#it’s also that I don’t have any real clue how to interact with men especially older men especially any man

[yourbleedingh3art]

Emailed my former philosophy/logician professor and was like I’m working on a personal project I want urbacademicninput LITERALLY sent that email in a half delusional state where I thought I was doing gods work But I’m like ok what I’m doing is important but I’m like what if my “project” is just Mania induced scribbles and I’m bout to show up tmrw like So here’s my theorem on the innate goodness of humanity ISNT it awesome and he’s gonna look at me like oh Please seek mental help . Like I feel liek im either absolutelt fucking off my rocker or I’m on to something but now I don’t know anymore cuz I let that self doubt creep in and now my feelings are unclear even to myself.. either way I am just gonna stick to the plan my crazy self had when I sent that email and I might just level w my teacher like. Honestly im in a ptsd related spiral right now and it’s hard for me to tell if my actions are logical whatsoever but also im scared because if you don’t know what you are and you admit that to somebody they’re gonna tell u what u are. I just don’t like how people hear “mental health issues” and run with it and this type of attitude leads me to tjink professionalism equals Lying about the truth of the emotional state ur experiencing . Belief leads to me pushing a lot of stuff down and when I begin to doubt myself all those feelings I’ve pushed down start to bubble up too. That made me scared as well , I’ll be too emotional to properly explain myself when he has questions for me, even though some ambitious part of me believes in the work I’m doing , believes in it enough to answer any questions about it, to author that answer with confidence and belief in myself. I just don’t want him to be like you’re absolutely crazy I can’t possibly help you prove your theorem on a philosophical or logical level you have shown me the ramblings of a psychotic hermit please leave. I guess that would be the worst case scenario. Or if he somehow gets me to admit I have homicidal thoughts snd then theh send for the stretchers and the loony bin

[itsacryforhelp]

Don’t look at me like that! (Zemo x Reader) Ch 2

Pairing: Helmut Zemo x Reader

Warnings/Content: Swearing, mentions of violence, slow burn, angst, panic attack, throwing up, some fluff

Summary: You somehow end up joining the Falcon and the Winter Soldier on their mission to capture the super soldiers. Along the way, you meet a charming man named Zemo. As interesting as the man is, you both are wildly different and of course fighting and bickering ensues.

A/N: Ahh this was a lot longer then expected! I wanted Zemo to interact with the reader without him being too out of character. I also hope to delve deeper into each character, so this will be a slow burn. Anyways, thank you so much for the support on the first ch! If you’d like to be added to the tag list let me know!

Masterlist

___________________________________

After a god awful car ride, you found yourself looking up at a luxurious private jet. You turned to Bucky and noticing your confusion, he explained that this jet was in fact the Baron’s. Baron? Your surprise was plastered on your face, almost looking childish which gained the attention of the Baron himself. You heard Zemo chuckle and you quickly turned to look at him. He did that head tilt and you found yourself doing the same in an attempt to poke fun at him. Thinking back, you had no fucking clue why you would make fun of the Baron who you knew could end you in the blink of an eye. Looking at you, he chuckled and told you as well as the two other men to hurry in the jet.

Once in the jet, the falcon who had now introduced himself as Sam and the winter soldier who you now knew as Bucky, began explaining the situation.

“Wait. Zemo is a wanted criminal who brought down the avengers? And you both thought it was a good idea to bring him along?!” You questioned, shocked to learn about the Baron’s history.

Anger was radiating off of Sam as he glared at Bucky. You had come to understand it was Bucky who was responsible for helping Zemo escape and Sam wasn’t all too happy. You felt like shit, but couldn’t help but smile at the way Bucky and Sam fought like little kids. Time passed and you were eventually able to eat something. After awkwardly eating a sandwich, you felt all 3 men stare you down. You figured they were waiting for you to tell your story, and so you did.

“So do you know anything about the serum?” The Baron inquired. Sam quickly reprimanded him saying you had been through enough. You smiled and said it was fine and answered his question.

“Well. I don’t know much like I had told those shitheads who locked me up. I do know Karli though. Hell, I even considered her a friend before she ran away with the serum.” You noticed yourself rambling on so you looked up.

Sam and Bucky looked at each other, not knowing what to say so you once again stepped in. “What if I could help. Join you in this little mission of yours.”

You knew Sam was going to try to politely decline stating you had been through too much so you followed it by saying, “It’s the least I could do. I’ve lost pretty much everything so please just let me do this.”

Sam and Bucky agreed and thanked you while Zemo was sipping his whiskey. A couple hours passed and Sam and Bucky had fallen asleep. It was just you and Zemo stealing quick glances at each other. Suddenly, your face went pale and you eyes widened to the point where Zemo now showed concern over your well-being. You felt like throwing up. Guess it wasn’t a great idea to eat that sandwich huh? You quickly ran to the bathroom and threw up that god forsaken sandwich. It was fucking disgusting, you felt disgusting. You felt pathetic and lost and alone and tired. So so tired. You were bawling your sorry little eyes out as you kneeled over the toilet.

After a couple minutes in the bathroom, you felt a hand reach over you and immediately turned around. It was the baron himself looking down at you. You apologized and felt embarrassed that he had to see you this way. Though you expected him to turn around, sparing what little dignity you had left, he actually asked if he could help. You nodded and so he slowly walked over.

“Here allow me to take your jacket, I can have it cleaned.” He said. You agreed but almost immediately regretted it as you knew it would show the disgusting bruises on your arms and chest. He paused for a second, hand letting go of the jacket before gaining his composure and walking out. A few moments later, he walked in again with a new set of clothes and a med kit.

You wanted to reach out and grab the clothes he offered but you couldn’t move and it fucking annoyed you. How could you have let those two men hurt you the way they did. They were pathetic but here you were deadly afraid that they would come back. Zemo took notice of this and kneeled down.

“They’re gone. We’re no longer in Madripoor and I can assure you none of us will harm you in any way. Is there any food you like? I know you’ve had a hard time keeping anything down especially with that horrible food that has been provided. You just give me a name and I can have it for you. After all, I am far more capable then those two.”

You didn’t look up but you smiled. “Thank you Baron.” He smirked at the mention of his official title and said, “Please call me Helmut.”

“Helmut?” I like it you answered and as if he had a sudden realization he asked. “Oh my. I apologize but I don’t believe we’ve ever asked for your name.” You looked up at him and whispered your name.

Though he often smirked or grinned, his eyes never showed any real emotions. They were empty and full of sadness but in that moment you saw a slight change. A glimmer of hope perhaps? You didn’t have much time to think about this because he soon began talking again.

“Well that’s a beautiful name, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Tag list: @mochminnie

[gojology]

Clubs Aren’t My Thing. (1/2)

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 | i’m REPOSTING this because my already bruised ego absolutely rejects the fact that my writing got 33 notes, that, and i just don’t want to continue this if it doesn’t get any traction. i’m not good at nsfw, so i feel like if not a lotta people wanna read my work, why try hard on something i’m bad at? anyways, this whole club concept is totally from @/mystic-sky or skyfelt on ao3. pls check her out. if anything is inaccurate its prob bcuz the only reference i have is the club penguin dance club teehee. 

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 | mentions of sex, drinking, you’re literally at a club.

𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 | Gojo x Female Reader

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 | 2847

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 | You’re alone, at a bar, waiting for the end of the night to come. Then again this was bound to happen, as clubs weren’t really your thing, but promises of snacks and money from your friends were really what you came for. A mysterious, yet intriguing white haired man approaches you, and eventually he piques your interest. Little do you know, you had piqued his as well, and he’s having a hard time trying to hide it.

Bright, flickering vivid lights was all the human eye could see from where you were sitting.  You’re sitting at a bar, legs restless and rhythmically bumping against the table. You had come here for a “fun night”, even though they promptly ditched you for the lively dance floor afterwards, you assumed to pick up guys and have some encounters in the bedroom.  It wasn’t quite your thing though, well, you didn’t know yourself, you were far too shy to find out, though.  That’s how you found yourself alone, at a bar, completely sober.   Your friends pushed you, (which was a bit weird since they were no where near you now- so really now, what was the point?) luring you with yummy snacks and treats to come out of your house for once. Hesitantly agreeing, you didn’t expect to have them dress you up as well.   Fighting them off and running for the bedroom door, you hated the very idea of even interacting with anyone. Moaning and groaning like a child that you weren’t getting enough for going to a social event, and not wearing your beloved baggy hoodies and sweatpants.   “Okay, okay!” your friend stood up, hands above her. Shaking her head and letting out an exasperated sigh.   “We’ll add on a free dinner- on us.”   Raising an eyebrow, you scrolled through your phone. This wasn’t a bad deal, not at all. You decided to not reply, though.   “Ugh, (Y/N), Okay. A 50 DOLLAR GIFTCARD TO YOUR FAVORITE STORE. Do we have a deal?” Your friend blurted out, sitting down on her chair with a huff.   The girl clearly wanted you to go to the club.  You grinned evilly, realizing just how much you can get.   Of course, you wouldn’t spend the money without spoiling some of your girlies, but you had gotten even more then you asked for, and well- sure it was a bit mean, but you figured afterwards you could go out with them without the bargaining.   And so, facepalm after facepalm ensued, offering you more and more unnecessary amounts of money and food, you finally broke under the pressure of being a tad too mean. You weren’t planning on torturing your friends for life.   At that point, who could really resist?   Now, enthusiastic with your eyes only on the prize, you allowed yourself to be dressed up just this once. Your friends had whipped up the nicest outfit they could without it showing very much skin (per your request!).   Your friends had let you borrow a rather short white plaid skirt they had paired with a casual simple t-shirt. Slightly sheer, and a warm, yet soft cardigan that was kind of scratchy. Donning a pair of tights that you had picked yourself and your favorite pair of beaten up Doc Martens. You realize that it didn’t look half-bad on you.  For once, you thought you looked nice.   However, it seemed to pale in comparison with the scandalous outfits your friends seemed to prefer. Dresses hugging their curves, showing as much of their skin as possible without being full-blown naked, you wonder how one can hold so much self-confidence. But you ignore the feeling, repeating to yourself that you looked good in your own ways.  You wave for the bar tender, feeling a rush of self confidence as you glance down at your outfit. The rather disgruntled man eyes perked up at the request, rushing over.  “May I offer you something, ma’am?”  You gulp, the self confidence rapidly crashing back down, almost as soon as it had come up. You weren’t quite the drinker, and you weren’t looking to find if you were. Running a hand through your already tousled hair, you stutter out a short sentence.  “Can I have some.. Water? With, uh, ice.”  He nods, seemingly shocked that you weren’t ordering any alcoholic beverages before turning his back on you and quickly whipping up the rather simplistic drink. Well, then again, judging by the outfit, one glance would be enough to tell him that you were forced to come, or shy.    Shocked by how comprehensible you had been when speaking to him, your lips curve slightly into a warm smile. Working around your fear of talking to people in unusual places was good.   Handing the glass of water to you with cold fingertips, you nod back. Skimming his hand as you did so. You grimace, contact felt weird.   Taking a sip, you looked away and hoped not to make conversation.  You heard a rather loud laugh, which was an understatement, because you could hear it even through the mass of chatter and movement of the club.  Curious by who could possibly be louder than the sheer deafening cheers of a drunken crowd, you look towards the other direction, before setting your eyes on a ridiculously white haired man.  He was laughing again now, and your eyes immediately drift over to his very defined jawline. No wonder so many girls were around him, by the looks of it, he looked like a famous model.  His head high above all the females crowding around him, you notice the man next to him. A disgruntled, yet polite looking individual you assumed to be his friend sat next to him.   He was also towering over the women, nodding and smiling at the many girls tempting him with their bodies, but he seemed so clueless that you doubted he even had a clue of what was going on.   Fidgeting and playing with his hair, he was clad in an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt. The crowd of women around him wasn’t as large as the white haired man, you noted, but still large nonetheless.  “Oh, him?” the bartender blurted, you turn to face him again, cursing yourself for being so obvious in your endeavors.  Wiping a cocktail shaker down with a towel, he ducks his head, studying the remaining water droplets. You stare daggers at the bartender for interrupting your train of thought, before cursing yourself for being so mean.  “He’s a regular, gets drunk quite frequently, and he’s Prince Charming to the ladies.”  Rubbing the back of your head, you stare back at the bartender. Unsure what to make of his approach on conversation.  Reconsidering like the good person you are, you thought about how annoyed the guy got talking to a bunch of drunk college kids. He seemed like he had good intentions, and talking to someone that was sober was sure to be refreshing.  “Yeah, I can tell, the guy has a lot of girls around him. He looks really... Lively. To put it simply.”  The bartender laughed, relaxing himself as soon as he heard the friendly words leave your lips. He finished wiping down the cocktail shaker and proceeded to the neatly stacked cups which had just been washed.  “No, the guy’s just friendly. Real hit with the ladies, especially his.. Uh, physical attributes. See his friend over there? Lil bit more modest, he started coming here recently. Don’t let that good natured face fool you though, they’re both the same..”  You rolled your eyes, Typical. Taking the last few gulps of your water before you slammed it back down. The bartender took the cup, refilling it hastily and giving it back to you.  You heard several girls giggling, and you glanced back in the direction of the men. The long, raven haired man had his arms wrapped around dozen or more girls, swarming him as if he was a celebrity.  The bartender was right, he looked so bored when you had studied the two, but here he was now with the same army of girls heeding his every call.  That left the white haired man alone.  Shaking his head with a small chortle, he took another swig out of his drink before looking down at the empty glass, he stood up, and by God were those legs long, before walking to the empty stool next to you.  “Yo. Bartender. Refill?”  The bartender set down the cup he was scrubbing down, rummaging his hands through various shelfs, filled with various drinks and add-ons, before taking the mysterious man’s glass.  Curious, you take a small peek at the man, almost jumping back when he was staring unflinching at you, too. Taking this as an invitation to gape at such an incredibly well-fit body. Your eyes stare up at what you could; starting with his collarbones.  Paired deliciously with a simple gold chain, you had to admit, it was a good touch. The simplicity of the chain was enough for you to gape dumbly at anything else that was interesting, and was left dumbfounded by the sheer hotness of... Well, him, and those incredibly prominent collarbones.  You look downwards, and he’s wearing a black, simple t-shirt. Not a wrinkle, nor specks of lint in sight.  Well toned arms, and incredibly strong looking ones at that rested idly against his sides. An expensive watch glinted in the light.  He hadn’t quite said anything yet, so you look down even more without hesitation. Almost like you couldn’t control yourself.   Tucking his shirt in neatly was his belt, you could easily tell it was a high-end brand. Casual, wide flared black jeans, the guy really loved black you noted. The accessories made up for it though, various chains were lazily thrown in, and it made the outfit so much more hotter, especially on him.  “My eyes are up here, girly.”  Feeling your cheeks become full to the brim with warmth, your hands fumble about, words formulating at the tip of your tongue to apologize profusely, you look up.  Circular black shades concealed the white haired man’s eyes, and your heart pounds more. Something about him was so intriguing.  About to blurt out nonsense about actually being very interested at a wall, he held his palm up, a large toothy grin gracing his features.  “It’s okay, I’m into hot chicks ogling me. Especially hot chicks with cute outfits.”  Everything on your mind was suddenly wiped clean, you open your mouth before closing, unsure about what to say.  He thought you were hot?   He thought your outfit was cute?  He laughs, and you snap out of your daze. Muttering a quick thanks when the bartender handed his rather sugary exotic drink to him.  “Saw you looking at me earlier, sweetcheeks.” he hums before tipping the glassware near his glossy lips, sipping the drink, looking down at you as he did.  “No, I think you saw wrong... Are you blind?” you asked, still recovering from the compliments you hadn’t ever received in your life prior to this strange encounter. Desperate to get out of the advancingly awkward conversation, you had never been placed in such a weird setting.  He snorts, taking another deep sip of his drink.  “Nah. People think that, though. People think I’m... Old, for some reason?”  “Hm, I wonder why.” replying sarcastically, you felt yourself jolt up, a mix of uneasiness and excitement bubbling up inside of you. By your experience and tips from your friends, these type of guys seemed to like sassy, teasing girls.  Whipping out your phone from your bag, you try to appear casual, even though your excitement was starting to die down by his silence, turning into dread.  Whistling, trying to look like you didn’t have a care in the world, you physically wince as you realize how stupid you potentially look. Wondering what your friends would say about such an attractive guy seemingly hitting on you, then again, they didn’t seem to really care.  No new notifications, and no familiar faces running up to you with open, friendly arms.  He chuckles again. “I like your style, missy. You come here alone? That’s a shame, pretty girls like you deserve to have someone to come with.”  You look down, struggling to contain the growing smile. Doing a small little victory dance in your head as you realize that he had literally stated that he liked your style.   “I did come with someone, my friends.”  “Where’s your friends?” he inquired.  “Partying at the dance floor, flirting with guys probably.” you nonchalantly reply, struggling to hold your tone, but even then it wavered. You didn’t get hit on often, and when you did they were there to help you.  “That makes two of us, my friend Geto pulled all my chicks, and my pussy for tonight.”  He said it so nonchalantly, you almost spat out your water.  “What are you here for? Some good dick?” he shifted his arm to rest against the table, his hand against his head, lazily looking at you.  You study his figure once more, ignoring his previous question. He looked like he came straight out of a magazine, or a movie. Broad, yet strong looking shoulders.  He looked straight up fake.  He towered over you, and you estimated that he was over 6 foot. His hair seemed soft, and manageable, and so, so fun to play with. A Deep, yet playful voice that would probably make everyone within a 6 mile radius instantly melt.  “Hm, cute. I like straight-forward girls.” he poked fun at you, grinning carelessly.  “I’m not being straightforward in any shape or form, what do you mean?” you flutter your eyelashes innocently at him, knowing damn well what he meant.  “You’re fucking studying me like a textbook before finals.”  “You still haven’t told me your name!” you shot back without thinking, you didn’t want to be caught doing something so scandalous. He winked, you took this as a sign of him following suit.  “That’s what makes it fun, baby.”  “Here, lets trade.”   You had decided that you really liked his style, after letting you off the hook so easily like that. He was shrouded in a cloak of mystery, and you found it hot. That, or maybe he wanted to just fuck around and have one night-stands, which wasn’t your style at all, but you still wanted to see where this would go.  “Tell me your name, and I’ll tell you mine. Fair right?”  He stroked his chin with his unoccupied arm, contorting his face and making you giggle a little, even though it wasn’t very funny. With him, you felt like you could strangely be yourself.  “Hmmmmm....” stroking his chin more, he began to pick up and sip his beverage as if it was a tea cup, holding opposite ends of each other and deeply drinking. He set the cup down.  “Nope.”  Exasperated, you slam your cup down.  “That aside, let’s get back to the point!,” he leaned closer into you, smiling a little as you jumped back. Your confidence when you talked with him had dissolved into thin air.  “You’re really cute.”  Frozen in place, you gawk back at him.    He was straightforward, no doubt it, but you didn’t think he was this straightforward. Most men you knew played a game of cat and mouse, only if you caught them you were rewarded.  Opening and closing your mouth, no sound came out. He snorts, taking another sip and waving the bartender to come back, who was now washing cups awkwardly on the other side of the bar.   You almost pitied the bartender, the guy had ordered so many refills at this point, you wouldn’t be dumb to assume he was either a raging alcoholic or another dumb college kid.  “Refill, again.”   The bartender nodded solemnly in reply, swiftly taking the cup. You realize how overworked the poor guy was, wondering how many refills the mysterious white haired man had gotten before you had even step foot in the vicinity.  “I’d love to take you to the bedroom, baby.” he nods as the bartender returns, sipping and looking back down at you.   You bolted upwards, cursing as you realize you’re slouching, not very attractive. The straightforwardness from him was, though. No doubt it, but you were really not looking to break your heart over a fuckboy.  “Uh, um.”  He tips your chin upward, and your heart leaps out of your throat. There was something so undeniably attractive about this act, maybe it was the way he knew how to make you into pudding, or maybe it was the aura of dominance.   Haughtiness literally radiated off of him, as if he knew he could pull a girl in under 1 minute. Well, then again, he probably did know.  Fuck, what were you thinking, this was a complete stranger that could probably pull chicks more attractive then you, times 100.  “Aw, shy? Cute. Don’t worry, you’re intriguing, and if you’re bad at sex, not to worry. I’ll do it all, and I’m good. Maybe give you a few lessons here and there.” he chirped, tilting his head, curiosity evident.   “But, it’s all up to you, sugar. I’m not trying to force you into this.” the man added.   He did seem hot, and this was really a one-in-a-million chance. No one had really looked at you that way at the level of attractiveness that he had. You didn’t want to regret anything, and getting out of your shell was good right?   What could go wrong?   “...I wouldn’t mind.”   A crooked smirk spread across his face.   “I’ll call an Uber.”

[1ddotdhq]

🍌Wed 2 Dec ‘20💚

Harry Styles Reacts to Banana Innuendo Rumors by Making EVEN MORE Banana Innuendos part TWO

Good morning/evening/night to Harry’s post and Harry’s post ONLY! (Okay that’s not true but it was definitely a highlight of my day). In case people haven’t seen it yet, it’s Harry in a light blue custom made suit putting a penis banana in his mouth. The picture is captioned “Bring Back Manly Men” so take a suck on THAT Candace Owens! It was only one of many great pictures in his variety shoot (including another, um, fruity picture of him biting into a pomegranate okay Persephone we get it), but Harry did indeed choose That One to post on This, the day after banana necklace dickscourse, BLESS. Harry’s interview was a little more in depth than they have been in the past, touching upon his feelings on race (“Historically, I can’t think of any industry that’s benefited more off of Black culture than music. There are discussions that need to happen about this long history of not being paid fairly. It’s a time for listening, and hopefully, people will come out humbled, educated and willing to learn and change”), as well as his tattoos (the only time he regrets them is in the DWD makeup chair), his love of reading, fashion and art, his exercise routine (Kid Harpoon couldn’t keep up!),  and his feelings on success and acclaim (“It’s never why I do anything...it's always nice to know that people like what you’re doing, but ultimately — and especially working in a subjective field — I don’t put too much weight on that stuff...Fans are the best A&R”). 

The problems arose - as they so often do - when One Direction was mentioned. The article said that “The proof [of the band’s benefits] is in the relatively seamless solo transitions of at least three of its members- Payne, Malik and Horan in addition to Styles- each of whom has landed hit singles on charts in the U.K., the U.S. and beyond”. Leaving aside the bad math (that's 4 people!) one name, of course, is notably missing: Louis has in fact enjoyed quite a lot of success both with Walls (remember when his album went #1 on iTunes in the UK AND the US literally 2 months ago?) and his pre-Walls singles like “Back To You” and “Just Hold On”. It got worse because the author tried to back up her claim with Harry’s quote, “When you look at the history of people coming out of bands and starting solo careers, they feel this need to apologize for being in the band...but we loved being in the band...I think there’s a wont to pit people against each other. And I think it’s never been about that for us. It’s about a next step in evolution. The fact that we’ve all achieved different things outside of the band says a lot about how hard we worked in it”. By linking her own words with Harry's quote she made it seem as though Harry said it to agree with her biased take, which we'd know he didn't even if we hadn't heard him say this exact quote without that slant multiple times before. Fans were quick to point out both to the author and to Variety that they were wrong (to describe the reaction mildly), and the author rather than fixing the mistake, doubled down and began blocking fans. Plenty of people were quick to say that of course HSHQ and Harry had approved this content, despite more knowledgeable fans trying to be heard protesting that that is not how it works. (Remember how just recently Vogue got Harry’s whole ass FAMILY situation wrong and it was not corrected until after print, for example?) In fact, even the magazine didn't really proofread this- the print version of the article is different and says, “The proof is in the relatively seamless solo transitions of at least three of its members - Styles, Malik and Horan”, effectively erasing both Louis AND Liam. It's an annoying take either way, but it's one the author more than likely picked up by doing her research on harrie twitter, not on orders from Jeff.

And because we DO NOT STAND FOR LILO ERASURE ON THIS BLOG, let’s talk about Liam’s Web Summit panel! It was 25 minutes of Liam and Marian Dicus (VP of Spotify) being interviewed about the current and future state of the music industry. Both of them, of course, noted that things had changed very quickly in their careers back at the beginning of lockdown, and how it had seemed surreal, at first, but that Liam had found that the way he was operating now (with Veeps and Tik Tok and Instagram lives) had made his platform a two way interaction with his fans. “For a long time I've been living in a dream world where I thought I was speaking with my fans but really I was just talking at them whereas we as artists ask a lot of rhetorical questions... I wanted to start a conversation”. Marian discussed how engaging fans differently WAS one of the most difficult things to puzzle out at the beginning, but that as months have passed, it seems artists like Liam have found a viable virtual future in the music industry (Liam tells us that he's been doing “stadium size shows” on Veeps which is an exciting clue about the mystery of how many tickets they're selling). They also went into the way music trends change as a response to social and political occurrences, how comfort songs gave way to protest songs this summer. Liam said, “People want their artists to have an opinion nowadays it's not that we can stay out of the conversation anymore-- and nor do we feel that we should in many places-- but for me it's a fine line because I realize what I do for people is an escape, people don't want things rammed down their throats every day and news messages from me about things that they don't want to hear about if they've come to listen to music, so its a real fine line that we kind of teeter on”. And about his opening acts, he acknowledges that his fanbase are mostly young women (based on the data breakdowns he gets from his team), and so he feels a responsibility to mentor young female artists in the industry so that more people like his fans have a voice. In an interview full of really fascinating music and technical discussions, this remained my favorite moment from Liam. Just like we won’t erase HIM, he refuses to erase US! And let's not forget our Liam alarm of the day-- it starts out absolutely adorable (“good moooorning!”), is hilarious in that apparently he just rambled completely unscripted and then they awkwardly cut it into 25 parts, but today's installment is frankly not relaxing! “only 23 sleeps til christmas have you done your shopping are you prepared” excuse me Liam YOU ARE STRESSING ME OUT. The promised relaxing sleep story affirmations are still 'coming soon'-- hurry up please I need them to decompress after that alarm!

Now for a lightning round of epic proportions: DWD darling pictures and vids keep comin’ and Harry and Florence are both looking GORGEOUS as Jack and Alice,  after the Variety shoot dropped ‘THE CAPTION’, ‘BRING BACK MANLY MEN’, and ‘LOUIS IS SUCCESSFUL’ trended worldwide on twitter, Tan France said “yes please” to Harry's banana post, Harry reiterated that London was home and he didn’t want to be in LA for longer than he needed to,Variety has its virtual show tomorrow at 5 pm PST so see you there! Veeps is sending out emails promoting Louis’ show to people who bought LP show tickets, fans have already started to receive their Louis Tomlinson Live From London merch, Trinity College in Dublin’s Law society presented Niall with an award for, uh, his Irishness, I guess? (Just kidding, it’s for “his incredible talent and work ethics which is famously underscored by a distinct humility despite unthinkable success”). It looks like he will be giving a talk when he’s presented with it, and I’m honestly really interested to see what it’s all about - is he...gonna be talking to law students? Idk but tune in on December 7th at 12 pm GMT to find out!

[gallavictorious]

Outsider POV Gallavich Fic: Captive Look

For a while there this spring, I was mildly obsessed with the CO in 10x03: you know, the good-looking guy who seems so completely unfazed by finding two armed inmates stabbing an old man, and then for whatever reason doesn't report it? (He can't have; Ian's parole wouldn't have happened so soon after something like that.) I also really dig his beard... Anyway, IMDB identifies him as Raymond and I've had this short little piece about him and his interactions with two certain dumbasses sitting almost finished in my draft doc for months and months and months, so... you're welcome? 2882 words, to help pass the time until the new episode!

You can read it below or on AO3.

---

It's half past eight on a Thursday when Raymond catches sight of them across the bar at South Side Social. He’s there to celebrate his baby sister’s birthday, familial obligation overriding personal preference, but after an hour of politely chatting with her increasingly wasted college friends over obnoxiously rustic-only-because-it’s-trendy food, he’s ready for a break. Catching Tina’s eye, he mimes lightening a cigarette; she raises an eyebrow at him and smirks. She’s a clever kid, his sister – the first in their family to go to college – and she knows him only too well. Knows, for instance, that he gave up smoking years and years ago.

Offering her a rueful grin, he gets up and gets out and spends the next few minutes breathing in Chicago’s poisonous evening air. It’s December, but unusually warm for the season, and somewhere underneath the dusty stink of exhaust fumes and concrete there’s a faint trace of melting snow.

On the way back to the table Raymond stops at the bar to order another beer, and that’s when he spots them, just three feet away. Two men in their mid-twenties, casually dressed and apparently in the middle of a not-very-serious argument, complete with waving hands and mock-scoffs. It takes a moment for the vague feeling of familiarity to click into actual recognition, and when it's does it's not so much their faces as the way they pause to look at each other.

It's not the sort of look you see a lot, especially not in prison.

So, well, he’ll be damned. It’s Milkovich and Gallagher. Cellmates, lovers, and occasionally a goddamn pain in his ass. Released, as improbable as it sounded, within days of each other less than half a year ago, and now laughing over drinks in a half-way decent restaurant in downtown Chicago. It’s not the sort of place he’d expected to find them in – but then again, there’d been a lot of unexpected things about that pair.

Not them hooking up, necessarily, not once they’d ended up sharing a cell; trading sexual favors for protection (whether voluntarily or not) was common enough. Frowned upon in theory, of course, but in practice –

Well. You didn’t have to like it, but it was what it was. Idealism didn’t survive long at Beckham. Raymond himself had never harbored any grand notions about the redemptive potential of his work, but he’d seen his fair share of fresh-faced new CO:s have their illusions crushed after a week or two caught between the often violent offenders who despised them, the indifferent malice of many seasoned CO:s, and the stifling drudgery of the American penal system in general. Not Raymond, though: he did his job, did it well, and went home and didn't spend waste moment of thought on it. You did what you needed to do to pay the bills; no need to dwell on it.

So no, Gallager getting in bed, quite literally, with Milkovich hadn’t been a surprise. The nature of their relationship, though...

Sure, it wasn’t unheard of for inmates to fall for one another, or for established couples to end up in prison together. Didn’t happen a lot, and actual homosexuality was still more likely to get you beat up than laid, but yeah, it did happen. What, in Raymond’s experience, never happened was having to people look at each other the way Milkovich and Gallagher sometimes did, whenever they thought no one else was watching: there was a kind of wonder to it, both staring at the other like they’ve been handed a goddamn gift and couldn’t quite believe their luck.

Particularly on Milkovich’s face the look was baffling.

Ever since the young man arrived at Beckamn he'd moved down the gray corridors and among the yellow-clad crowds like a man born to it. Raymond supposed he was; his father Terry had spent much of his adult life in the very same prison, as had a great many brothers, cousins and assorted associates. Though Raymond didn't know any details, and didn't really care to know them, he'd bet dollars to donuts that Mickey Milkovich's criminal career had had both an early start and a sense of inevitability to it. Various stints in juvie, followed by a real prison sentence for... attempted murder, wasn't it?... followed by a widely publicized jailbreak and an eventual and far less publicized return to Beckman.

Milkovich was tough enough to make others back down when he had to but smart enough not to start any unnecessary fights, not with the other inmates and not with the ones set to watch over them. Knew how to work the system, too: how to get things in, get things done, which guards could be bribed. Raymond didn't play that game himself, but he wasn't getting paid enough not to turn a blind eye when others do. And Milkovich had been pretty smooth about it, especially since his return; careful not to cause a stir.

Gallagher, on the other hand... He'd been the kind of inmate Raymond would've been seriously worried for, had he been inclined to worry and had Milkovich not been there to watch his back and show him the ropes. Not because Gallagher struck Raymond as even remotely helpless, but he so very obviously did not belong in prison, and so very obviously did not really have a clue about what was what in here. The nastier inmates would have eaten him alive long before he'd had the chance to navigate the intricacies of prison politics and find the friends needed for protection. He'd have ended up someone's bitch, or ended up in the infirmary, or dead.

But he'd ended up with Milkovich, and as unlikely as it had seemed at the time, that had worked out. (There were moments when Raymond wondered about that, wondered about them: apart from the looks, there were little touches, too, casual things that spoke of a familiarity far beyond what they could possibly have developed in their short time in a shared cell.)

That wasn't to say that their relationship had been all rainbows and lollipops, and it sure as hell hadn't been fun for everybody. They’d driven half the cellblock insane sometimes, as well as occasionally one another. Other prisoners had complained about their bickering and their fucking (though never officially complained, because you didn't, not unless you wanted to go looking for your teeth in the shower drain), and Raymond recalled vividly the time when not one but both of them had gotten roped into Chester Russom’s endless quest to spend the rest of his life behind bars –

He'd been passing by the infirmary when he'd heard the screaming and come running. Hadn't been surprised, exactly, to find what he found, but that didn't lessen the urge to smack both Milkovich and Gallagher on the head for being so damned stupid.

Neither of them had seemed particularly concerned about getting caught stabbing another inmate. In fact, they'd fallen over themselves to take the blame, which Raymond might have taken as an unselfish attempt to save the other – if he'd been a complete idiot and if the two of them hadn't been sniping at each other all the way from the infirmary, to the point where he felt like his head would explode.

“Imma murder you two if you don't stop talking,” he said, glaring at them as they sat chained outside the small office. Thankfully, they did stop, looking neither at him nor at each other.

Raymond waited for a moment, deliberating.

“What did Chester promise you?” he eventually asked. Gallagher might have agreed to help the old man out of the goodness of his heart, but Milkovich sure as hell hadn't.

Neither man answered. They were studiously avoiding looking at each other.

“You're not going anywhere until you tell me,” Raymond warned them. “If I have to leave your sorry asses chained to this bench all night that's no skin off my back.”

“We needed a break,” Gallagher offered eventually, reluctantly. Milkovich gave a little snort at that, but – wisely – kept his mouth shut. “So we thought that if one of us got sent to solitary... “ He trailed off, shrugging half-heartedly.

Oh, for the love of God - ! “Why did both of you have to stab him if the goal was to get one of you to solitary?”

Again, there was a protracted silence, and somewhere in it – in their earlier insistence that each of them had been the first to stick the shiv into Chester – Raymond could just about make out the shape of it.

“You are both idiots,” he said, moving to uncuff them from the bench, making a decision. “Come on, let's go.”

“Wait,” Gallagher said, not rising. “You're not reporting us? What about solitary?””

“You don't get a damn reward for stabbing someone, so no, you're not going into solitary, you're going straight back to your cell – where you will hand over all contraband you've hidden there.”

“Now, wait a minute – “ Milkovich began, but he faltered when Raymond fixed him with a hard stare.

Raymond had no illusions about intimidating this particular inmate, but Milkovich really did know how this worked; knew better than to ever be friendly with a guard, not even the ones he bribed – but knew when not to push too.

He had kept their hands cuffed for the walk back to the cell, which was policy, but was him making a point too. While there were extenuating circumstances – primarily the fact that Chester had asked them to stab him – by all rights they should be going down for this, and Raymond wasn’t one hundred percent sure why he wasn't letting them. Save himself the paperwork? Yeah, sure. Why not? As good a reason as any.

“Now, am I going to have to search the cell or will you give it up voluntarily?” he asked once they'd made it to the cell. “You make me look, I won't be too careful with your shit.”

A lot of the guards would be deliberately careless when they tossd a cell, either to prove a point or just for the hell of it. Raymond usually didn't bother with that sort of power trip bullshit, but he was prepared to make an exception if these morons proved stupid enough to give him any more trouble. He was already cutting them considerable slack here, and neither of them have the brains to appreciate it.

They had shared a look, and then Milkovich gave an imperceptible nod. Without a word they set to bring forth an array of cigarettes and foodstuff, little things that would have been commonplace and unremarkable in the real world but was made precious by its scarcity on the inside.

Raymond wasn't naive enough to believe they actually gave him everything they'd got in there, but enough of it to inconvenience them, which would have to do. He grabbed the the items, then fixed them both with a firm look.

“Either of you cause me any more trouble, I'm taking your books,” – he pointed to Gallager, then to Milkovich – “and your pens and paper. You think you have it bad now? Imagine sharing a cell and having nothing else to occupy you.”

He had hoped to God he wouldn't have to make good on his threat, though. The other prisoners would probably riot if they have to put up with more of ´bickering from these two.

“I catch either of you with a shiv again, you'll be fucking sorry,” he continued. “Talk it out, or agree not to talk, or whatever. Split the cell into his and his, I don't give a damn. But sort your shit out.”

Maybe they had, maybe they hadn't; the point became moot just a few weeks later, when Gallagher was released. Milkovich had soon followed him – and how exactly that had happened, Raymond still didn't know, because there was no way in hell anyone actually thought releasing that one back into society was a great move – and that had been that. For now, at least; he fully expected to see Milkovich again. Guy like that wasn't going to quit, and sooner or later he'd get caught and find himself back behind bars. Rinse repeat, until he got himself killed or locked away for good.

Only now here Milkovich is, but in front of a bar rather than behind them, and with Gallagher right by his side, laughing like they'd never stabbed a man just to get away from each other.

Raymond hesitates. There's some small part of him that actually wants to step up and say hello, and that throws him a little. He's got a rule about never getting emotionally invested in the fates of the inmates; that way lies nothing but heartbreak, because most of those who find themselves at Beckman will find themselves there again and again, for longer and longer. Don't abuse the prisoners, but don't care too much either: it's been Raymond's private policy for the past five years, and it's worked out so far.

Except now he's actually considering chatting with a couple of convicts, just 'cause he really is a little bit curious about how this unlikely pair is doing.

But nah. Forget it. His rule aside, it'd be pretty uncool to intrude on their evening out. They're free men now – kind of – and having a CO check up on them can't be high on their list of wants. But before he can move away, they both look his way; sees him. Recognizes him, too, from the way they freeze.

Okay. Call it fate, then. “Hello,” Raymond says, going for neutral good and a little nod; I come in peace.

A beat. Milkovich is eyeing him with a wariness he doesn't bother to conceal and it's Gallagher who speaks first:

“Officer Reese,” he says, managing a polite smile. “Hi.”

Raymond notices the way they glance down at the beers they technically shouldn't be having.

“I'm not your PO,” he assures them. “I don't give a damn if you drink. Might want to take it easy, though,” he can’t help but add. “Getting shitfaced is a quick way to get into trouble.”

Milkovich opens his mouth, but after a quick glare from Gallagher he closes it again. Probably for the best; Raymond can’t imagine him playing even remotely nice now that he doesn’t have to.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt your evening,” he says. “Looks like you’re doing all right.”

“Yeah, yeah, we've got jobs and... “ Gallagher pauses to glance at Milkovich again, as if asking his permission. Milkovich rolls his eyes but says nothing, and Gallagher turns his gaze back to Raymond. There's a real smile on his face now, small, but filled with something akin to disbelieving delight: “We got married. Couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh, wow. Congratulations.” Raymond isn’t quite sure what surprises him more: the fact of their marriage, or the fact that he is genuinely happy for them. Maybe he’s getting soft in his old age… Or maybe it’s just that there’s so very few happy endings for those who find themselves at Beckman, whether as inmates or as guards, that they need to be treasured whenever you find them.

“Ian!” someone calls across the room, and Gallagher turns his head to look at a blonde woman gesturing wildly. “Where are those drinks?”

“Shit,” Gallagher mutters. “Better get this to Tami before she has a fit.”

Another smile, and Gallagher is gone. Milkovich, however, lingers, seemingly debating whether to say something more. Curious against his will, Raymond does his best to look approachable. Evidently, it works, because Milkovich clears his throat:

“You’d reported us when we stabbed that old fucker in the infirmary, Ian wouldn’t have gotten his release.” He pauses, looking uncomfortable, then forces out: “Appreciate it.”

Raymond merely nods. Maybe he should say something about being glad taking a chance on them had paid off, that he is glad to see them doing well – but he’s pretty sure Milkovich wouldn’t much appreciate the sentiment.

“Your boy doesn’t belong in prison,” he says instead.

Milkovich face immediately collapses into a scowl. “Well, I didn't fucking put him there,” he growls.

But Raymond isn’t intimated; just hold his gaze. “Gonna keep him out of trouble then?” Gonna stay out of trouble, he doesn’t ask, but Milkovich isn’t stupid, so he'll hear it all the same.

Milkovich still glares, but something in his eyes seem to soften ever so slightly. “You betcha. Won’t have anything on us ever again,” he promises ambiguously, with a cocky grin and one eyebrow raised.

When he walks away, swagger in every step, he is every bit the unrepentant gangster – but Raymond keeps his eyes on him and sees the way he relaxes as soon as he stops next to Gallagher. Reaches out to touch him lightly on the arm, catching his eye. That same wondering smile on both of their faces.

Raymond thinks that maybe he won't actually see either of them again.

He is glad of it.

[dreamingsnowflake2013]

Chapter 47 is extremely important since it lays ground for major developments&storylines in Season 2, therefore I've decided to write a very detailed analysis, dissecting every gesture, every look and every hidden meaning. 

Painter of the Night is a work of visual art which tells a story via imagery, thus the visual component constitues the most important part of it. It stems from the fact that there is limited space for dialogues. Not only does it allow Byeonduck to make most of it with her extraordinary artistic talent, it also makes each sentence that much more poignant and important. Nothing is redudant, every word counts and is loaded with ambiguity, every sigh and pause hold a meaning, and even the silence resonates and speaks volumes. All this is even more crucial when the story takes place in an era where each piece of clothing, a person’s hairstyle or the place where they stood or sat in a room also revealed their place in society; and even more so, when both its protagonists are people who have difficulties expressing their true feelings and intention by words. The time Seungho and Nakyum spend in the master’s chamber in the morning almost seems mundane, but as always, first impressions are deceiving. They don’t talk much, yet their whole communication is loaded with meaning. And remember, communication is much more than mere words or their literal meaning. It doesn’t lead to anything sexual, still the air trembles with the attraction between them.

The crux of the issue is the social divide which separates Seungho and Nakyum I mentioned previously. During the whole scene the dynamic between the two men keeps constantly changing together with their literal positions in the room which symbolize their actual positions in the Joseon society and how those positions start to shift due to the feelings they have for each other. Seungho is almost unconsciously trying to bridge that divide by treating Nakyum more and more as his equal. It isn’t a deliberate behaviour on his part but instinctive. He sees the painter as his lover, therefore he treats him as his lover because, gradually, Nakyum’s social standing has ceased to matter to him. In the beginning, he had called him a lowborn very often, demeaning him, but he used it less and less until he almost stopped completely. The last time being when he got frustrated after Nakyum basically asked him to have rebound sex with him because Inhun had called him a prostitute. Thus, the ever-changing dynamic in this scene is the result of the nobleman trying to overcome the chasm which separates them and keeps him from being close to his young lover.

To start with, there is the mere fact that Nakyum is present during Seungho’s daily dressing ritual which is a deeply private and intimate affair usually only wives had the privilege and right to attend. However, a wife would never kneel in a position of subjugation on the hard floor at the far side of the room with her eyes lowered to the ground. And Seungho won’t have it because he is always observing Nakyum and never takes his eyes off him, noticing everything about him, including the painter’s blushing cheeks and the quiver of his lashes. So he starts to woo Nakyum even though it’s still only morning. 

First, he lowkey informs him that he doesn’t fuck anyone else, basically telling him “I have only you. You are the only one for me.” in his own way, and then he proceeds to actually ADMIT that HE LOVES NAKYUM’S BLUSHES, he loves when Nakyum blushes because of him. He genuinely tries to put into words his appreciation and affection and show them to Nakyum, albeit clumsily. At first glance, it might seem as his typical, teasing remark but it’s not. In fact, it sounds like a shy but intimate and sincere confession. 

We don’t see Seungho’s face when he admits he likes seeing Nakyum blush, only his robe, and together with the split second when he ponders Nakyum’s question about his kindness, IT IS THE ONLY TIME SEUNGHO LOOKS AWAY FROM NAKYUM, other than that Seungho never takes his eyes off him. During these two fleeting moments he reveals his vulnerablity while, at the same time, trying to hide it by turning his back to Nakyum so the painter wouldn’t notice it. I love how Byeonduck doesn’t show his expressions to the readers during these moments, but still gives them visual clues to uncover the truth if they read between the lines and notice Seungho’s body language. It’s not about discovering the visible but about seeing the invisible, what is hidden in plain sight. The same narrative means is used to show Nakyum’s reaction to Seungho’s explanation why he’s been so kind to him: we only see his chin, never his eyes or facial expression in that moment.

Of course Seungho immediately guesses that Nakyum hasn’t eaten yet, because at this point he knows him that much, and moves fast to remedy the mistake, because he already cares about him that much.

Talking about bridging the divide, when Seungho orders Nakyum’s meal to be brought along with his, he’s doing exactly that. Commoners don’t eat while sitting next to noblemen. It’s simply not done but that’s exactly what’s Nakyum doing now. At Seungho’s bidding, he moves from his kneeling position on the other side of the room to the nobleman’s side, making the distance between them smaller both literally and figeratively. He is sitting next to Seungho as his equal on a place which is reserved for honored guests, wives or family members.

What follows might be one of the most interesting pieces of dialogue in the entire chapter 47. Once again, we don’t see Seungho’s face, only the table with food which makes it appear as a mere small talk or an off-handed comment, but it isn’t. Being a manhwa, Painter of the Night lacks the acoustic mode therefore the reader has no way of finding out the tone, intonation or timbre of the character’s voice unless they see his facial expression. However, Byeonduck deliberately doesn’t show it to us at very particular moments. Those moments are rare but by hiding the facial expression, she paradoxically brings readers closer to the characters because suddenly, for a brief moment, they feel exactly like her characters: in those moments, the readers have no idea  what is going thorough Seungho’s mind and what he really feels, in those moments they are at a loss, or misunderstanding or left guessing just like Nakyum is during the whole scene. In those moments, the readers are not all-knowing and can relate to Nakyum because they feel the same.

So when Seungho mentions the erotic painting, and you don’t take the red herring and dismiss it as his usual teasing, you suddenly realize there is a double meaning to his sentence. First, the noble never really ordered Nakyum to come to him with his paintings in the morning. Is it possible that the blushing Nakyum actually used that painting as an excuse to see Seungho? Especially after being so needy the previous night? He himself admits that he can’t go anywhere without him and it’s not like he has any friends in the Yoon household he could talk to. His answer clearly pleases the noble, thus his satisfied smirk. However, more imporantly, it shows that SEUNGHO WANTS FROM NAKYUM MORE THAN HIS BODY and is making a genuine, if inept effort, to tell him. He is basically saying:”I know you think of me as some sex-crazed maniac/deviant and I don’t deny I’m horny and crazy about your ass, but I am not a beast who wants to fuck you all the time. Even I crave closeness and affection and I want more from you than your painting and your body. So much more.”

When his food turns inedible and Nakyum turns to leave to take his meal in the kitchen, he isn’t trying to use it as an excuse to leave but does it out of consideration so he wouldn’t disturb the nobleman farther during his breakfast. However, judging from his slightly pained expression and instant reaction, it seems Seungho misunderstands Nakyum’s consideration for an unwillingness to spend time with him. The person he considers his lover is trying to leave him and it seems he would rather share his meal with servants in a dirty kitchen than spend time with him. That’s how he probably perceives it. There is also Nakyum’s reaction which is really telling. Previously, he would be scared and skittish if Seungho asked him a question like that, plus, he used to be noticebly uncomfortable in his presence. However, now, he is blushing and bashful but he doesn’t look frightened or uncomfortable. If anything, it’s as if he’s gained a shy confidence and learned to speak his mind with Seungho.

And then comes another shift as Seungho takes more steps to bridge the divide between him and Nakyum. Not only does he openly agree with Nakyum that he has never been a servant, he even admits that he himself DOES NOT CONSIDER HIM A SERVANT = “You’re not a servant. The servants are unworthy of you. You don’t belong in my kitchen. Your place is by my side.”

Following this interaction, Seungho suddenly says:”...come HERE.” What does the word “here” mean here?  – “Come CLOSER. Come TO ME.” So once again, the distance that sepates them grows smaller, or rather, Seungho makes it smaller, reduces it until he can touch Nakyum and there is finallly no distance between them at all.

Some pictures are worth more than a thousand words. Seungho has used to claim that all he wanted from Nakyum were his paintings and sex, but now the gorgeous explicit painting of them copulating is left forgotten on the floor. Seungho doesn’t even spare it a glance, all his attention and thoughts belong to the real man in front of him. There is no ulterior sexual motive in the way he touches him or worries about his well-being. Thus, Seungho’s explanation that he keeps Nakyum to have sex with him and then portray it on canvas is the lamest excuse ever. And these open exhibits of physical affection and closeness that doesn’t lead to anything sexual have been appearing more and more.

This one image both showing them making love and their real selves completely lost in a world of their own perfectly illustrates all the dichotomy, nuance, emotions and complex issues that lie just below the surface. If the audience read Painter of the Night superficially, they will only see the “filthy” erotic painting, that is, only one dimension of the story and then they will disregard it as a whole, just like the servant who only sees the surface of the painting but not its beauty and feelings behind it, much less the growing love between its author and his master.

I already wrote I long piece about the way Seungho pampers Nakyum and goes out of his way to make sure that he isn’t injured, so I’m skipping this part. However, what no one talked about is how Seungho gives his place at the table to Nakyum because the significance of the gesture is huge, even more so in Joseon society where every piece of furniture and clothing denoted a person’s status and worth. That seat was reserved only for the master of the house and not even wives got to sit there. So once again Seungho makes the distance between him and Nakyum smaller as he gives Nakyum a privileged position, literally making him his equal by seating him on his place.

And it really is the sight of Nakyum being treated as Seungho’s equal rather than the erotic painting itself which causes the servant to dislike Nakyum so much. The painting is only a trigger. Because in the servant’s POV, here is a lowborn boy who is considered by the society even more lowly than himself but is treated better than noble wives. Nakyum has been elevated to a high position but he is left kneeling by his feet, collecting trash from the floor.

When Seungho tells Nakyum to leave it to the servant and eat, he basically publicly claims Nakyum as his equal and makes a distinction between him and the servant. It almost feels as if he were doing it on purpose, to show the servants what Nakyum’s position is, the same way he did when he ordered the kitchen maid that Nakyum was not to eat in the kitchen.

People often describe the servant as homophobic but that’s 99,9% of Joseon society. What is much more imporant here is that he is envious and bigoted. Because the main issue isn’t so much about the fact that Nakyum has been having gay sex with Seungho, but that he is a lowborn AND he actually does have any sex with SH since in that era having extramarrital sex was considered amoral. The truth is that had NK been a woman, the servant would have reacted the same. Also, if NK were a nobleman, the servant would never dare to even look him in the eyes, much less insult him in such a manner. So this really shows that one of the main obstacles which separates Seungho and Nakyum is the social divide between them. 

And from them two, it’s Seungho who has the necessary means and power to bridge that gap and offer his hand to Nakyum, whereas Nakyum needs to have the courage and confidence to take that hand, hold it tight and never let go.

[a-pretty-nerd]

Tomura Shigaraki x AllMight!Daughter!Reader

Chapter 6

Premise:

When The League of Villians discovers that AllMight has a daughter, they are quick to snatch you up and hold you hostage. Shigaraki had a careful and thought out plan, but that was before you got there. Now you're in the mood for some not-so-healthy rebellion.

Word Count: 1,988

Trigger Warnings: None really, homelessness? 

A/N: Shit! This chapters later than I wanted it to be! Since I've been back to work my schedule has been all fucky. Usually I try to post every friday but...lol. Anyways, If you like my work, don't be afraid to interact! I love hearing from you guys! Also check out my Wattpad for my original works, and my Patreon if you wanna support me further!

Enjoy!

Chapter 5 Chapter 7 

Toshinori watched from the doorway of what he once called home. He watched men in police uniforms, suits and ties, and underground heroes, rush through the apartment. Now living exclusively on campus, the apartment felt like a grim reminder of your absence. Your mother and Xavier poured over pages upon pages of eyewitnesses and anything else that could give them a clue.

Unlike the last time the heroes found and raided The League, there were no signs of known members. Meaning they were either being more careful, or they were no longer in Musutafu. He shuffled into the room, sitting down on the couch and looking outside to large windows onto the city below. Suddenly, the phone rang.

Everyone froze. Heads swiftly turned. Was this news of your disappearance? Had you been found? Detective Tsukauchi was the first to move. Slowly picking the receiver, and placing it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Hello, yes, who is this?" A scratchy voice asked.

"I am Detective Tsukauchi. Who am I speaking with?" His voice was firm and demanding. A dark chuckle came from the other end, sending a chill down the poor mansion spine.

"I think you know who I am, detective." Another laugh rattled from Shigaraki's chest. You watched him from the other line. Everyone sitting patiently around him as they watched him on the phone. You sat beside him, hands placed on either side of you on the couch. Anxiously waiting for your turn.

"Can I-"

"Shh." He hushed you gently, putting a finger to his lips before they broke into a wide smile.

"You see I just called because someone here has a little message for you. It's family business you see, would All Might be available to talk?" He pulled the phone away before letting loose another laugh. The room jumped and coiled in uncontrollable laughter. Like a group of kids making a prank phone call.

"Shigaraki...I swear if you lay a finger on her I'll-"

"Hold on one sec, she's right here. Y/N?" He pulled his attention away from the phone and smiled at you as he handed it over. You took it and gently pressed it to your ear.

"....Dad?"

"Y/N! Are you alright? Have they hurt you?"

"No...No I'm fine actually." Shigaraki watched you with a clever smile stretched across his face. He leaned back against the couch, resting his head in his hand. Clearly very proud of himself and the torment he caused.

"Where are you?"

"I don't know actually. It's like a repurposed office building I think. I don't know where it is, all the windows are boarded up. They brought me by car."

"By car?”

"Yeah, I don't really know what they're up to. I mean, I do, I just... I don't know they do things weird." Shigaraki's smile slowly started to fade as you critiqued. When you looked up and saw his expression, you felt compelled to respond. "What? You do." You told him. He shrugged you off.

"You sound...alright." Your father said, confused and concerned.

"I guess I am relatively okay. They feed me and clothe me and no ones been really that bad to me yet so...I'm okay I guess."

"She's lying!" You heard a voice chirp from the other line. Your stomach turned. Xavier was there?

"Y/N! Y/N tell us where you are!" Your mother demanded as she wrenched the phone away from your father. Her voice was jarring and rough. You tensed up.

"I...I don't know where I am. I told him it’s like an old office building I-"

"Can you tell us anything else? What do you remember from the car ride?" She was frantic now.

"Nothing. I had a bag over my head the whole time. This place has some electricity and some running water but it’s not to the whole building? It's old... it's been years since anyone has been here-"

"Anything else!?" She cried. You paused.

"No...I...I'm fine otherwise." Shigaraki made a 'speed it up' motion with his hand. "I...I have a message for Detective Tsukauchi, could you put him back on?"

"Let me talk to her!" Xavier begged.

"I don't have much time, please, Detective-"

"Y/N! Baby!" You cringed at the sound of your boyfriend’s panicked voice.

"Hey, babe. I'm fine." You tried to brush him off.

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

"I'm alright, I guess. A little tired. Scared." You had to remember the last part.

"I can't imagine what you're going through without your meds."

"Oh. Yeah. My meds. I'm losing my mind." You said in a flat, sarcastic tone. It made the others snicker.

"Just remember your breathing exercises we did, okay? Do them with me now, okay? You ready?"

"Yeah-uh-"

"One, two, three, in.........out. Okay? One, two, three IN! . . . . . . . . OUT! One, two, three, in . . . . . . OUT! Okay? Do them with me. Remember to align your chakras!" He went on like this for a solid minute. Unable to contain yourself, you covered your mouth with your hand and held the speaker out so the whole room could laugh at him. Even Shigaraki, who turned away to laugh joined in on the fun. "Y/N?"

"Yeah?" You smiled through.

"We're coming to get you, alright? Just hang tight a little longer."

"Uhuh."

"Don't worry, okay?"

"Okay."

"I love you, sugar muffin."

"Right. So Detective Tsukauchi."

"Okay, yes, here he is...I love you!"

"Love you too." You chuckled, your hand playing with the flesh between your brow as you laughed at him.

"Y/N." Finally.

"I just, have a message from the villains." You told him with an awkward smile.

"Go ahead." You looked up at your captor.

"They say if All Might doesn't come forward soon, they won't be giving me back." You watched his smile widen. "They want the world to know the Heroes' failures. It's either me or the truth. Your choice." And with that, you hung up the phone. The room fell into a satisfied and relaxed state. A sense of victory went around the room as smiles and giggles greeted you. 

"Who the hell was that last guy!?" Toga shouted as she laughed.

"Oh, that was Xavier, my boyfriend."

"Ooh! Boyfriend! How Sweet!-Gross!" Twice added.

"You've never mentioned a partner before, Y/N." Mr. Compresss added. You shrugged.

"I guess I forgot. Being kidnapped and all."

"You've been pretty forgetful latley haven't you? First your meds, now this. Anything else you care to share with us?" Dabi questioned.

"Not that I can think of. I guess sometimes I forget I should be scared nowadays." You paused before turning to look back at Shigaraki who wore a satisfied grin as his eyes wandered around the floor. Clearly dissociating. “Shigaraki?” 

"Hm?"

"...what happens to me, if they don't comply?"

"They will."

"Are you going to kill me?" He rolled his eyes.

"No. I'm not going to kill you. Especially now with that quirk of yours."

"But-"

"Are you really questioning why I'm not going to kill you?" He took the phone in his hand and dusted the object. He stood and started walking out to another room.

"I just...aren’t I a pain in the ass to keep around?" You asked the room. A few answered with a nod, others stayed silent.

"Come on. I wanna show you something." You stood and followed him down the hallway. You followed him through the building, through the parts that were inhabitable and rotting. He took you up a few flights, up to the very top just before the roof. There was a large room filled with old desks, chairs, computers, etc. He stopped in front of a large window that overlooked the city. "Come here." You stood beside him and looked out the window at the people walking around. You saw an old alleyway that housed a few homeless people as they went about their day. A few passers-by ignoring them and rushing past. "What do you see?"

"A group of homeless people. Why?"

"And what about him?" You watched as a man, well dressed and well-kept walked down the street. He starred at a man who begged him for money, then laughed in his face before walking away.

"Some asshole." You noted. He smiled.

"The world is littered with them. And it’s the heroes that encourage it, they demand it. They created a world where we steal and rob and ignore each other assuming someone else will take care of it. Heroes created a society that requires you to assimilate, to obey. If not, you're thrown away like trash." He grumbled as he watched the homeless man. 

"Is that...what happened to you?" You asked. He didn't answer. "What about her?" You watched as a woman passing through stopped to give the homeless man some change.

"What? You think she deserves a pat on the back for the bare minimum?" He snarled.

"Huh?"

"What good does that one act do, huh!? He'll have a meal and live to see another miserable day. She solved a minor problem, she's not doing any real good. And she doesn't deserve anything for it."

"But-"

"It doesn't matter unless you do something to change the bigger picture. She can give all the change she wants, take him in for all I care. But she only helps one person! She won't do any real good unless she demands change for them! Unless she actively works to make sure people like him don't end up like that!" You took a few steps back as he yelled.

"Alright! You don't have to yell at me!" You barked, the tension in the room coming to a climax when your quirk pulled a few chairs and tables closer to you. Making a horrible screeching sound as it did. "I understand." You finally spoke when the two of you had calmed down.

"If All Might doesn't come forward and tell the truth, you'll be working with us."

"What? Why? My quirk is dangerous and volatile. I have no control, I'd be practically useless."

"That's why your training starts today."

"Training?"

"What? You wanna be a slave to your quirk forever? Because if you wanna go back on your meds, you can. But I doubt you want to keep living in fear of yourself." You thought for a second before answering.

"I...I don't know..." He slowly started to approach you.

"You don't have to be afraid anymore. I can help you."

"How? You hardly have control of your own emotions as it is. You think you could help teach me to control mine?" You chuckled.

"If my research is right, this isn't about control, it’s about distribution."

"Distribution..."

"If you could learn to express your emotions properly. Let yourself be free from the fear of your own quirk, you could learn to repurpose that energy, and gain anatomy."

"Those disgusting bastards!" Xavier growled under his breath as his nails dug into the sleeve of his button-up. He rattled with rage in the corner as others worked. Your mother paced back and forth, spewing theory after theory.

"She sounded...fine..." Toshinori said in disbelief.

"Clearly she's traumatized beyond repair!" Your mother declared.

"Everyone." Another detective called. The room fell silent. "I think you should hear this." Pressing play, the sound of your recorded voice played out.

"In......OUT! One, two, three, IN.........out." From the other line, the sound of soft snickering and laughter could be heard. Your laughs being the loudest.

"Is she, laughing?" Your father asked.

"She's laughing...with them," Xavier observed.

"What!? Laughing? A reflex! She's disturbed! She's hysterical!" Your mother shouted.

"They're turning her," Xavier said softly. "They're corrupting her...without her meds she's left defenseless and scared. They're taking advantage of her good nature!"

"We got it." Detective Tsukauchi declared.

"Got what?"

"Well, it was difficult considering it was a prepaid wireless phone but...We've got her location."

Taglist: 

@craftybean13 @babayaga67 @imjustverable

@bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love

@kamenoyaki @hentaiqween101 @skzero-99

[tepkunset]

Are there any other indigenous people in X-men? Like islanders?

So here’s a list of every Indigenous mutant in Marvel Comics (Earth 616) that I know of. Unfortunately, some are just straight up offensive. But there are a number of underappreciated gems!

Dani Moonstar AKA Mirage (Obviously gotta start with my fave)

Cheyenne

Illusory powers (originally her powers were creating illusions of peoples’ fears. Overtime her illusions eventually expanded to pretty much anything she wants. After she gets fried by the High Evolutionary’s machinery, her illusions could become solid objects, but she could only have one at a time. And during her time undercover with the MLF she developed the ability to channel her illusions into psonic arrows that stun people, trapping them in their nightmares. This is what she mostly uses, currently. (TBH I’d really like to see writers remember her abilities have far more uses than just that... Like, remember that time she recreated Jimmy’s whole damn farm and family so he could ‘see’ them again?)

Dani is also a valkyrie with the ability to sense death

Original member of the New Mutants

Honestly the best character on this list IMO. I could ramble about how awesome Dani is for days...

Forge

Cheyenne

Superhuman mechanical ingenuity/genius (kind of a complicated power, but basically his mutation is that he can understand machines and create anything he can imagine. Like a mutant Tony Stark except better in every way, fight me.)

Back in the day he also dabbled in sorcery but turned out uh Not Good and he hasn’t since

He’s been a member of a bunch of different X-Men teams and none of them have ever given him the respect he deserves

I like Forge a lot TBH, especially after the sorcery thing was dropped and forgotten

A shame we will probably never get to know his real name

Lucas Bishop AKA Bishop

Indigenous Australian (Unknown Nation)

Energy absorption and redirection, subsequently super durability (if you blast him he will just blast you back)

Bishop isn’t technically from 616, being born in a dark future, but has existed in the main universe for as long as he’s been around. He’s been a team member in Uncanny X-Men and X-Treme X-Men but then went through a period as an enemy, mostly cause he has a That’s So Raven syndrome where he thinks he's shaping the future for the better and fucks things up. Can’t say I’m a fan in the way he was used as an inconvenience for Cable, but otherwise you can count on Bishop for being pretty damn cool.

Just a warning for anyone unfamiliar with him but wants to read up on him: His background may be triggering. The tattoo over his eye isn’t a choice, but a brand he received when put into the mutant concentration camp where he was born in.

Shard Bishop AKA Shard

Indigenous Australian (Unknown Nation)

Energy blasts from light

Shard is Bishop’s younger sister, and therefore also not technically from 616. She’s also not nearly as prominent a character, but was member of X-Factor for a while.

Honestly, Shard was never actually given a chance to do anything and her relationship with Fitzroy (green haired, slimy time travelling serial killer) is BS. 

James Proudstar AKA Warpath

Apache

Super strength, speed, senses, stamina, reflexes, durability, healing, and flight (everyone forgets the flight)

Also he’s over 7 feet tall which is its own superpower

John Proudstar’s younger brother

Sadly, Jimmy chronically suffers from writers not having a sweet clue what to do with him or how to write him. Swear to god, no one should be allowed to touch him before reading X-Force vol 1 after Liefeld left. James appearing to be scary to people who don’t know him and actually being a sweetheart is the whole deal with his character. He is not a violent raging edgelord! Everyone at Marvel just collectively forgot he rejected the name Warpath after starting to come to terms with the death of his family, too. 

Anyway, I love James with pure spite and venom and would love to fistfight all the writers who’ve done him dirty over the years...

John Proudstar AKA Thunderbird (speaking of getting done dirty)

Apache

Super strength, speed, senses, stamina, reflexes and durability

James Proudstar’s older brother

This poor bastard was created to die for shock value, and has been one of the few X-Men for which death has not been a revolving door. For the brief time he was around, he was portrayed as nothing but a jerk, too. It’s only in brief flashbacks that he’s ever been given more character. Also that one Chaos World mini.

Gloria Muñoz AKA Risque

Seminole

Can make objects implode (think the opposite of Gambit)

Risque was an anti-hero/anti-villain associated with the original X-Factor, and formerly James’ GF. She was a complicated character and deserved a redemption arc. That’s a hill I’m gonna die on.

John Greycrow AKA... I don’t even wanna say it

Unknown Nation

Technology manipulation (can like, turn a gun into a different gun for example), super healing

Scalphunter. His name is fucking scalphunter. And just like the other Indigenous Marauder member on this list, he’s been nothing but a lingering racist caricature. He is currently a protagonist in the running Hellions series and I honestly do not know what miracle Zeb Wells thinks he can pull to reinvent this character, but I guess we’ll just have to see.

Kodiak Noatak AKA Harpoon

Inuit

Can supercharge his harpoon with energy

That’s right, the Marauders don’t have just one, but two racist as fuck caricatures! He also... for some reason... speaks... like this a lot... I sure... wonder why...

Gateway

Indigenous Australian (Unknown Nation)

Teleportation portal creation

Oh look, it’s the X-Men’s bus ticket. Seriously, Gateway is nothing but a silent teleporter for the X-Men to travel around by, and another racist caricature. However, there is one good thing to come out of Gateway’s existence, and that’s that without him, we may never have gotten...

Eden Fesi AKA Manifold

Indigenous Australian (Unknown Nation)

Teleportation portal creation (and some interesting ways of using it too)

I swear Hickman must have looked back at Gatway and thought, you know what, let’s try that again except not offensive. Eden is pretty cool, and one of the three reasons I read Avengers vol 5 (the other two being Bobby and Sam). It’s a shame he’s never gotten the chance to interact with the X-Men, what with being a mutant and all. I would love to see him on Krakoa. Given that Hickman is at the helm and Eden is a Hickman character, I don’t think it’s too far-fetched of a hope?

Yeah, that’s all I can think of, unfortunately. Really makes you wish there were more, huh.

BONUS:

Julio Richter AKA Rictor

Listen. I will fight to my last dying breath to defend what I have always seen as the obvious; Julio was created with the intention of him being an Indigenous Mexican boy. I legit have a half-done powerpoint presentation about it that I never finished upon realizing no one would take me seriously when I sound like this mapping out all the evidence -

[gaveherhearttotheliontattoo]

Title: Wrong Winchester Turned Right (Part X)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Female)

Word Count: 2506

Warnings: None that I know of

Prompt: So not really a prompt, I was on Pinterest and I looked up fanfiction prompts and this popped up from a user who I can’t find the account of… Anyways reader jumps on the back of who she thought was her best friend in public but ends up quickly realizing her mistake.

Note: Shoutout to my beta reader for keeping me going

(Read Part I Here, Part II Here, Part III Here, Part IV Here, Part V Here, Part VI Here, Part VII Here, Part VIII Here, Part IX Here)

Taglist: @vicmc624

--

“70 years?” The shock you were feeling clearly shown across your face. “But then how is she here now?” You searched your brain, the depths of your memories to try to recall if there was anything you didn’t tell them. You’d spent so much time researching, you weren’t sure it was possible that you could have messed up on a detail as large as the resurfacing of this creature.

Dean watched you pace. He didn’t think you even recognized when you stood up to start walking. “It’s okay, (Y/L/N).”

You stopped walking, when did you start doing that, and stared at Dean. You had begun to associate his use of your last name with the intimate moments you’d shared. “I can’t explain this, how is that okay?”

“(Y/N/N), it is okay. You shared what you knew and we just have to do a little more digging.” Sam watched you, he’d seen the look in your eyes several times when you reached a stopping point in a case. “Maybe we should get some food.”

“You cannot make me calm down with food me with food Samuel Winchester.”

“Look, I know you. You’re hungry, hangry even. Let’s get some food and spend a little time just thinking about what could possibly explain the return. Any holidays, anniversaries, or similarities to another creature.”

You looked between the boys. “Fine, but we need to figure this out fast before she finds someone else to ensnare.”

------

After returning to the motel room you all secured a spot and opened up your laptops to do some research. You refused to give Sam the satisfaction that he had been right about food helping you, instead you continued to glare at your screen. It was like a scavenger hunt, picking through various clues to lead you to the reasoning she could possibly be awake 70 years earlier than she should.

You started by searching holidays that fell around that time that could have impacted this arrival. You’d hoped it would be as simple as All Hallow’s Eve but the timing didn’t make sense. You searched through the holidays but the only one that caught any attention was Litha, also known as the summer solstice. It was the longest day of the year but it was also the day that indicated the dark was taking back over. Considering the creature’s nature it wouldn’t be far off but there had to be something more. You switched to anniversaries.

You researched old cases that seemed similar. Disappearances of multiple girls, bodies never found, but a trail of men left in the wake of their disappearances. You spotted the trend of years between the appearances start to dwindle. What could have changed to cause this?

Dean spoke up, breaking your train of thought. “According to legend she is supposed to appear once a year, some Scottish folklore, but Sam found something saying she’s not supposed to appear for another 70 years.” 

“The American folklore mentioned that she was far more efficient when she would come out so she didn’t need to come out as much.”

“Folklore is just that boys, we need to remember that just because it’s what someone believes, it doesn’t mean it’s completely factual. Once upon a time the cases that resembled her activity were sparse but over the last 500 years it seems they’ve gotten closer and closer.”

“How did you research that far back already?” Dean stared in amazement. He drained the last of his beer, a small drop trailing down his chin.

You watch the drop of beer and your brain thinks of how nice it would be to lick it off of him. Well, that is going to be distracting. “Been doing it for a long time and I already had some prior knowledge. Her pattern is becoming more predictable though. Perhaps her investments aren’t lasting as long or the blood isn’t as rich as it used to be. Hunters do like to drink.”

Dean shared a wry glance with his brother as he popped the cap off his next beer. “Cheers to that. So, anyways, how do we know when she’s going to disappear?”

“We don’t, the dates of disappearance are the only thing that were ever inconsistent throughout time. Which is why we need to act fast.” You knew it was coming, the food break could only stall the conversation of you being used to lure her out for so long. “I say we take two days to prep and plan, and then Friday evening is the night we go through with it.”

Dean reminded himself this was the right thing to do and bunched his hands into tight fists. “What do you believe is the best course of action?”

You’d chosen the bed as your place of study but wished you were closer to Dean in this moment. You shifted your laptop to the bed and moved to the edge of Sam’s bed, close enough to rest your hands on top of Dean’s white-knuckled fists. “We go on a date.”

“A date? How will that get her attention?”

“I’ll be all dressed up and so happy to be out with you but you’ll go on and break my heart. My appearance should attract her because she has a thing for shiny objects and a mean man who deserves to die would be the icing on the cake she needs.”

“Doesn’t sound like we have to wait until Friday.” Dean adjusted, his muscles loosening at the fact that he would be with you during this scheme.

“We should wait though. Friday night is date night for most people. We need to round out the image and appearances too. Plus we can’t stop our search, especially with the interaction I had today. She’ll know we’re onto her and if we were to just go for it the next day it would look suspicious. Waiting provides us time to make it look like we are struggling, giving up, weakening.”

Dean released the fists he held and gripped your hands with his. “Weak is one thing we are not.”

“We know that, she won’t, especially if we can pull the fight off.”

Sam, who’d been patiently biding his time finally spoke up. “You two should investigate together tomorrow. You haven’t quite appeared as a couple in public and it will seem odd if the two of you just go out Friday. I’m going to take a shower while you figure out what you think you can fight about.”

You waited until the water was running, unable to pull away from Dean. You’d agreed to start something, but now the thought of ending it, even faking ending it, seemed too real too soon. “Can we pull this off?”

“Oh, I think I can manage to get upset with you about something.” Dean chuckled when you snarled. “See, we’re already ready to argue.”

“What about Sam?” Dean just stared at you, waiting for further explanation. “We could fight about Sam. I’ve been hunting and investigating with him over you so it wouldn’t be far fetched to think that there was something going on there.”

Dean flinched. “I don’t want that imagery, again.” Dean pulled you onto his lap, linking his fingers behind your back. “Does this mean we have to go shopping?”

“Well, I didn’t exactly pack going out clothes for a hunting trip.”

Dean resigned himself to the idea of spending hours looking for clothes with you, but reminded himself it was just more time he got to spend with you, something he was enjoying probably far too much. “We’re doing it together. I think it’ll help with the appearance, plus I want as much time with you before this all goes down.” Dean planted a kiss to your neck.

“It hasn’t even been three weeks that I’ve known you, the real you, but it feels like so much longer.” You hooked one arm around Dean’s neck, leaning back so you could look into his eyes. This next part wasn’t going to make him happy. “Promise me one thing, if this turns south and she lures me in, you won’t let her keep me. Trap me up until you can figure out a way to get me back or end it.” You felt yourself hit the bed before you had time to process what was happening.

“End it?” Dean was stomping the length of the room, thrusting his fingers through his hair. “We just talked about how we aren’t weak. There is no way anything is going to happen to you.” Dean stopped and looked at you. “I’m going to walk around outside for a bit, I need some space to think over the fact you want me to just end it.”

You flinched as the door slammed behind Dean. Maybe it was callous to say end it but if it was necessary so be it. To hell with him. Who did he think he was getting upset when he said he would go with the plan. To. Hell. With. Him.

You stood, prepared to just change and go to bed, but found yourself seeking out the man who continued to push your buttons.

“This is my choice!” You yelled to his shadow. “I can ask Sam to do it if you don’t think you can but I refuse to live a life with this creature where I’m luring and killing men for sport. You’re either with me or you’re not.” Satisfied you got that off your chest you turned to reenter the motel room but found yourself scooped into Dean’s arms. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Don’t you dare ask Sam.” Dean carried you to the hood of Baby and set you down, standing between your legs. “Of course I would do it but did you think the concept would be easy for me to think about? What if I told you to end it for me if she managed to get her claws in me and I was fighting to hold on? How would you respond?”

You bristled, the thought quite unpleasant. “I get it, and I’m sorry, but it is part of the job, the life.” You leaned forward and linked your hands behind his neck, drawing him closer. “This should get her attention.”

“I’m not doing this for her attention,” Dean mumbled, dropping a featherlight kiss to your lips. “I like you, and I don’t like people lightly. Giving me time to wrap my head around losing you before we go through with this plan is probably for the best and it will probably help my anger during our faux argument.”

“It’s not going to be easy for me either. I may have been indifferent to you at first but I like you too.”

“Indifferent?” Dean chuckled. “You couldn’t have cared less about me at the start if you tried.”

“You’re wrong,” You said, recalling the day you jumped on his back. “I would say I found you annoyingly attractive but we just started off on the wrong foot.”

“Does that mean we are on the right foot?”

You answered by sealing your lips to his. You crossed your ankles behind his legs, pulling yourself as tight against him as you could. You didn’t even recognize your own behavior anymore, but you were about to put your life on the line in a way that you never had before. Not just yourself though, someone who had quickly become an important piece in your life. It should have shook you how much you cared about Dean but instead you felt comfort in his arms. 

“You’ve really gotta stop thinking while I’m kissing you,” Dean interrupted your train of thoughts.

Sighing you moved your hands to cup his face. “I was just thinking about how comfortable I am in your arms.”

“Oh,” Dean said, squeezing you tighter. “Well, in that case, could you think out loud?”

“Let’s go back in before we draw too much attention to ourselves.”

Dean scooped you off the hood of the car. “Don’t wanna scratch the hood.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, you didn’t scratch the hood, now put me down.”

Dean continued to carry you, dropping you on the bed, ignoring the look Sam was giving him. He turned to his duffle bag, deciding he needed to take a very long shower. He lifted the duffle bag onto his shoulder and winked at you before walking into the bathroom. He wanted you to join him but this case needed to be over before he could think about going any further with you.

He stripped out of his clothes and turned the water on, not as hot as he normally would but he needed to cool down, which would normally work if you hadn’t knocked on the door. “What?”

“I need to change.”

“Couldn’t you just ask Sammy to step outside?”

“Oh, don’t be a baby.”

Dean pictured you changing, easily done since you’d showered together just that morning. How had it only been since that morning when it felt like it had been days if not weeks since that had occurred. “(Y/L/N), you’re killing me.”

“When you first started using my last name I hated it but now I find it endearing, kind of a turn on.” You heard Dean groan, bringing a smile to your lips. 

“Could you just change and go so I can get on with my shower.”

You slipped your night shirt over your head. “Right, I’m sure that’s all you need to get on with.” When Dean’s head whipped around the shower curtain to glare at you the laughter bubbled from deep within before you could stop it. “I’m going.” You walked out still laughing, catching a curious eye from a lounging Sam. “Just teasing your brother.”

You curled onto your side under the blanket, keeping room for Dean since you knew that was where he was going to sleep. You thought about how you woke up with him and the events that had transpired to his black eye, followed by the entire day you had. You were overwhelmed and the exhaustion soon took you under.

Dean attempted to get under the covers without waking you. Sam was out and the only light was from the moon shining through the curtains. He sucked in a deep breath when you rolled against him, nervous.

“What time is it?” You mumbled.

“Just close your eyes and go back to sleep.” Dean wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close so your head rested on his chest. As soon as Dean could feel your chest rising and falling at a slower rate he relaxed and felt himself begin to fall asleep. He knew the next two days were going to be long as the preparations to face the creature who inadvertently brought you together unfolded so he took the time to enjoy the feel of you in his arms. Running his fingers and up and down your arm he let the pattern lull himself to sleep.

[mangobilorian]

Desert | (mature) iv

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

Words: 6615

read chapters one, two, three 

check out my AO3 here 

You’re sweating. Which shouldn’t be concerning, but space is cold. The Razor Crest becomes especially cold, the metal walls cool to the touch. You move a bit, and find that you’re trapped under a heavy arm. Mando. With a grunt, you try to wiggle out of his grasp, but he only pulls you tighter to his chest. 

“Where are you going?” His voice is… so attractive like this. Deep, raspy, unfiltered.  

“You’re heavy,” you say, still trying to free yourself. “Why aren’t you flying? Did we land?” Mando groans. 

“Yeah. We’re on Tatooine already.” Oh. That’s why you’re sweating. Of course, the extremely hot bounty hunter contributed most of the heat, but it’s usually not this warm in the Crest. 

“How long-” Mando cuts you off by loosening his hold, only to roll over and brace himself on top of you. He supports the majority of his own weight, but your chests still touch.  

Mando leans over and presses a kiss to your lips and you reciprocate with fervor. You feel a hand caress your sides, drawing slow circles across your waist. 

“You up for another round?” The idea is arousing, but… no. 

“I’m too sore,” you pout even though he can’t see. Already, the ache between your legs is noticeable and annoying enough that you don’t want to worsen it. When Mando said that Tatooine wasn’t far, it was an understatement. The trip took about three and a half days. Most of which was spent underneath (and sometimes on top) of Mando, learning about how your bodies worked together and figuring out what you liked. It also meant that while your experience increased tenfold, you were now extremely sore and needed a little break. 

Mando sighs disappointedly and kisses you again. It’s comforting to have his body pressed against yours, just kissing slowly and languidly like you’re two people in the galaxy who like each other.

Sadly, all good things must come to an end. Mando pushes off from you, and gets off the bed. You hear the clang of clothes and metal. You close your eyes again, content to stay on the verge of sleep. With Mando gone, the oppressive heat from before lessens, and you let the relief wash over you. The lulling pull of sleep sings at you, and you’re tempted to accept. 

Except the lights in the Razor Crest turn on, and your sleep is shattered. Mando steps into view, his underclothes and helmet on, but nothing else. He stares at you, and you realize that you’re still naked. You fumble to cover yourself—a useless endeavor—when he turns around to give you some privacy. 

“I’m heading out soon. Want to come?” What? Mando never asks you to tag along with him, always claiming that it’s too dangerous. And it is dangerous. Tatooine is in Hutt space, and for him to invite you along is suspicious. However, the idea of seeing another planet is alluring. You realize that Tatooine would be the second planet you’ve ever been on, another step into finding out about your brother. And while the odds are slim that you’ll get any clue at all, you have a good feeling about the whole trip. 

“I asked because you had cabin fever. Now come on,” he gestures in mock irritation, not waiting for a reply. You smile and reach for some clothes. 

*****

Tatooine is a brutal place. Sand gets everywhere—in your hair, your clothes, even in your eyes. You have to pull the top of your shirt over your lips to stop sand from entering your mouth and nose too. For the first time, you envy the Mandalorian. His helmet protects him from the slap of sand that rides the winds. However, wearing all that armor in the heat evens it out. He’s probably baking underneath.  

Mos Eisley is both exactly the same and completely different from your home city. The familiar feeling of crime and villainy permeates the air, and there’s a buzzing tension in your bones. Call it nerves or excitement or maybe fear, but you feel different. Like something big is about to happen or the status quo will snap and the galaxy will be upturned. The first time you had this feeling, you received news of your brother’s death. The second time, the Empire collapsed.

Upon arriving at the spaceport, rows of bloody Stormtrooper helmets impaled on sticks greet you. The visceral sight reminds you, for a brief second, that violence and bloodshed are very real in the galaxy, and they’re very real on Tatooine. If you pay attention, you notice the small collars around young women, the scarred faces of old men. Slaves, you realize. Tatooine still had slaves— all Hutt planets did. Of all the planets Mando had to drag you to, did it really have to be this?

You enter a cantina, and Mando ushers you into a booth. He talks to the bartender for a little bit, probably gathering some information. The place reminds you of your parents’ bar, much dirtier and cheaper but the concept stands. If you squint, you can see hands ready on blasters, women whispering in men’s ears. Mando looks like he belongs, his very stance screaming confidence and threat. Everyone parts for him, fear evident in their eyes, and you realize that this is the first time you’ve seen him working. Granted, your first interaction involved spilling information about Ras Drun, but the Mando then is different from the Mando now. At least you think so. 

The band plays some jaunty tune, one you haven’t heard since you were young. People chatter about, already drunk despite it being midday. The air smells musty and feels slightly sticky. But right in the midst of it all, you can feel the stringy tension of anticipation. 

Mando slides in next to you with a drink in hand. He pushes it over, and you glance at it. It’s some orange drink— bubbly and cold. Hesitantly, you bring the glass to your lips. You try not to cringe, but… it tastes awful. Bitter and salty at the same time. It tasted like something pissed in your mouth. At least it’s cold. 

“How much did this even cost?” You sputter, pushing the drink away. Mando chuckles. “Please tell me it wasn’t more than three credits?” Paying any money at all for the drink seems like a bad idea. 

“Imperial credits don’t work here. Besides, it’s cold. Enjoy it.” He grabs the glass and sets it directly in front of you. You give him the biggest pout you can muster and take another sip, wincing the whole time. If you ignore the taste, you can enjoy the cooling, refreshing effect. Except the taste can not be ignored, so you were stuck with a piss drink. Despite the atrocious taste, part of you relishes in the fact that Mando bought the drink for you. 

“Thank you,” you say, wishing you had shown some gratitude before you insulted his gift. The bounty hunter simply snorts, the sound distorted and tinny, looking away to observe the busy cantina. “What about you? Are you gonna get something?” 

“Helmet,” he says, and points at his head. Oh. Right… 

Your face grows even hotter, and a traitorous bead of sweat slides down your spine. You laugh off your mistake, and Mando places an arm around your shoulder, helmet tilted away from you. The weight and added heat of his body would be enough for you to complain, but you don’t. You… kind of like it. It feels comfortable to be like this— pressed against the bounty hunter’s side, protected by the most dangerous man in the cantina. He looks so intimidating and strong that it hurts your chest. You decide to pity his enemies; you can’t imagine having to face him on a hunt. 

Without any words, you survive another sip of the disgusting drink and press further into Mando. He jolts for a brief second and tightens his grip around you. A flicker of confidence surges through you, and you place a hand on his armor-plated thigh. He tenses under your touch, a small sound of surprise filtering through his helmet. 

Emboldened, you drag your hand upwards— to the space above the armor plate where thick fabric is the only thing between you and the bounty hunter. Just as you touch him, Mando shoots out and grabs your hand. 

“What are you doing?” You turn your head away from Mando and towards the wall. His fingers still grip your wrist, but he lets go when you don’t respond. Once your hand returns to its initial position, you squeeze gently. 

The strong muscle is still tense, and you don’t think anything you do will make him relax. Slowly, you curve your hands inwards, toward the apex of his thighs. You see Mando raise a hand, preparing to stop you, but he doesn’t.

It’s exciting, you think, as you edge closer to the fabric covering Mando’s cock. The idea of touching him, stroking him in a place as public and dirty as a Tatooine cantina should be embarrassing and disturbing. But it’s not. The idea excites you very much, and it probably excites Mando too if his lack of complaint is anything to go by. You wonder what he would do if you slip underneath the table. Would he stop you then? Or would he tangle his gloved fingers in your hair and watch as you graze a tongue over his head and suck his length into your mouth? 

For now, you settle with gentle touches. Mando doesn’t move, even when you squeeze a little bit. His cock hardens under your touch, and he drops his arm around your shoulders to nestle around your waist, gloved fingers tracing circles and random shapes. 

This feels right, you realize. As dirty as it is—really, you would never entertain the idea of giving Mando a handjob in a crowded cantina— you enjoy the ordeal, the teasing. You apply harder pressure on his cock, not enough to hurt but enough to show that you were eager. It’s a Mando thing, you decide. He’s the reason you’re acting so different from the girl he found a month ago. 

You sneak a look at the bounty hunter, fingers already reaching for his zipper. Your hand touches metal, and you’re ready to pull down. But something catches your eye, and you look past Mando. There, sitting in a booth on the opposite side of the cantina, is a man. He’s handsome in a dark, rugged way, probably a local. And he’s staring at you with open recognition, and you shiver despite the heat. 

You take your hand away, deciding to look elsewhere and rub your arms for some warmth. Mando jostles around and looks to where you were staring at moments ago. You expect to see the man sitting there and hope his gaze is somewhere else. But he’s gone. As if he was a figment of your imagination. 

“What’s wrong?” Mando asks, squeezing your waist. “Everything all right?” You nod, eyes transfixed on the now-empty booth. The drive to pleasure Mando is completely gone now as well as your budding arousal, and you hope he isn’t too put off by being teased. Thankfully, Mando takes your silence and doesn’t push. 

Something in your gut tells you to move. Tells you that the anticipation in the air is so close to reaching a conclusion. You take one last sip of the drink and shimmy away from Mando. 

“Going to the ‘fresher,” you say, as normally as you can. Mando nods and gestures at the refresher’s direction. He starts to step out of the booth, but you stop him. With careful movements, you manage to squeeze between Mando and the table. After one last look at his helmet, you head to the ‘fresher. 

It’s down some dark hallway, illuminated by one flickering light source embedded into the wall. You want to run away and go back to Mando, but you need to figure something out. You need answers. 

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

You whip around and see the man from earlier. He’s older than you by a few years probably, but he would still be considered young. Yet he looks like someone who suffered through war and other tragedies. You should be scared, you think. You’re a girl by herself and he’s an older man yet… 

“Who are you?” He shakes his head, lips set in a grim line. 

“A friend of a friend. I… I never would’ve expected to see you here.” You frown. Who is this man? Scared or not, you’re creeped out by the fact that he knows you. 

“What do you mean?” He sighs, and walks forward. You realize that he’s been walking ahead the whole time, and your back almost touches the back wall. He looks dazed, staring in your direction but not exactly at you. “Please. I don’t know who you are.” 

Over his shoulder, you see Mando’s looming silhouette. He storms over and grabs the man by the back of his shirt, a blaster pressed to his head. 

“Who are you?” Mando growls. The sheer aggression makes you back further into the wall. You have to remind yourself that Mando is not here to hurt you. He’s here for-

“Wait! Mando, don’t-” But the bounty hunter doesn’t listen, and he slams the man into the wall. Before Mando can do anymore harm, the man gasps, forced out of his earlier daze. 

“I knew your brother!” He says, and everything stills. The air crackles like static, and the string of anticipation snaps with fervor. At your paralyzed state, Mando releases the man who sags against the wall. “He is- was a good friend of mine. I know who you are because he showed me holos of you. I never thought I’d see you. H-he always talked about you. He loved you very much. He was my best friend,” the man blabbers. The words wash over you. He knew your brother. He knew your brother.

“Were you there? When he died?” The man stops talking and looks at you with a certain kind of heavy sadness. 

“Yes,” he whispers. “I was there when the Empire shot down your brother. He sacrificed many things for the Rebel Alliance.” Your brother… was a rebel? The Empire killed him? No, that’s not possible. He was just a simple pilot who traveled for fun or carried cargo sometimes. He wasn’t a rebel. 

But he was, a traitorous voice whispers. And this man knew him.  

*****

When the man, Crix Kilis, brought you and Mando to his house, you didn’t expect it to be a farm. A moisture farm actually. The idea boggled you for a bit—you’ve never thought about planets where people had to harvest water from the air. The farm itself is quite small, with architecture you’ve never seen before. 

The ride to his farm was uneventful. Mando had glared at Crix when he suggested going to his place and even dragged you aside for a moment. 

“You really trust this guy?” 

“He knew my brother. Our meeting wasn’t a coincidence.” He grumbled something that you couldn’t hear, but you weren’t really paying attention. Most of your mind was set on the fact that you finally had a clue to your brother’s life. Granted, you weren’t searching very hard. You thought you’d know how to fly and be out of Mandos’s care before you would start searching. And on your first stop, you met Crix. Maybe it’s a coincidence, maybe the galaxy is being weird. 

Crix offered for you a ride on his speeder bike, but Mando refused and rented one for the both of you instead. The rebel shrugged and carried on. The trip was spent in silence, Mando driving the speeder right behind Crix. The rational part of your brain told you to be more cautious. But your brain was a little too frazzled to be thinking rationally. 

“Here, sit down. You want some tea?” You nod, and Crix rifles through a cabinet. Mando sits next to you, legs spread wide, one arm over your shoulder. He doesn’t look at you, electing to observe the small house instead. As he watches Crix, you watch him. Mando’s been tense since Crix arrived in your life. Of course, he’s a bounty hunter; it’s part of the job to be suspicious. But he keeps touching you, on your shoulders, back, waist. You don’t mind. It feels good to have his attention on you. A small part of you considers that he’s being protective. After all, this is the first time you’ve been off the Crest in weeks, and you suddenly meet your brother’s rebel friend? But no, you’re not important enough to him for him to protect. Right?  

Crix sets the tea on the table, and you take a sip. You expected something hot, so when the cold liquid touches your lips, you almost choke. 

“What did you do?” Mando growls, and Crix backs up. The hand on you tightens, and you wave the question away. 

“It’s fine. I thought the tea would be hot, not cold.” His helmet turns to you then to the drink. 

“She’s right. Why have hot drinks on a desert planet?” Mando relents and slowly relaxes his hold, but the tension doesn’t fade all the way. You hear a hiss from outside, and Crix looks up in mild alarm. He gestures for you to relax; it’s just a piece of farming equipment that got loose. He exits the house with a bag of tools in hand. 

You and Mando sit quietly, and you sometimes take sips of the cold tea. It’s refreshing and a welcome upgrade from the nasty orange drink in the cantina. Sighing, you lean your head to rest on Mando’s shoulder. Your cheek grazes his pauldron, but the majority of your face nestles into the crook of his neck. He jolts at the contact then reigns you closer. The position is slightly uncomfortable since your head is pressed into his neck. He’s in full armor and wearing heavy fabric and his body heat alone makes you sweat. But he warms you up in another way—in a cheesy, jittery, totally ridiculous way. 

“Do you feel… safe here?” You burrow deeper into his embrace. 

“Yeah. I had this feeling earlier that something big was gonna happen. And it did.” It’s comforting to have your instincts be right. You don’t know what you’d do if you never got answers for your strange feeling. 

“Doesn’t mean it’s a good thing.” You hum in response and trace a gentle circle into the armorless part of Mando’s thigh. If Crix hadn’t been watching, how far would you have gone with Mando in the cantina? Surely, you wouldn’t have actually given him a handjob or blowjob right? The hornier, dirtier part of you disagrees. And Mando, for all his conservative clothes, would enjoy your boldness. Did enjoy your boldness. 

“I have to go soon.” You break away from his hold to peer into his visor. “I came here for a bounty.” Right. You forgot you’re on Tatooine because it was Mando’s choice and not because of fate. 

“So you want me to go back to the Crest?” He sighs, and you can feel the movement through the armor. 

“If you want to, then yes. If you feel safe here, then you can stay too.” You try to reply but he cuts you off. “Look, I don’t like the guy. But if he knows your brother, then you deserve to talk to him.” He turns away from you, but you reach a hand out to stop him.

“Thank you,” you say. “I think I’ll stay then. When will you be back?” He shrugs. 

“Once I get the bounty. Tell the guy that I can pay him for his services.” 

“That won’t be necessary,” Crix says from the doorway. There’s a strange look on his face, and you realize the position you’re in. You clear your throat and separate a bit, but Mando doesn’t bother to move.

“She’s my best friend’s sister,” he addresses Mando. “And you are here as a guest,” he nods at you. “I’ll be back in a few,” he says heading out the way he came.

“When are you leaving?” 

“Now.” Oh. All right.. You both stand up, and you take a moment to register just how big he is. In the dark, you can map out every muscle, every scar, every imperfection through touch alone. But with the searing Tatooine suns, you wonder if you even know him. If you’ll ever know him. That won’t stop your feelings though, however foolish they might be. 

You expect him to walk out right away, but he pauses and lays a hand on your shoulder. You want him to hug you. You want him to hold you tight and whisper sweet words in your ear. 

But he doesn’t hug you or whisper anything. He simply rubs your shoulder. It should be comforting. Instead, it’s a reminder of how close you can be to him, but he’ll always put himself farther away. 

“Stay safe,” you say, wishing one last time for him to hug you. He gives you a single nod, releases your shoulder, and heads out. You watch his back disappear through the door and hear the gentle roar of a speeder. A minute later, Crix enters with his tools. 

“Hungry?” 

“Yeah,” you say, eyes still trained on the door. 

*****

Tatooine has beautiful sunsets. The suns cast a certain glow the neon signs on your home planet could never hope to achieve. Crix sits next to you, hands propping him upright. With an almost empty glass of cold tea in hand (your third cup since arriving), you let yourself relax. You didn’t think that being off the Crest would make a difference, but you definitely feel better. The atmosphere of relaxation does wonders for physical and mental health, after all. 

“Tell me about my brother,” you say, breaking the silence. Crix releases a wistful sigh, still staring ahead.

“He was amazing. A pretty darn good pilot too. He was so good that Luke Skywalker complimented him once.” He glances at you, but your lack of response at the name makes him frown. “You don’t know Luke Skywalker?” You shake your head. Why would you? Your planet wasn’t too affected by the Empire, so there was no difference when it fell. What’s one rebel to you? 

“Skywalker is the pilot who brought down the first Death Star. He’s actually the best pilot in the rebellion, maybe the galaxy,” he chuckles. “There were also rumors that he was a Jedi.” He whispers the last word, still waiting for some sort of reaction. You give him none.

“Seriously? You don’t know anything?” You shrug.

“This is the first time I’ve ever been off planet. What is a… Jedi?” Crix moves a bit, and settles into a more comfortable position. 

“Before the Empire, the Jedi were the peacekeepers of the Republic. The Empire purged all Jedi when it came to power. It’s rumoured that Skywalker is a Jedi because he’s so amazing. The things he does, the things I’ve seen him do… are nothing short of miracles. Even if he’s not a Jedi, it’s poetic. A Jedi restoring the Republic and ending the Empire’s oppression. Now that’s a good campaign,” he smiles softly. Right. Like any of those words meant anything to you. You barely register what he said. 

“What do Jedi do exactly?” You ask for the sake of it. In actuality, you want to get away from the off-topic situation and back to your brother, but Crix seems too appalled at your lack of knowledge. 

“They can move stuff with their mind, plant suggestions in people’s heads, and use lightsabers.” It sounds like a whole bunch of magic. “At least, that’s what it said in the secret volumes at the Great Library of Alderaan,” he trails off, glancing away from you.   

“You’re from Alderaan?” You’d heard the news years ago. The whole tavern had watched the news show Alderaan’s destruction. All channels coming from Alderaan ended, no evidence left behind except for space debris. An entire planet wiped from existence.

“Yeah,” he smiles bitterly. “That’s where I met your brother actually. Seven years ago.” You straighten. “He really was a simple cargo pilot. I was a lousy rebel pilot in disguise. We became friends, and he grew more interested in the Alliance. A month after meeting him, he pledged allegiance to the cause in the backroom of a bar.” 

“My brother died seven years ago. You said the Empire killed him.” None of this makes sense. He must have a rebel for longer than that. You remember the news reaching your family. You remember the little slip of paper saying that your brother died. 

“No he didn’t.” You also remember that there was never a body. The small hope of him being alive always lingered. If there was no body, there was no proof. You always imagined finding him, happy and whole, living on some nice, temperate planet. Maybe that could still happen. But if Crix is here and your brothers isn’t then- 

“So he’s alive?” Crix turns and takes your hand in his. The gentle squeeze tells everything.

“I’m sorry. He died defending Beta Group. He- do you want to know the story?” You nod. Your chest hurt like battery fuel on fire. Your tiny hope crushed before it could grow any further. “We were in the Beta Group under Commander Lajaie. The ships were in the Mako-Ta Space Docks. I remember it like yesterday,” he chuckles without humor. “The ships failed when we tried to enter hyperspace, and Vader arrived with the Death Squadron.” He glances at you, but you look away, staring into the bleeding suns. “The Commander told us to go to the escape pods, but Vader went to attack those first. Your brother, against orders, led enough of Vader’s fighters away from the escape pods. He saved many lives, sacrificing himself in the process.”  

“When?” 

“Three years ago after the Battle of Yavin.” 

Everything stops. The slight wind, the hot sand, everything. You thought he was dead for seven years. You lived with the grief of losing your best friend, your confidant. You cried for so many nights, aching for him back. You had centered so much of your kriffing identity around your brother that- 

“He didn’t want to endanger you.” You jerk your head to Crix. “If the Empire knew he was a rebel, they might go after his family too. It’s happened before. Better to pretend that he’s dead than risk your life. I faked my death too.” You don’t understand. The Empire never affected your life very much. Why would your brother even join the rebellion? Why? His life, your life, your parents’ lives: the Empire never mattered as long as you had each other. As if he can see the questions on your face, Crix speaks up. 

“He believed in the cause. In the Republic. In democracy.” 

“Fuck democracy,” you seethe. He says your name, but you yank your hand away from his. “Your damn democracy is the reason my brother died! Fuck the rebellion, fuck Skywalker, and fuck you. You probably didn’t even care-”

“You don’t know me,” he says calmly. But you don’t listen. You don’t want to listen. “He was my best friend. He was there when I realized the Death Star vaporized my planet,” he continues and you stay quiet, heart still fuming. “I was there when he talked about his family, about you. He loved you. And I loved him,” he says. You freeze and he looks at you with such raw, vulnerable eyes. 

“Were you…”

“Yes. We were lovers,” he whispers. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” You try to search for something to say, anything to say. But the words die on your tongue and you reach for his hand. So much grief to process in so little time. 

“I was a scholar on Alderaan,” Crix says after minutes of silence. “The Empire destroyed most texts about Jedi but not all. They gave me hope to join the Alliance. I never thought I’d be a pilot. I wanted to help in other ways, but they needed more pilots, even bad ones. I considered dropping out. But your brother convinced me to stay in the same way I convinced him to join.” 

“Why Tatooine?” 

“I had a feeling. Besides, Luke and his father, Anakin, were from here. If this planet can produce two heroes, why not settle here? Of course, slavery and Hutts aren’t very good, but… I had a feeling. Maybe the Force knew I’d meet you,” he shrugs. After a few beats of silence, he stands up and brushes the sand off his pants, hand still in yours. “Let’s get some food then sleep.” 

“Thank you,” you squeeze his hand, “for everything.”

*****

After eating some classic bantha steak for dinner and drinking it down with blue milk (an odd but tasty treat), you settle down on the couch with Crix in front of you on another chair. 

You tell Crix about life back home. About your parents working hard to provide for you. How they loved you and cared for you, and you were too blind to see it because all their attention was spent on their business, their employees. Because if you learned anything from staying with Mando, it’s that some people show their affection silently or roughly, but it never detracts from the intent. 

You ask Crix if he would like to come to your home planet and meet your parents. He says he’d love to. 

Crix tells you all about the adventures he had with your brother. How a simple Alderanian scholar like him became a rebel pilot— the story involved espionage, betrayal, and gambling—or how their first mission together failed. Or even how your brother first reacted to being kissed.

“It was like the concept of a guy kissing another guy was foreign to him,” Crix says. 

“We were very sheltered growing up despite owning a… prostitution bar.” He shakes his head in disbelief. 

“Sheltered alright. He became a rebel and you’re dating a Mandalorian bounty hunter.”

“We’re not dating.” Crix gives you a sure, yeah sure look. You yawn in response. 

You know you should sleep, but the buzzing excitement of questions stops you. Mando said you deserved to talk to Crix, so you will. Besides, conversation with Crix flows easier than a tap of beer. In the same way your brother was your best friend, Crix could be too. If they loved and trusted each other enough to consider marriage after the Empire collapses— a revelation that stings and bites and makes you cry— then you can love and trust Crix too. 

Of course, the Empire and Rebel Alliance’s role in your brother’s death still haunts the back of your mind. If he had never joined, he wouldn’t have died. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. The galaxy is too large and too dangerous to ever guarantee someone’s life. In this galaxy, a Queen of Alderaan and her planet were vaporized, and a Tatooine farm boy destroyed the Empire. Crix told you that ‘it was the will of the Force’ but you don’t really believe it.

How could you believe that an order of wizard monks that were purged to almost extinction?  But if your brother believed in Luke Skywalker— something that Crix made sure to tell you often—then maybe you could too. Except-

A large part of you feels betrayed. Sure, faking his death was for your safety. It still doesn’t erase the years of mourning and grief. It doesn’t erase how you poured so much of yourself into the idea of tracing his steps and living his journey. Finding clues about your brother was supposed to be your big adventure, your ‘coming of age’ tale. Yet… 

He should’ve told you. You would’ve joined him too. You would become a rebel if it meant being with your best friend despite being a young teenager. You’d be by his and Crix’s side, helping to save the galaxy. Maybe he knew that you would follow. You were young and impressionable and idolized him too much. 

“It’s getting late. You can sleep in the bedroom; I’ll be out here.” 

“This is your place, Crix. Not mine.”

“And you’re my lover’s sister. He would smite me,” you both laugh. It’s comfortable and soothing. You can imagine living here, on Tatooine, and helping Crix farm water. Crix would definitely welcome you. Your brother would like it too. The two people he cared for, taking care of each other. 

But you know your place is with Mando. At least for now. When you think of home, it was always the tavern. The Crest isn’t comfortable. It isn’t a home. Yet, being around Mando feels right. Like it’s meant to be. Of course, the cheesy romantic side of you swoons and does all the talking. The rational part scoffs. A life with a bounty hunter doesn’t seem like the life you want or could enjoy. Besides, you have your answers. You’ve accomplished your goals. There’s nothing left to learn from Mando.  

“Let’s just share the bed, yeah?”

“Your Mando won’t mind?” You shrug. 

“It’s not like we’re together, you know. And you’re basically my new brother now.” Crix smiles, a wide, happy, smile. You return the favor. 

When you wake up, hours later, Crix has already left. Groaning, you stretch your arms and back. A real bed did wonders for your physical state. Of course, Crix’s warmth was nothing like Mando’s. Sleeping next to Crix was like cuddling alongside your brother. Familial. Platonic. Mando, on the other hand, made you think sinful, unutterable things. 

A glass of milk waits for you when you emerge from the room. You glance around at the empty living room, and conclude that Crix must be outside. You decide to lounge on the couch with the cold milk and take little sips. There isn’t anything for you to do; when you tried to help yesterday, Crix shooed you away with fervor. Your skills also don’t apply to farming; you’re better off with managing finances.  

You settle for stretching on the floor, taking the time to hold the positions. It’s hot as usual, and you already build up a sweat. You stretched regularly at home, more out of boredom than a desire to stay healthy. There’s room to exercise on the Crest; you see Mando doing it when he has the chance, but it’s still a little awkward for you to stretch around the ship. The Crest isn’t yours, and you don’t know how long Mando will allow you to stay. The thought of your temporary status makes you feel… a little inadequate, so you push that to the back of your mind.

After an hour or so, Crix invites you outside. He asks if you’ll join him on a little trip to Tosche Station since he’s missing some parts he needs for repairs. You agree, excited for a mini adventure, and strap into the speeder bike. Hopefully Mando won’t get worried if he arrives at an empty house. Some part of you wants Mando to miss you and get worried, as selfish as the thought is.  

Anchorhead is quite boring. Aside from leering males and brute criminals, nothing exciting happens. Of course, you and Crix were mistaken for husband and wife—something the both of you laugh at— so you pretend to be in-laws instead which isn’t that far from the truth. After Crix buys all his parts and some extra supplies, you head back to his homestead. 

The rest of the hot day is spent talking about your brother. How he was a great pilot and an even greater friend. How he had to be an absolutely amazing person to catch the attention of a Jedi. Crix seems to hold an idol complex for the near-extinct wizard religion, so your brother talking to Luke was momentous for him. He offers to tell you stories about the Jedi Order, but you’re not really interested. It’s probably your poor, uneducated, Outer Rim self speaking, but the Jedi of the Republic are so fantastical that it’s hard to believe they’re real. Besides, why would you listen to tales about them when you can learn more about your brother? 

The day passes quicker than you realize, and the gentle chill of the night arrives. Like the previous night, you and Crix sit outside to watch the suns set. It’s calming, and you find yourself getting used to the routine. You can see a future, a life here with Crix. A simple life, far from the dangers of space and accompanied by your brother’s lover. 

“He likes you,” Crix says, nudging you out of your thoughts. At your confused face, he continues. “The Mandalorian.” You scoff.

“As if. I don’t even know his name or face.” Crix shakes his head. 

“It wasn’t like that before. My mom told me that Mandos could take off their helmets and say their names anytime they wanted. I think yours is just super strict,” Crix shrugs. Huh. You’ve always wondered about the Mandalorian culture and how strong warriors are hardly seen anymore. Maybe they’re like the Jedi: from a time before the Empire, forever hiding in the shadows, content to lay low and survive. 

“Maybe,” you say and turn to face the lowering suns. From the corner of your eye, you see a dark figure speeding closer. Crix notices too and squints at the approaching speeder bike. The person parks right in front of you and hops off. Mando. 

He drags a gagged and blindfolded person off the bike and onto the sand below. The human male struggles for a bit, but Mando presses a button on the vambrace, and the man shudders before falling unconscious. It’s a disturbing sight, and you shiver. You can’t imagine the feeling of getting electrocuted to sleep. 

“Well, he’s a bounty hunter for sure,” Crix mutters. You jump to your feet and approach Mando. He looks tired. The tension in his shoulders, the stiff stance of his legs, and the heavier breathing point to growing signs of fatigue. A pang of guilt stabs your heart.

 While you were lounging around, drinking milk, and watching the sunset, Mando was working his ass off for a bounty. For just a few credits to fuel his ship and feed himself while providing for you. You haven’t even done anything useful except cleaning and providing a warm body. 

Maybe that’s all he needs you for.

As excited as you are to see him, you also feel a little dread. Crix nods at Mando, and they enter the house along with the bounty. As Mando passes the threshold, he holds a hand out towards you. The little action makes you smile, and you scurry over to take his hand. Together, you go inside the house. Despite the air being hot as usual, you relish in the warmth of Mando’s gloved hand, in the heat his metal armor retains. 

You’ll talk to him later about ways you can help out and ease the burden of his job. Possibly figure out what your relationship really is. If it even needs a label. You need clarity eventually, some even ground at least. 

For now, you settle next to Mando on the couch as Crix prepares some food. Mando will have to eat in a separate room and clean his armor and blasters there too. And you’ll be waiting for him when he’s done.  

read chapter five

[rethesun]

Is there a name for middle lane larries?

Topic: An opinion on larry

I think there is substantial compelling evidence, but I'm not 100% convinced that there is still something but it’s possible there is we just don’t see.

If someone calls me a larrie, it's not insulting at all, but if someone were to call me an anti i’d be sad, honestly. Below I say many things that make it seem like I negatively judge hardcore larries, but I don't. I find it extraordinary that people can be so brave and sure of themselves, and I wish I could be too. I tend to get along with larries, while I mostly avoid antis unless they manage to be respectful, which is unfortunately quite rare. 

I think it's practically effortless to get toxic when trying to prove or disprove things. I think it's dehumanizing and feels stressful to me as a fan. Therefore I can only imagine the difficulty and what it takes for people in a position of fame to get to a place of inner strength and resilience where the millions of opinions of the world don't affect them as much. It's sometimes hard to judge/differentiate what is and isn't disrespectful, and it hurts terribly to know I'm crossing boundaries. So I'm putting my opinion together in hopes it isn't as counterproductive or pointless as it feels.

I'm not at all trying to convince anyone of a narrative to sway people to believe or not believe. What and how much you know and where you "stand" is down to you. 

Do I believe in larry? 

First and foremost, being a fan of someone means supporting that person without expecting anything from them. It means any fan theory isn't crucial. What’s important is just supporting them as is, as an individual. It means caring about how the person may feel about things more than caring about how I feel about things that aren't my business in the first place. 

That said, here is my not long-awaited opinion.

I think there is substantial compelling evidence, but I'm not 100% convinced that there is still something but it’s possible there is we just don’t see. I will not disregard what Harry and Louis said back in the day and pretend they had nothing when at the very least, Harry said it on video directly twice. Yes, he was a kid, but people will decide Harry is with a skinny blonde woman older than him for much less, so I don't take what he said as a platonic joke. However, I try to be as realistic as possible. As an outsider, it's not easy for my brain to conclude on most things. However, this doesn't mean I disregard how bad the industry can be. One big reason is that I don't know any of these people personally, and I want to believe in the best in others. Even though I understand controlling narratives in the industry happens and happened to 1D. I don't know to what extent. It's hard for me to judge that any or all of Harry's "relationships" are fake, and thus, he's had a few "stunt" songs for those relationships, etc. It’s plausible that he wrote female pronouns on a song or a few and the song refers to a man/men but that's far from saying this is a stunt song which would imply an entire fake relationship which is too far for me to say wasn't real as I am just an outsider. 

Whether people say it's the fans who say it or the boys behavior, the statement, 'larries ruined their friendship,' is sometimes interpreted as centered around homophobia. I do not see it this way.

However, whether there was or is a relationship, it's entirely reasonable to consider, the circumstances as a whole hurt them and likely the rest of the band in multiple ways that made things really hard. I do not think fans ruined the band or their connections with each other. I think being overworked with little freedom or breaks to discover/express independence were just a few reasons why.

Why I think larry appeared to become distanced to the public eye: 1. Understandably, putting blame on the heteronormative gender restrictive times we were in and still are in. 2. How some fans react to Larry's interactions due to reason number one. Otherwise, all the 1D members, their families, and friends have been honest. That would mean there isn't an elaborate conspiracy; they are just tired of people messing with who they care about and want to live without the harassment. Regardless of whether some fan theories are accurate or not, people in the spotlight and their families deserve peace of mind. They don't deserve to be dehumanized. I wish some fans would understand how wrong it is to swarm people or ask strangers to confirm any personal things. Not only because it's rude and invasive but because of mental health. If that's confusing, imagine if it were you in their position.

I used Zayn's interview because he shared it eloquently while the other mentions that ‘Larry isn't real’ were mostly screen captures of constituents replying impatiently to larry comments on social media saying the Larry thing is delusion and not what real fans do.  Zayn in this 2015 fader interview. "There's no secret relationships going on with any of the band members," he explains. "It's not funny, and it still continues to be quite hard for them. They won't naturally go put their arm around each other because they're conscious of this thing that's going on, which is not even true. They won't do the natural behavior." He goes on to add to the statement, "But it's just the way the fans are. They're so passionate, and once they get their head around an idea, that's the way it is regardless of anything. If it wasn't for the passionate, like almost obsession, then we wouldn't have the success that we have." Before the subject changes, Zayn said that fans would find a way to water down what he said and make any excuses, e.g., that he couldn't speak the truth.

I can't speak for anyone but myself. (I’m a queer cis female) I don't think I would want to 'get dragged through a round of 'coming out' press. Why should sexuality be treated as an oddity by the median, and why should queer people have to subject themselves to that treatment?' The amount of coming out stories and things that could follow a person, or the people around, in the aftermath, would be atrocious. People, personally and professionally, may treat you differently after. The queer stereotypes would be exhausting. Also, it's not always as safe sometimes to be out. Whether there was/is a relationship at all between 1D members. “Being open to everyone isn't easy. Now imagine yourself no less human than right now, but add millions of eyes on you. It's insensitive to assume about someone when they could be doing their best/what is comfortable—please let's stop invalidating what we don't understand.”

Zayn's career connects to Hollywood, and he’s in the spotlight so it's not easy to suddenly believe everything I hear and see is the truth just because someone like him said it. However, at the same time, it's rather discomforting for me to disregard and look into everything people like Zayn or his constituents say. I want to believe the best in people and sympathize and “back him up” in a sense. It's also way to hard to believe all things other fans say because we are passionate and obsessed, so there is confirmation bias. 

Do I concretely believe anything? 

Yes, but those things don't directly confirm or deny anything especially Larry.

I believe the boys were responsible for RBB & SBB.

I have some reason to believe the song Carolina could be about experimentation with drugs since Johnny Cash's Cocaine-Carolina song is plausibly similar. Also, it's not uncommon if you're wealthy or famous to experiment with drugs, including harmful drugs; the environment can make it more accessible and normalized. I don't condone drug abuse; I hope Harry is wise enough not to make it a reoccurring thing. I want him naturally happy and healthy, but it's not my life, and I don't know him to have any right in making that call. I trust from Harry's character and what he said in his Zane Lowe interview that he knows better. However, the song Carolina might be about Townes or maybe it's both, I have no clue. 

I believe SOTT is about "fundamentals" like Harry said it is, not just from the perspective of 'a mother telling the child to go forth and conquer.' I notice some people readily look over the childbirth story, saying 'it makes no sense,' but it can easily coincide with fundamentals, "Equal rights for everyone, all races sexes, everything." Check out this in depth lyric analysis?

I think most of us know and support that Harry is a proud member of the community. If he wasn’t he’d just say that. 

I think maybe COAC and SOTT may have been collaborative. There are multiple writers on both songs and if it’s possible to have a ghost writer then I say it's plausible they chose to write them similarly. 

I think Louis possibly queer codes. Straight people don’t queer code so you might think it’s queer baiting but I don’t think someone sick of gay rumors would go that route. Either that, or he's a passionate and sympathetic ally.

However, Louis is still "with" E. From a perspective of committed fans, it doesn't look like a sincere relationship. As an outsider, again, it feels far too presumptuous for me to have a B&W opinion.

It seems that adults with somewhat official platforms let rumors run rampant, and not many grown adults of the time seemed to correct or silence it. I should have said this early and cannot stress this enough, ANYONE who is not the Louis Tomlinson or in his family tree is in no way an official source. If they're acting like they know things (not just reporting on what's happening), they were/are either trolling or want people to freak out for clout. Being led astray by people looking to capitalize on fans is always a danger. It's insensitive, inappropriate, and unprofessional, but it happened. I am surprised by that and that 1D's management didn't try to protect Louis and his image more. I’m not an insider able to judge him negatively or to overanalyze the situation. So I won't assume he's not a dad, and I hope he's doing well.

(About the above paragraph about Louis this is an update after the original post I made to say I don't have a further developed opinion because I never looked into it and don't know if I will so don't hold that against me please I just personally don't feel like it’s a thing I need to do and I know larries don’t appreciate when non-larries make comments on things without thoroughly looking into things so you won’t see a further opinion from me or judgment unless I do actual research)

In conclusion, and to reiterate, I feel like there is some truth to some things. Again, it feels disrespectful or too presumptuous for me to have many opinions, especially of the negative kind, as an outsider. I don't know any of these people personally, and I want to believe in the best in others. I am not harshly judging things because I don't have a complete story or the right to. However, this doesn't mean I disregard how bad the industry can be to people in multiple ways.

As fans, we can do much better. It's not unreasonable to wish people didn't constantly objectify/sexualize people with fame and didn't harass them/their families about fan theories. Also, always wanting something from these people and expecting them to fulfill god-like expectations as if they don't go through the same human experience and aren't completely flawed like the rest of us, or stalking them—something sick and a behavior that's saddening and disgusting. Real fans just leave them be to live their lives. Please call out stalking and discourage it if you notice it. Overall, I think we can all be a bit more respectful and understanding or try to make an effort. I'm not a superfan, but I'd like to be genuine and not a reason why these people dislike being in the spotlight. I feel like that means being as grounded, realistic, and sensitive about how these people may feel about things more than caring about how I feel about things that aren't my business in the first place. It ultimately means any fan theory isn't crucial. What’s important is just supporting them as is, as individual.

[#’s are for exposure and may not correlate]

[marvella15]

Astaire & Rogers Rewatch Part 3: Roberta

• The Gay Divorcee was a smash hit, raking in almost $600k in profit for RKO during the Depression. It was also nominated for Best Picture. So then why are Astaire and Rogers not the headliners for Roberta? No clue. 

• As dumb as that decision was and is, in some ways, it makes their parts even more enjoyable. As the secondary pair, they don’t have to deal with misunderstandings and contrived plot devices keeping them apart or interfering with the development of their relationship. From the moment they’re on screen together, they’re a pair. 

• Their romance in Roberta is of two teenage sweethearts reuniting as adults and instantly falling back in step and in love with one another. The warmth and friendliness of their relationship, which I believe mirrors the true relationship between Astaire and Rogers in many ways, is one of the main reasons I adore this film. There are several scenes/moments where they seem to be themselves and it works perfectly.

• Our characters/actors: Huck (Fred Astaire), Lizzie (Ginger Rogers), John (Randolph Scott), Stephanie (Irene Dunne).

• Love their names in this film: Huck (short for Huckleberry) and Liz. A vast improvement, especially for Rogers who has so far been Honey and Mimi. 

• Of course for plot reasons Huck’s teenage sweetheart will be in the exact same place he ends up. But it’s worth noting that he requests for John to ask his aunt about Lizzie. He intends to look her up himself. 

• Could John be a himbo?? He’s handsome, kinda dumb, but very kind. 

• I like how Liz, in her alter ego as a Polish countess, continues throwing a tantrum even though John pushes her to the couch twice. Rogers doesn’t get enough credit for her slapstick abilities. She also somehow makes the word “orchestra” seem very suggestive.

• Love how Huck slides in towards the elevator in his hast to meet Lizzie again. She’s not mad to see him either, only worried he’ll blow her cover. Which he immediately almost does. 

• A snarky reunion: 

Liz, as the Countess: “Huck is for Huckleberry, n’est-ce pas?”

Huck: “Uhh yes, a couple of n’est-ce pas.”

• His face at being called a piccolo player is only bested by Liz’s barely concealed glee at Huck being demoted this way. In their first interaction, he calls her babe, toots, and playfully bites her hand and she puffs smoke right in his face. I love it. 

Not for nothing, later in the film he will also call John babe and toots. Huck is an equal opportunity complimenter. 

• Their relationship is established immediately as he celebrates her success and beauty. There’s no rivalry or obstacles between them, not even her stage name. While she is careful to remove her hand from between his when their private moment is interrupted, she doesn’t mind it being known she’s going off somewhere with him. 

• Irene Dunne has a fine singing voice but it’s just not what I came to this movie to hear. 

• Huck’s face as he watches Liz sing is adorable. Maybe a tad overdone but incredibly sweet. 

(gif credit @themaladjustedjester​)

• It’s a bit irritating that Rogers is forced to sing and speak in her fake Polish accent for most of the film but dang she does an amazing job with this song. It’s a full-body performance and she does it with gusto. 

• I adore the way Astaire tosses the baton over his shoulder as soon as she comes to sit with him. He’s just like, don’t need that anymore. 

• So cute as they reminisce about their younger years: 

Liz: “You know I think I was in love with you then, Huck.” 

Huck: “I know you were.”

Liz, mildly offended: “Youuuu.”

Huck: “Meeee. And what’s more, I was madly in love with you.”

• Their entire exchange is funny and wonderful. The teasing, the flirting, the declaration of past love for one another that is obviously still true. How he punctuates certain moments with a bit of tap for emphasis. They smile naturally and it feels like two friends talking. This could be AU Fred and Ginger’s real-life story and I would believe it. 

• Talking about how she won a beauty contest:

Liz: “Well, you won it for me. How did you get all the men from the overall factory to vote for me?”

Huck, very pleased with himself: “That was easy. I showed them a picture of Lillian Russell.”

Liz, incensed: “Lillian Russell? Well what was the matter with my picture?”

Huck: “Well if you must know, we got a lot of votes from the farmers with a picture of a prize heifer.”

Liz, about to playfully sock him: “Oh youuuu.”

• “I’ll Be Hard to Handle” is a special dance for many reasons including that the taps were not dubbed over later. Since they used the original sound, we can hear both Astaire and Rogers giggling and whooping throughout the dance. 

Usually, Astaire recorded the taps in post-production since the sound could not pick them up very well during filming. Hermes Pan, Astaire’s choreography partner, often recorded Rogers’ taps since she was typically off filming a different movie by then.

• Astaire often gets a lot of the credit for their dancing because he worked tirelessly on the choreography. Rogers was often away filming non-musical roles while he did this. She was in three other films in 1935 alone, in addition to both Roberta and Top Hat with Astaire. But she put in a lot of hard work too. While filming those other roles, she learned the choreography from Pan so when she showed up for the six weeks of rehearsal, she was prepared. 

• And somehow this number feels perfectly spontaneous. At the start, as he pulls her in, she looks at him flirtatiously and it’s not acting. She waits for him to come spin them around and of course it’s part of the choreography but it’s a lovely feeling of anticipation all the same. Several times they appear lost in their own world, dancing for one another. They also seem to be talking to one another quietly throughout most of the dance. Like before in their films, you can see the acting start and stop pretty clearly. 

• When one of them does a little extra dance, the other watches in true appreciation and delight. Again, not acting. Most instances where they make eye contact they look very pleased with themselves. This is the closest we’ll ever get to seeing what Astaire and Rogers were like in rehearsals, complete with the in-joke bugle call. 

• To understand better the moments of reality vs. acting, just look at the sequence where they challenge each other and argue using different dance steps. All acting. Then look at their faces immediately after this sequence ends and they enter the final moments of the dance. All them. 

Side note: don’t miss how Astaire claps his hands together to make the smacking noise when she slaps him.

• While watching a private fashion show, John and Huck dislike a gorgeous black satin gown that’s low cut and with an almost completely open back because they think it’s too revealing. But later Rogers is going to wear almost this same gown and will look marvelous in it during the “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” dance. 

• After selecting a new gown, Liz teases Huck that “tall, handsome gentleman with large bank accounts will be asking for my telephone number. And getting it.” He replies, “And won’t they be surprised when I answer?”

• Upon hearing that John’s terrible ex, who has just arrived to undump him now that he’s rich and famous, will be leaving on Saturday, Huck departs with this line: “Goodbye, John. I’ll see you Sunday.”

• Irene Dunne definitely enjoys her few seconds of being spun around with Astaire. But who wouldn’t?

• Huck’s line to Sophie, “Gee, darling, you look terrible,” is such a burn and I love it.

• Another thing I have a soft spot for is Astaire’s piano playing. It’s energetic and fun and he doesn’t do it nearly enough imo. 

• Astaire sings 3 songs (I’m not counting the fashion show “song”) in Roberta but they all have that very conversational style that suits him. And in fact both “I Won’t Dance” and “Lovely to Look At” are duets framed as a conversation with Rogers. My favorite part of “I Won’t Dance” is this exchange:

Astaire: “You know what? You’re lovely.”

Rogers: “And so what? I’m lovely.”

Astaire: “But oh what you do to me.”

• I also have to mention the little callback to “The Continental” as well as the strange rhyme of “for heaven rest us, I’m not asbestos”??

• Notice how this solo routine for Astaire is not interrupted by any cuts to his face or feet like previously solos? He got his way with the camera work.

• “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” is a lovely song that I don’t necessarily want Irene Dunne to sing, not when Ginger Rogers is in the same film. 

• Rogers’ acting when Huck talks rhetorically about wanting to marry Liz is fabulous. First, she has to be incensed at the mention of a “Liz” when publicly she’s still known as the Countess. Then she’s flustered that he’s just admitted he wants to marry her. And then she glares at him when he takes up the joke and describes his fiance-to-be as “simple” with “big feet.” And all of that happens in about three seconds. The way she sharply looks him up and down always makes me snicker.  

• This lengthy fashion show is something else I usually skip. Was there a line of gowns that were sold as movie tie-in merchandise? I highly doubt it. But why else is this so long??

• When Astaire sings the lyrics “and heaven to kiss,” his voice drops and Rogers glances at him. Huck and Liz have most certainly been kissing off screen. 

• Absolutely love how the lyrics of “Lovely to Look At” change for Astaire and Rogers. Instead of a “most impossible scheme come true, imagine finding a dream like you,” Rogers sings that he is her “most impossible dream come true, imagine finding a boy like you.” She takes his arm and on the lyrics “it’s thrilling to hold you terribly tight,” he squeezes her hand. 

• Their dance, set to “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes,” is slow and stunning, one of the most beautiful they created. It’s full of soft looks between them. Rogers spends most of the beginning gazing at him lovingly. Not to be outdone, Astaire does the same when she’s turned away or not looking at him. He also has a small, private smile soon after they begin. It’s lovely. 

• The duet is romantic and yet they don’t embrace fully until about a minute in. Instead, they hover near one another, faces angling together, small touches here and there. Holding fingertips for a particular move. His fingers briefly touch her ribs when she places his hand there for a beat. It’s a dance of deep partnership and love, not courtship. Neither needs to woo the other. 

• And when they do embrace, he holds her close for a prolonged moment before moving into the next step. As he does, that private smile sneaks out again. 

• The sudden dip is another example of Rogers trusting Astaire. She looks magnificent in the pose too. They both do.

• She lays her head on his shoulder, his hand resting gently on her hair, and her arm is around him. It’s a very intimate pose, made even more so by how he tilts his head towards her and his lips are very close to her brow. And there again, that smile. 

• When the music becomes playful, Rogers glances over her shoulder at him and finds his eyes are already on her. Both of their faces soften. 

• And ending a sumptuous dance with a backwards leap up three stairs. Super casual. They walk off the way they began, their arms linked. 

• Speaking of casual, Huck and Liz get engaged in the most laid back way ever. Perfect for them.

• I have always loved Stephanie’s expression when she realizes just how dumb (but sweet) John is. 

• The reprise of “I Won’t Dance” ends the film. Newly engaged but still in the same clothes they just performed a slow, romantic duet in, Astaire and Rogers perform a much more energetic dance. She makes her dress work for her superbly. The way they dance is very like “I’ll Be Hard to Handle,” which shows that this celebratory number is Huck and Liz, not the bandleader and the Countess performing for a crowd. And the choice of song is fitting since in the lyrics he said he couldn’t dance with her for fear he’d fall in love with her. But now they have danced quite intimately and they’re engaged. Might as well keeping dancing together. 

• Soooo another film finished! We’re getting into some of the best ones now. Up next: Top Hat.

• Also if fanfiction is your thing, here’s a very sweet one for this film. 

[mahalkitajohnnysuh]

Cruel Game

Shaking things up with this brain fart because too much lovey-dovey can get on your nerves. Well, sometimes. Or is it just me? 

Anyway, I just want to share that I love any Jaehyun and Mark interactions. I like how chill both are, and let’s be honest – they give off frat boy vibes. 

I love this GIF of them – I feel the love, man! GIF is from this link.

Mahal ko kayong lahat! :) 

–––

Summary: Sharing that I love Jaehyun and Mark’s friendship is a clue to what you’ll be reading today, as the guys are fueled by their jealousy to get Essie’s heart. Say what?! Yes, I wrote this with the tensest timeline in mind, meaning it’s before Johnny and Essie got together and are getting real touchy with each other. 

POV: 3rd person 

Word count: 1,200 + words 

Warning: Italics are for thoughts and foreign terms. 

–––

Jaehyun knew he lost when he saw the look Essie and Johnny shared during one of their hangouts.

The grey-haired heartthrob, along with Taeyong and Ten, decided to visit their friends Mark, Johnny, and Essie (who also happen to be housemates). It has been a while since Mark and Taeyong were in their respective apartments due to their hectic schedules, and it has been ages since all of them hung out with Ten.

He, Taeyong, and Johnny cooked while Ten, Mark, and Essie provided entertainment through singing with their respective instruments or dancing. The three men prepared a mix of both Korean and Japanese food, which delighted the only girl in the house. “It’s as if you know what I’m craving for!” She gushed, clapping her hands together in glee.

“Of course, I know what you like,” Jaehyun commented confidently with a wink, making her blush. His action was not lost on Johnny, who looked as if he could burn a hole on the back of his friend’s head. “Thank you, Jay!” Essie chirped before she nudged Ten to help her in setting the table.

Once that was set, everyone sat down and enjoyed their dinner. It was during this part of the evening that Jaehyun knew that Essie has made up her mind on whom she likes the most. It was not lost on him that he was one of the people who first knew of her crush on Johnny and other guys in their huge social circle. If he remembered correctly, the only ones from the group she told of were him and Ten.

He caught Johnny tapping her shoulder lightly to whisper something in her ear. He noticed the way she leaned immediately to his touch and giggled at the few words he said. They shared a look before they went back to eating.

If he was asked to describe the look they gave each other, it was one of sweet longing and understanding. In short, he was jealous that he wasn’t the one who received it.

Jaehyun tightened the grip on his utensils as he continued eating dinner, feeling his face heat up in anger. “Hey, hyung. You okay?” Mark asked, who was seated to his left. He nodded in response and gave a goofy smile to reassure him.

“But your ear is, like, all red,” Ten commented before eating a whole sushi. He touched his ear and felt that he was going to get burned with how hot it was. “Oh, maybe it must be the weather? Or the room’s a bit too warm,” he mumbled before focusing on his plate again.

“Did you say it’s too hot, Jay? I can adjust the temperature of the AC,” Essie offered, now standing up to go to where she placed the remote of the air conditioner. “Yeah, thanks dear,” he said softly, looking at her figure disappear into the living room.

“Hey, that’s not where the remote for the AC is, you dummy! It’s over here,” Johnny said, following the girl into the room she went to. The sight of his friend going to where his crush was made him massage his temples in silence, which then led him to lose his appetite.

“I don’t think you’re okay, hyung,” Mark whispered, moving his chair closer to the table. The sound it made turned heads, and all of them looked at the two guys. “What?” Jaehyun was irritated at the looks he got from Taeyong and Ten.

“Yeah, you don’t seem well, Yoon Oh. Do you need a break?” Taeyong said carefully since he didn’t want to irk his housemate. After all, they were going home the same way in the same car.

“I think so. I’ll just be outside,” Jaehyun muttered before going outside to the porch. Mark excused himself shortly afterward and went to where he was as well.

The two men observed the night scenery in silence – well, they could still hear the sound of cicadas chirping and clicking and their heavy breathing.

“What brings you here, Mark?” He started, folding his arms over his chest.

“I think I know what set you off,” the younger guy replied, moving closer to him.

“Oh, you think? Then humor me. Tell me what that is,” his tone was sarcastic, which Mark picked up and returned in his response.

“Don’t think you’re the only one who’s annoyed with Johnny and Essie making goo-goo eyes at each other.”

They looked at each other for a moment and burst into laughter afterward. “Hey, why are you annoyed with them? What did they do to you? Sucks that you have to endure that, eh?” Jaehyun took a seat on the bench, and Mark followed suit. “It’s not that they did anything to me, but I think…I like Essie noona more than, you know, as a sister figure.” The way his voice softened at the end made the older guy’s heart ache.

“Damn, Mark. I didn’t know you felt that way. I guess…you can say the same thing about me too,” he brushed his hair away from his face and looked out into the dark horizon again. “It’s not usual for me to be jealous, especially towards one of my best friends. But I can’t help it. I like Essie too, but I think she has made her decision on who she likes the most.”

“Huh? What does that mean?” Mark moved closer to his hyung, his eyes shining in anticipation with his next words.

Oh crap, this is bad. I shouldn’t have phrased it that way…he thought, running another hand through his hair.

“Let’s just say that Essie likes a lot of guys, and among them all, Johnny is the one she likes the best. And unfortunately, none of us made that list. Isn’t that sad?”

It took a moment for Mark to reply. “Maybe she wouldn’t tell us that if she liked us that way, you know? But maybe she likes one of us too, or heck, even just one of us aside from Johnny hyung. But who are we to compete with him?” He peeked inside and saw that he and Essie were arguing on the dinner table.

“Hey, be confident with yourself, Mark Lee. Suh Youngho isn’t the only handsome and talented guy in the room,” Jaehyun patted his friend’s back before sneaking a look on the commotion inside. He saw that Essie looked pissed, and Johnny was rolling his eyes at her.

“But they look like a fucking married couple already,” Mark mumbled, his eyes also focused on the two. “I think they’re meant for each other.”

“Don’t lose hope. Why don’t you try?” Both men returned to looking at the night sky. “You know, talking with you made me not give up on pursuing Essie. I felt that I have already lost. That sickeningly sweet look she and Youngho had earlier broke me, man. I swear to you,” the older guy admitted, his eyes now focused on his shoes.

“But that means we’ll be competing for her then,” the black-haired guy glanced at Jaehyun, who was now looking at him. “I still want to try, you know. Even if I know deep inside she might not accept my love.”

“That’s the spirit, I guess?” Jaehyun chuckled, slinging an arm around Mark’s shoulder. “May the best man win then.”

“Good luck to us, hyung. I mean it.”

–––

FIN

P.S. The title came from ‘Sit Down’ as it suddenly played in my head the moment I saved the initial draft. Of course, how can I forget Jaehyun’s lines and his competitive spirit? 

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #323

“dehumanized upon a shell  /  we came to bleed it dry  /  obsessed with divine wealth  /  divide and multiply”

Have you ever drawn on someone’s face while they were sleeping? No. Would you scuba dive in shark infested waters if you had the chance? No thanks. What is your favorite slow song? There are so many, but one of the slowest and most beloved of mine is "Obstacles" by Syd Matters. It gives me goosebumps without fail. It's one song I know I want at my hypothetical wedding. If there were aliens on earth, would you be afraid? I mean, yeah. I'd want to know their intentions. If your best friend died, would you be able to speak at their funeral? It'd be extremely difficult, but if I had any say in it, I absolutely would. Do you enjoy going through old pictures? Sometimes. Other times it causes too much pain, depending on the pictures, of course. Do you tend to have a lot of drama in your life? Definitely not. My life is painfully uneventful. When’s the last time someone was disappointed in you? I don't know. Do you have a house phone? No. Which fast food place do you eat at the most? McDonald's. Have you ever met someone on the Internet in real life? Yep. What’s your favorite color to wear? Black. Do you like being in pictures? No. Do you travel a lot? Essentially never, even though I'd love to. Do you play any sports? No. Do you like pickles? Yesssss. How many times have you been kicked out of a store? Never. Is there things you’ve told someone that you’ve NEVER told anyone else? Probably. When was the last time you had alcohol? My birthday dinner last month. Are you one to often make typos? No, except when I'm texting. I have autocorrect on for a reason. On a hot day, would you rather prefer ice cream or a popsicle? Ice cream. Have you ever wanted to get drunk and get your mind off everything? Yes, but I just didn't want to drink anymore at one point. I'm far from a lightweight, apparently. Have you played cards recently? No. Is there a band you like with amazing music but a bad vocalist? Mother Mother immediately comes to mind, but not the main singer; he's great. The woman who occasionally joins in is fucking horrendous. Like, it hurts my ears. Is there a certain song you like to headbang to? I don't and never have really headbanged, surprisingly. It's a sure-fire way to make me dizzy. Anything you might be giving up on soon? I hope not... Sometimes I feel like it's time with photography, but I just. Can't. Have you ever captured a moth? I've raised a caterpillar into one before, then of course let it go. Is there a band/artist who has strange lyrics but you love them anyway? Otep, noteably. When was the last time you wore earrings? It's been a long time. How many pairs of heels do you own? I don't think I have any. When was the last time you changed your picture on Facebook? Uhhhh it's been at the very least a month, but I know more. Would you consider yourself to be physically strong? Absolutely not, especially my legs. I struggle to fucking walk because they're so weak. Have you ever painted a piece of furniture? Yes, actually. I helped Jason paint his shelf black. Do you have a really fat cat? No, we never have. We've always been good about keeping our pets at a healthy weight. Do your initials spell a word? No. When was the last time you went to a playground? A year or so ago when I was taking pictures of someone's son, as well as just general family photos. That same family just had another baby the other day. Have you ever made a business card for yourself? No. Do you have a favorite curse word in a different language? No. Are there any recipes you have memorized? No. Do you know your multipication times tables? Lol not most of them, no... It's been way too long. Do you have a favorite font on the computer? Of the basic ones, probably Garamond. Are you good at creating logos? *shrugs* I've only ever really made my photography watermarks, and I only JUST made one I like pretty well. How about catch phrases? I don't make those. Have you ever been severely burned? Not severely, no. Did you ever dream that you had a baby? I've actually had numerous dreams where I was pregnant, but I don't THINK I've had one where the baby was born yet. Do you or anyone you know have a rabbit? No. What was the weirdest thing you ever saw cross the road? Hm, nothing too weird, I think. Last song you got stuck in your head? "ALTÆR" by 3TEETH. Last song you listened to? ^ Favorite movie quote? I don't know. Maybe Rafiki's quote about the past hurting, but you should take that opportunity to learn. Favorite lyric? That is impossible. There are so, so very many that just like slather me in goosebumps. What magazine are you an avid reader to? None. Have you ever gone a full day without interacting with another person? I have. How many relationships have you been in that lasted less than a year? Four. Have you ever been significantly more physically fit than you are now? Man, take me the hell back to my WiiFit days. I was pretty damn fit. The last time I did it, it was seriously alarming how much I struggled doing things that were once pretty effortless. When growing up, did you parents keep the house very tidy? "Very" seems a bit too much, but Mom definitely kept it in order. How many watches do you own? None. Should teenagers be allowed to have their cell phones with them in class? Yes. Emergencies happen. Do you have any gay relatives? Yes; my mom has a cousin who's gay. Have you unfollowed, deleted, or blocked anyone on social media recently? Not recently, no. If so, what was the reason? ^ What’s the biggest financial mistake you’ve ever made? Oh, y'know, dropping out of college three fucking times. Once I pay my own bills and I truly understand finances, that's going to fucking wreck me. Do you like metal music? Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck yeah. If so, what sub-genres of metal do you like the best? Heavy and symphonic. Who was the last person you sincerely thanked? My mom for bringing home lunch recently. Have you ever been in a relationship where there was a large difference in maturity levels? No. What’s the longest you’ve ever stayed as a guest at someone’s house? Maybe like a month when I was technically homeless? How bad was your acne when you were a teenager? It was preeeetty rough. Do you like strawberry shortcake? No. What’s the last you got out of the freezer? A microwavable breakfast bowl. Do you go on the computer or watch TV more? Guess. Explain why you are single: Because I'm a very, very underdeveloped "adult" that has very little clue what she's doing. At my age, I and any potential partner should want someone with direction. What feature do you usually get most complimented on? My hair. Has anyone ever accused you of being gay? Well, I'm bi. I had this weird therapist once in middle school though who asked if I was a lesbian... Idk why she did? What Facebook groups have you found the most helpful? I'm in an advanced ball python husbandry group, and while a lot of people there are utter, degrading elitists, they do have valuable information. Did you name all of your stuffed animals and dolls? I sure did as a kid. What would you have your bridesmaids wear? Probably black dresses, and I think it'd be really cool if I were to marry a woman, the bridesmaids wear checkered Converses colored into a rainbow pattern, or something like that. Where do you want to go on your honeymoon? I think Alaska, if it was a good time to see the Northern Lights. Are you sick right now? No, thankfully. Do you feel loved? Yes. Do you like your butt? Why or why not? God no. I have such a flat ass. Are you ashamed of your faith? I'm assuming by this you mean religion, in which case, I don't have one and am not ashamed of that. Has anyone ever tried to force their beliefs on you? Yes. Have you ever personally been a victim of homophobia? Again, I'm bisexual. I have never had a personal act of homophobia inflicted upon me, though. Have you ever been accused of being homophobic? Yes, because I was for most of my life. Fucking repulsive to remember. "Repulsive" is much too gentle a word, but yeah. It is so, so embarrassing to recall myself ever believing it was wrong because my then-religion said no-no. Do you think you’d be happier if you had a pet? I have two pets. I would be so, so lonely without any. :/ I've had pets my entire life. Who was the last person you went on a date with? Sara. How long has it been since that last time you went on a date? Like two or so years. Do you think babies are cute? They can be, but I usually don't find them all that cute, honestly. Especially newborns/very young infants. They're usually hideous. My youngest niece is actually the only newborn that I remember seeing that I thought was absolultely precious. What is your favorite style of pants? Ripped skinny jeans. Were you ever hospitalized as a little kid? No. Who was the last person who broke your heart? Jason. ^Do you still miss this person? I'm sure I always will to some degree. Do you have someone to talk to and share your secrets with? Sara more than anyone, but Mom, too. Is there someone you feel extra shy around? Just men in general. Have you been hurt more by friend break-ups or romantic break-ups? Romantic. Closest living thing to you? My snake's terrarium is against the opposite wall. She's in her hide. Would you rather drown or burn alive? Drown. You go unconscious first, so. And I'd assume it to be faster than burning alive. Also me no like hot. :'''( Who is the last person you got really pissed off with? My stepmother posted some ignorant bullshit on Facebook about how people blow out of proportion our "supposed" environmental crisis. I nearly deleted her right then and there. I take that shit seriously. Most of her beliefs drive me insane, honestly, but she's a wonderful person at heart, so I just bit my tongue. Who was the last member of the opposite sex you laid in a bed with? Girt. What type of sushi do you like to eat? Never tried it, don't want to. Was the last person you kissed physically attractive? Yes. Do you have any flowers in your room? No. Do you know anyone that owns horses? Yes. Well, I took pictures for her family, anyway. Do you know anyone who has road rage? Who? Jesus, yes. My little sister. Is your mom a big health freak or your dad? Or neither? Neither are "big" health freaks, especially not Dad when you consider he smokes and knows it'll be what kills him. My mom is diabetic though, so she's reasonably careful. Do you know anyone who wants to be the president one day? No. What kinds of chips are in the cupboards? We don't have any. Ma tries to keep snacks out of the house for both hers and my sake. If you were going out with your celebrity crush, what would you wear? OH BOY idk. I'd probably spend days planning the "perfect" thing. Do you have any friends who have naturally red hair? I do. Have you ever cried when a teacher retired? Yep, my band teacher. He was incredibly loved by literally everyone. Do you have your mom’s or dad’s eyes? Neither's. They both have brown eyes. What’s the best date movie? We gonna have a problem if you don't watch The Notebook w/ me if I have it on lmao. How long has your current best friend been your best friend? Many years now. (: Do you swear and yell while playing video games? I might swear under my breath, but I don't yell. Would you rather name your daughter Andrea or Eva? Andrea. If you were adopted, would you want to know? Yes. Do you know anyone who has grossly skinny eyebrows? I couldn't care less about someone's eyebrows. Do your pets chase after bugs? Oh yes, Roman certainly does. When’s the last time you were so excited you couldn’t sleep? Why? Hmmm... this actually happened recently, but I don't remember why... What is your mom’s favorite movie? I don't know, actually. I think it's some romance one. What TV family reminds you of your own family? None, really. Do you know anyone who always looks perfect? Who? One of my best high school friends Alon was like... just always pristinely beautiful, it seemed like. I haven't seen many pictures of her lately, but I'm sure that hasn't changed. Has anyone you know ever pulled the fire alarm in school, joking around? I think so once, yes. Who was the main character in the last book you read? A dragon named Sunny. Who are the last people you saw kiss? On the lips, I'm sure it woulda been my sister and her husband. Would you rather look at clouds or stars? Clouds, I think. Well, it would depend on their design, I guess, and time of day. When you get married, who will be the maid of honor/best man? Probably my mom. Does your best friend get along with their parents? She has a wonderful relationship with them. Have you ever been in a wedding? What were you? I was the fat, hideous, crying bridesmaid. ;x; Are you purposely hiding something from someone? No. What’s the most intimate thing you’ve discussed with a stranger? My suicide attempt with doctors. What, if anything, do you substitute for fries? I always get fries. Have you ever been in a building that was on fire? No. Are you in an argument with anyone right now? No. Have you ever written a poem for someone? Yes. Who’s the last person who cussed you out in anger? My grandmother. Who is the person you are closest to that you’ve meet online? Sara. Have you friended your parents on FB? Mom, yes. Dad doesn't have one. What’s the last tourist area you visited? Chicago. Mice or roaches? Mice are precious, meanwhile I hate roaches. Did you give or get any Valentines this year? No. Well, Mom bought me and my sisters each a delicious candy apple, if that counts? What’s your homepage? Google. Is there anyone whose grave you visit? No.

[shireness-says]

hashtag holiday party

Summary: This isn’t Emma’s company, or her holiday party, or her idea of a good time. Is there any good to be salvaged from the worst date ever? ~3.6K. Rated T for language. Also on AO3.

A/N: A couple of weeks ago, there was a great post about the worst company Christmas party date ever on the Ask a Manager blog, and I could resist turning it into a fic! Super thanks to @snidgetsafan, my ever trusty beta. Happy holidays, everyone!

Tagging the interested parties: @ohmightydevviepuu, @profdanglaisstuff, @kmomof4, @katie-dub, @welllpthisishappening, @thisonesatellite, @let-it-raines, @thejollyroger-writer, @phiralovesloki, @winterbaby89, @scientificapricot, @snowbellewells, @searchingwardrobes, @spartanguard, @teamhook, @optomisticgirl

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

Emma Swan has many regrets, but chief among them right now is agreeing to this date.

Well, no. First place on her list of regrets is awarded to going to Mary Margaret’s Christmas party, where she ended up trapped in conversation with Walsh.

(Ugh, Walsh. Just the name should have been her clue to get the hell out of dodge when he’d spotted her across the room.)

Walsh isn’t her friend. Walsh wouldn’t even be considered Mary Margaret’s friend, if not for the fact that the woman is friends with absolutely everyone on the planet. He’s her and David’s neighbor, and he had been in town for the holiday, and Mary Margaret’s got a soft spot the size of Maine for lost souls - it’s how she’s ended up Emma’s best friend, after all. Emma and Walsh had interacted at a few previous gatherings, and he’d been fine. No spark to speak of on her end, but whatever, she’s okay to leave it that way. But clearly, he felt differently, because he asked her to accompany him to his company’s holiday party. In full earshot of Mary Margaret, at that, who had gotten such an excited look on her face, obviously already planning the wedding, that Emma couldn’t actually say no. The bastard had probably planned it that way.

(Shit, she doesn’t even know what he does - marketing, maybe? She barely knows the guy, and now she’s being dragged to his holiday party.)

Emma may not be excited, but she puts on a good show at least - none of this slobbing it up to make him regret asking. She can clean up good. And besides, she’ll be shutting that all down with her words later anyways if he’s stupid enough to ask for a second date - no ploys required. The red dress is cocktail appropriate yet a little bit Christmassy, especially when paired with glittery heels, even if her makeup and hair is simple. There’s a big difference between putting in no effort at all, and knowing what just isn’t worth the effort… and anything more than a bit of eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick falls firmly into the latter category.

It’s a good thing she doesn’t too, as Walsh shows up early. Eight whole minutes early, to be precise. Not the end of the world, but not ideal either. Emma sighs heavily and braces herself before going to the door; Mary Margaret would tell her to be optimistic, but Emma just knows it’s all downhill from here.

Sure enough, as soon as Emma opens the door, Walsh clumsily whips a bunch of fake flowers out of his coat sleeve. “For you, milady,” he proclaims dramatically, offering the fake foliage. “I wanted to start with a magic trick for a magical date and the beginning of a magical relationship.”

And ho boy howdy, does Emma want to call it all off right now. That was the original definition of coming on too hard. That was so far beyond the bounds of acceptable first date behavior, she doesn’t even know where to go from there.

(Far, far away, and very quickly at that.) 

Mary Margaret’s voice chimes in her ear, though, talking about how it’s sweet and charming and will be a great story to tell the grandkids one day, and Emma just knows she’ll shake her head in disappointment if Emma reports back that she ended the date before it even started. It’s especially hard to face Mary Margaret’s big sad eyes, too, when Emma knows that her friend just wants her to be happy.

Besides, she’s been led to believe there will be an open bar at this thing, and she could go for a free drink. Probably free drinks, plural, if the rest of this date goes the same way.

“O...kay. Okay. That’s… okay. Thank you?” Emma finally manages to stutter out, accepting his “gift”. Can’t say she’s ever received fake flowers from a guy - and can’t say she’d want to again.

“Anything for you, Emma.” His voice is about five notches too reverential for comfort. “Can I help you with your coat?”

“That’s fine, I got it.” No need to create an illusion - no pun intended - that she welcomes his attention any more than she actually does. Plus, she’s a grown woman, and it’s easy enough to slip her coat on over her dress by herself. 

If any hope had existed that this date might get better - that this might turn into the cute story to tell their future kids that Mary Margaret is probably hoping for - that hope is thoroughly squashed by the time Emma slides into her seat at the party’s venue. Walsh had circled the parking lot for fifteen minutes, refusing to accept that there was a complimentary valet service (“I just don’t understand why they’ve got whole sections of the parking lot blocked off.” “Because there’s a valet.” “It just feels like there should be more parking spots. Why isn’t there any place to park?” “Because there’s a valet.”). Then, he refuses to give up his coat at the coat check for too goddamn long because, as it turns out, he has all manner of other magic tricks hidden in the pockets and up his sleeves.

It is not nearly as charming as he obviously believes. 

Truthfully, it’s a relief when she and Walsh find their table, drink tickets in hand. At least at the table, there’s other people, and she won’t be forced to only focus on Walsh’s embarrassing attempts at seduction.

“Can I get you a drink?” he offers eagerly - almost too eagerly, really, practically tripping over himself.

Still, it’s an offer for a drink. And Emma’s in no place to refuse one of those, not with how she thinks this night is shaping up to go. “That’d be great, actually,” she replies, handing over her ticket. “Just some red wine please - I’m not real picky about what kind.” Anything alcoholic will do at this point. 

As Walsh trots off towards the bar, Emma turns her attention towards the rest of the table. They’re a mixed bunch of men and women who smile kindly as Emma looks about. She’s grateful for that - hopefully, Emma can use them as a distraction from whatever she’s sure Walsh will get up to.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” the pretty brunette sitting next to Emma asks. It’s the polite way of pointing out that her companion hadn’t bothered to make introductions. 

“Emma Swan,” she replies, extending a hand in greeting. “Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” she smiles back. “I’m Belle French, and this,” she gestures to the man sitting next to her, “is Killian Jones.”

“Hello, lass.” He’s a looker, to say the least - dark hair, blue eyes, charming smile. Sex on legs. Emma tries momentarily, futilely, to remind herself that she shouldn’t be checking out other men while she’s on a date, but fails spectacularly. It’s been evident since the magic flowers that she and Walsh aren’t going anywhere. 

“Hi,” she waves back. “So you both work for the company, then?”

“Oh no,” Killian laughs. “Belle’s actually a librarian. She’s just here with me.”

And damn, isn’t that a pity; all the good ones seem to be taken. Not that she can blame Belle - the brunette seems to be lovely, and who wouldn’t want a piece of that? 

(Emma doesn’t make a habit of ogling other women’s partners, but she just might make an exception for Killian Jones.) 

Emma’s about to strike up a conversation with her neighbors, hopefully learn more - so what do you do here, how did you meet, is this some sort of flexible arrangement I can get in on - but Walsh returns with her drink at that moment. 

It is not in a wine glass. It is not wine. It is not what she asked for. 

“I got you a mudslide,” he explains with an eager look on his face. “I know how much women love chocolate after all!”

Women love wine too, especially this one, Emma thinks, but accepts the drink gingerly to be polite. No sense wasting the drink ticket. “Thanks,” she responds dryly. “I’m, uh… I’m actually not a big fan of chocolate. But I’m sure it’ll be… fine.” At least it’s liquor, and at least it’s something she can nurse. He could have shown up with a fireball shot. 

“Well if you like, we can get you another drink later with -” Walsh darts a hand toward her ear suddenly, and even as Emma jerks away out of instinct, she knows exactly what’s coming. “- this!” He declares triumphantly with a coin in hand. Another magic trick. Because the first one went so well.

It’s… great.

“Huh. That’s… uh… wow. Huh.” There are no words to muddle through this with. There is only the mortification of watching a grown-ass man trying to woo her with magic tricks. “I was just getting to know some of your coworkers, actually; why don’t you introduce me?”

The rest of the table includes Walsh’s boss, Regina, and her husband Robin, and his coworker Ashley with her fiancé Sean. They’re perfectly nice, and friendly, and interesting, and Emma could almost enjoy herself talking to them - if only Walsh would ever give the magic tricks a break. He pulls handkerchiefs out of his sleeves when she reaches for a napkin, procures everything from drink tickets to miniscule flowers from a variety of places all too close to her person for comfort, and is now pulling out a deck of cards. God only knows how many magic tricks he knows with those.

“Why don’t you save those for later?” Emma suggests when he instructs her to pick a card. Without actually making it sound like a suggestion. Alright, it’s a straight-up order. In her defense, it’s been a long night. Walsh has monopolized her attention all evening with these stupid tricks and explanations of all the things they’ll do together, not even bothering to talk to his coworkers beyond the introductions Emma insisted upon. In fact, he’s grown even more insistent about it every time she’s tried to politely redirect his attention. She’s been making an effort at least - to talk about everyone’s Christmases and the baby that Ashley and Sean are expecting and Belle’s job. But it’s hard to keep any conversation going when she’s got Walsh bugging her every other moment to show her another magic trick. She hopes that the message maybe finally has gotten through with a flat refusal to engage. “Now Belle - you were about to tell us about one of the teen programs at the library?”

Unfortunately, Walsh doesn’t take that very well. In some ways, she supposes that the message to stop all the magic tricks finally did get through his thick skull - it’s just that he then stands up from the table and stalks over to the banquet hall’s piano, sitting down with a flourish. Maintaining eye contact with Emma the whole while - oh, how she wishes she hadn’t startled when he’d stood up and stormed away, wishes she had ignored him altogether - he begins to play.

“Is that Adele?” Regina asks after a moment.

Emma groans. “I’m going to need another drink.”

———

It just doesn’t make sense - how such a charming woman as Emma Swan ended up at this holiday party as the date of Walsh Ozman. Killian just can’t understand it; he has to work with Walsh every day, and he’s never been anything less than insufferable.

“I kind of got roped into it,” Emma explains, sipping on the glass of wine she’d finally procured with her second drink ticket. “My best friend is his neighbor, and we were both at her Christmas party, and before I knew it he was asking me and Mary Margaret was giving me that face she has. She’s a matchmaker - always just wants to see everyone happy and paired off. Romance is everywhere if you just look for it and all that.” She takes a long drink, nearly draining the rest of the glass. “Big crock of shit, if this is what it brings.”

He’d like to argue with her, tell her that it’s not all hopeless (if only for the very selfish reason that he’d like to show her otherwise on a much nicer date than she’s currently suffering through)... but Walsh strikes a particularly strong chord right at that moment, rendering anything Killian might try to say in poor taste. Christmas music has been piping through the room since before any of them arrived, but that doesn’t stop Walsh in the least. God, what an obnoxious prick.

“So, how did you two meet?” Emma asks, gesturing between Killian and Belle as she takes another sip, obviously trying to take her mind off the spectacle being staged in her honor across the room. 

“Killian moved into the apartment next to mine… what, three years ago now?” Belle asks, looking to him for confirmation. “Anyways, I dropped by with a tray of cookies as a little ‘welcome to the building’ gesture, and as they say, the rest is history,” she beams. 

“Of course you did,” he thinks he hears Emma mutter into the remains of her wine. Curious, that. It’s almost like she thinks… “Well, I’m happy for you two. You guys are really cute.”

Killian spares a glance at Belle before hastening to reply. “Oh, no, we’re not -”

But before he can clarify the situation - that he and Belle are just friends, no romantic spark to speak of - the distinct strains of “You’re So Vain” drift over from the piano, where Walsh wears a mournful face best suited to sad puppy dog commercials. Like this whole moment isn’t already the stuff of a terrible comedy movie.

Ashley pushes her drink tickets across the table. “I think you might need something a little stronger.”

The understatement of the century. 

———

Emma Swan ends up with a lot of spare drink tickets; everyone seems to recognize that she needs them a lot more than anyone else. With her spare drink tickets, Emma Swan procures a martini, a vodka cranberry, and two rum and cokes before anyone insists she switch to water. It’s certainly understandable that she’d want to drink her way through this utter disaster of a date. 

Walsh still plays the piano.

Killian, in turn, discovers that Emma Swan is an effusively nice drunk. She assures Ashley and Sean that they’re going to the best parents, and declares that Regina is both a queen and a boss-ass bitch in a tone that makes it clear that it’s the highest compliment. Killian thinks he even overhears Emma telling Belle that she’s “an angel nurturing the minds of tomorrow so they can make the world a better place and perpetuate the power of human kindness” as he returns with her final cocktail. 

(He just might have to print off business cards with that mouthful of a title as a gag gift for Belle.)

Eventually, Walsh does tire of his dramatics and return to the table in a huff. Unfortunately, he’s very insistent that it’s time to leave. It makes sense; this party can’t have been much fun for him, despite the elaborate wallowing routine he created for himself. That means Emma has to leave too, though, and Killian will miss her bright smile and endearingly excessive compliments. There’s also the matter of how he’s not sure he trusts Walsh to take her home.

“You know what, Belle and I are about ready to call it a night too. We’ll follow you out,” he insists. Walsh’s glare only solidifies Killian’s determination to do so. “Swan, do you want to text your friend and let her know you’re on your way?”

“I should text Mary Margaret!” Emma slurs. “Have I told you she’s an angel?”

“You sure did, love.”

The coat check shouldn’t result in any great debacle; it’s the coat check after all, practically just a formality. They get their coats, they go. Unfortunately, it’s Walsh, so unfortunately, that’s not the case.

“You’re like a… like a coat guard. A coat-yguard!” Emma grins as her outerwear is handed back. With clumsy fingers, she extracts a ten dollar bill from her wallet - a little excessive, most likely, but hell, she’s feeling good - and drops it into the tip jar.

Only for Walsh to snatch it right back out.

“You don’t have to pay the tip for me,” Emma insists with a stubborn set to her brows. “I’m fine to do it.” 

“Coat check is free, baby,” Walsh tells her with a patronizing tone, trying to stuff the bill into his own coat pocket. Poor taste, that, but still not nearly as poor of taste as refusing to tip.

“Yeah, that’s why you tip,” Emma insists, snatching the bill from his hand to stick it back in the jar again. 

“Don’t be stupid, that’s just a scam.” Walsh even rolls his eyes as he reaches back to the jar again.

Emma slaps his hand on the way. “You know what, you douchebag -”

“Emma would you like a ride home with us instead?” Belle interrupts, reading the situation. It’s more than for the best; Killian doesn’t trust Walsh as far as he can spit.

“Oh my god, yes.” After Emma manages to wrestle back into her coat, she turns back to Walsh for one parting shot. “Now that is what a date is supposed to look like, bozo. These two? They’re hashtag relationship goals.” She even makes the symbol with her hands.

He should correct her, really, but at a certain point, it just seems best to steer Emma out of the building and into his car.

By some miracle, her building is only two blocks away from their own. Emma spends the ride in the backseat with Belle, playing with the brunette’s hair and insisting they exchange numbers. 

“You’ve been a goddamn gem, Killian Jones,” she salutes in parting as Belle leads her inside.

This night has been many things, but memorable certainly tops the list. One thing is for certain: he won’t be forgetting Emma Swan anytime soon.

——— 

Emma wakes the next day with a pounding headache, an intense feeling of humiliation, and Belle French’s number in her phone. Surely, she’s had worse nights, but it’s hard to think of any right now.

She finally manages to work up the nerve to text Belle in mid-afternoon; she definitely owes a variety of people a variety of apologies.

Emma Swan, 4:32pm: hey, it’s Emma. thanks for taking care of my drunk ass last night, i’m sure i was a mess. sorry about that

Belle French, 4:41pm: Don’t worry about it, please! You were great, we should do something again sometime.

Emma Swan, 4:44pm: no mixing drinks, please, for the love of god

Emma Swan, 4:45pm: thank Killian for me too. lucky girl - he seems like a real keeper. unlike my date last night…

Belle French, 4:47: Will do! He’s not my boyfriend, though - we really are just neighbors. He’s like a brother to me, truly. Credit where credit is due, though - he really was a lot better than your tosser!

Emma Swan, 4:51: … oh.

Emma Swan, 4:51: do you know if he has a different girlfriend, then?

Belle French, 4:53: I know for a fact that he doesn’t. Let me send you his number.

———

She should be brave - should use that phone number to reach out and ask him to coffee or drinks or straight into a steamy make-out session. 

Emma Swan does not do any of these things.

(She especially doesn’t tell Mary Margaret - it was already bad enough to have to relive exactly why she and Walsh won’t be having a second date, there’s no need to encourage her friend to transfer all her hopes to poor Killian instead.)

Instead, she runs into Killian completely by chance a week later, as he’s coming out of the post office and she’s walking to the coffee shop. She nearly plows him over, actually - far too focused on checking her email on her phone and not nearly enough on where she’s going.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he grins once they’ve straightened themselves out again.

“Yeah,” Emma laughs. “And sober this time, too!”

(Not one of her stronger lines.)

“A real plus for certain.” Well, at least he seems charmed.

They lapse into a silence for a moment before Emma finds the words to continue. “I just want to thank you, for being so great that night. And apologize for… everything I did. God, I was a mess that night.”

“You were in the middle of a disaster of a situation,” Killian smiles at her. 

“Yeah, well, let’s just call it a lapse in judgement and leave it at that.” Emma winces as memories of the night flick through her brain. “God, did I really make the hashtag symbol with my hands? In public?”

“You really did,” he chuckles. “I take it Belle straightened you out on the relationship bit of relationship goals?”

Emma blushes. “Yeah, she did. Definitely not mortified about that, not at all.”

“Ah, happens to the best of us, Swan.” After another silent moment, his hand steals up to scratch at the bit of neck behind his ear. “Since that’s the case, I was just wondering - well, I’d like to ask, that is, if you’re interested -”

“Do you want to get coffee with me?” Emma interrupts. She thinks that’s where he was going, anyways; she’s just a little more efficient about it.

“I’d love to, Emma.” This time, the grin stretches fully across his face and could probably outshine a whole tree’s worth of Christmas lights.

Who knows? Something good just might have come out of that god-awful holiday party date after all.

[eugenesmorphine]

New Beginnings // Joe Liebgott Imagine

Taglist: @alienoresimagines

I hopped off the ship, straight out of the Pacific theater. The war had ended in the Pacific, now I was back in my city. Now a war beaten female Marine that had zero clue on what she was going to do with life.

  I held my C-Bag tightly in my left hand and used my right to adjust my cap and flatten my skirt. A heavy sigh left my lips as I looked around. Sailors and Marines met with their families. I watched as men ran to their women, kissing them and embracing them happily. How they ran to their families, shedding happy tears. I wasn't going to receive that for my home coming. I didn't have a man, or well I did when I first left, but he had broke things off with me whilst I was n Guadalcanal. Left me for some broad in a bar. Tragic right? I didn't have any family here in San Francisco. I didn't have any pets or any real friends to come home to. Just my apartment and my bed. Which I was more than appreciative to finally come home to instead of sleeping in a dirty and muddy cot in the middle of some jungle. While it poured and we feared that the Japanese would come and override us. But now, I get my nice comfortable bed and warm blankets. I was so ready for it.

  I walked to the curb , clutching my bag's handle. I glanced right and left,  looking to see if a cab would be so kind and stop. Hoping that I wouldn't be charged to much money for a ride to my apartment building. I swung my hand out, waving towards a cab that was coming in my direction, in which it stopped. Surprisingly, I only waited just a minute or two for a Taxi. Especially since it was later at night, I didn't really know the time. I didn't think twice when the cab came to a stop in front of me to open the back seat door and hop into the seat. Placing my bag right besides me. I looked in the rear view mirror, making eye contact with the driver. And wow did I not want to take my eyes off him. Being the only female Marine in all of the Pacific, I was hit on by a lot of men, but I rejected all of them. It is safe to say that Marines just aren't my type. But, let me tell you, this cab driver was something else.

  "Where to Ma'am?" he asked, looking back at me. His accent was different, how he spoke was different. Not a bad different. But very unique. A voice I could easily get lost in.

  "457 South Street, the apartment building," I responded, sliding my Garrison cap off of my head and placing it neatly on my lap.

 "Hey, I live there," the cab driver said as he began driving. A small smile formed on his face as he looked at the road in front of him. I smiled in response. "the name's Joe," he added, looking at me through the rear view mirror. "Joseph Leibgott," he finished. I nodded at his words.

 "Y/N L/N, nice to meet you Mr. Leibgott," I smiled. He chuckled. He seemed very sweet.

 "You were a Marine?" he asked, looked into the mirror. I nodded, looking down at my lap. quickly realizing and processing the things I have been through in the past few years. How in the world was I going to adapt to normal life now?

 "Yes sir, served all the way from Guadalcanal to Okinawa," I stated. I straightened my shoulders, trying to look and act more strong and proud than I actually was. He nodded, an impressed look spreading across his face.

  "I was in the Airborne, 101st, European Theater," he replied. I nodded in response. I wouldn't even think of him as being apart of this awful war. I looked down at my lap, awkwardly not knowing what to say. It had been so different trying to have a normal conversation outside of what I just endured for the past few years. "I understand the having trouble with the conversations like you did before leaving," he chuckled. I gave a small laugh back. Joe was very nice, I wanted to get to know him more.

  Soon enough, my stop came. The cab came to stop at my apartment complex. I was glad to be home, more than anything. But, I had a strange inner feeling of sadness within me. For some odd reason, I didn't want to depart from Joe. I got a safe feeling from him, or something like that while speaking. I sighed as I grabbed my bag. I reached into my pocket to grab some cash, pulling it out and handing it out to him. In which he put his hand up, refusing the cash. I made a face at him, pushing my cash filled hand towards him again.

 "Come on Joe, take the money. You drove me to my apartment and it's late as hell. You deserve at least a little something," I pleaded, keeping my hand extended to him. He pushed my hand away and turned in the drivers seat to look at me. This way I got a full view of his face. My face grew red. He was even better looking.

"Nah Y/N, don't you worry about it. It's on the house," I sighed at his response. Knowing he wouldn't be changing his mind any time soon. I placed my money back into my chest pocket, shaking my head slightly in defeat. I glanced up to see him turn back around in the drivers seat, a small smile on his face. I grabbed my C-Bag, shuffling myself out of the cab. "See you around L/N?" he asked, a small smile on his lips. I looked at him, pulling a stray piece of hair behind my ear.

  "See you around Leibgott."

///

   The next couple weeks were rough. Between failed job interviews, nightmares, not sleeping, and trouble interacting socially with people in everyday life. But by far, the nightmares were the worst. Waking up every night in cold sweats, crying, and constantly reliving all the horrors I saw back in the Pacific. I could never sleep after them either. So getting a full night's rest was rare on most occasions. I hated it and there wasn't really anything I could do about it.

  Today I had another job interview. I had one of the worst nightmares I have had these past weeks. I left my apartment, puffier eyes than usual and more tired than usual. I wasn't at all prepared for the day and at this point of failure, I had just given up in the moment. I ran my fingers through my hair as I walked quickly down the sidewalk. I heard a car horn honk at me. Wonderful. The gross men of San Francisco. I looked in that general direction, ready to give the person a nasty look. That was, until I met the eyes of no other than Joseph Leibgott. My face softened in the slightest. I was tired, but I always had time for him. He had a smile and smirk all in one plastered on his face. I looked left and right before quickly walking over to his cab.

 "Well good morning Miss. Y/N, how are you?" he was cheery, but not as cheery as usual. I noticed his eyes. They seemed red and puffy. Like he had just finished up crying. His nose the slightest tint of pink. Was he feeling the same way I did? He had slight blue bags beneath his eyes. Was he not sleeping either? I nodded in response to his question. I had no time to talk to him, I had already been running late for the job interview.

  "I'm fine Joe, I don't got time this morning. I have another job interview," I said it came much ruder than I had expected it to. But, sadly I had no time to apologize. I watched his somewhat happy look on his face quickly fade into a sad and disappointed look. I huffed and looked away.

 "Oh, I'm sorry Y/N. I didn't mean to get in your way or anything," I sighed and just muffled and 'I'm fine' before turning around and quickly. Trying not catch he look of pure sadness sketched across the man's face. I kept my head down and kept walking.

///

    I was walking home now from the interview. And just my luck, I got caught in the pouring rain. Without an umbrella. So now I was walking in the rain, hair soaked, tightly hugging my jacket around my cold body. A small coffee shop came into view, in which it looked open. Anything to get out of the cold rain. I also could use a coffee, this day had been awful so far, and right now a coffee is what I needed at this moment. I walked to it and open the door, a bell ringing as I walked through the entrance. I ordered just a normal hot coffee and once I retrieved the hot mug, I walked and sat at a booth by myself.  I cupped the mug, enjoying the warmth radiating out of it and into my hands. For a brief moment my body stopped shivering and my teeth stopped shattering, appreciating the small amount of heat coming from the mug. I went to take a sip, lifting and pressing the mug between my lips. Tilting the cup so the hot liquid would go down my throat. Oh how soothing and relaxing it was. Besides my hair and clothes dripping wet, making me feel as if I was going to catch Pneumonia, the moment was very nice.

  As I sat alone, I heard the bell on top of the door ring. Out of spite and out of straight curiosity, I looked up to see the person who walked in. And I locked eyes with non other than Joe Leibgott. His hair was dripping wet along with his jacket. His eyes seemed redder than earlier that day when I had first encountered him in the morning. Oh god, I was so mean.  Now that I think back on it, Joe didn't deserve how I treated him. I wanted to apologize so bad, I was just scared to. Scared to hurt him even more some how.

 His look softened when our eyes met, the tiniest smile spreading across his face. I looked back at the mug that was on the table in front of me. Ever since the day Joe drove me home from the ship yard, ever since we actually became friends these past few weeks going into months, Joe's smile never failed to make me smile. No matter what. I heard footsteps approach my table, I glanced up at the person. As I thought, it was in fact Joe. I had an awkward look in my eyes as I looked up at him. I couldn't help but feel so awful for how I acted this morning. All I could see wad the look of pure sadness after I had yelled at him. He sat on the opposite side of me. I glanced up at him, his puppy like smile still on his lips. Making me raise my head to look at him fully, straightening my shoulders.

  "Look, I'm sorry for the way I had acted this morning Joe. I was just in a bad mood, I had a rough night and you just didn't deserve that," I apologized. I tried showing more emotions. It was one of my weaknesses recently. I felt tears prick at my eyes just at the thought of how awful last night was. Not including how terrible the day had been. Though, as soon as I finished apologizing,  Joe looked up at me.

  "Y/N, don't apologize, I get it. I live right beneath you, I can hear your restless nights when you have crying fits with the nightmares. I get it Y/N, I deal with it to," I looked at him shocked. My mouth slightly agape as I just stared at him. He heard me crying all those nights? He knows about my nightmares almost every night? He understands? My face changed a slight shade of pink in embarrassment, wishing he had never heard me any of those nights. He just looked back at me, seeming to be waiting for a response. But what was I supposed to say to that? I felt a few tears slip down my cheeks. All I could think of were questions.

 "Why is it so hard coming back Joe?" I asked, my voice shaky. I tried to keep my face faced away from the man in front of me. That was until he had reached over, placing his index finger and middle finger beneath my chin and tilting my head up to look back at him. I swallowed hard, not wishing for any more tears to fall.

  "No one said it was going to be easy Y/N. Hell, I do understand the painful nights. The nightmares, the random crying fits, panic attacks. It is something we have to deal with us to. But, we don't have to do it alone," he understood. How stupid was I to not think he would be feeling the same way and or experiencing the same things I was? And what was he trying to say, 'We don't have to do it alone.' Was he meaning with me. With someone else. Together? God I was stupid and confused. I sniffled, quickly wiping me eyes from its tears. Trying to pretend and ignore the fact that I was crying. Marines weren't supposed to cry. Especially some roughed up female veteran.

 "Care to take me home Mr. Taxi Man?" I asked. Looking up at Joe, giving him a smile. He gladly gave me a smile in return, standing up. I followed his actions and we walked out of the coffee shop together. Laughing as we tried running through the rain to his Cab, trying not to get any more soaked then we were. But, by the time we had reached the cab and hopped in, both of our clothes had been dripping and water droplets fell from our hair. My mascara must have been running, it would've been a miracle if not. I caught the eye of Joe once more. Who had been staring at me in some sort of way I couldn't make out what it was just yet.

  "Why are you staring at me like that?" I asked, laughing slightly between words. I must've not been looking to cute in the moment. My H/C hair was drenched and dripping, much red lipstick slightly smudged, and my mascara was most definitely running. Most likely, I wasn't looking the cutest.

  "You are so pretty," he replied, the softest smile on his face. His eyes filled with what I could see was love. That's how I knew he meant it. My face turned a bright shade of red as I giggled shyly at his comment. I had been given thousands of compliments like his in my Marine Corps days, but none of them made me feel as nice as his did when he said them. I looked down at my lap, smiling as I bit down on my bottom lip slightly. I glanced at the man in the driver's seat out of the corner of my eye, seeing the small smile curled on the side of his lips as he started the vehicle and started driving.

  The car ride was somewhat quiet. Surprisingly. We drove until we stopped out our apartment building. It had gotten dark, but the rain hadn't quit yet. Joe and I had made sure to quickly hop out of his cab and quickly run through the rain for what seemed the thousandth time today. And once again, we got inside the building and we were drenched completely head to toe from the rain. We looked at each other and started laughing. We both looked relativity funny at the moment. And with that, Joe and I were running up the stairs to reach my floor. Like children we ran up the multiple flights of steps while laughing loudly. Doing this all the way up to my floor and running up to my door. Giggling as we had ran out of breath and we stared at each other. Just standing that way for a while and staying in silence. Just looking at each other.

  "What I meant by when we don't have to deal with all that bad stuff by ourselves, is that we can do it together," his voice soft but hard. He meant every word he said and would take that to the grave. I looked up at him and he got closer to me. My cheeks and ears heating me up like a stove on high. I felt him reach for my hand and I reached for his back. Keeping my eyes locked on his.

  "I'm okay with that," I replied, my voice soft as can be. I continued looking up at him, mentally laughing at the large height difference between the two of us. He tilted my head up with once again with his index and middle finger. Smiling slightly down at me.  He arched his neck down, his lips getting next to mine. Though he stopped just a few inches short. I could feel his hot breath on my lips. Making me whine slightly.

 "Is it alright if I do this?" though, before he could finish asking, I stood on my toes in order to press myself up to his lips. His lips were chapped but soft. The felt perfect against mine. I wasn't complaining at all. Our lips moved perfectly in sync with each other as he pulled me closer to him.

 We kissed for only a few moments later before we parted for air. I panted slightly along with him. My cheeks and ears feeling hot as the corners of my lips curled upwards. My eyes locked on his. Joe's cheeks were flushed red as he scratched the back of his neck a little awkwardly with a smile growing wide on his face.

  "Well Mr. Leibgott, I have to turn in for the night. Meet in the morning tomorrow?" I asked, my smile never leaving. He nodded, shoving his hands into his jackets pockets.

  "Of course Miss L/N, I'd be more than happy to," a toothy grin displaying onto his facial features. I gave him a soft wink as he went to walk towards the stair cases. He turned to give me one last little smile and two fingered salute before he began walking down the stairs and I turned to open my apartment door. Which I pushed open and walked into. I kicked off my shoes and changed out of my wet clothes and cleaning off my gross makeup. I laid down in bed, my smile not leaving my face once. I was the happiest I have ever been.

  That night, I didn't have any nightmares. No panic attacks. No crying fits. Neither did I the rest of the week. For once the week was peaceful. All from the work of once retired paratrooper. I felt like I was in love. Was I? God, I knew I was. And I didn't care. Joe was who I wanted. My angel in disguise I guess. He was and is more than I ever asked for.

 Life was good for once.