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sunflovverharry · 3 years

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Friends with Benefits - Chapter 2

a/n: I’m back with a new chapter of my fwb series and it hasn’t been proofread, but I wanted to get it out for you as it’s been two weeks since I posted the first one. As always, I hope you like this chapter and please reblog or message me if you do, enjoy! <33 To read the first chapter, click here

Pairing: police officer!h + Alex

Word count: 7k

Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption, nsfw content

Three weeks later, my group of friends and I were yet again sitting in a booth at the club we went to last time. They’ve been out once after last time, but I had to sit that one out because of work. I had basically taken over the vice-headteacher role as she had quit out of nowhere and we have noone to replace her before the end of the school year. It’s a fucking pain in my ass but the headteacher didn’t really give me a choice as she flinged all the papers and what not I had to go through while also doing my job as a counsellor.

Tonight I was ready to forget all about work and students as I chugged the rest of my pint, ready to feel the effects of the alcohol running through my blood. I downed a shot of whatever Jake had ordered for us before dragging Charlie with me to the dance floor already stuffed full of drunk young adults much like myself. I’m not much of a dancer no matter how much alcohol I have consumed, but today I felt like I needed to shake off some steam and the only way I knew how right now was to get dancing.

Walking to the dance floor, I started feeling the groove as my body began to move to the hip hop coming out through the speakers all over the club. I pulled Charlie behind me before coming to a stop near the middle of everyone, shaking my hips to the beat. Never having liked hip hop, I was glad the alcohol I’d consumed made me forget about actually listening to the music, only interested in going back to my teen years and dancing like I had no care in the world. Grinding my ass on Charlie, throwing my hands up in the air I was feeling myself and everything about this week was quickly showed to the back of my head and forgotten. Charlies hands were on my hips, no doubt making everyone around who were still clear in their heads think we were either a couple or hooking up tonight. This wasn’t the first time we’ve danced like this, having known him since my early teens and instantly became good friends so I have no plans of ever hooking up with him.

Not much later, most of our friends had joined us on the floor. We moved between each other, dancing with everyone before they decided to make a circle. That’s when I went back to our booth. My days where standing in a circle on the dance floor was cool, were over a long time ago.

Sinking back into one of the leather booth sofas, I found my phone in my purse slung over my shoulder. There were a couple of notifications from friends having sent snapchats of their nights and a message from my mum from earlier in the night I didn’t even bother to read. Checking the time before putting the phone back in my purse, I made my way to the toilets. There wasn’t much of a line thankfully so I walked straight into a cubicle with an open door, locking it behind me. I could feel the effects of the intoxicating liquors I’d consumed since starting this evening. My head was spinning, but not enough for me to feel sick, yet anyways. I left the cubicle to wash my hands and fix the layer of makeup I’d put on. My eyes were blurring the matching picture of myself in the mirror, making me squint to see if I was doing my lipstick right.

Smacking my lips together and putting the lid on the lipstick, I could hear the door to the bathroom open, the sound of the music louder in the few seconds before it flung shut again. I wasn’t looking at who came in as I was putting the lipstick back into my purse. Hearing the clearing of a throat not too far from me made me look up at whoever made a sound of wanting my attention, presumably one of my friends wondering why I left them out there.

My eyes flung up to meet the same green eyes I’d met at the bar three weeks ago. The same eyes I’d stared into as his lips moved when he spoke. The same eyes I watched as he came inside me. The same eyes I apologetically left early the next morning. The same eyes I’d dreamt about ever since that night. Who wouldn’t dream about them? They are magnificent.

“Fancy seeing you here.” I’m sure my jaw was still hanging in shock of seeing him again. I hadn’t expected having another interaction with him, not that I’m disappointed in the slightest.

I let out a chuckle, his smirk still glued onto his lips, just like when he was standing opposite me leaning onto his kitchen counters three weeks ago. The sight of him and the memories of last, or first should I say, time we met already made my clit throb. I’d get something more to imagine when I’m touching myself - only being able to get off to the thought of Harry since that night. Pure lust and want is flowing through my body as I continue looking up at him wondering why he’s at this club again, remembering how he had told me he wasn’t a regular here.

“You look gorgeous, pet.” Harry’s eyes glided down my body to take me in from top to toe. I didn’t feel intimidated under his eyes at all, but that might be because of the alcohol or the fact that there was a smug smile on his lips for the duration of his glance.

“I must say I’m disappointed that you’re not in your police uniform, but I guess you look good, too, officer.” I could see the gears turning in his head as he heard the nickname. He’s got to be called officer at least a hundred times a day, but not in a sultry, seductive tone like I said it in.

There was a moment of silence between us as we held each others eyes. He looked tired, the bags under his eyes only visible in a certain light though. Still handsome as hell. I’m sure he’d look fine no matter what.

Finally Harry pushed a single curl that fell down back and exhaled a long breath as if he’d been holding it in for the time we were stood there.

“And you’re still bold as ever, huh?” He closed the distance between us in a couple of strides, his long legs moving his body swiftly. A pair of black jeans were tight against his muscular thighs while his upper body was adorned by a colourful t-shirt with some saying I couldn’t focus on. The man looked just as handsome as the last time I’d seen him. I’d even go as far as to call him cute when he gets that dimpled smile decorating his cheeks. Saying it turned me on was an understatement, my knickers getting wetter as the moment passed.

Having the liquid courage, I made a quick decision to answer his question by moving my hand from my side to run my index finger around his lips with a snicker, “You bet.” Only having a brief time spent with him sober that Saturday morning, he knows me as bold and confident - which isn’t necessarily how I am in the confinement of my own home and company.

Harry’s eyes were frantic as he looked from my finger as I traced his lips to my own eyes looking at his lips. It took him a few seconds to collect himself. One of his perfectly calloused hands gripped my wrist, his eyes on mine as he lowered it and took a hold of my neck with his free hand. I looked up at him with curious eyes wondering what he was planning on doing to me, silently hoping for a repeat of what happened three weeks ago.

It appeared he was going back and forth with himself about if he should move away or close the small gap between us. I waited for him to make up his mind, not wanting him to pull away but not doing anything to keep him closer. Maybe he was searching for consent before doing anything more than holding me in place, not wanting anything to jeopardize his career. I still hadn’t moved away or made any sign of being uncomfortable in his hold.

Suddenly he tightened his hold on my neck and pulled me in and smacked our lips together in a long and shamelessly urgent kiss. His lips felt just as nice and full against mine as last time. The softness to them was delicious, the stubble around his lips going down his jaw making the juxtaposition incredible. Only feeling his lips made my head swim in thoughts about how I want to feel him do the same thing to my pussy lips - so what will tasting the inside of his mouth make me think?

Harry bit my lip, pulling it back with him as he moved back a bit before it smacked back against my teeth. He didn’t waste time and went tongue first as he chased my own letting out a slight growl as we fought for dominance. The sound made me smile against his lips loving that I made him feel good by only kissing.

He tasted like tequila and lime, the sour taste being a bit overwhelming but I wasn’t bothered as he sucked my upper lip in between his lips before diving in again. It was wet and sloppy, but exactly what we needed in the moment. His lips were imperfectly perfect against mine and his tongue licking into my mouth felt sensual like I’ve never experienced before.

Letting my wrist out of his strong hold, I could move it freely deciding the best place was on his lower back, inching closer to his butt as we made out in the South-east Clapham bar bathroom. We didn’t have a care in the world the only thing on our minds was the feel of the others lips and hands grabbing in ecstacy wanting to be closer. Knowing we couldn’t get any further in here with the unlimited spacing and privacy - the both of us obviously not wanting to be caught fucking - we reluctantly let up and created a little more space between us. Well, not so much between our bodies which were still as close as they could be, but our lips weren’t touching and Harry’s hooded eyes were scanning mine trying to see if we had the same intentions.

I can’t imagine it was hard to tell that I wanted tonight to end up like it did all those weeks ago. If he couldn’t tell by just looking at me, I moved my hand to his hip squeezing it as I nodded my head in the direction of the exit.

There weren’t any words exchanges between us as he took hold of my hand and walked out of the bathroom and into the unusually large crowd for a regular friday night in Clapham. He pulled me behind him, the tight hold on my hand making sure he wouldn’t lose me as we moved through the bar to get to his mates where he had left his jacket when he came to the toilets.

Only two seats were taken at the booth they had occupied for the night and Harry quickly grabbed his jacket after patting the guy closest to him on the shoulder telling them he was out. I don’t know it they were the same people he was out with last time or if they had noticed me waiting for him by the exit, but this time I was holding his hand and they made it pretty obvious they noticed me winking at Harry and telling him to have a good night.

The walk back to his house was spent joking and laughing together, not talking about last time or our plans for the night. It’s nice being able to have a laugh with him and there be no hidden message behind it or dirty thoughts - though they were there and would come to the forefront of my mind when we’re inside his house and sort of confined compared to the open outside. Only after two walks home with him I feel more comfortable by the minute and can’t help but feel giddy at the fact that we met once again and we’re on the way home for a fun night ahead. Maybe we’ll experiment a little more or go on for longer.

The fresh air had sobered me up quite a bit, hoping Harry had as well, but I was definitely still strongly inebriated compared to my usual sober state. As Harry opened the front door and let me in the first thought I had was that it was messy. A lot messier compared to last time when there was barely anything to pick on. It surprised me and made me wonder if this was the usual state of the house, or if he’d just had a rough day or week like I had.

It didn’t seem like he had any plan on saying anything about the mess as he shut the door and locked it behind him, walking towards me in quick strides. This wasn’t anything like last time.

“Are we going to stand here staring at each other all night?” I hadn’t even noticed his eyes on me, too focused on studying him and talking myself out of any possible feelings that might come. If I manage to keep it flirty and fun, I might be able to keep any feelings for him in check. The only thing I’m looking to feel tonight is his cock growing in my mouth and throbbing inside me.

This was purposeful, much like earlier in the night when we saw each other in the bar bathroom. We knew what we wanted from each other and there wouldn’t be any teasing - from my part at least. I want - need - a long night of fucking a hot police officer and completely forget about the stress at work and with my parents.

Harry had a strong grip around my waist and his other hand at the back of my neck, pulling me as close as he possibly could and put his lips on my waiting ones. It felt good to kiss someone - him - again and him taking charge of what would happen. After our one-nighter a few weeks ago, I’ve been craving the same feeling as Harry gave me that night as I played with myself. The intense and incredible orgasm he pulled from me and the fact that he wasn’t afraid to cuddle after gave me enough material for sex dreams the coming weeks.

A slightly broken groan exited Harry’s lips when I pulled his hair between my fingers and reciprocated the kiss with just as much fervor and eagerness, not wanting to wait for much longer to see where it would take us. His hand trailed down from my waist to rest on my bum. I let out a shaky breath as his lips moved to my jaw, leaving closed-mouth kisses in his trace down my neck. How he made me feel good in such a short amount of time and barely even touching me is absurd and I’m not sure I like that he has that effect on me. But at the same time, I love it.

Harry moved slightly forward trapping in between his body and the wall, making sure there was no way for me to move. Not that I wanted to gain space between us. No, more like the opposite as I began to unbutton his white shirt showing off his biceps and lovely chest. I couldn’t help myself as I skillfully moved lower down and finished by unbuttoning his trousers as well. It popped open and the zipper followed before I pulled the shirt off him showing off his torso though I couldn’t quite get my eyes on it yet as Harry’s head was shielding my view as he went ham on my neck. Not that I minded; wanting to show off to everyone how much of a great shag this man is.

The shirt dropped to the floor and Harry came up from my neck to meet my lips again. He moved a couple of inches making our fronts glue together. I felt his steadily growing length against my core as he thrusted his hips forward to gain some friction. When Harry heard me moan at the feeling and feel me try to pull his hips closer he smirked at me. It was hot the way he was so sure of himself this time, maybe it was the alcohol he had consumed tonight. As he kept his eyes on mine, our noses almost touching, he ground his hips into mine. The smirk was still on his lips - it might’ve grown when I let out a sound of pleasure and leaned my head on the wall.

“If you can’t tell, I really fucking want you, Alex.” Harry's lips separated at the feeling of his cock straining against his restricting jeans and his brows furrowed creating a crease between them. His frankness in wanting me - something he didn’t verbally let me know last time at least - lit a fire inside me. It felt really fucking good to know I’m wanted in that way by someone as impeccable as Harry and I don’t think I could ever remove the loving smile on my lips.

“You can have me in any way you want, I don’t have any plans tomorrow so I expect you to fuck my brains out.” Disbelief was written all over his face as his hands stopped moving where they had been groping and gripping my ass. Letting out a laugh when he got a grip on himself he shuffled out of his shoes and kicked them behind him and got his hands back on my ass, lightly slapping it before moving them lower to my thighs and picked me up. I had ran away from him the last time he tried to lift me up, but I didn’t necessarily care this time.

A squeal made its way past my lips as he quickly made his way from the hallway to his front room that I hadn’t seen before. Not that I paid any attention to it now, except for the fact that I was thrown down on an insanely comfortable gray corner sofa. Harry hovered over me and I let my fingers trail along his chest and stomach. It was definitely defined, but he didn’t have abs. I liked that he was completely ripped and still had that softness to him that I got to feel when we cuddled. He clenched his hand next to my head as he felt my fingers on him, admiring the view. It was a three-sixty to what I had just told him to do to me, but I didn’t mind. Both sides of Harry were greatly appreciated.

“I’ve been daydreaming about what your tits look like since I didn’t get to see them and it’s been killing me not knowing if I would get the chance to or not.” His deep, raspy voice was heavenly and told me I wasn’t the only one to have dreams about our time together over the last few weeks.

I shook my head at him, barely acknowledging his words, though I heard him loud and clear. Harry sank down on his knees between my parted legs to have his hands free to roam my body. He didn’t have a clear view of my pussy as I wasn’t wearing a skirt, this time my legs were covered in light wash jeans.

«Then get me naked so you can see them.» I wasn’t into him taking his time when all I wanted was to get on with it and feel the incredibly rousing and breathtaking enjoyment of having him inside me bringing us both to our highs. Though I savored the look in his eyes as he moved them from where his hands glided over my waist and hips to my - still - covered tits all the way up to my lips. It was as if he didn’t quite know where to begin although we already established that he wanted to see my tits in all their glory.

Harry suddenly got up and stood next to me - laying still on his sofa.

«Roll over.» Glancing at him, he looked completely gone as if he’s in his mind and not putting all his attention on me. Deciding that it doesn’t matter as long as he’ll fuck me I turned my body over on my front, my hands moving to lay crossed over my head.

I didn’t lay there for long before I felt Harry’s fingers back on my skin, trailing on and around the straps of my bra and the clamp before roaming down my back and to my jeans. Lifting my hips a bit so he could reach around to unbutton it and pull it down my legs, he worked quickly and meticulously. Like he knew exactly what he was working towards and how to get it. I didn’t complain nor would I complain about him doing anything and everything he wanted to do to me.

He pulled the thong barely even covering my fanny down my legs, too, before getting back in the position he was in before he got up. His naked muscular thighs behind mine and his arms holding himself up as he leaned down closer to me. He must have pulled his pants down when he was standing, only left in a pair of briefs.

“I’m gonna keep the anticipation up for a little while longer, while I enjoy you sweet little peach that I didn’t get to do last time, okay, pet?” Harry’s raspy voice whispered into my ear and pulled my hair away from my face. The difference between his rough voice and words to his gentle fingers running across my cheek and behind my ear to move my hair was strong. It continued as his fingers ran down my back, giving me goosebumps in their trail, and ended up where his front met my ass, bringing his hand up before harshly slapping it down to my cheek.

I couldn’t help but move forward at the sensation at the same time moaning at the pleasure and pain combined. Somehow, without me telling him, he must’ve realized I enjoy certain sexual things others probably don’t. With other partners they’ve never been able to detect likes or kinks or even be able to make me have a relatively good orgasm. Harry just seems to know what to do to make me putty in his hands and take joy in it.

Harry wanting to keep himself from getting the enjoyment of watching, playing or fucking my tits made me wonder how much this man likes to give and rather puts himself last in sexual situations - if not all considering his line of work.

His hands made their way down my thigh and grazing the inside of my knees before parting them to get a good look at my already soaking wet puzzy. Nothing felt awkward with Harry and I didn't have a single worry running through me as he gazed right at it before going in for a taste. It’s been forever since anyone ate me out and god was I excited about it. Previous partners haven’t really cared to spend enough time down there to get to know how I like it or even if I enjoy it or not. Though it bothered me a bit, I was just happy to be intimate with someone as guys usually tend to go for my friends walking straight past me. I’m surprised Harry showed interest - maybe that’s cause I was alone at that point.

There was no teasing when he finally dipped down and started licking and sucking my flowing juices before going further down to catch my clit between his soft lips. His nose grazed my asshole, but he didn’t seem to want more than to be within close proximities to it nor did he seem to mind. If he were to want to want to do more than just graze it I wouldn’t be opposed, but I won’t dwell on the thought until it possibly gets brought up. I couldn’t think straight as he opened his mouth around my clit and sucked. It wasn’t a teasing, light suck, but a harsh suck making my eyes roll back and the loudest cry of his name slip out of my lips.

Moving back to my entrance his tongue slipped in and out while lapping up my juices. It was as if this was his first meal of the day and he wasn’t gonna be full until I orgasmed. His hands were grasping my bum cheeks to make sure there was enough space so he could get full access and at least breathe a little bit.

My hand gripped a pillow nearby and my toes curled as I suddenly felt his thumb on my clit rubbing circles into it. The feeling of both his tongue and thumb working to get me to reach my first orgasm was all I could ask for a great start to the night.

«Please.. Harry I’m gonna cum.. Please Har- Ahh!» I begged for him to bring me to my high - not that I was far away at all, but I needed that last little push. Anything would suffice at this point. He took his thumb away and moved his mouth back on my clit, giving it full attention. The hand he was using went back on my ass for a short moment before pulling it away again. Then it came down on my cheek, hard and loud as he slapped me while tonguing and sucking at my clit. It was the last push I needed to finally orgasm, coming with a loud cry of his name ending in a moan at the feeling of his mouth not stopping until I came down.

The sensitivity I felt made me jerk forward a bit to try and move away from him. Thankfully he understood that I couldn’t take anymore right now needing a second to catch my breath before we fucked. He landed a light kiss to the asscheek he had slapped, his hands roaming my body from my thighs up to my hips along my spine ending up on my neck as his lips followed his movements. It was a sickly sweet thing to do to someone you’re only met for the second time tonight and strictly having sex with - for now at least.

I wasn’t in the right mind for a relationship, nevertheless my first relationship, nor did I want someone pining after me. Not that I would ever think Harry would be pining after someone like me when he can get someone so much better by the blink of an eye.

«You good?» I couldn’t do anything but nod my head, telling him I wanted more by shaking my hips against his pelvis. He was still wearing his pants, but the stiff cock hidden was obvious when he pressed his hips against mine. I loved feeling him get hard for me, it was the best confidence boost.

Though I had gone significantly longer between two shags last time, the three weeks between our meetings were enough for me to be just as needy for the feeling of getting filled up as I was weeks ago. Every lad I’ve been with sure haven’t left me with the same feeling, more like being needy for something better. I really don’t think I’m gonna get much better than this with Harry knowing exactly how to please me - or any woman really.

Barely hearing the sigh leaving Harry’s lips as he took his cock out of his briefs, I was somewhat surprised when I felt him between my cheeks. He rubbed himself along the space, holding himself down to get the tight feeling of it. Shaking my arse slightly to tell him to get on with it he let out a cute giggle at my urgency to get on with it. I wanted nothing more than to feel his thick cock sliding into my impossibly wet and ready pussy. Remembering how amazing he made me feel made me want to relish in it again - especially if this would be the last time this was to happen.

Harry guided his tip along my slit to gather some of my wetness along his length before situating himself at my entrance. Shuffling his knee a tiny bit forward with his other leg on the ground, he slowly made his way into me with a couple of muffled words. A groan left his mouth when he bottomed out at the same time as I let out a delicious moan, a smile finding my lips.

«Your noises are just like they’ve been in my dreams.» I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t tell me he’s dreamt of me if he wasn’t drunk, but I took in his words with a gasp as he rammed into me again.

His pace was significantly quicker than last time and I was brought close to my second orgasm in no time as his balls hit my clit when he pushed into me. My hand was clenched around the flesh of his thigh - what I could reach anyway. I’m sure my nails were digging into his warm skin but nothing was on the forefront of my mind at this very moment except for the fact that he was fucking me as if I was his favorite toy after a rough day. It was exactly what I needed and again I’m asking myself how he knows exactly what I want and need.

«Fuck, Har-» I couldn’t get out my words as his palm came down on my asscheek at the same time as he fucked into me. It was perfectly timed and I savored the pleasurable pain I got from it unlike anything else. I moved my hand from where it was on his thigh to his wrist connected to the hand planted secure on my cheek. His other had was gripping my waist forcefully as he slammed into me without caring about bruises or pain. Not that I minded in the slightest, only egging him on with the sounds I couldn’t even try to keep from his ear shot. There was no way he didn’t hear me from the way I literally screamed out in satisfaction.

«You’re so wet, pet. So fucking wet and inviting.» Harry was breathing heavily, but it seemed he planned on keeping up his pace as long as he possibly could. «You like when I get rough, huh?» He had me speechless, unable to tell him how much I was enjoying what he was doing to me. The only thing he could take from me was my gasps and breathless moans as he fucked me.

The hand previously on my waist suddenly went to my cunt, his middle finger stimulating my clit by drawing circles on it. My body unconsciously tried to move forward to get away from him as he pinched my clit - the stimulation nothing like what I’ve ever felt before. Harry held me back though and his quick pace didn’t falter one bit. It was turning me even more on how he managed to keep me back, his strong physique impressing me.

My legs were shaking and I fought to keep them up while he continued to press drawings into my clit, his right hand gripping onto the flesh of my ass. I desperately wanted to keep up, but my legs failed me as I flung forward. Harry didn’t let me relax for more than five seconds before he separated my legs a little bit to get better access to my pussy which he had slipped out of when I fell down. He guided himself back in, giving a couple slow thrusts before continuing his pace from before.

He held himself up by his arms on both sides of my head, hips hips getting us both to our highs we were longing for. It wouldn’t take much for me to get off as I was already so close and with this new position I’m much tighter making it harder for Harry to keep his orgasm back.

«C’mon, pet, I can feel you- feel you squeezin’ me tight.» I could tell Harry was close by the way he had to stop talking for a moment before finishing his sentence. I felt amazing and just a couple more thrusts of him meeting the spongy spot inside me had me coming undone around his cock.

My legs shook and my hand moved up to grip his neck, my fingers catching a fee of his curls and he let out a series of groans into my ear. I hadn’t noticed how close we had gotten when we changed position.

«Where do you want it?» I hadn’t ever been asked where I wanted the lad to spurt his cum, but I should’ve guessed he would ask as this is Harry (and he asked last time too) and not some sex crazed idiot.

«Arse. Cum on my arse Harry, please.» I breathed out, my orgasm just about at its end when Harry pulled out and jerked himself off until he came. Spurts of cum fell on my arse, some on my lower back. Harry was loud when he orgasmed, letting out moans and groans of sensitivity when he reached his tip to make sure he had got every last drop of his load out.

I laid on my front, feeling the sticky substance on my arse as I tried to get my breathing back to normal. It sounded like Harry was doing the same as he sat with his knees on either side of my right thigh getting a full view of my spent pussy and his release taking its place on me.

«I’ll go get a towel to clean you up, unless you wanna shower?» I smiled into the crook of my arm at the man sitting behind me - probably staring at how his cum had covered my red arse - offering to lend me, a one(two)-night-stand, his shower.

Telling him I’d take up his offer if he joined me, we had quickly made our way upstairs to his luxurious bathroom I had dreamt of having last time I was in here. The expansive shower was a dream and sharing it with Harry made the dream even better. It all seemed a little too domestic and intimate for it to be with someone I barely even knew. Thinking about it, I only really knew his first name, that he is a police officer and has a lush house I could barely see myself having in the future.

Harry took the showerhead from its place on the wall and turned it on, the water turned away from us so we wouldn’t feel the cold water. When the water heated up, he told me to turn around and grabbed the body wash he had in here. He angled to shower head to my back, spending extra time on my arse to get away his cum before lathering the area along with my legs with his soap, cleaning me up.

It felt nice to have someone spend this much time on my body, but not having a sexual desire behind it - in this very moment at least. Though it scared me how it didn’t feel awkward at all and he didn’t care a bit about how I mostly only let him see my back. I didn’t feel comfortable showing him my pouch in the light room even if he said he wouldn’t care or not.

When he finished rinsing the soap off of me, he put himself under the other showerhead fastened to the roof making it like a waterfall. He looked tired and spent, ready to sleep for a week straight. I couldn’t help but think it was more that a hot fucking that made him this tired.

«Was I too rough? Can see marks on your waist and your arse is red as.» Harry skimmed his fingers along my waist going down to my cheeks, carefully caressing them as it was kinda painful. A good pain.

«No, I liked it. Just what I needed, and it seemed you did too?» I tried to be sneaky about my question wanting to get something out of him about his life so I could have something more to hold on to as we said goodbye in the morning.

He looked defeated when I questioned him and as if he was rolling events through his mind after not thinking about it since earlier this afternoon. Shrugging and letting out a heavy breath he opened the shower door and put a towel around his waist after running it through his hair.

«It’s been a tough week with a case we can't seem to figure out. I was so glad I ran into you and got to think about something else for a bit, so thank you, I guess.» He wasn’t thanking me for the sex, but for letting him take the reigns and get out of his head. It didn’t seem like a good time to tell him that I needed it just as much as he did, but I hoped he understood.

Drying our bodies, Harry made his way into his closet to get me a shirt and himself a pair of briefs. He was back in his own thoughts again, quiet and thinking. Knowing we needed each other to forget, I grabbed his wrist as he made his way out of the bathroom again and pulled him against me.

He had been making a big deal about my tits all night and when he finally got to see them when we got in the shower, he didn’t do anything about it. I was confused. Was he not pleased with how they looked or was just not in the right mind anymore?

«It seems you forgot about a certain body part of mine tonight. And I think you know which part I’m talking about.» We held our eyes on each other as I spoke, my voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t do anything until I moved my hand to unwrap the towel still around my body. Slowly, the towel slid down my body landing in a puddle around my feet. I let go of my own insecurities about my body as I stood completely bare in front of him. It was as if he was in a trance when he finally moved his eyes down.

After taking my tits in fully it really didn’t take much for him to dive in. One was occupied by his hand, fingers pinching my nipple and grabbing it, probably leaving marks there too. The other was covered by his mouth, teeth grazing the nipple pulling it a bit to get every reaction he could out of me by playing with my tits. I stood in the middle of his bathroom, completely nude, as he took his time looking, fingering, sucking at my nipples and chest. Knowing it probably wouldn’t be enough go get him fully hard, I pulled his briefs down to his thighs, not able to reach further. His cock was barely starting to get hard, but I like feeling him grow in my hands.

He groaned when he felt my hands on him and he bit my nipple at the feeling, enough to get a moan from me.

«I want you to fuck my tits, Harry.» No one had fucked my tits before, but I want Harry to cum by my tits. It was hot and lewd and I wanted it just as much for me as for him. Having a man cum twice in a night for me was definitely a wish come true.

«I-I..» I laughed at Harry’s face, shocked with wide eyes and jaw hung. «Yes ma’am.» He giggled like a little boy when he got his head together understanding what I was asking him to do.

His hands found their place on my waist as his lips met mine in a messy kiss. Teeth clashing and tongues licking into the others mouth to get a taste. I walked with him as he began backing out of the bathroom to get to his bedroom. The kiss slowed down, our lips meeting in what could only be described as two people filled with lust and need for each other. Our hands couldn’t find a specific spot to hold on to, gripping, touching and getting to know every part of his body that was reachable.

«I must be in a dream. A fucking stunning woman asking me to fuck her tits.» Harry seemed stunned just like a couple of moments ago in the bathroom.

—

After finishing in my mouth, I got up to brush my teeth and get ready for bed pulling on the shirt he gave me after our shower. It wasn’t awkward when I came back to bed, Harry had put his briefs back on and was laying on his back close to the middle, his eyes closed almost falling asleep.

Shuffling under the blankets without making too many movements I laid my head on the pillow. His bed felt just as comfortable as I remember and I was excited to have a well-needed lay in.

«Do you have work in the morning?» I suddenly remember what he said last time about having the early morning shift on most Saturdays. Praying that he had tomorrow off, I turned to watch him as he sighed and moved to pull my body in flush against his.

«Sort of. I’m on call so I might be lucky and not get called on until later, but that’s wishful thinking honestly.» Closing my eyes I rested my head on his chest and quickly found peace in his fingers trailing down the side of my waist and his lips pecking my head as a way of saying goodnight.

thank you for reading and as I said, I’d really appreciate a reblog to get my writing out there <33

#harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles ff #writing #harry x reader #harry x y/n #harry x oc #harry styles au #harry styles fanfic #fwb!h #fwb!harry

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kelyon · 3 years

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Golden Rings: A Story

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Rumpelstiltskin tells the truth

Read on AO3

Rumpelstiltskin looked at his wife in awe. She looked like Mrs. Gold, with her tight black dress and dark makeup. But the way she spoke sounded like Belle. The curse wasn’t broken, so she wasn’t Belle. Not yet. This woman was something in between the two extremes, a light coming into the darkness--like a half-moon, or the first gray haze of dawn.

His wife spoke of dreams, she called him Rumple. After months of lies and silence, she was desperate for the truth. And he was desperate to tell it to her.

The table where he had laid out his dagger separated their bodies. He limped around it as he went to her. He held her hands between his own over his cane. Her wedding ring was off her finger, but she held it tightly in her fist. At his prompting, she opened her hand. He circled the outline of the ring against her palm.

“What do you remember,” he said softly, “about our rings?”

She bit her lip. Her eyebrows furrowed as she tried to think. “I--I remember… that they came from the shop. That you have a tray of gold wedding bands that never sell for much. The ones we wear were the ones that fit us best. I remember you ordered me to never take it off. You said it meant I belong to you--that a wedding ring was more binding than any kind of collar or--” She gasped. Her eyes went wide. “Or cuffs!”

His wife gripped his hand, like he was the only thing she could be sure of. “I remember there were cuffs. I wore them on my wrists like bracelets, but they were magic! They were made of gold--or straw.”

She looked down at her wrists, clearly trying to reconcile how a thing could be gold and straw and magic all at the same time. “You gave them to me. They made me do whatever you said. But… But then I took them off. And when you gave them back to me, they were rings. And instead of wearing both of them, I only wore one. You wore the other.” Her gaze shifted to their hands, she rubbed his ring with her thumb. “It is a sign, not of bondage, but a bond. A vow we could break at any time, but mutually promise not to.”

Rumpelstiltskin heard his own words repeated back to him. Time and distance and curses had changed nothing about his marriage, about how much he loved Belle.

And now Mrs. Gold remembered being Belle. She looked up at him. Her eyes had never been wider or bluer or more beautiful.

“Which memory is true?” she whispered. There was a tremor in her voice.

He wrapped his arms around his wife, he pressed his face into her hair. “The second one,” he answered. “Is that the memory where you think of me as Rumple?”

Clutching him, she nodded.

“Then that’s the truth, sweetheart.” He held her close, rubbed her back. “Any time you remember being married to Rumple, that’s when the memories are true.”

“Those are the memories where you look like a monster.”

He held her face and used his thumbs to wipe the tears from her eyes. “But not, I hope, the memories where I act like one.”

His wife shook her head. A weak smile flickered over her face, like a match trying to catch logs to make a fire.

“You have magic in those memories.” She broke their embrace to look at the table. “Magic that has something to do with this dagger.” She picked it up in one hand, her fingers gripping expertly around the handle. “And something to do with me?”

Standing beside her, he set his hand lightly on her waist. Now that she was becoming Belle again, he never wanted to stop touching her. It was hard to stop at just holding her hands.

“I gave you the dagger,” he reminded her. “So you could control me, and all my powers.”

He felt the shiver go up her spine. “We used that control for sex, didn’t we?”

Rumpelstiltskin chuckled and kissed her temple. “Yes. Yes, I’m not surprised you remember that, darling. Those times were… memorable.”

Holding the dagger, his wife turned to face him. “Mr. Gold would never let himself be weak around anyone. Not even me. Especially not me. He would never give me power over him.”

He put his hands on her shoulders. “No,” he said softly. “Gold was too much of a coward to trust you with himself.” His hands squeezed at the cap sleeves of her dress. “That was a lesson I didn’t learn until it was almost too late.”

Bringing her hands up to his chest, she rubbed the dark fabric of his suit lapels between her fingers. “But you’re Rumple now.” She looked up at him. “How long have you been Rumple?”

The trickster-true answer ‘all my life,’ sat on his tongue, but Rumpelstiltskin wanted to give his wife honesty.

“Since October,” he said.

Nodding slowly, she looked him up and down. “Rent Day in October. That was when you started to change.”

“Yes,” he said. “I woke up the moment I heard Emma’s name.”

She blinked. “Sheriff Swan? What does she have to do with all this?”

He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Everything,” he grinned at her. Without letting go of her hand, he stepped away from her body. “There is something I must do, sweetheart. There is somewhere I must go.”

“Where?” She followed him as he took a step, her fingers threaded through his. “And what? Do you need me to drive?”

Already pulling out the keys to Gold’s car, he looked at her. “You can drive?”

To his surprise, she laughed. A radiant smile filled her face. “Yeah, gosh, since I was sixteen. I had to get my licence as soon as I could, so I could do deliveries for my dad’s shop, or take my mom to her doctor’s appointments.” She swallowed, her smile shrank, then vanished. “After my uncle and my cousin Andrew were in their car accident, Aunt Terri would only get in a car if I was driving. I don’t know why she trusted me more than anyone else, but she did.”

It had never occurred to Rumpelstiltskin to imagine this woman as a teen-ager in this world. But she had been. Or at least, she remembered being one. She wasn’t entirely Gold’s creature. His wife had been a child once. She’d had a family who had relied on her. She’d grown up in this world and learned skills that Belle never had.

Her eyebrows suddenly furrowed. “Wait, are those memories fake too? My family, are they not--”

“We’ll find out,” he assured her. He didn’t know the truth himself, but he’d be damned if he let this poor woman have one more moment of self-doubt. “Come with me, and we’ll figure it all out, together.” He held Gold’s keys out to her. “Do you know how to get to the cabin?”

With a wry grin, she took the keys in the hand that wasn’t holding the dagger and her ring. “I’ve been there once or twice.”

****

It was odd for Rumpelstiltskin to be in the passenger seat of the Cadillac. Odder still to see the woman who looked like Mrs. Gold driving. She adjusted the seat and put on her safety belt and checked all the mirrors before she started the ignition. Without having to drive himself, Rumpelstiltskin was better able to observe the other cars and pedestrians as they made their way out of town.

Emma Swan’s Volkswagen was crookedly parked under the “officials only” sign at the hospital. The car was a few feet away from the black Mercedes Regina drove--also parked haphazardly, as if in a desperate hurry. On Main Street, Mary Margaret Blanchard slowly walked away from Granny’s and towards her apartment. She held herself closely, looking visibly distraught. David Nolan pulled out into the road, his pickup truck fully packed as he drove away from her.

Inside the Cadillac, it was quiet until his wife spoke up. “So, um. I think there’s a lot that I don’t understand. I mean, obviously there is. But, maybe, instead of me asking you for every little detail, you could just, um, tell me the whole thing?”

Rumpelstiltskin smiled. He would have taken her hand, but she had both of them on the steering wheel. His other instinct was to squeeze the flesh of her thigh, but that gesture felt wrong, somehow. Things between them were still too tenuous, too unknown and too fragile. The woman beside him was his wife, but she wasn’t Belle. Not entirely. Not yet. Her wedding ring and his dagger both lay inert on the seat between them.

“Back at the shop I said I would tell you everything,” he answered. “Of course, ‘everything’ is quite a lot. Would it be all right to start with just the parts about you?”

For just a second, she took her eyes off the road to look at him. Then she nodded.

“Thank you,” he said. He took a deep breath, and began: “Once upon a time, there was a man who had so much wealth and power it made him into a monster.”

He saw her hands tighten around the steering wheel, but she said nothing.

“In his monstrousness, the man sought out a girl. He wanted to use her to satisfy his own cruel appetites. The girl he chose was beautiful and intelligent and brave. She was kind and innocent, and all the monster wanted to do was hurt her.”

His wife’s lips pressed together. “She wasn’t that innocent.” Her voice was thick. “Or that kind.”

“She was,” he assured her. “Everything she endured, she did it to save her family.”

She shook her head, but kept her eyes fixed on the road in front of her. “She abandoned them. She didn’t think she had a life or a future with them, so she sold out.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “She let that man take her away from them because she wanted a better life--a richer life. A life where she wouldn’t have to worry, wouldn’t have to care about anybody.” As she gripped the steering wheel, Rumpelstiltskin understood that she was trying to dig her fingernails into her palms. “And then, once the man started hurting her in ways that she didn’t like, she told herself that she deserved it.”

“She didn’t,” Rumpelstiltskin promised. Was any part of what she said Belle’s story? Or was it all Mrs. Gold? “What the man did to her… was entirely his fault. She bears no blame for any of it.”

“Doesn’t she?” She glanced at him again. “I mean, they made a deal. She benefited from all that bullshit as much as he did. He gave her a good life, she got off on most of it.”

She tried to smile, but all Rumpelstiltskin could do was rest his hand on her arm.

“If he was a good husband, he would have cared about her safety. He would have only done things that brought her pleasure. And he never would have made her feel like she was in his debt. A true marriage is a marriage of equals, of giving as much as you receive.”

“I am yours as you are mine.”

Belle loved saying those words. They were the motto of Jefferson and Leona, a couple who each wore a collar to show their devotion to the other. Belle often repeated the phrase in their marriage as they played their games of submission. Of course his wife would repeat them now.

“In the story,” he continued, “the man who became a monster, found that he wanted to become a man again. And that frightened him. He fell in love with the girl he had taken. He found that he didn’t care about power or darkness anymore. All he wanted was to give her a good life.”

“She fell in love with him, too.”

“Yes,” he whispered. “By some miracle, she did. And when he told her that the only good life for her would be without him, she refused to leave.”

His wife’s brow furrowed. “That’s not right,” she said. “She did leave. He was cruel to her. He made her go away. He told her that he didn’t love her and she didn’t want to fight him anymore, so she left.”

Rumpelstiltskin felt her words like darts into his heart. She was right, of course. And it was like Belle to remember the worst of things and want to bring them out into the light. She was compassionate and forgiving, but she would never deny the truth.

“You’re right.” He shifted in his seat. “She did leave. But she came back.”

“She searched the whole castle looking for him,” she sighed. “And she found him in the dungeon cell where he had once imprisoned her.”

“He was a broken man,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “He thought the light had gone from his world forever.”

“That was when you gave me your dagger.” They pulled up to the cabin. His wife parked the car and turned to him. “That was when you asked me to marry you, Rumple.”

He nodded. He wanted nothing more than to reach for his wife, to pull her into his arms and kiss her deeply. But positioned as they were in the front seat of the car, all he could do was grip both of her hands in his own.

“The only fair price for someone’s heart is to give your own heart to them in return.”

Her eyes were full of tears and love in equal measure. “Rumple,” she whispered.

Leaning forward, he kissed her forehead. “I know,” he murmured. “And I promise you, there is more. There is… everything. But first we need to take a walk.”

****

The well was only a short walk away from the cabin. It wasn’t useful as a source of drinking water, it wasn’t attached to any man-made waterways or pipes. Gold would have had it demolished years ago, but it was a protected landmark. A brass plaque on the side of the structure proclaimed it a wishing well. Local legend said that the waters of the well had the power to return that which was lost.

Rumpelstiltskin knew that many worlds had such tales associated with bodies of water. In his own land, the source of this magic was called Lake Nostos. In worlds with magic, all of the waters were connected, which often gave them greater power than any other force in that world. He had been waiting for the moment when magic would fully enter this world. Then, he would be able to harness the latent powers of these waters.

They walked through the forest, him and his wife. A beaten-down path led from the road to the well. She was surefooted, even in Mrs. Gold’s stilettos--or at least as good as he was with Gold’s cane. It was a quiet journey. When he looked at his wife, she had her eyes on the forest floor. Her lips moved slightly, as though she were talking to herself, trying to figure things out.

“How are you?” He stopped to talk to her.

She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can believe all this.” She folded her arms over her chest and bit her lip. “Like, when I think about it--when I think about magic and daggers and castles--it all seems completely crazy.”

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed. “I understand.”

“But--but it’s what I’ve been dreaming about for months now. That has to mean something, doesn’t it? And you don’t think I’m crazy, do you?”

“No.” He cupped her cheek in one hand. “No, sweetheart. I promise, everything you remember is what I know to be true. Please trust me.”

She put her hand over his own on her face. “I do,” she murmured. “I don’t understand why. I don’t understand anything. But I do trust you, Rumple.”

He took his hand away and reached into his trouser pocket. He pulled out the glass vial and showed it to her. The glowing purple-pink of magic shone against her pale cheek.

“This is the best I have to offer right now, in terms of proof. As far as I know, this is as much magic as has ever been collected in one place in this world.”

Eyebrows furrowed, she stared at the bottle. Her hand raised, as if she wanted to reach out and grab it, but didn’t dare to. “What is it, Rumple?” she whispered. “What kind of magic?”

“The most powerful magic of all,” he told her. “The only magic that doesn’t come with a price. True Love.”

“Snow White.” Even as she said it, she looked only more puzzled. “And Prince Charming. Them, together, they have true love.” Her eyes widened. “I watched you make this potion. From their hair!”

“Yes.” He smiled, remembering that day in his tower. “The two of them have true love. And what they create together, is a very powerful thing.”

“The Savior.” His wife began to laugh. “Emma! Emma is the savior we’ve been waiting for. Emma will break the curse!”

“Yes!” He wrapped his arm around her. “And soon, I think. Very soon. When it happens, we’ll need to be ready.”

She nodded to the vial of True Love. “You’re going to use that for something.”

He placed a kiss on the top of her head. “Yes, my love. I’ll show you when we get to the well.”

They started to walk again. Rumpelstiltskin felt the urgency building in his mind. He wanted to get closer, he had to get closer. There was a tension in the air, like the coming of a storm. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He picked up his pace, leaving his wife to trail behind him. The well was in sight. They were so close. The work of lifetimes was about to be completed. He had toiled for centuries to have the curse be cast, he had waited for months for it to break.

And then, it did.

Not just True Love, but True Love’s Kiss.

The power swept over the land--stronger and purer than anything within the capabilities of the Dark One in all his terrible glory. Rumpelstiltskin felt it as a bolt of lighting that took up the whole of the atmosphere. But this power was not destructive. It was not harsh and damaging. No, the opposite. The intensity was enough to level cities and crumble bones, but the purpose of it was to heal. The light was a golden rainbow, infinitely strong and infinitely gentle. This was a force to restore, to rebuild.

To break curses. To bring back happy endings. To regain that which once was lost.

Rumpelstiltskin felt the magic pour over him, but he had no power over it. This was pure goodness, something so much greater than himself. It was greater than anything--except the person who had created it. All he could do was close his eyes and let his soul witness this rarest of magical events.

“She did it,” he whispered to himself.

When the moment passed, he kept walking. There was still work to do. If he was lucky, some of the force of Emma’s magic would have been absorbed by the waters in the wishing well. He could use that, and the True Love he held in his hand, to bring forth some magic he would be able to control.

“Wait,” his wife’s voice came from behind him.

He stopped, but didn’t turn around. They were too close. “It’s just up here.”

“No,” Belle’s voice broke through the mania of magic in his head. “Rumpelstiltskin, wait!”

His feet refused to move. She was holding the dagger. Magic was in Storybrooke now.

Belle had given him an order.

He turned his head to look at her. He couldn’t speak. It was her. Nothing had changed about her appearance. The way she stood, the tilt of her head, the steady, wide-eyed gaze--those were all the same. But now she was Belle, in a way she hadn’t been, even today, not before this moment.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered. “My darling. Belle!”

Tears fell onto her smiling cheeks as she closed the gap between them. With the dagger in one hand, she wrapped her arms around him.

He returned the embrace, holding her body tightly against his own.

Their mouths met. He kissed her with enough force and passion to erase the past twenty-eight years. She returned the kiss hungrily. Both of them gave everything they had to the other. They needed it. They had needed each other for so long.

When they broke apart, she rested in his arms. She laid her head against his chest and whispered: “Rumpelstiltskin, I love you.”

#golden rings #rumbelle #rumbelle fic #rumbelle fanfic #ouat

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thatlongspringnight · 3 years

Text

Effortlessly Alone (Chapter 1) (Jin x Namjoon)

Pairing: Namjoon x Seokjin

Genre: fluff, soft angst, fantasy

Rating: T for teen

Length: 3.5 k

Warnings: Feeding fish food they shouldn’t eat, sad boys

Summary: Jin is an ancient river god, cursed to be trapped in his fish form for his heartless transgressions. Namjoon is a lonely twenty-something who takes to feeding him cheese crackers and telling him about his life. Together this unlikely pair may just find the answers to the loneliness in their hearts are closer than they think.

This is for the Spring Sprouts collab, which has honestly been the highlight of my March, I had no idea how much this idea would spring out of control, enough for me to make this a chapter fic. Tune in next time for more of Jin’s past, and Namjoon taking a date to the river. <3

The first time Namjoon visits the river, it's to clear his head. Odd, considering the vast emptiness that had seemed to take over in the last few weeks, a sort of dullness that not even reading could banish. He’s new to this small town, and he knows that in part...that’s the problem. He’s new and he’s lonely. Lonely and bored, a job transfer from busy Seoul that had upped his pay, but left him stranded in what seemed like the wilderness.

It’s different, so different from the fast paced life he’d left behind, and some days...some days its maddening. Maddening enough to force him up onto his feet, jogging through winding roads, rarely paved, taking in his new home, hoping to burn off the anxious energy he’d yet to find a healthy outlet for.

And today - that takes him to the river, plopping to the ground as he makes it there, the grass soft and cool against sweaty thighs. There is a little sitting area his eyes trail, and a pagoda that looks far too old for his comfort. Like a relic from another time. A cherry blossom tree, not yet blooming, that looked just as old. Out of respect, or maybe fear of spiders, he chooses to avoid them both, instead finding himself lounging at the water’s edge, basking in the warmth of the day...the sound of the water moving by.

“Its not so bad.” He speaks out loud, but only to himself, he’s alone here after all. Nature has rarely comforted him in his short life, but this place...well, he wonders if the water is too cold...or if it would be nice enough to dip his feet in. He wonders what the stars look like at night from here, gazing above the river. “I mean, I have all this free time.” It’s a musing, punctuated by him sliding off his shoes, socks shoved inside them.

There is no harm in it right? He shifts, a jolt as his feet hit the water, current smooth and soothing and very cold. But he doesn’t move.

It is grounding and liberating all at once...at least until he feels something nip at his ankle.

“Ahhk!” He tumbles back, feet yanked out of the water. “What - “ He can’t help himself, scrambling to look over the edge of the water, to find out what - And it is a what, Joon thinks, eyes widening. A beautiful what.

A beautiful fish. Long flowing fins in elegant shades of ivory fading to soft pink. Big too - like a koi who has gotten comfortable in a well sized pond. Is it a koi fish? Namjoon thinks to himself, his situation forgotten as he stares at the way its fins fan and move, making waves of their own in the current.

It has to be a koi fish. “You bit me.” The man complains, shifting so he’s staring down into the water, feet safely on the bank, “are you hungry?” He gives the fish benefit of the doubt, surprised to find its gaze on him.

There is...something there - something behind the fish’s eyes, it gives Namjoon pause - because its an all around human look. A sort of awareness that breeds curiosity in the man. He finds himself reaching for his fanny pack, grabbing the snacks he brought. “I know these can’t be good for you.” he speaks as he breaks a cheez-it in half, tossing it to the surface. “But as a treat, I don’t think its that bad.”

The fish devours them, and circles after, clearly wanting more. Namjoon settles himself on the bank, happy enough to feed the pretty creature and soak up the sun.

He goes to speak, then pauses. Would it be completely unhinged if he talked to the fish?

“What’s your name?”

The voice is a whisper, a sweet sound against Namjoon’s ear, he shudders, glancing around in the darkness, searching for the sound. There it is again, he doesn’t understand what’s being said, but its so close, he reaches out, he can’t help it, he just wants to know…

Who the voice belongs to, what the voice is saying.

“.....Name…?”

“Namjoon - My name is Namjoon, Kim Namjoon.” He finally answers, and suddenly there is color, bursting everywhere, and...and a man, beautiful, ethereal, like staring at the moon in reflection over the river.

He’s sitting, and there is a divide, something Namjoon can’t see - and they’re touching, fingertips brushing each other - How does the man look like that? Namjoon can feel the confusion. Beautiful and fragile like glass, but with a piercing gaze.

He can’t remember ever meeting someone who looks like him, with those full lips, tousled hair, and almost petulant look.

“You - who are you?” “My name….not important.” The man answers, staring up towards the cloudless sky and too-close moon. “You - you are lonely.” its a simple pronouncement. “I’m lonely too.”

“I - “

His alarm is blaring, and he groans, its time for work. He sits up, nearly toppling over as he rubs his eyes. The river, the silver moon, a man - its disappearing as quickly as it was there the memories of his strange encounter already fading to the background

For the fish, however, it’s not so easy. Centuries of loneliness, trapped in this disgraced form, culminating in this human boy feeding him something that made him want to be alive again...what had he called them...cheese things? Cheese rounds? He wasn’t sure, but what he was sure of is that the moment those flavored breads hit his mouth, he felt alive again….for the first time in over a hundred years.

Alive, and ravenous for more. For too long he had dined on the refuse of the lake floor, smaller fish and wilted water weeds, when once upon a time he had feasted in banquet halls lined in gold, on bread dripping in honey, wine soaked lips demanding more.

And yet these delectable cheese rounds trumped them all. Made his belly storm and growl, demanding more of them.

But those are memories that just bitter his heart, move him further and further from freedom from breaking the curse that bound him here. Here trapped in this forgotten land, in the body of a fish - a once great god brought low for his pride, Seokjin, the fish thinks wryly - god of rock and river, whose tears overflowed these banks as a child, lonely and lost.

Whose only friend in the world was himself, his reflection along the water’s edge keeping him company. It is no surprise how easy it was to fall in love with his own features.

Jin, of comely face, on his lonely rock in the middle of the river - attracting suitors both human and divine, temples raised in his honor as his power and beauty grew. Jin, with an indolent smirl, laughing merrily, taking a new lover every night, discarding them come morning, no consequences for the divine. Relishing in life because life relished in him, blessed with beauty and an insatiable spirit, a whole where his heart should be.

All lost overnight, cursed for his own hubris - for his own inability to love.

The fish glances up, risking the dangers of the surface to stare at the moon, at the reason he was cursed in the first place.

To linger on the huge, ancient cherry blossom tree that shielded the pagoda, the temple erected in his name so many years ago. So beautiful, the springtime blossoms nearly ready to burst. His first real friend, even if he didn’t know it then.

But its now, not then, and he’s lonely, and hungry for life - and something about that boy’s unhurried, somewhat awkward smile touches that part of him, the part that longed to live again - even in this very changed world, this future that had forgotten him.

If anything then just to get those crackers again.

And that’s why he visits his dreams. The only place Jin can show himself, his true self, unable to voice that ancient curse to the boy - but able to be seen, truly seen, to speak those words...loneliness -

Its...its a trick, to coax him back, with more snacks, Jin justifies, unwilling to admit that he reached out for any other reason, that he took the time under the light of that damned, too-bright moon to expend thousands year old energy on a boy who nearly kicked him in the face that day at the river for any other reason.

That he wasn’t lying when he said he was lonely. That the empty spot where his heart should be ached for something, a friend, a confidant - how he ached for a voice, to speak in more than just dreams.

But he can’t.

Either way, it works - and he learns his name.

Namjoon. Kim Namjoon.

It takes effort that first time, tendrils of magic that he used to control with barely a glance, still -

Namjoon makes a habit of visiting the river after that first time, Jin wonders if he feels that pull. That same pull he can’t deny every time the man sets himself down on the river bank.

Jin wonders if its the magic, if he’s grown that unused to the feeling...or...or if its something else.

“You’re really ridiculous, you know.” Namjoon scolds the water lightly, looking down at the white and pink fish that is floating close to surface,

Mouth opening and closing in an ill concealed attempt to get snacks. “I shouldn’t be feeding you, I’m sure it’s bad for you.” Namjoon drops a broken cracker in the water anyway, watching how the beautiful fish is quick to eat, thrashing a powerful tail.

Today Namjoon has his camera, a Polaroid he bought to document his new home, a collection of photos of nature and old stone piling up on his desk. He snaps a picture of the fish, knowing full well the film couldn’t capture the beauty. “...I took your picture.” He explains, noticing the way the fish swirls his tail in discontent. “Nothing bad, see?” He’s shaking the developing Polaroid, knowing that’s not effective. “I’ll show you.”

He truly wonders if he’s that lonely, lonely enough to become friends with a fish.

But the fish is the easiest creature to talk to, in this town full of ancient history and even older families, well established and not looking to accept a stranger...or all too eager too, to pry into his personal life, there was none of that here, at the quiet little bend in the river.

Maybe the fish judged him, but that was easy to ignore, and he always hung around to listen - sentient fish - Namjoon was growing confident of that.

“I wish you could tell me more about you.” Namjoon offers the fish, showing him the photo, watching it reflect in the water. He watches the way the fish eyes it, mouth moving to blow bubbles at the surface. Does he like it? Does it matter? “Like first of all, why do i only ever see one of you? Are you all alone?” He’d started to develop some theories, and it mostly just ended in someone dumping the fish in the river when they were tired of taking care of it.

He couldn’t think of any other reason, no amount of internet browsing found him a koi that looked exactly like him, certainly not in the wild.

Which meant he was probably home bred, maybe even tossed out for looking like that, and…and that made Namjoon sad.

Sad, to go from having a family to none at all. It makes him empathize with the creature, who was once new to this place too, who found a home...but was still alone. “You don’t have to be alone if I’m here.” He’s tucking the picture into his wallet. “And I’ll keep visiting you.”

Seokjin does not understand the human boy. He comes back, usually every other day - with Jin finding himself more and more longing for every day - but he does not understand, just the same. Does not understand why the boy bothers, time and time again,

To visit, to sit by the river with him, to talk to him. Especially when Jin cannot talk back, relegated to bubbles and splashes, to lingering glances that he hopes the boy processes as listening. He’s lonely, Jin does recognize that - but why….why seek company with a fish?

Namjoon is in that haze again. That landscape he’s started to recognize as a dream, he thinks - it feels familiar, like he’s felt so many mornings lately, comforted, though he doesn’t know why.

“You’re back.” Oh, right, memories of dreams come rushing back, of the beautiful man - who won’t give him his name. His voice is sweet, wistful. “It took you a while to fall asleep tonight.” The man, he can see him so much more clearly than before, resting on the bank of the river, hair as pink as the heavy laden cherry blossoms behind him. “I’ve been waiting.”

“Waiting…?” Namjoon questions, watching the way the man beckons him forward. “For me?” “Always.” Jin answer, a sort of soft purr to his voice, one that has Namjoon joining him on the river bank. So familiar, Namjoon thinks to himself, wondering if thinking in dreams is even possible, this riverbank - this man with the soft pink hair and lonely gaze.

“Who are you?” It could be the first or hundredth time he’s asked, judging by the look on Jin’s face.

“I’m someone not worth knowing.” Jin answers, looking up at the stars, the full moon, a grimace dancing on his lips.

He’s always being watched, even here, in the dreams of a boy who thinks to know him, in his own way.

There are a thousand years between him and freedom and still that damn moon watches.

“I think i’d like to know you more.” Namjoon answers. “Or at least your name, I always read you dream only about the people you’ve met, or seen before, and I’ve never seen you.” “Oh but you have.” Jin corrects, often even, though he doesn’t add that part.

“Untrue.” Namjoon is simple about it. “I’d remember meeting someone like you.” “Like me?” “You have the saddest eyes of anyone i’ve ever met.”

This time when Namjoon wakes up, he’s got tears dripping down his cheeks, and he doesn’t know why.

Many years ago, someone said something so similar. Jin is trapped, trapped in this form but that does not mean he doesn’t feel as a man, think as a man. That he doesn’t - he doesn’t remember.

Many years ago when he was beautiful, young, powerful...and so foolish, there was one who said something so - so similar.

A beautiful creature, a human like Namjoon - come to give him praise, to worship at his temple, at its height. He could remember him now - clear as day. Beauty then, like now, was not rare, but what was rare were his words.

He was quiet, shy even in his splendor, a boxy smile that alighted warm on Seokjin, and often. There were many, many pretty humans who came to see Jin, but he stayed, he became an acolyte, a worshipper - and he never left.

Taehyung.

Taehyung stayed at his side from the moment their eyes met, from the moment he told him those words “You’re very lonely...you smile, but your eyes tell me what you won’t say.” Seokjin could remember how he felt then, cold water tossed on him, like a rolling sea.

He had looked away, away towards another pretty thing, a playful woman come to bathe in his waters - and he vowed to not look upon Taehyung again.

But Taehyung stayed, and it was hard not to look - especially on those nights when he was alone, utterly alone, when it was just him, Taehyung...and the moon.

“You should worship him instead.” Jin remembers forming the words, Taehyung settling beside him on the river bank. “The moon, he gazes at you every night, I can feel it.”

“No.” Taehyung shakes his head. “When i saw you, Seokjin, I saw the world in a way I had never had before.

Taehyung - the memory fades, gone before Jin could get to parts he doesn’t want to remember. Too good for him, Taehyung. He looks up at the cherry blossom tree, weighed down with blossoms. Beautiful, quiet Taehyung, who had asked for so little and gotten even less.

Lessons that it was too late for him to learn now, Jin thinks to himself. He couldn’t go back in time and change the way things were, and maybe that was the true curse of it all.

Namjoon is starting to remember, and they both realize it about the same time, the man sitting on the river bank, lounging in the feel of mid-spring. Wondering just how long the blossoms would stay on the trees here.

“I’m having weird dreams.” Namjoon confesses. “Of a man.” Jin is far too concerned, far too quickly, not even complaining at the lack of snack. “A...beautiful man.” He adds on, cheeks heating in a way that Jin knows all too well. If he could smirk, he would smirk - the familiar thrill of the chase not lost on him, even now. “And I don’t think i’ve ever seen him before.” Namjoon is frowning lightly at the water, well - at the fish.

“He reminds me of someone - but at the same time, no one I know.” He confesses, knowing full well that even to the fish he must sound ridiculous. “And he says I’ve seen him before, or - or met him before.” Namjoon is frustrated, even Seokjin can tell, he bubbles a little, trying to sooth the man. “I just want to know why - “ He sighs. “I know why, its because - its because I need to get laid.” The confession makes the fish freeze, literally, all movement stopping.

“I am trying so hard, you know I went on a date last night?” The confession makes Jin lap anxiously around his legs. “it didn’t go as well as I hoped.” Namjoon sighs, enjoying the coolness of the river water against his skin. It is suddenly hot, too hot. “But...a date is a date - and - well, i’m not getting any younger.”

A date. Jin might be old, far older than any other being he would be talking to, certainly older than a foolish mortal boy, but he knew the word date. Had seen many along the banks of the river he called home.

He could feel himself frown, bubbles rising to the surface of the water as he glared at Namjoon, tail thrashing behind him. The other man was in no way required to entertain men for the sake of his age. It made Jin - well it upset him.

Namjoon watches, sees how the fish seems to disagree with this notion. Bubbles gathering at the water’s edge as he sways his tail. Namjoon is struck by how disapproving he seems. Can….can fish feel that emotion? Disapproval?

“Don’t look at me like that, I feel judged!” Nothing, his expression doesn’t change, and Namjoon grimaces. The last thing he wants after the day he’s had is even the fish judging him. “What if I give you the sharp cheddar cheez-its this time? I know they’re your favorite.”

They ARE his favorite, and Namjoon is the only one of the human crowd who still thinks to bring him offerings that brings the strange and delightful crackers. The tail thrashing ceases, though his eyes still hold that frown. He wishes he could speak to Namjoon then, tell him that as a priest of his - he do not need to - to date. Jin will take care of his every need and more - but he cannot, not yet at least.

And so he just waits until Namjoon is sighing, muttering something about a conscious spirit in the fish, pulling out the bag, breaking the pieces up as he feed them to him

“Sometimes I think you don’t really love me, or my company.” Namjoon stares at him, an amused, albeit sad look on his face. “You just come here for my cheez-its.”

No, Jin thinks to himself. Its Namjoon that comes to him, time and time again, and he doesn’t want it to stop - something that his statements only put into perspective. Namjoon had gone on a date, had met with a mortal, and he had not...had not known.

The emotion that Seokjin feels is...Jealousy, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

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peace-coast-island · 3 years

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Diary of a Junebug

Wandering around the Raindrop Park

Lately I've been feeling kinda off - I can't quite put it into words. The weird thing is, the events that happened over the past few days don't affect me directly - as in it's directly related to stuff happening to friends that have little or nothing to do with me. It's basically me being somewhat emotionally invested in someone or something even though I barely know the person. Kinda like the whole how do you miss someone you never even knew sorta thing.

Maybe part of it has to do with a lot of changes happening around the same time in the span of roughly a year or two. By that, I'm talking about a specific group of people - Jamie's entourage, to be exact. Since the entourage disbanded, everyone has still been keeping in touch for the most part. And since then, a lot of members have moved on, pursuing bigger things, working on new projects, coming a long way since the entourage days. A lot of them were just starting out back then and now here they are.

A couple weeks ago, Roselle passed away. It wasn't a surprise since she told us about her prognosis last year, but still sad nonetheless. She was a former teen idol actress and singer turned director with her own production company that she co-founded with a friend. I became a fan of her during her Amanda Savannah days, a role that shot her to stardom as a kid. Like many in her position, she had a sort of love-hate relationship with the character who made her famous.

After Amanda Savannah ended, Roselle wanted to take a break from acting to focus on college. During that hiatus, Roselle was going through a lot of changes, including being diagnosed with stage four cancer. Nearly a decade after Amanda Savannah, Roselle reemerged from the public, starting from the ground up as a director. As for acting and singing, she was willing to keep that open, but realistically, the chances of her going back to either one were slim to none.

I remember when I last hung out with Roselle, about a year ago, when we visited Windcrest Wolf, not too long after the beginning of the end. Roselle has been keeping us updated with her video diary, Business as Usual, which is basically about her final year. The end was quick for her, which is what she had hoped for, so she was able to carry on for as long as she could. In her final entry she said that she was at peace with her life and that she was ready to go, ready to see her mom again after all these years. A few days later she was gone.

That's why I'm here with Jamie and Nedra at the Raindrop Park. Well, part of the reason - there's another thing too. Another death unfortunately, one of someone who I never got to meet.

Two former entourage members, actress Nedra Aylen and stuntman Allan Townshend crossed paths due to a tragedy. Allan's cousin Stef was one of Nedra's close friends at Starling who was gravely injured in a motorcycle accident. The crash left Stef in a coma for years before passing away weeks ago, a few days after Roselle's death.

According to Nedra, Stef and Allan didn't have a good relationship as Stef was abused by his parents. I don't know Allan as well as Nedra, but he comes across as someone who's making an effort to right his wrongs. It still doesn't make up for his past actions, which he is aware of. The two visit Stef at the care center but other than that, they don't interact with each other much.

Given how different Nedra and Allan are in terms of their social circles/personality/upbringing, and such, it's unexpected that they ended up crossing paths through Jamie. Nedra's a classical actress, preferring the stage over the screen while being prolific in both. Allan does stunt work, which I don't know too much about, but basically it means he and Nedra, although they were in the same entourage, had absolutely nothing in common other than Stef.

People always talk about how important it is to form connections, especially through tragedy. You'd think that Nedra and Allan would at least be able to bond over that, but in reality, you can't always share your burdens with someone. In the case of Nedra and Allan - at least the way I see it through Nedra - them being friends won't do much with that burden they carry. That's not to say they're dealing with their problems alone - in fact, they're quite well adjusted despite the circumstances - it's just that they don't need to seek each other to help cope.

It's not that they dislike each other, it's just the fact that they're so different in such a way that forming a connection would feel forced. Nedra says they do keep in touch but other than that, they don't feel the need to keep up with each other. It's good to form connections, but sometimes there's people you just don't feel the need for a strong bond with, and that's okay.

I have a feeling that's the case with Nedra and Allan - they share a struggle but don't need to rely on each other to pull through. Sometimes it just works out like that.

Nedra believes that Allan wants to make peace with Stef, which is why he visits her regularly. Although he and Stef were never friends, they were close to coming to some sort of a truce, with Allan more likely to side with Stef than against her. After all, why would Stef decide to intervene on that fateful day when Allan backed himself into a corner? I imagine the guilt of surviving the accident as well as being the reason why it happened is what pushed Allan over the edge. Nedra says it's not up to her to forgive him for how he treated Stef, but she's willing to give him the benefit of the doubt as what he's going through is punishment enough.

Like with Roselle, Stef's death wasn't unexpected either. By then, Nedra knew that she was already long gone. She says it feels like a weight off her shoulders, the relief of knowing that Stef can finally rest in peace instead of being stuck in limbo. I can't imagine being in Stef's position, stuck to machines keeping me alive even though it's futile. I don't think I'd want to be kept alive on life support if it won't do anything except prolong the inevitable.

When I'm gone, let me go. I don't want to die a slow death where I become nothing but a husk of who I was.

Nedra stuck with her to the very end. Allan was there too but he kept his distance. The end came quickly and quietly, her heart stopped beating and that was it. She says it's been rough, but not as difficult as she thought it would be. Then again, she said she already made her peace with losing Stef so I think that helped a bit.

I can't imagine losing two friends in a short time like what Nedra's going through right now. That's why Jamie invited her along her travels so she can take some much needed time off, leading to us crossing paths at the Raindrop Park. Before coming here, Jamie and Nedra spent the weekend at the Sparkling Spa Resort, which they said they enjoyed a lot.

After the Raindrop Park they weren't sure where they were gonna go next before deciding on the camp. The timing happens to be perfect as another entourage member's gonna drop by later on along with some other friends for a fun event. It'll be good for Nedra and Jamie to see Jean again as we were talking about how she's one of the busier members.

Maybe one day I'll get Marlo to meet Jean and Nedra as she's big fans of them. She and Don are planning to come back, likely during a camp event, so maybe I can finally make her dreams come true. I told Nedra about Marlo and she's totally down for a get together with her and knowing Jean, she'll be all for it too. Now, if only we can find a date and time when all three are available...

The Raindrop Park is one of those places where it's easy to get lost in. Watching the raindrops fall is strangely mesmerizing, I can't take my eyes off them. In a way, I think it's a good thing, probably because I've had so much on my mind regarding the stuff I just mentioned, so maybe I needed to take the time to process the information. That, and of course, writing my thoughts out once I finally found the words.

Along with the mesmerizing raindrops, another thing that sticks out to me is the decor, like the benches. I really like the leafy designs of the benches and lampposts - a lot of art inspiration around here. The foliage is lovely too and the raindrops really add to the aesthetic. I'm partial to rainy days so of course I'd be drawn to something like this. The cloudy, somewhat gloomy sky seems fitting enough as well. Even though it's gray, there's still some sunlight poking through, so it's not completely dark.

The fog in my mind's clearing up a bit, even more so now that I've put my thoughts on paper. I also think being with Jamie and Nedra also helped, especially knowing that Nedra's gonna be all right. It's rough, but as she said, she's made peace with it. And as for Roselle, she was able to make the most out of the time she had left so she was able to leave with no regrets.

I hope that when the end comes for me, I can leave the world the same way Roselle did. Is that asking for too much?

#animal crossing #animal crossing pocket camp #Diary of a Junebug #headcanon ramble

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ordinaryschmuck · 3 years

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What I Thought About the MCU (Phase Three Part One)

...I’m gonna have to split this one into two parts. Because Phase three is when these movies start getting good, and which in turn results in my have a LOT to talk about. So, here’s the first half of this phase.

10th place: Captian Marvel (6/10)

This is not the worst MCU movie. This isn't even close to the worst thing in the MCU. THAT honor goes to Inhumans, which might just be the most boring TV show that I ever had the displeasure of watching. And if you're a person who only counts the movies as part of the MCU, then there is no way you can look me in the eye and tell me that Captain Marvel is worse than Thor: The Dark World. Because this movie actually has better action, a handful of funny moments, a decent (albeit predictable) story, a fantastic tribute to Stan Lee, and Goose the Cat. Who is free from any criticism due to being equal parts adorable, hilarious, and awesome.

However, there is one major issue that this movie has, and that is Brie Larson's Captain Marvel. Before you say anything, no, it's not because she barely smiles (shut it, if you think that's actually the problem). The problem is that I just don't know what they want her character to be. Is she meant to be playful yet mysterious, like Marceline from Adventure Time? Is she meant to be a stoic badass with a deadpan sense of humor like Garnet from Steven Universe? Or is she supposed to be this perfect hero with witty remarks like Kim Possible from Kim Possible? Because at times, it feels like the people behind this movie are trying to do all three personalities at once, which makes the character feel disjointed. Plus, it's probably not a good thing that I listed three female characters in children's shows better than this character in this movie for teens and adults. Nor is it a good thing that every actor, including the males, act circles around Brie Larson, who is known for giving Oscar-worthy performances. Still, I'm willing to allow the benefit of the doubt that this issue will be solved in time for Captain Marvel 2, as it took both Captain America and Thor a while before they finally became fan favorites. For now, while Captain Marvel is nowhere near the worst, I wouldn't exactly jump the gun and call it the best, either.

9th place: Doctor Strange (6/10)

This movie is somehow both memorable and forgettable at the same time. The visuals alone help make Doctor Strange memorable, seeing the world bend and morph in a way that is best experienced on the most gigantic screen you can find. The visuals even lend to making the fight scenes unforgetable, resulting in action that's hard to forget. It's still just punching and kicking, but the way this movie uses punching and kicking that makes it fun to watch. Such as having Strange fight wizards as astral projections, or while the world is reversing in on itself, dodging debris as it puts itself back into place. Plus, that ending is not only the most unique defeat of a bad guy that any MCU movie has done, but it also proves how selfless Doctor Strange can be as a hero. So I won't be able to forget bits and pieces of this movie...but I can easily forget everything else. The jokes, plot, characters, and especially the villain are things I tend to lose track of on each rewatch. Which might honestly be worse than it sounds. Because while it's still a fun movie that I recommend, it's not a good thing that I constantly forget it, even as I'm writing this.

8th place: Ant-Man and the Wasp (7.5/10)

How is Ant-Man and the Wasp a dividing movie for MCU fans? People either really hate it or just think it's ok, and I don't get that. Because personally, I think this movie is really good. Yeah, there are leaps in logic, and the ending is a huge cop-out, especially since this movie came after Avengers: Infinity War. But I think Ant-Man and the Wasp incredibly improve upon the original with a tighter story and better-written characters, who all have great personalities and fantastic chemistry. Sure, these characters fall flat during certain dramatic moments, but really succeed when written for comedy. My personal favorite is Cassie, who might just be my favorite little girl character in fiction. She admires her father for everything he does, going so far as to smile with glee as he's wreaking shop in the finale.

Speaking of her father, I really love how Ant-Man and the Wasp differentiate Scott Lang from the rest of the Avengers. In a world of gods and supersoldiers, you have Ant-Man, who's basically just a regular guy. The best example that shows how it that montage of him doing stuff while under house arrest. If any of our other heroes were in this situation, they would take advantage of the time to train, build cool s**t, and maybe even meditate. But for Scott? He wastes time singing karaoke, practicing close-up magic, and crying himself to sleep while reading The Fault in our Stars. It's a great way of showing how he's a little fish in the world's biggest pond. And I like that.

This movie may not be perfect, but every now and again, it's nice to get something small-scale (get it) and personal within the grand adventures in the MCU.

7th Place: Captain America: Civil War (8/10)

There are three camps of people who argue about this movie. The first camp is the people who fight about whether this is a Captain America movie or an Avengers movie. The second camp is the people who disagree on how Captain America: Civil War is the same as Batman v. Superman-Dawn of Justice. The third and final camp argues whether or not the movie is better than the comics. And I'm about to address each and every one of these camps.

First off, this is an Avengers movie. Captain America may take a more primary role, but consider that Thanos is easily the main character in Avengers: Infinity War, and how that movie isn't called Thanos: Infinity War. The fact that Cap barely takes center stage kind of ruins this being his movie, which is why it's arguably the worst Captain America movie by default, but that doesn't change how good this is. Mostly because it's easily a better Avengers movie than Age of Ultron.

As for how this movie is the same as Batman v. Superman, I can tell you right now that it isn't. They're similar in concept, I'll give you that, but their differences meet with the execution of said concepts. Yes, both movies have two people with different ideas fighting it out due to heroes causing collateral damage while inadvertently doing what an evil mastermind, with a tediously complicated plan, expects them to do. But you wanna know what Civil War has that BvS doesn't? Comedy. Marvel's ability to laugh at itself, to realize that what they're making shouldn't be taken too seriously, is what makes it worth the watch. Every. Time. Plus, I find it hilarious that a movie with four times the amount of superheroes manages to give each character a proper story and subplot than the film with just three.

This leads me to my third point: The movie is much better than the comics. Would it have been more awesome to see the number of characters we have now battle it out than seeing the relatively small one in this movie? Maybe. But look at Infinity War and Endgame. As good as those movies are, there were still many characters that got the short end of the stick. By keeping the cast small, Civil War gives each hero time to have an understandable motivation to pick one side or the other while giving each of their stories a proper conclusion. Even Black Panther and Spider-Man, introduced in this movie as sequel bait, still somehow manage to have clear motives and satisfying stories. Plus, where the comics make it hard to pick a side between Captain America and Iron Man because both made awful decisions after awful decisions, the movie makes it hard to pick and choose because both have to make hard decisions. Both Cap and Iron Man have clear reasons for their choices as well as hesitations. But they still see the point of view of the opposing side and try to talk things out. Which makes things all the more heartbreaking when they finally disagree. Something that never happened in the comics even once.

Overall, Captain America: Civil War is a great movie. It may not entirely be a Captain America movie, and the villain's plan is, again, tediously complicated. But it's still good because it understands the importance of characters and even a sense of humor. Which is something that I wish I could say about Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice.

6th place: Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 (9/10)

It's not every day that the sequel is better than the original, let alone being equally good. And yet, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 is just as fun as its predecessor, if not a smidge better. Everything that I love about the first movie is here in spades, with a few improvements added to the appeal. Like the visuals, which not only have the colors and gradient turned up to thousand, but there are also some spectacular shots that at times look like they could be panels in a comic book. Plus, Ego the Living Planet is a much better villain than Ronan ever could be. Ego's motivations are typical, but his charming personality creates a character that's fun to watch while also showing how dangerous a person like Ego could be when his true motivations are revealed. Although, despite improvements, there are still some elements that Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 takes away. Because while most of the jokes are funny, there are some scenes where it's hard to tell if I'm supposed to be laughing or feeling emotional. Also, I just hate what they did to Drax in this movie. In the first one, he was a stoic badass with a deadpan sense of humor. Here, he's written as a dumb a**hole who gets one emotional scene. And it's a powerful one, sure, but it's not enough. Still, I love this movie. If I had to pick which one is better, I would probably say it's Vol 2, but even then, it's a close race, in my opinion.

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And that’s all for now. Here’s part two.

#marvel cinematic universe #mcu review #captain america #doctor strange #ant-man #the wasp #gaurdians of the galaxy #captain marvel #what i thought about

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battlestar-royco · 5 years

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Just so you know, there’s a SJM account that’s saying you guys worship grrm and like the way he wrote about dany’s rape scene. To elaborate, this user wrote that you guys unfairly critique SJM for including sex scenes in her novels because she’s a woman but then worship grrm anyways because he’s a man. I don’t know if you guys get a lot of anon hate but I thought I would warn you in case because she made it seem as if you guys are abuse apologists instead of just people who don’t like sjm

Okay so I sat down to answer this ask and it kind of unintentionally became an anti SJ/M manifesto. So before I begin, thanks anon for sending me this and giving me an excuse to write it. Here is an obnoxiously long answer about the nature of the anti community. TL;DR, critiquing Mess is valid for many reasons, and there are many further reasons why the “antis should critique GRRM more”/painting SJ/M antis as GRRM apologists/stans arguments don’t really hold water.

I think we’ve run into that essay and maybe actually butted heads with the author. From what I remember, the account in question took us out of context by implying that because we critique SJ/M more and for the most part believe Martin is technically a better writer than Mess, we inherently excuse his horrific depiction of rape and women. I try not to read stan tags or specific accounts except for the rare occasion that someone directs me to a blog, so the only time I see their posts is when an anti quotes or screenshots an SJ/M blog post. I also try not to take stan critics too seriously because every time they critique us they just further clarify that they have no idea what the anti community is about–specifically, our reasons for critiquing SJ/M (rather than Martin), how diverse our approaches to critique are, the kind of action we intend to inspire with our posts, and what we actually post about. The main argument against anti blogs is that we’re too hard on SJ/M in favor of GRRM, which is a strawman argument for many reasons. So even though I shouldn’t have to explain the reasons for our community existing, and specifically not focusing on Martin, this seems a better opportunity than any to do so:

Just because we have more critique of SJ/M on our blogs than we do of Martin doesn’t mean that the critiques of SJ/M are invalid. In fact, we critique SJ/M because her books are written such that people (specifically teen girls and young women, more often white and cishet) are able to reject Martin’s books due to their problematic nature. They can then turn to the hollow feminism of SJ/M’s work and say that she is better–at worldbuilding, at craft, whatever may have you, but specifically at writing women and progressive/feminist narratives. Though I disagree with all of these things, the former aspects don’t bother me as much as the last one. I take great issue with this last takeaway and I think it’s very privileged and even further problematic to maintain it in the grand context of fantasy literature, so that’s why I focus my blog on SJ/M. Additionally, for as long as I’ve been in the community–a little over a year now! :D–I have never witnessed an anti praise GRRM’s diversity and representation of women in a positive light compared to SJ/M. This is in large part because aside from my and Marta’s accounts, GRRM rarely comes up, and if he does it is not in the context of critiquing SJ/M. Additionally, he does not have the Martin equivalent of “Messisms”–AKA repeated and inaccurate claims of progressive sentiments in his books, as SJ/M does. As someone who has read copious feminist/activist and radical gender/postcolonial etc theory, it is very important to me to unpack the implications of Mess’s frequent and frankly careless ascriptions of “feminist” to her books which are being marketed to girls and women. (To be fair, I don’t pay as much attention to Martin’s interviews as I do Mess; his books, writing style, and persona fail to inspire me to research his writing advice and meta commentary.)

Another main reason why GRRM is not discussed as much in the anti corner is that most of our blogs are YA lit-oriented, which necessarily means that many of us mostly or only read and critique women writing fantasy for other women. As Martin is a male adult fantasy author, bringing him up in respect to SJ/M is often inorganic–in fact, probably as inorganic as critique would be on an SJ/M-oriented blog, which is maybe part of the reason why they don’t critique him themselves. For me, there is incredible power in doing the work I see in the anti community–marginalized people coming at the same text with completely different perspectives, using our different knowledge and reactions to the books to spread awareness for other upcoming marginalized readers and writers in the hopes that the YA community at large (again, a community created/maintained by and for mostly women, non-binary people, and girls) will improve. This simply could not be done if our community was GRRM-focused or equally critiquing GRRM as we do SJ/M and other YA authors.

I also find it odd that though SJ/M blogs have expressed interest in seeing more critique of GRRM, they 1). hold anti SJ/M blogs responsible for doing that work (which some of us in fact do) instead of doing it within in their own community and 2). do not seem to seek out the plentiful and diverse ASOIAF/GOT blogs that also critique Martin. I regularly read plenty of ASOIAF/GOT meta blogs that both extensively praise and theorize about his books and offer intricate and harsh critique of his books. Almost all of these are run by women. The existence of such blogs evidences another main reason why GRRM doesn’t come up in anti SJ/M circles as much: the ASOIAF fandom doesn’t need antis because they know how to critique Martin. There is nuance in their conversations that I did not see in SJ/M’s fandom in the years that I was present. That being said, there definitely are Martin stans out there, and in my experience they come in two forms: white edgelord men who love grimdark and violence against marginalized characters, and white women who claim against all contrary evidence that Martin is a wonderful writer who knows exactly what he’s doing and deserves the benefit of the doubt because his books are ultimately progressive and feminist. Neither of these types of stans are anywhere to be found in the anti SJ/M community. This may be because I don’t check SJ/M stan blogs, but I’ve seen way more critique of anti SJ/M bloggers–who were hurt by both Mess’s and GRRM’s books–from stans than I have ever seen of Martin or Mess themselves, and it is often justified with the specific panem-et-circenses argument you mention, anon (ie, ridiculing antis for discussing Mess more than Martin instead of calling out who actually needs to be called out: MESS AND MARTIN). The situation is a lot more complex than “antis have double standards against Mess because Martin is a man.” At this point in my anti tenure, ASOIAF/GOT is the second most-discussed topic on my blog, closely followed by the likes of Casserole Eclair, JKR, YA drama, and random TV shows I’m watching. Seeing as I have been affected (often negatively) by many of these authors, I want to talk about it. I like talking about it. It’s how I engage with most literature, and I don’t see why that’s something stans look down upon.

#anti sjm #anti tog #anti acotar #stans being stans

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rebelminxy · 4 years

Text

Too Bright to See, Too Loud to Hear (Chapter 5)

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Dina (OFC)

Word Count: 4765

Rating: Teen

Warnings: A death happens, angst,

Square Filled: Ishim

A/N: This series is meant for my squares for @heavenandhellbingo. I have been putting my all into it and I hope you will enjoy it as much as I have been writing it. Please like, repost and comment on anything you would like to say about it and seriously hope you have a great time reading this. Ratings will depend on what is in each chapter so please read the warnings before continuing. Images are not mine, they were found on Google and Pinterest.

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“How many more dead?” Castiel asked Inias.

“By the reports, three more garrisons have gone down while dealing with Lucifer and his army.”

Castiel flips the table he was sitting at, the anger rising through him.

“What is father waiting for?!”

“We don’t know, he just continues to send in, one garrison after another. The angels are now questioning his motives.”

“It’s not just the angels,” Dean interrupted as he entered the room with Sam. “Our men are questioning my father’s motives as to making us wait to fight back. We’ve gotten reports of many villages and towns being overrun because he isn’t sending enough defense out to protect.”

“Both our fathers are making things difficult,” Castiel replied. “Any of this coming to the ears of my sister?”

“No, Dumah is keeping her busy enough with the whole pregnancy issues.”

“Why is it their main priority to have my sister carry your child when we have angels and humans dying?”

“Don’t know, but we need to find out soon, because, at this point, Lucifer will gain the upper hand on us,” Dean answered.

“I will call upon a fellow friend named Ishim, who is currently here on Earth dealing with a hoard of demons just south from here. If he can get away, maybe we will get the information we need.”

“Why can’t you go to him?” Dean asked.

“I was commanded to stay by my sister’s side at all times by our brothers and I will not break that command.”

“Alright then, so how will you get to this friend of yours?”

“I will send Inias to retrieve him.”

“Then I will go with him,” Dean stated, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No, we need you here in case an attack happens,” Sam insisted.

“Inias can’t go by himself and the rest of the garrison can’t go with him since we will need as many angels here in case we do get attacked.”

“Then send some of your men, your best men to accompany me,” Inias interjected. “It is only a week's ride there and back. With four of your men, we should be able to reach him and bring him back safely.”

“Then it’s settled. Four of my men will go with you and best try to make that less than a week. We need you all here safe and sound.”

Inias nodded to Dean, bowing as the brothers left the room. Sam walked beside Dean, his mind circling over the one question everyone has really been asking.

“They have plans with that baby, Sam,” Dean spoke out loud. “I don’t know what but with how adamant they are about you two having a child, it’s just too suspicious.”

“You don’t think that maybe the mix of an angel and a human can make something powerful?” Sam asked, stopping in his tracks.

“I mean…” Dean began but paused as he thought about it.

“A child that is conceived by a human and angel is called a Nephilim,” Castiel interrupted from behind them. “And yes that would be a powerful child, but my sister is no mere angel. As an archangel, her powers expand more than a normal angel. So yes, your child would be a very powerful being.”

“And you think they have plans with that child?”

“I don’t want to even think my father would use my sister in such a way, but then it wouldn’t surprise me either. So yes.”

“But why didn’t she just marry our father? Sadly, our father would have already had his way with her on her first night here,” Dean said, his forehead wrinkled with worry.

“But the child would have no chance to the throne unless Sam here gave up his rights as well or died. Our father insisted on Sam to be Dina’s husband because then the child would have direct rights to the throne.”

“But if your father influences the child once it’s older…” Sam began.

“He would wait until you were all buried and dead. I didn’t think of it before until you both told me how pushy Dumah was about my sister begin with child. But this might be a power play on my father’s behalf. That child would outlive you both and then my father can manipulate his way to control of the Earth, with his own grandson on the throne.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other with worry.

“So either Lucifer takes control or your father does, either way, humanity is screwed,” Dean exclaimed.

“I am sorry, but I must agree with you. But, the good news is, Dina wouldn’t allow such a thing to happen. She knows our father and has always been the silent viewer in the corner, so she would never allow him to manipulate her child.”

“Are you positive she would fight tooth and nail for our child to never fall into King Chuck’s hands?” Sam asked.

“I am positive,” Castiel affirmed. “My sister would rather give up her chance to have a child rather than let it be manipulated by our father.”

“Maybe that should become a choice if all this means what we think it is,” Dean muttered his eyes on Sam.

Sam stood there, his mind flying through everything they spoke about. He always wanted children, at least one boy, and one girl. But now, if their fathers were doing what they were thinking, then his child could become more of a threat than a blessing. Sam swallowed his worry, knowing that he had to have a cold mind for what he was thinking of doing.

“You two make sure you get that Ishiml friend of yours here, alive. We need to find out what exactly is going on here. I will handle Dina.”

“You cannot tell my sister she is being used by our father! It will break her heart even more if she finds out she is a pawn in all this!”

“I won’t tell her the exact details, but I will try to put a thought in her head that maybe she needs to question Dumah why all the pressure. She will eventually have to know the truth, maybe it would be best if we get her to doubt all this.”

“Why do you want her to have any doubt?” Castiel pressured.

“Because one night, she told me that she had hope that your father would find a way to forgive Lucifer and that then we would have peace,” Sam clarified, looking between Dean and Castiel. “She truly believes your father has good intentions for this alliance when by the looks of it, he doesn’t. We need her to question things so she can see the truth with her own eyes.”

Castiel’s brow furrowed with worry, Sam knowing what the angel was thinking.

“ I know it will hurt her, to know the brother and father she loves are one in the same, seeking power. But if she realizes the truth, then maybe then we can keep her safe and make sure she isn’t a pawn anymore.”

“You’re right,” Castiel agreed. “I don’t want to hurt my sister, but if this is the only way for her to remove her blinds, then maybe we have no other choice.”

“So, you two focus on our man, and I will deal with Dina. Maybe once she questions things, she can find a way to get rid of Dumah once and for all.”

The brothers and Castiel agreed on it and went their separate ways. Dean and Castiel went on to find the four men that would accompany Inias while Sam went in search of Dina, hoping Dumah wasn’t nearby.

Sam finally found Dina in his room, sitting on his bed while reading a book. She looked up at him and jumped up, holding the book to her chest.

“Sorry, umm, Dumah was wanting to do some magical treatment and I just…”

“It’s alright. You know you are welcomed here anytime.”

Dina smiled at Sam, her eyes glowing a bit as she flipped the book back open. Sam walked over to her and cleared his throat, catching her attention again.

“Is everything alright, Sam?” she asked, her almond-shaped eyes wide with curiosity.

“Everything is fine,” he replied, sitting next to her on the bed. “I just wanted to ask you if Dumah has given you a reason as to why our fathers are pushing for us to have a child already?”

“She won’t say, chalks it up to the whole consummating the marriage and it would be a grand benefit.”

“Oh, well,” Sam said as he cleared his throat. “Maybe you should ask her exactly why they are pushing for a child. I mean, my father isn’t going to die anytime soon and even when I take the throne, we would still have time to…”

“I know you think my father is trying to use us to gain control over Earth.”

Sam coughed in shock at her bluntness, wondering if Dumah’s unemotional attitude was rubbing off her. Sam looked at Dina as she closed the book and placed it on her lap. She looked up at him and gave him a weak smile.

“You should really keep your private conversations in private and not so close to the library where I spend most of my time in.”

Sam wanted to slap himself for not realizing where they held that conversation.

“I’m sorry, Dina. But you must understand…”

“I understand, Sam. And I won’t argue with you.”

He glanced at her in confusion, wondering why she wasn’t arguing back.

“I’m not surprised my father would use me in such a way. He never really cared for me, created me only for entertainment purposes after my Aunt, the Darkness disappeared. I’ve told you, he would lock me away whenever he didn’t want to deal with me, was against my taking a body. My brothers had to defend me many times whenever he got angry and wanted to take it out on someone.”

“But he never…” Sam began, hoping for a no.

“Thankfully no, he never did hurt me, not psychically anyways. And, I grew a wall when it came to his hurtful words.”

“But, you are always so positive and hopeful, what changed?”

“Well, the talk you had. I realized that no matter what I hoped for, it won’t happen with a father like mine. So, I assumed your conversation was to get me to agree not to have a child?”

“I...yes.” Sam sighed in defeat.

“What if,” she continued. “We paid someone, human, of course, to carry our child? Obviously, the child wouldn’t be mine, but I would still love it as if my blood was coursing through its veins.”

“You would be willing to let me be with another woman so she may have a child of mine?”

“I mean, you want a child, and I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have one. Seeing Rachael with Joseph and how happy she was during her time with Benjamin in her womb, it did make me curious. But, it’s either I risk having one to then find my father manipulating them for his benefit OR we find someone else to carry out the deed for us and we welcome the baby with open arms.

Sam sighed, wishing this wasn’t an actual conversation.

“We agreed to be friends until our marriage ended, so as your friend and wife, I am saying that I would be alright for you to lay with another woman, place a child in her to then let us raise it, together.”

Sam watched as the glow in her eyes from earlier fade away as she smiled up at him. He knew she was not ok with the idea, the furrow of her brow and the slight tremble in her hand gave it away. But she also understood the situation and was willing to sacrifice her chance of becoming a mother for his sake. Have him birth a child not with her, to then have her raise it as its mother. It was asking a lot from her, but it seemed she was willing to go with it.

Sam couldn’t help it when he pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly.

“We will think about it when the time comes. But can we agree that right now, a child would not be a good idea?” he asked gently.

Dina nodded her head against his chest, never moving away from his arms. Sam didn’t want to let her go, because right now she had many thoughts rolling in her head. And at that moment, she really needed her friend.

Two weeks had gone by since Inias and the men left to get Ishim. Sam, Dean, and Castiel were nervous at how a supposedly one week most trip took longer than planned. Dina was extremely nervous about her friend, sometimes thinking about the worst possible ideas. Sam did his best to keep her calm, distracting her with trips to the library, telling her stories of his time with Jessica and even before she came into his life. He told her about his mother, who died when he was just fifteen.

“She was pregnant with her third child, a baby girl or boy. But during one of her riding outings, the horse went frantic and threw her off, hurting her and killing the baby. It drove her into deep despair, losing the baby. She locked herself away, not even wanting to see our father.”

Sam looked up to the sky, the memory of his father begging for entrance at Mary’s door as he sat in the gardens with Dina. They had gone outside for a shared lunch, Dina growing frantic when her brother told her Inias still hadn’t arrived.

“Hard to believe but our father loved our mother dearly. He would have died for her if given the chance. I guess losing her made him turn cold.”

“What happened once she locked herself away? I mean, she had you and Dean.”

“She forgot about us really. Her sadness made her focus on just the child she lost. In her fit, she stopped eating and stayed in her room, slowly dying from malnutrition. Her ladies in waiting tried to get her to eat, but they never could convince her otherwise.”

“I’m so sorry, Sam.”

“Don’t be. She is long gone and yes, we do miss her, but at least she is at peace. Maybe one day if you ever go back, you can look for her and see what a wonderful woman she was.”

“I can imagine so, having two wonderful sons like you and Dean.”

Sam looked over at Dina as she buttered a piece of bread. He couldn’t help but notice how her dark hair shined in the sun, the blue strands more prominent. He watched as the soft breeze blew through her hair, revealing her beauty, her purple eyes glowing. She looked up at him and smiled, handing him a piece of buttered bread. He took it and smiled back at her, enjoying her company greatly.

“MEN COMING TO THE GATE!”

Sam looked up to see some guards running along the wall that surrounded the castle, heading to the front.

“We need to get you inside now,” Sam pushed as he grabbed Dina by the hand, tugging her behind him as they ran inside the castle.

There was so much commotion going on inside, Sam had to dodge through guards to guide Dina to the stairwell to the rooms.

“I need to get you into your room so I can go find out with Dean what’s going on.”

“No, Sam, what if it’s Inias!”

“What if it’s not?”

Dina pulled her hand away from Sam’s grip, stopping him in his tracks. He turned to face her and saw the look of determination on her face, her eyes still glowing.

“I want to go with you. I promise to stay inside the castle but at least let me stand by the doorway.”

“Dina…” Sam began.

“I promise, any sign of danger, I run to my room, no looking back.”

Sam groaned as he rolled his eyes, wanting to argue back. But over her time here, he had learned that she was a determined woman. And once she had made up her mind, she was set.

“The moment I say run, you run.”

Dina nodded her head in agreement and followed Sam as he made his way to the front. They reached the castle’s doorway where Dean and Castiel stood, watching as the men and angels preparing to defend. Castiel noticed his sister standing next to Sam and gave them an annoyed look.

“She should be in her room, safe,” Castiel demanded.

“She promised to run that way when I tell her to,” Sam replied, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her close to his side.

Castiel grunted and turned his focus back to the gate. Once everyone was in their post, Dean motioned for the guard to open the gate. As the gates slowly opened, Dean gave the signal to wait, watching as Castiel scanned the grand crowd making its way in.

“Those are angels, wounded angels,” Castiel clarified before rushing forward.

“THEY ARE OF US! HELP THE WOUNDED!” Dean yelled out in command.

The soldiers rushed to help those entering, finding many human men, women and children in the crowd. Castiel and his angels rushed to heal the angels they knew. Sam immediately joined Dean as they tried to keep everything as organized as possible. It was until the gates closed that they realized that they had about an entire village or two on the grounds. As Sam helped with some wounded, he kept his eyes on Dina, who joined her brother with the rest of the angels to help heal wounds. Throughout the confusion, Dean pulled Sam aside, saying Castiel found Inias and his friend. Dean clarified that they were inside the castle with Dina since she was healing Ishim.

Sam and Dean made their way inside, leaving certain ranked guards in charge of dealing with the wounded and hungry outside. Once inside, they followed the screams of pain to find Castiel and Inias watching Dina heal a wounded angel that laid on the dining table. The wounded angel screamed out each time Dina moved him just a bit, letting them know he was in real pain.

“Will he survive?” Dean asked.

“He will, once Dina is done with him.”

“I don’t think I can heal him,” Dina whispered, her hands gliding over Ishim’s body. “His wounds aren’t healing at all, and his internal wounds are worse.”

“What do you mean…” Castiel started to ask.

“The Lance of Michael,” Ishim stuttered out before screaming.

“How?” Dina asked as she looked up at Castiel.

“He keeps it under lock and key…” Castiel muttered.

“Ok, what are you two talking about?” Dean demanded.

“If what Ishim says is correct, then he doesn’t have much time left,” Castiel said to Dina, ignoring Dean.

“Then we have to get the information out of him as soon as possible,” Dina replied as she moved to the end of the table to Ishim’s head.

“What are you two talking about?!” Sam yelled out.

“The Lance of Michael is a lance our brother made when Lucifer was banished. A plan B if Lucifer ever attempted to take over the Heavens,” Castiel explained. “It is a powerful weapon that our brother keeps tucked away. If an angel is hurt by it, they get poisoned and unfortunately it has no cure.”

“So he’s dying?” Dean asked.

“Yes, but Dina will enter his mind and see if she can slow down the poisoning of his body just long enough so we can talk to him.”

At that moment, Dina began to speak in Enochian, her voice barely a whisper. Her hands glowed on each side of Ishim’s head, her eyes glowing a bright white. Ishim fell into a deep sleep as she spoke, and after a few seconds, Ishim woke up in a gasp, taking in his surroundings.

“Where am I?” he asked through his coughs.

“You are in the Winchester’s castle,” Castiel responded, moving closer. “Ishim, what happened? Last we knew, you and your garrison were going only to hold back a hoard of demons.”

“My garrison? Where are they?”

“Relax, Ishim, your garrison is outside being tended to,” Castiel comforted.

“He lost his entire garrison,” Inias whispered to Sam and Dean. “The angels we found with him were of other garrisons that lost their leaders that ran to him. They were helping the humans escape while Ishim and his garrison dealt with the enemy.”

Sam looked between Ishim and Dina, noticing Dina breathing heavily. He moved closer to her, about to place his hands on her shoulders when Castiel yelled at him.

“Don’t break her focus! We need as much information as possible!”

“But she is struggling! She may not be strong enough!”

“She will hold her own Sam!” Castiel growled back at him, turning his focus back to Ishim. “Ishim, we need to know what happened? How did the Lance of Michael get into the enemy’s hands?”

“We...we were fighting demons. We were winning,” Ishim huffed, his breathing heavy. “Then, there she stood, eyes black as night, with the lance.”

Ishim coughed, blood escaping his lips as Dina struggled by him. Ishim laid back and looked at Castiel, the look of surrender there.

“Lucifer has sent his Knights out, Abaddon as the lead. Someone stole the lance for Lucifer so that Abaddon can use it against us. Destroy the portal, that is their goal. With that weapon, Abaddon has everything to kill us all and win this war for her master.”

“Do you know who stole the lance? Ishim hold on, we will find a way to save you!” Castiel exclaimed.

“There is no way to save me, what’s done is done. Protect our soldiers and do what you must to end this war. The portal, that is what Lucifer seeks, so destroy it!”

With those words, Ishim coughed out more blood, coughing until taking his last breath. Dina removed her hands from Ishim when he went still on the table. She fell back into Sam’s arms, breathing heavily and sweating as Castiel stared down at Ishim. The room was silent as they took it all in.

“Inias,” Castiel spoke up suddenly, not turning from the body. “Alert the rest of the soldiers of Ishim’s passing. Tell them we will go into mourning for the next two days and to rest up because once mourning is done, we need to find out exactly how Lucifer got his hands on the lance.”

“As you command, Castiel,” Inias replied with a bow before leaving the room.

The silence was unbearable in the room, Castiel still hadn’t moved from his spot. It was when Dina groaned that he finally broke from his spell, moving to her side.

“Forgive me, sister,” Castiel begged as Dean joined them behind. “I shouldn’t have let you push yourself, you aren’t used to using your powers in such a way.”

“As long as you got what you needed, it was worth it,” Dina huffed as she laid comfortably in Sam’s arms. “Is he…”

“He is gone, but now we know who is behind the grand attacks and how. Now, all we need to find out is how that lance left Heaven and into Abaddon’s hands.”

Dina only nodded her head, her eyes flickering between Ishim’s body to her brother. Sam quietly said he was taking Dina to her room to rest, Castiel agreeing it was for the best. Sam pulled Dina into his arms and lifted her up, pulling her body to his chest as one of her arms went behind his neck. He cradled her head in the crook of his neck as he climbed up the stairs to their private hall. Instead of taking her to her room, he slipped into his, slowly making his way to his bed and dropping her their softly. She crawled up to his pillows, grabbing one to hug it as Sam started the fireplace to warm up the room. Once the fire was settled, he turned to see Dina’s mind lost, her eyes glowing from the firelight.

“Are you ok, Dina?” Sam asked as he walked over to her, careful not to scare her with his movements.

“That is the first time I see an angel died,” she whispered, her gaze never leaving the flames.

“There was nothing you could do by what Castiel told us.”

“But he still died, and all because of my brothers’ greed.”

Sam went quiet as he sat on the edge of the bed, knowing that she was finally realizing the reality of things.

“My brother sent someone to steal a weapon that could harm his own family. How many angels have lost their lives to that weapon? And how many more humans have to suffer before he realizes what he is doing is wrong?”

Sam watched as the tears broke free, falling down her soft cheeks. Her eyes flickered towards Sam as if begging him for help.

“What if my brother can’t be saved? Sam, what if the only answer to this is killing him?”

Sam began to make shushing sounds, climbing into bed next to her. He wrapped her in his arms, holding her tightly against his body as she cried, he whimpers muffled by his chest. He caressed the top of her head and down her back, doing this repeatedly hoping it would give her some kind of comfort.

“Let’s not talk about that just yet. For now, I want you to rest, sleep if you think it will help.”

“Please don’t leave me Sam,” she whimpered into his chest.

“I won’t ever leave,” he whispered back, kissing the top of her head.

It was the first time he ever showed any affection for her, and he couldn’t help but agree on how right she felt in his arms. He didn’t want to think what his mind was telling him, but he knew that in the morning, he had to realize that maybe, just maybe, he was growing some bit of affection to her. He just didn’t know how much at that moment. All he cared about, as she closed her eyes and her breathing went slow and soft, was that Dina stayed safe and that she no longer would feel pain ever again.

In the deepest parts of Hell sat Lucifer on his throne, watching as the souls his army had recently retrieved walk past him, chains dragging from their wrists and ankles. He sat there admiring the work his demons have done so far when his trusted second in command came in. Crowley bowed to his king, demanding everyone clear out the room. Once everyone was gone, Crowley turned to Lucifer, concern written on his face.

“What is wrong this time, Crowley?” Lucifer asked in annoyance.

“Abaddon comes back with the news that she spotted one of Castiel’s soldiers today during the fight with Ishim. She was able to wound Ishim and kill his garrison, but Inias took Ishim and the rest of the survivors to Winchester castle.”

Lucifer straightened up in his seat, eyes growing wide.

“Winchester castle you say?”

“Yes, and we found out from a captured human that your father has already sent various weapons to the castle with a promise of many more garrisons.”

“Even with all the weapons of Heaven, they won’t be able to kill the hoard. Any news about my sister?”

“She saw your sister there standing alongside Prince Samuel. It seems they are somewhat comfortable around each other. Abaddon noticed how the Prince kept your sister extremely close to his side.”

Lucifer’s eyes turned red at the knowledge.

“Abaddon was going to attempt to take your sister. But she didn’t make a move since she was alone, instead came back with confirmation of the knowledge we received from the captured humans.”

“Sickens me that the bastard of my father married my precious sister off to that useless human. How much longer until my weapon is ready?! I need it soon to save her from the hands of those Winchesters!”

“The weapon should be ready any day now. Its incubator is giving signs of it almost being done.”

“Good, once we have my weapon, we need to make sure it's strong enough to blow through and get me to my father to destroy him. Then, I will save my sister from the hands of those humans.”

“Understandable sire,” Crowley said as he bowed. “I will continue to make sure your weapon is ready in time.”

Lucifer waved toward Crowley, shooing him off. He sat back down on his throne, his mind whirling with the news of his baby sister on Earth, and married to a lowly Winchester.

“I will have you by my side dear sister, safe and sound where you belong,” Lucifer muttered to himself as his eyes turned red in rage.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #heaven and hell bingo #heavenandhellbingo #prince sam winchester #Sam Winchester #sam x ofc #sam winchester x ofc #fantasy #fantasy fic

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ladylynse · 5 years

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For @sapphireswimming because she’s a wonderful human being (as anyone who interacts with her knows) and because I wanted to thank her for donating to my newly-created ko-fi. Enjoy some SuperPhantom!

It was a routine hunt, a simple salt ‘n’ burn--except most kids Dean runs across are scared of ghosts once they find out they’re real, and this girl most definitely isn’t. [FF | AO3]

Sam would be fine on his own.

Dean knew that.

This wasn’t the first time they’d had to split up on a hunt.

It wouldn’t be the last.

But it would have been nice if Cas or someone else were around to watch Sammy’s back. He’d drawn graveyard duty and was busy uncovering the remains of Judith Cooper, which meant if Dean didn’t provide a suitable distraction, the ghost would be on his ass the moment she realized what they were doing. And he was fine with drawing the ghost’s attention to himself if it kept her away from Sam and everyone else, but he also preferred to do it when there weren’t kids around who could get caught in the crossfire.

And that girl they’d seen sneaking around earlier had just ducked around the back of the old Cooper place, disappearing into the shadows so quickly he’d have never seen her if he hadn’t been keeping an eye out.

With a huff, Dean stuffed the extra rock salt rounds into his jacket, shut the trunk, and followed her. He didn’t want to yell; it would either spook her or alert Casper-the-not-so-friendly-ghost to the fact that they were here, and that was the last thing he wanted.

The kid was the reason he and Sam had split up in the first place. It would’ve been far safer for the two of them to handle the salt ‘n’ burn together—and a lot faster, too, when it came to the grave digging part, for all that he’d helped get a start on it before leaving—but they’d spotted the girl poking around earlier. More than once. Casual inquiries around town when asking about Judith’s other victims—that is, the recent missing teens who had last been seen in the area and the two confirmed kills that looked like suicides—hadn’t turned up anything solid on who this girl actually was.

Dean was suspicious, but Sam’s bleeding heart had him wanting to give her the benefit of the doubt. There was no question that this was a ghost thing—aside from seeing Judith themselves, the EMF meter lit up like crazy all over her old house—but they had no idea if activity had spiked before or after the kid had shown up. (Sam hadn’t been able to find any patterns or new activity related to the old Cooper residence in his research that could account for her resurgence, and Dean hadn’t come across anything from his interviews with various townsfolk.) If this kid was the one to disturb the peace, she was damned lucky she wasn’t already dead like the others. If she was trying to control the ghost, she had no idea what she was getting into and they’d need to stop her. And if she was just a runaway who thought a so-called haunted house could be a safe haven, they needed to correct her, fast.

There was no sign of the kid by the time he got to the back door, but it was open, and Dean had no illusions about where he’d find her. He unslung the shotgun and held it at the ready (safety on till he had either the ghost or the kid in his sights) as he crept inside, not sure whether he expected to hear footsteps or screams. His flashlight beam didn’t catch on anything out of the ordinary, but—

“What are you doing here?”

Dean cursed and spun, leveling the shotgun at the girl’s head before he realized she wasn’t the threat and lowering it. He hadn’t seen her approach, hadn’t even heard her, and that spoke volumes considering the creaking floorboards in this place. Had he really been that distracted?

The girl didn’t seem fazed by any of this, only drawing herself up taller and repeating herself. She came up to his chest and looked even younger than he’d been thinking. What was she, twelve? She looked like she should be in bed at this time of night, not skulking around abandoned buildings.

“Believe it or not, I’m protecting you.”

The girl snorted. “Not,” she said. “A normal gun isn’t going to do anything against ghosts.”

She had a lot to learn if she didn’t know the difference between a normal shotgun and one that had been sawed off, never mind how it was loaded, but that was just as well. It was better that kids her age didn’t know that difference yet, especially if the reason they learned was because they were caught in something like this. And even if she knew there was a ghost here—and truly believed there was a ghost here—he doubted she knew how to protect herself. Those baggy clothes might be concealing some kind of weapon, but since her hands were empty, it was far more likely she’d come here uninformed and unprepared.

“The rounds are packed with salt.”

“Which is supposed to do what, exactly? A ghost isn’t going to have some compulsive urge to count all the salt grains or anything. That’s, I dunno, vampires or fairies or something like that.”

Well, that confirmed that she hadn’t been raised in the hunting life, at least. “They’ll pack a punch. Now are you going to be a good little girl and get the hell out of here to save your own skin?”

The girl raised her eyebrows. “Are you kidding me? If I leave, you’re going to get yourself killed.”

Right.

Like he was the one who was uninformed and unprepared.

“If you know so much, then fill me in on what we’re dealing with here.”

The girl shrugged. “Standard ghost stuff. Former human still tied to something in this world. Strong enough to cause trouble but too weak to leave this place or consistently maintain a corporeal form.” She cocked her head at him. “You should know that if you think you want to be a ghost hunter.”

He rolled his eyes. “Just stay behind me.” He’d stick her in a circle of salt if he didn’t think she’d be stupid enough to leave it the moment he turned his back, but she wasn’t scared, and if she wasn’t scared, she wouldn’t listen to him. He had a better chance of keeping her alive when she thought she was invincible if he could at least see what idiotic stunt she was trying to pull. “Maybe you can learn something.”

“That would require me to know less than you about this.”

He could kill her later. Right now, he had to keep her alive. And then make Sam deal with her and her snarky remarks.

Dean turned to keep exploring, and the girl followed. This time, he could hear her footsteps. Which was impressive, considering she hadn’t shut up yet. “Judy thinks she’s doing the right thing, you know. Just like you are. This isn’t about retribution or anything. She thinks she’s doing these kids a favour. Freeing them. So they don’t have to suffer.”

Judith should’ve shown herself by now. He’d been here long enough, and the kid wasn’t exactly quiet.

Dean pulled the EMF meter out of his pocket and turned it on. It squealed, instantly lighting up red. The ghost was close.

“At least you have some tech with you. You aren’t completely incompetent. You know they’ve got less noisy things than that, though, right?”

“Just watch your back,” Dean growled, snapping off the EMF meter and tucking it away. “We’re gonna have company at any moment.”

“Assuming that thing is reliable.”

“It’s reliable.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I trust it more than I trust you.” But he still couldn’t see anything. Couldn’t feel any cold spots. The flashlight beam held steady as he played it along the walls, ducking into one room and then the next. Judith’s last victim had supposedly hung themselves, tying a rope to the second floor banister and jumping. Maybe the ghost was upstairs again, biding her time till round two. Waiting for them to walk into whatever trap was already set.

“I’m going to save your sorry butt when you screw up. It’s not.”

“Are you gonna give it a rest?”

“Are you gonna leave and let me handle this?” At Dean’s incredulous sputter, the girl nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“You’re not protecting me!”

“So you say. But you’re the one who has this backwards. Seriously, who goes up against ghosts armed with salt?”

Dean didn’t bother to dignify that with an answer and instead headed for the stairs. If the kid wasn’t going to listen, fine. He’d save her skin anyway. She might not be so lippy once the ghost actually showed.

He’d worry if it weren’t for the EMF reading. He hadn’t helped Sam with the grave digging for as long as he would’ve liked; Sam had been too worried about Little Miss Know-It-All here to let him stay. But the cemetery Judith was buried in wasn’t far from here, and if she had realized that Sam was the real threat—

The girl gasped the moment Dean’s foot hit the second floor. “She’s here.”

He couldn’t see her, but that didn’t mean the kid hadn’t seen something. Ghosts could be damned fast. “Keep your eyes peeled. She cou—”

“Duck!”

The girl tackled him with surprising strength, sending them both into the floor. She was on her feet first, fists clenched at her side as she faced down the ghost at the end of the hall. The old wooden chair Judith had thrown in their direction lay in pieces at the top of the stairs. The flashlight flickered a few feet away, but Dean had no idea where his shotgun had landed.

“Stop hurting people,” the girl demanded, “or I’ll stop you.”

Dean groaned. As far as threats went, that definitely needed work. Then again, she was a kid. And a stupid one at that, goading a ghost when she didn’t have any weapons on her. He grabbed the flashlight and swept it in a wide arc, but it gave out before he could see anything. He hadn’t heard the gun fall down the stairs, but it could’ve slid into one of the other rooms—

“I just want to help you,” Judith cooed. Dean cursed and lunged forward, towards the kid, but the ghost was faster, standing over her in the blink of an eye. “There’s so much danger out there. Wouldn’t you rather if I kept you safe?”

Judith hadn’t sounded like as much of a basket case when they’d read up on her life, but dying could do that to you. Dean fingered the half bag of salt he had in the pocket opposite the spare salt rounds. She’d disperse when it hit her, but the effect wouldn’t last long, and she’d be pissed once she reformed. On the upside, she’d be pissed at him and not trying to get the kid to join her in death. On the downside, he couldn’t even see anything made of iron that he could use as a makeshift weapon, and—

“I think I can help myself, thanks.” The girl stepped back. “You probably haven’t heard of me. I’d guess you haven’t heard of my cousin, either. But, believe me, I can take you down without breaking a sweat. It’ll be a lot easier on all of us if you just give up now.”

Dean had no idea what the kid was talking about, but he didn’t have time to figure out if there was any truth in what she’d said. Judith’s face contorted into a snarl as she flew forward and—

Dean blinked.

The afterimage left by the blinding green light was still seared into his eyes.

Maybe the kid had a hidden weapon after all.

“Dude, what the hell was that?”

“My secret weapon,” the girl said flippantly as she turned back to Dean. “You find your useless excuse for a weapon yet, Mr. I-Don’t-Need-Protecting?”

Whatever it had been, it wouldn’t hold Judith off for long. “Look, I’ve got enough salt to make a small circle, and if you stand inside—”

“So that’s a no.” The kid crossed her arms. “That’s what I thought.”

And that’s what he’d thought: that she wouldn’t go for it. At least he could tell Sam he’d tried. “You think you’re invincible because you got lucky just now?”

“No, I know I can handle myself because I’ve done it before. I’m still not entirely convinced that you have, by the way.”

Sammy oughta be close by now. Whether he liked it or not, he’d have to draw the ghost out to keep her focus on them. He didn’t like the idea of using the kid as bait, even when he didn’t particularly like her, but she could clearly handle herself for a few seconds if things went sideways. “Just be ready for when she comes back,” he growled, turning to look for the shotgun again. As soon as he had Judith focused on him, the kid would be in the clear, and it wouldn’t take long for Sam to torch Judith once he uncovered her casket. And then they could put this place in their rear-view mirror and forget about it.

The shotgun had slid into the bedroom. Dean walked in to grab it, and the door slammed shut behind him. “Hey!” No amount of twisting and pulling on the doorknob made any difference. This was Judith’s doing. He’d walked right into her trap. And the kid was out there on her own, secret weapon or no secret weapon. “Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered. The door opened inward, not outward, so he wouldn’t have much luck trying to slam into it to break it down. He might be able to make a hole using something else—the wood didn’t seem terribly strong, probably a hollow door rather than solid, and if he was lucky for once, that old bedframe might actually have some iron in it—but that would take time.

And he wasn’t likely to be able to force the door open until the ghost was distracted.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” the girl called, and he wasn’t entirely sure whether she was talking to him or to the ghost. He planted his foot on the wall beside the door and started to pull on the handle, just in case.

There was another green flash, followed by screaming.

He didn’t know whose it was until the door started to give. “C’mon,” he growled. If the series of thuds were anything to go by, Judith was throwing things at the kid. He wasn’t convinced the kid wasn’t throwing things back, for all the good that would do her. There was a larger, heavier thud that sounded like it came from right outside the door, and it snapped shut again, sealing before he even had a chance to see what was going on.

He didn’t need to see everything to guess that the kid had just taken a header into the wall, though.

“This is for your own good,” Judith was saying. “I just want to save you.”

There was another flash, white this time, and—thankfully—the kid’s sharp retort. “Save yourself, you crazy fruit loop.”

“Hurry up, Sammy,” Dean mumbled. “I don’t know how much longer this kid’s going to last.” There were more green flashes, and he could feel Judith’s grip on the door start to loosen, but—

Another crash, and this time the door came down on top of him. Dean wasn’t sure if the white light he saw this time was the same as before or just a side effect from everything else. He groaned and wiggled out from underneath the door. Judith was already there, standing over the kid, and she was out cold.

Well.

Hopefully out cold and not out of the game for good.

Dean’s fingers closed on the half package of salt, and he tossed it in Judith’s direction. Her image wavered and vanished as the salt cut through her, giving him a few precious seconds to catch his breath and check on the kid. He could find a pulse, weak but definitely there, and that’s all he cared about right now. Injuries could be dealt with later. Grabbing his shotgun from the floor, he stood up and stood guard.

“You still want to save her?” He heard Judith before he saw her. He turned, and she vanished, reappearing behind him. “You don’t even know what she is.”

“Still like my idea of saving her better than yours,” Dean shot back, pivoting to keep her in his sights.

“But she doesn’t belong with you.” He took a shot, but Judith had already moved. “She belongs with me.”

Judith’s idea of arguing her point involved her trying to bring the ceiling fan down on him. She managed to clip him as he dove out of the way, and then she was back over the kid. He fumbled to get in another shot—

And then she screamed, louder than before, as flames erupted from her chest. She reached down for the kid anyway, but the girl was more resilient than Dean had given her credit for; she was conscious enough to roll out of the way. The ghostly firelight was reflected in the kid’s wide blue eyes as she stared.

When Judith was nothing more than ash and the forgotten flashlight had flickered back to life, the girl met his eyes with a weak smile. “I take it back. I guess you do know a thing or two about hunting ghosts.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, kid,” he admitted grudgingly as he offered her a hand.

She took it and let him pull her to her feet. “Dani,” she said.

“Dean.” He could see the careful way she held herself as easily as he could see the wound from her head dripping blood down the left side of her face. “Come with me. We’ll meet up with my brother and get you fixed up.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be better if you let us help you. You wanna go home to your parents like that?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

He frowned. “You don’t have parents, do you?”

“I’m not having this conversation.” She tried to walk out, but he grabbed her arm.

“Listen, kid, this might not have been your first tango with a ghost, but if you want to keep breathing, let me help you.”

“I don’t need your help!”

“You can’t do this by yourself,” he snapped. “Whether you want to hunt or not—and, god, don’t get into this life if you don’t have to—you need someone to watch your back. Sam and I have a friend up in Sioux Falls. Jody. She’ll take you in, no questions asked. Give you a roof over your head. A proper home.”

“I’m not some stray you need to deal with.”

“No, but you’re a girl who’s in over her head, and you won’t be the first one Jody’s helped out. So either cough up the names and addresses of some family members or I’m giving Jody a call.” She opened her mouth, and he added, “And I’m not stupid. I’m going to be checking it out first to make sure you’re telling the truth before I drop you anywhere.”

Her mouth snapped shut.

“That’s what I thought.”

He didn’t trust the girl not to pull some disappearing act, but when she followed him to the Impala and climbed in with nothing more than a silent, sulky show of protest, he started to think that Sam was right. She was just a girl who wanted—needed—help, and on some level she must have recognized that or she wouldn’t have come with him.

Of course, she also probably thought she could take him if she had to, but the kid was nothing if not cocky and overconfident. She likely wouldn’t think any different once she met Sam, either, even though she should.

She’d get along well with Jody and her girls.

(see more fics)

#superphantom #supernatural #danny phantom #dean winchester #dani phantom #fanfiction #crossover #suicide mention #swearing #my writing #ladylynse #dp snippet #spn snippet #crossover snippet #snippets #thank you again!#sapphireswimming #shh let's just ignore the fact that this took me about five hours

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destroyyourbinder · 5 years

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dealing with binding damage/pain

I had a reader ask this question a month or two back and I just realized I never answered it! Since I've been on the topic lately I wanted to give them a response:

So I came to terms with my sexuality after identifying as ftm, and binding for three years due to internalized homophobia (luckily didn't change my body more than that because my parents are extremely conservative). Any advice with dealing with chest pain/tissue damage when no longer binding?

Hey there-- I'm really glad to hear that you've come to terms with being a lesbian; it's a long journey for a lot of us, and although it's definitely not over once you recognize you're "just gay" after all, it often opens your life up to possibilities you thought were forever closed. Once you've settled in, in my experience at least I've found it to be a big fucking relief in a lot of ways.

The advice I'd give you is really contingent on what kind of damage you suffered, where the pain is currently and what in particular exacerbates it, what you're currently doing with regards to wearing garments on your upper body, whether you also have posture changes due to slouching/binding, and how far out you are from when you've stopped binding. I'm going to write to a general audience both because I don't actually know what you're experiencing, because you might be unsure yourself or not realize something you're experiencing is related to binding-related (or dysphoria-related) issues, and because I think a lot of female people could benefit from this discussion. One of the resources I want to link you to is a 2017 study that I think I've reblogged a couple times now, called "Health impact of chest binding among transgender adults: a community-engaged, cross-sectional study" which is I think the only research piece that we have to have systematically examined negative health outcomes of breast/chest binding practices. I'd advise anybody binding or with a history of binding to look through this study to educate themselves on the risks and prevalence rates of a number of health issues commonly caused by or associated with binding. Not everyone knows or is willing to admit that certain issues they are experiencing could be binding-related so just simply having this information is a good start. You can find the study linked here for free: https://transfigurations.org.uk/filestore/binding-project-postprint.pdf I also want to preface this with the plea to please take seriously anything you're experiencing; I know it's a chronic myth in the trans community and in gender non-conforming female circles where people might bind that there is a level of binding that is "safe" or at least significantly "safer". Although your problems can escalate the more time you spend binding (whether measured in hours per day, the frequency with which you bind, or how much time total you've spent doing binding practice) or with certain binding practices (like using ace bandages or duct tape, "double binding", or using too much compression) binding can cause certain problems near-immediately, such as muscle aches or other musculoskeletal related pain, shortness of breath, and skin issues. Serious binding-related problems, like rib movement or decrease in lung capacity, can occasionally happen very quickly, i.e. within a few months of beginning binding regularly, even following generally well-regarded harm-reduction practices for binding. I sometimes read of people who doubt that binding could have hurt them because they "only" bound for such-and-such a period of time or "only" with a commercial binder, and who seem to refer to some mythical lumberjack trans man who wears his binder 12 hours a day in the timberlands and has no problems, or at least just bears them through his beard with no complaint, as the gold standard for binding. I know for many female people bearing the pain and body issues that come with binding is considered a hallmark of masculine identity and that your right to name your distress as gender dysphoria is often in question if you decide that the costs of binding are too high for you. There is a very nasty arms race to the bottom in trans community sometimes about who is the absolutely most dysphoric and the absolute manliest, and if you don't think that any horrible level of nihilistic self-destruction is worth it to ward off the prospect of Really Being a Girl then you run the risk of losing this terrible game. I want to begin my discussion of binding risks and known problems with this because most of us struggle with this mentality in some form, at some point, and choosing to prioritize taking care of our bodies in a very basic way over doing what our dysphoria tells us is necessary to make it go away can be extremely difficult, to the point we may deny that we have anything happening with us that we need to take care of at all. Listening to your body will take a lot of time when all you could hear at one point was how gross, humiliating, disturbing, and wrong it was. It's a lot like learning to communicate with a species of animal you've never had to interact with intimately and that maybe you're repulsed by, like a rat (which are perfectly wonderful creatures, by the way). That all out of the way, the first question I want to ask is this: are you having any problems with breathing, your lungs, or general respiratory problems you suspect are related to binding? This is probably one of the most serious problems some people have with binding and is not something I feel comfortable advising on given that it can be extremely medically serious and life-limiting. Problems frequently cited are general shortness of breath, chronic wheezing or coughing, feeling deprived of oxygen especially when exercising, and feeling like you have fluid in the lungs. These may be more serious if you smoke, are being exposed to environmental allergens, or have a pre-existing respiratory issue like asthma. I did not experience this but would definitely direct you to seek advice from a medical professional if you are having lingering issues of this nature.

Binding is also known to cause permanent rib changes-- serious and/or chronic chest or back pain should probably warrant a trip to the doctor. Broken and cracked bones are possible from binding practices, or from becoming injured while binding. If you're experiencing intense or odd pain you may have also pushed your ribs out of alignment to hit an internal organ or compress a nerve. Some symptoms, including ones like gastrointestinal issues, can indicate that you have altered the position or function of organs contained inside your rib cage or that compression is affecting their ability to work properly. If you suspect this is going on I also don't feel comfortable advising you to do anything else but seek medical advice.

Costochondritis is a common symptom that people who bind experience. It is an inflammation of the cartilage that connects your ribs to your sternum (the center bone in your chest) and is something that I experienced even when just wearing tight/multiple sports bras. I had it off and on the entire time I wore bras or used a binder and it ranged in painfulness from mild to so-intense-I-had-trouble-breathing. It is usually a temporary condition, but it can reoccur continually over time to various degrees of intensity. I usually waited out the times it occurred more mildly, but if it's severe you may need a course of steroids to decrease inflammation (as I did twice in my late teens/early twenties). You can usually tell that you have it instead of some sort of more medically serious chest pain if you poke your ribs towards the center of your chest and the pain feels both external and shoots up dramatically. If you aren't sure whether the pain is located in your ribs or elsewhere, you should probably get things checked out to make sure you don't have a heart or lung issue from binding or otherwise. Another thing I want to mention is that you can very easily sprain or pull muscles from getting in and out of binders or moving around in them, especially if you're moving around vigorously or exercising. This should also generally be temporary and can be treated in the same way you usually would treat any muscle injury (rest, heat/cold, gentle stretching and movement) but even if you stop binding, look out for continuing symptoms from any serious pulls or strains you might have incurred while binding. Wrenching your neck in particular can result in lingering issues. It might make you feel stupid to admit or think about, but "dumb" injuries like pulling your shoulder while getting a stuck binder off are mechanically the same as any other injury, so keep an eye out. A lot of pain you might experience while binding or even years after binding has to do with your muscles-- this can be from binding directly from the way a binder/bra exerts force on your chest and shoulders, from range of motion issues from being constricted in a binder or from compensating for binding pain, or from chronic posture issues from hiding your breasts. I also want to note, because they're so common in trans and gender non-conforming female people, that autism in particular but other neurodevelopmental disorders can change your posture in weird ways, and your sensory feedback is likely atypical or not fully integrated so you might have odd ways of moving that aren't necessarily mechanically optimal. All these things together can lead to chronic pain throughout your body-- obviously most people talk about pain in the upper back, chest, shoulders, and neck-- but chronic jaw pain or headaches are a potential issue from tightness or referred pain from lower down, and compensating for upper body tension, motion issues, or pain can lead to changes in the position or motion of the lower back, hips, or legs which can lead to tightness and pain. I unfortunately have both lingering issues in my chest, shoulders, and back and a host of posture-related pain issues even over two years after stopping binding, due to ways that I compensated for wearing compression constantly on my chest (I would wear sports bras even to bed) and ways I changed my body posture to prevent "looking female". I have a slouch about as bad as what’s-her-face, as most trans men I have met also do regardless of whether or not they're post-mastectomy, and although it’s gotten better with mindful practice and lack-of-binder I am still totally not where I want to be. There are many physical therapy resources out there that are now publicly available online-- on resource websites as well as YouTube-- and regularly stretching using these strategies has basically held my body together this whole time through several physically intense jobs. I personally use a set of stretches for headaches, and a number of sciatica stretches, calf stretches, and trapezius-focused stretches that I found all over the internet. There is also a tumblr thread here (not all of which is posted on my blog, please check the notes) where another woman who experienced binding damage solicits advice and many people offer suggestions for binding-pain related stretches and exercises. I also made a DIY foam roller out of a 2-ish foot stretch of 3 inch PVC pipe and some squishy shelf liner that I glued around the outside, and I have a DIY rice bag I pop in the microwave for use as a heating pad. I have also found that regularly taking omega-3 oils helps mitigate the level of inflammation and pain my muscles can reach; I take algae-based oils because I am vegetarian but if you eat fish, regular fish oil pills will work just as well. If you are still wearing a supportive bra or have chosen to deal with stopping binding by stopping everything your muscles will not have learned to support your chest yet, especially if it's large. If you quit all chest-supporting garments cold turkey or go to only very minimal chest support after binding you might have a lot of pain initially. My general chest and breast pain has substantially decreased after 2+ years of being without a bra or binder, so it's worth a shot or two to learn to do this, but you will have increased pain initially until your body adjusts. It was both my actual chest muscles, wall, and ribs that hurt as well as my breasts (something that might be obscured by dysphoric-friendly language about "chests") but once my chest and shoulders became sufficiently built, my breasts "sagged" appropriately to hang where they were comfortable, and I adjusted to the sensory input of feeling the weight on my chest, I was ultimately more physically comfortable than I ever had been in bras or binders. The pain was not easy to get through-- it was sometimes excruciating-- but now I can do anything I could do previously with a bra or binder without one, including run. If you are in this position I recommend upper body exercise or introducing regular upper body work into your daily life; this will help you build muscles appropriately and learn to move your body in a mechanically optimal way. It does simply just take time if you are attempting to adjust to minimal or no compression on your chest, and stepping down more gradually can help (such as by wearing athletic compression wear, which I have a guide about here). But it took me probably about a full year before I no longer had this sort of pain, and about another year or so before it felt fully "normal". I talked more about the process of stopping wearing bras and what it felt like in this thread, if anyone is interested in knowing more. On the topic of changes to skin and tissue: sores, infections, skin damage, and so on are common from binding, especially if you are large-chested. I still have some mild issues with this in the summer, as many people do, when I sweat a lot and various fungal and bacterial microorganisms can easily proliferate. This should resolve itself over time if you wash regularly with a gentle antibacterial soap or cleanser, keep the area between and under your breasts dry, change your clothes daily, and try to wear loose-fitting clothing. But as always, anything that won't go away for weeks, or that is resulting in skin breakage, swelling, or sores, should be addressed by a doctor. My breast tissue did change from binding with a binder, and my breasts became more "floppy" and "soft". I gained more stretch marks than I had already had. I suspect I am more prone to breast pain than I was previously, and my nipples and breast skin have little conscious registry of sensation, but I don't know if that came from binding, either with a binder or bras. But to my knowledge most changes to your breasts from binding are largely "cosmetic". I have not heard word from anyone that this damages your breast as an organ, but then again most people who bind usually do not breastfeed. Stories by trans men who kept their breasts and became pregnant indicate that their breastfeeding is relatively normal, but we simply do not have the data to know how binding might affect breast function. I do not know either if you're more likely to do something to the breast tissue by binding which could increase the likelihood of any medical issue in particular or create the opportunity for pain. Mine are definitely "saggier" to some extent and have gotten even "worse" post-binding, but as I've noted this has not been a bad thing, because I do not wear a bra any longer and my breast tissue now hangs in a way that allows me to move without pain. Finally, I just want to mention there are a lot of emotions that you might feel from having binding damage in a similar way that anyone who did something to themselves in the name of transition or dis-identification might. I sometimes personally feel extremely stupid for having done what I did, and that makes it even harder to deal with pain or other physical issues, even though it was understandable that I reached for binding to cope with my feelings at the time. I also feel extremely stupid and conflicted about my values a lot of the time given that I still have impulses to go back to binding even though I know that it hurt me and I don't actually want to begin again. I feel really angry about how my body was sexualized at a young age and how my family and doctors dealt with my early puberty, about how my family chose to humiliate me for being neurotically "modest" instead of supporting me through something difficult. Sometimes I feel really bad about quitting binding or for having to quit because of pain because I feel like I was "proving" right people who criticized it or my impulse to hide my breasts for the wrong reasons, or even that they are right because I "deserve" the pain I feel as a result of trying to avoid my body. I feel exposed and ashamed a lot about my breasts, and it's been hard to cope with the effects of binding damage realistically in a way that values my not-being-in-pain when I'm also trying to manage dysphoric feelings. I feel messed up that I felt "validated" about having and using a binder and that I tried to ignore how much pain it put me through in favor of hoping that it would facilitate me some day achieving some ultimate male-like body state where basically I couldn't suffer anymore. These are all varieties of normal feelings to feel, and I just want others to know that it makes sense if you feel stuff like this. Re-centering on taking care of yourself and your body takes time if the feelings are really intense, but it's worth getting back to focusing on what you actually value-- your health, your functioning, and so on-- even if it takes a while, and you don't have to immediately ignore or push past what you feel to "get better".

#binding20 #responses #qanda #writings #risks01 #science30 #dysphoriacoping26 #whatsitlike106 #alts101 #chest12

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icameheretowinry · 6 years

Note

Roy Mustang !

Casey you are blessing me with this ask!! I will take any opportunity to gush over my anime husband. (/▽＼*)｡o○♡

How I feel about this character:

Like Ed, Roy is one of my favorite characters of all time, within and outside the fma universe. In fact, I’d go as far as to put them on equal footing. (I said Ed was my favorite fma character in his ask, but I really can’t choose between them.) While a majority of fma characters are excellently written, Roy is uniquely spectacular in the complexity of his backstory, personality, and relationships with other characters.

Save Wrath, Riza and Hohenheim, Roy’s origins are not only incredibly intriguing, but actually account for many of his unique skills and personality traits. Growing up under the guardianship of Madame Christmas and her network of spies, it’s easy to see where Roy picked up his effortless ploys of charisma, and the nuances of espionage, also likely an environment where he learned to grow up very fast. His aunt’s connections to Grumman, coupled with the cooperation of his adoptive sisters, not only convincingly fortified his false reputation as a womanizer, but put him in the prime position to receive any range of military intel higher ups would blab to a pretty face. In addition, while the nature of his alchemy is/was known to the Hawkeyes, Roy finds himself in the unique position of not only being its soul bearer, but its last, while painfully aware of the damage his power can inflict, and be exploited by others. Interestingly, while there is a lot of turmoil that separates the idealistic boy that spoke to Riza in front of her father’s grave, and the colonel we see during the Elric’s story, he still deeply cares about the state of the world he lives in and how he can change it. However, time has brought a portion of that sense of justice to the personal level, rendering Roy that much more determined, and that much more unstable.

Despite the dark nuances of his past in Ishval, a distinct side of Roy remains remarkably childish and goofy. Forgoing professionalism, he often mirrors Ed’s belligerence in an attempt to enforce his authority, blatantly ignore checks to his own power (i.e. rain) to overcome a problem on his own or assert his own credibility as an alchemist (i.e. that thing where teens think they are invincible), and finds sheer entertainment in tasks he should probably be taking seriously (see above). I’m honestly not quite sure how to define this aspect of his personality. At times quite endearing, I can’t help but think it has something to do with his time spent in Ishval. Is it a coping mechanism? A portion of his teenage self that was sequestered and shut away? Or maybe I’m reading too much into it and he’s just a goof. However, I like to think he only whips it out around people he is truly comfortable with (the Elrics included).

Also, let’s not forget that Roy is incredibly intelligent, and was the youngest state alchemist in history before Ed showed up. He was only 20, I believe, so I can understand his reading of Ed’s personality, and what he could do with his alchemy. He saw a version of himself in Ed, no doubt. He can create explosions large enough to destroy an entire building, yet precise enough to burn a single piece of paper or boil the fluid in Envy’s eyes, even when overcome by rage. Nothing about his alchemy is haphazard or uncalculated. He figures out he can carve a damn transmutation circle in his hand to continue fighting, and has enough medical knowledge to cauterize a serious wound. His skillfully plays within the lines of the Amestrian military, yet all with the intention to turn it around to his advantage. Even when things go wrong, he has his artfully cultivated support system of subordinates, friends, allies, and informants to catch him. Finally, not only is his alchemy more complex than that of any other state alchemists, Roy can perform is blind with little instruction. He’s a calculated strategist, excellent spy, and just plain brilliant.

Finally, Roy is the perfect parallel to Ed. They are both idealistic young boys at some point. They’re both hopeful of a better future. They aren’t foils of each other, but exist beautifully together. Roy is Ed, more or less, 15 years older. They both have past sins to atone for, and unlike Father, they learn to embrace them, and become stronger individuals for the future benefit of the communities they surround themselves with. They’re equally serious, and at times, equally immature. Roy has the advantage of age, while Ed has the advantage of time. From what one has done wrong, the other has done right, and they respect and learn from each other. Roy is very protective of the Elric brothers, and encourages them along their quest. Ed, while he makes fun of Roy, looks up to him, and is one of the few to pull him to his sense from the pits of rage. Neither of them are perfect, but despite all the headbutting and jokes, these two are the ultimate allies, examples, and, just let me say, friends.

And just as an indulgent side note, Roy is HELLA attractive. I can’t remember who made the post recently, but I sincerely agree with the point of how bafflingly handsome he is. His aesthetic is something I personally go for, so yeah, anime husband. *screams into the void* *the void agrees*

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

Ummmmmmmmmm. If it isn’t possible to ship royai, I don’t need to exist in this world. Cancel my subscription! I more than ADORE these two. The subtly of their relationship is masterful, and every interaction is honed; built on years of experience, and is beautiful to watch. I adore Roy’s friendship with Maes (see below), but his relationship with Riza is next to none. They are so in sync that they terrify me. It is, honestly a relationship that transcends love. In short, while I don’t always see this in the real world, they are, imo, soulmates. They understand, respect, and love each other. It’s so effortless, the world doesn’t even need an explanation. There are people who get along. There are people who get each other, like Maes and Roy. And then there is the person whose existence fits seamlessly your own, just so. That’s Roy and Riza.

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

This is the friendship that created the term bromance y’all. I LOVE these two. For two people that became friends over a piece of damn quiche, I will cry over the development of their relationship for the next 10,000 years. Roy and Maes are THE example of a perfect friendship. They support each other in their goals, joke around, know when to be serious, and just plain GET each other. The only other person who could possibly read that deep into Roy besides Riza, is Maes. They went through hell together in Ishval, and came out on the other side with a steadfast promise to fix the state of their country, and to see it ripped apart ENDED me. I have the distinct feeling that Roy looked up to Maes; seeing the future he had, and believing it could be real. He could fall in love, and have a family. He could be happy. Then, it was all torn away. His prophecy on the battlefield came true, and I bet Roy hated himself for it. I bet he despised himself. This is where the inspiration for my fic “Young” came from. (If you want to read, here’s the link.) If the man he cared for the most, the man who had done less wrong than he, not be happy, not be allowed to live, then why should he even consider the possible existence of a brighter future for himself?

My unpopular opinion about this character:

I really wanted to see other emotions from Roy that straight rage regarding his response to Hughes’ death. We get the “today is a terrible day for rain” moment, but for a character as driven by his emotions as Roy, I really expected more outward displays of grief and despair from him over the death of his best friend. Vulnerable Roy is excellent to watch, and honestly, I’d love to see more of it. While both he and Ed are emotionally vulnerable over the course of the series, it’s shown more blatantly in Ed’s corner, even though he doesn’t cry. There are moments where he expresses genuine despair and helplessness, and they are uniquely powerful (see the scene within Gluttony as a prime example). I get that Roy is supposed to appear cold and collected, but the few times his emotions manifest in ways other than rage, are beyond excellent. He doesn’t need to cry, per se, but a few more varied expressions would be more than appreciated.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:

If two (2) things happened, I would be forever happy. First, if Arakawa ever made royai canonically official. *swoons at the mere thought* Second, I need a Team Mustang spinoff series! I need all the office shenanigans, meetings to exchange intelligence gone wacky, initial assembly of the team, flashbacks to Roy’s childhood with Madame Christmas, all the inside jokes about Fuery being the smol son of the group, Havoc’s fail of a love life, Breda’s fear of dogs, and everyone secretly trying to get Roy and Riza together?!?!?! GIVE. IT. TO. ME.

Send me a character, if you dare.

#roy mustang #fma #fma brotherhood #character analysis

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zoraclover777 · 6 years

Text

Nobody.

Couple: Billy Hargrove x reader

Warnings: angst, swearing???

Requested: no.

Tags: @happelu970

AN: ive been taking a long break, I know, but, hear me out; the holidays have been taking over and I worked 50 hours last week. I promise I’ll get back on track, if my writers block doesn’t get to me, first.

————

“Did you hear that Billy was behind the bleachers with Carol?”

“No way! Isn’t he dating that one girl—”

“I mean, I just saw them a second ago.”

The words made your ears burn and your eyes water as you did a three sixty, walking out of the school and to the bleachers.

You hadn’t heard the girl continue her gossip, saying that it didn’t look like Billy had wanted it, but Carol was being aggressive.

Rumours were common at Hawkins, but this one wasn’t a rumour as you saw the scene in front of you.

“Billy, come—”

“You don’t fucking understand, I can—”

“We used to do this all the time!” She whined, attempting to unbutton his shirt.

“Carol, you don—”

Not wanting to hear another word that was spoken, you had started to walk back into school as you bit your lip and tried to hold back the tears.

As you walked into school, all eyes were on you and that wasn’t a lie, everybody had been staring at you as you walked in, waiting for a breakdown of some sort.

You had made the six minute trip to your locker from the front doors and fiddled with your lighter as you unlocked the locker door. Numbly, you grabbed your backpack and closed it, attempting to ignore the whispers as you walked away.

“She was the good one, why would he cheat on her?”

“I don’t get it.”

“Maybe she’s mentally fucked up.”

As you opened the door, the final sentence burned your ears, almost as if someone had put an iron to them and pressed as hard as they could.

“Maybe he didn’t love her.”

Jaw clenching, you walked outside and lit up a cigarette as you made your way to your car, biting your lip in the process.

See, people warned you about this when you had first gotten into a relationship with Billy Hargrove, the biggest man-whore in all of Hawkins. You had given him a chance because you gave everyone a chance, and that didn’t exclude Billy.

As you unlocked your car, you swallowed the burning sensation crawling up your throat and blinked the tears away. Sitting down, you closed the door and gripped the steering wheel in agony, clenching your teeth together in an act to not scream.

You had been warned of this heartbreak, but you didn’t know if it was true.

It was and it hurt. It burned, honestly, and you start up your car for a distraction of the whole thing, tapping your foot as you waited for heat to blast into your face.

“Y/N! Hey, hey—”

“Steve, not now.”

“Listen, someone told him you found out and he’s running the school like a mad man, you gotta—”

The words were cut off as you heard loud footsteps on gravel, followed by the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and then a thud.

Looking up, you watched as Billy had Steve by the collar of his shirt with a deadly look in his eyes as he threw another punch.

Hastily getting out of your car, you circled around it and grabbed Billy’s arm, pulling him away from the other teen and he turned to you, panting heavily.

“What is your problem?!”

“That fucking idiot thinks it’s okay to flirt with you!”

“A boy can’t flirt with me, but you can fuck the biggest slut in school? How does that work, Hargrove?”

His eyes widened as you spit his last name out in anger, something he’d never heard come out of your mouth and he bit his lip.

“Because I wasn’t. I told her—”

“Okay, Billy.” Turning away, you helped Steve up and into your car. As you close the door, a hand grabs onto your forearm and you whip your head to the culprit.

“Listen, Y/N, I wasn’t, okay? I was telling her that—”

“That it wasn’t an appropriate place or time? To go back to your place to get it on? Fuck off, Hargrove. We’re done.”

As you go to turn away, the hand grabs onto you much tighter, pulling you to him and he grabs your shoulders.

“I was telling her we can’t do that shit, anymore. I’m in a fucking relationship and this time, I don’t want to fuck it up.”

“Billy—”

“BECAUSE you’re the only good thing to come out of this shitty town and I don’t want nobody else, okay? It’s been a year, Y/N. A year since we’ve started dating, so why would I fuck it up now?” His voice softened as you looked at the doors of the school as a distraction.

“Maybe you don’t love me, anymore.” You whispered, pushing his hands off of you as you made your way to the driver’s side and opened the door.

“That isn’t true! That’s some fucked up rumour you heard and now it’s going to ruin this, ruin us. Why can’t you trust me? Why can’t you just give me the god damn benefit of the doubt?”

Biting your tongue, you got into the car as you looked at the unconscious Steve in the front seat and sighed out, starting your car.

“You want this perfect fucking relationship but you don’t want to work for it! What is the fucking deal with that, can you explain it to me? Y/N! I’m fucking talking to you!”

The boiling in your stomach became unstoppable as you unbuckled your seatbelt and got out of the car, slamming the door shut and pointing a finger in his face.

“You can’t have one damn day without someone coming up to me about some shit, Billy! You don’t talk to me about personal things, you come over to my house at random hours of the night, covered in bruises, and you just, you can’t control your anger! You want to talk now? Do you want to fucking talk now?!”

He ran his tongue over his teeth as he watched your face turn red and you shook, staring him down.

“I’ll start.”

The words caught you off guard as you widened your eyes and stared at him, shocked at what had came out of his mouth.

“I’ll tell you my life, I’ll explain the bruises and attitude, and fuck, I’ll control my anger, if you just stay. Just stay and help, please. Nobody else has made me feel like this and nobody ever will, unless it’s you. So, please.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you felt your back press against cool metal and lips, to yours. You started kissing back after a second and your hands gripped onto his shoulders before you pushed him away lightly.

“Tonight, at six, come over and explain everything. I won’t leave you.” Getting back in your car, you closed the door and started it, looking over at Steve.

“You fucked him up, again, Billy. I’m going to take him home so he doesn’t have to drive with a half beaten face.”

As you pulled out and watch him nod, you smiled and went to drive away before the sound of something hitting metal made you stop.

Billy had his hand on the hood before he walked to the driver’s side, pointing at your window. You rolled it down and raised an eyebrow at him.

“I do love you.”

“Mmm, yeah, I love you, too.”

He smiled softly as he backed away from the car and watched as you smiled back at him.

“Nobody else.”

“I’ll see you around six.” You said as you peeled out of the parking lot and onto the main road.

“God, I’ve never been in love with anybody, but I think that’s what this is.” Billy said to himself as he got in his car, thinking about the talk at six and how he was going to pour his soul out.

He was going to make this work one way or another.

———

AN: i finished a story???? Like, my bad for not updating in a while, my dudes. Holidays, and work, and home have been filling my schedule up. I hope you enjoyed!!

#billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove #billy hargrove fanfic #angst billy hargrove #stranger things #stranger things masterlist #stranger things fanfic #reader insert #billy isn't horribly mean #stranger things series #stranger things fanfiction #billy hargrove fanfiction

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thelillzmonster · 7 years

Text

osculum dare (m.)

↳ The two of you had one rule. A rule that if broken, your sexual relationship would be over. A rule as simple as; no kissing.

[cr.]

→ osculum dare (v.) to give a kiss

pairing; min yoongi x reader

genre; smut, romance, friendswithbenefits!au

words; 5 907

warnings; mature and sexual content, dirty, not holy

A/N: the ultimate bias wrecker + short scenario = filth. it killed me writing this. tell the devil hi from me. and thank you for 800, baes

He was a friend.

He was part of your crew, in the circle of your closest friends. The group who were infamous for going to a different party every weekend, for knowing almost every kid in town, for being troublesome. You were a team who stayed together and helped each other out, no matter the consequence. People saw you as brothers and sisters, almost as if you had made some kind of blood oath to one another. You were the bad kids who were good and were liked by the bigger mass - excluding your teachers, of course.

But everyone knew.

Everyone knew that there was something different about the way he looked at you; the way you looked at him. It didn’t stop you from abusing the ‘we’re just friends’ card to your heart’s content. Nobody believed you, but you knew admitting it to them would mean admitting it to yourself, and that was too risky. But the fact that the two of you were hooking up regularly - which everyone also knew - probably wasn’t supporting your denial of romance.

Though, the two of you had made it quite clear to each other after the first time you hooked up, that there would be no strings attached. Just physical attraction, no deeper, no shallower. It had been a sort of a promise. But every time you woke up, hazy and naked, next to him, it got harder and harder to keep that promise. Despite that, it didn’t stop you from trying. Especially since you couldn’t see what everybody else saw, the way he 'shone’ when he was with you. You wished you could see it, but nevertheless, you couldn’t.

It also didn’t comfort you much that you knew how he would sleep with others, too. It was no crime - and if it was, you were just as guilty - but you would be lying to yourself if you said it didn’t sting, just a little bit. Just enough for you to back down from the terrifying thing called love.

But you had learned to cope. After all, the pair of you were close, in a way that the rest in your crew weren’t (ignoring the sexual part) and your friendship was valuable. Plus, the sex was quite the bonus.

However, the two of you had one rule. A rule that if broken, your sexual relationship would be over. A rule as simple as; no kissing. It only counted for lip-to-lip kisses, though; hickeys and such were more than welcome. But your mouth was not aloud to intentionally touch his. That would be a deal-breaker. The first night had been an exception, considering the fact that it was highly unplanned and the rule didn’t exist at that point. You had never made out with someone so passionately as you had with him that night, and the memory would constantly pop up in your head while you were lying underneath him, panting and moaning. It would be so easy to just lean up and close that obscenely irritating gap, but you never had the guts to do that. And he never did it either.

You were snapped back to reality when Hoseok, another guy in your crew, bumped into your shoulder out of nowhere, making you whip your head to him in confusion. The wide grin he shone down at you confirmed that he was absolutely wasted, which was heavily supported by the fact that he couldn’t even lean back against the wall properly.

An amused chuckle slipped past your lips as you carefully took the half-empty beer bottle out of his hand - he didn’t seem to notice.

“How are you feeling, huh?” You asked him with a smirk, placing a hand on his right shoulder to support him.

“Fucking great, (Y/N).” His words slurred as he weakly swayed sideways.

“I think you should find yourself a seat, Ho-”

“Ey, Somin!” He called out with a hiccup, apparently forgetting your existence. Before you could stop him he was stumbling away, only making you lean back against the wall with a smile and take a sip from Hoseok’s beer.

Though, when he got lost behind the crowd, your eyes found something that wiped the smile off your face.

Yoongi. Him. Your ‘friend with benefits’, as everyone seemed to call it.

But he wasn’t alone. A senior, Juhyun, was clinging onto him, blatantly flirting and dragging her greedy palms all over his torso. The both of them seemed to be laughing, probably having quite a nice conversation.

You sighed. Somehow, wherever you were, whatever you were doing, your eyes would always be drawn to him. His dirty blonde hair didn’t help much either. Though, you doubted that’s why he stood out to you. It probably had nothing to do with his glowing, milky white skin, his dark, piercing eyes or his intriguing, laid back aura. It was just him. That reason was enough.

“Hey, (Y/N).” Someone called out from beside you, snapping you out of your daze and grabbing your focus. It was Kim Namjoon. A guy you had hooked up with months ago at a New Year’s party. You weren’t really close enough to be called friends, but you were past the awkward point after you hooked up with someone.

“Oh, hi, Namjoon.” You greeted him back politely. His steps looked as stable as any normal human being’s, telling you that he was still sober. It honestly relieved you; dealing with drunk teens wasn’t really your forte.

“Why are you alone? Where’s your crew?”

“Probably flirting or making out with people.” You shrugged, gaze lingering on Yoongi and Juhyun, whom were still standing close and being way too touchy. Although, too touchy for what? Nothing.

Namjoon chuckled beside you.

“And what are you up to?” He asked, his lips forming a slightly suggestive smirk.

‘Fuck it.’

“Well, seems like the same.” You smiled back, discarding the beer bottle to the table beside you, before you stepped closer to the tall man. Once again, he let out a hint of laughter.

“Hmm. No ‘date’ tonight, I assume?”

He was probably referring to Yoongi - which wasn’t fair since you two weren’t a thing thing - and it made your gut tighten, but you quickly forced the feeling away.

“I don’t know. I think that’s up to you.”

He grinned.

“Good.”

Then he was leaning down, hand grazing your jaw, before his lips were on yours. You had forgotten how smooth and experienced he was, because suddenly you felt your tongues softly grazing against each other and he had placed your hands on his neck. You already knew that he was pretty much a man whore, but it didn’t really matter to you. It wasn’t the first time with him anyway.

You got more aggressive with the kissing. You didn’t know exactly why, but there was hidden anger somewhere in your chest and it was unwillingly boiling over, somehow triggered by the physical contact. Namjoon probably took it for just being lust (presumed because of the smirk you felt against your lips), but that wasn’t what was driving you to pull him closer with your arms and battling your tongue with his. It almost felt like you were trying to prove something to yourself. But what?

And the next thing you knew, a sharp pain shot into your lower lip and you were jerking away quickly, cupping a hand against your mouth. Your eyes shot open in shock and you saw Namjoon leaned against the wall as somebody had heavily bumped into him while you were making out. He had accidentally bit your lip.

“What the fuck?” Namjoon exclaimed, irritated gaze directed at the guy who was standing next to him.

“Sorry. Chill, it was an accident.” The guy responded, frowning at Namjoon’s aggressive approach.

“Learn to watch where you’re going.” He growled angrily before turning to you, who were standing by just observing the scene while still getting over the pain in your lip. “(Y/N), are you okay? Shit, I’m sorry.”

He looked so guilty and you felt bad, but when you lightly touched the wounded flesh with your index finger and saw blood, it wasn’t worth it. The sexual drive was gone, too.

“I’m fine, Namjoon. Not your fault.”

“Should we get it cleaned so we can resume what we wer-”

“No, I’ll just go fix it myself. Sorry.” You sighed, walking away without another look at the probably confused man, heading towards the kitchen.

There was only a lone couple in the corner of the room, face-eating each other shamelessly, making you cringe. But you didn’t halt in your steps, just quickly reached the sink and screwed the faucet on. Rinsing your mouth, chin and hands from the crimson liquid, you sighed heavily. There was some kind of longing ache sitting right in your chest, and you couldn’t figure out how to make it stop. And the fact that you didn’t know the reason why it was even there, didn’t make figuring it out any easier.

Or rather, you knew why; you just didn’t want to believe it.

“You good?”

Your muscles jerked at the sudden sound of a very familiar voice and made you turn around in a haste. The dark eyes mixed with the ash blonde locks that were there to meet your gaze made you frown.

“Yoongi?” You were about to ask ‘aren’t you supposed to be banging Juhyun right now?’ but decided to leave that part out.

He only chuckled.

“Why do you look so surprised? Don’t you remember I tagged along? Are you drunk?”

You snorted at that.

“No, I’m fine I just.....” You didn’t think finishing the sentence was necessary, and turned back to the streaming water with a shrug.

Yoongi appeared next to you, leaning on his elbow against the counter.

“I think Namjoon has a thing for you.” He stated, voice suddenly dropping an octave.

Your eyebrows furrowed when you looked back up at him, thumb wiping across your lip to remove excess blood. You just barely, barely, caught his gaze flicker down to your mouth as you did, but it was so fast that it might not have even happened.

“I-... Maybe he does.” You shrugged again.

“You don’t seem intrigued.” Amusement was evident in his tone.

“Maybe ‘cause I’m not. He’s not my type.”

He laughed.

“Since when do you have a type?”

You only shot a bewildered look at him.

“Hey, what does that mean?”

“Remember your exes, Seokjin and Jungkook?”

“Yeah, so..?”

“They’re two completely different people. One is a classy gentleman who’s older than you, and one is a nasty fuckboy who’s younger.”

“Hey! Don’t call him nasty.”

He ignored you.

“They are polar opposites, yet you dated them both.”

You rolled your eyes, making him wheeze out a chuckle.

“I know you better than you do, trust me. After all, I am Min Yoongi, the genius himself.”

You couldn’t help but start laughing at the inside joke you two shared. He had excessively called himself a genius the first time you tried pot at sixteen years old, and the memory just always made the two of you cackle.

You looked back at him with a lazy smack to the shoulder, making him laugh himself. Despite being your fuckbuddy, he was still a very good friend, and moments like these reminded you of that. You just weren’t sure if it was a good or bad thing to you anymore.

“Whatever, genius. Those two are in the past. What if I have a type now?”

He scoffed.

“You really don’t. And it wasn’t that long ago that you broke it off with Jungkook. If you can fuck both of them without a problem, you really can’t claim you have a type.” He paused, giving you enough room to sigh. “Besides, there’s me, too.”

Your head unintentionally snapped up at his words, your insides knotting together. There was the big reminder, that he wasn’t just a friend either.

He pursed his lips and looked away.

“And I’m completely different from both of them. It only supports what I’m saying more.”

The silence that followed (discarding the sound of running water and pounding music in the background) wasn’t really awkward, but for some reason it made you want to throw up. It felt so right, yet so wrong, and you couldn’t fix it, because you didn’t understand why.

You turned the faucet off and sneaked a glance at the boy next to you, only to catch him already looking your way.

“You and Juhyun, huh?”

He chuckled.

“Nah, she’s not my type.” He mocked.

The both of you broke into quiet laughter, comfort ensuing in the atmosphere again.

“No, really, though,” he continued, “She’s not. Heard she gets too clingy.”

“I see.”

“And her perfume is way too strong.” He cringed, nose wrinkling in distaste.

You only chuckled at that.

Your hand reached to grab a paper napkin to wipe the water from your hands and face. Just leaving the crumbled-up paper on the counter, you looked back to the young man in front of you, catching his gaze lingering slightly lower than your face, amused smirk covering his lips.

You quickly frowned, looking down at the collar of your shirt.

“What’s funny?”

He chuckled slightly, before letting his finger gesture towards his own neck while still looking at yours.

“Sorry about that one. Didn’t realize I was sucking too hard.” He stated, still very amused, finger tapping against his milky skin.

Finally processing that he was talking about a hickey, your eyes widened, having forgotten about the dark purple mark that was painted on your throat, still there after over two weeks.

“No, it’s, uh-” You couldn’t help but chuckle, suddenly feeling shy about the situation. “It’s whatever.” You let your attention fall down and looked at the tiled floors, unable to hold eye contact anymore.

But then two boot-covered feet suddenly appeared there, covering the two beige squares of tile you had been focusing on. You immediately looked up, only to discover that Yoongi was standing much closer than before. Someone else would probably have said too close.

Too close for what? Too close for being friends.

“Actually, I think it’s starting to fade.” He mumbled, finger grazing the mark on your skin. “Want me to fill it back in?”

His change in attitude had you stunned, unable to form a coherent sentence. He visibly bit back a smirk before he dipped down and latched his mouth on to your neck.

Immediately, electricity shot through your body and you melted into him. And when you felt his teeth scrape against the surface of your skin, along with the softness of his tongue, you bit your lip. One of his hands was on the back of your neck, the other gripping your hip to hold you in place.

You could physically feel the new bruises forming on your neck as he sucked harder for each one he placed. It made you shiver in bliss, not noticing that the other couple that had been in the same room, no longer was.

Once Yoongi’s teeth bit down on a spot at the base of your neck you accidentally let a small whimper slip past your lips and felt his breath hitch at the sound. He pulled away from your neck, dilated pupils glaring down at you with a dark gaze that tickled in your stomach. It would have been so easy to just lean up and finally close that obscenely irritating gap, biting and sucking at his lips with your own.

But you weren’t allowed.

“Let’s find a room,” His voice was considerably lower and raspier than before, and you quickly nodded, making him grab your wrist and pull you toward the stairs.

You barely felt any impact when bumping into people through the hallway, excitement and anticipation numbing your senses. But there was also something else you felt, something bad and unwanted, that you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Before you knew it, Yoongi was pushing you into an empty bedroom and up against the wall, lips attaching to your jaw. Your skin tingled where you could feel remnants of his saliva once he placed open mouthed kisses all over your neck. Your fingers were tangled in his messy, dry strands of hair, breath getting heavier by the second.

One of his hands traveled up to pull the collar of your shirt so he could gain access to your shoulder and collarbones. He knew your weak spots and never failed to take advantage of it. Once he heard you huff hard breaths out through your nose, he realized you were holding back moans and couldn’t help but release a dark chuckle.

He pulled away from your skin, a string of saliva attached between your neck and his lips breaking. His eyes were dark and hooded, probably similar to your own.

“You don’t have to hold back,” He muttered, shameless smirk on his lips. “It’s not like I’ve never heard you before.”

You scoffed with a roll of the eyes, shoving him gently at his shoulder.

“Shut up, you twat.”

He only laughed again, but the sound died down quickly when you landed your lips against his neck instead. You were always more careful with leaving marks, but this time you refused to hold back. As soon as you started biting and sucking at his milky and way-too-smooth skin, his hands went to feeling your body all over. You held back a gasp when you felt him squeeze your ass firmly with one hand while the other traveled to cup you between your legs.

You knew he could feel how your muscles tensed, but you were persistent with acting as unaffected as possible. Because you hated how with the snap of a finger, he had you under full control.

His breaths grew heavier when you found that particular spot under his ear and his fingers hastily went to unbutton your jeans, not bothering to undo the zipper. Immediately when his hand slipped underneath the hem of both your jeans and panties, you gasped loudly, followed by a whimper when his finger pressed lightly against your swollen nub. The sensation had you finally realizing how turned on you actually were and the idea of trying to show a strong side vanished as if it had never existed.

His finger sat still against you, making you unintentionally try to grind into it. You felt the index finger of his free hand pressed under your chin, guiding you to look up at him again. You sighed heavily, the need for friction growing bigger. But he kept his finger still despite your hips encouraging him to move, making you whine in desperation.

Yoongi couldn’t help but chuckle, biting his bottom lip with a grin, eyes boring steadily into yours.

“Eager, are we?”

You groaned.

“Yoongi, come on,”

“With what?” His eyebrows rose mockingly, grin never faltering.

His finger twitched against you slightly, making you whine loudly once more.

“Please, Yoongi. Not now.”

You noticed how he tensed with a shaky sigh at your pleading words.

“Hmm.. Please what?”

You knew he was cracking and didn’t care for you pride anymore, if it even existed in the first place.

“Please, touch me.”

He bit his lips, face suddenly way closer. But he couldn’t let himself break yet.

“Are you sure?”

An irritated growl vibrated through your throat.

“Yoongi, can you fucking stop and just- ah,” Your breath hitched aloud.

His finger started moving in gentle but firm circles against your pulsating bundle of nerves. Before Yoongi, you had never realized how sexy you thought it was to be teased, but you had to admit it eventually considering the pool of juice that was sitting in your panties.

Then the feeling of his wet tongue came in contact with your earlobe and your knees started feeling considerably weaker than before.

You felt his other hand smoothly travel up the fabric of your shirt, slip underneath your bra and once his fingers started pinching your stiff nipple, you couldn’t help but let out a satisfied moan. You heard his breath hitch against your ear, followed by him pinching you again and soon, moans were falling out of you in a melodic rhythm.

His index finger subtly dipped down from your clit to feel your entrance, and when your wetness surrounded his finger he growled.

“F-fuh-..” He huffed out and you jerked when he bit the soft flesh of your earlobe, dragging his finger in a long stripe against you. You almost shook in pleasure.

But then he was pulling away, an involuntary whine sounding in your throat.

“Now, let’s take this off,” He hastily growled, voice still low, but unsteadier than moments ago. His hands gripped the hem of your shirt, all but ripping it off of you, leaving your hair in a tangled mess. Your hazy mind didn’t comprehend his quick movements until your bra was also falling of of you.

His gaze bored into you, but was momentarily cut of when he went to pull his own shirt off of himself. You took the opportunity to let your hand palm his crotch, feeling how hard he already was through his jeans.

Shirt falling to the floor, he jerked forward at your action, one hand slamming against the wall so he wouldn’t fall into you, the other gripping your wrist tightly. You felt him twitch underneath your touch.

“Woah woah..” He breathed shakily, voice smooth and dark. “Slow down.”

You bit back a smirk.

“What? Don’t you wanna fuck me?”

He wheezed out a breathy chuckle at your suddenly blunt words, knowing that you only talked that way because it turned him on. Your hand gave him an adventurous squeeze making him hiss, face contorting slightly.

“I do,” He admitted. “But right now, I want to finger you, (Y/N).”

Your smirk faltered, taken aback by his words. An unwanted flutter erupted in your chest, your core clenching around nothing.

Something in his eyes grew uncertain at the lack of a response.

“I-if that’s fine?”

You only nodded hastily, not trusting your voice for a vocal reply. He let out a shaky breath with a relieved smile, pulling your hand away from his crotch. Hands gripping your bare waist, he was pulling you to the bed. You laid yourself down on the soft surface, letting him crawl to hover above.

Then it was all back in action.

Realizing you finally had access to more of his skin, since he had removed his shirt, you pulled him down by the back of his neck to attach your lips to his collarbone, immediately sucking a mark. His hand traveled up to massage the swell of your breast.

When he pushed his hardness into your hip, his thigh moving against your clothed center, you gasped, head falling back down into the mattress. You realized how desperate you were to be touched and eagerly went to pull your pants down.

But then he stopped you, making you look up at him in confusion. He looked like a disheveled mess above you, but you couldn’t feel cocky about it, since you knew you looked even more like one.

“W-what’s wrong?” You questioned, voice weak.

He shook his head lightly.

“Nothing. Just, keep them on.”

Your eyebrows furrowed into a frown.

“What? Why?”

He broke into a smile.

“Because the thought of you coming in your panties is just.. really hot.”

You didn’t know if it was what he said, or if it was the way he said it, or if it was because he said it; but your hips automatically jerked up and into him at his words.

He chuckled once again, smug look back on his pale features.

“It seems like I’m not the only one who feels that way.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to find a retort, body suddenly begging for his touch, moving in need underneath him.

A satisfied grin glued to his lips, he let his hand travel down your exposed stomach before dipping back into your underwear. As soon as he came in contact with your wet and throbbing core, you moaned out loud.

He didn’t waste any time and quickly started rubbing against your clit, making you grind into him and cry out loudly. He started sucking at the skin on your neck again, leaving even more marks than he already had. You felt like you were drowning in euphoria, savoring every small grunt Yoongi let out, not afraid to show your approval in form of moans as well.

But then his slid his fingers further down, teasing at your entrance, making you whine. He looked up at you, breaking apart from your skin.

“Relax, (Y/N),” He muttered reassuringly into your ear, leaving gentle pecks at your jaw. You realized that you were probably clenching too hard for him to actually fit his fingers into you, and tried to let your muscles loose.

It took awhile for you to open yourself for him, but as soon as you did, he slid his digits into you without a single word. You moaned, almost screamed, loudly at this action, back arching off of the bed in pure bliss.

“Oh, fuck, you’re so sexy right now,” You heard Yoongi mutter from above you, a sheepish smile playing at his lips.

“Mmf, Yoongi, please move.”

He dipped his mouth down to your collarbones.

“With pleasure.”

You could hear the smugness in his tone, but were too lost in the sensation of his fingers curling inside of you to care.

Moans and whimpers started falling from you again in a harmonic melody, making the young man on top of you grunt in approval. The way his palm was grinding into your clit only added to the pleasure and had you squirming and occasionally jerking underneath him. Your hands were aimlessly grabbing at his locks of bleached hair, probably pulling too tightly to be comfortable, but Yoongi never objected.

But suddenly, with no warning, you felt his oh-so-soft lips at your hardened nipple and choked on your breath at the incredibly satisfying feeling. The slight sting from his sucking and nibbling made you feel nothing but closer to the edge that had gotten too near far too quickly.

The sounds coming out of your mouth became more frantic and more high-pitched, earning Yoongi to start grinding into your hip with a hasty rhythm. The way his low moans vibrated into you made you look down at him, another wave of sinful pleasure shooting straight through your body at the unbelievably sexy sight.

His lips sucking harshly at your nipple, hand moving steadily inside your pants. You squirmed again.

“Y-Yoongi, ah, oh, my goh-”

He groaned again.

“Fucking hell, (Y/N),”

A needy ache was swirling in the pit of your stomach, begging for release, only needing a small push to boil over.

“I-I’m so close, fuck, I’m gonna- mmh..”

The combination of his fingers curling rhythmically inside of you, heal of his palm rubbing against your clit, teeth biting at your chest, clothed erection grinding into you, made your heart flutter in a way that it hadn’t before, and it was the hottest thing you had ever experienced.

“Let it go. I want to feel you come on my fingers. Oh, fuck- C-come for me, (Y/N).”

The way his name rolled so smoothly off of his tongue, combined with how his finger inside of you grazed against your sweet spot, made you snap and fall into your anticipated high.

You started jerking below him, shaky moans falling from your lips erratically. All you could see was a white haze, pleasure coursing through your whole body, dominating all of your senses. His slender fingers helped your ride out your high, earning more moans of his name to slip from your throat.

“Fuck-” He grunted, and then his grinding lost rhythm, pressing harder into your side, his muscles tensing.

You were grinding into his fingers to steadily come back from your climax, when you realized how his eyes were screwed shut, face contorted in pure pleasure.

He came in his pants.

Once he also came back from his sudden high, his body collapsed next to you, both of you panting for air. When you let out a small whine, he pulled his fingers out of you, making you sigh in contentment.

When you felt like you were finally back in the real world, you turned your head to look at him. His eyes were closed as he was still catching his breath, not recovering as quickly as you did.

And then it hit you all at once. How incredibly beautiful he was, how amazingly good he made you feel, how a single smile from him could give you butterflies, how his lips were always begging for your own, and how all of that would never truly be yours. At least, not in the way you wanted it. Because you had done the one thing that you shouldn’t have.

You had fallen in love.

A hard, stinging pain shot right through your chest, making you question if you actually had been physically stabbed or not. You felt like running, like hiding somewhere far far away from him and never coming back. Because you finally realized that the relationship the two of you had wasn’t built on pleasure; it was raw torture.

Heck, you weren’t even allowed to kiss him.

His eyes opened, sensing your gaze on him, staring right into you. You knew he was going to smile and give some cocky, witty joke, so before he could, you quickly turned away.

He probably sensed that something was off, but you didn’t give him enough time to question it.

“We should stop.”

A few seconds of silence followed your words.

“Stop what?”

“This. Having sex.”

The silence lasted longer this time.

“Why?”

You didn’t dare to look at him. You could hear the confusion and disappointment in his voice, and you knew seeing him would break you.

“I just-... I don’t want it anymore.”

“Is it something I did, or-”

“No, no. There’s nothing that’s really wrong, I just... want to stop.”

He took a few moments to process the new information.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

You weren’t actually certain, but you couldn’t let him know that.

“So, we’re done with this?”

You gulped.

“Yeah.”

“Completely out of the deal?”

You sighed with a nod.

“Mhm.”

The surface of the bed shifted, making you assume that he was leaving, but the next thing you knew, something was firmly pressed against your lips.

Your eyes widened in shock, quickly pushing at his chest to break away. Once his mouth released yours, you stared up at him, dumbfounded.

“Wha- What are you-”

“Shhh.” He demanded, and then he was dipping down and catching your lips with his once again.

It didn’t take long before you found yourself naturally responding to his actions, arms wrapping around his neck, his hands pressed against the mattress on either side of your head, body hovering over yours.

You felt him lick at your bottom lip and quickly opened your mouth to grant him access, swiping your own tongue against his. Electricity shot through your every vein, your lips eager to finally feel what you hadn’t for so long, since the first night when you were drunk.

But then your lungs started aching, begging for a refill of air and you were forced to break away from him.

His forehead leaned against yours, chest heaving up and down, your mind still hadn’t caught up with what was happening. His dark eyes were looking down into yours with an unwavering gaze, but he didn’t say a word.

“Wh-...” You paused. “Why did you- What was that?”

He let out a breathy chuckle.

“A kiss.”

You scoffed at his reply, ignoring the involuntary flutter in your chest.

“I mean; we said we couldn’t kiss.”

“I know. But then you said you wanted to end it, that we were out of the deal. The rules don’t apply outside of the game.”

Realizing what he meant, you quieted down. But he still hadn’t said why he did it.

“But.. why?”

He took a few moments to gather his words.

“'Cause I might not have another opportunity. You want us to be done after this, so I had to take my chance.”

‘Chance?’

An unfamiliar shiver of hope ran through your body.

“S-so, you wanted to kiss me?”

He nodded gently against your forehead.

“Yeah.” He mumbled. “I guess it’s useless to say now, but I like you, (Y/N). As more than just friends, and fuckbuddy.” He sighed heavily, still holding your gaze.

You swore your heart skipped a beat.

There were so many emotions growing inside of you that you couldn’t choose what to feel. But recklessness seemed to cross the finish line first, as you grabbed a hold of his face with your hands and pulled him down to your lips again.

It was a long and passionate, yet soft kiss. One that made your toes curl and stomach tickle from the inside. You finally had time to feel how his lips molded perfectly with yours and how everything felt right, after such a long time of inner conflict.

You pulled away slowly, looking into his eyes once again, which when opened were somewhat wider than usual.

“W-what was that for?” He stuttered out, the warm pink on his cheeks making your own face heat up.

You smiled.

“I just, uhm... felt like it.” You looked away, suddenly feeling shy.

After a few long and quiet moments, his fingers grabbed a soft hold of your chin and turned your head back. You were met by a knowing smile.

“No, (Y/N), I want know. What was that for, hm?”

“Nothing.” You insisted, failing to hold back a big toothy grin, attempting to look away but he wouldn’t let you.

“Come on, tell me, (Y/N).”

“It was nothing, bro. Dude, bro. Buddy.”

“Oh my-” He laughed at your cringey words, making you chuckle as well as his head dipped into the crook of your neck.

The two of you let yourselves laugh it out for a little while, before silence enveloped your beings.

Everything felt so surreal and you weren’t sure if it was something worth believing or not. The cards had turned so suddenly and out of nowhere that you weren’t ready to make your next move once they did. It truly felt too good to be true.

But it was true, and you weren’t going to let it slip.

“I like you, too.” You finally whispered out, voice coming out weaker than intended.

You felt the way his lips curved into a smile against your skin, followed by him placing a quick peck there before lifting his head to look into your eyes again.

He only smiled down at you, not uttering a word, your cheeks heating up at the look he gave you, making you feel small. He noticed, and chuckled in response.

“You’re cute. You’ve always been.”

You had to look away momentarily, the butterflies becoming too much.

“And now you’re also mine.” He added, smile on his face widening.

You mirrored his expression, his forehead gently falling back onto yours.

“And you’re mine.” You giddily replied. “We are each other’s, I guess.”

He chuckled at your slightly cheesy statement.

“Fucking finally.”

[JAN 16 - 2017 1:39 AM]

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lady-divine-writes · 7 years

Text

Kurtbastian fic - “Stolen Images - Chapter 2: Found Images” (Rated T)

Sebastian realizes that he did something awful to Kurt by invading his privacy, and he feels guilty about it. Normal people would apologize and make amends. But if Sebastian did that, he might have to admit that he likes Kurt.

So instead, Sebastian decides to make a point. (2892 words)

Dalton Academy AU assumes that Kurt and Sebastian are the same grade. The first two chapters are rated teen, but the last will be mature. Mention of B*laine, but no K*laine. No B*laine wank.

Chapter 1 - Stolen Images

Read on AO3.

Guilt tends to make people do weird things - sometimes interesting weird things, sometimes ridiculous weird things, but weird things nonetheless.

For Sebastian, guilt makes him sign up for art class.

But Sebastian doesn’t suffer guilt the way normal people do.

A regular person might feel guilty because they did something wrong and want to make amends, plain and simple.

Sebastian did do something wrong. He acknowledged that he did something wrong (sort of – to himself, at least), but then decided that he didn’t need to make amends.

He needed to make a point.

And that point is that Kurt Hummel isn’t anything special. Sure he can draw and yes, he has talent. But tons of people draw nowadays. In fact, Sebastian happens to think that his rendition of Blaine Anderson dressed in women’s lingerie turned out pretty kick ass. Maybe he can be an artist, too. And if he can be an artist, then Kurt Hummel (artist) isn’t special. And if Kurt isn’t special, regardless of how talented he is, then these feelings Sebastian has every time he looks at Kurt’s sketches - his heart wringing itself in his chest, every image evoking an absurd deluge of emotion - is just a coincidence. Possibly appreciation, but nothing more.

It doesn’t mean that Kurt moved him.

And it definitely doesn’t mean that Sebastian might, in some small or insignificant way, like Kurt. That he’s seeing Kurt differently through his art.

Kurt is exactly the image he makes for himself. He’s a troublemaker. A skank. A loser.

He is not worth Sebastian’s time.

Even if Sebastian does find himself following Kurt down the halls between classes.

Even if Sebastian tries to find ways of bumping into him in the lunch room.

Even if the fact that Kurt has successfully avoided Sebastian for the past week since the incident with the notebook is wearing Sebastian down just a bit, to the point where he’s about to stand on his desk in French class (one of the few classes they share together) and publicly beg for Kurt’s forgiveness.

So to banish any thought that Kurt might be getting to him, Sebastian signs up for art class.

He opts out of taking the classes at Dalton since he’s sure Kurt must be in every single one. And, unfortunately, the classes at the local colleges are out of the question because Sebastian is applying past the deadline. He even checks the status of classes at the community college, he’s that desperate. But those are filled to excess, and there’s a waiting list a mile long, one that, surprisingly, charm and money can’t squeeze him on to. The only class remaining, the one he originally didn’t want to consider, one that he would only take if he had no other choice – and he doesn’t - is being held at the rec center.

The Westerville Recreation Center isn’t too bad, all things considered. They have a sculpture garden, one of the biggest public libraries in the area, and the pool is cool (for a public pool). Plus, they offer tennis classes taught by retired professionals, which Sebastian can respect.

It’s the principle of the thing.

He wants to be just as good, if not better than, Kurt, and Sebastian doesn’t see that happening taking a rec center course.

Still, it’s his only option so he has to give it a go. He’s trying to prove a point, after all. And if he’s right, then taking this class is just a formality.

Sebastian can be an artist.

Anyone can be an artist.

Kurt isn’t special.

Two weeks in, Sebastian starts to seriously regret his decision, not because he doesn’t think he has talent (even though he may be starting to have one or two doubts), but because, in his opinion, the class is asinine. That’s what’s holding him back – not his own lack of talent, but the class. Two nights a week and one Saturday morning he spends trying to find his inner Matisse. But their teacher, Mrs. Perkins – a string-beanish creature about as tall as he, with watered-down blue eyes and white hair she dyes bright green – is only teaching them the basics, and at a snail’s pace.

It’s mind-numbing.

First, they learned the color wheel. Then, they practiced drawing circles –a whole damn hour spent drawing nothing but frickin’ circles. Then, they learned to shade said circles. Not until the following week did they even try their hand at drawing something that looked like anything, and Sebastian fooled himself into believing that they were actually getting somewhere. But by his second Saturday, the only thing he’s been able to swing is a fairly decent looking pear … except it’s supposed to be an orange. This class is not helping him the way he thought it would.

It may actually be making him worse.

Sebastian has no patience for this. He wants to skip to the end where he puts something down on paper that’s even half as good as what Kurt drew in his notebook.

There.

He said it.

He’ll settle for half.

But as far as Sebastian’s concerned, this class can’t get him there.

It occurs to him, with chagrin, that Kurt could, if Sebastian could convince Kurt to teach him, but wouldn’t that defeat the purpose?

Sebastian has his mind made up by the end of class. He’ll drop out and find something else. Maybe he doesn’t need a class at all. Maybe he can find some videos on YouTube that’ll do the trick. That’s how Jeff learned to play the bass. What about Bob Ross? He taught hundreds of people to paint happy little trees and blissful mountains via his show on PBS.

Yeah. That’s the way to go.

Just Sebastian, a sketch book, and his computer.

No fuss, no muss, and no stupid class.

He gathers his things and heads for the door.

“Goodbye, everybody. Goodbye. Rest well. Have a wonderful weekend. So, we’ll see you next week, Mr. Smythe?” Mrs. Perkins manages to ask from her desk as he rushes to leave.

Sebastian stops short. He tries not to make a face. He was hoping to get away without having to explain anything. Why doesn’t he just say yes? Yes, he’ll be back? Does it really matter if he lies and then doesn’t show up? Why does he feel he owes her an explanation? He doesn’t. She’s part of the reason why he’s not succeeding in his endeavor. But, for some reason, he’s simply not in the mood to blow her off.

“Uh, about that … I don’t think I will,” Sebastian admits.

“Really?” She raises a single, green-dyed eyebrow. “But you’re doing so well. Your pear showed real promise.”

Sebastian glares.

“Why do you want to leave?”

Sebastian sighs, masking his frustration. He’s not in the mood to blow her off, but he’s not in the mood for a lengthy conversation, either. “Because, to be honest, I don’t feel like I’m benefitting from your methods. I mean, I understand your reasons behind teaching us the basics, but it’s not really helping me achieve my goal.”

She considers his words, and gives a thoughtful nod. “Hmm. Perhaps it’s not. Becoming an artist is a very personal journey. My way may not be the path you need to take.”

“Hmm, so true, so true,” Sebastian agrees. He hopes that that will be her final word on the matter, and he can haul ass out of there.

“Maybe it would help if you told me why you want to be an artist.” She gestures to a chair, then folds her hands beneath her chin.

He clenches his jaw and screams internally. He had to go and be a decent human being for once, and look where it got him? All he wants is out of there and now he’s going to be stuck there forever. Well, that’’ll teach him not to lie.

Besides, how does he explain that the only reason he wants to be an artist is out of spite?

Sebastian debates the merits of sitting and talking over cutting and running. Mrs. Perkins, for all her faults as an art teacher, doesn’t know Sebastian as the smug asshole who roams the halls of Dalton Academy. It might be nice if there was one person in the world who didn’t. So he accepts her quiet invitation and sits down, takes a deep breath and capitulates. But not entirely. He can’t come out and say, “I want to become an artist so I can prove that someone else, who happens to be an exceptional artist, isn’t special at all.” Now that sounds like an asshole. He’ll skate around the truth as closely as he can without touching it too much, just to see what she has to say.

“Why do I want to become an artist?” he repeats, like he would if he was about to bullshit his way through an oral report he didn’t do. “Well, recently, I saw a drawing and thought, you know, I’d like to do … that.”

Lame …

“I see,” Mrs. Perkins says. “That makes perfect sense. A lot of people enter into the world of art because they are moved by another person’s work.”

“Moved?” Sebastian barks on a forced laugh. Why would she pick that exact word? Just … why? “I wasn’t … I wasn’t moved. I didn’t say moved. No, not moved. I was …”

“Envious?” she tries.

“No, no, I wouldn’t say envious.”

“But you admired it?”

“Yes,” Sebastian says, giving in a little to truth. “I did. Very much.”

“So, you decided to sign up for art class because you admired someone else’s art, but now you’re having trouble creating art of your own.”

“Not exactly …” Sebastian thinks back on his drawing of Blaine. But then he remembers Kurt’s sketch of him making that drawing, and how it was head and shoulders above his own. Then there’s Kurt’s sketch of Sebastian on the lacrosse field … and the other of the two of them kissing. His mind compares those to his pathetic pear-orange. “Yes,” he amends. “Yes, exactly.”

“It sounds to me like you may lack inspiration.”

“Inspiration?”

“Yes. All of the skill in the world can only get you so far, Mr. Smythe. And as I said, I think your first efforts show promise. But it’s what you put into your art that makes it special, makes it yours, makes it come alive. Talent is a pursued interest. If you’re willing to practice it, put in the time and the effort, then you’ll be able to do it. But without inspiration, there is no passion, and you won’t get much out of it. It won’t be fun. You’ll have no reason to continue. So, if you really want to be an artist, you’re going to have to ask yourself - what are you passionate about? What inspires you?”

Sebastian immediately thinks about Kurt’s sketches and he feels a lump in his chest. He knows what inspires him, what’s been inspiring him during this whole messed up “journey”, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

Well, shit.

***

For the next five days, Sebastian tries his hardest to get Kurt to talk to him, everything short of lying down in front of him while he’s walking down the hallway, and the only reason he doesn’t do that is because he knows Kurt will just walk over him. Those Doc Martens he wears look like they would be painful driving into his flank or his stomach.

But now that Sebastian knows for sure how he feels, he needs to get Kurt’s attention. He needs to tell him.

And he needs to apologize.

Sebastian decides he has to do something that Kurt won’t be able to ignore. He sits down at the table where Kurt usually eats his lunch. He takes out his sketch book and Kurt’s notebook, opens them both up, and begins to draw. Except Sebastian isn’t drawing just any picture. He’s copying one of Kurt’s precious sketches.

Kurt notices Sebastian drawing and smirks, ready to walk on by. But when Kurt sees his notebook open on the table where everyone can see, he storms over.

“What the fuck are you doing, Smythe?”

“I’m drawing,” Sebastian answers, not looking up.

“You’re copying my stuff …” Kurt peeks over Sebastian’s arm and pulls a face “… badly.”

“Hey. I’m doing my best.”

“Are you making fun of me?” Kurt asks, sour faced with his arms crossed over his chest.

“No!” Sebastian snaps, not accustomed to sounding sincere. “No,” he repeats calmly. “I swear I’m not. Could you please … sit down a minute?” Sebastian slides the chair next to him out from under the table, but Kurt doesn’t move, and Sebastian’s afraid he’ll lose his chance. “Please?”

Kurt stares at the empty chair, trying to guess Sebastian’s angle, what he hopes to gain from this. When Kurt can’t figure it out, he reluctantly takes a seat.

“You’ve got five minutes.”

“That’s very generous of you,” Sebastian mutters under his breath.

Kurt settles into the chair, slightly slouched, legs spread, the picture of tactless decorum. “Well. Talk.”

“Okay.” Sebastian blows out a breath, his heart pounding. He’d hoped he’d get this far, but he didn’t actually believe he would. He doesn’t want to fuck it up. “I’m trying to copy your stuff because your art … inspires me.”

The sentiment sounds vomit worthy when Sebastian hears it in his own voice, but it strikes something with Kurt. The cold glimmer in his eye thaws and he straightens in his seat.

Sebastian did it. He got Kurt’s attention.

“Especially … especially this one.”

Sebastian turns to the picture in the back of Kurt’s notebook, the one Kurt drew of him and Sebastian kissing. Kurt glowers, his face twisting like he’s about to rear back and hit him.

“I knew you were messing with me!” He bolts up, but Sebastian grabs his jacket and yanks him back into his chair.

“I like this one,” Sebastian growls out between his teeth. “God, can’t you learn to take a compliment?”

“I can,” Kurt bites, “but you’ve never given me a compliment before.”

That’s true, so Sebastian doesn’t argue. “And it got me to thinking,” he continues, “that I could do this, too. And I tried. Not because I wanted to, but because I …”

“Because you what?”

“Oh, God, don’t make me say it.” Sebastian rolls his head back on his neck and stares up at the sky, praying for some sort of divine intervention.

“If you want me to stay, you’re going to have to convince me,” Kurt says, not knowing what Sebastian’s thinking in the slightest but dying to find out. “And that includes whatever it is you’re not telling me.”

Sebastian sighs. This is going to kill him. He just knows it. But he’s come this far. He might as well go all the way. “I like your work,” Sebastian admits. “Your work moves me. It’s just … so damn good. And I’m sorry I looked at it without your permission, but I’m also glad that I did because it made me realize that I … kinda … like you.”

Kurt’s eyes fly open, a well-placed Go to hell! lingering on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be thrown. But he doesn’t. He decides to see if there’s anything else behind this before he reacts - the catch. Because if there’s one person who can’t even be mistaken for liking Kurt in all of Dalton, it’s Sebastian. And now he claims he likes Kurt? When the hell did that happen? Where was he?

“And maybe I’ll never be good at drawing anything, but to tell you the truth, it’s not all that important to me.”

Kurt rolls his eyes and stands up again. “So why are you wasting my time, Smythe? I’ve never been fond of your jokes.”

“This isn’t a joke, which you’d know if you sat your ass down for longer than a minute.” He grabs Kurt’s wrist and drags him back to his seat a second time. “It’s not important to me, but it’s important to you. And I was kind of hoping … you’d tell me why.”

Kurt chuckles nervously. “Yeah, right.” He looks around, searching for someone videotaping them, or preparing to throw pig’s blood on him. For a whole minute, he sits in stock silence, but when nothing particularly monumental happens, he starts dropping his guard. “For real?”

“For real.”

“No joke? You want me to sit here and bore you with the details of why I’m an artist.”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

Kurt quirks an eyebrow. “You know I don’t completely trust you.”

“I get that.”

“And I reserve the right to leave at any time.”

“I understand.”

Kurt waits a moment longer, waits for the punch because he assumes there’s one coming. But the longer he waits, the longer he begins to believe that maybe Sebastian Smythe is being honest for once. No, Kurt doesn’t entirely trust him, but he’s willing to give it a try.

For a chance at making that last picture true, it’s worth a shot.

“You know, Smythe,” Kurt says, pulling his seat closer, a warm feeling growing in his chest when he hears Sebastian sigh with relief, “maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

#kurtbastianfic #kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #frankie writes

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yahoo-puck-daddy-blog · 6 years

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What We Learned: Puzzling out the Hamilton trade, plus draft grades

A pretty good rule of thumb with any trade is that the team that gets the best player typically wins.

Everyone knows you can’t win without stars, right? And the argument can certainly be made that Dougie Hamilton is probably about a top-10 defenseman in the world. The two guys coming back to Calgary for Hamilton, Micheal Ferland, and star defensive prospect Adam Fox are certainly not on that level.

You can like Noah Hanifin (just 21) as a player with a lot of room for growth. You can like a versatile higher-end forward like Elias Lindholm (just 23) for much the same reason. But you can’t delude yourself into thinking either of them will ever be the kind of contributor that Hamilton is and has been.

Yet the Canadian media started circling the wagons pretty hard in defense of Brad Treliving, whose decision to trade Hamilton is interesting for a lot of reasons. Let’s first take the claims that Hamilton was not well liked in the Flames dressing room, which have been persistent. They were persistent in Boston, too, so maybe he’s just not a “good fit” on teams like this.

Now, because you can’t win without top talent, it doesn’t make a lot of sense for a team like the Flames or Bruins or, say, the Toronto Maple Leafs to bow to the pressure from inside the room. Hamilton would go to museums while the rest of the team went to Cheesecake Factory for lunch, and that was the big problem? Hamitlon got sick of having a hangdog expression every time the goaltending or the Flames’ lack of depth blew another winnable game?

It seems to me that the hegemonic hockey culture might need some fixing if that’s the kind of thing that leads to an irreparable rift, especially in two rooms that would certainly pride themselves on having lots of leadership. If your leaders can’t find a way to make that relationship work for the good of the team, that’s a leadership problem and not an individual problem. Because let’s be honest, the Flames outscored opponents by 13 in all situations when Hamilton was on the ice this season. When he wasn’t on, they got outscored by 45.

This isn’t even a “look at the underlying numbers” argument. This is the definition of “watch the games,” because the Flames were one of the worst teams in the league with Hamilton on the bench even when they had him, so what makes them think trading him is going to work out well?

You can make the argument, I guess, that Hamilton really succeeded in Calgary because he played with a perennial borderline Norris candidate in Mark Giordano, and before that in Boston he played with future Hall of Famer Zdeno Chara. His numbers with both those guys are phenomenal. But both suffer without him; Giordano got badly outscored last season with someone other than Hamilton as his D partner, scoring 25 in almost 525 minutes, but conceding 43. Moreover, Hamilton’s numbers with everyone who isn’t a low-tier NHL defender or worse (i.e. Jyrkki Jokipaka, Kris Russell, or Deryk Engelland) are almost as good as his numbers with elite guys. It’s almost like, I dunno, Hamitlon is a star.

Few are dumb enough to actually argue against Hamitlon as a hockey player, so that’s where the behind-the-scenes shivving comes from. Tale as old as time, in Boston, in Calgary, elsewhere. Not that Hamitlon is joining some kind of burgeoning superteam like Phil Kessel did when he got traded for being the hot dog guy or whatever, but would it surprise anyone in the world if the Hurricanes have more success than the Flames next season?

Because Hanifin looks good at 21, has a nice draft pedigree for himself, but what do you think his ceiling is? It’s almost certainly not “top-10 defenseman in the world,” which is what the Flames just gave up. And they’ve already said they’re putting TJ Brodie back with Giordano, then partnering Hanifin with Travis Hamonic. I’m interested to see how that works out in much the same way I am interested in NASCAR races for the crashes.

Hamilton, meanwhile, has the potential to turn Jaccob Slavin into a borderline All-Star.

The real key to this trade, then, seems to be the decision to swap out Ferland, who used a favorable deployment on the Gaudreau/Monahan line and a high shooting percentage to net 20-plus goals this season, for Lindholm. I think you could pick any random fan out of the opening-night crowd and have that person put up 17-18-35 over 82 games with Gaudreau and Monahan (and hell, the Flames were probably two failed right wings away from trying it). But Lindholm is indeed a top-six winger-slash-center and that’s something Calgary needed badly. Wouldn’t be surprised to see Ferland turn back into a pumpkin away from two higher-end talents, but maybe Carolina can find a buyer who doesn’t understand how shooting percentage regression works. (Dale Tallon on line 1?)

The Adam Fox throw-in is just that. Calgary needed to make that deal because it was pretty apparent that Fox intends to stay at Harvard for at least one more season and had no desire to sign with the Flames.

Let’s break the trade down this way: Carolina got a star who makes just about everyone around him better — but also has interests outside of hockey, golf, and going to the Tilted Kilt 40 times a year — plus a decent bottom-six forward they might try to flip, and the rights to a nice prospect they may or may not be able to sign. Calgary got two complementary players who have room to grow but will likely never be impact players independent of other stars.

There is, of course, a chance that Hanifin and Lindholm combined contribute more than Hamilton and Ferland. But I wouldn’t bet too much on that.

In the end, if you don’t have a good amount of elite talent, you don’t win much in the NHL. So maybe if your elite talent is a little outside the norm of how hockey traditionally operates, you should do what you can to accommodate those players rather than ostracize them. Stars are exceptionally rare and must be guarded jealously.

If nothing else, it saves the Calgary media from having to spin another inadvisable trade to a fanbase that already has plenty of reason to be skeptical of this front office.

What We Learned

Anaheim Ducks: Apparently Isac Lundestrom is fairly NHL-ready, maybe a year or so away. I don’t know that this fact helps them all that much because they probably have, like, a year or two left of this team being any good — especially up front — but they did what they could picking 23rd. The rest of the picks, they got some value, but this team has immediate needs. B-

Arizona Coyotes: I doooooo nooooooooooooooot understand the Barrett Hayton pick. Filip Zadina was right there! I guess Hayton’s a center but most draft boards would have put him in the late teens or early 20s at most. At five? C’mon man! But they drafted the English kid in the seventh round so, stiff upper lip then. D+

Boston Bruins: Apparently people like the Jakub Lauko pick but he was a third-round choice and, more importantly, the Bruins’ big target this weekend went to LA instead. Don Sweeney’s gonna be scrambling to get stuff done this week, and he’s working from a disadvantage now. C-

Buffalo Sabres: The Sabres finally have a good defenseman! And made a few other good picks including Matej Pekar and Linus Lindstrang Cronholm. Hard to line up against this draft, to be honest, except to say a team like this should be making more than six picks. A

Calgary Flames: When you don’t pick until the fourth round and you trade away an elite player, that’s bad, to me. F

Carolina Hurricanes: Much like the Sabres, they had a tap-in pick to make and made it. Jack Drury seems like he’s gonna be a decent college player at the very least (and he’s going to the program that recently produced NHLers like Jimmy Vesey, Alex Kerfoot, and Ryan Donato). Plus they got a top-flight defenseman. A

Chicago: Pretty easy to like the draft they turned in here. Boqvist is gonna be a player, and Jake Wise looks like great value where they got him. Plus, y’know, if you pick four times in the first 74 picks, you’re in good shape. B+

Colorado Avalanche: I’m not totally sure I get why they needed another goalie but the value is there with Gruabauer for a second and some dead cap space. That’s what teams like Colorado should absolutely be doing with their cap space all the time; get good players for nothing. Anyway, Martin Kaut, alright fine, that’s a safe pick. B-

Columbus Blue Jackets: Like Colorado, they probably made a too-safe pick in the first round but I think that’s mostly fine because this is a win-now kinda team, especially if they gotta start trading talent for fear of not being able to retain them long-term, so whatever. C-

Dallas Stars: I like that Adam Mascherin pick. He should not have been there in the fourth round but he’s 5-foot-9 so that explains everything. He’s one of two 5-foot-9 guys the Stars drafted. But to even it out, they took a guy who’s 6-foot-8 and two who are 6-foot-4. C

Detroit Red Wings: To get Zadina at 6 when he should have been gone at 3? That’s very good. To get Veleno at 30 when he should have been gone in the mid-teens? That’s great. To get a Lowell guy at 81? That’s genius! (Also of note: I don’t get the Xavier Ouellett buyout at all.) A+++++

Edmonton Oilers: Evan Bouchard at 10, maybe a little bit of value there since I mostly saw him listed in the 6-8 range. But that Ryan McLeod pick at 40 seems like it could be a real smart one. He’s one of those protypical “first-round talents available in the second round” that GMs always talk about to reassure fans that their picks are actually good. B+

Florida Panthers: This kinda felt like a whole draft of playing it safe. Which, I don’t understand that organizational philosophy since this team needs higher-end talent to take a step. Then again, Florida is good at finding talent in the draft, generally speaking, so I’ll give them a little bit of the benefit of the doubt here. C+

Los Angeles Kings: The guys they picked this year are largely immaterial because they got Ilya Kovalchuk and, in doing so, prevented a few teams in their division from doing so instead. Pretty good! B

Minnesota Wild: That Filip Johansson pick was a huge reach at 24. An almost “what are you DOING?” pick. But Jack McBain might really turn into something. Puts it somewhere in the “this is fine” range, especially because this is another team that’s gonna really need a serious rebuild in like two or three years. C

Montreal Canadiens: You knew they were gonna screw it up and they did screw it up. They really think Koktaniemi is gonna solve their problems. And it seems like they were mostly drafting for need, which is never a good idea. D

Nashville Predators: Only four picks, none before No. 111. Not ideal but this team is barely thinking about the draft. They probably shouldn’t have even shown up. Just Skype in next time. C-

New Jersey Devils: A 5-foot-11 point-a-game defenseman at No. 17? Seems like a bit of a value pick there, a little, maybe. But hey, it’s 2018 baby! Why not? Of course, they also didn’t pick again until the fourth round, so that’s not ideal. C+

New York Islanders: I like the Wahlstrom, Dobson, and Wilde picks. Ruslan Iskhakov seems like a bit of a reach but he’s going to college so he’ll have plenty of time to develop and he’s just a little guy. Looming over all that, however, is the Tavares thing. B

New York Rangers: Woof. Baffling. If you have three first-round picks you just have to do better than this. It’s not quite the Connor-Barzal-Kylington goof-up but it’s not far off. I truly don’t get it, even if I think the guys they did take are, like, fine. D+

Ottawa Senators: For the one millionth time: I like Brady Tkachuk’s game a lot, but he shouldn’t have gone fourth. There were mitigating factors behind his weirdly just-okay production, but it seems like Ottawa (and others) really talked themselves into this one. People were saying Tkachuk can be a center but if you’re not a center in your draft year, in a development league, you’re probably not an NHL center. Miss me with the “Koktaniemi played wing but he’s a center” argument, too, because that guy played in a men’s pro league. If you’re picking a wing, take Zadina. Not hard. C-

Philadelphia Flyers: They got Farabee basically right where they should have. Jay O’Brien, on the other hand, seems like a bit of a reach. Split the difference and maybe you say they’re a little below where they ought to have been? C-

Pittsburgh Penguins: Calen Addison looks like he could be a good gamble but they only had four picks so that’s tough to come back from. C+

San Jose Sharks: Huge reach on Ryan Merkley, didn’t get Kovalchuk, might get Tavares? I’ll be nice and not give them a D because, well, maybe they get Tavares. C-

St. Louis Blues: Looks like they got nice value on Dominik Bokk but I really liked that Scott Perunovich move at No. 45. Nice little draft. B

Tampa Bay Lightning: The Bolts, of all the teams in the league, picked a bunch of tall guys and an okay-scoring QMJHL winger. Not sure I get it. D+

Toronto Maple Leafs: The Leafs took four defensemen and all but one of them were under 5-foot-11. Again, it is 2018. B-

Vancouver Canucks: I love Quinn Hughes so much and Jett Woo looks like he could be a good one. Vancouver…. did well? A-

Vegas Golden Knights: Yeah, an expansion team with one pick in the first 99 is not doing well at a draft. And even Ivan Morozov (No. 61) seemed like a reach of sorts. No thanks. D+

Washington Capitals: Alexeyev might be a bit of a value pick at 31. Not so much Martin Fehervary. But whatever, you win a Cup and you don’t really care about this stuff. C

Winnipeg Jets: This was basically the most normal, regular draft any team had. Everything seemed more or less right where it should have been. So I guess you say that’s any easy C.

Gold Star Award

How did Ken Holland have this good of a weekend? Ken Holland!

Minus of the Weekend

It makes me sick that these kids are mostly 2000 birthdates. I hate it!!!!

Perfect HFBoards Trade Proposal of the Week

User “GeauxPreds1” is absolutely a Preds fan.

“Roman josi+ a small add for David Pastrňák.”

Signoff

No.

More NHL coverage on Yahoo Sports:

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Ryan Lambert is a Puck Daddy columnist. His email is here and his Twitter is here.

(All stats via HYPERLINK Corsica unless otherwise noted.)

#_revsp:21d636bb-8aa8-4731-9147-93a932d2b27a #_uuid:567d73c7-1fb6-3488-b85f-8b10ecc91530 #_lmsid:a077000000CFoGyAAL #_author:Ryan Lambert

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