#the irony of forgetting the post made to help me remember....

[idolsummons]

tez's "i'm gonna get a new laptop one day" to do list:

verse write up for gothic horror au

change icon to reflect new fc

maybe new google doc?

continue working on lore document

pinned post with handy dandy links to things

maybe make a small group of idols (three or four including hana) that hana's a part of

create male idol who hana may or may not have a cute lil crush on

individual docs for side characters

maybe a new self promo with my new fc

proper tagging system for side muses (ie different tags for fc pics and musings)

add character images to milanote connections page

[silaswritesthings]

"If you just let me invade your space"

Summary: Overwhelmed by work and responsibilities, the reader decides to go for a walk and comes across an eccentric yet appreciated encounter. 

Starring: Gilbert Von Obsidian

Genre: Romance/fluff

Warnings: first person POV, anxiety attack, a quick remark about not living, cursing (like once)  

Author’s note: First time posting about Ikemen Prince so I don’t expect this to do so well… but it’s fine. This man has invaded my drafts and now my dreams, I had to let something out. Comments, reblogs and new followers are always appreciated!! 

Word count: 847

• • •

Hands shaking, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Everything was going wrong. 

Well, in fact, nothing had happened yet but I couldn't help but feel everything would fall apart. I’m going to be killed, or maybe my car will run out of gas and explode. Maybe the world around me will collapse onto me, crushing me beneath its mass that has always threatened my existence, because - in all honesty - nothing is bound to care about my feelings, my safety… and this truth haunts me. It’s eating me alive. It’s forever at the back of my neck like a ghost, a lingering vendetta. It’s unsure… it’s hesitant, like me. Perhaps it’s my reflection, and that’s why it seems to follow me wherever I go. 

I can’t run from it. I thought as I double checked if I had actually locked the door of my apartment, and made my way through the lit street of my neighbourhood. The streetlamps held nothing against the natural sunlight, and it bothered me. My steps echoed against the concrete ground, and my back stiffened whenever I would pass by other people on my way to- where am I even going? 

I can’t seem to remember, but it feels like the world is closing around me again. I thought the fresh air and the lack of walls would help but the darkness outside the light of the street lamps began to be creep closer to me. 

“Should you be up at this hour?” A voice said, and I was so over-aware of my surroundings that when Gilbert spoke from behind me, I was not surprised. 

“Should I be alive at this hour?” I countered, having stopped but refusing to turn to face him. 

Not yet. 

“You professional recluse-” his voice slithered through the air and around me like some kind of parasitic ET, and now he stood before me. “Conversations don’t occur while you face your partner with your back.” 

I sighed, perhaps a little tired. “What do you want?” 

“Your soul.” 

“Gilbert.” 

“What? I’m dressed in black from my shoes to my eyepatch. I've haunted you for days and now I've caught up to you.” He pinched the bridge of my nose. “And it’s the middle of the night.” 

I pushed his hand away, feigning irritation. “It’s hardly 10pm.” 

“Don’t ruin the mood, little rabbit.” 

“I’m not in any mood for your nonsense today. I actually need to return home to sleep soon.”

Gilbert’s expression shifted from playful to empathetic- the irony, I did not believe for a single moment since I’ve known him that he was capable of such an emotion. “Worried about tomorrow?” 

I pursed my lips. He remembered? 

As if reading my thoughts, Gilbert continued, “Why are you looking at me like that? My memory is as sharp as an iron blade, how could I forget?” 

I sighed. “You just… tend to discard things that don’t concern you.” 

“As the horrible fiend that has dedicated his life to haunting you, how could I forget such an important fact about you?” 

“You’re overdoing it.” 

“At no point did you state that you hated it.” 

I remained silent. It was true… wasn’t it? In my pitiful existence with nothing to fall back onto except my seemingly half baked achievements (No matter how hard I work, they will always be half baked because I cannot be satisfied with a single thing I do), it was nice- the attention that Gilbert gave me- no matter how suspicious (he literally appeared out of nowhere into my life and his ‘adoration’ never once wavered). 

“Kill them.” 

“What?” 

“The people you work with, just kill them.” 

“Then I'll get arrested and my life will be far worse than it is now.” 

Gilbert feigned a thoughtful expression, or rather I hope it was feigned- alongside this entire conversation because what the fuck- then his expression brightened. 

“Just don’t get caught!” 

“Go get some help.” I said, and with that I turned to walk back to my apartment. 

My problems were not solved. Tomorrow is still going to come but- I felt a little bit better about the fact of that inevitability. I turned back to where Gilbert stood, his fingers typing away furiously at his phone screen. Not too long after, my phone vibrated from my pocket and the man looked up with that ever charming smile of his. 

I pulled out my phone and opened our chat and there was… a random assortment of letters staring at me from my screen. I looked up again, his smile did not waver. 

Ugh. 

It was another one of his messages that I had to decipher. 

Rolling my eyes, I switched my phone off and carelessly placed it in my pocket ignoring the damned smile I couldn’t hold back along with my intention to spend the rest of my evening trying to decipher his message - just like I had many nights in the past. I knew I would regrettably enjoy every second of it. 

I could look forward to tomorrow knowing I had more nights like this waiting for me. 

[nuh-uh-multi]

Fluent

Hey hey! It's A, posting pretty soon, I know. But I got inspo. Shout-out to one of my friends who helped me come up with the start of this fic lol. Hope y'all like Tony, bc I do 😉

•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•

"Mr.(Y/l/n), Mr.Stark has requested your presence," Jarvis announced from the speaker placed just above your desk. It startled you, as it was well hidden, and you were relatively new here.

"Of course," you said. "Uh, where is he?"

"Top floor," Jarvis replied.

You hurried to the elevator and pushed the corresponding button. You felt as though you were forgetting something, but brushed it off as nerves. Your boss likely just wanted to speak with you about something. What, was the question. Were you in trouble? Had you done something wrong? No, stop, you were getting ahead of yourself, it could be anything.

Your stomach fluttered as you envisioned the conversation. Those deep brown eyes looking into yours, the way he stood so confidently, his rich, smooth voice, but the real kicker, that smirk.

It had made your pulse race since the first time you saw it on TV. That cocky, arrogant, infuriating, and completely stomach flipping smirk. You could only imagine what it must be like to be teased by him. To become so flustered that you couldn't meet his eyes, that he would probably grab your chin and make you look at him, all while saying things to fluster you further, and that perfect little smirk, directed at no one but you.

The elevator dinged and you almost flinched as the doors slid open. You took a deep breath and walked out. There he was, Anthony Edward Stark, his hands on his desk, and his back to you. He quickly turned and held his hand out expectantly. You blinked at him, confused. Tony gave you a quick once over and realized you weren't holding anything.

"Oh, I was expecting you to have that report," he said, his tone serious, but playful. He clearly wasn't mad, but you felt yourself filling with humiliation anyway.

"Oh- oh my god, I'm so sorry, I forgot it downstairs, I-it's done I swear I just forgot it..." you rambled, your face burning.

Tony chuckled and, bless and curse the lords, smirked at you. "Well what exactly did you think I called you here for?" he teased.

Your face flushed somehow hotter. "Oh, um, I guess I didn't really know," you mumbled sheepishly.

Tony chuckled and shook his head slightly. "Well c'mon, we'll just go down and get it. I was about to go for a quick drive anyway," he said with a smile.

You nodded quickly and walked back twords the elevator. You got to the doors and froze, wondering if he expected you to let him in first, or if it would be seen as trying too hard. Tony glanced at you and smiled, gesturing you in.

You, much too quickly, took a step in, and stumbled. You quickly caught yourself and straightened up, but you could feel the back of your neck burning. Tony walked in after you, clearly trying to suppress a smile.

You pressed the button for the correct floor, somehow shocked that you could even think enough to remember which one that was, and watched the doors close.

You both stood in a somewhat awkward silence for a few moments. You opened your mouth to say something and break the silence, but before you could even make a sound, the elevator jolted harshly. You both stumbled, catching the rails on the elevator walls.

After only a few seconds of stunned silence, Tony said, "Aaand the elevator broke." You groaned and slid to the ground.

"So, how good is your elevator repair service?" you asked dryly.

Tony chuckled and said down next to you. "Not great, not horrible."

You sighed, and the irony of the situation was not lost on you. A guy, with a crush on his boss, now stuck in an elevator with said boss. Talk about Hallmark.

"So, how do you pass time in an elevator?" you asked, turning to look at him.

"20 questions?" Tony offered. "I mean, this is kinda the perfect time to get to know your boss," he said, and goddamn it that smirk again.

"Yeah, sure," you agreed. You hummed in thought for a moment, wracking your brain for anything interesting you had read about him. "According to the news," you began awkwardly, "you're fluent in Italian. Is that true?"

Tony laughed softly. "Sure is, my mom was Italian," he answered.

"I don't believe you," you said with a smirk, wildly unsure of how you suddenly had this much confidence.

Tony laughed again. "Oh, is that so? Alright then, quiz me."

You pulled out you phone and found a translator. "What does 'Sono bloccato in un ascensore con il mio capo' mean?"

"I'm stuck in an elevator with my boss," Tony answered confidently.

You raised a brow at him, impressed. "Hm, alright. Those kinda seem like words anyone could study though, so I think I have to keep testing," you said smugly. You typed in something else. "What does 'Un'anatra si avvicinò a un chiosco di limonata' mean?"

Tony snorted and sang, "A duck walked up to a lemonade stand. The "actual" translation is "A duck approached a lemonade stand," but, close enough."

You laughed. "Are you sure you're not wearing an instant translator?" you asked.

"Swear on my life," he replied.

You bit your bottom lip, trying to think of a challenge. Aha, a word he surely doesn't know in Italian, the t-word.

"Alright, fine," you said with a confident smirk. "What does 'Mi piace essere solleticato' mean?"

Tony raised a brow at you. "It means "I like to be tickled." Is that true?"

You could feel your eyes widen and face flush, shocked that he had actually gotten it. "Wow, you weren't kidding when you said you were fluent," you mused, trying to sound more impressed than nervous.

"Hey, don't change the subject," Tony said, grinning widely now. "Is that true?"

Your breaths were short and shallow, so you shook your head. "No" you attempted to say, but your mouth was dry. You swallowed and tried again. "No, of course not, it was just a weird word, so I was quizzing you," you lied.

Tony hummed and scooted just a bit closer. "See, it's a convincing lie, but not with the way you said it," he replied, sliding ever closer until he was sitting right next to you.

"W-what are you doing?" you asked nervously.

"Quizzing you," Tony teased, his fingers skimming your side through your shirt.

You yelped and swatted at his hand.

"Okay, you've passed the first test, you're ticklish" Tony purred with a devious grin. He grabbed your side, giving it a rapid succession of squeezes.

You burst out laughing, trying to move away, but ending up trapped in the corner of the elevator.

"Aw, your laugh is so cute!" Tony praised, smiling genuinely.

"Shut up!" you laughed in return.

Tony clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Aw, that wasn't very nice," he teased, spidering his fingers up your sides and ribs.

"Hey!" you protested, letting out a constant stream of giggles.

"So, for all of my genius, I seem to have some brain fog today. How many ribs do people have?" Tony questioned with a coy grin.

Your mouth opened and closed a few times, trying desperately to remember. That was, of course, until you realized it didn't matter. "I-I don't know," you admitted.

Tony chuckled softly and tapped your ribs. "Well I guess I'll just have to count them," he decided. "One, two, three..." With each number, he would gently vibrate his hands over the rib, as well as in the space between ribs.

He was teasing you, goddamn it, and you knew that you both enjoyed it. You giggled like a child, and felt like one too. Carefree, and full of light, refreshing laughter. So you just say there and laughed. As his hands rose to some of the higher ribs, however, you clamped you arms tightly against your sides.

"Hm? Why the change?" Tony asked, his eyes sparkling. "I'm not doing anything different, only going higher-" He cut himself off by swiftly grabbing your wrists and pressing them against the elevator walls above your head. He experimentally wiggled his fingers near your now exposed armpits, without actually touching you.

You squealed and tugged your wrists, already squirming and trying to protect yourself. Tony laughed and smiled brightly. "What? I'm not even touching you!" he teased. "Don't tell me you're this ticklish?"

You blushed and averted your gaze, wishing your hands were free to cover your face. You felt something under your chin, a gentle pulling, and oh my god he was doing it. Tony gently held your head so that you were forced to meet his gaze. "I'm not making fun of you, it's adorable," he murmured admiringly.

You couldn't help but feel your heart swell. Something in his expression made you want to believe him. You could tell that he was being genuine. You didn't know what to say, and thankfully it didn't matter anyway, as he attacked your armpits. His scratching and wiggling fingers forced laughter from you as a result, filling the would-be awkward silence.

Tony stopped almost as quickly as had started, as you immediately started wriggling somewhat violently. "Woah, okay, okay, sorry," he chuckled, still smiling.

"Sorry," you panted sheepishly, offering him a flustered smile.

He returned the gesture and said "Don't be." He leaned back against the elevator wall again. "I like making my employees happy. Plus," he turned to wink and smirk at you, "I told you I was fluent, didn't I?"

[jedi-enthusiast]

I am once again asking anti-Jedi people to get the fuck off my page--and yes, this poster was specifically anti-Jedi because they literally made a post about "sure the Jedi are better than the Sith, but anyone can be better than those and the Jedi are still evil/red flags/etc."

I have made it very clear through many of my posts and my fucking blog description that I don't tolerate anti-Jedi propaganda on my blog, but apparently I haven't been clear enough--so here's another:

KEEP YOUR FUCKING ANTI-JEDI BULLSHIT OFF MY FUCKING BLOG, EITHER POST IT ON YOUR OWN BLOG OR SHUT THE FUCK UP ON MINE

Is that clear enough for you assholes?

Now, first of all, on the post this was commented on I didn't even mention Athena Andreadis and I want to make it clear that 1. I've never even heard of this person and 2. I've never read this essay. I was just venting about how I can't talk about SW without some anti-Jedi jackasses popping in with comments on how "the Jedi were evil," but apparently now I can't even fucking complain about SW shit without anti-Jedi jackasses popping in their two-cents.

The irony.

Now, I've looked up several iterations of "Athena Andreadis strange horizons anti-Jedi essay" and I cannot find it--so I won't be picking apart the specific points made, since I can't find them, but I will be picking apart the general points here.

First of all, I have no idea how being anti-Jedi could possibly be seen as a "feminist" thing.

Like...there are plenty of female Jedi, most are viewed in-canon by other Jedi--both male and female--as good and wise (how fandom views them is out of my control), there are female Jedi in leadership positions, there are both modest and non-modest dressing Jedi and neither of them are viewed negatively for how they dress--nor do any Jedi comment on how they dress, they're diverse in both their looks and beliefs, as far as I'm aware there aren't any rules the Jedi follow that are specific to the women...

Like, I'm just not seeing how the Jedi Order is sexist or how it's feminist to be anti-Jedi.

Can singular characters be sexist? Yes, of course, obviously. But unless I'm remembering wrong, it's actually Anakin (y'know, the baby-murderer guy who's horrible at being a Jedi and turns into a fucking Sith Lord?) who's shown to be sexist in SW media. Other than his behavior, I don't really remember other Jedi being shown as sexist--someone feel free to correct me if I'm forgetting something, though.

Second, the Jedi also didn't want to join the war, but they had no better options.

It is made clear throughout the movies and TCW that the Jedi don't want to be generals in this war, Mace Windu even spells it out for Palpatine by saying "we are keepers of the peace, not soldiers" in AotC. However, in the end, they're forced to take up the role in order to work towards the greater good.

There's literally an entire episode in TCW where the "the Jedi should've just been pacifists and not fought" thing is addressed, and there have been many many posts made by many people about how the Jedi did the right thing and also about what might've happened if they didn't--I specifically recommend looking at @antianakin and @david-talks-sw's posts, if you want an actual in-depth response on those.

I'm not gonna regurgitate their points on this post, but I will pose you the same questions I did on the post this comment was under:

So the Jedi should've just stood by while Dooku conquered and enslaved the rest of the galaxy? That would've been better than them fighting to protect the people and planets Dooku was enslaving?

Finally, everything we're shown about the Jedi in-universe--and what we know of child development irl--shows that the Jedi's way of life isn't harmful, and is even helpful, in childhood development.

First of all, we're gonna dispel the myth that the Jedi teach emotional suppression--what they do teach is emotional regulation which, as others have pointed out, is something taught in therapy and is a good and healthy thing.

But guess what? You also teach emotional regulation to children at a very young age!

When your child is throwing a tantrum, screaming and breaking things, and just generally losing it because they're unhappy with something, what do you do? If you're a good parent, you-

1. help them calm down.

2. teach them how to work through their emotions in a healthy way for next time (taking deep breaths, counting to ten, walking off the anger, etc.).

and 3. talking with them about what made them upset and helping them understand why they were upset so they can avoid it or deal with it better next time.

All of that is emotional regulation. Parents all around the world teach it to their kids every day because it is healthy, and just because the Jedi need to emphasize teaching it more than most because Force-sensitives are susceptible to the Dark Side doesn't mean that it's any less healthy than regular people teaching it.

Secondly, the Jedi Order is a community and--like it or not--it's shown that children raised in a community setting are actually generally better off than children raised strictly in the nuclear family model because they have more support and access to a more diverse pool of opinions, beliefs, and people. All of which we see reflected in the Jedi Order--community support and teaching.

Anakin fell specifically because he didn't follow the Jedi's teachings, and even he was a fucking outlier. The Jedi that fell in the Prequels either fell because of the War (which was orchestrated by Palpatine) or because they were directly manipulated by Palpatine. Neither of those things had anything to do with Jedi teachings and all but one of the Jedi that fell were adults, again all of which except one that lived in the Order perfectly fine for years until Palpatine started doing shit.

Now that that's covered, I'm gonna make my own point.

All of you "the Jedi deserved their genocide crowd" people sound like fucking Nazis and fascists.

Everyone who's saying that "the Jedi were the real bad guys" have like 0 media literacy and obviously take issue with anything that isn't strictly following western ideals--and, frankly, I think you're all willfully being ignorant and stupid at this point.

When you're anti-Jedi, those are the people you're aligning with.

Now, it's none of my business what you believe or what you post on your own time, but keep it the fuck off my page.

This is my space.

Keep your shitty opinions to yours.

[straycalamities]

Oh my okay I've got several... no I've got plenty of questions abt Truffula Flu lol

So... I'll ask all I remembered I wanted to ask, I hope it won't be too much..

1. Why guns aren't allowed in camp Entre? Maybe I skipped few posts, but I didn't see explanation for this one

2. About zombie mutations. Is they're really become stronger or is it just Rocky and Entre become weaker cuz of their illnesses?

3. Swags mod said that Swag would probably leave camp and die somewhere in quite place, while trying to survive. Why would he leave people that he cares about? Im a little bit dumb and don't exactly understand his planned ending 8(

4. There was a moment when One-ler tried to convince Bitter to put him out of his misery, but he escaped that. And I was curious, if he actually killed him then, would Entre blame himself for that? And if so, would it be worse then he blamed himself when he killed Bitter by his own hands?

5. After Rockys planned death, would Swag blame Entre for this? I mean, emotionally shocked, blame him again about this apocalypse stuff, that Rocky wouldn't die if he wasn't infected and etc.

I hope I made myself clear cuz I dunno how to put some questions ughh😭😭

And again Im sorry if its too much questions!

PHEW THAT IS A CHUNKY LIST. i love it

1. guns are loud and the infected are drawn to loud noises so if you shot a gun you’d be ringing the dinner bell basically. i feel like maybe we touched on it directly? but if i’m wrong it’s probably bc it’s a common thing brought up in zombie apocalypse stories so we might’ve assumed ppl just Knew why none of them used or wanted to use a gun

2. they do become stronger! i actually have a whole list of mutations (and more can be added as ppl come up with them! it’s open lore basically)

i made a whole google doc explaining the actual truffula flu and the symptoms, risks, etc (content warning for if you’re sensitive to medical discussion?? i don’t know how to word it but i wrote it like ur typical online disease info page. also content warning for zombies bc. it’s entirely abt zombification.)

rocky and entre being weakened definitely didn’t help their situation but yes. it’s mainly bc the spiky zombie is faster and stronger than ur typical sort

3. this is kinda hard for me to answer bc i’m not the one who originally wrote it. i don’t rly know why it was planned for it to go like that. i guess out of irony? i know the original plan was for swag to be the sole survivor at the end, but that kinda clashed w other plans so it was changed. so maybe this was the compromise to that

i will say tho that. things had been discussed since that post was made and his story goes differently than was broadcasted. howso? you’ll just have to see :)

4. yes, entre still would’ve blamed himself because ultimately: this is all his fault. regardless of who dies how or where. they wouldn’t be in that situation if it weren’t for him. especially if it’s connected directly with the infection. especially if it’s right in front of him where he can’t ignore it

he wouldn’t have been AS devastated by bitters death if he weren’t the one that had to kill him tho, because the thing is: that was the first time entre had directly killed someone who was still “alive” (unless i’m forgetting some obscure shit i did or said idk it’s been over a decade) and not only that, it was someone who was still his friend despite what he’d done? and even more layers: he had worked so hard to get bitter to come out of his shell prior to the infection and actually be his friend and then this happens. and he has to be the one to end it. bc he was pressured into it

so honestly entres descent into immense self-loathing and all that would have been Very different from how we saw it if someone else had taken care of bitter

5. nah i don’t think swag would’ve like actively started pointing fingers at entre again at that point. like deep deep down swag can’t ignore that this IS entre’s fault and this WOULDNT have happened if not for his mistake, but…swag realizes in the story that it’s not gonna get them anywhere if he keeps holding on so hard to those facts. like if he keeps berating and belittling entre as payback for everything what’s actually gonna get better for that? nothing. all it does is give him temporary catharsis and even that gets cheaper and lasts less time every time he does it

entre wants to fix things so earnestly and tries and swag sees that and wants to help because obviously he also would like this to be undone or at least, cured. and they can’t help each other if they’re at odds. and so even if it’s really hard on him to lose rocky like that, i think at that point it’s just chalked up to “this bitch of a situation” and not “entre did this”

not forgetting the fact that at that point, entre is going to mean a LOT to him because of how their relationship has deepened. so he’s not gonna turn on one of the only ppl he has left

thank you for the questions!! 😊

[dolphs-world]

August 10th, An actual Redux

Decided to return to my deleted post early. Talked about 3 things I liked about 'Citizen Kane'. 1. The Cockatoo. I like slow movies, a movie can be slow and paced well, especially given how fast a lot of newer videos on the internet are. But, by 90 minutes in, I was a little tired. The Cockatoo woke me right up. 2. 'The Simpsons'. It was cool seeing just how much of the film 'The Simpsons' referenced, especially with Mr. Burns. The Vaudeville number? Wow. But it was also interesting seeing what had escaped general pop culture. Last year I watched 'The Planet of the Apes', LOVED IT, and found it really interesting that the first quarter, the human sci-fi exploration part, was never referenced. Less so with 'Citizen Kane' given how it is the most overanalysed film, but I thought it was going to be focused a lot more on politics. Didn't know it was going to be non-linear and a focus on the ethics of journalism, which as we all know was what gamergate was really about (sarcasm). So yeah! 3. Plot Hole. In 'Toy Story', Buzz is a toy who doesn't think he is one. How does he know to act dead when a human appears? This is a plot hole I hear mentioned a lot. I have 2 things to say about it. a) It's very easy to rationalise. If you were on a strange planet, would you act like the friendly locals in a situation you perceive as dangerous to mitigate said danger? b) I'm a very particular person, I can focus on minor details like this that can take me out of the movie a bit. But if you can rationalise it with one line like I have, does it really ruin your enjoyment of the film? Does this ONE detail ruin it? I don't think so. The first scene of 'Citizen Kane' features the titular character dying. He says "Rosebud", drops a snow globe, and the nurse comes in later, covers him up, and takes him away. Who heard him say "Rosebud"? The Butler did. He said so right before telling his story. Granted, this happened right before the Cockatoo so it's easy to forget. But to have this kind of criticism you'd have to engage with the film pretty deeply and for the most overanalysed film, it's kind of embarrassing that this is a common criticism. Again, it's one detail. You're going to let THAT ruin your enjoyment? That was the first half. I think it was 3 times longer but c'est la vie. Anyways, the next section needs the start otherwise it doesn't make sense. I can't remember how I led into it so it's going to be a bit jarring.

We might have to move house at the end of the year. I really don't want to. My mum says that it won't change anything but I severely disagree. It will change everything, travel, interaction etc. It makes all the effort she's put "renovating" the house the past year or so pointless. But without a second full-time income we just don't have the resources to pay. I've offered to give half of my income but she doesn't want me to spend do that because I'll be worse of the future. I understand that but I'd still like to help out. I don't think having to move is fair. I really hope if we do have to move, it's still within this district. Recently, I started a new job. It involves working with children and I love it. I think I get along with people outside of my age range. And besides for a few people at my employment level, everyone is outside of said range. It's a much better alternative than lounging about at school, hoping that a friend has some time off from their "busy" schedule. My friends at Tertiary school I made back in Secondary school. They are all STEM students and all they do is complain (I get the irony). But they put themselves in this situation. No one forced them. The ones who have been pressured by their parents are the ones who don't complain. And it's so hard to have a conversation with any of them. Either they complain about school work, or they can only talk about one specific interest. It's like being forced to attend a lecture on a topic is uninteresting and told in a way that is unengaging. I don't mean to sound like a dick. I don't need to talk about the themes of 'Catcher in the Rye' or Hegelian Dialectics, but fucking rocks?! There's a friend of mine who for a month straight, whenever there was a moment of silence he would just talk about the different types of rocks. And that was it. It would be like if I just described how much screen time each Simpsons character had. And that's it. There's no meaning. And I know this guy can be a really engaging speaker. He did a 20 minute talk on how science can be hard to initially engage students. Beforehand, I did not care about the plight of the scienceman but by god if it wasn't one of the best things a peer did. But just talking about rock types or the different costumes of a Genshin character does not cut it for an engaging conversation. And I think part of it has to do with their hatred of English and the Humanities. I am often the butt of jokes because of my choice of studying, how easy it is, how childish it is. They often envy my life (I guess? don't know how else to phrase it) because of my "lucky" timetable. It wasn't lucky, I carefully planned it out so I had enough time to work and also have fun outside of both avenues of work. And I love my job! My friends envy me on a surface level. They see me walking about without any stress and they say "oh, wow I wish I could be as care-free and innocent as you". And then I describe the work I have to do for school, analysis of media sometimes, and my job and they say "oh, I could never do that". I know you can't! You're you and I'm me. I made my choices and I am happy with them. Why can't you be? Anyways, that's it. I will have more to say on their hatred of English another. Also forgot to reinclude my random thought about if video games are high art, another thing I will discuss at a later time. This isn't the end though, my previous entry is the "conclusion" to this. Now I got to run along and write a gratitude letter for someone. Lame!

[primofate]

Smile for Me (Part 5) Zhongli x fem!reader

Summary: Zhongli never smiled at you the way that he smiled at his memories of Guizhong. Thinking that the only way Zhongli would ever be happy is for Guizhong to come back again, you secretly set off on a journey to bring her back to life. But it comes with a price: Your life.

Warnings: pining, angst, one-sided (at first), hurt, angst again, drama, some Guizhong x Zhongli, hints of Xiao x reader, MAY NOT FOLLOW THE ACTUAL LORE, not proofread.

Notes: This took longer than expected too. It’s just that I didn’t want to take too long explaining what happened and everything, I didn’t think that was the main focus, but my OCD self still wanted to include an explanation so...

Read: (Part 1)   (Part 2)   (Part 3)   (Part 4)   (Part 6)

“I told you not to do anything reckless,” was the first thing you heard when you opened your eyes. You hadn’t even processed anything yet. Not where you were. Not who was talking. Not even who you were. It came back to you very slowly as the ceiling started to become clearer. You rolled your head sideways to see Xiao, arms crossed and glaring at you.  You blinked. As if missing pieces of your brain slowly coming back and you shot up from the bed, gasping. In alarm, Xiao stands as well and places his hands on your shoulders out of instinct. “What’re you doing?!” he hisses and you only look up at him, horrified. “Rex Lapis found out?” you whispered, eyes not hiding the fact that you were crestfallen. 

If you were back, it only meant one thing. Someone took you back and you knew who it was. Xiao’s lips turn into a tight line, but he urges you to lay back down on the bed. Wangshu Inn. You recognize the decorations.

“Rex Lapis found out,” he confirms, but his fists ball up tight. Xiao himself had forgotten about you too, and the guilt he felt at that seemed to have increased his burdens. “...and he was enraged, Y/N, more so than normal,” Xiao explained and your shoulders slump, head down towards the hands on your lap. 

“...and so was I... I warned you not to go to Wuwang Hill!” You winced at Xiao’s tone, but he had said nothing after that. You fell into silence as well. The only sound between you two were the birds chirping outside. “...I thought...” before you knew it the droplets were landing on your hands. Xiao stiffened up at the realization you were crying. “I thought it’d be better if she came back and I left,” your voice is barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to take care of him, Xiao. I don’t know how to serve Rex Lapis for him to be at ease, the way he was with Guizhong. I don’t know how to make him smile the way Guizhong makes him smile. I--” and your sobs are soft, because you hold them back, because the last thing you wanted to do was to come back and face Rex Lapis and his questioning gaze. 

Xiao suddenly stands. Your eyes dart over to him in question. He’s looking at you with guarded remorse, and yet, his face is stiff. You blink up at him, and watch as he walks backwards off to the side and bows towards the door that you hadn’t noticed had opened.

Your eyes widen, amidst your tears you can see the unmistakable blur of Zhongli standing there. Expression unreadable. 

In the next moment, Xiao has left the room. 

You cannot process what just happened. He continues to stand there, as if a statue, the only indication that he was living was the soft rise and fall of his chest. A shiver runs down your spine and you wipe the remaining tears you had left, reduced to just sniffling under his gaze.

“You must be wondering what transpired,” Zhongli starts, but doesn’t make a move to come closer. Not really, you think. You didn’t really care about what happened. There was only a deep set embarrassment in your stomach.

“It turned out to be an evil spirit residing in the tree for millennia. Trapping lost souls...Chongyun and Xiao had to help me restrict her.” He seemed to take in a ragged breath. “It’s nothing short of a miracle that we got you safely out of her realm,” here his voice changes. The tone hiding a type of anger that was slowly boiling over, like a volcano about to erupt.

“I could not imagine what would force you to go through such lengths, Y/N,” you could see the bits of lava spurting out now. “and to discover that I was the reason. Xiao is correct. I was enraged in the process,” the volcano was rumbling, and you didn’t know how to escape it’s wrath, you only fiddled with your fingers. As if a child being scolded.

Surprisingly he ended his speech there, and the volcano had simmered down. Rex Lapis was not one to lose his cool, specially after hearing what you said, and finding out the reason for it. You could hear the unmistakable sound of his shoes walking over, but you refused to look his way and look him in the eye. You didn’t have to though, because his fingers touch your chin and gently moves it towards him.

“...But I was more unsettled because of my own shortcomings. My lack of ability to see through you and stop you,” he drops his hand when he was sure you were going to hold his gaze. “You have misunderstood, Y/N. Guizhong is a past memory, I’ve long since accepted it. But of course, no matter how much time has passed, I still cherish those memories,” He takes the chair that Xiao was previously on and even sitting, he’s still a tad taller than you who is on the bed. “And so how do you imagine I felt when I discovered you’d chosen to erase all memories of you? Those memories that I cherish?” 

Your head moves to try and look away from him but he catches it yet again with his hand and levels a gaze on you. He doesn’t want you to look away. “There was nothing to grasp at,” he starts and you notice his voice descends into a whisper. “Nothing to remember you by, it was by sheer luck that I found out,” you see that something shifts in his gaze, an emotion you’ve never seen in his eyes before. “Despite remembering your face I could not recall your name.” He doesn’t say it but you can see the frustration in his golden orbs and your lips part in wonder. “I had only realized it then but forgetting you completely is...” he pauses, searching for the right words to say. “...is like losing myself,” 

He takes his hand away from your face and fresh tears start to pool around your eyes. “...I’m sorry,” you croak out but he shakes his head. “The apologies...should be coming from me,” his hand then slips into a back pocket, and retrieves a small rectangular box. A golden one, something that you seemed to recognize but not completely.

“I had one made for you,” and hands it over. Your hands grasp around it delicately, and the front flap opens up to reveal a fa-zan hairpin, the crystal design at the end of it were...blue Forget-Me-Nots. The type of blue that usually matched your qipao. Your eyes widen a fraction, and your lips upturn at the irony and thoughtfulness of it all the same. At the corner of your eye he seemed to relax at the expression on your face, but he covers one of your hands with his and you look at him curiously.

“Please do not think that I have done this out of pity,” Zhongli, in some ways, knew you quite well. “It’s something...that I should have done a while ago, but my own inadequacies and hesitance had prevented me,” he takes your hand, and as his eyes close, his lips presses on your knuckles briefly. 

“But there is no rush, Y/N, I will gain your trust back, as it deserves to be gained,” 

His lips part from your hand, and his eyes gaze upon yours. 

“I will protect you, as you deserve to be protected,” 

and then there’s an unmistakable fire of determination in his eyes.   

“and if you allow it... I will court you as you deserve to be courted.”

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[thisautistic]

Porsche's mood and inner landscape ep 5 (particularly the bathroom scene)

TW sexual assault, dub-con

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I've been wanting to write this since I saw this scene for the first time. Then it helped me realize I had been raped when I was about 23. So it took a little while for me to be able to analyze it. But we're here now so let's crack in:

One point first. I am by no means saying that Kinn and Porsche should not be together because of the circumstances of their first time. I am aware that the two situations are very different. On the other hand, I don't want people to forget that this is VERY MUCH dub-con and Kinn handled the aftermath.....poorly to say the least.

I think the main point and thesis of this meta post is that Porsche is not only upset with Kinn here, he’s upset with himself. He’s upset with himself because he thought it was something more. He consented to sex with feelings, not just sex.

He’s also upset with Kinn for humiliating him. And allowing Ken and Big to humiliate him.

I think he’s most upset by the fact that he thought he was special, though. 

So my SA wasn’t EXACTLY like this but it had some eerie similarities. I was drunk (not drugged) and I didn’t know the person who raped me. But I asked for it, just like Porsche. I came on to him just like Porsche. And not only was I treated badly by him but I was made to feel small and worthless by his friends.

Now, Ken and Big are not Kinn’s friends but the scene of Porsche’s ’punishment’ was eerily reminiscent of what happened when he was done with me. I was abused physically and laughed at by his friends.

I know there’s no reason for me to have expected that the man who raped me would protect me (now that I’m older and have some distance from it.) At the time, though, I felt betrayed. So much so that it was the straw that broke the camel’s back and made me go home. Thank god I did because it could have been a LOT worse. 

Now, Porsche’s most humiliated moment, the moment when he's feeling the most sadness, rage, and guilt is in front of the mirror, when he’s seeing the aftermath of his ‘punishment.’ The physical evidence, as it were.

My most humiliating moment of the whole ordeal was when I had to walk down to the drugstore the next morning to get Plan B. I felt very much like I believe Porsche is feeling in this scene. 

Let’s be real: It was traumatic. He is flashing back in this scene.

The scream he lets out as he flashes back may have been the largest indicator to me that we had shared trauma. I remember making those same noises, trying to get the pictures out of my head. But they wouldn't go.

He screams in anger and anguish. I did too.

Anger at the man who raped me, his friends, myself. Brief flashes of incandescent rage that sputtered out into self-loathing and sadness.

It wouldn’t have been such a big trauma for him if Kinn hadn’t insisted on treating him like any other bodyguard afterward. And that, I think is the crux of it. Porsche feels used. Just like I did. Like it didn’t have to be me. Like it could have been any other drunken girl (this is before I knew I was trans) who wandered into their midst.

Last but certainly not least, he keeps it from everyone. Even the people he is closest to.

So did I. I didn't understand for years that I had been raped. And not fully until I watched this very scene. In a lot of ways Porsche is not able to speak about it. Because it's his boss. Because he believes it was his fault. But I think most importantly, most heartbreakingly, that he doesn't want Pete to look down on him, because he is ashamed.

It's why he perked up when he thought he and Pete had shared trauma. That maybe it wasn't just him going through this. That maybe he could talk with someone about it.

But no. So he sits with it. It's not the first time he's had to deal with something himself. (Hello eldest child syndrome but we can get into that another day)

The irony of that is that if he had told Pete about it when he had the chance, that maybe Pete would have been able to talk to him about his ordeal.

So, my bbs. that's it.

Feel free to save this meta but please do not announce you're gonna use it for fanfic inspo or something cause it is actually my trauma so. Just be polite. I want people to be able to reblog it but if it starts getting weird I'll have to switch it to no reblogs.

Thanks for reading bbs. I love you.

I'm also gonna leave this article about unacknowledged rape here just in case this is a little too close to home for some of you.

[iheartbookbran]

The one thing tripping me up about it is that (at least imo) I feel like they would’ve (or should’ve) done more about the pressing threat. Ofc Queen Alysanne gave money to help the Night’s Watch, but I can’t remember anything else that the Targaryen kings pre-Dance did to help (but it’s been nearly 4 years since I read Fire & Blood so I’m probably missing some things). I’m open to hearing anyone else’s thoughts about this!

Hey @gothicxqueens sorry for answering on a different post here from my other post, my reply kinda evolved into a full rant in my head and I wanted to expand. But basically I believe that having the Targaryens coming to Westeros with what can be considered good intentions (or at least an specific goal that isn´t all about feudalistic expansion) but then getting tangled into the whole “game of thrones” web and loosing sight and then like, literally the knowledge of their initial purpose is the kind of moral complexity and inherent human flaw that I think fits far better into the spirit of the ASOIAF books than… “TaRGs BaD because DrAgoNs and ImPeRiAlisM” that some fans are so adamant into pushing.

Like yeah, power is one hell of a drug, one has to be careful not to get too carried by it, which I believe is pretty much what the Iron Throne is there to as a reminder to the characters and to the readers. Yes, having power is a privilege, but it’s also a huge responsibility, how does the ruler make sure not to forget that? How do they not abuse that power? How are they honoring their real goal: to protect the realm and the people who live in it? How do they make their subjects lives better?

If the person in power forgets that duty, well then that's a failure of the system and of the ruler, and the Iron Throne is going to remind us of that by literally rejecting whoever isn't meeting those standards of kingship.

That kind of interconnection between power and duty is something that I feel gets explored the most in Jon, Dany and Tyrion's chapters, because I feel like the three of them are characters who do crave power but are also aware of the responsibility that comes towards the people they are ruling over. Like, I hate how the show made a big deal of how “those who don't want to be rulers often make for the best ones” and then tried to pass that idea under the pretense of being #deep... but that's bs lmao, and that idea bled into Jon's character the worst imo, to the point that he was mumbling “I duh wan ittt” to anyone who would listen. And then there was Bran “I don't want anything” Stark *shudders*

But the thing is, I don't believe that having ambition and drive or seeking power are inherently bad things. That's precisely what helps Jon and Dany end up in the positions they're in during ADWD, and they use those positions to implement change and help those in need (the freefolk and the slaves, respectively).

For me there's a sort of irony to be found in the fact that yes, the Targaryens of old got so caught up in the game of thrones that they lost sight of what they came to Westeros for in the first place, and for that they lost their dragons and their power and almost became extinct, and yet their last two defendants still found themselves doing the very thing they were supposed to do—protecting those who can't protect themselves.

[littlesparklight]

Mortal Pains

This is the first half of a fic I'll post in full on AO3 later. :) Aphrodite and the birth of Aeneas!

*

"Ah!"

Eileithyia's cry rang through the twilight-lit room as a pure silver bell struck by a young adorant in front of the altar of the god, briefly lending a gold shimmer to the surroundings. The sun had long since given up the bold fires of evening; dying purples and blues clinging to the hem of Helios' tunic as they evaporated in his path was all that was left.

Fitting, certainly.

"Your son," Eileithyia said, coming around the bed with the child already cleaned and wrapped in a soft, divinely-made cloth.

Aphrodite's chest heaved - though not for want of air as she slowly stilled in the wake of passing pain. It was a great exertion, and a greater pain, to have a part of her squeezed into mortal function to nurture and now birth a terribly mortal son. One of the reasons goddesses should avoid lowering themselves to a mortal's bed. A god could visit a woman and gift her with his divine essence, and that was all the exertion taken from him. Not so for a goddess, thus Zeus had chosen his retaliation with great irony and precision.

"Ah… Mortal pains for mortal children. Even for those immortal." Aphrodite huffed, yet reached out for her infant son. Took him close against her chest, remembering at the very last moment, Eileithyia drawing breath to warn her, to support the baby properly. Fortunate she'd already known what to expect from Astynoos, or Zeus might have been able to take more from her than he already had. "Terrible child. Barely born, and you have already brought me great pain."

Aphrodite laughed softly, kissing the small, curving skull under her lips. She couldn't be angry at this darling little baby. Could not resent his pale eyes - already there was a green shimmer revealing her part in his creation, and she looked forward to seeing them as green as any mortal could come to her own - or his high, hiccuping wail against her arching throat.

"No, hush now, Aeneas. Come here. No crying, my sweetest heart, my terrible pain."

Stroking his little cheek with her great thumb, avoiding his instinctive rooting, she shifted him about and brought him to her breast. He latched on with great gusto, drawing a shudder from her that was as much pain as it was - not quite pleasure, not quite not. It was enough to soothe her while her body heaved through its lasts shifts of discarding the mortal configuration carrying Aeneas had forced some of her body into.

"Will you be all right?" Eileithyia asked, voice soft and quiet, somber but not without warmth while she smoothed a hand over the mattress between Aphrodite's legs, returning the shimmering embroidery and woven patterns of the fabric to its formerly pristine state. "I can stay if you should want a refresher."

She smiled, then, as calm but no less hiding warmth as her voice did, tucking a few stray strands of hair escaping from their headband behind her ear. Aphrodite shook her head, flapping her free hand between them before she returned to gently stroking the soft, so very small, skull with its halo of dark wisps. "I remember enough - how could I ever forget! - to keep my son in good comfort until I take him to Mount Ida. You've been a great help and comfort, Eileithyia."

Aphrodite smiled, gratitude and pleasure at the attentive care she'd been given keeping any passing bitterness well hidden. Eileithyia wasn't at fault for who her father was, and her father had, to be sure, only given what Aphrodite already had poured on him in greater amounts. Though, given the greater burden of carrying a mortal child to term to a goddess, this would more than make them even. She had to suppress another huff at the thought, had to rein in the shift of her displeasure, the weight of her divinity, as Aeneas whined, mouth yet full of nipple and milk as he refused to stop nursing. Greedy child!

"That's what I'm here to do," Eileithyia said with a tip of her head, the little smile on her face deepening into soft pleasure, before she turned around and left, carefully closing the door behind her.

Not that it remained closed for long.

"Mother!" Eros barrelled in, fighting for space in the doorway against Phobos and Deimos to be first inside, and first to her side.

Normally, their antics would have been welcome, or only vaguely annoying if she was short of patience on any particular day. Normally, she wasn't cradling a terribly fragile mortal child in her arms, who was shuddering against her now, muted cry mostly muffled by the nipple Aeneas still refused to let go of.

"Boys!" Aphrodite snapped, curving her hand about the fragile little skull. She didn't have a heart to hammer in her chest, not like a mortal woman might, but something yet trembled within her for what felt like the soft bones and plates bending under the rowdy flare of divinity from her other sons. Mortals were so very, terribly fragile, and infants even more so. "Remember Astynoos. If you can't be calm, you'll be leaving, my darlings."

She'd not been the one to think about the need for care, when Astynoos had been born. Eileithyia had ordered her curious sons out with surprising authority and severe alacrity. If she hadn't been so quick, that first mortal son of hers might not have survived his first moments of birth. This, more than anything else, was the reason - the need - to give Aeneas over to the care of the nymphs of his place of conception to raise. Aphrodite might have kept him herself for a couple years otherwise, a pit in her chest throbbing for the soft little mouth eagerly sucking on her nipple, for the tiny, so very tiny, hand somehow having fought itself out of confining fabric to rest against her breast. For those huge, blue eyes, the tease of green smothered as she shifted a hand to allow lamplight to take the place of the disappeared sunlight.

Born at twilight. What a fitting time of birth for a mortal child, their lives so short they might as well only live in that brief, flaring moment of dying sunlight between day and night.

Her essence twisted at the thought, thoughtlessly caressing his sucked-in little cheek once again. So much time spent to carrying him, and she didn't wish to give him up, but he was small, and achingly fragile. A moment of inattention might have him dead in a place where death had no place. Shuddering, Aphrodite focused on her divine sons, who had now sorted things out and came trooping over. They all looked of an age, now, since Eros had gained a couple years after the battle with the giants. It was still odd to see him in his mid-teens; she rather missed the nearly baby-faced twelve-year old Eros had been for a very long time by now.

Sometimes, though, ageing did happen, even for those of the blessed immortals who had otherwise seemed to have settled at some young age.

"He's so small!" Phobos exclaimed, then snickered. "Smaller than your boob, Mother."

"Phobos." Aphrodite snorted, then laughed, and Phobos fairly sparkled. "He's no smaller than Astynoos was. Mortal newborns are small, much like mortals are smaller than us."

"I forgot," he said with a shrug, dismissive. He was, however, careful enough even Aphrodite's trembling divinity plagued by motherly concern could find no fault in the light touch of his fingers along Aeneas' tiny skull.

"So he's not staying?" Eros asked, elbowing Deimos forward who elbowed his brother back, then, hesitant but drawn as if his newborn mortal little brother was metal and his fingers magnets, lightly cradled the little skull.

"It's for the best," Aphrodite said and didn't sigh, though breath yet eased out of her as she could finally pull Aeneas away from her breast now that he was more vaguely mouthing at her nipple, too full and tired to keep nursing yet still attempting to. "Mortal babies are too fragile."

[allnewalldifferentwildspider]

Zuko & Katara's Relationship Dynamic

This is like the third or fourth time I've tried to write up this post so please bare with me.

Oh wow. That video. Hopefully everyone has seen it now. Not only did it articulate arguments I've been making for years, but it also brought up ideas I had never thought of or noticed before. Watching that and watching the second half of Book 3 again (because it's my favorite) made me want to redo my zutara dynamic post.

I'm going to be using the tiny bits and pieces the show gave us to see how Zuko and Katara's relationship looks and how it would look if they gave us more because...Bryke really fucking hated zutara. I mean, I guess they did.

Katara is compassionate; Zuko is empathetic

A lot of anti-zutara arguments have said that Zuko and Katara could never be together because they would constantly fight and hate each other and it end sooner than later. Not only does this actually describe maiko, but that argument would need to ignore the characters' actual character.

One of Katara's biggest character traits is how compassionate she is. She has a drive to help others and ease their pain. Whether it's getting Aang out of the iceberg or healing a Fire Nation fishing village, Katara will go out of her way to help someone in need.

Katara: No. I will never ever turn my back on people who need me.

Zuko is very emotional and passionate person. As much as he tried to hide it to appease his father, Zuko does want to open up and connect with people. Unfortunately, aside from his uncle, most of the other people he knows are like Zhao and Azula. Not the most understanding of crowds. But because of this he can pick up what people are really thinking and feeling. Think of it as a defense mechanism he developed growing up around people like Azula.

Get these two kinds of people together and you get the crystal catacombs scene. Katara lashes out at Zuko until she breaks down. When she does Zuko opens up with empathy since they have something in common. This creates the beginning of an understanding between the two. Zuko uses that to finally open up to someone who isn't his uncle and Katara listens and reaches out to help. Contrast to the first episode of Book 3 when Zuko tries to voice his thoughts and concerns to Mai and she...doesn't really care.

Something similar happens during The Southern Raiders. Zuko figures out that Katara is taking out her anger of being separated from her father by The Fire Nation onto him and even connecting her mother's death to him.

It's not the first time Zuko has done this either. He easily figured out that Sokka was planning on going to The Boiling Rock. He does it again during Sozin's Comet when he tells Katara that Aang needs to figure out what to do about Ozai by himself.

There's a noticeable pattern of behavior by the time Sozin's Comet arrives. Zuko voices his concerns about meeting his uncle again and Katara is right there to help him through it.

Zuko's empathy combined with Katara's compassion creates almost a cycle of understanding and emotional vulnerability that the two can't really get with anyone else. One notices the other having concerns or problems and goes to give comfort by words or by actions.

Zuko still has a temper but so does Katara

Even after Zuko's fever dream character change thing, even after The Day of Black Sun, he still has it in him to yell at anyone who commits even the slightest transgressions against him:

Aang: That one felt kinda hot. Zuko: Don't patronize me. You know what it's supposed to look like. Aang: Sorry, sifu hotman. Zuko: And stop calling me that!

Sokka: So all we have to do is make Zuko angry. Easy enough. *pokes him with his sword* *annoying laugh* Zuko: All right! Cut it out!

Maybe it's the firebender in him or maybe he really is just like that. Basically if you annoy him, he'll let you know. What people sometimes overlook is that while it takes Katara a bit longer, she also gets worked up when people upset her.

Toph: What's the matter? Can't handle some dirt, Madame Fussy Britches? Katara: Oh, sorry, did I splash you, mud slug?

And remember, it was Katara getting angry at Sokka that even broke the iceberg that revealed Aang.

Katara: Ugh, I'm embarrassed to be related to you! Ever since Mom died I've been doing all the work around camp while you've been off playing soldier! Sokka: Uh... Katara? Katara: I even wash all the clothes! Have you ever smelled your dirty socks? Let me tell you, NOT PLEASANT! Sokka: Katara! Settle down! Katara: No, that's it. I'm done helping you. From now on, you're on your own!

The point is that it is both Zuko and Katara that are very passionate and emotional people. One of them isn't emotionally dominating the other because they both wear their emotions on their sleeves.

This also comes in to play when they set goals for themselves. When Zuko sets a goal, he puts everything into it. Katara is the same way. The difference is that Zuko's drive sometimes gives him a one-track mind while Katara is more flexible. Like for example Zuko being so focused on finding Aang before Sozin's Comet that he ignores Toph's story about her childhood versus Katara wanting to go to the North Pole but taking time to stop and help whoever they come across.

This passion also fuels their values and how strongly they stand by their beliefs. I already put The Painted Lady quote up above but Zuko's morality is what is making him so angry at himself during The Beach. He knows what he did was wrong, but he couldn't face it yet.

Sometimes their emotions get the better of them, but it's only because they are passionate about what they're doing.

Their natural teamwork is amazing

I can't provide a lot of clues in this bit because it's more of a visual thing. Just consider how flawlessly their plans worked during their attack on The Southern Raiders. Especially when you consider that it was a stealth mission so they barely even said anything to each other during and it still went incredibly well.

You could see it again during their mock battle with The Melon Lord. Sokka must have noticed because he paired them together to deliver some "liquidy-hot offence." And they pulled it off, again, without having to say anything.

They've only been a team for a few weeks(?), days(?) but they act as if they've been doing it for years.

They trust each other's judgment

Piggybacking of the previous point, Zuko and Katara have only been a team for a while but there seems to be a level of understanding in terms of judgement. They both know that whatever the other chooses is going to be a well-thought out decision. Maybe it's because they see each other as the mature members of the group even though Sokka is the same age as Zuko? I don't know.

Aang disappears right before they embark on their fight against the Fire Lord, and out of nowhere, Katara puts Zuko in charge.

Zuko: Get out of the bison's mouth, Sokka. We have a real problem here. Aang is nowhere to be found and the comet is only two days away. Katara: What should we do Zuko? Zuko: I don't know. Why are you all looking at me? Katara: Well, you are kind of the expert on tracking Aang.

and that wasn't the first time in that episode that she went along with one of Zuko's decisions

Katara: Aang, don't walk away from this. *She begins to walk towards him as a hand touches her shoulder to stop her from doing so.* Zuko: Let him go. He needs time to sort it out by himself.

As a lot of people have pointed out during the entirety of The Southern Raiders, Zuko never gives a suggestion on what he thinks Katara should do. Aside from making it a stealth mission, he follows her lead the entire way.

Katara teases Zuko (and he lets her)

The fun one. This one has two parts: pre and post The Southern Raiders.

Before The Southern Raiders, Katara was tolerating Zuko. She was still angry with him about the betrayal at Ba Sing Se. Getting little jabs at him was the only thing that was really helping her from loosing her cool around him.

Katara: I'm sorry. I'm just laughing at the irony. You know... how it would have been nice for us if you lost your firebending a long time ago? Zuko: Well it's not lost. It's just weaker for some reason. Katara: Maybe you're just not as good as you think you are. Toph: Ouch.

He just finished yelling at Aang and Sokka but all he does is glare at Katara. She does it again, but to be fair, he kind of set himself up for it.

Zuko: It's a sacred form that happens to be thousands of years old! Katara: Oh yeah? What's your little form called? Zuko: ...The Dancing Dragon.

Then comes post The Southern Raiders and...yeah, she's still picking on him and he still lets her. Granted it's a lot more playful this time around.

Zuko: They make me totally stiff and humorless. Katara: Actually, I think that actor's pretty spot on. Zuko: How could you say that? Actor Uncle: Let's forget about the Avatar and get massages. Actor Zuko: How could you say that?! (Cut back to Katara wearing a satisfied grin on her face and she looks to an expressionless Zuko as he slouches in his seat.)

I love pointing it out every time. She teases him and he does nothing about it.

Katara: Er, no. I was looking for cooking pots in the attic and I found this. Look at baby Zuko! Isn't he cute? Oh lighten up, I was just teasing.

And she admits it!

-

So what can we take away from this? From what little time they were given together (thanks, Bryke) it seems that Zuko and Katara really understand each other on an intimate emotional level. They can sense when the other is distressed and offer comfort. They're both passionate in and out of combat, for better or for worse. They're comfortable with each other as if they've known each other for years even though it's such a short time. Katara also likes to add a little bit of playfulness in there with Zuko letting her have her fun, again, showing how comfortable they are with each other.

I do think their relationship could have gone to romantic sooner than later if you would have given it a bit more time. Like first half of a hypothetical Book 4.

To me, at least.

[letteredlettered]

hi! i was wondering if you could elaborate more on your thoughts of how draco and harry are usually written in drarry fic? like how (imo) draco is usually romanticized and more loved by readers, while harry is cast as coldhearted or mean if he doesn't immediately forgive draco post war. your fics are some that don't do this, and harry is, understandably, still angry about draco's part in the war, which i really enjoy to read. (also what are your pronouns, if you don't mind answering?) ty!

My pronouns are she/her.

I don't feel very fair talking about usual characterizations of Harry and Draco in fic, as I just don't read Harry/Draco fic any more and haven't in a long time. I know there's plenty of great stuff out there; I just find the stuff I want harder to find.

I do remember the first fics I read that portrayed Harry as an unfairly popular jock, who got away with arrogance, unchecked anger, and misbehavior because he was The Chosen One, who felt that everything he did and everyone he agreed with was Right and no one else was worth his notice. I loved these fics. I still love them, because to me, they felt firmly seated in Draco's POV, and it also felt very clear that Draco's POV was not reliable. The way these stories were written made it clear (to me) that the truth of who Harry Potter was, as a human being, didn't necessarily line up with Draco's opinion, and that we, the readers, were better suited to understanding who Harry Potter really was, both because we knew canon and because we weren't trapped in Draco's mind, which lacked both knowledge and perspective of who Harry was and what Harry had experienced.

These stories in fact turned me on to what I now think of as something really intrinsic to me as a writer, but wasn't at the time: a very tight third person POV in which the reader always knows more than the POV character. This is a particularly easy thing to do to very powerful effect in fanfic, because in fanfic, you can expect readers to come in with a certain baseline knowledge. You can expect them to know that Draco was a bigot, and Harry has very justifiable reasons to hate him; you can expect them to know that Harry was abused and mistreated and did his very best to help people who were bullied. Ostensibly, that should allow you to create some very strong dramatic irony.

I also feel like these fics made me better as a person. I often feel that my whole life is a constant struggle to see outside of my own head, to understand what it could be like to be another person, to know that I will never really know who anyone is, deep down, other than myself. But there have been moments that feel like lightning strikes, when I realize I really was forgetting that the world can be seen in different ways, and then I am reminded. These fics felt like that, because I had always hated Draco Malfoy. I pictured him as someone selfish and entitled, who never thought about anyone other than himself, and never tried to be better because he did not care. But these fics showed that Draco Malfoy was trapped in his own understanding of the world as thoroughly as I am trapped. The HP series is Harry's story. In Draco's story, Draco is the hero, and he has no reason to think Harry is a hero, and rarely if ever (until the end) sees Harry do much that special. Understanding that perspective made me love Draco quite dearly, in a way I never thought I could.

So the last reason I still love those fics is they made me fall for Harry/Draco. They made me see that Harry and Draco are two people who see the world so differently that it would be a struggle for them even to see each other, much less love each other, and that is a struggle that interests me.

These days, I have my suspicions about whether these stories were really as deftly written and insightful as I imagine. Did they really want to illuminate the idea that even a bigot and a bully has his understanding of the world? Or did they seek to defend or even deconstruct Draco's bigotry and bullying by showing that Harry really is an arrogant, entitled, angry twat who deserved what he got from Draco?

I'm not actually sure. I just know that as I continued to read more and more stories, it gradually became clear that plenty of stories were not trying to create that dissonance between what I know as a reader and what Draco as a character thinks. Instead, I encountered more and more fics that seemed to embrace Draco's POV as the only way to understand the events of canon. Lots of these fics even go so far as to suggest that Death Eaters and Voldemort had a point, really, which is something I find downright unpleasant to read.

Frankly, I'm not interested in a straight reading of anything (pun intended). I'm not interested in fics that wholly take Harry's, or the HP series's, POV. As I have said, I find the HP series flawed and essentially unkind. But I'm not interested in fics that are wholly against the text either--fics that make Draco out to be the real hero, and the fascistic eugenics of Death Eaters to be sympathetic. I will defend to my dying breath the rights of people to write either kind of fic, but in the end, my interest will always lie with something in between, that questions the default POV--not in order to hold up a different POV as correct, but rather to suggest that no POV is correct. We all have our different ways of seeing the world, and the world itself is outside of us, only knowable if we all communicate, and ask what other people see.

[qyllenhaal]

God’s Face in the Fire || Part 2

Dark!Lee Bodecker x Dark!Reader

Summary: A wife who would do anything to give her husband the world, even if it means getting herself involved with his trouble.

Word Count: 10.3k

Chapter warnings: dark themes!!! contains mentions of murder, non-graphic death scenes, smut (loss of virginity in a flashback scene), manipulation, brief mention of sexual assaults, misogyny, uncomfortable situations. Please heed the warnings!!! 18+ only

A/N: It's been forever since I posted. The last two weeks have left me discombobulated that it was hard to find time to sit down to write and edit this, but I'm glad I got to it! The next part is going to be the last part but I have plans to do one-shots for this universe. I'm going to be posting a Senator!Chris fic tomorrow so stay tuned for that.

Enjoy!

"You remember when I took you out for milkshakes and you spilled yours all over me? You were wearing that exact same color," Lee said pointing at the dress she was pressing.

"All those years ago, and you still remember that?" Y/n wanted to drown in this tender moment she's having with her husband. Hearing him laugh, his stomach shifting, and his eyes wrinkling.

"How could I? Watching you get all flustered and cute really got me goin’. It's when I knew I was gonna marry ya."

The days have been incredibly warm and beautiful since Y/n had done what she did. It was cruel irony that she was enjoying another day while someone’s body was rotting. The softer moments of life were few and far between these days, but right now she’s offered her a wonderful distraction.

She had taken on more tasks than usual to distract herself from the intrusive thoughts she had. She even accepted a last minute invite to help put on an event at the local rental hall with some of the other mothers in town. It gave her an excuse to look nice and show herself off to anyone who had some doubts about Lee. Things were looking good for him, but there was always something to do to further rehabilitate his image. She always looked her best as the sheriff's wife. Keeping up the appearances exhausted her since they have become more frequent for her. However if she wanted the people to fawn over her lovely family, she had to show up. An arts and crafts event for the kids is also a good chance to get their daughter out of the house.

Teenage Y/n did not see herself becoming a housewife so young. It was unsavory to think about being a homemaker for one of the boys’ at school. She surmised that she would’ve stuck by her original plan if she had not been so lonely. All of Y/n's friends left within a year of graduating high school. She didn't have that many friends to begin with, but she thought that at least one would always be there for her. Rose went to college, and Barbara found a man to marry and moved to upstate New York. Only one stayed for some time, Judith, but she eventually left after having a shotgun wedding. It was selfish of her to think that someone would stay just because she got rejected from the only college she had applied to. Other people had lives and Y/n was just not at the center of them.

The absence of her friends made her pregnancy more lonely. Her baby shower consisted of her family, Lee’s sister, and his co-workers and their wives. None of the women seemed to be fond of Y/n. It always plagued her mind to know if they thought she was too young and stupid or if it was just something else

She found solace in some of the other mother's in town. When she began showing up around to volunteer at bake sales and food drives she expected them to look at her face and then down at her belly and reject her. She is younger than them and feared they'd find her naïve. She had kept to herself for so long that she thought they'd write her off as the sheriff's meek wife.

Y/n didn't get a chance to mingle with anyone prior to her marriage and Lee made it harder by insisting in little ways that she stay in the house. No one was at fault that Lee wanted to keep her to himself. It was possible he did it out of insecurity, but Y/n now speculates that it was because he didn’t want to hear or even see what he may have been doing.

One of the ladies who Y/n only knew by her dark hair and distinct, pointy nose joked that Lee had, "finally let Rapunzel out of the castle." When the other mothers joined into laughter, she felt small. It was only a harmless joke that was steeped in the truth. It took her persistence to no longer wanting to feel alone while being pregnant to get the women to warm up to her, and the did.

"I remember spilling the milkshake, but I was too embarrassed to remember anything else about that night," she admitted.

Lee remembers that night very well. He wishes that she didn't end the night so quickly because she ruined a pair of trousers that could easily be replaced. He had only bought them to impress her, but it didn't take much to get her to swoon over him. No other man was giving her the time of day.

"We should go out to that diner Friday night. Now that we have someone to watch the little one, we don't have to stop by your parents to drop her off anymore. I can just scoop you up and we can have a night together," Lee pressed himself into Y/n's backside. She giggled when his hands lightly danced against her ticklish sides.

Lee had also been aware of the slim moments of intimacy with his wife. He was serious about this race but he truly underestimated how much time and effort he'd have to put into this. But people really did love the old mayor. The only slight Lee had against him was his old age and how some believed that if he kept going then he might run into some health problems. The rumors about him becoming more and more forgetful were minute compared to the dark gossip swirling about Lee though. Some of the people in town would probably vote for a paper bag before Lee.

His biggest fear is that he loses the election and drives his wife away. He could lose the race, but if his wife somehow slipped away, taking their baby with her, he’d drink himself into a stupor. Lee tried his very best to hide his insecurities from her. When he worried, she worried too and it made it much harder for him to plan his way out of whatever hole he is in when he has a hysterical wife to deal with. That's why he'd rather not tell her anything.

Lee also wasn't the young man in his prime anymore, he believed that his good looks were fading, and he has gained a considerable amount of weight. The fear of Y/n just up and leaving him for someone younger than him and riding off to the city always plagued him. The birth of their daughter should've assuaged him, but his self-doubt always lingered like a cloud that made him stick to his vices.

"I've really missed ya honey...missed this body of yours."

Y/n flinched when his hands ran down the front of her body, over her stomach and then circling up back to her breast. Her body has changed considerably since giving birth and the hormonal imbalance left her feeling tired, sad, and alone. Her mother told her that all she had to do was look at her child and she'd feel better, but every time she looked at her little girl all she did was worry. Was she a good mom? Why was her daughter crying so much without much working? Was Lee staying at work for long hours to avoid the crying and her? Did he still find her attractive?

They’re both too busy thinking Lee's mayoral bid to realize they felt the exact same way as each other. If there was any other time that proved they were an extension of each other, it was now, but they were too blind to see it.

"Lee y-you're going to be late for work," her voice was weakened by his lips now nipping at her neck.

"Don't give a damn," he whispered against her skin, inhaling her familiar scent, "just wanna feel my wife."

Today, Y/n felt herself slipping back into her normal self and normal life. She melted into Lee, hoping that maybe they could have a moment to themselves, but they were interrupted by the phone ringing downstairs. Every early morning and late night phone call had her on edge. They never seemed to be about anything important but it hasn't failed yet to make her stomach churn.

Lee groaned and pulled away from her. She watched him disappear to go answer the phone.

It has been nearly two days and the only thing on her mind is what happened after she left that brothel. The anxiety made her feel sick. Hours later after it happened, around 2 a.m., she woke up and darted to the toilet. Lee kept asking her if she was pregnant as he held her hair back while her face was in the toilet. She dismissed his claims, knowing full and well that she was just sickened by her actions.

Lee had not mentioned a death or anything related to that brothel, so had he even been found? Was his death even reported? The girls who worked for him were probably too worried about their own arrest than the death of their abusive boss.

She wiped the look of worry off of her face when she heard his heavy footsteps coming back up the stairs.

"Who was it?"

"Your brother," his tone held disgust, "invited us to dinner on Sunday. He asked to speak to you but I told him you were still sleep."

"Lee!"

"I don't want to hear it," his voice boomed, much more dominant and rough than hers, "I ain't having dinner with him and I don't want to hear your mouth about it."

Y/n stayed silent and watched him grab the police hat resting on the dresser. She hated for him to leave on such a sour note, but she wouldn't dare say anything in fear she might make things worse.

He started towards the door of their bedroom before turning back to his wife, "Sandy supposed to stop by Saturday. I don't know why, so don't ask, but she claims she's comin'. Who knows if she'll stick to her word."

It’s like Lee did that on purpose, as some sort of sick payback for her brother calling. Y/n was not fond of Sandy and did not like to be around her for more than ten minutes. Sandy was a nice girl, a bit unsavory at times, but her husband Carl was a stain on her life. There was something about him that reminded her of the men her mother had warned her about when she was a young teenager; a man with a slick tongue and a creepy air around him. However, she found Carl much more sinister than that. The look in Carl's eyes when he looked at her and flashed her that unsettling smile was imprinted into her brain. They did not come around much, but when they did it was always a traumatic experience for Y/n.

Lee left the room before Y/n could respond. He knows how Y/n feels, but he can’t bring himself to care right now. She’s not going to protest against it because she knows better than that. He focused on the sound of soft babbling from his daughter as he walked into her room.

"Hey you," she looked up at him with her big eyes and her widening smile that made his heart swell, "you gonna be good for your mama? You've been on a mean streak lately and I'd hate to make good on my threat and put you in baby jail."

His daughter reached up and tried to grab at his face. Lee was clean-shaven now, but for the first few months of his daughter's life he had enough hair on his face for her to grab a hold of. It was funny to see how she still tried to grab at his non-existent hair, pinching his skin in the process.

"Miss the beard little lady? You're just like your mama," he kissed her forehead and felt a deep sense of guilt that he had to leave her to go to work. But everything he did was for her and if he believes that the long hours are going to pay off. All of his work is going to pay off when he wins that race.

-

The dress her daughter wore was blush to complement her mother's golden one. She looked around at every single building and person they passed as if it was her first time seeing it again. Her sense of wonder always made Y/n adore her even more. Y/n wondered what was going on in the little mind of her and what sense she made of the world.

She was never fussy when they were out, which was good for Y/n, but also good for the rehabilitation of Lee's image. He has such a good daughter and pretty wife, he must be doing something right. Every single person who stopped to say hi or coo at how cute her baby was, Y/n wondered if they have ever said something negative about Lee. Y/n never received weird stares or grimaces that would make her paranoid, but she still felt on edge. She always wanted to be on her best behavior, especially when Lee was not with her.

Y/n was forced to be her normal self; cheerful even though her mind was reeling over two nights ago, her sister-in-law, and what the conversation between Lee and her brother this morning may have sounded like. When one of the toddlers thrusted their drawing her face she feigned an excited smile. She hoped the mother's didn't notice her lackluster attitude.

"Y/n , can I speak with you?"

It was Sally's voice that called to her. She looked at the blonde woman with a bit of panic on her face. She thought that she was going to get chewed out by her, especially since she pulled her far away from the other children, and her daughter who was being held by one of the recently graduated girls.

"Is everything alright Sally?"

"I should be asking you that. Why am I hear things about Mrs. Blackwater sayin' she seen your Lee dumpin' bodies in the river behind her house?" At that moment Y/n could not hear her despite her lips still moving. Her blood ran cold at that last name being mentioned. It's been years, close to a decade, since she thought about that old woman, but the mere mention of her name brought Y/n back to a place she didn't want to be.

"I-I...I don't know what she's talking about-"

"My husband and I made a sizable donation to your husband's campaign, and it would be a shame to see him lose," the sugary voice and fake smile on Sally's face made Y/n's stomach ache. She didn't like how some of these women could be so fake because it always made her question if they really liked her or not. But Sally didn't care what Y/n would respond with, all she cared about was her and her husband's reputation, "you're not that much younger than me so you remember them days when that old bitch would be on her porch spewin’ whatever nonsense she could think if at any girl who walked on her sidewalk. No one likes Mrs. Blackwater, but don't think for a second they won't consider what she has to say about that husband of yours. I've heard too many whispers about him and I don't like it. I'll pull my endorsements if you don't fix this shit."

Was murdering one person not enough to save her husband from losing this race? The brothel owner was one person, someone who would not be missed by many people, but could she do something about Mrs. Blackwater?

'That's not right, that's not right.'

No matter how much she tried to shake that evil idea off, it kept creeping into her mind. Murder was the unlikely tool she had in her arsenal all along. It was morally wrong to kill someone, but her victim and the potential one had not been nice people. Mrs. Blackwater's stain on this Earth paled in comparison to Reed's, but that woman made her blood run much colder than the brothel owner.

It was so ironic that Mr. Blackwater was a beloved man in town because no one could stand his wife. They knew not to cross her path and that pies and home cooked meals would not abate her disdain for people. A man who was so kind and friendly was married to the most antisocial person Y/n has ever come across. But he never wasted a moment to sing her her praises. Y/n remembers one of her sons and he was mean just like his mother; a school yard bully that would beat up on anyone he saw as weak and alone. Y/n was lucky that he knew she had an older brother to protect because the Blackwater’s youngest boy never tried anything with her. However, she was not lucky enough to escape the wrath of Mrs. Blackwater. The irony was that she probably would've been better off being a victim of her son. That woman was nasty and wasn't afraid to show it.

"Don't you two get tired of dressing like whores?"

They had to pass the Blackwater house to get to Rose's house. Her house used to be at the end of the street before it got burned down, leaving the Blackwater house the last one on the street. It was nice, and had a big, big porch that Mrs. Blackwater always sat on for most of the day. She didn't stop at calling them just "whores'' and "wenches" either. Y/n never could understand why they always took the brunt of that woman's anger. Rose went home in tears every time she walked by that house. Maybe Y/n's anger is displaced, but she blames Mrs. Blackwater for why Rose was so eager to leave. There wasn't much here, but Rose always promised she'd stay. But ever since they encountered Mrs. Blackwater's misery, Rose had changed.

She could imagine that same venomous voice saying awful things about her husband, "Lee Bodecker put that body in the water. I saw it with my own two eyes!"

The thought of her husband killing someone shouldn't sound so crazy, especially after being able to do it herself. But her Lee can't be a cold-hearted man who slept with whores, murdered people, and ruined people lives. He was so sweet to her, he wasn't always was, but his touch was so soft against her skin, how could he hurt anyone?

Y/n had just turned 19 when she met Lee. He was a deputy, closer to being the sheriff than either of them knew at the time. Their age difference scared her somewhat; she only gave him a chance so she could distract herself from reminding herself that she should be finishing up the last year of being a college freshman. She had the grades and thought her test scores were satisfactory but she got rejected from Indiana University. Her father told her that there is always next year, but her mother told her she should just figure out a new plan.

It was the uncertainty and loneliness that made her get closer to Lee. He was close to his late 20s, unmarried, and he didn't exactly make his loneliness unknown.

He left a sour taste in her mouth in their very first encounter; pulling her over as an excuse to get her number. She gripped the steering wheel to stop them from shaking so much. She only had her license for a few weeks and made sure to be careful in fear of this exact situation happening. His slick talk didn't make her feel that much better either. She was too shaken up to even look at him in the eye or take in any of his features. She just remembered seeing his badge the words DEPUTY SHERIFF etched into it.

Lee let her off, saying she had a "pretty face" and that he hoped to see her around. She didn't think much about their interaction the days after he pulled her over, but she began to see him more than before. Y/n couldn't remember a time she had seen him prior to that one night and found it odd that his face kept reappearing. (He later told her that it was fate, but it was not. Lee purposefully put himself in her orbit. It was not hard to learn what her routine was and when she went out.)

She was weary about his advances, unsure how to react to them because the most experience she's had was with two boys, only one of whom she kissed. Their first date was not by choice either, he just decided to stick by her side while she was at the local dinner by herself.

And he has always stuck by since then, always hovering around her until she realized he was not going to go away and it’d be futile to ignore him. Lee never gave her the chance to make the decision for herself, but his girl was so sweet and she just needed a few cushy words for her to understand that this was where she belonged.

"Do your parents know you're out here meeting me?" It had only been a matter of time before she learned to be very obedient to him; always accepting his plans, even if it meant sneaking out of the house in the midnight hour. The smirk he wore on his face every time he watched her walk up to him left her feeling enchanted.

"Don't talk too loud. If my brother hears you he'll kill you and have my head."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her front to him. Lee groaned at the feel of her breast against his chest. She was so nervous to do anything with him that she only let him kiss her. It was fine for a while, but he had grown tired of waiting. Tired of being teased by her in those soft, pink dresses that would ride up whenever she had to bend over even just a little bit. He couldn't believe how naive she was to believe he was always dropping things like a pencil or his wallet on accident; he just wanted to see her bend over for him just for a chance to peak at what pretty panties she wore that day.

Getting her to come out with him at night was surprising, but the idea of riding in his patrol car was so alluring. The sparkle in her eyes gave him an overwhelming sense of machismo; enough for him to realize he just needs to take what she wants.

The full moon hung in the clear sky and they had a vast, open field in front of them. He took her just to the edge of the county that was secluded and was his favorite spot to go for some quiet (or getting his dick sucked). The moonlight and a few street lights that were actually working were the only light they had.

"You look so pretty today baby," his hand rested on her thigh the whole entire drive but only now did he actually move it to stroke her skin, "you always look so pretty for me. I'm the luckiest man in town."

Y/n giggled and her face felt like it was burning up. No one had taken the time to compliment her sweetly, and that was obvious to Lee. He cradled her face in the palm of his hand and watched her turn into putty. His hand inches closer to her heat causing her to jump like his hand was made of actual fire.

"Relax baby...just relax for me," Lee planted his face in her neck and nipped at it. His lips tickled the skin on her neck and she did her best to suppress her giggles but they spilled from her lips. Lee smirked against her skin, "there she is. There's my girl."

She let a laugh slip through, but she suppressed the moan that was stuck in her throat. It was so odd to feel him on her neck but it was an unfamiliar feeling that she liked. His hand never left her thigh, in fact he had sneakily moved it closer to her sex. She felt ashamed about the growing wetness that she could feel sticking to her.

Lee grabbed her hand and placed it right over the bulge straining in his pants. She let out a heavy sigh when she realized what it was. "That's how hard you make me. You making me so fucking hard girl," he growled in her ears. This was something only the senior girls from her high school could dream about when they talked about hooking up with their boyfriends. None of them were even half the man Lee was, and here he was: hard and ready just for her.

"L-Lee," her voice broke into bits, her body overheating from Lee taking control, "wait, can we slow down?"

"You taste so sweet baby," he continued kissing her, ignoring her until she was pulling away from his grasp. "What's wrong girl?" The furrowing of his brow made her worry that she pissed him off. Lee was all she had, he convinced her to put away her dream of going to college and stay here for him, if she ran him off then she'd have nothing else.

"I'm just nervous. I’ve never done this before Lee," she hoped her honesty went a long way and would make him take her home instead. But all it did was make him readjust himself in his seat and pull away from her rather coldly.

Lee was irritated with her, she got him all hard, but he did his best to temper his anger. She's lucky that he was on the job all day and didn't have a chance to drink yet or else she'd see the side of him that he purposely hid from her.

"Don't be nervous baby. You know I love you right?" She nodded her head with her wide eyes holding a sad look in them, "good girl. Let me show you something."

Lee patted his lap and Y/n looked at him with apprehension.

"C'mon now," he patted his lap once again, this time with a bit of impatience in his voice.

Y/n awkwardly shifted over the center console of his patrol car and found herself in his lap. His strong arms wrapped around her waist and he rested his chin on her shoulder. She tried to ignore how his bulge poked at her slit through her cotton panties.

"You ever been in a car this nice before?"

"Uh-uh," she shook her head, somewhat distracted by the beautiful interior and his cock poking at her. The only car she's ever drove was the shitty one that was passed down to her. Lee's patrol car doesn't look like it's more than five years old.

Seeing her look in wonder at the dash made him even harder. He began to rut against her, trying to feel as much friction as he could, but it wasn't enough to satiate a man who has been waiting a few months for this.

He sat back and started fumbling with his pants. Y/n heard the sound of the metal on his belt and unzipping of his pants but she froze on top of him instead of moving. She grabbed the steering wheel and held onto it as tight as she did the night he first laid eyes on her. Her alarm rose when Lee lifted her up a little to push her panties to the side.

"Lee what are you doing-"

"Shhh baby don't worry, I got you."

The sensation of his head poking at her slit and her sliding down him was unspeakable. She was uncomfortable with his splitting size, but he didn't move her at all, trying to give her some time to adjust but it was just so hard for him to restrain himself. She was so tight and warm, and definitely untouched by any man. "Fuck," he mumbled warmly in her ear. She felt him wrap his arm tighter around her, almost as if he was afraid she was going to somehow run away from him. Even if she wanted to, she wouldn't know her way back home and she'd be stuck out here. She was safe with Lee even though she found herself feeling more confusion than pleasure.

Those girls from her high school days had to been lying to her, sex didn’t feel all that magical; his patrol car was not a romantic place to lose her virginity. Lee rocked her on his cock slowly as she tried to find the same pleasure that he was experiencing. His heavy breath was on her ear as she stared straight up into the night sky.

"You feel so good. You feel so fucking good baby."

His pleasure is what made her want to stay on top of him like this. She cared for him so much and she just wanted Lee to be proud of her. The "good girl" that continuously spilled from his lips sounded like a hymn she wanted to memorize.

Y/n let Lee have his way with her body. He groped her breast through her dress and then let his hands graze her sides. She wondered what he was doing when his hand slipped into her panties, but the warmth that shot through her made her mind go blank. Lee rubbed at her sensitive bud and she constricted around him. Instead of whimpering, she was now fully moaning; the way it felt so good had put her discomfort into the back of her mind.

"Oh fuck -- move your hips girl. You feel so good."

He rubbed her harder as a reward for swirling her hips against him. She began to bounce on top of him and he no longer had to do the hard work, just lean back and feel her engulfing him in her warmth.

"Lee," she whimpered, unsure of herself, but then she called his name again, "Lee," as if to let him know that he was the one giving her pleasure.

Lee knew he wasn't going to last, not when she was as tight and wet as she was. He can't remember the last time he took someone's virginity, nor when he was this hard. It was clear to him that she had no idea what she was doing by the way she bounced on him without a rhythm. Sometimes she'd stall herself before moving fast again. It didn't irk him, he found it endearing that she was so inexperienced. He was going to have to show her a lot of things and get her to fuck him to his liking.

Y/n gasped when Lee pulled out of her and jerked himself until white liquid was splashing on the back of her panties. She'd have to wash them before her mother saw the stain.

"You did so good baby, taking my cock like a big girl," he placed a sloppy kiss on her cheek, still trying to catch his breath while she shifted on top of him. He put himself away and nudged her towards the empty passenger seat. She was silent the entire time he drove her home. A sense of pride filled her because she had made Lee feel good. The sex itself was too weird to describe as being good, but she liked how she felt inside when he told her she felt good and that she made him cum. That's all she wanted to do was please Lee.

-

Saturday morning proved to be another beautiful day. It seems as if Summer didn't want to leave just yet even though October was near. There wouldn't be many more opportunities for Lee to make his impressions and sway the last few voters not on his side.

The event had been boring at most, but Sally's words really shook her up. No one in town would deny that Mrs. Blackwater has always been a bitter women, but they also wouldn't necessarily turn the other cheek if she starts going around saying that Lee Bodecker is a murder. Y/n's new problem made her forget about the decaying brothel owner. She doesn't care how mean the whole town thought the old woman was, she wanted her gone.

"You slept in. Did I tire you out last night?" Lee had the same smug smirk on his face that has been imprinted on her brains since their early years together.

Y/n nodded even though it wasn't completely truthful. She slept so hard because she's mentally spent and it was finally catching up with her body. Lee had been too distracted to notice how distant she was last night and how she is still distant now. In his eyes, as long as she was eager to lay under him then everything was fine.

Most mornings started like this: Y/n waking up next to her still tired husband and waiting to hear her daughter crying for her. He trudged out of bed and she heard him beat a path down the hall to the bathroom. There was still no sound of her daughter needing her, giving her some time alone. It was nearly silent except for the faint sound of the shower going. She breathed deeply and found herself feeling serene. Just five minutes without the memory of Sally threatening to pull her and her husband's support taunting her.

"Y/n! Do you not hear her crying?" Lee held a stern look on face, he must have been standing there for a few minutes. His towel was wrapped around his waist, stomach hanging over the soft white cotton, "what's wrong with you girl?"

She shook her head, "nothing Lee. I'm just still a lil' tired."

His face softened at her explanation but he nodded his head towards the door so she could take care of their daughter. Y/n hurried not to upset him for the rest of the day.

Their baby was just fussy and hungry. Her little eyes weren’t that red so she hadn’t been crying for long. “You hungry?” Her daughter somewhat understood what her mother was saying because her eyes went wide. The nightgowns Lee had bought Y/n made it much easier for her to pull herself out of them to feed their girl. She could see her daughter calming down, eyes closing once again. Y/n thought about keeping her daughter with her but she needed to rest in her crib. She placed her down gently as not to disturb and wake her again. At least one person in this family deserves peace.

"Back to sleep?" Lee's voice startled her, but the hand on her hip soothed her. Y/n nodded, never taking her eyes away from her girl. "Precious isn't she? So sweet when she's not fussin' about."

"She only fusses because she's teething, and she misses her father."

"Honey, you know why I'm at work longer than usual. It's for her. It's for you. It's for us. Do you know how much better her life, your life, is going to be better after I win that race?"

"But what if you don't win?"

Y/n rarely questions Lee, not even over small things, so he was confused as to why she was questioning him now. Did his wife not believe in him? She worried a lot, but when he first ran for sheriff, she was not this doubtful.

"What are you trying to say?"

"Lee, I didn't say that. It's just that people been talkin' and -"

"And you believe them? So my own wife doesn't think I'm going to win because a few people can’t got some things wrong?”

Y/n flinched as his voice got louder. The brashness of his voice woke their girl up from her attempt to fall into a deep sleep. Instead of waking up and silently looking around, the first thing that came from her was a cry. It served as a way for Y/n to escape Lee's wrath. She pulled her crying daughter into her arms and held her close to her chest. One glance at Lee's face and she knew he was going to deal with her later. But for now he just sighed and walked out of the nursery.

"Aww don't cry honey. It was just your daddy, okay? He's not mad at you sweetheart. Don't cry...don't cry," Y/n's voice cracked and tears slipped down her face. Her pleas were more for herself than they were her daughter.

Lee's hesitance to address the obvious problems he faces in regards to the election made Y/n feel uneasy. All she wanted was for her husband to just outright say he never did those things, but he never did. And if Y/n has resulted to murder, then she knows deep down that he did some of those things that people allege. There were just things that were too loud to drown out. The business when it came to solving a string of murders that happened a few years ago and people talking about him didn't affect him when he was going for re-election. There was no one else that had a strong enough presence to go against him and the folks in town figured that Lee gets enough done as far as crime goes, even though he could do more.

Y/n should be tired of trying to clean up his mess when he was so short with her. However it is not entirely his fault; he does not know. Maybe one day he'll learn and be grateful for what she has done for him.

-

Lee just couldn't stop reminding her that Sandy and Carl were coming over. It's almost as if he knew it got under Y/n's skin and used it against her after she hurt his feelings this morning. He's a sensitive one, even though he hides it well from most people, but her moment of vulnerability wasn't meant to hurt him. Though if their conversation had progressed any further, she might have spilled what she did to the brothel owner. She may want to believe Lee would be proud of her, but she cannot be so sure. It's sickening to assume that someone would be proud of a murder. She quickly began to feel dirty after a few minutes with her own thoughts ever since Lee snapped at her.

"Can you clean up? We're going to be having guests soon."

There were just a few baby toys on the floor but it was best not to make things worse with Lee (even though those toys were going to end up in the same place anyway).

Lee stepped outside as Y/n put their daughter in her high chair. Ever since her birth Lee was mindful not to smoke in the house; it was one of the house rules Y/n proposed that he was surprisingly very accepting of. She had taken away most of the things that he used to destress: alcohol, cigarettes, and candies.

She heard the motor of a car and Lee's muffled voice. She knew it was them, but hoped they were just making a short trip over. It's not like Lee likes Carl, and he's constantly complaining about his trouble making sister. Y/n hates that Sandy uses their daughter as an excuse to come over. She wouldn't mind if Sandy came alone, but she hated Carl around her little girl and she's sure Lee feels the same way.

Y/n's mother had gotten their daughter such a stupid gift when she was born. A baby that's not even half a year old yet didn't need a toy that had a million little pieces they could easily choke on, but of course it was her favorite thing to place with. Lee never cleaned up the mess, it was always Y/n who was doing it. She tried her best to pick everything up before they stepped inside but she heard the front door open. She tensed up, but she only heard the heavy footsteps of one person, and god did she hope it was Lee.

"What you doin' down there?"

Her eyes trailed up and Carl was gazing down at her. Words got caught in her throat and she clutched her hand around one of the toy pieces, the edges of it painfully digging into her palm.

"Did I scare you?"

The smirk on her face made her want to shriek. She noted that he didn't call her "darlin'" like he used to. She can only guess what Lee did to him when he "took him out back" after calling her that for a few years.

"Where's my niece?"

Y/n shot up, not caring about the toys still on the floor. She'll be damned if Carl is alone with her daughter for even a second.

Sandy came in with Lee following behind her. He gave Y/n a look of understanding, he too hoped this was going to be a short visit. The sound of Sandy fawning over her niece overtook the room. Their daughter giggled and babbled at her aunt as if she could understand her.

"Y/n go make us some ice tea."

Usually Lee doesn't command her to do things, unless he was stressed or horny. She knew her was the former by the look on his face. He was aggravated and this visit wasn't going to make him feel any better. As Y/n left the room, Sandy sat down on their couch with their daughter in her arms. Carl sat next to them, making the alarm in Lee rise.

"I got you something honey," she pulled out a little doll from her purse. It looked tattered and Lee wondered where she got it from.

"You know she already has enough dollies," Lee joked. It didn't matter to his girl, it was a new toy, "got anything for your brother?"

Sandy eyes him before pulling out a small bag of candy. She tossed it to him and he caught it, "I knew you'd ask for somethin'"

He opened it and instantly popped a sweet cherry candy into his mouth.

"Y/n's not letting me drink since the girl is so young. This is the only thing I got, even though she's on my ass about that too," Lee knew that Sandy wasn't too interested in the ins-and-outs of his everyday life but he gets tired of complaining to his deputies.

"Yea, I bet," she kept a snide comment about her sister-in-law to herself. The box of cigarettes she had calling her name we're going to have to wait. "How's that mayor race going?"

"It's going."

"Heard that whore house owner croaked," Carl's voice carried to the kitchen and Y/n paused, "found in unusual circumstances...chairs pushed up against the door...poisoned. Reckon one of those girls got tired of him holdin' them down-"

"No smoking in the house," Lee interrupted when he noticed Carl reaching for the pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket. Carl laughed as if he wanted to challenge Lee, but his hand went back to resting on the back of the couch.

"Wouldn't want this little darlin' smellin' like a bar."

Anytime Carl spoke at or about her daughter, Y/n wanted to vomit. Carl is not nice. She wonders how twisted Sandy might be to marry someone who is awful to women and has no filter.

There was a cloud of fear over her head when Carl was around. She wishes Lee was more apprehensive but Sandy's his little sister, and he cares for her no matter how much those two causes. Things would be different if Y/n had told Lee about that time Carl pressed himself against and put his hand up the skirt of her dress. His threat would forever bounce off her skull and it only got louder when he was near. "Shut you're fucking mouth or else your husbands gonna see his slut wife bending over for another man." She was five months pregnant and had no way to defend herself. He only groped her, but she always wondered if he would've gone further if Sandy hadn't come in looking for the cooking tongs Lee told her to fetch. Sandy knew something had happened, but she said nothing. Y/n's disdain for her only grew from that day on.

Lee redirected the conversation from what Carl had started to something a bit more asinine. He didn't want to talk about something work-related because he didn't need to be stressed out any further. Reed’s death wasn't another blow to his reputation like Lee thought it would. It was going to be another unsolved murder from the way it was looking though. The people assumed one of the girls did it. The place had been emptied out; it surely looked different from when Lee was last in there. Lee was lucky that Reed was extremely disliked, unlike that preacher Roy who died some years ago. More people said "he had it coming" instead of "why isn't the sheriff doing anything?"

He laughed about it though. When he was alone in the car after leaving the crime scene, he laughed. There was no more worrying about the rumor that Sheriff Lee Bodecker beat one of his girls. When Lee did go to that place, he was never forceful. Lee could be mean towards women at times, but he was never violent.

-

If Lee was called in on a Sunday morning, then it was very important. He woke Y/n up at 5 am and kissed her out of her confused state to say goodbye. She only slept for another hour after laying her head down back on the pillow.

This morning felt so different.

The morning she woke up knowing her task was to deal with Reed, she was distracted and jumpy. But she had grown so accustomed to her guilt that it's become a comfortable feeling. Mrs. Blackwater was a more personal score to settle. That woman was throwing dirt on Lee's name, but the turmoil she caused her teenage friend would never leave her mind. Y/n had learned how cruel someone could be without physically hurting you. The boys on school grounds were annoying brats, but that woman had a truly awful mouth.

The Petersons’ daughter was over right after church. She had a wide smile on her face, happy that Mrs. Bodecker was giving her another opportunity to make some money.

"She's been a fairly good mood lately," Y/n handed her daughter off to the shorter teenage girl, "she slept through the night for once, but she's still gonna need a nap. Once she starts fussin' put her in her crib. I should be back before Lee."

Y/n wished her well and the Petersons girl wished Y/n a good time running her errands. It was comical to think of this as an errand, even though today she was going to treat it like one.

She was in Lee's nice car again meaning she was going to have to temporarily get rid of it. Y/n put much more effort into this, her haphazard plan to take out Reed could've gone horribly wrong. She spent her time snooping around town when she was out with one of her mom friends. The plan had been simple: park the car at the crowded grocery just two blocks away from the Blackwater house. The house sat at the end of the street, a bit separated from the other row of houses because of the larger amount of land they owned. It wouldn't be a problem to walk to the house seeing as others in this neighborhood do the same thing.

When her mother had made that dress for her to wear to the Spring Formal, Y/n cried, saying she was going to look like a nurse instead of "the prettiest girl in town" like Jim, the guy who asked her to the dance said. A teenage grievance had somehow come in handy almost a decade later. It was under a long coat that was a bit abnormal for this warm day.

Y/n felt sickly confident. That only thing she worried about was Lee cruising through and seeing his car in the parking lot. But the grocery store offered a great cover. The sun was covered by a thick cloud as she walked away from the grocery store and to the old Blackwater house.

That porch still looked the same. It was old and rickety, squeaking as she stepped on it, she's surprised it didn't give it away some years ago. The rocking chair Mrs. Blackwater sat on while terrorizing people was no longer there. At least her days of scaring off the newer generation of kids were over.

Y/n knocked on the door and waited. She had to knock again, and by the third time she wondered if the old lady did the job for her!

"Who is it?" The voice was much more frail, but it was that voice.

"I'm here to help!" The upturn of her voice at the end made her statement sound more like a question.

The locks on the door began to click and Mrs. Blackwater peered at her.

"You're not the one they always send."

"Oh, she's sick today! I'm just filling in for her today!" After two weeks of watching, Y/n learned what days Mrs. Blackwater's nurse came and went. She came everyday but she was absent on Sundays. It's somewhat astounding that Mrs. Blackwater didn't ask about Y/n turning up on a Sunday.

"Ahh whatever," she dismissed, unlocking the screen door, and wheeling backwards in the wheelchair that she had been relegated to a few years ago.

Y/n didn't know what to expect when she stepped inside, but it wasn't too far off from how her parent's house looked; black and white photos littering the walls and stacks of paper that probably could've been thrown away a decade ago. What is different from her parent's home is that this place is an utter mess. The nurse that usually comes to take care of her could at least tidy it up a bit. With how much she hated everything, Y/n would've assumed she hated mess too, but her home says otherwise. This lady was an absolute hoarder.

"Don't bother me," Mrs. Blackwater sniped at her. She wheeled herself next to the couch and glued her eyes to the black and white television screen.

Y/n doesn't know how many hours Mrs. Blackwater spent sitting there and watching The Andy Griffin Show. She didn't laugh when something funny happened, she just sat there still, sometimes grumbling to herself in reaction to what was happening on screen.

The least Y/n could do was tidy up a bit. It would be a kind gesture to leave her to die in a presentable place.

Mrs. Blackwater is not going to die a violent death. She was awful, but she did not deserve the brutality like someone who has done physical harm did. (If she was just a little bit braver, she would've hacked him to death, but the sight of blood makes her ill). Mrs. Blackwater was up in age, nearing her 90s, and it would be time for her to go soon anyway. Y/n dusted around the TV, one of the last things this old woman may see. All the photos of people on the walls were staring at her as she moved about cleaning the dust from the frames. So many people, many dead but most probably alive. Mrs. Blackwater had children and probably grandchildren but no one came to visit her. Her tongue was sharp, but how could no one come and visit their aging mother?

"Stop moving so damn much. Sit down girl."

The venom was still in her voice. It would never go away, at least not until she dies. This woman didn't appreciate anything and enjoyed being miserable. Y/n listened to her like that scared little teenager she used to be. She sat on the couch, a few feet away from Mrs. Blackwater who had not taken her eyes off the TV or moved at all. Y/n was spending time with a woman who was going to die at her hands today. If she's going to die then at least she's going to die doing what she loves; watching her shows and bitching out the closest person in reach.

She had only moved to grab the newspaper from the table on the other side of her. It was Friday's addition, Y/n could tell from the photo on the cover. She couldn't help but eye the old woman as she read the paper. It has been probably three hours and she hasn't even asked for anything to eat.

"People droppin' like flies in this shit hole."

Y/n's ears perked up, but she didn't say anything, she just let the lady talk.

"Leroy should know better not to do that shit here...especially with that corrupt sheriff around...would've had an easier time gettin' away with it in the city. Everyone in the city already does all that illegal shit so it probably wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Now he’s dead."

Y/n had heard that name before. She remembers vividly Lee chewing someone out on the phone and saying their name with contempt. Leroy, Leroy, Leroy. The name "Bobo" also came up in the conversation a few times. Y/n wanted to be mad at Mrs. Blackwater for referring to her husband as "corrupt" but something nagged at her to keep the conversation going for her sake.

"W-what do you mean?" Her voice cracked but it was ignored by the old woman.

"You must not be from here. Everyone knows that if you get caught up with that fat bastard sheriff you must be doin’ some awful shit. The only reason why he keeps gettin' re-elected is because everyone is scared of him. It doesn't matter how many babies that man has, he's a killer...dragging that man's body and fucking up carnations..."

No one had ever talked to Mrs. Bodecker about her husband like this. Town gossipers had the decency to wait until she left the room to say something about him. But she's not Mrs. Bodecker right now. It does not matter anyway because the old lady doesn't know what she's talking about. She hasn't spent the hours with Lee, with him being sweet and so soft with his daughter. Y/n firmly believes that if Lee did indeed kill someone then it was for a good reason. She knows her husband involves himself in dirty things, but it had to be for a good reason. Lee did not show brutality for no reason; he didn't get his rocks off on hurting innocent people.

"People can change. I'm sure he's a different man now."

"Why!? Because he got a bitch and a bastard? You are too naïve...at least the other girl they send has some more sense in her head. No man is going to want to marry a dumb girl."

An awkward silence surrounded them but it was mostly felt by Y/n. She found herself frozen with a ball of rage and anxiety in her stomach. But she had no time to dwell for much longer though.

"I'm thirsty...go make me something."

Y/n noticed Mrs. Blackwater flinching when she grabbed the remote to turn the volume higher. She either had arthritis or just pain in her hands.

"Okay...do you need to take any pills at this time?"

"My husbands gone and my children don't visit me. You think I care about taking my pills?"

Maybe Mrs. Blackwater would be kind to her if she knew Y/n was going to take her out of her misery. Breaking open the capsules and dumping it in the tea she made for her is going to do the job. She might succumb to a heart attack, or pass peacefully. The only person Y/n felt bad for was the poor nurse who was going to find her dead tomorrow morning.

-

Lee was able to leave his shift earlier than expected. Sundays are very quiet, the only thing he got up to was paperwork at the station. He could go home early to his wife, play with the girl while Y/n makes dinner, and get a nice ride from his wife while their daughter sleeps. Y/n said something about needing him to pick up some chicken stock from the grocery store.

People filled in and out of the grocery store as the sun began to set. A few people spoke to him, never for too long knowing that he's not fond of small talk. But more people being friendly with him was a good sign. Even without his sweet wife next to him, no one shied away from saying hello to the man running for Mayor.

Two boxes of chicken stock should be enough even though his wife sent him for three. The brand she likes isn’t exactly cheap. Lee promptly made his way to the cashier who greeted him with a smile.

"Good evening sheriff!" her voice was sweet and she batted her eyes a few times. Lee offered her a smile, but a small laugh escaped. This girl couldn't be younger than 20 but she fawned over him like a young school girl. Her behavior reminded him of Y/n when she was that age. "Darlene said she saw your car in the parking lot but didn't get a chance to catch Mrs. Bodecker herself."

Lee stopped caring about the items (a few snuck in there for him) being rung up. His brows furrowed and the girl realized that she had said something maybe she shouldn't have.

"My wife was here?"

"That's what Darlene said. Her shift ended right as I was coming in so I wasn't there when it happened...do you still want the chicken stock?"

"Yea yea just ring it up."

Lee's mind was too preoccupied with the weird behavior his wife has been exhibiting for the last several weeks. She often hovered over him when he was on the phone like she was interested in what he was talking about. All the swearing and terms she didn't understand kept her from asking what his loud, and often abrasive, phone conversations were about. But now she was listening a little too hard for his liking.

The only time Y/n was supposed to drive their car is if Lee told her she could or if there was an emergency. A trip to the grocery store did not fall under either of those categories. But it was particularly weird to him that she would go to the store when she told him to go himself. If she had forgotten something, she would have not hesitated to call the station. Something was up with her.

Everything felt normal as he stepped into the house. The smell of what she was cooking hit his nose and the familiar noises of his daughter babbling louder than the Y/n moving around the kitchen. If he had no questions for his wife, then he'd feel all warm inside walking into his home in this current state.

Y/n was talking to their daughter as if she was holding a real conversation with her. Their daughter started squealing when she saw Lee appear in the doorway. He put his index finger to his lips to tell her to quiet herself, but she was only louder.

"I couldn't believe it either! They said the hairdresser purposefully dyed Marie's hair darker," she spoke, thinking her daughter was just squealing because she was talking to her and not because her husband was creeping up behind her.

Hands snaked around her waist and she nearly jumped. "Oh yea? Is that what the town is gossipin' about today?" Lee's familiar voice soothed her and she turned around in his arms. She deftly kissed him and looked up at him.

"Wanna know what else I heard?" He whispered to her. Y/n nodded, a smile spreading on her face as she rested her forehead against his, "heard the sheriff's wife been out and about and driving his nice car."

Y/n's smile fell from her face, but it only made Lee smile wider.

"You wanna tell me what you were doing out?"

"I needed something from the store."

"So my task to pick up the chicken stock after work was for nothing?"

"No...I went to my parents house...didn't want to go empty-handed. You know how my mother gets."

What a sweet little liar.

But she still had the smell of an old house lingering around her so maybe it wasn’t completely a lie. Still, he knew something was up with her.

“How was work?” She quickly tried to change the subject. Lee was not really in the mood to interrogate her, it was Sunday after all. He sat down in the chair next to his daughter's high chair. She started reaching for his hat but he was too far away, so Lee rested his head on the tray and let her have her fun. Y/n was probably going to be mad at him for putting his head where she eats and getting all of his “outside germs” all over it, but he didn’t care.

“I’m tired,” he confessed, a heavy sigh escaping him, “I’m really fucking tired.”

Y/n wishes she could lift more of her husband’s burdens. Killing people who were talking about him did not get rid of the core problem. Sometimes she wishes he never decided to run for mayor. Life was so much more comfortable when he would run unopposed for county sheriff. Instead her husband had a bigger dream. From the very beginning she felt like it was a long shot that this would be successful, but they had gotten so far in changing how most of the people viewed Lee. And even though they felt a way about him, they still respected the sheriff.

“It’s going to be over soon. I promise.”

He truly wanted to believe her, but the sinking feeling that the past was going to catch up with him was not going away.

[pennylogue]

Steven is a Diamond, and that’s okay.

So, Steven’s way too caught up in the fact that he’s a Diamond right now, and therefore a hideous and overpowered monster who can’t hope to be understood by normal humans or normal gems. Let’s talk about that.

For all Steven’s enthusiasm to be a Crystal Gem and to demonstrate his powers, he’s always been weirdly ashamed of how being half-Gem affects his ability to live alongside humans. I don’t think he’s ever really decided how to feel about it. It’s only after seeing Steven growing substantially and changing his hair and getting diamond eyes, now that it’s clear that his physical form is so malleable to how he thinks of himself and what he wants to be, that it really hits me how growing up with Greg and around so many humans has affected his identity. How sort of…quietly unhealthy it was, to go around with his gem covered up all of the time, and his appearance so determinedly human. I mean, think of how upset and ashamed he was when he decided his inhuman aging would screw up his friendship with Connie.

Right now, Steven is a whirlpool of self-loathing mixed into repressed issues and trauma with the Diamonds and hatred for his mother, and because he’s feeling so disconnected from and alienated and misunderstood by both other humans and other gems, because his gem powers are being triggered by his trauma, he’s connected some dots and blamed it all on being a Diamond. 

Looking back at that quiet “No,” at the end of “Fragments”, it’s easy to identify it as one of horrified realization. And you know, this is the logical conclusion of Steven’s feelings about his mother in “Mindful Education”, of “Storm in the Room”, of “Volleyball”—but it’s also the sum of a lot of other things:

Peridot: The Diamonds are the Gem matriarchs! …We live to serve them.

The culmination of Peridot flipping to the Crystal Gems is tied directly into her rejecting the Diamonds. Diamonds are introduced as the symbol of everything wrong with Homeworld.

Garnet: “How dare you fuse with a member of my court? You will be broken for this!”

…

Garnet: Pink Diamond thought for a moment, and then laughed; a wicked, empty sound. “You wish to save these life-forms at the expense of our own? Ha! Don’t be absurd. Return to your post, and I will forget your insolence.”

Diamonds are shatterers. They hate fusion. They hate Earth and organic life. They hate Garnet. They’re the evil queens in Garnet’s fairy tale. 

Garnet: The Earth belonged to Pink Diamond. Destroying her was the only way to save the planet. For Amethyst to be herself, for Pearl to be free, for me to be together. For you to exist.

Free will and the Diamonds are utterly opposed. It might be a tragedy that Pink Diamond was killed, but she was a monster, like the other Diamonds. The  ultimate enemies of the Crystal Gems.

We got almost five seasons of the Diamonds being spoken of this way. You see how terrified every Gem is of the Diamonds, whether they worship them or despise them. 

And then we found out a) Rose Quartz was one of them. And b) that Steven is one of them. 

Hey, quick question–anyone remember what Sapphire said, right in front of Steven, after the reveal?

Sapphire: Of course she was a Diamond. What a long road she took, to torture us all like this...

…Yeah, we never really got his feelings on b, did we?

I think Steven was so overwhelmed by everything else that was going on and everyone’s reactions, and later so eager to jump on the chance that being seen as one of the Diamonds gave him to fix the corrupted gems and help everyone, that we’ve never really seen him process this realization. Steven drew a very clear line in the sand. The Diamonds are the Diamonds, and Steven is Steven. The Diamonds are wrong about everything, so they’re also wrong about him being Pink, the same way everyone else in the series who’s called him another name has been wrong. He’s not Rose Quartz. He’s not Pink Diamond. 

Except…that second part isn’t true. Sure, Steven has a human body. Sure, Steven’s not the original Pink Diamond. That doesn’t mean he’s not a Pink Diamond. 

But it was easy back then, right? Because Steven was so, so different from them. A Crystal Gem. A defender of fusion. Weak. Small. Human-colored. Harmless. And as Steven says in the finale promo:

I don’t hurt people. I help people.

Yeah, there’s no way that building an incredibly black-and-white mindset with impossibly high standards for himself to create and hold on to a sense of identity was going to backfire.

So yeah, we never really saw Steven process that he was supposed to be one of these terrifying rulers. Except now he’s hurting people. In fact, it seems that all he can do is hurt people. And since he’s only able to see the bad things he can do, the amount of horrible power he has and how isolating it is and how terrifying it is–of course he blames it on what’s always seen as the source of so many horrible things. 

No wonder he’s having an identity crisis! He’s always told himself that he’s different than the Diamonds. He’s better than them. He has to be. So if he’s doing everything wrong, if he’s a freak, if he’s a shatterer, than it’s because he’s a Diamond. He’s just like them. He’s just as bad as them. He’s just as much a monster as the Diamonds are.

It’s complicated, what’s going on. Steven’s very, very wrong. But he’s also, strangely, right on target.

The thing is, this isn’t happening because he’s a Diamond, it’s because he’s human. He’s experienced trauma while growing up and is trying to react to it in a very human way. He literally has PTSD and CPTSD, and if you’ll look up the symptoms you’ll see he’s showing all of them. He’s not a monster. He’s part-human, so his symptoms are manifesting in partially inhuman ways. And that means he just happens to have the power to do a lot more damage than other humans when he lashes out in a way that is, once more, very characteristic for humans. But you know, even the best of humans can do a lot of damage, too, especially when they never really get over trauma. After all, Greg sure did a number on Steven. 

The flip-side of this is that the hilarious irony of ancient magical rocks trying to treat themselves as perfect and inhuman alien beings has always been that, that in reality, they’re every bit as fucked up and human as humans are. That’s the whole point of the Crystal Gems and the Homeworld Gems. Remember back when Garnet seemed so perfect? Peridot seemed pretty alien and unfeeling at the beginning, right? Jasper, Topaz, Aquamarine, it goes all the way up to the Diamonds. 

The whole point of the Diamonds and why the old system was broken was that the Diamonds tried to present themselves as perfect beings without flaw, when in fact they were all just as much a disaster as every other Gem. Remember back when Rose Quartz was a flawless goddess? Yellow and Blue were terrifying when we first saw them, but then we saw them comforting each other at the Zoo. They’re literally just a screwed-up family grieving and dealing with the death of one of their own–White’s first appearance painted her as this terrifying and totally inhuman being above even Yellow and Blue, but in the end, every one of the Diamonds is a normal, flawed person…just vested with the power to do a lot more damage than most.

The thing about White, was that she was so sure she had to be perfect, that she had to make everything better, but in the end, the solution was just to…let go. Accept that she was imperfect, and live with the consequences of it. Let other people help her. Stop trying to fit into being something she’s not, and just let herself be who she is. 

Does any of this sound familiar?

All four of the original Diamonds had destructive powers. All four of the original Diamonds experienced a change and made a conscious choice to control themselves and try to stop using their powers to negatively affect others. White Diamond might be stuck being White Diamond, but as “Homeworld Bound” made clear, she’s also the only one who gets to decide what that means.

So you know what?

You can call Steven half-Gem and half-human, but that doesn’t really describe what he is. He’s a human with a Gem. A Gem with a human form. None of that’s good or bad. It is what it is. And as much as it sucks to be different from everyone else, he’s also the only one who gets to decide what being different means to him. Steven Universe isn’t Rose Quartz and he’s not his mom, but just like he’s a human, he’s also Pink Diamond, and that isn’t bad. 

And I think that’s what he needs to hear from everyone. The solution at Steven’s birthday party wasn’t to react to the situation they were in and cheer him up the same way you’d cheer up a baby. He wasn’t just a baby, he was Steven stuck in a body that he didn’t know how to control. What he actually needed was to hear from Connie that she wanted to be there for him, no matter how strange he was. 

He needs the people he loves to stop telling him he’s “better than” his trauma and his diamond powers, to stop freaking out at how much damage he can do or treat it like a problem to be fixed. To not tell him that they know he’s going through, they’ve been there, too. They haven’t, and that’s not what he needs to hear. He needs to hear that none of what he is is bad. That his loved ones will be there for him and will love him unconditionally. 

And I think that’s what will allow him to accept himself; accept that if he’s a Diamond then he’s also a human, if he’s human then he’s also Pink Diamond–and, just like the previous Pink Diamond, he’s the one who gets to decide what that means.

TL; DR I actually really hope diamond eye Steven is permanent for non angsty reasons. This kid needs to stop being ashamed of his identity.

[7soulstars]

hello beautiful! can i request an over protective bucky x small & short reader please? *feel free to delete if you don't like the concept*

Hey darling! No concept is a bad concept okay? I love this ! I hope you like this! So lets go!

Bucky Barnes with a Smaller and Shorter S/O

- James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes was a buff man with a good height of 5″11′ a.k.a he was waaay taller and bigger than you.

- If there is one thing this man remembers vividly after getting his memories back was him practically taking care of pre serum Steve. 

- So when he sees you for the first time, que: I will protect you with every inch of my body even if I do not know you and you can’t stop me mode.

- You reminded him of a smol stuffie gosh he thought it was adorable🥺🥺

- Just because you were smaller doesn’t mean you don’t have him wrapped around your finger.

- He follows you everywhere. Like a baby duckling and Sam teased him over the irony of it all.

- Bucky is a brooder and every time he brooded he would hover behind you.

- “Y/N there is a very grumpy bear behind you”, Nat would say choking a giggle.

- You lift your head and give your boyfriend a smile, hug him and he forgets all his worries.

- A lots of forehead and top of your head kisses.

- He likes burying his head into your hair whenever you all are watching television and your sitting in front of him or on his lap.

-His broad figure always engulfs you up completely when he hugs you from the behind or from the front again creating an inside joke among the others.

- “Where is Y/N ?” “As always, she’s inside Bucky”

-”OH MY GOD GUYS SHUT UP! Bucky you’re amazing sweetie”

- Will never miss a chance of lifting you over his shoulders when you need to reach something.

-”Loki will you help me reach-” “NO ! *pushes Loki and sprints towards you* IT’S MY JOB”

- The funniest was when there was a big mission and Steve had said Avengers Assemble and the villian was shocked when you attacked him because ‘he didn’t see you before because Bucky was standing in front of you’

- “BUCK THIS ISN’T FUNNY YOU COVERED ME AGAIN !”

- “Sorry doll *wheeze* I was protecting you....”

- He glares at everyone threateningly with a knife if they make fun fun of you.

- He also glares at everyone threateningly with a knife if they show an interest in how cute you are because you are his.

- You once wore his shirt and you looked so cute and pretty that now he’ll pretend to forget his clothes at your place on purpose.

-  Bucky is a touch repulsed individual with everyone except you, Sam and Steve.

- He is very touch starved for you. Infact, when you first started dating he would almost even follow you to the bathroom and you would have to stop him.

- He is almost always the big spoon but on the days his nightmares haunt him you switch places.

- No matter how different your body type was he had made sure to make it clear that he will never stop loving you, his little doll

Done! I really hope you like it! I’m sorry if it’s not that accurate! I’m a 5″7′ tall and thick person so I’m the complete opposite of the reader so I did a lot of guess work😅. Please like, reblog and comment on my post if you like it to support me! Please do not plagarize my work I really work hard on it! Requests are always open !🥰🥰

~Love, Hri

[honsoolie]

don’t rush | 04

pairing: Yoongi/reader

genre: slight enemies to lovers, college au, fluff, smut, classical pianist!yoongi, violinist!reader, they’re both actually really into each other but won’t admit it

warnings: excessive amounts of pining, explicit smut, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, semi-public sex, mutual masturbation 

words: 10.3k

rating: +18

summary: You know, when Min Yoongi’s face isn’t screwed into an accusatory scowl, he looks exactly like the kind of guy you’d have no trouble falling in love with. Or, the conservatory au where Yoongi helps you get over your stage fright. In more ways than one.

a/n: thank you for waiting... if you've stuck around this long :") i've tried so hard for the past couple months to condense this story into the original length (3 chapters) but i've gotten attached and i'm afraid that this will turn into a longfic at the rate i'm going. so after this chapter, i'll be sure to post lots of drabbles of the scenes i couldn't fit in!! thank you so much for the wild ride, and without further ado, i present to you don't rush 04. 

start from the beginning?

You can’t bring yourself to fault Yoongi for what happened that morning. You also can’t bring yourself to say that it was your fault either–or even that there may be a single person to blame. 

24 hours of radio silence. No good morning text, no morning after–or really, afternoon after–text. Nothing. 

The thing about silence–absolute silence, with the exception the low hum of the air-con, or the distant sounds of a city, or footsteps from the room above you–is how slowly it passes. Maybe that’s why you’re a music student, spending all your time filling the silence with your own music. 

Silence is such an empty space–and can breed such bored thoughts. And where else for your mind to wander but Yoongi? 

It’s not that you were waiting for a text from him, it’s just that… you were half-expecting a text from him. Like he owed it to you. Even if none of this had ever happened, he would have texted you good morning by now. 

At least in your head, it seems fair that the onus is on Yoongi to text first. After all, he was the one who dragged you tightly by the wrist back to his apartment. He pushed you down on his couch, and in a very roundabout way, made you late for class. 

It’s not that you let this whole affair happen to you, but he started it. So it’s his job to text first. That’s the excuse you use, for not being brave enough to do it instead. 

It honestly feels a little pathetic that most of your thoughts outside of music and school are occupied by Min Yoongi. Even now, weeks after you’ve started talking to him, even mere thoughts of him elicit physical reactions from you. 

Your heart rate picking up, skin flushing where your neck meets your collarbone… maybe you’re allergic to Min Yoongi.  

It’s hard for your mind not to run wild with conclusions and assumptions after what happened between the two of you, even if a day hasn’t elapsed yet.  

Why hadn’t he texted? Does he do this often? Did he hate it? Did he ghost me, and now I’m never going to hear from him again? Should I text him first? Why is this so hard? 

Why do I care so much? 

The worst part is, you can’t turn it off. The thoughts follow you throughout the day, a weight sitting on your shoulders as you flit from class to class, building to building, rehearsal to rehearsal. Once the sun dips below the horizon, you’ve almost completed the process of resigning yourself to never knowing the answers to any of your questions. 

You make a note to yourself that you might start grieving the loss of any sort of closure–other than what Yoongi had given you the day before. All evenings this semester have been relegated to the confines of the practice room, so that’s where you head next after chamber music rehearsals end. Finally, the Bach partita has a purpose in your life other than plaguing your waking dreams–something to focus on other than Yoongi. But for God’s sake, it sounds pathetic when it’s put like that. 

Your. Life. Doesn’t. Revolve. Around. Min. Yoongi. You tell yourself, punctuating each word as you march down the stairwell in the music building. You clutch your violin case to your body, seeking warmth in the cold plastic. 

The universe likes to play tricks on people, and its language is irony. Yoongi taught you that lesson, the hard way. 

So it almost makes sense that the next time you encounter Yoongi is when you collide head-on with Yoongi’s smooth chest as you speed-walk through the doorway once you’re at the foot of the stairs. Just as you dreaded (and knew was going to happen anyway), your cheeks light up, some light from deep within you turning on. You kick yourself for the fact that your entire body perks up in his existence, erasing the cold and the tiredness from the night before. 

“Oh–I didn’t expect to see you here.” At the very least, Yoongi doesn’t look like he hates you. Or is disgusted by you. If anything, he looks a bit coy. If you could let yourself believe it, there might even be the warmth of fondness in his eyes, and even more incredulously, maybe the hard edge of guilt. 

“Didn’t expect? Yoongi, I’m here more than my own room.” You laugh despite the thoughts that have been trailing you all day, sounding something like cherry blossoms floating on the new breeze that spring has brought. You feel like you’ve forgiven him for something that he didn’t do, even if he hasn’t said anything yet. 

Just seeing him makes you feel better, the devil in the back of your head whispers. 

“Right, right.” His answering laughter is familiar. Even now, ever after everything, he still has the audacity to smooth his hands over your shoulders, make sure you’re intact and okay. “Violin okay? You okay?” 

You try not to let his scant touches send a shiver down your spine, just so you don’t give him that satisfaction, but you fail all the same. You manage a nod, but can barely bring yourself to look in his eyes. But is it for fear of seeing that warm tenderness again, or something else? 

“So…” With no prompting from you, Yoongi slides a fingertip underneath your chin. It feels simultaneously casual and momentous, and you’re not sure which one you prefer. 

Is this really happening right now? 

He looks deep into your eyes, taking inventory of something that you’re too self-conscious to think about right now. 

Of course, you’re self-conscious. You bump into your hookup a day after the fact, now that it’s nighttime in the practice rooms on the second floor of the music building. Both of you should be somewhere else, anywhere else, preferably drunk. How could it not be awkward, and how could you not feel self-conscious? 

His eyes flick lower, to your lips, and you avert your gaze. Yoongi’s hand returns to his side, and he coughs. 

“Sooo…” You say, digging your foot through the carpet, the warmth of his hands lingering on your skin. You play with the buckles on your violin case, just to give your hands something to do. You hope he says something first, because you’re sure as hell not going to do it. 

“Got something to say?” There’s a hint of a laugh in his words. He coughs again. 

“I thought you were going to say something,” You say, still not looking at him. It’s all you can do to not shrink away. In the dim lighting of the mouth of the hallway, there’s no way he can see your blush, but you turn away all the same. 

He’s smiling like he knows something you don’t, or maybe like he’s purged the last thirty-six hours from his memory. “Let’s not be strangers, come on. Are you busy?” 

“Not… particularly.” You commit to the words before you can finish the thought. 

“Can you do me a favor?” Right. So he wants something from you. Of course, of course he wants something from you. 

“What kind of favor?” 

“I was going to print something downstairs, but now that you’re here, can you listen to my piece? I need a second opinion.” He sighs, as if remembering something sweet. “It’s time I made it even, right? I’ve kept you waiting for long enough.” He smiles, just barely, and yet it feels like a gift. 

So that’s it. It’s confirmed. This is officially Not a Thing, you consign yourself to the fact. It’d be a lie to say that you aren’t a little bit relieved. At least you have an answer. 

There’s no need for a great step forward that’s necessary. No more awkward conversations like these, no admitting of feelings, let alone reciprocation of feelings. 

Nothing has to change between the two of you. Isn’t that what you wanted? 

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” You say, like it shouldn’t have been a question in the first place. You hate that even despite his silence on the matter, you’re running back to his side. You hate that you’re happy that he still wants anything to do with you. You ignore the empty kind of ache in your chest, too hollow and too full at the same time. 

You follow him down the narrow hallway, past the couch where it all began, and into the practice room. Of course, Yoongi’s already booked the only one isn’t a dingy cesspool. 

He pats the space next to him on the piano bench, beckoning you closer. 

“Sit down, don’t stand the whole time.” 

“Don’t you need the space?” 

“No, no, it’s okay. Come here.” If it’s even possible, your face burns even hotter when you sit down next to him, shoulders brushing just so. It’s harder to forget about the fact that you are hopelessly crushing on Min Yoongi when you’re literally touching him again. 

It reminds you of all his touches from before, because it was good. The sex was good. If it had been awkward and fumbling, if Min Yoongi hadn’t been able to push you over the edge with only his mouth and that look in his eye, you would be a lot more inclined to leave those memories in the past. 

You don’t need to relive the memory over and over, an endless reel. And yet, glimpses, flashes, disjointed stills of that morning still follow you everywhere. But you look at him now, silently flipping through the marked pages on his score, and now you see more than just a good lay. Looking at him now, in his natural state, you’ve fallen down the rabbit hole, you’re whipped, there’s no chance for you.  

“I don’t have it memorized yet, please don’t judge me.” You try not to think about the way he had pulled you closer by your hips. You try not to think about what you might have thought was lovesickness in his eyes. You try not to think of the timbre of his voice, when he told you to come for him. You try not to think about that. 

“Really, a pianist who can’t memorize his pieces? Sacreligious.” The delivery of your jibe falls flat. You steady the ricketing breath in your lungs. You’re nervous, and tired. Accepting that your Min Yoongi has absolutely no interest in you other than when he needs you for something isn’t easy, you know. 

“Oh come oooon y/n, this is something I’m learning this semester.” He pouts, just like he had before the both of you had fallen into this nebulous mess of feelings. Or maybe, it’s all one-sided and you’re the only one feeling like things have gotten messy. 

You poke him in the side, which you regret immediately after doing so. “I’m just joking. Show me your piece. Are you warmed up?” Yoongi turns pink, again. 

You remember the pink dusting his cheeks when he was–right, you’re supposed to be forgetting that ever happened. 

He runs his tongue along his lower lip, everything moving in slow motion. Your head is swimming. 

Well, maybe things aren’t moving in slow motion, and it’s the proximity to Min Yoongi that’s making time distort. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m fine. Are you ready to listen?” 

“Yeah. Go ahead.” 

Yoongi hovers his hands over the keys. He does that pianist thing you’ve always loved, where he pauses before the keys, preparing to play. 

He leans in slowly, sinking his hands down, pulling out a sound so sweet and, so, so solemn. This is a different Yoongi than the one thirty seconds ago. 

You realize somewhat belatedly that the fluorescent lights, the same ones that erase any sort of proper time telling in windowless rooms like these, still make Yoongi look good. The light bounces off of him just right, his cheekbones casting a gentle shadow on the sloped panes of his face. Like the rest of him, there’s no harsh angles, just soft gentle slopes that feel like home. Like comfort. Your gut twists in yearning. The hollow of his cheekbone is the perfect place to kiss, you ponder. 

Things should be easier now. All of it was a mistake. It’s in the past. It seems that Yoongi doesn’t seem to care at all. It should be forgotten about. Things, in theory, should be easier now. You should be able to carry on as you’ve always been able to. The path of least resistance, right?

He pauses, and begins what must be the main theme, cascading sixteenth-notes that sound about as tumultuous and troubled as you feel. 

He looks like he’s about to cry. Sure, you’ve seen sleepy Yoongi, cranky Yoongi, even a little bit of earnest, pleading Yoongi. But whoever is in front of you is entirely different. He’s approaching the main theme again, hands jumping over the keys as if they were hot irons. You can see all the versions of him laid out before you. Younger Yoongi, hands too small to reach the tenths written in his score. Hungover Yoongi that shuffles into class a couple minutes late, remnants of a late night out drinking written all over his face. The Yoongi that holds your hands between his and tells you that everything is going to be okay. 

When he reaches the final cadence, he doesn’t look at you immediately, still trained on the keys. His hands are still placed in the final chord, lifting them off slowly so the sound doesn’t quite fade away yet. The both of you stay like that, in the aftermath of what he just played. You hear the click as he takes his foot off the pedal. The tension that he was churning out doesn’t fade away when the sound stops. If anything, it gets worse. Blood rushes to your cheeks, the room warmer than it was before. 

“So… that’s what I’ve been working on so far. I, uh, hope you liked it.” It’s shocking how that compelling spirit from just minutes ago dissipates into thin air. He looks vulnerable, naked despite the fact that he’s fully clothed. 

“You’ve been holding out on me, Min Yoongi.” You laugh in disbelief, blinking away tears. God, you are so fucked. Sure, you’ve heard him play before, practicing with him. But you’re not practicing with him now, you’re watching. You’ve become the audience, and the dynamic has changed once again. 

There’s been many a night where you googled his previous performances and competitions on Youtube, but this doesn’t compare. Not in the slightest. So this is what all your teachers were talking about when they were lecturing you about the importance of stage presence. 

“Uh, wow. Wow.” You’re still tearing up, no matter how much you try to will it away. 

You’re not even really sure why you’re tearing up or why you can’t stop. It’s usually difficult for music to elicit such a visceral reaction from you. Goosebumps, sure. That very specific thrill down your spine when you hear music that isn’t so much as something that you hear, but feel in your blood, thumping, alive, real. 

But tears, no. That doesn’t happen.

It feels like your body is reacting to something that isn’t tangible, that you can’t see with your eyes or hear with your ears. Like there’s something else in the room that you can’t quite register. Like you’re crying despite yourself. 

You desperately want to kiss him. You want to pull him close and breathe in his familar scent and feel him pull you closer. It feels like the only appropriate thing to do, rather than just say “wow” over and over, in that stupid longing voice because you don’t what else to say. This is too overwhelming. More overwhelming than what it feels like when he finally puts his hands on you. 

It’s the only thing you want to do. You can’t imagine the night ending in any other way. It seems like it was prewritten in the stars, like the universe came together to stitch this scene together. Like it was fate for you to find him here, long after the sun disappeared over the horizon, practicing just like you were.

But you can’t, so you hug him. Like an absolute idiot. 

You regret it as soon as your arms circle around his shoulders. Yoongi stiffens, as if startled, as if he wasn’t expecting the hug either. Then his hand come to awkwardly pat the space between your shoulder blades, as if this couldn’t get any worse. This feels like a consolation prize. 

He can’t see your face nestled against his shoulder, but you cringe. 

You feel the vibration of his laughter against you, his shoulders shaking, “You liked it that much?” You can feel the way his voice resonates in his chest, and like everything else about this ordeal, it’s overwhelming. 

“Yeah,” You pull back away from him, relieved that the moment is over, “Yeah, I liked it. Winter Wind, right?” 

“Yeah, fitting for this fucking weather.” 

You laugh. “Look, thanks. But I gotta go, it’s getting late and I have a paper due tonight. Thank you, again. It’s really good.” You pick up your case, “You have good start, but keep practicing. Can’t stop until you have it memorized, ha.” You try to force a laugh. 

You hope you don’t look like you’re fleeing the scene. (Except you are. You leave the building without even practicing. But you don’t tell him that.) 

As you stream down the steps leading to the music building, the cool night air blotting away the swelling tears in your eyes, there’s something else that takes up residence in your heart: jealousy, and initiative. 

You envy the lucky bitch that ends up with Min Yoongi. And if Yoongi won’t talk about it, then you will. You won’t let him drag you around on a whim without a real answer. You can’t bring yourself to wait any longer. 

~

Min Yoongi doesn’t like you back. 

At least, that’s what he tries to tell himself before he goes to sleep, as if lying to himself might make sleep come more easily. 

The truth is, you are Min Yoongi’s favorite bedtime story. Like many other nights before, Yoongi falls asleep thinking of you, hashing and rehashing all the little details and inside jokes and past conversations. It’s a small comfort during this semester, thoughts of you keeping him warm. 

Tonight, Yoongi is replaying the conversation from earlier, the way he saw you nervously rubbed at the tough calluses on your left hand while he was playing for you, out of the corner of his eye. It made Yoongi want to make you smile, laugh at his bad jokes, and maybe, if you’d let him, gasp against his lips. It’s been less than a day since he saw you and yet he misses your laugh. 

That morning after class, you had sat up, blinking away the sun filtering through his shades, or maybe trying to clear the post-orgasm fog. Post- orgasms fog. Then you mumbled something about being late for class, a thin layer of sweat shining down to your chest. 

You had thanked him, then laughed at the misstep. God, you were so dorky that you thanked him. How was he ever supposed to resist you? 

How had the two of you come so far? 

 And the guiltiest indulgences Yoongi would allow himself in the middle of the night were the things he hadn’t experienced with you. Like a kiss. He hasn’t gotten a chance to do that, not yet. Maybe not ever. Would it be chaste? Slow and romantic? Or would it be impassioned and angry? 

Yoongi is particularly fond of the image of taking you to the jazz cafe a little ways away from campus. Would you wear a dress, once the weather warms up a little bit? What kind of coffee would you order? Do you even like jazz? What would it feel like to feel your hand slotted against his? 

He definitely wasn’t been thinking about pushing you up against the mirror in the practice room and seeing if the soundproof padding was actually properly installed. Or about that morning after classes, and those little mewling noises you made to urge him on. You were so desperate. It was cute, to say the least. 

But Yoongi wasn’t trying to think about that right now. He was thinking more about your unwavering diligence. Or the merriment in your eyes despite the tired shadows that hung beneath them. Or the way you didn’t back down from the way that he was obviously flirting with him, fighting fire with fire.

How much longer can the both of you live in denial, waiting for the other to make a tentative step forward? 

The more he thinks about it–about you–the less he can comfortably stay in his little bubble of denial. Denial can only get him so far. He tells himself that whatever relationship between the two of you is inevitable, and someone is going to do something eventually, and that’s why he’s not making a move just yet. 

Much of your relationship (or lack thereof) has been stepwise progression, slow steps. Graduating slowly from classmate to study partners to friends and closer, still. And now Yoongi had made this great leap and it felt like the both of you were lost amid the signals and the truths neither of you knew how to broach. 

And no matter how brave he is on stage, it’s nothing compared to being up close and personal with you. Cheesily enough, it’s easy enough to show a crowd what he’s been working on for months, but with you, he has to improvise. 

Truth be told, Yoongi knew he was being idealistic. The space that you two existed in had become precious to him, and he didn’t want to do anything to upset the balance, until now. There’s no easy way to make this all go away. Both of you were in too deep now. 

He saw the way you sighed into his touch, the way your eyes would go unfocused when he said something that was even remotely flirtatious, then then snap back to reality, as if you were reminding yourself of something. He knew you wouldn’t do anything any time soon. The past evening had shown him that. 

  And how was he supposed to admit his feelings for you… when he could hardly admit them to himself, in the privacy of his own room? 

And now, how could Yoongi make sense of anything? Every quiet moment carried the ghost of your voice. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the way you had squeezed your eyes shut when he brought you to rapture. Even when you’re not with him, you’re filling up his senses. His thoughts. 

Am I in love with my friend? Are we friends because we’re in love? Am I feeling like this because of the way she says my name? Am I feeling like this because of the way she touches me? 

So those are all the reasons. To not talk to you. To talk to you. God, how the fuck was Yoongi supposed to know? 

~

You (5:03pm): hey, I think we should talk soon 

 The minutes tick by. Does the time always pass this slowly, you think to yourself. Your hand hovers over your phone keyboard. 

Fuck… what have I done. 

 You (5:15pm): that sounds sooo scary lol no pressure okay? 

 You grow desperate in the wake of his silence. Have you ruined it all?  

 Yoongi (5:30pm) yeah 

Yoongi (5:31pm): sorry I was practicing 

Yoongi (5:31pm): wasn’t looking at my phone  

Yoongi (5:31pm): let’s talk then 

Yoongi (5:32pm): where are you? 

 You find yourself at his apartment once again, the closed door spelling out all the possibilities in front of you. At least give him the benefit of the doubt, something reasons inside of you, but something darker says, think of what he’s put you through.  

Think of what you’ve put yourself through, you finally think. You’ve stood outside long enough. You’ve overwrought this, alone, long enough. 

Each knock that you rap against the door sounds like another nail in the coffin, but you still cling onto the last dregs of hope left in you. 

The door opens immediately, a rush of warm air enveloping you from outside. “Hey,” Yoongi says, shyly, almost demure in his lounge clothes and undone hair. 

You want to take him apart. 

“Hey,” You mirror, and try to pretend like Min Yoongi hasn’t stolen the breath out of you for what seems like the thousandth time. You hate that he has this effect on you. With nothing but a simple greeting, it seems like you’ve forgiven him for all your grief already. You try to push that feeling further down, trying to stay objective. 

Yoongi leads you to his couch. “Here… sit down. It’s cold outside, I made tea,” He says, padding into the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything else, but it looks like he knows exactly what you want to talk about. There’s something in the little tick in his jaw that tells you he’s just as sure as you are, but you’re tired of guessing. Your eyes are blurring from looking in between the lines for so long. 

There’s a big difference between overt facts and implied certainties. Fact: You and Yoongi are friends who study together, and now, ex-hookups. Implied: There’s something more there, something between friend and one-time hookup. 

“Um, what did you want to talk about?” Yoongi says, setting down a steaming mug in front of you. You don’t reach for it. 

“I–” You steel yourself for the words to tumble out of your mouth, but you lose your nerve. You had prepared a whole monologue on the walk to his apartment, but it doesn’t seem right now. You sigh, loosening the tension in your shoulders. “I wanted to talk about… about the last time I was at your apartment.” You hope it’s enough for him to get your point, and you hope that he’ll be honest and direct. He owes at least that much to you. 

“What about last time? Like specifically, what about last time?” Yoongi says, not flippantly. Please, you silently plead, please… just say something good.  

“Yoongi,” You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what’s to come, “What happens now? What does it mean? Please, just be honest.” When you hear your voice leave your body, you can hear how pained you sound. It wasn’t something you intended. You match his gaze and his eyes are like mirrors. “Yoongi… whatever you say, I won’t be angry. I just–I just want to know how you feel.” Your voice trembles. You hope you don’t sound as pathetic and humiliated as you feel, the scorned hookup. 

Worse yet, the scorned hookup who didn’t get the hint the first time. 

“No, no. You deserve the truth.” He sets his mug on the table, and you bristle at the fact that he doesn’t use a coaster. “I’ll, um, tell you my side of the story. Just to be clear I’m not like, mad at you, or anything like that. I’m also not the type to fuck and go… even though it looks like that. And I’m not like, going to ghost you or anything. Unless you want me to do that. In that case,” Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, lingering on the nape of his neck, “I’ll do that.”  

“Can you do something for me, y/n? Can you just–” Yoongi holds his hands out in front of him, and he clasps his hands between yours. He always knows exactly how to comfort you, even now. 

He sighs. “I wasn’t… expecting everything to happen like this. y/n, I… Just let me think about what to say for a second. But I promise, you’ll get the explanation you’re owed.” Another deep breath in. Another deep breath out. 

You sit like that for what seems like a long, stretched out moment, your hands clasped in Yoongi’s, his brow furrowed. 

“Why didn’t you say something yesterday?” You burst out. 

Yoongi clears his throat. “Okay, look. I have… a lot of… okay, I just, I wasn’t sure how to go about this whole thing. And that morning in class, I rushed everything and after that I wasn’t sure how to approach you. Then when I saw you in the music building afterward, I just wanted to talk to you… to make sure you were okay. I saw you and I blanked. I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t know what to do without making it weird. That’s a shitty reason, but I blanked and didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry.” 

“So,” You blink, frustrated, confused, flushed hot with embarrassment and maybe a little bit of arousal, “Okay,” You say. At least you’re getting somewhere. “So… why did it happen? Why… why did we…” 

Your eyes sting, and you breathe deeply, as if you might run out of words. “Was it all in my head?” 

Yoongi’s clammy hands tighten around yours, as if he’s afraid you’ll leave. 

“No,” Yoongi exhales, “No, it wasn’t.” 

Your body is running hot and cold. It feels like something in the air has been punctured, all the tension, all the doubts, rushing away. Something new rushes in. 

“I spent all this time guessing and wondering and hoping. I ran myself ragged with all my thinking. It’s not your fault, mostly, but I’m so tired. Of guessing.” 

He smiles. Well, smirks, in that Yoongi fashion that makes it feel like the top of your head is spinning. “Stop thinking so much then.” 

“It was–” Yoongi’s voice breaks, rips in half. “It was a mistake,” Yoongi lies. You know he’s lying. You can tell from the way his eyes are looking everywhere on your face but your eyes. You can tell from the way that he wrings his hands, like he’s reading a pre-written apology from behind the camera. “I’m so, so confused about everything. This isn’t going the way I thought it would–not that–it’s just my words aren’t coming out like I thought they would. I’m sorry. I don’t mean it like a bad thing.” 

Yoongi sighs, “I thought this would be easier.” And when you look at him again, you can see the pink on his cheeks. And how dilated his pupils are, and the decreasing proximity between his lips and your lips, because again Yoongi is still death-gripping your hands in his. If you could let yourself entertain the idea, he might be pulling you closer.  

“You’re going to need to be more specific,” You say. You lean away from him, hoping that the energy in the room will simmer down if you’re not centimeters away from falling into his arms. You need to hear him talk more, say everything, explain himself. You can’t leave this room without knowing more, you won’t be satisfied with anything but the truth and the full truth. You really don’t have the energy to wait more. 

“Well, even before everything–” And this is where Yoongi waves his hands in the air, gesticulating wildly. He doesn’t elaborate, although you suppose “before the almost-handjob in class and the whole mouth-fucking each other on your couch” is a bit of a mouthful. 

“Even before everything– I knew you liked me. Like, you can’t even be surprised that I knew. Because you were really obvious. Like so obvious. But yeah. I knew, and I thought it was cute, and it was super flattering.” 

You open your mouth for a response, but you concede that he’s right. You flush ever hotter. 

Yoongi’s voice drops a little lower, like he’s telling you a secret, “And it was so fun to mess with you. Like, I could make this cute fucking girl blush and giggle and squirm and it was all because of me, how can I not be flattered? How can I not want to spend more time with you, push all your buttons? I figured you’d eventually do something about it. But you never did, no matter how much I pushed it with you. I wanted you to make the first move. But we started getting closer, and I thought maybe you were never going to do anything about it. Like we agreed to be friends, but on the inside we both liked each other? I didn’t want that to happen, but I was too scared to just go and ask you out. So I was getting frustrated. So that morning, I was just messing around with you again. I wanted to annoy you during class, I wasn’t expecting anything to come out of it. But you–I guess you were frustrated too, because you called me on my bluff. And then, you know, one thing leads to another and we’re somehow at my apartment, which I barely remember how we got there in one piece before–” Yoongi stops, breathless and something tender sparkling in his eyes. His hands aren’t gripping you like you might run away, just resting on the tops of your knees. Reminding you that he’s there. 

“And now, in the present, I’m just confused? Did I like you before or after we…” He trails off, bashful still, even now. “Or do I feel like this now because we were together? And does that even matter now, because I like you regardless?”

All the blood has rushed away from your chest. It feels like someone has knocked all the air from you but also as if a winch has tightened ever-so around your heart. 

“Let’s take it slow, if that’s something you want. Nobody…” You grapple for something to say, after that hell of a fucking lovesick speech, “Nobody said that you needed all the answers now. Don’t rush.” You take his hands back into yours. 

The weight of it all hits you slowly, in successive waves. You don’t have to filter anything out, never have to make yourself feel appropriate for him. When you practice with him, study with him, eat with him… all the quiet spaces and body-wracking laughter just feel like a perfect fit. Nothing out of place. There’s never a conversation topic or something to stray away from, other than circumventing the feelings you have for him. Even then, it’s not like Yoongi pretends like the attraction isn’t there. He doesn’t skirt around it, avoid it like taboo conversation. It really only serves to amplify your conversations, a red thread pulled taut underneath everything else. 

And now, you can give into that? You can show him how you really feel, and there’s just one less thing to hide? 

“You know, you’re not blameless. I was super stressed out at the time, and with the Bach Festival and midterms and everything I guess… you gave me the opportunity to lessen that a little, so. I know, I know. It’s a shitty excuse. But I wanted things with you and with the way that things converged, it seemed like–” 

“Serendipity?”  

“A bit like that, yes.” You tighten your hands around his, and he pulls you a little closer. You’re leaning over his lap now. 

You can’t choose whether to look into his eyes or at his lips. It looks like Yoongi has the same problem. He pulls you imperceptibly closer. 

“Can I kiss you? If that’s not rushing, of course.” 

“Yeah. Yes, please.” You soften yourself into his lap, Yoongi pulling you closer by the shoulders, sliding down to rest on your arms. You relish in the sensation, knowing it’s something that you can enjoy with a reassured heart now. 

He plants a closed kiss against your lips, and somehow that makes your heart flutter more than anything else he’s ever done before. The pads of his fingertips are soft and gentle against your arms, pulling you closer by the bicep. 

“I like you… I like you a lot…” Yoongi whispers against your lips, laughing at the confession. So sweet, so soft. 

“I like you too…” You whisper, kissing back. Slow, chaste, if a bit restrained. The realization hits you again, slowly, like an ocean wave washing over wet sand. 

Yoongi likes you back. Yoongi wants you back. You laugh at how absurd it sounds, even in your own head, nipping at his lip. “Say it again, Yoongi.” 

“I like you…” Yoongi sounds coy. 

You smile against him, “Say it again,” You gasp, pushing him back on the couch, gentle but firm, “I like you too, in case you didn’t know.” You can’t help but laugh. Not at the absurdity at the situation, but just out of happy shock. 

“y/n, I like you…” Yoongi chuckles, deep in his chest, looking up at you. His hair falls out of his eyes. 

“Do you know how happy it makes me, to hear you say that?” 

You’re honestly surprised that you don’t have whiplash. Whiplash from the weeks of tension and denial, feeling like you would never get this relief, but now you have a whole new set of problems. Dating Min Yoongi. 

~

This whole “taking it slow” thing is fucking bullshit. The past couple weeks have been one long sustained effort, some kind of marathon in testing the waters, drawing back and then pushing forward. 

Maybe you spoke too soon. You have to admit that the slow build, chaste romantic courtship is nice . 

The study dates are more than nice. The coffee shop dates feel almost luxurious, expensive in time in the same way that the actual coffee is cheap. 

Actually, all of this is a lot nicer than having to guess his every intention, the message between the lines. But you already know what it’s like to have Min Yoongi. 

In fact, things have been largely the same for the past couple weeks, except now you can feel the weight of his flirtatious jokes. You can now confidently say that Yoongi says what he means. The more time you spend with Yoongi, the more liberated you feel in letting yourself delight in the feeling of being allowed to show your feelings for him, and having them be duly reciprocated. 

After the confessional evening the both of you had, Yoongi had agreed to take it slow. In your lovesick state, you probably would have said yes to anything that Min Yoongi put on the table. Which is probably why you agreed to the whole courtship thing. 

“y/n… think about it like this! If we take our time then when the time finally comes… to… uh, you know, then it’ll be so much more gratifying. And I want to be with you more, like this,” Yoongi says, as you lean against his chest, feeling it rise and fall with his words. 

“Delayed gratification, have you ever heard of that?” Yoongi had said, smiling wider than you’d ever seen. 

“Although from my experience with you, I think you like instant gratification more,” He said, a touch darker. Your memory blurs now, because that was about the time he started tickling you relentlessly. And then kissing you relentlessly.  

And at the time, you had agreed. The delayed gratification would make everything better, make the world a little more rose-colored than before. 

You don’t want to push his boundaries, he doesn’t want to push yours, but now it’s begun nearly feels both of you are so afraid of each other that you haven’t touched each other in what seems like fucking forever–and it’s reached a boiling point, from what you can gather this evening. 

The newfound tension between the two of you is new, maybe a day or two at most, but annoying nonetheless. 

 “Y/n, how many times have I told you? Stop rushing. Do you need me to count your part out? One, two, three, four.” He punctuates every count with a clap in your face, and a sneer to boot. 

Yoongi has been especially volatile this evening. His normal jokes and jabs at you fall just short of endearing. Your initial approach at remedying the situation by focusing on the music at hand has only seemed to make things worse, and you’ve given in to your slowly-growing temper. 

“I am fucking counting, and I’m not the one playing fucking half notes, okay? How about you just focus on making the harmony, I don’t know, harmonious ?” You lower your violin, face screwing up in anger, only you don’t know how much of it is joking anymore. 

You don’t know how much longer you can take this kind of tension in the air. It feels angry and red and biting, but you can’t help it. The stale air-conditioned air in the practice room only seems to make your face warmer and warmer as time passes. 

All this tension, and no release. That’s what music is all about. The build-up of musical intensity, the expectation and anticipation for resolution. It’s like you’ve been stuck on the same chord of a cadence, waiting for a release that feels like it isn’t coming anytime soon. 

You take a deep breath, the frustration tightening in your chest. “From measure eighty-four, and take the fucking repeat this time. Let’s just move onto the next section after this, we’ll just come back to it later.” 

You fight the urge to huff and sigh, knowing it would only earn you a comment from Yoongi about being, as he had put it, ‘wound up.’ Yeah, no shit, you’re wound up. Wound up is putting it lightly. Just last week Yoongi had made a mess of you at his apartment, teasing you apart and then stopping just short of an orgasm. And he said the same thing last week too: delayed gratification. 

You try again, cueing him in with a sharp breath and the uptake of your bow. 

And again, and again, and again. 

“This isn’t working.” You set your violin on the soft lining of your case and rub your temples, resting your upper body on the body of the piano. You swipe the back of your hand across your face, breathing in the clean smell of the hand soap from Yoongi’s apartment bathroom, from when you were there a couple hours ago. Warm. Brown sugar. It feels like his embrace–if only you’d ever feel it again. 

God, why did you let him push all your buttons? All evening–ever since the two of you left his apartment to come to the practice rooms–he’s been acting like this. You know it has something to do with you, another game. But you don’t have the energy to divine his ulterior motive, whatever it is. You shut your eyes to provide some reprieve from the strain of staring at the same phrase that you have been stuck on for what has felt like an eternity.

“Yeah, this isn’t fucking working,” He says. It reminds you of the way he talked to you when you found him practicing in the early morning that one Tuesday. You only open your eyes when you hear him get up from his bench. 

Min Yoongi is standing too close to you. His eyes are on your lips and not your eyes. Even in the dim light of the practice room, you can see how dilated his pupils are. 

You meet his eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, more breathless than he’d like to admit, “You’re provoking me. Why?” 

“Who said I was trying to do that? I think you,” You point a finger at his chest, looking into his eyes, “Are provoking me.” You try to sound as petulant as possible, and it works. 

Yoongi’s lips meet yours before you can even take your hands off of him. 

In the best sense of the word, you are cornered. Backed up against the piano, enclosed by his arms. He slips his hands up underneath the cotton of your sweatshirt, pulling you flush against him. His cool fingertips grazing the small of your back have you gasping against his soft lips. 

“Tell me, why are you provoking me?” 

“I, well-” You don’t continue with an excuse, because you’re finally getting what you want. What you both want. 

He presses on. “Gonna answer my question, or are you just gonna keep being a little brat?”  He wedges his thigh between your legs, closer to where you need him most. You stifle a moan, it’s too soon to be making those kinds of sounds, but you grind down on him anyway. “What?” He laughs, the sound sitting deep in his chest. “Aren’t you going to say something?” 

You try to focus on the possessiveness in the way that he holds you by the waist, so you’re not thinking about how weak your knees are. 

He sighs, as if in disappointment. Only you’re not sure who it’s directed towards. 

“If I touch you right now, will you be wet?” He laughs. “I don’t even have to guess.” The ghost of his breath fans against your upper lip. “Is this what you want? Do you, do you, want to keep going?” Yoongi stops his ministrations. When you meet his eyes, both of you breathless, you can see the inquiring concern in his eyes again. 

“Yes, yes, don’t stop,” you say, trying, and failing, not to sound frantic, “Only if you’ll see it through to the end this time,” You bite. 

He laughs, devoid of mirth. “You say that like it’s not hard for me, either.” His hands trail down your torso to rest at the waist of your jeans. You don’t want to pseudo-argue with him anymore, so you just whine a little from the back of your throat, hoping he’ll get the point. 

You don’t want him to think that this isn’t what you want, because truth be told, it is exactly what you want. Your hands come to meet his when you reach to undo the button. 

“You know exactly what to do.” He laughs, lighter this time. He’s laughing like he’s not mad at you. He helps undo your jeans, pushing them and your panties just past your thighs. You gasp when he starts rubbing gentle circles on your clit. His fingers slip against your wet, slippery pussy. 

Yoongi is everywhere. He’s crowding your space against the wall, hand down your pants, the other holding your neck in place. It’s getting overwhelming with his beautiful hand rubbing little circles on your clit. So simple, and yet it feels like you’re breaking apart underneath him. It’s getting harder and harder to bite back the moans, stay in control. 

“You know, these rooms are soundproof. Let me hear you,” He murmurs, pulling you closer. “Stop hiding from me.” 

Yoongi shifts his attention from your wet cunt to the collar of your shirt. “What’s this? Getting busy without me?” Yoongi brushes his free hand over the circular dark mark coloring the crook of your jaw. You’re starting to get impatient with all this teasing, how much more can you take? 

“Haven’t you ever heard of a violin hickey?” You spit, grinding down on his hand, but it’s not enough. God, it really has been too long since he last touched you. He never stops the gentle advance he makes on your clit, never faster, never slower. Just barely enough. “We were just practicing, it gets darker when I play.” You try to explain yourself, as if that might make him show mercy later on. 

“You’re not in any position to talk back right now, don’t forget that.” He leaves open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking gently. “I’ll just help you add to your little collection.” Your eyes roll back, unable to help yourself. It’s been so long since anyone has touched you. It’s been so long since anyone has held you so closely. 

Your desperation is beginning to show. With every movement of his hands, Yoongi starts to lessen his touch, your hips dogging his hand. You come to the realization that you’re not above begging to get what you want. He doesn’t even have to ask. 

He continues his gentle assault on your clit. “Do you know what these mirrors are for? They’re for checking your posture as you practice, but I guess this is just a different kind of practice.” He turns you around, your hips digging into the wood panelling of the piano. You’re confronted by your own fucked-out reflection, flushed and panting. You’re still mostly clothed, and yet you look debaucherous, like some ancient painting of a study into the nuances of female pleasure. “Look at you. All messy. And for what? I’ve barely touched you.” 

The frustration is too much, reaching a boiling point. “Please, I swear to God.” You bury your hands in your head, wiping away frustrated tears. Your legs are trembling now, now that Yoongi is only using one of his arms to brace you against him. 

“Please, what?” He digs his nails into the soft skin of your hip, and you can’t help but like it. He lowers his head so it’s level with your ear, sultry, low. “Use your words.” 

“Can’t you just, just-” Again, you buck your hips against his hand, as if that might make him get the point, only for him to nip at your inner thigh with his hand. 

“Don’t rush me, babe.” Babe. Min Yoongi is calling you babe. Is the universe playing some trick on you? 

He takes advantage of your position and leverages his knee on the inside of yours, spreading your legs further. “That’s it, just take it. Take it.” Finally, he takes pity on you and slips a finger inside. He earns an answering gasp. You can tell he means business, because he doesn’t take it slow, he doesn’t let you adjust, going directly at that spot inside of you that makes you keen for him. 

You struggle to stay upright, eyes rolling back. Your fingers scrabble along the dark wood of the piano, struggling to find purchase. 

“Fuck, Yoongi…” 

“So needy, look at you, so fucking needy...” He drives his point home further by adding a second finger. 

“I’m sooooo sorry… how can I ever make it up to you…?” Even despite the mind-bending pleasure and the prospect of Min Yoongi blowing your back out this evening, you roll your eyes. 

“What if someone hears?” Your point is lost when Yoongi changes the angle of his hand, and you break off into a ragged whimper. It’s loud enough to make you embarrassed to have made that sound in the presence of another person.  

“Oh, so you care about that now?” “What about that one time in class,” Yoongi all but pants in your ear, digging his nails into your thigh, “That you were being a desperate little cocktease?” 

You don’t answer, shame stoking the embers in your belly, driving lower and lower. You hate, and love, that he can make you feel like this with only some stern wording and a firm hand. Because it feels that good. Because you like him that much. 

“What then, hmm?” Yoongi doesn’t wait for a response however, before he’s yanking your jeans and panties further down your thighs. “Do me a favor. Touch yourself for me. Show me.” 

“Why?” 

“Wanna see you all messy for me,” Yoongi says, voice silky soft, liquid sex. He guides your hand down to your pussy, and god, you realize just how embarrassingly wet you are for such little foreplay. “Please?” He presses his chest flush to your back, leaning his forehead into the crook of your neck. 

You oblige him. You’re wet to the point where it’s difficult to find purchase against your clit. “Okay… but you have to forgive me.” 

“Forgive you for what?” 

“For being needy…” You say, sweetly. 

“Sure. I’ll forgive anything you do if you do this every time.” He says it like it’s a matter of fact. 

You giggle, like a lovesick idiot. At the very least, you’re glad that Yoongi can make you laugh even when you’re half-play-fighting, half-on-the-verge-of-having-sex-in-your-favorite-practice room. 

The vibrations of your laughter traveling through your body have you moving in new, novel ways against your own hand, and you break off into a moan. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Yoongi murmurs, voice barely above a scratchy whisper. He sounds genuine, and the tenderness of the moment isn’t lost to you, even despite your pleasure. At least now that you’re touching yourself, you don’t have to suffer the patient wrath of Yoongi and can touch yourself the way that you see fit. 

You feel his free hand nudge against the back of your thigh and when you look, he’s dragging the heel of his hand across his pants. 

Fuck. Fuck, you are so wrecked for Min Yoongi. 

“No, you too,” you say, “Show me too.” 

Yoongi moves away from you, pushing his waistband past his hips. He’s gripping his cock in one hand. He’s reaching for your waist again, his hand traveling up to grasp your throat. He jerks your head back. “Look, look at yourself.” 

The combined sensation of his hand on your neck and own hand on your pussy is too much. Your eyes water. “Yoongi,” You gasp, “I’m going to come.” 

“No, not yet. Not yet.” He wrenches your hand away, and the sudden lack of touch is almost cruel. 

You buck against him, his back to you. “Please, please let me come, I can’t–you can’t do this again, fuck,” Your desperation comes out in whines, all shame lost. 

“Be patient, come here.” He turns you around again, your back against the wood of the piano. And you’re looking into his eyes, dark and filled with something like lust. Min Yoongi wants you. You reach up to brush his hair out of his eyes. 

Yoongi’s on your clit again, drawing light circles, testing the wetness before slipping a finger inside again. “I wanna hear you,” He says, adding another finger, more tenacity behind his strokes. He rocks his thumb against your clit. “I wasn’t asking.” 

Up until now you’ve been biting your lip, muffling your cries as best as you can. You look up at him again, drawing up your courage. You feel exposed–how can you not, half-naked in the practice room, when you’re not completely confident that the soundproof padding on the walls can contain the sounds of your rapture. 

“You-you fuck me so good Yoongi–” And you keen, just because he asked you to. 

He stops in his fucking tracks. Again. 

“Well. You fuck me so well. You can’t describe a verb with an adjective. God, I really shouldn’t let you come…” 

“Oh my God, are you really going to do this right now.” You bear down on his hand with your hips again, seeking more friction. “Please… please, I can’t wait anymore.” You can hardly finish your sentence, as Yoongi fucks into you with a particularly hard thrust. You’re finding it difficult to keep your eyes open, instead opting to rest your head on his shoulder. 

God, he smells so good. Like fresh laundry and the melting snow outside, warm and human and reassuring. 

You can feel his smile ghosting over your neck as he leans down to suck another mark into your collarbone. “Yes, yes, I am.” 

“I’m–I’m getting close again,” You say, fisting your hands in his shirt, “Just, ah–” It takes you by surprise, crashing over you. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to stay upright, pulling Yoongi against you. You can feel his satisfied smile, as he pants against the curve of your neck, hot and heady and everything you need. 

“Good?” He asks, after your breathing has calmed, even though you know that he knows that he’s done more than a good job. 

“Okay, okay, enough bragging,” You half-laugh, half-scoff, pulling your pants up past your hips again. 

“I wasn’t bragging,” He whines. It’s endearing, and you pepper his face with kisses before you get to business again. 

You sink to your knees before him, and his expression immediately softens. You try to bridge the gap between the two of you, placing the palm of your hand on his thigh. Asking for permission. 

“Are you sure?” He says, but the expression in his eyes saying something to the effect of “I really hope you’re sure.”  

“Yes, I’m sure,” You say, smiling as you tease the head of his cock with your parted lips. You replace his hand with yours. It’s barely any contact, really, but Yoongi closes his eyes in pleasure nonetheless, head tilted back. Normally, in any other situation like this, you’d be at least a little bit nervous. Or shy, hoping that Yoongi keeps his eyes closed so he’s not looking at you. But the absolute deprivation you’ve felt for the past couple weeks is enough for you to not care. 

You sink lower, in the wake of remembering how pent up and frustrated you’ve felt for the past couple weeks. You even, at least try to, bat your eyelashes at him. But like you guessed (or had hoped), his eyes are squeezed shut. You try not to delight in the sudden change of power too much, but it’s impossible not to. 

He tightens his grip on the back of your neck, groaning. “You’re so good to me.” You take him further in your mouth, eager to please. Eager to hear him make more of those sounds. Eager to take this further. 

You try your best to make it slick, flattening your tongue against him. You’re a little out of practice, after months of being alone, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to notice. And if he does, he’s still enjoying himself. Thoroughly. 

“Fuck, fuck,” He gasps, in hushed whispers. 

“What a mouth on you…” Yoongi moves stray hairs out of your face, surprisingly tender given the lewdness of the situation. The sounds of your mouth fill the practice room, although hopefully not loud enough to expose your vulnerable position. You truly hope that the soundproof padding lining the walls works as advertised. 

“Ah–ah wait, I’m getting close, wait–ah, y/n, fuck,” He rasps. You don’t let up quite yet, letting him sit in that in-between space between ‘on the edge’ and ‘letting go’. His free hand makes a weak fist against his leg. 

Someone knocks on the door. Your first thought is that it may be security wrapping up rounds for the night. 

Your eyes widen in shock as you stand upright and zip up your jeans. The surge from adrenaline at the prospect of getting caught in the act makes your head pulse and spin. Your heart seems to have fallen from the left side of your chest all the way into the pit of your stomach. 

It’s hard to remember how aroused you were, not thirty seconds ago. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” For someone who was quite literally about to be balls-deep inside you, Yoongi tucks his dick back inside his pants with a surprising amount of tact and speed. 

Yoongi is fixing his hair in the practice mirror as you cross the room at the piano bench, pulling out your phone to make it look like the two of you were just dawdling or taking a practice break. 

Maybe twenty seconds have elapsed since the first knock at the door, which you reason might be a reasonable time for someone to stop practicing, and walk to the door to answer it. You hope it might seem reasonable. 

You can feel the pulse in your neck moving as Yoongi opens the door. You train your eyes on your phone screen, as if that might make you more nonchalant.  

“Hey, Yoongi-hyung.” The voice at the door is youthful, and energetic. You can even hear the smile in his voice. “I didn’t know you were here this late. I was looking for you!” You finally muster up the courage to stop staring at your phone, your eyes venturing to the other side of the room. 

It’s… Jungkook?  

Jungkook, as in, the only bassoonist in the department, Jungkook? 

Jungkook must have had the same idea as you, because he looks over at you at the same time you do. 

His smile falters, albeit briefly. Whatever replaces it is something akin to a smirk. A knowing smirk. An accusatory smirk. A proud smirk. 

“Hyung, who’s that?”