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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR NINETEEN

in which everything changes.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, smut (p in v), almost shower sex, talk of male masturbation, oral (f receiving), upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 7.7k+

→ a/n: big shout out to @myosotisa for beta-reading this chapter so that for once, it's not unedited, and it's not just between me and god.

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

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19:00 ─────────────ㅇ── 24:00

DINGUS: so either these two are getting along REALLY well or they truly still hate each other’s guts

NANCE: Why do you say that?

DINGUS: when i called to make sure they weren’t dead, it sounded like they were arguing over the line.

BIRDIE: woah woah woah, hold on. dingus. are you telling me you just SPIED on the lovebirds? or did this ‘fight’ happen during your conversation?

DINGUS: it wasn’t spying! eddie answered and rushed off the line, but it sounded like he forgot to hang up. i was just… curious.

NANCE: No, you were SPYING on them.

ARGYLE 😎: what did they say, dude?

BIRDIE: yeah let’s drop the morality bullshit – what’d you hear, my lovely oblivious spy?

DINGUS: @BIRDIE NOT A SPY.

DINGUS: but it just sounded like eddie asking her if she was, and i quote, “fucking kidding him”. He sounded weird when he was talking to me, too.

BIRDIE: the most romantic words to ever be spoken. truly.

NANCE: Was that all you heard?

DINGUS: yeah, i hung up after that. why?

ARGYLE 😎: should’ve stayed on the line.

BIRDIE: what he said.

JOHNNY BOY: Do you people have no morals?

HOUR NINETEEN – 10:00 AM

It becomes glaringly obvious to you that your comment had been a little too spot on after several minutes of waiting for Eddie to return.

You hadn’t expected him to really leave you high and dry after that, to just go and take care of himself rather than include you in that process. Honestly, you thought the two of you were finally past hiding behind closed doors. But clearly, you had been wrong. Very, very wrong. And now, the consequences of your own actions were mocking you; there was an insistent, uncomfortable, unignorable burn in the pit of your stomach, and every shift of your thighs that had your underwear grazing your clit had you desperate, nearly mewling and arching your back. The longer you laid on that couch and realized what Eddie was currently doing, the more hot and bothered you grew.

Fuck him. You’re about ten seconds away from taking care of your own problem right here, right now, on this god forsaken couch.

Your ears perk involuntarily for any and all noises that may come from the hallway, but five minutes of silence tells you that Eddie had learned his lesson. He wasn’t going to be loud again.

Fuck him.

At least if he was falling apart by his own hand, he should have the decency to let you hear such, obviously. If he was going to finish what the two of you started alone with just him and his hand and the polished porcelain of his bathroom, you would have at least appreciated something to get you going, to urge your imagination to roam free through a conglomeration of both fantasies and memories. But, no – the man was so silent, you were beginning to fear he might be dead.

Maybe he was dead. Death by blue balls. Good. Fuck him.

Your thighs squeeze together once more of their own free will, and you throw your head back violently to groan at the persistent throbbing. You couldn’t even be angry at him, not in a genuine sense, because you had insisted on talking rather than continuing whatever Deftones had started. What a dumb, idiotic, catastrophic decision. What a painful hill to die on. What a shit move on your part.

It doesn’t take long before you make the choice to stop laying there, wallowing in your misery. If you weren’t going to take care of your problem, and if you were regretting your choices so desperately, you were an adult. He was down the hall, he was here for now, and there was nothing stopping you from just marching up to the door. This wasn’t anything like the beginning hours – the man had seen you bare before him far too many times for you to be shy. He had just been dry humping you like some teenager on his couch.

No, you didn’t need to have shame right now. At least, not for these last five hours.

You get up quick enough to make yourself dizzy, swinging your legs and making the soles of your feet connect with the living room floor with resounding slaps. A bit aggressive, and it might startle whoever had the displeasure of living below Eddie, but you don’t care. You have a one track mind, and you force your body into action before you can chicken out.

You have him. At some wild capacity, the man behind the bathroom door is yours. Whether it be temporary, whether it had started before this night or would last beyond this experience, it was still a matter of fact. You have him – God, you have him so tightly that you don’t even doubt you’re the one on his mind right now as he does what you’re sure he’s doing behind this door – and it was time to accept that he has you.

He has had you for a while, you realize a few steps away from the bathroom. The moment he had you laughing at his side in some smokey bar all those moons ago, he had first caught you in his web. You hate that it took this long, that it took this moment that should be laced with embarrassment, to let it all settle into acceptance. Like rubble of a destroyed building, the dust is clearing and all you can see is him. Him, with his stupid fucking dimples. Him, with his wide shoulders. Him, with all his twisted words and confusing actions. He’s had you in his grasp – it’s the only way anyone would have been able to get under your skin like he has this past year.

“Eddie?” you call out as you rap your knuckles on that wooden door, a few too many times for good measure. Your ears strain now that you’re closer, thinking you might catch subtle sounds out of him. Heavy breaths, slick skin, mute whimpers. Anything.

You get nothing for a solid ten seconds.

And then, you hear him clearing his throat, obnoxiously so, before answering, “Y-Yeah?”

Unsure. He’s stuttering, and the footing of his words is unstable. You were fucking right.

“Are you…” you start, pinching your eyes shut, shooing away that internal wave of heat as your mind runs wild and imagines him behind the door. The way he’d be naked, the way his fist would curl around the base of his cock, the way his tip has never failed to be the exact same shade of pink as his lips- “Are you still alive in there?”

Because I’m certainly not out here.

“Oh, me?” he chuckles nervously, “Yeah, I-I’m good. Sorry, just got distracted!”

By what? you nearly call in response, your dick in your hands?

You don’t say it outloud. You have some restraint.

“That’s fine…” you trail off, unsure of what exactly you should say all while biting your tongue.

Your mind is still reeling for a possible ending for that thought when Eddie calls out, “I’m gonna take a shower, ‘s all. You cool with that?”

No. No, I’m not fucking cool with that.

“Oh!” you squeak out instead, “Yeah, yeah. That’s… that’s fine. Sorry, I’ll just…”

You trail off again as you begin to take a few steps back from the door, making your way back to the living room painstakingly slowly. You’ve hardly moved an inch when you hear the shower turn on inside the bathroom, stuttering a few times as the water begins its flow, static rising from the way it splatters into the tub.

And then it turns off. Mere seconds later, as quickly as the flow of water had begun, the creaking in the pipes cease. You take another step back until your back bumps into the wall of the hallway, across and veered away from the bathroom door – the throbbing between your thighs still irritating and your confusion even more palpable.

Wasn’t he going to take a shower? Did he just turn it on to get you to walk away? Were you hallucinating just how quickly the seconds were passin-

The bathroom door is suddenly thrown open with Eddie in the middle of calling out your name, those pajama pants hanging dangerously low on his hips. The moment his eyes land on your, his beckoning for you dies in his throat before he has to clear it. “Oh. Uh, hey.”

Why were you both being so fucking awkward?

“Hi,” you breathe out, pressing further into the wall. You felt like a child being caught doing wrong, as if he hadn’t been aware of your proximity to the door just moments before.

Maybe he was going to find it creepy that you had lingered for so long, and were still so close. You don’t know – you can’t think clearly as you look at the bare skin of his chest and try to decipher whether the moisture gathered there is sweat or condensation from the steam of the shower.

“Sorry, I just-” he cuts himself off this time before a hand reaches up to his hair, now down and unfurled around his shoulders. His palm presses back his bangs and you can see the moment that all the tension of awkwardness finally snaps, “Oh, fuck this. Do you want to shower with me?”

Once it snaps for him, you feel your own clinging to it release. It slips from between your fingers slowly, and you come to the realization that there’s no heat emitting from the bathroom behind him – that moisture wasn’t from steam, he didn’t even have the water on long enough for it to get that hot. You should have realized that immediately, but your mind was working slowly through the fog.

“You don’t have to,” you hadn’t answered him fast enough, and you’re watching him backpedal right before your eyes.

A quick shake of your head and the smile that splits your lips stops all of his backwards movements, makes his head tilt to the side and a smirk graces his features when you finally reply, “I thought you’d never ask.”

He shifts to the side of the doorway naturally, leaving just enough room for you to brush past him and let your shoulder knock slightly against his chest once you push off the wall eagerly.

There’s still a puddle of water at the base of the tub, circling the drain as Eddie closes the door behind your entrance. It’s a bit redundant considering you’re the only two here, but you don’t say a word. You just let your eyes trace over the droplets of water racing down his shower curtain, properly focus in on his toothbrush on the sink and the tube of toothpaste beside it curled up over half the length.

It hits you all at once, how this game of tension is so ridiculous. “We’re so stupid.”

Eddie is shocked by your snort, “Excuse me?”

“We’re stupid,” you repeat yourself, “Why are we acting like middle schoolers who just held hands? You’ve seen me naked, for fucks sake. We’ve-” you cut off and turn to him abruptly, waving your hands wildly in the space between you two, “We’ve already crossed this line a million times, Eddie. And we just… it’s like, we keep putting one foot on the other side of it, dip our toes into it, and then take it back when it’s all said and done.”

A boring dance. The two of you were taking part in the most boring dance of tension the world had ever seen, and only the four walls of Eddie’s apartment had the pleasure of being audience to it.

You expect his laughter to come out in a bark, but it’s subtle instead, face relaxing in realization at what you mean, “Jesus. I- I mean, you’re right. But does that make us stupid? I think it’s kinda cute, personally.”

“Cute?” you lurch forward ever so slightly, grinning with your teeth. Eddie’s eyes squint up a bit from how widely he grins in return at your amusement, “What about this is cute?”

“The way you keep getting so nervous around me,” Eddie shrugs, killing off the distance between you as he moves in front of you. You straighten up quickly, and he’s fast to tuck the loose strands of your hair behind your ear, “The way I keep getting so nervous around you.”

“That’s not cute, that’s just… stupid.”

“Same thing.”

“It definitely isn’t.”

You’re close enough to kiss him. And you realize easily that this may be your favorite place in the world, toe-to-toe with him and nearly brushing noses, feeling each breath like a huff of wind on the highs of your cheekbones.

“Agree to disagree,” he whispers before his lips duck down to yours. The hand that had tucked away your strands of hair had never left your face, you realize, palm now cupping your cheek as he tugs you closer to him.

Warmth spreads across your chest, brings spring to all the vines you’ve been catering to for a year now. Being able to step back and call this for what it was, ridiculous, makes it all a bit easier to bear.

It’s just his lips against yours, the shower not even running yet, the gasps that emit from both of you serving as a white noise instead.

“Is this,” he breaks away from you, only pulling back his lips and leaving his forehead resting against yours with his hand still curled on your cheek, “still stupid?”

“Even more so,” you nod and he moves his head with yours, almost making you laugh more, “So, so stupid.”

More kisses are exchanged, wandering hands trying to find new curves on the other’s body, before Eddie goes through the motions of turning his shower back on. You notice that from the looks of it, he does turn it on as hot as it can get. It occurs to you that these are small details you’d like to know – how hot he prefers his showers, whether he prefers to take them in the morning or at night, what scent of body wash he swears by – and that you only had so much time to learn the answer to not even half of your curiosities.

Time. Time was not on your side.

“You know,” you drawl as Eddie finally kicks off his pants, you soon following his lead as if this was nothing. Because it wasn’t. The two of you had been naked before each other. You weren’t two middle schoolers who had just shared a first kiss or held hands – you were two adults who had had sex, who had admitted to being attracted to each other if nothing more, “You never did say what you’re actually doing with the money.”

“Again with that conversation?” Eddie asks, pausing with his thumbs hooked in the band of his boxers.

“Again,” you affirm, tossing your shirt into the same corner that his pants had been discarded, “Can you blame me for being curious? Aren’t you curious what I’m doing with my money?”

He thinks for a second as you strip off your underwear, leaving you completely naked first. “I mean, I sort of am.”

“College,” you supply easily. You don’t even wait for him to properly ask. He purses his lips and you catch the way his eyes sweep over your nude body quickly before he yanks off his last article of clothing, “College, and then all my debt. Then maybe I can start saving like a real adult. Move to some fancy city once I graduate. Make a…” you pause and make a conscious effort to not let your eyes wander as his had, “Make a real life for myself, I guess.”

“You sound so excited.”

He’s being sarcastic, you know it, but it begs the question – were you excited about the prospective? All you had ever known was school. Your entire personality has been built thus far on being a student.

So what comes next? Settling into some boring nine to five job that hardly satisfies the dreams that were born of your major? Getting underpaid, getting bored with monotony but telling yourself you were satisfied?

And that doesn’t even scratch the surface of the bigger questions of the future. You haven’t even spared a thought to kids, to getting married, to life past the next two years.

“I mean… I am,” you shrug and step into the shower first, Eddie following close behind you and listening intently, “It’ll be nice to finally have the damn piece of paper to say ‘hey! I did it!’”

“But?” he presses, scooting the two of you around in the small space so that he was standing directly beneath the spray of water. His curls flatten against his head immediately.

“No buts,” you insist. As if you’re trying to convince yourself more of it than him.

“So that’s all? You just want to get out of here?” he isn’t looking at you as he reaches for a bottle of shampoo, blinking water out of his eyes.

This conversation is going surprisingly well.

“Not here specifically,” you clarify. Your chest aches at the thought of just leaving behind all the friends you’d made, the life you had started in this city. The thought of already beginning to preemptively tear it down was enough to dampen your mood worse than the steam of the shower was doing to your hair, “I don’t know. Who cares about the future? What are you doing with your money?”

He’s about to squirt some of the shampoo into the palm of his hand when you suddenly snatch it from him, holding up a finger and twirling it in a demanding manner. He’s shocked, but he turns for you regardless, even bending his knees as he gets the message.

He doesn’t question the fact that you’re about to wash his hair. No protests towards something so domestic between previously sworn enemies.

“I wasn’t lying earlier,” he starts just as you have lathered up your palms and set aside the shampoo on the shower ledge, fingertips digging right into his scalp. Even with the slight bend in his posture, your arms have to stretch to reach the crown of his head, “A new bike or guitar would be nice but– Oh,” a particular scratch of your nails has him faltering in his words, throwing his head back a bit more and humming. The throb, the ache, the burn returns. “Oh, that’s nice.”

“Keep talking, pretty boy,” you murmur as he hums even louder.

“Well, I… It’s not a lot of money, y’know? I mean, it is. But it also isn’t. Am I making any sense? Fuck, that feels good,” he stumbles across his point as your fingers continue small circles, and you already know without looking that his eyes have fluttered shut.

The pit of your stomach can only rally, twisting and tumbling at his satisfaction. Something so domestic and something you had started with sweet intentions was quickly derailing, but you couldn’t be bothered to care.

You have him. But you don’t have him. The same type of conundrum he faces with the amount of money promised to the both of you if you were to survive these hours.

“You’re making sense,” you promise with a shy grin you know he can’t see, “Like, I know the money won’t pay off all my debts or college tuition, but it’s a good start. Anyways, as you were saying?”

Both of you struggle to focus as he continues on, melting even further into your touch, “I dunno. Maybe if I have anything leftover, I’ll send it to my uncle.”

His voice is strained as he’s occupied with the feeling of your hands against his scalp, and you know it’s a throwaway sentence, but the small detail of his life you’ve been awarded doesn’t go unnoticed.

Uncle? Why uncle?

“You in debt to your uncle over a bad night of gambling or somethin’?” you try to joke as you finally release your fingertips from his scalp. Your palms come down on his shoulders as you spin him slowly, encouraging him to keep his head tipped back as he lets the water wash away the suds produced.

Surprisingly, his shampoo doesn’t smell like boy. It’s akin to green apples, maybe something smoother beneath it all like coconut. Something sweet and something innocent.

Maybe that’s what has him being so open to you as he explains, “I’ll always be in debt to him, but not for gambling. He raised me. My folks… weren’t the best. I owe everything to that man.”

There are no good words to respond with. You suddenly feel selfish for pushing him to admit it, and for making that joke to begin with.

But he only cracks open his eyes as the suds are mostly gone, looking at you through squinty eyes as he grins, “Guess I’m the boner killer now, huh?”

You snort again (fuck, had he always been this funny?) and shake your head, finally glimpsing below his hips.

Ironic of him to say that he was a boner killer when there he was, harder than ever for you, tip pink and glistening in a taunt towards you.

You were both going to Hell. You were standing in his shower, talking about his uncle, both far too horny for the topic of conversation.

“Modern day Bonnie and Clyde, but make it horny,” you manage to get out, still staring at him and resisting the urge to reach out and start something you didn’t know how to finish, “Does talking about money always get you this hard?”

“Bonnie and Clyde were robbers, not killers,” he corrects you, “And why, yes. How did you know? Do you plan to use this lethal information against me again later?”

A cavern in your chest screams out, when is later? Later within the next four hours, or later within the next year? Will you ever even give me a chance to use this against you again?

You laugh along with his joke instead.

“Absolutely. Also, who the fuck knows that much about Bonnie and Clyde?”

You make him turn around again, and repeat a similar process with the conditioner. The entire time, you try to not think about the awareness that the same burn in your own gut is alight in him.

He shrugs a little, bends a little more to encourage your fingertips back to his scalp. It doesn’t work — you’re focusing the conditioner on the drier ends of his curls. “I do.”

“Well, that’s just weird.”

You work in silence as you finish threading the conditioner through and detangling his hair with just your fingers. You don’t immediately have him rinse it out, and he takes the opportunity to reward you with the same care, the same domesticity. And just as he hadn’t questioned you, you don’t protest when he manhandles you to spin and face your back to him. You let him indulge you in the same massaging motions that you had just pampered him with, let suds of that sweetness surround you as your eyes shut delicately and you lean your head back into his deliberate touches.

Same care, same domesticity, same sensuality. You never thought washing someone’s hair could be something so intimate until his knuckles are between your locks and your back is brushing up against his chest due to limited space.

“It’s not about the money,” he randomly announces to you once the shampoo has been rinsed out and the conditioner takes its place. “I mean, I figured you knew that, but… still thought I’d say.”

“Figured as much.”

“I also wasn’t pissing,” he continues to overshare, “I know you figured as much there too.”

Biting your bottom lip to hold back a grin, you keep the rest of your face relaxed as you nonchalantly ask, “No? What distracted you, then?”

You can feel every deep breath he takes. The expansion of his chest only presses the two of you closer. Soon, you should both rinse out the conditioner. You should stop wasting water. The two of you should get out of this damn confining space and sleep, do something useful, make the most of the final four hours.

Instead, you’re letting yourself get lost in billows of steam, and teasing him. And maybe that’s something useful for you.

“You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”

You can hear his grin. God, you can hear his grin and those stupid dimples making an appearance without needing to see his face.

“Say what?” you ploy faux innocence. His fingers are still in your hair. He has no reason to continue to comb them through, but they remain there, grazing your scalp and brushing the back of your neck.

His chin meets your shoulder suddenly, his breath on your ear. “What did you call this earlier, sweetheart? I believe you called it… stupid.”

Right. Stupid.

Stupid was the ache that resided inside you for him. Stupid was the way your thighs shook from how hard they pressed together from each soft caress of his breath on the shell of your ear. Stupid was the urge to reach your arm around your back and grab onto him, any part of him, and try to pull him as closely as humanly possible — and then some.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You’re a bad liar. And he loves it.

“Right,” he draws out the single syllable, hands leaving your hair, drifting at sea as they find comfort on your biceps, touch feather light, “You have no idea what I was doing in here. You weren’t staying by the door to see if you could hear me, trying to get a free show.”

So you had been right in calling the two of you stupid. Neither of you had been very conspicuous.

“A free show to what?” you keep up the act of innocence and swallow down the delighted hun when his hands move down your arms. You’re fully flush to his chest now, almost to the point of leaning your weight back against him.

“To me touching myself to you,” bold, crass words leave his lips, “To me fucking my fist to the thought of you. Squeezing my fist around my cock, trying to make it feel like that sweet pussy.”

Your knees nearly buckle. You try to play it cool, “Oh? Is that what you were doing?”

His playful chuckle is the final straw, and his hands now on your waist are the only thing keeping you upright.

“I was.”

“And were you successful?”

How you kept your tone so steady, so even, was lost on you.

“I wasn’t.”

One hand stays planted on your waist firmly, as if he knows he’s the only thing keeping you from collapsing in this heat between the two of you. The other dares to round to the front of your stomach, fingers splayed and fingertips almost tickling you as he lets them run down the center of your navel. He’s taking his time. Slowly, painfully, his hand travels. Down, down, down. Until his fingertips are grazing right over that fire he built inside you, mere inches from where you need him to touch you most. He has you right where he wants you, and he knows it.

And so he stops. Inches, maybe less, from where your cunt is throbbing for him.

“Didn’t you say you were good with your fingers?” you’re trying to keep up a cool facade, but it’s becoming useless at this point. Your voice comes out a whine, and your hips subtly buck against empty air to try to encourage his touch lower.

“I did,” he hums directly into your ear. The hand on your waist becomes an arm fully wrapped around your front, and the press of your back to his chest becomes far more intentional. All of it to hold you in place as he moves his hand right over where you want him. He avoids your body’s pleas, and jumps straight to teasing his fingertips over the tops of your thighs. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

It’s almost funny to remember how flustered he was when he’d first made the comment, how quick he had been to defend it against being something dirtier, only to now be using it against you in anything but an innocent context.

“Please,” the beg falls from your lip as you give up on the game.

It’s a combination of all his gentle touches, the feeling of his curls between your knuckles, the steam that is smothering the two of you without notice, the way you can still feel every damn breath of his. Both through his mouth now softly kissing at the lobe of your ear, and his chest that only presses more tightly to you. That tightening arm around your waist, and the subtle change of position of his knee.

You aren’t expecting it, and your feet slide apart quickly, nearly dropping onto his sweetly placed leg between yours.

“Please what, sweetheart?”

You can’t even recall the feeling of hatred you used to get at the nickname. Now, in its place, is something buzzing, something buttery, something contradictory. You’re dizzy with satisfaction from the way he murmurs it directly into your ear.

“Please touch me,” you gasp when his knee brushes upwards, not quite reaching where you need him. You swear there’s a pulse now, a throbbing cry that would do just about anything to feel those hands on you, “Please, please.”

You’re losing focus as your thoughts start to fuzz at the edges, suddenly only able to manage the words please and his name.

And it isn’t lost on him. “Look at you. I haven’t even touched you yet, and you’re already going so dumb for me, aren’t you?”

Your stomach churns, everything in you tightens, and your pride isn’t above dropping yourself down properly onto his knee and grinding. You would if you could — his fucking arm won’t let you.

When you glance down, you realize just how tight his grip is. You can trace each vein along his forearm, catch the white of his knuckles as they curl against you.

He’s holding onto you for dear life, and yet his death grip doesn’t so much as hurt. You only feel safe, you only feel wanted.

“Please just touch me, Eddie,” you whimper out, not caring about how desperate you sound anymore. You have no shame, no pride, no careful calculations left for the man behind you.

His hands stop their dance across the apex of your thighs. One moment, you can barely feel his fingertips running over their softness, and the next, it vanishes completely.

You open your mouth to protest, but all that comes out is a gasp as his fingers are suddenly on your cunt, spreading you apart at a leisurely pace. You move to grab onto his forearm for leverage but he suddenly tsks and stops all of his movements.

“You can either have me touch you, or you touch me. But you can’t have both, sweetheart. Not right now.”

Through the haze, you’re unable to use your words to answer, instead cracking your eyes back open and trying to crane your neck to see Eddie properly. But he’s only chuckling into your ear again, arm around your waist tightening.

“C’mon, baby. Use your words. Which would you rather have?” he taunts, tilting his chin down and letting his nose nuzzle against the peak of your shoulder, lips barely brushing the skin.

You would have expected to not even catch the subtle feeling of plushness on you right now between your ever-growing frustration and the water still raining down on both of you. But you do; your body is growing acutely aware of every single point of contact between the two of you as the minutes go on. Every inch of your skin is tuned into his touch and where it flows, where it leaves you, where it presses deeper.

You open your mouth to respond to him, but you can’t. You can’t explain it: there isn’t a tightness in your throat, a pain grasp on your chest, a fear that is swallowing the words whole. It’s the opposite. All of your taut strings have gone slack, waves of surrendering to him having overcome all of your deepest anxieties. In this moment, amongst the white noise of a shitty apartment shower, all that there exists is him. The time limit slips away, the bet is a thing of the past, and the road taken to bring you both here is completely forgotten.

His touch is able to remain light when he decides to turn you in his arm, the grip once around your waist now pressing into your lower back as you face him. You’re completely malleable for him to do as he wishes.

Facing him, you watch all of the amusement and cockiness melt away from his features. His smirk goes soft and his face falls in awe, mouth parted as he takes in that look in your eyes. He knows. He knows that in this moment, you are completely defenseless and utterly his.

You watch all the air leave his lungs, and feel the consequential breath that releases hit the bridge of your nose due to the proximity. “You really are cock drunk for me right now, aren’t you? I haven’t even given it to you yet and you’re just… gone.”

If you weren’t completely under his spell at this moment, you would have burned with embarrassment down to the bone.

You just nod.

With this revelation, his grip on you completely transforms. It’s not just a matter of keeping you upright, but a matter of keeping you tethered to him. As if he’s afraid that the moment he lets go, he loses you.

If you could find the words, you’d assure him that he wouldn’t. You weren’t something so fleeting, so passing.

Without words, all you can do is show him. So you press up onto your tip-toes and kiss him. Hard, then soft. Fervently, then patiently. Achingly, and then assuredly. Every flash of contradiction between the two of you and all that has accumulated goes into the kiss as you let him find his breath again, solely by stealing yours.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs against your lips, before his nose rubs against the tip of yours as it begins a journey. Across your cheek, down your jaw, into the crook of your neck. You feel spouts of warm water trickle over his collarbones and against your own.

This time, you do have the words for him. Or rather, the word for him.

“You.”

There’s no other way to put it. You just want him.

He pulls back and stares directly into your eyes, his own brown ones swarming with varied emotions. You’re finally able to start deciphering some of them – lust, want, surprise – but not quite all of them yet.

Before you realize what’s happening, he’s sinking to his knees. Somehow, he’s twisted you so that your back meets the cool tile of the wall, careful in watching the way it supports you during the entirety of his descent.

He doesn’t say a word, his eyes doing all the talking necessary through wet lashes as he guides you to balance a foot on the edge of the tub and hook your knee onto his shoulder. Just as you realize what he’s doing, his mouth is on your hot cunt.

For all the talk and thoughts about just how good his fingers were, you seemed to have forgotten just how good his mouth was.

His tongue works away at your clit, tracing patterns before alternating to suck it sharply between his lips. He seems to have forgotten about his earlier threat, or maybe he’s just feeling merciful, as your hands instinctively reach down and wind into the roots of his wet hair. Curls matt in your grasp instantly. A harsh tug, and he’s moving his attention elsewhere, nose now nudging your clit as he circles around your entrance, pulling whines from deep within you at the teasing.

“Eddie,” you throw your head back hard enough that you’re sure that there will be an ache to feel once all is said and done, “Fuck. Right there.”

“I see someone’s found their words,” his voice is muffled and you can feel his smirk rather than see it.

It’s a damn pretty sight. Him, on his knees, wet curls plastering down his shoulders and back as his face is buried between your thighs.

You can trace over each indent of muscle across his skin through half-lidded eyes, memorize the way it looks dazzling with the moisture, watch as water pools where his fingers dig into your thighs to keep you balanced.

When his tongue finally slips inside of you, slow and stretching as the tip of his nose digs deeper into your clit, you swear you’re seeing stars. You were going to snarkily reply, but you don’t have the capacity to reply with anything other than chants of his name. Mixtures of praying to him and praying to God fall from your lips alongside curses. All muddled, all strings of whimpers and moans as he continues to bring you closer to your edge. When he finally resorts to bringing his hand back into the mix, sinking two fingers into your cunt with little warning as he returns to lazy work on your clit, you gasp out – your body lurches forward as your curl into him and your back leaves the now sticky, warm wall.

The arm that was wrapped around your lifted leg to help you balance is quick to throw over your hips, keeping half your body still pressed to the wall. “Careful, princess.”

Each word reverberates through you, both physically and somewhere deep in your mind, sending you even further reeling as your fingers grab onto him deeper and try to press him impossibly close.

Princess. Somewhere along crossing all these lines, you have ventured into new territory. A territory where the nicknames get under your skin in a brand new way, slipping into your subconscious for the better rather than arising any irritation.

Baby, princess, sweetheart.

You’ll take whatever you can get from him.

“Wouldn’t want you slipping and falling,” he murmurs as he pulls back, face now slick with you rather than the steam or water, “Can’t have you ruining that pretty face, getting blood all over my bathroom, now can we?”

He’s right. God, you fucking hate when he’s right. As much as every part of your body is screaming for him to take you right here against the shower wall, you know it’s not a good idea. And you’ve really, really succumbed to enough bad ideas in these last nineteen hours.

“Bed,” you manage to gasp out, quick to detangle your fingers from his hair and try to grab onto his shoulders without purchase due to the water still tumbling down, “Bed, now.”

He gets the message. Rises to his feet and lets your leg fall back down, shaking as he turns to cut the shower abruptly. Without asking, he’s the one to exit into the fierce cold of the apartment first, grabbing at the flesh of your hips and guiding you out along with him. He doesn’t even bother with towels – once he has you out of that potential death trap of a tub, his lips are on yours, nipping and passionate as you breathe him in. He’s the one that maneuvers the two of you out of the bathroom, you don’t even notice when he reaches behind himself to open the door, impressively never tripping as he walks backwards and keeps your lips on his.

It occurs to you that this is how you two work best. No overshadow of being honest with each other, no clouds of feelings getting in the way. And yet, somehow, it’s the most vulnerable you’ve managed to feel with him yet.

You don’t want it to only be this easy when both your clothes are off. You want it to be this easy in the early mornings that you wake him up for work, you want it this easy over late night take-out and horror movie marathons. You want more cigarettes at sunset with him, soft confessionals over a rising sun.

You can’t keep pretending that nothing has changed. You simply can’t. The fierce promise of his protection, the way his eyes stay trained on you even in the busiest of rooms. Nothing could ever erase the blooms left from him hooking his pinky with yours at the parking garage.

All of the night is flashing through your mind, and even in the trance he has you under, you’re seeing with perfect clarity.

It’s why just as the backs of your knees connect with his mattress, before he can throw you down and continue what was started in the shower, you’re pushing your palms against his wet chest and forcing him to look into your eyes.

“If we do this,” you shakily begin, watching his chest rise and fall in sync with yours. Once you say these words, you can’t take them back. You’re vividly aware of it before you continue to force your voice to come out the most steadily it has the entire night, “It changes everything.”

He blinks, eyes owlish. Once, twice. More of that emotion you finally can single out but never identify swirls like storm clouds in his vision. You wait for him to run, for him to take it all back. You wait for it all to be over – for him to deliver the final blow and leave you to collect the rubble and blood money so you can pretend this night never happened.

“Okay.”

Those aren’t the words of a fatal blow. You think they might send you reeling even worse, though.

“Okay?” you clarify. If your tongue wasn’t so heavy, you’d say more. Remind him of what exactly it means to change everything.

It seems he already knows as he parrots back, “Okay.”

Lips meet again, and this time, they’re charged with everything. With a promise of change and a promise that maybe there isn’t a ridiculous time limit here. There is no doomsday clock between the two of you. When the clock strikes 3 PM, neither of you will vanish into thin air.

You let him throw you back onto the bed. Your bare back meets the surprisingly soft sheets, and they erupt in the scent of Eddie. Cigarettes, a hint of weed, whatever cologne he seems to douse himself in. You can even pinpoint his shampoo amongst the fragrance now.

It’s no longer the smell of boy that you once ran from. His hand is behind your back, but not trapped. It’s there willingly and it is caressing every inch of you that he can find, tracing out any dimples in your back he can discover as he lets your legs curl up onto his hips, kisses dappling your neck, jaw, and lips alike.

Your vines stretch high and proud, and drink in his waves with every passing of his breath on your skin that raises goosebumps.

You want to live here forever. In the feel of him pausing right before his cock presses into you, in the way his face scrunches up and his mouth falls agape, the haze now spreading from your mind and across both of you. Nameless chants and pleads for what was already both in the palm of your hands before you even knew what to do with it. The roll of his hips and the way his wet skin sticks to your own. Your heels digging into him, bringing him in closer, closer, closer.

Every time, it has felt this way. Something beneath the surface that has you surrendering over yourself. He has hurt you, time and time again, and you’ve let your knives be just as sharp – but the wounds scab over now when it’s just the two of you like this.

You’re best like this for a reason. Because for once, neither of you are overthinking it. You are vulnerable and you are bare, not just physically but emotionally. Honesty isn’t a request; it is a given. You don’t just have him, you know him. Across oceans and across gardens, across midnight skies and across soft morning light.

You have him. You know him.

It’s enough.

Smokey bars. His protection. Slamming doors and the clicking of locks released. The night air surrounding you and the warmth of his back as you cling to him on a motorcycle that seems to be going faster than light in your memories. That parking garage, and that hook of his pinky – a way to get closer, but also a whisper of a promise.

He’s bled for you. He’s bled from you.

This changes everything.

When his hips movements become sloppy, when the knot in your stomach tightens one last time, when your nails dig into his back and leave their mark, you know it to be true.

Everything, everything, changes.

Eddie never really hated you, never really could, and you realize now that the feeling is mutual.

—

You hadn’t considered exactly what the aftermath would be when Eddie first dragged you out of the shower, but you surely never could have imagined the scene now playing out.

Him, on his back, content and humming a song you’re too tired to ask him about. His fingers are trailing mindlessly up and down your spine as you splay out across his chest. You both probably need another shower, but neither of you are willing to leave his bed for it.

It’s not you who remembers the photo. No, you’re tired, one foot already in the door of sleep as you curl yourself tighter into his side.

He doesn’t use your phone this time. You didn’t even realize his outdated flip phone had a camera on it. You’re not even sure if you dreamt the soft click that sounds like a camera as you nuzzle deeper into his chest.

“Everything,” he whispers, just as the edges of your consciousness begin to blacken, “Yeah, this changes everything.”

Your last thought is a curious one; will he send the photo he just took?

Would he dare to admit to everyone how everything has changed?

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#my writing #twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #hehe was right

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hunn1e-bunn1e · 2 months

Note

Hi... can I please get Wriothesely with a seductive secretary male reader? Only if you want to do it though. Also, can I be secretary anon?

Wriothesley - Seductive Secretary Male Reader

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Hey Secretary Anon, I decided to start with your ask first since it was a single-character ask compared to most other emoji'd anons. I did a half-headcanon half-oneshot for this one since I thought it was fitting. Anywho, I hope this lives up to what you had in mind. The lyrics quoted in this one are from the song “Secretary” by Charming Disaster! —Benny🐰

Warnings → Suggestive, Reader Wears Glasses, Reader is Shorter Than Wriothesley

✒•♡•✒•♡•✒•♡•✒•♡•✒•♡•✒•♡•✒•♡•✒

❝𝕾𝖊𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖞 𝕾𝖆𝖞𝖘 𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝕳𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝕬 ��𝖊𝖊𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖊𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖞'𝖘 𝖆𝖑𝖜𝖆𝖞𝖘 𝖗𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙~❞

. . .

📑 This kind of secretary is both the bane of Wriothesely's existence and a huge help. A huge help because, well, they're his secretary, and he has far less work on his plate than he would have had without them. As for being the bane of his existence; the Duke of Meropide has hardly any free time. Sure, he can relieve his work stress through his fists, but the sexual frustration that's been building since his secretary was hired can't be relieved in that way, making him unfocused and irritable. It's gotten to the point of him having wet dreams of them at least once a week and eyeing up their legs and behind from across the room. Wriothesley has to stop himself and forcefully think about tea and melusines for his mind to stop its descent into the degenerate territory.

📑 It also doesn't help that his secretary knows how they make him feel and think and indulges it. Standing leaned over their desk and displaying their rear to him and ‘absentmindedly’ swaying their hips back and forth instead of just sitting in their chair. Making sure to leave the top four buttons of their silken white shirt open so that Wriothesley can see the expanse of their smooth, unblemished chest. Looking at him with hooded bedroom eyes, whenever they set down documents for him to sign or the tea he requested. The lingering touches that they leave on his shoulders, chest, and arms whenever they leave after a conversation. All things to keep him high-strung, yet they act all coy as if they hadn't done anything at all.

📑 Of course, whenever Sigewinne comes into their shared office, the antics immediately stop, which the Duke is both thankful for and annoyed with. It's good that his secretary has the self-control to stop themselves from doing anything inappropriate in a public space or around unrelated people. But at the same time, the melusine keeps on making comments about how tense the two are and asking if they fought; while his secretary pretends they didn't do all of what caused him to be so tense all the time.

*❅*❆*❅*❆*❅*❆*❅*❆*❅*❆*❅*❆*❅*❆*❅*❆*❅*

Slender hands dropping onto his shoulders and nimble fingers kneading his flesh cause Wriothesley to flinch. Yet he quickly, albeit involuntarily, relaxes under the skilled ministrations as he leans back in his chair with a quiet sigh. The smell of the assailant's cologne, a crisp cinnamon and vanilla fragrance, easily identifies them as his secretary.

“Dear me, Your Grace, you're so tense~ Did the visit with our little archon not go as you wished~?”

[Name] purred just an inch from Wriothesley's ear, fanning it with his warm breath; pulling a suppressed shiver and a choppy exhale from the man.

The Duke gives the bespectacled man a side glare as his ears flush a barely noticeable pink. The secretary gives an amused chuckle in return; hands still busy at the other's shoulders and fingers practically dissolving every knot they find.

“You know…–”

[Name] starts as he removes one of his probing hands from Wriothesley's shoulder and trails the other along the man's back as he makes his way in front of him and takes a seat on his desk, crossing one leg over the other and resting a foot on the man's lap.

“–I could always give you a full body massage, your grace. Work all that tightness out~”

The bespectacled man slyly suggested as he slowly ran his heeled shoe up the duke's thigh and towards his crotch; biting his lip and watching the man's face with hooded eyes.

Wriothesley grits his teeth and quickly grabs onto [Name]’s ankle, pulling upwards off his lap and forcefully uncrossing the other's legs before he stands from his chair. The Duke, towering over his secretary as he stood to his full height and slotted himself between smaller's legs, fixes him with a cold yet heated gaze. His large gloved hand found its way to [Name]’s face and gripped the other's jaw, forcing them to look up at him.

“[Name].–”

Wriothesley groaned, his throat tight with both annoyance and desire.

“–My patience can only last so much longer. You should move, you're wrinkling my paperwork.”

The Duke finishes, yet he doesn't move himself til he lets them get down from his desk, and instead grabs the bespectacled man's waist with his unoccupied hand and gives it a firm squeeze; letting the silk-covered skin protrude from the spaces between his thick fingers.

“Oh~? How much longer until your patients run out completely, I wonder. When it's all gone–”

[Name] pauses as he runs his hands up the tight shirt that hid Wriothesley's muscular chest from his leading eyes and loosely wraps his arms around the man's neck.

“Will you punish me~? Hm? Give me a spanking and set me straight~?”

. . .

❝𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝕯𝖔𝖓'𝖙 𝕶𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖂𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖄𝖔𝖚'𝖉 𝕯𝖔 𝖂𝖎𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝕳𝖊𝖗 𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝕮𝖆𝖓'𝖙 𝕰𝖛𝖊𝖓 𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝕳𝖔𝖜 𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝕸𝖊𝖙 𝕳𝖊𝖗 𝕭𝖚𝖙 𝕾𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖚𝖓𝖘 𝖄𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝕷𝖎𝖋𝖊~❞

✒•♡•✒•♡•✒•♡•✒•♡•✒•♡•✒•♡•✒•♡•✒

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Reblogs are appreciated ~ 𔓘

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

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btsugarush · 1 year

Text

GANGSTA | myg - 002

summary: rough sex, blood money, drugs, and gang related activity; four things you never predicted to experience in your simple life. not until you opened your mouth and caught his attention

pairings: gang leader!yoongi x f!reader

warnings: smut, gunplay, drugs, drug addiction, dark!yoongi, drug lord!yoongi, strong language, gang violence, blood and gore, murder, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behavior, abuse, cheating, angst, fluff, dubcon, implied noncon (not from yoongi but within his gang with his knowledge), 18+, minors dni

word count: 3K

author’s note: sorry if you asked to be on the taglist and didn’t make it. i’ve reached over 50 and couldn’t add anymore people. i’ll add more of you in the comments.

“I’m glad you’re okay after all of that,” Jungkook says on the other end of your phone; you had just spilled about the chaotic situation at Makoto as it was still weighing heavily on your mind. You couldn’t shake what Jimin had said about that Yoongi guy killing someone, though it could have just been a rumor. If he had actually taken someone’s life there would be no way they would allow him to walk the streets. He’d be too much of a flight risk.

“You should really be careful in the future. I know you like to stand up for people that can’t stand up for themselves, but Yoongi is bad news. There’s no telling what he would’ve done to you on the wrong day.”

“So you know him too?” You quiz. It seemed as though everyone knew who this guy was besides you. Maybe you don’t get out enough. Or maybe you were just good at staying away from trouble– until this afternoon at least. “I know of him, but not personally. He came to the shop once like five months ago with the same tall guy you were talking about. He told my coworker Si-Woo to step outside, and the next thing you know he's pistol-whipping him nearly to death. Rumor around the shop was that Si-Woo sold drugs for Yoongi, and owed him a lot of money.”

“Really?” Your mouth drops in shock. “What did Si-Woo say about it?”

“He never talked about it, ended up quitting the next day, and told us ‘not to get the police involved because it wouldn’t be of any help and it was all just a misunderstanding’.” He quoted. “Well, three days later Si-Woo’s body was found hacked to pieces and stuffed in a suitcase behind an alley on Gongdan lane.”

You heard about that case on the news some time ago, but had no clue that Jungkook knew the victim on an intimate level. It honestly made you shiver a bit. Imagine being the one to discover the body, and how gruesome the sight must have been. Stuff like that was common in slum areas though. Crime was especially high in Gongdan lane of all places, which is why you made sure to never venture in that area. “You think Yoongi had something to do with his murder?”

Jungkook scoffed. “The guy was viciously pistol-whipping him three days before his body was identified. I know he had something to do with it, but none of us were willing to risk going to the cops, so we just moved on like it didn’t happen.” Jungkook pauses for a moment before he speaks again. “You know… sometimes I think that maybe we could’ve saved his life if we did report the incident. Sometimes I still look at his station and feel like he’s there, tattooing.” He sighs heavily, like it was a great weight lifted from his shoulders to even tell you.

“You did what you felt was necessary. As fucked up as it may seem, you had to think about what was best for you.” You try your best to comfort him as he seemed to hold on to a lot of guilt regarding Si-Woo’s death, and reminiscing didn’t help. To have the man who could have potentially murdered your friend roaming free to terrorize all of Daegu couldn’t be a great feeling. You felt for him.

“I know. It’s just fucked to know he went through such a fucked up death. I don’t even want to imagine how scared he must’ve been,” you could hear clanking on the other end, as though he was biting down on his lip piercing. “I don’t even like the thought of knowing you tangled with them. He seems the type to hold grudges, and I don’t want you to get hurt. I’d lose my shit and go after him myself.”

You smile softly. “And I just know you’d kick his ass, my tough Kookie.” You both laugh at the nickname, which is one of many you had with the word ‘cookie’ in it. You could be so cheesy sometimes, but Jungkook loved everything about it. “You don’t have to worry though, apparently he likes me so maybe I’m in the clear?” You say unsuringly, still not understanding what he meant by it. It was very abrupt and cryptic. “Well whatever he meant, he’s out of luck because you’re spoken for.”

“As if he’d ever had a chance to begin with, I don’t think I’d mesh well with a criminal,” You chuckled. “I’m more into sweet, sensitive guys with tattoos and piercings.”

“Yeah? I think I know someone like that.” You could tell that he’s cheesing on the other end, which made you cheese. Everything always felt so natural with Jungkook. Him being your best friend in high school really played hand in hand with that. He was no different from a lover than he was a best friend. You two were absolutely the same and you loved it.

“You should probably get some sleep now, Angel. You don’t want to go to work exhausted, and I don’t wanna be blamed for you oversleeping again.” You simply roll your eyes in a playful manner, but agree nonetheless. You couldn’t chance being up so late, Mr. Kim was very strict about being on time.

“I guess you’re right,” you pout. “Okay, I’ll talk to you tomorrow when I get off work.”

“Okay, Angel. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Kookie cake.” You pull your phone from your ear, ending the call before you get up from your bed to switch off your bedroom lights. You crawl back onto the mattress, pulling your blanket over your body. Picking your phone back up again, you swipe through your apps until you locate the clock app. You set your alarm to wake you up at 12:00 PM on the dot. Just as you were about to place your phone down on your nightstand, something overcame you and you got the urge to search Yoongi’s name on Google.

When you type in his name, you are shocked to see so many results come up effortlessly. Several different mugshots from several different instances, all dating from when he was a teenager to one that seemed recent. You click on the one that looks most recent, letting it redirect you to the Daegu booking website.

Name: Min Yoongi

Age: 30

BOOKING DETAIL

Status: Released

Building: Public Safety Building

Area: Maledorm

Booking number: 575857

Booking date: 3/26/2023 11:56:00 pm

ARRESTS

Arrest number: 680071205

Arrest date: 3/26/2023 10:06:00 pm

Arresting agency: Daegu Police Department

Agency case number: 25-18056

ASSAULT WITH A DEADLY WEAPON

ATTEMPTED FIRST-DEGREE MURDER

POSSESSION WITH INTENT TO SELL

You read over the arrests in shock, completely dumbfounded by how a man of his caliber could be released from jail and not behind bars rotting for the rest of his life. He practically lived in jail anyway, why not just keep him there? You eye his mugshot, his intense stare giving you the chills. You didn’t need to wonder how the officer taking the photo must’ve felt considering you too have felt those daggers looking into the depths of your soul.

You pull your sight away from the photo, swiping away the page. You didn’t want to spend any more time on Yoongi. What happened at Makoto is behind you now. You just wanted to forget about the situation, and never run into Yoongi– or Joon for that matter, again. You plug your phone to your charger, sitting the device on your nightstand before you drift off to sleep.

“I was starting to think you weren’t going to show.” Mr. Kim looks surprised as you step into the kitchen, taking an apron from the hook on the wall. “Why wouldn’t I show up?” You quirk a brow, tying the black fabric around your waist. “Because I thought you would’ve been too scared to show your face after going toe to toe with the devil’s minions the other day.”

You click your tongue, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. You couldn’t believe people were still on that. Just as you walked in you overheard a customer whispering ‘she’s still alive?’ to her friend. It’s absurd at this point. “I think everyone is blowing what happened yesterday way out of proportion.” You shake your head, grabbing a notepad and pen from the pencil holder.

“I’d like to say we are, kid, but you got lucky. That Yoongi is no joke to be played with. The guy is a menace. Some people say the only reason he’s not in jail is because he has affiliations within the police unit, and I wouldn’t doubt if it’s true. Our system is corrupt.” The older man sighs. ‘Oh great, here he goes with politics and corruption again…’ you thought. You had better get out on the floor before you’re caught in a whirlwind of it.

You leave him to discuss the topic with himself as you step out onto the floor, and start taking customer orders. “Hey, you’re that crazy girl from yesterday.” A man says as you approach his table. You frown, already knowing what he was referring to, so you avoid it at all cost. “What can I get you?” You redirect the conversation.

“Oh! Uhhh,” he picks up the menu from his table, skimming through it. “I’ll have the Jajangmyeon.” He answers quickly. You scribble down his order. “Anything to drink?” You ask. “Ginseng tea, thank you.” He places the menu back on the table. You nod, taking down his drink. “Okay, I’ll be right back with that tea.” You smile kindly before heading back to the kitchen. You rip the orders from the notepad, clipping them to the ticket holder.

“Hey, kid. We’ve got a delivery order for dumplings.” Mr. Kim informs you as you’re preparing tea for the customer. The older gentleman approaches you, the order already made and secured in a brown bag. You take the bag from him, looking at the order ticket attached to it.

As you read over the address on the ticket, your eyes practically bulge out of your skull. ‘2357 Gongdan Lane’. “Um… Mr. Kim, this location is in the slums of Daegu.” You look at him with concern. “I know.” The man simply nods, taking the tickets you set from the holder. “Yeah, well, I can’t go to Gongdan lane. It’s dangerous, especially for me as a woman.”

“Look kid, I’m sorry. If Jimin was here I’d have him go but he doesn’t work on Saturdays and you’re my only worker.”

“Exactly. I’m the only worker, you need me to be at the shop taking orders.” You knew that wasn’t going to go over as it was a slow day, and there were hardly any customers in the shop to begin with. “I can handle the customers and cook the ramen until you get back.”

You couldn’t believe this. Just as you had prided yourself in never stepping foot in Gongdan, here was this old dirty bastard making you go. On top of that, the restaurant didn’t even own a company car for deliveries so you had to ride a bike. You read over the ticket again, noticing that there wasn’t even a name on the order. “There’s no name on the order, this could be a trick that ends with me getting robbed for free food.”

“All this time wasted on talking about it could be used on getting the delivery done. Stop complaining and do what you’re paid to do. The faster you get it done, the faster you can come back.”

You wanted to stomp your foot like a child and continue to protest, but you couldn’t risk your job by not listening so you did the only sensible thing you could do. Your job. You grab a plastic bag, shoving the brown one inside of it before leaving through the back exit in the kitchen. You spot the red delivery bike lying on the ground, and pick it up, looping the plastic bag around the bike handle.

As you mount the bicycle, you pull out your phone to use your GPS. The ride was about 12 minutes away. If you ride fast you could undoubtedly make it at least an 8 minute ride. You kick back the breaks and set off on your journey. During the ride as you make it into the slum area, you could truly see the separation from Sangsu-dong to Gongdan lane. The sidewalks were cracked and unpaved, the buildings looked more rundown, and homeless people laid out in sleeping bags.

You got an uneasy feeling as you noticed a group of men smoking weed on a corner and intensely watching you go by. You probably stood out like a sore thumb, riding through Daegu’s slummiest on a red bike. You swallowed the lump in your throat, keeping your eyes forward as you paid them no mind. As you continue going, you notice the streets become more isolated. Your GPS directs you to turn, which you follow only to come upon a big warehouse that looked abandoned. ‘You’ve arrived’, your GPS says. You furrow your brows, confusion written over your face.

“Stupid thing must’ve sent me to the wrong location.” You grab the bag of dumplings from the bike handle, circling around the warehouse just in case you were mistaken. You find a door on the other end, cameras surrounding it like it was a government building. You inspect the door, seeing that there was a red button of some sort on it.

You scope the perimeter, making sure no one was trying to sneak attack you. The whole thing seemed completely sketchy. You take a deep breath before pressing down on the button, a loud buzz coming from it. You take a step back, waiting for someone to come open the door. You stood there for about two minutes, not wanting to wait around any longer. You knew this was a scam. You should’ve just gone home and pretended like you delivered the food. It would’ve saved you the trouble. As you turn to walk back to the bike, the door suddenly opens with a loud creaking sound.

You direct your attention back to the door, locking eyes with an individual that you dreaded to ever see again. “Oh my god… i-it’s you…” you stutter in shock, seeing Yoongi stand in the doorway with a smirk plastered on his face. “Wonder Woman, we meet again.”

You’re silent, not really saying a word as you feel too stunned to speak. “You got something for me, sweetheart?” His eyes darted to the bag in your hand. You snap from your fearful trance, remembering why you were there in the first place. “Uh… yeah. Here’s your order.” You stretch out your arm to hand him the bag, not wanting to come any closer. The raven reaches forward, his hand brushing yours as he takes the bag from you. You quickly turn away, rushing back over to your bike.

“Hey, I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself yesterday.” He says, following behind you. “I already know who you are.” You mumble as you mount the red two wheeler. “Really? You didn’t seem to know who I was yesterday. If you did, you wouldn’t have shot your pretty mouth off like that,”

He grabs the handles of your bike, preventing you from leaving. “You look scared. Guess my reputation precedes me.” He says almost too proudly. “Not in a way that a decent human being should want it to, but I guess decency isn’t what you’re aiming for.” you say slickly, which causes the raven to smile. “There goes that smart mouth again,” he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, giving you the same predatory stare from yesterday. “Normally I wouldn’t tolerate anyone getting slick at the mouth with me, but from you it’s kind of a turn on.”

You scowl, ignoring his sexual advance. “Can you let go of my bike? I need to get back to work.”

“How about you let me drive you?” he offers, but you quickly decline. You’d be an idiot to get in the car with a proclaimed murderer. “I’ll take my chances on the bike, thank you.” The raven lets go of the handles, taking a step back to allow you to be on your way. “Be my guest, sweetheart.”

You kick back the break, not wanting to waste any more of your time in Gongdan speaking to this thug. You back away from him, turning the bike to ride down the path you came. “I hope to see you again, Y/N.” He calls out. You come to an abrupt stop, looking back at the raven. How did he know your name? “I don’t remember telling you my name.”

“You didn’t need to. I have my sources and connections, Princess. Whatever I need or want, I get.”

You cringe at the nickname ‘princess’. Jungkook doesn’t even call you that, with all the cheesy nicknames he does use. Him knowing your name suddenly made you question how coincidental this whole encounter was. You were starting to wonder how much about you he knew. As if he read your mind, he starts to read you like an autobiography. “You were born in Busan and raised right here in Daegu, you’re an ex nursing student, an only child, both your parents passed away in a tragic car accident, your best friend is Sang Mina, and your boyfriend is… Jeon Jungkook? Am I right?”

Your heart pounds against your chest as he spoke information that only people close to you would know. You felt sick, creeped out even, but you tried not to display that on your face. “So, I guess you know my work schedule then. You set this little encounter up knowing that I was the only worker today, didn’t you?” the raven simply shrugged like he couldn’t answer whether that was true or not, but you knew that it was. “I don’t know what your deal is, but just stay away from me, okay?”

Yoongi sneered, as he turned on his heels, heading back to the door from once he came. The raven makes sure he gets the last word though.

“I can’t make you any promises, sweetheart. Like I said, whatever I want, I get.”

Taglist

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the-hottest-band-tournament · 1 month

Text

Round 8 of The Hottest 80s Band Tournament

Guns N’Roses

Defeated opponents: ZZ Top, Pantera, A-Ha, The Go Go’s, Fleetwood Mac, Mötley Crüe, Hanoi Rocks

Formed in: 1985

Genres: Hard rock

Lineup: Axl Rose- vocals

Slash- lead guitar

Izzy Stradlin- rhythmic guitar

Duff McKagan- bass

Steven Adler- drums

Albums from the 80s:

Appetite for destruction (1987)

G N’ R Lies (1988)

Propaganda: “The sluttiest a man can do is be in the Guns’N Roses’s original lineup”

“Watch this video and tell me slash doesn't have pretty boy babygirl swag”

youtube

“Whoo! Time for more Guns N’ Roses propaganda (and by that I mean an excuse to gush about Steven Adler, one of my favorite drummers/people ever)

First off, look at him. This is, and so cannot stress this enough, one of the cutest people I’ve ever seen. Ever. Look at him! (And also, he’s a drummer so he’s fun-size - he is 5’7 at most and at least some of you reading could pick him up)

And he’s one of the greatest and most fun drummers to ever live. I’ve heard maybe 3 other drummers who are as fun to listen to and who have as good of a feel for matching the actual emotion of a song (harder to explain with drumming, but even though they’re both love songs, wouldn’t do the same solos for Patience and Sweet Child o Mine - it’s the same deal here). The demo for Back Off Bitch runs laps around the full version and half of that is because of him.

Izzy Stradlin himself has said that he gave early Guns N’ Roses their feel and that things got weird and “nothing worked” without him (I swear to god that’s a direct quote). You know how hard it is to get a guitarist or singer to recognize and actually admit that? And he’s never made a bad song or sounded boring, and that’s really rare for 80s-era hard rock drummers. Even Tommy Lee’s had his weird songs and I can’t say the same here.

And some bonus propaganda before I write another five paragraphs”

youtube

Queen

Defeated opponents: Green Day, Earth, Wind & Fire, The Psychedelic Furs, R.E.M., Duran Duran, INXS, Depeche Mode

Formed in: 1970

Genres: rock, glam-rock, hard rock, pop-rock, pop, disco

Lineup: Freddie Mercury- vocals

Brian May- guitar

John Deacon- bass

Roger Taylor- drums

Albums from the 80s:

The Game (1980)

Hot Space (1982)

Flash Gordon (1982)

The Works (1984)

A Kind Of Magic (1986)

The Miracle (1989)

Propaganda: “HAVE YOU SEEEEN THEMMMM???? these men never lost their looks as they aged. smoking hot 20 somethings to smoking hot 40 somethings. in their own words, "we was glam" and "we were all stunning". all four had impeccable style choices 99% of the time, from leather jackets and wraps to monochrome to undone blazers and ties to brightly coloured /everything/. Deacon changed his hair style every few years and even in just tshirts and booty shorts, never missed. Roger had a sleazy mullet and sunglasses for what felt like forever, hot Persian dad, did not miss. Brian forgot how to fully button shirts. bell bottoms. same hair for 50 years. no misses. even after Freddie got sick and started wearing makeup and had to grow a beard to cover up, MAN NEVER FUCKIN MISSED. he was beautiful to the day he died. and thats not even touching on the leather daddy look from the early 80s.king shit. we love wrinkles and laugh lines in this gd house. if they don't sweep I’m blowing this whole website up we was glam”

“a few years back i was obsessed with these guys and i would find it hard to not have a crush on all of them. in the 80s especially Brian was GORGEOUS.. BEAUTIFUL”

Visual propaganda for Guns N’Roses:

Additional propaganda here and here

Visual propaganda for Queen:

#Round 8 #the finals #guns n roses #queen #axl rose #slash gnr #slash #saul hudson #izzy stradlin #duff mckagan #steven adler #freddie mercury #brian may #john deacon #roger taylor #the hottest 80s band tournament #the hottest 80s band tourney

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zahri-melitor · 22 days

Note

What can you infer about the editorial meddling Young Justice went through?

Oh god. It’s like the old quote about pornography: you know it when you see it. Spend enough time reading comics and you can just tell.

Notable problems with the Young Justice 2019 run that smack of interference:

You can really tell there was external pressure to include Steph in the run and that she was not originally intended to join the team or appear any further than occasional cameos such as the flashbacks at the Hall of Justice as a link to Tim’s final scene in Tynion’s Tec run. Structurally her story makes no sense whatsoever for how to put a plot together. Steph’s not an original Young Justice character, the run already was supporting two new female characters plus a reboot of Amethyst introducing Amy to a new generation, even before we look at the crossovers from other titles in the imprint. The fact they ended up throwing in a single issue entirely about 'what Steph has been up to and her fight against Cluemaster' in the last section of the run makes it even worse, as that was valuable page time wasted pandering that could and should have been used to give Jinny Hex or Keli Quintela more development.

The entire ‘Drake’ situation, which for a costume change had very little build up, was under-designed, and then disappeared with Tim back in the Robin costume between two panels. It was a test balloon from someone that was comprehensively shot down by some mix of the fandom and editorial, and I remain convinced that DC is gunshy about a new costume and identity for Tim all the way up to the present day because of how badly it was handled.

It was being used as the anchor for Wonder Comics, leading to the required mega crossover (that also spilled over into Bendis’ Action Comics to give it some more space), putting even more pressure on the title to be telling a big crossover story when it was still trying to re-establish “your favourites are back” and suggesting potentially expanding the Young Justice lineup out to around thirteen characters, a massively oversized team that the title was not set up to handle.

Lost in the Multiverse was where the story started to get bogged down by being pulled in too many directions by expectations.

It’s also super telling that the last third of the book got turned over to essentially doing one-shot character pieces about the Core Four, the last defence of a run that can see cancellation coming and doesn’t feel confident launching a new story arc they don’t expect to get to finish. Some of this stuff was clearly background character work they would have preferred to have dripped out over a longer run.

Also I know I’m repeating myself, but having the Tim piece focus on Steph mostly, in the frame of Tim and Steph’s relationship? That’s not where I’d be spending my time when looking at Tim Drake in the focus of Young Justice. How he’s coping with his returned memories of having two or three different lives now? Thinking about what ‘Tell Conner you’re sorry’ means? Discussion about his feelings in terms of moving on from being Robin or not? Nah let’s talk about Steph's problems with her dad instead. That’s not a natural fit compared to what everyone else got and does not follow from any of the preceding story.

Still ropeable that the whole set of storylines about regained memories and alternate timelines doesn’t get to intersect with Lois Lane (which spoilers but also is committed to storytelling about ‘people have memories of other places bleeding through’ prior to the full Infinite Frontier retcon) or explore how those memories change things for Tim, Bart or Cassie (Kon at least does get a story about reconnecting in Action).

And that’s just off the top of my head, ignoring any of the more subtle signs.

I love Young Justice 2019. It is a run that adores Bart, Kon, Cassie and Tim (and particularly Bart. I cannot explain to you how much this story adores Bart if you’ve never read it) and the opening 6 issues make me feel warm and fuzzy every time I read them in terms of how cleverly it works to explain how we get everything back. There are clever subtle moments in the text that give a lot more depth to the story that are implied rather than spelled out: how Cassie suddenly remembers Bart when Bart comes near her, suggesting that her returned memories are a Speed Force side effect from being a lightning rod to Bart; Cassie and Tim sense Kon using TTK and recognise it as familiar, something the new characters cannot; the fakeout in the art where when Tim’s memories are restored, he sees Cissie in his memories, but unless you know the exact YJ98 page being referenced you’d think it was Steph; etc.

But gosh it would have been so much better if it had not been required to devote so much page time to crossovers and to pandering to fans, among other elements.

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roses-r-rosie3 · 1 year

Text

Bad Idea Right?

Jason Todd x M!Reader

[Spill Ur Guts MasterList]

Warnings: Implied sex, Reader sleeping with his ex (aka Jason)🫢, Swearing, drinking, Fluff-ish??

Summary: After partying a bit too hard, the reader wakes up in his bed, and finds Jason (HIS EX) laying right next to him naked

F/n = Friend’s Name

Quote: “Yeah, like I would want everyone to know that I put my dick inside of my ex"

✁ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You woke up with a jolt, and immediately got a major headache. You plopped on your bed with a groan, but something felt off… YOU WERE FUCKING NAKED?!

What the hell happened?!

Oh right, you threw a party at your house because your parents were out of town. But what happened afterwards? Great, now you have to try and piece together what happened.

First, you were setting up with your friends, people started showing up… what the hell happened after that though?

Flashback

“Hey y/n! Look who it is!” Your friend laughed.

You looked up and WHAT THE HELL?! Why the fuck was Jason there?! You didn’t even invite him! You were about to go confront him but your friends held you back.

“He’s not worth it y/n, he probably just got invited by someone else, don’t focus on him, just have fun” your friend reassured.

“Fine” you grumbled.

Next thing you knew, you drank at least not one not two not three, but four drinks! You were drunk out of your mind and you were about to go get your fifth one.

“Y/n, are you sure you should be drinking this much? I know your parents are out of town and all, but this is getting pretty concerning” your friend asked.

“It’s fine f/n! Another drink wouldn’t hurt!” You slurred.

You made your way towards the drink area, and low and behold, Jason was there. You ignored him the best you could, even as a drunk idiot. But as you were done pouring your drink into your cup, you bumped into Jason, spilling your drink on both you and him.

“What the fuck is your problem dude!” You yelled at him.

“Me?! You spilled your drink onto me!” Jason shouted defensively, obviously also a bit drunk.

You looked to the ground, knowing you were somewhat in the wrong.

“So are you just gonna stand there and look dumb or are you gonna show me where the towels are?” Jason said.

“Shut up” you murmured as you lead him to the restroom.

You opened the door and picked up a towel for you and him and started to wipe your clothes. It was silent for a good 5 minutes until you spoke up.

“Why are you even at this party to begin with” you said as you rolled your eyes.

“Did you forget that I have friends too or something?” Jason chuckled.

“So you didn’t know that the party was coincidentally held at my place, the place that you visited for more than 10 times?” You questioned.

“I just read that it was a party okay?!” Jason grumbled.

“Oh sure” you said sarcastically.

That just lead to a heated argument between the two of you. Things got heated and the next thing you knew, Jason was pinning you onto the bathroom wall and you two were sloppily making out.

"For the record this doesn't mean we're back together" You panted as you both pulled away.

"Well no shit sherlock" Jason mumbled before pulling you back in for another kiss.

After what was 8 minutes of making out, you finally broke the kiss.

"Let's finish this in my room yeah?" you smirked.

Jason just nodded before the two of you came into your room, locked the door and did stuff that required you not being seen at the party for the rest of the night.

End of flashback

Did you just sleep with your ex?! Wait.. you never remembered Jason leaving to go back at his place which meant.. wait.. no.. it couldn't be. You turned around and faced a figure, maybe this isn't him, maybe it's another guy you slept with after Jason, but you knew those tattoos from anywhere.

"HOLY SHIT!" You yelled out unintentionally.

Needless to say, that woke up Jason for sure. Jason rubbed his eyes sleepily, readjusting his vision to see where he was. He immediately recognized the room and hoped that you weren't the one who woke him up. But hope could only go so far, and he was met with your shocked/disgusted face.

"We're not telling ANYONE about this. You understand?" you threatened.

"Yeah, like I would want everyone to know that I put my dick inside of my ex" Jason said sarcastically as both you and him got out of your bed to change.

"How do you know I wasn't the top?! Hell we were both drunk!" you said defensively.

"I'm not the one with the limp" Jason smirked.

"You know what... uhh.. j-just get out!" you shouted.

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drak3n · 7 months

Text

THE BEST FRIEND

ꨄ. SYNOPSIS: perhaps you shouldn’t have waited so long.

ꨄ. CONTENT WARNINGS: unrequited love, mostly angst, hurt & some sort of comfort? best friends trope, one mention of murder at the beginning, a little bit of baji x reader

bold italic quotes = letter excerpts

PROLOGUE. | SERIES MASTERLIST.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“it’s impossible for anyone not to love you. has anyone ever told you that?”

there were times in which even a district like shibuya — always vibrant and full of life — was eerily quiet and void of people.

people you’d want to be around with, at least. people who made you feel safe roaming the streets at this hour. right now, you didn’t feel all too comfortable walking past streets with alleyways looking awfully sketchy.

every tiny sound made you walk faster than before, it be a cat scratching at a trashcan, a breeze howling against buildings, or leaves crunching under your shoes. you just wanted to get this over with and head back home into your trusted four walls.

you grunted as your ran face-first into someone you hadn’t seen, which you wanted to blame your terrible night vision for.

the figure didn’t move and you tried to stay calm. you uttered an apology and tried to rush past them, careful not to draw too much attention.

maybe they were just minding their own business. they didn’t have to be a murderer or anything.

“you shouldn’t be out here by yourself at this time,” the person suddenly called out. you halted. “someone got murdered right over there two days ago.”

the shiver that ran down your spine at the husky words was inevitable, your eyes darting over to where he pointed to show you the place was just a couple feet away from where you were standing. it didn’t help that the boy said it with so little emotion.

“thanks for telling me… i just really need to drop by at the nearest local duty pharmacy,” you responded. under the halfway functioning street light, you recognized a very tall boy, perhaps around your age, so 15 or 16 years of age.

the dragon tattoo on the side of his head drew your attention. it didn’t necessarily elicit bad thoughts, it just looked very unique.

“i’ll accompany you.” his offer took you by surprise; it wasn’t like you had been used to others being nice to you before. when he continued walking towards your destination, you quickly joined him, barely able to catch up with his long strides.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“how could a person be a best friend, mentor, older brother and father all at the same time? you made the impossible possible.”

hanging out with the boys was exhausting, to say the least. there wasn’t anyone you particularly disliked, but they could be a lot. you didn’t really mind that they were all part of a gang, all that mattered to you was that none of them had ever made a move to hurt you or others.

“i’m saying, that’s not how you solve that question!”

rolling your eyes at the first division commander discussing with you, you threw your arms in the air. you were currently all lounging off in the warehouse, with you having joined them after they had finished a meeting.

draken always insisted on you never, ever joining a meeting of the tokyo manji gang. he would never want you to get involved with their business.

“baji, are you seriously telling me i’m in the wrong?” you shoved your purple flip phone out of the pocket of your school uniform skirt, unlocking it to click onto the calculator function. “you must be stupid if you think that three times 24 is 72–”

the whole warehouse went quiet after that. blood rushed to your face, your entire head and ears feeling steaming hot as the brunette started laughing at you. the others were too immersed in their own thoughts to listen.

“who’s the stupid one now?” bending down to your height, baji flashed you his cocky smirk, revealing sharp canines. your eyes stung with tears of humiliation.

before he could tease you a little more, because you were so easy to tease, a hand shoved the boy with long hair back to create a distance between you and him. it was him.

“baji, that’s enough.” draken’s firm voice made said boy shrug and back off. “it’s just a dumb mathematical equation.”

when you sniffled and crossed your arms in front of your chest, turning away deliberately to hide your embarrassed self from the others, a palm settled on the top of your head.

looking up, you saw draken grinning down at you ever so gently.

“don’t worry about it, everyone makes mistakes.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“i failed to tell you. i thought my actions would be enough to prove what i felt. perhaps you knew all along, but decided not to talk about it. you were always thoughtful and considerate. but i wasn’t special.”

it was a gloomy day for you today. you were excited to see draken, putting in a lot of effort while getting ready and wearing one of your best outfits, just to see that he hadn’t joined the otherd at the usual group hangout today.

“wasn’t it emma’s birthday today?” mitsuya recalled. mikey wasn’t there either. unbeknownst to you, baji’s eyes wandered to look at how you’d react.

as someone who wore her heart on her sleeve, you were terrible at masking how you felt. he didn’t miss the way your face fell.

draken and emma were always close to each other. of course they were, as her brother and draken have been inseparable since middle school. you couldn’t compare to her. you’d just met him not even two years ago.

you were slowly realizing that despite him doing a lot for you and always being there for you, you perhaps didn’t mean as much to him as emma did.

after all, draken was nice to everyone.

“someone’s grumpy,” baji commented slyly, and this time, you didn’t have it in you to bicker with him. this time, there was no draken to tell him to stop either.

the two missing blondes joined you hours later, with mikey nudging his taller vice’s side teasingly while talking about how sly kenny was for having found that plushie emma had wanted for the longest time.

it made your mood even more sour than it already was, and you pondered about an excuse to leave, wanting nothing more than to curl up in bed and forget about it.

forget about your stupid feelings for someone whose heart was already taken, and who saw you as nothing more than a friend.

“hey (f/n), that’s a pretty outfit,” mikey commented, “you going somewhere?” draken glanced down at you curiously while you forced a tight-lipped smile on your face. you inwardly thanked the leader of toman for saving you like this.

“yeah. i’ll see you guys.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“would things have been different if i’d just confessed to you while i still had the time? it would have been selfish. she was the first to know and love you, after all.”

ken and mikey had dropped out of high school at 17. they had big plans of opening a workshop for cars and motorcycles. by the time you graduated high school, they already had their small, cozy shop. toman was no more, and everything was well.

objectively speaking, it was. but subjectively? you weren’t too sure about that.

by the time you entered the italian restaurant, the table that caught your eyes was already pretty crowded. it wasn’t a surprise anymore, you were always late, after all.

too late. those two words echoed in your head as you looked at emma and draken sitting next to each other, her blushing feverishly when he removed something from her hair.

that could have been you.

“let’s go.” hearing baji’s voice behind you surprised you, and even more did it to feel his hand on your back, guiding you towards the table. as much as he was a jerk, you didn’t believe he did it out of ill intent to humiliate you.

the hours went by, and you had all eaten to your hearts’ content, now exchanging light jokes and future aspirations to one another. emma mentioned wanting to be a housewife, and the ken getting married to her made you want to throw up everything you’d eaten today.

“how about you?” mitsuya asked you, who had talked the least tonight. “any plans for college?” you smiled awkwardly when you felt draken’s eyes on you.

he had always wanted you to go all the way with your education, having supported you whenever he could. you were more than thankful for that.

“i actually got an admission for law in osaka.” the blonde sitting right across from you smiled so brightly, and you were sure it would have made you melt if emma didn’t have her head on his shoulder.

it was almost childish how you had tried to interpret every single of draken’s actions as a possible chance for something to develop between you two. your chances were long gone.

you had never stood one to begin with.

“i knew you could do it! you were always a smart girl.”

his compliment made you feel worse than it should have.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“you told me to go and pursue my dreams. i knew that if you had told me to stay, i would have. how idiotic of me, right? i ended up leaving and letting you slip from my grasp without you ever having been in it.”

after moving away for college, you hardly visited tokyo anymore. and to be quite honest, you preferred that. it was good to stay away from the source of what had drained you for so long.

draken hadn’t taken advantage of your feelings for him, no. he was the last person on earth who’d be willing to do that. but that didn’t mean it hurt any less to be trapped in a web of unrequited love.

you were in your fourth year of law school when an invitation laid in your mailbox. you just knew from the second you looked at the envelope without even opening it. it was exactly what you’d anticipated it to be.

a marriage invitation, for you to join ken ryuguji and emma sano for the most important day of their lives. you stood in front of the mailbox, staring at the piece of pretty paper for at least twenty minutes, as if it was ever going to change.

he was going to get married. not to you.

all of your dreams of walking down the aisle in a pretty, white dress, approaching him with his sweet smile, crushed to bits and pieces.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“i have never wished you anything else but happiness, and i still do. she makes you happy, and that’s all i could have ever asked for. i saw it in your eyes that day. you never looked at me like that.”

the wedding reception was nothing short of beautiful. catered to everyone’s tastes, it left nothing to the imagination.

the wedding of your dreams had always looked like this.

it was bittersweet how another woman was going to live that dream to the fullest, with the man of your dreams, at that.

thankfully, you weren’t left alone with your thoughts while you waited for the couple to come to the rented hall after they would get lawfully wedded. mitsuya and his sisters kept you company, making sure to recommend you everything they had tried at the enormous buffet.

“pretty sure they’re coming now,” mitsuya informed you as he stared at his wristwatch. you gulped and looked into your glass of soda.

oh what you wouldn’t have given to be in her shoes, taking on his last name… waking up next to him every single day, having his children.

you felt absolutely and utterly horrible. like all those years you’d spent away from this had caught up to you, leaving you to drown in your unrequited feelings.

before you could excuse yourself to the bathroom and ruin your perfectly done makeup by indulging in a five-minute breakdown, you were stopped by a hand finding your shoulder. it felt as if life was sucker-punching you in the gut once again.

“hey, baji.” your voice was low, and you didn’t notice mitsuya leading his sisters away from the table. his formerly wild, brown hair was much shorter now, tied up in a ponytail, and he wore a dark gray tuxedo.

when he opened his mouth, you shook your head. “i can’t take any teasing today. i mean it.”

your words weren’t even harsh, you just sounded exhausted. his grin disappeared, soon replaced by a frown. “i’m aware,” baji stated, “i couldn’t have attended if i was you.”

with a raised brow, you stared at him to explain what he meant. “i’ve known since back then.” you looked down, pursing your lips to stop them from trembling and giving it all away. you were asking to change the topic until the two would enter through the door and make your mood plummet entirely.

baji knew you better than you could have guessed. so this time, instead of poking fun at you, he actually tried to make you feel better

“by the way, i’m moving to osaka for med school for the next semester. i finally got in.”

it still stung when you saw draken and emma entering the hall hand-in-hand. you couldn’t compare that sting to any other kind of physical pain you’d endured in your life, it felt worse than broken limbs or a cut that needed to be stitched.

but he was happy, the way you never saw him be. he had never smiled as purely as he did when he danced with his wife, kissing the back of her hand that now adorned a ring to bind them to each other forever.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“i’m sending this letter even after it all. even though i know i’m too late. don’t get me wrong, i have deliberately not added your new address. you will never get this letter. this is just for myself, to liberate what i’d held onto for multiple years.”

you picked up the call after one shrill ring, holding your phone against your ear while your eyes were plastered on the tv. it was your episode today, dealing with your letter.

the show was muted so you could hear exactly what you’d hear on the phone. with a deep breath, you spoke first. “hello?”

“good evening, miss! we are very excited to be hosting you on today’s show for TO ALL THE MEN YOU’VE LOVED BEFORE!” on the screen, you saw the main host move her mouth with a smile plastered on her perfect face.

you sat down on your couch, taking another deep breath. “thank you for having me,” you responded, “i can already guess what you are going to ask me.”

you heard sweet laughter from the two hosts while you were busy picking at a dried scab on your thumb. this was making you more nervous than you’d wished it to.

“if that’s the case, then we would love to hear your thoughts,” spoke the co-host, “our audience is very excited to learn about your motives and what exactly has made you not put an address for the letter to be shipped to!”

the camera angle was switched to show multiple rows of people of all ages sitting and awaiting your response. it made your throat go dry.

“i have made this decision because,” you looked away from the screen, “they have found someone else. and they are very happy.”

the hosts showed faces of surprise. for a second, you wondered why you’d even done this to begin with. but it felt too relieving to speak about this for a bunch of strangers to listen. it felt too relieving to hang up now when you were so close to just letting things go.

“which was why i just wanted to send this letter to… get rid of it. to be able to live on and stop holding onto those feelings that are never going to be reciprocated.” you had no idea if the words you were saying made any sense to them, but to you, they did. they made perfect sense to you, and they described exactly how you felt.

“that is very mature, and we admire you for having collected the courage to take this step.” the host clapped her hands, obviously looking moved. “love isn’t all about having happy endings together, right? sometimes, it means to let go. for their, and for our own happiness.”

hanging up not long after, you sank back in your couch and chuckled to yourself. this wasn’t so bad. in fact, you haven’t felt as good as you did right now in a while.

when the door to your apartment unlocked, you watched a mop of brown hair appear in your peripheral. the smile on your face only went brighter.

“i’m home. did i miss it?”

“just did. let’s rewatch it together, kei.”

“i wouldn’t have it any other way, because it was thanks to you that i found my own happiness, too.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

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angmarenthusiast · 4 months

Text

More Total Drama Incorrect Quotes

Duncan: What's your greatest fear? Heather: Being forgotten. Duncan: ... Duncan: Damn, that's deep. Duncan: Mine is the Kool Aid man, but I feel kinda stupid about it now...

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Scott: ‘Technically legal’, the two best words in the the English language, right before ‘cowboy spectacular.

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*During a game of Hangman* Courtney: Nope, there’s no Q. You lose. Heather: Are you kidding me?! You can still add something! Courtney: I already added a belt, four earrings and an extra arm! YOU LOSE!

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Noah: I just wanted to say that over the years, I have come to regard you as… people I met.

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Justin: Yesterday, I watched Cody try to eat a decorative rock from Harold's potted plant. Trent caught them and told them they can't eat rocks. Cody started whining something about no food being in the house before walking away.

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Jo: All in all, a 100% successful trip. Brick: But we lost Anne Maria. Jo: All in all, a 100% successful trip!

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Mike: Lol. Heads up if you try to make a candle with food coloring, the food coloring will just sink to the bottom of the glass, and when the flame eventually reaches the bottom all the food coloring will catch fire and become one giant tall flame that you cannot possibly blow out and the glass will start to crack and then you’ll throw your tea on it in a panic and then the extremely hot food coloring will boil and sizzle horribly and then the glass will shatter. Please take my word on this. Cameron: What did you do Mike? Mike: a Mistake.

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Brick: *eating a cinnamon roll* Anne Maria: Cannibalism. Brick: *confused chewing noises*

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Sierra: I know what you're up to. Izzy: Really? Because I barely know.

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Cody: *is visibly upset* Tyler: Cody, what happened? I haven't seen you like this since you found out candyland wasn't an actual country.

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Izzy, in Eva’s window: I thought I’d find you here! Noah, climbing past Izzy: WE COULD HAVE USED THE DOOR-

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Cody: Could you guys at least try to see this from my perspective? Harold: *crouches down* Justin: *kneels down* Trent: *sits on the floor* Cody: Cody: I hate all of you.

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Sam: Without ugly, there would be no beauty in this world. Dawn: Thank you for your sacrifice, Scott.

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Sam: Pick a card, any card. Scott: Fine. Sam: Wait, that's my credit card! Scott: You said any card.

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*Beth and Lindsay are in a mirror maze* Beth, seeing Lindsay: C'mon, you got it! Almost through! Lindsay: I see you! *runs straight into a mirror, shattering it* Beth: *screams*

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Heather: Gwen- Gwen: *sighs* Courtney used to call me Gwen... Heather: ...Because it's your fucking name.

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Zoey: Hey bro, what do you want to eat? Mal: The souls of the innocent! Mike: A bagel. Mal: No! Mike: Two bagels.

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the-badger-mole · 2 months

Note

i've scrolled through your blog quite a bit, and one thing i haven't seen you talk about (though maybe i just didn't scroll far enough) was the scene where sokka is wearing the kyoshi warrior uniform.

i've seen so many people say "wow, the show is really taking a stance against toxic masculinity! sokka wore a dress! it humbled him!" but if you actually watch the show . . .

it wants you to laugh at that, actually. it's one of my least favorite lines from aang. sokka is repeating something suki told him about what different parts of the uniform represent or something like that and he's looking pretty proud, but then aang walks by and says "hey sokka, nice dress" and laughs. and that's never walked back and aang's never punished. so the narrative is clearly pushing that . . . what aang said was okay? but if what aang said was okay, then that means that sokka wearing a dress was meant to be laughed at, right?

anyway, i don't understand how people watch that scene and take away "wow, that scene was so progressive! sokka wore a dress!" yeah . . . we as the audience are supposed to laugh at it. it's supposed to be funny. because boy in dress can't be taken seriously! it has to be a joke!

and i don't understand how people watch that scene and like aang. that was his first major red flag for me. like??? it get that he's twelve and a little shitster, but as you've said so many times, his age isn't an excuse to not hold him accountable. in fact, his immaturity means he should be held extra accountable, so he doesn't end up the same little shitster as an adult. the end of that episode should have had aang apologize to suki (who was also there when aang made that comment iirc). that comment was demeaning and threw away the entire point of that scene (and episode, honestly) in just four words. it demeaned the kyoshi customs and culture, and it completely throws away the point of suki telling sokka "if you want to train with me, you have to follow all our traditions" (paraphrase, not real quote).

anyway aang sucks, and if you've already talked about this, sorry. but if you haven't would love to hear your thoughts.

Of all the things that I think are wrong with Aang, his sexism is pretty low. That's not to say I don't think he's got the potential to be sexist, I just don't think it's occurred to him. He grew up in a gender segregated monastery. I wouldn't be surprised if Katara was the first girl around his own age that he'd spent any time with at all. What were the monks teaching him about girls, and why they were separated? Who knows? Clearly, he knew enough to ridicule Sokka for wearing a dress and to be upset about being played by a woman in EIP. Aang does have some sexist tendencies, but I don't think he's thought through the implications enough to actually be outright sexist. His worst moments have to do with his cultural biases, and an Air Nomad superiority complex. One of his worst moments had to do with him being disrespectful towards Bato about SWT artifacts.

The most obvious potential example of his sexism the way he treats Katara throughout the series, at least on the surface, but while there was absolutely sexism involved in how Katara was treated, I think it was more sexism in the writers room than in Aang himself. With Aang, it was less sexism, and more general entitlement. He wanted Katara. Her feelings didn't matter, not because she was a girl, but because she was an object. I've pointed out before that Nightmares and Daydreams proved that he understood what enthusiastic consent is, but he never even considered her feelings enough to think that she could turn him down. He was very entitled about Katara's affections and even her body, but I don't think the entitlement would've been different if the genders were reversed (look at how entitled Korra felt to Mako), or even if Aang and Katara were both boys.

I'm sure someone else could find more examples of Aang being overtly sexist- in fact, I remember reading a really good meta about Aang's reaction to being played by a woman in EIP, but I can't remember who wrote it. Still, don't think it matters if Aang was sexist or not. He's more toxic than Sokka ever was, even without being overtly sexist. Sokka, at least, was open to learning and growing, and his sexism was never that deep. But Aang? He never gets the opportunity to grow, because his bad traits are never called out like Sokka's are. I'm convinced that Aang benefits from cute privilege within the fandom. If Aang was a year or two older, and looked like Sokka or Zuko, he'd be right up there with Ross Gellar and Ted Mosby in the Nice Guys Who Aren't Actually That Nice pantheon, but because he's got big ears, chubby cheeks, and a big ol' smile, he gets a pass.

#atla #anti aang #anti kataang #aang and sexism

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withthewindinherfootsteps · 3 months

Text

So we know that Wei Wuxian's treatment after his death was horrible. Even if nothing could impact him directly, there was still neverending slander, hatred, misinformation, theft...

But, for a while after he died, the sects did try to impact him directly – namely, frequently trying to resummon his soul. And today I'll explore the possible reasons for this, their likelihoods, and why I'm so, so thankful that Wei Wuxian's soul managed to resist the summons. Because, spoiler alert (or, you know. maybe not)... none of them are good.

(Long meta ahead)

In my opinion, there are four likely motivations for this: confinement, coercion, torment, and potentially destruction.

Out of all of these, confinement is probably the most likely motivation, at least for most sects (Jins and Jiangs excluded, though it was likely what the Jin sect said their motivations were – but I'll get to them later). This one is the most simple – we know spirit-trapping pouches exist, and we know the sects also placed 120 stone beasts on the Burial Mounds to prevent Wei Wuxian's soul from escaping. Therefore, this seems to be the most likely motivation – and fortunately for Wei Wuxian, probably also the best case scenario, though it still certainly isn't a good one.

For the second, coercion – this is where the Jin sect come in (more specifically Jin Guangshan with the help of Jin Guangyao). Due to their wealth and resources, they're likely the sect who played the largest role in the soul-summoning rituals. We know what they're willing to do to try to gain power – keeping Wen Ning under the pretence he was burned to death and trying to control him with the nails, and working with and helping Xue Yang torture people to help him refine his demonic cultivation, in order to have the Yin hufu fixed. Along with working with many other cultivators, alongside Xue Yang – Jin Guangshan really, really wanted that seal.

And so, Jin GuangShan sought after all those who imitated Wei WuXian in cultivating the ghostly path and gathered them under his rule. He spent a great amount of money and resources and these people, ordering them to study and analyze the structure of the Tiger Seal in secrecy so that they could replicate and restore it. - Villainous Friends extra, EXR

(Note that working with these cultivators very likely happened after Wei Wuxian's soul had failed to be summoned, since this happens some time after Wei Wuxian's death, whereas the soul-summoning ceromonies presumably started happening very close to it.)

In the previous paragraph, he's also quoted as having 'lusted after' the Yin hufu, which we already knew but it's nice to have a direct quote as evidence.

Now, would Wei WuXian willingly work with the Jin sect in doing this? No. We know that, and, given Wei Wuxian's actions in his first life (refusing to hand over the Tally, not being afraid to stand up to the sects, etc), I’m pretty sure Jin Guangshan knows that, too:

He beat around the bush a couple of times, using all his skills, yet Wei WuXian didn’t give in no matter what, and it made him run into a bunch of obstacles. - Villainous Friends extra, EXR

So this could actually make things go two ways. One, I'm wrong and that wasn't actually part of the Jin sect's motivations, since they know they wouldn't be able to control him (and in that case, had they managed to summon him, I could imagine them putting him in a spirit-trapping pouch and doing something similar to what Jin Guangyao did to Nie Mingjue's head. Which, also, not good). Two, it was a part of their motivations, and they hoped to find a way around that. After all, there are other guidao users out there now, and Wei Wuxian would now be a gui*. Also, cultivators can obviously harm ghosts – see the very existence of Night Hunts, and I'd include Xue Yang's talisman-caused destruction of A-Qing as well (while he isn't a traditional cultivator, talismans can be used by everyone).

Now, would either of these methods actually work? I'm inclined to think not really (and I expand on the former method in a note below). Would that stop Jin Guangshan/Jin Guangyao/the cultivators they employ from trying? Especially considering Jin Guangshan's lust for power?

I'm inclined to think no, too.

For the third, look no further than Jiang Cheng's reputation of capturing and torturing demonic cultivators after Wei Wuxian's death, due to thinking they could be him. And this does happen – Jin Ling knows and talks about it, and there's not real motivation for him to negatively lie about someone he loves. Also, when they come across each other at Dafan Mountain, we're told this in Jiang Cheng's inner voice:

A moment ago, Jiang Cheng was certain that this person was Wei WuXian, and all of the blood in his body started to boil. Yet, now, Zidian was clearly telling him that he wasn’t. Zidian definitely wouldn’t deceive him or make a mistake, so he quickly calmed himself and thought, this doesn’t mean anything. I should first find an excuse to take him back and use every possible method to get information out of him. It’s impossible for him to not confess anything or give himself away. I’ve done things like this in the past anyways. - MDZS Chapter 10, EXR translation

This mainly shows that he's tortured people before, rather than that he's tortured people because he thinks they're Wei Wuxian, but this reason is confirmed by Jin Ling in Chapter 24. Of course, the reason is also mentioned in this chapter, and there are other moments in the chapter that illustrate my point better**, but they come from second-hand sources which I know are easier to deny. Do take note of Jiang Cheng's expression both times he comes across 'Mo Xuanyu' (after he suspects he's Wei Wuxian) in Book One***, though:

After a moment, the corners of Jiang Cheng’s lips pulled into a twisted smile. His left hand started to unconsciously stroke the ring [Zidian] again. He spoke softly, “… Well, well. So you’re back?” - Chapter 10, EXR Although his face had always been clouded, marked with arrogance and satire, it seemed as if every corner of it had come alive. It was difficult to determine whether it was vengeful wrath, fathomless hatred, or raving ecstasy. - Chapter 23, EXR

This does seem to line up with what people say his attitude to Wei Wuxian is – there doesn't seem to be any happiness at seeing him again at all. The only time a word that could suggest that ('ecstasy') is used, it's accompanied by 'raving', and considering the context and the other possibilities of his expression, it's... probably not due to happiness at being reunited.

So, considering 1) this, 2) his contribution to the Siege specifically intended to kill Wei Wuxian, and 3) that at the time of frequent soul-summoning Jiang Yanli's death would be even closer for him, I feel pretty confident in saying that yes, this is likely a motivation for the Jiang sect in trying to re-summon Wei Wuxian's soul after his death. And, as mentioned earlier, cultivators can harm ghosts (and we know Zidian is able to remove souls posessing a body from that body, and that Jiang Cheng used Zidian on 'Mo Xuanyu' in Chapter 10. If it wasn't able to restrain/harm ghosts, or other methods weren't able to, why would he risk Wei Wuxian's soul escaping?).

And finally, option four: destruction. We're heading into much more speculative territory here, so don't consider this on par with the first three. But consider this:

We know there are some spells, like Xue Yang's talisman used on A-Qing and the body-offering ritual, that can ruin the returning soul’s reincarnation cycle by destroying it. Therefore, soul destruction is possible.

The 'main'/supposed reason for summoning Wei Wuxian's soul back is to stop the "cultivation world, or even all of mortal land" from being "faced with the most insane damnation and revenge, sinking into nothing but chaos and despair" when Wei Wuxian inevitably returns. While, as mentioned above, I severely doubt this is the motivation for certain sects – and to me is likely a rumour which the Jins (again, especially Jin Guangsha) fanned the flames of to justify summoning Wei Wuxian back for their own purposes**** – there are other sects which would take it more seriously.

Although likely disrespectful, people already thought it served Wei Wuxian right to die without his body intact by the time of the second siege – something believed to negatively affect your reincarnation in your next life*****. This is only the logical next step, and I'm pretty sure the vast majority of people would believe that, again, it would serve Wei Wuxian right, or would at least lead to less harm of the world in the long run.

For these reasons, I could definitely see this as an option for some sects, especially the sects who consider themselves more 'righteous' (cough cough the Nies under Nie Mingjue cough cough). After all, evil is evil and good is good, and the evil deserve what's coming to them. And what better way to prevent that than from preventing his soul from returning at all? So for the Nie sect – and likely some of the smaller sects involved in the Siege, since among them, additudes probably vary – yes, I do think it could be a motivation.

I’m not as sure about the Lans being willing to go this far, and that’s largely for two reasons. One, Lan Wangji’s presence and his relationship to Lan Xichen, who does (not always, but he does) let this affect how he treats Wei Wuxian. An example of this is that, when Wei Wuxian's return is made public, Lan Xichen does let him hide and shelter at the Cloud Recesses instead of trying to pursue him, likely majorly due to Lan Wangji. I'd argue that the aftermath of the Nightless City also acts as an example of this, although it definitely isn't perfect. But though he, Lan Qiren and the 33 elders do come to find Lan Wangji and do not let him continue to shelter Wei Wuxian (after they see Lan Wangji's feelings), Lan Xichen doesn't use this opportunity to kill/capture Wei Wuxian, despite Lan Wangji being in a worse condition due to having fought 33 elders, Wei Wuxian being catatonic, and Lan Qiren likely supporting this outcome (especially considering he was the one who led the Lan sect in the Siege – chapter 68, Wei Wuxian's POV). And he did let Lan Wangji take Wei Wuxian back to the Burial Mounds after:

After he went out of his way to send you back to Burial Mound and returned in such low spirits to receive his punishment, how long he kneeled before the Wall of Rules! - Chapter 99, EXR

Again, this was right after the Nightless City massacre – there isn't any goodwill towards Wei Wuxian at this point in time.

Of course, the Lan sect did participate in the siege after Lan Xichen knew of Lan Wangji's feelings towards Wei Wuxian, which Lan Xichen was no doubt a part of (although Lan Qiren lead the Lan sect in the siege, Lan XIchen had to have at least known/given his support, if not participated.) And it should be considered that Lan Xichen letting Wei Wuxian shelter at the Cloud Recesses was after Wei Wuxian had been back for a while, and had not caused the downfall of the Cultivation World, like many suspected he would after his death. And of course, as stated previously, his handling of the aftermath of Nightless City wasn't perfect either (though please note that his main motive here was to protect Lan Wangji from being potentially executed, rather than anything about Wei Wuxian himself). So caring about Lan Wangji doesn't mean he won't harm Wei Wuxian. But I do think he could find bringing Wei Wuxian's soul back to completely destroy it a bit excessive. There is, though, the chance that the elders of the Lan Sect would react to this differently, and of course they would have a sway on both Lan Xichen and the Lan sect as well.

The second reason is smaller, but there seems to be more focus in the Lan sect than in others when it comes to letting ghosts rest peacefully/helping them move on. And that could definitely lead to more resistance to the idea of summoning a soul back to destroy it as well, which could especially impact the elders. So I'd assume that the Lan sect would be the most likely sect to summon Wei Wuxian's soul back just for confinement, or just for some way of making sure any resentment is disippated, his spirit moves on, and he can't cause more harm to the world (eg via Inquiry)******. Not that he would or does as a ghost or as a reborn person, but that's unfortunately not relevant to this.

But yes, as a motivation for the Nie Mingjue-led Nie sect? Absolutely.

So, these are the main motives I suspect to be behind the attempted summoning of Wei Wuxian's soul after his death (and if I've missed any, please let me know – I'd love to have a discussion). And, of course, none of them lead to anywhere good. Because of course it wasn’t enough to besiege Wei Wuxian, murder the 50 non-combatants he was responsible for (and throwing them into the blood pit as a mark of disrespect because why not?), and lead to his death via him getting torn apart. It wasn’t enough to steal all his inventions, and use them commonly while still slandering him with no reprieve – or to steal his notes and give them to people like Xue Yang to study (Villainous Friends, again) and to use for their own, extremely extremely harmful, purposes. Of course, the cultivation world has to try to harm Wei Wuxian after death as well ((:

We don't know whether Wei Wuxian rejecting the summoning ceremonies was conscious or unconscious, but if it was the former, these are very likely reasons he refused to return in this way. If it was unconscious – for example, maybe during the frequent soul-summons his soul was in a weakened state due to him dying from a backlash of resentful energy and getting torn apart, and it healed over time but not before the soul-summoning rituals stopped – well, I can only be thankful.

Finally, let me leave you on the thought that – although it may well have happened since we don't spend much time in the immediate aftermath of the Sunshot campaign – there isn't even any textual mention of this happening to Wen Ruohan. Who, while not being a guidao user, was still very dangerous, still an extremely powerful cultivator, and still had a lot of reason to feel resentment. So.

:')

Thank you for reading!

*Considering what we see of how Wei Wuxian's guidao functions – redirecting the ghosts'/corpses' resentment into doing something they'd want to do, eg attacking people, and directing it towards a target – I'm not sure using it to force a spirit to do something 1) extremely specific, and 2) explicitly against their will would actually work. Iirc the closest thing we get to this in text is Wei Wuxian using the corpses of Wens to attack other Wens in the Sunshot Campaign, but he's still just directing their resentment to a target of his choice, and fierce corpses do tend to be on the less concious side of things (hence why Wei Wuxian had to awaken Wen Ning's consciousness). Considering how Wen Ning attacks Wei Wuxian and the Burial Mound Wens before his consciousness had fully awoken, I... really don't think those fierce corpses were able to differentiate (or didn't care).

Meanwhile, ghosts seem to be a bit more in control of themselves – see A-Qing, and Wei Wuxian's own descriptions of his ghost self.

That, alongside ghost!Wei Wuxian being able to resist his soul-summoning and the fact that pretty much all of the new guidao users are a lot weaker than he was, does make me think that this this wouldn't work. I do wonder about Xue Yang, since his methods are pretty different as well, but he's more of a modao user than a guidao user (he controls living corpses rather than dead people) and I don't think you can insert physical nails into ghosts?? Though if he was specifically instructed to figure out some way to control ghost!Wei Wuxian (who's probably kept in a spirit-trapping pouch in this scenario), he might be able to do something at least. Though also he was also struggling to piece Xiao Xingchen's ghost soul back together, so he may struggle with those areas?

Well, whatever the potential outcome, I'm so so happy once again that Wei Wuxian's soul managed to resist the soul-summonings...

**Mainly this:

Everyone in the cultivation world knew that the young leader of the Jiang Clan watched out for Wei WuXian in an almost crazed manner. He would rather catch the wrong person than let go of any possibility, and took anyone who seemed like they held the soul of Wei WuXian away to the YunmengJiang Sect, inflicting severe torture on his victim. If he wanted to take someone back, the opposition would surely lose half of their life. - Chapter 10, EXR

But I have heard people say 'you can't prove that it's just more rumours' before, and I wanted my evidence to be as watertight as possible.

(And, off-topic... isn't it really sad how Jiang Cheng, in the present day, is described as young? Because, for a clan leader, he is. And another thing he is, is close in age to Wei Wuxian – who was killed 13 whole years prior :') )

***And do note that the only other time they run into each other before Wei Wuxian's identity is revealed to the world apart from this is their brief interaction at Jinlintai, where he can't just act however he wants. The next time they run into each other after it, Jiang Cheng is literally taking part in another siege against him, and still extremely hostile ("surrounded by hostile energy, face insidious, staring straight at him" – from EXR chapter 60). Then he loses his spiritual powers and can't do anything. By the time he regains his powers, Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji and the Wen remnants' corpses have saved everyone during the Second Siege, and though public opinion hasn't properly shifted quite yet, it will soon after Sisi and Bicao tell the story of Jin Guangyao, and voila, a new scapegoat (do note that he doesn't completely bar Wei Wuxian from entering Lotus Pier after the Second Siege, though). Plus, throughout it all, Lan Wangji is still constantly present, which makes it hard for Jiang Cheng to really do anything. And then he's finally faced with the Golden Core reveal, which does alter his motivations towards Wei Wuxian (obviously the resentment is still there – read chapter 102 – but it's also mixed with other complex emotions, and he seems to start being able to move away from that a little in Chapter 103). I still definitely wouldn't describe Jiang Cheng's attitude towards him as positive, but it isn't at the point it was at the start of the novel (eg Chapter 10).

But even if his attitude does change, or would for whatever other reason apart from the reveal, that still doesn't change an initial motivation so isn't relevant to this meta. We know his intentions at the start.

****It's also possible they may have originated it, but I think WWX's reputation was bad enough for it to form naturally. Though you can trace a major part of that back to them, too.

*****That belief isn't outright stated in MDZS, but the fact people are specifically talking about the status of WWX's body in the aftermath of his death suggests that this belief does have some grounding in the MDZS universe, at least? And we know MXTX has included it in TGCF (though that doesn't mean it's definitely in MDZS), so she has used it in her works. If this isn't the case in the MDZS universe I am sorry (although that could also mean there's less importance placed on not disturbing the reincarnation cycle in the world of MDZS...? Which would work towards my original argument) – I don't want to spread misinformation that something is definitely true, I just think there's evidence to suggest it is true, which isn't the same thing.

******Again, I think this would depend on who ends up having more influence over who in the Lan sect. After all, normal resentful spirits only do what they do because of their resentment in death, whereas Wei Wuxian is 'dangerous' because of who everyone thinks he was in life – so him being reborn naturally could also 'cause a lot of harm to the world' during the time period this version of him would live in, unlike the resentful ghosts they appease. This could definitely lead to many advocating for confinement, I think.

#writing this takes me back to my nie huaisang one #'detective metas' i'd call both of them #as opposed to analysis of characters or themes #it may be less 'meaningful' but it's still fun to explore and speculate within a world you love #...albeit maybe not for this one because. mdzs jianghu when i get my hands on you-#also i fully acknowledge i may be wrong #but again i'd love to have discussions about these! debates and knowledge exchange are what leads to better understanding of source materia #which is a major goal of mine in writing these #mdzs meta #my meta #wei wuxian #mdzs cultivation world #long post #mo dao zu shi #gdc #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #魔道祖师 #mxtx #detective meta #<– if i ever make this a tag #also i feel like you could write a fic (angsty or not so angsty depending on where you go with it) where the lan sect somehow-#-summons ghost!wwx back (not sure how bc the jin and jiang sects would probably want 'custody' of him more - and i don't think summoning-#-rituals are done by just one sect at a time? but imagine it happens) and idk he's kept in a spirit-trapping pouch or sth #lwj probably isn't told bc of what happened after nightless city - elders can't really trust him in matters to do with wwx #but maybe lxc feels bad for him or sth (especially bc he's mourning him and stuff + what happened after he found out wwx was dead)#and tells him and maybe brings wwx's soul to him for a bit so wwx can respond to inquiry #and they talk and obv. wwx is NOT happy with the situation (both rn and yk bc of the VERY RECENT SIEGE)#but but but! the thing that would stop this being completely depressing is that LWJ HAS A-YUAN SO WWX FINDS OUT HE SURVIVED #also lwj's injuries would likely come up at SOME point which would lead to wwx finding out abt nightless city afermath #AA NOO THE TAGS WENT ON FOR SO MUCH LONGER BUT I GUESS TUMBLR DOESN'T ALLOW SO MANY i'll have to make another post...

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youcouldmakealife · 13 days

Note

How did James realise he was in love with Holden? Not that we can't see it in his actions, but Holden I think is more vocal (in his thoughts at least) about what he loves about James?

He was already there before they got to Winnipeg.

Here's a few things in full disclosure.

None of them are outright, but, as you say, Holden's more vocal, who's used love or head over heels a few times already in his internal monologue, so we all knew it was coming sooner rather than later, since his internal monologue has a tendency to become an external monologue if he isn't careful (and that isn't a word I'd use to describe him, though it's a great one to describe James.)

And factually speaking, it hadn’t even been a few days. Hardly more than twenty-four hours since he’d last woken up beside Holden, and James was breathing him in like it’d been weeks since he’d last had a chance to touch him. Longer.

The way James frames this it's easy to miss that he is literally counting hours since he last got his Holden Chase fix.

Very important note for this and all the following: they are on a trip together. They can see each other. They have spoken. It's sometimes hard to remember, because they're both being such dramatic bitches this whole trip you'd think there was a continent between them and they couldn't even send letters.

After James could finally detach from him without feeling like he was about to hyperventilate,

The thought of not touching Holden putting James on the verge of a full-fledged panic attack was...perhaps a sign.

Created guidelines, James holding onto every part of Holden he could reach the entire time, like he was the blanket James dragged with him everywhere as a child.

James loved that blanket so much. Don't ever talk to him about it.

...finding Holden sitting among their teammates at the airport gate, eyes on his own phone. Exactly where he was five minutes ago, the last time James looked for him. It may have been less than five. Possibly closer to three.

He is now counting minutes.

But homesick or not, for the first time James can remember, he doesn’t want to lock the door behind him, mute his phone, turn away any visitors who arrive at his door. Doesn’t want to barricade himself in his home until he can stand being around people again. For once, James doesn’t want to be alone. It scares him a little. Would probably scare him more if Holden wasn’t clearly experiencing the same sort of emotions, though he doesn’t seem to be scared at all.

This is James Alexander Erickson for 'I'm totally in love with him good thing it's obvious as fuck it's mutual'. He knows.

Also, kind of too much/not easy to quote, but he wouldn't have told Mrs. Schneider there was someone in his life if he hadn't been in love at that point. The fact he was dreading dinner with the Schneiders so much was him knowing that he was going to have to be honest because lying about there not being someone would feel like a betrayal.

He doesn’t know what Finn knows, and he isn’t sure he wants to, but he does trust him. With everything, and Holden’s part of that now. A big one, he thinks.

Also this bit.

Everything but the words said at that point. He hadn't said the words to himself then, or at any point before Holden said them out loud, but as soon as Holden did he had a sort of... 'oh okay that makes sense me too'. reaction (after a slight delay. Because he processes things more slowly than most, especially verbally, and also he had, you know, been awake 30 seconds when Holden said it.)

Horrifying note to end this up: it has been less than a week, timeline wise, since that part occurred, because these two have had an...eventful few weeks.

(What a hilarious fucking treat it will be to do an LBTE of these two lunatics some day in the future.)

#cards on the table

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skyloftian-nutcase · 7 days

Text

Outbreak Pt 3 (LU in Healthcare)

(Content warning, this is a plague fic, it will likely hit close to home, and there’s dark humor and character death in this part)

It started off as a whisper, but the whisper became a chatter, a groan, constant and disturbing and growing ever closer.

Cases were on the rise in the city, though the surrounding area seemed unaffected still, for now. City officials were growing concerned, and restrictions were starting to be enacted. People were asked to stay home, if possible. As for the hospital and squads…

Hyrule squinted at his email. "Wait. Didn't... didn't they say we could use alcohol wipes to clean the equipment?"

"Yeah," Mo called from the kitchenette in the station.

"Now it says we can only use bleach wipes."

Mo groaned. "Isn't that like the third policy change this week?"

"I'm still trying to figure out if we're doing a specific isolation truck or not anymore," Aurora mumbled. "Like we just had one truck dedicated to the high risk iso cases, and now we're getting so many calls for it that it's a moot point anyway."

"I think the last email said put plastic over everything for Arfy patients and then wipe everything down that you use," Mo replied.

"Wait, which email?"

Hyrule sighed. This was getting ridiculous. And he was getting just a little nervous. “When in doubt, just bleach everything, I guess.”

Aurora huffed. “Did you see the email about the respirators?”

“Which email?” Mo threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “I’ve got twenty new emails!”

“I suppose that means you’ll actually have to read them now,” Aurora noted with a snort.

“Do you all think it’ll get worse before it gets better?” Dawn asked, wringing her hands worriedly. “The OMD made it sound like that would be the case.”

“Our medical director knows more than I do,” Hyrule shrugged. “If he says it’s going to get worse—”

“No, he didn’t just say that, he said ‘it’s not a matter of if the wave hits us, but when,’” Aurora quoted, standing. “He scared the hell out of Dawn.”

“They’re pretty foreboding words,” Hyrule commented darkly, looking away. It was the main reason he was getting nervous. But he was also steeling himself. If they were in for a fight, he would face it head on.

“Okay, but what does any of this have to do with the email about the respirators?” Mo asked as he scrolled frantically through his email.

“Oh, we’re supposed to wear N95s now,” Aurora answered with a wave of her hand.

Hyrule blinked. “Wait. Aren’t—aren’t we supposed to get fit tested for those?”

“Oh, yeah,” Aurora nodded, rolling her eyes. “Here’s your official fit test: pick a mask that fits.”

“We’re all going to die, aren’t we?” Dawn questioned worriedly, hugging herself.

“Nobody’s died from Arfy yet, I don’t think,” Mo noted. “At least not here.”

“People have died,” Aurora corrected.

“Well, maybe we’ll die, then,” Mo amended.

Hyrule laughed while Aurora swatted his partner. Well… at least they’d die fighting. But he really hoped it wouldn’t get to that point.

While the rescue squads struggled to keep up with policies and slapped shoddy safety regulations into place, the hospital clamped down even further. Visitor policies had officially been revoked as of today, and it made all the providers somewhat uneasy.

In some aspects, it was helpful. In others, it made things that much harder.

Arfy patients were medical patients. Which meant the medical floor and ICU was quickly filling up while other parts of the hospital either maintained their quota or decreased as people stayed home. More and more, Four found himself floating to his friend’s ICU, and he felt fairly out of his depths about it. The one good thing was that he got to spend time with Dot. But as cases rose, so did the stress, the worry, and the heartache.

The ICU felt less like a unit where critically ill people got better and more like a place to go to die.

Four and Dot had the same patient assignment for four days in a row. It was the same assignment because nothing had changed with the patients. Intubated, sedated, paralyzed, some proned. The amount of sedation required to keep their patients under was far more than Four was used to, and it was insane how little it would take for their oxygen saturation to drop. Any semblance of activity in the body increased oxygen demand, and the instant oxygen demand increased, no amount of intervention from the ventilator seemed to help. ECMO was a word Four had hardly heard in his trauma ICU, but he heard it on a near daily basis now, being considered at rounds, being initiated with someone else’s patient.

Four was exhausted. His face was breaking out from wearing a respirator for twelve hours at a time. His feet and knees and hips hurt from standing in isolation rooms for three to four hours at a time trying to cluster all his care. And now, with the visitor restriction enacted…

Visitors were hit or miss, particularly in Four’s world. Trauma precipitated drama, and while family could be infinitely helpful and supportive, he’d also seen things go awry, had to deescalate fights or call security. In some aspects, he was thankful there were no visitors while all of this was happening; he was tired of having to explain that yes, you have to wear this gown and gloves and mask, no you can’t kiss your loved one while they’re intubated and sedated with a contagious disease… but still. He couldn’t imagine how hard it was on the family - the patients were sedated to the point that they shouldn’t be aware of anything, but the family had to agonize over the matter at home.

He didn’t like it. He understand the logic. But he didn’t like it.

And so here he sat, holding a patient’s hand while they withdrew care. Here he sat, being the only witness to someone’s last breaths while their family mourned from afar.

Four watched the heart rate steadily drop. He watched the oxygen saturation plummet. He muted the red alarms as the monitor screamed that his patient was dying, that something should be done, like an accusation and call to arms when Four knew this particular fight was over.

He wasn’t a particularly religious person, but he said a prayer for the patient and the family either way. He found himself praying a lot these days, honestly.

While the visitor policy took its toll inside the frame of work, the restrictions both inside and outside the hospital were causing further stress on everyone. Warriors had basically banned Wind from seeing him, opting to stay with Time and Malon instead, leaving the kid in the apartment. He brought food deliveries to the door, asked if Wind needed anything, but he always did so when Wind wasn’t awake - the teenager had swore up and down that if anybody got Arfy he’d take care of them, and Warriors was terrified of that promise as it was basically a threat. Time agreed that Wind didn’t need to get involved, much to the teenager’s chagrin, and Wind found himself already struggling from the loneliness and the frustration of trying to study for classes online when nobody knew what they were doing or how long this would last.

Meanwhile, Wild sat in his room, fingers aimlessly tracing over each other, the smell of bleach so fresh in his nose from scrubbing everything relentlessly for hours on end that he might as well have inhaled a bottle of it. His chest hurt. Not to mention that new disinfectant they were told to use made him cough a lot.

And he worried. Because… it had been a few days since he’d seen his father. Legend had given him updates through his sister (and made Wild swear not to tell anyone about her), and it had sounded like he was improving as expected. But now, he… the rest of the family…

It felt like a blessing and a curse. It was a guarantee that Wild couldn’t run into his mother or sister by accident, but it was also a situation that his mind screamed that he address.

He couldn’t just… he couldn’t just leave his father isolated and alone recovering in the hospital in the midst of an outbreak. He couldn’t.

But what if visiting him made things so much worse? What if it stressed his father’s recovering heart? What if it triggered more traumatic memories for Wild? He was terrified of getting anywhere near the man while he was awake, but his heart screamed that he go to him.

Wild refused to be a coward. And he refused to be heartless, despite how anxious this entire situation made him, despite how his mind screamed he keep away. So that night, when he got on to work, he took a delivery to the cardiovascular ICU and paused in front of a doorway, looking hopefully for a familiar nurse.

“Link? Wild?”

Jumping, Wild turned around to see the nurse in question, watching him scrutinously. She smiled (or at least, he assumed she did, based on how her eye crinkled above her mask) in recognition. “I thought it was you. You here to see your dad?”

Wild swallowed and nodded.

“Good, because the drama I’ve been trying to avoid has been driving me insane,” Legend’s sister said lightheartedly, but despite the casualness of her tone, the words sank into Wild’s stomach like a stone.

“Drama?” He questioned quietly.

“Nothing like… bad, I suppose, but still,” the nurse explained. “I’d be in there taking care of him and overhear him talking to his wife and he’d mention that he swore he saw you. I’m not entirely sure she’s convinced. She seems hopeful, though. But I figured it was best not to bring it up myself since I, ah, don’t know what’s going on.”

Wild felt his blood freeze. His father remembered? And he’d told his mother?

Great. This was… this was just great.

“Go see him,” Legend’s sister prompted gently. “I can tell he loves you very much and just wants to know you’re ok.”

Wild’s eyes unexpectedly burned with tears in an instant, and he was grateful he was wearing a mask to hide his expression. He nodded, hesitantly making his way towards the room.

It all seemed so normal, seeing his father sitting in a recliner looking at his phone. Wild wasn’t even entirely sure he’d recovered memories of his father like that, but somehow it seemed familiar. Abel hadn’t noticed him yet, engrossed in whatever he was looking at, brow slightly furrowed. That expression drew memories, a familiar scrutiny that he would often give Wild himself or his sister, a quiet concern and sternness that made Wild want to stiffen up and simultaneously run to him.

Damn it all, he’d missed him.

Wild swallowed his fears and stepped forward, hoping that this wouldn’t be a disaster. He knocked on the door, initially so quietly that his father didn’t hear him over the chatter of the news on the television. He knocked again.

His father looked up. Stared a moment. Went a shade paler.

Wild hastily stepped forward. “W-wait, don’t get worked up—”

His father stood, seeming mostly steady on his feet, and tried to walk to him, heedless of the cords and oxygen tubing attached, and Wild hastily met him part of the way before he ripped everything out of the wall. Abel immediately pulled him to his chest in the tightest hug Wild had ever felt, and…

And Link sank into the embrace, crying.

#writing #If you see any typos no you don’t lol #My iPad keeps editing medical terms without me noticing ugh 😩#lu in healthcare #lu hyrule #lu mo #lu dawn #lu aurora #lu four #lu dot #lu wild #Abel #sorry if this isn’t quite up to snuff as usual I don’t even know how much sleep I’ve gotten in the last 48 hours #And I want to bury myself in a hole and never come out lol #It’s been a stupidly long week and the next few months are only going to be longer and I’m already very freaking over it #Anyway there’s my mild rant for the day I guess LOL enjoy the writing

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one-squash-one-end · 6 months

Text

I wrote a giant Raven Cycle analysis

Hi! Over the last year or so I've been working on a sort of essay about various themes in the raven cycle series, and I finally finished it a few weeks ago.

It is titled: "Why I love The Raven Cycle - An excessive analysis of the themes of friendship, queerness and growing up".

And since tumblr loves its meta (and bc I love peer validation) I've decided to start uploading it bit by bit here, making this the masterpost (if I can figure out the logistics of the linking lmao, bear with me)

(beware of spoilers up to greywaren starting at like 3b!)

Introduction

What even is the Raven Cycle?

Trust me, the characters are queer as fuck and I can prove it a) Blue Sargent b) Gansey c) Adam Parrish d) Ronan Lynch e) Noah f) Henry Cheng g) Honorary mentions

The Gangsey is a polycule

Analyzing the reoccurring themes a) Friendship b) Being a teen/growing up c) (Found) Family d) Magic (as a metaphor) e) Further themes I appreciate

Drawing a conclusion

Click here to start with the introductory parts!

1. Introduction

So here’s the thing: I love fiction almost as much as I love my friends. There’s something deeply comforting about the escapism, even if the book actually makes me want to scream and throw it on the floor (only one book has been thrown so far, I promise!). Fiction is a healthy thing to occupy my thoughts with: headcanons! Quotes being on loop in my brain! Just fandoms!

And for me, if I am hooked on a book (series), it does not even need a good plot where a lot of things happen. In fact, I would say that my enjoyment of a book is made up of 30% plot and about 70% characters and vibes. If the characters are bland, if they do not make me feel much emotion, it likely won’t be more than 4 stars (additional info: I am way too nice rating books!). I really, really need to love the characters, to be able to relate to some aspects of them, or it just won’t become an obsession.

Since I have already started explaining that a bit, let’s look at this question: What is important to make a book special to me? 1. I need to cry reading it. 2. I have to think about it often, even weeks to months after having read it. 3. Obviously, I need to love the characters. 4. I need to be in the fandom! This can be hard with some books, but the internet is a whimsical space allowing you to find at least a small number of people who are obsessed with a work of fiction to a similar extent as you are.

Now, why am I elaborating on this so much? It’s because The Raven Cycle did all that for me. It is my favorite comfort book series at the moment, for all those aspects mentioned, but of course I cannot just leave it at that. No, I wrote a whole-ass analysis on headcanons and some of its themes. You’re welcome.

2. What even is The Raven Cycle?

The Raven Cycle is all I adore and live for (next to my friends). So, naturally, it’s a book series, specifically a four book young adult contemporary fantasy series by American author Maggie Stiefvater. The books in question are: The Raven Boys (2012), The Dream Thieves (2013), Blue Lily, Lily Blue (2014) and The Raven King (2016), and yes I will admit that the publishing dates are a bit of a red flag. There is also the very relevant follow-up series called The Dreamer Trilogy (Call Down The Hawk, Mister Impossible, Greywaren), but it’s a lot less easy to get into that here as I do not know these entire books by heart, so I’ll stick to the original tetralogy here.

To stick to red flags, the books are set in the fictional Henrietta, a rural town in non-fictional Virginia, US, in the 2010s. However, that doesn’t really say *that* much about the plot, so let me summarize that really quick, because I can do better than the official synopsis! (Or let’s pretend I can.)

Blue Sargent comes from a family of psychics, yet she does not have any powers of her own. Even worse, she is a bit of an amplifier for the others, meaning she is always somehow but never directly involved in the business. As if that isn’t enough for an identity crisis, every psychic she has ever met has told her that her kiss would kill her true love. Yikes.

But because she is that amplifier, she comes to a church watch on St. Mark’s Eve, where psychics see the spirits of those to die within the following year. It’s important business, but to her it’s really just staring into the dark. Until she does actually see a spirit: That of Gansey. Of course this is not a coincidence. No, to add to this teen’s mount of problems, there are only two reasons why a non-seer would see someone’s spirit: They are their true love, or they killed them. Or, in Blue’s case, maybe both.

The aforementioned Gansey is Henrietta’s Golden Boy, the son of politicians (read: he’s fucking loaded). He does not run with the Republicans though, he runs with dead Welsh kings, meaning he has been searching for the probably dead, presumably sleeping Welsh king Glendower (*1350; †1416; yikes) for the past like seven years. Why the fuck would he do that? Well, legend says that he will grant a wish to whoever wakes him, and our favorite PTSD-ridden guy really wants that favor.

Aiding him are fellow Aglionby students Adam Parrish, Ronan Lynch and Noah Czerny, plus Henry Cheng, though only a lot later in the series, but I really did not want to leave out that menace (affectionately) here. The paths of Blue and the boys cross because of Gansey’s search for Glendower, plus the fact that Blue works at a popular pizza place, but that’s a lot less whimsical. And, well, there’s the implication that Gansey might also be her true love, but perhaps she just kills him because of his bad fashion sense, it would be justified. Anyway, in true Famous Five fashion (Ronan is the dog; I won’t elaborate, the girls that get it, get it) they are of course not the only ones searching for the king, so it’s not completely a wholesome friend bonding activity all the way through.

Be prepared for: friendship and growing up, lots of treasure hunting, family mysteries, magical forests, illegal and slightly distasteful activities (our favorite of course), but most of all, heavily queer-coded (or even canonically queer) characters. Be Gay, Do Crime.

#y'all better like this it took a while #trc #the raven cycle #gansey #blue sargent #ronan lynch #adam parrish #noah czerny #henry cheng #the raven king #the raven boys #blue lily lily blue #the dream thieves #let's hope i don't forget about this after the first part #please talk to me about your thoughts

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alonetimelover · 2 years

Text

Action! - tolerate it - 2020

Pairings: Harry Styles x Director!Reader

Summary: YN sees how much Harry is distancing himself from her and their relationship. She decides to confront him, not realising the cascade of events about to happen and the feelings she had buried within herself.

Warnings: angst! swearing, mention of unfaithfulness

Word count: ~3,0k

A/N: Another one based on a song, like the title says: tolerate it by Taylor Swift. Hope you enjoy it! x

requested by @abbeyroad069 I hope it meets your expectations 💗

part 2 - champagne problems

series masterlist let's talk about action!universe

20th of June was, like any day in California, warm and sultry.

Sun high above illuminating his face through the dimmed windows. Book that she recommended to him in his hands, flipping pages from time to time, annotating it. Scribbling in his notebook after having found a noteworthy quote. His hair falling into place like dominoes, the pink hair-slide having been forgotten from the gym the other day. Rolled up sleeves, showing his multiple tattoos and shorts, short enough to give her a peak of his Brazil one.

She was sitting opposite him watching. Observing his head hanging low, reading the book she loved so much. His chest was rhythmically lifting with each of the deep and calm breath. His left hand, folding down the pages he’d already read. The right one fiddling with the pencil.

She noticed everything he did and didn’t do.

She sat and watched him.

“I can feel your eyes on me, baby,” Harry spoke without sparing her a glance. “You’re staring.”

“I’m admiring.” Scrutinising.

Harry closed the book and turned to her, “are you?”

“Yeah.”

“Not now, at least. Also that plant hasn’t changed since the day we bought it,” he noted, noticing her eyes watching the flower.

He was wrong. Not for the first and probably last time. That plant was the fourth she brought to their shared house. The first one, that Harry was alluding to, was overwatered, because before it, YN hadn’t known much about plants and had thought they needed water like people, every day. But it was succulent. YN replaced it within two weeks.

The second plant, a completely different one - a fuchsia, didn’t last longer. This one being unfortunately knocked over by a dog of YN’s friend, and chewed on, leaving just two flowers. Nothing she could’ve done with them, she searched it up.

The third one lasted the longest - almost three months. She only needed to replace it, having learned she was allergic to ficus. After weeks of a runny nose, sneezing whenever in a living room and lacrimation, she went to a doctor, did allergic tests and wallowed over her proud achievement that a living plant was. However, she gave it to her best friend, knowing it would be in good hands.

Harry didn’t notice any change. It couldn’t have been easy for him though. Today was the first day in five months that he decided to actually spend time with YN. During those months he was meeting up with his new costars (of a movie YN was a director of), his management (discussing newest album), his bandmates (talking over new tour dates). All of that after having begged YN for moving in with him in LA, due to worldwide quarantine.

“You know it’s an orchid?” She asked after some time.

“Sure.”

“And the one we bought together was a crassula.”

“You threw away our Farquad?” He asked, exaggerating the hurt.

“Three months - no, wait - almost four months ago. I overwatered it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s not even the funniest part,” YN started to sound sarcastic. “I then bought a totally different plant that Doger knocked over and ate. Then another one that I - how it turned out - am allergic to. This one is the fourth plant here. I bought it two weeks ago. Isn’t it hilarious?”

“You’re being sarcastic. And I don’t even know what for, YN.” Harry reached for his book, attempting to restart the chapter.

YN was very much surprised by how quickly and drastically the person she loved could change. One talkative person who wanted to discuss the slightest and smallest problem with his partner was not here. One caring person, who was hurt whenever his loved one was, felt absent. One gentle man, who looked after his partner trying to be the best for her lost the title.

“You understand it’s not about plants?”

“It sounds like it is,” he said dismissively, staring at the book.

“But it isn’t. It’s about you, about us, Harry.” She emphasised the pronoun.

“YN,” he sighed, closing the book once again. “You’re starting this pointless argument for the third time this month.”

Fifth, she thought. It was the fifth time she tried to talk it over with Harry. Perhaps, she felt, she was misreading everything. Perhaps, the neglect she felt wasn't real. She must have been exaggerating the situation. Nothing changed. He loved her as much as yesterday or two years ago. It was pointless after all.

She was waiting by the door just like she was just a kid. Waiting, having laid the table with a ‘fancy shit’ as Harry called the tableware that he’d got from his mother. It was their anniversary. YN wanted to celebrate it simply, a cosy dinner with his favourite dish, Harry’s best wine and Phil Collins playing in the background. Nothing over the top. Just them, solemnising their third year together.

He was late. Two and half hours late.

Was she mad? She should have been, but was hopeful. Always putting so much faith in him.

“What are you doing still up, love?” He asked tiptoeing into the house, five hours later.

“Happy anniversary!”

She smiled from one ear to the other, holding up the cake she had baked by herself that morning. Even though, deep down she was sad and disappointed, celebrating this milestone was more important. They’d forget about this tardiness tomorrow, only remembering what was worth it.

“Oh! Indeed, happy anniversary, babe.” His eyes not knowing where to look. He forgot.

She hated being called babe.

“Did you have dinner?”

“Yeah, I’m full.” He patted his stomach, simultaneously taking off his black trainers. “We went to this new sushi restaurant I’d talked to you about. It was amazing! The chef was so nice, giving me a tip on how to chop the spring onions correctly.” Oh, how eager he was about it.

“Exciting. So you won’t be eating any tacos I made?” She asked hopefully.

“‘M sorry, YN. I’m so tired, I'm just gonna shower and head to bed. Tomorrow’s morning I’m meeting up with Olivia to talk over the few scenes we’ve got together,” Harry said, yawning and already going up the stairs.

Harry’s and Olivia’s characters didn’t have any scenes where they would talk with each other.

“It’s not an argument. I want to kindly and calmly talk with you. When was the last time we actually discussed our relationship?”

“Is there anything to discuss? We’re fine.”

“Harry,” YN sat up straight, giving Harry a pointer that he’d better listen. “You don’t only discuss your relationship when something’s wrong. And,” she paused, pondering about the next question, “you really think we’re fine?”

“Yes!” He lifted up his voice, becoming edgy. “Day after day you’re insinuating something. Just say it fucking straight, whatever that is on your heart, lay it on me.”

If she did as he had said, would it mean the end? The confrontation was the last thing she wanted. Especially when Harry already was wired. But at the same time, when would be a better moment?

“I don’t think we’re fine. We’re growing apart,” she admitted.

“It’s your opinion.”

“Yes, it is! Thank you for noticing, Harry,” YN expressed sarcastically. “Don’t you see how much you’ve distanced yourself from this -” She pointed between them. “This relationship?”

“Distanced? I’m working, YN. I’m trying to write an album. I’m working on three films. I’m managing a relationship with you.”

“Managing?” Her voice smaller, the weight of his words landing on her.

“Of course, it’s the only fucking thing you’ve heard. Of course.” He scoffed, shaking his head.

Harry stood up from the armchair, throwing his book on an oaken coffee table. His hands brushing over his hair and then beard, he’d grown over the quarantine.

“It’s not. You’re working, Harry. I understand that. I see you writing music and preparing for your roles. I’m here. Just like you wanted me to be. How you begged me to be.” She tried staying as calm as possible. “I am here and you’re not.”

“What do you want me to do, YN? Hmm? I can’t be at the two places at the same time. I can’t give you as much attention as you crave. I can’t.” He was throwing his hands up and down, talking with them as well.

“Is it craving attention by just wishing your partner was there for you?”

“You think I’m not?”

“Stop asking stupid questions, Harry!” She broke her calmness, all her feelings finally having space to leave her body. “You’re not here. Not at home, not in this relationship.”

“I just said, I can’t give you all the attention you crave, “ he repeated.

“Love?”

“What?”

“What about love? Can you give it to me?”

“Oh, now you’re sounding ridiculous. I’m done with this conversation, YN.”

He moved swiftly over the table and rushed towards the stairs.

“I love you, Harry. Can you say it?”

He can’t, she said in her mind, observing how his shoulders tensed, halting his movements. Then, her eyes started getting teary. But she wasn’t going to cry in front of him. No. She’d wait and just like over the last two weeks, she’d wait for him to go to sleep, then she’d sit down in the downstairs bathroom and sob. Sob for minutes or hours. Shaking with all the emotions trapped inside, hurting every inch of her body.

She knew her love should have been celebrated.

“If it’s all in my head just tell me now,” she whispered, knowing he could hear her. “Tell me I’ve got it wrong somehow. Tell me that for the last five months you haven’t lied about where you were going. Tell me that you really didn’t forget about our anniversary. Tell me that she’s not the one you’re going to every day. Tell me I’m wrong. I beg you,” she whimpered.

Pathetic, she thought.

He still hadn’t moved. Maybe he was preparing his apology, or a break up discourse, where YN’s thoughts.

“YN,” Harry sighed, still not looking in her direction.

“Tell me I’m wrong.” She pressed him.

“I - I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if I’m wrong or you don’t know what to say?”

“I didn’t cheat on you.” His voice was low, like it wasn’t really his.

Many would laugh but she had never thought about it. She trusted him too much to even consider it. From day one of their relationship to this day, she’d never believed any rumour, any post on social media, any article, any fan, any ‘friend’. She believed him, she believed his ‘I love you’s, his ‘I care about you’s, his ‘you’re the love of my life’, his ‘you’re the only one for me’. No doubt there.

What she thought and worried about was him falling out of love.

And there were more and more signs it had already happened.

“I know. It never crossed my mind.”

Harry’s mood was changing constantly for the last 20 minutes. From very relaxed, to riled up, then annoyed and eventually scared. His mind was full of enigmas he couldn’t solve. Mixed emotions and feelings, messing with him.

“Then what are you accusing me of?”

“Assuming I - we - are fine.”

“YN-”

“Harry. Be genuine. If not with me, then - then just with yourself.” The least she could do was make him realise it.

“I am. I - I am genuine. I -” he gulped. “I love you.”

It was like a dagger stabbing her in the heart. The sentence, echoing in her brain, quizzical voices talking over each other, ragging on her.

Where was that man who’d throw blankets over her barbed wire? She made him her temple, her mural, her sky. Temple, she went to ask for advice, direction, forgiveness and adoration. Mural, she appreciated all over and watched being appreciated by so many. Sky, she couldn’t imagine living without, looking up to it, thanking it for its presence.

“I love you.”

But this one was full of it, full of actual love. It could say everything just by the way she expressed it, all feelings inside it. No more to add, nothing to cut. Just three words. Three sincere words.

“Please,” he begged, knowing what was awaiting him. “Can we go to sleep? We’ll talk about it tomorrow, I promise.”

Letting it slide would mean not talking about it until the moment she’d grow some confidence. She couldn’t do it. As much as it hurt her, what was coming, she needed to be strong. She needed to hear it. No matter the heartbreak.

“You’ll break that promise. Promises about coming home on time, meeting me up for lunch, going with me to that new sushi restaurant, showing me your newest idea for a song. Promises you break, one after the other since February.” She stood up, walking up to him. “Promises about missing me-”

“Stop.”

“Promises about caring about me.”

“I said stop, YN.” His voice slowly gaining power.

“Promises about loving me-”

“I said stop!” He shouted, making her flinch. “Stop it, YN! The way you feel doesn’t give you a reason to put it on me, making me feel like a monster, like the one responsible for everything.”

“But you promised all those things, not meeting them at the end.”

“So what?”

She begged her brain to play with her. He didn't just say it.

“Harry, you lied so many times that I don’t know what’s true anymore. Last month, you talked about meeting Jeff for coffee and the next day there were photos of you with Olivia all over the internet. Few days ago you mentioned the trip with Chris and Gemma, but the same day the trip is going to be, are the days Gemma is spending at her parent’s farm and Chris is visiting our house. Today you said you loved me and - and -,” she couldn’t say it.

This conversation felt like running up to the finish line of the run, you didn’t want to participate in. One that wouldn’t bring you fulfilment. One that would leave you sore all over, but mostly hurting your poor heart. One that the winner - you - would be an actual loser.

He stood silently, looking down at his white socks. He couldn’t bring himself to look in her eyes. She made him aware of his feelings. Or the lack of them. This whole conversation not only angered or annoyed him but mostly made him think. Why did he lie so many times? Why couldn’t he stop? What was he thinking then and now? When did it all start? When did he lose it? Where was he, not realising he was hurting one person he promised not to lay a finger on? Why wasn't there any guilt? If so, why couldn’t he look into her eyes?

“When was the last time you asked anything about my life? Do you remember what show I’m working on? Do you remember the date we scheduled to fly to London? Do you remember anything?” She started listing everything that was bothering her.

“I told you about that new show,” she started answering for him. “Stranger Things. I wrote that one character, a guy who loves music, is an outcast. Character that is so close to my heart. One, I’m proudest of. Do you remember talking about it? Or rather me telling you about it?”

Silence.

“What about that one conversation about going upstate to my cabin? We’re supposed to leave in three days. Or are you meeting up with Olivia to discuss scenes that you do not have together?”

Perhaps she was jealous. And perhaps, deep down, she thought about the possibility. The infidelity. She was so stunned with the love he made her used to be, trust he provided, that the concept of him being unfaithful was buried within other problems.

“I’ll pack some stuff and leave for a few days.” It was all he said, before moving upstairs, leaving her flabbergasted.

Like in a trance, all feelings leaving her body, she walked to the couch and sat down. Thoughts were swirling in her mind, making her numb. She looked across the room, finding the photo of her and Harry from their first visit at Anne’s, laughing maniacally because Gemma had said something funny. It was the first time she met his family properly (in real life, not on FaceTime), seven months into the relationship. It was crazy how now she considered them her family too. Even more than her own.

Was it all going to collapse now?

“Now, lovebirds, big smiles for the family album!” Anne shouted over Christmas music playing loudly.

The warmth coming from the fireplace behind her, and the one provided by Harry, made her cheeks feel hot. Matching sweater she had bought for her and Harry, tickling her neck, big woollen socks she got from Gemma tucking her. They were right after the big dinner, carols singing and gifts exchanging. It all felt like Christmas portrayed in movies.

“It’s an honour, you know,” Harry whispered.

“What d’you mean?” She looked up at him.

“Mum has a big album with only a few photos from each year ending up there. I think it’s the last vacant space for 2018, love.” Harry squeezed her closer to himself, cuddling her. “Now say cheese or gimme a kiss.”

“I’m not kissing you in front of your mum!” she protested with a teasing smile.

“Don’t be a prude,” he joked. “One, little kiss?”

“Nope.” She popped the ‘p’.

“Don’t make me beg.” Harry pouted, stepping on the dangerous territory. His pointing finger holding her chin, making her look at him once again.

He smirked, “you look even more beautiful today, my love.” Smirk turning into his winning smile.

“You are unbelievable,” she shook her head, slightly puckering her lips.

“Okay, that’s enough flirting!” Gemma yelled. “Mum snap a photo before you become grandma.”

They laughed in embarrassment but underneath feeling peaceful.

With a Gucci suitcase in hand, Harry appeared in a corner of her eye, almost swimming to the front door.

“I’ll be back in a few days. I - I need to think about it all. I lo - I’ll see you then, YNN.”

Just that.

The door closed, soon being followed by the sound of the engine starting and slowly withering.

She knew her love should’ve been celebrated. But he tolerated it.

And she did nothing.

She sat and watched him.

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