#if you knew me even 2 months ago i was a RABID fan and had been since it first aired

[greencarnation]

So yk how Taika, Rhys and Con are Zionists? I think we all know by now. (People supporting them anyway I fucking see you)

It gets worse. Remember how they killed Ivan off screen and kinda just erased him? Turns out it's because they fired the actor, Guz Khan, over his support of Palestine last year. Last year. None of this is new, but I'm glad we're finally waking up to it

[fakeloveaskblog]

Janus!!!! You and Remus should go to play Lasertag!!! (is that how it's spelled? is that what it's called?) I'm sure Remus would love that!

(Words: 2206)

Janus: "Hmmm while I am not a big fan of the idea of lasertag it does sound like something he would like.......I shall give it a try"

Remus was banging on the vending machine right outside Picani's office to try and get some candy out. Janus was telling the vending machine it was a stupid piece of shit in support. They had just gotten out of their fake therapy session.

“HAHA!” Remus let out a triumphant laugh as he got the candy. He immediately lunged his goblin mouth down into the bag. Only stopping to ask if his friend wanted any. He said no.

“So...” Janus began. He fiddled with his gloves out of nervousness “I kind of had a falling out with a...friend a few days ago and I could- I mean- Maybe hanging out would I uhm help me to think of something else. IF You want to?! I am totally forcing you to hang out. No saying no allowed totally. Maybe lasertag would be fun?”

His friend had sugar all around his lips as he grinned “Of course J-anus! Anything for my snakey! Hey you can pretend the other people are your friend and fuck them up!!”

Janus didn’t get a chance to respond, his crush had already started to walk towards the entrance. He had a skip in his step and he was flapping his hands around.

“Oh I know a lasertag place not far away! I think I still have one of the highscores there!”

They took the bus to the place. They sat so they were facing each other instead of beside each other. Janus didn’t want to intrude too much on his personal space.

The lasertag place was half filled with teenagers and friend groups. Energy drinks and chips could be bought. On the wall a display of the records of the day, month and all time stood. On the tenth place on the all time records stood BUTTMASTER420.

“Aww I was on the 7th place the last time I was here” Remus pouted.

“It just means you have to get a new record today” Janus replied with a smile.

“That’s the spirit snakey!”

Remus once again paid for everything without giving his friend a chance to pay for himself. Janus felt a little embarrassed putting on the laser tag gear but seeing the stupidly big grin on his crush’s face easily made up for any negative feelings.

The game room was dark with only a few neon lights here and there. The fake walls and obstacles made so the players could duck from lasers were also clad in black. Hell even the fake pirate ship sitting in the corner for some reason was all in black!

The dudes were on the same team, the blue one. Along with some strangers. Even more strangers made up the red team. They had 30 seconds to find a starting position in the room before the 15 minute game started.

The moment they were let in Remus took Janus’ hand. He intertwined their fingers while holding his lasergun steadily in his other hand. He ran into the room, pulling his friend along, towards the pirate ship. To Jan’s surprise he ran past it and instead made them both hunch down behind a box.

“We can wait until some bitches have taken over the ship and then destroy them!! That way it’ll be even more exhilarating!” Remus whispered to him.

“Ah yes. The old stealing ship strategy. Done that many times” He replied sarcastically.

The signal went off showing the match had started. Remus let out a delighted squeal and shot up from the cover to shoot at people. His friend stayed hidden. 

He saw a stranger running and stopped when they saw them. They aimed towards Remus who was currently laughing like a maniac. Janus aimed back at the stranger and somehow shot right on their chest. Before getting up and pulling his crush along to the nearest other cover, which happened to be a fake pillar.

Janus had a small smile on his face as adrenalin rushed through his veins “This is actually kind of...fun”

“Right??? I knew you’d like it!!”

Remus hit his ear a few times and kept blinking rapildy. There was so much sensory stuff going on it was making his skin feel like static. He usually had his headphones with him, but being with his friend was easily making up for the discomfort.

“Seems like a good time for mutiny” Janus suggested while glancing over to the pirate ship.

“Perfect time!”

They ran between covers. Remus was shooting at every single person he saw. Even blue ones. Janus’s gear beeped a few times showing he’d been shot. By the time he’d gotten to the pirate ship his crush was already crawling up the side of it like a rabid spider.

Janus let out a few panting breathes before walking up onto the ship. “Face your doom fuckers!” Remus was yelling while sprinting up to the people on the top of the ship.

A truly epic battle of shouting joking insults and shooting lasers began. No one was paying attention to Janus so he sneaked around them and sat down right at the highest point of the ship. He could see the whole room. Ah yes! This was true power!!! He proceeded to snipe at any little bitch he saw while his crush playfully barked at the other people until they gave up and left the ship.

Remus sat down and leaned his back against Janus’ so he had full sight of the other side of the room. He let out a cackle every time he hit someone. His laugh was like a chainsaw but Jan still adored it.

“This is almost as exciting as getting to plot revenge against people I will never actually hurt” Jan said.

“Indeed. There’s barely any difference between lasers and poison anyway!”

A few minutes went by, just enough so Janus could properly catch his goddamn breathe. before Remus suddenly jumped up on his feet and pulled in Janus’ shirt to get him to move as well.

“C’mon snakey just sitting safely isn’t exciting enough! We gotta jump back into the battlefield! Dive into the ocean of laser and lava!!”

Janus let out a sigh before holding out his hand so his crush could take it and pull him along to wherever he wanted. Which Remus promptly did. They jumped down from the ship and zigzagged across the room while lasers went here and there.

He slid to a stop against a wall. A loud beeping was going off to show it was only 2 minutes left. Remus let go of his friend to cover his ears. He still held up his smile.

“You feeling okay?” Jan asked.

“Mhm” He nodded and moved his hands away from his ears to instead aim at a few people from the red team “We gotta get in a few more points before it ends right”

“Right on it comrade”

They aimed at as many people as possible. Remus seemed a bit out of it but still chuckled when he got in a good hit.

A stranger ran past them. They stumbled against Remus for just a moment. Their hand landed on his lower back but they quickly continued past them to hide behind a cover. 

The sudden push made Remus stumble forward. He froze. The gun hang in the wire connected to his gear. His eyes were wide as he stared down into the floor.

Janus stopped and looked back when he didn’t hear his crush’s laughter anymore. He let go of the gun when he saw the way Remus was holding his hand over his mouth and the way his chest was barely moving.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I...I can’t breathe” Remus let out between gasping breathes for air.

“Is the binder too tight? Ehm is it a sensory overload? What should I-” He rambled out in a panic.

“I can’t....I can’t breathe” Was all he could get out.

“Right. Right...Remus I am going to grab onto your shirt and lead you out of here okay? I won’t do anything more than that”

He waited for his friend to nod before lightly taking ahold of the arm of his shirt and walking through the room to the exit. He didn’t give any of the players running around as much as a chance of accientally touching Remus.

They left the lasertag building and sat down on the sidewalk behind it. Janus let go of his friend and gave him a bit of space. Remus buried his head in his hands while gasping for air.

“Do you need help with-” Janus began.

“I can...I can handle it” Remus interrupted.

His shoulders was shaking and his nails were digging down into his skin. Tears formed in his eyes and he immediately tried to force them away.

“This is so stupid” He mumbled “It was- They barely even touched me- it was an accident- It’s so stupid- so stupid”

“Don’t say that. Sensory overload isn’t anything stupid. It’s not something you can just force away with willpower. All the lights and sound was a bit much for me as well to be honest. So it’s not stupid for you to be overwhelemed either” Janus said in a soothing tone.

The tears kept buldiing up “No. No. It’s so stupid- It happened over a year ago- I should be past it- It’s so stupid”

A cold feeling spread through Janus as he realized it might not only have been a sensory overload but maybe something more close to a flashback. He scooted slightly closer while fiddling with his gloves. He was unsure of how to comfort him.

“I...When....” Janus took a deep breathe “It’s been almost a year since I moved out from my parent’s house...But when I had a window open a few nights ago and the wind suddenly made it slam shut...I...It reminded me so much of doors being slammed shut and....and....So all I could do for the next hours was hide under my blanket with my snake plushie. I knew I was alone in my own apartement...But my body still reacted like I was a teenager”

He stopped to regain his compuser.

“So Remus I promise that whatever you’re reacting to it’s not stupid. Nor is the way you are reacting. I know what’s it like”

Remus looked over at him, his eyes red from crying. “Can I hug you?” He asked with a hoarse voice.

Janus didn’t respond. He simply opened his arms and let Remus cuddle up against his chest. Jan moved his hand up and down his back and and pressed his face into his crush’s fluffy mess of a hair.

They sat in silence for a bit. Every now and then Remus sniffled but he didn’t try to move away. Sometimes Janus mumbled something meaningless but comforting.

Eventually Remus moved back. The tears had dried on his cheeks and his breathing was steady. He stood up and rubbed his palms against his eyes before standing up. Janus did as well.

“You should probably drink some water when you come home. So you don’t get a headache from the crying” He suggested.

“Thanks snakey” Remus let up into a small smile. He suddenly took out his phone and typed something “I ehm...I’m sending my adress to you. I know you’ve already walked me there. but in case you’d forgotten. And in which apartment number I live. I don’t have any job and i don’t sleep much so you can come at like anytime! Just to hang out. If you want!”

“Oh no I would absolutely despise having to spend time with a person I’ve already choosen to spend several very fun hours with”

Remus’ smile moved into a grin “Great! And uh next time we hang out after therapy we can do something you want. I know these past times we’ve done stuff I’m mostly interested so you can choose!”

Butterflies flied around in Janus’ chest “I would love to!”

“Maybe we can invite Remy as well!”

Both of them sighed at the same time “They’re so pretty”

They glanced at each other with blushing cheeks before letting up into laughter and giggling. By the end of it all the bad feelings left by the breakdown we’re gone.

Remus reached out and held Janus’ hand for a moment “Well I shall see you next time! Don’t die!”

He let go and started to walk away, a skip still in his step. “I’ll do my best!” Janus replied.

He stood still with a big goofy grin on his lips and with blush reaching up to his ears. He looked over to you with an excited look on his eyes.

Janus: “Did you see that!? He really does seem to like being with me! Oh I wonder where I’ll take Remy and Remus to hang out. Maybe a museum? Oh and his adress! Exscuse me I am not usually this excited but ahhh I can just go over and hang out?? Whenever I want to??? Should I? I want to! Should I go over to him this weekend? Is that normal? Is that okay?”

[m-y-fandoms]

[Aoi Asahina, Sonia Nevermind, Chiaki Nanami, Rantarou Amami, Ibuki Mioda] x reader imagine: comforting an insecure guitarist s/o after their band plays live

Request: Oh my god, are DR blogs coming back again?? This is the third new one I've found this month!! Really happy about that.  Great writing so far by the way! Could you maybe do Asahina, Sonia, Chiaki, Rantaro, and Ibuki (separate) comforting an insecure, guitarist S/O after they just performed a live show with their band? And like, the S/O is really worried that they sucked even though they did well? Oddly specific, I know. Would appreciate it though! Cheers!

OMG I NERDED OUT AND HAD SO MUCH FUN WITH CHIAKI’S, POINTS TO THE FANS WHO GET THE REFERENCE, though it’s an easy one Nishishi~

Thank you for this imagine request and being so specific about what you want while still giving me a lot of creative freedom! I immediately had some simple but cute ideas about this! - Mod Kokichi

Gender Neutral reader, a few brief lewd humorous lines, but SFW otherwise.

Aoi Asahina

- You were nervous, pre-show jitters shuddering through your body, but you couldn’t back out now.

- Not when your super hot, super excited, super supportive girlfriend had hyped you up just before the show.

- “Stage fright?! How’d you even get into a band in the first place with that mentality?!” Hina teased you backstage, mere moments before going on out to preform. She saw you chuckle nervously, not taking her joke as well as she’d hoped.

- She took your hand firmly. “Look, you know that face you love, the one I make when I’m thinking about pastries?” She continued.

- “The one that makes you look like a chipmunk?” You answered flatly.

- “I don’t agree, but yes! That one! When you’re scared up there, imagine me doing that face! Or better yet, I’ll be front row, in the V.I.P. standing section anyway. Just look for me there!” With a peck on your cheek, she gave you a determined look before pushing you toward the stage and disappearing.

- “H-hina!” You stuttered, but it couldn’t be helped, it was time.

- To your surprise, the nervousness went away as your band was about half way through the first song.

1. The attention is mainly on the lead singer.

2. You were focusing on playing too much to fully take in the screaming crowd.

3. You were actually enjoying yourself.

- As the first song ended, however, the music fading out and the crowd going wild, you felt that little pinch of panic settle back in. There was no music to focus on and protect you, just a hundred faces to look out upon.

- Your eyes darted back and forth over the audience, searching. Your breathing came out a little heavier, until your eyes landed on a lean, curvy, athletic figure, with tanned skin and a smile sweet like honey...no, like doughnuts

- She put her hands up near her face like paws, closing her eyes in an open-mouth smile. You smirked, nodding and strumming your strings once again.

- At the end of the show, fans flooded to the hallway that connected the venue’s main hall to the dressing rooms backstage, reaching out to try and grab band members, hoping to take how an autograph or lock of hair as a souvenir, and you rushed through, sweating and ultimately disappointed with the overall performance you put on that night.

- Hina was already waiting in your temporary dressing room for the night, standing and throwing her arms around your neck before praising you endlessly.

- “S/O, that was amazing! That third song, I felt like the bass shook the place! It was intense, like the final lap in a freestyle race, you know?! We gotta bring Sakura next time. I think she’d really get into the pull of the steady rhythm!” Her little dramatic expressions, her brow knitted together passionately as she spoke...she reminded you every day why you fell in love with her.

- “You...you really liked it? I thought I was kinda just going down further and further in quality as the show went on. I felt like shit by the end…”

- “Are you kidding me! It was fantastic. I think the whole audience was immersed. I know I was! Hey...you better not have all these groupies flocking you looking for a piece tonight!” She teased, hugging your arm!

Sonia Nevermind

- Sonia was extremely excited to go to a public concert. Anything that brought her closer to commoners, to feeling like she belonged around ordinary people was just swell to her.

- Even better that it was in a country foreign to her, where she could be immersed in the cultural norms and behaviors.

- Even better that she was watching the one she loved play.

- She was afraid that you’d judge her when she first admitted her love for the occult, horror, and all things gothic and metal.

- You thought that was pretty hot.

- So there she stood, in the front row of your concert, in a poofy green dress with expensive jewelry and accessories decorating her frame. She stuck out like a sore thumb, but Sonia, blissfully unaware, felt like one of the normal people.

- She jumped when the crowd did, her fist in the air, entranced by each note that came from your instrument.

- Sweaty metal-heads and ravers bumped into her endlessly in the tightly packed crowd, and she couldn’t care less.

- You looked amazing up on stage, and she felt like she was a part of some fan fiction she read once.

- You know the trope, where the reader is in the crowd at a famous band’s concert reluctantly, and her favorite member locks eyes with her and either pulls her on stage with them or takes her backstage after the show and ravished her!

- And she felt her love for you and your musical talent swell within her heart.

- After the concert, she met you outside the back door of the venue, and you were shocked silent at her appearance.

- “S-Sonia are you okay??” The tights under her dress were ripped, her bracelet missing some jewels, the bow tie falling out of her blonde locks, which by the way looked like a rat’s nest. Topping the look off were the pit stains under her arms and in the valley of her cleavage.

- “I’m sorry. I knew this would be a shitty experience. I shouldn’t have brought you. The music was bad anyway, huh? I shouldn’t practiced more.” You looked down in shame, before she nearly tackled you, her arms around your neck and kissing you everywhere, up and down your face and neck and chest.

- “D-do not say these things! Tonight was the b-best night of my life!!!” she sputtered, too excited to enunciate. “You looked like a hero in this J-Drama I watched years ago! Like the protagonist Sawayama Keito!! And I??? I was your romantic love interest, the plain Jane in the crowd, Ito Aiyaka!”

- “You really enjoyed it that much?” You could smell the body odor and adrenaline pouring off of her, very un-princess-like, but you couldn’t care less, grinning like a fool.

- “I love you, Sonia, you crazy kid.”

- “Play for me again tonight, in the dorm room…” she spoke desperately.

Chiaki Nanami

- Chiaki did not want to be in that crowd that night.

- A short, skinny, lazy, introverted girl at a live concert full of rabid fans and no seats? Standing room only?

- She briefly mentioned this to you days before the show, not wanting to hurt your feelings. It was something mentioned in passing, in her normal flat and tired tone.

- “I hope I don’t get stepped on...maybe I can bring my Gameboy and play when things get too wild?” She mused, leaning back on you as you prepared to start practicing on the edge of the bed next to her.

- You loved Chiaki, and you knew how to take her hints by now.

- “Chi, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I know crowds aren’t your thing.”

- “No, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she smiled that lazy, half-lidded smile. She loved you too, and she wasn’t about to be the only one on campus not there to support you. She yawned and took your guitar from your hands before falling asleep on your lap.

- You thought the gesture was cute, but inside you were a bit irritated. You’d told her many times prior to that night that you needed all the practice you could get, and that you were afraid of bombing. So why would she purposely stop you in the middle of practicing?

- Oh well. You leaned back, memorizing chords and lyrics in your head until you, too, passed out

- The night of the concert, Chiaki stood in the front row, her backpack strapped to her front, oddly snug on her chest and obviously on backwards, but it was easier to access her Gameboy and fidget toys in case she needed to retreat from the overwhelming noise.

- She told herself they were just for emergencies. She was there for you, and frowned thinking about how you’d feel if you looked down off the stage and saw her not paying attention.

- People piled in, and soon your band came on stage. The lead singer introducing you all.

- Chiaki was already feeling like the ceiling was lowering, like the people around her were far too close, and looked down, hoping seeing just the dark venue floor and her shoes would calm her, one hand on her backpack for security.

- “Oh!” She gasped, her little bangs flying up and her eyes widening like saucers as the lead singer sang the first notes. Three notes, that’s all it took.

- “Aha~aha ah ah...ha~uh huh huh…” the lead singer breathily voiced into the microphone, and Chiaki smiled wider than she had in months.

- You met her eyes on stage knowingly, smirking at first, then suddenly anxious that you might slip up or disappoint her. You strummed two loud, vibrating notes, stern and piercing through the air.

- Again the same two notes, before you joined the singer by the microphone, inhaling before singing in harmony:

- “In you~ and I, there’s a new land~ yeah~he heah!”

- She relaxed, tilting her head back as the sound waves overtook her.

- “Angels in flight~”

- “My sanctuary. My sanctuary, yeah~”

- You didn’t tell her you’d be doing covers that night. Video game covers, nonetheless. Her head shot up, looking at her phone quickly. She looked at the date.

- February 14th.

- Man, she spaced out often…but this…

- She blushed furiously, and her eyes locked with yours. You grew nervous, playing even harder. She swooned and let herself get lost in the bass.

- You played iconic video game themes all night, and by the end, Chiaki was more overwhelmed and exhausted then she’d ever been, but in a good way.

- When you walked into your dressing room back stage with flowers you had hidden earlier, she accepted them with a flush of her cheeks.

- “You didn’t need to do all that...s/o...this was…”

- “Y-you didn’t like it? I was nervous for a month planning this gig. I know I’ve still got a ways to go with playing live but-“

- “I loved it.”

- “What?” You weren’t convinced.

- “I loved it. Every second. I’m sorry I didn’t get you a gift, I didn’t even realize.”

- “Gifts don’t mean anything to me, Chi. You’re all I need.” you pulled her into your chest for a tight embrace. “You’re My Sanctuary.”

Rantarou Amami

- Rantarou was so excited about seeing your debut concert, snatching the tickets as soon as you presented them to him.

- “Can I bring along my sisters, too, S/O? They’ve been wanting to hear you play ever since I first mentioned that you were in a band.

- “Of course, but...I don’t know why they’d wanna all waste a Saturday night on my shitty band. We don’t even play that well ye-“

- “Silence!” He picked you up by your waist and squeezed you until you couldn’t breath, much less put yourself down with a self deprecating jab. He kissed your cheek playfully. “You’re sexy and the way you play guitar is sexy. I listened you practice all night the other day!”

- “Y-you did? I didn’t even see you!”

- “Huh...” he scoffed, “ maybe because you were lost in your passion, becasue news flash, you’re good at it, stinker!” He pinched your cheek, always knowing how to make you flustered. “Yeah, I heard every single note, and even peaked in once or twice, seeing you stroke those strings so tenderly…” He forced you against the wall, his hot breath against your ear “ I wish you’d stroke me like that.” You face ran hot and you roughly shoved him away, him giggling like a fool.

- “Okay, okay you win, Amami, bring whoever you want!” You stomped off with a huff.

- The day of the concert, the entire front row looked like a field of spring grass, the large family of green-haired siblings shouting before you even began your first song. You shook your head at Rantarou and his many sisters, half-embarrassed, half-flattered. You felt your hands stumble across the strings, Rantarou giving you a thumbs up and a wink.

- After the show, you couldn’t run off the stage any faster. You ran into the staff room backstage where refreshments and spare equipment were usually set out, and were greeted by a row of Amami’s swarming you and praising you, talking much too quickly and all at once. 

- Rantarou simply let his sisters flock you, asking you to teach them to play, to help them meet hot musicians you knew, to learn to read music. You felt your ego rise, flustered once again at the hand’s an an Amami.

Ibuki Mioda

- Ibuki shouted to the band backstage, tuning her guitar and hyping up the other members. She noticed you a little out of place, looking a quite queasy and apprehensive.

- “S/O! The hell are you doin’ over there! Hudddddddle up!” She pulled you by your shoulders.

- “I don’t know why I let you force me into joining the music club...I shouldn’t have mentioned my interest at all…” you grumbled.

- Months ago, Ibuki had heard you, her darling and adorable s/o mentioning that you played guitar in elementary school, and wanted to listen in on her band once practice one in awhile. Well, that was the end of that. She decided it was time to freshen up your skills and get you comfortable with the strings again. Now here you were, moments from your first live performance since you were 10 years old.

- “Whaaat! That’s like, a major no no, that low energy, ya dig?!” She held your hand, swinging it back and forth with a feral look on her face. “You’re bitchin’! And Ibuki is bitchin’! And tonight we’re gonna set the stage on fire!”

- The show went on as planned, you and Ibuki on guitar while she screamed into the front mic. Your drummer just barely cut through the vibrations of your combined sound waves, and you buckled down and reminded yourself that with Ibuki at your back, that stage was yours. That audience was yours.

- Plus...who was staring at you when Ibuki was up front, looking like that, acting like that. That passion, that intensity, it’s what drew you to her in the first place.

- The crowd roared viciously, opening up a mosh pit in front of your neon gothic goddess of a girlfriend, and you couldn’t have found her more attractive than you did right now, her arms swinging open, releasing the guitar and simply bellowing into the mic, commanding the hellish pit in front of her like one of the succubi from Gundham’s wild tall tales.

- You suddenly felt so unworthy of her in all her glory, simply providing the backup and harmonies.

- When the show ended, you and Ibuki equally carried each other back stage to the school’s stagehand room, leaning on each other’s sweaty bodies for support.

- “Sheesh, that was straight fire tonight, s/o, huh?! Immolation on the stage, in the fleeeesh!” She shredded an air guitar in front of her before collapsing on a folding chair. How did she still have any energy at all?! You scoffed incredulously. “ Ibuki was worried for a second there, but we pulled it off! I knew we’d be amazing!” Huh???

- “You were worried?” You quickly realized what she probably meant, “Oh...like nervous that I’d mess it up for us?” Her eyes widened, a shocked look on her face as her hands flew up to her hair.

-“What? No! Ibuki was worried about Ibuki~” She grimaced.

- “Why would you ever be nervous, you’re the best musician for miles around.” You drank from a water bottle before tossing it to her. She caught it in one hand, downing it.

- “Hey, Ibuki gets worried too~” She winked at you, a flirty glimmer in her eye as she held up a heart made from her connected hands. “But s/o is Ibuki’s rock! Partners in crime, yeah? No need to worry with you at my back tearing it up!”

[kunderdogs]

Ateez / GF Defending Them 2/3

Here’s part 2!!! Tomorrow I’ll put up part 3 which is Wooyoung and Jongho :)

Once again, this has mentions of violence/fighting & racism so if that triggers you, please read at your own risks. And this doesn’t reflect the members. Just how I feel they would react in certain situations.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Yeosang:

Showing your boyfriend around your home town was something you had been telling him you wanted to do for a long time. So when they went on tour in the town just a little ways from where you grew up, you nearly ran to your phone to book your flight back home and call your family to tell them the good news.

Months later, you were hand in hand with Yeosang, walking around and experiencing the night life while the other seven boys were scattered around the city. Some in front of you, running in and out of stores as they played a game while others were sucked into the shopping mall that was opened late. They had finished the concert for tonight and just got done with dinner so it was a little after midnight yet the boys were still high off the adrenaline from the fans.

Just as you were passing a nightclub and mentioning a funny story to Yeosang, a drunk man stumbled into the two of you roughly. Yeosang was able to steady the two of you after you tripped before throwing a glare at the man over his shoulder. He was known to be a savage and not hold back his tongue, but the language barrier seemed to stop him before he could say anything.

The man returned Yeosang's glare almost instantly, "Watch where you're going, little boy."

Before he could stop it, you heard Yeosang scoff before replying in Korean, "You bumped into us. You should watch out."

Obviously not knowing what the hell he just said, the man looked confused at him before at you then back again. "Tell your little friend that this is America, and we speak English here. If he doesn't like it, he's welcomed to go back to China."

At this point, there was absolutely no way for you to keep quiet. The man's friends assessed the scene and were trying to defuse it and pull him away to the side but he swayed and came back to stand in front of you two.

You frowned. You'll be damned if someone was going to be blatantly racist, especially in front of you! "Watch your fucking mouth, prick." With that, you placed yourself in front of Yeosang as he tried to pull you away. "But, you're right. This is America, where he has just as much rights to be here as you. Go with your friends before I get really mad."

There was a moment where you thought he would back off until he laughed loudly in your face. "Look at that, this little bitch has a mouth on her," he slurred to one of his friends who gave you an apologetic glance. His beady eyes were on your boyfriend once more, "You'd better put this one on a leash. She sounds rabid."

You weren't sure if Yeosang knew what the guy implied but you reacted before you actually thought it through. Your heel swung down on his toe so hard, the guy screamed and buckled under the pain. In the next moment, your fist connected with his cheek just the right amount that made him finally lose his balance and tumble to the gravel. His friend stared wide eyed before rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

"He's not fuckin’ Chinese, he's Korean." And with that, you spat on the floor next to him and snatched Yeosang's hand to continue your walk around the city.

In the back, you could hear the friend say that he deserved that before leaving his ass to whimper in a ball. You were fuming so much as you stomped down the street that bystanders parted for you.

It was probably the dark scowl on your face, brows frowned aggressively while Yeosang stayed quiet behind you. Finding an empty bus stop, you threw yourself on it, folding your arms over your chest and glared at the building across from you.

Soft hands untangled your arms but you were still too pissed to look him in the eye so when he whispered your name, you couldn't help but glance to the side. That little smirk that you loved was stretched on the vocalist lips, his thin fingers rubbing your knuckles to calm your nerves.

"Are you alright, love?"

His question only made your anger spike so the next second, you were pacing in front of him. "No! I can't believe someone would say that - from my own town! This is just - I honestly cannot believe - Who even is that racist?! Like what the fuck! How dare he! America has so many different races and cultures and-and there's so many minorities in this particular side of town - oh my god. I'm going back to give him a piece of my mind."

You made a move to go back the way you came, until you felt a hand circle your wrist and pull you to stand between your boyfriend's spread legs. He looked up to you, for the first time since he was taller than you, and laced both your hands together.

"I love that you are so protective and won't sit down where there's injustice but please, let's not resort to violence." Your arms wrapped around his shoulders and visibly relaxed against him. "If something happens to you, I'll have to get into a fight and my face is too pretty~"

"Oh, so what you're saying is that you're too pretty to fight but I'm not? Got it." You teased, smirking when you saw the wide eye panicked look he gave you.

"Yah! How can you just twist my words like this? Aish...You're too beautiful to be even out and about. I'm going to lock you in the hotel room for the rest of the tour."

"Ooh~ I like the sound of that. Will you be in there with me?"

His cheeks instantly bloomed pink. "Stop teasing me, woman!"

Yeosang wouldn't mind you defending him, as long as it wasn't violent. He'll even cheer you on if you got especially savage. He loves when you stand up for what you believe in and would encourage you to always speak your mind and never, ever change.

Mingi:

Although he hated to admit it, Mingi took a lot more time to fully recover from his back pain than he let on. With the new album coming up in two months time, nearly all of the members had already most of the choreo, if not all, memorized. It took him a little bit longer due to the constant strain this particular dance had on his back and sides and he had to take more breaks than the rest of them.

He already felt like shit for missing nearly all of the promotions for Wonderland and it'll be a cold day in hell he was going to have a repeat of that.

Currently, at ten pm, 5 hours since the group had wrapped up their practice for the day, Mingi was still in the hot training room, with their choreo teacher glaring daggers into him from the mirror.

They were towards the front of the room, far away from the side door when you quietly slipped in with Jongho. You convinced the maknae to come out of the studio for dinner since you knew he needed a break as well. As you two opened the door, their dance teacher was laying in on Mingi on his missed step. The two hadn't even noticed they had company.

"I know you think two months is a lot of time but the rate you're learning is too slow," their teacher huffed, running a hand thru his sweating hair. "You really need to get your shit together. You don't want to be a burden to the team, again do you?"

With his head lowered, you saw Mingi lower it some more. That was a low blow, and you felt Jongho freeze up next to you while the anger boiled in your veins. While around fans and the boys, Mingi always smiles and laughs but he was deeply hurt by the fact that he couldn't participate and felt that he didn't hold his own weight. He felt like he let down the staff, the fans and most importantly, the boys. They tried to reassure him that they just wanted him to come back healthier and take his time but that didn't make the guilt go away.

"No, I don't. Everytime I do the chorus, the twist makes my back ache so I miss the timing -"

The older male was having none of that and this time, angrily threw his snapback at the mirror, causing Mingi to flinch. "Stop with the excuses! The other boys had injuries too, you don't see them whining about it! They suck it up and are professional! Carry your own weight and stop relying on the boys to pull it for you."

That was the last straw. You had heard more than enough to get you seeing red. So without further ado, and too quick for Jongho to snap out of his shock to yank you from the room, you were stomping over to them.

Hearing the footsteps, they both turned to see the look of promised murder on your face and fire in your eyes. "I don't care who you think you are, but you have no room to belittle Mingi. He's still recovering from an injury and this comeback has been hard on all of the boys to get down. Much harder than any other. So maybe you should change something, like San suggested weeks ago, rather than blaming them!"

Stunned, the dance teacher didn't do much other than stare with his mouth agape. You grabbed Mingi by the arm and dragged him out the door, Jongho following close on your heels.

But you weren't done just yet. "If you two don't tell your manager about that asshole, I sure will! It's one thing to have constructive criticism but that was outright bullying! Is he always like that?! Where's my phone? I'm calling your manager right fucking now-"

"Baby, please," Mingi pleaded, placing his hand over yours that was digging in your purse. "He's right. I shouldn't complain and just try to push past the pain. I'm sure it'll get better with time and practice."

You rounded on him, eyes narrowed in a glare that had never been directed at him as long as you had been dating. Jongho cowered behind Mingi's strong back, peeking from around his shoulder to watch the onslaught.

You were sure if steam could come out of your nose, it would be bellowing around the hallway right now. "No matter what happens, that is no way to speak to someone! It's like everyone forgets that you guys are human. You need time to recover, and even San and Yunho complained about the spins and dips in the chorus. If it's too complex, it should be changed, especially if it'll further irritate your injury! Don't you dare stand there and take that again, Song Mingi. I will raise Hell over this entire building."

There wasn't much he could do but nod, holding onto Jongho as if the maknae would protect him from you as you hurriedly spun on your heel. "Let's go eat before I burn this place to the ground in my anger."

Being so quiet when faced with confrontation, Mingi would definitely be one to silently thank you for defending him/protecting him. He wouldn't ask you to do it, or even tell you about any negative encounters but if you happen to be there and stop it, he would be in the background, letting you say whatever you wanted before pulling you away from the scene to calm you down.

San:

There's not much that San can't do. That includes fighting. San is pretty good at getting out of things with his charm and quick wit, so you rarely ever have to defend him and if there were a fight to break out, he is a black belt.

Honestly, he knew how protective you can be. Being an older sister, you had your fair share of defending your siblings from bullying and knew how to fight (even if it was street fighting, it still counted). Everyone liked San and his members so there was no real need for you to go into protection mode.

Until one fateful night two years into your relationship with San. You were out, celebrating your friends' engagement and since she was also friends with San, it was only natural that he was there too. The night was going perfectly fine; none of your friends were too wasted, no drink had spilt on you and there was no drama between anyone so far.

That all ended when you went to the bathroom, leaving San alone to get another round of drinks for you two at the bar. The line was long at the ladies room, which wasn't new to you but by the time you were done and making your way to find your boyfriend, some girl was pressing her body against him while batting her lashes at his unamused expression.

"I told you, I have a girl already." His flat tone told you that he was done being polite right about now.

"Really?" She sneered, twisting box dyed blonde hair in her fingers. "Then where is she? Oh right the 'bathroom'. Honestly, she probably is flirting with another guy right now. She looked rather easy to me."

There was a twitch in his jaw that made you upset there was two people that didn't move the hell out of your way fast enough for you to get to them. San huffed before taking a sip from his beer. "The only easy girl I see around here, is you. Throwing yourself at a man whose said he's taken three times is just pathetic."

Enraged, the girl quickly grabbed the untouched drink next to his, you presumed it was your drink, and splashed it on the front of San's button up. There were shocked gasps and yelps all around before people turned to stare at the two of them. It was enough of a pause for you to break past and stand in front of your boyfriend.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" You taunted, hands on your hips and head cocked to the side with a scowl.

"As if I would want to waste my time on you," Her brown eyes narrowed on San behind you, "Or that bastard either."

You shoved her shoulder, hard enough to have her stagger back, unbalanced from being in heels. "Keep your mouth shut, bitch, unless you'd like me to shut it for you."

Her face twisted in anger, slowly turning red from the emotion before pushing you back, "What are you going to do? Go play somewhere, little girl."

Tired of talking and buzzed enough to do something irrational, you didn't realize you slapped her until you did it twice and then yanked her hair so she was on the ground, with you standing over her. A few yells and cheers sounding like "WORLD STAR" sounded off around you but you didn't pay her any mind.

Grabbing San's hand, you walked over her, smirking at as she clutched her face.

"He's mine."

San loves when you're possessive and jealous side comes out. He finds it so hot, even if you're raging mad at him. The only times you'd have to come to his rescue would be if a girl had tried something with him and was getting aggressive but after he saw it for the first time, he would never let you forget it. He would tease you saying that it was really sexy how you don't take shit from anyone and even suggest you slap him when you got freaky. Of course, you would stare blankly at him like “I will actually slap you if you keep that up.” and he'll just laugh. He just finds it really sexy so he's all for your jealous/protective nature to surface.

[primedirection]

Dead to me

In which Harry does the unthinkable

Warning: Angst

AN: Idk about you but I like the pain

These past three years have been an absolute rollercoaster. It had it's ups, it's loops, and right now it's downs.

It had been building up over a couple months. Harry could be the sweetest enchanting soul and he could be the coldest. Giving even the devil a run for his money. It was what you like to call 'On season'. The season where he was in the studio everyday, and when he wasn't in the studio he was out with mates 'finding inspiration' until the sun came up. The one where only some nights he'd have the gall to send you a 'Don't wait up!' text, instead of just leaving you to stay up and worry until he walked through the front door again. But during 'On season' even when he was home it wasn't much better. He'd either sleep the day away to recover from the nights he went out, or he'd spend them locked in his study going over the soon to be promo schedule bound to drag him away from you as well. Those days he hardly spoke a word to you.

Like everything else in this relationship, part of the blame fell on yourself. It's not like you didn't know what you signed up for. You knew how massive his role was in this world, how important and how hard he had to work to keep his career thriving. How much he meant to people around the world and what they meant to him. It's why during 'On season' you bit your tongue until it sometimes bled to dejectedly leave him be instead of starting a potential argument by asking him to spend some time with you. And perhaps that's where you went wrong because you let it build until it reached your limit.

Tonight started like the many. Harry starting his day in the studio and ending it in a club somewhat drunk. Unsuccessfully sneaking inside at four in the morning to lay down on the sofa to sleep it off, but you were there already up waiting on him. Not that he was even slightly surprised to see you there.

He merely sighed raking his fingers through his short disheveled hair before dropping his keys off and shrugging off his coat. Slurring, "Shit, could've sworn I text you,"

The lack of a genuine apology in his carefree reply had overstimulated the animosity building up inside you and spilling out of your mouth without a second thought. Scoffing, "That would require you to think of someone other than yourself for once. Obviously something you're not capable of,"

You didn't mean that, you swear you didn't but once you started it was impossible to stop. At the sound of your tone he momentarily paused before visibly wilting. With a new type of lag in his step as he approached. The closer he got the better you could see the cold bleary green of his heavily lidded eyes, and the dark circles under them to match.

"Please, please don' fuckin start. I'm tired, you're tired let's just go t' bed and start over tomorrow when-"

"No! Fuck that! All I've been doing is waiting! Waiting for you to take a break, waiting for you to come home, waiting for you to fucking acknowledge that I even exist!" You shout absolutely fed up.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration and it immediately reminds you of the first time you had this argument. Back then the gesture used to calm him down. He looked up afterwards with remorse in his eyes, hurt that he hurt you and it ended in a sincere apology and the most intense love making you've ever had. But now when his hand dropped he looked nothing short of furious. Nostrils flared, lips pressed tight, jaw clenched, and brows pulled tight enough to create the famous crease his fan girls loved so much.

"Alright then, c'mon! Lay your shit on top of the even bigger pile I have on my plate! Hurry up and blame me for everything so I can get to fucking bed already," he seethes through bared teeth.

"Oh come off it, you're not the damn victim here, Harry. If you're really so got damned tired then maybe you should try sleeping at night instead of partying all the damn time!"

Harry flinches at first, that taken aback. He thought you understood more than anyone just what he'd been working so hard toward. So just as quick he becomes really angry, chest heaving and unable to refrain from storming toward you and shouting back, "I've been fucking working! You know good and well networking and being seen is apart of my job. I can't afford to be a damn hermit!"

"Every single night? Really?"

"You don't seem to have a problem with that when the bills come in. Not that you've ever seen one," He glares maliciously.

Now that actually hurt, like taking a punt in the gut hurt. You were left breathless all the same. Gasping, "Harry,"

And yet he still wasn't done. "No if you're gonna attack me for being 'selfish' then I get to defend myself when you're being ungrateful!"

"Ungrateful, are you kidding me? I've made sacrifices just to be here with you Harry! I'm the one that comes running to your every beck and fucking call. Whenever and wherever you're lonely, tour included! When your so called friends bail I'm the only one left to take care of you!" Adrenaline courses through you so intense your hands won't stop trembling.

"Wow, I didn't realize flying out for a fuck was such a big deal. You made those choices to come, I didn't force you! And s' not like you didn't get something in return for it anyway,"

Your heart nearly shattered at how vile he painted that experience. The lowest blow he could ever make. Those memories truly meant the most to you. "And it's not like I asked you buy me shit!" You fumed.

"So you're just gonna ignore this fancy fucking house we live in? As if it wasn't your idea, hmm? The nice cars you drive, the endless flights back and forth for your family because you can't be alone for one damn day, the five star hotels, the fucking trips that I take you on-"

"That's not the point, Harry!" You damn near shriek overwhelmed, tears pouring freely down your cheeks, "I don't care about any of that!"

"You don't care? You don't care and I've been working my ass off for it. Really?" In that moment something snapped inside of Harry, like a switch. His stress and rage merging into one and swelling like a balloon, desperately needing some kind of release.

"Harry you know I—"

"No, I know exactly what you meant! Fuck all this shit right? You don't care?" Harry suddenly goes on a rampage. Starting with the first shelf that you built together when you first moved in, lined with pictures of both of you from milestones over the years. With rabid force you've never seen him use he tosses it over face first. Shattering most if not all the frames on the tiled floor. The shelf itself splitting in half.

Leaving you screaming, "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"You're what's wrong with me!" He shouts and then went another shelf. One that contained both of your favorite childhood photos.

"Harry stop!" You plead shielding your eyes as shards of debris fly all over the place.

"I've been working myself so hard! Practically to an early grave for this— for you?!" He began stalking towards the fireplace and your heart stopped. He wouldn't, would he?

As he shows no signs of letting up you panic and desperately beg, "Harry stop! Please don't —" but he doesn't care and you are too late to physically stop him.

The sounds of glass breaking as he swept his hands over the mantle was enough to startle you but there was a crash of one particular item that sent your heart shattering with it.

A container that hadn't even been a year old yet. Your feet carried you over to the mess without your brains comprehension or a single care that Harry's tirade moved on to a different shelf. Nor about the shards of glass that stung both your knees as they tore your skin open or Harry eventually demanding what the hell you were doing. All you registered was the slight cloud of dust resonating in the air and the actual pool of ashes spread about all over the floor.

Ashes that belonged to your father. Just everywhere.

Harry had heard you cry before plenty of times, not that he was proud of it. But there was something eerily disturbing and heart wrenching about the way you were trembling and sobbing uncontrollably now. As upset as he was it made him stop dead in his tracks. He instinctively assumed that you had been hurt given your collapsed positon. Immediately he felt guilty but that multiplied by ten fold once he rushed closer to your side to help.

At first he didn't understand how you could be covered in dirt so suddenly and then the realization set in that it wasn't dirt at all. He fucked up and he fucked up irrevocably.

Hardly even a year ago your father passed from cancer and you had been waiting to scatter his ashes on his birthday. Harry knew that. He just didn't know that you moved him there on the mantle he all too recently destroyed.

Pretty soon he found himself on his knees cursing and pleading. His hands shaking too now grabbing at broken shards of glass, "Shit! Shit baby, I didn't mean tha'! I didn't know he was there I swear it! Shit. M' so sorry. I'll fix it, I'll get you a new one I promise,"

Your father's death took the hardest toll on you that he's ever seen, and once again it was resurfacing. He broke you.

Your feedback is always appreciated!

Part 2

[violetnuisance]

WDHTD Analysis

You know the analysis papers your English professors make you do? Yeah, I did one at nearly 2 am on a fanfiction. Here we go.

It’s currently 1:54 am on Tuesday, July 2, in my lightless bedroom as my right thumb is furiously tapping on my phone’s digital keyboard. Why am I up? Beats the heck out of me; I should’ve gone to sleep hours ago. But one thing is for certain-I just finished @ironiclittlebaby ‘s fic, We Don’t Have To Dance, and I have emotions, so enjoy this little unedited fic analysis.

A preface: A few months ago, I tried my best to read WDHTD, and had only succeeded in reading the first 7 chapters because I was unconditionally bawling my eyes out. At the time, my mental state wasn’t the best, and this fic seemed too cruel to be good, so I left it. However, today was the day I decided to give it another chance since I’m better mentally, and boy am I glad I did.

Now on to the real shiz:

I’m not going to stick to a TPCASTT format for this. It is way too late, and I am way to hyper. Therefore, this might just me be babbling versus an actual analysis but who cares.

1. What is the writer doing?

Blue has created a band au in the sally face universe that has taken the fandom by storm to be perfectly honest. They’re creating an angsty fic that resolves into a happy ending at its very core. But what is actually happening behind the lines?

A reoccurring trait in a lot of fics from any fandom is the usage of pornographic material, because, hey, sex sells. By just adding the singular tag ‘smut,’ you are enthralling one side of an audience. They will be willing to read the fic each and every update for the chance of a sex scene. And, the fact that WDHTD opens up with one, reassures the readers that yes, sex is in here, and will probably be in here more than once. It’s a format a lot of authors go to.

Blue is also keeping the reader in the dark. Why did Larry leave Sal? You have to read the first 10 chapters to just find out the answer to that one question, which also happens to be the main plot point. Humans are curious creatures, and we’re going to keep reading to find out an answer if the story isn’t too terribly off putting no matter what.

However, this blindness also gives the reader the time to feel Sal’s anguish, brew their hatred for Larry, and in general, just feel sorrow at the whole situation. Only to have all these conflicting emotions ripped from you when Larry admits, while puking his guts out, his reasons for leaving. This moment is positively pivotal, and the author needs to sell that this character-you-thought-was-bad-is-actually-a-sweetheart in order for the rest of the story to fill the reader with more raw emotion and give them the prime reading experience. For the most part, I’d say Blue succeeds in this, but we will cover this point more in the second part of the analysis.

The author here is using a buttload of foreshadowing. I dare one of Yawll to tell me in my inbox that you didn’t know Larry was going to OD. We all knew it, we really did, we were just praying that it wouldn’t happen. But with every little incident, Like Travis revealing Larry relapsing could kill him as ScreamFest neared, it creates an incredible sense of dread that leaves the reader on the edge of their seat. It’s like a thriller almost (not really, but indulge me here), and it makes you unable to close Ao3.

The author is also using research. They are knowledgeable about binding contracts, drug usage, and medical conditions. We’ll discuss why this matters in the third point of this analysis.

2. What is the effect of that writing on a reader?

I heavily addressed a lot of this question in the first point, but there’s one thing I want to talk about here. Let’s discuss why it’s very important for the author to convince the reader that Larry Johnson is a sweetheart who was forced to leave his fiancée and not a total jerk who had a choice.

Even when the reader doesn’t know why Larry left Sal, it’s foreshadowed that he still has feelings for the bluenet. Let’s take a moment that happened right after my favorite scene when Larry is about to tell Sal something but is cut off by the screams of rabid fangirls. The whole moment, the whole scene, had been tender. Deep down, the reader is faintly aware that something is up, that this hatred can’t be as searing as it is portrayed. The reader is still wary of Johnson as they should be, but they’re also suspicious that there’s more than meets the eye because Larry’s acting a little lovesick. This helps soften the reader’s attitude towards him before the big reveal.

Then, we get to the turning point. The reason for Larry leaving is out, and all the readers are scurrying off their beds to get tissues. The reader has a very crucial internal fight here:

A) Forgive Larry Johnson (99% of the readers choice) or

B) Do Not Forgive Larry Johnson (like me because I’m a stupid hardass)

For the rest of WDHTD to hit the reader as it is intended, the reader must choose option A in that moment. There’s very little turnover time for any B choosers because Sal accepts Larry back at an alarming rate. So, in most cases, I’d say whatever choice your mind goes to in that instant dictates the reading experience you’re going to have.

In most cases, I’d say Ironiclittlebaby does this perfectly, plays the readers right into their hands, so let’s focus on why they set up this game of “Hey, he’s not a bad guy like you thought he was.”

For one, it makes the reader more vulnerable. It almost feels like you’ve been in Sal’s shoes-everything you thought was true has been erased. Like Sal, the reader’s going to be exposed. When Larry starts showing affection towards Sal, the reader is going to jump on that but also be worried. Because, hey, the truth was reversed once, so the same thing could happen again, right? As well as Sal’s, this strategy makes Larry gain the reader’s trust, making his downfall that more heart shattering.

It also gives the reader a rush of euphoria. It feels like you’ve just climbed a mountain. “Hey, I’ve conquered the angsty slopes, and now I can see the fluff filled valleys below!” This wistful mindset settles in to most fic readers heads, and they’re just so happy for the turnaround. Which also makes the new angst even worse.

Now, why would it be bad if the readers chose option B?

If you chose Option A, go ahead and close your eyes with me. Imagine rereading every one of the 27 published chapters but instead of rooting for LarryFace, you can’t help but feel this disgust for Larry. If you thought he had a choice when leaving Sal, then your mind probably cheered when it was introduced that Travis had a crush on Sal. You probably hoped, even though you knew it wouldn’t work out, that Salvis would become the new ship. If you were constantly rooting for Travis and maybe even felt disappointment when Sal chose Larry, Larry’s demise will not hit you the same. There will be thoughts like ‘he deserved this’ that destroy what the author intended to make you feel. Instead of sadness, your gut is left feeling what every fic author fears that their readers will feel: indifference.

But hey, I’d say that Blue pulls off their intended effect super well. I’d say the obsession the fandom has over this fic really shows that they crafted the trick well.

3. Why does that matter?

First, let’s talk about why research matters.

Most fic readers aren’t going to be very knowledgeable about certain things, so authors can really gloss over topics most of the time. However, there’s always that one group of readers that are knowledgeable about the topic at hand, and having complete bullshit in your story could really turn them away. I’d also like to say that having thoroughly researched your topics just really shows to any reader. We might not know the specifics of the topic, but it warns our heart that the author cared enough to put some time in the fic besides just writing.

Secondly and lastly, why does making the reader sad matter?

I’m going to keep this short and sweet because I can hear dogs barking outside, and it’s time for me to sleep.

When the readers has lows, it makes the high that much sweeter. A fic full of straight fluff gets boring after awhile; there has to be some sort of conflict to make a story interesting. And all this angst is going to make the happy ending of We Don’t Have To Dance just that much more tear jerking.

Not part of the analysis, but I just want to point out that Blue’s writing improves so god damn much as the chapters progress. Like, my breath was taken away by their striking style by chapter 27. They’re going places, and I’m excited to watch.

I’d also like to say it is a devastatingly beautiful piece of work, and personal opinion, it kind of sucks that most fans just dote on the sexual side of it. It’s so much more than just another smut fic.

Alright, thank you for listening to me rant. It’s time to log off and go practice my own writing by working on my fics.

[benjaminjofaiho]

The Captain Next Door Ch.1

Summary: You’re a doctor who also just so happens to be a fan fiction writer. You love lots of fandoms but Captain America is by far your fave, so what happens when you get a new job, move to Brooklyn and realize that the brownstone you bought is right next door to Captain America? Obviously shenanigans ensue.

Warnings: cursing, smutt (eventually)

Authors note: Ok guys, this is literally my first fanfic and it’s about the Cap. Please be gentle! Also guys I really do live for a slow burn so that will be present heavy, I hope you can stick with it. Let me know what you think and please, reblog, like and comment! Love y'all! P.S. I do not currently have a beta and the ‘f’ and ‘u’ keys on my keyboard are messed up so incase you see repeating letters anywhere they aren’t supposed to be feel free to let me know.

   You wiped the sweat forming on your head from the sweltering Brooklyn heat. You were from Texas but this was definitely more than you were used to, or expected from everything you’ve seen on TV about New York. You sat on the stoop of your Brooklyn Brownstone waiting and started to think back. Three months ago you were in your parents living room opening up a heavy envelope from a hospital you’ve only dreamed of. Your father beamed from ear to ear, chest swelling with pride and tears were already in your mom’s eyes the moment a paper cutter went through the envelope. Your eyes flew across the page “Y/FN Y/LN, We would like to offer you the position of Head of Cardiology here at Mount Sinai...” everything else had been a blur. All your sleepless nights in college, all the anxiety, stress, sacrifices of missed birthdays and family gatherings, all of it had lead up to this moment and it had all been worth it. Your job started in the next 5 months and you had to pack up your Texan life and move all the way to the ‘big Apple’ as your dad called it. Besides the fact that you were infatuated with the city since you were a little girl, you were ready for a change of scenery. There were so many good memories here in Fort Worth but thanks to your asshole ex, Daniel, there were also a lot of sour ones as well. Your parents and your younger siblings helped you pack up your little house that was just  15 minutes from theirs. You were able to get everything done in about 2 weeks. At the airport your family saw you off. Your younger brother, Benjamin, eyes were red.

           “Aww baby brother are you crying because you’re going to miss me?” you pinched at his cheeks.

           Swatting your hand away he chuckled “Nah, I’m just thinking about how you’re gonna be in a whole nother state bossing people around and how you’ll finally be able to mind your own business and stay out of mine.” You hugged him and he bent down so you could kiss his forehead. Even though you were 26, a whole 7 years older than him and 5’8, he still towered above you.

           Turing to your 3 youngest sisters, Joy, Faith and Hope. Their names a testament to just how southern and Christian your parents were. They were huddled together crying freely, looking like little black angels in a chapel. You hugged each of them while the youngest, Hope, held on the longest. You hugged her until she was ready to let go. You kissed Faith on the cheek and moved to turn to your parents. The third oldest Joy grabbed you and hugged you once again, fiercley. She whispered in your ear “Y/N, I don't know how to do it. I don't know how to take care of them the way you took care of us, what are we gonna do without you?”

           You looked into her brown eyes “Joy, babe all you have to do is love them. Also I’m just a FaceTime call away, PLUS I’m a big shot doctor so it ain’t nothing for me to hop on a plane for y’all. Girl I got monnneeyyyy” That managed to get a little laugh from her and you stepped back to look at your siblings. Technically yes, they were your younger ones but due to the large age gap you always looked at them as your children, your babies. The 4 of them huddled around you once more and hugged. You turned to your dad who was never one to shy away from his emotions, was all but balling.

           “Come on dad, you gotta hold it together man!” he laughed and wiped at his cheeks

“I’m just so proud of you baby girl, you inspire your brother and sisters to do more, your mother and I have always told you that, but I never told you, you inspire me to. I am beyond proud of you.”

           “Aw dad, I love you so much” Pulling you into one of his patented hugs he said “I love you too. You’re going to the big apple now Doc, make sure you take a bite” Kissing your forehead you turned to face your mom. Oh boy. Of you made it through this one you would be home free, no ugly snot face crying. She gave you the best smile she could and that was it. The dam broke and you were sobbing. She hugged you and told you how proud of you she was, how you were a shining light for your siblings and the family as a whole. She told you that she also packed some food from home in your suitcase so you could settle in a little easier. You looked at her with a heart full of nothing but love. You were a little neurotic, and had a tendency to be anal retentive, planning and sticking to strict schedule for everything, predicting 10’000 possible outcomes to any situation but your mother was always there for you. Always remembering anything you didn’t. You thought of how she was really the only one you would let see vulnerable and take care of you. You would miss that in New York. Picking up your hand luggage you were whisked through security thanks to your first class ticket. Turning once more now passed security you stood up on your tip toes and waved emphatically to your family, not caring who saw you or them looking crazy. Your family had already been a little above average but this new job allowed you to even buy your wants not just your needs. You settled down in your chair and noticed only a handful of people were in your cabin. A stewardess came to offer you some champagne and you politely declined. Looking out the window a few seconds letting the last tear fall you put your curly hair up, you had to get to work.

           So yes, you were a doctor and that was all good and fun but you were also a huge nerd. Huge. While most people went to the club, concerts and generally having pretty good times outdoors you were stuck at home. Even when not studying you were still stuck to your computer. Once your family insisted on going to six flags and you brought your ipad with the attachable keyboard and your family kept talking about how dedicated of a student turned intern turned full-fledged doctor you were. If only they knew… You were working on your fanfiction and your followers and subbies were a bunch of savages! If they didn’t get their fix from you and you didn't stick to your upload schedule, your inbox would definitely be a madness, all sorts of threats and your lovelies would call you everything but a child of God. You’d been away for about a month and a few days now and your beta, Jay had started texting your actual phone. You met Jay on Tumblr a few years before, there had been some light flirtation always present but never anything serious. You worked better as friends and when you decided to get into fanfiction to blow steam off, he proved a good beta reader.

TXT From Jay: Doc! Where the hell are you at? Your rabid readers are jumping down my throat trying to you. Why you would leave a major cliffhanger for Captain America, and Sonia I have no idea. They want to know what’s happening next, low key I do too.

           You giggled. You thought of everything, you knew setting up a completely unaffiliated and untraceable account for your writing was a good idea. 1- you didn't want angry people in your inbox losing their minds. 2- You’ve been going for interviews and you didn't want a case where a potential employer would google your name and see all the filth you think about earth’s mightiest heroes and other people who don’t even exist. No way, you couldn't have that type of rep attached to you.

TXT From Y/N: Jaybaby, I’ve been going through it. Sorry, just been in the process of moving and you know life can get a little messy. Plus I really needed a break. Funnily enough I’m working on The Dangerous Dame right now. I’ll send the new chapter to you within the week. XO

Thinking back to seeing the avengers save New York you were grateful for them. They were kicking ass and taking names. Keeping all of us safe but damn if they weren’t all so fine. And you did mean ALL. To be honest that Natasha could. Get. It. All of them could get it. But there was something about that Captain America. He was sort of shy and had a boyish charm about him but that body made you think of pure sin. You wanted to wrap yourself around him and never let him go. You wanted to do nasty things to him. You wanted him to completely demolish you. So you did what everyone who is obsessed with anyone does. Try and consume as much media about said person as possible. Hey, It is the golden age of technology after all. After having your fill of random fan pictures, blurry videos of him in action you needed more stimulus. Where better to turn than Tumblr. Much to your dismay, there was barely any Cap Fanfic and when there was there was so little reader insert. And even then, there was literally less than 10 where he was actually into a black woman. This wouldn't do, you thought to yourself. That’s how Doctor Chris was born. Of course his name was Steve but he always sort of looked like a Chris to you. You didn’t just write about him but other people too, your stories took off and were a good escape from your hectic life.

           A car pulled up to you on your empty street and a short round man with a very stereotypical New Yorker accent shouted up to you, shaking you our of your memories

           “Ay lady, are you” his beady eyes peered at a piece of paper “Y/N? Are you Y/N?”

           “Yes that’s me”

           “Alright come get your unit, and not to be rude or anything but could you make it snappy? I got to make 15 more deliveries before the day is over.”

You slowly rose “Alright, I understand. However I paid for the delivery service? Aren’t y’all supposed to put it in my house?”

           “Lady you paid for the delivery service, not the installation service. That's another fee.”

           “I understand that” You replied still confused “ But I thought you would deliver it into my home.”

           “No way lady, that’s the set up service. You paid for the delivery service. That's an entirely different fee.” He repeated.

           “Understood” Your lips pulled into a flat line “Well sir could you at least help me get it into the first floor of my house?”

           “Did you pay for transportation insurance?”

           “….no…I didn-”  he cut you off “Well sorry Lady, I can’t help you.”

           “You can’t help me off load this huge AC and just carry it up 7 measly steps with me?”

           “Nope, can’t do it. It’s against company policy. Say I should look up at a pretty bird cuz the day’s so gorgeous and what not, then your unit slips out of my hand, there goes your cool breeze. Who’s gonna pay for that? Certainly not the company, cuz you didn’t pay for the transport insurance. That's a different fee. Now you’re angry at me, I mean technically it was my fault for being so clumsy and distractable and what not. But guess who else isn’t gonna pay? Me! Then guess whos gonna be upset and take me to court but loose horrifically because my brother in law just passed the bar? You! So lady no, I can’t help you. Why don’t you get one of the other tenants in the building to help you?”

           “Well, not that it’s any of your business, but I own the brownstone and I live alone. So there’s no one that could help me.”

           “You had enough money to get a brownstone but not enough to pay the fee?”

           “Alright thanks whatever your name is. I’ll just take my AC Now.”

           You looked at him while you struggled for 15 minutes just to get the AC out of the truck and the second you safely had it on the baking concrete of the curb you heard the back of the truck slide down and heard a door slam. You turned around to see the truck driver starting up the car and he shouted over the roaring engine.

           “Thanks for shopping with Coole Breeze, your number one cooling solution  in the tricity area, have a frosty day!” and with that, he was off.

           Even though you were wearing a  pretty airy romper and you did work out about 3 times a week, that was nothing against that heavy ass air conditioner and that Brooklyn heat. You put your hands on top your head and squinted up the sky. You again thank God your street was empty. You must have sweated out your Twist out and edges by now. You were convinced you were looking crazy. But hey, It was a Tuesday at 1. Everyone who was someone was at work, kids were in school so it was just you and this behemoth air conditioning unit.  Getting into classic Y/N calculations your decided what you were going to do. Yes, this AC was, technically for your room but you won’t be able to get it all the way up there by yourself right now so you can create a pulley system and pull it through the window. Huffing and puffing to your started mimicking your father.

           ‘Buy a fixer upper baby girl, it's a great investment. You could build your dream home and sell it eventually , it’ll be fun! Your brother and I will fly up there to help you whenever you need us or have free time. Matter of fact I’m pretty sure my army buddy Wilson still lives in New York…Not sure the part though. But I know he and his boy are engineers of some sort. I can even ring them up to help you when I can’t make it myself. This will be a terrific family project honey!’

           “ Sure dad!” you shouted at no one in particular “ who’s going to help me now though?!” At least your mother had the foresight to buy you a fully equipped toolbox, 12 foot ladder and a whole bunch of things that a new homeowner/renovator needs. It took a bit of maneuvering but you were able to get the ladder out the door and down the steps. You were now atop of it, building and hammering away at a pulley system. You were determined to sleep in a chilly 50 degrees tonight, by any means necessary. You saw two men one white and one black, approaching from your left through your peripheral vision. You steeled yourself to any cat calling that may occur, from the angle - to what you had on, it wasn’t a good situation. You couldn't make out faces but you could see that one was visibly bigger than the other. They stopped walking a little behind you and you couldn't tell which one asked but you heard someone say

           “Hi, do you need any help?”

           “O fanks” You replied with a slight lift of your hand with a screwdriver hanging out the side of your mouth and a heavy covering of sweat on your forehead. Using the back of your hand to wipe the sweat off you removed the screwdriver from your mouth and cleared your throat then repeated “No thanks” In a clearer manner. Thinking to yourself how could these guys even help me? While screwing and grunting softly you weren’t mentally present. You were trying to solve the problem you created. You had written yourself into a corner and you were trying to figure out a way out of it. You started to get the thread of an idea that you were mentally trying to work into a tapestry for your readers, however, while still trying to flesh it out something else was fighting for your attention. In the back of your mind you heard his voice again.

           “Are you sure? We may be able to be of better help than you thin-” Remembering your mothers call the night before talking about a movie she watched on lifetime where people in the ‘big city’ would help you get something into your house as supposed good Samaritans then come back and rob you, or do worse you decided against it instantly.

           “Listen, thanks but no.” You huffed out “Apparently I paid for the delivery service and not the installation service as the lovely delivery man told me. This however does NOT include carrying my AC up the 4 flights of stairs to my bedroom because that's apparently another fee. So no, there isn’t anything you gentlemen could do for me” You heard a little chuckle behind you and heard a quieter deeper voice say:

           “You have to pay the fees, that’s where they get you” his voice was full of laughter. He wasn’t outright laughing but you could still somehow hear it in his voice.

           Momentarily forgetting you were on a ladder you whipped around to give the guy a piece of your mind. But all it takes is a moment. And in that moment, you were falling backward off a 12 foot ladder. Back, back, back, you go thinking this is how it would end. You dead on the concrete. You hadn’t been to china town yet! Why hadn’t you been to china town? Or the empire state building! OR the statue of liberty! You shouldn't have rushed your mom off the phone last night. You would have given anything to hear her aimless ramblings and numerous ‘be carefuls’ one last time. OH GOD! You hadn’t had sex in a year and a half! This is how you were going to die. Trying to tell off some harassers with an uncompleted house in your name before you started your dream job. You squeezed your eyes shut and braced for impact

           Your body hit something that was hard like cement but was warmer and…. Somehow smelled like leather? And Christmas? And Home somehow? You opened your eyes to see a face partially obscured by a blue baseball hat pulled down over the front and a full beard. You couldn't see who he was and he was leaning in close to your face while he held you. There was something so familiar about him, but you couldn't place it. His voice kept fading in and out of your head.

           “Ma’am? Ma’am! Stay with me!”

Sounding like echos of screams and whispers bouncing off the inside of your skull all at once you blinked slow and mustered out what you could:

           “Don't…Tell me what to do…Asshole” and everything faded to black.

_______________________________________________________________________

Okay guys! thats about it for the first one. I would really appreciate the feedback! Is this something you would want more of? Or should I move on to some other fic ideas I have? Let me know and thanks for reading!

[bcdaily]

EIGHT DAYS (PART 6/10)

A/N: Yes, yes, I know. I suck. This is nothing new. But if this is a hot mess, please let me know, because I’m very paranoid about this chapter. I’ve edited it way too much. 

Also, please indulge me in the way I've just entirely made up the details of how professional Quidditch works, and doubled-down on how Quidditch press works, too. ("But Bee, why does your sports press line seem more like a red carpet--" "SHUT UP I DON'T KNOW I ONLY WATCH GYMNASTICS CAN WE JUST GO WITH IT.")

Link to: PART 1 + PART 2 + PART 3 + PART 4 + PART 5

__________________________________

+ + +

DAY SIX (Middle)

Day Six requires a reset, James is quick to decide. A reset, a revival, a resurrection.

Goodbye, rubbish. Hullo, deliverance.

He will salvage this wreck. Salvage his sanity. He’s determined. Resolved.

Though, admittedly…his timing could be better.

The team has the first match of morning—a fact James truly wishes he’d thought to recall approximately eight hours, two rows, and (undetermined) bottles of scotch ago. Foresight has clearly never been his forte. Neither, apparently, is self-control. He feels raw, positively splinched at the edges. Hoff’s call has unnerved him. His visitors have undone him. As he rushes around the now-crowded hotel room, gathering the remnants of dignity equipment he’d haphazardly discarded the evening before, that point becomes increasingly obvious.

But his mates are here, the lovely, useless bastards. His people. His family. James is heartened and resigned and exasperated and happy to be properly reunited with them…while simultaneously noting that he may have appreciated it more without feeling like someone’s taken a Beater’s bat to his head.

(He’d meant to plan this properly. He’s certain he had done.)

(Ow, ow, ow.)

No family is without its dysfunction, of course. Sirius is cocooned in blankets and drama, refusing to leave the bed. Remus and Peter are jovial, but clearly feel as if they’ve missed something (have done). Peter combats this by chattering incessantly. Remus cocks a questioning eyebrow at the whole tableau—prima donna in bed, empty whiskey bottles strewn about, vague sense of panic in the air—to which James can only sigh back an unspoken, Later.

He is tired, tired, tired, and late, late, late.

Bugger, bugger, bugger.

“We’ll see you after?” Remus asks as James eyes his wrinkled practice robes huddled at the base of the bed with muted distaste. They reek like a distillery. The whole bloody room does. He reaches for them anyway, glad to find he can reach—his shoulder is still a bit sore, but the stiffness seems to have gone. He can lift and rotate it readily (praise Merlin!). He performs a quick cleaning spell, dons the soiled robes, and nods at Remus before summoning his missing arm pad, which zooms out from beneath an armchair, bent and dusty.

Lovely.

“I’ll find you,” James answers hurriedly, unbending, undusting. “Don’t know how long I’ll be. Have to duck out of the press line—”

Peter clears his throat. “Speaking of press—”

“No!” Sirius snaps.

They all turn.

“No?” asks Peter.

“Bloody arse is seeing nargles,” Sirius mutters, glaring at James. “Don’t listen t’him. Can’t be trusted.”

“Leave off my nargles,” James returns, scowling.

Peter snorts. Remus sends James another pointed look (Silly ponce, it clearly chastises. You expected a reaction other than this?), and James shrugs (can shrug!) a noncommittal, Eh.

“Well, I want to hear more about your lady,” Peter says, grinning happily again. “We’ve bought her a present, after all.”

He gives the Hot for Pot banner another jolly wave, and James watches his photoself—very clearly nude, very clearly delighted about it—wink and pose from banner-land.

(He’d insist it’s a doctored photo, but honestly, he can’t be certain.)

(He dives for it, but dodgy Peter can be a fast little bugger when humiliation is on the line.)

(Humbling, that.)

Three minutes later, James is out the door: defeated, irritated, banner-less.

This is not improved once he’s besieged.

He ought’ve expected it. Day Six means the exhibition is now officially open to the public, and Quidditch fans have poured into the area like a veritable tidal wave of shouts, colors, and unhinged enthusiasm. James is stopped at least a half-dozen times before he can even clear the hotel. One bloke asks for an autograph, then subjects James to a six-minute diatribe on the state of Fitchburg’s defense. A middle-aged mum with two kids in tow propositions James so outrageously as she’s snapping a photo that he wants to slap his hands over the innocent children’s ears, spare them the indignity. A positively ancient wizard dressed head-to-toe in Appleby pale blue mistakes James for Rodger Jostins and is so joyously thrilled by the prospect that James doesn’t have the heart to correct him.

(He’d wanted a reset, not a reincarnation. But at least someone’s pleased with him.)                    

He is the last to arrive in the locker room. Lorri is still stretching in the corner. Jools calls, “Good morning, good morning!” as James shuffles in. Lufty already has the Ogden’s out and is preparing his shot. James quells an immediate gag reflex at the smell.

No one mentions his leaving training early the day before. No one mentions his tardiness now, either. The room is busy and chipper and apparently disinterested in the dramas and schedules of their youngest Chaser. It’s a wild relief. James snaps on his wireless (returned from the vents?) and after a Broomstyx hit and a Ruff Ratherford power ballad, Sleekeazy is the second advert to play.

“Sllllleeeeeeeekeazy!…two drops for hair to pleasy! Dare to care—”

“No-oo!” Marcie groans as the locker room laughs. “Why won’t it leave us alone?”

James doesn’t turn off the wireless, but there is a smattering of cheers and applause when the next advert to play is indeed something new. But in spite of the jingle, James still feels off. Like he’s chipped and nicked in all the wrong places. Like he’s got a balloon slowly inflating inside his chest. A quick Hangover Charm is slow to take effect. He can’t kick a general sense of bewilderedness. His shoulder has retained its ugly shade of splotched purple, and since he’d rather avoid questions, questions, questions, he pops open the miracle tin from Lily’s mate and applies the salve with his shirt still on. It’s clumsy work.

He thinks of Lily as he salves. (Don’t think of Lily.) Thinks of his mates. (Don’t think of your mates.) Thinks of an island he might escape to where he can be alone with only fruity drinks and the crashing waves to keep him company.

(Yes, all right.)

(Oops, no—there’s Lily again, wearing a grassed hula skirt and not much else, bless her.)

“Is that lemons?” asks Jools suddenly, startling James out of his perverted fantasies. He jumps, but Betts already has her nose pressed to his robes, sniffing enthusiastically. She pulls back grinning. “Well. Don’t you smell pretty, Potter?”

James goes scarlet. “Prettier than you,” he mutters.

She smirks, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yes, see, but some of us actually play hard enough to sweat, eh?”

He chokes out a laugh, popping the salve top back on. “Touché.”

At his easy concession, she gives him a curious look. “All right?”

James shrugs, wishes he knew.

There is not much opportunity for further banter or contemplation. The alarm is sounded—time to depart for the pitch. Before they leave, Klinderson gathers the team for a pre-match pep talk.

“Penultimate match, comrades,” he says, slapping Dooster on the back with one meaty hand. (Doos, impressively, only winces slightly.) “Let’s give the rabid masses something to cheer for!”

They all whoop and clap their agreement. James does his best to contribute. Then it’s out the door, onward.

(Onward.)

The stadium is a madhouse, each section of stands filled to the brim. James blinks at the sudden sunlight, but the Hangover Charm seems to finally be doing its job—a vague twinge is the only reminder of this morning’s foibles. He tries not to examine the surroundings too much. Tries not to contemplate just who is in those stands today, how each of them matters. He can’t. Not now. Not three minutes before play. The warning whistle blows.

He kicks off and lets the wind take him.

He expects to be distracted on the pitch. How could he not? But it is—surprisingly, fortunately—just the opposite. They’re up against a formidable lot, including James’s presumed double, Rodger Jostins, and Alla Abdel, a prodigy seeker fresh out of school who’s rumoured to be one of the fastest flyers the game has seen in ages. Lorri is good—very good—but James knows they can’t depend on her points this match. He, Dooster, and Marcie will need to pad the score as much as possible to manage a victory.

The crowd is roaring from the very start. They lose the Quaffle on the release, but gain it back with a well-timed Bludger from Klinderson. Marcie grabs it in the freefall, and despite the sparse drills run yesterday, James moves easily into formation. When the Quaffle comes to him, he’s able to whip it over to Dooster without the same tormenting rigidity that had made the exact maneuver near impossible the day before. Dooster is a bit clumsy with the catch, but makes up for it with a key feint and a zapping shot. It sails through the left hoop, just as the keeper dives.

Ten points.

More cheering.

James lets out a long breath.

He knows this. He loves this. The last few months have been…Merlin, he doesn’t know. A million things. A million, sometimes not-so-great things. Sirius was right about that. And this past week…James feels like he’s lost his damned mind a hundred times over. Coming back to England. Puddlemere. His mates. His parents. Hoff. Lily (most certainly Lily). He knows he hasn’t handled it all as he might have done once: casual and cavalier, resolved and resilient.

He’s been knocked down a few pegs, taught to worry. And while it’s not necessarily a bad thing to learn some consideration, some humility, in the flux he seems to have lost touch with the taste for this: a love for this game. For what he’s done. Accomplished. For what he can do, and can’t do, and will fight like hell for anyway.

It feels good, coming back to that now. It’s a reminder he needs, today more than most.

When the hell had he lost it?

Reset.

As he pulls off a textbook Backhand Bernham with Dooster, flying past the goal posts as his shot sails through the center hoop, James finds the person he most wants to discuss this all with is Lily. She’d get it, he reckons. She’d know what to do, what to say. And rather than worrying him, that makes him feel better.

(So much better, he scores three more goals in the next fifteen minutes. But who’s counting?)

(Well, he is, obviously. And the scoreboard. And likely Lily, too. And his mates. And Hoff. And Tufton—fucking hell, Tufton. Is he watching? Of course he’s watching. But—shutupshutupshutupPLAY.)

James plays.

He plays his bloody heart out.

+ + +

They lose the match, 270-350.

His very first exhibition loss.

James is…conflicted.

Well, perhaps not so much conflicted as content, which in itself seems like it ought to be a conflict. It was a brilliant battle, though, well-played on nearly every front. Relatively green as he still may be, James knows the rarity of that sort of outcome. Victory has transcended the numbers displayed on the pitch, and everyone—from the (overly competitive) players in the sky, to the (forever finicky) fans in the stands—seems to agree. It’s a loss in scoreboard only.

Which is not to say that James isn’t disappointed. Only human, isn’t he? He’s had a revelation, a rekindling, and what better way to pay that proper homage than with points? A scoreboard win would have been preferable in most ways, all things considered.

But despite the end result, he feels…good.

Good?

Yes. That’s it. Good. Validated. Satisfied.

Fancy that.

Better yet, these seem to be shared sentiments. The post-match locker room is filled with good-natured sighs, heady recaps, and teasing ribs. Marcie is laughing loudly with Lufty. Klinderson’s bulky chest puffs as he accepts praise for his prime batwork from Betts. Even Lorri, ultimately felled by Abdel on the chase, has her chin up, her back straight, occasionally smiling. They’ve all been through this before, will go through it again. It’s the job.

Play worthy, James thinks, that old Puddlemere adage. But there’s valiancy in defeat, too.

Interesting, that.

…though perhaps not nearly as interesting as what he somehow finds himself doing next.

In retrospect, he’ll never be able to account for the logic of it. He watches it all happen as if outside of himself, floating there above the madness. There’s a recognizable dance to the post-match process. Victory or loss, content or conflicted, it’s all the same: cool down, change gear, gird your loins accordingly. Eventually, the team will file out of the locker room. Outside, one of the exhibition wranglers will be waiting to herd the lot of them up to the press line. James is a near expert at this bit by now: wait for movement, give the (heavily bribed) wrangler a wink, and then it’s off through the roughshod door to the left that leads down to the equipment room and out the back exit of the stadium. No mess. No press. Freedom.

The team gathers. The movement starts. The roughshod door is there.

James sees it. Stares at it. His feet are moving. He stares harder.

Passes it.

(What?)

Passes the next potential escape, too.

(What is he doing?)

And the last.

(What is he doing?)

Oh, bloody hell, he thinks, at nearly the same moment his feet seem to be chanting, march, march, march! He’s marching? He’s marching. Why is he marching? He doesn’t understand. He’s certain his brain did not make this choice. His feet have gone rogue. The order’s gone out from up top—stop—and filtered down, getting corrupted somewhere in the vicinity of his chest, so all his feet are hearing is stomp. Not the same thing at all, stop and stomp. Very important letter, that m. Cannot be spoken more disparagingly of, that m. Please, Merlin help him, someone explain to his feet about the m. Why won’t they listen? It makes not the slightest bit of sense.

And yet on they go, the damned recalcitrant limbs.

He’s not the only one grappling in confusion. Standing outside the press room (what what what) as the other team finishes up their round, Betts is eyeing him in sharp question. Dooster, likewise, gives a double-take when he spots James still with them at the threshold.

“What’s this?” Doos asks.

James jerks a shoulder. It’s a truly compelling question.

“Stick close, yeah?” he tells Doos instead, feeling a bit bleary-eyed. “Dunno what the fuck I’m doing.”

Dooster is still laughing as the wrangler gives the signal and they all walk inside.

James is immediately blinded.

Flash. Murmur. Flash. Shout. SHOUT. FlashflashflashflashshoutshoutSHOUT.

They’ve noticed him, of course. Two dozen people begin whispering—then yelling—his name.

Is there always this much yelling?

He ignores them. Sticks to Dooster’s back like a toddler clinging to mum. Looks up, searching.

No, no, no—he’s press?—no, no—

Yes.

She’s toward the back of the pack. Hair up, black dress, trusty credentials hanging around her neck. There is a pad of paper in her hands, but that’s all he can really see from this vantage point. Their eyes meet. He can see the green even from here. Bright. Surprised. Her brows shoot up to her hairline.

What’s this? they ask.

He grins bravely. Unpredictable, aren’t I?

Her lips purse. Something like that.

She begins to push toward the front, and James stifles a giddy laugh.

The team fans out. This isn’t a formal press conference. They saddle up to whoever in the line catches their attention. Or perhaps it’s more strategic than that. James truly wouldn’t know. He’s the proverbial hippogriff foal on shaky legs, stumbling about blindly. Sam Lockley from Quidditch Weekly gives him a welcoming smile from behind the barricade, and James reckons he’s as good a place to start as any. Dooster seems to agree, and they amble over together.

“Truly excellent match, lads!” Lockley says in greeting, beaming victoriously. “Full of surprises. Eh, Potter?”

Potter. That’s him.

“Er…yes. That’s…well. Yes. The surprises.” Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Hate for things to be dull for you, Sam.”

James hopes his overly-bright smile compensates for the fumbling.

Sam—bless him—doesn’t seem deterred by the slips.

“First time you’re playing on the same side, isn’t it?” he asks them both, apparently understanding the comfort in numbers plot and kind enough to lob them a few easy tosses. “Seems to be working up there. What’s that been like?”

“Trying to keep the Quaffle away from this hog? Near impossible,” Dooster jokes, elbowing James in the chest. Cameras flash. “Give a bloke a few scoring records and goes straight to his head, it does.”

“Oh, were you meant to be playing, as well?” James asks, finding stride. “Explains why you kept getting in the way of my shots.”

Doos laughs and throws an arm around James’s shoulders. “When can I ship this tosser back to America?”

Lockley grins. “No time soon, from what I hear.”

There’s a pointed, expected pause. The reporter is waiting for James to respond. Of course he is. For the first time, James realises the press might interpret his appearance here as some kind of signal. It’s long been understood that if James was signed to Puddlemere—to anywhere, really—these kinds of appearances would be expected. He can’t play his same avoidance game back on British soil, with the kind of hefty contract he’s demanding brewing beneath the cauldron.

But that’s hardly a done deal at this point, and James is not sure he should—could—explain that the real reason he’s here has less to do with career, and more to do with some kind of mental break and a pair of knowing green eyes.

Speaking of…

Dooster has filled the lull of James’s non-confirmation with some clever spiels about the ease of play between the three Chasers on their side—professionals, competitors, etcetera…James makes humming noises of agreement, but his eyes focus just beyond Sam Lockley’s shoulder as Lily stealthily slides in behind the other reporter. James tries not to be terribly obvious, but is likely not overly successful. His heart patters in his chest. He feels like he’s gulped a lungful of fresh air. Lily—of course—ignores his keen attention and instead keys into the interview dynamic. She is very clearly unimpressed with his efforts. With a pointed look and a prodding twirl of her finger, she urges James back into the conversation, all go-on-hop-to-get-in-there.

(The things he does to please this witch, really.)

He tries his best. He jumps in, talking about training, about the match, about Marcie and her smart communication, Dooster and his focused assists. When he starts to babble, Lily’s twirling finger morphs into a slowly lowering flat of fingers (cool-it-slow-down-that’s-enough!). He complies readily.

She doesn’t ask questions—this isn’t her interview, and James knows there’s internal press politics to that sort of thing—but she jots down notes from time to time. James wonders if any of this will make it into the furloughed article. He also knows he and Doos spend more time with Lockley than is usual. Most of his teammates have moved on to a second or third interview by now. That’s how these things work. James might be more embarrassed about the fact that they’re very clearly coddling him, but he’s too relieved at the indulgence.

Unfortunately, not everyone is so patient.

About five minutes into the babbling, a tall, dark-haired bloke in bright blue robes saddles up to the front of the barrier. James spots him only a few seconds before—without so much as a please-if-you-will—he roughly bumps Lily aside and leans in over Sam Lockley’s shoulder.

James blinks.

“Fucking hell, Dalton?” Lily snaps.

“Mr. Dooster, Mr. Potter,” the man says grandly. His grin is blinding. “Jack Dalton, Daily Prophet.”

Sam Lockley looks cross. Lily looks livid. But neither does anything more than snap or glare at the man, which tells James he’s likely somehow higher-up than them both.

“Dalton,” Lockley says tightly. “So glad you could join us. Mind if I finish up?”

Dalton ignores him. “Excellent match out there, gentlemen. You both played beautifully…can’t blame either of you for the loss.”

The words are too pointed and strangely delivered. Dooster’s eyes have narrowed. James is instantly on guard.

“Thank you?” Dooster offers.

The reporter’s smile turns sharp. “Twenty-seven goals on your side, but lost on the catch. Got to be frustrating.”

“It’s how the game is played,” James answers carefully. Where’s this going?

Dalton waves a hand. “Of course, of course. Still, enough to make a decent Chaser shout, and you’re both better than that, hm? I think it’s safe to say you’re questioning the choices of your Seeker.”

What?

“Choices,” James repeats flatly.

“Choice of?” Dalton corrects slyly.

Ah. James sees the target even before Lily’s eyes flash at him in warning.

The fucker was going after Lorri. Lorri.

It’s so preposterous, so outlandish, James is momentarily dumbfounded. Lorri?

Thankfully, Dooster is quick on the recovery. “Not certain what you mean, mate.” His hand immediately moves to James’s arm. James feels the nudge—let’s go let’s go let’s go.

Happy to oblige, James twists away accordingly.

But Dalton is relentless.

“Alla Abdel is barely out of the schoolroom,” he blurts loudly as they turn, “yet she outflew and outmatched Lorri Jackson today. Youth has its favors, and in this sport…well, hard to argue Appleby might be reconsidering Jackson’s contract come renewal time. Next year, isn’t it? Tough for female players at the end of their careers. Always cling harder than they ought, eh? I’m sure you gentlemen were equally impressed by Abdel’s performance this morning?”

It’s a clever tactic, worded just so. The options are clear: disparage Abdel, or defend Lorri, with a happy dose of misogyny thrown just there. Any response gives Dalton his quote. Dooster’s hand applies more pressure to James’s arm. Lily’s face has gone completely scarlet. The line is crowded—all the nearby reporters have their eyes and ears trained on this exchange now, just in case. James can see it all unfolding.

And while he knows—knows—the smartest thing to do is follow Dooster’s prompt, find another spot on the line, another legitimate question to answer…something inside James revolts.

Because, honestly? This bloke is scum. He’s beyond scum. He’s the dirt James scuffs off his trainers in the morning, the sludge at the bottom of his tea cup. He’s looking for a juicy morsel of gossip—Young Stars Lament Teammate Jackson, or something equally as rubbish—and James is aghast at the audacity. In a match as well-played as this one had been, the tact is so obvious, so heavy-handed, so unnecessary, James can almost laugh. He should not reward even the attempt with a response.

He shouldn’t…but then he thinks of Lorri.

Stable, steadfast, resilient Lorri, with her calming air, her pregame stretches, her quick fingers, and her small smiles despite—yes, fine—ultimate defeat on the catch today. As if that’s not the game. As if it’s not utterly unavoidable for one Seeker to win and the other to lose. He thinks with fury, this is the reason I don’t do this, and understands the power and limits of no comment. He loves no comment. He and no comment are the very best of mates.

But now he’s here, and he can’t—can’t—leave it at that. It’s just not in him.

He turns back to Dalton, ignoring Dooster’s fingers clenching, Lily’s fast blink at his movement. James’s fists ball. His voice is low, rough.

“Are you new at this?” he asks Dalton.

The reporter stares. He’s giddy at successfully goading a reply, James knows that, but he’s confused by the one he got. Up for the challenge, he smiles. “New at this?”

“Yes. This. Quidditch.” James waves a hand, takes a step closer. “You must be. Because anyone with even the smallest hint of knowledge about the sport would have watched the match this morning and understood the Seekers at play. Abdel is fast—she’s so bloody fast, I’d hate to face her in a race, that’s for certain. I’m sure she’ll be zooming past us all for years to come. But equally as certain is that nearly every time she dove for the snitch this morning, she was following Lorri Jackson’s lead. Abdel is young. She can’t read a professional pitch yet. One day she will, but the idea that Lorri Jackson was somehow less-than…laughable. Completely laughable. She was seeking, while Abdel was chasing. Sometimes you win that way, but you can’t always, and everyone knows it—or, that is, everyone who knows even a whit about Quidditch.” James leaves that point posed for a moment, delighted by the staggered look on Dalton’s face. Delighted. “Which brings us back to the original question…Are you new at this? Because the way I see it, you’re either new, you’re inept, or you’re an unmitigated arsehole. So which is it?”

So which is it?

(Ha.)

The question hangs in the air. Dalton is silent. The whole bloody line is. No one speaks, no one moves, and with the blood still pumping furiously through his veins, James knows better than to wait around for any of them to regroup. Shooting a quick look at Lily—she is pressing her lips together so firmly, the edges of her mouth have gone white—James smiles pleasantly at Sam Lockley, reaching out to shake the man’s hand.

“Lovely speaking with you, Sam,” he says.

Someone breaks the stupor. James is blinded again by flashes—clickclickclickclick. He turns around, prodding a shell-shocked Dooster in the back. Move, move, move. March, march, march!

He’s not quick enough.

“I wonder if Greta Moors feels similarly?” Dalton snaps at James’s back, voice filled with taunting fury. “Or Fredrick Fords? I’ll just owl him for comment, shall I?”

Clickclickclickclick.

Curse fired, direct hit.

James keeps walking.

“Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter!—”

He is furious. Furious.

Fuck Dalton. Fuck. Him. Greta and Fredrick Fords be damned, too. James regrets none of this. His first real foray into press in ages, and he ends up telling off some pompous tosser in the line? What of it? Bloke is worthless, and James can antagonize any member of the press he’d like. Anyone at all he’d like. He doesn’t regret any of it. He doesn’t.

(It’s fine you’re fine don’t panic don’t panic.)

Dooster is at his elbow, walking quickly to keep up with James’s brisk strides. As the shouts continue around them, it’s Dooster’s voice that James concentrates on.

“What a cock,” his teammate says, and James can only grunt an agreement. Then Dooster snorts. “New, inept, or an arsehole. Bloody hell, Potter. Had that tucked away in your pocket, did you?”

“Years of pent-up aggression? Some,” James replies, and Dooster throws back his head and laughs. There’s more flashing and clicking.

Fine. They can have that.

He needs…hell.

James glances back over his shoulder.

She’s still standing beside Sam Lockley. Jack Dalton has gone—James doesn’t see where, but hopefully nowhere James will ever encounter him again, good bloody riddance—but Lily has lingered. Her lips aren’t pressed in contained mirth anymore, instead tweaked slightly upward as she watches him, too. The expression turns shrewder as the seconds pass. Her eyes are quite, quite bright. With a subtle jerk of his head toward the end of the press line, James hopes she understands the desperate attempt to ask, meet me please please please?

Lovely, clever witch. She nods immediately, then disappears into the crowd behind her.

All right.

All right.

It’s fine. He’s fine.

“You know, I think I’m quite done here,” James tells Dooster, hoping his voice only sounds that tight inside his head. They’re nearly at the end of the line anyway. James has sped through like his trousers are on fire. People have been shouting his name—they all seem to be shouting something—but James hears it like an echo through a tunnel, all hollow and vague. “You all right?”

Dooster nods. “Think I’m quite done, as well. Nothing going to top that, eh?”

Shit shit shit shit.

James smiles weakly. He’s walking too fast. He knows he is. It’s terribly, terribly obvious. He wants to get out of click-flash-shout range, though, and he’s barely managed to do so before a short obstacle stumbles into his exit path.

“Note for you!” the boy says, thrusting parchment at him.

James takes it numbly.

It’s very clearly ripped off a white pad of paper, which comforts James even before he opens it and sees the familiar handwriting.

Bvrg kiosk sect. 4 left pillar. xo

Beverage kiosk. Section Four. Left pillar.

James murmurs something to Dooster—sorry urgent note thank you thank you thank you—then takes off like a pack of dementors are floating at his heels. Section four is close. The beverage kiosk will be crowded with spectators milling about between matches, but maybe Lily’s counting on the busyness to maintain his anonymity. He keeps his head down nonetheless, casting a quick Concealment Charm in hopes that it will deter gazes from lingering his way. He’s never regretted the absence of his Invisibility Cloak so keenly. When he reaches Section Four, he lifts his eyes only high enough to scope out the terrain. The small alcove off the side of the beverage kiosk’s left pillar is surprisingly easy to spot. He weaves his way toward it.

He’s not quite running, but he’s not quite walking, either.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he’s saying even before he gets there and finds her, tucked away in the spot as promised, thank Merlin. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Shit,” she agrees, but she’s laughing. Lily. Hullo there. Laughing. “James. Fucking Christ.”

He’s a bloody mess. He fairly falls into her, arms curling around her waist, the momentum pushing her back against the alcove wall. His face drops into the cool, comforting crook of her neck, and he sucks in a ragged breath.

“That was stupid,” he mutters into her skin. “Stupid. I am furious. Fucking furious.”

“You are clearly not the silent and seething sort.”

“Can’t even believe—”

“Unmitigated. Five syllables!”

“Shit.”

“It was the most brilliant thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Stupid.”

“Well.” Her fingers sink into his hair, soothing. “Only a bit.”

“A bit.” He chokes on it. Laughs. Is he laughing? “Oh, hell.”

He lifts his head only enough to cover her mouth with his.

She does not shove him off. He is not so awash in his own anguish that he can’t acknowledge she’d have every reason to do so. He’s a waste of a human nowabouts. Instead, her hands slip down, cupping his face, fingers skimming along his jaw. Her mouth matches his in fervor for a few thrilling moments, then pulls back carefully, slowing the onslaught. That’s all right. He doesn’t mind slow. His heart is beating so fast, slow is good. She tastes delicious. Like tea and mint. He’s never come at someone like such a lunatic, and wonders what sort of price he’ll have to pay in the afterlife for these kinds of earthly indulgences. Whatever the cost, fine. He’ll gladly give his bloody soul for a few minutes of this, of her (all right okay he’s bloody insane).

But she doesn’t seem to mind. That’s the maddest bit of all. She lets him kiss her, kisses him back, and doesn’t seem bothered in the least that she’s latched herself onto the loopiest bean in the Bertie Botts bag.

She’s still chuckling as she pulls away, albeit decidedly more breathlessly.

“All right?” she asks.

James drops his forehead against hers. He wheezes, “Yeah, sure.”

“Liar.”

He shouldn’t laugh. How can he laugh? But between lingering kisses, he does. “Can’t snog the seethe or stupid out, I reckon,” he sighs.

“Ah, well. At least we gave it our best attempt.” Her hands drift down, playing with the lapels of his robes. His heart is doing its best to thump its way out of his chest and he’s certain she must feel it. “This is not a disaster,” she says.

“The snogging?”

“Well, that. Good on us, eh? Meant the rest too, though. It’s not as bad as you think.”

James pulls back, incredulous. “Yes, it is.”

“That—”

“Don’t coddle me.”

“I only meant—”

“Who was the tosser?” James interrupts again. “Dalton.”

Lily’s lips dip grimly. “Arsehole of the highest order, you had the right of it there. Left Business & Broomsticks for the Prophet a few months ago. Haven’t the faintest how he survived there, except for favors. He’s connected, if little more than a gossip columnist. But he’s a lead reporter now and he brings in subscriptions with his rot, so we’re all left to suffer.”

“Connected.” James repeats the word dully. A headache is forming. “Which means he might actually be able to owl round Fredrick Fords?”

Lily opens her mouth. Closes it. “I don’t know.”

James sighs again. As if it matters. As if the Puddlemere owner wouldn’t hear of it in any case. “Lovely.”

“You were defending a teammate,” Lily argues loyally. “Against the rubbish innuendos of a sensationalist fuckwit.”

“Don’t reckon Puddlemere will see it that way, do you?”

“Then they’re fuckwits, too.”

“Lily.”

“What? It’s true. You shouldn’t even be—” She stops, shakes her head. Seems to swallow something else down, and doesn’t let it come back up. “It’s true,” she repeats instead, definitively.

Not that simple. It’s not even remotely that simple. James runs a tired hand down his face, striving not to dwell on all the ways he’s drowning in the complications. The expectations. All of it. “I should’ve walked away.”

She can’t much argue with that. “Maybe. Likely. But even if you had done, he still would’ve made it into something. It’s what he does.”

“How?”

She hesitates. Fidgets. “You know.” She waves a hand. “ ‘Potter Avoids Questions About Jackson’s Loss: Silence Speaks Volumes’; or ‘Potter Panders to Press in Attempt to Save Face”; or “Abdel Jealousy Leaves Potter Mutely Fuming”; or—”

“Or?” James chokes out. “Or? You’ve more?”

Lily shrugs uneasily. “There’s a lot of ways to warp ‘no comment.’”

Fucking hell, James marvels. It took her not even three seconds to come up with those.

His stomach dips sourly.

She notices, of course.

“Don’t.” Her voice is sharp. Her fingers clench. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

The scathing look she shoots him makes it clear she doesn’t appreciate the dissembling. “You know what I do. You’ve always known. I’d never write that sort of rubbish. I’ve more morals than that.”

“Right.” He speaks quickly. Maybe too quickly. “Yes. ’Course. I know.”

“Do you?” She asks it pointedly. Her hand curves around his jaw, tilting his gaze down to square with hers. Her eyes are narrowed, assessing. She doesn’t pull away, but…

But her touch grows lighter, warier. Tense apprehension seems to drip from her—apprehension she has every right to feel, because she’s correct: he’s at odds and ends and she’s somehow found herself at the wrong end of it all. It’s not worth it to prevaricate. She’s already proven more than once that she’s got his number there. He’s fooling no one. But his mind’s too a-jumble, his equilibrium too off-kilter from the morning—Sirius, and Hoss, and the match, and Dalton, and all the rest of it. He wants to tell about it all, but he’s nearly certain it’ll come out all wrong: “Yes, all right, I thought all those things for a second…but only because I was up half the night with my best mate talking about how you might be using me for a story! And I’m on the brink of fucking up my whole future! Again! And the Dalton thing! And you just then! But really, I think you’re brilliant—”

Merlin, he’d want to punch himself. Already does, rather.

He opens his mouth. Shuts it. Gapes some more.

Fuck, he’s got to say something.

“James.” Her hand drops. Her voice is tight. “Look. This…us…we don’t need to do this—”

“What? No. No.” He frantically grabs for her hands again. “That’s not—that’s not what I want. That’s not what this is at all. I’m sorry. I’m an arse. I…” He brings her hand back up to his cheek and fairly droops into her cupped palm. “I never meant…I know you wouldn’t. I shouldn’t have made you feel like I had done. I’m just…I’m cross and panicked, all right? I’m angry with myself for the Dalton shite, and stressed about Puddlemere, and my mates are here, and you…you panic me most of all.” She blinks at that, and he rushes to explain. “I’m hanging on by a thread, see? The saddest, rattiest, threadbare string. These past few months…completely barking. Such a sodding splinching disaster. And I just…I dunno why you’d even consider it. This. Me. I’ve been trying to suss it out, trying to understand why in the hell either of us hasn’t run away screaming yet, and I’m at a loss. I’m a terrible bet. A precarious plot twist for you, all around. You see that, don’t you?”

Well, it wasn’t quite as bad as he thought it might be. He sounds like a raving lunatic, but all the better to make his point, isn’t it? He closes his eyes, taking comfort in the fact that she hasn’t pulled away yet, hasn’t even dropped her hand back down to her side. In fact, she takes his fumbling, bumbling declarations with likely more grace than he deserves.

Eventually, she exhales loudly. “James—”

He opens his eyes. “It’s been six days. Little more than a hundred hours. That’s how long we’ve known each other.”

“You’ve counted?”

“Well. You know.”

She bites her lower lip. “Do you want to run away screaming?”

“Sometimes,” he confesses. “Or at least, I reckon I ought to. Don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” she concedes with a rueful little smile. Her shoulders slump for a second, her chin dropping to her chest. Then she looks back up at him. “No use pretending, is it? Neither of us is stupid enough to ignore the obvious. Yes, my life would be infinitely easier if you were some dully average, virtually unimportant, struggling barkeep from Nowhere-shire instead of essentially the biggest commodity the sport has on offer right now and the largest contribution to my career and livelihood at the moment. I’d wish you a little less talented, a little less relevant, a little less you, except then I’d likely find you considerably less appealing and the whole thing would be moot. So you’re right—we’re pretty terrible bets for one another. For all my scruples, I could lose any bit of journalistic integrity I’ve garnered, maybe even get sacked for this. I know that. That’s…bad. Really, really bad.”

“I don’t want you to get sacked,” James says. “You’re brilliant.”

“You know what people will say, don’t you?” She gives him a pointed look. “That I’m using you. That I’m bartering my favors for stories. That you’re a naïve nodcock for letting it happen. That I’m biding my time until I can con my way into begetting an ill-gained bastard child to set myself up for life. That—”

James chokes out a laugh. “An ill-gained what?”

She waves a hand. “You know what I mean.”

He did, but her examples were nearly as colorful as Sirius’s. “Lily. I know you’re not ‘begetting’ anything.”

“You assume I’m not begetting,” she corrects. “But either way, it doesn’t mean other people won’t say it. People who don’t matter. People who do.”

People who do matter already had done…and yet, James was still here. Insanity, suppositions, and all. She was the first one he’d wanted when everything tilted sideways. Was the first one he’d wanted when the sideways had seemed to level out a bit earlier during the match, too. That said something, didn’t it?

He turns his head, dropping a kiss into her cupped palm still resting against his skin. “I don’t care. Do you?”

She lets out an unsteady huff. Her fingers curl. “A little, truthfully.  But…well, here we are.”

“Here we are,” James agrees. He even manages a smile. “So glad we’ve cleared that up.”

“That we’re both utterly thick, self-sabotaging hedonists?”

“Might’ve gone with ‘mutually enamoured’ myself, but all right. Yours works, too.”

“No, I like yours. Straightforward.” She rises back up on her toes and fits her mouth against his properly, a long, lingering kiss. It’s a rush, a comfort. Mutually enamouring.

Nothing about this seems to be straightforward, but James reckons snogging Lily is about as close to it as it gets.

Which makes it a rather large pity—on numerous levels—when she tears her lips away from his.

“Shit,” she says. “I forgot. We have to go.”

“Go where?” James asks. He has no interest in going anywhere.

She straightens his robes, then licks her thumb and smudges it across his lips. “You’ve got lipstick everywhere.” She winces guiltily.

“It’s a new look,” James offers, and attempts to angle for some more by catching her mouth again.

She barely lets him get in a few pecks before she’s squirming away. “Come on, come on. Save it for later.”

Later gives him hope. She gives his arm a yank, and James lets out a quick hiss.

“Ah—careful. Shoulder,” he reminds her.

She skitters to a halt. “Oh, hell. I’m sorry. Is it still…you played so flawlessly this morning, I assumed—”

“Flawlessly?” James rears back. He grins. “Flawlessly, was it?”

She rolls her eyes and tugs at his non-injured arm. “Relatively,” she adds. “You know, compared to when you were flinching every time you so much as breathed yesterday.”

“Flawlessly,” James crows, as if she hasn’t spoken. They leave the alcove together. “Now, that’s a word. Come a long way from ‘decent’ and ‘adequate’, eh?”

“Come a long way from a lot of things,” she mutters. “Humility, among them.”

“Flawlessly—”

“Oh, good God—”

James’s smug laughter abruptly dies as they swerve past a particularly large crowd of spectators and he spots a specifically smaller crowd of three ambling toward them.

He rounds on Lily, grabbing hold of her shoulders, stopping her mid-blasphemy.

“Er.” He blinks at her. “So, listen.”

Her eyebrows lift.

“I would like you to recall,” he says hastily, quietly, “a few moments ago, when we both decided that we are suitably enamoured of one another and I would like you to hold on to that feeling very tightly. Right now.”

Her head tilts in question

“They mean well,” he adds. Then amends, “Some of them mean well.”

Which is all he manages to get out before his mates descend.

“Congrats on the spectacular loss!” Sirius calls, ruffling James’s hair with one hand. The other precariously balances a tall cup. “Rest assured, we cheered very hard for the other team.”

“Cheered ourselves nearly hoarse,” Peter agrees. “‘Rah, rah, Rodger!’”

“You hate Appleby,” James accuses.

Remus grins. “‘Hate’ is relative.”

James rolls his eyes, but sees Remus’s gaze flicker beyond James’s shoulder to where Lily still stands. He swallows down the snitches zooming about in his stomach, the feeling that some might call delighted eagerness or uncontrollable hysteria depending on the day, and clears his throat. “Lads, I’d like—”

Sirius thrusts his cup over James’s shoulder.

“Here,” he grumbles. “Do you have any idea how long that queue was? And you’ve awful penmanship, by the by. Couldn’t tell if that was a four or some kind of ancient hieroglyphic.”

James watches Lily’s smug grin flash as she takes the cup. “Got here, didn’t you? My penmanship is exquisite.” She takes a sip of the drink, and nods in satisfaction. “Excellent. Only 4,999 to go.”

“Excuse me? I believe you mean 4,998.” Sirius crosses his arms. “I brought you that butterbeer during the match.”

“That was an apology butterbeer. And far before terms were settled. Doesn’t count.”

“Doesn’t count? Doesn’t count?” Sirius whirls on the other two. “Does it count?”

“Of course not,” Remus says.

“Definitely doesn’t count,” Peter agrees.

“What? That’s—collusion!” Sirius rails. “Where is your loyalty?”

James can only blink, utterly bewildered, as the four begin to argue semantics of drinks, of terms, of timing and apologies, and most certainly of collusion (emphasis required).

James watches it all for several long moments.

What. Is. Happening? (Emphasis. Required.)

“What is—” He has to raise his voice to be heard. “Oy! What—what is this?”

“Collusion,” Sirius insists again with a decidedly outraged look. “Haven’t you been listening?”

James turns on Lily, because she seems the likeliest to be depended upon for reason. “These are my mates,” he tells her.

“I know.” Her smile is secretive, self-satisfied. “We’ve met.”

“Yes, clearly,” James says. “More interested in the how and the when, thanks.”

“Utter coincidence,” Sirius declares, at nearly the same time Lily baldly states, “I was shanghaied.”

Shanghaied.

Shanghaied.

“What?” James is not quite shouting, but not quite not. “What?”

“It wasn’t as bad as that,” Peter is quick to insist.

“It was as bad as that,” Remus concedes guiltily.

“There was,” Lily says, “this dog.”

James shoots a look at Sirius, who is now studiously examining the ceiling. “A dog.”

“Yes, a dog. On the stadium grounds. Very strange.” Lily talks animatedly with her hands. “So he comes up to me, then dashes away, and I’m following this dog round this remote corner, see? Because, why? And then I lose him—hey, where’d the dog go anyway? Where does one even get a dog around here? Or through security? It’s all…well, never mind, anyway, then I am surrounded by these three, and I kicked poor Peter in the shin—”

“Quite all right!” Peter rushes out, hands held high. “We did sort of skulk up on you.”

“Right—”

“Skulk.” James can barely manage the word. The image of all this so clearly unfolds in his head—every disastrous second of it—it’s really quite a wonder he can even speak at all. ”You skulked up on her.”

“I actually recognised Remus quickly enough,” Lily jumps in. “We were in Defense Club together at Hogwarts.”

“Defense Club.”

“Yes. Before I left. He was very good with Shield Charms. But see, I didn’t catch sight of him before I’d already kicked Peter—”

“—no harm done!—”

“—and Fuck Off there was looming a bit murderously, so I cannot be blamed—”

“It wasn’t murderous,” Sirius says. “That’s just my face.”

“—but it was sorted pretty quickly, all in all,” Lily finishes. And grins.

They are all grinning, in fact. Looking at him all innocently, all very ha-ha-isn’t-this-humorous-so-many-chuckles-no-harm-no-foul-let’s-move-on-shall-we? Like they haven’t…like they haven’t…

James attempts to regulate his breathing—attempts to regulate his outrage, and the need to howl, and wail, and maybe send prayers up to the heavens—and struggles to reach the ha-ha place of let’s-move-on.

But he’ll have to be forgiven for not quite getting there just yet.

He turns slowly toward his mates.

“All I asked,” he manages shortly, his voice chillingly measured and low, “is for you lot not to scare her off. That’s it. Be decent. Normal. At the barest level, don’t give her more reason to ditch me arse-over-head on the side of the pitch than I already have done all on my own. And yet that somehow, in your feeble minds, leaves amble room for shanghaiing her, in a dark corner, looming murderously, with a dog, to—to—”

“It wasn’t a dark corner,” Peter mutters. “There was plenty of light.”

James cannot even muster a response for that. Instead, he whirls on Sirius. “You!” He jabs a furious finger. “This was you.” Now Remus: “And you let him!”

Remus shrugs helplessly as Sirius scoffs, “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. You were clearly a biased party, and we just wanted to chat with her, Prongs.”

“Chat with her?” James shouts. “And you couldn’t chat with her later, at a perfectly normal location I’d already set up? Without the skulking and the bloody dog—”

“You are very hung up on this dog,” Lily says.

“I’m going to kill all of you,” James declares, glaring at the traitors he’d previously had the stupidity to consider family. “Kill you.”

“See? That’s murderous,” Sirius mutters to Lily.

James fairly lunges at him and Lily wraps an arm around his waist as Sirius dodges away with a cackle.

“James! Honestly.” Her arm squeezes him. “It’s fine. Fine.”

“It’s not fine!”

“It is,” she insists again, hand stroking and patting his side now. Like he’s a skittish lamb in need of coddling. “We had a good chat, that’s all.”

“About what?”

She presses her lips together, clearly still finding this humourous. “Intentions,” she says.

He shoots another deadly look at his mates.

“It’s all sorted now,” Lily continues. “After a bit of back and forth, we’ve all settled that I am in fact not after a promotion, or your fame, or your money, or—what was it, Sirius? The ‘begetting of an ill-gained bastard child to set myself up for life’?”

James’s eyes fly to Lily’s.

She winks.

Fucking hell. The colorful example wasn’t like Sirius’s. It was Sirius’s.

“Run screaming,” James advises her quietly. “Truly. Go on. Save yourself.”

“For the record,” the traitorous bastard James formerly called brother interjects, “I stated very clearly I’d still serve as godfather for any fruit of your loins, ill-gained or otherwise.”

“Bit difficult to do when you’ll be three leagues beneath the ground,” James retorts.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Really, she took this all loads better than you’ve done.”

“To be fair,” Lily adds, “I was bribed.”

James eyes her cup. Now it’s all starting to click together. ”With 5,000 beverages? You settled too low.”

She shakes her head. “Oh, no. That was a bet. Much later.”

“What, then?”

She takes a long sip of her drink, then innocently offers, “Pornographic banners, actually.”

Pornographic banners.

James chokes. He sputters. His head whips around to glare accusingly at Peter, who only shrugs helplessly. “What? Apparently she’s hot for Pot. Who could’ve known?”

James considers homicide. He considers suicide. He considers several other -cides, or possibly something that includes time travel, or sudden short-term amnesia, or even hypnotism, but in the end he merely settles on not quite meeting her eyes. “Er.” He coughs. “Those are…erm, fake.”

Except it comes out as “…fake?” rather more than “fake.”

He really wishes he could recall if they were fake.

Lily smiles like the cat that’s got the cream, seemingly equally as unconvinced by this claim. “Mm-hm.”

“It was cold in the room,” is what Sirius offers.

“We were all young and impetuous once,” is Remus’s input.

“I’ve got at least a dozen more,” Peter confides, and he grins like he means it.

Shite, he probably does mean it.

And then they are all speaking at once, which is sort of a relief and sort of isn’t, because Lily is looking intrigued and Peter is looking smug and Sirius is having far too much fun for someone who James only minimally has determined he no longer has to throttle immediately, and Remus is cocking his brows at James in that way that very clearly states, Yes, well, sorry, but it’s all wrapped up quite nicely, hm?

If a witch can somehow overlook being shanghaied by one’s mates, and was still willing to stand here a few hours later, bartering for pornographic banners like a wily grandmum taking on the grocer for her weekly vittles…

Well, that’s something, isn’t it?

Very, very much something.

The snitches inside James’s stomach are dancing. They are dancing in giddy, frantic, uncontrollable delight and he wants to hug someone and hit someone and really, the fraying string can keep fraying so long as he can hold this moment just here, right now, for quite a long time.

Click. Flash. In his brain. The good kind of click flash.

He is not the one who interrupts it. He has in fact joined in, unable to keep quiet after hearing Peter’s absurd claim that there is in fact a banner featuring a naked James lounging beside a sleeping lynx at the London Magical Menagerie (which had to be impossible…right?), when one of the ever-present exhibition errand lads squirms between the lot of them, thrusts a folded note at Lily, and says, “Here!”

She takes it absently, flipping it open as she’s still arguing, “…I don’t care how much money you’ve donated. They don’t let naked wizards stroll into the lynx cages at the London Magical Menagerie for drunken photoshoots.”

“No one said we asked,” Sirius says.

“That is so—” Lily jerks. She’d already been half ready to toss her arms in outrage, but her body instead stiffens as her eyes fixate on the note. Her mouth closes. She looks…perturbed?

“What is it?” James asks.

Instead of answering, she whips around and raises two fingers to her mouth. She lets loose a shrill whistle, and shouts out a pointed, “Oy!” to the errand lad who was already starting to scurry away through the crowds.

The boy turns back to her, exasperated.

Lily lifts the note. “This came from Hopper?”

The boy nods impatiently.

Lily closes the note and turns back around, the boy running off again behind them. She’s frowning, staring off at some dead space to their right. She appears to be more confused than anything else, but it’s certainly a far cry from her laughing teasing of moments before. When he touches her arm, she jumps, her gaze jerking up.

“All right?” he asks again.

“It’s…yes. Yes, fine.” She shakes her head, seems to attempt to shake off the moment, then quirks her lips gamely. “Sorry. Work. You know.”

“You’re not…in trouble?” he asks it softly, pointedly. “Not…you know, all this…?”

“What?” She blinks. “Oh. You and…? No. No, it’s fine. We’re fine. I just…” Her lips press together. She is watching him rather stringently, but James can’t discern whether that’s because she’s contemplating him specifically, or he’s simply an obstacle in the way of her distracted stare. He can practically see her mind whirling at lightning speed.

She starts again, and lets off an unsteady laugh. “Sorry, sorry.” She waves her hand. The closed note flutters between her fingers. “Sorry,” she tells his mates, too. She lifts the note. “I’ve got to take care of this. Work.”

“Sure,” Remus says, but his brow is a bit furrowed now, too.

“If you’d like to begin an exposé on nude Quidditch banners,��� Peter states, “I am a very reliable source.”

Lily smiles more easily. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She turns back to James. “I’ll…I have to…but I’ll see you…?”

“Later?” James fills in. She nods, but certainly she’s acting strangely, isn’t she? Could it be something about Dalton? Lily had been witness to the whole thing. Maybe someone at the Prophet had questions. Could she get in trouble for that, if not their relationship (if he could indeed call it a relationship)? But then James feels a bit conceited for thinking everything was somehow about him. Likely, it wasn’t. Likely everything was fine. The news never stopped, did it? And this was her job. “Still reckon we ought to tour The Cornish Pixie with the lads? And you’ve 4,999 free drinks still coming, yeah?”

“4,998,” Sirius corrects. Then, again, “Collusion.”

They all, wisely, ignore him.

“Eight? Meet you there?” James asks Lily.

She nods. “Yes. That’s good.”

She says her goodbyes quickly—still rather jittery, half-distracted, but genuine enough despite the speed of the whole process. Before she takes off, she grabs James’s hand and squeezes it. He wishes she’d told him what was in the note and why it had thrown her, what’s zooming through that clever head of hers, but it seems not entirely his place. Likely, if they actually make a go of this, there will be numerous notes and tips and meetings where she won’t be able to tell him a thing. It might take a bit getting used to, but that doesn’t mean James can’t handle it. All of this was still incredibly new. Allowances had to be made for both of them to match their strides.

As she disappears into the milling crowds, James reckons it’s enough for now.

Besides…he has plenty to focus his attention on at present.

“So.” He turns back to his mates, claps his hands together. “Do I murder you lot now, or do we tuck in to some lunch first?”

LINK TO PART 7

[michelles-garden-of-evil]

Shadow Over Seventh Heaven Review, Part II: Jenny Wren and Richard Redbreast

Image source: “Da Luna et Ramsès- Doberman – Frère et Sœur -” by ERAL. Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.0 license.

Welcome back to my review series for Shadow Over Seventh Heaven, the second novel by Ian Martin, original headwriter for Strange Paradise and second most prolific writer for CBS Radio Mystery Theater, published under the name of his second wife Joen Arliss. It’s been two and a half weeks, and I have been dying to go back to recapping this not-quite-rare-but-close piece of Martiniana.

In Part I, we learned of the late April Tennant, legendary star of the silver screen, whose glamorous life ended suddenly when she fell from the cliffs on her home estate of San Rafael. We also learned of her husband Richard Morgan, a legendary actor in his own right, and met his overly attached sister Lisa, who is not pleased by his recent remarriage, and Chita, their very Raxl-esque servant who clings to April’s memory. In this installment, we will meet Richard and his new wife, Jenny, themselves as they return from the Philippines to the former Spanish mission which may or may not be haunted by the spirit of his first wife.

Chapter 3

We open with our heroine, Jenny (née Summers), and her new husband Richard at the Manila International Airport, where paparazzi are hounding them. “She had seen [crowds] at fiestas, at rallies for President Marcos or even his opponents [1], at rush hours, church holidays, national holidays. The Philippine Islands abounded in inland fish, and in rice, but most of all, in people. But she had never seen a crowd quite like this” (p. 22). She is a little frightened, but Richard, for whom this is apparently a regular occurrence, tells her to keep moving until they get through the sea of people--which, given the current circumstances around the globe, sounds like a nightmare even though this book takes place about forty years ago.

A reporter starts to interview her and reminds her, almost right after their marriage, that she is replacing the legendary April Tennant:

“Mrs. Morgan--you are the envy of most every woman in the world as well as here in the Philippines. How does it feel to be Mrs. Richard Morgan the second?”

“You don’t have to answer,” Richard said protectively.

“But I want to,” she said. “It feels marvelous! I’m the luckiest woman in the world!”

“Aren’t you a little afraid?” the young man persisted.

Jenny wasn’t going to admit that to a stranger.

“Why should I be afraid?” she said.

“You are replacing a very exceptional woman.”

Now the noose of fear tightened around her neck, so that momentarily she could not answer. It was Richard who did for her.

“My first wife is dead,” he said with barely repressed anger. “For God’s sake let April rest in peace. For her own sake as well as ours. Now please--we have a plane to catch” (p. 23).

They leave him and hounding turns to harassing as rabid Richard Morgan fans begin reaching for them, tearing off pieces of her collar and the Filipino-style flower appliqué on her skirt and stealing Richard’s pocket square. “It was a good-natured, adulating adoring crowd,” the narration insists, “but like every mass of humanity, a possibly dangerous and uncontrollable force” (pp. 23-24). Sorry, narrator, but to me, it still sounds like a COVID nightmare--literally. I’ve had nightmares about this kind of thing for months. Generally, I try to avoid writing about current events on here because I don’t consider it appropriate for a blog about escapist Gothic melodrama, but this scene reminds me of some of my recent dreams.

Anyhow, the crowd and the reporter only reinforce Jenny’s feelings that she’s already in April’s shadow. Before Richard took an interest in her, she was only the daughter of an obscure American ambassador, not even an actress like April. She just got married and already she is having second thoughts, and not because of her husband:

Then that miserable worm of fear began to gnaw at her again, and she so desperately didn’t want to face the truth. But the words said themselves inexorably to her, marching across the inside of her eyelids as though chiseled on some granite rock that revolved before her inner sight, or burned so deeply on an indestructible tape that they could never be eradicated. The trouble is April Tennant. The woman the whole world revered and loved. They only wanted to see Jennifer, weigh her, find her wanting. They knew nobody could replace April--and that nobody had the right to try. Only without realizing what she was getting into, Jenny had done it. For once, she was the big attraction. But they didn’t think she could measure up, and she wasn’t sure she could herself. How had she ever thought she could? (pp. 24-25)

As they head for their flight, a crowd of “smiling brown people” cheer for them to return, and one little Filipina girl even chases Jenny down to give her “a woven garland of sampaguita flowers” (pp. 25-26). I must admit that I don’t know much about Filipino history, but I have trouble imagining that a crowd of Filipino people would cheer on the (presumably white) daughter of an American official who, given U.S. foreign policy at the time, would have backed Marcos’ repressive regime. Do I believe that they cheer for an international celebrity like Richard? Yes. Would they want to wish him a happy marriage? Probably. But I can’t imagine them liking Jenny much, for reasons that have nothing to do with April Tennant.

Chapter 4

This chapter begins with a description of Richard Morgan’s appearance that is an entire page long:

His mouth was full, the lips unusually red, with just the slightest quirk in repose which suggested sardonicism...The nose was classic, intriguingly flawed by some old injury...The eyes were brown, so dark that they were almost black, smoldering under somewhat sullen brows...His hair was a great, tousled, tawny mane, unruly, and resistant to brush or comb. His eyebrows had a fierceness about them that seemed to challenge anyone to cross swords; but this aggressive effect was completely belied by the way one or another would twitch and cock upward as though laughing at the world--or perhaps himself. His chin was probably too prominent, but again the feeling of overconfidence and overwhelming strength was softened by the deep cleft in the middle of it that broke the uncompromising line. He was not a tall man--perhaps an inch under six feet--but he carried himself with the lithe balance of a jungle animal or a trained athlete, and there was hardly anyone who did not think of him as tall and powerful. He was a man who even in repose radiated a sense of kinetic and tireless energy (pp. 29-30).

Richard Morgan, according to the cover artist.

Honestly, I was disappointed the first time I read this passage because he doesn’t much resemble Colin Fox. Virtually the only features the two have in common are the nose and the way they carry themselves--and (if we are talking about Jacques’ portrait) the lips. I always find it interesting how male authors describe the male characters whom others in the story find attractive, especially when said author is straight and writing for a female audience. Therefore, this is likely Ian Martin’s idea of what an incredibly handsome man looks like and/or his idea of what the average straight woman wants.

That, in turn, makes me wonder if this is how he visualized Jean Paul Desmond and his lookalike ancestor Jacques Eloi des Mondes, especially given that most of the other characters (and many fans, myself included) see them as incredibly handsome. Richard does have several facial features in common with John Bayliss, the actor originally cast in those roles, but there isn’t any evidence to suggest that their resemblance is anything more than a coincidence.[2]

The SP character whose appearance Richard’s description most closely matches, the Reverend Matthew Dawson. Lacks the unruly tawny hair and the sardonic lips and doesn’t carry himself like Richard, but the eyes are similar and they have the same chin. Not ugly (Dan MacDonald was better-looking IMO than the guy on the cover), but also not my idea of male perfection.

While relaxing on the plane, Jenny allows herself the luxury of thinking about herself instead of Matt Dawson’s tawny-haired twin. We learn that her name isn’t actually Jennifer--which contradicts the passage above where she calls herself that--but just Jenny, and that her parents named her after Jenny Wren from the (surprisingly dark) nursery rhyme “The Wedding of Robin Redbreast and Jenny Wren.” She relates in particular to the part where the wren says “I must wear my plain brown gown / And never go too fine,” because she dislikes not just putting on airs, but thinking about herself, period, which she attributes  to her strict upbringing. She’s almost cartoonishly modest, which is pretty typical of Gothic ingenues and of Linda Barclay, the protagonist of Martin’s earlier “romantic suspense” book, Nightmare’s Nest, who was even more so.

We flash back to the evening she met Richard, who was apparently an old friend of Nene Ilusorio, one of her late father’s friends who became her close companion following his death in a helicopter crash. At that time, April was not yet dead, so Richard had to keep his dates with Jenny secret. They traveled out to the mountains together, where she showed him the rice paddies the locals constructed on the mountains with their irrigation system and where he won her heart by quoting Robert Burns’ poem “My Heart’s in the Highlands.” Apparently women find men who like Robert Burns irresistible, at least according to this and the Kitty Soames storyline on Dark Shadows. I can’t confirm, though, because no man has ever quoted Burns to me or given me a book of his poems.

Chapter 5

A filler chapter about Jenny and Richard’s flight from Honolulu (where they had a layover) to San Francisco. I got excited at one point when Richard said, “We had a picture half done that had to be scrapped because of her death” (p. 46), thinking at first that he was referring to the portrait and being reminded of two certain other portraits of a certain character from Strange Paradise. But then I realized, no, he means “picture” as in “movie,” not as in “painting,” and got disappointed. We also learn that Richard has an encyclopedic knowledge of all the classic poets and playwrights, not just Robert Burns. In a flashback, Richard recites Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s poem “How do I love thee?” for her in his amazing voice, leaving her “drunk on love” and “drunk on all [the poets to whom he introduced her]” (p. 54). If he sounds anything like Colin, I can understand why she’s so seduced by him reading poetry. Even so, if I were her, I wouldn’t be able to get past the fact that he’s quoting other people instead of using his own words to convey his love. If Jean Paul could come up with something new to say to his frozen wife four days a week for a month, then surely Richard can as well. He's just being lazy--or is he? The back cover (”WHAT LAY BEHIND THE MASK OF LOVE?”) hints at some possible deception on his part.

Chapter 6

Jenny and Richard arrive back in California, and the story starts to pick up again.  This is roughly where “Here Goes the Bride” begins, not counting the teaser at the beginning. They are driving along the Pacific shore in a red Mercedes  without air conditioning, and Richard refuses to let her roll the windows down because he doesn’t want anyone to recognize him. He angsts for a while about how, even though actors like him need the audience in order to live and “for the magic to come alive,” the audience has become increasingly like “a great, crouching tiger...a creature of emotion and whim that can turn on you suddenly and get completely beyond your control” (p. 59). He rants about how April’s fans worshiped her and made almost a cult around her, and about how they will most likely go ballistic if they see him with another woman instead of playing “the high priest, ascetic, mourning, forever dedicated to her memory” (p. 60). By driving the car with the windows up, he hopes to avoid the paparazzi and other stalkers on their way to San Rafael.

We learn in a flashback, by the way, that the car is Lisa’s and that Richard had Jenny disguise herself as her by putting on a hat and sunglasses. Jenny asks if she really looks like Lisa--which, if it were true, would imply that he reciprocated Lisa’s feelings for him, at least on an unconscious level--but he says no. Her hair is dark, while Jenny’s is “tawny gold” (p. 63), which I had forgotten, probably because Lisa reminds me too much of Cersei Lannister not to picture her as such. Also, Richard has dark hair now, too? Two chapters earlier, his hair was tawny like Jenny’s. I guess this book’s editor didn’t notice the continuity error--not that it was that important, anyway.

The woman on the cover, most likely Jenny.

While waiting for Juan to open the gates, Jenny stares in awe at the fortifications surrounding the estate--which, as you may recall from Chapter 1, Richard had built around the estate, allegedly to keep his and April’s rabid fans out, and even added the broken glass himself. “It’s like a fortress--barbed wire, broken glass,” she exclaims. “And the gate looks as though you borrowed it from the Bastille!” The mention of the Bastille reads like subtle foreshadowing of a later reveal, but, per my self-imposed rule against spoilers, I won’t say any more about it for now. The gates open and we hear Richard’s pack of snarling dogs for the first time, the sound of which makes her uneasy. She asks about them and Richard just says, “They’re our guardian angels. They patrol the grounds at night” (p. 67).

We also meet Juan, “a square-set Mexican...a man of some sixty years, with a sun-whipped face that was as craggy and seared with lines as the landscape they had just passed outside the gate” and “blackened teeth in a dark-brown face dried by so many days of sun that the oil had cooked from the skin until it was tanned like animal hide” (p. 67). Here we have the third piece of evidence of the dystopian nature of life at San Rafael. First, we saw the excessive level of security which Jenny compared to the most notorious prison of France’s ancien régime; next, we heard snarling from Richard’s kennel; and now, it is implied that Juan doesn’t get paid enough to afford either modern dentistry, sunscreen, or a good moisturizer. Combine this with Richard’s refusal to romance Jenny in his own words and his insistence that they drive with the windows up and no air conditioning in southern California, and his behavior abounds with red flags. It does make you wonder what lay behind the mask of love, and it’s quite reminiscent of early Jean Paul and his control-freak tendencies even when Jacques isn’t possessing him.

Unlike Quito, his Strange Paradise equivalent, Juan can speak and often does. Half of his dialogue is in Spanish, the other half in English. Sometimes he will even randomly throw a Spanish word into a mostly English sentence (ex. “They will not be tranquilo till they see you for themselves” (p. 68), which, even with my extremely limited knowledge of Spanish, I know should read “tranquilos,” because he is talking about the dogs). This, combined with his appearance and the mention that he stands “with Indian patience, unmoving and stolid” (p. 70), makes him come across as rather stereotypical. It’s surprising how SP, despite being a decade older, has actually aged slightly better than this book in terms of racial matters--although, given that this book is forty years old, that’s to be expected.

Upon meeting Juan, Jenny feels “an icy whisk of rejection that shuddered between her shoulderblades [sic]” (p. 68), as though she knows before he says anything that he is a card-carrying member of the Cult of April Tennant. He reveals to Jenny that the dogs “are trained to kill...anyone who does not belong here,” and that they will only protect her “if they learn to know you belong” (p. 70). Then he casts a huge heaping of doubt on whether that will ever happen:

Jenny’s voice was hushed and sympathetic.

“You must have loved her very much.”

He lifted his head proudly, the dark deep-set eyes flashing from under the craggy brows. “She was La Senora de la Casa!”

The statement was simple and obdurate. A declaration of faith that shook Jenny because it was so basic. She found herself fighting to keep her throat from tightening up as she answered tentatively, “I hope you won’t blame me too much for taking her place.”

The answer, although delivered with remote courtesy, was flatly uncompromising. “There is no one to take her place” (p. 71).

Richard interrupts them when he returns with all six of his dogs on leashes, which frightens her even more now that Juan has given her reason to suspect that the dogs, too, worship April Tennant and will not accept anyone in her place. He probably wants them to reject her, especially because he never thought to give her some bones or treats to use to win their loyalty. If I were in her position, I would be begging Juan for some good cow knuckles filled with marrow for them to gnaw on. Then--assuming that he obliged--I’m sure they would love me forever.

Chapter 7

Richard introduces Jenny to his dogs, six Doberman pinschers named for “the six noblest Romans of them all. Caesar, Brutus, Cassius, Marc Anthony--Mark for short--Cinna, and Casca” (p. 74). He has them demonstrate their obedience to him--while he demonstrates more of his own control-freak-ness--by ordering them to sit, then charge, then shake hands with her. Much to Juan’s likely chagrin, Richard has every intention on making the dogs recognize her as their new mistress, and so he has her give them dog biscuits.

They all appear to like her except for Casca, who is slightly less quick to obey Richard’s commands and also reluctant to kiss Jenny’s hand, unlike the others. She’s relieved to have found acceptance from them so quickly, but Juan has to rain on her proverbial parade by staring silently “with no solitary hint that he shared the dogs’ enthusiasm for Jenny” (p. 77).

Chapter 8

They get back in the car and continue driving (how vast is the estate?), this time with the top down because of the lack of prying eyes. We learn as they drive to San Rafael that April’s mother had it built, something that Richard doesn’t want to admit, but which he makes obvious at least to the reader:

“When April’s mother-” He choked that off and rephrased, biting his tongue for bringing up her name. “I mean, when the property was first bought, some foundations were discovered where the house was to be built; and the architect sold Apr--ah--them on recreating a Spanish mission. It was picturesque, but not very practical for modern living, so when Ap--I mean, when I was married and entered the picture, some changes were made [like the addition of that portrait, I assume]” (p. 79).

Jenny expresses her doubts that San Rafael “will open its arms to [her] and invite [her] in,” and he responds by kissing her, which doesn’t answer her question, but whatever:

He lifted her chin, tilting her face toward him gently, his eyes flickering back and forth across hers, his own gleaming and almost mesmeric as the sun slowly slipped down over the horizon. Then very slowly he touched his mouth to hers, his lips opening against hers as he quite suddenly pressed against her ardently, his tongue lightly touching hers, engaging it, probing and awakening her mouth and the answering touch of lips and tongue, till all the world was blotted out, and there was only the rush of teeming blood, throbbing in the head and along all the nerves to the end, and the surge of desire that blotted out anything else (p. 80).

Unbeknownst to them, Chita and Lisa are spying on them, wondering why the car stopped! (ROFL) When Chita realizes what’s going on, she criticizes Richard in true prudish Raxl fashion: “That he would be so shameless in daylight,” says she. “To take this woman in his arms--” (p. 81). Lisa reminds her that they are married now; although the narration doesn’t mention a twinge of jealousy, I’ve no doubt in my mind that she wishes she were Jenny in that car.

Richard and Jenny get out and Lisa rushes to hug them. Surprisingly, she acts outwardly friendly towards Jenny, who notices that “[Lisa’s] dark blue eyes were penetrating as they took in Jenny in one swift appraisal. They might have frightened Jenny except for the deep spark of interest in them, and the wide smile which she didn’t realize was uncharacteristic for LIsa” (p. 82).

Then he introduces Jenny to Chita, whom she instantly dislikes. “From her long sojourn in the Philippines,” the narration tells us, “she was very conscious of relationships between employer and servant. Not that she subscribed to the sort of feudal system that existed there, but simply because she was an extraordinarily sensitive girl who was responsive to human vibrations. And she could tell that Conchita’s were not right about her” (pp. 83-84).

Conchita, likewise, has a bad first impression of Jenny, thinking her a snob because of her use of Castilian instead of Mexican Spanish. But Jenny doesn’t realize that, instead noticing and fixating on the portrait of April:

Either by accident or design, those were the lights which Conchita had turned on. In the gloom of the hall, the full-length portrait dominated everything. Every detail of that matchless beauty was so sharp and clear that the figure of this lovely woman seemed to be alive and breathing.

And to Jenny, to be warning her and saying, “Why did you come? You don’t belong. How did you dream you could take my place? Did you think I would ever allow you to? This is my home, and Richard is mine. I’ll never let either of them go” (pp. 84-85)!

Compared to the beginning, Chapters 3 through 8 are not very meaty. These chapters are like chicken wings compared to the drumsticks that were the intro and the first two chapters. The main similarities that I found between these chapters and Strange Paradise were (1) the revelation that, like Maljardin-era Jean Paul, Richard is a control freak who is obsessed with his privacy and (2) the introduction of Juan, who fills Quito’s role as loyal male retainer but talks using occasionally inaccurate gratuitous Spanish (the “tranquilo” line). There is a lot of filler and also perhaps a little too much repetition of the idea that no one can ever take April’s place as mistress of San Rafael, so not as enjoyable as Part I or the next part of the story.

Coming up next: We get our first set of hints about April’s mysterious past, while Jenny tries to adjust to life in a house that may or may not be haunted by her spirit.

{ <- Previous: Part I   ||   Next: Part III -> }

Notes

[1] Did Ferdinand Marcos even allow his opponents to hold rallies? As I said above, I don’t know much about Filipino history, but I do know that he ruled over the Philippines as a dictator and tried to suppress any opposition to him. Most likely either the above passage is inaccurate or what Martin is describing are actually political protests, but it’s worded in a way that suggests that he thought of Filipino politics in the 1970s-1980s as more democratic than they actually were.

[2] I did look up Michael Wager, the actor who played Richard in the original radio drama, and he did resemble this description (and was indeed quite handsome, if I do say so myself). However, it would be strange for Martin to have Richard look like his original actor when none of the other characters in the book do. Notably, Jenny’s description in the book as a gray-eyed blonde bears no resemblance to her original actress Ruby Dee--which I suspect may have something to do with the publisher wanting to avoid controversy for depicting interracial marriage, as Ruby Dee was black.

[writesaboutbangtan17]

say you’ll remember me

mingyu x reader fluff, angst, implied smut

6,445 words

a/n: i know some parts of this are so *stares right into the camera* obnoxiously cheesy but guess what? i like this and i just don’t care. i’m currently writing a horribly stupidly long hoseok fic, but i realized the writing had gotten a little stale n asked my bff for a prompt to write a “ficlet” (this was supposed to be 2k or less) and she gave me: mingyu, fluff and angst, wildest dreams by taylor swift (because my mingyu tag is “he’s so tall and handsome as hell”). so ta da, this is what u get

~ in which your young, dumb love will hurt you, will ruin you, has an expiration date…but is so, so worth it

    You never forgot to visit your hometown in the summertime. Of course, it was nice to see your family, but you could see them any time of the year, and saw them often in the fall and the winter. What made the long drive from the city worth it in the hundred degree weather, sun glaring down on the hood of your car and baking you inside of it, was the chance to see the seaside in all its glory. You’d been raised in a humble beach town and you’d seen it a thousand times, but you’d be happy to see it a thousand more. As a kid, you couldn’t say you’d appreciated it much. The town itself and the beach were a little dumpy, nothing to write home about.

    It was the memories you’d created there once upon a time that made it special. As you pulled into a spot in the tiny parking lot and cut the ignition, you could remember late nights in the backseat of a car a lot older and rustier than this one, making your own heat as you pressed your sweat-slicked body to another. You trudged out onto the sand and as it flattened beneath your sneakers, you remembered squishing it between your toes as you watched a certain young man wading in the shallow ocean waters. He’d splashed some little kids nearby, pretending to fall beneath the surface with the weight of their own splashes back at him, and you’d imagined how this scene would look many years from now with children who were the perfect mix of you and him. You’d been 17 then.

    The same old snack bar stood beneath a few palm trees, and you could never forget him buying you ice cream every afternoon, no matter how much you insisted eating one ice cream cone every day would put a thousand pounds on you. He’d wrap an arm around your waist to pull you close, and “I’d still love you,” he’d hum against the side of your head. Every day without fail he’d bump his chocolate ice cream against the tip of your nose, and you’d crinkle it in fake disgust as he insisted on licking it off.

    Not far away was the playground where he’d push you on the swing, the bathrooms where you’d lock yourself in a stall and make out every day, the fancy restaurant he’d saved up for a month to take you to once (and even then, he couldn’t afford for you to get anything to drink besides a water—not that you minded). You passed by them all on your way to the watchtower. No matter how many times you visited the beach, you hadn’t gone up to the top of it since that summer five years ago. But you’d just gotten a great job, made some great new friends, and you were even starting to date someone new—your life was nothing like you’d imagined it’d be back then, but it was still good. You’d told your new partner about your trip, and although it was a particularly teary conversation, you explained why it was such an important one to make. They were the one who gave you the strength to take each step up the concrete staircase, to keep your head up instead of turning and running back to your car.

    The top level of the watchtower overlooked the entire beach. From one side you could see all the way into town, all the way towards your parents’ house where your old teenage bedroom was waiting for you. On the other side, the ocean went on forever. Facing the water, you wrapped both hands around the old splintered railing and looked down between them. Mingyu & Y/N 4E. It was so childish, you’d known even then that it was childish, but it still brought a smile to your face.

    You refused to let the tears at the corners of your eyes fall, and reminded yourself not for the first time that none of this should make you sad anymore. It had been so long, and you’d moved on…but that couldn’t stop the longing in your heart. You wished the waves carrying away the sand and pebbles could wash away the memory of that wolfish grin, the warmth of his calloused hands on your skin, the feeling of loving him so much that you’d give up the stars and the clouds and this whole universe if it meant you’d never have to live a day without him at your side.

    You wished that he had kept his promise.

    “Oh my god, Mingyu,” you groaned as he shoved the small pocketknife back into his jeans, “we’re almost adults, that’s kids stuff. Some kid wanted to do that with me when I was like eleven.” Mingyu rolled his eyes and grabbed your hand, yanking you over to his side as he blew away the wood shavings to admire his masterpiece. You turned your head towards the water, letting your hair fall over your face so that he couldn’t see the lightest of pinks dusting your cheeks at how nice your names looked together—he’d never shut up about it.

    “Who was it? Was it Joonki? Hyunwoo? Hyunwoo has always had a little crush on you. If it’s him, I’m gonna beat him up the next time I see him,” Mingyu ranted, and you knew he was only half-joking. You leaned into his side and reminded him,

    “We were literally eleven, and Hyunwoo hasn’t even looked at me in like three years. When will you ever see him again, anyways?” The tall boy beside you said nothing, knowing you were right. He’d probably never see any of the kids he’d gone to school with here ever again.

    “It’s not like I’m never coming back,” he tried, his voice small, “and I could drive over to his house right now if I wanted to. He lives like three blocks away.” You should have laughed, should have let him believe that his smallest of attempts to lighten the mood worked, but there was so much unsaid that was smothering you. A part of you wanted to beg him not to go, wanted to ask him if he really couldn’t be happy living a simple seaside life here with you. You wanted to tell him how unhappy you’d be without him, how every day the sun would be a little less bright.

    Instead you asked him, “Wanna push me on the swings?” You moved to skip towards the stairs, but Mingyu’s arm around you was tight, and you just fell back into place. He was stiff, silent, and you could feel the melancholy in his bones, underneath his skin. You worked up the nerve to look at his face and wished you hadn’t—you could count on one hand the amount of times you’d seen him look so serious, let alone without a wide smile, and still have fingers left to spare. His eyes were stuck on the horizon, and you ignored the dread building in the pit of your stomach.

    “C’mooon, I wanna swing,” you whined, instead of asking him what was so much better about Seoul than this town, what was so much better about being an idol than inheriting his parents’ business, what was so much better about a life without you. 

     Why didn’t the idea of being apart hurt him as much? Why would he carve these stupid words into this building when he knew they were a lie?

    “It’s late,” was all he said, “we should go home,” and you scoffed. Mingyu hadn’t gotten you home before 2 A.M. in months, and that would be considered an early night for you two. Then again, his train did leave at nine o’clock the next morning. He wouldn’t want to be walking dead when he arrived at his new home. You wrenched yourself out of his hold, turned your back on him, took one step away.

    “Wait,” he stopped you, “there’s…there’s something we have to talk about first.” You didn’t want to hear what he had to say. It could only be one thing, and maybe you could survive the heartbreak if you didn’t have to hear the actual words out loud. “We don’t, though,” you wanted your voice to be strong, but you were practically whimpering, already felt the tears threatening to fall.    “We do. I don’t want to leave you hanging, wondering if you should move on or not,” he mumbled the last part, knowing as soon as the words came out of his mouth that they were the wrong thing to say. A choked sob tore from your throat, and you would have crumpled to the ground if he didn’t catch you. God, at the beginning of the summer, you had really thought that the two of you could make it. You had really thought he’d want to make it work.

    You knew that it wouldn’t, though. His life would be a constant cycle of dance, sing, put on a smile for the fans, eat, sleep, repeat. There would be no time for late night Skype dates or calls during breaks, no time for days back home, no time to love you. Even if there was, you would have to be the most tightly kept secret. Once his group debuted, you knew there would be rabid fangirls constantly ready to riot if their beloved idols were seen with another woman. You could never go out with him, especially not during the day, and not without him in a hat and a mask, unable to show off that grin that was just for you. That was if the company even let him keep dating. Mingyu would try to fight it, try to do it without them knowing, but it’d only make the impossible even more difficult. There was just no fitting you into the life that he wanted, and you had to come to terms with that.

    “Don’t worry, Mingyu, I know exactly what this means,” you snapped. You knew that you shouldn’t be mad at him, but you’d never felt a pain like this before. You never would again. The anger that had come on so strong, so quickly, melted away as you saw those dark brown eyes of his that had never looked at you with anything but love. He looked so beat down, so sad, and he didn’t deserve to feel that way when he was just trying to follow his dreams. You were being selfish—you weren’t worth giving those up for, and he wasn’t worth giving up yours, either. He was just a person. But he became my dream, you thought.

    “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said, and you reached up to brush away the few tears that dripped down his cheek, “I love you. You know that I love you, right?” You nodded. How couldn’t you know that he loved you? You’d only been together for a few months, but you’d never felt safer, happier, or more cherished than you did with him.

    “I love you, too,” you promised him, “I’ll never love anybody the way that I love you.” It was the truth. Young love was reckless, stupid, painful, but there was no love more sincere. You hadn’t let go of his face, and you traced your thumb longingly over his bottom lip. Longing for a kiss, longing for a lifetime with him that you’d never get.

    He could at least grant your first wish, leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours fiercely. There was no brush of tongue, no lip biting, but it felt more intimate than those kisses. 

     It felt like a goodbye.

     You were drowning in Mingyu’s shirt, one he’d just pulled out of his trunk and thrown at you before he sprinted into the water. It was barely noon, but the day had already been ruined, as far as you were concerned. You’d been awake for barely an hour and only just stepped out onto the sand for the day when a pelican dropped a huge load off on your shoulder, splattering all over your pretty new slip.

    Mingyu, ever the gentleman, had fallen over from laughing so hard as you struggled to pull it off without getting any of the bird poop on yourself. It took him five minutes to compose himself well enough to walk back to his car and get this shirt for you. It was white, with an obnoxious beer logo on the front of it, as if Mingyu had ever had more than one nasty wine cooler at a party he wasn’t even supposed to be at. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he’d given you the white shirt on purpose, waiting for the perfect moment to run up and bear hug you with his big wet body so that the shirt would stick to your skin and show him the tiny little yellow bikini you had on underneath it. Pervert.    

    You tried not to, but with him splashing around in the water and not sitting beside you, rambling and distracting you from your thoughts, they drifted away to those that you’d been avoiding for awhile now. It was the last week of summer vacation. In six days, Mingyu would be leaving to train in Seoul, and it was yet to be determined what would happen to your relationship with him after that. Ideally, you’d try the long distance thing…but that was for normal people, people like you. Not idols. It wouldn’t be long until Mingyu debuted and the most you ever saw or heard of him would be on TV or the radio. You still had a year of high school left, and your own dreams would keep you in school for a long time, far away from him.

    “Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Mingyu popped up beside you, jolting you out of your anxious mind. You smiled and shrugged, “Not much,” deciding to put that off. Today you would be happy. If Mingyu thought you were lying, he didn’t push it. He just grabbed your hand and pulled you to your feet, fixing you with a pout.

    “Come swim with me?” He asked, and you just couldn’t say no to him. You pulled off his shirt and dropped it onto the towel you’d been sitting on, glowering at him when he folded the towel over to cover it.

    “I don’t wanna get bird poop on it,” he giggled, and ducked away from your swat at him. You chased him into the water, and as soon as you were waist deep, he picked you up to spin you around before dropping the both of you down beneath the surface. Holding your breath, you opened your eyes and looked at Mingyu. His were squeezed shut, but he had that signature grin on his face, canines showing and all. You drifted forward to plant a kiss on his mouth, then sprung back up to take a gulp of fresh air. Your boyfriend followed after you slowly, and stayed crouched down so his body stayed underwater while you stood. You looked down at him and if he asked, you’d swear the red on your cheeks was from the sun and not from the way he looked at you like you made the earth go around.

    “Hey, do you wanna eat at at Seaside’s tonight?” He randomly asked, making you sputter through a laugh as you wringed out your hair. The cheapest entree at Seaside’s was forty bucks, you knew Mingyu didn’t have the money to drop on something like that. “But how could we skip out on ramen at Sunwoo’s,” you joked. Most nights you either bummed food off of your friends or picked up something cheap, and on Mondays, you always found your way to your friend Sunwoo’s for dinner. His parents just couldn’t turn the lovebirds away.

    “I’m serious,” Mingyu said, and there was no laughter in his voice, “let me treat you. A queen deserves a feast.” There was no way you could lie your way out of this blush now. Mingyu finally got on his feet, standing at his full height and putting him a good half a foot over you. He shaded your face from the sun, and smirked at the shining scarlet staining your face.

    “I don’t have anything to wear to Seaside’s,” you said meekly, and Mingyu shook his head, “I got something for you.”

    He had the decency to tear the price tag off of the dress he’d picked up God-knows-where, and to admit that his sister helped him pick it out. You’d have to thank her the next time you saw her, knowing Mingyu would most likely have picked out something that just barely covered your ass and held in your boobs. The white babydoll dress stopped a few inches shy of your knees, and had a pretty lace trim on the hem and the scooped neckline. It was simple, but certainly looked and felt expensive. It amazed you that he’d go to such lengths for one fancy night with a girl he’d never see again come a week from now.    

    He’d sent you outside ahead of him when it came time to pay the bill, and you told him you’d wait at the top of the watchtower. The steps were a little scary in heels you’d only bought to wear to a wedding once, and then never again, but you managed. You figured Mingyu didn’t want you around to see how many bills he had to drop on the counter, for which you were thankful. It was nerve-wracking enough just knowing he’d spent so much money, without knowing exactly how much. He had calmly told you when you sat down at the table that you could order whatever you liked, and had even suggested the most expensive item on the menu. After you insisted that you could never finished a twenty ounce, sixty dollar steak, you told him that one of the $20 salads looked good—but when the waiter came, Mingyu ordered a steak for himself and one of the fancy seafood dishes for you, over forty bucks.

    It was something he knew you well enough to be sure you’d love, and you couldn’t be annoyed with him for it, just genuinely curious about what you’d ever done to deserve it or him. This was what you were pondering on when you heard footsteps coming up behind you, and turned to see Mingyu. The sun was just starting to set, and in that light, he took your breath away. He was so tall and broad, filling out his white button-up and dark jeans nicely, with gorgeous bronze skin that he was somehow self-conscious of stretched over his frame, and jet black hair flopping over his eyes. As soon as he reached your side, you pushed his bangs back off his forehead and took another moment to admire him up close.

    “You look prettier than me, babe,” Mingyu said quietly, knowing exactly what you were thinking, as always. You shrugged, “True,” and when he looked offended for half a second, you added, “But you do give me a run for my money.”

    The two of you watched the sunset in silence after that. When there was only a sliver of the sun left over the horizon, and the deep orange had almost entirely melted away to a darker blue, you finally peeked over at Mingyu to see that he had his head resting on his hand, turned entirely away from the water, with his eyes locked on you.

     You sighed and told him, “You don’t have many sunsets left here to watch, you know.” He seemed to concentrate even harder on you at that.    “I don’t ever want to forget what you look like right now,” he whispered, “the sunset doesn’t compare.”

    You had been seeing Kim Mingyu for exactly a month when he showed up outside your house that morning. The looks your parents gave you as you skipped down the stairs and ran out the front door were of exceptional displeasure, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to care when the most handsome boy was waiting for you.

    You fixed the slip over your bathing suit before slipping into the passenger’s seat, and were happy to note that you didn’t even flinch when he wrapped his big hand around your thigh, anymore. Normally, he wouldn’t hesitate to start the car and head towards the beach as quickly as possible, but this morning was different from others. He cocked his head and bit his lip, contemplative, then finally asked,

    “Do you have a change of clothes in your bag?” The tote that you’d put down on your feet was heavy, and that weight did include a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, but instead of telling him that, you had to ask why. Mingyu’s other hand was rubbing the back of his neck as he answered, “I want to take you into the city today.” You didn’t have it in you to be annoyed with him for not telling you beforehand, or for sneaking peeks at you as you changed from your bikini top into your bra and slipped into your other clothes while he drove on the empty country roads leading away from town.

    “There’s a bunch of different street foods in the city, and weird shops that they’d never have back home, and karaoke bars and stuff like that,” he raved, “and there’s so many more people, lots of foreigners.” You remembered him telling you that he’d gone to the city to visit family a few months ago, but you’d never known exactly how enamored with it he was. It sounded fun, but the slower, simpler life in town appealed to you much more.

    He hadn’t been lying about the crowds. It took twenty minutes to get egg bread by the river, and even longer to find a nice quiet spot to sit and eat. Mingyu listed off all the different shops he wanted to take you to, dozens of them that sold things from clothes to stationary to cooking supplies, but you weren’t listening much, more focused on watching him speak. The way his eyes lit up and he stumbled on his words because he was talking so fast made you suspicious. You’d never seen him so excited about anything before

    “Do you want to go up to Seoul Tower?” Mingyu asked as he dragged you out of one shop and right into another. The last had been a cosmetics store that spilled products out into the street, this one was a fancy boutique with cute summer dresses and skirts. You pretended you couldn’t hear him as you flipped through some clothes on the rack beside you, pausing for a moment on a pretty white dress you couldn’t afford. If this were any other trip into the city, you’d jump at a chance to go and see the view from the top of the tower, but you weren’t dumb enough to believe this was any other trip. Eventually, Mingyu would admit the real reason he brought you here, but no matter how many times you asked him what that was, he insisted he just wanted you to get out of town and see some place new.

    He took you up to the tower, anyways, and you wanted to admire the cityscape, but couldn’t take your eyes off of Mingyu. It was as you saw him devour the sight, jaw dropped and eyes wide like he’d never seen it before, that you realized this was where he wanted to be. Ice spread through your veins at the thought. Maybe you’d gotten too close to this boy too fast, diving into him headfirst before you even thought about what his life looked like, what he wanted it to look like in the future. Maybe your parents weren’t wrong for thinking you were in too deep with him.

    “It’s amazing, right?” You just nodded at him. You didn’t know what else you could say. On the ride down the mountain, Mingyu held your hand tight and gushed about some of the people he’d met when he’d been visiting, guys named Seungcheol and Jihoon who took him to the village the cable car would drop you off near. He didn’t tell you how he met them, just how nice and funny they were. You could barely appreciate the scenery there as he kept talking about them, jokes they’d made and funny things they’d done. He mentioned some guys named Soonyoung and Wonwoo, as well.

    “Where did you meet all these guys?” You finally asked him, and he told you, “Oh, they’re friends with my cousin,” and that was the last of that. He got you jajangmyeon for dinner, and as you slurped your noodles in silence, he talked about how many more opportunities there were in Seoul than in your hometown. When he mentioned how much easier it was to get into music and acting and whatever other forms of entertainment, you laughed for the first time all day.

    “I don’t think it’s easy to do it just because you can,” you informed him, and for the first time all day, the smile slipped off of his face. The knot of anxiety in your chest wound tighter at this as your mind went into overdrive trying to pull together all the pieces of this puzzle, knowing Mingyu didn’t have much longer to stave off telling you the truth, hoping you could figure it out before then.    He suggested walking the food off when you finished eating, and led you through the city streets. It seemed he had finally run out of praise to heap upon the place, and you made the mistake of relaxing in the silence, thinking he was taking you back in the direction of wherever he’d left his car so you could finally go home. You shut your eyes and leaned your head on his shoulder, trusting him not to walk you into oncoming traffic. You didn’t even realize it when he’d stopped walking.

    “Y/N, babe,” he sighed into your hair, “open your eyes.” You weren’t sure what you expected when you did, but a wide plain building with the words ‘PLEDIS Entertainment’ hung up on the side of it were not high on the list.    “What, is this the company one of those idols you like works for?” You asked, and felt Mingyu shift from one foot to the other, moving his weight away from you. He pulled his arm out of your hands and turned to fully face you, with his lip tucked tight between his teeth and his eyes on the ground.

    “Well, yes, but,” he took a deep breath, “this is the company that I auditioned for a few months ago. And I got in.” Just yesterday, you’d been imagining what your kids would like, all tan-skinned and sharp canines and thick black hair, splashing in the waves at home every day. I’m so stupid, you realized, why did I think I’d be enough for him? You refused to cry, refused to let this boy who you barely knew break your heart like this, refused to acknowledge the part of your brain screaming at you that the two of you knew each other better than anyone else ever had. You’d never survive this if you didn’t start insisting to yourself that Kim Mingyu meant nothing.

    You blinked at him and said, “Oh, that’s cool.” Then you stepped around him and kept walking forward. Shoulders back, chest out, chin up, you told yourself, do not fucking cry. “Don’t be like that, Y/N,” you heard him saying from behind you, “please, I need you to be happy for me.” You spun on your heel with a sharp smile painted on to your face, “It’s great news, Mingyu. You’ll do well.” Then kept walking.

    It could have all ended right there. You could have insisted Mingyu drive you home, locked yourself in your room for the rest of the summer, never fallen in love with him. But when you heard a tiny, broken “thank you,” from the boy who you couldn’t stand to see without a smile on his face, you couldn’t help it.    “How can I be happy about this?” You asked, stopping at the curb. Mingyu hurried to your side, taking your hand back into his and holding on so tight, so that you couldn’t let go. His other hand locked around your jaw, forcing your head to turn so you could look into his eyes.

    “I know it’s hard, babe,” he said, “but this is my dream. I want to be a rapper!” You almost laughed. Kim Mingyu, the sweetest boy you’d ever met—a rapper. But you could tell he was serious, and you’d never laugh at his dream, just like you hoped he’d never laugh at or dismiss any of yours. Seeing the sincerity in his eyes, the desperation for you to be on board, you knew you couldn’t disappoint him, and under no circumstances could you be the reason he didn’t do any and everything he wanted to and was capable of.

    “It’s really great, Mingyu,” you assured him, and you meant it this time, “I’ll support you the whole way.” The relief that flooded his face was worth it.

    It turned out he did have a cousin in town, albeit a much older cousin with their own apartment that they said you could stay over in. You called your parents to tell them that you were staying over at your friend Soojung’s, and they believed you because you’d never been one to lie before getting mixed up with Mingyu. You remembered that you’d never even told them you were going into the city. They’d kill you if they found out.

    “Sejun’s working the night shift,” Mingyu informed you as he came back into the guest bedroom, “he just left.” You were wearing a shirt of Sejun’s and your bikini bottoms and nothing else, and Mingyu was only wearing a pair of loose sweatpants low on his hips, and you really thought he would have slept on the couch, but he was sliding underneath the comforter beside you before you could say as much. The furthest you’d gone with him so far was just barely making out in his car a few nights ago, but the electricity charging in the small space between your bodies really wanted you to move closer and attach your body to his.

    “Mingyu,” you whispered into the dark, and he hummed back at you. That was all you could take, rolling over to swing one leg over his thighs, effectively straddling him. Mingyu oomfed with the sudden weight on top of him, but his big hands immediately came up to circle your waist.

    “You’re moving to Seoul in a couple of months,” you said, as if he needed reminding, and you could just barely make out his nodding before you dipped down to press your lips to his and swallow his moan when you slowly swirled your hips to grind against his bulge. If anybody back home knew you were so ready to go so far with him so soon, they would think so lowly of you, but you’d never cared less what people back home thought. Now you knew your love story had a deadline, a timer ticking down, and not to a happily ever after. There was no time to waste.

    You tossed your sunglasses into the sand, rolling from your back to your stomach and laying your head on your folded arms beneath you. It was a thousand degrees outside and you weren’t really looking to work on your tan, but what else was there to do? Soojung was supposed to meet you, and at least then you could go swimming with her, but she was already a half hour late.

    It was the first Monday after school got out for the summer, and the beach was packed. You ignored everybody you recognized from school, not seeing anyone you particularly liked, anyways. Kim Mingyu and Shin Sunwoo were splashing around in the water, and they were cute but they were also obnoxious, and you weren’t friends with them, barely even knew them. Mingyu and you had a class or two together every year, but had barely ever spoken.    

    You had just started to drift off into a very warm nap when you felt tiny drops of water hitting your back, and in your head, you cursed the weatherman for predicting clear skies all day. “They never get that shit right,” you grumbled, shifting your weight onto your palms to lift your upper body, and heard a familiar voice ask you, “What’d you say?”

    You looked over your shoulder at Mingyu leaned over you, drops of ocean water dripping from the ends of his hair onto your skin. Groaning, you reached up to push his legs, and watched him fall onto his ass with a satisfied smile before dropping down to get back to sleep.

    “Hey, stop,” he said, “you can’t fall asleep out here, I didn’t see you put sunscreen on or anything.” 

     You snorted at that, “What, like you were watching me?”

    “Well. Uh. Yes?” That was not what you expected to hear, and you felt wide awake now. Daring to look at Mingyu again, you were greeted by a shy grin. You’d never noticed before how his pointed canines peeked out like fangs, and you found it oddly endearing.

    “Do you even know my name?”

    “Of course I know your name, Y/N,” He said, with the most incredulous tone, but you wouldn’t have blamed him if he didn’t. You finally sat up to face him, and somehow kept your eyes from wandering to his chest and abs, soaked with water, shining in the sunlight. It was truly a feat to admire.    “Ok, then why were you watching me?”

    “Because you were laying here alone, and we’ve never really talked before, and I’ll be honest, your butt looks really cute in those bikini bottoms.” You fought a blush, and the words didn’t sound as gross in his sweet voice, didn’t make you want to punch his teeth out, either.

    “Well, your butt looks pretty cute in your trunks,” you told him, and God only knows where the bravery came from to even throw in a wink. You and Mingyu talked for hours, and when Sunwoo came over to ask if Mingyu was coming over to eat, he was waved off without so much as a glance. You didn’t even notice when Soojung arrived and saw you with him, and headed over to somebody else she knew instead of interrupting the two of you.

    “That’s hilarious that you think so, Y/N, but I know that I can eat more tteokbokki than you can,” Mingyu insisted, and if he listened hard enough he would have heard the gears in your head turning, churning up the best bet you could think of, knowing he was wrong. Maybe you’d have him streak across the beach tomorrow, or climb onto the roof of the watchtower.

    “Then you’ll have to prove it,” you challenged him, “tomorrow. We’ll meet here and get some from the snack bar and see who is the Tteokbokki Eating Champion.” Mingyu immediately accepted, smile wide, and you thought to yourself that that was a smile you could get used to seeing.

    He offered to drive you home when it started getting dark, but you wound up in another long conversation as you were walking towards the car, and ended up lapping the entire length of the beach a few times before you felt too tired to go on anymore. When you passed the playground for the fourth time, you beelined towards its gate, and Mingyu followed.

    You ignored the jungle gym, the monkey bars, and the slide, and found yourself perched on a swing, as any normal person would choose. Instead of sitting on the swing beside you like you expected him too, Mingyu walked behind to start pushing you. You ignored the goosebumps that rose as you felt his hands on your skin for the first time.

    “Y/N, what do you wanna do after high school?” You couldn’t say that you’d thought much about it. A lot of kids were desperate to leave town, but you loved it here, and had just expected to work at your parents’ restaurant instead of thinking of what you would actually like to do.

    “I’m not sure,” you admitted, “I just…want to be happy.” Mingyu gave an affirmative hum. You talked to him about anything either of you could think to ask the other, getting to know him like you’d never expected to, telling him things you’d never told anybody, not even your closest friends. Something about Mingyu made you feel so at ease. It was when he grabbed the chains and abruptly stopped your swing, leaning over to grin down at you over the stupidest pun you’d just told, that it occurred to you for the first time: you could fall in love with this guy.

    You could be happy with him.

    Mingyu & Y/N 4E. You brushed your thumb lovingly over the words, and even though you tried not to, thought of that morning that he left. You’d fallen asleep in the watchtower, and when you woke up, he was long gone. The sounds of the first beachgoers cars pulling into the parking lot and excited kids yelling as they ran towards the water twinkled into your ear, and you couldn’t even feel angry that he’d left you here. He had a train to catch, after all, and you only lived a few blocks away. Your tote bag had been sitting on one of the steps, and as you grabbed it to sling over your shoulder, you noticed a little note placed delicately on top of it.

    I’ll never forget falling in love with you this summer.

    You’d kept that note for a long time—it was folded up in your wallet right now. You plucked it from it’s pocket and held it out over the railing, then watched it slowly drift down to the waters surface. It floated there for a minute, before a gentle wave came to carry it away.

    It had taken a long time to accept Mingyu’s decision, but you’d always known that you’d never ask him to give up on his dreams for you, that life would go on after he left. You had to believe that one day you’d have a happy life, even without him in it, and you had to believe that he’d be happy, too. Seventeen had been doing well, winning award after award, every comeback seeming to top the last. You liked them, and it wasn’t just because of the voice that you missed, that you could only hear in song or during interviews now.

    You made the trek back to your car, and decided that you wouldn’t come back to this beach for awhile. One day you’d bring your kids here and they wouldn’t look like him, at all, and you’d buy them ice cream and tap their noses with it, and you’d give them kisses underwater, and you’d push them on the swings and maybe even show them your name carved into the railing on the watchtower. 

    You’d tell them that it was worth it to fall into a love that will never last.    

    And you’d remember the boy with bronze skin and the wolfish grin, and hope one day somebody could make them as happy as he made you, even if it was just for one summer.

[seawolvesanddragons]

Stranger Things Season Three Thoughts (SPOILERS)

I watched the first four episodes of ST3 with my cousin over a period of two nights, then binge-watched the final four today. Some assembled thoughts:

-sadly, I knew from spoilers from news articles on my phone (which I literally couldn’t avoid because I can’t take them off my screen, which pissed me off, so thanks Buzzfeed and other online magazines) that someone was going to die and found out in between the first four and the last four that Robin was gay. I’m thrilled Robin is lesbian, but irritated that those scenes got ruined for me because magazines can’t keep spoilers out of their freaking article headlines.

-on a whole, season three was...pretty good. I’ll stand by that. However, I think I liked season 1 and 2 better. This season was clearly more about character development then action, which can be really great, but then when the side-plots and action scenes they used to fill the episodes between character development just felt really, really slow.

-they spent a lot of time on side characters (Ms Wheeler and all that lifeguard nonsense, the Mayor, random scenes of the carnival) that took time away from main characters story time, which I didn’t like

-literally every time I see Ms Wheeler and Billy interact I feel physically ill

-El and Max friendship is wonderful

-The kids are some of my favorite characters in this series, and I was sad that we really didn’t get to see them interact a lot as a group. Even when they were all in the same room, it was only when there was a lot of action. We saw the boys interact. We saw eleven and Max be friends. We saw the couples interact. But I would love more scenes like when they welcomed Dustin home, or odd pairings: Lucas and El doing target practice together, Will and Max kicking ass at video games, Dustin, Max and Will going to see a movie together via Steve. Just...we had to just kind of assume these kids are all friends instead of them really SHOWING it

-Then we had the Big Fight between Will, Lucas and Mike (with Dustin thrown in there at times) because...all they care about is their girlfriends now, which sucks and really isn’t healthy, and the whole episode showed that Will was still feeling out of place, like something more than the Mind Flayer changed. And then, for the rest of the season they just...forgot about Will? He suddenly barely had any lines, hardly interacted with anyone - and I don’t get why. It’s like they don’t know what to do with him when he isn’t possessed. The others have clear roles - Lucas the Prepared Ranger, Mike the Leading Paladin, Eleven the Mage, Max the Healer/Cleric, Dustin the Rogue/Bard, Nancy and Johnathan the Detectives, but with Will, they just...left him there. Which was very frustrating

-I loved The Scoops team (though Erica got on my nerves a little at times) but I wish Dustin had been able to interact more with the other kids. I get they were fighting, but some occasional radio contact would have been nice. The duo of him and Steve is great, no argument, but not at the total expense of him with his buddies.

-I’ve known Billy was doomed since I heard his name (people with “B” don’t last long in this show) and honestly? I really don’t care that he’s dead. I feel bad for Max, who had to witness it. I understand that Billy was abused by his father, and had hard prepubescent and teenage years. But Billy also abused and terrorized people, and Season 3 did not show that he had changed. It was not his sole fault he became an abuser and a bully, but he is not absolved of his actions. Also, it would have been bullshit if Billy survived when every other person the mind flayer got was killed off.

--Hawkins as a town has GOT to be suspicious of what is going on

--Robin a wonderful and I love her

--Erica as a math genius!

--The latter half of this season had some steller Nancy-Mike interactions, which I had missed in season two and the first part of season 3. I’m glad the Duffers finally remembered they’re related

--Hopper had some serious temper problems this season that had me very wary of him as a character

-I know a lot of people are angry because of Erica’s capitalism (which...she’s ten. It’s the 80′s. She’s repeating what she has heard her father and the news say.) and the whole coke thing and the evil Russians but I really am just too tired of fans to care about it. The first two seasons had evil Americans. Hell so did this season. Russia and America were locked in an arms race. I never cared about Coke to begin with. Let me just enjoy the show.

-I liked that they had to take lengths to split the groups up in this season. Scoop Troop was out of range underground. Hopper and Joyce were on the run. Nancy and Johnathan did manage to get a hold of the kids. My thoughts when Will realized the Mind Flayer was back while Joyce was learning magnets don’t work and Nancy discover rats were rabid was “now, given all the crazy shit that happened the last two years, why wouldn’t they immediately get the whole gang together to solve this more quickly. They know how this works by now.” And there was a reason that they, for the most part, couldn’t do that.

-I understand this is the 80s and summertime, and it’s explained the Wheelers just...don’t keep up with their kids (again, your kids were both caught up in some sort of government stuff less then two years ago. WHY aren’t you keeping up with them?) but Erica says that her mom would be keeping tabs on her (at least, if not her and Lucas) and Dustin JUST got home, surely his mom is trying to spend time with him? They were 100 percent gone for over 24 hours from their homes, every one of them. Why were the Hendersons and Sinclairs not looking?

-Hopper ain’t dead. No body, the American at the end, and also I just don’t buy it. He’s coming back.

-Why the FUCK would Joyce move her kids away at this point? I get she doesn’t want anything else bad to happen but...her kids were traumatized and also they developed a support system out of the friends that shared that trauma, or at least witnessed it. There is NOWHERE that she can move to where El and Will could find the support that their friends would give them.

-That being said, I hope this means we get awesome siblings El and Will next season, when the Byers move back to Hawkins. Because that is happening damn it.

-Stop killing off Joyce’s love interests. Let her be happy

-Joyce’s house survived the season (probably to let her sell it) and while I kind of wish it was destroyed so she couldn’t move - which is what I thought would happen - I’m kind of glad for the house.

-I kind of wanted to see the kids in high school - like, taking down bullies by using language and techniques both from their dnd games and their upside down adventures. Nancy and Johnathan setting straight any kid that dared mess with their little siblings. Steve giving advice to all of his children, but especially Dustin. Max joining the Basketball team.

-JUST LET THEM PLAY DND

-I know most people probably loved the inclusion of the Paranoid guy who could speak Russian being back, but honestly I found most of his scenes unnecessary. I kind of liked him in Season 2, with Johnathan and Nancy, but he just irritated me this season.

-Lucas and Will’s little smirks when Mike said he loved El were adorable

-Actually, there were a lot of good little Will and Lucas friendship moments this season

-I felt there was a lot of focus on Hopper and Joyce’s storyline, at the expense of the other two/three or “kids storylines” and I wish they hadn’t. For one, their storyline was very straightforward - it wasn’t so much a “mystery to solve” as it was a “outrun the enemy” storyline, and it took away from time they could have given to showing the kids interacting and developing.

-the COLORS this season I really did love all the cinematography

-is there any explanation for the green acidic goo?

-Detective Byers. I love it. Make it happen.

-how did the mindflayer get in El’s leg? Is it after her because she...opened it? Because it want’s her powers? Is it going to go after Will at all?

-no one found how quickly this Mall went up to be suspicious at all? It’s been like...8 months since the scientists got booted out.

-Can Steve, Nancy and Johnathan PLEASE interact?

-Nancy and Robin for the next female bffs please

-I love how Robin tried to be all “Nancy Wheeler is a Priss” and Steve Harrington, who has seen Nancy Wheeler, certifiable badass, fight monsters and take down governments, is like “no, no she really is NOT.”

--Not only did Stranger Things kill a LOT of people this season, they had their characters kill as well. While none of the kids did (thank god) both Nancy and Johnathan killed in self defence at the hospital. Hopper killed (though that isn’t super unusual) and Joyce was 100 percent prepared to kill. Steve (after finally winning a fight) was tortured. That’s a great deal of trauma for the older set to go through, on top of everything else, and I wish they would acknowledge it.

-look I just need all the fanfics now of all the kids/older teens interacting and being friends in middle and high school.