#he’s not better than them. he’s not at some unattainable moral high ground

[maschotch]

You mentioning the fact that they're profilers is so real bc like it honest to god ASTOUNDS me how badly they all read hotch like he so so so so clearly cares for every member of the Bau WAAYYY more than he cares for him self and he's literally never shown otherwise??? Like even the whole drill boss stuff or whatever tf he said he's never aggressive with the group if they mess up he's always understanding but fair and most is pretty much the first one to comfort them (if the script allows) UNLESS he's going through some shit IE the whole divorce plot and foyet AND IT BAFFLES ME HOW EVERYONE FUCKING MISSES IT CONSIDERING ITS THEIR J O B

they’re all kinda bad at profiling each other but istg they have to TRY to understand hotch so poorly… i’m trying to think of a moment where he yells at them when they’re not directly putting themselves in danger or in the immediate aftermath of him getting attacked in his fucking home, but i cant think of anything?? he doesnt like being harsh with them and he learns the hard way with the elle situation that it doesnt get them anywhere. the only time he was unduly upset w someone was with emily in the beginning and that’s only bc he thought she was either a nepotism hire (which she kinda was) or a plant for strauss (which she kinda was)

he’s “strict” but like?? is he?? he does half their paperwork for them and they dont even know it. instead of doing things by the book and getting reid fired, he turned the other way and let him work through his drug problem. maybe he says “no” sometimes, but he usually relents anyway—like when jj has a feeling ab a case or when he calls the fucking vatican for emily. if he was a drill sergeant, would he let garcia keep a bunch of clutter on her desk and dress in bright clothing?? he doesnt coddle them or anything bc that’s not really his personality, but he’s gentle w them and even praises them when he knows they need it. he doesnt always step in and help when he should (i think that honestly has more to do w him being self conscious than anything—he doesnt want a drill sergeant/bully to make things worse), but he keeps a close eye on each of their wellbeing and will quietly urge one of the others to help out if someone’s in a tough spot

sure he doesn’t smile a whole lot and he’s known for his perpetually neutral face, but at the same time it’s not very hard to tell how he’s feeling. he’s effective at his job, he’s good at playing the tough guy, but tbh he let’s things get to him easily. he takes their criticism to heart and does his best to be better. he HATES seeing any of them hurt: ever notice how after what happened with elle he never uses his own agents as bait like that again? he either uses himself (like the fight club episode) or one of the team volunteers and he relents (like emily in the omegaverse swingers episode). they misread his social awkwardness as being cold when really i think he’s just mildly uncomfortable being the center of attention in an unprofessional setting.

it’s wild to me how frequently they misjudge him. i think he kinda knows and almost encourages it?? while still considering their judgements genuine?? morgan is a great example: of all his subordinates, morgan has worked with him the longest, since before he was in charge of the team. so you’d think morgan would have the best insight. but morgan has a complicated relationship w authority figures and tends to be automatically defensive out of habit. essentially, he’s been projecting on hotch since day one and has been blinded by the convoluted series of lenses he sees hotch through: as a constantly rotating mixture of buford, stilinski, and his father. it’s prevented him for actually seeing hotch for who he is, and hotch seems to make no real effort to correct any of those presumptions. but hotch still takes it personally when morgan criticizes him (prob bc it feeds his own negative view of his self worth and uses it as justification for whatever self loathing bullshit he’s on)

basically, hotch knows everyone has skewed perceptions of him and is fine letting their delusions continue uninterrupted—encourages it, even. he’s more comfortable receiving scathing remarks, even if they’re inaccurate, bc it allows him to continue his own delusion ab his place in the world. if they hate him (or if he thinks they hate him), it gives him a reason to hate himself. which is why i think he kinda likes that they’re bad at profiling him. it’s a way to receive that negative attention without actually being vulnerable. it’s a very very passive manipulation—more like he’s allowing them to manipulate themselves—that feeds his self loathing. i think he does it on purpose, so i cant necessarily fault the others for so drastically misunderstanding hotch. especially since they do get better at it over the seasons: they’re able to see through his defense mechanisms a little more, even if they still cant see him clearly

#this is getting kinda long lol and this is technically unrelated so i’ll just say it in the tags: #i think they start getting better at reading him after season 6? #to an extent i think they’re a little aware that they arent seeing hotch clearly #he’s cultivated an odd sense of.. moral superiority? almost? he’s an upstanding guy.. almost otherworldly in his principles #so i think when he BREAKS those principles—lying about emily—purposefully irrevocably unregretably undeniably #their image of him shatters a bit #he’s more.. human #humans make mistakes. humans have weaknesses #even after foyet he was pretty fucking stoic all thing considered. but it’s easy to brush off as a single moment #but the whole thing with emily? #he CHOSE to lie to them. every day. for months #and the fact that they’re suddenly able to be justifably upset with him… making him the target of righteous anger… #idk. it just. it breaks their trust but it also breaks their delusions #he’s not better than them. he’s not at some unattainable moral high ground #he’s just… a guy trying his best. and sometimes his best isnt good enough #he makes a decision thats so out of left field for them that theyre forced to reconsider how they view him #and maybe they realize he’s more comfortable lying than they thought #N E WAY #what were we talking about? lol #asks #aaron hotchner

[vinylhazza]

Temptation (G.D)

Summary: Y/n is sick of being called frigid, having it shoved down her throat at every party and social gathering she attends. Her confidence is repeatedly broken, stepped on by the people that were supposed to be her friends. Grayson, a boy she’s had a secret crush on for years, is there to comfort her. 

Word Count: 13.8k

Warning: Strong sexual content, smoking, blowjob, drinking *sorry mr. tAkE cArE oF yOuR bOdY grayson* 

Pretentious jerks. That’s all they were. Teenagers that sat on their rich parents high horses, acting so above her every chance that they had. Robotic, inhumane, deceiving. But they were also mean, cruel, and unforgiving with their words more than anything else. They insisted it was all a joke - of course they would - said it was a system to break her into the ‘real world’. One she was sure she didn't want to belong to - not if it’s like anything they’ve shown her. Not if it’s full of sneaky spiteful assholes that didn’t care about anyone other than themselves. They insisted it was them being “good friends”. So why did it hurt so bad when threw their jokes, mockery, and snarky comments at her? Why did it hurt to not be included in on the joke but be the laughing stock of the party? Instead being on the outside looking in - to the one being laughed at. 

“You’re a prude, Y/n, just accept it,” they would say, a term that she’s heard for most of her teenage years. And she knew she should have ignored it, but it never sounded better no matter how many times she heard it. Never, was it used as a compliment - of course not. Because why was it okay to be a virgin? Why would it ever be okay to want more for yourself other than a quick fuck? Why did it have to be frowned upon and embarrassing? It was meant to put her down, not make her laugh, simply said to hurt her feelings because they knew it would. They knew she would think about it hours, sometimes days, after it floated out of their mouths and into the universe - the universe that refused to cut her a break. It basically defined her entire existence in the eyes of her “friends.” It was 1. Shouted at her or 2. Laughed in her face. No in between. They said it like they weren't meaning to hurt her, even if it did. Because, when would they ever have the capacity to know what was right and wrong? Why would she ever expect anything more than the life of a frigid ‘prude’? They thought it gave them a free pass when she laughed it off with them. She wouldn't let them know it cut her deep down to her core. But it had started to weigh her down, chip away at what little confidence she had built up. She thought that maybe when she got into college, it would get better, but it only got worse. 

Y/n wasn't the type to settle, thus making her very misunderstood. She wasn't what they called “frigid”. Time and time again they would throw around the word - and time and time again she chose to accept it for what it was. She just didn't want to bang it out with some random stranger like all of her friends did, instead wanting someone special that didn't just want her for her body - but saw her. Really saw her, for more than just a body. She knew it was cliché and sounded like it came straight from every romantic movie ever made, but it didn't make it any less true. She was eighteen for Christ’s sake, sitting in a room full of people that have been fooling around since they were fifteen while she sat quietly and tried to ignore the whole thing. It was humiliating. It made her sick to her stomach. It made her nervous. And most of all, it made her sad. She had never wanted to join in or acknowledge it. The thing holding her back? Her dignity: something she was very proud of. She also wasn't even the least bit interested in any of her “friends”. Romantically, and lately, even platonic. 

But you would never suspect her to be a virgin, untouched, innocent, with all of her soft beauty. She had features that most guys took a double look at, stopping in their tracks, but it went unnoticed to her. She kept up her stride, walked past the men that gawked at her every step, mind focused on her next class. Never did she falter the persona she crafted carefully, a shield for her heart to hide behind. The wall that she’d built over time, not easily broken. Never would she let a precocious boy with a bad pick up line and a mind full of crude sexual desire cloud her vision - her vision of being with someone respectful, more than a lustful in the moment mistake. She would say it, she wanted better for herself. 

She’s sure it’s what pissed people off the most about her, that she wouldn't spread her legs for any attractive man that showed her an ounce of attention. They say you shouldn't waste your beauty - as if getting dick made her any more of a woman than she already was. As if sex would give her value. As if falling into the trap so many teenagers fell into would make her normal. It pissed them off that she didn't flaunt her body, and she knew it. Knew they wanted her to just let loose - show her skin - be the skimpy college girl they thought she should be. She didn't show herself off with revealing clothing, flaunting herself around like her friends did, having flings with her friends just for a little bit of pleasure that she would regret later. Y/n hated how they tried to guilt trip her constantly, nudging her shoulder when any remotely attractive boy would look in her direction. Boys would try and pressure her to sway against her morals, make her think twice about hooking up with them. Of course she was tempted a time or two, but she was snapped from the thoughts just as quickly as they came. 

It was unfair of them to keep trying, knowing that her answer would always be no. Begging for it didn't make them special. Making her feel like an object, a trophy they needed to obtain, a prize in a box of cereal on a shelf, didn't make them special. Not in her book, at least. Most of the time it just made her feel intimidated, objectified, disgusted, and forever left behind by a generation of people that saw women as nothing until their ‘V Card’ was swiped from their hands and claimed by someone that probably didn’t deserve it in the first place. 

That’s what caused her to sit with a sorrowful pout aimed at her lap, every other shitfaced person in the small circle with her laughing at the boy’s oh so funny comment. Y/n sighed, fingers tapping at the side of her thigh, willing herself not to cry in front of people that didn't deserve it. They never would. But she couldn't deny she was embarrassed beyond belief, yearning for the ground littered with solo cups and stale beer to open up and swallow her whole - maybe then she could forget who is staring right at her, hearing everything. 

It’s not that she wouldn't have cared if he wasn't there, but it definitely made the situation a whole lot worse - to have him hear them embarrassing her. To look in on one of the most humiliating moments of her short adult life. Grayson was the last person she wanted to hear about her lack of sexual experience. The only person in the room she knew from home, let alone respected. 

He was...different than the others. Setting aside the fact she’d had a crush on him since he moved into the house next-door when he was 16...he’d had a golden heart for as long as she could remember. Not a thing went unnoticed by Grayson Dolan, he was always so in tune with the world around him. His kindness spread all throughout any situation he was in. It was a gift she herself wished she could have. Maybe then she wouldn't be such a shy outcast afraid to stand up for herself. But nothing had ever come of her affections, she was far too introverted to make a single move in any other direction than a wave and sometimes a small conversation about nothing in particular. Not until he’d invited her over to hang out after school one day, that is. It was a fleeting suggestion, but it has meant so much to her. She was never sure if it was a pity invitation - but the whole duration of her short visit, she never felt like an outcast.

It was completely innocent, but made it even harder to resist him. Being older wasn't the only thing that had made him so unattainable to her all of these years, it was also his maddening habit of looking so God damn attractive all the time. When he moved away a year before her, something cracked in her heart - the pain of being left behind by the only person that had ever shown true kindness to her. Little did she know she would be in the frat that had become a home to him, at the same college, with the same group of people, that same intense stare aimed right at her. 

She’s seen him only once before on campus, passing by her with a text book tucked under one arm, other hand preoccupied with scrolling through his phone. The way he had smacked into her body with enough force to have her hurdling to the ground in a heap of bones and fly away papers had been humiliating enough - but what was even worse was the way he had gotten onto her level, kneeling before her to help pick up the scattered assignments with apologies tumbling from his mouth one after the other. She remembers that moment vividly, how her heart had stopped beating for a moment, his striking features coming to the forefront of her mind once again.

He was even more attractive than he’d been when he was just her handsome neighbor. He was...well...a man. Muscles that looked to be carved from clay, chiseled and perfectly shaped, that same prominent jaw, dark eyebrows, beautiful plump lips, pouting just the right way while his hands flew from paper to paper - making a messy pile before handing it to her in a clumsy - an adorable - fashion, his shocking hazel eyes landing on her in what seemed like too long. She never saw him again after- even when he mentioned wanting to ‘catch up’, until now. It had been a moment of great significance to her heart, judging by how well she remembered that very moment like it had been playing on a big screen in a theater somewhere. 

But her life wasn't a movie or fairytale, and this situation proved that to be true. He watched from his spot on the sofa, glaring at the immature children that threw their remarks at her without remorse. Y/n had never seen the kind boy look so angry. It made her feel strangely safe, even if she hadn't seen him in so long. It made her cringe knowing the one boy that had shown her true care, friendship with no further intention to get in her pants, was sat right there, witnessing something she hoped would be wiped from her own memory. 

She had always wanted him to be her first, she’ll admit. Somewhere inside of her, she knew Grayson was the only boy she ever imagined herself getting intimate with, pushing it away from the sadness of it never having the opportunity to become a reality. Especially not now, he’s heard too much. Seen her too rattled up. Definitely wasn't how she pictured their next encounter playing out. 

Y/n tried her hardest to avoid his gaze, her hands growing increasingly clammy from the pressure of his eyes looking over her blushing cheeks. It was so fucking mortifying. He sat back on the sofa, large hands hung loose between his thighs. The look on his face was dark, dangerous. He looked...so angry. The laughing continued on as the people around her waited to see what she would do next. Run like a coward? Or face them and subject herself to more embarrassment in front of the only person that’s ever seen her as more than a frigid shy girl? Y/n sat with the shame of their words eating her alive, head hung low to avoid eye contact with each and every person in the small circle. The loud music was making her suffocate, overwhelmed with the situation and the urge to bury herself into the ground forever. 

What was she thinking indulging in a childish game of truth or dare? It was a thing for movies, coming of age ones at that, not a college frat party with several dozen people grinding to music from wall to wall. They were far too old for this. It was stupid is what it was. So why had she said yes? She knew the drill: she said yes to the invite and then it was free reign the entire game to think of every sexual dare they possibly could, just to laugh when she said no. They knew she would too, that was the point. Every single one of them thought she squirmed at the mere idea of sex, just because she had a good reputation. It was okay with her to be that girl at a party, she would rather have no reputation than a bad one. Even if she was a Freshman sitting in a group of much older kids, and some not so much, she felt the most mature. In this moment, she was. 

“If you won't do it, I will,” Shondra spoke out, a skinny girl with a dark complexion, two purple streaks standing out on her black head of hair, falling in front to frame her face. Y/n didn't know her from Adam, only having met her about a weeks ago in her Sociology class. She was a transfer from a college out of state, a grade above her, and moved for personal reasons. Shondra didn't explain, and Y/n never asked. She seemed like such a polite girl, someone she could hang out with. But judging by her reckless actions, she doubts it. Y/n watched as the girl rose from her criss-cross position and onto her knees, crawling over to a freckle nosed boy, scrawny looking boy and pulling him up to his feet by the collar of his shirt. With her hand in his she led him seductively from the crowded room, a smirk plastered to her dolled-up face. The dare had been to “let any guy in the group finger you for seven minutes” to which Y/n had automatically declined, wanting to keep her body to herself. There was only a few boys in the group, anyway. But only one gave her a suggestive quirk of his eyebrow, making the bile stir in her stomach. They had proclaimed at the beginning of the game that the traditional 7 minutes in heaven game was drab, and that they would gladly spice it up along the way. She should have known they would try and pull something on her. 

She wondered for a second why Grayson would ever want to subject himself to these types of people, let alone join a frat when he was...well...the least likely person to become a frat boy ever. But it made sense in a way, he was so accepting of everyone, no matter the background. That’s what drew her to him in the first place. 

She watched the pair disappear up the flight of wooden stairs, a scowl turning at her lips. She flinched as another comment flew her way, “Missed opportunity, Y/n. Let loose a little why don't you?” her ‘friend’ cackled at her, her eyes scrunched up in amusement. Every last one in the group joined in on their mocking laughter. Everyone but him. 

It warmed her heart to look over and see the sympathetic look in his eyes, heart clenching at her own embarrassed smile. She didn't want him to know about all this. Not when she was so obviously out of her element. But she understood why he was here, he actually fit in, unlike her. Granted, she was new to the group. She gazed on, eyes taking in the way each and every guy gave him a nudge on the shoulder, a pat on the back - every girl sending him their best seductive smirk. He didn't even seem...phased. Gave them a smile back, a joke to his friends, and then it was back to him sipping at his beer. Never over the top. Never too little. Comfortable. 

She took the time to scan over Grayon’s body when a loud blonde frat boy stepped up to talk to him about what she assumed was pointless nonsense, her eyes trailing every bulging muscle that escaped Grayson’s burnt orange t-shirt hugging his chest tight. She was ridiculously attracted to him. Everything about him made her nerves buzz - his wispy hair poking out from under his hat, jaw sharp and defined as he smiled up at his friend. It was like he had walked straight out of her dreams, ready to steal her heart once again. She had almost forgotten the way he made her feel, the burst of adrenaline she got just from the bright sound of his laughter. It was like a breath was punched into her chest, getting caught from the force of the blow. 

Y/n knew Grayson was sexually experienced, she wasn't a naïve fool after all. He had always been a bit of a flirt and liked to call girls affectionate pet names. She knew that to him, it was normal, but that didn't mean it hadn't messed with her head a time or two. She thought back to the way he kneeled before her the day he knocked her flat on her back, sputtering out a shy, but surprisingly frantic, apology. There had been a little pet name slipped out with his rambling, one that had her shivering to this day: 

“Sorry, babe. Didn't see you there.” 

Babe. It stuck with her like a catchy tune, popping into her whirring thoughts the first second she saw him again. It just sounded so good coming from his heart shaped lips. She presumed the reason she didn't look at him like all of the other sex-crazed teens, was probably the fact that he didn't necessarily flaunt his sexuality like the rest. He was confident, of course, but unlike the others he had morals and could see plain as day they were hurting, sexualizing, and degrading her. She didn't know it, but Grayson knew there was more to her than some shy little girl that blushed at any sexual comment. She didn't flaunt it like the rest did, but that didn't make her any less of a woman. 

He watched her carefully, noticing her zoning herself out of the game, in her own head. He’s sure she’s beating herself up over the words they flung at her so carelessly. He wishes she knew how special she was, that she didn't fall into the ‘norm’ of things - that she didn't have to. She stood her ground even if it made her a social outcast. She had always walked on her own path, and he envied her for it, but was thankful he wasn't as blind as some of the people in the frat right then were.

Y/n moved away from the group of condescending, shit-faced college kids, needing a breath of fresh air and a refill on her drink. She normally wouldn't have been a social drinker either, but tonight had been different. She needed a boost if she was going to last the whole night and not lose her mind in the process. She wasn't joining in on the ‘fun’ anyway, and she was right on the money assuming they wouldn't notice her absence. They didn't even blink as she walked away. She thought over the night on her trek into the kitchen, squeezing between sweaty dancing bodies, ducking under flailing limbs. It had her thinking that...it could never be her. She doesn’t think she could ever be that carefree. Completely let go of all of her worries in front of dozens of people she didn’t know, didn’t trust, and didn’t want to see her like that. Part of her wanted to succumb to all of their teasing sometimes, just get with someone. But she told herself over and over again that it was ridiculous to go against what she wanted and believed in all because of a little drunken harassment. She wouldn't break for people that didn't respect her. She would regret it, and so far, she’s had no other regrets except maybe not kissing Grayson at least one time when she had even a little bit of a chance. But that chance was long gone and forgotten now. 

Glancing behind her shoulder into the packed living room, she saw Grayson lift his hand from across the way, hand gesturing in a sort of wave. His other hand was holding a beer. She cringed at his beverage internally, always loathing the strong putrid taste of beer. She was more of a wine girl, herself. Y/n let a smile lift her cheeks, it was slow of course, not really sure if his small wave was directed at her or just another one of his buddies that happened to be passing by in the crowded house, even if she was the only one in the kitchen. 

She quirked her head to the side, watching him with squinted eyes as he mouthed something in her direction. ‘You okay?’ she gathered, not understanding the sudden sympathy, but nodding back a ‘Yeah’ to him anyway. Why did he care? She had always been an outcast, that much was obvious. Yes, they had been ‘friends’ so to say before he moved off the college, but she had thought that was the end of it. He was there and then he wasn’t. She didn’t expect him to remember her, much less care about her after. The blush that crept up her cheekbones when he smiled happily back at her, made her internally cringe. Obvious much. ‘Good’ he’d mouthed back, a dazzling smile showing his ridiculously straight teeth off to her. 

Not wanting to keep staring, she turns her back to face the counter - trying to catch her breath from having him express such sympathy when she was used to being invisible, and when seen, mocked. Truth be told, she didn't know where the hell to look once the - sort of - conversation was over. She fought herself over the redness in her cheeks, cursing her own pathetic shyness. He was just...so kind. He didn't even have to be and he was. Even if someone doesn't deserve it, he shows them kindness. Redemption was something he’s always been a fan of. Grayson was always the bigger person, making it totally impossible to not open yourself up to him. She huffed at herself, apparently her desire hadn't lessened over time like she had hoped. He made it easy to fall back into old fantasies, that much was true. 

She focused on the wine dribbling from it’s box and into her red plastic cup, knowing that it’s shitty wine, but at least it isn't beer. She’d already had a few small glasses, feeling the warmth flooding in her body, but perhaps just a bit more would help. Thinking maybe juice would make it at least a small margin better, she wanders to the fridge, looking over her shoulder before grabbing the ‘kiwi melon’ juice from the bottom shelf - a sneaky smile playing at her lips. She knows it’s rude to pry and take what’s not yours, but if she’s going to be miserable at a party, shouldn't she at least have a good drink? With that same smile, she pours some of the pinkish liquid into her wine, doing a little shimmy in excitement from her silly idea at making herself happy. That moment was cut short when a heavy hand landed on the small of her waist, her body jolting from the shock of someone touching her so suddenly, heart hammering from the fright. She frowns at the puddle of juice on the counter before her eyes finally land on the culprit that had scared the daylights out of her - being met with a smiling Grayson, close to her face and a strong arm around her back. God, please stop messing with my hormones. 

“You know mixing isn't good for you right?” 

Hearing his low voice made her shiver, staring at him for just a bit too long before she broke the staring spell and responded shyly, “I’m probably not even gonna drink it honestly, I just thought maybe the juice would make it taste less bitter,” she laughed, reaching forward to secure the cap back on the juice, not interested in drinking the nasty wine anymore. Talking to him was much better. 

“Not much alcohol really tastes sweet, babe,” he laughed, sliding his massive arm off of her and leaning with his lower back flesh to the counter next to her. Peaking at him under her eyelashes, she admires how cute he looks with a hat on, he never wore them much in the past. His lips were tinged red from having a the neck of a beer bottle pressed against them throughout the night. She also chose to ignore the pet name that tumbled out through his teasing remark, knowing it didn't mean anything but if she thought about it long enough, the hopeless romantic in her would over analyze it. Ripping a paper towel from the roll above the sink, she attempted to clean the counter of the juice, lip curling at the wet feeling against her fingertips. She didn't like messes.  

“Yeah,” she agreed, “you just kind of have to chug it and the taste will be gone soon enough. It’s really the feeling that’s nice.” 

She knew it sounded bad as soon as it left her mouth, but chose to hide behind her hair once again, her blush would only make it more obvious that she hadn't meant to say something that sounded so vulgar. Grayson wasn’t a pervert or anything, but this conversation suddenly had him thinking about how she would be with her mouth. And it that was not how he wanted to see her when she had just sat in his living room and been made fun of for the exact opposite. He didn't want to be another one of those people that saw her for her body and nothing else - but he couldn't deny his attraction.  Instead of indulging in vulgar thoughts of her mouth and body, he slid in closer and gazed down at her doe eyes, flickering from his lips, down to his now closer chest, then back up to his eyes. 

“Are you sure you're okay?” 

“Yeah, Gray,” she nodded, “I’m fine, really. I’m used to it.” 

Gray. She hadn't called him that in what felt like ages. It slipped out in habit, and from the small smile tugging at his lips, she knew he didn't mind. He’d always loved when she called him that, let him know there was some level of trust between them. 

“You don’t have to be, though,” he told her earnestly, “I mean it - I can talk to them if you want...they shouldn't be treating you like that.” 

“It’s really whatever,” she huffed, getting just a tiny bit angrier, not at him, just the issue. Tossing the soggy paper towels into the bin in the corner, she dumps the contents in her glass down the sink, and rinses out the empty glass, “It doesn't get to me anymore.” 

Grayson’s stare burnt through the side of her face, his calm blinking letting her know he saw right through her bullshit. It did get to her, it got down to her very core and made the humiliation so unbearable she resulted to drinking wine that tasted like battery acid mixed with juice that was probably outdated, just to distract her from the embarrassment. He also knew it embarrassed her from the shaky rise and fall of her chest. That and the next words that flew from her mouth were so full of frustration and resentment, he almost choked, “I mean it’s like, yeah, okay I've never had a dick in my mouth, but does that make me a bad person?” 

He raised a hand to cover his smile, chuckling into his own hand. He didn't want to seem insensitive by laughing at her. Getting himself somewhat under control, he droned out with an amused smile, “Definitely not a bad person.” 

“Mhm,” she hummed, looking down at her hands perched on the edge of the counter. She would be panicking at being so open with him, but honestly he made it feel so natural she couldn't overthink it much, “I would rant more but I don’t want to waste your time explaining how much of a prude I am.” Her voice was sad, like she genuinely believed it was something he thought about her - would ever think about her. He watched her try and distance herself from him. not wanting to discuss her biggest insecurity in fear it would make him look at her different - as if he looked at her period.  

“I don’t think you’re a prude,” Grayson told her honestly. She looked so pretty staring up at him through her long lashes, blinking with a confused gaze. He knew she was confused by his kindness, “I just think they have no respect for themselves.”

“Well I don’t know about that,” she shrugged, “don’t get me wrong, there isn't anything wrong with sleeping around. I just wished they understood and respected why I don’t, you know?” 

“Well it’s like, wouldn’t you rather have sex with a friend? Someone who you get along with, trust, and cares about you?”

It was a genuine question and with one look she could tell he actually meant the words he said. He wasn't just saying them to appeal to her and make her feel better, even if that was part of it deep down under the surface. 

“But that’s not what any of them are like with me. I don’t trust any of them and I don’t think even one of them gives a damn about me,” she grumbled, “I would never. With any of them.” 

He chose his next words carefully, not wanting her to take him the wrong way. 

“But you would with someone who treats you right?” Grayson questioned, ignoring that the words sounded and inferred that he was asking for his own benefit. It was an obvious answer, but he had asked anyway. 

“Yes.” She swallowed, looking up at him nervously. Curiosity swam behind his eyes and she was starting to think he was getting at something, becoming the tiniest bit jittery under his stare. 

���Understandable,” he nodded, hair flopping from under his hat. “It’s better to be with someone you trust, always has been that way. Always will be. But don’t let them get to you, it will come.” 

Y/n looked up at his drunk little smile and felt oddly safe once again, a genuine smile rising to her face, it took his breath away. He took his time scanning her soft features, licking at his lips unknowingly. 

“I know, Grayson. You’re really sweet, thank you for listening,” she mumbled, that same bright smile aimed right at him. 

His head bobbed in a nod, a purse at his lips - he was holding something back. Her heart stopped at his next words.

“And, maybe this is taking this way too far and maybe i’m a little more drunk than i thought but - i mean - i’d do whatever the fuck you wanted me to do to you in a heartbeat, Y/n. No questions asked.” He blew a breath through his nose, on high alert now that he’d said something so bold - unsure of her reaction. Her blush gave him a great deal of satisfaction. 

“Um...right,” she muttered, unsure of what to say now that he had been so open with her. What he was saying had her mind reeling, tossing over idea after idea of what he would mean. She couldn't ignore the clenching in her nether region at his innuendo, trying to ignore it the best she could. It was impossible with his eyes scanning over her face. She tried passing it off for the fact he was intoxicated, and probably didn't mean what he said. Normally, on any other day, she would be immensely annoyed at any boy saying such a thing to her, assuming he only wanted her for her body. Most of the time it ended up being true. Maybe it was her being naive to think this was different, but he had already made it clear that getting into her pants wasn't her intention - and she believed him. 

The way he’d said it, was so honest it had her panicking slightly on the inside. It wasn’t that he was saying these things for his own benefit, it truly sounded like he meant the words that he was saying - that if given the opportunity, he would focus on her pleasure and not delve into a sea of greed that so many of the guys she’s come in contact with had. They just wanted to pleasure themselves. The steadiness of his voice indicated that he wanted to make her feel good. It made her giddy inside. Without the intention of getting her hopes up, she hid her blush behind her hand. Maybe he did like her back? 

It was childish to think such a thing, and she knew it as well as anyone else. How could she possibly know what anyone else, much less a guy, wanted when she couldn't even decide for herself? Peaking over at him once again, she’s shocked to find him staring at her still. 

“Was that perverted? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” his kind eyes widened to saucers, seemingly reading something behind her eyes she didn't realize was there. It was just so damn hard to hide her nerves when everything was so foreign to her - the ‘everything’ being flirting and sexual innuendos that she actually didn’t mind. His eyes dropped to the floor, his own frown adorning his handsome fact, “Was it? Because I’m sorry if I offended you or anything I’ve just had a lot to drink-”

“It’s alright, Grayson,” she giggled to hide her anxiousness. His worried expression turned into one of relief, his smile mirroring hers, “You’re just drunk, I get it. Don’t worry about me.” 

They watched as a girl not much older than her stumbled through the kitchen on broken heels, clearly out of her mind drunk. The giggling, clumsy teen disappeared behind the corner and into the bathroom, two of her friends following close behind with their own drinks in their hands - shouting her name with drunken slurs. She looked on at the messy college girl, smirking at Grayon’s shaking head. He seemed to be amused by her trashy behavior. As if he could feel her eyes on him, his stare returned to her face once again, an emotion she couldn’t put her finger on swimming in his eyes. 

“Yeah,” he swallowed, voice low - blinking down at her slowly, “just drunk.” 

“You okay?” she tilted her head when he tore his gaze away once again, wanting to be there for him like he had for her. She waited patiently while he bobbed his head up and down again - looking a bit unsure. 

“Yeah, I just uh...” he trailed off, blowing a puff of air from his lips again, “I just need a smoke that’s all.” 

That was his only explanation, for some reason, she didn’t believe it as much as she thought she should have. He just looked so damn nervous, it gave her more reason for concern. But she shrugged anyway, nodding herself, “So have one then.” 

“You wanna come with?” he offered with a hopeful tone, nudging at her shoulder with a small smile. 

“That’s alright. It’s cold outside,” she pulls an excuse from the air, not really wanting to travel back outside because she knows if she leaves she won’t want to come back - and being stranded doesn’t sound like the most appealing option. Neither does asking someone random for a ride. Her friends would only mock her further for wanting to leave so early. 

“I was actually gonna head up to my room and open a window, not really a fan of smoking outside. Too much effort,” he jokes, chuckling to himself. At least he was honest. 

Y/n swallowed down her nerves, not wanting to keep turning him away when he was trying to go the extra mile to talk to her and wanted to - for some unknown reason - spend time with her. She wouldn't choose herself from a crowd of college kids, that’s for sure. 

“Oh, um...yeah, sure, okay.” She hated the way he made her fumble with her words, made her nervous and jittery. She had always been that way around him, at a loss of what to do or say, totally enamored by him. She also hated smoking, but she wanted to be alone with him more than she wanted to admit. She would brave the smoke if it meant she got him all to herself for just a while. With her gentle nod came another one of Grayson’s award winning smiles, a hand coming forward to grab at hers to her surprise - tugging her through the living room and over to the stairs packed with sweaty dancing bodies. It made her lip curl in distaste. 

Following him up the stairs made her feel safe, untouchable in fact - hiding behind his large body kind of had that special effect. Like nothing could touch her. There were eyes that lingered on the pair of you along the way, darting from you to Grayson and back again. Someone shot her a smirk, some a full smile, and some even gave her a thumbs up as if to say: good luck. They could make their assumptions, Lord knows they did anyhow. 

And of course, like she had presumed, Grayson’s room was at the end of the long hallway - the last door on the left. It made her smile thinking back to her hometown where she had walked close behind him down the hallway of his home and into his bedroom to spend hours listening to him scream at some video game she never cared for and talk about how ready they were to get out of that town. She was first, the shy neighbor, and then his neighbor friend. It was an upgrade that meant the world to her at the time, even though he left her to herself when he moved away. They had been a team and his room had been their sanctuary. 

She was grinning when they stepped through the door and her eyes met the familiar white bedding he’d had had that same warm day in spring - when he had invited her to sit and talk a while. The only thing he’d added that she could notice were some rich emerald green colored pillows, the plush kind that probably felt like a cloud to sleep on. He was a simple kind of guy. Not many people knew - but there was a stitched in red robin on the underside of his duvet - courtesy of Lisa - his wonderful mother. Y/n always had a great deal of respect for the kind-hearted woman. She called the tiny hidden stitching her ‘Easter egg’ - something unexpected but always appreciated. If you didn’t pull back the right corner, you’d never even know it was there. 

Shaking her head out of her thoughts, Y/n tore her eyes away from the perfectly made bed (He always lectured her on making the bed, said it was ‘the first dose of accomplishment for the day’ - (simple but essential) and looked over to Grayson who had taken a seat on the large cushioned windowsill and was now bending forward to push on the window with one arm - the clear glass swinging outwards, letting in the breeze of crisp night air. It was a cool night, not too warm, not too cold - but just right. Just like every moment she spent with him. Peaking out of the window, Y/n could see a vegetable garden in the corner of the backyard, smiling with the knowledge that Grayson had probably put in maximum effort to get a garden so fresh and taken care of in a house full of frat boys that only cared about a good fuck and beer. It was odd to see something like a garden in a place that felt so disconnected from the world, that it nearly made her laugh. But instead, she took a moment to thank the Gods above that no one was outside. Because if they only looked up, she was sure they would be able to tell how nervous she was down to her very bones while her fingers twisted around each other - waiting for the right words to come to her. 

Satisfied with the crack in the window, Grayson leans back and to the side to tuck a large hand into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a yellow lighter. He lights the end of the stick as Y/n stood still by the door - wondering whether or not to close it. She wondered for a moment what message it might give and if it was one she wanted. 

It was so weird to watch him smoke when she remembered him being the biggest health buff she knew. She couldn’t ever predict to see a cigarette  resting between his fingers. But she had to admit it looked damn hot to see him suck in a drag between his plump lips, just to slowly ease it back out the window and into the night. The smoke danced for a minute against the screen before sneaky through the holes. It was mesmerizing, truly. He made everything look beautiful, and that was coming from a girl that gagged at the mere smell of smoke. 

Grayson’s body shifts on the windowsill, in pursuit of (probably) easing her nerves he could feel bouncing all around the room- when she lifts the heel of her foot and kicks the door closed behind her with a small *click*. A shaky hand follows as she reaches back to twist the lock to the right, trying not to think too much whether she would soon regret the split second decision or not. With one look at his warm, welcoming smile, she doubted it. 

“Do you wanna?” he asked her through the soft gold lamp light. Normally, the thought of smoking would make a chill run down her spine and repulse her for the rest of the day, but watching him make it look so...not gross and disgusting, had her thinking. 

“Oh, no thank you, I don’t smoke,” Y/n told him earnestly, shaking her head the tiniest bit. 

“Yeah I knew that, just thought maybe you had tried it a time or two since I last saw you...had a rebellious moment-” he gave her a wink at that, knowing she was the least rebellious person he had ever come across in his life. He just loved to tease her, “can I ask why you haven't?” 

“Just haven’t,” she said honestly, taking a few small steps to slide onto the edge of the bed - worried that if she sat with him at the window she might combust. 

“That’s okay,” Grayson chuckled, rising from his seat by the window and claiming a spot on the bed right next to her, “you could try it at least once, though. It won’t kill you.” 

That’s a lie, she wanted to say - but instead smacked her lips in thought, gazing up at the smile behind his eyes. He just made everything feel so safe and okay. Even something she had always viewed as disgusting and wrong, he suddenly had her pondering on. Y/n was so distracted with her own thoughts for a moment, she almost didn’t notice him holding the cigarette out to her. She looked at the white roll between his fingers, the smoke wafting up into her nose and she almost made a face, but stopped herself. A wave of panic went through because - fuck - was she really going to do this? What was the reason to go back on everything she believed in about smoking? She never wanted to, so what made this situation any different? 

“I guess not...I just don’t know how to do it,” she admitted. She’s sure it’s not rocket science, but she’s seen enough of her friends cough and gag to be convinced it’s easy for your first time ever trying. And she’s pretty positive she would never - and will never - attempt smoking again after tonight. Only for Grayson, she chanted to herself, only this once for him and then never again. Since when has she ever been subject to peer pressure? She scolded herself, knowing she should never say yes to something she is unsure of, but really wanting to make him proud for some reason. 

“I’ll show you,” he nodded at her and then to the cigarette in his hand, pulling her from her racing thoughts.  Raising the cigarette up, he held it pin straight in front of her face. Y/n gave him a skeptical look, heaving out a sigh, but took the roll anyway - holding it awkwardly in front of her lips. This is so wrong, this is gross, this is bad, she whined to herself, but smacked the thought away. 

“That’s it, now just wrap the dry bit of your lips around it-” he instructed her softly, and she could almost swear her heart was going to explode from the tone he was using, “that’s it.” 

Y/n followed his gentle direction, not daring to look at him while she did something she vowed to never partake in. But how could you say no to a face like his? 

“Now inhale, but breathe in. Don’t force the air down or anything like that, just take it in and pull it down until you feel it here-” he tapped a finger against her chest, goosebumps raising right where he had touched her. She prayed he didn’t notice - even if she saw his eyes linger on her skin for just a few seconds longer. 

With a burst of bravery, she sucked in on the stick, taking in a deep breath. She could feel it like a heavy cloud sitting in her throat and on her tongue before she sputtered it back out with a sickly sounding cough. Bad idea. She cringed as the smoke oozed from her nostrils as well, followed by a harsh pain. 

Grayson laughed lightly watching her grimace and hold it back out to him with panic, “No?” 

No, she agreed in her head, but instead shook her head and brought it back in front of her face with a disgusted scowl. He raised a prominent eyebrow at her in question and disbelief. Really again? His eyes talked back to her. 

“Just um... let me go again,” she urged, clearing her throat and ignoring the burning sensation that followed in result of her coughing fit only moments prior. She just wanted to look tough in front of him. Not that she owed him anything, but herself maybe. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to. I don’t really want to be responsible for your death,” he laughed, taking it back from her. He would never force her to do anything she was uncomfortable with. With a pout she huffs. 

“Let me try again,” she whined slightly, holding her hand out. She tried giving him her best ‘please give into me’ eyes, but she wasn’t sure it worked until the corner of his lips started to curve upwards. 

His hesitation made her smile, hesitation was closer to a yes than a no. But he shook is head soon after, and he couldn’t catch her bottom lip fast enough before it popped out into a pout. She wanted to at least take a drag without all but coughing up her lungs. That’s all, after that she would let it go. She never had the desire to smoke in the first place. 

“Okay,” Grayson decided with a huff, “I wanna try something real quick. Can you come a little closer for me?” 

With a slight nod Y/n scoots herself closer to him on the edge of the bed, knees now touching his slightly. He’s close enough now that if she leans in just a bit, they would be kissing. The thought makes goosebumps pop up along the skin of her arms, something she hopes he pays no mind to. But instead, she sits with a dumbfounded look while he smiles brightly at her. 

“Now part your lips,” he nods at her, eyes glued to her plump rosy lips that tempt him more than she will ever realize.She’s looking at him innocently, only making it harder for him to think about the mean things that were said about her downstairs. He’d love nothing more than to kick all of their asses when they finish up in his room.  

With her compliance comes the knowledge that she’s gotten herself into some trouble when he takes the end of the cigarette into his own mouth, wraps his own lips tightly around the white stick and sucks in hard. She admires the way his eyes droop shut with the long drag, and gasps in a small breath when his hand reaches up to grab loosely at her chin, pulling her face even closer. A daring move. 

“Try what?” she frowned, looking up and into his intense eyes that all but glare at her now. A fire erupts somewhere in her when he ducks his face down to place his lips over hers lightly, almost hovering and resisting the urge to plant them fully upon hers just as he exhales the smoke into her open mouth. She jumps when she feels the smoke swirling in her mouth like liquid, warm - but something tells her that’s not what has her sweating right there on the bed. 

With her eyes pinched shut and tried to focus on the subtle burn that was in fact less overwhelming than her first time trying to smoke herself - but all she could seem to focus on or much rather care about, was his satin soft lips moving ever so slightly as he blows out the rest of the smoke into her mouth. The light pressure causing her head to spin in circles, his hand on her chin ensuring that her face stay near to his. 

With a dizzy head and a heart that just wouldn’t stop racing, she exhales the smoke out of her nostrils between them, Grayson’s head pulling back just a bit to let the grayish swirls of smoke drift away and disappear. 

“How about that?” he whispered, staring at her with softened eyes. She hadn’t coughed, so he took that as a good sign. 

Swallowing nervously, she taps at her knee with her fingers, trying to avoid his eyes altogether. He was just...too much to look at. Too kind, too handsome, too understanding of things he didn’t have to be. She thought she might feel sick with herself after endeavoring in such a disgusting act...but surprisingly, she just felt accomplished. She hadn’t hacked up a lung, and he wasn’t running for the hills like she thought he might. Her innocence sometimes frightened people. Especially those with no real understanding of the finer things in life. But Grayson wasn’t one of those people, and she knew she had to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

“Better,” she finally managed to squeak out. And for once, she wasn’t lying. In fact, it was the most truthful thing she’d said in a very long time. When you were putting on a show for dozens of people, it felt a bit strange to say something that wasn’t robotic and programmed. Even if was just once word. That would was hers. 

“Why was it better, Y/n?” Grayson whispered again, still staring right through her. His eyes seemed darker now, a pit of something she couldn’t put her finger on. 

“I-I um...don’t know really it’s jus-” 

“Can I kiss you?” He cut her off seriously, turning only for a moment to toss the cigarette into an ashtray on the nightstand, and it was actually kind of astonishing how good of a shot it was, “just once.” 

“W-why?” she whimpered, confused and flattered and unsure of what to think. 

Is this just another joke? Another prank to be pulled off by her ‘friends’? There has to be a camera somewhere. Someone waiting behind the door, just waiting to bust in with a group if people and laugh at her. 

“Does it matter why?” he smirked, still holding her chin softly. His touch felt so delicate. Like she was a little porcelain doll he had to handle with care. 

“I mean...a little,” she admitted, “ people don’t usually randomly ask me to kiss them.” 

“Because I actually like you,” he began quietly, so so quiet, “because you’re beautiful, you really understand things for what they are, and people make fun of you for it.” 

They are both surprised when she lets out an amused scoff, one hand raising to cover her mouth for just a moment at her outburst. Her eyes are wide, but within a moment she’s lowering her hand back down to what she thought was her own lap...but ended up being Grayson’s knee. She’s speaking before she can think to remove her hand first. 

“I am not beautiful, Grayson,” she mutters, shyly and ashamed. 

It’s almost like he’s been shot, to hear her say such a thing. To hear her lie. She can’t possibly think that about herself? 

“Y/n,” he breathes with a shake of his head, “the first time I saw you it felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach.” Maybe it was the way he said it with such sincerity, the genuine emotion behind his words, or the way his lips ushered the words right out of his - but she found her heart fluttering and her head nodding at his request. 

“Okay,” she decided, not sure if he’d understand but hoping she wouldn’t have to actually say what she was okaying. 

“Okay? I can-” he checked, flicking his hazel eyes from her lips and back up again. 

“Yes, I mean yeah, I mean...okay,” she laughed, so beyond nervous she couldn’t prepare herself for what was about to come next. Something spectacular. Something magical. At least, that’s what she always thought it would be like kissing Grayson. Her only thought was that she didn’t want to be the one to lean in, and thankfully she didn’t have to. Grayson was leaning in in no time, and she was thankful for his confidence. It was something she was always lacking.  

His head tilted in such a way that he kissed her lips at this angle, this oh so special angle, one that she felt her body melt at. Her head dropped to the side as his lips put pressure against hers, his hand still placed right under her chin while his lips ghosted and danced over her own. 

With the thought of her hands remaining to herself being just too sad to handle, she delicately placed her fingers upon his waist. She could feel the heat of him under his shirt, and somehow that simple fact made her shiver, lean into him more. She didn’t squeeze, just touched at his waist - dipping her toes into the water so to say. Grayson being a little more invested for the time being, captured her upper lip with another roll of pressure. Her mouth fell open in a silent gasp at the movement. She knew she wasn’t the best kisser, only having kissed a few times, and none of those times ended up being all that great - but she was trying. 

Despite her lack of confidence and the nerves threatening to make her wretch at any moment, she wanted to take it further. Not just one kiss, little pecks. She wanted a kiss: heavy tongues and puckering noises. She wanted the full kiss, the ones all her friends had and bragged about when she sat around being sad she hadn’t yet experienced something so electric. 

With an act of bravery, she let that hand that rested on his waist close in to squeeze at him, digging her nails in to the fabric and  applying just the right amount of pressure to have him kissing her deeper. She then took it a step further, sliding her other hand up to tug the hat resting on his head backwards off and clutch at his locks of chocolaty hair. She was proud of herself when his hand came up to grip at her own waist and she didn’t so much as jump, warning bells didn’t sound off in her head, she wasn’t afraid. She let him just like she let herself. 

Their kisses still weren’t long, just lingering pecks and lips squeezing one another’s. Y/n was the first to open her mouth, the first to show a sign of wanting something beyond the innocent pecking. Pulling back for just a second, she wraps her lips around his plump bottom one, pulling for a second before popping it free. 

Grayson makes a small sound, something like a grunt mixed with a breath, and slacked his jaw a bit to kiss her harder. Much harder. This was what she wanted. He was hungry for it now. With that new excitement, came the shock of his tongue colliding with hers. At first, she jumped on the mattress, her fingers stilled in his hair, but he kept her close. She recovered from her shock quickly and tried to not make any noise that might embarrass her when his wet heavy tongue rolled against hers, one of his large hands coming to press into her back. It was so smooth, the way he knew exactly how to angle his mouth, kiss her at just the right spots, apply just the right pressure. It pulled her into him more than the hand at her back. 

Her mouth grew hotter, tingles spreading from her lips down her collarbones, her shoulders, and to the tips of her fingers that were still locked in his hand and tethered to the fabric of his shirt. And it was almost comical that she liked the slight bitterness from the smoke they had inhaled minutes prior to their kiss, added an extra buzz to her nerves. This was so unlike her, but somehow...exactly like her in every way. She honestly didn’t really know who she was because of how often she had to conform to what everyone else thought she be. 

Y/n felt his firm hands become greedy quickly, his body just itching to do something to hers. A ball of excitement sat down low in her stomach, growing to a steady burn that spread out through the rest of her body, pushing out as a sigh she will think back on and be horrified about for the rest of her days. But in the moment? Kissing Grayson in a frat house? After smoking her first cigarette? She didn’t give a damn that she made any sounds of pleasure, in fact she wanted him to know just how good his lips felt moving against hers. He fought off the urge to act on his hunger, not wanting to be that guy. He wasn’t that guy. He never had been. Especially with her, he would be patient. If kissing was all she would ever want to do, he would be okay with it. 

“Gray,” she breathed, way too caught up in the heat of the moment to realize the weight of what she was about to say,” “Gray let me touch you.” 

Grayson stopped the steady speed of their kiss and pulled his tongue from hers, still holding her face close, but backed his head up just enough to get a look right into her beautiful eyes. With a thick swallow and a small shake of his head he’s finally blabbering out a confused, “What?” 

“Just...let me,” she begged, tightening the fist in his hair to really let him know she means it, “let me please.” 

And she did mean it, that she was sure of. She wasn’t sure if it really was the fact that she had a bit to drink tonight, of it was just the moment and she was high off of the way his lips felt, or the fact that she had liked him for so long anyway - but she wanted to fucking touch him. She wasn’t even sure to what extent, just that she wanted to feel the weight of the situation and go outside of her comfort zone. She was ready to go somewhere with him. She trusted him more than half of her jackass ‘friends’ anyway. 

“Y/n,” he began after a moment of irritating silence, “you don’t owe me anything. You don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready for. We can just kiss, I promise I’m okay with just kissing you.” 

“But I want too, Grayson,” she whimpered, sliding her knee up his thigh, to show just how much. She tried to show with that simple motion that she thought now was perfect, her chance to finally let loose and just dive head first into her first sexual encounter. Her first real one anyway. It wasn’t just getting it out of the way. It wasn’t her acting on some rash urge to be like the other sex crazed people around her. It wasn’t a cry for acceptance. It was her about the opportunity she had pictured for so long was now before her and she didn’t want to throw it away due to the nerves pumping through her at lightning speed. She didn’t want to be afraid of intimacy anymore. 

“Y/n/n,” he whispered, “you really don’t have to. Don’t think that’s why I kissed you. I was fully expecting for us just to kiss.” 

“No,” she promised, leaning forward and dipping her head to the side to kiss at his sharp jaw, “show me how it’s done please, Gray. Show me how to make you cum. Wanna know how you like it.” 

Grayson swallowed loudly again, the head that was once holding her face now wrapped lightly around her neck. It was simply resting there, no intention or purpose. But she felt that same hand tighten just a bit at her words.

“Jesus, Y/n. You’re drunk, bub. You would never be saying this if you were sober,” he mumbled out to her, looking at her in the eyes. It almost made her feel better. Almost. 

But it still stung. Because there is was. There it fucking was. Even if he denied that he found her frigid like all the others, he still didn’t believe she had any form of sexual desire. That she couldn’t possibly have any confidence with her body. That she wasn’t like that. That she was worthless when it came to her body and the only time she would ever desire getting or giving any type of sexual pleasure is when she was drunk. 

Pulling her head back and away from his hand while trying to avoid the pity in his eyes, she decided that instead of shutting down and taking the sting in her heart home with her - she was going to prove him wrong. Because he was. She could do more than sit and look pretty, even if that’s what made her most comfortable on any other day. She wanted to suck his dick. It was that simple. She wanted it and she knew he wanted it just as bad, even if he was going to try and be a gentleman about it. 

Grayson watched her slip to her knees on the floor in front of him, never breaking the stare they had kept for a few long minutes now. She was pulling apart his legs in no time, her grip firm. He sucked in a breath when her silk soft lips fell to the inside part of his knee, the soft material of the tight fitting black sweats he was wearing softer than what she had assumed. Reaching a hand up, she twisted and pulled at the tie in the front, undoing it quickly, grazing over a bump in his underwear that he couldn’t hide even if he tried as she shifted closer to him on the edge of the bed. 

“Y/n,” he grabbed at her hand, trying not to choke when she gave him a dead look, like she would rather him do anything else but stop her, “are you sure you want this? I don’t want you to regret anything.” 

“Yes, Grayson. I’m not a fucking prude.” 

And there is was. That same word that was thrown at her all the time, for years she’s had to hear the same insult. But she didn’t have to prove anything to him. She was safe with him, even if he did want to fuck her senseless he would never act on any of those thoughts unless the time was right and she was 100% completely ready for that stepping stone in her life. Sitting there looking into her eyes, seeing the determination, it made his heart speed up he wouldn’t lie about that. 

“You don’t have to-” he huffed and put his hands to his face in frustration, “you don’t have to prove that to me.” 

It was sweet, the way he tried to validate her, make her feel safe. But he didn’t understand, she wanted him. 

“I know that,” she nodded, “but why does it have to stop me from doing the things I want to do?” 

As Grayson stared down at her, he was scared for a moment that she would able to see in his eyes how desperately he wanted her to go down on him, and didn’t want her to also think that was the goal with bringing her up to his room. He didn’t and would never want to pressure her into anything. If Grayson knew anything, it was that she deserved the best. So he made a promise to himself right there on the edge of his bed that he would treat her like a fucking goddess during and after whatever they were about to do. That he would show that he cared about her, because he did. And he knew he always had.

“Fuck, okay. As long as you’re sure,” he whispered gruffly, feeling his dick twitch from the simple bat of her eyelashes up at him. She smirked at this, tugging at the elastic of his sweats. 

Grayson complied by shifting his hips up and watched her drag them down his muscular legs and to his feet, yanking his ankles apart as much as she could in the denim. She stopped when she noticed the lack of shoes on his feet, now remembering him slipping them off in the time she came into the room earlier. But what really made her stop was the tattoo on top of his foot. She tapped at it twice with a smirk, but didn’t say anything. It calmed her nerves only slightly that his fingers were tapping on the bed nervously. She was thankful she wasn’t the only one. 

He'd just never had a virgin suck him off before. That and it was Y/n for Christ’s sake. She had always been too damn good for him and he put off any idea of ever being anything more than friends with her because he was 1. going away for college and 2. sure that she would find some dreamy successful kind of guy that would smoke his ass any day. But...there was was...choosing him. 

“Show me, Gray,” she whispered softly, sitting with her hands in her lap, twiddling with her fingers. 

He nodded immediately, the innocence in her voice ushering him to take her face in his hands when she came back up, just to tilt his head and land a sweet kiss on her lips. Just to let her know that he was going to take care of her, that it meant something. He was again glad that he was the guy she chose to have her first sexual encounter with. Not one of the dumbfucks downstairs that only wanted to fuck her and throw her away like a piece of trash. Grayson was respectful, and he was going to give her a comfortable experience no matter what. 

Y/n found herself stuck with what to do already. She had built up all this fire, but it was like she was standing on a stage with a spotlight pointing down at her - completely frozen. But she wasn’t dumb, she knew she had to get him hard first. Raising a dainty hand, she squeezed his clothes length, already half hard and massive. Y/n chose not to mention how big he was and instead inhaled and deep breath into her lungs, trying to stifle whatever stupid nervous thought was threatening to talk her out of what she wanted. With that breath, she took the time to pull the hem down and under his length. 

“Okay-shit,” he whispered once again, voice shaking even more than before when her hand came up to wrap around his bare shaft now. “Holy shii-okay.” He tried breathing in deep a couple times when he felt her hot palm around him, making blood rush down his body only making him that much harder in her hand. “Fuck, this is gonna sound gross but spit in your hand.” 

For a moment, she thought he was joking, and sat with his weight in her hand, but when she looked up to his pouted lower lip with no sign of amusement she knew he was serious and her cheeks grew a darker shade of red. Letting him go for just a second, she followed his direction and grabbed at him again, feeling slicker. 

“Shit-now move your hand for me,” he grunted, trying his best to not be greedy and thrust already. She needed to take all the time she needed. 

Slowly at first, Y/n moved her hand up and down, discovering that with each tug, his dick became smoother and wetter to the touch. Just looking at the massive cock in front of her made her nervous to put him in her mouth. He was just...so big. And the length was there too, along with the girth. This was quite the achievement for her first time. She tried getting him completely there with each flick of her wrist, speeding up gradually, slowing her hand up around the tip and thumbing the slit at the end. He was long and hard, his tip pink and dripping after her thumb dragged away from his slit. She wasn’t sure the effect it would have, but suppressed a grin when he jerked in her hand. 

He jolted with a deep moan that made her eyes shoot up to his in shock. 

“Fuck, that felt good,” he admitted, voice thick. 

It made her feel proud, that he sounded so breathless and bothered by her hand moving on his dick. The way he breathed it through his lips, like he was thinking it to himself and hadn’t even meant for it to come out, but he couldn’t help it. Kind of made her want to kiss him again. 

Grayson looked quite brooding over her, with a sharp dropped jaw and puffed up chest. He watched her every move when she couldn’t be bothered to tear her eyes away from his cock being pumped to filth by her own dainty hand. He carefully took her fringe back and behind her ear as her mouth came up and kissed his tip. Grayson quivered on his own bed, rolling his head back from the feeling of her soft lips that pressed against him for just a second. Such a soft gesture, with some dirty intent. The sight of her lips pressing to the tip of his cock almost affectionately, made him more desperate than he’d admit, like she loved it. 

“Take off your top,” she spoke quietly, wanting to see his body. He obliged, yanking off his shirt with lightning speed. Her eyes went wide at the first sliver of his toned stomach that appeared and she gulped. Damn, she was nervous by how fit he truly was. Grayson always did have a certain love for fitness she always admired. 

She’s brought back to the matter at hand when she feels a warmth on her hand, her gaze dropping to his dick once again. He sat hard and waiting for her next move, whatever that was anyway. Thankfully she didn’t have to ponder for much longer because Grayson rides in on that white horse to save her once again. 

“Just take the tip now, babe,” he soothed her through his, grabbing her hair in his hand lightly once he settled into just the right position. The little pet name had slipped out, and for a second he thought she didn’t notice until her lips curved into a smirk. Y/n is closing her eyes and leaning in close, wrapping her lips around him at last. Tight, hot, and wet. All the sensations he felt when her lips finally enveloped around his tip. 

“Jesus Christ,” he swore, heart hammering away from just the first feeling of her. 

He really didn’t know what to think when her tongue started swiping and rolling along his shaft. She figured that maybe it wasn’t all about the sucking. Maybe she could play around a little, give him kisses up the side, wet and sloppy. Look at him while she tongued at his tip, smoothed her tongue over his balls for just a second. 

“Oh fuck, roll your tongue on my just like that, that’s it,” he groaned, hips jerking from all the teasing on his tip. He’d always been a sucker for that sort of thing, she was learning his weak spots early, “doing so good, angel.” 

She hummed with a smile, batting her eyelashes up at him in hopes of looking at precious as possible. He looked like a sweating mess above her already, droplets glistening along the lines of his tanned abs. 

“Shit,” he panted heavily when she stuck her tongue out and took a hard lick to his tip once again, tongue sliding up his thin slit to flick against her teeth - her hand wrapped around his base. 

She rubbed him up and down, going just a bit faster and spreading her spit up his length. 

“Is this okay?” she checked, gazing up at him, continuing to twist her hand. 

“Yes,” he swallowed, “Yes, just uh fuck- go a little fast for me, Y/n. Move your hand faster.” 

She flicked her wrist against his throbbing cock, feeling much more confident now that he was moaning quietly and his chest moved rapidly with his quickened breathing. He was losing it, absolutely losing it, but he would try to keep it together in case she needed more guidance. But she felt sexy as hell - powerful even. Looking up at his eyes with a flutter to her lashes, a smirk coming up her face that he couldn’t detach his eyes from even if he tried. The little devil knew her power over him. She had to at this point. 

“You liking this, Gray?” she smiled brightly, knowing the answer but asking anyway. 

“So fucking much baby, doing so good for me,” he grunted, head thrown back in bliss with just her hand stroking him. 

With the new found confidence blazing through her and his eyes not watching her every move for once, she raised up again and held her hair back, her hand a bit sticky for obvious reasons. She didn’t have time to worry about a sticky hand when she was about to suck dick for the first time, Grayson’s dick at that. 

Slowly she slid her lips down his shaft, focused on taking medium length pulls that soon sped up once he had gathered her hair back and she could place both hands on his thighs to steady herself. 

“Meet your lips with your hand, baby,” he moaned, biting at his lip, watching her take as much of him as she could. 

Not having enough energy to do much else other than comply, she closed her lips tighter around him, feeling her saliva drip down onto her fist that met with her lips now. However; all she could focus on was the way he was breathing, the heavy rise and fall of his stomach. The sighs and moans of her name that spilled out of his mouth to encourage her further. She could feel his thighs shaking slightly, which made her head spin from the mere thought of him being so overworked by her actions. She sucked at him faster, and she soon realized she loved the dirty suction sound her mouth was making around him, the way his cock reached a place deep down her throat. 

“Fuck- mhmm gonna cum,” he got out through his pleasured whines, “stop babe, back up m’cumming.” 

“I know,” she assured him. 

She knew what was coming. But she’d come this far so it wasn’t like she was going to stop. She hummed around hum and it just made his pleasure increase, the hand holding her hand wrapping just a bit tighter with selfish desire as he took one last deep breath and closed his eyes with relief. 

He finished in her mouth in long, hot spurts. Spilling out on her awaiting tongue. Y/n kept sucking, trying her best to keep her lips tight - having some thought that if she just kept sucking he would be dry at some point, but he was still wet with her spit. 

He was wrecked before her, absolutely spent. He panted loudly above her as she swallowed and looked back at him with her doe eyes and a hopeful smile. 

“Was I good?” she teased sweetly. 

Fuck you, he wanted to say, so fucking high on pleasure that he honestly would have if it had been any other person besides her. He was just that caught up. But instead of that crude comment, he chose to fall back on the bed with a huff and a “Fucking hell.” 

It was nice to see him completely spent and worn out like he was, she had to admit. Made her feel powerful, like she wasn’t some princess that just had to have the world at her feet. Although, watching him flop back on the bed with a smile did make her feel like she did carry the world in the palm of her hands. He was...beautiful. 

“It’s just not right that it was your first time,” he joked, still panting, “you’re so good at it.” 

Finally having the strength to lift herself up off the floor, she stands on wobbly knees and confidently crawled up his body, careful of his sensitive length laying against his abdomen. Even when he wasn’t hard he was massive. It blew her fucking mind that a man could be that attractive, that he actually just did that with her, that he was then wrapping an arm around her waist to hold her close to his sweating body. He opened his eyes breathlessly just as she leaned in and gave his lips a gentle kiss. Light like a feather, but sweet like honey. 

“So,” she traced a shape on the tanned skin of his chest, “does this make me a bad person?” 

He wanted to laugh, he really did. But when he looked back at her, she looked seriously concerned that she might have ruined something for herself. And for that, he brought his lips to hers once again for an even longer skin. He rolled his tongue out to slide against her own, and not being a bitch boy, he could taste himself on her mouth - the thought making him smile. They really just did that. 

“No, my love,” he whispered, “it makes you a very, very good one.” 

My love...my love...fuck. 

She laughed at his lame compliment. In retaliation, and just because he wanted to, he gave her a light spank that made her gasp in sharply. By the time she had time to open her mouth and speak, he had already rolled them over and attached their lips. They giggled against one another’s mouths, Y/n holding his hair, Grayson rubbing his thumbs across her hips. 

“I don’t want this to be over,” he admitted quietly to her, forehead resting against hers lazily. He knew this was a dreamland and he would have to wake up to a frat house full of passed out drunks and a fuck ton of trash to clean up. But she was...damn near impossible to stop kissing and now that he’s gotten a taste of what it’s like to have her in his arms - he doesn’t want to let her go.

It made her heart flutter to hear him say something so honest and raw in a time like this, him being naked and pressed on tip

“It doesn’t have to be...” she trailed off, not knowing if he meant he didn’t want the night to end or something deeper. 

“Yeah? You sure you want to hang out with a fray boy? I’ve heard they're jerks,” he teased, tickling at her side and grinning when she wiggled in his arms. 

She nodded against his chest, not having enough courage to respond, but wanting to give a response anyway. She had to admit, she was overjoyed when Grayson slid out from under her and wrapped her up nice and snug in his bed, sliding right in next to her and pulling her close. 

She didn’t know what it meant for them, what this meant for her, or where the fuck they stood. All she knew was that Grayson’s lips sprinkled kisses across her face just to help her fall asleep that night...and no one in her life as ever made her feel so worthy. Loved. Touched. Not just psychically, but emotionally, spiritually, and beyond. And for once the thought of being close to someone didn’t scare her.  

tags: @episkygrant​ @highoffdolan​ @mercurygrant​ @indiyaesthetic​ @livelongdolan​ @dolandolll​ @aquadolan​ @prettyboydolan​ @blindedbythelightt​ @persistence-ofmemories​ @deeperdolan​ @zeusgrayson​ @nikesbailey​ @dolansaint​ @goldenndolan​ @kate-the-holland​ @money-is-the-reason-we-exist​ @hereticryan​ @dolansontheblock​

#grayson dolan #grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan fanfiction #grayson dolan smut #temptation!gray #Ethan and Grayson #ethan dolan #ethan dolan imagine #ethan dolan smut #ethan dolan fanfiction #dolan twins #dolan twins smut #grayson dolan fluff #grayson dolan angst #ethan dolan angst #ethan dolan fluff #dolan twins imagine #dolan twins fanfiction #dolan twins fanfic #fanfic #blurbs #youtube #youtubers #gray!concepts #grayson!concepts

[fairyhobiee]

bts taehyung birth chart

okay i somehow got bts’ birth times, and i dont if its right, but their chart seems accurate, but then again i don’t know them personally so i dont know what they like.. anyways enjoy

birth needs: [ daegu, south korea, dec. 30th, 1995, 5:56 am ]

𝐒𝐔𝐍 - 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐍 

the sun represents vitality, a sense of individuality, and outward-shining creative energy ! his sun sign is in capricon. he is honest, humble, stronged-willed, and ambitious. possible issues like distrust, and pessimestic mindset, could prevent him from doing certian things, like working with people, or could even lead to being aloof towards people who seem to care, but he cant tell cause of this mindset.

𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓 - 𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐒

the ascendant is how you present yourself to others, and how you come off to most people ! his asc is in sagittrarius. he identify strongly with the image he presents to others. he makes an impression on others and he has "presence", and he knows it. he is self-conscious, although he may prefer to project a strong image. he attracts good things with a positive frame of mind and a charitable disposition. rarely entirely "down and out", he is usually well-received, helpful, and well-informed. there is a self-destructive side to him that should be managed by confronting your fears. he might worry about a friend betraying him, although others might find this person full of charm ! he is quick to chuckle and can't resist any appeal to his sense of humor.

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 - 𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒

the moon represents the emotions, and the moon sign shows how a person expresses themselves when at home, at ease, and comfortable ! his moon his in aries, in which he can be irascible and easily angered or fired up. he often goes for the things before thinking, and think it over when it’s too late to. a lot of his feelings are not powerd by anger, it’s more fustration, and he doesn’t know how to express it. 

𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐘 - 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐍

mercury represents communication, cartesian and logical spirit ! his mercury is in capricorn his mind compartmentalizes impressions, and he appreciates structure and order. The mind learns best when it can see practical uses for information. resourceful, reflective, deep thinker; a fine and vivacious mind. a rational person. can be pessimistic, skeptical, and sarcastic, possessing a very sharp sense of humor. notices everything.

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒 - 𝐀𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐒

venus represents an interest in emotions and values, exchange, and sharing with others ! his venus is in aquarius. he tries to impress you with his open-minded, future-thinking spirit. he wants you to see him as unique, rebellious, and a little provocative. he is attractive when he is acting a little aloof. he wants you to acknowledge and appreciate that he don't follow the beaten track in matters of the heart. venus in aquarius people are attracted to unusual or unconventional relationships. he doesn’t want to follow all the rules, although he may make quite a few of their own. he wants you to love him for his intellect, and to admire his visions. he value lovers who are also good friends, and he avoid emotional displays or confrontations. he likes everything beautiful, the arts, balance, and harmony. he is amiable and sociable. he likes entertainment and has a loving nature. he will delight in shocking you with his unusual ways and his forward-looking thinking. dream along with him, and don't fence him in. he needs space and will happily return the favor, giving you lots of room to breathe and to be yourself !

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐒 - 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐍

mars represents the desire for action and physical energy ! his mars is in capricorn. so natives with this position have a subdued and controlled style of approaching life, and most don't come across as particularly enthusiastic; rather, theirs is a low-key but determined energy. mars in capricorn natives like to be on top of things. they are generally goal-oriented and focused people who are not afraid of hard work. most like taehyung are achievers by nature, and many possess well-defined ambitions--well-defined to themselves more than anything. capricorn is a sign that detests waste of any kind. it also fears disorderliness and "letting go". with mars in capricorn, there is generally a powerful need to stay in control. he has a good sense of organization. he knows how to make the necessary decisions rapidly, he is independent but will pour a lot of his energy into achieving social and professional success .

𝐉𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑 - 𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐒

jupiter represents expansion and grace ! he attracts the most good fortune when he is open-handed and generous, tolerant, and practices what he preaches. can be inspirational, usually finding success in travel, education, teaching, sports, publishing, and foreign cultures. very philosophical, forward-looking, and enthusiastic. strong morals. He strongly values freedom of movement and expression. he is jovial, expansive, dynamic, kindly, altruistic. he has good judgment, is tolerant and loves food, good times, and pleasures. he has a good education and a prosperous life. he aims big and may often be disappointed with small advancements or successes, wishing that these were bigger or better. he may bring every conversation around to himself, which is a tendency that should be kept in check. he has highs and lows in his professional life.

𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍 - 𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐒

saturn represents contraction and effort ! misanthropic, with a sullen humor. he likes to live in solitude, in contemplation, preferring to work alone. may be suspicious of the intention of others, religions, faith. may suspect that others' innocence or compassion is insincere. feet and ankles may need extra attention. his life can be difficult and cramped. he is hard-working, but success takes time. he may have problems with being open, without self-consciousness. he may accept solitude rather than look for solutions. family problems. his life can be difficult and cramped. he is hard-working, but success takes time. he may have problems with being open, without self-consciousness. he may accept solitude rather than look for solutions. family problems.

𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐒 - 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐍

uranus represents individual liberty, egoistic liberty ! he could have some problems accessing his intuition, since common sense often dominates. a great battler. he has so much power that one thinks nothing can defeat him. his mission in society and in the world can mean everything to him. may question traditions and can be very open to redefining the meaning of success and to changing up traditional approaches to career and status. he can be wildly creative with an odd but happy sense of humor and perspective. he is an idealist, easily disappointed by those using power plays to advance. he fights to improve his daily life, he is persevering. he must have a job that allows him many freedoms, something non-routine. he likes change, possesses a lot of energy and knows how to influence others in spite of his originality !

𝐍𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐄 - 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐍

neptune represents transcendental liberty, non-egoistic liberty ! he is discerning, wise, and sensible. he may prefer not to attach too much value to money, but if this is overdone, there can be quite a few problems in life concerning money and ownership. he might make money through artistic pursuits, but must avoid the potential pitfalls of putting too much faith in ideas that don't have enough grounding in reality. it's vital to seek out financial advice for significant ventures. is plans can sometimes lack realism and are therefore often unattainable. however, creative fields can be enormously successful. can maintain a mysterious but magical reputation !

𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐎 - 𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐒

pluto represents transformations, mutations, and elimination ! sexuality and love are idealized. he can pour much of his energy into succeeding professionally. he is an authority figure and a great organizer. strong sense of authority. he may have felt ashamed for being needy or dependent and now feels awkward or even angry with people who display these traits without apology. he can feel very uncomfortable asking for help and/or expressing his own nurturing nature as a result. accepting the very human need for care and concern in himself can be empowering. it can also help eliminate extremes of behavior in these areas where he expresses neediness to an extreme, after which feeling remorse, and then repeating the cycle.

𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐊𝐓𝐇 :

kim taehyung is a semi-fustrated, person who bottles it up for the sake of other people, and love ones. he wants to try everything, very cautiously. he doesn’t want to be tied down, this goes for carees, realtionships, and more. he wants to make the most of his life, but he wants space while he is at it. he has a creative flow, which causes hhim to natrually flunt it, and everyone falls for it. he is more than a pretty face, he tends to come up with a lot ideas, thats out side of the box ! when he gets older he wants to live the typical peaceful life.. a place where a lot of plants, animals would suit him !

#bts #bts taehyung #kpop #zodiac #horoscope #birth chart #kth #kim taehyung

[neoneversleeps]

the sun, the moon and the stars | m.tl

pairing: moon taeil x reader (hanahaki!au)

genre: angst

warnings: major character death, mentions of blood, mentions of underage drinking

description: 

She was the sun and he was the moon, and you were the stars that burned with the desire of attaining something unattainable. 

words: ~6k

notes: hey guys! this fic has been a long time coming and im so happy to have finally finished it. this is also the first time im writing angst so bare with me if its not that good. hope you enjoy it nonetheless !!

- lilac

Moon Taeil. The name was fitting, really. Every time you thought of him, you thought of the moon. You thought of the nights all those years ago where Taeil drove the both of you to the hill outside the city in his hand-me-down car in the dead of the night because you just needed to get away. How the both of you sat on the grass looking up at the moon, his hand gently resting on yours and the soft night breeze drying your tear stained cheeks. he was your shoulder to cry on in those times. A comforting presence. Much like the moon in the night sky, Taeil had become a constant in your life from the very beginning.

You remembered the time when you were young and stupid and drank way too much at some house party. How the both of you stumbled through his garden at 3am, you desperately stifling your laughter as you tried to maneuver Taeil without him falling flat on his face. He was even more of a lightweight than you. You ended up tripping over your own two feet and sending both of you crashing onto the ground. Laughter flitted from you both as you stared at the moon in the sky. Suddenly Taeil leaned up and hovered over you. You didn't even have time to think as his lips planted a kiss on yours, and you kissed back. His kiss was warm and soft, hot breath fanning against your lips in stark contrast to the cool air around you. You couldn't quite remember how you ended up falling asleep in his room that night, but you definitely remembered the morning after.

Waking up the next morning on the mattress next to Taeil's bed, you had looked at the sleeping boy with newfound hope. Hope that your pathetic little (or not so little) crush on Taeil would be reciprocated. However, when he finally woke up he had no recollection whatsoever of the night prior. Your first kiss, forgotten so easily by the boy who had held your heart in his hands for as long as you could remember. Life went on normally after that, as if nothing had changed. But something had changed, and you were terrified because of it.

You were scared, so, so scared but you pushed every thought of the dreadful disease that plagued your world to the back of your mind. You weren't in love with Taeil, right? It was just a crush. It would fade. Its wasnt love. It wasn't. It couldn't be. He was your best friend and your love for him was purely platonic. These were the word you repeated to yourself over and over in your mind, hoping that if you said them enough they would become true.

You knew, however, that you were lying to yourself. Still, repeating the mantra in your head seemed to keep the disease at bay for quite some time. There even came a time where you thought you had successfully avoided it all together.

You were wrong.

It was the day Taeil's college acceptance letter was said to arrive. You had already gotten yours and had a confirmed spot at the University you were both aiming for. You were just as nervous as Taeil about his results and were headed over to his house for moral support (and to calm your racing heart). But as you turned the corner onto the street where Taeil lived, said boy was already running towards you, a piece of paper held high in his hand, chanting “I got in! I got in! I got in!”. He reached you and immediately picked you up in his arms, swinging you around a couple times. You were taken aback at first but soon laughed with the overly happy boy. He set you down again and as you looked into his eyes, the ones that shimmered like the moon in the night sky, you just knew.

He hugged you impossibly tight and whispered in to your neck: "I'm so happy we'll get to stay together. I don't know what I would do without my best friend." And you smiled, because you knew that his words were sincere and warm but there were tears pooling in your eyes at your sealed fate. He pulled away and the smile on his face morphed into a concerned frown at your teary look. "Are you ok?" His worried eyes bored into yours. "Yes," you responded, "I'm just so proud of you." The smile he gave you after that was worth the ache you felt in your heart.

That night, the seed was planted in your lungs, and a few months later you coughed up blood for the first time. You were a goner now.

It had been almost five years since that day and somehow, you were still alive. It seemed that the universe wanted to draw out your suffering for as long as it could. Both you and Taeil were now finished with college and well into your work-life. You had decided to become a graphic designer, as it was your passion since you were young. It only provided you with some odd jobs and didn't exactly guarantee a loaded paycheck, but it made you happy and you figured, with what limited time you had left, you might as well enjoy it. You worked mainly out of the comfort of your small apartment. It wasn't much, filled with tiny fake succulents and vintage knick knacks you had collected over the years, but when the golden hour settled throughout the city, the warm light bathed the apartment in an orange glow. And at night, you could perfectly see the moon shining down at you from where you sat at your desk, distracting you from your work countless time as your mind drifted to the man who shared it’s name.

Moon Taeil. The boy you had met as just a child had now grown into a man. He had become a true virtuoso on the piano (musical instrument he had mastered in his teen years). He was sought after by many theaters and often played shows that were sold out in the blink of an eye. In addition to his musical work, he had also taken on a day job as a music professor at the Uni you both studied at. He was as happy as could be, and you were happy for him. All these years your love for him had never faltered and even though it meant bloody petals would force their way out of your throat every once in a while, you didn't regret loving Taeil. You never did. It was just so easy to love him and to you, it felt natural. No matter how much it hurt.

However this did mean it hurt unbearably to see him happy with someone else. Tanaka Michiko, a Japanese transfer who had moved to Korea 2 summers ago. Taeil fell head over heels for her, and you couldn't blame him. She was gorgeous. Her sooty black hair fell in waves just above her shoulders, soft freckles dotted around her nose, a permanent dazzling smile on her face and honey skin which was warm to the touch.

His face brightened every time he would talk about her to you, about how much he wanted her to be his. Hours he had spent telling you about every detail that defined her as his head rested on your lap, your fingers combing through his tresses. From the way she talked, a cute accent highlighting every word that left her mouth, to the way her nose crinkled when she laughed. With every miniscule particularity you had learned about the girl, you were sure you could draw her from scratch in your mind.

So, finally, one night you had smiled at him and with a heavy heart and petals scratching at the insides of your lungs, and told him to go after her.

He chased after her for some time, but it wasn't long before she too fell for his charms. How could she not? Taeil was the perfect man. Handsome, thoughtful, kind, talented. It was impossible not to fall for the guy. A few months passed before they were official, and Taeil had proudly introduced her to you. You felt that you should hate her. Hate her for taking Taeil away from you, taking up his time, for having that which you have always hoped for. But you found that you just couldn't. Because she was sweet and understanding and kind and most importantly, she was good to Taeil.

You could see how much love she held for him in the way her eyes lingered on his face every time he smiled. You'd know that look anywhere. It's the same one with which you looked at him. When the two of them were together, it was like she was the sun and he was the moon, an absolutely perfect pair. Both of them completely opposites but a faultless match nonetheless. When you sat facing them in yours and Taeil's favorite diner, you felt as though you were the stars looking onto their love, but never getting to touch or feel the love you so desired for yourself. Always watching from a distance. Always longing for the warmth they held. But much like stars in the freezing expanse of your universe, you were left out in the cold.

Two years had passed since they first got together. Their anniversary was coming up and Taeil had begged you to help him come shopping for something special, claiming he needed your help choosing "the right one”. You had asked him what he meant on the phone but he was evasive.

Now you were being pulled through the crowded streets of Seoul by a very excited Taeil. "I've already narrowed it down to this one shop, but I just can't decide which one she would like better and I *need* your opinion." He explained through quick breaths as he moved through the huge number of people that surrounded you, all heading their separate ways. You were still very confused as to what he meant. "What do you mean, Taeil? Which wha-" you were cut off by Taeil's shout: "Here it is!". You looked up at the sign above the quaint little elegant looking shop in front of you.

The name Manon's Bijouterie was printed above the entrance, elegantly curled in a feminine looking font. Your stomach dropped to your feet. You should of seen this coming.

He was going to propose.

And of course he wanted his best friend to help him choose the perfect ring. You gulped and looked up at the man beside you, a sheepish grin on his face. "You sure you ready to pop the question?" You asked him, trying to keep your voice a teasing tone, despite the shakiness hidden underneath. He laughed nervously but answered determined nonetheless. "I'm sure." He smiled at you, genuinely happy. You couldn't help but smile back, surprised at the fact that it was genuine as well. Then again, all you ever wanted was for Taeil to be happy, and he was, so by default, you were happy too.

The two of you spent the next hour and a half deciding on a ring. He ended up buying a small and delicate silver ring with a beautiful golden shimmering quartz stone. "It reminded me of her warmth." He had told you, a warm smile spread across his face. "You know, kinda like she's the sun and I'm the moon". He giggled slightly at his confession. “It’s silly i know.” You felt unable to respond in any way, instead resorting to chuckling bitterly at the irony of the fact that you had made that same comparison in the past. Fate really loved to rub salt in your wound. Taeil didn't notice your little change in demeanor though, he was far too immersed in thought as to how he was going to make his proposal as perfect as possible.

That night ended up with flowers once again forcing their way up your throat, scratching at your inner walls and taking drops of blood with them. Hanahaki ,as you had discovered, also had a cruel way of always choosing a flower that reminds you of your unrequited love and for the past years the petals you had coughed up had always belonged to the same flower.

The moonflower. 

    Ipomoea alba, sometimes called the tropical white morning-glory or moonflower or moon vine, is a species of night-blooming morning glory, native to tropical and subtropical regions of the New World.

“The moonflower requires full to partial sun, so it is important to find it a place where the sun's rays can easily reach it.” This particular sentence had stuck out to you as you had looked up the name of the flower during one of the first times it happened. You almost laughed at how much the universe seemed to love irony.

In all your time living with the disease you had gotten pretty desensitised to the flowers crawling up your throat. Tonight, however, you broke down in tears. And for the first time in a long time, the fear of death plagued you nightmares.

It was becoming more and more noticeable that your health was slowly deteriorating, gradually becoming worse in the months leading up to the fateful wedding. Taeil and his future wife were far too busy with preparations and their own jobs to realize there was something wrong. In fact, most of your friend group were too wrapped up in their own worlds to notice either, which you were thankful for. You didn't want any questions. You had never told any living soul about your little “issue” and you promised yourself you never would. Unfortunately for you, your good friend Johnny was very perceptive.

He invited you to coffee and you had innocently accepted. How were you to know that he would end up interrogating you? "Y/N, I know there's something wrong. You've been looking really under the weather lately and I'm concerned. Also, before you say anything, know that I won't let up until you tell me." His tone was firm, one of his hands resting comfortably on yours. You loved the fact that Johnny was so caring, you truly did, but right now it was very annoying. "How many times do I have to say it? I'm fine, Johnny. I just have this cold that's been clinging on for longer than it should. That's it." You say as nonchalantly as possible,  itching to just change the topic. "Well, I don't believe you." Johnny states matter-of-factly. You roll your eyes at him. "Fine, don't believe me then, but that's all there is to it." He gave you one last disbelieving look but dropped the questions. You released a sigh of relief. However, from that point on you were careful to cover up the paleness of your skin whenever you were around Johnny, aware that he still had his suspicions.

Time had a habit of slipping through your fingers. In seemingly only the blink of an eye it was the night of the rehearsal dinner. You talked with some of the guests and greeted Taeil's parents, admiring the beautiful beachside location the couple had chosen for their ceremony. The venue had a breathtaking view of the ocean, full moon standing tall in the night sky and perfectly visible from the small balcony where guests mingled throughout the evening.

You had started to wear heavier makeup to hide the bags under your eyes, the paleness of your skin and the hollowing of your cheeks. You gave your speech perfectly and had the whole audience, including Taeil, tearing up at your emotional words. You were so numb to the pain in your chest by now that delivering the speech was an easy feat.

That night, as you laid in the bed of the hotel room close to the venue that Taeil had rented for you so you wouldn't have to drive back to your apartment in the night , you looked out at the sky through the huge balcony windows. The same full moon from earlier looking down at you. The moon had caused you so much pain over the years, serving as a constant reminder of the boy whose heart would never be yours. Yet somehow, even after all the suffering, the moon still brought you comfort. Still reminded you of those many nights where you and Taeil gazed up at it's beauty, all your hardships and concerns being swept away by the wind. You smiled at the memory and, somehow, you felt at peace.

There were no flowers that night.

The next day was strangely enough one of the happiest days of your life. You had expected to be close to bursting out into miserable tears every second or to be so numb to everything around you that you wouldn't be able to utter a single word but instead, you found yourself waking up with a weight having been lifted off your shoulders. The whole day you were filled with a sense of happiness.

You sat in the prep room with Michiko, talking and laughing about all kinds of things together with the other bridesmaids. You even told them childhood stories about you and Taeil, something that would normally bring back painful memories. You told them about the times the two of you had secretly snuck out candy from your local convenience store or how you would always prank Taeils older sister on april fools day each year. You even recounted some drunken Taeil tales that had Michiko clutching her stomach in laughter, her makeup artist desperately trying to keep her still as she tried to do her job.

Shortly before the ceremony was set to start, you had located Taeil's fitting room, rasping your knuckles lightly against the door before he uttered a "come in!". You slipped inside the room. Taeil was standing in front of the mirror, nervously arranging his bowtie with a thin sheen of sweat covering his forehead. He looked handsome. In that moment you thought back to the scrawny Taeil you had grown up with. You were so proud of how far he'd come.

Picking up a napkin, you went up to him, turning his body so he would face you. You lightly tapped the napkin against his forehead to remove the droplets of sweat before moving to perfectly set his bowtie. Taeil sighed and smiled at you. "What would I do without you?" "Crash and burn, probably." The both of you chuckled. Taeil looked nervous so you laid a hand on his shoulder as you spoke to him. "Taeil, you're an amazing person and you deserve all the happiness in the world. You both do. And I know you're going to be the best husband ever." He seemed to want to retaliate but you didn't let him. "You can do this. Deep breaths.This is just like playing a sonata in front of a bunch of people. You've done that loads of times." "Yeah but this time I'm not playing the piano. And as far as I know a sonata does not require a lifelong commitment." You gave him a pointed look. "You know what I meant." He smiled at the look on your face and took a breath. "You're right. I can do this." He hugged you before you stepped back out of the room.

"Go get em tiger."

That day you walked the aisle, not as a bride (as you had many times imagined) but as a bridesmaid, and yet, the smile you wore was still blindingly bright. It was like the happiness that filled Taeil on this day was within you too. You found it weird, of course, but there was no itch in your throat and no ache in your heart so you were content.

Everything went smoothly and after the ceremony and the cake-cutting, the real festivities started. You danced with God knows how many people that night and drank quite a few cocktails. You were pretty sure you had danced with Taeil as well at some point. You still faintly recalled seeing his face in front of you as he moved rather dorkily to the music. Your own laughter rang in your ears. It felt as if you were on cloud nine.

Little did you know, that you would soon plummet from said cloud very quickly and very painfully.

**

You were growing tired and Johnny had offered to walk you down to your hotel room.

That's when it happened.

It was like everything hit you at once. There was a pang in your chest as every ounce of heartbreak you had felt came crashing into you, the pain making you cripple over. You could barely hear Johnny's concerned words over the ringing in your ears, could barely feel his hands trying to hold you steady as every moment of rejection you had ever had played in front of your eyes like a broken record. Suddenly, your throat seared with a burning heat and you were throwing up more flowers than you ever had, the white petals contrasting with the angry red of your blood as they lay on the ground in front of you. The world around you was muffled. You could hear someone's frantic shouting and footsteps but it was distorted, could see flashing lights in your peripheral but everything was spinning. Soon enough, your vision faded to black as you collapsed onto the floor.

You woke up to the beeping of a machine. Slowly trying to open your eyes, you were met with a bright white ceiling and pale blue walls, a window with the curtains only half shut, letting in enough sunlight to let you know it was daytime. You turned your head to the side. A heart monitor. That confirmed the fact that you were, indeed, in a hospital. Your throat still burned slightly, a bitter aftertaste of blood in your mouth.

The door opened carefully and a nurse’s head popped in. "Oh, you're awake!" She spoke chirpily as she met your eyes. "Your friends will be happy to hear that. I'll go let them know as soon as I take your vitals. Is that ok?" You nodded, afraid that if you opened your mouth to speak, a river of flowers and blood would spill out. Her gaze met yours a couple of times as she took your vitals. She always smiled at you, but there was an underlying sadness behind it, maybe sympathy or pity. You couldn't blame her, you were in a pretty pitiful situation.

She left the room and soon after, Johnny appeared before you. "Hey you." He smiled, trying to sound as happy as he was normally, probably to make you feel better. It didn't, but you were appreciative of his attempt. "Johnny." You croaked out and his eyes flitted to yours.

"What happened?"

Johnny explained that he had called the ambulance as soon as he saw the petals and that Taeil had come running frantically as he got wind of the situation.The ambulance had promptly  arrived near the chapel and he guessed that most of the guests knew by now. Taeil and Michiko were both here at the hospital all night, same as Johnny. They had only stepped out half an hour ago to get a late breakfast.

You frowned. You felt bad for ruining your best friend's wedding, one of the most important events in his life. You were brought out of your thoughts by Johnny. "Just a cold that's been clinging on for longer than it should huh?" He quoted your words back to you and you shrugged, not really knowing what to say. You felt bad for lying to Johnny too. He let out a frustrated sigh. "How could you not tell me about this? Or anyone, for that matter? I mean, I can understand that you wouldn't want to tell me, maybe we aren't close like that.” You winced at his words. “But not even your family? Not even Taeil?" You laughed bitterly at that last part, which then turned into a choked sob, tears gathering at your eyes. "Oh God. It's Taeil isn't it?" Johnny whispered in realization. Then you burst into tears. Too much. This was all too much. Sobs wracked through you as Johnny held you, softly patting your hair as he whispered sweet nothings to you.

You calmed down after a few minutes, just in time for the doctor to walk into the room. "Good morning." He greeted the both of you. "I have a few things to discuss with the patient.” He glanced at Johnny. “Normally only family members are allowed to be present but if you want your friend to stay I can allow it." You squeezed Johnny's hand as you turned to talk to him. "You wouldn't mind if I spoke privately with the doctor, would you?" Johnny gave you a reassuring smile as he squeezed your hand back. "Of course not". He gave you a kind smile once again, nodded politely at the doctor and left the room.

"So, miss y/l/n. According to our test, you have had this disease for nearly a decade. Am I correct?

"Yes."

"And during all these years, you were the only one with knowledge of you having this disease?"

"Yes."

"And were you aware that there was a procedure to remove the roots from your lungs?"

"Yes."

"And you knowingly chose not to have this procedure?"

"Yes."

Of course you knew about the removal. That in the early stages you could remove the roots slowly growing inside your lungs before they became too many. Was the reason to not have this removal stupid? Maybe for some people, but not for you. It might sound crazy to anyone else, but the feelings you had for Taeil were a part of you, they were woven into your soul and had, for as long as you could remember, been a part of your life. Losing those feelings would be like losing a part of yourself. Besides, the procedure removed all feelings of love towards the person in question. Wouldn't that also mean you  wouldn't even feel platonic love towards Taeil? You couldn't risk losing your friendship with him. Taeil was one of, if not the most important person in your life. You couldn't lose him. You couldn't.

The doctor sighs thoughtfully. "To be honest with you. It's a miracle you've even survived this long. Most people suffering from hanahaki die in the first two years if they do not get it removed.” He looks at you for a reaction, but you do nothing. “The fact that your body has held it off for so long is medically unprecedented. However, the disease has become so advanced that we don't even have the possibility of removal now. And the flowers inside your lungs just keep on increasing in quantity. At this rate, I'm afraid the time you have left is at best... three days." You swallowed hard at that last sentence. All these years you had known this day would come. You had prepared for it, trained yourself to not feel fear in the face of death. Yet here you were, and the thought of your life ending still absolutely terrified you.

Seeing as you didn't respond, the doctor figured you might want some time to process the information he had just loaded onto you, so he cleared his throat. "I'll leave you to-" "Is it possible that my friends not be informed of how much time I have left?" The doctor blinked a few times before he answered. "Legally, we only have the obligation to inform your family of your condition so yes, your friends do not have to receive that information. But are you sure-" You cut him off again. "I'm sure" You spoke firmly and the doctor nodded, turning to exit the room but you stopped him once more. "One last question." He turned back to face you. "Does it hurt?" You asked, voice barely above a whisper. The doctor looked at you with sympathy in his eyes. You didn't have to say it, he knew what you were referring to. "I wish I could tell you otherwise… but death by hanahaki disease makes the person suffer a great deal." You nodded at him to continue. He sighed. "The plants will build up to the point that they pierce through the tissue of the lungs, filling them with blood, which the person will then start to cough up as the lungs tear apart from within and the person will start choking as they are no longer able to breathe. The whole process can take up to a few minutes." He spoke calmly and you absorbed all the information, leaning back on your bed, not being able to avoid picturing the scenario in your head.

You told the doctor he could go so he left the room. Only a few minutes passed before Taeil entered the room. His hair was slightly tousled and the dress shirt he wore was wrinkled and untucked. He looked tired and stressed out and your heart ached at the sight. He came to sit down on the chair next to your bed, clasping his hands together and placing them on your bed before laying his head on top of them, his face not visible to you. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, as if preparing for something. Slowly he lifted his head but his gaze still wouldn't meet yours.

"Is it me? Is it because of me that you've suffered all these years?" Taeil's voice came out raw and pained, the quiet sound would have barely been heard if it wasn't for the fact that the room was deathly silent. You bit your lip, you had to tell him. Your hand moved to comb through his hair and he let you,the gesture a comfort to him as much as it was to you. You didn't quite know how to start so you just went with your gut feeling "I don't regret loving you. If I did, I would have had the roots removed but I couldn't-" "Why didn't you?" Taeil stood up abruptly, his voice suddenly much louder in volume. "Why in the hell didn't you get it removed? Why? Why? When you knew that it could kill you!" He was yelling now, tone strained and desperate and you felt hot tears gather in your eyes all over again. "I couldn't risk losing you! I've loved you my whole life Taeil!" "But I haven't. I never loved you like that and you knew it." Your heart broke at his words. It was one thing to be aware of it but another entirely to hear the words directly out of Taeil's mouth.

He raked his hands roughly through his hair in frustration. He was angry, that much was obvious. "Why couldn't you just think of yourself for once? And why did you have to be so-...so stupid as to not tell anyone? Why-" His voice gave out at the end, a sob threatening to spill from his throat. Taeil had always loved you, just not in the same way. The fact that this was the reason that you might lose you was excruciatingly painful for him. He looked over at you, saw the silent tears rolling down your hollowed cheeks and the way your formerly vibrant eyes seemed to have lost all it's color. It felt horrible to see you like that and he mentally cursed himself for not noticing sooner. For not helping. For being a terrible excuse for a best friend.

Neither of you said anything for a while until you broke the quiet. "I'm sorry..." You looked at Taeil as you said it. You were sorry. Sorry for Taeil and the fact that he was the one you fell in love with, which wasn't his fault. Sorry for your friends and family whom you had kept this a secret from all these years.

But most of all, you were sorry for yourself, for falling in love with the one boy you would never be able to have.

Taeil stepped towards you and enveloped you in hug. Unbeknownst to you, you had started crying once again. You were tired of crying by now, tired of everything, in all honesty. As Taeil held you and tried to calm you down it was like you knew that your end was close, even closer than the doctor had predicted. 

In that moment, you made a decision. 

After a few more minutes your cries had ceased. "Taeil? Could you do me a favor?" His eyes met yours as you talked. You saw anger, sadness but mostly fear swimming in his dark orbs. obrs that still shimmered like the moon in the sky, even after all these years. He nodded nonetheless. "Remember that bakery we used to go to all the time when we were in college? It had my favorite chocolate muffins ever. If I recall correctly, it's somewhere near here. Would you mind getting me one, please?" Taeil's brows scrunched up slightly at the odd request. "Please?" You added, trying hard not to sound desperate. "Of course." He said and gave you a small smile.

He stepped towards the door, opening it before glancing back at you one last time. "Should I tell the others to come in?" He asked. "No, that's ok. I'd like to get a little rest to be honest." You chuckled softly and gave him a reassuring smile. "Ok." His eyes flitted over you briefly. Clearly, he was nervous about leaving you alone. Eventually he gave a light sigh. "Well, I'll see you later then."

"Yeah, see you later Taeil."

The door clicked shut behind him and you reached for your phone. There was something you had to do. You scrolled through your notes until you found the one labeled "for my parents" which was a letter you had written a while ago in the event of your death, to say goodbye. You copied and pasted the text into an email and sent it. Then you went through your files to retrieve a video labeled as "taeil". You had recorded the video months before, on a night were you had coughed up so many flowers you had thought it would be your last. You attached the video into another email, finger hovering above the send button. You waited about twenty minutes, the itch in your throat and the ache inside your body getting worse every minute until it was almost unbearable. And as the flowers started to force themselves out, you hit send.

Taeil knew something had happened as soon as he entered the hospital wing you were stationed at. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out, looking at the notification that lit up his lock screen.

[1 new email]

from y/n

goodbye taeil

(no body)

[1 attachment] - taeil.mp4

His blood ran cold and suddenly he was running frantically to get to your room. His phone had started buzzing again. He turned the corner and his eyes met Michiko, taking notice of the tears running down her cheeks as she held her phone next to her ear. He stopped dead in his tracks, the squeaking of his shoes alerting Michiko to his presence. She slowly lowered the phone as she locked gazes with Taeil. His eyes flitted downwards as she mouthed the words “I’m so sorry.”.

It was then and there that Taeil’s world froze in place. No. No. No, no, no, no, no. This was not happening. This was not was not happening. This wasn't real. It wasn't. She couldnt be dead.

Could she?

He felt the impact of Michiko running up to him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Felt her nails digging into the fabric of his jean jacket as she held him tightly, desperately trying to ground him. He noticed as his tears dropped onto her shoulder, heard his heavy intakes of breaths ringing in his ear, but he felt as if he wasn't truly there.

You. The one person in his life he had taken for granted. The one person who was always, always there. A constant presence he could count on. You weren't supposed to leave. You were supposed to be there forever.  

But now,

you were gone.

And you were never coming back.

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[sweaterinvested]

— up, up, and away:;

SETTING   /   OUTSIDE THE PRIMRODIAL AUTO CLUB AND MC CLUB HOUSE. EVENT   /    PRIMORDIAL MOTORCYCLE CLUB 40TH ANNIVERSARY PARTY. TRIGGER WARNINGS   /   GUN VIOLENCE, BLOOD, INJURY, DEATH.

    Coming to the Primordial anniversary party wasn’t his brightest idea. Desmond is well aware of that. But Sutton had invited him, and he knew that despite the thin ice he was treading on with the gang that there would be people there he cared about. And of course...he didn’t want to say no to Sutton after she’d invited him— especially when his best friend had seemed so down as of late. So he was here for moral support, and perhaps there was the smallest kernel in his still bruised ribs that said he was here to simply prove that he wouldn’t be bullied into submission. But he wasn’t here to listen to whispers and spy and snoop today. No, he’d decided he would just be Desmond, the high-school English teacher, and get some of that glorious potato salad he’d heard so much about. At some point he’d meandered into the outside area of the party to the front of the shop, getting some fresh air and the like.

    Being a teacher in such a small town came with its own hazards, one of which being that he couldn’t go much of anywhere without running into a student, a parent, or a coworker. Today seemed to be a day for the first two of those roles, and it hadn’t taken long for him to run find AJ and his little sister, Iris. AJ had started off as, for lack of a better word, a nuisance. But Desmond knew that beneath the acting out, there must be a reason for it. So instead of writing him off as mini-Anthony, he’d taken the time to know AJ, and encourage him in his writing. In truth, the boy wasn’t bad at English, especially when it came to stroy-telling. In the end...he liked to think he and AJ had reached an understanding of one another, and were as close to friends as a teacher and student could get.

    It had been the reason Desmond had brought along a gift for AJ to this shindig for the boy’s birthday, grinning as he passed it along to the student he considered a success, the two of them bathed in smiles together before things shifted. Just a few moments later...something changed. A loud crashing sound, screams erupting from a nearby crowd, and a chill went down Desmond’s spine. Then he was hit, a solid mass coming into contact with the back of his head. Something warm trickled down his hairline, and he put a hand to the sticky substance on his skull to pull it away...ruby red.

    A little laugh erupted from him as he recognized the insides of a pie from the dessert table, and he turned to find the culprit. A young girl stood there wide-eyed, realizing her vital mistake “I wasn’t aiming for you!” she blurted out, trying to claim her innocence. “AJ was there, and then you walked in front of him!” Apparently, a food fight had broken out when he wasn’t looking. He should have just shrugged it off, and given the girl a free pass. But everything had been so heavy lately, and those few moments of lightness were ones he wanted to hang onto for as long as he could. So instead of grinning and saying ‘no problem’, he scooped up a pig in a blanket from his plate and tossed it her direction. His laugh came when he hit his target, and the girl’s stunned features slowly spread into a smile of her own. Her expression changed again, and a nearly blood curdling scream was ripped from her lips. So extreme was it that Desmond flinched, a frown coming over him. That was a bit dramatic of a reaction, wasn’t it?

    Everything that happened next came incredibly fast. The screams of joy coming from those in the food fight around him...moved, morphed into something much more sinister like the one that had come from the girl who’d been his target. And then the gunshots rang out, and the sound of the first one was like a punch to his gut. Pop! It only took a moment for the air to be filled with a downpour of the bullets, coming in quick succession. Pop! Pop! Pop! There wasn’t any time to think before Desmond was grabbing AJ by the collar to pull him to the ground, trying to make the boy less of a target. Next was Iris— who he brought down to the dirt and grass with him as well. Chaos was quick to come, robbing the happy destivity of its joy in only seconds, and groans of pain and terror pervaded the air. Desmond didn’t even bother to wonder exactly who was shooting. All that mattered was that danger and death were here to knock- no kick in the door of the security they’d been nestled in.

    Instinct kicked in, the deep-seated need he’d always felt to protect flashing through him as he looked for a place of cover, and adrenaline rushed through him. He had to get Iris and AJ out of here. A thickening in the trees caught his eye, as well as a large boulder that could hopefully create a shield for them. Desmond dared to peek his head up from the ground, trying to find a lull in the gunfire for him to make a break for it along with the kids. Finally their opportunity came, and he was unceremoniously picking the pair back up with him, directing AJ towards the trees with shouted words. He didn’t bother taking chances with Iris, scooping the girl into his arms to run with her to the treeline. By all means— Desmond shouldn’t have been able to do it, not in the state Andy had left him after the gas station run in. But adrenaline was a wonderful thing, dulling the pain of his bruised ribs to be barely noticeable as her ran with Iris and AJ.

    Finally they reached the place of safety, and Desmond put Iris to the ground once more, looking AJ in the eye, a confidence and fierceness there that gripped the teacher in times such as these. “Stay here. Look after your sister. Don’t move, and cover your heads.” Then Desmond was gone once more, diving back into the sound of terror and panic. The smell of blood had already seeped into the air, so thick that he swore he could almost taste it when he breathed. There wasn’t a moment of hesitation where he wondered whether or not he should be helping the gangs, rushing to save the people that he’d worked so hard to fix. There was no thought at all as he rushed back and forth between the safety of the trees, and the people still floundering about the scene of what was once a party, now turned into a murder field. People were at risk, and Desmond helped people. It was as simple as that.

    It wasn’t long before he had blood streaks painting his clothes, most of it not belonging to him, but rather the people he’d been helping. There had been one who’d stopped moving as he dragged them, the air no longer finding their lungs as they’d died in his grasp. There was no time to linger, though. Not now. Move on, and save those you can. But he had caught a few scrapes along the way, the sting of them fading with what should be the pain of his ribs. Still- the lines of red along his arms and face were angry and insistent as he went from place to place, person to person, dragging, and carrying, and guiding to safety. The process seemed endless, as if he was caught in a long tunnel running towards a light that was never getting closer, entirely unattainable. And yet he kept on sprinting because that’s all he knew how to do. He had never known when to stop, never known how to hold back when it came to things like this. That much was obvious with so many things in his life.

    First was Lettie. First was always Lettie in his mind— often forgetting to think of much else these days other than how he most likely had lost something so valuable in his life due to his inability to just let things be. Next was Andy. Desmond couldn’t just shut up and take a threat, couldn’t stop the continued words and such from slipping through his lips that had earned him the stench of gasoline and aching ribs. There were too many examples in his life to count, reaching back as far as he could possibly remember. The only thing that had ever stopped him was when he was made to stop, when his body quite literally couldn’t keep going, or his mind was scrambled to bits.

    And it seemed that another instance such as that was now. Again he felt something hit him, though this time it was in his thigh. Once more his hand went to inspect whatever it was that had found him, and there’s a small sense of deja vu as that hand came away sticky and red. Shot. He’d been shot. There was a moment of almost wonder as he paused for a second, nearly unable to believe that this is what fate had in store for him. This pain he feels. The burning of the bullet searing into his flesh as more and more blood gushes from the wound in his leg. Isn’t there some important artery in his thigh? One that’s nearly always fatal if hit? But he can’t bring himself to worry about it as he limps forward on his crippled leg, looking for another person to help to safety.

    Still, he refused to stop— to quit— to let something other than good and right win. However, he’s not left with much of a choice when his leg gave out on him in the heart of where the party had been in full swing, crumpling to the ground under the weight of himself. He moved to stand again. Determined not to let this get the better of him. He would crawl if he had to. But just before he can straighten himself, something struck across his head...hard. Hard enough for his vision to blink out of sight, and make him see spots. Suddenly the world is even fuzzier, and his line of thought goes garbled and nonsensical.

    Why was he thinking about potato salad again when he can’t seem to figure out which way was up or down? This time he hit the ground without catching himself, not even realizing it’s rushing up to meet him until he was lying on it, face down. Everything was dark, and Desmond didn’t know if it was because his eyes were closed, or perhaps because he’s dying. Even if he’s not dying currently, he can’t imagine a passerby might turn him over to see if he’s alive or not. Why would someone try and help the English teacher who’s been snooping around far too much?  If he doesn’t simply die from whatever’s happened to his head, surely he’ll bled out before anyone gives enough of a fuck to find him, to notice he’s gone. Ignored just like he was for the first half of his life.

    Dying. He had thought of that more often than not as of late, mostly because of the rising tension of the clubs, and his meeting with Andy at the gas station. If he died here, at least it would be better than dying with Andy. Here he had done something, here he made a difference. And that was all he had wanted to do with the world. Make a difference. It was why he’d become a teacher in the first place, to teach the younger generation that they had the power to change everything if they wanted to, to make the world their own, and to form it better than their predecessors. Desmond had helped people today, helped AJ, and Iris, and plenty of other people he didn’t know the name of. He’d make a difference. If he died today..at least it wouldn’t be alone at a gas station, unable to fight back. He’d die a death worthy of a hero, having saved those that might not have saved themselves. And that was all he had ever wanted. The difference was made.

#desmond #self para #up up and away #violence tw #death tw #blood tw #gun tw #injury tw

[theaurorfileshq]

C A M D E N   S A V A G E  /  A U R O R   C O R P O R A L

AGE:  Forty-Five

BADGE NUMBER: F01V25

BLOODSTATUS: Pureblood

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Trans Man, He/Him

IDENTIFYING FEATURES:  Piercing blue eyes, high collars buttoned all the way up, severe haircut speckled with white, scarification (Sacred Heart on chest, several arrows on rib cage, crude flame on left wrist, upside down cross below that, eyes on the palm of left hand)

STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES:

(+):  Potion-making, decisiveness, precision, independence

(-):   Combative magic, skewed moral compass, pretension, apathy, only truly respects older brother

BACKGROUND:

cw: self harm, body horror

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.

Poor in spirit, poor in body. So the kingdom has always been your family’s then, yes?

It has, at least in your parents’ minds, and your grandparents’, and your great-great grandparents’, and everyone before them. No matter what has changed in the world, the Savages remained just as they were. A snobbish upright morality, a longing for the past, when the world was right. And a desire to hold onto that, at least in their own households. A diminishing fortune that never seemed to take them off their high ground.

You were never going to be the strong one. There were stories of crusaders in the family, those who fought chivalrously for the family, for the community. But that wasn’t your calling, that was your brother. Your parents seemed to know that from the moment you were born, and decided on the path for you from the start, all by gifting you with a name, with no care for what your birth might’ve indicated you would be.

Silas Camden Savage.

The original Silas Savage came to America years and years ago, bringing with him a religion for all of the wixen population, preaching salvation and doling out mercy to the lost souls who seemed to believe religion was only for no-majs.

And so when you announced, after your older brother, that you were also a boy, your father took it as a divine sign, confirming what he had already come to believe, that you were meant to carry on Silas’ work, and help return the family to their religious importance.

The thing is, though, then, you were a follower. You followed your brother everywhere he went, did everything he did, looked up to him as a hero. You ate up every word your father spouted, easily believing whatever was said. And it felt a little bit like somewhere you had lost something. A little piece of yourself gone, and replaced with what you were meant to be.

That was your whole childhood, really, in a way, wasn’t it? Mourning. For self lost, independence lost, innocence lost. Always something lost, never something found.

But it’s a good life, a proud and blessed life, even when the robes you wore were barely better than rags, and the things you already preach fall on deaf ears upon leaving the safety of home. Sometimes you wonder if it might be easier to drop the Silas entirely, after graduating, to just stay Camden, or find who Camden is at all in the first place, to follow your brother to the aurors, and serve God in that way. But there’s this feeling in your soul that tells you Camden isn’t holy, Camden isn’t good.

So you pray and you pray and you pray and you beg for some kind sign

And a week before your graduation, you receive it.

You were never one to mourn, and so maybe it’s fitting that there was no time for comfort after your father’s death. Now you have to take charge.

Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.

After that, there wasn’t a meek thing about you, but in a way, that’s why you were always so effective.

You go from a student of magic to a student of God. Three years spent preparing to take vows, fitting in more seamlessly there than you ever had at school. You revel in it, finally feeling like you’ve found your place, your calling. You remember how passionately your brother always spoke of becoming an auror and that is how you feel about your work on the road to the priesthood. You’re doing what you were meant for, and saving souls, spreading the Word, all at once.

And maybe it helps that it’s a little like being royalty, in a way, being a Savage entering the priesthood. Maybe there some less than graceful thoughts when you’re recognized, when you shadow established priests, and you’re the one listened to as if Jesus himself is in the room.

You get your choice of assignments, even, and it’s no surprise that when you pray on the decision, you’re called to your own parish back at home. It’s only right, after all, to continue your work where your ancestor started his, to shepherd the flock your family has always been apart of. And the parish is blessed to have the new Father Silas saying their masses.

As time goes on, something changes, though. You can feel the hold that Satan has on the world, can feel his influence spreading, and you worry that perhaps you read your signs wrong and your father’s death wasn’t a calling, but a defeat.

Your sermons become more intense, your penance becomes harsher, you worry for the souls of your people as well as the souls of the world. Most of all, though, you worry for your brother, out amongst criminals and the darkness, trying so hard to make the world as good as he is. But you’ve heard just how evil the world can be, and you’re terrified that he’ll fall into the darkness, too.

You spend more time praying, more time visiting him, when you can, unable to keep from wondering if there’s something more you should be doing. But isn’t that part of the job? You shoulder the burdens of those who have faith, you watch over them, you pray for them and take their worries, to give them that chance at peace, that chance at goodness.

There’s something there in the pit of your stomach as time goes on, though. A hunger and a thirst deep within you for something more, docile, but waiting to be awakened when the time is right. You think it’s a hunger for goodness, for justice, but sometimes late at night your thoughts turn to the what ifs, the greedy, prideful things you want, things you’ve done, and it’s hard to know if it’s just the devil tempting you, or if it’s your nature.

You’ve gotten good at ignoring the things that don’t fit with what you should be, though, and so you continue on your quest for salvation, passing on the grace of God that you have found to those who need it the most, watching over your flock, building a life of good, just as the last Silas Savage did.

Blessed are the merciful, for they shall be shown mercy.

But why should you show mercy when no one has shown mercy to the person who matters most to you?

You’re in the middle of writing a sermon when you receive the news. An injury, out on a case, the sort of thing you’ve spend countless nights praying to never hear, countless candles lit to protect him, countless sinful thoughts hoping someone else might take his harm and keep him safe, since you can’t be there.

That moment, suspended in time, is a moment that changes it all. Terrible things that no prayer could prevent, terrible things happening to a person who has done nothing but good, no mercy in sight, despite everything he’s tried for.

God has a plan, God looks after those who do His will.

Does He?

God helps those who help themselves.

That feels more like it.

Instinct is to go to him immediately, pray by his bedside for some form of mercy that you can feel won’t come. But instead, you do something else. He won’t be conscious, anyway, likely won’t be in any state to even know you’re there for days, and for once, there’s something concrete you can do for him. You can make certain he’s never again in a situation like he was, you can be there with him. You can protect him.

What good is prayer, when you can offer something concrete?

Perhaps this is the sign you had been hoping for years and years ago, only you hope it hasn’t come too late.

If there is one thing that you’ve always valued above the faith you were gifted with, the desire to save others, and do even an ounce of good, it is your brother’s life. And if protecting that means abandoning your flock, abandoning your grace, your mercy, then so be it. Some things are more important than saving your own soul, after all.

Two weeks later, you finally show up to your brother’s bedside, letter of acceptance to the New Orleans Auror Academy in hand, with the full intention of being finished by the time he’s healed and ready to go back into the field, this time with you by his side.

Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God.

It was long ago that you stopped believing in purity of heart as more than an abstract concept, an unattainable goal to strive for surrounded by so much sin, and the world was out to prove you right, it seems.

For a while, you try to do both, all while spending as much time with your brother as you can. Moving back and forth between the academy and your parish in Kentucky, still saying mass on Sundays, coming in to help with meetings and give confessions in between trainings and classes. It’s not as if you’re particularly interested in making friends with any of your classmates, who are nearly all at least fifteen, if not twenty years younger than you, anyway.

You try, at least at first, to pass some of your knowledge onto them. After all, that’s always been your calling in life, spreading the Word, saving the souls of those who are lost. But you see quickly enough that you’ve been living in a pleasant little bubble in which your thoughts, your religion is taken seriously, believed. Here, you receive laughs, eyes rolling, strange looks. You receive stories about how they’ve been hurt by beliefs like yours, how they could never accept something that believes suffering can elevate the soul.

There are arguments that make you feel a lot like you’re a teenager again, pointless arguments with those who wish to remain Godless. Between that, and the training, less time is spent going home, less time for the ones you promised to watch over and steer on the right path.

And then one day, without any real ceremony, you stop going back.

You pray and you pray and you pray and you realize, you cannot be both. You can’t shepherd a flock you can’t give the time to, you can’t preach while focused on saving only one soul.

And so you will be a martyr.

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.

You become a peacemaker, if that’s what you can call it.

The work is dull and tedious, not the sort of saving you’ve ever been interested in, but you finish your time as a student once again, and easily enough find your way onto your brother’s squad. Even if you haven’t worn the collar in more than a year, there’s still a certain amount of respect that comes with the past you have, even if they don’t quite seem to understand why you gave that life up.

Or at least there’s respect from some people.

The first day on the squad, the first day back for him, the first day for you, he looks at you, with a smile that takes you back to when you were just a boy, and he says, “Just like old times, right?”

And you smile back, because it is.

But the smile doesn’t last long. You try, again, to offer your own sort of salvation to the members of your new congregation. You offer peace, you offer prayer, you offer your own soul for theirs. And yet no one seems to want it.

And if they don’t want what you have to offer, what’s the point in giving a part of yourself at all?

Something breaks in you, as time goes on. A slow decay that you realize has been happening for years, a decay you hid from even yourself behind fiery sermons and harsh penance, devoted pray with your flock and deep confession to your fellow priests. But none of that can hide the realization that you’re not good.

Camden is not good.

The one thing that kept you good is gone, abandoned for the sake of the one life you care about above your own, and now you’re left with the dregs.

You still pray, every night, every morning, every moment you feel that darkness creeping up, but it feels a whole lot like your prayers are falling on deaf ears.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Because you couldn’t forsake your brother, and so you’ve forsaken your own salvation. It’s only fair. Nothing is free.

At least it feels worth it, when you go out into the field with him, when you watch over him, keep him from trying to sacrifice himself again for someone who would never show him the same mercy.

At least your soul is being put to good work.

Blessed are those who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

You have to wonder, though, does it still count, if the persecution is your own?

This is a persecution you chose, after all. There was no need to abandon your flock, to leave behind the cloth and fight against a sea of troubles that was meant to be for your brother, not you. You just want to do good, to be good. Both of you do, only, he’s succeeded. You watch him, and you see so clearly just how good he is, how he helps so many. And you’ve failed. You couldn’t even keep him safe, and you didn’t realize your prayers weren’t enough until it was much too late.

Can you still be a martyr, if it is your own thoughts that throw the stones, heat the grill?

You revel in the feeling of the collars around your neck, too tight, nearly choking, making it just hard enough to breathe that you’re constantly reminded of your own mortality, your own mistakes. Tighter than the white collar you gave up years ago, but just as oppressive, in a new way. You’re guilty, after all, of leaving so many behind, giving up their salvation, as well as your own. And all there is now is to try to bear the shame, to give back even an ounce of that salvation in any way you can.

If you bear some of that sin on your body, perhaps it takes away the sin of all the lost confessions you never heard, the sermons you never finished, the flock you left alone. Letting yourself feel the pain in your heart for your faith must be holy.

The solution comes in a dream, the first a Sacred Heart burning on your chest, a divine message that only seems to confirm your suspicions, your guilt is productive, a representation of your love for the lost, the broken, those you left behind; a divine love of humanity, of mortality. And so when you wake, you pull out your wand and give yourself the heart you were gifted in the dream.

Then come the arrows, just as Saint Sebastian, a flame gifted, for Joan of Arc, the reverse crucifix, Saint Peter, and most recently eyes resting in the palm of your hand, as Saint Lucy. And it’s a blessing to finally feel some sense of peace, knowing you’re doing good, even if you yourself have never been quite as good as you prayed you were.

Maybe you can save souls and save your brother, all at once.

There are times, of course, when you think of leaving, after a particularly hard case, or rough day, you think of finding a new parish, and going back to your old life. Those thoughts rarely stay once you think of your brother, though. There was never another purpose for you. It’s all worth it if you have even a chance of keeping him from finding more harm, after all the real good he’s done in his life.

After all, you would gladly follow him to hell and back if it meant you’d both survive.

#retired auror

[princeyandanxiety]

The Fire That Destroys

[evacuate the dancefloor voice] Guess who’s back with a brand new fic that’s gonna make y’all want to kill me quick? 

Summary: Morality bottles up every once of rage and fire. One day, it all breaks.

Warning: Morality goes on a verbal attack of Logan and Roman

He couldn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t hurt them.

It choked him, clogging his throat and filling his lungs and turning his mind in circles, circles, this strange, twisting fire. An angry red that burned in his veins and shook his hands.

It happened. This happened. He couldn’t deny it happened. He pushed it down, usually, bottled it up, because he couldn’t give in. He couldn’t hurt them, no matter how hot it blazed inside of him.

Slowly, slowly, little by little, it ground down on him, sandpaper against frazzled nerves that were already far too frayed, barely kept together.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to fight. He wanted to tear it all down, rip it all to shreds, burn it up until nothing was left.

But he couldn’t. He was the father, the caretaker, the happy-go-lucky jokester that had no serious problems anyway. Not like Anxiety, not like Logan, not like Roman. He wasn’t a destructive force, he wasn’t anything but the happiest of emotions, with a golden heart that was too big, too large, too much.

So he kept it quiet, kept it bottled, kept on smiling. But everything has a breaking point.

He had, admittedly, not been acting himself. Everyone had been stressed. He knew that carelessly cold comments would be thrown from Roman and Logan. It happened. It was okay. He was used to it.

Until it broke him. Logan had known it was a mistake the moment the words left his mouth, but the damage was already done. The end of the rope had been reached, and Patton couldn’t keep it from spilling out like a lava-hot tidal wave.

“Do you even care about me?” He breathed, something inside him squealed gleefully, that darkly destructive little voice whispering finally, finally, finally our chance. “Do you ever consider that what you say might hurt me? That maybe, just maybe, I have feelings too, and I’m not as vapid, or airheaded, or silly as you might think.”

Whatever Logan was about to say was cut off, the urge to destroy, to burn, growing stronger and stronger. “No, you don’t get to talk right now. You’ve had your turn, I listened to every little thing that you had to say about me, so you’re going to sit down and listen to me. I don’t care that you’re Thomas’ logical side. I don’t care that you don’t feel emotions as well as some of us. You still act like a child, and you seem to think that just because you’re logical and rational that you get to get away with it. You don’t. You’re just as emotional as the rest of us. Get off your high horse, because the sooner you do, the easier it will be for the rest of us.”

Logan’s face was a suitable mixture of hurt and horrified, and something inside of him filled with a sickening glee. He turned to Roman, not done yet, there was still things to say, feelings to hurt, bridges to destroy in a fantastic fire.

“And you’re not much better, Prince Roman. You think of no one, no one but yourself and Thomas. Your dreams and hopes are unattainable and in some of them you would dare take advantage of the friendships that Thomas has just to further yourself. Your arrogance is undeniable, and your ego is double its size. God knows how you manage to fit in here when your head is so large. You have no concern for others unless it’s to make you look good, and you are almost as bad as Logan when considering feelings, too wrapped up in yourself, and how others might see you, to realise that no one actually cares anyway.”

 He glanced towards Anxiety, who shied away, but Patton said nothing as he looked at the other two. Both speechless, both gaping at him. Both looking more hurt than he had ever seen them before.

And then it all drained out of him. That fire, the anger that had been building for so long, the urge to destroy it all. And he saw what he had done, the aftermath of his destruction.

So he sank out, and ran.

#fic #verbal abuse #angst #morality sanders #patton sanders #i don't think ill tag the others bc this is a very patton oriented fic #im scheduling this for when im not paying attention #and yes before you as this is another #in which the author projects onto the character #my work

[deborahdeshoftim5779]

Responses to “The Marvel of Trelsi Part XI”

Response to this post by BoltonEvans here: 

“The biggest issue with Troyella honestly isn’t just that their relationship is unequal, which would be an indictment in and of itself, but that it’s unhealthy. When we break it down to brass tax; Troy’s future isn’t as important as his and Gabriella’s relationship, but Gabriella’s future is more important than their relationship. Gabriella is always right, and Troy is always wrong. Gabriella is entirely above reproach. Troy’s every action is open to criticism and rebuking. Gabriella sees fit to punish and scold Troy when he fails to meet her ludicrously high expectations, but Troy can’t so much as question Gabriella’s failings and shortcomings as a partner without receiving an icy look from Gabriella, herself, and the justification that Gabriella “always” does “the right thing”, and is “one step ahead, as usual”. When Troy confides his concerns about his future and his insecurities in Gabriella, Gabriella scarcely pays his words any mind before bringing up her own (comparatively less serious) problems, as if she needs to one up her boyfriend. Gabriella can toy with Troy’s feelings and ultimately determine that he isn’t worth fighting for, while Troy scrambles to do everything in his power to keep Gabriella content and at his side.”

Great points. I agree. 

“Yet, it’s Troy the characters in these films, and, consequently, the fandom, see fit to demonize and write off as “not good enough for Gabriella”.

The fandom’s vindictive cruelty towards Troy beggars belief time after time. I conclude that they were watching a different version of the film. 

“Ryan was originally conceived as having a crush on Gabriella, in High School Musical 2. Which, definitely was a byproduct of writer’s bias- two male leads lusting after the same girl? Yeah. Extreme bias. Anyway, in both the junior novel adaptation of the second film (which was based on an earlier draft of the script), and a deleted scene, Ryan attempts to flirt with Gabriella in an outrageously uncomfortable manner by mentioning the previous lifeguard at Lava Springs having awful back hair; implying that Gabriella is far easier on the eyes. This concept, however, seems to have been by and large abandoned in the final cut of the film. Instead, several lines of dialogue, as well as Lucas Grabeel’s performance, indicate Ryan having a preference for the Troy half of Troyella.”

I see no avenue for Ryan having feelings for Gabriella. And I don’t like to imagine what an “earlier draft of the script” would look like, given the final product. What I see in this scene is Ryan walking into a trap with his naiive eyes open, and then Gabriella leaving him to take the flack. He thought Gabriella was being friendly, thought her compliments were genuine, and it turned out that she was a stage prop in a plan to humiliate someone he had no intention to hurt. It’s a disgusting scene, because if you wiped Gabriella out of the picture, clearly the two of them (Troy and Ryan) could have had a nice chat. 

Personally, I don’t think Ryan had a more than platonic interest in Troy, but I do think he got on better with Troy than with Gabriella. He also admires Troy, because Troy has what he longs for: recognition and popularity on his own account. I suppose it is easy to interpret that admiration as being more than platonic. That said, he approached Zeke with a compliment long before approaching Troy. (Not to mention that scene in HSM III “I Want It All” and at graduation between them). Anyway, he does not admire Gabriella, apart from being impressed with her academic abilities. Ryan may also be grateful to Troy, who signed his yearbook-- almost everyone else ignored him when he tried to sign theirs, which gives the impression that very few people signed his. 

Ryan eagerly and without any hesitation declares Troy as having the “category” of East High School’s Absolute Primo Boy “pretty much locked up, don’t you think?”, a large grin playing across his face...

Sharpay asked him a very silly question, which he appears to have taken literally. His tone is sort of “Come on, Shar, you already know the answer to that!” It strikes me that he is very much used to hearing about how much his sister wants Troy, and silently amused that Troy so clearly does not reciprocate those feelings. Ryan’s later annoyance, resentment and eventual anger with Sharpay for using Troy as a tool to replace him tends to make me feel that he would be favourable to Gabriella’s place in Troy’s life because it means Sharpay doesn’t get her way for once. If Troy is unattainable, then he’s not going to be kicked aside. Ryan is a very practical guy. He looks out for Numero Uno. In HSM III, he does not mention that Troy would not like to perform with Sharpay, but that Sharpay can’t fulfil Gabriella’s role: “You... are not Gabriella.” In HSM II, he pretended that Sharpay was “East High’s Primo Girl”, whilst clearly believing it to be Gabriella, hence that funny stare round the corner.

His mood quickly sours, however, when Sharpay begins daydreaming about herself and Troy, leading to Ryan having to take a minute to compose himself before exiting the school building on Sharpay’s heels. 

Actually, he kind of gave her a “get real” look there, by snapping his fingers. I imagine that Ryan is always having to compose himself around Sharpay, given her high drama capacity, and her always roping him into her schemes.  

“...takes issue with Troy potentially performing in the Lava Springs talent show only on the grounds that he doesn’t want to see Troy sing with Gabriella, stands off to the side, beaming, as Troy is introduced to Mrs. Evans...”

I personally think that Ryan didn’t want Troy and Gabriella upstaging him and Sharpay: “What about our song?”. Ryan never actually stated that he wished to see Troy perform in the Lava Springs Talent Show; he even went so far as to tell Sharpay that Kelsi had written a song for him and Gabriella, calling it “a problem”. “Now it’s an amazing song, but Kelsi didn’t write it for us.”-- “us” being him and Sharpay. Along with his incredibly sarcastic behaviour at dinner (which was hilarious), it doesn’t look to me like he appreciates what appears to be yet another dinnertime with him being shunted into the corner, whilst all the focus is on Sharpay, and this time, Troy. His anger when Sharpay announced that she’d be performing in Troy was based on him feeling betrayed by her, and the waste of his beloved “Tiki Warrior Outfit”, not to mention the time and effort he poured into rehearsing a song that he clearly enjoyed-- not least because he got to be the Handsome Prince. His annoyance with Troy at the end of Humuhumu was both hilarious and telling; even though Troy did nothing wrong, he snatched the necklace thing from him and stalked off. :D When Sharpay confirms his worst fears, that he has been replaced, he snaps. Later on, he sarcastically tells Sharpay, “But you and Troy have a good show, sis.” Back in HSM I, he was worried that Troy and Gabriella, referred to as “they”, sounded good-- worried and impressed, rather. When Sharpay ranted against the injustice of Gabriella signing up for the Talent Show, Ryan just pretended to agree with her. He also eventually became good-natured when he saw that Troy and Gabriella performed “Breaking Free” so well. So I don’t think that he was jealous of Troy and Gabriella, but resentful of how Sharpay used Troy as a replacement for him, thus making him feel replaceable. I think that when he was upset about the “Troy and Gabriella” show, he was referring to their popularity and how that would mean no attention for him. We already know that he secretly longed to win the Star Dazzle Award. Ryan seems to me to be incredibly practical. 

I’ve seen the scene where Troy is introduced to Mrs. Evans, and he’s pulling that same face the entire time at everyone, which must take some muscle effort. :D

then, not subtly at all gives Troy’s behind a once over as he passes by.

Maybe it’s just me, but his cap is too far down for me to see anything. It looks to me as though they’re all just getting out of the way. Ryan keeps pulling that face for the entire scene, and sometimes doesn’t even look interested in what’s going on, because almost everyone gradually forgets that he’s even there (as usual). 

The binoculars scene was funny. Ryan looks to me like he’s watching a very good film. However, he is only there because Sharpay forced him to be: later, when Sharpay yells at him to “keep an eye on those Wildcats”, he has snapped and stalks off. I would be more convinced if he decided to keep watch of his own accord. Besides, since his parents own the club, there’s not much for Ryan to do from day to day. So why not spy? :D 

“This is veering into headcanon territory, but… if you factor in the lyrics to “Everyday”, lyrics that Ryan and not Kelsi penned, lyrics that describe both feelings the speaker believes they have only one chance to act on, and Troy’s internal conflict over the course of this film… Ryan likely came to the conclusion that he had blown his one “chance” with Troy.”

Because I hardly ever watch this scene, too pissed off with movie events to stomach the sweet reunion part, I don’t know what the lyrics are. This is a plausible interpretation. But if this song is so important and personal to Ryan, then why doesn’t Ryan, who can play the piano, teach Troy the song? If they’d had that scene together, that would have definitely had more potential for romantic interpretation. 

Obviously, I’m biased, but I just don’t see anyone having the same dynamic as Troy and Kelsi; and Troy is almost completely dependent upon Kelsi to perform “Everyday”, from what I remember-- at least until Gabriella appears. She’s the one giving him the moral support throughout there. I don’t feel that he and Ryan had that unspoken understanding through music that was shown between him and Kelsi. 

What I’d like to know is who taught Gabriella the song. Neither Ryan nor Kelsi are shown to know her that well. Ryan hands Troy the new score and then when Troy confronts Sharpay, Ryan dashes off, whilst Troy is off to rehearse with Kelsi (who manages to teach him an entire song within an hour or so). Where does Ryan dash off to? Is he going to fetch Gabriella? Is he therefore the one who preps Gabriella? So many unanswered questions. 

“Ryan never attempts to approach Troy throughout the rest of this movie, even while orchestrating a scheme to reunite Troy with Gabriella (something Gabriella obviously didn’t want, as she was the one who terminated their relationship) and get him performing in the talent show for the boosters from U of A with a song actually in his range, and a partner he’s comfortable with. It is Troy who seeks Ryan out.”

Ryan helping to orchestrate a reunion between Troy and Gabriella is definitely significant and a very decent thing to do. I think it was a completely naiive idea, but his heart was in the right place.

“And, Ryan’s faces during that sequence say it all. He thought Troy would never have anything to do with him, again, but…. here Troy is, right in front of him, saying his name, apologizing to him, and offering his hand in friendship.”

Yes, I like that scene. Ryan does act as though he is meeting a celebrity. Again, I can see how this might be seen as more than platonic. 

“He can hardly believe it. But, he’s certainly not going to refuse it. He even attempts to ameliorate Troy’s (completely unwarranted) guilt over the talent show by assuring him, “Hey, truth is… we’ve all had a lot of fun. At least I have.”

I approve of Ryan not taking an apology that was never warranted in the first place. 

“I could go on, incorporating graphics from the third movie and break downs of the context of them to illustrate further proof that Ryan has decidedly not platonic feelings for Troy, but I’m sure you’ve got the gist, by now. (And, I don’t want to detract from the point of this analysis, which is intended to be a celebration of Troy/Kelsi, not my preferred ship.) With this knowledge in hand, Ryan’s silence in regards to Troy and Gabriella’s relationship is suddenly painted in a new light.”

I’m happy to discuss all ships. I base ships on their plausibility and level of interest, and though I don’t ship Troy and Ryan, this is quite obviously a superior pairing to Chyan (implausible), Ryella (nonsensical) and Ryelsi (implausible, nonsensical and offensive). All of those three have next to NO evidence in their favour-- I don’t care about “I Don’t Dance”, because it’s a waste of minutes. 

I think Ryan holds Troy in high esteem and they become very good friends, which I think is a positive thing. 

It would certainly be a very interesting headcanon for Ryan (who deserves a more prominent role in some capacity), and one with more proof than for the central couple. But again, I’m biased: for me, Troy and Kelsi are unique (the “Playmakers” *squee* :D) and extremely well-suited for each other, as well as being reliant upon and devoted to each other’s success. They both have something that they need and value in each other that is, to me, a lot deeper than with Troy’s other relationships with other characters. Which is what I’m babbling about in this series, LOL! 

However, I do agree that there are a lot of unappreciated dynamics in the movie series, that deserved far more attention than Troyella.  

“As of the end of High School Musical 2, Ryan and Troy are friends. This is not up for debate. This is a fact supported by their interactions in High School Musical 3: Senior Year. Ignoring the transparent Pro-Gabriella/Troyella bias the entire narrative of that film is steeped in, Ryan has likely come to terms with the fact that Gabriella is the one Troy’s heart is set on. He doesn’t necessarily like it...”

To be honest, I don’t think he looks unhappy there at all; everyone behind those doors looks wistful and impressed at the performance. They always seem to me to be in the middle of a daydream. (Which they are, because this performance is in no way a reflection of Troyella’s actual relationship). Besides, we can’t actually see the bottom half of Ryan’s face in that pic, LOL! I’d certainly like Ryan to be unhappy with Gabriella, but then his later victory air pump during the final Musical performance would contradict that. He doesn’t even look unhappy when Troy shows up halfway through the musical with Gabriella on his arm, and even helps give them another chance! I wish he hadn’t, because Troy should have turned up on his cue, and Gabriella should have fucked off back to California, since she had no intention of performing, but there you go. 

- but he keeps his opinions and personal feelings to himself and tries to support whatever makes Troy happy.

I’d like to see more information about Ryan’s feelings on anything, let alone Troyella. He gets almost no airtime when it’s not convenient. 

With that said, I doubt he’d manage to hold his tongue if he knew the full details of the prom debacle.

Again, I’m hesitant on deciding how he’d react, because I don’t know enough about his feelings, overall. 

I’m really looking forward to further analysis of Kelsi. You do such an excellent job breaking her character down and exploring what makes her tick. It’s given me a renewed appreciation for her. Keep up the amazing work! You’re fighting the good fight. ^___^

Thanks! Kelsi is a marvellous character, who just isn’t appreciated enough in the fandom, so really, she just gives me the material to explore. 

Thanks for the responses!

#Trelsi #BoltonEvans #Responses #TheMarvelofTrelsi #OTP

[oliverarditi]

Sculpted in the clay of language

Christopher Tolkien made it perfectly clear in Beren and Lúthien, published in 2017, that it was the last book he would produce as the editor of his father’s considerable legacy of unfinished writings. As he was then in his 93rd year, this seemed a reasonable point at which to hang up his red pencil (or whatever it is that editors have instead of spurs). But here we are, little more than a year later, and I’ve just finished reading The Fall of Gondolin.

With the publication of this volume, there is now an independent book dedicated to each of the three central legends of J.R.R. Tolkien’s invented mythology, so I can understand why Tolkien fils may have decided to put off his retirement a little longer. The Children of Hurin, published in 2007, presented its eponymous narrative seamlessly, as a continuous work of prose, stitching together and reconciling various sources without any overt editorial presence; Beren and Lúthien, on the other hand, simply presented the various fragmentary versions of the tale (most or all of which had already been printed elsewhere), with a considerable amount of editorial commentary to clarify their relationship to one another, and to the final definitive form of the mythology that provides The Lord of the Rings with its backdrop. The Fall of Gondolin follows this latter approach.

As such, and like Beren and Lúthien, its contents have already been published elsewhere in the various volumes through which the evolution of Tolkien’s oeuvre has been elucidated. However, putting them in one place enables the interested reader to stitch together in their imagination a rather more complete and detailed version of the narrative than was previously the case. Of the two complete versions of the story, that found in the Silmarillion is cursory, and that previously published in the Book of Lost Tales is grounded in a much earlier version of the mythology than readers of the Lord of the Rings or the Silmarillion will be familiar with. However, reading them both in conjunction with the incomplete last version enables us to form a pretty clear picture of what the detailed prose epic that Tolkien had in mind would have looked like, had he possessed the energy to finish it.

It is, like the other two great narratives of the cycle, something of a Wagnerian tragedy, although it ends on a rather more hopeful note than the overwhelmingly grim The Children of Hurin. Like all of Tolkien’s work, it’s shot through with regret and nostalgia for a lost and unattainable past, but there is also a great deal of pleasure in describing the glories of the imagined Elvish civilisation, and most notably a profound love for the natural world. It is a tale in which the divinely inspired human virtues of faith, honesty, loyalty and courage are pitted against the deceitfulness and malevolence of a supernatural enemy. Clearly Tolkien’s Christian beliefs underpin this, but also, through his influence, the vast majority of the fantasy fiction that has been published subsequently.

This huge moral confrontation is matched by the epic character of the material conflict that the narrative concerns; the splendour of the city of Gondolin and its inhabitants is one of the abiding achievements of Tolkien’s ‘legendarium’, and one which casts a long shadow through his better known works. But there is also a delicacy to this work, and a precise concern for the particularities of the landscape through which the protagonists travel. The language is very much in the ‘high style’, which some will find stilted, but it is deeply musical, and I think it’s fair to say that the work is essentially driven by an unaffected love for language itself. Language is the clay in which Tolkien sculpts his world, at a far more fundamental level than almost any writer I can think of. He is not the most self-aware of writers, and certainly not the most progressive, but at his best (as he is at several points in this volume), he is, for me, one of the most moving.