#that one scene is not enough to make up for the long ass time they’ve been queer baiting

[urhoneycombwitch]

heated touch

foreword: “but Lulu it’s not even summer yet how come you wrote a pool fic” okay first of all global warming. it’s absolutely summer rn. hush up and eat up. 👼

cw: R wears bikini top + skirt, Eddie is Down Bad™️, and is also touchstarved, brief use of the awkward miscommunication trope, R’s baby hairs mentioned but no color or texture, weed mention (Robin is a stoner canon change my mind u can’t), R uses sunscreen (no skin color mentioned), implied plus-sized reader

wc: 3.4k

___

It’s the first real, normal, non-apocalyptic summer that anyone can remember having in a long, long time. 

With the heat index at a sizzling 97 today, various members of the Party have taken over Steve’s half-shaded, half-pool extravaganza of a backyard. The kids are jumping in and out of the bright blue water, splashing and cackling, while you and Robin stretch out like house cats in a sunny patch of grass nearby.

You, mere yards away, in a swim top and sweet little pleated tennis skirt. All that lovely skin on display, glistening in the light. 

And Eddie is sulking, indoors, frozen with lovesickness. There’s condensation dripping from the forgotten can of beer in his left hand; through the window above the kitchen sink, Eddie observes the scene in mournful silence.

“Christ, you really are a pussy.”

Eddie whips around with a glare that would level a normal human being, shushing Steve with a panicked fierceness that only makes the guy chuckle harder at Eddie’s expense. 

“Y’know,” Steve continues with the insults, dipping into the fridge and reappearing with a Fanta and a shit-eating grin- “You might want to try leering like a creep from the garage window. That way no will hear you jack off-”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Harrington.” Eddie interrupts with a grade-A scoff and eye roll combo, rivaling Steve’s own bitchiness. “Wasn’t your last successful date back in high school, like, six years ago when you had better hair?”

Steve doesn’t even flinch. With condescending sympathy, he sighs and shakes his head of (beautiful-even-when-wet, damn him) hair, snapping the soda can tab with a flourish. “Might wanna hurry up and make a move. Can’t suppress my charm forever just ‘cuz you’re too chicken to man up- it’s not natural to keep all of this hidden away.”

Steve gestures to the broad expanse of his golden chest, dark thicket of hair sitting proud, the scars that he seems to have no qualms over showing off criss-cross along the flex of muscle at his sides. 

Realistically, Eddie knows Steve wouldn’t go after you, not even as a joke. It would defy the honorable and unmentioned Bro Code they’ve lived by ever since Eddie almost died in an alternate hell dimension and Steve valiantly pulled him back topside. 

Teasing, though? It’s Harrington’s godgiven right- especially since Eddie’s so hopelessly in love. It’s almost too easy to get him riled up, to light a fire under his ass to maybe finally get the situation some forward movement. 

Flames lick at the kindling. Steve walks backwards, shooting Eddie one last finger gun and wink before rejoining the boisterous outdoors crowd. Through the crack Steve’s left in the sliding glass door, Eddie can hear that asshole’s cheery voice ring out- “Lookin’ good, ladies!”- and your subsequent peal of laughter. 

Eddie can feel the heat through the black denim at his ass, sweat rushing to prickle at his pits underneath the light layer of tanktop- the one with a high-necked collar and sides long enough to conceal most of his scars. 

Not that he’s trying to hide ‘em, perse... they’re just sensitive to the sun. Plus his black jeans have holes in them, so they totally count as summer attire. He’s basically wearing shorts right now. Steve can suck it.

“Suck it, Steve,” Eddie grits out to no one for good measure, before taking a steadying gulp of beer and stepping bravely out beyond the glass doors. 

It’s shockingly bright, sun bouncing off the surface of the pool and rendering Eddie momentarily blind; he shields his eyes with his free hand in time to catch the tail end of Sinclair’s mid-air somersault.

“Five,” Max calls out, lounging safely out of the splash zone, waves from Lucas’s cannonball lapping at her pink donut pool float. Thick black prescription sunglasses take up half her face, expression unmoved even as her boyfriend splutters in the deep end.

“Are you kidding?” Lucas is indignant as he huffs and treads water. “Gimme at least an eight. Did you even see the flip?” 

“I saw it.” Unimpressed, Max shrugs a freckled shoulder. While Lucas devolves into swearing out his complaints (already with one elbow planted on the concrete to get out and make another attempt at a higher score), Max zeros in on Eddie, one brow arched high in searing appraisal. “You gonna swim with your boots on, too?”

“I’m- shut up, Red. Nice donut.”

Max’s triumphant smirk confirms what Eddie already knows (he totally bombed that comeback), but if there’s one thing in the world Eddie’s good at, it’s Pretending. A trait forged and perfected over the years of being reigning Dungeon Master; it’s served him well during D&D sessions, and when running from the law. 

And it’s coming in handy now, too, as Eddie walks past Steve (half-snoozing in a lounger) and the table of Baby Byers and Wheeler Jr. (playing an intense game of Slapjack), pretending to be totally Normal and Chill as he approaches you and Robin, a ways off from the bustling pool.

Go with what you know, Eddie tells himself, because if he focuses for more than two seconds on the fact that you’re stretched prone, sunlight filtering through the big tree overhead and illuminating the soft curves of your thighs just visible under the Spandex hem of your skirt, he’s gonna have a pressing issue that will be anything but pretend.

Robin’s lying on her back on the beach towel next to yours, a tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice held up close, obscuring her field of vision. Using this to his advantage, Eddie crouches on his haunches, then leans in to press his cold can of beer to the tender arch of Robin’s bare foot.

She yelps, kicking out on instinct (which Eddie was expecting). He manages to take the brunt of the hit with a forearm block, but doesn’t see the paperback coming until it’s hitting the side of his face.

“Ow, christ, Buckley,” he moans, slumping to sit on Robin’s towel, hamming up the victim act for your sake and sympathy while Robin snatches up her book and gives him another solid thwack, pages fluttering.

At the commotion, you’d lifted your head from your arms, leaning into them now with the weight of your upper half. Eddie tries really, really valiantly to not stare at your swimsuit top (practically a bra), and instead distracts himself with the fact that you were giggling. At him. 

Give the boy an inch and he’ll take a mile, Wayne is wont to say of his nephew. Never been truer than now, as Eddie gets drunk off your attention and humors, crowding familiarly and rudely into Robin’s space just to piss her off more and to keep your twinkling-eyed focus.

“Yech.” Robin gags. “I’m not gonna sit here and watch you two flirt up close. I just ate lunch.”

Eddie’s worried that comment will embarrass you into pulling away but apparently, you’re not shying from the accusations of his affection anymore. 

A snort and a sardonic eye roll is what you dish back, and Eddie latches on, delighted to have a Shit Starter in Crime, pushing an honest hand to his chest in faux-shock- “Flirting? Me? I’d never. What an accusation. You’re getting crazier by the day, Buckley.”

The peal of laughter that ripples from you is like a song, vibrating the frequencies between Eddie’s ears, scrambling all the channels with its aching beauty.

Goddamn addictive, he thinks, as the white-out of his hearing fades back to normal. A light, warm wind rustles through the big oak overhead, leaves shushing together; allowing himself a glance at your stretched form, Eddie’s (un)luckily close enough to see the smattering of goosebumps rise on the skin of your arms. 

To observe the way sweat curls the baby hairs near your temple, at the nape of your neck. To see the little creases near the corner of your eyes as you close them, turning your face into the wind, a quiet expression of summer bliss on your face.

Eddie could sit here for hours like a (happy) creep just taking in every minute detail, but Robin starts bitching at him about the weed he still owes her from ages ago, poking her cold toes into the holes of his jeans, mischievous and irritating.

Eddie smacks at her ankles until she pulls them back, matching her argument point for point; it’s not about the weed, of which he’d gladly give- it’s about keeping that smile on your face even as you sit up to start digging through your nearby tote bag.

“And plus,” Robin’s saying, sticking a finger into the dimple of Eddie’s left cheek like the obnoxious little sister he never asked for, “You scratched the everliving hell out of my bike last month when you insisted you were sober enough to ride it home.”

“What’d you want me to do, drink and drive? Not very Just Say No Club of you.” Eddie is operating on autopilot with his responses, absorbed in the way your delicate fingers move inside the canvas of the bag. 

“I wanted the same thing that I currently. Want.” Two more ice-cold prods of her toes into the same spot of his exposed knee. “Three grams, pre-rolled, plus an apology.”

Eddie is about to give in with the promise of the rest of his sizable stash and a bike waxing regimine with his own spit thrown into the mix to get Robin off his case, when the sound of your voice cuts through the bickering. 

In your hand, held aloft and out between the three of you, is a bottle of sun lotion. Your focus is fixed on shaking displaced items back into your bag, not looking as you make a request:

“Babe, would you do my back?”

Eddie moves on instinct before he even has time to process the ask, reaching out towards the palm tree-printed plastic- but for some reason, Robin’s hand collides with his mid-air. Goddammit, Buckley. 

His annoyance at Robin quickly gives way to confusion, then roiling embarrassment as two sets of eyes whip to him, your mouth slightly parted in an o shape and Robin making a squeak of awkward alarm.

You were talking to Robin. Obviously, you were talking to your girl friend to rub you down with lotion. 

Jesus christ, Munson, get a grip.

Eddie lets go at the same time Robin and you draw back, the three of you stammering half-sentences over the thunk of the bottle hitting the ground.

“I meant- sorry, god, sorry, I meant Robin-”

“Fucking- jesus, of course you meant Robin, I’m sorry-”

“Oh god! I can do it! It’s fine!”

There’s a brief pause where all of you stare down at the bottle, as if it holds some great mystery of the world. Or is perhaps concealing a time-bending device that will let Eddie go back twenty seconds to kick himself in the head.

He’s just about to make some lame excuse to fuck off forever when Robin beats him to it, jumping up with a spastic, nervous energy. “Um. Steve’s calling me. So I gotta… see what that dingus wants. You’re good?”

This last part, directed at you; with a quick, reassuring nod, you say “I’m good.” 

Seemingly recouped from the whole debacle, you squint up at Robin- “Eddie’s got it,” and then fixing Eddie with a disarmingly beatific smile- “Right?”

It’s like looking into the sun. Eddie is pretty sure his neurons haven’t been firing properly ever since he caught a glimpse of your thighs earlier. By some miracle, he manages coherence- “Uh-huh. Yep. Right.”

“O-o-kay.” Robin lets the word expand, then gives a dorky two-finger salute and makes for the empty pool lounger next to a snoring Steve.

Then it’s just you and Eddie, blinking at each other from your seats on opposing towels, until you lean to pick up the bottle, this time handing it directly to him. 

An invitation, paired with a smile that still pulls at the corners of your mouth.

Someone jumps noisily into the pool, a few scattered cheers accompanying the crashing water. Red’s distant “Nine-five!” echoes through the backyard and this, of all things, spurs Eddie into unfreezing.

He takes the proffered lotion, shifting to kneel in the strip of grass not covered by either of your towels, waiting and watching for your approval. 

Like something out of a dream, you lower yourself face-down again, hands tucking themselves sweetly into the space between the hollows of your shoulders and the ground. Eyes half-lidded as Eddie scooches closer.

“Just on your back?” He asks, soft, like you’re a deer about to spook (although based on the way his hands are trembling, Eddie’s the more likely candidate for chickening out and running for the hills).

“Mhm. Please.”

Fumbling under your sidelong gaze, Eddie wiggles all the rings from his fingers, stuffing them into his pocket. 

“Too cold,” he explains, feeling fidgety from your eye contact, rubbing his hands together briskly to bring out the warmth and give them something to do other than shake.

Eddie pines for a cigarette, a quick burst of nicotine to steel his nerves. Instead, he picks up the sunscreen, squeezes a quarter-sized puddle into his left hand, and shifts to kneel close as he can without actually bumping his knees into your side.

The sunscreen is already warmed from being out in the heat of the day, so Eddie starts on your left shoulder. Dips his fingers into the puddle, spreads a thin layer on the blade of your shoulder, and rubs it in. 

At first, his touch is gentle and apprehensive, but when your eyes drift shut on the second pass of his fingers, Eddie gets a bit bolder. On your right shoulder, another layer of suncream goes on, but this time, Eddie lets his thumb slip into the grooves under your shoulder blade. 

He runs his thumb along the stripe of muscle next to your scapula, still with pressure light enough to feign keeping to his task, thrilled when you make a soft noise of satisfaction.

“I would’ve asked you, y’know.” 

Eddie pauses, hand resting at the top of your spine, the skin of your neck freshly glistening and tacky from his work. “Asked me what?”

“To do this.” You shrug a shoulder, pointing in a roundabout way at your back. “I just… I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

“Why the hell would I say no to this?” The words are out before Eddie can bite them back and find a much more cool and normal thing to say. He can feel your chuckle, the vibrations of it, the way it causes the muscles in your upper back to move.

Eddie tries to cover his lameness by refocusing on the mission he’s been given, like a heroic knight bestowed with a great honor by a fair maiden… on second thought, he’s got to cut out the fantasy metaphors. This situation is wild and tempting enough as-is without adding a potentially very horny layer to the mix.

“You can get under my top, if you want,” you murmur, lashes dark against your cheek in profile, voice all honeyed and fair-maiden-like. 

Eddie swallows hard. Distributes the rest of the lotion between two palms, rests them just below the black fabric, and then slides up. Underneath the top, your skin is the same- smooth and pliant and sweet. 

“Feels nice,” you whisper, eyes still closed in reverie, sounding sleepy and relaxed.

Eddie is entranced with the way your muscles move under his touch. He applies a bit more pressure to the mid-back area of your spine, dragging his thumbs down on either side. You make another noise, this one closer to a moan, and Eddie’s really glad he’s practiced at the skill of Boner Killer On Command because he wouldn’t dare sully the atmosphere with ill-timed arousal (though his limits are certainly being tested today).

“Sorry about the callouses,” he says, a bit of self-deprecation to fill the air because he’s gotta focus on something other than the way his hand fits perfectly in the center of your low back.

“S’okay. I like them, actually. You’re good with your hands.”

Not for the first time, Eddie is relieved that you’re not looking at him- his ears are burning, on their way to bright pink. Same with his cheeks. “Cool, yeah. That’s good. Um. I play guitar, y’know so… I get around.”

After cringing at himself, Eddie watches the apple of your cheek round upwards with a smile, a sharp flash of your teeth as you say, “I can tell.”

There’s an amiable quiet that falls over the two of you; in the background, splashes and chattering from the pool group float in the air, muted by the warm winds shushing through overhead branches. 

At one point, Eddie realizes he’s covered your whole back in sunscreen and is now just trailing his fingertips over the notches of your spine, starting low and ending near your neck, following the path down again in a loop. If you mind, you don’t say anything, seemingly sated by his touch. 

There’s an aching behind Eddie’s ribs. It squeezes at his heart, makes his next breath pinch- he wants to touch you like this all the time. He’s already hooked. 

All too soon, you’re peeling yourself from the blanket, sitting up with a sheepish smile. Eddie can’t tell if you’re getting shy on him from the touch alone, or if it’s the fact that he’s the one that’s been touching. 

Either way, if Eddie could find a more chill way to say “I’d like to do that every minute for the rest of my life if you’ll let me,” he’d say it to appease any worries you may have. 

Bare knees pulled to your chest, you gesture at the bottle still in Eddie’s hand. “I could… do you, if you wanted?”

Eddie scratches the back of his neck, through the heated curtain of curls. “Nah, that’s okay. My abs won’t be ready to debut until the end of summer. 1993.”

He’s expecting at least a chuckle out of you, but instead, he’s fixed with a kind, all-knowing look. 

The two of you are face to face, your shin close enough to brush Eddie’s ribs as you state, “Not a fan of the heat, are you.”

“What gave it away?” Eddie gestures animatedly at the humidity-fed frizz of his hair, then shakes his head like a wet dog. 

When you catch one of his curls between two fingers he freezes, heart slamming to a pause as you loop it around a knuckle.

“I have some deep conditioner at my place. Could help you out if you wanna come by some time.”

Mere inches from his cheek as you lean in, Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, trying to memorize how you smell- coconutty from the lotion, a bit sweaty, a faint hint of deodorant and the vanilla perfume you spray in the mornings. 

He’s never been this close before. 

He feels electric. Or more accurately, like he’s been electrocuted, and he’s waiting for you to restart his heart. 

“Does that sound good, Eddie? You, me, some hair care… maybe a movie? I can steal some from Family Video. I know a guy.”

At his ear now, your voice is low as you wrap a hand around the inside of Eddie’s arm- it’s his turn to break into goosebumps. “Oh yeah? Willing to steal for me already?”

This earns him a stellar laugh, head tipped back to show the curve of your perfect neck. You shove at him playfully, and he’s about to snap up your hand to bite as payback when your name is yelled from across the yard.

“Come on, we need another unbiased judge!” Max waves urgently from the pool as Lucas and Dustin get into an increasingly loud argument over the Olympic grading system. 

“Goddamn kids.” This comes out much more growly than Eddie intended; you just chuckle and squeeze his arm before pulling away to stand.

Eddie mourns the loss of your body heat until you extend a hand towards him, saying, “Let’s go humor our goddamn kids, and we can talk about dinner afterwards.”

It’s like your hand is made to fit inside Eddie’s. He follows close on your heels, heart thudding a steady, overjoyed rhythm once more. 

[hamsterclaw]

Yoongi’s a murder detective fighting burnout when he’s assigned the case that you and your former partner fucked up.

Paring: Yoongi x f! Reader

Genre: Detectives!Yoongi and reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of murder, bloodshed and assault, sex, depression and burnout, mentions of guns

The flashing blue lights in Yoongi’s window are followed by the wail of sirens cutting through the early evening bustle.

Yoongi looks out the window. He’s three floors up from street level, there’s raindrops tracking along the dirty glass, the faint smell of mildew that accompanies any rainfall in this filthy city.

Under the table, his good leather shoes, the ones he saves for weddings and funerals, have rubbed a hole in the skin over his achilles. Yoongi had worn them for his disciplinary hearing today, the part of him that still wants to be a cop temporarily winning over the part of him that doesn’t.

He wonders if this is what burnout feels like.

His superior, Kim Namjoon, had called him into his office after the hearing to tell him he was on probation, to clean up his act because he wouldn’t be so lucky as to get off next time.

The truth is, Yoongi had known while he was pressing the suspect’s face into gravel with his booted foot that it would come back to bite him on the ass.

He’d done it anyway.

Yoongi’s never been kind to scum who exploit children, but his partner, Jung Hoseok, had seen something in Yoongi’s face that day that had made him report Yoongi.

Yoongi doesn’t blame him. Hoseok has been his partner on and off for five years and he’s as sterling as they come. His moral compass is as strong as it was the day they graduated from the academy, despite all the fucked up shit they’ve seen.

Unlike Yoongi.

Yoongi was never black and white to begin with and now he’s so far into the grey he scares himself sometimes. It’s never been his goal to be the kind of cop who metes out his own justice.

Only madness lies that way.

Anyway now Hoseok’s been reassigned temporarily to narcotics, supposedly a break from homicide, and Yoongi’s partnerless.

Probably not for long, there’s always some hungry rookie wanting the credibility of working homicide.

Yoongi sighs, closes the file he’d been skimming. It’s well past seven, there aren’t any open cases that need his immediate attention and he figures he might as well go home to his apartment and his cat, Kenzo.

The pavement’s slippery under the smooth soles of his good shoes, Yoongi pulls his coat tighter against the early autumn chill as he walks the five blocks to his apartment.

The smell of fried wontons fills his nostrils as he passes a conduit street in the back end of Little China, Yoongi’s tempted to stop and pick up dinner.

He’s tempted every time and succumbed yesterday so he soldiers on, not without a pang of regret. He regrets food choices because he’d rather that, than think about his actual regrets.

The bang of a gunshot when he’d been two minutes too late to what then became a crime scene.

Fucking some girl with a cute face because he hadn’t been man enough to treat Mara the way she deserved.

Choosing to stay in homicide even after it had become clear to him that he had plumbed the depths of human depravity. Scarring his psyche repeatedly because it’s easier than making the active choice to request a transfer.

Yoongi unlocks his door, toes his shoes off, hangs up his coat.

There’s a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, a flash of grey fur as Kenzo skitters across the entryway, close but not touching him.

It’s the kind of greeting Yoongi can get behind.

He pours out a serving of dry food into Kenzo’s dish, heads to the fridge to reheat yesterday’s wontons.

Eats standing at the tiny kitchen island, cracks open a beer to wash it all down.

He catches sight of his face, pinched in the scowl it seems to fall into more often than not these days.

Jesus, is he getting old?

Yoongi avoids looking at his reflection again as he showers. Changes into the same t-shirt he’s been wearing for weeks, contemplates watching porn just to take the edge off, but decides he can’t be bothered.

He falls into sleep, deep and dreamless, wakes up with an almighty crick in his neck just before dawn from the way he’d been huddled in a tight ball under the covers.

He knows he’s not right, but he’s been not right for so long Yoongi wouldn’t even know where to start putting himself together again.

***

Redemption comes in odd packages, Yoongi thinks, as he looks up a case he worked on six months ago, a shady businessman on the fringe of organised crime who’d got high as a kite and beat a sex worker to death.

He’d been killed on the way to serving out his sentence in the cushy prison in Busan his fancy lawyer had managed to negotiate, crushed in the back of the transport vehicle when it had been t-boned by a lorry.

Apparently a freak accident, Yoongi doubts it but he’s also not going to look too closely, it’s out of his jurisdiction and he’s too jaded to mourn the loss of another brutal asshole. They’d had to identify the sex worker by her dental records and DNA, her face had been unrecognisable.

There’s a knock on the frosted glass panel on his office door, Yoongi looks up as Kim Namjoon walks in, followed by the latest hungry rookie angling for a stint in homicide.

‘Min Yoongi, this is Y/N L/N,’ Namjoon says. ‘She’s a new transfer in from the Seoul branch.’

Yoongi doesn’t have to fake his disinterest as he nods politely at you.

‘What’s the case?’ he asks.

Namjoon looks pointedly at the crime scene photo blown up on Yoongi’s screen.

Yoongi waits.

He can feel your gaze on him, but he’ll get to that later.

The anticipation of a new case never gets old, he’s been in homicide since he graduated off the beat ten years ago and he no longer thinks it’s sick of him to get excited about another murder.

It’s the thrill of the hunt that he lives for, the translation of nebulous facts and witness statements into a puzzle that he can solve.

Yoongi’s damn good at his job. It almost makes the sacrifices in the rest of his so-called life worth it.

Namjoon hands Yoongi a case file, crisp, sharp edges waiting to razor his fingertips open. Flat.

Inside, the standard cover page, then a note that makes Yoongi sit up straight out of his slouch.

He looks at Namjoon to find Namjoon’s already looking at him.

‘The reaper of Seoul?’

Yoongi realises as he says the words out loud how it sounds.

The capture and subsequent conviction of the serial killer who’d terrorised the citizens of Seoul for three years had made headlines nationwide.

Last year.

‘Yeah,’ Namjoon says, the tension in his jaw evident now that Yoongi’s looking at him properly.

Namjoon glances at you. ‘It would seem he never left.’

You shift your weight and your eyes meet Yoongi’s.

‘My partner and I broke the case,’ you say. There’s a brittle smoothness to your voice that Yoongi recognises as a paper thin facade over the hauntedness underneath. ‘Turns out we didn’t.’

***

The note in the case file is a single sheet of letter paper, lined in blue.

The handwriting is precise, neat between the lines.

Oh dear.

Better luck this time?

Best regards from your neighbourhood Reaper.

Yoongi looks at you, sitting across the room at the desk Hoseok’s temporarily vacated.

You’re staring at your screen, face backlit in blue, expression unreadable. You’re in black, nondescript knitwear, your hair pushed back from your face, eyes narrowed.

He clears his throat. ‘You worked the case with your partner.’

It’s a statement you answer to like a question.

‘It was the first case I picked up when I joined homicide,’ you say, turning to Yoongi. ‘It started with -‘

‘Kim Seulgi,’ Yoongi says.

You nod, almost grimacing at the name of the Seoul Reaper’s first high profile victim.

‘Her family wanted answers.’

Kim Seulgi had been born of Seoul’s elite, an architect with her grandfather’s firm who had picked up a number of accolades for her work on the National Opera House.

She’d been engaged to an equally accomplished classical pianist, Jeong Minho, and had been the only offspring of her wealthy parents.

She’d disappeared three days before her wedding, only to turn up on her wedding day, floating in the Hangang, dressed in the clothes she’d disappeared in.

You say, ‘She was an ambitious first target.’

‘Was she the first?’ Yoongi asks.

The flicker in your eyes tells him this isn’t the first time you’ve considered this.

‘My partner Kiho.’ There’s strain in your voice. You start again. ‘My partner, Kiho, and I thought he’d killed before.’

You shrug. ‘The captain felt we were wasting time looking back into his early years.’

Yoongi says, neutral, ‘Budgets are limited, your case must have passed the thresholds for plausible deniability.’

‘It seemed to fit,’ you agree.

Your eyes meet again. ‘Not all of it, though.’

Yoongi knows, intimately, what it’s like to not be certain. Sometimes all you have is your instinct. It’s one thing to build a case no reasonable person would doubt, but you’re also betting on your gut. You’re betting on being a good enough detective to know that the pieces fit, without forcing them to fit.

You’re betting on being honest with yourself, and Yoongi knows more than anyone how tempting the lies can be.

Now you’re the one watching him, taking the measure of him.

His email pings.

‘That’s the link to the full case file,’ you say.

You get up, carry a stack of notebooks to his desk.

‘Our notebooks,’ you say.

Yoongi looks at the stack.

Every cop’s got their own collection of notebooks, raw data and impressions that don’t always make it into official reports.

The equivalent of dirty underwear when you’re not expecting company versus lingerie when you’re down to fuck.

This close, he can smell your shampoo, bright and faintly floral.

You blink at him.

‘I need to sort something with human resources,’ you say. ‘I’ll see you later.’

In actual fact it’s 36 hours later when he next sees you, at 4am, at a crime scene.

***

The rain falling is more than a drizzle, enough that the tent around the victim is the first priority.

There’s an imprint of violence in the air, Yoongi knows you feel it too by the way your lips tighten as you duck under the yellow tape to join him.

You nod at him in greeting, then there’s silence as you enter the tent.

The victim’s on her front, face turned to the right, hand tucked under her cheek.

She hasn’t been dead long enough for livedo to set in, she would almost look asleep if it weren’t for the purple of her lips, the greyness to her complexion.

The bath of blood she’s lying in.

Yoongi can just see the edge of the gaping wound on her neck.

You wait until forensics turns her body over.

The top three buttons of her silk blouse are undone, her chest slick with blood.

Yoongi’s reading the crime scene like he’s reading you, and he knows what you’re going to say before you say it.

‘It’s him,’ you breathe. The devastation in your eyes makes it difficult for him to look at you. ‘Fuck, it’s him.’

***

You’re shivering visibly despite the hot coffee Yoongi’s poured you, despite the fact that he’s turned the heating in his ancient Hyundai up as far as it’ll go.

There are droplets of water in your hair, sparkling incongruously in the gloom.

You’re waiting till first light to knock on neighbourhood doors, the victim was found in a quiet cul-de-sac.

Two minutes from her own front door.

Not much chills Yoongi these days but that fact does make him pause.

The audacity of it.

He says, ‘I have a blanket in the trunk.’

You’re protesting but Yoongi gets back out in the rain anyway, grabs the blanket and gets back in.

Hands it to you, takes your cup as you drape the blanket around yourself.

‘It gets colder here than Seoul,’ Yoongi offers, handing you your coffee back.

‘We fucked it up,’ you say, and Yoongi knows that’s what you’ve been thinking since you saw the body.

He’s just been waiting for you to be ready to say it.

‘So make it right,’ he says, simple.

‘An innocent man’s in prison because Kiho and I fucked up,’ you say.

Yoongi doesn’t want to minimise it but he doubts the man you put away was completely innocent.

‘I read your notebooks,’ he says. ‘Who’s Jeon Bogyeol?’

There had been twelve murders before the arrest. All women in their late twenties to mid thirties, all living alone.

They’d all lived in the same part of Seoul, but apart from that there was nothing to link them that he could find.

You look at him warily. ‘He was a night watchman at the apartments of seven of the women.’

Yoongi waits.

‘We cross-referenced staff at all the addresses, and his name kept coming up. Like Jang Daeseong.’

You flinch at the name of the man convicted of the murders, as though it didn’t fall from your own lips.

You keep talking, though, your voice never faltering. ‘We never found any links between Jeon Bogyeol and the other five women.’

‘Did he have a history?’ Yoongi asks. He’s looking out the window at the first rays of sunrise, muted orange through the rain. His shoulder aches, an old injury he doesn’t think about except when he’s tired, and cold.

‘There was a neighbour,’ you say. You’re chewing on your bottom lip, a tell Yoongi’s noticed for the first time tonight.

‘She called the police once saying she’d seen Bogyeol taking a woman into his apartment against her will.’

You’re frowning. ‘The beat cops who responded to the call out said there was no sign of anyone else in his apartment. The neighbour moved away.’

‘Moved away?’ Yoongi asks, and you glance at him, understanding the sharpness in his tone.

‘I was going to look into it when the Chief shut us down,’ you say. It’s stated simply, like a fact, no sign of defensiveness.

Yoongi offers you more coffee from his flask.

‘Where’s Bogyeol now?’

‘When the new letter came in I looked him up,’ you say. The steam rising from your cup obscures part of your expression for a moment, but Yoongi can hear the tremor in your voice.

‘He’s less than fifty miles east of here.’

Dawn’s breaking, the rain’s finally starting to peter out, but Yoongi’s chilled anyway.

***

The morning sun is high in the sky by the time Yoongi and you finish interviewing the neighbours and the new victim’s friends and family.

Yoongi’s phone rings. It’s Namjoon.

‘Can you talk?’ Namjoon asks.

Yoongi mouths ‘Namjoon’ in response to your inquiring expression, puts some distance between you and him.

‘Yeah,’ he answers.

‘The post-mortem results are back, and the preliminary tox screen is negative. The ME’s put the cause of death as exsanguination.’

Yoongi processes this. ‘It’s the same MO as the previous Seoul reaper victims,’ he says.

Namjoon sighs. ‘Has anything new come out of your interviews?’

‘No,’ Yoongi says. The victim had been well-liked, none of the neighbours had seen or heard anything, and on the surface of it there were no conflicts he could see. Her boyfriend of two years had been away on a work trip, his location confirmed around the window of the crime.

Yoongi’s looking at you as you wait against the car, and when your name comes out of Namjoon’s mouth he’s already got an inkling of what Namjoon wants to know.

‘I reviewed the case,’ Namjoon says. ‘There are no obvious flaws or errors in their investigation.’

Yoongi grunts. ‘There was a lead that they didn’t follow up on.’

He fills Namjoon in.

‘I’ll follow it up.’

Namjoon says, thoughtfully, ‘I wonder where her partner’s working now.’

Yoongi’s surprised Namjoon doesn’t already know, to be honest, he’s always two steps ahead of Yoongi.

He flicks his gaze to you again. You’re still waiting against the car, and there’s a loneliness to your posture, a fatigued downturn to your mouth that makes him say, ‘Hey Joon, I’ll call you back, ok?’

He ends the call, unlocks the car.

‘We should get back and compare notes,’ Yoongi says. His voice has dropped the way it does when he’s tired, and shit, he is tired. He hasn’t slept well for a while.

‘Let me drive,’ you offer. You take his keys, and your fingers brush his for an instant.

The contact, brief though it is, makes Yoongi’s skin tingle.

He wonders if you notice his reaction, but you’re already sliding in, adjusting the seat, starting up the car.

***

Yoongi wakes when you’re parking the car, sits up, a little embarrassed.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, looking to gauge your reaction.

‘Don’t be,’ you reply. ‘I would have done the same if you’d driven.’

There’s a hint of mischief in the curve of your half-smile.

‘You mumble in your sleep.’

Yoongi rubs a hand over his face. ‘What’d I say?’

‘I couldn’t make out any words,’ you tell him, but there’s a twinkle in your eye that makes him wonder if that’s really true.

Mara is the only person who’s shared his bed in recent years, and she’d never mentioned anything.

You swipe your ID to get into the station, hit the lifts.

In the dire grey lighting you look almost as tired as he does.

‘Coffee?’ Yoongi offers, when you pass the vending machine on the way to the office.

‘Yeah,’ you say. You’re on your phone, frowning over a text.

Yoongi passes you a cup.

‘Problem?’ he asks.

‘Kiho,’ you say. You look at him. ‘My old partner. He wants to meet up.’

‘It’d be useful to talk through the case with him,’ Yoongi agrees.

Your expression is difficult to read. ‘He’s in a retreat a couple hours drive from here. He took time off after we closed the case.’

Yoongi gulps his coffee. ‘There isn’t anything else we can do here anyway, we’re waiting on leads.’

He reaches out his hand for the car keys. ‘I can drive.’

***

The retreat Kiho is staying in is set amongst the foothills of a mountain, rolling grounds all around, a view of the cliffs overlooking the sea.

It seems to Yoongi like a place only the very rich or the very damaged would live.

Unless you get better pay packets in Seoul he’s apprehensive about meeting Kiho.

You sign in at the front desk, the receptionist greets you warmly, like she’s met you a few times before.

You lead Yoongi through a huge lounge, through open patio doors and into a green. Yoongi’s looking around at the residents, scanning the area the way he does automatically whenever he’s in an unfamiliar place.

You’re waving a hand, and then you’re embracing a tall man tightly. Neither of you say anything but Yoongi can see the way your shoulders slump, like the tension’s draining out of you.

It’s only when the tall man looks up at Yoongi inquiringly that Yoongi notices the long scar running along his neck. Tracing the path of his jugular, vertical rather than horizontal.

Kiho extends a hand.

‘So you’re going to get our guy,’ he says.

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say to that.

‘We’re going to get him,’ he says, finally.

Kiho turns to you. ‘You haven’t told him,’ he says to you.

You’re looking at Yoongi.

‘We can tell him now.’

***

‘I started getting notes after Jang Daeseong was convicted,’ you say. You’re sitting in a gazebo with Yoongi and Kiho, mugs of coffee in front of you.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow.

You flick your eyes to his, then look away, unlock your phone.

Yoongi takes your phone, scrolls through a gallery of pictures.

Lined paper, handwriting he’s seen before.

Yoongi reads through the content, then returns your phone to you.

‘The originals are with forensics,’ you tell him. ‘The paper and ink are generic, impossible to trace. There’s no trace of DNA, not so much as a partial print.’

‘The notes stopped coming last month,’ you say. ‘Right around the time I moved.’

Kiho’s scratching his neck absently, Yoongi catches how your gaze drops to his scar.

The length of it’s longer than a stab wound, he thinks the surgeons might have had to extend the scar to repair the vessels beneath.

You turn to Yoongi.

‘We have to stop him,’ you say. ‘Use me to lure him out.’

‘He nearly killed me,’ Kiho says. His expression is sober, his tone flat.

He stops there, but Yoongi can hear his next words, loud and clear.

What’s he going to do to you?

‘We can’t let him keep going like this,’ you say, very gently.

Kiho meets Yoongi’s gaze.

Yoongi doesn’t falter.

‘He has to be stopped,’ he agrees.

***

The drive back to the police station goes quicker - there’s something about seeing your old partner that’s given you a bump of energy.

Yoongi can practically feel the adrenaline fizzing in your blood, coming off you in waves.

He’s worried about the crash when the adrenaline ebbs.

He sure as fuck hopes you can cope with the lows better than he can.

He’d put in a call before you left the retreat, Namjoon’s fast tracking a last known address on the neighbour of Jeon Bogyeol who’d moved away.

You’re typing an address into the satnav yourself, face drawn, eyes serious.

Yoongi doesn’t have to ask whose address it is.

‘Are you sure you’re up to this?’ he asks.

His voice is as neutral as he can make it but he already knows that you’ve made your decision.

It’s written all over you, in the way your shoulders are squared, in the tilt of your chin, in the way your hands are tensed into fists in your lap.

‘I need to see this through, Yoongi,’ you say.

Yoongi takes a moment.

‘What happened to Kiho?’ he asks.

‘He didn’t see who it was,’ you answer. Your eyes are fixed in front of you, jaw tensed.

‘He was heading home in between shifts and he got jumped in the car park under his apartment. If he hadn’t been found by the car park attendant —‘ you voice trails off, and you shiver.

‘He was lucky the car park attendant called for help right away. That his next door neighbour, fresh off a shift in the trauma department, arrived home when she did and was there to take over. That he lives five minutes on blue lights away from the best trauma centre in Seoul.’

You look at Yoongi. ‘Kiho’s damned lucky to be alive.’

‘It’s a different injury from the reaper’s usual MO,’ Yoongi says slowly.

You nod. ‘He was toying with us.’

‘You said you received notes from the Reaper,’ Yoongi says. He’s watching you carefully in the rearview. ‘What did they say?’

Your lips press together in a line, but your voice is steady when you answer.

‘He said he’d been watching me, and that he was coming for me. That I’d be his final kill.’

***

The address you’ve put in for Jeon Bogyeol is a house in a run down suburban neighbourhood, the type of place Yoongi grew up.

The houses are haphazardly arranged, like a careless scatter on a Monopoly board, connected by a warren of roads too narrow for more than one car to pass.

Yoongi can see you tensing up the closer you get to your destination, and after he parks and switches off the engine, he places his hand on your arm.

Your eyes are expressive, more so than your voice.

‘We haven’t got grounds yet for an arrest warrant,’ you say, flat.

‘We’re working the case,’ Yoongi replies. ‘And if it’s right, we’ll work it until it’s airtight.’

Your response is to stare at him a moment, then to push open the car door.

Yoongi notices that you’ve unzipped your jacket, making your holstered gun more visible.

His own gun presses against his hip, the weight of it reminding him that although he’s only drawn it a handful of times, each time has been with intent.

He sure as fuck hopes neither of you will have reason to draw your gun today.

***

The address is little more than a shack, a rickety door that looks like it’ll give under a strong kick, a boarded up window that’s visibly cracked.

Yoongi knocks, identifies you both.

Follows procedure because he’s determined to get it all right this time.

Get the monster locked up where he belongs.

You don’t have grounds to break down the door, at least not until you go round to the back and see the pink tricycle upended in the dirt, streamers splayed tendrils of pink and white.

There isn’t much that sends Yoongi into the grey as much as the suggestion that a child might be involved.

He doesn’t really recall looking at you to confirm, just knows that one minute he’s outside in the chill and the next he’s inside the shack, gun drawn, the metallic tang of blood in the back of his throat.

There’s nowhere to hide in the empty shack, Jeon Bogyeol is gone.

You do a cursory search but both of you know you aren’t going to find your answers here.

Then Yoongi must blank out, because the next thing he hears is your voice, firm, saying his name.

He’s panting, covered in sweat, back against a wall, your hands grabbing fistfuls of his jacket to keep him upright.

He blinks, and you snap into focus. There’s ringing in his ears.

Your mouth opens, and the ringing stops. He hears your voice.

‘Let’s go, Yoongi.’

He lets you lead him out, folds himself into the passenger seat of your car, notes distantly how you put your hand on the top of the doorframe like you’re worried he’s going to bang his head.

You start the engine and then you drive, and Yoongi’s grateful that you don’t say anything at all, don’t ask for an explanation of why a fucking tricycle sent him into a tailspin.

Yoongi looks down in his lap because he’s not ready to see if you’re looking at him differently now that you’ve seen him wig out.

You put the radio on after a few minutes, stop at a drive thru after an hour.

It’s only when you hand him a coffee, silently, that he’s moved to speak.

He clears his throat, and you’re the one who speaks, still looking straight ahead, out the windscreen.

‘You don’t have to tell me. I mean, I’ll listen if you do, but you don’t have to.’

Yoongi chews on that a moment.

‘Three years ago I worked what we thought was a murder in Busan. It turned out to be an abduction.’

Yoongi laughs. There’s no humour in it.

‘We found her. She was still warm. If we’d been ten minutes quicker at figuring it out, if her fucking dad had told us about the business deal he had that had gone sour sooner, if I’d even just tried harder…’

His voice trails off.

He risks a glance at you.

You’re still not looking at him.

‘I can’t speak to whether you could have prevented it, Yoongi. All I know is that none of us come to work to do a bad job.’

Your hand lands on his forearm briefly.

‘Some days are just bad days at the office.’

It’s not the first time Yoongi’s heard it, but it’s the first time it’s been said to him with no judgement that he can hear.

***

When you get back to the precinct, Namjoon’s waiting.

He hands Yoongi another case file.

‘I got Jimin to follow up on those leads we talked about,’ Namjoon says, no preamble.

‘We visited Jeon Bogyeol’s last known address,’ you say. ‘There’s no one there now, but it hasn’t been long since he moved out.’

Namjoon says, ‘Keep me informed.’

He nods to the case file. ‘There’s some interesting information in there.’

As Namjoon walks off, you turn to Yoongi.

‘I’m going down to visit someone I know in forensics, see if they can check the house.’

Yoongi heads for your joint office.

There’s a cleaning cart parked just outside the door, which opens just as Yoongi reaches for the doorknob.

The cleaner apologises and bows politely.

Yoongi steps aside to let her pass.

‘You forgot this,’ he says, spotting the dusting cloth left on your desk.

He hands it to her and places the file on his desk.

Outside, it’s raining again.

***

Yoongi wakes with a jolt.

You’re perched on the edge of his desk.

‘You should go home, get some sleep.’

‘In the middle of an active murder investigation?’ Yoongi mumbles.

‘I’m one of the potential targets, remember?’ you say, grimacing. ‘He might come to us.’

At Yoongi’s expression, you say, ‘We’ve been doing nothing but following up leads since the last murder. The last investigation took months, almost a year. What are you going to do, not sleep until he’s caught?’

‘I don’t sleep much anyway,’ Yoongi says, but he knows you’re right.

‘I know you don’t,’ you reply. There’s an empathy in your tone that reminds him you’re a homicide detective too.

You exchange a look, and then you both speak at the same time.

‘I should go —‘

‘Do you like wontons?’ Yoongi blurts out.

You raise an eyebrow. ‘Is this like inviting me in for ramen?’

‘What?’ Yoongi splutters. ‘No, not like that. There’s this place I go. They have—-‘

‘Wontons, I get it,’ you say. You get up. ‘Yeah. Let’s go.’

***

It’s been a while since Yoongi shared a meal with someone else, the last person was Hoseok, who could go straight from a crime scene to a steakhouse without turning a hair.

You’re chasing a wonton around your plate, fatigue lining the corners of your mouth.

Yoongi asks, ‘Where do you live?’

‘The other side of town,’ you tell him. ‘Near the financial district.’

‘Fancy,’ Yoongi muses.

‘More than I can afford,’ you say darkly. ‘If this case goes on for a while I’m going to need to move.’

You look up at him. ‘Where do you live?’

‘Close to here,’ Yoongi says.

‘Yeah?’

You put your chopsticks down. ‘I should —-‘

This time, Yoongi interrupts.

‘Do you want to come round for ramen?’

Your eyes meet, and there’s a beat of silence. Then a pulse of connection that sends heat through Yoongi’s veins.

Your knee brushes his under the table.

‘Yeah,’ you answer, deliberate. ‘Fuck, yeah.’

***

Yoongi’s always hated the preamble to a hookup, in his line of work uncertainty is a thing to be avoided.

You work the case until you get an explanation no reasonable person would doubt.

He finds himself waiting, though, now that you’re standing in his apartment.

You’re looking around, and he wonders if his existence seems as lonely on the outside as it feels on the inside.

He’s wondering if you’ve changed your mind, if you really did think he meant ramen, when you reach out and grasp the front of his shirt.

Slip the tips of your fingers just under, hold the placket as you use your other hand to unbutton. Start at his throat, work your way down, slowly.

His skin prickles under the warmth of your fingers.

You lean forward and press a kiss to the base of his neck.

Yoongi reaches up, slides a hand around the nape of your neck, and you tilt your face to his.

Close up, you’re soft.

Yoongi traces your bottom lip with his thumb, and your lips part.

You don’t say anything, though, and that’s ok, because Yoongi thinks you’re as talked out as he is.

It’s been a hell of a fucking day.

You’re kissing his neck again, instead of his mouth, and that’s ok, because this isn’t love, it’s comfort.

A human connection in a day filled with monsters.

Yoongi sighs as your hands slip over his bare chest, round to his back.

He helps you lift your top over your head, admires your breasts, nipples pressing against the fabric of your bra.

He cups the weight of them in his hands, and you moan.

Yoongi’s cock is filling out, and you’re undoing his belt like you want to see for yourself.

You drop to your knees in front of him, press your mouth onto the length of him over his boxer briefs, sigh with pleasure.

‘Not too much,’ Yoongi warns, ‘not if you want me to fuck you.’

You look up at him, hair mussed, a smile curving your lips.

You tug his boxer briefs down, and Yoongi curls a hand around himself so as not to hit you in the face.

‘Just let me —‘

You open your mouth to take him in, and Yoongi groans at the feel of your warmth.

When did he last —

His crown nudges the back of your throat, and you swallow, and he loses his train of thought.

He grabs your shoulder, tugs you up, kisses the smear of his own stickiness at the corner of your mouth.

The light slanting in through the window is hues of gold and orange, filling in the hollows of your face, outlining the curves of your body.

Yoongi has to stop looking at you because he doesn’t want to cry at how much he’s missed being close to someone like this.

‘Where do you want me?’ he asks, voice taut.

‘Anywhere,’ you say. ‘Just turn these fucking lights out.’

***

In the dark, Yoongi’s most enraptured by the warmth of you.

Your skin is smooth, so soft under his hands as he wraps his fingers around the curve of your hips.

His cock glides in and out of the heat between your legs, and your moans are beautiful but what really gets him are the hitches in your breathing as he moves.

He turns you over, onto your back, and you pull him to you. Your mouth opens on his shoulder in what would be a kiss if you weren’t biting down. Your tongue flicks over his bruised skin, an apology.

You haven’t spoken to each other in words in a while but Yoongi doesn’t think either of you need words right now.

At least he doesn’t.

You’re tightening around his cock now, your cries quickening until you gasp his name in a tone that makes him grunt and his hips jerk, taking him deep as he can go.

Even in his pleasure he makes sure not to crush you as he collapses next to you.

Then you’re up, walking over to the window, pulling up the sash, lighting a cigarette without asking if he’s ok with it.

Yoongi admires the outline of your profile against the glass.

‘I needed that,’ you say, taking a drag, hunching a little to blow smoke out of his window.

‘Me too,’ Yoongi says, honestly.

He ties off the condom, gets up to toss it in the trash on top of yesterday’s takeout.

Pours you a glass of water on his way back to bed.

He half expects you to be dressed, and you are, but in his clothes, not your own, an old t-shirt he’d tossed on the chair by the bed yesterday morning before he left for work.

He can’t see your face clearly in the dark. It makes it easy to find his voice.

‘You should stay,’ he says. ‘We can get coffee in the morning.’

You’re quiet. ‘I want to.’

Yoongi climbs into bed, and after a moment you slide in next to him.

Your bodies aren’t touching at all, but somehow having you there with him is enough.

Yoongi means to check on you, but he’s asleep so quickly he doesn’t get a chance to.

***

There’s a basketball hoop set into the wall in the back end of the station, a concrete square with a chain-link fence.

The building opposite is a block of offices, as is the building next to it.

Yoongi makes the shot, and you grab the ball on its first bounce.

You say, ‘Forensics got nothing from Jeon Bogyeol’s shack. He bleached the shit out of the place before he left.’

Yoongi grunts, watches you point and shoot.

He’d read through the file Namjoon gave him on the neighbour - it’s incomplete but she was last seen alive twelve weeks ago in a coastal town.

There’s something niggling at the back of his brain, he’d suggested shooting hoops in the hopes that the activity might shake the thought loose so his conscious mind can make the connection.

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

Namjoon.

‘I’m going up to see Namjoon,’ he says. ‘You coming?’

‘I’ll stay here for a bit,’ you say. ‘I’ll be up in a sec.’

Yoongi shrugs, lets himself back in.

Takes the stairs up to Namjoon’s office on the third floor.

There’s a cleaning cart parked next to the staff kitchen as he rounds the corner.

Yoongi’s about to knock on Namjoon’s door when his scattered thoughts crystallise.

The case file Namjoon had given him had a grainy photo of Jeon Bogyeol’s neighbour, the one who’d reported him and then disappeared.

He’s seen her face before, and recently.

Coming out of your office.

‘Fuck,’ he swears.

He grabs his phone out of his pocket, dials your number.

Your phone rings, and rings.

Yoongi takes off, down the stairs, back the way he came.

By the time he bursts out of the back door of the station, gun drawn, his heart’s thumping triple speed, but his hand is steady as he aims it at the man with a knife standing over you.

His finger goes from trigger guard to trigger.

‘Fucking drop it,’ Yoongi warns.

He doesn’t, so Yoongi shoots.

***

Jeon Bogyeol’s neighbour who had reported him was called Seo Hyerin.

She was in her early forties, an ex-teacher who he’d coerced into helping him by turning up at her new place even after she’d moved to get away from him.

She’d been too scared to disobey him, but in forcing her to help him, Jeon Bogyeol had given her access to enough information to clinch the case against him.

Once she’d found out he’d been shot and was likely to go straight from hospital to prison, she’d shared all that information with Yoongi and you.

The pieces fell into place so easily there was no need to make any of it fit.

And now Yoongi’s sitting in the kitchen of your apartment, watching as you pack things up.

He’d been right. Your place was fancy.

You were being transferred back to Seoul to finish up, see things through with the case.

He realises you’re looking at him.

‘My new place is a couple hours drive from here,’ you say.

‘Yeah?’ Yoongi says, like he hadn’t already looked it up.

He’d also looked up timed automated cat food dispensers, just because it was one thing to have a neighbour drop in and feed Kenzo if he’s stuck with a case occasionally, but it’s another thing if he’s regularly going to be driving down to see you.

If he’s regularly going to be spending the night away.

It’s uncharacteristic, for him, but he’s hopeful.

‘I slept pretty well that time,’ you say, looking down into your box.

You look up at him, and the curve of your lips makes Yoongi think to himself that he’d like to kiss you, sometime.

‘In your apartment,’ you clarify, like he wouldn’t already know.

‘I make good ramen,’ Yoongi says. ‘I can make it again for you, you know.’

You laugh, and the sound makes Yoongi feel warm.

He realises that he’s smiling.

Fuck, it’s been a while.

[moxfirefly]

Please please please with a cherry on top! I am in NEED of a thigh fuck with Raph xFemReader. I’ve had this scene stuck in my head of Raph and his girl making out and she’s finally had enough of him pushing her away when she’s about to bust so she straddles him on the lair couch. They’ve only made out with some semi-heavy petting before he pulls away and gets all “tough” and tries to change the subject. She’s a needy woman and she needs some attention and validation or at least an explanation as to why he’s so hesitant. She doesn’t get it because she’s been after him forever & now that she has him she’s not about to let him go. This could be completely filthy ❤️‍🔥 I just need my big boy to come undone (pun intended) No pressure but I just love your writing & have been going through and rereading all of your amazing stories! — Much love, Phera

Ngl this has been festering my noggin for a while because I’ve been in a big Raph mood lately. I hope you don’t mind but this is a combination of something I’ve been working on with like a portion of your request into it but I think you’ll enjoy it nonetheless.

Rated Explicit (18+ only)

Raphael always found the word “obsessed” to be a tad too exaggerated.

Whenever Donnie said he was obsessed with some new tech thing, or Mikey was obsessed with a new song, or even Leo was obsessed with some new form of meditation.

Obsessed sounded too big of an adjective to explain it.

Raph didn’t consider himself obsessed with his workouts or even knitting. He liked them sure, maybe even loved them because they brought some semblance of balance to an already complicated brain. But obsessed felt too outrageous of a word.

That all went to hell the second his eyes had landed on yours. Because suddenly the word began to ring out loudly in his brain in blood red caution style letters. Something chemically switched in his brain the very moment you had spoken. He felt sweaty, clammy and downright sick to his stomach.

How many hours in the day could somebody think about another person?

He felt like his ass was going numb from sitting on the bench thing long contemplating this situation. He’d only done one rep of his bench presses when he had to sit up and breathe and quiet his mind.

You were April’s friend, her latest and most stable roommate and somehow the idea of mutants in the sewers had been easier to swallow than he could ever hope for in human reactions.

He felt pathetic, a little dirty but overall weightless whenever you were near by. You’d stepped in several times to help whenever April simply couldn’t. You’d come down with groceries, hand me downs and all sorts of necessities simply because you wanted to help. Raph wasn’t some inconsiderate chump though, he was thankful, he’d (somehow) engaged in his fair share of small talk with you.

And sure your eyes had lit up with him.

Sure there were moments he wanted to do a double take because he swore your eyes had lingered on him.

Pesky pesky pesky ‘ifs’.

Quite often the sensation of your eyes lingering on him had taken him to places he hardly entertained. He didn’t want to place you in that box, that ‘potential’ box where he wondered what a normal life could feel like. He much less wanted to stuff you in the other box.

The one where when he slept and saw nothing but your eyes and mouth and hands all over him. The one where when he woke up and felt like a fever was burning him in the very pits of hell, all because he swore he heard you moan out for him. How many ruined sheets carried your name. How many showers he’s tried to burn you off of him only to simply get off to the idea of your skin against his own.

God he was obsessed wasn’t he?

The hypocrisy alone wouldn’t mortify him.

What would kill him is if you suddenly developed mind reading powers and saw one third of his thoughts on you.

From the fruity gushy romantic ones.

To the filthy debauched images he painted daily ones.

He felt sick again.

Sicker the second you walked in the shorts you wore when summer was approaching.

You had a scar on your knee cap he wanted to taste. He saw how skin spread when you sat down, the plushness, the softest of chubbiness that had him thinking how divine it would be to wake up to those thighs crushing his face. A tremble in his hand urged him to lay a palm on your thigh, just to touch, just to get a taste of human flesh against his calloused scales. Raph wanted nothing more than to feel you sit on his lap and ask him if he could be a good boy for you and-

“Yo bro if you ain’t taking a plate I’m eating it” When had Mikey gotten in front him and why was food being shoved into his face?

Oh, right, you brought dinner tonight.

He had mumbled a grunt of an apology and had poured the rest of his energy into eating.

Unbeknownst to him, you had felt that shift that could only be described as the earth shaking. Raphael wasn’t necessarily subtle, sure he’s gotten away with it a few times but there’s no way he expected you to not notice his eyes burning a hole through your thigh as you sat next to him.

And who said you couldn’t be a little cruel in your endeavors of letting him get the fucking hint that you wanted him too?

So when you had finished eating and Casey and Donnie had started up one of their heated debates, you had placed a hand on his knee to push yourself up from the couch.

You had dug just a little bit of nail.

You had let your palm slide on your way up.

If Raph could implode he would’ve.

If he could set himself on fire he would’ve lit a match by now.

That had messed him up for days. He had rutted against his pillow three nights in a row and none of it had been enough to silence the voice, the itch of his skin.

All it had done was open his eyes a little wider, to watch you like a damn hawk.

And he began to notice things. Notice the little games you played with him.

From the way you crossed your legs when his green eyes landed on you. To the way your smile felt just mischievous enough to let him know he had been had.

You knew.

God, could you read his thoughts?

He had been tasked one evening to walk you to the exit of the Lair. It wasn’t too late, but work and deadlines were impeding you from torturing him longer this evening. He had quietly gotten you to the latter that led closest to your place.

“Ya let us know when ya make it home safe” Came that gruff voice of his, that almost constipated pit nesting in his stomach. Just before your hands could grip the ladder, you had gripped the length of the white cloth that adorned his shorts. You twirled the fabric, gentle twists and a knowing smile that made him hold his breath.

“And you let me know the next time you’re thinking of me at night. I think we’re past this little game.” You didn’t give him a second to recover let alone form a coherent sentence before you were up the ladder and gone.

Raphael looked up, the beam of light as the cover was opened to allow you out into the buzzing city. It felt too much of a spotlight highlighting his desires. You watched him down below, the shadows hiding just enough but not the stunned hungry look. If he were a religious man, he could say that you looked like a god, above him all knowing and with the power to turn him into ash.

And how he wanted to fall to his knees and pray in between your legs.

He hadn’t slept that night.

He had watched the ceiling of his and Mikey’s shared room and contemplated your words. He turned them over and over, examined every vowel and consonant. He tasted the sounds in his mouth. Your haughty smile as the wind blew a few strands of hair.

He lasted a week.

Seven days of self loathing.

A hundred and sixty eight hours of working up the courage.

Ten thousand and eighty minutes of wanting to even the playing field.

So on that last day, last hour, last minute, he had snuck out after patrol and a shower and headed to your apartment. He had climbed up the fire escape with every intention of telling you how evil you were for making him so obsessed.

His simply texted,

‘Window.’

His tried to mask a neutral face as you pulled back the curtains and found him crouched there.

The second you smiled though…

He had lost.

You lifted the window open and rested your hands on the windowsill.

“Couldn’t stop thinking of me?” Your words stabbed him, and he loved it.

He wanted to snarl, wanted to show you that this was stupid of you to even consider. So when he moved forward, brought his face close to yours, you didn’t flinch.

“Don’t be such a coward and show me what kept you up this late?” Your warm breath caressed his scarred lips.

Raph blinked, taken aback on how easily you had taken hold of him. When your hand reached up, knuckles caressing his jaw before they rested on the lip of his plastron, he closed the distance with an innocent kiss. A pressing of lips that froze him against your mouth. He felt that hand run up his neck, a scratch of your nails bringing some life back to him as your lips moved against his own.

Just as his mouth began to catch up, to lose itself against the wetness of your tongue you had backed up into the room and beckoned him inside the living room.

And like a trained pet he slid inside and felt smaller than he had ever imagined he could.

And god, he loved it.

He let you lead him to the couch, watched obsessively as you straddled his lap and kissed him with every intention of devouring all the secrets he possessed inside of him. He can’t and won’t be able to forget the sensation of your hands grabbing his own and letting them hover over your chest.

“Do you want me? Do you want to keep doing this?” You had asked cautiously, adamant in letting him know this could stop the second he felt it needed to. It took every power in him to not yell out a resounding and firm ‘yes’.

“Good, that’s a good boy” And fuck his dick twitched and almost came undone right then and there. He felt his hands cup your breast, the soft tender flesh from above your sleep shirt, just as you rolled your hips against his painfully hard erection.

Between the kisses he groaned out a desire.

“Wanna feel more of ya, can I?” He whispered it against the corner of your mouth as desperate as he ever could.

Your reply came in the simple gesture of lifting your shirt and your reward came in the form of hungry eyes and lips finding your breasts.

He was gutted, how could something this beautiful also be perfect and soft and right now against his lips?

Raph felt your hand on the back of his head and the quiet little yelp as he bit down gently on your nipple almost be his second undoing of the night. He kissed the perked bud, wrapped his tongue around it and savored the texture, the taste, the way that with each suction you grew needier and wetter.

He could feel you so perfectly through the fabric of your underwear just gush against his clothed crotch. His hands held your waist as he devoured your other breast and delighted ‘ha!’ escaped your lips when he his bit down just a little harder than before. Raph’s eyes looked up, the flush pink of your neck, the sweat starting to form.

The two of you still needed to be quiet, you weren’t alone after all.

And this was simply still a taste of things to come.

“I want you, so fucking bad, but not here, not like this” You kissed it up his neck, felt those big hands grip your rear. His eyes held confusion and a stupor that could only mean he was drunk off of this.

“We’re gonna be a little creative and very very quiet” Your hands rested on his shoulders, to which allowed yourself the luxury of a good firm squeeze to the muscle. God he was a fucking sight to behold.

With a remorseful push you got up on wobbly legs and slid your underwear down and off. He had followed the path, mesmerized and hungry. Just to tease, just to be the cruel god you could be, you rubbed along your folds, gathered slick and offered up to his willing and devout lips. He sucked greedily, loved the way you slowly pulled out the digits from his mouth.

Next to his spot you climbed on the couch and rested against the backrest and urged him closer. “Y/n I um, I’m too big-“ And he wanted to cringe at the admission that there was no way this could happen like this without some lube and patience.

“Thighs, use my thighs Raphie” That stupid name sounded like salvation when spoken in your voice. Nervously but ever so in need he settled behind you, pushed his shorts past his hips and saw the mess he had become due to you, much like he did on nights.

His hands ran up the globes of your cheeks and found your waist. He slid himself between the thighs he had dreamt off for far too long and just as he hoped, they felt better than he could ever imagine. “Oh-fuck…” Was his breathless response to the first slide, your thighs locked up as tight as they could be. The move allowed his cock to perfectly slide along your core, rub against your clit and you tighten your lips in a muffled moan.

The next thrust wasn’t as gentle, as slow. But enough to have his navel slap against your rear in that all to familiar lewd slap he often heard in ‘videos.’

He fell slightly forward, massive arms wrapped around your stomach and lips at the top of your head. “God, Y/n, fucking wanted this” He grunted against the crown of your head. “Me too baby, me too” You braced yourself better, if he was like this…

The thought alone made your toes curl as he began to thrust, building a rhythm that had the two of you on the brink of screwing up and moaning louder than allowed. A hand clasped down on your breast as the couch began to protest with the force of his movements.

“Come on Raphie, just like you dreamt of, do just like you’ve always wanted to” You turned your head, did your best to catch a glimpse of his debauched features as he thrusted faster, that squelching sound combined with your moans making him lose control.

“Shit-I’m gonna…” He buried his face against the back of your neck.

“Do it, do it for me, make a mess” Your own undoing so close you could taste it.

It’s a gut punch, it’s like a bomb going off in his chest and stomach all at once. It’s the hardest he has ever cum, and he’s clutching you and not a pillow for once. He can feel it mix in with your own release, feel it drip down against your thighs and shot against the couch. He feels you slap against him as you ride your own wave whilst biting down on your forearm.

He feels dizzy, tired and drained.

He feels you against him. Sticky and sweaty and panting.

He feels so fucking obsessed.

He feels so fucking obsessed.

[leviathanspain]

mi amor

namor x avenger!reader

synopsis: after a long time running away from the one man who had promised you the world, you realize your fears have come to fruition

disclaimer: i have NOT seen the movie yet lmaooo i work all the time + i’m a cheap ass waiting for the pirated websites to upload the HD versions for the movie so bear with me if none of this is remotely accurate— based off of fics and clips i’ve seen

mi amor - my love

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you could hear the clamor of the fight. you had stayed back, the look of disappointment on shuri’s face when she tried to tug on you to help was like salt in your deep wound. you knew exactly who it was, having caught glimpses of their blue skin and their clothing, you felt the bile rise in your throat as panic surged your body.

had he truly found you again? after all this time?

you had spent the months after leaving, destroying every piece of your identity, faking your death, selling your belongings and erasing yourself from existence. for a time, it was easy. half the world had been snapped so half the people who once knew you, were gone.

but it didn’t make the struggle of it all any less. the avengers had dissolved, especially considering that half of your teammates were gone, you were left with one option, one that you weren’t really sure was reliable anymore.

wakanda had once let you call it home, and you hoped it would once again.

nakia’s voice was like music to your ears as the call had finally been picked up on the third ring.

your head fell into your hand with a sigh of relief, “nakia!” you nearly cried, “nakia, thank the gods..”

you heard a faint whisper of a man in the background before nakia responded with your name, “y/n? what’s wrong?”

your unloading of the situation took a mere five minutes, but nakia was already on her way with a jet to retrieve you in less than.

being back on wakanda was jarring. you had been here before, happy and accompanying bucky as he healed from hydra’s touch. and it was here, that you saw him for the very first time.

legends that your mother had told you never measured to his. he was pure magic, a mystical being that had you bowing on your knees.

he rose from the water as you felt the tears prick from your eyes. the darkness casted a shadow over his face, and it wasn’t until he was breathing your air, that you finally saw the beauty of him.

you felt the gasp of air leave your lungs, and instead, filled with the pounding water from down below.

you wanted to scream, feeling the burning of your lungs, you clawed at your throat, and even more at him, for his beauty was a facade for the evil that sat within him.

as he set a hand on your shoulder, intent on watching you die within his wrath, you gripped his hand, and let the fire of your pain burn through onto his skin.

he pulled back, hissing as he looked down at his injury. you collapsed at the same time, the water that made your lungs burn now emptied out on the ground, gasping for air you heaved.

“what..” you coughed, still gulping at the left over sea water, “the fuck?!” you yelled.

“i have the same question to ask you..” his voice was accented, a twinge of spanish just at the brink of his tongue you could almost hear it.

he looked down at his burn and smirked softly, “you are the fire they’ve warned about..”

you sent yourself back to reality.

“enough dwelling in the past..” you muttered. you mustered up your strength and stepped out onto the scene. it was less horrifying as you imagined, considering his style.

all the words fell immediately as you revealed yourself. shuri and ramonda both turned and the reveal of your betrayal played in their eyes.

“y/n.” his voice was like forbidden music to your ears. you turned your gaze away from them and faced him.

you regretted your decision to show, but you understood that this was partly your fault.

“k'uk'ulkan.” his name was like honey on your tongue, a sound to him that left him buzzing. you looked at him and wanted to beg the question, wanted to ask why he would go to such lengths to find you.

“don’t think that i didn’t know. i can feel you move amongst them, your heart is aligned with mine..” namor moved closer to you, “i felt them, their heartbeat, their energy..” namor whispered now, his words ever so enchanting.

you mustered up the courage and pushed him back roughly, the sound of sizzling flesh was heard just as his soldiers, stepped in front of him with weapons pointed at your neck.

you scoffed, “i was once considered your queen, your ruler and you my subjects, and you dare forget me so soon..” you stepped back, and ignored their faces as you stared at namor, “there is not a corner on this earth that you will leave unsearched, but there is the fact that you will never find him.” your words were like knives to his heart, and he seethed.

as you prepared to step back, run away as you have always done, the emotion that tugged at your heartstrings made you stop, and gaze him in the eye once more.

“how could you have done this to me, mi amor?” he was murmuring the words, and you looked back to see the wakandians glaring at you with betrayal, “i promised to give you the world,” he opened his arms and turned with a grimace, “even if the world is undeserving of your beauty, your power can change it, change them.” he glowered at the wakandians.

you shook your head, “how could i have stayed knowing your were walking the narrow line between justice and tyranny?” you echoed, “i made my decision, and i live with it everyday that he asks who his father is.” you sniffled, “it is now your turn to live with the consequences of your actions, mi amor.” the last words felt antagonizing, like salt to another deep wound.

the pain of walking away, knowing you had just given up another place you could’ve called home eventually, was tough. your son was with nakia, the only one entrusted with the information regarding his parentage, you had him blended into society, a child who lived in ignorance filled bliss.

you would give up your life, if it meant namor would never see him.

[rillils]

STEVE & BUCKY'S LOVE STORY, UNABRIDGED SOMEWHAT ABRIDGED, part 3/4 (here are part 1 and part 2)

i just want to preface this by saying: as much as they tried to make this movie all about tony, and as much as they tried to no-homo the steve/bucky situation, they still somehow ended up making CACW the gayest movie in the whole cap trilogy, and that's saying something *throws confetti*

now, picking up where we left off:

aided by his friends sam and natasha, steve spends the following two years or so chasing after bucky, looking for clues as to where he could be hiding, until he eventually finds him.

their reunion scene is like. i honestly don't know if i can convey the sheer, ridiculous, absolute beauty that is this scene.

the thing is, steve isn't the only one who discovered bucky's location: the bad guys did too, and they're coming. like they're coming RIGHT NOW, as sam keeps trying to warn steve. which means that he and bucky have about 20 seconds to do this, and that might sound like too short of a time, right? but honey, the amount of repressed emotions and homoerotic subtext these two manage to stuff into those 20 seconds, my god--

no because like, there's a whole-ass SWAT team outside, waiting to crash through their door and blow up the place, yeah? and instead of getting the fuck out of there PRONTO, steve, mr romeo fucking rogers, decides to spend those precious few seconds trying to get bucky to admit that he loves him, making this much yearned-for, long-awaited reunion the most high-stakes game of gay chicken in the whole of history. you might think i'm kidding, but i'm not!!!!

INTRODUCING:

in the red corner, we've got steve basically telling bucky: "i know that you remember me, i know that you saved me because you still love me, please will you just say it out loud babe"

and in the blue corner there's bucky, extremely conflicted because YES, of course he loves steve, but he also knows he's putting steve in danger just by standing in the same room as him, and steve shouldn't even be here in the first place, and anyways STEVE NOW'S NOT THE TIME PLS FUCK

so he's just (unsuccessfully) trying to deny everything, you know?? "fuck no i don't know you, just know your name from a museum, what do you mEAN i saved your ass because i love you more than life itself and that's literally the first thing i remembered when i got my memory back"

(a quick reenactment:)

but really, you'll see the love in bucky's eyes if you just look hard enough.

n- no, look harder

a bit harder?

see, i told you

so here they are, just about to slam each other into the nearest wall and make out like it's brokeback mountain and they're just two guys coming from a time where their love had to be kept a secret and they miss what little privacy they used to have in their own little bubble when they were younger and living together and then life tore them apart and they haven't seen each other in ages and they've been yearning all the while and now that they're finally standing before each other again the air feels electric between them and they just can't help but- wait. uh. that, uh. that sounds familiar. uh.

OKAY so they're totally about to snog the living daylights out of each other, but time is running out. the bad guys are here!! and- and also a bunch of other people! because apparently everybody wants bucky either dead or locked up for one reason or another!! MY BOY CAN'T CATCH A FUCKING BREAK!!

so bucky is apprehended. but before anyone can do much about it, this other guy - this movie's Official Antagonist™ - gets bucky alone and triggers bucky's brainwashed assassin persona into taking over.

no longer conscious of his own actions, bucky wreaks havoc in the building, knocking people down in his wake like a sexy buff steamroller, and tries to escape; but steve, desperate not to lose him again, goes after him and stops him.

by grabbing onto a fucking helicopter, as one does

one extremely romantic, freaking insane stunt later, steve manages to get bucky to safety. next thing you know, bucky's waking up and back to himself, and they finally have a bit longer than 20 seconds to talk. you think they're gonna be normal about this? you think they're gonna share a standard heart to heart conversation? oh hell no, babes. WHIP OUT THE BEDROOM EYES, TURN THAT SOFTNESS UP TO ELEVEN, WE'RE UNLOCKING A BRAND NEW LEVEL OF EMOTIONS HERE

seriously. you don't know what true tenderness is, until you've heard james buchanan barnes softly say, in his sweet, gruff, velvety drawl, barely holding back a smile, "your mom's name was sarah. you used to wear newspapers in your shoes."

also the two of them just. spend half the scene making INTENSE heart eyes at each other, gazing deeply and intimately in each other's eyes, just bypassing the flirting zone to move straight to eye-lovemaking lane, while sam is in the room, because they've got no chill whatsoever.

unfortunately, sam cockblocks reminds them that they don't have time for this shit (dammit, sam) as they kinda have more pressing matters at hand, being on the run from like every government in the world (and then some). also they must neutralize The Antagonist™ before he can act on his Evil Plan™, so, you know. put the eyesex on hold, guys!

(to be continued in part 4)

[asirensrage]

Saudade - Chapter 6

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Mikey x OC, Hanma x OC, Ran x OC, Mikey x OC x Draken Fandom: Tokyo Revengers Warnings: swearing, violence, threats of violence, murder, smoking, sex, consensual sex between teenagers, alcohol, recreational drug use, mention of trafficking, torture, family neglect, mentions of sexual violence. isekai OC. memory loss. unbeta’d **warnings are not exhaustive** Summary: No one seems to realize she doesn’t belong until she finally runs into her “new” brother, Hanagaki Takemichi. Now, hearing his story, Takara makes the choice to help him and hopefully find her way home, but faking it til you make it only lasts so long when you start losing the memories of the life you had before. As Takemichi becomes the only family she’s ever known, how far will she go to protect him?

notes: Thank you so much for the comments on the last chapter. I'm so glad you've enjoyed it. I hope you like this one as well. This includes one of my friend's favourite scenes

Please be advised it does follow canon in this next part and that does include canon character death…in a junkyard…where our girl meets some of our favourite siblings ;)

I hope you enjoy it. Your comments mean the world to me. Thank you all.

also on ao3

fic masterlist - prev chapter

Takemichi tries to keep Takara out of the fight. The one that he’s already warned her changes their future and results in Hina’s death. She promises to stay away so that he doesn’t have to worry about her and breaks it the moment he leaves. She’s not about to let her brother do something stupid. Not when she can help. 

The junkyard where the fight is organized to happen is easy to find. It takes Takara a little bit to get past some of the people dressed up and getting ready to celebrate the day. Part of her regrets not being involved, being excited to scare others and gorge herself on candy…but she has enough weird things happening in her life. She doesn’t need to search for more. 

She pauses at one of the entrances, checking around quickly for the best place to watch this go down. Most of the spots are already taken by various boys wearing signs and colours she doesn’t recognize. The ground is also not solid which means she’s going to have a hell of a time walking over on her wheels. She hears a bunch of voices coming closer from behind and she makes a split decision, heading for a section that’s out of the way but seems manageable to sit at. There’s also not as many men in the area as others but she makes the choice to ask instead of barging in on their area they’ve claimed.

“Hey, you guys mind if I sit with you?” 

They look over at her in surprise. She doesn’t know if it was because she hobbled over in her skates or the fact that she asked. 

“What are you doing here?” the blond asks. 

“I came to see if my brother’s going to get his ass kicked again. Someone’s gotta look out for the punk.”

That gets their attention. “Your brother?” the one with the braids asks.

“Yeah, he’s in the Tokyo Manji gang.”

“You’re fucking brave, aren’t you? You know there’s a reason there are no girls here, right?” the blond asks again. 

“Family over gender,” she says, waving it off. “I’ll take off if I need to.” 

The two look at each other before the one with the braids nods. “Alright, you can sit. We’ll make sure no one touches you.”

She grins sharply before hopping up on one of the scrap heaps with her hands. “Thanks.” They don’t say anything else, eyes on the groups that are coming in to actually fight. Takara looks, trying to find her brother in a sea of black and bleached hair. It’s harder than she thought it would be. Draken however is easy, both by being tall and in the front. As is the asshole who stole a kiss from her. Her lip curls, unimpressed at the sight of him. 

They don’t seem to notice her, at least not at first as their attention is focused on the other gang…until Takemichi yells her name. 

“Takara!” 

She curses him under her breath as multiple eyes look toward her. “Idiot,” she mutters. The members of Toman frown at her presence, except for Mikey who nods toward her. She’s not worried about them though. 

“Come to see me win, princess?” Hanma shouts at her. He’s grinning widely, looking completely unconcerned about the fact he’s about to be in the middle of a major gang fight. 

“Only to see you fucking bleed!” she snarls back. He just laughs, as though he expected that response. She turns her attention to Draken who’s watching it all carefully. “Hey! Draken! That’s the asshole I had to teach consent to!” 

Draken’s expression darkens just like she expected it to. She remembers the way he reacted to her telling them about it. Hopefully, he’ll take care of that problem. 

🐈‍⬛

She doesn't really know what's going on if she's honest. There's a lot happening and she loses sight of Takemichi multiple times as the gangs swarm together. It's only easy to see Mikey once he’s climbed up on the junk pile, even as he looks like he's defeated. 

She can sort of make out what the one boy is yelling at Mikey, which makes it seem like there was a bunch of drama behind the scenes that led to this build-up. It wasn’t surprising based on what she remembers her brother and Baji telling her, but it reaffirmed that it was probably one of those things where it all could have been avoided if the boys just had a proper conversation. 

She keeps her mouth shut, watching Kisaki make a call to arms to help Mikey. She could see how it looked natural, but based on everything she knows, it feels like a set up. It is too easy, especially with how he slipped through the sea of bodies to make it there. Then…Baji appears, aiming straight for him.

Takara remembers the way Baji told her he had a plan, that it would work but not that it was good and when she sees the one who attacked Mikey sneak up on him, blade glinting in the light as he stabs him, she knows Baji failed. She also knows this has officially gone too far. 

She digs out her cell phone, watching Baji force himself to stand, acting like he’s fine. She’s seen enough boys try to hide injuries so they could keep playing over the years, her brother included, to know he’s lying, even at this distance. 

“Hey,” she calls out to the two older boys who let her sit with them. “You guys might want to run. I’m calling an ambulance.” They offered to protect her while she was here. The least she could do was give them a fair warning. 

“Fight’s not over,” the blond with the glasses points out. 

“Yes, it is. Someone brought a knife to a fistfight. That means the rules changed and I’m stepping in before this goes off the rails. No one needs to die for some stupid shit.” She dials the number for emergency while the boys she’s with don’t move. They might rat her out for this, but she’ll take the chance. As soon as someone picks up, she starts talking fast, pitching her voice up higher so it’s less recognizable. “There’s a fight!” She gives off the location before continuing, trying to sound more panicked than she feels. “Someone’s been stabbed! I think they’re really hurt! Hurry!” She hangs up as soon as they confirm that someone is on the way. 

The one with the braids shakes his head, seemingly amused. “Get ready to move.”

Glasses glares towards her but Takara simply shrugs back, turning to see Mikey pummeling the one who stabbed Baji. She knows she should be concerned, but that seemed like a logical consequence for trying to murder a friend. Besides, the cops are on their way…even if she should have maybe requested two ambulances…

She watches as Baji calls for Mikey to stop as he stands…and then decides to be dramatic and stab himself. Again. 

Takara doesn’t think. She jumps off of the junk that she’s sitting on and hobbles her way over as she hears the boys panic, crying at Baji for what he’s done. No one’s putting pressure on the wound. Honestly, you’d think they were helpless.

She doesn’t listen as people try to stop her, managing to slip out of their grips before she can reach Baji and those who surround him. She can suddenly hear sirens and the panic around her increases. She ignores it, ignores the way Mikey stares at her as she pulls off her shirt and uses it to press against Baji’s stomach wound as she drops to her knees next to him. 

“Fucking idiot,” she mutters. Baji just grins at her. 

“Worked,” he says back before talking to her brother who moves in next to her, trying to cover her up from the gazes of the boys and men around them. She’s in a sports bra. Even if it’s not something anyone else here is used to, she’s fine. 

The one who stabbed Baji is stock still, staying even as Takara has to threaten her brother to leave. She’s not sure who pulls who away as Takemichi and Chifuyu leave, but she throws his jacket to Takashi so there’s no trace him. She doesn’t move, keeping her hands pressed against Baji and telling him that he’s not allowed to die. He grins at her again before passing out and she realizes that she hasn’t stopped the blood from the wound on his back. 

“Give me your shirt,” she demands, not even looking up at the attempted murderer. 

“What?” he asks, still seemingly in shock. She doesn’t know why. What did he think would happen? 

“Your shirt! Now!” 

He quickly strips it off, coming to kneel across from her on the other side of Baji. She grabs it and uses it to try to staunch the blood flow from the wound he created. 

“Is he..?”

“Shut up!” she snaps. She’s trying to save a friend and the cops are coming and she has to figure out what the story she’s going to tell is. Takara can only try because everyone else is fucking useless including the boy who stabbed her friend in the first place. Just because he’s passed out doesn’t mean he’s dead. There’s still time. 

It feels like forever before the ambulance finally arrives, paramedics praising her as they take over. Baji is taken into the ambulance and Takara stands in the junkyard alone, hands covered in blood and surrounded by police as they arrest the boy who stabbed him. 

🐈‍⬛

She’s covered with a blanket to give her some sense of modesty. She’s not sure if it’s for her or them. The police can’t seem to decide whether or not to praise her or tell her off for getting involved. Her story was that she was rollerblading and came across the two of them fighting. She saw Baji get stabbed and it devolved from there. She called emergency services and tried to help. That’s how they found them. 

She gets charged for being a public nuisance because of her rollerblading, because one of the cops recognized her, but it only comes with a small fine and a warning. She’s forced into slippers and doesn’t get to leave though until she’s picked up by an adult because she’s technically still a minor. 

“What about my friend?” she asks once they finally stop repeating their questions. “Is he okay?” 

There’s a moment of silence, the officers looking between each other, that tells her everything she needs to know. That explained why they suddenly came in earlier, their questions more demanding than before.

“Oh.” 

She had tried. Her hands were still stained with his blood. She could see it in the cracks of her skin and under her nails. She had tried. 

“Your friend died in the hospital,” one officer says softly. “They tried but…there–there was too much blood loss and his internal organs were shredded.”

“Fucking idiot,” She mutters again. She doesn’t say anything else. 

Takara feels as though she’s been submerged in water as the world moves around her. She can hear her father lecturing her for getting involved but she can’t really make out the words. It’s doesn’t matter. He’s not really hers. He finally falls silent, leaving her to her own thoughts on the ride home. 

She walks into the house, still wrapped up in a scratchy blanket, wearing thin slippers that threaten to fall off of her feet as her father tucks her blades away, and Takemichi comes running from the other room. He skids to a stop, looking at her. 

“Takara! What happened?”

“Baji’s dead,” she tells him, the simple fact it now is. She hears him protest, demand more information, but she ignores him, moving on autopilot to the bathroom. There is blood on her clothes and her skin. She strips, throwing the clothes in the garbage before stepping into the shower. She turns the water on as hot as she can stand it. 

Baji is dead. 

They weren’t close, but she liked him. He felt familiar, he made her laugh, and now he was dead because the boys in this world were fucking idiots. 

It was a sharp reminder of what awaited them, that the threat that continued to linger over Takemichi’s head waiting to fall in the future was real. 

She scrubbed hard at her skin. That was never going to happen to her brother. Just because the boys of this world were idiots, didn’t mean she had to fall into that same trap. Takemichi was going to be fine.  She’d make sure of it.  

🐈‍⬛

Takara has never been to a funeral like Baji’s.

Takemichi has yet to leave, to go back to his proper place in the future, and he leads her through it, whispering guidance. None of his advice helps when she finds her arms full with a crying older woman who is thanking her for trying to save her son. 

“Don’t thank me. It wasn’t enough,” Takara says softly. 

“It was,” the woman insists. 

She’s never dealt with this before but she hugs the woman back, hearing a voice in her head telling her that everyone deserves comfort, and she offers her apologies and assistance should the woman need it. 

The woman pulls back and cups her cheek gently, smiling softly at her as tears fall. “You’re a good girl. Your parents must be proud.” 

They barely act like she exists, but Takara nods and Baji’s mother is led away by another relative, back to her position for the wake. 

She sits with her brother. Their parents were too busy to attend a funeral for a boy they didn’t know, but they handed them money to contribute and left them to their own devices. They’re surrounded by friends, all of them here to offer their respects.

Chifuyu and Emma are crying, while Draken looks solemn. Mikey looks like he’s still in shock, like he did in the hospital when his men were around him and he was determined to be strong. It looks exhausting. 

Takemichi is crying. Of course, he is. She pulls out the tissues she brought in her bag because she knew he would and hands them over to him. Takara stares at Baji’s picture on the altar, listening to the service and the sounds of mourning but she doesn’t really hear it. All she knows is that it won’t be her, she won’t be sitting in a wake mourning again. She’s lost too much already. She won’t lose another brother. Not if she can help it.

tag list: @raith-way @zeleniafic @veetlegeuse @chickensarentcheap @residentdormouse

@themaradwrites @kingsmakers @thatmagickjuju @awkwardchick87

tr tag: @mitsuwuyaa @blackfire2013 @bleach-your-panties @reiners-milkbiddies

saudade tag: @thisbicc @scythegal

network tag: @pixelcafe-network

[animentality]

In the fic that I may never write I like the idea of a short little scene that goes like this: Gortash and Durge out among the citizens of the Gate, probably on their way to or from some nefarious business, definitely dressed to blend in and maybe even acting the part of a normal couple/friends/partners. This alone is fun to think that perhaps they had moments of normality as they went about blending in on the outside while plotting death and tyranny in private. But imagine- and I usually picture this as being from Durges perspective- they pass another couple. A pair of lovebirds holding hands, giggling and making eyes. Maybe holding their weekly shopping and teasing each other over who owes who flowers. Perhaps they spy some newlyweds still beaming after their nuptials. Or for a Durge who has avoided siring children for fear of the tragic outcome, perhaps they pass a young family, the parents the same age as themselves and Enver, with their adorable, normal children who won’t grow to kill their own parents. Who will know love and safety with parents who will go home that evening and tuck their offspring into bed and curl up together, happy and safe and content with their simple lives. I imagine Durge pausing, watching, transfixed by a longing for what could have been, a longing for something from their own earliest childhood that they’ve all but completely buried. For them it’s a glimpse into a mirror showing what could have been in another life and another world. Maybe theres a moment of bitterness that they know they won’t ever live that life. No matter how they wish they could have that with Enver- an innocent partnership, a family perhaps- the gods will never let that come to pass. They can only watch with envy as others get to go about their lives while they themselves hide their bloody, wretched reality in plain sight.

And perhaps Enver notices their pause. Sees them stop in their tracks uncharacteristically. Follows their gaze across the street and understands the longing that has twisted so briefly across the features of his nearest and dearest. Maybe feels a pang of grief himself that this- a normal life- is the one thing that he cannot offer them. Or perhaps it strengthens his resolve to go through with the plan and to grab at enough power to defy their gods and be free at last. To grab at power so he can offer them both the very simplest of life’s pleasures that have been so unfairly denied to them.

Anyways. Enjoy my ramblings in this form because I’m not much of a writer ehehe

"Not much of a writer"

Fucking OBLITERATED ME.

I don't even have a RESPONSE, because that just took me the fuck out.

You crafted a whole ass novel there, anon, you made a whole UNIVERSE for durgetash to experience in what would be, what?

A second of real time?

URGH, I am a fucking sap for...little moments, so quick you don't even get to appreciate them.

But they last forever in your heart.

And you shattered mine.

Good job!

You're a writer, anon.

You should write things. Not just asks, but answers.

[shayshaybiscuit25]

Goodness me, my original ask started some mess I see. 😅

Shay this is a bit long, but I think I make decent points & dropped some truth bombs that everyone can agree with regardless of how they feel. Thank you all for reading and ……..here we go……… 🫣😮‍💨

Let’s begin……..for those who really believe Chris is racist or ain’t shit for associating with these fools……why be here at all?

As mentioned before, many of us believe this is PR and understand we do NOT know details. On the outside looking in it’s very easy to go “omg why didn’t he just end this, he’s just like them”, yet we also understand Hollywoood is a business, yes?

We understand complex things go on behind the scenes that look so simplistic and easy to us from our limited perspective.

Yes, I understand things look awful, but I need people to understand we don’t know what the hell is truly going on and I say that because it’s clear as day that something is off.

Look if Chris were selling this and acting like nothing was wrong then everyone would be losing their minds, and she would have ammo, but enough stuff has happened where you can see he doesn’t like her, he’s performing and that’s probably why he’s acting has switched up (having to horribly act in real life is affecting his actual craft) there are numerous holes in the cheese 🧀 of course the question stems…..then why marry the girl especially knowing she has racist friends…….please go back and refer to the previous and third red paragraphs.

We might not know details but we know Chris isn’t comfortable in this arrangement, of course many reading will roll their eyes at this statement, okay fair. 🙄

I’ll do you all one better, karma is real and for those that aren’t aware. Yesterday Justin (the wife’s soulmate) stood up for one of his racist friends in a post. He has some female friend on a Big Brother type show in Europe and the girl has been recorded on camera doing the damn Nazi Salute and people are pissed…..Justin’s dumbass makes a post basically saying the girl (his friend) doing the Nazi salute is “misunderstood” and a good person or some crap……. The entire time I’m like…..let me sit back and see how this plays out…..and if it gets tied back to Evans, I doubt it but let’s see. 👀 🧋 (this emoji represents me sipping my boba “tea”) 🤭

Chris does need to be called out and if this shitshow goes public public to the point the general population learns what fans know and it becomes a big deal, you’d better believe we’d end up getting a BUA and then some within mere hours or days (remember his response to the bomb pic)……do i believe any of that will happen…..nope. And if that went down like that, I’d question his ass even more.

No one here has issue with people calling Chris out, it’s those who act like they know more than they do, who take their own opinions as facts and are 100% sure he’s racist and calling him pedo or whatever else that has me like……well damn if you think that’s true and hate him that much…….then leave. I would not waste my time on a person I truly thought was evil and vile.

See, I care about this man and as time goes by we see truth and some of us see what we want while ignoring the rest, apply that as you will, come next month, I think people will finally end up determining their final thoughts on things and if it ends with “fuck Chris Evans”, then so be it. He made his bed and now he’s laying in it.

Eventually we’ll all find out the truth if it’s real or if this is all bs and the pr eventually ends…..well just know they’ve parted ways and many will still claim it was real.

I say don’t get overly invested in this emotionally, but TOO LATE! 😬 This could be the situation Chris needs to be and do better and finally own his awful choices or to take and not run from accountability (remember how we’d always use to get Dodger pics when he did something stupid publicly) or it could be a situation he’s initiated that went out of control and he has to FINALLY reap the consequences of his actions/inactions. I don’t know what is going to happen next, but if him and Mrs. Shower scrubber do anything else other than breakup next month, it’s a wrap on my end.

Yeah I think it’s pr, but I have limits and he’s on his 73892929 strike. Keeping it honest, most of us should have left once he claimed to be “married”, yet we’re still here, so yeah can’t no one point any fingers. We’re all still here hoping something ends up making sense and to hope our fav actor really isn’t out here playing in our faces.

It’s very easy to go well Chris is this and that due to this situation, but once one starts remembering in detail everything that’s happened, part of you goes…….something is 110% off here. @anneslibrary is a great reference because it’s so easy to forget how much things don’t make sense and that blog helps people see the big picture and go……yeah…..I’m not falling for this bs. 😂 So to sum it up, yes many of us are pissed at Chris, but his saving grace is that there are so many holes in this mess that it’s easy to jump and attack him without knowing details and so we’re hoping more details arise to the point we can go……yeah this 100% is fake and was never real, he got looped in some mess and only discovered things once the fandom did but it was too late and I’m glad it’s finally over. Okay….yes I’m reaching like crazy, but you’re still here reading my long as diary entry, right. 😉 For me September 2024 will be thee month I decide if I’ll permanently walk away. If they do any more crap, I’m done, point blank.

Enough is enough. I do understand those pissed and wondering why we’re still here…..I’ve been a fan of this man for years and it’s not so easy to walk away, call it excuses, but I just don’t think this situation is a grand total of who he is but if I’m proven wrong then it is what it is, but I don’t think I’m wrong.

Chris needs to take accountability and ending this bs would be the first step and then we can all judge in grand detail how he handles the aftermath of shit, would he give clues to show it wasn’t real, will he do a grand gesture that is a lowkey apology to the fandom…..doubt it, but I refuse to believe this mess is legit, unless he’s proven with legit detail (other than he publicly claims to be married, yet there’s no evidence he’s actually gotten married other then a oversized ring and orchestrated bs) that he’s just a shitty racist husband who can’t keep his eyes to himself and really married her and if so then I’ll GLADLY FINALLY move on with my life. Noted. And yes those snarky few of you still reading, I’m in the denial phase of the grieving process. 😂

Either way ya look at it Chris doesn’t get of Scotch free and even if this does end next month……too much damage has been done. Part of me is here because I’m watching a train that already crashed multiple times and I’m wondering if it’s going to keep going with limited damage or will it eventually blow up into pieces.

I hope I was able to make you guys laugh, piss you off and in the end make you go, yep you summed up my multiple thoughts. 🤗🫠 or you’ve probably read all of this and went, this bitch is crazy, I’ll take it because you still sat here and read to the end so,….. Hi crazy! 😝

I’m done now. 😆 thanks!

Oh Sweetheart this was beautiful and longggggggggggggggg but so beautiful.

Thank you.

[bump1nthen1ght]

Out of The Woods (Epilogue: Part 2)

Pairing: M! Werewolf x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Domestic Life, Established Relationship

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1797 words

Summary: Nothing says love better then an impromptu living room dance party

(AKA a fun snippet of you and Heath's life)

A/N: The fluffy piece won second in the poll and I already has this in the works so I hope y'all enjoy!!

ALSO

Recommended listening: Bet On It from High School Musical 2

(which if you haven't seen this scene, do yourself a favor and watch it lol)

In a weird way, Heath being a werewolf didn’t come up too often in your house.

It was probably because many of his wolf traits had become normal to your everyday routine. His long hair, his shaggy tail, and even his wolf form assimilated into your isolated farm-life with very little issue.

(And with the hunters off your back and most townsfolk none the wiser, it could stay that way)

It was only when he’d ask you a pop culture question everyone should know, or ate the steaks you had bought raw as a midnight snack, or forgot how your air conditioning work, that you were reminded of it. How long had Heath lived as an “other”, detached from society and other people? You very rarely broached the subject, knowing how he would get quiet and bristle at the thought of the past. Of living on his own, on the edge.

So you’d answer his simple questions, let him gnaw on some bones, and let him tell you when he needed to. It was better that way.

You’re watching a movie one night, not a terribly good one, where the main character gets dragged to a club by her friends. They’re convincing her she needs to ‘live a little’, forcing her out of her comfort zone and onto the crowded, sweaty dance floor. The scene is dark and not very well lit, the background music not properly mixed and drowing out most of the audio. Though you guess thats pretty accurate to the club experience.

“Do people actually do that?”

Heath asks, head laid in your lap as you play with his hair.

“Do what?”

“Go to…that.” He points at the scene, eyes scrunched up at the jarring lights and mass amounts of people. “Go to a crowded place in the dark and dance? Why not go somewhere with some room? This place looks like a fucking nightmare.”

You laugh, watching as the clumsy main character dives and dances between egregiously grinding couples.

“It definitely can be, but people seem to love it.” You twirl a finger through Heath’s hair, only paying half-attention to the clunky dialogue. “And it can be nice once in a while, especially if you’ve got a good group of friends.” You chuckle. “Me and my college buddies would sometimes get wasted before hand, go and dance for an hour or two, then come back and get in our pj’s and watch a movie. I prefer clubs in short bursts; they can be kind of exhilarating, but exhausting.”

Heath hums, pressing his head into your palm when you scratch behind his ear. It makes you smile, but not before seeing the slightly melancholy look on his eye.

You look up at the screen. Now the main character is thoroughly drunk, holed up in the bathroom with her friends and laughing her ass off. They all dance terribly, cracking jokes and hugging each other the way drunk people do. They’ve all got big smiles on their face, even in the grimy bathroom.

Heath has gone quiet, your hands still running through his hair. He sighs.

You weren’t a big club person anymore, but you do remember loving that time of your life. Sure, you’re shitty knees and early bedtime weren’t great for it now and you’re sure you left those clubs wondering why anybody does that on the regular, but you had still been able to do it. To knock it off the checklist, even just to say it wasn’t for you.

You don’t think Heath ever did. Never was able to be that careless, joyful, and deliriously young.

“This movie sucks ass.”

Now that’s more like Heath.

—

The look on Heath’s face lingers with you for the rest of the night and into the morning, enough to remind you when you both sit down to watch something again the next night.

“How about we don’t watch a movie tonight?”

Heath turns his head up from his tub of popcorn, quirking his brow.

“Oh, did you wanna play some video games?”

“No…” You look at the dimmer switch not too far from the couch. Its right next to your back porch door, adorned with some fairy lights you hung up and proceeded to never use. That, combined with the never used bluetooth speaker above your fireplace, gives you an idea.

You hop up from the couch, queing up a certain song in your phone before flicking the dimmer and the fairy lights. The low light makes Heath’s wolf eyes shine, his ears flicking as he readjusts to his surroundings. With a little beep from the speaker, you set down your phone and jog in front of Heath, letting the song start. His ears swivel again, looking up at you like the adorable puppy he can be.

“Isn't this that song from that movie a couple nights ago?”

“Yeah!” You bop to the beat, shimmying your shoulders to the heavy drum beat intro. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it. I heard you humming it in the shower yesterday morning. Now come on!” You grab and pull at Heath’s hand, even knowing he’s far too big for you to make him budge. “Come dance with me! Everybody’s always talking at me-”

Heath rolls his eyes, but you can tell he enjoys your discordant singing.

“Everybody’s trying to get in my head. I wanna listen to my own heart talkin’. I wanna listen to my own heart talking. I need to count on myself instead. Did you ever-”

With a dramatic pout om his face, Heath chuckles and sits up, grabbing your hand as you sing into a pretend microphone. But you’re still doing most of the dancing, shaking your hips back and forth. You wiggle your eyebrows and try to encourage him to move.

“What exactly should I do?”

“Just…” you wiggle your fingers, “let your body roll with the music. Let it consume you.” Hands still interlocked, you begin to sway Heath’s arms back and forth. He gets some of the idea, bobbing his head. Your shoulder movements become exaggerated, trying to look as ridiculous as possibke to encourage Heath to loosen up.

“I’m not gonna stop, that’s who I am. I’ll give it all I got, that is my plan.” Heath laughs at your flailing arms, beginning to shimmy his shoulders like you are. You mime the dramatic facial expressions of Zac Efron, gesturing to Heath to join you in singing. He rolls his eyes, but starts mutter-singing anyway. You didn’t expect him to know all the lyrics, but he’s actually hitting all the words with you.

I knew he liked High School Musical 2.

You pull Heath out to the middle of the living room, giving you more space to add some footwork as the chorus hits. You yank Heath’s arms back and forth and shake your hips, which only makes Heath laugh more.

“-you know you can bet on it, bet on it, bet on it, bet on me!”

You let loose one hand and stretch out to the side on the long note, when Heath pulls you back toward him for a spin. You giggle uncontrollably, singing louder and louder, squealing when Heath dips you. He nuzzles your nose and gets a peck to the lips in return.

You hop up, throwing your hand to your forehead when the dramatic slow part begins. He rolls his eye again, but you can see him nodding along.

“It’s no good at all, to see yourself and not recognize your face-” Heath hops in with the backing “oohs”. You point an exaggerated finger. “Out on my own, it’s such a scary place.” You’re cut off when Heath pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist. But you’re even more gobsmacked when he sings the next part, in earnest.

“The answers are all inside of me. All I gotta do-” His voice is surprisingly melodic, deep but not flat or even off-pitch. “-is believe.”

The natural pause in the music would be the perfect time to sneak in a romantic kiss, but you’re both caught up in the performance now. You both turn to look at an inaginary camera when the music drops, arms now locked as if dancing ballroom.

“I’m not gonna stop, not gonna stop till I get my shot.” Moving across the living room with messy footwork, you two belt the chorus. Heath draws you down for another dip when the long note of “-bet on meee” hits. It’s silly, but you do feel like a pop star.

From the outside you’re sure you look absolutely insane. Just two adults flailing and dancing around their living room as speakers blast. If you had neighbors, they’d definitely complain or be calling the cops by now.

But right now, its just you and Heath. Dancing together, hearts pounding, with big smiles and stupid amounts of giggling. Just a pocket of your life, all sweet and your own.

The song slowly fades out, leaving to lean over and shamefully realize how out of breath you are.

God, I need to start hiking or something. This is embarassing

Heath, with his wolf stamina, is not even breathing heavy and catches you in a hug, peppering your cheek with kisses. He bounces on his heels and practically throws you down on the couch, his tail wagging behind him. He snuggles into your neck, blowing raspberries into your skin and making you laugh.

Still letting your heart slow down, you exhale and look at Heath.

“So….how’d you like you’re first dance party?”

“I liked it!” Heath pants, a big stupid smile one his face. “More than I thought I would. You being so terrible at dancing really helped.” You gasp, playfully smacking his shoulder. He blows another rapsberry into your neck, the pleqsant rumble in his chest. After a coupe more play hits and giggles, Heath relaxes into your arms. “I’ve…never really done anything like that before. It was nice.”

“Well, I’m happy to be your first.” You run a couple fingers through Heath's hair, stopping to scratch at the base of his wolf ears. He nuzzles even deeper. “And if you ever feel the need to dance party again, just let me know.”

The two of you sit like that awhile, as you often do. Just basking in each other's warmth, soaking in the skin contact.

You can’t wait to spend more firsts with him.

[f1-giuki]

pls pls do your eyes tell by bts to lestappen and angst cause istg the way they look at each other 😭

Hi darling anon!!!!!!💖💖💖 thank you so much for the song prompt, I fucking love bts and this jk song is so good!!!!!! Hope you like what I wrote, it's nearly 1k!!!💖💖

your eyes tell - prompt post

Max looks at Charles in the club, dancing and enjoying having a random girl grinding on him, drunk but with still a drink in his hand. The heavy bass of the drums makes his heart feel like it’s leaping out of its place. He watches as Charles drags his free hand from her neck down her curves, resting on her ass, underneath her dress. Max bets the skin is impossibly smooth and plump.

He shakes his head and goes back to his gin and tonic. Alex and George, next to him, are lively talking about some stupid mechanical component of their cars. Max feels tired of cars for the first time in his life. He goes back to watching Charles eat that girl’s mouth out with drunk fervour. He’s rapt because of the sight. She keeps one hand on his face and the other sliding down his chest, feeling his defined abs.

Max rolls his eyes. It’s going to be a long night. Charles is staying in the room in front of his, and Max doesn’t have enough depravity to witness that too. He takes the last sip of his drink and casts one last glance at Charles. He’s sucking on the girl’s neck but he’s staring right at Max. Max shakes his head and raises his empty glass to him before turning around and walking away.

He pats George and Alex on their backs as a goodbye and calls a cab to get back to his hotel. Looking for someone is not something for that night.

He meets Carlos and his girlfriend in the lobby and stays for a little with them to talk. Charles and the girl walk past them, too busy grabbing and kissing to notice them. Carlos sighs and complains about Charles’ behaviour. Max laughs it off, but Carlos knows they share the same concern. It’s been going on for a while and it would be better for him to stop.

“I’m going to sleep, see you tomorrow at the airport?” Max says after a good chat, hugging Carlos and kissing his girlfriend’s cheeks.

Carlos nods and Max walks to the elevators. The ride is quiet and Max enjoys the silence while it lasts. He walks to his room and the whole hall is silent. Weird. He shakes his head and swipes his key inside. He takes off his clothes and treats himself to a nice hot shower. When he's done he dries himself up, dries his hair, puts on a comfy white cotton t-shirt and a pair of underwear. Everything is still so quiet. He opens a bottle of water and takes a sip. He had just a drink that night, so the morning would be nice to him.

Max considers watching a movie, but a knock on his hotel door gives him other plans. He furrows his brows and sets down the water bottle. Thinking it could be either Carlos or Lando, he opens the door.

Charles is standing right in front of him. He ditched the club outfit for a simple oversized red sweater, covering his upper thighs. Max is surprised, but he lets him in without uttering a word. Who is he to give Charles Leclerc the talk?

“Early night?” Max asks after Charles sits on his bed, soft hair hidden underneath the hood.

“Too drunk. She didn't remember my name and I was sick. Called a cab and her friends and sent her home…” Charles explains. Max wasn't really interested in knowing the truth. Charles doesn't owe him anything.

“Movie?” Max asks and Charles nods.

“Don't laugh, but I bought the Devil Wears Prada on the payTV of the hotel, is it okay?” Max continues. Charles nods again with a small smile.

Max puts on the movie and sits on the bed next to Charles. It’s a strange situation, they’ve never done anything like it. Their comfort zone is the track, sometimes a padel court. Sharing a bed is something Max never allowed himself to think about.

“Do you think I look for girls every time I go out because I’m scared of being gay?” Charles asks, as the first scene rolls by.

Max stops the movie and turns around to look at him. His eyes are glassy and there’s a sad expression on his face.

“What do you mean? There’s nothing wrong with being gay…” Max tries to articulate and Charles nods, half convinced.

They get back to the movie but Max can’t stop thinking about the words Charles spoke a few minutes before. Why did Charles decide to tell him this? Max stops the movie again and looks at Charles straight in the eyes.

They’re so green and so sad. Full of tears too. Max can read them all too well. A forest to his sky.

“You don’t have to tell me anything now, or ever, okay? But whatever it is, I’ll listen and won’t judge, okay? Like a debrief…” Max tries and Charles nods, blinking away a few tears.

“You can sleep here if you want…” Max mumbles, taking a tissue from his nightstand and giving it to Charles. He blows his nose and nods.

Max puts back on the movie and Charles lifts the duvet, snuggling next to Max, but under the covers. Max would like to say that he doesn’t know what to do, but his brand is honesty, so he wraps an arm around Charles and soothes him, trying to keep his feelings at bay.

“It’s okay…” Max mumbles, more to himself than to Charles.

He hopes he will find Charles next to him in the morning.

[tarisilmarwen]

Rebels Rewatch: “Empire Day”/“Gathering Forces”

It’s the midwinter two-parter where Shit Gets Real and I realized for the first time, “Oh.  Oh this show is playing for keeps.”

I don’t envy TV writers, I really don’t.  It is a hard-ass balance sometimes between serialized and episodic entries, which is what most media seems to want to be, as opposed to completely serialized or completely episodic.

(The difference being that full episodic shows are “Jump in any time, there’s no overarching plot, you can just be here for the ride.” and serialized shows rely on you watching nearly every single episode to understand the continuity.)

What a lot of kids shows will do, I’ve found, to strike that balance, will be to have mostly episodic disconnected episodes (”fillers”) with a few “event” episodes here and there to advance the plot.  (For the best example I can think of, see 2003′s Teen Titans, majority episodic with a handful of plot arc episodes.)

Rebels is... not quite that because as I’ve said I really don’t consider any of these lead-up episodes “filler”; they’ve all contributed in some fashion to the overall Season One plot, all been woven pretty tightly, a testament to the strength of the writing.

It’s hard to know how to classify Rebels.  The episodes are independent enough that you can miss a handful and still have the general plot but truly episodic writing doesn’t bother to reference the events of previous episodes, or--especially in the case of kid cartoons--keep character growth in place across the seasons.  Rebels falls closer to Avatar: The Last Airbender in that regard, no surprise given the creative crossover behind the scenes.

All of this is sort of a roundabout way to say I was not expecting us to get into some really serious meaty plot developments seven episodes in.

[Insert Palpatine’s “A surprise to be sure, but a welcome one.” as you please.]

It was really quite a delight to see Rebels striking out with such confidence at big dramatic events early on, and it sticks the landing excellently.

Anyway, apologies for that long rambling prelude, let’s get into the episode proper.

Jhothal always seems a lot smaller in wide shots than it does on ground level.  It throws me.

Sabine is in a much better mood this episode and also seems... unusually interested in what Ezra and Kanan are doing.

She looks very purposefully to the side as she’s following Zeb, takes her helmet off, and stares across the field towards them.  Eyes soft, lips slightly pinched.

Recall if you will that one of the music tracks in the finale is called “Sabine Sees Ezra”.  It’s a bit of an undercurrent theme and visual motif with them.  She sees him.  She’s always kind of quietly watching, observing, noticing things with and about him.  Something I’ve always loved about their interactions is that for all the stubborn walls she has around her own emotions she’s always very dialed in and attuned to Ezra and how he’s feeling.  (And vice-versa.)

More to develop on that end later in the episode. :)

ALSO NO ONE TOUCH ME WITH THE KANERA “You could always see me.” PARALLELS IMMA CRY GKGFSKJH.

Dropping in closer on Kanan and Ezra’s Jedi lesson, and Kanan is trying to teach one of most core fundamental principals of the Force, via a bit of practical Beast Control.

“Step outside yourself.”  “Make a connection.”  “You’re not alone.”  “You’re connected to every living thing in the universe.”  “You have to let your guard down.”

It recalls Obi-Wan’s “Reach out with your feelings.”  In order for Ezra to progress any further in his training, he has to be able to reach out and connect with the Force.  But to do that, he has to let down his self-protective walls and be vulnerable and open, he has to be at peace within himself, he can’t have a messy ball of unprocessed emotions and traumas tangled up inside him.

The Force is your ally, but you have to be open to it.  Let go of the past, of your fears and whatever is holding you back, and make the connection.

It would be a hard enough lesson on a normal day, let alone one this significant for Ezra.

But he’s trying, dammit.

Love that all it takes is a stern, “Excuse me?” from Kanan for Ezra to back down from his outburst and apologize, and explain why he’s having trouble with this particular lesson.

Remember what I said about Ezra’s tendency to hug his arms self-protectively when he’s feeling insecure?

Yeah.

Also, for no particular reason, Loth-kitty meows:

CUUUUUUUUUTE. <3333

Kanan can tell that something’s up with his padawan, and probes.  And Ezra, unlike a certain other emotionally constipated character we could mention (*COUGHANAKINCOUGH*), doesn’t deflect but apologizes again and explains that Empire Day is never a good day for him.

Before we can learn the significance of why, exactly, the plot arrives.  Heralded by the opening notes of the Imperial March and just a bit of the Death Star leitmotif.  (An interesting choice.  An oblique allusion to the idea or element of a theft of secret Imperial plans perhaps?  Tseebo stole valuable information about future construction projects from the Empire and needs to be smuggled to the Rebellion after all.)

Love this shot of Ezra starting to reach for his slingshot.

And this is a new music cue and I like it!

Wow, that TIE pilot just smacked away the drink Jho just made for him, rude.

Not gonna lie, Ezra has a really nice death glare.  Do not get this boy angry.

No really, don’t, it uh... involves the Dark Side.

Imperial propaganda hooray!  Palpatine using old archival footage of himself pre-wrinklification for the holonet broadcast here, projecting himself as haler-looking than he actually is.

Given that Trayvis is actually an Imperial plant, I wonder if his encouraging the citizenry to make trouble was actually a ploy at getting Rebel cells to reveal themselves by protesting.

Kanan letting Ezra go be alone and decline to participate in the shenanigans is remarkably understanding.

Luke’s theme excerpt and then... oh shoot, I know this one but I can’t remember where in the OT score it is.  I think it’s part of the end credits?  Fittingly melancholy anyway.

Ezra kept his old house key. :(

And there’s his theme piping in here.

We know his parents are still alive at this point so this bit is either Force-assisted memory recall of things they said in the past, or the Force taking their voices on to gently spur Ezra into action.

Either way the Force is basically nudging him with a toe like, “C’mon... have character growth.“

I want to know whose idea it was to make the Imperial March into a diagetic (in-universe) song and tweak the harmonies into major key to turn it into a jaunty parade tune because that was genius.

“Governor Pryce sends her regrets.”  Lololol that bitch doesn’t regret ditching her backwater homeworld for a minute, she’s probably already schmoozing with Thrawn right now.

Budget constraints showing just a little bit in the copy/pasted extras there.  (The money went towards the animation in the second half of the two-parter I’ll bet lol.)  Fortunately they don’t linger long on the shot.

Rudor about to have his day ruined personally again. XD

Okay some of the budget probably went into the firework effects, let’s be honest.

It’s so pretty.

Kanan acting drunk to diffuse suspicion is both hilarious and hurtful given the whole former alcoholic thing.

Ezra pretending Kanan is his dad. <3333333

Sabine sounding genuinely concerned when she asks where Ezra went, which immediately makes him light up and tease her.  And Zeb’s the one that scoffs about it, interestingly.

After the events of “Breaking Ranks”, it seems like the Inquisitorius has figured out the Spectre Cell stays pretty close to home base on Lothal and since Grand was already there he’s been lurking.

Man, if Zeb could’ve just aimed a little lower...

Hard to tell what the black marks on Ezra’s house are.  Some of it looks like graffiti but some of looks like carbon scoring.  Or age?  Mold?  Cracks?  IDK.

Either way this whole scene hurts.

Ezra bluntly talking about the sterile facts of his past while shunting away any attempt to go into how he feels about it emotionally.  And meanwhile Kanan is just all:

*CONCERNED DAD NOISES*

Sabine, meanwhile, gets this wonderfully understated look of dismay when Tseebo reveals that it’s Ezra’s birthday.

I kind of wonder if Ezra maybe has a touch of psychometry?  Because him touching significant items like the disc and his house key and hearing voices from the past through the Force seems awfully like he’s experiencing Force Echos.

Fanficcers please write more Cal and Ezra meeting okay, I need it.

One of the biggest questions I still have about Ephraim and Mira is, did they know?  Could they tell?  I like to think they did.  I know it probably wouldn’t matter either way, they still would have spoken out, but I like the extra angst it generates.  Speculating about the fraught conversations they must’ve had--If they speak up will they paint a bigger target on his head?  How long can they hide it?  What could they do to make sure he’s safe should the worst happen to them?

Fanficcers please write Mira and Ephraim escaping with Ezra on The Path AUs, again, I need it.

Sabine makes her way down to call Ezra back up, asks about the disk, and my gosh she has such pretty concerned expressions this episode.

I adore her for this.  Ezra dismisses the disc as probably only having one of his parents’ broadcasts on it and she pockets it anyway, takes a look at what’s on it later.  Was it curiosity or was she hoping to find something encouraging on it to cheer him up with?  Or maybe both?

OH WOW I NEVER PICKED UP ON THE EMPIRE HAVING BLUEPRINTS AND PLANS FOR AN UPGRADED T-7 ION DISRUPTOR.  T-8S, A WHOLE BRAND NEW MODEL.  THAT’S HORRIFYING.

The “five year plan” for Lothal and every other Outer Rim world pinged fandom’s alarms like right away, because Rebels starts five years before the Battle of Yavin, so again, we were all assuming Death Star shenanigans.  Given the whole scope of the show and the construction modules in orbit by the finale I still think it fits.

Since a bunch of other worlds were involved as well, the “five year plan” could very easily be the timeline of when certain milestones of the station needed to be completed, how much raw material needed to come from where and when it needed to be delivered, what parts get built over various worlds, and how many TIEs needed to be manufactured to outfit it.

As the episode established earlier, Lothal is heavily involved in the development and construction of new kinds of TIEs.  Thrawn probably advocated for his Defenders to be made there because of the convenience of the existing factory infrastructure.

That and the fact that there’s a Jedi Temple and an apparently inordinate amount of Force Sensitive kids, and the kyber shipment they disrupted earlier, and Lothal was definitely also supplying kyber crystals for the laser.

LOLOL Tseebo running into walls like a glitching NPC.

Whew the transports are pretty sturdy, it just sheered off the AT-DP’s foot and upended another transport there.

Ezra’s laugh right here is so pure.

I’ve always wondered... where exactly does this highway go?

Underrated Papa Wolf Kanan moment: Kanan just smacking this bike trooper into the wall and wailing on him when he dares to raise a fist towards Ezra.

Oh!  And followed by him yanking that same bike trooper wholecloth out of the transport with the Force and yeeting him into the other one.

*sees bike troopers smack into the street light poles*  Oh they dead.  They 100% dead.

Takes like five shots from the Ghost to upend that pursuing transport, man these things are sturdy.

Holy crap the lighting in this sequence, did y’all notice???

Kanan’s badass leap onto the ramp. <33333

“I have to man to nose guns!”  And yet!  The moment she hears something happening back inside the room with Ezra she turns around.

Stays in the doorway long enough to translate.  And immediately realizes the significance of it.

Cut to black TO BE CONTINUED, I think I might have actually given an indignant Big No the first time I watched this.

One downside of this rewatch, I am noticing all the little moments where character pathways through the Ghost aren’t in cohesion with the actual ship layout.

Inside the galley, and Sabine has still not gone and got on the nose gun despite how supposedly urgent that is lol.  Hera has to yell at her over the comms.

And then Ezra has to poke her about it as well.  But she shoots back because dammit he has a chance to get closure about his past traumas, possibly reconcile with and see his parents again why is he not immediately jumping on this?  Doesn’t he know what she would give to have the same chance?

Ezra insists, through gritted teeth, that he already knows they’re dead, but there’s a flash of vulnerable uncertainty in his eyes.

But he won’t budge, he won’t talk about it, not to Sabine, not yet, and snaps at her to go, giving her his best death glare.  She’s stung a moment but finally gets moving.

But as soon as she’s gone the glare drops off his face and he turns around and shakes Tseebo for the answers and oh my gosh the fear and hurt flickering across his face here sfksjfhk.

Instead of answering, Tseebo starts babbling apologies, because apparently Ezra’s parents entrusted him with looking after Ezra and, for whatever reason, Tseebo couldn’t or wouldn’t take Ezra in.

I know I keep gushing about the animation for people’s expressions on this show but seriously, just watch Ezra’s face here, look at the disgust when Tseebo asks Ezra to forgive him, the tiny jerky little head movements.

He’s so hurt.  And it’s understandable, but it’s the reason why he’s blocked, why he can’t connect.

The Ghost, meanwhile has been trying to outrun TIEs and get into the clear long enough to make hyperspace calculations this whole time.  Modern Disney Lucasfilm sometimes has trouble remembering the franchise’s own technical lore and rules so I’m always appreciative when a writer remembers them.

Ezra does his best repair job to the navicomputer (even though it’s not his specialty) but implant-enhanced Tseebo is the one who actually saves the day, finishing the job in seconds and uploading coordinates directly into the computer.  If that’s what those cybernetic implants are capable of, no wonder the Empire’s fond of them.

Ezra plasters on a smile and hides behind his trademark snark to cope.

Side commentary on technical lore and mechanics because *plays the ~“Everything TLJ did, Rebels did better”~ record on a loop* the way ship tracking usually works in Star Wars is that your tracking device will send out a ping once the ship it’s attached to exits hyperspace, which assumedly beams out your location to the receiver.  You can’t track through hyperspace.  You can travel in hyperspace along the same general trajectory you saw the target ship leaving in (because hyperspace lanes are a thing) but you won’t know where it is specifically until it drops out to realspace, whereupon you can adjust your course accordingly.

The big thing in Last Jedi was supposed to be “Oh no, the Empire First Order can track us through hyperspace, we literally can’t escape them!“ which would have been a neat twist if Rebels had not literally already done that first and better.  The plot device here in Rebels is small, unobtrusive, and can easily be installed by an ace pilot with great aim or by a saboteur who knows all the good hiding spots on a vessel. (Speaking of, was there ever actually a spy in the Resistance Fleet I don’t know if that was ever followed up on?)  It’s not overcomplicated, and it accomplishes the same general effect.

TLJ on the other hand...

...Yeah I’m not going into that mess.

Tl:dr- I cannot stress enough how it’s really really important for your writers to talk to each other.

Off that tangent now.

The first thing we’re treated to in this scene is Sabine and Ezra playing I’m Not Looking At You.

(But I Totally Am)

Sabine’s silent concern is palpable, but she stays quiet.  Kanan, the other person who knows why Ezra’s upset, on the other hand, comes right out and grills Ezra directly.

And Ezra chooses to hide in one of his nicked cadet helmets.  (That Sabine painted for him.)

Kanan dishes more Basic Jedi Lessons 101: You have to be honest about what you’re feeling.  The Jedi practice a common therapy technique called mindfulness, which is all about being aware of your thoughts and feelings and why you’re feeling that way.  Mindfulness is important to help Jedi keep themselves in check, keep a level head about things, and understand themselves, which in turn is what enables them to understand and use the Force.  Serenity within self leads to serenity with the universe.

Needless to say, Ezra--with all his messy complicated feelings, unprocessed trauma, and layers of denial and defensiveness--is having trouble with that right now.  His sharp, “What’s that supposed to mean?!” recalls Anakin in The Phantom Menace, irritably asking the Council, “What does that got to do with anything?”, about the fear of loss they can sense festering inside him.

Kanan discerns the truth, that in spite of what Ezra claims, he does have empathy for Tseebo.  This bit recalls Ezra in the pilot, vehemently denying that he cares about anyone but himself while the selfless heartbeat of the Light still quietly pulses through him.

Ezra points out the reasons he shouldn’t care about Tseebo and that’s when Sabine stands up with her theory that Tseebo volunteered for the implant specifically to make up for all that, and set things right.

That conversation is interrupted--yet again, it’s a running trend with them--by Tseebo announcing that they’re being tracked through hyperspace.

The crew confirm this in the next scene and lore appreciation moment, remembering that forcible ejection from hyperspace is violent and dangerous and could very well destroy your ship.

And also CONTINUITY APPRECIATION, we’re gonna drop by the fyrnocks again! :D

And hinting at the idea that some of the Inquisitors (Grand at least) can track Jedi across distance.  (One wonders if this was how Fifth and Seventh kept finding them.)

Ezra decides to go sulk in the kitchen and Sabine seeks him out.

God I love this scene.

Sabine asks him if he really thinks his parents are dead, Ezra confesses he doesn’t know (more honest already!) but acts like it doesn’t matter and Sabine gets unusually agitated, pushing for Ezra to talk to Tseebo before he goes.

She’s almost personally offended by Ezra’s seeming lack of desire for closure.

(It’s because she understands how much it hurts.)

Don’t mind me I’m just looking at their pretty faces.

Hngl, this is such a wonderful moment of Ezra being guarded and yet vulnerable.  He couldn’t let himself believe his parents would come save him, or he wouldn’t have been strong enough to survive, and this is the part I think Sabine relates to.  She probably had to do something similar after her own family cut her loose.

She still doesn’t want him to leave things unresolved, though, urges him silently with her eyes right here.

HELLO SAD FINALE THEMATIC PARALLEL FEELS HOW YA DOIN’?

Kanan has to stop Sabine from arguing further with small subtle hand gesture, and it’s only then that she backs down.

It’s been pretty quiet in the score up until this scene, but this cue is interesting.  It sounds like a disjointed, fragmented variation on Ezra’s theme, soured, quiet, and hesitant, the melody barely breaking over the background strings.

“Strap in.” To what, Kanan?  These seats don’t have restraints.

Subtle animation appreciation moment: The way Ezra puts a hand over his face apprehensively in the background while Kanan’s talking.

Love how Rebels depicts forcible ejection from hyperspace.

Yeah some of the skimped budget from last episode definitely went into this sequence. XD

The music track we heard associated with the fyrnocks back in “Out of Darkness” creeps back in, returning us mentally right back there.

And Kanan tells Ezra he’s basically throwing him in the deep end, revisiting the lesson he was trying to teach last episode, only in a more mortal peril context.  Fly or Die, as the trope goes.

A bit of undue pressure on Ezra?  Maybe.  But also, Kanan was not going to let anything bad happen to Ezra.  But he has to put Ezra in a situation where there’s the appearance of no other option, to blunt force his way into a breakthrough.  It the same thing he would do down the line with Sabine, to help her work through the mental block that was preventing her from committing to the darksaber.

Ezra timidly confesses that he’s afraid and Kanan praises him for admitting it, HNGL THEY’RE BOTH ALREADY SUCH GOOD JEDI AND THEY DON’T KNOW IT.

I love this scene I love this scene I love this scene SO MUCH.

First off!  The animation is really pretty in an understated way, not so much about the colors or light/dark balance (though the eerie glowing effect of the fyrnock eyes in the darkness is great) but again, the character animation and how much emotion and story it tells.

Ezra nervously peeking as he tries to connect, the panic that hits his eyes as his head whips around, realizing they’re surrounded.

Second!  This scene is so cathartic.

Kanan is already right there, ready to step in and take over.

Pushing at Ezra to mentally work through why he’s afraid, what he’s afraid of.  To let go.

Let go of the fear, the anger, the hurt, let go of all the barriers preventing you from reaching out.

And Ezra realizes he’s not afraid of the creatures, he’s afraid of the truth, afraid to face that potential loss all over again.  The Force ring sound effect chimes out, across the galaxy Tseebo’s mind suddenly clears and...

Ezra’s unique ability to connect, blocked by fear and unlocked through forgiveness.

Kanan looks so proud asgaksjh.

(A little bit astonished it worked so well too.  Lol.)

Back with Hera, dropping Tseebo off with the Rebellion, and a nice little bit of a follow-through with Sabine asking snarkily if they can meet Fulcrum now and being quietly disappointed but accepting when Hera says no.

It’s really sweet how Tseebo wasn’t even trying to access Imperial secrets, he just wanted to find his friends. <333

Hera hears what Tseebo knows but because of the semi-episodic nature of this show (and certain plot developments later in the episode), the answers to that mystery are tabled until Season Two, when it’s revealed that Kanan and Hera have been looking for the Bridgers the whole time.

Oh but because they didn’t tell Ezra they were looking that means they were keeping secrets and that makes them horrible peop--*shot*

And now it’s time for my other other favorite scene of this episode. :)

The rhythmic percussion of an Imperial leitmotif accompanies Grand’s arrival at Fort Anaxes, flaring into the chorals of the Inquisitor’s theme.  Grand looks suitably intimidating.

Between episodes he’s apparently received instructions to take them in alive, as opposed to “Rise of the Old Masters” when he was happily ready to just kill them.

‘Course personally I think whether or not an Inquisitor kills you right away versus captures you for Mustafar depends largely on their mood in the moment.

Surprise!

Once again, connected through the Force, Kanan and Ezra move perfectly in sync, mirror-matching each other’s pose, expressions, and movement.

The soundtrack flares with a new melody here, overlayed over the chorals of Grand’s intimidating leitmotif.  Kanan fares a LOT better this round, lighter on his feet, deflecting, redirecting the Inquisitor’s force and momentum, more confident in his Soresu.

Please appreciate how serene Ezra looks here with me.

The Grand Inquisitor still quickly overpowers Kanan, temporarily knocking him out of the fight.

Ezra’s eyes snap open and he rushes over, effortlessly Force Pull-ing Kanan’s saber to him (he’s already come so far from when he started!) and steps in front of the Inquisitor bravely.

*YOINK*

hetried.jpeg

Frick this is such a good shot.

Also not to run off into the weeds here but... given what happens moments later I kind of think this red-blue contrast is deliberate color symbolism.

They put Ezra on the literal ledge of a cliff for his big Dark Side moment after all.

Ungh this moment has such GOOD ANIMATION I can’t do it justice with the screencaps at all.

Just how the Force ring sound effect kind of goes off tune and all the tiny little rocks and pebbles start floating up and absolute icy fury in Ezra’s eyes, the feral way his mouth and shoulders curl, how tightly he clenches his teeth and fists, the way the great big mama fyrnock rises up from behind him...

Kanan’s soft horror. :(

Ezra’s movements almost mirror the fyrnocks, his eyes flare when it roars, he practically vibrates with rage beside it.

Even the Inquisitor is like, “Huh.  Okay.  Ooops.”

Ezra sics the mama on Grand, struggles to hold onto the overwhelming rush of Dark Side energy flowing through him for a moment, and then he loses his grip on it, eyes rolling up and falling over, senseless.  And the loose pebbles drop just as lifelessly to the ground.

Something to point out, Ezra tapping into the Dark Side here was dangerous primarily because his body literally physically could not handle it.

Like, even leaving aside all the other hazards of tapping into the Dark Side, that’s horrifying.

Ezra, wide open to the Force, couldn’t control his fear and anger and lashed out, left himself vulnerable.  The Dark Side rushed in and dumped a lot of raw power through him when he wasn’t ready for it (because it’s fast easy access to a lot of power very quickly, at the cost of yourself), and his body gave out and rejected it.

The junior novelization of this episode confirms that for a moment or two after this, when Kanan goes to check on him, Ezra wasn’t breathing.

No wonder the poor man looks so worried and frightened.

Can’t emphasize this enough, Ezra almost died.  The Dark Side almost killed him the first time he touched it.

Aaaaand that is why the Jedi teach mindfulness and emotional control. XD  If you aren’t in control of your emotions when you tap into the Force, your emotions will control and then consume you.

Subtle animation appreciation moment: Kanan holding his side from where the Inquisitor kicked him as he runs up to Ezra.

Kanan books it for the Phantom with his fortunately-still-breathing padawan as the soundtrack tolls with pounding bass notes of doom, leaving the Inquisitor pissed and foreshadowing the reason why he later drops himself into a ship reactor.

Cue this heartwarming conversation between our boys, in which Kanan once again feel waaaay out of his depth, scrambling just to keep ahead of Ezra as his abilities grow by leaps and bounds, and realizing just how unprepared they both are for this.

Kanan doesn’t even judge Ezra for tapping into the Dark Side or yell at him or scold him or anything, speaking gently and taking the blame on himself instead for not warning Ezra properly.

Ezra’s Troubled Fetal Position this whole conversation hurts.  He looks so small. T_T

Hera sounds really relieved that they’re all right.

And Sabine’s brows noticeably pinch with worry when she spots Ezra.  The smile falls right off her face.

:(

Ezra goes to be alone in the nose gun and Sabine approaches him, commiserating about how it’s been “a rough couple of days” before gifting him with something:

The disc that Ezra dismissed, that she picked up anyway and took a look at, and then painstakingly cleaned up simply because Ezra was having a really bad birthday and she wanted to make it a little better.

The warm lighting is really pretty in this scene.  Soft and comforting.  This moment always feels like a calming balm after the drama of the episode.

I dare any of y’all to find another moment when Sabine’s smile is this tender and sweet.

Her prettiest smiles always seem reserved for him.

And it’s just what he needs to cheer up and feel better, look at him he’s practically glowing.

Ezra’s theme, mellow and warm, closes us out of course.

Gah, this two-parter is some of my favorite material of the season.  Seven episodes in (eight if you count “Spark of Rebellion” as two) and there’s already been so much character development and growth, so much backstory, so many unveiled layers and depths to this crew; they’ve been put through the wringer and come out stronger.

Some of the best animation of Season One is in the climax of “Gathering Forces”, which is a serious No Context Signature Scene candidate.  Every time I look at it there’s something new to notice.

I think this was the last episode I watched for my first initial binge and boy it was not enough to stop here.

(Fortunately the husband had waited until he could buy the whole first season on home video, no months-long hiatus involved. :) )

I dunno if I even have anything else to say, these episodes are amazing, I love them, I love how Kanan and Ezra’s relationship grows, I love the Sabezra moments, I love the animation and the tightly-written story, I love all of it.

It’s great.

The highlights of the season continue tomorrow!

[scoops-aboy86]

Window pt 2

Eddie's POV on Steve getting stuck in a window.

Part 1

rated: T | words: 3410 | cw: none | tags: chubby steve, pre-relationship, weight gain, eddie has a crush on steve harrington, and he gets to touch the butt

Eddie is having a great night. Practice ran long, but they nailed down the new set list for their next performance at the Hideout and celebrated by way of Gareth sneaking some beers out of his parents’ fridge. 

He’s considering inviting his new monster hunting friends to their next performance—not that it hasn’t been over a year since the spring break from hell, but it’s not really their scene and he wanted to make sure Corroded Coffin would be actually worth coming to see. 

Which really just means worth inviting Steve to come see the show, and Eddie couldn’t exactly ask everyone but Steve. He’s made his peace with having a crush on a dude who listens to Wham!, but he wants Steve to like his music, too. 

As a friend. Because they are genuine friends now, actually. Surprisingly. Eddie is still kind of shocked that Steve keeps turning up and wanting to spend time with him—sometimes with a movie and pizza, or the good brand of microwave popcorn, or both. They’ve shared a bed when Steve was still too out of it to drive home, and now Eddie knows what he looks like first thing in the morning. Fuel to the fire, all of it. And he shares weed with Steve free of charge, because where there’s fire you might as well light up with it. 

Nothing at all to do with Steve’s propensity for getting the munchies, which tends to lead to hours of constant grazing. Eddie would never—It had started with Steve always asking him if there was anything to eat until it became a habit to preempt the question, and the goofy little look that Steve gives him every time, an over-exaggerated ‘aw shucks, for me?’ face that never fails to get some sort of reaction, is something that haunts Eddie’s nicest dreams these days. The fact that it sparks something in Eddie to see Steve so relaxed and happy while thoughtlessly working through anything put in front of him sparks something in Eddie is completely secondary. Watching as, week after week, Steve’s clean lines and chiseled jaw have begun to soften, because of him. Because Steve is sticking around, keeps coming back, still wants to be friends with the Freak.

It’s been a good night, and thinking about Steve always makes it an even better one. Eddie, lost in pleasant reverie, almost doesn’t notice Steve’s car parked near the trailer when he gets home. 

Almost. He notices the BMW parked near the trailer, and that there’s no one in it. And when he turns a puzzled frown towards the trailer to see if Steve is waiting there, he sees… part of Steve waiting there. The ass and legs part, hanging out of his bedroom window. And the only thing covering said ass is a pair of cutoff jeans, rounded cheeks peeking out the bottom. As he stares, they bouncing tantalizingly above thick, hairy thighs when Steve gives the half-hearted wiggle of a man who knows he is not going anywhere any time soon but still has to try. 

“What,” Eddie says to himself in the safety of his van. He pinches himself, and when that doesn’t wake him up from what has to be a dream, he says it again: “What.”

Everything about the sight before him is imminently biteable, and, just. He’s only human, alright? His pants feel a little constricting just from witnessing this, when he should be feeling bad for Steve because the dude is wedged snugly in his window at the hips. (They didn’t have plans tonight. That alone is enough to make Eddie’s fingertips tingle and his leg bounce with restrained giddiness and a burning fondness.)

So he gets out of the van, and he can tell that Steve recognizes the distinct squeak of the van’s driver side door because his legs seem to droop and his ass gives another desperate wiggle that gets him nowhere. 

“Do mine eyes deceive me?” Eddie calls, practically skipping up to the trailer. He feels like his brain is trailing a beat behind his mouth and movements thanks to the vaguely tipsy haze of a couple beers. “Is it the King Steve, what through yonder window breaks?”

“Hi Eddie,” Steve replies, and he sounds so weary that Eddie wants to bundle him up in a blanket and feed him chocolates or something until he cheers up. 

The urge has him just about bouncing on his toes as he reaches the porch. “Hiya, Stevie. Mind explaining what I’m coming home to here?”

It’s silly, but a big part of him is hoping for Steve to say that he just wanted to see him. Instead, Steve sighs heavily and responds with, “I’m a little stuck here, man. Help me out?”

And, okay, fair. Eddie has finally reached him and can’t help touching what his eyes have been glued to ever since he got close enough to notice Steve’s poor middle, caught in the unforgiving grip of the window frame. Whatever Steve has been up to since first getting stuck was well and truly wedged him in, a little lip of reddened belly rounding out from the opening. How did you do this, Eddie wants to ask, but he can sense from Steve’s tone that it wouldn’t come across right. 

“Out, or in?” Eddie asks, snapping his hand back before Steve can notice enough to protest—they’re friends for fuck’s sake, he’s not Eddie’s to touch. He pulls hair in front of his face to hide a blush that Steve probably can’t see anyway, lamenting his poor impulse control that drinking never improves. Not that he even drank that much! He’s fine, this is just… Well, it sure is a situation.

“Whichever gets me unstuck faster, I guess?”

It occurs to Eddie that either way, he gets to touch more, and a delighted little laugh bubbles up his throat before he can stop it. “In it is, then. You must’ve been pretty determined to get in there and wait for me, you made some good progress here. I’m guessing you got to a point where you couldn’t get the angle right, huh sweetheart?”

… Damn Gareth and his beers. Eddie feels like his face is on fire.

Whatever Steve does inside the trailer to demonstrate how almost in he most certainly is not involves a lot of movement and Eddie swallows hard. Jesus H. Christ, the wonders that getting good sleep and three square meals a day without having to worry about monsters dropping out of the ceiling can do, on top of regular smoke-and-snack sessions. 

“I think if you just lift me by the legs a bit I can, like… walk forward on my hands, kinda, and—” 

There’s a thump from inside, prompting Eddie to blink out of his daze. “What was that?”

“… What was what?”

“Steve…”

“Okay okay, it was your acoustic, I’m sorry dude, I just… I’m pretty sure it’s fine.”

He rolls his eyes and rattles off a series of threats pending the safety of the guitar, though he doesn’t really mean them. That thing has been through worse while he was learning to play and still being shuffled around in the system before landing in the trailer park with Wayne. 

At some point the words “document this posterior for posterity” come out his mouth and then he is touching Steve Harrington’s ass. Because it’s better leverage than grabbing his ankles, Eddie tells himself! But that’s half hearted at best when he’s eying the long line of Steve’s legs in those shorts, so close to skimming his fingers over that beautiful golden summer tan peeking out at the waist because of course Steve sunbathes shirtless (or in crop tops… or, god, shirts that ride up just enough), and thank fuck it’s late enough that no one’s around to notice just how hard he’s looking. 

“Hey,” Steve calls sharply when the first push catches him by surprise. 

“Sorry sweetheart, did you need a ‘one two three go’?” Eddie pats at his ass with both hands, tapping out a little rhythm, biting his lip to contain the threat of a whimper at the way Steve’s cheeks bounce. He needs to stop. He needs to bite something. 

“This isn’t funny, Munson,” Steve insists, almost whining, and Eddie’s eyes close briefly at the thought of what else he might do to make Steve whine. Memories of his friend stoned and finally feeling the effects of eating too much providing a helpful soundtrack—Christ, he is definitely rolling disadvantage here. 

“It’s a little bit funny,” Eddie tries to defend. That’s not even why he’d laughed. Whatever. “But, uh, point taken. I'm going to give you another push here. Ready?”

Like Steve has much of a choice in the matter, if he wants to get unstuck. Eddie feels bad for him, he really does. It probably feels really embarrassing. But it’s a little hard to remember that when he has to (gets to) grip (grope) that plush ass and push (grope, but harder) until his brain is dribbling out his ears. 

He’s not some sex-crazed teenager anymore—he’s twenty-one as of not all that long ago, for fuck’s sake! But this is Steve, and way more than just tawdry teen lust brewing in Eddie’s chest. 

“Where were you, anyway?” Steve asks after a few rounds of shoving, as though this is a time when Eddie is capable of holding a coherent conversation. He’s squirming and wiggling under Eddie’s hands and panting a little from the awkward exertion, with occasional little grunts that cut straight to Eddie’s core, and it’s all really very unfair. “You’re usually—oof—here when I finish a closing shift.”

“Practice ran long,” Eddie grunts back.“That, and Gareth’s been having some… shall we say, romantic troubles lately, and needed consolation and advice.” Which was true—there had been an ulterior motive to those beers, even though the band’s youngest member had kept any name, descriptors, and (Eddie had noticed) pronouns close to the vest. 

“What kinda consolation? Been smoking without me, Munson?”

Eddie almost laughs again, because it sounds like Steve is… pouting? Jealous? He must be hearing that wrong. “No, just a couple beers. I do have other friends besides you and the monster hunters club, you know.”

And maybe he overcorrected there, because Steve goes quiet and a little stiff and starts really pulling himself forward hard. He’s making some progress, but it looks painful enough that Eddie shifts his hands from push on ass to hold those thighs without conscious thought, eyes wide and fixed on Steve’s caught love handles. (Which makes something deep inside him do a little dip of want. He wants to touch, to soothe, to kiss and maybe nip at a little—but he can’t, that would be crossing a line.)

“Woah there Stevie,” he blurts out, though honestly he should probably cool it with the pet names here. At least big boy hasn’t popped out of his mouth because that could very well be the ticket to Steve punching him and his freaky little crush right in the face. Or, given their current circumstances, kicking him in the nuts. And then Eddie would still have to get him out of the window. Wincing, he adds, “Don’t hurt yourself, man. We’ll get you out of here and get you caught up if you want, I have beer here too, alright? Just…”

“Just what?” Steve grumbles, grumpy and subdued enough that he’s hard to hear through the trailer wall. 

“Just, uh…” Eddie bites his lip. As drool-worthy as he thinks Steve’s body is—always was, but even more so now that he’s laid down arms and started filling out more—he’s nervous about drawing attention to it. Not that he hasn’t had his hands all over it since he got here, but maybe Steve is too distracted by his predicament to realize that his ass and sides and thighs are being lovingly fondled. Still, for all of Steve’s efforts to pull himself free, there seems to be one thing he hasn’t thought of, and Eddie has to point it out if they ever want to be successful here. “...Try to suck in a bit?”

Steve tries to look over his shoulder at him, not quite managing it but making his ass jiggle again, then shifts to look down at himself. At his belly. Eddie feels his own face go hot as he imagines what it might look like from in there, wonders if it’s touching the surface of his dresser. Falls down a brief rabbit hole of imagining Steve stuck in the window all night and grumpily insisting on smoking anyway, hanging onto the joint while Eddie runs back and forth from the kitchen with food and beverages that do nothing but trap Steve more firmly in place, and yet he keeps asking for more—

When Steve sucks in as best he can, Eddie scrambles to get both hands on his ass again with a “One, two, three, push.” It doesn’t help how fast his heart is racing, but it does work; Steve wriggles through and slides gracelessly to Eddie’s bedroom floor. 

He stays slumped there for a moment, recovering. Eddie takes the opportunity to readjust himself in his jeans so he’s a little less obvious—again, very grateful for the late hour and the lack of neighbors out and about tonight. Max would have a field day with this shit if she weren’t off at summer camp with Lucas.

That done, Eddie leans in the window to check on Steve. “You okay there, dude?”

Steve groans. “I’m fine. That fucking window looked bigger from the outside, that’s all.”

Eddie can’t help a disbelieving snort. Though that kind of answers his question, doesn’t it? Despite what he’d had to point out, Steve is still in denial. Somehow. It’s kind of ridiculous, given what had just happened, but maybe (and he feels a little guilty thinking about this, but not enough to not) that means that nothing needs to change. That Steve will keep coming over, getting high and hungry and keep asking Eddie to bring him more. And what is Eddie supposed to do in the face of that? Deny and disappoint the man of his dreams, who saved his life by carrying him out of hell and enlists their younger friends in elaborate plots to fake summer camp scholarships for underprivileged redheads?? Not a chance. 

Coasting on guilty-pleasure-slash-hope, Eddie slips through the window himself, easily and with a little bit of jazz hands tacked on at the end because he’s nothing if not dramatic. He’s trying to keep things light, okay? From there, he moves fluidly from the showy gesture to reaching out to offer Steve a hand up. 

Which Steve takes with one big, warm hand, a connection that zings up Eddie’s arm and all along his spine to every single nerve ending in his body. 

“You okay?” he asks, completely on autopilot because his thoughts are now scattered in all new directions again. “You were really wedged in there, looked kinda—” head empty, no thoughts, his free hand drifting towards Steve because they’re so close, closer maybe than Steve really needed to step just to stand up “—painful…”

And then he’s touching Steve’s hip, thumb grazing over the bare skin just above his shorts where the skin is scraped and red, hot and soft to the touch. He would give anything to be able to soothe that hurt where the window was pinching for god knows how long. 

“I’m fine,” Steve replies, but there’s a… a tone to his voice that Eddie can’t quite process, something hushed. Like not being sure if you’re allowed to speak in a library or a museum, or something? Shit, maybe Eddie is making him feel awkward, touching him like this, but he can’t seem to pry his hand away. Or let go of Steve’s in his other hand. 

Can’t stop caressing the agitated skin where Steve has been able to soften up after three years of being haunted by monsters, can’t stop his own insides from aching with want for this beautiful boy. 

“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs, and focuses all of his energy on reeling it in before he crosses the threshold of too much and Steve leaves, maybe for tonight or maybe for good—either would feel devastating. But if he can reel it in, just enough… He’s a touchy guy, Steve knows that. If he reels it in, maybe things can stay normal between them. “Yeah, you are… pretty fine…”

… Goddammit. 

It’s too much. Eddie is too much, and his freak tendencies have added too much to Steve, and now that Steve’s noticed he’ll leave, and—

“You, uh. You think so?”

The words are hesitant, as though Steve somehow hasn’t made up his mind on how to react. (Even though Eddie is pretty sure the ‘right’ reaction is hammered into everyone besides him, because. That’s just the way it is, right? Guys like girls, skinny is hotter, and Munsons don’t get to have nice things.) Eddie risks a glance up at his face, just as unsure as Steve sounds, looking for anything that might confirm his assumptions so he can move away already, snatch his hand back before he gets burned. Anything. Is a clear sign too much to ask?

He wants to say, ‘Reject me already. Put me out of my misery. I know how this is supposed to go and the suspense is killing me, being nice about it will kill me.’ But what comes out instead is a soft, “Of course, Stevie.”

Because he does. Think Steve is fine. There are plenty of circumstances in which he would avoid admitting it, but lie? About that, in response to a direct question? To Steve’s face? Never.  

His hand is still just under Steve’s shirt, light little touches that Steve’s eyelids seem to droop in time with—as though Eddie really is soothing the hurt there, and Steve’s actually enjoying it. Wildly, he thinks he might be hallucinating, but the possibility is enough to send a heartfelt “Always” slipping out too. 

Eddie isn’t great at reading the signs, because he has woefully little experience in things like this, but for a second he could swear that Steve almost leans in. It’s a delicate, blink-and-you’d-miss-it moment, but his eyes are so wide open they’re starting to sting. 

And then… Steve doesn’t exactly pull away, just shuffles his feet in a way that signals the moment is over. But he doesn’t go. “So, uh. Wanna smoke?”

“Y-yeah?” Eddie can feel a grin breaking across his face, because Steve wants to stay, and bam. Just like that, the giddiness from when he’d first arrived is back. “We can do that. I’ve got a few joints already rolled, I’ve got snacks—” 

And Eddie’s not sure if Steve is aware of licking his lips as he passes by to get to his stash, but Eddie sure is. His eyes catch and follow the movement unintentionally until he wrenches them more firmly towards his black lunchbox. Heart in his throat, he wonders if… maybe this isn’t as totally one-sided as he’d thought. 

“Oh, and prop my baby back up, will you?” Eddie adds. He flaps a hand in the general direction of his acoustic, feeling weirdly like he’s found some solid ground here. “Treat her right, Stevie, or I’ll be forced to rescind my offer of pretzels and bagel bite pizzas.”

Because he knows Steve’s favorites—that he likes to start with crunchy salty and soft chewy savory, and save the sweets for later. 

And it’s an out. If Steve doesn’t want this, if drawing attention to the weight he’s gained has made him feel any different about their usual routine, this is his chance to back out. Freely offered, no strings attached, because they’re friends first and foremost but also because Eddie isn’t an asshole; aside from some stolen touches today, he’s only ever given Steve what he asked for. 

Steve only hesitates for a second, then chuckles. “Wouldn’t want that,” he agrees, flashing a little smirk before turning to prop the guitar back up. 

Eddie appreciates the view, of course, but tells himself that it’ll be best to cool it for now and roll an insight check once he’s regathered his wits. After all, this is Steve; he doesn’t want to risk acting too impulsively and screw this up. 

For now they can just hang out like normal and have a good night.

[chenfordspiral]

A Chenford Thesis on 5x08

So, during my latest season 5 rewatch (thank you, hiatus nr 28593 this season), I kept getting stuck at 5x08. I could watch the Chenford scenes a hundred times a day. I’ve had a lot of time to think about why I absolutely love this episode and the way Chenford finally happened. 

Apologies if I keep repeating myself sometimes. This got way out of hand for some reason and I might’ve lost track a bit, so…

Anyway, let’s get started with my essay, or whatever this is, on how we got to the end of 5x08 and why Chenford’s development makes me weak in the knees. 

Would a big love confession scene because one of them is in danger have been nice to see in the moment? Sure. Would it have taken away from the impact of it all? Yes, yes, I think it would’ve. Because these two characters are not that. They’re private people, Tim especially, and yes, Lucy is more outgoing and once told Nolan to go for a big-ass proposal with Bailey, but when it really matters, that’s also not her. A big confession in the heat of the moment would’ve been OOC for them. The quieter, just the two of them outside way worked way better than anything else could have.

But I’m getting ahead of myself already. Let’s start at the beginning. 

All of 5x08 is the perfect lead-up to the end scene of that episode. 

Both Tim and Lucy are clearly uncomfortable at the idea of having to spend an entire shift together in the same car. They haven’t been the same with each other since they found a certain someone on Lucy’s couch and Tim encouraged her to go to UC school. 

They’ve become so much more than just colleagues to one another, but neither one of them is ready to have to face the other for the next approximately 10-12 hours. At this point, we’ve seen Lucy realize that Tim means more to her than just a friend, and we’ve definitely seen that Tim fell head-over-heals in 4x22/5x01 and just a little bit more each episode since.

So, there is nothing easy about having to be this close to each other again while thinking the other doesn’t return those romantic feelings. We see that weirdness in the shop before Lucy decides to break the silence. Without even trying, the manage to slip into a conversation that feels like them. They’re bickering like an old married couple. 

They disagree, but don’t insult each other for their different opinions – they banter back and forth, the way they have since sometime during Lucy’s rookie year. 

This wonderful moment, where we briefly saw them being them again, gets interrupted by Lucy’s idiotic WIP. Be warned, I will not be nice to this guy. I might even get through all of this without having to type out his name. Yes, I’m that petty. No, I’m not sorry. 

Lucy looks super uncomfortable right from the start. She doesn’t want to talk to this guy right now, especially not with Tim right next to her. But Assford doesn’t even register her unease. She manages to avoid having to talk very long, and couldn’t have hung up the phone any more quickly after he says he loves her. 

Now, we know Tim isn’t one for personal talk in the shop, even though Lucy’s already broken through that barrier here. But we saw the way he was avoiding even looking Lucy in the eye before she scurried off to get the war bags back at the station. He doesn’t want to have to spend so much time being so close to her. 

He doesn’t want to get involved in her personal life again. (Okay, he does, but you know what I mean.) But he clocks in on her uneasiness. And yeah, he didn’t think Lucy and the idiot he set her up with were serious enough to be talking about moving in together. So, he starts a conversation about something personal. Because he needs to know. 

“Are you two moving in together?” He looks and sounds a little broken. Because if they’re that serious, he really never has a chance. I know, he doesn’t think he has one now, but that would shut that door even more. Lucy doesn’t say yes, but she also doesn’t say no. But she does say that mr. clingy just dropped it on her earlier that day. We all see how confused and nervous she is. 

He asks if they’re happy – notice his use of ‘right?!’ at the end of that question; it’s become a pattern with them – and that moving in would be the obvious thing to do next. See, he can’t have her but still wants her to be happy. Even though he clearly doesn’t like the guy she’s with. Tim, you big selfless idiot.  

And Lucy tries to deflect, tries to convince him, and herself, that she’s happy with the guy. But we can all tell that she isn’t. And that Tim isn’t convinced either. 

The conversation is put on hold because they get called to a dispute. This might seem very random, but that couple served two purposes. One, giving an example of a couple that might be doing things better than Lucy with her WIP but still not the right way. And two, showing that sometimes, cops get called to weird scenes that seem totally random. But that’s patrol. 

Then they’re all busy trying to help the woman who’s had a bomb strapped to her neck. We see what they have to deal with on patrol, the inhuman things people do. We see them trying to handle seeing a woman killed by a bomb.  

They’re still talking about it when they’re back in the shop after it all went down. Again, they’re pulled out of the moment by her pathetic-excuse-for-a-boyfriend. This time, he seems to call to make sure she’s okay after hearing what happened on the news. But as soon as she says she’s ok, he changes course. Immediately putting pressure on her by talking about a house they should move on if she likes it. 

She hasn’t even seen the house. Let alone actually agreed to even look at houses. In the morning, she said “I’ll think about it. We’ll talk tonight.” That was not a yes. It was a ‘maybe; can we please talk about this later’. But he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t realize how much he’s bothering and smothering her right now. 

Tim only has to take one look at Lucy to see that she’s uncomfortable. He was already looking at her when she turned to glance at him, likely looking for his help to get her out of this conversation. Lucy, honey. Wanting to get out of a conversation with your WIP should ring several alarm bells. You shouldn’t need ‘saving’. 

But Tim does what he always does – making sure Lucy’s okay. So he puts on his best TO voice and tells her to stop taking personal calls while on duty. Dumbass takes the hint, but not before throwing some shade at Tim.  

Lucy takes a moment to regroup after hanging up the phone before she turns to Tim. “Thanks”. Tim nods his acknowledgement, and they both turn their focus back to work. But I’m still stuck at how Lucy looked for comfort and help from Tim and he gave it willingly. Because he wants her to be happy. And those phone calls put her on edge. 

So he did what he could do to help make her feel a bit better. I love this guy and his big-ass heart. 

The next time we see them in the shop, Lucy is looking at her phone again. Tim takes one look at her after glancing at her phone (Timmy, you bein’ kinda nosy) and starts talking again. Again, he is the one to start a conversation about personal stuff. 

He doesn’t shy away from the truth and just says it as it is: tell your idiotic WIP that you don’t wanna move in if you don’t want to move in. And I’m not sure if Lucy is just very out of tune with her feelings or what, but come on, she knows exactly what the problem is and why she doesn’t want to move in with mr. ignorance.

Every time I rewatch this episode and get to this specific scene, I cannot stop myself from saying “You know exactly what the problem is. It’s sitting right there next to you” after Lucy says she doesn’t get what the problem is. Seriously, even if I’m not actively listening, that part always gets my attention and I mutter those words. 

Lucy keeps talking, saying that she and the WIP are great together and that they never fight. Well, Tim coming in again with the truth: maybe that’s the problem. Or one of them, anyway. If you don’t fight, there’s barely any passion. Lack of friction and arguments doesn’t leave much room to improve and work on a relationship if you want to make it last. 

Lucy isn’t one to shy away from confrontation. We’ve seen her stand her ground with Tim basically since day one. Why is she not herself with Ch… oh, almost typed his name. Woops. Anyhow, we all know Lucy usually confronts what’s bothering her head-on. Why is she hiding? 

In semi-typical Chenford (or is it Lucy?)-fashion, she tries to deflect a bit here, jokingly asking if she and her can’t-read-the-room-bf should be more like the couple from the call they dealt with earlier. Tim denies, because that is not what he means. 

“Do you guys not fight because you don’t disagree on things or because you don’t think it’s worth the bother?” 

Again, right to the point. He hits the nail right on the head. We can see that Lucy realizes the latter to be true. She doesn’t argue with ADA Boring because it’s not worth it. She doesn’t put in the effort like she usually does. Why?

Well, because those arguments would immediately show that they are not compatible, and it would likely end that relationship sooner rather than later. Deep down, Lucy knows that.

Right from their first interaction, you could see that they don’t see eye-to-eye on things. Yes, her and Tim don’t agree on a lot of things, either. But she puts in that effort. Because she cares. 

This whole conversation shows that she’s staying with the dumbass not because she really wants to, but more because of guilt, fear, and the fact that she doesn’t want to commit to any guy. Well, there is one she’d love to commit to, but thinks she’ll never have the chance to. 

Guilt because she stills blames herself for the Rosalind debacle even though we all know it’s not her fault. Commitment issues because she hasn’t felt about anybody that seriously before, until... well, we’ll get to that and the fear part later. 

Tim can see that she realizes that she’s just along for the ride in that relationship, trying to commit to someone who seems great on paper but isn’t right for her. Once more, Tim tells her what he thinks.

“You deserve someone who’s worth the effort.” 

Because he wants her to be happy, because he cherishes and adores and loves her. 

Because he wants her to be in a relationship where she wants to work through the tough stuff, where she doesn’t shy away from the conflict, where she can be herself. 

Because he wants her to realize that she’s not gonna be happy with this guy when she can’t even be herself without having that relationship implode.  

Time and time again, they’ve shown us how incompatible Lucy and mr. you-can-leave-anytime-now are. Even their first encounter was indicative that this would never work out (still baffles me that she went out with him again after that double date). He seems more interested in forming her into someone he wants instead of really accepting who she is. 

And that just won’t do in a relationship. Ok, again, Tim and Lucy constantly try to make the other see things differently, but they’re not trying to change each other. At least not in a way that would totally go against who they are. They want them to be better versions of themselves. 

I mean, come on. Lucy as a lawyer? Tim retiring at 40ish? Who are these people who claim to love them? 

Tim and Lucy constantly make each other want to be better. 

And look at Lucy. Surely, she can see that montage that the Rookie SM account posted as part of the sneak peak before the episode aired play out before her eyes. All the times they’ve put in an effort. For each other. Even when they were still rookie and TO.  

She made an effort back then. Why not with her collar of a WIP? It took some time, but I’ve come to realize that the title for the episode might as well have referred to Assford’s presence in Lucy’s life and how he’s like a weight holding her down.  

The conversation seems to be over for the time being as they both turn a bit away from one another, lost in thought, especially Lucy. She absorbs everything he just said. The wheels are starting to turn in her head. 

Before either one of them can too wrapped up in thoughts, we see a car speeding past them. They discover that a second person has become victim of having a collar bomb strapped around their neck. 

I’m gonna skip over some case related moments but will say that I love how easily they slip from personal talk in the shop to being solely focused on the case and trying to find a way to help the guy. Now, let me jump right to when Creighton just takes matters into his own hands and starts cutting the bomb off with garden tools. 

It’s just a little moment in an episode with many awesome Chenford scenes, but I absolutely love how Tim reaches for Lucy to get her to cover behind the door of the shop. And then how he’s shielding her, keeping her behind him as best as possible with one hand on her shoulder and the other on her arm. 

Tim, your love for her is showing. And I’m getting emotional again. 

This entire sequence, from seeing the collar bomb on Creighton to when Tim radios in to pick up their suspect shows how easily Tim and Lucy slipped back into their partnership. He lets her take charge with the interview. They wordlessly communicate with one another. They just need to share a few looks to know what the other is thinking and move forward with the questioning. 

You can’t force this kind of connection, it’s just there. We can all see and feel it. And they probably do as well.  

We get to the last Chenford podcar scene of the episode. They’re coordinating with Harper on how to proceed after getting the last victim’s name. After, we hear Lucy’s phone going off, again. Thank god it’s not another face time call with what’s-his-name and just a message.

But even just a text is mildly pissing Lucy off. Because dude keeps sending her stuff even though she’s made it perfectly clear she wanted to talk about it with him later, not while on duty. 

Tim immediately picks up on it again and asks if it’s more listings, which, of course it is. Because ADA clueless is being an inconsiderate idiot. Even more so for sending listings for places Lucy would never even consider living, even if she wanted to move in with jackass. 

Off of her frustration, Tim works up the courage to ask something he’s probably been wondering about since the start of their day. “Do you love him?”

No, Timothy, she does not. Otherwise she’d be happy to talk to the WIP about it every chance she gets, not be completely frustrated with him. But he asks anyway because he needs to hear the answer.  

Lucy tries to deflect again, similar to the way she did when he asked if she was happy. ‘They haven’t been dating long’... which, well, is semi-true. It is the longest relationship for Lucy that we’ve seen on the show (gag). 

And it’s been roughly 10ish months at this point (thank you, TR, for the super wacky timeline. I’m deciding to go with November here, hence the 10 months, because we saw a date of Nov ’22 in 5x09; but who really knows…). 

After so long, you know whether you love someone or not. And Lucy knows she doesn’t love him but tries to avoid having to admit it right away. 

Tim seems to accept her obvious avoidance. But lets her know that dumbass loves her. So she shouldn’t lead him on if she doesn’t feel that way about him. 

I don’t know why I always get so emotional watching this. Probably because Tim’s statement could easily be about himself, too. 

And now Lucy might finally be realizing the problem. She knows that her WIP loves her (although, I’m still not convinced, because he shouldn’t be trying to change and pressure her into anything if he really did love her). 

Lucy knows that she should, theoretically, love him back. Because on paper, he seems great and she even says, “he’s so great in so many different ways”. 

I hate this line. Because time and time again, they’ve managed to show him as a not great guy. No matter how much I try, I cannot for the life of me think of him as anything but annoying and so obviously not right for Lucy. 

Anyway. Lucy proceeds to talk as she processes what’s bothering her and comes to the conclusion that “he’s just not…“ and immediately looks over at Tim before looking back out the window. Lucy, what?! 

Could you be more obvious? You basically just said you can’t love Assford because he’s not Tim. You basically just said you’re in love with Tim… cool. I’m cool. Perfectly fine. Not losing my mind over this at all. 

That was the loudest unspoken ‘you’ I’ve ever heard. And that’s the problem of it all, isn’t it? She’s realized at some point that she likes Tim more than she thought possible and seems frustrated with herself for not being able to let him go after thinking he rejected her. Frustrated with the whole situation, really.

But that’s also just it. You can’t just stop wanting someone. Yes, you try to move on when you think it’s never gonna happen, but that doesn’t mean it’s gonna be easy or happen quickly. 

Lucy seems to never truly have been in love with anyone before. Otherwise she would’ve committed to someone already, and not just tried to settle for dumbass ADA bitch. 

Finally, Lucy has voiced the problem of it all: she can’t love anybody else because somehow, she fell in love with Tim. Again, she can’t love Assford because he’s. not. Tim. Swoon. 

I’m sure Tim could feel that her gaze shifted toward him… whether he knew that’s what she almost said or not, I’m not sure. But I am sure he hoped that’s what she could mean. 

He looks over at her, trying to figure her out. But she’s already looking away, so he turns his focus back on the road. Both of them are left with their own thoughts and the case. And I can practically feel the tension through my screen. 

Tim and Lucy, my loves. Can you two please actually talk to one another? Without leaving any room for doubts, without subtext, without beating around the bush. 

Just say what you really wanna say. The other person might surprise you with their answer. 

And then we get to the last scene of the episode. Every moment has led to this. 

We see Tim sitting outside the station, alone, before we see Lucy walk up to him, getting them in the same shot together. And isn’t that just the perfect metaphor for their relationship? Tim was alone and broken when they met in the Pilot. And then there comes Lucy, sunshine personified, and bit by bit, brings light back into his life, stealing his heart along the way without even trying. 

She constantly challenged him, made him see when he was in the wrong and why, yet never judged or blamed him for things out of his control (wife who abandoned him, learning differently, childhood trauma because of an abusive father, taking the blame for everything) and made sure he knew that those things were nothing bad or to be ashamed of or his fault. 

Unlike so many other people in his life, Lucy never tried to change him. She simply brought out the person he is underneath all the tough guy exterior. She didn’t ask him to change - he wanted to be better because her opinion of him started to matter at some point. 

We might all see the difference Lucy made in Tim’s life more easily than the impact he’s had on her, but the deeper we look, the more obvious it gets. 

The Lucy from 1x01 needed to learn that the world was not as nice as we’d all sometimes wish it were. 

Tim said it himself in 3x11. She’s a kind and empathetic person who needed to see the world in a different light. He might’ve gone about it a bit controversially at first, but that all stemmed from a place of deep-seated hurt and heartbreak (still no excuse, but more understandable and shows that he’s human). 

But he still managed to challenge her. Made her see that she could be and is a great cop. Trained her to believe in herself and her abilities - something her parents never did. And something Lucy desperately needed in her life. Someone who believes in her and trusts her choices. Someone who accepts her the way she is. Someone who has her back. 

They both became better versions of themselves because of each other. Because there was finally a person who didn’t judge. No, it wasn’t romantic right from the start. But that pull toward one another has always been there. It’s only gotten stronger as they got to know each other better and then eventually bubbled to the surface at the end of season 4 and beginning of 5. 

Kay, back to the actual scene. 

I still really wanna know what Lucy was planning on talking to Tim about. Somebody please tell me… because “We need to talk” is usually not accompanied by anything good. 

I love how Tim immediately puts his phone down and turns his attention, and his body, toward Lucy. She has his full attention, no matter what this conversation is going to be about. 

Now, Lucy is the one who comes to Tim, but he is the one to start the conversation. And because they’ve been talking about her relationship with mr. can’t-read-the-room-and-pick-up-on-Lucy’s-discomfort before, it’s what he thinks they’ll continue to talk about.  

First though: just think about how weird this must be for them. All day, Tim’s been trying to help the woman he’s fallen for work through her relationship with someone else. And Lucy’s been working through the problems she has with her WIP with the guy she’s actually in love with. 

Yup, weird. 

Anyway.

We can tell that Tim is not expecting this conversation to be about anything but Lucy and her relationship with Assford. He doesn’t even entertain the idea that Lucy might’ve come to him to talk about them. He just wants to help her see that whatever she’s doing is not working. He’s being the friend he’s become for her over time. Because he’s not expecting to ever mean as much to her as she means to him. 

“Look, this clearly isn’t working out. I don’t know why you won’t just admit it.” 

Thank you, Tim, for saying what the entire fandom’s been thinking for a while now. 

“Unless, I mean, is it guilt? Is it because of what Rosalind did to him?” 

For some reason, likely because she’s frustrated with the situation as is and really didn’t want to talk about her WIP, Lucy deflects. Again. “Oh, like I’m the only one who stayed too long when things aren’t working? You dated a lifeguard. You don’t even like going to the beach!” 

Okay, I have to admit that I love Lucy’s roasting. So I need to pause here for a second. I had this all semi-planned out but then my emotions got the better of me. So, enjoy while I air out some of those frustrations. 

Both Tim and Lucy stayed with their respective partners for far too long. And for the wrong reasons. 

I get that Lucy felt guilty, and is too compassionate to leave someone when they’re hurt. Especially when she thinks it’s her fault. 

And neither one of them wanted to be alone. But Tim never should’ve stayed with Lifeguard Bitch after he realized they were on completely different paths regarding the future. 

I’m not saying she should change what she wants for Tim, but neither should he settle for something he clearly doesn’t want. He even said in 4x05 that he expected to already have kids. So he still wants it. He shouldn’t be with someone who clearly doesn’t want it. 

There’s no future there. But being alone wasn’t an option either because then he wouldn’t have been able to try to ignore his feelings for Lucy for as long as he did. 

In typical Tim Bradford fashion, he compromised who he is and what he wants to please the person he’s with. 

Take his reaction to Lifeguard’s revelations in 4x21: “Ok… great”. No Tim, not great. You clearly want the wife, the house and the 2.5 kids. Why are you not telling her that? End it right then and there. 

Why are you always the one compromising? Relationships are supposed to be a give and take, not just give for you, and take for Blondie. 

If she really did love him, she wouldn’t have dumped him the way she did. And not for the reason she did. Seriously, did she not know what his job was when they first went out? I mean, Bitch please. 

Sorry for the choice of words. My distaste for her and mr. hums-the-song just grew exponentially while writing this. Anyway, let me get back to the Chenford of it all. 

Now it’s Tim’s turn to be frustrated. Because this is not what this is about. All day he’s been trying to figure out why Lucy is still with Assford when she is clearly not happy, despite what she said earlier. He’s been trying to help her figure it all out.  

Tim wants Lucy to realize she deserves better, someone worthy of her. And no, he doesn’t think that’s him. In his mind, she is far too nice to ever possibly being able to like him in that way. So, this isn’t for him. It’s not about him. 

He says it himself: “This is not about me. No, it’s not about me, it’s about you. Staying in this safe relationship... because you’re scared.” Damn Tim. Straight to the point. 

But as soon as he says it, Lucy turns the conversation on its axis and actually makes it about them. Because all this time, it’s been about them, about him. “Of course I’m scared. If we do this and it doesn’t work, I’ll have ruined the most important relationship in my life.”

Again: Lucy?! What did you just say? My lack of words here is an accurate representation of my reaction when we were all watching it for the first time in December. 

And, yeah. I’ve seen different opinions about this whole scene. I don’t think it’s entirely out of the blue. We’ve seen them both struggle with their emotions and feelings for each other for a while at this point. Maybe we’ve seen it more from Tim’s side lately and that’s why it was surprising that it was Lucy who just blurted it out.

But I think it’s so wonderfully in character for her to just get lost in the moment and say what she’s been feeling for so long now because the word ‘scared’ triggered everything she’s been trying to ignore and work through. Her biggest fear is losing Tim completely. 

“Most important relationship in [her] life.” Yeah, I was not expecting to hear this. But I love it. We all know Lucy doesn’t want to put names to her relationships. She didn’t want to with Nolan (sorry for even mentioning this), not with Emmett and she made it perfectly clear that mr. hums-the-song was her WIP, not her boyfriend. 

But with Tim it’s somehow been a relationship for a while. She even called it that on her last day of training, which I still find hilarious, btw. They’re not together. Tim doesn’t even think she feels the same way as he does. Clearly, he was not expecting to hear this, either. 

She’s literally stunned him into silence. Look at the look on his face. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. He’s never been put first in any relationship. Okay, I firmly believe that he was Isabel’s priority once upon a time, but she too, chose something else over him at the end. Just like everybody else has.

But suddenly he hears Lucy say he is the most important to her. Him. Not anybody else. Him. Tim is the most important person in someone’s life. 

And then we see Lucy as she realizes what she just revealed to him. And she tries to backtrack. She’s not taking it back – she’s simply realizing that maybe she shouldn’t have revealed herself to him and drop this on him. 

But he doesn’t let her take it back. He agrees. Because they would lose each other if it didn’t work out. There’d be no going back to before. It’s either all in and risk it or continue this weird limbo they’ve found themselves in. 

And Lucy takes Tim’s “You’re right” as confirmation that it’s not gonna happen. That it’s not worth it to risk it all. Because she doesn’t want to lose him. There’d be no other person able to fill the hole that losing Tim would create. So they should just keep going as they have. Right? 

And yet. He doesn’t accept her “right?” the way he did in 5x01 in that hotel room. Because this is different. He can feel that this is different. That he seems to have a chance at a relationship with her after all. So he puts his cards on the table. And tells her that he thinks it is worth the risk. 

“Unless it is.”

Three words. Just three words and now it’s Lucy’s turn to be speechless for a moment. Because she had honestly thought that he wasn’t an option, either. Not after he told her to go to UC school and it was “time for [her] to move on.” She took it as rejection, he thought he was doing her a favor by removing himself from the equation that seemed to leave no space for him.

We see the wheels turning in her head as she realizes that he seems to want this as much as she does. She lets out a little breath as the tiniest smile starts to form on her lips as she stares at Tim. 

And he just looks back at her, gauging her reaction. He seems to find what he’s looking for because he leans back a bit, building up the courage to ask what he’s been dying to ask her for so long. Come on, we all know it’s true. His shoulders drop as he lets the weight fall off them and smiles. 

He starts to form words as he leans toward her again, but takes another second before he lets them out. “Do you wanna get dinner sometime?” 

Not ‘go on a date’. No. Because even in this moment, where they’re the only people that matter, he knows she still has a WIP. But he took his chance the moment he realized they were on the same page anyway. And I love it. Because he wastes no time at all to show her what he wants. He took a leap the second he realized she might feel the same way. 

All the previous heartbreak that started during his childhood seems to fade away from him. Right now, this is all that matters. Lucy is what matters. Because he matters to her, more than he ever thought possible. He’s willing to risk it all because all he wants, everything he’s been looking for his entire life, is right there in front of him. 

I will never not tear up at the way his eyes are so glassy with emotion and brimming with hope. Hope that she’ll say yes. Hope that this is finally the start of something he’s wanted for longer than he realized. 

And look at Lucy. She takes a moment to absorb everything that’s just happened. From realizing that she basically blurted out how she feels about him, to having him confirming that it’s reciprocated. That he’s willing to give this a shot because he believes they can make it work. 

He believes in her. In them. And that’s beautiful. Because Lucy doesn’t have many people like that in her life. She grew up with parents who always expected more of her, no matter what she did. We saw that in a few episodes in previous seasons and it’s so heartbreaking because we know Lucy wants to make her parents proud. She wants their approval.

But they never gave it to her. And yet somehow, here’s Tim. Who believes in her. First professionally, then personally and now romantically. Who makes her feel like she is enough. Because she is. For him, she is more than enough. She’s everything. 

They’ve both been exactly what the other has been looking for their entire lives. They’ve endured different kinds of trauma that only the other has managed to slowly heal because they’re two parts of one whole and only truly happy and themselves when they’re together. It sounds cheesy, but it’s true. 

She answers so clearly, so… sure. Like, ‘Yes of course you idiot. Why wouldn’t I want to go out with you? Nothing I’d want more.’ 

And then the relief in his eyes when she says yes. My heart hurts in the best way possible whenever I watch this scene and hear his breathless little “Yeah?”’. Happy Tim is my absolute favorite thing to see on the show. 

The elation of getting confirmation that she wants this just as much as he does. That she’s willing to risk it all with him. He’s been so afraid of getting rejected again, like he did in 5x01 (when, again, your timing was a bitch, Timothy). We saw how he considered talking to her in 5x06 in the parking lot and then the total devastation after the missed opportunity because a certain someone had to interrupt again. 

So, this time, he took his chance the second he saw an opportunity.

But as happy and elated he his right there, he completely deflates after Lucy says “No” right after. Because that’s the answer he expected. The one he feared. The (apparent) rejection after putting his heart on the line.  

He turns away from Lucy, trying to put the wall back up. His whole demeanor just changed. Watch his hands – he puts them up as if physically trying to distance himself again. But he accepts her ‘no’: “Okay”. Because her happiness will always matter more than his own.

But Lucy tries to make clear that’s not what she meant. “No, no, it’s just… not yet. I owe it to [jackass] to end things the right way with him”. (No you don’t Lucy. He’s an idiot.)

Again, Tim accepts her decision, turning away again. He looks like he’s ready to stand up to leave. But Lucy stops him. We can’t see it, but I’m guessing Lucy touches his leg to get his attention again. And she does; he turns back toward her again, listening to what she has to say.

“Ask me again. Later. After.” 

There’s no question here as to what she wants. She’s not there yet, because she still as a WIP. But as soon as he’s gone, she wants this. She wants Tim. She’s ready to commit to the only guy she’s ever fallen for. 

And we’re back to happy smiley Tim. “Deal”. He’ll wait as long as she needs. Because now he knows there’s something to wait for. He’s not alone in this. She’s right there with him and she wants it as much as he does. 

And I cannot get over how they look at each other then. There’s nothing between them anymore but happiness and the knowledge that they want the same thing: to be together. 

And for the first time we really see shy, bashful, in love Tim Bradford. Look at the way he looks away from Lucy. He looks like a lovesick puppy. And my heart is bursting with happiness again.   

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I totally understand the (initial) confusion about this scene. Because yes, at first it did seem as if it came out of nowhere. And that there might be a scene or dialogue missing. But after some time to reflect on it, I’ve come to realize how much I love the way they handled it. Because it didn’t come out of nowhere. 

Look, this relationship has always been super layered, long before they took the leap here. 

But, as pointed out above, the way Lucy just blurts it out is beautiful to me. 

Because she got comfortable with Tim in this moment. After months of being at odds with one another, she felt safe enough to finally say it.

Tim spent the whole shift helping her navigate what was bothering her - Assford and his insistence to annoy her with more house offers even though she was clearly uncomfortable while dealing with a tough case - and why it was bothering her – he’s not Tim.

It wasn’t supposed to be about Tim, but he didn’t even realize that the whole problem was him in the first place. He’s the reason why she can’t and won’t move forward with jackass. Because she can’t do that while not letting Tim go. 

And that’s the whole point. After Tim told her it was time for her to move on in 5x02, she tried to make it work with dumbass. But in all that time, she’s never truly let Tim go. Because he’s the one she wants at her side, whether she’s always realized it or not. 

She could stay with clueless as long as she tried to tell herself that Tim didn’t matter to her like that. But that firmly established wall kept crumbling ever since Tim drew it up. Every episode following 5x02 crumbles that wall further and further - until it’s finally gone in this beautiful scene outside their place of work. 

Until Lucy finally realizes that no relationship will work as long as it’s not with Tim, she won’t give it her all. Yes, she tries to tell herself it’s not worth to take the risk, but as soon as Tim reveals his hand, she’s on board. 

Because they both want the same thing. To finally be together, in every possible way and not just as quasi-partners on the job. Finally, they’re on the same page. 

And what makes this even more special: it’s Tim being ready before Lucy is. It’s him waiting for her. 

I never would’ve even imagined for it to happen this way around. Given everything we knew pre-season 5, Lucy seemed like the more likely option to want to talk about things. She always wants to talk things out. 

But maybe I shouldn’t have been so surprised after 5x01. After all, Tim was the one who wanted to talk about them in that hotel room in Vegas. And yes, again, the timing was awful, seriously Timothy, but he couldn’t ignore the feelings stirring within him. 

And the fact that Tim is even willing to risk it all with someone who’s become so extremely important to him is beautiful and shows how much he’s grown and found himself again since the Pilot. He’s been broken so many times before that nobody would blame him to just never try this again. Even Lucy inadvertently broke his heart in that Vegas hotel room.  

But he wants to. With Lucy, he wants to, despite the previous heartbreak. Because she’s Lucy. Because she is one of the very few people who hasn’t just walked away. And she’s just offered him an in. 

Yes, they’ve been distant with one another for months before this, but even then - she didn’t leave. She wanted to be there when he was injured and then raced back to the hospital after hearing he had emergency surgery to make sure he was ok. Even through their awkwardness, she stayed. She made an effort. She cared. 

She’s seen every side of him and yet, she stayed. 

It’s interesting, actually, that Lucy might have been one of the few people that Tim (briefly) walked away from. Because Tim holds on to the people he loves as tightly as he can but will also put their happiness above his own no matter how much it might hurt him. 

He walked away from Isabel because he felt it was what was best for her, not for him and only once he knew she was getting better. We don’t know what happened with Rachel and who broke up with who, but she was the one to leave for another state. Lifeguard Bitch dumped him while he was in the hospital, right after he woke up from emergency surgery because he wouldn’t do what she wanted. 

Lucy has never walked away from Tim. But there he was, willing to let her go because he felt that that was best for her. He put her (seemingly) best interest above his own. Because he couldn’t, or wouldn’t see that she didn’t regret what happened between them, that she values him for who he is. That he means more to her than she, or he, could’ve ever imagined. Because somewhere deep down, he still doesn’t believe he’s worthy of love. (I wish I could give pre-canon-Chenford Tim a hug so badly.)

For two people who know how to communicate with one another, they really did a number on themselves in eps 5x01 and 5x02. Neither one of them actually listens to the other. It’s not communicating. They don’t ask for clarification; they just assume to know what the other means. 

Tim walked away in 5x02 before either one of them let their masks slip and we could see that they were both heartbroken, thinking the other regretted whatever it is that happened between them. 

These two have evolved from TO and Rookie, who, for all intends and purposes, should never care about each other as anything more than colleagues, to friends during Lucy’s rookie year, to best friends who bicker and annoy each other like a married couple. 

And somewhere along the way, they fell for each other without noticing, without meaning to. And I think neither one of them quite knew what do to once they had that moment of realization. 

We saw them struggle with it up until the very end of 5x08 when it all came out. When they just couldn’t hold it in any longer. Because they’re the light in each other’s life and just want to be together. 

And now they get to know what it’s like to actually be together the way they’ve wanted to for a while. From now on, they get to live life together. And I definitely didn’t tear up thinking about this last part. 

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I understand everyone’s opinion about this episode, good or bad. 

I simply think that, yes, it was a slow burn, but you can’t drag it out too long before it eventually burns out. Why create more drama when there is no real reason to? If they had written more drama for Chenford, it would’ve been created to keep more roadblocks in their way. No one would’ve wanted Lucy to move forward in her relationship with mr. boring. But that was the (almost) last thing keeping them apart. 

What could they have done to keep them apart for longer? The only thing I would’ve been okay with would’ve been a time in which they just hang out as friends every chance they get before taking the plunge. Drama? I don’t want that. 

But that might’ve also only lasted a few episodes before everything bubbled to the surface. Even with a slow burn, the flame’s gotta ignite at some point. 

Okay, Tim being her superior would’ve actually been a very real obstacle that many of us thought would keep them apart for longer. Especially since he’s such a stickler for rules. But I think I get why they moved them forward the way they did. Both Tim and Lucy got caught up in the moment – nothing but the two of them mattered. No rules, no significant others, no power imbalance at work could’ve kept them from going after what they wanted.  

The only thing that mattered was finally being able to be together after realizing they both wanted it.  

I personally really appreciate that they kept this real. Yes, the writers chose to have 5x08 be the ep to move things forward. But story-wise, it’s very true to real life. Tim and Lucy didn’t have much of a choice but to ride together again after Grey told them to. Not without revealing what exactly the reason for their discomfort was. 

Real life is when things happen when you least expect them. When you have to deal with things sooner than expected. When you blurt things out without thinking. When you put your heart on the line without knowing how the other feels. 

I haven’t been in this fandom long and have only watched The Rookie and shipped Chenford since mid-2022. But even I was becoming inpatient for them to be together after only 6 months. 

We’re all allowed to have our opinions. We can all have mature conversations about this and discuss it with respect. But the minute you completely disregard the fact that every person working on that show is a human being and call them names, and even tag them in those posts, you’ve gone too far.  

They don’t owe us anything. They don’t have to move the story forward the way we want. Yes, fans keep shows going to a certain degree, but it’s the writers’ decision what to do. Or maybe it’s the network’s decision and they have to run with it and make it work.

Basically all I saw all summer long was comments about needing Chenford to be together asap. Then it happens, and yet, this is when the negativity (and disrespect) in the fandom started. 

I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again: we were never all gonna get it the way we envisioned it. And maybe we all should’ve kept that in mind going into season 5 (I’m including myself in this, yes). But it’s okay to be disappointed. 

Did I expect it to happen the way it did? Nope. Was I a little thrown at first? Yup. But I’ve fallen in love with it since then. It’s so them. 

Let them learn together. Let them grow together. Let them become even better together. 

There is so much left to explore. Them getting together opened up a whole new world of potential storylines. And I for one cannot wait to see what is next in their journey. 

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Additional note 1:  I will forever be mad at The Rookie for making the-one-who-shall-not-be-named sound like the nicest guy when all I can see is red flag after red flag. They introduced him as a pesky ADA, who I immediately disliked, who was suddenly a real ‘nice guy’ the next time we saw him. It’s like they completely changed course and decided to use him in any way possible to keep Tim and Lucy apart. And make me uncomfortable in the process. 

I know there might be some fans out there who really like him, but I just always see the guy humming the song Lucy sang to keep herself calm when she was dying. Dude, that’s the woman you’re dating. How does that song get stuck in your head and NOT trigger you? 

Even this episode alone is reason enough for me to dislike him. I could go on for another 5 pages, but I’ll stop here and just say: I’m glad Lucy dumped him in maybe the least nicest way possible for someone as empathetic as her. 

Additional note 2:  I’ve mostly been very positive about Chenford’s development, but even I can admit that some things haven’t sat right with me all the time (and I mean pre-canon and after), mostly because I expected things to happen differently at times. But that doesn’t mean the way they’re handling it is bad or wrong. We can’t expect for them to integrate callbacks to all the significant moments from earlier seasons. 

I’ve simply chosen to be positive whenever I post something because I accept and appreciate what they’ve given us, but I understand and respect if some fans don’t. As long as we don’t expect everyone to see everything the way we do, and we don’t get all childish and mad when we don’t all agree (seriously, why do we always have to get mad at each other when we disagree on things?!), I’m happy to be here. Because Chenford and The Rookie are my safe space, my escape from reality. And sometimes I just need to get lost I these characters for a while to get back on track in real life. 

Thank you to @escapismqueen for listening to my constant ramblings whilst writing this and being my nr one supporter while I was struggling to get this done! I think I need to credit her for some of this because we think so much alike that she easily could’ve written parts of this herself. 

[bettsfic]

I think the world is in desperate need of your analysis on ZoLu (and perhaps write a lil fantastic fic while you're at it teehee)

FIRST of all, having seen nearly mackenyu's entire filmography (he doesn't have a ton of stuff and some of it is unwatchable but god i tried), i can confirm that he's always typecast as some kind of angry/sardonic brother figure. that's the key: he is always a brother whose conflict has to do with brotherhood. in one of the very few things where he plays a romantic part, it is with that character's sister figure (but who is actually a cousin).

so here i was, innocently expecting more of the same. but instead i get

i have no frame of reference for the canon material, but i do have a frame of reference for mackenyu's Range, and i can assure you this expression hasn't shown up anywhere.

their dynamic is my kryptonite. goofy boyishness meets unwavering loyalty and reverence. i'm doomed.

unfortunately, i ship them in a very fucked up way no one will enjoy, and i'll probably end up walking into some kind of decades-long fandom discourse i wasn't aware existed.

i started writing a modern AU where baratie is a pseudo-fancy franchise steakhouse. the first part is sanji/nami. the second part is zoro/luffy (zoro is a bartender, luffy is a dishwasher; they're also roommates). i don't know if i'll finish or post it but here are some highlights from the zolu fic, which branches off at the halfway point of the sanji/nami fic. so we see this same scene from sanji's pov earlier.

note this is a very early draft, and it's only in reference to the live action. tw for alcoholism.

It’s Employee Appreciation Day at Baratie. Having been offered an open bar which he does not have to tend, Zoro feels amply appreciated. Luffy is on one side of him, crawling over him to talk to Usopp. Across the table, Sanji has just joined them. Nami, shit-faced, leans against him, and if Sanji doesn’t do something about this tension soon, Zoro is going to kick his ass. Fucking coward, he thinks, but the thought is cut short by Luffy crawling back to his seat, pointy knees and elbows digging into Zoro in the process, like a giant puppy that has no idea how heavy it’s gotten. Luffy’s leg remains crossed over Zoro’s thigh. They’ve been living together so long that Luffy no longer smells like anything. They share the same detergent, soap, shampoo. Zoro’s pretty sure Luffy even uses his deodorant. They have separate toothbrushes though. At least there’s that.

Zoro is less a roommate and more just a piece of playground equipment for Luffy to climb on. At some point these past three years, Luffy’s perspective of where his body ends and Zoro’s begins became skewed. What’s frightening is that Zoro doesn’t care. In fact he enjoys being Luffy’s plaything. He doesn’t have to bear the brunt of existence when Luffy is carelessly snuggling him like a beloved stuffed toy. 

[took a few paragraphs out]

The truth is that he can’t be alone. Doesn’t want to be alone. Those years of his life after Kuina died, wandering through life just trying to make enough money to get blitzed every night, he’d managed to convince himself he was a loner. He doesn’t remember much about that time. It might’ve been the next day or the next year that he downloaded a hookup app. He’d never liked sex—men, women, didn’t matter—but if he could find some sweet shy girl to fuck or a pretty twink, he’d do his duty and then he’d earn his place beside them in bed, hold them, fall asleep with them, maybe even wake up with them. Some of them liked him, wanted to see him again, but he never fucked the same person twice. He needed to be surrounded by people but he couldn’t be close to them. 

Luffy was kind of perfect in that regard. He was physically affectionate to the point of being literally clingy, but emotionally he stayed lightyears away. He was capable of meaningful conversations but he never made himself vulnerable. It was an admirable act. He could look you in the eye and convince you to follow your wildest dreams, could listen thoughtfully as you gutted yourself open in front of him, spilled your darkest secrets and greatest fears. But he’d never reciprocate. In fact, you'd think he didn’t have any at all. That he was living one step to the left of reality, and you could be there too, fearless, if only you followed him.

[goblins-riddles-or-frocks]

Hellsing Rewatch: Episode Three Thoughts

One | Two

I loooove Pip

My favorite thing about Hellsing is that Dracula the novel has canonically been published in it. How did that happen! Why! Did Van Helsing commission it?? Are they meant to be genuine entries of their journals as a found footage thing?

It’s really funny and appropriate that the Wild Geese are like lmao monsters?? But also if I was a mercenary taken to this shady ass mansion with its own barracks etc I’d just believe any insane shit

Rip Iscariot letter Not Bomb stamp, you will be missed

Integra and Alucard both having a taste for the ugliest possible hats

Maxwell is SO extra he’s crushing his own glasses! Sir you need those!!!

Andercard 💖💖💖💖💖 They’re so fucking insane I love them

Also does this museum have no security? Is no one like uh. They’re drawing guns here.

AGDHFHFHGF Alucard grumpily going back to bed, does that mean he was asked to accompany them to the museum or was he just being nosy?

It’s SO FUNNY how Maxwell is Anderson’s boss now, he’s practically his son

HDJFJFGHDD REMEMBER MAXWELL MAKING INTEGRA SAY PLEASE IN THE MANGA

Why does Maxwell sound so proud when he reveals that the Vatican helped the Nazis 🥲

It’s so so so funny that Major and Dok personally showed up to the museum to watch all this discussion go down and also WHY IS DOK BLOODY AND WHAT IS THAT OUTFIT

What does Alucard mean that only Millennium, Integra, AND HIM are crazy enough to enlist the undead as soldiers. Are we talking level zero or something else????

Also lol. lmao. Walter acting like he doesn’t remember Millennium

HOTEL TWINK HIIIIIIII

Alucard did NOT need to do that poor twink right that, he changed his fucking life. He will never be the same

I looooove the shot of Alucard walking into the hotel room with the rippling air around him

“With any luck they’ll not only dig their own graves but pay for the funeral as well” fucks tbh. It’s a really good line

The spirit of Harkonnen being like “Something terrible is about to happen” and it’s really just Alucard waking her up.

I love Alucard subtly correcting Seras saying “Good morning” with “Good evening” but also like idk taking the moment to respond politely despite being like “btw SWAT team here to kill us.” He also waited a REALLY long time to wake her tbh

I’m generally ambivalent to the gun spirit dream sequence shenanigans but the choice to have such a light silly scene before the absolute carnage that is the Rio hotel fight is such a good tonal shift.

Rio sequence my beloved 💖

I love the beat when Integra questions if Alucard is going to show any restraint or like moral qualms at all in the face of adversity and Walter reminds her that he’s a monster. It definitely has the tone of a conversation they’ve had before.

Alucard’s so mad at the soldier committing suicide like I WANT THAT OUT DAMNIT

He’s having such a meltdown!!

“This is just the way it is” is it tho 🤔

Oh no the Rio call. In front of Walter’s salad

I think the Rio call (where Alucard is doing all this grandstanding about being a monster with zero remorse and needling her about potentially not being up to making a tougher call) is actually really interesting after him reacting so strongly to the one soldier killing himself, and then seeming to lose his own resolve a little bit when he realizes he’s been so harsh to Seras.

Walter like “I’m only the butler… I an not engaging with this shit”

Elevator sequence 💖💖💖💖💖 It’s truly really good nonverbal storytelling

I love that Major monologues so much that no one’s even trying to talk to him, they know he’s just going to keep going.

“I’m called the Dandyman” and Alucard’s like. Did I ask.

“There’s absolutely no reasoning with you people” WHEN DID YOU TRY TO REASON WITH THEM

Pip 👏 gets 👏 shit 👏 done 👏

The show does such a good job establishing just how gross and disgusting Alucard is

Oof the arm scene 😬

The one panned out shot where Alucard’s drinking from Alhambra and his proportions are so fucked that he looks like an Adventure Time character

Alucard making Pip on the fucking hijacked helicopter with a gun to the pilot’s head while he monologues 😭😭

It’s so funny how seriously Dok takes everything whereas Major is just like “Hell yeah!! Mayhem!!!!”

Dok’s still bloody omg, it’s also all over his coat like front and back? Did he deliberately just splatter it for edgy aesthetic purposes?

I NEVER noticed that young Walter was placed with the Millennium characters in the end credits. It’s crazy that they have that so early lol

[gayashawol]

My attempt at making a jonghyun x black reader birthday sex imagine lol

(cw // sex, probably gay, probably cringe since i haven’t made a proper smut in a while)

edit: surprise, it’s actually not gay it’s gender neutral lol (idk how i did it but i did it)

As you lay on the couch, you hear a car pulling up just outside. You took a peek at your window and saw your husband, Jonghyun, coming out of the car, seeming tired. He came home earlier than usual, he wouldn’t really do such thing, unless it was for a valid reason.

Today was one of those days, it was your birthday. He knew he wasn’t working the next day, so he wanted to spend the night with you. He even drove past McDonald’s on the way home so you didn’t need to cook.

As soon as Jonghyun opened the door, you couldn’t bear not to take the opportunity to run to him like a puppy. He let go of the paper bags from his hand and held onto you dearly. He knew how much you missed him during those hours apart, and so the embrace felt more heavenly — like something that he never felt in a stretched amount of time.

Before he could even place the food out, emotions flooded the room and the both of you started making out on the kitchen counter. It was the perfect temperature, the perfect volume on the tv and the right touch from him may have swept you off your feet.

It had escalated past the kitchen, where you both went to the couch — you could see Jonghyun on top of you, slowly undressing you. His abs in full display as his work uniform on the floor and on the neck of the couch. It wasn’t until your glowing skin touched the air that he would caress you, going down until he reached your thighs. It was when he laid his head in between, creating a sound out of you that only him would ever do to you — and nobody else.

His fingers are just a delight to see and to feel. To have them inside of you would be a whole another experience. All the twisting and turning — the skin slapping from his thumb and knuckles, the closer he was to the core, the more you felt like you would break from within.

“Seems like you’re ready for it.” Jonghyun murmured softly to himself, clear enough so you could hear it. The sound of pants falling down was all you could picture the scene with. You were so out of it that you could feel your body throbbing before it even started.

That very moment though, it did happen right away. You felt something poking on your hole. You knew it was Jonghyun’s cock, but it was unexpected — the good kind. He then went up to you, with his cock beside you by the clothes. You began to lick him from the tip, then slowly made your way down from the neck. It wasn’t long until the hairs started poking your face.

“You’re so good at this, babes…” He praised you, moaning softly underneath his breath. He placed his hand on top of your head so he could give yourself a gentle push as you went through with it. All you could do was suck, pull and squish it. He would still be grateful, since it would always be you doing it for him.

As his harden cock started to become coded with saliva, he was able to attempt to enter your insides, in which it was successful. It almost sunk completely, with it taking all the space from within.

With Jonghyun on top of you, he started by swaying his hips seductively. As he felt the music playing from the TV, he would change the speed depending on the tempo. He would still give you kisses all over you, mainly your back and your ass would be filled with slap marks.

It was the most you ever felt in your entire life that when it ended way too soon, it would crush your soul so badly. Jonghyun would never give up on you, so he allowed himself to go in for a second time — only this time he was much more stronger than he was before.

He took you to the bedroom, where the scene gotten more crazier than it should’ve if they’ve gone earlier. Their clothes went like they were leaving a trail, all over the floor and certainly disordered.

The bed started creaking as soon as it began, giving the neighbours something to complain about later on. He kept giving you neck kisses, you wished you could kiss him back, yet he would be giving you the fuck of your lifetime.

“Nnnnghhh~” The moan occured, obvious that you were enjoying the action. Jonghyun totally was, and so he was making every second count, with him having one hand smacking your ass and the other holding onto you.

He was getting ready to shoot a load inside, when he decided to hold it in a little longer so he could orgasm with you together. He laid you facing him with your legs higher than you could ever lift them, so he could see your very face before the upcoming whiteness of a substance.

That very moment your eyes reached the back of your eye socket, he knew it was close, and he did it right there and then. He disconnected, showing the wet goodness the both of you produced together out of love, and passion for one and other.

Jonghyun couldn’t stop kissing you afterwards, it soon became gorgeous with the both of you under the sheets. He knew that he’ll need to wash them, but he didn’t care at this point. He just wanted to be with his cute partner, which would be you, on your birthday and that was exactly what he did…

…which would be why you guys completely forgotten about the McDonald’s he bought and ran back down hoping that the chips didn’t become stale after all this time.

—