#there are so many background characters who consume my every waking thought

[aftgsucks]

How do you think the guy that Neil paid to knock him out in book 1 reacted to that request? Do you think he was like “hell yeah brother,” and immediately did it or did Neil have to convince him?

[chaoticbardlady99]

Lethal Woman: Chapter 5 (GN! Reader x Astarion)

  Note: I know a lot of people don't necessarily read this piece of my work, but for the people who do, I'm sorry for the wait! This one is kinda angsty and still digs into the character's background. I want to create a Durge x Astarion type of relationship rather than a Tav x Astarion type of relationship so the character has some trauma.

Also this character is my way of working through my own traumatic experiences so I guess sorry????

CW: Violence, Gore, mention of Child/Teen SA (very very brief), death, torture, PTSD, murder, dissociation, and panic attacks.

Background- You are a Nightmask Death Bringer who was kidnapped by a Nautiloid Ship. Along with 6 strangers, you search Faerun for a cure for the Tadpoles in your heads- before it’s too late.

Chapter Six

You have never enjoyed verbal confrontation- not because you weren’t good at it, but because it feels like a waste of time when it’s so much easier to throw knives at the problem. You know that it comes from a place of survival- arguing with Dahlia always ended in you being tortured for however many days or nights she felt like you deserved. You learned to stop arguing after the first few months of your training and just do what Dahlia told you to do.

The only verbal confrontations you have engaged in recently was during your assignments, but they were always brief and forgotten quickly.

However, your argument with Astarion three days ago has consumed your every waking thought. 

  You honestly weren’t sure what chain of events had led to the explosive discussion involving confronting the three Goblin Leaders when the day had started so typically.

You and your companions (minus Astarion) all agreed that going to the grove to fight Kagha is a priority and that they couldn’t allow the Shadow Druids to take over the grove. Astarion, however, hadn’t seen it that way. He kept insisting that it was a waste of time, resources, and energy. You didn’t mind the bitching at all- you weren’t necessarily thrilled about “saving the day” either and if it were just adults you would walk away from the whole ordeal- except there are children who need to be protected. 

 It’s your one and only rule- you do not abandon children in need. You don’t want anyone to ever fall into the wrong hands like you had. Eventually, Astarion stopped being huffy.

The fight had erupted quickly and Kagha had managed to slip into the shadows unnoticed in the midst of the chaos. You had barely seen her in time when you realized she was going to run Astarion through with a stake. 

 You had never sprinted so fast in your entire life as you put yourself between him and Kagha, grabbing the stake that was mere inches from your chest. You would have felt entirely victorious if she hadn’t then stabbed you all the way through with the shortsword she had attached to her belt- twisting it deeply into your abdomen until you release the stake. You feel her pull the sword out before stabbing you through your chest with the sharpened wood. 

 You had always thought stabbing a vampire with a stake as a tried and trued method of killing them was stupid- anyone would die if they were stabbed hard enough with a WOODEN FUCKING STAKE. 

  Maybe Dahlia was right- maybe being attached to people is a bad idea because you hadn’t even taken a good look at Kagha before you ran (which is reckless and not how you were trained to fight). 

  You had heard Shadowheart scream your name and saw two flaming hands go past your face as they consumed Kagha. The black dots in your vision had been followed with the unpleasant numbness that you knew all too well. 

 The fear sank into your bones like an anchor. Your breathing had begun to speed up and you felt the panic rip through you as you were being dragged away- unpleasant images flash in your mind and you started to thrash against the person holding you. You began screaming bloody murder and you clawed at the air like a trapped animal. You could barely hear the person’s voice over your looping thoughts and racing heart.

    No, no, no, no, no. Please. I’ll listen. I’ll do anything, just don’t kill me. Don’t leave me here. I’ll do better. I’ll be better!

   You hadn’t known until the end of the battle that Astarion had been the one carrying you away and had to hold you down as Shadowheart and Nettie came rushing to your aid after the final enemy went down.

  You could hear two voices trying to snap you out of whatever fear driven fog you were in, but you were still choking on your own air, floating away in space. Disconnected. Disassociated. You felt the tadpole wiggle behind your eyes, but you were too far gone in your head to even register it.

  Dahlia had killed and resurrected you a few times as a punishment. Sometimes she would leave you out in the sun for a few days before resurrecting you- the process of your skin, organs, muscles, and tendons repairing themselves after being eaten by critters and bugs is a different kind of pain- one you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. What was even worse was that Dahlia eventually found out how to bring you back just enough that you were aware of the vermin desecrating your body, but not enough for you to do anything about it- forced to feel yourself becoming nourishment for the creatures in the forest as you struggled to survive mentally. 

  Dahlia threatened to turn you into her spawn if you didn't remain half way in your body until she came back to get you. You knew her threat was serious because she had taken you coffin shopping after the first time she killed and resurrected you. You had gone for a wood one so that the endeavor could be over with, but Dahlia instead made you lay down in every coffin on display in the showroom- ultimately picking a gaudy, lockable, and iron coffin for you. You were 13-years-old. 

   Dahlia enjoyed driving you to the brink of insanity- only to come back and be your savior or your villain. Somehow she had convinced you that it’s entirely up to you what version of her you received, but it never mattered how well you listened sometimes. She told you you wouldn’t know when she would decide you were past the point of no return and no longer had any use for you as a Deathbringer. Thank the Gods she wanted to make you a Deathbringer more than she wanted you to be her spawn.  

  You weren’t sure when Nettie had forced an herb into your mouth that calms you down; you had eventually come back to yourself just enough to stop fighting her and Shadowheart’s efforts to heal you. 

  Karlach was sitting next to your head and was talking about nothing and everything. Astarion had sat himself on the staircase nearby and you could feel his eyes boring into you as you flinched away and hissed from the healers’ touch. You tried to make yourself smaller, your anxiety getting worse by the minute. It wouldn’t bother you usually, but you weren’t of sound mind in that particular moment. 

 As you became more alert, you made eye contact with Astarion and you were shocked to see him staring at you with anger and grief in his eyes. 

  You hadn’t known (and still didn’t know) that Astarion had been in your head using the tadpole to try to snap you out of whatever hell you were in and he had seen all of it- every last thing Dahlia did to you. The time she hired a man to violently take your virginity after your first moon blood at 14, the resurrections, the priests of Loviatar that would come for days on end to beat you until you wanted to die, and Tessa. Poor, sweet, beautiful Tessa with her mangled corpse and heart being eaten. 

   The walk to camp had thankfully been an easy one. Gale had thankfully had dinner ready by the time your group came back and you sat around the campfire to have dinner with the others. Astarion sat next to you and you couldn’t help but notice how rigid he was. He would usually have his leg touching yours and he would lean in to whisper some snide remark in your ear about whoever was talking- forcing you to suppress laughter as to not bring attention to the two of you.

 Except for tonight apparently- he hadn’t even spoken to you the entire time and made sure there was a considerable amount of distance between you and him. Then the argument happened.

  Wyll and Gale had brought up the plan to take out the Goblin leaders and find Halsin. They had gathered information about the leaders at the grove from Zevlor and had a plan in mind.

  Wyll suggested that everyone split up so that more ground could be covered faster and it would prevent anyone from burning out since they wouldn't be participating in three (possibly four) separate battles. 

 “So I was thinking that Shadowheart, Karlach, and Astarion would take on Minthara. Myself, Gale, and Lae’zel will take on Dror Ragzlin,” Wyll paused before looking at you, “and if you are up to it in the next three days- I think it would be best if you kill the Priestess and then jailbreak Halsin alone.”

 “That way, we can all remain somewhat under the radar while we are gathering information regarding the Absolute and their Cultists,” Gale chimed in, “and hopefully we will get substantial information before you charge into battle with Halsin.” 

  You pondered their vision and it made sense to you. Priestess Gut would be an easy kill and you can’t imagine that the Goblins guarding Halsin will be much of a challenge either. Except you were unsure of how much better you would feel within 3 days.

 “I don’t have a problem with it,” you said slowly, “does anyone ob-”

 You didn’t even get a chance to finish before Astarion began ripping into Wyll and Gale’s plan- specifically the part about you being alone. He had stood up and gotten into Wyll’s face as he rose to meet the other man's eyes 

 “What kind of moronic plot is that,” Astarion hissed, “they’ve been injured you ignorant fucks.”

 “Astarion,” you said with an edge to your tone.

  He whipped around with that same anger and grief he had looked at you with earlier.

 “You honestly believe you’ll be ready in three days to take on an Absolute Priestess and a group of Goblins by yourself?”

 “Yes, in fact, I do,” you stood up, your voice firm, “I’ve been hurt worse and been able to keep fighting after one day. What happened today-” 

 He cut you off with a growl, “I knew you were naive, Darling, but I didn’t realize how dense you are.” 

 You frowned and said in a whisper, “I don’t know what the word means.”

 “Simple-minded, brainless, dull-witted,” he retorted, “must I continue or are you educated enough to understand what I’m trying to say.” 

You were not made to be loved- only to kill, die, and serve.

You felt your brain disconnect from your body as you swallowed down the emotions. You watched as something in his eyes changed, but you had begun walking away towards your tent. You heard Karlach scold him, but you were already shaking it off- like you said, you’ve experienced worse before and have been able to keep going the next day.

  It didn't change the fact that his words had broken you- he knew that not being able to read or write was a sore spot for you. It was also something you didn’t want to publicize to your other companions. You had been staying up together at night- him reading to you and you listening- making the occasional comment or asking a question. Sometimes you just listen to him tell you about Cazador and Baldur’s Gate. If you fall asleep, he doesn’t move you- instead he sits next to you until you wake up and you walk back to camp together.

You had thought those moments were sacred and important to him like they were to you. You were ashamed to discover it had been an act the whole time and you had been naive enough to fall for it.

 Over the next three days, you avoided him like the plague and he avoided you too. Your nightmares have come back in full force now that your nightly ritual has ceased. Your injury has healed almost entirely despite the occasional soreness, but you are so tired you are barely present as you and your companions walk towards the Goblin Camp. 

  Karlach is your angel from the Hells today as she keeps your spirits high with her bright demeanor. 

 “Soldier, I am so excited for you to see my infernal engine in action,” she puffs out her chest with pride, “Dammon’s explanation doesn’t even begin to do it justice- even if he says a lot of pretty words with that nice mouth of his.”

 “Thank you for that Karlach,” you say with a snort, “been imagining what other talents his mouth has?”

  You begin to cackle as Karlach turns even more red before giving you a shove. 

 “Ughhh have mercy on me! He’s just so pretty and his voice!,” she whines with a dramatic, angsty sigh, “A girl can dream.” 

 “Or a girl can put on her big girl panties and ask to fuck him already.”

 “Oh, SHUT UP you vulgar-!” she puts you in a headlock and scratches the top of your head with her knuckles- effectively ruining your hair, but putting the biggest smile on your face. 

 +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

   Astarion watches you laugh and dick around with Karlach. He feels the corners of his lips tease into a small smile before he begins to frown again. He notices the dark circles under your eyes and the slight drag in your step, but he doesn’t even know where to begin if he was to approach you.

  He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s missed your presence and your nightly rendezvous together. Truth be told, a part of him is fearful that he’ll never be able to have those moments with you again. 

   His anger had been misdirected at you that night at the fire. He had been so angry with himself (and those dipshits, Wyll and Gale) that he had taken it out on you.  Instead of asking you to take care of yourself or refusing to let you go alone, he decided to publicly shame you.

 The first night you didn’t show up at your agreed-upon spot had twisted his heart and no matter how much he tried to ignore it, the feeling came back the second and the third night too.

  He hasn’t cared for someone like this in the last two centuries and he hates it. The last three days had been hell- he followed you every time you left camp to go hunting, check traps, etc. He would give you your privacy of course if you were going to bathe in the river, but even then he would anxiously look around camp until you came back. He tells himself it’s because he knows you are his best chance at being free of Cazador- that he is merely worried for your safety and cares because without you, he doesn’t stand a chance. 

Then there is the part of him that has begun to crave your company just as a companion and he enjoys the friendship between you. This part of him feels like just being your friend will never be enough. 

He refuses to admit his plan may be falling apart, despite it barely beginning. Thankfully, his feelings of self-loathing are keeping him preoccupied.

   He despises himself for being so blind to the fact that you and your nightmares were not from the tadpole, but from the abuse inflicted upon you by that wretched woman- Dahlia. Even thinking her name made him see red and filled him with bitter rage.

  He remembers the night he told you about Cazador burying him alive for a year. He remembers how you had said you understood how he felt and how he had gotten upset with you. You didn’t correct him- didn’t tell him that you have been in a similar situation. He doesn’t know which is worse- being buried in shadows, confined for a year or being left out in the sun to slowly rot and be eaten away. 

  He wishes you had corrected him, but maybe you felt like he couldn’t protect you due to his own history of abuse. Maybe he had made you feel like your pain didn’t matter to him.

  Then, when you began thrashing around in his arms, he had never felt more powerless as he watched you disappear inside your own head like he has done many times. He ground his teeth every time you flinched away from Nettie and Shadowheart. His mind insisted on reminding him of how you looked at him with so much fear and rage while he held you down; how it felt watching your memories- your pain- being ripped open all because you decided to protect him. Again. 

 Then his attempt to protect you failed because he ultimately pushed you away, but maybe that is for your own good too. However, you pushing him away has not changed his plan for today’s fight.

  He will not be going with Shadowheart and Karlach. He had initially planned on approaching them about this, but they came to him first- asking him to hang back with you, undetected, then meeting up with them later. Karlach and Shadowheart told him that they were just as upset with Gale and Wyll’s plan and were going to object before he stepped in. 

 He’s the only one who has a ring of invisibility and the stealth to keep you from suspecting you are being ‘babysat’ as he had overheard you call it when Karlach had suggested she come with you. 

  The goblins outside of the camp had been easy to bypass- Astarion had even convinced the goblin to kiss his shoe (which earned a hushed laugh from you that made him hopeful). Astarion watched as you caught and helped the Owlbear Cub escape, but on the opposite side of that coin, you managed to get Volo in more trouble. 

   You convince Wyll to hold off on the plan until you are able to free Volo- seeing as leaving a famous bard to die at a Goblin Camp would not bid well for the Night Masks and that would not be doing you any favors. Astarion was shocked when Wyll expressed understanding. 

  Astarion, Shadowheart, and Karlach go with you as Gale, Wyll, and Lae’zel search for Dror Ragzlin.

  The rescue mission quickly turns into another rescue mission when your small group stumbles across a man being tortured by Goblins. Astarion is quick to convince the goblins that they were being summoned elsewhere and, at your behest, he frees the battered man after he gives you more information about the Nightsong. 

   The Goblins had mentioned a man in the next room over so Astarion begins to walk in that direction and you follow him closely- your hand hovering over the hilt of your dagger as you scan the area cautiously.

  Astarion rounds the corner and sees a man that looks like he needs more iron in his diet. The all black garb was not helping and honestly? Neither is the haircut. 

  The man turns and scans the group before his eyes settle on you. Astarion feels his stomach turn as the man gives you a wickedly happy grin. Astarion moves closer to you and eyes the man cautiously, leering at him in the process.

 “I remember you,” the man says, “you’re Dahlia’s little brat, are you not? I remember the first time we met- your screams were positively delicious.” 

  Astarion hears your breath hitch. You are frozen in place, fingers trembling slightly as you fix your posture and take a deep breath. Astarion watches mournfully as you lose yourself in your head.

 “Hello Abdirak.” 

  Abdirak’s smile grows even wider at your empty greeting.

 “What a blessing it must be- for us to meet again, Rowan. Won’t you join me in worshiping My Lady?”

 Shadowheart pipes up, “I didn’t know you were into such things Rowan. I would love to see a demonstration.” 

 “Absolutely not,” Astarion hisses.

 “I’ll do it.” 

 He whips around to look at you as you walk up to the wall. He watches as you take each hit, but you are goading the man the entire time. The throws get more and more painful to watch and he hears Karlach take sharp breaths every time an ax sticks in your back. You walk back over and let Shadowheart heal you as she praises you for your vigor. Astarion uses every last bit of restraint he has to not punch Shadowheart in the jaw.  

  You look distant as you drink a healing potion from your pack before turning back to Abdirak as he spouts on about his wonderful “memories” of worshiping with you. Astarion's hands go to his dagger as he gears up to kill the man.

A flash of movement from your direction prevents him from moving forward.

 Astarion wasn’t prepared for you to cut the man’s throat so violently in one quick motion. Blood pours from Abdirak’s neck and out of his mouth as he chokes. His eyes are wide with fear as you push him on his back- your eyes bright, crimson red and consumed with indifference. Abdirak chokes and looks at you with pleading eyes, but you take a step back as the rats begin to claw and eat at him. The whole endeavor is disgusting and horrific- Astarion could not be more proud to know you. His strangled cries are cut short as he finally succumbs to his wounds.

 Without saying anything, you turn on your heels and stalk to the next room, Astarion quickly in tow. You free Volo before Astarion can even enter the room- the Goblin that had taken Volo away dead on the floor.  

You come out of the room and make eye contact with him. Your eyes are blank and your face is emotionless. You turn away from him and stalk off in the direction of the priestess. He gives you a decent head start before casting the spell and sneaking in behind you as Priestess Gut closes the door.

Let the bloodshed begin.

[angeldiaries777]

trigger warning mental health, online addiction. personal stuff!!! i don't want to post anymore. part one of two.

i don't want to try so hard anymore. going to be real here for a sec i don't like my life. i don't like who i am. i don't like this app. i don't like this world or any of the people in it. i do need help. i need a lot of help. i don't like this blog anymore. its not fun. its not carefree. its just something i do now subconsciously with zero effort. its not me. its not cool. i don't like it. i'm not enjoying it at all. since i deleted quite literally every other app this is where i go on for everything. and thats just toxic. i am not having fun like i said a thousand times before. i just want my thoughts and things i liked at the time to be docutmented somehwere on some account because i know i will forget. i am very miserable in my life and with myself. i know that i need to stop using this app as much as i do and same with a few others and certain accounts on websites i just have nothing left in me. i've always posted online. ive always interacted online. i've always been obsessed with watching content and consuming media books movies shows music etc etc. and i'm feeling fatigue from it. idk how many more fucking lana del rey gifs i can reblog till i lose my fucking shit for good and end it all. everything that inspired me is dull. the relationships and parasocial relationships i form with celebrities characters and people online is just plain unhealthy. especially when its causing me to ignore the ones i have in real life. i need a break. i need a break from all the media i consume. i need a break from music and from tumblr and from everything else that is slolwly rotting my brain. the attachment i have to these apps is unhealthy. the amount of time i spend on my phone or ipad or literally any other device is actually sickly. i need a break from looking at or even just holding my phone for so many hours a day. i need an actual sleep schedule and i need to not wake up at 4am and have my first thought be to open tumblr or to save pins on pinterest. i got rid of so many physical items and cut off so many people but the actual thing hurting me the most is my addiction to the internet and to media. i need to stop posting. i need to stop interacting i need to stop watching videos and movies and listening to music at the rates that i do. it is unhealthy at best and detrimental to my life and health at worst. its like those interventions they have for people with alcohol or other addictions. ive known this about myself for a long time and it only worsens the more time passes. i have issues!!!!! i have real issues in my real life that will not be solved by venting about it to my 8 followers. i need to stop. i need to sit alone with my thoughts without a podcast or an album playing in the background. i need to see what my life is like and who i am without all of this. without the things i thought i liked. the things i thought were keeping me alive and sane and healthy were actually the most destructive. i need to stop relying so heavily on things that don't exist. all these pictures and people are fake. i"m not a character or a stereotype. im a fucking person. whenever i got a negative comment i used to lay awake thinking about that. its not okay anymore. its affecting my life way too much. i don't want to think of the world and only think of what i see online because i don't love my reality. i don't want to be sad anymore. i don't want to know what that person across the world thinks of that topic or what kim kardashian had for breakfast. i want to actually live my life again for what it is and not what i wished it was. because truth be told i am very blessed in sooo many ways and i take it for granted so often. i am so much more than that sad face emoticon on somebodys phone screen. i don't want to see the same pictures of bella hadid on every fucking app with the same generic text and font over it. i don't want to consume copious amounts of self help content anymore whilst refusing to actually do any of that self help when im clearly not qualified and clearly need professional help.

[whatdamiwatched]

Max & Helen - From the Beginning...

In preparation for the sharpwin ship sailing next week, I went and rewatched season 1 to really contextualise the way their relationship has developed, and I have to say it was quite eye opening.

The Introduction

We are introduced to Georgia in the first scene with Max via his phone screen, there’s a photo of her as his background photo. Their first conversation on screen happens when he calls her in the middle of this day just after he speaks to Helen for the first time

Max- Just calling to say hi

Georgia- Really?

Max- isn’t that what people do?

Georgia- people, yes. You…not so much.

Max- I’m trying, I’m going to change, I’m going to win you back

Georgia- well you have 12 weeks.

It isn’t until later that we find out fully that this marriage is failing and being held together by guilt and a difficult pregnancy, which makes it even worse that Max’s attempt at “trying” was calling her in the middle of the day to say nothing compelling.

Enter Helen- confident, smart, an asset to the hospital and the only doctor Max personally seeks out on his first day- to insist that she immediately cut down on travel or get fired. While the other doctors are stats and figures to him when he starts at New Amsterdam, Helen is Dr Helen. Already their relationship is being established as different from his relationship with the other doctors. In a throat biopsy, he’s distracted by her on tv- so distracted in fact, that he’s pushed to give her another ultimatum even though the first one hasn’t expired.

Max’s ultimatum was significant for Helen because for the first time since she had been running and hiding from the pain in her life, someone saw her and cared enough to make her stop. Even though it was a medical director she just met, and it was because of work, it was grounding for her for someone to see her and need her in that way.

Her choosing to come back was significant, not just because of Max, but because it was the catalyst for facing the emotional baggage she had been trying to escape.

So here we are- Max in the hospital where his sister died and donated her organs, trying to find closure and Helen- weighed down by emotional baggage that she’s ready to face.

Tell Me One True Thing

Georgia and Max meet in the hospital where he works- her energy is light and energetic; their connection is fun and their first date is in the hospital cafeteria. From that scene, their banter is fun and flirty, but Max is relaxed – they both are, it’s an easy connection. When Max proposes, he does it by the hospital when he’s on call! He’s in his scrubs and not only does he think that’s okay- she thinks that’s okay.

Their relationship never really existed outside of his career, he never put her first, and she points this out when she finds out about the medical director job. She knows that he will not choose her over the hospital, especially not the hospital where Luna died. The thing is, Max doesn’t even really try. He never chooses her, and she never actually expects him to.

When he almost dies at the lake and has the temporary epiphany that he has to take his cancer seriously, she doesn’t advocate for him to leave his job- even though…he almost died. She knows the job still comes first. Georgia and Max’s relationship thrived on emotional distance- when Georgia begs him in her hospital bed to tell her one true thing- he could only say- I love you. While he and Helen debated his cancer treatment, her only input was going with what Max wanted? When he woke up from his minor tooth surgery, his first thought wasn’t how the surgery chain went, it was what helen said specifically.

I love my doctor

Before Helen, Max had likely never felt true intimacy and vulnerability. He had likely never been able to be himself completely with a partner. We don’t know much about his relationship with his parents, but we can deduce that he’s not close to them.

Although the physical chemistry was palpable from their first scene, Max and Helen built a friendship based on trust and honesty since they let each other in very early. This relationship was built with the best intentions but every relationship comes to a point where emotion supersedes emotion and that’s where we ended up at 1x 16 where the clairvoyant tells Max that he’s going to lose someone close to hum. As soon as she assured him that it wasn’t his wife, he pulls Helen aside to reassure her and try to explain how he feels about her ending by saying “I love my doctor”.IN THE MIDDLE OF TREATING A PATIENT IN THE MIDDLE OF A STORM WHILE MARRIED. At this point, both Max and Helen are at a crossroads of the undeniability of their connection, even though they are both too principled and respectful to call it anything other than “this thing between us”.

At the lake, when he goes to spread ashes for Luna, he says to her- or to the wind that he’s addressing as her- everything I do is because of you. I just keep trying to save you , over and over that’s all I do and I never, never will.

Now where did we end up hearing those EXACT words before?

In that moment, it’s Max admitting that he’s been consumed with emotions that are clouding his judgment and he has to let go.

When Helen uses those words in 2x16, the subtext is the same. By that time, she had saved his life and even Georgia’s life- multiple times. She even saved his life twice in one episode! She saved his life by taking on his cancer in the first place, she saved his life by choosing to pass him off to another doctor when he was using their relationship as an opportunity to not take his cancer seriously and she saved his life by making the decision for him to stop that treatment when it wasn’t working. She took on the role of deputy medical director- which let’s face it was more or less the medical director, she found him, not one but two trials, she gave up half her department that she loved more than anything. She gave up her romantic relationship- she meant it when she said everything I’ve done I’ve done for you- just like Max meant it when he said it to Luna. Max and Helen had have both poured themselves into people that couldn’t pour back, one because she was dead, and the other because he had too many warring emotions to deal with.

Helen could have let Max save her more- he definitely was willing to be that person and showed it many times, but we have to accept that she was in a very difficult position. Just as soon as she felt settled, started a new relationship, made a decision about freezing her eggs, she’s hit with a consuming, intimate relationship with someone that’s married. She had to leave some walls up.  

Everything I Do Is For You

Their characters have gone through a lot- Helen has a dead parent and a dead fiancée, fertility issues and a fear of vulnerability and the feeling of running out of time- Max has a dead wife, who he had outgrown emotionally, raising a child alone, battling with grandparents that blame him for their daughter’s death and parents that by all indications don’t play a significant role in his life, plus a dead sister he has carried with him his whole life. Finding each other was in many ways, the catalyst each of them needed to move forward with life at so many points. For Max, he could have very well died without Helen- Georgia could have died in the bedroom without Helen- his grieving process would definitely have been longer and more complicated without Helen – it wasn’t insignificant that she was the one that pushed the ghost of Georgia out of the apartment, she was an anchor through it all.

For Helen, she was pushed to come back to the hospital and by having that anchor to a place and her patients, she was able to explore romantic relationships and face her fertility and wanting a child head on, she was able to explore how much of herself she could give to another person again after Mohammed died and try another relationship. In turn, she was able to be in a different position when Mina came to live with her.

By Max receiving the kind of selfless love he had never gotten before (from the parts of his story we’ve been told), he was finally able to heal, from so much of the stuff he’d been carrying to come to a place where he feels able to match Helen’s energy. To come to a point where he’s able to see himself as a WHOLE person, not just a flawed one- not just a guilty one- not just an overworked or crazy or erratic one. The speech at the end of 3x13 to Luna’s parents showed just how far he’s come; how much he’s changed and how much his relationship with Helen has changed him. The confidence that he was enough as- is a Max that we had never seen before.

And Helen- naming them- before now, it’s always been Max with his double meanings  and his “I want to build something better for you and Mina” and “It helps not to be alone” and “I can’t do this without you”, but this time it’s Helen- Helen who is saying “us”- Helen who is putting them together as a family and is relaxed and comfortable doing so. Helen who isn’t simply giving him advice as a friend or listening to him but giving him advice as an anchor- we are here and we are fine and you need to fight for our family because it’s worth it.

I see you

The decon shower. His hand trailing down her neck. Those voicemails. Here they are finally, trying to get into an ADULT relationship. Moving beyond the cute hand holding and lingering looks, to hopefully many kisses, many distractions and many mornings waking up next to each other.

Sharpwin is coming and I’m ready!

[muddshadow]

🌸 who's your most morally questionable OCs (not including villains)?

🌻 share a favorite line of dialogue out of context

🌸 who's your most morally questionable OCs (not including villains)?

hm i talked about the morally questionable cast of bloodhounds here, so this time i will talk about Ysabelle from the story at the bottom of the waterfall ! here's some background if you're curious. Five countries have been consumed with a war for several hundred years, endlessly fighting over a leyline that shifts as it pleases, and so ysabelle is raised in violence and trained to improve it. She's a powerful and unpredictable magician, has lost many friends over the years, and eventually fosters enough hatred to try something extreme. With the help of two others, Ysabelle anchors the leyline to one location. She knew it could be dangerous but did it anyway - and was mostly successful. The leyline is rooted in place, but the process wakes the heart of the Damp - a manifestation of hatred. Its waking aftermath destroys everything along the leyline - roads, towns, forests, lives. Thousands of people are killed, and thousands more infected with the Damp in the years following. This never leaves Ysabelle's thoughts. But the war ended, peace treaties signed, and so she can't quite bring herself to regret it.

🌻 share a favorite line of dialogue out of context

from at the bottom of the waterfall, since i ranted about it,

"You’re fond of history, Louis, so tell me. How many good magicians lost their sanity and then their lives after partaking a little too eagerly?”      “A lot.”      “That’s right, a lot. All magi use the Damp eventually, you included, but its purpose is suppression. Taming wild magic, easing your heart after the Spark ignites it, recovering your balance and moving on. Using the Damp on its own is pure arrogance.”      “Isn’t that how you became archmagi?”      “Er.” Ysabelle faltered and ignored Lo's laughter. “One of the reasons, I suppose. But the war encouraged lots of bloody habits. There’s no such excuse now.” Fearing Louis would pry at the corners of her bland reply, Ysabelle steered away from the war and every associated memory. “Trust my experience. The Damp is poison.”

character and story questions // thank you dearly @baroquesse <3

[literaryfic]

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: 빈센조 | Vincenzo (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong/Hong Cha Young Characters: Hong Cha Young, Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, vincenzo leaves, set five years after he left sk, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, vincenzo and cha-young are exes, they were in a relationship before, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Jealousy, Exes, Getting Back Together, Not Canon Compliant, i wrote this before ep 20

Summary: Sipping on his third — or fourth, he’d stopped counting a while back  — whiskey of the night, Vincenzo fantasised about snapping the neck Cha-young’s fingers were delicately wrapped around. 

To Vincenzo, regret was like an old friend. He’d become accustomed to its familiar weight over the years, learnt its intricate shapes and colours. More than that, he’d learned to welcome the intimate ways in which regret accompanied his every step. 

The blood on his hands, his mother, her… Yes, it seemed regret was the recurring theme of his life. Alas, in spite of all the years he’d spent acquainted with it, he could not silence the wails of anguish of his heart. 

“Mmh.” A simple sound had sufficed to sink his soul to slumber.*

He’d always known this was a possibility. He’d thought about it endlessly, convincing himself that he wouldn’t care, that being in her life was enough. But Vincenzo was a greedy man, and he’d never desired anything more than he desired her.

Her. Cha-young. His Tesoro. 

Rarely did Vincenzo say or even think of her name when his mind wandered back to her. He treated it like a jewel, a precious gem meant to be tucked away in the corner of his soul, only to be let out under extraordinary circumstances. 

Her name on his lips would not be said in vain, for he was a pious man and her, a Goddess. He’d converted to her cult the moment she’d kissed him, her lips initiating him to her worship. 

And so, he prayed to her. When he’d reached the edge of the cliff, the troubled waters calling out to him, whispering in his ear that drowning would put out the fire that consumed his being, he prayed. 

He’d go to a small Catholic church in Milan, high ceilings and stained-glass windows glimmering in the evening sun, and he’d sit in the last row, his hands clapped together. He’d recite his prayers, confess his sins and plead. I love you. Forgive me. Wait for me.

The Goddess, however, was a capricious being, and it seemed she had not heard his pleas. Or maybe she had, but had deemed him unworthy. 

Vincenzo had wondered if she had found someone else, if she had been happy without him. Wasn’t human nature so contradictory? He had been sure that leaving her was the most selfless act of love he’d be capable of, yet that ‘Mmh’ had set his soul on fire. 

He had promised himself that if it were to happen — if Cha-young had forgotten about him, if leaving really had been the gift he’d first thought it was — , he would be content with just seeing her again. Even if all he’d get was a furtive look, that alone would be enough to satisfy the thirst he’d been dying of for the past five years. What a naïve thought. He knew the moment he’d seen her again, that night on the beach. He needed her. 

Now, watching her slow dance in someone else’s arms, Vincenzo thought about torture. He’d inflicted it on many of his enemies before and knew the myriad of ways in which the human body contorted itself when in agony. 

Vincenzo reaches for the gold lighter in his pocket, the reassuring clicking sound helping him organise his thoughts. 

He would start by pulling out his teeth one by one. Then, he’d move on to his fingers. It’d make a mess, but he wouldn’t die right away. Vincenzo would be able to enjoy the fun for quite a while, actually. Would the man scream until his vocal cords bled? Would he convulse, his body distorted by tremors, eyes rolling back?

Sadly, the only one getting tortured is him; the only cries of pain, his heart’s. 

Sipping on his third — or fourth, he’d stopped counting a while back  — whiskey of the night, Vincenzo fantasised about snapping the neck Cha-young’s fingers were delicately wrapped around. 

 Like moths to a flame, Vincenzo’s eyes were inevitably drawn to the pearly white of her thigh, revealed by the split of her long, form-fitting dress. She looked otherworldly tonight, her hips swaying to the slow beat of the love song playing in the background. Here she was, with her straight, shiny hair reflecting the dim lights of the ballroom, her red lips complimenting her flushed cheeks  — a fallen angel gracing them with her presence. 

The man holding her in his arms was in his late thirties, and while he was the same height as Cha-young with her heels on, he had broad shoulders and large hands. He looked down at his feet whenever he laughed, which made his glasses slide off his nose ever so slightly. After a while, he’d readjust them and run his hand through his short hair, the start of an endless loop.

He wondered what she saw in him, if it was something in his eyes or in his voice. Did she kiss his knuckles whenever he was working on some paperwork, lost in thoughts yet reluctant to let go of her hand? Did she kiss his neck and whispered ‘I'm here, it’s okay’ whenever he had a nightmare? Did her fingers trace ‘I love you’s’ on his shoulder blades while they were laying in bed? 

And if she did, was it because he looked at her like she was the most precious thing on this earth? Was it because he had secretly learned her favourite recipe, the one her mom used to make when she was sick? Was it because he held her tight when she cried, stroking her hair and murmuring comforting words against her skin? 

He looks harmless, Vincenzo thinks. The alcohol is getting to him.

‘Is he a good person?’

‘Mmh. He is.’

He shakes his head, banishing memories of yesterday’s conversation from his mind. That’s a relief. Cha-young deserves to be with an ordinary man who lives a righteous life, away from all the murders and the evils of this world. Yet, his heart aches every time she smiles at him. 

Him, who is everything he’s not. Him, who’s making her laugh, and smile, and blush. 

The man leans in to whisper in her ear, and Vincenzo can’t take it anymore. He pays for his drinks and leaves, the sound of his lighter not enough to ground him anymore. He needs to get away, far from the sway of her hips and that man’s hand on her lower back. Before he knows it, he’s out of the hotel, on the beach. 

Stuck in his own personal hell, Vincenzo considers atoning for his sins. Surely, the fire blazing inside his body, boiling his blood and heating up his skin is worse than the Inferno he’d ineluctably be condemned to. 

Without thinking, he takes off his shoes, his trousers and his shirt, and dives into the ocean. He needed to put out the fire before he got burned alive. It’s a warm evening but the dark waters feel ice-cold on his heated skin. He swims until the cacophony of the waves crashing against the shore lulls him. He swims until he’s about to drown, limbs too heavy to float. How he manages to get back on the beach, he doesn’t know. He collapses in the sand, exhausted. The distant moon looks down on him, her inquisitive eyes strangely offensive. Tonight, the heavenly body is mocking him. Look at this fool, she laughed. Did you really think she’d wait for you?

Vincenzo wants to scream at her, or maybe at himself, but instead he cries. He doesn’t have the energy to fight it, or to feel ashamed. He is guilty of leaving her and he has no one else to blame. Regret might be an old friend, but guilt is his greatest foe. 

He forces himself to get up, knowing he’d get buried under the weight of his conscience if he stayed any longer. Putting back on his trousers only, Vincenzo carries his shoes and his top until he sees the hotel lights. Were they still dancing together? 

He stops before going inside, lighting a cigarette. He’d taken it up again after going back to Italy, another one of the nasty habits he indulged in. He stood near a huge palm tree, just at the entrance of the main building, probably why he didn’t see him. Cha-young’s… someone was standing there, smoking on the other side of the palm tree. Vincenzo holds his breath, not sure how to react. The man is on the phone, and although it isn’t his business, he can’t help but overhear his conversation. 

“No, no… I told you, nothing’s going on with her...Yes, I promise. I told you, she paid for all her employees, it’s a group thing. Mmh. Don’t worry. I’ll see you soon. Me too.”

Forget torture, Vincenzo is killing this man with his bare hands tonight. 

*‘Sink Not Yet My Soul To Slumber’ is a Christian Hymn SINK not yet, my soul, to slumber, Wake, my heart, go forth and tell, All the mercies without number That this by-gone day befell: Tell how God hath kept afar, All things that against me war, Hath upheld me and defended, And His grace my soul befriended.

[zevlors-tail]

Heyyy! Is it okay to request something? If so could I request nightmare comfort? I don’t mind which character!💕 I move a lot in my sleep and sometimes wake up 2 or 3 times throughout the night, I also notice when I’m about to wake up from a nightmare I kick my feet around like I’m running away. I’m also v cuddly and clingy (to my pillows ;~;) if not, that’s okay! Thank you 💛

A/N: I hope this was okay! Just some background real quick, I wrote the reader as a pro hero working at UA for plot purposes and for pairing purposes. I also hope I picked a character you like. I don’t actually have this character listed on my writing list but I remembered seeing a post of yours saying they were a comfort character for you, so I picked them because of that. <3 Hope this helps.

You tossed and turned, darkened images flashing under your eyelids as you dreamed of awful, twisted things. No matter how many times you’d seen them, no matter how many times the nightmares repeated themselves in your mind, you would never get used to the horrific scenes that unfolded while you slept. On nights like these, there was hardly any peaceful rest for you.

You woke up for the second time that night, legs kicking behind you as you cried out silently to no one and struggled to regain consciousness. You were so tired of the sleepless nights...and tired in general. Finally bolting upright, your breaths came ragged and shaky as you looked around quickly to gain your bearings. Your room looked just the same as it always did; hero costume hanging on the closet door handle in case of emergency, last night’s clothes strewn about on the floor, and bed sheets pulled halfway off the bed, no thanks to your restlessness. Familiar though it was, it brought you little comfort as you sighed, exasperated, and let yourself fall back down.

Nothing helped. Night after night, you saw the same things, different things, anything your mind deemed terrifying enough to pass as nightmare fuel. You’d tried everything you could think of to stop them. Warm milk before bed, listening to music while you slept, leaving the TV on for background noise, even sleeping during the day and drinking relaxing teas to calm yourself even though you didn’t like tea in the first place. But all of those things just seemed to make it even worse- the milk only made you feel sick, the music and TV noise only played into your dreams, and now you felt tired 24/7 with a wacky sleeping schedule. And the teas? Well, they were just gross. All of it did nothing to lessen the amount of terror you felt in your sleep, let alone calm you down before or after your awful dreams. And tonight, it was especially bad.

Your heart was still hammering in your chest, your hands balled into fists as you tried to forget the things you had just seen. It had been a very, very long time since your brain decided to plague you with such gruesome and horrific things, and you were suffering tremendously from it. Usually you could gain your bearings and force yourself back to sleep within the same hour you awoke, but tonight was different. Tonight, you couldn’t get back to sleep no matter how hard you tried. You felt more than restless, more than tired, more than exhausted with yourself and your mind. An hour passed, and then another, and another, and before you knew it your clock read 2:30am on a Friday morning as you lay there, wide awake, drained for all you were worth.

You needed something to do. You couldn’t just stay here and suffer; you needed move. Come on, you told yourself, it shouldn’t be that hard. Maybe if I wear myself down. Yes, that’s it, maybe a walk would help. Even if it’s past curfew...but, does that really apply to teachers? You sucked in a breath of air, mentally preparing yourself to get up. When you felt you were ready, you swung your legs over the edge of your bed and brought your hands to your face, rubbing harshly as if that could take away the stress you were feeling. It did nothing to help.

One random pair of pants and your favorite jacket later, you were headed out the door and on your way. The night air caused goosebumps to raise on your skin as you trekked around the dorms at UA silently, the only light illuminating your path from the round moon poised high above in the sky. The stars glittered over your head without clouds to obstruct their view, and the only noise you heard was the occasional chirp of a cricket and the hooting of the local owls that liked to nest in the trees nearby. Every so often you whipped your head around to look behind you and make sure you weren’t being followed, your nightmares leaving you spooked even on what should have been a peaceful walk. Was there any aspect of your life that they didn’t completely consume? Would you ever feel normal?

You were so busy looking behind you at the time that you didn’t notice the person in front of you until it was too late. Just as you were swiveling your head back around, you face planted into someone’s chest and let out a strangled noise of terror, suddenly sure that your horrid dreams had come alive and were out to get you. Which one was it? Who was after you now? You didn’t want to know. You turned tail to run shamefully- in the back of your head, you knew better. Heroes shouldn’t run, shouldn’t be scared of dreams or things that weren’t real. But you couldn’t help yourself even if you were a trained pro hero...your nightmares were getting the best of you.

A long arm reached out to grab at the back of your jacket, whoever’s hand it was preventing you from going any further. If your fearful stupor, you didn’t think to use your quirk to get away, nor did you consider that maybe the person keeping you from running away was not an enemy, but in fact an ally. You ran in place for a moment, arms flailing, tears forming in your eyes as you crumpled to the ground.

“Don’t touch me! Get away!” you pleaded, your small voice ringing out through the night. “Let me go, please!”

“Calm down.” a stern voice commanded from behind you. The deep tone and familiarity of it calmed you instantly, and you stopped struggling against their grip as they pulled you back towards them. “It’s just me. It’s Eraser, Y/N.” 

You let your body relax slightly but remained on edge, still not entirely sure that Aizawa was really behind you. What if it was another nightmare, or what if this wasn’t real? What if, when you turned around, he had a horrid looking face, or his head was twisted around, or-

“What are you doing out here this early in the morning?” Shouta asked you, interrupting your thinking. You said nothing, your thoughts rendering you speechless and bringing fresh tears to your eyes. You felt like words were stuck in your throat, like you were choking on your own tongue. “You’re shaking like a leaf,” he noted a few seconds later. After a long bout of silence on your end and a pause of uncertainty on his, he sighed and tried one more time to get through to you. “Y/N.”

As if your name was a spell to break the curse you felt you were under, you opened your mouth to explain yourself. “I was just- I wanted to walk...needed to get out of bed, and.” Even if it sounded disjointed, it was the best you could do. You were still too afraid to turn around.

“If I let go of you, are you going to bolt on me?”

“I don’t know,” you blurted out honestly. Really, there was no way of knowing what you would do. You felt glued to the sidewalk with jelly legs and and hardly any air in your lungs.

Wordlessly, Aizawa placed a hand on your shoulder as if to test the waters before slowly turning you around and pulling you into him. You glanced up at his face in terror as he did so expecting to see something surreal, but to your utter relief, he looked completely normal and like the Eraser Head you knew and loved. You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding, your face pressing into his shirt as you shivered. Suddenly, it was a lot colder out than it had been before. The sound of his heartbeat thrumming through your ear made you feel grounded and real again too.

Thu-thump. 

Thu-thump. 

Thu-thump.

“Come on, it’s cold out here. Let’s get you to the teacher’s lounge.”

You walked to the school together in silence, neither of you asking any questions or making any small talk, just grateful for the fact that UA was always open for teachers if needed. For Aizawa that was the usual anyways- he was always direct and to the point, and didn’t say much unless he had to. If he had any questions for you, he must have been saving them for later. For you, though, it was little odd. You were always chatting with the other teachers, always engaging with your students, always willing to share little bits of information anyone else might find useful or amusing. Always bright and sunny during the day, wanting to bring smiles to everyone and make them laugh. Lately though, Aizawa had noticed you just didn’t seem like yourself. You looked tired, more so than was normal for you, and had been more quiet and reserved. But who didn’t get tired every once in a while? Eraser didn’t really have the right to judge you or ask any questions about it anyway, considering his own sleep schedule.

“Here.” After you were situated on the couch with a spare blanket from the closet and a small couch pillow to rest your head on, Aizawa brought over a large, steaming cup of tea. You thought he had brewed it for himself, but it seemed he had other intentions as he set it down in front of you on the coffee table.

“I don’t drink tea,” you tried to protest, but he just shot you a look and sat next to you comfortably before pushing the cup closer to you.

“I know you usually don’t, but you should drink that. It’s completely herbal, not like what you’re probably used to, and it’ll help you relax and get back to sleep. I doctored it up with honey and milk, so the taste shouldn’t be too strong.”

He watched you with careful eyes as you gingerly picked up the mug and brought it to your lips, apprehension reflecting in your own orbs as you took a small sip. You made a small sound of surprise as you took another larger sip, not minding the taste as much as you usually did.

“It’s not that bad,” you admitted quietly.

“It’s my own blend. I made it for when I have especially rough nights.”

Silence washed over you both as you busied yourself with drinking the tea, Shouta’s eyes never leaving your face. After a bit, when your cup was a little more than half empty, he started up conversation with you again.

“So what were you doing outside at three in the morning?” Straight the point, as always.

“I was on a walk. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought maybe it would help.” You took another sip of your tea.

“Do you normally take walks at three in the morning when you can’t sleep?”

“Not often, no. Only when it’s-” You stopped yourself before  you could finish your sentence, not quite sure if you wanted to admit what you were going through. You hadn’t told anyone before, mostly because it felt like a private problem that you needed to deal with on your own, and something that you didn’t want to burden others with.

“When it’s...?” he prompted. His eyes desperately searched your face for any clues on what might be bothering you, though he already had an idea of what it might be.

“Ah, nothing.” You quickly swept the issue under the rug by trying to change the topic. “What were you doing out at three in the morning, hm?”

“I was patrolling the dorms, like I was supposed to.”

Oh. Well...that was...a pretty logical explanation. You weren’t sure what you were expecting.

“So I interrupted your patrol. I’m sorry.” You realized you must have pulled him away from what an important task, and suddenly you felt immensely guilty for causing him trouble. “I didn’t mean to take you away from that...”

“Don’t be. I got Mic to finish up for me after I took you over here, so it’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“Mmn.” You gave a quiet sound of acknowledgement, unsure of what to say after that, so you just kept drinking your tea. 

Aizawa stared off into the distance as if considering something, then brought his focus back to you as he spoke. “So, how long have you been having the nightmares?” 

Judging by the look on your face, he had hit the nail right on the head with his assumption. After seeing all of the little red flags, he had pieced the puzzle together in his mind and concluded you were suffering from something sleep related. And after seeing how you acted when he encountered you on his patrol, he thought it obvious that you clearly were disturbed by something lately, to which his guess had been nightmares, or maybe even night terrors. 

You remained quiet for a moment, your grip on the still warm mug tightening ever so slightly as you shrunk in on yourself. “For a while...” you breathed out.

“And how long is ‘a while’?” he pressed gently. He didn’t want to push you too hard.

“I don’t know...a long time.”

“Have you told anyone?”

“You’re the first person I’ve said anything to, since you asked.” You nervously took another swig of tea.

“You don’t have to talk about them unless you want to,” he offered, hoping his words implied his obvious invite to let you vent if you needed. You understood his intent, though you genuinely didn’t want to bring the subject back up. The less you thought about them, the better. If you rehashed the nasty things you’d seen earlier tonight, then they would just slink back into your dreams and cause you more grief than they already had.

“I appreciate that, Eraser. I really do.”

“Just call me Shouta.” 

There was something in his voice, something endearing, so full of care in the way he said it.

You didn’t need nor did you want to talk about them. For now, it was enough to be in the presence of someone you cared deeply about and that you knew cared deeply about you too, that understood your silence, that could hear the words unspoken by you when you felt you couldn’t speak. It was enough to just be close to him, a calm quiet between the two of you as you finally finished your drink. You set the mug back down on the table and leaned into the couch to rest your eyes, finally feeling somewhat safe to do so, and sighed as you snuggled into the blanket.

Shouta stayed with you while you drifted off safely under his watch, his lips turned up slightly at the corner as he watched you slip away peacefully. And at the first signs of any discomfort while you slept, he didn’t hesitate a single moment to pull you into his side and cradle you in his arms as he laid back with you, his hand supporting the back of your head while he held it to his chest. You woke briefly, just long enough to hear him murmur an apology for waking you before hushing you softly. His heartbeat reverberated through your ears and into your dreams as you cuddled into him, the sound calming you and lulling you back to sleep easily, and you finally felt at peace. Miraculously, the nightmares that had plagued you for so long gave you reprieve for the night, and you slept soundly on top of Shouta until school the next morning.

Your day carried on as normal after that, and you felt like your old self as you taught your students, genuinely excited to see your kids and engage with them through the course curriculum. The students seemed to sense this as well and were rather overzealous and giddy all day, which only helped to boost your mood more. After your classes were over and your hero work was done for the day, however, you headed home and lay down in your bed, fears and worries all coming back to you. What if you had nightmares again tonight? You didn’t think you could take another sleepless episode, especially after the peaceful rest you had last night. It had felt so good to actually rest, and now you had to go back to this?

And that was exactly how you found yourself in front of Shouta’s door two hours and a nightmare later, tears on your face and clothes haphazardly thrown on. He welcomed you with open arms and a “It’s unlocked,” which you were so grateful for, and the world just seemed right again as you curled up together on the bed, limbs intertwined as he held you close.

“Do you want me to make you some tea?” he asked.

“No, can we just stay like this?”

“Of course.”

From then on his door was unlocked every night. He left it that way for you, made sure to tell you that fact so you knew you were welcome there in his space. Every night you made your way to him. He calmed you down, made you tea if you so wished, and held you. And every night you fell asleep to the same sound.

Thu-thump.

Thu-thump.

Thu-thump.

You found that nightmares weren’t so scary anymore when you had someone to love you through it.

And love you through it, Shouta did, always.

[k0dzukwen]

ʚ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐞 ɞ

- ”I would’ve never thought I would have to say goodbye to my paradise so soon...”

pairing: tendou x gn!reader

genre: angst, tragedy

word count: 1.7k

song inspo: mr. loverman by ricky montgomery mixed with as the world caves in by matt maltese

warnings: major character death, mentions of eating disorder, mild cussing, hospitals, 

pre a/n: if you wanna blame someone for this idea blame rex orange county, jjk newest ep, and my bestfriend ANKNKA ok but fr...i was thinking of who to do for this for about like..30 mins, it was between tendou, kita, and atsumu. i’ll try to do atsumu tonight because i have a AMAZING prompt for him ok? anyways enjoy this :))

“I can show you everything”

You wanted to be shown everything once, you were so eager to go everywhere and memorize every detail. And there was one person who you wanted to travel everywhere with

Satori Tendou

You were captivated by him, thoughts of him fogged your mind daily and you could barely focus. You knew he was the one for you that day you first started as a manager and he offered you candy, along with asking if you read manga. His smile when you said yes and accepted his snack made you melt on the inside, you practically started floating when he sat next to you and started talking about character complexes and powers. You listened to him for hours that day, you secretly wished he had invited you over so he could talk to you more. You went to sleep that night reminiscing over every word, every sentence, every laugh you both shared. 

Were you really that head over heels after one day?

As the days went by you and Tendou grew closer, becoming best friends within weeks. Yet the sparkle in your eyes when he smiled and laughed never faded, the warm feeling from being with him remained with you only growing stronger. You always fell too easily which left you vulnerable to getting hurt, yet with him you wanted to open yourself up completely hoping he would do the same. Months turned into years and before you knew it, You guys were graduating. Everything went by so fast you would believe you blinked and suddenly became a third year, now you were laying in the grass behind the dorms stargazing with your bestfriend who you had unironically fallen in love with. Have you told him how you felt? Nope

“Do you know what paradise is?”, Tendou stared up at the sky the slight light from the lights nearby illuminating his face and causing his eyes to sparkle

“Something or someone you find comfort in, Something you’re so addicted to just doing it or being around it brings you unimaginable joy. You can’t and won’t imagine ever leaving it or stopping it voluntarily” You sighed and looked over at him, gazing into his red eyes, “Why do you ask?”

He laughed and closed his eyes, breathing deeply “This is my paradise...I don’t think I’m ready to leave..” He opened his eyes and smiled, “But you know, This is a part of growing up right?”

“Ugh..” You huff and sit up, “What the hell is growing up anyways?”

Tendou sat up and shifted closer, leaning in so his nose could almost touch yours, “You aren’t old enough to understand”

Your face flushed a deep pink, he was so close to your face if you accidentally moved closer your lips would meet. You smiled at him and burst out laughing, laughing so hard you had to lay back down and hold your stomach. He laughed too, laying next to you and continuing to point out constellations like nothing had happened. What did he even mean “You aren’t old enough to understand”, he was only one year older than you so what did he mean?

Did you really want to know?

You never really understood the term “growing up”, deep down you wanted to stay a a kid forever. You knew that growing up brought unwanted pain and stress and even trauma, if you weren’t stressed with college enough you also had to deal with paying for bills on your studio apartment and making money from the cafe you worked at. And to make it all worse your best friend, the guy you were lovesick for was moving across the country to pursue his dreams

In Paris

You always asked why Paris, didn’t he want to go pro in volleyball? Wasn’t that his paradise? You knew you wanted the best for him but deep down you didn’t want the love of your life to move across the country, you knew you would both lose communication with eachother, you knew he would forget about you and you didn’t want to bear that pain. Yet he didn’t want to listen, he left to paris and exactly what you predicted happened. You started off calling him every day along with texting him, sending him pictures of what you did in everyday life. You didn’t have many friends so you often found yourself waiting for his reply, you knew his job was time consuming but impatience still got the best of you. Hours without a reply turned into days, the realization that you had lost your love ate at your soul. You found yourself skipping meals, and slacking off in school. You knew it was unhealthy and that you needed to stay strong but you couldn’t, his laugh and smile lingered in your dreams. You missed him dearly, but still couldn’t get the confidence to dial his number. One day you couldn’t take it and booked a flight out to Paris, you thought at the moment it would be the best option.

You never even left the hotel

You paced around the room, the TV playing in the background. You knew the chocolate shop he worked at and had a way of transportation but couldn’t bring yourself to go, what if he didn’t remember you? What if he had someone else? You tried to talk yourself up, motivating yourself to press the button

“God damn Y/N just-” You were cut off by a breaking news report, Your gaze switched from your hands to the TV. You squinted at the screen as it showed a report of a young male involved in a car collision, you didn’t even know what the instinct was but you ran out your hotel room down to the lobby, you busted through the entrance and started to run to the hospital the news report specified, tears welled up in your eyes as you ran praying that it was just a mistake. You prayed that the male in critical condition wasn’t who you thought it was, you stumbled and bumped into people as you ran saying a quick “I’m sorry” and keeping your pace. You arrived at the hospital and bust through the doors, running up to the desk

“Please miss, Who was the man involved in the car collision? The one in critical condition?” Tears pricked at your eyes as you stared at the woman in front of you expectantly

“Oh, at first we labeled him a John Doe but after further inspection we have confirmed the mans name is...Satori Tendou, We really shouldn’t give out this info but you seem like a family member or-”

The nurse continued on but you couldn’t hear, everything went silent as if you had just became deaf, Your knees felt weak and threatened to give out. It couldn’t be him, You shook your head and covered your ears despite the fact you couldn’t hear anything, everything started to swirl together like a fever dream. Thats right, it was just a dream, This wasn’t happening. You were gonna wake up from this crazy situation and go see your bestfriend, You were gonna finally see your best friend and he was going to be alive and healthy. Everything was going to be just fine, This was just a sick nightmare thats it

“Excuse me, this is his room. I’m sorry but he has about 20 mins left to live, he can hear but can’t move or respond to anything...I’m sorry”

The doctor patted your back and left the room, gently closing the door to avoid startling you. You hadn’t spoken a word since the news was given to you and of course, you didn’t take it well. You broke down completely, the nurses had to escort you to a room and try to calm you down

But even now you felt nothing but numbness

You stared at Tendous body blankly, gazing at all the tubes coming out of him, the beeping of the heart monitor and pumping of the life support machine kept the room from being completely silent. You felt tears well up into your eyes again and this time you didn’t fight them, you slowly walked towards his bed and gently touched his face. You could feel his face flinch and heard a wimper escape from his body, you let out a quiet sob and placed your hand over your mouth. You remembered how the doctor said he could hear you and feel everything

Feel Everything

He could probably feel the tubes and they were probably painful, He probably didn’t think that life was worth so much pain. 

“Tendou...” Your voice cracked and you sniffed, “I’m so sorry...I should have been there..for you” You sighed and sat down in a chair, leaning on the bed “Did I ever tell you about my paradise? Well unlike you...My paradise was a person, They were super funny and their smile could brighten anyones day” You smiled at the last part, unknowingly laying your head on the bed, “They had am amazing laugh too...It was so contagious I learned to memorize it, whenever I was around them...I felt like I was complete. I felt like I had a life worth living when they were around, I loved them..letting them go was the hardest thing, but at least they were safe and happy...” You started to choke up, tears streaming down your face, “You’re my paradise Tendou...I’m in love with you and I want to stay here forever if It means I’ll be with you”. You looked up at the monitor noticing how it was slowing down, You didn’t know much about medicine and medical things but you knew that wasn’t a good sign. You gently grabbed his cold hand and squeezed it, you blinked through tears and opened your mouth. You didn’t know what to say until the monitor started to rapidly beep, fear shot through your body causing your tears to flow faster and your body to shake. You broke your gaze from the monitor and looked at Tendou, his skin was pale and you could barely see his face through all the tubes

“I would have never thought...I would have to say goodbye to my paradise so soon. I love you Satori, I’m sorry I was too late” 

↳𝐞𝐧𝐝 

post a/n: currently sitting here crying, i’m not even attached to Tendou like that and i’m HURT why do i do these things to myself i’m sorry to whovever reads this </3

[not-from-the-absence-of-violence]

You'd break your heart to make it bigger, so why not crack your skull when the mind swells

“Something's not right about what I'm doing but I'm still doing it-- living in the worst parts, ruining myself. My inner life is a sheet of black glass.” ~Richard Siken

Moments in Leenik Geelo's life after losing his brother.

a/n: love that my first campaign star wars fic is just pure leenik geelo angst, i dedicate this one to @leenik-matagot thank u and also ur welcome <3 >:) 

content warnings for: canon typical character death and violence, suicidal thoughts, refrences to self harm, ptsd, trauma and just general grief and depression.

It’s the emptiness he doesn’t expect. When they were running out of the planet the numb shock passing into the unrelenting reality of the loss he had just suffered.

There is that night where neither him or Chartreuse say anything and it felt like his chest was going to collapse into itself. It wasn’t real, not quite yet but the grief that threatens to consume him whole had already set in. it was like a gaping open wound in his chest. Like shards of glass. Like he was dying, following Tony into an early grave.

Those days blur together but he remembers eventually when the pain wouldn’t stop, he remembers cristal clear the quiet desperate prayer he sent out to the stars he and his brother had once travelled together.

Make it stop. He begged. I will do anything to stop feeling like this someone, anyone, please make it stop, make it stop, make it-

Be careful what you wish for, they say, because eventually it did, and it left the broken being that had once been Nicky Geelo.

There was nothing, he hadn’t thought it possible before to feel nothing but it was there. He was but an empty black hole. What was he now, without his grief and pain.

Nothing matters then, when the world stops being something you experience, he stared blankly at the wall. A million thoughts hung around his head.

It was your fault. It should have been you. You have always been this useless. What are you now? What have you ever been?-

They droned on, it was like listening to static, they were there, they were his thoughts and he believed them, but there was no emotion tied to it. He wants it back, the overwhelming despair, the anger burning in his veins, the quiet background sorrow that settles into your bones.

The first time Leenik Geelo gets captured on purpose he doesn’t plan on coming out of it.

He had picked up doing jobs again because he had to, life didn’t stop even if it felt like it should, the loss of Venton was nothing on the greater galaxy, even if to Leenik it felt like the stars weren’t allowed to shine without him.

It isn’t quite like he consciously plans on getting shot, it’s just that he goes in with a half-baked plan, no plan B, no weapons and not really sure when the last time he ate was.

And sure maybe when they are marching him to the brig, blasters trained on him part of him wonders why it would be bad if they just fired.

It’s not quite wanting to die, as much as it is not seeing the point in living. As much as that the moment they truly are about to shoot him his fear finally kicks in and he feels awake for the first time in months.

How he gets out of that one he doesn’t know, it's like all the luck in the galaxy follows him when he doesn’t want it.

He stands there and picks at his suction cups absentmindedly until one starts to bleed, he stares at the blood dripping from his finger like it contains the answers to everything.

-

He isn’t prepared for the wrath that comes next, the vast nothing in his chest comes and goes but the only other thing he is made of these days seems anger.

It is directed at everything and nothing, his brother's killer, Traxx, the ceiling fan that is too loud, himself.He who couldn't help, he had insisted to take on a job they shouldn't have, he should have been the one to fall in Ventons place.

The first time he stuns himself he can almost convince himself it's an accident. He is in fact, shooting at the fan, but who is to say whether he knew that the laser would bounce of it and hit him in the chest.

There is a flash of blinding agony and then a final blissful nothing. He wakes up very soon after, with a pounding headache, dizzy and miserable.

He knows very well he should not do that again, he stares at his blaster and feels some sickening kind of fear of himself. He tries to avoid using a blaster for a while but it doesn't last long.

It's always an accident though, and usually when it happens people laugh at the guy who just got himself stunned.

That's good he thinks making people laugh.

-

Leenik Geelo doesn't know the name of the first truly innocent person that he kills.

Usually there is some sort of justification for it, in his mind at least.

At some point he is at a shoot out and he very well knows he could aim away from the civilians that have nothing to do with it.

He doesn't.

There he is met with sickening guilt, and an even worse sense of perverted glee.

He sees the disappointed face of his brother every time he closes his eyes.

The moment he is alone that afternoon he breaks down crying, falling to the floor of some ship.

What have you become Nicky?

He doesn't know. He doesn't know.  

-

It's Venton who should have lived, and so he starts dressing the part. it's easy to pass off the wig and the eye patch as simple eccentricities, people find it odd, people laugh.

Good. He thinks, it's almost better to not be taken seriously, no one seeing under the surface.

So easy some days to almost believe it's Tony who is staring back at him in the mirror. That he’s here with him at least. He doesn't know how to be himself anymore.

One day he simply forgets the eyepatch, he catches a glimpse in the mirror and panics. True awful panic, the one that causes you to stop breathing, your chest to hurt, your mind to start racing.

"I need to go get it," he chokes out.

"Jeez man, we have a job to do."

He is already running back already, his hands in fists shaking as he tries not to break into sobs in the middle of the busy street.

-

It is odd in many ways how much Venton had been to him. His brother, his work partner, his only connection to his home he had left behind.

Leenik isn’t good at planning, he isn’t very strong or agile or-

Together they were invincible and alone he’s just...him.

He isn’t sure whether he misses Rodea or his brother sometimes, tangled up together in a web of nostalgia.

There is so little that is left from the person he used to be now.

-

What exactly makes memories flood him like rivers is truly awful arbitrary, he hates it.

And like anything he hates inside himself, he fights it like a caged animal. He is holding onto the shards of himself so tightly, cutting his fingers with it, he is walking on his own broken glass.

It’s a perfectly unremarkable day on the Mynock, he struggles to open a container.

"You should work out more, Leenik."

He stares at a fixed point on the wall, he feels it, the helplessness, his brothers hand in his, he feels the way he can't pull them up because he isn't strong enough, good enough, such a failure-

"Leenik? You okay there buddy?"

Leenik snaps out of it, clearly looking at his surroundings.

"I am just self conscious about my strength alright," he says as he bats away Bacta's hand " Don't bring it up again."

Bacta looks vaguely worried but drops it, used to his odd outburst by now. Leenik goes to look outside at the stars that were supposed to be theirs.

-

Sleep and Leenik are at war. Every night is a battle.

The weeks, months even after he couldn't sleep. He couldn't without waking up to nightmares of every kind and every night he saw his brother die because of him in seemingly increasingly gruesome ways.

Not sleeping made being awake worse, made the colours sharper and the noise louder, made his already weak grasp on reality weaker. He heard Venton everywhere, knowing it wasn't him, his own head driving him mad.

The only sleep he knew was collapsing from exhaustion.

Eventually time passed and no matter how much Leenik picked at it the wound healed somewhat and sometimes he slept.

Nightmares were still common enough for him to be anxious every time bed time approached. So he read, indulged in the calming familiar anxiety repetitive formulaic fiction brought.

Sometimes he had good dreams about Venton, of beautiful summers in Rodea, about the best bounties they had brought in, soft quiet scenes of love they deserved to have.

He woke up feeling the emptiness worse those days, not being able to even look at himself in the mirror.

-

There is something so comfortable in not being him. Leenik picks up a million hobbies and drops them just as soon but dressing up he might just keep.

He’s good at it, it’s fun, most importantly for the rest of the crew, it's useful.

And if it also means that he gets to look into the mirror without having to bear his own face looking back at him, even better.

-

He falls into the same patterns over and over and over again. He can’t stop, like a derailed train, and it’s always him left to pick up the pieces of his mess.

Like pushing boulders uphill it soon starts to feel tedious, pointless, if you have to do it again every time.

He doesn’t know who he is without anymore, doesn’t know how to be whole, he doesn’t want to know.

It feels like he is a spectator in his own life as he sees himself grimly fall back into ruining his life in both small and big ways.

It’s too hard to mend it, he doesn’t know how to sow.

-

He had never thought of having children really, every day he didn't quite believe he was going to survive the week, much less enough to form a family.

The vornskr gets attached to him so quickly, it needs him, like Leenik once needed his brother.

So he names him Tony, the name feels like rubbing salt in the wound, something that is almost like comfort for him now.

I'll protect you he thinks,  even if I couldn't protect him.

-

He stares at the place where his arm used to be.

He can see it so vividly in front of him, Tony's arm a bloody mess dangling making it unable for him to pull himself up. He sees his own hand, the one he doesn't have anymore, not strong enough to pull him up either.

He stares at his arm and sits on the floor crying. The noise of the battle fading away to the background

Maybe I deserve this one.

-

Leenik Geelo has a family now, crammed into a small spaceship, full of unspoken issues and painful tension.

He holds on to it lightly, or pretends to.

The only way Leenik knows how to hold on is so tight it's suffocating, so loud it hurts, so pleading it is pathetic. He overcompensates in the other direction constantly, to the point where neither he nor the people he now loves know whether he cares about them or not.

He looks onto Tamlin who lost his mother, so small, so fragile. Now his responsibility too. Maybe he doesn't know quite yet what's to come for him, all the small ways loss cracks you. He is afraid of Tamlin in the same way he is afraid of his own true reflection. And as afraid as anyone is of his own children.

"What's the name of the kid again?" he asks and he can almost convince himself he doesn't know.

So many masks to Leenik Geelo, his name has lost meaning.

-

Everyone has a breaking point and eventually Leenik reaches his. As he falls to the floor crying, there are people there this time. To listen, to hug him, to comfort him. To share in his pain and not flinch as they see the worst parts of him. To hold his hand and pull him up as he starts the arduous climb from rock bottom.

He isn’t alone amongst the vast expanse of space anymore.

-

Time passes and loss never truly gets easier, but eventually one has to heal. Eventually he grows up and knows his brother wouldn't want this for him. More importantly he doesn't want this, not anymore.

Rebuilding yourself is a never ending process that often leads to hallways you had forgotten about, it's painful and thankless and while in it it never feels worth it. But it is, oh it is, when he is able to talk about Tony again and it doesn't feel like his throat is full of glass. When people can call him Nicky and it brings only the slightest twinge of melancholy, like pressure on a sore bruise. When he can go to Rodea again, a planet he had once thought he would never be able to bear to return.

Sometimes he still gets cut on his own shards, but this time he lets someone help mend it.

He can lay amongst the trees and for the first time lay his brother to rest in his mind.

"Goodbye Tony," he says, looking onto the millions of planets and galaxies above him, in wonder of how small he is compared to it all.

"I miss you." he says because it's true, he will never stop missing who had once felt like an infinite constant in his life.

"I hope you are well amongst the stars."

[lovecanbesostrange]

There was no reason for Station 19 to go that hard on all fronts, but wow they did. I honestly watched S1+2 mostly out of habit, but S3 was like cleaning house, setting everybody up as a character with their personal flashback gave them far more layers and now I truly care. Thanks. Well, and then Grey’s happened and I cried for like half the episode...........

Maya and Jack have definitely profitted the most from the shift in tone and the character development overhaul. And I liked both their storylines. Maya dealing with all that crap from her father and coming to terms with why she maybe isn’t 100% ready for this very steady relationship and sharing all her emotions was great. Can she tell Carina everything she told Andy? In almost exactly this way, please? Because being afraid of slipping and finding these moments and naming what she has trouble with adjusting to - that is all good. And Carina is one of the most compassionate and patient people (from the limited scenes we have had with her over the years). Dear Maya, if you communicate, she will be there for you.

And wow, Carina than talking about her home and her own fears. Magnificent. Early days of covid? All the horrible, horrible news from Italy come to mind. So thanks writers for building that international bridge. (I wonder how any Italian tv shows that will incorporate the pandemic will deal with this. Every country has their very unique story in this.)

Of course we will see nice side characters getting covid and probably die. Gonna keep my fingers crossed for Marsha nonetheless. Jack having this make-shift family did wonders for his character and I don’t want him to take a blow. It’s a found family on the side, not bound by trade and I like it. I love that thanks to Marcus the masks with plastic windows were mentioned (even tying back to Dr. Riley’s visit to Grey-Sloan. Good job.

Well, Miller and Sullivan. That all happened. And I am exactly 0% qualified to discuss the issues raised. I do empathise with Sullivan a bit more (not that I dismiss Miller’s points, because like Sullivan and Warren say, he is right). Because I absolutely hate this thing were being part of a (minority) group makes you the spokesperson and you get judged far more harshly. And then also taking in-group crap about it. Yes, it is how the world is. But it’s unfair. (And tbh luckily Sullivan hurt mostly himself and he did stand up and face any consequence coming his way. And yes, he was the kind of person to always tell everybody else to better not make mistakes *blablabla* and look, he fell down that high horse... I do think that is something Miller pointed out very rightfully.)

Glad Travis talked to his dad. And I do like the way he did. Just letting him know he knows and leaving that door open. His breakdown about how the church/religion is letting gay people down, while so many sins are just forgiven... damn. Hard to watch. And if just one viewer watching suddenly went like “huh, fucked up”, it was worth it.

Vic is the unsung hero of this episode. I loved how she kept defending that drugged up dude. Yes, he is stupid and it’s horrifying that he stays with his obviously abusive wife, but also keeps drugs around and just... lives like this. But she kept talking about how he didn’t mean to hurt anybody else and that he needed help far more than punishment. Travis and Vic are both good people, but in that situation I think most of us would react more like Travis. Being annoyed, mouthing back and wanting those two shut the fuck up. It’s a normal reaction. What Vic said is the harder choice. And it felt like there was an untold story there.

Okay, wow, much to say about Station 19 for once. But oh boy, Grey’s...........

I remember the “early” episodes we met Bailey’s father. And then we barely talked about her parents. They were somewhere in the background. Until in “(Don’t) Fear the Reaper” we met her mom, got that whole thing with her dead sister and got this picture of her early home life. It was really good. And last week her parents get mentioned again, because hey, elderly people. AND NOW THEY TELL US HER MOM HAD ALZHEIMER’S AND THEN SHE DIED............................................................... it was so fucking heartbreaking start to finish.

And I love all the quiet scenes we got out of this that are just so human. Sad and human. Bailey talking to Meredith, saying she misses her and relating to the whole seeing your mom withering away (so dying twice in a way). I like the use of the beach, because Meredith is semi-conscious, she hears it all, but she just can’t wake up long enough. And then Maggie and Bailey on that bench.

Two people sitting on a bench, talking. Nothing special happens. They don’t need to distract by having them in a busy hallway or somethng. It’s a whole ass conversation with no shorthand. Showing all the emotions. Having Maggie go back to that time her mother died and how she views it all in a different light now. Talking about dying with dignity. Chandra Wilson was so good in this scene. (Her best performance to me will probably always be when Charles died in front of those elevators, I can cry just thinking about that.) And she was allowed such a variety of feelings. And the pain of it all brings up joyful memories. Thanks so much for that hilarity that her scholarship came from the fucking Daughters of the Revolution. HA!

I don’t get people who still watch Grey’s and the relationship drama is the thing they care most about. This is what I’m here for first - the personal lives and relating to all these emotions (and also the mistakes and the way to do better next time).

Well, at least Tom got better quick, I guess. Nice way to give Amelia a reason to get to work for a day and thus have her confronting Teddy. Look, I am done with storylines involving cheating and all. Teddy as a character is often hard to like. But the way she is isolated and like the most contact she has is with DeLuca when he updates her on Meredith’s vitals... it’s harsh. And I liked that Amelia can talk to her without making her feel more terrible. And then I did like Teddy talking to Tom, who was his charming self in the end. Bonuspoints for mentioning that the kids are with Owen’s mom. And hey, I give this to Owen, I believe this must be hard for him, because being a dad is the biggest deal for him. Actually something to make him more likeable - if handled correctly - and this situation sucks for him as well.

Which brings me to Link. Who was left at the Grey home. With Zola, Bailey, Ellis and Scout. Wow. Who would have thought? Amelia’s pregnancy was a good thing, I guess, to give them the excuse of baby time and also Link sorta moving in to deal with all the kids. (Shipping all of them off to their own living Grandma isn’t an option. lol ) Link is a good dude. So please, okay, it was news to him, no need to hate on Tom, push through the irritation, Link! Ahahahahaha.

Jackson being so nervous about his mom being a bit too proud to always keep her mask on - wonderful. Sure, she’s a doctor, she’s also stubborn and he was so scared of losing her not that long ago. Family drama everywhere! I always like seeing Jackson and Webber together. And then they had another big talk, hammering home the fact that people are affected differently. That it’s worse for poor people and not by accident, but systemic problems, most of them are PoCs. So many black and brown patients dying left and right, and it’s clear where the problem starts... I do believe for some viewers this is actually news, because the “news media” they consume won’t talk about that.

So, well, and then there is the Jo of it all. OMG where do I even start? Now, first off, Levi and Jo living together is still hilarious and thanks so much for getting two scenes at the loft. Especially that first one with Levi pretty much pushing her out of bed. Now, I do want Levi to talk to his mom, I desperately need to know how things are. I’m sure the pandemic has shed some new light on what’s important. Second I’m also glad Levi is with Jo, so she is not alone, which makes it harder for her to fall into really bad habits and down that depression hole.

I kinda freaked out seeing Val again and was sure she’s gonna die (might still happen aaaaah). They have a tendency to kill the nice ladies. Still haven’t forgiven Grey’s for killing CeCe. So it was cool that the surgery was a success and wow, did I love when Jo sent Levi out to just listen to Val and connect. And then the baby delivery happened and....... what is going on? Jo even just casually thinking about switching specialties? TO OB?????????? WHAT?????? Dear writers, you dropped the ball on her entire medical journey so often, giving her a bonkers fellowship, having her residency take way too long and shoving her into general, because oops no mentor or anything. And now you give me this? Please, so this is how I would accept this as a set-up for an actual carthartic moment:

Let Jo stalk Carina, play out this thought “what if this thing that made me happy for a day is the thing I am supposed to do longer”. And then let her have joyous moments, but also something complicated, and finally a very distressed woman in labor. And Jo feels for the woman, is compassionate and all and when the baby is there, the woman struggles to connect. And this joyous second is withheld from Jo. And boom, full circle, this woman feels like shit for not loving that baby instantly, for the feeling of resentment and being out of her mind. And finally Jo can forvige Vicki. And that’s the end of that particular journey.

I mean we all pretend that we have forgotten that time Jo stole a baby, right? Because that was the S16 hiatus and there was a storyline set in motion that blew up with Justin leaving like that. And we have had Jo interacting with babies and new moms so often over the course of the show. While also staiting that Jo’s self-worth is tied to being in an OR, which is also her safe space. So this whole thing...

Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Addison was the attending OB/GYN once upon a time. (”I’m being stalked by pregnant women!” “You are an obstetrician.”) She was also a fetal surgeon, which was what Arizona eventually became. So it’s not like when Meredith wore pink scrubs for a few weeks and got made fun of. There could be a long interesting road that eventually does include  surgeries. But it’s just so....... dumb. In a way. Especially with Jo having so many issues. And the writers - who give out pregnancies and babies like halloween candy - constantly skipping a potential Jolex-as-parents-storyline.... which kinda bites them in the ass now. ugh F R U S T R A T I O N......... I could write a five page essay just about Jo so far this season, I’m sorry. (Also if I ever have to see Jo in pink scrubs, a part of my brain will explode thinking back to Jason for sure.............)

Oh, and then there was Ben Warren. Just existing. Being a good man. Thanks. :3

[amillioninprizes]

A Tale of Two P.I.s: How Stumptown Succeeded Where Veronica Mars Failed

A hardboiled female private eye with a drinking problem, a litany of temporary sexual partners, and trauma resulting from her romantic soulmate dying in an explosion that’s partially her fault solves mysteries.

This could describe either the freshman ABC show Stumptown, starring Cobie Smulders as military veteran Dex Parios, or Rob Thomas’s intended vision for an adult Veronica Mars in the wake of the recent S4 that aired on Hulu. Many VM fans turned to the former after the supreme disappointment that was S4 in order to get their kickass lady detective fix; a common refrain that I’ve seen is that Stumptown is the show that adult Veronica Mars should have been. Notably, Stumptown was recently renewed for a second season, while Hulu has declined to order more seasons of Veronica Mars. Now that the pain of VM S4 is less fresh, I recently watched the first season of Stumptown to see if it was worth the hype. Here are the reasons why I think that Stumptown has been renewed for a second season while Veronica Mars has, much like Susan Knight, been left dead in the water:

Dex is a competent detective

Like, I shouldn’t even have to say this, but: if you’re going to make a show about a private investigator, that character should be able to crack cases. Rather infamously, Veronica did not solve any mysteries in VM S4: Keith solved the bomber mystery, Logan solved the congressman blackmail mystery, and Vinnie solved the missing ring mystery. Veronica just kind of floated around being a mean party girl.

Meanwhile Dex, despite being less experienced as a detective, uses her smarts and background as a military interrogator to solve the mystery of the week. She notably utilizes disguises and undercover work, two former features of Veronica’s investigating that were missing in S4. The show also makes a decent attempt to portray the realities of her having to obtain a license to be a PI and work legally, including an internship and dealing with consumer complaints. Contrast this with the proposed future seasons of VM as a traveling detective--something that would be nigh impossible giving licensing requirements.

I think the contrast between the two’s abilities can best be seen in their opening scenes of the season: Dex, at the casino, is able to suss out a married dude hitting on her pretty quickly, comprehensively listing his tells. Meanwhile, Veronica’s first scene in S4 has her randomly smashing a client’s belongings to find hidden cameras and then unprofessionally overcharging her. If that’s how she treats clients, it’s no wonder that Mars Investigations is financially struggling at the beginning of S4.

Stumptown also does a better job than VM S4 of showing why the protagonist chooses to be a detective. For Dex, it gives her stability and a sense of purpose that had been lacking since her return from Afghanistan. On the other hand, Veronica is shown to be somewhat dissatisfied with her life in S4, but it’s never explicitly addressed why; it’s also not examined why she remains in Neptune as a detective when she could use her Ivy League law degree at any time and live anywhere, especially when she appears to no longer have a talent for being a detective. Logan briefly broaches the subject in one scene, but it’s dropped just like every other VM plot thread.

Dex is a marshmallow

As has been covered extensively elsewhere (including the pages of this very blog), probably the largest issue that people had with S4 of Veronica Mars outside of Logan’s death was Veronica’s characterization. Rob Thomas said in interviews that he told the writers this season to write Veronica like a porcupine; the end result was a portrayal that dialed all of Veronica’s negative traits to 11, added new ones, and completely removed the softer aspects of her character that made her such a compelling and complex protagonist. There was an attempt to give Veronica an emotional connection to the bomber mystery via the character Matty, but for most viewers it didn’t resonate due the flat affect of both actresses and poor writing. It was hard to feel like Matty was a sympathetic underdog when she had a wealthy mother ready to whisk her away to Paris for Spring Break. Veronica also doesn’t appear to have retained her former drive for justice; she mostly seems interested in collecting a paycheck (and if that’s the case I again ask why she isn’t using her Columbia law degree). She also weaponizes her white womanhood against a Latino teenager. What a great role model!

Contrast this with the also outwardly caustic Dex, who initially IS only in it for the paycheck. First off, even that’s somewhat noble in that she needs to take care of her adult brother with Down’s syndrome. Yet she quickly finds her sense of justice overcoming her desire to make bank. We see this early in the season when she turns against the PI she is shadowing in order to help a young mother obtain custody of her child from her wealthy, abusive ex-husband. This is also seen when she brokers a deal to protect the privacy of the biological child of a political candidate she’s been hired to find dirt on.

Dex also relies heavily on her support system--namely her brother Ansel, best friend Gray, food truck purveyor Tookie, and even police detective Hoffman. She resists her brother moving out because she’d be lonely without him, and her entire found family are instrumental in helping her with her cases. This isn’t necessarily different from Veronica per se, although Veronica treated her loved ones cruelly in S4. Additionally, Rob Thomas wanted to continue the show without them, despite how heavily Veronica relied on them both to help her with cases as well as emotionally.

Stumptown also shows that even if Dex hasn’t fully processed her trauma, she is capable of growing. She makes nice with her high school enemy after clearing her daughter of suspected drug dealing. Contrast this with Veronica, who punched her high school nemesis at her high school reunion (and for the five millionth time, no one wanted to see that) and was shown to have regressed as an adult to be more immature at age 35 than she was at 17. That didn’t make her seem more cool or noir, just sad.

Also, Dex actually manages to brush her hair. (But srsly I need to know how they get her hair to do that great wavy thing).

Dex’s trauma is thoughtfully addressed

As a corollary to the above point: there was obviously Something Wrong with Veronica in S4, but the show didn’t bother to explain what had transpired between the end of the second book and S4 to explain her seeming personality transplant; as a fellow fan has said, the show pretended to deal with her trauma but glossed over it in reality. For example, in addition to depicting her as being depressed and cruel to her loved ones, she is shown drinking heavily and doing drugs, both of which are out of character for her. Yet the show seems to glamorize it; none of her loved ones express any concern about this behavior and there are no references made to her alcoholic mother, whose actions negatively affected her growing up to the extent that Veronica had previously expressed wanting to avoid becoming like her. But despite the fact that she was obviously struggling with something, Rob Thomas and Kristen Bell stated that they needed to kill Logan because Veronica was somehow not traumatized enough. Apparently, putting Logan’s ring on her finger just magically erased her previous issues (unrealistic and harmful messaging to trauma survivors), and he needed to die because women can only be interesting if they’re damaged (misogynistic). Adding insult to injury was Rob Thomas’s assertion that Logan’s memory wouldn’t play much of a part of the show going forward because it would be too depressing and he needed Veronica to not be consumed with thoughts of him while engaging in “strange sex”, whatever that means. Yeah Rob, it would def be realistic for Veronica to just get over the fact that her husband and love of her life died of a bomb due to her oversight in a year and then continue on her merry way without any support from her loved ones!

Stumptown, however, explicitly connects Dex’s self destructive behavior with her past trauma: in the very first episode Dex is shown frantically texting contacts for a sexual hookup in the midst of a PTSD episode. The most powerful scene of the entire season in my opinion is one where, after experiencing a flashback to her time as an interrogator in Afghanistan, she goes on a bender at home and trashes her house to the soundtrack of Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain.” (As an aside, I would also like to point out that Stumptown deftly portrays the trauma and grey morality associated with military service, which could have been an amazing (and noir!) storyline for naval intelligence officer Logan in future seasons of VM if Rob Thomas wasn’t such a dimwit).

Additionally, the death of her not quite-fiancé Benny hangs over her, even though the event took place twelve years prior to the start of the series. Even before Benny is introduced onscreen in flashbacks in the penultimate episode of S1, the show does a good job of portraying just how much he and their relationship meant to Dex. The season culminates in Dex finding out that his death in an explosion in Afghanistan was not in fact her fault, as she had previously assumed. Interestingly, the show’s writers considered revealing that Benny had faked his death, but the head writer later stated in an interview that doing so would invalidate the trauma Dex had experienced for 12 years and would ultimately be cruel. While on a shallow level I wouldn’t have minded them bringing Benny back since the actor who played him was super attractive and had great chemistry with Cobie Smulders, the decision the writers made instead makes more sense for the world they have built and is far more thoughtful: it allows Dex to obtain a sense of closure and growth while respecting her grief.

Women over the age of 35 aren’t Satan

A criticism of VM since it originally aired is that the show generally portrays female characters, especially mothers and other women over a certain age, in a negative light (and Rob Thomas has been defensive about it just as long). The books partially rectified this by introducing the characters of Petra Landros, the former model turned owner of the Neptune Grand, and Marcia Langdon, the new Balboa County sheriff with a murky past. Marcia was brought back for S4, but considerably dumbed down and less complex than in the books (and there’s definitely something to be said that the first time a BIPOC woman is shown in a position of power on screen in VM that her character is diminished).

Stumptown, on the other hand, has two women as older female mentors/nemeses in positions of power: Sue Lynn, the matriarch of the local Native American tribe, and Lieutenant Cosgrove of the Portland PD. Both have complicated relationships with Dex: Sue Lynn ended Dex’s relationship with Benny, her son, yet repeatedly seeks her out for help with matters on the reservation. Lieutenant Cosgrove often finds herself at odds with Dex while the latter is attempting to solve a case, though she also encourages her to legally obtain her PI license. It shouldn’t be revolutionary to have complex older female characters as supporting cast on a female-centered show in 2020, but after 15 years of misogyny from VM it certainly feels refreshing.

Where Stumptown falls short

All of this is not to say that Stumptown is flawless. Despite my praise for including older female characters above, the show is still pretty dude heavy, especially Dex’s inner circle. The mysteries of the week are of fairly average quality, and several were reminiscent of some seen in VM’s original run--the season even ends with a “Who’s at the door?” gambit. I also didn’t love the storyline where Grey’s girlfriend gets Dex drunk and tricks her into thinking they had slept together in order to drive Grey and Dex apart--that felt like something out of the mind of Rob Thomas. It also bears mentioning that in the context of current events the generally positive portrayal of the police department and Dex’s close relationship with them should bear more scrutiny. And while the show is well done overall, it never quite reaches the emotional resonance of original flavor VM (but then, neither did VM S4).

Despite those quibbles, I think it’s a good show overall. I felt like as the season progressed the creative team figured out what worked and the cast seemed to gel together. I love the classic rock soundtrack (another area where VM S4 failed, given that it abandoned VM’s signature indie soundtrack for generic pop music), which in conjunction with Dex’s wardrobe gives the show a fun retro feel. By the end of the season I was firmly won over, and I look forward to S2. Hopefully the writers of Stumptown paid attention to the backlash to VM S4 as a lesson in what not to do going forward.

[dndeviants]

Guide to the Balance in Dungeons and Dragons.

The Balance is a philosophy of the D&D multiverse which purportedly is a system of checks and balances between the forces of Good, Evil, Law, and Chaos.

The truth is, that it is much more complicated than that.

The Balance is a system that has one end goal- to stop threats to the Prime Material Plane that would disrupt the orbit of the planes and throw the cosmos into disarray. Whether that be devils, demons, modrons, celestials, or any kind of planar force that would sway the Material planes to any kind of absolutism.

But why?

In the deepest layer of the Abyss, there is a powerful entity imprisoned- the God of Entropy, Tharizdun. Sages say that this creature had consumed entire universes, leaving no being in its wake and snuffing out existence wherever it went. It took the will of every living thing in the remaining multiverse to imprison it in the corpse of a dead universe, the energies of the different planes acting as chains to keep Tharizdun imprisoned.

The Prime Material also acts as a central anchor and counter balance, keeping all of these “chains“ both linked and in place. It is believed that if any one of these planes exerts enough influence to subsume the Prime Material, that will weaken all of the other chains keeping Tharizdun imprisoned.

Followers of the Balance may seem untrustworthy or capricious to those who ascribe to ideas of strict morality or moral absolutism, or follow along with ideas of Good or Evil. Such concerns with common people and adventurers alike is that most people don’t even know that Tharizdun exists, and many sages prefer to keep it that way.

Many common people would scoff at the idea that there can be “too much Goodness“- but followers of the Balance realize that “good“ and “evil“ are arbitrary labels at best and promote a very simplified view of the multiverse that doesn’t allow for nuance or freedom of choice. So forces that  many refer to as “Good“ are just simply Celestial in nature, and many forces that are considered “Evil“ are Diabolic or Demonic- which does little in the grand scheme of things, when acting to preserve the multiverse’s very existence.

The Blood War.

In the Dungeons and Dragons universe, there is an eternal war between Demons and Devils on the lower planes which will continue ad infinitum... and to keepers of Balance must continue ad infinitum.

The Blood War exists to keep those forces busy, so that again, none of those lower planes can usurp the other and keep Tharizdun imprisoned. Despite being a war between Demons and Devils, it isn’t actually uncommon to see Celestials siding with either one in the battlefield of Avernus, or other planar creatures either.

It becomes less a battle of Evil versus Evil, but one of Order versus Chaos that just happens to take place in the first layer of Baator.

Keepers of the Balance will do actions to keep either side from gaining the upper hand, perhaps favoring lawful victories one day, or chaotic ones the other. The Blood War is a big focus in the Dungeons and Dragons universe, simply because it is the most visible conflict that clearly involves the Balance.

Tenets of the Balance.

Followers of the Balance tend to follow a set of guidelines for understanding the multiverse, and the appropriate extent of their meddling.

Labeling things and creatures as inherently“Good“ and “Evil“ is a worthless endeavor, and limiting.

Every creature has a purpose, role, and place in the Multiverse. A demon has as much right to exist as a celestial, a goblin as much as a human, and so on and so forth.

Be aware of your biases. Everyone is going to have cultural backgrounds that influence their tendencies and decision-making, so be aware of them and take them into consideration before you make decisions that effect others.

Keep direct interference to a minimum. Most followers of the Balance take on observational roles and sage roles in order to guide those who have power to benefit the continued existence of the multiverse. Which can be achieved with a clue, a gift of a magic item, etc.

Be aware of the effect your actions will have.

There’s the idea that the keepers of Balance do nothing to improve the world, and in some instances, the belief that keepers of Balance actually actively keep the world from improving- and that isn’t the case. 

There’s nothing to threaten all of existence in people making inventions to improve the quality of life, and the affairs of kingdoms and civilizations are best left to the people living in them, though it also wouldn’t be unusual for keepers of Balance to try to influence affairs where they live- such as foiling religious inquisitions, stopping demonic cults, preventing factions from usurping one another, or defending the settlements from other invasions.

Final Thoughts.

The Balance is an interesting tool and philosophy to help Player Characters actually step back and think about the effect that their actions have on the world at large, and how their actions may effect not only their world, but the planes and multiverse at large, remembering that in the end, there’s still something bigger, both in purpose and threats, but it is definitely more appropriate to use for campaigns with a larger scale of threats rather than just monster of the week or dungeon delving campaigns.

I usually use Mordenkainen as my agent of Balance because he is one of the most recognizable NPCs in the Dungeons and Dragons universe, and his presence anywhere outside of Oerth is a sure sign that there’s something cosmic going on. 

Spoilers: Curse of Strahd and Descent to Avernus both have cameos of him, but to be fair, those modules do a very poor job of presenting the issue of Balance and do very little on their own, save to have him there for the cameo’s sake, requiring Dungeon Masters to do a lot of work to make the encounter worthwhile, in my opinion.

Curse of Strahd: Mordenkainen the Mad Mage came to Barovia a year ago and led an ill-fated rebellion against the vampire. Despite being really out of character to lead a front line assault when Mordenkainen is more of a background operator- it poses the question... Why? Is Strahd a threat to the multiverse, even if he is eternally trapped? Did something happen to Mordenkainen before leading the assault? Why is he here to begin with? Did he get abducted, did he come of his own free will? What does this have to do with Balance?

Descent to Avernus: Mordenkainen is in his Tower of Urm in Avernus using a simulacrum to deal with and hire yugoloths. He doesn’t do much for the PCs as written, only sending them away towards a “mage of no renown.“ Ok. So again, why is he here? Does he know what is happening with a big chunk of Prime Material plane being pulled into Avernus? Is he here to observe or is he a background operator? What is he doing here?

There’s a lot of work to be done, but I wish that there was more guidance for DMs because this is a lot of work and kind of a waste of an encounter.

All in all, the Balance is an interesting D&D philosophy of cosmic mindfulness that could be an interesting tool to workshop encounters.

[roses-ruby]

Cherry Muffins and Lavender Tea

Namjoon x Female Reader

Genre: College AU, Sugary Fluff, Humor if you squint, Smut but it’s ugly, and the teeny tiniest angst

Warnings: curse words, sex, orgasms, oral (female receiving), choking kink, daddy kink, hot biker Namjoon, sex with clothes on, might make you hungry (i’m not sure about everything that’s considered a warning sorry! If there’s something you want me to add, tell me)

Word Count: 8,196

Summary: You’ve got feelings for my man Namjoon, the scary looking dork that drops by where you work. But how will you relay them?

A/N: My first story! Omfgsfkhbifb I’m nervous so please leave a kind word, I’ll love you forever. Might have mistakes cause i’m an idiot. None of this would have been possible without the great @countrysundae she’s my darling and inspiration and I love her sooooo much and you should too!!! Please appreciate her Pisces ass, and send her some love! Oof anyway, please enjoy

10:30

Originally set for 8, 10 fucking 30 is when the bells of your alarm informed you to awake for maybe the 99th time that morning. Groaning in displeasure you move your stiffened muscles to shut the damn thing off. This is a process that’s become a routine; waking up way later than originally planned, no matter how many timers set, or reminders kept. Even though you admit you are sleep deprived constantly, it doesn’t make you a heavy sleeper habitually! You wake up to the tiniest noises at night, from your roommate trying to sneak back into the shared room in ungodly hours of the night to the leaking tap in the bathtub. And yet your phone’s alarm is your placebo-it does absolutely nothing for you.

Though you do try. You keep about 5 alarms on at once, to your roommate’s expense who somehow is both a night owl and early bird all at once. Speaking of which-

“So, the witch finally sees daylight,” snickers Sana

“what the fuc--how long were you there?!” You rasped, grabbing at your erratic heart

“Just got in 5 minutes ago, that was my first alarm and trust me when I say I would’ve strangled you if I heard another.”

It’s true, she’s done it before. Your poor roommate was an occasional victim of your ruthless sleeping habits. You’d sometimes slip into conscious from slumber to hear her whine about your blaring alarms in her own sleeping state. Other times you’d wake up from a pillow landing on your face from a girl who’s had Enough.™ But you didn’t feel too bad for her, since you’ve given her the option of waking you up herself and she’s proven frivolous far too many times for such a simple task. Lowkey? She deserves it.

“Ooh another fun night, huh?” You grin in your sleepy state

Sana giggles “Mhmm, think Mark’s in love with me the poor chap,” she mocks his English accent making you both laugh at yet another fuckboi who’s become a victim to Sana’s lethal looks. Giving her a glance over, from her messy hair and smeared lipstick you conclude she indeed had a very fun night.

Sana came from a well-off background and had it all. Good-looks, smarts, the money, and a very good heart. She didn’t have to go to university, but her mom was not having it. The whole ‘be grateful for the opportunity people suffer to receive’ speech led her here. A parent’s guilt tripping wasn’t something you were unfamiliar with. You considered yourself an average person. Kinda cute, smart, headstrong and half of a pretty good character…Your parents on the other hand, were really wimpy.

“We always thought you’d go to the neighborhood community college”, your dad remarked in horror holding the prestige upper state university’s acceptance letter that arrived recently.

Your dad, who thinks jaded denim vests are cool.

“You’re too young to be living on your own, you’re still a bird who can’t use her wings correctly, not ready to leave the nest!” Said your distressed mom, who’s solution to all bad food was to put more cheese on it.

Don’t like your chicken curry? Pass on the parmesan sprinkler!

You hear the bang of hands on the table and a chair screeches, “let her go, she’ll come back with her tail between her legs”, your little brother who plays fortnite all day and is going through his ‘I hate feelings but secretly cry every night’ faze shouts before storming off towards his room.

All you do is sigh and roll your eyes, picking at your over-parmesaned chicken curry with your naan as your parents continue to nag, cause after this whole fiasco your mind was certainly convinced.

You’re going to the university.

_

Now that you are here, nothing was easy even for someone as headstrong as you. You were smart enough for a scholarship, but living expenses were something else entirely. Which led you to seek employment at a small café, a few miles from your university. It wasn’t the most bustling of places as it drew in a handful of consumers a day, even your fellow students chose the McDonalds right across the street. Everyone enjoyed the quick coffee and frozen fries, rather than your place’s slightly pricier fresh brews and handmade savory biscuits. Alas, you considerably appreciated the quiet composure your café provided. From the dim soft white lighting, to the 60’s slow jazz-which you routinely exchanged with a Studio Ghibli playlist from YouTube discreetly, blended well together. Gave you time to catchup on your schoolwork. Your boss was a chill 42-year-old who won the lottery a few years back, and let you clock in any time before 12, even if your morning shift began from 9. Maybe it had something to do with how the last waitress quit to work at McDonalds.

And he was always there.

Kim Namjoon. The quiet stud that had captivated your heart without even trying. Also, the fucking reason you wanted to get up earlier in the mornings damn it!

Namjoon was a psychology major who was always reading a new book. Mostly from his favorite author Haruki Murakami. And he always stopped by at the place you worked to indulged them. Parking his Harley-Davidson Softail outside and softly walking in with his old school leather jacket and gloves, ripped jeans, a book in his hand, his huge hard…helmet forgotten on the bike’s handle. He’d gently relay his familiar order of cherry muffins and lavender tea, raking his hair back with those beautiful black gloves, and striding to his usual seat in the back of the café.

He’d grace your presence 3 times a week, usually at 9:30 before his 10 am classes; another early bitch bird. All you wanted to do since then was to be able to take his order.

You had met Namjoon at the beginning of your first semester last year. But he hadn’t harbored much of your attention until that fateful day. Chilly winds and frequent rain were what you were adjusting to, as fall was in its peak with every other color on the leaves a vibrant orange, grabbing at your focus. Having arrived on time for once, you were engaged in your workspace. The co-owner and your co-worker of the small café, the boss’s niece, had taken a day’s leave, and you knew she’d beat your ass if you were late. Tray in hand, you served a bacon quiche and caffé americano to the table refuging a girl in an infinity scarf and glasses who didn’t bother to look up from her phone, when the door chimed open

It’s him again, you thought at the tall stranger you’ve seen around your campus in all black stepping towards the counter. He had small droplets of water on his leather jacket and hair from the rain. You didn’t realize you were staring until he awkwardly looked directly at you, standing with an empty round tray at the side of the table of the occupied girl, who you know is also taking a secret glance at him, and shyly smiles.

Cute.

You walk yourself behind the counter and smile, “hey there”

“Hi, um two cherr-“

“-y muffins and lavender tea, right?”

He nods

“Why don’t you just say the usual?” You laugh, wringing up his order in your old school register

“I didn’t think you’d remember me out of all the customers,” he states bashfully, dimples on display

“‘all the customers?’’ you laugh louder, “we get like 15 a day, I’m sure I’ll remember you”

“Oh, I thought I just came too early”

“You definitely do! I don’t have the energy to get up and comb my hair at 9 in the morning, much less bike to a café for cherry muffins”

“You like it?” he grins “it’s a Harley-Davidson, my dad owned one”

“It’s as pretty as you sweetie,” you don’t know where that confidence was coming from, because you’ve definitely haven’t talked to a boy like this before. Blame it on the chilly weather.

“oh, thank you,” he rakes his leather gloved hands through his hair, looking down at his shoes

Stepping towards your tea station, you grab open the bag of loose organic dried lavender buds, on the shelf above. Picking up a measuring spoon, you scoop and slide in some buds in the French press. You grab the boiling water on the electric stove, next to your station and slowly pour it onto the herbs. You close down the French Press and set a timer for 6 minutes.

Taking a breath, you look around the café. Namjoon stands there as towering as a tree, looking at his book, ‘Women who Run with the Wolves.’ Most people would go sit down if it wasn’t pickup, but he always stood right at the registrar. Strange. Unsurprisingly, you remember being intimidated as hell in the beginning. Usually people that come to the café are chill in the ‘harmless millennial hippie’ type of way, dressing themselves in mutable colors. But he looked like he would yell if you even slightly messed up his order or gave a ‘wrong look’ to his bike. You loosened up when his order was always so easy, and his book choices always so cute. You almost bust out laughing when he came in with ‘A fault in our stars;’ especially when he sat at his table with glossy eyes, trying to finish the last pages. His smile also melted all worries away.

Infinity scarf girl gets up to leave (but not before giving Namjoon a longing look), leaving you both alone in the balance of your heartbeats. There was slow piano from Kiki’s delivery service filling up your café’s background. The weather still faintly drizzling, the soft gray clouds seeping through the broad windows, making the café’s wooden brown hues a tad bit dimmer, yet the fairy lights radiant. Pedestrians with transparent umbrellas in beige coats and red hats pass by every so often, not a care in the world. Smells of fresh scones and cinnamon filled your nostrils, making you remember holiday nights at home. Though your thoughts often redirected themselves towards the handsome stranger and the harmony of the quiet fall day.

The timer dings and you get back on track, using the handle to press the floating buds down to the bottom of your French press. You head toward the counter’s display case. Below is a steel countertop with coffee/tea cups, silverware, small plates, trays and a set of tongs. You grab a cup and plate, fixing them properly you pour the tea. The steam drifts towards your face, an amazing aroma that complimented the purple complexion of your brew. Grabbing a set of tongs, you take out two large cherry muffins, placing them on a tray, along with the tea. You decide to grab a chocolate chip cookie as well from one of the clear cookie jars set on the wooden crown of the display case.

“Here ya go,” you place the tray in front of him. He places his book and gloves onto the tray and gets out his wallet from his beautifulbooty back pocket. After paying he picks up the tray and halts

“Cookie?” He holds up the chocolate chip cookie in his hand, a bit confused

“It’s on the house, they’re the best thing in the café, but I end up eating most of them, so might as well give ‘em out”

He smiles, “thank you, it looks delicious”

“No problem, anything for our loyal customers,” you both laugh, “it’s beautiful out today”

“Hm, not as much as you,” he states, walking away from you towards his usual seat. Now, he turned around very quickly after he said that, so you didn’t really get to see his face after such cheesy words, but the tips of his ears were red. Oh.

He’s cute cute.

Stunned, you stand there for a moment or two, just wide-eyed; staring at nothing, until you spin on your spot and head back into the tea vicinity of the café. You feel your heartrate rise and alarms go off in your head. But not the loud intrusive kind. The kind where a baker knows his three-layered chocolate fudge cake is ready. The ones where a mom takes freshly baked cinnamon rolls out in the morning. The ones when the apple pie is prepared to be sliced. Those kinds. Covering your extremely warm face with your hands, you muffle a squeal.

Since then, you’ve started paying close attention to Kim Namjoon.

You didn’t know what it was, his tall broad frame and long thick legs, which you wanted to be choked with. His large hands in those chunky leather gloves or when he took them off, to handle the pages of his book delicately; his long skinny fingers would graze over the soft wood, both things you wanted to be choked with. Or his keen eyes that would get larger or darker depending on what part of the book he was reading, and you imagined in which manner they would present themselves with while he’s choking y-Ok. Ok. Ok. You had a kink. Endeared was how you felt at his intimidating appearance.

You also adored how far away from intimidating he actually was. You were smitten with his gentle demeanor in dealing with people. His pacifist nature, and how much he loved tiny crabs, how he was so respectful towards everyone, younger or older, never judging anyone’s appearance or his love for characters that’re as large, and clumsy as him, like Ryan from that Kakaotalk app. And his laughed that carried large amounts of joy over cheesy, silly things ultimately making you laugh as well.

You were sure you loved Kim Namjoon, yet you barely spoke to him-

I mean who’s gonna disturb a huge scary-looking dork when he’s trying to read? Certainly not you. What you desired is a way to get close to him somehow, and for that you needed to know more about him. It wasn’t hard to pick up gossip though, when you were friends with the loudest chatter mouth on the planet.

You told Sana once about your silly crush and she shrieked so hard it sounded like a howl. The next day she had all the deets on who she referred to as ‘Hunkjoon.’ He had an IQ of 148, he hates seafood, he’s so clumsy that his friends refer to him as ‘the god of destruction,’ favorite color is black (no duh), he’s well-known, terribly smart, and to your dismay, associated with the exceedingly popular frat boys Jung Hoseok and Kim Seokjin.

Ugh

Jung Hoseok and Kim Seokjin, or who you so kindly referred to as the Seokbitches, were the schools James Dean. ‘Icon of teenage disillusionment.’ Hehe, perfect definition by google. They were notorious, for playing ghosts in their classes, throwing a party every.single.damn.day., never keeping their dick™ in their pants, and having the most obnoxious laughs on the earth…

Ok, so maybe only you knew them for that. To others they were the teenage love and rebellion dream, James Dean. They never attended classes, because they were fuckthesystem peeps, threw a party everyday so the poor souls stuck in an endless cycle of capitalist warfare aka their fellow students could enjoy the more fun things life has to offer, indulged in every part of youth-including the 24/7 horny part, and had the most beautiful laughs in the damn planet.

How were they Namjoon’s closest friends…How? Anyone with a functioning brain can tell the vast difference between the trinity. Namjoon attended all his classes (yet fate didn’t give you a class with him, the bitch), he actually read books, and he wasn’t hooking up with 2-3 girls every night, unlike certain people.

You heard from a classmate a while back that ‘bout two years ago Namjoon had a serious girlfriend. Since their breakup, he hasn’t been with anyone else. It’s good that he’s single but you’ve still only talked to him here and there. A few shy glances, a few awkward touches. Nothing more, but lord do you want more, alot more. What if a girl more daring gets him first?  Do you really need angst in your life? NO! but you are still at a loss of what to do. You had one boyfriend so far, and it was one of your worst experiences.

The guy was a total creep. And the worst part? You asked him out. All your friends had relationships and he was someone who rode the bus with you, making you laugh here and there. So, being the usual teenager, you thought it’d be a good idea to date him, like a fool. Who knew he wasn’t just being charming, and making fun of people (trying to be edgy as you now know) was a hobby for him? You did. Right after you overheard him announce the fact that you look like a winged bat when you suck dick just to make his jerk-ass friends laugh. It was so humiliating, as you never did something of the sorts with him, yet his friends would stick out their teeth in a ‘vampire like manner’ whenever they passed you in the hallway, as well as your first heartbreak. You got him back by filling his locker with Limburger cheese, from your mom’s collection of cheeses. His gym clothes smelled for a month, and people called him cheeseboi for the rest of the year.

You shed your blind innocence that day and knew that men are trash. Namjoon isn’t like that though, and you’re surer of that than anything. He’s special for you and you want to be the special one for him. Sadly, you just didn’t know how to start a conversation with Namjoon, without looking like you jumped in boiling water. I mean you had hook-ups in college. Who doesn’t play around here and there? But fuck-this is definitely the first time you actually like someone. Like really like them, so you just clam up and don’t know what to do. That’s where you are today.

You bounce from your bed, heading towards the bathroom. “I’m late again,” you mumble.

Sana hears that (at this point she could have better hearing than dogs)

“Hunkjoon, huh?”

“That’s not his name Sasha”

“Listen, why do you even spend your time trying to get with him in that boring café?” Sana shouts, hopping off her bed she makes her way to the bathroom and throws her hands around you who’s brushing her teeth. “You should ask him out, maybe to a club. A little booty popping, ear sucking, mouth licking, and he’s yours”

“Please don’t ever use any of those words in that way ever again.”

“I’m serious!” Exasperated she throws her hands in the air before resting them on each of your shoulders together and squeezes you. “You just need a change of scenery, that place is no hook-up central for us modern kids. Just one party, and he’ll be all over you.” You tug her off your back and narrow your eyes-looking at her through the mirror; you continue to brush your teeth. She knows you want something far from a hookup with Namjoon, yet she-

“And then,” she smirks, “maybe your mouth would be full of his cum-not toothpaste”

You choke.

“Sana what the fuck,” you rage running after the laughing vixen with your toothbrush as a makeshift knife

“Don’t act like it’s not what you want!” She cackles as you tackle her onto the bed ready to stab her eyes out when your phone rings. Oh shit. You know exactly who that is. Picking it up, you run to the bathroom, spitting out your toothpaste

“H-h-hello?”

“Where. in. Jesus’s. name. are. you?!”

“O-oh, coming Linda, I’m in traffic” Sana proceeds to imitate a car beep sound at that-“and I’ll be there in 5 minutes!”

“If you aren’t, I’ll personally serve your head as our main dish this afternoon!” She screeches before hanging up

“Shit,” you catch your breath, “I gotta go,” scrambling around, you find something appropriate to wear in late April weather. You brush your hair in a hurry and throw on a high ponytail. Sana just watches you the whole time, staring at you up on her elbows from her bed looking deep in thought. Grabbing one of Sana’s car keys and your purse, you rush out the door with a quick bye to Sana. She doesn’t reply back but after you are out the door she flings back onto her bed, arms expanded.

“I’ll ask Hobi,” she says to herself

_

Parking in the small lot behind the café, you run inside the back door. You gather yourself, fixing your hair and your fast heartbeat, you wrap on an apron and head to the front.

Linda spots you right away.

“You’re late,” she grits

“Yeah, traffic sucks,” you grin awkwardly, praying she’ll believe you.

“Just get to work, the pound cakes are almost ready to take out,” she points toward the oven. You nod, heading into the vicinity of the oven in the back next to the stove.

“Hey Linda,” someone shouts making you turn, “the person at table 3 wants some sourdough starter”

Linda acknowledges, moving into the back storage where the starters where kept.

You spot a girl. A new girl. A very very pretty girl, with long light brown hair up to her waist, and a delicate body. She meets your eyes and smiles and you return the gesture before looking away like you didn’t momentarily become gay looking at her soft features.

It’s good to have her around, you conclude. Usually you worked the morning shift with Linda 3 times a week, taking afternoon classes during those days. (coincidently when Namjoon comes by) You know there’s a girl who works the afternoon shift, but you never really ran into her. And since you do come late 1 out of 3 times, Linda ends up doing most of the work herself, including making all the café’s delicacies. You’re so very thankful to Linda and her uncle for not firing you, and very glad that Linda has some actual help now.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when the oven timer dings and the door chimes open.

The new girl greets the customer cheerily while you concentrate on taking an enticing whiff of the vanilla pound cakes, about to pull open the oven’s door when you stop dead in your tracks. You’d recognize that deep voice anywhere.

Turning your head so fast, you feel your neck burn from whiplash you spot your Namjoon finishing his order to your co-worker. He meets your eyes for a moment, and god you’re sure you look like a fish.

“Would you like anything else? We have really good chocolate chip cookies,” pipes the newcomer

“I know, they’re delicious,” he catches your eyes again, “but no thank you, not this time”

“Aww, well I love them a bit too much. Even though I’m new I’ve had quite a few,” she starts ringing up his order

“I thought I haven’t seen you around here”

“Moved in recently and kinda have trouble unpacking…I need a stronger body ya’know”

“Is that so,” Namjoon quirks a brow and you feel like you’ll throw up. Why is Namjoon late? Catch 22 didn’t seem like his style of book? Why the fuck is she giggling so much? Who let her steal all your cookies? And why is his hair so much messier than usual? He looks so cute omg?... What’s that burning smell?

…Shit

You gawk at the oven in horror as Linda shouts your name from a mile away.

_

Sana’s scrolling through her phone on her tummy when you bonk her head with your purse

“Ow, what the fuck-”

“When’s the next frat fiasco? I need to relive some stress”

She smiles, “I knew you’d come around, and that’s why I went ahead and asked Hobi to bring Hunkjoon tonight.”

You beam at the mention, “Sana you angel!” Then immediately scowl, “Wait at a seokbitch party? Just fucking great”

“Don’t be so sour,” Sana sighs, sitting up, “Namjoon doesn’t go to many parties anyway so his best friend was the only solid way to bring him.”

Giving it a thought, you beam again, jumping on Sana

“Sana you angel!”

“Whatever’s up with your hair by the way, looks like you’ve been pulling on it.”

“Don’t ask…long day.”

_

Arriving at the party, you grimace at the smoke of marijuana blanketing you as soon as you enter.

“Alright, Hobi should be around here somewhere,” Sana looks around,” standing on the tippy toes of her heels, trying to look past the frisky bodies, but it’s of no use with the amount of people in the room.

The room was packed with tipsy children. There was barely any elbow space even though the frat house was huge as you and Sana squeezed through hot, sweaty dancing bodies. Some unbalanced drunkards clumsily pushing into you every now and then and you wondered how anyone came to these things. It’s hot, and everyone smelled of axe and sweat. Parties would be much better with just a modest group of people you know, or maybe that’s the small-town girl in you speaking.

No! You cringed internally. You must forget about your outdated methods and passive behavior. Tonight, you will become someone completely new. Someone who takes action.

“Oh there!” Sana shouts over the music, waving furiously to someone by the stairs

Soon after you hear the jubilant voice of Jung Hoseok as he comes into view to greet Sana with a hug, and after being temporarily blinded by his smile you give him a once over or call that twice, because fuck He looked good in a simple white tee, tight blue jeans, dark brown Timberlands and his hair pushed up with what seemed like some gel and messy fingers (think back to Gayo Daejejeon 2018 mic drop)

“This is the girl I was telling you about,” Sana points at you

Hoseok joins in on your shameless gawking and grins

Embodying you was a baby pink thin strapped mini dress, and when you say mini, you mean your black Chantelle Présage lace thong is showing mini, but you’re a woman on a mission, and you didn’t care if you were naked at this point. Your hair was thoroughly straightened, and you went for a glossy cherry makeup look, courtesy of Sana. You weren’t trying to look like a cherry muffin, buuuut you didn’t mind if that’s what people thought, specifically one person.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he extends his hand, eyes duskier than a moment ago

You should wear shades in front of him or you’re sure you’ll go blind.

You shake his hand and give him one of your most forced friendly smiles, trying not to make much conversation as you just wanted one thing. Though that shiver upon your spine at his grip tells you otherwise.

Hoseok motions for you both to follow him and you pick his trail

Sana elbows you

“We talked about this! You’re supposed to be acting like a lamb, ready to be jumped on at any time, not a fox,” she whispers at your obvious display of wanting nothing to do with the Hyena

“I’m being nice! I am! This is how I’m nice!”

Sana rolls her eyes, and you sulk. It’s not your fault she is a master seductress, and you just don’t know how to be kind to the guy who’s trying to undress you with his eyes when he knows you’re here for his friend. She told you two things about seducing men, act completely incompetent and laugh at all their lame jokes. The more you feed a guy’s concocted ego, the more you feed his desire for you. And well, a way to the man’s heart is through feeding him…or something right?

But all your thoughts disappear into nothing once you lay eyes upon the man you’ve been wanting for almost a year.

Kim Namjoon, holy fuck.

Never has a loose black tee and oversized maroon velvet bomber’s jacket looked that good on anyone before. He commands your undivided attention with that low-neck line and gelled up hair. Healthy, glowing skin spread out like a canvas. His jeans ripped in all the beautiful places around the man’s thick, strong thighs, and black derby’s? Classic, yet defiant as always. He was fucking beautiful and you were awestruck. Hoseok says something to the group of 3 guys standing by the back sofa, including Namjoon, most likely about you, but you don’t hear anything once Namjoon locks eyes with you. There’s evident surprise in his eyes, which dims into concentration at the dress you’re wearing.

“So Namjoon,” Hoseok interrupts your thoughts, “I heard you both’ve met before?”

Namjoon doesn’t break away from you for a moment, smiling slightly “we’ve met, it’s nice to see you here”

He was being strangely vague. “You too,” you mutter

You could physically feel Sana scoff at the virginity act.

“Alright, I can use a drink-Ali, Jason, Sana let’s go get them”, Hoseok works fast to evade the intrusive attention on the both of you

“Why do you need 3 people to help you with drinks”, says a confused Jason

Flustered at the man’s impaired ability to read between the lines Hoseok scrambles for another excuse, “um…uh, I don’t know what you want? And uh there’s a lot of people, so uh”

Jason stubborn as ever quirks, “well I can just tell you what I wan-”

“JASON! ALI!” Sana shouts and everyone, aside from Namjoon, who won’t turn away from you, glances at her, “be a darling and pour my drink for me,” she uses her sultry voice, throws a sly smile, and they all get led away by her, even Hoseok, looking hypnotized

Watching them walk away you let out a sigh. This is it. This is your moment. You really should’ve had a shot before this. Drunk you wouldn’t clam up and clench her buttocks that sober you is doing for some reason. Clearing your throat, you start blurting out the first forms of conversation that settles in your mind.

“Nice to see you here, finally away from the café-not that I don’t like seeing you there…I mean I do, but this is nice too hehe”

You mentally slap yourself for the worst beginning. When have you ever been this quiet? Sana couldn’t get you or your alarm to shut up most of the time and this is the moment you choose to get awkward? Maybe this is it. He’ll just walk away now and you can wallow in self-pity.

“It’s great to see you too, out of that café…not that I don’t like it as well” he smiles

Your whole form relaxes, and you feel the knot of pressure in your back coming undone. You know you’re overthinking, know that your mind is self-sabotaging you, so it can get out of this hellhole back into its safe space between your bedsheets. So, you take a breath and focus on his eyes, trying to bring back the confidence of an 80’s café waitress. “You got yelled at pretty hard this morning, were you ok?” He asks

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I kinda deserved it and Linda’s the biggest sweetheart, she would never actually hurt me.” Minus where she almost tore your hair out in the backroom

“…speaking of which, why were you late this morning?” You slapped yourself again

He gave you a look. Shit. “You track me?” he grins

“No-no, nonono…n-yes. I track all my customers”, you smile awkwardly, “they keep me on my toes ya’ know the little bastards” If only you could forever tape your mouth

It was a bad joke but he lets out a chuckle where his eyes turn into little crescents and his dimples poke through his skin

“Well, I missed my alarm this morning, so I was too late to arrive on time…but I still wanted to come…”

“…Why?”

“I just,” he stares at you, “did”

“I see. It’s our tea isn’t it.”

Both of you share a laugh

“You look beautiful by the way”

“This little thing?” you twirl your hips, “just found this in the back of my closet”

The brag was true because you never fucking dressed up for anything, yet always shop like you do.

When you look at him again, you see his eyes dark at the move you just did, which you’re sure exposed your ass

Gathering courage, you start walking toward and up the stairs not giving Namjoon another glance. You could feel his bewilderment through your exposed back, as he follows you like a lost puppy. You hide a smile. Heading into an open room, you find its balcony. Outside, the spring wind picks up your hair and you take in a deep breath, letting go of all your nerves that tense up once you feel the balcony door open and close and the presence of another person in the little island.

“Are you alright?” You feel his breath on you, and you barricade a shudder

“I’m fine…I just couldn’t breathe in there with all the weed,” you turn and smile at him.

“I hate it too,” He smiles back

There’s a moment before you both break eye contact and he’s stepping up beside you

Looking out from the balcony, you pander in the serenity of the dark night and silent winds. The music is still mutely conscious in both your eardrums, as well as the laughter of kids who came here to forget tomorrow. There’s always a calmness you feel with him, no matter the weather or locality. The tips of your arms are touching and the barring heat your entire left side simmers in provides you with the translation of your need to be closer with him.

“I’m sorry I’m not good at small talk”

You turn your face to him as he takes a breath before speaking again

“I’m very awkward, sorry about that”

“You aren’t the one who’s awkward, you raise a brow, I’ve been making bad jokes all night. And well, who’s good at things like small talk?”

He smiles at you, “Your jokes aren’t bad,” he says bringing his face closer to yours, “and I love hearing you talk”

“Thank you” There’s another silence before you ask, “started a new book recently?’

“I did!” He quirks, “‘Yellow Wallpaper’ by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, it’s disturbing yet addictive. Like an Edgar Allen type you know. The increasing dread creates a form of suspense, which feels like a drug. Even though you can tell the ending won’t be good, you carry on led by a strange empathy as if you’ve become the character and it-“

Namjoon stops suddenly and stares at you smiling. “Um…sorry I got carried away, I’m probably boring you”

“Nuh-uh” you stop him immediately, “You aren’t boring at all. I love hearing you talk”

There’s a radiant blush on his cheek as red as your cherry lips, and you just want to devour him. “When I,” he begins looking away, “When I come to the café, you always seem so interested in what I’m reading. Most people don’t really care about that from me. They care that I ride bikes or about my popular friends. Not that I mind. I’m fine keeping them on a surface level. But,” He looks at you, “I want to know you better.”

“Me too” you blurt out very quickly

Your faces are so adjacent you can smell his soft mint toothpaste from his steady breathing. He’s staring at your glossy lips, your whole form is covered with his warmth, fluttering your senses leisurely

“Want a taste,” you whisper just for him to hear

“I bet it’s as delicious as it looks,” he lets out a heavy breath

“Well lucky you cause tonight I’m serving them specially for you”

You close the distance between your mouths and take in his plump lips. It wasn’t rushed, yet it wasn’t slow. It felt like the most perfect kind of kiss in the silent spring, the one that’s described in timeless romance novels. The one that you tell your children to look for, if they’re fortunate enough in their youth. That they’ll know it’s from the one.

He brings his hand upon your cheek and rubs it tenderly with his thumb. You both move back and stare in each other’s eyes.

“Well…was it delicious?”

“Better than cherry muffins,” he licks his lips to taste your cherry gloss on them

You crinkle your eyes to cringe and giggle

“You’re so cute,” he says and he’s kissing you again

This time he slips his tongue in your mouth and you hum in content, grabbing at the back of his blonde hair. Your tongues dance wildly, and Namjoon reaches for every nook and cranny of your wet cavern. Immoral sounds are escaping you both as your closed eyes burn in delight. Putting your legs on each side of his torso, he hurriedly picks you up from under your thighs and easily carries you inside the room, towards the bed.

You both break off as soon as he lands your bodies on the spring. His body still contains the heat from your thighs, and he’s pressed so close to you, you can feel your nipples against his rock-hard chest as well as the tent in his jeans. Breathing heavily, you stare in his starry eyes, filled with so much lust it feels like they’re dripping.

With a shaky breath you try to melt his lips onto yours again, just for him to shift back.

“Do you want this?” He asks, determined to move off if you refuse him

That would be a sin. “Yes.” You speak clearly, “I always wanted you, since I first saw you, Namjoon.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, before he’s on you again like the kindest, warmest deity he is.

He’s back into exploring your mouth as your hands find their home roaming his broad back. As he moves his hips up and down your wet entrance, a heat shoots up through your spine. His hands are kneading your ass, and everything is moving in slow motion for what feels like forever. Breaking off your mouth, he moves his kisses along your neck down to your cleavage, sucking hickeys on sensitive areas you moaned around. Growling at the invasive flimsy fabric surrounding your chest, he begins to tear it apart. His hands pulled down your transparent bra. You gasp at the intrusion of air surrounding your upper body.

“Mmm, fuck yes baby,” you could feel yourself soaking his cloth covered crotch as you fuck yourself upon his restricted dick.

Namjoon smirks reaching towards your back to take off your bra, letting his warm fingers tickle your skin as you lift your back to help him remove it and discard it to the side. Namjoon takes you in, caressing your face and you feel like he’s going to compliment you before he’s spitting words in your ear

“You little slut, you came here just to be fucked didn’t you”

Flustered you splutter, “Yes, ah please”

“That’s yes daddy for you baby,” he uses his large fingers to take hair off your face and removes his jacket and shirt

“Yes daddy, please,” you eye his tan muscles and broad chest. He noses your jaw and takes his mouth around your areola. You immediately run a hand through his golden locks, your mouth hangs open as he flicks your nipple with his tongue. Around his arms was sunken skin, in the form of muscles and you run your hands through every cervix.

Your breathing is labored

He moves back, moving your thong slightly to the right as he dips two fingers into you,

“Drenched and shameless muffin,” he mutters scissoring your entrance slightly, staring at you darkly

You are sprawled out for him like an unwrapped muffin. One leg hangs off the bed, while the other is desperately wrapped around his torso as if you’re scared he’ll leave. Your breasts are exposed and wet with saliva, and you’ve just handed him your cunt for the taking. You’re high off his soft sandalwood scent, as he takes your chest in his large hand, rolling your nipple in his thumb and index finger, pulling it slightly. His fingers are wet from your juices and you’re embarrassed you’re this wet. Vulnerable, you shut your eyes and look away before he grabs your cheeks with his hand and brings your face back towards him, hitting a certain spot that has you arching your back and knitting your brows.

“Don’t close your eyes baby girl, I need your focus completely on me”

“Then no more teasing,” you pout

Namjoon chuckles as he brings his fingers dripping with your silk into his mouth; looking straight into your soul he licks around his fingers in the lewdest way possible. “Sweeter than cherries” he mutters, slowly unraveling your wrapped leg and caresses the inside of your wet thigh, never letting go as if reassuring you that he’s right here. Languidly, he noses down your navel and further below until he’s lined with your aching core

“Daddy” you whimper

Giving you kitten licks around your folds, he licks a long strip before placing his tongue slightly inside your walls and suckles your juices. Your legs were on each side of his head, and you pulled at his hair out of frustration. The higher your voice went, the more he licked, bringing his tongue around your bundle of nerves and gently rolling the nub around. His hands traveled from your thighs to your waist, and slowly towards your breasts and kneaded. He flattened his tongue against your folds again, to take a finer taste of you, as he hummed knowing you were close. He took his right hand off your chest and used it to slide two fingers into your inner depths.

His mouth then went back to your clit, slowly rolling it around his tongue in a circular motion as his fingers drilled into you faster and faster. You let out a string of curses as your thighs began to shake, and the knot in your stomach becoming undone. You came with a yelp as your eyes began to see stars and vision whitened.

All your sudden adrenaline left you and your limbs limped onto the bed, fingers no longer in Namjoon’s hair. Letting out heavy breaths you saw Namjoon slowly coming out of your legs to face you. His thick lips were wet with your juices, and he licked through them and smiled.

“You’re so beautiful baby girl,” he said before kissing you again. Your tongues danced through your exhaustion, and you moved your hand towards his hard on. You felt him hiss into your mouth as you slowly rubbed him through his jeans. Backing off his mouth you smiled, it’s your turn daddy, and undid his zipper. You felt his hard dick in your hand, blessed in length. Spreading precum around his shaft, you watched him twist his expression. He reached into his back pocket and took out a condom, tearing off the wrapper with his teeth and handing it to you.

You gave him a smile as you rolled the condom onto his length and lined it with your entrance-giving him a hand job as he gradually moved into you. Once he was fully sheathed, he took a moment, before pulling out a slamming into you again

You let out a gasp at his pace, still a bit sensitive from your last orgasm. He was relentless and pounded into you over and over again, as the whole bed shook at his force.

“F-fuck dadd-y ooh” you cried as the same knot appeared inside your stomach. You grabbed his hand on the side of your head and brought it up to your face to give it a kiss. Light headed from the force of his thrusts, you could still feel him looking at you as you brought his hand upon your neck and laid it out flat

He cursed at your submission, and lightly put pressure on your neck “You’re such a good girl, daddy’s good girl, good girl fuck,” his paced faltered and you could feel your orgasm approaching with the pressure around your neck. With his other hand he stimulated your clitoris and that’s all it took to have you cuming once again.

Your mind travels back to how much you’ve wanted this-wanted him. His strong arms are no longer hidden under his bulky jacket, his fingers no longer clean with traces of paper fiber, but with your juices. How the hands you’ve wanted for so long around your neck, the eyes you waited to be filled with just you, the moans you suffered to hear from his luscious lips. It’s all happening. It’s all yours and no amount of overthinking will take this away.

With a few more thrusts he reached his own peak with a grunt, flopping down on you shortly afterward. You could feel his heavy, hot breathing on your neck and you wrapped your hands around him. You take a few more huffs before talking to him.

“I really like you” you whisper

“So I’ve heard,” he chuckles moving off you, he picks you up to move you upright in the bed with your head on the pillow and your arms still around him. He lays down next to you. “I’m not going anywhere baby. I really like you too. You didn’t really think I came for the tea did you”

Your heart soars and you meet his dimpled smile, He looks so youthful with his after sex glow, “Hey I make that tea with a lot of love and care!”

“Right, I’m sorry,” he laughs

“I didn’t know you liked me, your head is always in your books”

“Well originally, I came to chill and read. Until I found the cutest waitress that makes amazing tea-“

“-Shut up,” you jab him with a giggle

“-and I didn’t want to seem creepy, so I just payed attention to my books. But I did try to talk to you. I would stand as still as a tree next to the registrar trying to think of something to say. You tended to look intimidated of me, so I always froze up and just sat down. I asked my friends how to talk to you, and they kept giving me strange advice. I don’t think they know how to get a girl without sexual innuendos. They didn’t know how you looked, just knew you as café girl. If Hoseok found out you were café girl tonight, he’d probably try and do something stupid”

You took in the information he gave you and put the puzzle pieces together. You both were huge overthinking dorks. “I was only intimidated in the beginning,” you begin, “even if I was I still found you hot and probably would’ve jumped on your dick had you asked”

He suppresses some coughs while turning red

Smirking you lead him on, “Oh, so you’re shy now but wanted me to call you daddy just a few minutes ago”

“T-that’s” he begins, and you laugh out loud thinking this is definitely your Namjoon

“What about your choking kink? That was cute and unexpected” he gives you a sly grin

“Wait, shut u-that’s not…it’s your fault with those leather gloves, and leather jackets”

You poke his dimple out of mock anger and he tickles you. The rest of the time is spent by talking out your feelings, your dreams, favorite books, and desserts until you both fall asleep in each other’s arms.

_

You wake up by what you believe is your alarm. Opening your groggy eyes, you look up towards the ceiling of a room that wasn’t yours. After a minute more in conscious you realize it’s not your alarm ringing, but a pounding residing from the closed door of the stranger’s room.

“Can you guys please give me my room back now,” shouts a frustrated Hoseok

That’s when you remember the nights events and look at a sleepy Namjoon next to you. After checking the time of 7:41 shining through the digital clock on the nightstand next to what you now know as Hoseok’s bed, you smile and cuddle up to the warm body.

“Go away Hoseok,” Namjoon groans, “My baby’s trying to sleep.”

Both of you ignore Hoseok’s whines of protest as you whisper to Namjoon

“It’s fine, I’m glad he’s here so I can get to work on time for once. My alarm never wakes me up”

“Babe don’t worry, from now on I’ll be your personal alarm. As long as you can be my cherry muffin”

“I’ll do you one better and make one for you at the café”

“Those cherry muffins taste good,” he looks at you, “but you taste better,” and winks

You giggle until you hear the disturbed voice of Jung Hoseok behind the door,

“You guys are disgusting and have no idea how to whisper”

...

“GET OUT OF MY ROOM”

[soonwellbefoundfic]

in too deep, can’t think about giving it up.

larry.

The pads of her feet were soft thumps against the floor. They, however, didn’t wake me. It was her exit from the bed ten minutes ago that had pulled me away from my less than blissful slumber.

The bed barely dipped under her weight but the duvet rustled and the sheets tugged. The disruptive behavior of the bedding was enough to make her pause and cautiously eye me.

I could feel her gaze. Heat fizzled over the surface of my skin under it but I wouldn’t dare open my eyes. Nowadays the only way I got to see a genuine Marlee was when she thought I wasn’t paying attention.

Our dreaded doctors appointment had been four days ago and Marlee had been on a roll, acting like nothing happened ever since then. I let her – because I didn’t know what else to do.

I wouldn’t force her into talking to me because I didn’t even know what to say. I wouldn’t force her into making a decision because I didn’t even know what I wanted. We were both – confused but I was the only one embracing my true emotions.

I’d been with Marlee for all of my adult life. I knew her. Her containing her feelings behind multiple layers was nothing new to me. However, this felt different. It felt urgent. It felt final. Now was not the time for her to be building walls and hiding her vulnerable nature.

In the past I’d resented her ability to shut me out and in turn chronically neglected her. Most recently, with the involuntary reset to our relationship. I’d been working on respecting her need for space but also making it very apparent that I was present. Now – now I didn’t know what to do.

I wanted to push, and plow through the layers she’d so carefully constructed but I knew that would only urge her to build up more walls – stronger ones. At the same time I wanted to support her and do whatever she needed me to do. And apparently what she needed from me right now was Denzel level acting skills that matched hers.

She needed me to pretend so that she could carry on with her fictitious shenanigans.

So I did. I pretended to sleep as she stared me down, making sure that her return to the bed hadn’t shaken me out of my slumber.

It took what seemed like a million seconds for her to look away from me and a million more for her to lay down.

She settled on the edge of the bed and when I slyly peeled my eyes open I found her back to me. An unimaginable coldness consumed me, snuggling against my every bone, and I wanted to do nothing more than crowd her body with mine but I couldn’t. If I did she’d step into character and go back to pretending that everything was alright.

It took three sniffles for me to realize she was crying.

I chewed my lip, wondering if I should go to her. I wanted to wrap her in my arms and squeeze all her worries away. I wanted to wipe away her tears and erase the trails they created with soft kisses. I wanted to lull lullabies in her ear that translated to promises – promises I knew I couldn’t fulfill.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I laid still and pretended to be sleep. I told myself there was no comfort I could bring. I told myself that she needed to let whatever she was feeling out. I told myself everything in an effort to not feel terrible about ‘ignoring’ my wife’s pain.

Eventually she cried herself to sleep, leaving me up. Her sniffles. though nonexistent now, echoed throughout the room. I felt like I was suffocating. The room was cool yet I felt hot despite only wearing briefs and not being under the covers.   Sweat quickly began to tattoo the surface of my skin and when it got to be too much I took cues from her and rushed to the bathroom to avoid waking her.

-

“Gooood morning,” Her being up before me was a surprise but her being in the kitchen, cooking, was even more surprising.

We’d both had rough nights but it didn’t show. I’d silently praised her acting skills last night but mine too were quite impressive. It was shameful.

We were doing exactly what we said we wouldn’t do when we decided that fighting for our marriage was our only option. We weren’t being honest with one another. We weren’t openly communicating but then again neither of us were prepared to have to communicate about a pregnancy that we hadn’t planned for.

“Morning,” I smirked, rounding the island that separated me from her. Dropping a kiss onto the back of her neck, I peered into the griddle. “What you cook?”

“Crepes.” She turned and grinned proudly, revealing a face dotted with white shit.

“You lie!”

“I did,” She shifted so that I could see her work. “Look.”

Before me were five perfectly crafted crepes. They were golden in color, light in texture and folded, concealing sweet surprises.

“They look good?” She quizzed, folding the last one and setting on it a plate before handing it to me.

“They so beautiful.”

“Forreal?!” She chirped and then kissed her teeth. “Don’t gas me!”

“I not! They look good.” I reached out poking the tip of her nose. “I’m so proud of you.”

Her smile was wide and genuine. It nearly made me forget that for days now she’d been giving Viola Davis a run for her money.

Marlee was so good at masking her emotions that sometimes it left me wondering if I’d imagined certain things.

“Come on. We gotta eat before they get cold.”  She led me over to our neglected dining table.

Years ago whenever I was home we always ate breakfast together at this very table. It had once been our thing but as time passed it faded into the background just like majority of our other good habits.

I wondered if she remembered and if so what memory had triggered this act. There had been so many. We shared a million laughs here. I revealed some of my biggest news. She laid out her goals. We argued here, sexed here, planned here…

“Why are you looking like that?” It was when she spoke that I realized that she was already seated, leaving me hovering awkwardly over the table.

“You remember when we get this table?” I quizzed as I sat.

She paused, bit into her crepe and moaned. “No.”

“Oh.”

“You gonna tell me?” She pressed, eyeing me from under the fan of her lashes. “Or are you still listening to the doctor’s orders?”

The mention of a doctor was an instant reminder that she was pregnant and refusing to talk about it at the moment.

“We just see somethings like this – in Italy but it’s so expensive and even more money to ship,” I trailed off, not caring much for the story but for the matter at hand – the one my wife wanted to ignore.

“And?” She pressed.

“We just get it.” I shrugged leaving out the part about Marlee shooting the owner’s daughter wedding for free in exchange for the table.

“That was uneventful.” She grinned, amused.

I opened my mouth to spit out an excuse or maybe the rest of the story but she beat me to the punch with her own set of words.

“Speaking of Europe,” Her eyes were bright as she spoke. “I was looking at some flights to Paris today and they’re soooo cheap.”

My mouth opened to ask why leaving the country was on her mind but I quickly shut it.

This was her thing, and Paris her oasis.

When things got heavy for her, France was where she sought solace. I never could quite understand it.

“Do you and Lau have anything major coming up?” She quizzed before forking food into her mouth.

I’d yet to touch my own food. I was far too distracted.

Her refusal to acknowledge the elephant in the room wasn’t new to me but it wasn’t any less annoying.

“Nope.” I tried to keep my tone light as not to give away the fact that I was annoyed.

Lately Lau and I had been in talks with our management about doing TV. Dance competition shows were on the rise again and since we hadn’t gotten as far as we wanted with our own show idea it seemed fitting to do someone else’s.

Exposure was important and our constant relevance would make securing our own dance competition show much easier.

I hadn’t told Marlee about it because things were still up in the air. We also had a lot of our own shit going on, even before we learned about her pregnancy.

We were rebuilding and very fragile – talking about a show that would require me to relocate to LA for a few months just didn’t seem all that important.

“Larry, you haven’t even touched your food!”

Smiling sheepishly, I grabbed my fork. “I listen to you, and get distracted.”

I was distracted but not by what she was saying. I was distracted by everything that she wasn’t saying.

“Just tell me what you think.” She waved my excuse off, motioning towards the plate she’d made me.

Saying nothing, I cut into the crêpe and stuffed a hefty amount in my mouth.

The flavors danced over my tongue as I chewed. I looked up finding her eyes wide-set and on me. I smiled despite my sour mood because it was impossible not to.

“Is good.” I chuckled, amused at how she was watching me. I knew she was anxious – she’d talked about making crepes for years.

“Really?!”

“Yeah,”

“How good?”

“I teach you good.” I stuffed more into my mouth. It really was good.

“Nigga please,” She cackled. “You taught me nothing. All these years – you barely let me watch you make them.”

“They taste like you know my recipe.” I watched her roll her eyes.

“They taste like you’re not the only one in the house who knows how to cook.”

“Since you say like that I hope now you cook more then.”

“I never said all that.” I chuckled but continued to eat in silence.

She had actually done really well. I would even argue that her flavor profile was a bit better than mine. But the good tasting food wasn’t enough to jerk me away from my thoughts.

I tried to imagine what life would be like if she said she didn’t want to go forward with the pregnancy. I attempted to mentally prepare myself because truthfully I felt like that was the road she was going to go down – especially now that she was caught up on her painful past.

It would hurt but I understood.

She didn’t want to suffer and I didn’t want her to. Though the doctor had said technology had advanced, I knew that Marlee’s past pregnancies, and the abortion, would put her at risk. I didn’t want any risks – we couldn’t afford them.

I needed her.

Marlee’s body couldn’t take another failed pregnancy but most importantly her psyche couldn’t take it. The physical effects would be detrimental but the psychological effects would be catastrophic.

I know she blamed herself, and she expected me to blame her too.

I didn’t.

“Why are you frowning?” She quizzed.

“How you think of LA?”

Confusion contorted her features. “It’s fine.”

“To live?”

Her brows scrunched. “Larry, what are you talking about?”

I frowned at my bad timing. This wasn’t the time but talking about the direction my career was going in was the only thing lofty enough to shadow my other thoughts.

“Is not in the rock yet but,”

“What?” Confusion sewed itself to her pretty features.

“How that saying is about set rocks?”

Her eyes narrowed then widened before laughter pulled her mouth open. “It’s not set in stone, nigga?”

“Yeah,” I flushed. “Shut up. That’s what I say.”

“Mmmhmm,” She hummed still smiling.

“Is not set in the stones yet but World of Dance do a dance competition show and me and Lau maybe do it.” When she was silent I went on. “It tape for two-three months… in LA. But it’s not in the st– we don’t know yet but I wanted to say to you. We just start talk about it.”

“When would it tape?”

“Less than two months.”

“You wanna do it?”

“Only if you come with me.” Our eyes caught and I was shocked to see the surprise in hers.

“You want me to come?” The question threw me even more than her expression.

Why was she shocked?

“Of course,” I deadpanned. “Why I not?”

She shrugged and then forked food into her mouth, stalling. I watched her chew, wearing a mask of patience. However when she went for another fork of food I huffed out, cutting my eyes at her.

“I’m hungry, Larry!” Her defenses went up.

“You stall.”

She opened her mouth to defend herself but she knew I was right.

“In the past – and don’t say that this isn’t about the past,” She warned. “You would go away for extended periods of time and I would stay home and I know I worked but there were times when my work wasn’t constant and I could have been with you but – the offer was never on the table.”

My silence prompted her to go on.

“I know that wasn’t an option for tours and such but there were times when I could’ve come – I wanted to but I don’t think you wanted me to. I don’t know.” She sighed, shoving more food into her mouth. “Maybe you needed a break or something. We weren’t all that good… I don’t know. I’m rambling – I’m just shocked that you want me to come with you.”

She was right. I hadn’t wanted her with me. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Larry. I’m just telling you whats on my mind.” She sighed. “We are supposed to be doing that, right?”

“We are.” I agreed, willing my face to remain neutral. “We supposed to talk for everything we feel – that’s what we say.”

“We did.” She nodded, glancing down at her now empty plate.

“You say everything to me?” I pressed, unable to help myself.

I wanted to know everything that was happening in that head of hers. I wanted to know how she truly felt about our current situation. I wanted to know what she wanted. I needed to know.

“I’ll gladly come to LA with you.” She smiled a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

I stayed behind in the kitchen to clean up the mess Marlee had created after turning our kitchen into a creperie. She was always messy in the kitchen, dirtying more dishes than necessary. I had a habit of cleaning as I cooked, making the aftermath minor. Marlee was the opposite.

It looks like a toddler got loose in here, I thought glancing around at the mess my wife had made. My thought made me pause. I relished on the fact that had our other pregnancies been successful we would indeed have two toddlers right now. I then silently acknowledged that Marlee was indeed pregnant now.

I dipped my hands into the hot, sudsy water I’d prepared, attempting to cleanse my brain of its current thoughts. I was bound to drive myself crazy if I kept this shit up.

I finished the kitchen faster than expected and headed to the bedroom to get dressed. We had an important appointment and I didn’t want to be late.

I expected Marlee to be dressed or halfway there since she’d left me in the kitchen to do just that several minutes prior. I was more than surprised when I heard the shower running.

I inwardly ranted about her ability to always make us late as I stripped in route to the shower. Steam engulfed the bathroom, leading me to question just how long she had been in the shower.

I approached the door and pulled it open, wordlessly reminding myself that getting distracted by her body was not an option. We had shit to do.

“I shower with you to save time.” I smirked and then forced my eyes up to her face.

My smirk instantly fell when I caught sight of her reddened, tears rimmed eyes. Reacting immediately she pushed her face into the spray of the water, disguising the fact that she’d been crying.

“Marlee?” I called, concerned – annoyed.

“You can have it, baby. I’m done anyways.” She forced a smile on her lips and moved past me for the door.

I didn’t miss the raspy quality of her voice or the way she dropped her eyes when mine continued to search her face.

She was out of the shower before I could press her, leaving me stewing in frustration as the syrupy scent of her body wash swirled around me.

I showered quickly, anxious to see her before she secured her facade on. Perhaps I was being a bit of a masochist for wanting to catch her in the act of her pain, or a sadist for not attempting to ease it.

It was torture for me and felt completely out of my control. It felt wrong to force my comforting gestures upon her especially when she was clearly going through great lengths to hide what she was really feeling from me. At the same time it felt wrong to pretend nothing was happening – as her husband I should have been acting as her anchor, her peace.

In some sick and twisted way I needed the confirmation that she was actually feeling – that she was truly affected by what was happening. Her outward displays of emotion were sort of comforting because I felt the same. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how I’d feel if I hadn’t witnessed her true emotion state spilling through the cracks.

I’d feel alone.

Did she feel alone, I wondered, pausing. She hadn’t caught me crying or witnessed me restlessly tossing and turning at night due to my less than savory thoughts. How did she know that emotionally we were on the same page? I mean, I hadn’t said anything because she was going through such great lengths to hide her pain.

I was left to wonder if she was hiding her pain because she wasn’t sure where I stood emotionally. I hoped not.

I would put an end to this today, I silently promised as I dressed, determined to take the wheel of what would eventually morph into a deadly crash.

The drive was silent and as comfortable as it could possibly be given the circumstances. We were both lost in our own thoughts. Mine were dark and cloudy and I’m sure hers were the same.

“Nervous?” She quizzed as we walked hand in hand towards the towering building in Midtown Manhattan.

“Not really.” I answered honestly. I felt many things and nervousness wasn’t one of them.

“You were so quiet on the way here?’ She pressed.

“I just think of a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

I smirked. “Why you nosey?”

“I just wanna know.” She shrugged smiling a small smile. “Whats on ya mind?”

“You,” Our eyes locked. “LA and everything with that – the show, an apartment, Paris–“ I shrugged, wanting to leave it there.

“You wanna go?” Her smile was wide – we were talking about her oasis.

“We can – you say is cheap, yes?”

“So cheap!”

“…Okay.”

I managed to tune her ramblings about Paris out as we made our way up the elevator to the 29th floor where our marriage counselor waited.

The room was bright and airy – white walls with white curtains and splashes of pastel colors here and there. It was calming and it evoked peace, which made all the sense in the world. Marriages often turned to war zones and this was were people came to fix them – peace was necessary. On the walls were minimalist artworks compromised of mere lines and a few certificates, speaking to the experience of the highly recommended doctor.

Introductions were brief – cheerful. Refreshments were offered. Words of encouragement were recited.

“Mr. Bourgeois, what are you feeling right now?”

I briefly wonder why she targeted me first. Was my depressive state apparent? Could she see the weight of my reality weighing me down? Was Marlee that much of a better actor than me?

“I feel like,” I paused glancing at my hands and then Marlee. “Confused, sad, frustrated… so many things happen in my mind right now. Is like – I don’t know.” I huffed, hating that I couldn’t tell the person who was here to help us exactly what I was feeling.

“Tell me what you’re frustrated about?”

I sighed, as my thoughts raced. I knew this was the time and the place but exposing Marlee, especially when I’d done nothing to remedy her woes felt wrong. Maybe she should have been frustrated with me.

“She won’t let me in,” I started, glancing at my wife who was now staring at me. “I want to help – and maybe I can or should have but she hide everything – from me.”

“Is there something specific you’re talking about?” Dr. Fagan quizzed, looking between Marlee and I before resting her gaze solely on me.

“She cry.” Out of my peripherals I saw Marlee shift, displaying her discomfort and shock. “In the middle of the night she cry when she think I’m sleep. She do again today after we eat breakfast.”

I looked over at her, frowning when I found that her eyes had widened..

“How does that make you feel?”

I shrugged, never removing my stare from Marlee. “Left out.”

“Lar–“ Marlee began in a whimper.

“I know I will never, ever understand what she go through because is not my body – I know this. She have emotional pain and physical pain,” I winced at thought. “I know I can not fix it – I can’t even fix myself but to me, for me is feel like maybe we get through it better if we talk about us feelings about the ba… this pregnancy.”

Marlee dropped her face into her palms and I hated the fact that it was my words that triggered her agony. I reached for her, placing a not so steady hand on her knee.

“Mrs. Bourgeois, do you want to discuss how your husband’s words made you feel?”

They’d made me feel like shit so I know they’d ripped her to shreds. I stooped low but my desperation made it feel necessary. Throwing her under the bus and plastering what she was trying to hide on a metaphorical billboard was necessary.

“I’m pregnant, and I don’t know if I want to be.” She breathed and though I wasn’t looking at her, I knew her face was coated with tears.

The room was quiet – too quiet. I could hear my heart drumming in my ears. The bass was stronger – harder than any beat I’d ever danced over.

Within five minutes of being here, our biggest issue was splattered across the room. Dr. Fagan had no prior knowledge of our past or even our present and looked mildly shocked by us divulging our issues so quickly. But we were desperate.

Desperate to fix us.

Desperate not to experience pain…

I waited for the counselor to speak, to counsel but she said nothing, prompting me to look at her.

Her stare was glued to Marlee which made me look. I winced when I found my wife shedding silent tears.

The tissue box was pushed gently across the table towards Marlee and I immediately grabbed it, plucking a few of the soft facial papers from the bunch.

“Chink, please stop cry,” I begged, softly gripping her chin.

My eyes sought her out but she wouldn’t look at me even as I dabbed the tissue delicately at her face.

“Please,” I pressed. “Je déteste quand tu pleures,” (I hate when you cry) I whispered.

“Mrs. Bourgeois, can you tell us a bit of what you’re feeling?” Dr. Fagan pressed gently.

“I— I don’t… know,” Her voice was clouded with her agony.

“What about Larry’s admission triggered you?” Same question, different words.

The mention of my name drew my wife’s tear stained gaze to mine. Tears nearly came to my own eyes. She looked pitiful and it was killing me.

It was because of me.

I briefly wondered how things would have gone had I not brought up the fact that Marlee was hiding her true feelings from me. Had I not forced her out of her emotional hiding. Would she have eventually come to me to have an open and honest conversation about our future? Or would she have sprang her final decision on me at our follow-up doctors appointment.

I didn’t know with her, and I was desperate to know. So – I acted, yanking her out of hiding. And now it was clear to me that though it was necessary, I wasn’t prepared for the fall out.

“I– I don’t want to disappoint him.” She cried in a voice that reeked of shame.

“Chin–“ I started only for Dr. Fagan to call out to my name softly, gesturing for me to remain silent.  

“Why do you feel you would disappoint him?”

Marlee’s face curled in despair at the question. “I know he wants children and I can’t give them to him.”

My eyes glazed. She sounded sure. Nothing the doctors had told her – us about new techniques and technologies resonated with her. The past weighed on her mind, overruling the optimism of the medical professionals.

“In the past,” I was surprised when she continued on. “We had issues carrying a pregnancy to term – there was never an issue with conceiving but–“ She paused, looking off into a vacant corner of the room. “I just couldn’t carry them… healthily, and we lost them.”

Silence consumed the room, sliding down the length of the walls. It was heavy – thick, making it hard to breathe.

Marlee’s words painted a gnarly picture. I saw us on the bed, me holding her, as contractions beckoned by medicine instead of nature yanked her body through the flames of hell the night before we lost our first son. I then remembered myself holding my son, Laurent, I heard his ragged breaths and saw his pale cheeks. I looked down at my hands almost swearing that I felt his sweet warmth going cold on the very tips of my fingers as I held him.

I shook my head and balled my fists, clearing my thoughts – or hoping to. And then Marlee spoke again.

“I terminated the third pregnancy.” My heart stuttered and eyes watered, prompting me to shut them.

We’d talked about this, I’d forgiven her but it stung. The what ifs would never leave the surface of my brain.

“And you know,” She chuckled dryly. “I’m sure that fucked my reproductive system up even more.” The guilt would never leave the core of her heart.

“I feel like a fucking walking cemetery.”

“Marlee,” I whispered her name because I didn’t have the strength to use my full baritone.

“I know you have hope,” Her eyes lazily drifted to mine. “I don’t.”

“The doctor say–“

“They said good things the last time too.” She interjected, reminding me that the past was fresh in her mind.

Her memory had been rebranded by the blazing steel of her past and the area was still consumed with blisters. I, on the other hand, had worked for years to forget – healing my scars.

“For Men’s Fashion Week – they want us?” Lau quizzed as though Karine, our manager, hadn’t just gave a thorough explanation.

“Yes. January 16th for Berlutti and January 17th for Jacquemus.”

“And Jordan – January 19th,” I beamed repeating the news I was most excited for.

For years I’d been obsessed with everything Michael Jordan and Jordan brand affiliated and now we would be working with them, and going to a party hosted by Mr. Jordan himself.

I couldn’t be happier.

“Oh yes!” Lau sang, equally as excited as me.

We’d signed the contracts weeks and ago but the awe still hadn’t left. I’d nearly passed out when Karine delivered the news but instead I’d used my last bit of strength to tug my phone from my pocket.

It was as my finger was hovering over the name that was first on my favorites list that I realized I couldn’t call it.

She would never answer for me.

“Also Dior sent over some stuff,” She glanced at a neat tower of boxes in the corner of the room. “And Larry, I need to speak with you.”

The cheer left her tone and her eyes offered no more brightness. I nodded and it was shaky. I was too consumed with trying to imagine what could possibly be wrong to present steady movements.

Last week I’d had a less than cordial encounter with a shitty judge at a Berlin battle – was it that? Or was it about that club in Turkey that kept trying to book us despite them having a very racist staff?

Lau, distracted by his phone, hadn’t left the room but he’d already checked out of the conversation.

Karine peered carefully at me from across the table before reaching for her prized Hermès bag and extracting a manila folder.

With a sigh she slid it across the table. “Came this morning.”

My eyes danced over her face, in an attempt to read her but I couldn’t – so I gave up and dropped my gaze down to the folder. Contracts often came in folders like this but what contract would lead to her solemn expression?

Annoyed with the hot curiosity seeping from my pores, I flipped the folder open and signed, finding the tiniest of black words. Without my glasses I was left to squint.

“What is this?” I murmured more to myself than the other parties in the room.

“What is it, bro?” Laurent decided to mentally join us again.

I ignored him as concentration narrowed my eyes further, causing strain that went right to my temples. I opened my mouth to complained about my lack of understanding when words I never wanted to see paired with a name that I’d cooed and sang and hissed and moaned for years became clear.

“Larry?” Lau pressed, standing from his seat and towering behind mine.

His vision was perfect unlike mine. It hadn’t taken him long to find the words that’d powered my heart down to nothingness is mere seconds.

“Petition for Divorce.” He read and my heart blackened, turning to dust in the cavity of my chest.

-

never knew love would hurt this fuckin bad..

[girlsbtrs]

Lia Menaker on her music, inspirations, and teaming up with Melanated Social Work

Written and edited by James N. Grey. Graphic by Moira Ashley. 

Lia Menaker wants to support Black lives, specifically within the mental health sphere. So she donated the proceeds from her album, I am Kyrøs, toward ending the stigma around mental health in those communities. Girls Behind the Rock Show connected with her to get her perspective on her music, her identification with the cause, and how she feels it all ties together.

How did you find Melanated Social Work and how did you identify with their cause? 

I actually know one of the founders personally, Marvin Toliver, so I’ve been following their social media and learning about the organization from him. We are talking a lot about police reform and the justice system now, which is great and important. But we often forget about the health component. And these guys, in their focus on the liberation of Black and Brown people, are working to end the stigma around mental health in Black and Brown communities, and working to make sure mental health professionals are truly culturally competent. I realized that they were the best place to dedicate my resources and time to.

What inspired you to donate your Bandcamp proceeds to them?

George Floyd was killed just weeks before my EP was set to release. And when the riots started, and the country started waking up to the level of police brutality threatening people of color, and the injustice of our institutions, it felt very strange to release the EP. The intersection of everything—COVID-19, the racial disparities and economic inequalities thus heightened, and the slew of unjust murders of POC—all became this giant traumatic thing our country was experiencing. I felt Black voices should be heightened, and in many ways, felt that it wasn't the right time to share the music. But on the other side of things, I also knew the world needed as much art as possible, of all kinds. Since the songs dealt with identity and the self, they could relate to what was going on in many ways. 

I decided the best thing to do would be to release the music as planned, and in between the sharing and promoting of the album, to highlight as many Black voices and resources and information as possible. I wanted this to incorporate a donation and some awareness of solid Black-run organizations. 

How has being Kyrøs allowed you to be more creative and free? 

The word “kairos” is an ancient Greek concept referring to that perfect melding of space and time when it’s the opportune moment to act. It was a way of measuring time in moments (versus “kronos,” which was their concept for chronological time). When I came across the word, it felt like it described my change as an artist to a T. And once I took on the name, all that history that comes with one’s name—the feelings, memories, habits and obstacles that came with 30+ years of being “Lia Menaker”— dissolved. I think I subconsciously felt the freedom to try new things. 

I started producing, and getting super creative on my live streams. I was improv-ing with no idea what I was doing, but it didn’t matter. I just kept doing it and didn’t feel the same self-judgment I’d had before. Approaching music with a sort of reckless abandon allowed me to be the best and boldest version of myself.

But what’s interesting is even the things that free you can start to take control of you. That high you get from being in such an open, creative space…you can only ride that wavelength for so long. At some point, you get stuck again, and you find yourself chasing that high. It can become an addiction, you know? 

In a way, I ended up clinging to that identity of who I was when I was kyrøs, and I didn’t realize it until I was literally releasing the songs. It’s a big reason why it became the album name instead of my new artist name. I realized it was really more of an alter ego all along. That it didn’t replace Lia Menaker as an artist. So it turns out I was still learning lessons on identity as I was releasing the songs!

How did your childhood in theater and pop music inspire you?

While kids watched shows like Sesame Street and Barney, I was watching Annie, The Sound of Music, [and] Peter Pan… I was always drawn to it and felt like I could see myself in the characters. I begged my mom to do a musical at age 6 (Oliver), and then I was hooked doing musicals the rest of my childhood and most of my young adult life. So I think it felt like a language I understood, a form of expression I connected to on another level. There was always a story to the songs, an arc, [and] often, deep emotion and expressive vocals. I think the way I approach music—my soulfulness and the way I connect to it—comes from years of growing up with that. Also, I think a lot of my phrasing and how I articulate words comes from the musical theatre influence.

I think it was later in life that pop music began to really inspire me. Discovering Joni Mitchell was a huge one. Her incredible use of lyrics (in my opinion, she’s one of the lyrical greats and extremely underrated), and her 100% unabashed authenticity and womanliness was captivating. Her music is poetic, moody, unique—filled with so much complex emotion and story. Lyrically, I think my first album (Animal Behavior, in 2015) shows some of her influence on me. Especially the opening track, “Holding My Space.” 

But pop aside, some of the great jazz vocalists were a big influence on me as well. It started with Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holiday. It was an easy segue because they sang a lot of Gershwin and musical theatre covers, but then I delved deeper into their work, and eventually found (and fell in love with) Nina Simone too. The raw, warm, raspy, bold voice filled with more soul and both joy and pain than I could imagine. And I always found that type of music so beautiful as a kid. I just found that part of people to be equally as beautiful as the lighter side, and found expressing pain through art to be the most incredible thing. So when I heard music that captured that, I think I was always intrigued. 

What storylines in your 30's did you find that you were shucking off?

I had this limited view of myself my whole life as a singer/performer. Since I was 6 years old, that was my life: community theatre as a kid, studying musical theatre at Penn State, tours and regional theatre, then songwriting, music and singing in every fashion. It was the way I saw my value to the world, and I basically lived for my dreams and goals—this is how I saw whether or not I was successful. And the thought of not reaching them consumed me… 

I always felt I wasn’t measuring up to whom I could be. This was a huge storyline I had to face: this idea of not being enough right now. And then it got me thinking about all this living in the ego… and “if I’m not my dreams, my goals, or even my job, what am I?” This inspired the song “Some Kind” because I realized if I wasn’t those things I most identified with, I was still me. A lot of the lyrics to that song express the storylines I grappled with, and also how I made sense of them: “We measure all that’s left with time - a calculated art. The things we do that give us pride, we hold up high as if it’s all that we are / All the stories give us meaning - keep us moving on… make it real. Run our choices, our bodies - keep us fused to what we feel.” 

I would look back periodically at my life and think things like “What have I even done? My tour wasn’t successful enough, not enough people are listening to my music, I don’t make the money I should be making at this age, I’ll never amount to anything.” [I used] whatever metrics I thought would show me proof of a valuable life. I still struggle with them sometimes. Realizing the storylines is just the start. You have to keep checking yourself [and make sure] that you’re not caught up in them again. They were ingrained in my head for years, so it takes time to rewire the brain. 

Ultimately, in my 30s, I’m finding so much more joy in the process and the creation itself, and trying to practice looking at what I have in my life as “enough.” The older I get, the more I see life passing quicker, and the more I just want to take it all in. To bask in love and music and the feeling of living with versus without. The 30s are a great time, because I think it’s the decade where a lot of us start to realize these things. Though, of course, some of us go our entire lives without feeling like we are, or we have enough. And new storylines will always be created, so we have to just keep checking ourselves. Especially when we’re all so obsessed with social media. Social media is literally a collection of storylines.

What inspired you to meld together eclectic sounds? Why a soulful, jazzy voice with a minimalistic background?

I’ve always loved warm, jazz vocals. As I mentioned earlier, I grew up engrossed in musical theatre, and that included a lot of standards by singers like Nina Simone, Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald. About four years ago, I also re-fell in love with Amy Winehouse and started really listening to her vocals and her style, pinpointing what it was that I loved so much. There’s a mix of this warmth and authenticity, but with a modern edge that just hits you in all the right places. So that’s what’s inspired my sound vocally.

But at the same time, I’m a big fan of using unconventional sounds and challenging people’s ears. A lot of what I’ve listened to over the past few years has strong electronic elements. SOHN is one I’m really drawn to, and he’s brilliant at the mix of pure/simple and unconventional. He has this way of putting a simple, soaring, haunting vocal over a backdrop of complex, evolving electronic elements. It’s a sound that you can’t produce with conventional instruments. When I first heard him, it blew my mind—it was like a spiritual experience, and I thought “I want to do THAT!” Susanne Sundfor’s Silicone Veil album was a big game changer for me too. 

I loved the idea of marrying the two worlds—this classic, timeless feel with an electronic modern sound that reflects the times—to create something authentic to me and my influences. With so much of our world being digital now, it felt right to experiment with electronic elements. And when I started playing around with new software, and some samples, beats, and different gear, it just all slowly started to meld together into a sound that felt right.

What were some favorite ways that you experimented with sounds and techniques to achieve your sound? Anything that you might take over with you into the future?

A lot of the experimentation happened (and continues to happen) during my weekly live streams on Twitch (@liamenaker). It’s sort of the place where I have permission to work through songs, try stuff out, and honestly just have a lot of fun and engage with others during the creation process. The community there is also so incredibly supportive and open. The last song I wrote for the album, “Imprinted,” started out as some improv loops and just fooling around on my Twitch live stream: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3xWjEAYAa7w. And I have at least four others waiting in the queue to finish that also began the same way. One of which I sent over to a jazz funk band in Paris to collaborate with me on. So I’ll definitely keep this as part of my approach. 

Aside from that, my process is always changing, to be honest. So I’m trying to remain open to new techniques and approaches, and to keep allowing myself to be inspired by other artists and sounds. I’d like to explore more synth sounds and recording techniques, and just keep improving as an artist and producer as well. One thing I’ve noticed, too, is if I zero in too much on one writing approach or technique, I start to cling to it, relying on that as the way I “should” write everything. And then things just start to feel stale for me, or I run out of juice or hit a writer’s block. Then I find a new technique or gear or collaboration. I guess that’s why my approach keeps changing. We’ll see how long the current one sticks for, ha!

Which track on the EP is your favorite and why?

I think it keeps changing. But at the moment, the opening track "All My Life" is my favorite. I’m really connecting to the meditative and tribal nature of it, and I think the chorus is the catchiest of the songs. It has that "nobody's gonna bring me down!" feeling too, which feels extra relevant now, as many of us in the country feel like we're just pushing forward, doing everything we can to make things work during this difficult time.

I constantly imagine songs in other places: are there any movies/TV shows or any other places where you'd imagine your songs would play?

I can see some of these in crime and murder mystery-type shows. I’ve had people tell me “Imprinted” has a Twin Peaks or James Bond feel to it. So maybe a show or movie with a kind of slinky jazz lounge vibe. There’s definitely a meditative, tribal feel to some of the songs too, so I think they could work in a movie/TV show with that vibe. But honestly, I think less about music in terms of specific movies or TV shows, and more about fitting themes. So, for example, “All My Life” is perfect to capture that theme of being unstoppable, or a character finally going after their dream. “Stranger” would work well for a theme of not feeling like yourself or acting out of character. I think a lot of the songs on the album fit clear, universal themes, and so I’m hoping that I can find some success pitching these to music supervisors, production companies, etc.

For all us young'un's out there: How much of our identity is actually wrapped up in our dreams? Do you think it's important to separate our dreams, identity, and realities?

Uh oh… you’re going to get me on a soapbox, ha!

So I think it’s different for everyone, but I think it’s fair to say that for most of us, yes, our identity is either wrapped up in our dreams and/or in our work. Think about it. When we meet people, how often do we ask, “What do you do?” as if the answer will give us an accurate idea of who they really are. And how often do we judge people based on their careers?

But the truth is, achievements DO NOT define who you are, and do not define your worth, value, or potential. And while dreams can shape us, they can also limit us. They can keep us from seeing other sides of ourselves. And when we’re hyper focused on them, we miss out on so much beauty! I find the most memorable moments of life are actually quiet, behind the scenes, and not at all the result of working towards a dream or goal. [Goals] are not as great when they determine your ultimate view of yourself and control your amount of suffering. 

I think I’m just realizing now too, that I hate the term “dream.” Dream sounds like an “all or nothing” approach. “Ideal” feels more flexible. For some reason, it feels healthier for me to look at it as “my ideal situation” version “my dream.”All around us, we’re being told we need to “dream big” and “you can do whatever you set your mind to” and “live up to your potential.” We love to dote on famous and rich people or take courses on how to be like them. Those who never “make it” (whatever that awful phrase even means) are looked at as failures, less successful, not as worthy or talented or smart. It’s. All. Bullshit. And the song on the EP “Imprinted” basically revolves around all of this. 

So do I think it’s important to separate our dreams, identity, and realities? I think it’s probably unrealistic to try to. I think it’s all intertwined. Our dreams (or “ideal situation,” ha) will probably shape a bit of who we are (our identity). But I think the key is to understand [that] it’s a very small, ego-driven piece of who we are, and doesn’t ultimately define us. And I think it’s important to see our identities (and dreams for that matter) as constantly shifting. To, as one of my favorite spiritual teachers Pema Chödrön talks about, get comfortable with the fact that the ground beneath us is always shifting. I think it’s healthy to incorporate the stuff on the ego-level (dreams, identity) and the stuff underneath, the non-ego (that pure essence of who we are underneath the dreams, underneath the identity perceptions, underneath all judgments and experiences). Because while the stuff on the surface doesn’t define the essence of who we are, it’s still a reality that we take the train into work, or have to cook dinner for the kids, or need to make money to survive, right? These are still very real; they’re just not the full picture. And that’s the important part.

I think it’s especially important for the younger generations to pay attention to all of this in the age of social media. [Social media has] made understanding the truth of who we are and the idea of living in the non-ego so hard. Social media is all ego, storylines. I’m not saying it doesn’t have a lot of good aspects to it too. But it make[s] it very hard to feel and see the layers of a situation. Things are often black and white on social media, and we are sold specific messages on what it means to be successful and happy. It’s a system based on instant gratification (likes, comments, followers), and we have the tendency to add it up to calculate our value. If we’re not careful, it can drive us further from the whole truth, and deeper into the storylines.

Lia Menaker’s album I am Kyrøs is available now on https://liamenaker.bandcamp.com/. 

All proceeds throughout the month of July benefit Melanated Social Work [https://www.instagram.com/melanatedsocialwork/?hl=en]. 

[missbrightsky]

I didn’t know where else to go

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Chapter 2: Rhysand

fuck

fuck

FUCK

I had an unconscious detective on my couch and her blood on my hands.

It was a quiet evening, cleaning one of my guns with Friends reruns on in the background, shattered by a barely-there knock at my door. Ready to chew out whoever decided to disturb a crime boss on his night off, I had only cracked open the door to see her there, blood coming from a nasty cut on her head and practically bent in half from pain.

It was reflex to catch her as my name slipped from her mouth along with those damning words.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

Feyre Archeron. The detective who was hell-bent on arresting me. Who had managed to resist my flirting, much to my chagrin. Who was now on my couch but not how I pictured it happening.

Why I couldn’t get a cop out of my head for the past few weeks? I wish I knew the answer.

I watched the even rise and fall of her chest, grateful that whatever had happened to her wasn’t truly life-threatening. At least that’s what I told myself as I waited for her to wake up.

Thankfully she stayed out cold while I stitched up her face, I was fresh out of painkillers from my recent injuries. The glorious life of the head of the underworld, if only they knew how much work it took, then maybe I wouldn’t have to deal with so many hot-headed insubordinates.

Whatever had happened to her probably warranted a hospital visit but no way was I showing up with my face all over the news and a bloody cop in my arms. I did as much as I could for her wound but didn’t risk checking the rest of her body. A small smile played on my mouth as I imagined the foul words that would surely come from her if she found her other injuries tended to.

A sharp intake of breath followed by a small whimper of pain cut through the TV in the background. I froze in the most non-threatening pose I could think of, crossing my left leg so that my ankle rested on my right knee and slinging an arm over the back of the chair, dangling the glass of dark amber liquid that was keeping my nerves in check.

Feyre’s eyes cracked open, even surrounded by darkening bruises, the intense blue-grey still made my breath catch in my throat.

“How is it you always look like you own the world? Even in Deadpool PJ pants?”

A startled laugh barked out of my chest, the bourbon nearly splashing out of my glass with the sudden movement. In my haste to patch her up and unwillingness to leave her alone, I hadn’t changed out of the comfy clothes I had put on as soon as I stepped through my door.

“Years and years of practice, darling.” There it is, the fire returned as her eyes became clearer, taking in the room.

From the outside, my apartment didn’t look like much, all cold stone and steel. The inside was much more hospitable, warm wood floors nicely complemented the exposed brick, tasteful furniture that you could still relax in took up most of the space. The harshest part of the room was the wall that was covered in guns, big and small and a few illegal in the country, but I liked to live on the wrong side of the law.

Open curiosity rested on her face, making her look years younger than the small frown that was there most of the time. It returned when she took in the weapons, reminding her that she showed up to her suspects' house and promptly passed out, leaving her at his mercy. She forced herself to sit up despite the obvious pain that would linger for weeks, her face guarded again.

I found myself immediately missing the side that she hid from me, where she was an actual human and not someone out to destroy all my plans.

We regarded each other silently for a few moments, taking in the other in their current state until she blushed and looked away.

A few words mumbled from her mouth, too low and unintelligible for me to understand.

“I’m sorry, what was that, darling,” using the nickname she so clearly hated.

“Thank you, prick,” she spat out, wincing at how her muscles pulled at her stitches.

“You’re welcome,” I leaned forward, “but who did this to you?” putting as much concern as I could into my voice.

“I’m surprised you don’t know; it was your men that drugged me and had me beaten.”

The accusation was a slap to the face, my teeth gritting at the venom she threw at me. “My men would never fucking do this to anyone, cop or not.”

Her eyes burned, leaning forward much as her balance allowed until we were only inches apart.

“I went to the bar I know you frequent; the bartender gave me a club soda laced with something and the next thing I knew, some assholes were dragging me out back and kicking the shit out of me. Who else would have given orders like that?”

I forced my breathing to stay even, to not grab her and shake some sense into her. For all the crimes I had committed, not one single fucking person had been harmed in the process. Was she willfully ignoring that fact or was she so convinced that I was a truly evil motherfucker?

“Did you recognize any of them?” My question caught her off guard.

Her eyes flicked up, trying to sort through recent hazy memories. “No…”

“That’s what I thought. You’ve been after me and my organization for so long, I’m sure you have every one of my peoples’ faces memorized. So why did you think that I would have such a lovely, dedicated, hardworking civil servant drugged and beaten?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, having the grace to look ashamed as she leaned back into the soft couch cushions, attempting to rearrange herself into the least painful position.

“I’m sorry but I don’t have any painkillers, and I’m not sure where else you’re hurt, I didn’t check.”

“It’s fine, it’s my fault for showing up on your doorstep anyways.” She lifted her shirt, carefully picking at where dried blood had plastered it to her chest. A patchwork of black and blue was settling on the skin, but no lacerations at least.

“I don’t think anything is broken, just really fucking sore,” she surveyed, taking in the damage. I was too worried about her injuries to notice the black bra edged with lace that perfectly hinted at the curve of her breasts.

Ok maybe I was worried, but it didn’t completely escape my notice.

I almost whined when she dropped her shirt but managed to contain it as she settled deeper into the cushions. She froze, realizing that she was getting too comfy at basically her arch enemy’s place.

“I need to go,” but she stood up too quickly, swaying and unable to catch herself as she pitched to the side, heading straight for the solid corner of my end table.

By the grace of the Caldron and a bit of luck, I managed to catch her, pulling her close to me to steady us both. She let out a yelp at the handling, but it was her fault for trying to move too fast with her injuries.

“That’s twice I’ve caught you, would you like to make this a habit?” I purred, my mouth on the shell of her ear completely not by accident.

A shudder she couldn’t suppress or hide skittered down her back, slightly arching her body into mine.

All too soon her reason returned to her and with a surprisingly firm shove, she distanced herself from me and promptly plopped back onto the couch, refusing to acknowledge the electricity that just flowed between us.

“Prick,” she seethed.

“Don’t say what you don’t want.”

Confusion that morphed into fury consumed her. “If I wasn’t so fucking injured, I would kick your ass right now.”

“You’ll have to give me a rain check then,” parting my lips in a feline smirk. She blushed even harder and looked away, looking utterly pissed that she couldn’t leave.

“Would you like a glass of bourbon? I promise it’s not drugged or anything, and it’s much better than what they serve at that bar. And it will ease the pain a bit.”

“Fine.”

I wove fluidly around a chair to the bar cart that was tucked into the corner next to the TV that was still somehow playing the aimless show when much more interesting content was playing out right in my living room.

I poured her a generous knuckle worth of the expensive liquor, maybe this would make up for the lack of painkillers. Hopefully whatever she was given was enough out of her system that it wouldn’t react badly.

I returned with the drink in hand, passing it to her waiting hand, she still refused to make eye contact with me. 

This was too good of a situation to mess with her. I sat in the middle of the couch, forcing her to either stay where she is, contact points connecting up the sides of our bodies, or to move to cram into the corner closest to the TV, making her crane her neck to see the screen.

She chose the latter and decided upon ignoring me as much as possible with less than a foot of space between us.

We sipped our drinks, intermittently paying attention to the show, punctuated with our derisive snorts at the characters' shallow problems.

At some point, a comment was made, leading us into a conversation about what we hated and loved about this show or that. Sharing new series, daring each other to watch them in our little free time.

The alcohol loosened our tongues and worries about the other ulterior motives, simply existing in the moment.

She was incredible. So amazingly opinionated and alive and passionate. If she had seen something he had, she questioned his every motive for liking or disliking it. If she hadn’t seen it, endless questions poured from her mouth and promised to watch it soon.

Hours ticked by and more liquor was poured. The show completely ignored, our bodies had turned toward each other, knees grazing, and body heat slowly being shared. She laughed at something, I’m not even sure what I said, too caught up in the music she made.

Once she stopped giggling, I couldn’t bring myself to continue the conversation. I could stay here for hours, simply taking in the red that graced her cheeks, highlighting the freckles that were gently dusted there. Her eyes seemed to shift between blue and grey depending on her current emotion, full lips punctuating every statement.

Those lips in question parted. We were so close now, her legs practically slung across my lap, her arm across the back of the couch, brushing against mine often.

The lapse in chatter grew, neither of us attempting to restart it.

Watching.

Waiting.

Until

One of us moved forward, only the Caldron and its forgotten gods knew who moved first.

Careful to not put too much pressure on her injuries, I cupped her face in my hands, molding my lips around hers.

Just as I had too often fantasized, they were soft and fit perfectly with mine, the sharp taste of my bourbon tinting them with dark desire.

There was no hesitation on her part, only enthusiasm. If she was in pain, there was no sign of it now.

Soon it became too uncomfortable for our bodies to stay far apart with only our heads meeting in the middle. I slid my hands down her neck, gently resting on the curve of her waist, a request she responded to with straddling my hips, effectively sealing her fate and mine.

We were both so, so fucked.

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