#in terms of their personal line for dark media consumption

[sunlitmcgee]

I think they'd read some of the nightmare scenes in Heal and have an aneurism, honestly.

anon self reports…

[dirtytomatoedwrites]

INDEBTED

Summary: When your father's scandal threatens your family's legacy, Rafe makes you an offer you can't refuse.

Paring: Rafe Cameron x KookFem!Reader

Strictly 18+ No Minors to Interact

Warnings: Dark!Rafe, Dub-Con/Non-Con, Coercive Behaviour, Choking, Graphic Scenes / Smut.  

Word Count: 4.8k words

Author's Note: 1000 followers! Wow, I never thought I'd reach 1000 followers. A part of me believes that half of these are bots, but regardless, to those who are real and have decided to join me in my little corner of the Tumblr woods, thank you. Your love and support, especially during these trying times, means a lot. I had this one shot sitting in my drafts for a while and thought I'd finish the damn thing and share it as a thank you. But heed those warnings : it's a dark one. Much love to you all ❤️

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.

Embezzlement.

What a weird word.

It rolls off the tongue with an unfamiliar bitterness. It's the kind of term you'd see in a crossword puzzle, nestled between "clandestine" and "malevolent." You never imagined it would be splashed across news headlines with your family's name and the face of your father in the centre.

For years, your family was among the shining stars of Figure 8, leaders in hospitality, prestige, and wealth. Your home was the epicenter of elegance, the heartbeat of social galas. But now, news vans line the perimeter of your estate, their cameras hungry for a glimpse of the fallen dynasty. While online vultures, under the guise of investigative websites, sift through every chapter of your family's history.

Naturally, it caused a ripple, and as the waves of the scandal crashed onto the shores of Figure 8 with relentless force, family friends who once sought your company now wrestled with their association to yours. The 'friends' who once envied your galas and soirées now whisper behind closed doors.

It was the talk of every gathering. At lunches, tennis courts, even the marina; your family’s name was whispered with a mix of pity and sensationalism. Every disclosed detail, every leaked piece of evidence, threatens to shatter the glass pedestal upon which your family once stood unchallenged.

Yet, amidst the tempest of rumors and glares, your mother remains the eye of the storm. Resolute and graceful, she doesn't waver. The titan of Figure 8's social scene, she's always known how to command a room, and this scandal won't rob her of that gift.

Tonight, at the Midsummer ball, she's an emblem of defiance against the rising tide of whispers. And she does it so effortlessly. She glides through the crowd with that same charismatic charm. She smiles warmly, asking about children and recent vacations, pets, and passion projects, extending olive branches even when met with frosty receptions and curt replies.

You, however, are not as composed. The weight of judgmental gazes is too suffocating, the murmurs too piercing. The confines of the ball, with its glittering chandeliers and faux smiles, become a prison. With each passing moment, the walls seem to close in further. You need air. A moment of solitude. An escape from the suffocating pretense.

Whispering a quick excuse to your mother about needing the powder room, you slip away. The soft hum of the party fades behind you as you venture down a paved stone path, leading to the beach. The cool breeze and rhythmic waves provide solace, a stark contrast to the stifling ambiance of the party.

You had taken off the flower crown your mother had insisted you wear and were about to remove your shoes when you heard it: the soft crunch of footsteps on sand, drawing closer.

Hesitantly, you turned, finding him. The one whose eyes often sought yours in a crowd. Whose lingering gazes you'd always felt but habitually ignored. The same person who continually asked you out, oftentimes rudely and crudely. The one you had rejected, rebuffed, and shut down more times than you could count.

Rafe Cameron.

"Came to rub salt in my wounds?" you asked, unable to mask the bitterness in your voice.

"Now why would I want to do such a thing?" Rafe murmured. He pulled a joint from his pocket, placing it between his lips. The soft flicker of the lighter momentarily illuminated his face, revealing a brief smirk before the darkness cloaked him again. "I thought you might appreciate some company instead."

The word 'appreciate' ricocheted around your mind, sounding almost absurd in this situation. Company? From Rafe Cameron? The notorious Kook King of Figure 8, a classic case book narcissist who, you were certain, had probably raised a toast to the scandal engulfing your family. At this moment, you'd rather eat glass than accept his sympathy. Rolling your eyes, you turned back to the sea, barely acknowledging his presence.

“I'm not in the mood to talk, Rafe," your voice steady but seething with restrained frustration. Your eyes remained locked onto the undulating waves before you. The smell of sea-salt filled your nostrils, and for a fleeting moment, you felt at peace. It lasts all of two seconds before Rafe opens his mouth again.

"Fine, I'll talk. You listen," he asserts, as he settles against a rock. He leisurely inhales from his joint before blowing out a plume of smoke into the night air. You can feel his contemplative gaze on you; it becomes evident in the softened timbre of his voice when he speaks again. “You know, it's downright shitty what they're doing to your dad. To your family. To you... I can't stand by and watch."

A scornful laugh escapes you as you finally meet his gaze. "Well, life's not exactly handing out fairness certificates, is it?"

He shook his head, "No, it isn’t. But, it still doesn't make it right. It doesn’t make it fair when your dad claims he’s innocent—”

“My dad is innocent,” you assert fiercely, standing tall, arms crossed defiantly over your chest.

“Oh, I believe he is. But the world? Not so much. Your dad’s always been good to my family. My old man took it hard when he heard. I mean, of all the people on Figure 8 to be arrested for embezzlement, your dad was the last person anyone would suspect—”

“What's your point, Rafe?” You snapped, clearly about to lose the last shred of patience you had.

"I’ve been thinking about it alot, and maybe my family can help.”

Skepticism etched itself clear as day on your face. It seemed ironic that Rafe felt his family could help when Rose and Ward shunned your parents the moment the news broke.

“And how do you propose to do that?" you asked, your voice tinged with mistrust.

Rafe shrugged, a casual gesture that contradicted the gravity of the situation. "My dad, he's got connections—”

“So do mine,” you shot back.

“But did yours play golf with Senator Whitfield every Saturday? Rain or shine? Nah, didn’t think so.”

You felt a moment of silence envelop you both, the distant murmurs of the sea a constant reminder of the world moving around you.

"Alright, I'll bite," you said with a lick of your lips. "What do you want in return? You're clearly not doing this out of the goodness of your heart."

Rafe flicked his joint onto the sand, extinguishing it with a deliberate twist of his shoe. As he stepped closer, moonlight illuminated his eyes, giving them an almost predatory glow.

“You've got me," he admitted, his smirk devoid of warmth. “I do want something in return. Something that has been on my mind. Something I’ve wanted for a long time now. You."

A shiver raced down your spine, a cocktail of revulsion and trepidation. Retreating a step, your voice quivered but remained defiant.

"So, you're after a date?" You clarified, eyes narrowing. The same date he'd pestered you for, relentlessly, over the past year. The same date you'd denied him repeatedly, because despite being handsome, Rafe Cameron's moral compass seemed nonexistent.

Rafe scratched his ear as he moved slowly toward you, his expression pained as though what he was about to reveal would hurt him far more than it would hurt you.

"Yeah, see, a date won't begin to cover what I'm risking for your old man, given his rap sheet is longer than my arm. No, what I want is far more... rewarding," his voice sank to a sultry whisper as he towered over you.

"And what would that be?" you asked, tension crackling in the air between you.

"I want to be able to fuck you whenever and however I want—for a month, maybe two, perhaps even a year..." he shrugged slowly, "The specifics are negotiable, but doesn't that sound fair? A little pussy in exchange for your dad's freedom?”

The slap was instinctual. Swift. The sting on your palm matched only by the shock on Rafe's face. For a split second, everything was still.

Rafe's eyes turned to steel, his demeanor shifting chillingly in a heartbeat. He closed in, his voice a venomous whisper slicing through the salty sea air. "You must have a death wish" he hissed, an unmistakable dangerous edge to his words. His hand gingerly brushed his reddening jaw, his piercing gaze never leaving yours. "Your dad's freedom? It's dangling by the thinnest thread... The right words from a senator could decide whether he walks free or becomes someone's bitch behind bars."

He paused, his gaze falling to the flower crown in your hand. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out to touch it, his fingers lightly tracing the delicate petals, an almost gentle gesture that was jarringly at odds with the tension of the moment.

"If you want to help your dad, having a friend like me might be your best bet." he murmured. "Think it over, yeah?" His gaze lifted back to yours, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Fuck you, Rafe," you whispered, disgust fueled your retreat as you stormed away, his chilling laugh echoing ominously in the night air.

"You will, princess. When you come to your senses, you will."

Rafe's lingering words pressed on you, growing heavier with each breath. The looming possibility of your father's life behind bars became ever more ominous as Rafe presented a potential solution—a solution with an inconceivable price tag.

How could he even insinuate such a thing? The mere suggestion repulsed you, igniting a fury at Rafe's audacity. Yet the unease gnawing at your belly made you question: to what lengths would you go to save your dad? With your family facing disgrace and teetering on the brink of bankruptcy, Rafe's proposal offered a faint glimmer of hope, even if it took the ugliest of forms.

In the solitude of your bedroom, the pristine walls seemed to close in, just like the midsummer ball. Picking up your phone, you stared at the screen, the bright white light harsh against the dim setting. The contacts list stared back, an overwhelming list of names, none of whom had reached out during your family's time of need.

You scrolled, hesitating briefly before landing on Rafe's name. A whirlwind of emotions — from anger to desperation — consumed you as you pressed on it. Trembling fingers typed, deleted, and retyped a message multiple times, finally settling on the simplest of words.

"We need to talk."

Almost immediately, three dots danced on the screen.

"Tomorrow 7pm, Tannyhill.”

Was Rafe’s curt response.

You could barely sleep that night, as your mind raced, forming what you hoped was a semblance of a plan. You needed to negotiate on your terms, to retain some shred of dignity. It wasn't a detailed strategy, but it was enough to at least get through Rafe's offer with your sanity.

The next day as you approached Tannyhill, you whispered silent affirmations to yourself, reaffirming your resolve, your worth, and the necessity of your mission.

And then, there he was. Rafe Cameron, leaning casually against the frame of the ornate door, a picture of wealth and arrogance, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within you. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you in the impending darkness of the evening.

Rafe opened the door for you, his face betraying a flicker of something you couldn't quite read, but there was no turning back now. You stepped in, ready to negotiate with the devil himself if it meant saving your family.

"Where's everyone?" you asked, there was no point in exchanging pleasantries. Nothing about the situation was remotely pleasant.

"Movies. You know, I hadn't expected a text from you so soon." his voice dripped with condescension, "I was betting on at least a week or two."

"Yeah well, it is my dad's life on the line," your footsteps echoed with purpose as you followed him into the living room, eyes steeling for the battle ahead. "The sooner we finalize our agreement, the quicker you can pull whatever strings you have, right?"

Rafe spun around, his gaze locking onto yours. The sly curve of his lips unsettling. "Sure, I’ll make a few calls,” he stated, voice dark and sardonic, "but it'll depend on the terms we agree to."

"Alright…” you braced yourself, your arms folded trying to regain control. "Let's start with how lon--"

“A year,” Rafe cut in, not breaking eye contact.

"That's out of the question. A month," you shot back.

His chuckle resonated with an underlying seriousness, his eyes narrowing in focus "Sure, we can say a month. You willing to fuck me at least twice a day? No? Then eleven."

You straightened your back, your resolve hardening. "Two months, tops."

His eyes gleamed as he considered your counteroffer. "How about this, we keep our little arrangement going until your dad's free. It could be a month, maybe two…” he shrugged nonchalantly “It might even be a year. It depends on how soon he’s out. What do you think?"

You hesitated, visibly weighing the implications of such an open-ended commitment. Your dad’s charges were serious. The chances of those charges disappearing and him being released in a month seemed like a miracle. "What if it drags on for years?" you whispered.

Rafe’s grin grew more pronounced, relishing your distress. "Well, princess, that's for you to decide. You can always walk away whenever you think it’s unbearable. Does that seem fair?"

"Okay, fine. Now about condoms--”

“Not using them--”

“Oh, we’re using them. I’m not interested in having your kid, Rafe, and I’m certainly not interested in catching anything from you.”

“While I should be fucking insulted” he said dryly “I always glove up and get tested regularly too.”

“Okay, so why are you suddenly against using condoms with me, then?”

“Because I promised myself…” he said slowly, his voice lowering as he made his way towards you, “If I ever got the chance to fuck you, I'd do it raw.”

Your jaw clicked, your hands itching to slap him again. “Weren’t you fooling around with Letizia a couple of weeks back?”

“Yeah, so? I was gloved up.”

“I don't care. You've slept with half the girls on figure 8. I want you fully tested before we even think about doing anything. Condoms every time, no excuses.”

“Alright. I’ll get tested. Condoms while fucking, no condoms for blowjobs.”

"Yeah, about that, I'm not doing oral.'” you said folding your arms in resignation.

Rafe's eyes bore into yours, annoyance coloring his features.

"No. No. You don’t get to dictate how I fuck you." he snapped, his voice taking on edge of authority. "Look, i’m willing to let you negotiate a few terms, give you some semblance of control but it’s got to be worth my while, and for it to be worth it, I get to fuck you how I want, when I want.”

You swallowed, feeling your resolve waver.

"Now, here's what I want to make this deal work: when I call, you answer. No matter the place, no matter the time. You show up. Clear?" Rafe said.

You paused before giving a hesitant nod, the magnitude of your agreement dawning on you.

"And if I ask you to wear something specific, you will. No questions. We have a deal?"

Your throat tightened as his demands began to overwhelm you, but you managed a brief nod in response.

"Remember, fail to meet my terms, and our deal ends. Understood?"

Another nod.

"Anything else?"

“When will you make the call?” you asked quickly.

“After our first session,” he proposed, his smile revealing a hint of anticipation. “After that I’ll do whatever I can to make sure your dad’s free”

" I want proof. I want proof that you’d stick to your part of the deal.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it.”

“Good." you said as you took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Get tested and send me the results," you responded, you're tone neutral, treating it as a standard business transaction. "I'll do the same. We can then choose a time and date."

Rafe nodded in agreement, his gaze intense and piercing.

You extended your hand towards him.

"What's that for?" he chuckled lowly.

"A handshake. To seal the deal."

Rafe reached out, his arms enveloping you in a firm yet tender grasp, pulling you against him. It took everything within you to not push him away.

"How about we seal this deal with a kiss, hmm?" he murmured, "Especially since we'll be doing a lot more than kissing very soon."

Rafe leaned in, letting his lips graze yours. But you stiffened, instinctively tilting your head so that his lips met your cheek instead. A soft chuckle escaped him as he retreated just a fraction.

“Ah ah” he chided. With his fingers gently but firmly cradling your jaw, he directed your face back to his, an unsettling tension growing palpable between you.

"Play. Nice.” he whispered, his voice considerably smug. "Kiss me. Like you mean it." It wasn't a mere request; it was a command that left you feeling completely cornered.

A battle of wills ensued; neither of you making the first move, both of you waiting for the other to blink first. Rafe's eyes never left your own as he leaned in once again, his determination clear.

His tongue gently pushed past your parted lips, and you allowed it, setting off a delicate yet conflicting dance between your tongues and lips.

Groaning into your mouth, his eyes shut as the kiss deepened, carrying an undeniable intensity. He sucked on your bottom lip, nipping at your tender flesh until his tongue lashed hungrily against yours sending a peculiar mix of tingles and dread coursing through you.

Finally, you pulled away from the kiss, catching your breath while your chest heaved. Rafe remained close, his lips just a whisper away from yours, his breathing matching your intensity.

"I'll get tested first thing tomorrow," he whispered, his voice thick with urgency and desire. "Make sure you do, too."

"All clear."

That was the message Rafe sent you two days after your heated conversation, accompanied by a screengrab of his test results. Without hesitation, you replied, sending him your own results in return.

As your fingers tapped across the screen, a surge of disgust washed over you. The very idea of being intimate with Rafe was anything but appealing; it fact, it made you feel sick.

You'd never choose Rafe of your own volition. Sure he was handsome but his excessive drinking and drug habits were repellant, and his disdain and bullying nature towards the Pogues was disturbing. None of his qualities were remotely attractive, let alone fuckable.

But then, the stern, resilient part of you asserted itself, urging you to focus on the goal at hand.

This was not about you or Rafe; it was about orchestrating your father's release from prison, a critical mission where failure wasn't an option. With this clear objective ingrained in your mind, you steeled your resolve, preparing yourself for what lay ahead.

When he proposed meeting up that same night, you didn't find it strange given Rafe's impulsive nature. However, the location he suggested did catch you off guard.

It wasn't Tannyhill, the somewhat familiar and comfortable place you had anticipated, but instead, an unfamiliar address. The randomness of the location set off tiny alarms in the back of your mind, making you wary but you took a deep breath, quickly typing out your response-

"I'll be there."

It wasn't just any random address, as you initially thought.

At the front of a gated tree-lined drive stood a prominent sign declaring, “Cameron Developments.” The freshly poured concrete and stacks of lumber clearly indicated that it was a home under renovation.

As you made your way along the winding path, unease gripped you, but the sight of Rafe’s truck haphazardly parked near the entrance reassured you that you had indeed reached the right place.

The estate was draped in an unsettling darkness, punctuated only by the soft chirping of crickets, the distant hoot of an owl, and the sporadic glow of work lights from inside, hinting at the ongoing renovations.

Exiting your car, you took a moment to absorb the scene before approaching the house. With each step towards the porch, your heart rate quickened. But before you could even announce your presence, the heavy door groaned open, revealing the looming presence of Rafe.

His expression, obscured by the shadows and dim work lights from within, gave away nothing. Without a word, he stepped aside, allowing you to enter, then closed the door and locked it.

A knot formed in your throat, a cocktail of dread and adrenaline. Pushing the mounting fear aside, you gathered your voice, attempting to sound braver than you felt. "Alright, let's get this over with," you said.

A wicked grin tugged at the corner of Rafe's lips. You felt an icy dread settle in your chest. "Oh, we will," he murmured, "But first, I want to play a game... to make things... interesting." The atmosphere grew heavy, oppressive.

"One minute" he said, as he cracked his neck from side to side, his eyes boring into you. "You get a one-minute head start and after that, after that--" he sighed happily "I'm coming for you. Run."

Panic gripped you. "Run? What? What the hell are you talking about? What do you mean run?" you stammered, your voice edged with rising panic.

But his eyes were cold, devoid of humor or empathy. He leaned closer, his voice a menacing hiss that left no room for interpretation. "Run."

A rush of adrenaline hit you, and without another word, you sprinted past him as if your very life depended on it.

You had no clear destination in mind, only the primal instinct to run and hide. Every fiber of your being was attuned to survival. Heart pounding in your chest, you sprinted up the grand staircase, taking the steps three at a time, feeling the weight of your own desperation in every leap.

At the top, a maze of doors and hallways stretched out before you. You lunged for the nearest one, finding yourself in a dimly lit bedroom freshly painted in white. Shadows danced on the walls from the solitary work light, and your gaze immediately snapped to a closet on your right.

Without hesitation, you slipped inside, gently closing the door behind you. The smell of paint and cedar filled your nostrils. Placing a trembling hand over your mouth, you tried to muffle the sound of your heavy, ragged breathing.

Gently, so as not to make a sound, you nudged the slatted shutter doors of the closet closed, leaving only thin slivers of the room visible – distorted, but enough to keep watch.

The ominous sound of footsteps reached your ears; they were methodical, unhurried. Rafe was searching, savoring the hunt. You watched in horror as his elongated shadow, cast by the work light, drifted across the closet. A cold sweat formed on your forehead, and you had to fight back the urge to gasp as the shadow paused momentarily by the closet doors.

After what felt like an eternity, the shadow moved away, and you heard his footsteps retreating. Letting out a silent sigh of relief, you gave yourself a moment to gather your bearings. But you knew all too well you couldn't remain hidden for long; he would inevitably retrace his steps and find you.

Gathering your courage, you carefully eased the closet doors open and quickly scanned the room for an escape route. Your heart pounded violently in your chest as you made your move. Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you tiptoed across the room, avoiding the creaky floorboards that might betray your presence. But the moment you stepped out of the bedroom, you collided with a solid mass.

Rafe's eyes pierced through to your soul, pure hunger reflected in them as he stared down at you. His hand clamped around your throat, pulling you close as the smell of your fear and his cologne filled your nostrils in a nauseating mix. His lips crushed against yours, ravaging your mouth with an intensity that nearly made you faint.

As your fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, you frantically writhed in his grip. Your fists relentlessly pounded against his arm, trying to get him to relinquish his hold on you, but it was no use. In one swift motion, Rafe backed you into the bedroom and forcefully dragged you to the floor, your fingers wildly clawing at his arm as you searched for any type of leverage you could find.

Rafe ravished your neck with unbridled hunger, his other hand violently tugged at your skirt and panties, scraping the skin of your thighs until finding your moist center—the slippery wetness signifying your surrender to pleasure. Rafe groaned as his fingertips slid through your slick folds and into you causing you to gasp at the white-hot jolts of pleasure.

"For someone who's only doing this to save their dad, you're soaked..." Rafe laughed breathlessly, trailing a line of wet kisses up your throat. "All that sanctimonious bullshit about what you will and won't do and look at you, fucking dripping for my cock—”

"Fuck you!" you screeched, a potent mixture of embarrassment and venomous rage coursing through you has you writhing beneath him, your determination to push him off almost frantic.

"That's it—fight back," he jeered, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "Fight back. It'll make this all the more satisfying."

You kicked and screamed, only for Rafe to capture your lips in a bruising kiss. His hands connected your wrists together over your head. In a single move, he flipped you onto your stomach and straddled you from behind, his erection pressing against your ass.

One of Rafe's hands tears off your panties, your screams in protest seize immediately as Rafe stuffed the flimsy cotton into your mouth.

"There" he taunted with a sinister chuckle, pressing you down further as you desperately attempted to wriggle free. You strained to let out a scream, your voice stifled by the makeshift gag.

That same hand worked feverishly to free himself from his pants. You could feel the throbbing heat of his erection at the cleft of your ass. Could hear him tearing open the condom packet with his teeth, the necessary prelude to satiating his ever-growing hunger.

Not too long after he was grinding the head of his cock against your wetness while you fought to express your protests through the gag.

"No, no, this is what we've agreed to. What you agreed to..." Rafe's breath hitched as his cock slid over your weeping slit. With one hard, raw thrust, barely allowing you time to adjust to his girth, he plunged himself deep inside you.

He wasted no time, immediately beginning his relentless thrusts, utterly indifferent to your muffled struggles behind the gag. Your body writhed beneath his weight, your movements punctuated by desperate grunts, the hardwood floor beneath you offering no mercy.

After a brief moment, Rafe released your wrists and drew you closer, his grip on your hips unwavering as he continued to drive into you with unrelenting force. Your head spun as you gradually surrendered to the powerful cadence of his movements. His hands clung to you possessively, guiding both of you in a desperate, synchronized dance. Every nerve in your body ignited, primal heat surging from deep within.

Your eyelids fluttered shut as your body succumbed to his unyielding force. Despite the freedom of your hands, you found yourself paralyzed, incapable of resisting or offering any form of resistance. Instead, you relinquished control, allowing Rafe to claim you entirely.

"I'm gonna fucking cum. I'm gonna cum. Cum with me," he growled through gritted teeth, his tempo increasing to a punishing pace.

You weakly shook your head, 'no,' your determination unwavering as you fought to maintain control over your desires. The mere thought of your pleasure becoming entangled with his, sullied and exploited for his depraved fantasies, was something you could not bear.

"Oh, you'll cum-" he sneered.

In a sudden, ominous gesture, he swiftly removed his leather belt from its loop around his pants and coiled it around your neck, pulling and winding it tightly around his fist.

"If you want to breathe, you'll cum," he snarled, pounding you with relentless force. The room was filled only with the sound of your choked gasps for air, Rafe's ragged breaths, the creak of the leather as he tightened his grip, and the rhythmic punishing slap of his hips against your flesh. You fought with every ounce of your being not to succumb to your impending orgasm, tears streaming uncontrollably from your eyes as you waged a futile battle.

The room reverberated with your agonised screams as your orgasm consumed you. Your muscles tensed and quivered beneath you, each wave of pleasure crashed over you like a violent tsunami drowning you. Your fingers clawed at the belt constricting your throat, the leather biting into your skin and to your abject horror, you were gushing around his cock as you climaxed.

Rafe fucked you harder, burying his face in the back of your neck. With a triumphant roar, Rafe's orgasm struck, and he shuddered against you, muffling his moans of pleasure into your skin as he stuffed his cock deep.

Sated and content, he collapsed on top of you, his breathing heavy and laboured, the condom filled with his cum. After a moment, he withdrew and shifted to lie beside you.

Summoning every ounce of strength you had left, you managed to free yourself from the tight confines of the belt and the stifling gag that had cruelly silenced you. Every fiber of your being, every muscle in your body, screamed with raw pain as you gulped in fresh air, each breath feeling like a hard-won victory. Tears of relief and anguish streamed down your face, and with a shaky hand, you hastily brushed them away.

The room seemed to sway, a disorienting blend of fear, relief, and vertigo threatening to drag you into terrifying darkness.

Yet, slicing through the fog of your distress was the haunting sound of Rafe's laughter. His voice was breathless, yet unmistakably gleeful. His fingers, dampened with sweat, raked through his messy hair, highlighting his heightened state of manic exhilaration.

"Next time," he grinned, a chilling promise lacing his words, "Next time, we'll use rope."

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Thanks for reading x If you enjoyed it please like/reblog/drop a comment would love to know what you think. Until next time ❤️

[adulting-sucks]

Outside the Storm

This is my entry for MIssy's 3.5K follower event: You were one of my first follows on here, I am happy to have the chance to participate. @saiyanprincessswanie

Summary: Steve Rogers is the most feared mobster in the Eastern US, and you had fallen for him. What happens when the love fades and you need to escape? In walks Andy Barber-is he your savior or another nightmare?

Word count: 12,938K (Still no chill 😬)

Characters: Soft Dark Steve Rogers x Reader; Andy Barber x Reader; Jake Jensen and Reader (Platonic)

Mafia AU; Defending Jacob doesn't exist

Prompt: "No one else would get to hurt you again, you were his"

Warnings: Your media consumption is your responsibility-This story contains dark subject matter, please stay away if you cannot handle; Smut, lots and lots of Smut; Forced Anal play; angst, lots and lots if angst; Fluff

Once again, a huge shout out and thank you to @peyton-warren who kept me sane and walked me through every word. I couldn't do any of this without your support

You looked at your reflection, hardly recognizing the woman you saw, really just a shell of the person you used to be. You picked up the business card, running your fingers over the embossing on the front, turning it over to see the handwritten phone number, a number you had dialed over and over, always hanging up after the first ring.

You continued staring at your face, noticing new lines, feeling as if your youth was gone, your soul having survived a thousand lives. You stared at the name on the card, again twirling it over and over, dialing and hanging up. Until you didn’t.

“I’ll meet you tomorrow, one o’clock, the place we first met,” you said after you heard the click connecting your call. You hung up, not allowing time for a response, your heart pounding, blood rushing, your ears roaring.

You hid the card in your purse, a secret pocket only you knew about, knowing if he ever found it, you were dead. Steve Rogers was not a man you betrayed, yet with one call, you had sealed your fate, no turning back now.

You stared at your reflection, seeing nothing of the girl you were when you fell in love with the head of the largest mafia syndicate in New York, hell over all of the East Coast. That girl was dead, replaced with an older woman, one who was tired. You stood and walked over to your bed knowing sleep would elude you again.

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You weren’t sure how you were able to do it, but you managed to leave the house unnoticed and alone, something that didn’t happen too often. Steve didn’t like you being alone with so many enemies who would do anything to get to him, even hurting you.

You sat at your regular table in the corner where you could see everything yet remain unseen, blending into the area around you. You sipped your soda, your eyes continuously scanning everything. He walked in just as your eyes made it to the door, your heart thundering in your chest, hands shaking.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” Andy Barber said as he sat across from you, a gentle smile on his face. “I know the risk you’re taking, I know what I am asking of you-” he continued, pausing at your scoff and eye roll.

“Do you really, Mr, Barber? What you’re asking of me will cost me my life, not that there’s much left of it anyhow,” you retorted, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “Look, I will hear you out, I will take every word into consideration. But if I do this, I vanish, as if I never existed, and Rogers will never find me. Those are my terms.”

Andy shook his head in agreement, willing to give you everything you asked for for intel on Steve Rogers. He had built his career on doing the right thing, fighting the bad guys, and Andrew Barber was fucking good at his job. But getting to put Steve Rogers away for life, effectively crumbling the New York crime syndicate would be life changing. Steve Rogers was ruthless and cold, yet smart.

“I understand your hesitation but I will do everything in my power to get you out alive.” Andy placed his hand on top of yours, squeezing it to reassure you. You met Andy’s gaze, trusting him almost immediately, trying to ignore the warmth of his touch.

“Okay, when do we start?” you asked, your stomach somersaulting, a feeling you hadn’t had in a long while; you liked Andrew Barber. He was handsome, devastatingly so, his blue eyes so piercing they seemed to see your very soul. You liked how soft his skin was, the way his smile reached every feature on his face, so genuine. You wondered what his lips felt like, how his hands would feel exploring every inch of your bare skin as he kissed every part of you.

“Are you okay?” Andy asked, his voice cutting through your very sinful thoughts, thoughts that had you squeezing your thighs together. “Do you think you can start now, we can record everything for the record. I have an office no one knows about, one rented under a pseudonym by the district attorney's office just for cases like this.” Andy rubbed his thumb over your knuckle, soothing your anxiety, almost as if he had known you all your life.

“Yeah, okay. But we need to go now, and I will do it all at once. Steve thinks I’m at my mother’s house for the next week; I told him she was ill. It’s the only reason I was able to slip away unnoticed.” You looked out the window, wondering if this was truly the right thing to do. You had loved Steve Rogers once, did you still?

“I know how dangerous this is, and I wouldn’t ask it of you if I didn’t think you could handle it. Your strength is quiet, but strong. And if those marks are any indication of your life, then Rogers needs to go away for good.” Andy watched you shift in your seat, self consciously adjusting your jacket.

“Make no mistake, Mr. Barber. I am not a battered woman. These marks are for everyone else, so they know who I belong to. Steve has never hit me, never once laid a hand on me. These marks are the result of his love, of his fucking me into the ground.” You held his gaze, no shame in your words at all; Steve Rogers was a damn good fuck, the best you’d had.

“Be that as it may, it doesn’t change anything. Rogers needs to go away, and you need a new life. That is what I will give you, I promise. And please, call me Andy.” He smiled gently, your hand still in his grasp, his eyes never leaving yours, never showing one ounce of judgment.

You cleared your throat, unable to hold Andy’s gaze. No man had ever looked at you the way Andy was, not even Steve. “Well, Andy, let’s get this going. The sooner it’s done, the sooner I will disappear.” You grabbed your purse, leaving a hundred dollar bill on the table. Andy stood, leading you out to his car. There was no turning back now, even if you wanted to.

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Steve’s POV

Steve pulled into the driveway happy to finally be home. He had been away for almost two weeks, and he couldn’t wait to see you. And fuck you. He had tried to sate his need with other women, but none of them could ever amount to you. You were perfect. Your hair, your skin, your pussy. He had turned you into the perfect woman, and he made sure to mark you everytime he buried his cock in you.

Steve made sure he had everything, almost forgetting the jewelry he had gotten you. The soft velvet housed a gorgeous white gold necklace and ring set, beautiful alexandrite in the center, small diamonds surrounding both in a teardrop shape. Steve knew you loved colored and rare gems, just how he saw you. Stunning and rare.

Steve still remembered the first time he saw you, standing outside of the lecture hall, laughing with the president of the most popular fraternity on campus, your hand resting on his arm. In that moment, Steve wanted to kill any man who even looked at you, and from then on, you were his. Everyone knew who Steve Rogers was, and Steve Rogers always got what he wanted.

Steve opened the door, surprised at how dark the house was, wondering where you were. You weren’t normally gone this late. He pulled his phone out, shooting a text to his head of security to see where you were as he wasn’t used to not knowing your location at all times. Hell, he’d even hired your best friend as head of his technology section. Jake Jensen was such a goofy motherfucker, he never once worried about you being alone with him.

As he waited for a response to his text, he pulled up the tracking app he had installed on your phone without your knowledge, one of the many secrets he had paid Jensen handsomely to keep confidential. He saw your phone showing at the hospital near your mother’s home, his concern and wariness growing.

He shot a text off asking if everything was okay with your mom, setting your present down, losing his tie and shirt. He made his way to his office, poured himself a bourbon as he waited for your reply. You’d never given him a reason to not trust you, but there was something about this that didn’t sit right with him.

His head of security texted back to let Steve know you’d been called away earlier by an emergency, your mom had collapsed and was found unconscious by her home health nurse. The agency had you listed as her emergency contact, calling you about her hospital admission.

Steve was considering this story when his phone rang, you on the other end. He listened as you explained the days events, the steady beep of the heart monitor playing in the background of the conversation. You told him it would be about a week before you’d be home, even with the home health nurses on duty. Steve, of course, told you not to worry about anything but your mother, that he would be here waiting, and to call him if you needed anything at all. He asked if you’d like him to join you once he returned, not revealing that he had already arrived home from his business trip. You told him it was fine and that you’d see him at home, ending with telling him you loved and missed him.

Steve hung up, alarm bells ringing in his head. He immediately called Jensen, commanding round the clock monitoring of your location and communication, to be reported directly to him. Steve poured himself another glass, staring into the fire. He wasn’t sure what would happen or what he would find, but hopefully it was just a feeling.

He drained the rest of his drink, leaving your present on his desk as he headed to his bedroom. He hadn’t slept in about a day and exhaustion was catching up to him. Steve decided to go straight to sleep, changing into flannel bottoms with no shirt, sinking directly into bed, his dreams sending him into even more concern and chaos.

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Flashback

You remembered the first time you saw Steve Rogers, his large shoulders, striking blue eyes, classically handsome looks all focused on you as if you were the only person besides him to exist. You found yourself pulled into the orbit of his space and you honestly felt you were finally where you belonged.

Steve introduced himself, his gaze never wavering from yours as you told him your name, the other man all but forgotten. You knew about Steve Rogers, everyone did, but you never thought Steve Rogers would care about someone like you.

He walked along with you, stopping to offer a ride when you realized you’d missed the last bus back to your apartment. You were hesitant, stranger danger and all, but you found yourself unable to say no, almost as if the world would shatter if you did.

The drive was comfortable, as if you two had known each other all your lives. And maybe for you, you had. Steve Rogers was everything you’d dreamed of, the man of every dream you’d ever had. Tall, nice, focused solely on you and you alone, even if you two had just met. You’d never had that in your life, always feeling invisible or unseen compared to your friends.

Steve listened as you talked about your goals, veterinary school always your dream since you could talk. You had always had a better connection with animals, humans had always managed to let you down or disappoint somehow. You had just finished your second year of your post graduate degree, your clinicals starting in a few days. You’d only been at the school to pick up your rotation for the next semester.

Steve had never been one for love or relationships; he’d learned early in life that you couldn’t trust or depend on anyone but yourself, something his father had always made sure he remembered, especially once he had started learning the business. The Family Fucking Business as the movies liked to say. Every time he watched The Godfather or Goodfellas, he always had a good laugh-nothing about his life was glamorous or pretty. Well, nothing until he met you.

He could listen to you talk all day, every minute, his life finally finding purpose outside of fortune and power. He was lost in the mellifluous sound of your voice and realized he’d missed the last five minutes of your conversation. You laughed at his confusion, finding yourself also lost in him.

He walked you up, stopping outside your door as he tried to memorize every last detail he could, not knowing when or if you would want to see him again. As you stood watching him, trying to find any reason not to say goodbye, you threw all caution to the wind, suddenly finding the courage to do something you never would have.

You stood on the tips of your toes, snaking your arms around Steve’s neck, and before you could change your mind, placed your lips on his. You felt Steve still and wondered if you’d just humiliated yourself until you felt him relax, a hand on your lower back, the other on your cheek as he leaned into the kiss, taking over.

You don’t know how long the kiss actually was, all you knew was the burning in your lungs finally forced you apart. You rested your forehead against his, both of you gulping in breaths of fresh air. Steve pulled back, his cheeks flushed as he continued stroking your cheek softly with his thumb, the trail of heat still on your skin as you allowed yourself to look at him.

You stood in silence, both too lost in each other to say a word. Steve asked for your phone number after a few minutes of being silent and still, handing over his phone as you held your hand out. You typed your number then called yourself to save Steve’s, placing one more kiss on his lips before you ran into your apartment and locked the door.

You leaned against the closed door, your heart pounding, your stomach fluttering wildly, brushing your fingers over your lips where you still felt his. You squealed in delight, scaring the kitten you’d just brought home from class after you performed an amputation on his tail caused by a deep infection which would not heal.

You picked up Nubbins, happy in a way you’d never experienced before. You were always the quiet one who was only spoken to when men were trying to hit on your friends, you were never the main character in any story. Yet, this man you’d only known for two hours had changed all of that. You heard him chuckle and wish you a good evening with the promise you would hear from him soon.

You made dinner and started going over your schedule for the next semester, your favorite movie droning on in the background when you heard your phone vibrate. You jumped, the noise scaring you for a moment as you weren’t used to anyone really texting you. Nubbins grumbled and yawned, moving to sit on the other end of your bed after you had so rudely disturbed his sleep.

You saw Steve in your banner notifications, your heart skipping a beat. He couldn’t wait any longer to talk to you, and you couldn’t be happier about not playing it cool. You texted with Steve well into the night, falling asleep past one in the morning. You knew you’d be tired for your first shift at the local shelter, your meeest clinical site, but it was completely worth it.

You woke up at six, heading to the shower first thing as per your normal morning routine. You dressed quickly, almost forgetting your phone on the way out the door. You had just locked up and finally opened your phone to check the time so you didn’t miss your bus. You heard your name as you came down the front steps, looking up to see Steve standing there with a cup of coffee.

You flushed, not used to having someone take care of you like this. Steve opened up the car door for you, making sure you were buckled in before he made his way to the drivers side. He asked for the name of the shelter, putting it in his GPS as he pulled away from the curb,

From that moment on, you never took another bus again. Steve was always there to pick you up and take you home, sending one of his most trusted men if he was working or out of town. Steve took you to dinner, to musicals, the movies, anything you wanted to do, Steve made sure you did.

The next two years continued like this, Steve being the loudest one at your graduation, your biggest cheerleader through all of it. Nubbins adored him, and you had to admit your heart melted every time you saw your large and cold man enraptured by a tiny ball of floof, finding Nubbins napping on Steve many times.

The sex was always amazing, right from the start. Steve was used to women falling all over themselves for a chance at him, even if for only one night. You, however, you didn’t. You wouldn’t sleep with him until you were sure the connection between the two of you was genuine. You weren’t playing hard to get, nor were you frothing at the mouth for a taste of him. Steve had never met anyone like you, and once he had tasted you, he was never letting you go.

The first time with Steve was straight out of one of your favorite romantic movies: slow, sweet, and incredibly sensual. You’d made your way to his house after dinner, heading in for a nightcap. As you sat and talked, you realized you were ready, you wanted to take this leap now.

You put your glass on the table grabbing Steve’s and placing it next to yours, moving onto Steve’s lap, straddling him as you started to kiss. You felt his hands move down your back, one coming to settle on your hip, the other in your hair as he held you close.

He groaned as you rolled your hips over his lap, feeling his cock harden beneath you, causing you to moan and roll your hips again, trying to find any type of friction.

Steve pulled back, pushing your hair out of your face, his hand caressing your cheek as he stared deeply, asking if you were sure that you were ready, that this is what you wanted. You nodded silently, never breaking eye contact as you felt him lift you from the couch, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to his bedroom.

He kissed you deeply, moving you softly and gently to the bed, propping your head on his pillows. He kneeled between your legs, kissing you again, moving from your mouth to the shell of your ears, down your neck to the swell of your breasts.

He kissed down your stomach, his hands landing under your shirt and pushing it up, his lips following the trail of his fingers. You arched your back up to allow him to remove your shirt, so completely lost in the sensation of his touch and tongue. He removed your bra as he made his way back down your neck, his eyes locked with yours as he took one nipple in his mouth, the other in his hand.

You had never remembered being this sensitive, every lave of his tongue, every nibble of teeth, every kiss sending electric shocks up and down your body, your mind filled with nothing but Steve Rogers. He switched breasts, paying just as much attention to your other nipple, the cool air sending goosebumps down your flesh.

He kissed down your stomach, his hands moving to your pants, unbuttoning them and pushing them slowly down, making sure he kissed every inch of skin down one leg and up the other as he dropped your pants to the floor. Your hands moved onto his head, twining in his hair as he nosed your clothed pussy, your scent already intoxicating to him.

He rubbed up and down over your lace thong, fascinated with the wet patch forming from his ministrations, your grip on his hair tightening the more he teased. He finally hooked his thumbs under the waistband, all patience lost as he ripped them off easily, his mouth finding your clit immediately.

You cried out, his mouth so warm and wet against your cunt, every nerve firing off with pleasure as he sucked and licked, inserting two fingers in. You cried out again and again, the sudden fullness mixed with his suckling hurtling you over the edge, your orgasm immediate and hard.

He worked you through it, his cock straining against his pants as he watched you fall apart. You came a second time, crying out, barely registering the loss of his mouth before you felt him slowly slide his dick in, your walls grabbing on tight. He swore he had never felt a pussy this good, and from this moment on, it was only for him.

As you came back to reality, you found your hips moving in time with his, slow and steady as he fucked you, his forehead resting on yours, his eyes locked onto your face as he kept taking you apart. You opened your eyes, completely lost in the sensations your body was experiencing.

Steve hooked an arm under your right leg, allowing him to fuck you deeper and deeper, his fingers gripping your hip so tightly you knew would leave marks of the best kind. You told him not to stop, begging Steve to fuck you harder, slower, deeper again, cumming for a third time when you felt his hand drop to your already sensitive clit. You felt his rhythm stutter, his thrusts growing more sharp until he came, filling you up so completely you weren’t sure where you began and Steve ended, your bodies and souls wrapped in one sweaty shell, both trying to catch your breath.

Steve had you over and over, his appetite for you never diminishing even as the night turned to morning. He finally let you rest, your body curled around his as you fell asleep so easily. He held you as he also allowed exhaustion to take him, waking a short while later. He wanted you again but made himself let you rest as he went to make some food for you both. He didn’t have any plans for the rest of the weekend, as far as he was concerned, his only job was to fuck you over and over until you had to work on Monday. And Steve took that job very seriously indeed.

You’d never felt so beautiful, so wanted as you did when Steve was buried inside you, your taste all over his face after spending hours with his mouth in your pussy. You had tried to reciprocate his selflessness only for Steve to push you back down and make you forget your previous attempts. You wanted his dick in your mouth, his cum pouring down your throat, but that wouldn’t happen yet. At that moment, it was all about you, learning to read every moan, every gasp, every touch that made you sing.

It would be another month or so before you were able to fulfill your need to suck his cock. You were relaxing in his office, studying for your boards, Steve outside on the phone for business, and in that moment, you couldn’t help yourself. Watching him pace, yelling and frustrated, his veins were popping out of his neck, You watched him slam his phone down, your eyes drawn to the power this man exuded by simply existing.

You waited until Steve had calmed down and made his way back inside, dropping into his chair behind the desk. You poured him a glass of bourbon, setting it down in front of him, running your fingers through his hair as he hugged you. You dropped a kiss on his head, feeling him relax into you.

You couldn’t stop the need blooming through you, just the touch of his fingers creating a heat you could no longer ignore, nor did you want to. You lifted his face, peppering kisses down his cheek, over his jaw to the other side, moving from his face to his neck, licking and biting as you went.

Steve moved his head back, allowing you easier access to him as he wound his hands in your hair, tightening his grip the lower you went. You dropped to your knees, spreading his thighs to make room as you ran your hands up his legs, stopping at his belt. You looked up at him, silently waiting for approval, and so happy you’d decided to leave your hair down, your scalp tingling with each tightening grip.

Steve looked down, lust blown features over his face, twisting in ecstasy as your fingers ran over the bulge in his pants. With one nod, barely perceptible, you unfastened his belt, slipped your hands beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs, and pulled both down as Steve lifted his hips.

Your mouth watered at the sight, his cock hard and leaking. It took everything in you not to immediately shove him down your throat, but you held back, placing long licks up his shaft, stopping to suck the tip in before licking your way back down.

Each lick caused a sigh, each time you sucked just the tip, it caused him to pull your hair tighter, his hips lifting off the chair to push down your throat more. You lifted his cock, moving to suck his balls into your mouth, causing you to smile when your heard a moaned and strangled fuck leave his mouth.

You couldn’t deny how beautiful and sexy you felt in this moment, bringing this powerful man to his knees, a feeling you hadn’t felt often. You finally stopped teasing, your lips wrapping around Steve as you slowly worked your way down, taking a deep breath, starting to exhale as you worked his dick down the back of your throat, humming to relax enough to let him in and remind you to breathe.

You felt his hands tighten the more you swallowed, until you stilled, your drool running down. You looked up at Steve, waiting for him to relax. Once he stilled and his breathing was a little slower, you started to move, allowing him to fuck your throat, his taste filling your senses.

You allowed Steve to take over, his hips thrusting more and more, harder and harder as he worked towards his own end, your drool dripping down his balls onto the floor, and as you looked up at him, he swore he had never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.

You felt him start to thrust faster as his breathing quickened, moans and fucks falling freely from his mouth. You continued to let him lead, finally sated as he spilled his cum down your throat, his taste permanently seared into your memory as you swallowed it all down, waiting for Steve to release your hair before you moved.

As Steve slowly relaxed his hold on you, you made your way up, releasing his already softening cock from your mouth, making sure you swallowed every last drop. Steve grabbed you, settling you on his lap as he kissed you deeply, completely possessive as he tasted himself on you.

You should have seen the warnings then, felt the shift in Steve, but you were so in love, you missed it all. He loved you, he adored you, he worshiped you and your body. It started slowly, little marks here and there, nothing you couldn’t cover.

Eventually, it all changed. Steve marked you every time he took you, making sure everyone around knew exactly who you belonged to. He moved you into his home while you were at work, something you’d only spoken about, but hadn’t made a final decision on, and before you had a chance to discuss it with him, he showered you with gifts including a ring you’d had your eye on for a while. He made sure to fuck you so completely and thoroughly; it worked. You never broached the subject again, accepting this as your home.

Life continued on, and with each passing day, Steve’s obsession grew more and more. He wanted to know where you were every hour. He would text and if there was no immediate response, he would call. You made the mistake of not answering once while you were working; when you got home, Steve immediately took you upstairs and threw you down on the bed, tying your hands above your head.

You’d discussed exploring certain kinks, but this wasn’t about that. This was about ownership, obedience-you didn’t answer the phone, you needed to be punished, something to remind you who was in charge. That’s exactly what he did, edging you for hours, tears pouring down your face as you begged for release, your tear-filled promises music to Steve’s ears.

Once he finally let you cum, you thought that was it, but Steve wasn’t done with you. He spent the next hour making you cum over and over again, until your body went limp. You’d passed out, the last four hours too much on your body. Steve removed your restraints, and left you to grab a warm washcloth from the bathroom, cleaning you gently before gathering you to his chest. You woke up hours later, your body sore, warm from Steve’s body covering yours.

You were thrown into the dark side of this relationship, punishment becoming more frequent and painful. Steve wanted to make sure you remembered who you belonged with, belonged to, who loved you. You didn’t want to make anything worse, but sometimes your mind asked if this was actually love. And in those moments of doubt, Steve would be kind, he would be caring, he wouldn’t mark you as he fucked you.

In those moments, Steve was more of the man you fell in love with, less of the man who made you question your life with him. In those moments, he would hold you, kiss you, tell you how you had made him the luckiest man in the world. He would make love to you, show you off to people at any functions he attended.

In those moments, you were his shining light. You made him feel, something he thought he had lost the ability to do. Then he would flip a switch, the mere thought of you with someone else causing his jealousy to rise. Those moments were the worst.

Not only were you marked all over, you were fucked too hard and before you were wet, your screams of pain fueling his thrusts. He would take you any way her wanted; your pussy, your ass, your mouth and all you could do was allow him.

The longer this happened, the harder it was for you to hide your bruises, to walk without pain, making you quit your job. The more questions people asked, the more ashamed you became. Yet, in his own twisted way, you just accepted that this was what love was for Steve, therefore this is what love was for you.

You cannot remember the exact moment you decided maybe this wasn’t love, that maybe you weren’t meant to be with someone who had to make sure you and everyone around him knew who you were and who you belonged to. You became a toy, an object for him to display, to bend and mold to his will.

The first time you really learned about his work was a day unlike any other; it was the day your view of Steven Grant Rogers shifted into something irreparable. You had handed in your resignation and made your way home early, upset at losing something you had worked so hard for.

You headed to the bedroom to undress, stepping into a hot shower where you finally allowed yourself time to mourn your career. You loved animals, you loved helping them, and you had to walk away from that because Steve finally broke something inside your soul.

You dressed quickly and made your way to the kitchen. Steve wasn’t usually home this time of day, so you were looking forward to having the house to yourself for a while. You had to get every negative emotion out now or you would pay later.

You made your way to the kitchen, grabbing your favorite bottle of wine on the counter, opening the fridge to make something to eat. As you were making your sandwich, you heard a thump from the basement. Putting down your wine, you grabbed the largest knife in the butcher block as you made your way down.

You heard the thumping continue followed by groans, the noise getting louder the deeper you went. Your heart was thudding loudly, your only thought being you hope Steve wouldn’t be mad when he found your dead body.

As you rounded the corner, you stopped dead. In front of you was Steve, flushed from exertion. You watched as he punched a man restrained by chains hanging from the ceiling. You weren’t allowed downstairs ever, and now you knew why.

You watched Steve beat this man over and over, your mouth twisted in horror. This wasn’t the man you loved. This was a psychotic monster dressed to look like Steve. You watched the stranger’s blood splash with each hit, spraying all over Steve’s dress shirt, his knuckles bruised and bloodied.

You shoved your fist in your mouth to stifle your heavy breathing, willing your feet to move, to leave before you were caught, but you were frozen. The stranger looked over at you, his face swollen, but you saw him ask for your help.

You turned and ran before Steve caught you, the last sound to follow you out was screaming which ended with a gunshot. You ran upstairs and hid in the walk in closet, tears streaming down your face.

You’d always heard the rumors and whispers about the business Steve was in, but you never fully believed what anyone said. Now you knew just how naive you had truly been. You heard the door to the basement open, Steve’s voice carrying through the house as he gave directions to his right hand on removing the body.

You jumped as you heard him make his way upstairs, running to the bathroom and turning the shower on to hide yourself from Steve, and maybe also to try and wash away what you’d just witnessed. You quickly undressed and showered again, staying in for as long as you could.

You wrapped yourself in your robe, took a deep breath and opened the door to the bathroom, faking a look of surprise at seeing Steve home. He looked up at you, his clothes changed and blood free. He asked what you were doing at home, you said you had quit your job today and came home early.

As you walked to the closet to get some clothes, your heart once again thudded in your chest. You were scared it was so loud, Steve would be able to hear. You jumped when you felt Steve behind you, his hands working your robe off. You leaned back into him, afraid he would know the truth if you didn’t accept his affection.

Steve kissed your shoulders, up your neck, stopping at your ear. He whispered he knew you were lying and asked why you had been downstairs, his hand gripping your arm in a bruising grip. He grabbed your hair, pulling you to the bed as he bent you over, working his pants and boxer briefs down his legs, freeing his already hard cock.

You cried as he spit on your asshole, his cock in hand as he stroked it slowly. You begged for lube, for anything to prepare you for this invasion, but it fell on deaf ears as he pushed into you. As you felt him stretch your already abused hole, you hated the betrayal of your body, your cunt growing wet with each thrust.

Steve was relentless, fucking you slow at first, trying to allow you time to adjust before he started to fuck you deeply. You felt his hand reach around and gather your slick as he worked your clit. Your tears stained the bed, whether from pleasure or pain, you weren’t sure. You hated that he could make you feel so good while taking what he wanted with no concern for you.

He rubbed your clit harder, your orgasm rushing over you as you came all over his hand. You felt his thrusts quicken, however you weren’t able to keep track as he made you cum again and again. You finally felt him stiffen, your hole filled with his cum as he continued to fuck you through both of your orgasms, his dick softening with each twitch, your skin raw and irritated as his cum leaked out.

You sobbed quietly, long after he’d pulled out and left you limp on the bed, heading to the bathroom to clean himself off. He came back in the room, stooping down to whisper in your ear that you knew the rules. Downstairs was off limits and lying about it was why the punishment was so rough, dropping a kiss on your cheek leaving to change his clothes and head back down.

You laid on the bed, your tears soaking the sheets, unable to move, disgusted as you felt Steve’s cum leaking out of you. After what felt like hours, you finally stopped sobbing and lifted yourself off the bed, crawling on your hands and knees to the bathroom. You filled the tub with hot water, gently lowering yourself into the bath, the water stinging your sore and abused hole.

You sat in the water with your knees pulled up to your chin until the bath had turned cold and you started shivering. Only then did you stand up and wrap yourself in your fluffy robe, heading towards the closet carefully as you were still in intense pain.

You turned to look at the bed, still covered with cum, yours and Steve’s, but you couldn’t bring yourself to lay down. You opened the door, cautiously looking around for Steve, and made your way down to the guest bedroom. You laid down, covering yourself with the blanket as you started quietly sobbing once more, finally falling asleep once you’d cried all you could, which became the new normal for you.

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Present Day

As you finished up the history behind you and Steve, Andy sat quietly, his attention focused only on you. You couldn’t meet his gaze, afraid you would see pity there. Pity was the last thing you wanted, especially from a man you’d known for twelve hours.

You stood and made your way to the table where you’d set your purse down, reaching in to grab your insurance. You walked back to Andy and placed the drive in front of him.

“This is everything I have on Steve. Names, positions, wives, girlfriends, everything you need to put not only him away, but many of those around him also.”

“How were you able to compile this without him knowing?” Andy asked, impressed by your strength and courage.

“My best friend growing up is a tech genius, former special ops. He has been helping me for a while. He created a software program that feeds from all known and unknown government databases. Facial recognition, full background checks, anything that has ever been documented, dark web shit too. I would get a lot of information from the wives. Get a little wine in them and they talk a lot. I would feed this to Jake and he would gather all of the intel he had and match it with what I was told.”

Andy got up and disappeared into another room, returning with his laptop. He plugged the drive in and opened the encrypted files with the password you gave to him. As he watched everything open, he realized that this was it. This was everything he needed to take down not only Steve, but most of his payroll, some high ranking officials and politicians. What Andy was looking at was a nuclear weapon and he held the code.

You sat quietly as Andy worked, your mind wandering back to Steve. You knew this would seal your fate and you would never see him again. You weren’t sure how you felt, or how you were supposed to feel. You were relieved because you would no longer be his prisoner, yet you grieved the loss of him. There was a time you were so in love with Steve, you couldn’t wait to be his wife. Now, you couldn’t even stomach looking at him let alone him touching you.

“This is it. This is everything I need to make sure Steve never hurts you again, or anyone else for that matter. Once I do this, once I make the call and blow this up, you can never go back again. Do you understand what I’m saying? Do you still want to do this?” Andy turned and grabbed your hands, his thumb rubbing a soothing motion.

“I’m sure, but I do have some requests. I disappear immediately when you are done with me. I don’t need anything, I have a sizable amount of money stashed away. I want a new city, a new name, and I want to be able to practice again eventually, in some capacity. I can do shelter medicine, work somewhere small, I don’t care. I just want some part of my life back.”

“I can make you disappear, I will be the only person who knows where you are. My plan is to keep you hidden the entire trial, which should be quick with everything you’ve given me. After the trial is done and I’m sure Steve and everyone associated with him are gone, once I’ve done this, I will make sure to find a way for you to resume your veterinary career.”

You didn’t know why, and this was something you didn’t think you’d ever be able to do again after Steve, but you trusted Andy. You believed every word he said; you couldn’t be sure if it was because you truly did or if it was wishful thinking, but right now you couldn’t care less. Right now, he was here and he was keeping you alive.

“I have an idea for your friend. I will have to make some calls and see what can be done, but this database he’s built would be an amazing asset to our government. FBI, CIA, every branch of the military, this would change the face of national security for the better. Would he be open to something like that?”

“I would need to verify this with him the next time he checks in and updates me on Steve, but I don’t think he’d turn you down at all.” You smiled, grasping Andy’s hand tightly, your feelings bittersweet. You looked up to see Andy staring deeply at you, his face etched with worry and pride. You tried to ignore the flutter of your heart at his gaze, reminding yourself this was just another business proposition for Andy, nothing more.

“Well, I think I will try and get some sleep.” You stood, clearing your throat to cover the sudden rush of emotion in your voice. “Were your men able to get me everything I asked for?” you inquired as you moved to grab your purse. You wanted to shower, take your Ambien and sleep if possible. Insomnia had been your constant roommate the last year or so, why would tonight be any different?

“Um, yes, yeah. They put the bags in the master bedroom for you. I’ve made up the bed, there’s a bathroom in the room for you so you will have complete privacy. There’s a television and any streaming channel you could possibly want. I will make sure to have someone bring your cat to you once we’ve made the arrest.” Andy stood to guide you to the room you would call home for the next week or so.

“I don’t want to take your bedroom, please don’t let me be a bother at all. The guest room or any couch will be perfectly fine.” You followed Andy down the hall, finally agreeing to take the master suite. You walked over to the bed and started looking through all of the items and clothes that had been left. You couldn’t wait to step into a piping hot shower, letting the world fade away for just a bit.

“Well, I will leave you. If you need anything, please let me know. I will most likely be working out in the living room. There are snacks and food in the fridge, anything you want is yours.” Andy moved to stand in front of you, lifting your chin up so you would look at him. “It’s almost over, I promise. Now, try and rest, I will check in on you later.”

You thanked Andy, your skin still warm from his touch, and you could have sworn you saw something in his face, his eyes, something that made your stomach flutter and your heart pound. You shook your head telling yourself Andy could have his pick of any woman, the last thing he needed was one as broken as you.

You made your way to the bathroom stripping as you went, the bag of toiletries in your hand. The shower was hot and soothing, your back finding relief from the tension coiled there. As you stood under the hot stream, you cried. You cried for the loss of yourself, you cried for the loss of your love, you cried at the sheer relief of escape. You cried until you had nothing left.

You turned the shower off, and stepped out, so thankful Andy had the men pick up a fluffy robe. You wrapped yourself tightly and stood before the mirror, wiping the steam to look at your reflection. You applied your moisturizer, brushed your teeth, and made your way to the bed to change. You sat down and grabbed the sleep medication from your purse, taking two. It had been days since you had actually slept, and all you wanted for tonight was a chance to escape.

You laid down, your phone in hand as you scrolled through your updates from Jake. You texted from the burner phone Jake had set up for you, completely untraceable by anyone. Jake created this phone just for you and that thought had you in tears again. If it hadn’t been for Jake, you would never have been able to do this. You’d have been stuck in this endless cycle with Steve.

You responded to let Jake know what was going on, catching him up on your conversation with Andy, your requests, and how things were going to proceed. Jake begged you to be safe, letting you know he would check in with you tomorrow. You said goodnight and dropped the phone back in your purse.

You turned on the TV, and found one of your favorite movies streaming. As you leaned back against the pillows, you drifted off to sleep immediately, your meds and pure exhaustion kicking in. You hadn’t even changed your clothes, still dressed in only your robe on top of the bed, dreamless for a few hours, the only amount of rest your brain would allow.

You tossed and turned, your voice strangled as you tried to wake up, but you couldn’t out run him. Steve was all around and no matter where you turned, he was there. You tried to climb out of the darkness, but it enveloped you, blinding and suffocating you. You jumped up, gasping for air as you felt a pair of strong hands on your arms.

You screamed, thinking Steve had found you, completely forgetting where you were. Andy continued to hold you, trying to keep you from hurting yourself as you continued to blindly fight. Andy grabbed you, pulling you tightly into his embrace, holding you as you started to calm down, your tears wetting his shirt as you sobbed.

You finally calmed down enough to pull back and see the worried look on Andy’s face as he still held you, you finally relaxing into his embrace. You felt safe as Andy gently rocked you back and forth, his hand rubbing your back. Andy didn’t ask you about it and you didn’t offer any explanation, but you knew he understood where the panic had stemmed from.

You started to breathe evenly, your eyes slowly starting to close as you were lulled back to sleep by Andy. You startled awake when you felt him lay you down and cover you with the blanket. As he turned to leave the room, you grabbed his hand and pleaded with him not to leave you alone. Tonight, you needed him, not realizing that this was the exact moment your feelings started shifting towards this man and away from the one who hurt you while claiming it was love.

ANDY’S POV

Andy laid back down, staying above the covers, pulling you back to him, his arm around your waist as you quickly fell asleep again. What you didn’t know is that Andy was feeling the exact same shift in emotions, having been single for so long. Not to say Andy was a monk, but he had only accepted the physical from another person, always scared to make the emotional commitment too. All of that was different with you.

He thought you the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, everything from your hair to your smile instantly making him an addict. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to get you alone long enough to let you know who he was and what he wanted, but he was damn sure going to try.

He learned your patterns, watching you for about two weeks, non stop. He wouldn’t let anyone else do this, he needed you to trust him. He had seen the pictures, the marks, old ones fading while new ones littered your skin. He hadn’t given you enough credit though, which is how you surprised him when you turned around and asked him why he had been following you.

Andy was so impressed, you had rendered him speechless. As he stumbled to find the words, he almost felt like he was back in high school and talking to his crush for the first time. When he finally found his voice, he handed you his card, his personal cell phone written on the back. No one outside of his job had this number, Andy always trying to keep those around him safe. And now, you were the most important thing to him, the one thing he wanted to protect and cherish for the rest of your lives.

Andy felt crazy. He didn’t believe in love at first sight, but his first look at you had sealed his fate. You accepted the card, turning to head back to your car. Andy watched you pull away, looking away only when your car was out of his line of sight. Andy didn’t think you’d call. He thought it was going to take a few more encounters.

He waited every day, still making sure to keep you under his watch, even when you were at home. He knew what he was risking, but he couldn’t let you go. You called while he watched the light in your room turn on, making himself wait before he answered the call.

You agreed to meet him, and the moment he sat down across from you, he knew this was it. He was done. You had ruined him for any other woman. He couldn’t help but grab your hand to soothe you as you started to talk, Andy hanging on every word you said. When you agreed to leave with him, well, he couldn’t remember a time in his life that he had ever felt this happy.

He had never let anyone into his home before, always worried about privacy and protection, but with you, there was no other place he wanted you to be. He listened as you recounted you life with Steve, jealous at the way you spoke about Steve in the beginning, then wanting nothing more than to murder him with his bare hands by the end.

He didn’t pity you, he knew you didn’t need nor want that from him. He admired you, your strength, something he had never witnessed before. He was impressed at your ability to compile all of the necessary information before Andy even came into the mix. You were brave, you were fearless, and this only made Andy fall for you even more.

He not only learned about Steve, he also learned about you. He learned your passions, your likes, your dislikes, he learned what made you happy and what made you angry, he learned about you, the real you; the you who you thought was dead and buried. He learned it all, committing every last detail to memory. When all of this was done and Steve was locked away, he would give you all of this and more. He would give you anything you asked for.

He had wanted to kiss you when he walked you to the bedroom. Seeing you standing there in his space, his most sacred area in all of the world, it unlocked something inside of him. He wanted to grab you and kiss you stupid, but he knew you weren’t ready for that. He made himself leave, immediately making his way to the bar for another drink. It took all of his strength not to kiss you, throw you down on the bed and taste you until you couldn’t remember your own name, let alone Steve’s. He wanted to show you how you deserved to be treated, how you were the most important thing ever to exist.

He listened as the shower turned on, and all he could think about was the hot water running down your breasts, your hand running along your body, your cunt warm and inviting. He felt his pants tighten, his thoughts only on your naked body. He imagined himself between your thighs, one thrown over his shoulder as he ate you out, your wet pussy dripping your essence down his face. He imagined your scent trapped in his beard, his fingers coated in your slick as you came over and over.

He loosened his belt, opening his pants and pulling them down enough to free his thick and hard cock, the head coated in his precum. He gathered it on his hand, grabbed his dick and slowly started to stroke his shaft, making sure to wipe the tip every time he reached the top.

He imagined you turned around your face pressed against the wall as he entered from behind, your tight and warm pussy hugging him perfectly, as if it was made only for you. He started to stroke faster and faster as he pictured himself slowly fucking you, pulling you back to kiss your neck. He pictured your hips bouncing back to meet his thrusts, your moans the only thing he ever wanted to hear again.

As he felt himself about to cum, he wondered what you looked like when you came. He saw you in his mind, breathless and lost, your orgasm completely possessing your body and soul. As he pictured you cumming, he felt himself stutter, his thrusts into his hand uneven and rushed. He imagined your cunt squeezing his dick tightly as he came, his cum covering his hand and landing on his shirt. He panted as he tried to catch his breath, his ears filled with his heartbeat, his head filled with nothing but you.

After he cleaned himself off, he changed into sweats and a hoodie, needing a distraction to keep him from making his fantasy come true. He worked for hours, completely unaware of the time as the hours passed by. The drive you had given him was a dream for any lawyer; names, dates, every transaction on a credit card, any ticket, everything right at the tips of his fingers.

When he heard you cry out, he ran to the bedroom and threw open the door. You were still asleep, but you were crying and whimpering. He grabbed your arms and shook you, trying to wake you, but nothing worked. You screamed when you finally opened your eyes, trying to free yourself from Andy with your arms and legs.

When you had finally calmed and started to sleep, he tucked you in, dropping a kiss on your forehead before turning to walk away. Andy heard you stir and saw the look on your face, causing him to make his way back to the bed. He wanted to make sure you felt safe and comfortable, so he stayed on top of the covers.

He slipped his arm around you, pulling your body back against his, you fitting as if you were always meant his embrace. He felt you drift off again, following you into slumber not long after. Andy didn’t normally sleep, usually only three to four hours a night, but with you warm and safe in his embrace, he drifted off into the best sleep he could ever remember having. He would do everything in his power to make sure this is right where you stayed.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

You woke up warm and comfortable, having slept better than you could remember. You stretched and rolled over, snuggling into the chest, startling when you realized you weren’t alone. You looked up, Andy sleeping peacefully, his arm around you. You reached out, caressing his cheek, the soft motion happening before you even realized what you were doing.

Andy stirred, clearing his throat as he brought you in closer, resting his chin on the top of your head. You let the warmth pull you under again, and for the first time, you felt completely safe and protected. You didn’t know what it was about Andy that inspired such confidence in you, but he did, and you would enjoy every minute while you could.

You woke a little later to Andy rubbing his hand up and down your arm, slowly bringing you back to reality. You stirred, stretching out your body as you felt Andy chuckle, the rumble low and deep from his chest. You looked up at him questioningly, offended you were being laughed at.

“I’m not laughing at you, put the pout away,” he said, smiling down at you. “You stretch like a cat, full body and long.” You slapped him on his chest and sat up, only just now realizing you were still dressed in your robe, which was hanging precariously open . You asked what time it was, moving out of Andy’s embrace to go use the bathroom and start your day.

Andy informed you it was a little past ten in the morning, which shocked you. You never slept past six maybe seven at the latest. Andy said he’d go get some food started to let you have some time to get ready.

As you entered the living room, your mouth watered at the smell of whatever Andy had made. Your stomach gurgled loudly, causing Andy to chuckle as he sat a plate in front of you. You took a bite, closing your eyes in pure delight as the flavors hit your tongue. You and Andy ate in quiet yet comfortable silence, you grabbing the plates once you were both done eating. Andy fought you until you compromised and allowed him to help you clean up.

As Andy sat down to do some work, you reached out to Jake to check in, needing to hear his voice and know he was safe. Jake informed you Steve had returned home early and was anxious to find out what you had been up to. Jake managed to stave him off for a while saying you were with your mother for testing that would keep you occupied for a few hours. You thanked him, promising him you were safe and would reach out to Steve soon.

Andy continued working, asking you questions over everyone in the files, and what you knew about them. You stopped about an hour later and texted Jake you were going to call Steve. Jake set the heart monitor noise in the background as you used your personal cell phone which Jake kept located at the hospital.

You gave Steve an update, making sure to keep the noise consistent as Jake helped keep the call authentic. When you disconnected, you sighed and rolled your neck and shoulders, tension immediately setting in when you talked to Steve.

Andy closed his laptop and asked what you felt like for dinner, anything you wanted. You told him your favorite food, and of course Andy knew exactly where to order it from, shocking you when he chose your favorite restaurant. You quirked an eyebrow and looked over to see Andy shrug. You had told him your favorite place during your story, and Andy made sure to remember.

You felt yourself loosen up, your mood instantly boosted at the fact that you were heard, a feeling that hadn’t happened in a very long time. While you waited for the food to arrive, Andy poured you a glass of wine, your choice being a sweet moscato while he sipped on the same.

When the food arrived, you and Andy ate, him regaling you with tales of his most humorous and memorable cases. You couldn’t remember the last time you had laughed so hard, Andy pouring more wine for you both as the night continued. You both decided to throw on a show you’d been wanting to watch forever, but you didn’t even make it through the first thirty minutes before your breath evened out as you fell asleep on his lap.

Andy looked down and made sure to cover you with the blanket across your lap as he went back to work, quietly so as not to wake you up. Whenever you moved, he stilled until you settled, keeping you covered up. His hand eventually found its way into your hair, gently playing with the loose pieces as he continued working through more files.

Andy drifted to sleep a few hours later, his head resting on the back of the couch. You woke up, waking Andy up to head to bed. Andy followed you down the hall, and as you stood outside the door, you looked at him, asking him to stay again. Andy silently followed you in, getting under the covers this time before pulling you into him again.

This became the routine for you two, sleep, eat work, spending time together, then sleep. This was your comfort zone, where you wanted to be. You weren’t sure you would ever feel safe or comfortable after Steve, but you wouldn’t shut the door to this chance if it happened.

On the last day with Andy, the end of the week you had agreed to in the beginning, you found yourself sad, disappointed that this was coming to an end, the day moving way too quickly for your taste. Andy slammed the laptop shut, leaned back and took a deep breath. This was ending way too fast for him also. You looked up to see Andy glancing down at you, your head laid across his lap as he played with your hair, your breath catching at the look on his face, a look you hadn’t seen in a long time.

Andy reached out, running his thumb over the apple of your cheek, causing you to lean into the soft and sweet touch. You leaned forward, your lips ghosting over Andy’s, your breath soft and timid. Andy leaned in, deepening the kiss as you lost yourself in his touch. As you moved to straddle his lap, Andy stopped you, his breaths short as he looked at you.

You immediately pulled away, embarrassed and ashamed at his denial. As you stood to leave, tears falling freely, you felt Andy grab you. He pulled you into his embrace, whispering that as much as he wanted this, he didn’t want to go too fast. He didn’t want to lose you, now that he’d just finally found you.

He grasped your chin, making you meet his eyes, wanting you to believe his every word. Andy meant it, he wanted to take his time with you, explore you, he wanted to love you in a way you had never been loved, but he needed to make sure you felt the same while he also needed to keep you alive.

“It isn’t that I don’t want to,” he said softly, his thumbs wiping the tears away as they fell. “I need to be able to keep you safe, to keep you alive, and I cannot do that until Steve is gone. I also need to know this is real, that your feelings are for me and aren’t just grieving a loss or fill a need. This is real for me, so real. I have never felt this way about anyone in my life.” Andy searched your face, trying to find the answers to the questions he so desperately needed.

You reached out and ran your hand along his jawline as you stood up to kiss him, every answer left behind on his lips. He kissed you again, pulling himself away leaving both of you breathless. You entered the bedroom, immediately finding home in his embrace, trying to memorize every touch, every breath before you were pulled apart.

Andy held you, both of you kissing, afraid to drift to sleep. Eventually, you both fell off into a dreamless sleep, morning coming way too fast for either of you. You packed everything up, Andy giving him men orders. After the car was packed, you and Andy stood silent as you drank each other in one last time.

“I am the only one besides my men who will know where you are.” Andy pushed stray strands of hair behind your ear as he continued. “Jake has been secured complete immunity on the condition he becomes a top tech professional for the US government, all branches. He will be set for life and will be able to contact you whenever he pleases.”

You nodded, trying to prolong this moment, still not ready to say goodbye. Andy moved to the side, opening the door to the SUV you were to leave in. Jake stepped out, his large and goofy smile on his face as he grabbed you in a tight embrace, lifting you off the ground. You cried tears of relief knowing your best friend, well actually family, was still alive.

He handed you a phone, going over all of the features as this was the last piece of technology he would be able to make for you. This phone was encrypted with only himself and Andy able to call or text. You could make calls and text of course, however Jake had made this phone completely untraceable with a new phone number spoofed every time you used it. Jake was excited to begin this new chapter, but completely scared of what time would bring. You assured him this was not the end, that Andy had made sure you’d always be able to reach him, even see him anytime you wished. As Jake said goodbye, he quietly whispered about how much he liked Andy. He approved, and that meant more to you than anything else. You watched another vehicle pull in, and squeezed Jake one last time.

As Jake was swept off to begin his new life, you turned to Andy, almost immediately seeking out his comfort. Andy helped you into the back of the vehicle, making sure you were buckled in and secure before placing a kiss on your lips, urgent and filled with sadness at having to let you go. You promised this wasn’t forever, Andy promised he would come back for you as soon as Steve was gone. Andy watched you leave, turning to head inside and start the war.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The cottage was so small and secure, Andy’s men splitting time between guarding you and also living next door. Andy made sure to call you every day, and every day, you received something from him. A book you’d wanted to read, your favorite fruit, anything that you mentioned, Andy made sure was yours.

It had been two months of non-stop contact, Andy reassuring you he was safe. He spared you the details of the raid, only letting you know that Steve was gone. The next day, you were awakened by gentle purrs and head bumps, opening your eyes to see your favorite cat.

It would be another few weeks before you were updated again, Andy unable to text and call daily the further the trial progressed. You’d kept tabs on the news, able to watch Steve’s empire fall. You felt a sense of relief pour through you once you’d read the headline detailing Steve Rogers fall from grace, his empire blown up from the inside out.

High ranking politicians, police, business men, other mafia contacts all brought down and eliminated by one Andrew Barber. You watched the trial end, Steve found guilty on all counts. Steve would never be free again, nor would he see the light of day, his sentence relocated to a very secure underground prison meant for the most dangerous men.

You waited for Andy, ready to finally be with this man who’d allowed you to live once again. With all of Steve’s people gone, it was safe for you to come back. You looked at your phone, waiting for a call, a text, anything to let you know Andy was coming back, but it never came. Another week passed with nothing from Andy. You called Jake to catch up with him, so proud of him. He was the most important and sought after commodity to national security, and you couldn’t be happier for him.

You were about to give up on Andy, resigning yourself to the fact you had once again trusted the wrong man. You snuggled with your cat, finally allowing your tears to fall. You fell asleep snuggled up, his purrs lulling your anxiety.

You were awakened a short while later, a hand on your cheek while gentle kisses were peppered down the side of your face. You opened your eyes, immediately seeing the one person you wanted more than anyone.

“Andy,” you breathed, immediately falling into his embrace. He kissed you, needy and rushed, wanting nothing more than to be here with you in this moment. He pulled away, his forehead resting on yours as he panted.

“Hi. I came as soon as I could,” he said, twining his fingers with yours. You leaned into him, kissing him again, holding him so close. You looked around, making sure the two of you were alone. He assured you the men were away in their place, that the two of you were finally and completely alone.

Andy gently laid you back, removing his shirt before climbing up to meet your lips. You sighed as he started to kiss your neck, softly nibbling, licking, kissing as he made his way down. He stopped at your collarbones, his hands sliding up your sides as you moved to remove your tank top, offering him access to the breasts he’d dreamed about since the first moment he saw you.

He nipped your nipple, taking it in his mouth as he bit and worked it over, removing his mouth to allow the cold air to hit as he worked over your other nipple, alternating between the two before moving his kisses down your stomach, his hands grabbing your shorts, pulling them down as he went.

You leaned back as he kissed up from your ankle to the knee, ending at the top of your thigh as he moved to the other leg, making his way down from your thigh to your ankle, chuckling when you huffed in frustration, so close yet still no relief. Andy made his way back up, your hands finding his hair as he finally reached where you wanted him most.

He inhaled your scent, losing all control as he dove in, his tongue licking up and down your wet slit, your moans sweeter than he ever imagined. He moved to your clit, sucking the small bundle between his teeth as he slid two fingers into you. Andy almost came right there, your pussy more sweet and soft than he had dreamed.

He worked his fingers in and out, sucking relentlessly as he felt your cunt tighten and squeeze, knowing you were close. He rubbed his clothed cock on the bed, seeking any type of relief while he made you scream, your cries overtaking every sense. He continued suckling, over and over, your juices running down his hand as he made you cum again and again, not letting up until you pushed his head away.

He kissed his way up, stopping at your breasts again, almost making you cum again from the sensitivity as he landed at your mouth. You kissed him deeply, your taste spurring you on more and more. You flipped him over, straddling his lap, his hard cock rubbing over your already oversensitive pussy.

Andy lifted his hips, allowing you to pull his pants down, grabbing his cock, dragging the tip up and down your wet slit, causing Andy to thrust up. You positioned him at your entrance, slowly sinking down inch by inch, his cock filling you to the brim.

You started to rotate your hips, keeping his dick nestled deeply inside, the motion making him still, allowing you to take what you needed from him. This was all about you, what made you happy, what made you feel good, marveling at how beautiful you looked in this light, fucked out yet still fucking.

You leaned down, your hair covering his face as he grabbed it and pulled you closer, kissing you slowly and deeply, following your rhythm. You rode him slow, barely lifting off his cock, taking him so deep you felt him in every part of your pussy, warm and slow.

As you continued fucking him, you sped up, your head thrown back in ecstasy as you balanced your hands on his chest. You bounced harder, your hips swiveling, feeling your orgasm building higher and higher. You continued your pace, chasing your end as you felt Andy thrust up, meeting you.

You let go, your cunt gripping him tightly as you cried out, his name the only word you seemed to know. You felt him still, his hot cum shooting into you, as he kept himself buried deep, not wanting to ever leave the shelter of your pussy.

You laid down across him, panting as your heart started to return to normal, your breaths short and shallow. Andy rubbed his hand up and down your back, his hot breath in your ear. He kissed you over and over, letting you know that this is what he had wanted for you. He wanted you to feel safe with him, knowing he would never do what Steve had.

You fell into a deep sleep, his now softening cock still sheathed fully as he continued to comfort you, making sure you were resting and comfortable. This moment was more than he had ever felt he deserved, and you would never be alone again.

His phone lit up, silenced to make sure you weren’t disturbed. He opened his texts, one message popping open from an unknown number. “It’s done, everyone is asleep.” Andy sent a message acknowledging he’d received it, closing his phone, placing it to the side nightstand. You moved, moaning from the action, Andy keeping completely still.

Andy was a man of few words, but many secrets; he would tell you one day, but for now, this Andy would be all you knew, the prosecutor so in love with you, he would end the world. Andy thought back to his conversation with his most trusted man, Curtis. Curtis had been with Andy from the beginning, helping him build an empire so secret, no one knew who the actual leaders were.

Andy sat silently as he processed the news Curtis had sent. Steve was gone, never to be seen nor heard from again, along with all of his men, leaving Andy in charge, Andy who now had a direct line to Jake.

Every last person in those files had been handled, allowing Andy to silently seize control. As he looked down at you again, he felt so warm and loved. Andy wasn’t sure of much, but he was very sure of one thing: No one else would get to hurt you again, you were his.

[rebuzzbuzz]

I feel like people need to be a lot stricter with the distinction of what is comshipping, venting or just plain old dark content. Hear me out i have reasons for this, but they might be a bit jumbled and long so they go under the cut. Hope they make sense.

Warning: This is my opinion. No words are censored because i find self censoring stupid. If the discussion of various dark topics make you uncomfortable you should probably not keep reading, I am not responsible if you do anyway and it ends up upsetting you

Edit: i have been made aware of the fact that i got some terms wrong and fixed them ( i think ), i didn’t really do much research and went from memory from when this was still all over the place, I apologize for that but most of my points still stand

( thank you to the people two people who pointed it out, i really appreciate it)

What is my definition of a comshipping? The act of shipping someone with someone else that would be a unhealthy and/or toxic relationship in a positive light. Most prominent examples being pedophilia and incest

Apart from the fact that i personally do not consider any fictional relationship that is unhealthy and/or toxic a ship, i completely agree with the anti’s that you shouldn’t do that, and if you do it to cope with things that happened to you (wich i personally dont think is entirely healthy) do it privately wich brings me to my next point

What is my definition of a healthy ship? people in a romantic relationship that were both in the same age group when they met, not weirdly fetishized, and no other kind of wrong

Do i think that you cant explore your trauma in an very vivid and/or descriptive matter? No, i think you can and it’s possibly even healthy for you, what i do think however that it should be kept between yourself and those that you trust, because i don’t think it is save to put vivid descriptions of your mental or physical health and trauma onto the internet.

People are both cruel and a lot more brave to be horrible on the internet than in real life. And that can lead to bullying, death threats and the possible backtracking of your progress wich i personally find too big of a risk to take.

Including dark topics into into whatever creative projects you have, doesn’t immediately make it romanticized, sexualized or god forbid normal, nor does it immediately make you into a bad person.

Is there a point where it could be interpreted that way? Yes. Is that point the inclusion or mention of said topic? No. Otherwise Horror, thriller, crime and other similar media should also be in the same boat. The inclusion of a murderer doesn’t immediately advocate that you should kill your neighbors, the same way that the inclusion of a pedophile doesn’t advocate for you to go have sex with a child. As long it is explicitly clear that it doesn’t intend to portray the dark topic of choice as a good or healthy thing, you don’t have to say anything and can avoid said media. Can you point out if they maybe forgot a warning or tag? Yes. Can you tell them that they maybe represented it wrong or in a potentially harmful way? Yes but only respectfully, they might have genuinely not realized. Can you tell whoever wrote it that they should kill themselves? No absolutely not, wich brings me to my last two points

Proshipping: having the opinion to just let people be with what they ship and letting them have the freedom to create and consume whatever they like (including darker content) fair points are being made, but i feel like there has to be a line drawn somewhere if it could actually explicitly harm people ( people shipping something in a way where it can only be interpreted as encouragement of said unhealthy/toxic relationship dynamic )

Antishipping: being against ships deemed offensive of in some other way problematic same point as before, as long as the only possible interpretation isn’t bad thing=good i don’t really care, i have the decency to look after my own internet/content consumption. I agree that there has to be a line somewhere. People enjoying things in a way where i couldn’t harm anyone is not where it needs to be

I do not identify with either parts of this debate, why is that. The way a lot of the people i see handle it absolutely horribly and in ways i do not agree with and i do not want to be associated with.

Im not saying that there aren’t people that don’t make proper points or react appropriately, but the loudest part of them don’t, with the most common things i see being aggressive about it, dragging it into extremes and telling the other person to kill themselves, and i just dont want to be associated with that.

My thoughts overall in the pro vs anti discussion: frankly i find it immature. I’ll say it. It’s immature do discuss morals regarding fiction to the extremes that some do. Im not saying that some people dont make genuine good points, but most people use it as an excuse to be horrible.

If you’re only argument against something is “ it is bad so therefore you should kill yourself for even interacting with it” i dont think you have actually something explicitly against it in a way you know why, you just want to justify being a horrible person. I am aware that the sheer existence of various topics can be interpreted as encouraging from certain type of people, but those kinds of people will find anything to justify their doing, and their potential actions are not your fault. Horror movies do not encourage murder, but could be inspiration for a future murderer. The incest darkfic of some random person online doesn’t immediately encourage having sex with your family, but could be interpreted as “im not horrible for that” by actual people who do want to have sex with their family. Thats why its called an interpretation. The only things i find reasonable to do in this case are: not engaging, blocking people (it does not make you a coward you just don’t want thing you consider trash in your house), blocking tags and probably some more i cant think of right now

Conclusion:

Comships based on the earlier given definition are in my opinion bad and i do not agree with them, but i don’t think people who ship them deserve to die either.

Inclusion of dark content isn’t bad if done correctly, and you should just avoid it if you dont like it.

A lot of people have a horrible approach to things and i dont want to be associated with them.

I do not consider posting vent content a safe thing to do, but also not something you should verbally abuse people over.

The pro vs anti discussion about ships is unorganized, toxic and sometimes even just another excuse to be absolutely horrible, and i advice to just stay out of it

[frostironfudge]

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

hello, I'm fudge and this is my Bucky Barnes Masterlist, anything and everything Bucky is here: one shots, multi-part fics. please make sure to read all the warnings before reading each piece. your media consumption is your responsibility. please note minors dni with smut or dark themed content.

Main Masterlist // AO3

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Contains Smut **

One Shots:

Venus (Bodyguard Bucky) **

Conversations with The Devil [Submission for Spooktacular Smutfest 21 by boxofbonesfic] (Devil!Bucky Barnes) **

Part 2: Conversations with The Devil ** (Devil!Bucky Barnes)

Sparkle (BestFriend Bucky) [Submission for loveletterswritingchallenge by pellucid-constillations]

Tattooed On Your Palms Is My Love (Modern AU) **

Hide Your Lies (SoftDark!Mafia!Stucky AU) [submission for boxofbonesfic 's #Beastyoumadeofme22] **

If Only I Could Get To You First (Modern!Bucky Fake Dating AU)

Between Your Hands I Find Peace (FATWS!Bucky) [frostironfudge's funfair - mini movie theatre]

I'll Be Your Hideaway (Modern!AU) [frostironfudge's funfair - house of song - seven by taylor swift]

We Go A Lot Of Time [frostironfudge's funfair - house of song - Need To Know by Doja Cat] **

The Comfort You Bring - [frostironfudge's funfair - mini movie theatre] **

I Want You To Know [frostironfudge's funfair - house of song - Love You Like A Love Song - Selena Gomez]

My Angel (DBF! Bucky Barnes) **

I Really, Really Want To Kiss You - Personal Trainer!Bucky Barnes

107 - TFATWS!Bucky x Motocross!Reader (requested)

Keep Your Eyes On Me - Archeologist Bucky

Keep My Secret - Stucky x Reader (Dark Fic)

Baby, Keep Those Off (requested)

I'd Choose You (requested)

Devour **

Multi-Part Fics:

Stencils, Bouquets & Icing

An AU where Bucky is a tattoo artist and Steve is a florist, both find love much closer than they anticipated. Steve in Bucky's tattoo artist apprentice nicknamed Petal and Bucky in the baker opposite to his shop nicknamed Cupcake.

Pairing: Steve x Fem!Reader

Masterlist

Labyrinth (completed)

labyrinth (noun), a complicated set of paths and passages, through which it is difficult to find your way. 

Bucky and You would do anything for Steve and Wanda, your respective best friends. In an attempt to avoid a tradition Steve and Wanda come up with a lie involving their best friends.  A lie, that involves building a labyrinth. Bucky and You begin to build but will you two find your way out or be caught in it?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader, (Modern AU)

Masterlist

This Feeling I've Got (ongoing, sporadic updates)

A multi part series of one shots that can be read together or stand alone in their own sweet right. based in a non canon compliant FATWS AU. (angst mild, fluff, smut)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus Size Fem Reader

Masterlist

Silhouettes In The Spotlight (completed)

Bucky Barnes has worked immensely hard to have a filmography expanding across genres and garnering accolades from critics, peers and fans. Y/N Y/L/N, with her debut novel (fan-fiction turned New York Times Bestseller) has two other best sellers under her belt. Next is her highly anticipated fourth book lined up for release.

SHEILD Productions has acquired the film rights to her debut novel and they want Bucky Barnes to play the lead (aka himself) by any means necessary.

This story is about angst, lust, heartbreak, and love. After all fairytales only exist in books and movies right?

Pairing: Actor!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Masterlist

I Think I Met You In My Dreams Once (completed)

After receiving an honourable discharge from his military service that was caused by the loss of his arm, James Barnes begins to come to terms with several things. He also finds solace in youtube videos, memes and social media, where he happens to find you. (angst, fluff, smut) (Modern!AU)

Pairing: Ex Military!Bucky Barnes x Plus Size Fem Reader

Masterlist

It Comes Back To Me (completed)

Can Bucky have you come back to him after he pushed you too far?

Pairing: Lawyer!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Part I // Part II

[dollslayer]

Dollslayer’s Masterlist

Welcome! 

Thanks for reading my fics it means the world to me! As a general warning my fics can contain dark themes and are intended for readers 18+ only. Please heed any and all warnings on my fics before you read them. If they upset you do NOT read them! You are responsible for your own media consumption. If you feel that something should be tagged or included in the warnings please tell me and I’ll mend it ASAP. 

The response thus far to my fics has been overwhelming and I am so happy to share them with you. If you like them like & reblog them or drop me a line and we can talk about it! I would love to hear from you!! Cheers!

Bucky Barnes

Hurt Me, Dollface -  Mob!Bucky Barnes x Escort!Reader, Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader,  Being a working girl close to the inner circles of the country’s most infamous mob bosses, you never expected yourself to end up in a predicament like this. Warnings:  18+, Dubcon, erotic asphyxiation, choking kink, drug mention, mild description of violence (If ya squint), swearing, mentions of organized crime. 

In the Dark -  Bucky Barnes x Vampire!Reader, Lonely and bored in your afterlife, or lack thereof, you take home an unsuspecting stranger, or so you thought. Warnings:  Blood, mild gore, smut, swearing, breeding kink.

The Stand-In - CEO!Bucky Barnes x Reader,  Stood up by your date and stranded in one of the nicest restaurants in town, Bucky Barnes just can't let that stand. Warnings:  slight angst, smut, oral (m & f receiving), deepthroating, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it !)

Charity Case - College!Bucky x Reader, You loathe Bucky Barnes and his cocky attitude but you find yourself doing him a favor. Is he really as insufferable as he seems? Warnings: Swearing, alcohol consumption, uhhh kissing, that's it!

Champagne Problems - Bartender!Bucky x Reader, When your ex-boyfriend makes a surprise appearance at your sister's wedding you find help from an unexpected source. Warnings: NO MINORS, Smut, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, swearing, alcohol consumption

Gains - Bucky Barnes x Reader, Bucky Barnes has stolen the last treadmill and with it, the last shred of your patience. Warnings: Smut, swearing, semi-public sex, unprotected sex

Homecoming - Biker!Bucky Barnes x Reader, Finally home after being gone on a run, you give Bucky the welcome he deserves. Warnings: Housewife kink, unprotected sex, swearing, NO MINORS

Steve Rogers

Botanical Interest Masterlist - Soft!Mob!Steve Rogers x Florist!reader, A collection of oneshots featuring our favorite Brooklyn mobster and his sassy but shy florist girlfriend as they navigate their different worlds. Warnings: See individual stories for warnings.

Sweeter Endings - Sugar Daddy!Steve Rogers x reader, Still reeling from the financial realities of losing your mother you turn to a lucrative website for help and get more than you could have bargained for. Warnings: Smut (no minors 18+ only), light D/S dynamics, brief mentions of alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, swearing

Shots or Dare - Steve Rogers x reader, A drinking game goes one step too far. Or does it? Warnings: Alcohol consumption, drunken antics, hangovers, swearing

Fight or Flight - Steve Rogers x reader, Steve comes clean, in the aftermath and shock you turn to the one person who you know you can trust. Warnings: Implied cheating, angst, swearing

Sink or Swim - Steve Rogers x reader, After your long-term boyfriend tells you he's been in love with someone else for months you're both reeling from the fallout. Warnings: implied cheating, angst, swearing, Steve being a shithead

Artistic Intention - Artist!Steve Rogers x reader, Steve's doing well in his life drawing class, but a new muse throws him for a loop in the back supply room. Warnings: p in v smut, unprotected sex, public sex, breeding kink if you squint, swearing

Request: Love triangle with Peggy - Steve Rogers x reader, Steve Rogers x Peggy Carter, Steve Rogers has an image to maintain, but at what cost? Warnings: Angst, secret relationship, love triangle

Part Two - Confrontation time. Same warnings as part one apply.

By Its Cover - Dark!Librarian!Steve Rogers x shy!reader, Your late nights at the university library spark a chain of events. Will they lead to your undoing? To anyone else's? Warnings: DARK themes, NO MINORS, stalking, murder, minor character death, smut, angst, unprotected sex, oral sex, alcohol consumption, swearing

Lumberjack!Steve Drabble - Lumberjack!Steve Rogers x reader, Steve keeps you warm on his day off. Warnings: 18+ ONLY, unprotected sex, cockwarming, somno kinda

______

Sam Wilson

Pull -   A brief interaction in the hallway with Sam leads to a mischievous moment between friends with benefits. Warnings:  Smut, deepthroating, face fucking, hair pulling

______

Thor

Sugar Daddy!Thor Drabble - Bratty and uncaring on your yacht vacation, Thor has had enough. Warnings: Implied smut

______

Ransom Drysdale

Return to Sender - As if the holidays didn't add enough stress to your life, your asshole neighbor seems hellbent to be the cherry on top. Warnings: Smut, 18+ ONLY, oral (f receiving), making out, accidental voyeurism, mentions of alcohol consumption, swearing, Ransom being an asshole

[qqueenofhades]

Hi. I’m curious. What did you mean by “women who read fiction might get Bad Ideas!!!” has just reached its latest and stupidest form via tumblr purity culture.? I haven’t seen any of this but I’m new to tumblr.

Oh man. You really want to get me into trouble on, like, my first day back, don’t you?

Pretty much all of this has been explained elsewhere by people much smarter than me, so this isn’t necessarily going to say anything new, but I’ll do my best to synthesize and summarize it. As ever, it comes with the caveat that it is my personal interpretation, and is not intended as the be-all, end-all. You’ll definitely run across it if you spend any time on Tumblr (or social media in general, including Twitter, and any other fandom-related spaces). This will get long.

In short: in the nineteenth century, when Gothic/romantic literature became popular and women were increasingly able to read these kinds of novels for fun, there was an attendant moral panic over whether they, with their weak female brains, would be able to distinguish fiction from reality, and that they might start making immoral or inappropriate choices in their real life as a result. Obviously, there was a huge sexist and misogynistic component to this, and it would be nice to write it off entirely as just hysterical Victorian pearl-clutching, but that feeds into the “lol people in the past were all much stupider than we are today” kind of historical fallacy that I often and vigorously shut down. (Honestly, I’m not sure how anyone can ever write the “omg medieval people believed such weird things about medicine!” nonsense again after what we’ve gone through with COVID, but that is a whole other rant.) The thinking ran that women shouldn’t read novels for fear of corrupting their impressionable brains, or if they had to read novels at all, they should only be the Right Ones: i.e., those that came with a side of heavy-handed and explicit moralizing so that they wouldn’t be tempted to transgress. Of course, books trying to hammer their readers over the head with their Moral Point aren’t often much fun to read, and that’s not the point of fiction anyway. Or at least, it shouldn’t be.

Fast-forward to today, and the entire generation of young, otherwise well-meaning people who have come to believe that being a moral person involves only consuming the “right” kind of fictional content, and being outrageously mean to strangers on the internet who do not agree with that choice. There are a lot of factors contributing to this. First, the advent of social media and being subject to the judgment of people across the world at all times has made it imperative that you demonstrate the “right” opinions to fit in with your peer-group, and on fandom websites, that often falls into a twisted, hyper-critical, so-called “progressivism” that diligently knows all the social justice buzzwords, but has trouble applying them in nuance, context, and complicated real life. To some extent, this obviously is not a bad thing. People need to be critical of the media they engage with, to know what narratives the creator(s) are promoting, the tropes they are using, the conclusions that they are supporting, and to be able to recognize and push back against genuinely harmful content when it is produced – and this distinction is critical – by professional mainstream creators. Amateur, individual fan content is another kettle of fish. There is a difference between critiquing a professional creator (though social media has also made it incredibly easy to atrociously abuse them) and attacking your fellow fan and peer, who is on the exact same footing as you as a consumer of that content.

Obviously, again, this doesn’t mean that you can’t call out people who are engaging in actually toxic or abusive behavior, fans or otherwise. But certain segments of Tumblr culture have drained both those words (along with “gaslighting”) of almost all critical meaning, until they’re applied indiscriminately to “any fictional content that I don’t like, don’t agree with, or which doesn’t seem to model healthy behavior in real life” and “anyone who likes or engages with this content.” Somewhere along the line, a reactionary mindset has been formed in which the only fictional narratives or relationships are those which would be “acceptable” in real life, to which I say…. what? If I only wanted real life, I would watch the news and only read non-fiction. Once again, the underlying fear, even if it’s framed in different terms, is that the people (often women) enjoying this content can’t be trusted to tell the difference between fiction and reality, and if they like “problematic” fictional content, they will proceed to seek it out in their real life and personal relationships. And this is just… not true.

As I said above, critical media studies and thoughtful consumption of entertainment are both great things! There have been some great metas written on, say, the Marvel Cinematic Universe and how it is increasingly relying on villains who have outwardly admirable motives (see: the Flag Smashers in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier) who are then stigmatized by their anti-social, violent behavior and attacks on innocent people, which is bad even as the heroes also rely on violence to achieve their ends. This is a clever way to acknowledge social anxieties – to say that people who identify with the Flag Smashers are right, to an extent, but then the instant they cross the line into violence, they’re upsetting the status quo and need to be put down by the heroes. I watched TFATWS and obviously enjoyed it. I have gone on a Marvel re-watching binge recently as well. I like the MCU! I like the characters and the madcap sci-fi adventures! But I can also recognize it as a flawed piece of media that I don’t have to accept whole-cloth, and to be able to criticize some of the ancillary messages that come with it. It doesn’t have to be black and white.

When it comes to shipping, moreover, the toxic culture of “my ship is better than your ship because it’s Better in Real Life” ™ is both well-known and in my opinion, exhausting and pointless. As also noted, the whole point of fiction is that it allows us to create and experience realities that we don’t always want in real life. I certainly enjoy plenty of things in fiction that I would definitely not want in reality: apocalyptic space operas, violent adventures, and yes, garbage men. A large number of my ships over the years have been labeled “unhealthy” for one reason or another, presumably because they don’t adhere to the stereotype of the coffee-shop AU where there’s no tension and nobody ever makes mistakes or is allowed to have serious flaws. And I’m not even bagging on coffee-shop AUs! Some people want to remove characters from a violent situation and give them that fluff and release from the nonstop trauma that TV writers merrily inflict on them without ever thinking about the consequences. Fanfiction often focuses on the psychology and healing of characters who have been through too much, and since that’s something we can all relate to right now, it’s a very powerful exercise. As a transformative and interpretive tool, fanfic is pretty awesome.

The problem, again, comes when people think that fic/fandom can only be used in this way, and that going the other direction, and exploring darker or complicated or messy dynamics and relationships, is morally bad. As has been said before: shipping is not activism. You don’t get brownie points for only having “healthy” ships (and just my personal opinion as a queer person, these often tend to be heterosexual white ships engaging in notably heteronormative behavior) and only supporting behavior in fiction that you think is acceptable in real life. As we’ve said, there is a systematic problem in identifying what that is. Ironically, for people worried about Women Getting Ideas by confusing fiction and reality, they’re doing the same thing, and treating fiction like reality. Fiction is fiction. Nobody actually dies. Nobody actually gets hurt. These people are not real. We need to normalize the idea of characters as figments of a creator’s imagination, not actual people with their own agency. They exist as they are written, and by the choice of people whose motives can be scrutinized and questioned, but they themselves are not real. Nor do characters reflect the author’s personal views. Period.

This feeds into the fact that the internet, and fandom culture, is not intended as a “safe space” in the sense that no questionable or triggering content can ever be posted. Archive of Our Own, with its reams of scrupulous tagging and requests for you to explicitly click and confirm that you are of age to see M or E-rated content, is a constant target of the purity cultists for hosting fictional material that they see as “immoral.” But it repeatedly, unmistakably, directly asks you for your consent to see this material, and if you then act unfairly victimized, well… that’s on you. You agreed to look at this, and there are very few cases where you didn’t know what it entailed. Fandom involves adults creating contents for adults, and while teenagers and younger people can and do participate, they need to understand this fact, rather than expecting everything to be a PG Disney movie.

When I do write my “dark” ships with garbage men, moreover, they always involve a lot of the man being an idiot, being bluntly called out for an idiot, and learning healthier patterns of behavior, which is one of the fundamental patterns of romance novels. But they also involve an element of the woman realizing that societal standards are, in fact, bullshit, and she can go feral every so often, as a treat. But even if I wrote them another way, that would still be okay! There are plenty of ships and dynamics that I don’t care for and don’t express in my fic and fandom writing, but that doesn’t mean I seek out the people who do like them and reprimand them for it. I know plenty of people who use fiction, including dark fiction, in a cathartic way to process real-life trauma, and that’s exactly the role – one of them, at least – that fiction needs to be able to fulfill. It would be terribly boring and limited if we were only ever allowed to write about Real Life and nothing else. It needs to be complicated, dark, escapist, unreal, twisted, and whatever else. This means absolutely zilch about what the consumers of this fiction believe, act, or do in their real lives.

Once more, I do note the misogyny underlying this. Nobody, after all, seems to care what kind of books or fictional narratives men read, and there’s no reflection on whether this is teaching them unhealthy patterns of behavior, or whether it predicts how they’ll act in real life. (There was some of that with the “do video games cause mass shootings?”, but it was a straw man to distract from the actual issues of toxic masculinity and gun culture.) Certain kinds of fiction, especially historical fiction, romance novels, and fanfic, are intensely gendered and viewed as being “women’s fiction” and therefore hyper-criticized, while nobody’s asking if all the macho-man potboiler military-intrigue tough-guy stereotypical “men’s fiction” is teaching them bad things. So the panic about whether your average woman on the internet is reading dark fanfic with an Unhealthy Ship (zomgz) is, in my opinion, misguided at best, and actively destructive at worst.

[joheun-saram]

To Make A Power Couple (knj) | 05

Chapter 5: 30 under 30

previous | masterlist | next

Summary- After a bout of long distance our couple reunites for a weekend where they are both invited to the Forbes 30 under 30 celebration.

word count- 13k 😅

pairing- idol!namjoon x ceo!reader

rating- R

genre- series, slow burn, fluff, smut, strangers2lovers, angst (😱)

warnings- alcohol consumption, softdom!Joon, oral sex (f. receiving), orgasm denial, explicit sex, hints towards depressive mindset, overworking

a.n- new chapter? NEW CHAPTER! AND THERE’S ANGST?! I would like to point out that the Namjoon’s struggles in this chapter are in no way meant to reflect the real Namjoon’s thoughts. This is a fictional character. I use writing as an outlet to work through my own issues so the only headspace they accurately reflect is my own at times. If you relate, or need someone to talk to you, my messages are open - I’m here for you!

Thank you so much for the love you all have given this series so far! I’m loving writing this! Also, I’m still simping for this couple and writing the last two scenes was heartbreaking.

s/o to @moccahobi​ for beta reading! ily!

Feedback much appreciated! 💕

taglist - @beach-bitch-bitch-beach​, @sscheherazadee, @rjsmochii​, @jinjccns, @joyful-jimin @sideblogger​ @agustdpeach @diamonddia-mond

-

“So how much do I have to bribe Sejin to let us be in the same room for the Forbes thing?” You settled in bed, wearing one of your boyfriend’s t-shirts, as you Facetimed him a few countries away, his scent making you feel closer to him. To say his comeback had him busy was an understatement. Since the night you two had agreed on labeling your relationship, you only had a few weeks together to cuddle, visit your favorite places, and argue philosophies of the books you were reading, before being thrown into a long-distance relationship. First, your investor meetings had you traveling from San Francisco to Seoul every few weeks and then he set out on the Asian leg of his promotions and mini-tour. The days that you were in the same city were spent staying in bed and ordering take-out (mostly jjajangmyeon to satisfy Namjoon’s cravings), alternating between his apartment and yours.

“Literally nothing? Obviously we’re in the same room! He’s not gonna stop me from staying with my girlfriend who I haven’t seen in like two months.” He looked tired, his brows creased as he massaged his shoulder. Your heart panged wishing you could be there to massage it for him.

“Oh. But what if we get caught?” This was not a new concern. Since day one, you had to ensure that all your dates were private, pretending you both were single at events you were obligated to attend. He had an image to portray and although it sometimes weighed on you that you always had a group of friends with you whenever you went out in public and that you couldn’t hold hands during your outings, you respected him too much to tarnish his career.

“By who? The room service guy?” He rolled his eyes as he now started to punch his shoulders.

“Yes, or fans who hack the security system. I remember some One Direction fans doing that.” You pretended as if some of those fans were not your old university friends. You don’t talk to them anymore, but you have to admit it was hilarious seeing a group of coders hunched over their computers to get access to grainy pictures of Harry Styles walking in the hallways.

“You are so paranoid. We’ll be fine, baby. Trust me.” He dismissed you with a huff as he finally let go of his shoulders and moved on to removing his makeup.

“Also, I didn’t know you told your company.” You both had decided to wait to tell BigHit about your relationship until you were done with this long-distance leg, opting to go in together to announce it. Neither of you wanted to go public so you assumed the meeting was going to be quick and painless.

“I told people who needed to know. Hyung included.” He shrugged.

“Aww, I was looking forward to sneaking around some more!” You joked as he carried his phone to the bathroom to wash his face.

“You’re annoying.” He whined as he put on copious amounts of skincare before dropping on his hotel bed like a brick. Looking at his bare face, his dark circles and tired eyes were much more evident. Tonight’s show must have been really hard on him.

“Aw, do you miss me, baby?” You cooed, hoping to make him laugh. You wanted to hug him, cuddle with him as the little spoon as you usually did when he had a hard day, but all you could do at the moment was make jokes and hope that was enough. Shit, you missed him.

“I always miss you. Phone sex sucks.” He sighed, making himself comfortable among the pillows.

“I knew it! You only like me for the sex.” Just give me one laugh Namjoon, come on. A chuckle, anything!

“Yes and your sexy brain, pretty girl.” He laughed lightly as he stared at you through the screen, the longing in his eyes mirroring yours.

“Hey! That’s my line!” You giggled, relieved to see the crease between his brows finally disappear.

“Fuck! Three more days!” He said excitedly, shaking the phone in his hand making him look more like a crazed anime character with his new pink hair and lopsided glasses than your boyfriend.

“Three more days!” you squealed.

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

Your body ached from the thirteen-hour flight as you walked through the lobby of the Metropolitan Detroit hotel with Siwon. Grateful for how organized Namjoon’s company was, you seamlessly checked in and made your way to your suite, dropping off your stuff before meeting Siwon at his to go over the weekend itinerary. Even though you knew he was still in the air since the boys and his flight wasn’t due to land for another five hours, you texted him your safe arrival.

Over the past four months since the gala, Jiyoung’s hard work had started to pay off. You were no longer an unknown entity controlling a company; you were now an “influencer entrepreneur”. Your personal social media, now closely tied to the company, showcasing not only usual photos of you at museums and galleries (courtesy of Namjoon’s camera) but photos of you in boardrooms and speaking at events (courtesy of Siwon’s camera). You had significantly surpassed your corporate accounts in followers over a month ago, with a steady stream coming in after your interview in a fashion magazine of all things (apparently your “street style” was deemed a breath of fresh air for businesswomen) and another stream coming in when you were invited to this year’s class of Forbes 30 under 30. 

Although you usually didn’t care for flashy awards such as this, Jiyoung had worked overtime on your nomination and the fact that you were one of the ten people invited from Korea made you pretty happy. The coverage and clout that came with your invite had made you a role model for young female entrepreneurs and that was something you were actually proud of. When you started out there were barely any female mentors and you wanted to change that, give back to other young women running their own ventures. You were excited to meet women around your age who you could relate to this weekend. This was one of the first years that there were this many women invited, making up almost 40%, and your extroverted self was buzzing. Of course, an added bonus was that out of the ten winners from Korea, one was your boyfriend and six were his bandmates, who were slowly but surely becoming your close friends as well. You had been looking forward to this weekend since it was announced a month ago.

Arriving at Siwon’s room you ordered some lunch and planned out the weekend. Tonight was a free night where you could explore the city and the pre-festival activities, although to be honest after almost two months apart, the only thing you’d be exploring tonight was your boyfriend. Tomorrow would be a brunch meet for all the winners followed by a gala in the evening filled with dancing, dinner, and drinks. Then the next day was the festival, which you were still undecided about wanting to attend or not.

“Honestly, it’s up to you. It seems pretty useless to attend if you want to hang out with Namjoon instead.” Siwon offered as you both started on a pro-con list for reasons to attend.

“I don’t know. What if there are some big clients we could get?” Although you missed him dearly, there was no way you could forgive yourself if you let your heart cloud your judgment.

“Yes, we can definitely teach Detroit some English.” Siwon rolled his eyes. “Most of the companies here are tech companies, too small for our caliber. Take a break. This month’s been tough.”

As much as you wanted to disagree with Siwon, he wasn’t wrong. This past month has probably been the toughest month for you in terms of deadlines and stress in the past two years. With the added pressure of maintaining a public persona, your days at the office had stretched from the usual ten hours to sixteen. Most of the time you would be holed up at your desk going through proposals or stuck in meetings with your board as you planned strategies after strategies for expansion into Japan only to get shut down and asked to reassess by one or multiple of them. On top of that, your evenings were booked with conferences where you were invited to speak, given your new spotlight. Most times when you reached home you barely had the energy to change as you fell into bed, falling asleep under ten minutes, usually with Namjoon on the phone as he went through similar motions. You were stressed. Even this short trip was cutting into your time and although you had made good use of the plane’s wifi to work, there was still one proposal that you would have to finish sometime this weekend. Suddenly, the idea of not going to the festival was looking better, so you relent to Siwon as you bid him goodbye and make your way back to your room.

After a quick shower, you decided to work on the proposal before Namjoon arrived but soon as you sat on the desk typing away, the exhaustion of the day caught up with you, and with your head on the table, you drifted to a dreamless sleep.           

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Namjoon hadn’t been this excited in a long while. He could barely focus on the conversation in the car as he followed the little blue dot on his phone that was showing the way to the hotel. He had texted you as soon as he landed but you hadn’t responded and he was getting a bit antsy.

“Namjoon! Are you paying attention? Hey! I’m talking to you!” He begrudgingly looked up from his phone to see Jin pouting at him annoyed that he missed his comment. He rolled his eyes at him as he launched into a rant about him never listening to his stories. How Jin had this much energy after a twelve-hour flight was lost on him.  

“Let him be. He’s just excited to see Y/N.” Yoongi spoke, not even bothering to open his eyes. Although Namjoon was glad that Yoongi had his back, he wished he hadn’t said anything because suddenly everyone forgot about their long flight and started cooing. He felt himself get annoyed as their teasing increased but he couldn’t help the goofy grin that made its way to his face. He couldn’t be mad at them, they all had people at home they were missing, and he was lucky that unlike them he could get a break from missing you and actually hold you in his arms. He wouldn’t tell you but initially, his company had decided to send in their regrets for this event but he may or may not have convinced them to move the shoot for their new music video that was taking place in Los Angeles to next week so they could be here this weekend. If he had to just see you through his screen for another month he was going to go crazy. If it was up to him he would not leave your side at all the next three days.

Namjoon had to restrain himself from sprinting to his room as soon as he was handed the key card. He barely noticed a few of his members following him as he opened the door to spy you hunched over the desk in the corner of the large room, your laptop displaying multiple pictures of your friends and the both of you together. He figured you were asleep but he couldn’t wait to gently wake you up as he usually did, instead opting for screaming a loud “baby” and running to hug your sleeping form.

What he didn’t expect was for you to wake up so startled that you scream and elbow him in the ribs making him stumble backward till his butt met the floor, much to the entertainment of Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook who were cackling in the background.

“Oh my god! Joon?” He could see your face go from confusion to recognition and then into one of the most beautiful smiles he had seen as your puffy eyes go wide. “Joonie!”

You launched yourself from your chair into his arms as you collapsed on top of him in something between a hug and a cuddle as both of you fell to the floor erupting in giggles. Your scent enveloped him and he could feel himself getting delirious. He didn’t know whether it was the long flight or the long-distance but his heart felt like it was going to explode in his chest. He hadn’t been this happy in a long while.

“I missed you!” He exclaimed as he peppered aggressive pecks on top of your head, his arms around your shoulders tightening, making you squirm and laugh. Above you the maknaes squealed a chorus of “cute!”, cooing loudly.

“I missed you more!” You countered, grinning into his chest, before attempting to get up only to be pulled in tighter after Namjoon’s whine. “Babe, we have the whole weekend!”

“Hey! We missed her too! I want a hug!” Jimin mock yelled at Namjoon, who was now sitting up with you on his lap, still not letting you go.

“No. Get your own Y/N.” He pouts, placing a kiss to your shoulder as you giggle. You hadn’t seen this cute clingy side before and you were sure you had heart eyes. Ignoring his whining you managed to wriggle yourself out of his grip and stood up, greeting the boys. You barely talked for five minutes before Namjoon got impatient again and suggested “as their leader” they go rest after the long flight. You all made plans to meet up for dinner and drinks later that night to properly catch up.

You waved bye to the boys as Namjoon pushed them out the door, ignoring their groans. As soon as the door was closed, he grabbed you by the waist, his lips crashing into yours. The kiss was hungry, all tongues, teeth, and desperation. Your arms went around his neck, fingers pulling at his hair as his hands moved lower, groping your ass in an attempt to pull you even closer, grinding against you and making you moan into the kiss. Soon Namjoon was pinning you against the wall, his hands roaming all over your body as yours do on his.

“Missed my pretty girl,” Namjoon says after a few minutes, beaming and panting, his forehead against yours, his hand caressing your sides. Hearing your favorite nickname makes you melt. Even though his heart is beating a mile a minute, heat encasing his body, he hasn��t felt this relaxed in months. Just being in your presence puts him at ease.

“I really missed you.” You reach up to kiss him again, slower this time allowing yourself to relish him after being deprived for so long. He returns the kiss just as tenderly, making your heart melt in your chest as he cups your face, thumbs running over your cheeks. Even though things had started heated, this is what you truly missed, just being in each other's presence.

When you break the kiss, he lifts you up bridal style as you squeal, your arms automatically going around his neck. He grins at you, making you feel the same butterflies you had when you first met him as you poke his dimples, and he carries you to the bed, gently placing you among the pillows before kissing you again.

He was on top of you as you kissed, and you had almost forgotten what it felt to have him there with you as your tongues wrestled, his weight cushioning you to the mattress. Your hands reached the hem of his shirt, pulling it upwards till he sat on his knees to remove it, looking at you with his signature smirk as you ran your hands up his body, feeling the contours of his muscles, enjoying the way his chest flexed under them. That is until his smirk turned into one of the biggest yawns you had ever witnessed.

“Am I boring you, Joonie?” You saw his face flush as he looked at you sheepishly before leaning back over you and kissing your lips before moving on to your jaw.

“I read somewhere that yawns are just your brain's way of getting more oxygen” He whispered while gently kissing your neck, making you moan, as his hands moved under your shirt, roaming over your chest. “And all my blood’s somewhere else now so it makes sense” He kissed your ear, making you giggle.

“Wow your dirty talk sure has gotten scientific.” You couldn’t hold back your laughter as you processed what he had just said, your moans turning into cackles. He nipped at your ear as he leaned up to look at you, a goofy grin on his face.

“I’m out of practice!” He shrugged and pretended to glare at you but it only lasted a few seconds before he started laughing again because this time it was you who was yawning. Somehow the earlier sexual tension fades into comfort as you both get caught into a yawn loop.

“Maybe we should just nap first” you suggest pulling him back to you as you peck his lips.

“I do feel like I do better when I’m well-rested.” He lays on his side pulling you into him, one arm under your head and one around your waist. You hum in approval as you cozy up into him. You kiss as you slowly doze off, the adrenaline of your reunion wearing off into a soft glow of contentment.

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“Y/N! You have to call me oppa. We’re close enough! Stop calling me Mr. Seokjin!” You rolled your eyes as Jin yelled from the couch across from you. You had hung out with him quite a few times and every time he got drunk he insisted on making you call him by the term of endearment. You didn’t mind the term, in fact you called all your older male friends by it since moving to Korea, but riling up Jin till he started rapping was too funny an opportunity to pass up. 

“I can just call you Jin instead if you hate Mr Seokjin?” you smirked as the room around you burst into giggles. You were sitting on the couch in Hoseok’s room, leaning into Namjoon, his arm around your shoulders as he sipped his beer, shaking his head at your antics. After you and Namjoon had become official, you had made it a goal of yours to get to know most of his friends, as he had with yours. Before being separated, you would go out for dinners with your combined friends, and hearing them say they missed you warmed your heart. 

The first time you had had drinks together you had introduced them to King’s cup, one of your favorite drinking games from university, and their penchant for petty competitiveness and gross punishments made the game and you a regular occurrence whenever a few of you had free time together. In fact, Jungkook was so into it that he brought a deck of cards on tour to carry on the tradition, even though you had shown him multiple apps that could do the same. The same deck of cards was the one sprawled around the cup filled with Taehyung’s strawberry daiquiri, Siwon’s IPA, and Yoongi’s whiskey on the coffee table. No one was looking forward to pulling the next king card. 

The room was a bit crowded, filled with people. Although dinner was just you and the boys catching up, everyone had decided to invite the boys’ stylists and managers, as well as Siwon, for drinks. Hoseok had lost the game of rock, paper, scissors so he was made the begrudging host. 

“I’m older than you. You can’t call me just Jin!” he pouted, red cheeks puffed and arms crossed across his chest.

“Yeah by five months!” This is how this argument always went. It was pretty much scripted at this point, as evident by Taehyung who was gleefully mouthing the words before they even came out of your mouths. He’ll argue that Yoongi still called him hyung, you’d retort that’s because Jin forced him and that he was dumb for following through, Yoongi would then interrupt saying that he was still one month older than you and you’d rile up Jin more by calling Yoongi oppa the rest of the night while he would complain about you disrespecting Korean culture and you’d annoy him by telling him that he was disrespecting Canadian culture by not letting you use just his first name. You’d finally relent after seeing him stew only to pick up the same argument the next time you all drank together.

“Stop arguing and pick a card!” Hoseok whined, his sweet demeanor slowly phasing into his zombie persona with each sip of his drink. You loved hanging out with him but the man could not handle his alcohol. Namjoon kind of felt bad that Hobi was the host. He would normally offer him his bed once he inevitably passed out but Namjoon had other plans for his bed once this party was over.

Jin obliged as he picked up a card, careful not to break the circle lest he was forced to down his concoction of mini bar liquor and fruit punch. He picks up a jack, requiring him to start a game of Never Have I Ever.

“Alright, never have I ever disrespected Kim Seokjin.” He said smugly, looking straight at you egging you on to drink. You oblige by raising your glass to him before sipping your drink. To Jin’s annoyance, almost everyone else did that same thing, causing him to grumble.

“Okay that was a boring waste of a question,” Jimin states, rolling his eyes, already drunk sitting on the couch’s arm next to Namjoon. “Let’s make the couples here uncomfortable. Never have I ever had sex in public.”

Surprisingly, Namjoon, you and a stylist are the only ones that drink, making Jimin scream a loud “Kinky!” and prompting Sejin to start his lecture on being careful in the public eye since you were pretty known now and the press would have a field day. Before he can get into the full swing of his chiding, you decide to save you and Namjoon by protesting that you didn’t even hold his hand in public, let alone do anything else, and suddenly the whole atmosphere in the room changed. All eyes went from Namjoon to the stylist, with him glaring at Jimin and her awkwardly downing her drink before leaving. Confused and drunk, you don’t hesitate to ask what’s wrong in the silence that ensues, till it finally dawns on you. That’s the ex he worked with. Oh.

Namjoon could see the gears turning in your head as you put two and two together. He was going to kill Jimin and then himself. Why didn’t he think before taking a sip? He wanted tonight to end with you in his arms, not with you mad at him over something that happened two years ago. However, before he could think of how to make it up to you - maybe he could get you flowers or that whiskey you really like - you laugh, breaking the tension in the room.

“It’s okay guys, everyone has exes!” Still giggling you sip your drink while Jimin apologizes, waving him off. “Why would I get mad at this?”

That caused the room to return back to normal, people resuming the game and enjoying their drinks, but Namjoon was still confused. He knew you were a pretty rational person, but he had just told the whole room of your friends that he fucked his ex in public when you confirmed that he wouldn’t even hold your hand. Surely, he wasn’t wrong to assume that you would be at least a little peeved, but here you were laughing along at Jungkook’s stupid jokes without batting an eyelid. Before he could dwell too long on it, it was your turn to pull a card - pulling a king and effectively ending the game.

“Ewwww. I hate this. Ugh. Is this punishment for introducing you all to this game?” You scrunch your nose sniffing the liquid in the cup as the whole group chants “chug!”. Before you can put it to your lips, Namjoon grabs the cup from you.

“Allow me.” He says as he chugs the drink, almost in one shot, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and barely concealing the shiver that runs through him at the disgusting taste. Half the crowd boos as the other half coos at the chivalrous gesture. You can’t help smiling sweetly at him as he grimaces, and putting your arms around his waist pulling him in an embrace, exclaiming an overly exaggerated “My hero!”.

“Anything for my girl!” He says as he returns your hug and cups your face. “But you gotta suffer the taste with me!”

You’re not one for public displays of affection but you let him pull you into a sloppy kiss, almost forgetting your surroundings as he deepens it, his hand gripping your waist, his tongue tasting mostly of fake strawberry flavoring. Before you can get too carried away, you are interrupted by Yoongi, poking you both and wedging himself between you when you separate.

“Stop being gross! Some of us are single!” He says, making himself comfortable with an annoyed look on his face. 

“Awww hyung! They are so cute! Let them be gross!” A drunk Taehyung exclaims, clapping gleefully from the floor where he’s laying in Jungkook’s lap.

“Yeah! Rapmon hyung and Y/N noona are OTP!” Jungkook says as he sips his wine, almost dribbling it down his chin.

“Nobody says OTP anymore, kid.” Yoongi drawls but refuses to move from his position. “Plus I’m the one responsible for this okay? Your OTP would be nothing without me.” He looks smug as he finishes his sentence, sipping his drink and shrugging his shoulders. Namjoon and you exchange a smirk at his remark and proceed to hug your grumpy friend tightly from both sides much to his over the top protests. Namjoon was truly grateful Yoongi had given him the courage to speak to you that night. He can’t even begin to explain the impact you have made on his life. As he looked at you tipsy and giggling, now arguing with Yoongi over which Kanye album was the best, he felt his heart blossom. You were beautiful and he was in love with you. He was sure you weren’t there yet but he promised himself that before this trip was over he was going to tell you without chickening out at the last moment like the last four times. 

The party comes to an end soon after. Hoseok almost passes out after his third nursed drink and Sejin has the right mind to kick everyone out while Namjoon and Jimin help Hoseok to his bed, your heart warming as your equally drunk boyfriend forces him to brush his teeth and get into bed. Once Hoseok is firmly tucked in, Namjoon turns to you and squats.

“Get on!” He smiles looking at your direction.

“Joon we’re like two doors down. Get up!” You giggle tipsily at his offer to piggyback you.

“I wanna carry you!” He pouts against your protests, finally giving up on the piggyback after asking three times and instead draping you over his shoulder as you squeal. 

“You’re gonna hurt your shoulder!” You scream but your protests go unheard, even as you take the opportunity to smack his butt from your position, a smack that he returns with a warning to behave, but you’re feeling drunk and cheeky as you continue to smack him, even going so far to rap to the beat that you’re making as he unlocks the door to your room.

He tosses you on the bed, pinning your arms above your head before you can wrap them around him and smirks at you, his eyes full of mischief.

“See, I was going to apologize for my ex but you had to go and be a brat.” He kisses you breathless as he takes both your hands in one of his while the other moves under your shirt, raising goosebumps where it caresses your stomach.

“Apologize for what?” You pant as he breaks the kiss, and he can see the confusion on your face.

“You’re not mad?” Now it’s his turn to be confused. He was sure you were mad. He would’ve been mad. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t still thinking about it since the awkward incident.

“That you had sex with your ex-girlfriend while you were dating her?” You do a dramatic gasp as you giggle at his dumbfounded expression.

“Yeah… and told our friends about it.” He looks at you sheepishly, his earlier dominant persona fading into your soft boyfriend. His hand loosens its grip on yours as he searches your eyes for any signs of hurt, his eyebrows scrunched.

“Joon you fuck too good to have been a virgin when we met.” You lift one hand to poke at the crease between his brows as you laugh and he holds your wrist, still gauging your expression.

“You’re not mad? Or… jealous?”

“Pfft. I know I fucking rock your world better than she ever did.” You try your best to do a hair flip from where you lay under him, failing miserably and making him laugh, his head coming to rest on your shoulder.

“That you do, baby. That you do.” He pecks your shoulder as he moves to your neck, kissing up to your jaw before crashing his lips onto yours. As your hands go to his hair, he brings them back over your head, breaking your kiss but not before pulling your lower lip with his teeth, coaxing a moan from you. “But you’re still getting spanked for being a brat.”

You feel his deep voice reverberate through to your core as you look at the lust in his eyes and feel yourself getting wetter. He kisses you again, his arm hooking under your waist as he sits up pulling you with him, making you gasp at the sudden movement, your arms going around his neck. Your heart’s beating a mile a minute as you make out in his lap, grinding slowly. Even after months of being together you still can’t get used to how easily his switch to this persona turns you to putty. You whimper as his hands find your ass, his fingers groping the muscle hard enough to bruise.

“Get naked.” If you were wet before, you’re dripping now as he moves you off his lap, sitting on the edge of the bed, his legs spread and leaning on his elbows. You decide to make a show of it, jumping off the bed and slowly peeling off the layers. You smile over your shoulder as you rid yourself of your bra, watching him smile, eyes hooded, from where he watches relaxed. Your hands find the waistband of your jeans, slowly unbuttoning them and shimmying out of them, swaying your hips as you do. You’re sure you would find this strip tease embarrassing if it weren’t for how his hungry eyes drink in every expanse of new skin exposed. You bend down to give him a view of your ass as you pull your panties off, a thread of your slick following them as they reach the floor, making him groan loudly. “Fuck. I love your ass.”

You drape yourself on his lap, the material of his jeans on your bare skin making you shiver in excitement as he gently caresses your behind. “Since you love rapping so much, how about you rap that song from earlier, hmm?” he says as he lands a loud smack without warning making you jump at the contact. The sharp pain quickly ebbs into pleasure as he soothes the heated skin under his big palm. “What’s your safeword?”

“Rap monster.” That is not your safeword, but your drunk self thinks it’s the funniest joke as you giggle looking up at him to see his face crack into the smallest of smiles before reverting back to a stern look as he glares at you.

“Seems like someone doesn’t want to cum tonight.” He smacks you again, harder this time making you gasp before you’re apologizing at his threat. Namjoon watches your skin bloom red as he tries to maintain his composure. Trust you to make jokes even when he’s spanking you, and trust him for finding it funny.

“Sunflower! It’s sunflower!” you yell as his hand lands yet again on your ass.

“Good girl. Let’s hear that rap then.” You’re not even sure what song you’re mumbling as his hand rains on your behind, each spank making you wetter till you’re dripping down your thighs and whimpering in his hold.

“Fuck so wet for me.” He hisses as his fingers trace your swollen folds making you jump and mewl as he lightly caresses your throbbing clit. He leans down to kiss your red cheeks as he guides you off his lap and on to the bed and lies on top of you, smiling brightly as he cups your face to kiss you, slow and deep. “You did so well, baby. You’re really into ASAP nowadays aren’t you?”

“You really need some variation in the playlists you send me.” You quip, chuckling as you gently guide his face back to yours, kissing him again, his tongue intertwining with yours. As he leans on one elbow, his other hand makes its way down your body, stopping briefly to tweak each nipple and making you moan before he reaches the apex of your thighs. His fingers dip in you slightly gathering your arousal before starting to circle your clit as he starts kissing your neck, suckling the spot he knows makes you go crazy. It’s like your whole body’s on fire as he finds a rhythm, driving you quickly towards the edge, your mind turning blank as eyes squeeze shut and your lips moan his name. You’re so close and he can feel it by how your nails dig into his shoulders, making him hiss, but before you can cum he moves his hand away, bringing his fingers to his lips to clean them as he watches you glare at him with a whine.

“You really think I’ll forget your little joke earlier?” He whispers in your ear, his voice deeper than usual, as he nips on it before sitting up between your legs and unceremoniously stripping himself of his shirt and jeans. The sight of the bulge in his boxers makes your walls clench around nothing as you stare at him open-mouthed. Enjoying your reaction, he places one of your legs on his shoulders, the back of your knee fitting perfectly next to his neck as he moves back towards you, his clothed length pressing against your core as he kisses you again roughly, making you whimper as his hands dig into your sides. Your leg burns as he licks and kisses down your jaw towards your chest, his lips taking a nipple and rolling it around with his tongue. You’re sure he can feel your wetness seep through his boxers as he grinds into you agonizingly slow. He nips at your chest and you moan as your back arches off the bed into him.

He continues his slow kisses down your body turning you into a writhing mess under him. You think you’re going to lose your mind by the time he gets past your hip bone and places a chaste kiss on the top of your mound before moving on to your thigh, nibbling at the sensitive skin and paying no attention to your dripping core making a mess of the sheets.

“Joon please…” you beg, rolling your hips to entice him as he pays you no mind, placing an arm over your hips to halt your motion and continues to mark your other thigh. When he’s fully satisfied by his work, he places his forearms under your thighs and pulls to close to his face, licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit, and it’s like you’ve been electrocuted; your earlier orgasm picking back up as your back arches off the bed, the moan emitting from you barely sounding like yourself. You clasp a hand over your mouth in shock as he continues licking you, his tongue expertly flicking at your clit before he adds two fingers inside you, the digits slipping in easily, making your walls clench around them. He hooks his fingers and you try to grind against him to no success as his arm pushes your hips into the bed. He relishes your moans as your hand moves from your mouth to grasp at the sheets, the sensation too overwhelming as your eyes close shut. 

“Are you close baby? You’re not allowed to cum till I tell you.” He feels your walls tighten around his fingers as he thrusts faster and a chant of please rolls off your tongue, your hand twisting in your hair. It’s like every cell in your body is alight from your toes to your scalp, tingling as you get closer, your eyes welling up with pleasure. But once again before you can come undone, his fingers slow down to a snail’s pace, his mouth moving away. The frustration builds in you as a few tears escape and your fists punch the mattress.

He chuckles lightly as he sees you pout under him as, your hair a mess, your lips swollen and red from where you’ve bitten them. God, even glaring at him like you’re gonna kill him, you look adorable. Deciding he’s taught you a lesson, he pulls his dick out of his boxers, his tip swollen and weeping with precum, and lines it towards your entrance, teasing you further and gathering your juices.

Your eyes roll back with pleasure as he replaces his fingers with his cock, filling you to the hilt in one swift motion. The stretch combined with his teasing makes your head hazy and you can hear him groan above you as he puts both your legs in the air together, holding them against his chest with one arm as he thrusts into you slow and hard. You feel so much tighter in this position and he has to bite his lip to ensure he doesn’t cum immediately. You can feel every vein and ridge as he moves slowly and deliberately and even at this pace you are getting close.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck Joonie… please can I cum? Please I’m so close!” You don’t care that you’re yelling, you’re desperate for release, the earlier tension returning tenfold. You vow to break up with him if he denies you one more time. Fortunately for your relationship, he increases his pace, making you see stars.

“Hold it just a little bit longer baby.” His pace doesn’t falter and you’re writhing against him, a babble of incoherent pleas escaping your lips as your hands try to grab on to his forearm. Your legs are shaking and he can feel your walls tighten harder around him. He increases his speed as your pleas get louder.

“Okay baby. Cum for me.” At his command, your vision goes black and it’s like your body is one big nerve ending, pleasure zipping through you making you cry out his name as you spasm in his hold. He fucks you through your orgasm, pace not faltering, till you go limp, your breath coming out in loud pants as he praises you. “That’s my girl. Good job, baby.”

Without changing his speed, he releases your legs, pushing them to your chest as he leans down and kisses you. The new angle hitting your g-spot as you whine in his mouth at the oversensitivity, but instead of slowing down, he picks up his pace yet again, his fingers coming to trace your sensitive clit, making your head buzz with the overwhelming sensation.

“I can’t… Joon,” you whine as he fucks you hard, panting above you and you can tell he’s close.

“Do you want to use your safeword?” He looks at you with concern, slowing down and closely reading your expression. As you tell him no his hips snap into you again, his fingers working faster on your clit as the pain morphs to pleasure. He’s chasing his release, his movements becoming sloppy.

“Cum again baby. I know you can do it. Come on, that’s it” And soon you’re cumming again, screaming as tears fall down your face and your walls clench around him coaxing him to orgasm. He grunts loudly, moaning your name multiple times, as he cums, painting your walls with his seed. His breath is heavy as he pulls out and watches his cum dribble out of you, using two fingers to push it back in before he collapses on the bed next to you.

He brings his fingers up to your lips and you happily suck on them before he pulls them out and kisses you gently, his hand smoothing your hair. He then puts his arm under your head as he cuddles you into his chest, his other arm pulling your waist into him and his legs over yours. You’ve never felt safer or more comfortable than you do tangled up in him.

“Are you okay?” He asks as he gently caresses your cheek, wiping your runny mascara with his thumb, kissing you once again.

“Holy fuck. That was-” Your voice is hoarse from your screaming and you have to clear your throat a couple of times before you can speak clearly. “That was amazing.”

“Phew! The suspense was killing me!” He laughs as you playfully swat at his chest before pulling his lips on yours again. “Shower?”

“Yes. But this time you really have to carry me.” You raise your hands grabbing at the air as he stands up.

“I got you, pretty girl.” He grins widely, his eyes scrunched together, as he kisses your forehead, picking you off the bed and carrying you to the bathroom. 

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Namjoon looked at you from across the room as you chatted with a group of women with a cup of coffee, your breakfast untouched, totally distracted from the guy who was telling him about some app he had made for producers to make it easier to find samples. He rarely got to see you in your professional element. In fact, the only time he had seen you was during the gala and he felt an unparalleled surge of pride. The way you carried yourself was so different than when you were with him. It wasn’t that you weren’t relaxed, it was just effortless - the way you seemed to answer each question with confident authority, the way you gave advice to people who were probably much older than you, and especially the way you tried to engage the quieter people of the group in conversations. It reminded him of why you had caught his eye the first time he met you, and why he was so unbelievably whipped for you. Your duality of being goofy and sexy when you were alone to being this serious vat of knowledge and experience when networking made him weak in the knees.

“So do you think you would use it?” The founder of the sampling app, Lee Seungmin, asked Namjoon. Seungmin was one of the other people invited from Korea, and seemed pretty adamant on selling his product to Namjoon. It took all of his energy to rip his gaze away from you.

“I’m sorry I missed that. What did you ask?” Namjoon asked politely, looking at the shorter, much chubbier man dressed in slacks and a shirt with his company logo on it.

“Wouldn’t blame you. She’s really hot, eh?” Seungmin jokes, making Namjoon choke on his coffee. Although he knows that this guy isn’t privy to your relationship, it makes him a little annoyed at his comment. Who was he to dare objectify you?

“Yes, but I don’t think they invite people here for their looks.” He couldn’t help how curt his tone was effectively shutting him up and making him move away to talk to someone else at the table. Namjoon would feel bad if he didn’t overhear him start the conversation about you with the next guy. Rolling his eyes, he went back to his lunch, talking to Hoseok and Yoongi instead, wishing this brunch went by faster than it did. He was getting sick of people trying to suck up to him or sell him something. Someone even had the audacity to ask him to pose with their product so they could put it on their website. He politely declined, but the thinly veiled attempts at using him and his members for clout were starting to get on his nerves. He could feel himself getting stressed, much like he did when he had to pretend to be perfect for the media, and falling back into the headspace of last month - cloudy, annoyed, and frustrated.

He was relieved when you both arrived back at the room. You held his arm for support as you leaned down to take off your heels, sighing in relief as your feet met the flat ground.

“God, I hate heels!” You exclaimed as you walked over, dropping your blazer on the ground and plopped on the couch, stretching your feet. Namjoon picked your jacket off the floor, draping it on one of the chairs as he situated himself on the other end of the sofa, putting your legs on his lap.

“Since when do you wear heels?” He asks, as he gently runs his hands over your legs, covered with a pair of navy pants.

“Too often nowadays.” You sigh with your eyes closed, and he can’t help frowning at how tired you looked, even though it’s barely past 2 pm.

“You okay, babe? Want a foot massage?” He doesn’t wait for your answer as he starts massaging your feet, smiling as you relax further into the couch.

“Shit. That feels good!” You moan as you relax. “You know they don’t give Grammys for best boyfriends, right?”

“I’m offended you think I’m doing this for something as dumb as a Grammy.” He chuckles, but he knows you well enough to know that you’re avoiding the topic. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing. I’m just stressed about work. Don’t worry about it.” At that you pull your legs from under his hands, walking over to grab your laptop before sitting on the couch again to start working, eyebrows furrowed as soon as you open the your laptop. Namjoon knows he shouldn’t take your dismissal to heart, but he can’t help be taken aback by your lack of openness. You always told him what was on your mind and he felt his heart ache that you didn’t want to share what was wrong. He couldn’t fully blame you. He hadn’t told you about his stresses this past month either, but unlike him, you hadn’t even noticed he was stressed. It made him a little wary, bringing his thoughts back to last night and your reaction, or lack thereof, to meeting his ex. As much as it hurt him, maybe he was right after all. You didn’t love him yet. He sighed as he got up to grab his book, hoping that he could change that before leaving you tomorrow night.

After a few hours of work, you started to feel bad for ignoring Namjoon. He had been nothing but doting this whole trip and you hated yourself for having to finish this proposal this weekend. Feeling your brain turn to mush anyways, you stretched as you walked over to your suitcase, watching your boyfriend who seemed to be engrossed in his book. You felt guilty for avoiding his questions earlier but you could see how stressed he had been from work - in fact, Jungkook had told you as much over text last week when he shared that Namjoon had collapsed during rehearsals. You knew how empathetic he was, he would do everything in his power to make sure you were feeling good, so how could you burden him with your stresses when he had so many of his own. Sure this last month had been hell and you were barely functioning but if you told him that, you know he would worry about you, and you would rather bottle everything up than have him worry.

Reaching into your suitcase, you took out his favorite packet of ramen, hiding it behind your back as you moved over to stand in front of him.

“I got you a present.” You bent down till you were face to face as he looked up at you with a smile and kissed him gently.

“I think you’ve already given me this present.” He said as he cupped your face and kissed you again, lingering longer.

You laugh as you straighten up and pull the ramen from behind your back, watching his eyes go wide in excitement as he grabs it, his dimples poking his cheeks as he hugs you. You knew he always missed home when on tour even if it was just an Asian tour, and his ramen cravings were the top priority when he arrived back to Korea. You hoped this would cheer him up as you grabbed the packet and walked over to the kettle, starting the water.

“Speaking of presents, I was saving this for tomorrow, but now I’m excited.” He says before grabbing the slim velvet box from his bag and walking over to you, wrapping you in a back hug as you pour the seasoning from the packet into the cup of dry ramen. He puts the box in front you and opens it, making it now your turn to go wide-eyed.

Inside the box is a necklace with the most delicate gold chain holding a pendant shaped like a gold slice of pizza with pepperoni made of small rubies. It would seem tacky if it didn’t look so intricate. No one had given you a gift that was so you, and it made you speechless.

“I know it’s cheesy but I saw it in Tokyo and it reminded me of our first date, but if you don’t like it I can take it back and I’m sure I can return it, I mean they gave me a gift receipt and everything.” Namjoon knew he was rambling but you were eerily quiet and the fact that he couldn’t see your face made him uneasy. 

“It’s perfect,” you whisper as you turn around, your eyes glistening as you wrap your arms around his neck. He was alarmed. You never got emotional, even when you both watched Up together you barely showed any signs of being moved while he was sobbing. 

“It was meant to be for our 100 day anniversary next week but I thought I’d give it early.” He pressed his forehead to yours, drinking in your smile as he held you tighter.

“I’m literally the worst girlfriend. I forgot about that.” You frowned as you looked away before you looked back at him, your eyes wide. “Oh my god! I only got you ramen! What the fuck is wrong with me?!”

“Y/N… Relax. I didn’t get you a present for you to get me one. Plus I know you’re nothing without your calendar app. I swear you’d forget to eat without it.” He laughed trying to reassure you as he kissed your frown away. “If anything it’s Siwon’s fault for not programming it in there.”

“I don’t deserve you.” You sigh as you hug him tightly, making Namjoon’s heart swoon as you ask him to put the necklace on you. He does so, kissing the nape of your neck where he clasps it and telling you that you deserve the world. You wanted to tell him you loved him before you chickened out again but before the words could make it out of your lips his were against them.

Later that night, he feels even happier as he sees you wear it to the gala. Even though he knows he can’t hold your hand, the fact that you have a symbol of his love for you around your neck makes him giddy.

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

“Joon, seriously. I have to get this done.” You giggle as he kisses your neck, moving the strap of your tank to the side as he continues lavishing you in kisses. Namjoon was impatient. He had spent the whole night watching you from afar. He’d be damned if he had to wait any longer to have you in his arms. Work can go to hell.

To say that Namjoon hated the gala would be an understatement. First, you and Yoongi ended up unintentionally matching, and he found himself irrationally jealous at the fact that his stylist didn’t choose the Louis Vitton outfit for him so he could match with you. Second, even though all the attendees were placed on tables according to country, you had decided to sit next to none other than Lee Seungmin, the creep checking you out at brunch, who wasted no opportunity to shamelessly flirt with you, even going so far as to put his hand on your thigh a couple of times. The number of times you politely rejected him for him not to get the hint made Namjoon’s blood boil, so much so that Jin had to poke him to relax his face lest the photographers captured his reaction. And lastly, when he had to watch you dance with some old men as you were too polite to refuse, while they leered at you. Through it all, Namjoon could just watch helplessly as you seemed more uncomfortable. Now that you were both back to your room and in your pajamas, he just wanted to hold you before all the jealousy and insecurity of the night caught up with him. He knew if he kissed your neck enough, you’d soon comply.

“Do it later. We only have till tomorrow. Let’s watch a movie together?” He gives you another kiss that makes your breath hitch, a soft moan escaping your lips. Before you can get too carried away, you move his head away from you, sighing and gathering all your self-control. If you didn’t finish this proposal today you’d be in big trouble - like losing a multimillion-dollar contract big trouble. As much as you wanted to just forget work existed, you had to take a two-hour reality check on this trip.

“I can’t do that. Please understand.” You looked at him softly, but Namjoon couldn’t help getting annoyed. Didn’t you yearn for him like he did at that gala? Were you happy to be hit on by those creeps?

“Are you seriously being like this right now?” He scoffed, pulling away from you, eyebrows knitted together. Namjoon couldn’t understand why you had to work right now. You had been apart for so long, didn’t you want to spend as much time with him as he wanted to with you?

“Like what? I told you I need to have this done by tomorrow.” He could hear the familiar edge in your voice. You were starting to get annoyed.

“Do you know how much groveling I had to do to get this weekend together and you’re going to waste it on stupid work?” He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. You didn’t know he “groveled”, as far as you were aware this was part of his schedule. Why was he being so difficult all of a sudden? It’s not like you had a choice. Does he think you would seriously spend time away from him if you didn’t have to?

“Are you seriously mad at me for taking two hours, two hours, out of three days to finish some work?”

“Yes because these three days are all we get together for the next month.” Namjoon knew he was being stupid, two hours were not a big deal, but at the moment he couldn’t help but feel abandoned like somehow the scales in the relationship had tipped where the balance of affection was off. He cared so much for you, why couldn’t you feel the same?

“Oh don’t be dramatic. I will be done soon.” You snapped, your attention turning back to the screen. If Namjoon was going to throw a tantrum there was no reason for you to indulge him.

“Don’t dismiss me like that. You’re the boss, just tell the people to wait. Or delay it.” He walked closer to you, shutting your laptop, standing with his arms crossed. He wanted your full attention, and he was going to demand it. He hated how condescending you were being.

“Are you kidding me? I can’t do that. This is for a client.” You stand up facing him, anger flowing through you, indignation plastered on your features. Even though he was significantly taller than you, your glare could have made anyone feel small.

“Just do it later and apologize.” Namjoon knew he was being stubborn, but the reason for the fight was forgotten, he just wanted you to admit that you were wrong. As childish as it seemed, he wanted to win. 

“What the fuck? I have a whole company that I need to pay, I can’t just skip shit.”

“Oh don’t give me that bullshit. Missing one deadline won’t make you miss payroll - you’re not a struggling small company anymore.” That hit a nerve, he could see it in your eyes as they flared with anger. He would feel bad for making you angry if he weren’t so happy to get a reaction.

“The fucking hypocrisy. Sure Namjoon, have RM miss a concert. It’s okay you’re not a struggling small band anymore!” You poked him in the chest as you moved closer. He hadn’t seen this side of you before. You had never been angry with him before. You had never fought like this before. Your anger only seemed to fuel his. He had no control over his schedule, you did. Why couldn’t you understand that fundamental difference?

“That is not the same thing. You are overworking yourself for no reason.” He was talking with his hands, you knew he only acted like that when he was pissed, but you were not going to have any of this petty behavior. For all his bull and bluster about being a feminist, he’s going to pull this shit on you? His job is great and not stressful or busy but when it comes to you he’s going to pull the overworking card? When he literally collapsed during rehearsal last week and hid it from you? You were livid.

“You’re going to talk to me about overworking?” You laughed sarcastically, your eyes burning. “Oh is it not the same thing because it's my job and not yours?” 

“You know that’s not what I meant. Whatever. Fuck this. Enjoy writing your proposal!” Namjoon couldn’t argue anymore. He felt his anger rising to a point where he knew he was going to say something he regretted if he hadn’t already. Using his one remaining rational brain cell, he walked out of the room, not before maliciously slamming the door behind him.

“I will!” you screamed into the empty room, panting with anger as you picked up the water bottle on your desk and threw it across the room, tears in your eyes.

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

Y/N: Have you seen Namjoon? He’s not responding.

Yoongi: Isn’t he with you?

Y/N: No.

Yoongi: What happened?

Y/N: Nothing, we just had an argument and I haven’t seen him. It’s been two hours.

Yoongi: Okay don’t worry. We’ll find him.

Y/N: Thanks Yoongs

Yoongi: Where are you?

Yoongi: Hello?

Yoongi: Namjoon. Answer your phone.

Yoongi: Y/N is really worried about you

Yoongi: Listen Namjoon if you don’t answer in the next five minutes, I’m reporting you missing

Yoongi: Enjoy that press 

Namjoon: Stop calling me. I’m fine.

Yoongi: No. Where the fuck are you?

Namjoon: I’m just on the roof.

Namjoon: Please don’t come here. I just want to be alone.

Yoongi: Are you okay? Y/N told me you guys had a fight

Namjoon: I’ll be fine. Don’t tell her where I am.

Yoongi: Okay. Text me if you need a friend.

Namjoon: Thanks hyung.

Yoongi: He’s on the roof. He said he’s fine, but not to tell you.

Y/N: Thanks friend

Yoongi: You should go find him

Y/N: He doesn’t want me, there he made that clear

Yoongi: I’ve known him and lived with him for a decade, trust me. He needs you.

Y/N: Okay, but if we break up it’s on you.

Yoongi: Just go find him Y/N.

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

Namjoon rubbed his face as he sat on the rooftop of the hotel, his back against the railing. Replying to Yoongi he tossed his phone aside. He’d been sitting here for the past couple of hours his anger dissipating into guilt far too quick. Dried tears streaked his face as he tried to gather the courage to go back to the room. 

He was scared. The image of your angry face as he dismissed your work popping in his head. He didn’t know why he did that. He respected what you did, but he felt like a hypocrite. All his exes he dismissed when they asked him to take care of himself and not overwork. All the times they came to his studio to force him to leave, only to have the same look of anger that you gave him. He laughed bitterly as he pulled his legs to his chest.

At the edge of the guilt, he could feel it again, the same feeling he’d had since the comeback started, a sort of brain slush. Like a haze shackling him in place. He had felt it many times before but it was never this strong, this force of unproductivity, making him want to forget everything and hide. The stress of this comeback wasn’t any different than other ones. He always made it a priority to write new music in between promotions and shows but his creative block from four months ago was back and nastier. He could feel it gnaw at his neurons, forcing him to stay awake for hours after he should be in bed staring at a blank Ableton file. Usually, he could trick his mind out of this fog by working harder, but lately, it was like it was getting thicker seeping into every aspect of his life, painting his vision sepia, making every movement robotic. 

He remembers when encouraging messages from ARMY would make him happy, excited to make more music for them but nowadays it just made him feel guilty. He wasn’t doing enough for them, he couldn’t even string together a series of 808s without it sounding like a gimmick or worse like plagiarism. Last week he had fucked up so bad that his body shook from the memory. He had stayed up all night in some sick form of self-harm, scrolling through hate comments on Twitter then Reddit. He was never sadder to know multiple languages because even if the characters were different the messages were the same. He was a shitty musician, too overhyped by fans, his awards were bought by his company, his dances sucked, he tried too hard, and of course that he was too ugly to be an idol. His rational side would argue that these messages were meant to hurt him, his friends and you would comfort him by telling him they were lies, but he never told anyone about this habit, and his rational side often lost out. If anyone asked why he did this he would say to fuel another song, but he knew the real reason - he just couldn’t stop. So he stayed up all night till his eyes were dry and scratchy from staring at the screen, and had three espresso shots before the show even though he hated espresso, his body eventually giving out during rehearsals. He got quite a few lectures about that. A leader’s job is to set a good example. You have been doing this for so long, be a professional play in your limits. But there were no limits, not when it literally took a mantra of just “power through it” to get out of bed and shower.

He had been hoping this weekend would solve everything - that seeing you would solve everything. As he sat on the roof, the first few drops of rain falling on him, he curled in further into himself. It wasn’t your responsibility to make him happy, clear the fog, but you had done it the first day. His mind felt clear but it was gone too soon. He didn’t know when it happened but he could see it after a while that you didn’t feel the same way he did. You didn’t crave to be next to him like he did, speaking affirmations in his ear as he did in yours. Hell, even when you saw his ex for the first time, you barely reacted. Maybe it was the way you were so adamant that he not leave any marks because you might not be able to cover them this weekend, or the way you made sure to not sit next to him at the gala even when you were seated on the same table by some stroke of luck. You didn’t love him like he did, and he would be happy with scraps, but he couldn’t afford to miss you more than he did. He laughed again, cackling maniacally, as he realized where he was: a rooftop in the middle of a downpour, just because you once said rooftops had magical healing powers. There was nothing healing about being alone looking at lights shining in offices no one was in - it was lonely.

He was so desperate to feel anything other than this fog that even anger was a better option. Maybe he wanted you to put him out of his misery, leave him as he was sure you would eventually before he burdened you with more of his fucked up life before he relied on you further just to have his legs cut out from under him. He sighed, shivering even though the rain was warm, resting his head on his knees. Could he survive if you left him tonight, justly so?

“Joon…?” You call out as you reach the rooftop, searching for him through the rain.

“I told hyung not to tell you. I wanna be alone” You barely hear him mumble from the corner and you make your way over to the dark figure. He’s hunched in on himself, his arms around his knees, his face in his hands and it breaks your heart. Your boyfriend is a tall, broad man who can easily throw you across the room if he wants to, but at this moment, he looks small, almost tiny. It takes everything in you to not just go and wrap him in your arms. 

“Namjoon, what are you doing?” You squat in front of him, resting your hands on his arms. You wouldn’t usually push him like this when he seems distraught, you knew he didn’t respond too well to direct conflict but you needed him to let you in, your inherent need to fix going into hyperdrive. When he refuses to look at you, you cup his face and pull it up firmly to look into his eyes. He looks like he’s been crying and it makes your eyes well up. “Look at me. Why are you driving me away?”

With nowhere to run, all he can see is your face, your eyes puffy, red-rimmed and glassy, your nose a dusty pink. He made you cry. He made the person he was supposed to take care of cry because he got pissy over something she couldn’t control, something he was guilty of as well. All his guilt bit at his chest again and he hated himself. You didn’t deserve this. You should leave him. Why were you here in the rain trying to comfort him when he was such a useless asshole?

“Fuck... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His voice sounded hoarse and broken, and he knew all the apologies in the world wouldn’t make him worthy of forgiveness. He wished you’d just leave and let him wallow in the rain by himself - he deserved that. Tears filled his eyes and he hoped the rain would ensure they were invisible.

“Hey, hey. Baby, it’s okay.” You kissed him on the forehead, settling on your knees in front of him. His eyes were wide as he looked at you, his hands on top of yours, gripping your hands a little too tight.

“I… don’t know why I picked a fight.” He averted his gaze, not having the courage to look at you.

“It’s okay.” You move your hands to the back of his neck as he places his on your shoulders, opening his legs wide enough for you to move closer, your forehead against his as you caress the hair on his nape. 

“No, it’s not. Fuck! It’s like when I saw you yesterday I could finally breathe! I’ve felt so numb these few months but when I saw you, it’s like I could finally be happy.” He cups your face. He knows he needs to be honest but he doesn't know where to start.

“Joonie…”

“And then I could feel it escape again. I felt it. My head getting cloudy like I was slowly going underwater, and I don’t know… I just… I can’t ask you to be responsible for my happiness. It’s not fair to you. I can’t. I can’t.” He knows he’s not making any sense but his chest feels tight and he can’t fight his tears anymore as they mix with the raindrops on his cheeks. He can feel himself hyperventilating. He doesn’t know why he can’t tell you this without breaking down. What was wrong with him? Maybe that’s why you didn’t love him. Maybe that’s why you never got jealous because you knew he wasn’t worth it. How could he support you when he could barely stand by himself. He was so fucked up. 

“Joonie. It’s okay. Just breathe, okay? You’re okay.” You cradle his head against your chest, kissing the top of his head.

“I can’t lose you Y/N. I can’t be the jealous idiot that I always am and lose you.” He’s clawing at your sweater, pulling you closer than you are, making your eyes well up at his desperation. Why does he think he’s going to lose you? As far as you knew you had never given him any indication of that. You loved him and you couldn’t imagine a future without him.

“Namjoon. Look at me. It’s going to take more than a stupid fight to drive me away.” You pull his face away from your sweater and hold his gaze, his eyes red and still full of tears. The image breaks your heart but you hope you can convey your honesty to him.

“No, but you shouldn’t be with me. I’m fucked up, you know. You deserve better.” His actions speak otherwise as he holds your upper arms in both his hands tight enough to bruise as if you would disappear if he let go.

“Where is this coming from? Namjoon you’re not fucked up, you’re human. I don’t care how fucked up you think you are. I love you.” You look deep into his eyes, urging him to believe you. You had been trying to tell him you loved him all day but you always chickened out, but not now. You needed him to know that you were here for him. You were dying to know what started this, why he felt this way, but you needed him to realize that you had no plans of leaving.

“You… love me?” His voice was almost inaudible as his bottom lip quivered.

“Of course I love you. I love you - good parts and bad parts. I love 100% of you.” You kissed him gently, wiping at his face with your thumbs.

“Why?”

“Cause you’re you. You make me happy, even when you make me mad you make me happy.” You put your forehead against his again as the rain picked up, pelting the both of you. “Just don’t run away from me, please?”

“I don't deserve you. Fuck. I love you so much it scares me.” He kisses you at that, rough and full of yearning. It’s like the first kiss you shared this weekend and it makes your heart ache. Did he feel this way when he saw you again yesterday? Like he didn’t deserve you? You wished you could go into his head and learn all his worries - this did not seem like only work stress to you.

“Hey. I’m scared too okay? It just means it’s real.”

“How do you do that? How do you sound so sure all the time?” His head is on your shoulder as you caress his hair. It seems as if all the energy has been drained from his body as his grip on you loosens and you feel his weight lean on you.

“Because I believe in us. We’re Rapmon hyung and Y/N noona. We’re OTP, remember?” You lift his face and smile at him as he musters a small one of his own, as you kiss him again. “Let’s get out of the rain, okay baby?”

You both are drenched from the rain when you get back to your room, and you lead Namjoon to the bathroom. He just stands there, eyes glassy as you start a bath and grab a towel, drying the rain on his body. Once the bath is full and bubbly, you undress him and guide him in, discarding your own own clothes before climbing in behind him.

“I always sit behind you when we bathe.” He says, voice barely audible.

“Let me wash your hair, is that okay?” you say tentatively, kissing the back of his neck as he nods.

Suddenly, his head snaps up as he speaks loudly, a slight panic in his voice. “I have to use the special shampoo so the colour doesn’t fade.”

“Yeah. I have it right here.” You smile as he relaxes and you foam the shampoo on his pink hair, massaging his scalp gently. You take your time, washing it out before moving onto the conditioner, letting it sit as you massage his shoulders. You hear him sniff as you work at the knots. As you’re washing the conditioner off his hair, he turns at the waist, bringing one hand to your cheek as he looks at you. You realize he was still crying as your own eyes threaten to fill with tears.

“Thank you, Y/N. I… I know I don’t deserve this. Thank you.”

“Shh… I love you Joonie. You deserve this and more.” You kiss him gently on each cheek and then on the lips. You are not sure how to make him believe this but you hope he can see how much you love him as you wipe his tears. Namjoon’s never been this vulnerable with you, never given up this much control, and if you’re being honest it scares you seeing him this way. In a way, you feel helpless. You’re a fixer and there’s just no immediate way to make him feel better, you just have to make sure he knows you’re here for him. 

After you get dressed, he lays in bed as you do his skincare routine for him, running your fingers over his face gently. Namjoon hasn’t felt this way with someone before, so raw but soothed at the same time. He never shows his negative emotions to anyone. Right now it feels like his emotions are a livewire, but the way you gently tap the serums on to his skin, making sure not to miss a spot, he realizes how wrong he was. All the ways he convinced himself you didn’t love him were wrong. You don’t show love through jealousy or possession or even words. This is how you show love - in the quiet of your room making sure that he doesn’t go to sleep drenched from the rain, or skip his eye cream so his eyes aren't too puffy in the morning or at breakfast when you always cut the crust off his bread because he once mentioned he doesn’t like it. He opens his eyes as you say all done and sees you smiling softly at him, some of his confidence coming back. He smiles at you even though it’s difficult, and pulls you to his chest. As you lay on his bare chest for a while, feeling how tightly his arms wrap around you, an idea pops into your head.

“I want to come with you to LA.” You usually don’t make such impulsive decisions, but you could feel that he was not ready to be separated and you were definitely not ready to leave him, but you didn’t want to make him feel like he didn't have a choice so you add, “Is that okay?”

“What about your work?” He asks softly and you can hear his heart beat faster as he awaits an answer.

“I work from home all the time. It’ll be fine.” You rise up slightly to look at him, your chin resting on his chest, making sure to look him in the eyes. “I want to be with you.”

For the first time that night, you see him smile wide enough that his dimples poke through his cheeks and you’re sure you’ve made the right decision.

“I love you, Y/N. Thank you.” He pulls you further so you are fully lying on top of him and as you tell him you love him again, you feel his breath even out, both of you falling into a much need sleep.

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[thesunkenblog]

Black Horror and Narratives of Suffering

In their sanguine smears of crimson across the silver screen, horror movies have always painted impressionistic images of metaphorical real-life anxieties; our recreational fears bed down closely with the cultural conditions of the moment in which they were conceived. However, in such coded terms, audiences often consume these sign systems uncritically; it isn’t groundbreaking to draw parallels between Godzilla and nuclear anxiety, B-movie 50-foot women and the midcentury atomic age, or vampire resurgence and the 1980s AIDS epidemic, but the social conditions these movies are mapped onto are not typically on the moviegoer’s mind as they kick back buckets of searingly salty popcorn and cower behind plush seats in the dark of the theatre. Herein lies black horror's didactic value as a medium that helps to illuminate historical and modern issues within the overt fabric of its narrative and imagery -- black horror isn’t hiding what it’s talking about, and black audiences are invited to participate in the catharsis of seeing their own fears on screen in hypothetical situations without the burden of witnessing real-life violence. 

Or are they? As we enter into the study of black horror in a moment of black horror renaissance and national racial tension, we must consider the political implications of replicating brutal racial trauma in a venue largely taken to be recreational entertainment. The very inclusion of black characters in a genre formerly exclusionary, abusive, or maligned is striking, and global voices are raising in choir-praise for the nascent popularity of black horror; creators like Jordan Peele are broadly celebrated as bringing authentic black life (and death) to screens at last, and historically contextualized shows like Lovecraft Country (2020-) are praised for pulling no punches about the true horrors of racism through the ages. A history of social symptoms in black myth and reality surface in a multiplicity of themes: the legacy of slavery and subordination, the appropriation and coveting of black culture and bodies, interracial relations and tensions, black intuition, complicit white liberal culture, isolation, othering, the inheritance of trauma and domination, and the consequences of difference, to name just a flinching few. 

The question of authenticity and responsibility in narrative, though, is hard to grapple with after such a long history of absence from -- or reckless “representation” within -- the genre. Diverse stories, depiction, and creators are critical to making media space for blackness, and it is a chief value of entertainment to stoke these ideas and start these conversations at times when viewers have their guards down -- folks are more receptive when they're kicking back, suturing with the screen, and watching TV than when they're doomscrolling through the exhaustion of the day's fraught tensions in the news -- but we must ask if the underpinning of every single black story with the narrative-important presence of trauma induces plot exhaustion, threatens to retraumatize black audiences, and ultimately denies imaginative diversity in the content of black stories. (Many black critics have cited the same issue within the onslaught of Important Race Movies popular in the Academy in the contemporary theatre, and we can turn the same questions of not frequency or longevity of representation but content to black horror, as many critics appraised the inescapable slavery narrative in the same ways.)

Should we be concerned with the privilege of escapism in the horror genre? White audiences see their fears reflected in horror, yes, but much of the popcorn-appeal for blockbuster scares is the opportunity to be voyeuristic to others’ poor choices and dire circumstances -- horror may teach us about ourselves and help us to unpack our own anxieties, but it is also frequently described as an exercise in comparison. Yes, you just lost your job, but watch this teenage waif get chased by a machete-wielder for 96 minutes; it could be worse. An element of disconnect lets horror viewers enjoy terror on screen at the characters’ expense when they do not relate too closely to them; Jaws seems a little less scary if you live in a landlocked state, and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre seems a little less immediate a threat to you if you live in Manhattan. The savvy horror fan leans on a reassuring mantra: I would never run upstairs. I would never turn my back on the dead-but-not-really-dead body. I would never leave the weapon lying out in the open. I would survive this movie.

White audiences leave the anxiety they experience on the behalf of black characters subject to black horror in the theatre as the house lights come up; black audiences enter and leave with the fear of relation stuck to them like spilled soda laminated onto the soles of their shoes. The modern black horror character shares in a smart black sensibility and intuition for danger that growing up in a culture that necessitates a survival mindset creates: black characters often do everything “right,” but still suffer brutality. The black horror fan percolates in an unsettling mantra: I would run out of the house early, too. I would grab the baseball bat early, too. I would do the same as he did. I know my aunt, uncle, dad, brother, ancestors, contemporaries did the same when it happened to them. I know what the police lights in the rearview mean, and it’s not the relief of help arriving in the last ten minutes of the movie. I know what this terror is like -- not just terror like it. I might not survive this movie. I might not survive my movie.

You wanted representation? Up on the screen -- that’s you. That’s personal. 

What does it mean for violence toward black bodies to be commodified via the media industry, often consumed by non-black eyes who walk out of the theatre with no repercussions, especially at a time when virality of brutality towards black lives is more visible than ever, forever shared and looping across digital spaces? Black horror has often re-created thematic violence in detail, but in the trend to take it further in pursuit and daylighting of historical injustice, real blood has intermingled with stage; Lovecraft Country recreates scenes from the Civil Rights archive in one-to-one scale, and in a recent-of-this-writing Lovecraft Country episode, the death and funeral of Emmett Till is wound into the narrative directly. Is it responsible for horror to borrow the blood of our ancestors for its fictional worlds in such a literal manner? Where do we draw the line? When is it exploitative? Exhausting? Empowering?

Trauma narratives are critically important stories to tell -- warts and all -- but if fiction media is a place to be inventive and especially a place for the potential escape for black audiences into a narrative world where they can see themselves on screen in an entertainment setting, we must ask what it means for your inclusion onscreen to see all of your stories rooted in the very real social abuse inflicted on your lived experience. Much of black social identity is bruised with this  shared experience and history of social trauma, but by recreating this in creative media with few exceptions, are we mandating that our stories must be about suffering? It is worth asking if the very act of a representation in media that showed us living our lives -- even our fears -- with no acutely racial repercussions or menace would be just as -- if not more -- subversive. 

Of course, these questions aside, art doesn’t have a singular purpose, and if it did, it would not be entertainment and ease; this is an idea horror knows well, and discomfort is often productive. Black horror is not just a place for reconciling and affirming black fear in a controlled setting. It also functions as a teaching medium -- a vehicle for fear and empathy, horror coded with many real issues and lived experiences like Jordan Peele's Get Out (2017) or Us (2019) is a masterclass in conveying the consequences of otherwise abstract social injuries. Peele’s works, among others, resist the trappings of performing blackness as a narrative product for white audiences to consume. While Hollywood has gradually introduced more black bodies on screen over the years, they have often been failingly voyeuristic in nature, puppeted for the consumption of non-black audiences and relying on aforementioned distance and narrative device or on exploitative "correctness" for the purpose of letting white moviegoers indulge in recreational "wokeness" for the duration of the runtime. Black visions from black lenses for black eyes are always inherently revolutionary, to this end. Peele's impact in criticizing the "post-racial lie" of the Obama era spoke truth to power in symbols entertaining and cathartic for black audiences and cut a wide swath of space for black creators to come in proving a viable market for black horror that resists personal and narrative stereotype by modeling representation after wholly gestalt black lives -- not MacGuffins or monsters for white protagonists. Modern black horror has also provided black viewers with narratives of the possibility of survival, displaced from the realities of personal consequence, allowing a freeing of the genre to be both thrilling and reflective -- coping mechanism and entertainment. White audiences are confronted by this black lense when they are not “in” on the terror, accosting them in unexpected ways and inviting viewers to empathize with Black characters as human and to experience embodied terror on their behalf through the horror medium -- a strikingly effective mode of cinematic empathy.

Celebration and criticism are, of course, not diametrically opposed to one another; these arguments exist in tandem within the discourse. Going forward, we must continue to grapple with the positivity and power of this generic shift while staying critical of the black horror canon at large. We must see the theatre as not a Sunken Place unto itself but a space open to representation, reconciliation, and imagination. 

. . .

Blog #1 - AFAM 188 FA20.

[sybilius]

4, 19, 29?

4.  do you think its ok to separate the artist from the art?

Mmm this is a really really broad generalization. I liked @girlfriendsofthegalaxy‘s answer which was that critical consumption is important and nothing exists in a void. I’ve resonated with the essentials of this post on JKR discourse, with my additions that one of the problems with the “OMGGG you can’t separate the ART from the ARTIST” discussion is that it often attributes structural biases entirely to the personal case of this artist. This bothers me not because I think the artist doesn’t deserve it (in the JKR case and in most cases!), but often because I feel like the tone of laying the blame firmly on the shoulders of the Artist alone washes the hands of the consumer for their own biases. Just because you can recognize it in others doesn’t necessarily mean you don’t have that problem. 

I think you can learn a lot by enjoying AND critically examining media that is imperfect; so I definitely don’t believe in the idea that once an art/artist has been deemed sufficiently Bad(TM) you have a moral obligation to Stop consuming their works. That’s yknow, coercive censorship talk, and I don’t like it. That said, there are some artists who Cross the Line for me; so I don’t consume their work and that’s a personal choice. If someone has decided not to engage with some art because of the artist, that personal choice should be respected. But equally; a person who enjoys that art should be encouraged to look at it critically, but not guilt-tripped into not consuming it; or even not enjoying it, y’know? 

 19.  what’s your favorite teacher you’ve ever had?

I actually have two! But I’ll answer with the one I think will resonate with you, because someone else asked me this question again anyways :)

My first year calculus prof is one of the coolest mentors I’ve ever had the pleasure of having. He was just...incredible in every way, it’s hard to describe. He’s very thoughtful, infinitely funny and charming, embodies a kind of classiness that seems to only exist in the movies. When I came to my undergrad uni, I planned to study astrophysics (hahahah that I ended up in the field anyways). But after two months with him I immediately knew math was the field I wanted to follow up in; so I chose a combined honours math and physics degree.

I ended up working for him as a summer research term that year, which was incredibly cool. I also TA’d for him for most of my undergraduate (my university is BIG and takes undergrads as TAs). He was incredibly nurturing -- I told him recently that his intervention shielded me from a lot of the imposter syndrome that hits women in academia. 

We’re still kind of friends, which is pretty cool. I saw him right before social distancing started, because it turns out he’s got a friend of mine in his mentorship circles. It was really incredibly cool to see him two years after I finished my undergraduate, because it was kind of like nothing had changed :)

29.  what quote or inspirational setting do you think is bs?

Oh man. I’ll pick a quote I still really love the metaphor for but can’t get behind anymore:

“People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within.”

Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

The reason I can’t get behind it anymore is I really don’t like the notion that our “true” self exists in adversity. I think adversity can change us and that struggles CAN be for the better -- but I dunno; there’s a lot of rhetoric that wants to say “the person you are in CRISIS MODE is the person you Truly(TM) are” and I very much disagree with that.

[ourkinfolx]

No. 1: Fania

Fania Noel is a woman with plans. And not just the vast, sweeping plans like the dismantling of capitalism and black liberation. She also has smaller, but no less important, plans like brunch with friends, hitting the gym. 

“Every week, I put in my calendar the times I need to be efficient,” she explains. “So I put what time I work out, with my friends, my time to watch TV shows, to read. And after, I can give people the link to put obligations.”

The link she’s referring to is her online scheduling system connected to her personal website. It’s one I’ve become well acquainted with after our first two failed attempts to schedule interviews. We had plans to meet in person, in a Parisian Brasserie she’d recommended, but between canceled flights and buses, Skype turned out to be the most practical option. Our disrupted travel was just one in a long list of inconveniences brought on by the virus safety measures. It might even be said that the coronavirus also had plans. 

The global pandemic and subsequent slowing of—well, everything comes up a few times in our conversation. Like some of the other activists I’ve talked to, Fania sees a silver lining, an opportunity.

“This might be the only sequence of events in the history of humanity that you have the whole planet living at the same tempo, being in quarantine or locked down or slowed activity,” she says. 

“So we all have a lot of time to think about how [society is] fucked up or the weight of our lives in terms of this society. And I think we have to ask if we want to go back to this rushed kind of living. It’s really a game changer.”

I first heard of Fania, a Haitian born afro-feminist, earlier in the year, while talking to a Parisian friend about the need for more black spaces in the city. She angrily described how a few years ago, Fania tried to have an event for black women, only to be met with fierce backlash and derision from not just right-wing groups, but anti-racist and anti-Semitic groups. The event wasn’t actually Fania’s alone; it was an effort by Mwasi Collective, a French afro-feminist group that she’s involved with. 

Either way, it was a minor scandal. Hotly debated on French TV and radio. Even Anne Hidalgo, Paris’s mayor, voiced disapproval. Critics claimed the event, called Nyansapo Festival, was racist itself by exclusion because most of the space had been designated for black women only. 

Despite all the fuss, the Nyansapo Festival went on as planned. Several years later, following the killing of George Floyd and the international movement that followed, Anne Hidalgo published a tweet ending with the hashtag #BlackLivesMatter. I found it curious, she’s always struck me as more of an #AllLivesMatter type. 

I ask Fania if, given the tweet and possible change of heart from the mayor, she thinks her event would be better received in the current climate. She points out that there had been two Nyansapo Festivals since, with little to no media coverage, but seems overall uninterested in rehashing the drama. 

“We’re way beyond that now,” she says, shaking her head. She ends it in a way that will be familiar to anyone who’s ever been almost imperceptibly corrected by a black woman, and I quickly move on to the next topic. 

It’s not until later, when reading some of her other interviews, that I’m able to fully contextualize our exchange. It’s common for activists, especially those working in or belonging to a culture where their identity makes them a minority, to be asked to view their work through the lens of conditional acceptance of a larger group of oppressors and/or gatekeepers. Asking feminists what men think, asking LGBT how they plan to placate heterosexuals. In her dismissal, Fania resists the line of questioning altogether, and in another interview, she makes the point more succinctly when explaining why she doesn’t believe in the concept of public opinion: 

“As an activist, the core ‘public’ is black people and to think about the antagonism and balance of power in terms of our politics rather than its reception. It’s normal in a racist, capitalist, patriarchal society that a political [movement] proposing the abolition of the system is not welcomed.”

One might argue if you’re not pissing anyone off, you’re not doing anything important. 

Rolling Stone’s July cover is a painting featuring a dark-skinned black woman, braids pulled into a round bun on her crown. She has George Floyd’s face on her T-shirt and an American flag bandana around her neck. One of her hands is raised in a fist, the other holds the hand of a young black boy next to her. Behind her, a crowd, some with fists also raised, carry signs with phrases like Our Lives Matter and Justice For All Now. 

According to Rolling Stone, they tasked the artist, Kadir Nelson, with creating something hopeful and inspirational and he “immediately thought of Eugène Delacroix’s ‘Liberty Leading the People,’ the iconic 1830 painting that depicts a woman leading the French Revolution.”

Regarding his choice to center a black woman in the piece, he explains: “The people who were pushing for those changes were African American women. They are very much at the forefront in spearheading this change, so I thought it was very important for an African American woman to be at the very center of this painting, because they have very much been at the center of this movement.”

During our call, I mention the painting and ask Fania her thoughts on why, so often, we find black women at the forefront of any social justice or human rights movement.

“Women have always organized,” she says simply. “Women work collectively, they run organizations.” She points to the church and organized religion as an example. 

“Look at the composition of church. Who’s going to church, who’s going to ask for help from God?”

Anyone who’s spent time in the houses of worship for a patriarchal religion has vivid memories of the very present men in the room. From the booming voices and squared shoulders of the pulpit to the stern, sometimes shaming looks of brothers, uncles, fathers. But the women, often more numerous, run the councils and the choirs. Around the world women pray more, attend church and are generally more religious. And the men?

“In a context of church, it’s really acceptable to ask for help from God. Because it’s God,” Fania says. “But you don’t have a lot of black men, a lot of men in any kind of church.”

That isn’t to say that men, especially black men, are complacent. Fania notes that traditional activism goes against the patriarchy’s narrow view of masculinity. 

Activism, she explains, requires one to acknowledge they’ve been a victim of a system before they can demand power. And for a lot of men, that’s not an option. 

“They want to be seen as strong,” she says. “As leaders. They want to exert control.”

In short, both black men and women acknowledge the system would have us powerless, but while women organize to collectively dismantle it, men tend to stake out on their own to dominate it. 

Black capitalism as resistance isn’t new, and was more prominent during the civil rights movement, which was largely led by men. In 1968, Roy Innis, co-national director for the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE) opined, 

“We are past the stage where we can talk seriously of whites acting toward blacks out of moral imperatives.” While CORE’s other director, Floyd McKissick, reasoned, 

“If a Black man has no bread in his pocket, the solution to his problem is not integration; it’s to get some bread.”

More recently the dynamics of this played out in real time on Twitter as Telfar, a black, queer-owned fashion label, sent out notifications of a handbag restock only to be immediately descended upon by a group of largely black, male resellers. Telfar describes itself as affordable luxury for everyone, and for many of the black women who buy Telfar, it exists as proof that class and fashion need not be so inextricably linked. But for the men who bulk purchased the bags just to triple the price and resell, these were just more items to wring capital out of on their quest to buy a seat at the table. 

Of course, it’s not unreasonable to argue that the purchase of a product, regardless of who makes it, as a path to liberation is still black capitalism. And in another interview, Fania specifically warns against this type of consumption. “Neoliberal Afrofeminism is more focused on representation, making the elite more diverse, and integration. This kind of afrofeminism is very media compatible. Like great Konbini-style videos about hair, lack of shades of makeup, and [other forms of] commodification.” But, she explains, “The goal is a mass movement where our people are involved, not just passively or as consumers.” 

But can consumption be divorced from black liberation if it’s such a key aspect in how so many black people organize? I bring up all the calls to “buy black” that happened in the wake of George Floyd. Some of it could be attributed to the cabin-fever induced retail therapy we all engaged in during quarantine. And for those of us who, for whatever reason, were unable to add our bodies to a protest, money seemed like an easy thing to offer. Buy a candle. A tub of shea butter. A tube of lip gloss. But what did it all really accomplish, in retrospect?

“We have to think about solidarity,” Fania explains. “Solidarity is a project. When we say support black-owned business, we still have to think about the goal, the project. So if we support coffee shops, bookshops, hair dressers that have a special place in the community and are open to the community and in conversation with the community, it’s good and it can help. But if it’s just to make some individual black people richer, it’s really limited.”

Black capitalism vs anti-capitalism remains an ongoing debate, but shouldn’t be a distraction. In the end, everyone will contribute how they best see fit and we still share a common goal. Besides, we’ll need all hands on deck to best make use of our current momentum. And that’s something Fania underscores in one of the last points she makes during our conversation:

“Something we have to repeat to people is that these protests: keep doing them. Because you have years and years of organization behind you. People came out against police brutality and a week later we’re talking about how we move towards the abolition of police, how we go towards the abolition of prison. How we move towards the end of capitalism. And this is possible because you have a grassroots organization thinking about the question even when no one else was asking it. So now we have the New York Times and the media asking if these things are possible. But that’s because even when we didn’t have the spotlight, we were working on the questions about the world after. And every day radical organizations, black liberation organizations, are thinking about the world after and the end of this system. And when protests and revolts happen, we can get there and say ‘we have a plan for this.’”

[today-only-happens-once]

With Great Power - Chapter 7

Catch up or read on AO3 here!

Fic Summary:  Thomas Sanders is just a regular social media personality. But when he gets bit by a spider during filming one of his YouTube videos, his whole life is about to turn upside down—whether he (or the aspects of his personality) want it to or not. Platonic LAMP/CALM + Character!Thomas. Spider-Man AU.

Chapter Word Count: 3646

Chapter warnings: cursing, threats, alcohol consumption (casual and not heavy), robbery mention, please let me know if I missed anything. 

A/N: Longer chapter with a hecking lot jammed into it, but I hope it’s an okay read. Was excited about this chapter, so I hope you enjoy the ride! Finished the edits around midnight last night and decided to wait until morning to post. Edited by yours truly. All mistakes are mine. Please let me know what ya think! 

Tags: @captain-loki-xavier, @human-dictionary, @the-peculiar-bi-tch, @mining-pup, @band-be-boss-blog, @asexual-trashbag, @samathekittycat, @why-should-i-tell-youu2, @theobsessor1, @always3charcoaltea, @changeling-ash, @logical-princey, @princelogical, @crimsonshadow323, @flickering-raven, @smokeyrutilequartz, @dontbugmeimantisocial, @liz-a-bell, @black-king-white-knight, @soijusthavetoask, @analogical-mess, @marvelfangeek09, @dolphidragon, @thelowlysatsuma, @approximately12lbs-of-ducks, @vigilantvirgil

The internet personality sits on the couch in the living room of his apartment with his laptop balanced carefully on his thighs. It’s the middle of the afternoon the following day. He’d slept until almost noon, then scrolled through twitter and the news feed that was buzzing with the blurry, confusing security footage from the bank last night.

The spider logo had been visible from the way Thomas had wrapped the sweatshirt around his face, and that’s really all the public seemed to need to stir up excitement again. SPIDER-MAN MAKES A RETURN? had been the basis for nearly every headline Thomas had seen on the subject. News anchors puzzled over the bizarre footage of someone crawling on the ceiling. He’d watched a few interviews with some of the people that had gotten out safely—none of them claimed to know anything about who this “Spider-Man” might be.

Some threads on Twitter called him a “cryptid”. Others called him a “freak”. Law enforcement officials posted about how he should have left the job to professionals rather than go “vigilante”. Most called him a “hero”.

It left a weird, but not necessarily unpleasant, feeling in his stomach.

A few reports talked about the man Thomas had fought: Al Trevors, according to several news articles. He’d been a bus driver, apparently, with a wife and twin boys who were four years old. His wife is a lawyer, who had apparently advised him to not speak to the press. There had been no official statement from Trevors.

Eventually, Thomas stopped looking into the reaction to last night and instead turned his attention to the black cardstock rectangle he’d picked up. It sits beside him on the couch. On Thomas’s laptop, the cursor blinks lazily in the Google search bar.

“Thomas, are you sure this is a good idea?”

Virgil is standing in his usual space at the bottom of the stairs, his gaze narrowed at the host.

Thomas glances up at him, then back at the card. “No,” he says honestly.

Logan appears beside the staircase before Virgil can so much as open his mouth. He smooths his tie. “Virgil, you know as well as I do that Thomas buying into willful ignorance is likely only to be detrimental.”

Virgil shoots Logan a look. “Yeah, I know, Pocket Protector. I just…” he waves a hand at Thomas’s laptop. “I have a bad feeling about it. That’s all.”

Logan inclines his head. “Understandable, given the limited information we have available to us and your inclination to protect us.”

Thomas watches as Virgil glances quickly at the Logical Side. “Right…”

“However,” Logan continues, a little bit softer, “we have a responsibility. Knowing is always better than not knowing. And you know as well as I do, Virgil, that you would feel an equal level of distress—if not a more prolonged one as well—staying kept in the dark. Especially when there is a potential threat involved.”

Virgil rolls his eyes, but Thomas can see the hesitation of thought in the Anxious Side. He’s listening to Logan. “Knwoledge is our greatest weapon, huh?” he says dryly.

Logan nods once, his certainty undeterred by Virgil’s snark. “And our greatest defense.”

Virgil pauses. Then he groans, scrubbing a sweatshirt-covered hand across his eyes. “Fine, Thomas. Look it up.”

Thomas takes a breath as Logan crosses over towards the couch and sits beside him. Virgil sits on the other side. Thomas types “ekko” into the search bar and presses enter.

The first thing that pops up is a link to the YouTube video that Joan had been talking about. It’s titled “The First Warning”. The internet personality hovers his cursor over the link. The thumbnail is a blank, black screen.

Virgil doesn’t say anything, but Thomas doesn’t miss him flipping his hood up over his hair. It’s accompanying a tightening in Thomas’s stomach that makes him scroll further down the page instead of clicking on the link. He senses more than sees Logan glance disapprovingly at him, but the Logical Side doesn’t say anything.

The links below the video are a smattering of people talking about it: Twitter threads, pop culture websites that wrote articles about it, a talk show segment where they chat about it. Thomas wonders if maybe reading about it second hand would be enough.

“Thomas,” Logan says reproachfully. “While it would be better than nothing, a video is not capable of hurting you.”

“Beg to differ,” Virgil snaps.

“You’re stalling,” Logan replies flatly. “You cannot delay this forever.”

“Uh, he absolutely can.”

“Granted. But he shouldn’t.”

Thomas scrolls up quickly to the top of the page and clicks on the link before he can lose his nerve. Virgil growls and covers his face with his hands, peeking at the computer screen between his fingers. Thomas’s hands curl into loose fists against his legs. His foot taps quickly against the carpet.

The screen starts with static and a high-pitched whine. Flashes of news footage from riots, bombings, warzones. Static glitches.

It cuts out.

Thomas can just barely make out a silhouetted figure in the dark screen before a feminine voice starts speaking. “Pity, isn’t it?”

More footage, flashing so quickly that Thomas can’t decipher it all except that it’s all violent. It’s all bloody.

“It’s been long enough. It’s time for a new age to rise.”

The dark screen returns, but the figure steps forward into the minimal light. They’re in a body suit of some kind. Entirely white. It’s a sudden contrast to the dark background. The figure leans in closer to the camera.

“Some of you will see me as your hero. Others will fear me. If you’re the latter… I’m coming for you.”

It sounds like more than an empty threat. It sounds like a promise.

The video cuts out.

Thomas takes a breath and rakes a hand back through his hair. The video is playing back through his mind, trying to piece together the footage as if it might help make more sense. The words play back through Thomas’s mind. It’s time of a new age to rise. A new age of what? What did it mean that she’d be “coming for” the people who feared her?

“Virgil, are you all right?” Logan asks and Thomas almost jumps. He’d forgotten two of his Sides were sitting there beside him.

“Peachy,” Virgil growls back with the double vocalization.

“Thomas,” Logan says, “Please take a deep breath.”

The host closes his laptop and sets it on the coffee table in front of him as he sucks in some air and releases it slowly. He closes his eyes. Breathe with me, Virge, he wills. He takes in another breath and hears Virgil do the same.

Thomas opens his eyes and though Virgil still has his hood pulled up over his hair, the Anxious Side manages a faint twitch of his lips. A reassurance. Thomas nods once to him.

“What particularly was so alarming about that video?” Logan asks after a moment. “Though clearly intended to be threatening, it seems you have seen videos and movies that would warrant a stronger sense of fear than something such as that.”

Thomas swallows and clears his throat. “Virge?” He glances at Virgil on the other side of him.

“I don’t know.” The Anxious Side huffs a little, tugging on the strings of his hoodie. “Something about it just seemed… more real than a horror movie. Like she meant what she was saying, I guess.”

Logan quirks an eyebrow. “Hm. I see.” He eyes Thomas’s closed laptop before speaking again. “Under usual circumstances, I would remark how it seemed a bit over the top in terms of its dramatics. The effects and spliced footage are clearly meant to be a fear tactic with seeming little meaningful substance upon which to base that fear.”

“Aren’t you kind of commenting on that now—”

“However,” Logan continues, interrupting Thomas, “it’s connection to recent events makes me less inclined to dismiss it so easily. A fear tactic? Absolutely. But one so easily dismissed? Perhaps not.”

Thomas rubs the back of his neck, glancing between Logan and Virgil. “So what now?”

There wasn’t anything in the video that suggested a location—either for where Ekko is, or where she’d be next. Thomas didn’t really have another plan of action, and it makes his fingers twitch with a surprising restlessness. It doesn’t help that Ekko’s line about being seen as a hero keeps replaying in his mind in a way that tightens his chest a little with discomfort.

“Well,” Logan says as he adjusts the frame of his glasses, “there are several questions left unanswered, it seems. The first being what connection, if any, does Ekko have to the attempted robbery last night? The video suggests some kind of wide-scale plan, perhaps even global given the use of news footage from around the world. So what business would someone like Ekko have in Gainesville, Florida?”

That did seem unusual, Thomas has to admit. He picks up the cardstock rectangle beside his leg on the couch, rubbing his thumb over the neat white print. E K K O.

“Speaking of wide-scale plan,” Virgil adds, sounding a bit more calm but no less worried than a moment ago, “the next question is… assuming that video isn’t just some fear-inducing media stunt, what is Ekko planning?”

Thomas sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. “Maybe that’s all it really is,” he says. “Maybe she’s just trying to get attention.” He doesn’t quite believe himself, and he sees Logan and Virgil exchange a silent glance. Neither of them says anything, but the quiet that lingers in the apartment is quickly interrupted by Thomas’s ringtone.

It’s Valerie.

“Hey, Valerie,” Thomas says, hoping his voice sounds brighter than he thinks it does. In his peripheral, Thomas sees both Logan and Virgil sink out.

“Hey, Thomas!” The familiar sound of his friend’s voice helps alleviate some of the tension in his shoulders. “I was talking to Joan, Lee, and Terrence and we were thinking of having a game night since everybody’s gonna be in town. Do you wanna join?”

Thomas smiles with a sudden relief. “Sounds awesome.”

…

“Did you just throw a blue shell, Talyn?! Shit. No, no, no—”

Thomas laughs as he watches his friends play Mario Kart. Joan’s corner of the screen fills with a bright blue light. A cart slams into them as it passes, sending Joan’s cart careening off the edge of the map. Thomas laughs even harder as Terrence’s square announces his victory. Joan curses again, managing to squeak past the finish line in 6th place.

“Hey, thanks, Talyn,” Terrence comments with an amused, smug smile. Talyn gives him a small salute, snorting with laughter a moment later at the look Joan throws their way.

Thomas smiles and leans back into the couch, picking up his glass of wine and taking a small sip. Turns out, a lot of Thomas’s friends had been free tonight. Lee and Mary Lee came, as did Valerie, Joan, Talyn, Camden, Terrence, and Kenny. It felt like it had been forever since he’d last hung out with his friends without it being with the intention of working on a video. Amicable chatter and friendly argument about the best character to main on Mario Kart fills the room with a warmth and comfort that is interrupted briefly by the arrival of pizza.

Mary Lee announces a food break, causing everyone who was getting ready for another round to set their controllers down as they all break into the various kinds of pizza. It was a reprieve that the internet personality had welcomed with open arms. In fact, Thomas has almost forgotten about the events of the past 24 hours when Kenny speaks up.

“So did you guys hear about that bank last night?”

Thomas shovels a bite of pizza into his mouth to avoid having to answer. Don’t say anything, Thomas, Virgil growls in his mind. Valerie points at Kenny. “Yes! Did you see the security footage?”’

“It’s a little hard to believe it wasn’t doctored somehow,” Lee chimes in as he reaches for another piece. “They swear it isn’t, though. And some of the eyewitness accounts verified that the guy was freaking climbing on the ceiling.”

“I saw this thread on Reddit,” Camden chimes in casually, reaching for a napkin, “arguing about whether or not he should count as a ‘hero’.”

Thomas glances at him. “What’d they decide?”

Camden’s mouth quirks. “It’s Reddit. You really think they arrived at any organized consensus?”

“I think it’s a little weird that he keeps covering his face,” Mary Lee cuts in, then grimaces. “If they are a he. It’s the pronoun that little kid and the hostages were using, but I probably shouldn’t assume that.” She opens a can of Coke and takes a long swallow.

“I don’t totally get why they’re hiding their identity,” Valerie adds. “I mean, both times we’ve seen them, they’ve had half their face covered. Unless they’re doing something wrong—which I don’t think they are—why hide?”

Thomas opens his mouth, but Talyn jumps in before he has a chance to reply. Part of him is grateful.

“I mean, not everybody thinks they’re doing the right thing.” Talyn sets their slice down on the paper plate in their lap. “Besides, if they can climb on the ceiling like that, there’s totally people that would try to capture them and run experiments or some shit.”

Thomas swallows. He reaches for another slice of pizza to avoid looking at any of them, even though the sudden churning in his stomach keeps him from actually taking a bite out of it.

“Talyn’s right,” Kenny says. “Plus, if they’re trying to stop criminals, maybe they’re trying to protect their family too. So bad guys can’t use their loves ones against them.”

“Bad guys?” Lee asks, more curious that argumentative. “So you think they’re a hero?”

Kenny lifts a shoulder. “Yeah, I think so. You guys don’t?”

Thomas doesn’t hear their answers, his thoughts racing ahead of him. Kenny had been right, of course. So had Talyn. Thomas hiding his face had been a mixture of both reasons, but sitting here in a room full of his friends reminds him all over again just how much had changed. How much risk is involved in what he did last night. He hadn’t just been risking his safety, he’d been risking all of theirs, too. After all, the man had reached for the sweatshirt he’d tied haphazardly around his face, and if Thomas had been just a little bit slower on his reflex…

His family would be at risk. Everybody in this room would be at risk. Everybody Thomas ever cared about.

And if he was really going to try to figure out what the whole Ekko business was about… well, that really only put them in more danger.

“Thomas? Joan?” Valerie asks, yanking Thomas abruptly from his thoughts. “What do you think?”

Thomas takes another sip of wine and shrugs, despite his racing heartbeat. He quirks an eyebrow at Joan, willing them to answer first.

Joan adjusts the beanie on their head. “I think it’s probably too early to tell. I mean, so far it seems like he’s tried to help people in need at risk to himself. Most people would probably classify that as a hero, but it depends on what you mean by the word in the first place.”

“Classic Ravenclaw answer,” Lee chimes in lightly, causing everyone to smile.

Joan laughs a little, then grabs the nearest controller. “All right,” they say. “So who am I gonna beat at Rainbow Road?”

“Oh, you’re on, Joan,” Camden announces, grabbing his back from the floor. “Let’s go.”

“Hold on, I’m still eating pizza!”

“Eat fast, Terrence. Rainbow Road waits for nobody.”

Thomas smiles and shakes his head, gathering up the discarded paper plates and napkins. He’s silently grateful none of them remembered that Thomas never answered the question.

…

It’s nearly two in the morning when all four of his main Sides show up at the same time, startling Thomas out of his almost-asleep state. The host groans.

“Really, guys?” he grumbles, but reaches over to the nightstand and flips on the lamp light.

“Apologies, Thomas,” Logan says from his position at the foot of Thomas’s bed. “I thought it would be best to let you rest and come to you with this idea in the morning, but Roman was rather insistent.”

Thomas rubs at his eyes and sits up. “What idea?”

“Roman and I were discussing potential strategies for dealing with some of Virgil’s concerns, and the… four of us—” Thomas frowns at the odd hesitation—“came up with a solution.”

“Oh,” Thomas says, his brow pulling together. “Um… cool. What’s the idea?”

Roman is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “A suit!”

Thomas’s confusion only deepens. “A suit?”

Virgil rolls his eyes, but it’s Logan that speaks up. “Of a sort. Not the type of suit you’re thinking, Thomas, but rather a suit designed with your specific superhuman abilities in mind that will maximize your potential while maintaining a certain level of identity protection.”

Thomas blinks a few times, then looks quizzically at Virgil. “Why?”

Virgil ducks his head a little and rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I guess…. Your friends talking earlier got me—us—thinking about how close you’d been last night for your identity getting found out. Logan agreed that we needed something better than a sweatshirt.”

“So I then consulted with Roman,” Logan chimes in, “to see what might work best.”

Roman smiles. “And we came up with a little design idea.” Roman flicks his hand towards Thomas, who gets a sudden, clear picture in his head. A full body suit. Red and blue fabric, dark-purple-nearly-black stitching. A spider silhouette stretching along his torso.

“The spider was my idea,” Patton chimes in.

Thomas looks at Patton, disbelieving. “You wanted to add a spider? I mean, don’t get me wrong, Patton. I love it. But… I would’ve thought you’d be the last person to want a spider added onto the suit.”

Patton’s mouth tugs into a small, fond smile. “Spiders do freak me out, kiddo. But… I thought it’d be a nice tribute to the first time you helped someone with your new abilities. A reminder of the good you can do.” Mikey babbling about the Ninja Turtles flickers through Thomas’s mind, doubtlessly Patton’s doing. It makes the host’s chest swell.

“It’s perfect,” Thomas says honestly.

“After consulting with Virgil,” Logan adds, “I believe I have a fabric in mind that should be able to be a useful level of durable without being too restrictive in weight or flexibility.”

Thomas’s mind is reeling with the onslaught of ideas. “Wow. You guys all worked together on this?”

Roman is rotating the image around in his mind, giving Thomas a sharpening view of each angle on the suit. He can feel Roman’s excitement thrumming with a sudden burst of creative energy. Virgil seems quieter than he’d been previously, and when Thomas looks at him, he can see the calmer look in his eyes. Patton still has that small, happy smile.

And Logan… well, Logan has something bright and electric simmering just beneath his stoic exterior. He looks invigorated, and Thomas gets the feeling there’s something else that Logan hasn’t told him about yet.

“Indeed,” Roman says in reply to Thomas’s question. “The general aesthetic was my doing, but we each had a hand in its overall design.”

Thomas sees Virgil glance over to Logan. “There’s… one more thing about the suit,” he prompts gently.

Logan flicks his hand towards Thomas and the image in his mind zooms to focus in on the wrist of the suit, breaking it open almost like a blueprint. The host closes his eyes to focus on the schematic that Logan has sketched out in his brain. Logan’s voice floats through his thoughts, providing an explanation.

“I was considering methods for which to solve Virgil’s proposed predicament from last night regarding if you had been seen prior to reaching an acceptable proximity to Al Trevors. I eventually arrived at this concept.”

“I call them Web Shooters,” Patton chimes in brightly. “Y’know, like a spider web?”

“Indeed,” Logan says. “Although spider webs are generally lightweight and easy to dismantle, so such a term may be a bit misleading. Regardless of what you call them, I think we could construct a device that would allow you to essentially project a strong adhesive substance from your wrist or hand when activated. It could be used as a rope to retrieve things, or perhaps even to use to your advantage in terms of travel.”

Roman’s voice jumps in. “You could be like freaking Tarzan.”

Logan’s voice hums, unamused. “The point is, I see several uses for this kind of device, and I think it’s worth developing.” Thomas’s mind is suddenly overtaken with a string of chemical equations running through his mind. “I’ve already begun developing a formula, although I could use a refresher given how long it has been since your experience as a chemical engineer.”

“Oh!” Patton’s voice again. Thomas opens his eyes, his bedroom and Sides coming back into focus even as Logan continues to scroll the chemical equations through his mind. “Why don’t you see if Dr. Washington could help? Remember her, Thomas?”

Thomas does. She’d been one of Thomas’s favorite professors. “It’s been a while, but I can email her.”

Patton’s grinning as Thomas reaches for his computer. “Perfect! We’ll leave ya to it, kiddo.”

When Thomas looks up again from his computer screen, all of them have sunk out. They’re excited energy radiates through his mind. He has a feeling he won’t be getting back to sleep any time soon.

[imattmiller-blog]

17 Practiced Weight-Loss Tips

Losing weight is not ever easy and there’s no one tip that’s going to change that. Though, it also doesn’t have to be as complex a process as many of us make it by counting every calorie or disrobing our diet of whole food groups while trying to follow violently preventive diet plans.

As an alternative of accepting a radical or all-encompassing method, try accepting a series of healthy customs and making them an essential part of your eating monotonous. As your good habits start to outweigh the bad, you may well find that losing weight and, critically, upholding a healthy weight become natural to you. And you’ll get to keep on eating carbs through.

 Underneath you’ll find 17 tips that can put you on the path to weight loss. You don’t have to try to take on all 17 at once. In fact, we’d certainly advise against trying that, because you’ll surplus manually and rapidly lose incentive. Pick a few to start with that you think you can achieve, then keep coming back and adding more in to your lifestyle. Before too long you’ll find that the fit choice becomes your first choice in all kinds of situations, and when you add all those composed, you’ll be losing weight without even thinking about it.

 1. Be Truthful

“Time and again, patients say to me that they are dissatisfied that they have ‘only’ lost a pound in a week,” says George Hamlyn-Williams, principal dietitian at The Hospital Group. “The realism is that one pound (454g) of fat equates to around 3,500 calories. This means that over the week the pound was misplaced, they have eaten on average 500 calories less per day – a massive attainment! It’s so easy to eat or drink an additional 500 calories – two standard 50g bars of chocolate would do it. But, to eat 500 calories less is much more hard and to be reliable with it is even more challenging – so give yourself a break and pat yourself on the back if a pound comes off. Dredge up, if you keep going, that’s 52lb (23.5kg) over a year – over 3½ stone!”

 2. Get Aware With Portion Sizes

“If you’re watchful of portion sizes you can say goodbye to calorie including,” says Kerri Major, a listed dietitian and SENr sports dietitian, and author of The Dietitian Kitchen. “It can be valuable to look at the optional portion size on food packaging and see what you’re eating in comparison with this.

 “Using your hands to get a coarse idea of an suitable serving size can also be a really valuable tool. This is never going to be 100% accurate, but it’s a simple and valuable way of helping you get the right portion sizes.”

 Here’s Major’s general advice for the portions that make up a stable meal.

·       Protein 1 palm-size portion

·       Carbohydrates 1 handful of complex carbohydrates, characteristically wholegrain diversities

·       Vegetables 2 handfuls of non-starchy vegetables such as broccoli, mushrooms or salad leaves

·       Healthy fats 1 thumb-size portion

Furthermore, a share of fruit is one piece of whole fruit, like a banana, or one handful (about 80g if you have scales to hand), and Major counsels aiming for three helpings of dairy or dairy replacements a day. “Helping sizes of dairy vary contingent on the product,” says Major. “Once more, I endorse checking the food label, which typically indicates an suitable serving size.”

 Of course, what’s precisely right for you be contingent on a number of things, counting how active you are. If you’re hesitant how much you should be eating, Major proposes seeing a registered dietitian.

 3. Start Slight

“When set new goals, focus on two to three small, truthful goals at a time and work on attaining them before working towards any more,” says Major. “If you want to start working out more, don’t go from zero to 100. That will be a tremor to the system and something that is hard to stick to. Plan to workout once or twice a week originally, at a time that is good and sustainable for you, before you plan to upsurge your sessions further. Make sure whatsoever the goal is, it is SMART – Specific, Measurable, Attainable, Realistic and Time-Based.”

 4. Don’t Rely On Inspiration

“Numerous persons depend on inspiration to keep them going when it comes to working out and eating well,” says Major. “Yet, incentive comes and goes, and it’s never there when you want it or need it most. The key is to create hale and hearty habits and become disciplined – two things that can bail you out when incentive is low.

 “Hale and hearty habits can be something as humble as taking the stairs as an alternative of the elevator or walking instead of taking the car. Being controlled is showing up and doing something even if inspiration is at an all-time low. We all know that we regularly feel a million times better for doing something that we know is good for our health than not doing it at all.”

 5. Drink additional water

The rapidest and easiest way of plummeting calorie intake is to drink more water. A study of more than 18,000 adults found that cumulative daily water ingesting by just 1% resulted in the intake of 70 less calories, while drinking three extra glasses dropped calorie intake by 205. Reduced sugar ingesting was a main aim for the calorie discount, according to the Journal Of Human Nutrition And Dietetics.

 6. Be careful added sugars

These can tiptoe into all kinds of foods that you might not imagine to be full of the sweet stuff, like condiments and shop-bought sauces. “Opting for foods deprived of added sugar is a must,” says Jonny Mills, coach at boutique fitness studio Sweat It. “Sugar spikes your blood glucose and if you don’t burn it off it’ll be stored as fat.”

 7. Promotion your tastes

“Make it calmer for yourself to make better choices,” says individual trainer Jess Wolny. “The phrase ‘learned taste’ is basically jobless for food – all your tastes are acquired, so acquire healthier tastes and you’ll want to eat on the mend. Make the change to black coffee in its place of cappuccinos or dark chocolate rather than a slab of Dairy Milk, and after a few weeks you’ll never want to go back. One good tip is to try to recall you’re a grown-up and you eat like one. When reaching for a snack, think: would a child want this? Don’t rely on willpower – this stuff isn’t supposed to be hard.”

 8. Stay liable

“Being liable to manually goes hand in hand with sustenance from friends and family,” says private instructor and physique trainer Phil Graham. “Liability comes in numerous forms – it could be just a aptitude to yourself or telling the whole world via social media – but it’s vital for keeping you driven when the going gets threatening. And a provision network is also vital for times when things go wrong and you need to get back on track. Even healthier, find somebody who has been there and done it themselves because their advice and vision can be priceless.”

 9. Record what you eat

“Script down what you intake is a best method of following your eating lifestyles,” says private trainer Adam Jones. “Does your nourishment vary on vacations or under times of stress? To go one step additional, you could do this with a exercise spouse and show each other what you’re consumption. No one requirements to note McDonald’s or Krispy Kremes if they’re in approachable struggle.”

 10. Clean out your closets

“If I am trying to get lean I won’t keep foods at home I know I should be evading,” individual coach at UP Fitness Marbella Shaun Estrago. “Even if you have astonishing determination it can be almost unbearable to get in after a very long day and eat the food you know you should when there’s a stack of delicious extravagances just an open closet door away.”

 11. Indulge manually

“The number one importance in any fat loss task is obedience,” says David Godfrey, presentation director at One Performance UK. “If you can’t withstand the programme in the long period you’ll not ever attain your goal – or you’ll just ricochet as soon as you do. Compute your calorie target for the week and permit 10% of that to come from your favourite foods. Maximum persons feel like they’re unprincipled when they intake their favourite foods, so integrating them into your nourishment strategy assist maintain you on track deprived of guilt or painful expense. The psychological impression of this is huge.”

 12. Don’t depend on on fat burners

“At finest fat burners are an lavish mixture of caffeine, green tea and other components designed to increase the metabolism or mobilise fat,” says private mentor and fitness model Sean Lerwill. “At foulest you may be taking be something harmful to your health. Voluminous persons take a fat burner as an reason to skip the gym when they’re weary (frequently for the reason that they aren’t eating adequate) or short on time, in the incorrect confidence that it will do the job as a replacement for physical training. Nevertheless even if your fat burner does mobilise fat you still need to keep fit to burn it off or it will just continue to be stored.”

 13. Eat gut-friendly diets

“Nutrient preoccupation through the gut is the key to successful weight loss,” says Matt Warner, head of personal training at Ultimate Performance Manchester. “Tenderness of the gut lining can avert fascinating nutrients, which can make you more starving and knock your hormones out of wallop, heartening fat storage. Evade foods that you’ve found to cause gut uneasiness and eat more fibre (veg) and omega 3 fatty acids and vitamin D3 (oily fish), as well as taking a high-quality probiotic to refill your gut with good microbes.”

 14. Make your own diets

“If you don’t make your personal food then you can only predict at what you’re really eating in terms of calories, macronutrients (carbs, fats and protein), micronutrients (vitamins and minerals) and fibre,” says personal trainer Gus Martin. “If you don’t have a clear impression of what you’re eating, you simply can’t cane to the everyday restrictions needed to create a calorie deficit, which is when your body has no choice but to burn fat stores.”

 15. Boss the supermarket

“The most significant session of the week for fat loss isn’t in the gym, it’s in the supermarket,” says individual coach Steve Kowalenko. “The selections you make when you’re food shopping will control how well you set yourself up for the week in advance so buy, cook and eat real food. Maintainable long-period weight loss is about etching good habits and that all starts with what you put in your food basket.”

 16. Don’t shop starving

“Shopping starving leads to bad thoughts,” says listed nutritionist Sophie Thurner. “We all know it and yet we all still do it. That three-for-two proposal looks so tempting, and then you end up getting three of the not-so-healthy things, which you’ll have to finish, because nobody of us like to waste food. Have a detailed list of matters you need for a beleaguered, well-organized approach without the risk of buying things you don’t need.”

 17. Keep healthy food

“Confirm you have hale and hearty small amount of food obtainable,” says Thurner. “That can be anything from hummus or lodge cheese with carrots, bell peppers, cucumbers or celery, or a hard-boiled egg and a wholegrain cracker, to some Greek yogurt with fresh berries. Stock your pantry with nutritious staples such as tinned chickpeas and tinned tuna, and have some frozen veg and herbs in the freezer.”

[ofravensandgenesis]

World Building Through Character Creation and Background NPCs

Entry 03. I was thinking over how to build out more plot points for both the underlying bones of original fiction, and also fleshing out ideas for some of the arcs in my ACABH fic. Honestly, adding more characters within reasonable limits seems to really help with that. Even if they’re just characters with a name and a few lines of description, or even just one line of description, it makes for a great springboard point to start tacking on more details. From those details, it’s a lot easier to build out the world around them in various layers. Like for the original fiction world I’m building out right now, creating the character Corwin Blackwood with the helpful input from my friends on how the name sounded, resulted in spinning up a huge chunk of the underlying world order. Originally I was going with just a two-sided state of tension and conflict, but Corwin’s family brings with it a third side that’s caught in the middle—people minding their own business that aren’t actively affiliated with either side. In terms of mechanics, the Blackwoods’ existence brought in some specific broad categories of magical beings, a rudimentary idea of various magical systems with an as of yet undefined overarching universal magic system, and social conflict regarding differing points of view relating to said beings and affiliations with them.

His name is all about his role in the story, with the meaning of his first name being “heart’s friend,” and having had a close if tempestuous friendship with the main character. The last name of Blackwood automatically brings to mind a haunted forest, and as inspired by a Netflix Castlevania fic called Baba by Crownofpins on Ao3 as recommended to me by a friend, and the Blackwoods’ home-locale and name makes me think of the Belmonts. So it was easy enough to consider the Blackwoods tentatively as a family of exorcists/monster-hunters/etc in this rough draft. (The Baba fic is pretty awesome btw, it’s got great elements of old Slavic folklore, obviously Baba Yaga for example, among other things. I shan’t spoil it ofc, but I thought it was a lovely read. Adult content warning for the fic ofc, read the tags, etc.) There’s other external factors that helped bring him about, including other recent media consumption on my part also again in thanks to my friends for recommending them, including Mo Dao Zu Shi and The Legend of The White Snake. (Content warning: Both of those works contain adult content, etc.) They’re both stories of Chinese origin that focus on romances that contain supernatural elements, with The Legend of The White Snake being an old classic tale of folklore. But what’s really fascinating to me is the mythology system that’s at play in the stories—I’m so used to “medieval” fantasy settings being European-influenced landscapes and civilizations, it was really cool to see a more involved Asiatic-inspired one. I’ve certainly seen Asian-mythos-based supernatural movies and series before, but not in this specific niche that’s more fantasy-adventure-ish. Usually the ones I’ve come across are much more heavily leaning into the martial arts category of movies as I’d classify them, or set in more modern-based times. That’s probably just a sign I need to go out and find more content of this sort to consume, honestly. But how the above two works treat the whole spirituality/magic/supernatural aspect is admittedly a huge inspiration point for me for how I’m hoping this original fic’s world will be built, and provides a great starting point to go and try to research more into stories and myths relating to those elements. It also happens to fit in neatly with me being interested in trying to learn a bit more about some of my heritage and culture, being partly of Chinese descent. That’s another thing I know I want Corwin to explore as an additional main character: what does it mean when you’re a part of multiple cultures as a person? What’s that experience like? How does that fact shape how he interacts with his world? I know it has a huge impact on how he’s perceived socially and allows him greater access to magical training via one side of his family having the history for it, and it interests me to think of exploring that in writing. What I’m not certain of is what name to label this general cluster of magical beings as—are they demons? Yaoguai? Spirits? There are associations with each word and name, and giving them a newly made up name would mean severing those ties for better or worse. There are definitely classical monstrous elements in that group, but also a lot of diversity, holding up yet another mirror to the run of the mill humans of that world. What is this group of magical beings specifically in this world’s build? Are they humans that have cultivated themselves spiritually enough to transcend, or is it a reincarnation gig, or something else? I’ll probably have to make another OC or import ideas from mythology to explain where they’re from. With regards to the FC 5 fic though, I’m currently listening to more of the in-game dialogue and commentary as provided by DanaDuchy on their account/channel (also: thanks to DanaDuchy for providing the rest of us such wonderful resources on this and other games/works) and boy the dev team did a wonderful job of just adding more of those little details to help make the setting feel alive. Like it’s honestly really cool to hear the NPCs talk about how haunted the King’s Hot Springs Hotel or the Catamount mines are, how Casey at the Spread Eagle makes the best loose meat/steamer/etc sandwiches and burgers in the entire county, the stories behind the Whistling Beaver Brewery, etc. It’s also pretty grim to hear the tales of all the people the cult’s taken and some of the things other people have seen the cult do, namely killing civilians in gruesomely inventive fashion. Which raises as an interesting problem for me as a fanfic writer is trying to figure out A) how much did the Seeds know about these particular clusters of mass murder, B) did they permit it if they knew about it ahead of time, and C) what purpose does it serve? Currently the answer to A is more than enough because the Seeds not knowing wouldn’t fit this AU nor their character builds in it to go well with the level of importance that the themes of responsibility and consequences carry both in the meta of the fic and in-world for Joshua personally. So that means for B, the Seeds are definitely permitting the additional senseless acts of cruelty noted in the dialogue and conflicted-conversations among the Peggies. Certainly they’re aware at least to some extent if not fully aware of the entirety of it, but I would assume based on the Heralds’ personalities that they all do like to know what their people get up to. They all seem like they would want to know the details of what’s going on for various reasons. I’m leaning towards having the particularly senseless murders be a mix of some acts the Seeds ordered, some acts they left open to interpretation to their followers who then took it to a dark extreme, and some acts were instigated by the followers alone. Basically: humans being humans during chaotic dark times and doing terrible, bad shit. Which leads to the conclusion for Joshua that the Seeds should be more disciplined about keeping their followers in line and not sinking down to this level of pointless evil. He’s not wild about their more purposeful evil acts either and is intent on trying to get them to stop the worst of that, but there are darker gradients of black and grey morality for him there to be more outraged by. So that pretty much wraps up C with the answer of “not much” other than humans being terrible to each other. Perhaps from the villainous perspective it helps terrorize the people of Hope County and whittle down the number of people the cult has to fight now or later, but overall that is still straight up mass murder. ...hm, that reminds me, I need to go tweak a line in a past chapter regarding the population of Hope County. I had it too low for there to be a reasonably-sized if small county aside from the cult’s numbers. Hm. I have the cult at around 1,800ish souls, with their goal being 3,000 total based on in-game commentary from nameless background NPCs, and the line from the Book of Joseph “A few thousand pure souls, whose mission would be to start over and repopulate the earth.” Doing a little quick search, there are some counties even in Montana that according to past censuses had 3,000 or less people in them. For it to feel a bit less likely that the Resistance and civilian population would be easily overwhelmed, it probably should be somewhat higher than the cult, since the county’s numbers will include those who cannot or do not want to fight—that being the old, the young, the ill, etc. Plus if the cult’s being quite so gruesomely wanton in the murdering sprees, that means they aren’t out to absorb the entire county, just most of it. But the cult must also be expecting losses on their side as well since this is a violent conquest they’re undertaking and all of Hope County’s armed to the teeth, if not as necessarily heavily as the cult itself seems to be. We’ll stick the vague number at around 2,400 civilians who are not in the cult for now then and add that to the notes—plus some of the cult’s population is certainly from the county itself pre-Reaping, not including increases that happen during the Reaping with all the active brainwashing, kidnapping, etc. Hm, given some of the generic-NPC-dialogue of how people were forcibly turned to being obedient members of the cult who actually did turn on and shoot their once-allies (and in that dialogue, the brainwashed were also long-time pre-Reaping neighbors of the speaker,) that makes Pratt’s situation in-game all the more interesting. He definitely recognizes the Deputy, whereas it sounded like the aforementioned brainwashed-individuals did not recognize their once-neighbors and friends at all. Pratt’s capable of thinking independent thoughts and he’s remained lucid enough to observe his surroundings and plan an escape, despite going on what sounds like a very dark “hunting trip” Jacob may have taken him on to hunt “deer” which sounds definitely like he was hallucinating in a bad way per his own lines. Jacob apparently isn’t a guy to miss out on using easy symbolism for his enemies, specifically the Whitetail Militia. That was probably not the only “hunting trip” Pratt and the other converts have been on, and that would potentially suggest that the converts are still possibly hallucinating much like how the Deputy is during the first portion of Jacob’s boss fight with the destroy-the-music-beacons visual effects, after exiting the Wolf’s Den. Is Pratt seeing something like that scene though? He doesn’t seem to be triggered by the music box or in the scenes where the music starts playing certainly. He’s surely been exposed to Jacob’s conditioning or at least the trials, and the list his name’s on would strongly suggest he passed his trial, dark as that is. Who did he kill as his sacrifice? Is he perhaps more immune to the Bliss effects? It seems to vary in intensity of how effective it is and how it effects people, based on their susceptibility to it—some factors may include addictive tendencies, personalities, etc, looking at generic-NPC-dialogue in Faith’s region. The sparkles that show up on the screen in addition to the red edges do lend themselves to interpreting that Jacob uses Bliss as part of the brainwashing regime, in addition to the hallucinations Pratt, the Deputy, and others seem to experience. (Also the Judges disappearing in Bliss clouds during the first half of Jacob’s boss fight, etc.) Either way, with the mention of no one expecting Jacob to go easy on Pratt, it seems like Pratt was more resistant to the brainwashing and breaking than Jacob expected, even in light of there being potentially more torment lined up for Pratt than the average captured civilian. (I suspect aside from Pratt’s involvement with the officers who tried to arrest Joseph, Jacob in particular is more likely to not think kindly of police men, given his time in Juvie and the events leading to him being sentenced to doing time, setting him on the path to joining the Army and the ensuing tragedy, and separated from his brothers when they were younger. Also possibly the lack of perceived protection from policemen in the times prior to their father Old Mad Seed’s arrest.) However, it could also be that Jacob deliberately set Pratt up to test his loyalty to Jacob and the Project by giving Pratt the opportunity to help the Deputy escape, instead (or a little from column A, a little from column B.) That music did come on awfully fast after the breakout after all, and perhaps Pratt hadn’t made his sacrifice yet. Maybe the Deputy was meant to be his sacrifice, in a less murderous way of just leaving the Deputy in Jacob’s hands. Seems like Jacob would have mentioned it if the Deputy was meant to be Pratt’s sacrifice by leaving them in the cage to their fate, but on the other hand it would fit the game’s plot and Jacob’s theme real well. Plus Jacob’s a cunning bastard and able to plot this kind of scheme out quite readily, I would say. This all probably means I need to flesh out more of the fic’s world with background NPCs here and there a bit more for the plot. That being said, I’m all excited to be borrowing with permission AU versions of some of my friend’s OCs for this. It’s definitely a new addition to the plotting that I hadn’t started out with, but feels like they’d fit in well with the plot overall. Two of the OCs will have a significant impact on Jacob as a character across his entire timeline in the past, present, and future. It’ll be an interesting challenge to deal with that, since while I do want to try to interpret the characters as close to their original canon lines and outlooks as possible, I feel this addition does open up more preexisting lines for Jacob that do fit the hints we get of his internal workings from in-game. It’ll mean he’s got more development in certain areas of his psyche and mental state, but a little bit of twisting here and there still keeps it all in line with the initial interpretation this AU’s got for him. I do feel the addition of the OCs will help bring Jacob to be more emotionally involved than he potentially was to begin with before the real-world-now with the intended future events of the fic, and this creates much more potential for up-close-and-personal levels of emotional exploration for the entire lot of them, both positive and negative emotions. ...oo, we might get to see Jacob actually losing his cool on-screen externally as a result of possible plot happenings. That could lead to an entire mess of the entire Seed family being angry and yelling at each other, creating emotional development. It’s really quite fascinating to try to work out how to get a group to actually get along well with characters like Faith, John, Joseph, and Jacob who are often at odds with each other. All while dealing with their rampant personal issues. Still something to study and test out for other original writings—haven’t quite learned how to take that kind of group dynamic apart and construct something from that inspiration yet. But definitely learning as we go. Back to listening to more NPC dialogue recordings though.

[fascinatedhelix]

A shitload of Deltarune headcanons below the cut:

Hometown

Kris

Has selective mutism, but can really talk if you get them going.

Is skilled in many musical pursuits, including singing, but doesn’t like having to face the audience in order to perform, so they prefer the piano.

Might have something along the lines of bipolar disorder, but where that starts and the frequent possessions by foreign entities ends is a mystery. Adverse reactions to medicine prevent them from going the medical route of treatment.

Obtained the birdcage from the attic where either the previous homeowner or Toriel left it after having a pet bird.

Was adopted as a baby.

Highschool age but probably not a Senior or Freshman.

More of a battle strategist and puzzle solver than a leader, but still a valued member of the team regardless.

Susie

Has been an outcast from a young age.

Wore that funny ponytail from the concept art as a kid, as well as a bow. Probably dressed much more feminine back then.

Probably either poor or subject to subpar parenting, either neglect or hovering. Maybe something like Lancer’s situation where her family isn’t at rock bottom, but they don’t care enough to provide for her as much as they can.

Has some degree of pica, but has a stomach strong enough to not die from it.

Doesn’t like quiet people because one of her neglectful parents is like that.

Would probably eat cigarettes instead of smoke them.

If she had been introduced to Kris while they were pranking someone, they might have sparked a friendship as the school troublemakers.

The Town

Monster religion isn’t Christianity. There’s no cross, and there’s a pointed emphasis on worshipping an Angel as opposed to the son of God, so Jesus either isn’t in their mythos at all or is not considered as important a figure. One part of their religion is the reduced or nonexistent consumption of alcohol.

There was no full-scale war between humans and monsters, but there was enough conflict to designate territories where one is the vast majority over the other. Gerson’s writings may have been based on the tensions of this time period.

The school used to be a religious boarding school but was secularized sometime before the events of the game.

The general public isn’t 100% sure what is up with Kris. Though they’re a bit of a local celebrity, nobody’s really sure why Kris acts the way they do. Media doesn’t depict humans as being so taciturn or erratic, so they honestly don’t know what to make of them.

Darkworld

Darkeners

In nature, darkeners are not monsters, but rather another classification of magical being that is a little more physical in makeup. If a monster dies, they turn into dust, but if a darkener dies, they might leave a shriveled corpse or a pile of sludge.

Darkeners tend to be changeable based on the amount of light in the environment; too much light makes them antsy and irritable, while little to no light makes them relaxed and confident. Light and dark levels affect their power, so of course, it’d affect their moods too.

The Board used to be its own sovereign nation, but it was either conquered by the Card Kingdom or merged by way of royal marriage.

Darkeners can reduce themselves into cards or toys if too badly damaged, or to play dead if threatened.

Lancer

Middle school age. Probably knows where babies come from but he isn’t at the point where he finds it anything but gross (prepubescent).

More educated than he looks, but not in anything especially important, just stuff that looks good on a king.

Will eventually grow to be as big as his father, but he probably won’t develop his temperament.

He inherits his goofy personality from his mom, even though she died/disappeared when he was very little.

He’s got some dog-like traits, but not nearly as much as the dog monsters from Snowdin. It’s a contributor to his hole-digging habit.

He’ll probably have some initial trouble speaking when he grows his big boy teeth (fangs like his dad’s).

His goofy demeanor will cool down when he gets older so he might come to resemble Asgore in terms of personality when he gets to that point, though perhaps less oblivious to others.

The Kings

The King of Spades’ given name is Pike. He doesn’t like it because it sounds dog-like and makes him sound simple-minded, so it's using is only reserved for those extremely close to him (that is, his wife, at least before she left the picture, and maybe the other kings).

The other kings are either Spades’ cousins, his brothers, or members of three other royal houses. Either way, the lot of them have known each other for a very long time.

Clover is the Princess/Jack of Clubs, though she isn’t in the habit of acting like it, hence why she’s still running free despite being in competition for the throne, technically. Too busy arguing with herself.

The kings all had different reactions when the princess and later prince were born. Clubs was experiencing a lot of emotions when Clover was born, with pride and protectiveness lording over all the others. Diamonds thought the kids were cute as babies but he didn’t want them to puke on him so he kept his distance. Hearts loved the babies to the point he acted kind of like a second mom.

The King of Diamonds is a rather apathetic guy who just wants to do his job and get paid at the end of the day. He, like the Rudinns, has something of a weird dragon-like instinct to hoard shiny stuff, so he likes to have his things bejeweled to hell and back.

The King of Hearts is a lot like the Hathys in that he’s kind of a lovebug. He’s a sappy guy who probably reads romance novels, good and bad, out the wazoo and is probably the biggest consumer of romcoms this side of the Darkworld. Finds the art of courtship to be the purest of art forms, even though he’s single.

The King of Clubs has as many personalities as he has heads, and they all have their own names, but the consensuses he comes to are usually really sound and thought through, so he makes for an effective though slow king. He was perhaps the closest to Spades out of the lot of them, being black suits and all, but ultimately this helped none during Spades’ takeover. He’s kind of like a weird lion hydra.

The King of Spades was, at one point, a rather quiet guy himself. He preferred to work in the shadows and keep to himself, and to his credit, this worked well for him, though he tended to feel forgotten and useless at times. The Knight came after him because he was a relatively insecure soul and more prone to holding grudges, which gave the Knight something to latch onto and blow out of proportion.

Rouxls Kaard

He’s made of silly putty. Though most headcanons of him make it so he melts when stressed, I think he only gets all liquidy when he’s relaxed. He probably sleeps in a bathtub.

He consciously has to keep up that eloquent facade, because he thought it was cool at one point, but he’s done it so much it’s become a force of habit and now he can’t not do it.

I like to imagine he’s bisexual, though he’s probably too preoccupied with trying to keep himself alive than pursuing love. If he did return anyone’s affections, he’d probably be very hush-hush about it at first because of his concerns with Spades.

He probably has slurped worms from a soup bowl like he was slurping up ramen before.

He literally can’t stop smiling. Has anyone else seriously not noticed how his smile never wanes when he gets mad or scared? It actually gets wider, you can only see how he feels through his eyes and tone. Not sure if this is how his face is structured or what.

I like the idea of him having some degree of reality-warping powers as the rules card, but that’d require his opponent to be playing his game. So, the only instance in which he could do that is if someone accepted a proper challenge from him. Puzzles are not his forte at all, and it’s implied he’s incompetent at battle too, so what is his game, then?

[elizabethrobertajones]

14x04 watching notes

Happy Birthday, Davy!

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Mittens just ominously warned me to warm up this notepad while I waited for the episode to finish downloading.

The nice guy from the phone provider has recently restored our internet after 4 days of radio silence from me, but it's only about 4'o clock on friday, so really some good timing!

Expectations: pre-mittens warning, Davy back on his nonsense with the scary episodes and expected nonsense of sinking back into MotW after mytharc but in capable hands because, you know, new writing team is aces and all.

post-mittens warning: idk but I should get a stuffed toy?

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That's a suspicious amount of ghost lore.

Has Heaven started dumping the spirits out now and if it really IS a ghost it's not going to behave properly?

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Oh my god it's a Hell Hazers poster.

There was something I would have talked about pre-episode but had no internet so didn't, but the focus on Dean and nerds and the expectation that this episode would be about a comic book store, did remind me of 9x07 and the action figure which was all "i clobber evil!" and was a strong Dean mirror, including that he needlessly burned it on the stove to try and get rid of the ghost of the mom but it turned out she needed to be talked into letting her son let her go in a scene which has all sorts of shades of Dean vs Mary in 12x22 now and also Dean's entire mark of cain arc was in the self-destruction of his self as an action figure that clobbered evil. A reminder that Dean is this figure seems fairly timely with him coming down from being possessed, as of course he has been used as an action figure. And his willingness to turn himself into one in 13x23 was very much turning himself into the Michael Sword, which in this cosmos is practically like the rarest collectible action figure of the universe. This harks back all the way to the first season and Dean's issues with John's control and the whole blunt little instrument arc, also something that fed directly into demon!Dean, and is being reflected this season in Nick, who murdered a guy with a hammer, after his family was murdered by a hammer, and said yes to Lucifer because of all that angst about hammer murder. Subtle.

Anyway, this is sort of the emotional background to me for action figures in the show.

A Hell Hazers poster also reminds us that Dean is a horror fan, his own connections to the genre, a CLASSIC episode, and a time when he was living his best life briefly.

You know, before he sold his soul for *waves at previous big paragraph* reasons

Fitting for how season 13 ended with Dean this close to happy world peace retirement living his best life :P

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Awww the fake movie the MotW comes from is called All Saints Day. Davyyy :')

People I know who are born on like October SECOND consider themselves extra spooky halloween people. I can only imagine what it does, as a 23rd Oct. birthday person, to the psyche to actually be born ON it.

This episode's subtitle is just "Lol I have the best birthday, fuckers"

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ACTUAL CLIP FROM 2x18!

And the fucking racist truck >.> Which in-universe was teased as another different movie using the footage in the trailer for Hell Hazers II.

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My mum has that exact Wonder Woman figure

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This guy is wearing a trenchcoat-featured jacket with a maroon t-shirt under it. I could not tell you what he represents but the trenchcoat part is amusing.

I can't *actually* start saying everything is party!Cas symbolism though so I'll just shush

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Er this rando that people were saying was dressed like Sam from the promo images literally is called Sam, and she's wearing a very very loud checkered shirt, of course featuring a lot of orange. I'm guessing with that info it's next to impossible to say she ISN'T in some way a Sam parallel :P

Comic Book Guy is possibly caught in the middle of stealing an action figure, and I can't work out if he is just nervous about that or has a crush on Sam because his behaviour was so suspect, but from the promo scene where he looks a lil worse for the wear he talks about breaking up with his goth gf, and Sam is very clearly a nerd, not a goth.

(Goth nerds are things. The media will get there one day :P)

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Oh okay after a few lines of the exchange, yeah this guy is a dick, I have NO clue why he's wearing that coat symbolism wise, and Sam really ought to fire him because wow, uncool and also he seems to be a stereotypical nerdbro gatekeeper who would literally rather scare off customers but be right than just enjoy what they all enjoy together.

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Then he apologises for getting angry for saying he just gets spun out sometimes. Honestly, this seems to be crossing over into Dean territory considering the last thing from the recap was Dean being told he was like Michael by Bad Kaia and being really angry when he said he was nothing like him... He also used "spun out" about himself in 12x20 but in rather more tragic lost-Cas circumstances but obviously this parallel has a different lesson to tell than just making them equivalent. This guy is so awful and is using his anger in a petty way over things that don't really matter. He's getting spun out over made up battles rather than real angst, and whether he has his own underlying trauma that makes him behave that way or not, the straight white nerd is one of the secondary main villains of the century so far after the literal alt right, with some overlap of course. Think Kylo Ren as one of the dominant critiques of this behaviour :P Compared to the open of 8x11 for example, where the nerds were harmless weirdoes despite also being straight white and obsessive, the aggression and obsession are played not just as a harmless trait of people who like LARPing and collecting toys, but gatekeep, yell at kids over superman facts, and refuse to have their own dominance challenged.

Thinking he could fight superman might actually explain the Cas like jacket - it's too short to be a coat - that he idealises these heroes, is wearing Batman (who in pop culture most recently was around "v superman") and Cas of course has all his superman comparisons from both 6x20, and his rebirth in 12x01 where he came back to earth as a fiery comet and was immediately mistaken for a spaceman. There's some dark idolisation/mirroring here, that he's debating how to fight the guy (krytonite gloves = the BMoL knuckledusters) and at the same time mirroring the show's Superman in his dress. Only much, much lesser. More subtextual mockery about his weakness and how he doesn't really measure up.

I think in a lot of ways the discourse about nerds in pop culture is moving on now to  make this difference clear, that the ones who will be mocked are the ones who deserve it for being too cruel to respect, while in many other ways the mainstreaming of nerd culture into pop culture, meaning a large amount of it is no longer mockable, that everyone had at least SOME nerdy indulgences, means that in general nerdom is more accepted and exalted than ever. SPN obviously having its own deep roots into nerd culture has some direct room for commentary here, and this is also a way of reminding its own fans to be cool and not to be this guy.

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Oh, huh, he safely exited the shop. I did not see that coming.

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LOL he has batman bedding on a fold out bed in either a shed, garage or basement where he lives.

(This detail was tragic in Attack the Block but it's quite clear in this case the guy is fully grown and is being used as a detail to show his forward progression in life)

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Wow, you really have some rage issues here. Especially trying to wrangle free pizza i mean dude. Talk about a line that personifies him 100 different ways in one go :P Who shouts at their pizza delivery place?? They remember your number! This is how to get extra toppings.

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Oh my god please get beaten to death by this lil guy

(I know I know he survives he's in the promo)

Is this like... haunted kidney episode... but better?

Actually, Fallen Idols plus Mannequin episode but better.

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You know how we saw in the last new year? Watching Small Soldiers for the first time since like the 90s or whenever it came out

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The show's animation is so much better

Than Small Soldiers and itself from past years

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Oh DEAN

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I mean he totally deserves a day off.

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I can't believe he owns these socks. Who got them for him for Christmas?

Okay, well first we have to work out which was the last Christmas they had where they were not in prison or in an alternate dimension or dead or -

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Cas. It was Cas.

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He literally had no idea this wasn't just a cute commentary on how much Chinese take out Dean eats

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Anyway as far as I can tell Dean is living out the bisexualdemondean header just to spite Michael for defiling his temple. He's filling it with noods and pizza (and I am sure he didn't yell at the delivery guy, but tipped him well instead for making drop offs at a shady street corner miles from where anyone lives)

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Honestly it's been 12 years since Hell Hazers II... What took them so long

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Dean's drunk a full thing of Margiekugle mom beer, which is a lil worrying just in terms of him using it instead of comfort from her like in 12x02, now that she's back.

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God I want Dean to meet the asshole from the comic shop and for him to get into a dick measuring contest about Hell Hazers II and Dean to be like uh I WORKED on it you ass

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Er, does that vending machine contain the nougat of choice of your consumptive son on the other side of the wall?

(who may be out with Cas concealing his consumption on a case so not bothered by all this TV noise)

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God I love and have missed Dean, my trashy guy who is sitting hugging a pillow like a teen girl at a sleepover to watch his hatchetman slasher to celebrate being back to himself and get the much-needed R&R, since, you know, last time we saw him he threatened to "break" Kaia and was in a very very bad place (lol)

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This guy about to get murdered for trying to snatch a nougat bar is dressed like the unfortunate bandmate (Tommy?) to Vincifer. Is this an oblique Ladyheart reference to set up a weird scenario where Hatchetman is punishing a Lucifer-adjacent asshole for trying to steal Nougat?

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I can't believe there's a red exit sign behind him which means Wanek is Waneking in multiple dimensions at once

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"Mint Condition" flashes up over Dean indulging in his pizza, saying, hey look it's our guy back in shape. Or, you know, ironically so. Either because Dean being Dean means eating junk food and wallowing because his husband has wandered off with the kid and isn't home to snuggle him while he does this mandatory bedrest, or because, of course, Dean is not Mint Condition at all. He's literally and emotionally scarred.

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I am pretty sure this shirt that Sam has on is 12 years old.

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Statistically, they're gonna get murdered in each and every one of their original Kripke era shirts until none of them are available to be murdered in later.

I say for no particular reason.

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Leave Sam alone. He doesn't shave you mock him, he does shave, you... also mock him. He was doing really well while you were gone! No one got even slightly stabbed who didn't deserve it! This is an all-time record. A beard is a price to pay for that.

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Honestly I think Dean is stoned but they're not going to say so but I am treating this scene like it is.

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"I wanted to check up on you," Sam says, pulling over a chair. This is so like how he was in 14x01 when he was powering around the Bunker being the boss, and given Dean's been on bedrest, again, much-needed, Sam is treating him like another one of his charges, and once more is in a position of authority... But now, despite shaving to act like nothing has changed a bit more, he is the one in charge of Dean as one of his wards. Everything has changed. Your dynamic is actually wobbling in a weird way.

In season 10 when Dean was laid up with the Mark blues especially around 10x12, which this intro also reminds me of, re: Dean spending a week in his room and Sam popping in to check on him, Sam was still keeping a very wary eye on Dean more that he was a bomb that may explode, and that while he needed to be managed, the power dynamic was extremely, extremely horrifying in that if Sam messed up Dean would murder him. Not an ongoing implicit threat between them, but the knowledge that Dean could become a demon again and demon!Dean would attempt to kill Sam, and so Sam had better do his utmost to keep Dean in a good place. Even if it eventually meant a series of convoluted secrets to try and fix him against his wishes.

Obviously, things are different here. Sam has developed a LOT since then, with season 11 beginning a recovery of his character in tentative little steps which actually kicked off in season 12, and, specifically, in 12x04 under Davy Perez in American Nightmare heralding the new era of Sam focus and lovingly stroking his hair and lavishing him with Sam-sculpted episodes the like of which we hadn't seen all through Carver era.

Now when Sam comes into Dean's room and pulls up a chair and sits down to check up on him, he actually radiates a comfortable, competent authority to do so.

... however he is doing it in that pink shirt which I honestly love the concept of but just wish that I couldn't see Sam in 2x06 showing up in it for the first time, like, my brain is just screaming at him to go get a bunch more pink shirts and refresh his wardrobe

I'm so certain of it but now I have to check because 12 years is such a long time but

http://www.homeofthenutty.com/supernatural/screencaps/albums/SPN2x06/SPN_0060.jpg

Mittens yelled "OH MY GOD" when I sent her the link so I think I'm right

Like, conceptually in every way it's great because it's this long pink shirt that fits him well, fuck toxic masculinity, blah blah action heroes in pink shirts, love it love it love it, but also: it's another fucking plaid shirt Sam has owned since he was a gap-toothed child six years younger than Jack presents as

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Dean is lacking his second bedside table, as he has been for seasons, but I'm just staring at him lying sideways on his bed, wondering about his set up, and if this is in any way similar to how he watched all those cowboy movies with Cas, since Davy, of course, was the one to suggest that they had been watching movies together.

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"And... not that I'm complaining... House is full of strangers"

Yeah, we know you hate it, Dean. God, it's tragic. In a wonderful way. Sam's built this little empire for himself and it's on top of Dean's old nesting spot. Dean's been forced into his room not just to hide away because he's ashamed but because he doesn't want to be seen and there's too many strange eyes out there. However this resolves, it's going to force some growth. Honestly, as much as Dean loves this room and it means to us, it's also a bleak lonely spot and in the like 7 years they've had the Bunker, Dean's never hooked up in that bed, while it has come to be very much like, well... The bed of an angry nerd living in a basement still using Batman sheets. Again, dark parallels, but of Dean in a dark place.

I'd love if he moved out and got a house in the suburbs.

I mean.

Cas has a house in the suburbs.

(Re: long-running Lizzy watching notes in-jokes about where he stashes a bunch of stuff like demon tablets, first blades, metatron's grace, etc etc)

But yeah, no. I like the idea of Dean nesting, of course. But aside from the obvious conveniences, the Dean Cave, etc, there's no reason it HAS to be here except that this is their inheritance and it's safe. But as I constantly talk about with the library abutting the war room, the work/life balance is always in question and filling the Bunker with strangers is a great way to shove all the life balance out, and leave the only spot left of that to Dean in this room.

If the AU peeps don't all get sent home but remain at least in part a hunter community and maybe even network and grow as the Winchesters finally open up the Bunker's resources and share them and stop being all isolated like Carver era fiercely protected... Dean might have no choice but to move his nesting down the road to somewhere with a sofa where he can park his car out front, and choose to commute in to work.

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Awww they have the "our lives are a scary movie" argument again, in a well-worn way. So well-worn this is repeating dialogue from somewhere or other... 2x18? 4x07? God I don't know, implicit in Sam's eyerolling at Halloween in 1x01? All of the above? I am not looking that up. But anyway their stances haven't moved, possibly because this is something that has never really been challenged before. If Sam didn't hate scary movies already, watching 18 hours of Hell Hazers II dailies probably did in any remaining sympathy he would have had towards them, while Dean thrived there.

I guess he may finally have had time to watch it?

And of course stay for the credits to see his name.

Anyway Dean has historically cited movies as research or job adjacent, or vicariously enjoyed watching monsters at work from the safe remove of a screen, while Sam throws it all in to that box where of course it goes to 1x01 where he's running away from ALL of it and has his oddly specific choices to avoid halloween in his day to day as Lawboy. He's struggled to indulge in the weird as a hobby, likes serial killers as, as far as we can diagnose, an outlet of darkness but purely human, and keeps the work/life balance in a rather unhealthy way of denial and boxing things away, because so much of his early seasons arcs were about resisting the life and refusing the call. This harks back to their literal first episode characterisations of Dean being all in and Sam being all out and it's interesting to have us back here in season 14, in a period of such deep reflection, when Sam has finally sort of accepted the life, found a niche in the work that suits him as the boss, and Dean is struggling now with retirement questions, and taking a week off, not liking his home full of strangers, etc etc.

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"More Michael Monsters?" Dean asks immediately quick fire when Sam says he has a case.

He may have taken a week off to indulge in pizza but that obsession lurks under his skin. He's in no way done, though I think perhaps better prepared to enter this case than he had been, though of course he's billed as still struggling.

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Dean also instantly recognises the Thundercats name, and I'm afraid it's something I'm just not familiar with, that I clearly missed some wave of it when I was younger and it hasn't come back around as an adult... I can't wait to read stuff by people who know more about it and say tragic things about Dean's connection to it. But the important thing here is the dark mirror to the guy who got beat up by the toy, because Dean is being shown as also an enthusiastic nerd who knows the franchise and is excited by this concept and is leaping into a case about it with a "strippers, Sammy. Finally!" level of enthusiasm.

Healthy nerds and unhealthy nerds. But at the same time, Dean might be a better nerd, but his anger last episode is still being examined through this guy.

-

I love that for Sam and Dean, dressing up for Halloween is dressing up like total nerds in a totally different pop culture way - the old appearance of geeks which is wildly outdated but damned if they aren't putting on pocket protectors anyway. It's a caricature but it's one that is at total odds with who they are as people... More of a traditional halloween thing where normally Sam and Dean are really scary people with weapons, so when you make them dress all topsy turvy, they dress like this instead. They ARE halloween costumes, in their day to day.

-

Dean continues watching in the shop, Sam eyes up the Red Hood.

I watched that a million years ago with no idea that Jensen was in it, though I had watched the first couple of seasons at that point. I think it was during my "aww the show was cancelled" phase where it was completely off my radar. It's hilarious to me now, because I don't think I COULD watch it, now I know Jensen's voice so disproportionately well. It would be so off-putting.

-

"She's like your twin."

Sam and Sam both tuck their hair behind their ears at the same moment.

"What are you talking about?"

So. This is going to be extremely subtle.

I hope New Sam survives the episode D:

-

Sam points out the other guy who people were saying based off the promo pics would be the Dean to this girl's Sam with no idea what was to come. He and Dean in this case are both eating lollipops purloined from the halloween candy.

I guess this guy in the All Saints Day t-shirt shares Dean's love of the same franchise, and seems to represent the bizarre venn diagram with Dean on one side and Andrew Dabb on the other. Their nerdy overlap.

-

I feel like Sam is just pointing out this character mirror to be an annoying sibling and wow do I love seeing them like this.

I also feel like there is no way Davy would do this if he wasn't about to troll the fuck out of us with these parallels in some terrifying meta way and pointing out that character parallels are a thing this blatantly is about to be Awful somehow.

-

The Red Hood is staring disapprovingly at them through all of this

-

Anyway of course Dean Parallel immediately recognises Dean's enthusiasm for Hatchetman and encourages him to press the button, which Dean does with glee. I CLOBBER EVIL. Wait no.

Sometimes we do bad things.

Oh dear.

Oh deeeeeeeeeeear.

Yeah, Hatchetman is like... idk, michael!Dean or something. Or some dark part of Dean where all his violence is and this twisted version is almost like the burned result of the I Clobber Evil hero being melted by Dean and - too meta, I am in pain.

-

"Vintage hot wheels!"

I know what you want because I have a smol 67 impala on my shelf. Nyoom.

-

He has an eeny weenie mystery machiney so he can make them race.

-

Okay guy who got beat up by a toy is called Stuart (I am so bad at names, honestly.)

Of course he got kicked out by his roomie for being insufferable about something as pointless as subs vs dubs, and Sam is already apologising for him before they even go meet him.

Considering there's 3 people working at the shop and Stuart had a trenchcoat, but is also being mirrored to Dean, darkly, I feel like there might be some serious shuffling going on here that surface level, Stuart had that Cas marker, but... yeah

-

Heeee Dean stealing the Flash mug and making Sam have the one with the cats all over it. One mug representing Stuart, one representing his mum.

I mean it is Sam's turn to have a relationship with THEIR mom this season. Idk if the mugs are actually symbolic over anything other than Dean living his best geek life right now.

I mean he's added the glasses to his ensemble, he's really living it up.

I hope he's still wearing Send Noods under this

-

Awww it's hot apple cider. What a good mom. This is a perfect halloween drink.

-

*Stuart Rage Sounds from below*

Wow this is subtle that he has some rage issues.

-

"Campbell and sons insurance" Hey remember when I said that this whole season's emotional set up with Sam's ownership of the AU peeps reminded me of season 6 and the Campbells? They also literally are the sons of Mary Campbell, so.

No lies, at least, with some serious stretching of the truth.

-

God, the detail that Dean has played Zelda.

He's being nerdy out loud constantly, and without much fear of judgement. It's wonderful. I guess he's been jostled up enough by Michael that he doesn't really care to hide this random pointless thing that in the grand scheme why should he be ashamed, and also he feels so much worse about other things that this is just an escape to have fun. It also reminds me of last season when he was mourning Cas except that this indulgence Sam is allowing him is co-sponsored by Dean and he's throwing himself into enjoying the smaller things and being more openly Dean-ish than he has in a while. Like, I don't think character comparisons to 8x11 for the nerds is the only way the episodes link :P

-

In 8x11 Dean's initial reaction to LARPing is that it looks awesome, then he corrects at a look from Sam to being more judgy. In 9x04 as scripted, Sam is surprised that Dean want to read Game of Thrones. So idk if that's just Robbie character interpretations since my 2 surface level examples are from his episodes or if that's just been where open nerdery has lived in past years, but anyway. Sam isn't stopping Dean from indulging in the same way - it seems he also recognises Dean's nerdiness and is less threatened by it than before, in the sense that he doesn't feel like Dean isn't acting himself, but now accepts the nerdiness is a part of Dean.

-

"Who needs goth girl drama" dude you are the most awful over-dramatic asshole on the show now Lucifer is dead

-

LOL he's trying to lie about being attacked by a toy now, and Dean points out that he got whooped so thoroughly he was beaten on the back and genitals - so yeah we look at his face and wiiiiince

-

"Lady you wasn't kidding."

-

"Big Bang in there..."

Goodness are we calling out the Big Bang theory for its toxic nerdery? Love it.

-

Sam and Dean halloween costumed as total nerds, still driving around in the Impala. The reverse of someone rolling up in a boring old modern car and, like, a bunch of Draculas get out.

-

Sam can shave off the beard but it can't stop him Bobby-ing

Dean side-eyes this

-

"Yeah, it was Riley, he'll be fine."

"I don't know who Riley is, but cool."

God, I am so into this whole dynamic.

Tell me more, Davy.

-

"So seriously, what is your deal with halloween?"

"I don't like it"

Dean, I am watching this episode on November 2nd, just so you know.

Anyway. This is literally. 1x01's opening adult Sam moment. But Dean's going back to poke Sam about it since he's someone Sam won't lie to in the same way that Sam was concealing his entire being from Jess. I mean this isn't subtle - in 1x01 Dean calls Sam out for doing this. But then, Sam doesn't exactly develop beyond it - in season 8 he does this with Amelia.

Because obviously if Sam is going to move forward and develop there's still things which are not addressed. And if Dean is having his idea of home and work challenged, and his nest disrupted until perhaps he will fly it... Sam has never ever actually addressed his work/life balance in the meaningful way where... like... this was how his difference was introduced when we first ever meet lil babby Sam smiling innocently at us on screen as a kid who has the whole future ahead of him and no idea what torment he's gonna go through. 14 years later, if he's ever going to be a grown up who can handle himself in a relationship and know what is work and what is life and how he can watch halloween movies and not feel personally offended by them but enjoy them as a fantasy and a way of boxing off their world into a safe place they don't have personal responsibility for...

Maybe he might just get a girlfriend who he can tell he is a hunter. Like. Dude. Dean was past that step before the show ever STARTED thanks to his time with Cassie.

-

Sam, also, metaphorically is an angry guy living in his mom's basement, but perhaps in a more metaphorical way where it's to do with living his whole life under the shadow of his mom horrifically dying as a result of the supernatural and being brought up feeling like a freak and just wanting to be normal and all

wheeee

-

Anyway Dean is probing for actual answers so I assume Davy will give us a solution to this this episode, but this is my take on it before we get into it properly.

-

Alternative hypothesis: Davy is personally offended that Sam doesn't like halloween despite it being the best holiday, is determined to fix that and fuck canon, characters can change even 14 years later.

-

"Don't give me this 'every day is halloween' crap because one it aint, we don't eat that much candy"

I have missed Dean and I love him with every fibre of my being, brb I need to vibrate out of existence at the sheer joy of knowing him

-

That was the worst "we aren't here staking out your house" move I have ever seen.

You are professionals who have been doing this together for 14 years

why was that so laughably bad?

-

The youtube comments are so cutting and a bunch of them are unfortunately true. It's self-awareness of using the loser nerd trope but also, cutting in a way because of course Stuart is coming across so much as someone who deserves it - and we're starting to see his mom is sweet and doesn't seem to have caused any trauma in a surface read, and that he was the one who dumped his online gf, and he starts other fights at work or with roomies, so this is getting more and more into territory where he seems fully to blame for his own situation, and therefore you CAN mock him for living in mom's basement, because he PUT himself there, and is single because he chose to be, and so on. The pervading sense that if he was a nicer person, none of this would be happening to him, right down to him stealing the toy in the first place.

-

Oh boy, the bloody handprint on the wall... We are back in handprint territory, and, you know, maybe because SOMEONE walking past it has been scarred on the wrong shoulder by the actions of an angel or something

-

There's a chinese take out carton on the shelf in this basement. I doubt it's a collectible.

Send noods.

-

Okay, that's sort of weird.

-

If the mom is in costume I don't get the reference. I hope someone else has handled that.

-

We're going to get her POV on her loser son now, I guess.

-

"Everything's fine :)" *leaves the room* "everything is not fine!"

Are we calling them out for using "fine" so loosely again too huh?

(Side note: Jack saying he's fine while consumptive, and yeah I am still upset about that. What are you doing to the boy????)

-

Dean and Sam split up and as Sam walks off a nurse eyes him up and smiles. No idea how intentional that was but I mean, can you blame her? :P

-

You know, I don't know anything about this franchise, but Sam just jumped to see a toy of a guy who looks weirdly similar to the vampires that ATE HIM a few weeks ago.

He checks over his shoulder in case Dean manifested at his side just in time to see that

-

Awww Dean and New Dean meet. "he must have awesome insurance"

He calls Stuart's mom "Babs" which is hilarious. They seem close.

New Dean has issues with his dad and Stuart lets him crash with him no questions asked. I suppose Dean isn't going to think too hard about how Sam's choice for his parallel has issues with his dad.

This forgiveness for Stuart's behaviour because he's kind to his own people is a very TFW trait, which makes New Dean more like Sam or Cas forgiving Dean his outbursts, as he's by far the ragiest of them, with Cas trailing in second and Sam the zen fucking master.

-

Lol Dean and New Dean are both dragged into the room to watch All Saints Day 3 like they're being pulled in on a line

-

Oh dear, they're bonding.

Davy isn't usually on top of these things but he's channeling a lot of Edlund today and Edlund always had these sort of guys like Andy or Aaron who are so Dean's type in a harmless shared interests and getting stoned together way. This is a bit extreme with the guy's tininess and scruffiness but you know, we'll see how this develops, if it's an accidental twins or a missed connections soulmate dealio.

... You're taking to someone who's still bitter that Andy and Dean would have been perfect together, so.

-

Also this New Dean guy is demonstrating how to be a Good Fan - he may be as intensely nerdy as Stuart, but he and Dean can compare movies and even though they don't share a favourite, agree that the whole series is great and can see the merits both in each other's favourites, and in another movie that isn't either of their favourites but could be if they happened to be inclined that way.

So healthy :')

-

"It was always nice to check out. I like watching movies where I KNOW the bad guy's going to lose"

Ow ow ow. But yeah, there's Dean's pro-Halloween rationale, that the tropeyness of the genre has its comforts that every ridiculous horror thing is entirely safe and no one is ACTUALLY going to get eaten by any of these things. Which is also how normal people enjoy horror but at the metaphorical remove of being scared by things we may not literally meet but still represent anxieties we might have in our real lives.

Catharsis, yo

-

Sam barges in on New Sam to ask her the usual series of increasingly weird questions which get the "are you really insurance?" eyebrows.

"Downtown Salem" - are they in Salem as in the witch hunt one?

-

I kinda love how New Sam is talking with a speech bubble beside her. So meta.

-

I think New Dean is called Dirk.

-

Oops Stuart wasn't one of the co-owners because he kept getting fired for stealing D: Stuart, dude.

-

"And you hired Stuart back?" "he's my friend"

I think there is commentary appearing here about not just Stuart's unhealthy explosive rage, but that the people around him enable it - even Jordan fired him TWICE rather than banish him forever. The cycle of coddling him without encouraging him to change... Again, this speaks rather more of season 10 and a critique of Sam n Cas from there rather than much currently ongoing with Dean. Sam was complicit in originally abducting Kaia and he and Jody didn't move to stop Dean with Bad Kaia, so though it's in the focus as a critique on Dean's reactions, I feel like the real bad cycles were in Carver era. Though the behaviour still somewhat exists in Dabb era, the overall unhealthiness has declined so much, there isn't a constant oppresive blanket of it as there is here in this shop with Stuart being so awful to everyone and self-destructive.

(It's probably also not a coincidence that this thing has latched onto Dean as well, a la 4x06 I'd guess... Sam got no ghost vibes in the basement, Dean did, and was attacked... To me this is seeming to suggest that his current state has picked up the ghost's ire in the same way in 4x06 he was vulnerable. Loops and loops of things going on so I'll unpick that later if it does turn out to be the case clearly.)

Anyway. This seems to be more about destructive cycles and abusive dynamics, and I would hope a nudge for Dean, though his exile at the start of this episode also suggests to me he knew full well after threatening Kaia that he'd overreacted and needed to take 5, even if there was also a layer of sulking until news of Michael. Her call out was clear enough to make him self-reflect. So I would hope that this episode is here to try and steer Dean's reaction through various pathways, ideally to keep him from falling into anything too awful, as a reminder of where this may lead?

-

Sam sees the glass case freeze over, and pulls out the EMF, playing it off and being like "nothing... carbon monoxide detector" even as New Sam is understandably a little freaked.

Is this messing with Sam's refusal to tell Jess about monsters by having him keep the truth from New Sam until she's physically endangered?

-

I mean, carbon monoxide in enough quantities to make the blatantly homemade gadget go "WHEEE" and light up every single LED is a good enough reason to flee the room

-

"I think you're in danger -" Sam is smacked around the head by Hatchetman because he delayed too long and now he has been knocked out

-

"Samantha?" Sam determined not to let New Sam out-Sam him

-

I mean if she is you then she has been knocked out

-

How does this keep happening to you

how much head trauma has Cas healed over the years?

This is why they have to keep him an angel...

-

"Is this expensive?" "Wha - no don't!" *BOING* *silence* "yeeeah it's shatterproof glass"

HA

-

If Jordan really just wants to kill Stuart for getting them a 1 star Yelp review then this also has a weird shade of 11x07 where the ghost was getting revenge and took a few attempts to kill that one guy, eventually succeeding as the clown.

Except the clown was tuned to freak Sam out

and Dean's probably gonna be thrilled to fight Hatchetman

-

Dean having movie night with new Dean (probably stoned but we can't see it) with comatose Stuart in the middle

incredible

-

2 dudes watching horror movies 5 feet apart with a comatose guy in the middle because they aren't gay

-

Dean is thrilled to fight Hatchetman

I feel like this can't last

-

Davy throws in a gratuitous Halloween moment of Hatchetman walking through the park which is just bedecked in Halloween nonsense

no one cares about him wandering around because it's Halloween

It does make you wonder just HOW much nonsense happening on Halloween really is monsters and stuff out there enjoying themselves because it's expected, which, again, like Sam n Dean dressing up as nerds for this whole episode, having monsters mixing with regular folk and being treated as equals is literally the whole Halloween thing. There's less threat than in 4x07 because we're assuming at this point in the episode that the ghost does have a pretty one-track mind about killing Stuart because with all the characterising nonsense filling the episode the actual plot has been pretty sparse considering we're getting to the final 10 minute run now. So, yeah. This Hatchetman ghost is just out there being a part of the festivities, because that's what happens on Halloween, man

-

LOL And like Sam not telling his double until it was too late, Dean gets this call and is really open in answering in front of new Dean, and now he's filling in New Dean on everything instead of trying to get him to leave or protect him not just from the monster but from knowing about it at all.

-

Davy like, hey, remember when ghosts used to do loads of freaky stuff on this show just to be scary? And maybe it seemed like you all were getting bored of it or something, but hey this guy has no idea after 14 years that he shouldn't leave the salt line when everything starts thumping in the room despite having been warned the ghost is coming...

-

Hehehe Dean gets an axe... The moment of him going to smash it then not and checking if it's open... Whether that was improv or not, it's a good character thing in the sense that Dean is being encouraged not to smash first and ask questions later by the meta plot of the episode

-

Omg New Dean is as brave as our Dean in some ways... He sees Babs in trouble, and immediately is like "HEY" and starts confronting Jordon in Hatchetman

-

"He's MY friend. He's OUR friend." That's an interesting take on my/our, because that statement works on both levels - both that Dirk is protective of Stuart because he cares about him, but also that Jordan has his own investment in not killing Stuart that he should remember. In terms of emotional appeal, the first is confrontational while the second is the deep appeal to the ghost.

Filed in the deep deep deep deep deep flips of the crypt scenes, this moment demonstrates about 3 different kinds of flips, while still holding true to possessing thing out of its right mind confronting loved one

-

Omg the hospital security guards watching the Hatchetman chase a damsel through the hospital while New Dean is chased through THEIR hospital. Talk about dramatic irony and a whole commentary on the metaness of Dabb era in the story reversals and extractions to new levels and repurposing of scenes and narratives...

-

And despite it playing out scene by scene, the guards are laughing at the bad dialogue and pointing out how Hatchetman is so slow, so how can he even catch them, while the damsel slows herself down and badly fakes a trip so that he can catch up to her...

-

"We killed you! You're dead!" "We all do bad things sometimes"

And there we get the context for the cool quote the Hatchetman model can recite - just as how in fandom often things are quoted out of context as lines which seem emotional or special but are actually awful. Just for starters, all the Sam n Dean fans using "there aint no me if there aint no you" when Dean didn't even SAY that. Now we see the context of this line, we see that while Hatchetman really isn't deep, he's at least not just saying it to sound cool and talk about himself, he's judging the protagonist for her behaviour, as well as invoking relative morality. Which brings up some interesting ideas about what Hatchetman considers good and evil, in regards to seeming to have a concept of it but not including kill himself as a good thing to do. Obviously completely wild in context but in the philosophical language of the show, the nature of monsters and all is one huge question, along with if Sam and Dean are murderers themselves, and of course how they have done bad things for good reasons and vice versa.

-

Also I think Sam is about to blow up the door?

-

"I had a messed up childhood" he says, about to blow up a vintage SCOOBY DOO lunchbox to freedom.

SAMMY. Stop destroying symbols of childhood.

At least he's talking freely to New Sam about himself, which is probably already more than he ever let on to Jess. He really wanted to pretend to be well-adjusted to her, that he probably, like, would have rather waited for a locksmith with her than just pick the door to their apartment if they were locked out, you know?

-

RIP Scooby Doo.

-

"Cool" they both say, and share a smile.

It's probably weird to ship Sam and Sam just because the shipname is Sam

-

Dirk went to hide in the fucking Morgue

well done

-

Okay I need the security guards back to comment on how the fuck Hatchetman knew New Dean would come to the morgue with enough time to beat him there AND cover himself in a sheet and play dead.

-

Also before that happened Dean grabbed New Dean by the correct shoulder, and made him jump but aw don't worry it's just your new best friend.

-

Ghost Jordan is still a fucking nerd even in death because rather than talk to them, he presses the button to summon a catchphrase

It's good to know some things never change even when you are a murderous shell of your former self.

-

UGH SIGH DAVY ARE YOU REALLY GOING TO DO THIS TO ME?

(The director might also be to blame)

So now they are cobbling together a fake trailer for Hatchetman, using footage from the show

That is to say, Hatchetman is set on Oct. 31st, 1983, or, of course, 2 days before Azazel ruined everything.

I'm not sure if this shot is from the show because we have so few Halloween episodes that an exterior shot with Halloween elements would have to be faked up, but the house looks very much like the old Winchester house, but with a bigger porch and more dramatic features. It does, however, strongly feature the tree branch shadows over the appropriate wall to make it look exactly like the opening shot of their story, while this is the opening shot of the Hatchetman story.

"David Jaeger was an honest man making an honest living" *generic shot of something being worked on*

*shot of the back of John Winchester's head walking into his garage in 5x13 to discover his boss out cold because Anna is about to attempt to murder him, said boss hilariously visible in the shot if you know he's there*

So. That happened :P Hatchetman is John. That ain't subtle if you recognise the back of his head in a split second. Even if you don't they're casting him as a car mechanic which is of course directly connected to Dean and John.

"Until one night when a practical joke turned deadly"

*footage of the wife spectre-rage killing her husband in the cold open of 8x06 because she was still pissed he slept with someone else on prom night*

I think the burning vehicle was the car from 10x13 that Sam and Dean burned early in the episode, where it was violently reminiscent of them burning the memory of John for some meta reason I can't remember at the time, but definitely inspired a lot of frantic fandom typing.

Of course the ghost in that episode was the classic ragey vengeance ghost which was blatantly paralleled to the path Dean was on with the Mark of Cain, complete with being crypt scened out of it by a trenchcoat-wearing widow.

They're implying he was then burned alive and left for dead and I don't recognise the footage of the burned feet but I assume they're from some episode or another.

Anyway then they go to more new footage from the "actual" hatchetman movies. This one is set on Nov. 1st so it's not even a "Halloween" movie but ACTUALLY All Saint's Day (All Hallow's Eve being what Hallowe'en is a corruption of), Nov. 1 being of course a meta nod to the fact the episode is not even airing on Halloween but Davy just really really really really wanted his halloween episode so shut up and enjoy it :P

Oh, it's All Saints Day III The Reckoning. Because of course it's a reckoning. That's all that happens in Dabb era, reckonings.

-

I am so upset.... I made a joke about 5x05 waaay back, and now it's true because of the whole random thing about Dean's random Axe that was John's that Paris Hilton was going to use to Reckoning him but then Sam murderered her before she could. Now Dean's being reckoned.

-

Okay Dean is a lil dark right now but his come at me bro of "I was hoping you'd say that" and the preceding speech is incredible. I can't believe this show has Jensen except that I CAN believe that with Jensen we go 14 seasons because FUCK he's scary and intense when he wants to be.

-

But he delivered that chilling speech and then had the ghost use a red button to talk to him and then was badass at it

I mean

he can put the terror into ANY situation

-

I am a hysterical laugher, I could not have stood where Dean stood in that moment and taken Hatchetman seriously, even under threat of mortal peril. I once nearly got expelled for hysterical laughing over an untied shoelace that started a rapidly spiralling incident.

-

I love the new fight guy

I love how Dean is spoiling for a fight, and really enjoying how he can push back against this ghost, in a really, really scary way. But in a cold way, not the red hot Mark of Cain way he was dark last time. He's grinning and enjoying this nerdy ass fight, but it's got a vicious streak.

-

I especially love the choreography of Dean smashing Hatchetman around the head with clashes in time to the music followed by an elevator ding as Sam and New Sam emerge in the next scene.

Poetic cinema

-

New Sam guesses the key thing for ghost attachment and Old Sam is impressed.

Careful buddy, they're lining you up for replacement.

-

Dean seems not to have won this fight with the Hatchetman. I bet if Stuart was awake he'd have some useful advice for how anyone could beat him in a fight but especially Stuart, if they knew the correct thing to do.

-

New Dean saved Old Dean! Maybe we can teamwork distract the Hatchetman and win together. Possibly this is a metaphor for... working with yourself...

Is it foreshadowing for a fight later in the season of plot significance, just like in 11x07 Sam got beat up by a clown in a cage, as a not too subtle metaphor for Lucifer? I'd love an in Dean's head kinda nonsense with Mikey.

-

"Dean, key chain!"

TEAMWORK BROS ARE THE BEST BROS

-

New Sam chips in for her part with fuel for the fire.

Everyone high five the Sam or Dean/Dirk to your left

-

Oh, COOL effect of a ghostly spirit burning out of a model Hatchetman, who is unscatched by the ordeal

-

I mean, good, he's probably a really expensive collectible

-

He falls over with a thud, and goes out on a warbling "time to slice and diiiiiiiii" much like "I clobber evil" died on the fire with a last gutteral noise.

Hopefully bookending each other in terms of models with representations in their voices that haunt Dean and all.

-

Dean, unprompted, thanks Sam for getting him out of his funk and giving him an easy ghost hunt to win. I guess what 13x05 was supposed to be is what this actually turned out to be.

(Honestly, giving Davy episodes post-drama to let us all unwind is turning out to be an extremely good idea with 13x06 as well)

-

I am MAJORLY concerned about the time stamp on this episode. It better end in a few seconds and go to a full 3 minute trailer for Hell Hazers III or else.

-

"It was awesome!" "it wasn't really," says Sam, who burst into the room in time to see his brother pinned and choking

-

Sam moves on to confronting Dean with the concept of not just hiding in his room when they get back.

He gives Dean the "OI, CHEER UP" talk we've all been yelling at the screen. Good. Good Sammy.

Dean turns to the camera. "I'm never going to get over it. I'm just not."

Look, Sam, just because Dean stabbed Lucifer for you, and now you are sleeping without fear, doesn't mean everyone has that luxury :P

-"

elizabethrobertajones Oh dear, there's still 4 minutes left er I guess I keep watching .... *grimaces nervously*

mittensmorgul :D just watch it in context with the rest of the episode

elizabethrobertajones um what I didn't get far enough into what happens next to know what you mean so that's super ominous Sam is still psychoanalysing Dean in car NOW yo uhave me REALLY worried.

Hey, remember how I started this episode with a vague warning from Mittens? Why am I now getting the feeling that I still haven't watched whatever that was about?

-

"I'm not doing any good cooped up in my room. So whatever you need, I'm there." ("Chief"?)

-

"Alright, Chief?"

Oh, man. I'm turning into Dean.

-

Also Dean appears to have, finally, ceded power over to Sam. Again, the reversals of season 10 - Sam was put in this position of power he just was not ready to cope with and not with the stakes that were laid against him. But here, Dean might be driving the car but he's putting all the real power into Sam's hands.

-

elizabethrobertajones Is it why Sam hates Halloween because Dean turns out to have set an alarm on his watch to remind him to bug Sam about it again the intrigue you have spun is starting to get to me more than actually watching the episode :P

mittensmorgul oh gosh, I should've just kept my mouth shut. It was seriously just an innocent comment for a nice BM scene :P

-

I am more horrified about the concept of Sam telling an embarrassing story than I am about any amount of slasher and gore. Look, I can Not handle social squickiness and I love Sam and that is going to make this extremely hard to hear.

Dean's gonna love it though, I can tell.

-

Please. Protect. Sammy.

-

"It was soooo bad" he says with a haunted look of a man who has been tortured by the devil

-

Andrea's party got there first

-

"Next year, we're doing halloween right"

Oh no, don't you dare start talking like you're going to be alive and ready for a party next year, Dean Winchester. I will perish in your place to make it happen.

-

BAHAHA Dean coming up with matching outfits and suggests Bert and Ernie, before rejecting that one as too weird.

Yeah, you might not remember but we do

We are never going to let you live it down, in fact.

-

Also, listen, his mouth runs miles ahead of his brain, that was not suggestive until he realised it was and backtracked

-

You also can't go as Shaggy and Scooby unless you go to a party WITH them and they go as you and Sam

-

Thelma and Louise... Dean, stop.

Okay it's hilarious that Davy managed to get both Bert and Ernie and Thelma and Louise into this like... somewhere riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight deep down Dean's consciousness is putting things together. It doesn't remember half the shit he says, but like. Hey. Why ARE those two sets of on screen pairs connected, huh, Dean?

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Oh, whatever, he's just trying to annoy Sam now

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Nyoooom

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IT'S THE SECURITY GUARD

RUN, MAN, RUN

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Ew, I left it playing to type that and it told me to watch Legacies

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Well that was the one wrong note in this whole episode so I suppose something had to happen like that :P