#their brilliance does not take away from how much everything else sucks

[realtapiocafan]

imma start crashing out

[standing-restart]

i want to be treated like i’m worthless by pierre. THIS IS ALL CONSENSUAL!!

to prepare me, my hairs tied back in a ponytail. i’m naked, so he has access to any part of me he wants, while he’s just shirtless. i’m wearing a chastity belt (bc i’m such a whore that anyone who comes up to me and asks i’ll say yes, and this is his pussy). nipple clamps finish the look, along with a collar that says whore. i’m kneeling before him, his legs spread wide, with my tongue out wide.

he spits on my face, a few times, so it travels down in my mouth. when i swallow, he laughs at me, slaps my face, calls me a cockslut and tells me i’m good for nothing but swallowing his cum.

he slaps his dick across my face, covering it in precum, telling me off when i clench my thighs together. “you’re getting off on this. you filthy whore.” i just nod (talking gets me in trouble unless i’m asked a question) because he’s not wrong, which makes him slap me with his cock again.

i let him fuck my throat, ignoring how painful it may be and how sometimes i struggle to breathe. this is what i’m meant for, for pierre’s pleasure. i’m his cumdump, nothing more. swallow every drop he gives me.

he pulls the chastity belt off but pushes me back down onto my knees, taking the leather and inspecting it. mocks me for how wet it is, how it’s covered in my juices. rubs it on my cheeks, so i can feel how much of a whore i am. tells me to stick my tongue out (i obey ofc) and runs it along my tongue so i can taste it, finishing by slapping me across the face with it.

tells me i’m not good enough for his fingers, for his tongue, definitely not his cock. not even his thigh. he’s still wearing dress shoes, and tells me to hump that like the horny bitch i am. and i do, because i’m a horny bitch for him.

mocks me continuously, the string of degradation is never ending. he’s still jerking himself off at the sight of me, lazily though, nowhere near finishing.

i beg to cum when i get close. there’s no other way to be able to. have to throw my everything towards it or else he’ll say no. he does the first time, pulling me off him, and the second time. but the third time he lets me cum, snaking his hand down to rub at my clit, releasing all over his fingers.

pulls his hand away and shoves his fingers in my mouth, telling me to suck them clean. meanwhile i start to give him a handjob, so he’s just leaning back and watching.

he finishes all over his stomach, and that’s not good for him, so i have to go and clean it all up, lick him clean. he teases my pussy while i do this. not in a fun way: he flicks it, slaps it, makes me tell him it’s his in between licks. laughs at me for being a second to slow because i’m such a cumslut i need to get every last drop.

plugs me, a dildo that’s big but nothing compared to his impressive size. i haven’t been good enough to get anything else, and i won’t for the rest of the day. i’m lucky i was even allowed to cum once.

i’m still on my knees before him. once i’d finished licking my chasity belt clean it goes back on, keep the dildo right inside me. he’s still hard, so i keep him warm with my mouth while he degrades me, let him play with my tits, adjust the nipple clamps so i shriek around him. he tells me off for that, pulling out of my mouth and slapping me across the face with his cock again.

he cums again, this time from a blowjob. more degradation, but it’s softer now, nearing the end of the scene. there’s some praise mixed in there, a gentle hand guiding my head with my hair.

i know this is quite intense but im very passionate about certain drivers being hard doms (i have so much just for pierre alone)

✨ :))

My friend, I’m packing up, closing this blog, because nothing my mind will ever come up with will ever match the brilliance that’s your mind. Holy.... 😭  this was a pleasure to receive, let me tell you that.

I might not know much, but I know that the chastity belt is custom made and has his initials stamped into the leather, just to further prove his point that you’re his. He’s so possessive, and he will absolutely show it with tools like that  (have you considered... him telling you to wear the belt underneath your clothes in public? with that dildo still inside? because I have -) 

Also, nipple clamps with little bells. An added challenge of making sure that they don’t make a sound as you try and get yourself off on his shoe. Pierre knows full well that you can’t, but he loves the challenge of making you try, just as much as he loves degrading you when you inevitably can’t.

I fully agree with you that Pierre would be the type who could play and drag out a scene for an entire day. Longer even, if he was in the mood for it. Edging you, keeping you in that headspace for so long everything around you feels kinda fuzzy. Why do I think he pulls your collar every once in a while, just a sharp tug, both to take your breath from you as well as to bring you back down to earth for a second.

Everything he does during a scene is calculated into perfection. Yes, it’s rough, but it’s never more than you can handle. When he’s coming down a bit, when he’s mixing some praise into his degradation, he’ll always tell you how well you take him  -   how you were made to be ruined by him. Okay, he’ll slap your pussy again while he says it, but that’s part of the fun.

For your consideration .... a clit clamp. that’s it, that’s all I’m saying. I genuinely think he would love using one of those on you.

[lady-ye]

Willow by Taylor Swift is totally a stydia anthem!

I was buying groceries 'cause life sucks and I heard willow by Taylor Swift playing and boy, does that song describe Lydia and Stiles so perfectly! Like listen to me, I am definitely not reaching or shit faced (maybe a little?) here. I don't even listen to pop music but these lyrics literally fits stydia feels head on.

I'm like the water when your ship rolled in that night Rough on the surface but you cut through like a knife : You cannot tell me that our favourite dorks didn't do this until they got their shit together. Lydia was the guarded cold ship to Stile's tropical sea till the end of season 2 and then Stiles became the the ship moving away from Lydia's ever warming sea of emotions that he opened the gates to.

I never would've known from that look on your face Lost in your current like a priceless wine: Lydia who though Stiles was just another boy who took her for the face value and she did the same. She perceived him as just another loser who was not worth her attention. She ignored him him in the pilot episode but as the season progressed she came to know him and he became one of her best friends. By season three she was a goner. Lydia who acknowledged she did not feel love like what Allison felt for Scott in the earlier seasons was willing to throw her life for him multiple times. Everything that Allison described came a full circle for Lydia .

The more that you say The less I know- Literally Stiles musing on how Lydia feels for him. Stiles could never gauge if his feeling were reciprocated in the same way. Annnd then when Stiles and Malia get together, Lydia did the same wondering if Stiles still felt anything for her. Wherever you stray I follow I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans: Like c'mon, do I need to even elaborate this? Like really this exactly defines Stydia until season six part B rolled down. Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind Head on the pillow, I could feel you sneaking in As if you were a mythical thing Like you were a trophy or a champion ring And there was one prize I'd cheat to win: Ahem. Lydia's actual progression towards falling in love with the boy who made a plan to get her fall in love with him. The winter formal and Peter biting Lydia which triggered her banshee nature were a domino reaction which changed her life forever and Stiles was one of the most important catalyst in the subsequent chain of reaction. Stiles sneaked into her defenses, he chipped her armor of ice and indifference little by little. Lydia who is an actual mythical creature in a world full of mythical creatures such as fox spirits, werewolves, hunters and druids seems more surprised by Stiles's unfiltered humanity. She who was once a queen bee, the girl who dated the jocks no matter how horribly they treated her realised her actual worth along with what really mattered. Stiles was always infatuated with Lydia, putting her on a pedestal but as he got to know her, she became so much more than just a romantic interest. His adoration turned to love and it was reciprocated even if he had no clue. Both of them never gave up on each other and were willing to do everything to make sure the other was safe no matter what.

Show me the places where the others gave you scars: I think this is what Stiles did that endeared him the most. He was the only one who actually saw Lydia for who she really was and soothed her insecurities that she had gathered over the years. He peeled back the layers and took in the damage others had left on her. He allowed Lydia to be herself and encouraged her to stop hiding her brilliance and heart from others. He loved every imperfection of her. You know that my train could take you home Anywhere else is hollow: I think Stydia really like really became endgame during season three. Both Lydia and Stiles's character went through a brilliant phase of discovering themselves. Lydia became confident enough in her own skin and started putting her real self out there and Stiles started growing up. He was not longer the Robin to Scott's Batman but the main character in his own story. They tried dating others and trying to make it work but imo Stiles always knew and when he rescued Lydia from Eichen house, even she knew that it was useless to resist the pull. I think Stiles's relationship with Malia put things into perspective for the viewers since Lydia never loved Jackson or Aiden and the whole Parish thing went nowhere and was honestly creepy. Stiles and Malia were cute together but while they were good on paper, Stiles's actual feelings showed whenever Lydia was involved. I think he tried filling the gap by letting Malia in especially since they started getting tanged really after the nogitsune debacle but soon realised that while he loved Malia he wasn't in love with her. They were each others tether and boy, her love for him opened a rift to another plane of existence to bring him back home(the train station scene guys!).

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Millie’s Massive Fic Rec Post

To celebrate 700 followers I’m showing all the love, people. What you’ll find here are fics that were sent to me who I agree deserve a bit more love as well as fics I’ve read and adored. They’re split into characters so all you need to do is scroll to find your fave and bask in its glory. There is some swearing but it’s only because it’s the only way I know how to express my feelings. This is also my thank you to each of the authors involved for taking the time out of their day to write these fics for free. There are also some authors I know I’ve forgotten and I am so so sorry if I have, I promise you it wasn't intentional, I love you all very much.

As always, I love and appreciate you all. Let’s get started on this ridiculously long post!!

Harry Potter:

Don’t Walk Away - @kalimagik - THE ANGST. I was on the edge of my seat through it all; I knew what was coming but did I look away? No. I was completely sucked it and that ending... oh my god, I was broken. If you’re looking for an incredibly written piece of angst that has you in tears, then this is the fic.

Dandelions - @lupins-sweater - The first post of A Very Harry Potter Summer and it was kicked off so brilliantly!! This fic had me wishing for my very own Harry to take morning walks with. It’s so wonderful; it has you wanting a summery morning and dandelions to make wishes on.

Always You - @bl597 - inspired by Louis Tomlinson’s song Always You, so I was already sold on that front. It’s an angst piece - Harry pining from afar, regretting his decisions but with a happy ending. I love that it's written from his perspective, that he realises what he’s done. I really do love this fic, and I aim to work my way through her masterlist!

The Truth Behind The Kiss - @justauthoring​ - the anticipation from the first sentence, I was on the edge of my seat. I loved every single word of this fic, it’s written so well. I just, I need you all to read this fic bc it is SO GOOD. Harry, Triwizard tournament, feelings, fluff - it has it all. 

For how long? - @siriusly-addicted-to-writing​ - It seems for Harry fics I am drawn to angst even though I write nothing but fluff for him. This fic is no different. Dani, this fic is wonderful, I love it. You capture the angst brilliantly! Go read this everyone!

Ron Weasley:

“can we pretend I never said that?” - @hello-everyfandom - I love this so much! Ron calling himself ‘the snog master’ had me snorting out loud - it’s great. And then the dialogue continues to be brilliant. I really enjoyed this fic! Ron needs more attention people!!  

Crossing Lines - @kalimagik - ADORABLE. CUTE. WONDERFUL. Oh, Ron. Everything about this fic is marvellous. The relationship between Ron and the reader, the realisation, the meddling. It was perfect, so so perfect.

birthday - @lupinsdarling - FLUFFY AND CHAOTIC AND I LOVE IT. Why oh why doesn't Ron get more love? Why doesn't this fic have more attention? It’s so fluffy and Ron is so bloody cute that my heart physically hurt while reading this. It hurt because it was so PURE.

Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley:

Girls in one room - @eleven-times-lively - Hermione x Reader - oh my god I snorted at Ron, I love it. And the fluff? There’s so much fluff, I can't deal with the fluff. If you’re going to read a Hermione fic, read this one!

just as lovely - @vanillann - this is so pure! it’s so wonderful, and the relationship between Hermione and the reader is so cute! 

Hug ur friends drabble - @firewhisky-kisses - Ginny x Reader - it’s the cutest thing I’ve read, oh my god, is it cute! I love everything about this, Steph is so talented! But I go into that further down.

Neville Longbottom:

Never the Bride - @obsessedwithrandomthings - Dee’s fic reads as a rom com, it’s so brilliantly done. By the time you're at the end, you feel as if you’ve just watched a two hour rom com and need to squeal into your pillow because of the feels. I love this fic.

Moonlight Swim - @kalimagik - Neville. Oh, Neville. This fic stole my heart and it won't give me it back. The idea of a moonlight swim with Neville? Here for it. And the confession? *chefs kiss* incredible. 

Healing - @firewhisky-kisses - I cannot put into words how much I loved this fic,. Steph is just so incredibly talented and writes Neville so wonderfully. Healing is the first fic of two and that second part had me in happy tears because Neville deserves the world. I go back and reread this a lot when I need to boost my emotions, so thank you for this Steph.

Good News - @peachesandpinks - Let me explain something here, Ron repeatedly and without fail hypes up fic writers to the point where she makes me cry happy tears at her comments. Her writing (and I'm going to swear now) is fucking brilliant. I love it, I adore it. Ren has a way with words that I only hope to master. This fic? Marvellous, magnificent, wonderful - pick a synonym and go wild. It’s so sweet and wholesome - what more could you possibly want other than to be on her taglist?

Tally Marks - @obsessedwithrandomthings NEVILLE WITH TATTOOS PEOPLE! NEVILLE! WITH! TATTOOS! Do I need to say anymore? Yes? Okay. Dee is a fantastic writer but she writes Neville perfectly. We have had many conversations about her love for Neville and her love for him shines through in this fic. She writes with such care and I love reading everything.

Draco Malfoy: 

The Purist - @mxl-foy - This series is so good. Like, so good, that if it was a physical book, it would be sat on my shelves. I would religiously check her account every time I came onto Tumblr to see if a new chapter was posted, and if there was, you best believe there was a happy dance. It’s so incredibly thought out and plotted. And there’s going to be a part two! It’s so great!

Notes - @malfoys-demigod - This is so sweet! I live for fluffy Draco as you all know if you read my Draco fics, but I adore reading fluffy Draco as well. This fic is so adorable, I love it! 

Always so Cold - @teheharrypotter - Five times Draco gave you his sweater and the one time you accepted. I love these sort of fics, they’re my indulgence fics. Jealous!Draco is one of my favourite things to read as well. and he’s so dramatic. I couldn't ask for more in a fic, definitely one of my favourites. 

the distance between us - @sdicapriox - This is a genius idea. I love this idea, and I love how it was executed. Almost 10k words of brilliance. I love the reader and her first letter to Draco and her entire personality - fish funeral? genius. I really like how you portray Draco and the effort you put into his internal monologue, it really is something excellent. The ending as well, I won't spoil, I just urge people to read this. 

Heartbreak - @slytherinprincess03 - you have to have a little bit of angst in a Draco fic rec right? This fic has it but the ending is perfect and fluffy, gah! I love it!. Not to mention, Draco is such a gentlemen in it. I can't wait to see what else you write, lovely!!

Hardly A Date - @fanficflaneuse - I love this fic. I love it so much. I tend not to read sibling!reader but I adored this. The relationship between Harry and the reader, and then Draco and the reader. It’s amazing. I could rant for hours and hours about how much I love her work - her series are out of this world and she captures Draco’s character perfectly. 

George Weasley:

Red with Rage - @kalimagik - AGH ANOTHER OF MAGGIE’S FICS. The prank? Genius, and that end line - incredible. Her characterisation of the twins is so good, I love reading her fics. She deserves more than 300 followers! So if you don’t already follow her, go now!

When Everything Changes - @strawberriesonsummer - Based on the song Everything Has Changed by Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran. This is so pure, it’s so fluffy. George is adorable in this! I can't wait to read what else you write for George!

Come back to you - @dreamer821 - JJ, JJ, JJ. Ugh, this fic is a work of art and George is so bloody caring. I mention this a lot but the relationship between George and the reader is so important to get right and JJ does it flawlessly. My heart hurts for this fic and that last line, LOVE IT. I live for how JJ writes George, I could read her work all day. GO READ HER STUFF, YOU WON’T REGRET IT.

Fred Weasley:

The Right Bird - @dreamer821 - I’m not only just involving this because it was used in my writing challenge but oh my days, it is so wonderful. The relationship between Fred and the reader is just *chefs kiss* perfect. JJ has such a way with words and I just love how she depicts Fred.

Lost, are we? - @prongsies - I think I’m going to make my way through your masterlist because I loved this so much. The teasing was so cute, and Fred helping her at the beginning? Ahhhhh brilliant. 

Watermelon Sugar - @prongsies - COMPLETING THE FINEST SERVICE TO THE HP FANDOM AND WRITING FICS INSPIRED BY FINE LINE - I SALUTE YOU. This is so good, so so good. The references to the song are used so well and that little bit of fluff at the end? Amazing. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to put the song on repeat now...

Percy Weasley: 

Nothing We Can’t Forgive -  @firewhisky-kisses - This series really does showcase Steph’s talent. She’s an incredible writer and this fic deserves all the attention it can possibly get. It’s the first Percy fic I’ve ever read and I’m already planning a reread. Steph captures Percy’s character flawlessly whilst also depicting his healing in a manner that is so relatable. I’ve linked the masterlist because once you start reading, you won't want to stop. 

Sight is Relative - @hufflefluff-writer - This fic has a blind reader which I think makes it all the more beautiful. Amelia’s characterisation of Percy really is wonder, she captures him brilliantly. The fic after they eat is quite literally breathtaking. The description of colours, the dialogue - it’s fantastic.

Hufflepuff!Reader Headcanons - @soft-nerdy-wolf - I loved this from the beginning where the reader was already helping Percy out of his comfort zone by disregarding curfew. Then the further, I read, I loved more and more because of how fluffy it is! And the confession? So so sweet! This needs more attention!

Bill Weasley: 

Estrellita - @fanficflaneuse and @hufflefluff-writer - It is a fic inspired by the Sound of Music, what more could you possibly want? It’s so delicate and incredibly written by two extremely talented writers. The relationship between Bill and the reader = adorable. The whole series is so fantastic, I’ve linked part one and you’ll find the rest on Amelia’s masterlist, which you’ll need because you’ll be reading the entire thing in one sitting, I swear.

Charlie Weasley:

As Family the First Time - @kalimagik - you’ll have noticed that Maggie features a lot here but that’s because she is so damned talented that I adore most of her fics. The first Charlie Weasley fic I read and I fell in love. It’s just so fluffy and humorous with features from the whole Weasley family. Basically, by the end of it I was ready to raise dragons in Romania with a certain Weasley.

Meeting the Weasleys - @soft-nerdy-wolf - This made smile all sorts of stupid. From the beginning, I wanted to own Hepaestus (the perfect name for a dragon in my opinion - Zeus’ own forger, amazing.) And the fluff with Charlie straight after? I love, love, love it as well as the fun relationship they have. And the pranks with Fred and George? Ah! I just love.

Dragons blurb - @hufflefluff-writer - I know it’s only a blurb but oh my god, I loved it, I love it. Jealous!Charlie and a buttload of fluff - the best to boost your mood.

Cedric Diggory:

A Ghost Story - @wondernimbus - So beautifully haunting. Ysa has a way with words that make you feel as if you're physically there, living the fic alongside the characters. There aren't really any words to describe how talented Ysa is - all I can do is urge to read her masterlist and discover for yourself. 

My Boys - @potterverseimagine - Cedric and dogs - I am in love. This fic is so sweet and pure and playful. Playful Cedric is so great omg and this fic is full to the brim with it. I just... ah I love this so much. AND HE’S ALIVE. I LOVE FICS WHERE HE’S ALIVE. Thank you for this!!

It’s a Date - @angelinathebook​ - Lena, this is so good. You need to write more Cedric! Ah, I hate those boys so much but I love Cedric!! This is so good! Cedric needs more love 100% - if you haven't read this already, you need to read it now!!

Sirius Black: 

Lost Time - @obsessedwithrandomthings - Reader standing up for who she loves against Bellatrix? Yes, we love that. Slow burn romance with Sirius? I love that even more. Dee never fails to astound me when she writes Sirius, and I know she won’t fail to astound you too. Seriously (lol), go through Dee’s masterlist, read her works, you won't regret it. She’s the loveliest.

Our Godson - @nebulablakemurphy - Christina is so talented. The letters!!! Are so good!!! AND WHEN THEY FINALLY MEET? My heart! Christina, it's as if you broke it and then rebuilt it again all in the span of 2.8k words especially with that ending. I love this fic, and you will love this fic. 

Curiosity - @siriusly-the-best-gryffindor​ - I don’t know what else to say that I haven't already said in my reblog but I love this fic. I am heavily pierced and heavily tattooed and I love seeing a reader as the same. I love all of this fic, it 100% needs more love!

The Jimmy Jab Games - @im-a-writer-right​ - A Sirius fic inspired by Brooklyn-99. I loved every single chapter, it made me so happy. And that final chapter, I was smiling like a fool throughout. Sirius is a dream through this, and that bet? I love! I’ve linked the masterlist because you won’t want to move as you read.  

Secrets and fears - @firewhisky-kisses​ - Steph does it again with the masterpieces. Honestly, I squeal a little whenever I see her in my notifications with a new fic because everything she writes is stellar, and this is no exception. If you’re going to read anything tonight, let it be her masterlist. If you haven't read her latest Sirius piece as well, you are sorely missing out. 

Remus Lupin:

Protect - @obsessedwithrandomthings - Oh man, this one hurt. There are so many feels to this fic, so many layers. The enemies to lovers? Amazing. That ending as well - so fucking good. Like everything Dee writes, so fucking good.

Sleeping Beauty - @poppin-potter - This is adorable. There’s no other words for it. The relationship between the reader and Remus is so cute, I was smiling all the way through it. Not to mention the relationship between the reader and the Marauders, so bloody good. And that ending? It was so peaceful, like I was reading and I was like yeah, I would’t mind a piece of that.

Pain of reality - @heloisedaphnebrightmore - I had to involve some Remus angst, and oh my word. You smashed my heart into pieces in the beginning and had put it back together by the end. Heloise is an incredible writer, so so talented. This is a Remus fic you cannot miss out on!

Bruise and Scars - @peachesandpinks - Soulmate AU and Marauders Era Remus. What more could you possibly want? It’s poetic. If you look to my Neville section, you’ll see why I love Ren’s writing so much but let me tell you, I am a SUCKER for Remus. Always have been, always will be. You will not regret reading this fic or any of Ren’s fics.

Nights like These - @teheharrypotter - another fic in A Very Harry Potter Summer and the description in this fic is so good! The way the summer night described has you feeling every moment of it. And the conversation between Remus and the reader is so beautiful, where they touch upon their grief. It’s a wonderfully written piece of work.

James Potter:

Numb Love - @heloisedaphnebrightmore - Unrequited love is like my guilty pleasure because I love the angst of it, and this fic. Oh this fic, it destroyed me and I loved every single minute of it. How this fic doesn't have more notes, I have no clue. It’s a masterpiece of emotions. 

Reading between the lines - @approved-by-dentists - ohhh this fic is great, I love the flirtation between the reader and James in the beginning all the way to end. It was one of the first James fics I read (I’m late to the party, I’m well aware) and omg I love it. Just go read the fic!

Book-thief - @wondernimbus - I’m going to repeat my words from earlier, there are no words to describe Ysa’s talent. James Potter and a bookshop and I was sold. She captures his character so brilliantly. Just... go binge her work.

Summer revelations - @pregnant-piggy - I keep saying this about all the fics I put on here but I love this fic! I love it! First, I love James. Second, I need those muffins - seriously, where can I get these muffins? And their realisations and confessions! It’s such a pure fic, I’m absolutely in love with your portrayal of James.

Newt Scamander:

Cheeky Niffler - @eleven-times-lively - reader is an archaeologist - from that moment, I was sold. I loved reading this, I loved the idea and I love Niffler as it is! I always need more Newt in my life and this is perfect.

Online Love - @strawberriesonsummer​ - Modern AU! I really loved this idea, I love the idea of Newt with a phone and ringing the wrong number. It’s such a wonderful fic, I haven't read Newt in so long so this was such a lovely one to read! I can’t wait to read what other Newt fics are posted!

desire - @blisfvll​ - I am a huge fan of their works; their Draco fics are incredible and their Newt fics are just the same. This had me feeling all sorts of emotions, and I loved every second of it.  

You stared Newt right in the eyes. - @fantasticnewtimagines​ - I didn't know what the title to this was so I just type out the first sentence, I hope you don't mind! This is a delicious piece of angst with a lovely, happy ending. I adore this piece so much because it conveys so much. I love it!!

MARVEL:

I want to take a moment to appeal to the followers of mine who also enjoy reading marvel. @shaynawrites23​ has started to write some marvel fics and even entered my writing challenge and her fics definitely deserve some attention! She’s a wonderful writer and her fics are so cute! If you’re a fan of Bucky, you’ll love these fics!

Catty

Soulmate

Rosy Proposal

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - “At Midnight” (Rated G)

Summary:

Crowley is devastated by how smoothly the world continues on after he loses Aziraphale to the bookshop fire. Adam stops the war between Heaven and Hell, and things go back to normal for everyone... except him. Crowley goes from demon to ghoul, haunting St. James's Park every night, caught up in his memories of his angel. Until one night, he comes across something unexpected that makes things a little better... (2416 words) ... and a whole lot worse.

Read on AO3.

The hands on Aziraphale's grandfather clock have crept dangerously close to eleven by the time Crowley steps out the door of the bookshop and into the night. He's not closing up. The shop was never open. 

Not for anyone but him. 

He’d spent the day lurking in the shifting shadows, coiled around the leg of angel's favorite chair, keeping guard. 

Watching for movement. 

Praying for change.

For resolution.

He marked time by the tolling of Aziraphale's clock, the ebb and flow of the commuters outside, and a single ray of sunlight carving its path across the floor, disappearing out the window at the stroke of seven. That’s when he came out of hiding, became his demon self once again.

Crowley pops his collar against the wind and locks the door behind him. He takes one last look at the pane beneath his fingertips, running them lightly over a ridiculous note affixed to the glass. It’s a note he wrote on Aziraphale's behest, proclaiming when customers can expect the shop to open. 

The long and short of it being - don't. 

I open the shop on most weekdays about 9:30 or perhaps 10 a.m. While occasionally I open the shop as early as 8, I have been known not to open until 1, except on Tuesday...

Crowley had written it to irritate his angel - a demonic dig, as it were. But after reading it, Aziraphale couldn't have been more delighted.

"Brilliant!" he'd said. "Masterfully convoluted! Now I can finally relax and finish my crossword puzzle in peace! Thank you, my dear."

Crowley had gone warm at Aziraphale's words. He had never felt so overwhelmed by praise. 

But now, the sign makes him bitter. 

It should have long been replaced with one that reads on holiday, circling the globe, or living the happily ever after life in Mayfair with my husband.

But that wasn't in the cards for Crowley and Aziraphale. 

Crowley snaps his fingers to lower the blinds and snuff the lights, and takes off at a brisk clip to the park.

Alone.

He does this every night - haunts St. James's Park close to midnight when he'd rather be at home asleep. Crowley had planned to sleep the next seven millennia away, wait until the world started over again before he showed his face to the sun, but infuriatingly, he couldn't. It's impossible for him to get comfortable in his bed when there should be someone else beside him, sitting up and reading by his damned holy light.

Crowley never thought he'd miss that stupid light piercing his eyelids and interrupting his slumber, but he misses it more than anything.

There was nothing left for Crowley after he lost Aziraphale in the bookshop fire. 

He'd always felt that if they went their separate ways, it would sever his heart, but nothing more. He'd go on. But the assumption had been that Aziraphale would still be - exist, just not in Crowley's life.

When Aziraphale went, everything good went with him - love, hope, color, and taste all vacated Crowley's world. But Crowley was too much of a coward to call it quits and join him in oblivion, since, as far as Crowley was concerned, that was where immortal beings ended up if they were eliminated from Earth. Heaven and Hell only existed for humans. Aziraphale and Crowley were created for this world. 

For them, this was it.

He thought he would get into his car and drive, but he couldn't make himself leave. He would get as far as Kent or Surrey, then his Bentley would stop.

Whether he was the one pressing the brake or his car - it varied.

Either way, he'd take a deep breath, toss off his glasses, rub the blur from his watery eyes, and the next thing he knew, he was home.

Couldn't sleep. 

Couldn't leave. 

Couldn't escape. 

Yup. This was Hell. Undoubtedly.

Since he couldn't stay put and he couldn't run away, he spent night after night roaming the park - a ghoul shrouded in shadows of the past. Selfishly, he did everything he could to make the park inhospitable after dark, the same way Aziraphale did for his bookshop to deter customers. He made the place dreary, filled it with suspicious shadows, cold spots, and feelings of dread. In his attempt to get rid of anyone who might bother him, he unwittingly thwarted a few mugging attempts and a handful of assaults, which eliminated crime in St. James's Park for the most part. 

Otherwise, he kept to himself. 

It didn't matter to Crowley one bit that Adam had saved the planet from Heaven and Hell's blasted war. Or that, in doing so, neither side seemed interested in Crowley anymore. 

Without Aziraphale by his side, Crowley wanted none of it. 

These nightly walks, re-visiting the spots where they'd met up through time, didn't help. His memories of Aziraphale had begun to erode what was left of his soul.

His regret over the one thing he had left unsaid.

But there was a handshake exchange afoot.

His late-night trips to the park were how he noticed the light, blooming, growing on the bench smack dab in front of the duck pond.

Their bench.

A thread of silver light that lasted one solid minute from beginning to end.

It was spectacular. Unbelievable in its brilliance. Of the few souls who braved Crowley's shield of demonic influence, only Crowley seemed to notice it. And he couldn't avoid it.

It called to him.

Crowley stalked the light for over a week, never getting too close. It seemed like the kind of thing Gabriel might conjure up to trap him. Heaven may not give two shits about him, but archangels have been known to hold serious grudges.

He resisted its pull, but Crowley is a curious demon, and curiosity got the better of him. Besides, what did he care if Gabriel got the drop on him? Crowley was up for a fight, even one he might lose.

He had nothing better to do.

Crowley walked straight to the bench and sat down the moment the light appeared. He stared at it, into it, trying to sniff out its origins, what it was doing there. Being this close to it, he realized he was wrong. It didn't appear out of thin air. It was a consequence - evidence of a seam ripping in the universe, and on the other side...

Crowley only saw him for a second, but that was all he needed.

Aziraphale.

They locked eyes. Aziraphale's face lit up as if he were seeing the stars for the first time. 

Stars Crowley created.

He was quite a distance from the tear. Like Crowley, he avoided it as much as possible. But seeing Crowley on the other side, he ran toward it, calling out a single word. It was all he had time for before the rend closed, and he was gone again.

The word he managed was Crowley.

Every night after, Crowley would arrive at the bench with plenty of time for the two of them to speak. As best as they could deduce, something bizarre happened during that fire in Aziraphale's bookshop. Unprecedented. Crowley assumed, at first, that the flames that devoured his angel's pride and joy had come from Hellfire. But they didn't. And Aziraphale, standing in the center of the transportation portal in his corporeal form, never made it to Heaven. He got caught in between. 

Purgatory. 

A place that many supernatural beings consider scarier than Hell. 

A railway station with a way in but no way out. For immortals, that is. Mortal souls can earn a place upstairs depending on how they behave in this celestial waiting room. But as humans and demons don't concern themselves much with Purgatory lore, there is no book in Hell or on Earth that can help. Crowley has tried finding one - traveled to libraries and broken into collections he would do only on Aziraphale's behalf. But for all of his lofty capers, he found nothing. There might be a book in Heaven, but Crowley has no way to access it.

And Aziraphale is trapped.

Wouldn't Crowley know it, but even under these circumstances, Aziraphale found ways to continue his insufferable good deeds, helping mortal souls trapped with him to move along. Though Crowley believes Aziraphale has an ulterior motive.

Peace and quiet.

Aziraphale has one of those faces that attracts people to him, people who long to share their woeful life stories. So he listens, and then he counsels. When that soul moves on, he earns the most sought-after prize of all - an additional measure of silence.

Crowley and Aziraphale thought Heaven would notice his absence by now. Gabriel’s memos were piling up on Aziraphale's desk, untouched. Or by the massive influx of souls arriving at the pearly gates. 

But no luck.

The angels in charge of the prisoners in the bottomless pits of Hell are more on the ball than the ones who keep an eye on the poor souls stuck in between.

This boundary between Earth and Purgatory dissolves at the stroke of midnight but zips up as soon as the clock strikes 12:01. Then Aziraphale disappears, not returning again till the following day. They are permitted one minute to tell each other everything, and they do their best to get it all out. 

There's one thing Crowley hasn't gotten to yet. Hasn’t for 6000 years. 

His one regret.

He plans on telling Aziraphale tonight on the off chance they can't come up with a solution to this.

Crowley feels the light before it appears. It tugs at something deep inside, ushers him to his seat on the bench. It arrives with a clap like thunder, so loud he’s surprised when it doesn’t shatter windows and crack foundations. Air whooshes by him at hurricane speeds, sucked into the impending rend. 

A second later, Aziraphale appears beside him. 

In a different dimension but beside him, framed by the light as if he's a reflection in a mirror. 

Crowley inches his hand close, knowing without seeing that Aziraphale’s hand rests similarly on the opposite side. They cannot touch. They’ve tried. 

Neither can cross the barrier.

“So, my dear,” Aziraphale starts, looking through the shimmer at Crowley, ��how’s the bookshop?”

“Right as rain as always,” Crowley replies. He used to mutter, “Hello, Crowley. How are you? You’re looking well this fine evening,” but realized how immature and hurtful that was when Aziraphale heard him, and his face fell. Aziraphale wasn’t disregarding Crowley by not asking after him first. It was too painful for Aziraphale to acknowledge how far apart they were from one another. “How have you been, angel?”

“Can’t complain. Although I could really go for a plate of crepes. Or perhaps a nice, hearty gazpacho.”

“Don’t you worry. The moment I have you free of there, I’ll take you to dinner. Anywhere you want to go.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Aziraphale says, the longing in his eyes heartbreaking. “It wouldn’t be so bad over here if I had a book or two.”

“I did try passing you one over, but… “

“Yes, yes, I recall.” Aziraphale sighs at the memory of a favorite Wilde hardcover disintegrating into thin air. Luckily, that didn’t happen to either of them when they attempted to cross. “Valiant effort. Disastrous outcome.” 

“Meddled in anyone's affairs today, have you?” 

“As a matter of fact… ” Aziraphale smiles brightly. “A charming lady named Agatha. Lived a good long life. Died at the age of 93, I believe she said.”

“Wot in the world did she do to make it into Purgatory?”

“The usual. Attachment to sin.”

Crowley nods, lips twisting with a knowing grin. “Let me guess… the premarital variety?”

“That’s the one. She also poisoned an abusive stepfather, not her own, broke into a research facility to rescue rabbits, and stole a petty neighbor’s tomatoes on the daily until the day she died.”

Crowley chuckles. “Ah, yes. You’ve got to love old ladies.”

“Indeed.”

“Wot did you do?”

“Same as always. I had her give a proper confession. I forgave her for the poisoning, of course… “

“Of course.”

“... and the rabbit liberation. But we talked through the issue with the tomatoes. I explained that trespassing on her neighbor’s property is wrong even if the woman did dye all her delicates on her drying line puce.”

Crowley makes a face. He has no idea what puce is, but it sounds vile. “Probably justified there.”

“But that wasn’t the crux of her dilemma.”

“Wot was?”

Aziraphale turns, eyes wandering in the direction of the pond even though he can’t see it. “She misses the love of her life.”

Crowley's eyes widen. “Oh.”

“I assured her that her lover would be with her soon. After that, she was fine moving on.”

“Is that the truth?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale says wistfully. “He beloved misses her very much. They make a lovely couple.”

“That’ll be nice. The two of them reuniting.”

“Yes. It will be… for them.”

Silence falls between them. They steer clear of silence when they can, seeing how short their time is together, but it can't be helped. Aziraphale could work from here till eternity joining lost souls, but he can't help himself do the same. 

The weight of that overwhelms them.

Crowley's phone vibrates in his pocket, signaling their minute together coming to an end. The silver frame phases, its light dimming, sputtering like a candle about to go out. As with every time before, Crowley tries to stop it, tries to stop time to keep Aziraphale with him longer. But it doesn’t work. Either this rend works outside of the laws of time, or time has had it with Crowley’s antics, but this can’t be stopped. 

Crowley’s imagination isn’t strong enough.

“We only have a little time left,” Aziraphale says, “and we’re no closer to solving this puzzle!”

“I know,” Crowley replies. “I'll keep working on it. I promise. But before you go, I just wanted to tell you… ”

The air crackles as the rip begins to mend, the noise drowning them out.

"Yes, my dear?"

"I need to tell you... "

“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale starts to fade as the gap sutures shut. “I’m so sorry… "

The tear closes, his angel gone, and in the ensuing silence, Crowley’s last words hang in the air, having escaped his lips a second too late for their recipient to hear.

“… I love you.”

[boxoftheskyking]

Pick Up Every Piece, Part Three

This chapter is rated M, warning for PTSD, alcohol, war, probably a bunch of other stuff.

Wei Ying and the important gals in his life. 

(You know when you’re trying to do a style thing and then you’re like Maybe I just don’t Get Prose? this is one of those times.)

Part One, Part Two

--

Wei Ying is having a hard time breathing, but he doesn’t really mind. His face is shoved into his pillow and Wen Qing’s elbow is digging into the right side of his spine in a way that he thinks might bruise later. Just when he’s about to cry uncle, she lets up and sweeps the heels of her palms down to his waist, and it’s so good a few tears come out.

It’s a sunny Saturday afternoon with nowhere to be, and he’s just a body on a bed with his best friend, not a thought in the world.

“What is this one anyway?” she asks, pressing her thumb into a spot on the right side of his spine, just below where his waistband would be if he were wearing anything.

He turns his head and spits out the pillow. “Huh? Which?”

“This little one.” She rubs it again.

He thinks over his tattoos; there’s seven on his back, if he’s remembering right, scattered around in blacks and reds.

“Oh, the goat?”

“That’s a goat ?”

“Yeah.”

She rubs over it again. “From which angle is that supposed to be a goat?”

He props his chin up on his arm. “Have you not noticed it before?”

She squirts out some more lotion and starts working on his lower back. He doesn’t moan, because Wen Qing says she hates it when clients moan, and even though he’s not a client, he does try to be polite.

“I’ve never paid much attention to it.”

“Clearly you need to pay more attention to my ass.”

He tries to wiggle the ass in question, and she pinches him. Which is fair.

“Be nice. That’s my prison tattoo.”

“Your prison tattoo.”

“Yeah. I was in prison, so I had to get a prison tattoo.”

She scoffs. “You were in prison for like a year.”

He was, technically, in prison for a year. That’s what it says on his record. Right after leaving Gusu, on the road to Yiling, he got drunk and fought a cop, and a year was the best his brother’s influence could get him. As far as everyone knows, he served his time, annoyed the life out of hardened criminals, and went on his merry way.

Everything else that happened that year, that’s between him and Jin Guangyao and the dead.

“I can’t believe you got a stick and poke in prison.” Wen Qing is doing her judgy voice, which unfortunately always gets him hard. Well, harder. It’s some kind of automatic response—he never paid enough attention in the one psych class he took in college, so he doesn’t know the right word for it. At the moment it’s just uncomfortable because she’s got him pressed down into the mattress

“Lots of people get them,” he says, a little defensive. “I paid for it, too.”

“Do I want to know how?”

“Two weeks of my meat rations and a blow job.”

“Wei Ying.”

“What, the guy was cute.”

She sighs, judgmentally. “Why a goat?”

“He said that’s the only thing he knew how to draw.”

“Well he lied to you. You could’ve gotten an infection. On your ass.”

“He was very clean. Cleanest guy I ever sucked off behind a dryer, and that’s saying something.”

She snorts at him and then digs her knuckles into the meat of his ass, scooting down so she’s sitting on his legs. She’s just in her underwear; he can feel the soft insides of her thighs against his calves.

“So I don’t pay enough attention to your ass, huh?” she asks, pinching him again.

He hums.

“We could, you know, do more of that.” She sounds carefully disinterested, going to town on his glutes but not pushing in any other way.

He swallows. “Um. Maybe.” He’s blushing for some reason, but the pillows hide it.

“Cool. Turn over?”

This means the sex part is going to start, which is great since he’s been ready to go for the past half hour. The massage part is equally great, and he really needs it. He knows he’s the luckiest person in the entire world, because his best friend happened to have a massage and acupuncture certification as her fallback degree after he ruined her life. He’s doubly lucky that she still speaks to him, never mind has sex with him sometimes. Add in free massages and he’s basically won every lottery in the country.

He’s tried to return the favor, but she can get better from her coworkers, so he just pays her back in orgasms. Orgasms and journalistic brilliance, when he can manage it.

He turns over and she settles back over him, shifting his dick around so she’s comfortable, making him bite his lip almost bloody. She drives her knuckles in the front of his shoulders until he hisses.

“Are you doing the stretches I gave you?”

“Yeah. Sometimes.”

“So, only on the days that I remind you.”

He pouts. “Ow! Yes. Which is sometimes.”

She grinds her hips down on him so he chokes on his own spit. He tries to reach up to kiss her, suddenly very ready to move things along, but she leans over him and presses all her weight down on his shoulders. He tries to push her up, but he doesn’t have the core strength.

“Mean,” he whines. “Mean, mean, mean.”

“You like mean.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

She lets him up and grinds back down. “Hm. You really like mean.”

He catches her then, she lets him, and they lazily make out for a while. This is the best part about hooking up with his best friend. He’s not worried about being smooth or clever or impressive, he’s just enjoying the softness of her skin and her hips and the underside of her arms, the small but solid weight on top of him, her sharp teeth. Way back at the beginning—in college, when she was his kind-of advisor—he was always so bewildered that she was interested in him, always trying to do twelve things at once, to prove to her he was worth it, that he could be amazing. Calm down, kid, she’d laugh at him, pinning his arms over his head.

Now they just roll around, warm and comfortable in an angled patch of sunlight, heading vaguely towards sex.

“Hey,” she says, a little breathless as he sucks on her ear. “Can I sit on your face?”

“Fuck. Yes. Please.”

“Awesome.”

She crawls off him to take her underwear off. “Lan Ziyi never lets me sit on her face.”

Wei Ying laughs. “That’s what you get for dating a Lan.”

“We’re not dating . We’re just—hanging out.”

“Whatever. They’re all repressed.” He feels a flash of guilt. “Not repressed. Logical. It’s an illogical activity.”

“She’s good at other stuff.”

He doesn’t have to respond; she crawls up and settles on his chest, running her finger over his bottom lip. “Comfortable?” she asks.

He tugs her closer in response and sets to work. It’s one of his favorite activities, the overwhelm of it, being held down. He’s always trying to be steps ahead, to be good at things, to be vigilant, but when she’s riding his mouth and his chin and his tongue he forgets all of it and surrenders to the heat, the wet, the rhythm of her.

“Fuck, I’m gonna drown,” he mumbles against her.

“Huh?” she gasps, lifting herself up.

“I’m gonna drown.”

“What a way to go, though.” She smiles down at him, red-faced and panting, one hand against the wall, the other tugging at her nipple.

“Fuck yes.” He yanks her back down with a growl and loves the way her laugh gets broken by a groan.

“Can you scratch my back?” she asks. He reaches up and runs his nails lightly down her sides. “I mean hard. Can you scratch me hard?”

He reaches up her back as high as he can and rakes his nails down. She shudders on top of him.

“Thank you,” she gasps, and he blacks out for a moment.

He’s always had an unexplored thing for being thanked in bed. That one psych professor—or the doctors at the hospital that one time—would probably say something about his childhood, his desperate need for approval. In reality it probably has more to do with that one night in college, Lan Zhan pressed between him and the wall, panting “ Thank you, thank you ” into his ear.

Wen Qing slams her hand on the wall when she comes, sweet and hot over his lips. He imagines himself dripping with it, down his neck and his chest to his feet, soaking into his skin. She pulls away after a minute and shifts back down over him, kissing his whole face, his cheeks, licking him clean.

“Good?” he asks.

“Mmm,” is all she says, but it’s enough to make him preen a little.

She reaches over to his bedside drawer and grabs a condom, and he’s suddenly reminded of how painfully hard he is. After nearly an hour of ignoring it he’s certain he’ll pass out the second she touches him.

He doesn’t, but he does grab her hips and shut his eyes. When she sinks down on him—one smooth slide—his breath punches out and he surges up to hold onto her, to hold onto something. It’s fast and inelegant from there, loud and jerky and ragged and so incredibly good. She throws her head back when she comes again and he buries his face in her chest as he follows—a long, shaking, suspended moment.

After, he collapses back onto the pillows and she goes to the bathroom. The massage and the orgasm catch up with him and he’s nearly asleep by the time she comes back. She doesn’t leave, though, just pulls her underwear back on and curls around him. It’s got to be close to  five o’clock and they’re framed by the lowering sunlight, warm and golden.

“Sleep?” he mumbles. She shushes him and pulls up the blanket and he’s out.

A lake, a raft. Lotus flowers. Someone beside him, tapping his arm. A river, narrowing. Wind. Yanli talking behind him, saying . . . Trees by the riverbank, branches growing toward him, twisting, sharp fingernails inches from his skin. He’s standing in the mud. Alone. Not alone. Feet sunk into the mud, up to his ankles. Dry creek bed. Flies. A dozen people standing, frozen, staring at him. Eyes so wide, he can see the whites all the way around. Flies on their faces, crawling into their eyes. Darkness rising like a cloud, like fingers, grasping. He reaches out—

“Wei Ying!”

“— looked. I just looked. I just looked at them. I just looked .”

“Wei Ying! Stop, stop, Wei Ying.”

He throws himself off the bed, gasping, crouching against the wall, nails digging into his arms. His throat is aching, he’s been shouting.

“You’re okay,” Wen Qing says carefully. Her hands are held out to him like he’s a wild dog, something that could bite her.

“I’m okay,” he says, rough, wiping at his face.

“You’re back.”

“Yeah. Fuck.” He digs his fists into his eyes for a moment, pressing hard enough to see a starburst of light. “Fuck, fuck. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” It’s not, it’s really not, he can hear it in her voice.

He sits back on the bed and runs his fingers through his hair. Wen Qing wraps herself in the blanket, watching him.

“I’m okay.”

She nods.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No. No, it’s not that.” She looks away, blinks hard. “You were saying— You know, you were saying it again. Same thing.”

“Sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I know. It’s not your fault.” She’s not looking at him, though, and where she holds onto the blanket her knuckles are white.

“Fuck,” he says again, like that can cover it, everything he owes her.

“It’s fine.” Her voice is tight. It always happens like this, his hurt doesn’t line up with hers, they’re not in unison. He covers one of her hands with his. She holds it, rubs her thumb over the back of it, where it’s rough and patchy. He’s not sure if it actually helps, feeling the scars, but it’s the best thing he has to say, Look, it already happened, it’s over.

She lets him go and goes into the bathroom. He flops down and holds a pillow over his face. It’s not as good a weight as her body, but it keeps him in one place and not breathing and it’s nice for a moment.

There was a time, in the direct aftermath of the war and the Bad Time, where he thought maybe they’d get back together. That maybe they had complementary damage, that their ripped out parts might fit and close up. But they hurt each other—unintentionally, but his shattered edges always cut her. Sometimes he lashes out in his sleep. And even when he doesn’t, it’s a chain reaction. He gets set off and reacts and it activates all the bad memories in her. It’s why she doesn’t spend the night anymore, why they never moved back in together after he got back from the hospital five years ago.

Five years. It should all be scar tissue by now. Nothing should be raw, pulsing, bleeding anymore.

What’s wrong with them, that they still bleed?

By the time she comes out he’s in his boxers and t-shirt again, fishing under the bed.

She sits down next to him, face wet and toweled dry, and tugs his comb through her hair. He pulls a half-empty bottle out from under the bed.

“You want?” He takes a sip from it.

“What’s that?”

“Bedroom whiskey.”

She raises her eyebrow. “To go with the desk whiskey and the couch whiskey?”

“And the bike whiskey, yes.” He gives her a salute. “Always be prepared.”

She rolls her eyes, but takes the bottle and drinks.

He stretches, twisting his spine. He tenses up so bad after a nightmare, it sucks when it happens after massage and sex. “You know,” he says. “There was a few weeks, back this summer, when I got sick anytime I drank. Like sick to my stomach, indigestion.”

“Probably had a bug.”

“Yeah. It freaked me out, though.” He takes another drink.

“Because you thought you’d have to quit?”

“No. ‘Cause I thought I didn’t like it anymore. Like listening to your favorite song and all of a sudden the singer’s off key. It was . . . unsettling. I didn’t really know what to do instead. It passed, though.”

“It’s gonna come bite you.”

“Someday, yeah.”

Her hair untangled, she gets up and goes to his closet. “Is my red sweater still here?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

She digs around. The right side of his closet is all hers—not a ton of clothes, just a collection of years of days like this.

“Plans?” he asks.

“I’m having dinner with Ziyi.”

“Aren’t you popular?” he teases.

“You should get out there. You know. Date around.”

He snorts and lays back down. “I’m not made for relationships.”

She stops digging through the closet and looks at him. “Wei Ying, you are tailor made for relationships. You were made in a lab, specifically, for a relationship.”

“If that was true I’d have more of them.”

“No. Your problem—”

“Oh, here we go.”

“Your problem is you’re so obsessed with being a partner, you never put any work into finding a partner. You just throw all this partner energy at people and they don’t know what to do with it.”

He throws his arm over his face.

“I’m right.” He can’t see her but he imagines she’s waving her finger at him like a grandma. “You just want to be dropped into a relationship three years in. You want to wake up with a spouse and kid and a mortgage payment due on Monday. You don’t want to do the awkward beginning stuff.”

He squints over at her. “I did it with you.”

She sighs. “A long time ago.”

“Yeah, but—”

“In the literal eighties , Wei Ying.”

He sighs. “You should wear the black sparkly thing.”

“Hmm.” She considers him like she might keep pushing, then lets it go. “The dress?” She pulls it out, holds it up thoughtfully. “Nah, it’s too cold. I don’t feel like wearing tights.”

She pulls on her jeans and the sweater, then twirls her hair up in a bun. He kind of wants to tell her to wear it down, or to ask if he can braid it. But it looks good like this, swept up, showing off her neck. It makes him want to kiss it, so it’s an effective style for a date.

“You look good,” he says. She smiles at him then, a real one, and things feel settled again. She gives him a kiss before she goes.

“Tomorrow night,” she says, pointing at him from the doorway. “I want that column and I want two new proposals for next week.”

“Sir yes sir.”

She snorts and goes. He takes another drink and then tucks the bottle back under the bed.

He goes out to his desk in the living room and pokes around at his column for a while—the beginning and the end are there, but he’s missing a connection in the middle. He’s rambling about cultivation again, potential civilian applications if the government ever allowed real scientists to study it. It’ll piss people off, particularly Jin Zixuan, but it’s his column and he’s used to it.

He accepts that he’s definitely stuck and goes to the kitchen to grab the phone. He’s old-fashioned, still not switched to cordless, so he hops up on the kitchen counter and twirls the cord as he listens to the ringer.

“ Hello! ” Yanli’s voice, cheerful and musical. “ Thank you for calling Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli! Oh! And little A-Ling! ” she laughs. “ We’re not available at the moment, but please leave a message with your phone number and we’ll be sure to call you back. Take care, we will speak to you soon! ”

He smiles and leans his head against the fridge.

“Hi Jiejie! I just wanted to hear your voice. A-Cheng went back to Yunmeng this week, so I’m all alone. Well, I’m not all alone, Wen Qing was just here. Do you remember when we all played that game—what was it? That card game. And you and Wen Qing just destroyed us. Jin Zixuan was so angry, it was so funny. How is A-Ling? Did he already read the books I sent him for his birthday? I’m sure he is a good reader with such a smart mama. Does he remember me? I know I haven’t visited . . . Well, I better go. Zixuan hates when I use up all the tape, I know. He’s so grumpy, your husband! That’s why he and A-Cheng get along so well. I’m all alone without you here.” He shuts his eyes, feels the cool of the fridge against his cheek. “Okay. I love you, Jiejie. Bye.”

He hops down and hangs up, contemplates a drink. Decides against it, which is some form of progress, probably.

He’s finally worked out the middle of the column when his buzzer goes. He blinks over at the window—somehow night fell, a while ago. The buzzer goes again, in rhythm. Bzzzzz bzt bzt bzt bzzzzzz.

“Yeah, yeah,” he yells, not that she can hear him. He doesn’t bother with the intercom, just buzzes her in and goes back to the computer. A-Qing slams the door open just as he’s triple-saving and digging around for a floppy to backup. He keeps everything saved in a couple of places now. He’s learned.

“Hey, kid,” he says.

She grunts at him and dumps her backpack on the ground, kicks off her shoes. The futon is more hers than his at this point, and she’s not shy about flopping down.

“Hungry?” he asks, tucking the backup of his backup into the hidden file on the bookshelf.

“I could eat.” Her voice sounds younger than she is. He’s not sure if it’s intentional, part of the act, or if she’ll just sound like a little kid her whole life.

“Want a shower?”

She sniffs at her armpit and scratches at her scalp. “Yeah, okay.”

She never asks for anything beyond the futon. When she stays with him, she never asks for food, for the shower, for an extra blanket or a sweatshirt. For the first month or so he never thought to offer anything until one night he was still working and she was asleep and her stomach growled so loudly he thought it was a dog. Since then he’s learned how to offer, to set things out in front of her to take if she wants.

He calls in their usual order and starts flipping through his stack of newspapers while she showers. He gets as many as he can from as far afield as will deliver to Yiling. He always reads the Gusu Herald first, old time’s sake. He makes a few notes on his steno pad, a couple stories that might lead somewhere interesting or might have a local angle. No one bothers to cover this far West, no one but him and Wen Qing, but there are a couple of national stories he might be able to work with.

A-Qing comes out in a pair of Wen Qing’s sweats and an old sweater of his, which is like a dress on her. He keeps a clean towel and something comfortable on the hamper in the bathroom every day, just in case. Her hair is wet and stringy around her face, she looks so little.

They ignore each other until the food comes. Sometimes she’s quiet and solitary, turning away from him and going to sleep. But sometimes, on a good day, after a little decompression time, she wants to talk.

“Whatcha writing about?” she asks around a mouthful of noodles.

“Mm. Not sure yet. Just finished my column for the week. About cultivation.”

“Again.”

He sticks out his tongue at her. “You want to read it?”

She doesn’t answer. He does this sometimes, pokes at her, tries to get her to admit she’s faking the blindness. She never really does. Six months ago, back at the beginning, he’d experimented with leaving the lights on, waiting for her to ask or turn them off herself, but she never did. It’s not that she doesn’t trust him. At least, he doesn’t think that’s it. She wouldn’t sleep in his apartment if she didn’t trust him. Probably.

There was one time he came stumbling out of his room after a nightmare, before he had bedroom whiskey, scrambling for a bottle and crying through the phantom pain in his arms and hands. She’d stood up and come over to him, keeping a wary distance but not scared.

“You look terrible,” she’d said. He’d snorted around his mouthful and gotten whiskey up his nose and choked and she’d laughed at him.

She has nightmares too, but they don’t bother each other too much. So the partial blindness or completely fake blindness or whatever it is ends up just another thing they don’t talk about.

Now he considers her as they eat. ���You go to school this week?”

She shrugs. “A little bit. It’s boring. They keep me at the back, there’s nothing to do. Teacher Wang keeps saying they’re getting a classroom aide for me, when they have the budget. I’ll be gone before then.”

“Where will you go?”

She shrugs again. “Dunno. Nowhere. Not school.” She drops her empty takeout container on the coffee table and flops down on the futon, propping her feet up on the back. She grabs a pen from the table and starts spinning it through her fingers, deft and controlled, not looking at it. Times like this he remembers what a good pickpocket she is.

He cleans up and gets an orange and a knife from the kitchen.

“Does it help getting what you need?” he asks casually, slicing it. “Being blind, I mean.”

“Kind of.” He hands her an orange slice and she eats it thoughtfully, licking the juice off her fingers. “I’m old now.”

He snorts. She glares over at him.

“I am. When you’re a kid, a little kid, people give you stuff because they feel bad, because you’re small. Because you’re cute, or you’re pitiful. Nobody wants to give anything to a teenager. I look like a teenager now, I think.” She looks over at him.

“I guess. You’re still pretty small.”

“How old were you?”

“When I was on the street? Really small. I got adopted at like six, I think. My birthday’s made up, so I’ve never been sure.”

“I got adopted when I was six, too.”

He stops slicing. “You had a family?”

She nods. “It didn’t last.” He gives her another slice. “When you’re little, and they catch you, people will smack you around, but a teenager—people want to teach you a lesson. People want to give you a limp or something, a scar maybe. Set an example.”

His instinct is to ask Who? and then head out with a bat, but he stamps it down. He remembers the slaps, the kicks, the dogs. But he was tiny and smiley, and no one wanted him hurt badly, not really. They just wanted him gone.

“But being blind helps?” He hands her another orange slice. She sticks it in her mouth and smiles around the peel.

“Mm-hmm.” She chews. “For now. But I’m getting too old. I’ll have to get a baby or something.”

His knife slips. “Fucking—” He sticks his bleeding thumb in his mouth and points the knife at her. “Do not get a baby.”

She purses her lips. “It’s one of the best things you can do. People always give to a baby. Babies are a great distraction.”

“Yeah, but then you have to feed it and take care of it. Never mind getting —” he waves the thought away, too disturbing. “It’d be a wash. Babies are expensive.”

“Is that why you don’t have any? Too broke?”

“Ha ha.”

She scoots so her hair is hanging off the edge of the futon, kicking her feet up on the wall.

“Don’t digest upside down,” he scolds, sounding like Ms. Yu. “You’ll puke.” He goes to the bathroom for a band-aid.

“What if you could rent a baby? Like just for a couple hours? Do you think people do that?”

He pokes his head out of the bathroom. “You could just get a really convincing puppet.”

She laughs, loud and delighted. She’s missing a couple of back teeth, which he can only see when she actually laughs.

He straightens up the towels, the bottles she knocked over, and moves to put his comb away. “Do you want—” he clears his throat and goes to the door. “I could braid your hair. If you want.”

She stops laughing and looks at him.

“It won’t tangle, then. If you want.”

She considers him, then turns right-side up. “You know how to braid?”

“Yeah. It’s not hard.”

“Okay.” She plops down on the ground. He comes and settles behind her. It’s weird to be this close, suddenly, but she’s not tense or uncomfortable, picking at the fibers in his shitty old rug.

“Do you have a tie?” She holds up her wrist to show him the rubber band. “Okay, scootch up a bit.”

He starts combing her hair from the bottom, careful not to pull.

“It was my uncle who taught me. How to braid my jiejie’s hair.”

“You had an uncle?”

He hums. “Yeah. He adopted me. I guess technically his wife did too, but she wasn’t really like my auntie. I think maybe I called her Auntie when I was really little, but . . . I don’t know. I’ve got a bad memory.”

“My memory’s really good.” She says it seriously, like it’s an admission of something.

“Yeah, I bet.”

A silence settles, but not a bad one. He can feel her breathing where she’s leaning against his shins. It’s nice, alive. It reminds him oddly of when A-Ling was first born, the first night Yanli let him babysit by himself. The hours he spent humming little songs, rocking him, smelling his head, listening to his snuffles and squeaks, watching him dream. The warm weight against his chest. Like a fresh baked potato , he’d told Yanli, and she’d laughed.

Suddenly, quietly, she speaks. “I had a family.”

He waits, combs.

“I had two uncles. And a cat.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. They adopted me when I was six.”

“Was it good? Having uncles?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He starts braiding, trying something complicated to make it last longer. He always liked people playing with his hair.

“They weren’t bullshitters. Sometimes the foster families are so full of it. They act like they’re going to keep you forever even when they know they’re not. I don’t like those. They’re worse than the children’s home, or the ones who just ignore you.”

He waits.

“They weren’t like that. Uncle Song always called me Little Shit.”

Wei Ying grins. “Suits you.”

“The cat was named Little Pig.” She runs her thumb over the corner of the coffee table where the wood’s worn down. “Uncle Xiao was blind.”

He pauses. “Really?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Is that how you learned?”

She shrugs. “I guess. He was good at everything. People would try to do stuff for him all the time, but he never needed help. Sometimes he’d let them, so they’d feel good. That’s what he told me. He said sometimes you have to let people help you, even if you don’t need it, because sometimes people need to help someone.”

“Sounds smart.”

“Yeah, he was smart. Uncle Song said he was too nice.”

“Ms. Yu used to say that about my uncle, too. She always said people were going to take advantage of him.”

She laughs. “That’s what Uncle Song would say.”

He undoes the braid and starts over.

“Did your uncle die in the war?” She asks it quietly, chewing on her fingernail.

“Yeah. My aunt, too. He worked in the government, and Qishan came to Yunmeng early on. You probably don’t remember it. We had a big— Well, it was our house but then a bunch of other buildings. Like a compound. Ms. Yu had a textile business, she worked out of Lotus Pier and a lot of workers lived there. And Wen Chao thought it would be a good base, so he— It was early, so they thought they could fight him off. Nobody knew how big the army was. I don’t know if you— Wen Chao was one of Wen Ruohan’s sons. He was a dick. I don’t know what they teach you about it in school.”

She shrugs. He tilts her head back for a better angle. Her eyes are closed.

“That’s what happened at our house, too.”

“Hmm?”

“The army wanted to take the house. They came at night. I think I was eight? It was a long time ago. My uncles said no. They said to leave us alone.”

He swallows. “Yeah.”

“The killed Uncle Xiao. They wanted Uncle Song to see. That’s what the guy said, the guy in charge. I could hear them from the doorway. And Uncle Song said no, and they shot him too. And then I went outside, and they pointed their guns at me.” She holds up her hand, fingers out like a gun. “But the guy in charge said no. He said, ‘It’s just a kid.’ And I didn’t look down at them on the ground. Uncle Song always said, ‘Just look where you’re going. When you’re scared just look straight where you’re going.’ So I didn’t look down. And they said, ‘Look, she can't see.’ They said, ‘The kid can’t see.’ and they let me just keep walking.”

Wei Ying closes his eyes, tight.

“I forgot Little Pig though. I should have taken her with me.”

He leans forward to press his forehead to the top of her hair, just lightly. She rubs her nose on her sleeve.

“That’s the secret to being blind, anyways.”

He swallows. “What is?”

“Just look where you’re going.” She holds her arm out again, pointing. “Look straight ahead, and don’t let your eyes touch anything.”

Don’t let your eyes touch anything. People in the creek bed, flies on faces.

He looks down at his wrist, the spot where one of the scars curves like a ragged half moon, like a melon with a bite out of it. His hands are shaking.

“Tie?” he says instead of anything else.

She pulls the rubber band off her wrist and hands it back to him. He ties off the braid and pats it. He can’t hug her, or anything like that, so he just pats her hair.

“Do you want an extra blanket?”

She stretches and gets up. “It’s not that cold.”

“Still.”

“Yeah, okay.”

He goes into his room for the blanket and sits down on the bed for a moment, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. His ribs itch, his lungs are tied up in rubber bands. He considers the bottle under the bed, but doesn’t reach for it.

She’s curled under her one blanket when he gets back. He thinks for a second about spreading the extra one over her, tucking it under her chin, but he doesn’t. He leaves it folded by her feet. She doesn’t say anything, just watches him.

“Do you want the light on?” he asks, standing by her feet.

She shakes her head.

“Okay.” He scratches his nose. “Good night, A-Qing.”

“Night, boss.”

It makes him smile, a little. He checks the door locks, pulls the curtains closed, turns off the lamp. The light from the kitchen reaches into the living room—it can barely be called a separate room, anyway. He goes to the kitchen and fills a glass with water, leaves it on the coffee table. Just in case. He watches her for a moment from the kitchen door, holding on to the light switch. She doesn’t say anything, and he starts to feel creepy, so he turns out the light and goes to bed. He lays on his back and looks up at the streetlights filtering in through the curtains and tries to think about nothing.

Part Four

[vanessakirbyfans]

Defying expectations, challenging Hollywood’s norms and facing one’s own fear of failing emerged as central themes when Michelle Pfeiffer, Kate Winslet, Rashida Jones, Vanessa Kirby and Andra Day met virtually in December for The Envelope’s Actress Roundtable. Collectively, they represent four decades in film and more wild experiences than we can fit in one discussion — and they’re also behind some of the most complex characters in film right now.

Pfeiffer is eccentric, wealthy New York widow Frances Price in the quirky drama “French Exit,” which opens this week in limited release. When Price blows through most of her inheritance, she flees to Paris, where she attracts an odd assortment of friends. Winslet is rough-hewn paleontologist Mary Anning in “Ammonite,” a period drama that explores the hardships of a female pioneer in 19th century England’s patriarchal science world and the challenges she faced hiding her love for another woman.

Jones is Laura, the dutiful daughter of an eccentric father in the comedy-drama “On the Rocks.” Despite their complicated history, daughter and father embark on a covert mission to find out if her husband is cheating, but self-discovery may just be the biggest reveal. Kirby conveys anger, sorrow and grief following the death of her newborn baby as Martha in the emotionally wrenching “Pieces of a Woman.” And singer Day makes her film debut in “The United States vs. Billie Holiday,” a period drama streaming on Hulu later this month that chronicles Holiday’s battles with law enforcement, drugs and the crush of systemic racism.

Their conversation here has been edited for length and clarity.

Your films are built around narratives of complex women, many of whom face challenges that aren’t often explored on screen. “Pieces of a Woman” is a great example of a film that is so specifically female, it would have never made it to the screen in the past.

Vanessa Kirby: It definitely feels like a different time right now ... we want to represent women that we identify as being us and the weird parts of us. In the movie, my biggest intention was to make it not a sanitized, movie version of a birth. So [she] felt super sick and burped a lot. She was really nauseous ... things that we might think are unpalatable or not comfortable. That’s all the facets of being human, and particularly being a women. I’ve read so many scripts where it was a version of a woman that I don’t know. It was a film version as opposed to my sister or my best mates or me.

Kate Winslet: That’s what is great about now ... the world is making space for all of these stories. We’ve always tried to tell these stories, but the world is more receptive to hearing them now. That is a shift.... It’s such a moving, seismic time to be doing this job.

Michelle, your character Frances Price is the perfect example of an imperfect female protaganist. She is a mess, and fantastic, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

Michelle Pfeiffer: I was just was so curious about this woman, and I thought she was so odd and not like a character that I had seen or that I had played. And then the dialogue is very stylized. So you have to give in to it but, at the same time, not too much. It was made up of these disparate tones of absurdism and melancholy, and it was funny, and it was tragic — these oddballs sort of living on the fringe of society and trying to make some sort of human connection, all of them, in some way.

Rashida, in “On the Rocks,” you play a reserved writer with a charming, flamboyant father. Your real father is Quincy Jones. What sort of parallels did you feel playing Laura?

Rashida Jones: I very much related to this idea of coming of age with a larger-than-life father who commands presence and changes the atmosphere of any room he walks into, and how that in itself can be something you have to untangle from. Because in order to be your own person, in order to find your life, in order to figure out who you are in the world, not relational to anybody else, you have to separate yourself from all that charm and the warm light of your father’s love. That part of it I very much related to. But Laura is unlike me in the sense that I’m pretty outspoken. This character, I think, has a lot of restraint. That was a challenge.

Andra, stepping into the shoes of Billie Holiday must have been a huge challenge, and this is your first film!

Andra Day: It was definitely terrifying. First of all, I’m a fan of hers. And I’ve always loved movies and had such a great respect for the craft of acting. My biggest terror was that I was going to suck. So I was like, “OK, I’m going to take two to three years off of music just to study and focus on acting.” I auditioned at the end of 2017, landed the role at the beginning of 2018, and then we shot at the end of 2019. So I had time to really live in her [shoes]. The film isn’t a sanitized version of Billie Holiday. She is raw. She is a fighter. She’s a hero, in all of her real humanness, even as a fractured figure. All of the emotional pain. It was the most challenging and rewarding thing I’ve done in my life — and the most terrifying.

Winslet: It never goes away.

Day: That’s actually my question. I mean, do you ever really, really shed all of it or let it go?

Winslet: Honestly, it does not go away. But I feel so excited for you, Andra, that in this moment you are connecting with other people, having these kinds of conversations, because we all learn on the job. All of these experiences that we are sharing are the things that will hold you up and buoy you through, and this is a time when we have to hold each other up. But it doesn’t get any easier. And I’m afraid you will always be terrified. I f—ing am.

Pfeiffer: When I first started acting, probably for the first 10 years, I literally on the first day would shake so terribly that I was sure you could see it on film. Fortunately, you couldn’t. I don’t shake any more, but I still have those jitters. I still think the first week of shooting I’m going to be fired and replaced.

Jones: Yeah. So congratulations on that, for a lifetime.

Day: This is a roundtable, but also a therapy session.

Let’s talk about the risks that jangle those nerves. Those of you who have been doing this a while have tackled a wide variety of characters and survived, and thrived. That’s unusual in Hollywood, especially for women.

Pfeiffer: Like all actors, you sort of choose the best of what is available to you, and go for as long as you can without working, until you need a paycheck. It’s also that thing where, depending on what your last role was, that’s how the industry sees you. It’s really up to you to try to find those things that shift it in the direction you want it to go. I did “Grease 2,” and that was one thing, and then was lucky enough a year later to get cast in “Scarface.” People were very upended, because nobody expected that turn. And then when I did “Married to the Mob,” that [was] another seismic shift, like, “Whoa, wait a minute; who’s that?” I remember when I met Marty Scorsese for the first time, he expected this dark-haired girl from New Jersey to walk in. That was one of the most flattering things anyone ever said about my work. It’s just looking for those opportunities, and sometimes they’re very small, but those small opportunities end up having the biggest impact on the direction that your career goes in.

Jones: I just want to interrupt and say how cool this is. Michelle, obviously, you’re an icon and a legend, but the fact that you did [those films] back to back; such different things, such different audiences, such different characters. To me, that is the success of the art form.

Pfeiffer: Well, thank you. I spent lots of time being unemployed and waiting and really stretching it out, but it is, for me, the most exciting thing about being an actor. And that’s why we’re always terrified, because we’re always trying to do something different.

Day: As music artists, people are always trying to put you in a box, like, “This is what you do,” and we’re constantly rebelling against that, because life’s not like that. I can’t be the same. This role changed me, and I wouldn’t have been the same [person] as three years ago anyway. As a fan of yours, [Michelle], it’s exciting not to know what you’re going to come out with next.

Kate, your recent leap into the unknown is playing Mary Anning.

Winslet: She was a woman of scientific brilliance who made pioneering discoveries in the fossil world. But she was an unsung hero, because she lived in the early 1800s, and the world of science and geology was, like so many worlds back then and still now, dominated by men. And those men would buy her finds and claim them as their own discoveries, actually put their names on them. But there was something incredibly stoic and accepting of her lot in life. Mary was self-taught. She was extremely working-class, actually impoverished, lived a very harsh life. I just loved her even though she is cantankerous at times and quite difficult.

Vanessa, in “Pieces of a Woman,” Martha is emotionally distant and hard to read even after going through significant trauma. Was that challenging?

Kirby: In her nature, [Martha] tries to never show anything she’s feeling. So I was really scared, because I thought, “Oh, my God, what if it looks like I’m feeling nothing or nothing’s going on?” I just had to trust that if I really felt it, and I really thought those thoughts [it would come through]. I’ve never given birth ... so a lot of women spoke to me about their experiences of miscarriage or stillbirth or losing children. I owe them everything, because they allowed me to sit with them and try and understand how it really felt. At the end of the shoot, I was like, “I hope it’s done them justice,” because it’s definitely something that’s not spoken about. There’s so much silence around it. I hope that the film will help start conversations that really need to start happening.

Andra, Billie had an exceptional life that was also quite brutal. How did you go about trying to convey that while still honoring her greatness?

Day: She is musically, my foremost inspiration. I already knew a lot about the government going after her. The early war on drugs, and the subsequent wars on drugs, were wholly entrenched in race. I was aware of that, but I didn’t know about how deeply they went after her, even up to her death. Yes, she was an addict and, yes, alcohol and drugs ... but they wanted her to die. And not just kill her, but to actually eradicate her legacy. It’s why I call her the godmother of civil rights, because she was doing it alone. Her singing “Strange Fruit” and the death of Emmett Till reinvigorated the civil rights movement. She was innately a fighter, a character with resilience and tenacity.

Kirby: Kate, can I ask what it was like being so young in “Titanic”? Did it like blow your mind after it came out and you realized that that many people were watching you in the cinema? Did you know at the time when you were making it —

Winslet: I didn’t. I was playing an American for the first time. And working with Leo, who I’d seen in "[What’s Eating] Gilbert Grape” and “Basketball Diaries.” So it was like, “Oh, my God, I’m Kate from Reading.” I was the overweight girl who would always be at the end of the line. And because my name was a W, sometimes I wouldn’t even get in the door of the audition because they’d run out of time before the Ws. And I was in “Titanic.” It’s mad.

Jones: How were you smart enough to know, even with all of that pressure and then getting hit with all of that fame, how did you know to back off and not take the big paychecks? You were so young. How did you know to shoot for longevity?

Winslet: The honest answer is I was scared of Hollywood. A big, scary place, where everyone had to be thin and look a certain way. And I knew that I did not look that way or feel like I fit there, so if I was ever going to belong, I had to earn my place. And to me, I hadn’t earned it. “Titanic” might have been a fluke. I had done “Heavenly Creatures.” I had done “Sense and Sensibility,” which I was nominated for an Academy Award for at the age of 19, but still I had this feeling of “maybe that was just luck.” When I became a mother at 25, all of that stuff evaporated completely. Then two years after she was born, I was asked to do “Eternal Sunshine [of the Spotless Mind].” I do believe that was a huge turning point in my career, because from then on people suddenly went, “Oh, she can do that?!”

Kate, what if anything did you learn from “Ammonite”?

Winslet: It really opened my eyes to wanting to take responsibility for this sort of shared voice that we have as women. To try harder to not be objectified.

Jones: But we take it for granted that things will be the way they’re supposed to be. And that’s what’s been cool about the last five years is there has been a complete and utter subversion of just having that existential moment of like, “Wait, what is it that I’m supposed to do? What are the societal norms? What are the professional norms that I’ve agreed upon that actually don’t feel comfortable?”

Kirby: I remember when I first started reading scripts, the character descriptions. The man, it would always be “articulate, intelligent, high-powered.” And then the woman would be “attractive, dark, beautiful hair, and all eyes look at her when she comes into the room.” It was so subtly objectifying. Often, the woman would be just ever so slightly moving the man’s story along, rather than necessarily having her own journey.

Day: I think we so often write this [young] generation off as like, “Oh, it’s the social media generation, and all they care about is selfies and dah, dah, dah.” But I think we can partly attribute this shift to them. I don’t think this generation wants the glossy, clean, the sanitized version of life. Also, with the internet and social media, everyone’s still connected; the globe is so much smaller now.

Rashida, you’ve not only acted, you’ve written, produced and directed. Do you think that kind of representation behind the camera is making a difference in what we are seeing?

Jones: The good news now is there definitely is an appetite, at least within Hollywood, for female content creators. And what’s nice is what all of you have been saying is the more women there are around, the more comfortable women feel advocating for themselves. If you don’t have that representation around, you’re less likely to speak up, because you don’t feel like you have any backup.

Day: One of the things we learned is that certain audiences would wince at [Billie] getting beat, but I was like, “If we don’t have that in there, then we’re continuing to retool her narrative, the thing that she’s been a victim of her entire life.” Suzan-Lori Parks cowrote this movie with Lee Daniels. Women’s stories have always been told through the lens of masculinity, through how they view us or how they want us to be. Most of our stories need to be told by women, written by women, done by women. Not to write men out of the picture, but for them to understand that it is a collaborative effort.

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: “The Simplest Touch”

Today’s selection is an older one shot I wrote during 3b, back when Emma was still fighting hard against that attraction and connection she definitely felt with her pirate, still not sure she wanted to make the strange little town of Storybrooke (and all that came with it) her permanent home. There all of these beautiful little quiet moments between CS in that stretch of the show, and particularly in 3x18 - that almost-touch of Killian’s hand at Emma’s back! - which really prompted this.  It’s pretty much canon compliant up to that point as well.

The reason I’ve truly chosen it for this Sunday’s Self-Promo though is that I shamelessly want to show all of you and sing the praises of the fic art to accompany it that was made for my this week by @searchingwardrobes​. <3  Thank you so much for this lovely story cover art Melanie! I’m so flattered at the thought and how wonderfully it fits the story I had in mind. 

Summary: In the moments between scenes in 3x18's "Bleeding Through" there is more brewing under the surface for Emma and her pirate than they yet know how to express...

Notes: This little one shot fits right into show canon during episode 3x18, and more than being divergent or AU, it’s missing moments in a way - or at least, it’s the thoughts and feelings behind some of the quieter, tiny moments we saw onscreen.  I was attempting some stylistic things in this, and to switch from Emma to Killian’s point of view at various moments in that episode. I still think the result turned out pretty well. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

"The Simplest Touch"

by: @snowbellewells​

He acts as though he is cursed.

Emma Swan doesn't understand what has changed in the pirate captain, but something is different. His eyes haven't twinkled mischievously at her these last few days, and she suddenly realizes how much she liked the playful attention, how it made her cheeks flush and her heart beat fast, even as she rolled her eyes and pushed him away. His innuendos are missing from their most recent interactions, and though Emma did nothing to encourage his outrageous attentions when he was lobbing them at her constantly, she feels strangely bereft now that they are gone. When he does toss her a line now, it feels empty without the lascivious heat and intent, and she comes close to begging Hook to tell her what is wrong, what has changed…why he no longer seems to want her.

Thinking back over the past week, Emma cannot come up with any new disagreements they have had, insults or slights directed at Hook. There is no way for her to question him the way she wants without revealing just how much she really cares, how much he does mean to her. Instead, she practices her magic, making sure she can protect him – and all of those she loves – prompts and playfully needles him while trying not to let his blackened mood and purposeful distance sting…and she hopefully watches and waits.

^^^00000000000000000000000000000000000^^^^

She touches his stump as if it is the most normal thing in the world.

It nearly steals his breath, heat rising unbidden within him at the sensation of her fingers lightly gripping the leather that covers his violently truncated wrist. So many years – literal ages – have passed since anyone made to hold what was once his left hand, and the sensation of warmth and comfort would risk bringing him to his knees if he were not already seated at Regina's table. Most avoid getting anywhere near his left arm, and especially the prosthetic hook and brace, but his Swan has surprised him once again and claimed even more of his affection.

Killian Jones, notorious pirate captain and erstwhile villain of the realms, is holding his breath at the mere pressure of a lost princess's fingers, but he cannot help the reaction. For one horrified second, he had wanted to shy away from her, pull his arm from her grasp for fear she would make contact with the amputated limb and show disgust, but he had held himself steady, and now he is praying that she doesn't let go. Emma prompts inexplicable reactions within him: thaws parts of him long frozen in hatred and anger and makes him want to feel. Her simplest touch can do things to him that the most powerful magician surely could not accomplish. This though, is new and even more intimate. Her gentle clasp around his brace, that he swears he can feel completely even through the heavy leather, shows no fear, no horror or repulsion, and speaks to him of nothing more than pure, blessed acceptance. His devotion to her swells even higher – when he could have sworn he would never be able to love her more than he already did.

Her fingers clasp just a bit tighter, holding on that tiniest bit more firmly, almost as though she wants to stroke his skin. Her eyes lift from where they have followed her fingers' movements to meet his gaze. She gives him a wavering half-smile, in spite of the chaos and dead witch summoning about to begin, nods to him slightly, and he simply knows. They are in this together now, and they will be from now on…

^^^^0000000000000000000000000000^^^^

He had nearly guided her down the stairs with a hand at the small of her back.

Emma sucks in a sharp breath at the tingling sensation he causes with his good hand wavering just shy of touching her until he snatches it away. Whatever has been troubling Hook is still present; he retreats just before making physical contact, and it has the effect of making Emma feel starved for his touch. She doesn't understand the reversal that seems to have taken place; her following him, being drawn to him, and Hook pulling away from her, but he seems to have decided he is some sort of poison – a threat – the way he so studiously avoids contact when always before he has been creeping into her personal space.

They are preparing to leave Regina's after the failed séance, to make another patrol seeking signs of the Wicked Witch. She wants to pull him after her, drag him off into the woods where they can find some true privacy, not be overheard, and she can demand that he explain what is troubling him. The near-touch was tantalizing enough in its assumed closeness and almost possessive nature. The pirate captain, for all his dangerous rebel tendencies, is an old-fashioned gentleman when all is said and done. The chivalry in his nature still sometimes steals the breath of a formerly unwanted, ignored, orphan Lost Girl. Moments like this one, where they are about to go out seeking danger again, show her anew that he is right here at her back, intending to guard it with all that he has.

She brushes her hair back impatiently from her face, stealing a quick glance over her shoulder at Hook before turning again to precede him down the steps. There are too many words she wants to say to him for the company they have and the task they are attempting, but she wants him to know that she is onto him, she sees what he is doing, and she wants to help. He wouldn't allow her to be alone in a world of lies, and so now she won't let him drown in whatever lie he is determinedly keeping.

Her skin burns with longing for the touch he almost gave unthinkingly, and then robbed them both of. She is not accustomed to letting someone else take care of her; it is a concession, a weakness that has always made her distinctly uncomfortable. Wanting to allow him so much of her now is both frightening and a long-awaited relief. They will fix whatever has been marred – she will not leave him alone until he tells her his secret – so that she has the chance to experience how good letting him in could be.

^^^^0000000000000000000000000^^^

Killian knows that he has been cursed.

If he had thought there was any loophole, any way to lessen the pain for what has been lost, he sees now that those were vain hopes.

He watches Emma darkly as he broods in his seat at one of the booths in Granny's Diner. She seems so light, so happy, since she has just made a mug of cocoa with cinnamon appear before her at the counter, and he wants to smile, to chuckle along with her, and celebrate her unparalleled brilliance when she magically makes it disappear and reappear in front of him. He does not wish to darken her mood or spoil her moment, but he cannot bring much joy to the surface either.

Cringing at himself, Killian wants to stab his hook into his own chest when he snaps at her for playfully stealing the weapon with her powers. The mischievous light in her eyes flickers fitfully, and she stops teasing him, lowering into the other bench at his claimed table. She starts to reach out, to take his hand, and he wants so badly to meet her halfway, to pull her close, to rain kisses all over her face and tell her everything. Knowing that he can do neither seems almost too cruel to bear, but he cannot give in. The risk is too great; he will not have anyone else he loves hurt because he fails them.

Something in Emma's expression makes him think she knows, or has guessed, more than he realized, and he lets himself dare to hope that she understands his fear. She cocks her head, raising an eyebrow at him curiously and blowing out a tense breath. Finally, she comes out and asks him beseechingly what is wrong. He leans forward, literally biting his tongue so as not to let it all pour from him in a rush.

Then Belle is there interrupting breathlessly, and Emma snaps back to attention, a true leader through and through. He cannot help watching her in awe, drawn to stay near her; despite the pain it causes, he cannot separate from her. He watches her make up her mind and stand from the table. Following her, he cannot help believing in this tough, street smart princess, and hoping that there may still be a cure for Killian Jones – a chance for redemption at the touch of Emma Swan.

[firebrands]

a catalog of non-definitive acts | steve/tony (part 2)

Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, mature, 2k ft. sex and angst | part 1 | ao3

They’re in a different but similarly bland conference room discussing reconnaissance reports when Tony yawns and stretches. It’s not a move, at least, he doesn’t mean for it to be, but his arm lands just along Steve’s shoulders.

(Maybe at this point it’s subconscious, ingrained in him to push boundaries and test his theories. He’s spent more time than he’d like wondering what the limits were after he’d come down Steve’s throat and Steve had tucked him back into his pants, completely nonchalant, and let the elevator continue its descent once Tony had righted himself. Tony had offered, too, to reciprocate; he’s not an asshole, much as everyone would like to think. But Steve smiled and said, next time. There hadn’t been a next time, not yet, and this is why he’s not so sure about the result of this unplanned experiment. He hopes for the best but—) It’s a small movement, almost imperceptible, the shift in Steve’s shoulders as he shrugs off Tony’s arm.

Tony moves slowly as he backs off so as not to draw attention to himself; it feels unnatural to do so, to aim for smallness. A part of him sees the beginnings of a pattern; a bigger part of him chooses to ignore the worry that begins to burrow underneath his skin.

Tony picks up his pen, begins to twirl it around his fingers as he half-listens to Nick and reorients himself with this new information. Of course, it makes sense—Steve wouldn’t be too keen on coming out, even if just to them, and to come out with Tony as his partner—well. This isn’t Tony’s first rodeo. He knows how it goes, knows what people think of him.

He slides down the seat, slouching and stretching out his legs. Besides, he figures, it’s Steve. Not Captain America—Steve. Focused and determined, intelligent and cultured; kind and generous and selfless Steve. Sure, he can be a smartass, and sure, he’s probably going to break Tony’s heart if he carries on like this, but the fact remains: It’s Steve. Tony’s a genius, but even an idiot can see that they’re not a great match. Tony consoles himself with the knowledge that at least, for a while, they have this. Whatever it is. Maybe that’ll be enough. Maybe, Tony thinks to himself, just as the pen spins out of control and skids across the table.

(As the meeting drags on, not once does Tony ask what he wants, or why he wants. Ever since, people have always asked those questions of him; he’s never learned to ask it of himself.)

*

They’re choosing the movie to watch next and Tony rests his hand on Steve’s thigh as he makes a spirited argument for Pacific Rim. Again, it’s not intentional, but Steve jerks his leg from under Tony’s palm so abruptly that Tony stops mid-sentence. No one seems to pay this any heed; Tony touches everyone all the time. (What Tony thinks no one else has noticed, though, is that Steve doesn’t touch anyone.)

Clint picks up the argument on Tony’s behalf (and if anything could grab anyone’s attention, it’s Tony and Clint agreeing on something), which gives Tony the opportunity to look at Steve without fear of—Tony’s thoughts stutter to a halt. Without fear of what, exactly?

Steve’s already looking at Tony, eyebrows drawn together and mouth pinched into a frown. He doesn’t have to say anything, and Tony knows he won’t. What irks Tony is that he’s done this before—before anything. Touched Steve without purpose or design. Now that Steve’s had Tony’s cock in his mouth, he can’t do that anymore? Tony wants to shout, This isn’t fair! But then he knows how he’ll sound. So instead, he gets up from his seat beside Steve and walks to his workshop without saying a word to anyone else. No one follows after him. This is another thing everyone’s become used to, Tony leaving suddenly, and he’s sure they chalk it up to a sudden stroke of brilliance.

It isn’t that, though, obviously. He knows there isn’t anything for him to repair, but he asks JARVIS anyway, to give himself time to think—by the time JARVIS answers in the negative, Tony picks up the latest version of a gauntlet and gets to fiddling.

He understands himself well enough to know that tinkering isn’t doing anything to clear out his thoughts. If anything, this is one of the few times when what he’s working on begins to mirror the way he’s thinking. The work is imprecise and tangled, and he knows better, he should know better, but in a stunning display that proves every single person who’s called him a genius to be false, he slips the gauntlet on sans plating and tests out the repulsor.

 Tony’s in the middle of reapplying bandages to all the small nicks and cuts on his torso when he hears a knock on his door. It takes him a few more seconds to finish up and answer—when he swings the door open, he reaches out automatically to catch Steve’s wrist just as he’s about to turn away.

“Impatient,” Tony remarks, pulling Steve into his room and shutting the door. Steve tuts in response, but it’s undercut by the gentle way he checks Tony’s bandages.

“Does it hurt?” has asks, hand sliding up Tony’s arm to smooth down the medical tape holding down the gauze on Tony’s forearm.

“Not more than usual,” Tony says.

“JARVIS—” Steve starts.

“I figured,” Tony cuts in. The mention of his AI explains how Steve found out about the explosion and subsequent injury, but not so much why Steve came up to Tony’s room in the middle of the night. Especially when a few hours earlier Tony’s touch seemed so repulsive.

Steve takes Tony’s hands in his and presses a soft kiss to Tony’s fingers. Tony hates the way his breath hitches audibly at the sudden affection, hates that he wants more of it, wants to hoard every single one of Steve’s kisses for a time when they’ll no longer be as bountiful. Tony watches as Steve’s lips curl into a smile, and he looks up at Tony as he brushes his lips against Tony’s knuckles.

Tony lets out a shaky breath, unsure of what to do next, of what he’ll be allowed to do—then Steve takes Tony’s chin in his hand and tilts his jaw up. Steve swallows and looks away for a moment, then turns back to Tony. Tony realizes it’s as much permission he’s going to get, and a small thrill shoots up Tony’s spine as he rises up just a little on his toes, enough to get his face barely an inch away from Steve’s.

So, maybe, maybe this isn’t a good idea, Tony thinks, thoughts racing through his mind so quickly he barely notices the small smile Steve spares him just before kissing him, soft and slow. It gets harder to think when Steve parts his lips open; Tony’s brain recalibrates to begin indexing the way Steve’s skin feels, the way Steve’s muscles shift under his touch, the ridges of wounds on his back that are already beginning to heal.

Steve’s thigh presses against Tony’s, and he walks them back towards Tony’s bed, and oh, god, isn’t that a thought? Tony thinks, already half delirious with Steve’s tongue in his mouth, his palms flush against the swell of Steve’s ass.

Steve barely pulls away, his lips still ghosting against Tony’s when he murmurs, “lie down,” and yes, Tony’s got a problem with authority but somehow his mind has taken this as an offer, not an order.

Tony’s knees are bracketing Steve’s hips and he can feel the curve of Steve’s cock against his. He feels like he’s an engine overheating, like his insides are full of steam and Steve’s the only one who can release the pressure. Vaguely, he realizes that he should be bothered by the way his body is singing with pain and soreness, but nothing else matters. Just Steve, and his hands, and his lips on Tony’s collarbone.

“Steve,” Tony breathes out, once again unable to form words, or any rational thought. Steve responds by sliding his hand down Tony’s side, worming around Tony’s waist to pull him closer. He’s being impossibly tender, pressing soft kisses all over Tony’s chest, his hands skating over the bandages, as if he’s on a mission to map every part of him. “Steve,” Tony says again, more urgently this time.

Steve disregards him, begins to lick and suck gently on Tony’s nipple, smiling slightly as Tony begins to writhe under him. “Harder,” Tony moans, and Steve doesn’t mind him, keeps his maddening pace.

“Please,” and it comes out much softer than he means it to, but all that matters at the moment is it’s what gets Steve to stop and look up at him. Out of everything Steve is doing to him, it’s the look Steve gives him that makes Tony gasp. There’s a word for that look. Tony conveniently forgets what it is.

 Tony’s only half asleep when he feels the bed rise. He keeps his eyes shut as he listens to the rustle of clothing, the soft pad of Steve’s steps, the barely perceptible click of his door opening.

The words are out of Tony’s mouth before he even finishes the thought. “Stay,” he says, then he rolls over to his side, away from the door and Steve’s retreating back. He strains to hear what happens next, remains resolute in his decision to hide after his faux pas. He listens, and hears Steve walk back into the bedroom. He feels the bed dip, then feels Steve settle in beside him.

Tony lets out a small breath, relieved and content now that Steve’s back. Steve wraps an arm around Tony’s torso, takes a breath, and then presses a small kiss to the skin behind Tony’s ear.

Tony bites down on his lip, tamps down on the urge to verbalize his appreciation.

 When he wakes up the next morning, he figures he was right not to say anything else; the bed is large, and empty, and cold. Thankfully, JARVIS increases the room temperature without Tony having to ask.

*

Fury’s intel comes through and the battle versus Justin Hammer’s robots is taxing, not for their ingenuity but because there are so many. It doesn’t help that Tony hasn’t had a decent night of sleep in almost a week (Tony’s lost count of how many times it’s happened between them, but Steve had stayed for a while, curled his body around Tony’s and dozed off on the couch in Tony’s penthouse, only for Tony to wake up alone, again).

Tony’s busy calculating the trajectory of his missiles for maximum impact when he’s suddenly knocked backwards and down by errant debris. He bangs along the fire escapes and the bricks of the opposite wall and lands flat on his back on one of the grimier side streets of New York.

He takes a moment to reorient himself and let out a few choice curse words, and he hasn’t even righted himself up when Steve arrives at his side, breathing hard.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Tony snaps, annoyed by the earnestness of Steve’s tone. The commlink crackles back to life, just in time to hear Steve say: “Tony’s fine.”

Despite this, Steve still does a cursory check of the armor, using his hands to feel for any alarming indents.

“I said I’m fine,” Tony says, irritation clipping his speech.

“Okay, okay,” Steve says, placating. Steve seems to take a moment to center himself, then he reaches over to rest his hand on the cheek of Tony’s helmet. “Just take care, Tony,” he says softly.

Tony sighs, exasperated at this display. He blinks when he notices Steve glance around the alley they’re occupying, and then blinks again when Steve leans forward and presses a kiss to the top of Tony’s helmet. Tony knows he shouldn’t (can’t) feel the warmth of Steve’s lips, but he does; he has the sense memory to fill up the space.

“I will,” Tony acquiesces, and moves to get up. He files the moment away for further dissection, and helps Steve up. They stand beside each other for another second longer than necessary before throwing themselves back into the fray.

*

Tony finally gets Steve alone two days later, late at night in the kitchen. Tony disregards his need for caffeine, instead crowds Steve up against the counter and pulls him in for a kiss.

Steve’s hands immediately settle on Tony’s hips, and then they’re grinding against each other and yes, maybe Tony had intended to make a joke to thank Steve for being the first person to leave him alone in bed rather than the other way around. Intended to make light of the remorse he now felt, for all those times he’d left others. He’d meant to make a joke about the kiss Steve had all but seared into Tony’s forehead, teased him by asking, well, where’d all that affection go, huh?

Yes, yes, yes, he’d meant to, but now Steve’s knee is slotted in between Tony’s legs and Tony doesn’t even try to stop himself from rutting against it.

Steve steers them towards the elevator, hands roaming all over Tony’s arms, Tony’s back, Tony’s chest. Tony pulls away once they’re inside the elevator to direct them to Steve’s floor but Steve beats him to it, and then they’re in Tony’s penthouse, and Tony’s shirt is on the floor, and when did it become acceptable, Tony wonders, that he can’t seem to get a word in edgewise?

Steve fucks him hard against the wall, Tony’s legs wrapped around Steve’s waist as Steve takes, and there’s something to be said about how easily Tony divests control, how delirious with desire he feels when Steve pins him against the wall, growling praise into his ear.

Tony throws his head back sharply when he comes and is rewarded by the starburst of pain in the back of his skull mixed with the pleasure of release. Steve fucks him through it, bites at the exposed column of Tony’s neck. When Steve’s done, Tony’s too spent to stand properly, not that he’d ever admit that out loud. He doesn’t have to, though, and without any preamble Steve carries him back to his bed. He sighs softly when Steve lays him down, closes his eyes as Steve disappears and only opens them when he feels the soft touch of a damp towel on his stomach.

Tony bites down on his lip at the attention, at the strange tenderness of the scene. It’s the perfect time to make a quip, something about care, fondness. But Steve is looking at him so earnestly as he presses a kiss to Tony’s temple that all the words dry in his throat.

He doesn’t make a request for Steve to stay. Steve doesn’t offer.

[chameli]

south indian films rec

for the lovely @curryaboo since she wants to watch more non-bollywood films. rao, i hope you enjoy these films as much as i have! 💕💖💗

i’m not eloquent at all so excuse my horrible summaries, lol.

kadhalar dhinam (1999 - tamil): i’ve seen both the hindi & tamil versions of this film but i prefer the tamil one bc of the ending. anyway, it’s the story of a cute couple who meet online and fall in love, although there are a few complications. the soundtrack is beautiful (in both languages) as expected from A.R. Rahman. i love the simplicity and innocence of the main characters and also the nostalgia? omg. also, the last shot of kunal (the hero) sitting in a field of flowers is absolutely breathtaking.

arundhati (2009 - telugu): omg. this film is intense. anushka shetty plays a fierce queen battling the evil pasupathi (the wonderful sonu sood who is terrifying in this role). pasupathi is awful and has the power of dark magic on his side. arundhati is told she can only beat him in her next birth, and is reincarnated to complete her mission. anushka shetty is a national treasure. this film belongs to her. i saw it 10 years ago but i remember it scared me (in a good way). 

baahubali: the beginning & baahubali 2: the conclusion (2015/2017 - telugu): baahubali 2 is my most favorite film in the universe so ofc i would recommend it. the first part is decent, but you need to watch it to understand the sheer brilliance of second one. the soundtrack & bgm slap, there are tons of little details and symbolism sprinkled throughout, loads of interesting characters, and devasena, whom i’d give my life for.

bommarillu (2006 - telugu): i think this was my first telugu film. the story focuses on siddhu (played by siddharth, whom i loveeee) a young man with very controlling father. however, he falls in love with the cute and spunky hasini, which goes against his father’s wishes. siddharth and genelia are just adorable. prakash raj is fantastic as the father, he and siddharth are great together. the songs are very cute too! here’s my review when i originally watched it.

darling (2010 - telugu): omg this film made me a bigger prabhas fan than i was. it was so cute and enjoyable. i loved the songs too! 

konchem ishtam konchem kashtam (2009 - telugu): another siddharth film. he looks so cute in this one too. tamanna plays geeta, a girl who comes to the city to study. she falls in love with siddhu, but her father doesn’t approve of the relationship bc siddhu’s parents are divorced. here’s my original review.

magadheera (2009 - telugu): i love this one. it’s directed by ss rajamouli (the genius behind baahubali). indu and harsha meet by chance and fall for each other, but it turns out they were lovers in a past life. indu was a princess and harsha was a warrior whose clan served the royal family. they had a tragic ending but were reincarnated, as was the villain who separated them. i’m a sucker for historical films and i loved the main leads. as always, the songs were amazing!!

nuvvostanante nenoddantana (2005 - telugu): siddharth and trisha are just the cutest. i love this film so much, it’s a classic. the plot is similar to maine pyar kiya. siddharth is a rich boy and trisha is a simple girl from a village. they fall in love, but she and her brother are insulted by his snobby family. siddharth decides to prove his love for her by living/working on their farm, far away from his comfortable life. there’s also a hindi remake but it sucks ass. my review here.

yevadu (2014 - telugu): first of all, allu arjun and ram charan are gorgeous. this film is also kinda intense. arjun’s character loses his girlfriend and is almost killed, but he wakes up with a brand new face. then, he takes revenge on the person responsible. i can’t say too much without revealing the plot, but it’s a great action thriller. nee jathaga the best song!!

sarvam (2009 - tamil): arya and trisha are SO lovely together. this film is so sad though and it always makes me cry. arya and trisha are a young couple who fall in love and plan to get married, but she suddenly dies. her heart is transplanted into a young boy, whose father is being stalked by a man who wants revenge (bc the father was in an accident which killed the man’s family). the two stories tie into each other and the characters are connected. i don’t want to reveal how bc it’ll spoil things. siragugal is my favorite song ever and i love the entire soundtrack. this is one of my fav tamil films.

mirchi (2013 - telugu): i loveeeeeee this film!!!! it stars my parents, prabhas & anushka. the soundtrack is flawless!!! it’s about two warring families and their rivalry, and how one man sets out to reform them. idk but i enjoy masala films and even though there’s lots of violence, i love watching prabhas beat up bad guys >:)

bangalore days (2014 - malayalam): it’s a lovely film about 3 cousins who relocate to the city of bangalore and the challenges they face there. i liked all of the characters, their stories, and how the director wove them together effortlessly. everyone did a wonderful job and had great chemistry with each other, especially the three leads. it was refreshing to see a film like this (especially where a disabled love interest isn’t treated like a burden and does everything on her own despite the fact she was in a wheelchair). 

urumi (2011 - malayalam): this film is very very very aesthetically pleasing. it’s directed by santosh sivan, the cinematographer for asoka (my fav hindi film ever). every frame looks like a painting. prithviraj (i love him) goes to kerala to sell his ancestral property, but finds out he is a descendant of kelu, a 16th century warrior. the story then shifts to the past. kelu wants to avenge the death of his father and kill vasco de gama. the chemistry between prithviraj and genelia is electrifying. the songs? FANTASTIC. the picturization of aaro nee aaro (idc if it’s plagiarized) reminds me a lot of roshni se. nithya menen is so so so cute as princess bala. vidya balan also has a small appearance but she’s smokin. the end makes me sob every single time. the soundtrack is also available in tamil & telugu and honestly, all 3 versions are PERFECTION.

inji iduppazhagi (2015 - tamil; size zero in telugu): anushka plays sweety, who is overweight but happy with herself. she rejects a marriage proposal from abhishek (the dreamy arya), but later becomes friends with him. however...after she finds out abhishek likes someone else, she joins a weight loss clinic. the place ends up being super shady and sweety (along with abhishek) decides to expose it. the first half started off really well. we meet sweety, who is confident despite what her mother and others say about her/her weight. but the second half fell flat and kind of dragged. even then, i still enjoyed it. anushka and arya are my favorites and pair well with each other. the songs were fun and enjoyable!! i lovelovelove kannalam. the ending song is also cute & cheeky :)

aval (2017 - tamil): there’s a hindi (the house next door) & telugu (gruham) version too, but my sister and i watched this film in tamil. bruh...it scared me but i really enjoyed it. the ambiance was just creepy and unsettling. in my opinion it was a well done horror film, which is rare bc nothing fazes me anymore. anywho, siddharth and andrea jeremiah look really good opposite each other and the entire cast did well. the girl who played jenny was awesome and i can’t believe this was her first film.

okay, i think this is good for now! i still have loads of films to watch and if y’all have any recommendations, PLEASE let me know! xoxo 💕

[disasterdeacy]

Forbidden Fruit Part Two

A/N: Here we go my dudes! I set myself a goal to get this out and posted by the 4th of July, so 2 days later isn’t too bad! Australia is amazing and I’m having a blast, but I’m still sorry this took a little long to get out to y’all! I might make a few more in this series, but as of right now this is the end of Forbidden Fruit! Thanks so much for reading and loving it, remember to reblog and comment, they genuinely make my whole day when I read them! Disclaimer: I do not own Lady Chatterly’s Lover by D.H. Lawrence Word Count: 7.2k  Pairing: 1998!Brian May x Younger Reader Summary: The 4th of July has come to Windlesham, and Y/N is ready and fed up with Brian’s teasing. Willing to risk it all, the two mismatched lovers spend the day making their own fireworks while trying to avoid being caught. Warnings: Infidelity, Age Gap, 18+, Unsafe Use of Kitchen Furniture, Don’t Fuck Beside Food Plz, Definite FDA Violations

Brian had never seen as sight more beautiful that the one in front of him when he walked out of the patio door the next morning. Y/N was sat in the porch swing, a red sundress covering the body he’d spent the whole night dreaming of. Her hair was still a little damp from the shower he’d heard her take a few hours earlier.   She was like him in that respect, last one to bed and first one to wake.   The older man didn’t know if it was a normal occurrence, Y/N staying up until  4am, only to wake at 6:30, but he hoped that it wasn’t. Not because he was concerned for her health, which he was, but for much more selfish and indulgent reason.   He hoped, desperately; almost pathetically, that Y/N had been kept awake with thoughts of him, just like he had been kept awake by thoughts of her.   But not even in his wildest, most realistic dreams from the night before did the young woman look this beautiful.   The sun hadn’t bene up for very long, only an hour tops, but the orange light was directly behind Y/N, casting her in an ethereal, seemingly heavenly light.   Her arm was bent at the elbow, clenched fist supporting her head which was buried in a book. Her legs were also bent up beside her in the swing, tucked nicely under the fabric of her sundress.   She just looked comfortable, relaxed.

Brian stood in the doorway, simply watching, no, admiring, the young woman in front of him. She looked so innocent, so much her age, no evidence of the actions from the night before present on her. If anyone outside of Brian had seen Y/N that morning, they’d just think that she was a beautiful, relaxed young woman...not the sexual temptress and goddess that Brian knew her to be.   Y/N could feel Brian’s eyes on her, had been able to feel them since he had come out of the damn house and onto the patio. She didn’t want him to know that she knew he was watching her, she wanted to see how long it was going to take him to make a move. Brushing a damp strand of hair from her shoulder, Y/N sighs a little, adjusting herself so her legs are flat out in the swing, her dress riding up until it’s barely covering her thighs.   She smiles a little into her hand when she hears Brian’s little intake of breath followed by the patio creaking a little under his feet as he makes his way to her. Only when he is standing directly in front of her does she tear her eyes away from her book, wide smile in her face as she takes in his appearance.   He was dressed very similarly to how he’d looked the night before, black athletic shorts paired with a tank top of the same color.

“Good morning Mr. May, how did you sleep?” She knew exactly how he’d slept, she could hear him tossing and turning all night, much like she had. God, she just couldn’t get the image of him jerking off, his face buried in her panties, out of her head. Even if she couldn’t see it happening, she knew exactly what had happened when he’d come back down to the pool 20 minutes after she had left him, hair wet, dressed in pajama pants and a Bart Simpson t-shirt that looked vaguely familiar. The two hadn’t said another word to one another the rest of the night, Y/N electing to spend some time with Louisa and Emily, Brian locking himself in his studio, neither one wanting to risk a fumble in front of Anita or the kids. Brian laughs, moving her legs onto his lap as he takes the seat beside her, hazel eyes warm and gentle. “Morning love, would’ve slept better if you were beside me.” He leans over, pressing a kiss to her neck, his dark curls tickling the delicate skin.

Y/N almost drops her book at his actions, shock coursing through her body, mingling with excitement and arousal, creating a cocktail of moisture in between her legs.   Sucking in a deep shuddering breath, just trying to steady herself, Y/N laughs gently, moving her head backwards to lay against the back of the swing, giving Brian permission to continue his ministrations. “Then why didn’t you come crawl into bed with me?” She knows its cheeky, a little bratty, and its just what Brian needed to hear based on the sigh he releases against her neck, arm moving to rest behind her, pulling her closer to him.

Picking up his head just a little, he brushes a bit of hair from her shoulder, smiling at the book in her hands.

“Read to me, if you don’t mind”

Brian’s words are as soft and gentle as his eyes, making Y/N blush harder than she had the night before. There was just something so intimate about the way he was sitting with her, arm loose around her shoulder, head nearly leaning against her’s. She couldn’t help but let out a little laugh at his eagerness, her heart fluttering like the hummingbird that had been keeping her company all morning.

“Are you sure? You might find this kind of book a little boring.” She’s teasing, knowing that the paragraph she was about to start reading was anything but boring.

His laugh mingles perfectly with the calls of a morning bird, making Y/N’s blush deepen as he places a delicate kiss to her shoulder blade, voice warm and teasing when he speaks. “If I’m not mistaken, this little book was banned for obscenity and indecency for 30 years darling…” His lips are suddenly less sweet, harder, needier… “So I sincerely doubt that this is going to be a boring read..”

He smirks into her neck, his own heart beating like a bat in a birdcage “Besides… if it means I get to hear your voice, I could listen to you read a phone book Y/N.” The way he says her name, barely a whisper, more of a plea to hear her voice than anything else. She blushes hard under his gaze and the feel of his lips on her skin, stammering a bit as she begins to read.

“His body was urgent against her, and she didn’t have the heart anymore to fight…” Her voice hitches in her throat, Brian’s teeth had decided to make an appearance as she started to read. “She saw his eyes, tense and brilliant, fierce, not loving. But her will had left her. A strange weight was on her limbs. She was giving way. She was giving up…” Brian’s hand inched its way from her knee upwards, grazing the delicate skin of her inner thigh.

“B-Brian, what are you…” Y/N trails off, voice breathless, eyes glassy with arousal. It’s not like she didn’t want this, god did she want it, but they were on his back porch, and his wife and kids, including her goddamn best friend, could just waltz out at any fucking moment… and she was pretty positive that seeing his father with his hands up his best friend’s skirt wouldn’t have the most positive impact on Jimmy. Brian chuckles into her neck, his calloused fingers dangerously close to her naked core… fuck, she really should’ve worn panties.

“I’m going to make you regret what you did last night baby girl… making me cum twice in less than 10 minutes.. giving me your soiled panties to sniff like a dirty fucking slut…” His voice is so calm, steady, and had it not been for the context of his words, Y/N would’ve thought that he was just asking what she wanted for breakfast.

“If you stop reading one more time, I’m not going to let you cum honey.. got it?” For a threat, it was whispered awfully soft and kind, but Y/N understood perfectly and just nodded her head, chest heaving, legs spreading involuntarily.

Her voice is shaky as she continues to read. “She had to lie down there under the boughs of the tree, like an animal, while he waited, standing there in his shirt and breeches, watching her with haunted eyes…” Brian’s fingers are extremely close to her dripping core now, gently running along the crease of her inner thigh. It takes everything in her body, every single ounce of self-control and restraint in her body to keep her from ceasing her reading.

“He too had bared the front part of his body and she felt his naked flesh against her as he came into her. For a moment he was still inside her, turgid there and quivering. Then as he began to move, in the sudden helpless orgasm, there awoke in her new strange thrills rippling inside her.” Brian moans at the words that Y/N was reading, how soft and weak her voice was. Fuck, she was the epitome of an angel, a creature sent to earth to bring good will to man, and based on the way his cock was training against his shorts, begging to be touched by the soft skin of Y/N’s hands.

“Rippling, rippling, rippling, like a flapping overlapping of soft flames, soft as feathers, running to points of brilliance, exquisite and melting her all molten inside. It was like bells rippling up and up to a culmination. She lay unconscious of the wild little cries she uttered at the last. But it was over too soon, too soon, and she could no longer force her own conclusion with her own activity.” Y/N squeezes her eyes shut right when Brian’s fingers finally slip inside of her sopping wet cunt, the noise obscene and completely out of place against the soft morning glow that was cast against the two. She keeps reading though, the threat of Brian not letting her cum prevalent and weighing heavily in the back of her mind.

“This was different, different. She could do nothing. She could no longer harden and grip for her own satisfaction upon him. She could only wait, wait and moan in spirit and she felt him withdrawing, withdrawing and contracting, coming to the terrible moment when he would slip out of her and be gone.” Brian can’t help but let out a hard moan against Y/N’s neck, sucking the area behind her ear as hard as he possibly could, almost as hard as her cunt was clenching down on his fingers. She felt like heaven on a Saturday morning, tight, wet, insanely hot, and unlike anything he’d ever experienced in his 51 years of living. Her legs were completely spread wide, cunt on display for the whole world to see if they so pleased. Brian had to resist the insatiable urge to drop to his knees in front of the swing and suck the juices that were running down his hand straight from the source… but he knew he couldn’t do that, he couldn’t risk Anita or any of the kids running downstairs and seeing him eating Y/N’s young right pussy.. no, he had to be smart, disciplined..

“Whilst all her womb was open and soft, and softly clamouring, like a sea anenome under the tide, clamouring for him to come in again and make fulfillment for her.” Much like Lady Chatterly herself, Y/N was close, so desperately close to cumming around Brian’s fingers, her walls clenching him like a vice, desperate to be pushed over the precipice. Yet, she never stopped reading, even when Brian’s fingers sped up, free hand moving to grope her breast through her dress, and his teeth began to nip at her jugular, she persisted.

“She clung to him unconscious in passion, and he never quite slipped from her, and she felt the soft bud of him within her stirring, and strange rhythms flushing up into her with a strange rhythmic growing motion, swelling and swelling til it filled all her cleaving consciousness, and then began again the unspeakable motion that was not really motion, but pure deepening whirlpools of sensation swirling deeper and deeper through all her tissue and consciousness, til she was one perfect concentric fluid of feeling, and she lay there crying in unconscious inarticulate cri-” She clenched tight around his fingers, book falling to the ground as her arms reached over involuntarily, wrapping themselves tight around Brian’s shoulders, mouth wide no noise escaping her throat despite the obvious throws of pleasure she was experiencing. She knew it was cliche, to say that she saw stars, that she felt her entire body constrict into itself… but she did, his fingers were still inside of her, pressing hard into her g-spot, prolonging her pleasure. Brian’s lips halted their harsh assault on the young woman’s neck, instead opting to place gentle kisses to the area, not wanting to overstimulate her too much. He couldn’t remove his fingers from inside of her if he wanted to, her muscles still clenching him tight as her upper body went limp, her head dropping to his chest, mouth open and heaving heavy sighs against his exposed armpit.

“B-Brian.. I..” Before she could even get a word in, the sound of pots and pans clanging together in the kitchen caused the two lovers to spring apart, Brian’s fingers slipping from Y/N’s cunt so fast it made her head spin. By the grace of whatever deity was looking down on them, Y/N somehow managed to fix her skirt, grab the book, and look semi presentable by the time the door opened and Emily darted out, wide smile on her face.

“Dad! Y/N! Anita wants to know what you want for breakfast.” They both breathed a sigh of relief that it was only Emily, because had it been any other member of the May family, the flushed faces, heaving chests, and general disheveled appearance of Y/N and Brian would’ve given them away. Brian just smiles, hiding his glistening hand behind Y/N’s shoulders.

“Whatever she’s making would be lovely honey, just go tell her to make sure to cut Y/N up some of that cantaloupe we bought yesterday!” Emily giggles and nods, running back inside to yell her father’s words at his girlfriend. Y/N lets out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding in as soon as the door closes, dropping her book back against the patio as Brian lets out a loud rumbling laugh. She jolts at the sound before joining him, completely dumbfounded that what had just happened actually happened..

“Mr. May, I swear to god, we’re going to get caught if you’re not careful…” Her eyes are wide, full of mischief and excitement.. she loved this, the whole forbidden nature of their relationship, or whatever they could call it. The risk that they were taking was a big one, and the fear of getting caught was only making her want it more. Brian just laughs, leaning over to place a chaste kiss on her lips, hands moving to cup her cheeks. He winces a little when he realizes that his fingers are still wet with her cum, frantically pulling them away from her to try and wipe them on his shorts. “Shit, I’m sorry love, you probably don’t want that o-”

His words are cut short when Y/N reaches forward with lightning quick reflexes and grabs his wrist, pulling his soiled fingers into her mouth where she licks every single drop of herself from him, eyes never leaving his. Brian almost cums right there, watching this beautiful young woman do something that he hadn’t seen done in 30 years. He lets out a little whimper, making the young woman smile when she grazes her teeth over the long digits as she moves to stand, her free hand reaching into Brian’s shorts, squeezing his cock before turning her back and walking towards the patio door, pausing for a second to send him a teasing wink.

“Be a good boy today Mr. May…”

Breakfast passes relatively without incident, save for Y/N purposefully dropping a grape down her sundress, her eyes never leaving Brian’s as she pulled it from her bra, popping it into her mouth, allowing her fingers to run over her bottom lip as she pulled them from her mouth.   Brian shifted uncomfortably in his seat, cock standing straight up in his shorts, the mesh fabric not exactly helping to keep his issue inconspicuous.   It isn’t long after she takes the final bite of her cantalope that Y/N stands from her seat, smile on her face as she darts her eyes between every member of the family before landing firmly on Brian’s, mischief playing in them as she spots his crossed legs, a feeling of pride blossoming in her chest. “I’m going to go ahead and get the grill started if that’s okay Mr. May, wanna make sure that its nice and hot by the time we decide to lay everything down.” Her tone is light and polite, and to everyone else at the table might’ve seen like the innocent declaration of a young woman who just wanted to help out.   However, Brian knew exactly what she wanted, could see the unspoken request in her eyes as she played with the delicate rings on her fingers. He was about to offer to come and help her, to make the excuse that he just didn’t want her to get burnt, until Emily shot out of her seat, latching herself to the older girl’s side, begging her to show her how to light the grill properly. Y//N tried to hide the disappointment on her face at the interruption, but she just slaps on a smile and wraps her arm around the younger girl’s shoulders. “Just promise you won’t stand too close to the fire okay? We don’t need you losing any eyebrows before school starts back.” Emily laughs and nods enthusiastically, pulling Y/N towards the door, not even giving her an opportunity to look back at Brian.   The sight is one that makes him smile and laugh a little, Y/N was as kind and giving as she was h gorgeous, always giving his youngest daughter as much attention as she did his oldest. Jimmy laughed at the two, popping a strawberry in his mouth as he turned to his dad, eyebrows furrowing at the fond look on his face. He had noticed the way his best friend and dad interacted the afternoon before, the way his dad’s hands just couldn’t seem to leave Y’N’s waist after he pulled her from the pool, how they lingered on her back during dinner, how her eyes never left his during breakfast... hell, he would’ve been a complete dumbass if he hadn’t noticed the bright red flushed cheeks that adorned their faces when they returned from the patio that morning. The oldest May child knew that something wasn’t right, that something was going on between Brian and Y/N, but he trusted his best friend and his father, trusted them not to do something TOO scandalous.   He wasn’t a naive idiot, he knew how his dad was, he knew about his proclivities, about his lifestyle. However, he also knew that Y/N wasn’t some lovestruck groupie. His best friend was smart, had a good head on her shoulders, and wouldn’t do anything that would potentially hurt herself or her friends and family. So, Jimmy keeps his mouth shut, munching on his breakfast as his dad clears his throat and pushes himself from the table.   “I’m gonna go write up some emails before we start cooking.” Meanwhile, outside, Y/N and Emily were having the time of their lives lighting the grill. Anita, Louisa and Jimmy had joined them a few minutes after they’d first exited the house.   Emily was currently brandishing the starter fluid, soaking the charcoal while Y/N laughed and held the matches tight to her chest. “Alright pyro, keep that up and we’re gonna blow the hot dogs into the stratosphere. The five of them stay outside for a bit longer, Y/N getting more and more restless with every second that passes. After a while, the young woman stands and announces that she’s going to head inside and start working on the ice cream, adamantly refusing any help, citing that it is a “secret family recipe”.   The three May kids and Anita laugh at her antics, and wave her off, causing her to breathe a sigh of relief as she heads into the house. Making a bee line for the freezer, Y/N removes the bag of ice, cream, and milk before lying it all on the counter, dragging the machine she’d brought with her from York onto the counter beside the ingredients. Plugging in the machine, she pours all of the necessary items into the mixing cylinder, emptying the ice bag into the bucket before furrowing her brows, trying to find the rock salt that Jimmy had brought with them. Upstairs, Brian was actually genuinely trying to type up emails, however, his brain just wouldn’t allow him a moments peace, constantly showing him images of Y/N’s lust wracked body, writhing underneath him as he pounds into her tight young pussy, the noises obscene... He pushes his glasses off of his face, rubbing his hands over his eyes as he sighs.   Just as he was about to say “fuck it” and pull out his already half hard cock, he hears a commotion in the kitchen and smiles.   If lady luck was on his side, it would be Y/N standing in there, red sundress straps teasingly falling off of her shoulders. Pushing himself from his chair, he heads out of his office, which was conveniently located a few doors down from the kitchen, and rests his shoulder against the doorframe, cock hardening at the sight in front of him. Y/N was bent over looking in the cabinet beside oven, a noise of triumph falling from her lips as she spots the rock salt container, reaching forward to take it. Brian seizes his opportunity, moving forward before he can stop himself, arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her up into a standing position, his cock rubbing into her ass.   The young woman lets out a small gasp of shock before it dissolves into one of pleasure when she realizes what was going on. “Mr. May, I-” She doesn’t even get to finish her sentence before his lips are on her neck, cock thrusting hard against her ass.   “No love, no talking, not after that little show at breakfast this morning.” His voice is low, dangerous, and teasing.   “Dropping grapes in your top, licking your spoon...made me get a fucking hard on right there at the table.” She lets out a breathy chuckle, proud of herself for having such an impact on him, but Brian didn’t find it funny at all. Moving his hand upwards, he grasps her throat tight, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to get her attention. “You think that’s funny do you love? Think its funny that you almost made me cum in my pants in front of Anita and the kids? God, you’re such a dirty little slut Y/N, and I’m gonna fuck you so  hard today...gonna make you regret your little cheekiness..” Giving his hips one last thrust against her ass, Brian places a gentle kiss to her neck and unravels himself from her, just in time for Jimmy to come barreling through the door asking for the shrimp and veggie burgers. The grilling of the food took no time at all, with Anita, Louisa, Emily and Y/N staying inside the whole time fixing greek salad, potato salad, baked beans, mac and cheese, mashed potatoes, green beans, and so much more. Before long, everyone is sat at the table, bellies full, plates empty, wide smiles on their faces. Y/N and Jimmy were joking around about one of the archaeology professors and trying to convince Louisa to go to York so they can get a better flat.   This goes on for a good hour and a half before Brian gets tired of waiting and decides to move things along a little bit. Smirking, he slides off his flip flop and moves his foot under the table to rub against Y/N’s calf, causing her to choke a little on her Rekorderlig. Jimmy claps her on the back a few times, laughing out something about her having one too many.   Y/N just laughs lightly, eyes meeting Brian’s in a kind of challenge which only causes his smirk to deepen and hands to grip the sides of his chair a little hard.   Darting his eyes from Y/N’s to the kitchen window, he smiles widely when she nods and stands.  “Ice cream should be done by now.” Her voice was light, not at all betraying the anxiety inside her as she stood up, hands brushing off the crumbs from her sundress. “Oh, I’ll give you a hand l-“ Anita didn’t even get the words out of her mouth before Brian had risen from his chair, a small smile on his face as he made his way over to Anita, pressing his hands into her shoulders gently, keeping her in her seat.  “You’ve helped make every single thing on this table today, let me give Y/N a hand.” The younger woman had to physically stop herself from moaning out loud, bringing her thumb to her mouth and biting down just enough to cause her enough pain to keep her body from reacting outwardly to the way her internal organs were physically dissolving into a mushy mess.   Instead, she smiles, an innocent wide eyed look overtaking her face as she gazed over at Brian, her hands clasped in front of her. “Oh, Mr. May, you don’t have to...”   Brian just smiles at her, walking around the table, standing beside her before wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “You’re our guest, and you’ve lugged a 30 pound contraption from York to Surrey, just to make us ice cream Y/N. The least I can do is help you scoop it out into bowls.” He hopes it’s not obvious to the others, the way his eyes are burning with lust, the way his adam’s apple is bobbing up and down as he attempts to swallow back the moan threatening to escape at the bead of sweat running down the valley of her breasts. And while it might not be obvious to the rest of the May family, Y/N was all too familiar with the look that Brian was giving her. It was a look which caused heat to pool between her legs and wetness to coat her inner thighs, one that made her let out a shaky chuckle before heading towards the door, wanting to get away from Anita and the kids before she pushed him to the ground and rode him in front of them. Brian caught on to her not so subtle signal, and immediately followed after, holding the door open for the young woman, hand lingering on the lock for a split second before he decides not to go for it... he would just have to be careful.   Y/N immediately goes over to the ice cream machine, her bottom lip pulled tightly into her mouth, teeth digging into the plump skin. She was trying desperately to not smile or moan out in anticipation, only wanting Brian to come over and fuck her like her life depended on it. She was trying to distract herself, not wanting to seem too overly eager, like he had been. Y/N wanted Brian to come to HER to show HER how badly he wanted her, and she didn’t have to wait long. As soon as she pulled out a bowl from the cabinet, Brian’s hands were on her hips, pulling her hard against his chest, his cock digging into her backside. It was so much like what had happened a few hours earlier, but now... now the two were going to fuck and be fucked, come hell or high water. Neither one of them had enough self restraint and care to even think about what would happen if someone walked in on them, the scandal that would ensue. They only cared about one thing, and one thing alone. Brian’s cock, sliding hard and fast into Y/N’s hot cunt.   “M-Mr. May! P-please, I need your cock.. Please..” She didn’t usually beg, didn’t class herself as someone who would EVER beg, however, in this moment, the man she’d been lusting over for years standing behind her, cock hard and throbbing against her backside while his entire family sat a mere 10 feet away behind a door...she was willing to get on her goddamn hands and knees and kiss his feet if that’s what it took. Brian lets out a whimper in response to Y/N’s begging, and the way her ass was grinding into him. He’d wanted this since he’d pulled her out of the pool the day before, wanted to have her in his arms like this, completely at his mercy. Bending his head just slightly, Brian latches his lips to her neck, biting, kissing, sucking, doing absolutely anything he can to leave marks and claim her as his. Because that’s what he wanted, he wanted this young, gorgeous, intelligent, incredible young woman to be his and his alone.   Consequences be damned, he’d never felt so much unbridled desire to be with someone before in his life, and he was going to do whatever it takes to make sure Y/N stayed with him.   “We don’t have a lot of time, certainly not enough time for me to do all the things I want to you..” He trails off, his heart leaping a little when she leans back and rests her head on his shoulder, her own lips moving to the delicate skin of his neck.   “B-but I need to fuck you Y/N. I need to feel your right cunt pulsing around my cock. Fuck honey, I need this like I need fucking air, and I want to make you f-feel so good.” His words go straight to Y/N’s cunt, causing her to let out a little moan against his neck. “Then fuck me Brian, fill me up with your cum baby, wanna feel it filling me up.” She had never allowed a man to cum inside of her before, but at this point she didn’t fucking care.   “Fuck honey, you can’t tell me things like that...” Bringing his shaky hands to the hem of her dress, Brian pushes it up around her waist, groaning loudly when he sees her bare ass. “No panties? Did you plan this honey? Did you fantasize about me bending you over against this counter,” To drive in his words, he presses her against the countertop, pushing her face into the cool marble. “Pushing my cock inside your tight young cunt while my children and partner sit outside and eat the food that we made especially for you..” While talking, he’s pushing down his pants, just far enough so that he can get his cock out and fuck her properly. Y/N’s hands are tightly gripping the corner of the counter, her eyes trained on the window in front of her. She could see the entire patio, the way Anita was silently eating her salad while Jimmy and Louisa threw pieces of hot dog bun at Emily.   “B-Brian, they’re gonna s-see us.” Her voice wasn’t scared or timid, but breathy and full of anticipation.   She wanted them to see, or at least she wanted to be able to see THEM while Brian pounded into her relentlessly. The older man just chuckles, leaning over to place a kiss on her exposed shoulder blades. “Let them see love... let them see how fucking hard I am for you Y/N.” He grips the base of his cock, slapping it hard on her exposed entrance causing both of them to groan at the feeling. “I haven’t been able to get this hard, this many times, in 5 years darling... and it’s all because of you.” He pulls her ass hard against him, groaning almost pathetically when she grinds into him eagerly, a gentle moan falling from her red bitten lips. “Please Mr. May... need t-to feel you inside of me now..” She isn’t embarrassed at how needy and wanton she sounds, loving the way her words and moans cause his cock to twitch against her. “You’re so fucking needy for me honey, so desperate for my cock.” Through gritted teeth he speaks and slowly guides himself into her hot and wet center, causing her to gasp as she feels the delicious stretch of his cock inside of her for the first, and certainly not last, time.   His calloused fingertips are hard as they dig into her hips, giving him the leverage he needs so that he can thrust into her as hard and fast as they both needed She grasps hold of the windowsill, having decided that the countertop just wasn’t giving her the necessary grounding that she needed to keep up with his hips.   “M-Mr. M-May, you feel so fucking good inside of me! Goddamnit, stretching me so good..” His arms come up, wrapping around her waist as he pulls her upwards until her back is firmly pressed against his chest.   He can barely think straight, his cock sliding in and out of her so fast that he’s glad the ice cream maker is still going, because the sounds from their skin slapping against one another hard and fast... it would draw attention. “God, you’re bloody perfect angel... s-such a tight, b-beautiful pussy!” He moans, his pace beginning to hasten, his breath hot on her ear, his teeth nibbling gently on the lobe. Loosening one of his hand’s hold on Y/N’s waist, he lets it fall toward her pussy, his fingertips finding her clit immediately.   He doesn’t waste a single second of time, his orgasm is already approaching, and he refuses to cum first.   Y/N whimpers as he plays with her with one hand, the other coming up to hold her by the throat, just keeping her pressed to his chest, not wanting her to fall against the counter. His hold is gentle but firm against her throat, and she tilts her chin enough for her to place her head into the crook of his neck, but it isn’t there for long.   Brian moves his hand up a bit more, grasping her chin gently, forcing her to look out of the window at his family. “You like knowing that I’m fucking you in my kitchen while my family sits outside? Look at them Y/N.. look at how happy and excited they are out there, waiting for their ice cream...” She whimpers, head trying desperately to fall back against his shoulder, but Brian won’t let that happen. “But here we are, my cock buried deep in your weeping little cunt, completely ignoring them.. god Y/N I would leave my partner if 12 years for you, to have this cunt in my life for the rest of time..” His words shock him a little, but he means them. He and Anita had been having some issues for quite some time, and this, whatever it was with his son’s best friend, just solidified the fact that his romantic relationship with her was over. Y/N is also a little shocked at his words, but the pleasure building inside her belly knocks the words she was going to say right out of her head.   Instead, she rather pathetically whimpers out, “I’m almost there! B-Brian.. Please!” Her hips are moving hard, rolling to meet his own impatient thrusts.   His fingers moving faster against her clit as she jerks her head from his grasp, turning around quickly and wrapping a leg around his waist, propping the other on the counter top. She knows she’s going to be sore as all fuck in the morning, but the way the angle changes sends her into an earth shattering orgasm.   Brian’s eyes widen at her movements, and the way her hips never leave his, how his cock unsheathes from inside her cunt. Whimpering himself, he tightens his grasp on her waist, pulling her as close as he can against him as he pounds into her.   “Cum for me Y/N, p-please honey, I wanna feel you l-let go against me..” His teeth are gently nipping at her ear as she breathlessly moans out his name, mouth falling open when he latches his lips against hers, tongue slipping in uninvited but not unwelcome. “Go on love, let go... please!”   His voice is desperate against her lips, weak and pathetic. He’s so close, so painfully close to painting her walls with his cum, his fingers moving against her clit at the same breakneck speed as his hips slamming into her. She doesn’t need any other encouragement, her breath hitching in her throat as she sobs out a moan that sounds vaguely like Brian’s name, shuttering against him as he whimpers into her mouth. Feeling her clenching down like a vice on his cock, feeling the tears of pleasure run down her face, it sends Brian over the edge into the most intense and blinding orgasm he’s had in decades. His cock throbs and spurts wave after wave of white hot cum into her waiting cunt. His thrusts start to slow just slightly as the both of them ride out the high that washes over them like a goddamn cold bucket of water, his hand moving from her clit to join his other one grasping her hips. He groans and she moans into his hair as she tries catch her breath, but with his cock still moving in and out of her sensitive cunt it’s almost impossible. “B-Bri.. c-can you s-“ Before she can even get the words out, he’s slid out of her quivering cunt, causing her to let out a gasp of shock at the sudden emptiness she feels, and the abruptness at which he’s just left her. “Wh-“ She furrows her brows, but upon hearing the patio door open, her eyes widen and she hastily throws her sundress over her lap, moving to stand beside the ice cream maker, bowl in her hand as she looks over into the mixer, back turned to whoever has just entered. “Now what’s taking the two of you so long? You’ve got three very sugar deprived children outside waiting!” Anita’s voice is light and full of amusement, and Y/N sucks in a shaky breath before letting out a little laugh, not daring to turn around as she speaks. “Oh! It just needed a few more minutes to get nice and thick. Should be ready any second now!” Brian has propped himself up on the counter beside Y/N and the ice cream maker, elbows propped up against his knees in an attempt to disguise the still half hard cock he had just managed to get  back into his shorts when Anita had opened the door. God, he was eternally grateful for looking out the window when he did. “You go on back out and we’ll take care of the sweets doll.” His tone is light and not at all betraying the actions he’d just been involved in not even 30 seconds earlier. Anita smiles at them and nods her head, heading back out the door, telling Emily, Jimmy and Louisa that it would just be a couple more minutes. The sound of the door closing causes Y/N and Brian to both let out loud sighs of relief, the two lover’s eyes meeting for a second before they dissolve into a fit of laughter. Brian hops off the counter, wrapping his arms around the younger woman, his head resting against her shoulder as she threads her hands through his hair. Y/N couldn’t believe that she’d just done that... that she had fucked Brian May, her best friend’s father, against the counter in his goddamn kitchen while his partner and children ate basically in the next room. “Jesus fuck Brian, that was too close for comfort.” Her words are a bit shaky, the gravity of the situation crashing down on her. She didn’t want to ruin a family, and she certainly didn’t want to lose Jimmy, but... whatever she was feeling for Brian was more than just lust, and she knew that. Plus, what he had said to her about leaving Anita.. that was probably just heat of the moment words, but she couldn’t help but think otherwise.. Brian laughs lightly, sitting up just enough to look into her eyes.   “We’ll just have to be more careful next time then won’t we..” He brushes his hand through her hair, eyes gentle, a small smile on his face when he sees the shock on her face. “N-next time?” Her brows furrow, butterflies erupting in her stomach at the possibility that he wanted the same thing she did... to keep this going for as long as possible. Leaning down, Brian places a deep and finalizing kiss to Y/N’s lips, his hands cupping her cheeks, her’s moving up to hold his gently.   The kiss said more than he ever could, that he wanted this, wanted her, it confirmed to Y/N that she was getting into something bigger than herself, and that she was about to enter into a world of insanity and secrecy. She couldn’t wait.   Brian pulls away from her just a little, smiling as he rakes his eyes over her figure, taking in a shuttering breath when he sees the white liquid that he’d squirted into her a few moments earlier, running down her leg. Dropping to his knees without a second thought while Y/N begins to scoop the ice cream into bowls, Brian licks a stripe from her calf up to her cunt, sucking up every single drop of his cum that had managed to escape her pussy. Y/N is completely unprepared for the sudden feeling of his mouth against her sensitive cunt, moaning lightly as he cleans her.   Placing a delicate kiss to her clit, he pulls  away after he was certain that she was as clean as she could possibly be, aka clean enough that she wouldn’t drip in front of the kids or Anita.   Brian drops a kiss to her nose before turning to the ice cream bowls on the counter, taking a bite of the creamy frozen vanilla treat, moaning at the taste, his eyes never leaving Y/N’s lust blown ones.   Smirking, he takes 4 of the bowls from the counter, leaning in to drop a kiss to her lips before moving to whisper in her ear.

 “You’re sweeter.”    

Tags: @meddows-taylors @doubledeaky @toomuchlove-willkillyou @rogerina-deacon @leah-halliwell92 @goodoldfashioned-rogerboy @brianmayoucease @rogertaylors-lipgloss @mariekuuuuuh @unofficialbillnye @stephydearestxo @danamaleksworld @dereones98 @glasgowkisschelseasmile @awkwardangelshezza @bellamy1998 @psychosupernatural @warren-lauren @womanwithahotdogstand @oujiacallme @simonedk @ellywritesfics @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @sam-mercurry-sixx @toomuchtellyneck @asgardianvamp21  @crazylittlethingcalledobsession @amore-libre @marvelstuck @softboydeacon @a-queen-on-her-throne @horrorsinwonderland @roger-bang-the-drum @frannyxc @mrsmazzellotaylor @reedusteinrambles @drowseoftaylor

[atamascolily]

lily liveblogs “terminator: dark fate”, part one

In which I write two thousand words about the first two minutes, which is why it takes me four hours to watch a two-hour film.

The DVD says R rated for "Violence throughout". God I hope so.

3 dvd trailers just to get to the menu. thank goodness for fast forward. You can't skip them entirely, but you can skip to two seconds before they're over.

Also I can't help but note that one of the trailers is for Gemini Man, a movie about old!Will Smith battling a digitally de-aged!Will Smih, and I cannot help but admire the irony given how de-aginging software will be used in the film I am trying to see. Another trailer is for the Top Gun sequel. More irony.

the dvd menu is just the first thirty seconds of the theme with random movie clips, which just cuts out as soon as it gets good. not a fan.

grainy video footage of Sarah Connor from T2 with her v/o recounting her vision of nuclear holocaust to Silbermann AS THE COMPANY LOGOS FLASH ON SCREEN, this is (probably) not meant to be symbolic of the destructive influence of capitalism BUT OH MY GOD THE IRONY

Ocean waves on a beach, exposing a human skull. Then slow zoom out to reveal more bones. Old!Sarah narrates the story for those of us just tuning in. Terminators rising from the ocean while HK planes hover above. They see a little girl hiding beside a downed helicopter and aim at her--

--cut to the same (?) beach in Guatemala, 1998. Old!Sarah says "That future never happened because I stopped it," and we see her sitting by the beach in a bar, watching teenage John chat up a girl.

The CGI looks good here. John's face is fuzzy and at a distance, but it works in context, and t2-era!Sarah looks great. I wouldn't guess it was CGI if I didn't know it was CGI here. And this, my friends, is the future of filmmaking right here, and I have a lot of thoughts and feels about it, but that's a rant for another time. Let's just say that it's HIGHLY IRONIC that the people who basically invented Photoshop so they could make T2 are using this face-altering business on real actors, making them effectively shapeshifters just like the Terminators in this franchise. (Iirc, in T2, the CGI was used mainly for the shifting BETWEEN the faces of real actors--not on the actors themselves.)

And then young(er)!Arnold strolls in as John turns, and you can SEE him freeze as he RECOGNIZES the T-800, but doesn't have time to react--and the T-800 fires.

Sarah pulls a gun out of her pants and fires straight into his back. If she'd been facing in the other direction, she would have seen the T-800 and started firing right away, but she didn't. And I bet the T-800 deliberately set it up that way because he knew--whether Skynet told him or not--that Sarah was a threat.

She tries to grab the gun away from the T800 and it doesn't work. He pulls her head back and tosses her away. He could have killed her, but he doesn't. I don't know why. (PLOT!) Maybe because it's not his mission. Anyway, Sarah is like three feet away from her son, down on the ground, as he's shot in front of her. It's her worst nightmare come true, just when she thought everything was okay.

The scan from the T-800's perspective as he registers TARGET TERMINATED is pretty cool. And then he drops the gun and walks away, and Sarah is left with the dead body of her son.

"I saved three billion lives," Old!Sarah says, "but I couldn't save my son. A machine took him from me, and I was terminated."

WHAM.

CUT TO OPENING TITLE AND THEME.

Okay, so this is a controversial opening, and a lot of people hated it, but I am personally okay with it. Partially, it's because I am not emotionally attached to John Connor the same way I am attached to Sarah, or even Kyle. John Connor may be the savior of humanity in the Terminator mythos up until now, but he's also a macguffin in T1 (and arguably in T2 as well). He's not an independent agent, and his actions/decisions don't drive the plot in the same way that Sarah's do. John's story after a certain point in any timeline is very difficult to write well. Case in point: movies that are ostensibly about John Connor--T3 and Terminator: Salvation--are also the ones that "everybody" thinks are terrible, and Sarah is not present. I don’t think this is a coincidence.

People SAY they want a John Connor-centered movie, and maybe it's possible to do a better job that T3/Salvation/etc, but I think it would be very challenging--and I don't think it would be a Terminator movie at all. It would be a sci-fi action/horror featuring humanity vs. intelligent killer robots, but that's a different beast from a Terminator film--which is very much a commentary on contemporary human/machine interactions and therefore NEEDS an oblivious society as backdrop for its metaphors to work. A war movie in which the Terminators are no longer secret is... not as effective.

But anyway, put yourself in the writers' shoes and imagine you want to make another Terminator movie after T2. You want Sarah Connor to be in it. What do you do to make it new and different, while still working within the established formula? More to the point--remembering the unofficial motto of this franchise, after all--what do you do to make Sarah Connor suffer?

And the answer is exactly what the filmmakers did: they took away her son. They took away the REASON she was originally targeted for termination, the REASON her life was turned upside down, the REASON everybody she ever loved was murdered by killer robots from the future. They took away everything she'd worked for, and turned it to dust in an instant. And, you know, they killed YET ANOTHER PERSON she loved. Her last connection to Kyle, even.

(ngl, if I'd been writing this movie, I would have done the exact same thing FOR EXACTLY THOSE REASONS)

Also, can I just take a moment to point out how RARE it is that a male character dies to further a female character's story arc? This happens ALL THE GODDAMN TIME with male heroes and their wives/girlfriends/family members no one bats an eye, but kill off John Connor and suddenly everybody is pissed. I can't help but notice the double standard here.

Look, I know what it's like when someone kills off your favorite character. Really, I do. It sucks. It sucks a lot. (See: Avengers: Endgame and the Star Wars sequel trilogy.) But at the same time, I can't help but notice that a great deal of the people upset about John Connor's death are cishet white males--in many cases, the same people who in other contexts are fine with somebody (usually a woman) dying to "raise the stakes" and make the story "personal" and "dramatic" or even "realistic".

There are a lot of people who gushed  about The Last Jedi, calling it "subversive" and "brilliant" specifically for upending everything we knew about Luke and "making our old heroes fallible" (and therefore human). In the case of The Last Jedi, I can't help but notice that Luke's character--and Han and Leia's and everybody else in the movie--is shafted in favor of Kylo Ren, who is depicted as an attractive cishet white dude. I suspect this is not a coincidence.

I'm curious how much overlap there is between those who HATED Terminator: Dark Fate for killing off John, and those who LOVED TLJ, which has a similarly bleak premise and “subversion” of previous story beats. I wonder if the difference between the two films is that it doesn't matter to a lot of  cishet white dudes how screwed up everything else gets as long as the character they personally identify with the most/view as "the hero"--Kylo Ren--triumphs.

As far as I can tell, the attitude for some fans is that it’s fine if Sarah Connor suffers, but John is sacred and inviolate. He cannot be touched. He is essential, the lynchpin of the franchise, the one character who makes a Terminator movie work, the one around whom everything revolves. Without him, everything is pointless.

And I wonder if this is the same group who personally identifies with John--one, because they grew up with him, but two, because they look like him. I suspect a lot of people latched on to the idea of John Connor as the savior, because it meant--on some level--that THEY could also be the savior. And they are mad at having that character--and that promise--snatched away from them, and re-invest that energy in anyone else, let alone someone who looks different from them.

(AKA "It's all 'subverting expectations' and 'brilliance' until it's your self-insert/favorite character getting shafted," and then it gets ugly.)

Also, I note that John's death isn't heroic AT ALL. He dies in the exact same way the Terminator in T1 kills the other Sarah Connors. It's quick, efficient, and over in seconds. I suspect this hurts people more than if he'd died some other way. In a way, this scene is probably one of the most "realistic" in the entire movie. But I'm not sure people want "realism" in their movies, no matter how much they say they do.

(and does it say something about audience priorities that this kid getting shot at point-blank range is more upsetting and controversial than ALL OF THE OTHER DEATHS in this movie combined? Like, yes, I know  context matters, everybody else who dies in this movie is an adult (I think?), and we have a lot emotionally invested in John from previous movies, but... I mean, yes, I know, the background characters weren't framed as the saviors of humanity, but does that mean they don't also deserve empathy and respect and grief from us? And I can’t help but note that real-life children getting shot in a similar fashion doesn’t seem to engender the same amount of strong feelings on a massive scale, at least in the US.)  

Anyway, Sarah fails. Terribly. Irrevocably. In the only way that matters. She fails, and her son dies, and she falls right back down in the abyss she thought she'd managed to crawl out of. And I think that is also hard for a lot of people to watch, because we're so used to seeing her WIN through sheer grit, determination, and stubborness. We assumed she always would. But she can’t, not if there’s going to be another movie... 

(another other implication of Sarah's short-lived combat with the T-800 is that it doesn't matter how much of a badass she is, NO 100% HUMAN BEING can go head-to-head with a Terminator directly and WIN. If Sarah Connor can't do it, NOBODY ELSE COULD HAVE DONE IT BETTER THAN SHE DID.)

(and also there's the realization that if Sarah hadn't destroyed the reprogrammed Terminator at the end of T2--the only being who COULD have saved John in that moment--her son might still be alive. That's gotta hurt.)

Anyway, we're two minutes in and I find this plot twist more compelling than 90% of the entire Star Wars sequel trilogy, and 100% more consistent in terms of previously established character arcs. Obvs. ymmv, but I think it goes back to the franchise's horror roots, where everybody except Sarah dies, and it also shows very clearly that we are entering a Very Dark Timeline as we shift to the title card.

I'm honestly impressed the writers had the chutzpah to go through with this and REALLY kill John for good. Though I also see why they didn't advertise it in the trailers....

Before I move on, I want to repeat what Sarah said at the end of this scene, because it’s so gut-wrenching for me: “A machine took him from me, and I was terminated."

I emphasize that last clause because this is how Sarah sees it. It’s not just John who died that day--she believes that SHE did, too. Ever since she was 19 years old, Sarah Connor’s life has been defined as “John Connor’s mother” and she’s built up her whole identity around keeping him alive no matter what. Now John is dead, and she... cannot be that person any more. So who, then, is she?

For better or worse, Sarah Connor is now a free agent. She is liberated both from her role in the future as the mythic mother figure, and any lingering obligations she has to patriarchy. From now on, there is no fate (for her, if not humanity) but what she makes for herself. It’s an awful, ironic twist, and I think it was a valid choice for the franchise to make. As long as John Connor is alive, everybody else will always be in his shadow--up to, and including, Sarah. 

Without him, we’re in new territory. Which will look a lot like the old territory because humans are sadly predictable, but different all the same.

[jaawriter]

Inevitable - a Darvey fanfic

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. If I did I would have more money. 

__________________

“Do you want to come in?”

“Not tonight.”

There is a question that she only just swallows back, that he saw on her face before she shut the door.

Not tonight. Which night then?

He can’t do that thing, that thing she does, where she conjures truth and meaning from seemingly nowhere - but he does know her as well as possibly anyone else, and it’s not clairvoyance but it could be. He knows what it means when she looks at him quietly, instead of spelling out the reality of what’s going on for him. He knows what she’s thinking when she gives that slight shake of her head, breaks eye contact, and then that pause, that silence. It’s the loudest quiet he ever feels, the loudness of her withdrawing from him because she knows if she says, out loud, what she feels and what she wants to say, she would break him - because as much as he knows her, she knows him.

She sees who he is. His fear, his clumsiness, his pretence. She sees all of it. She knows his bones and how they’re always primed, waiting for the next betrayal. She can predict the flashes of brilliance and greatness that peek out from time to time, when the chips are down and he finds himself in situations where the only thing that can happen is that who you really are punches through the noise. She knows the tension under his skin, knows he’s never truly relaxed, knows he’s waiting for the next one to leave.  Knows there’s a part of him that believes they all leave. That one day, she will leave.

She knows him. Knows him like nobody else in the world.

But he also knows every fibre of her, her radiance and light and goodness, all her fabric, seen and unseen, and it’s not really fair on either of them. Because he hates the idea of letting anyone else know her the way he does, hates the idea that anybody would know her fabric so well they could unravel it with a few words if they wanted. Like he does, sometimes. Like he did a few days ago, in public no less.

He almost winces at the memory. He’d been so ugly to her.

If anyone knows about selfish, it’s you.

Your judgement sucks.

She had messed up, and they both knew it. But so had he, more times than he could remember, and where she would guide him back to something resembling goodness, he was just… cruel.

If he was being less honest he would have called it an out of body experience, claimed he was out of control, that he only watched himself tear her to shreds. Except he wasn’t out of control. It was methodical, and calculated, and shitty.

He hates that he did it, that he turned that coldness, the icy soul of a closer on her, on purpose.  Because he doesn’t want anyone to hurt her. Because he doesn’t want to hurt her. But also because there’s a darkness in him he can’t quite cut out of him that whispers you can hold on to her. Because he’s fucked up and he is his mother’s son. And he knows that one day she will leave, but if it’s his fault she does, then he can still love her.

Piece of shit.  

“Harvey.”

He blinks, and he’s been staring at the painting in her hallway, and she’s leaning against the door, and he’s not sure if he’s been standing there for three seconds or three hours.

“Sorry,” he says, a slight shake of his head to bring him back to reality.

She studies him for a second, then reaches out, takes his hand, loosely tugs him towards her, and says, “Just come in. You need a drink.”

———

They’ve been sitting in tense silence for half an hour, matching each other shot for shot, chasing a bottle of whisky to the bottom.

Donna only keeps whisky in case he comes over.

The only other times he’s been here have always been gentle, caring, safe. Donna’s place is a refuge, a place of peace, where Donna and Harvey don’t pretend what they are or aren’t and they can just be together, laughing and unguarded in their not-quite-together and not-quite-single conversations. They flirt, they laugh, they play as close to the line as possible before Harvey shies away and calls Ray to pick him up, and goes home to collapse in his own empty bed, palming himself under the covers until visions of red hair dance behind his eyelids and he falls asleep with her name hidden in his mind.

Donna’s apartment is a refuge and a fantasy. But this, tonight, is not that. The air between them is heated and ready for a spark. He feels the pressure of it in his gut, wonders if she feels the same.

“You’re angry.” She’s the first to break the silence. It’s not a question.

He knocks back his glass in one gulp and pours another even as the burn down his throat makes him grimace. It’s heavily peated, he hates heavily peated, hates whisky you’re meant to sip when he just wants to inhale the whole bottle and disappear into the haze for a while. “I came in, I never said I’d talk about it, Donna.”

“You got put in a position to choose between myself and Paula.” Her words are careful and measured; she is trying hard to keep the peace. She feels the tinder box as well, then. He takes the tiniest amount of perverse pleasure in that. “I’m sorry. I wish that was different.” She takes a sip and he thinks he can taste her gathering her courage, and says the next into her glass. “Even if I don’t want to take back what I did, I’m sorry for what it’s caused, Harvey.”

“I said don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbles, raising his glass to his lips.

“Harvey -“

“You once asked me not to fall on my sword for Mike.” He interrupts her harshly, head snapping to pierce her eyes with his.

She can’t hold his gaze. “I know.”

“Well, you’re asking me to do that now and why the fuck is this different.” It’s not a question, not really, because they both know why.  

“Because that was about you having faith in yourself and this is about you having faith in me.”

“Bullshit.”

“I -“

“You really didn’t know about us. About me and Paula.”

A pause. “No.”

That word triggers off some absurd buried offence that he’s had locked away in his chest since she wrapped her arms and the taste of her around him, slid into his being and his dreams again. He’s not sure why he’s mad at her for this admission. Maybe one day she’ll explain it to him.

Fuck, he’s such an asshole, and chants don’t do it don’t do this to himself even as he launches off the couch, his palms spreading and his anger finding her - unrestrained, unfair, unsurprising.

“What the hell, Donna, how could you not know? You know everything! It’s what you said made you a good COO. It’s what you tell everyone. And you’re meant to know me, and you. Missed this.”

She looks up at him, battle wearied. “I don’t know everything, Harvey. I know you don’t like to think so, but I am actually human. I don’t think I wanted to know. Maybe the signs were there, but I ignored them.” She shakes her head, murmurs, “I think I wanted to be wrong.”

He’s not willing to have the tension in the room defused by her gentle admission. He wants a fight. It might be rage, or it might be the coil of desire sitting low in his belly that the whisky always seems to unleash in him, but whatever it is, he wants a fight. He’s going to get one, and he stabs his glass at the ground as he turns the force of his whatever the fuck he’s feeling on her.  

“So you wanted more, and you came after partner and asked me to put you above the firm, and you told me you could hold the firm together because you know people better than they know themselves, and you told me this wasn’t about us, but clearly there’s something more going on, Donna, because if it wasn’t about us, why the hell did you kiss me? And then after you put me in the position where you made me cheat on Paula, you made me choose between you and her! Everything was finally starting to work again after Jessica and you just yanked the rug out from under me. Did you even think about what that would do to me, Donna?”

Unfair this is so unfair you asshole

“I didn’t make you choose, Harvey.” She’s keeping her voice calm, but he can hear the waver underneath the words and he hates it. “I should never have kissed you and I’m sorry, I really am, but Paula gave you an ultimatum, not me.”

“And Paula wouldn’t have had to give you an ultimatum if you hadn’t done that. Face it, you fucked up, and now you’re blaming me for having to fix your shit!”

“Oh my god, Harvey, listen to yourself,” Donna finally snaps. She’s standing now as well, jabbing the glass of whisky at him like a weapon.  “You didn’t ‘fix’ anything. You ran, like you always do. Would you have ever done this to Mike? Snuck behind his back to get him a job and not had the balls to talk to him about before sending him out of the firm and his family because you found a girlfriend?” Harvey begins to open his mouth at that, and Donna raises her hand to stop him. “I know you care about her. I know she’s important to you. And I know it was me that put your relationship at risk. But Mike put us all at risk for years. You still never would have done that to him.”

“Are you kidding, I would have fired him.”

“Yeah, well, firing me would have at least taken a split second of courage, Harvey.” She wheels away from him, maybe because they’re too near to each other, too loud, too close to happening upon something sitting too close to the surface. She pours another drink and that bottle is a lot emptier than it should be considering the thin ice they’re both tap dancing across. He feels every inch of empty glass in the back of his throat and in the way the floor isn’t quite as rock solid as it should be.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“I said you’re a coward, Harvey.” Her voice is wobbling but she looks at him, looks right into his soul, and her eyes are clear and furious. “You couldn’t fire me, because that would have meant actually making a decision for once, instead of manipulating people to get them to make your decisions for you.” He winces at that, because she’s right. Ever since Jessica left, he’s been veering wildly between making no decisions and making bad ones. He thought he’d been able to hide his panic. But, of course, he hadn’t really. Not from Donna.

But she’s still going, her voice gaining strength as she lays out in front of him everything he should have heard from her months ago. “You demand so much from me, Harvey. From all of us. But God forbid anybody puts you in a difficult position. You’ve always said loyalty is a two way street, but you’re letting your fear get the better of you. This isn’t you, Harvey. You used to be better than this.” She swallows and her voice breaks, just a little. “You used to be braver than this.”

She runs out of steam, and there’s a too-long silence between them. He’s out of breath, somehow, and he heaves for breath. She folds her arms and looks at his feet.

Well, goddamn it, if she wants courage she can have it.

“You know why I could never fire you, Donna,” he says. “You’re not Mike. You know you’re not Mike. Just like you know if it came down to it, it was never a choice for me. Not ever. Paula … I was never going to choose her. Because we… this -“ he waves his hand between them - “makes no sense half the time, and the other half of the time… Donna …”

She’s turned back to him now, her eyes wide. It’s so close, they’re so close to it, and she looks at him like she can’t quite believe it’s him, of all people, that’s going to say it.

“What?” she breaths.

At the same time all the fight goes out of her voice, all the fight goes out of his chest, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding onto. His glass drops to his side, sloshing whisky over his fingers, and something stings his eyes.

“God dammit Donna, I just…” And he knows, suddenly, why he’s never said it - there aren’t any words that fit. So he shakes his head, helpless, his arms spread out to his sides, and says “you’re everything,” and he barely gets the words out before her hands have wrapped around him under his suit jacket and she’s sliding her mouth over his in a kiss that jolts all the air out of his lungs.

He doesn’t even have a chance to consciously process this change of events as anger does a hard left turn into passion and his stomach flips. He drops his glass, his hands tangling up into her hair. She slides her tongue into his mouth, and he feels that deep in the core of his being.  The world spins, and it’s only partly the drink, and she tastes like whisky. She nudges his bottom lip with her own, sliding her tongue across his in that lazy, loose, half-drunk way he loves, and fuck. His stomach hollows out with want and he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her tight against him. He can’t quite believe it; can’t quite believe they’d just agreed they didn’t want each other a couple of days ago, Donna telling him she didn’t feel anything - and here she’s kissing him like the world’s ending. He has shoes on and she’s barefoot and when she presses her body against his and wraps her arms around his neck to make up the height difference he thinks he might actually die.

His hands find their way up under her shirt and the touch of her skin under his hands makes his cock twitch. She’s beautiful and he feels like he can feel the colour of her skin, feel the light dusting of freckles up her back. He remembers. He’s fallen asleep more than once with his hand stretched out across a blank space in his bed where she was meant to be. Those nights always felt like regret, but he’s here now and so is she and she’s perfect. He drops his mouth to the gap where her neck and shoulder meet, tasting her, one hand scratching up to the base of her skull. His other hand skates across her waist, dipping into the waistband of her pants. He kisses sloppily up the side of her neck, over her ear, and she turns her head to capture his mouth with hers again, her hands tugging his shirt out of his waistband under his suit jacket so she can hook her fingers into his pants and pull him closer.

She presses her body against him, instinctively grinding her hips to his through their clothes, and a guttural moan escapes him. He mumbles “fuck” against her mouth, and he remembers she likes when he talks because she groans in response. He’s too overwhelmed to take control, which works for Donna as she walks him backwards towards her bed, one hand on his chest to guide him and the other deftly unbuttoning his shirt as she does.

By the time the back of his legs hit the bed and he falls back onto his ass, she has his shirt open under his suit jacket, his shoes off, his belt open and his pants unbuttoned and he thinks she might be a magician. She climbs onto the bed after him, straddles his lap, and kisses him in the way only she can - all at once slow, longing, urgent, sensual but sweet as fuck and how the hell does she do that anyway? He grabs her waist, pushes her shirt up and over her head, dropping it behind her. Her skin is flushed and warm under his fingers, and she’s not wearing a bra so he slides his hands over her breasts, massaging and then tweaking her nipples as she settles herself on top of his cock, rolling her hips against him through his pants. She has sensitive breasts, he remembers, and she moans into his mouth as he teases her nipples into taut buds. She feels amazing, and the sounds she makes fills his frame with something akin to awe. He doesn’t quite know what he’s managed to do to deserve this, having Donna under his hands, rubbing herself against him as he flicks and teases her nipples. She’s remembered too, though. Harvey’s never been too proud in bed - he’s not self conscious about showing women he’s with what he enjoys, and she’s not the only one that finds this maddening. So she drops her head to his chest, outlining his nipple with her tongue, circling lightly, teasing, before taking it into her mouth and sucking gently and holy shit. Harvey drops his forehead to the back of her head, trying to get his breathing under control, but that goes out the window when she palms his cock through his pants and he gasps her name.

He’s straining against his pants but can’t do anything about it as he’s holding onto Donna for dear life.  But Donna knows, she always knows, and quickly tugs his pants down past his thighs. In the same movement, she sheds her own pants, and climbs back over his body, pushing him, pressing his back into the mattress, and he gives in completely - he’s hers, all of him is hers, and nothing has meaning outside of her guidance and desire anymore. He lays back, pants on the floor somewhere, shirt and jacket open at the chest, and somewhere dimly he knows he must look utterly helpless, and he doesn’t care.

She follows him, covering his body with hers, covers her nipple with her mouth again, teeth teasing gently, and immediately takes him in her hand, stroking his length slowly. His head drops back and he moans towards the ceiling, tangling his hands through her hair. The feeling of her sucking on his nipple while she squeezes his head is too much and he has to focus hard to avoid embarrassing himself. Harvey runs one hand down her back blindly, nudging her body up further. As she brings her mouth to his, he runs his hands down her skin, sliding down her belly and to her pussy, and Donna must be as on edge as he is if that guttural ‘Harvey’ that escapes her lips is anything to go by. His fingers and thumb already slick from her, he finds her clit with two fingers and draws lazy circles over it. She huffs shallow breaths into his mouth and it’s messy and wanton and she’s gorgeous and how could he have ever wanted anything other than this, anything other than her.

And then she has him in hand, guiding the head of his cock to her entrance, taking a moment to rub the head of his cock over her clit. He holds her thigh, staring, lost, not just with how damn good she feels but how damn good she is. She is his better in every possible way and she has somehow found her way to him. It’s inconceivable, and when she sinks down on him, lights explode behind his eyes and everything in his world slots into place.

She sets the pace, slow and deliberate, rolling over him and pushing her hips against him, and he moans with every thrust and she almost looks smug about it. She’s gorgeous, utterly gorgeous, the dark tan of his hands contrasting with alabaster and freckles as he slides his fingers over her waist. “Harvey,” she says, mixing with his gasping recitation of her name, and she braces her hands against his chest and she strokes him in and out of her, feeling him stretch her out with each push.

It’s exquisite, its torture, it’s not quite making love and it’s not quite fucking, it’s unreal and it’s every dream he’s ever had about her wrapped up in one. She’s building, searching out her orgasm, speeding up, her thrusts needy and deep. He just hopes she finds it before he loses the last shreds of his own control. He can feel his cock stretching her with each movement and it’s too much. He slides one hand from her waist back to her clit, rubbing in tight circles in time with her thrusts, and Donna’s moans become guttural. “Fuck, Donna,” Harvey murmurs. “Holy fuck.”

She comes with a heaving sigh, her stomach muscles fluttering under his hands, and he’s right behind her, the unconscious squeezing of her orgasm wrapping around him, pushing him off the edge.

———

She’s still on top of him, a leg wrapped around his waist as she pushes her face into the crook of his neck and he can feel her smile against his skin, and he drifts, thinking that it wouldn’t be so bad to just stay here forever.

He wants to say I love you but that feels awfully like a cliche’d moment, something out of a movie, and quoting movies is not what he and Donna do.

“Well,” he murmurs instead.

“Well.”

He pushes a hand up into her hair. He thinks he maybe has a fixation with her hair. He’s okay with that.

“Hi.”

He smiles. “Hi.”

“Stay?”

He nods, and she holds him a little tighter.

end

[squiishiichaos]

How We Cope: 2, Travel Part 1

Eos would’ve been a truly beautiful world, Riku thought, if only they hadn’t landed in an endless desert wasteland.  

(Read previous chapters here!)

With miles of wilderness in all directions and no sign of civilization anywhere to be seen, the Silveret wasn’t sure what their navigation gummi had sensed that led it here.   In retrospect, he supposed that trusting Roxas to just let the ship lead them where it would wasn’t one of his best decisions, but considering all the items they needed to acquire before this mission was done, Riku couldn’t say he was all that disappointed.   If nothing else, at least it was nice to have company his own age for once.  

What was this—the first time?  

It felt like the first time.    

So did going around an unknown world without the threat of imminent doom sitting pretty on his shoulders.   A part of him wondered if he’d ever been to any places in the past where he felt safe enough—comfortable enough—to just enjoy the scenery without looking over his shoulder every five seconds.    If he’d ever stood in a room without feeling eyes watching him from shadows, waiting for him to make a mistake; to show weakness. He couldn’t remember.   No matter how hard he tried, all he could recall were cold shoulders and even colder glares.

Even after all that, Riku couldn’t stop asking himself, how could I have been so blind?

Well, at least you can see well enough to know that’s not a tomato, he commended himself as he watched Roxas bend down to grab the ninth leiden potato in a row.   No matter how the blonde wiped dirt off the root vegetable, it remained crusted with a layer of cracked earth.     He let out a heave of breath, falling hard onto the ground while mindlessly throwing the potato up to him.

Riku caught it effortlessly.   “Giving up already?”

“It’s hot,” Roxas returned flatly, “I’m tired, and there are no goddamn tomatoes on this fucking world.”

“There has to be tomatoes somewhere,” he assured. “Besides, that’s only one missing item on the list.  We still have a whole host of other ingredients we’ve yet to find.”

“Wow, you are just a beacon of encouragement,” Roxas chided, lying down on the ground with his hands folded beneath his head.  Was it bad that he kind of wanted to kick him?  

“Like you’re any better.”  

“I’m not the one who walked into the Bistro during the busiest hours to tell everyone I was going on a long ass quest of self-exploration.    Don’t pin this on me.”   It was definitely bad that he wanted to kick him.  

“Look, I just wanted our friends to know where we were going.”

“Why?  So if we got eaten by the Heartless we haven’t even seen they could put their whole head together in some botched attempt to rescue us?”  

“Are you always this pessimistic?”

“Do you always ask this many questions?”  Okay, on second thought, maybe it was better he traveled with older individuals.  

The darkness had nothing on Roxas.   “You could’ve stepped in and told them to fuck off like you so enjoy telling me.”

“Jealous?”  Riku rolled his eyes.  

Lying there, peaceful and relaxed, it was hard to believe this was the person who made him contemplate the morality of murder on a daily basis.   But Roxas had always been an anomaly to him.  The way he wore darkness like it was a second skin while wielding light without any effort.    The way he picked fights with all the confidence of victory on his side, never counting his losses.   The fact he could stand toe to toe with someone like Xemnas and say the boldest of words and absolutely mean them.  

He wasn’t sure if the Blonde was someone to be idolized or feared, but he was sure that no light should look as good as his cohort looked bathed in his shadow.    “I guess I’ll just find the rest by myself, then, if you’re too lazy to help.”

“Good luck, Pretty Boy.”  With another roll of his eyes, Riku walked over the other boy, accidentally kicking his legs as he went.

He was beginning to regret this decision.  

At first, traveling with Roxas had been a godsend after months of lonely nights aboard the gummiship.   Sitting in the same seat Sora had sat time and time again, practically hearing his memories echoing off the walls along with snippets from Donald and Goofy had been almost too much for his heart to take after the incident.  Having someone else there—someone willing to talk—had filled that endless void with all the distractions he needed to bypass grief and dash straight back into focus.  But once the initial relief wore off, the realization of what he’d done sank in—deep and fast.  

Between the eight-hundred messages Roxas received daily in comparison to Riku’s one—if that—and the endless rounds of snarky wordplay that had no off-switch, he was starting to lose his mind.   If he was woken up one more time in the middle of a warp-gate to the Blonde’s phone chiming painfully into the night, murder would no longer be a possibility in his mind.  It’d be a very real, very bloody reality.  

This felt like fighting the darkness all over again, only somehow worse.   At least back then he had Sora to look forward to.   What did he have now?

Oh, right, nothing.

“Fucking Roxas…” He grumbled, kneeling down to inspect a small bush of pebble-like beans.   Shaking a few loose into his palms, he pocketed them into his satchel before standing back up and making his way forward.   On his far right, the first sign of civilization sat alone in the dilapidated ruins of a shack.  Unopened boxes sat cluttered by a hole where the entrance once stood, untouched by everything but dirt and aged dust.  Signs of weathering existed on each slat of wind-worn wood barely holding the tiny thing together.  Scars from sand storms bit dents and scratches into its bare bones, offering shadows where light reflected off the hollowed structure.  

Something about the shack drew him closer.   Carried him inside the rickety framing where pockets of isolated sunlight beamed down through the many cracks in the ceiling like a ladder of pock-marks leading him beyond the entrance and toward the very back of the building.  In the left corner, huddled beneath a series of faded, old newspapers sat a discarded little trinket.  Silver and round, it shone with the brilliance of an abandoned relic after his thumb brushed off some of the dust.  

A reflection of himself peered back from atop its surface, drawn in lines of curiosity and caution.  Traces of dirt and toil sat stark against the paleness of his skin, darkening strands of his hair from silvery-white to ash-grey. Emerald pools appeared large and tourmaline when he moved it closer for inspection, obscuring parts of the object from view like moss atop a rock.  Brushing his thumb over the surface again, he hissed as a sharpened edge dug into his skin, drawing out a pinprick of blood to the surface.  

Sucking on the cut to stem the bleeding, he quickly pocketed the piece into his pants before standing and retreating back the way he came.

With no new finds to mark off his list and no real discoveries of note, he found himself torn between returning to his cohort and just continuing on his merry way, but he could practically hear that all-too-familiar voice sharp in his ears, scolding him again.

Who are you trying to fool?  

Perhaps it was himself—again.  This time, he wasn’t so sure.  

Definitely not Roxas—at least that much he knew.   Even if he tried, he didn’t think he could hide from the Blonde.   He was too damn perceptive.  

“Back so soon, eh?”  Speaking of which, Riku rolled his eyes at the boy still lying still on the ground.     For all the different aspects that made the Blonde so vastly different from Sora, there were a plethora of others that reminded him—constantly—how similar the two were.    This particular one made Riku painfully nostalgic for lazy days on endless shores.   “Did you find any tomatoes?”

“No, but I did find signs of civilization and a couple of nifty trinkets.  Have you moved at all since I left?”

“Sure have.  Took a quick little walk in that direction,” Roxas drawled while lazily pointing away from them, “and found a billboard for an outpost called Hammerhead, or some shit.”

“Sounds super promising.”

“What?  You don’t believe me?”

“I’m pretty positive you haven’t moved an inch since I left.” At that, Roxas sat up and managed a glare at him.  

“You calling me a liar, Pretty Boy?”

“I sure as hell aren’t calling you cute.”  The Blonde let out a grunt of effort as he got to his feet, dusting off his clothes of any dirt clinging to the dense fabric.   Stepping closer, he poked a finger into Riku’s chest with a narrowed leer.

“First off,” he growled, wrapping his fist in one of Riku’s jacket lapels, “I am fucking adorable.  Secondly,” he continued while dragging the Silveret behind him, “the sign is right fucking there.”  

Sure enough, standing in stark contrast to the barren isolation all around it, that singular billboard rose over the landscape in a shadowy sheet of billowing letters printed into deteriorating steel.  A faded arrow pointed to the east of them with names and locations printed in a language that was strangely foreign to him.     How Roxas had managed to decipher anything with all that dirt and peeling plaster, Riku would probably never know, but given that the Blonde was still leading him down the pathway carved out by the arrow, he figured there was really no point in asking.

Might as well see where this goes, I guess.   “So, did that sign say anything about where to find ingredients?”

“I’d assume that an outpost in the middle of a goddamn desert would likely have something resembling a moogle store for us to peruse.”

“That feels a lot like cheating, Roxas.”  

“Does it?”  He finally let go of Riku’s collar, wiping his hand down his pant leg like there were cooties he just had to get off.   The Silveret couldn’t help a little leer.  “I think I prefer the term critical thinking.”

“Whether or not you want to accept it, this is a mission.   We should treat it like one.”  

“It wouldn’t be a mission if someone hadn’t bothered to offer in the first place.”  Riku rolled his eyes.

“It’s not that big a deal, Roxas.  It’s just a few more items and then we’ll be free to go wherever your sassy heart desires.” The Blonde spotted him a glare over his shoulder.

“Yeah, that’s what you said ten minutes ago when we got our twentieth potato in a row!  You do know that for a fraction of the munny we have saved up from our collective travels we could buy out a small shop of all these ingredients and more, right?”

“We don’t even know if this world takes munny.” This time, Roxas actually stopped and turned where he stood to glare up at Riku like he was the biggest idiot on the planet.   Maybe he was, judging by his choice of companion.

“What world doesn’t take munny?  What other currency even is there?”   Reaching into his pocket, Riku held up the chipped coin he’d found in the shack, letting it shine brightly in the afternoon light.

“This world has gil.”

“What the fuck is gil?”  Before the Blonde could snatch the silver piece from his palm, Riku jammed it back into his pocket and continued on their journey east, shaking his head.  

“Wow, Roxas.  Just…wow.”  

Silence enveloped them after that, lending a peace to the journey Riku thought impossible after all the tension lingering between them as of late.   Although it was a subtlety he prided himself on ignoring for the most part, he still felt the gap between them like the cold, icy chill of a drop off hidden beneath cerulean waves.  Like a cavernous depth waiting to engulf them, it only grew the longer the two of them tip-toed around the main reason—the only reason—they were even here in the first place.

But Riku didn’t want to be the one who said it, not when he felt like mentioning Sora around Roxas was somehow taboo.  

A large part of him—which he blamed on the Brunet—wanted to ask if he was okay. To see if the boy who’d been so deeply connected to his friend’s heart felt just how empty and bottomless the Silveret felt when he realized his best friend was gone.  If he sometimes woke up from a dream, ready to share it with the bubbly hero only to remember that he wasn’t there.  If he ever looked in the mirror, stared into his blue eyes and thought—I shouldn’t be here.  

Because Riku did—all the time.   A piece of him wanted to summon his keyblade right now and reach deep into the bowels of his heart for the last threads of Sora he could still feel tumbling around inside it. To cling to cherished memories and let them open the keyhole that’d lead him wherever his friend was resting now, if only so he could see him one last time.  

But I was the one who let him go, he always reminded himself.  This is what he wanted—what made him happy.   I can’t tarnish that because of my selfishness. 

A part of him kind of hoped Roxas was less selfless than him, but given that he had resumed begrudgingly retrieving random ingredients from any living vegetation willing to yield results, he didn’t think he’d have much luck.   No matter how boisterous and sarcastic the Blonde was, Sora had a way of leaving a lasting imprint on every heart he touched.   No doubt, it was even larger on the blonde than it even was on him.  

He must really miss him, he thought solemnly as Roxas quietly dropped a few pieces of root into their satchel of goods.   Riku decided to take mercy on the poor sap.  

“Well, I think that’s pretty much everything on the list.”

“Fucking finally…” The Blonde grumbled, kicking at the ground.   They both stopped and looked at the strange, paper object that tumbled away with the momentum of the hit.   Already furrowed brows came together in a disgruntled look of surprise. “Cup noodles?  Out here in the desert?”

Riku glanced down at him sheepishly.  “What’re cup noodles?”

The Blonde stared back in disbelief.  “How do you not know what cup noodles are?  What kind of teenager are you?”

“The kind who got swallowed by darkness and subsequently charged with saving the world?”  For a long, quiet moment, Roxas did nothing but leer at him. 

After what felt like decades, he finally responded, “anything else you wanna unpack while we’re here?”

“Now that you mention it—”

“That was rhetorical,” he interrupted, dismissing Riku’s soft words with a careless wave.  He stomped over to the cup and crouched down to poke at its flimsy surface with a ringed finger.  “But seriously, where did this come from?”

“Didn’t you say there’s an outpost nearby?  Maybe someone dropped it on their way back from it.”  Roxas shook his head as he picked up the cup and inspected it for any clues.  Turning it this way and that in the sunlight, he glanced briefly back at Riku.

“It’s still pretty warm—too warm for a building that’s nowhere in sight.” Putting the cup back down, he took a quick picture of it with his gummi-phone before standing back up. Riku casually jerked his head at the winding dirt roads heading deeper into the open mountains.

“Why don’t we follow the trails?  We might find something.”

“Yeah?  Like what? More ingredients?”  Offering a smirk, he took the first step off the road and into unknown territory.

“If we’re lucky, sure.”

“Well, in that case, I guess we’ll be eating death for the next couple mornings.”

Riku rolled his eyes.  “Are you always like this or are you just being extra dramatic for me?”

Roxas’s grin was nothing short of shit-eating.  “That’s cute, you think I act different around you.”

“Alright then, hot shot,” he taunted, reaching for his phone, “let me just call Xion or Ax—”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Pretty Boy.”

Riku shrugged, letting the plastic fall back into the depths of his pocket, “I guess that proves I’m right.”

“How the fuck does that—” Whatever the Blonde was about to say died as a loud click boomed through the emptiness.   Both boys shared a quick look before their keyblades materialized into their hands, ready for whatever monster wished to disturb their peace.  

Instead of a heartless, a lanky Blonde with hair oddly similar to Roxas’s smiled sheepishly at them while holding his camera up in surrender.  “Hey, uh, sorry about that!  I didn’t think you guys would notice me in the midst of your couple’s spat!”

Riku went ghost white as Roxas shaded an angry red. “We’re not even friends.”

“Hah, well, you certainly fooled me.”  Casually heading down towards them, Riku and Roxas finally let their weapons dematerialize back into their hearts. The man didn’t even blink.  “The name’s Prompto, by the way.   Are you guys new here?”

“No,” Roxas seethed, his blue eyes narrowed into a deadly glare, “are you?”  Despite the storm clouds backing each and every syllable, Prompt still managed a light-hearted laugh.

“’Fraid not!  Me and a couple of pals are on a road trip to Altissia!”

“What are you doing out here, then?”  Riku questioned, gesturing at the barren landscape around them.   For a moment, Prompto just bit his lip and contemplated them, but after a couple of seconds, he gave a large shrug and stepped closer to them.   

“Can you guys keep a secret?”  He asked on a conspiratorial whisper.

Riku answered, “yes,” right as Roxas responded, “no.”  Unfazed by their lack of synchronization, the Blonde leaned an inch closer and looked at them in turn with the eyes of someone who had definitely seen some shit.

Oh no, not again.  “See, my friend is kind of a big deal around here. The biggest deal, so we have to keep to the outskirts or he might be assassinated.”  

Taking a moment to let that sink in, Roxas looked up at Riku and stared with all the disdain of the world over.  “Oh,” he said in that penetratingly flat tone, “wonderful.”

“Yeah!  Come on,” Prompto encouraged with a jerk of his thumb up the mountain, “I’ll introduce you!”   Without waiting for an answer, he dashed off at a clumsy pace, looking back only once to make sure they were there behind him.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Roxas leaned into his space and whispered, “have I mentioned this was a bad idea?”

“Only six times.”

“Only six? Wow,” the Blonde proclaimed, actually looking pleased at this information, “I’m proud of myself.”

“It might have been more,” Riku teased, “but I tuned you out after the first two.”  Throwing a narrowed glare at him, the Blonde stomped after Prompt with a little huff.

Despite himself, Riku thought, I’m glad I brought him along for this.  You really have a great Other, Sora, with a smile up at the bright blue sky.  

“Come on, you slow poke!  Demyx’s somebody is getting away!”  I take that back, he thought as he nearly doubled over in laughter, you have the best other.

[batbobsession]

Incredibles 2 Review - CAUTION: HEAVY SPOILERS

Whoa. Who left that theatre screaming in joy? I know I did.  Fourteen years and it was totally worth the wait.  Every minute of it, even if there was nothing going on, left me breathless.  These guys really upped their game with not just the new story and characters, but the animation just blew my mind every time!  I mean, there are a few points that I’d like to address about the marketing squad, but other than that, most of these points are just going to be things that I enjoyed and would like to analyze further.

Animation

OH MY GOODNESS!  THE ANIMATION! IT WAS LIKE THE ORIGINAL, BUT BETTER!  I seriously feel like I wouldn’t have enjoyed the movie if it wasn’t for those simple touches that made it better.  The eyes were more expressive, the animation was more fluid, and everything was brighter.  Things like the lights in the swimming pool, Dash’s hair darkening when he got it wet, the water spraying from Violet’s nose, the subtle-but-obviously frosty prison Evelyn put Elastigirl in, and every effect with Jack-Jack’s powers was amazing. I was at a loss for words a few times.

AND VIOLET’S FORCE FIELDS!  There was barely any color before, just a small purple ripple of energy, and now her fields are brightly colored (GALAXY AESTHETIC FTW) and can be shot, pushed, partially formed, and a lot of other things.  Violet is stronger than she gives herself credit for, and it shows.

The effects for the other supers were great too!  Especially Voyd’s powers. Huge fan of the swirls around the portals!  

And the ice, electricity and lava all looked really awesome too!  

I don’t know...it was like the whole movie had a sort of glow to it, you know?  It was all of the things we knew and remembered...but brighter.  More intense.  More beautiful.  Thank goodness this movie came out new and improved.

Dash

So...who could tell that that wasn’t Spencer Fox playing Dash?  It wasn’t until after the movie that I saw Huck Milner’s name up there instead of Spencer Fox’s.  Milner had Fox’s Dash voice down to a T!  I didn’t notice any difference at all!  Well done, casting people!

Violet

In the first movie, Violet was so insecure about her feelings towards Tony that she wanted to be a normal person, without powers.  But now, she’s embraced her identity as a super and gained confidence because of it.  But this movie only goes to show how much she’s matured.  Sure, she overreacted a bit when she found out that Rick had erased Violet from his mind, but I think that’s to be expected since she got her heart broken.  Plus, the “I renounce my renunciation!” bit at the end was great. I’m glad that Violet’s learning to be confident and comfortable with where she is in her life.

Still Rooted in Family

The Incredibles franchise is supposed to value family above all else.  And thank heaven this movie delivered on that.  There were specific times when I feared that Elastigirl’s new job would drive a crack between her and her husband.  There were several times when Evelyn and Winston brought up how much better Elastigirl was at being a hero than Mr. Incredible to her face, and while she took the praise, she didn’t let it turn into something it shouldn’t be.  She still loved her husband and was proud of him for holding the family together.

And Mr. Incredible had to suck it up and be proud of his wife, too.  I mean, Incredibles 1 happened because Mr. Incredible had an urge to relive the glory days, even driving his family to move again and again.  There was definitely going to be tension when Mr. Incredible got turned down.  But the fact that he pulled it together and tried his best to support the family while she was away and encourage her to succeed.  Plus, it was hilarious to watch him try to control Violet, Dash and Jack-Jack without Elastigirl’s help.

Brawn vs Brains...and Space?

From the beginning of the hype for this movie, we could see that, like in Incredibles 1, the heroes had more physical-oriented powers while the villain prefered to stick with their smarts to get ahead.  Also, they both kind of defeated the purpose of “brawn” in the first place: Syndrome had gloves that stopped people dead in their tracks, and with the Screenslaver, once you control the mind, you control the strength as well, as displayed with Mr. Incredible and Brick.

This movie did it in a different way, however.  Instead of using technology to invent superpowers for herself, like Syndrome did, Evelyn used technology to create a character for herself to take all the blame, while she stayed in the shadows, smiling and unsuspected.

But then, there was another kind of superpower that came into play: the ability to bend and alter space.  This excited me very much, because that meant that there is now a third category of superpower that exists in the Incredibles canon.  Allow me to explain.

The first category is the Physical category, where the superpower has something to do with the way the superhero’s body works, no mental concentration required.  Supers that fit into this group are Mr. Incredible, Elastigirl, Dash, Violet (her invisibility), Screech (his ability to fly), and Brick.  

The second category is the Expulsion category, where the superpower is something that seemingly comes from the superhero’s body, like shooting things.  Supers that fit into this group are Frozone, Screech (his scream, though from another POV both of his powers could be considered physical), He-lectrix, and Reflux.  Though Syndrome isn’t a super, his lasers would fit into this category as well.

The third category--the one that was introduced here--is the Space category: the ability to alter space and bend it to your will.  This one can come in many forms: Krushauer uses his powers to crush things without touching them and Voyd has her portals.  What’s still irks me is that Violet’s force fields could fit into both the second and third categories.  She generates them herself, as seen in the fight with the Underminer, but she is also hardening the space around her to protect herself.  What do you think?

Jack-Jack

This is why Jack-Jack’s powers are so unique, though.  Edna said he is a polymorph, which means that his powers can adapt to any of these three categories: his shapeshifting and levitation fit easily into the Physical category, his multiplying, bursting into flames, and laser eyes work in the Expulsion category, and his abilities to teleport, walk through walls, and enter other dimensions are easily Space category material.

Also, this basically confirms Jack-Jack’s name is a play on words of “jack of all trades” like everyone theorized.  That scene with the raccoon was one of the best moments ever.  I cried, I was laughing so hard.

Other suit designers?

You mean, Edna isn’t the only one?  I mean, sure, there were bound to be people like Gregorovitch out there, but everyone knows that Ollivander’s the best, right?  I thought this was the same way.  Edna’s amazing when it comes to super suits that not only conceal the super’s identity, but also aid them in many ways.

So who is this G guy? Galbachi? Galbacci? And how does Winston know about him?  Did he have connections with the late Mr. Deavor?  I mean, he’s obviously inferior to Edna in nearly every way, as he made Elastigirl’s suit dark and angsty when that doesn’t match her image at all, and the costume ripped when Elastigirl was attacked. Super suits aren’t supposed to do that.  This guy is obviously inferior to Edna’s brilliance.

Winston vs Evelyn

Here’s a fun fact you probably don’t know about me: I love the way twins are portrayed on big screen movies like this.  Whether they’re total opposites, two sides of the same coin, or working towards a common goal, if they’re done right I’m 100% on board with it.  What I liked about Evelyn and Winston was that they were all three of the things I mentioned above.  EVelyn and Winston are total opposites--Evelyn has her tech and is more of an introvert (and more mature), whereas Winston is extroverted and can sell practically anything (and has a hint of that childish wonder that some of us manage to hold on to).  They are two sides of the same coin, no explanation needed.  And their goals are exactly the same.  You heard me right.  They both wanted people to be safe.  They just went about it differently.  They saw their parents’ deaths differently as well.  Winston saw the super ban as the reason why his parents were killed and resolved to fix that.  Evelyn noted that there was a safe room that would have completely saved the two of them if their father hadn’t been insistent on waiting for the supers to arrive.

The Screenslaver’s Message

“You don’t talk, you watch talk shows.  You don’t play games, you watch game shows.”

Whoa.

Who thought this part of the movie was a little deeper than you expected?

Who else thought, even a little bit, that maybe Evelyn was right?

I mean, she was still okay with killing every person in that boat for the sake of teaching humankind a lesson, which was horrible, but for the people in the audience...I think a nerve was struck.  

Honestly, she’s on the right track.  In the past few decades, humans have started to rely more on other people--or other technology--to accomplish their problems for them.  Humans will do anything for ease--at least, the ones that live comfortable lives.  Even we, the audience, were glued to the screen as Evelyn broadcasted her message to the world.

And look at where “ease” got everyone.  The Screenslaver character was just a distraction to get everyone on that boat so Evelyn could crash it into the city.  With everyone so hyped about the Screenslaver’s “defeat”, they had no idea about the impending danger that was yet to come.

Evelyn vs Voyd (and the other wannabe supers)

This was the only complaint I really had.  As I mentioned in my theory, Voyd got more marketing than Evelyn did.  But Evelyn had more lines than Voyd, and her message to the audience resonated more than the fact that Elastigirl inspired Voyd to overcome her fears and become a super.  I mean, both of them had something to say, and I like that Voyd’s there, but I feel like Evelyn should have gotten more marketing somehow.  Up until about a week from the movie’s release, I wasn’t even aware that Winston had a sister, let alone a twin.  I guess it just irked me that Evelyn was a shadow compared to Voyd.  It was one of the reasons why I was tipped off about Evelyn’s alter ego.  But it isn’t that big of a deal.

[bba-sae]

And In The End

PAIRING: Jaehyun/Reader

GENRE: Greek!AU + angst +fluff

WORD COUNT: 6.2K

SUMMARY: "My heart shall wither away with you.”

Authors note: S/O to everyone I left waiting for this series to FUCKINGGGGG STAAARRRTTTTT. I’m sorry. I suck, no excuse. But ooowweeeee look at that. I’m not sure when the others will be done but I do have other NCT/Seventeen Aus in the works. I’ll probably release a new AU in a few days, depending on how inspired I feel. Anyways, enjoy this???!!! Or don’t, I won’t force you, just don’t hate me pls lol

“You are not supposed to be here.” You say in a whisper, your voice almost being caught in your throat when you lay eyes on the intruder. You hold a candle to his face, the light seeming to dim against his bright smile. 

A boy sits nonchalantly on a table, his beauty threatening the most bewitching scenes that seem to fade in his presence. He shines brightly in the dullness that fills your life and a single breath is held in your throat. He juggles three figs between his hands, a smile emphasizing the plump bow of his lip. Jaehyun.

You see it in the way he sits, his limbs arranging themselves with such grace, they could not have been that of anyone else. His black hair falls cleanly upon his head though he runs his fingers through it rather sloppily. Despite his sheer handsomeness, he seems unaware of this dizzying yet intriguing effect he has on you. 

The boy drops two figs onto the table, taking the one in his left to the dagger that he pulls with his right. His hand expertly slices the fruit in one flick, and he takes the fruit to his mouth with one bite. You watch the juice drip off the corners of his mouth down his chin, his hand raises to wipe the side of his face. His eyes catch yours when he does, forcing you to shoot your gaze to the floor immediately. A loud chuckle emits from the pit of his stomach, the sound erupting a strange feeling of contentment through you. 

“You remember me.” He says with a smile, flicking his tongue to capture the rest of his food. You roll your eyes and pull your garments closer to you. The cold air of night seemed to scrape against the surface of your skin but dissipated with every step you took closer to the peculiar boy.

Though he claims to have shared the same age as yourself, he seems to exude a sort of unearthly wonder. You questioned him profusely when he confided to you that he was eleven the last time he visited.

“Of course I remember you, thief.” You set the candle on the table and take a seat beside him. Your legs cross in front of you, hands resting neatly in your lap. Jaehyun turns to you, his knees press against yours and he leans in with a frown. The boy never had a sense of personal space.

He seems betrayed when he speaks, his disappointment seeping through his words, “A thief? But you said I could visit. You even promised to leave me those figs.”

You laugh at this, a breathy laugh that makes Jaehyun pause for a moment. He’s heard a thousand laughs before, but none seem to ring through his body quite like that. He takes a second to refocus on your voice when you start, “I don’t really mean you are a thief. I was playing with you Jaehyun. Don’t you tease your friends?”

He chokes on his breath, a stutter forming instead of words. His eyes widen and his hands rush to wrap around yours.  You furrow your eyebrows as you attempt to retract your hands, but they are locked tight in his grasp. “We’re friends?”

“I don’t see why not.” You shrug as if the statement means nothing. But to Jaehyun, it is everything he has waited for. He smiles widely with glee, his eyes squinting into crescents. You shake your head at his childish excitement and wiggle yourself out of the little space Jaehyun leaves you. You stand again, grabbing the candle in your small hand. 

“But you barely know me? How do you decide these kinds of things?”

“That’s not true. I know a lot of things about you.” You begin walking around the table, hand grabbing the fabric of your gown. Your eyes focus on your feet that pad lightly against the ground. Jaehyun’s body spins and twists to follow your figure, unable to speak as he watches your peculiar actions, “I know you like figs, you told me that the last time I saw you. I know your parents are probably not very kind to you, because if they were you wouldn’t have to sneak in here to feast. Perhaps you are the son of a servant? But that wouldn’t make sense because you are so very,” You pause, trying to put a word to your thoughts. The boy rests his elbow on the table as he watches you take a seat again on the table's surface.

 He looks up at you, his eyes appearing bigger as he raises his eyebrows, “So very?”

“Foreign?” You tap your chin once, twice, before shaking your head, “Unlike anyone I’ve met?,” Your eyes close for a moment before it hits you and you snap your fingers in delight, “Unearthly.” 

Jaehyun scoffs, only realizing how exaggerated it sounds when it echoes through the room. He shakes his head vigorously before standing up and swatting his hand left and right. You laugh at his strange gestures. 

Your fit of giggles stops Jaehyun in his tracks and his hands fall to his sides. His stillness contrasts with your jovial movements as you hold your stomach in laughter. “I was only teasing again. Jaehyun, you have many things to learn.”

He sighs in relief, no longer surprised by your interest in him. The two of you spend the rest of the night talking, sharing stories of your days. He convinces you to stay until the first light of day and you hesitantly agree. 

When Jaehyun speaks of his own family, after hearing the extensive chronicles of your own, he doesn’t have much to say. His father never talks to him much, only forcing him to do his bidding when he’s occupied with other women. He relays to you that he has a sister and a mother, but that was all he has to share.

But before you can pry more, a single ray of sunlight illuminates a section of your face through the crack of a wall. You squint in its brightness, blinded by the intense amount light that floods the room suddenly. A burst of light obstructs your vision entirely and when you gain a sense of sight once more, Jaehyun is gone. You look around, only then feeling the weight of sleep threaten your composure. It is only a few short minutes until you give up, bidding him a goodbye under your breath. 

When Jaehyun hears you whisper his name, the light that illuminates the room glows with an unearthly brilliance but you don’t stay long enough to see.

Jaehyun and you become close within the next times he visits. You find comfort in his presence when you become lonely and you begin anxiously awaiting his visits. But after the six months, you no longer find him dining in your kitchen in the late hours. He is gone without another word, and his memory becomes that of an old childhood friend.

The next time you see Jaehyun, you feel his warm hands first. Your body lies beneath the olive tree that adorns the center of your family’s garden. You are three years older now, the gentle curves of your body hugged by the soft cloth of your dress. The torrid air of summer hugs your frame, the sweat collecting between your skin as you lay your forearm upon your forehead. Your eyes flutter closed, finding peace within the serene sound of leaves rustling in the tender winds.

As you feel your consciousness fading into a wisp of slumber, you are pulled awake when you feel a hand graze the side of your face. Your eyes shoot open and your hand is quick to grab the culprit, preventing him from moving closer. Your vision clears, and a pair of familiar eyes stare down at you. You blink once, twice, three times to focus on his features, hand still holding his. He lets out a faint laugh, sounding more like a sigh than anything else. 

“You’re rather strong, for a queen.” He jokes, earning a scoff from you. You are taken aback, however, knowing that the news of your betrothal was strictly confidential. Only your family knew of it. You sit up to meet his gaze, your hair messy and unkempt from lying on the ground. He sits back and rests his arm on his knee. 

Three years does not feel as long as it is until you notice how he’s grown. Jaehyun, now 16, still has his youthful glow that radiates his figure, but the years seem to have been kind to him. His features have become more defined, and his frame is taller. You notice his muscles, more toned than his prepubescent physique. Yet it was not the body of a common boy who helped his father with handy work, his body was that of a warrior. One that spent years training, training for a reason you were unsure of.

You shake your head and wave your arms as if pushing his words away. “I am not a queen.”

“Yet,” He says slyly, and you roll your eyes. He leans in, and tilts his head up slightly to look down at you with raised eyebrows, a knowing smile painted on his lips, “You are not a queen yet.”

“I am betrothed, I am not married. Many things can happen between now and then.” You trail off as you speak, distracting yourself with your hands. You intertwine your fingers together, hugging your hands tightly until your knuckles turn white. 

Jaehyun frowns, tilting his head in curiosity, “It sounds as if you don’t wish to be married to this man.”

“I don’t.” You say bluntly and meet his eyes. You don’t know why he’s smiling, and perhaps he doesn’t know either. But when you stare into his brown orbs, you feel a rush of relief flow through his features. He sighs, and he hopes you don’t notice the way his fists unclench. He’s heard everything he wants to hear but he goes on.

“And why is that?” 

You shrug, looking up at the sky for a moment. The rays of sun seem brighter, a pattern you have begun to expect with Jaehyun. “I don’t want to be nothing.”

“What do you mean by that?” He questions, eyebrows furrowing.

“I will be married. I will be his queen. I will be showered with riches. But I will not be loved. He will not love me, because he paid for me. But he will pretend to love me, for a moment. And I will feel important, for a moment.  Then in a few weeks, I will be nothing to him. I am not a token to be slept with and cast aside when one decides to seek other women. I don’t want to be nothing,” Your hands finally unclench and you begin to feel the blood rush through them. You look back to Jaehyun to check if he’s still listening and you are surprised how intently he watches you, “I want to be something, I want to be everything to the man I choose to love. I want them to choose me, every day.”

Jaehyun is silent when you finish and you believe he might laugh at your hopeless desires. You’re ready to hide yourself in embarrassment for pouring your heart out to someone you haven’t seen in so long, but for some reason, nothing ever felt more right. 

“I think I can help you with that.” He mumbles and you tilt your head to question him. 

“And how is that?”

“My father tells me that when I live up to my potential, I’ll be able to choose my wife, any woman in the land will marry me.” You let out a loud laugh and shake your head. You swing your legs to the side and rest your hand on the ground. Though you laugh, Jaehyun remains serious and you cough to clear the air.

“So?” You ask, and Jaehyun’s hands find yours. You don’t know why, but you soften at his touch and you allow him to proceed, though you know you shouldn’t. 

“I’ll choose you.” He whispers as if the words were meant for you. You feel his breath fan your face, only then noticing how close the two of you are.

When you answer, your voice is as inaudible as his. It is hesitant and soft and you believe you wouldn't be unable to speak any louder. “And if I say no?”

“You won’t be able to resist. I’ll save you a thousand times over.” His thumbs circle the back of your hands, and you feel as if Jaehyun did not come back to you with the intention to remain a friend. You felt his presence becoming imprinted on your very being, unable to forget him. You only hope he will not leave again. 

“What if I’m in no danger? What if I’m in no need of saving?”

He leans in, close enough to feel your breath mix with his, but he stops himself short of feeling the sweet touch of your lips, opting to lean back with a smile. He watches as your eyes flutter close in a split second as if awaiting a kiss, only to shoot open once again, “Then I’ll hope that you choose me too.”

“You’re a what?” you question. Your quarters are lit dimly by the blue hues of moonlight, yet they still seem too bright around Jaehyun. It is only a few nights since he has last seen you, but he couldn’t stay away from you much longer.  

Jaehyun leans against a wall, his gaze focuses on his hand that twists under the moonlight. It’s as if he’s trying to manipulate it or trying to soak it up. You cough once to get his attention again and he looks up at you. You’re sitting on your bed, your blankets held tightly to your body. The air is cold around you, and you shiver in the sudden chill that runs through your room. Jaehyun’s lips tighten into a slight smile and he closes the distance between you two even more. You already feel the warm flowing towards you.

“A god, haven’t you seen one?” He says it so casually as if it’s nothing. His voice is deeper, more confident than when you were eleven. 

You shake your head in disbelief, “You must be horribly misinformed, Gods do not walk among the humans. Gods hate humans.” Jaehyun shrugs, the ordeal not weighing on him as much as it weighs on you. You squint your eyes at him, still trying to understand what was happening. 

“But I am here, and I’m standing with you. Are you not human either? A muse, a siren perhaps?”

You let out an offended laugh, looking up at the ceiling to sort out your thoughts. When you look back at him, you meet his gaze with a glare, clenching your fist tighter. “You want me to believe you and you’re already comparing me to a siren? Is that how I come across to you?” 

Jaehyun sustains his eyes contact as he crawls onto your bed. The weight shifts to his side and the proximity becomes dangerously evident. Even in the darkness, you are beginning to scan his features clearly, his dazzling eyes leaving you breathless. “Beautiful, a sickeningly sweet voice, you could be the death of me if I got a little too close.” He finishes the last word as if it’s a challenge. One eyebrow raises before he’s only a few inches away from you. When he sits, he’s already grabbing your arm, pulling you into his lap to close the gap. Your hands instinctively rest on his shoulders and his own snake around your waist. He shrugs, “It’s an easy mistake to make.” 

You scoff at his actions, pushing a finger into his chest, “Maybe you are a God. If you were the god of shamelessly advancing on uninterested women.”

“Uninterested? I think not.” He says this with a squeeze to your hips, as if reminding you of your rather compromisable position, “But I’m willing to add more titles to my name.” 

“Aren’t gods supposed to,” you trail off, being thrown off by the way he looks at you. You lose yourself in his smile, as he giddily watches you speak. You refocus and continue, “have more decency?” 

He laughs as he always does and retorts, “My father is Zeus, I have a thousand siblings, who have a thousand lovers themselves. Please tell me about my indecency for wanting to be with one woman who has mesmerized me since I was young?” 

Your hands run down the sides of his face, examining the curves and details of his features. You ponder the fact that he may be a god, for no mortal could possibly be this beautiful. 

“Prove it.” You whisper, instantly being greeted by a sudden burst of light. It is the same as when you were 11, every time Jaehyun would depart from your presence. Yet this time it is smaller, a powerful thing that explodes from the boy’s hand. He closes his fist to extinguish it. A quiet gasp leaves your parted lips, and Jaehyun watches you intently for a reaction. “God of light. I knew it.” You say with a smile, hand snaking around to touch the nape of his neck. 

It is in that moment, something maybe you’ve been waiting for when he returned to you when he finally kisses you. His lips are soft but are eager to feel yours. He’s been waiting to tell you this, he has wanted to tell you for years. He doesn’t know exactly why he tells you on this night, perhaps he hopes to sway you toward him more. As if you really did have a choice in the end. The kiss is chaste and you pull away before he can will you towards his desires even more. You shake your head as his face recedes and he looks at you confused. 

“I cannot do this. I cannot let you sway me like this.”  You remove yourself from his grasp, sitting back into your original place. Jaehyun’s expression is hurt, his crestfallen features breaking your heart painfully so.

He turns away from you, hands supporting his weight as they press against your bed behind him. His legs hang off the edge, the curve of his back hunched more than it should. He looked defeated, a pitiful laugh ripping from his throat. “My apologies, I must have been mistaken in thinking you felt the same way about me.”

“You aren’t mistaken. Do not convince yourself that your feelings are not returned.”

“Then why,” His voice is loud, anger manifesting in the pit of his stomach. He stands and his feet press hard against the floor. His sudden burst surprises you, and he takes note of this. Before he acts, he takes another second to calm himself, “Then why can’t you?” His voice breaks off into a cry. He’s desperate at this point. Everything about the way he holds himself shows that he’s broken without you, and you yearn to mend the pieces together.

“You are a god. I am a betrothed mortal. Everything about that doesn’t make sense. Gods do not marry mortals, gods impregnate mortals, leaving them to hopelessly cling to their child as the only piece of someone they loved. Gods wed goddesses.” At this, Jaehyun shakes his head in disagreement, though you believe you cannot be convinced otherwise. “For as long as you are a god, you will be meant to do godly things, things that I cannot be a part of. You will love me, and you will leave and you will discover the true beauties of the world,

“The entire world is quite literally, in the palm of your hand. You said it yourself, any woman will want you,” You rise from your place on the bed, walking to him slowly. It doesn’t occur to you that your ill-fitting garments to hide yourself from him, but it does not matter to you, “So am I supposed to sit here and wait for you? Wait while you go off, sleeping with beautiful women, forgetting about me, until I become just the mother of your demigod of a child?” 

His breath becomes still as he ponders your words. His gaze doesn’t fall back to you though you want to look at him, but he speaks, “Yes, I will leave and yes you will have to wait for me. But you are terribly mistaken, my love.” He looks at you again, and you feel yourself release the breath you’ve been holding. His hand cups the side of your face, causing you to lean into his touch for more, “There is not another being in all of existence that may take my heart away from you. It is yours to keep, to do as you wish, until I come home to you. The mere thought of you is forever ingrained in me, no god may do anything about it.”

You kiss the inside of his wrist, eyes trained on him as he intently watches you, “And when I wither away like dust?” He leans in a little closer with a gentle smile, assuring your rapidly beating pulse.

“My heart shall wither away with you.”

“And my betrothal?” You ask, still concerned about your own future. He takes your other hand in his, kissing it softly, as he always does. He guides your hand to wrap behind his neck, a gesture that pulls you closer to his body. 

“I will find a way, I promise you.” His claim is confident, and you can’t see yourself to doubt him in any way. 

You laugh to lighten the mood, unable to hide your own giddy smile from his sweet words, “A promise from a god? I suppose I must expect you to keep your word then?”

“That is, so long as you keep yours.” He drops his hand from your face, opting to snake the around your waist. His hands run up your spin, lightly traces the curve of your body. “To choose me.”

You scoff at this, teasing him for the sake of habit, “Now I don’t believe I’ve said anything of the sort.”

He kisses you again, careful that you will not pull away. Instead, you return the kiss, pushing your body against him as if there was any more space for you to take up. This time, it is him that pulls away, with a mischievous smile painted across his swollen lips, ”Your actions have said enough.”

Jaehyun visits most nights, spending his time feeling your welcoming touch in the quiet hum of night. His arms wrap tightly around your waist, pulling your back against his body. You hum quietly and turn your body to face him with a sleepy smile. It’s been some time since you’ve accepted your feelings, years you’ve spent watching the beautiful boy in front of you grow. You examine his face for a moment, his chiseled features more prominent than ever. He was no longer the young boy with a naïve smile, you suppose you’ve changed too.

“You look more like a god.” You look up at him, scanning his features in the moonlight. You find your stare lingering for a little too long, a little too close, and a little too obvious because when Jaehyun leans in he laughs in complete delight. His laugh is breathy and sweet, and you cannot stop yourself from smiling. 

He stares at you too, and a moment passes when the two of you say nothing. His eyes sway up and down your face, his expression doing nothing to hide his interest. He looks down at your hands, which at the moment were unsure of where to be. He quickly grasps your hand loosely, intertwining your fingers before looking up at you again. 

“Because of my godly good looks?” He smiles slyly and kisses your hand. It’s quick but there is a warmth that surges through your veins from the same spot. He keeps your hand close enough to his lips so that you may feel the smile that blooms on his face. You roll your eyes, pulling your hand away from his grasp, and sit up from your bed with a pout. 

“You do not act like a god though.” You say jokingly. Jaehyun follows suit, sitting up to place his hands on your shoulder and kiss the nape of your neck. 

“And if we were to act the part we were given, you would be in another man’s bed, and I would be rampaging on the mortals who allowed it.”

You look at him doubtingly, eyes squinted as you lean closer and closer to him, “You wouldn’t dare.”

He closes the gap to a minuscule amount of space. You can feel his breath as he exhales in a breathy laugh that’s comforting in all the ways you knew, “I would if it means I have you.” He leans in to steal another kiss but you pull back to dodge his advance. His look is one of betrayal, a childish pout threatening your composure.

“If you’ll go to such lengths, why have you not stopped my betrothal already. It’s been years. My parents do not wish to have an unmarried 20-year-old. If I had not stalled I would have been bearing a child already.”

Jaehyun frowns at this, the reality of the situation never something he would like to think of. If it were up to him, he would steal you away in the dark of night, and live his days on tending to everything you need in a secluded paradise that was meant for you. But he is a god, and though the power he holds is incredible, everything cannot be up to his desires. 

“I’m trying.” He says curtly, not wanting to talk about the subject. You roll your eyes at this, losing tolerance and patience. 

“Are you?” You question and Jaehyun abruptly turns to you.

“I’ve talked to my father about you, my sister too.” His voice becomes spiteful, but not to you. As if he’s directing his words to the very people he speaks of. You watch his fists clench in disdain and you run your own hand over his in comfort.

“And what do they have to say?” 

“My sister hates mortals.”

You laugh, already knowing this. Gods and goddess did not care for mortals. They were only burdens, pawns of entertainment they may sway and manipulate for their own pleasure. You had no place by Jaehyun, you knew this. When you nod solemnly, Jaehyun goes on, tearing his gaze away from you to the view outside. He watches the starlight pour into the room, wondering how the Gods could create such beautiful things yet have souls as ugly as they are.  

“She wants me to discard of you.” He says and your lips purse. When he turns to you again, his hand raises to your face pulling you in for a kiss. But this did not feel like it was for you. It was meant to send a sign, to show the gods above and below that he wouldn’t stop. When he pulls away your breathless and your skin is hot from his touch. He draws himself away from you with a boyish smile and devious intentions,“I don’t take orders from my sister.” He kisses you again, except with enough force to push you onto your back.

You want to give in, every piece of you does. But when you open your eyes, you are pulled back to the reality of the situation, “But your father? Surely you are obligated to take orders from him.”

“He believes I’m making the biggest mistake any God could make.” He says quickly, before falling into you again. He hopes you don’t catch the way he emphasizes the word “god”. The way he says it with such mischief, it’s impossible to believe he doesn’t have anything planned. But he lies to you, kisses you sweetly to sway you away from the prospect because he knows what you would say. But he wants you too much, he won’t even let you get in the way of it.  

Jaehyun requests an appearance with his father with a plan of action. He will ask him to relinquish his godly status, to strip him of his title, so he may be with you in peace. He expects the reaction he gets, Zeus assuming he’s gone mad. He does not expect his most lethal sibling to be in attendance as well, however. He knows she is there for a reason, and he is sick just thinking of it. 

“Father, Jaehyun loves the humans now. How shameful.” Jaehyun’s sister says in a shrill voice. Gown dragging against the floor. Her voice was sharp, soaked in gasoline and lit a flame to every syllable that passed her lips. Her eyes were vehement, unfaltering even to the strongest warriors. If his father was the single most terrifying in the world, his sister was the second. For she lacked the mercy that many Gods held. She was ruthless in every sense of the word, he could not fathom what she would do to you if she was given the chance. She was a force that was not to be reckoned with, for dire consequence lie ahead if one dared. 

His father stands firmly in front of the young god. His air of calmness brings everything but. He shook the earth with a single breath, his words causing more calamity in its path. “No, Jaehyun loves only one. And perhaps that will be a far bigger mistake.” He replies, his gaze not tearing from his son’s eyes. Jaehyun takes a deep breath, not making the effort to interject, “You realize what you’re giving up, boy. You, a god of light, a god that many gods cannot dream to imitate, want to give all of that up. For a girl?” 

Jaehyun answers with a firm, yes, earning an offended scoff from his sister. His father, however, brings the world to silence with a fist to the wall beside him. Jaehyun’s surprised it doesn’t break beneath his hand, he must have been holding back-he thinks. 

“You are immortal. You will find thousands of women like her. You have the rest of the world to see, she is only a measly part of that. When she grows old and weary, you will not love her anymore, she will be noth-“

“Do not speak of her like that.” The way he says it makes even his sister hesitate. The sheer power that is projected through his words is frightening. His eyes burn with a fire so black, the heat that radiates is lethal. They did not know he could hold such passion, manipulate the tension within the room to the point that it’s suffocating. “I will never live another day of my life without loving her. She is a part of me now, spiting her, you are spiting me. You said it yourself father, I have acquitted much power within myself.”

His father doesn’t say a word for a moment and Jaehyun decides he rather he openly showed his wrath. Because the look that Jaehyun is given is one of pure evil. One that has been stripped of mercy, leaving pour souls dead and buried and rolling through their graves in pain. The look sends regret through Jaehyun in a split second, his breath being stuck in his throat for long he thinks he has forgotten how to in the first place. 

“Even the greatest of gods need to be put in their place.”

When Jaehyun returns to the mortal world, he is broken and beaten. He stumbles into your palace, pushing past servants in a frantic hurry. He falls to his knees, trying to bear the excruciating pain he feels from his father’s hands. Though immortal, he feels as though he might die, and when he thinks of what could possibly happen to you he really thinks he will. For he will take any pain in the world, twice over, every day of his long-lived life, but if your life was jeopardy he doesn’t believe he’ll make it. 

His sudden desire to find you erupts as he watches his sister leave the site in the midst of his punishment with a mischievous grin painted on her face. Her eyes make way to his head between a banister and the grip of his father, dripping with malignant intentions, and a hand raises to wave goodbye to him delicately. It is the same eyes he sees walk past him now, leaving your quarters. They are just as sharp, as lethal as he has always known. But he doesn’t linger long enough to say because soon as he comprehends the weight of the situation before him, he is rushing into your room. 

Though Jaehyun has lived years, upon years of war, of violence, he believes he will never see a sight as terrifying as what’s before him. You lie on your bed, gasping for air, the flowing cloth of your gown becoming soaked in rivers of crimson. A cry escapes Jaehyun’s throat as he runs to your side. He feels himself losing focus, his head dizzying by the second. He lifts you onto his lap, trying to press his hand against the wounds on your body. 

“Would you still choose me?” The way your voice falters with an exhausted push through your chest tears apart his entire resolve. His body shakes as he holds you, tears he didn’t know he could produce falling onto your face. His hand brushes the sweat-soaked strands of hair out of your face, a futile attempt to take away a piece of the discomfort. He begins with an aggressive nod of his head, eyes focusing on your face to keep his attention on the lower half of your body. He didn’t want to see how serious it really was, he didn’t want to know how slim your chances were becoming. 

“Of course, but I suppose you’ve known my choice for a while now.” You smile at this, the pain becoming so lasting, you almost feel numb to it. Jaehyun wonders how you could remain so bright despite the circumstance but he decides that it is precisely why he had loved you so fast and so relentlessly. Your hand meets his where it lays on your cheek and you use all of your power to squeeze it gently.

“So I get to choose then?” You ask, voice getting so faint he must lean in to decipher your words. 

“Yes, you do get to choose.” His voice trembles, teeth pulling his bottom lip in a tight grip. You look away from his face to think for a moment, a quiet hum escaping your lips. He coughs to regain your attention; eyes training themselves back on the beautiful boy that you’ll lose far too soon. You occupy yourself with memorizing the lines of his face, the curve of his lip; the feather-light lashes that brush against his cheekbones. You want to know his face in death, you want his to be the face you’ll greet mere seconds from now, “should I be concerned about your choice?”

You laugh with a shake of your head, your senses becoming duller than you remember. The edges of your vision fade to charcoal blur, yet the fear you once held dissolves into content of where you were.

“No. “ You reply bluntly, aware of the very small window left before you, “I already chose, a decade ago.” Your eyes flutter shut in a helpless attempt to stay conscious, to stay present for him.  He brings both hands to your face frantically, whispering a line of frantic pleas for time. You swear you hear him utter his father's name on a whim to save you. You feel yourself open your eyes once more, “I chose you when we were eleven, I chose you every day I had you, I’ll choose you in death until you come back to me.” 

Jaehyun lets out an exasperated sob as he watches your eyes shut for the last time, and he curses the very core of the earth he walks in. Your body goes limp in his arms yet he continuous to hug you in hopes to feel your arms tighten around him. His voice becomes an incomprehensible string of screams, the bloodcurdling nature informing the rest of the servants who wait outside in fear of what just occurred before them. 

He stays until the crowd dissipates and he’s left with the agonizingly quiet air you have left. His knees bleed a dark crimson from the hours he has spent kneeling on the ground. His voice is coarse, any sign of life escaping as well. The world disappears around him. The ground, the sky, the greenery that lines the edges of your walls, fade into an excruciating oblivion. For when you died, everything that was beautiful and sweet died with you. A conspicuous reminder of the hole you so stubbornly left within the young warrior. 

When you died, Jaehyun dies with you, and in the end, he wonders if it were for the better.

It is the warm spring of your sixteenth year when you find a peculiar boy picking off bites from your father's crop. A boy your age, and radiates a burst of light that illuminated in your presence. He bites from a fig, juice dripping down his face sloppily, but he wipes it off with a smile. 

The way he looks at you hurts, though you aren’t sure why. He looks at you like he’s been waiting for you, and he exhales like he’s been holding his breath until this very moment. He looks as if he’s been searching, searching every day of his life, and he has finally found what he lost. He looks at you and a sudden rush of emotion pushes through you. You do not know what to feel, and you do not know if you want to cry from complete happiness or overwhelming despair. But you’re crying and you do not know why, and this boy in front of you does not look the least bit surprised.

You wipe a tear from your face as you catch your breath and collect yourself. “Do I know you?”

He shines brightly in the dullness that fills your life and a single breath is held in your throat. He moves closer to you with the same smile, one that breaks in you into a million pieces, scatters for him to pick up. And by the way he looks at you, you know he will.

“I am just a friend.”