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dannypuro · 4 years

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You said your askbox was open so!! From Something Telling I am very invested in the mutual pining of Feuilly and Baz and just that individually they were like. Whispering their feels to their friends. I am parched for any details of. Them. If you are amenable. BYE <3

YOU!!! YOU UNDERSTAND!!!! YOU AND YOUR WONDERFUL ASKS AND GIANT COMMENTS UNDERSTAND THE IMPORTANT PARTS OF SOMETHING TELLING ma’am i owe you my life. i adore you. and yes, without further ado... A Very Long Post about the boys.

feuilly moves into bahorel’s apartment building when he first moves to france, like, five or six years before the start of Something Telling. and he doesn’t speak a lot of french at ALL, at first, because he wasn’t expecting to move, but he got an opportunity with a gallery kind of last minute and he only had time to panic and duolingo it up a little bit. but he moves into baz’s apartment building, all the way up in the tiny attic apartment, and he doesn’t hire any movers because he’s broke, and that would be fine, except the elevator breaks sometime between when he goes out to find some furniture and when he gets said furniture delivered to outside the building. and now he has to figure out how to get this stupid second-hand couch up five flights of stairs and he doesn’t even know anyone in the country he can call for help.

cue bahorel, coming back from the gym and all sweaty and gross. (nasty.) and he’s never seen feuilly before, but he is CERTAINLY seeing him now. 👁👁. and they have an awkward little conversation--all “hey, dude, do you, like, need a hand?” and poor feuilly desperately trying to remember his duolingo to figure out what the fuck this hot guy is saying to him. bahorel is instantly enamored--feuilly is fucking pretty, okay, and he’s funny and his accent is cute and baz just fucking knows feuilly’s smarter than him and he’s so fucking into it. just. he’s so into him.

and the thing is, baz is pretty sure feuilly’s maybe into him, too--he helps him drag the couch up the stairs, and they make conversation, and he thinks that he’s flirting, a little, and he’s definitely ogling baz up a bit. and, like, yeah, sure--he knows he’s hot, and feuilly’s smoking hot, in an overworked, tired, starving artist way, so... yeah. he’s totally gonna sleep with his brand-new hot neighbor.

only, then they start talking about why feuilly’s moving into the building--he tells baz that he’s new to paris, new to france, and he doesn’t know anybody, doesn’t even really speak french, and he moved for work but he doesn’t really know what he’ll do outside of that, and he’s just so! fucking! charming! and smart! and baz is like. right. well. 🥺, dude.

they get up to feuilly’s apartment (and HOOOO, feuilly’s pretty strong, actually 👁👁 wow 👁👁 what a coincidence bahorel is shredded as well👁👁 maybe we can hook up and be shredded together👁👁) and set the couch down. and bahorel looks around his empty little attic apartment and takes in his nearly-empty kitchen and his one beautiful houseplant in the middle of the room, because that’s where the most light is, and he can’t just LEAVE. not when feuilly doesn’t have any friends. feuilly’s awesome, baz already knows it! he should meet baz’s awesome friends!

only, feuilly’s kind of- feuilly’s kind of leaning in, a bit, and bahorel has hooked up with enough dudes to know when someone’s putting on the moves. and he’s SO into it, and he almost just kisses him, almost hooks up with him on the couch that they just hauled up five flights of stairs together, only-

only, if feuilly’s a one-night stand, he won’t want to meet baz’s awesome friends, and he seems so lonely. so bahorel takes one for the team. and instead of leaning in to make out with the hottest dude he’s ever met, he’s just like HEY MY FRIENDS ARE HAVING A GET-TOGETHER TONIGHT WANNA COME YOU CAN MEET THEM THEY’RE SUPER NICE AND COOL. (oh, god, he really hopes feuilly wants to.)

feuilly’s a little taken aback, for obvious reasons, but- but he does want to meet bahorel’s friends, and mostly, he wants to spend some more time with bahorel, and it’s a shame that he wasn’t reading the room right when he thought baz was into him, but, well, you can’t have everything. maybe he can’t get laid by his super-hot neighbor, but hey, if he can meet some people who don’t mind that he doesn’t actually speak french yet, and if he can get to know bahorel a little better, he’ll take it.

feuilly goes to the party. jehan adores him, obviously. feuilly doesn’t, like... get what’s up with them, yet, since he didn’t watch french media growing up and therefore missed all of their child-stardom, but he likes them just fine, anyways. jehan’s like 20 and is blazed out of their mind and is having a medieval phase (one of many). feuilly is confused, but also within 90 minutes realizes that he would INSTANTLY throw hands with ANYONE if it was for jehan’s sake. so.

jehan’s all like “go talk to grantaire! he knows all sorts of things about art! he’s working on painting me naked!” so feuilly goes to talk to the lump in the corner but like. listen. grantaire’s having a hard time. he doesn’t make an awesome first impression. not awful, just... he’s having a hard time. feuilly gets it. they become better friends a little later, mostly because bahorel keeps dragging feuilly around with him whenever he’s free. (not like feuilly minds)

but feuilly doesn’t make a move on bahorel again. because he must have misread the situation, right? otherwise they would have fucked. they’d BE fucking. too bad bahorel doesn’t like him like that. oh, well, at least they’re friends!

bahorel DOES like him like that. duh. feuilly’s awesome. but he hasn’t made a move on bahorel since that first afternoon. he’s probably just not that into bahorel, past the one-night-stand type stuff. oh, well, at least they’re friends!

life goes on. they hang out a lot. like, a LOT. they’re totally each other’s best friends. feuilly learns more french. (baz is actually super relieved when he can’t quite manage to get rid of the accent, even though he would never say so, because that would hurt feuilly’s feelings. baz tries not to act like a dick around feuilly, even though he kind of is one around other people, sometimes. he just... wants feuilly to like him.) feuilly gets absorbed into the group. he picks up another job, in addition to the work he’s doing for the gallery, and he’s making a little more money, which is good for both of them, because feuilly can afford meals that aren’t mostly rice, sometimes, and bahorel doesn’t have to spend all day every day wondering how he’s going to be able to get feuilly to let him pay for his food this time around. (if they were dating, baz thinks, if they were dating, he could take feuilly out for dinner and pay for it and pay for the wine and for the dessert, too, and feuilly wouldn’t be able to give him that look he shoots him whenever baz “accidentally” orders the wrong dish from the thai place down the road, so what if it always happens to be feuilly’s favorite, shut up, man, it’s a coincidence)

but feuilly’s making more money, so he decides to move out of his shitty attic apartment, because it kind of sucks, and it’s miniscule, and he’s an adult, damn it. he finds a new place that is marginally larger and marginally less shitty, and it’s not even that far away, just a couple blocks, and he tells baz he’ll be moving when his lease is up that year.

bahorel just wants to beg him to move in with him, but he only has the one bedroom, and feuilly’s not his fucking boyfriend. so he helps feuilly move, because he’s a good buddy, and he gets hammered with grantaire, after, because grantaire is lonely for someone he hasn’t met yet and bahorel is terrified that feuilly isn’t going to want to hang out with him now that they aren’t neighbors anymore.

feuilly, meanwhile, is across town at grantaire’s apartment (sans grantaire) getting blazed with jehan because he’s terrified that bahorel isn’t going to want to hang out with him now that they aren’t neighbors anymore. (jehan’s all 🥺You Are Always Welcome At My Humble Abode🥺 and feuilly’s very touched but he’s pretty sure he’s totally in love with bahorel and he’s scared and he’s also not sure that jehan even pays rent. so.)

they totally keep hanging out. obviously. (maybe a little bit less than they used to, but if baz thinks about that he’ll fucking cry.) bahorel feels a little bit like his heart is going to break, which is totally lame and which was not the plan when he agreed to help move a couch three years earlier. it’s just... there’s nobody like feuilly. there’s nobody even CLOSE to being like feuilly. and feuilly doesn’t like him. and so he spends a lot of time at grantaire’s place, and jehan finally gets their own apartment, so he’s free to cry into grantaire’s shoulder all he fucking wants.

feuilly goes on dates, sometimes. bahorel could totally treat him better than any of those dickheads. damn it.

bahorel hooks up with people, sometimes. feuilly could totally fuck him better than any of those dickheads. damn it.

and then grantaire gets a weird new roommate, or something. baz doesn’t know, fuck, nobody tells him jack shit. but he stops hearing from grantaire for a couple weeks, for the most part, and then he gets the party invite in the groupchat, and fuck, if there’s a housewarming party, he shall attend. feuilly mentions something to him about R’s new roomie being some philosopher, or something, but bahorel was kind of busy watching him fold up little origami flowers out of newspaper, so he missed all that. it’s cool, he’ll catch up.

apparently, grantaire’s roommate is from the 19th century. apparently, grantaire also has a massive fucking crush on him. huh.

when they first meet, feuilly and enjolras are kind of hilariously enamored by one another. not in a romantic way, just in a Very Intense Admiration type way. after they meet at the housewarming party, enjolras is like “I Must Find A Way To Speak With Feuilly Again, For He Is A Brilliant Mind And A Good Man” and combeferre is like... want me to invite him over? and enjy is like “No, I Must Pen Him A Letter. Yes. This Is A Good And Rational Plan.” (he spills coffee all over the letter right when he’s almost done and almost cries. ferre just invites feuilly over anyways.)

feuilly, of course, is freaking out about whether or not he can find a way to hang out with enjolras again. because! ahh!!! that’s François-Marie Enjolras, political revolutionary and philosopher!!!! feuilly’s read his essays like five times!!! what reason would he have to want to talk to feuilly? but also, like... he did want to talk to feuilly--at the party, he’d talked to feuilly for hours, and he’s so smart and a little funny and he’d listen to Feuilly go on and on about slavic history and he hadn’t looked bored once, and just- Ah!!!! and he’s trying to figure out if it would be weird if he asked enjolras if he’d want to meet over coffee when he gets combeferre’s text. (it’s something like, enjolras just composed a letter trying to ask you if you’d want to hang out with him do you want to come over before he uses up all of my printer paper? and then, also, don’t tell him i told you about the letter he’s kind of freaked about making a good impression) and feuilly’s just like. :o

and both grantaire and bahorel see enjolras and feuilly embarking on this sweet, awkward, smart person friendship and they’re like. Oh Shit. They’re In Love With Each Other. Shit. because of course feuilly would fall in love with enjolras--feuilly’s too smart for bahorel, anyways, baz has always known that, and it makes sense that he’d fall for someone who can keep up with him. and of course enjolras would fall in love with feuilly--feuilly is kind and super smart and he knows all sorts of things about modern philosophy and he’s hot, okay, and enjolras is too smart for grantaire, anyways. ugh. baz and R get hammered and cry about it together, but the shitty thing is that they can’t even be too angry, because it’s so obvious.

meanwhile, enjolras and feuilly are across town talking about their stupid crushes on their hot beefy friends. commiserating, yanno? feuilly’s all “sometimes i wish i just kissed him that first day i met him, sometimes i wish i hooked up with him at that party, maybe he would have started liking me after” and enjolras is all “why does he never wear shirts with SLEEVES, i do not know what to DO with myself!!!”

and then one day feuilly and baz are hanging out and baz is like “haha grantaire has the biggest crush on enjolras” (because he can’t keep a secret to save his life.) and feuilly’s like.... “grantaire likes enjolras?” and baz is like “uh YEAH dude. DUH” and feuilly’s like. “that can’t be right--enjolras told me grantaire doesn’t like him back” and baz is like... “bACK?” and then he’s like “WAIT ENJOLRAS DOESN’T LIKE YOU?” and feuilly is like... no?

they realize that their friends are idiots. and they try to help, really, they do--feuilly keeps suggesting that maybe, maybe, enjolras can’t know that grantaire doesn’t like him if he’s never actually asked, and he keeps pointing out things that grantaire does that nobody actually does if they’re not totally gone for somebody; bahorel is straight up just like “R bro enjolras wants to be your boy so bad” and R is like I Am Electing Not To Listen To You.

and then-

and then, they all go out to a bar together. they get hammered, etc. etc. and they’re laughing about how grantaire and enjolras are oblivious, how could they not know that they like each other, everybody keeps telling them to go for it, and then-

hold on.

hold on, because- because that’s what everybody tells bahorel about feuilly. that he should just go for it. that maybe it’s not as hopeless as he thinks. and feuilly’s just sitting there, and he’s so fucking pretty, sometimes, honestly, and bahorel loves him so much, and he’s drunk, and he can’t stand not knowing even a second longer.

#i'll post the bar scene later tonight hold yer horses #bahorel x feuilly #les miserables #les mis #kiaronna

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loverontheleft · 3 years

Text

MoSex 4

AU with single Kinky Boots!B. Fluff and smut. Parts 1-3 can be found on my Masterlist in my bio. Moodboard by @a-silver-linings-boyfriend

Brendon x reader. Warnings: So...we’ve ( @beautiful-tragic-fallout ) created a points system for smut.

0.25 for handjob

0.25 for fingering

0.5 for blowing him

0.5 for going down on her

0.75-1.0 for sex, vanilla

1.5-2.0 for sex, advanced positions

3.0 for bondage, spanking, other kinks, or public sex.

This chapter has a score of 6.75 along with general filth, some fluff, language, and dirty talk.

Word count: 6.4k

-||-

You smell him before you feel him. It's the fresh, clean scent of his cologne with its lemon undertones, combined with the sweet, intoxicating smell that is the result of the last hour in his bed with his head between your thighs and your soft, desperate cries as he brought you to orgasm again and again.

“What is it, Princess?” His voice is low as he crawls back up the bed, and you relax back against his chest when his hands wrap around your hips. He guides you back so you’re nestled against his gloriously naked body and smiles against your neck where he’s pressing warm, gentle kisses. “You still seem stressed. Am I losing my touch? Thought I would’ve fucked that out of you by now.”

“You did, for the most part,” you admit, eyes fluttering shut in post-orgasm bliss, before turning to face him. “And I enjoyed your efforts very much. It’s just...I’m sorry, I’m just a little distracted. Normally, I have another job lined up by now. And I mean - I’m fine. My savings are solid. I’d be fine. But with my Kinky Boots contract ending, I should be moving on. There should be something else coming up. And there isn’t.”

“It’ll work out,” Brendon soothes, running a hand through your hair and down your back. “Besides, maybe the universe just wants to see exactly what me spoiling you constantly would look like.” You grin feebly and press closer to him, relishing the feel of his hard cock pressed firmly against your stomach. “I think…” and he pauses for a moment, waiting for you to tip your head up to meet his eyes. “I think I’m gonna stick around for a bit. After my run ends, I mean. I like New York. I haven’t gotten to really explore the area because when I’m not in rehearsal or actually performing or doing press, I’m tangled up with my sweet girl here.” He nuzzles you affectionately. “And I have no intention of giving up my time with her. So, if I want to immerse myself in the city, it’s going to have to wait til my time with the show is over.”

Your breath is caught in your chest and you hardly dare ask the question, but this has been on your mind too and if he’s bringing it up… “you mean you’re staying?” You can hear the hope in your voice. He can too.

“For a while, yeah. I-” he hesitates, tracing a path down your hip. “I love you, Y/n.”

You’re pretty sure he can feel your heart racing. The room is spinning. There’s a ringing in your ears and you feel dizzy. “You love me?” You’re giddy, eyes wide, fingers numb with sheer euphoria, cheeks hurting from the size of your smile.

“I love you,” he confirms, reaching down to grab your waist and hoist you up higher. “Do you, uh...well, I mean. Do you...I was just wondering if you…”

“I love you too,” you whisper, tugging him in by the back of his head to kiss him firmly. “I love you too.” You’re running your fingertips along his jaw, pressing yourself to him, and he’s beaming at you.

“Fuck, that feels so good to say,” Brendon murmurs against your mouth, rolling you both over so he can press you down into his mattress and kiss you deeply. “And so good to hear.”

You tangle your legs around his waist and grind subtly, seeking him. “I love you,” you repeat, scratching at his back as he shifts to fill you. “You’re really staying?”

“I’m really staying, Y/n,” he tells you, groaning in pleasure as you rock your hips up to take him deeper and kiss his neck. “Yes, Princess, my sweet girl. My babydoll. I’m staying. Fuck, you’re always such a good girl for me - take my cock, honey- yes!”

His fingers clutch at you as your back arches, and you whine and beg him to mark you up. “No one will see,” you assure him breathlessly. With the time that’s passed since the show opened, he’s getting more attention and that means you are too. You’ve gotten accustomed to the hat and sunglasses routine and you enjoy tucking yourself into the crook of his arm as he and Zack usher you into wherever you’re all headed. He makes you feel safe. But with more attention comes the requirement of being more careful about leaving marks. A stray visible one could be bad, but you don’t care right now: you want it. You know he does too. He loves watching you strip and seeing all the marks he’s left on your body. “Baby, please. Need you to claim me.”

He groans into your neck, biting down and suckling eagerly, and you shriek, hitching a leg higher over his waist. “Yes, fuck yes,” you gasp. “I love you, Brendon.”

“I love you,” he manages, slightly breathless as he picks up the pace of thrusting into you. “I want my princess to come on my cock.” He slides two fingers into your mouth and you suck greedily. “Good girl,” he praises, and you whimper when he rolls a nipple in between his now-slick fingers. “You sound so pretty, doll. Gonna come for me?”

“Uh huh,” you whisper, tangling a hand in his hair and tugging his mouth down to yours. “Gonna come in me?”

“Fuck,” Brendon mumbles, nipping at your lower lip affectionately. “You know I will, Princess, if you’re still okay with that?”

It’s been two months since the accident in his dressing room, and in bed the next morning, you suggested that maybe, if the two of you were going to be exclusive, maybe the condoms weren’t essential. You were on good birth control anyway, you told him, and you felt like the two of you were good at commitment, so you were okay with forgoing the condoms if he meant it when he said exclusive. Before you had a chance to gauge his reaction, he was on top of you, kissing you fervently, thanking you and promising you that he was committed and you were the only one. One very romantic date to a clinic for testing and two good news phone calls later, and you’ve been able to feel him and only him every time since. He still checks every time though, and you love him for that. Plus, you just love hearing him say it. “You good with me coming in your perfect pussy?” He’s breathing hard as he slides in deep, fingers gripping your thighs as he tries to control himself and wait for permission.

“You know I’m okay with it. You know I love when you come in me.” You drop your legs from his waist and spread them wide, hooking your ankles over the edge of the bed. “Give it to me,” you beg, gasping when he bites down on your neck while thrusting hard and reaching down to rub your clit.

“You first, babydoll. You’ve gotta come for me first, Y/n, you know that.” He’s kissing you frantically, moaning every time your tongues brush, and you can feel your body tensing as he pushes you closer to the edge. “That’s it, Princess. Be a good girl. Be my sweet, messy girl and come all over my cock. Come on my cock.” His encouragement is exactly what you need.

“Ooooh shit!” Your squeal is paired with your nails raking down his back and he grunts, thrusting hard one final time before you feel him trembling over you, praising you and rocking into you through his climax. “Yes, Bren, yes!”

His stomach is tense from the rapid thrusts and there’s a sheen of sweat over his skin. His chest is flushed pink and his eyes are dark, and he’s mumbling something about how in love with you he is. He’s still shuddering over you when you reach for him, needing him closer. He drops down to his forearms and kisses you softly, wrapping you into an embrace. The kiss is sweet and serene, and you find yourself getting lost in it until you break the kiss to yawn. “My perfect girl,” he whispers, grinning at you and tugging the abandoned blankets back up over your bodies. “You sleepy, Princess?”

“Uh huh,” you whisper, snuggling closer. “Less stressed too.” You don’t need to say how much his imminent departure was weighing on you. He knows.

“Good,” Brendon murmurs, stroking a hand down your back and holding you close. “We’ll shower later. Love when you come that hard for me. Makes me fucking wild.”

You agree softly, wiggling against him and guiding his half-hard cock back into you. “Like feeling you in me while we sleep. Like when you have dirty dreams and get hard while you sleep. Love you.”

“I love you too,” Brendon says, kissing the top of your head. “I love you too.”

-||-

“So where will you live?” You’re washing your hair as Brendon leans against the wall of his shower, watching you. “Can you extend the lease on this place?” You look over at him, curiosity all over your face. You’re trying to focus on the conversation, but he really is astonishingly gorgeous, and he’s wet and naked and yours.

“Not sure…but Zack is looking into it. I’d rather stay here if I can, but I figure if I need a new place, I can go house-hunting. Apartment hunting?” He ponders this and you laugh, realizing that he’s probably got some sprawling property back in California. You’ve never lived anywhere other than apartments and brownstones, so a whole house with a yard and probably a pool is such a foreign concept.

“Apartment is most likely,” you tell him, whimpering with delight when he moves back under the water and kisses you softly. “Penthouse, maybe…if you’re feeling fancy,” you manage as his lips move down your neck and his hands curve over your ass.

“As long as I have a space to take you to bed, a space to make you breakfast, and a space to bathe with you after we’re done ravishing each other, I don’t care where I live.” He grins up at you through wet lashes. “I have my priorities straight.”

“Yeah you do,” you say affectionately, ruffling his wet hair. “Though I’d like you to stay here too...I know this area now. I even have a favorite bagel place around the corner.”

Brendon grins and turns the water off, wringing out your hair gently before passing you a towel. “And I’m sure wanting to stay here doesn’t have anything to do with that huge four-post bed to which I routinely tie you...before devouring your pussy until we need to change the sheets.” He winks and you blush, protesting that the bed is a nice perk too but the location of this brownstone is great. He laughs. “We’ll know I’m becoming a New Yorker when I base my living situation on a favorite bagel place,” he teases. “For now, I’ll just let my brilliant, sexy girlfriend pick where we go. She’s never steered me wrong.”

“I don’t know how you can eat them from just anywhere. Murray’s has the best salt bagels, and you never need to go anywhere else.” You cross your arms as if the point is decided and Brendon kisses your forehead.

“You’re right. Murray’s or nothing.” He pauses as you both dry off. “But what if I told you I sent Zack out for breakfast and he didn’t go there?”

You frown at him as you wiggle into a pair of leggings and tug one of his shirts over your head. “I’d say you owe me another weekend at the Plaza with lots of oral and then maybe I can find a way to forgive the transgression,” you tease, shrieking with laughter when he scoops you up into his arms and carries you back to the bed.

“He went to Murray’s, don’t worry. I specified.” He winks at you. “And I already booked our room for next weekend.” He places you down on the bed and flops next to you. “What’s more, I can assure you there will be plenty of me eating you out. I’m already dreaming about you in that bed, hips tipped up so I can grab your ass and really make you come on my tongue. I know we just showered, but damn, I want to get you naked and sitting on my face again, riding my tongue. You’re intoxicating.” He kisses your cheek and you wrap your arms around him, snuggling in close.

“You’re a unicorn,” you tell him. “No one else has ever gone down on me half as good or half as often. My unicorn.”

He beams at you, the love clear on his face. “And I’m planning on keeping it that way. You’re my girl. My babydoll. My princess. Mine. I want you to feel as incredible as you can. Plus, I just really love the feeling of your pussy on my face.” He grins when you blush and rolls over on top of you, sliding down your body and tugging your leggings down. “Can’t get enough of you,” he groans, licking gently.

“Oh fuck,” you sigh, spreading your legs wider for him. “Yeah, baby, just like that. Just - yes...uh huh, fuck yes!”

Brendon smiles and slides two fingers in deep, rocking them forward gently while he fastens his lips around your clit and frets his tongue against you. The squeal you let out is piercing and he presses more insistently with his fingers, all the while telling you not to come yet. He knows you could, but he wants you to be good and wait.

“What?” You sound frantic and in disbelief, but he laughs, telling you that he’ll make you come soon. “Yeah you will,” you pant, moaning and wiggling against his face. “Wanna come on your tongue.”

He groans his approval and squeezes your ass with one hand, thrusting hard with the fingers of his other one. “Wanna eat your cunt for every meal; just want to make this last. Can’t get enough of your sweetness on my face,” he says in a ragged voice, clearly grinding down into the mattress. “Babydoll, my love - let me have you. Need you to rub your sweet cunt on my face and come for me.” His tongue goes back to your clit.

“I’m allowed to come?” You’re breathless, clutching at his hair with both hands and frantically grinding your pussy against his eager mouth and rolling tongue. He nods and you gasp your gratitude as your eyes roll back and your thighs tighten around his head.

He grips your thighs hard and shudders in pleasure, lapping at you needily. The security alarm chimes and he pulls back, hair wild, eyes dark, and swollen lips smeared with you. “Breakfast is here.”

-||-

The episode of Brooklyn99 has just ended and the next one is queued up, which means It’s his turn to lay with his head in your lap. You lift your head up off of his thighs and flip yourself around so he can assume the position you’ve just abandoned. “What will you do when you’re done with the show?” You pose the question as you run your fingers through his hair.

“Get another bagel and then go down on my girlfriend again.” He says this casually and snuggles closer to you, rubbing his head back against your hand.

“What?” You pause, and then laugh. “No, B. I meant after Kinky Boots. Not this episode...although I’m not opposed.”

“Ohhhh, after my show.” He laughs now too, and considers for a moment. “Well, there’s going to be lazy morning sex with you, obviously. Breakfast in bed. Leisurely walks through the city. Lunch and dinner wherever you want. Maybe see some other shows. Literally anything you want. A whole week at the Plaza. A cabin upstate with a case of your favorite wine and no clothes. Whatever you want. Gonna spoil my Princess. Gonna be your boyfriend and your sugar daddy.” He’s got his eyes closed in pleasure as you scratch his scalp, but you can hear the teasing note in his voice. “We’ll do whatever you want.”

“What if I get a new contract? And I’m at work all the time?” You can’t help but sound nervous, but he smirks.

“Then I’ll be your slutty fucktoy and spend all my time in your bed so you can have me whenever you want. I’ll just be naked and ready for you. I’ll make breakfast in the morning and fill up your travel mug with the coffee you like. Send you off to work with one long kiss goodbye. Then I’ll clean the apartment and amuse myself for a while. Get dinner ordered for delivery before getting back in bed. Or maybe I’ll drape myself fetchingly on the couch so I’m the first thing you see when you get in the door.” Brendon’s grinning up at you and you have to laugh because he’s so ridiculous and so cute and so ridiculously cute. “You love me,” he says, half-teasing and half-awestruck. “You’re the best woman I’ve ever known and you love me.”

“I do love you,” you tell him, resting a hand on his stomach and stroking idly as you play with his hair. “I love you so much.”

“I’ll never get tired of hearing that. Your turn again,” Brendon says as he wiggles out of your lap and sits up. “Lay down, Princess. Wanna get my hands on you. If you keep touching me, I’m gonna get distracted and needy. So we gotta switch early.”

“I can make this sacrifice,” you say with a faux-long suffering tone. “I suppose I can tolerate your hands on me.” You wink at him and instead of laying your head in his lap, you tug him down so you’re both stretched across the couch, chest to chest with your back to the back of the couch. “Sleepy,” you admit, snuggling closer to him. “Can’t focus on this episode.”

Without hesitation, Brendon grabs his phone and pauses the stream. “Then we’ll nap, my sleepy love.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead and you wrap your arms around him. “You cold? You want blankets?” When you nod, he reaches up behind you and tugs a knit blanket down over you both. “Rest, Y/n. I’m not going anywhere.”

-||-

“So,” Brendon begins as he hauls you back into bed after lunch, “where did we land on the sugar daddy thing?” He’s got one eyebrow raised in curiosity and he’s watching you in amusement. You narrow your eyes at him playfully, tugging his hair idly and snuggling into him.

“Depends entirely on why you’re asking,” you tell him with a grin. “I’m not going to stop working to be your slutty fucktoy, to use your phrasing.” You bite lightly at his neck and he groans, reaching down to grope your ass and bring you even closer.

“Just curious. You definitely don’t need to stop working. You’re damn good at your job and you love it. I wouldn’t ask you to do that. Ever.” He’s playing with your fingers now and nuzzling your cheek. “I just keep seeing things I think you would like or places I want to take you but I don’t want you to feel...I don’t know. Like I’m - I don’t know. Trying to make you feel...”

“Hey, I fuck you because I’m super turned on by you and I love you. Not because you pay for things and I feel obligated,” you point out, giggling when you see the look on his face. “Dork. Buy me whatever and take me wherever. Or don’t. I’m still going to want to suck your cock.” Brendon groans happily and you laugh, sliding a hand down into his sweatpants. “You don’t need to worry about me feeling weird. Just keep being you. You’re who I want and need. Sure, you’re a celebrity and a rock star who makes bank but I’m not here for that guy. I’m here for the sweet, sexy, sensitive guy who is my boyfriend. I like the nice dinners we do and our mini-vacations to the Plaza. But I don’t need them. All I need is you. And your world-class dick.” You squeeze lightly and he sighs in pleasure, watching you with dark eyes.

“I love you,” he says a little helplessly, hips twitching as you stroke him idly. You whisper it back to him and he reaches down to wrap his hand around yours. “Don’t tease me, baby. Just a little faster- yes, Y/n, just like that.” Together, you pick up your pace and he buries his face in your neck. “God, you make even a handjob feel so good. Stroke it, Princess; yeah, you feel that hard cock? That’s for you. I’m going to come for you.”

“I wanna lick it,” you tell him, squeezing again as he grunts in pleasure. He shakes his head, kissing down to your collarbone.

“No, baby, you’re sleepy. Love that you want it, but you’re tired right now. Just get me off like this. Play with my cock and make me come like this. You can suck me off later. Guarantee I’ll want it later too. Oh fuck- baby, that’s so good…” He tosses his head back and rocks into your grip eagerly.

“Come on my hand,” you murmur, speeding up. “Come on my hand and let me lick your cum off my fingers.” It sends a thrill right to your clit when he lets out a shuddering gasp, stiffens, and you feel him give in. “Yes,” you whisper, praising him and leaning in to kiss him sweetly as his hips twitch and he trembles. “Love that.”

Brendon laughs shakily, running his free hand through his hair and then pressing against the small of your back so you’re flush against him. “Obviously I love it too,” he says and his lips part silently when you slide your hand out of his sweatpants and delicately place two fingers in your mouth. “Yeah, you look good like that,” he mumbles, snuggling against you. “Got me sleepy now too.”

You finish sucking your fingers clean and run a hand down his arm. “Then let’s sleep.” You shift a little so he can roll onto his back and you can rest your head on his chest. “Don’t be surprised if you wake up with your dick in my mouth. I want you,” you tell him, running your clean hand through his hair tenderly.

-||-

It’s been three days since he told you he was staying, and you’re watching curtain call from the wings, going out of your mind with lust, when you notice the missing button from his jacket. That’s the perfect excuse, if anyone asks.

When he comes off-stage, you grab him by the wrist and lead him back to his dressing room, ignoring the lighthearted comments and amused remarks from the rest of the cast. They know about the two of you, and you’ve worked with many of them before. They’re just glad you finally chose a good guy.

“What’s up, babydoll?” Brendon kisses you gently once you’ve closed the door. “You good?” He raises an eyebrow and you nod, removing his jacket and shirt carefully before guiding his hand up your skirt. “Ah, I’m caught up now.” He kisses you more fervently while his fingers tease you. “Someone is feeling needy. It’s interesting how careful you’re being with the costume pieces. Normally when you’re this wet, you’re clawing at my clothes to get me naked,” Brendon says, curling his fingers and making you gasp and cling to him.

“Only because I’d be the one to repair them before the show tomorrow night,” you remind him breathlessly, kneeling and tugging down his costume-boxers and folding them neatly before turning your attention to the compression shorts and dance belt. “And if I rushed and damaged anything, I’d be distracted the entire time you’re trying to make me come. Plus,” you say, looking up at Brendon with an amused smile, “this is a tease for both of us.”

He’s leaning against the wall, watching you with heavy eyes and biting his lower lip. “Definitely a tease,” he agrees, reaching down to stroke your hair. “Need you, Princess. Need you now.” He gestures down at the compression shorts that are really trying to do their job of concealing his arousal. You whimper and caress his cock through the material, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Wanna suck your dick so badly but also I need you in me…” you can both hear the conflict in your voice. “Miss feeling your big thick cock filling me up when you fuck me hard.” You feel how wet you are and you look at him desperately. “Can I suck on your cock til you’re close and then take you inside me?”

Brendon’s head hits the back of the door and he groans in ecstasy. “Abso-fucking-lutely.” He promises, moving to sit down on the couch so he can work on one boot while you get the other one off. “Miss your mouth so much. Been thinking about how good you suck me off, how you swallow my cock down and still scratch for me to fuck your mouth...god, Y/n, you make my cock so hard.”

You don’t even need to respond; you just shift so you’re between his knees and rise up so you can take him down in one slick slide of your mouth.

“Holy fucking shit,” Brendon mutters, clutching your hair and trying to keep his hips still. You moan around him, rubbing frantically at your clit through your panties. “Don’t come, baby,” he orders you. “Want you to come on my cock. Wanna come in you and watch your face when I give you all my cum.” He’s panting, gripping the edge of the couch as your head bobs, your tongue working hard.

“That’s it, Princess. Just like that - oh fuck, just like that, suck just like-“ Brendon cuts himself off with a long groan that you’re positive is echoing down the hall. You don’t care. You’ve got one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, squeezing gently as you lick your way back up to the tip. “Holy fuck I love you so much,” he declares when you tease your way down to his balls.

You’ll never get tired of how he tastes. His cock is in your mouth and hands are in your hair; you’re surrounded by him and you know your panties are soaked. He’s watching in awe as you trace lines up his cock with the tip of your tongue, just to take him in your mouth entirely with an eager moan. You slide your panties to the side and roll your hips forward to take two fingers in you. His fingers feel better but yours will have to do, since he’s breathing hard and trying not to fuck your mouth.

Once his gasps, groans, and swears are slurring together into one stream of pleasure, you pull back and wipe at your mouth, your lips swollen and slick, with the back of your hand. “Bend me over the counter and fuck me til I can’t see straight.” With that, you tug your shirt off over your head and shove your skirt down. “Please,” you add, laughing as you bend yourself over the counter and watch him in the mirror.

“Yup, that’s - yes, gonna do that,” he agrees, standing from the couch and crossing the room to grab you by the waist and push into you. “Damn, you’re so fucking tight like this,” he tells you, watching you in the mirror. You whimper in pleasure and stretch your arms out in front of you as you realize there’s nothing to hold onto.

“I’ve got you, babydoll,” and he reassures you by squeezing your hips. He’s curled his fingers around your hips and is keeping you pulled back so his rapid thrusts won’t drive you into the edge of the counter. “Won’t let you get hurt.”

His whole body is tense as he thrusts into you from behind; you’re desperately trying to keep your head lifted to watch in the mirror. All the teasing of your clit has you right on the edge too, and you’re sure you’re going to pass out from sheer pleasure before he’s done with you. The sensation of being filled by him, over and over again, is heaven. The firm heat of his body pressed to yours makes your whole body ache with desire. You lose all sense of time - there’s only his cock filling you and his mouth whispering filth and his hands clutching you. You drop your head, pressing your forehead to the cool surface of the counter. “Don’t look away,” Brendon says in a low voice. “Watch how good we are in the mirror. Eyes on me, Princess. Watch me fuck you. Watch me take you. Watch me make you come.”

“Oh god,” you whine, forcing yourself to open your eyes and meet his gaze in the mirror. “It’s too hot, you’re too hot,” you whimper, pushing back on him. “Seeing us, seeing you fuck me like this, it’s too good. It makes me crazy. You’re gonna make me come. Fuck, I’m gonna come!” He can see the raw desire written on your face and he reaches down to rub at your clit.

“Then come for me,” Brendon tells you, still watching your reflection. “Be a good girl and come on my cock.” He hasn’t even finished the sentence before you’re crying out in ecstasy, the waves of your climax crashing over you. He fucks you through it, holding you in place as you shake and he pushes harder, doubling the tremors taking over your body. “Gonna come in you, yeah? You gonna watch me come in you?” You watch his head dip low to whisper the questions in your ear.

“Yeah,” is all you manage. You moan low in the back of your throat while he chants your name, still rocking into you steadily, even if his rhythm is abandoned.

“That’s my good girl. That’s my Princess,” Brendon murmurs, his thrusts slowing as his orgasm subsides. “Fuck, I love you so much. You are so good. You are so good. Come here, Y/n.” He takes a step back, guiding you to the couch where he flops unceremoniously. You curl up against him, still trembling with the intensity of your orgasm. “You okay?” He’s stroking your back and you nod, lifting your head to meet his eyes.

“I’m fucking fantastic,” you say a little breathlessly, laughing. “That was intense. I loved it. I love you.” He murmurs it back and wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer and rolling you both back deeper into the couch. “I’m exhausted. But I feel fantastic.”

“You look fantastic,” Brendon says, his eyes shining, as he shifts so you can press yourself against him and nestle your head under his chin. He’s running two fingers over your thigh. “You feel fantastic. You are fantastic.”

“You’re pretty fantastic yourself,” you counter, kissing his jawline. “What do you say we take our mutually fantastic selves home and take a shower? Then get some food in you?”

“Oh hell yeah,” Brendon says, wiggling up off the couch to grab his street clothes. “Gonna order now so it’s waiting for us when we get home.”

-||-

There are three bags sitting in the entryway of the flower shop when Zack parks the car, and Brendon scoops you up so that you’re clinging to him, shrieking and trying to not fall. “That’s dinner. Oh - no, I gotcha, babydoll,” he murmurs, and he shifts you slightly so you can wrap your legs around his waist and grip his shoulders. His hand slides under your skirt to grip your ass and you sigh happily, hooking your ankles together. “You’re not going anywhere.” He winks at you as he bends down to grab all three bags.

“Three? How much did you order?” You tease, playing with the hair at the back of his neck. He laughs and shakes his head, telling you it’s not all food. “Then what is it?” You’re curious now, and he shrugs.

“Guess you’ll just have to be patient and see,” he murmurs with a small smile, laughing when you huff and remind him that you’re not patient. “Oh, I know.” He grips you tighter and thanks Zack as he opens the door and proceeds to help you both up the stairs.

You’re finally inside and alone with him when he motions for you to follow him to the bathroom, still carrying the three bags with him. “This is not where normal people eat dinner,” you inform him, completely perplexed as to what his plan is.

“We’re not normal, Princess.” Brendon places the bags on the ground and bends over to plug the tub. “We’ve never been normal.” He yelps playfully when you smack his ass and he narrows his eyes at you. “I’m gonna get you back for that,” he warns, grinning when you retort that you’re sort of counting on that. He’s got the water running when he asks you for the smallest of the bags. You pass it to him without hesitation and he immediately unpacks three small kraft paper envelopes and dumps all of their contents into the hot water.

“Bath bombs?” You look at him, confused.

“Bath bombs,” he confirms, and he reaches for you to come stand beside him and watch the bombs swirl and burst and expand. “Three sex bombs from LUSH.”

“Ooooh,” you purr, stroking his chest now, pressing closer. “I like where this is going.” The smell of ylang-ylang and Jasmine is filling the bathroom and you are interested in getting him naked and in that water.

“So here’s my plan,” Brendon tells you, turning to face you. “I’m going to strip you out of those clothes and get you into this hot water.” You grin, because you’re on the same wavelength. He continues. “Once you’re settled, I’ll join you with the contents of these last two bags.” You raise an eyebrow and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead before starting on your clothes. “Now get your glorious, sexy, naked butt into that tub,” Brendon orders, giving you the faux-stern look that you love. You sink into the petal-pink, sudsy water with a sigh and he smiles. “Good girl.”

As you relax into the water, he rummages in the second bag, withdraws a bottle of red wine, and places it on the edge of the tub. “And finally,” he says with a flourish, “our dinner.” You peer over the edge of the deep tub and look at him with an amused expression, the corners of your lips curling and eyes sparkling as he tugs off his shirt.

“Baby, that’s four slices of cheesecake.”

“I know,” Brendon says, starting on his belt. “We’re having cheesecake and red wine in the bath. This is dinner. We’re adults. We can eat cheesecake in the bath for dinner if we want.” He grins and kicks off his pants, and you watch with interest as he sheds his underwear. He winks at you when you see him half-hard, and you whimper under your breath, gripping the edge of the tub.

“You didn’t bring glasses,” you point out, gesturing toward the wine. He grins as he slides into the water behind you, sighing in pleasure when you wiggle back against him.

“We’re drinking right from the bottle,” Brendon murmurs against your neck. “I’m gonna get you wine-drunk and nice and relaxed and then I’m going to take you to bed.”

“And fuck me slowly?” You sound hopeful, and he bites down gently. “Right?”

“Depends on how wine-drunk you are.” His fingers curve over your breasts and he teases your nipples, groaning when you rub back against his cock. “Don’t wanna take advantage of you. Really just intended to cuddle you up in bed and share some soft kisses, maybe give you a massage.” You whimper and tell him that you want him though, even though you just had him in the dressing room. His fingers slip lower over your stomach and down between your thighs. “Needy Princess. Love that. Might just need to fuck you slowly before the wine, then, huh?”

You’re squirming against his fingers, rolling your hips and nodding eagerly as he nuzzles your ear, nibbling gently.

“Oh,” he says softly. “I forgot something.” He abandons your clit and stretches over the edge of the tub, reaching for the bag the cheesecake came in. “Got it.” He pulls his hand back and he shows you the small tube of silicone lubricant.

“Fuck,” you whisper, grabbing his other hand and shoving it between your thighs so he can feel how wet you are. “You thought of everything.”

“Well, mostly I just fantasized about fucking you against the shower wall tomorrow morning,” Brendon quips, grinning when you laugh. “And I tried to figure out what I needed to make that happen.” You gesture at the cheesecake and wine, telling him that he didn’t need to get all of this.

“No,” he agrees. “That was just because I wanted to eat cheesecake and get drunk with you in the bath. Completely separate from the fantasy morning sex.” He unscrews the top of the tube and you both watch as the clear gel drizzles down over his fingers. “I think we both are willing to wait on the cheesecake and wine?”

“Uh, yeah,” you agree, spreading your legs eagerly. “There’s not much I’m willing to put in front of red wine and cheesecake, but your fingers, and hopefully your cock, definitely make the list.”

Brendon laughs and kisses your cheek as his fingers go deep. You throw your head back and moan his name, already rocking forward for more. “My fingers, and hopefully my cock, thank you.”

#brendon urie #brendon urie smut #my work #brendon urie imagine #brendon x reader #fanfic #he could fuck me any way he wanted #imagine #brendon urie fic #brendon urie is my whole kink

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zukoskataraa · 4 years

Text

a request i got from @blood-and-lychee a long time ago! sorry this took so long, i hope you like it!

prompt #39: we need to talk about what happened last night

“Katara, open the door.” Zuko says, sighing.

“Go away.” Katara replies, not wanting to see him.

“Katara, I’m not the one at fault here.” Zuko says, and Katara sighed, knowing he was right. She slowly opens the door to her apartment, and Zuko walks in. Silence was hanging in the air, neither of them wanting to talk first.

“L-Let’s sit down.” Katara says, avoiding eye contact with Zuko as she walks to her bedroom. Zuko follows, going into the room he had been in many times before. Katara sits in the middle of the bed, crossing her legs, and Zuko sits down on the edge of the bed. The silence was awkward, and Katara wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

“We need to talk about what happened last night.” Zuko finally speaks, looking at Katara. Katara avoids his gaze, biting her lip. She knew that Zuko had come over to talk about it. She knew that what she had done was wrong. But, she didn’t feel bad about it.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Katara says, and Zuko scoffs.

“One doesn’t simply kiss their bestfriend on a fake date, Katara.” Zuko says, his tone harsh. Katara looks up at him, sighing.

“It was your fault for inviting me.” Katara says, defending herself. Zuko raises an eyebrow, an amused look on his face.

“I’m not the one who kissed you.” Zuko fights back, and Katara lies down, staring at her ceiling as she recalls yesterday’s events.

—

“You want me to do what?” Katara asks, eyes wide. She looks at Zuko, who was sitting next to her, looking desperate.

“Pretend to be my girlfriend. Just for tonight.” Zuko says, pleading. Katara was still processing the question that Zuko had asked.

“Tonight? Are you crazy? And why would you pick me? Ask Mai or Ty Lee or Toph.” Katara says, avoiding looking at him. Her heart was beating fast. Sure, Zuko was her best friend, ever since high school. They were now in college, and Katara would be lying to herself if she didn’t develop feelings for Zuko over the years. But, she didn’t want to ruin their friendship, so she never acted on her feelings for him.

“I was supposed to go with Mai, but she cancelled on me! And Ty Lee said no, very bluntly. So did Toph. And Sokka would kill me if I asked Suki. So, here I am.” Zuko says, and Katara scoffs.

“So you’re coming to me because you have no one else to turn to? I’m your last choice, huh? Go fish.” Katara says, rolling her eyes. She had already made up her mind, but she wanted to toy with Zuko for a bit. In an instant, Zuko was on his knees in front of her, and Katara widened her eyes.

“I didn’t mean it like that! I just didn’t want to burden you with this, so I never planned to ask you, until now. Please, Kat? I’ll do anything!” Zuko was clearly desperate, and Katara sighed.

“Man, I can’t believe you’re right here, begging in front of me. It’s a sight to behold, if I’m being honest.” Katara teases. “But, I’m no sadist. Get up, dude. I’ll pretend to be your girlfriend.” Katara says and Zuko stands, hugging Katara.

“Thanks, Kat!” Zuko says, smiling as he pulls away from the hug. Katara blushes and looks away.

“Y-Yeah. No problem. Where are we even going?” Katara asks, standing up from the couch.

“It’s just a formal dinner party. My parent’s company is hosting it to celebrate a new partnership. And my dad told me that I had to bring my significant other, who is non-existent.” Zuko sighs, sitting down on Katara’s sofa. Katara giggles.

“Well, why would he assume that you had a girlfriend in the first place?” She asks and Zuko shrugs.

“He thinks that Mai and I are still together. And as you know, we broke up last month, but we’re cool.” Zuko says and Katara nods.

“But he already knows who I am. If you bring me as your date, won’t it be awkward?” Katara asks and Zuko shakes his head.

“He thinks we, quote unquote, look good together. So, he’d probably be ecstatic if he thought that we were dating.” Zuko explains and Katara blushes, biting her lip. Well, at least his family approves of her.

“Okay, fine. Now get out of my apartment, Zuko. I have to get ready for dinner tonight, which I don’t even want to go to.” Katara says, joking.

“Hey, at least you’ll get free food.” Zuko says. “And like it’s still 2pm? Dinner isn’t til 7. You can get ready later.” Zuko says, and Katara rolls her eyes.

“You really don’t understand women.” Katara says, shaking her head. She grabs Zuko by the hand, who willingly follows her, as she walks towards her front door.

“I will see you later.” Zuko says as he opens the door and Katara let’s go of his hand. “I’ll pick you up at… 6:30? Sounds good?”

“Yup. Later, loser.” Katara says and Zuko chuckles.

“Wear something nice for me, okay? The theme is black, green, and blue.” Zuko winks and Katara rolls her eyes.

“Whatever.” Katara says and Zuko smiles.

“Bye, KitKat.” Zuko says and Katara blushes before sticking her tongue out at him and closing the door. Zuko would be the death of her. She nearly trips over the edge of her bed as she walks to her closet, looking for something to wear. Zuko was lucky that Katara had a green dress in her wardrobe that was formal enough. Her black dress was a little too provocative, and her blue dress wasn’t fit for the occasion. Katara also wanted to wear something nice, to see Zuko’s reaction - to tease him a little. Katara was sure that Zuko didn’t think of her romantically, that he only saw her as a friend. And that was okay with Katara, because she cherished her friendship with Zuko.

Katara took a shower, and got ready. It was a few minutes past three, and Zuko would pick her up at 6:30. So Katara had at least three more hours to prepare. She spent the first hour eating and watching a show, the second hour doing her hair - which Katara hated because her hair was a mess, and did her make up. Katara was changing into her dress when the doorbell rang, and Katara sighed as she was still struggling to zip up the dress from the back. She would get Zuko to do it, she decided, as she walked to the door.

Zuko gasped when the door opened to reveal Katara. She was wearing a satin, emerald green dress, with the neckline plunging low. There was a slit on the right side, showing her long, dark legs. Her hair was straightened at the top, but was wavy midway to the tips. She had a pearl clip on one side of her hair. Her makeup was just enough - lipstick, eyeshadow, eyeliner, but there was a hint of pink on Katara’s cheeks as Zuko had stared at her for what seemed like minutes.

“What? Do I look ugly?” Katara asks, unsure. Zuko shakes his head, embarrassed.

“You look great, KitKat.” Zuko says, smiling. “I mean it.”

“Thanks, Zuko.” Katara says, blushing. “Ah, can you zip this up for me?” Katara asks, turning around. Her dress was still zipped open, down to the small of her back. She felt exposed, but it’s not like she could have zipped it up herself.

“S-Sure.” Zuko says, gulping as he reaches for her dress. His fingers touch Katara’s back, and Katara closes her eyes. Silence is in the air as he slowly zips the dress up, and Katara grabs her hair and puts it at the side so he can finish zipping it up. “All done.” He says. Katara lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and turns around to look back at Zuko.

“Thanks, loser. Come on in, just lemme grab my things and then we can head out.” Katara smiles as she walks away, letting Zuko enter her home. Katara goes into her room, with Zuko behind her, and grabs a small gold purse, putting her phone, lipstick, keys, and some money inside. Zuko leans on the doorway, arms crossed.

“You look really stunning, KitKat.” Zuko compliments her again, and Katara blushes. Thankfully, her back was facing him, so he couldn’t see her reaction. She takes a deep breath before looking at Zuko. He looked good as well - in Katara’s defense, he looked good no matter what he wore - with an all black outfit, except for the emerald green bowtie, which ironically matched Katara’s dress. His hair was slicked back, except for a few loose tendrils flying around.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Zuko.” She says as she grabs a gold necklace from her jewelry box and puts it on, centering the pendant in the middle of her chest. “Your tie matches my dress.”

“That it does.” He says, amusement in his voice. “Wasn’t expecting it, to be honest. But hey, we still look good.” Zuko says and Katara hums in approval as she walks past him and puts on her gold heels. Zuko was watching her the whole time, and Katara could feel his eyes burning into her.

“Stop staring, creep.” Katara says. “Come on, let’s go.” She says and Zuko chuckles as he follows her out of her apartment.

“I could be watching a movie right now, in my pajamas. Eating takeout.” Katara sighs as Zuko revs the car, the engine sputtering to life. Zuko laughs.

“This’ll be worth it. I promise. Plus, wouldn’t you rather look at me, your handsome best friend who is currently your fake boyfriend right now, than some actor on your tv?” He says as he starts to drive. Katara snorts, blushing.

“Puh-lease. I’d take Henry Cavill over you any day.” She says and Zuko chuckles.

“You wound me, Katara.” Zuko says and Katara giggles. “Okay so, if anyone asks. We’re dating, obviously. That’s been established. Uh, let’s say we’ve been dating for about two months now. I made the first move when I drove you back home from a dinner date. You said yes, and boom.” Zuko makes up a story, and Katara wishes it were true. “Also, I might like, touch you. You know, putting my hand on your waist, holding your hand, that sort of thing.” Zuko adds and Katara sighs. This would be so hard.

“Ew, you’re gonna give me your germs.” She jokes, trying to distract herself. Zuko laughs. “But fine. You owe me big time, Zuko.”

“That I do, my friend.” Zuko says. The rest of the car ride was filled with them bantering and laughing, both of them hoping to ease the tension before having to be serious at the dinner party.

They pull up to the hotel, which was very fancy, and Katara gulps. One room probably cost more than her tuition, she thought. The valet opened the door for her and helped her get out, to which she smiled and said thank you to. The valet then walked over to Zuko, and gave him the keys. Zuko walked over to Katara, smiling.

“I haven’t seen my parents in six months. To be honest, I’m kinda nervous.” Zuko says, and Katara wraps her arm around his.

“Don’t be nervous. I’ll be with you the whole time.” Katara assures her best friend, and Zuko nods.

“Well, Kat, off we go.” Zuko says and Katara giggles as they walk inside the hotel, towards the ballroom.

“You know, this is pretty boring.” Zuko whispers in Katara’s ear. It had been at least two hours since the dinner started, and there had been 5 long, dull speeches - all of which were talking about the same thing more or less. The food was exceptional though, and Katara had to give it to the chef’s, they knew how to cook. The appetizer was delicious, the main course was enamoring, and the desert was mouth-watering. The waiter had given them wine to drink, and they clinked their glasses.

“I know. This is why I should have just stayed at home.” Katara giggles, whispering back to Zuko.

“Sorry for dragging you here. I haven’t even seen my parents yet.” Zuko replies. “Well, I have, but they seem busy, so I’d rather not approach them.” Katara takes a sip from her wine and sighs.

“You could always-” She starts but is suddenly cut off.

“Zuko!” A deep voice calls out. Zuko immediately stands, looking at his dad. Zuko was almost as tall as his dad, Ozai.

“Hi dad.” Zuko greets. Katara stands up, smiling.

“Ah, Katara. So good to see you again.” Ursa, Zuko’s mother, smiles and gives Katara a hug.

“Hello, Ms. Ursa. Mr. Ozai. It’s nice to see you.” Katara says as she hugs Ursa.

“Katara, what a surprise. Zuko said he was bringing his girlfriend. Is that, perhaps, you?” Ozai asks, surprised. There was no malice in his voice, just shock.

“Yup.” Zuko responds, taking Katara’s hand in his. Katara wanted to die.

“Y-Yes. Zuko and I are dating.” Katara says, smiling. Ursa smiles and clasps her hands together.

“I can hear the wedding bells!” Ursa exclaims and the fake couple blushes.

“Mom! Stop.” Zuko says and Ursa giggles.

“I have to continue making my rounds. But it was good to see you, son. You too, my dear Katara. I have high hopes for you two.” Ozai says as he and Ursa walk away. The fake couple let out a breath they didn’t know they were holding, but Zuko hadn’t let go of Katara’s hand yet.

“Well, we passed. Can we go now?” Katara asks as she lets go of Zuko’s hand. She didn’t want to, but wine was more important at the moment. Zuko chuckles.

“Don’t you want to dance?” Zuko teases. There was a slow song playing, and some people had gone up to the dance floor, holding each other in each other’s arms. Katara scoffs.

“You know I don’t dance.”

“Yes, but, you’re not gonna die if you dance with me.” Zuko says. ‘I beg to differ’ Katara thinks. “I’m not going to force you, though. It’s up to you, KitKat.” Katara sighs.

“One dance. And then you’re taking me home.” Katara says and Zuko nods. He takes her hand and leads her to the dance floor. Katara puts her hand on Zuko’s shoulders, and Zuko puts his hands on Katara’s waist. The awkwardness would be the death of Katara. She looked at the ground, slowly moving to the beat. Zuko gently tilts her head up, brown eyes looking into blue ones.

“Hey, look at me.” Zuko smiles and Katara blushes. She didn’t know if it was the wine or something, but she suddenly wanted to make a move. They danced, looking into each other’s eyes the whole time. Katara was feeling brave and confident. If she didn’t do it now, she would never be able to do it. The song was about to end, and she would never get this chance again. She closed her eyes before leaning up to kiss Zuko. It was quick, and a bit rough. It was a peck, that’s all that Katara thought of as she pulled away. Zuko looked at her, eyes wide. And she knew she made a mistake.

—

“Hey, you owe me a favor right?” Katara asks as she sits back up, looking at Zuko. Zuko hums. “Okay. My favor is, just forget about what happened last night. Forget about the fake dating, forget about the kiss.”

“That’s hard to do, KitKat. I’m curious though, where did you run off to? I chased after you but you were gone.” Zuko says and Katara snorts.

“I hid in the bathroom for a few minutes before calling a cab.” Katara explains and Zuko chuckles.

“You shouldn’t have run away. I was going to say something before you dashed off like you were the flash.” Zuko jokes and Katara shakes her head.

“I was embarrassed. And… I never did get to apologize for last night, right? Sorry, Zuko.” Katara says and Zuko scoots closer to her.

“What’s there to be sorry about?” He asks, looking into her eyes. Katara gulps. “The reason that I can’t forget about last night, is because I like you, KitKat.” Zuko says and Katara’s heart skips a beat. “That wasn’t the ideal first kiss, but it’ll do.”

“W-Wait a minute, you LIKE me?” Katara says and Zuko nods. “Since when?”

“Well, I’m not gonna say. A man has to have a few secrets after all.” He winks. “I was waiting for you to make the first move, that’s all.” Zuko says and Katara blushes. Zuko leans closer to Katara, his eyes glancing at her lips. Katara gulps. Zuko’s hand caresses her cheeks, tucking away a strand of hair.

“You’re such a tease.” Katara says, her voice barely a whisper. Zuko chuckles before connecting his lips with hers. The kiss was slow and sweet. Zuko’s thumb caresses her cheeks, his other hand on Katara’s waist. They pull away a few seconds later, Katara avoiding his gaze.

“If fake dating was all it took for you to be mine, we should have done it sooner.” Zuko says, teasing as he pulls Katara in for a hug.

“Shut up. I hate you.” She says into his neck, voice muffled.

“No, you love me.” He replies. Katara smiles. ‘Yes, I do love you.’

masterlist | AO3

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ghost-chance · 4 years

Text

Fanfiction Recommendation: “Fat. Beautiful. Tasty. Ravenous” by MoofyKitten

Title: Fat. Beautiful. Tasty. Ravenous Author: MoofyKitten on AO3/FFN/Wattpad Fandom: BNHA/My Hero Academia Rating: M/MA for a reason. (Detailed sex in over half the posted chapters. Perv away only if you’re of age!) Pairing(s): Fat Gum [Toyomitsu Taishirou] / OFC Found on: AO3

Deets Expect some light spoilers and a mini-rant.

I am an unrepentant fanfiction addict; this is no secret. There are fics I read to wind down after a rough day, fics I read to put myself to sleep in hopes of pleasant dreams, and fics I read to tear my hear into teeny tiny fragments then build it back again better than before. THEN there are fics that don’t fit the mold – the kind that I become so invested in that I physically cannot put off reading that update. THIS, my lovelies, is one of THOSE fics, and it’s earned that place from the early chapters. This story has almost everything I need from a fanfiction, and I have a feeling the rest is just around the corner.

Let’s get the basics out of the way.

The Spelling, grammar, and punctuation are all excellent – I have yet to notice a single error, so either the author and her betas are a force to be reckoned with or I’m just getting so sucked into the story an elephant could sit on me and I’d never notice. The formatting is effective and easy to follow, and the chapters have all been of a nice meaty length, perfect for plowing through in a single sitting only to realize you missed a meal and it’s time for bed and your brain is hopelessly lost in ship-land daydreaming about what’s up next. ...wait, that’s just me? My bad.

Syntax – This one requires an entire section of its own. The fact that I’m having to actually think about how well the author’s varying their syntax says they’re effing nailing it. If a story’s syntax is at all static or the sentence even the slightest bit predictable, it’s easy enough for me to recall it because I’m mentally rearranging the bits that irk or don’t impress me as I read. I can’t even get through a bleepin’ news article or an online recipe without itching to push what I’m reading up to the standards my professors held. It sounds harsh, I know, but please take my word for it when I say I’m not criticizing anyone. Suffice it to say, if my classes did anything, they made editing so instinctive I can’t turn it off. Confession: I have never found myself rearranging a single phrase in this masterpiece. Arguing with the characters? Encouraging the characters? Begging, pleading, and berating the characters for breaking my heart time and time again by stopping just short of the sugary fluff I can just smell right around the corner? Oh, Hell yes. I’ve done all of that and more, but I’ve never found myself with the urge to grab my red pen and strike out or scooch even a single word.

Something that strikes me about this story above others I’ve given the same rating (Spoiler: there are VERY FEW!) is the sheer variety of the scenes and environments. Sounds silly? Probably, but romances often develop a certain amount of location stagnation, and I know from personal experience how difficult it can be to bust through those patterns. (I mean, the majority of “A New Lease on Life” takes place in the Lair in some room, most commonly a bedroom, the lab, or the kitchen.) This story takes the couple off of familiar and ‘safe’ turf like homes and offices and drags them through countless other places without regard for their sense of comfort. Each scene feels real and multi-dimensional and directly or indirectly influences the characters’ behavior and reactions. It’s awesome. That’s a sign the author has done her people-watching!

Now, about that OC. I’ll readily admit, in the first chapter, I had my reservations. At first glance she seemed shallow, obsessed with appearances and her own view of the world, and – strange as it may sound – too skinny and too attractive. Yes, there’s some personal bias involved there, but the majority was practical rather than emotional. BUT! Because the writer of this story is the same who unleashed the beautiful Kacchako torment Hot-Headed upon me without a single breath of remorse, I gave Aiko a chance. Sure enough, my first impressions were entirely incorrect. The things that bothered me about Aiko? They all had explanation or purpose, and she’s turned out to be a pretty well-fleshed out character...pun intended. As the story progresses we’re seeing sides of her that I hoped for but didn’t expect and each chapter leaves me wondering what we’ll learn next.

Romantic connection. First word: “OOFTA.” The second word, I’d spell out, but it’s a shrill, wordless, begging whine that I cannot translate into English for the life of me. This pairing starts without any sort of romantic connection; it skips straight to the shenanigans and leaves hope that the snugglebunnies will follow eventually. Friends…if you’ve read any of my writing before, you’ll know that I. LIVE. For. The. FLUFF. The awkward mush, the sweaty palms, the am-I-gonna-barf-or-do-I-have-a-crush, the absolutely tooth-rotting sweetness capable of sending a reader headlong into diabetes with a dopey grin and heart eyes - they’re my crack and I love them. This story started with no fluff but it’s been slowly developing in the background. It’s an entirely new situation for me! I feel like I’ve gotten used to eating my dessert first then digging into an equally sweet dinner without a moment to cleanse my palate. This story? It’s like gorging on smoky, meaty St. Louie barbecue for weeks on end with literally just a smear of something sweet as an afterthought. Mind. Frackin’. BLOWN. It turns out I’m more masochistic as a reader than I ever suspected.

Another relationship I want to cover is the building friendship between Aiko and Fat Gum – because nope, she has not managed to mentally connect the half-starved Taishiro she’s climbing like a tree with the big-and-beautiful Fat Gum who owns the agency. Yep. She thinks she’s boning Fat’s beefy little brother. It’d be funny if my heart wasn’t whining for fluff. While frustrating to fluff-starved readers, Aiko not knowing the beefcake and the brother are one and the same provides an intriguing and natural way for her to build an actual relationship with him. This means none of the fetishistic bullarkey rampant in other stories pairing plus-sized male characters with OCs.

What sort of fetishistic bullarkey am I talking about? To name a handful: I love you so lose weight. I love you because you’re big. I’m fat too so it’s okay if we’re together. Blatant fat-fetish disguised as romance. Fat character’s life absolutely revolves around food and it’s gross/nvm it’s okay. Lastly, OC’s only chance at being loved by fat character is feeding them. Maybe to thin folks those don’t sound negative but to those of us who fit the description? NOPE. These don’t make healthy relationships. Using these can turn a well-meaning pairing toxic and frankly, it tends to piss off those of us who – GASP! - accept ourselves no matter our size. These...tropes, let’s call them, have made me hesitant to even try fiction involving plus sized male characters because I’ve been let down so many times. Finding plus sized female characters is easy, especially OCs, but appreciation for the chonky bois isn’t nearly as common. They need love too, dammit!

Ahem. Rant over.

As mentioned before, I ain’t seen any of that crap in this story. This author is treating Fat Gum like she would any other character instead of focusing on the fat. I wish with all my heart that more authors were capable of (and willing to) do the same with Fat Gum, and with other plus sized male characters. I can’t even put into words how much it means to me that she’s doing such a fantastic job portraying a character type that so many writers bungle without ever realizing it. I’ve needed this story my entire life and never realized it wasn’t there; I shudder to think of how long I might have been waiting for it if this author never found the inspiration to do so.

If I don’t shut up now, I fear I never will. I love this story that much. Moving on.

Warnings

Explicit sexual content – do NOT read this around your family unless you have a stronger will than I and can do so without creeping them out. (According to my husband, when I read smut I “look like a demented vulture staring down at a half-flattened ‘possum waiting for it to take its last breath,” complete with hunched shoulders and heavy breathing. Flattering, I know.) The smut scenes, while not my usual cuppa tea, wreck. My brain? Broke. Chapter four’s budding romance? It’s goin’ on my headstone ‘cuz I’m dead.

There are mentions of human trafficking and the future may include more about it. Slut-shaming comes up a few times because men are assholes and asshole exes are the ultimate assholes. Situational fat-shaming and lack of body confidence come up as Aiko comes to recognize Fat Gum for who he is instead of what he is; on the other end of the tag, Fat is also doing a lot of it to himself even when it isn’t spelled out. You can see it behind some of his reasoning in his POV chapters and since the writer is kickass at portraying thoughts and feelings without ever breaking out of restricted POV, you can also see hints in other chapters. That said, if the shaming was really bad without any redeeming purpose, I’d have noped my way right out’a that fic and never looked back. It has a purpose, and it’s not that bad. Give it a chance.

Recommendation level

This story lacks purple prose and excessive fluff, and I haven’t seen any signs of the pop culture, literary, and music references I love so dearly, but the rating remains the same:

Ten. Out. of. Farking. TEN!

YES! I’ve finally found another 10/10!!! A quick reminder for anyone who’s managed to not see my other reading recc posts, I don’t even need both hands to count off all the 10/10s I’ve read. Congratulations, Ms. MoofyKitten – your story rocks my world and I have an addiction I do not care to shake!

#fanfiction recommendation #BNHA #My Hero Academia #body postivity #Fat Gum #mature fanfiction #Plus size guys need love too #this story is KILLING ME #and I'm loving every minute of it because I'm weird like that #i stayed up for this

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prettywordsyouleft · 5 years

Text

Your Neighbour

Prompt: #18 for @lazypostfandomer – “You can’t just sit there all day.”

lazypostfandomer said:

18, Jaebum Hopefully angst with a fluffy ending? Your wish. Thanks in advance

Pairing: Im Jaebum x reader

Genre: angst / fluff / neighbours to lovers au

Warnings: none

Word count: 2335

You couldn’t tell what day it was or how long you had been seated on this sofa for. The curtains were closed and you had no recognition of what day or night meant anymore. Those who had come to check on you in beginning dwindled off and you didn’t know when you last ate. You felt pathetic even though it was too overwhelming to consider life without him now.

You had always thought you and Jackson would last forever. You had been high school sweethearts and everyone had joked you would be the first ones to get married. When you went onto college, you had scheduled your different degrees to match up so you could still see each other every day. You studied and worked out together, and you even moved into an apartment together in your second year. You had thought that life couldn’t get any better than this.

You hadn’t anticipated that to change.

“I’ve been offered a job in Hong Kong,” he mentioned quietly, his gaze not meeting yours. You blinked a few times and then smiled.

“Well, isn’t that great? For how long? Six weeks? It’s just an internship, right?”

“The contract is for two years.”

You faltered for a moment, trying to calculate how you could make this work. Jackson had been working too hard for you to get needy and hold him back from any career advancements. You tried to smile. “I mean, I could fly to you during breaks.”

“You’d do that?” he asked, looking up at you with eyes full of emotion. “You’d let me go there?”

“Don’t you want to go?”

“Of course, I do.”

You smiled more genuinely. “We can make it work then.”

In the first six months, everything went smoothly. You spoke to Jackson as often as you could thanks to the advances in technology and you had visited him over your last vacation. He was working really hard and you were so proud of him. But when he landed a promotion, he slowly shut off from you.

“I’m busy, they need me to stay back later,” he’d message you when he missed your calls, and some weeks you didn’t even hear from him. You started to worry he was going to become married to his job and not you.

The distance between you physically only created further distance as a couple too. Jackson had a new group of friends who you saw he spent a lot of time with through his social media account and you couldn’t help but grow jealous. Your conversations often turned hostile and one night he called you in the middle of the night, incredibly drunk.

“Y/N,” he said, panting heavily from the exertion of his intoxication. “This isn’t working anymore, is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Us. We’re not working.”

“We can improve on things, I will visit more and when you come back home. I-”

“I’m not coming back, Y/N.” It was painful to hear that from the man you had put some of your life on hold for over the past eighteen months. Jackson groaned, and you realised he was drunk because he needed the liquid courage to tell you how he truly felt. “I like it here, I’m not coming back.”

“Well, what about me?” you asked, hoping he would beg you to come to him. Although you had your own plans for your future that didn’t include living overseas, you would do it if Jackson wanted you there.

He didn’t say anything though. The tears began to fall then and you sobbed on the phone together for an hour before he clicked off.

And just like that, everything crashed down.

Had you not been so naïve, you would have seen this coming. As you spent your days on this sofa, you considered every part of the past year and a half. Where you could have tried harder, where you had done too much. How you had become paranoid, you realised your relationship with Jackson hadn’t been healthy for months.

It didn’t make you hurt any less though.

“You can’t just sit there all day.”

You glanced up at your neighbour, Jaebum sighing heavily from finding you still in the same place he had left you two days before. He knew you were suffering but he also decided letting you sit here any longer was the worst thing you could continue doing. He had grown concerned when you hadn’t come to collect the mail that had piled up a couple of weeks ago and had started appearing now and then. You needed to get up and face the world again. It hadn’t stopped whilst you had and you couldn’t waste your youth away in this apartment either.

You soon moved your focus away from him, staring at the wall ahead of you. Jaebum groaned and moved into your view again. “Y/N.”

“Why are you here?” He bit back his concern at how hollow you sounded. He knew you didn’t need him to coddle you. “Everyone else has stopped bothering me.”

“Am I bothering you?” he asked and you managed a small nod. “Good. It’s time to get up and into the shower now. In case you lost your sense of smell, you kind of stink.”

He could tell it was the first time someone had been this blunt with you. Your gaze shifted to his and he moved to your side to gently pry you from the sofa cushion. Directing you over to your bathroom, he smiled brightly. “Whilst you shower, I’ll prepare you some food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t care.”

You glared at him for a moment, and even he wondered why he was putting in so much effort. He merely ignored your gaze and gave you another gentle prod. You reluctantly turned to go into the bathroom and he heard the sound of the shower turn on a moment later. Jaebum sighed in relief; it was the start of something.

It took several weeks and Jaebum’s constant nagging, but you were finally feeling more like a human again. You decided to return to your final year of schooling, and somehow despite your prolonged absence, you had an internship lined up to move right into. Being busy was actually more helpful than wallowing in your pain. You found the more productive you were, the further you felt fulfilled. You started meeting with your friends again and picked up a couple of new hobbies. You became hopeful for your future, one where you didn’t just assume to be the married partner of someone else. You had begun to think of what you needed, and what you hoped to have in ten years.

You had a new lease on life.

But there was one thing you couldn’t stop doing no matter how much you tried. You relied on Jaebum more than you expected to. At nights, when you were your loneliest, he would somehow feel it through the wall that separated your apartments and appear on your doorstep with snacks and a movie under his arm. On the weekends, he would take you out on day trips or to different places around the city. When you were happy he was the first person you told your good news to. And when you were struggling it was his shoulder you cried onto.

A small part of you was embarrassed that someone who had been a mere neighbour to you was now the person you used as a crutch. You often had nightmares of him leaving you and the fear would send you out of your bed and to his front door, knocking on it until he blearily opened it up and you could see him with your own eyes. You knew it was unhealthy and yet you craved him like no other.

Jaebum was honest at all times. He told you when you were strong enough to do things on your own. He ensured you had help when you needed it. And he had become your closest friend. It was a different relationship than what you had with Jackson; with him, it had always been light and full of romance. Even though you hadn’t expressed any romantic notions towards Jaebum, somehow it was him who you imagined when you wanted to snuggle into someone in bed at night. You imagined what it would be like to wake up each morning beside him. You had even gone as far as to fantasise about him telling you he loved you. Of course, you never told him any of this, and Jaebum never made any moves on you.

As much as you needed him, it hurt that he didn’t seem to need you back.

You decided you would try to break free from your dependency. You were doing better than you had been four months ago, and you couldn’t expect Jaebum to be there forever. Eventually, he would move on and you would need to accept this fate.

“I’ve decided to move out,” you told him over dinner, your gaze unable to lift from your plate.

“I guess you need to close the chapter on your relationship,” he said simply and you nodded distantly, wondering why it hurt so much that he answered so easily. You cursed your romantic notions that had hoped for a bigger reaction than that.

“I haven’t found a place but I’ll let you know when I do.”

“It will be good for you, Y/N,” Jaebum encouraged and you picked at your meal. “I’m proud of you.”

You didn’t feel anything but sadness.

You went ahead and started searching. You found a few places that didn’t look so bad online but in person weren’t suitable and for a couple of weeks, you were unsuccessful. And then you found one, finding yourself somewhat annoyed that you couldn’t refute it. You tried to be happy as you made arrangements with the agent to sign the lease papers in two days time. You sent Jaebum a message about your success and carried on with your day.

By the evening, you hadn’t heard from Jaebum and you wondered if you should visit him to make sure he got your message earlier. The read flag had appeared by your message so it confused you as to why he hadn’t responded yet. You left it down to him being busy and decided not to bother him. After all, your whole point to moving out stemmed from a need to shake off your growing feelings for the man who had healed your heart. You chanted this repeatedly as you packed up some of your belongings and then as you washed up before bed. The last thing you remembered before falling asleep was your constant affirmation.

And then you woke up with a jolt, hearing banging on the front door. You blearily pulled yourself out of bed and padded to the front door, frowning when you saw Jaebum outside through the monitor.

You opened the door. “You have the code, why didn’t you just come in?”

Jaebum ran a hand through his hair agitatedly, his eyes barely landing on yours before he stepped inside, pacing in your living space a little. He glanced to your half-packed boxes and groaned.

“Jaebum?”

“Are you really moving?” he asked, as if the boxes weren’t enough proof. You watched him silently, trying to understand his current state. He didn’t smell of liquor and apart from his distressed expression, he seemed completely sober.

You nodded slowly. “I messaged you, didn’t you see?”

“Ah, right.”

“Are you okay?”

“No.” He seemed shocked by his admission, swallowing before scratching at his hair awkwardly. It surprised you to see him like this. You wondered if you had once looked this wired up. Jaebum cleared his throat noisily. “I uh… never mind.”

He moved to go pass you for the door again but you stopped him, grabbing onto his forearm. He turned to look at you and you noticed several emotions cross his face. You furrowed your brows together as you stepped closer. “What’s wrong?”

“Honestly?” he asked and you nodded. “I don’t want you to go.”

“But you told me-”

“I panicked because I didn’t want to seem pathetic for how I felt. You see me as the guy who saved you. I mean, I’m glad you do, but, but…”

You blinked several times before you smiled. “I like you.”

“What?” Jaebum stared at you in disbelief. “What did you just say?”

“I did see you like that but then I started to develop feelings and I worried I was being unhealthy towards you because I started to like you. So I decided I would move away so I could solve my dependency and hopefully remove my crush too.”

“You like me?” he repeated and your smile grew. You didn’t feel anxious at all with your admission. It was a relief to finally speak it out into existence. Jaebum soon smiled, pulling you closer. “Really?”

“Just do something about it already or I will,” you teased and Jaebum sighed, cupping your face before he kissed you hesitantly. You smiled as you melted into the embrace, confirming every daydream you had had about his lips. They were as kissable as you imagined.

When he shifted back, he brushed your hair away from your face. “Do you still need to move?”

You winced lightly. “My lease here is up and I told the landlord already.”

“I uh, have a spare room.”

“From neighbours to roommates?” you asked, and Jaebum chuckled. “Are you sure?”

“I couldn’t imagine you moving away from me for good.”

“What if you end up not liking me, I’ll be living with you,” you asked and Jaebum shook his head immediately.

“I’ve seen you at your worst, there’s no way I couldn’t like you.”

You gaped at him, even though you were used to his honesty. You laughed it off and shook your head. “Okay, so we’re definitely going to be roommates?”

“And lovers,” Jaebum confirmed, kissing you again.

__________________

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preserving-ferretbrain · 5 years

Text

Sarah Monette, the Victim Dilemma, the Aesthetic of Suffering and the Uncanny Valley of Arse Rape

by Wardog

Monday, 27 April 2009

Wardog fails to finish Sarah Monette's Corambis.~

Massive massive massive massive spoilers for about 1/3 of the book. Also, as the title suggests, this article is about nasty things so don’t read if you’re likely to be upset

Preramble (like a preamble but … d’you see?)

This is a bleak day indeed. I just got my hands on a copy of Corambis, the much-anticipated (by me at least) concluding part to Sarah Monette’s Doctrine of Labyrinths quartet and the truth of it is, I don’t think I can finish it.

Oh, Sarah, what happened? I do still love you, I just don’t think it’s working out.

I think it’s partially problems associated with reading through a series over a lengthy period of time. When I read Melusine, The Virtu was already out in hardback and I tore through at them enthusiastically, so drawn into the world and the characters that I barely noticed they were so heavily saturated in angst and woe that one could drown in it by simply opening the book a little recklessly. There was a bit of a wait for The Mirador – which I seem to recall I felt slightly less positively about but still adored – and I fell upon Mehitabel Parr’s I’m sure welcoming bosom to save me from the tidal waves of A&W. As much as I love Felix and Mildmay, it was Mehitabel’s narrative voice that made The Mirador bearable for me. It was such a necessary contrast to the boys: someone with some redeeming sense of self-irony, hurrah!

Of course, Mehitabel isn’t in Corambis. And, God, I miss her. There is a new viewpoint character, Kay Brightmore, blinded and imprisoned and weighed down by the terrible military failure that kicks off the book. He’s basically lost everything that ever mattered to him, can no longer fight on account of being blind and, needless to say, he has angst out the wazoo about it. I was broken and crying by Chapter three.

And, quite frankly, I just can’t take it. I know there is redemption in the future of these characters (characters I really care about, having spent three books with them), I know there is self-actualisation and the potential for happiness, I know because I cheated and looked, but I’ve really really struggled with Corambis. The worst of it is, I’m sure it will be a triumphant and satisfying conclusion to the quartet. Sarah Monette is an excellent writer, I love her world, I love the way she uses language, I love her characters, I love everything about her but I think I’m going to have to accept the fact I simply can’t read her.

Oh, Sarah, what happened? I do still love you, it’s not you, it’s me.

Maybe in a couple of years we’ll be able to work something out.

I think circumstances might be playing into this unhappy state of affairs as well. When I read the early books, there wasn’t a cloud in my sky. But having emerged from a rather bleak year, there’s something a little too close in all that guilt and grief and self-loathing and despair, and I can’t distance myself enough from it to enjoy it. There is a systematic aestheticisation of suffering to be found in all of Monette’s books. I’m not going to try and argue that as either a positive or negative quality in her work. I think it’s probably neutral: it’s

something

art

does

sometimes

. I acknowledge the difference between literary suffering and real suffering, in that there can be a romance in the former which is impossible in the latter. Also literary suffering exists in a wider, symbolic and allegorical sphere than that of an individual having shitty things done to them by life or others, mainly, I suspect, because it’s not real. Take madness – there is something deeply attractive and romantic about the artistic representation of madness (like Felix’s madness in Melusine) and it’s perfectly possible to appreciate that, and to find in it a kind of beauty, without ignoring the genuine distress suffered by the mentally ill. In short, Ophelia is not my friend who killed herself last year.

But the boundaries between the fictional and the real are not comprehensively signposted. There isn’t a traceable spectrum between Lavinia, daughter of Titus Andronicus, and Elizabeth Short. And ultimately I think there comes an impossible point when the literary and the real collide, corrupt each other and prove they are utterly irreconcilable and yet simultaneously inseparable. Yes, they must be understood as different things operating in a different way – a painting of St Sebastian is not the same as footage of the prisoners at Guantanamo bay – but there comes a point when it is necessary to remember what it is that’s being aestheticised and ask yourself why.

Page 152

Okay, so, there’s a gang-rape scene in Corambis.

Felix – former prostitute, broken gay wizard with ex-cruel master and traumatic past - ends up subjecting himself a thaumaturgic orgy in order to earn money to pay for his ailing brother’s medicine.

It’s awful.

It’s not that it’s explicit, just awful.

And I’m no wuss, okay. I’ve read Last Exit to Brooklyn. I’ve read The Wasp Factory. I’ve read American Psycho.

But something about this scene in this book bought me a first class ticket on the ARGH! Train and whizzed me straight out of my comfort zone.

It’s strange to say that something is “outside your comfort zone” in that it feels like a confession of personal failure (also something that’s outside my comfort zone). And then I thought about it more, and I thought: hey, so what, gang-rape is outside my comfort zone. Surely that’s normal. Gang-rape is absolutely something that should be outside all our comfort zones. But here’s where it gets complicated: in fact, fictional gang-rape is not outside my comfort zone. I play H-games, for God’s sake, where they’re ten a penny. You can’t take two steps in an H-game without stubbing your toe on a gang rape. So it’s something more specific than that. It was something about this particular portrayal of it.

It’s not shock value. Felix gets himself sexually abused on a pretty regular basis, so much so, in fact, that it’s kind of part of the fun, and it’s very much tied into Monette’s aesthetic of suffering.

I could not see, and I could barely hear, save for my own harsh breathing. But I could feel. I could Malkar’s hands like silk, running up and down my back, tracing the scars, the old palimpsest of pain. I could feel his body arching against me, his bulk, his heat. I felt his hands slide under my hips, stroking, exciting, felt the stiffness of him against my thigh. Pain, then, but not too much. Pain … and arousal all woven together like a tapestry. I was moaning, gasping; the only word I could form were “Please, Malkar, please, lease,” and I didn’ tknow if I was begging him to stop or continue. Not that it would made the slightest difference either way.

Let’s pin our colours to the mast here. That’s beautiful. Terrible, but beautiful and absolutely literary in its unrealness. It’s also about as accurate a portrayal of sexual abuse than St Sebastian up there is of martyrdom. Perhaps I’m just an irredeemable sicko but I’m pretty sure it’s there, to an extent, to be enjoyed, partially as spectacle (straight women do not generally write about beautiful gay boys sexing each other manipulatively because it’s a Serious Social Issue) and, also, partially as vindication for all the crappy things that have been done to innumerable female characters in a seventy years of fantasy fiction. I’m not, of course, advocating backlash (more manrape!) but there is something compelling and, even perhaps comforting, in characters like Felix, Alec and friends, these beautiful men, who are as sexually vulnerable as women, suffer and fear the sort of things women suffer and fear, and are very much created to be subjects of an extra-textual female gaze and the intra-textual male gaze. I’m not saying that men don’t get raped and looked at, but the sheer saturation is demonstrably less. I am not trying to say that what happens to Felix at the start of Melusine isn’t dreadful. It is. But it’s a literary violation, and it reduces him to a literary madness that is as terrible and as beautiful as the horror that creates it.

But let’s talk about gang rape. Now there’s something you don’t say everyday.

The scene itself written in a very similar style – opulent, not too explicit although more explicit than above, and contains the same awkward issues of dubious consent. In Melusine, Felix chooses to go to Malkar in a fit of self loathing. In Corambis he agrees theoretically to an orgy in order to raise money for Mildmay’s medical treatment. In both cases what ends up happening to him is far more devastating than what he originally signed up for but, equally, there’s an element of complicity to it. If you return to your abusive master, expect to get abused. If you agree to be the centerpiece of an orgy, expect to get fucked. This abject stupidity is granted a psychological plausibility because Felix is a messed up little bunny, with a supposedly tragic conviction of his own profound worthlessness.

Obviously I don’t want to get into real issues here, but I think the reason the dubious consent became one of the bothering aspects of the scene in Corambis is that the sex abuse came plot-approved. I mean, if Felix was walking down the street and happened to get jumped and gang raped by a bunch of guys I think many a reader might rightly cry “Sarah Monette, what the fuck?” as there are very few occasions in which it is either appropriate or necessary to get one of your characters gang raped. But this way he has a “real” reason to put himself voluntarily into a position where he might be. It’s even, perhaps, meant to be on some level noble – in a hopelessly fucked up way, of course. So what you end up with is a deeply uncomfortable situation in which everything conspires, including (conveniently) Felix himself, to create a scenario in which a horrible but beautifully written gang rape is, to an extent, okay. And this is where the aesthetic of suffering starts to come apart at the seams.

Essentially this scene falls right into the uncanny valley. If it was purely designed for titillation I wouldn’t have a problem with it, but as it is there are elements are titillation and elements of horror. We are meant to be shocked and appalled – and it is shocking and appalling – but it’s framed in such a way that we are simultaneously liberated to relish the aesthetic. And quite frankly that leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I think there’s something profoundly hypocritical and, indeed, deeply disturbing in the idea of enjoying both moral outrage and illicit sexual excitement (see Joss Whedon’s Dollhouse). The scene bears all the hallmarks of erotic non-con (there are elements of psychological exposure as well as physical, the victim is physically aroused throughout, the abusers are appreciative of his beauty and his apparent eagerness, and so on and so forth) but worked through a guilt-appeasing filter of “oh gosh, isn’t this terrible.”

My ankles were still chained and somebody had me scruffed like a kitten; I was keening in protest, but I was dragged upright, forced to straddle someone’s thighs, while he continued fucking me with the same relentless steadiness. I was displayed for all of them, my arousal jutting out shamelessly, the tear tracks on my face attesting to my weakness.

Now, I know that, unlike erotic non-con, Felix is not secretly into what’s being done to him and that he’s breaking and being broken here but you still have a scene that’s running in two directions simultaneously and trying to have its cake and eat it. It goes out of its way to tick the non-con wink-wink boxes but then slaps you face in the face with its insistence that this a terrible and traumatic event. Essentially you can’t have a gorgeously written gang rape that positions itself within a carefully constructed aesthetic framework and a psychologically accurate and traumatic portrait of a terrible ordeal.

And, ultimately, I guess you have to ask yourself if it’s okay to have an aesthetic gang rape scene full stop. The idea bothers me less as pornography but here, I would argue, that it gains an added erotic piquancy from the fact it really is annihilating Felix, which, again is troublesome. Essentially it’s why raping Clarissa is so much more interesting than raping Justine, and why it’s all right to get off on the latter and not the former.

The more I’ve thought about this and tried to articulate my issues with it, the more complex and convoluted it has become. There is, of course, an element of the purely personal about – I didn’t like it and it upset me – as well as these more abstract, intellectualizations of it. I dug around on Monette’s Livejournal – on which is usually charming and sensible – to see what I could find and, lo and behold, she has written quite comprehensively on the subject, which I shall now quote pretty much in its entirety:

I knew from very early on that Felix was going to turn back to prostitution to get the money for a doctor for someone he loved (I knew this was going to happen before I knew Mildmay existed), and I knew that he was going to end up in a situation that was completely out of his control and that hurt him badly. Because Felix is reckless and self-destructive and because under all his vanity, he doesn't think he's worth protecting. And because it is a kind of answering horror to his being raped by Malkar at the beginning of Mélusine. And because he needed something that would force him to confront these issues--force him to see that he doesn't deserve to be abused--and it had to be something superlatively unbearable if it was going to get through to him, because Felix has way too much experience at ignoring his own pain.

Say what? So it’s redemptive gang rape, the sort makes you a stronger and better person? What … the … fuck? It’s like those Hollywood amnesia plotlines (one blow to the head gives you amnesia, another blow cures it) except with sexual abuse. I know, again, we’re operating in a fictional sphere but this is so made of wrong that I’ll just content myself with linking to Dan’s article on

the victim dilemma

and throw my hands up in despair.

I quite enjoy Monette’s aestheticisation of suffering, I could probably navigate the uncanny valley if I really had to but I am sick to death of male fantasy writers using sexual abuse as a textual shortcut for character development and I’m damned if I’m going to deal with women doing the same thing. Sarah Monette, you are better than this.

Sexual abuse is not good for you. It happens and people react. Constantly depicting characters who react to it in courageous and life-enhancing ways is not empowering, it’s fucking demeaning to people who struggle along every day as best they can.

I’m sure in a different time in a different mood I’ll pick up Corambis again and I’ll get to page 152 and I’ll shrug and go “gang rape, meh” and read right on.

But not today.Themes:

Damage Report

Books

Sarah Monette

Sci-fi / Fantasy

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~Comments (

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Arthur B

at 14:44 on 2009-04-27It's depressing when series go south like this. It's especially annoying when they burn down the virtues of the earlier volumes. I was looking at your first Monette review and you were saying how you were impressed by the fact that Felix was gay, but it kind of wasn't a big deal; I'm getting the impression that as the series goes on that becomes less true, since that LJ extract makes it sounds like Monette intended all along to reduce Felix to a weepy gay man being abused by angry gay men. (If I'm interpreting that right - if Felix pimping himself out predates the existence of Mildmay, that means that Monette was planning to make this happen since before the first book, right?)

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Wardog

at 15:11 on 2009-04-27Mmm, that's part of the problem though. I don't actually think it's "gone south" - despite the Xtreme angst I was quite absorbed until page 152. It was merely that scene that tripped me out. I'm sure if I could put it behind me and just get on with the book, I'd probably really like it.

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Rude Cyrus

at 20:32 on 2009-04-27Great, now I need a shower.

While I suppose rape can be presented as being aesthetically pleasing, like in erotic non-con, I still don't like it. I've always found consenting sex between happy, willing partners infinitely more pleasurable -- don't ask me why. This sort of stuff just makes my skin crawl.

What's funny is that I can make it through The 120 Days of Sodom without blinking, but I think that's because De Sade insisted on using the driest, most tortured language possible.

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Wardog

at 21:15 on 2009-04-27Sorry Cyrus. I'm not sure but I think it's probably easier to be into erotic non-con / rape fantasy if you're a woman than a man, either because you're more likely to imagine yourself as the rapee rather than the rapist which is slightly easier to deal with morally speaking or because the world seems generally reluctant to admit that women can rape people too. Whereas if you're a man who fantasies about forcing women to have sex with him ... well ... hostility many ensue from quarters unwilling to concede the very real difference between fantasy, reality and simulated non-con.

Hmm, I think the thing about 120 Days of Sodom is that, as you say, it's incredibly dull. And de Sade is a terrible writer. There's only one thing worse than a rape scene and that's a badly written rape scene!

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Arthur B

at 21:18 on 2009-04-27I do wonder sometimes whether deSade was an early pen-and-paper troll. Most of his books seem to be the literary equivalent of telling someone a particular link goes to an interesting and thought-provoking philosophy website when actually it points to goatse or 2girls1cup.

I mean, he went to jail for it, but you have to make sacrifices for "the lulz", as I believe the young people call it these days.

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http://roisindubh211.livejournal.com/

at 02:43 on 2009-04-28"Constantly depicting characters who react to it in courageous and life-enhancing ways is not empowering, it’s fucking demeaning to people who struggle along every day as best they can."

I have to disagree here- not with the point you make, but with the accusation being levelled at Monette. Felix has spent three books getting abused and every reaction to it has been, basically, "I was right all along, I am worthless. Hmmm, should I hurt myself again or just re-alienate everyone who cares about me tonight?" The enormity of the gang-rape is something he's not prepared to consider his just desserts, and it isn't the only influence on his growth as a person. A lot has to do with having Mildmay -who has been developing his own self-confidence, on his own, without the help of shitty things happening to him- be there for him and push and push to get him (Felix) not to hurt himself any more.

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Wardog

at 09:13 on 2009-04-28

The enormity of the gang-rape is something he's not prepared to consider his just desserts, and it isn't the only influence on his growth as a person.

I do see your point and I wasn't really dissing Monette, who I actually adore. There was just something about this scene, or the way it was presented, or *something* that was a bridge too far for me. And at first I was inclined to just ignore it and tell myself to stop being a wuss and then I got interested in *why* this scene was so problematic and, secondarily, I realised that, on a wider level, it should probably be okay to stand up and say "for me, this gang rape is not okay."

I will at some point finish Corambis, because I have *hugely* enjoyed the Doctrine of Labyrinths quartet (I have some reviews knocking around here in which I give much sweet sweet love), I think I just need some time to get away from the gang rape.

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Wardog

at 09:29 on 2009-04-28

I do wonder sometimes whether deSade was an early pen-and-paper troll

Dan and I like the idea of historical trolls, and also explains the Marquis far more than most of pop-psych nonsense I've read does =P

Lucifer, of course, would be the first troll - complaining about the mods.

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http://miss-morland.livejournal.com/

at 11:54 on 2009-04-28*giggles at the thought of de Sade and Lucifer as trolls*

I haven't read Monette's books, but I still found this post very interesting - it articulates my issues with non-con and dub-con in fiction very well. (I do wonder, though, if ambiguous portrayals of rape scenes are sometimes meant to make the readers think and question their own attitudes, instead of jumping to the safe reaction of 'OMG so horrible'?)

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Dan H

at 14:25 on 2009-04-28

I do wonder, though, if ambiguous portrayals of rape scenes are sometimes meant to make the readers think and question their own attitudes, instead of jumping to the safe reaction of 'OMG so horrible'?)

You might well be right, but even if that is the intent, it's a deeply flawed one.

Perhaps I'm just an arrogant shit, but I really hate it when people try to make me think about stuff unless it's in a medium *specifically designed* for that.

If you want to challenge my preconceptions about rape, write a book that is *about* challenging my preconcieved notions about rape. Don't try to do it in the middle of a fantasy series that is mostly about hot gay wizards gettin' it on.

If I want to have my ideas about absuse challenged, I'll read Lolita, or possibly I'll track down some abuse-survivors' weblogs. I won't read an otherwise ordinary fantasy novel or, for that matter, watch

Dollhouse

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Dan H

at 16:05 on 2009-04-28

The enormity of the gang-rape is something he's not prepared to consider his just desserts

I can't speak for Kyra, but the problem I have with this is that it suggests, falsely, that the more traumatic an experience is the less likely you are to blame yourself for it. I'm by no means an expert on the subject of abuse survival but from my limited experience people's tendency to self-blame for things is wholly unrelated to the severity of the abuse suffered. For that matter, the whole idea of rating abuse experiences in order of severity is a bit of a dodgy precedent.

Essentially I think there's an important, and worrying, difference between "Felix has experienced things like this before but, because he has grown as a person, and because of the influence of Mildmay, he does not blame himself for this experience" and "Felix has experienced things like this before but, because this experience is so much worse than the others, he cannot blame himself for it".

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http://sistermagpie.livejournal.com/

at 21:38 on 2009-05-01I haven't read this last book yet, but I'm glad for the heads-up. Having read the other 3 I can definitely see how this kind of thing would play, and I'm not surprised that she'd planned something like this from the beginning. It does make you think thought, about the idea that this character is constantly going through situations like this, and it's finally when he acheives the kind of abuse he might have always thought would be what he deserved, that he realizes he didn't deserve it. Even if Mildmay and other experiences are also part of his turnaround, I don't know whether that kind of catalyst will click for me the way another one might.

Like, rather than having him be in a situatio that's the same as before, but with one clear difference that makes him see it clearly, it's almost like Helen Keller at the well. Repeated fingerspelling over and over and finally he gets it.

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Wardog

at 15:28 on 2009-05-11I lost this temporarily in the deluge of comments about other things.

It is possible I've over-reacted to the gang rape; I suppose responses to these sort of motifs are always going to be extremely personal. I feel almost hypocritical because, as you say, there's plenty of indication previously that we were on the Sex Abuse Superhighway and something like this was probably bound to happen. But the way it's framed and written, combinated with its narrative function as a catalyst for change really really squicked me out. I know it's not necessarily meant to be psychologically plausible but there's something deeply worrying in the idea that there is a scale of sexual abuse, the extreme end of which teaches you self respect.

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valse de la lune

at 14:04 on 2011-07-12I tracked down

this interview

and I'm now extremely, thoroughly grossed out with Sarah Monette:

I think this does happen to gay male protagonists (the most obvious example is Mercedes Lackey's Last Herald-Mage books). And I think Felix does fall into this trap to a certain extent, although in my defense I will say that the reason he gets raped is because I was interested in the tension inherent in a character who could be both rapist and victim. Which could have been a woman, or a heterosexual man, but it was most obvious and easiest to mobilize with a gay man. I also chose a gay male protagonist because my abiding interest is in the power dynamics of human relationships, especially sexual relationships, and it is VERY VERY HARD to write about that with a heterosexual female protagonist without pigeon-holing her and yourself into either a re-inscription of patriarchal gender roles (male dominant, female submissive) or a simple gender reversal (female dominant, male submissive) (which I did work with some in my novella, "A Gift of Wings," in The Queen in Winter). A lesbian relationship is also a possibility, but it's far more interesting and attention-grabbing to take power away from a man than it is to give power to a woman. [...] Also, because we live in a patriarchal society and have for several thousand years, there's nothing new or shocking about the idea that women are victims. (I'm not saying this is a good thing, mind you.) You can get more narrative charge out of victimizing a man and you aren't reinscribing the same old gender role patterns into that ever deeper groove of men act and women suffer.

What the fuck, Monette? My word, lesbian relationships aren't just ~hawt~ enough unlike slender

yaoi stereotypes

wizards sexing it up and... female empowerment is just too boring? Female victimization is just too

banal

to write about so gay men being degraded (and in this case, often raped by women) has more "narrative charge"? There's also something toward the end that basically goes "well, if you are writing about male rape it's super

titillating

shocking so people will recognize RAPE IS HORRIBLE whereas women being raped is just so

every day

so... hey, manpain! That'll get people

thinking

, right? Right!"

I don't know, all of this reads like the slash fangirl's justification why she's not interested in writing girls but wants to write hot boys instead, all disguised under a pretend layer of ~*soshul justeese*~.

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Wardog

at 23:33 on 2011-07-12Oh dear. I'm actually really annoyed with myself that it took me to Book IV to unpack what was going on with the, err, sexay mainpain and all the arse rape. I did quite like Monette initially - I think partially because when I first read Melusine I was still under the impression that gay characters were pretty rare in fantasy. To give Monette credit, when she actually bothers to be interested in them, she does write interesting female characters - I mean I *loved* Mehitabel from this series.

I think what freaks me out the most is that, as you observe, it's blatant titillation under the label of trangression. I have no problems with people getting their kicks from whatever they get their kicks from, as long as it's a carefully demarcated fantasy space, but pretending it's anything else is deeply toxic.

Also that interview was just awful :(

Maybe it's just because it doesn't apply to me but I don't understand why so many women find two dudes so unbelievably hawt but two women apparently tedious. Ho hum.

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valse de la lune

at 05:06 on 2011-07-13I think gay characters are still pretty rare in fantasy, but the gay dudes all seem to come from the same wellspring of fanfic tropes. I've read all the arguments as to why dudeslash is a female-positive space that enables women to explore their sexuality and I do get some of it, but I can't shake the feeling that so much of that is hot air; no matter how hard a slash fan argues I can't really see how spamming rape at gay dudes is particularly, y'know, feminist. Maybe it plays with power dynamics and whatnot but, on the other hand,

rape culture

I don't get the thing with YAY HAWT BOYS EWW GIRLS ARE BORING either, though it's been explained to me that most female characters aren't decently written so people'd sooner generate fanfic about boys instead. But that doesn't fly because fandom churns out great volumes of fanfic dedicated to minor male characters, even though some of them barely have a presence in the book/show/movie--see Figwit of the LOTR movies fame--whereas women, primary or tertiary, still get written out or villified. There are even

bingo cards

. Somewhere in that

a valid clause regarding how we're trained to look at media through male gateways thanks to patriarchy and we internalize that. Still don't get it on a personal level because I've always preferred female characters over male, but there it goes.

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Melissa G.

at 06:30 on 2011-07-13

Maybe it's just because it doesn't apply to me but I don't understand why so many women find two dudes so unbelievably hawt but two women apparently tedious. Ho hum.

Speaking as a straight woman who gets paid to translate yaoi, I can understand that pretty well. :-) It's not that I find girls boring as characters, but as someone who isn't sexually attracted to women, I find myself gravitating toward situations where I can look at/write about two sexy boys instead if I'm looking for smexy times. (Though I'm very, very picky these days about yaoi because of tropes I'm sure I've mentioned before.)

I feel some sympathy for Monette because I do have a hard time verbalizing my tastes without resorting to those same basic arguments about power play or feeling the need to judge the female character and how she is portrayed specifically because she's female (which I wish I didn't, but I do so...). What I find odd is the fact that everyone insists on asking me *why* I find male-on-male romance so appealing, and then I'm stuck in this hem-hawing, putting-on-airs defense because I'm too embarrassed to just go, "Two guys doing stuff to each other is hot?"

(Uh-oh, now I'm having Dorian Gray flashbacks. Oh, Ben Barnes, you scamp, you!!)

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Steve Stirling at 07:07 on 2011-07-13

I don't get the thing with YAY HAWT BOYS EWW GIRLS ARE BORING either

-- you get exactly the same in reverse from male writers a lot, so I don't see that there's any mystery about it.

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valse de la lune

at 07:20 on 2011-07-13I don't think Kyra's asking "why male-on-male?" but more "why do people find women inexplicably boring?"

but as someone who isn't sexually attracted to women, I find myself gravitating toward situations where I can look at/write about two sexy boys instead if I'm looking for smexy times.

That doesn't make sense to me because, even outside of sexual context, a lot of slashers just don't want to write women period and I'm sure we don't always only write about what's sexually/romantically attractive to us (or no straight man would ever write male characters).

It also doesn't really answer why women are so villified and hated by fandom at large: why people like Monette believe "it's more interesting to take power away from a man than to give power to a woman," or why slash is passed off as some wonderful female-positive space when it involves a lot of female-negative things, including but not limited to slut-shaming and othering women. Ogle hot boys, whatever (but even so, why so much fucking rape all the fucking time? Why the infantilizing tropes?). But I think you can do that without contributing to misogyny and rape culture.

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Steve Stirling at 07:24 on 2011-07-13

I don't think Kyra's asking "why male-on-male?" but more "why do people find women inexplicably boring?"

-- I don't. I actually had to start flipping coins at one point to make sure my characters weren't predominantly female.

Maybe it's because I was in single-sex schools for a lot of my adolescence, but I just find women more interesting than men. More complex and variable, on average.

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Steve Stirling at 07:38 on 2011-07-13

Ogle hot boys, whatever (but even so, why so much fucking rape all the fucking time? Why the infantilizing tropes?). But I think you can do that without contributing to misogyny and rape culture.

-- I don't read much (any, really) slash, but the actually-published equivalents like the book described here don't seem particularly misogynist to me. Just obsessed with Hot Boys in Chains.

As for the rape and stuff, a lot of people get off on that. Trying to tell people that the sexual fantasies which ring their chimes aren't permissible is roughly equivalent to trying to scold water until it voluntarily runs uphill. Much effort, little result.

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valse de la lune

at 07:45 on 2011-07-13

I don't. I actually had to start flipping coins at one point to make sure my characters weren't predominantly female.

Thank you, Minority Warrior, but if you are a bloke that's not exactly addressed to you.

I don't read much (any, really) slash, but the actually-published equivalents like the book described here don't seem particularly misogynist to me. Just obsessed with Hot Boys in Chains.

I've only read the first book and the gang-rape scene in the fourth, but a lot of the women in this series like to rape gay men for some strange reason.

Melusine

opens with an anecdote about the pure, true love between men. Two women get between it; one proceeds to rape one of the men repeatedly until he wants to kill himself. So, yes, both fandom slash and published slash perpetuate a lot of the same crap. Then there's Monette's interview and strange leaps of illogic which read sexist as hell to me.

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Melissa G.

at 08:48 on 2011-07-13

I can't speak to that. I don't know why so many writers are so anti-female characters, and it would take me pages of musing to try and come to a conclusion. I was referring specifically to sexual situations (by which I mean stories centering on sex) because the comment I was particularly responding to was "why do so many women find two dudes so unbelievably hot but two women apparently tedious". Which I read as "why do so many women love writing about two guys (sexually) but find writing about two women so boring (sexually)". Perhaps I misinterpreted what Kyra was saying. I stated clearly that I don't find women boring as characters to read and write about, but that I understand why many women gravitate toward male homosexual relationships and why they might find it arousing when they are writing merely to titillate themselves/others.

I haven't read the series in question so I take everyone's word for it that the rape isn't handled well and misogyny abounds. And trust me, I'm the first person to get fed up with the kind of tropes male-on-male stuff tends to come with - especially when written by someone who's probably never even spoken to a gay man before. I got fed up with one author in particular because her protagonists kept falling for their rapists, yuck. But just because a lot of it sucks and perpetuates some seriously shitty stuff doesn't mean that it's not okay to find guy-on-guy stuff hot. And I really don't appreciate being made to feel like because I like it, I am somehow in danger of losing my feminist card.

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valse de la lune

at 09:57 on 2011-07-13I don't think I have been suggesting that if you like slash, you're in danger of losing your feminist cred; being a feminist doesn't exactly mean everything you consume must be feminist, after all, and we all enjoy things that are problematic to some degree. I just don't like how it's put forward as a YAY WOMEN field when it's not really. Likewise, I've been shouted down in fandom spaces for calling out misogyny in slash, something along the line of

you will find it is you who is misogyny

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valse de la lune

at 10:06 on 2011-07-13(Sorry that I'm coming down harshly such that you feel you're being discredited as a feminist, though.)

One more thing--I've been told over and over that there is a strong presence of queer women in slash circles, so for some it's not so much a matter of "I'm straight so more cocks yay!!!" In fact, with so many queer women around--so many lesbians even--you'd think there would be more F/F fanfic. But there isn't, so...

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Melissa G.

at 10:23 on 2011-07-13

I don't think I have been suggesting that if you like slash, you're in danger of losing your feminist cred

I think I was responding defensively to this comment:

Ogle hot boys, whatever (but even so, why so much fucking rape all the fucking time? Why the infantilizing tropes?). But I think you can do that without contributing to misogyny and rape culture.

It basically felt to me like my entire sexual preference/fetish/whatever was being boiled down to "ogling hot boys". It’s those kinds of dismissive, judgmental comments that make me feel like I need to somehow justify what I find arousing. That’s why you have people arguing that it’s pro-women or empowering or whatever to write and read man-on-man love stories. When an attraction is called into question, I think often women in particular feel the need to base that attraction in something intellectual and philosophical. Because it would be wrong for a woman to just find something titillating or arousing. Because women aren’t supposed to like sex just for sex.

I think there are ways that it can be empowering (I wouldn't go so far as to say 'feminist'), but most of it fails in this regard. For me, when I read a story with a male bottom that I can relate to as far as sexual behavior, it makes me feel less weird. There's something freeing about the behavior being related to the position and not the gender, for me anyway. I think that also relates to why an author might find it more interesting (and by interesting I mean because they find it hot) to take power away from men. For some women who are attracted to men, there is something very fascinating and seductive about a man submitting (either sexually or emotionally), probably because it's something so commonly associated with female behavior. So again, it becomes less of a gender thing and more of a relationship role thing. If that makes any sense....

I just don't like how it's put forward as a YAY WOMEN field when it's not really.

I totally understand that. I actually avoid fan written slash like the plague because most of it is just not good. Most of it is (I think) influenced by yaoi, which oh dear god, has such problems. There is so much rape and questionable consent and a lot of "I'm only gay for that guy" and such overly traditional female behavior (even though one of them is male, go figure). And the kind of people you've probably argued with are likely the kind of people who make me afraid to admit I'm part of the yaoi subculture.

But there is good stuff out there. I promise. :-)

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Melissa G.

at 10:26 on 2011-07-13

Sorry, I made my long post before I saw this! That is odd. Why don't they focus on yuri? Yuri is slowly becoming a more female dominated genre. It's kind of cool actually that the female authors are slowly co-opting a genre that was once basically male-written lesbian porn for men. To each their own, I guess?

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valse de la lune

at 10:59 on 2011-07-13

It basically felt to me like my entire sexual preference/fetish/whatever was being boiled down to "ogling hot boys".

But... I said that because I think it's pretty dandy if you're just in it for the ogling of hot boys, or balls being cupped gently, or even self-lubing anuses. I don't think you, or anyone else, need to justify it any further than that. Think it's hot? Go for it! That's excellent. Objectifying

men

in and of itself, separate from the concern over straight people fetishizing homosexuality, doesn't really bother me. I'm not questioning the appeal of slash: I'm questioning some of the tropes, the homophobia, the misogyny. Which certainly aren't universal, but there sure is a lot of them to go around. Hell, gay male characters written by straight men also get raped an awful lot (hi Richard Morgan, thank you for that graphic schoolboy gang rape).

Disclosure: I think lesbians are awesome. I'd like to read more stuff with lesbian representation. Being homoromantic does have something to do with it, though.

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Melissa G.

at 11:11 on 2011-07-13

:-) I think it just came off as hostile because of the swearing, lol. To be honest, I was probably overly defensive because it's kind of a touchy thing for me.

I'm not questioning the appeal of slash: I'm questioning some of the tropes, the homophobia, the misogyny.

Yes, I'm with you here. I have a lot of trouble with a lot of boy/boy stuff that's out there.

Re: Lesbians

If you're looking to try out some yuri, I can lead you to some scanlation sites. I haven't read much yuri so I can't totally vouch for the content, but these are sites that I know of:

Lililicious

Payapaya

Just be sure to check for ratings and such. There was one on Lilicious I read years ago that I was enjoying.

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valse de la lune

at 11:14 on 2011-07-13OMG yay :D :D :D Thanks for the links. My friend's been sending me some too. I'm also quite pleased to see that a lot of yuri writers are female. Awesome.

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Cammalot

at 15:23 on 2011-07-13I JUST WANNA WATCH DUDES EMOTE. ;-)

I actually got into yaoi (not slash for whatever reason) because I was attracted to what I thought was the innate equality in such a a relationship. There are a variety of reasons I don't really seek out much fanfic anymore (one of which is the decade-plus that has gone by) but one of them is that I don't really see that equality getting embraced. (I'm necessarily truncating this, I have to imitate being a productive employee at the moment.)

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Melissa G.

at 19:40 on 2011-07-13

I JUST WANNA WATCH DUDES EMOTE. ;-)

Ooh, yes, good observation. I like that too.

I actually got into yaoi (not slash for whatever reason) because I was attracted to what I thought was the innate equality in such a a relationship.

Ditto. That's what I really like about it too, which is why I hate when they skew the power dynamic too far in one direction without somehow compensating for it in another way. I've never been into fanfic, but I do love doujinshi.

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Cammalot

at 19:48 on 2011-07-13I wrote up this whole long comment yesterday, but today with you guys' further conversation I realized I was addressing something that Pyro was not talking about, so I'm tweaking, but I don't think I'll have a chance to get to it today.

The extremely short version is that there's a very definite blockage that some women seem to have about writing women, and I had it myself for some time (and that some more extreme versions of it outright baffle me), and have spent a lot of time trying to process, discuss, and debate what the fuck that is about. With theories. I have theories.

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Melissa G.

at 19:53 on 2011-07-13

The extremely short version is that there's a very definite blockage that some women seem to have about writing women,

Definitely noticed this myself at times. I gravitate toward writing male characters, or at least I used to. I'm very interested to hear your theories whenever you find the time to write them up. :-)

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Sister Magpie

at 20:07 on 2011-07-13

I would guess that that's probably not all that related to the whole "that's my kink" thing, only not all kinks are sexual. That is, expecting them to explain it would probably be similar to having anybody explain why they find one thing more hot than another.

For instance, I like het and I like slash, but there are certain kinds of stories that could definitely be considered non-sexual kinks that I am more likely to read about in a m/m pairing than a f/m pairing or f/f pairing. I suppose I could try to relate it to power issues with gender IRL, but it's probably more just a kink if it's something I've pretty much always been drawn to.

I don't find that rape or "I'm only gay for that guy" seems to dominate most of the slash I come across, but I think that might often come down to different pairings leaning towards different dynamics. Or else also some authors being better than most.

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Steve Stirling at 22:44 on 2011-07-13Pyrofennec:

-of the women in this series like to rape gay men for some strange reason.Melusine opens with an anecdote about the pure, true love between men. Two women get between it; one proceeds to rape one of the men repeatedly until he wants to kill himself.

-- that is odd. I'd say it was evidence of misogyny if a guy wrote it, but I have trouble -imagining- a guy writing it, even a gay man. You'd need a very strange set of quirks to do so.

#Ferretbrain #Corambis #Sarah Monette #Wardog

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mikeyhatesit113 · 4 years

Text

forever and never: Chapter 2

“You know you almost got shot last night?”

My dad’s voice on the other end of the phone was stern and serious.

“Come again?” I asked.

“You came in late last night, and she was scared out of her mind. If you would have taken one step towards our bedroom, she would have shot you.”

My dad was referring to his new girlfriend, Tammy. I was utterly confused.

“I was just hanging out with my friends, and I come in that late every night. She knows that. I thought I was being super quiet,” I said.

“Well you were making plenty of noise. She was scared out of her mind. Be more quiet next time,” my dad demanded.

Wait…can we rewind to the ‘she almost shot me’ part, and question why you’re continuing to let her hold your handgun at night?

This conversation was just an annexation of the crumbling home life I was experiencing at the time. I had spent 7 long years of growing up under my grandparents’ roof, as I always understood that my over-the-road trucker father could not afford a place of his own.

Or so I thought.

However, my dad had recently met a new woman and less than 1 month later, he rented a townhouse so they could live together. I had to follow him, of course.

Not that I wanted to go. I loved living at my grandparents’ house, but I was 19 years old and with my dad finally moving out, I had no choice but to go with him.

I hated that townhouse. A sheet of tin foil is thicker than those walls were. On top of it all, his new girlfriend clearly didn’t like that I was living there and occupying a room at Castle Paper Walls. She wanted the townhouse for only her, my dad, and her two children that she had part-time custody of. Without me there, think of the space she could have had!

So much room for activities!

Everything I did around that house became an issue, including taking a Mountain Dew out of the refrigerator. I wasn’t welcome to them, as I was not involved in the original “4 for $12” purchase.

My dad wasn’t the most secure guy either, for a man who just locked in a 12 month lease with a complete stranger. He called me one day and told me, “If Tammy ever romantically approaches you when I’m not around, please tell me.”

Wait...so what are we doing? Is this real life?

My escape from the turmoil at home was going to work and having a good time.

Janie and the fellow staff members would listen to the stories of my everyday struggles with family members and odd friends. They were the perfect audience, and their laughter helped me look at my life as the slap-stick comedy it was turning out to be.

I tried to spend as much time as I could away from ‘home’, which is why on the night of November 1st, 2007, I was walking alone in a dark parking lot.

It was a cool, autumn night, and I deemed it a good opportunity to get some fresh air.

That’s when my phone unexpectedly sprung to life, the bright screen lighting up the night around me.

It was a text message.

As it was after 9 on a Thursday, I couldn’t imagine who would be contacting me at that time of night.

I looked down and squinted my eyes at my bright screen.

It was a text.

From Janie.

And then another text.

And then another one.

Followed by another one.

And these weren’t just short texts with simple greetings. They were lengthy messages with lots of information.

Had something happened with work?

I started reading the first text, and something happened inside of me.

I don’t know if my heart sunk, or if it skipped a beat, but there was a reaction nonetheless to such an unexpected statement.

“I don’t know how to say this, but I have fallen for you.”

I couldn’t quite comprehend what I was reading, but then the texts kept coming.

To paraphrase,

“I have feelings for you.”

“I’ve been feeling this way for a while now.”

“I’m not happy in my marriage.”

“I know there’s an age gap between us, but my parents are even further apart in age, and they’re totally happy together.”

I stared at my phone screen, unable to fully process what I was reading.

Was this some kind of joke?

Seriously…I assumed she was probably surrounded by people and they were all laughing and high-fiving, waiting for my response.

This just wasn’t possible. I was at her house less than a month before, talking to her husband, Jay, in their kitchen. I liked Jay. I was almost certain the feeling was mutual.

And every time I had been to their home, I sensed no discontent.

No tension. No passive aggressive comments.

Nothing.

They truly came off like the perfect American family.

However, that perfect perception was a stark contrast to the information that was spewing onto my phone screen.

Just me and my phone, alone in this dark parking lot, shouldering this sudden burden.

I am a firm believer that life gives us critical tests at crucial times, where the choices we make define our character, and dictate the events that follow.

This was one of those tests. Tied with a bow.

I put my phone back in my pocket and continued walking. I did not respond, because I just didn’t know what to say.

My phone lit up again.

“Please say something, Michael.”

I continued walking, placing one foot in front of the other while my head spun.

As far as I was concerned, I had two options. For starters, my employment at the daycare center had been plunged into serious jeopardy. The center’s director had just professed her “love” for me, so my employment status was irrevocably altered, if not terminated altogether.

But still, I had 2 options.

1. Tell her that she misread everything about our friendship, wish her well, and never return to a place that paid only $7 an hour.

2. Attempt to talk her off the ledge, assist her in rectifying her obvious confusion, and pretend that we could just be friends after such a conversation. Also, continue earning only $7 an hour.

Eventually, I had arrived back home. My father’s girlfriend had since gone to bed, and I sat in the dark living room alone.

I picked up my phone.

“Hey,” I began, my brain struggling more than my fingers to find the right words. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’m confused by all of this.”

“Can you come over here? I’m at Sheila’s house,” she wrote back.

“It’s late, and I don’t know if that’s a good idea. We can talk tomorrow?” I offered.

I knew the last thing in the world to be considered a “good idea” would have been to go over there and talk in person. This thing needed to simmer for a while.

“Can you please come over here? I feel like we need to talk about this tonight,” she pleaded.

“Um…”

This was my friend asking this of me. Technically my boss, which added a complete new dimension altogether.

“Please?” she begged.

This was the kind of decision in life that truly separates the men from the boys.

Wise men from fools.

She wasn’t in danger. She wasn’t stranded anywhere. She wasn’t in jeopardy.

By all accounts, I should have ignored her text messages, went to work the next day, and let her, and her only, share the awkward exchanges and glances.

The problem was, I wasn’t a man. And though I wasn’t seduced, not even in the least, I wasn’t thinking like a real man needed to.

I grabbed my car keys.

I wonder how my life would have turned out if I wouldn’t have left the townhouse that night. I wonder who I’d be today, and where I’d be now, if I hadn’t given in.

But as my car traveled along those back roads that night, it seemed that the future was the furthest thing from my mind.

20 minutes later, my car pulled into Sheila’s gravel driveway. I got out of my car and entered her backyard, where Sheila greeted me. “She’s inside,” said Sheila with a curious expression. It appeared as if she wanted to start laughing. It appeared that she knew how preposterous the situation was, but the beer in her hand was stopping her from addressing it in any type of appropriate way.

As I stated earlier, she was the owner of the entire daycare center. This was not only an inevitable professional mess, but it was also a personal one, as she and her husband had always been close with Janie and Jay.

Unfortunately, everyone’s adult mind-set, mine included, had taken a holiday that night.

I entered the house and did not immediately see Janie. I stood there awkwardly, questioning myself silently if I was doing the right thing. Should I leave?

Within seconds, Janie appeared through the doorway, also holding a beer. I was surprised, as I did not think that she had been drinking when she spilled her heart out to me. I thought it came from a personal place during an honest moment of clarity.

I was mistaken.

We made small talk before agreeing to go upstairs to Sheila’s daughter’s room to talk in privacy.

We entered the room and closed the door behind us. Janie sat down on the floor beside the bed, arms wrapped around her knees like a confused teenager who wasn’t sure who to take to prom. She took another sip of beer, smirking at how uncomfortable this was.

“So…what is going on?” I asked, standing at the other end of the room.

On cue, Janie launched into how she was unhappy in her marriage, and that she only stayed in it because she felt like she had to. If she even thought about divorcing Jay, her family would most definitely shun and disown her. She claimed that she had gotten married too young, but after Jay went into the military, they could only coexist due to the periods of time apart while Jay was on deployment.

Then she divulged that she had been unfaithful to Jay multiple times before. She claimed that she had slept with an old high school boyfriend when Jay went off to boot camp, and years later, she had an affair with one of Jay’s superiors in the military.

“After we had slept together, Jay and I were at a social event, and he introduced me to one of his superior officers. I looked at the guy and realized it was the same guy I had just slept with,” she recalled.

Then she smirked. “Boy, that was awkward when our eyes met.”

She also attempted to justify her extramarital adventures by speculating that Jay had cheated on her while he was overseas.

I listened to her words, but instead of seeing the raw irony sitting right in front of me, I could only confirm that she was indeed unhappy in her marriage.

I viewed her cheating as a simple result of her feeling trapped and unhappy for years. I mean, what kind of family would force a woman to stay in a marriage she didn’t want to be in? Did they not care about her happiness?

She also claimed that Jay had become verbally abusive to her and treated her poorly. She claimed that she often felt like he chose drinking over spending time with her.

Her long story weaved and wove its way back around to meeting me, and how she felt happy when she was with me.

To this day, I still don’t know why. I was 19 and care-free, but that was truly because I had little to nothing to care about.

My car was 13 years old. I lived at home with my dad and his girlfriend. My only bills were car insurance and cell phone. I wasn’t going to college, and I wasn’t pursuing anything long term.

This was a stark contrast to Jay, who had served in the military, was a great provider and father, had a really nice job, and had skills that could cement a future for her children. Plus, her family loved him.

But this enigma over the cause for her attraction to me also served as a curse, because it made me think that with having so little to offer her, maybe it was true love after all?

In any regard, I told her that she needed to figure some things out before anything else could happen. I didn’t drive to Shelli’s house that night to become a homewrecker, and I wasn’t about to get involved in a marriage that wasn’t mine.

I told her that I liked Jay, I respected her marriage and family, and the time wasn’t right for me to get involved.

God strike me dead if I’m lying about that. That’s exactly what I told her. Ask her.

But this is where I went wrong.

Janie had been drinking, and as it was now well after midnight, she was in no condition to drive.

I recommended that she lay down and sleep it off, and she asked me to stay with her.

I agreed.

For the second time that night, I sealed my fate.

She laid down on the bed, and I laid down on the opposite side.

Clothes were on. We weren’t touching, and we weren’t cuddling.

With Jay at home with her children, I was intent on not letting this night go any further. There was too much on the line.

God strike me dead if I’m lying about that, too.

The bright blue numbers from Shelli’s daughter’s alarm clock lit up the room as if dawn was already on the horizon, but the 12:13 on its face indicated otherwise.

I closed my eyes, willing sleep to come, but Janie reached out and pulled me toward her. I tried to scooch away, insisting that she go to sleep, and she relented.

But a moment later, she pulled me close to her again.

I should have left. But I didn’t.

I once again insisted that she get some sleep, but she wasn’t having any of it. I smelled the beer on her breath as she tried pulling my head towards her, searching for a kiss.

It was a kiss I did not want, but I felt my resolve slowly eroding.

But I was intent. This could not happen. This wasn’t right. It just wasn’t.

I resisted, but another advance immediately came. Janie forced her face towards mine, her lips finding my lips in the pale darkness.

It was a kiss I did not want, but it was a kiss I suddenly returned.

A betrayal of people I knew. A betrayal of myself. A betrayal of all that I thought I believed.

I kissed her back, and you might as well say that my innocence died right there in the blue glow of that alarm clock.

We did not have sex.

Somehow, she fell asleep and so did I, and we both woke up around 4am.

In silence, we both grabbed our things and left Shelli’s house, going to our cars without saying anything to each other except mumbling a brief farewell.

We were retreating back to our own separate worlds. She was going home to her sleeping family, and I was going home to possibly get shot by a paranoid woman with a handgun.

This wasn’t the movies.

There was no kiss goodbye. No alibi. No soap opera-worthy speeches.

I got inside my car and the engine roared to life in the cold, crisp dark. The sun had not yet risen, allowing us to still move under the cover of darkness.

Our own personal twilight, where things are easily hidden in the absence of light.

But the sun would rise in a few short hours, and it would shed a light upon what we had done, and who we had become overnight.

I would awake that next morning in a bright, sunny room with the smell of her perfume still on my shirt.

An intoxicating memory of the night before. And the dawning of a new universe that I was now wide awake in.

And that’s not always a good thing.

In my case, it sure as hell wasn’t.

Buckle up.

“Why don't you just... Sleep up, sleep up? You can call me in the morning when you’re feeling all blue-like Leave us, leave us In the past Took our love and you put it in a noose, so Why should I forgive you? You’re the reason I choose Feelings, feelings Feelings over everybody else I knew.”

Thousand Below “171 Xo”

NOTE: Though this is my side of the story, including my own personal recollections and opinions, the reader should not consider this note anything other than a work of literature. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

#marriage #divorce #breakups #relationships #relationship advice #dating #trust issues #depression #motivation

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