#it kind of seems like a lot of people are simply committed to never paying for anything ever

[h0neyfreak]

Not to dropkick a hornets nest or anything but I think a lot of you have really lost the plot on the whole internet privacy thing.

[meowyn]

This method acting might pay our bills

1.7k words, enver gortash x the dark urge.

no smut! lots of kisses, fluffy kinda idk, durge constantly having inner monologues lol, heavily implied first kiss for durge.

It was often difficult for you to forget who you were, what you were. A wretched blade, stained with the blood of countless men, the strength of your faith so mighty that you could never be dulled no matter how many you slayed in the name of your God.

Only tonight, you were forgetting. Tonight, thoughts plagued your mind like flies around a rotting corpse. Thoughts of whom, you could never admit out loud.

Enver Gortash; the bane of your existence.

The Chosen of Bane being the source of your recent troubles was something you would have never predicted, the absurdity of the situation you now found yourself in was enough to make you want to claw out your eyes. Your hands twitched eargerly at the thought.

You found it hard to pinpoint exactly when this had started, perhaps when you met? Long nights spent creating ploys, yearning, drinking, and coming to understand one another better than anyone else blurred the lines. Before you knew it, you wanted less and less to see what grand artwork he would become in the name Bhaal and moreso the kind of faces he'd make fast asleep and safe in slumber. It didn't help that you found him sickeningly attractive.

Denying your affection for the man proved tedious. You had never bothered to learn how to act, let alone deny yourself of anything you wanted for this long, now painfully aware that you aren't even remotely talented at it. It was about time that you admitted to yourself that you felt more for him than petty admiration. However, to do so, you'd be committing your first sin against Father. Unbeknownst to you, the first sin of many. There would be no coming back after that.

"There you are, I've been looking for you." Spoke the devil himself, interrupting your train of thought as he sat down next to you.

You didn't bother answering him, choosing to continue staring out at the sea, which seemed to be further away now compared to when you were lost in your mind.

"What are you doing? I didn't have you pegged as the brooding type." Upon realizing you were in a fairly calm mood, he sat a little closer to you. If he noticed the way you tensed, he didn't comment on it.

"I'm not.." The words died in your throat, making you frown. When you spoke again, you found your tone had adopted a softness wholly foreign to you, "I'm people watching, as they call it."

He studied your face for a moment, before following your gaze down to the shoreline. He hummed in amusement when he saw what you were looking at, civilians of all kinds simply going about their daily lives. For a moment, he wondered wether you envied them, then remembered who you were. You noticed this seemed to surprise him with the way he looked back at you, the slight upturn of his lips indicated that he was considering teasing you about it, but he never did. It both pleased and frustrated you immensely, knowing how he'd take your feelings into consideration before he acted, despite never thinking you had any yourself. You silently hoped this was some scheme of his, that he was manipulating you like he had so many others, so that you could have a reason to want to kill him.

"..Why?" Your hopes were quickly snuffed out at his curiosity and the gentleness of which he spoke, making your chest tighten.

"All of them are so small, so insignificant, and yet.." You don't continue that thought, your tone betraying your melancholy, "They look happy enough, don't they?"

Your anemoia didn't go unnoticed by him, but the sense of finality to your last sentence indicated you didn't want to talk about it further, so he left it alone. Gods forbid he invoke your wrath here, where he had finally got you all to himself to talk to you as he wished.

You watch out the corner of your eye as he unwraps a small package he had taken from his pocket, revealing an assortment of sliced fruits. When he notices your gaze, he offers you some. Then he chuckles when your nose wrinkles and you shake your head.

"You don't like them? I thought you did, you ate all the fruit at the table during our last meeting."

"They're sour, I don't like those ones."

"Ah." He nods quietly, wrapping them back up and putting them in his pocket, "Apologies, I'll keep that in mind."

If you looked, which you do, you'd notice how his hair looked a little messier than usual and that he appeared to have just come from the baths based on the slight flush of colour on his cheeks. From here, you could feel how warm he was and the subtle scent of soap invaded your senses. You figured it couldn't hurt, so you moved closer so that your shoulders brushed together, all while staring back out to the sea intently.

"Why were you looking for me?" You ask after a short while.

"I wanted to see you." He says, as though it was obvious. Open with his affection while simultaneously keeping his cards close to his chest, which was so typical of him.

"What for? A cuddle?" You respond with sarcasm, grinning at him as though the idea was foolish. A warning, really. You could slit his throat right here and he wouldn't be able to do much about it. You then frowned, closing your eyes temporarily as the urge took delight in that thought.

"Tempting.." He mutters, taking your hand slowly. You take a measured breath and when you open your eyes again, he's smiling at you fondly.

You hum quietly in agreement, curling in on yourself in shame. You'd apologize to Father properly later, but right now you needed to let him know how you felt, even through an action so small. The guilt would surely eat you alive, it was already starting to, settling uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach whilst a repulsive warmth crept up your spine, seeping into the cracks of your blackened heart with unadulterated vengeance. The only thing keeping you from baring your teeth, from tearing skin from bone, from giving in to your vicious indulgence as a pathetic attempt to escape the confusing feelings swarming your brain and suffocating you was something as mundane as him squeezing your hand.

How cruel, you thought, to have to live alongside Enver Gortash and not be allowed to love him freely.

All it took was one last look into his eyes, and that delicate thread that held you both in your respective places snapped. With newfound vigor, he surged forward and kissed you, determined and desperate to take from you whatever you'd allow. After half a minute or so, as if remembering himself, he eased back to take in your expression, preparing himself to face your fury and be annihilated.

However, the sight before him now made his knees weak, yet not with fear. You were a beauty. Glossy lips parted as you caught your breath, eyes wide and dazed, and the most charming tinge of pink across your face. So incredibly precious, he couldn't withhold the satisfied chuckle that escaped him.

"What?" You frowned, trying to decipher what was so amusing to him, though that only served to make him laugh more, the sound coming from deep within his chest.

"Oh, my dear assassin.." His laughter died down, but the mirth in his eyes did not, "You will surely be the cause of my ruin."

"Don't be foolish." You hissed, fingers snaking into the hair at his nape and pulling him to you to kiss him once more, this urge more ravenous than the one that calls you to slaughter. All lips and teeth colliding, you greedily grab at his hair and tug, urging him to give you more of whatever this was.

"Easy.." He murmured, nudging your noses together as his arm curled around you and brought you closer to him, "Not so harsh."

You felt his hand cup your jaw, thumb swiping across your cheek, the action calming you as you loosened your grip on him. All you knew was harsh. You were bred to make the world bleed. This was new, this was frightening, a tenderness so unknown to you that it shattered every perception of mortal relationships you had spent your entire life building.

He kissed you once softly, then twice as though he could sense your unease.

"It's alright, you know," He said as his palm smoothed circles into your back, "That you don't know what you're doing."

You opened your mouth immediately to protest, then scowled upon realizing it would be pointless, he was right. Your method acting thus far had been excellent, flawless even, so much so that it was to the point where when it came to anything else, you were at a loss.

"Do you truly believe I'm capable of more?" You ask, your voice a little less than a whisper.

"I do. Do you?"

He replied, without missing a beat.

You didn't know. Being more than an executioner was never something you had thought about. You didn't even think yourself capable of such thoughts until he came along, with all of his wonderful ideas and genius inventions, sparking new inspiration in your mind. Father would not approve. Gortash brought forth temptation, guilt and a new feeling that bubbled away, warm and dizzying in your veins, making it hard to care about anything else.

You didn't wish to think on it anymore, so you shut your eyes and took the liberty of tucking your head under his chin, both of you sitting there in silence for a while longer. For once, your mind was quiet.

"How did you manage to get up here?" Your question almost breaks the peaceful atmosphere, but you continue on, "I hadn't thought you were all that athletic."

"Not to worry, I'll be sure to change your persuasion in time." You could hear the amusement plain in his tone, he was teasing you. As soon as your head snapped toward him, giving him an incredulous look, he could only start laughing.

[eerna]

I will never forgive Holly Black for treating Taryn like that 😭 As far as I know at first she was surprised that people hated Taryn, but it seems like with time she gave up and started disliking her as well. That's so unfair bc 99% of tfota characters are selfish and violent to others, but when it comes to Taryn, people expect her to behave differently. And also let's talk about giving her karma moment in TPT, that was sooo odd since there are a lot of characters who committed worse crimes and deserve the punishment but from Holly's pov it's better to let Taryn suffer and BLAMING herself in what has happened with the Ghost. That's wild because some how killing your abusive husband who already made your life hell and would probably ruin your child's life is smth you should pay for in THAT way

So for others it's normal to kill and be mean, but for Taryn it's not? 🥴

Just wanted to hear your thoughts, bc I don't remember if anyone's really discussed her fate in TPT

I think I already talked about it back when the book first came out, but I don't mind repeating myself~

I agree 100%, Taryn was present and had whole character arcs in books 1 and 2 and then in book 3 she got pregnant and became Jude's cheerleader and that was it for her. In the TSH duology she is just there in the background, hating on Cardan and taking care of her son and being nice, and it's absolutely obvious that HB either lost interest or decided to give the people what they want. I think it's insane that Oak had a whole relationship arc with the Ghost, which hurt because he was Taryn's lover and part of the family, and Taryn just. Straight up wasn't even a part of it. She just laments over the Ghost's fate and then we hear she feels personally responsible from a second-hand source. I think her suffering was definitely there to punish her, but not for Locke's death (bc literally no one in the books OR in our world blames her for that, Oak straight up follows it with "yeah that's not true because we all would have been punished way worse ages ago" lmao), it was to make her more sympathetic out of context. If she is crying and saying this is divine retribution for the bad things she's done, the readers who hate her can feel satisfied, as one of the biggest issues they have with her is that she was never "punished" for her crimes in the original trilogy. Here's to hoping it's the prelude of a Taryn solo adventure where she has to go on a quest to save her cursed tree lover.

I also think you mentioned an interesting point about the expectations people have for Taryn being different from the expectations they have for other characters, because that's also featured in TPT! At one point Oak straight up says he feels Taryn's betrayal stung more than Jude or Madoc's despite all three having done the same thing, simply because he always thought of her as kind-hearted and gentle. I believe HB is very aware what her readers think and want and adjusts her content in a conversation with them, no matter what she says in interviews.

[georgegraphys]

Ari's PR/sponsor/managerial yaps! (Disclaimer: i'm just an enthusiast, a bored fan. I'm not a professional, actively learning about this for my own career so take this lightly)

Last year, a lot of people were concerned about Monster Energy exiting Mercedes. A lot of people were concerned and immediately got blamey-blamey on George regarding what happened (insert "oh that tory twink will chase out all merc sponsors ewww" kind of shit)

I honestly think that Monster Energy leaving is not something to worry because:

-We're not like the Yamaha Monster Energy MotoGP team, they're not TITLE sponsors. They're just like any other Mercedes sponsors. They've been there since the beginning but their presence doesn't really define what Mercedes is because Mercedes doesn't brand Monster Energy clearly unlike Yamaha on MotoGP. Mercedes' title sponsor is Petronas and I would've worried a LOT if they left because Petronas and Mercedes have a strong connection in F1. Mercedes has always been defined with the Petronas green and they've branded themselves with Petronas' colour for years so it'll create a significant impact on the brand image. But Monster Energy? Not really.

-I've speculated about Monster Energy leaving tbh? Since when I did my research for my GR63 paper, I've noticed that GR did campaigns for most of the sponsors but I never saw a ME campaign on his instagram (except that one soft selling campaign of George drinking from ME bottle then tagging them) as I did my research nor he follows ME's acc too (joked with my friend on how he doesn't follow ME but follows RB Energy Drink lmaooo). Dk what happens but guess they just don't click (image/brand rep wise) or simply don't have time to work w/ each other? (Do tell me if ME collaborated with George in the past)

Why did they leave?

Mostly the reason, other than drivers' vibes/image/brandjng would be either rules and regulations changes in the contract or financial matters. I've heard someone mentioning Mercedes is putting some expensive prices for brands to put their logos on their liveries/team kit.

(more on the reasons regarding sponsorship dynamics in Mercedes here)

Each team demands $$$ from their sponsor as an agreement. Those $$$ can raise as the team valuations raise. Mercedes might demand a lot of money as they are one of the biggest teams in F1. They could demand a lot that only a small percentage could afford and would pay for it and in this case ME might not see it as worth it. For example: Petronas started with a $30M deal in 2010 and they now allegedly paid $65M-75M a year to be the title partner of Mercedes and Tommy Hilfiger allegedly paid ±$4M a year.

Conclusion : It is very normal for sponsors to come and go even though Mercedes seems to commit to long-term sponsors more. But it is not something to be concerned about except if it were about a principal/title sponsor of years or even decades leaving the team. So there is nothing to worry about. As we enter Georgecedes era, sponsor/PR/comms dynamics in Mercedes will shift a little to fit in George's branding (as he is going to be the number one driver)

[manabombs]

omg @queer-crusader vampirates being mentioned by someone other than me 🥲 i’d been considering making a post about this for a while but wasn’t sure how many people were even paying attention…

State of the Vampirates Address

I initially started with the idea of Charles Vane returning from the dead as a vampire & turning Jack into a vampire*, and found the concept way more compelling than my usual vampire nonsense, so it spiraled out from there.

*Jack obviously wants to turn Anne into a vampire also but she's like "I can't be your vampire bride Jack" so they have to negotiate their relationship around all that

I ended up going in the direction of Buffy Crossover because I thought of D'Hoffryn offering Flint the opportunity to become a vengeance demon (like Anya, but specializing in vengeance against the British Empire. It has kept him very busy for the past 300 years.) Then I had the notion of him eventually meeting Buffy, which is a plotline I spent a lot of time trying to develop and not a lot of time actually writing.

I struggled more with what I wanted to do with Silver; there were a couple different possibilities I considered but I never fully committed to anything. I think there are some compelling parallels between him & Faith though.

Before I get deeper into explaining wtf was going on with my Black Sails/BtVS crossover, I should probably explain why it's indefinitely shelved: When I decided to make a big fanfic out of this concept, I knew that I was envisioning something overambitious that I would probably never finish writing, but it always existed in relation to my Original Novel concept that I've been Trying To Write for ages, but had fallen into a rut with. Buffy had been one of my major inspirations way back when I originally conceived of these characters as a teenager, but over the years I had reworked the project over and over again, getting further & further away from that. Working on this crossover project allowed me to figure out a lot about what aspects of these shows compel me so much in the first place.

I started working on this in late 2019-early 2020…. so at a certain point I was given motivation to simply throw myself full force into this project, even if it ultimately just resulted in me churning out about 65k of self-indulgent super niche fic that was only intended to be Act 1 out of ??. The more I worked on it, the longer the project seemed, the more I wanted to completely rework everything that I had already written… which was way more work than I want to put into fanfic, sorry.

Anyway, at some point I began to feel Inspired to work on my original fiction, which was kind of was I was hoping for the whole time. I've been making great progress on that, and at some point I just went and made the chapters of crossover fic that I had published on AO3 set to private, since I'm not satisfied with them and have no idea if I will ever work on that again…. I've taken plot elements that were really Working for me and reworked them for my own fiction purposes… I've considered working on some one-shots in the future though.

More rambling about details from the shelved Black Sails/Buffy project:

There was a point in the development process where I decided that I needed way more female characters, and since this crossover was already incredibly niche, I decided to make it even MORE alienating by making it a crossover with the show Harlots also. It fit nicely into the timeline, since it takes place shortly after Angel got turned into a vampire & caused all sorts of problems in the British Isles, so I decided that a couple of my favorite characters from Harlots got turned into vampires in the aftermath of that.

Max Blacksails started dabbling in magic using books that Jack & Charles had stolen. My original concept for Anne was also related to her gravitating towards witchcraft-- I liked the image of her telekinetically controlling knives like Willow does at various points in BtVS, developing these abilities after her hands were injured. But I've become increasingly drawn towards the idea of werewolf Anne… at first I wasn't sure how she would even end up getting turned into a werewolf, but tbh it's kind of funny to me to think that she would just fuck off on her own one day and somehow contract lycanthropy, and not bother to explain to anyone how it happened.

I had vague outlines of a Max/Anne/Willow situation, in which Willow has drawn too much attention to herself as a witch after performing the spell to empower a bunch of new Slayers.

Eleanor got reincarnated and is the head of the reformed Watcher's Council. I initially did this because I hate the trope of "vampire's long lost love interest got reincarnated", so I had some notion of subverting it… this ultimately resulted in me coming to the conclusion that Eleanor should have a threesome with Charles & Jack. I have said this about like half the characters in Black Sails, so I really should have expected it.

There was also some self-indulgent Spike/Xander stuff going on. I just think the idea of them interacting with Jack is funny okay. I don't have to explain myself. If you want to know thebn you should have been there.

[romilly-jay]

Never Work With Animals (Or - Do? If You Want To? /// Still Trying To Let People Like What They Like... Why So Difficult?)

*** spoilers ***

Sorry, but this one needs to be a spoiler blog because it's a trying-to-figure-out-why blog. I know there's something I'm reaching towards but not quite sure whether I'll be able to express it - yet.

I've just seen 2023's Puppy Love on Amazon and - I really liked it. Not all of it. But tone - YES. Trying to figure out WHY. Like, specifically, what choices did they make that just fell DEAD RIGHT for me?

NB for the title image, I've chosen the cheaty Seattle skyline shot - chosen because I think Seattle is my favourite US city and cheaty bcz a glance at IMDB told me that of course they filmed in Canada. Obvs.

Here's a lil montage of stills from the trailer. Thank you trailer because once again you have more or less all the best bits. Not all. But many.

In no particular order, I liked:

Gender reversing of the main character traits - he's super nervous, she's commitment-shy, he's obsessively house-proud, she's a slob.

They are flawed but not obnoxious. They are both kind to animals. He complains because she stuck him with the vet's bill, but no, next time they meet, she pays him for half of it. She goes out hurt because she thinks he's rejected him and yes, she has too much to drink but she absolutely doesn't make out with the (terrible) rich guy to lose herself or to get back at him. And when she brings Terrible Guy home, it's NOT because she's planning to heedlessly or vengefully make out with him but because she wanted to keep her promise about taking the dogs for a walk. I really dislike the // let's lie / let's be terrible people // "romance" tropes and appreciate that these people were sweet but just a bit broken in sort of opposite ways.

The stakes are not huge but not ridiculous. He's in a spiral after Covid and struggling to make himself go back to the office. He needs to get past social phobia to cope with his ordinary job-life. She is doing the archetypical romcom job (she stages luxury homes) but that job almost never appears on screen - it's given about the right amount of relevance - and what matters more is the path she didn't take (art school) and the reason she didn't take it (bereavement).

After the showdown. They. Talked. To. Each. Other. OMG. Thank you.

[There was a little bit of slightly weirdo editing in the after-they-reconciled section which suggested to me that maybe the order of how things played out was switched around and they didn't have QUITE enough of the right footage in the can to make it 100% smooth. I might be making that up - just a little hint of failing to remember that they'd done the bust-up/move-out/reconcile/back cycle a mere matter of moments earlier (for viewers, that is). ]

I appreciate the carefully chosen in-unison use of the F-word at the climactic moment. They're nice people but they're not pushovers. This felt earned and it showed them being connected and aligned. Worked for me. Lots about this movie worked for me.

Things that didn't work (for me). The male MC's Black BF/boss was IMO written to be trite and unfunny, stereotypical and presumably thankless to play. Gives terrible dating advice but later, this paradoxically seems to work for him. Is constantly warning the male MC that he's about to be fired - but that never pays off. Supposedly he's the guy's manager but the status tells never ring true.

The female MC also has a POC best friend (two, but the second one is really only allowed to be there to fill out the table in the bar scenes). She's under-used but at least better written than her story counterpart and I think there's at least one scene where she's not simply there to talk about men (but, counterpoint, she absolutely never gets to talk about her own life - only her friend's issues...).

Bridgerton - which I stalk from the side-lines as opposed to actually watching - does 1000% better at giving Real Roles to non-white cast (even if the cast world of Bridgerton is still far from fully blended).

Back on the topic of things that work or don't work according to one's own framing / tastes / preferences - personally, I felt an instant, unforced, heart-lift of happiness at the reveal that they've gender-swapped Michael Stirling for Michaela in Francesca's story.

It makes sense to me, it sits well with me, it's a way forward into the story that I actually feel *more* happy with than the original. I'm in no doubt that not everyone feels that way and okay, some people think it's a bad solution. Possibly it's a purist thing rather than a bigotry thing (??) and of course I've never really been able to connect with the pitchforks brigade - like, not just on this specifically, but in general - the Not My [conception of the source character] gang.

Okay, you have a different vision for the story or you'd made up in your head that it would be told in a particular way or - sigh. I'm tired. That's great that you like it to be that way. Let the rest of us enjoy exploring this way of telling the story and if you don't like it - that's really okay. I don't need to insist that you like it. Go, read the book?

Finally, little shoutout to The Guardian for their coverage of B3 pt2. No, they didn't wade into the debate / mudslinging around the hottie topic of Can We Accept The Francesca Storyline Being Queered.

They went for a different hottie topic - length of ahem intimacy scenes. Again haven't watched it, but understand that everyone who follows Bridgerton is aware by now that there's a LONG scene in episode 5-of-8 (i.e. the first of Part Two). Apparently Billie Piper has a longer - of this type - scene in the excellent Everybody Hates Suzie (which I've also - not seen) - although it's, as the cancelled Woody Allen once put it, "sex with someone I love", and the scene lasts as long as it does because it's the framing for a series of flashbacks.

I enjoyed the journo making jokes about their internet search history being trashed forever and the gossipy lil anecdotes about commuters finding out the up close and personal way that this viewing is NSFT (not suitable for travel). More to the point - on the topic I've been *trying* to explore, above - the article defends the Polin sex as being appropriate and necessary to the story. Moves the relationship along. Builds the storyline. Shows C and P learning something relevant about what they mean to each other, who they can be together.

Hmmm, okay, so, retrofitting that idea - I think I have round-about-ed my way into understanding what frustrates me about these sweet lil stories when they DON'T work for me...

The whole point of romcom is two lonely hearts finding solace and satisfaction in each other - I find that for me (personal thing) I sort of need to want those hearts to be happy. I thought I was anti the "chaos girl" trope. I'm not. I'm anti the "this is a terrible person but I'm supposed to hope that they end up happy even if they are obnoxious and psychopathic for 80% of the story" trope.

Unfortunately for my ability to suspend disbelief for 98% of Hallmark-type romances - I can't take the "problem" seriously. Yes, I understand that you are highly motivated to get a promotion. No, I can't really get on board with the idea that throwing a great party is going to be the decider. I think it's more likely to be, you know, meeting your targets consistently. Hitting those project KPIs. Booking the client business (no, not this one book launch - the entire runway). The stakes are too trivial/small but treated as large. Rightsizing the reactions to the amount of action the plot and budget has room for - totally different matter. We want to throw a great party because we're leaving town and it would be nice to leave on a good note. I want to get into college but other options are out there if I don't make it. Am I doing this wrong? I thought Puppy Love got the stakes pretty much bang on. I extra loved that her big work success was almost irrelevant in the overall story arc.

And now we're at the biggest pet peeve - the makes-no-sense misunderstanding that keeps the couple apart for one extra act. Nobody could possible misunderstand the other person in that egregious way (at least, not if they are in fact supposed to be perfect for each other). He's talking to his ex. Perhaps it's innocent or there's a reasonable explanation? She looks sad, so she can't be into me. OMG. Talk. To. Each. Other. Or. Die. Single. My God.

And breathe. Cool, okay. Thanks. Good chat. I learned something.

[mmriesoftvat]

it's  at  times  like  this  when  ren  seems  to  think  he's  more  subtle  than  he  actually  is.  his  back  is  to  kami,  but  the  line  of  his  shoulders  is  too  tense  to  be  anything  but  unnatural.  fingers  curl  around  a  cup  of  tea  —  still  warm,  with  delicate  swirls  of  steam  drifting  from  its  contents.  he  seems  more  interested  in  holding  it  with  white-knuckled  grip  than  he  does  taking  a  drink.

❝  i  have  a  thought  experiment  for  you.  ��  the  wanderer  says.  he  speaks  up  so  suddenly  it's  a  bit  jarring.  ❝  imagine  there's  a  person  who  holds  a  significant  role  in  your  life.  someone  who  has  managed  to  become ...  important,  despite  your  better  judgement.  ❞  his  expression  twists;  a  vague  look  of  self-disgust.  he  feels  ashamed  by  his  own  lack  of  subtlety  —  but  it's  not  the  kind  of  question  he  can  pose  with  any  degree  of  tact.  ❝  they  want  to  make  a  commitment  to  you  that  isn't  exactly  easy  to  go  back  on ...  however,  there's  certain  matters  regarding  your  past  they  still  aren't  privy  to  —  and  if  they  find  out,  it's  likely  they  will  never  look  at  you  the  same.  it  may  even  ruin  the  life  you've  built  in  its  entirety.  ❞

he  already  knows  the  answer.  he  simply  needs  to  hear  it  from  someone  with  the  same  gruesome  memories;  an  echo  of  the  words  he  keeps  telling  himself.  ❝  what  do  you  do?  ❞

it's hard to tell what's on ren's mind these days. more often than not, he's off doing his own thing, leaving kami to his own devices. which kami doesn't MIND, since kami has his own life to live. or whatever is left of said life. it's hard to rebuild the broken bits and pieces when he doesn't really have anyone to turn to, but he's long since accepted that lot in life. he'd CHOSEN it.

he's spacing out currently, staring through ren's back and PROBABLY off into space, thoughts vaguely around the life of sumeru and what he SHOULD be doing instead of sitting here, when ren's voice snaps him out of his stupor. with a couple of blinks, kami tries to redirect his thoughts back to to the conversation -- it sounds important.

a significant person -- kami has no idea what that would feel like. he's never really had time to go off and meet anyone, though he's aware ren has. with the corners of his lips twitching downward, kami shuffles closer, wondering what exactly he's supposed to say, or even how to RESPOND to this conversation. this is a topic far beyond him. perhaps ren doesn't have anyone else to actually come to about this?

it's when ren finishes his thoughts that kami sits back, resting his elbows on his knees. his initial thoughts had been correct; kami is NOT EQUIPPED to handle this kind of conversation. for starters, he has no idea what a healthy relationship is supposed to look like, and he's never been the kind of person to dole out advice like this.

"i'm not sure," kami finally responds. "if you've made an agreement," kami knows very well what ren meant by COMMITMENT, but kami can't understand those terms. he'll use terms he does understand. "-a contract, really, then you should honor it by being honest with this person."

the vague hints toward their shared past have kami biting down on his tongue. he knows all too well how much of a pain that specific bout of history had been, how PAINFUL it still is to think about. "would you want to know the truth about someone you've established rapport with?" kami asks in turn. "regardless of how devastating the news would be? were i in their shoes, or in your situation, i'd want to know. whatever my reaction after said news is on my shoulders."

he shrugs then, shaking off any negativity. "that's the price we pay for building bonds with people, ren. they get to know us, both positive and negative. we can't erase or escape our past, and anyone who learns of it is going to have to accept that we're..." he trails off, hesitation in his eyes.

"...flawed."

kami falls silent after that, glancing down at the forgotten tea resting next to him. it's cooler now, and probably no longer as DELICIOUS as it could have been.

"sorry i couldn't be more help to you."

[daveinediting]

I was gonna say that careers in my neck of the woods are subject to a lot of perception. A lot of preferences and assumptions. But I'm gonna guess that my industry and ones adjacent to it aren't the only ones susceptible to the way things look.

To be clear, central to my observation is the never ending struggle between perception and reality. Against which nothing and no one is immune.

In the story that was relayed to me, a group of young people were paying their dues working at a recording studio. They started at the bottom and did everything and anything that was needed... everything and anything that was asked for... and everything and anything that was about to be requested.

They were fast learners, quick on their feet, and passionate about the work they were doing. They were being paid to learn and do what they loved. They were living... the dream.

One day, a producer came in with a big project for the studio. Everyone was excited to be working on the project.

Except.

The producer requested a new crew. An experienced crew. An established crew.

Not the one that had learned their craft from the ground up at this studio.

So a new crew was brought in. At which point, the crew that had been working hard, biding their time for years, went to the head of the studio and asked: When’s is gonna be our time?

The immediate answer, of course, is that an established crew was requested by the client. End of story.

Further consideration, though, was problematic. Because if the crew was being seen as less than for just being the house crew regardless of their hard earned skill and experience... there really was no point in staying.

I don't know if they all left right then or if it was days, weeks, or a month... but leave they all did. Continuing their hard work and building successful careers elsewhere. Far from the perceptions that once held them back.

This was all once upon a time, of course. It happened so long ago that they laugh off the experience.

However. 

It's hard for me to see it that way because it seems like a professionally existential experience especially when you look at it through the lens of starting a career you're passionate about. It's hard for me to laugh it off like that because even from this distance it seems exquisitely personal. And it's hard for me not to be taken back by the patent unfairness of what happened even as I tell you that's how the world works.

Sometimes.

Maybe often.

My point being that it's important to judge the circumstances into which we commit our time and ability... as well as the people into whose hands we commit our careers. Especially as a picture of what we want from our careers comes into focus. Because once it does, that insight absolutely excludes certain professional circumstances. That insight absolutely excludes certain personalities whether they be worker bees, admin, or the CEO.

To take a page from management, hey. It's not personal. It's just business. The business of my career. Of yours.

Now, much like my early impressions about the practice of networking, characterizing a career as a practice of business also sounds artificial. It's certainly a cold view of the world. What it is, really, is a way of figuring out, as quickly as possible, where you don't belong. Because there are plenty of places, plenty of people who are simply not a fit. There's nothing wrong with acknowledging that reality. In fact, it's crazymaking to not acknowledge that reality. It would be like staying in a toxic relationship. Ish. 

Let's also keep right at the forefront of our minds the kind of environment in which we want to land and the kind of people with whom we want to live out our passions.

That's not nothing, by the way. It's a Life. A good one, a great one when you're surrounded by a group of friends in the same industry, with the same passions, pursuing the same goals. It's amazing when each and every one of you is invested in the success of the other, thereby making each other better with each day and each project..

It absolutely makes a difference and it's definitely life changing if this isn't what your career feels like or has never felt like. 

So yeah. It is fair to judge the quality of your work environment and the people you work with... with the express objective of figuring out where you don't belong. It is fair to not like this experience or those people on your way to figuring out where you belong.

In the end, it's not the job itself that makes your career, it's the job and the people you work with and for.

So getting those three elements rightly aligned is well worth the effort of gauging your every step along the path to that career.

Amen.

[onigiri-dorkk]

Fair point! I guess I and others interpret it moreso that, yes, he went for a 100% Rumbling technically, but allowed himself to be stopped at 80% — the Alliance stops him, but Eren (who reveals his intentions later that he wanted them to be heroes and live long lives) practically allows them to. I think Eren put himself in the position where he wanted to go as far as possible to essentially force the Alliance aka his friends to kill him so that they could be heroes of the world and be safe. He went for 100% but allowed himself to be stopped at 80%, but most people simply say he committed a 80% rumbling.

I also agree there hasn’t been a ton of deviation yet to say this kind of original ending is for sure happening for AOT — FFVII has some set up that is explicit, whereas if it happens for AOT it is in details that aren’t totally spelled out for viewers who aren’t actively paying attention, therefore they still just remain theories. There is a possibility, too, even if theories are right and Isayama was planning for the timeline/original ending from the start, that producers abandon the idea for some reason. I think what a lot of people are banking on is deviation at the very end — where Eren is killed, but actually lives. Then some sort of original end ensues.

In FFVII Remake Part 1, it ends with the squad defying and veering away from all that was leading to the original fate from OG, and the final scene of the game says: “The Unknown Journey Continues…” (Gives a little of the same vibe as Isayama writing “The battle has only begun…” at the final thank you card of his manga.) But tactfully having a story practically go through the flow as expected, only to make it have a divergence point where from that point on anything can happen is actually super exciting.

(Side note, some believe that Anime Eren will utilize the tactic that Reiner uses to distribute his consciousness away from his head in order to survive beheading. It seemed like such a cop out move from Reiner, only for it to be never used or explored again. If Eren were to want to survive now, he would absolutely use every possible means to survive, including using every survival method he’s learned from enemies the way he adapted Annie’s fighting techniques, etc. On yet another side note… There is one big reason why people theorize Eren will want to be free, and it circles around him unintentionally making a Vow to wrap the scarf around Mikasa “as many times as you want” when he makes contact with Titan Dina… And this Vow, like the Vow Renouncing War, comes into effect in many ways. I’ll have to make a detailed post about this someday!)

My concern is the same as yours, that even if they were to go through with an original ending like this, personally I’m afraid of them not having enough literal screen time to explain things well or clearly, especially if what we get is just a 40 minute episode like the last Part. (I’m still lowkey hoping it’s an actual movie length!!!) But I can still see them going through with it to the end, because the consistent things that seem to be foreshadowing is too much to not be intentional, but that’s just a personal opinion.

In the end, I want OTP to live and be happy post-war and my heart needs that ending 😭

Attack on Titan AOE vs. Final Fantasy VII Remake/Rebirth Parallels

Alright fam. This is my ultimate multi-fandom post! This will go out to fellow AOT x FFVII fans -- especially those who have been looking into the AOT/ANR theories regarding AOE.

Obviously there will be heavy spoilers for both Attack on Titan as well as for Final Fantasy VII (OG and Remake).

Recently I've dived into the theory and lore to FFVII and a LOT of it lines up with what's been theorized for AOT regarding different medias being different timelines for one entire story:

For AOT, the manga is theorized to be a different timeline than the anime.

For FFVII, the original game (OG) is now officially implied to be a different parallel timeline than the current Remake.

In AOT, Eren and Paradis Island's fate from the Manga ending is death, that Paradis is still destroyed despite everything he does to prevent that. In the Manga, he reaches 80% Rumbling and then dies by Mikasa's hands; a sacrifice he was willing to make in order to allow Mikasa, Armin and friends to be heroes and live long lives (which they do) and for Paradis to survive -- however the cycle of hatred still continues on when Paradis is bombed, negating most of what he acted towards.

Before I get into this next part, let me also mention that the Cabin dream is implied to be a previous or parallel timeline -- in this, we see Eren die; his eyes slowly close, fading to black to his peaceful death as Mikasa says, "See you later, Eren..." which directly reflects the beginning pages of the manga of the moments and words he sees just before he wakes up underneath the tree. In other words, when Eren dies in Cabin timeline, he awakens to what we know to be the Manga timeline. It's a peaceful wakeup, sitting up against the tree as he had been sitting at the Cabin during death. He doesn't cry -- he only wonders why Mikasa's hair was long (because when he saw her last in Cabin timeline, her hair was short). Then the manga story ensues, leading up to his inevitable death by Mikasa beheading him -- a violent, gruesome death in the Manga...

...To which he wakes up in the Anime, in fright and shock, laying down on the ground with his head laying directly where Mikasa had laid his headstone in the Manga post-war, as if he'd just woken from his violent death in manga.

This is very similar to what is actually happening (not just theorizing) with FFVII right now.

In the original (OG) game, Aerith is killed by Sephiroth while trying to save Midgar/the world from Meteor destruction, then her soul is essentially absorbed into the Lifestream. In the end, Cloud defeats Sephiroth (who also goes into Lifestream), but in the process, Midgar is still completely destroyed by the Meteor as it was too late to completely save everything, even if the rest of the world was saved.

There are already some parallels here:

Rumbling = Meteor. The world is saved, but still experienced mass destruction. Lifestream = somewhat like Paths, allowing people to transcend time/space/etc.

However a big thing paralleling AOT theories is that the FFVII OG game ends with Aerith (remember, she was killed), surrounded by Lifestream energy, closing her eyes... Then the Remake game opening with Aerith, surrounded by Lifestream energy, opening her eyes as it leads to the new game unfolding.

Aerith woke up in a new timeline.

And there is plenty of evidence throughout the Part I that shows that she knows what is fated to happen based on the OG game/previous timeline:

She knows details about Cloud even though he didn't share/she acts like she already knows him well.

She gives him a flower because he's a 'special' customer, and says that the flower is a symbol for when lovers reunite.

She knew that the Plate would fall and destroy Sector 7, even though Tifa and Cloud were doubtful, but she couldn't tell them. (Tifa: "Aerith... What are you not telling me?")

She knew Tifa wanted her to save Marlene, even before Tifa even said it

In the special cut scene between Cloud and Aerith, she tells him with sadness that everyone dies eventually. And she advises Cloud to never fall in love with her (because she knows how that tragically ended in the original). She KNOWS she's fated to die.

And these are ALL differences from the OG game -- Aerith didn't have any of these reactions, dialogue, thoughts, sentiments before. She is implied to be operating in Remake with the knowledge of how things ended before: that she would be killed, that Midgar would still be destroyed, that Sephiroth would still be alive.

Except this time, with all that knowledge of OG fate, Aerith is now trying to actively veer things away from the tragic fate and destiny laid out before them. (Side note, Whispers are also game-original and are trying to reel things back to fate/destiny. Also, Sephiroth, being part of Lifestream from OG, is also operating with the knowledge that he failed in the OG. Like Aerith, Sephiroth is trying to change destiny.)

And if that isn't enough yet to convince you that it's a different FFVII timeline... ZACK IS ALIVE. They show him make it out of the battle that killed him before. It is an entirely new journey. (I will cry if/when Zack and Aerith reunite)

Now we circle around right back to AOT.

Like Aerith, Anime Eren is theorized to know how things ended in the Manga: his death, Paradis' destruction, etc. He gained this knowledge when he kissed Historia's hand (in both anime and manga), gaining access to memories of the future... and of the past. But not just memories of the Anime timeline. Founding Titan Eren is interconnected with Paths, the way Aerith is to Lifestream, both of which surpass time itself, as we've seen with Eren/Zeke traveling through his memories. (There's a lot of imagery alluding to Manga art intertwined with Anime, but that's a sub-sub-sub-theory)

There is also a side theory that Aerith transferred memories to Red XIII (as she pressed her hand to his forehead upon meeting) because he was already most attuned to the Lifestream itself, and he becomes her aid almost. Likewise, there is a fun theory regarding Eren using Falco as a messenger/Falco receives memories from Eren (which is why in Anime, Falco recalls memories of 'flying around with swords'... Which couldn't have come from Ymir Freckles. You can only see memories once you HAVE the Titan shifter; Falco at the beginning of S4E1 was still just Falco. Falco has also already been used as a messenger of Eren's letters. Falco is also one of the most neutral characters who shows empathy and understanding of both sides. He is a special character. If AOE happens as theorized, many think Falco will play an important role)

Now there is a certain tragic ending that we think Isayama has been alluding to for forever. I'm not gonna say it here because some of you will get triggered over attachment to certain characters/ships and whatnot. But the core of it is that we think Eren is going to do things very differently to change the fate and destiny -- that maybe, instead of choosing others over his freedom, instead of only committing 80% Rumbling (leaving enough people to lead to the demise of Paradis)... Maybe Eren will even choose his freedom this time via 100% rumbling, etc.

Honestly, who knows! There may be an entirely new ending that's the best of both worlds for every single fan. (...Sarcastic, though, because not everyone can or will be pleased. Even for FFVII, OG purists are frustrated by it veering off.)

I do not believe AOT Anime is going to end the same way the Manga did even if I have reasons for wanting it to stay the same (y'all know me and why I would NOT want it to end different; there are special scenes between my OTP I need to see, especially post-war) but it's because we've seen many consistent things throughout the anime -- through the story, dialogue, recurring imagery, etc. all for a separate detailed post -- that Isayama could have potentially been foreshadowing since 2013 towards a new ending.

"What's the lie? What's the truth?"

The fact that Tetsuya Nomura (maker of FFVII) is already doing this meta-narrative of having one media/game being an entirely different timeline than the original content is SO cool, and affirms that if Isayama is pulling this same stunt, it's not because of fans trying to riot and change an ending, but because that's... well, that's what could've been planned from the start, and because it's a really unique storytelling technique that would elevate a work by making many pieces come together as one, singular, consistent story in a brilliant way.

Obviously there's no IRL link between FFVII and AOT, but again, Nomura doing this makes it less crazy and more probably for another Japanese mastermind storyteller to do this, too. (And I won't even START on Muv Luv/Muv Luv Alternative! But it's the same thing, too!)

I'll stop there for now. Any AOT AOE x FFVII fans out there?! PLEASE tell me I'm not alone LOL

[borahaerhy]

Dealer (3) - myg

Summary: Your boyfriend seemed like a dream come true: always wanting to be around you, making sure you would get home safe, never taking his hands off you. These little comforts became your whole world, and then the only thing you were allowed to have left in the world. Luckily, your boyfriends drug dealer turned out to be a much nicer guy.

Pairing: DrugDealer!Yoongi x Female!Reader

Genre: Mafia/drug kingpin au, Y/N coming from nothing, found family, Eventual smut

Warnings: A concerning father-son relationship, More of Zeke being lowkey insane, New BTS member introduced!, hitmen, a dead body, a lot of other smaller stuff but only referenced and it has to do with the hitmen, so yk what to expect.

Word count: 1.5k (Ik short as fuck, apologies <3)

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Note: If you are sensitive or triggered by abusive relationships or manipulation in any way, please do not read this fic, it can be very triggering. It will also be referenced that Y/n used to self harm, and has self-harm scars. This is fic is going to cover a lot of intense topics, and there will be a lot of drugs.

“Goddamn it, Zeke, calm the fuck down so I can actually understand what you’re saying,” Jeff had honestly been sick of his nephew’s bullshit for a very long time. Sat hunched over his desk, half paying attention to Zeke and half paying attention to the papers on his desk that should be consuming his entire focus.  

“They fucking took Y/n, Jeff. Someone came in here and fucking kidnapped her; and I know exactly who did it,” Zeke’s voice was easier to understand, but shaking with the kind of rage that would scare anyone.  

Anyone except Jeff, that is.  

“So you want me to take the guy out and get your little girlfriend back?” Zeke started yelling again, not pleased with his uncle's disrespectful tone, but to put it simply, his response was “yes”. Jeff sighed, not wanting to waste any of his good men’s efforts on some low-grade pot dealer. He moved a few people around, checked to see who was available.  

Not wanting to send the guy who has yet to do a solo mission, he called in ole reliable.  

“Jay, get your ass in here,” He called someone on the buisness phone on his desk, after finally getting Zeke to hang up after assuring him he'd get you back. He hung up before they could even get a word in edgewise, and two minutes later, a man walked in in a baggy hoodie and sweatpants, hair disheveled and hands in his pockets as he slouched in his place.  

“Yeah boss?” Jeff looked up at his son, sighing at his disheveled appearance in the middle of the afternoon.  

“I’ve got a job for you. Names Min Yoongi, he’s a low-level drug dealer whose kidnapped someone. I need you to kill him and get her back,” Before Jeff could finish his sentence, his son had already pulled out his phone and looked for the name on any public records, then to see if he was affiliated with anyone.  

“No,” He slid his phone back in his pocket and turned around, ready to walk back up to his room and go back to sleep.  

“Jay, you’re going to want to do this one-”  

“Nah, I don’t think so. He hasn’t committed any major crimes or atrocities. He’s never hurt anyone, never sold anything harder than some weed, and he volunteers at animal shelters in his free time; I’m not killing him.”  

Jeff looked at his son with animosity, clenching his jaw as he began to type in a new number. As Jay began to turn around again, about to go back to bed for real this time, the other line picked up.  

“Min Yoongi, mid-sized drug dealer on the south side, kidnapped my nephew’s girlfriend. Kill him, get her and bring her back here. You have an hour.”  

Fuck.  

That was a fucking setup.  

Jay finished walking out of the door and ran up to his bedroom, needing to find out where you were as soon as possible.  

- 

“Oh, Y/n, this is my cousin, Jay.” You reached your hand out to shake his, bright smile on your faces as Zeke’s arm pulled you tighter into his side.  

“It’s very nice to meet you, Y/n,” He bowed slightly while your hands were shaking before he stood back up and let go.  

“Don’t mind him, his mom raised him for a while in Korea before they moved back here.” Zeke’s comment was meant to be insulting, but you had only been fascinated.  

“You grew up in Korea?” Jay’s smile returned to his face, not used to meeting people that had associated with his family that were interested in his culture.  

“Yeah, only until I was 11 though. Then we moved back here so I could meet the rest of my family.”  

“Wow, that must’ve been a hard transition at such a young age. Did you know any English when you moved here?” He was almost taken back from the emotion he could see spelled out on your sweet face. He couldn’t help but keep smiling, even at the thought of one of the worst periods of his life.  

“I knew a little; basic English is taught in most schools in Korea at a very young age. But it wasn’t so bad, I still had my mom,” You smiled at his facial expression only getting warmer as he mentioned his mother again. The two of you had sat and spoken for hours, Zeke never leaving your side, but rarely ever interjecting in your conversation. He sat near and spoke to the other members of his family, mostly of how weird it was that Jay was even talking to anyone, and how annoying it had been that it was you that he was talking to.  

The family gathering had come to an end hours after the sun had set and the food had been packed up and stored back in the house. You were saying goodbye to everyone as Zeke stood beside the car at the side of the road, annoyed and ready to leave.  

“It was really nice to meet you, Jay,” You spoke softly as he engulfed you into a hug that lasted a bit longer than it should’ve - something Zeke definitely made sure you knew after you got back home.

“My name’s actually Jimin,” You looked slightly confused as you pulled away from the hug. Jimin smiled. “No one here likes to acknowledge that I’m Korean now that my mom’s gone. Easier to pretend she never existed when my name's Jay.” You smiled again, this one slightly more sad than the previous bright ones you held so proudly upon your beautiful lips.  

“Well, Jimin, it was very nice to meet you. You can call me anytime,” You smiled and hugged him again briefly before making your way back to the car.  

Jimin had watched you walking away, and then never saw or heard from you again. He messaged you a few times but he never got any response. He had always known his cousin was not the best person from the time they had spent together as children. Sure, Jimin was a hitman, but Zeke was a million times more fucked up than he could ever even imagine being.  

Though, trying to think positively, he just hoped you had accidentally given him the wrong number. Not that you had lost your phone privileges from being too ‘overly flirtatious’ with him.  

- 

Jimin arrived at Yoongi’s house only 20 minutes after the newbie had gotten there. His car still being there wasn’t a good sign. Jimin sighed as he pulled on latex gloves and grabbed his Glock out of the glove box of his car. He got out and held the gun down by his side, being sure to be aware of every movement that was happening in the surrounding neighborhood as he made his way up to the front door.  

Dumbass.  

Jimin sighed as he pushed open the broken door, bewildered as to how he thought it was a good idea to shoot through the front door of a suburban neighborhood.  

Right inside the front door was the body of the man whose name Jimin could not remember, but was definitely the guy his father had sent on the job. The blood had stopped flowing from his as if it was all already completely drained from the pale face of someone that couldn’t be more than 20 years old; probably just trying to make enough money to support his family or pay off some debts.  

He sighed as he swept the house, making sure there wasn’t anyone else here before he made his way back out to the car, dialing his father’s number as he went.  

“Speak.”  

“New guy’s dead, looks like our low-level dug dealer is a little more than that,” Jimin put the phone on speaker as he pulled his lap top out of the back seat of his car and got to work.  

“I trust you’ll take care of it from here?”  

“On it boss.”  

It took Jimin less than an hour to get a clean-up crew in and out of the house, and had guards posted all around the neighborhood to keep watch on the house to see if anyone should return; and was sitting in some random parking lot trying to find anything on him that might suggest where he would have gone next.  

Every car, weapon and address listed as belonging to him at any point in time, and any known affiliates that he had. Aside from other mid to low-level drug dealers and the person who sold the drugs to them, there was only one other person he was known to be acquainted with.  

Kim Seokjin.  

Seokjin had been on their radar for quite some time; having had several hits put out on him in the past. They stopped accepting hits on him when everyone sent out to take care of him had never been seen again; no body, no trace, nothing. Even the people who hired them to kill him had gone missing seemingly overnight without a trace.  

Jimin groaned loudly as started his car and headed off to the only place he swore he’d never go.  

I just hope I can get to them before they get to Seokjin.  

-

Taglist: @pamzn @fvcuidk @cybm1n @limiworld @scuzmunkie @hyunjingin @nellyboosworld @giselleg7784 @zaeve @lovelgirl22 @rosquilleta @kooliv @bangtannie7 @strawberryjimin13 @anjoellamorte @limitlessdespondency @lalaoise @roxy1205 @lavender-ivy @orangecarrotlemon @billy-jeans23  

[radiance1]

You said you'd make any of our ideas worse right? Here ya go <3

Au where Danny is blind and Damians younger twin. He was raised basically being told he was abandoned by his mother for his blindness and that his brother was healthy and happy with her. Meanwhile Danny's life was a living nightmare. No one wanted to adopt a blind kid in a small city like Amity Park, so he stayed stuck in the crappy little orphanage with neglectful caretakers. He hated this place and everyone in it, though he had no doubt his life would be much better if he hadn't been blind.

Danny was killed when a drunk driver purposely ran him over for something as stupid as ableism. Unfortunately, dying as a person with a lot of sorrow and angst in his heart inside Amity Park basically ensured he would become a spirit.

No one could have known he would be so powerful though. Or that he would be able to "see" after his death. He soon became obsessed with finding the woman who abandoned him in this tiny city in the middle of nowhere and making her pay.

First, he needed a lair. He found out from research -aka possessing his mothers ninjas that felt like her and by extention, himself- that his father was Bruce Wayne- the Batman, and the first time in forever his heart filled with want.

He wanted a father. Someone who was kind and caring and who would protect him. Someone who would want him in turn.

He wanted brothers who would play with him and tease him and teach him him how to be like them.

He wanted sisters who would stand by him and hug him when he had a bad day and help him get away with things he wasn't supposed to be doing.

He wanted a family. The family Talia had cheated him out of. The life Talia had cheated him out of.

So he picked a mansion. A horrible dilapidated old thing, literally half falling apart. One pulse of his core transformed it into a billionaires dream. Everything was pristine as the day it was built. The gardens outside changed from weeds and grass taller than he was to beautiful paved garden paths, forever in full bloom.

This of course drained his energy and he fell asleep, never taking notice of the "For Sale" sign out near the gates

Needless to say, once he awakened he was not amused to see a couple unboxing thier belongings and taking over his home. He just wanted to scare them. He didn't think throwing heavy boxes across the room into thier heads would kill them, but it did. He killed them and there was no going back.

It was only a few hours later that he discovered whoever he killed within his lair would become a ghost.

A weak ghost fully under his control.

So he continued killing the people who moved in, but was sure to always give them a month to move out, signing a warning on thier calenders. Some left. Most didn't though, and became lesser ghosts.

His obsession with the picture perfect family allowed him to develop the power to trap any one person in a painting, but only one person per canvas and he had to have a full view of thier body and he has to do that double L thing with his hands and line them up in the center.

Once he lures his mother home with a mysterious letter addressed to her mentioning her League he wastes no time trapping her and hanging her portrait in the grand entryway.

He did the same with his Father, inviting Bruce Wayne and his wards to speak about someone committing corporate espionage in his company. Danny didn't actually know what that was but it sounded important, and the end goal wasn't to fool them but to get them here. Sadly nothing seemed to go as planned. First Jason snuck into the mansion as Red Hood a week before the planned meeting time and saw something he wasn't supposed to. Namely one of his victims. So he ordered the spirits to pin the startled Jason to the wall as Danny trapped him.

The painting came out better than expected. You could tell he was startled even with his helmet covering his face simply by his body language. The multitude of transparent arms coming through the wall to pin him made the scene all the more haunting.

The bats grew more concerned with each day that passed with no word from Jason and as the day on the invitation grew closer they begin preparing to go in groups. One group goes as civilians and the other sneaking about as vigilantes and trying to find Jason while Alfred and Barbara stayed behind to keep an eye on them and the mansion respectively.

Cue them arriving at the mansion and being forced to play real life Pac-Man and free thier kin from thier paintings while avoiding getting trapped in one themselves.

Eventually one of them discovered they could actually use the furniture around the house as weapons and Danny couldn't phase through it and they told the others about it so they didn't have to keep relying on Jason's unexplained ability to punch ghosts.

Eventually they manage to temporarily defeat Danny and escape the mansion. It was so hard on everyone listening to him sob from where he was pinned on the ground, begging them not to go. Promising to be the best little brother, the best son, he promised to be good.

Bruce took it the hardest. He had failed another of his children but he needed to get the rest of his family out of the sprung trap before the weaker spirits dug Daniel out of the rubble and the mansion is pulled back into that pocket dimension and captures them again. They had been here a while and he was fairly certain his family could/ go for a round 14 but he wasn't sure they would last beyond that.

So they left. But Bruce silently promised himself he would come back for his son. He kept repeating it over and over in his mind like a mantra to block out his sons desperate cries as they left him behind.

Needless to say the ride back to Gotham was mostly silent as his children processed everything that happened.

So, Ra’s Al Ghul hears from Talia that her son -no not Daiman, the blind one- is now an extremely powerful being that reeks of something similar to the pit.

This caught Ra’s attention, thinking that whoever could effectively catch Talia and trap her is someone worthy of notice. Even more so when he finds out it’s the failure that was cast off the League because he was blind.

So, Ra’s gets Talia to confirm any information she has of the boy’s abilities, and the most notable one was his ability to cast anyone into a painting by making a frame with his fingers.

So Ra’s has this whole plan in mind of how to get the boy to his side. By taking advantage of the boy’s young age and his emotional instability, by pretending to be this kind and concerned grandfather figure that was desperately searching for his long lost grandson for so long.

Ra’s Al Ghul doesn’t really have a sense of danger when facing Danny. Because if it comes down to it he can beat him.(Due to dipping and recovering in the Lazarus pit for decades, Ra’s Al Ghul has acquired the ability to harm ghosts, he also made it the same for his sword.)

So Ra’s goes over and plays the whole, kind and concerned grandfather card. Claiming that his daughter has prevented any attempts at locating Danny. And Danny, being emotionally vulnerable because of Batman’s escape and his breakdown, instantly believes Ra’s and starts to resent Taila more.

So at first he tried to trap Ra’s in a picture frame, claiming that he can stay with Danny forever this way. Leading to Ra’s stopping Danny from forming his frame and fighting back the weaker ghosts with ease, and manipulating Danny even more to get him to come with him. Claiming that he can get him what he most desires and that he loves him too much to just stay in a painting unable to hold his grandson.

It works, and so Danny leaves with Ra’s to the League of Assassins.

Now, Ra’s doesn’t tell anyone about him having Danny, not even Talia(As she is part of his mental manipulating material and can’t let the meet lest they form a bond) and no one else knows until later.

With the time that Batman is fully prepared and wants to take his 10 year old son back home to the manor to give him all the love and care he can and then some.

Only to find the lair empty. No signs of life, not even the weaker ghosts that Danny used last time to trap and keep them at bay. This leads to Bruce spiralling thinking that he was too late to save his youngest son and thinking that if only he was faster none of this would have happened.

 Cue over to Ra’s insulting Danny and telling him that he’s lesser. In hopes of lowering Danny’s self-esteem and making him rely on only him and no one else. If Danny cries, Ra’s holds tightly onto a part of Danny’s body and tells him to be quiet.

If Danny snaps and tries to harm Ra’s, he lets himself be hit enough that he can bleed. Then switches back to the kind and concerned grandfather persona and plays the victim card, saying that ‘I’m only doing these things because I love you”’, “Why would you hurt me? I’m just doing what’s best for you” ex cetera, ex cetera. He also says such things while giving Danny physical affection like a hug and the like, making it strike harder that it’s Danny’s fault and that he should have harmed his grandfather in the first place. As he is the only one that loves him.

Danny(being a literal 10 year old) has no choice but to believe Ra’s. Since his mother abandoned him, never cared about him and stopped his ever so kind grandfather from finding him(lie).

His Father never cared for him. He left him alone under a pile of rubble while he desperately begged for him not to go, taking along the children that he  actually loves with him.(bonus points if Ra’s told Danny that Bruce knew where he was but never did anything about it, even though all the evidence suggests that Bruce is a family man)

The people of Amity Park never cared about him. Hell, one of them even killed him.

Only  Ra’s, no. Only his grandfather is the one being in this world that cares for him and only him. He won’t abandon Danny like the rest of his so-called ‘family’ right? All the while Ra’s is gently telling Danny the words he wants to hear and nudging him onto the path where he resents everyone else and would be only faithful to Ra’s and Ra’s alone.

[blzzrdstryr]

Reveries of turmoil

Yandere!Childe x fatui!reader

[Previous chapter]

Just as you predicted that short and stifled conversation was a portent of future changes. Childe stopped trying to talk to you outside the business, he even avoided your eyes in those rare moments when you looked at him first. Normally obnoxious and persistent Harbinger seemed to deflate in your presence, as his swaggering and blustering attitude disappeared within mere moments.

You would be overjoyed for this turn of events, if you didn’t have any experience of dealing with and tolerating Tartaglia. Childe, as you already established, is a chaos personified, an erratic whirlwind that twists and ruins everything in its way wrapped in human skin and caged by human bones. It wouldn’t be a surprise if some nasty complications arose out of this faux armistice and sneaked upon your unsuspecting self.

Ajax wont do anything drastic, you reassure yourself - the Rite of Descension gets closer and closer with each passing day, he just can't afford to fail this, meaning that he will have to keep you on-field. It would be logical to do so, let you work, but logical sometimes means predictable and nothing about Ajax is predictable.

Fortunately he continued to keep this strange distance as days passed. Was your little episode and words you said to him enough to stop him in his pursuit? Maybe it truly hurt him, maybe it made him see how miserable he was making you, maybe his obsession with you ceased to exist, it’s flames fizzling and going out just as fast as they ignited. You doubt all of it, yet continue to hope for the better, despite the evidence of the opposite shoved in your face.

Ajax will never let go of you, not in the way you want. He killed and tortured people right before your eyes, sometimes had you assist him in doing so. Most of the time this was done in Tsaritsa’s name, for the future of Snezhnaya and her people, just another working assignment regardless of the blood curdling screams and alien agony.

However, in some rare cases the torment of others isn’t something that is totally impersonal to you, sometimes you’re the main cause. Childe is possessive, terribly so. He watches over you like a dragon guarding his gold, scaring away other possible admirers. And if his title and reputation wasn’t enough to keep away whatever poor sod who decided to tempt the dragon, well, other way more grim methods were used.

You never personally witnessed these kinds of torture, but you heard rumours and sometimes saw the bodies after, images that keep reappearing in your nightmares. Maybe this lull is nothing but a quiet before the storm, a short breather after he commits some unforgettable atrocity again.

He personally summons you the day before the Descension. You brace yourself for incoming nonsense, except nothing comes. “Agent [Last]”, he says, his voice tense and restrained.”I need you to attend the Rite of Descension with me. You will be disguised as a civilian", and then he dismisses you, no hint of mind games he likes to play in sight.

You want to hope that he changed, you succeed and fail at the same time - this new Ajax is pleasant, he’s cold and disinterested, just like any boss should be, yet you just can’t relax and focus wholly on doing the job - it’s a privilege only those who haven’t met Tartaglia can afford.

He’s a sea, treacherous and ever changing, calm and serene in one moment, yet violent and crushing in the other.

You spend the day torn between the anxious thoughts of Tartaglia and what he might do and the preparation for upcoming ceremony - it's a once in a lifetime event, it's Tsaritsa’s will and hope, it's Ajax’s eyes focused on you. You can’t afford to fail, you have no right to do so.

Wearing a simple Snezhnayan overcoat with nothing hiding your face is surely strange after years of donning a fatui uniform. Tourists and Liyuens alike pass by, not paying you any attention. Both vision and delusion glow under the thick fabric, asking you to use them.

You walk faster.

The top of the Yujing Terrace is lit with sunlight and full of human sounds, as merchants and other workers haste to finish their tasks and join the people at the top. You look around, quickly noticing the familiar ginger - he stays half-turned to you, his eyes focused on the figure of Tianquan. You quickly avert your gaze, as if not recognizing him, and shift it towards other people - you spot two vision holders among the crowd too - an electro and geo one, and a strange person cladded in the exotic clothes with some sort of flying fairy(?) floating around.

You walk to the altar placing Liyuen flowers nearby the multiple offerings of food, wine and gold, their simple white petals contrasting against the gaudy luxury of the rest.

"Qingxin flowers?", someone suddenly says, a speck of genuine surprise evident in the phrase. Their voice is too close for your comfort - you quickly turn on the heels, alarmed by a person somehow sneaking up on you only to be met with a pair of the golden eyes.

It’s a nicely dressed Liyuen gentleman, with the air of wisdom and elegance surrounding him, an inner dignity shining from beneath, and most importantly the one you saw wearing a vision at the back of the coat. You try to look as calm as possible, despite the senses telling you otherwise - after years of service any vision holder unadorned by the Fatui colors is perceived as a threat.

“Yes, it is”, you quip back, not wanting to look suspicious: “Is this improper? Qingxin as an offering?”, you mimic a light concern - something that would be appropriate for the foreign merchant who might have offended the god of commerce.

“No, not at all”, Liyuen laughs: “just in all of my years, I have never seen anyone offer these flowers”.

“Huh”, you smile, looking at the man before you. Is he a simple liyuen you thought of him at first? He has Geo vision - the symbol of Archaic Lord’s recognition - and the way he said “all of my years” carry more weight than usual, a mark of something hidden beneath the mundane phrase.

“Something tells me, you must have attended every rite of Descension”, you continue, the starter vague and innocent enough - a perfect way to fish out more information. For some reason, his golden eyes widen a bit, it’s subtle and quick enough to go unnoticed by most people, but you’re not the most people - all Fatui agents are trained to catch even the smallest changes and educated in multiple fields, physiognomy included.

What could have caused such a reaction and why did he react the way he did? The Rite of Descension is a prominent event in the life of every Liyuen, even if it’s annual, as thousands of thousands of people traverse great distances to see their god fly down from the heavens and grace his subjects with the wisdom of countless years. You remember seeing Liyuens living in Snezhnaya consistently take a leave every year for a week, when the prominent date showed on the horizon, missing working days and no doubt a lot of nerves, only to see the archon of their homeland.

So why did that man looks so surprised?

“You’re quite perceptive, aren’t you?”, he responds, voice calm and pleasant, despite the masterfully hidden surprise: “And yes, I have always tried my best to be at every Rite to this day. Rex Lapis shares his experience with his people, so it’s an incredibly important day. And what about you? What brings a foreigner here?”, he makes a gesture at your obviously snezhnayan clothes.

“Well, I am a travelling merchant as you can see”, you raise your hands, showing him more of the coat: “Having blessing from the God of Commerce won't hurt, right?". He, again, reacts in the way you haven't anticipated, a handsome face adopting a contemplating expression for a short second.

"Rex Lapis rewards diligent people, work hard and he shall bless you too", he says with an air of wisdom around him, like an old enlightened monk passing his knowledge to the disciples surrounding him: "And you shouldn't keep your vision beneath the layers of cloth. I feel its chill just standing here, who knows what it will do to your body?".

Then he simply turns away and goes to the exit of Yujing terrace, and it’s your turn to suppress the rising agitation - how did he know, where’s he heading now?

“Wait”, you say: “why are you leaving?”

“I dedicated my whole life to my job, which consists of a collection of small and incredibly repetitive tasks, they took up most of my attention and I slowly, but surely became a creature of habit, deaf and blind outside its limited field of experience and comfort zone. Time never stops, so I decided to leave the work I’ve been entrusted with, and I want to start it by breaking my strongest habit - religiously attending every Rite of Descension”.

“Ah”, you reply, equally impressed by his speech, and feeling that you are talking about two completely different and unrelated topics: “well, good luck on that”.

More and more people flood the terrace as one of the main threats to your plans finally arrives - stern and ambitious, Ningguang looks as elegant and intimidating as ever, geo vision and the tassel attached to it, shaking with every graceful step. She throws a short glance at Tartaglia - he stands surrounded by the rest of the agents - yet her face doesn’t change even a bit, whatever hostility she may hold for your faction masterfully suppressed.

You quickly look around - tourists and citizens arrive at the last minutes and milleliths come with them. Soon, all of the exits are heavily guarded by at least four soldiers, all carrying spears and clad in armour - surely a necessary precaution, given the presence of Fatui and their Harbinger.

There are no milleliths among the crowd though, not in the on-duty uniform at least. You study the group again, this time looking for anyone with weapons, as someone lightly pushes you away - it’s that foreigner again. “I am sorry, we need to go closer”, the pixie-like creature apologizes, as it flies after the stranger, and you conclude that there are no armed people, except you, Tartaglia, milleliths, Ningguang and that strange person.

“The hour is upon us”, Tianquan starts, after looking at the bright sun above, two women around her slightly bowing down, as she invokes the power of geo. The gold glow surrounds and illuminates her whole figure, before condensing into hard rocks of the same shade. They shine and fly around her for a bit, leaving the yellow trails behind before starting to spin around the shrine in the middle of the rock table.

Soon the golden inscriptions on the shrine start to glow too, before it sends a bright orange beam into the blue sky. The crowd "Oh!"s and "Ah!"s as the clouds deform around the pillar of light.

Tension, so thick it can be tasted, descends in the waves upon the Terrace as some - carefree and ignorant - hold their breaths in excitement and anticipation, whilst the rest focus in caution - Fatui and Qingxin alike. You shift, taking out both vision and delusion out of your coat, as your eyes frantically shift between Tianquan, Tartaglia and the spiraling clouds above, your whole being ready to aid Childe in his mission.

And then something unexpected happens: a majestic dragon does descend to his people. By falling straight to the ground. Serpentine body slumps around the crushed offerings, elongated tongue escaping the confines of the maw.

A long second of absolute silence passes before Ningguang collects herself, checks the body and orders milleliths to close off all the exits, as the crowd erupts into turmoil and chaos realizing what exactly has happened. You disguise amongst the panicking masses, hiding two glowing orbs in the deep pockets of your coat,before looking at Tartaglia again - he in turn intently stares at the blonde foreigner, who quite clumsily tries to sneak past the soldiers.

Milleliths catch onto that running after the stranger and you use this opportunity, turning invisible in the same second. People around you are too panicked to question your sudden disappearance or the unnaturally cold breeze swaying past them, as you make your way - Childe has already departed, chasing after the group of soldiers, and Ningguang is seen leaving too, giving the last orders, before turning to the Yuehai pavillion.

You contemplate for a second, unsure what to do - Tartaglia has ordered you to aid him in case of Qixing intervention, there was nothing about the death of your target and the glimpse into Tianquan’s actions might be a key to solving the mystery of said departure. The thing that you plan to do is opportunistic, reckless even - who would have known that Ajax will rub off onto you? You chase after Ningguang, careful to keep yourself invisible.

Who is Rex Lapis’ murderer?

She goes up to the aged man standing at the stairs of the pavilion, they exchange a couple of words before Ningguang steps up on the little floating island and it starts to levitate! You run after her, still unsure what to do - the platform is too small, Tianquan will no doubt feel the chill coming from you, but the opportunity to learn what Qixing are planning is too good to miss.

In the end, you come to compromise, jumping after the rising platform, as your hands clutch into its rough protrusions and you grit your teeth, enduring the pain and cold from the vision overuse. The little island rises higher and higher, as people and buildings underneath turn into small dots. Your fingers start to slide off a couple of times, yet you grab onto the island with a renewed strength everytime that happens, asking Tsaritsa to let fortune favour you.

The platform finally stops moving, and you pull up, once you hear her heels clicking away.

Jade chamber, as it turns out, exceeds all rumours, luxurious and opulent, shining above the prosperous city, it glows under the sunlight with a golden radiance. You would have stopped to admire it if it wasn’t for your goal. You sneak after Ningguang, following her to the office as she takes out papers and folders from the shelves. She focuses on them, as you carefully step near her, glancing at what she’s reading - it’s reports of fatui activity throughout the months, leading to this day, thankfully vague and very far from reality.

Does it mean that she also has no idea of what or who caused Rex Lapis’ death and tries to find his killer? Or does it mean that she looks for a way to deduct Fatui's next actions?

You don’t have time to contemplate, as the frost worsens and you feel cryo energy exhausting from the overuse - one more minute and you’ll become visible. You quickly walk away - you don’t have enough time to reach that platform, so you do the most logical thing - fling yourself out of the window, opening the wings of the glider halfway the jump.

You push the most of your invisibility, letting go of the cryo powers once you're only a couple of meters above the ground. In the end you find yourself tired and frozen to the very bones, slowly coming back to the Northland bank.

***

You approach the building as the Sun begins to set - its pink-orange rays dying everything in the warm glow. The bank looks glorious like that, sinking in the reddish tones, it looks like an illustration out of children’s books - a place of something miraculous, a place of something hopeful.

“Hi”, you throw to the tired Vlad and he nods, after suppressing an escaping yawn: “Is boss here?”

“Yeah”, he croaks, drowsiness evident in his speech: “came back like an hour or two ago. Can’t really remember”.

“Huh.. Well, thanks”, and with these words you enter the bank, pushing the doors and preparing yourself for the confrontation to come.

After chatting with Ekaterina and confirming that yes, he is in his office, you head for the staircase, all of the information you learned today buzzing inside your head.

Childe sits, hunched over the papers, as you enter, not paying you even the sliver of attention. For some reason he’s in a different clothes.

“Eleventh Harbinger”, you start the standard greeting, all formal and stiff: “this subordinate has finished the task”.

This finally prompts him to raise his head, cold blue eyes look at you, no hint of the usual obsessiveness in sight: "you may speak, agent" he succinctly says, putting the writing feather aside. You quickly report to him all you have seen today, without your own thoughts involved - they’re just baseless theories, after all.

“So you say, Tianquan was reading the reports about Fatui activity. Haven’t you destroyed those reports earlier?”

“Those papers contained nothing about the current situation, they were actually far from reality, I doubt that any of those reports survived the fire”.

“Seems, I’ll have to take your word for it”, a sigh, he leans closer in his seat, propping left cheek on the palm: “Why did Tianquan look at them? What was she trying to do? Pin her crime on us?”, he glances at you again, gesturing that you can speak your mind and you do.

“Highly unlikely, sir. From the short time I spent watching her and her reputation, I have an impression that Qixing Tianquan is a person who prefers to plan her every action. If she or any other Qixing higher up, were the one who murdered our target, then every needed preparation would be done months, if not even years in advance. She would somehow cast us as the killers right at the ceremony, in front of thousands of Liyuens, making us a scapegoat for public outrage and creating alibi for herself”.

“So, that’s how you think”, he hums, blue eyes deep in thought: “Your entire conclusion is based on the mere impression. With Tianquan’s ambition I wouldn’t be surprised if she was the one behind this...”, a vague hand gesture: “catastrophic situation”.

“When I sneaked inside the Jade chamber, she looked very frantic, it didn’t show on her face, but her movements were harsh and quick, lacking any of her elegance. She looked like she tried to keep herself together”.

“Anyone would try to do that, especially after killing a god”, he looks somewhere to the left, no doubt imagining battling the dead archon: “Well, my conclusion isn’t based on anything solid either. We don’t know who killed Rex Lapis, but we still need to somehow obtain his gnosis”, the last part isn’t addressed directly to you, it seems that Ajax just decided to voice out his worries.

“You can go”, he says, standing up from the table. You are touching the door handle, when you hear him asking:”what’s with your hand?”. The tone is nothing like that time, yet shivers still go up your spine when you remember what happened that day.

"Frostbite, from my vision", he comes closer to you, hand outstretched to yours: “Can I?”, he asks and waits for your faint nod, before gently pulling it closer to his face.

“It’s a second degree”, he mumbles, inspecting the white-blue discolorations and small angry blisters - the skin throbs and aches at his touch, yet most of it remains numb, muffled, like sounds underwater: “You should get it treated”.

“I should”, you agree, eager to leave this room and situation: “I will ask medics for some..”

“I already discharged them”, his hand suddenly shifts, now resting atop of the door handle, his frame suddenly looming over you: “I have a medkit here, with the ointments and balms. Maybe you should stay here and let me patch you up?”

Why did you even think that Childe could change?

***

Ajax has you sitting on his chair, with sleeves rolled up to the very elbows, as he frets around you - checking the temperature, pulling the warm water closer to you and taking out needed medicine out of the kit. It’s mostly silent, except the tune he quietly hums - Childe looks peaceful and content like this, maybe he likes caring for you.

“Does it hurt?”, he takes a discolored finger, probing around the blister, as the warm hydro energy engulfs your damaged hand. The burst of sensation explodes at this action - pain, tingling, throbbing, even relief.

“Bearable”.

“Understood”, Childe gets back to his task, continuing to rewarm your hands, still humming that tune as he does so. He takes out the healing ointment, when the healthy color and warmth returns to your limbs and spreads it on the skin, bitter herbal scent filling the room in an instant.

“[First]”, he says, as he rubs the place between the index and middle fingers: “I think we need to talk. About that day and your reaction”.

“And what about it?”, you respond, too quickly and snappy for the calm-facade - the memories of that day, of what you thought he will do to you, of how he witnessed you falling apart - all of these are too much, a maelstrom of conflicted feelings rising every time your thoughts stray to this topic. He finishes applying the balm and now switches to the bandanges, wrapping treated hands in them.

“Don’t you think you treat me too harshly, [First]? I understand I may have been… unpleasant in the Past, but I thought we moved past that. What have I done to warrant such ire?”, he says it with his usual smile, but there's a tense, heavy tinge in his words. It’s subtle enough to miss, but you knew Ajax since you both were fourteen, so the strain doesn’t go unnoticed.

Everything, you want to coldly respond, but you stop yourself again - Ajax is still a Harbinger, even if he trailed your steps at the training camp like an overeager and highly murderous puppy not even a decade ago, no matter your own feelings or sentiments or even experiences he still holds that power over you, whether he realizes it or not.

“There were.. things”, broken bones, coppery scent of blood, someone else screams: “training with you wasn’t pleasant for sure”. Childe laughs at the last part, yet the tension clouding in the air doesn’t dissipate, turning more tangible instead.

“I see”, a long pause: “I want to prove you're wrong, I want to prove you that I will never do something against your will”.

You already did. You stay silent at that, anger and fury and frustration boiling underneath, burning and scorching your insides like a magma moments before the eruption. His hands finally wrap the last layer of bandage, tying the ends into a neat little bow, yet he doesn’t let your palm out of your hold, as his lips hover over it, breath burning the skin even through the fabric. And then he releases it, not doing anything.

“Good luck with that”, you finally suppress the inner storm, and stand up from the chair, quickly heading to the door. The place where he almost kissed your tingles and throbs with a renewed strength. Your cheeks burn for some reason.

[jared-19-cant-reid]

Sunday Kind of Love

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Rating: M

Summary: You need a date to your sister’s wedding, and Spencer begrudgingly agrees to help you out. Your feelings for him become difficult to hide, and Spencer really commits to his role as your “boyfriend”.

Word Count: 5.3K

Content Warnings: Family conflict, minor angst, unprotected sex, Dom!Spencer/Sub!Reader, bondage, daddy kink, spitting, choking, breath play, exhibitionism/public sex, teensy bit of sacrilege

Author’s Note: This fic idea came to me while I was listening to “A Sunday Kind of Love” by Etta James, so I’d highly recommend listening to it if you read the fic. Gives you the ~vibe~. Anyway, this is way longer than I expected but Spencer and reader deserved the extra time! I hope u enjoy :)

~

“C’mon, just make an appearance with me!” You pleaded. “It’s just one night! How bad can it be?” I didn’t even believe the words as they came out of my mouth.

Morgan snorted at that, shaking his head as he moved to exit the bullpen. “Sorry, kid. I love you, but I am not spending my night off at your bitchy sister’s wedding.” 

You sighed, reluctantly stepping aside to allow him to leave. Beginning to lose hope, you turned to your only remaining coworker. Spencer was still sitting at his desk, busying himself with organizing drawers and repositioning folders to avoid meeting your gaze as you approached his desk.

“Spencer, please come with me tonight. I can’t deal with my sister alone, and I think I might die if I have to explain to her that the guy I told her I was bringing ghosted me last week.” As you spoke, you watched him try to think of a way to protect your feelings without going. In the year you’d worked at the BAU you’d come to see everyone on the team as family, but it was Reid you felt closest to. When he didn’t respond immediately, you put your hand on his shoulder. “Spence, I need you.” You spoke quietly, but he heard you clearly.

He looked up at you at your last words, visibly conflicted. You gave him your best puppy dog eyes, and he sighed, standing up. Knowing you had won, you threw your arms around his neck in a hug, nearly sending the two of you tumbling over in your enthusiasm. He tentatively wrapped his arms around you, returning the gesture of affection. 

His touch brought with it feelings of peace and happiness that you had come to associate with Spencer. Your smile grew impossibly wider as you thanked him a million and one times, squeezing him tightly as you felt relief spread through your body. Forcing yourself to pull away, you noticed his lips had quirked up into a small smile at your reaction.

“You know, almost twenty percent of weddings are called off. There’s still a chance it won’t even happen.” Spencer mumbled as you walked out together. You weren’t sure if he was trying to comfort you or himself. As you reached the garage, you thanked him again for agreeing to be your date. He just nodded, visibly nervous about the event.

You stopped him before he could start walking to the metro. “Let me drive you home,” you insisted, “it’ll be faster and we can talk over our game plan on the way!”

“Game plan?” He questioned, amused at your choice of words.

“Just pretend we’re going undercover on a case! We’ll get into character and everything. This can be fun if we make it fun.” Spencer seemed unconvinced, but he followed you to your car.

As you drove to his place, Spencer seemed to relax as he started to plan, happy to gain some control over the situation. You knew he hated big events, especially ones with a lot of strangers, but your deep dislike for most of your sister’s invite list meant you’d at least suffer together. Pulling up to the curb, you said a quick goodbye, telling him to be ready in an hour.

When you got home, you jumped through the shower, scrubbing off the stress of the work day to allow family-related stress to take its place. You quickly blew your hair dry, putting more effort into your hair and makeup than you usually did. As you reached your closet, you scanned your dresses for one that would match the maroon tie Spencer planned on wearing. A smile spread across your lips when you spotted it, your fingers toying with the soft fabric as you imagined Spencer’s reaction when he saw it. 

You tried to push the thought away, sighing at your own hopelessness. You’d been trying to bury your feelings for Spencer ever since you joined the BAU, but it was a losing battle. You found it impossible to ignore him, despite your efforts to remain neutral in his presence. Your heart swelled at the excitement shining in his soft hazel eyes, skipped a beat at the sight of his tongue resting between his lips in concentration, and stopped altogether at the way his hands moved and flexed when he spoke. The opportunity to spend this much one-on-one time with Spencer in what you were sure would be an incredibly flattering suit was almost worth the stress of dealing with your family. 

You slipped on the soft satin dress, admiring how it hugged your curves and flowed around your legs. The plunging v-neck was flattering, but tasteful enough to stave off disapproving looks from older guests, leaving you comfortable and confident. You stood in front of the mirror, taking in your appearance as you would a stranger’s. The face that looked back at you was friendly but tense, hands fiddling restlessly with the soft fabric of your dress. It didn’t take a profiler to see you needed to relax.

Taking a deep breath, you cleared your mind, taking a few minutes to give your mind rest and ground yourself. Opening your eyes again, your reflection looked much more peaceful, nodding as you decided you were ready to leave. As you drove to Spencer’s, you felt your heartbeat quickening, this time from excitement instead of stress. 

Knocking softly, you were surprised to hear Spencer’s footsteps already nearing you, as if he had been waiting by the door. As he stepped outside, your breath hitched. You shouldn’t be so affected by the sight of him, it’s not like he’d never worn a suit in front of you before. It was mostly the look on his face that struck you, his lips slightly parted and eyes scanning your body as he took in the sight of you. 

“So what do you think? Good enough to pass for a put-together adult who hasn’t been dreading this day for months?” You asked.

He took a second to respond. “Y-yeah, you… you definitely shouldn’t worry about it. I mean you look great- not that you don’t usually look great it’s just-”

You interrupted him for his own sake, giggling a soft “thank you, Spence. You don’t look half bad yourself.” Understatement of the century.

Soft music played through the speakers in your car, soothing your nerves as you hummed along to “A Sunday Kind of Love” quietly. You almost jumped when you heard Spencer begin to hum with you. 

“You know this song?! I didn’t know you listened to any non-classical music!” You exclaimed, unreasonably excited at your discovery.

“I’ve heard you listening to Etta James on the jet a couple times, so I checked out a couple of her songs,” Spencer said simply. You tried to pretend your heart hadn’t just exploded at the implications behind his words. You couldn’t trust your voice to mask your overflowing adoration for the man beside you, so you just smiled and began to sing along quietly.

Oh I'm hoping to discover

A certain kind of lover

Who will show me the way

Lost in the music, you were surprised for the second time that car ride by Spencer’s voice joining yours to sing the chorus. Your eyes shot to his face, but he kept his eyes forward, a small smile the only sign he’d seen your reaction. You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face as you sang with him, his attempts at melody bringing a smile to your face. The words seemed to gain meaning as your voices joined together, both looking forward but focused fully on each other.

To keep me warm when Mondays and Tuesdays grow cold

Love for all my life to have and to hold

Oh and I want a Sunday kind of love

Before you knew it, you had arrived. It was as if the bubble that had protected you from the reality of the situation had popped, leaving you exposed to the harsh world that lay waiting for you. Spencer reached out and squeezed your hand, silently reassuring you of his presence, his support, unwavering as you faced the night together.

Nodding slightly, you let go of his hand and stepped out of the car. Spencer walked beside you to the entrance of the church, close enough that you could feel his body heat. As you got closer, you groaned internally at the sight of your mother. 

A fake smile stretched across her lips, nodding at a woman whose outfit was so brightly colored you nearly had to look away from the glare. Her smile dropped for a split second when she saw you, but quickly returned with twice the artificial sweetness as before. She called out your name, voice straining with the effort it took to sound happy to see you. 

“This can’t be the boy you’ve been seeing! Much more handsome than I expected, how much did he cost you? Just kidding, of course.” Her laugh was somehow faker than her smile. You saw Spencer tense up beside you, and opened your mouth to correct her. She wouldn’t openly admit it, but you were sure your mother would be smug about the fact you and Spencer were just friends.

Before you could say anything, Spencer’s next words sent you reeling.

“Actually, I’m her boyfriend. Glad to finally meet you.” He said as politely as he could, though you could tell he disliked her already. Spencer had never had much patience for people who made jokes at others’ expense. 

You were still processing what he’d just said when his arm wrapped around you, gripping your waist. The feeling of his hands on your body was almost too much for you, and you struggled to pay attention as your mother smiled and made smalltalk with Spencer that walked the line between passive aggressiveness and outright hostility.

You finally registered what was happening when your mother made some excuse to leave, off to emotionally torture a new victim. Your head whipped to face Spencer, your mouth hanging open, confusion written on your face. 

“Why did you-” you began, interrupted by Spencer’s panicked words laced with regret.

“I’m so sorry, I know we didn’t plan on pretending to be a couple tonight, but she just seemed so smug about it and I wasn’t thinking clearly and I just-” he rushed out. Now it was your turn to cut him off.

“Spencer, thank you. I’m not mad, I promise.” You leaned into his chest, the arm still wrapped around you tightening. “I guess we’ll just have to pretend we’re dating for the rest of tonight, though.”

The two of you slowly made your way into the church, stopping a few times to chat with relatives who called out to you. Everyone was charmed by Spencer, who played the part of your boyfriend remarkably well. You found seats on the right, farthest from the aisle in an attempt to limit your interaction with other guests. Sitting down, you remembered how uncomfortable church pews were, the hours you’d spent in mass with your family all coming back to you now. 

Looking around, however, you were reminded of what had gotten you through it. The stained glass windows that surrounded you created a kaleidoscope in your field of vision, capturing your attention for long enough to forget why you had been uncomfortable in the first place. You looked back at Spencer to find him already looking at you, sending a small blush to your cheeks. 

“Did you know that stained glass was originally used in Catholic churches to tell stories from the Bible visually for the benefit of illiterate churchgoers? During the English Reformation, many stained glass windows were smashed and destroyed as part of the 1547 Injunctions against images. In fact, all images in churches were ordered to be removed. If it weren’t for that period in history, more stained glass would likely have- sorry, I’m doing it again.” Spencer’s eyes were cast down at the floor, only to shoot back up to your face when he felt your hand on his.

“I like listening to you. Why did they want to destroy all the images in churches?” You asked, leaving Spencer speechless for a second, seemingly unable to process your request for him to continue his rambling. With a small smile, he continued to explain the importance of the English Reformation to religious art as you watched him adoringly.

The ceremony started all too soon, pulling your attention to the front of the church. As you and Spencer listened to the seemingly endless stream of anecdotes about love and life that the pastor had clearly spent years reciting, your eyes started to glaze over. You pushed thoughts about marriage and family and religion out of your mind, preferring emptiness. Your mind didn’t stay blank for long, though.

Apparently Spencer had noticed your change in mood, because he brought his hand to rest on your thigh in a comforting gesture of solidarity. Unfortunately, you were unable to respond in any way, overwhelmed by the feeling of his hand flattened against the satin fabric of your dress.  His thumb beginning to rub small circles into your skin, you felt your heart rate quicken. The warmth he brought to your thigh began to spread through your body, suddenly finding the church unbearably hot. 

Spencer seemed unaffected by the room’s sudden warming, keeping his gaze locked on the happy couple. You took a shaky breath and tried to calm yourself down, reminding yourself that you were overreacting to what was likely a completely platonic display of affection. The ceremony seemed to drag on for hours, but that might have had something to do with the constant effort it took to mask the desire and panic that Spencer’s touch had ignited in you. 

You were broken from your trance of concentration by the feeling of his hand inching higher on your leg. Whipping your head around to face him, his gaze remained fixed on the pastor, pressing his lips together to hide a smirk. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt Spencer’s hand slowly make its way up your thigh, paralyzed by shock and desperation. His grip tightened as he glanced at your face, reading your reaction to his touch. Before you had a chance to respond, it was withdrawn, the world around you coming back into focus as everyone began to clap. The ceremony was over. 

When you went to stand up after the recessional, you nearly stumbled on your weak legs. Spencer stabilized you, guiding you through the pews and through the hallways with his hand on your lower back. As you followed the crowd to the banquet hall, the gears in your mind were turning slower than usual, as if they had rusted in the time you hadn’t allowed them to work through the idea of Spencer returning your feelings. Finding your seats, you and Spencer were faced with one of the greatest challenges of your night: extended conversation with your family and their similarly judgemental friends.

The overlapping chatter of so many people at once was clearly bothering Spencer, but he stuck it out for your sake. You felt a tug in your chest at the thought of the effort it must be taking for him to stay in such an uncomfortable situation. He played his part beautifully, though, responding to the borderline offensive questions directed at you politely but firmly, protecting you from their attacks. Your sister would usually have led the onslaught, but thankfully she was preoccupied yelling at the photographer for some suggestion she’d taken as a personal slight. 

When Spencer struggled to answer questions about your “relationship”, you took over. He had never been a good liar, and while you loved that about him, you knew it could blow your cover if you allowed him to continue.

In your story, the two of you still worked at the BAU, having started dating a few months after you joined. You threw in small details from your countless daydreams, centering them around real events so that the tale was completely believable. Maybe too believable, you worried, feeling Spencer’s eyes on you as you talked. Under the protection of a lie, you had finally been free to speak the truth, pouring a year’s worth of pining and affection into your words as you concocted a love story you wished was real. 

You heard a band start to play, a bluesy vocalist at the center of the ensemble. The music filled the hall as the newlyweds rose for their first dance. A small crowd gathered around the pair as they moved in synchrony, every step practiced and planned. A few songs later, many couples were swaying together, tonight’s celebration of love bringing out the romantic in most. 

You turned to Spencer, nodding your head at the band. “We should probably dance for a song or two, just for appearance’s sake.” Spencer looked uncomfortable, but nodded and followed you closer to the source of the music.

Raising your hand to his shoulder while his landed on your hip, you felt a warmth spread through you as you joined hands. Fingers intertwining, you began to move along with the slow song that had been playing, stumbling at first but moving more smoothly as time went on. You had no idea how many songs passed while the two of you swayed, apprehension and desire swirling in the air between you. It took a second for you to notice it, but as soon as you did, Spencer’s small smile told you he had as well. 

The smooth vocals of the singer sounded even more lovely on Etta James’s familiar melody, filling you with an intense emotion you couldn’t put words to.

I want a Sunday kind of love

A love to last past Saturday night

And I'd like to know it's more than love at first sight

And I want a Sunday kind of love

The feeling in your chest grew as you looked into Spencer’s eyes as the song continued, your chest threatening to burst with whatever magical dust you’d inhaled from the shared breath between your faces. Wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your head on his shoulder, you were overcome with a feeling of safety and contentment as he returned your embrace. You swayed together as you began to ponder the cliches you’d always despised, begrudgingly admitting that you now understood the sentiment that nothing in the world mattered but the two of you.

As the song ended, you gathered up all the courage you had, and spoke before your mind could think through the possible negative outcomes of what you were suggesting.

“I need to tell you something,” you started. You felt his grip on you tighten, as if afraid what you would say next would take him from you, but he let you continue. “I think I love you, Spencer.”

He didn’t respond, but you felt him pull away from you. You felt cold without the contact, but it was nothing compared to the loss you felt in your chest as you realized what you’d done. He didn’t feel the same way.

You opened your mouth to apologize, to try to undo the damage you’d done, but before you could say anything he was dragging you toward a hallway. Overcome with confusion and fear of losing him, you didn’t realize where you were going until Spencer opened the door to the single-use bathroom and pulled you inside.

“Spence-” you began, the rest of whatever you had been about to say swallowed by Spencer’s lips as they moved against yours with urgency, his hands coming to cup your face gently. You didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, the coldness you’d felt replaced by the warmest light filling your chest.

Your hands found his hair, pulling him closer to you as you tried to eliminate any space left between your bodies. A frantic mess of hands and lips exploring any exposed skin, you stumbled backwards with the force of Spencer’s kiss, hearing the door lock as your back hit the cold wood. Your hands slipped under his suit jacket, moaning at the feeling of his firm body under your hands. He shrugged it off completely, allowing the jacket to fall on the floor, his germophobia trumped by his need to feel your warmth. 

You moaned into his mouth as his hands wandered your body, leaving goosebumps in his wake. As the kiss became more heated, you noticed that he seemed to withdraw whenever he noticed his touch had gotten rougher, clearly holding back so he wouldn’t hurt you. You smiled into the kiss at the care he showed for you, but your desire to see him fully let go was too strong to allow it to continue. You weren’t sure exactly what he was willing to do, but you took your second biggest risk of the night, showing him what you wanted.

Finding his hand on your body, you laced your fingers between his, kissing him sweetly before pulling away with an innocent look on your face. Spencer stared down at you, confusion clear on his face. You brought his hand up to your mouth, kissing the back of it before moving your hand to his wrist. He watched you intently, unsure what you were doing. Staring up at him with an angelic smile, you brought his hand to your neck, his fingers curling around it instinctively.

 As he realized what you were asking of him, his eyes darkened and his grip around your neck tightened. “This is what you wanted, huh?” He spoke lowly, a small smirk forming on his lips. “So needy for me. Would’ve let me fuck you in front of all those people back there, practically shaking just from my hand on your thigh.”

You whimpered, turned on beyond belief by this new side of Spencer. His smirk widened at your reaction to his words, pressing his body against yours, his hardness pressing into you. 

“Feel that? Feel what you do to me?” He growled. “Let me show you how I deal with pretty little whores like you.” He stepped away from you, eyes hungrily raking over your body as he began to unbuckle his belt. You just stood there, watching his hands as your mind flashed back to all the times you’d imagined this happening. Somehow this was even better than your wildest imagination had been able to conjure.

“What are you waiting for? Get on your knees” He spat out. The words shot straight to your core, and without hesitation you dropped to your knees in front of him. You watched as he pulled the belt from its loops, but frowned in confusion when he didn’t discard it. He walked around behind you, grabbing each of your wrists and pulling them together. Oh. When he was sure the belt wasn’t too tight, he whispered in your ear how pretty you looked tied up for him, your whimper at the words causing him to let out a dark chuckle.

He returned to the front of you, leaning down to toy with your bottom lip. “Show me you deserve to suck my cock, princess.” He instructed, slipping his thumb into your mouth. You moaned around his finger at that, and instinctively began sucking on the digit. You hollowed your cheeks around it, running your tongue along the length of his thumb before pulling back to swirl your tongue around the tip. He must have approved of your demonstration, because he removed his thumb, pulling down the clothing restricting him in one motion. 

Your eyes widened at his size, his smirk growing when you leaned forward instinctively to take him into your mouth. When he grabbed your hair to stop you, you looked up at him in confusion. 

“Good girls ask for permission.” Your eyes fluttered shut at that, wanting nothing more than to be good for him. 

“Please, let me suck you off, I want you in my mouth,” you begged. He seemed pleased, his hand still in your hair pulling you forward. When your lips wrapped around his cock the hand on your head pushed you down roughly, making you take all of him into your mouth, the tip pressing hard against the back of your throat. You moaned through the gag, your panties likely soaked by now from your arousal at his dominance. 

As he began to fuck your throat, you wrapped your lips around him tightly, timing your breaths so you wouldn’t have to stop for air. Words of praise mixed with degradation fell from his lips as he worked your mouth on him. Tears pricked at your eyes at the feeling of him against your throat, spilling over as he continued his ruthless pace. 

When he pulled you off of him, a dark smile appeared on Spencer’s face at your disheveled state. He pulled you up so you were standing before him, hands still bound behind your back. He stepped back to admire you.

“Look at you, such a mess for me. What do you want, pretty girl?” He asked, voice still commanding but much softer now, genuinely checking in with you.

“I want you, please, need it so bad,” you practically moaned. He moved forward to meet your mouth with his, one hand coming to rest around your throat while the other gripped your hair, fully in control of your movements. He pulled your hair back, breaking the kiss as he tilted your head up to look him in the eyes. 

“Jump.” He commanded. You didn’t hesitate, wrapping your legs around him as he walked you over to the sink, setting you down on the cold porcelain. His mouth rejoined with yours the second you felt the bowl of the sink digging into you. As Spencer’s hands roamed your body, he lost patience with your dress, pulling it down so your tits spilled out of the top. You moaned as he took one nipple into his mouth, a skilled hand toying with the other. His other hand lowered to the hem of your dress, pushing it up to gain full access to you.

Spencer moaned against your chest as he felt the dampness of your panties, soaked all the way through before he had even started to pleasure you. His fingers ran up and down over the wet fabric, applying pressure over your clit that sent your eyes rolling back. You made a noise of complaint at the loss of contact when he withdrew his hand, but were quickly silenced by a hand over your mouth.

“You’ll take what I give you, slut.” Spencer gritted out, tearing your panties off with the last word. His hand came up to your entrance, teasing you as his fingers ran up and down your slit. Gathering your wetness, he moved up to your clit, rubbing circles that left you moaning uncontrollably into his hand. “Can you snap for me, baby?” He asked. You were confused, but you did anyway. “Good girl. That’s your safeword for when you can’t talk.”

Before you could read too much into the statement, he plunged a finger deep into you, causing you to arch your back into him. Your moans still muffled by his hand, he set a brutal pace, adding another finger when he felt you start to clench around him. Tightening his hand over your mouth and nose, he cut off your breath as you approached your peak, your eyes glazing over with pleasure. The high of the lack of oxygen along with the haze that came with this level of submission left you fully pliant, his to play with how he wanted.

Right as your lungs began to burn, your orgasm shook your body, and Spencer let go at that exact moment. The relief of oxygen once again flooding your lungs added on to the euphoria that overtook you, your body shaking as you came down from your high. 

You didn’t have much time to recover, as you were brought back to reality with the sensation of the tip of Spencer’s cock teasing your slit. The overstimulation shook you, but with every second your need to feel him inside of you grew stronger. Your whimpers turned into pleas, and in your desperate state you didn’t realize what you were saying until it was too late.

“What was that?” Spencer asked, withdrawing completely.

“I-I’m sorry, it was an accident, I didn’t mean to, I’ll never-” you were interrupted by an unexpected demand.

“Say it again.”

“What?”

“Say. It. Again.” Spencer gritted out, his eyes darkening with each word.

“Please fuck me, daddy.” You said shakily.

A look of satisfaction came over Spencer’s face as he slammed into you without warning, setting a rough pace. You began to chant his new title, and his hand came up to choke you, fingers pressing into your carotid arteries just beneath your jaw. He wasn’t putting any pressure on your windpipe, but your lightheadedness from the reduced blood flow made it feel harder to breathe, the feeling of being owned by the man you loved only intensifying your pleasure. 

Spencer towered over you as he continued his assault, his other hand coming up to muffle your moans by allowing you to suck on his fingers. When he withdrew them to pay attention to your body elsewhere, he was confused to see you stick out your tongue. When the wave of understanding washed over him, he couldn’t hold back his smile. Bringing his hand up to trace your cheek, he looked at you lovingly before spitting in your mouth, watching in awe as you eagerly swallowed and met him with an innocent smile that contrasted beautifully with your actions. 

As you began to feel the knot in your stomach building again, Spencer increased his pace. Bringing one of his fingers to your clit, Spencer knew you were nearing the edge, and fast. “Come for me, pretty girl.” He ordered.

You obliged, Spencer’s kiss swallowing the moans spilling from your mouth. He followed soon after, sent into ecstasy by the image and sensation of you coming apart under him. As he filled you up, you felt a bliss that you’d never experienced before, using your lips to show him how he’d affected you as he fucked you through both of your orgasms. When you eventually parted, it was quiet for a moment. 

As Spencer helped you off the sink and removed the belt from your wrists, massaging the tender skin, you began to laugh. It started out as a small giggle, but it soon turned into a full belly laugh, bringing tears to your eyes. Spencer was taken aback at first, but son couldn’t help but join you. You both laughed until your stomachs hurt, and when you could finally speak again your first words were “we just had sex in a church bathroom.” 

Holding back another bout of laughter, Spencer responded, “I have to say, this wasn’t how I imagined tonight going.” He took a step towards you, arms lacing around your waist. “I’m not complaining, though.”

You pulled him down to meet him in a kiss, your teeth clacking as neither of you could hold back your smiles. When you broke apart, Spencer’s forehead stayed pressed against yours. “I love you,” he said quietly, “I have for a long time now. I just never thought you would feel the same way.”

You couldn’t hold back the happy tears that formed in the corners of your eyes.  Wordlessly, you pulled him into a hug, your bodies coming together like two pieces of a puzzle that had finally been connected. You stayed there for a while, just feeling each other breathe. 

In a few minutes, you’d sneak out the back door of the church. In a few minutes, you’d leave the room with no need for lies to excuse your shared affection. In a few minutes, you’d have to deal with the paperwork that Hotch would inevitably require. But for these last few minutes, all you had to do was hold each other. For now, you were just two people in love, and that was enough.

[lexpressobean]

I've been thinking about these 3 alot...

... and how much they seem to really respect Shino. I know it's a filler, but, like... Why does it seem like Shino has a knack for finding children who have wondered off away from school? Like, he's just taking a walk, making his way around the village or surrounding forest, and then there they are. Kids playing hooky or some shit. And Shino just takes it upon himself to approach them and steer them back to where they should be, while getting them attached to him somehow in the process??

But honestly. If this was just one of many times this had happened, I'd say Shino does this not out of his knack for teaching or having a way with kids. Rather, he developed a way with kids and easily applies that to his teaching because he has a strong desire to simply protect children. And it's not even from some paternal instinct as much as survival, because I think it stems from the developing trauma of losing Torune to Danzo. And I don't think it's all subconscious either.

Like I know the novel and anime frames his desicion to teach as a sort of a new goal in life as the war has ended for a couple years already and a noticable Peace has been achieved by the Blank Period and well... He's an Aburame.

Like, the Aburame are literal living, breathing, walking bioweapons. With no fight to utilize that, what else is there? Well, much like the Nara have the Nara forest and Pharmacology specifically, The Aburame most likely have a historical stake in the area of Konoha, perhaps it was simply in their Ancestral Home. Idk, but they're here to stay, they ain't budging. They're Clan Culture is very Martial and I'd argue Spartan in nature, but otherwise, they do other things too. I think they'd do well as major players in the conservation and research of native species of animals and plants, but definitely insects too. I bet they play a huge part in the general area's ecosystem, especially due to the fact that the Kamizuru clan attacked with a whole clan's worth of non-native Hymenoptera that could very well have become and still are an irritatingly and consistent problem as invasive species tend to be. And as a far as goods go, why not put some of them to use and handle an apiary? Honey is a great good to sell. All of this is great as a clan that no longer needs to fight. But, what about individual members in general, and so Shino?

Well Shino is the Heir of this clan. This Noble Clan. This "ready to throw hands at any moment" clan. It's future is in his hands, so to speak. So I doubt Shino would completely sever his connection to Shinobi life all together. And so, teaching at the Academy would be a great way to keep that connection. Teachers have to know their stuff, after all.

But what if in order to ensure teaching was his calling, Shino did his absolute best to make Jounin ASAP so he could take on a Genin Team. And. And by chance, it ended up being these three?? And they are absolutely STOKED!!! And they also pass Shino's genin test, which... would probably be a feat in it's own right. But they already know Shino, and Shino has bestowed upon them some wisdom they actually took to heart! Yeah, well, in reality they might be just a tad too old to be Shino's first official genin squad, but they were still his squad one point in a sense, right?

Kon Nohara, Tano Ikemoto, and Aoki Kobayashi

I even gave them names help Imagine these three are already chuunin at least and decide they want to pay Shino a visit and even volunteer to help Shino during class time on a collective day off because they admire him so much (T~T)

But even then if not these three kiddos, maybe these three li'l shits lol

Even in times of Peace, Shino's special set of skills seem too useful to waste, and being a Jounin teacher would definitely have been a way he could still go on missions, but also definitely commit to becoming a Sensei at the academy once he was 100% sure and got older. Kurenai became a Jounin/Genin Squad Leader in her late twenties, but in comparison I see Shino doing that more mid-20s. (He needs some time to travel and find his big bug friend and generally live a little?)

Kurenai was a Genjutsu Specialist who manned a Tracker/Sensing based team. This sounds like it was a highly beneficial combination, even if she ended up being somewhat sadistic lol. Asuma was bound to Team 10 by Tradition as InoShikaCho and Sarutobi have that Pact together. Kakashi's team was literally Cherry Picked for him specifically by the 3rd Hokage. And Gai, a Taijutsu Specialist, had a team that Specialized in Taijutsu and Physical Offense.

Of all four teams, Kurenai and Gai were very suited to their teams, Gai in a complimentary way and Kurenai in a Challenging way. In that same vein, I think Shino would imitate Gai. Shino as a Shinobi himself has a general set of skills, but the way he goes about them are very niche. But, he was always very stealthy, and could sneak up on nearly anyone. Gags aside, he could go unnoticed as long as he wanted too, and by the time he was noticed or was ready to attack, he has you quite literally surrounded. Honestly I can see why Search and Destroy would be an Aburame's forte, but when there's no need, a person with a personal skill of high quality stealth could probably man a team with an emphasis on Reconnaissance and/or Surveillance, even Bodyguarding. I feel like Shino would probably put an emphasis on Stealth and Tracking too, utilizing his insects as sort of assistants that keep tabs on his students (Stealth Test) as well as to encourage just enough fear during too much down time in his students to inspire quality training opportunities, so maybe Kurenai rubbed off on Shino more than they all realized haha

(Plus I'm sure his students would be be smart and thoughtful enough to eventually understand what Shino and his bugs are: a complete unit. They realize just how strong and dedicated Sensei really is to be the way he is, and they all learn more in depth about Kikaichu and it's like WOW SENSEI YOU REALLY ARE RISKING BEING EATEN ALIVE EVERY SINGLE DAY, AREN'T YOU? But he's still here, because THAT'S how strong he's become over the years and the confidence to manipulate the Kikaichu while having to think of current chakra level, the most efficient use at any given time, how many he actually needs, how long usage will last, ect. They are high maintenance, man!)

Shino would no doubt produce highly skilled Bodyguards and Masters of Stealth. Maybe the type that would end up being in high demand for the eventual Celebrities that start to pop up as times change, but still very much needed when it comes to Criminal Activity, like in Sora-Ku?

But as time passes and he decided to teach at the Academy, he'd feel very at ease to do so. He'd be happy to be put in charge of all these children, because he would be able to help teach them things they need to know to defend themselves and others in a world where adults like Danzo had and will continue to exist. Maybe while he's at it, he'd use his stance as a Noble Clan Heir and accomplished Shinobi to push for changes in government with Sai's help and with Naruto and Shikamaru's cooperation? Like, the truth does come out, everyone on the Council were actually horrible and had too much power. So HERE are some ideas and REASONS why these ideas should be implemented because Shino's not going to let his brother's life and death be in vain!? HELL no, we WILL make some changes around here. Shino sees his students and just wants a future where no kid ever has to live in fear of being completely taken advantage of by the very system that was supposed to keep them safe and they pledged allegiance to.

I cannot help but think of the quiet but absolute fear little Shino was harboring for the years to come after Torune was taken by that strange man and Father Shibi didn't even attempt to stop him. His own father didn't dare beat the shit out of this strange man who came looking for him, and the only solution for Shino to stay was for Torune to make himself look more desirable as an asset and be taken instead. I bet there was a lot of misplaced resentment there for a while, and talks that just didn't happen. Maybe a classmate doesn't show up to class one day and Shino is IMMEDIATELY stressed out and just... takes it upon himself to look for them after class. And he's relieved when he see they're simply at home with a fever. Shit like that just fucks with Shino, because theres people taking kids and no one is doing anything about it?? And then as Shino grew older he realized exactly what happened and how slimy the machine of Konoha really is and it was never completely Shibi's fault that Torune had to leave. He grows mentally at a faster rate than most of his classmates, and knows more than a kid really needs to know.

Shino doesn't want that for any other child. Shino is the kind of person who hears kids screaming outside of his house and he can't tell if they're playing or being murdered and it's stressful to the point he'll check through his window and he sees them for himself. He get stressed out seeing a kid in public unattended and WANTS to approach them to help if need be but also maybe he's overthinking it and the parents are there somewhere and he'd just end up looking suspicious. Like, that's what I kind of figure for Shino. He's so hyperaware of the power dynamic between kids and adults and seeing a kid so ready to fall victim to that makes Shino feel ill the more he thinks of what could happen. And he wonders if watching the kid in the market until they finally reunite with their parent so he could move on with the rest of his day causes him even a fraction of the the utterly disgusting flurry of nerves and fear that Shibi must have felt all those years ago. It goes along with his desire to spare every single little insect's life he can. It goes a long with the fact he only gets violent unless absolutely necessary. Like he wants to be strong but he doesn't want to go mad with power either, less he becomes the very thing that hurt him and his family in the first place.

Originally Shino wanted to become strong to be able to defend himself because at a very young age adults failed him and Torune. But then that changes to defend not only himself, but others as he grows on a team, and realizes trust is important. And then he figured if there must be adults out there that would hurt a child, it's only logical that he should become one that would only nurture and teach one to be strong as well.

Anyway, yeah. Had some feelings. Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

[littlemisslipbalm]

“your turn”

Harry Styles was a romantic. He hated weddings. Rori Williams was practical. She hated weddings, too. How could she deny a man who had just drunkenly confessed his love for her at a wedding? Even if it was completely and totally untrue.

A story of two semi-strangers to lovers with weddings, drunken confessions, and girls with two names.

gif has nothing to do with it but he looks fancy and i like it :) tpwk

Hi! this is for @meetmeinfleetwood to lovers fic challenge! and it’s a little cruel of me to post it today after those wedding pics came out but i have been working on this for awhile and tomorrow’s the deadline so if it’s too soon im sorry and if its just what you need enjoy! I used prompts 12 and 15! It’s my first ofc story which is a little strange for me but i wanted to use a name for this, but besides her hair and eye color and a name she’s pretty generic,,, idk thank you all for always reading and all of that. lmk what you think and reblogs are always really appreciated

Word Count: 9.3k | Warnings: drinking, swearing, implied? smut (couldn’t bring my heart to write any my apologies), harry being a silly drunk, mentions of being afraid of someone taking advantage of someone under the influence but ofc no! actual any misconduct -- a SITCH wedding!!! so cute ::))

Harry Styles was a romantic.

He loved love songs that professed their undying love for their significant other. He loved romance movies, rom coms especially, because they were happy and in love and he got to cry and laugh all in one. He loved writing his own songs about love and he loved spreading the idea of loving and treating others with kindness. He loved first dates and the relationships that sometimes sprouted out of them. He loved reading books about love and how to make it last. He loved poetry that waxed eloquent about love. He loved love.

He hated weddings.

Well, he hadn’t always hated weddings. In the beginning, they were like every other aspect of love, he loved them. But slowly, as he kept receiving announcements of engagement and wedding invitations and he kept not sending out letters of his own, his aversion grew.

Sure, he still loved going. He still wept for the happy couples when they committed themselves to each other. He still clapped profusely and danced to the dj or live band. He still tried to enjoy it. But with weddings he had a nagging sense in the back of his head reminding him that he still hadn’t found it yet. Each of his relationships had fallen short in some way as to not lead him to this destination. So when he sat at his assigned table at these various gatherings, he held a bit of apprehension, a bit of envy, about everything going on. He knew that his smiles were all a little forced and his laugh not quite genuine. His thoughts always managed to be controlled by his green-eyed monster that he always attempted to keep locked away. But at weddings, especially when the alcohol started flowing, he had a harder time controlling it.

Seeing all his friends getting together, getting married, and having children wore on him. Wore him thin more than he ever let on to anyone but his therapist. And his therapist couldn’t seem to give him a better answer than to be patient and not give up hope.

By 2021, Harry had decided that maybe he was just meant to be alone. Love was something he could admire, but it wasn’t meant for him. He could chase it, but it would never let him have it. He was unlucky in love and by Sarah and Mitch’s wedding in the Spring, he had come to terms with it.

He had even been optimistic for it, being Mitch’s Best Man and all had gotten his hopelessly romantic heart all aflutter. He was introduced to Sarah’s Maid of Honor, Renee Williams and she had been lovely. She was 31, a little older than Harry - but age wasn’t something that deterred him, and she had worked with Sarah in Los Angeles before Harry recruited Sarah for the band. They were best of friends and Sarah had known for a long time that Renee would be her Maid of Honor.

When Harry met Renee, he was sure that she was meant to be his person. She was beautiful and hilarious, her beauty mark at the side of her lip was so utterly unique he called her a “right Marilyn”. She insisted she was not a Marilyn Monroe type at all and had laughed. Harry had charmed her with his expert flirting and claimed that just because she was a brunette didn’t mean she was a Marilyn. She had smiled and bantered through the rehearsal dinner with him at her side. He was entranced, it had to be Renee, he had been so sure of it.

When Renee had walked down the aisle just before Sarah, Harry had been sure of it. When Renee had smiled at Harry as Mitch slipped on Sarah’s wedding band, Harry had been sure of it. When he had hooked his arm around hers as they walked down the aisle and into a foyer, Harry had been sure of it. When she laughed at his jokes while they waited for their wedding party photos to be taken, Harry had been sure of it.

When Renee walked up to Harry at the reception with another man wrapped around her, Harry wasn’t so sure of it anymore.

“Harry, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Corey,” Renee smiles giddily between the two men.

Harry’s eyes widen slightly at the word ‘boyfriend’ and he swallows harshly before blinking and putting on a sweet smile. He thrusts his right hand out for Corey to shake.

“Hullo, mate,” Harry says happily.

Corey greets Harry, extending his hand to meet Harry’s with a warm smile and a “how are you”. Harry laughs boisterously and takes a sip of his champagne flute. They shake hands with a firm up and down motion.

“Planning on getting really drunk,” Harry says in response to Corey’s question. “Have a great night, you two,” he finishes and stalks off for a refill.

Renee watches him go with a little bit of a confused look on her face. She sees him tilt his head back and finish his drink before turning to face her boyfriend and peck his cheek. She mumbles to him, “He’s a really nice guy, wouldn’t stop chatting my ear off the past few days. All these people must make him antsy.”

He nods back to her, “They must.”

Harry sidles up to the open bar, discarding his empty flute and exchanging it for a much stronger drink.

“Tequila. Neat...Please.” He sighs and runs a hand through his curls that are slowly becoming less and less coiffed. His fingers slide to the collar of his shirt and tug, attempting to loosen it a little.

“Rough night already?” Someone asks from beside him.

His face turns to them and sees a smiling brunette. Her eyes are big, larger than most eyes he’s come across. They’re brown with tinges of gold and green, likely making them hazel by her standard since most people prefer saying hazel eyes to brown. Her smile is bright and clean and if Harry hadn’t already heard her speak he would assume she was American from that smile. It was perfect, too perfect - the teeth both straight and blindingly white.

He raises his eyebrows at her and thinks about his response. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, leaving them parted, but he remains silent when the bartender hands him his tequila. Harry wraps a specifically less ringed hand tonight, he had forgone his ‘H’ and ‘S’ rings as well as the rest of them actually on his left hand. His right hand still had two: the large flashing lavender gemstone encrusted in a gold casing from Stevie Nicks on his middle finger and then a clean gold signet ring with little crosses on the sides on the adjacent ring finger. Every other finger was noticeably empty. So when he picks up the glass there is no familiar clink which draws the attention of himself.

The woman doesn’t pay any attention to his hand, she’s still waiting for him to respond to her question, as well as waiting for her other drink to be made. She was taking advantage of the two drink system and getting two for herself right now, so she didn’t have to come back until much later.

“You have no idea,” is how Harry decides to respond and then turns to leave. He forgets about the woman and sits at his assigned table for his entire drink, talking casually with the people who come to speak with him.

When he's finished, he goes back to the bar to order a second tequila. He thinks about the girl who had stared at him with her big brown eyes. How she had seen him and thought to ask how his night was when it seemed to be going to shit. And how he had blown her off with barely a glance. God, he could be such a prick. After he receives his drink, he forgets yet again and continues to drown his sorrows in the golden liquid that helps him numb the pain that he had once again missed out on his fairytale love story.

The girl Harry had run into sat in the corner of the ballroom for the majority of the night. She settled on just having that first round of drinks for herself and one glass of obligatory champagne during the toasts. Other than that, she had promised herself she wouldn’t get drunk and go off with a random stranger. This was not a wedding for that. This wedding couldn’t be for that. She just needed to keep her head low and try to have a semi-pleasant time.

When she was nursing her champagne through the toasts, the man at the bar caught her eye again. She knew who he was. He was the Best Man after all. Sarah talked about him a lot, even Renee after the past few days, but seeing him at the bar had been the first time she’d ever seen him up that close. It was strange, he was so human. So tangible in that moment. His shoulders shook with each breath he took. His fingers tapped as they waited for his drink. His green eyes blinked and darted around as he took in his surroundings and even looked at her. He simply was and it had startled her to see him in a slightly bewildered state at the bar, but again, she wasn’t one to judge.

Get through the wedding. Try to have a semi-pleasant time.

It was time for the Best Man’s speech. Renee had just given the Maid of Honor’s and now Harry was up. He stood up and wavered a little as he tried to stand up straight. The neat tequila likely makes his stance a little harder to maintain. Mitch looks up at Harry at his side and smiles fondly.

Harry raises one hand in an awkward wave while the other is planted firmly on the table.

“Hullo,” he starts, “I’m Harry and I’m the Best Man, but I’m sure you knew that already.”

The entire group of guests laugh wholeheartedly, taken by the talented young man.

“To start,” he stutters, his words slurring slightly from the alcohol he’s had, and his smile slithers into a smirk. “Let’s hear it for the bride and groom, the lovely Sarah and Mitch Jones!”

Queue the laughter again. Harry laughs too when Mitch slaps his arm playfully, he turns to look at him with a mock ‘what did I do wrong’ expression.

“I had a speech written out, took a week to write, made it nice and poetic for these two lovebirds, but it seems I’ve misplaced it,” he pats at his pockets and sighs before rubbing his forefinger at his bottom lip. “I hate weddings.”

Everyone laughs again, thinking he’s joking. Harry grimaces but it passes as a smile even though she can tell it doesn’t meet his eyes.

He rambles on for a few minutes about love and commitment, how this is just the beginning for Sarah and Mitch and everyone laughs at the appropriate times and just when he’s wrapping up, successfully stumbling through his messy mind, everyone begins to clap.

“To the happy couple…” queue applause, but she sees him say something else, it’s drowned out by the crowd cheering and clinking glasses again.

He sits back down, downing his champagne glass that’s been refilled twice already during the speeches. Mitch leans over and whispers something in Harry’s ear as he twists a hand through his hair. Harry shifts away from Mitch and gives him a look, telling Mitch that he’s fine.

The party goes on, a few more speeches, a few more glasses of champagne for Harry, a few more sighs from the girl in the back of the room.

She watches the first dance of Mitch and Sarah but once that part is over she slinks off. She’s got half a drink left and all she wants is to be alone. Tired of the party, tired of the people, tired of having to try to have a good time. The Rowland-Jones Party had rented the entire place out, so she wanders out of the main room and down a hallway until the music is a faint buzz in her ear. The air grows colder as the amount of people dwindles from over a hundred to one.

There’s a door to her right that has an intricate golden handle that she pulls down on. It opens quietly onto a similar ballroom that is slightly smaller than the one the party was going on in. It’s quiet and spacious, her steps echo as she enters on heeled feet. The clicking of her satin stilettos resonate against the linoleum. She walks to the center of the room and turns around herself, lifting her head to the light in the room. An ornate chandelier is still above her, it’s the same gold as the handle that let her in. Her eyes travel to the walls that contain swirls of gold as well, everything was encrusted in gold and splotchy vintage mirrors. It was beautiful and she saw herself in the reflection of one of those splotchy vintage mirrors and actually felt beautiful in that moment.

No one else saw her but herself and she thought she was beautiful, a fleeting thought as she watched her body move. No one to watch as her reflection swayed with her. Her lavender dress swished back and forth, the end of it brushing around her ankles. The tulle fabric climbed her torso, cinching at her waist and draping over her breasts. The sleeves fluttered over her shoulders and ended midway down her upper arm. The somewhat sheer material made her tan skin look all the more carmely in the golden light of the chandelier. Her pendant necklace was silver and glinted in the light as it sat evenly over her exposed clavicle and decolletage.

In the corner opposite of the door there was a single table with three chairs. It seemed whoever was meant to put things away had grown tired and left these out. She wasn’t complaining as she crossed the floor to take a seat. It was the perfect escape. It was quiet and not too cold in the room, which was especially nice since she had left her jacket in the coat room. What wasn’t so nice is that her phone had died and she had nothing to do in the room. It wasn’t horrible though, she had wanted to be alone with her thoughts. She just feared what would happen if she sat alone too long with no escape of the internet to drown those thoughts.

That contemplation was squashed with an unwitting solution not ten minutes later. She had been sitting at the table, sipping her drink occasionally and staring at the chandelier. Sighing with content that it was finally silent beside the clink of her melting ice cubes. The house mixed drink was strong, but with each passing second it grew more and more diluted. She considered herself completely sober.

She only questioned that when she noticed a second person in the room. She hadn’t heard them open the door, but she heard their loud footsteps shortly after.

He all but stumbled in and was entranced by the chandelier like she had been. He walks to the center in a similar fashion and twists around, only this time his balance isn’t as good as hers. He ends up on his ass, legs splayed in front of him and hands behind him only cushioning his fall a little. He lets out a huff, “Fuck.” He runs a hand over his face before bringing it down to look around the room again. His eyes are foggy with alcohol, everything hazy and slightly blurry. It feels like he’s moving with superspeed but as she watches him with a tilted head she wonders why he’s moving so slowly.  

He squints while looking around after a moment, running a hand through his thoroughly tousled hair. His tongue comes to wet his lips, but this time it's for a touch too long like he’s genuinely tasting the liquor on them. She raises her brows, observing him, her presence seemingly unknown.

“Oi, you!” He slurs the words and points lazily at her reclined in her chair. “Are you real?”

She half smiles and replies with a simple ‘yes’.

“I like your dress,” he says merely like he was stating a fact rather than giving a compliment. His hair falling into his eyes again despite him just pushing it back.

“Thanks.”

He makes his way to standing, his process rather ungraceful. He twists onto his hands and knees and begins to push himself up. He slips once before making it to full standing, he sways slightly and looks around again like he’s forgotten why he stood up. His eyes land on her again and he decides to make his way over to the table.

“You should probably sit,” she says, watching him splay his arms around him to keep his balance. She had seen him an hour and a half ago and he seemed fine, but now he seemed absolutely and utterly pissed.

“Thanks, mum,” he says as he thunks into the seat beside her, his hand waving off her suggestion.

Her brows raise at the slightly rude comment, but she leans back in her seat still observing him.

“Why do you hate weddings?” She asks once he’s settled and has his head propped up with one of his hands. She takes a sip of her drink as she watches him scan her face again, trying to see if he recognizes her.

His mind must come up empty, a vague memory of the bar slipping away without a second thought.

“It was a joke,” he shrugs.

“No it wasn’t,” she replies easily.

His eyes narrow and he leans forward a little shakily, “Who are you?”

“Aurora.” She licks at her own lips, a stray bit of liquid lingering on her lips.

“That’s a Disney princess name,” he says, unconvinced, how most drunk people were when you told them the truth.

“And my great-grandmother’s and mine,” she responds, a grin playing on her lips as she watches him think it over. “It’s wild how multiple people can have the same name. Did you know people can share a last name as well?”

He leans back in his chair now, unhappy with her snarky response.

“Isn’t that why we’re here, two people joining together and sharing the same last name now?” He threads his fingers as he speaks, mimicking something coming together.

“Yep,” She perks at the question he poses. “You still didn’t answer my question.” Her brows raise once playfully.

“What?” Harry seemed to have lost the plot, his fuzzy drunken brain choosing to forget the first thing she asked him while in this private ballroom of theirs.

“Why do you hate weddings?” She repeats, louder and with emphasis, the words echoing this time.

“Oh,” he looks up to the ceiling and blows air past his lips harshly, “S’ a long story.”

“We got all night,” she offers, and raises her glass to her lips once again.

“A night wouldn’t even cover half of it,” he ponders seriously, his mind reeling. “I’d rather talk about you.”

“Why me?”  She laughs like she’s just received the most delightful surprise.

“Because,” He starts and then sits quiet for a moment before leaning forward, elbows on the table as he peers at her, “I think I’m in love with you.”

“You only just met me,” she responds. “Not to mention, you’re drunk as fuck, Best Man. Just minutes ago I watched you stumble in here and truly fall on your ass.”

“Then tell me about yourself and I’ll explain my hatred for weddings.”

“You’re awfully good at bargaining for being this inebriated.”

“I never lose my charm, no matter how pissed I may be,” he smirks and gives a sloppy wink, hair falling in his face yet again.

She scoffs, but she is rather amused and intrigued by the man beside her. His tie now completely loosened, hair falling every which way, and his green eyes set on her. The shiny shoes he wore slipped around on the ground as he shuffled his feet below him like a child wanting to go play. She figured it was just his drunk brain trying to amuse himself or something. How could she deny a man who had just drunkenly confessed his love for her at a wedding? Even if it was completely and totally untrue. She at least had to entertain the foolish notion that maybe he actually was interested in getting to know her. If anything, it would help pass the time until she could go home.

“I’ll bite,” she relents.

The smirk doesn’t leave his face, it only widens, “Only if I can, too.”

“I wasn’t saying-”

“Shush, sh-sh-shush. I know that,” he holds a hand up at her, trying to get her to be quiet. He sways again, even in his seat he looks as if he could fall over at any moment. She wondered if he might not remember this tomorrow. “I was bein’...” he licks his lips in a pause, “suggestive.”

She laughs again, knowing his sober brain probably would have chosen a more articulate and suave word since ‘suggestive’ was rather tactless and more straight to the point. If she learned anything from all the conversations she overhead about him, Harry was definitely one for tact.

“You were something, that’s for sure,” she wraps a hand around Harry’s wrist, she draws the hand down from its hovering state and lays it against the table again. She withdraws her own hand back to her glass, her drink almost completely gone now.

He smiles, pleased with himself, but unaware that his charms had worn off with his exorbitant amount of alcohol consumed. At least on this girl they weren’t working. She had never been attracted to people who were too drunk to help themselves and she always hoped that’s how others felt too. She was thankful he had stumbled in on her rather than someone who didn’t feel the same way. It made her sick to think of what someone with evil intentions might do if they came across a babbling drunken version of Harry. Pushing those thoughts away since that wasn’t the case, she decided to pat his hand once just in reassurance to herself and him that this was really happening.

“I’m twenty-five.” She states.

Harry nods, a small smile on his lips now rather than a smirk as he watches her again. He liked how smoothly she moved rather than the rest of the world in his drunken eyes, everything else was choppy and fast. She was elegant and fluid, calming even.

“I love love,” Harry says, eyes remaining on hers, no trace of a joke in his tone, “And it hates me.”

“That can’t be true,” she squints at him, a frown gracing her face for a moment at the sadness she sees in his watery eyes. Not crying watery, just watery from his drunken state.

He says nothing, waiting for her to offer more information about herself before he says anything else. This was the deal after all. She quickly realizes why he isn’t responding and sighs, conversation with drunks was tedious already, but Harry seemed determined to make it even harder.

“I’m from California.”

“They always are,” Harry mutters to himself. He ignores her hum of a question, asking what he just said with a simple sound. “All my friends, they’re either getting married or they’re already married and got kids on the way or whatever. They all found love and I’m just here with fuck all.”

She sincerely doubts what the drunken man is telling her right now, but she knows how to play the game now to get more information. “I hate my job,” she states.

“Sometimes I feel like I'm cursed, like I fucked up one too many times and now I’m doomed to never find love.”

Her eyes widen at this, he sounds so damn sad and she wishes she could take his pain away. She knew what a good guy and she couldn’t imagine why he would deserve to feel this way. No one deserved to feel like they weren’t worthy of love. His sad state truly almost brought her to tears. She’s there in a stunned silence and Harry is confused why she hasn’t said anything more about herself. It was her turn.

“What’s something else about you?” He asks, his hand fiddling with itself on the table. She notices once again that there aren’t as many rings on his fingers as what she thought was usual.

She licks her lips and reaches her hand forward. She grasps Harry’s fiddling hand and stops his movement. “I feel sorry that you feel this way, no one deserves the kind of pain you’re inflicting on yourself. I’m very very sorry for you, Harry.”

“That’s not really…” He trails off, losing his focus on her face and instead looking at their hands touching. The feeling is so intense in his buzzing body. Her touch was so calming compared to the electric feeling in his body. It felt nice.

“Can I ask you a different question and then I’ll tell you something no one knows about me?”

He nods eagerly.

“And you can’t dodge the question, you really have to answer it, okay?”

“Okay.”

“What did you say at the end of your speech? It got drowned out by applause, but I saw you say something.”

“You noticed?” He asks kind of surprised, then scratches at his eyebrow. He sees her slight glare and knows to get to his answer. “Asked when it’d be my turn…like to fall in love, y’know.”

She sighs, saddened yet again by his words. “Okay, well, here’s my secret... I hate weddings, too.”

Harry’s eyes light up, maybe he really was in love. She purses her lips and pulls back from him.

“I think you’re my soulmate,” he breathes out, again making a false confession. His drunken brain wants it to be true. He’s desperate for his search to be over, for her to be his person.

She smiles that same sad smile that she keeps getting when he says these sad things to her.

“I assure you, I am not, Best Man.”

He looks at her confusedly. She was beautiful, she was clarity to him. Her brown hair was straight with a little wave in it, like it was straightened for the occasion but never truly that way otherwise. It flowed around her head and shoulders, but she had it tucked behind both ears. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone, she just simply was beautiful. Her sun tanned skin looked soft under the golden glow and Harry was sure she was an angel or something.

“Why not?” He insists, leaning forward.

She stands up from her seat. He follows clumsily behind her, standing as well. He was still taller than her even in her high heels. He smiled like a lovesick child down at her, his eyes as big as the moon. She bites at her lip as she sees him look at her so lovingly, so misguidedly. Then she leans up towards his face, up on her tiptoes and past his lips. Her hands hold him straight with them curled in his suit’s lapels. She presses a sweet and gentle kiss to his cheek, closer to his jaw than anything.

“Good night, Harry,” she whispers against his skin before pulling away.

His eyes flutter open, his looks at her confusedly, slightly unaware that he had closed his eyes at all.

“Good night…” He had already forgotten her name, something with an A...or was it an O? He’d have to ask Sarah and Mitch about the girl who had talked to him in the empty golden ballroom, the girl he had fallen in love with. He was certain. She was the one - if only he could find out her name. If he remembered this at all or if he just thought it was a dream.

She leaves the room before him and as she leaves she wonders if she maybe should have made sure he was alright, but she figured their talk was sobering enough. The night was ending and she had a sneaking suspicion that there were plenty of people here tonight looking out for him.

-

Harry forgot about the girl in the ballroom. Or at least he wasn’t sure if it was a dream or reality. He had woken up at Tom’s place where he had said he would stay after the wedding reception so he hadn’t gone home with a girl. He couldn’t remember her name so he couldn’t really ask anyone about her and he didn’t exactly have a lot of people he could ask. He wanted to ask Sarah and Mitch, but they were already off on their honeymoon and he was one of those people who would never bother a couple on their honeymoon. He was too embarrassed to ask Renee and anyone else for that matter.

So, instead, he forgot. Harry forgot about her for three weeks until Sarah and Mitch returned. He had called them for a hike and lunch the moment their plane had landed. He had missed some of his best friends. It was a lull in the year, where he wasn’t touring or in the studio, just living and writing when he felt like it. So maybe he was in need of some inspiration.

“Ah! The Jones’!” He exclaims as he walks up to their parked car at the head of the trail.

Sarah laughs and Mitch rolls his eyes, half-heartedly since he’s just as happy to see Harry as Harry is to see him.

“I missed you,” Mitch says as he brings Harry in for a hug.

“Don’t let the missus hear that,” Harry tuts while he sends a wink over Mitch’s shoulder to Sarah.

“It’s all he could talk about for the past few weeks,” Sarah jokes as she goes in for a hug with Harry. “How do you think Harry is? Hope he’s eating? I miss Harry.” She mimics Mitch’s voice.

Mitch shakes his head shyly, a smile spreading on his face after a moment. “That. Is not true at all,” he assures Harry, “But you do look a little thinner. What have you been eating?”

Harry elbows him with a grin, “I’m fine. Been bored so I’ve just been filling the time with working out.”

They start their ascent up the hill and into the canyon. Mitch nods, his worry for his friend subsiding momentarily before he says something strange.

“I’ve been wanting to ask, but you’ve been gone, about a girl at the wedding.”

“Oh?” Sarah gives Mitch a knowing look.

“Yeah, well the thing is, I’m not sure if she was real or not. I think she was real, but I was so drunk, there’s so many bits missing in my memory.”

Sarah and Mitch both laugh. “You were very drunk, H,” Mitch confirms.

Harry ignores him, “I even asked her if she was real and she said yes, but y’know people can lie in dreams. All I remember is she was amazing and she had a princess name, I think.”

Sarah thinks about the guest list. “No princess names that I can think of. What did she look like?”

Harry squints ahead of them, his sunglasses pushing his curls back on the top of his head. “She had straight brown hair, not long or short. She said she was, uh, twenty-five. She was in lavender, I think.”

“You think a lot,” Mitch interjects which earns him a glare from Harry.

Harry thinks about this part that he remembered vividly, how she had been so confident that he wasn’t. He adds, “...And I told her I was in love with her.”

“Oh god, Harry,” Sarah sighs.

Mitch gives Harry an apologetic smile.

“She didn’t buy it, but she didn’t run off either. We talked for awhile.”

“Maybe it was a dream,” Sarah says.

“Okay, let’s see,” Mitch grows to be the leader of the investigation, wanting everything for his best friend to find the love he knew he deserved. “Twenty-five year old brunettes at our wedding who are single. C’mon there weren't that many people there.”

Sarah thinks about it again. “Renee’s sister is twenty-five. I don’t remember what she was wearing, I hardly saw her all night,” she pauses, “Which is strange since she wasn’t on the job for once.”

“What do you mean ‘on the job’?” Harry asks curiously, remembering his girl saying she hated her job.”

“She’s a wedding planner,” Sarah says, glancing at him because she was almost sure that Renee’s sister was not who Harry was talking about. “But she had referred me to someone else for the wedding, she consulted sometimes and got us a discount, but said she didn’t like working with people she knew personally.”

Harry nodded, how could Renee’s sister be his girl? How could a wedding planner hate weddings? And wouldn’t it be all the more awkward if the girl was Renee’s sister? Renee’s little sister, could it be? He had no clue.

“I don’t think it’s her, though,” Sarah gives a half-smile, “She’s not super...uh, how do I say this?”

As Sarah says “touchy-feely,” Mitch interjects.

“She’s pretty cold-hearted. She’s relatively nice, but what makes her such a good wedding planner is she doesn’t get caught up in the sentimentality of it, she just understands other people’s emotions and knows how to make them feel amazing.”

“That’s a little harsh,” Sarah looks at Mitch with a strong glare. After all, he was talking about her best friend’s little sister.

“Well, what’s her name?” Harry insists, semi-off put, but knowing her secret made him think it was possible for Renee’s sister and his ballroom girl to be the very same.

“Rori Williams, think it’s short for something else, but I don’t know, as long as I’ve known her she goes by Rori.” Sarah gives Harry a sad smile and it reminds him of his mystery girl.

“Do you think I could meet her or something? I just want to know if it’s her.” Harry says as they reach the first peak on their hike. He looks out at the view from there, Los Angeles was green for once, but he knew it would quickly fade to brown and tan as the spring plants died off again from the summer heat.

“Pretty sure she’s off working on some destination wedding right now. She doesn’t like being bothered when she’s working,” Sarah gives Harry a look for two reasons as she says that. One, because she knows his next question would be to contact her anyway. And two, she’s saying how he is exactly the same, hates being contacted when he’s busy with work. “I can text Renee to see what’s up.”

Harry nods, “Please…” He begins to imagine Rori as his ballroom girl and mutters to himself, “A June Wedding…” getting lost in a silly little daydream.

-

“Harry Styles is asking after you,” Renee snickers over the cellphone line.

“What is this? The 1800s?” Rori sighs, as she holds the phone to her ear with her shoulder. She tries to brush her hair from her face with a flick of her head, which makes for a rather silly sight as her head and shoulder move awkwardly. “People don’t ‘ask after’ anyone anymore.”

She was in Hawaii, Maui specifically, steaming a sneaky last crinkle out of the latest bride’s wedding veil.

“Well, he still is doing it. You know how he is.”

“I actually don’t,” Rori responds, easily, ignoring the memories of her two encounters with him. “What does he want?”

“Wants to meet you or something,” Renee says easily. “Thinks he met you at Sarah’s wedding, obviously impossible since I know you scampered off half way through the reception and he was falling down drunk at the half way marker as well…” she trails off.

Rori knows her sister well and expects the next thing to come out of Renee’s mouth.

“Oh my god! Did you hook up with him?!”

Expecting this, Rori responds quickly and calmly, “No, we did not hook up, I would never... I did watch him fall on his ass, though.”

“So it was you!”

“What was me?” Rori squints her eyes at her sister over the phone and finally straightens from her steaming task. She feels like she’s only half paying attention to the conversation, especially since she had no intention of meeting up with Harry. He had been so sweet and sad, and she truly wished him the best, but she knew she wasn’t the answer to his problem.

“You!” Renee all but yells into the phone, “Are his dream girl! He’s been wondering if you were even real for weeks.”

“I’m real,” Rori sighs and crosses the room she’s in to sit at the desk she was using as a work space. She flicks through the planner she was using for the Hearst wedding, set to take place tomorrow. “But I’m certainly not his dream girl...I told him that when he said he was in love with me.”

“He what?!” Renee exclaims and hears her sister sigh once again, she knows Rori is growing tired of the conversation and is ready to offer an excuse to hang up any moment now. “Nevermind that, I’m going to tell Sarah to give him your number and the date you get back to Los Angeles. Keep next weekend clear.”

Before Rori can open her strawberry pink lips to reply, Renee is squealing a goodbye and hanging up. She felt her shoulders sag with the empty line, she reclined into the nicely plush swivel chair. This is why she stayed out of love and relationships when they didn’t relate to work, they were exhausting. Too much ‘he said, she said’ going on at all times. Color palettes, seating arrangements and menus were simple, they made sense, they could be arranged and put into place. Relationships were messy, the actual event of a wedding could even be messy, but when she planned them out, for a single moment everything was orderly and simple. She was in control. She knew she couldn’t be Harry’s dream girl because she knew she couldn’t control that situation.

-

Upon arriving back in the continental United States, at the end of June, Rori ubered immediately to her apartment in Silverlake. Well, it was a converted garage behind a house of a friend of Renee’s. Like most apartments in Los Angeles, it was funky, but it was Rori’s until she decided where she wanted to move. She never wanted to buy in LA and she never wanted to upgrade from the place she had called home for the past four years.

Almost immediately after dropping her pink work tote bag and worn backpack on the floor next to her medium sized navy suitcase, her phone rang through the ‘Do Not Disturb’ setting with an unknown number. A New York number. Possibly a new client, she picks up quickly and shuts the window-paned door behind her. The days were long, the longest day of the year had almost arrived, yet the sun was still beginning to set in the sky and turn the light blue into a painting of oranges pinks and purples.

“Hello?”

“Is Rori Williams there?” A British voice asks, almost timidly.

“Who’s asking?”

“...Harry.”

“I was told you’d be calling or something along those lines,” she smiles to herself.

Harry sat in his room, chewing at his lip, still unsure if the voice on the other side of the phone call was the woman he had talked to previously.

“Can we go for a drink sometime? How’s tomorrow?”

“Someone is quite enthusiastic.”

“It’s just...I’m trying to figure something out.”

“So I’ve heard,” she chuckles slightly.

“So you won’t tell me whether you’re the girl I talked to at Sarah and Mitch’s wedding will you?”

“What would be the fun in that?”

“So it’s a right Cinderella, if the shoe fits situation,” he mumbles, slightly to himself, but she hears him clearly.

She laughs.

“I don’t really care for Cinderella, I’m not really one for Disney princesses at all, actually.”

His breath catches, a foggy memory of something having to do with princesses tries to break into his mind. He couldn’t remember still and he vowed time and time again that he would never get that drunk again. Too much time lost.

“Alright, Harry. I’ve just gotten home from a work trip so I’m planning on a bath, some wine, and some terribly raunchy TV to get my mind off of my life. How about you pick a time and a place for drinks and hopefully I will show up? Great! Goodnight.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, just clicks the red button that hangs up the phone and goes on with her professed plans. Harry sits in stunned silence for a few moments, whatever he had gotten himself into was going to be a ride of a lifetime.

-

At a quarter past six, Harry sits anxiously at the bar top of a semi casual, semi fancy, totally cool bar he loved. It was private so he wouldn’t be bombarded with people, but it was still lively enough that it wouldn’t be dead silent if conversation lulled between him and Rori. That is, if she showed up.

His foot begins to tap, ever so persistently against the silver footrest at the bottom of the bar. His eyes shift from right to left, not wanting to order a drink before she arrives, but also not wanting to wait much longer and not order a drink. He’d waived off the bartender twice already.

She walks in, right on time, Harry had just arrived early. Her lips part into a happy smile at his anxious stance at the bar, he mirrors her expression at the sight of her.

She’s wearing a billowy white button down, the sleeves cinching perfectly at her petite wrists, cinched beneath a brown corset-like tank top. Her breasts showed their true size today in this outfit. She had the collar pulled out and the corset made it so that her cleavage was perfectly sculpted just beneath the crisp white cloth. Her pants were sleek and black, understated to draw more of a focus to her top as well as the lavender jewel inlaid pendant hanging just above the swells of her breast. Harry’s eyes dipped to that level for a moment, but quickly recovered to focus on her face. The night of the wedding had been blurry, but he was sure Rori’s face was the one of his mystery girl.

He’s shy tonight and a little more reserved than last time. He’s out of his comfortable bubble, what could anyone expect from a man so constantly watched. He fidgets with the top most button of his shirt that was buttoned and thinks about unbuttoning it to reveal a little more of his chest, but he refrains. At a friend’s wedding he feels safe, but in public he’s always watching, always aware of the possible prying eye. But like he had said drunkenly to Rori, he always maintained his charm, no matter the circumstances.

“Lavender was gorgeous on you, but this…” he gives a graceful sweep of his hand to gesture at her outfit tonight, “is extremely enchanting.”

“So you remember me in lavender? I thought you couldn’t remember me at all.” She grins as she stands directly beside him, similar to the first time they had chatted at a bartop.

Harry clears his throat at her tease, “I knew once I laid eyes on you, I would know. So now I know.”

She smirks at his reasoning and orders a vodka cranberry, both not wanting to get off her ass or look any certain way. Vodka cranberries were acceptable mature drinks, but not overly pretentious in any way. Harry tells the bartender to make it two. She looks at him with a discerning eye.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” She asks as she slides into the bar seat that seems to be trying to look vintage but was likely made no less than five years ago.

Harry sits too, more easily since his legs are longer than hers. “We met in the ballroom for the first time, did we not?”

“No...we met at the bar in the reception room.” Her hand splays to feel the stone of this counter, cold unlike the wood of the previous one. “We were about this close after you’d rudely stepped ahead of me and ordered before I could...not that you noticed. I asked if you were having a rough night and you pretty much dismissed me.” She bites her lip as she tells him the story, her eyes widen as she watches the distress roll over his features at what she says.

“Oh god,” One of his hands reaches to grab her hand to emphasize his apology, “I’m so sorry, that’s so rude. I was having quite a rough night as you would eventually see.”

He stares at her face, trying to meet her eyes, but she’s glued to the sight of their hands intertwined. He was so smooth and it was making her melt, making the walls she had purposefully put up for this date weak. She had rules, especially for guys like Harry - not that there was anyone that compared to him in her life, but she had them and she knew she couldn’t just be swept off her feet by his sweet voice and gorgeous face that has the most puppy-dog look on it.

She knows she shouldn’t but the extra ice she had added to her personality melts away, her eyes going slightly moony as she watches him visibly relax again. “No worries, I enjoyed your company upon the second meeting, even if you didn’t even remember my name after it.”

“Well,” he finally catches her eye, “That’s where I have a bit of a bone to pick.”

“Oh?”

“You didn’t tell me your real name...gave me some fake name I can’t even remember, but it certainly wasn’t…” His eyes shift to her pendant again and he looks back at her brassy eyes in the bar’s lighting. “If your name is Rori Williams, why is your pendant an ‘A’?” He says slowly, another foggy memory trying to break the surface of his knowledge but still failing.

She finally feels in control of the situation, calm and assured of herself, which was maybe unfair since it seemed Harry really had a hard time remembering that night and she could really fuck with him if she wanted to, but she wouldn’t - couldn’t - with those earnest eyes looking at her.

“I told you my real name the first time we talked, Harry. It’s Aurora,” she retracts her hand from beneath his grasp and touches at the necklace, “I go by Rori both socially and professionally, but officially it’s Aurora and this had been my great-grandmother’s. I don’t go anywhere without it.”

“Almost as beautiful as its wearer,” he smirks, his gaze stuck on her face, attempting to convey something specific. She thinks she knows what he’s saying with his look.

“You’re quite the flirt,” she rolls her eyes playfully before specifically choosing to take a sip of her drink through the little straw the bartender had put in it. It draws Harry’s attention to her lips, and after a moment they were wet with a bit of excess vodka cranberry and Harry felt himself grow a little hot at the tips of his ears when her eyes meet with his. She had caught him staring, but he recovers easily.

“I remember telling you I never lose my charm, it’s true is it not?” Harry inquires, head leaning closer to her as he takes a sip of his own drink, making a show to lick his lips after removing them from the edge of the lowball glass.

Her laughter is loud but not overbearing, Harry thinks it’s the best laugh he’s ever heard even if she’s laughing at him. She’s true in that laugh, she’s not trying to make him fall for her with that laugh, it’s just her enjoying herself.

She responds with something sweet and the two begin the back and forth of a successful date. They both drink around three drinks as the night persists, but it’s enough for her to feel the burning pull inside the pit of her belly for Harry. His hands stay relatively to himself besides a few subtle touches at her hair and hands every so often, his feet are the ones to blame. At one point in the night, he hooks his loafer covered foot around her ankle and she is quick to lean into it, reciprocating the footsie with ease. Each brush of his leg against hers is electrifying, every nerve in her body was beginning to go crazy. She was buzzing in a way that she hadn’t when she had first encountered Harry. Tonight he was more suave, but with a tinge of timidness that made him irresistible.

Harry made sure he wouldn’t get drunk tonight, ordering only as much as Rori. He didn’t want to be the fool who couldn’t remember their time together, again. Plus, he didn’t want to forget any of their time together, he wanted to remember it all. Everything about her was amazing, the feeling he had about her, the nagging desire to meet her was for a reason, he was sure of it. If her voice was a melody, then she was the most beautiful love song he had ever heard.

At 11:30, he leans in close to Rori, his nose brushing at the hair tucked at her ear and asks her if she wants to leave. She looks at him confused, the warm feeling in her stomach falls because she thinks he wants to end the night.

“Oh,” she says dejected, she swore it was going well. “Right..That’s it.”

Harry’s brows crinkle at her sad face.

“No, love, I was saying,” he raises his brows, “Y’know.”

“Oh! Right! You just sounded so...I don’t know, serious.” She sinks in her seat, realizing her presumptions had been wrong.

“I was trying to be,” he twists his lips trying to find the word, as blush rises on his cheeks. “Seductive.”

The two of them are quickly realizing they can’t pretend with each other. Rori can’t keep up the harsh facade against love with him, he sees right through it. Harry can’t play his old tricks with her, she sees right through them.

She laughs again, “Well, it just sounded like you were bored. Sometimes your moves fall really flat.” She offers a sweet wink in consolation for his failed attempt at trying to really get her weak in the knees.

They were a lovesick mess together as they clambered off their bar seats and exit the bar that had gotten increasingly loud.

“So what’s next?” She asks on the warm summer night.

He steps closer and takes the liberty of fiddling with the strap of the corset she has on. His head is tilted down as he towers over her. “You know me Rori, I’m a hopeless romantic so I desperately want to take you out for dinner sometime and slow dance with you until the sun comes up, but,” his breath fans over her face now as he shifts impossibly closer, “I also want to grip your hair as I watch you writhing underneath me. Just tell me what you’d prefer and it’s all yours.”

Her breathing has become a slight pant as his words wash over her. His nose brushes over the ridge of hers and she takes the moment to put her hands on his shoulders and pull him onto her. They were in the alleyway beside the bar, away from prying eyes except a few people too drunk to recognize Harry's face that is all but hidden in Rori.

“Harry,” she breathes, her eyes fluttering shut as she makes the decision to cross them into the point of no return. She wants this too much. She hadn’t thought this would be how her night would go, thought she would brush him off and never see him again, but god, she needed his warm body everywhere. Needed him to touch every part of her.

“Rori,” he responds.

“I want the second one first,” she whispers, feeling a little too eager, but feeling Harry press excitedly against her reassures her.

His lips press a searing kiss to her and she makes a sound of happiness at the contact. Her hands fist at the fabric of his shirt as she presses her lips feverishly back onto his. Harry’s quick to grip at the back of her neck and the small of her back, keeping her tight to him as he licks into her mouth.

“Can still taste that last vodka cran,” he notes before kissing her again.

Their tongues rub against each other, sloppily but with a tenderness hidden there as well. She snorts at his words which makes him smile and they’re kissing is becoming more silly as they try to contain their laughter. He pulls away, finally giving up trying to maintain the kiss while they both laughed.

“Would you like to come back to mine?” Harry asks as he leans his forehead against hers.

Rori’s eyes flicker open and stare into his, the focus only on his eyes and the sprinkle of light freckles and beauty marks below them. She nods her head, making his move with it. They both smile, trying to contain their laughter once more.

She presses her lips against his once more for a small peck and then lowers her head into the crook of his neck. The skin warm and smooth against hers as she whispers happily to him.

“It’s your turn now, Harry,” Rori says blissfully.

She had been the answer to all his questions.

-

[charlie-rulerofhell]

For they know exactly what they do

Today there was a pretty long article published in the German newspaper FAZ, written by Julia Schaaf. Since there were quite a few interesting topics raised in it and Måneskin talked about some new aspects (or in more detail), I translated the whole thing (it might also have helped me to procrastinate).

Full interview in English under the cut.

For they know exactly what they do

June 22, 2021

Four young rock musicians from Rome are today's hottest band. Måneskin are enchanting Europe. Why? We met them for an interview.

Every romance needs its founding myth, an anecdote from the beginning, something you can tell later in more difficult times for self-assurance.

In the case of the band Måneskin, who first had Italy and now half of Europe wrapped around their fingers, and who are now trying to conquer the rest of the world with their rock music, there is the story of the shoe box. Rome, around five years ago: Four teenagers who are meeting every day after school in their rehearsal room to make music together, and sometimes they play their songs on the Via del Corso in the city centre in front of a changing audience. One day they want to record their own stuff. They find a studio that they can actually afford and as they go there they bring a shoe box, with the name of the band written on it, 'moonshine' in Danish, the bassist's mother is Danish. In the box: around seven kilogram of coins. The things you get from playing music on the streets. Everyone searching through Instagram for photos from that time can find four hippies with children's faces, three boys in batik, the girl is wearing a straw hat.

As they have to pay [for the recording], frontman Damiano David, 22, says that there was this guy, Angelo, and his bandmate Victoria De Angelis, 21, is interrupting: “No, Andrea, not Angelo”, and all of them have to laugh because a rigid studio manager with the Italian name 'angel' would be even funnier for a founding myth. David continues his story: “The guy was completely dumbfounded. 'We can't do that.' We went: 'Sure we can, that's worth the same even if it's just 20 cent coins, it's still 300 euros.” Thomas Raggi, 20, the guitarist of the band, is gasping for air as he laughs, while drummer Ethan Torchio, 20, is smiling dreamily. David finishes: “And then we snuck off before he was able to count it.” [the German text says 'verdrücken' here which is just a colloquial way of saying 'we left', but it entails some sort of a dramatic exit, so yeah, let your thoughts get creative how they left exactly :D].

Four young musicians on the verge of global fame are sitting on a white interview sofa in Berlin, completely styled, babbling across each other like overeager teenagers.

Ever since the Roman band first won the music festival Sanremo and then also the Eurovision Song Contest, carried by the enthusiasm of European viewers, you could say Måneskin has become a phenomenon. “Rock 'n' Roll never dies!”, Damiano David yelled fueled by the adrenaline of winning, and the insinuation that circulated on social media of the singer snorting during the counting of votes in front of a live camera – including their strict denial followed by a negative drug test result – might have given an additional boost to their public interest, their exploding album, ticket and merch sales, and their outstanding success on Spotify.

“We think it's a shit prejudice against rock music that there always have to be drugs involved. We fully threw ourselves into our participation with the utmost professionalism. We give everything for the music. So of course we don't want people to think that we can only do that because we take drugs.” – Victoria De Angelis

Prior to Eurovision, Måneskin was more of an insider's tip outside of Italy. Handmade rock music, not creating something entirely new but paying homage to the good old times with classic guitar riffs and cracking drum beats, being a lot of fun but also quite fragile and vulnerable at times and, first and foremost, conveying a captivating energy. Finally, on the stage of Rotterdam, live after so many months of isolation and renunciation, this wave of energy spilled straight over into European living rooms. It seemed easy to (mistakenly) interpret the winning song “Zitti e buoni” (Shut up and behave) as a declaration of frustration of our youth in times of a pandemic. In fact, singer Damiano David is singing about the favourite topic of the band: the unrelenting need to, against all odds, be yourself, despite or perhaps because you are different. The message fits their provocative sex appeal, which the band uses to demonstrate their independence of gender norms at any given time. But the core essence of rock music has always been the promise of unlimited freedom.

Thus at the first moment, the meeting with Måneskin is kind of startling. It's Wednesday, we are in the top floor of the new Sony head quarters in Berlin. The four Italians have just started their two-week long promotion tour through Europe. In the afternoon there will be a live concert in a queer club [the SchwuZ, but that's not mentioned here] in Neukölln, which will be streamed via TikTok. Around one million viewers will watch the show, some of them even from Brazil, so people at Sony are pretty excited [for Måneskin to come here]. But at first, these stunningly gorgeous creatures [yes, that's the exact wording :D] are standing surrounded by an entourage of people – their management, PR team, a stylist, a photographer, people who can hold a smartphone or a cigarette if needed [this paragraph is worded a little weirdly, especially taking into account that basically their whole team / 'entourage' is just friends of them, but it seems like the journalist didn't know that or maybe they just wanted to describe their first impression]. They seem like fictional / artificial characters out of a Hollywood movie. Transparent frill blouses with blazers and flared leather trousers, even the platform boots, everything brand-new, the makeup makes their faces look like a glossy magazine cover even in person. The smokey eyes of De Angelis and Raggi make them look smug and bored. Later, on the pictures it will probably look cool.

So of course your first impression might be: This band is under contract to industry giant Sony ever since their success on an Italian casting show [X Factor] in Winter 2017. The music industry must have its hand in the game when a band is photographed half-naked by Oliviero Toscani and styled by Etro. Also, one does not simply rent a villa with a pool in Rome to produce new music there, isolated from the rest of the world. And who else went to London for two whole months, shortly before the winter lockdown, just for inspiration? After the TikTok concert in Berlin – De Angelis and David are now wearing fishnet shirts that sparkle with every move, their bare nipples covered with an X of black tape – the band is posing with a few influencers. In the world of social media you would call that 'producing content'. But what does that mean for a band who are preaching their hosanna of authenticity? How authentic is Måneskin? And is their pointedly casual approach to sexuality and gender cliches in today's pop-cultural spirit more than a marketing strategy?

We're in the interview, the recording device is running for not even five minutes, when Victoria De Angelis says: “Actually, we just try to be ourselves and do what we really want to do.” And really: The more you listen to those four how they speak about the early days of the band in their slurred Roman dialect, about the shoe box and their own experiences with being different, but most importantly about their shared obsession [with music], the more you realise that [De Angelis] is  very serious. Ethan Torchio, who got his first drum kit at the age of six or seven from his father because he was beating everything he could reach, says: “For me, music is like food. I cannot live without it.” The bassist next to him laughs at his pathos. Singer Damiano David applauds the otherwise more reserved friend for his truthfulness [it says 'klarer Punkt', meaning 'for the point he makes', but it makes it seem like Damiano is agreeing with Ethan here, although it doesn't indicate whether he agrees that yes, music is everything for Ethan or that he understands and feels the same].

De Angelis and guitarist Raggi already knew each other from middle school and they were the ones who tried to form a band at the age of only 13, a band that actually took music seriously.

De Angelis: “It's just difficult at that age to find other people who really put everything into music and who truly commit themselves and are willing to invest a lot of their time.”

Raggi: “We set strict rules and scheduled fixed times for the rehearsals, for every day.”

David: “Fever, stomach ache, there was no excuse. Even if you were feeling sick in the rehearsal room. At least you were in the rehearsal room.”

The way the four of them talk across each other, completing each other's sentences, taking turns in talking and sometimes joking about each other, seems intimate and playful. Singer David remembers how at first bassist [De Angelis] was merciless towards him when it came to her first metal band project, as she told him that he wasn't committed enough [to the music]: “Back then I was still playing Basketball. I was one of the people that Vic absolutely didn't want [in her band].” Drummer Torchio was later discovered through Facebook, even though there had already been a drummer, a close friend, but he was not good enough. It seems as if even back then music was everything for them. Even if it meant that only Raggi managed to graduate.

And why rock, why rock music of all things? Because it's great, the four of them say in unison. David adds: “Actually, it's a genre that allows you to do everything you want to do.”

When they played on the street, they were laughed at by their classmates. But not only there. De Angelis explains that she never wanted to be a typical girl: “I was always deterred by those stupid boxes that people put you in, and that are just restricting and constraining you, because something is only regarded as male or female. I always rejected that. Instead, I just wanted to do the things I enjoyed doing, I went skating and played football.” Torchio says: “Friends who are not friends anymore were already telling me at the age of ten that those“ – he grabs his long, silky black hair – “were wrong. Because I'm a boy and boys are meant to have short hair, long hair is only for girls. I was bullied a lot for that.”

“Compared to the past, people in our age became much more open-minded. It gets better.” – Thomas Raggi

Frontman David on the other hand, for whom eye shadow, jingling earrings and nail polish as well as his bare torso with the tattoos have become trademarks by now, says: “I was actually more of the average boy.” De Angelis convinced him to try out some eyeliner, which he describes as a spiritual awakening: “I liked myself much more [with makeup]. I saw myself more as myself. As if it had been a suppressed desire of mine.” On a trip to Copenhagen with the others, when he realised that it really didn't matter what people were thinking about him, he got his first fake fur [coat? the article doesn't specify that] in a second-hand shop and let his clothing style be guided by his own love to experiment: “I realised that my whole life I was just going at half speed.” When it comes to diversity all four of them are becoming almost missionary.

At the same time, their success is not only opening doors for them. Back home in Rome they are barely able to go out on the street due to all the paparazzi. “[You need a] hoodie and huge sunglasses”, David says, “the mask is quite helpful, too.” And still, none of them is complaining, and Torchio explains why: “Even if those experiences right now may have sides that are not so pleasant, we still know that for us a dream is coming true. We experience something that we always had in our minds, so we are willing to face every consequence that this entails.”

So is the band facing difficult times, is Måneskin going to change with all the success? Again, all of them answer at the same time.

David: “I'm not worried about that.”

Raggi: “No way!”

De Angelis: “On the contrary. Everything that happened to us happened because we are who we are, so we want to continue the exact same way and stay ourselves.”

Just a few hours later, they are at the stage in Neukölln, bouncing around like pinballs, hammering at their instruments, flirting with each other. “We are out of our minds, but different from the others”, David sings their winning hymn against conformism, and: “The people talk, unfortunately they talk.” Here on stage, the four paradise birds [a German word describing someone with a flamboyant personality] with their half-nude-glittering outfits are radiating an incredible energy with the utmost sincerity, and you begin to wish there was a live audience instead of the TikTok cameras, absorbing and spreading this energy. Måneskin. A cry for a life after the pandemic, a cry for freedom and a better world.

“We do what we wished for all our lives.” – Ethan Torchio