#like i had hardly any autonomy while we were together

[oftenwantedafton]

The Perfect Girl - Dave Miller/William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 10

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - restraints, captivity, sexual content

Also available on AO3

Spring cleaning.

That’s what William refers to it as, when he announces he’s going to freshen up your living quarters. Even though it’s not spring and the room is already tidy. You know the real reason behind it. Destroying evidence. Bloodstains. DNA. You wonder what he’s done with the bodies.

The scent of chemicals pervades your nostrils. You help wipe down the less unsavory things, furniture and surfaces that you know aren’t contaminated. Something to keep your mind off of what the older man is doing. Citrus cleaners now overlay the previous odors.

He doesn’t linger once his task is complete. You think the mess outside your room must be much more significant. His lips press against your forehead. “Be a good girl,” he says softly, and then he’s back through the doorway that teases an exit from your captivity, the wall moving with whatever kind of remote he’s got in his pocket that slides the panel over. Sealed shut once again.

The couch is damp from where he’s scrubbed it. You settle into the recliner instead. Waiting.

***

William doesn’t spend a lot of time in the mall security office.

Not more than strictly necessary. It’s a job with a lot of autonomy and that suits him. He does as he pleases most of the time.

So it’s a surprise when he finds that he’s being summoned to that office. A middle aged male detective is waiting, alongside the young woman who works with you at the clothing store. The one who had been seemingly oblivious.

Maybe not so oblivious, then.

He settles into the seat the detective gestures to. Calm. Hands freshly washed of the latex scent lingering after cleaning the pizzeria with gloves. Clean clothes. He’s learned to keep more than one set available. His eyes flick to the girl, who looks away hurriedly.

“Mr. Miller, I have some questions I’d like to ask you.”

“Of course. How can I assist?”

“You’re aware, I’m sure, of a young woman who’s gone missing. She’s an employee at The Rave. A clothing store—”

“—I’m aware,” Afton interrupts.

“Right. So this young lady here is also an employee there. She claims that she’d seen you with the missing person multiple times over the course of the summer while she worked there. Can you verify if that’s correct?”

“Yes.” A hurried glance from the nervous figure beside the detective. Had she thought he would deny it? He’s prepared for this possibility. Always prepared.

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“Hmm…it must be two months ago, give or take. She left work one evening, and that was the last time I recall seeing her.”

He nods. “That correlates with the security camera footage we’ve viewed. She was seen leaving the store, but no footage captured of her outside of the mall itself. Her car is missing, too.” He pauses. “What, exactly, is the nature of your relationship?”

“We’re friends. We take breaks together. Share a snack. That sort of thing.”

The suited man leans back in his seat. “Are you…intimately acquainted?”

“No.” The lie rolls easily off his tongue. He’s meeting the man’s gaze. His breathing even. Nothing to stir any suspicions.

“That’s not true,” the girl protests.

William’s eyes shift to her. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“Yes,” she says, her voice wavering a bit. She’s afraid of him. “I know you guys were an item. Are an item. Whatever.”

“Did you ever see anything to confirm that suspicion?”

The security guard feels the detective’s eyes on him.

The witness squirms in her seat. “Well, no.”

“So what, exactly, did you see?”

“They were always together. Going for breaks. Walking around. Talking. He went out back with her once,” she adds, chin lifting defiantly.

“To use the restroom,” Afton supplies smoothly. Was this all the girl had? Hardly condemning.

The law enforcement official frowns. “That’s not what you told me earlier. You said you saw—”

“—Look, I know he’s got something to do with it, okay? I mean, what normal guy in his forties hangs out with a teenager? She and I weren’t even friends, but…the guy’s a total creep.”

William smirks. She’s discrediting herself and he doesn’t even have to put in any effort. He can see the man across from him losing confidence in her testimony. Thinking this is a waste of time. A false lead.

“Why don’t you like look him up in the system or something? I’m sure he’s got a record.”

“We already did. We went through all the mall employees. Including you. Shoplifting from two previous employers. Expulsion from school. DUI. Do you want me to continue?”

The young woman’s cheeks flush. William has to fight very, very hard not to grin. He already knows his alias Dave Miller has no record. Nothing incriminating in his false background identity he’s created. Not, as he’d told you before, his first rodeo.

“Would you be willing to come down to the station to make a formal statement?”

He spreads his hands. “Of course. I’m more than happy to oblige. Anything I can do to help. I really hope she turns up safely soon. We’ve all been so worried.”

“Thank you for your cooperation.” The investigator stands, adjusting the button of his blazer. “We’ll let you get back to work now.”

“That’s it? You’re just going to let him go?” She stares at the man beside her in disbelief.

“There’s no reason to detain him. I suggest you look after your own affairs and stop worrying about other people’s.”

“I’m trying to help you find a missing woman.”

“And I’ve followed up on your tip. That’s it, we’re finished here.” He nods to William before exiting the office.

“I know you did something to her,” she whispers.

“Prove it, darling.” He winks at her.

***

William is in a good mood.

You can see it as soon as he enters the living quarters. The soft smile when he looks at you, the little satisfied hum after his lips meet yours in greeting.

Something’s happened.

“How was your day?” You ask. He sets the bags he’s carrying on the kitchen counter.

“My day was… very amusing.” He leans back against the counter and folds his arms. His eyes roving over you. An appreciative smirk now. You’re wearing his favorite color. Something flirty and feminine.

“Why amusing?”

“I had a detective in the security office today. The mall office, I should say.”

Your heart skips a beat. “The police are here?”

“Were here, sweetheart. That little twit you used to work with thought she was being clever ratting me out. Saying she saw us together. As a couple. Which of course she hasn’t. Quite the rap sheet on that one, too.”

And just like that, any brief hope you’d had dies. He’d talked his way out of it, just like he’d promised you he would.

“Did they mention my mother?”

“No. But they’re doing a candlelight vigil Friday night. Here, just outside the scene of the alleged crime, as it were. Do you think I should introduce myself? Tell her how sorry I am for her loss?”

You shake your head. “Please leave her alone.”

“What? Do you think I’d do something to harm her? I have no interest in her. It’s you that I want. And I’ve got you, don’t I?” He pushes off the counter and walks over to you, tucking a swathe of your hair behind one ear. “You’re all mine, aren’t you? My little pet. My willing slave…” His mouth meets yours. Lips parting obediently. You welcome his tongue. It’s become a reflex. Your body automatically submitting to him. “That’s my good girl,” he murmurs when you part for air. “You know, talking about our relationship today—the breaks we took together, sharing snacks—made me realize how much I’ve missed it. So I thought I’d treat you tonight. Take you out on a little stroll. Have something sweet. What do you think?”

You haven’t been outside of the room since your escape attempt. You don’t entirely trust yourself to speak. Was he testing you again? Were you supposed to say you’d prefer to stay here, with him? The jovial mood frightens you more than his angry version.

“I asked you something. Do you want to go?” His fingers stroke along your jaw. “It’s not a trick question. It’s okay to say yes.”

“Yes.” You draw a trembling breath. “I miss it, too. Breaks with Dave Miller…”

“He’s still here. Part of me. Inside of me. The person that you liked, that you were so drawn to…” He sighs heavily against your mouth. “We should leave now, before I change my mind and keep you here.” He lifts your hand and kisses the inside of your wrist. It almost feels like an apology for the binding you know will soon follow.

***

The cafe table is tucked away in the corner of the food court, the pair of accompanying chairs placed side by side. Brought there by William earlier, perhaps. Knowing it will be out of line of sight. No chance of being captured on camera even though he has access to all of the footage.

He’s brought chocolate covered strawberries. The first dessert item you’ve had in months. He brings one to your mouth, watching your teeth sink into the red fruit. The dark chocolate is bittersweet on your tongue. A contented sigh he echoes. Some juice leaks over your lips. A stray bit of melted chocolate on his fingers. He licks the stain from the corner of your mouth. You suck his fingers clean.

“I got you something,” he says.

You frown, waiting. Watching him reach into his chest pocket with his unbound hand to withdraw a small box. He lays it on the table in front of you.

You lift the lid. A necklace. Circular jasper disc bracketed by silver horns. “Hathor,” your murmur. The symbol for the Egyptian goddess of love. You wonder if he knows this. If he’d researched it. Asked someone at the jewelry counter, perhaps. Your index finger strokes against the red stone. “It’s beautiful.”

“Let’s try it on and see how it looks.” The restrooms are nearby. A little fumbling with bound wrists to get the lobster clasp secured, hair swept aside. It sits below the notch at the base of your throat. Your eyes meet in the mirror above the sink.

The plastic at your wrist digs into your skin. Your skirt is lifted, your panties shoved down. The fly of the security guard’s pants undone. His breathing harsh. He lifts you so you’re sitting on the edge of the sink, the cool porcelain rim digging into your bare flesh. Your linked bound hands brace against the basin. You whimper when he kisses you. Louder when he enters you. Of course you are wet for him. Welcoming his big cock back into your narrow maw.

William moans at the feeling of being sheathed. He rests the fingers of his unrestricted hand over the pendant he’s gifted you. “You’re mine. My perfect girl, made just for me…”

You lick a stripe across his throat. Your knees dig just above his hips. It’s still such a stretch to fit inside you. Every thrust testing your body. You like the angle he’s fucking into you at. The way the head of his cock rams the tender spaces deep inside. Punching little sounds of pleasure out of you. Your fingers tangle in his sloppy hair. The strands feel a little more oiled than usual. He’d been up so early, cleaning up—

Don’t think about it. Don’t.

The cops had been here. They didn’t believe your coworker. But maybe someone else had seen. Maybe they were just too shy to go to the police. Afraid. Someone must have seen the two of you together.

Afton knows every shadowed space. Every blind spot. He’s pulled you into all of them. And you’d let him. You’d wanted him to, hadn’t you?

You’d asked for this. You were asking for it again right now.

Your knees grip the older man’s body more tightly. You don’t need him to cue you. The words spill from your lips all on their own. “Please let me, William. I want to cum, want you to fill me up, mark me inside, make me yours…”

The sharp point of his nose digging against your neck. Your shudder and his answering release. Salted kisses to counterpoint the sweet dessert you’d enjoyed earlier. Led back to the pizzeria. Hand freed. A hot shower and mint toothpaste. His lips on yours before he leaves.

You return to the laundry hamper. Lift out the skirt you’d been wearing. He’d purchased it because he liked the color. You’d chosen to wear it because it had pockets. Shallow slashes that were just roomy enough to hold something tucked away in secret.

You think about how your unbound hand had reached back to brace yourself against the sink earlier. Closing over a small rectangular object somewhere near the chrome faucet. Someone had left their cell phone behind. And you’d stolen it.

You flip it open, heart pounding. No service. You walk around the room. Absolutely no signal. The battery is almost dead, too. There’s an icon on the home screen indicating there are several unheard voice messages. You slap the cover down in frustration. Useless. You’d risked confiscating it for nothing. You begin pacing.

Except. You pause, halting mid stride. It was only useless where you are right now. Outside the room would be a different story. You hold down the button to power it down to conserve what battery life remains. You have to think very carefully about where you’re going to hide it, and how you’re going to retrieve it and bring it with you the next opportunity you get.

If William finds it, you know you’re going to be punished.

Severely.

[lordiavoloremade]

i was thinking how im horrified of marriage or dating or commitment and then i realized that its bc i had an abuser lol

[aquafaith]

My lengthy, angry ACOSF rant review.

Spoilers, TW for mental, emotional, physical, and sexual abuse.

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I loved ACOTAR. I still love ACOTAR. I always will love ACOTAR. But every book afterwards made me give up more and more. ACOMAF romanticized an abusive relationship and assassinated characters for the author's convenience. ACOWAR was a bunch of boring and inconsequential death scares. ACOFAS was all-round dreadful. And each book kept shitting on and pushing away Lucien for no reason.

I'd like to preface this by saying I hated Nesta too. I hated the way she treated Feyre in ACOTAR especially, and I wasn't even too excited for this book because I wasn't that keen on Nesta as a character.

Nesta's POV and her backstory changed my perspective. It does not excuse her actions. All Nesta stans can hold these characters accountable for what they do - trauma is a reason, not an excuse. I, and many others, sided with Nesta because of the way she's treated by everyone else in this book. Also, if you're going to hate Nesta for not teaching Feyre how to read and letting her hunt at fourteen, (which I did, and are very valid things to hate), AT LEAST hold Elain accountable too.

This book. This fucking book.

Shall we start with the intervention? Feyre on her little power trip thinks that her boyfriend that hates Nesta and Nesta hates back, Nesta's ex-best friend, and her possible mate who she never talks to should be at this stupid fucking intervention??? Excuse me???

Remember in ACOMAF when Feyre wouldn't shut up about how rich Rhysand is? Feyre literally has four or five houses and is always talking about how much jewelry and lingerie she can afford because Rhysand is so rich??? Well, Nesta has a few shots. So you know what Feyre does? Humiliates Nesta at this "intervention", TEARS DOWN HER HOME, and forces her to go to the Illyrian training camp.

That was the god awful premise for this book.

Did you think Elain wasn't there because she was against the "intervention"? Nope! She was packing Nesta's belongings without permission.

Remember in ACOMAF when it's made a big fucking deal that locking up a traumatised woman is extremely damaging? Well, when Nesta decides she doesn't want to be in Illyria, Feyre locks her in the House of Wind. Nesta can't fly, so her only way of leaving is down the TEN THOUSAND STEPS, that Feyre KNOWS Nesta isn't capable of climbing.

Feyre's pregnant. In ACOFAS she randomly decided that she wanted a baby to remember Rhysand by if he dies. Which doesn't make any sense because they made that stupid fucking death pact in ACOWAR. It's just SJM superimposing her pregnancy onto her early 20's protagonist. Ignoring the fact that Feyre isn't ready for a baby and Rhysand CERTAINLY isn't, and with a war just ended and another looming and so much trauma and a DEATH PACT are all such horrible circumstances to bring a child into, Feyre is already pregnant. Remember when SJM made a big deal about Fae babies being so hard to conceive, and Feyre said in ACOFAS they wouldn't have to worry for a long time because it can take years to conceive your first Fae child? Well it's been no more than 3 or 4 months and Feyre's already pregnant. Yep.

Also the birth will kill her. Because of course it will. Rhysand KNEW this, and still agreed to try for a baby.

There's no solution. Abortions don't exist for some stupid reason, and a C section would apparently kill Feyre?

(Wasn't this book supposed to be about Nessian?)

In ACOWAR, Cassian was on the battlefield with his entrails around his knees. Someone had to literally hold his guts in for him, and he's fine, but you're telling me a C section would kill Feyre?

Don't worry, this is just setting up the AWFUL ending to this book.

ACOSF amounts to Nesta being gaslit into believing her abusers are right. Her friends and family slut shame her and shame her for her lifestyle constantly. Cassian says it took him decades to work through some of his trauma, and he tried to drink and fuck it away too, but suddenly when Nesta does so it's heinous? Nesta's barely twenty five and she's expected to cope better than these ancient immortals.

Hell, didn't SJM write ACOMAF? Nobody expected Feyre to pick herself up so quickly. The IC (excluding Rhysand) respected her boundaries for the most part and understood when it was grief, trauma, and turmoil that made her angry, sad, want to be left alone, etc. But that's all forgotten here.

Amren also compares Nesta to the people in, and says she belongs in, The Court of Nightmares. You know, the murderers, abusers and rapists? This innocent woman who had a few shots and a bit of sex is on par with them, apparently!

The sex scenes.

SJM is scared to say vagina so she says sex.

She says seed to mean semen.

Apparently the word cunt turns SJM on. I just found Cassian saying that kinda cringe because I'm Bri'ish so the word cunt really isn't a big deal.

Back to the baby killing Feyre, because this is definitely what we all wanted from this book as indicated by the change in covers and format and title... Rhysand decides not to tell Feyre. He tells her friends and family, and tells them not to tell her.

SJM loves sweeping Rhysand's abuse from the first book under the rug and claiming it's always about Feyre's choice... where is that here, MAAS? WHERE IS IT?

Anyway, when Nesta rightfully decides to tell Feyre (although it is kind of out of spite), Rhysand threatens to kill Nesta.

And I believed him. With the way he treats his """mAtE tHaT hE lOvEs sO mUcH""" and all the people he's mindlessly killed before, do you really think he wouldn't kill the person who gave Feyre an inch of autonomy?

So what does Cassian do? His lover who he cares deeply about and suspects is his mate has received a death threat from tHe mOsT pOwErFuL hIgH lORd iN hIsToRy.

Cassian simply gets Nesta out of the court.

EXCUSE ME?

He doesn't breathe ONE word to Rhysand about this. This Illyrian WARRIOR who fought with his GUTS HANGING OUT didn't dare step up to the hIGh lOrD who he considers his brother and sparrs and fights with all the time?

Cassian literally does nothing.

Was it not Rhysand himself who said Mated males are dangerous? Can kill anyone who looks at their mate? Can be dangerous simply leaving the house? Rhys and Feyre both pull the Mate card to justify their bad actions on the other's behalf... and Cassian just tried to get Nesta out of the court?

Also, this High King bullshit.

I swear to fucking god, if SJM DARES to make this abusive, power-tripping, mOsT pOwErFuL hIgH lOrD eVEr, husband-insert of hers hIgH kInG, I will fight her in the street.

My beloved Lucien is in this book. Only for him to be used and shat on.

I really liked it when he calmed Cassian down with just a look though. Yes please fox man.

Helion is also in this book. Nothing to do with Lucien.

Eris is also in this book. ERIS. Lucien's eldest brother. The same one who abused him for years, but according to SJM he's slightly better, because at least he didn't agree to kill Lucien's lover. He betrayed his daddy that one time, therefore Eris is good. Y'know, the same Eris who abused Mor? Left her laying on the Autumn Court border with a nail in her womb? Well SJM is going back on her own canon to redeem yet ANOTHER abusive male, while continuing to demonize Tamlin for things he only happened to do when SJM decided the villain from the first book was sexy.

Nesta and Cassian are Mates.

Remember when Mates were supposed to be a rare and sacred thing? Now SJM dishes them out like Oprah.

I don't want these characters to be mates. I want to see them slowly fall in love. But SJM is incapable of writing that so she forces them together with the mAtInG bOnD. That's literally the only basis for most of these relationships, Feysand especially.

The only relationship where the bond would make sense is between Helion and The Lady of Autumn. Who still isn't named. But I will die on the hill that they're mates, I can feel it between them.

I wanted someone to die in this book. I predicted that it would either be Helion or Tarquin, but Tarquin isn't even in this one.

And the ending.

SJM can't write a decent climax, so she kills both Feyre and Rhysand for the second time. Yep.

The baby is being born which stupidly kills Feyre, and thankfully takes Rhysand with them.

Nesta decides to save them. Bad choice. But she decides to save them! Because she's so powerful and she ATE THE CONTENTS OF THE CAULDRON and she's CONNECTED TO THE MOTHER.

Do you know what happens.

Nesta loses her powers.

NESTA.

LOSES.

HER.

POWERS.

The powers we've hardly seen, the powers that were briefly mentioned and used ONCE in ACOWAR, then we saw like two flashes of in this book? They're GONE now. GONE SO NESTA CAN SAVE HER ABUSIVE SISTER AND ABUSIVE HUSBAND WHO ABUSES THEM BOTH.

Nesta is just an Amren now. They both fought for their powers, and had to give them up to save people who didn't deserve it. Now they're anticlimactically trapped in powerless bodies.

Also, and I can't BELIEVE I didn't originally include this - do you know what else Nesta TRADED HER POWERS FOR?

Illyrian anatomy so she can carry Cassian's baby one day.

EXCUSE ME?

I am so fucking SICK TO DEATH of the narrative that every woman needs a man and children to be happy. SJM clearly loves this because she's literally only keeping Amren and Nesta alive now to be sex objects to their partners and nothing else seeing as their POWERS WERE RIPPED AWAY FROM THEM, and now NESTA TRADED THOSE POWERS TO HAVE A BABY SHE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW SHE WANTS? Nesta does NOT strike me as a motherly type. She's the wine aunt, she and Cassian are the couple that go on holiday a lot and and babysit their nieces and nephews, but nope. Nesta HAS to have children.

The Feysand baby is called Nyx. That's just so underwhelming, you go from these huge, multiple syllable names like Amarantha and Morrigan and Lucien to Nyx? I get it's supposed to be unique but it's not even meaningful. It's just more shit-flavoured icing on the hAHa nIgHt uWu cake. I prefer Renesmée.

Nesta is wrong somehow. She says she's sorry as she's saving them. FOR WHAT? For being a little rude to Feyre as all sisters are? And rightfully hating your sister's abuser?

Oh yeah, remember in ACOWAR when Nesta took care of a comatose, starving Elain for months? Elain is randomly okay now because she takes care of her mental health the stereotypical way of baking cakes, and not drinking and fucking, which she shames Netsa for.

Remember the slut shaming, demeaning comments that the whole iNnEr cIrClE made about Nesta? They all expect apologies from her. For some reason.

Nesta has done nothing wrong. She coped with her trauma and minded her business in her own ways, and she's expected to apologise to the people who control and emotionally abuse her.

Nothing that any of these characters did to Nesta is right. Nesta wasn't okay at the end, this wasn't Nesta's healing story. This is Nesta being shamed and degraded until she submits.

Oh I can't believe I forgot to write this in my first draft of this review, do you know how Nesta "overcomes" her grief about her Father's death and her conflicting feelings about him and his life and her guilt? When she visits his grave for the first time, she takes Nyx.

NYX.

She holds NYX up to the grave and talks about how it's his grandson.

GO AWAY YOU STUPID DEMON BABY THIS IS NOT YOUR BOOK.

Speaking of, it's revealed that Nesta was abused by her mother and grandmother in this book? Something we were all looking forward to is seeing more of the Archeron's mother seeing as Feyre was so young when she died, but... nope. She gets a few vague mentions, and this newly revealed abuse is entirely glossed over. Nesta was also actively groomed by an older man at 14. But SJM glosses over this because of course she does.

Finally, the bonus chapters.

My edition came with a bonus chapter from Feyre's POV. It was pointless and I hated it.

There's another bonus chapter from Azriel's POV. Once I'd finished this book, he was one of the few characters I still harboured a shred of respect for.

Then I read his bonus chapter.

This exists to purely objectify Elain.

Whether you ship Elain with Azriel, or Lucien, or neither, this chapter is disgusting. He thinks about her coming on his tounge, and other things simply just to please him.

He then dares to suggest that "the Cauldron picked wrong" in choosing Lucien as Elain's mate?

No Azriel, SJM picked RIGHT in not giving each Archeron sister a bAt bOy.

Rhysand does the only right thing he's ever done by telling Azriel to stay away from Elain, but then he has to ruin it by clarifying that it's only so they can manipulate and use Lucien more.

Oh, and Azriel wants to kill Lucien.

Need I remind you that Lucien respects Azriel? Lucien is another victim of the Night Court's needless, baseless torment, and Azriel is no exception.

Lucien stays well out of Elain's way because she makes it clear that she's not interested in a mate, but Azriel wants to kill him simply for being her mate.

Lucien has done nothing. And I mean literally NOTHING to warrant any of this treatment. From the bAt bOyS, from Feyre, from his family, from SJM, from the deluded part of this fandom that think he's done wrong. NOTHING.

All I liked about this book was the Lucien scenes (which is a given), ((although I hated the way everyone talks about him behind his back)), Nesta's relationship with the house, Emerie and Gwyn, the evidence that Gwynriel is endgame and subsequently Elucien, and the book love. Everything else was horrible. Oh, and Nesta hates Rhysand. I love that for her, because everyone else bows at his feet.

Oh yeah, when Nesta DARES suggest that Rhysand is an "arrogant, preening asshole" which I think is a compliment, Cassian can't take Rhys' cock out of his mouth for one second, and has to get mad at her for having an opinion. Don't even get me started on Azriel in that scene.

If each book after ACOTAR made me slowly give up, this book made me give up altogether. I cannot go on to support this victim-blaming, abuse-forgiving, misogynistic series. I've given up on SJM, and the only characters I care about anyone are Lucien, Nesta, Helion, and Tarquin. I'll continue to read this series to see if SJM redeems herself, but I'll be downloading them for free. I'm not giving this piece of shit any more of my money.

I hope we don't get the Lucien book. I don't want her to slaughter my fox in the way she slaughtered LITERALLY EVERYONE ELSE.

Thanks for listening.

Edit: I put the review on Goodreads!

[keilemdarkmode]

preened

🚫contains themes of abuse, noncon/dubcon, yandere 🚫

(r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x (fem)reader

word count: 4.2k

settling in keigo’s arms was far easier than facing his weapons and wrath.

warnings: noncon/dubcon/rape, blood violence, manipulation, yandere, drowning, mention of branding, abuse, somehow STILL soft, bathing/bath tub shit

--

a/n: wow fellas, first yan hawks piece!! PLEASE!! heed the warnings!! this is not soft and tender, it is fucked up, sad, dark, and tender! if its not your thing, please keep scrolling ❤️

that being said, this piece was beta’ed by the lovely @hawnks. it was interesting and new to explore these themes and ideas and im happy to share them now :’^) enjoy!

||||||||||||||||||||

Keigo could be cruel.

You knew that too well.

But, lately, he’d been kinder. Softer, without so many barbs and blades just behind his words and actions.

You knew, very consciously, that this was due to your good behavior after the ‘feather’ incident, but that knowledge didn’t dull the sweetness too much.

(Only a little.)

...

“Dove, are you falling asleep?” Keigo’s voice was far too mirthful as he carded a hand through your hair.

You grumbled, something lighthearted and muffled into his chest.

You had been nodding off, Keigo’s arm slack over your shoulder as he idly watched a film that you were sure he wasn’t paying attention to.

An afternoon off together was rare, and you didn’t want to spoil it.

Asking Keigo to put on a movie and ‘snuggle’ got him red-faced and poofy-feathered, he all but dragged you to the couch to pamper you for the day.

It would’ve been endearing if you’d wanted to be there.

Maybe, sometime back, you would’ve fought.

When Keigo brought you the fluffy, red blanket he loved sharing with you, you might’ve spit on it, maybe on him. Thrown the blanket back into his face only to laugh at the anger and rage he would inevitably erupt into before throwing you over his knee.

Maybe, once, you would have tried to scald Keigo with the steaming tea he brought you (prepared just as you liked, it was one of the first things he memorized about you). You would’ve probably aimed for his face— maybe, his wings, if you were feeling particularly stupid.

Now?

You smiled, maybe something real, as you took the blanket from his waiting arms. You let him blow on your tea with his pretty pink lips as he insisted he’d ‘never let you get burned’.

(You both knew that the ‘fire’ incident was too far. You’d been vacant for a month after Keigo had pulled that stunt.)

“Thank you,” You kissed his cheek, like he wanted you to.

Maybe you should’ve been disgusted. Instead, the contact felt nice. Touch starvation had long since set in, and Keigo was your only outlet. And he was very willing.

The afternoon had been easy, nice. You’d let him play with your hair, mindful to tuck your braced arm to your tummy under the blanket. Keigo tended to be a bit more on edge when he was reminded of the ‘feather’ incident.

It was easier to keep it hidden.

“Dear?” Keigo asked, nuzzling into the crown of your head. “When was the last time we gave you a proper bath?”

You tensed so hard, you might as well have been stone.

Baths were still bad, even after so long.

You figured it out, after a while. It was one of Keigo’s subconscious avian instincts, to keep him and his mate clean and looking well.

It was why he always sat in front of you to allow you to pick through and straighten his feathers. It was vulnerable, the way he shivered and shuddered and fucking moaned as you would straighten and pluck what you could.

It was why he scrutinized the brushing of your teeth so heavily, scoffing at your lack of ‘precision’ and ‘attention to detail’. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d brushed them yourself. Keigo would always just seat you on the cold marble counter, slot himself between your legs while vice-gripping your jaw and gagging you with a toothbrush.

Though, he had been more gentle lately. Nicer.

He’d been more like the ‘mate’ he’d always described himself being.

Your role to Keigo was why he had full autonomy over bathing you.

He could take showers and baths alone, all as he pleased. But, you were washed by his hands only. Even the quick showers after he’d fuck you silly, he was always with you, scrubbing you down with special soaps and a soft cloth.

“Dove?” Keigo’s voice came kindly, yet his grip tightened. “I asked you a question, didn’t I?”

“You did, I’m sorry,” The response came from your lips hurriedly. “It’s been a while.”

Keigo hummed, clicking his tongue and sitting up fully, “I’ll set up the bath then. I’ll take a shower later so I can make sure you’re squeaky clean now, how about that?”

You nodded, knowing better than to disagree with him.

When Keigo had first brought you ‘home’, he’d take your baths with you. He’d pull you tight to his chest, try to, as you struggled and screamed.

He snapped once, letting his anger get the better of him when you bit him so hard on his forearm that he bled.

Though, it wasn’t his blood that stained the bathwater that night.

It was the first time he showed you how much soft damage he could inflict with his sharpened feathers.

He rarely took baths with you after that; you hoped the memory of haunted him the same way it did with you.

Over time, bathing you had become a sort of neutral ground.

Keigo enjoyed it too much for it to be used as a punishment, and you learned better.

That didn’t mean slipups didn’t happen, but in general, you were good for him then.

The bad memories still made you tremble, vivid reminders.

Keigo tugged you to the bathroom, the eon-suite in the master bedroom, ‘our’ bedroom, as he called it with the wistful look in his eye.

Part of you reviled the affection in his tone, the other part was relieved that it wasn’t malice anymore.

Stepping into the bathroom was always a bit jarring, your mind and body knowing what occurred so often in the months past. The conditioning was implicit, even if the two of you didn’t like it.

The master bathroom was massive, built for his wings. The soaker tub, jets and all, was meant to accommodate their size. He’d had a new one put in, he told you, just before he ‘brought’ you ‘home’.

Keigo stopped you in front of the sink, a usual routine. You kept your gaze trained on the ground.

“Dove, it’s alright, no need to be frightened,” He chuckled, but you knew it was more of a command than anything else. He slung his arms over your shoulders, a firm grip on your jaw forcing you to look into the reflection. “You’ve been a good girl lately, I’ll be gentle.”

You sniffled, nodding.

His grip tightened, “Words. You know better.”

“Y-yes,” You nodded, eyes darting around the mirror to avoid looking at your dual visage. “I have been good. I’ll be good.”

“Sweet girl,” Keigo sang, peppering kisses over the side of your face as you made eye contact with yourself. Your stare was vacant and cold, clinging onto what you could grasp without pain.

You hated it—

Yourself.

Your stomach rolled, but you swallowed down your disgust.

“Don’t look away, understand?” Keigo’s voice was too soft for the authority in his words.

“I won’t, I understand.”

You watched as his nimble fingers slipped under the shirt of his that you wore. He’d let you wear panties that day, soft cotton ones that hardly seemed ‘sexy’, but they drove him wild anyways. Something about normalcy always got him more feral than normal.

Considering the cold outside, he’d even been kind enough to dress you in a pair of loose, thigh high stockings. He slid them down your legs, descending as he did to leave little kisses. He pulled at your underwear, palming at the plump of your ass as they fell to the ground.

You stepped out of the stockings and panties when he tapped your ankles, leaving you completely naked in the mirror.

Forcing yourself to stare in the mirror was hard.

You didn’t look like yourself.

You hadn’t for so long.

Your own visage made your head spark with numbness, something acrid spilling over your tongue.

It must’ve shown in your face, but you didn’t register it.

“None of that, angel, you’re beautiful,” Keigo draped himself over you, wings outstretched.

You swallowed, nodding, but not replying.

“Bath time, then,” Keigo hummed, guiding you to the toilet seat as he prepared the soak.

You watched him roll up the sleeves of his soft button-down, revealing his many scars. Some were from his work, others from your nails and teeth. You felt guilty, odd as it was, seeing how they still marred his pretty, tanned skin.

You folded your hands in your lap as Keigo got to work.

He turned on the faucet, always a bit too hot, just so you could soak for longer. Shampoo, conditioner, a variety of hair and face masks, special bubble baths and bath bombs all carried in a cute basket were brought to the side of the tub as he prepared it.

If you were proper lovers, it would’ve been endearing.

He rose, lighting jar and pillar candles across the massive bathroom. It was something he did to put you both at ease, the fire acting like some sort of safety net that you both knew kept him from getting too aggressive with you, risking burning his wings.

It all felt like too much, the care he put into everything.

Your guilt swelled as you focused on your naked thighs.

Keigo talked to you as he went about preparing your pampering, knowing better than to expect any proper responses as he prepared the bath with lovely smells and pretty colors.

The last thing he did was hang a red silk robe on a hook near the door.

You really must’ve been good, getting the chance to cover yourself after a bath.

You had been trying harder lately. Remembering your rules, how and where to be and when. It made things easier. Fighting made your tired, clawing had made you weaker.

Being complicit burned something in you, low and rolling, but it was better than facing Keigo’s constant wrath.

On your more mentally together days, the ones where he was gone more and longer, you put together some of Keigo’s fucked up psychology.

He just didn’t want to be alone.

He just wanted a companion.

It was cruel— sick, that one of the most desired men in the nation had to pluck you, and all your mundanity, from your life to force you into the mold of a lover, consort and best friend like you weren’t a person.

You shook your head, trying not to stew.

Stewing made you bad.

And you had been good.

You had to be, after the ‘feather incident’.

It made things easier.

...

You’d found the feather under the couch.

Keigo left them around normally, the sensitive things picking up on your heart rate and breathing. The safety phone, an old landline, would ring if you got too anxious, the shrill tone only making it worse, but that was part of the point, wasn’t it?

All the same, this feather looked older.

The color was duller, the filaments frayed.

Keigo liked to present the feathers openly, stuck into fixtures and over counters and tabletops. Something about ‘keeping his mate safe from prospective challengers’.

(You never saw anyone other than him. There was no one to oppose Keigo in your life.)

This particular plume being hidden seemed like a mistake.

He didn’t slip up often.

Your mind spun as you debated what to do.

You poked it, cautiously.

It didn’t move, waver, or harden.

It was limp, like a real, normal feather.

The spine was hard—

Solid enough to shove into a lock, maybe.

You snatched it up, hiding it between the cushions as you raced to think through a plan.

Your previous escape attempts hardly even happened. Keigo was fast enough to catch you as you neared the fortified door, always.

He’d drag you to the bedroom to hold you down and eat your cunt until your mind was too mushy to even conceptualize ideas beyond Keigo’s tongue fucking into your dripping hole. He was mean about it, pushing you too far and keeping you there to writhe and beg for reprieve.

You hated him for it at the time.

But, you had an opportunity to fucking get out.

During the incident—

He was gone.

He was at work for the rest of the day.

You hurried.

His other present feathers would sense you, you had to work quickly.

You didn’t have shoes other than house slippers, but they’d have to make due. You shoved some granola bars in your pocket, freezing the moment you heard the ringtone of the landline echo over the penthouse.

Don’t slow, don’t stop.

How fucking foolish you were, thinking you could outrun a being that flew.

Idiotic, you’d come to chastise yourself later.

You stuffed what you could into your pockets, running to the front door and shoving the spine of the feather into the lock.

It was firm enough to be used as a pick, wasn’t it? You weren’t sure how to pick locks, but you had to try right?

You could pick the eight locks on the door before Keigo got home, right?

Foolish.

Your hands trembled as the phone rang over and over.

Your heart nearly stopped when you heard the telltale ‘thunk’ of Keigo landing on the balcony.

Frantically, you tried to undo just one lock, just for the sake of your own sanity, knowing what was to come—

The balcony door slammed open.

You went rigid, hands still working, sweaty and desperate.

Keigo was on you in a second, pulling you from your knees by your hair in one swift motion.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

His voice could’ve cut steel, the tone so angry and dead that it brought tears to your eyes as you began to struggle.

“No, no, no— you’re not doing this shit.” Keigo spat, tugging your shaking hand from the lock as the lifeless feather fell to the ground.

He pressed you against the door, bearing all of his body weight against your back as you flattened against the wood. His wings rose, eclipsing any light.

His grip on your wrist got tighter, harder. It was sure to bruise.

(Ha.)

Keigo snarled, roughly slamming his hips into your backside, “What is this shit you’re trying to pull? I know you’re an ungrateful cunt, but I didn’t know you were a complete dumbass.”

He bent your arm back, farther and higher up by the wrist.

“Did you really think you could do that? Do this to me?!” Keigo’s voice tore through you, the waver in it sounding so foreign it almost hurt. “LEAVE ME?!”

Fear shot through you as his worn hands wrapped around your palm.

In one swift motion—

Snap.

Your vision tilted as you fell back into Keigo.

Your hand wavered limply and wrongly in his grip, thoroughly broken.

Keigo clapped a hand over your mouth as you began to scream, wail at the searing pain that was shooting from your wrist.

“I’m so sorry, angel.” His unapologetic, hot breath swirled over your ear like nausea and bile, “I promise, this will be for your own good.”

...

Keigo didn’t stop that day, no matter how much you begged and shrieked.

...

The rest of the incident got blurry.

It hurt to think about it too much.

Keigo’s rage-filled voice promising that he was going to ‘snap a new bone each time you cum’ remained a haunting memory.

He followed through, of course. He was nothing if not uncomfortably honest at the worst of times.

You could recall the feeling of cold blood trickling down your thighs, nose, and even from your mouth as you sobbed and screamed for mercy on the cold hardwood. A small feather, wet with you in so many forms, licked and lapped at your clit as Keigo made good on his promise.

The feeling of his sweat dripping onto your spine as he easily crushed and snapped a new bone each time you reached ecstasy haunted you into a submission that was no longer reluctant.

You hated yourself for it.

...

Your gaze drifted from the steaming water to your hand, the brace removed. Your fingers were still mangled, they would be forever. Keigo purposefully patched them poorly— he’d told you so. Something about making it a ‘lasting lesson’.

You sniffled at the thought, flexing the fingers, feeling the old pains shoot up your arm.

“Angel love? No need to do that,” Keigo reminded you, covering your hand with his own.

Gently, he tilted your jaw so you could meet his eyes.

You imagined the two of you looked equally sad.

The following weeks after the ‘incident’, you tried so hard to be good. The pain was a new intensity, something you couldn’t forget. Keigo reminded you of it if you slipped up, squeezing your hand or wrist with a grimace curled his pretty lips.

To his merit, Keigo also felt bad about hurting you so bad. Prior to that, punishments were either harsh edging or overstimulation which in some ways were pleasurable. Spanking too, but even then, Keigo looked a bit meek after leaving such unpleasant bruises on your backside.

But permanently crippling your body in time with tearing your cunt bloody?

He sobbed into your shoulder every night for a month.

Tried as you did to be good, you also became quite numb.

It felt better than the agony.

Keigo’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, his nose nudging your cheek, “What kind of bubble bath would you like?”

Wow.

You had been good.

You’d never been able to pick out your smells before.

Swallowing, you chewed at your lip, eyes drifting from the cute basket to Keigo’s expectant eyes.

He sighed, squeezing your knee, “Dear, it’s not a trick. Just your preference.”

“Can’t you pick?”

You immediately tensed, flinching away from Keigo’s soft touch with your own words.

An old echo of an older lesson:

‘Good girls don’t question things, do they?’

“I-I’m sorry,” You sputtered, eyes trained on the tile of the bathroom. You held out your bent wrist without thinking.

You tensed, waiting for the pain that would inevitably come.

Right?

Keigo stared at it, then to you, eyes going sad and glassy.

It made your heartbreak.

He carefully held your wrist, putting in back and rested in your naked lap.

“None of that, love. I’ll pick today, but you deserve to feel good. Don’t you think so?”

No.

“Yes.”

“Good girl, angel.”

Keigo gave you a gooey smile, one you returned as earnestly as you could. He quickly went back to the basket, pulling out an elegant glass bottle or two, dumping them into the tub as light, herbal scents began to waft into the air.

You relaxed a bit.

Keigo’s wings twitched, a little smile crooking on his face.

“It’s all ready, dear. Let me help you.”

Carefully, he helped you into the filled, bubbly foam settling around your shoulders as you leaned against the porcelain edge.

Though Keigo kept his wings flat to his back as he could, you could still see the feathers twitch and ruffle.

‘An instinctual response to seeing his mate so vulnerable— for his own benefit or otherwise.’

You swallowed, sinking into the sparkling water.

Keigo gave you another smile, dropping a kiss to your forehead before presenting you with two fancy-looking bath bombs.

“Now, dear, how about picking one of these? Nice and easy.”

He was right, but your head still spun.

You picked the one on the right, a dusty purple sphere with flower petals pressed into the outside.

Keigo lit up as you took it from his hand, gently placing it into the water.

You both watched it fizz and bob for a moment, mesmerized as the color spread and spit.

“See? Not too hard, huh?” Keigo chuckled to himself, laying his arms crossed on the lip of the massive tub. “You’re such a good girl for me.”

He looked at you with half-lidded eyes, full of love and adoration that made you feel sick.

You knew better than to reject it.

Rather, you returned his affections the best you could.

You even leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Keigo lit up, eyes shining and bright as he cupped your cheeks, returning the gesture tenfold.

You performed so well, giggling and smiling as he did.

You’d become so good at putting on a show for him, even if it exhausted you. It was so much easier to pretend that he was a dutiful lover and not a horrifying captor. With your bent fingers submerged in the balmy water, it was even easier to shove down his transgressions.

On your good days, you would even forget.

You liked those days.

You wanted today to be one of those days where everything was okay.

You weren’t quite there, but you could try your best.

As you relaxed in the bath, Keigo gently pulled one of your legs from the water. Suds and sparkles slid down your leg as his pretty gold eyes inspected your skin.

Keigo smoothed a hand over the prickling hair of your leg, frowning, “Gotta shave you nice and smooth, huh, love?”

You nodded, whether it was your preference or not didn’t matter.

Sinking a little deeper into the water, you watched him so carefully treat your skin. Exfoliating with gentle circles, and then slicking your leg with a small vial of golden oil.

The razor was what scared you the most.

You bore its marks in many ways, little cuts and scars left on your legs from your ancient twitching and struggling were the most plentiful.

There were a few brands from the thin metal, marring the bottoms of your feet.

Those were the worst to heal. Keigo had to carry you around for days, toying with you the entire time. He teased you in your helplessness, but none of his quips were wrong.

He’d made you need him.

You audibly whimpered at the memories, Keigo’s gaze flickering to you as he ran the sleek razor over your shining skin.

“Dear, nothing to be afraid of. You’re doing so well.”

You nodded, knowing better than to remind him of his own horrors.

He shaved you carefully, thoughtfully even, humming to himself as he did. Keigo was nothing if not a perfectionist, leaving you silky smooth and well-tended to. You wondered if he would treat you to a massage later with how kind he was being.

He left your cunt alone, liking the hair more wild and ‘natural’.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” Keigo asked wistfully as he moved closer. His hand slipped under the water, cupping the back of your neck.

You took a little too long to respond, you supposed in retrospect.

Keigo’s face went dark, for a mere moment, as his grip tightened, dragging you under the suds.

You jolted, struggling and flailing in shock as water flooded your mouth and nose.

He pulled you up as quickly as he had pulled you down, the dark look not dulled in the slightest.

“Be good, and I won’t have to do that shit.” His words dripped cold venom, wings beginning to unfurl. “I’d hate to revisit how long it takes you to stop squirming under there, wouldn’t you?”

You nodded, hurriedly, quickly, sitting up the best you could in his grip, “N-no, I don’t want that. Please. This is very nice. I’m sorry. I’ll be good. I’ll be better.”

They were promises, honest ones.

You very much wanted to keep them.

Keigo’s look thankfully dissolved, going melancholic before erupting warmly once more. It was a facial journey you’d seen too much and too often.

“That’s my girl,” He grinned, giving you a wet kiss on the lips. You kissed back the best you could, shaking visibly and not trying to hide it.

Keigo pulled back, golden eyes too sharp and too vibrant.

As he poured shampoo into his hand, you clenched your maimed hand into a fist. The lesson worked so well, you thought, as pain rushed through you, hot like the old brands and clawing scratches.

Keigo was too sweet as he lathered your hair in the candlelight.

And you were too crushed to resist.

Far too tired.

Endlessly too weak, he’d shown you over and over.

So, you accepted his touches to cast off his ire.

Even as he pulled you from the bath, flush to his body while he wrapped you in a fluffy towel, you smiled despite the bulge pressing into your abdomen.

Even as he massaged you with earthy smelling oils, cooing about how beautiful and sacred your body was, you thanked him despite the disgust that brewed so deep in you like some hellish brine pool.

Even as he fucked you like a lover, clasping your hands to the sheets and mixing you with him as he brought you to the edge again and again, you moaned with him despite how the stretch of his cock still aggravated old wounds.

Even as he filled you up with his cum, crying out about how well you took him, what a ‘good girl’ you were, your cries crashed with his in pretty harmony despite how rotten you should’ve felt.

Because, at the end of the day, sated, cleaned and loved in his arms, the old scars didn’t ache so bad if he kissed you sweetly. If you smiled at him as he smiled at you, Keigo was kind like a companion, mate and lover should be.

As you drifted off, you were okay with the weight of his wings bearing over your fucked-out body.

It was easier this way,

Maybe even better.

[windblooms]

zhongli scenario – psycho pass au

inspector!zhongli × gender-neutral reader; 3.3k words, angst & dark content (violence). a document of zhongli’s involvement in sibyl as he becomes an enforcer. swearing, violence, heresy, trauma development – it’s psycho pass, a seinen series. please proceed carefully.

a bright individual in academics and well-respected in his social circle, zhongli was practically guaranteed a fulfilling life by the sibyl system.

his peers often looked up to him as a senior: not only did he study diligently and looked forward to integrating himself into society, but he took it upon himself to be an emotional resource for others. 

others often described him as a warm balance between equitability and empathy.  the word “pragmatic” derived its definition from him, or so was the joke that his friends tossed around.

“ah, you want to sweeten me up, don’t you?”  his laugh can pacify even the most irate of hounds – a siren for the “frenzied”, but of course dulled down, just as all passionate emotions are suppressed in this society. 

but, oh, sibyl.  what will you do to this man?

while zhongli directly benefits from the system – good-natured, charming, and from an established family – it’s only by the system’s choice.  self-autonomy is an illusion when it’s dictated by a hand that only has five fingers and one palm.

they all lead to the same end.

zhongli deludes himself with a restless brain. night after night leading up to his sibyl exam, he busies himself with the news (or at least what’s left of it) and sibyl system statistics instead of studying.  japan is peaceful.  he likes it here, and there’s a life waiting for him.  people anticipate his choices.  he can’t let them down, yet he also can’t help but wonder . . .

division one welcomes him with open arms.  with a crime coefficient of 36.7 and a pretty hue painted like cream vanilla, he is, in nearly every single aspect, a prime candidate for an inspector.

“mister zhongli, are you still working at this hour?”

you speak as if you’re not doing the exact same thing, lurking around the office far from when the lights have been shut off.  but your sincerity is reassuring, and as you hand him a glass of water at his station, he can’t help but smile.

“just some extra work childe left.  i decided to take over for him so he could sleep early.”

“ah.”  hovering around his desk, you shift your weight from one foot to the other like a ship rocked by the waves.  out of the corners of his eyes, zhongli sees you lean your body against his cubicle.  “and you’re sure you’re not making things too easy for him?”

“probably not.”

a muted chuckle from your lips; your shoulders don’t hold the tension they do during the work day.  “hopefully he remembers that you’re giving him extra sleep.  let me know if there’s anything i can do for you.”

“much appreciated,” the inspector replies without a beat in between, irises flickering momentarily back to his screen.  childe had actually finished most of his work; all that was left was filing and labels.  simple stuff, really.  childe could easily complete it in less than 20 minutes in the morning, although zhongli can’t bring himself to admit to you that he’s actively concerned with the beastly enforcer.

“actually, would you allow me to walk with you back to your apartment?  if you’re heading out for the night.”

there’s something in your eyes he can’t quite place the moment his proposition reaches your ears.  you’re set alight by his words, a switch flipped on and a charge igniting your cheeks an enchanting shade of coral – but it doesn’t consume your eyes.  had his proposal been too sudden?  you’re not exactly the closest of coworkers – perhaps he had wrongly assumed that you would be open to spending more time with him, even if just for a walk – and his paperwork is momentarily forgotten as he scrambles to compose an apology for his frankness.

he probably just should’ve focused on finishing childe’s work instead of giving you mixed signals.

“ – i promise, i thought you were preoccupied.  i’d love to be in your company, but i’m not sure how long your filing will take.”

zhongli finds that he can make it 10 minutes instead of 20.

it’s snowing outside; the streets are dark, save for the explosion of lights above in apartment buildings, and the only sounds in the night are of cars revving in the distance.  the chill is hardly noticeable underneath the layers of coats you two wear, and he only recalls that it’s winter when he gazes at his boots crunching in the snow, or when he faces you and puffs of warm breath flow from your lips.

admittedly, he’s not even sure where you live – so he walks alongside you as your companion. 

“beidou got moved to another division, and miss ningguang didn’t disclose why.”  you bite your lip, although zhongli barely catches your ministrations  in the dark lighting.  only occasional overhead street lamps illuminate your path, but you steadily walk forwards as if you don’t need it in the first place.

“i know it’s not my place to question.  i just think that beidou was doing well – it’s odd not seeing her around.”

“i believe there was an announcement earlier last week discussing structural changes in the crime investigation department.  beidou will be fine in divison three.”  zhongli’s reassurances are quiet in the ambiance, a pacifying lull of flowing water to a clear river.  your feet guide you to a left turn.  “i can pass a word to one of my colleagues in division three if you don’t have the time to visit.”

“oh?  i wasn’t aware that you were one for many connections, mister zhongli,” your voice teases his senses, much like your words poke at his penchant for introversion – but of course, negotiation when necessary.  “but you don’t have to go out of your way for me.  i’ll shift around my schedule for her.  you have your own enforcer to take care of, right?”

“that i do.  if it’s acceptable for me to say,” zhongli starts, briefly wondering if his subordinate will pardon the mentions of his name in unofficial business, “childe reminds me of my niece sometimes.  always looking for a distraction, for something engaging . . . which often isn’t the best thing to do at the time.” 

his fingers drift to the pockets of his coat, smoothing down the fabric inside as you continue.  "why don’t you bring her in for work one day?  i’m sure you could arrange something with miss ningguang . . . especially since you’re on her good side.”  

you don’t mention his standing with her out of malice, or with any hint of resentment in your voice.  your observation is matter-of-fact: it’s true, it’s tangible in how ningguang maintains eye contact with zhongli out of everyone else in division briefings, even when disbanding them; how, even just among division officers, her eyes are solely on him.

and of course you’d know this: everyone in the crime investigation bureau has heard about it from the analysts that mow over the security cameras in their spare time.

he exhales into the chilled air, one of admission with a lilt of humility.  the corners of his lips are etched unusually high onto his cheeks.  “ningguang prefers her workspace neat.  i guarantee that if i brought along my niece, she’d tear the place apart.  she might even give childe a hard time.”

“i take it that you’ve seen it first-hand?”

“well, yes.  not that i’d ever mention her behavior to just anyone.”  it’s his turn to chuckle at the thought, although it’s tinged with a hint of . . . dismay.  “but she’s smart.  i doubt you’ll be hearing of her tirades as she learns more about the system.”

your understanding is communicated through silence, yet it’s not unpleasant.  it’s heeding and respectful to his insinuations.  he’s aware that no one discloses much of their personal life – since at the bureau, there’s hardly any time for sentiment – and even much less the inner workings of sibyl.  among some inspectors, it’s a mutual feeling; a slight nag, but it’s also the truth. 

some just prefer avoiding it entirely, and on occasion, it’s also reciprocated.

“mister zho – ”

his wrist-watch screeches in his ear before you can finish uttering his name.  sibyl’s voice is entirely unwelcome on a quiet night such as this, with her magnetic, crisp timbre, and by the parting of your lips, zhongli knows you’re receiving the exact same message he is.  snow no longer conceals the pavement, but instead, numbers and letters.  images, even, of murky colors with three-dimensional graphs and timelines.  

“area stress level abnormal,” sibyl reports in his mind.  “enforcement action requested.”

there is nothing in his hands – there is no dominator to work with, only maps and crime coefficients strung together in zhongli’s head.  but you’re already fumbling for your phone, voice rushing to contact the bureau in the midst of the impromptu warning.  “shepherds to hounds, any available?  asking for immediate assitan – ”

for the second time in a moment, the sounds emitting from your mouth are overtaken by something else: shouting.  zhongli pulls you between two stores as you furiously usher commands to headquarters in the dead of night.  surely an analyst would at least pick up your call, if not another working inspector.

“suspect is in his late twenties.  crime coefficient . . . of 152.7.  do we have any methods of subduction without dominators while we wait for a proper team?”

“no – unless you prefer hand-to-hand incapacitation, or the small stunner.”  he doesn’t have to look at your face to know that you’re grimacing, diligently combing over the information you’re given by sibyl.  “it’s just one man.  he’s been running around for the past ten minutes, and if someone can pick up, it’s a 15 minute drive from the bureau.  he’s only latent.  we can just negotiate with him.”

your gaze catches his out of the corner of his eyes.  it’s dangerous for inspectors to directly involve themselves without dominators, especially without the intervention of enforcers as a preventative measure to not cloud their own crime coefficients.  you’re both vetted in combat as per inspector training, but without dominators as a barrier between barbarism and lawful jurisdiction, not even inspectors are exempt from sibyl’s eyes.

“ – was marked by scanners three blocks down.  approach one at a time?”

zhongli nods without hesitation, opening his watch to change into his inspector attire as you do likewise.  

“meet you there.”

you’re off first, your figure disappearing into the falling snow as the bureau logo on the back of your jacket flutters back at him.  he resumes the call that you left on, ears straining to pick up any sounds at all – from both his communicator and his surroundings.  a minute passes before he himself is off into the streets, running further into the murky blue of the circumference painted before him in his irises. 

out of all the corners he turns, all are empty, save for the occasional scanner.  he matches the data on the drones to the information that’s presented on his watch – except that the radius the two of you split up to search in is smaller than before, more specific.  also, noticeably more inclined to the streets you ran into; the suspect must have been picked up by more overhead scanners.

zhongli practically shoves his watch next to his lips, voice hissing into the mic.  “y/n, are you there?”

a pause, and static silence. 

and you pick up.  “yeah, yeah, i’m here.  got the new info.  think i’m closing in – i hear someone panting.  i’ll send you my position, and then i’ll approach and try to talk.”

“all right.  eta in three minutes.  be careful.”

you don’t reply, only sending him off with an emote through the pop-up display.

he runs as swiftly as he possibly can in two inches of snow the drag from his coat is also inconvenient, so he zips it up before resuming his trek.  another notification message also pops up from the bureau, and he’s reassured professional enforcements.  all he needs to do now is meet up with you. 

vaguely, he begins to make out the sound of two voices to his right, one of them distinctly belonging to you: even in tone, yet strained with cracks.  a momentary thought crosses him: why are your voices raised?  the negotiation must have –

“’ts a sick system!”

“sir, please, i can’t help you unless you try and remain calm.”

“just one time.  one fucking time – ” the presumed suspect’s voice rises louder, harsher, overruling your own.  zhongli picks up his pace.  “you lot can just walk around with your perfect academy scores.  so many options.  but one bad break for us – the regular ones – and we can be disposed of.  there will be a movement, mark my words.  this system is fucked, and so are all of you – ”

something – and the worst part is, zhongli doesn’t know what – audibly snaps, and he hears you scream.

he blows in the scene in time to see you, crumpled at the knees and grappling with the suspect, raising a limp wrist to his neck in a vain attempt to get the stunner off.  but the suspect knows what you’re trying to do – cruelly enables you even, by jerking you by the elbow towards his jugular – as you wheeze, palm against his shoulder in order to push away.

“what’s the matter, huh?  academy didn’t teach you how to fight like in the pits, inspector.”

zhongli charges in before thinking.  he only sees you, hair mangled and clothes torn at the cuffs, and the deranged target before him before all three of you collide together.

the snow does nothing to soften your fall, and after he tumbles to the floor with the suspect, zhongli regrets that he had to resort to such brute measures to get you out of danger; the suspect is much larger than you, and even him with his lithe frame, so it takes all of his strength to keep him pinned down onto the concrete, the snow filtering into the hood of his jacket.  and much like you moments prior, zhongli is wrestling to get the stunner off.

it’s as if he knows – the target knows about their methods, and keeps the face of the watch away from his skin, inhumanly twisting zhongli’s wrist away.  there’s a damaged light in his brown eyes, and zhongli can hear the grating of the man’s teeth as they go back and forth on the ground.

“eta!?”  the inspector nearly bites his tongue as he barks out the question, knee working to hold down the target’s thigh.

“a minute and a half!”

your trembling, staggered steps come up to his side in crunches.  perspiration nearly drips into his eyes despite the frigid air.  it’s so hot, even burning, and he realizes that the sensation isn’t bound to his chest as the suspect continues ranting about sibyl. 

“you don’t even question it!  neither of you have brains of your own.  but we can live!  and without your dogshit ‘justice’!”

your wrist is lifeless, but your watch shines on it as if nothing’s wrong.  the pain on your face extends to your forearm, where he can see forming bruises through the tears in the fabric; with bitten, bloody lips, you lower your wrist to the target’s neck as zhongli subdues him as best he can –

– thrashing like a red herring in a net. 

“bitches to the system.”

the target launches zhongli up and over his body, nearly tossing him to the side as if he were a hefty log, before making another start to you.  senses dulled by the pain oozing through your form, zhongli witnesses as your body crashes to the ground once more.  

you kick and claw at the man on top of you with what you have left, but he doesn’t relent, crushing your form under his body weight as you once again struggle to stun him.

“you’re all going to kneel soon enough.”

zhongli’s knuckles collide with the target’s cheek, just before your neck is encased by grimy, frostbitten fingers.  for the second time, he crashes to the ground with the subject, but this time he doesn’t hesitate to conduct necessary action.

“mister zhongli!  that’s enough, mister zhongli . . . ”

what jolts him from his frenzy isn’t you, but rather the sirens that gradually envelop the alleyway in blue and red. 

beneath him, the target is unconscious.  welts simmer onto his flesh with indents of zhongli’s knuckles, gnarly and ugly, just like the disrupted snow in disarray on the pavement.  his nose is bloodied, and just like your wrist, jerked at an unnatural angle.  the breaths in zhongli’s chest are haggard, like a beast awoken from slumber, in contrast to the target’s muffled inhales.

and his fingers – they’re painted scarlet as well, just like the ink on the target’s face.

“wow.  i never thought you’d make it past 70.  but this thing . . . ”  you’re no where to be seen, probably dragged off by the medics; metal clacks against a hand behind him.  “sorry, but all i’m seeing is 119.”

you’re light-headed once you’re settled into the back of the van.  your inspector jacket (or what’s left of it) is suffocating enough that you request for it to be cut off completely, since you can’t shuffle it off with a broken wrist.  the small back-up team of childe and keqing are fussing around the scene, keqing in particular instructing the retrieval of your heretic of a target.  

zhongli, on the other hand . . .

both hands subdued behind his back, drones escort him off the premise.  he doesn’t have his inspector coat on, and instead, childe approaches you with it in hand.  the white symbol of the merged caduceus and judicial scales is untainted by the dirtied snow it was subject to.

the enforcer’s voice is light, pretty much normal, despite the dire circumstances as he sits adjacent to you, legs hanging off the back of the van.  “you look like you could use a hot shower.”

you don’t humor him – frankly, you don’t have the energy to.  you were practically powerless, inept at fulfilling one simple task.  you think that, if you had been more forceful, zhongli wouldn’t be in the situation he’s in.  keqing wouldn’t listen to you, and maybe you were imaging sympathy in her amethyst irises when you tried – god, you tried – to defend your coworker. 

it’s not fair.

childe tsks, although it’s not out of irritation but more so impatience.  always one for instant gratification, but you’re so desperate to find some ounce of emotion at the sight of his partner being treated so poorly that you feel tears well up in your eyes.

after a minute of silence is when he admits to your sniffling.  although he doesn’t extend comforts, but leaves you to your own devices.

“if he wants to, he can rejoin as an enforcer.  which isn’t the worst option out of the few he’s given.”  the ginger leaps off the back of the van, and makes way for zhongli – but not before giving you some final words as you meet the topaz eyes of the former inspector.

“don’t blame your pretty head about it; he knew what he was getting into.  and at least you can drop the honorifics and just call him zhongli now.  he’s always told me how he wishes it was just that simple with his friends.”

[thereyouareivebeenlookingforyou]

ACOSF Thoughts - SPOILER WARNING

(ACOTAR series, ACOSF, and Kingdom of Ash spoilers are all below along with my thoughts after finally finishing A Court of Silver Flames!)

Was SJM trying to get me to hate Rhysand in this book? And kind of Elain and Amren? Even a teensy bit Feyre? Don't get me wrong- I love Rhys. ACOTAR and ACOMAF Rhys is one of my favorite characters and my literal favorite book boyfriend EVER. So could someone please draw me a map to where the hell he went because that Rhys was NOT IN THIS BOOK?!?!?

Rhysand in ACOSF was every bit the territorial fae bastard in this book that Tamlin was in ACOMAF. He lied to Feyre about something HUGE. Nesta shouldn't have told her like that, but someone needed to tell her. And the way he treated Nesta sucked.

And Feyre was every bit the pretty bride who blushed and had lots of sex and had a male who shielded her from what was really going on (you know, her impending death?) that she accused Tamlin of wanting to make her into. What the fuck was happening with them in this book? It's great to make Feyre a High Lady, but then she should be treated like one, not lied to?!? It's fine to make her more domestic, she deserves peace and happiness, but not at the expense of her autonomy.

And while we're on it, I kind of hated Feyre's pregnancy storyline. The thing about writing immortal characters is that you have so many chances to play with time. There is no reason that 500+ year old Rhys and 21 year old Feyre who were together for like one year?!?!? needed to have a pregnancy story here. They are IMMORTAL. Why can't they have time together, just the two of them, before introducing a pregnancy? What's the rush? They are immortal High Fae who will be alive for CENTURIES to come. Forget years, give yourselves a few decades together first! Your whole relationship so far has been 50% trauma-recovery and 50% saving the world/trying not to die!!!!

Feyre's pregnancy felt like the author showing through and overshadowing the characterization—I have to think some of this is SJM becoming a mother in the last few years and wanting to write that into their story, but still. (SJM also did this with Yrene and Chaol in Kingdom of Ash - is the eve of a huge war really a great time for a pregnancy? Wouldn't a healer know how to not get pregnant accidentally?) I also didn't love that a Feysand pregnancy was this huge part of Nesta's story. Can she not have five minutes of the spotlight? Feyre already got 3 books. (Sorta kidding.) (You know what I'm not kidding about? Not liking the name Nyx at all...but who cares I guess.)

If it's so well-known that Illyrian baby delivery is basically a death sentence for High Fae females, why would Rhys not be like 'omg Feyre, yes, let's have a baby, but let's not have sex while you're in that form which is optional for you like is he this 'the most cunning high lord' or not?!) (Also they wouldn't even have Feyre try shifting her body to give her Illyrian hips when otherwise she would FOR SURE DIE like try it?!) All that magic and no one's invented the cesarean?!?

(On a separate pregnancy note, y'all realize the Kingdom of Ash scene where Aelin falls through the worlds and sees a 'heavily pregnant' fae whose mate throws his night-like power towards her to slow her fall have happened during the timeline of this book, right?!? Wild.)

I love Nesta. I love her. I love her arc. I've loved her this whole time, but her coming to terms with herself was great. Her finding peace was great. I was already in the she doesn't need a redemption arc, she needs a therapist and time to herself away from her sisters camp before reading ACOSF, and I only feel more strongly after reading it.

I honestly think time away from her sisters and Rhys with people who weren't constantly judging her (Cassian, Azriel, Gwen, Emerie, Clotho, the House) was just as healthy and necessary for Nesta's healing arc (NOT a redemption arc, a healing arc) as giving up some of her more harmful vices like nonstop drinking and complete isolation was.

So much sex. Like as one of my friends put it, 'this book is filthy, y'all!' It was kind of overkill, like I was already sold on their relationship, but sure, why not. But if nearly all those scenes cut away instead of getting super descriptive, I would have liked this book just as much. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The part with the Mask and the kelpie was so good! It was crazy, and creepy, and her rising up with this army of the dead was so great. Also when they went to the prison for the Harp!!! So good.

A couple weird 'repeats' from ACOMAF... 1) Nesta 'knowing' that Cassian 'needed to hear' her say the exact phrase "You're mine" which is right out of the mating bond acceptance chapter from ACOMAF stuck out to me, especially combined with hearing that Nesta had never told another person she loved them as we found out in the scene where she saved Feyre at the end. I was expecting 'I love you,' especially with them starting out in a 'just sex' relationship. 2) That 'just sex' thing and how obviously Cassian was into her and she was into him but she says she wants 'just sex' also reminded me ACOMAF, when Rhys and Feyre are at the inn and she disappoints him/lies to herself let's be real by telling him she wants just "fun."

Loved getting more of the Night Court palace on top of the Hewn City mountain. Dream house. That bathtub. Swoon.

I may really be in the minority here, but I did not like that Cassian and Nesta are mates. Tamlin tells Feyre in ACOTAR that it's rare for people to have mates at all. And honestly, I see why accepting the mating bond was so hard for Nesta as someone who didn't want to be fae in the first place, and I do not think she needed Cassian to be her mate to choose him forever. I wish they had CHOSEN each other and not also been mates. I think it would have been just as strong, and healthier for Nesta. (And also...if not everyone is mates, why can't they just fall in love? He won her heart, she chose him. I was fine before they were mates. I also think that would have nicely set up Elain rejecting the mating bond later, which she clearly wants to do/has basically done (did y'all read the Azriel extra chapter?! Anyway)

At the end of the day, the Inner Circle (except Cassian/Azriel) bothered me with their treatment of Nesta, even the intervention at the beginning. Was Nesta in need of help? Yes. Were they kind? No, especially not Rhys/Amren. Elain was just as traumatized/self-destructive for a while. She hardly ate, she spoke to no one, she lay in bed all day, Nesta checks that the high windows don't open because she thinks Elain is suicidal, etc. Nesta is also traumatized, but her trauma presented more angrily, less beautiful/sad woman lies around being beautifully sad (like Elain in ACOWAR or Feyre in ACOMAF), and she's entirely condemned by the IC for it (and by a lot of this fandom, let's be real).

I love Cassian. Love him. Looooove him. He stood up to Rhys for Nesta, defended her, was honest with her, accepted her, forgave her for what she actually did wrong (belittling him for his background/hurting him on purpose), but told her she herself was not wrong or broken (@ Rhys, @ Amren, @ Feyre, @ Mor, are y'all taking notes? Cassian and I said she was not broken. Not in need of fixing or redemption.) He kept reaching out his hand.

Plot wise, I also loved that Nesta/Gwen/Emerie ended up doing the Rite! That twist surprised me in a good way. Devlon and any other Illyrians who doubted them can suck it. VALKYRIES!!!

And finally, I LOVED the Nesta/Gwen/Emerie friendship. It made the book (it Made it, y'all. Pun intended). I loved reading about Nessian and I love Cassian, but these three and their friendship was my favorite part of the book, hands down. So great. I love female friendship - it's so underrated as a concept - and this one was amazing, and I'm glad it was such a focus of the story.

This was long, so thanks for sticking with me if you did! Not really interested in angry/anon discourse, but I'd love to hear y'all's thoughts!!!

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Pacemaker

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Bang Chan (SKZ)

Warnings: Let me be clear: this is a very dark narrative. I have lots of warnings for my readers, including explicit smut, vulgar language, toxic relationships, voyeurism, choking, sadism, smoking, and drinking.

Word Count: 8.2K

Genre: Sugar Daddy AU; Established Relationship

Summary: Y/N had made a lot of bad decisions throughout her life, but signing up for that stupid Sugar Daddy website? The worst of them all.

A/N: The title makes more sense in the end, but I can tell you that pacemaker’s are used to control arrhythmia's - and Seungmin might just function that way for the reader! Also, I’m really sorry for making Chan such an asshole.

Seungmin was a good best friend, even if he was determined to ruin his lungs with expensive cancer sticks. 

I had once tried to help him break the bad habit - stealing the cigarette boxes that he bought from the store and tossing them into the trash. But Seungmin made it rather difficult to break his addiction, and when I found him digging through the trash one evening, trembling fingers bringing the lighter up to his lips, I stopped trying to help him. And it might seem like a shitty thing for a best friend to abandon, but I was really tired of seeing my efforts die in vain when Seungmin made it loud and clear that he wasn’t willing to relent.

However, I was probably the worst person in the world to preach against his vices, especially when mine were far more consequential. Ironically, if I was to compare our biggest slights, then I might find a lot of similarities between our horrible habits. For instance, we were both prisoners to something toxic, and it was hard to push out those dark shadows when they had already snuffed out most of the light.

But at least Seungmin still had some control over his autonomy whereas I had allowed a single man to dictate every aspect of my existence. He decided the clothes that I would wear to his fancy office, and the things that I was allowed to do to my own person. He enacted so many rules that I could barely keep up with them, and he frequently reminded me that I was supposed to comply with whatever he demanded because I signed a foolish contract.

In the end, it was my fault for becoming so involved, but I could always rely on Seungmin for companionship when I felt another bout of existential dread. Because Seungmin was a good listener, and he made an effort to understand my problems even when he didn’t agree with my decisions. It was one of the things that I liked most about him, and I watched him with indifferent eyes as he stomped out his cigarette against the sidewalk.

Thereafter, his breath vaporized against the frigid air, and it was the only reminder that it was cold because my body had already grown numb to the sensation. “What happened this time?” Seungmin asked, raising a brow in question.

It was a deceivingly simple question because there was no straightforward answer that I could offer him in response. Instead, I shrugged while trying to collect my thoughts. Because I still wasn’t really sure how I felt about my latest rendezvous with him, but I knew for certain that it had affected me more than the other times.

“It was different,” I replied, and Seungmin nodded.

“Did he hurt you?” Seungmin asked.

“Yes, but not the kind of hurt that you’re thinking about,” I said. 

“Well, that’s still fucked up,” Seungmin said. “Tell me everything.”

Oh, but there was so much to tell him, and my mind instantly brought me back to the very beginning when I signed my name on a contract that promised so much only to deliver nothing but pain.

Six Months Ago

The worst decision of my life was predicated on my desperation for cash, and I was almost at the point where I would do anything to see another zero on my bank statement.

When I first moved to California, I had a lot of big dreams, and I was so excited to secure a scholarship to a highly-accredited University. It seemed that the world was finally on my side, and I left my home on the east coast to start a new life with more opportunities. Everything was going according to plan, and there was nothing preventing my success.

Except for me, of course. 

And it happened during the events of a single evening when I decided to attend a fraternity party on campus that my roommate recommended. The music was loud, the alcohol was unlimited, and any prior inhibitions had been thrown out the window much to my own detriment. I forgot all about my responsibilities, and I made one careless decision after another until I ended up in bed with a stranger.

I don’t even remember his name, but he was just one of the students who got busted by the police that night. Apparently, someone next door ratted us out, and they discovered a bunch of under-age students drinking alcohol without any supervision, including myself. But when the University found out, my scholarship was taken away, and my parents refused to send me extra money for tuition because they were determined to bring me back home.

But I wasn’t about to let one night ruin everything, and it was my roommate’s idea to suggest the stupid website. “It’s like a Sugar Daddy thing,” my roommate giggled. “All you have to do is sign-up, and then they’ll email you if there’s any interest.”

“Interest?”

“Well, they’ll probably want something from you in exchange for money.”

“How much money?”

“I guess that’s up to you to decide.”

Tragically, I was too desperate to consider the consequences, and I signed up without even thinking about the potential for disaster. And within a week, I got several emails from old misers offering me loads of cash in exchange for services that ranged from a private escort request to more explicit favors. But none of them stood out to me, especially in comparison to the young CEO who claimed to only be 28-years-old, but I could hardly believe his profile.

Still, I decided to entertain him, and I organized a meeting at a neutral location just in case anything funny happened. But I was still shocked to see the same man from the pictures waiting for me inside the coffee shop. And he was just as handsome as he appeared online: long, curly blonde hair, deep brown eyes, and a broad smile that took my breath away.

“Y/N?” he asked when I cautiously approached the table.

“Mr. Bang Chan?” I returned, and he laughed while rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to reveal strong, muscular arms.

“That’s me,” he said. “You can sit down if you want.”

“Of course,” I said, feeling rather foolish after standing there for so long. “I’m sorry, but I was really surprised because I honestly thought you might by lying about your age.”

“Why would you think that?” he asked, and I easily detected an accent carrying his words.

“Uh, considering the circumstances,” I said with a wince. “I feel like you could have any woman you want.”

“Oh?” Chan asked while raising one brow suggestively. “Maybe I just want you.”

“R-really?” I stuttered while wondering if I had made a good decision when I wore a skirt that afternoon. “You can probably tell that I’ve never done this before.”

“That’s alright,” Chan reassured me. “I don’t have much experience either.”

It seemed too good to be true - like there wasn’t any logical explanation for why this incredibly sexy businessman had signed up for some Sugar Daddy website when all he had to do was blink in my direction and I was already falling for him hard. “So, I guess you expect something from me.”

“I like how you do business,” Chan remarked. “We can skip all the formalities, then?”

“If you want,” I said, still feeling a bit sheepish as I glanced down at the table.

“From you, Y/N,” Chan continued. “I want a partner.”

“In what sense?” I asked. “Are you talking about something...sexual?”

“I’d really like that,” Chan said with a seductive smile. “But only if you’re interested.”

“Definitely,” I quickly agreed, throwing all caution to the wind as I surrendered to his ridiculous charisma.

“In return, you can have whatever you want,” Chan said. “Money isn’t an issue for me.”

“I really just need money for my tuition.”

“Is that all?” Chan scoffed as if he was in disbelief. “There’s got to be something else.”

I hesitated for a moment, wondering why it was so hard to ask him for those extravagances when the entire premise of our meeting rested on the basis of one exchange for another. “My apartment,” I said. “I plan to get a job in the future, but I’m struggling with rent.”

“Fuck the job,” Chan said. “I don’t mind paying your rent.” He smirked as he leaned back against the booth with a sigh. “I used to be a college student, Y/N, and I had problems paying for those things too.”

His attitude was nothing but nonchalant, and our terms were settled without a single complaint. Eventually, the deal was finalized when I met him later that evening at his lavish penthouse apartment, signing my name at the bottom of an exclusive contract that I hadn’t even taken the time to read. 

“It’s done,” Chan declared, and I watched his forearms bulge as he applied pressure to the official stamp. “We can have some fun together,” he added, and the look he gave me was nothing short of predatory. “Tell me, Y/N. Are you a virgin?”

“No, sir,” I said, watching him throw the contract aside onto the coffee table. 

“Good,” he purred while slowly unbuttoning his shirt. “Do you take birth control? I hate fucking with condoms.”

“Yes,” I whispered, and there wasn’t an ounce of shame in my entire being when I studied the hard planes of his upper torso once his chest was exposed to the room. 

Did I really just a sign a deal with a real-life Adonis?

“I’m gonna have a taste of that sweet cunt tonight,” Chan said, and one hand palmed himself over the front of his pants. “Bend over the couch for me, and keep your legs spread.”

“O-okay,” I agreed, hesitating because I wasn’t expecting him to move so fast, but I also knew that it was a foolish thought. What else should I have anticipated? There’s only one thing he wanted from me, and it’s not like it proceeded a romantic dinner or a long walk on the beach.

But it was still jarring to feel someone else’s hands on my hips - someone older and far more experienced. And his hands were proof of that confidence, perfectly assured in their motions as they drug my panties down my legs, fingers prodding against the folds of my labia. “You’re not wet enough,” Chan remarked, and I blushed because I was afraid that I had been doing something wrong. “We’ll just use lube.”

I flinched when I heard a loud POP! echo throughout the room when he opened a bottle from behind me. Then, I startled when something cold penetrated between my thighs because I wasn’t used to the overbearing sensation, and the flex of his fingers were incredibly thorough as they explored the private walls stretched around his intrusion. It felt nice, though, feeling him moving around, brushing against sensitive zones that had me moaning against the cushions.

“What a good slut,” Chan said, and I found myself whimpering at the derogatory term. “Let me use my cock instead.”

I gasped when his fingers disappeared in the middle of my approaching orgasm, leaving me clenching desperately for something to fill up the places that had left empty. But the sound of Chan shuffling out of his pants was reassuring, and he was nothing but teasing when he slid the head of his cock up and down my entrance. Spreading his pre-cum while prodding against me with the tip of his erection. 

If I hadn’t been wet before, then I was positively drenching from the surprisingly playful foreplay. “Please,” I whined, and he must’ve been feeling merciful since it was our first meeting because he pushed himself the rest of the way inside between my walls with a grunt. Satisfying that persistent ache which demanded some sort of satisfaction from the fat cock splitting me with every aggressive plunge against my g-spot.

“There we go,” Chan hissed, and his fingernails dug into my skin while he rolled my hips back onto his cock - repeating the motion with a sensual rhythm that was slow but fulfilling. Deep and full. Pounding into my hips with every thrust and chanting obscenities into the air while the smell of sex hit me with as much force as his thighs knocking against mine. “Feels so good around me.”

I moaned at his husky tone, and slid further down the armrest of the couch because my clit was rubbing deliciously against the furniture that he had bent me over, and I focused on the addicting friction and the impression of his cock drilling inside my pussy until I came with a loud moan. 

“Shit,” Chan cursed when I clenched even tighter around him, and the pleasure was like a dramatic rise - a climactic high - and I fell back into the moment with my heart pounding against my chest while Chan continued to plummet his cock into the stimulated entrance of my cunt before I felt his cum trickle down the inside of my legs. 

“Good girl,” Chan said, and he landed a sharp slap to my ass before he was walking out of the room, stuffing his cock back into his pants while I looked down at my hands and wondered what I was supposed to do next.

And several long minutes passed before I realized that Chan wasn’t coming back, and I tried to ignore the sensation of his cum drying on my skin as I pulled my skirt back on over my sore hips. 

Is this how it would be every time? 

I grimaced at the thought, but I knew it was still a better alternative than returning home to my disappointed parents. Because Chan would at least help me stay in school, and he wasn’t really asking for that much in return. 

Right?

But my heart was aching when I left his penthouse around midnight, returning to the shared apartment with my roommate and slinking into the shower while doing my best to remain quiet. Unfortunately, my thoughts were starting to become more rampant - louder than the prevailing silence - and I couldn’t stop thinking about the encounter with Chan. Because it was the second time that a random stranger had fucked me without consideration, and I would never forget how I felt in that moment, scalding my skin under hot water while scrubbing insistently with my fingernails scratching across my arms.

And I went to sleep that night thinking about the future for the first time since I lost my scholarship. For instance, how long would I have to keep doing this? Can it really end after my graduation?

Needless to say, I was unable to reacquaint myself with the familiar comforts of sleep, and I woke-up the next morning feeling like a much weaker version of myself. It was both a literal and metaphorical description for my current state of mind and physical being, and I forced myself to endure my regular routine so that I could leave for class on time.

But even as I was starting to feel better again, savoring the cool air of the morning as I walked through campus, everything was ruined when I received an unanticipated phone call from Chan around lunchtime:

“Can you come into my office today?” Chan asked, and I checked my watch.

“I can be there in twenty minutes.”

“Perfect,” Chan said, and I hung up the phone before jogging to the bus stop.

The Voyeur

Chan’s office building was extravagant, and I had trouble finding his company because it seemed like there was no end to the numerous corridors. Thankfully, a polite worker was willing to steer me in the right direction, and I greeted Chan’s secretary with a nervous exhale of my name.

“He’s waiting for you inside,” she said with a bright smile. “But make sure to lock the door behind you.”

“Oh, sure,” I said, puzzled by the strange request, but I entered the room with a dismissive shrug, glancing back to turn the lock before stumbling in my steps when I realized that someone who was not Chan stood in the middle of the room.

He was a younger associate, and his hair was slicked back with some kind of product as he observed me with the faintest hint of a smirk. “You must be Chan’s newest plaything.”

I gasped at the stranger’s words. “Chan-” I attempted to call for him, but cold fingers wrapped themselves around my throat in warning.

“Shhh,” Chan whispered into my ear, and I trembled when one of his hands went down to the waistband of my skirt. “You’re right on time, Y/N.”

“Sir,” I said, trembling when he found my clit through the fabric, applying rough circles with a growl.

“Go sit on top of the desk for me,” Chan said. “Take off your skit and panties.”

“But there’s someone else-”

“Did you not hear me?” Chan interrupted, and there was an intimidating warning in his eyes that I found myself unable to ignore.

“Yes, sir,” I said in compliance, and I tried not to think about the situation unfolding in front of me. Instead, I carefully walked around the unfamiliar man without making eye contact, even though his gaze was focused on me the entire time. “Is this what you wanted me to see?” the newcomer asked, and I startled at the sound of his voice as I slipped out of my clothes.

“I think she’s your type,” Chan said, and he nonchalantly strolled through the room with his hands tucked into his pockets. “This is what you like, Jisung? Sit back and relax.”

Jisung pursed his lips as he found a comfortable position on one of the futons, and I gasped when I realized that he had unzipped his pants, fishing out his cock while casually stroking the full length of his erection, gaze fixed on the place where Chan was standing in front of me.

“Bend over, whore,” Chan growled, and I turned around in an instant, shivering when he forced my legs to spread even further apart, applying pressure to my lower back as I arched even higher for him. “Have you ever seen a prettier cunt?”

“Finger her for me,” Jisung requested, and I closed my eyes when Chan penetrated three fingers inside at once. Because it was a distant shout from his treatment the previous night, and I found myself enduring the pain from being aggressively handled. 

“Is this to your satisfaction?” Chan asked, and he was moving lightning fast, thrusting his fingers so fast that my body wasn’t sure how to process the rapidly growing pressure building with every curl of his wrist.

“Fuck her then,” Jisung said, and I could hear the slick sound of his hand moving on his cock to match the pace of Chan’s motions inside of me.

“No problem,” Chan said, and his cock replaced his fingers with one harsh plunge, forcing my hips to collide with the side of his desk as he started an unrelenting pace, hands holding tight to my waist as he treated me as nothing more than his personal cock-sleeve.

My pleasure wasn’t a concern, and I could tell because he never once asked me if I was feeling good. Instead, he panted like a dog into my ears, groping along my chest while rolling his hips up into mine - grinding his cock as deep as he could manage. 

“Chan...” I trailed off at one point because there would surely be bruises once he was done with me.

“Is there a problem, Y/N?” he asked, and I quickly shook my head even as he started thrusting even harder, forcing his cock even deeper inside my gaping core - brushing against previously untouched places that awakened something almost feral.

“No, sir,” I managed, choking around a moan when his fingers tightened around my throat again.

“He likes to watch,” Chan whispered, slowing down to a sensual grind while he spoke to me. “It gets him off every time.”

“I didn’t know,” I said in return, even though no response was really warranted.

Especially when Chan leaned back once again, picking up from where he had left off from before, and there was a stuttered hiccup to the way he moved - like he was nearing his own breaking point. His fingers curled themselves into my hair, forcing my head to the side to meet Jisung’s unwavering gaze.

“Jisung,” Chan said, and the voyeur himself looked up at the two of us with lust reflecting in his eyes. “Is it everything you wanted?”

“Keep going,” Jisung simply said in return, and Chan was laughing in the moments preceding his orgasm, spilling his seed between my convulsing walls before pulling out with a groan.

“You did good, Y/N,” Chan said, and he reached down for my discarded skirt.

Meanwhile, I glanced around Chan to see Jisung reaching for the tissue box on the table. “Thank you for the show, Mr. Bang.” Jisung said, and he cleaned off his cock before tucking himself back into his jeans.

The Sadist

That unexpected situation should’ve been the first and only sign required for me to break off the engagement with Bang Chan, but I was starting to grow addicted to the ostentatious gifts that he sent me.

Because on that same afternoon, I returned to my apartment to find a brand new SUV waiting for me outside my complex. It was the newest model, and my roommate was hysterical with excitement as she jumped around the front lawn and told me all about how a random man had brought the car to our apartment asking for me. 

“I don’t know who you’re seeing,” my roommate remarked. “But if he keeps doing this kind of thing...”

“Yeah,” I agreed with a faint smile, and there was still an active part of me that thought I could put up with Chan if it meant receiving things like this in return.

Plus, I somehow deluded myself into thinking that everything was fine, and I guess my lectures on argumentative writing must’ve worked too well because I convinced my stubborn brain to endure the arrangement for a little while longer. 

It also helped that Chan hadn’t spoken to me much in the week following our little date in his office, and I was able to forget about the encounter with Jisung. Plus, my tuition was paid, my bank account was full, and there were always expensive things allowing me to take advantage of a lavish lifestyle.

It was hard to argue against the current trajectory of my situation, but there was still a painful reminder of its price when Chan eventually called me the following Friday with another request:

“I’m having a guest over tonight,” Chan said. “And you’re the entertainment.”

I swallowed hard at his brusque tone. “Entertainment?”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Chan reassured me, and I could only process his words while the dial tone played in the background.

But maybe I could handle the addition of a guest, especially if it was just Jisung or someone watching again. That hadn’t been so bad, and the worst part was the initial shock of seeing another man in the same room. 

Maybe I was just overreacting, and this would be a regular night where Chan would fuck me in his bed and I would limp home and sleep on the brand new satin comforter he had bought for me.

Unfortunately, my initial enthusiasm was dulled when I knocked on the door to Chan’s penthouse, and he answered my summons with another man lingering in the background. But the other man wasn’t Jisung, and a single chill rolled down my spine when Chan’s guest turned around to look at me for the very first time. “You’re early,” Chan said with a pleasant smile. “We were just pouring ourselves some drinks.”

“That sounds nice,” I said, allowing Chan to take my coat before he led me into the living room.

“This is my associate, Lee Minho,” Chan said, nodding in the direction of the freshly identified man who was unreasonably handsome as he sat down across the room.

“The pleasure is mine,” Minho said with a smirk, and I had no words to match his arrogance, but Chan pulled me into his lap and I took some strange comfort from his embrace.

“Minho and I have been friends for years.”

“What a tragedy,” Minho remarked, and the simple jest was met with a chuckle from Chan who wrapped an arm around my waist.

“He was really excited to meet you as well.”

“Especially after listening to Jisung run his mouth,” Minho said, and I froze at the mention of the other man because that was the moment when everything started to plummet, and I could see the change in Minho’s gaze as he lowered his eyes to my chest.

“Can I see her tits?” Minho asked, holding his glass of scotch in one hand while the other disappeared down the front of his pants.

“Of course,” Chan said, and he didn’t seem to care at all about his friend’s vulgar request, pulling me back against his chest as his fingers worked apart the buttons on my blouse. “She doesn’t mind. Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

I shook my head, paralyzed by Minho’s impenetrable gaze as he inhaled sharply when Chan removed the shirt from my arms. “Those are nice.”

“Aren’t they?” Chan agreed, and his fingers tweaked my nipples. But I shivered at the pressure, nearly jumping in his lap from the sudden stimulation as his thumbs rolled across the hardening buds.

“You ever fucked them before?” Minho asked, parting his lips around the rim of his glass.

“No,” Chan said, and his tone reflected his disappointment. “I guess I’ll have to try that in the future.”

“They’re a good size,” Minho remarked, and I couldn’t help but feel humiliated because they were talking about me in such a vulgar manner - like I was just a piece of meat on display for them.

“I like her tits,” Chan agreed. “But I think her ass is my favorite.”

Minho scoffed at that. “Isn’t that always your preference?”

“Why do you think I like fucking her from behind?” Chan laughed, and Minho smiled before draining the rest of his alcohol.

“Where did you get her?” Minho asked, and I watched as he removed his expensive suit jacket.

“Do you remember that website Jisung showed me?” Chan smirked. “It’s probably the best idea that he’s ever had.”

“Mhmm,” Minho agreed, and his lecherous eyes continued to openly stare at my breasts. “Has Changbin seen her yet?”

“No,” Chan said, and then he sighed. “I’m afraid to introduce them.”

“She’s exactly his type,” Minho remarked. “He’ll want to fuck her for sure, and I doubt you’ll tell him no.”

“He’s convincing,” Chan said, and he smirked while his lips pressed wet kisses against my neck and his hands massaged my breasts. “What would you want to do with her?”

“Me?” Minho chuckled, and his dark eyes were appraising. “I’d probably fuck her mouth, and then maybe cum on her tits.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Chan said, and then he was shoving against me from behind. “Get on your knees,” Chan growled into my ear, and I shivered at the guttural sound before falling from his lap and into the floor.

Meanwhile, Minho continued to watch me while stroking his cock, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. “Is this an invitation?”

“Take her mouth,” Chan said, and he reached out for his discarded glass of brandy. “I don’t think she’ll mind.”

Minho smirked in response, and he pulled the occupied hand from his pants long enough to stand up from the couch, taking another step forward until his crotch was level with my face. “Is that true, little girl?” Minho asked, and I held my tongue when his fingers traced across my lips. “Do you want to suck my cock?”

I could feel Chan’s eyes on me, and I knew better than to disobey. “Yes,” I whispered, and Minho closed his eyes around a groan.

“Channie picked a good little cocksucker,” he said, and he quickly undid his pants, pulling them down his thighs along with his boxers. I inhaled when his cock was freed from the confines of his underwear, slapping against his stomach with a bead of pre-cum waiting on the tip. “Go ahead,” Minho said. “Let’s see what you can do for me.”

I swallowed hard, and I decided to start with a few strokes of his hardening erection - feeling the length of him under my hand because I knew that it would be painful to fit him inside my mouth. “Don’t tease,” Chan said, and I shivered at his harsh tone.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and I decided not to waste another moment before I was parting my lips around the head of Minho’s cock, tasting the gathered pre-cum on his tip. It was bitter because it was overwhelming, and my jaw was already aching as I hollowed my cheeks and tried to prevent my teeth from scraping across the sensitive underside of his erection.

“Harder,” Minho growled, and he reached down to grab fistfuls of my hair while forcing the remainder of his cock down my throat - triggering my gag reflex with the sudden motion. 

“I guess she’s not used to it,” Chan remarked - like it wasn’t a big deal that I could barely breathe around the intrusion, and spit was dripping from my lips as he proceeded to use me like I was nothing more than a warm space to fill with his cock.

“I’ll teach her for you,” Minho said, but it wasn’t a kindness to feel the tip of his cock hit the soft palate of my mouth, dragging between my lips as he ground his hips while moaning around a curse. 

But I still tried my best, sucking at the skin and using my tongue to trace against the ridges. I also kept my hands firmly behind my back, trying my best not to reach out for his thighs because I was afraid that he wouldn’t appreciate the feeling of my nails digging into my skin. Not that he seemed to be extending the same courtesy - fucking my mouth with loud grunts and tugging on my hair with enough force that my scalp was screaming for me to intervene.

“Does it feel good?” Chan asked.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Minho said, and his eyes were glossy from the alcohol settling into his system and the approaching orgasm which I could taste as I tried my best to swallow around him.

And it was almost disorienting when he pulled himself free, keeping one hand in my hair while the other stared to stroke the length of his erection with rapid jerks. “Look at me,” Minho growled, and I forced my gaze to meet his own. “I’m gonna cum on your tits,” Minho snarled, twisting my hair as I did my best to nod around the impossible hold.

“Shit, that’s hot,” Chan whispered, and I closed my eyes when Minho finally came, spraying his hot cum across my chest as his thighs trembled from the effort.

“Damn,” Minho said, and he took a strategic step back to survey me from afar. “She looks better this way.”

“I definitely agree,” Chan said, but I only felt disgusting as I sat there on my knees with their eyes observing my wilted figure. 

The Participant

For an entire week after my encounter with Minho, every time I spoke, or did something as simple as drink or eat with my friends, I was reminded of him. 

It wasn’t necessarily the worst thing that had ever happened to me, and I couldn’t deny that there was a small part of me that had been aroused at the idea of Minho’s rough treatment. But the problem emerged from the lack of disclosure from Chan because he seemed to take impressive liberties with the contract. And I didn’t mind having sex with the older man since I gave him my full consent, but these surprises that he sprung on me when I wasn’t expecting them? I wasn’t entirely happy about those.

In fact, the more that I thought about the incident with both Minho and Jisung, the more infuriated I became, and I couldn’t help the brusque tone that I used to greet Chan over the phone when he randomly contacted me the following weekend.

“Someone’s having a bad day,” Chan said, and I didn’t appreciate his accompanying laughter. 

“It’s just my classes,” I offered as a response, pinching the bridge of my nose to try and prevent an oncoming headache.

“I hope it’s not too bad because I’d like for you to meet me in the office,” Chan said, and I agreed without really thinking about the consequences. Because the last time I went to Chan’s office, I found myself being fucked on top of his desk with an executive watching in the background.

But I guess this was what I had literally signed up for, and Chan couldn’t possibly know that I hated our most recent encounters because I still wasn’t able to find the confidence to tell him. And maybe it was better this way since our arrangement was nothing but a superficial agreement between two consenting adults - we were both getting something out of it, and I didn’t want to risk losing the invaluable funding that he sent to my stunningly healthy bank account.

Instead, I put on my best smile for him when I walked into his office, greeting him at his Secretary’s desk as she offered me a courteous welcome. Does she know what’s going on? I wondered to myself when Chan took my hand and led me to the giant executive desk where he worked.

He chuckled when he patted his lap, and I dropped my bag onto the floor before dropping myself down between his strong thighs. “There you are,” Chan said with a smirk, tracing the pout of my lips with his thumb. “You look sexy today.”

“Thank you,” I said, and I hated to sound so timid in front of him, but he was still beyond intimidating, and I never knew what to expect from someone who continued to surprise me.

“I’ve missed you,” Chan said, and I hesitated when his hands found the hem of my t-shirt, crawling along the skin of my torso to hold me in place. “Last time was really fun.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, but it wasn’t very convincing. Thankfully, Chan didn’t seem to notice, and he brought me in for a sloppy kiss so that I could taste the mouth wash on his tongue.

“Let’s take a walk around the office,” Chan said, and I agreed because it seemed relatively normal in comparison to what he usually asked from me.

It was also startling domestic to hold his hand as he walked me through the maze of cubicles, talking about taxes and the stock market and whatever else he found interesting. In response to most of his conversation, I found myself nodding because I couldn’t comprehend his big text jargon or the complicated explanation when it involved his return on investment numbers.

“How about some lunch?” Chan suggested, and I agreed even though my stomach had twisted itself into knots during the ride over here.

However, when Chan reached out to hit the button to call for the elevator, he paused when he made eye-contact with someone walking out of the conference room. He sighed as he turned me around. “This is awkward,” Chan said, and I noticed that the tips of his ears were bright red. “I may have shown Changbin some pictures of you and....” Chan trailed off with a smile. “He really liked what I showed him.”

“Changbin?” I questioned, and Chan jerked his head to the side to indicate the exceedingly handsome gentleman who was lingering outside of the conference room with his eyes glued in our direction.

“Changbin really likes you,” Chan whispered, smiling as he allowed one hand to fall down and palm my ass.

I heard a sharp intake of breath, and I felt my entire face flush when I realized that it had come from Changbin. He was brazenly eye-fucking me from where he was standing, and I couldn’t even imagine the dirty thoughts running through his mind.

“He wants to fuck you,” Chan continued as if we were having a conversation about something as casual as the weather. “And I kinda want to see him pound this little pussy.”

He then audaciously cupped the heat between my legs and I squirmed around in his arms because we were in public. “What are you doing?” I asked, and there was every reason to panic when anyone could see us like this - when Changbin was already looking at us like we were incredibly interesting.

“He’s got a really big cock,” Chan added like that was supposed to convince me. “But I know that you’ll do it for me, right?”

I hesitated at his request, glancing back over my shoulder at Changbin who was still watching the two of us with a predatory gaze. “When?”

“Tonight,” Chan said before pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to my lips. “I’ll have something nice sent to your apartment. Wear it for us, won’t you?”

“Of course,” I agreed, and the response sounded robotic even to my own ears.

True to his word, Chan had sent over a rather scandalous pair of lingerie to my apartment - a matching set of underwear that included a red thong and delicate bralette with lace elegantly lining the comfortable padding. There was also a very short black shirt in the package and a thin camisole which wasn’t meant to cover much of me. And I grimaced at my reflection in the mirror when I realized that I looked like someone out of Chan’s wet dream.

But instead of walking through campus with such an appearance, I had wrapped my scantily-clad form in a long coat when I greeted Chan that night outside of his apartment, hoping that he wouldn’t question my desire to ride the bus in something more appropriate for public viewing. But maybe he was too turned on to scold me, dragging me inside his apartment and closing the door before opening the front of my coat.

“Fuck,” he growled when he saw me in my outfit. “You look so good in this.”

“Thank you,” I whispered in return, and Chan tossed aside my coat while reaching down for my hand.

“There’s no reason to delay tonight’s fun,” he commented. “Changbin’s already waiting in the bedroom,” he said.

I swallowed hard the mention of the other man, trying to piece together my disorganized thoughts when Chan invited me inside the lavish bedroom that was the exact same size as my entire apartment. But I also wasn’t surprised by the ostentatious reminder of his tremendous wealth, especially when I realized that there was someone waiting inside just as Chan had promised. The same man from earlier at the office was sitting in a chair near the corner of the room, dressed in his work suit and looking at me from beneath a fringe of blonde hair while his fingers tightened around his whisky glass.

“You were so patient, Bin,” Chan remarked as he reached down to remove his shirt. 

“I think she’s worth it,” Changbin replied, and I tried not to squirm too much under his impenetrable gaze.

“What do you think of her outfit?” Chan asked, and he smirked while squeezing my ass through the skit.

“I’d rather see what’s underneath,” Changbin said, and his attitude was so nonchalant that I couldn’t deny that a small part of me was attracted to his eagerness.

“That can be arranged,” Chan agreed, and I held perfectly still as he removed my tank top before jerking my skirt down my thighs. 

He didn’t even need to tell me to step out of the offending piece of fabric, sliding it across the floor as I stood in front of Changbin in nothing more than the skimpy lingerie that Chan had chosen for me. “Damn,” Changbin grumbled, and one hand slid down his chest before settling on top of the obvious bulge in his pants.

“Shall we start?” Chan grinned, and I watched as he walked over to the bed to make himself more comfortable on top of the mattress before holding out his arms for me. “Come here, Y/N.”

I nodded, crawling over the silken sheets while Chan whispered compliments into the silent bedroom. “She’s so fucking hot,” Changbin remarked, and I held my breath when Chan used his raw strength to turn me around - bringing my back flush against his chest as one arm wrapped itself across my chest. I shivered in response to his impressive muscles, pressing myself even closer to him while his other hand crept down to remove my panties

“Look at this,” Chan whispered, ripping the fabric and exposing my bottom half for Changbin’s eyes. “Such a pretty cunt.”

Changbin inhaled sharply at the exposed skin, and he stood from the chair to walk over the edge of the bed. I closed my eyes because he was shameless, palming his erection over his pants while his eyes glued themselves between my thighs. “Spread her legs for me.”

Chan nodded, and I could feel the way his fingers parted the wet folds of my labia before he drug his thumb along my sensitive clitoris. 

“Oh, fuck,” Changbin growled, and his eyes were bright with lust as Chan continued to tease my throbbing sex while mouthing kisses against my throat.

“Do you see something you like?” Chan asked his friend as if the question was even necessary.

“Let me fuck her, Chan,” Changbin snarled, and I watched as he unzipped his suit pants before dropping them to the floor along with his boxer shorts, fisting his cock in one hand while the other worked at the buttons on his shirt. 

“I don’t know...” Chan trailed off with a teasing tone. “I’m not really in the mood to share.”

“We both know that's a lie,” Changbin said with a humorless laugh. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

I bit my tongue to hold back a moan when one of Chan’s fingers penetrated my tight walls, putting on a show for Changbin as he maintained eye contact with his business partner. It was like they were engaged in some sort of competition over me, and I was melting from Chan’s ministrations, feeling him move around with his fingers curling against all the right spots. He also started to scissor his fingers to stretch me out in preparation for whatever else might happen, and Changbin whimpered as he continued to stroke his hand up and down the impressive length of his throbbing cock. 

“I guess you can have it,” Chan said, and I yelped when he shoved me off his lap, tossing his legs over the side of the bed. “Hands and knees,” Chan barked, slapping my ass for good measure before he walked over to the same chair in the corner of the room. “You’ll be a good slut for Changbin.”

I whimpered at the rough treatment, and I tried to avoid Changbin’s gaze as I positioned myself on the center of the bed, dropping down onto my forearms while I raised my ass high in the air. I was breathing hard against the sheets, feeling my pulse skyrocket when the bed dipped beneath Changbin’s weight as he mounted me from behind. 

“Are you ready for me?” he asked, and I shook my head when he started to grope my ass, pulling apart my cheeks as his fingers prodded against the dripping entrance to my cunt. “Say my name, slut!”

I nearly screamed from the force of the slap he landed on my ass, and I took a deep breath to manage the pain. “Please, Changbin,” I sniffled, and there was nothing but blinding hot pleasure when he rubbed the tip of his cock up and down my slit.

However, he wasn’t nearly as patient as Chan, and I was shaking around the abrupt intrusion of his cock. He also wasn’t gentle, holding my hips with a bruising grip before he fucked his cock inside my wet heat, leaving me no room to breathe before he was driving his hips against mine like there wasn’t enough time in the world to split me open for him. “Shit,” Changbin hissed, and I was powerless when he shoved my face down into the pillows, forcing me back into an even deeper arch. 

“Play nice, Bin,” Chan said, and I could barely spot him from the corner of my eye. “You know I don’t like it when you break my toys.”

“Can’t help it,” Changbin grunted, and I could feel the fat head of his cock brushing against my cervix. 

“She feels good right?” Chan asked, and I finally located him, following his voice to see that he was rubbing his erection through the tented fabric of his pants.

“Her cunt is tight,” Changbin agreed, and he wasn’t even thrusting anymore; instead, he was manhandling me up and down his cock, slamming his hips against mine and filling the room with the sounds of wet slaps and crude moans as he chased his own pleasure.

He was fucking me like a madman, breath hot on the back of my neck. Everything was fast and hard, and the sound of the headboard hitting the wall was especially loud. “Fuck,” Changbin muttered, and I thought he might be slowing down, but he just adjusted his grip and set a brutal pace and fucked me even harder.

It was all too much, and I wasn’t expecting to come, but when he lifted one of my legs for a better angle, I felt a sudden wave of arousal drip around Changbin’s thick erection because he was scraping across my G-spot with every stroke. I moaned at the direct stimulation, and it felt like there was an impossible pressure building at the center of my abdomen, stretching and stretching until my vision nearly blacked out from the intensity of my orgasm.

“Yes!” Changbin groaned when I inadvertently squeezed around his cock even tighter, providing enough pressure to trigger his own orgasm. And I could feel his warm cum as it decorated the cavern of my pussy, escaping the place where we were connected with a squelching sound when he eventually pulled out.

“What a mess,” Chan groaned.

“Such a good little whore,” Changbin purred, reaching down to stuff his cum back inside where it belonged. I whined at the over-stimulation, but Changbin growled in response and slapped my ass hard. “I want one more round,” Changbin declared, leaving me lying on the bed as he rolled over to the side. 

“Sure,” Chan agreed, and I felt his hand soothing along the side of my face as he wiped away my tears. “How long do you need to get it back up, old man?”

“Shut up,” Changbin muttered. “Give me ten minutes.”

‘Well, that’s all I need,” Chan remarked, and I whimpered when he took his turn to mount me from behind, twisting his fingers into my hair as he slid his cock inside with one hard thrust, grinding his hips in long, sensual circles while whispering the filthiest words into my ears.

Present

It wasn’t very much like me to reveal all those intimate secrets, but something about Seungmin’s presence was safe and comforting. “What an asshole,” Seungmin remarked, discarding a fresh cigarette that he hadn’t even bothered lighting before returning his attention to me. “You deserve so much better than him.”

“He pays for everything,” I said. “He pays for my tuition, and he sends checks for the rent...”

“So?” Seungmin scoffed. “I can help you get a job at the diner where I work. You can make enough money to pay for those things without him.”

“It’s just so hard...” I broke off with a sudden exclamation, and my emotions were spilling out despite my attempts to suppress them, holding Seungmin even closer by the collar of his jacket as I sobbed into his shoulder. “He owns me.”

“No, he doesn’t, Y/N,” Seungmin said with a firm tone. “Do you understand me?”

I shook my head. “I signed a contract!”

“Every contract has a loophole,” Seungmin said. “And I’m sure it expires at some point, or you can negotiate your way out of the terms!”

“He’s a businessman,” I argued. “There’s no way I can win.”

“Not with that attitude,” Seungmin said with a fierce look. “You’re not alone, Y/N. I’ll even help you figure out how to leave him, but that’s what you need to do because this relationship is not good for you!”

“I kept telling myself that I didn’t care,” I whispered, sighing when Seungmin carded his fingers through my hair. “I guess I cared too much.”

“It’s alright,” Seungmin said, holding me close as he spoke reassurances into my stubborn ears.

“I’m scared, Seungmin,” I told him, and he nodded.

“I’ll give you all my strength,” he promised, and the sincerity of his words triggered a fresh wave of tears, and I cried while thinking about the difficult situation that I found myself in. 

The idea of Chan’s arrangement had once been enchanting because everything he promised seemed like a dream come true. But the reality was nothing short of a nightmare. And I was suddenly desperate to escape.

[seriphimlm]

Binary Stars

Summary: Castiel possesses Dean. 

(Yeah, I’m writing SPN fan fiction now. Mind ya business.)

Binary star system: Noun. Astronomy. A system of two stars in which one star revolves around the other or both revolve round a common center. Locked in the constant chase of hunter and hunted, the two stars spend their lifespans circling around the other’s orbit, never able to touch, always just out of reach. 

---

It started, much like everything else complicated in the lives of Dean and Castiel, with a hunt gone wrong. 

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The sunlight was filtering through the dingy hotel room’s curtains as Rowena examined Castiel with a series of powders, juices, and soft-spoken Latin chants. Dean watched as he leaned against the wall, subtly texting Sam an update on their hunt. Dean and Castiel had been trying to take out a witch just west of Lincoln when she blew a shimmering powder into Castiel’s face. He had spent the following few minutes coughing up a lung while Dean shot the witch between the eyebrows. Unsure what to do, they called Rowena when they returned to the hotel room. She was leaning over Castiel as he sat on the side of one of the beds. 

“It’s bad.” Rowena finally said, her eyes flicking between Dean and Castiel. “You boys tussled with the wrong witch.”

Dean sighed and kicked off the wall he was leaning on. “Awesome.”

“What did she do to me?” Castiel’s eyes calmly tracked Dean for a moment before they flicked to meet Rowena’s gaze. 

“You mean you can’t tell?” Rowena raised her eyebrows and looked away. “That’s not a good sign.”

“Cut the crap, Rowena,” Dean growled. “Can you fix it?”

Rowena sighed. “Aye, the spell’s not built for fixing.”

“Remind me why you’re here, then?” Dean took a half-step towards Rowena. 

“Dean,” Castiel said, stopping him in his tracks with just a word. He turned back to Rowena. “Explain. Please.”

“Well,” Rowena paused as she thought. She pursed her lips, choosing her words carefully. “It was a homemade spell designed to erase an angel’s grace. It starts slow, which must be why you can’t feel it yet. It will continue to get faster and faster as time goes on.”

Dean threw his hands up. “Awesome.”

“You said that already,” Castiel grumbled. 

The two men shared tense eye contact for a few charged moments. 

“You haven’t seen any hex bags today, correct?” Rowena asked, causing them both to look back at her. 

Castiel stood up and moved his eyes around the room before ending on Rowena. “I would be able to sense if there were any present.”

Rowena nodded and hummed her approval. “And the witch who cast the spell is now dead?”

“Yes,” Dean said, stepping forward. “I made sure of that.”

“Lovely,” she said, making it clear that she thought that it was anything but. “She must have been a powerful one then, if the spell is surviving past her.”

Castiel grimaced. “What can we do?”

“Do?” Rowena began to gather her supplies back into her large purse. “There isn’t much that can be done, I’m afraid.”

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Castiel beat him to the punch. “But there is something.”

Rowena sighed. “You’re not going to like it.”

Dean and Castiel both leveled Rowena with steady stares. She closed her eyes to center herself before speaking again, opening them to look at Castiel. 

“You’re going to need to leave your vessel,” she finally said.

Her statement hung in the air for a few moments before anyone else spoke, heavy in the crisp air-conditioned room. Castiel hardly reacted except to blink, but Dean was visibly agitated. 

“No way.” Dean shook his head. 

Rowena laughed drily. “Have you got a better idea, then?”

“Dean,” Castiel cut in, nipping their cat fight in the bud. “I’ve been without a vessel before.”

“So, what?” Dean turned his attention to Castiel. “You’re just gonna find some other holy trench coat to possess?”

Castiel turned his head slightly to look at Dean directly.

“Not necessarily,” Rowena interrupted. “The spell is only affecting Castiel’s physical form. If he were to” —she struggled to find the word for a moment— “exit, the spell would run its course and eventually fizzle out. I don’t see why he couldn’t return after that.”

“And how long’s that gonna take?” Dean asked. 

Rowena made a noncommittal sound as she examined Castiel lightly with her eyes. “Oh, a few days to be safe. These things move faster when the mind isn’t present.”

“So what, right before he starts to rot away?” 

Castiel lowered his chin slightly and looked at Dean. “My vessel, Dean. It’s not me.”

Rowena held up a finger and rooted through her purse as the men had an impromptu staring contest. After a moment, she pulled out a small hex bag. It fit snugly in the palm of her hand. She loosened the string tying it together slightly to create an opening. 

“This will help keep your vessel in working shape while you’re away,” she said, presenting the hex bag to Castiel. “I just need a drop of dear Mr. Novak’s blood.”

As Dean was rustling through his pockets to pass Castiel his knife, Castiel just bit the tip of his index finger with his front teeth. He held the finger over the bag as the blood welled up and finally dripped down. When the droplet of blood hit the bag, a barely-visible puff of blue smoke was created. Castiel ran his thumb over his index finger, healing the small nip. 

“Perfect,” Rowena said as she retied the string, nonplussed by Castiel’s behavior. She passed the completed hex bag to Castiel. “This will keep the lights on while you’re not home. Keep it in one of your pockets until you return.”

Castiel nodded and put the hex bag in the inside pocket of his trench coat. 

Rowena continued, “I suggest that you leave your vessel before you go to bed. There hasn’t been any damage done that you won’t recover from, but that won’t be the case when you wake up tomorrow.”

“I don’t sleep.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “Sometime before whatever it is you do at night, then.”

The group eventually made their way through saying farewells and Rowena left, leaving Dean and Castiel alone. Dean was tense. It was hard for him to think of Castiel’s body as just an empty husk to be filled. 

“Dean,” Castiel said, breaking the silence that fell when Rowena left. “This is a manageable problem. There is no need to worry.”

Dean scoffed. “What, me worry?” He sighed and grabbed his keys from where they were sitting on the nightstand. “Let’s get back to the bunker before you do anything crazy.”

Castiel nodded and followed Dean outside of the hotel room. 

The two men continued in silence as they pulled out of the hotel parking lot. Castiel had come to appreciate silence in his time on Earth, but this particular moment rang with unsaid words. He knew that Dean would voice what he needed to say before too long. This time, he only had to wait for three-and-a-half Metallica songs. 

“So.” Dean said, finally breaking the silence. “You’re leaving your vessel.”

“Yes.” Castiel straightened his back and watched the dotted yellow lines disappear beneath them. 

Dean snuck a peek at Castiel. He nervously bit the inside of his cheek. No one spoke for another few moments. 

“Well, are you gonna ask me or not?”

Castiel replied casually, “Ask you what?”

“To be your new vessel.” Dean snuck another peek in Castiel’s direction, taking time to rake his eyes across his face. “If I can handle Michael, then I can handle you. Right?”

“Dean. I couldn’t ask that of you.”

Dean reached over to turn the music down. “Humor me.”

Castiel gave an angel’s impression of an eye roll. “Dean Winchester, are you willing to give your body and mind over to my cause?”

“Yes,” Dean said. His response was immediate. He looked over at Castiel, lips not fully closed. 

“You can’t mean that.” Castiel didn’t seem to be impressed. 

“It’s better than spending a week as a holy cloud of gas and you know it.”

Castiel moved his gaze in Dean’s direction, not quite looking directly at him yet. He couldn’t disagree. “Your history with Michael—” 

“You’re not Michael.” Dean shook his head lightly, turning back to the road. “Come on, Cas. If everyone was the same as their older brothers, Sam would be blacklisted from about twenty more bars than he already is.”

Castiel didn’t seem to be persuaded. He looked anywhere except Dean’s face. 

“Dean. I do not wish to cross any boundaries here.” He finally raised his gaze to meet Dean’s. “You understand that saying yes will give me unfettered access to your body and soul.”

“Look at me. I get it.” Dean quirked his lips humorlessly into a smirk. “I’ve been a hunter my whole life, I know what possession is.” He paused and sighed, tearing his eyes from the road to look at Castiel, speaking clearly. “I trust you. I’m saying yes.”

Castiel still didn’t look convinced. Dean sighed. 

Dean let out a humorless laugh as he rubbed his thumb on the steering wheel nervously. “Listen, man,” he said, his voice an olive branch. “I could learn how to say it in Enochian if English ain’t enough.”

Castiel finally met his gaze again. “I can remain unobstructive while we share a vessel.”

“I’ve already said yes, no need to keep selling,” Dean said, then hesitated. “So long as I get to stay behind the wheel.”

“Of course, Dean.” Castiel leaned imperceptibly closer to him. “I would never strip you of your autonomy.”

Dean nodded. “Good.” He paused, then echoed, “Good.” He looked back to the road. 

---

The bunker door slammed loud enough to ring through the halls. Dean gave a holler to Sam anyway, in case he didn’t hear him and Castiel come in. 

Sam walked into the room from the direction of his bedroom. “What the hell, Dean?” he said. “You can’t just text me, ‘Cas got witched. Be back before midnight.’ and then not respond.”

“Aren’t you the one who gets on me about texting and driving?” Dean smirked at Sam. “Just being a safe driver. ‘Sides, you could have used Cas’ phone. We got him one for a reason.”

Sam rolled his eyes and shifted his focus to Castiel. “I tried calling Cas, but it went straight to voicemail.”

“My phone stopped working a while ago.” Castiel pulled it out of his pocket. “It no longer turns on.”

Dean grabbed the phone from Castiel and examined it, testing the power button a few times. “When’s the last time you plugged it in?”

“Plugged it into what?”

Dean dropped his hands and looked at Castiel. “The wall, Cas.” He looked over at Sam pleadingly. Sam chuckled. 

“You have to charge it for a few hours every day or two,” Sam said. “I’ll put a charger in your room later.”

Castiel took his phone back from Dean. “I see. I will be more mindful of that in the future.”

Dean walked down the stairs into the main room area, Castiel following closely behind. 

“I’m going to grab a beer, want one?” Dean called over his shoulder as he headed towards the kitchen. 

Sam sat at the table. “Sure.”

“You’re getting one too, Cas,” Dean said, not waiting for a response from him. 

Castiel nodded and sat across from Sam as Dean left the room. 

“I’m beginning to appreciate the taste of beer,” he said to Sam. “The creation process behind it is very compelling.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Sam chuckled airly. “So, what happened with the witch? You look totally normal to me.”

“I’m glad I look normal.” Castiel sighed. “The spell is one that targets my grace, so humans are unable to see what the witch has done.”

Sam frowned. “Are you okay?”

“The damage so far is minimal.” Castiel shrugged. “I hardly noticed until Rowena brought it up. She said that the rate at which the spell devours my grace would increase unless I left my vessel.” 

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “And you’re gonna do that? Leave your vessel, I mean.”

“I have no other choice,” Castiel said. “But my vessel will survive without me until the spell runs its course.” Anticipating Sam’s question, he added, “I’ll be able to return to this vessel in a few day’s time.”

“Huh.” Sam leaned back in his chair for a moment. “So will you just” —he waved his hand through the air nervously— “float around all day?”

“No, I—”

Castiel was cut off by Dean re-entering the room, holding three beers. “Brewski time!” he called, waggling the beers with one hand. He put a beer in front of Sam and Castiel, then took one of the open seats at the table and took a swig from his own bottle. 

“Dean, Cas was just telling me about what happened,” Sam said. He looked back over to Castiel. “Sorry, I’d offer to help, but I have a… history with angels using me as a vessel.” He gave an awkward half-smile. 

“I understand,” Castiel said, returning a small smile in Sam’s direction. 

“You don’t have to worry ‘bout a thing, Sammy.” Dean took another sip of his beer. For some reason, he felt nervous to tell Sam. He pushed it down. “Cas is gonna stay with me.”

Sam smirked and looked down at his beer bottle. “And you’re cool with that?”

“What? Lucifer didn’t wear me to the prom.”

“Dude.” Sam looked up to lazily glare at Dean. 

Dean was sufficiently cowed. “What, too soon?”

“Yeah, too soon.” Sam rolled his eyes and laughed under his breath. “Forever would be too soon.”

“I’m going to leave my vessel before morning,” Castiel noted, gracefully changing the subject. “Would you like to be in the room while it happens?”

Dean stiffened imperceptibly. 

“I’m sure you two can handle it,” Sam said, taking a sip from his beer. “I’ll be down the hall if you need anything.”

“Well,” Dean said, setting his beer on the table and moving to get out of his chair. “What do you say, Cas? No time like the present?”

Castiel’s eyebrows drew together. He looked up at Dean and then back down at his beer. “I’d like to finish this first. It’s pleasant to drink with you two.”

“Come on, Dean.” Sam laughed and lifted his beer in Dean’s direction. “Waste not, want not.”

Dean chuckled to cover his blooming blush. He relaxed back into his chair. “I’m just glad we corrupted an angel.”

---

Dean and Castiel ended up in one of the extra bedrooms, one which Dean liked to call Castiel’s room. Castiel hardly used it. He was sitting on top of the unwrinkled bed covers while Dean was pacing, trying to tamper his anxiety. 

“So, this possession thing.” Dean looked over carefully to Castiel. “Does it hurt?”

Castiel’s eyes tracked Dean’s movements. “What do you mean?”

“The whole...” Dean waved a hand around as he thought of how to word it. “Smoke-in-the-mouth thing. I mean, I smoked my fair share as a teen, but I’m no iron lung.”

The drug reference gave Castiel pause. “The process shouldn’t be painful. It may feel uncomfortable at times as your body attunes to housing a celestial being. You may experience sensations that the human body is not equipped to feel.”

“Lucky me,” Dean said breathlessly.

Castiel nodded. “Lucky you.”

Castiel swung his legs on top of his bed, shoes and all. He leaned against the headboard in a sitting position. Dean bit his tongue when he worried about the dirt tracking onto the sheets. 

“How would you like me?” Castiel asked once he settled. 

Dean tripped on his tongue for a moment. “Like you?”

“My vessel,” Castiel clarified. “How would you like it to be positioned while I’m away?”

A breath escaped Dean’s lungs. Castiel had to know what he was doing when he said things like that. 

“However you want, bud.” Dean flexed his jaw and swallowed. “It’s up to you, I won’t be coming in here until the spell times out.”

Castiel hummed and scooted forward so that he had the space to lie down completely, but he propped himself up on his elbows to keep Dean in his eyesight. He was lying on his back with his trenchcoat puddled around him like an aura. 

“Are you sure you’re willing to do this, Dean?”

Dean walked over to the side of Castiel’s bed. “My answer hasn’t changed since the last time you asked.”

“I’m serious.” Castiel’s voice compelled Dean to look him in the eyes. “I would not think any less of you for changing your mind in the eleventh hour.”

“You’re my friend, Cas.” Dean’s hand reached out to pat him on the shoulder before he realized that it was too far away to reach. For lack of a better location, he patted Castiel’s thigh where it was resting on the bed. “Friends help each other out.”

Castiel furrowed his brows as he watched Dean’s hand touch his thigh. Dean moved his hand back to its neutral position once he noticed Castiel looking. He felt a blush begin to heat his face without understanding why. 

“Besides,” Dean started, trying to distract from the building burning in his cheeks. “It’s a win-win. You get a vacation in Casa Winchester and I get to go a few days without seeing your ugly mug.”

Castiel’s eyebrows drew together even more. “You think I’m ugly?”

“Of course not,” Dean backtracked immediately. “I’m sure you’re, y’know, good looking. For a guy.” Dean would have to change the subject if he didn’t want Castiel to notice his blushing cheeks. “It’s just something people say.”

Dean wouldn’t know where to put Castiel on the traditional 1-10 scale of hotness. He lived on a different scale entirely. 

“I see.” Castiel relaxed his arms and allowed his gaze to trail up to the ceiling. “I never understood human beauty standards. I have a hard time evaluating my vessel.”

Great, Dean thought as he put a few feet of distance between him and the bed. I gave the angel a complex. 

“You’ve got nothing to worry about, man.” Dean tried to backtrack. “Chicks dig the whole dorky, just rolled out of bed look.”

Castiel hummed idly and then lifted himself to look Dean in the eye again. “Are you ready to be possessed?”

Dean had long since gotten used to Castiel’s abrupt non sequiturs. 

“Should I sit down?” Dean moved towards an empty chair a few feet away from the bed. 

“That would be smart.”

Dean carried the chair to the side of the bed and sat in it. It was strange to see Castiel laying down. The only other times that Dean had seen him in this position, he was bloodied from a fight. Castiel moved his arms to lie down completely, turning his head on the pillow to look at Dean. 

“Dean Winchester, will you let me in?”

“Castiel,” Dean breathed. He shivered in anticipation. “Yes.”

It wasn’t like the demon possessions he had seen, where the victim screamed as the demon’s black cloud rushed into their mouth. Castiel closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. A small, wavering tendril of bright smoke seeped out of his mouth. This was Castiel, more so than anything related to Jimmy Novak’s body. Dean’s adrenaline spiked as the tendril began to close the distance between them. It meandered through the air of Castiel’s bedroom like lazy cascading waves on a shoreline. Dean’s mouth opened and he tilted his chin towards the smoke without being aware he was doing so. 

The tendril of Castiel finally reached Dean’s lips. For a moment, it felt like he had used TV static as chapstick. The static feeling filled Dean’s throat. It spread over his head and spilled down his chest as more of Castiel flowed through him. It felt like the borders of his body were being erased, like he was expanding to fill the bedroom. His head was floaty and blurry, as if he was back to being seventeen and smoking Js with other nomads outside of run-down hotels. 

It was as if he had a whole new sense awakened in him. How could you explain sight to someone who was born blind? He felt his thoughts being pushed to the side to make space in his head for another entity. His body went blank for a moment before he scrambled to gain control. The feeling, which had to be Castiel, let him gather it up from the corners of his awareness. His limbs were left feeling like they fell asleep. He compressed Castiel to right at the base of his neck, behind his collarbones. He felt raw energy thrumming in the back of his mind. 

Dean opened his eyes. He hadn’t been aware that he closed them. Sam was banging on the other side of the door. They must have been making noise, even if he didn’t realize it. He stumbled up from his chair and almost instantly banged his shin against the bed frame. 

“Shit!” Dean yelped. The lightbulbs in the room popped in a sharp shatter of glass. He flinched at the noise. 

Sam yelled from behind the door, “Dean?”

“Yeah, give me a second!” Dean responded, traversing through the bedroom in the relative darkness. His adrenaline was still pumping, leaving him feeling tight and thready. He finally made it to the door and opened it for Sam. 

Sam looked different. It looked like someone had taken a long exposure photograph of him while he was moving. There was a glow to his body that made it look like he was radioactive. It made Dean feel like he was burning. He screwed his eyes shut. 

“Dean, are you okay?”

“Cas.” A growl came out of Dean’s throat and he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Whatever it is you’re doing, man, you need to pull up. This is too much.”

“Dean?”

Dean felt the fizzy numbness of his body recede even further. His body felt almost normal. His eyes opened hesitantly. 

“...Cas?” Sam asked, going out on a limb.

“Still me,” Dean said, shaking his head. He could finally look at Sam directly without feeling like his face was melting. He sighed. 

“Are you okay? Your eyes were...” Sam peeked around Dean to see Castiel’s empty vessel laying on the bed. “Is he…?”

Dean tapped the side of his head. “All up here. We’re good.”

Dean stepped aside so that Sam could enter the room. Sam flicked the lightswitch a few times but the room stayed dark. He looked at Dean accusingly. 

“What can I say? I got my go-go juice.”

Sam rolled his eyes and used his phone flashlight to examine the body of Jimmy Novak. Dean followed him and lingered by the bed. 

“He’s still breathing,” Sam said. He hesitated before adding, “Do you think he needs…”

Dean curled his upper lip. “Depends?”

Sam and Dean both stared blankly at Jimmy’s empty body. 

“I’m not opening that can of worms,” Dean finally said. He patted Sam’s shoulder as he moved past him to leave the room. “I’m starving.”

Dean stumbled as he walked down the hallway. He was in the kitchen for just long enough to grab bread, peanut butter, and jelly by the time Sam entered the room. 

“Do you feel any different?” Sam asked hesitantly, lingering by the doorway. 

Dean nodded while spreading peanut butter on a piece of bread. “I feel like I ran a freakin’ marathon.” He ran his thumb on the side of the knife to gather the remaining peanut butter and stuck it in his mouth. “I’m gonna eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, eat another, down a beer, and then crash for the night.”

Sam smiled and huffed air out his nose. That was the Dean he knew. “Is Cas talking to you?”

Dean looked up to tell Sam no, but jolted when he wasn’t standing by the doorway anymore. He looked around the room and flinched again when he realized Sam was a few feet to his side. 

“Son of a bitch, when did Cas teach you to teleport?”

Sam looked confused for a second before realization dawned on him. “Cas took over for a few minutes. He told me that everything is going according to plan. It will take a few hours for you to get ‘attuned’ enough to communicate. Whatever that means.”

“Damnit Cas, I told you to let me stay behind the wheel.” Dean said with very little heat behind his words. 

“He said that would be the only time.” Sam motioned to the counter where Dean was making his sandwich earlier. “He apologized.”

Instead of the half-made peanut butter and jelly sandwich that Dean was making, there was now a plate of two completed sandwiches (cut into triangles) and an opened bottle of one of Dean’s favorite beers, fresh from the fridge. Dean’s stomach growled.

Dean picked up the plate of food and the beer. “He’s forgiven. This time.”

---

Dean woke up and headed to the bathroom on autopilot, his bladder sending alarm bells to his brain. He went through the motions as usual, yawning and scratching his tummy as he relieved himself. When he looked down to make sure that the tank was empty, he felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. His eyebrows pulled together and he touched his cheeks with a free hand. There was no reason why he should be blushing as he takes a whizz. He would have to do some googling later. He filed the feeling away in his mind, and the embarrassment passed as he put himself away and moved to the sink to wash his hands. 

Dean jolted when he saw his reflection move without him in the mirror. He furrowed his brows and looked pointedly down at the faucet. 

“Am I hallucinating?” he asked the empty bathroom. 

His own voice answered him. “If Sam were to walk in right now, he would see you talking to yourself.” Dean’s eyes flicked back up to the mirror. His reflection’s voice was grittier than normal, as if he ate a bowl of gravel for breakfast. “But you are not hallucinating. This is one way I can communicate with you.”

Dean laughed dryly and shook his head, looking away again. “This is weird, man. I feel like Jamie Lee Curtis.”

He had almost forgotten what had happened the night before in his post-hunt adrenaline crash. The reflection, which must be Castiel, had better posture than he’d ever had in his life. It looked like he’d gained an inch in height. 

“I can remain completely dormant if you’d prefer.” Castiel kept Dean’s body still as he spoke, save for the slight tilt of his head. “I do not wish to make you uncomfortable.”

Seeing someone using his meatsuit would normally make his hand itch for a silver blade, but something about this felt different. 

Dean shook his head slightly. “No big deal. Anything else I should know about beside this whole” —he waved his hand half-heartedly at the mirror— “Mulan thing?”

“I am passively aware of the sensory input you receive,” Castiel said, lowering his eyes. “But I am able to focus my attention elsewhere when you require privacy.”

Dean felt the tips of his ears begin to burn as he remembered what he had just been doing. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “So what, you’ve been busy reading my thoughts?”

Dean’s reflection tilted his head and lowered his eyebrows slightly. Seeing Castiel’s mannerisms on his body made his hands twitch. He had to stop himself from touching the mirror. To shatter it or caress it, he didn’t know. 

“The mind of a shared vessel is difficult to describe in terms you can understand,” Cas shared after a pregnant pause. “There is no branch of human studies that can be used as an accurate reference.”

“You’re an angel,” Dean said, flexing his fingers. “I’m sure you can dumb it down for me.”

Castiel took a moment before speaking, no doubt firing a trillion of his and Dean’s currently shared synapses. “We share subconscious minds in this state, but our conscious minds remain our own. Instincts and emotions are shared before coherent thought.”

Something clicked in Dean’s mind. “Wait, was that…” Dean bit his tongue. He hesitated before speaking again, pointedly not looking Castiel in the face. “Were you embarrassed earlier?”

Dean’s reflection avoided eye contact. “I understand that humans are very protective of their genitalia. I apologize. I did not intend to—”

Dean cut him off. “Okay, we’re not going to talk about genitalia. New rule.” Dean worked furiously to think of a way to change the subject. Finally, “Why don’t I feel any different?”

Castiel looked thankful for the prompt. “Human senses aren’t accustomed to celestial intent. You felt that when I first entered your body. It will slowly become more comprehensible as we continue sharing the same vessel.”

Dean barked out a short laugh to distract from thinking about it too much. “Thanks for the fine print. Anything I should be on the lookout for?”

“Nothing major.” Dean kept expecting to see Castiel’s blue eyes when their gazes linked. Something about making eye contact with himself felt weird. “You were created to house the most powerful archangel in heaven, so there’s no chance of unintentional damage to your body on my behalf.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, bud.” Dean raised his eyebrows at his reflection. “You can be scrappy.”

Seeing his reflection give a small, easy smile was something that Dean hadn’t seen in a while. 

After a small pause, Dean swallowed and cleared his throat, speaking carefully. “Listen, can you—”

As if reading his thoughts, Dean’s reflection changed to Jimmy Novak, trenchcoat and all. 

“Is this better?” Castiel asked, back to his normal appearance. 

Dean’s lips quirked up. It was nice to hear his voice again. “Yeah.” His mouth was a little dry. He tried again. “Yeah, Cas. That’s better.”

Castiel smiled at him before dissolving into Dean’s reflection. Dean lifted his hand and rubbed his face, watching his reflection follow his movements exactly. Everything was back to normal. He nodded at the empty mirror and turned on his heel to start his day. 

---

After a cup of coffee for breakfast, Dean started to become aware of how dirty he was. He never actually had the chance to take a shower after the fight with the witch. Thankfully, she was staying in a classy apartment rather than a cabin in the woods, but still. He probably smelled like an entire gym locker room. He put it off for as long as he could, not knowing how to bring it up to Castiel. He almost made it to noon by reading lore in a storage room before Sam leaned over him to see what the book said and scrunched his nose. 

“Dude, come on. You stink so bad,” Sam said. 

Dean rolled his eyes and stood up from where he was sitting. He gave Sam a shit-eating grin. “I smell like a bed of roses.”

“Sure, maybe one that a dog just peed in.” Sam chuckled under his breath. “Maybe you can ask Cas to zap you clean.”

“I’ll just do it the old-fashioned way.” Dean scooted around Sam and made his way to exit the room. “Kids these days, always looking for the easy way out.”

“Dude, I’m 32!” Sam yelled after him as he entered the hallway. 

Dean chuckled at his own humor as he walked to his bedroom to grab a fresh set of clothes. Once he realized that he needed a shower, everything felt uncomfortable. It would be nice to get under the bunker’s perfect water pressure again. 

He spent a longer time than normal picking out clothes, still putting off having to deal with Castiel possessing him while he showers. Finally, he entered the bathroom he claimed as his own. There was just enough space for the basics: toilet, shower, sink, counter, mirrored medicine cabinet. 

He stood in front of the mirror awkwardly for a moment, unsure how to broach the subject. 

“Cas?” He said to the empty room. 

The mirror didn’t change. Dean wondered if maybe he imagined the entire possession. He clicked his tongue and turned away from the mirror, but jolted when he saw Castiel standing next to him. 

“Holy shit!”

“No,” Castiel answered. He tilted his head at Dean. “It’s me.”

Dean shook his head in shock. “How are you here?”

“I’m not, physically speaking.” Castiel lifted his arms to show off his form. “I’m a visual representation constructed by your mind.” He looked down at himself. “I’m surprised. It normally takes months for seraphim to harmonize with their vessel’s brainwaves enough to present themselves without the aid of a reflection like this.”

“Look at you go.” Dean checked the mirror quickly. Castiel had no reflection. 

Castiel seemed to realize where he was for the first time. “Are you about to take a shower?”

Dean nodded.

“I assume you wish to have privacy,” Castiel said.

Dean felt his cheeks heat up. “Please.”

“I will put my attention elsewhere.”

“How?”

Castiel thought for a moment. “If you’re willing to try, you may be able to create an illusion of something for me to distract myself with.”

Dean hummed an affirmation. He tried to think of something that Castiel would like. He closed his eyes shut and imagined Castiel holding it. 

After a few moments, he heard Castiel say, “The Bible?”

Dean opened his eyes to see Castiel holding a copy of the Bible. It was small and leather bound, with the title embossed in gold. It looked like an exact copy of the one that his dad used to keep in the trunk of the Impala. 

“Yeah, the Bible. You’re an angel, aren’t you?”

Castiel flipped through the pages. He smiled. “Have you ever read the Bible, Dean?”

“Uh, no. I never got around to it, surprisingly.”

Castiel turned the book around so that Dean could see the pages. They were all blank. “Your brain didn’t know what words to add. Try something that you know.”

Dean took a deep breath and closed his eyes, picturing what he wanted Castiel to have in his mind’s eye. 

He opened his eyes to see Castiel examining it in his hands. “What is this?”

“My old walkman,” Dean said. 

It was beat up, with countless chips in the plastic. The wire to the headphones had a kink or two in it, but Dean knew that it would still work. It was loaded with an AC/DC track that Dean stole from the Impala’s glove box when he was 17. 

“This is before I turned it into an EMF detector.” Dean wanted to reach for it, but hesitated. His hands would probably pass right through it. “It’s nice to see it again.”

Castiel looked at it fondly. “How do I use it?”

“Here, put these over your ears.” Dean grabbed the headphones on instinct. They felt solid in his hands. The feeling stopped him in his tracks. “I can touch this?”

“It’s all in your brain, Dean.” Castiel set the walkman body on the bathroom counter and took the headphones from Dean. Dean felt the soft brush of his fingers as he did. “The same brain that is letting you see and hear illusions can let you feel them too.”

Dean licked his lips. “Okay. Awesome. I can handle this.”

Despite feeling anxiety grow in his gut, Dean felt calmness attempting to wash over him. He looked at Castiel. 

“Pretend I’m here physically,” Castiel said, not mentioning the jedi mind tricks he was no-doubt pulling. “Show me how to use the walkman.”

What’s the big deal, Dean? Dean thought to himself. Never taught an illusion of an angel how to use a walkman in your bathroom before?

Dean forced himself to take a full breath. “Okay. Okay.” He shook his head slightly to shake off his anxiety. “Put the headphones on.”

Castiel did. He picked up the walkman from where he set it on the counter. “What button should I press?”

“It should be all rewinded and everything. Just press the play button.” After a moment, Dean added, “It’s the triangle.”

Castiel nodded and pressed it. He looked at Dean with a smile. “It’s working!” he said, a bit louder than normal. 

Dean gave him an awkward thumbs up. “Just close your eyes and listen for a few minutes.”

Castiel gave him a thumbs up back. “I’ll just… um…” He looked around for a place to be while Dean undressed. He pulled the headphones off for a second. “Where should I go?”

Dean suddenly realized that the bathroom didn’t have much room for privacy. He looked around for a moment before lowering the lid of the toilet. 

He pointed at the now-covered toilet. “Sit here. Turn the volume up.” “Okay.” Castiel sat. He put the headphones back on and fiddled with the buttons. He closed his eyes. “I’ll be here.”

Dean just looked at Castiel for a few seconds. This was so weird. He trusted that Castiel wouldn’t try to spy on him, but he was still sitting less than a foot away. He hesitantly took his shirt off. Castiel didn’t react. Socks were next. Pants followed soon after. 

He was standing in front of Castiel in his underwear. 

Right, he needed to turn the water on first. He had to awkwardly bend around Castiel’s knees to reach the faucet handle, but thankfully Castiel ignored the movement. He could almost feel the warmth of Castiel’s imaginary body heat on his torso. He adamantly ignored it, for Little Dean’s sake. 

The water was running. Moment of truth. Dean took a deep breath and pulled his briefs off. He didn’t dare to look at Castiel in this state. He had to bite back a hysterical laugh from the absurdity of it all. 

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it. The thought ran circles around his mind. He’s in your head, don’t think about it. He can feel what you feel, don’t think about it. 

Dean hopped in the shower. He gave a sigh of relief when he finally pulled the curtain back, blocking Castiel from his line of sight. He could pretend like it was any other day. The water hit him like rain. 

He sang Shoot to Thrill under his breath as he washed himself clean. 

---

Thank God that Dean’s tastebuds were still working. If he started tasting molecules instead of flavors, he would have to kick Castiel out. He piled his plate up high with the chicken alfredo that he spent the past few hours cooking. Sam had already served himself a plate of the pasta before Dean added the chicken and was sitting at the kitchen table, reading something on his laptop with one hand while he ate with the other. Dean grabbed some silverware and sat down across from him. 

Without thinking, Dean wove his fingers together on his lap and lowered his head. He sat in relative silence, mouthing something inaudible under his breath. 

“Dean, what are you doing?”

Suddenly, Dean snapped back into reality. He unclasped his hands and moved them from his lap to above the table. He quickly picked up his silverware and started to spike pasta with his fork. “I’m eating dinner, Sammy.”

“No.” Sam laughed. “No, before that. Were you… saying grace?”

Dean felt a blush begin to rise in his cheeks and pointedly ignored Sam’s gaze. “That must have been Cas.”

“Or Jimmy.”

“What?”

Sam slid his laptop to the side so that he could look at Dean directly. “I’ve been doing some reading about angel vessels. There isn’t much out there, but we know that angels leave behind a trace of grace in the vessels they occupy.”

“Yeah, of course,” Dean said, having completely forgotten about that part. 

Sam took a bite of pasta and chewed quickly to continue speaking. “What if the opposite is also true? Cas has been inside Jimmy for years now. He could have picked up on some of his habits.”

“Dude,” Dean said. “Never say that again.”

Sam paused for a second, then rolled his eyes when he understood. “I’m just saying, Dean. This is uncharted territory. Who knows how angels and vessels affect each other? The Men of Letters’ research on them is all theoretical.”

“I’m not going to church anytime soon, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Dean paused. “Are you asking to research me?”

“No. Well, it would be helpful since you’re already here.” Sam looked up at Dean hopefully but shook his head when he saw the look on Dean’s face. “But no. Definitely not.”

Dean rolled his eyes. 

Sam changed the subject. “Good job on dinner, by the way. Thanks for making it.”

“Nesting has its perks.” Dean gave Sam a smile with cheeks filled with pasta. 

---

The nighttime was when it felt truly bizarre. Dean had to lay in bed and try to fall asleep, knowing that Castiel was just a sharp inhale away. He had been tossing and turning for almost an hour. Angels didn’t sleep, so Castiel must have been just watching this all happen. He couldn’t fall asleep if he thought about it. 

“Cas?” he finally voiced into the empty room.

Castiel appeared, sitting on the side of Dean’s bed. He turned his head to look down at him. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean sighed and relaxed into the pillow. “This is weird.”

“How are you feeling?” Castiel asked. Dean barked out a laugh on instinct. 

“Me? Peachy.” Dean pushed himself up into a sitting position. “How’s Hotel Dean? Do I need to call housekeeping?”

Castiel looked out into the darkness, giving Dean a view of his side profile. “You’re the strongest vessel known to man. I am… exceedingly comfortable.”

“Good. That’s… good.” Dean felt embarrassment in his gut from the compliment, unsure if it was his own or Castiel’s. “You aren’t bored?”

Castiel returned his focus to Dean. “I do not find being this close to you boring.”

Dean forgot what he was going to say. His mouth was suddenly dry. He licked his lips and broke eye contact. He could still feel the weight of Castiel’s gaze. 

“Um, what’ll happen when I fall asleep?” Dean had to clear his throat to get his words out clearly. 

“Nothing unusual. I will remain dormant.”

“Would it wake me up if you took over?”

Castiel furrowed his brows. Finally, he answered, “No. It would be less invasive than sleepwalking.”

“I don’t see why you couldn’t take over while I’m getting my few hours,” Dean said carefully, looking back at Castiel. “If I can’t tell the difference.”

“Dean…” Dean could already tell from his tone that Castiel was going to decline the offer. 

He adjusted his position on the bed. “Come on, man. You’ve gotta take what I’m giving to you. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

Castiel looked into Dean’s eyes for a few seconds before responding. “I understand.”

“Just don’t do anything weird.” Dean relaxed back into laying down on the bed. “Take care of my body.”

“Of course, Dean.” Castiel looked away before blinking out of existence. 

Dean didn’t have trouble falling asleep after that. 

---

Sam was walking to the kitchen in the early hours of the morning when he heard sound coming from Dean’s lounge (which Sam refused to call The Dean Cave, no matter how many times Dean threatened to cut his hair off). He changed course to investigate, his socked feet making soft pat-pats in the morning silence. The door was slightly ajar, so he pushed through to see the TV on and Dean sitting on the couch. Sam could have sworn that he recognized the show, from some article or meme that he saw online. Finally it clicked. 

“Is that… Riverdale?” Sam asked incredulously. 

Movement came from the couch. “Don’t be too loud, you’ll wake up Dean.”

Sam was caught off guard for a second before he put the pieces together in his mind. This would take some getting used to. 

“That’s creepy,” Sam said, pointing at Dean’s body. “So, I’m talking to Cas now?”

“Yes.” Castiel turned his attention back to the show. “Claire recommended this show to me. She said that I would find it funny. I’m not sure I understand the joke.”

“Yeah, I don’t think anyone does.” Sam chuckled breathlessly. “Does Dean know you’re making his eyes watch this?”

Castiel closed his eyes for a moment, opening them to meet Sam’s gaze. “He is currently dreaming about being in a high school musical theatre program. I assume that on some level, he is processing the show alongside me.”

“Um…” Sam floundered for words for a moment, suddenly struck by the strangeness of the situation. “Do you want any coffee? I’m starting a pot.”

“I don’t.” Castiel paused. “But bring a cup anyways. Dean’s about to wake up.”

Sam walked back to the kitchen, muttering, “So creepy…” under his breath. 

---

Maybe Dean shouldn’t have been so adamant about taking a case while Castiel and him were shacking up. 

Side note, Dean thought as he struggled to breathe. Find out whether shacking up is only about having sex.

It was easy to feel regret now, as he was being held against the back of a gravestone psychically by his neck. But hey, pobody’s nerfect. Maybe it was Sam’s fault for agreeing to come with him. 

The case was supposed to be a simple salt-and-burn for a ghost that had been spotted a few times in a Topeka graveyard. Just a quick day trip. Everything was going according to plan until… Well, Dean’s neck hurt. Thankfully, they had dug up the grave before the ghost showed up. Double thankfully, the ghost’s attention was entirely on Dean. 

He couldn’t help but smile a little as Sam dropped the lit pack of matches on the ghost’s salty and gasoline-drenched bones. Said smile turned into frightened eye contact with Sam when the ghost didn’t disappear. 

“Dean, something else’s keeping it here!”

“Y’think?” Dean gritted out his words through clenched teeth. He made a snap decision. “Cas, take the wheel!”

What Sam saw was Dean breaking out of the ghost’s psychic hold, thrusting his hand through its chest, and the ghost burning away from the inside out. 

What Dean saw was different. 

He felt brisk air as it hit his exposed forearms, cooler than the warm summer night he had just been in. He opened his eyes to see himself standing in the middle of the countryside in front of a barn. A familiar barn. 

The wind picked up as Dean walked closer to the barn’s doors. The roof started to stutter and creak. The doors began to shake. 

He knew this barn. 

He reached his hand out for the door handle, but the doors opened in a burst of sparks and splintering wood before he could even touch it. The inside of the barn was revealed. 

There were sigils and graffiti painted all over the walls. He knew those sigils. He painted them with Bobby. 

He could make out someone walking over to him from the shadows. 

“Are you gonna stab me with a knife?” Dean asked, holding his arms out. 

Castiel continued to walk closer to Dean. “I apologize for the abrupt change in scenery. This is the first location I could think of to take you.”

“This is fine, Cas.” Dean huffed out a laugh, still coming down from an adrenaline high from the hunt. “This is just fine.”

Castiel smiled contentedly. 

Dean suddenly remembered what situation he had just escaped from. “Wait a minute, if you’re here, who’s handling my body?”

“Still me,” Castiel said, somewhat smugly. “I’m able to multitask.”

“So what’re we doing right now?” Dean couldn’t help but circle around Castiel slightly, echoing his footsteps from years ago. 

Castiel noticed his repetition and watched him idly. “Sam and I are refilling the grave. Would you like to take back over?”

“Nah, I’ll let you handle the heavy lifting.” Dean finally planted himself by the table of various weapons and leaned against it. “How does it feel?”

Castiel tilted his head at Dean. “I don’t experience physical exhaustion like you do. It doesn’t feel like anything.”

“No, not the digging.” Dean’s thumb rubbed against the rough wood of the table. He lowered his gaze slightly, too embarrassed to say it while looking at Castiel. “Do I feel any different than Jimmy?”

Castiel tilted his chin up and inhaled as he thought. “You have a higher white blood cell count than Jimmy. Your cholesterol is higher than his as well.” He paused. “You also have more” —he squinted his eyes slightly as he decided on a word to use— “brightness to your vessel.”

“What, I’m blowing sunshine up your ass?”

“No,” Castiel responded, drawing his eyebrows together. “You’re the righteous man. You’re divine.”

He said it as if it was the easiest thing in the world. The sky was blue, two and two was four, and Dean Winchester was from the heavens. 

Dean scoffed and shook his head. “I’m not divine, Cas. I’m just a guy.”

He heard cracks of lightning. Castiel was no longer looking at him, deciding to move his gaze to something behind him. 

“Dean,” Castiel said, eyes twinkling in mirth. “Look behind you.”

Dean only had to turn his head slightly to see them. 

There were wings growing out of his back. Big and black, exactly like the ones he saw on Castiel. 

“No.” Dean shook his head. “This is all backwards.” He looked back at Castiel. “Am I dreaming?”

Castiel didn’t say anything, choosing instead to close the distance between Dean and him. For a second, Dean thought—

“Dude, you need to get a sleep apnea machine.” Sam laughed from where he was sitting behind the steering wheel. “You sound like an airplane.”

Dean tensed in his seat and checked his surroundings a few times to comfort himself. He was in the Impala with Sam. 

“I was sleeping?” he asked. 

Sam quickly glanced at him, keeping his attention on the road. “I don’t really know. Cas took over to kill the ghost and clean up, but then he just sat silently in the car. It was creepy.” Sam shrugged. “I just said something when you started to snore.”

“Gee, thanks.” Dean rubbed his hand over his face. It hadn’t felt like a dream. Castiel must have done his forehead-touch thing to send him back to the land of the living. “Remind me to stop crashing after hunts. I get the weirdest dreams.”

“Yeah, you love it when I tell you what to do.” Sam checked the mirrors dutifully. “How’s Cas?”

Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam. “Weren’t you the one who just talked to him?”

“Yeah, but I’m not the one he’s riding shotgun in.” Sam’s mouth quirked. “What’s that like?”

“It’s great.” Dean adjusted his position in the seat. “There, we talked about it. Can we stop by a store? I need to pick up some protein.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Sure thing.”

---

Dean was lying awake in his bed sometime between day two and day three when he finally asked it. 

The words rang in the silence of the night. “What’s it like needing a vessel?”

In the blink of an eye, Castiel appeared. This time, he was lying in the bed next to Dean, under the covers in three layers of clothing. Dean felt underdressed in his pajama pants and old band shirt. The two men were lying on their sides and looking right at each other. Dean thought about telling him to give him some space, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t physically there. 

Castiel was silent for long enough that Dean started to wonder if he was going to answer.

“It makes me feel demonic,” Castiel confessed. His eyes almost glowed in the dim light. “It should not be the will of heaven to ruin a life just to exist on the physical plane. Having to tear someone from their family, from their entire life. I admit, I feel some semblance of comfort knowing that Jimmy is in heaven.” He lowered his eyes in shame. “But Claire, Amelia. Even those in his life he wasn’t close to. Every human has such an intricate web of relationships and reasons to live. Using them as a vessel erases the beauty of humanity.”

Castiel paused. “Jimmy wasn’t my first vessel.”

Dean looked at him in silence, willing him to continue. 

“She was a young woman. Carlotta Richards.” Dean thought he could feel the phantom puffs of Castiel’s exhales on his cheek. ���She left her family as a teenager. They didn’t approve of her.” Castiel looked at Dean meaningfully. “She saw me as a blessing. She didn’t realize she was cursed from the moment she let me in.”

Dean’s mouth was dry. “What happened?”

“The mission I used her for ended and I returned to the celestial plane.” Castiel continued to avoid Dean’s eyes. “Her heaven is beautiful. She spends her time in an eternal Saturday sunset on a picnic with her soulmate.” Castiel finally looked at him. “Dorothy.”

Dean held his breath. He was transfixed, completely and utterly. 

“What else?” 

“You,” Castiel said in a low voice. “This body is no closer to what I look like than yours is. I’m not a man with dark hair and blue eyes. I’m not a man at all. Angels’ true forms are their most personal expressions of the self. You deserve to see it.” Castiel’s voice was soft, so soft. He was nearly whispering when he spoke again, his eyes burning into Dean’s. “I wish that you could see who I truly am.”

Both of them wondered, in that moment, if this would be when it happened. Neither moved. 

Dean finally exhaled. “This is who you are.”

Dean blinked. Castiel was gone. 

He didn’t sleep a wink. 

---

It had been a few days. 

Dean could tell that Sam knew it was time for Castiel to go back. Dean knew too. He was eating breakfast when the man himself made an appearance. 

“It’s time for me to return to my rightful vessel,” Castiel said, sitting in the chair across from Dean that was empty a moment before. 

Dean nodded and finished the last bite of his cereal. “You sure?”

“I’ll do an examination of the vessel before I return.” Castiel watched Dean wipe the milk off his lip. “But I believe so.”

“Awesome,” Dean said. He stood up and brought his bowl to the sink. “Let’s get you back home.”

Castiel disappeared after that, leaving Dean to walk to his room alone. He knocked on Sam’s door as he walked by it. 

“Cas is going back to his vessel, you good?”

He heard a muffled, “Let me know how it goes!” from through the door and continued down the hall. Dean was vaguely grateful that Sam didn’t want to be in the room for it, but he didn’t care to examine why. 

Castiel blinked into existence again when he opened the door to his room. Dean turned on the light (thanking Sam for replacing the lightbulbs) to see him staring at his prone body from where he was standing at the foot of the bed. 

“What’s the verdict, Doc?”

Castiel hummed. “The spell seems to have run its course. It should be entirely safe for me to return to my vessel.”

“Good, good.” Dean went over to grab the chair he used before. “Sitting down again?”

Castiel nodded. 

Dean pulled the chair up to the same position, mind only spinning a little bit from seeing two Castiels in the same room. 

“So, what do I do?” Dean asked. “Just exhale really hard, or what?”

Castiel placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, standing behind him. “I will take care of it. Close your eyes.”

Dean did. 

The reversal process was the same level of strange. It felt like someone was painlessly turning him inside-out. He could still feel the static over his lips as the white light trickled out of his mouth. He felt Castiel’s grace rubbing against the inside of his skin as it retreated up his body. Dean was glad he was sitting down, because his knees felt like they were made of Jell-O. 

Castiel began to rise into a sitting position as he returned to Jimmy Novak’s body. Dean subconsciously trailed after the white smoke as it left his mouth, closing the distance between him and Castiel’s true vessel. They both inched closer to contact as the cloud that was Castiel transferred between them. 

Dean wasn’t aware that he had been kissing Castiel until Castiel started kissing him back. 

It was like touching the surface of the sun. Dean leaned into Castiel’s body for a moment before pulling away. He felt like he was burning. 

“Woah, I—” Dean fought out a breath. 

Castiel was a deer caught in headlights. He scrambled off the bed and started moving away. 

Dean suddenly realized that he didn’t want him to go. He grabbed his forearm. 

“Don’t leave,” Dean pleaded. 

Dean didn’t let go of Castiel’s forearm. Castiel didn’t say anything. Dean kept not letting go. 

“Dean.” Castiel’s body was tense, like a rubber band about to snap.  

To Dean, It all made sense in that moment. Every hidden glance, choreographed touch, charged moment. Dean couldn’t imagine being content without him. He felt like a puzzle whose final piece had just clicked into place. 

Dean took a deep breath. “Cas, you’re my only happy ending. It’s you.” It was a revelation. “And I want a happy ending. I want a happy ending so bad it hurts.” Dean moved his hands to grip his trench coat by the lapels. “I’ve fought for it. I’ve died for it. I need the sun to set, Cas. I need you to be by my side when it does.”

“Dean,” Cas said. 

“So yes. Of course, yes.” Dean let go of Castiel’s now-crumpled trench coat, leaving his hands to slip and rest flat on Castiel’s chest. “Yes back then, yes today, yes tomorrow. Yes to you every day until I’m dead in the ground. Yes to every day after that.”

“Dean,” Cas prayed. He lifted a hand to cup Dean’s cheek. 

Dean’s eyes threatened to fill with tears, but his eyebrows were set sternly in place. “Please, Cas. I won’t ask you twice. Stay.”

“Yes.”

Castiel was the one who closed the space between them. It was electricity in motion. Their kisses were clumsy, awkward, but neither of them would change a thing as they fell onto Castiel’s bed and the kisses began to deepen. 

---

Dean would scratch the back of his neck as he stood next to Castiel, looking at Sam sitting at the table. 

“Hiya, Sammy,” he would say, getting his attention. “Cas and I are... Well…”

Castiel would interrupt. “Your brother and I are having sex now. We don’t plan on stopping.”

Sam would be caught off guard for a moment, but he would smile and laugh kindly with them at the absurdity of it all. 

“It’s about time,” he would finally say. “You two have been circling each other for a while now. It was either killing each other or…”

Dean would smile and say, “Falling in love.”

“Well.” Sam would laugh again. “I was gonna say making out. But that’s good too.”

Dean would feel embarrassed and lower his gaze to the floor for a moment. But Castiel would grab his hand, squeeze it, and everything would turn out alright. 

[woodland--fae]

If I were SJM writing ACOWAR I would have dramatically changed the outcome of Rhys’ resurrection.

Ok. Time for another ACOTAR rant because I just can’t help myself.

One of my biggest complaints about this series is how the main characters are never faced with threats that actually threaten their power. While they may battle insurmountable odds, the reader comes to expect that they will achieve their goals unscathed and with dramatic flair. Rhys, Feyre, and the rest of the IC are blessed with immense power, even better looks, and an author who thinks they are perfect in every way. 

The characters are so perfect that they can die and be resurrected with virtually zero consequences. SJM has made them invulnerable. 

Don’t get me wrong. I hate when beloved characters die in a series, but it is equally frustrating when characters “die” and are then resurrected within minutes at seemingly no cost. Dramatically, this takes away from the emotion of the moment and cheapens the initial sacrifice by making it seemingly moot. 

What am I referring to? Rhysand’s death (or lack thereof) in ACOWAR. 

If I were SJM writing ACOWAR I would have dramatically changed the outcome of Rhys’ resurrection. The price of his sacrifice for Feyre should come at the cost of his High Lord powers. We know, according to the lore that SJM herself has written, that when a High Lord dies his power automatically transfers onto another. We also know that in ACOWAR Rhys is dead. I know Feyre talks about an essence of him holding on through their bond, but for all intents and purposes he is dead. If the other High Lords don’t offer up part of their life-force, Rhys remains dead. It’s as simple as that. Therefore, during those moments before his resurrection it makes sense that the High Lord powers of the Night Court would transfer onto a new High Lord. 

I get so excited thinking about this twist for multiple reasons. 

I love the idea of Rhys’ love for Feyre and his people manifesting in his self-sacrifice. We know that Rhys is devoted to his people and to Feyre. He has also made sacrifices for his court in the past. This ultimate sacrifice reinforces this characterization. Furthermore, the loss of his High Lord powers is compelling because it proves that Rhys was willing to give up his immense power for the ones he loves. Since Rhys willingly sacrificed himself in ACOWAR, we can make the assumption that he knew his power would end up transferring to someone else upon his death. In contrast to other fae who put power before everything else, Rhys would stand out as willing to give up everything for love. This makes Rhys more likeable and less of an arrogant asshole who gets what he wants when he wants because he is all powerful. I for one am not impressed by how he is seemingly the most powerful High Lord in Prythian for…reasons. It’s cheesy, and makes the main characters literally invulnerable. It makes the story boring and frustrating and gives the characters no room for personal growth. Why grow when you already have everything? I think it would be more interesting for readers to see how he and Feyre adjust to life without his High Lord Powers. Who is Rhys without his godlike powers anyway?  Which leads to my second point.

If the High Lord Powers of the Night Court are transferred… who do they go to? Definitely not to a member of the Inner Circle or any other ally. We’re here for compelling plot, not giving characters advantages just because we like them! No. My suggestion is that the High Lord powers shift to…. Keir!!! You might be asking yourself, why Keir? He is such an asshole and would be a terrible High Lord. To which I reply, exactly! To set up the conflict in the next series of books we have ACOWAR end on a bittersweet note. On the one hand, the King of Hybern is dead, and all the major characters survived! On the other hand, Rhys’ power has transferred to one of his enemies. Not only are Rhys and co. now vulnerable, Velaris is also at risk from their new High Lord. This bittersweet ending achieves a good payoff for the survival of all the main characters. Stylistically it makes for better writing and a more realistic end to the series instead of “and we lived happily ever after as the most powerful High Lord and Lady in existence.” The sequel series would see Rhys and co. struggle to regain/retain control over Velaris and their people. The plot with the human queens is all good and fine… except that SJM literally never lets us leave the Night Court. 3/4 of the action in books 3 onward takes place in the Night Court. Therefore, it would be a nice change for the conflict to actually take place there and not with some Human Queens that have hardly any page time. This conflict with the new High Lord of the Night Court also offers some interesting new opportunities for character development. Rhys, for the first time in his existence would feel like a stranger in his own court and body. Technically, under Amarantha he was unable to access the majority of his High Lord powers but in that case it was different because he was still High Lord and had access to some of that power however diminished. In this circumstance, he has been stripped of all High Lord powers. He wouldn’t have all the answers, he literally is not in control. This allows him to empathize with Nesta and Elain. Feyre’s sisters also feel like strangers in their new bodies. They were violated and forced to become Fae; they unwillingly gave up their humanity in a way that parallels Rhys unwittingly giving up his power to Keir. In this alternate series Rhys comes to respect and understand both Nesta and Elain for who they are, not who he wants them to be. They have similar journeys of self discovery as each has to learn how to live again. Speaking of Nesta…. oh baby let’s talk about Nesta. Who took immense power from the cauldron? You guessed it, our girl Nesta. Who retains this power even when Rhys is powerless? Ding ding ding, right again! Nesta. In this alternate series women do not have to give up, or diminish their power while their male counterparts get to enjoy it (re: Amren returning with zero powers while Rhys retains all of his at the end of ACOWAR). How great would it be for Rhys and Feyre to need Nesta to help them stand against Keir? How great would it be for Nesta to have a character arc where the main characters actually respect her autonomy, personhood, traumas, and power??!! Reading ACOSF made me equal parts upset, angry, and bewildered. Here are a few reasons why: strong female characters don’t allow others to walk all over them, refusing to fund Nesta’s lifestyle and controlling every aspect of her life are two different things, and Nesta is not the only character who needs to apologize. I’m going to say it again, Nesta is not the only character who needs to apologize. That’s all I’ll say on this subject as ACOSF is another rant for another day. I think these changes in plot also benefit Feyre’s character as well. I see a huge difference between the character I loved in ACTOAR & ACOMAF and the rest of the series. It’s unrealistic that someone with very little leadership experience can fall so easily into the role of powerful High Lady and I feel like her character lost a lot of relatability as the series progressed. The Feyre of ACOTAR would not act like the Feyre of ACOSF.

When the courts were first introduced to us it always bothered me that there were four seasonal courts but only three solar courts… where is the dusk court? I think that my alternate sequel series would culminate in the birth of the Dusk Court. It bothers me that the Night Court is so divided. Rhys literally hates the Court of Nightmares and at best merely tolerate them. It’s hard to reconcile that both Velaris and the Court of Nightmares are the part of the same Court. On other days I would argue that Nightmares are dreams too and Rhys has no business condemning literally half of his court in favour of Velaris. But today I’m going to give it to him. In this  alternate sequel series, Velaris is different for a reason. It isn’t meant to be part of the Night Court. Velaris seems likes a different court, and so it shall be: behold! Velaris, capital of the Dusk Court! Who leads them? The newly minted High Lord and Lady of the Dusk Court: Rhys and Feyre. It may seem counterintuitive to give Rhys High Lord powers back when I’ve established why it is so important for him to lose them, but in my alternate series he will have had to fight, make sacrifices, and develop empathy for other people in ways that make him worthy of being High Lord. It also works as a narrative device for him to receive what he lost after proving himself (by working alongside Feyre, her sisters, and the rest of the IC as equals). I also think it is fitting that Rhys and Feyre could create a new court together. 

I hope you have enjoyed my rantings. I’m going to end this here since it’s already obscenely long. I would love to hear your thoughts! I believe firmly that Rhys should never have resurrected with his High Lord powers. The consequences of this could have been so compelling for future books. And it upsets me to see such wasted potential for character growth. This rant is mostly an exercise for myself to rewrite the worst parts of these books in ways that let me love these characters again. No-one should be victim to Mary/Gary Stu-Syndrome. not even Riceball. 

[avatar-state-kate]

Mako and Bolin: Parentification and codependency in identity formation

Most character analysis are of, well, one character. Now usually this is a fine way to look at a character, however as characters (and people) often replicate their family dynamics when interacting with others sometimes it makes more sense to study characters together. For example the narcissistic parenting style of Ozai makes any analysis of Zuko in large part also an analysis of Ozai and Azula as their roles as the scape goat, narcissist parent, and golden child respectively influences their personalities within the family unit and outside of it.

All that being said given the nature of Mako and Bolin’s childhood’s I believe that any complete personality analysis of one brother is dependent on the other.

A quick disclaimer, due to the nature of Mako and Bolin’s childhoods a lot of the traits discussed will be maladaptive or at the very least also explored in their most negative expression- that being said I am not blaming any brother for the effects they had on the other. Ultimately these coping mechanisms and bad traits are the result of situations completely out of either brothers control; the death of their parents and living in acute poverty. Also because that’s how they are/ were in early seasons does not mean they can not/do not develop past it. With that out of the way, let’s get into it.

Yin and yang: fulfilling opposing roles

Within family dynamics every member fulfills a role, while Mako and Bolin are brothers their childhood situation resulted in a parentified child/younger sibling dynamic.

Firstly we all know Mako is a provider/caregiver, he took on the responsibility of making sure himself and Bolin were fed, clothed, and sheltered. As a result Mako is a compulsive caregiver, he cannot not be the caregiver within a relationship. While caring for others is a positive trait, compulsive caregiving is maladaptive, for Mako we often see this manifests in his providing unsolicited advice/help. In season 2 Mako’s attempts at helpfulness are a large contributor to the fights he and Korra have. We also see this in Mako’s need for control, as evidenced in the season 4 rescue of Prince Wu, even though he isn’t being helpful at all Mako cannot not try and direct the rescue. Even though he knows Korra and Asami are completely capable, it’s his job to be in charge and fix things- to be the adult.

On the reverse, Bolin as the younger sibling and object of Mako’s compulsive caregiving has a dependent personality type. Here I believe how dangerous providing Bolin with too much autonomy would have been on the streets paired with Mako’s compulsive caregiving/need for control, resulted in Bolin being unable to form a healthy degree of autonomy. As a result Bolin seeks direction and guidance from others. We can see this in his attraction to controlling personalities, from Mako, to Eska and Varrick in season 2, and Kuvira in season 4. As a result of being managed by Mako, Bolin hasn’t developed any decision making skills, as shown in his general indecisiveness. Bolin doesn’t make decisions so much as attach himself to people who will make decisions for him (see above list).

Mako is introduced into the series as having an avoidant attachment style, he is mistrustful of others and believes he can only rely on himself. This is evidenced in season 1 episode 2 with his immediate distrust of Korra and general standoffishness with her which does not end until she proves herself with Bolin’s rescue. It’s clear that Mako formed this attachment style as a direct result of his childhood- he mistrusts others and relies on himself because on the streets he had to. However, I believe Bolin’s anxious attachment style, which he is often seen as having despite his childhood is just as much directly connected to his childhood. Anxious attachment styles are defined by a fear of losing people and being left alone, a legitimate fear given the death of his parents at a young age- if Mako were to leave Bolin would be alone. For Bolin this largely manifests in his clinginess, he hugs or otherwise touches everyone, and in his constant upbeat attitude. Being upbeat itself is not necessarily part of an anxious attachment style, but for Bolin I believe it is indicative of a need to make others like him, as evidenced by Bolin’s friendliness with Ming-Hua and Ghazan when he and Mako are captured by the Red Lotus. As with Mako’s personality development, Bolin’s is also a survivalist method, as being likeable is a good means of attaining help from others, in Republic City Hustle it is largely Bolin’s likability that inspires Toza to take the brothers in. Bolin’s need to maintain a positive attitude also serves another purpose, as it was the only means Bolin had of providing Mako with emotional support. Due to Mako’s caregiving role and attachment style Mako would not burden Bolin with his problems- his and Bolin’s problems are his responsibility, however Bolin could indirectly support his brother by being easy going and fun. This dynamic is especially apparent again in the Republic City Hustle shorts where Mako is depicted as a fairly stressed and serious kid, with Bolin’s attitude providing him brevity. Finally, Mako’s belief that he has to take on everything himself, and his subsequent taking on everything himself enables Bolin to develop an opposing belief that things will work out in the end. This is seen in Mako’s pessimistic outlook of the need to raise 30,000 yuans for the champion pot in season 1, and Bolin’s optimism that they will raise it. Bolin is naive, but it is a naivety Mako enables.

Throughout the series Mako’s caregiver tendencies often manifest in a need to provide materially, as his main interest in pro-bending is as a source of income, and post season 1 Mako has and maintains a steady job. This is the opposite of Bolin, who’s interest in pro-bending is in the sport itself, and who jumps through a series of careers, from athlete, to Asami’s assistant, to actor, to soldier. We see that Mako has a desire for stability, and this makes sense given how unstable his childhood was. It then seems odd that Bolin, being a part of that childhood would not similarly seek such stability out. Bolin appears to have an inability to be stable. While the material aspect of their childhood plays a role I think this difference is rooted in the emotional stability of their early lives.

Mako is looking to his work to provide emotional stability, when Mako is having issues within his personal relationships he turns to work- picking work over Korra in season 2 and sleeping under his desk at the start of season 3. Bolin however, does not have similar issues with his emotions as he had Mako as a child and is as a result much more emotionally open. Since Bolin does not need an outside structure for emotional management I think instead Bolin is stuck recreating the instability of his childhood into his adult life- he does not know how to be stable so he instead maintains an unstable lifestyle. His stability as a child came from his relationship with Mako so as long as they remain on good terms I believe Bolin will feel secure.

Cast in the same mould: the effects of codependency

While a lot of the brothers personalities developed in response to that of the others the codependent nature of their relationship also resulted in some shared traits, namely conflict avoidance and people pleasing tendencies.

For Mako we mostly see these traits in his relationships with Asami and Korra, as he avoids Asami rather then break up with her in season 1, and in season 2 starts giving the advice he thinks Korra wants to hear as a means to avoid conflict, and the whole amnesia debacle. We also see Mako’s people pleasing tendencies in his inability to say no to Bolin, as Bolin is easily able to convince Mako to join the Krew in the search for air benders and have him act as the escaped fire bender.

Rather then directly running from conflict Bolin’s conflict avoidance manifest in his attempting to neutralize the situation either by playing dumb as a means not to answer, as when Asami asks him if there is something between Korra and Mako in season 1, or by trying to steer the conversation back to a more lighthearted tone. We see the tone switching play out throughout the series particularly with potential arguments between Mako and Bolin, when Mako starts getting heated Bolin neutralizes- and then Mako usually lets Bolin get his way. For example in Republic City Hustle with the argument over Pabu, and post Mako’s rescue of Bolin. Bolin’s people pleasing tendencies also make it difficult for him to initiate break ups as he fails to end things with Eska twice.

Ultimately these are both traits of being in codependent relationships and given Mako and Bolin’s childhoods where they literally only had each other, it is hardly surprising that the pair would form such a bond- and the consequences there of.

Conclusion

In conclusion Mako and Bolin have largely shaped each other’s personalities as a consequence of the familial roles either brother filled.

I don’t think it’s any coincidence that the brothers both experience the greatest growth in season 4, the season they spend apart. This is not to say that the brothers need to cut ties in order to heal, however I do believe that while together it is all too easy for both of them to revert to previously established behaviour’s; to fulfill their roles of parentified brother/younger sibling. This is evidenced in Turf Wars where we see each brother take a step back, as Bolin joins the force to be under Makos wing, and Mako is back to work despite still being in a sling and unable to bend.

Steps backward are normal, and throughout the series either brother starts a journey towards becoming an individually realized person.

I wrote this post as given the codependent nature of Mako and Bolin’s relationship I believed that a meta exploring the two together was necessary, however at the end of this meta as at the end of the series I believe that the brothers leave it as two individuals rather then one single unit.

[fakeikemen]

The Roku/Sozin ancestry plot twist for Zuko

Like I’m sure this has been said before but the twist about Zuko being a descendant of both Roku and Sozin is actually a disservice to his character and his narrative as well? The way the narrative frames this reveal along with Iroh's dialogue, it backtracks on a lot of the story we are shown in Book 1&2 (and sometimes it even clashes with some dialogues in Book 3).

Iroh: “Because understanding the struggle between your two great-grandfathers can help you better understand the battle within yourself. Evil and good are always at war inside you, Zuko. It is your nature, your legacy. But, there is a bright side. What happened generations ago can be resolved now, by you. Because of your legacy, you alone can cleanse the sins of our family and the Fire Nation. Born in you, along with all the strife, is the power to restore balance to the world.”

1. This implies that there are equal amounts of good and evil in Zuko and his internal struggle is about choosing one of them.

The core qualities of Zuko as a character are empathy, compassion and kindness. A person who always gets upset when he sees or even thinks about other people in pain, a person who spoke out against powerful people to save lives that were being sacrificed needlessly, a person who shows mercy to people who don’t deserve it, a person who is willing to reach out a hand to save the life of the man who tried to kill him, a person who avoids fights when possible, a person who is willing to fight on behalf of a family he has known for only one night, a person who reaches out to sympathise after being yelled at— a person like this is definitely not struggling with equal parts of good and evil within them.

Zuko does have two selves, but they can be categorised as pre-scar and post-scar.

His pre-scar version is the version who was unabashedly kind and compassionate, who spoke his mind without thinking of consequences. But his post-scar version was a cover up of the pre-scar version. It was a lie that Zuko lived everyday. He convinced himself that this was how he had to be; because this was what Ozai wanted him to be and that there was no other way.

And yet, when the situation is dire and he is depending on his instincts or when he is given a free choice, we see the pre-scar Zuko spring into action. Because that’s who he really is. It’s not a struggle between good and evil within him, it is his supressed self making an appearance when he slips up and fails to maintain his facade.

Perhaps the line that describes his internal struggle the best is this:

Zuko, imitating Iroh: Zuko, you have to look within yourself to save yourself from your other self. Only then will your true self, reveal itself.

And while this dialogue was played for laughs, it is the most accurate description of how Zuko had to reach for his suppressed self, his real self, to save himself from becoming what Ozai wanted him to be.

2. It also implies that Ozai and Ursa had equal influence on Zuko's upbringing and that he struggled to chose between what was taught to him by Ursa (good) and Ozai (evil).

The idea that Zuko has equal amounts of good and evil inside himself goes hand in hand with idea that the good and evil traits in him have been passed onto him by Ursa and Ozai's upbringings respectively which are legacies of Roku and Sozin.

I don’t need to look any further than “Zuko Alone” to know that Ozai's impact on Zuko's upbringing was slim to none. The flashbacks that we see, are dominated by Ursa's presence. Ozai hardly gets any time onscreen. And when he does, he is shown as a silhouette and when he isn’t a silhouette, we only see him smile at Azula's display of skills and frown at Zuko's attempt.

Ozai was Zuko's father alright, but never in the ways that mattered. We know that Ozai abused Zuko. He constantly belittled him and compared him to Azula. Partially because Zuko lacked the natural talent that Azula had and partially because he lacked the ruthlessness and cruelty that Azula displayed even at her age.

Which made Zuko copy Azula's behaviour to get his father’s acceptance. But whenever Ursa noticed this, she immediately corrected Zuko and clearly told him that it was wrong.

Ozai is never shown to tell Zuko that whatever Ursa told him was wrong. Ozai personally never taught him anything (except that one time). He appreciated Azula's behaviour and encouraged her to keep it up but he just kept on expressing his disappointment in Zuko.

Ursa: Remember this, Zuko. No matter how things may seem to change, never forget who you are.

Zuko's innate kindness and compassion were protected by Ursa in the formative years when he was at his most pliable. And this is why no matter what happens, he never loses these qualities and is able to retain his real self even after he tried hard to suppress it.

3. It diminishes the extent of psychological damage and trauma caused by the scarring incident.

The one time Ozai did take it upon himself to teach something to Zuko:

Ozai: You will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher.

(Notice that here too Ozai's form is silhouetted against the light behind him.)

The scar is so much more than just a scar to Zuko. It is the one lesson that Ozai taught him. The scar exists because of Zuko's innate compassion. It was put on his face in an attempt to burn out his compassion. It was put there to be a constant reminder of what would happen if he dared to do something that went against what Ozai wanted from him. The scar was Ozai’s brand on his face. It took away Zuko's autonomy to make decisions for himself. It was a constant reminder that Zuko’s opinions didn’t matter.

Post-scar Zuko is Zuko's attempt at supressing his real persona to become the person Ozai wanted him to be, because he learned the hard way that he didn’t have the choice to be anyone else.

In fact, the first time Zuko makes a deliberate choice to go against what was expected of him, (letting Appa go) he succumbed to a fever. His emotional turmoil of coming to terms with the fact that he didn’t need to listen to Ozai and abide by him; a notion that he had been force feeding himself, everyday, for the last three years, manifested itself physically in the form of a fever. That was how deep the psychological damage caused by the scar was. (I hate it when people call it an angst coma.)

Saying that Zuko was struggling with equal amounts of good and evil within him, oversimplifies the complex emotional trajectory he had about coming to terms with the abuse he went through and reclaiming his autonomy and his personal opinions and beliefs, into just a choice between two aspects of his personality.

Zuko: I wanted to speak out against this horrifying plan, but I'm ashamed to say I didn't. My whole life, I struggled to gain my father's love and acceptance, but once I had it, I realized I'd lost myself getting there. I'd forgotten who I was.

4. This implies that Zuko's destiny was pre-determined.

Iroh said in the dialogue that Zuko was born with the power to restore balance in the world and that only he could do it.

Zuko, the character who has always had to struggle to gain what he wanted is suddenly told of an advantage that he had just by the virtue of birth? Kinda defeats the purpose of: "Azula was born lucky; I was lucky to be born", if you ask me.

And even more importantly, he let go of the destiny that Ozai forced on him, only to take on another predetermined destiny; a destiny that was his to fulfil by the virtue of birth, and took steps to fulfil this other destiny, instead of making a destiny of his own and paving his own path to it by making the choices that he had been denied for so long because of Ozai. Which seems weird because all the other times Iroh talks to Zuko about this topic, he always emphasises on how it’s Zuko's choice to make his own destiny:

Lake Laogai:

Zuko: I want my destiny.

Iroh: What that means is up to you.

Lake Laogai:

Zuko: I know my own destiny, Uncle!

Iroh: Is it your own destiny, or is it a destiny someone else has tried to force on you?

Zuko: Stop it, Uncle! I have to do this!

Iroh: I'm begging you, Prince Zuko! It's time for you to look inward and begin asking yourself the big questions. Who are you, and what do you want?

Crossroads of Destiny:

Iroh: Zuko, I am begging you. Look into your heart and see what it is that you truly want.

Western Air Temple:

Iroh: You know Prince Zuko, destiny is a funny thing. You never know how things are going to work out. But if you keep an open mind, and an open heart, I promise you will find your own destiny someday.

5. It indirectly implies that the good™ in Ursa and Zuko exists because they are a part of the Avatar's legacy.

Making Ursa a daughter of a nobleman (as intended originally)* would’ve served a much better purpose for the message that the episode was trying to get across: “the Fire Nation isn’t inherently evil”.

Katara: You mean, after all Roku and Sozin went through together, even after Roku showed him mercy, Sozin betrayed him like that?

Toph: It's like these people are born bad.

Aang: Roku was just as much Fire Nation as Sozin was, right? If anything, their story proves anyone's capable of great good and great evil. Everyone, even the Fire Lord and the Fire Nation have to be treated like they're worth giving a chance.

Had Ursa not been Roku’s descendant, then there would've been people other than just Roku and his descendants, who were Fire Nation and good™. (Iroh is literally the only exception.)

Moreover, Azula is just as much a part of “Roku’s legacy” as Zuko is, and yet is completely overlooked when it comes to it. She isn’t shown to be struggling with equal amounts of good and evil. She isn’t gifted at birth with the capacity to bring balance back to the world. It appears as if she had inherited only “Sozin's legacy”.

So, not only does this Roku/Sozin twist go against Zuko's fundamental characterisation, but it also partially deconstructs the narrative that had been carefully set up for him over the course of 2 seasons.

*(I have been looking relentlessly for the post where I saw two screen caps of the two different characterisations of Ursa: 1. Ursa as we see her in "Zuko Alone"; 2. Ursa as Roku's descendant. And I can't find it now otherwise I would've linked it.)

[anon-e-miss]

Primus Help the Outcasts 2

“Sit down, relax,” Jazz said, gesturing to a park bench.

Prowl did not want to sit. He wanted to pace and the curse the world, but he sat. He had not had a proper  recharge in mega-cycles. Not since that first dark-cycle when someone had opened the door to their room and peered inside. He had insisted his mechlings recharge with him since then even though the berth was really too small to chair and the berths were welded to the floor so he could not push them together. The energon was hardly strong enough to burn through the painful static in his battle computer but it was quick burst of energy and he had none.

“Why don’t ya just tell me?” Jazz asked. Prowl stiffened. “I’d rather hear yer take that read that tabloid scrap.”

“I...” Prowl paused as he tried to put his thoughts into some semblance of order.

He drank the pressed energon, less to buy himself a little more time to think and more to ensure Jazz could not take it from him. There would be no dinner for him. If they even had a room to go back to it would be lucky. Prowl could not blame Jazz for this. The priest was not about to suffer a broken servo with any kind of grace. They would camp out under the bridge, as they had the first dark-cycle after Lockdown had thrown them out. What they did after, Prowl did not know. He was quickly running out of options and hope. He only had a few emergency rations left for the mechlings. When those ran out, Prowl was going to have to make a choice, go crawling back to Lockdown and into his berth, or surrender his creations to SPS.

“Prowl?”

“When they found us, they found my Conjunx, my creations progenitor crushed by the vault.”

“That’s heavy,” Jazz replied. “Ain’t yer fault...”

“Oh it is,” Prowl said. “He had scratched his digits to the struts against the door while he begged me to let him in.”

“Ya knew he was there.”

“I did,” Prowl stared ahead. “I saw him on the cameras.”

“But ya didn’t let’m in,” Jazz said, slowly. Prowl was sure he was regretting buying Prowl energon. Too fragging bad for him. “Was the door stuck?”

“No. I watched him lead Seekers to the vault. I watched him enter the access code and I watched him realize it had been changed. The Seekers were not pleased with him when they were denied access to the Core.”

“Ya changed the code.”

“Yes. The Senate gave them the Core. They took down our shield as a sign of cooperation.”

“Ya tried to put it back up.”

“They disabled the power generators. I had full access to the Praxian surveillance network but I could not revive our self-defence network.”

“When did ya know they were gonna bomb Praxus?”

“When the last transports took off and the Seekers followed them.”

“Who was on the transports?”

“Praxians. They transported wave after wave of us. I watched them sort through my framekin. Some they loaded onto transports. Some they locked into warehouses.”

“What were they after?”

“Receptive sparks.”

“Oh frag.”

“Given what Vos has proven itself capable of, Cybertron has elected to be silent on the matter of hundreds of thousands of my framekin being taken into interfacial slavery.”

“Did the Senate know?”

“They knew what the Vosians were after. The transports appeared to surprise them. Crosscut had been surprised when I demanded he explain where the Vosians were taking these mechs. He refused my demands that he call up the enforcers to launch a counterattack.”

“Ya tried...”

“They cleared the precincts before they began processing the general population. By the time Smokescreen and I made it to the Core, there was no one to answer my comms.”

“How’d ya get down there?”

“Where is Bluestreak?” Prowl demanded. The fourth transport had taken off from the city centre. He could not understand how the Senate was standing by as half their population was being transported to Vos. Only Smokescreen had returned from school. Crosscut had not told him where Bluestreak was. He could not abide it.

“The Vosians wanted hostages from the Senate,” Crosscut replied. “He is fine.”

“They have thousands of hostages,” Prowl snapped. “Have you looked out the window? Have you looked.”

“He will not be harmed.”

“Have you no sense?” Prowl demanded. “They are looting Praxus of its mechanisms. They are stripping us of our defence. Why have you not summoned the Guard? Why have you not mobilized the enforcers? How can you just sit here and do nothing?”

“I am buying us time,” Crosscut slammed his fist down on the desk. His personal guard stood to his left and looked reproachfully at Prowl. The femme’s glare did not cow Prowl anymore than Crosscut’s fist.

“Time for what?” Prowl demanded. “How do you think this ends in anything other than the total submission of Praxus.”

“The codes to the Core have been transferred to the Vosian Honour Guard to ensure a smooth transition of power.”

“You gave the Core to the Vosians?” Prowl lunged across Crosscut’s desk and took him by the collar. “You gave Praxus to Vos.”

“Cooperation ensures we retain some autonomy.”

“It ensures nothing,” Prowl threw his Conjunx back. Road Rage helped him up after he bounced off the wall. She glared daggers at Prowl. “You self-righteous slagtard. You are selling the citizens of Praxus in the hopes that can maintain your authority.”

“Someone has to lead Praxus after the dust settles.”

“Where you the one who shot Lord Backfire? Or was that you, Road Rage.”

“Praxus does not stand a chance against Vos. Cooperation is essential to our survival.”

“Praxus stood a chance with the Core. But you threw that away. I am taking it back.”

“You will not,” Crosscut hissed. Prowl had his acid pellet rifle in his subspace and pointed it at his Conjunx and his guard.

“Try and stop me,” Prowl dared them.

“Smokescreen is in the lounge entertaining the Striker Trine,” Crosscut said, coolly. Prowl’s mechfluid froze in his lines. “Perhaps you should assist him.”

“You gave my youngling to Seekers?” Prowl screamed. “We do not even know if he is receptive or contributive yet.”

“You know they say you can influence how it goes,” Crosscut said. Yes. Prowl knew. They said if you filled a juvenile’s gestation tank with enough transfluids their spark would become receptive after their adult upgrades.

“I will kill you,” Prowl promised.

“If you want Bluestreak back safe and sound, you are going to get into line, Prowl,” Crosscut said. “Go on. Maybe the Strikers would prefer a proven receptive to a novice.”

Prowl stormed from Crosscut’s office. Crosscut had his back against the wall, but Prowl only needed some time. He needed to secure his youngling and then he needed to find his sparkling. When he had them secured he would reclaim the Core. Prowl would reclaim Praxus. His spark was in his fuel tank when he got to the lounge. As much as he wanted to burst in, rifle firing, he could not put Smokescreen in the line of fire. He smoothed his expression and stepped through the door.

“Mm now this is a treat,” the pale-faced green Seeker purred. Prowl did not scream, though he saw Smokescreen writhing in his grasp. He did not scream, but walked towards them. “The Senator’s own breeder.”

“Gentlemechs,” Prowl said, letting none of his hate into his field or his voice. “Perhaps you would like some engex?”

“Does the Senator have anything good?” The Seeker asked. He released Smokescreen and Prowl made a silent prayer of thanks. His creation stumbled and around the couch.

“His collection is considered one of the best, Cybertron wide,” Prowl replied.

“His best engex then,” the Seeker, clearly the commander of this Trine, ordered.

“Smokescreen?” Prowl said. “Fetch a bottle of the Platinum Label Sapphire Engex. The vintage, Gentlemechs, is twenty thousand vorns old.”

“Very nice,” the green mech purred.

“Are you sure?” His subordinate asked. This mech was a pale purple, with faceplates as pale as his leader. “Letting the mechling go?”

“I’m sure we can trust him to come back,” the leader said as he caught Prowl by his wrist. It took everything in Prowl not to thrash. “We have his origin here, after all. I’m sure Smokescreen doesn’t want anything bad to happen to him, do you? Mechling?”

“No, Sir,” Smokescreen said, with a hiss of temper. His doorwings twitched rudely. The Seekers laughed.

"Then be quick,” the leader laughed as Smokescreen ran out the door. He smirked at Prowl. It was the only warning Prowl had before he was tossed onto the couch. He tried to right himself but the leader was over him. His claws sank into the plating of Prowl’s thighs as he forced his legs open. “His best engex and his best whore. This is going turning into a good mega-cycle for us, Brothers.”

“He deserved to die,” Prowl said, staring into the distance. “If anyone deserved to die in Praxus, it was him.”

“Come wit me, Prowl,” Jazz said as he stood.

“Where?” Prowl asked, having forgotten for a moment who he was talking to and why he was talking to him.

“Home, obviously,” Jazz replied. Prowl stared up at him.

“You are just going to take me at my glyph?” Prowl asked.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“No one else has. Crosscut was well liked with his counterparts Cybertron-wide. He one the Novus Peace Accord.”

“Those same mechanisms are ignorin’ the fact Vos botnapped thousands of mechanisms, right?”

“Yes?”

“Yeah, I don’t think ‘m gonna put much stock in their opinions,” Jazz snorted. Prowl could not stop staring at the mech. “What brought ya to Simfur, Prowl.”

“Master Yoketron.”

“Ya knew the Master.”

“I trained under him briefly, in the same class as Lockdown, when my procreators were stationed in Simfur. I was unaware he had been killed.”

“When ya came to the dojo, ya’d just landed.”

“Yes.”

“That sucks slag,” Jazz declared. “Ya know I woulda given ya a place to recharge if ya’d told me ya knew Master Yoketron.”

“I was. I am a stranger.”

“Master Yoketron never turned away a stranger. I wouldn’t be doin’m any honour if I forgot his generosity. Come on. Let’s go home. I gotta introduce ya to my procreators... Frag yer just platin’ ‘n struts, ain’t ya. I thought Smokey was a lil thin, but y’re wastin’. Genitor’s gonna take one look at ya ‘n make it his mission to fuel ya up.”

[chibimyumi]

I completely forgot how creepy Nina Hopkins used to be when she first appeared. Do you think Yana is fixing another mistake? Because in last chapter Nina is still being creepy but it's more like she's too excited to notice Meyrin discomfort. Or is this just me trying to be positive?

【Response to: Man!Greller Debunking Series, header 6】

【Relevant post: Yana and Grell, Owning up to Mistakes】

Dear Anon,

I think there is too little information to be able to tell whether Yana is trying to fix the mistake of portraying a gay woman as a molester (with strong pedophilic undertones), but judging from the material there is, I would say it is possible that Yana is trying, but that if she is, her efforts are not as clear as what she has been trying to do for Grell and for Chinese characters.

Please allow me to explain why I think so.

Character Introduction

First, let us look at the main points about Nina, and how she was established. When we first get introduced to Yana, the first impression we have of her is a predatory gay woman who has zero regards for other people’s personal space or consent.

Except for just molesting Meyrin’s breasts and thighs, when working for O!Ciel she also just ripped his clothes apart. Sure, she did not make any attempts to touch him further, but ripping someone’s clothes from their body just like that is a move that stems from lack of respect for someone else’s body.

On top of her lack of respect for others’ bodily autonomy, Nina is also a raging sexist and hides behind the shield of #FEMINISM, and likewise has no regard for the feelings of likewise her customers (Finny and Bard).

This of course is played for laughs, but that does not justify this #FeM!NIsT action... [please click here for more about female sexism for laughs.]

By the time that Nina was introduced, we were already familiar with a character who is actually rather similar to her... the Viscount of Druitt.

The Viscount of Druitt is the first character to be established as someone who has “unrestrained libido”, and we also learned that touching a young child whom he acknowledges to be too young is fine according to him.

The Viscount is a gag character, his ‘threat’ was placed solely on the fact that he partook in human trafficking, and his pedophilic action was entirely unaddressed. Considering Yana’s job history, we can also assume this was a problem she did not see as something that had to be addressed.

This confirmed that the creator is comfortable with an adult advancing on children, and the Viscount together with the clear Seba/Ciel baiting served to “warm us up” for the concept of shota-con.

So by the time Nina makes her entrance and proclaims to be only interested in women AND boys under the age of fifteen, the manga probably expected its already-warmed-up readers to assume that ‘to be interested in’ refers to a sexual way considering how she pounced for Meyrin the moment she saw her.

Homosexual people are being associated with predatory pedophiles, because homosexual are deemed to have ‘unrestrained libido’... this all is the result of the slippery slope argumentation fallacy... “‘same sex love?’ What about animals? What about children!” (FoxNews’ favourite ( ^ v ~ ))

In Kuroshitsuji so far there have only been two characters who are confirmed to not be straight, and thus it is rather unfortunate that both of them are weirdly okay with being “interested” in children.

Second Appearance

By Nina’s second appearance she has not molested anybody, so I would say there is improvement that in the least she did not commit sexual assault. But sadly ‘not groping someone’ is hardly enough to redeem a character. Otherwise her raging sexism still hasn’t improved an inch.

But considering how she is a super minor character, we cannot expect Yana to suddenly drop her “iconic #RagingFeMin!iSt behaviour” without giving her a semblance of a redemption arc. As her sexist behaviour is basically the trait she is now known by, I would say we probably won’t see it disappear in future. But as long as she is not groping anybody, I personally can live with her. I don’t LIKE it, but I can live with it.

Third Appearance

When Nina makes her third appearance she is still just the same #RagingFeMin!iSt, but she has not touched anybody unsolicited. So here too the ‘improvement’ from her second appearance has at least not been undone.

****TLN: I retranslated this line because in the scanlation I found, it was wrongly translated. The mistranslation said “as usual, it’s refreshing to an extent to ignore you.” This is not Sebastian saying he wants to ignore Nina, it’s him showing his dismay at being ignored thoroughly again.

Latest Appearance

In Nina’s latest appearance she does show some clear disdain for Sebastian, but here too she does not grope Meyrin. Although you could say that flirting with somebody you had just met with such proximity is a bit rude, this too is forgivable as long as this is where she stops.

Difference between Nina, Grell and Chinese characters

The main difference between why Yana’s attempts at fixing her mistake in her portrayal of transgender people and Chinese people work is the timeline.

In this latest portrayal of Nina, the timeline is set in the past. Because we have confirmation that in future Nina would grope Meyrin, none of Nina’s mistakes have been ‘compensated for’. Nina going from relative restrain to sexually aggressive can easily be understood as Nina’s fondness for Meyrin having grown over time, after all. Hence, Nina’s problematic portrayal has not been fixed, and neither has the connection between ‘homosexuals and predatory pedophiles’ been broken... i.e. no character growth.

Nina’s ‘more acceptable behaviour’ is different to Grell’s in function. Grell had made a grave mistake in the past. But later when she had her appearance, all her controlled behaviour was shown as the result of her disciplinary confinement and self-reflection. Therefore the audience knows that her terrible behaviour is probably left in the past for good. 【Click here for full analysis】i.e. Character growth!🎉

As for Chinese characters. Meyrin’s ‘problematic portrayal’ was that when she was introduced she was pretty useless and spoke Chinglish. Later it was confirmed that Meyrin is not bad at English at all, but that her Chinglish was in fact a choice. Perhaps a front that she had put up as a professional choice considering her current job as Phantomhive sniper. 【Click here and here for the full explanation】

Lau was portrayed as a clown character, accompanied by your #SexualisedKungfuChinaGirl Ranmao, and he seemed to fulfill no other role than comic relief... a role Chinese characters often fulfill in both Japanese and Western media.

Later in the Mansion Murder arc however, we got a pretty solid confirmation that Lau was not in fact a clown, and was switching between masks to fool others. Then in the Public School arc, we got undeniable confirmation that Lau would use British people’s stereotypes against British people to get things done.

Then in his latest ‘cameo’ in chapter 159, we got yet another undeniable confirmation that Lau is not just not a clown, but in fact a man so fearsome, so powerful he managed to scare a respected syndicate leader in London. We now know that the two Chinese people we thought to be useless Chinglish speakers at first are both terribly dangerous, potent people.

Conclusion

While in-real-world timeline wise, these #problematic characters all have improved behaviour or acceptable explanations as for their past behaviours, I would say the problem of Nina’s character has not been fixed because of the in-story timeline.

While Grell, Lau and Meyrin’s problems are effectively left in the past through story-telling and potent writing of Yana, for Nina the same cannot be said. 

I hope this helps! (*´｀*)ノ

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Forty Four

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

April 3rd, 1986 “Hey, stupid! The teacher asked you to read!” the girl next to him hissed at Emile.

Emile squirmed in his seat. He was staring at the page, trying to pick out any words he recognized, but he had no idea what he was looking at. He knew it was spring, he knew he was supposed to read at least a little by now, but he still couldn’t.

Everyone was staring at him expectantly, and he just mumbled, “Can I, uh...pass?”

The girl snickered. “You’re so stupid,” she said. “I bet you can’t even spell your own name, can you?”

Tears were trying to force their way out, but Emile refused to cry. He wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction.

His teacher sighed and gestured for the next kid to read his sentence. Emile rested his head on his arms. School was bad enough without the bullies around him.

  September 30th, 2001

“Hey, Remy, I have a question for you,” Emile said.

Remy looked over from their recently acquired couch and turned off the TV that was sitting on their recently acquired TV stand. “What’s up?” he asked.

“I know this is super early, and you don’t have to give me an answer right away, but would you like to come over to my parents’ place for Thanksgiving, and my grandfather’s for Christmas? No one has to know you’re gay if you’re uncomfortable with it, I can just say you don’t have a family to celebrate with so I’m bringing you to celebrate with mine,” Emile offered.

Remy gave him a confused look. “You’d want that?” he asked.

“Well, yeah, just a little bit,” Emile said. “You make everything a little more fun, and I don’t want to leave you on your own for Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

Remy looked even more lost, and Emile felt his heart ache and his stomach sink. He really didn’t want Remy to say no, and he also wished that Remy could understand why he might be wanted. But it looked like the first was a distinct possibility, and the second wasn’t. “Why? I mean, I had a bit of a hard time last year—”

“—And I don’t want you to have another one,” Emile said. “Like, I can say that you’re not Catholic and no one will drag you to Mass. You can hang out with me and my family, and if you start feeling bad you can let me know and we can sneak away to make out, or whatever.” Remy smiled at that. “You can say no, Rem, but I need you to know it’s okay to say yes, too.”

Remy stared at Emile for a long time, eyes searching Emile’s face. Emile met his gaze, putting down the pencil he was using for copying his notes. “And we’d just have to keep PDA to a minimum and that’s it?”

“That’s it,” Emile confirmed. “No strings attached, and holidays with people who will love you almost instantly.”

“As opposed to my family?” Remy asked suspiciously.

“As opposed to spending Thanksgiving and Christmas alone,” Emile said with a shrug.

“I mean, I guess I could come,” Remy said. “Your parents would probably be all, ‘It’s nice to have your boyfriend here to help out’ at least when your grandfather isn’t around.” A beat. “What would we say if someone said that when your grandfather was around?”

“I have...no remote clue,” Emile said. “With any luck, though, that won’t be an issue.”

“And we shouldn’t worry too much anyway, right? After all, you’re an actor now, Mister,” Remy teased.

“Remy, I’m an understudy for a minor part in the local play. I went to support a friend in their audition and got roped into one myself. I’d hardly call myself proficient in acting, and anyway, while there may be overlap between acting and lying, you said yourself that I have a terrible poker face.” Emile shook his head. “I appreciate your confidence, but sadly, it’s misplaced.”

Remy pouted. “You’re sucking the fun out of this, Emile. And sapping my confidence in the situation.”

“All right, all right, sorry,” Emile said. “I’m trying to be honest, but if that doesn’t help I’ll stop.”

Remy shrugged. “Honestly, I do want to go, I just don’t want to get you in trouble with anyone.”

“You won’t,” Emile promised. “Together we can get through it. You’re not likely to mess up, I definitely won’t mess up, since I’ve had practice, and if we don’t tell any of my extended family the truth, then they can’t mess up either.”

“You’re trying really hard to reassure me,” Remy noted.

“Yeah,” Emile said. “Because I really want you to come with me. Even if we can’t spill the beans about our relationship yet. I want you to be there.”

Remy considered. “How likely is it Bernie will say we owe him if we go out of town?”

“In a serious way? Not at all. Joking? Eh, depends on the day,” Emile said with a shrug.

Remy went quiet again, before nodding. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Emile asked.

“Okay. I’ll come with you,” Remy said. “If you want me there, then I’ll be there for you. I’m not sure how I feel about the whole ‘early morning Mass’ thing you’ve talked about but...”

Emile laughed. “Don’t worry, I definitely can convince my parents to convince my grandfather to not force you to Mass on Christmas.”

“Oh.” A beat. “You’d do that for me?”

“Well, yeah. I get that church can make you uncomfortable; I’m not devout enough to go to Mass that early voluntarily. You won’t have to go unless my grandfather decides to be stubborn for no reason, and he’s rarely stubborn for no reason,” Emile said. “He doesn’t understand things like the LGBT community, but he does understand that religion can make some people uncomfortable, and he does his best to respect that.”

“He sounds like a good guy, mostly,” Remy said.

“He is, mostly,” Emile agreed. “He’s...he’s backwards in some areas, but he tries. And to me, all that matters is that he tries.”

“You could ask for more from him, you know,” Remy pointed out.

“But I doubt I would get it,” Emile sighed. “Listen, Rem, with my grandfather, I’ll take what I can get. It may hurt sometimes, but I try to be happy with what I can have, instead of letting myself down by expecting more.”

Remy grew quiet. “Why would you do that with your family but not allow me to do it with mine?”

“You hope for basic human decency,” Emile said. “Not just in the queer department, but in every department. My grandfather lets me have my autonomy at the end of the day. Your parents don’t.”

Remy sighed and rested his head on his hand, propped up by the arm rest. “I honestly don’t see why how many different places you’re asking for basic human decency would affect exactly how good it is to expect that from those people.”

“The more places you have to ask, the more places that it isn’t freely given, the less likely you are to have the autonomy that every person deserves,” Emile said with a shrug. “Like. It’s okay to have beliefs, but not to universalize them. Right?”

“Right...?” Remy agreed, tilting his head to the side.

“Well, the more you have to ask for your own autonomy, that means you’re dealing with more universalized beliefs. Like, your parents can go to church but you might not want to go. If you say you don’t want to go and they respect that, they’re not universalizing their beliefs. They’re giving you your autonomy. Which is your right, as a human individual, to have. That’s what they should do. But your parents don’t.”

“I still don’t understand,” Remy said, voice strained.

“Look. My grandfather doesn’t like gay people. He just doesn’t. But if I want to marry a man, he won’t forbid me from doing it. He has his beliefs, and he will speak up about his beliefs, but he won’t try to universalize them and make it so that I can’t marry a man. So when I’m asking for basic human decency, I’m asking that he doesn’t say he hates gay people around me. When you ask for basic human decency, you’re asking that people don’t universalize their beliefs so that you can make your own choices. And both of those things are basic human decency, but the morality of one versus the other has a significant imbalance. It’s worse to have to ask for autonomy than it is to ask for less hate speech. At least, that’s how I see it.”

Remy hummed. “I guess I understand. While both fall under the same category, one is more extreme than the other.”

“Exactly,” Emile said. “That’s where the difference is. I’m...I know that extremes can be up for interpretation, but the reason why I don’t want you to place hope on your parents is because what you’re asking for is a far more extreme change than they seem to be willing to give. I don’t...I don’t want you to be hurt when they say no. Because sooner or later, they will say no.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Remy sighed. “I guess that’s why you’ll take what you can get from your gramps?”

“Yeah,” Emile agreed, picking up his pencil and going back to studying. He had so much to do, and so little time. “I hope he gets better, but I’m not holding my breath.”

Remy stood and walked over, putting a hand on Emile’s shoulder. “How are you doing?” he asked.

Emile furrowed his brows. “I’m fine,” he said. “Why?”

“I know school’s been taking a toll on you,” Remy sighed. “And it’s a Sunday, meaning you have to go back tomorrow.”

The way Emile flinched minutely at that made Remy look concerned. Great. This was the last thing that Emile needed. Remy being worried for him over nothing would just make them both be stressed out. “I promise it’s nothing, sweetheart,” Emile said. “I’m just tired.”

“Yeah, no,” Remy said, pulling a chair back and sitting down next to Emile. “What’s going on? You handled everything easily last year, even with the job. I know what you’re like when you’re tired, Emile, and this isn’t it. You’re not tired. You’re...afraid.”

Emile sighed. “Afraid isn’t the right word,” he sighed. “It’s more like dread, if it’s anything at all.”

“Why are you dreading school? You enjoy college and getting to learn new things,” Remy said.

“Rem, it’s fine, I can handle this on my own,” Emile insisted.

“Will you at least tell me what ‘this’ is?” Remy asked softly.

Emile sighed. He didn’t want to say anything. He could handle this on his own, he didn’t want Remy stressing. It was a little thing, anyway. “There’s this guy in one of my classes,” Emile sighed. “We’re both fulfilling gym requirements. He found out I was bi from eavesdropping on a conversation I was having with one of the girls that we were playing volleyball with, and ever since he’s been antagonizing me, demanding I don’t look at him when we’re changing clothes, that sort of thing.”

“Ew,” Remy said, wrinkling his nose. “And you put up with him?”

“Well, I get the feeling that the gym coach really won’t want to hear that I’m bi,” Emile sighed. “He’s...well, let’s just say that sports at college are very hyper-masculine. He already doesn’t like me. Ratting out Dick would just make them both hate me.”

Remy shook his head. “Want me to talk to this...is his name really Dick?”

“Yep,” Emile laughed. “And he lives up to the title.”

“Clearly,” Remy said drily. “Want me to talk to him?”

“No,” Emile sighed. “Because that will just make everything worse.”

“You don’t know that for a fact,” Remy said. “And besides, wouldn’t it be nice if he actually listened and left you alone?”

“I don’t want you banned from the campus, Remy,” Emile laughed. “And you’d go ballistic on him. He’s one of those types, except you have no obligation to shut up and listen to him, unlike the unfortunate students in his classes. Besides...”

“Besides?” Remy prodded.

Emile sighed. “You don’t want to know, Remy.” He really, really hoped that there wouldn’t be a homicide if he admitted what Dick had told him.

“Maybe not, but any information is good information when you need to knock someone’s teeth in,” Remy said with a smirk.

Emile took a breath, hands balling into fists. “He said if I told anyone, he’d out me to the more...violent homophobes on campus.”

“He...he...I... what,” Remy growled. “I will kill him!”

“Remy, that’s not going to get us anywhere!” Emile insisted. “Except you banned from campus and possibly arrested!”

“It would be worth it if it meant you felt safe in your gym class,” Remy brushed off.

Emile shook his head. “I’m not going to get you to let this go, am I?”

“Not really!” Remy chirped.

Emile sighed. “Just...don’t french dip me in front of him, sound good?”

“He doesn’t deserve to see us be loving,” Remy said. “I’ll teach him a thing or two but he won’t be seeing us together, not if I have a say in it. He never has to know you told me. I’d never snitch on you.”

Emile laughed at that. “Thanks.”

[maple-writes]

WHG 15: Post Games 8

@concealeddarkness13 (thanks for Triel) (Only tagging you this time since I realize after I wrote this Indigo's side isn't super relevant to the overall plot lol)

###

Indigo went back to work a few days after Triel’s beating. Her rib still hurt like all hell when she moved in the wrong way but any longer and people would start to ask questions. It was exhausting though, more than usual, checking on her employees and ongoing projects with her side aching and Aurora all but breathing down her neck with how many times she’d tried to get her to come join her for dinner that week. After the last time she didn’t need to get drilled again. Thankfully Churi seemed to be giving her a little bit of space for now at least.

The last of her staff went home for the day and Indigo leaned back as far as she dared in her office chair. She should really be going home too, but she didn’t move. Even being back for a while now she was behind on reports and queries, and everything really. She could catch up at home but her stomach dropped just thinking about it. Who knew how Warren would be today, whether they’d be fine or in tears when she walked in the door. She groaned, draping an arm over her eyes. All she wanted to do was lie down and sleep but that wasn’t an option. Not here.

She glanced at the calendar on her desk. Right. On top of everything one of her favorite projects was going to be terminated tomorrow. Indigo pushed herself back up, wincing at the sharp ache in her side. The least she could do was check on the bird one last time.

Indigo’s footsteps echoed though the empty hall lit by dim running lights. The last staff to leave for the night must not have realized she hadn’t gone home. Not like she really needed the light to navigate by anyway. She’d gone this way more than enough times before now.

Scanning her card she slipped into the wing where the live specimens were kept. This late at night most were sleeping. Only some stirred when she passed their enclosures and even then they raised their heads just long enough to recognize her and go back to sleep.

The bird was no different. Indigo stopped in front of her enclosure. A clipboard hung on the door, marked with the file name Parrot Cross – Weapon Class ver. IV. The bird blinked away as Indigo unlocked the door and held out an arm.

“Ivy, come.” The bird fluttered down from her perch and landed softly on her arm. “Good girl.”

Indigo stroked the soft feathers along the back of her head, smiling when Ivy leaned into the touch. It was stupid, getting attached to any one of these mutts but there was something about this one. She was clever, clever enough to pick favorites and she didn’t think it evaded Snow how the bird seemed to obey her more eagerly than his peacekeepers. She sighed. By the time she gave it a nickname it was too late to not start to care for her.

“I know it’s late,” Indigo murmured as she stepped out of the enclosure with the bird. “But how about we go for a little walk?”

She nudged Ivy up onto her shoulder and brought her out of the wing and back through the abandoned halls. Passing under the lights her feathers shone bright colours. Even her claws, huge and sharp and hooked seemed to gleam. Her beak and the short claws at the edge of her wing shone less bright, more smooth and hardened to grip and tear. Ivy’s head swiveled as they passed doors and offices and posters hung on the walls. She’d never been out this way, out of the lab proper, and chattered excitement into Indigo’s ear.

“I know a place you might like.” She smiled up at the bird, looking down at her like she understood her every word. Her smile faded though when she remembered why she had her out in the first place. “It’s the least I can do for you. Let you stretch your wings a little bit.”

She stopped at her office for her bag and some files before taking Ivy to the lunch room that might have originally been planned to be a proper cafeteria. The room was wide with high ceilings and vent systems Ivy could hop around and perch on. Indigo closed the door behind them and released Ivy to explore. Massive wingbeats echoed through the empty room as she took off straight for the exposed pipes on the ceiling. She left her a moment to grab a little pouch of frozen berries from the freezer, tossing one for Ivy before sitting at one of the tables.

Ivy caught the berry mid-flight and Indigo smiled just a little before opening the file she brought with her. She put on some music to fill the silence but it didn’t seem to help. The words all blurred together and nothing stuck. Her mind wandered too far. Ever since Triel’s video she’d had to keep a closer eye on how her subordinates in Umbra Ursa were doing. If they found out she knew where Skyler was this whole time and didn’t go after him… There’d be mutiny. There was already something rumbling just under the surface, something she couldn’t put together. She’d been Ursa Major for a long time now. Long enough for ambitions to simmer. Then there was Aurora. If she found out about that video she would have her head, as if she wasn’t probably more than halfway there already.

Something moved in at the edge of the room and Indigo turned half-heartedly. None other than Triel stood cursing under her breath and staring. Indigo startled and dropped her paper.

Was she here to kill her? Indigo whistled to get Ivy’s attention and quickly signed “block” and pointed to the door. The bird swooped down and landed herself down to block the entrance. At least now Triel couldn’t make a quick getaway with Ivy at her back, even if she was here to finish what she started.

But Indigo didn’t get up. It wasn’t worth the ache it would bring. “Here to cause more problems?”

Triel crossed her arms. “I could ask you the same question.”

Fuck, she didn’t have the energy for this tonight. She leaned back in her chair and sighed up towards the dusty ceiling. “Really?” There was an edge to her voice, not enough to maim but enough. “This is mylab. Is it so strange I would be here?”

“You never stay this late. That’s why I specificallypicked this time.” How did she know that? Or better question, was it really that late already? “Do you really think I want to see your face right now?”

“There’s a very short list of people who genuinely want to see me so no, no I don’t think you want to see my face.” Did anyone? Did anyone really go out of their way to see her with no motive? Indigo huffed and shoved her papers away. “Especially after what you did to it last time.”

Triel smiled, the little shit. “Did you find the video I sent you amusing?”

She glanced at the mutt, eyes heavy and shoulders slouching. “No, not really.” Why lie? “Impressive you made it but you’re causing a lot of trouble for me right now.”

“Good. So, what horror are you working on right now?”

Indigo’s face fell and she gestured to Ivy. “Her?” That bird was hardly a horror. She paused a moment, lowering her voice when she continued. “She’s being destroyed tomorrow. She was meant for peacekeepers as aerial support but they said she didn’t perform correctly.” She raised her hands and signed “OK” to the bird, and she flew over to land in front of her and pluck a berry out of her outstretched hand.

She’d been there for part of the preliminary work between Ivy and one of Snow’s units. Whatever they taught to peacekeepers these days it wasn’t what made for an effective handler. How could they be confused why the bird didn’t seem eager to perform when there was no reward for her, and all her orders were shouted and given by force instead of any attempt at cooperation? Indigo clenched her teeth. She’d watched a peacekeeper give an unclear order and yell at her, and another strike her out of frustration.

“It’s bullshit.” Indigo spat. “They wanted something semi-autonomous and didn’t like it when it displayed autonomy and bit someone who handled her roughly.” Not to mention when she made her own decisions, adjusted her orders by what she saw. What they wanted was a robot, not a mutt. Ivy was nothing but effective with just a little respect.

Triel inched a little further into the room and signed “come,” to the bird and held out an arm.

Ivy cocked her head a moment but in the next she obeyed perfectly. A few wingbeats and she landed on Triel’s forearm. She shifted, careful not to break the skin with her talons and Indigo had to swallow against the bitterness in her mouth. If only Snow’s forces were as competent as some unpredictable teenaged girl and maybe Ivy would have stood a chance.

“That sounds familiar.” Triel growled, looking from the bird to Indigo before taking a deep breath but it didn’t seem to get rid of the anger in her voice. “You’re not trying to convince me of anything right now, so you don’t have to tell me bullshit anymore: Where is Churi holding my crew?”

Was that what she was here for? “I told you the truth. They got out and I don’t know where they are now.” As far as she knew Churi and the others hadn’t the slightest idea either but Triel didn’t seem the type to just take her word for it. Indigo leaned down to her bag and pulled out her bottle of wine and a little travel cup, thankful she’d thought to bring it with her. “I don’t have any need to lie to you. I’d tell you if I knew.” She opened the bottle and poured herself a cup, set the bottle down and nodded towards the side of the room. “There might be a glass in the cupboard there if you want some.” If Triel was having a night anything like hers, she’d appreciate a drink.

Triel took her up on the offer, grabbing the first glass she saw and filling it up with Indigo’s wine. She downed the first glass all at once and poured a second as Ivy shuffled off her arm and onto the table. Indigo slouched in her chair, heart falling just a little. It couldn’t have been easy being her right now.

“I call bullshit on that because what about—” her voice cracked, “about Shine? That was their decoy phone. So, you had to have known where they were to have that.”

Indigo raised her cup to her lips and took a long, slow sip. She let her eyes wander from Triel to Ivy as she sat and preened on the table. What should she say? That Shine was alive and well? But she couldn’t, not if she wanted to keep Triel in line and by extension further out of Churi’s wrath.

This was for her own good. “They were alone. The whereabouts of the others are still unknown.” Maybe it would help, just a little, to know the others were safe.

Triel’s grip on her cup tightened, knuckles white as her voice wavered. “Why did you have to kill them? You—you told me you could use them. And that would have been hell, but at least they would have been alive. At least I would have been able to do something.”

She choked and Indigo couldn’t bring herself to look. “I’m sorry, Triel.” It was the closest she could come to telling her the truth. “Others got to them first and by the time I got there the best I could do was make it quick.”

“Did you know that the Capitol has a person who can magically heal wounds, even though it makes them hurt so much worse?” Anger shook her words. “I do, because that’s what they’ve used to keep my magic in check.” She slammed her now empty glass down the table hard enough to make Ivy twist her head in surprise. “So, I call bullshit on that.”

Indigo clenched her teeth and jutted forward. “What do you want me to say?” She snapped. “Would you rather I took Churi’s approach and beat them to death? Or cut them up over and over for whatever wizard to patch them up to do it again?”

“If they wee still alive, I could save them.” Triel stood and signed “come,” to Ivy, glaring down at Indigo as the bird landed on her arm. “And if you fucking touch any of my friends again, you’ll get worse than just a bruised face. You piece of shit. I’m taking Mina before you can destroy another life.”

Mina? “Her name is Ivy.” Indigo glared, anger rising more than she would have liked but it was gone too quick, replaced by something heavier, colder, and she leaned back. Destroy another life. It was true, wasn’t it? “She’s an omnivore, and she likes berries.” She whispered and tried to loosen the vice around her throat but now, tonight, there wasn’t much she could do to stop it even as she tossed Triel what was left of the berry pouch.

She’d take care of her. If she could keep crewmates loyal enough to risk their lives for her she could be trusted to treat Ivy fairly.

Triel nodded, catching the bag in one hand. “I’m taking Ivybefore you can destroy another life.”

She left, the door shut, and it was just her again. Hunching forward to rest her head in a propped up hand she hardly heard the low music anymore, staring down at the plain tabletop. She should be grateful for Triel showing up like that, in the nick of time and taking Ivy somewhere safe but… The ceilings towering high above and the dozens of empty tables around her but it was her own fault. Triel was right.

Enough. Indigo forced herself to sit up again. She opened her file again, turned her music up and tried again. If she could push everything else aside, she could get this done. She just had to focus.

[magicofthepen]

Gallifrey Relisten: Lies

In the chaos of.....all of November....totally forgot I meant to relisten to this episode sooner! Which is odd because Series 2 is definitely one of the high points of Gallifrey for me (apparently listening to everything slowly collapse into the civil war is super engaging and interesting? idk Series 2 just does a lot of solid character work and storytelling and good narrative progression to the “ahhh everything is very bad” finale...and I’m not sure how to feel about this, given *gestures at the world these days*). But anyways, now for some thoughts on the series opener:

Fun fact: From the TV show alone, Romana I was my favorite. (This had something to do with her having more character growth in season 16 than season 17, since her early days on the TARDIS involve the “wait my academic success does not necessarily translate to the real world” realization and learning about worlds and people different from her own and growing from High-Achieving Student to Adventurer in her own right. Also I loved the grudgingly-working-together to actual-friends arc with her and the Doctor. I was a bit less interested in her character when she was just going around being a capable adventurer, although I did become invested in Romana II in her last episodes, as she quietly grapples with the issue of what she wants to do next in life and eventually chooses to go off on her own. Also to be fair, I appreciate the fun times of Season 17 a lot more now because Romana being happy and having a good time traveling around the universe? What a concept.) 

All this to say: me on my first listen of Gallifrey was very excited about Romana I being in this episode. And even though it’s not quite as much of a !!!!! thing for me these days (the Gallifrey audios have long since solidified Romana II as my favorite), I do love the (sort of) multi-Romana interaction that happens in this one.

Brax essentially going “yeah the education system is supposed to be shitty and take an emotional toll on you” sir.

“I am not xenophobic” — Oh yeah, this scene is Narvin at his most unlikeable. “I’m not being bigoted, I’m just trying to protect Gallifrey, the fact that I assume that people who aren’t from here inherently can’t be trusted, and also go on about how they’re too loud and disruptive and don’t belong is definitely not a bigoted worldview nope.” Yikes. Very glad he’s going to see the error of his ways. 

The Narvin and Darkel rant session does actually do a good job at explaining what’s been happening and establishing the primary conflict of the series while not feeling like it exists solely to be an info dump to catch up the listener. Like, it’s definitely a setup scene, but it is an interesting setup scene. 

“But she is my President, and it’s my job to ensure that she gets what she wants and needs, efficiently and without question. Well, too many questions anyway.” Okay this moment and Darkel and Wynter’s conversation later about Narvin’s weakness (“Loyalty. An unswerving loyalty to his office and his precious CIA. And above all, loyalty to his president.” “He despises President Romana!” “Oh yes, of course. But it’s the position, not the person, he places that trust in.”) are really setting up some key Narvin Character Theses that we’re going to see play out this series (and also that the narrative is going to push in really interesting ways later on..... ��position not the person”.....just you wait....) 

Darkel and Narvin being indignant that Romana changed the law is just....hilarious in a kind of horrifying way? Oh no, the President worked with the legislative body to actually get a law passed. The horror.

“She has a temper. And a very long memory.” This is definitely about the CIA trying to overthrow her in Neverland but uhhh also it’s about Etra Prime and the Powers That Be on Gallifrey never making a serious effort to save her (at least from her perspective). 

Yeah Darkel as antagonist is a bit abrupt (not that I particularly mind, she’s a good enough “love to hate” character that her not being set up as an antagonist from Series 1 doesn’t really bother me). But yeah, not sure what was going on behind the scenes, but it doesn’t seem like in Series 1 the plan was for her to be the primary Series 2-3 antagonist.  

Darkel to Narvin: “You will let me know when you’ve decided.” Ooh yeah, this moment is quite a good setup of Narvin’s arc throughout this series — he has to decide where his loyalties truly lie. 

Wynter is really interesting as far as character dynamics go, because he breaks the whole “Romana and Leela are the youngest people in the room” vibe — and it is just really interesting to see Romana interacting with this quite young Time Lord and specifically compare/contrasting it to how she interacts with young Time Lords in the later series when she’s older and a bit more emotionally mature and has more of the “mentor figure” vibes. (There isn’t really a conclusion to this thought, it’s more of a “huh, I’m thinking about this now” thing.)

“It’s been seven weeks, Andred. It’s hardly a lifetime.” Romana: please you have not been in a cell for that long, calm down.

“I thought you two were friends.” “A president of the High Council of Gallifrey cannot allow herself the luxury of friends.” Ahhhh, where it begins!! I’m extremely weak for the arc of Romana opening herself up to friendship and love, what of it. 

Honestly, Andred’s politics have always been very confusing to me? And it probably doesn’t help that the show is all “he’s fully Andred now” but also “he lived as Torvald a long time and that’s still influencing him.” Like both of those things can be true, but it’s a bit unclear what Andred’s true priorities and motivations really are right then — and honestly, it just comes off like his primarily desire is to be useful to someone, and be granted some form of autonomy/power/respect in return (aka he doesn’t have any real clear principles that are motivating him). Also complaining about Romana opening Gallifrey up to aliens is such a bad look dude. 

Romana to Andred: “I control your future. I control whether you have one.” Umm???? The foreshadowing?????

Andred, no. Andred, the free time pun was too much.

“I wish I had databanks. With a flick of a switch I could turn myself off, become unaware of all that has happened.” Leela ahhhhhhhhhh. (The desire to give Leela all the hugs and emotional support is very very high throughout these next couple seasons especially.....her mental health is in such a rough place ahhhh.) 

Andred regenerated “nearly six months ago” and it’s been six and a half (or seven, depending on which character is speaking) weeks since A Blind Eye, which took place an unspecified amount of time after The Inquiry, which took place two weeks after Square One...(don’t mind me, just taking some notes on the timeline math...) 

I believe a couple times in the Gallifrey audios, they reference the position of “Vice President,” which is very weird because that doesn’t seem to be a position that exists?? Chancellor is definitely seen as the #2 spot?? Idk what’s going on here. 

“You are appreciated, highly regarded, and were I to lose you I would be...disappointed.” Romana, you started strong and then you got a bit emotionally repressed there. 

“Torvald was a fool, but he was my fool.” .....I am not saying anything.....I will not be commenting on the Narvin and Andred scene......I just.......you know. There are some fics you cannot unread. 

Romana does really trust Brax here, doesn’t she. And she really doesn’t trust easily post-Etra Prime, so this is a big deal — making it all the rougher when she (in the short term) finds out he meddled with her memories and (in the long term) has to deal with him doing things like temporarily betraying her for the greater good of protecting her while not explaining at all what’s really going on. 

Okay, yes the whole pearl-clutching about Romana changing the laws is kinda silly and horrifying in a “how dysfunctional is your society if passing one (1) law is drastic change??” way, but also the flip side of this, aka “we thought these things were entrenched as norms in our society and would not change and then here comes along one president who’s trying to undo all of these things and threaten the whole system”.....y’all that hits differently now in the month November in the year 2020. In the Gallifrey audios the context is different — they are for sure overreacting to Romana’s very mild idea of “perhaps....we could change some things about society” but the way they talk about her political changes in the episode — feels a bit too close to home!

Romana’s voice right when she sees Leela....she missed her.....

Pandora being the “first female president” is a very weird and very unnecessary bit of misogyny? Ah yes, we must specify that this ancient president of Gallifrey who was wildly power-hungry and cruel and went too far and almost ruined everything Gallifrey had built was a woman?? Why was that bit of dialogue needed?? Tbh early Gallifrey does have a problem in general with characters played by women tending to be power-hungry....which is partly down to the fact that they have so so few women in the cast in general, it’s Romana, Leela, and Villains, mostly. (The lack of women in the supporting cast in early Gallifrey is going to be an ongoing complaint.) 

“You should not be afraid of your feelings, K9.” / “Yes, thank you, if we can move on from the emotional support group session.” Pffffff

I do choose to ignore the implication that Romana returned to Gallifrey and became President because of the subconscious influence of Pandora/the Imperiatrix Imprimatur nudging her towards power. Tbh it’s simply not interesting to me to have such a pivotal character choice reduced to genetic/subconscious manipulation. Yes, Romana ended her TV run insisting she didn’t want to go back to Gallifrey (and even staying in another universe to avoid it), and yes, it creates this initial emotional dissonance suddenly jumping to stories where she’s President of Gallifrey. But I already did the headcanon work before I jumped into Big Finish to make it work for me, I didn’t need this weirdness.

Elaborating on this a bit more: There is something interesting to me about a person who left home and slowly ended up rejecting the narrow worldview she grew up with, cutting herself free from the place she was born — and then eventually choosing to return because she genuinely wanted to make that messed-up world better and believed she could. And it also creates a really interesting contrast with the Doctor: two Time Lords who came to realize that Gallifrey was pretty terrible actually, and one of them kept running away from it and rejecting Time Lord society, and the other came back and said maybe I can change things. Because both are understandable and complicated reactions to have to a messed-up home world, and there are different ways of trying to do good. And regardless of how her choices turned out, I always liked the idea that it was Romana’s own choice that brought her to Gallifrey again, and I don’t think Pandora needed to be shoehorned in to explain her actions.  

Okay, I want to hear the follow up where Leela insists Romana tell the whole Key to Time story after hearing all of these random out of context bits and pieces. 

Why does Brax admit to breaking the Laws of Time? The fact that he’s in contact with his past/future selves isn’t actually relevant to what he needs to tell Narvin? He literally could have just said that he hypnotized Romana, without mentioning that it was his future self who did it? (Also, it’s implied in this one that he pushes for Romana to use the mind wipe on Narvin because he wants the memory of that reveal erased, but somehow that’s the one thing that Narvin keeps because he uses that information against Brax later? Aka: how did Narvin remember that Brax told him this?)  

And final thought: general internal monologue during this episode is just: Pandora arc Pandora arc Pandora arc here we go!! Because the Lies through Warfare run is really one of the more interesting bits of Gallifrey for me (Imperiatrix specifically ranks very high on my favorite episodes list), and I’m excited to be re-listening to/thinking about/hearing other people talk about these episodes!

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