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itsclydebitches · 11 months

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Zevlor: An Angsty Character Analysis

Hey, Zevlor simps. Can I interest anyone in 4,000 words about our favorite disaster tiefling? 💀

“We can’t stay, but we’ll be slaughtered if we leave—we’re no fighters.”

Back during my first play-through this is the line that turned Zevlor from another dime-a-dozen, exposition spouting NPC to a character I was legitimately interested in. “We’re no fighters.” My DnD ignorance abounds, but even I could see that wasn’t an accurate statement. Here’s a mountain of a man sporting fancier armor than my level 2 Tav knows exists yet, having wrecked half the goblin hoard with his crossbow and, if you let him, he'll happily turn to punching as a solution to verbal disagreements. Plus, he’s clearly the one giving the orders, so what do you mean you’re not a fighter?

Having explored the Grove a bit I chalked it up to a generalized assessment of the refugees as a whole. They’re mostly kids, civilians, and would-be protectors who only look the part of fighters in cobbled-together armor. One woman is grappling with the guilt of killing someone for the first time, even an enemy. Lakrissa is sure they’re all going to get slaughtered and is willing to put money on that fact. Meanwhile, the couple you meet are more concerned with what pet they’ll get when they somehow, someway, make it to the city. Don't worry about how that'll happen. You learn later that even those like Ronan are small potatoes compared to most of the baddies you’ll face. On paper he looks and sounds like the real deal—dressed in robes, talking up an apprenticeship with the famous Lorroakan—but scenes like the celebration light show and his own fury at needing to be saved, again, highlight how far he still has to go. The point is that Zevlor is right: these aren’t fighters and he at 18 strength, paladin, former commander, is definitely the exception.

However, BG3 is the sort of detail-heavy game where I’d expect them to include that exception in the dialogue. “We can’t stay, but we’ll be slaughtered if we leave—these people aren’t fighters.” Zevlor’s inclusion of himself in this assessment continued to nag at me and it didn’t start to make sense until I delved into his tag here on tumblr, with more patient players than myself posting everything there is to know about the tiefling. (Thanks, all.) Zevlor is fascinating to me in part because he has this contradictory nature, one example of which is that he’s a very talented fighter who desperately doesn’t want to be a fighter anymore.

…but also he totally does.

We overhear in his dialogue to Tilses that Zevlor is adamant about shedding the titles he’s earned through combat: Hellrider, Commander, Sir. He insists that they’re just civilians now and it’s not like he’s being disingenuous here—note that he introduces himself as just “Zevlor” to Tav. Zevlor means what he says to Tilses and we can see that he’s trying to both reinforce his point and lesson the blow by referring to her as “Tilly.” The nickname is a sweet one, hinting at their close bond in just a single word, reminding her that he’s not saying this to hurt her, he cares for her… but the nickname is simultaneously something he never would have used as her commander. The intimacy meant to comfort is also a hard blow to weather. They're now people who use nicknames inappropriate for the hierarchy of battle.

So Zevlor means what he says here, means it enough that Tilses is convinced and drops her use of “Commander,” but there’s definitely a hint of bitterness in his voice. At least, I’ve always heard it. Zevlor is steadfast in his conviction here, even going so far as to say, “I’m done soldiering, Tilly” when discussing what will come next at Baldur’s Gate. Yet for all of that his tone conveys (understandable) anger and disappointment that it’s come to this. Zevlor doesn’t act like someone who truly wants this change, but rather someone who’s been forced to accept it.

Is it outside forces unwillingly influencing him then? Did Avernus truly change things irrevocably? No, not really. At least, not in the way Zevlor likes to claim. Tilses herself states that being a Hellrider is for life; nothing can take away that title. You lost your post? Your whole city? Most of the people under your protection? Doesn’t matter! You’re a Hellrider forever, no matter the circumstances. I can easily picture a time in Zevlor's life where he would have agreed with Tilses wholeheartedly. They are Hellriders, dammit, and so long as there’s one person looking for their help they will wield that title alongside their blades. And right now, Zevlor has a lot more than just one person in need of his assistance.

So it’s not that Avernus truly stripped them of that identity. Nothing can do that. Zevlor is not rejecting titles and planning retirement because the mechanisms of fate are forcing him to.

He’s doing all that because he’s lost confidence in himself.

Even as someone with a shaky understanding of DnD classes, I love the parallel between a broken oath and the rejection of a lifelong title. If Zevlor can fail in his oath—or in his faith entirely, according to the memories stemming from his pod—why-ever would he think that any other ‘permanent’ part of his identity was worth fighting for? If you can loose the very thing you’ve built your entire life around, every important aspect of yourself, tied to your very soul… what’s a bestowed title compared to that? Zevlor doesn’t believe himself worthy of being a Hellrider anymore, but I think that goes deeper than a string of horrific circumstances making him feel incompetent. As an Oathbreaker, Zevlor likely believes that if he couldn’t uphold that, he can’t uphold anything. Calling himself a Hellrider would be a lie. A fiction. A pathetic, dangerous, insulting fiction at that. It’s like calling yourself the “Hero” while continually failing those around you. Sure, others might insist it’s a title you’ve earned, one you will always carry with you, but you don’t believe them anymore and at a certain point calling yourself that feels worse than embracing the title of “Villain." You don’t want to be the villain… but you want to pretend you’re the hero even less. Pretending is exhausting.

We see this struggle in the many ways that Zevlor fails, or almost fails, to uphold the ideals that originally guided him. I use the term “villain” above deliberately because Zevlor is not merely a former hero-type who’s self confidence has been shattered, or who has been reduced to a civilian, or who thinks themselves useless; he’s actively fighting against temptations that, under less stressful situations, he’d never even consider. I don’t think he is a villain, I think he’s a flawed, struggling victim who sees his own, inevitable mistakes as villainous—and the longer that warped perspective continues the easier it is to fall into bad behaviors. This cycle is perfectly summarized in the autobiography Zevlor keeps by his bed:

“When every passer-by thinks you a thief and a heretic, it is deeply tempting to become one.”

We don’t know if this is Zevlor’s autobiography (as far as I’m aware, anyway) but even if it’s not the words have clearly resonated enough for him to keep them nearby. This particular line paints a pretty clear picture of Zevlor’s struggle. If everyone you meet says you’re devil-kin, vermin, or would-be criminal, isn’t it easier to just give them what they want? If you can’t persuade them otherwise, why put in the effort of trying? If he can’t be Faithful to his God, why have faith in anything at all? If he can’t save these people—setback after setback, mistake after mistake—why is he even making the effort?

Zevlor obviously is trying, very, very hard, which is why such thoughts are merely temptations rather than actual, questionable actions. Still, the Grove gives us numerous examples of the precipice he’s balanced on—and the ways Tav can tip him in one direction or another. You can talk Zevlor down from his anger and get him to acknowledge his disgust in nearly sinking to Aradin’s level. You can also let him boil over and punch the human at a time when the last thing anyone needs is more violence. You can convince Zevlor that there are peaceful ways of stopping Kagha's ritual, or you can help him in pursuing the darker temptation to kill her. It’s a “low” thought, but at his own admission he hasn’t been above entertaining it. Zevlor’s requests for help, though always polite and humble, carry a spark of manipulation in them too. He’s not above leveraging your previously selfless good deed to his advantage—"She owes you for saving this grove"—and if you approach him before speaking with Kagha he’ll claim that the ritual will “be trouble—for all of us.” Except, no? Not really? Tav can make it clear that they’re just here for a healer, they’re only passing through, and as a fighter they are not beholden to the Grove’s sanctuary as the teiflings are. It’s not trouble for everyone involved, yet Zevlor frames it as such in the hopes that (unnecessary) self-interest may motivate you if selflessness fails. Finally, if Zevlor dies in your play-through and you use Speak the Dead on him, he will admit to having “plenty” of secrets, none of which he’ll share. Admittedly, this may be the result of cut content, specifically a story-line in which Zevlor knowingly betrays the tieflings rather than being tricked by the Absolute. Still, the game as it stands is the story we have and within it we’re given a man who is both fighting against these dark urges (ha) and has a past riddled with secrets. If Zevlor is anything, it’s blunt when it comes to his own failings, accurate and otherwise. So how terrible must these secrets be that he outright refuses to divulge them when, generally speaking, most corpses speak freely in death?

However, out of all of this the struggle I’m most intrigued by is the one surrounding the gate. Zevlor represents the tieflings: persecuted refugees, vulnerable civilians, people seeking to survive through cooperation, specifically by joining a community. Kagha represents the druids (or at least a vocal subset of them in Halsin’s absence): bigoted individuals, powerful fighters, people seeking to survive by giving in to their fears, specifically by keeping themselves isolated. This is the moral dichotomy of the Grove and it is symbolized through the gate. Zevlor wants to open it to everyone whereas Kagha wants to close it, permanently.

So isn’t it odd that Zevlor is the one ordering it shut?

When the scene first starts Kanon shouts down that no, he won’t open the gate. Zevlor said that no one is allowed in. Notably, he’s saying this to Aradin and his crew, people that the Grove is at least passingly familiar with, given that Halsin left with them to search the temple. It’s also notable that Zevlor isn’t expecting goblins to attack the Grove. He’s shocked that this is suddenly a problem, brought about by Aradin’s decision—“You lead them here?”— and the entire point of staying at the Grove is that it’s at least comparatively safe. Yes, there have been more attacks lately, but Zevlor seems to be relying on the Grove’s relatively unknown location, as well as the fact that goblins are normally disorganized. The safety is only compromised because Aradin brought a hunting party back, so Zevlor has no reason to expect any visitors, let alone ones that would be a threat.

More importantly, he should welcome such visitors even if he did expect them. After all, that’s precisely what the tieflings are: strangers with no ulterior motives other than to survive. Broadly speaking it makes perfect sense why he'd shut the gates. Zevlor’s first priority is to his people, so anything that keeps them safe is, theoretically, a good thing. But through the lens of his specific characterization and this specific, moral dilemma, it’s an awfully hypocritical decision. Based on everything we’ve seen, our party would not have been welcomed by Zevlor if we’d arrived without danger on our heels and a rescue to endear him to us. So his people should be welcomed, trusted, kept safe, given the benefit of the doubt… but Zevlor isn’t necessarily willing to extend that same trust to others. At the end of the day, he and Kagha want a version of the same thing: safety for those they deem are worthy of it.

It’s precisely these flaws and temptations that make Zevlor such a great character to me, even before he’s tricked by the Absolute. The fandom has leaned hard into Zevlor’s self-loathing and let me tell you, I love it (kisses, hugs, and cookies for you all), but canonically I think he has more reason to fear himself than we tend to portray in the H/C fics. I’m not saying he’s a bad person. Rather, it’s precisely because Zevlor is such a good person that he has the capacity to fall so far. It’s his all-consuming desire to protect his family that leads Zevlor to do and consider so much that a paladin would normally balk at. Denying others the safety you’ve been granted. Subtly manipulating others to do your dirty work. Considering murder.

Zevlor is someone torn between doing the Right Thing and the thing he believes will help those under his care survive. Importantly, when we first meet him he considers these to be two separate courses of action. So can you imagine what goes through his head when he first sees Tav saving everyone and doing so righteously? I think it’s integral to Zevlor’s characterization that the game all but forces you to play the Good Guy in that initial encounter. A cut scene starts, you’re thrown into combat immediately afterwards, and unless you plan to start attacking the Grove members alongside the goblins (which the mechanics discourage through the coloring that distinguishes enemies from allies) you will always finish this fight as Zevlor’s hero. Sure, you can be an asshole afterwards and demand payment. You could already be plotting your betrayal and the slaughter of all the refugees. But in this moment you are nothing but a miracle made flesh in his eyes. Right from the start Tav is succeeding in all the ways Zevlor feels like he's failed. You're the hero.

More specifically, you’re an Every-Man Hero. We might have epic backstories for our Tavs, but within confines of the game you’re largely a nobody when not playing an Origin character. How powerful must that have been to witness then? A total stranger, someone who has no ties to the tieflings or even, depending on your class, any sworn reason to help others, putting their life on the line to save what is most precious to Zevlor? I think a lot about the fact that he never asks Wyll to step in and try to change Kagha’s mind. She owes him just as much as she does Tav—Wyll is an equal participant in that fight and, if your shoddy play style is anything like mine, he likely did more damage—and Wyll is clearly invested in the tiefling’s survival, training the kids as he is. Now, obviously Zevlor’s reticence is largely a question of assigned roles (we need to be the one engaging with Kagha because we’re the protagonist/player) but, like Zevlor’s choice to include himself in the Not a Fighter group, it would have been all too easy to explain this away within the narrative. One comment about how Wyll already tried and failed, or how Kagha doesn’t trust Warlocks, or hell, maybe you don’t meet Wyll in the Grove at all. It’s an easy thing to accomplish and though this is edging more into the realm of headcanon than anything else, I can’t help but think that Wyll isn’t the kind of person that Zevlor could turn to for help right now. Because he’s a folk hero. The Blade of Frontiers, known far and wide for his impressive, selfless deeds. Zevlor is struggling so hard to keep the tieflings safe, tempted by all the unsavory solutions that might achieve that, drowning in self-hatred as his past and current failings catch up with him, wanting nothing more than to be his peoples’ protector:

“I would be a paladin again—with a god’s purpose, a god’s power. Everything I needed to protect my people. And all the while, the cult tortured them. They fought, and ran, and died around me, while I imagined myself their savior.”

Three of the things Zevlor mutters while trapped in the pod are “Hellrider… for… life…,” “Trust… in me…,” and “Children… look away… look at me…” He wants to be the protector, the one children look to for reassurance, he wants his words to Tilly to be a lie and he wants a way to prove that he is a Hellrider for life… but he’s not. At least, Zevlor doesn’t believe it. He lost his titles while Wyll still proudly bears his. Wyll trains the children to fight while Zevlor can only get swept up in anger at them being threatened. The people trust Wyll, adore him, he’s the hero and Zevlor… is not. Not anymore.

It’s too painful to approach Wyll and admit all that. That would be a hell of a blow to Zevlor's pride. But Tav? A stranger? A nobody? The Every-man who had no reason to help or reputation pressuring them, saving them anyway? That’s inspiring. Someone like Tav could be the answer and even, perhaps, the proof that Zevlor could redeem himself. Neither of them are folk heroes, untouchable in their assumed perfection. Tav is a living, breathing example of how the flawed, everyday adventurer can be everything Zevlor strives for.

No wonder he won’t shut up about them in the Shadowlands.

All of this is why it’s so tragic that Zevlor wasn’t given a redemption arc. Sure, you can recruit him for the final battle against the Netherbrain, but there’s no quest to change the cast’s opinion of him—or change Zevlor’s opinion of himself. All his content at the end of Act 2 and Act 3 reinforces that self-hatred.

Let’s make a list, shall we?

Nearly every line of his reunion with Tav has Zevlor painting himself in the worst light possible, from “a lie kinder than the truth” to his refusal to join you because he believes he’ll stab you in the back. You cannot convince him of the Absolute’s manipulation and there’s no response to his belief that such horrors start within the person like, “Of course it does! Because we’re all flawed and equally capable of good and evil deeds! That potential doesn’t make you irredeemable, Zevlor, it makes you mortal!!”

He’s utterly failed as his peoples’ champion and he’s also deemed “unworthy” of being a True Soul. Obviously not being chosen by the Absolute is a good thing, but for a man drowning in self-loathing that’s one hell of a complicated rejection.

Nearly all the tieflings hate him now, all those people he’s been sacrificing his soul to keep safe. I found it particularly devastating that this is one of the rare occasions where nailing a persuasion check doesn’t change the person’s mind. There’s at least one tiefling at Moonrise (I’m drawing a blank on her name) who will believe you when you explain how the Absolute influenced Zevlor, but that doesn’t lead to forgiveness.

Zevlor is deemed unimportant on a literal, narrative level. He is very easy to miss in the pods (I nearly did on my first play-through) and the game does incredibly little to dissuade you from that mistake. Putting aside for a moment that obviously an Origin companion is more significant than a minor NPC, compare this to Shadowheart screaming from her own pod, the game making it abundantly clear that this is someone in need of help—someone worth rescuing. She’ll even say later that you could have run past, more concerned with your own survival and the big picture heroics to bother with her. How must it feel then, if Zevlor ever learns that Tav was there and never stopped for him?

If you do miss Zevlor… oh boy. We’ve probably all seen at least a recording of Orin’s so-called gift. There are plenty of characters who can meet untimely and devastating ends, but very few go through this level of horror. Zevlor—after being held captive, remember—is tortured by God’s Favorite Torturer. He is stripped of his personhood and reduced to a mere “message,” a “pet.” Zevlor is further humiliated in death by being literally stripped of his armor—not just vulnerable in his nakedness, but denied the last symbol of his faith, his status, his power—and it’s always struck me that this is the closest we see to him 'enjoying' an intimate moment, this parody in Orin’s painting. Zevlor is one of the NPC’s most in need of physical comfort and instead he’s forced into this torturous mockery of a sex scene. It also hits hard that when Tav first spots his body the narration says that Zevlor “might almost be sleeping.” Undoubtedly this is a man who isn’t taking good care of himself. He needs a good night’s rest, yet this horrifying trick is all he gets.

As if all this weren’t enough, most of your companion are VERY critical of Zevlor while commenting on his demise. It’s one thing for the tieflings to believe the worst given their ignorance and the fact that they are the ones who suffered from Zevlor’s failure, but your company understands the Absolute and the ways that she gets her hooks in people. Still, Astarion calls him a “wet rag” even if he did deserve better than this. Shadowheart wouldn’t have wished this on him either, but she can’t help but slip in a “no matter his failings.” Lae’zel, often the most blunt, straight up says that he was “always destined to fail his people—and to fail us.” Wyll shakes his head and intones that “even good intentions can lead us down deadly paths.” Only Gale and Karlach stick to mourning the dead rather than airing his shortcomings.

When I spoke to my allies before the final battle Zevlor didn’t have a cut scene. It became clear to me later that this must have been a bug in my play-through, but at the time it only reinforced my feelings that his story was incomplete. Looking on Youtube I’ve found recordings of him saying that he is a Hellrider once more and he would “die a proud man if [he] were to die this day”… but that rings as terribly hollow given where we left him. Last we were together, Zevlor was saying in no uncertain terms that he could not be trusted, he would fail again, he was unworthy of forgiveness. Where did this change of heart come from? It makes perfect sense that he would help Tav in this moment—he begs to be of some use after getting free—but not that he would present himself with such confidence. Within the story as it’s been told this feels… fake. Like Zevlor is putting on a mask to fit the mood of this lively, optimistic party. Which, in turn, gives the “I would die a proud man” line a terrifying implication to me. Does Zevlor expect to die this day? Does he intend to? What would persuade him not to lay down his life here and now? His mission is complete. The tieflings are safe—though not by his hand. There's no hero's welcome waiting for him after this battle. They hate him. He hates himself, and by his own admission the one thing that could still make him proud would be to die at Tav’s side, trying to do one last bit of good. If someone said that to me after everything Zevlor has been through I would keep them far away from the front lines.

(I did, for the record lol.)

I’m not saying anything new then when I go, “Larian, PLEASE add more to his story.” Give us a Zevlor side-quest to renew his oath. Let us invite him to our camp. Something to link the broken man mid-game and the confident fighter at the end so that the latter doesn’t feel like an alarm bell with two legs and a tail. I mean yeah, I get hooked on minor characters so 75% of this is simply me wanting more content of a fave, but I also I do legitimately believe that BG3’s story would benefit from tying up loose ends like this.

Zevlor is a fantastic character, someone who contains an astounding amount of complexity for so little screen time. You have to follow up on that complexity though. If he’s meant to be a purely tragic figure, okay, fine, that’s the ending you get with Orin. But one where he joins you with a smile and reclaims a title he's previously rejected with such fervor requires more work in the middle; a through-line that explains how someone with so much self-loathing learns to think of himself as the hero again.

Because it does all come down to Zevlor’s perception of himself. He was always a hero, flaws and all. He always was and always will be a Hellrider.

The UI knows what's up :)

#BG3 #Zevlor #bg3 Zevlor #wow this took forever #someone cry over this wet cat of a tiefling with me #mymetas

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steddieas-shegoes · 3 months

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you're my best friend

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'best friends'

rated t | 531 words | cw: arguing between friends | tags: mild angst with a happy ending, side steddie, gareth and eddie are bffs 4 lyf

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

"Okay, but you're best friends. This is just a stupid argument that'll blow over," Steve said as he rubbed Eddie's back in bed. "He's just mad and you're just stubborn."

"But he's never yelled at me like that," Eddie whined.

"You've never yelled at him like that either, baby," Steve kissed the top of his head. "Just talk to him in the morning."

Easier said than done.

He barely slept, running the argument through his head.

It started out silly, pushing each other around and joking about Gareth striking out with another girl. But something shifted quickly, and suddenly Gareth was holding him against the wall and calling him an asshole and meaning it.

He'd never meant it before.

He'd never walked away from Eddie, red-faced and fists clenched, telling Jeff to keep him away from him.

He'd never gone to bed without saying goodnight.

When Steve finally woke up the next morning, Eddie sat up and took a deep breath.

"I think I have to say I'm sorry," he said.

Steve's brows raised and he barely held back a smile. "I think you do."

Eddie stood up, still shirtless and wearing only his boxers. "I'm going, I'm going."

He walked out of the hotel room and walked down the hall to room 804. Gareth had his own room tonight, a rarity, but something they could afford when it was cheaper hotels.

He knocked.

No answer.

"He's still mad at you," Jeff said from the doorway of 806.

"I'm gonna fix it," Eddie said, knocking again.

Gareth swung the door open, still in his clothes from the night before, hair greasy, and bags under his eyes. He clearly hadn't slept either.

"Gare, I'm sorry."

"Do you even know why you're sorry?"

"I pushed you too far."

Jeff was still standing in the doorway watching, and Eddie could hear Frankie whispering to him as he joined him.

"You don't have to rub it in that you've got a boyfriend and I can't even get a girl to come back to my room," Gareth crossed his arms over his chest. "It sucks being alone every night."

Eddie pulled him into a hug, hating the way his voice broke at the end of his sentence, wishing he could change it. Gareth was a catch, and any person who didn't see that was an idiot.

"You're my best friend, you know that?" Eddie whispered. "I didn't mean anything by it. You'll find someone who deserves your time, okay?"

"Yeah, maybe."

"You will. I'll help."

Gareth groaned. "Please don't."

"Maybe you should try to find a guy," Eddie suggested.

"I'm not opposed. Just less options, not as safe. You know that," Gareth pulled away and smiled.

Steve was standing by Jeff and Frankie, smiling at them. "We can find a safer place for you to try if you really want. It's not a bad idea."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Next stop's Boston. Plenty of places we can find there."

Eddie and Gareth both took a nap, and when they woke up, they were on their way to a new city, and a new chance for Gareth to find someone to warm his bed while they were on tour.

#corrodedcoffinfest #corroded coffin #eddie munson #gareth stranger things #steve harrington #steddie

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justlemmeadoreyou · 7 months

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secret little rendevous-3*

Summary: The meeting with HR goes well (surprisingly). But, there's something else that'll break your heart soon, and Harry will be the one to crush it into pieces.

Words: 3k

Words: ANGST! ANGST! ANGST! There's a bit of smut too, but there's lot of fighting, swearing and degradation. and daddy kink.

(previous part here) | (series masterlist) | (main masterlist)

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

Harry hadn’t always been so cold-hearted. He believed in true love and had always dreamed of finding his soulmate. But that all changed after one fateful night.

It was a regular Friday night and Harry was out with his friends at a local bar. He spotted a beautiful girl across the room and couldn't take his eyes off her. She was there with her friends, her short skirt riding up her legs everytime she moved on the dance floor.

Harry stared at her for long enough that one of her girlfriends approached him, saying it was a bachelorette party, and the girl he was eyeing was the bride.

Oh.

That should have stopped him from taking it any further, should’ve made him take his eyes off her, but he just couldn’t. He was mesmerized with the way she looked, the glow on her face, and with the tiara she had worn on her head, she looked like a goddess to him.

He mustered up the courage to approach her, when none of the other girls were nearby.

As the night went on, they grew closer and closer. They danced, they kissed, and before they knew it, they were back at Harry's place. They spent the whole night together, lost in each other's arms. It was magical.

At least for him.

It was a long night, full of kisses and making out and sex. The thought of her being engaged, and never being his was pushed into the back of his mind, and locked into a cage that he never intended to open.

So, the next morning, when she got up frantically, looking for her clothes through the house and stuffing them in a carry bag, pulling her dress on, Harry frowned.

“You’re-you’re leaving?” he asked, and she raised her eyebrows, suggesting how already obvious it was.

“Yeah, duh. What-do you expect me to stay?”

She brushed him off, and he picked his t-shirt from the floor, putting it on and sliding towards the edge of the bed, where she was getting dressed.

“Well-I-I-” she put her finger over his lips, shutting him up, “Shh, you know I’m engaged, right?”

“Well-”

“I know that you know I’m engaged. Marie told me as soon as she told you to back off. But I knew you would come for me, because well-” she finished dressing up, picking up the rest of her stuff, ready for the walk of shame.

“I could drive you home-”

“No, thanks”

Clearly, she didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. Last night was all she wanted, and it seemed like she regretted quite a lot.

“Okay, well-”

“Let me leave, Harry” she blurted out, and he closed his mouth, watching her go away.

Harry couldn't believe it. He had just spent the most amazing night with this girl, Natalia, and now she was leaving him. He watched as she walked away, her hair swaying with each step, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of longing for her. He wanted to reach out and pull her back to him, to tell her to stay, but he knew he couldn't force her to do anything. So he just sat there, watching her disappear into the busy city streets.

For the next few days, Harry couldn't focus on anything else. He couldn't stop thinking about Natalia, replaying every moment they had shared together. He remembered the way her lips felt against his, the way her body fit perfectly into his, and the way she moaned his name in pleasure, as he made her cum multiple times. He couldn't shake off the feeling that she was the one for him, and he couldn't let her go without a fight.

So he did what any hopeless romantic would do, he tracked her down. He found out where she worked, and he waited for her outside her office. When she finally emerged, he approached her, determined to win her over.

“Hey,” he said, a nervous smile on his face. “I know this might seem crazy, but I can't stop thinking about you. I had the most amazing time with you the other night, and I just wanted to see you again.”

Natalia looked surprised to see him, but her face softened as she looked into his eyes. “Harry, I had a great time too, alright? But I don't think it's a good idea for us to see each other again.”

Harry's heart sank at her words, but he wasn't ready to give up just yet. “Can I at least take you out for dinner? Just one more time?”

Natalia hesitated, but eventually gave in. “Okay, just one dinner. But that's it. I’m done then”

Harry grinned, feeling a sense of hope rising in his chest. He took her to a fancy restaurant, where they shared a delicious meal and talked for hours. As the night went on, they both felt a strong connection between them, and before they knew it, they were back at Harry's apartment, tangled in each other's arms once again.

But as the sun rose the next morning, reality came crashing down, once again. Natalia had a husband, and she couldn't keep seeing Harry behind his back. She tearfully explained that she had been going through a rough patch with her husband and had been seeking comfort in the arms of another man. She knew it was wrong, and she couldn't continue to hurt her husband like this.

Harry was devastated. He always knew she was engaged, and had gotten married. But he couldn't deny his feelings for her. So he made a promise to himself that he would wait for her, that he would be there for her when she was ready to leave her husband.

Months went by, and Harry couldn't forget about Natalia. He tried to move on, to date other women, but no one compared to her. He couldn't bring himself to fall in love with anyone else, because deep down, he still hoped that Natalia would come back to him.

One day, he received a call from her. She was crying and begging him to meet her. He rushed to her side, only to find her in a state of panic. Her husband had found out about her affair, and he was furious. He had threatened to break off their engagement if Natalia didn't end things with Harry.

Natalia was torn. She loved Harry, but she couldn't lose her fiancé and the life they had built together. She tearfully told Harry that she had to go back to her husband, but promised to never forget him.

Harry was heartbroken, but he understood. He knew that Natalia had to make a difficult choice, and he couldn't force her to choose him. So he let her go, but he never stopped waiting for her.

Years went by, and Harry never fell in love again. He lived his life, but a part of him always belonged to Natalia. He never forgot about her, and he never stopped hoping that one day, she would come back to him.

. . .

At first, the prospect of being called daddy in bed was not appealing in the slightest for Harry. The thought made him uncomfortable, and the kink was never fully understood. He always knew the girls who would call him daddy had daddy issues, and it wasn’t one to feed onto it.

But since the day you had called him daddy, even if it was just because you had been in subspace, he couldn’t shake the way his mind was filled up with it. Your trembling voice, tear-stained cheeks as you asked him to take care of you, vulnerable and exposed, it awakened something in him he didn’t know existed.

He now wanted you to call him daddy again, but only when he was balls deep inside you, fucking you so good, you can’t even think straight, and the word should flow out of your mind mindlessly.

So, here you were, spread out in front of him, his cock buried deep in your soaked cunt. Your nails were scratching down his back, his cock hitting places that had your mind turning into mush.

The HR meeting had gone well. Olivia was dismissed, because she had no proof of whatever she was accusing you of. And since you were in different departments, they had no issue with it, as long as it didn’t affect your performances at work.

Well, it didn’t.

You didn’t tell Harry the whole story, because you knew Olivia would. After the meeting, you had tried to call him too, but his line was busy.

Of course.

Olivia would’ve called him before you.

So, you left a text, calling him to your house tonight to hook up.

He replied about 10 minutes later, saying that he was working overtime tonight and then he had a doctor’s appointment, so he couldn’t do it tonight. That seemed genuine, because month end was approaching, and the workload was heavy. You replied in affirmative, and waited for the next day, when you could see him.

And now, here you were.

It wasn’t planned for–no. You had called him that once before, and it slipped from your mouth without a second thought.

“Fuck, daddy please.”

Harry’s mind went back immediately, his hips halting and he looked into your eyes immediately, bringing his mouth back up from where it was buried in your neck, biting and creating marks.

“Say it again.” He breathed out, his belly tightening in anticipation as his dark green irises stared down at you.

You blinked in response, not realizing that you’d just said the word in bed, even though you both didn’t like it.

“Har–Harry, I swear–I didn’t mean to-.”

“Say. It. Again.” Harry demanded, his hand snaking its way to your throat, lightly applying pressure to the base of your neck. “I won’t ask again. Say it.”

“Daddy.” You moaned, the grip on your neck dizzying. Harry felt more precum ooze out of his cock, and into your tight cunt, his cock twitching as the name fell from your pretty, swollen lips.

“Fuck, that’sit.” Harry groaned, pulling out his cock completely, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. You whined, and he shushed you, before ramming it back into you with such force it sucked the air from your lungs. “Say it one more time, baby girl.”

“D-daddy, please.” You repeated, growing more confident with using the term. You threw your head back into the pillow behind you, biting your bottom lip as his started fucking you once again.

“You want to cum?” he asked, teasing you. He knew you were close, the tight grip your pussy had on his cock, and the way you were clenching and squeezing him, gave it away.

“Yes, please” you nodded, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes, it felt so fucking good.

“Daddy, I need to cum,” you moaned, your voice becoming more desperate with each passing second. You could feel the pressure building in your core, ready to explode at any moment.

“Say please” he urged, beginning to rub your swollen clit.

“Oh-fuck!Daddy-daddy please?”

“Good girl. Cum for me. Soak me, baby”

And that you did. Gushed around his cock, wetting his cock and balls as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. He came too, pulling out and emptying his load on your stomach.

“God-fuck! Shit-” he cursed as he came, and you couldn’t help but watch in awe as his head threw back, pink lips parting as he gave you all he got.

He laid down beside you, catching his breath.

“You’re so good for me” he mumbled afterwards, wiping the sweat off your forehead and kissing your cheek softly.

He went to the bathroom, to clean himself up, and bring you some toilet paper to wash his cum off.

And it was maybe by some cruel twist of fate that you decided to open Olivia's message from last night, exactly at that moment.

And it's everything you were scared of happening.

It says "Guess who he chose" with a picture of Harry's back attached below. He is lying naked on her bed, and probably asleep.

And you know it's Harry, because you would recognise those curls everywhere, plus you can see the fading nail marks on his back that you gave him weeks ago.

What the fuck?

Mr.I-don’t-do-stayovers was sleeping in her bed just after you saved his ass from being fired hours ago.

Great. Just fucking great.

When he emerged from the bathroom, you were already getting up. You wiped yourself clean with a stray napkin he had kept on his chair, throwing it near the trash bin.

“What-what are you doing-did you clean it up? I brought this-”

“Where were you last night?” you asked, voice stern.

“What-why would you ask that?”

“Answer the damn question, Harold. Where were you last night?”

“I told you, I was working overtime and I–I had an appointment–”

“Save your lies, you bastard–I know you were with Olivia last night. You were fucking her, and then you slept on her too. What else did you do with her that you can’t do with me? Do you kiss her while you fuck her too? Or is it just my lips that give you blue balls?”

“I-”

It was like he wasn’t even trying. He wasn’t even trying to tell you that he didn’t treat you like shit, that he treated Olivia the same way he treated you.

“Or have you committed to her? Became her “boyfriend”?”

“You know I don’t do that stupid stuff. And I didn’t sleep, okay? I left after a while”

“Shut up. Just-shut up, okay? Stop lying. She sent me the message at 2am. And I know you’re blind and you don’t drive in the dark.”

“Alright-fine! I stayed over at hers, but that was it, okay? There’s nothing more”

“And what is it with me, then? I’m too, just a couple of holes you fuck when you get bored with another? Hm?”

“It’s not like that, okay? She told me how you dragged her into HR for sleeping with me and how she saved my ass, my job, so I–I had to give her something in return”

“What the fuck? That bitch didn’t save your ass, okay? I did. Why do you think they’ll listen to her? I was the superior one. And she was the one who went to HR to rant and cry over us.”

“Us?”

“Yeah. You and me sleeping together.”

“But she told me–”

“Well, she’s a fucking liar.”

You fell back on the bed, your head throbbing from all of it. How could she lie like that? Apparently, it didn’t matter that she did, because you knew he would go after her again.

You got back up, staring at him with eyes full of anger.

“Tell me, Harry, who is better? Me or her.”

“What?”

“Tell me, me or her? So I can take myself out of this fuck-up you have created and find someone else who isn’t afraid to commit to me, and who doesn’t treat me like shit”

You yelled and once you finished yelling, your eyes were brimming with tears.

But you won’t cry. Not in front of him.

“There’s no fucking competition, Y/N. I’m not “choosing: anybody”

“So just choose her, then. I bet she feels better than me, doesn’t she? She takes you better down her throat too? I guess that’s the way to get you to stay loyal.

“I’m not fucking loyal to her—”

“Why? Why aren’t you fucking loyal–”

“I-love someone,” he confessed.

Your eyes widened. Harry, the cold-hearted moron, who can’t even commit to sleeping with one woman, loved someone?

And then he told you the story of Natalia, the girl who discarded him like trash, and somehow, that gave him the right to do the same to other women.

“If she came back to you, would you still go back to her?” you asked him, voice still shaking and broken.

He stayed quiet, his gaze to the floor.

“FUCKING ANSWER ME, HARRY!” you yelled, and he flinched. He had never seen you like this. You were always sweet and soft and polite to him, even after he treated you like shit most of the time.

He still didn’t say anything, and you knew the answer. He never even thought of something other than sex with anyone. His heart was already full for her, it always had been. He never even thought of you twice, and here you were, catching feelings for him.

“You’re so full of shit. She used you and threw you away like you were nothing. When you had given her everything she needed to stay. And the first chance she got, she went back to him. She doesn’t love you. When will you realize that?”

You got up, walking to him and standing right in front of him.

“Tell me” you demanded once again.

His voice shook, raspy, indicating he had shed a few tears, “I don’t-don’t want to. I don’t want to realize that, okay? She still loves me. And I’ll wait for her. No matter how long it takes”

You looked up, trying to stop the tears from falling. Your heart was broken, and he didn’t even seem to realize what he had done to you.

“Do I matter to you, Harry?! Do I mean anything to you?”

Still no answer.

“Great. Just fucking great. I am the one who has been with you for the last 4 months, even if it is just for sex. I am the one who got you the promotion so you could pay your fucking bills. I am the one who fought with HR so we could both keep our jobs. All that’s nothing? I did that for nothing! And that bitch, who couldn’t even stay committed to her own fiance. Slept with you once and your stupid heart is made up for her–”

He shot his eyes up, his fists clenching beside him in anger.

“Don’t you dare say anything about her”

He looked angry, eyes red and jaw clenched.

“Fine. I’ll leave, then”

You announced, wearing your clothes in a haste. Picking up your phone, your keys, your toothbrush and your spare clothes that were lying on the chair.

You walked out the room, going straight for the door. You were turning the doorknob when you heard him, “And delete my number from you damn phone”

“I never saved it,” you replied.

And it’s after you reach home that you break down into tears.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

tell me if you like this! i wanted to end it here, but i know, it's too sad :(, and i know this isn't soo good! but read it, please, and tell me what you think! >.<

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cosmal · 2 years

Text

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐑𝐨𝐜𝐤 — 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐋𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧

summary — you and remus lupin have become really good at stealing each other away from parties.

or but if you're too drunk to drive and the music is right, she might let you stay but just for the night....she might want a kiss before the end of this song.

warnings/tags — fem!afab!reader, she/her pronouns, modern!au, friends to lovers, absolute idiots in love, mutual pining, oblivious!reader, oblivious!remus, drunk!reader, drunk!remus, alcohol consumption

note — this is inspired by lovers rock by tv girl!!! i think this is the longest thing i've ever written. I do very much like it as of right now. that'll probably change in a week.

word count — 12.4k

“Thank Godric, you’re here,” Mary groans from her position on the front porch, Marlene leaning into her side. Both are clearly enjoying a cigarette away from the din of the party. You can tell what type of night it’s going to be already. Not that you’ve arrived two hours late anyway.

“I’ve never seen you so happy to see me, Mary,” you giggle, crossing the threshold of Sirius’s front lawn, careful not to trip on his collection of stolen garden gnomes.

“I’m always happy to see you, lovely.” She extends her hand, the cigarette between her lovely red nails on offer.

“You know who’s going to be even happier?” Marlene coughs, as you take the smoke thankfully, taking a few calming puffs.

You pretend like you have any idea who she’s referring to, “Jamie? Haven’t seen him in a while. Miss that boy,” you laugh, voice strained through the thick smoke you exhale.

“No, you idiot.” Mary pipes up and you hand the smoke back, “Remus. He hasn’t shut up about you all night.”

“That’s if he’s sober enough to even notice you’re here,” Marlene laughs and so does Mary. You smile, small enough to not show how happy you actually are that you get to see him. It’s been too long.

“He’s drinking?”

“Absolutely hammered. We were hoping you’d get here earlier so he wouldn’t drink too much. Please go look after him.” Mary throws her arm around Marlene and she snuggles in closer. They both look content enough to fall asleep right there in the cool summer breeze.

“I’m sure he’s doing okay.”

“I’m sure he will be when you get inside.”

You move to toe your shoes off at the front mat, kicking them away so they’re not a tripping hazard.

“When has Sirius ever done that at your house, Y/N?” Mary laughs, looking down at your socked feet

“Oh, no. This is for me. Don’t want to get my shoes dirty.” You laugh when you grab the handle of the flyscreen, swinging the door open.

The girls’ laughter becomes a distant murmur when you enter the kitchen, met with mostly everyone sitting around the dining table. A deal of cards in everyone’s hands, and piles of coins and sweets sat in the middle.

James and Lily laughing and glowing under the downcast of the orange lighting, appearing to seemingly be winning. Sirius and Frank having their own side bets, throwing coins around before both calling tails. Then, there's Remus. You try to ignore the hitch in your breath when your eyes land on the sandy-haired boy.

He really does look drunk, eyes droopy but still bright when he hiccups a laugh at something James says. A quiet, airy chuckle that has his mouth creasing and eyelashes kissing his cheeks. A smile so pretty, you have to fight your own.

His head is propped up on the table by an elbow that looks like it’s about to slip off the edge, so you sneak up behind him and place your hand against his arm to stop him from falling face-first into the wood.

He looks up at you, a little startled for a second, and you can see the moment it clicks in his head when he realises who he’s looking at. He smiles, all surprised but content and you melt. The last time you had seen him was only for the third time ever at another one of Sirius’s parties. You hate to admit that the only thing you look forward to now is when you receive an invite from your workmate and you have another excuse to see his lanky best friend.

“Y/N! When did you get here?” Sirius chants, flicking his last remaining coin at Frank. He shoots him a well-deserved glare.

“About thirty seconds ago,” you smile.

Sirius looks down at your socked feet and frowns, “You took your shoes off again. How many times do I have to tell you, you don’t have to do that.”

You roll your eyes, “You’re gross, Sirius.”

Remus looks down too, the top of his head pressing into your side, a crush of his curls tickling the bare skin of your arm and you almost shiver. “Cool socks.” Is the first thing he says to you. You giggle.

They’re a dark cornflower shade, moons scattered across the material at random. They crease when you wriggle your toes, “Thanks. Got them from mum for my birthday.”

“She has good taste.” He moves off of you, slouching down in his chair until his knees are pressing Lily’s legs.

His head lolls backwards, neck bared under the warm light. You think you feel dizzier than he does. Even when he squeezes his eyes shut.

“What have you done to him?” you laugh, hand flat against his forehead to brush away his loose hair. He keens, sighing deeply under a hiccup.

“He’s very awful at poker,” James laughs, flicking a pastille across the table. You look at his high pile, and then Sirius and Franks’ which are almost of equal height. Then you look in front of Remus, the table almost bare. You laugh.

“We like to play a little differently,” Franks states over the rim of his bottle.

“Basically, you take a shot every time you lose,” James says, sober as ever. You think maybe he hasn’t lost yet.

“And Remus has lost every hand,” Sirius adds to the chime of details.

“Have not!” Remus finally pipes up, finger pointed at James instead of Sirius, too distracted staring at the ceiling. “Frank lost the first.”

“Anyways, Moons. You just lost and I think you owe us another.”

Remus groans, but sits up to reach for the bottle of Sambuca sitting in the middle of the table. You gently swat his hand and push him back into his chair.

“I think you’ve had enough,” you say, turning to place the bottle on the kitchen bench, along with the empty bottles.

“C’mon, one more,” Remus giggles, making hands for the bottle in the air. A child, you think.

“Yeah, Y/N! One more!” Sirius agrees, smiling boyishly.

“You’ll make yourself sick,” you chide with a small frown. Remus slumps against you, much defeated. He might fall asleep on you if you stand there any longer. You poke his cheek where it’s pressed into your clothes.

“He already is sick.” Sirius is smug when he speaks and you fret about what else he’s about to say, “Sick in love.”

You laugh. Could’ve been worse. But it still has your heart skipping in your chest. You really do hope Remus shares the feelings you hold for him. But then again, Remus is drunk and Sirius, is well, he’s Sirius. Despite the name, he hardly ever is.

“Boo. Awful.” You frown in faux offence, ignoring him when he winks at you. Sickening, really.

You lean down so your mouth is in line with Remus’s ear, “You wanna go lay down?” You realise you’re in quite a predicament. Coming over to parties to see Sirius’s best friend. Looking after him when he’s drunk. You’d hoped he would do the same.

“Please, no sex in my house,” Sirius states, standing to grab another drink. James guffaws.

You roll your eyes, “He’s drunk.”

“So, you do want to have sex with him?” he adds.

You almost choke on your tongue, “No, it’s just. He- Stop it.” You have to stop yourself from saying something wrong. It wasn’t a lie, you did want to. But you wanted much more than that.

“Leave her alone,” Remus chides, leaning back off your stomach. “You’ll scare her off and I’ll never see her again,”

He was right, his friends did intimidate you. But you’d hoped it would take more than not yet warming up to them to get you to never see Remus again.

Remus stands and you’re surprised he doesn’t stumble when he takes your hand to lead you away from the table and out into the lounge room. You poke your tongue out over your shoulder when you hear James make some sort of crude comment to Frank. Lily smiles warmly at you as an apology.

He sits down with all the gracefulness of a baby elephant and you have to bite back a laugh. He looks up at you, pretty eyes all droopy and a lopsided smile, and you feel like you’ll never come back from these feelings ever.

Before you can overly admire him for too long, he’s patting the space next to him with a floppy hand. “C’mon.”

You oblige probably too willingly, flopping yourself down next to him with a small oomph, your thigh pressing into his. He shuffles down the lounge to rest his head atop your shoulder, neck craned a little to reach it. You can’t find it in yourself to mind. His face is warm and it presses into your collarbone that’s peeking from out the top of your shirt. His light stubble tickles your skin and it’s weirdly soothing. God, you know you’re in deep.

“You smell good.”

You breathe in subconsciously, “You do, too.”

Under the strong scent of stale beer and sambuca, you can think you can discern a hint of his cologne. Woody and something like cinnamon. Mixed in with the light scent of his laundry detergent, like fresh linen and lavender. He's dizzying.

“I smell like beer,” he groans, hand finding its way between both of your thighs, your skirt tangled in his fingers.

“You smell nice,” you laugh.

You watch the doorway where James gets up to turn the dial on the vinyl player. The current song now loud enough to be heard where you’re sitting.

Humming along, you say, “I love this song.”

Remus gawps, “Me too. S’my favourite, actually.”

Remus having the exact same favourite song as you makes your head spin. “No way.”

“Yes way.” he smiles. If he were soberer, you’d gush to him over this. It’d have to wait.

He shifts his head from your shoulder and startles for a moment, eyebrows raised, “I didn’t even ask if you wanted a drink.” You get whiplash from the change of subject.

You sigh, very amused at his intent to be nice to you, despite being half-cut, “I’m okay. I wasn’t really planning on drinking tonight.”

He frowns, wrinkles his nose and you want to kiss it. God. “Why did you come, then?” The fact he thinks you came to get drunk and not just to see him makes you want to laugh.

The smile you’re still trying to fight every time he speaks makes your cheeks ache, “To see Sirius.”

He frowns even more and you think he wants to shift away from you. He roughly scratches at his face and you almost regret messing with him.

“Sirius?” He hiccups.

“I’m kidding.” You poke his bicep, “I came to see you.”

There’s a silence and then Remus is breaking out into one of the biggest grins you’d ever seen. You’d have the decency in you to blame it on being drunk. Nothing else.

“Me?” He hiccups, again. You place your hand atop his thigh and trace the thick seam of his pants.

“Yes, you.”

His smile dials back but doesn’t fade and his face relaxes. He leans down to place his head back against your shoulder, cheek all smooshed.

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Thank you.” he hums, hooking his elbow behind yours, completely squished against you. He thinks you must be cold in a skirt and a small T-shirt. “I like it when you’re here. You make it bearable.”

You want to accept his compliment, but when he hiccups for the third time, you remember he’s drunk. “That’s a bit mean, Remus. Will I tell your friends you can’t bear them?”

Remus stiffens and you stop rubbing his leg. Drunk Remus is very gullible. Sweet, but gullible all the same.

“Stop it. You know what I mean.” He pushes further into your shoulder and you feel yourself dip down against him, head almost falling against his. You wouldn’t mind if it did, but it wouldn’t be very comfortable, you assume.

“I don’t think I do,” you tease and Remus pinches your side, which results in a stifled yelp.

“Don’t be cruel.” He strains.

“I would never.”

When you shiver in your spot, Remus wonders what your answer would be if he offered you his jacket. He thinks he should test his theory.

“Are you cold?” he asks but doesn’t move his head from your shoulder.

“A little,” you yawn. Which then causes Remus to yawn. You laugh animatedly.

“Do you,” Remus blinks slowly, eyelashes kissing his cheeks as he attempts to keep his eyes open. “do you want my jacket?”

You’re glad Remus’ head is still propped on your shoulder lest he sees the blush creeping across your cheeks. Drunk Remus is gullible. But drunk Remus is still just as kind as he is when he’s sober.

“Then you’ll be cold,” you reply, giving his thigh a squeeze. You crane your neck to look at him. He looks tired.

“Better me than you.” He moves to take it off and before he can even get one arm out, you sit forward and place your hands on his chest. Fingers twisted in his cotton shirt, your turned knee pressing into his.

“Remus, I’m okay.” You give him your most reassuring smile. Being cold is no one’s fault but your own. You don’t want to be an annoyance.

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Remus sits back, albeit begrudgingly, hands wrapped around the zipper of his jacket. The further he pushes back into the lounge, the more he looks like he’s about to fall asleep.

“Remus?” you murmur. Voice quiet under the din of the party. Sirius is a loud drunk, his laughter roaring at something stupid James is doing.

His head begins to dip into the edge of the cushion, headed for the arm of the chair. If he kept this up, he’d have a crick in his neck in no time.

He hums and you pat his cheek to encourage him to sit up. It’s bemusing how quickly he can drift off. You’re very envious. Maybe it’s just the alcohol.

“What’s up?” he murmurs in return, peeking from one eye, the other scrunched up. He’s adorable and you’re in too deep.

“You seem tired.” You poke his face this time and he beams, all warm and dozey under the mellow light of Sirius’s living room. A line of curls falling into his eyes and the apples of his cheeks a tinge of peach.

He hums again, much thicker than last. “M’not.”

You hold out your hand, all five fingers spread. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

He struggles, but pulls his hand from his lap and holds it up to yours, tangling your fingers. Palm flush against yours and much warmer in comparison. “Feels like five.” He pulls your entwined hands back down and you laugh.

You try not to shy from his actions, pretending like it doesn’t make your heart skip, and then almost stop completely when his thumb rubs circles into the top of your hand. You can feel the warmth seeping from his into your own and your fingertips tingle.

“Do you want to go home?” You twist so you’re completely on the edge of the lounge, hand still wrapped in his. You stop, “Or are you staying here tonight?”

He brings his arm up - with yours still tangled - and rubs his face with the back of his hand. Dragging you up and down. You giggle at his tired actions before pouting.

“I think.'' You can tell he’s trying to stay alert enough to hold a conversation with you.

When he wakes up in the morning he won’t remember being so tired here and will think you both had the best conversation. You’ll be okay with this. “I think Sirius was supposed to take me home, but he’s too drunk now.”

“You’ll sleep on the couch?” You frown and he blinks.

“I think I might have to.” He throws his head back and sighs. Strained and raspy.

You look at the size of Sirius’s two-seater and then Remus’s stupidly long legs. It wouldn’t work, and he’d end up with either a sore back or a worse-off neck than whatever it was he was doing right now. You don’t even really think before you say, “I can walk you home.”

Remus looks a little more alert, “You can’t sleep on this.” You prod the squeaky leather and it bounces back with absolutely no recoil. You’ll be sure to scold Sirius next time for having a horrendous couch, though enough money to buy everyone in the room ten of them. You know he won’t appreciate the exaggeration. But it’s for the sake of his friends’ backs.

“You don’t have to do that.” He sits up properly now and tries to situate himself to look convincingly comfortable. “I’ll make do.”

“It’s no big deal.” You shrug. “I’m walking home anyways.”

Now he’s sitting forward, his knees pushing into your leg and you almost stumble off the seat, grabbing his arm for purchase. “You just got here.” He almost frets and then coughs to hide his worry. He’s not very good at achieving a smooth, cool demeanour when half-cut. Not that he ever achieves it sober, he thinks.

“No, but I think you need to go home and sleep.” You look out into the kitchen that’s now surprisingly quieter. Lily looks like she’s about to fall asleep, leaning on James’s shoulder, who’s trying to play a horrible game of go fish with Sirius and Frank. Absolute party animals.

“I live too far away, anyways,” he says, leaning down to tie his shoelaces. “You’ll have to walk me home and then walk back, you’ll be walking for at least an hour and a half.” Why Remus is so afraid to suggest you can stay the night at his, he doesn’t know.

You squeeze his shoulder as he struggles to loop his lace through his fingers. He decides to go for the simpler, bunny-ear option. “That’s okay. You can stay at mine. I only live ten minutes away.”

When Remus sits back up after tying his laces too tight, his face is pink.

Remus Lupin has never been one for sitting comfortably, ever. With long, lanky limbs, he always has his legs sprawled out and his arms thrown over something. Anything he can take up comfortably, with enough space to spread, he’ll sit willingly.

On one hand, he’s thankful you convinced him not to sleep on Sirius’s couch. He didn’t need a repeat of New Year’s. Though, on the other hand, he could’ve made do.

Nothing was like sitting in your bedroom. He wouldn’t say he was uncomfortable, though deep down he was a little, a pit of anxiety creeping up his chest. He felt like he had little room to move - despite you owning a double bed - because he didn’t want to look stupid. He could take up space and not notice it.

Remus has trouble not taking in every detail he can in your room. Like your little trinket dishes filled with miscellaneous items, signet rings and seashells. The stuffed rhino toy in the middle of your pillows that you had told him - shyly at that - was named Clarence. Not before giggling at the poster of Twilight that you swore had been there since you were young. Your current read splayed open on the end of your bed, along with the stack of records in a blue milk crate in the corner, were things he promised himself he would ask you about when he wasn’t half tipsy and could hold a proper conversation.

In his admiration, one that was making his anxiety spread into warmth that seemed to be seeping from his bones. He’s too busy pretending like he isn’t taking in every small detail one shouldn’t when they’ve only known someone for only a month, and doesn’t notice that you’ve changed.

He looks over at you, in a pair of shorts littered with tiny daisies and a shirt that almost eats said shorts. Your hair pulled back and your face still sort of wet from where you obviously washed off the day's grime, causing the hairs around your face to curl. He doesn’t know if it’s the fading alcohol that’s causing him to hiccup even more, or if it’s seeing you all fresh and content from being at home that has his breath catching.

Remus Lupin is still a little drunk but he is also quite clearly growing to like you even more. That doesn’t change. He thinks he's done everything backwards. Meeting you, then seeing you now but too inebriated to say something redeeming, and then seeing you in the comfort of your own home before he even gets to ask you on a date. He also thinks he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Remus?” Your voice is as calm as you look when you speak and he melts.

“Hm?” He blinks, shaking his head.

“You okay?” Warm light washes over you and paints you amber as you patter across the room, the moon socks that are still on your feet pressing into the white fabric of your rug. “You’re not feeling sick?” He thinks he should blame his daze on a fake sickness, but he doesn’t want you to worry even more, so he decides against it.

When you press the back of your hand to his cheek, that’s only warm because he’s a little overwhelmed, not because he’s feeling poorly, he can’t find it in himself to hold your gaze. “I’m okay.”

“I was saying I don’t think I have any clothes for you to change into.” You remind him after it felt like you were talking to a brick wall a minute earlier.

Remus pushes his hands into the rough material of his black jeans. He doesn’t see himself sleeping in anything else. “That’s okay.”

“You’re not going to sleep in those are you?”

What else would he sleep in if you have no other clothes? “Uh.”

“You wear boxers?” you grin.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” He wishes he was still a little drunker so he could blame his bumbling words on the effects of downing half a bottle of sambuca. Now he’s realising that’s just how he sounds when he’s overwhelmed by you.

“Sleep in those. I don’t mind.”

Your confidence, and your confidence only, is how he ends up pantless and under the covers of your bed. He doesn’t feel uncomfortable at all. You have a lovely way of making him feel at ease. He thinks that’s why he likes you so much.

You smell different than earlier in the night when your shirt tickles his arm. Like fresh face wash and night creams, and maybe even roses. He’d hate to think of what he smelt like in comparison to you. Probably still like beer, and maybe like sweat. He should’ve asked if he could’ve showered. That might’ve been too much, he’s definitely overthinking.

“You’re very quiet,” you say into the dimness of your room. He’s lucky your bedside lamp is so muted, lest you see the goosebumps raised over his skin and how his cheeks haven’t returned to their normal colour since he crossed the threshold of your room.

“M’thinking,” he returns, just as quiet. It feels wrong to disturb the calmness blanketing the room.

“I can tell.” He can hear you grin, “What about?”

He swallows and he wouldn’t be surprised if you heard it, “You.”

You huff a small laugh and push down into the pillow behind you, “Me?” Your voice is a little strained, and not louder than before. Maybe even quieter.

“Yeah. Thinking about the next time I’ll get to see you.”

“You haven’t even left yet and you’re thinking ahead to the next time we’ll see each other,” you tease, getting comfortable underneath your plush quilt and sheets. Probably too much for a summer night but there’s still a chill in the air, flowing through your open window.

“I’m just hoping I won’t be so drunk,” he admits, hating how he still actually does sound drunk.

“Hopefully,” you smile, “But that’s okay, we can blame it on James.”

“If only I wasn’t so shit at poker,” he laughs in a strained and animated voice, trying to hold back a yawn.

He finally gets comfortable, hands fisting the sheets around his body and head balancing restfully against the plush of your ivory pillows.

You can see his eyes flutter in an attempt to stay awake. You think it’s endearing but you also think he needs to sleep. “Remus,” you say, firm but caring at once.

“Hmm?” he mumbles, eyebrows pinched.

“You should sleep.” You push itchy locks away from his forehead and he sighs at the caring touch of your fingers.

“Don’t wanna.” He scrunches his nose, “I think I’m finally sobering up. Wanna talk t’you.”

You smile at his absolute urgency and think he’s adorable. Truly. “Please, sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“You’ll be here?” This, you actually laugh at.

“Of course, Remus. You’re in my room.”

He closes his eyes, eyelashes kissing the freckles of his cheeks and his tired, darkened skin, “M’kay.”

When you wake up in the morning, almost midday, Remus plagued by the effects of alcohol, you too content to wake whilst being next to him, you both have separate texts from Sirius.

Your own chat log reads, aren’t U glad you came out? You don’t reply, not wanting to encourage him in any way.

Remus’s phone, on the other hand, reads,

uncle pads has a ring to it don’t you think? xxxx

He does in fact reply, too used to Sirius being a twat.

Nothing happened. Ur disgusting and I hate you.

what do U mean nothing happened?

I was drunk. She helped me basically stumble home.

U both stumbled. in her sheets.

Fuck off. Idiot.

Neither of you mention any of Sirius’s messages to each other the entire morning. Too busy enjoying each other's company.

The week spent after Remus had drunkenly stayed the night, you could pleasantly, though maybe even with a smidge of embarrassment, admit that he was all you thought about since.

It was a new feeling. You’d never felt it before. The endearment, but also the nerves, of realising you actually like someone. Some days it made your cheeks ache from smiling, and filled your chest with warmth. On other days, the warmth cracked your chest open, an aching chasm pleading to be filled and a head clouded with apprehension.

You were eager and scared all at once. But you were happy either way because Remus made you feel things. Good things.

You had spent the morning, forcing him to eat something, telling him it would make his hangover feel much better. He’d argued for no longer than two minutes before agreeing. Saying, who am I to argue with a girl like you?

“Like me?” you’d replied, mouth full of half-eaten pancake, pushing his own plate across the marble of your kitchen bar.

“Smart,” he smiled, picking at a blueberry, “Pretty.”

And after it was your turn to babble like a fool, he’d eased you open. Asked you about the record collection in your room (he was proud of himself for remembering). You’d rambled off your favourite artists, a lot similar, and he knew he’d be an idiot if he didn’t give you his number before he left.

And he did. Wrote his number on your hand as you stood at your doorway and he thanked you for breakfast. And for walking him home, drunk. You kissed his cheek and watched him press his fingers into his skin until he rounded the corner.

You wrote the number down on a piece of paper, magnetising it to your fridge as soon as you shut the door. Though your hands were sweaty - obviously because you were around Remus - and the last number had smudged. Was it a 3? Or an 8? Or a weird looking 5? You couldn’t tell and told yourself that was a problem you could deal with later.

It was later. A whole week later and you still hadn’t called him. If it was due to your nerves or the fact you had a missing number, that was your business only. You left the last space blank, the empty spot a blinding reminder of your stupidity. You’d just have to try every number until you found Remus. It would take no more than ten attempts.

Numbers zero through four were all wrong numbers. You were only met with a piercing tone before the line went dead. When you got to five, you were met with, what sounded like, a grumpy old lady. You tried to hang up straight away, well aware it wasn’t him, but she screeched and persisted that if she had a prank call one more time, she would phone the police!

Turns out, it was a 6 after all. The lovely tone of Remus’s voice rings down the line and you sigh in relief.

“It’s you.” Your voice is airy and Remus isn't sure he knows who it is.

There are only a handful of people who have his number. His friends, most of them called and checked in regularly, except Mary, who's always one to stop by instead. His parents and his neighbour had it too. But he seriously doubted the latter, unless his flat had been ransacked.

And then he remembers he'd given it to you and he laughs. All these thoughts happen within the span of two seconds. He hopes it's you, he's been anticipating a call all week. He was beginning to maybe think you didn’t actually want to hear from him. That he'd embarrassed himself in his drunken stupor. But then he remembered how nice you were to him.

You’ll make yourself sick.

“It is?” he laughs, still hoping it is in fact you. The image of his flat turned upside down, the spot on his mantle where his small TV is, now empty, flashes across his mind.

“Remus. It’s me!” you chirp and he pushes his phone closer to his ear as if it’ll make him hear your pretty voice even clearer.

”Me? I don’t think I know any me’s” he teases, fighting back an eager smile. Teasing you could be fun. Could become a constant. He’s imagining the warmth of your cheeks, and hopefully a small smile.

“Y/N,” you correct and he can almost hear the roll of your eyes.

“Oh. I know an Y/N,” he smiles, leaning against the lip of his kitchen bench. “She’s very pretty,” he pauses, wanting to drag it out, “and she’s super-”

“Remus,” you plead. Half wanting him to continue, half wanting him to stop to save your phone splitting in half where you’re holding it too hard. “Stop.”

Hearing your smile isn’t enough for him, “Super cool. Actually probably way too cool for me and…”

Remus sighs, very happy with himself.

“You done?” you ask.

“Maybe.”

“You’re a nuisance.”

Remus decides to not argue, you’re half right anyways. “I’m sorry. What’s up?”

You pause, thinking. You’ve forgotten why you called him for a moment. Too happy with just listening to him talk. You think you could do it all day if he let you. “I was wondering if you were coming out tonight? Drinks?” You feel silly asking now. It was drinks for James, he’d gotten a promotion, but of course, Remus is coming, they're best friends.

“Are you?”

You grin, “Yes. Yeah, I am.”

“Great. Me too.”

The excitement you feel when you know you’ll be seeing him again is palpable. Giddiness mixed with a number of nerves is always there whenever you think of him. He makes you feel like a schoolgirl again and you know he’ll be the cause of your undoing.

“Great.”

A face-splitting smile erupts across Remus’s features. If only you could see each other.

The amount of time you spend getting ready in the afternoon for James’s get-together is silly. After what's an almost stupid amount of time rustling through your closet to find something, the final thing you settle on you hope isn’t stupid. A red skirt that ends mid-thigh, a white tee and a leather jacket. Boots that you hope actually do your legs justice, not just how they look in the mirror.

You know exactly why you're making such a fuss with your appearance. Spending an extra amount of time making sure loose hairs are sprayed down and a fresh coat of nail polish that's applied probably a little too late before you make your way out your front door.

You think that maybe if you didn’t know if Remus was attending or not it'd be a lot easier on you. Or maybe worse. God, you're a mess. You just really want to make him like you.

Arriving at the pub a little early is probably a bad idea in the long run. You greet James and Lily with equal delight. You hadn’t seen them since his shindig at least two weeks ago. Sirius, pint in hand, greets you loud enough to let the entire pub know of your arrival. Frank and Alice are absent. In-laws. You feel as though you had finally found the perfect group of friends.

James had told you that Remus was probably going to be late.

Which gives you too much time to down an inappropriate number of vodka-cranberries, much to Sirius’s delight. Pressed into a corner booth, settled next to James and Sirius who have now also transitioned to fruity drinks.

When Remus finally arrives, the sun now set, you're at least five cocktails deep. The pub is a little loud now, though you’d never struggle to hear any of your rambunctious friends. They're probably half the noise. You're a giggling mess, warm from the effects of alcohol. You feel ridiculously happy like you expected to, but you haven’t even seen Remus yet.

When you sip back the last dregs of your drink, the rim pressed into your nose, determined not to waste a single drop, your eyes finally settle on Remus who's selfishly been admiring you from afar. Your eyes light up like a delighted puppy and he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from smiling like an idiot.

He walks to the edge of the table, wet and sticky wood pressing into his jeans and he grimaces. “Finally he arrives,” James cheers, mojito raised in the air.

“Moony! Looking as ravishing as ever, my boy!” Sirius cheers with equal flare.

Remus ignores both of them with a tiny smile, too used to their words it’s like second nature to ignore them. “Sweetheart,” he smiles at you and you light up even more.

“Remus! You’re here.”

Sirius gets up and slides along the wall to make room for Remus next to you, “He looks ravishing, wouldn’t you say, Y/N? Good enough to eat,” he repeats

“I am hungry,” you admit with a giggle as Remus settles down next to you, only enough room for a sheet of paper to fit between your thighs.

“Having a good time, lovely?” Remus gestures to the empty glasses taking up the table in front of you. Your lips are stained red and he has to lick his own.

“Amazing!” You lean into his side and your hair tickles his neck. Your warmth seeps through Remus’s skin and he doesn’t have a single problem with how close the two of you are sitting. He’d be kidding himself if he said he did.

“I’m glad,” he says, hands settling atop the table.

“Are you?” You blink, eyes bright and welcoming. He has to avert his attention to your nose instead. Feeling as if you’d swallow him whole.

“I am now,” he grins.

Distracted, the half-empty glass in your hands spills when you twist its stem a little too quickly. A puddle of cosmo seeps into the half-polished tabletop and you cringe.

“Oops.” Quick to act, despite how sapped you feel from the cocktails, you grab a too-big handful of napkins from the dispenser in front of you.

With little to no flare, you push the entire pile of paper into the split drink and probably make it worse. The napkins almost turn to pink sludge and you only spread the drink further. A cold, sticky mess.

Remus laughs and grabs your wrists, pulling them up from the mess, “What have you done, hmm?” He puts your hands in your lap and you slouch, defeated.

“Accident,” you huff. You watch Remus’s hands swipe across the table, much better at cleaning up your mess. Like it wasn’t even there in the first place.

Upset that your drink is now empty, when Sirius isn’t looking, too distracted talking quidditch with James, you reach forward and snatch his mojito. Cheering internally, too happy with yourself, you sip slowly.

“He won’t be too happy with that,” Remus laughs, pushing the serviettes to the side.

You shrug, pushing further into the leather of the booth seat, “Accident.” you repeat.

Remus chuckles. You scull back the last of Sirius’s drink and Remus braces his hand on the skin between your shoulder blades, with a gentle “Take it easy,”

You turn to him and wipe the line of drink from your chin with the back of your hand. Smiling before gently slamming the now-empty glass back to the table, a ring of condensation splashes across your palm.

You wipe it across Remus’s leg unthinkingly and he wrinkles his nose. A dark stripe up his thigh. He takes your hand by the wrist again and grabs another napkin. Dabbing your palm gently and you act unaffected by his attentions when you trace the water on the table with your free hand.

“Am I the one who’s going to be doing the babysitting, tonight?” Remus counts the glasses that hadn’t been collected yet. Five. Six, now counting the one you stole.

You nod, gleefully.

“Saves me, then.” Lily takes another swig from her Pimm's, very happy. James presses into her side and throws his head back.

“Merlin, I’m tired.” he huffs.

“Boo. No fun,” you pout, eyeing only his third drink that he hadn’t touched in way too long, “You drink too slowly, that’s your problem.”

He snorts, “I don’t have the drinking problems, lovely.”

You gasp, hand to your chest, sticky fingers pressing into your skin, “Just because I’m having fun!”

You notice the beginnings of a frown across Sirius’s face, clocking the glass in front of you, green to your past pink drinks, “You little sneak.”

You pout, “Okay, I’m sorry, let me get the next round.” You move to stand and when you’re upright, the room spins. You grab Remus’s shoulder for purchase and he grabs your forearm. His grip is grounding, flesh between his slender fingers.

“Okay, let me get the drinks,” he says, standing. The love-hate relationship you have with his height hurts sometimes.

“No, let me.” You rummage through the purse over your shoulder, through sickles and spare tampons, and pull out a measly fiver. You hold it up to him with a frown, paper crumpled in your hand.

Remus chuckles and places his hands on your shoulders, “Sit.”

You do what he says and ignore the warmth in the pit of your belly.

As Remus stands at the bar to wait for the drinks, he turns to watch you with a content smile on his face and a warmth spreading up his chest until it begs to swatch his cheeks. He watches as you cover your face with your hands, giggling madly at something James is telling you.

He thinks his heart is messing with him when it skips in his chest. When you throw your head back, neck bared and your eyes squinted, your shoulders raise like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard (it could be but he doubts it), he thinks his heart has an actual fault. Almost halting completely when your eyes meet his and he thinks he’s been caught, but you smile contently and he has to look away before it jumps out his throat.

He knows he’s truly done for.

He returns with a tray of drinks, mojito’s for his friends and a pint for himself, a packet of crisps pinched between his teeth. If he doesn’t choose to drink cocktails with everyone else because he wants to be sober to keep his eye on you, that’s completely his business.

He places the drinks down, a hum of thank yous and cheers follow, he opens his mouth to let the crisps fall into your lap. You startle and look up at him, bemused.

“You said you were hungry.” He smiles.

You beam, hiccuping what he thinks is thanks.

“Where’s my fuckin food?” Sirius calls, voice very clear above the din of the pub. He throws a cube of ice at Remus and misses.

“Up your ass.”

Sirius goes to reach for a crisp and you clutch the foil bag close to your chest. He doesn’t try again, thinking you might bite him. “Fuck, I need a cig.”

He stands and stops Remus from sitting as he climbs over you. Squeezing past with almost zero care. You laugh, he seems hangry.

When he almost steps on your toe, “Look out, you prat.” Remus scolds.

“C’mon. Outside.” Sirius drags him away before he can even protest.

“You gonna ask her out, or what?” Sirus leans against the wall of the smoking area and flicks his ash.

Remus groans, “Don’t say it like it's easy or some shit.”

“Is it not?” Sirius laughs like it’s obvious. Remus envies his natural charm some days. He wished it came easy to him.

“No. She doesn’t like me like that.” Remus toes the gravel beneath his boot with a crunch. Watches as it skips across the ground and to the firepit. A distraction from the scolding that he’s expecting he’s about to get from Sirius.

Sirius coughs on a thick exhale of smoke, pushes himself off the wall. “You’re fucking with me, right?”

“What? No.” In some delusional, fucked up way, no, Remus is fucking with Sirius. Not since 7th year, anyways.

“She's mad about you,” Sirius laughs around the filter of his cigarette, “It’s sickening really. I mean she’s gotta be half dumb or something.” After another exhale he flicks more ash to the ground.

“Fuck up.”

“Whatever.”

There’s a beat before Remus says, “She doesn’t feel that way about me.” His head rests against the red brick behind him and wishes it would swallow him up. He wishes this was easier.

“What, you think she wears her best red skirt for people she doesn’t love?”

He lifts his head and glares at Sirius, “You really are a fucking twat, you know?” He steals the cigarette from between Sirius’s fingers and ignores his grunt as he inhales deeply. As deep as he can until Sirius swats his hand.

“I’m fucking kidding.” He takes it back, grimacing at the butt of what’s left.

“Still a twat,” Remus grunts.

Sirius flicks the orange filter to the ground and squashes it under his leather boot. “Seriously, Moons. Make a move already, it’s starting to get sad.”

He sighs, and Sirius almost wants to slap some sense into him. He doesn’t, remembering how he’d reacted last time he did. “I can’t. I’m not ruining anything.”

He decides to pat his shoulder instead, a gentler approach, “You’re a miserable sap.” He squeezes his sad friend, “She likes you, a lot, and she’s really good for you, y’know?”

“She is, isn’t she?” Remus sighs, lovelorn and dizzy, “Fuck, she’s so amazing. I don’t know what I’m gonna do. Have you seen her when she laughs? Fuck sakes.” He has to stop himself before he rants too much.

The both of them start to make their way back into the pub. “Alright, put your fucking cock away.”

Remus opens the door to the bar, “Get inside,” he laughs.

“If you don’t make a move soon, fuck I might.” Remus’s face goes slack and he pushes his dickhead of a friend towards their table with a little too much force. He stumbles with a hearty chuckle.

Left alone in the middle of the bar, a little incensed, he turns to look around and spots what looks like your aforementioned red skirt, standing in front of the claw machine.

Bemused, but more intrigued, he beelines for you with slow strides. When he stands behind you he places his hand to your shoulder. You turn around and smile warmly. You’re standing, more like swaying, with both hands inside your purse.

“What are you doing, dove?” he asks and squeezes your shoulder. You push back into him, probably for the stability you lack. He braces you with his thigh behind yours.

“You smell like a chimney.” You wrinkle your nose and he laughs. It reverberates through your chest and you have to blink away the way it makes you feel. Sleepy.

“Sirius is a horrible influence,” he says with an equally wrinkled nose.

“I’m looking for a coin,” you answer his question, looking back down into your purse. “Want to win you something.” Remus’s heart swells tenfold.

Before he can pull one from his pocket as an offering, you bend over and tip your entire purse to the paisley carpet, contents spilling everywhere. Wizard money, bright pink tampons, chapsticks and gum wrappers sit in a pile and Remus steps back with a disgruntled sigh.

You turn and crouch down to sort through everything, Remus looks down and gawps for a second. Half amused, half displeased. He bends down with you and helps as well.

“Do you think it'll take sickles?” you question, moving bandaids to the side. It’s looking like a lost cause.

Remus shakes his head with a laugh, “I don’t think so, honey.”

You frown.

“Here,” He handles a few items and places them in your purse, “I’ll help you clean this up and I’ll win you something, hm?” Remus thinks you’re a bit like Mary Poppins with how much stuff you have. He’d say this to you because you probably would understand the muggle reference, but you seem too upset over your lack of coins.

“Was gonna win you some chocolate,” you laugh, picking up more stuff.

The last few items fall back in with little organisation and he stands. You take his outstretched hands and let him gently tug you back up with a ruffle of your hair.

He pulls a coin from his pocket and slots it into the machine. You stand around to the side with your hands pressed to the glass like a little kid. The flow of colours washes you fluorescent as you point to a cherry ripe in a perfect spot.

He grips the joystick and moves it to where he thinks it hovers right above it.

“More to the left,” you say with your finger smooshed against the machine.

“You’re drunk,” he says before he pushes the red button on top of the stick, not moving it to where you’d said.

You laugh as it doesn’t even graze the chocolate. Claw coming back up with nothing. “Whatever.” He has two more chances at grabbing it and he’s determined.

The second time he does listen to you but still misses by the width of a hair. You both hold your breath as the claw gets lowered for the final time. You bend over to get a better view and watch as it gets picked up, not cheering until it gets dropped in the chute.

You clap as Remus cheers, taking the chocolate thankfully, opening it immediately with a crinkle of red foil. “Thank you, Remus.”

“Anytime.”

You break the chocolate in half and offer him the bigger portion. You both stand there, chewing on cherry and coconut and chocolate. You look at your sticky fingers and the worst of the after-effects of six cocktails suddenly hits you in a wave of nausea. Not enough to make you want to throw up, but enough for you to groan and grab your stomach.

“I think I should go home,” you whine, placing your half of the chocolate back into the wrapper and into your purse, probably just to melt and make a mess. A later problem, you think.

“Feeling okay?” he asks, turning to check you over. Etebrows pinched in concern already.

“I think I had too many cocktails,” you laugh, weakly at that.

“How are you getting home?” he asks.

You laugh, having flashbacks to your last encounter. “That’s my line.”

“It’s a good one.”

“I don’t know how I’m getting home,” you say.

“I’ll call you a taxi.”

You sigh, “That’d be lovely.”

After saying goodbye to the rest of the group, after they’d moaned about your fifteen-minute disappearance with Remus, Thought you’d gotten stuck in the cubicle! James had laughed. Drunkenly, you’d missed the joke. Remus had smacked him up the back of the head. But now, the both of you were making your way to the front entrance.

Remus has to drag you out the door, holding you upright as you stammer and trip on things that aren't there.

“Be careful,” he tuts, holding you closer under his arm.

“There was a frog!” you explain, very much exasperated.

“No there wasn’t,” he laughs.

“Was so!” you strain, fisting his shirt behind his back, sure to stretch the cotton.

“You just want me to hold you tighter.” He’s smug when he says it and can’t really help it. He has Sirius’s words ringing in the back of his head.

You stop at the gutter and kick a stone with your boot, “Maybe.”

Your knees ache, wanting nothing more than to crouch down to the ground. You think it would probably be a bad idea. Though with sore knees and a spinning head, bad ideas turned to the best.

You pull yourself from Remus' hold and bend your legs to crouch in the gutter. Remus’s eyes blow wide and he looks down at you. Not again, he thinks.

Before he can ask what you’re doing, thinking you've passed out, you look up, “Head rush,” you giggle with a huff of air. He sits down next to you, knees almost pressed into his chin.

Remus tugs your knee so you turn towards him, legs pressed together. He keeps his large palm over your thigh because being crouched in a gutter leaves little to the imagination to the drunks walking past and he’s not going to ask you to get up if you’re dizzy.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You rest your head on his shoulder much like he had the last time you saw him. He hopes he had more care than you do with your cheek cruelly smooshed into his skin. “I’m just a little drunk.”

Lucky for Remus, before he thinks you’re about to fall asleep on his shoulder, your taxi is pulling up. He helps you stand, opens the back door and ushers you in.

Listening to your murmur of thanks Remus before he clicks you in.

“What’s your address, dove? So I can tell the driver.” You give him your address and he passes it off.

Before he can close the door for you, you grab his wrist.

“When can I see you next?” you ask brightly. Hopefully.

“Call me when you’re not hungover,” he laughs, brushing his fingers across your arm. Your grip hardens.

“You’ll answer?” He almost laughs again at how drunk you sound. Of course, he’ll answer.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

You lean across your seat, seatbelt pulling taut as you press a kiss to his cheek. Warm and buttery-soft just like last time, but maybe even worse now that his feelings for you are stronger. It burns.

“Thank you, Remus.”

“That’s okay, lovely.”

You in fact did call Remus, a couple of days after your night out. Expected, you were hungover so you waited a day after to talk.

Remus hadn’t really been expecting you to call him, despite how eager you seemed, he had talked himself out of believing you had any feelings for him. Like he’d imagined it or something.

So, when his phone rings, he’s not expecting it to be you at all. He answers with a sigh, thinking it’s James or Sirius.

“What do you want?” His voice is void of any excitement or joy you’d been selfishly expecting. You were also expecting a more welcoming greeting.

“Remus?” you say, and his hand stills in his cupboard where he’s distractedly putting clean dishes away.

He shuts the cupboard’s door a little too abruptly and cringes, clears his throat so he can speak, “Y/N! Shit, sorry. Hey.” He cringes even more at his stupidity.

“Expecting someone else?” you laugh.

He nods like you can see him, “Yeah, sorry.” He swallows and tries to fix himself, “How are you?”

“I’m good,” you say with a little sigh, “Really, really good.”

“That’s great!”

“Yeah, how are you?” you question.

Remus’s voice goes quieter, “Amazing.” Then there’s a small beat like you’re both thinking, “So, what’s up? Everything okay?”

In his mind, his stupid, paranoid mind, there’s a possibility that all you’ve done is pocket-dialled him. Or, accidentally pressed his name in your contacts, maybe mistaken the name Moony for Mum.

Is his name Moony in your phone? Or is it just Sirius’s friend? God, he wants his thoughts to shut up.

“I wanted to ask you something!” When it sounds like you actually want to talk to him, what almost feels like relief washes over him. Paints him bright as he settles on his sofa, beaming like a schoolboy when he says,

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Your excitement is dizzying. “Are you free this weekend?”

He has to swallow before he speaks, eagerness bleeds through his skin. His foot taps and he picks at a loose thread on his battered shirt. “Yeah, I am.”

You chirp a happy noise, “Awesome! Cool. Um, there’s that gig on at The Red Lion if you wanted to come?”

Remus doesn’t see himself as a cool person and it definitely doesn’t show when he says, “Yeah! I’d love to.” in a tone pitched higher than normal.

“Great. I think Sirius is coming too, I told him about it the other day and said he should invite the others. I wasn’t sure if he had asked you yet.”

Oh.

Remus feels like the biggest idiot ever. You weren’t asking him out, why would you?

He leans down between his legs until all the air is forced from his lungs, he covers the receiver with his hand and groans, long and suffering in self-pity.

Is coughing to clear your throat and hide your disappointment a good thing? Because his voice is a little squeaky when he replies. When he sits back up his head spins. “Sounds great.”

He hears some shuffling on the end of your line before you say, “Amazing. I’ll see you then. Sorry, gotta go. Bye Remus!”

“Bye, sweetheart.”

Remus has about thirty seconds of wallowing in self-pity before his phone is ringing again. He wants to shove it in between his sofa cushions and forget about everything. But he sees Sirius' name flash up on the screen so he answers.

“Moony!” Sirius’s voice pierces the phone line and Remus cringes. “Remus, my good friend.”

“Did you just get lucky or something?” Remus gruffs.

“Huh?”

“You’re too happy. Calm it down.”

Sirius groans, “You’re so content with being miserable, Remus. Just because you can’t get your dick wet.”

Remus wished his stupid friend could see the displeasure on his face, “What do you want?”

“You’re free this weekend, aren’t you?” He questions and Remus hums a yes, expecting to hear the exact same question you had just asked him only three minutes ago.

“Well, you, me, the gang, and a few pints at The Red Lion. Sounds like a plan?” Remus detests his friend's happiness. Or envies it. He feels miserable and doesn’t think Sirius is deserving of his lack of enthusiasm just because you didn’t ask him out.

“Yeah, Y/N already asked me,” he replies.

“Well, don’t get too excited.” Sirius huffs a laugh.

“No, sorry. It’s just I thought she- never mind. Sounds good.”

“Awesome. I’ll send you the deets.”

Remus almost laughs, “The deets? Wait until I tell Marls you talk like that.”

“Shut up.”

“Bye, Sirius.”

Sirius hangs up before he can.

Remus spots you before you do, again. Watches where you lean against the bar on your tip-toes, talking to the bartender about something. He’s making you laugh and he feels the stupid need that it should be him instead.

He does what he always does; walks up behind you and presses his shoulder into your back. You chirp and turn around. Then, your eyes do that thing that they always do that makes him bite the inside of his cheek. They squint, confused, and then light up when you realise who you’re looking at. Remus could swear that they sparkle, but that’s just something he imagines in his lovesick head.

“Remus!” You smile, mouth upturning until the apples of your cheeks swell. You wrap your fingers around his bicep and pull him into your side. He lets you, willingly.

“Y/N,” he says probably a little too quietly for the setting. The pub is starting to fill quickly while the band does sound check, the general hubbub of the patrons mixes in with the strumming of guitars and the feedback from the mics.

“You’re all wet,” you giggle, pressing your fingers into the underside of his arm.

“Yeah, it’s starting to rain out there,” he says.

“You walked?” You frown, pulling your hands from his arm. He can still feel where your fingers were wrapped. A burn against his wet skin.

“From the bus stop.”

“You know there’s this thing wizards can do, I’m not sure if you heard of it. It’s called disapparition,” you quirk, mouth upturning into a teasing smile.

Amused, Remus says, “I don’t usually like muggles to watch someone appear out of thin air.”

You reach forward to grab some napkins from the dispenser on the bar, probably too many. “I would’ve picked you up,” you say matter-of-factly.

He doesn’t reply, just stops still when you reach up to brush away the damp hair from his eyes. There’s water bunching in his hair and falling in tiny beads down his face, over his top lip. You laugh when he licks it away before you dab across his forehead and then his cheeks.

“I missed you,” you say, bunching the paper into a ball.

Remus smiles, too hard he thinks. “You saw me last weekend.”

You think he might be teasing you, though you’re not sure. You feel like you’ve overstepped. Demure, your eyes widen at your error. “Sorry,” you laugh, airy and quiet.

Remus pokes you in your side, “I missed you too,” he laughs.

You nod your head and bite your lip. You feel eased. But embarrassed in the first place. Scrunching the ball of damp napkins in your hands until it pinches. Still, you’re overjoyed.

“What are you drinking?” you ask, splaying your hands over the bar, leaning where it comes up to your chest. You try to ignore everything. The way Remus is making you feel, the busy pub that’s teeming with rowdy people.

“Not sure,” he quirks, eyeing the taps at the end of the bar. “What about you?”

“I think I might just stick to squash,” you laugh knowingly.

“You’re on it tonight,” Remus laughs, splaying his fingers around your shoulder.

“I’m not having any repeats of last week.”

“Damn,” he pouts, “Drunk Y/N is cute.”

You warm, “Drunk Y/N is messy.”

He squeezes you, a funny pinch. “I think you can be both.”

You lean into his side while he orders your drinks. His hand doesn’t move and you don’t want it to. It’s warm and grounding and feels too good to be true. How touchy he is and how you love it. You imagine a world where he doesn’t just touch your shoulder. Imagining what he’d do if you were together. How ruining he would be.

Distracted by his grip on your arm, before you can even reach into your purse to grab your money, he’s paid.

“Remus,” you scold, pushing yourself off the bar.

“Dove,” he smiles, placating. He grabs both of your drinks, in one hand, fingers twisting. The other snakes down to grab your hand to guide you through the crowd of people.

“Stop paying for my drinks.” Someone bumps into you and Remus digs his elbow into your side to stop you from tripping. You smile thankfully.

You let him weave you through patrons, your hand flexing around his until you get to your table. Once you've sat down, he says, “Sorry, didn’t think a fiver would cover it.”

Faux scolding, you shove his arm. “I have more money on me this time.”

“Good,” Sirius pipes up, “you can buy me that cocktail you owe me.”

“I’m sorry, Sirius.” You act like it genuinely does upset you. Though the thought of how you acted when you were drunk last week, is worse. “I’m a really annoying drunk.”

“Sirius is being dramatic,” Remus sighs, leaning back against the booth. He throws an arm behind you, pressing it up against the wall. You stay sitting forward, not sure if it’d be too much to lean into him. Despite him making the first move. “You got your cocktail.”

“Yeah, you bought it,” Sirius faux scoffs. It’s hard to believe that he actually cares about a stolen mojito, easier to believe he’s determined to tease you until you die. “Doesn’t count.”

“I’ll buy you a cocktail if you really want me to, Sirius,” you lilt, happy to get him to shut up. It works when Remus shoots him a look you don’t understand. Sirius bites his tongue and sits back in his seat.

By the time James and Lily get back from the bar, the band has started their set and you’ve had enough time to think too much on whether or not you should lean into Remus’s side. His weight behind you feels like a magnet. The more you want to pull away the stronger the urge is to just give up and fall against him.

Much like everything is with Remus. The more you allow yourself to think you really do like him, the harder it is to keep to your regular ways. You’ve never allowed yourself to be so openly affectionate and loving towards someone without second-guessing every single thing you do.

Not that you don’t. Every time you speak to him, touch his arm for too long or allow yourself to wrap your own arm around his back, there’s that voice in the back of your head that’s screaming at you. Telling you that you’ve let your guard down too much for a boy you’re not even sure likes you as much as you do him and you’ve embarrassed yourself.

It’s totally overwhelming and constantly feels like a back-and-forth battle. Because, sure, it's no secret anymore to anyone who isn't Remus, that you like him. You just wished it were easier.

As if he can hear your head reeling, or he’s just noticed how quiet you’ve suddenly become, he nudges your leg where it’s crossed with his own jean-clad one.

“You okay?” he asks. His face is soft. Too soft for your dismissive and relentless thoughts to ebb. It’s suddenly painful to even be looking at him and you’ve only been around him for no less than twenty minutes. He’s always had that ability.

The nod you give him is unconvincing and your smile is even worse. His eyes flicker and you open your mouth to speak before he can, “Yeah, jus’ thinking.”

“I can tell.”

“You can?”

You chance another look back at him and regret it instantly when he’s smiling like he knows something you don’t. “Yeah.” He nods, “You’re making that face you always do when something’s eating at you.”

Hating being read for filth, you turn to take a sip from your drink, filling your mouth with your straw lest you say something stupid. You drink it too quickly, and once it’s down to its last dregs, your head aches. Brain freeze. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to distract yourself when you say, “What face?”

“Your lips part and your eyebrows pinch. Sometimes I have to double-check you’re not crying.” Remus is a lovely, horribly attentive boy. And if he keeps saying things like that, things that let you know he does actually pay attention to you, you’re not going to last. When you said you wondered how ruining he would be, this isn’t what you had in mind.

Remus says something to you again, but you don’t catch it. The band transitions into a much louder song and his words fall on deaf ears. You do, however, catch the look he shares with Sirius again over your shoulder.

Confused, you suddenly think fresh air would be better than to pain yourself through whatever’s happening around you. “I’ll go get that mojito,” you mumble.

You weave yourself over Remus’s lap, careful where your shoes and hands land, careful to also ignore where he stables you with his own hand on the back of your knee. You try to make it discrete as you beeline for the bar, taking a small turn to head for the back doors.

The warm air cast from the setting sun slowly dwindles away and you cross your arms over your body, leaning against the railing to the left of the smoking area. When the door shuts behind you, the music from inside slowly dies down and you’re grateful to be the only one out here.

The fear you have been feeling throughout your entire friendship with Remus does its best to claw its way up your throat. Makes your breathing staggered and your palms itch. You suspect if you spent any more time with him inside you would’ve only embarrassed yourself more than you feel like you already have. Best you do it out here instead.

The muffled music slowly grows louder when you hear the door open and you pay it no mind. Not until there’s a hand on your shoulder. You flinch and turn around, pushing yourself against the railing.

“Shit, sorry. Just me,” Remus smiles, pulling his hand from your shoulder.

“Remus,” you breathe, hand to your chest, “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he frowns.

You pause. Trust him to notice your departure. You hope he doesn’t ask you any questions, you don’t expect yourself to hold anything in anymore if he soothes you over.

“You okay?”

Fuck sakes.

“Um, yeah.” You nod. Remus moves to your side, arm pressed up against the railing and you follow him. Turning so you’re face to face.

“You sure? You just kind of up and left.” he laughs weakly, stopping when he notices you don’t join in.

“Sorry,” you apologise.

“What for?” he asks kindly. You once more detest his kindness and his ability to get you to open up.

“I don’t know,” you sigh, leaning further into the railing and it rattles, “I’m being weird.” You’re not opening up like you’d expected, though the words you want to say to him are at the back of your mind, where they were once pushed away, slowly crawling forward. If he keeps looking at you like that, they might spill.

“You’re not.”

“I am. I’m thinking too much and it,” you heave a calming breath. You want to tell him how you feel, not ramble, “it hurts.”

“Hey,” He traces a line over the hinge of your elbow, “what’s going on in that head of yours, hm? Care to let me in?”

You swallow, “That’s the problem. I can’t find the words.”

“That’s okay.” He squeezes your arm, “Take your time.”

His gaze is soft though it still burns where it’s settled over your face, his grip on your arm is worse. Still, it’s grounding. You blink and take a few calming breaths.

The door opens up again and the band’s music spews back outside. It’s the same song that was playing the night you sat on Sirius's couch and you’d freaked about how it was both your favourite. In some cheesy, cliche way, you take it as a sign.

“I’ve never been one for showing, let alone telling someone how I feel about them,” you begin, “I’m not sure if that’s the most obvious thing ever, or if I’ve gotten really good at hiding it but…”

Remus is smiling widely, more smug than anything. It makes you nervous and you advert your gaze to the ground. Over the ash-strained brick tile under your sneakers, “Stop looking at me like that or I won’t be able to finish what I’m trying to tell you,” you sigh.

“Like what?” he asks like he’s oblivious. Like his mouth isn’t now upturned into the slyest smile.

“That!’’ Your face grows warm and you have to press the backs of your hands into them. You can feel the thrumming of your heart in your fingertips.

“Sorry, you were saying,” he chuckles.

“God, where did you get all this confidence from, Remus?” you ask, a little dazed. Maybe it’s the setting or the fact you’re both finally sober together that brings out a different side of him, though you can’t be sure.

Remus shakes his head, “I’m sorry, you just look so cute when you get flustered.”

Your mouth parts, a shocked, demure gasp slips past them. Gawping, you say, “You’re not drunk, are you?” It’s not the first time he’s said it, but it's the first time it feels different.

“Not this time. For once,” he laughs knowingly.

“Right,” you pause. Taking in a shuddered breath. In what world you would ever expect this to be easy, you’re not sure. You’re also not sure that doing this with Remus makes it easier. Easier, because he makes you feel secure and appropriately worked down to tell him anything; harder because it’s him you have to let your emotions go with. It’s him you have to let know of your heartachingly, sore feelings you have. He can’t just be there on the sidelines guiding you through it.

Remus watches you slip away into your shy, quiet self again. He can almost hear your thoughts reeling, “God, you’re worse than me.”

You giggle nervously, all pitched up and light, “You make me nervous,”

He steps forward and if your eyes weren’t stuck on the ground, you wouldn’t have noticed it. He’s smooth. “Do I now?” He hooks a knuckle under your downwardly pointed chin and gives it a tap.

You look back up, catching his gaze, “I hate you,”

“No you don’t,” he says matter of factly. Like its the most obvious thing ever. You’re sure it is.

“I don’t?” You blink slowly.

He closes the gap between you some more and suddenly you’re overwhelmed by him. The smell of his laundry detergent, something familiar and heady, mixed in with the cologne that you swear follows you home. Where the toe of his boot almost touches your sneaker and where the sleeve of his sweater catches on your bracelet because he’s as close as possible. Though you still think he’s not close enough.

His voice mixes in with the same song that’s playing inside and you can barely hear him when it builds to a crescendo and he says, “You weren’t about to go on some rant about how you love me?”

“Remus…” you murmur, quieter than the thumping of your heart in your chest,

“No?”

You bite your tongue, but it does nothing to stop you from saying, “God, yes. Just- kiss me, please.”

“What?” he asks, more shocked than you’ve been this entire interaction.

“Kiss me, Remus. Before the song ends.” You lean into him, up on the balls of your feet and pull your hands between your bodies.

Face to face, lips hovering over yours, he murmurs, “You sure?”

“Completely,”

It’s the last thing you say before Remus kisses you so hard, so deep, that you forget how it was even possible to form words in his presence before now. Snakes his arms around your back and holds you so close your shirt rides up until your skin presses into the soft material of his sweater.

He tastes of stout, a weird mixture against the lemon on your tongue. You can’t find it in you to mind when he hums into your mouth. A desperate, pleading sound that has you squeezing the flesh of his hips. Compared to the reserved and diffident relationship you’ve held with Remus up until now, the kiss you share is nothing alike. It’s passionate and heated. Longing.

The song ends and with a final tug of your bottom lip, he pulls away panting. Eyes skipping over your face, a little glassy and bouncy. “Fuck,” he murmurs.

Tugging on the hem of his sweater, you say, “What?’' with a light chuckle.

“If I…” Remus has to compose himself lest he says something embarrassing. Completely forward. “If I knew kissing you would’ve been like that…I would’ve done it ages ago.”

“I think I’ve wanted you to kiss me for a really long time,” you confess, giddily rocking back and forth on your feet. Canvas sneakers crushing into the ground.

“Yeah?” he hums. Smugness still ever present.

“Yeah.”

“Thoughts on me kissing you again?” he asks, still not letting you go where you’re held against his torso.

You look over his shoulder, “I think if you kiss me again, Sirius’s jaw might fall to the floor.”

Remus turns and spots Sirius and James almost pressed to the glass window. James doesn’t look as pleased, shoving a crumpled note into Sirius's palm. Turning back to face you, he rolls his eyes, “I think they had a bet going.”

“Should we give Sirius his money’s worth?” you giggle.

“I’m going to kiss you. But, not for Sirius.” Remus says, “Only because you look insanely beautiful right now and if I don’t do it again, my brain might go numb.”

“What are you waiting for then?”

“Nothing.”

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin x female reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x yn #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin oneshot #marauders fanfiction #the marauders fanfiction #marauder x reader

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genericpuff · 5 months

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ten storylines u think could have been amazing in lo if they had been handled better?

10 already feels like so much for a story like LO buuttt:

1.) the act of wrath plotline, seriously this one felt like it had some of the most lost potential as one of LO's more unique plotlines (and it lost that potential as soon as it was turned into some "oopsy" committed by persephone due to her wrath being a 'gift' from eris when she was a baby??? still bugs me so much ugh) give me back that dichotomy of Persephone and her internalized wrath, dangit.

2.) the Eros and Psyche plotline. it started off so promising as a parallel B-plot to H x P and then seemed to just get dropped halfway through S1 when Psyche got turned into a nymph.

3.) Echo's involvement as a double agent for Zeus. that was clearly the intention when she was introduced but then she was promptly dropped and only showed up again to say "fuck you Zeus" with zero build-up or implication that she had a change of heart. Like imagine if we actually saw her leaking info back to Zeus but then also getting closer to Hera on a personal level and realizing that she didn't want to keep snitching on her. it would have also made the 'big reveal' of Hera kissing Echo a lot more impactful because then they would have had an actual story arc.

4.) Persephone's character development into becoming the Dread Queen. Right now the story wants us to think that Persephone is somehow "better than ever" despite the fact that her version of the "Dread Queen" is being an absolute Karen. But think of how it could have been if her character de-evolution was the point, to show how Hades had corrupted her. Or if they were meant to be actual shitty people and not shitty people that the narrative was trying to convince us were good.

5.) Hades' and Minthe's relationship. It goes without saying that Minthe was wrong to turn to physical violence, but I'll die on the hill that Minthe wasn't being treated fairly by Hades, either. Those three flashback episodes in S2 leading up to Minthe getting turned into a plant were such a missed opportunity to showcase how Minthe became as bitter as she did towards Hades and what their relationship was actually like in the beginning (and why they liked each other in the first place which they very clearly did) but instead it just dragged its heels because obv Rachel didn't want people empathizing with Minthe.

6.) Ares being used as a tool for war by Zeus. It's clear being sent off to these wars is taking its toll on him and it's created a steep divide within the family, especially concerning how protective Ares is of Hera esp when it comes to how Zeus treats her.

7.) The Aphrodite / Hephaestus plotline. Good god I have no idea what the thought process was behind this one, some of the myths she kinda got away with flipping but this was the one that made the least sense to flip. There was so much potential there that was squandered, a lot of it at the expense of Aphrodite and Ares as traditionally powerful and respected gods.

8.) Hades' alcoholism. Minthe was right, simply falling for Persephone and dropping the cigars and brandy to make himself look better for her doesn't make him a changed person. If the alcoholism was linked to his trauma, why didn't we explore that more? Why couldn't we have seen him actually pursue proper recovery and have it not just be "I'm hot for the 19 year old girl but if I'm drinking constantly that'll make me look bad so I'm just gonna put on the best fake persona I can to make her fall in love with me" instead of actually getting to the root of his issues?

9.) The SA plotline. As much as I talk about how shitty it is, I have zero issue with the original depiction of it, I think it was very accurate especially when it comes to coercion. A lot of people assume SA has to be violent, kicking and screaming, begging for help, but coercive assault is often a lot quieter and more about manipulation which that scene nailed in depicting. It's just everything after that that feels completely misfired and more so for the purpose of making Hades look like a better person simply by comparing him to Apollo on the basis of "he never assaulted Persephone!" and it drives me nuts.

10.) Demeter's winter. In the most recent FP episode, while discussing it with pals, all I could really say was, "This was supposed to be a retelling of the Abduction of Persephone". And Demeter's winter is a core part of that story, one of its biggest purposes in Greek culture was using the myths to explain the creation of the seasons. Despite this being a "retelling" of the Abduction of Persephone / Hymn to Demeter, one of the most important characters in the entire myth has been reduced to, at worst, a Mother Gothel Disney villain, and at best, a pointless NPC.

#ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything #anti lore olympus #lore olympus critical #lo critical

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d4rkpluto · 1 year

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𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔶 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔭𝔥𝔬𝔱𝔬𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔭𝔥𝔢𝔡 𝔭𝔢𝔬𝔭𝔩𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡

♇ before i get into this post, these celebrities that'll be mentioned are not in order of who is the most photographed, and if there's a celebrity that i have left out in the most photographed people, i mostly likely purposely left them out, there's only twelve people i have picked.

♇ on the other hand, this post can be used to see how you might be treated in the future if you were famous and if you could even belong to the most photographed people in the world days beyond :) + neptune is a very important theme in this post.

+ is also a fame indicator post.

THE DEGREES EXPLAINED HERE IS AIDED BY JANDUZ OR BY MY OWN RESEARCH.

paid chart readings

paid intuitive readings :)

the celebrities/figures i used for this information to be calculated were, pope john paul ii, queen elizabeth, barack obama, marilyn monroe, michael jackson, britney spears, elvis presley, princess diana, muhammad ali, rihanna, john f kennedy and audrey hepburn.

ASCENDANT

♇ the sign in the ascendant that had appeared the most was libra, second was leo and the third was sagittarius, for the modality; the modality that had appeared the most was cardinal while the element for the ascendant that had appeared the most within this research was fire.

♇ though for libra to be the sign that had appeared the most can link to how libra is venus ruled and venus is one of the planets that governs over pictures/cameras and is the more public and media sign of the venus if compared to taurus.

♇ the degrees on the ascendant that had appeared the most was the 18°, a degree that can bring respect to the individual, it's evident that all these people are respected to what they bring to the table, who they are and who they represent. on the other hand, most of the degrees that appeared within the research were mutable/water degrees.

♇ the ascendant aspect that appeared the most was the ascendant aspecting the sun, and much of these aspects were in opposition, the people i have researched are clearly people under a spotlight and since most of them did have the ascendant opposition a planet, it does insinuate that much of them didn't like the attention they received no matter how happy the appeared in front of the paparazzi.

the ascendant aspect to come in second place was the ascendant aspecting mercury. if i am correct, mercury does rule over journalists/paparazzi.

SUN

♇ the sun sign that appeared the most for people who have been photographed the most or chased by the paparazzi is taurus, taurus is ruled by venus which rules over cameras. the second sign to appear the most was capricorn the sign can indicate public fame and having the attention of everyone.

though with the signs that appeared all together, the modality that appeared the most was the mutable modality, and it could be because of how the public and paparazzi like how these celebrities can change who they are to present themselves the way the media like.

♇ the element that appeared the most for the sun sign was earth, the earth element being the most presentable element, an element based on the real world and everything that comes with it, so if you're an earth sun and you become famous, you're likely going to get every thing fame brings, the realistic side of it.

♇ the house the sun appeared in the most for these people was the 6H, it's comical because the 6H can be deemed as the first enemy house and most of these times the celebrities do perceive paparazzi as their enemies most of the times, but the 6H is known as the working house, [along the 10H], but most of these times whenever a paparazzi get's a good picture of a well-known celebrity they get extra cash.

the second house the sun appeared most in, was the 2H and it could link to how these paparazzi's do this as a way of income.

♇ for the sun, the degrees that appeared the most was both the 10° and the 27°, a capricorn and a gemini degree, the 10° is not perceived as the best degree as it is found in a lot of famous exploited people, thus having this degree in a big three or even six does insinuate being disrespected by the paparazzi when it comes to boundaries.

the 27°, the gemini degree is another exploitation degree, usually because one can be favoured so much to the point that people would want to see every move of theirs, and it can become very over-whelming.

the element that appeared the most for the degree, is the air sign degrees, air signs being the social/connections element.

♇ the aspects that appeared the most for the sun is the celestial planet aspecting neptune, neptune another fame planet which also rules glamour, over paparazzi and the more unspoken part of fame.

the second aspect that came out the most was the sun aspecting the moon, the moon is not really deemed as a fame planet, but it brings an audience. two of the planets that were mentioned were water planets. neptune rules pisces and the moon rules cancer.

MOON

♇ as expected, the moon sign that appeared the most for the most photographed people was aquarius moon, three aquarius moon women here marilyn monroe, britney spears and princess diana was exploited in many places, were taken photographs even though they did not want it, aquarius rules unexpected surprises [and it being with the moon is a fame indicator as well,] can bring unwanted themes of fame.

the second moon sign placement was the pisces moon, pisces being ruled by cameras and the paparazzi, not surprising that it came in the top 2. people might also want to live through them by the pictures taken.

♇ the houses the moon appeared in the most was the 1H, the 1H is a fame house and is about "YOU". the second house the moon appeared in the most was the 7H, the house of general public, a business house, like i've said before, people took the pictures to earn money. the 7H is an open-enemies house, and by the celebrities point of views, they did not like the paparazzi.

♇ the modality houses they appeared in the most was cardinal/axis houses, [1H, 4H, 7H and 10H] all important houses for someone's life. the cardinal modality can bring fame because you're the face of a commodity.

moving on with degrees, the degree that appeared the most was the 12°, this degree can bring idolisation.

♇ the aspects that came out the most was the moon aspecting saturn, the moon brings an audience and with it aspecting saturn doesnt necessarily mean it'll bring restriction to "the audience you will have" but it can also insinuate that you feel restricted because of the amount of audience/fame you receive.

the second aspect for the moon that appeared the most was the moon aspecting mercury, and like i've said in the previous paragraph, the moon brings an audience/fame, and it aspecting mercury shows that people in your audience will be very curious about you and would want to know your every move.

MERCURY

♇ the mercury sign that appeared the most was aquarius, aquarius rules over social/connections and it is a global sign [can govern over the word individual/person] and it being paired with the mercury planet makes people want to be aware with your choices, how you live, what you do etc.

the second sign to appear the most was taurus, i have explained why the taurus sign can make someone really photographed because it's rulership of venus and cameras.

though the element that appeared the most was the fire element. those of the fire element are charming, charismatic; would make much people want to catch up with them all the time.

♇ the house mercury appeared in the most was the 6H, [and i have explained how the 6H is a work/job house so obviously the paparazzi did it to earn cash + with the 6H being a mercury house it could be because of their curiosity for them].

the second house it appeared in the most was the 7H, the 7H is a business house. and the mercury planet appeared the most in Earth and Air houses.

♇ moving onto the degree that appeared the most in the mercury planet was the 13°; an Aries degree which brings respect and admiration. can make someone a powerful person which causes many people want to keep up with them, is also an indicator of attracting a lot of people.

the modality that appeared the most was cardinal, is the powerful figure modality.

♇ the mercury aspect that occurred the most was mercury aspecting venus, i've explained how venus rules over cameras [along with neptune, capturing beauty or profiles] and the second mercury aspect to come out was mercury aspecting mars, this insinuates that people can be very ambitious to be around the individual.

VENUS

♇ the sign that appeared the most for venus was aries venus, aries venus is a big beauty indicator, which audrey, rihanna and marilyn monroe [who i have used for this research] have, with this aries venus, it shows that a lot of these photographers wanted to capture their essence and beauty.

the second sign to appear was the taurus venus and this one speaks for itself with the sign itself governing beauty. yet the modality that appeared the most for the venus signs was the cardinal modality.

♇ and the house venus appeared in the most was the 5H, it's not as known but the 5H is a media house, naturally ruled by Leo, it brings people under the spotlight.

the second house that venus occurred in the most was the 7H, [7H a business and partnership house].

lastly for the houses, the venus planet ocurred in the cardinal houses, the most important houses in astrology, [axis houses]. they are the main houses that rules over "YOU".

♇ for the degrees, there wasnt a recurring degree that popped up, but aries degrees appeared the most. this fire degree brings self-confidence that makes people admired, aries degrees brings success and prestigious power, which brings more people to want to take pictures of you.

the second degree to come out the most was taurus degrees, taurus degrees can bring success to an individual, makes them profitable to other people, [btw paparazzi get good money on how good the pictures are]. taurus degrees can make someone sought out and surrounded.

the element that came out the most was the water degree, makes someone very magnetic. :)

♇ finally with the aspects that aligned with venus the most was venus aspecting pluto, makes someone very fascinating and alluring. and second to come out was venus aspecting jupiter; jupiter brings an abundance of an audience and people who admire them.

i have noticed that a lot of venus aspects that appeared the most was with outer planets.

MARS

♇ the mars sign that appeared the most was mars in taurus; i've noticed before this research, that mars in taurus was found in many popular people's natal chart; but aside from this, as i have explained that taurus being venus ruled which governs cameras/capturing beauty/essence, it being paired with mars can make people very ambitious and violent following these individuals around and trying to capture their visuals.

the second sign that occurred the most was virgo and this implies with virgo being the working sign, it can make them attract workers who are very passionate and eager making ends meet and willing to do anything to get pictures of them which can include stalking and invading person space.

♇ the house mars appeared in the most was the 8H, makes tons of sense as the 8H is one of the main stalking homes, how people earn their money, [paparazzi earning money from these individuals], can speak about burdens too, [in these matters burdens of being a celebrity].

the second house mars appeared in the most was the 1H, not surprising as the 1H is specifically about "YOU". though modality wise, mars appeared in cardinal/axis houses the most.

♇ moving onto degrees, the degree that occurred the most was the 22°, this degree can make people used and taken advantage of, in this case the media.

the second degree that appeared the most was the 20°, can make someone feel like they are struggling from achieving freedom and space from people around them.

modality wise what came up the most was the cardinal degrees.

♇ lastly, for the aspects, mars aspecting pluto was what came out the most, can show the violence and obsession people fall into while trying to photograph these celebrities/idols. [and even living through them].

the second mars aspect, was it aspecting the moon, i've spoken before that the moon brings an audience, can also bring worship. with these two aspecting each other it can move people to be heavily allured and enslaving towards the being to the point they want pictures of them all the time. [think of how people always take pictures of the moon].

NEPTUNE

♇ neptune is the main theme for this post, neptune/12h specifically governs the real/scarier/stalker side of fame, where people project onto you, where people want to be like you, and it is the main planet that rules over paparazzi.

♇ the sign that i saw come the most for neptune is leo in neptune, which isnt surprising because leo in neptune puts an individual in an even bigger spotlight. people want to capture your essence, the star-energy. [and since neptune moves slowly for about 13-14 years, for people who are reading this right now you don't need to bother about the sign neptune is in for now].

the second sign to appear was scorpio in neptune, am i surprised for that? no, it'll make the paparazzi more stalker-ish and willing to go really deep and obsessive to follow these people around.

♇ the house neptune appeared in the most was the ninth house, house of admiration and trading. [trading for how the paparazzi will trade the pictures with the people they work with for cash].

the second house it appeared in the most was the 10H, the house of public. [it also appeared the most in cardinal houses].

♇ the degree that appeared the most for the neptune planet was the 8°, a success degree but can bring lack of care of one's mental health and security from other people.

the 2°, is the second degree that appeared the most for neptune, is a success degree, a taurus degree specifically, makes people want to capture the beauty of an individual.

the modality that appeared the most was both cardinal and fixed.

♇ aspect wise, neptune aspecting pluto was what came the most, paparazzi pushing over boundaries, fans in general wanting to be around them and becoming obsessed and viewing them as many things other than human. brings the dark side of fame/popularity/success.

the second aspect to appear the most was neptune aspecting the sun, neptune and sun both brings fame, sun is spotlight and neptune is fans/paparazzi, this aspect attracts crazed people like ants on sweets.

OTHER CALCULATIONS

♇ the top three dominant signs that appeared in people's charts for this research was [we all have 3 dominant signs]. ⬎

aquarius.

leo.

capricorn.

♇ the top three dominant planets that appeared in people's charts for this research was [we all have 3 dominant planets] ⬎

neptune.

moon.

saturn.

♇ the top two dominant elements that appeared in people's charts for this research was [we mainly have 1 dominant element, but 2 can count :)] ⬎

earth.

air.

♇ the top three house dominance that appeared in people's chart for this research was [we can have three house dominance] ⬎

7H.

8H.

11H.

♇ the top two modality dominance that appeared in people's chart for this research was [we can have one modality dominance] ⬎

fixed.

cardinal.

♇ the top three houses that had appeared the most was ⬎

7H.

6H.

3H.

♇ the house neptune was in the most were ⬎

9H.

10H.

7H.

this is the end of the post, thank you so much for reaching to this point :)

masterlist

paid chart readings

pluto

♇

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rogueddie · 7 months

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Thinkin Bout You T | 1,061 words Prompt for @steddielovemonth: Love is going out of your way to do something you know will make them happy

Even though he can admit that it's a selfish desire, Eddie still wants to use Steve's pool. He'd thought that, after finally defeating Vecna and saving Max, they could use it as an excuse to have some sort of party.

He's always wanted to go to one of Steves infamous, exclusive pool parties.

"No," Steve immediately snapped, when Eddie brought it up. It was the first time Eddie had ever really heard him angry. "No one goes in the pool. No one- just, stay away from it. It's off limits. That's it."

He'd been confused, but accepted his answer. It didn't matter what he wanted, it clearly made Steve uncomfortable. It wasn't his place to challenge those boundaries.

... but it did make him curious.

At first, he tried to figure it out on his own. Or, more accurately, tried to gauge how Steve fully and truly felt about the pool.

Steve avoided the thing like it would bite him if he looked at it too long. He always steered conversations away from it, or swimming in general, too.

"I'm worried," Eddie admitted, when he finally gave in and turned to Robin. "He can't keep avoiding pools forever."

"It's not pools," Robin says, reluctantly. "It's his pool, specifically. You'll have to ask him, but... you'd get it. If you knew why."

But the only answer he got from Steve was vague, something about Nancy and bad memories.

"I don't want to know what happened," Eddie starts, worming past Nancy as soon as she opens the door. "I only need to know if redecorating the pool might help. Like, if it's bad memories tied to it then spicing it up so it looks different... that'll help, right?"

Nancy stares at him for a moment, needing a moment to catch up.

"We are talking about Steve?" She finally asks.

"Yeah!"

"Right... um... redecorating..." She looks off to the side, frowning in thought. "It might help. He probably won't want to get in himself, no matter what, but... yeah, changing it up might make him more comfortable with it in general."

"Great! I don't know how to redecorate a pool."

Nancy rolls her eyes.

But she jumps into action. She calls Robin, Jonathan and Argyle, gathering them together so they can brainstorm ideas.

It's Jonathan who suggests they try and make it more kid friendly. Argyle is the one who collects pool decals, agreeing on placing them too. Robin insists on being the one to chose the colors with Nancy's help.

Eddie gets stuck with collecting floats and toys, making a mental list of what they could get.

With their hush money, they're able to put aside a decent amount of money for the budget. They're definitely going to be able to completely change that pool.

Getting the kids to agree to distract Steve for the entire day is too easy. They don't even ask why.

Steve calls Robins less than half an hour after they call the kids, pleading and whining about the kids plan. He tries to get her to come up with some excuse to get him out of it.

"Sorry," Robin says, wincing. "Need to stay home with mom. Sounds serious."

It takes another half an hour until Lucas is able to radio them, giving them the all clear.

Sneaking round to Steve's pool feels strange. Mostly thanks to how casual it is, how calm the others look despite the fact that they're technically breaking in.

"We're not breaking in," Nancy points out. "We have keys. He said we can come over whenever we want. We're welcome."

"Hey," Jonathan says, snapping his fingers to get their attention. "Come on, we have a lot to do."

And it is a lot.

Working together, they're able to get through the worst of it pretty fast. It's impossible to rush it all though, having to wait for paint to dry or glue to stick.

They've barely sat down, finally finishing everything, when Steve gets back with the kids.

"Woah, this is amazing!" Dustin says, grinning wide, the first to burst out the back doors.

"Holy shit," Mike says, next out. "How did you do all this in that time?"

"What are you guys yelling about?" Steve asks, voice distant.

The kids scramble out of the way, watching the door for Steve, excited.

"Where have you- oh."

He freezes in the doorway, eyes darting around the garden.

"Surprise!" Robin yells, jumping over to him. "You like it?"

"How did you..."

"It was easy," Nancy says, reassuring.

"Eddie noticed that you hate the pool," Robin adds. "He suggested we redecorate. Change it up. Make it something new."

Steve looks between them all, face blank.

"Steve?" Eddie says, shifting nervously.

"Thank you," Steve says. "It's... thank you."

"Does this mean we can use your pool now?" Mike asks.

Steve laughs, though it sounds slightly choked. "Yeah," he says, shaking his head. "Sure, whatever, let's have a pool party."

The kids cheer, rushing off to get changed. The others follow after them slower, leaving Steve and Eddie alone.

"This was your idea?" Steve asks.

"Kinda? We all worked together to actually... do it. I only suggested we do something. Nancy's the brains behind it all, really. And Argyle."

"Still, you thought to do all... this."

"I guess."

"Thank you, Ed."

"Oh, nah, don't. It was motivated entirely by, like... greed."

Steve snorts, disbelieving.

"It was! You never let us use the pool."

"You wouldn't need to redecorate this much to do that."

"That... yeah, I would," Eddie winces at how his voice cracks. "You're overprotective."

"Eds," Steve grabs his hand, finally drawing his attention to how they've drifted to each other. "Just accept the thank you, alright?"

Eddie glances at their hands, half expecting Steve to pull away. But, despite the flush in his cheeks, he keeps a tight hold.

"Alright," Eddie finally says. "You're welcome?"

"Great," Steve tugs at his hand, keeping ahold of him as he drags them to the house. "I have spare swim shorts that you can borrow."

"You sure they won't be too big?"

Steve glances back, just in time to catch Eddie's eyes drifting down. He laughs bumping his shoulder into Eddie's.

"Perv."

"You love it," Eddie teases, expecting Steve to take it ask a joke.

But he smiles, soft and genuine, squeezing Eddie's hand as he says, "I really do."

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #ficlet #nav.slm #29

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ddejavvu · 1 year

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this might be a weird ask but what abt a short blurb where a younger reader is getting flirted with by an older man at the Hard Deck and Jake who's been trying to get with her for ages comes in to "save the day and get rid of the creep" but turns out that the older man is actually her husband and non other than ssa aaron hotchner

sorry if it's kinda weird I just thought it was funny😭😭

THIS IS SO SILLY AND FUNNY AND GOOD THANK YOU <3333

Jake Seresin is undeniably cocky, but he doesn't often go too far. He's snapped once or twice, but comes away from it a changed man, and stays on the lookout for any ways he can redeem himself.

Having pushed once or twice a little too hard over the counter of a bar, he's been on the prowl ever since for men who haven't picked up the same knowledge as him. The Hard Deck is a perfect place to exercise his keen observational skills, and there's an older man sitting at the counter whos been there for almost an hour.

Usually patrons mingle, but his ass has been on the stool for far too long, his eyes glued to your figure as you work. He's not exactly confused by the man's infatuation with you, as he shares the same feeling, but you keep having to cut off whatever he's saying to serve someone another drink, and Jake thinks that by now, this middle aged douche should have figured out that now isn't the time to chat.

You're clearly strained trying to keep up with both your job and conversation, and the next time someone cuts in to ask you for a beer, Jake sees your eyes pinch shut in frustration. You turn around as happy as can be, always cheery for customer service, but your shoulder sag when you complete the man's request, and the man at the counter doesn't give you two seconds to recover before he's blabbering on again.

Jake's made up his mind.

He strides to the counter in long, confident steps, leaning over opposite the man to call for your attention.

"Y/N, darlin'?"

You cast a tense glance over your shoulder, features relaxing when you see Jake, "Hang on, Lieutenant."

You seem relieved when you turn to face him, a tired smile on your face and his usual order already in your hand, "A refill?"

"That'll do," He grins, that charming expression that he's hoping is wooing the pants off of you, "Hey, honey," He leans in slightly, lowering his voice so that the man subtly observing you two from behind doesn't hear him, "That guy talkin' your ear off?"

A sly grin flits over your face, "It's okay, Hangman. I'll let him."

"You don't have to." Jake presses, eyes clouded with worry, 'If you're trying to make a tip off of him or something, I'm sure it's not worth hearing about what bars were like back in his day. Hell, I'll pay you to let me chuck him out."

"I promise you!" You laugh, "I'm okay, Jake. Thank you for worrying about me."

"M'always gonna," He admits, face gently curved in a frown as you lean back, no longer whispering in hushed tones, "Just let me know if you need me, darlin'."

"Will do," You grin, "But Jake? Tone down the pet names around my husband, would you? I don't want him getting jealous."

Jake blinks.

Jake blinks again.

Then casts his gaze over your shoulder at the older man, who's sitting there nursing his drink with a poorly concealed smirk, his eyes downcast to avoid Jake's.

"That guy's your husband?" Jake verifies, heat at his cheeks and stomach at his feet, "You're married?"

"I don't wear my ring 'cause it gets nasty in the dishwater," You lament, "'Thought you knew, Jake."

"I did not know." Jake nods slowly, gnawing at the inside of his cheek, "Well- uh, alrighty then. Get back to your little chit-chat."

"Thank you for the offer," You call after him as he pushes off of the counter, even if your words fall on deaf, mortified ears, "I really appreciate it!"

"Sorry, Aaron," You grin bashfully at your husband, turning back to take his large hands into yours, "He's like that with everyone. Real sweet guy, just a little forward. He thought you were bothering me."

"It's okay," Aaron hums, leaning across the bar to kiss you, something you normally wouldn't allow during your shift.

"I liked it more than I thought I would," Aaron muses, and you ghost your thumb over the wedding band on his ring finger, "Hearing you tell him I was your husband."

"I don't think he liked it," You nearly cringe at the memory, "Hopefully things aren't awkward."

"Mm, they might be." Aaron chuckles, locking eyes with a dark-haired woman who looks a little bit like she might want to kill him, "I think he told his friends."

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david-talks-sw · 1 year

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I think it's interesting that - in order to make his "free-thinking Jedi" characters hold any semblance of rationality in their arguments - Dave Filoni needs to resort to artificially dehumanizing the other Jedi and painting them all with the same "we dogmatically worship protocol" brush.

He does this with Huyang in the recent Ahsoka episode.

"Lolz he's so narrow-minded, preachy and by-the-book, unable to think outside the box, just like the Jedi in the Prequels."

My first reaction was being amused at the fact that Filoni had to resort to making the Jedi Order's ideals and rules be embodied by a literal machine for his anti-Jedi headcanon to start making sense.

But then I remembered: Huyang isn't just any droid.

In The Clone Wars, he had a sassy personality, he had a pep in his step, he had a sense of humor...

This character was human in his behavior, he was fun and whimsical.

But now he's been reduced to, I dunno, "Jedi C-3PO"? Basically?

"Ha! He's blunt and unsympathetic because he's a droid, but it's funny because the Jedi were the same, they were training themselves to be tactless, emotionless droids."

And Filoni does this with Mace Windu too, in Tales of the Jedi.

Mace, who brought a lightsaber to the throat of a planetary leader to defend the endangered Zillo Beast...

... and who went waaay past his mandate by mischievously sneaking around Bardottan authorities and breaking into the Queen's quarters because he felt something bad was afoot...

... was reduced to being an almost droid-like, rule-parotting, protocol purist who sticks to his instructions (and is implied to be willing to let a murder go unsolved so he can get a promotion).

I mentioned this at the end of my first post on Luke in The Last Jedi... while changes in personality do happen overtime and can be explained in-universe... if you don't show us that progression and evolution and just leave us without that context, that'll break the suspension of disbelief, for your audience.

Here, we have two characters with a different (almost caricatural) personality than the one they were originally shown to have.

Now... we could resort to headcanons, to make it all fit together.

We could justify Huyang's tone shift 'cause "Order 66 changed him". And we could make explanations about TotJ's Mace:

Being younger and thus more ambitious and a stickler for the rules, and only really becoming more flexible after getting his seat on the Council and gaining more maturity.

Being such a teacher's pet in the episode because we're seeing him through the eyes of a notorious unreliable narrator, Dooku.

There'd be nothing wrong with opting to go with either of those headcanons to cope with this. After all, Star Wars is meant to help you get creative.

But the problem I encounter is that:

Filoni has an anti-Jedi bias, so the above headcanons clearly wouldn't really track with his intended narrative.

We'd be jumping through hoops to extrapolate and fill in what is, essentially, inconsistent characterization, manufactured to make Ahsoka and Dooku shine under a better light.

And that sours whatever headcanon I come up with.

Edit: Also, yeah, as folks have been saying in the tags... wtf is "Jedi protocol"? The term isn't ever mentioned in the movies, I skimmed through dialog transcripts of TCW, never saw it there.

So it's almost as if - if Filoni wasn't draining characters like Mace and Huyang of all humanity and nuance - his point about "the Jedi were too detached and lost their way, but not free-thinkers like Qui-Gon, Dooku and Ahsoka" wouldn't really hold much water.

#I *will* acknowledge that part of this may also be that in a cartoon like TCW - characters with no moving facial features like Huyang...#... had to be more expressive in other ways; hence why he's so active in the cartoon; which may not translate well to live action.#Then again- look at how expressive and emotive that Hondo Ohnaka animatronic is at Galaxy's Edge.#And the fact remains that he went from a whimsical Mr. Ollivander type figure to... a droid with data on the Jedi...#... all so Ahsoka would seem more human and grounded by contrast #ahsoka series #ahsoka spoilers #ahsoka show #star wars ahsoka #huyang #tales of the jedi #totj #dooku #mace windu #ahsoka tano #star wars #dave filoni #disney plus

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catboybiologist · 7 months

Text

Boymoding is getting exhausting.

And yay, toxic thought time that's going to be anecdotal and probably come off as somewhat sexist. But I hope it doesn't.

The thing that's really wearing down on me is emotional responses, I think. When cis women cry or show emotion as part of their daily routine, it's still taboo, but often accommodated more than others. I'm going through a lot of emotional swings right now, and there's a very stark difference in how those are treated vs how it's treated in others. And I don't know if that'll ever change, tbh, but hopefully at least someone will acknowledge that it's rough. Even with the good, close friends I have, there very much is a gap in what level of emotion elicits sympathy vs ignoring it or treating it as an overreaction in men vs women. I'm a "man" now, and simply don't get the space for that emotional support as a casual daily thing. It's not uncommon for people in academia to cry or be overwhelmed and anxious, and it's becoming more and more obvious how that's treated in men vs women. It's always a thought I had in the back of my head, but I'm noticing it a lot more now that I'm outwardly a man but have a lot more visibly emotional moments.

Its weird. I have made efforts to be more open about bisexuality, and my day to day vibe has gotten fruitier as a result. A lot of cis women friends have gotten closer to me as a result, but they very clearly treat me with a "gay best friend" kinda vibe. Which is honestly fun, but it provides an interesting baseline for the biases people have in how much emotion men vs women are allowed to show, even among good friends.

On the flip side, another thing I'm becoming more acutely aware of (even though I always knew it was a thing, it just feels more pressing now) is how casually women are ignored, talked over, disregarded, etc etc when compared to men in a academia. I've always known this was a problem, but it's been on my mind a lot more recently.

Top all of that off with the endless physical considerations of compressive bras, managing the way I walk, baggy clothes, mitigating dysphoria vs hiding my transition, not accidentally slipping into my shitty voice training voice while going around daily, making time for injections now, taking sublingual pills midday when I was still on those... Yeah. It adds up.

I've tried making my transition an "open secret" by going to social events and queer events femme, and I know word gets around to labmates and such. I just don't know who exactly knows, and the barrier of actually talking to people about it is huge. I really think, for my own sanity, I need to start telling people what's up even before I socially transition.

I'm particularly moody and stressed bc of my qual tomorrow, but yeah. Consider this a toxic unfocused rant. I'll probably have more to say in a more focused way in a couple days.

Oh also. Please don't be like "ooohhh then why are you still boymoding idiot" cuz that's not helpful. There's a right moment to socially transition and I have a plan.

#trans #academia

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bonny-kookoo · 1 year

Text

Jungkook

𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖓𝖑𝖎𝖙 [Heated Touch] 🔞

It seems like the game of tug-of-war you're playing is constantly changing who's got the strongest will to pull, and who's just staying in place- but tonight, it seems like the rope you're both holding onto might just snap.

Tags/Warnings: Alpha!Jungkook, Werewolf!Jungkook, Omega!Reader, Werewolf!Reader, slight angst, mentions of past infidelity and resulting distrust, Alpha!Werewolf!Yoongi, SOME spicy content but no full on smut, angst

Length: 3.2k Words

THERE IS NO TAGLIST FOR THIS FIC.

-> Masterlist

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Jimin is an oddly charming young man.

You know it pisses Jungkook off that you spend time with him- and while at first, you had started to seek the alpha out exactly due to that reason, you can't deny that his personality is a fresh change to what you're used to. He's not at all overly cocky or bold like Jungkook himself- he's rather quiet and observing, mostly just responding to the things around him, never making the first move it seems. "You know-" He starts, watching you with clear amusement as you sit down in front of him for lunch. "-I should be offended I'm just being used for a game of jealousy." He chuckles, and you look up at that, straight at him.

"What?" You ask, and he shrugs, placing a piece of bread onto your plate from his own.

"Oh, I know your intentions." He informs you with a light voice, no malice to be noticed at all. "May I ask what changed your mind about him? He's been chewing my ear off about you opening up to him only days prior- and now it seems as if all your interest has vanished." He wonders as he begins to eat, and you shrug your shoulders, looking down into your bowl of soup.

"He plays around, or so your pack says." You mumble. "And I'm not gonna be one of his toys. He's just a bitch in heat." You say, and Jimin sighs, though laughing at your choice of words.

"Hm, he's got some problems saying no, I agree." He offers, filling your cup with water- and in a way, you wonder if this game of jealousy is just for you, or if he's finding entertainment in it as well, considering how well he plays into it, clearly aware of the burning gaze of the victim of said game, glaring at his every move from a few seats away. "It's not like he plays around, actively." Jimin tries to explain.

"You don't have to justify anything for his sake." You scoff, thanking him for the gesture before you take a sip from the cold water. "His pride isn't your concern."

"Maybe not." The alpha across from you smiles. "Though I'd like to at least attempt to provide some sort of explanation as to why his past actions could be taken as just 'toying around' with people." He tries to explain.

"Even if the explanation is that he can't say no, it won't change my opinion on him." You huff. "Cause that'll just make him seem weak. If he can't stand his ground, he's not a good partner for me." You complain more or less to yourself, and Jimin laughs.

"Aren't you a bit harsh on him?" He asks. "Who he's been in the past doesn't have to be a reflection of who he is now."

"Hm, sure." You wave the alpha off, continuing to eat.

"Have you ever thought that maybe.." Jimin starts, eyes now finding yours across the table. "…those things told to you could simply be acts of manipulation?" He wonders with an almost innocent tone.

"What?" You ask, and he leans back.

"Sabotage, so to speak." He claims. "Jungkook is a wanted man, after all. You're seen as a rival, darling, not as a potential friend." He offers you, before he takes his empty bowl, standing up from his spot, and leaving you with more questions than answers. You've not really thought about that- that some might just make stuff up about him to make him appear unappealing to you, so you'd let off and let him go in return.

Set him free, in a way.

"For someone who started to despise me for giving attention to others, you sure as hell like to give yours away freely as well." Jungkook's irritated town growls out as he sits down where Jimin had sat before- and you feel oddly small under his heated gaze.

You don't say anything, just swirl your spoon around in your soup.

"Jimin has a mate, by the way. Just so you know." Jungkook tells you, arms crossed. "You're not yet a member of my pack, so I can't really scold you for anything. But I hope you're aware that as Namjoon's second, I'm not going to let your childish tamper tantrum slide."

"I'm not having a tantrum." You argue quietly, a little irritated but not enough to really bark out at him like that.

"Could've fooled me." He scoffs. "If simply rumors can make you turn away from me this easily, I might've overestimated you." He tells you. "I won't make that mistake in the future."

"…what do you mean?" You wonder, and he shrugs, looking away from you.

"Your OWN howl is what echoes back from the forest you call into." He simply says. "If you distrust me, I will do the same, simple as that." He explains, and you set your spoon down at that.

"..I'm sorry." You mumble quietly. "I don't know.." You start, but you can't finish the sentence. Because you don't really know at all what to do, or feel right now. You're not sure if you want to accept him fully, or make sure you really won't get hurt in the end. You don't feel good simply letting him lead you blindly, but you're also becoming anxious at the prospect of him treating you like nothing but a stranger.

"I know." He answers you after a moment, voice and eyes a lot softer- but it holds an odd disappointment in it. "I know you're not sure." Jungkook offers, understanding your situation. "And until you are, I'll have to protect myself as well." He says, as he gets up from his spot, reaching out to touch your wrist briefly. "I know you don't want to get hurt-" He starts, his hand leaving yours.

"-but neither do I."

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The festival tonight is a lot more calm than anticipated, considering the threat of hunters having been confirmed earlier today.

You receive the small gifts of your pack with a bit of a heavy heart, considering you're not as excited as you though you might be a few days prior. You're not sure if you're having second thoughts- or if it's simply Jungkook's behavior that's making you so dizzy in your head. Maybe you've gotten spoiled by his open courting of you- maybe you've taking his bold interest for granted.

Maybe it was you who played with him.

"You can always stay." Yoongi offers from where he's standing, watching a bit from the sidelines. "Don't feel obligated."

"No, it's not that." You shake your head. "Just.. Consequences of my own actions, I guess." You mumble to yourself, leaving the packleader by himself as you walk around the pack premise, watching how everyone's in high spirits- everyone but a certain serious looking alpha, sitting on a bench in a corner, not really participating in anything.

You hate that, in a way, it's your fault he doesn't enjoy this.

But is it really your fault?

He knew from the start that you had issues when it came to trust and alphas in general- he knew what he'd get himself into. So putting the weight on you right now isn't fair either, you think, as you walk around the woods, kicking sticks and pebbles like the tamper tantrum-having puppy he'd called you as. Yeah, maybe you were having a tantrum. Who cares.

It's probably just your stupid omega hormones anyways.

If you were a beta, would he be interested in you? Probably not, because apart from your subgender, you've got nothing to offer him whatsoever. In a way, you'd just be a trophy anyways, nothing else- just something to show off every now and then, and tuck it away safely when it's not needed. You don't want a life like that.

So what kind of life do you want?

You know you couldn't handle a leading role- you're not good at making decisions, not for yourself, and neither for others. Responsibility isn't well placed in your hands, and the safety of the pack can't be ensured with your lacking abilities either. You want something calm, something completely ordinary, boring.

Plain.

You can work with something that will neither disappoint nor excite you. You don't want a huge rollercoaster you'll surely get at his side- there's no reason to really run after him, because in the end, you both don't fit at all. The moon must've simply made a mistake, choosing you for him.

Maybe it just chose for him, but not for you.

"Hey." A voice calls out behind you, and you turn around at that, watching Jungkook emerge from the distance, hands in his pockets. "Don't run off like that." He scolds, and you huff, turning to walk away further.

At that, he reaches out, grabs your wrist. You want to say something- but his gaze is telling you that his word is final. "The moon is up." He tells you, and at that, you realize it too. "It means that right now, you're not under Yoongi's command any longer, but Namjoon's- and therefore, mine as well." He reminds you, and you swallow.

It explains why you suddenly feel so.. small under his gaze.

"Let's go back." He says, but you shake your head, standing your ground. "This is really no time for a-"

"I want to talk." You say, unsure why you're saying it. And for some reason, it looks like that's what makes Jungkook finally snap.

"Oh, now you want to?" He says, walking towards you, forcing you to step backwards to keep some distance between you two- until you lean against a large boulder behind you, trapped. "Now you want to actually be a grown up and talk to me. Curious." He scoffs, looking down at you. "It's odd how you always seem to seek the things I want whenever I'm not the one asking for them. One moment you want me to want you, just to tell me to stop- and then you seek me out again, try and tug me back into your game." The alpha growls, patience having finally run out.

It's not like he's angry at you- but more so frustrated at what made you into such a mess, because he knows that you don't actually want to be like this.

You're just scared. And he doesn't know what to do to not have you feel this way.

"If you just wanted me to play with you, you could've always just asked." He offers, voice falling into a honey-smooth hum as he leans into you, your sudden desire for him awakening. You're not scared of him at all in this moment- and you blame your own hormones for it. After all, you've been dreaming of him-

And those dreams have been for your eyes only, clearly. If not, he would've definitely talked to you about them- would know how far you've went in your imagination already.

"You just want the momentary excitement from me, no?" He wonders. "It's what everyone wants. It's what I'm there for, aren't I?" He says more so to himself than you, and suddenly, your mind grows dizzy. What is he talking about? And why can't you bring yourself to concentrate on it?

You don't want to be like this. Not right now.

"Hm, but I'll play with you, won't you like that, hm?" He hums into your ear, and you melt underneath his words, easily nodding at his proposal, because you've waited way too long for this.

He's finally made his move, and you're gonna enjoy every last second of it.

"You think I haven't heard you talk to Jimin about me, don't you?" He suddenly brings up, inked arm reaching over your thigh so his hand can cup your heat- harshly so, forcing your body upright even, and you can't help but mewl at the way it puts pressure on your aching core. "You think I don't know how you yap about me to your friends hm? How you call me nothing but what? A 'bitch in heat', wasn't it?" He recalls, and you whimper a bit because you did call him that.

You called him a lot of other nasty things in your head, and you do regret it a little. Just a tiny bit though. Or maybe a lot.

"Yeah well-" you huff impatiently, throwing your head back over his shoulder. "-You're all talk and nothing more." You complain. "You'll just- you just wanna fuck me and then toss me aside like everyone else!" You tell him with a slightly angry bite to your tone, and he clicks his tongue, fingers of his effortlessly opening the buttons of your shorts.

"Stupid omega-bullshit." You blame, hips moving impatiently as you curl your toes from the sensation. He shakes his head.

"And yet you let me." He chuckles, and you want to cry. Because you do let him fuck you over like this, right now. You do, with full knowledge of the consequences after. But you also want him, because he's got these.. glimpses of something you've never had before.

These moments of actual happiness, actual care and gentle adoration- something similar to the love everyone always gushes about around you, the thing you've never quite experienced before. "Why, I wonder." He asks you, while his fingers easily dip in between your legs, slick making it easy for him to move around.

"I think you know why." He shakes his head however, free hand moving to pull you up properly against his chest again, perched up on his thigh, legs spread open while your shorts and underwear pool at your ankles. "You know exactly why you let me, and why I'm doing this in the first place." He offers, and you don't answer.

Cause you're not sure. If it's not your omega hormones, then what? Is he going to come at you with some fated soulmate bullshit?

"You've got me tangled around your fingers, darling, and you don't even know it." Jungkook tells you with ear amusement in his tone, voice vibrating against your back. "Your body is calling out to me, and only me, isn't it?" He wonders, two fingers dipping inside you, finally giving you something at last. "You crave me, and can't bear the thought of anyone else touching you like this." He explains, while he leans in to let his lips run over the skin near your ear, searching for where your scent is strongest. "You feel empty without my touch, cold without my presence, lonely without my eyes on you." He goes on, and you want to cry out of frustration because first of all how does he know, and second of all why can't you fucking cum?!

"You know I'm right." The alpha wolf tells you. "Because I feel the exact same things." He offers.

"Wha-" you start, before you're interrupted by a specific motion of his fingers inside you, legs kicking out.

"Don't act so surprised." He mumbles against your skin, watching from above how you squirm in his grip, arm holding you close while the other plays around with you. "Its not like I'm hiding anything from you or anyone else." Jungkook chuckles. "Not like you, that is." He teasingly bites at your earlobe, making you shudder.

You're absolutely boneless in his grip right now, close to crying as he keeps your final high always a breath away.

"You're testing my patience, darling." The wolf continues, really making sure you know he's truly playing with you. "One moment you want me, the next you don't. Who's really playing a cruel game here, I wonder?" He accuses, and now you're really close to tears, but for different reasons.

"I don't-" you start, moving your legs in desperation. "- Wanna talk 'bout that now.." you whine, and he clicks his tongue.

"You don't ever want to." He almost growls. "And I'm sick of it, darling." He says, the pet name said almost like a threat, harsh and sharp. "You either talk-" he starts, and you're sweating at what cruel thing he's got in mind. "-or I'm leaving you."

And you know that by leaving, he's not only talking about his hand between your legs.

And that- the prospect of him leaving you alone- finally breaks the floodgates, making you cry.

Because you don't want him to leave.

Not anymore.

The first tears fall without any permission, face suddenly desperately hiding against his shoulder, hands reaching out to cling to his clothes. "Don't go." You beg pitifully, your lust entirely forgotten as you break in his embrace, not even having noticed for a good moment that he's holding onto you tightly, faint music from the pack premise echoing through the forest as you cry into his body, letting him at least keep your physical self together. "I'm scared." You admit, and he hums.

"I know." He responds, a hand on your back running up and down in reassurance. "Of what?"

"You." You respond. "Me." You confusingly say, before a frustrated "Everything!" Escapes you- and he sighs, a gentle kiss placed on top of your head, the gesture so tender you feel like it could shatter you any second now.

"You don't have to be." He offers. "I'm here now, am I not?" He asks, and you nod, slowly calming down from whatever just happened. "I'll make sure there's nothing to be scared of."

"What if you're what I'm scared of?" You wonder.

"Then tell me what it is that scares you so much about me." He asks you with desperation.

"What do you even like about me?" You ask, eyes all red and puffy as you stare him down. "Aside from me being an omega, and your fated one-" You start, and he throws his head back, taking a deep breath to collect himself visibly.

"I can't tell you that-" He starts, hands wiping your cheeks. "-Because you've never showed me any part of you." He says.

"So you do only want my body-" You begin, but he chuckles, shaking his head.

"I meant the parts that are in here." He taps your chest, right underneath your collarbone. "I've never ever seen you. And I want to."

"You're seeing it right now." You huff, disappointed. "It's nothing but a mess."

"Then let's sort through it." He offers. "Let's just tidy up in there, get rid of the things you don't need so we can make space." Jungkook tells you, and at that, you look up.

"Space for what?" You ask, and he shrugs.

"For you to breathe." He says, hands on your shoulders now. "And maybe for me, too." He teases almost, before you lean forward, hugging him tightly.

"No need." You simply confess into his chest, making him smile.

"You're already in there."

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