

I do also firmly believe it's possible to be a huge fan of spn while also being appalled at certain aspects of it, and I can respect that if sexual assault is something that's triggering for you, it's perfectly reasonable to avoid that reading for yourself. It is still there though and many of the instances of sexual assault metaphor are central to the text, whether the authors intended it or not. And while I too have read Barthes, and I understand his work was revolutionary for its time, I don't think DotA is adequate to the task of dealing with a text that frequently compares something to rape and then moves right along and ignores the fact that it just did so. I think the authors' motivations, cultural context and intent are worth examining in this kind of case. (I do also understand that Barthes wasn't saying you couldn't examine those things, just that the stated intent of the author wasn't authoritative. Which I agree with. I don't think he was wrong, just that other schools of literary theory are more useful here because it does matter why tptb felt that was a reasonable thing to do).

please show your math

In reference to the family violence reading of spn, it's daunting to show my math because my math is the whole show. It starts in the cold open of 1x01, where we're shown a cozy scene of the suburban dream of family and then dad falls asleep in his marine corp T-shirt watching a war movie, and a demon--played, in this scene, by the same actor as the dad--stands over a baby's crib, drips his body fluid into the baby's mouth, corrupting him forever, and burns the mother and the cozy suburban home to ashes because (we later learn) she sold the baby to him in exchange for her husband. Then the baby's now adult brother breaks into the now adult child's apartment, they have a physical altercation and go off on a case together involving a woman who murdered her two children and killed herself because her husband was unfaithful. The resolution is her ghost is dragged off to hell by the ghosts of her dead children. Then they go back to Stanford and Sam's girlfriend and apartment are burned to ashes by a demon who is later insinuated to be Sam's lover in order to facilitate the plot to have Sam and Lucifer kill their respective brothers in a bizarre prophecy apparently ordained by Lucifer and Michael's father. This is war = family = hunting = ghosts = violence all the way down.

And my math ends in the finale with Sam and Dean shown living a happy domestic life until they go off on a hunt, where Dean is killed while saving two children from a monster they and their father had previously tried to kill but failed. He dies telling Sam he's proud of him for standing up to their father and, for the first time on screen, saying he loves Sam. What issue exactly is he proud that Sam always stood up to John about? Dean doesn't say but we know where the show started: Sam didn't want to be a hunter and their father disowned him for disobedience.

In the middle are too many examples to count. Sam, Dean, Cas, Bobby, Jack, and literally all the angels grew up in abusive families. The entire plots of s4-5, s9-11, and in large part s13-15 turn explicitly on family violence. Amara's brother kills her. Jo is Sam and Dean's found little sister and their father got her father killed. Cas somehow ends up Claire's surrogate found father even though he got her real father killed. Rowena abandoned Crowley as a child. Max turned Alicia into a twig doll over whom he has absolute power. Charlie died as a result of Sam and Dean's family conflict. God himself is the abusive father/monster who Sam, Dean and Jack finally escape the cycle of violence by depowering and not killing. I have never seen any other reading that accounts for the whole of spn anywhere near as well as the family violence reading does. If you have one, I encourage you to offer it to me.

So let's talk about angels. You seem upset that I left them out

I was, yes. I'm going to go under a cut for this one since you said this topic is triggering for you. I know there's limited utility in telling you I don't expect you to read it if you don't want to, because I'm unfortunately well aware of how hard it is to not approach triggering topics once they're broached. I just wanted to say here before the cut that I honestly didn't intend to trigger you, I empathize with how much getting triggered sucks (I've had ptsd for ~50 years), and I wish only health and happiness for you in whatever struggle you are going through in relation to this topic. If you do want to still engage in general but step away from this specific aspect, that's truly fine with me (not that you need a stranger on the internet's permission, obviously).

If you go back and rewatch the series from the beginning, demonic/ghost possession was not sexualized (except in a singular joke Dean cracks at Sam after he was possessed by Meg; a joke Dean feels comfortable making because Sam was NOT sexually assaulted

I swear I am offering this not as confrontation, but gently: the above is not the case. There are two suggestive jokes about possession in that episode alone, and Sam was sexually assaulted by Meg, as was Jo. The scene where Meg!Sam comes onto Jo and then traps Jo when she asks Meg!Sam to leave and bangs Jo's head against the bar is a sexual assault of both Sam and Jo simultaneously.

In Sin City, Ruby tells Sam that demons leave their hosts "rode hard and put up wet". And in s4, Sera Gamble had Ruby inhabit a brain dead vessel precisely because she was too uncomfortable with what would otherwise imply Sam's rape of Ruby's vessel. In Repo Man, the A plot turns on a host who "wanted it" and became romantically attracted to the demon possessing him, while the B plot is about Sam reluctantly asking Hallucifer for help and then being told by Hallucifer that he wanted it too. In Devil May Care, Dean and Abaddon have a whole scene in which they both discuss her threatened possession of him in sexual terms while she forces him to kneel in front of her suggestively. In Road Trip Crowley says he'll leave Sam as soon as he delivers his message because he's "not one for sloppy seconds" and in First Born he says he and Dean are "practically family" because Crowley has "been inside your brother". And these are just the examples I can think of off the top of my head. I'm positive there are others as well.

And yes, I was angry about the exclusion of angels because none of the above are even the most horrifying examples of the text overlapping possession and rape. Those are all about angels.

Here is where I think Barthes fails us in this particular discussion. I actually agree with you that tptb were at the very least pretending that they didn't make this comparison over and over. It's possible they didn't realize they were doing it. And certainly they thought they were indeed talking about "bigger" issues. That's clear from the text.

In s4-5 for example, I have no disagreement with you that their intended reading had to do with free will versus outside manipulation by greater powers. But "free will vs outside manipulation" is not actually a bigger issue than rape. It's just more abstract.

Obviously, abstractions are important, and the ability to move between levels of abstraction is an important skill. But it is not imo in our best interests as human persons to hold a framework in our minds in which an abstraction like free will is more worthy of art, of in depth analysis, of being taken seriously, than a ubiquitous concrete harm like sexual assault. This is especially true for those of us who are rape survivors (I am one, and since you said it was triggering, I'm now assuming either you or someone you know well is probably another), but I would argue it's true for everyone. Nothing trumps the concrete. We are at its mercy. Cartesian dualism is a lie.

I think some of tptb were perhaps going for some shock value but were also taking their metaphor seriously. Edlund, Gamble, Charmelo & Snyder, Glynn, and Jared were among these. Some of the rest though, I think should be ashamed of themselves. The person who wrote this exchange (Adam Glass)

needs--and I mean this in the most academic and analytic way possible--to go fuck himself. There's really nothing more that needs to be said about that dialogue in the way of analysis. Go fuck yourself, Adam Glass is sufficient.

[mhevarujta]

Did Elain give up on Nesta?

No, she didn’t. 

People are saying that Elain is not kind because she gave up on Nesta while Nesta stood by her. That’s entirely false and it’s only based on Nesta’s perspective. I’m sorry, but Nesta was depressed, she had gone of the rails and she was basically an alcoholic at that point. Even her relationship to sex was not a healthy one.

Now, let’s consider what Elain DID do instead of looking at the situation superficially.

Who was trying to stay close to Nesta? Elain.

Who was getting pushed away and felt bitter about it but still did not give up? Elain.

Who was the only one who got Nesta a gift and tried to REALLY make Nesta feel included? Elain.

Who was the only one that, a year after ACOFAS, when Amren and Cassian were not really approaching Nesta anymore, was still trying? Elain.

Now, when someone is severly depressed and especially when they’re abused substances. cutting of the monetary help that enables this behaviour is advised long before the actual intervension. But this was never up to Elain.

Elain tried to provide all the support she could and saw that she couldn’t. They reached the point of Nesta completely avoiding her.

The last time she’d seen Elain—a week before she’d come to the House. She’d passed her sister in the bustling market square they called the Palace of Bone and Salt, and though Elain had halted, no doubt intending to speak to her, Nesta had kept walking. Hadn’t looked back before vanishing into the throng. Nesta didn’t wish to consider how poorly she’d looked then, if the picture she presented now was better.

At that point Elain knew that Nesta was completely avoiding her and she had no way of forcing her to accept emotional help. And while we all can say that Elain was not an easy person to help either when she was at her worst, she wasn’t hostile. She was lost in her head and both took help and helped herself the moment she knew she wasn’t crazy, which makes the two situations very different. 

Elain kept trying to raise non-confrontetional discussions and only addressed Nesta’s addiction directly when she was pushed in order to explain herself. Unlike Feyre, who cares about Nesta but DOES at some point guilt-trip her about how her actions reflect on the court, Elain does not do so. She feels neglected by Nesta (as seen in ACOFAS), but she never makes Nesta’s trauma about herself when they discuss it. In fact, even when Nesta blames Elain for their father’s death, Elain still doesn’t lash out by blaming Nesta too and makes sure to try to lift Nesta’s own guilt off her shoulders.

When it’s reaffirmed that Nesta feels resentment towards her and how she completely misinterprets Elain’s choises (because Nesta used Elain as a safety net, similarly to the way she did with Amren, and saw it as a betrayal when she did not pick ONLY her and didn’t act as her shield), Elain, who approached Nesta after giving her some time to calm down and adjust, gives her space again and lets her settle to her routine and her training. These are all things that are actually advised when people try to get educated on how to help their loved ones. 

The one time Elain comments a little insensitively is when she expresses concern about Nesta lashing out towards a pregnant Feyre and, even then, when Nesta feels insulted at the idea, Elain feels relief and even takes Nesta’s reaction of candidly telling her to fuck off as a good sign of Nesta not piling things up or seeing her as a shield and she embraces her fully.

AND throughout Nesta’s journey we see that Elain is interested in her progress, has an opinion on her training and on how iteh Valkyrie training will help her channel her anger. Elain is never neglectful or indifferent

I have both faced depression AND have watched my cousin waste away and being in a situation where helping him was such a long journey of educating oneself, trying and failing, readjusting one’s methods, haveing half-successes/half-failures and so on. 

I think that people reducing Elain’s actions to disinterest are looking at this in a very neurotypical way, or are simply taken in by Nesta’s perspective, which is valid from her point of view, but it’s also coloured by her emotions, her anger and her subjectivity and does not reflect the effort put by her sister.

[thornyrose463]

Johnny’s Daughter (Cobra Kai story): Chapter 1

Shortly after his breakup with Shannon Keene, Johnny Lawrence had a one-night stand with a woman he met at a bar. She got pregnant. The baby was born on August 28, 2002. Her mother left her on Johnny's doorstep with a note saying that her name was Sarah Abigail Lawrence and she was leaving her in Johnny's care because she couldn't look after herself, let alone a child.

Shannon's son, Robby, was born on February 4, 2002, making him 6 months older than his half sister. Johnny told himself that he would be better with Sarah than he was with Robby. Because Johnny was absent for his childhood but not Sarah's, Robby resented her.

After he lost the 1984 All-Valley Karate Tournament, Johnny's life turned upside down and remained that way into his adulthood. Now in his 50's, Johnny was a down-on-his-luck, alcoholic loner. He struggled to make a living as a handyman. He bought the cheapest food and liquor he could find. He often bought food with a sticker on it that said 'further reduced'. Due to his money issues, he could not give Sarah the life she deserved, and that killed him, because he loved her dearly.

If Sarah wanted something nice, she would have to buy it herself. Because she didn't have a job, she would earn money by mowing lawns. The most expensive things she ever bought were a cell phone and a laptop. She owned the 2017 iPhone X and the 2016 HP Spectre x360. She had a Facebook account and an Instagram account.

Johnny was teaching Sarah karate in their apartment.

Whenever Johnny got in trouble, either Sarah or his stepfather, Sid Weinberg, would get him out of it.

Sarah had a learner's permit, but no car. Because she was raised by Johnny, she was a fan of rock music and action movies. She was a student at West Valley High School. Her only friends were Demetri Alexopoulos and Eli Moskowitz. She didn't interact with Samantha LaRusso very much. Johnny told her to avoid the LaRusso family at all costs.

Because they were nerds, Demetri and Eli were at the bottom of the food chain. Sarah was at the bottom of the food chain because she hung out with Eli and Demetri, but she could be popular. She was pretty, and she was smart, but not smart enough to be considered a nerd. She didn't want to be part of the popular crowd. She would rather hang out with nice guys like Demetri and Eli than assholes like Kyler, Rory, Brucks, and AJ.

Sarah met Demetri and Eli in kindergarten. Every day at recess, Sarah and Demetri would see him sitting alone on the swing set while they played on the monkey bars. After a week of seeing no one walk up to Eli, they sat on the swings next to him and went as high as they could, urging him to join them, and he became their friend.

After breakfast one morning, Johnny and Sarah made their way to the garbage bins outside their apartment complex and encountered their new neighbour, Miguel Diaz.

Miguel smiled. "Hey. I'm Miguel. My family just moved into 109."

"Great. More immigrants," Johnny groaned.

"Actually, we're from Riverside, but anyway, I was wondering if you were having trouble with your water pressure. Our sink's being a little weird right now." Miguel said.

Johnny put his toolbox down before opening a garbage bin and dropping a bag in it.

"Oh, bottles go in the blue bin." Miguel said.

"Listen, Menudo, my daughter and I have lived in this shithole for the past sixteen years. That's as long as she has been alive. The pipes don't work. The fountain's full of piss. The only good thing about being here is that I don't have to talk to anyone but her. So, nice knowing you." Johnny picked up his toolbox and walked towards his red 1991 Pontiac Firebird.

"Okay. Well...Have a nice day, I guess." Miguel said.

Johnny drove away.

"My name's Sarah Lawrence. I'm sorry about my dad. He's not really a people person." Sarah said.

Sarah had fair skin and blue eyes. Her naturally straight blonde hair was parted in the middle and reached her chest. She was 5 foot 3. She had a slim build. She was wearing an unzipped red cotton jacket, a white t-shirt, dark blue denim jeans, and red low-top Vans sneakers with white laces. She had on a light amount of black eyeliner, a light amount of black mascara, and soft brown eyeshadow. Her lip balm was a pretty peach colour.

Miguel chuckled. "I can tell."

"Do you have Facebook?" Sarah asked.

"Yeah. I'll add you. Do you have Instagram?" Miguel asked.

"Yeah." Sarah said.

"Cool. I'll follow you." Miguel said.

Miguel went back to his apartment.

Sarah went back to her and Johnny's apartment.

Miguel laid in his bed, cell phone in hand, browsing Facebook. He typed "Sarah Lawrence" in the search box. He tapped on Sarah's profile picture and checked out her profile. She was friends with someone named Demetri Alexopoulos, someone named Eli Moskowitz, and a few other students of West Valley High School. The only people in her photos were Demetri and Eli. It was obvious that they were the only people she hung out with. He hit "Add as friend."

Sarah laid in her bed, iPhone in hand, browsing Facebook. She saw that Miguel had sent her a friend request. She hit "Confirm."

Miguel opened Instagram. He typed "Sarah Lawrence" in the search box. He tapped on Sarah's profile picture and checked out her profile. Her username was SarahLawrence. She was following Demetri, Eli, and a few other students of West Valley High School. The only people in her photos were Demetri and Eli. He hit the follow button.

Sarah opened Instagram and saw that Demetri had posted a photo.

Sarah hit the like button.

Sarah got a notification saying that Miguel was following her. She tapped on his profile picture and checked out his profile. His username was MiguelDiaz. She hit the follow button.

Johnny got in his car and turned the key in the ignition. He turned the radio on.

The song Nothin' but a Good Time by Poison was playing on the radio. Johnny increased the volume.

Johnny started driving to work. He saw Daniel's face on a billboard.

"You've got to be kidding me. Not another one," Johnny groaned.

A woman was jogging.

Johnny tried to turn on the charm. "Hey."

"Creep." She jogged past Johnny.

Johnny cleaned rain pipes, found dead mice, and got sprayed with water, causing him to almost fall off a ladder. A woman told him that he put a TV in the wrong place. He told her to stop bitching at him. She reported him to his boss, and his boss called him on his cell phone. He had a flip phone.

"No, no, no! I didn't call her a bitch. I said she was bitching at me. There's a difference. You're firing me because of that bitch? You know what? I hated this damn job anyway. You'd better pay me what you owe me, Mike." Johnny hung up.

Johnny got in his car and turned on the radio.

"Banzai!" Daniel chuckled. "I'm Daniel LaRusso, and at LaRusso Auto, we kick the comp..."

Johnny changed the channel.

That night, Johnny and Sarah headed to a mini-mart that was near their apartment complex. They walked through the door and made their way to the front desk.

Johnny asked the cashier for two slices of pizza.

The cashier grabbed a slice of pizza with his bare hands.

"Aren't you going to wear gloves?" Johnny asked the cashier.

Miguel entered the mini-mart. He spoke to the cashier in Spanish before walking past Johnny and Sarah.

Johnny looked annoyed.

"Can you put that on a plate?" Johnny asked the cashier.

"Dad, it's okay." Sarah said, trying to prevent Johnny from making a scene.

"No, it's not." Johnny said.

Miguel made his way to the front desk. He was holding a bottle of Pepto-Bismol.

The cashier was looking for a plate.

"My grandma's not feeling well." Miguel said.

"Didn't ask. Come on, what's Spanish for 'just give me my damn slice'?" Johnny asked the cashier.

The cashier spoke to Miguel in Spanish. He laughed. Miguel smiled.

"What did you just say?" Johnny asked the cashier.

The cashier didn't reply.

Johnny turned to Miguel. "What did he say?"

"You don't want to know." Miguel said.

"I know it's something bad. Just tell me." Johnny ordered.

Miguel gestured to Johnny's groin. "He said you have a tiny..."

Johnny looked offended. He turned to the cashier. "He said I have a tiny wang? Tell him he has a tiny wang."

"I speak English, asshole." The cashier snapped.

"Oh, really? Sarah, get your pizza." Johnny threw money at the cashier, grabbed his slice of pizza, and left.

Sarah grabbed her slice of pizza, thanked the cashier, and left.

Johnny and Sarah sat on the curb and started eating.

Hip-hop music played as Kyler parked his Jeep in front of the mini-mart.

Kyler, Rory, Brucks, and AJ got out of the Jeep.

"Yo, Brucks, get the light beer this time. Got to cut weight for the meet." Kyler said.

Brucks slapped Kyler's butt. "Hundo P, son."

"We should get some condoms." Rory said.

Kyler, Rory, Brucks, and AJ walked past Johnny and Sarah. AJ blew smoke in Johnny's face. Johnny scowled at Kyler, Rory, Brucks, and AJ as they entered the mini-mart.

A homeless woman was looking for food in a garbage can. She noticed Johnny and Sarah.

"Finish up, and then beat it!" She yelled.

Johnny turned to her. "Excuse me?"

"This is my mart. Nobody hustles at my mart." She spoke sternly.

"We're not hustling. We're not homeless. That's my car." Johnny gestured to his car.

Johnny and Sarah continued eating.

Kyler, Rory, Brucks, and AJ pushed Miguel out of the mini-mart.

"What the hell are you doing? Why'd you have to blow up my spot?" Kyler asked.

"Look, dude, I..." Miguel trailed off.

"He thought we were in college, dumbass!" Kyler yelled.

"I didn't know you guys were trying to buy beer! I'm sorry!" Miguel yelled.

Kyler pushed Miguel. He fell.

AJ took the bottle of Pepto-Bismol from Miguel and laughed. "Ooh, what've we got here? Pepto. Oh, shit. Someone has freakin' dirrhea."

Rory laughed. "Hey, we should call him Rhea."

"Give it back, dude. It's for my grandma." Miguel told AJ.

"It's for your grandma? Oh, shit. I'm sorry, man. Hey, you want it? You can take all that shit." AJ poured the Pepto-Bismol on Miguel's head. "Bitch."

Miguel stood up.

"Asshole," Miguel muttered.

Kyler, Rory, Brucks, and AJ turned around.

"What'd you say, Rhea?" Kyler asked.

Miguel took a step back. "I-I didn't say anything."

Kyler punched Miguel in the stomach. Miguel groaned.

Sarah made her way to Kyler, Rory, Brucks, AJ, and Miguel.

"Leave him alone!" Sarah yelled.

Rory threw something at Sarah. She ducked just in time. Miguel tried to run away, but Kyler pushed him. His back hit the hood of Johnny's car.

"Hey! Watch the car, man!" Johnny yelled.

"Who's this guy?" AJ asked.

"Just leave the dork alone." Johnny ordered.

"You see this guy? Eating his dinner at the mini-mart like a bum." Rory laughed.

"Hey! Don't talk about my dad like that!" Sarah yelled.

"I know this guy. He's the jerkoff that cleaned my dad's septic tank." Kyler said.

"Oh. That explains why he smells like shit." Brucks laughed, waving his hand in the air.

Johnny took a step forward. "Trust me, you're pissing off the wrong guy on the wrong day."

"Oh, really?" Kyler asked.

"Really." Johnny said.

Kyler pushed Johnny. "Get out of here, loser."

Johnny raised his right leg, bended his knee slightly, and kicked Kyler in the face. Kyler fell.

Johnny raised his right knee, slightly rotated his hips while extending his leg, and kicked AJ in the stomach. AJ fell.

Sarah decided to help Johnny out.

Sarah swung her right leg sideways in a circular motion and kicked Rory in the face. He fell.

"Holy shit," Miguel muttered, looking at Johnny and Sarah in awe. "How did you..."

Brucks charged at Johnny. He grabbed Brucks and tossed him aside.

Kyler roared and tackled Johnny. He punched Johnny in the stomach. He wrapped his arm around Johnny's neck and choked him.

Kyler taunted Johnny. "What's the matter? Having trouble breathing?"

Johnny elbowed Kyler in the stomach and flipped him.

Johnny taunted Kyler, Rory, Brucks, and AJ. "Is that all you've got?"

Brucks put his hand on Kyler's shoulder and tried to drag him away. "Come on, Ky. Let's go."

"Get off me!" Kyler yelled, freeing himself from his friend's grip.

Kyler tried to punch Johnny, but Johnny dodged the punch.

Johnny wrapped his arm around Kyler's neck and choked him.

Johnny taunted Kyler. "What's the matter? Having trouble breathing?"

Police officers arrived.

"Hey! Get off the kid!" One of the officers yelled. He pulled out a canister of pepper spray. The spray came into contact with Johnny's eyes.

"It's not his fault!" Miguel yelled.

The officer hit Johnny in the back of the head with a baton, knocking him out.

Another officer dragged Sarah and Miguel to his car.

"Where do you live?" He asked.

Sarah gave him the address of her and Miguel's apartment complex. He drove them there.

The next morning, Johnny arrived at his apartment complex and encountered Miguel.

"Hey. So...Last night, was that, like, Tae Kwon Do or jujitsu or MMA or something?" Miguel asked.

"It was karate. Old-school karate." Johnny said.

"Do you think you could teach me?" Miguel asked.

"What? No. I'm not teaching anyone but Sarah." Johnny said.

"What? Come on. When school starts, those guys are going to make my life miserable." Miguel said.

"Not my problem." Johnny said.

"What? If I just knew a little bit of what you knew, then I would be..." Miguel trailed off.

"Forget it. I have more important things to worry about, like finding a new job." Johnny said.

"You can open your own karate school." Miguel said.

"It's called a dojo." Johnny said.

"You can open your own dojo." Miguel said.

"Look, I'm not getting into this with you. I'm pretty sure Sarah's the only kid I'm allowed to be around right now. All right, you want my advice? Stop being so annoying. Maybe you'll stop getting your ass kicked." Johnny said.

"Okay," Miguel said sadly.

Johnny entered his and Sarah's apartment and saw Sid's nurse, Rhonda, sitting on the couch and watching TV. Sarah was sitting next to her, iPhone in hand, browsing Facebook.

"Do you have Encore?" Rhonda asked.

"Who the hell are you?" Johnny asked.

Johnny saw Sid standing in front of the freezer and holding a package of beef.

"You know those little red stickers that say 'further reduced'? That means 'spoiled'. You know that, right? You and your daughter are eating bad meat, boy!" Sid threw the beef in the compost bin.

"What the hell are you doing in my apartment, Sid?" Johnny asked.

"Oh, that's some thank you. Who do you think bailed you out? Again." Sid said.

"I never asked you for anything." Johnny said.

Johnny walked into his room.

"I think that little incident at Applebee's would've taught you to keep your hands to yourself." Sid said.

As Johnny changed his clothes, Sid picked up a photo of Johnny's mother. "You know, when I met your mom, she really knocked my socks off. Beautiful. Blonde. Tan. Tight. Little did I know, I'd be taking care of her schmuck kid forever."

Johnny walked out of his room. "Yeah, Sid, you were the stepfather of the century."

"Well, high praise coming from a world-class daddy like you. How old are Robby and Sarah now? 15? 16?" Sid asked.

"We're 16." Sarah said, not taking her eyes off her phone.

"When was the last time you saw Robby?" Sid asked Johnny.

"Just get the hell out of here, man!" Johnny yelled, taking a bag of peas out of the freezer and pressing it to the back of his head.

"I'll get the hell out of here when I'm God damn good and ready!" Sid yelled.

"Sid!" Rhonda yelled.

"What?" Sid grumbled.

"Blood pressure!" Rhonda yelled.

"Ah, keep watching your bullshit judge show, will you, Rhonda? And stay out of this," Sid grumbled.

"This is why I'm here," Sid said calmly, pulling out a cheque.

"What's this?" Johnny asked, grabbing the cheque.

"I told your mom I'd always take care of you, but in this case, I think she would cut me some slack. I'm buying you out of my life." Sid said.

Johnny ripped the cheque in half and threw it in the garbage bin. "I'd rather be homeless than take money from you, and I'm pretty sure Sarah feels the same way."

"Oh, well, hell. Rhonda! Lunchtime! Call Art's. See if they've got that belly lox." Sid walked towards the door.

"I'd say get your life in order, but at this point, you're like the meat in your fridge. Soon, she will be too." Sid pointed at Sarah and left.

Rhonda left.

That night, Johnny was sitting in the recliner, watching the 1986 movie Iron Eagle.

Sarah was lying on the couch. She was asleep.

Daniel appeared on the screen, making Johnny jump. "Banzai! Daniel LaRusso here for LaRusso Auto, bringing you specials on all of our inventory."

As the commercial continued, Johnny tried to change the channel, but the remote wasn't working. He threw a beer bottle at the TV.

Sarah jumped, opening her eyes and seeing the broken TV screen and the broken beer bottle. "What the hell?"

Johnny walked towards the door.

"Dad, where are you go..." Sarah trailed off.

Johnny left the apartment, closing the door behind him.

Sarah grabbed the broom and the dustpan. She began sweeping the floor.

Johnny drank a beer as he pulled into the parking lot of the All-Valley Sports Arena. He made his way to the gate.

Yasmine, Moon, and Sam were in Yasmine's car. Moon was sitting in the passenger's seat. Sam was sitting in the back. Yasmine was texting someone. She hit Johnny's car.

Moon gasped. "Oh, my God."

"Yasmine, I told you that you shouldn't be on your phone!" Sam yelled.

"What are we going to do?" Moon asked.

"We have to call the police." Sam told her friends.

"We can't! My parents will kill me!" Yasmine yelled.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Johnny yelled, hitting the window on Moon's side.

Yasmine, Sam, and Moon screamed.

"Open the door!" Johnny yelled, knocking on the back window.

"Drive, drive!" Sam yelled.

Yasmine drove away.

"Hey, where do you think you're going? Where do you think you're going?!" Johnny yelled.

Johnny got in his car and turned the key in the ignition. The car didn't start.

"Shit," Johnny muttered.

Johnny turned the key again. The engine sputtered.

"Oh, come on," Johnny muttered.

The airbag hissed.

Johnny pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed a number. He asked the person on the other end of the phone to send a tow truck to the arena.

A tow truck arrived a few minutes later.

"Take care of her. She's a classic." Johnny told the man in the truck.

The man gave Johnny a business card. "Mm-hmm."

"Where do I pick it up?" Johnny asked.

"It's on the card." The man said. He turned the key in the ignition.

Johnny looked at the card.

"LaRusso," Johnny muttered.

The man started to drive away.

"No, no, no. Hey, hey! Oh, come on," Johnny muttered.

The next day, Johnny took a taxi to Daniel's dealership.

An employee walked up to Johnny.

"How are you doing, sir? Would you be interested in..." They trailed off.

"No." Johnny said.

Elsewhere, Daniel gave a customer a bonsai tree. "Great. You're all set. Thanks so much. Have a great day."

"Thank you." The customer said.

Johnny made his way to the front desk.

The woman behind the desk was named Sheila.

"Hi. Welcome to LaRusso Auto. How can I help you?" Sheila asked.

"Hi. I just need to pick up my car. I'm in a bit of a hurry." Johnny said.

Sheila looked at her computer. "Oh, this came in last night? It's going to be at least a couple of weeks, but we'll call you with an estimate."

"No, no, no. My car was not supposed to come here, okay? I want it towed to a different body shop." Johnny said.

"Why? We have the number one service team in the Valley. We beat all prices. We kick the competition." Sheila said.

"Yeah, yeah. I've heard it a million times. I just prefer to do my business elsewhere." Johnny said.

Daniel gave the customer a piece of paper. "Here are the watering instructions. Thanks again for being a returning customer."

The customer left.

"Before you go, Mr. LaRusso wanted to thank you personally. Let me go get him." Sheila told Johnny.

"Can you hurry it up? I've got to go." Johnny said.

Sheila looked at her computer. "Hold on. Um...It says your car is in one of our intake lots. I'll just figure out which one."

"You know what? I'll come back tomorrow." Johnny said.

"But sir, I..." Sheila trailed off.

Daniel saw Johnny as he was leaving the showroom.

"Johnny?"

Johnny turned around.

Daniel smiled. "Johnny Lawrence, I...I knew it was you. Holy..."

Daniel hugged Johnny. "How the hell are you?"

Johnny didn't move. "Hey, man."

Daniel chuckled. "Oh, my God. Look at you. You've still got those golden locks, eh? God, this is crazy. How have you been?"

"Great, man. Thanks. I've been great." Johnny said.

"That's great." Daniel said.

Daniel called out to his employee, Anoush, and his cousin, Louie. "Hey, hey, Anoush, come here. Louie, get over here. I want you to meet somebody."

"No. I've got to go." Johnny said.

Daniel grabbed Johnny as Anoush and Louie approached them.

"No, no, no, no. This is Johnny Lawrence. He and I go way back. Right, buddy? He was the toughest guy in my high school. When I moved here from New Jersey, he and I...We got into it a little bit. He really had it in for me." Daniel said.

"Yeah, well, you did move in on my girl." Johnny said.

"Well, she wasn't really your girl anymore, was she? I mean...Ah, all right, it's all water under the bridge." Daniel said.

"Wait, is this the karate guy? The guy from the tournament?" Anoush asked.

Daniel nodded.

"Oh, this is the guy whose ass you kicked." Louie said.

Daniel smiled. "Uh...Listen, it was a really close match, but if you want to get technical, I kicked his face."

Anoush and Louie laughed.

Daniel smiled. "I'm just busting your chops."

"It was an illegal kick." Johnny said.

"Oh, illegal? Really? Come on. What about that elbow to my knee?" Daniel asked.

Johnny took a step forward. "I got a warning. You got the win."

Anoush got in between Daniel and Johnny. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. No fighting in the showroom, guys."

"All right, back to work." Daniel told Anoush and Louie.

Anoush and Louie walked away.

Daniel and Johnny made their way to the front desk.

"Enough reminiscing, right? So, what brings you in? You looking for a new ride?" Daniel asked.

"He wants his car towed to a different body shop." Sheila said.

"Oh, no, Johnny. We've got the best prices in town. That crook at Cole's on Van Nuys will try to screw you over. Sheila, let me see the estimate." Daniel told Sheila.

Sheila handed Daniel a piece of paper.

"A Pontiac?" Daniel asked.

Johnny nodded.

"Firebird?" Daniel asked.

"Yeah." Johnny said.

"Wow, someone did a number on this thing. Maybe it's time for an upgrade. Why don't we walk the lot? I'll give you a deal on a certified pre-owned..." Daniel trailed off.

"I just want my car." Johnny said.

Daniel pulled out his iPad. "All right, all right. You've got it, all right? Let me see how low I can get this repair. Friends and family...My own personal code. You know what? It's on the house."

"No way, man. I don't need your charity." Johnny said.

"No, no. You'd doing me a favour. Our guys aren't used to working on a car like this. They could use the practice. You could use the repairs. This is a win-win." Daniel said.

"I said I'll handle it." Johnny said.

"Okay, but it's going to cost more than the car's worth. Listen, don't worry about it, Johnny. It's my pleasure, all right?" Daniel asked.

"All right." Johnny said.

"Wait here. I've got something for you." Daniel told Johnny.

Daniel walked away.

Sam entered the dealership and hugged Daniel.

"You've got to be kidding me," Johnny muttered.

Johnny was about to walk away, but Daniel stopped him.

"Johnny, wait up!"

Daniel gave Johnny a bonsai tree. "Every customer gets one. Come on. And hey, look, I don't blame you for what happened back in the day, all right? I know that wasn't you. It was Cobra Kai. We're all better off without it, am I right? Take care of yourself. I'll call you when the car's ready. This is crazy! You look...You look...It's good to see you, man."

Daniel walked away.

Johnny exited the dealership and dropped the tree. The pot broke.

Johnny and Sarah used the cheque Sid gave Johnny to re-open the Cobra Kai dojo.

The next day, Miguel took out the trash and encountered Johnny and Sarah.

"Are you sure you're ready, because once you go down this path, there's no turning back." Johnny told Miguel.

"Are you going to be my karate teacher?" Miguel asked.

"No. He's going to be your sensei." Sarah said.

Sarah was wearing a white long-sleeved shirt, dark blue denim jeans, and black low-top Converse sneakers with white laces. Her naturally straight blonde hair was down. She had on a light amount of black eyeliner, a light amount of black mascara, and soft brown eyeshadow. Her lip balm was a pretty peach colour.

Miguel smiled.

"I'm going to teach you the style of karate that was taught to me. It's the same style of karate I'm teaching Sarah. Your generation is a bunch of pansies and desperately needs this method of fighting. I'm not just going to teach you how to conquer your fears. I'm going to teach you how to awaken the snake within you, and once you do that, you'll be the one who's feared. You'll build strength, you'll learn discipline, and when the time is right, you'll strike back." Johnny told Miguel.

The next day, Johnny, Sarah, and Miguel were in the Cobra Kai dojo.

"So, am I going to get the karate pajamas too?" Miguel asked.

"Quiet!" Johnny yelled, making Miguel jump.

"The student only speaks when spoken to. Is that understood?" Johnny asked.

"Yes." Miguel said.

"You will always address me as 'Sensei'. Is that understood?" Johnny asked.

Miguel nodded. "Yes, Sensei."

"These aren't pajamas. It's a gi. You'll get one when you've earned it. Now, are you guys ready to begin your training?" Johnny asked Miguel and Sarah.

"Yes, Sensei." Miguel and Sarah said.

Sarah's naturally straight blonde hair was tied up in a high ponytail. She was wearing a long-sleeved white gi with the Cobra Kai symbol on the back. Johnny had it custom-made for her. She had on a light amount of black eyeliner, a light amount of black mascara, and soft brown eyeshadow. Her lip balm was a pretty peach colour.

Johnny grabbed Miguel and flipped him. He groaned.

"Lesson one: strike first. Never wait for the enemy to attack." Johnny told Miguel.

"You could have given me a warn..." Miguel trailed off.

"Quiet!" Johnny yelled, making Miguel jump.

"We do not train to be merciful here. Mercy is for the weak. Here, in the streets, in competition, a man confronts you, he is the enemy. An enemy deserves no mercy." Johnny said.

Miguel got up and grabbed his inhaler.

"What is the problem, Mr. Diaz?" Johnny asked.

"There's no problem, Sensei. You punched me, and I have asthma, so..." Miguel trailed off.

Johnny took Miguel's inhaler and threw it at the wall.

"Not anymore. We do not allow weakness in this dojo, so you can leave your asthma, your peanut allergies, and all that other made-up bullshit outside. Is that understood?" Johnny asked.

"Yes, but those are real medical problems. I was..." Miguel trailed off.

Johnny gave Miguel a stern look.

"Yes, Sensei. Understood." Miguel said.

"Cobra Kai isn't just about karate. It's about a way of life. Take that first lesson." Johnny pointed at the wall behind him.

The words "Strike First. Strike Hard. No Mercy" were painted on the wall.

"Striking first is the initial step towards victory. If you're at a party and you see a hot babe, you don't wait for some other guy to go talk to her first, do you?" Johnny asked Miguel.

"I mean, I've never been to a party, so..." Miguel trailed off.

"Big surprise. All right, look, striking first is about being aggressive. If you're not aggressive, you're being a pussy, and you don't want to be a pussy. You want to have balls." Johnny told Miguel.

"Don't you think you're doing a lot of genderizing?" Miguel asked.

"What?" Johnny asked.

"Oh, sorry. Don't you think you're doing a lot of genderizing, Sensei?" Miguel asked.

"No. What the hell are you talking about?" Johnny asked.

"My guidance counselor says that certain words perpetuate the sexist world view that can trigger..." Miguel trailed off.

"Quiet! From now on, you won't listen to your guidance counselor. You'll listen to me. Is that understood?" Johnny asked.

"Yes, Sensei." Miguel said.

"Good. Now, stop yapping like a little girl and give me fifty push-ups on your knuckles." Johnny told Miguel.

Johnny looked at his daughter. "You too, Sarah."

Sarah starting doing push-ups.

Miguel starting doing push-ups. He was having some trouble.

"All right, just do some crunches. Don't you have gym class or something?" Johnny asked Miguel.

"Yeah." Miguel said.

Miguel started doing crunches.

A health inspector walked into the dojo.

"Howdy, Mr. Lawrence." He greeted.

"Oh, it's 'Sensei'." Miguel said.

"Miguel, shut up." Johnny ordered.

Johnny looked at the health inspector and asked, "What brings you in? Looking to lose that gut and learn how to kick some ass?"

"No. I'm from the city health department. This is a list of requirements needed to open up an exercise studio." The health inspector gave Johnny a piece of paper.

"This isn't an exercise studio. This is a karate dojo." Johnny said.

The health inspector looked around. "Yeah, same deal. Wow. This place needs a lot of work. You're not open for business, are you?"

The health inspector turned to Sarah and Miguel. "Are you two customers here?"

"No. They're illegal immigrants I picked up this morning. They're helping me set up." Johnny said.

"I don't need to know about all that. My job is just to make sure this place is up to code. You don't want a scabies outbreak like that hot yoga place over on Tujunga." The health inspector said.

"Wait, so I have to do all this crap before I even open?" Johnny asked.

"No. You need to do all that to get the certificate that's required to get the insurance you need to open, but you knew that when you signed your lease, right?" The health inspector asked.

"Right." Johnny said.

The health inspector walked towards the door. "I'll drop in next week for another inspection. Cool rattlesnake."

"It's a cobra." Johnny said.

"Oh, right. Duh. I'm such an idiot. 'Cobra Kay'." The health inspector left.

Daniel, his wife, Amanda, and their son, Anthony, were at the Encino Oaks Country Club. Sam was at the LaRusso family's mansion.

Anthony was playing a video game. 

Daniel walked up to Anthony.

"Hey, bud. Why don't you check out that magician over there? He's doing some pretty amazing tricks." Daniel said.

"I'm on level 10." Anthony said.

"You can play that game anywhere. How about we shoot some hoops? I'll win you a prize." Daniel said.

"I'm thirsty." Anthony said.

"All right. There's a bar right over there. Let's take a walk. We'll get a couple of sodas." Daniel said.

"Nah, I'm good." Anthony said.

Daniel approached Amanda.

"I would've killed to visit a club like this when I was his age. You know where I had to hang out in the summer?" Daniel asked.

"On a filthy street in Newark with a broken fire hydrant next to your aunt Tessie's. What do you say we let Anthony play his game and get a couple of drinks?" Amanda asked.

Daniel sighed. "Dirty martinis?"

"Yes. Ice cold." Amanda said.

"Perfect." Daniel said.

Daniel and Amanda walked towards the bar. Isaiah Robinson, his wife, Sandra, and their daughter, Aisha, approached them.

"LaRussos! Hey! You still kicking the competition?" Isaiah asked.

"You know it, Isaiah. How's the Q5 treating you?" Daniel asked.

"Wouldn't know. This one has been behind the wheel all month, going back and forth to robot camp." Isaiah said.

"Dad, it's an AP physics prep course." Aisha said.

"Mm-hmm. Hey, where's Samantha? I feel like I haven't seen her all summer." Isaiah said.

"Oh, she's...She's with her grandma, but l'll tell her that you said hi." Amanda said.

"Great. Later, LaRussos." Isaiah said.

"Bye." Amanda said.

Isaiah, Sandra, and Aisha left.

The bartender handed glasses to Daniel and Amanda. "Here are your martinis."

"With her grandma? Yeah, right. Lately, I can't get her to call my mom, let alone visit her." Daniel said.

"What was I supposed to say? That she's hanging out with her new friends?" Amanda asked.

"She should be here. We come to this party once a year. She gets to see her stupid friends every day." Daniel snapped.

"Someone's in a mood. What's going on with you?" Amanda asked.

"Remember that guy from my high school whose car I fixed for free?" Daniel asked.

"The blond pretty boy you beat in that tournament?" Amanda asked.

"I don't remember calling him pretty. Anyway, I was driving home from work yesterday, and I pulled up to a stoplight and saw..." Daniel trailed off.

"Dad, where the hell is my drink? Hurry up." Anthony ordered.

"You know what? I'm going to throw him in the God damn pool." Daniel said.

Sarah and Miguel were scrubbing mats.

Johnny entered the dojo, carrying grocery bags.

"Looking good. Make sure you get both sides. When you're done, you can take care of these exposed wires. That's going to be a lot of work." Johnny told Miguel and Sarah.

"What does any of this have to do with karate, Sensei?" Miguel asked.

"Do not question my methods. Just be thankful you're not a sumo wrestler. Those guys have to wipe their sensei's ass." Johnny said.

Johnny walked into his office and opened a bottle of beer.

Miguel walked into Johnny's office and looked at the trophies.

"I...Uh...I see you were a karate champion, Sensei." Miguel said.

"You don't have to call me Sensei every time." Johnny said.

"I'm sorry, Sensei. I...Um...Sorry." Miguel said.

"I won a couple of All-Valley tournaments. I didn't lose a single point in my junior year." Johnny said.

"All right! What happened in your senior year?" Miguel asked.

"This isn't Twenty Questions. Get back to scrubbing." Johnny ordered.

Miguel started scrubbing mats again.

Miguel's cell phone rang.

Johnny left his office.

"Where the hell is that garbage coming from?" Johnny asked.

"That's me. Sorry." Miguel said.

Miguel answered his phone. "Hey. Yeah...Uh...Debate is running a little late. Uh...Okay. Love you too."

Miguel hung up.

Johnny spoke. "Don't tell me you have a girlfriend."

Miguel chuckled. "That was my mom, actually. Um...I told her I joined the debate team because she doesn't approve of violence, so..."

"What about your dad? Is he okay with you getting your ass kicked up and down Reseda Boulevard?" Johnny asked.

"I never really knew my dad, so..." Miguel trailed off.

Johnny realized he had made Miguel uncomfortable.

"All right, well, stop standing there. Get back to training." Johnny ordered.

"Okay. Yeah. Sorry." Miguel said.

"And change that ringtone. Get some Guns N' Roses or something." Johnny ordered.

Miguel was perplexed. "What's Guns N' Roses?"

Johnny and Sarah looked at Miguel in shock.

"Seriously?" Sarah asked.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that." Johnny said.

Sam was throwing a pool party.

Sam, Yasmine, Moon, and Moon's girlfriend, Piper, were sitting in beach chairs.

Moon was bisexual. Piper was a lesbian.

Sam looked at Yasmine. "Okay, you were right. This is so much fun."

"Told you. It's always better to be the one throwing the party. And Kyler has been eye-banging you all day." Yasmine said.

Sam, Moon, Yasmine, and Piper looked at Kyler, Rory, Brucks, and AJ. Kyler was looking at Sam. She smiled.

Moon grabbed her cell phone.

"Hey, Rory, do your flip again. I want to get it for my channel." Moon said.

Rory did a backflip.

The crowd cheered.

Daniel, Amanda, and Anthony arrived.

"Hey, hey, hey! What the hell is going on here?" Daniel asked.

"Oh, shit," Moon muttered.

"All right, everybody, get out of here right now." Daniel ordered.

"I'm so sorry, Dad. I had no idea you'd be home so early." Sam said.

"It doesn't make a difference what time I get home, Sam. You think we want strangers in the backyard making a mess?" Daniel asked.

"They're not strangers. They're my friends." Sam said.

"Some friends. Is he wearing my bathing suit? Are all of you guys wearing my bathing suits? All right, listen, party's over. Take the suits off and leave." Daniel ordered.

A boy was about to strip, but Daniel stopped him.

"No, not out here, genius. In the pool house."

Most of Sam's friends left.

"Daniel, can I talk to you inside?" Amanda asked.

Daniel followed Amanda inside.

Amanda told Daniel that he was acting irrationally.

"I'm not acting irrationally. I'm acting like a responsible father who cares about his kid." Daniel said.

"Okay, we both care about our kid. I just don't think embarrassing Sam in front of her friends is helping matters." Amanda said.

"This isn't like Sam. I don't like her new friends. Why can't she be at robot camp with Aisha?" Daniel asked.

"Because she doesn't want to be a nerd. Look, I remember what it was like being part of a clique other kids made fun of. Believe me, girls can be really cruel." Amanda said.

"Listen, I know a thing or two about cruelty, okay? I was pushed off a cliff on my bike." Daniel said.

"There's nothing wrong with Sam wanting to be popular." Amanda said.

"Popular is fine. I just don't want her turning into one of these privileged Encino brats." Daniel said.

"Neither do I. But keep throwing her friends out of the house. See where that gets you with your relationship with your daughter."

Daniel and Amanda heard a toilet flush.

Brucks walked out of the bathroom.

"Whoo! Skinny dips and bong rips. Whoa! You're the bonzai guy from those commercials! Wait. Where'd everybody go?" Brucks asked.

Daniel and Amanda gave Brucks a funny look.

Amanda walked into her and Daniel's room and looked at her computer.

Sam was video chatting with Yasmine and Moon.

"I need one of you bitches to pick me up tomorrow." Yasmine told Sam and Moon.

"How is your car still not ready?" Sam asked.

"My dad's getting me a new one. He felt bad about that 'deer' that jacked up the Range Rover." Yasmine said.

"You hit a deer?" Moon asked.

"No, Moon. She rear-ended that guy's car." Sam said.

"Oh, right." Moon said.

"I'm still kind of freaked out. I feel guilty about just driving away." Sam said.

"From that meth-head zombie? If I hadn't gunned it, we'd be chained up in his basement right now." Yasmine said.

Daniel walked into Sam's room.

"Sam, do you have a minute? I didn't know you were talking to your friends. I'll come back." Daniel said.

"No. Just wait a second. I can pick you up in the morning." Sam said.

"Oh, good." Yasmine said.

Sam closed her laptop and set it aside.

"I just wanted to say..." Daniel trailed off.

"No. Look, Dad, I'm really sorry about today. I shouldn't have invited everyone over without asking you and Mom first." Sam said.

"I may have overreacted a little bit. Well, maybe more than a little bit. Just have those guys bring their own trunks from now on, okay?" Daniel asked.

"Deal." Sam said.

"So, those guys...Anyone I have to worry about?" Daniel asked.

"You don't have to worry, Dad. But there is this one guy, Kyler. He and I have been texting a little bit." Sam said.

"Texting. Okay. Just words, right?" Daniel asked.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

Daniel looked Sam in the eyes, and she realized what he meant.

"Oh, gross. No, no! Just words, Dad." Sam said.

"Good. How about we invite Kyler over for dinner on Friday?" Daniel asked.

"You want me to invite Kyler to family dinner?" Sam asked.

"I'm not talking about walking you down the aisle. We're going to give the kid a meal. Besides, your brother has a sleepover. It'll be a good chance for your mom and I to get to know him." Daniel said.

"I'll see if he can come." Sam said.

"Great." Daniel said.

"You don't have to worry about me, Dad. I can handle myself. I'm a LaRusso." Sam said.

Daniel smiled. "That's my girl. Jersey tough."

Sarah got her driver's license, so Johnny didn't have to drive her everywhere anymore. She bought a green 2013 Honda Accord from Daniel's dealership. If it wasn't for the fact that Daniel's dealership was close to her and Johnny's apartment, she would have bought the car somewhere else.

[lifeofkaze]

When Stars Ignite - Chapter 22

A/N: Welcome back to part 3/5 of the madness that is our Rockstar AU! I hope you buckled up, because you're in for a ride. The lovely KC belongs to @kc-and-oc

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning: none

~~~

Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

~~~

This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @night-rhea @carewyncromwell @thatravenpuffwitch

Cause the light I shine on you

Is what you gave to me

I'm a crystal clear and true

I'm your cairn and creed

~ Kamelot - The Light I Shine On You ~

It felt good to be back in Manchester again.

Ever since Orion had seen the schedule for their U.K tour, he had been looking forward to going up north; after all, what else could better help form their path into the future than revisiting their past?

He remembered the night he and Merula had played on an open stage on the campus of the MMU, where he had studied philosophy at the time.

It had been just the two of them, like it had always been. Their performance had been really good; good enough to spark the interest of a certain girl with a bad reputation, colourful hair and a family name to open every door in the music industry with a snap of her fingers.

Skye had introduced them to her roommate Lizzie, and the rest, as they said, was history.

Orion had hoped a return to their roots would relieve the increasing tension that had been growing between the members of the band. What had started in London with Everett being unhappy about Orion’s new role on stage had developed into an issue on their way through Birmingham and Liverpool.

It wasn’t like Everett would openly complain - as the creative mind of Equinox Orion had the bigger influence and both of them knew that - but his resentment was clear to see from the unfriendly looks he was giving Orion whenever Ethan wasn’t there.

The general tension wasn’t helped by the fact that the show they were to play for some of the label’s execs was drawing nearer. There wasn’t a time in the day where Ethan didn’t stress how their performance that night was of the utmost importance; everything would have to be perfect.

The only ones mostly unperturbed by the strained atmosphere were Lizzie and Orion. Where the others were constantly reminded of what was at stake, they had their own ways of distracting themselves from the increased pressure.

Lizzie had told Orion about Andre’s remark on their last morning in Birmingham, and a part of him couldn’t help but agree; they should be taking more care to not get caught. Orion was aware that they were acting unprofessional, but he couldn’t help himself either.

Lizzie’s bright spirit had become addictive to him; when he was with her, he felt at ease with himself, and his doubts and dark thoughts he usually poured into his music were all but forgotten.

They were spending most of their nights together these days, and even if they weren’t sleeping with each other, they would just watch a movie together, or read, or talk the night away.

With Lizzie next to him, the bad dreams Orion had had ever since he was a child had stopped; and even if the amount of time he actually slept these days was greatly reduced, Orion had never felt so rested before.

The fact that so many people knew about them by now had worried him in the beginning; but after his first moment of apprehension had died down, Orion had come to appreciate the perks of it. With most of their friends being more or less in the picture, things were a lot less complicated than before.

Although neither Merula nor Skye were particularly keen on the situation, neither had commented any further on it. Orion knew Merula was only protective of him, and while he did feel sorry for putting Skye in a conflict of interest with her father, he was thankful she had chosen to keep Ethan out of it.

What had surprised him was an off-hand remark Lizzie had made about Charlie the other day; Orion had had no idea Lizzie’s old friend had known about them in the first place.

“We used to spend most of our free time together. But since I’m with you all the time and he’s busy taming Artemis, we haven’t seen a lot of each other lately.”

“So you just told him?”

Lizzie had merely shrugged, obviously more comfortable with the thought than him. “He asked.”

Orion and Charlie had known each other for a long time but they weren’t particularly close. Lizzie was happy with the situation, though, so it had been enough for Charlie to not dwell on it any further.

The only ones not in the picture of the state of things seemed to be Ethan and Everett.

Judging by the looks Everett was giving them at times, Orion wouldn’t have bet his money on him not guessing it, though; but if he suspected anything, he didn’t let it show. And even so, Orion doubted it would have stopped Everett from acting like he always did; if anything, it would have incited him even further.

As if to prove his point, Orion’s eyes wandered over the stage where they were currently going through their soundcheck.

Lizzie and Everett were standing side by side, both of them waiting for their turn in checking their instruments.

Everett was talking to Lizzie with a self-confident smirk on his face and standing a lot closer to her than Orion would have liked. Lizzie was trying to keep a friendly face, but when she caught Orion’s gaze, she briefly rolled her eyes.

With his focus trained on Lizzie, Orion didn’t listen to any of the questions Murphy was asking him about the sound quality of his in-ears. His attention was brutally brought back to the game when a grumpy looking Murphy fiddled with a regulator on his switchboard and a high-pitched sound pierced Orion’s ear drums.

He ripped the tiny monitors out of his ears and glared at his friend, who was making his way over to the stage. “What was that for?”

“Seeing as you weren’t responding to my questions at all, I figured turning up the sound by a good 150 % might help. Just in case you couldn’t hear me,” Murphy answered with a smirk. “And lo and behold, I got your attention and was right. I’m always right.”

“No one can always be right.”

“95.4 % of the time I am,” Murphy dismissed Orion’s remark with a wave of his hand.

Orion made a noncommittal sound in response, his attention already elsewhere; Charlie was done with working on Merula’s keyboard and had wandered over to free Lizzie from Everett’s approaches.

“Proving my point, it seems like I was right again when it comes to the cause of your uncharacteristic loss of focus,” Murphy said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Feeling called out, Orion averted his eyes, heat creeping up his neck. “The way Ev won’t leave Lizzie alone is concerning,” he muttered under his breath, so that Murphy had to lean forward to hear him.

“In a way, his will to achieve what he sets his mind to is admirable, but with Lizzie it is thoroughly misplaced. A dance without a partner willing to join in is not a dance but a mirror of yourself,” Orion frowned, “He shouldn’t hit on her like that.”

Murphy chuckled. “You’re not really in a position to be mad at anyone for flirting with her. You’re not…” Murphy trailed off, something that Orion had only seen him do a handful of times. A series of emotions flickered over Murphy’s face - realisation, followed by astonishment, and then something a lot softer Orion couldn’t immediately place.

He tilted his head and watched Orion with this curious expression for a moment. Exhaling slowly, he waved over to the raised platform in the auditorium where KC was in the process of programming the lightshow. When she saw her husband motioning to her, she shut her laptop and came over to them.

“What’s the matter?”

Murphy looked at her seriously. “We need someone with a little more experience here.”

“I’m as experienced as they come, my love,” she grinned at her husband, “but mindreading is not one of my many talents.”

Murphy’s eyes flickered to Orion, who was watching the exchange with a calm curiosity; he had no idea what Murphy was on about.

“I think Orion might have gone a little too far,” Murphy told his wife in a serious voice.

KC looked at him with the same confusion Orion felt before comprehension got hold of her.

“Oh,” was all she could say.

Her big blue eyes flicked between her friend and the platform where Lizzie and Charlie were working; the look in them was soft and almost the same Orion had seen on Murphy earlier. But this time he realised what it was: Pity.

Not quite sure what was going on, Orion furrowed his brow. “I know the two of you share a bond so close I sometimes wonder whether you are, in fact, able to read each other’s minds,” he said slowly, trying to make sense of the apprehensive look shared between his friends. “But I am exempt from this connection, I’m afraid. Would any of you care to tell me what is troubling you?”

Murphy looked at KC. “You do that, that’s your kind of thing.”

“Sweetie, can it be that this ‘friends with benefits’ thing might have outgrown you a little?” KC asked carefully.

Orion tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“How do I put this,” KC sighed. She looked at Murphy for assistance, but the soundmanager only shrugged. “Could it perhaps be that you have started developing feelings for Lizzie?”

“Absolutely not,” Orion said firmly.

“Looking at it objectively - which you know I always can be counted on to be - the signs are all there,” Murphy jumped to KC’s side. “The way you look at her has changed from how it was before, and the duration of time you spend watching her is significantly longer, too. I’m not the only one who has noticed that you are a lot more balanced lately, for lack of a better word, and if there’s one thing I’ve never seen on you before it is being annoyed at how Ev is talking to her.”

“He shouldn’t bother her all the time. I’m just worried about her,” Orion tried defending himself, but Murphy wasn’t impressed by his weak argument.

“Ev has been hitting on her pretty much since the beginning of time. It never mattered to you, but it does now. What happened to ‘she can handle herself’?”

Murphy’s words were spurring Orion’s thoughts, and as much as he tried pushing them aside, they kept returning to the forefront of his mind. They were like a chest so full that it was close to overflowing, and Orion was trying to keep the lid secured on top. He did not want to open it to see what it would contain; certain things were better left unstirred.

“Orion, we know you,” KC gently said, “there is no shame in falling for someone you’ve been with for quite a while now. That happens more often than you think. I’m surprised it worked out for you as long as it did, to be honest. Not that we discussed probable time spans or anything like that, of course.”

Orion inclined his head, his fingers lightly drumming on the neck of the guitar he was still holding.

“I see why you are coming to this conclusion,” he said very slowly, choosing his words carefully. “And while I’m not saying your assumptions are correct, just for the sake of the argument… what if they were?”

KC smiled indulgently. “Talk about it with her, openly and honestly. That’s the only thing you can do, it’s why you made up your rules in the first place. Sleeping with your friend doesn’t work when there’s feelings involved. Someone is bound to get hurt that way.”

Her eyes wandered over to Lizzie and she smiled sadly. “That’s something I want for neither of you.”

What KC was suggesting sounded reasonable enough, but Orion wasn’t entirely sure bringing this topic up between Lizzie and him would be a good idea. It would probably spark an argument he didn’t want to have with her.

Orion’s gaze had followed where KC was looking, and despite his best efforts he felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Lizzie and Charlie were done setting up her kit and she was playing some of her favourite fills to test the sound on her in-ears. Charlie must have said something to her over the wireless lying next to her, because she stopped playing and burst out laughing, the clear sound carrying over to them.

Orion’s eyes got caught on the dreamcatcher he had given to Lizzie ages ago; she had kept it fixed to the stand of her hi-hat ever since.

Orion heard KC say something, but her words didn’t register with him. Out of nowhere a melody had popped into his head which was now stuck in his ear. Fragments of it had been coming to him over the last few days, but now it was fully there in all its glory.

“Thanks, I’ll think about it,” Orion mumbled absentmindedly, not even knowing if that was an appropriate answer to what KC had just said. He took off his electric guitar, laid it across Murphy’s lap without even looking, and grabbed his acoustic guitar that was sitting in its holder next to him.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to write something down.”

Without waiting for a reply, he wandered past them and off the stage, humming the melody under his breath so he wouldn’t forget it.

Back where he had left them, KC and Murphy were staring after him with worried expressions. KC shook her head and laid a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “I don’t know about you, but I think we might be in for trouble.”

***

After the soundcheck had been over, most of the crew and band made their way back to the hotel.

Lizzie and Skye were among the ones still lingering behind; they had been in Manchester for several days now and still hadn’t found the time to revisit one of their favourite pubs from their uni days. Since they would probably be out of the arena too late to pay a visit, they figured they might as well go and have some late lunch there now.

While Skye was waiting at the exit, Lizzie had returned to the bowels of the arena to look for Orion. No one had seen him since the soundcheck and she wanted to check up on him, partly to know if he wanted to join them, and partly to see if he was alright.

She was just passing one of the empty dressing rooms when the familiar sound of Orion’s guitar stopped her in her tracks. She opened the door, quietly enough not to disturb him, and glanced inside.

Orion was sitting on a chair in the far corner of the room, one of his feet propped up on a second chair. He was strumming something on his guitar, stopping after every few chords to scribble into his notebook; after he was done, he returned the pencil to its place behind his ear.

He was so caught up in his music that he hadn’t noticed Lizzie, so she took the chance to listen to him for a little longer. She knew the melody he was playing, or at least parts of it; it took her a moment to remember why.

Orion had been humming the tune under his breath for days on end now; absentmindedly when he was about to fall asleep, cheerfully when they were setting up their instruments, or very, very softly when he was stroking her hair in the morning, thinking she was still fast asleep.

Lizzie never let him know he was always waking her up; she relished the gentleness of his touch and the feeling of peace it gave her too much, and didn’t want him to stop.

She slipped into the room and closed the door behind her. The sound of the lock clicking had Orion stop playing and look up. A smile spread on his face when he saw her; he was about to put the guitar away but Lizzie shook her head.

“No, please, don’t stop. That was beautiful,” she smiled back at him. “Is this for the new album?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” Orion shrugged. Out of habit, he ran his fingers along the lengths of the guitar’s neck. “It’s very different.”

It was true; from what Lizzie had heard, the vibe was much softer than Orion’s other songs, but not in a bad way. It had a lighter feeling to it, and the tune was already firmly stuck in her ear.

“Will you play it for me?”

“It’s not done. There are no lyrics yet.”

The sudden uncertainty showing on Orion’s face astounded Lizzie. He always let her hear his music first, even if it was unfinished; she wasn’t much of a songwriter herself, but so far, Orion had always valued her feedback.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

Orion was considering her and eventually nodded in agreement. He took a moment to place his fingers properly before he started to play.

Lizzie’s first impression had been correct; it was a soft and gentle song, not sad or bittersweet like Orion’s ballads so often were.

She sat down on the ground and leaned her back against the wall.Closing her eyes, she let herself sink into the beautiful melody and Orion’s warm voice humming the tune he had no words for yet.

Lizzie made it to the second verse before she just couldn’t resist anymore; fully immersed into the music, she started drumming a basic rhythm on the top of her legs, adding more depth to the song as she and Orion were jamming along together.

Lizzie knew how Orion liked to structure his songs, so she stopped in time for the last chords, giving his voice and guitar the final moments until they, too, stopped and made way for silence again.

She smiled at Orion, who was looking down to where she was sitting somewhat apprehensively.

“What do you think?”

“You’re right, it’s very different, but in the best way. It would be a shame if the world never got to hear it.”

A warm smile spread on Orion’s face, reaching up into his dark eyes and lighting up his features; it was this exact smile that Lizzie loved to see on him, and she couldn’t help but smile along.

As he sat there, guitar across his knees, the pencil stuck behind his ear and his fingers ever so softly plucking at the strings, he was looking so beautiful it almost took her breath away.

“Maybe one day the world will hear it,” Orion told her, “but not today. For now, this little song will stay between you and me.”

Lizzie laughed lightly. “If you say so.”

She got up from the floor and stretched her arms. “I’ll have to go meet Skye now, she’ll be wondering where I am by now; if she hasn’t left without me,” she chuckled. “We’re going to the Hog’s Head for lunch, for old times’ sake. Do you want to come?”

“No, I want to work on this song some more.”

“Alright, see you later backstage.”

With that she left him sitting there, but Lizzie couldn’t resist raking her fingers through his black hair as she walked past him, smiling to herself as she felt him leaning into her touch.

***

It took Orion more than a few moments to regain control over his heartbeat after Lizzie had left.

It was what the touch of her hand was doing to him these days, no matter if it was skin to skin when they were alone together, or something more innocent when they were spending time with the rest of the band.

His fingers had almost slipped when he had watched Lizzie listening to him playing his new song, and even before she had started drumming along, Orion had known that she would do it.

The music was in her blood just as much as it was in his; it was what made him feel so deeply connected to her. Lizzie understood how his mind was working, she had an idea about just how much of himself he was pouring into his music for the world to see.

But this particular song wasn’t meant for the world, and for the first time in forever, Orion had felt very vulnerable when he had played it.

KC’s words came back to him; suggesting to just come clean with Lizzie - and himself, for that matter - was an easy thing for her and Murphy to say; they didn’t understand.

They were married, and whether they were together or not was no one’s business but their own. Orion couldn’t help but feel a touch of wistfulness at the beautiful simplicity of the relationship they were sharing.

How could he possibly tell Lizzie that what they had wasn’t enough for him anymore?

They had set the rules of their agreement from the very beginning. It had never been meant to be more than sex; no obligations, no feelings attached. No one was ever supposed to get involved.

How could he tell her that he had broken the first and most important rule of all of them without the risk of losing her?

[whumpingcrow]

Pt.19 "Out of the Fire"

CW: captivity/pet whump, memory loss, drugs/alcohol (explicit), party theme, noncon/dubcon (explicit), tics/tourettes, blood/gore, injury description, mouth whump, restraints, August being nasty, emotional abuse/gaslighting and the aftermath of that, multiple whumpers, pocket knife used as a weapon (let me know if i missed anything!)

What was his name? Elias couldn't remember it, he could taste it on his tongue and hear it like a distant ringing in his ears, but when he tried to say it he always came up blank. He knew the face, he remembered his voice a little, he knew that when this nameless person popped into his head it was always with pleasant memories. But his name? It was diminished to nothing, not even an echo, just a blank slot where something once was.

His own name he knew, even if no one used it anymore. Elias, or Eli, sometimes. But even if that was his name, it wasn't who he was, not anymore. Now, he was “Bunny”, he was “sweetheart”, he was “pet”. August had turned him into nothing more than those words, and everyone around them followed suit. All of the lavish people who showed up to August’s parties reinforced that these names were all that he was, now. And there was nothing he could do about it except stare down his bloodied and mangled reflection and whisper his name to himself when he was alone. His cracked, bleeding lips moved almost soundlessly as he repeated his name, then he could taste tears when he murmured the name of the city he had to get back to.

"Elias," he whispered (he had to make sure it was never above a whisper because August was drunk all the time lately and had been jumping at the chance to punish him for any little thing, and he couldn’t risk being hurt for being loud), "Elias, you have to remember Los Angeles. You have to get back to Los Angeles to be with...to be...with… Fuck."  Yet again, the name slipped his mind right as he tried to speak it. The idea of this person he missed was just a face. No Name.

A knock on the door startled him, and he hastily wiped the tears from his cheeks and the residue from the words off his lips, then opened the door. August stood there, looking him over with his lip caught in his teeth. It was hard to tell if he was sober or not, his eyes were shadowy with something, but sometimes being inebriated and being a shitty person with shitty motives could look about the same. Elias bit his tongue hard so he wouldn’t slip up and yell something like that right in August’s stupid face. This was becoming a habit, his tongue had scarring on it by now. Most of it was from himself, from physically biting back tics so that August wouldn’t use it as an excuse to hurt him. The rest of the scarring was closer to the back of his tongue, and even thinking about where he got it from made him sick to his stomach. 

It was the reason why he made such great effort to stay quiet, why he was so afraid of opening his stupid mouth in front of anyone, especially August. Even accidentally brushing the scar against his back molars always made him vividly remember how much blood there was, how loud he had shrieked. The entire scene was soaked through with actual, pure violence, and Elias was horrified of August even more after it. 

Elias had been high, like always, and nervous, because August had friends over. They weren't immediately familiar, but August had told him that he'd met them before, and that made Elias wonder if they'd been at one of the parties, if Elias had entertained them. He couldn't remember, though, and he was left jittery and ticcing, the coke August had given him certainly wasn't helping his case. And then August was next to him, with his smug smile and his evil hands, and Elias hardly even processed himself shouting "you cocksucking faggot!" until it was too late. Until August was pushing him to the ground to crawl on top of him, pulling his small pocket knife out at the same time.

"I told you not to speak to me like that, you slut!" August was screaming at him. Elias would've tried to apologize, if August wasn't shoving his fingers into Elias's mouth forcefully. Elias choked on his hand, then the metallic taste of the blade was on his tongue, and then he was screaming, thrashing under August desperately. August had warned him before that he'd cut his tongue out if he misspoke, Elias just never thought he was cruel enough to actually do that. And yet, here he was, trying to cough up the blood trickling down his throat around his mangled screams. 

August would've kept going if he'd been allowed to, but at some point one or two of August's guests realized the severity of the situation and bolted up to rip him off of his poor pet. There was blood all over the both of them, on August's hands and arms and face, and Elias's entire front half was soaked. His tongue had a deep, jagged slice across it in the back, if August had kept going there was no doubt in his mind that Elias would've lost the entire thing. That took a week or so to completely heal, and since then Elias had tried everything he could to be quiet and well behaved.

"You feeling ok?" August asked him, even though his tone was exactly the opposite of caring. August had started to resent him, now, he was so far gone that he wasn't fun anymore. He was reduced to pure submission, a shell of a person that couldn’t be filled anymore. He didn’t scream and cry and fight quite like he used to, and August was more or less pissed off he had to deal with the aftermath of the damage he caused. Sometimes, though, he could get a reaction out of Elias, if he was in the mood to really mess him up. But that was typically draining for the both of them, and August didn’t enjoy cleaning up after himself, so mostly it was reserved for special occasions. 

Elias prayed that this was not one of those special occasions. 

"Yes, sorry," he replied. The words sounded so...dry, even in his own ears. He didn't have any more passion or emotion to put into them. He felt like he needed a nap, a nice long nap with silk sheets and feathery pillows and the whole mattress to himself with absolutely no unwelcome hands grabbing at him. He scolded himself, reminding himself that he wasn't allowed to want things. August was making sure that was one rule Elias really understood. Above everything else he was taught, the idea that desire was above him was the most easy to sink into. His entire life he'd been unlucky and disappointed when he didn't get his way, but really it had just been because he didn't deserve his way. And as for thinking about a nap, luxurious and soft and alone, he wasn’t worth any of that, and he was so lucky that August miraculously thought he was pretty enough to share a bed with, to touch whenever he wanted. He was lucky, he was in this beautiful place, he was sometimes allowed to go stand at the edge of the ocean and let the water come up to his shins, August shared his expensive drugs, and occasionally he held him closely, arms tight around him, and called him very sweet names. Yes, he was very lucky. He just wished he actually felt lucky, it was getting rather hard to keep trying to convince himself that any of this was pleasant when he felt like he had swallowed one of the circles of hell and now was the host of all of that evil and pain.

August let out a heavy sigh, his annoyance tangible. The fear that buried into Elias's chest at just that simple, scornful sigh was slightly muted from how exhausted he was, but still there nonetheless. It always was. "I'm having people over again tonight, I'll have to put you away."

Elias could sob at the words, at the knowledge that he would be back in the cold room downstairs, with the chains. After the first party, when August was angry at him for allowing all those people to use him, things were fine for a bit. They didn't have people over for awhile after that first time, August would instead opt for dragging him along to clubs or bars. When August finally did decide to have people over, it went south yet again. It was alright for a while, Elias sat quietly and looked out the window at the waves lapping at the beach, pretending he was out there instead, as August spoke to his guests about whatever it was they were talking about in words Elias couldn’t understand. And for whatever reason, when Elias felt fingertips brushing against his collar and turned his attention away from his land of make-believe, August wasn’t the one touching him. Elias really didn’t know how to make them stop this time, his begging was more desperate and he cried harder than ever, yet they never let up. August was even more furious that time. 

So, he decided that Elias would be banished to the basement anytime he had people over. That horrible basement, with the horrible chains and the horrible dark and the horrible loneliness.

"August please don't put me down there," he whined, dropping his head down in fear that he would be slapped for arguing, "please, I'll be good. I won't even look at anyone-"

"It isn't about you, Bunny," August cut him off, grabbing his shoulder with a shocking tenderness, "you're always good. But other people aren't, and I can't risk that. Don't worry, I'll give you stuff to keep you busy."

Elias cringed hard, squeezing his eyes shut with a tiny huff. He didn’t want to argue, really he knew that this was just a surefire way to get hurt, but he couldn’t stomach thinking about being taken down that dreadful staircase another time. "It's so cold down there...I don't want...please, please August..." Before he could keep begging, he was pulled against August's chest tightly, he could feel August trace his palm over his shoulder blade.

"It'll only be for a little bit, sweetheart. Now quiet down."

And that was that. August gave him a few shots of Grey Goose and some weed and then walked him down the stairs, hooking up one of his wrists to the chain on the wall. "Stay here, nice and quiet," he was told, and he could only watch hopelessly as August made his way back up the stairs. 

He was thankful for the muted sound of the music upstairs, it at least gave him something to focus on. He leaned heavily against the wall, trying not to think too much about the soft aching spreading through his legs from standing too long. It was even harder when the fatigue began to mix with the alcohol and he had to put in great effort to stay upright. He was miserable, and he found himself missing being able to interact with people at the party, even though the interaction was always vile and agonizing. At least if he was upstairs someone would touch him, would look at him, would acknowledge him. If he were upstairs, he would exist to someone besides himself. Down here he was nothing, he wasn't real. In the basement he was neither person nor pet, he was just...not there. And it frightened him more than August or the strangers upstairs.

He flinched hard when the music swelled suddenly, pushing himself off of the concrete wall to peer up the stairway, watching the shadow of a pair of shoes hesitating on the top of the steps, light flooding in past them. Was August going to let him come up? Did someone figure out he was down here and came to use him? He felt like maybe he'd be ok with that, it had been hours and the boredom was hurting him more than anything.

"Elias?" A woman's voice called. His chest tightened uncomfortably at the sound of his own name, having been the only one to use it lately, and the chain rattled as he stumbled over a bit. "Elias are you down here?"

"Y...yes." he answered, his voice wavering nervously. As soon as he did, the door closed again and her footsteps were bounding lightly down the steps toward him. When he saw her familiar red hair he sucked in a shaky gasp of relief. "C-Camille?" He whispered.

She looked him over, at the chain his arm was dangling lazily from and his battered and bruised skin, sighing in disdain at his state. She had felt bad before about taking so long to come back to him, and upon seeing how much worse he was since the last time gave the guilt an extra reason to eat away at her. "Jesus christ what are they doing to you?" She muttered, setting down her bag as she approached him.

"I forgot you...I didn't think you'd come back." When she reached out to grab his arm to inspect the lock of the shackle, he flinched back and closed his eyes. "Shit, sorry. I'm sorry."

"It's ok, darling. We have to go, though, there's not much time." As she spoke, she pulled at the metal around his wrist, groaning to herself when it didn't immediately come undone. "One second, wait here." He watched her turn on her heel and sprint back up the stairs.

Elias closed his eyes, swaying where he stood and trying to get his racing thoughts together. They were leaving, she was taking him home to that nameless face that he missed like an organ that he'd had forcibly removed. No more August, or parties, or basements. But it seemed so impossible, he'd been here for so very long that the idea of a world, a life, outside of it was mostly unimaginable. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he felt like he did need August, to some extent. He hated his guts, sometimes so viciously that Elias was shaken to his core by the violent thoughts it caused, but he needed him nonetheless. Elias was broken now, shattered glass, and August had done it so he was the only one who knew how to handle it. If he left, he feared that he would just stay broken and No Name wouldn't be able to even touch him without hurting himself, too. 

His thoughts were cut short as the door opened again and Camille came back down, a second pair of steps behind her. An older man was following close, they were talking to each other in French, and Elias was immediately uneasy at not knowing what they were saying about him. They approached him, the man reached into the bag he was carrying as they got closer.

"Who is that? What's going on?" Elias rushed, shuffling away from them as much as he could, but the wall was closer than he thought and his shoulder thudded against it hard.

"It's ok, Elias. This is my older brother, he's going to help us get on a plane. You can trust him." She threw a nervous look over her shoulder to the staircase, grimacing a little. "I know you're scared, but we have to go now. August is distracted now but I don't know for how long."

Elias took a deep breath, using his free hand to rub the stress out of his eyes. "Ok," he groaned, "fuck, ok."

Camille's brother took her place in looking over the restraints, and it only took him a few moments to figure out the thin lock and free his arm. Elias couldn't help but stare up at him with wide eyes, shocked and nervous at the idea of not being chained up. 

Camille began to pull out clothes from her bag, looking over Elias's slender frame with a frown. "Can you get this on? I can help if you need."

Elias shook his head, taking the hoodie from her and slipping it over his head, then he put the hat on that she handed him as well. The brim was wide enough to droop over the top half of his face, and he was relieved to be hiding behind it. 

"Ok Elias. Ok. Alright." Camille seemed rather frazzled, and it wasn't making Elias's own nerves feel much better. "How are you to walk? Can you make it up with us to the car?" 

"I can walk." His voice was just a mumble, he knew if he allowed any of the emotion he felt into his voice he would freak out. 

The walk up the stairs felt unsteady, each step seemed uneven and rickety, and he was dizzy by the time they got to the top. "Camille?" He whispered, reaching out to grab the wall to right himself. "If he...if August sees me leaving he'll flip out. He'll kill me." 

"We're not going to let him touch you, ok? I promise, we'll get you out of here. But we have to go right now."

Elias whined a little, then nodded his head and followed her. He was thankful when she reached over and took his hand to hold him closer, it made it easier to push through the people without looking up. The party was buzzing still, the light chatter, laughter, and music felt near suffocating. It felt like the time August's friends tied him up and shot at him while he was drowning, each step was a kick towards the surface, a desperate fight for fresh air. This time, though, when he was suddenly walking on the gravel of the driveway he wasn't bombarded with pain and more atrocities, just fresh air and the night sky. The music faded quickly behind them, and he relaxed his hand against Camille's, unaware he was gripping it so tightly.  He was...out? Now the collar on his throat seemed constricting, more so than usual, and he felt his hand jerk up to grab at it, to make sure it was still there. 

They approached a black sports car, and Camille held the door for Elias as her brother got into the front seat. She crawled in after him, then watched anxiously out the window until her brother had the keys in the ignition and was starting the car. Elias looked out the window as they sped away from the house, watching it get smaller. He looked until he couldn't see it anymore, and then he slowly turned to face forward, staring blankly at his hands. He didn't even feel tears falling from his eyes until Camille reached over and grabbed his hand gently, mumbling "are you ok?" when Elias turned to look at her. The question made him break, collapsing in on himself in a fit of muted sobs. Camille was quick to pull him against her, holding him close and running her fingers through his hair and down his back with such comforting softness that Elias wondered how it could be real. 

The car ride to the airport seemed shorter than when August first got him here, because soon the three of them were walking through a near empty building, their shoes scuffing against the linoleum offensively loud. The bright lights bothered Elias, and he pulled his hat lower over his face to ease the discomfort. They walked up to the largest desk Elias had ever seen, a detail that he couldn't find any importance in but that was still intimidating. Then he realized that everything was intimidating; the desk, the floor, the lights, the people. Camille spoke to the woman behind the desk, pulling out a few papers and pointing back to Elias as they talked. He wondered if they would tell him he couldn't fly back home to Los Angeles. Where would he go then? Back to August? Because really, besides No Name, he didn't have anyone else. He watched them talk with his hands twitching nervously at his sides.

When they seemed to reach an end to the conversation, Camille thanked her and began to lead Elias away. Her brother didn't follow. Elias didn't know if he wanted to be alone with her. For probably the first time since she approached him at the party, Elias didn't know if he could trust her. He wanted to, there were some days, when August was particularly rough, that the only thing keeping Elias alive was the hope that Camille would come save him. But now she was saving him, and he realized all at once that he hadn't even thought about the possibility that this might be a trick, that maybe she would send him somewhere that would only ruin him further. It didn't help that the only information he had was that they were in an airport and he was supposed to be getting on a plane home, but everything else had only been said in French and Elias was left relatively oblivious.

"Camille?" He tried, his voice small and shaking. "What's going on?"

She stopped walking for a second to look at him, her face falling from it's tight frown to a saddened smile. "Sorry. Let's take a second to breathe, you and I. This is a lot, isn't it?" 

He nodded along with her, forcing himself to take a deep breath. They did this until Camille seemed satisfied, then she cleared her throat. "I'm walking you to a plane right now, there will be flight attendants and security sitting close by to watch you. Once you get home, you'll have an escort to take you from the plane to a hospital, and then you can go home." 

Elias blinked at her, at how plainly she put it. "It's that easy?" He whispered.

She laughed a little, a lighthearted sound that made Elias feel much better almost instantly. "It will be, now." 

Once they were at the gate to the plane she was sticking him on, Elias was shaking, but this time mostly in excitement. After Camille's reassurance, he realized that this meant safety, freedom, and he couldn't wait to get on the plane. Camille was standing at his side, eyes darting over the few people around them skeptically. At one point she looked over to see Elias bouncing on the balls of his feet, and she felt like an idiot when she saw he was still wearing that damn collar. She figured he would've taken it off himself once they were out of the house, but it was still tight around his throat. She coughed a little to get his attention, then once he was looking at her, she pointed to the collar. 

"Do you want help taking that off?" She offered. She watched him reach up to feel what she was talking about, fingers brushing tentatively over the leather like he didn't actually want to touch it. He gave her a reluctant nod, holding his breath when she stepped toward him. 

He felt unbearably naked once the collar slipped off, his skin felt over exposed and cold in its absence, and he surprised himself when his vision was clouded with tears. Camille asked if he was ok, which he responded to only by stepping forward and wrapping his frail, banged up arms around her. 

"Thank you, Camille," he whimpered, "thank you so much. I can never repay you." 

Camille smelled of flowery perfume as she hugged Elias back with more strength than he would expect her to have, slightly crushing him in the friendliest way. "You don't have to thank me, Elias. Just...you just stay safe now. Go home and take care of yourself." She pulled away from him and wiped his tears away, Elias frowned when he saw she also had started to cry. 

The plane boarded after that, Camille walked Elias all the way to the door, handing over his ticket for him and then hugging him once again as a goodbye. He thanked her again, a million times, then he allowed one of the stewardesses to lead him down the long hall to the plane, to home, to relief.

[shortnotsweet]

The Allegory of the Tin Man, the Dictator, and the Knight: a Dissection of Ironqrow and a Character Arc of Failure

“There lived in the Land of Oz two queerly made men who were best of friends. They were so much happier when together that they were seldom apart.”

— L. Frank Baum

A brief Ironqrow meta and character analysis of James Ironwood, the ultimate screw up, in three parts.

I. Qrow and Ironwood’s Homoeroticism in Canon Source Material and its Translation

II. Ironwood’s Repressed Characterization and the Inherent Chivalry of the Dictatorship

III. Ironwood, Alone

Qrow and Ironwood’s Homoeroticism in Canon Source Material and its Translation

Within the Oz series, the Tin Man and the Scarecrow are layered within homoerotic subtext, even if it is included unintentionally. Tison Pugh’s analysis Queer Utopianism and Antisocial Eroticism in L. Frank Baum's Oz Series posits that the land of Oz as portrayed within the series is a largely asexual environment of suspended adolescence that involves the deviation of binary gender norms, and of performative heterosexuality. Pugh refers to it later as a “queer utopia”. Men are portrayed as a lesser military force to women, and heterosexuality is a flimsy presence at best; all signs of procreation within Oz are stifled. While this could be chalked down to Baum not wanting to get into the subject of sex and exploration in a children’s series, it does contribute to a particular tone with real-life critiques of capitalism and a particular deconstruction of gender norms. Ozma, who will become the ruler of Oz after the Wizard and the Scarecrow respectively, for example, is originally a boy named Tip (the name itself holds phallic implications) who is “transformed” into a girl. The strongest military force is one of all-women led by a rebellious female general. Pugh observes, “At the same time that Baum satirizes...women as leaders…he consistently depicts women as more successful soldiers than men, and female troops appear better capable of serving militarily than male troops…[the] male army comprises of twenty-six officers and one private, and they are all cowards…” and cites the Frogman’s declaration that “Girls are the fiercest soldiers of all...they are more brave than men, and they have better nerves”.

RWBY itself isn’t opposed to this kind of subversion, either in its characters or its relationships. There’s an obvious effort to include LGBTQ+ representation (albeit primarily in the background), strong female characters are prevalent and make up most of the main and supporting cast, a character’s gender is not strictly reliant on its source material, and BlackSun, while cute and a valid ship in its own right, is treated as a heterosexual red herring to Bumbleby. Additionally, there have been a lot of hints by the voice actors, writers, and creators on social media that Qrow himself is queer, the infamous Ironqrow embrace included.

Admittedly, if I wanted to write an essay about the likelihood of Qrow being LGBTQ+ or having some kind of queer identity, I would probably focus more on his relationship with Clover, which had a lot more overt and probably canonically intentional Gay Vibes, and despite having known Qrow nowhere near as long as Ironwood has, it has just as much, if not more, to extrapolate. Unfortunately, that’s not the main point of this essay, although it remains relevant. While I personally don’t doubt that Qrow has had sex with women or experiences valid sexual attraction to them, I get the feeling that it is, to a degree, a performative act and a masculine assertation of enjoyment intended as a coping mechanism. It plays into the trope of the handsome, tortured alcoholic (best exemplified, perhaps, in the MCU’s Tony Stark, Dean Winchester in Supernatural, and critiqued in the superhero episode of Rick and Morty) who sleeps around just to recall the feeling of intimacy, or because he associates sexual ‘degradation’ as a reflection of his worth. Real self-deprecating, slightly misogynistic stuff. Qrow’s recall of short skirts, as well as his brief exchange with the waitress in an earlier volume, reminds me of one specific interaction between the Scarecrow and his own love interest. Within the series, the Qrow’s source-material counterpart, the Scarecrow, has one canonical love interest, the Patchwork Girl:

“Forgive me for staring so rudely,” said the Scarecrow, “but you are the most beautiful sight my eyes have ever beheld.”

“That is a high compliment from one who is himself so beautiful,” murmured Scraps, casting down her suspender-button eyes by lowering her head.

Pugh points out that the two of them never develop this relationship further than flirtation, and heterosexuality is reduced to a “spectral presence” lacking the “erotic energy [driving] these queer narratives in their presence”. Specifically, Qrow never reveals a serious or long running heterosexual love interest - he is not the father! [of Ruby] (despite much speculation that he and Summer Rose were involved) and he and Winter never really moved past the stage of ‘hostility with just a hint of sexual tension’ - and there is no debunking of potential queerness. His interactions with Clover (deserving of an entire essay on its own) seem to support this interpretation, and is more or less a confirmation of some kind of queer inclination or identity. Again, the “queer utopia” of Oz comes at the cost of the expulsion of the sexual or the mere mention of reproduction - still, through this device, same-sex relationships gain a new kind of significance with the diminishing nature of heterosexuality. Speaking of queer narratives, the Scarecrow and the Tin Man have the most tender and prolonged relationship of perhaps all the characters in the series, exchanging a lifelong commitment:

“I shall return with my friend the Tin Woodman,” said the stuffed one seriously. “We have decided never to be parted in the future.”

Within the source material, the Tin Man and the Scarecrow voluntarily live together, and are life partners in nearly every sense of the word. The second book in the Oz series is The Tin Woodman of Oz. In summary, the Tin Woodman recalls that he had a fiancée before the events of the first book, forgot all about her, and now must search her out so that they can get married. Who does he ask to accompany him in this pursuit? None other than his no-homo life partner, the Scarecrow. Although this sounds like a stereotypical heteronormative storyline, “this utopian wonderland...rejects heterosexual procreation...First, the Tin Woodman does not desire...Nimmie Amee...” and even acknowledges that due to the ‘nature’ of the heart that the Wizard had given him, he is literally incapable of romantically or passionately loving or desiring Nimmie, and by extent, women in general - to me, that works perfectly as an allegory for a gay man who is literally incapable of experiencing legitimate heterosexual urges, but ‘soldiers on’ out of obligation and societally enforced chivalry. “The Tin Woodman excuses himself from the heteronormative imperative...Only his sense of masculine honor, rather than a heteronomratively masculine sex drive, impels the Tin Woodman on his quest to marry his long-lost fiancée.” Again, Ironwood’s character follows the lines of propriety within the sphere of the wealthy elite, and his persona as a high-ranking military man and politician, as well as the conservative values instilled within Atlas, prioritize duty and obligation. This kind of culture is stifling and in a lot of ways aloof, as the upper class deludes itself into believing that it is objectively better and more advanced than its neighboring territories. *ahem the myth of American exceptionalism ahem*

“There lived in the Land of Oz two queerly made men who were best of friends. They were so much happier when together that they were seldom apart.”

I think it’s funny that the characters that Ironwood and Qrow are based off of are canonically the closest of friends, who coexist almost as a unit. In contrast, the first introduction we get of Ironwood and Qrow is a hostile exchange where they’re at each other’s throats, never on the same page, and never in sync, not when it matters. Indeed, Qrow snaps at Ironwood for his lack of communication, which is a recurring issue between the two of them on notable occasions. If the source material is anything to go by, there should be a significant relationship between the two of them, or at least some kind of connection, even if it goes unspoken or unacknowledged. To be fair, in RWBY’s canon, I think there is.

I’ve seen this joke that while Qrow hates the Atlas military, the only people he really seems to flirt with is Atlas military personnel. “Ice Queen” is something I interpreted to be partially hostile, partially mocking, and partially flirtatious, in equal spades - the voice actors and creators have indicated that it was flirtatious, and there was a whole Chibi episode dedicated to the concept of Qrow and Winter’s extrapolated sexual tension, albeit in jest. I might argue that his use of abbreviates aren’t reserved for people he dislikes, but for people who bring out his playful side. “Brat”, “Pipsqueak”, “Firecracker”, and “Kiddos” are all drawn from a place of affection, however short or mocking it may seem, because that’s what crows do: they mock others.

Qrow has little nicknames for people; while it’s not exclusively a sign of affection, I do get the feeling that ‘Jimmy’ is an informality that irks Ironwood, but can also be interpreted as Qrow giving James what he needs, rather than what he wants.

Glynda is by no means a pushover, but in assuring him that while he does questionable things, he’s still a good person, she’s softening the blow and probably further enabling deeply rooted and pre-existing traits, many of which contribute to his problematic control complex. It is established early on that Qrow resents the military (as he should), and it is implied that he’s spent a fair amount of encounters harassing and provoking military personnel (Winter being the most evident example of this), and has insulted the military numerous times to Ironwood’s face. He lectures Ironwood about the way he conducts his operations, his inability to communicate, and basically what a complete, inconsiderate asshole he really is.

What Ironwood needs is someone who operates outside of the pretense that he works, breathes, and lives under, and just tells it like it is. Jimmy isn’t all that - he’s a person, just like the rest of us, and he can flaunt all the titles that he wants, but James stripped down is still just Jimmy.

Qrow also is the kind of person who pries, who is insistent, and not particularly sensitive. For someone like Ironwood who has a lot of (physical and emotional) barriers, logically, in order for him to receive genuine understanding, Qrow fits the profile of someone who is invasive but not exploitive, who sees past the cracks in his armor and takes him for what he is. What is just important is that whoever Ironwood is with is someone who makes him want to try not only to be better, but to be real; thematically, General Ironwood seems to have a great respect for but a deep struggle with authenticity. He clearly resents the ignorance and frivolity of Atlas’s wealthy elite, as evidenced by his support for Weiss at the dinner party in announcing that “she’s one of the only people making any sense around here”, while struggling to project the facade that he’s carefully created.

See, we don’t have evidence that there is something going on between Ironqood and Qrow so much as we have enough evidence to inconclusively say that there’s not not something going on. I think there’s enough evidence to support the idea that something could be going on, or was going on.

When Qrow saves Ironwood at the Battle of Beacon, who is under the false impression that Qrow believes him to be the culprit of the attacks, his eyes follow Qrow and we get a closer shot of his awed expression; we the viewer can only imagine what he sees as Qrow arcs through the air and slices down a Grimm from behind his back. The focus on Ironwood’s expression portrays something like shock (so Qrow wasn’t trying to attack me after all, but then what the hell is he doing?), maybe wonder (I can’t take my eyes off of him, I can’t look away), maybe respect (I know he’s a good Hunter, but I’ve rarely seen him in action), but it is unfiltered nonetheless. In a show where fight scenes are vital to the progression of the story itself, the dynamics of these fights are at their best when they are character driven, whether it is revealing or reinforcing something about the characters and their relationships, or it is deciding their fates. There’s something to be said about characters being given moments together in battles, and what that says about the significance of their relationship. The best example of this might be the battle between Blake and Yang vs Adam; it served to give Adam what he deserved, help Blake and Yang reach closure in certain aspects of their own trauma, and solidify the bond between the girls. Similarly, Qrow and Ironwood’s moment is meant to reveal a theme that will later be revisited in volume 7; trust. Ironwood is startled but not shocked when he believes that Qrow distrusts him to the degree of attacking him, and is ready to attack or defend as needed.

Qrow tells him what he needs to hear, more or less: YOU’RE A DUMBASS. Ironwood is, indeed, a dumbass. While he does extend the olive branch of trust and good will to CRWBY and co. this trust is highly conditional and proves to be, while from a place of desperation and sincerity, at least partially performative.

When Ironwood snaps, he snaps hard.

Amber’s voice actress tweeted early on, joking that Qrow has two Atlas boyfriends, and Arryn has made comments, too. It’s one of the older ships, and the crew is certainly aware of it (“...extended chest bump...”).

Kerry has stated that he finds the Ironqrow relationship interesting, and wishes it had been explored more (additionally, allegedly lobbying that Ironwood’s arm in the Ironqrow hug scene be slightly lower). I’m not saying that they’re going to both make it out alive, or canon, or even that romantic subtext was intentionally woven into the script. All I’m saying is that I think their relationship is interesting too, especially when the subtext of their source material relationship is taken into context, and the way their characters are positioned is suggestive of some sort of compatibility, even if it is a hit or miss kind of opportunity, and I have the sinking suspicion that it was missed on both accounts.

The Tin Woodman of Oz concludes,

“All this having been happily arranged, the Tin Woodman returned to his tin castle, and his chosen comrade, the Scarecrow, accompanied him on the way. The two friends were sure to pass many pleasant hours together in talking over their recent adventures, for as they neither ate nor slept they found their greatest amusement in conversation.”

Ironwood’s Repressed Characterization and the Inherent Chivalry of the Dictatorship

“I don’t give a damn about Jacque Schnee...what about the other two? Do not return to this office until you have Qrow Branwen in custody.”

“And that’s not all we’ve lost...I had Qrow in my hands, and I didn’t do what needed to be done.”

Observe: Ironwood, at this point, does not care about politics. I doubt he’s ever wanted to, or ever liked it (if his tired outburst at the dinner party is any indication) but his Knightly qualities (we’ll get to that) have, up till this point, prompted him to adhere to them for both power and etiquette. James surrounds himself in a world that he understands and despises; more than anything, he’d like to be a general, a commander, and the Knight in Shining Armor archetype, because warfare is something he understands. It is a testament to his (superhuman) willpower that he forces himself to become fluent in the language of politics, and to live and breathe in it. To clarify, Ironwood sees himself as a man who does what needs to be done; if he wants to change and control Atlas, he will have to involve himself in its politics.

Likely, his resilience has contributed to the way he views himself and what he deserves, as someone long-suffering and almost martyr-like, a silent hero doing what needs to be done. But at the moment, he’s lost his goddamn mind coming undone. He’s murdered and jailed his political dissent (and might have considered executing prisoners), but at this point, that’s all that Jacque and Robyn are to him. First he dismisses Jacque, narrows it down to the two escaped prisoners, and finally reveals what’s really on the forefront of his mind: Qrow, free and out of his hands.

[ When recalling this dialogue, please do so while imagining a bad recorder cover of the Titanic music playing over the background. Here is a sample. ]

In the most recent episode, Ironwood seems to have gone off the rails even further. The fact that Winter, his most faithful lieutenant, is losing her unshakable faith in him, says a lot about how hard he’s fallen off the deep end. In Winter’s mind, I think that she sees him almost as a surrogate father figure, or at least a patriarch who can be positively compared to Jacques in every way. The previous volumes go to lengths to compare the two as adversaries and showing James in a favorable light; Winter is in her own personal horror right now, because she is beginning to understand that Ironwood is a man who may not be her father but is just as susceptible to corruption, and may have been that kind of person all along. Skipping over the...ah, genocidal tendencies, and the fact that he’s proposing to kidnap Penny’s friends to force her to obey him and likely is starting to realize that Winter is the perfect bait (let’s just say that “Ironwood is not good with kids” is the understatement of the year) Ironwood wants Qrow back (in captivity), I think that it’s significant that while Ironwood registers that Robyn is gone as well, his first priority is Qrow, probably for two reasons. On one hand, he still refers to Qrow by his first name, instead of the formal Branwen. Of course, that doesn’t have to mean anything at all. They’re colleagues within the same age range, both members of the same secret brotherhood and similiar skill sets.

On the other hand, it reminds me of the moment when Qrow and the kids first fly into Atlas, and they see the heightened security, and Qrow mutters, “James...what have you been doing,” under his breath, sounding concerned, apprehensive. He’s not addressing the kids, he’s talking to himself; he regards James much more seriously both as a potential threat and a friend than he’d rather the other know, and I think that James’ focus on Qrow at this point is similiar, only not only is this a sign of them knowing each other well, but of Ironwood’s slipping control. He offered Qrow his trust and camaraderie, his last attempt to keep a handle on his humanity (or, his heart). Qrow, in return, withheld vital information, got close with another operative instead, then allegedly killed him and and escaped ‘rightful’ imprisonment.

The Tin Man is offering Qrow his heart, at least proof of it, and the Scarecrow [and co.] steps back to observe the situation, and assesses that no, what you are going to do is wrong, and I cannot agree with it.

Ironwood is not an objective person, as much as he wants to be. He’s angry, desperate, scared, and humiliated. Worst of all, he’s rebuffed, and he’s taking Qrow’s escape personally. First, he understands that Qrow is a threat. He’s Ozpin’s best agent, he has years of field experience, and he knows too much, probably more than James knows. Second, they have history.

My personal interpretation of Ironwood is something this:

He’s a sad, sad, lonely bitch. What Ironwood longs for, just like his source material counterpart, is a heart. He will go to any lengths to achieve this, because he believes that he has self awareness and therefore is able to check and balance himself. He treats his subordinates well, is diplomatic, skilled in a variety of trades, fighting the good fight, and longs for the affirmation that yes, he is a good person, and yes, he’s had a heart all along. He just strays from the path, and loses his way.

This is symbolically represented by his partially mechanic exoskeleton; we have no idea how far the cyborg extremities extend, or how deep, but we do get the visual notion of humanity in conflict, or a man’s soul deconstructed and split between the cold efficiency of machinery and the very real warmth of a human body. Ironwood wants to appear human, and benevolent, and genuine, and in return, loved; he is human, and he could be all of these things. If my reliance on the source material holds any merit (although I highly doubt it), then there is also a potential struggle with sexuality, (Glynda herself even explicitly and exasperatedly references a testosterone battle between Ironwood and Qrow, suggesting a regular overassertation of masculinity) and a further incentive to achieve love and subsequent acceptance.

To clarify, I do believe that there were less-than-subtle allusions to Ironwood and Glynda having a vaguely flirtatious history, taking their shared scenes and background dancing into account, but this, again, does not “debunk” the presence of queerness within a narrative; it could be an assumption of heterosexuality, or performative itself, or just not an exclusive interest. Besides, Ironwitch isn’t what this essay is about. I’m not trying to persuade or dissuade someone of the notion that Jimmy is gay, or straight, or something else, only that the potential ambiguity exists. What I do think is most important is that James doesn’t openly ward people away, not when those people aren’t under his command and are technically outside of his jurisdiction. He’s friendly with Glynda, tries to extend trust to Qrow, is kind to people in the aftermath of battle, and overall clings to diplomacy as his first weapon. He wants to be accepted, to be liked, and to be welcomed. This is not an outrageous want, nor is it uncommon. Unfortunately, Ironwood’s understanding of love and acceptance is entangled within the concept of control, and he associates unquestioned compliance with this Want.

Ironwood’s introduction into the series shows him being openly cordial, and very considerate, especially his interactions with Glynda and Ozpin. He’s a gentleman, he’s apologetic, and, as Glynda assures him, he’s a “good man”. She doesn’t really elaborate on what a “good man” is, exactly, but we might presume that a “good man” is a person with good intentions, who strives to do what’s right, regardless of his options.

Here’s the thing - one similarity between Ironwood and the Tin Man is that they both have the capacity to love, but they fool themselves into thinking that they don’t; before the Wizard gives him a ‘heart’, the Tin Man suggests that he is only kind and considerate to everyone in Oz because he believes he needs to overcompensate for what he lacks, and is therefore doubly aware of how he treats others. However, the Wizard knows no real magic, only tricks and illusions, and what he gives the Tin Man is essentially a placebo that enables the Tin Man to act towards and feel about others the exact same as he always had, only with the validation that what he feels is authentic. Similarly, Ironwood has always had the option to be empathetic and not fucking crazy open to collaboration, which he’s very aware of, until his own paranoia cuts into his rationality and compels him to cut himself off from all allies and alternative perspectives. He then uses his difficult position and responsibilities to justify unjustifiable actions, to rationalize irrational urges, and to gaslight and brainwash his subordinates into compliance.

The Tin Woodman knew very well he had no heart, and therefore he took great care never to be cruel or unkind to anything.

“You people with hearts,” he said, “have something to guide you, and need never do wrong; but I have no heart, and so I must be very careful. When Oz gives me a heart of course I needn’t mind so much.”

Qrow sees through this, however, and not only seems incapable of following orders himself, but disrupts the decorum that Ironwood is used to. In return, I think we see a little more of James that he’d like to reveal.

“If you were one of my men, I’d have you shot!”

“If I was one of your men, I’d shoot myself!”

In case this entire ass essay doesn’t make it obvious, I do really ship Ironqrow. I’m open to other pairings, definitely, but this one in particular is just more interesting to me. It feels more revealing, more subtle. I have more questions.

In hindsight, maybe the dialogue example above ^ didn’t age well, considering where they’re at, but I do like how their professional animosity is flavored with a kind of camaraderie, and understanding. This exchange isn’t exactly playful, but they’re taking each other seriously - and, like repressed schoolboys, taking the piss at each other in a childish way, and isn’t that part of the fun of banter, when they’re so focused on each other that they forget to act their age? In a lot of ways, this is a really fun dynamic to watch. They’re opposite-kind-of-people, which I like, at least on a superficial level, and I can easily imagine them tempering each other in ways that would make them ultimately happier people.

They even look well-coordinated, with similar color schemes that lean on the opposite sides of the shared spectrum (white, grays, reds and black); I think the decorative design on Qrow’s new sleeves are supposed to be more ornate simply to communicate that Qrow is committed, and willing to be sentimental, but some viewers have suggested that it resembles the pattern on James’ weapon, Due Process (the revolver is based off of the Tin Man’s pistol, although, curiously, in The Wizard of Oz, the Scarecrow was the only character to carry a pistol, and the commentaries suggest that the 2007 Tin Man miniseries was the “basis of the allusion”. Does that mean anything? I don’t know. Probably not.). Still, it raises the questions: who was in charge of designing the team’s new clothes and gear? How much input did Atlas get, and was this intentional? Personally, I think that the vine-like pattern on Qrow’s sleeves also bear a resemblance to Ozpin’s staff, a subtle reaffirmation and foreshadowing of his allegiance in contrast to Ironwood, but I digress.

They can also deliver that UST kind of banter that takes up their attention, and get up really close to each other, in each other’s faces, and just be pissed, which I think is very sexy of them, mhm. Enemies to Colleagues to Reluctant Friends to Lovers is a trope that I very much appreciate. Gaining some sort of common ground at the Battle of Beacon only to reunite, tired and battered, after the shit has already hit the fan? Slow burn kinda vibes.

That hug between them was something genuinely vulnerable and a sign of Ironwood letting his guard down because he is tired as fuck. It also was uh...kinda fruity.

Ironwood approaches closer, and Qrow scratches the back of his head, a characteristically nervous gesture that he’s made before; it’s a nervous twitch, manufactured nonchalance. He has no idea what Ironwood wants, but he does know that Ironwood wants something. James is the one to initiate the hug, and Qrow startles and even freezes up before relaxing into it. He seems suprised, but gives the bisexual eye roll of grudging fondness. This is out of character for James - Jimmy - but Qrow doesn’t think that Ironwood is a bad person. He leans into the hug, and the camera cuts out before they separate, suggesting that they probably end up standing there for a long ass time. You can also see from the side shots that it’s a close hug; their torsos are pressed up against each other, front to front, and there’s not a lot of wiggle room. James must be really goddamn depressed. It’s a long, manly, intensley heterosexual hug. Like I said, kinda fruity.

Other people have analyzed the hug shot for shot, so I won’t get too into it, but I think that it was intentionally left as a double red herring; some people thought that maybe he bugged Qrow, and after finding out that he didn’t, we were forced to conclude that this is a genuine olive branch. To find out that Ironwood is sincere but was still susceptible to corruption is that second subversion that I didn’t really expect. I hadn’t prepared myself for it, at least, and neither did Qrow. I wouldn’t go as far to say that Ironwood’s descent into fucking craziness paranoia is triggered by Qrow not ‘reciprocating’ or something, but I do think it’s interesting how the volume opens up with a signifigant interaction between Ironwood and Qrow, only for Qrow to spend the rest of the volume homosexually bonding with Clover, while Ironwood basically has no one as emotional support (again, his subordinates do not have the power or the place to be viewed as equals and the veil of formality is one of isolation). Qrow initiates nothing further, and nothing further happens.

Ironwood’s downfall, in a thematic sense, is that what he Needs is a heart, and when he gets that chance to demonstrate tolerance and empathy, James ultimately rejects his Need (a heart) and his arc reverts into one of villainy. To be specific, Ironwood is essentially a fascist dick, and that is not very sexy. (Speaking of dicks, the thought of Ironwood’s dick makes me laugh. I bet in the RWBY universe, people have made memes about that. I do not accept criticism because I am correct. Anyway,).

Dictators are charming, charismatic, and one of the pillars of their method is absorbing potential political opponents into their own administration to reduce the threat of rebellion, to appear openly tolerant to their supporters, and to further consolidate power. A good example of this would be Mean Girls, which runs on a comedic commentary of dictatorships as a political structure of power. I hate to compare James Ironwood to Regina George, but Regina’s posse includes Karen and Gretchen, two of the only girls who might take away from the authority she holds over the rest of their school, both in their wealth and attractiveness, and Cady’s interesting backstory and conventional attractiveness is the main reason Regina draws her into her own sphere - because she detects a potential threat. Much in the same way, while Ironwood likely has good intentions, his efforts to win over team RWBY and co. - including Qrow himself - is a logical way to consolidate resources. His willingness, at first, to cooperate with political opponents (ie Robyn) is because he’s not inherently evil, and he has nothing to lose. It’s when he is openly opposed and diplomatic gestures no longer hold the necessary weight that he snaps.

In one really interesting meta about Ironqrow’s archetypes (that I reread occasionally just because I really love it), @onewomancitadel posits that Ironwood is framed within the archetype of the Knight in Shining Armor, which should inform us of the moral consistency of his character. The meta was written around the beginning of volume 7, I think, and obviously we have a lot more character development and information to go off of now, but I think she makes a really interesting point about the nature of parallels and how that might help drive Ironwood as a character. I love her analysis of the visual of Ironwood stepping out of an airship wreckage, onto the street, the smoke billowing around him to reveal his cyborg prosthetics, and of the intentional framing. Once his uniform is stripped back, we see a man who is literally half-armor, which could be indicative of a lot of things. He’s emotionally guarded, he’s used as a human weapon, and he wants to be a line of defense. In her words, “The symbolism is really obviously put into perspective of his actions in trying to do the right thing: in the flesh (his true physical self) he is literally a knight in shining armour. From the ground up. Even if it's unseen or distorted by his uniform, his nature is still true.”

While Ironwood clearly has gone down a darker path in the most recent volume, I think this analysis holds true in a crucial way. “Ironwood is working with different information, and he’s doing exactly what he knows: stick to his knightly virtues, even disgraced.” Disgraced, indeed. Ironwood is holding onto his knightly values, and doing what he believes is right. If not right, he believes that it is necessary. The problem is that these values are manifested within Atlas’s sociopolitical-military culture in an inherently toxic way - his response is, at this point, neither rational nor empathetic, but it can be explained partially due to his cultural (flawed) understanding of justice, and because of the extenuating circumstances. The harsher the conditions become, the more difficult it is for anyone to project a facade that is not sincere at its core. If James is to uphold his Knightly virtues, he needs to be a protector, a leader, and a servant all at once while operating under limited intel with dwindling trust. All he has left are the few key players still in his grasp, and the control of the people he is responsible for.

To digress: generally, knights take an oath. It could be to a King, or Lord, or some noble, but Knights are supposed to operate on a code of honor, and chivalry, and to uphold these values throughout the land as an extension of whoever they have pledged themselves to. The story of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is a really good example of the way that, back in the day, chivalry and honor was supposed to place knights on a moral high ground compared to the common people.

In the middle of a celebration in Camelot, an obligatory tradition that has since lost real value but is rehearsed because Camelot fears that failure to uphold traditions that once had meaning is disrespectful, a Green Knight interrupts the celebrations and offers a strange challenge that boils down to a fight to the death. Gawain volunteers because accepting this challenge is what is expected of him, and Arthur would be humiliated if his knights, supposedly the best in the world, would not rise to the challenge. Gawain - and to a certain extent, the rest of Arthur’s knights - are fickle, in a sense, because their adherence to this code is performative, and it allows them to delude themselves into moral superiority and lie both to the commoners and amongst themselves; their identity as knights is based on a falsehood. Gawain is offered the first blow, and after beheading the Green newcomer, is horrified to see him become reanimated and immune to mortal blows. He invites Gawain to receive his own - likely fatal - blow, and gives him a time in which to meet, before promptly leaving.

Throughout the story, Gawain is tested in a variety of ways - in his final test, he fails, and allows his greed for self preservation and the fear of death to lead him to lie to his hosts and proceed to his meeting with the Green Knight under dishonest pretenses. While he is spared at the last second and becomes a better person (after it is revealed that Morgan le Fay orchestrated the ordeal to spook Queen Guinevere) - and by extent, a truer Knight, by the end of the story, the superficial and hypocritical nature of Arthur’s court is still in question, and still unanswered.

See, the entirety of Gawain’s trials was a test, not necessarily for him, but for Arthur and his court as a whole. Morgan wanted to prove the fickle nature of Arthur’s knights. The Knights of the Round Table were considered the best in the land, and to discredit one was to discredit all. What use is tradition if the meaning is empty, what use is chivalry if it is performed for reward instead of merit, and what use is loyalty if it is blind and unearned? Returning to Oz, the Tin Woodman, or Tin Man, grew to be made of tin because his axe became enchanted by the Wicked Witch of the East to sever his own body parts instead of the lumber he tried to cut down. A nearby tinsmith replaced each amputated limb with one of metal, until his entire body became tin and his meat body had been entirely discarded. Something to note is that Nick Chopper’s, (General Ironwood’s) wounds are technically self-inflicted. Each time he swung his axe, he made the decision to continue, knowing of the end result each time. In losing his bodily functions, the Tin Man believed that he had lost his humanity and ability to love.

The tragedy of his origin story draws a pointed correlation to Ironwood’s current dilemma; his unwillingness to stop, his self-imposed isolation, playing into the hands of the witch, and finally, the decision to let go of his ability to love remain consistent throughout both stories.

Watts even refers to Ironwood as a “Tin Solider”; a reference to the Tin (Woods)Man, no doubt, but could also evoke a soldier clanking around in metal armor. Ironwood is a Knight in Shining Armor, through and through. He wants to save the world, but at the terrible cost of civilian autonomy and possibly life. The problem is that he’s pledged himself to a discriminatory and hypocritical system, and his code is something that can easily be misconstrued by fear ( @disregardcanon ), much as Gawain’s own values. The Tin Man is, after all, still a man, and if we’ve learned anything from real fairytales, it is that men are fallible, whether or not they are made of metal.

Ironwood, Alone

he’s a lonely bitch

I know I f- up, I'm just a loser

Shouldn't be with ya, guess I'm a quitter

While you're out there drinkin', I'm just here thinkin'

'Bout where I should've been

I've been lonely, mm, ah, yeah

— Benee, Supalonely (2019)

You do get the sense that Ironwood is riddled with self-loathing conflicting with pride, with self-doubt clashing with competence, and that he is the kind of person who longs for things without verbalizing. Maybe his dad never paid enough attention to him as a kid. Maybe he suffered some terrible physical and emotional trauma, which might as well be assumed, given the extensive nature of his cybernetic limbs. Maybe (probably) he’d be more well-adjusted and would’ve made better decisions if the people around him trusted him and were a little more open. To be fair, though, he is the one at the wheel, and he is making the calls; no one else is to blame for his mistakes, and to pretend otherwise is to deny him accountability. I think we do enough of that in everyday life, in excusing powerful men of their responsibilities. To his credit, I do think he wants to help people. I think James also wants to project the personality of a leader who is stoic, controlled, and measured. He is charming when he wants to be, sympathetic when it suits him, and influential in just the right areas. He is not a sociopath, but he is a politician, and in a lot of ways, those are the same thing. We see in his brief flashes of temper, often prompted by Qrow, or most notably by Oscar, that this is not a calm, stable person. This is someone is on the verge of exploding, who is so fucking angry that he is not in control that it’s killing him, and so he is going to lash out and kill the things that are not within his grip. If the people beneath him will not reciprocate the heart that he offers, then he has no real use of it. James Ironwood does not begin this story as a bad person. This is a tragedy, in however many parts it takes.

I read, in one very smart and very put-together analysis that I cannot find and properly credit at the moment, that part of Ironwood’s (many) failures can be seen in Winter, and how, like Ozpin, he has appointed a woman as his talented, no-nonsense, second chain in command at his right hand. In this way, Winter is an intentional parallel to Glynda, who is, without question, a bad bitch. In theory, surrounding yourself with strong individuals is a demonstration of self restraint, in implementing your own checks and balances. James wants to project that he is powerful, yes, but he is reasonable.

I take this to mean that, to some degree, even if it’s unintentional or subconscious, Winter serves to boost Ironwood’s ego.

The issue with this is that within the inherently hierarchical structure of the military, Winter cannot question, undermine, or challenge Ironwood in a way that is particularly meaningful and their relationship is one of commander and subordinate before colleagues or equals (link to a fantastic post about Winter’s role as the Good, Conscientious Soldier by @fishyfod). Whereas Glynda is free to argue with, converse, and be as combative as she needs to be with Ozpin (although their power dynamic is arguably one of commander and subordinate albeit informally), Winter cannot temper Ironwood effectively, and through the illusion of equality, Ironwood is further isolated.

His head and arms and legs were jointed upon his body, but he stood perfectly motionless, as if he could not stir at all.

Dorothy looked at him in amazement, and so did the Scarecrow, while Toto barked sharply and made a snap at the tin legs, which hurt his teeth.

“Did you groan?” asked Dorothy.

“Yes,” answered the tin man, “I did. I’ve been groaning for more than a year, and no one has ever heard me before or come to help me.”

The Tin Man needs oil to lubricate his joints; without it, he cannot move, and he is rendered helpless and inanimate. When Dorothy and the group find him, he is entirely isolated with no one in sight, and he has been there for such a long time that he has begun to rust. Similarly, Ironwood needs valued voices of dissent to keep him in check. His colleagues were able to serve that purpose in the beginning, and out of them, Qrow is the best example of someone who doesn't take his shit, openly questions him, and looks down on the performative decorum of the military culture that Ironwood is surrounded by. What Ironwood needs is to be flexible and adaptable; his Semblance, Mettle (heh, metal, very nice pun, RoosterTeeth), is a double edged sword in that it gives him supernatural focus and willpower - enough, perhaps, to flay/chop off your own limbs - but it blindsides him, and is only further prolonging his pain.

There is a lot of sympathy to Ironwood’s character, as much as I’ve ragged on him for being an authoritarian, kind of a dick, and bad with kids. There are moments, such as the previously mentioned dinner party, where he shows his colors a bit, and when he assures the students at the Vytal Festival that there’s no shame in leaving before the battle begins, and in giving Yang a prosthetic arm before her father even has to ask. As far as Generals go, it seems that he’s seen soldiers come and go and understands, at least in his best moments, that not everyone is the same, and not everyone has power of unflinching determination to rely on. Ironwood performs his best when he tempers himself because he understands himself, and others. It’s when he fails to self-reflect that his hypocrisy shows through. Glynda points it out, too, as does Qrow; Ironwood advocates for trust but often fails to give it himself, going behind Ozpin’s back, being absolutely shit at field communication, and now the whole fascist, borderline-genocidal keruffle he’s gotten himself into.

I think that Ironwood reaching out to Qrow was his ethical last stand, his last chance and conscious effort to choose the right path. Qrow is unequivocally an equal, not like how Ozpin is the Big Boss, the authority that James becomes disillusioned with and tries to overthrow. He wants someone to trust, desperately so, and Qrow wants that too, but narrative subversion has hands. The Scarecrow and the Tin Man have no brain and heart respectively, and are in need of them. As it turns out, Qrow is actually a pragmatic guy with solid principles angled against authoritarianism, and Ironwood is a dick who would rather enforce martial law than to empathize and tame his military-shaped boner for one second.

I might conclude that someone like Qrow might be best for Ironwood, but that does not mean that someone like Ironwood would be the best for Qrow. Qrow has a brain after all, but Ironwood does not choose his heart when it matters, case in point. Even the intro of the current season features Salem and Ironwood on a chessboard; his white pieces are disappearing, dissolving into dust, as hers transform into Grimm. Ironwood is isolating himself by depleting himself of allies. As this post by @hadesisqueer points out, Ironwood isn’t even positioned as King, the supposed commander, but the Queen, the most versatile player on the board that is so far underused, since he hasn’t moved from his spot. Ironwood’s refusal to unify against Salem is his failure to strategically utilize the best resources that were available to him; soon, the pieces will be swallowed by the dark.

James is guilty of something that a lot of us are guilty of: doing a Bad Thing for what we have convinced ourselves is a Good Reason, when in reality, it is actually a lot of Very Bad Reasons. James Ironwood is a Knight archetype, through and through, and he is charging forward to do the right thing. He is afraid, he is lying to himself, and he will never surrender.

“All the same,” said the Scarecrow, “I shall ask for brains instead of a heart; for a fool would not know what to do with a heart if he had one.”

“I shall take the heart,” returned the Tin Woodman; “for brains do not make one happy, and happiness is the best thing in the world.”

Dorothy did not say anything, for she was puzzled to know which of her two friends was right, and she decided if she could only get back to Kansas and Aunt Em, it did not matter so much whether the Woodman had no brains and the Scarecrow no heart, or each got what he wanted.

The lesson of James Ironwood is a lesson of failure, and of the way that we succumb to fear, because that is Salem’s agenda, really, in the end: fear. It’s the negative emotions, fear being first and foremost, that draw in and empower the Grimm, and it’s fear and uncertainty that causes chaos. It is when Dorothy’s friends give into their fear that they are truly defeated. FDR’s assertion that “The only thing to fear is fear itself” holds true here; it’s not so much that these characters are afraid of losing their lives, their loved ones, and of the dark, but that they do not have the love or the resources to be brave for themselves or for others.

Qrow as a character is introduced as one who is already defeated, in a sense. Half of his team is gone, dead or estranged, he’s forced into the shadows of espionage to protect a world he knows is darker than it should be, and he’s fighting a losing battle with alcoholism. As charismatic as he’s written, he’s referred to as a “dusty old crow”, a hunter of renowned skill but past the prime of his life.

Dorothy’s three titular companions are defined by what they lack; in the same vein of the Disney I Want song (a main character’s main monologue song in which their wants and desires that motivate them throughout the rest of the film is laid out in song; ie Part of Your World, Reflections, How Far I’ll Go), the Lion, Tin Man, and the Scarecrow want bravery, a heart, and a brain respectively. RWBY relies on flipping the script of its characters based on what the audience might expect from the source material; Ruby is not just a helpless little girl - her introduction is a badass with a scythe. The Scarecrow is a chronic alchoholic. Cinderella is a victim of abuse, and is also a villain who wants to set the world aflame. Subversion, subversion, subversion.

There are obviously parallels between the characters in RWBY and in their own fairytales to keep them in character, and part of the fun is spotting those clues and occasionally connecting the dots to anticipate the direction of the narrative and certain connections between characters and the significance of their arcs. While I’m not aware of Dorothy Gale’s RWBY counterpart, if she has already been established or is yet to be introduced, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to assume that Ruby has adopted a Dorothy-eque persona and can act as a surrogate in a way. She begins as a sweet, naive child eager to join a world of color and excitement, who initially believes that she has “normal knees” and is thrust into a political scheme full of powerful and older players. She even has a small dog as a companion, Toto Zwei, who seems like an odd addition, since he’s usually sidelined and basically forgotten about except in a few spare moments, unless he’s there to draw further comparisons to Dorothy. She may not be from Kansas, but she is first helped by Glynda (the Good Witch), and later expects assistance from Ozpin, Qrow, and the later Ozian counterparts. I find it a peculiar detail that for Ruby to be Little Red Riding Hood alone, she is surrounded specifically by Dorothy’s companions. This, of course, only increases the importance of the relevance of the Oz series in particular and the characters that are borrowed.

In the case of Ozpin’s inner circle, Dorothy’s closest comrades (sans Toto) differ in crucial ways to their source material. (After finishing this essay, I found a much better, condensed explanation by @neopoliitan )

Disillusioned by the Ozpin, the Wizard (who has been projecting an illusion of a failsafe) and overwhelmed by the rise of the Wicked Witch of the West, Lionhart (the Lion), gives into his cowardice and ultimately forgoes the arc and redemption of his character from the source material; as such, he is by all definitions, a failure and a premonition, as Ironwood eventually follows. If RWBY is a dark take on classic fairytales, then it is only fitting that these characters are charred husks of their fairytale selves - these are people, and some people are selfish, scared, and cowardly, and they do not overcome these traits.

This is all opinion based, pure speculation. I have no idea what will happen in the next episode, and whatever goes down will be...shit will hit the fan. I’m under no delusions that Ironqrow is going to be canon in a healthy, tender, endgame sense. They’re both kind of losing their minds, and Ironwood is shitting absolute bricks. No, they’re going to try to kill each other, and I personally cannot wait for Qrow to cleave this man in two. (Not sexually, just, literally. Like, with a scythe.)

On that note, I think that the RWBY writers are good at callbacks, at drawing attention to their own connections, and if Ironwood and Qrow’s inevitable confrontation is scheduled, then it will include visual callbacks to Qrow saving James at Beacon, maybe shot for shot. Their visuals have only gotten better as time goes on, and I imagine Ironwood’s eyes widening as Qrow leaps through the air, scythe drawn, in recal of a moment so long ago when they weren’t on the same page, but they were at least on the same side. When Qrow brings the blade down, there will be no enemy behind him. Only Jimmy James. The difference between the two of them will be that Qrow isn’t fighting out of fear, but out of love, for what happened to Clover, and to what could happen to his girls.

Qrow’s reliance on alcohol, as well as his (mostly) feigned nonchalance is meant to fit with the motif that the Scarecrow has no brain, and, had he a mind to desire anything, would desire it most of all. His role is, also, notably, gathering intelligence for Ozpin (his character is also based on Munnin from Norse mythology). There is so much about Qrow that is an act and so much that is not, and I think that this act is born both from this motif and from his own cynicism, and the alcohol contributes to this act. However, he eventually gets sober after Ruby expresses legitimate frustration, and he understands that he’s putting their lives at risk. While one could say that he gave up drinking for the kids, I would argue that the kids - Ruby in particular - made him want to give up drinking for himself, to better himself.

While Lionhart and Ironwood betray the people depending on them, Qrow’s love for his nieces (and for the kids) allows him to deviate from this pattern. The answer to fear is perhaps not merely bravery - Qrow’s triumph is love.

Ironwood knows triumph in the context of a military state, but he’s backed himself into a corner. Soon he will find himself alone and friendless. Hopefully, his last stand will not be in vain.

[madpanda75]

“Taking Chances Part 9: Love, Tequila, and Ice Cream”

And we’re back!!!!! So to give you a brief recap, Rafael and the reader left the Carisi house in a huff after the reader gave Sonny “the slap heard around the world.” Find out what happens next in this latest chapter. Words are said, sexy times happen. It’s fluffy, smutty fun....for now 😉💕

NSFW: Sex by the fireplace! Can ya’ dig it??? 😜💥🔥

Rafael adjusted his grip on the steering wheel as he drove across the Verrazano Bridge. Occasionally he would glance over at you sitting in the passenger seat with your head down and your hands gently folded in your lap. 

Rafael cleared his throat. “So should we go to my place or yours?”

You grunted out a monotone syllable in response.

“Ok, your place it is,” he said with a sigh, turning on the blinker and making a right turn towards your apartment.

Once back at your place, you immediately went to the living room and started a fire. Your apartment may have been a shoebox, but the wood burning fireplace was a definite perk. When you first moved in, the notion of a struggling artist pouring her heart and soul onto the canvas beside a roaring fire seemed romantic and bohemian. 

While you stroked the flames to life, Rafael stood there with his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Cold night, huh?” He inwardly cringed at having been reduced to commenting on the weather.

“Mmhmm,” you replied.

“Two syllables. That’s progress,” he thought. Maybe by the end of the night, you would utter an actual word. After several minutes of deafening silence, he made yet another feeble attempt at conversation. “Your mom is a wonderful cook.”

“Hmmm,” you grunted.

“That’s it. I can’t take it anymore.” Rafael crouched down next to you and took your face in his hands, forcing you to meet his gaze. Your eyes were still shiny with tears, your nose bright red. 

It was the first time since leaving your parents’ house that you had looked at him or even acknowledged his presence apart from the occasional mumble. “I know this afternoon was a complete disaster, but I can’t take this anymore. Please say something. Anything.”

Your bottom lip quivered before blurting out, “He cheated on me!” As soon as the words escaped your lips, you crumbled into a heap on the floor, sobbing. 

Rafael gathered you into his arms, running his hands through your hair, rocking back and forth. You clung to him, wetting his brand new Tom Ford dress shirt. But neither of you could care less. After all, he knew what it was like to be betrayed.  Once you calmed down, he asked, “So tequila or ice cream?” 

“Both,” you replied with a hiccup and a very loud unladylike sniffle.

Rafael got up and walked over to your kitchen to grab the bottle of Tequila Ocho Reposado you had hidden in your cupboard behind the cheap stuff before rummaging in your freezer for the pint of Haagen-Dazs’ Chocolate Chocolate Chip. He smiled when he saw the post-it note you had left on the frozen dessert.

“This ice cream is the personal property of Y/N Carisi. DO NOT TOUCH OR PREPARE TO MEET A VIOLENT SUDDEN DEATH!” 

He handed you a spoon and a glass. “Why do you have a death threat on your ice cream?” 

“Sometimes Teresa or Gina crash here after partying or a bad date. They’re notorious for stealing my secret stash of junk food.” You pulled the cork out of the tequila bottle with your teeth and drank straight from the bottle. 

Several smooth swigs of alcohol and an unfortunate brain freeze later, you and Rafael sat in front of the fire and swapped war stories. Although he had briefly mentioned being cheated on by his childhood ex-girlfriend, Yelina; tonight he shared more with you than he ever had with anyone. How heartbroken he was. The humiliation. How after such a betrayal he wondered if he ever could trust someone ever again. 

Likewise, you felt safe enough to stop skirting around the ex situation and finally tell the truth about Theo. “We were supposed to go to some bakery in Staten Island to sample cakes for our wedding, but Theo told me he wasn’t feeling well and asked if we could reschedule. I didn’t think anything of it at the time.” You snorted a laugh as you scraped the last bit of ice cream out of the container. “How stupid was I?”

“Hey, don’t talk about my girlfriend that way.” Rafael wiped away a spot of chocolate chocolate chip ice cream on the corner of your mouth with his thumb. 

“Later on that day, I came home with some ribollita and tea.”

“Ribollita?” 

“It’s an Italian bread and vegetable soup. My mom would make it for us whenever we’re sick or sad,” you explained. 

“When I walked inside, I saw a trail of clothes and heard a girl’s giggle coming from down the hall. I followed the sound, opened the bedroom door, and saw him with Lacey. The 21 year old bimbo who worked at the dry cleaners down the street,” you said in such a bitter tone that Rafael could feel the acerbic bite in his bones. Hell hath no fury than a woman scorned.

 “It had been going on for months. Apparently, she had been doing way more than spot treatments and pressing his pants. I dumped the soup on his 500 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, threw the ring at his forehead, and left. He never followed me. He never fought for us.” You shook your head and took another shot of tequila when your phone began to buzz and dance across the floor. It was your brother. Since leaving your parents’ house he had called ten times-- a new record for him.

Rafael watched as you shut off your phone and tossed it over to the couch. While Sonny was not his favorite person by any means, he knew how important your brother was to you. The last thing he wanted out of this relationship was to come between you and your family. Not only did he firmly believe they would despise him for it, but above all else he had a gnawing fear that you would resent him for driving that wedge. “You know, you’re going to have to talk to him eventually.”

You scoffed, “I never want to speak to Sonny again. I hate him.”

“That’s not true and you know it.”

You rolled your eyes. As usual Rafael was right, but that didn’t mean you had to give in and be the first person to offer an olive branch. Sonny was a colossal jerk and he needed to learn a lesson. 

“He’s just looking out for you,” Rafael continued. “In his own sick and twisted way.”

You arched a brow at your boyfriend. “So how much did you overhear when Sonny and I were in the kitchen?”

Rafael shrugged and averted his gaze, suddenly incredibly fascinated with the  pattern on your rug. “Not much. Snippets really.”

“So pretty much all of it?”

“Pretty much,” he confirmed. “Did...did you ever love him?” 

There was a pregnant pause before you responded. Rafael stared into the fire, watching the flames dance and flicker, unable to face you. Of course he already knew the answer was yes. You were a hopeless romantic. But the idea of you loving another man, planning a future with them, made his stomach knot up.

 “I thought I did once. But it was different. I can see that now.”

Rafael nodded thoughtfully and grabbed the ice cream carton and bottle of tequila to take back into the kitchen. “How so?” 

“Theo and I grew up together. We were childhood sweethearts. The only reason we got engaged is because that’s what people expected of us. It was the next step. But looking back, I realized I was complacent and complacency does not equal love.” 

You glanced over at a picture on the coffee table of you and Rafael. You had taken it one lazy Sunday morning in bed, Rafael was kissing your cheek, his bed head sticking out in all directions while you were laughing hysterically. What the picture didn’t capture was that he was tickling that one spot right under your ribcage. You smiled fondly at that happy moment frozen in time.  “Love should be scary. It’s taking chances. It’s thrilling. I never felt that with Theo. I feel all those things when I’m with you. I love you.”

Rafael walked back into the living room, completely stunned by your declaration. “What did you say?”

“I love you?” you said with a shrug, feeling a wave of nerves. Perhaps you had jumped the gun.

Rafael plopped down on the rug beside you. He had realized early on in the relationship that he loved you, but always chalked it up to indigestion and brushed his feelings aside. He never believed you would reciprocate so soon. “Are you sure?” He turned towards you and cupped your face. “This isn’t just the tequila and ice cream talking. You’re not drunk or on a raging sugar high?”

You giggled and mimicked his movements, cupping his cheeks. “I promise I am not under any influence of any kind. I love you, Rafael Barba. With every fiber of my being, I love you.” 

A tear slipped down your cheek which he brushed away. “I love you too.” He leaned forward and captured your lips with a kiss. Parting your mouth with his tongue, his touch was gentle yet commanding. Your toes were beginning to curl.

A heat crept up your body and you started to undo the top few buttons of your dress. Out of the corner of his eye, Rafael spied a flash of emerald green against your skin and stopped his ministrations.

“What’s the matter?” you asked out of breath.

He ignored your question and tugged your dress aside a little more, revealing the silk emerald green corset. The corset that you had taunted him with when you invited him to lunch on Sunday. The corset that he had envisioned ripping to shreds with his teeth.

You giggled and blushed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “With all the drama, I forgot I had this on.”

“You mean...you wore this to church?” 

You slowly nodded your head. “And to my parents’ house.”

Rafael was already rock hard, but now he was on the brink of coming in his pants at the mere thought of you wearing this sinful lingerie underneath your demure dress all day-- piously praying at St. Thomas; helping your mother with her marinara sauce in the kitchen. “Stand up so I can see you better,” he gruffly commanded.

You obeyed and slowly went back to the task of removing your dress. “Stop,” he said and replaced your hands with his. “Let me.”

Your heart was hammering in your chest at his request. A tiny whimper escaped your throat as he peeled your dress off. Rafael’s hands were trembling with each button. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen you naked before, but this time felt different. He was nervous. Locking eyes with you, he could see you were nervous too.

Once your clothes were shed, he drank you in from head to toe--from how that particular shade of green complimented your skin, to your hard nipples poking through the silk and lace, all the way down to the black thigh high stockings connected to your garters. “Eres perfecta,” he whispered, his eyes half-hooded with lust as he began to take off his clothes.

You grabbed his hands, effectively stopping him. “Allow me.” You arched your brow and began shedding layer after layer. You took your time, running your hands over his exposed flesh, feeling his firm muscles beneath your palms. 

Completely lost in the sensation of your fingertips against his skin, the clanging of his belt against the floor brought Rafael back to reality. His boxer briefs were the last to go. With a flirty snap of the elastic, you rid him of his underwear, his hardened cock springing free. He toed out of his socks and stepped towards you, nudging his clothes out of the way.

You stared at each other for a long moment-- your chests heaving, bodies pulsating. The tension between you both was electric. Not wanting to wait another second, you pressed yourself against Rafael, kissing him hard, nibbling on his bottom lip. He returned the kiss with vigor. You could feel his throbbing erection weeping onto your inner thigh, brushing against your lace-covered pussy.

In awe of this beautiful man in your arms, you began to work your way down his body, laying wet wanton kisses across his skin. “Oh Y/N, please,” he whimpered. Hearing him beg, you raked your teeth against his nipple, a particular sensitive spot for Rafael. He gasped in response. 

You smirked, reveling in the fact that you had reduced him to a begging, quivering mess. Kneeling before him, you took his cock in your hand and teasingly flicked your tongue against his slit.  

Rafael groaned at the sight of you looking up at him with big innocent eyes and a wide welcoming mouth. From this angle, he could see the way your garters rested on the luscious curve of your ass. 

You wrapped your lips around him, swirling around his crown as if you were sucking a lollipop, tracing every vein. 

Rafael threw his head back and groaned, “Ay Dios mío.”

His cock felt hot and heavy in your mouth, you relaxed your throat as you slowly swallowed him down, pushing his head past your tight ring of muscle. Your nose was tickled by his trimmed pubic hair. He held your head there for a moment, relishing in the sensation.

You smacked his ass and grabbed a handful of his flesh before pulling off him with a pop. “Fuck my mouth, mi amor,” you purred while stroking his length. “Don’t hold back. I want all of it.”

He wrapped his hand around your long locks and fed you his cock. “You naughty little girl,” he growled before thrusting. “Going to put that mouth of yours to good use.”

“Mmmhmm,” you moaned. Tears were running down your cheeks as you gagged around him, taking everything he had to give. You loved when Rafael got rough. You craved it. Giving him pleasure brought you pleasure.

One of your hands reached up to massage his balls while the other reached in between his legs, pressing down on that strip of skin between his cock and his ass. That was all it took for Rafael to come undone. His cock swelled and released. His warm seed splashing against your tongue. Rafael came so hard, he was practically bent in half, clutching the mantle, grunting over and over again. You sucked him dry, not stopping until he gently pulled you off his sensitive cock.

“Jesus Christ,” he chuckled. “You have a mouth like a vacuum cleaner.”

“Should I take that as a compliment?” you asked, wiping away some of your smudged lipstick.

“I nearly had a heart attack just now, what do you think?” He had an evil glint in his eye and took several steps towards causing you to scoot back. “I think I need to repay the favor. Don’t you?”

“Only if you insist.” You laid back down on the floor in your most seductive pose.

Rafael knelt down. “Oh believe me”-- he grabbed your legs and pulled you towards him causing you to squeal in surprise--“I insist.”

He ran his hands across your body, pressing against your form through the silk. Wanting to repay you for your earlier torment, Rafael took his time disrobing you--tugging at the laces of your corset, unsnapping your garters, peeling your stockings off. There wasn’t an inch of skin left unattended from the crown of your head down to the arches of your feet. 

You couldn’t catch your breath. “Payback is a bitch,” you thought as he sucked a mark onto your right hip. Rafael saved your thong for last, opting to tear it off you with his teeth. 

He parted your folds, revealing your glistening pink pearl, stroking your soft, wet, sex. You spread your legs wider, feeling his hot breath on your pussy, arching your hips toward him. He clucked in disapproval. “So impatient.” 

“Please,” you whimpered. “I need you.”

Unable to resist any longer (after all, he was only human), he began to worship your core. Offering his tongue as a prayer as he swirled around your lower lips and traced patterns on your clit.  

You grinded against him. “More,” you pleaded.

With a loud squelch, Rafael stopped and lifted his head. “You have such a perfect little pussy. I love it so much”--he playfully bit down on your inner thighs-- “and it’s all mine. Isn’t it?” With an intense, heated stare, he spit on your pussy. The sensation of his saliva on your swollen clit caused you to jump.

“Yes, it’s yours,” you wailed.

“That’s right,” he cooed while slowly making concentric circles on your bundle of nerves, watching how his spit mingled with your dripping juices. “And you’re gonna come all over my face, aren’t you?”

You arched your back and gasped. “Oh God, yes! Yes!

“Shhh, that’s my good girl,” he said with a smirk before devouring you once more. Your moans of “More” and “Don’t stop” spurred him on. 

With his mouth wrapped around your clit, he penetrated you with his fingers, stroking that spot deep within you that drove you insane. One crook of his finger had you coming with a shriek. 

Feeling your core pulse against his tongue as he fucked you through your orgasm unleashed something savage within him. He buried his face against you, groaning, his lips and chin completely coated in your arousal. Already hard from eating you out, he rutted against the rug, desperate for some relief.

His tongue was relentless while he fucked you with his fingers until he ripped another orgasm from you. By the third time you had come, you melted onto the floor. And yet you wanted more. With Rafael, it was never enough. 

You pushed him off you and straddled him, kissing him with such fierce passion he toppled back to the floor. “I want to show you how much I love your cock.” You nuzzled your nose with his before sitting up and dragging your center against his length. Hovering over his cock for a moment, you lowered yourself onto him. 

Rafael grabbed your hips to keep you in place as he rotated his pelvis, wanting you to feel every inch of his cock. Your whole body shuddered. Digging your nails into his chest, you began to rock against him. 

Rafael groaned, watching you fuck him. “Look down, querida. Look at how fucking sexy you look riding me.”

You followed his gaze down to where you were being impaled by him. Biting back a whimper, you experimentally flexed your muscles, squeezing against his cock. Rafael choked out a sob which only encouraged you to speed up your movements.

You lifted almost completely off him before slamming back down. 

Flames licked at your flesh as you continued to bounce on his cock. Rivulets of sweat dripped off of you, one drop running down your chest. Rafael sat up and caught it with his tongue, holding you close as he latched on to your nipple, suckling against the hardened bud before repeating his actions on your other breast.

Your bodies worked in tandem, pushing and pulling. You were reduced to a wild animal, clawing at Rafael. Red streaks covered his sweaty skin. He loved it, wanting nothing more than to be claimed by you, his own ethereal goddess.

“Rafael!” you cried out in a hoarse voice. He cut you off with a searing kiss.

“I love you,” he moaned against your lips.

“I love you too.” Tears began to run down your cheeks. Your heart was beating fast, blood pounding in your ears, pressure mounting. You were too far gone by this point. Can you die from pleasure? Oh...but what a way to go. 

He pulled back, forcing you to lock eyes with him. His eyebrows furrowed, mouth slack, panting and whimpering with every thrust. You pressed your forehead against his, your breaths mingling. This was beyond the physical. Your souls were melding, transforming one another. 

You simultaneously erupted, swallowing each other’s moans and grunts, stroking each other through your respective releases. When you finally floated back down to earth, you collapsed on the floor, your bodies still connected. 

“Holy shit,” you sighed.

“I know,” Rafael panted.

“If I knew saying ‘I love you’ would lead to mind blowing sex, I would’ve said it a whole lot earlier,” you teased. 

“I knew you were only after me for my body.” Rafael let out a breathless laugh and tickled that one spot on your side. Exhausted and not in any hurry to move, you both laid there as the fire weakened until only a few dull embers glowed.

You nestled against his chest, having never felt so happy. As cheesy and cliché as it sounded, you wish you could stay that way forever. That is until the events from earlier in the day came floating back into your mind. You had no idea what you were going to do with your family, especially Sonny. 

But that wasn’t a question for tonight. Right now you were perfectly content being wrapped up in your own little world. Just you and Rafael.

Tag List: @glimmerglittergirl​ @southern-magnolia​ @sweetcannolicarisi @delia26 @obfuscateyummy @sass-and-suspenders @eclecticminded @thatesqcrush @katmstanton @amirightcounsellor @beltzboys2015-blog @letty-o @sonnysdoll @lyssa1385 @sweetsummertime99 @burningsorr0ws @gibbs274 @izzythefanfreak @babypink224221 @livxrafa @esparza-army @obsessionprofessional @ottosuricato @mgarner1227 @dreila03 @tropes-and-tales @thecraziestcrayon @goodluckfindingone @scarletsoldierrr @youreverycolor @yeah-boiiiiiiiiiii @imagine-all-the-imagines @imjustreallynosy @graniairish @ashley-chi @lolacolaempath @cocomel0613 @imagine-all-the-imagines @mysterioustrashadventures @that-girl-named-alex @scapricciatello @mrsrafaelbarba @zizzlekwum @katierpblogg @crowleysqueenofhell @caked-crusader @garturbo

[autumnblogs]

Day 44: Preoccupied about the same things as Trolls, revisited

Welcome back y’all! Before we get into this, I want to talk about the Condesce/Meenah as a parallel character to Mom Lalonde/Roxy. You can read a bit about @mmmmalo​‘s takes on Openbound, and why they think that Meenah is symbolically Roxy’s Doppelganger here.

I want to call attention to some specific similarities between them, and while I think it’s a bit of a stretch, Homestuck draws parallels between characters all the time.

Both the Condesce and Mom Lalonde are matriarch figures estranged from their potential offspring by dire circumstances and servitude to a patriarchal authority and his time-spanning plan - for the Condesce, that’s English obviously, but for Mom Lalonde, that’s Grandpa Harley - servitude to his design renders her a wreck of an alcoholic forced to endure the end of days with no means to stop them from happening, living with a daughter who wants nothing to do her.

Both Meenah and Roxy are rebels against a repressive order, inclined to shirk their assigned Role in service to someone else’s master plan, but ultimately, through some roundabout means or another, give service to it anyway (for Meenah, scratching the game, and ultimately ending up English’s glorified slave for eons in the end; for Roxy, at first refusing to play Sburb in hopes of spiting the Batterwitch, but ultimately ending up playing into her schemes anyway).

They are both rebellious spirits who are repeatedly forced to participate in Paradox Space’s Alpha Timeline all but against their will by hegemonic forces, slaves to a system that they exist in perpetual rebellion against, and by the end of the comic, they both get to help strike a decisive blow against the ultimate foe. Unfortunately, unlike Roxy, Meenah is ultimately the kind of person who chooses at practically every occasion to continue cycles of abuse instead of breaking them. There is ultimately no possibility of reconciliation between these estranged sisters.

So, I see a lot of the Alpha Kids in the four Alpha Trolls who appear in this flash. As the Faux Heroic Himbo, the parallel between Rufioh and Jake is obvious. I don’t think that it’s fair to characterize Jake’s relationship with Dirk as being “cheating on Jane,” though that’s probably how Jane feels about the whole situation; I’ve always gotten the impression she feels entitled to him.

More after the break.

The imagery here is an obvious parallel between Jake and Dirk’s big damn kiss, and Rufioh and Horuss’s - but between Rufioh’s bravado and general obliviousness, and Horuss’s clear triangular parallel with Dirk and Equius, we should expect that the situation is switched here - Dirk = Horuss, Rufioh = Jake.

While it could easily just be a bit of extraneous characterization, I’m inclined to regard Rufioh’s characterization of the women in his life as “Dolls” especially because of his symbolic proximity to Lord English. (He is at best one degree of separation from him, as Jake English’s Alpha Troll Doppelganger) - and the fact that Puppets and Dolls are pretty much synonymous with each other in terms of the way that English interacts with them.

More extremely obvious parallels.

Both of the Zahhaks have hangups about dating down the Hemospectrum, and as long as we’re examining Dirk through the lens of the Zahhaks, allow me to speculate; I think that part of the reason Dirk chooses not to directly identify with the label of gay is less aloofly progressive futurism, and more that he is uncomfortable with his own sexuality.

As a guy who repeatedly appeals to reactionary ideals and rhetorical devices like “Western Civilization,” “Reason,” “Logic,” maybe there is a degree to which we can read Horuss and Equius’ self-repression through the haemospectrum into Dirk suffering from internalized Homophobia.

This is a real long shot, but I’ve always gotten the impression that Dirk is a bit of a bottom. Maybe his desire in building up Jake into a powerful counterpart, like English’s desire to transform Jake into a powerful rival, is built out of a desire to be Oedipally usurped by a former pupil - to have his Eromenos turn the tables, and become the Erastes in turn, in power-dynamic terms.

In Classical Civilization, homosexual relations weren’t unheard of, and were pretty reasonably common, but it was seen as shameful to bottom, especially for someone of a lower social standing than you were (Julius Caesar was mocked as the Queen of Bithynia when it was rumored that he bottomed for Nicomedes IV, which was a serious attack on his political career).

Wild speculative tangent over.

Now this is interesting; Meenah is unwittingly drawing a parralel between Damara and Vriska. The main commonality between them is that, like Vriska (and also like Rose, and also like Jane - who is the fourth and final character in this particular set) her spite and resentment is used as the vector for English’s manipulation of their setting.

Like Vriska, Damara deliberately sabotages the ability of her session members to win, helping to create a powerful foe who forces a session to be scratched.

Like Rose, Damara descends into nihilistic substance abuse to cope with feelings of emptiness.

Like Jane, Damara’s actual feelings of emptiness come about as a result of feelings of rejection in relation to betrayal from within her close friendship circle.

Ironically, while Damara’s reaction is far worse than Jane’s, her anger is actually probably far more understandable - Jane is not entitled to Jake.

The situation between Horuss and Rufioh is also similar to what will resolve between Jake and Dirk shortly - they are just basically incompatible, or at least they will be until both parties do some work on themselves, but a combination of an oblivious party who can’t stop talking about himself, and social timidity on the part of the other prevents the situation from resolving amicably.

“As Long As I Know That I Am Free”

Sometimes, encountering our ancestors doesn’t have to be a source of tension, anxiety, expectation, and fear. Porrim models parental love for Kanaya in a way that, unusually for ancestors in Homestuck, is purely beneficial for her younger counterpart.

It’s okay to identify with roles and identities that have been corrupted or hegemonized by our culture. There’s nothing intrinsically bad about being a man, or about being a woman, as long as our embodiment of those roles is emancipatory to us.

Kanaya can still be a Mom, if that’s what she wants to be. Violence and money aren’t the only form that power can take.

Sometimes, learning the right lessons is just a matter of pausing for a second and being critical of all narratives; deciding for ourselves what we want to be. It’s the lesson that Porrim has to teach Kanaya.

This is just objectively true.

Aranea positions Rufioh as both a foil to Cronus, and to herself, further strengthening the Jake as Rufioh parallels.

What I think is really interesting about all this, is if we want to read the other three trolls as Jake, Dirk, and Jane, that makes Meenah the Roxy of this group! And while Roxy has never been vicious or deliberately cruel, there’s a certain resonance between her persistent hassling of Jane, her meddling in the Jake English Sweepstakes, and the disaster that it provokes, and Meenah’s bullying - I even early on in my first readthrough took a disliking to Roxy because of what I viewed as exactly that - bullying her counterparts, assertively trying to get them to behave the way she wanted.

https://homestuck.com/story/5401

Oh man, where to even begin with Karkat riding off into the Penis Sunset. Like, the Sun in relation to Dave is persistently an icon of Bro’s surveillance of him, and then there’s his burgeoning affection for Karkat (he mentions story time with Karkat in the third Openbound suggesting that he actually took Karkat up on his offer to read through trashy Troll Romance).

Like, there’s probably something in Dave’s troubled psyche that’s on display here but damn if I know what it is. Maybe he’s ruminating on the fact that Bro would probably not be too accepting of his relationship with Karkat, hence the juxtaposition of the symbol of Bro’s hostility with the imagery of Karkat riding a dick?

https://homestuck.com/story/5404

I don’t really need to explicate much on what Rose is trying to say, I think but just in case, here’s a little rundown of what she’s trying to explain.

The apple is a symbol of an irreducible idea. Many ideas are reducible - as molecules are reducible to atoms, and atoms are reducible to quarks and stuff, so are ideas reducible to increasingly more abstracted and basic units.

The closer to notionally irreducible a thing becomes, the more difficult it becomes to express an idea, until at last, that which is truly irreducible resolves, and reveals to us the true, intrinsic nature of reality. For every complex idea, we can refer to more fundamental ideas, until at last, we arrive at an idea, which when probed, responds back simply, “It just does that.”

This, I think, is that to which we ought to give the name of God; that force so fundamental that it truly does just do that.

In the world of Homestuck, Symbols, and with them, Rituals - stories! Are manifestations of the primeval and irreducible ideas. Everything else is a universe in orbit around the Divine - the Aspects themselves, perhaps, or something more fundamental than the Aspects even.

What makes reducing these stories to the irreducible principles that they allude to so difficult is that you’re effectively trying to explain the electromagnetic force by comparing it to rubber bands, when in fact, the electromagnetic force is what makes the rubber bands behave that way in the first place.

As a Ritual, Rose’s drinking is pretty similar to John’s Dad roleplaying - an attempt at unity with Her Mom. Another empty signifier.

https://homestuck.com/story/5405

Dave is already really embracing his new role as the actually most sincere and straightforward member of the party. Lovin’ it.

It’s kind of nice that Aradia and Vriska are getting along now. That’s gratifying for personal reasons.

Ah yeah, I forgot that was ever addressed officially.

https://homestuck.com/story/5435

The man

HASS the ring.

https://homestuck.com/story/5440

And with the depressingly empty Void session established via a single flash, we shall conclude for the evening.

Tomorrow, we’ll get to know our little villain.

For now, it’s Cam signing off, Alive, and a little Annoyed that I wasted a couple hours playing the Outriders Demo this afternoon. Seriously, what an aesthetically bleak and kind of mediocre-looking class-based cover shooter.

[soulvomit]

Because of how I was brought up with regard to emotions, I had very, very poor emotional regulation for a lot of my early life. I was also basically just left to emotionally fend for myself in a lot of ways. My parents basically couldn’t deal with emotions, and didn’t teach me to deal with them, and my going from this school to that school to homeschool to that other school to homeschool again didn’t help, because I didn’t really get to practice this stuff with other kids, either. 

Basically I was taught that I had to internalize all of my feelings, so I had two modes, Vulcan and Tornado (when the emotions couldn’t be internalized anymore). The problem is, by the time the emotions hit, they were just a seemingly unprovoked rage tantrum or a cry fest, sometimes triggered by some emotional content in a movie, or something weird that my brain had latched onto that didn’t even make sense to me. There was a period when I was 8 where pictures of orchids would set off crying jags. I don’t understand why. I didn’t understand why then, either. 

I just had all of these random emotions that I didn’t understand, I didn’t even know what they connected to, and because I couldn’t make sense of my feelings - I couldn’t even tell you what I wanted, because I was conditioned to just name off practical considerations or “logical” reasons I SHOULD want a particular thing. (And it’s for this reason that I stayed in shitty relationships, or even stayed with people I didn’t love. I didn’t like my ex husband that much, but I couldn’t even admit this to myself. I had all kinds of rationalizations for why I should marry him anyway just because HE was interested. But tbh, I didn’t like him that much, and I never did.)  

When I started questioning my sexuality, the biggest reason my mom couldn’t wrap her mind around this is because of her mindset that personal fulfillment is NOT WHY WOMEN GET MARRIED. And the problem is - sexuality and gender identity are ALL ABOUT YOUR PERSONAL FEELINGS. And in her mind, this was a reason that gay and trans people were actually invalid. I tried to talk to her about my feelings for other women, but what came up was, “feelings aren’t why people get married.” 

And when I questioned my gender, she also couldn’t wrap her mind around that, either. “But ALL women have those feelings!” You just perform whatever role has been assigned to you, PERIOD, that’s how you are a good person, or you are letting multiple people down. And your gender isn’t just your identity, it also comes bundled with specific DUTIES. (The irony is that I would not have been able to be with my fiance if I had not learned to accept that People Partner Because FEELINGS. I had to go through “wait... it’s okay to be gay” to unravel that tangled mess. Identifying as gay for as long as I did, was partly about making a stand that MY PERSONAL FEELINGS MATTER. And once I acknowledged that same sex relationships - which exist largely because of FEELINGS -  were okay... eventually, I fell in love with a man who was not someone my mother would have picked out for me. But this was only possible because of my having internalized the idea that MARRYING FOR LOVE was okay in the first place.)

So basically, this is the soup I was swimming in when I was struggling to learn emotions. It doesn’t help that I grew up in a household where the whole idea of feelings, was basically disregarded. (I wonder if it’s this way with other people whose parents are poor, or in survivor mode, or who are from more traditionalist/”old world” families). I was expected to put my feelings aside and expected to have the emotional skills of an adult. And also, my mom has a lot of deep-seated stuff about how personal growth and fulfillment are ONLY FOR MEN. (She actually has a lot of resentment over this.) She believes most advice about being happy as an individual, or how to succeed in the world, only applies to men. But she also internalizes the Judging Voice of ancestors who believed this or that was women’s duties and that doing anything else, for a woman, meant shirking her primary assigned duties. It’s about half unconscious but sometimes she will blurt out something that actually indicates that she believes this. 

I learned to control my emotions via directly manipulating my brain chemistry. This is how I stopped being a “crybaby” - there are a couple of different methods. In the short term, I dealt with overwhelm and feeling the tears or rage coming on in public, by doing a particular exercise that I made up. When I was 12, I had taken a brief class in t’ai chi, and we did breathing stuff and “glowing green ball” visualization. Inspired by that and by the Vulcan people from Star Trek, I made up an exercise to suppress my emotions where I would do breathing exercises then steeple all my fingertips together like Mr. Spock and imagine a glowing green ball in my hands. All of my emotions would go into the ball. My thoughts would slow down and I would return to an emotionless space.  The other thing I did, had to do with my maladaptive daydreaming. I would project my emotions onto fictional characters - often unconsciously (I didn’t know WHY I was drawn to particular images, I just was). I would replay scenarios in my head that took place between fictional characters. I was especially addicted to romantic scenarios and imagery. Being obsessed with romantic couples felt like a deeply shameworthy hidden “kink” and the less I could talk about it openly (believe it or not, it’s fanfic culture that brought this out into the open), the more obsessed I was.

One of the problems I had was how much I was used to using my maladaptive daydreaming scripts to cope with shit going on in my real world instead of just... fixing that shit. The funny thing is that my school psychologists recognized that this was what my daydreaming was, when I was a child, but my parents didn’t really acknowledge it; I was actually rewarded for both my obsessive interests and my daydreaming as a child, because both of them meant that I was being undemanding. I was coached, however, not to talk about these things with other people. They were okay to do at home.

I also had trichotillomania, and when I was in a period of doing lots of group therapy in my early 30s - I discovered what my “trigger” was, I discovered that it related to feeling abandoned and empty. And just like that, that’s when I finally stopped doing it - I learned to recognize the feelings that triggered my trich, instead of jumping right into doing the trich things. I had been learning how to just sit with my feelings. And at some point, I started using my “centering” method (the breathing thing with the glowing ball) to quiet my mind down and sit with my emotions, and to reduce my stress levels, instead of using it to suppress my emotions.  My emotional landscape was like this... “I don’t know how I’m feeling. All I know is that I’m pulling my hair a lot and daydreaming a lot. Also, I had a meltdown at work but I don’t know why. Also, I got irrationally angry at so-and-so because they offended me personally.” (And my offense was connected, generally, to my emotionality being triggered.) But over time, and with lots of learning and new skills, I learned... that the fact that I wanted to do a particular unproductive or self-destructive thing, was indication that I was feeling something. And this meant that I was not to act out, but that I was to sit with my feelings and ask myself what I was feeling. 

I had to learn to start validating myself, and seeing my own feelings as valid. The funny thing is, I parsed to lots of people as being unemotional. I could not have emotional conversations with my partners; stuff about emotions made me dissociate or check out. I felt horribly confronted whenever asked about my feelings. (Honestly, this is a big reason I had begun preferring male friends. We didn’t talk overmuch about feelings.) This comes from a background in which I was often shamed for my feelings.  

The turning point for a lot of this was in my early 30s. 

This is about the time when I was doing Landmark Forum, when I was in group therapy, when I was going to Adult Children of Alcoholics (to try to repair my relationship with  my dad, who is an Adult Child; alcoholic-adjacent coping mechanisms can persist generations after the last alcoholic in the family has died.)   I was in a shit ton of therapy for years. I was in a bunch of support groups, but most importantly, they weren’t 100% filled with peers who validated me 100% of the time. In fact - looking for “safe spaces” full of only my own peers, had been what had held me back. What was actually beneficial to me was being in spaces that had people who were older and further along in their recovery than me, people who had better coping skills than I did, and learning to be present when people bitched me out instead of just automatically “shields up” and spacing out when I got confronted about stuff. 

I also was doing a SHIT TON of journaling and blogging and writing in spaces such as message forums and mailing lists (Tumblr sort of picked up where the forums left off.)

[moon-caramel]

Roses & Thorns | K.N.J | part.2

                 ❣ Chapter 2: “here we start”

→ Pairing: Kim Namjoon | ft. Kim Taehyung

→ Gendre: College au. / BTS as a frat house

→ Summary: a past history with Taehyun leave so broken you separated of any social interaction, Namjoon shows up he won’t leave, to heal your broken heart and put that beautiful smile back in your face

→ Warnings / ch.: slight anxiety, slight smut, y/n call Namjoon a bad writer (sorry, please wait for the story to development 😅)

→ Word count: 2.8 k

❣ Now

The reception office was covered by the smell of coffee and paper, with the sound of keyboards pressed and small talk of strangers, you were waiting to register to this workshop your professor talk to you about, although you thought of the world for him, you hated the fact you had to take another class, but you couldn’t say no to him, he talked to you about this because he believes in you, and you don’t want to fail him.

Still waiting, where the hell was the person in charge here, it was past lunch hours, and your patience was getting shorter, you start to hit the wooden surface with your fingers, unil a young man with dark hair in blue shirt and glasses came to you

“alright you can stop that already, I’m here” he sit down and moving some papers to leave a space “what can I do for you?”

“I want to sign on to a new class workshop”

“do you have the name or number of it?”

You look to the paper where you write the information your professor gave you, name and number.

“How are you writing today?, B2910”

The guy laugh quietly, it was a silly name, but a cute one as well.

“and your name?”

“___, ___”

“okay all done, here is your schedule”

He give you a paper with your schedule, the same old classes plus one more, How are you writing today? tuesday from 9:00 to 10:30, seriously? tuesday morning ? as if your life was no more pitiful, you save the paper in your bag, craving for something to eat on your way to the dorms you pass by a convenience store, your basic buy cheetos, instant noodles, and some gummy bears.Your dorm is empty your roommate is probably with her boyfriend, it happens a lot since they became a couple, which you are happy about specialty because it give you the comfy cute espace you love.pouring the hot water in the noodle container you wait for the five minutes. You started to think about Jungkook, you couldn’t help, he was the first friend you made here, and he always has the best recipe for instant noodles, you always thought about him making noodles. you tried to change that, trying to avoid any hook that guide you to Tae— the one who should not be name, but it only break your heart to push away Jungkook, like if ignoring his calls and turning around every time you see him the hallways wasn’t enough, you won’t do it your thoughts.

❣ Then

You felt the pain in your head grow, trying to understand math problems that were according to your teacher basic, what a bitch, you felt someone hugging you, pulling his weight on you, you were ready to give this someone a piece of his mind when you turn around and saw Jungkook being this person.

“Of course is you” you laugh

“well of yea, no one is brave enough to come close to you”

“shut up, I’m surprised to see you here”

“where?”

“here, in the library”

“hey i’m a good student”

Hard for you to say, the first time you say him was in a guidance course, he was sitting next to you, he had fall asleep half of the time and the other he whispered dumb jokes that made you giggle, being the start of your friendship.

“why are you here?”

“I’m trying to do this math problem”

“I hate math” he groans.

“so do I.. why are you here?”

“Nothing special, I saw you from the window and came to say hi” 

●

Time fly faster than you could imagine, weeks of classes parties hookups with Tae that you keep a secret from your friends, after you spend the nights with him you leave early before anyone could see you, he always complains about that but you need to remind him you both are nothing special “still we should be more loving between us” he said.

He was right, but being this your first time doing just a ‘hookup relationship’ you didn’t want to get to attach.

It was a another party night in the house, celebrating the guys entrance to the fraternity, Jungkook call you his guest of honor, and you could be more happy to go, you were in your third drink, the music loud enough you barely hear yourself, and you were crushing in it the dance floor with Jimin, you needed a break so you leave to find a quiet space.

Between the many people you crossed you catch the image of Tae dancing with a girl, gorgeous girl you couldn’t deny that, she has a red strapless dress that marked his curves, she was hot, no one is college is that stupidly hot, she was dancing in his back moving his hips against Tae’s pelvis, he had her firm by her thighs and waist, when resting his head in her shoulder he finds you looking, before he could think of this would turn into a jealousy scene he find you smiling at him, you wave at him and leave the two of them to go to the kitchen.

You were sitting in the counter drinking what could only be water, you see Taehyung coming to make a drink, you just smiled him, you didn’t want to make the hottie girl for him, but he didn’t mind apparently when he lean next to you.

“Why is it that I only can catch you in quiet spaces?”

“Uhmm.. maybe cuz is the only way” It was true, rather than get flirty in a crowded place where your friends can see you, you prefer flirt with him in private, a place where you feel like yourself.

“Is that water?” he pointed at your red cup.

“Yes, I already reach my alcohol limit” you excuse yourself

“that’s boring” 

“hey you said it was cute” you tap him on the shoulder

“No, I said you were cute” he paused to give a look, his dark eyes were like a trap, occasionally you found yourself looking at them for too much, and he enjoys seeing your eyes going deep on them, like if your trying to find something.

“And you need to break your rules a little”

“I don’t, and you know you can call me cute”

“Well you haven’t prove the contrary” he smirked and you tap his shoulder again, more like punch it making him whine dramatically.

“You should go take care of your hottie, before I rip your arm” 

“Hottie?, you mean the girl”

You nodded “yeah, she was gorgeous”

“Nah, I’m okay with you”

“Seriously?” He looked confused “If I was you I will be taken to upstair now” 

He laughed “please do”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t know what to do”

“I can join, I’ll teach you” He rub your thigh, smirking again, was he serious? who knows

You laughed nervously “Oh no, she’s all yours tiger”

“It will be more fun with you”

“No”

“It will make you less cute”

“No, you go have fun”

“____, I really want you, we could be just us” 

“Don’t worry about me, we’re friends right?”

“Yeah” he looked confused, turning his head to the front nodding “we are”

“Are you okay?”

“I just… think you’re going to miss a lot a fun” he straightened up and drink all what was left of his plastic cup, facing back at you “I really think you should break your rules a little” he said before he could leave

You snort “just because i don’t want to have a trheesome?”

“No, because I know why you follow them so much”

❣ Now

You had to set three different alarms to wake up, but you manage to get up early on tuesday morning with plenty of time to make you a coffee, in front of the white wooden door, you start to wonder if is worthed to wake up early for this, but then again you don’t want to disappoint your teacher, so after a heavy sigh you pull the door.

No more than five people were sitting waiting, you saw the teacher wasn’t here yet. 

“___!”

Someone call you on your back, before you could turn around you’re hugged by someone, strong arms around your shoulder, and you recognise the smell of black vanilla, and soft flowers.

“Jungkook..” you were still under his arms, not giving a chance to move. “Jungkook, I can’t breathe”

He loose his hug a little but without free you, enough for you to look at him. 

“I’m sorry, but it’s being such a long time since I see you, and when I do you always turn around, so this time I won’t let you”

you could feel guilt, you spend so much time running away from everyone, you were sure they either forget you or resent you, but Jungkook didn’t seem neither of those, he look at you with the same warms eyes.

“Jungkook I…”

“If I let you go?, you promise you won’t escape”

words couldn’t get out of your mouth, if you could you wouldn’t know what to say, you wanted to ask him what was he doing here?, say that you were sorry for ignoring him all this time, you star to thinking if you could leave this place with an excuse that wouldn’t break Jungkook heart, you just nod.

Jungkook let you go, still in front of you smiling like a sweet child, like he always do, once he noted that you were still there and you did not escape, he was sure you wouldn’t leave, and if you were he won’t make it easy.

“Are you in this class too?” you nod again

“That great, we haven’t been together in a class a long time, let’s grab some seats”

He grabs you by the wrist moving to two free seat together, it takes you a time to finally seat, your heart it’s beating like crazy, and you still can’t manage to understand the situation, Jungkook looks so relaxed compared to you, it’s like nothing has changed, but it did.

“So what’s new” 

“w.. what?” 

“I haven’t see you in so long, your hair its longer, you look good”

“Thank you” your word manage to come out slow and dry, it’s not your intention but you’re still in shock.

He knows, he understand why you are actic like this, why you moved away from the guys, your friends and you avoided him, but  he figured that if he acted like things were like before it would be easy, and he knew you would run away if he bombard you with question.

“It’s okay ____” 

He place his hand on yours, trying to reduce any conflict there might be in your head, it felt like that for a moment, the warm of his hand and the comfort in his eyes were more than enough to give make you smile, you missed Jungkook so much, we was like a brother (a very energetic little brother) and you wished to throw your arms around him, say how much you missed him, but there was a reason, he became so close to Taehyung, you once thought that you can hang out with him like you always did, but Tae was always with him, they were close, so much that Tae came to your mind when you were with Jungkook.

It was so painful you avoid him, your best friend, you started to wonder why was he here, and if Tae… is he in this class too? no, no no no… you look around with fear, please don’t be here.

“____, hey!” 

Jungkook pressed your hand to focus on him, he saw your teary eyes, hard breathing and he could feel your heartbeat in your hand.

“It’s okay” he whisper to you “He’s not here”

It’s was a come back to reality, there was care in Jungkook eyes and you didn’t notice you were holding his hand back.

❣ Then

You could feel the sweat in your skin, you were on top of Tae moving your hips up and down while he handed some help with the grips on each side of yours waist, his growls had some effect that made you move faster, wanting him deeper inside of you.

You were feeling greed and no shame, you wanted all of him for you, maybe it’s the fact you were busy this days and you heard he’s being very attentive with others, after answer your text telling you to come over you didn’t waste time and make sure you’re still in his mind, after you both came, he got comfortable wearing just a sweatpants and gave you one of his t-shirt. 

“you can stay tonight” 

“don’t worry, it’s still early” you did stayed sometimes, but you didn’t feel the need of it this time.

“please ____” he sigh, at first he looked tired, maybe something annoyed.

“It’s okay, you look tired, so rest” 

“so do you, please ____ I want you to stay”

You can feel this heavy air around not sure how to describe it, there’s something you both need to say, but you’re not sure what is, Tae came to your back to hug you, hiding his face in your shoulder.

“why?”

“Uh?

“why do you want me to stay”

“I just do, I know you want to too”

It was true, you had this need to be closer to him, your feelings were getting stronger, something you didn’t want to as this wasn’t that kind of relation.

“I should leave”

“I like you” He said faster than you could move “I really like you, and I know you like me too”

“Tae” this wasn’t in your plan

“tell me it’s not true”

“I do like you.. ”

“We could be together, I will be yours, and you mine” 

He whisper close to your ear you felt like melting inside, It could be, you weren’t planning this, this would be just a have fun relation, no compromise, but you did start to feel jealous in some point, and you wanted you call him yours and only yours, so why not ?

“okay” you turn around “I want that”

The slight smile in The had your heart running, he kiss you like many time before, but more intimate you could feel his tender lips better this time.

❣ Now

“I’m sorry Jungkook”

“You don’t need to say that” Jungkook hand was still on yours, he won’t let it go until he’s sure you are okay

You felt embarrassed, you can handle this better but the presence of Jungkook only bring back the thought of Taehyung and made it worse

“Is this the first time it happen?”

“no” 

“Is this because of… him?” he didn’t know if it was save to say his name

You didn’t know what to say, at first it was, because of the fear you could see him, but then it turned a general fear, like you got used to a disease that spread to your mind.

“I don’t know”

“we don’t need to talk about it” he smile kind and you nodded

Seeing him was unexpected, you were so shocked and scared, but happy, happy you could see his bunny smile again, that he could hold your hand for comfort. The best you could do is show how happy you are to see him.

“tell me what are you doing here?” he ask

“Uhm.. My teacher told me about it, he thinks it could help me”

“Well you are a good writer, I’m just here because Namjoon said it will be fun"

“Namjoon?” as the same Namjoon I know?

“He’s gonna teach this class” 

You were the definition of dumb face in the moment.

“I still remember the time you got drunk and talk bad about his writing"

“I did what!?” you never got that drunk, did you? FUCK

“Hi everyone” a deep voice call your attention to the front of the class, Namjoon walking in a grey sweater “Sorry I’m late my alarm didn’t go on in the morning”

You never had a deep friendship with Namjoon, he was easy to talk and funny in child way, but he was also a berry occupied student so you didn’t saw him often, and finding out you talk bad about him as writer… you just wanted to die in a hole

“But I’m here now and…” He soon realized your in this class, thanks to Jungkook, he probably will be annoyed with your presence but when you see him he smile to you.

“now we can start”

↤ previous // next ↦

→ a/n: so for next chapter we would know what Tae did ⊙_⊙’’ and it will be the last one to involve flashbacks //

as always please let me know what do thing of the chapter or the story in general, because it’s a mayor support thank you ♡!

And please keep yourself safe, inside your home and wash your hands 😘

 → Tag list: @krystle19990 @hodginss  

Ⓒ mooncaramel 2020 , all rights reserved , Do not copy , Do not translate , Do not repost

[hutchhitched]

Maybe This Summer, Chapter 3

Summary: Katniss Everdeen needed a vacation. On a whim, she reserved three months at Panem Resorts in North Carolina. She expected to spend her time recovering from the recent death of her sister, exploring the nearby nature reserve, and reminiscing about happier times. What she didn’t foresee was bumping into Peeta Mellark, one of Panem’s most valued employees, during his early morning run. Neither did she think she’d grow to admire him when she’d hated him from first sight, but his killer smile and gorgeous blue eyes had a way of breaking down the walls she’d built around her heart. Maybe this summer she’ll finally get what she’s always deserved. Benefiting @fandomtrumpshate​ for @ldyglfr62​. AO3.

Author: @hutchhitched​

Rating: Explicit (eventually)

Beta/Graphics: @xerxia31​

The story will post on Tuesday mornings at 11:00 am CDT.

_______________

Reaping Day

Katniss pressed back on her heels and propped her elbows on her knees. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she smiled triumphantly at the array of leaves, flowers, and bark she’d collected in the hours since she’d roused at dawn and stepped into the natural wonder of The Woods. She wiped her hands on the front of her t-shirt and narrowed her eyes at the words on her chest. “You reap what you sow” gleamed in neon red, and she considered burning the piece of clothing once she returned to her room. She hated the saying, and memories from that science camp were one of the worst she had from her lifetime of exploring the natural world.

 More than anything, she fundamentally disagreed with the message. She hadn’t reaped what she’d sown, and neither had Prim. Her sister didn’t deserve what she got—a cancer diagnosis at 25 and death two years later. Katniss hadn’t asked to lose her father at eleven and take over raising herself and Prim as a consequence. She’d been a child. No one “deserved” to be punished for something they hadn’t done, and she resented the implication that every experience was part of a huge cosmic plan that somehow made sense.

 Nothing about losing her sister made sense. There was no hidden meaning. Prim was dead, and it sucked. Platitudes about her being “in a better place” or “everything happens for a reason” made her want to scream, and she’d cut out several acquaintances who’d attempted to comfort her that way during the days following Prim’s memorial service. Maybe that wasn’t fair, but she wasn’t very good with friends anyway.

 Perhaps burning the shirt was the answer. Fire seemed to be a good enough weapon to destroy it and watch something else rise from the ashes. At least that had been her reasoning when she’d agreed to cremate Prim instead of burying her, even though it almost killed her to acquiesce to her sister’s decision.

 “I don’t want to be shoved underground in a dark box, Katniss. Not like dad. Anything but that,” Prim had announced from her hospital bed after the final round of chemo had proven ineffective. Katniss understood the fear. Her beloved father’s death in a mine explosion a mile underground had haunted them both during their childhood and adolescent years. She’d concentrated on that when she realized that would mean reducing her baby sister to ashes.

 She was still waiting for something good to rise from them. To sow what she reaped. To find the hope for the future and realize that things can be good again.

 “Well, you’re just full of cheer today, Katniss Everdeen,” she chided herself and put the items in her bag. “Look what you accomplished. Look what you reaped…”

 Today marked the end of ten days at Panem. She’d spent the good part of the past week avoiding the other guests and sticking close to her cabin until she’d finally admitted to herself she was escaping something else entirely. She didn’t want to run into Peeta again, not after her over-reaction and abhorrent behavior during their brief encounters. She was being ridiculous, but today marked the end of that. She’d go to the pool and mingle with the rest of the world. Maybe she’d even meet someone, and if she happened to run into Peeta, perhaps she’d apologize for her behavior. And maybe she wouldn’t.

 She only had two swimsuits, one a more practical halter that was still wet from her frequent dips in the lake at Cabin 12’s private beach. The other was much more revealing, a coral, peachy, orange-ish type of bikini that Madge insisted she buy the last time she’d been dragged to the store to shop. She had to admit, it looked amazing against her olive undertones, so she changed into it, slipped on a robe, and grabbed a towel and book.

 The pool area was fairly empty for the early afternoon, so she took a quick dip to rinse away the traces of her morning excursion into the woods. Once she cooled down, she settled onto a lounge chair on the far side of the deck and started to read. Lost in the book, she didn’t stir until another guest plunked down next to her.

 “Johanna Mason,” the other woman introduced herself and pulled down her sunglasses to take in Katniss’ lithe form. “Nice suit. You could fill out your top a little more, couldn’t you?”

 The unwarranted familiarity and insolence startled Katniss so much she had to laugh. She should have been offended, but the other woman had a way of breaking down the walls she’d carefully constructed to keep her distance from others. Before she knew it, she knew quite a bit about her new friend.

 Johanna, a recent divorcée who enjoyed spending her ex-husband’s money, was everything Katniss was not—confident, brash, outspoken, and, most of all, memorable. She drank too much, talked a little too loud, and had an irrepressible appetite for sex. She freely admitted she loved visiting Panem to see what new “eye candy” had been hired for the season and then set her sights on a particular one at the beginning of the summer. Her victory came if she snagged the younger man and kept him on the string for her entire visit.

 “His name is Darius,” she mock whispered to Katniss. “He’s much kinder than I usually go for, but he’s a redhead, and his enthusiasm matches his hair color. Insatiable and eager. Always willing to take lessons. Always willing to—”

 “Can I get you ladies something?” Finnick stood before them with a wide grin on his handsome face. “You’re looking so comfortable and chummy. I’d hate for you to have to disturb yourselves to get anything else from the bar.”

 “Cosmo,” Johanna replied, “and keep them coming. My new friend Katniss and I are getting acquainted. How’s Annie, and where’s your little blonde friend who makes me drool and refuses all my advances? Bread boy, I call him, because he has a loaf in the front and buns in the back.”

 Finnick grinned and shook his head. “Right away, Ms. Mason. Annie’s wonderful, as always, and Peeta’s… Well, Peeta’s working through some things. He’s had a rough start to the season.”

 Katniss stared in horror at Finnick and swallowed hard. She hadn’t realized until just this moment what a small world Panem was. Everyone seemed to know everyone, and the young man who’d run into her while jogging was known and seemingly admired by this brash older woman. Was Katniss the reason his summer started out less than ideal? No, she decided. She didn’t have that kind of power over anyone, but she vowed to be much nicer to him when she saw him next.

 Finnick was as good as his word. The cosmos appeared at their seats whenever either finished one. They drank all afternoon. The alcohol loosened her up, and before she knew it, they were ogling the pool boys and dissecting her non-existent sex life like old girlfriends.

 “You should find yourself a little something here,” Jo, which she insisted on being called, argued. “Technically, it’s not allowed, but fraternization is rampant here. There are only a few who refuse, and I think that’s only because they haven’t found the right guest yet.”

 “I wouldn’t feel right,” Katniss insisted, but Jo snorted.

 “You’ll feel right if you find someone who knows how to do it. Come on, woman. Live a little. Let go of all that angst, and immerse yourself in something. Or let someone immerse himself right into you,” she said with an overexaggerated wink.

 The sun dipped lower in the sky as the afternoon passed, and she agreed to eat dinner with Jo on the deck. The food helped, but by the time Katniss stumbled back to her cabin as the sky filled with a gloriously majestic sunset, she was fairly drunk. She tripped on the steps and would have fallen if a figure hadn’t popped out of the shadows and caught her.

 “Easy there.” The words rumbled through his chest, and she felt them against her back. She wasn’t surprised in the slightest to see dark blue eyes filled with concern when she turned to look at him.

 “Mr. Mellark,” she sighed. “Of course.”

 _________________

 “Peeta,” he insisted. Katniss was pliant against him. A lazy smile graced her lovely face, and her eyes were soft and unfocused. She smelled like sunscreen and booze, and the scent was oddly erotic. “Are you alright, Ms. Everdeen?”

 “I’m fine, and my name is Katniss.” She slurred her words, and Peeta chuckled at the look on her face when she realized it.

 “Can I help you inside?”

 “Suuuuuuuuuuuuuure,” she drawled and smacked him on the chest. She poked at him a few times and blurted, “You have great muscles.”

 “Um, thank you, ma’am. Here we go.” He shifted her and looped her arm over his shoulder to help her up the stairs. She produced the key, and he swung open the door and ushered her into the main room. She smiled weakly at him as she sank onto the sofa and leaned her head back on the cushion. He hesitated for a moment, but he needed to get out his apology before he lost his nerve, even if she wasn’t in the right state to fully understand.

 “Katniss, I just wanted to apologize for my behavior last week. Here at Panem, guests are our first priority, and I was incredibly rude. I should have come to you right away, but I needed some time to work through some things first. I really am very contrite about my behavior. It was unacceptable.”

 She didn’t respond. The silence stretched over a minute and then two before he tried again. She interrupted immediately.

 “I was equally awful to you, Mr. Mellark, and I’m sorry. It’s been a rough year or so.”

 “How many times am I going to have to ask you to call me Peeta?”

 She opened her eyes and raked her eyes up and down his form. The gray heated to molten, and he shifted under her gaze. “Peeta,” she murmured and closed her eyes again.

 “Can I get you anything before I leave, ma’am? Water or something?”

 Her lips quirked, and she opened her eyes and sat up. “No. No, that’s okay. Only… Do you think maybe you could stay with me for a little while? Until the world stops spinning, anyway.”

 He nodded carefully. She heaved a sigh, and he reached out to offer his hand. She grabbed it and hauled herself off the couch. His mouth went dry as her robe gaped open, and her taut stomach peeked at him from between two strips of his favorite color in the world. Soft orange against her smooth skin made him react quickly, and he was relieved when she stepped from the room so he could adjust. The last thing he needed was a raging boner with a woman who he’d already offended.

 Peeta wandered over to the kitchen counter where stacks of leaves and other fauna decorated the surface. He nudged a few but stopped when he saw the labels carefully marking what each specimen was. They seemed much more organized than her soil samples he’d knocked from her hands when he’d bumped into her the week before, and he didn’t want to destroy any more of her work.

 “They’re my babies,” she said softly from behind his left shoulder. He jumped at her nearness. She’d snuck up on him, moving silently back into the room, after changing into a pair of black leggings and a green v-neck t-shirt that looked so soft he wanted to wrap himself up in it.

 “What are they?” he queried and turned to focus on the plants again instead of noticing the way her legs curved elegantly under the tight fabric or the tiny hint of cleavage that peeked above her neckline.

 She poked at a piece of bark and explained, “They’re a collection of the local flora and fauna. I’m on leave from an agro-biology lab, but Panem is so close to The Woods that I decided I better use the time off to my advantage. I’ll catalog these, and we can use them as further research. I’ve also wondered… Well, never mind.”

 “What?” he prodded. “What have you wondered?”

 “My sister wasn’t ever much of an outdoor type of person. She loved helping people and was halfway through med school when she…uh, when she got sick.” He waited patiently as she struggled to control her voice and continued. “We spent a summer here once, and it was the only time I could get her to hike with me or go into that cave. You know, the one over there on the far side of the lake?”

 “Yeah, I know that one.”

 “She asked me so many questions that summer, all about which plants were edible and what ones could be used for medicine. My mom used to know a bunch of that, too, but Prim said I explained it so much better.” Her pause was wistful and full of memories when she added, “I’ve always thought maybe I could make a field guide. For kids, you know? With illustrations and short descriptions instead of the scientific explanations the ones with photographs have. Get kids interested in nature at an early age.”

 He nodded and glanced over at her. Her face was soft, and it made her even more lovely than he already knew she was. “That’s a wonderful idea. Why don’t you?”

 “I can’t draw,” she admitted with a rueful smile. “Not even stick figures. I’m terrible. I’d have to hire an artist, and I’m just not in a place finically to do that right now.”

 “I see.”

 “Anyway, I’m going to sit down because the room isn’t quite stable yet. If you wouldn’t mind making us some, there’s cocoa in the cupboard. That always helps sober me up better than coffee. If your offer to get me something still stands, that is?” She looked so hopeful that a pang shot through his stomach, and he turned quickly to make their drinks.

 “Here you go,” he said as he handed her a steaming mug and settled into the chair closest to her side of the couch. “Feeling a little better?”

 She sipped the cocoa and groaned when it hit her tongue. “This is so good. Yes, I’m much better. I don’t normally have so much, but I made a new friend today. That woman could drink a sailor under the table and curse better than him while she did.”

 “Johanna Mason?” It had to be. None of the other guests could hold a candle to the divorcée, and she added so much color to the resort. Despite her bawdy sense of humor and relentless attempts to lure him into her bedroom, he genuinely liked the woman. She made no apologies for who she was, and he admired her confidence.

 “Yes, Jo. What a personality.”

 “She’s something alright. She puts quite a spell over everyone she meets. Lots of my co-workers, actually, too. She might have mentioned it.”

 Katniss nodded and considered him. “She did. She also mentioned you.”

 “Did she? She have anything good to say about me?”

 “I guess that depends on what you consider good. She said you were sexy and one of the few employees who didn’t dip into the company pool of eligible women.”

 “Flattering and fair. She’s right.”

 “Some people call that good ethics,” she said.

 “And what do you call it?”

 “I call it integrity, and I’m a fan. Don’t push the boundaries unless the boundaries should be breached. Then it’s fair game.”

 Peeta took a drink and studied her over the rim. Her earlier snippiness was nowhere to be seen, and he had to admit he liked this version of her. Annie was right; Katniss seemed a little lonely and guarded herself behind a brick wall built with sadness and shitty luck. She probably hadn’t had a break for a long time. Maybe he could offer her one.

 “You know if you need an artist, I happen to know one who’s pretty talented.”

 “An artist?”

 “For your book. The illustrated field guide thing?”

 “Oh! The plant book,” she laughed. “I’d almost forgotten I shared that. Nobody really knows anything about that little dream.”

 “Well, he could probably do whatever you needed, and I know for a fact he’s available this summer if you wanted to work on it during your stay.”

 “Really?” she asked eagerly. “What’s his name? When do you think he could start?”

 “Peeta Mellark, and is tomorrow afternoon too soon?”

 She gaped at him for just a moment until it registered, and then she broke into a smile that lit up the room. She dazzled, and he knew he’d made the right decision.

 “Tomorrow afternoon is perfect. How’s 4:30?”

 “I’ll be here.”

  _________________

 “You’re looking awfully smug. Where’ve you been?”

 Finnick grinned at his friend and retorted, “A gentleman never tells.”

 “And where can I find one of those?” Peeta deadpanned.

 “I’m wounded. Wounded, I say. Whatever happened to being kind to your friends? Especially one who’s newly engaged.”

 “You didn’t.”

 “I did.”

 Peeta whooped and grabbed Finnick in a bearhug. “You finally did it! Congratulations, man! Annie’s such a great girl, and you’re…well, you’re not the worst. Really happy for you.”

 “Thanks, Peet. I took her out on the lake, over to the cove on the other side and surprised her with a candlelight picnic on the shore.”  

 He stopped there. Peeta didn’t need to know about how Annie had surprised him once he’d slipped the ring on her finger. How she’d made noises that scared away wildlife and done things to him that might be illegal in some countries.

 “The outdoors seems to suit you. I’m surprised you didn’t make her swim over there,” Peeta teased.

 “Just because I look my best when I’m shirtless and drenched doesn’t mean everyone does. Although, Annie…”

 Peeta laughed and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “To be fair, I think all women look better shirtless and sopping wet. And speaking of that, I have something completely off topic to tell you.”

 “No drenched women begging Golden Boy to make them come?”

 “Finn, that’s…so beyond my abilities it’s not even worth a comment.”

 “Just tell me,” Finnick sighed. “After that, we’re going to work on getting you laid sometime soon. You’ve lost all sense of humor.”

 “I apologized to Cabin 12.”

 “Katniss Everdeen?”

 “Yes. Katniss. And I offered to help her with a project.”

 Finnick narrowed his eyes and asked, “What kind of project?”

 “I’m going to offer my services as an illustrator for a project she’s working on this summer, but it’s not something she’s willing to share yet, so keep your mouth shut, please.”

 “Will you both be fully clothed during this process?” Something flashed across Peeta’s face, and Finnick chased it like a cat does a mouse. “What? Explain that look.”

 Peeta shook his head. “It’s nothing. She was in a bikini when I showed up at her cabin.”

 “And?”

 Finnick waited until Peeta admitted, “She looks great in it.”

 “I bet she does, Peet. I bet she does.”

 “Shut up, Finn.”

 “Goodnight, lover boy.”

[nicholasthepunisher]

as much as i do love this game the writing in dead space 3 is definitely Not one of its strong points. personally i think the most glaring offences are 

isaac not questioning the admiral’s crazed, bloody scrawling in MARKER SCRIPT in her quarters, because he did the same thing on the walls of his cell on titan station. it’s suspicious as hell and there’s really no reason why isaac didn’t think so too. he knows what it’s like to be under the markers’ influence. why didn’t he question it it makes NO sense

the totally needless love triangle that has been mentioned countless times already by just about everyone who’s ever played this game. it’s awful. it’s pointless. it’s infuriating, especially how norton was just being used as a rebound guy and at the end ellie realises Wait, She Still Loves Isaac, even though norton’s not long been dead?? i hate it WHY did they think it was a good idea to include it? just to make isaac feel worse??? for fuck’s sake

ellie apparently can’t defend herself in this game?? even though when we’re introduced to her in DS2 she’s dropping necromorphs like they’re nothing and almost took isaac’s head off in the process? but she’s literally never seen holding a weapon of any kind in this game. she is NOT a damsel in distress but that’s seemingly all she’s been reduced to  

santos’ death being entirely needless and nonsensical. the rest of the crew’s being picked off so you know it’s coming but it’s just. it’s bad. ellie’s “you did everything you could” remark is real rich considering she just stood there and did absolutely nothing while carver and isaac struggled with the winch. speaking of, carver cutting the line was entirely pointless bc in co-op he just falls back down there anyway. i know there’s separation of gameplay and plot but they could have done a LOT more to try and save her, using their kinesis modules, stasis - anything instead of just futilely struggling with the winch

isaac not mentioning anything about earthgov using him in project telomere. at all. except like, the “i didn’t make shit; your government MADE me” line. even though he’s technically allied with earthgov in DS3 because his partner’s an earthgov soldier and ellie’s crew are all earthgov personnel. they took 3 years of his life away from him while he was held on the sprawl, they gave him memory suppressants that made him forget all about his part in the creation of that marker - surely that would have created some tension between him and carver at least?? even if carver had no idea what the hell project telomere was, and could have sympathised with what earthgov put him through, isaac still could have felt angry and resentful at his predicament of working with the organisation that tortured him. man 

they didn’t expound upon isaac’s trauma besides having him say he feels “permanently broken/fucked up”. we see at the beginning of the third game he’s incredibly vulnerable; he’s all by himself, he’s living in a filthy apartment, there’s alcohol bottles and pages with marker script strewn about the place, he’s three days from being evicted - he is NOT doing well, and that’s never brought up. i also would have loved to have more insight to what he was doing before the events of the third game kicked off

coulda fleshed out carver a lot more for solo play!! without reading the supplemental liberation comic or completing the co-op specific missions as carver, you don’t really don’t get to know anything about him. while playing solo the “good men” bit really means nothing by the time it happens, carver just disappears then reappears at various instances throughout the game and you’re shown at the beginning he’s pretty blunt, which makes him easy to dislike off the bat. they could have done a lot more to differentiate the two campaigns 

[crushondonald]

Remembering Donald O'Connor ❤

“A performer has to answer to himself. If you think something’s funny, you’ve got to go out there and try. It’s only by trial and error that you find out.”

 August 28, 1925 - September 27, 2003

“I’m tired of being a machine … I am no angel, I’m the same as everyone else, with the same temperament and temper. I resent having people tag me as perpetual, super-polite juvenile. I’m subject to fever, headaches and bad-temper just like anybody else.” February 1954

“Alcoholism was a desease, a genetic thing. I used to have a marvelous time drinking. Until I passed that invisible line and became an alcoholic. I figured that I could master the rehab programme, be out there in a week, go back to drinking. But once I was there, something marvelous happened. My obsession to drink left me. Now I have been a recovering alcoholic for fifteen and a half years.” June 1994

After he suffered a very serious physical collapse caused by excessive alcohol abuse in 1978, Donald was finally hospitalized for approx. three months. Ever since he was cured from alcoholism in 1979, Donald recovered visibly, regained the trust of his family, went back to work successfully and never touched a drop of alcohol again for the rest of his life. On top of that, he claimed that he had never been happier in life ever before.

“He’s the man you’d wish to be with you for the rest of your life.” Gloria Noble O'Connor ~ Donald’s second wife

“I’m the guy who danced through life. It seems that no matter what I do, if I did MacBeth, they’d want me to do eight bars of ‘Tea for Two’ just because it pleases. It’s the kind of dancing I do – jumping around and having a good time. It’s happy, gay, and pleasant. Dancing is so wonderful. Once they start the music, your whole day, if it’s been rotten, seems to melt away. You get carried away in the tune that you’re moving to. It’s a marvelous catharsis … to be able to get on top and tap dance.”

“Donald was a spontaneous artist and comedian, and he could never do anything the same twice. There was no way you could say, ‘Do it this way, and it will be funnier.’ It was all improvisation.The dummy he uses in the dance, for example, was lying on a rehearsal stage next door to us [on the set of SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN]. We walked in one day and Donald started to fool around with it. For half an hour, we just roared with laughter. Finally, we said, ‘Well, let’s put that in the number.’ All of it came right out of Donald. It was unbelievable. We had to throw out 20 minutes of it.“ Gene Kelly

“I was born in a trunk, and I’ll die performing.”

… you nearly made it, Don! I love and miss him with all my heart … it is a blessing that Donald shared his unique talent with the world for more than 70 (!) years! He loved to entertain his audiences, was a passionate performer and made generations laugh (of course, he still does!), even though he had to struggle with many personal, painful strokes of fate. Donald O'Connor was the youngest and the fourth surviving child of seven, born to John Edward “Chuck” O'Connor, who was from County Cork in Ireland, and Effie Irene O'Connor (née Crane), both vaudevillians. The O'Connor Family was billed as “The Royal Family of Vaudeville” at the time. When Donald was 10 months old, his father died from heart attack while performing on stage, only a few weeks after his seven year-old sister Arlene was killed in a car accident. As she was crossing the street with Donald in a stroller, the car hit her. Miraculously, Donald remained nearly unhurt. Effie O'Connor had become extremely overprotective of her remaining children, seeming never to completely recover from the shock of losing her daughter and husband within weeks of each other. Donald joined the family act when he was just a toddler. He enjoyed being on stage, which also served as escape from his domineering mother. Sadly, she had a good reason to worry. Until 1958, Donald finally had survived all his siblings. Don was only 19 years old, when he married his first wife Gwen Carter in 1944, the year he entered service in WWII. While he was overseas, he got acquainted with the devil who became finally an obsession ... alcohol. After returning home, life went back to normal very slowly. Universal Pictures, where he was under contract since 1942, did not really know what to do with him. His first apperance on screen after the war followed in 1947. In the meantime, his daughter Donna was born in 1946. Unfortunately, the marriage of Don and Gwen didn’t went very well and finally ended up with divorce in 1954. All these incidents and the fact, that Don was always a workoholic resulted in alcoholism, he suffered from for almost 25 years ... creepingly getting worse and worse over the decades, reducing his ability to work increasingly and reaching its sad low point, visible to the outside, in the 1970s. As he was also a heavy smoker, he additionally developed a heart deasease. Burning the candle at both ends resulted in a heart attack in 1971, a serious physical collapse in 1978 and a quadruple bypass surgery in the early 1990s. That was quite a price to pay, but he always managed to pick himself up and keep going. After all, Donald O'Connor stayed down-to-earth and was beyond that one of the most versatile, charming, modest and sweetest gentlemen in Hollywood. ☆ Thankfully, Don found happiness with his lovely second wife Gloria Noble. She was the love of his life and the best that could have happened to him. Because of his addiction, they went through hard times, but she never let him down. Their marriage lasted over 46 years until his death in 2003, three children were born to them.

Dream team - Donald & Gloria at “Ciro’s” in 1956. They got married in October of the same year. ☆ Since I was a child, I’ve adored him as an excellent (tap) dancer, singer, comedian and actor. By the way, he was a great composer, too! Until 1955, at the age of 30, Donald had appeared in 45 (!) motion pictures [“Singin’ In The Rain" is #38!]. The press called him “the youngest old-timer in show business” at that time. That’s quite a statement of what had been accomplished by such a young man. In addition, his vaudeville background, successful TV shows during the 1950s and 1960s as well as a vast number of stage performances his entire life speak for themselves. It always seems to me that there was nothing Donald couldn’t do. In his later years, when the popularity of musicals slowly had faded away, Donald should have been managed better. After “Singin’ In The Rain” he never got a role again matching his extraordinary talent in this way, even if he made some wonderful movies in the 1950s, such as “Call Me Madam”. It wasn’t considered enough that he was a also a fine ‘serious’ actor, proved by his performances in the ‘Francis the Talking Mule” series or in ”The Buster Keaton Story” (although the script is awful and terribly incorrect!) and even in his early roles as a child. It makes me sad that Hollywood didn’t really know how to take advantage of his versatility. Unfortunately, he does not receive the credit he really deserves … he was so much more than 'Cosmo Brown'! ☆ Over the years, I’ve also developed profound respect and admiration for this wonderful man away from the spotlight. I’m fascinated by his real life achievement, kindness, honest modesty and willpower. Hopefully, someone will pay tribute to this endearing human being and unique  artist, perpetuate his memory by writing down his life story. Maybe one (or more) of his four lovely children, Donna, Alicia, Donald Frederick or Kevin … … I could die happy then!

“I’m no longer a superstar. Now I’m working on being a quasar, because stars wear out. Quasars go on forever … I look for the parts where I die and they talk about me for the rest of the movie.” 1992

Happy Birthday Donald 💋 … You’ve always been my mentor and the light of my life, darling!

Keeping his legacy alive … le grá go deo ♡♡♡

(Photos on top show Donald O'Connor over the decades, in order 1930s - 2000s from left to right.)

[retro-aesthe]

Sidelines (Part 2)

(I’ve actually posted this... idk, it disappeared so I’m gonna post it again. Happy reading!!!)

Alex Danvers x fem!reader

You were watching a documentary about war remnants left by World War II in different “third world countries.” Just like a one-shot angst fic about your OTP you’ve read a thousand times, this documentary sucks you in—deep, and makes you want to continue relieving your college idealist self you’ve left behind some time ago. Back in NCU, you wanted to change the world and save the oppressed… but when you graduated, you were caught off-guard by the cruel face of reality. Suddenly, those plans of changing the world faded. You were stuck as some newspaper writer—broke, by the way—with a record of libel case under your name.

As you watched, with glimmering eyes, the old, ragged, black and white pictures being flashed in your TV, the door burst open. You jumped in surprise, higher than you’ll ever admit, and some popcorn spilled on the floor from the overflowing bowl. You turned around to check who just barged in and saw Alex Danvers with a pissed off look in her face.

You immediately placed the bowl of popcorn on the table and stood up, frown already marring your face. You swallowed the popcorn you just placed on your mouth, and then asked lightly, “What’s up?”

You felt relieved that your heart was calming down already.

“Why the fuck is your door not locked?” your best friend asked, and you can already see the angry lines getting more obvious on her face. The waves of anger raging from your best friend’s… presence were directed to you. You felt so lost because all you can think about was how she just went here to… scold you? Wasn’t she on a date?

“Um… because I’m inside?” you said slowly… confusion rising by the level as you stared at Alex’s pissed off form. The agent moved to close the door and proceeded on taking off her coat.

“I’ve told you a hundred times that you should lock the door. What if I’m some murderer? I could be murdering you right now—“

“Well, you’re not a murderer and you’re not murdering me right now. You’re my best friend and you can come in my apartment anytime. My locked door would have made me stand up—which I just did, thanks to you barging in here like some overly crazed person—and pause this incredibly heart-wrenching and mind-blowing documentary, just so I could open the door for you, your highness,” you rambled sarcastically, as you automatically went for your refrigerator and pulled out some beer.

Alex was already getting comfortable in your couch—where you were sitting a while ago—which was filled with thick blankets that made you feel like you’re in heaven.

“So… you came here just to bitch about my unlocked door…? Or, am I going to pry how your night went with a certain detective?” you asked, as you placed the opened beer bottles on the center table. You faced your best friend, having the chance to take her in. You can just imagine how your eyes turned into heart ones. Alex was breathtaking. You can’t help but envy Maggie Sawyer right now. The detective was living what you only had for a dream… at least you hope that she does know that.

“There was an emergency called by NCPD, so she had to leave early.” You watched as she drank the beer, clenching your jaw at the audacity of Maggie Sawyer to leave Lexie, on a date, alone… you would never do that even if it was your brought-back-to-life-by-Hades-because-the-god-despises-him-too editor calling. Well, you do know it is irrational to hold it over Maggie’s head (as the call was probably for the public’s safety) but, still. She left Alex alone.

“Explains why you had time to go here,” you said lightly. There was no bitterness in your tone, though your words came out flatly than you intended it to. You’ve felt neglected by your best friend these past few weeks she had been dating Maggie. Before, you’ve always had nights with Alex (because it’s the only time of the day the both of you possibly aren’t at work) at least four times a week. Now, it was reduced to sporadic once-a-week’s. You just kept your mouth shut, because you don’t know where you stand. There’s the feeling of needing to insert yourself because you’re the best friend, but there’s also the feeling of pulling back because you’re not the journalist sister, you’re just the journalist best friend.

It also doesn’t help that you’re the in-love best friend.

God, you hate yourself so much.

“Y/n…? Y/n, you still with me?” You refocused your unfocused eyes, and found Alex’s concerned ones staring right at you. You felt your eyes turn glassy, so you blinked the (possibly) tears away, and cleared your throat. You grabbed your bottle of beer and took large gulps. One thing that probably heavily grounds your friendship with Alex Danvers is alcohol. During game nights, you and Alex both dominate the available alcoholic drinks and still end up coherent enough to go home, or form syntactically—emphasis on just “syntactically”—correct sentences.

You slammed the beer harder than intended on your glass center table.

“Yeah, I am.” God, you need more.

You stood up, aware of Lexie’s eyes following your movements. You reached for the emergency bottle of (pure, as you specifically bought) tequila you had stored on your cupboard. ‘You’re loose lips, Y/n,’ you thought as you grabbed shot glasses. The glasses were just for show, since you had this great need to be loose lips and drink the entire bottle down to the last drop (which would more likely end up with you being pumped), and just tell Alex Danvers everything because Maggie Sawyer doesn’t deserve her because she left gorgeous Alex Danvers alone in their date night for some “NCPD emergency.”

“Sorry, I have like, a lot of things in my mind.” Case in point: the woman you’re talking to. “You know, article stuff,” you added, admittedly rather defensive. You filled the two shot glasses with tequila, not even bothering to ask Lexie if she wants one because you know she does because that’s how well you know her.

You pressed play on the documentary you were watching. The heavy silence masked the narrator’s voice, and you were extremely aware of Lexie’s restlessness, which you know means that she badly wants to say something. You have ignored your half consumed beer (and the now cold and indigestible popcorn), and turned on pouring yourself shot after shot of tequila. You should have followed yourself a while ago—go to bar after work.

“Are… are you okay, Y/n?” Alex finally asked. You tensed for a moment. Alex knows how much you resented that question… maybe that’s why she was so hesitant of asking you. You’ve always rambled on how it was futile to ask the question, especially if the one who asked only expects a yes or no answer. It’s much more than a simple yes or no to define if one’s okay or not.

You pressed pause once more and turned to her and smiled, finally feeling the effects of the (pure!) tequila you were drinking. Your lips were feeling numb (so you’re really half sure you’re smiling), and your tensed mind (as you so likely often describe it) was loosening up. You stared at Alex with half-lidded eyes. You have no idea why you suddenly felt drunk-hazy, as if you’ve drunk more than your limits. You looked at the tequila bottle and saw how it’s nearing empty. You frowned. Did it spill?

“I’ve only had a couple of shots… then you grabbed the bottle and basically fired shots… no difference if you’ve just drank from the bottle.” Lexie said, slightly amused. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?” You detected the shift in her tone, which was bordering concern.

Loose lips. Overly emotional. Not a good combination, especially when the pain caused by Maggie’s appearance in your life—more like in Lexie’s—is really doing a number on you. You stared at Lexie’s concerned eyes. You took a deep breath, wondering what to do or say next. With just pure instincts, your right hand moved to grab the bottle—you need to loosen up more.

“Hey, no. You’ve had enough.” Alex pried the bottle from your hands. She placed it on the floor, just slightly behind her then turned back to you. You nearly jumped off your skin when her soft hand grabbed yours, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“You’re watching documentaries, Y/n. You only watch them whenever something’s stressing you out. You drank that bottle of pure tequila as if it’s just water. You wanna tell me what’s going on?” You can’t help but let yourself give in on the appearing symptoms of crying. You’re already feeling hot, and Lexie’s smile just keeps flashing before your eyes… Lexie’s incredibly beautiful and perfect smile directed at Maggie Sawyer. You pursed your lips. Suddenly, there’s a growing anger forming inside you. You keep thinking why you hadn’t been good enough for Alex—for her to notice you. Why did it have to be Maggie? Why her? What freaking generous thing did she do for her to have the one person you’ve been praying for almost your whole life?

You suddenly felt a soft hand on your cheek. It was so comfortable, making your heart turn over and over again. When the thumb ran just below your eyes, you suddenly realized you were crying. You’re crying and Alex freaking Danvers, your best friend, was holding your hand and wiping your tears. Her eyes were full of concern and her face was so incredibly close. All you can think of is how beautiful she is and how she deserves the whole world. The forming anger was suddenly replaced by an onslaught of your love for this woman holding you.

You don’t know if it’s because of being soul-turning drunk that you suddenly can’t handle Lexie being an inch close to you. You’ve been at situations like this most of your life, but something changed right now. You can’t control yourself anymore when before, being with your best friend (since you realized you’re hopelessly in love with her) was all about control.

It was so comfortable, being this close. You taught of staying like this forever. As you stared at Lexie’s beautiful, concerned (for you) eyes, you can’t help but cry more over your missed chance of being with her. Your eyes shifted down and you can’t help but wonder how those lips were naturally pink and soft, while yours were pale and more often than not, slightly chapped. Then, with your screw-it mind taking over, you shook off Lexie’s hold on your hand. You placed both of your hands softly on her nape, and pulled her closer.

You can’t help but think that this is, indeed, the softest pair of lips you’ve ever had the chance of kissing. And you so badly want to kiss these pair of lips forever.

[dissoluteways]

goodnight

❧

PAIRING: Wonshik/OC RATING: Explicit WARNINGS: slight angst, drunk sex, explicit themes, still cheesy, not too much plot really.  WORDCOUNT: 4756

Notes: I wrote this fic a long time ago and it’s funny that i’m going through a hard time myself so I thought I should share it here. I hope you all enjoy it!

-

Slamming the door hard behind her when she got to her apartment didn’t make her feel better at all. She would have to do it a hundred times if she wanted to get rid of that awful feeling she had in her stomach, but she couldn’t do that without someone in the building calling the police or something.

It had been a terrible day, a terrible week in fact. A terrible life, she thought, overreacting in her anger, but it what she felt either way. Things hadn’t gone the way she planned at work, all her hard work reduced to nothing when her boss told her she had to give her all and “work harder” if she wanted to keep her job. That alone put her on the verge of tears, but she did her best to keep it all in, only crying when she reached home that day.

And it was just out of luck that she got into a fight with a friend two days later. Maybe she was being sensitive, considering it hadn’t been exactly the best week to begin with, but she had the habit of keeping things to herself too much, so when her friend called her to complain about her own life, she just yelled at her for never asking how she felt in the first place. She felt guilty afterwards, but she wasn’t going to apologize until her distress went away.

To top it all off, her phone call with her dad had made her feel so low she might as well be buried under 8 tons of crap. It was the usual, when she was going to get a decent job, and find someone to settle down, her brothers and sisters were already successful and in relationships, so why wasn’t she the same. She was used to it all in a way, it’s not like her dad talk to her about anything different, but it was like beating someone when they were down on the ground. And she had been on the ground already for a long time.

So the first thing she did when she got home that Friday was opening the bottle of beer she had on her fridge, and drank until she couldn’t remember her name.

She wanted to be with someone too, but there was only one person she knew that would work as a booty call, and that was Wonsik. Honestly, that wasn’t everything they did, sometimes they actually hanged out and talk or eat, but mostly they slept together when they weren’t doing anything else. She wasn’t sure if she was allowed to call him under those circumstances, drunk and sad wasn’t particularly how she wanted him to see her, especially when she also didn’t know what their relationship was exactly. But she liked him, a lot actually, and she thought he might like her too. At least he liked her enough to talk to her almost every day, so she hoped he would agree to seeing her then.

She thought of a hundred different reasons why she should not call him (she might even get shot down because he could be busy), but getting laid could make her forget about how awful it was to be herself in that moment, so she ended up dialing his number.

Wonsik was at her door less than an hour later. By then, she wasn’t completely drunk, just slightly dizzy. And in her dizziness, all she could think of was how cute he looked, all fresh faced and sleepy eyes, thin lips curved into a small smile as he greeted her, pecking her on the lips.

“Have you been drinking?” He asked, squinting his eyes.

“It’s Friday.” She hoped that was a good excuse so he wouldn’t ask anything.

He stared at her for a second, before taking off his coat and walking in.

She kept on drinking as they had dinner on the couch. One bottle wasn’t enough to make her so wasted she would forget what happened those last few days, so she was aiming for at least two bottles.

Wonsik was eyeing her intensely, since he said no when she offered him a drink. Thus, he stopped her before she even reached half of her second beer bottle.

“I think you’ve had enough.” He said, putting the bottle away on the fridge.

“How do you know, maybe I was trying to get hammered.” She said, and she knew how annoyed she sounded, she hoped he could feel it too.

“I know what you are trying to do.” She was slightly surprised to hear annoyance in his voice too.

Sighing in loudly and looking away, she went back to slowly munching at her pizza. She wasn’t even that hungry, but she didn’t feel like looking at him or she might spit out something mean, considering how shitty she felt.

“What’s wrong?”

The concern in Wonsik’s voice also surprised her. But she didn’t reply.

“I know you’re upset about something.” He added, sitting closer, right next to her on the couch. She averted her eyes, instead focusing on the curtains across the room. “Your eyes were really red and puffy when I walked in, and I know it wasn’t because of the alcohol.”

“It’s not important.”

She tried to get up but a hand on her wrist kept her from doing so, keeping her in place, and she finally looked at Wonsik in the eye.

“Tell me.”

“Why do you wanna know anyway?” Her voice came out weaker than she intended, and her eyes felt full again, like she could cry if she kept talking. She got up and he didn’t stop her that time.

The reason why he didn’t stop her was because he actually got up when she did, and she glared at him when she noticed. He didn’t obviously care, his eyes fixated on her face, as if waiting for her to tell him everything.

Inhaling deeply, she rubbed her temples before speaking.

“I had an awful week, ok? I got yelled at in public at work, I had a terrible fight with a friend, and my dad is being a fucking asshole like he always is to me.” She still couldn’t help the resentment in her voice but Wonsik seemed unbothered by it, listening intently instead. “And now you won’t even let me finish a fucking bottle of beer. I’m not fourteen; I can drink all I want.”

Even in her head that sounded childish and ridiculous. Neither of them were laughing though, and Wonsik stopped her when she tried to walk to the fridge.

“Drinking is not actually going to make it go away, and you know it.”

He was making it worse, and she hated him in that moment.

“How do you know, maybe I’ll drink so much I’ll get into an alcoholic comma. That would certainly make it go away.”

She glared at him so hard, but he didn’t let go of her anyway.

“What are you doing here anyway? I’m sure you probably have nicer, sexier girls around to hook up with, maybe an idol like yourself too. A girl who’s so beautiful she doesn’t have shitty problems like these, and who’d do anything you say without questioning.”

She was being unfair, and she knew she wouldn’t have actually said all those things if it wasn’t for the alcohol and for how hurt she was in that moment.

Wonsik furrowed his eyebrows, still holding onto her wrist.

“Is that really what you think?”

“I guess it is.” Her throat hurt, and she didn’t feel like speaking anymore.

There was a few seconds of silence, though it felt like an eternity, before he spoke.

“Don’t you know how I feel about you?”

She didn’t reply, simply stared at him instead. She didn’t know how he felt but she didn’t want to hear it in that state, so she remained quiet.

“If everything you said was true, I wouldn’t even be here right now.”

She felt like crying again, and only then she realized she was trembling. She ran her hand through her face, trying to calm herself down, and Wonsik slid his fingers down her other hand, to hold it, thumb stroking her skin, until her breathing evened.

Once she felt conscious again (conscious enough actually, her head obviously affected by that beer), her eyes went to Wonsik again. He was still looking at her, but it was a soft gaze, and for a moment she thought she might pass out because of it.

Pulling him closer, she kissed him hard on the lips, closing the distance between them, her hands clinging to his clothes. He made a little surprised noise as she hurriedly worked on the buttons of his shirt.

“Hey, hey,” Wonsik pulled away, chuckling and grabbing her hands to stop her. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What does it look like?” She asked, trying to get away from his grip and kiss him, but failing, making him chuckle more. Being small was a weakness in that moment.

“You’re drunk and upset.”

“So?” She tried to wiggle out of Wonsik’s grip, succeeding that time. “A lot of people are drunk and upset, yet they get laid. Do you say anything to them too?”

Wonsik was clearly amused by her logic, and she felt like a kid talking to a grown up.

“Only because I don’t know them, and I don’t care about them.”

“I’m not that drunk. You didn’t let me finish that bottle, remember?”

Wonsik chuckled again, and she hated him.

“I will remember this tomorrow, I’m not that drunk!” He was laughing by the moment those words came out of her mouth, and she hated him more. “I hate you!”

“Really?” His eyes were still soft when they landed on her face, and she felt heat rising to her cheeks.

“Yeah, I call you so we can fuck, but now you won’t even do it. And you’re laughing at my face like I’m some teenager.”

“It’s because you’re acting like one.” He cupped her face, smiling as he ran his thumb across her cheek. “And I’ll fuck you, alright, but just a little differently.”

“What are you talking about?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

Wonsik’s lips were on hers then, kissing her slowly and making her sigh. He was being frustratingly slow, actually. She clung and tugged at his clothes, trying to get them off and urging him to go faster, but he just kept chuckling when she did that. She never wanted to hit him so much as she did in that moment.

He grabbed her arms, making her wrap them around his neck before picking her up to carry her to the bedroom. She yelped at being so easily picked up, but at least they were going somewhere now, and she wrapped her arms and legs around him once they reached the room, stumbling upon the bed, his body on top of hers.

Wonsik kept on kissing her idly, unhurried lips gliding over hers, their tongues barely brushing, and she whimpered, squirming and moving her hips to get him to do something, anything. She wanted it hard and fast and rough, she wanted to forget about that mind numbing pain she was feeling at that moment, wanted him to rip her thoughts from her mind by force. All she earned was his hands on her hips, holding her down, and a soft bite to her bottom lip, and she complied, sighing into his mouth.

His hands slid up her body, under her shirt, and she shivered under his touch, his fingers slightly cool against her skin. Wonsik pulled away to take off her shirt then his, smiling sweetly when he leaned down to kiss her again. She wished he wasn’t so handsome and hot in that moment, because even when he smiled at her without his shirt it made her hate him more for not just giving her what she wanted.

She ran her hand through his clothed crotch, trying to make him get rid of his pants and get on with it, but he chuckled again, taking her hands into his and gripping them against the mattress, and she groaned, completely frustrated with his attitude.

“We’ll get there, don’t worry.” Wonsik’s voice was low and mellow, and he left her lips to trail kisses down her neck.

He mouthed and licked and sucked on various spots on her neck and shoulder, she was sure it was going to be impossible to hide them (thank god it was winter). Taking off her bra, he attached his mouth to her breast, softly lapping at her nipple before kissing the skin under her chest, sucking a bruise there as well.

She whimpered and squirmed when his lips kissed her other breast, and her hips moved up on their, trying to get some friction because Wonsik was just being so damn slow. She couldn’t see but she was positive there was a smirk on his face as he trailed kisses to her valley, and down her stomach. He stopped at her belly bottom, softly biting and sucking near it, leaving a mark there as well.

Hooking his fingers under her pants, he pulled them down and off before kneeling on the floor, settling between her legs. She tried to take off her panties, tried to sat up to actually stopping him from going down, but with a strong hand on her shoulder he pushed her back against the mattress, then resting his arm on her stomach to keep her there.

“Wonsik, please, please.” She whined, and she didn’t like begging, she was actually embarrassed from doing it, but she was scared she might cry if he kept delaying her needs.

“Shhh, let me take care of you, baby.” He ran his hand up and down her tummy, soothingly, before he pressed his lips against her lower stomach, just a little up the waistband of her panties.

She gasped when he bit down there, not really hard but she was surprised, her legs jolting when he sucked and licked. The flesh between her legs pulsed, and she was pretty sure she was soaking wet, Wonsik couldn’t possibly ignore it anymore; so when his lips left her tummy she braced herself to feel him where she wanted him most.

She still moaned when his lips pressed against the inside of her leg, and he spent an awful time there, kissing and marking her inner thighs, as he wrapped his arms around her legs to keep her still. She was panting by the time was done, on the verge of tears by how much torture she was being put through.

His tongue was on her panties then, softly licking her through the material, and she moaned, loud enough for everyone in the city to hear, probably. Wonsik chuckled against her clothed core, planting a kiss there before dragging her last piece of clothing down her legs, and dropping them on the floor.

He spent an awfully long time looking at her exposed body, looking at her center like it was the most delicious thing he had ever seen, and blood rushed through her veins towards her face, she was probably as red as a tomato. Her hips bucked up on their own when she felt his breath fanning against her skin, and his grip on her legs tightened, one of his hand resting on her stomach to keep her from moving.

“Stay still for me, baby.” Wonsik’s smile couldn’t possibly be any cockier, and she snorted.

“You know I won’t.”

She choked back a moan when he licked at her folds, kissing her clit when he was done, and then gliding his tongue over her a few times again. He kept on running his tongue through her core, licking at her over and over, and she was burning with lust, he was toying with her and she hated him, hated him, hated him.

He pulled away, and she looked down as soon as he did, ready to yell at him if he was going to drag the teasing out any longer. His fingers parted her carefully, and just like that, his mouth was on her clit, lips sealing tight over it. Her back arched off the bed, and a string of curses spilled out from her mouth as Wonsik devoured her.

The teasing had put her so close to the edge, so close to release, she was already panting hard, his tongue stroking her so deliciously good, it made her cling hard to the sheets, and her hips were trying desperately to move against his mouth, attempts unsuccessful as his grip on her tightened. Wonsik was particularly strong, and all she could do was take what he gave her, pure pleasure as he licked and kissed and grazed his teeth over her, making her gasp. The knot on her stomach grew tighter as he flattened his tongue against her clit before kissing it, sucking tight before lapping at her again. Her hands were on his head then, gripping tightly and tugging at his hair, trying to keep him as close as she could.

Sending chills up her spine, Wonsik dragged his lips over her, humming as he did so, still moving his tongue intensely. She felt like fainting, like there wasn’t enough air in the room, and her entire body started shuddering when he glided his tongue over her clit, and she finally let go.

Everything was white, hot, wet pleasure, her eyes fluttering shut, back arching off the bed and legs trembling and almost squeezing tight if it wasn’t for Wonsik’s hands, keeping them in place. He slid his tongue over her smoothly once, twice, before kissing her clit one last time, making her entire body shiver as he loosened his grip on her, hands caressing her thighs and sides.

“So beautiful,” He whispered against the skin of her thigh before planting a kiss there.

She felt his lips on her tummy, her stomach, and her chest, before she opened her eyes. There he was, face just a few inches away from hers, hair a mess, his chin glistening with spit, and eyes glowing. Wonsik had never looked more radiant. His thumb was on her cheek then, stroking softly, and he was looking at her with such intensity it made her lightheaded, and the urge to cry crawl back into her.

She kissed him to stop herself from doing so, hands running up strong chest and towards his neck. Wonsik held her body against his own, like he was trying to cover her entirely, and she moaned when she felt his erection pressing against her thigh through his pants. He didn’t seem to mind though, not doing anything to alleviate himself, his tongue taking his time to explore the inside of her mouth instead, his fingers tangling in her hair.

Having cooled down a bit from her eagerness, she slowly moved one her hands down his side, between their bodies until she reached his crotch, this time palming him gently through the fabric. Wonsik grunted against her mouth, and she held him close as she stroked him, until his hips moved into her hand. He pulled away then, getting off the bed to remove his pants. He unbuckled his belt and pulled the piece of clothing down as fast as he could, fingers trembling as he did, and she giggled at how the tables have turned.

“Who are you laughing at, baby girl?” His voice was dangerously low, a smirk adorning his face.

She felt heat blooming again in the pit of her stomach and she scooted back towards the center of the bed as Wonsik crawled back on top of her. He was only in his underwear then, his erection straining his boxers; and her mouth watered at the sight.

“You look funny and cute when you’re horny, that’s all.” She replied, completely unashamed.

He lifted an eyebrow and she giggled again when he kissed her, a smile lingering on his lips.

“I’ll show you who’s cute.”

The kiss was hurried yet sweet, Wonsik never leaving the idea of taking it slow that time, so he spent a long time kissing her, even when he was clearly aroused. He bit and sucked at her bottom lip when she tried to push him away to take off his underwear, whimpering into his mouth when he rolled his hips downwards against her core.

She ran her hands down his sides instead then, scraping her nails lightly across his skin, making him shiver, until she reached his boxers and wrapped her fingers around his cock before he could stop her again. He was hard and his dick felt perfect in her hand, and he groaned when she rotated her wrist, precum leaking from the crown.

If she could have had it her way, she would have her mouth on him at once, taking her time to kiss and lick at the head of his cock, before taking it all in, making Wonsik squirm and groan until he was fucking her mouth and coming inside her as she swallowed. But as the situation was, he had been in control since he got there, her few attempts at getting the upper hand completely futile. So she settled with stroking and pumping him until he was a mess, his face buried on the side of her neck as she did so.

That didn’t even last as long as she wanted, Wonsik grabbing both her wrists and holding them hard against the mattress before pulling away. He got rid of his last piece of clothing before looking for a condom, quickly crawling back on top of her after rolling it on.

She was moaning before he even touched her, her whole body aching to have him hard and hot inside her. She still wanted Wonsik to savage her, even after he had eaten her out like he did, she felt like she needed that, she needed him to thrust hard into her, to wreck her until she forgot her own name. But he was still staring at her with soft eyes, and she didn’t need or want that. If he kept doing that she was scared she would burst into tears and her body would shatter into a million pieces.

Even with the condom on his cock and so close to her core, Wonsik kept on kissing her, holding her hands to the bed and she couldn’t help all the whimpers that fell out from her lips, trying her best to get some kind of friction and moving her hips upwards, but achieving nothing more than a chuckle from his lips.

When Wonsik finally eased himself into her, he did so slowly, sliding just the head in at first before pulling out, and she wondered how he could do that, he had to be achingly hard at that point, how he could keep himself in control like that. He gripped her thighs, holding them so she wouldn’t move against him as he slid into her again, burying himself deep inside of her then. Throwing her head back, she gasped, feeling the stretch slightly burning, but as soon as he moved, that somewhat painful feeling turned into delicious pleasure.

His thrust were slow (like everything Wonsik had been doing the whole night), slow yet firm and deliberate, pulling out completely before pushing back into her, stroking her weak spot inside of her. His mouth was on hers, swallowing each and every one of her moans and whimpers, whispering back words of endearment as he moved his hips. His hands slid up her sides and towards her hands, intertwining their fingers together, and he kept pressing them into the bed, only he didn’t do it so roughly that time.

Whining into his mouth, and softly muttering words like please and more, Wonsik still didn’t give in, his eyes never leaving hers as he moved fluidly into her with a steady, easy pace. Squeezing her eyes shut, she laid her head back, gasping for air, that knot inside her gradually growing tighter. He pressed his lips against her neck, nipping and licking at her throat, and she let out a stuttered moan with a particularly hard thrust from his hips, and he took that chance to latch at her mouth then.

She couldn’t think. Everything felt good; the way Wonsik gently moved into her, how every time he thrusted into her his hold on her hands tightened, how his lips glided against hers in open-mouth kisses, spilling words like baby, princess, darling. She wanted to keep him close, closer, because she finally didn’t feel any pain at all in that moment, all she could feel was the way Wonsik moved inside of her, that warmth in her stomach spreading through her body, and his breath against her mouth, like he was breathing into her.

The pleasure built up so slowly, but it felt like Wonsik had been inside her for so long, every time he thrusted into her it made her feel like that was it, like her orgasm was there and she could come at the next move of his hips. Only that she didn’t, the pleasure rising instead, making her moan louder, clinging to him as much as she could. She was pretty sure she was digging her nails into Wonsik’s hand so hard he’d bleed, but he just kept panting, groaning, his thrusts erratic at that point.

“Fuck, fuck,” Wonsik cursed, his hips wildly moving against hers, so close to release, and he looked at her in the eye, with that gentle gaze he had all night, “I love you- I-”

He let go of her hands to grip at her hips then, slamming into her hard a couple of times before coming, his own orgasm triggering hers, her body trembling under his, as she clenched around him.

It was like floating, everything she could feel in that moment pure pleasure. Even when he was on top of her, his body not light at all, it felt like she would float away if she didn’t hold onto him. Gasping, she wrapped her arms around Wonsik’s body, clinging to him until his hips stopped jerking and his body stilled, lying on top of her, his face buried in her shoulder.

Only after air went back into her lungs, and the fog in her mind dissipated did the words ‘I love you’ settled in.

That was what it felt like, to be loved. As his hands still gripped her skin, fingers caressing her sides, she knew he was honest when he said that. Wonsik had seen past what she thought she needed, to give her what she truly needed.  

She felt like crying again, but for a completely different reason, and she tightened her grip around his shoulders to keep him there.

His lips were on her shoulder, peppering kisses on every bit of skin he could reach, as their breathing went back to normal. Wonsik pulled away then, disposing the condom before getting up, walking to the bathroom and coming back with wet towels. She blushed when he urged her to open her legs for him to clean her up, and he chuckled when she did, hands covering her face and body flinching at the suddenly cool feeling of wet fabric against her skin. He laid next to her after, covering their bodies with a blanket as he scooted closer to her.

He was sweet even in the afterglow, wrapping his arms around her and petting her hair with one hand, slowly running his thumb over her waist with the other. He was falling asleep, she noticed because his breathing was getting louder and more even, but Wonsik kept on drawing soothing patterns with his fingers on her skin.

She pressed her lips against his, her own mind then foggy with sleepiness as well, and he flinched, surprised, but kissed back anyway, humming against her mouth.

“I love you too,” She breathed into his lips, so low and quiet, but she was positive he heard her, Wonsik’s body going stiff as soon as those words left her mouth.

He felt him smiling against her lips as he kept on kissing her, kissed her until he was too sleepy to go on, his grip around her body tightening as he dozed off. She nuzzled his neck, ready to pass out then, with the reassuring thought that everything was going to be alright tomorrow.