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nixll · 3 years

Text

venice for one

pairing : harry styles x reader

summary : after getting broken up with and struggling with your own insecurities, you make the split-second decision to take a solo trip to venice. you expect the week to be a fun-filled adventure, but when you accidentally have a run-in with a famous popstar, things don’t go quite as you expect them to.

word count : 9.5k

warning : smut, 18+

“you don’t ever do something just because it makes you feel good?”

paris for one by jojo moyes

The moment you step off the train and onto the platform, you feel a sudden urge to turn back around, toss your bags back on the bench you had been seated on, and make the same exact trip you had just taken again, only backwards this time.

Instead, you force your feet to take one step after another, your suitcase dragging noisily behind you against the concrete platform as you lug your tote bag higher up on your shoulder. In your hand is a note scribbled with the name of the bed and breakfast you booked yourself into, and directions written neatly with bullet points, but as you enter the city of Venice, Italy, you know finding the place you’re looking for is going to be much harder than you had first thought.

The city, as gorgeous as it is, is a slightly confusing maze of sidewalks and canals, and there’s people everywhere. The anxiety you had managed to push away when you got off the train is slowly returning as you look at your directions and attempt to find your way.

This trip had been a split-second decision, one made by your irrationally, heartbroken brain only a few hours after your boyfriend had dumped you. The breakup had come as a surprise to you, especially after many of your friends had brought up the idea of marriage after several years together, but your now ex-boyfriend had thought otherwise.

“You’re not the girl I fell in love with,” he had claimed in an uproar as he threw a suitcase together, “you’re not the fun, outgoing person I used to know.”

You had tried arguing against his claims, but it had done no good, and in the end, he had walked out with nothing more than a promise to come back to what had been your shared apartment to get the rest of his stuff over the next few days. When you called your friends to tell them what happened they had done their best to fill your head with encouraging words and stories about how you were still a fun person to be around, but the longer you thought about it, the more you realized your ex was right.

You weren’t the same person he had fallen in love with, and you hadn’t been that person in a long time. In some ways that was okay. You had fallen in love young and where you grew up, he still acted like the immature college student you had met years ago. He partied constantly, going out with friends at all hours of the night, and you honestly don’t remember the last time the two of you hung out somewhere other than the bar down the street. Nice restaurants had never been his thing, and in wanting to make him happy, you had never opted for anything but what he suggested.

You knew he wasn’t happy anymore, and neither were you. You were getting older and concerning yourself with your job and what your future looked like, not when the next time you could go for a cocktail hour was. You had settled into a routine for yourself, one that required no more effort than you needed, and in having that, your now ex-boyfriend decided you were a prude.

After a while, though, you wondered how much of what he had said to you was true. You don’t remember being much of a party girl when you were younger, but you definitely had your moments, and you definitely hadn’t had one of those moments in a long time. You knew if asked what word could describe you the best, adventurous or outgoing wouldn’t be the first word, or second or third to pop into anyone’s head, but maybe you wanted to be those things.

Maybe you wanted a stranger on the street to look at you and wonder what kind of adventures you had been on because just by looking at you, they can tell you know how to have a good time. Maybe you wanted to be that pretty girl in the room, the one that nobody could take their eyes off of.

Five hours after your relationship had ended, you decided you didn’t need your ex, but you did need a change of pace.

You were going to take a trip to Italy by yourself. You hadn’t told anybody, not even your friends, and had only left a brief voicemail to your workplace calling out sick for the rest of the week and no other explanation. It had taken you an hour to book all the tickets needed for travel and to find a place to stay that would take you with such little notice, but in practically no time at all, and with two haphazardly packed bags, you had been on your way to Italy for what you hoped would be a fun adventurous few days.

So far, the idea of a fun filled week had completely escaped your mind and your first day in Italy had started out with a drag.

You had yet to find the Bed & Breakfast you had booked yourself into, and with a sore shoulder from carrying your bag and your hand growing increasingly sweaty as you gripped onto your suitcase, you were beginning to think about what your best bet would be on getting home.

Not a single person you had managed to stop speaks English, and even after you show them the name of the place scribbled at the top of your sheet in Italian, nobody is seemingly able to help you. Venice is not the biggest city, and you remember briefly reading about how it is possible to walk the entire city in the matter of an hour. With a glance at the watch on your wrist, you’re ready to turn around and make your way back to the train station in the hopes of catching a ride back.

That’s when you spot it: the barely-there sign with a name on it that matches the one on your paper.

Vera Ospitalità.

It’s a cute little blue building, looking exactly like it did when you were Googling places to stay in Venice. It hadn’t cost very much, and the lady had sounded sweet over the phone when you asked how soon she would have a room open.

“We always have a room open, cara.”

You hadn’t quite understood what she meant at the time, but the sight of those two Italian words fill your body with a jittery joy as you let out a shout, catching the attention of a few people walking past you. You pay them no mind as you pick up the pace, not taking your eyes off the sign until you’re standing in front of the door and pushing it open.

The bell above lets out a delightful jingle as you walk in. You can only imagine what you look like to the lady sitting at the desk as you walk in with sweat dripping down your forehead and a slightly rumpled paper stuffed in your hand, but she offers you a cheerful smile.

“Are you Irene?” you ask, slightly out of breath as you step up to the desk, letting your bag fall from your shoulder. “We talked on the phone yesterday.”

“Yes! Hello, cara,” Irene says, standing from her seat and reaching for the guestbook she keeps under the counter. “I am happy to see you made it. How was your trip?”

You smile, trying not to think about the want to turn back around and head home you felt only minutes ago. “It was good! Happy to finally be here.”

“Oh, yes, yes. Just sign these forms and I will get you your key.” Irene pushes the book your way and you easily sign your name on the dotted line. “There is only one bathroom upstairs, but you get the room directly across from it.”

Your head snaps up from the book. “One bathroom?”

“Yes,” Irene nods, “but it has a tub, and the water runs perfectly. And there is only one other guest staying here this week, so there should be no trouble.”

“There’s only two of us here?”

Irene pauses. “You ask many questions.”

You offer a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“There is a young man staying here also, about your age. I only have four rooms and I don’t get many guests.”

You briefly wonder if you should have chosen a slightly more expensive place to stay, but your expectations hadn’t been very high coming in and how bad can it be when there are only two of you staying?

Irene hands over your key, directing you up the stairs to where your room waits for you. “Breakfast is served at 7 if you would like some, otherwise I have a list of places around the city you can visit.”

You give Irene one last thank you before you’re heading up the stairs, your suitcase and bag in hand. Your room is immediately at the top to your right, with the door across from yours labeled bagno with a cute little wooden sign. There are two more rooms a little further down the hall, and then one at the very end with the door open enough for you to glance inside.

There’s music playing – something you’ve heard on the radio a million times before but can’t remember the name of – and you can make out the silhouette of someone sitting at a small desk next to a window. With the way the setting sun is shining through, you can’t make out any of the figure’s features, but you know that this is the man Irene mentioned downstairs.

You wave a hand. “Hi.”

You can see him turn his head, but can’t make out any features still, nor an expression, as he stands and shuts the door without a second thought.

You frown, deciding not to dwell on it as you unlock your room and step inside. It’s small, and you know your friends would try and make it sound better by calling it quaint, but you decide that it’s not any more or any less than you need for the week. There’s a small desk and dresser off to the side, and a twin size bed with a side table sitting next to the headboard. The sight of the small, but very neat room is comforting after the mix of emotions you’d spent your afternoon with, and you find yourself wanting to just fall against the comforter and end your day there.

So, you do, quickly changing into your sleep clothes and doing your nightly routine, you let all the anxiety and the interaction with the man down the hall fall from your mind as you slip under the covers and rest your head against the pillow. It’s early, but you figure you’ve had enough adventure for the day. Plus, you still have the next few days left to spend in the city.

Sleep comes easy to you, so easy that you’re shocked awake the next morning at the sound of loud footsteps coming down the hall, and then a slam of a door. Lifting up from your bed, you glance at the clock on the table next to you and let out a small groan. You hadn’t been planning on taking up Irene’s offer of breakfast at 7, but now that you were awake you figured you might as well do exactly that. The grumble your stomach lets out seems to further settle the idea to get ready and go downstairs into your head.

The banging across the hall continues, and you know the sound belongs to the man from down the hall. Not wanting another interaction like the day before you decide to wait for the sound of the door opening and steps retreating down the hall, knowing the man has returned to his own room before you head into the bathroom with your things to get ready. You throw on a simple outfit for the day, doing all your daily necessities. The smell of cologne fills the small space, and normally it would be something that would irritate you – someone else treating a space as only their own with no other thought of anyone else who might occupy it – but the scent is pleasant enough and you decide to leave it be. When you’re done, you listen again for the sound of footsteps, but there are none.

Opening the door, you peak down the hall. The door at the end is shut, but you still cross the space to your room quicker than normal, opening the door and slipping inside. Just as you grab your shoes and anything else you plan to use throughout the day, your phone finding its spot in your pocket, you hear a door open again. You listen quietly as the man moves down the hall to the stairs, only slipping into the hallway when you know you won’t run into him. He’s already disappeared into the front room when you yourself reach the stairs and start the trek down.

When you reach the bottom floor, Irene stands just across the room in what you realize is the dining area. There’s a jingling as the front door opens, and you look over just in time to see a head of dark brown hair escaping through the entrance.

There’s something odd about you and this stranger avoiding each other, but you don’t let it cloud your thoughts. You don’t even know the man, and don’t have any care to get to know him.

Irene spots you lingering by the stairs and waves you over. “Have you met the other guest yet?”

You smile as you walk over to sit at the table situated in the room. The space isn’t very large, only big enough to hold the essentials of a kitchen and a table that seats six, but the feel of it all is very intimate. It also smells terrific, the smell of sausage and pastries filling the room. You’re suddenly grateful that you chose this place over any of the others, weird neighbors be damned.

“He’s nice, is he not?”

You purse your lips as Irene places a plate loaded to the brim with various breakfast items. The sight makes your stomach grumble again and you laugh in an attempt to conceal it. “I haven’t exactly met him yet.”

Irene frowns. “You haven’t?” She tsks. “He’s very friendly, but he never eats breakfast here.”

“Never?” You glance up from your plate. “How long has he been here?”

“Only few days, but he comes once a year and stays here rather than big fancy hotel.”

You nod, taking a bite of the croissant on your plate. You close your eyes giving a small hum of pleasure at the taste of the buttery pastry. “He’s missing out.”

“You’ll meet him soon enough, I think.” Irene waves her hand around as she takes her own seat, carefully digging into her own plate of food.

You continue breakfast with polite conversation. Irene asks why you decided to come to Italy, and you fib your answer a little, explaining it was just a need to get away for a bit. It wasn’t entirely inaccurate, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to reopen the fresh wound that was your current relationship status.

When you’re done, you bid Irene farewell for the day and head out on your own. The sun is warm as it beams down on your face, the air slightly cool from the canals. You plan to just walk around the city for most of the day, not having much else to do until the afternoon when the gallery you had opted to go to opens.

For a few hours you simply meander around the city, stepping into shops with clothes that cost far too much money, but you try them on anyway. You find a nice place for lunch, deciding you’ll come back to try something else for dinner after the gallery. The day all goes fairly quick, but you head back to Vera Ospitalità with a grin permanently etched into your features.

Irene is not at the front desk when you walk in. It’s getting fairly late in the day and after the large and filling meal you had chosen to eat for dinner, you decide that you’ll end your day with a nice bath and then head to bed, excited for the boat ride you had booked for the next day.

That plan is immediately foiled when you climb the stairs and hear the shower already running. You don’t have any idea how long it’s been occupied, but you figure he has to be done sometime soon and choose to wait in your room until he is.

Fifteen minutes pass before you realize it, and the shower is still going. It occurs to you that all of the hot water must be gone now and you feel a bit frustrated at your thought of a nice night being ruined by a man who doesn’t know how to shower quickly. Trying not to let your frustration get the best of you, you snatch up your towel and storm out of your room to stand in front of the door across from you. There’s some steam coming from the crack between the door and the floor, but you ignore it as you knock on the door.

There’s a noise that sounds something like a grunt, and then the shower shuts off. You listen to shuffling, a rumple of clothes, and then the door swings open and there, for the first time since you arrived in the tiny hotel, you finally come face to face with the stranger who’s been living down the hall from your room. It suddenly hits you why he had been so eager to avoid you the day before and ;told you that he must’ve been trying to avoid you this morning too, obviously trying not to make his presence known.

Harry Styles stands in front of you in a pair of loose shorts with a towel hanging from his hand, his hair dripping down onto his forehead. His tattoos are on full display, the pair of ferns peaking up from his waistband, and his skin is glistening from all the water he hadn’t been given the chance to properly wipe off. Steam pours out through the doorway and the sudden heat of it sends a shiver down your spine.

You don’t realize you’re staring until your eyes meet his and he cocks a brow. “You’re not going to be a creep and ask me for a photo, are you?”

His tone is dangerous, and he’s got an accusatory look plastered on his face. It makes something in you want to snap back, that anger from not being able to take a bath like you wanted still lingering a bit, but instead you stand there, trying to think of the best words to say back to the man in front of you who clearly thinks you’re here for something other than a nice vacation. Every possible thing you had wanted to say before the door had opened has suddenly disappeared from your brain, only to be replaced with the slight shock of your current situation. Your mouth opens and snaps closed one time, then again, as the words you want to say struggle to fall from your mouth.

Eventually, you hold up your towel.

Harry’s head tilts to the side, his gaze curious. “So, you’re not just renting the crappiest hotel in the entire city in order to get some sort of insider photos?”

You frown, the shakiness you had felt disappearing as you think about Irene and her hospitality. “It’s not a crappy hotel.”

Harry smiles, but you’re sure it’s just because he’s amused and not because you’re doing a nice thing by defending Irene. “No, but it sure isn’t popular and nobody ever comes here. I’m always by myself when I come – Irene makes sure of it.”

You remember what Irene had told your over the phone when you asked about booking.

We always have a room open.

You purse your lips and try holding your head a little higher. “I’m not some crazed fan. I’m just here for a nice vacation.”

Harry looks you over. “Nice vacation? You don’t seem like the type.”

“It…” You stumble over what to say, trying to get a grip on the current situation you’re in with a half-naked famous popstar standing in front of you. He leans against the doorway, an arm propped against his head, and you swallow. “It was spontaneous.”

Harry chuckles, shaking his head. “You still don’t seem like the type.”

“You don’t know me,” you manage to say, feeling slightly offended by his words, but Harry just grins.

“And I don’t care to.” He claps his hands together, the sound muffled by the towel still gripped in his hand. “Pleasantries aside, I’d appreciate if you didn’t interrupt my shower next time, and also if you continued to not take photos of me whatsoever.”

You open your mouth to reply, but Harry has already pushed himself off the doorway and is marching down the hall before you can even think of what to say back to him. He doesn’t even bother turning back to look at you, just walks into the room and slams the door shut.

You wince at the sound, trying to still get a grip at what just occurred. You step into the still hot bathroom with its steamed-up mirror and slightly wet floor, but you disregard it as you move to the tub. You turn the handle for the hot water and aren’t surprised to find that it’s ice cold. You let it run for a minute, trying to see if it’ll warm up even the slightest, but you give up and shut it off when it remains cold.

You realize that not only had Harry left you with no hot water to take a shower in, but he also hadn’t bothered to ask for your name. When your head hits the pillow minutes later, choosing just to settle in for the night, you let the exhaustion of the day wash over you and fall asleep easily, though the irritation with Harry settles in well into the early morning.

Your alarm goes off early after a couple of hours, waking you up well before you know Harry will be awake. You quickly gather up your clothes and head to the bathroom, turning on the shower and hopping in before another second passes.

You take your time getting ready, lingering under the hot water for as long as you can before getting out and slowly going over each of your tasks in your morning ritual. You’re in the middle of finishing up your hair when there’s a knock on the door.

“Yes?” you call out, already knowing it couldn’t be anybody but your neighbor down the hall.

“It’s Harry,” he says, muffled through the door. It occurs to you that he never actually told you his name the night before, but you know he’s assumed you already knew who he was before. He wouldn’t be entirely wrong in that assumption. “Are you almost done?”

You grin at the turn of events. “Almost.”

It’s another ten minutes before you’re done. You had expected Harry to have turned around and headed back to his own room to wait, something you would have done if you had been in his place, but when you open the door he’s standing there across the hall, leaning against the wall next to your own room. It takes you by surprise, seeing him standing there. He’s already dressed for the day, a nice, knitted shirt on with brown shorts to match and checkered vans decorating his feet. The only thing out of place is his hair, still a mess of curls from where he hadn’t had the chance to comb them down yet.

You offer a smile as you step out of the bathroom. “All yours.”

Harry has a sour expression on his face as you pass by to get into your room. You don’t bother giving him any more attention than that, though, not keen on him accusing you of anything else.

At 7 you head downstairs. Irene is already settled into the kitchen with a plate full of food waiting for you. She smiles when she spots you. “Sleep well?”

You nod. “Finally met Harry.”

“Oh, Harry!” Irene claps her hands together. “Isn’t he so lovely?”

You hum in response. “Lovely,” you try to hide the sarcasm in your voice, “that is definitely the word I would use.”

Irene’s eyes flicker behind you, and she brightens at the sight of Harry coming down the stairs. “There he is! Harry, come have breakfast.”

Harry appears, hair now perfectly in place, walking around the table to greet Irene with a hello and a kiss to her cheek. “Can’t, love. Have places to be.”

“Oh, stay for a bit. It’s too early to have anywhere important to be. Talk with us,” Irene urges, gesturing to you already seated at the table.

You give an exaggerated nod. “Yeah, talk to us, Harry.”

Harry forces a smile onto his face. “Only for a bit, yeah?”

Your frown is immediate as Harry takes the seat across from you. You had remembered what Irene had said the day before, about Harry never joining her for breakfast, and that had led you to expect him to decline Irene’s offer and head out for the day, but now you were stuck with him sitting there in front of you.

“What are the plans for today?” Irene asks, seemingly unaware of the tension at the table.

Harry gives her a genuine smile as he steals a roll from the plate she had placed in the middle of the table and takes a bite. “Goin’ to wander the city a bit, might take a nice boat ride.”

“I’m doing a boat ride too,” you chime in. The look Harry throws you is something similar to a glare, but you just smile, knowing you managed to get under his skin already this morning before he had even tried to touch yours.

The rest of the conversation is tense, with Irene staying blissfully unaware to the dirty looks you and Harry throw at each other. A part of you wonders how you can act like this with a complete stranger, but when you accidentally kick his shin under the table, and Harry returns a swift kick of his own, the thought is completely overshadowed by the irritation you feel when you look at him.

When Harry finishes his roll a few minutes later, he delivers a quick peck to Irene’s cheek and heads out, offering no goodbye to you. When he’s gone, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding and stand from your chair.

“Thank you for breakfast, Irene.” You make to move for the stairs, planning to take a little time to yourself before your planned boat ride later, but Irene stops you.

“He is better once you get used to him,” she tells you.

Your nose crinkles at that, wondering how much she actually had caught on to when it came to you and Harry. “I just think he doesn’t like me very much.”

She waves her hand. “He did not like me very much at first either, but he warms up in time.”

With a final nod, you head upstairs. The hours pass quickly as you find random things to do – playing games on your phone, reading a book. You had briefly wondered about calling your friends back home, curious if they had thought about you since you had last spoke to them, but you eventually decide against it when it’s time to head out for your boat ride.

The air is warm when you step outside, and the place where you’re supposed to go is only just down the block. There’s a delightful breeze that blows through your hair as you walk down the sidewalk, admiring the city as it moves through its daily ventures. You reach the dock you need to go to much easier than you had the Bed & Breakfast, but your stomach immediately drops as soon as you step on the pier.

Harry is standing with who you assume is the skipper of the boat you’ll be on. He has an impatient look on his face and his arms are crossed as he taps his foot against the wooden planks. When he spots you walking down the pier, a look of realization crosses his features.

“You’re going on a boat ride?” he asks, his brows raised above the rim of his sunglasses. “This boat ride?”

You look at the skipper and give a not-so-confident nod.

“Ah! You’re the girl who booked me so late the other day!” he announces almost proudly, and you offer an apologetic smile, choosing to ignore a clearly frustrated Harry.

“I’m so sorry about all that, it was so last minute—”

“Do not worry, darling. It seems to be my fault.” He gestures between you and Harry. “I seem to have made the mistake and made a double booking on accident. Either the two of you may ride the boat together and I’ll give half off, or one of you can leave and I’ll give full refund. I am booked full rest of day.”

You can feel Harry glaring at you through his glasses. “I’m not giving this up,” you tell him, feeling your own irritation grow at the sight of his.

“Well, neither am I.”

The skipper glances between the two of you before giving a delightful shout. “Two of you it will be! Let’s get going.”

You and Harry give the same exasperated look to the skipper, but he’s already climbing on the small speed boat, waving for you to follow.

Harry looks to you. “Ladies first.”

You don’t bother with a thank you as you climb onto the boat, Harry not far behind, and find a seat on the small bench available. With no other place to sit, Harry is forced to sit next to you on the bench clearly fit to hold two people intimately. Neither of you say anything as the skipper starts the engine and pulls away from the pier and into the lagoon you were meant to be traveling.

For a moment, you regret not just walking away and letting Harry have the boat ride to himself. You can’t imagine being able to enjoy it when he won’t even look at you even though his shoulder and thigh are flush against your own as you both attempt to fit on the bench. You still want to make the most of it, so you turn to look at Harry, deciding to attempt to show some of the same hospitality you had been experiencing so much of in Italy

“Do people really stay in the same hotels as you to get photos?”

“What?” His sunglasses have fallen slightly down his nose, and his eyes are visible just over the rim.

You swallow down any frustrating feelings you might have against Harry right now. “Last night, you accused me of being in the B&B so I could get a photo of you—”

“Sorry about that,” Harry mumbles out, pushing his glasses back in place. “Shouldn’t have come at you so quick.”

You can tell that some of the tension has left his body and that makes you feel a bit better about being stuck with him now. “Do people really do that, though?”

You wish he had taken the glasses off now, just so you could see the expression hidden behind them. You can’t tell what he’s thinking with his eyes hidden behind the dark rims.

“I’ve been doing this for over ten years,” he finally says, “I’ve had people break into my home, fans have snuck into my tour bus, and I’ve been chased down the street. You checking into the same place I am staying, a place that is normally empty year-round, and trying to snap a cheeky photo would not surprise me in the slightest.”

You suck in a breath. “I’m not going to do that.”

“I see that now.” Harry smiles as he stands up and leans against the boat, looking out over the water. You look over the design on the back of his shirt, the image of a horse clearly visible. “Sorry for using up all the hot water last night.”

Your eyes flit to the skipper standing at the wheel, but he pays neither of you any attention as he hums to himself. “It’s okay.”

“Also sorry for not asking for your name since you clearly already know mine.” He looks back over his shoulder at you. “So, what is it?”

“What?”

A smile. “Your name, love.”

“Oh.” You give up your name, falling from your lips as you remember the bit of hurt you felt the night before upon realizing he hadn’t asked for it then. It had been a strange feeling, wanting a complete stranger to know your name. especially when you and said stranger hadn’t gotten on so well, but now that he had asked for it you felt a sense of accomplishment.

Harry repeats it, his accent lilting something sweet. “S’a lovely name.”

He’s still looking at you when you say nothing, and it leaves you with a strange feeling. You try to think of what to say next, and when it comes to you, you almost laugh.

You hold out your hand. “Truce?”

The smile Harry gives you takes up the entirety of his face, dimples proudly displayed on his cheeks. He takes your hand in his own, his palm warm in yours. “Truce,” he confirms.

A comfortable silence falls between the two of you for the rest of the ride, only interrupted by the sounds of the boat on the water and the skipper’s humming. Even with all your misadventures, you couldn’t deny that the city of Venice was gorgeous. And in some way, everything had seemed to work out for you so far, even creating something that resembled the beginnings of a friendship with Harry after a rough start.

When the boat pulls up to the pier, you realize that you feel more comfortable around Harry. No longer does he intimidate you like he had when you first laid eyes on him, but rather you feel easier with him, like you’re able to strike a conversation with him with no worries at all.

So, you do try to talk to him as you step off the boat, but he apparently had the same thought and the two of you laugh as you talk over each other.

“You first,” you tell him, biting your lip to hide your smile.

“I, uh,” Harry stutters over his words as he removes his glasses, looking up and down the pier to keep his eyes on something other than you. “I was just going to ask if you had eaten lunch already.”

“I think it’s well past lunch time.” You look down at the watch adorning your wrist. “But no, I only ate breakfast.”

Harry’s eyes flash to you, and the green of them is startling under the sunlight. “Would you like to go for a late lunch?”

You much prefer this friendly Harry to the one you had first been introduced to, and you understand that there’s a garner of trust between the two of you now. “I’d love to.”

Harry leads you down the pier and back onto the concrete sidewalks around Venice. It’s settling well into the afternoon, the sun beginning to drift just below the tops of the buildings around the city. You don’t bother asking where you’re heading off to, trusting that Harry will have a great choice in wherever you go.

Eventually, after walking a few blocks, still basking in that comfortable silence from the boat, Harry stops at a door with a sign overhead that you don’t understand. He opens the door and waves you in.

The moment you step inside, you’re hit with the smell of pasta and bread hitting your nose. You breathe it in deep and the hostess at the front smiles as she watches you do so.

“First time?” she asks, her accent thick.

You nod, jumping a little when Harry appears next to you and places his hand on your arm.

“This is one of my favorite places,” he tells you, gesturing with two fingers to the hostess. “They have the best spaghetti.”

The place isn’t as packed as you would expect it to be, most likely because of your arrival between lunch and dinner, but there’s still enough people for it to feel a bit crowded. The hostess walks you over to a booth in the corner, a bit hidden away from the other patrons in the restaurant, and you know it’s because of who you’re with.

The popstar in question sits across from you but doesn’t bother grabbing a menu for himself. “Wine okay with you?”

You nod and wait for the waitress to come over. When she does, offering up her name in a sweet lilting accent, Harry orders the wine and you give a thankful nod as she walks away before turning back to Harry. “So, the spaghetti?”

Harry lets out a low moan. “It’s the best. I come here every time I visit. Practically a regular when I’m in Italy.”

“It’s that good?”

“Better than good.”

You leave your menu resting in front of you, untouched until the waitress returns with a jug of wine and two glasses. She hands one off to each of you before topping them off with the jug.

“Your usual, Mr. Styles?”

The question sends Harry beaming. “Please. And she’ll have the same,” he gestures to you, and you give a soft confirmation.

Once the waitress has left, Harry takes a long sip of his wine before clapping his hands together. “So, what brings you to Italy?”

This Harry sitting in front of you is much different than the one you had met face to face for the first time the night before. There’s something softer about him, as if the edge was taken off the moment he put his hand in yours earlier. You like this Harry more, you think, with his giddy smile and soft giggle.

You remember how you had lied to Irene when she had asked you why you had traveled to Italy, but something tells you not to do that with Harry. “My boyfriend dumped me.”

Harry’s face drops, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but you wave a hand in front of you before he can get it out.

“I’m already over it, but there were some things he said that made me rethink a lot of stuff.”

“Like what?” His gaze is curious, and it makes you want to tell him everything going on in your brain, how you’re still upset and hurt, but want to feel free while you still have the time to here in Italy.

Instead, you sugarcoat it a little. “Just stuff about how he missed the girl I used to be – more fun and care-free.”

“Are you not that girl?”

You shrug, your hand playing with the stem of your wine glass before you lift it to take a sip. “I don’t know, but I liked the sound of being adventurous and doing something unexpected so—”

“So, you booked a trip to Italy?” Harry grins. “That’s quite impressive.”

“What is?”

“Deciding to just up and go to a different country for no other reason than you want to. I think you’re a bit more outgoing than your boyfriend gives you credit for.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Ex-boyfriend.”

Harry smiles into his glass. “Right. Ex-boyfriend.”

Your food arrives not long after that, two giant plates of spaghetti with pieces of garlic bread on the side. Harry laughs at your surprised expression at the sight of the amount of food now sitting in front of you.

“You didn’t tell me we were going to feed an army.”

Harry picks up his fork, stabbing it into the noodles and twisting it around. “Try it.”

You follow his lead, picking up your own fork. When you take a bite of the pasta, you shut your eyes as the taste coats your mouth. “Oh my god.”

“I told you.”

The two of you eat practically in silence, savoring the taste of your meal and not letting the flow of conversation interrupt your eating. Neither of you finish your plate, Harry coming much closer to doing so then you are and you’re left trying to finish the still half full jug of wine in the middle of the table.

You don’t know when you start feeling like telling Harry more about yourself, maybe after your third glass of wine, but eventually you’re telling him all about the fear you had of coming to Italy.

“What do you mean you almost didn’t come here?”

You giggle a little. “I stepped off the train and almost turned right back around to get on.”

“Why?”

You give an exaggerated shrug. “My own brain? I don’t know.” You look down at your glass of wine. “Sometimes I feel like everyone’s opinions of me are right, y’know? Maybe I am that girl that just doesn’t do anything except work and go home.”

“I get that feeling.”

Your eyes shoot up to look at Harry. “You do?”

Harry gives a lazy raise of his shoulders. “Of course. I have reporters and paparazzi up my ass at practically all hours of the day. Sometimes I wish I could scream at them that I’m not everything they think I am, nor do I want to be.”

You let out a snicker and Harry raises an eyebrow. “Sorry. I almost forgot I was sitting with a famous popstar.”

Harry groans, but there’s a playful look on his face as he wags a finger at you. “That’s cheeky.”

You decide to keep going, seeing how far you can push it. “My friends are going to love it when I tell them that I got to hang out with the Harry Styles. I’m pretty sure one of them used to have a poster of you in their bedroom.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm. Another had the cardboard cutout.”

That sends Harry into a fit of giggles, causing you to follow his lead. You both are a little too tipsy by this point, and the jug is nearly finished.

It doesn’t occur to you how long you had been inside the restaurant until you walk outside and see that the sky has turned dark. The blocks are lit by streetlights, and under them Harry looks like something out of a dream. You don’t mean to lean into him as you walk back to the B&B, but you do so in order to try and keep your balance and Harry doesn’t seem to mind with the way he tosses his arm around your shoulders lazily.

“Tonight was fun,” he tells you, trying not to walk faster than you do. The position is hard to keep as you walk, but neither of you pull away. “’S been a while since I’ve done something with someone like this.”

You smile at his admission. “You mean you don’t go out somewhere with a complete stranger at least once a week?” You tsk. “You’ve gotta get out more, Mr. Styles.”

The B&B is quiet when you arrive back, and you feel like a teenager again as you sneak past the front desk and up the stairs, trying your best to keep quiet since you both know Irene has already gone off to bed. Your exe’s words briefly flit through your brain, and you wonder what he’d say if he saw you now – drunkenly stumbling around in a mysterious city with a man you’ve known barely longer than a day.

When your foot catches on a step, Harry is there behind you to steady you before you can fall forward. His hands catch your hips, helping keep your balance, but rather than it be something that would send your stomach in knots, the gesture makes you laugh out as you think about how funny it would have been to fall face first into the carpeted floor.

You clamp a hand over your mouth, staring behind at Harry who looks like he’s barely keeping himself from laughing. You maneuver your hand so it’s just your index finger pressed against your lips, a soft shhh falling past them. Harry nods, pretending to zip his lips shut and locking them, before throwing the pretend key over his shoulder. The action threatens to send you into another fit of giggles, but you manage to hold it in as you take the rest of the steps two at a time.

The boards creak beneath your feet as you walk to your door. Turning, you just about run into Harry, your hands flying up to press against his chest in an attempt to keep from stumbling into him.

“Sorry,” you stutter out, taking a step back and resting your back against your door. “Wine’s getting to me.”

Harry smiles, and in the barely-there light of the hallway, you think you can see something playful glittering in his eyes. “S’getting to me too.”

You suddenly remember the feel of his hands on your hips moments earlier, and the way he had kept his arm wrapped around you the whole way back. There’s that knot in your stomach that hadn’t appeared before, slowly making itself known now as you try to think of what to say next.

Harry speaks first, his voice low and his words slurred. “I had fun tonight.”

“So you said.”

“How long are you staying?”

The question takes you by surprise. “Tomorrow is my last full day. I leave the next morning.”

Harry looks a bit disappointed by that, but it’s quickly replaced by something else. “Y’know, I think I have a terrific way for you to prove to everyone when you go back that you still know how to have a good time.”

You swallow when Harry takes a step closer, your back pressing further into your door. “And what’s that?”

A smile, one that’s devious and just a little bit convincing, “Let me kiss you?

You bite your lip, trying to get ahold of the situation. This is not at all how you expected your vacation to go, but you can’t help but agree that it is the best way to prove to everyone and yourself that you’re not who they think you are.

You realize that this is it – your moment to prove to yourself that everyone else was wrong. How could you not be adventurous when you’re in a random country all by yourself, about to kiss a boy you’ve never met? That’s the perfect thing to do to prove everyone wrong.

And maybe there’s something in the way that Harry’s advances make you feel that adds to you giving a soft yes.

When Harry kisses you, it’s just as you would have imagined it. And then somehow, it’s more. His lips are soft against your own, the distant taste of strawberry chapstick and the wine from earlier lingering on them and you want to savor that taste, burn the memory of those flavors together into your brain. His hands find your hips again, pressing into them unlike he had earlier. There’s intention behind the grip, the promise of something more to come.

You clumsily reach for the doorknob behind you, not daring to move your lips away from Harry’s. The door falls open and almost takes you with it as you stumble back, barely catching yourself by gripping onto Harry’s shoulders. You press your mouth back to his, feeling like he could swallow you whole in that moment.

You reach blindly for the zipper on his shorts, your hand brushing over the tent forming there and causing Harry to let out a hiss at the friction. You smile against his mouth when he reaches down, taking the matter into his own hands and unzipping his shorts as he kicks off his shoes. You follow his lead and let your shoes meet his own in a pile on the floor. The pile only grows as you both precede to strip, and when you’re left staring at Harry’s naked body, a small gasp falls from your lips.

You reach out to run a hand across the butterfly inked into his stomach before letting it trial down to tease one of the ferns against his hip. You remember them from the night before, half concealed by the shorts he had kept on, but now having them on full display sendsa shudder through you.

“You’re pretty,” you tell him softly, and he laughs.

“So are you,” he replies, taking your face in his hands and kissing you, gently pushing you back onto your bed.

You had almost forgotten about the twin size bed in your room until you fall against it. You want to laugh at the size of it compared to your two bodies collapsing onto it, but Harry rests himself on top of you and attaches his mouth to your neck, sucking a deep mark into your skin.

One hand finds his hair, raking your fingers through it and tearing a groan from Harry’s chest, while the other scrapes at his back, your nails threatening to leave red scratches all over his skin. Harry lingers against your neck for only a moment before he’s trailing down your body, planting kisses against your skin as he goes.

When he reaches your hip, he digs his fingers into your stomach as he leaves a kiss in the curve there before he plants himself between your thighs. The bed is squeaking in protest to all of this movement, but it’s not bad enough for you to want to stop.

Harry kisses at your folds before bringing his fingers up to spread them. Both your hands are tangled in his curls now, tightening their hold as Harry’s tongue finds your clit. You squirm as he presses his mouth against you, coaxing a few moans from you before you remember that you’re not alone in the building.

“Harry,” you gasp out as your hips buck against his mouth, “the bed.”

You don’t think he hears you at first, the squeaking growing louder with each move he makes that causes your hips to come up off the mattress, but then his hands are under your thighs. Slowly, without moving his mouth away from you, Harry slides you off the bed. He meets the floor first, a bit more gracefully than you do as you slip off the bed and onto the floor. Harry laughs when you let out a yelp as your ass hits the carpeted floor.

You’re face to face with him now, and there’s slick covering his mouth. Without thinking, you grab his face and kiss him, letting your own taste wash over your tongue. Harry groans into your mouth, the vibration moving through your chest.

“I wanna taste you,” you tell him, but he shakes his head.

“Swear I won’t be able to hold it in much longer.” He’s breathing heavily and that only makes you smile something wicked that sends Harry’s brain into overload.

“Just a little taste,” you mutter before pushing at his chest so he falls back onto the carpet. You move between his legs like he had only minutes ago, your hand coming up to grip the base of his dick.

Harry lets out a hiss as you wrap your hand around him, giving a slow pump. When you lick the tip, though, he can barely hold back the moan he lets out and you laugh a little.

“Good?” you ask, taking him into your mouth finally and Harry feels like he’s slowly losing the will to function, wondering if he can even get the words out.

“Good, yeah. Yeah. S’good.”

You give him a few more pumps, moaning against him when he brings a hand up to wrap in your hair, but you don’t want him to lose control before he can get inside of you, so you restrain yourself and pull back.

Harry gives you a pitiful look when you pull away, only to be replaced with something much more eager when you begin to climb on top of him. He lays back against the carpet, grabbing your hips as you guide yourself onto his cock.

You both let out a mixture of sounds as you slide down onto him, letting yourself get used to the feel of it. After a minute, you rock back onto him, and Harry takes that as a good sign. Before you know it, he’s lifting his hips off the floor to fuck up into you, turning you into a whining mess as you chase your orgasm. The sound of skin on skin fills the room, and you’re sure that Irene must’ve heard you at this point, but you don’t care anymore as you press your hands down onto Harry’s stomach and try to meet the pace he’s set.

“Gonna cum,” he tells you, but you could already tell with the way his thrusts have become more frantic and sloppier. You can only nod, falling against his chest as you feel the beginnings of your own orgasm start to take over.

When yours hits, you cry out into Harry’s chest. Harry doesn’t stop, though, instead wrapping his arms around you as he chases his own. It only takes a couple more thrusts before he’s pulling out of you and moaning into your hair. You can feel the hot spurts hit your stomach, dripping down onto his due to your position. The two of you stay like that, his arms still wrapped tight around you, holding you to him.

“Harry?” you finally say after a few minutes of you trying to catch your breath. You can feel the effects of the wine from earlier still mixed with the aftermath of your orgasm, and it’s all making your brain feel a bit hazy.

“Yeah?”

You roll off of Harry, the heat of being pressed to him becoming a little too much, but he doesn’t let you go, and you find yourself laying sideways, Harry’s arms still wrapped around you as you lay face to face. “Do you usually fuck random strangers you barely know in Italy?”

Harry lets out a soft giggle, one of his hands beginning to rub at your back. “You’d be the first.”

You reach a hand up to run through his curls, pushing them back off his forehead. “Glad to know I’m not alone there,” you mumble. “So, what do we do now?”

Harry shrugs the best he can in his position on the floor. “We clean up, try to fit in your tiny bed, and figure it out in the morning?”

You hum in response. “I don’t think I can face Irene in the morning.”

“Oh, that woman sleeps like the dead. N’way she heard.”

“Still.”

Harry thinks for a moment. “How about I go downstairs in the morning, grab us some of Irene’s lovely breakfast, and convince her to go out for the day so you can be free of the embarrassment of her hearing us having really amazing vacation sex?”

You roll your eyes. “Then it’ll be obvious what we’re doing.”

“Yes, but I think Irene would appreciate the heads up before she’s wondering why the boards are creaking so badly the whole day.”

You smack your hand against Harry’s chest and a laugh bubbles up from it. “Are you saying you’re going to have me spend my last day in Italy locked away in a bedroom getting my guts rearranged?”

“That’s one way to describe it,” he laughs.

You hum again. “Y’know, I thought I hated you this morning.”

“That was kinda evident by the way you kicked me under the table at breakfast.”

You gasp. “That was an accident!”

“Ah, so you just wanted an excuse to play footsie, huh?”

You hit him again. “An accident, Harry.”

Harry laughs, pulling you further against him. You let out a yawn as you rest your head in the crook of his neck. “We should probably get up. I feel a bit gross.”

You hum in response, tickling Harry’s neck with the vibrations. You hear Harry say your name in an attempt to get your attention, but you’re already drifting off against his chest with the promise of him etched into your brain for when you wake up.

Harry figures he’ll get up in a bit rather than disturb you now, letting himself relax against you. He means to only lay there for a few minutes until he knows he can remove himself from you so he can clean up, but soon enough his eyelids are falling shut as he too drifts off to sleep.

#completely obsessed with jojo moyes and her books #so im happy i had this idea #italy!harry is a fucking babe also #harry #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles au #harry styles oneshot #one direction imagine #my fics #italy!harry

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wearywinchester · 3 years

Text

With You

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When the sleeping arrangements appear to be less than ideal, something more comes out of it.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: mentions of injury, blood, fluff

A huff.

That’s one of the first things you had done when you had initially found out about your sleeping arrangements earlier that morning, delivered to you by a smiling Sam who’d tried to soften the blow with his famous puppy eyes. Those very eyes only half worked on you this time, and maybe it would’ve gone into full effect had you not looked at his brother who’d been standing at your other side with a knowing grin on his lips.

You must have asked Sam nearly a dozen times if he’d been sure that was the very last room and each time you were met with the same answer, each time you were met with the same grin that was returned with a narrowed stare. You were tempted to sleep in the car, even on the concrete of the parking lot so long as you didn’t have to share a bed with the older Winchester. But none of those options seemed to check out.

A huff is what you’d done upon entering the motel room later that evening, the lone bed awaiting you as if to taunt you and your very fate.

The hunt hadn’t gone exactly as planned, having gone south just enough to have Dean thrown through a wall by a more than hungry vampire. It wasn’t anything a few bandages couldn’t fix, a job he’d asked you to do.

Now here you were, standing between Dean’s thighs as he sat at the edge of said bed, leaning back against his palms until you’d told him not to with a huff.

“I’m quite sure you could’ve done this yourself you know,” you mumble, grabbing ahold of his chin when he shied away from you at the sting of the antiseptic on his face. “Actually I’m positive.”

“You do it better,” he said, a smile forming on his bloodied lips.

“That was stupid what you did back there,” you say, doing your best to distract yourself from thinking of just how close you were to him in that very moment. Though trying your hardest didn’t seem to be the solution you were looking to have. “Really stupid.”

“Oh, you mean saving you? I had it covered.”

“I had it covered. I’m not the one who got thrown through a wall now am I?”

He scrunched his nose and mocked your words, an action he came to regret as he winced while he brought his fingers up to his split lip and now it was your turn to smile. He knew full well you were right but he’d never admit it, not in a million years. That was something he’d keep to himself. Truth was, he felt it was a little too close of a call back there, more dangerous than he’d liked and he couldn’t help the instincts he’d had to step in. If he’d gotten bumps and bruises along the way then so be it. That was far more worth it to him than the damage being done to you instead.

But that was also something he’d leave to himself for the time being.

“Could you be a little more gentle, Bruce Banner?” He teases, bumping you with his knee. “Feels like you’re doing more damage than fangs did back there.”

You purse your lips at his words, landing a soft punch to his shoulder that wiped the last traces of his smile from his face in favor of an equally unamused expression.

“What? You said I’m the hulk.” You shrug nonchalantly, flashing him a smile. “Just living up to the name.”

You notice the way the corner of his mouth quirked up ever so slightly as he looked away, any traces of faux annoyance leaving his face and you made a concerted effort to be gentler this time, just a little. You also noticed the way he’d relaxed some, save for a few nose scrunches each and every time you’d cleaned the scrape on his face.

“Might hurt a little less if you held still,” you suggested after a while later when he’d groaned, the bite behind your tone something he noticed immediately.

“Ease up with the attitude, will you, sweetheart?”

The corner of his mouth quirked upward again, more so when you roll your eyes at the nickname. The one that made your heart flutter and your cheeks grow warm whenever it rolled off his tongue in your direction. The one that fell from his lips with a sarcastic edge that never failed to weave around the single word most times, but not always. Yeah, that one.

“Be quiet, will you, sweetheart?”

You breathe out a huff through your nose, lips turned downward and the slightest of frowns as your brows knit together. The remnants of his smile still remain at your counter as his eyes fall closed once more, lashes curling softly over the very tops of his freckled cheeks. The silence that fell over the small room should’ve been a good thing, should’ve been beneficial for your ability to focus on the task at hand but your attention has since been pulled elsewhere. It’d been long gone the moment the two of you stepped into that room.

It felt as though the walls were closing in on you inch by inch, as if the air conditioned room was just as hot as the summer air outside. You wanted to make excuses for yourself, to think of something logical enough to pass it off as anything other than what it was. Perhaps it’d been a little stuffy in that room, it certainly was hot enough to be. Maybe you were still running on adrenaline from the hunt you’d come back from not more than half an hour ago. Or maybe it was the way you stood inches from the older Winchester as you tended to his wounds while he sat with that same smirk he’d been wearing for the last five minutes. The way he nudged you with his knee each time stung the scrape along his jaw.

That. It was definitely that.

“You know,” he started, tilting his head away from you with a scrunched nose as his hand circles around your wrist. “I’m convinced you’re doin’ this on purpose. Because you hate me after all.”

His brow was raised and you could’ve sworn you’d seen a brief moment of sincerity cross his face, something just as quickly hidden by the grin tugging lightly at his lips. Your eyes roll then, head shaking as a laugh falls past your lips and his hand falls from your wrist slowly.

“I don’t hate you,” you sigh, quiet enough to cushion the embarrassment of your words but loud enough for him to hear.

“So you like me?”

Yes, maybe you do.

Your gaze shifts from your hands back to his eyes, your stare narrowed as you bite the inside of your cheek. “I don’t think that’s what I said.”

He laughs softly, dimple forming at the corner of his mouth as he gives a nod, then a hum as if he’d been mulling over the meaning of your four word statement spoken just moments before. As if he didn’t believe a single one of those words to be true, as though he had seen right through you. If he did, he didn’t say anything, eyes sparkling at you.

You hoped he hadn’t seen how your hands shook as you worked, continuing to blot the peroxide soaked cotton ball over the scrape lining his jaw. He didn’t particularly like the sensation, the action stinging sharply with each press of it along the fresh wound. You tried your hardest to ignore the way he’d gathered a fistful of the comforter within his hand, or the way his very jaw tensed under your palm. You tried not to notice the way he’d scooted closer to the edge of the bed, closer to you.

You swallowed, biting your cheek as you grabbed a fresh cotton pad and wet it with more antiseptic. Now it was the part you’d been saving for last, the part you’d put off as long as you possibly could in hopes that maybe it’d magically heal itself. Maybe it’d disappear if you’d waited just a few seconds longer. But fate didn’t humor you this time, the cut along the curve of his bottom lip still very much there and waiting to be tended to as hues of scarlet sat smudged around it, pooling slightly at the corner of his mouth.

It’s not a big deal. Nothing worthy enough to make your stomach twist in knots, nothing to add to the shake in your hands or the quickened pace of your heart. It was just Dean Winchester, the man you swore got on your last nerve and not at all was the source of your butterflies over time.

Definitely not a big deal.

“Would it kill you to hold still?” You ask, huffing once more.

“No, but you’re cute when you’re angry,” he says, brow raised in amusement.

You settled your hand on his jaw, thumb resting just under his lip to keep him stilled in place though it was becoming all the more difficult to hold your focus now that you’d done so. He was grinning at you again, soft as it lingered on his lips, careful to not tug at the split adorning it or the pale crimson smeared lightly over the edge that you were quick to wipe away before your heart beat out of your chest. You swiped your thumb over his bottom lip as you did so, your breath hitching softly.

“Something wrong?” He asked, the ever familiar tease to his words not lost on you.

“What makes you say that?”

When you look up, you meet his gaze and you’re starting to wonder just how long it’d been that he’d been looking at you like that. In such a way that you bit the inside of your cheek to try your hardest to keep the traces of a smile beginning to develop from becoming obvious. What had also been obvious was the fact that your hand was still on his cheek, his stubble scratching lightly against your palm and you could feel each and every time it’d clenched, or the way his voice rumbled just so under your fingertips.

You pretended you couldn’t see the details in his eyes—every shade of green and every fleck of yellow that swirled within them all framed by lashes that curled away from them. You pretended you couldn’t see the smattering of freckles that peppered across the bridge of his nose, more sparse as they danced across the very tops of his cheeks, ones you hadn’t ever noticed until you were just mere inches from his face. Said freckles dotted along his skin, meshing with the pink of his lips that you’d just been tending to before you got caught up with seemingly more pressing matters.

It was becoming increasingly more apparent just how close you’d been to the green eyed hunter when you felt the warmth of his breath fan over your skin, over the pad of your thumb. It was near dizzying when it swept over you, his once teasing smirk falling in favor of a much softer smile. Of course you’d see that, you were staring.

You were staring.

“Y/n?”

You swallowed thickly, clearing your throat in hopes to dissolve some of the tension that was more than apparent in the room. It didn’t work. You dropped your hand from his face in favor of scratching the back of your neck, though the action hadn’t looked as calm as you wanted, all but jerking your hand away as if touching him for a moment longer would sear your skin.

It was then that you turned away from him, your attention fixed on fumbling with the first aid kit that lay sifted through next to him on the bed. Your cheeks burned under his gaze, at the moment you’d just shared that felt as though it’d lasted far longer than it was. The time was indiscernible, but the way your heart hammered in your chest and the way your hands trembled slightly as you haphazardly stuffed cotton pads and unused alcohol wipes was very easy to notice in your eyes.

“Y/n.”

You were so caught up in passing off the last chunk of time as anything other than what it was, as if it didn’t happen, that you hadn’t answered him the first time. It wasn’t until his hand caught your wrist that you looked at him once more.

“You’re good to go, Winchester,” you say, finding your way back to your usual banter in hopes to stave off the remaining tension though you knew it was no use. “Don’t go looking for any more vamps. I’m afraid you just might cry if I have to give you stitches.”

He laughed behind you as you made your way to the bathroom, your smile widening at the sudden sound of his protests upon realizing just what it is you had said.

You closed the door behind you, back pressed to the wood as you let out the breath you’d been holding and you tipped your head back. It was only then that your heart rate returned to nearly normal, eyes falling closed for a brief few moments. You hadn’t entirely been sure what it was that just happened, if anything at all. Though it was more than apparent that maybe you didn’t have it out for him as much as you let on, you knew that to be true as much as you didn’t want it to be.

You took the couple of steps to the sink and ran your hands under the faucet, cooling the heat in your cheeks as you splashed handfuls of water over your skin. You brushed your teeth once—even twice for good measure, doing something, anything to borrow as much time as you could before you had to go back out there. The way you felt jittery, the butterflies in your stomach each and every time his hand brushed over yours or the moment he met your gaze even if it’d only been for a mere second. The way your heart hadn’t quite stopped its racing no matter how much time had gone by. It made you feel as though you were a teenager again with some silly crush.

Now you were sharing a bed with green eyes and you feared this just might be the way you go. Not by a freak accident or a great big ugly monster, but by sharing a bed with Dean Winchester.

With another deep breath and countless minutes later you swung open the door, Dean already having been settled in bed. His boots sat neatly on the floor by his side, jeans strewn next to them. He flashed you a grin, brow quirking upwards.

“Here I thought you ran off on me.”

You roll your eyes at the assumption though you were strongly considering it, more so when you’d noticed the bed was borderline too small for two. But you pushed that down and pulled back the covers, settling close to the edge of your side with your back to him and the blankets up over your shoulders.

He took note of the way you lay huddled on the very edge of the bed, nearly falling to the floor should he move around the slightest bit. Your back was to him but you could still feel his eyes on you, your gaze fixed on the tacky framed painting hanging crooked on the wall.

“Y/n/n, I don’t bite,” he sighs, voice soft and words sincere.

“Yeah right, Winchester,” you mumble, a smile pulling at your lips.

You hear him huff, feel the bed move a little bit in what you assumed was him rolling over for the night. You were ready to dig your heels in and sleep on the edge of the bed out spite even if it was uncomfortable. Even if you did want to tuck in a little closer because you hadn’t hated him as much as you had let on. But you don’t think you’d ever tell green eyes that, not in a million years. He’d never let you live it down and you feel you know that for sure.

“Maybe it’s you that bites,” he suggests, humor in his tone and a grin behind his words.

You snort, head shaking softly.

“Maybe it is.”

You can hear his quiet laugh behind you, the room falling silent once more save for the tick of the clock in the nightstand and the howl of the wind just on the other side of the wall. You’d since move away from the mattress’s edge just merely an inch, unnoticeable by most but more than apparent for you.

It’s quiet when you think about what’s running through his mind, if he’s thinking about what had happened not long before what’s happening now just as much as you had been. If he’d given it second thought at all. You’d been curious as to whether or not he’d gotten just as flustered. Not that it mattered. Not that it didn’t. You were quite sure you were the only one dwelling on the subject. For all you knew, the newfound silence could have been telling that Dean had already fallen asleep and you were perfectly content with pretending the last hour had never happened. More than content, in fact.

That was the plan until the silence was broken.

“Hey, you uh…” he starts, tone much more serious than it had been not long before. “You don’t have to share a bed with me if you don’t want to. I can take the floor.”

His offer was sincere, in fact, that’s the most serious he’d been since you nearly had a close call on the hunt earlier that day. Obviously, he’d followed it with a witty counter and pursed lips, something about learning to not be so reckless falling from his lips. Regardless, he’d meant what he’d just said.

You roll your eyes as you finally move to roll over.

“Dean, don’t be ridiculous—”

Your breath hitched once more when you nearly brushed noses with him, not really just how small the bed was and just how close he’d be. Soon you find yourself in the same situation as you had been once already that day, cheeks burning and heart racing. The same heart fluttering, time stopping situation that made it feel like something even as simple as breathing at a steady rate seems like the most difficult task to achieve to date.

“You don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

The corner up his mouth quirked up, an indicator that was forever telling that he’d been up to something.

“I’m serious, I’m sure it’s not easy to share a bed with Dean Winchester,” he says, a laugh leaving his lips when you swat at his shoulder.

“I don’t think you realize how much of a pain you are,” you grumble, brows knit together in a display of discontent though the way you bite your lip to hide your amusement says otherwise.

What he said, it was obvious, you knew the first time he said it it’d been sincere. He didn’t need to tell you it was for you to believe it. You knew him well enough to know the difference between him poking fun to get on your last nerve and when he’s truthful, you’re just lucky enough to get both.

“Oh but I think I do.” You huff out a sigh, lips pursed as you look up at him and he lets out a breath of his own as he looks at you. “Seriously, I mean it. I can get comfortable on the floor if you want me to.”

You look up at him, laughing softly in a way he knew wasn’t teasing this time. “It’s fine, Dean, really.”

“Oh, so you do like me?”

“Who said that?”

He huffs out a laugh, propping himself up on his elbow as his jaw rests on his palm. He pretends to ponder the question as though it required much thought. “Well, you’re lookin’ at me like that again. Like you did a little bit ago when you were patching me up.”

“Don’t push your luck,” you say, shoving his shoulder again. His reasoning was soft and not entirely teasing, not mocking either and you knew for a fact you’ve got to get better at hiding your emotions. You can’t fight your smile this time, one that was very telling to him that you’d been up to no good. Couldn’t be.

“What?” He asked, face displaying amused curiosity.

“Nothing,” you shrug, “I’m thinking maybe you just want to be close to me,” you say, matter of factly as you look up at him, trying your hardest to take the heat off of you.

“Oh really?” He asks, amusement on his tongue as you nod. “Your cheeks just might be hotter than the sun right now, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes and push his hand away, though you stay right where you are. Even though you promised you hated him, you knew you didn’t. You knew it was far more than that, and you knew you missed the feeling of his hand on your cheek. He knew it too. You hated that your very emotions were so easily pinpointed by him, you were convinced your every thought was too for that matter. You were starting to wonder if you’d been that transparent or if he’d just known you better than you knew yourself.

“Maybe I’ll just sleep in the car with Sam,” you say, though you made no effort to move his hand from your cheek.

He simply hums, nodding his head as his eyes squinted in disbelief that you’d actually consider subjecting yourself to Sam’s snoring in such close quarters. He knew you wouldn’t do that either.

You were doomed.

Never mind the fact that you had now been sharing the same pillow, never mind the fact that you were close enough to feel the warmth of his breath fan over your lips, more so with every word he spoke. You were far too distracted by the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth in a way you knew meant he surely knew you were full of it. By the way his hand settles lightly over your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin in a soft motion.

Your heart bounded as you looked at him, as your cheeks continued to burn under his fingertips. It was then that you did it.

You leaned forward, the inches between you becoming centimeters, centimeters falling to nothing as your lips brushed over his own. You felt him smile, the softness of his laughter sounding against your lips as his hand remained on your cheek and the tips of his fingers tangled in your hair. It wasn’t more than soft touches of the others lips, the second kiss longer than the first, and the third sweeter than the last. And even though you’d parted, neither of you strayed far as your smiles lingered in the close proximity.

He laughs again, fingers brushing over the top of your cheek, thumb smoothing over your skin. It’s that all familiar mix of humor and something a little bit more.

“And here you said you didn’t like me,” he says, the tip of his nose bumping yours.

“And I just might change my mind.”

With that he grabbed your hand, pulling you in closer before he rolled to lay on his back. You settled down on his chest, head over his heart as your smile lingered—you hadn’t seen the one to match yours as his eyes fell closed, but it’d been there.

“So does this mean—”

“Night Dean.”

He pauses for a minute, smiling to himself as he answers his own question.

“Night sweetheart.”

Maybe sharing a bed with green eyes wasn’t so bad after all, but you won’t admit that. At least not to Sam.

—

Tags: @gxtitobxby @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @dean-is-sams-apple-pie @elegantbutedgy @campingmonkey

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester oneshot #supernatural

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heniareth · 3 years

Note

I was really curious about what your opinions on the DAO companions are :) I know we have talked about some, but I'd love to hear more and about the others as well :D I hope it's ok to pose this as an ask :)

Sure! That sounds like a ton of fun. This might be a long one tho. Mind you, this is not the finished version of the answer. I'd like to link stuff and add a cut, but rn that's not possible. I'll update it when I can.

Edit: I have updated it ^^

Let's go alphabetically bc why not.

Alistair:

Sweet guy. So sweet. There was a moment when I was hard pressed chosing between him and Zevran (alas, Zevran won). Also, he's weirdly tall according to the wiki? How did I not notice that before?

Let's get a bit more serious now, Alistair is a great guy. The only reason he's not the hero of the story is because he doesn't want to. He has all the qualities of a leader: he's good at dealing with conflict (as evident with the conversation with the mage at the beginning. He gets where he wants to get without antagonizing the mage, but without allowing him to trample all over him). He's a solid tactitian and knows how to make allies (he suggests to use the Grey Warden treaties, after all). I bet if he was in the leadership position, he'd even not bicker with Morrigan. His moral code is pretty tight; some might say too tight, but I think it's less about the moral code and more about learning to judge people by their actions, not by the labels they fit into (Morrigan is a proud apostate and therefore bad. Wynne is a humble circle mage and therefore good). He also has a bit of a black-and-white way of seeing the world. I empathize a lot with Alistair, especially with his experience with the Chantry and his subsequent reluctance to deal with it. I really wish I had gotten to know more about concrete experiences he had during his training as templar, but he seems reluctant to talk about it (gee, I wonder why).

Since I've only played the game once, I haven't really picked up on Arl Eamon's abuse towards him, which apparently exists (Isolde, however... I mean, even if he were Eamon's illegitimate son, he's a kid, ma'am, he didn't exactly get to chose his parents. So that's so not okay). Alistair's way of speaking about them both, however, is either sign that he has not come within a hundred miles of acknowledging how much it hurt him, or that he's already gone through the whole process and has decided to forgive them. The latter shows a very strong character; yes, he relies on the approval and leadership of others, he has his issues, but he's already started working on them.

That being said, irl Alistair would be like a little brother to me. I'd tease him relentlessly (all in good fun and I promise to stop if it makes him uncomfortable, but he's just so teasable). I still wish the videogame gave him the chance to take important decisions for himself. But that, of course, would somewhat defeat the point of the game.

Leliana:

Another sweet, sweet person. Her singing voice is amazing. Her belief in the Maker inspires me (I'm a religious person and seeing religious characters represented in a positive light is Very Cool. It's also sometimes a source of discomfort, because the Church has done a lot of very messed up stuff and positive representation can sometimes veer into apologetics for things that should not be excused, but that's a whole other can of worms. The bottom line is that religious characters sometimes work for me and other times don't and Leliana works for me very much bc she's an outsider inside the Chantry).

Leliana is best friend material, tbh. I'd love to get to know her irl, discuss theology and philosophy and maybe even politics? She makes mistakes and has prejudices, but, tbh, so do I. And I do get the feeling that she tries her best to learn. From the times she intervenes in a conversation between the Warden and an NPC, she shows herself to be compassionate and open to the needs of others. What I get from her character is that she genuinely wants to help, which is something that I adore of her. I suspect that she sometimes has a hard time deciding wether she's a good person or not. She has killed and seduced and worked for a morally dubious person, and she doesn't show the same nonchalance about it as Zevran (though they both do discuss their line of work in very... professional terms). This is, however, more of a headcanon than actual factual canon.

I also very much enjoy her girly side, like her interest in shoes and dresses. She's one badass woman who also looses her cool about the latest fashions in Val Royeaux. I like that. Between her and Alistair, a non human noble Warden has as good a help to navigate the Fereldan court as they're going to get. Leliana is also, I can't forget that, clever and insightful. It'd be easy to write her off as the innocent chantry girl, but she's so much more than that. Her kindness is paired with foresight, I think. She knows that taking on the trouble to help now can go a long way in the future. I just have a lot of respect for her.

Loghain:

This one's gonna be short bc I didn't recruit him. He's an amazing villain and would probably be a great Warden as well. He reminds me of Denerhor from LOTR; once a hero/stewart of his people, ambition and desperation have driven them both down a terrible path. I have also only little idea about his past. People say he lost a lot, and I believe it wholeheartedly; it doesn't excuse the fact that he plunged the country into a civil war in the middle of a Blight. I don't have a lot of sympathy for short-sighted politicians. I wish he hadn't made himself regent. That's what I take away from his character.

Edit: One thing I forgot to mention that really impressed me was his death. I had Alistair duel him (that was a rough duel), and then it kinda just jumped to a cutscene of my Warden nodding and Alistair executing him. That didn't sit well with me. I didn't want to kill Loghain, and less so in front of Anora. But what impressed me was that Loghain just accepted it. That takes a whole lot of guts. Compare that to Howe's death, and how he screams out that he deserved (more, probably, or anything but death) and it's crystal clear who the more noble of the two is. Loghain strikes me as very lawful neutral, and any neutral alignment has the particularity that it can be dragged towards good or bad, sometimes without the characters noticing it (which is interesting from a DnD perspective; neutral is often concieved of as just as stable as good or evil, but that may not be true. But that's a different post). Anyway, Loghain's death was impactful.

Morrigan:

I could kick myself for not maxing out her approval in the first play-through. I got to enjoy a bit of her friendship by the end of it and boy was even that little bit worth it. Friendship with Morrigan is something that is hard-won. It's all the more precious because of that.

Morrigan is full of paradoxes, I think. She's incredibly wise in some ways, yet also very short-sighted (”just kill them, don't solve their problems”. Morrigan, dear, I'm not going to gain a lot of allies if I kill everybody who poses a problem to me). She is so intelligent, but emotionally... not so. She knows so much about some things, and very little about the next. She's incredibly wilful and knows what she wants, but follows Flemeth's orders all the time through. She hungers for power and independence, yet craves closeness, but won't allow herself to have it. She asks you to prove yourself to her and is extremely critical of your actions, I think, because she's afraid. She bites the hand that feeds her because it might hit her next.

Like with Eamon, I haven't managed to catch the undercurrent of abuse that seems to permeate Flemeth's relationship with Morrigan. Except there are signs, because there must be something Morrigan is scared of and who has instilled all that rage in her, and that's Flemeth. Also, she clearly hates/does not care about her and wants her dead (unless killing Flemeth was part of Flemeth's plan as well? Hm.)

Morrigan is that one person who you are nice to, continuously, because nobody else is. And suddenly she becomes less cold. And then friendly. And suddenly you're asking yourself why everybody hates her, because she's a really good friend! I just wish the other companions came to a similar conclusion, especially Alistair and Wynne.

Oghren:

They did this man dirty. He has such great lines and I'm convinced he was a great person before Branka disappeared. He has that dwarven warrior spirit, and while he looks like Gimli, some of his most impactful lines remind me of Dwalin or even Thorin Oakenshield himself. He could be so noble had he gotten some character development, damnit!

Oghren as he is written is somewhat disgusting. I hate the lechering comments and the drunkenness. And still, I don't hate him because of those amazing lines he has when he's actually sober. It's frustrating and I'll give him that character development myself if the game won't. I strongly associate the song Whiskey Lullaby with him, bc that's how he would have ended up if the Warden hadn't taken him along (warning: the song talks about suicide and alcoholism). Like I said, they could have done such cool things with his character. As he is written now... it's just sad. Moments of lucidity drowned in alcohol and creepy jokes. As you can see, I don't blame the character for either. The alcoholism happens all too often irl. The creepy jokes... I put that one on the writers' tab.

I actually think Oghren could have been a great mentor figure (I know, I shock myself as well sometimes). Next to the Grey Wardens, the ones who know most about fighting darkspawn are the dwarves because they have to deal with them constantly. Especially a warrior caste dwarf like Oghren could have brought a lot of that invaluable knowledge to the team, especially since there are no Grey Wardens in Ferelden but two extremely green recruits. Next, you get the chance to give Oghren the command of the teammates you leave behind in the battle of Denerim with the reason that he has lead men into battle before. Where did that suddenly come from? Oghren should have been right up there telling my Warden that they were doing this wrong, that they needed more food (and booze) and a confident leader to keep the armies they've called together going. Oghren should have been able to tell my civilian city elf who got recruited into the Grey Wardens a six months ago how one leads an army. How one presents oneself to inspire confidence, how one doesn't crack under the pressure, how one gets the leaders of said armies (some who hate each others guts i.e. Dalish elves and humans) to work together. And, last but not least, Oghren could have had a great story about grief. This is a man who has lost most of what made him (and what he hasn't lost he's spilling down the drain with every mug of ale). This is a man who, if you take him into the Deep Roads, has to see what his wife did to his family, how his wife got absolutely obsessed, and can be forced to kill said wife or watch her die. All Wardens loose their home and families at the start of the story. It would really have rounded the whole narrative out if the Warden and Oghren could have recognised their grief in each other and hashed it out somehow. Such as it is, Oghren is a depressed drunkard and there is nothing we can do about that. I find that frustrating.

Rascal (a.k.a. Dog):

Best boy. 100/10. I wish we had gotten to see the reaction of the different origins to the mabari (because elves probably have a whole different experience with them from mages or humans. And dwarves just... I think they straight up have none? XD). Other than that, no complaints. The name Rascal was the one I gave my dog because you have to be a right rascal to survive what he did and play the pranks he plays. Smartest breed in the world indeed.

Shale:

Shale is one of those characters that I recruited rather late in the game, so I haven't had the chance to explore their personality and worldview, really. I didn't even get to take them to the Deep Roads (this will be ammended in playthrough nr. 2). As such, I don't have particularly strong opinions on them (or her? The wiki refers to Shale as 'it', but that sounds weird). But, because I know so little about Shale, I have a lot of questions. First, what were they like before they were a golem? Shayle, as she was called then, was the best warrior of her time if I remember correctly. Why did she become a golem? Was it to be able to eternally protect her people? Was the sarcasm the golem Shale exhibits also part of the dwarven warrior Shayle or did that come later (if for thirty years you have nobody to talk to but yourself, you better be entertaining. And I can imagine how it could make somebody terribly jaded as well).

Next, how attached is Shale to their golem form, exactly? According to the banter, they infinitely prefer it to a squishy fleshy form. If that is the case, however, why go to Tevinter to try and become a squishy dwarf again? It's not like that process could be reversed if they wanted to become a golem again; if Shale survives to the end of the game, the Anvil of the Void is destroyed and Caridin is dead. Was the whole spiel about their indestructible form a façade? It might have been, but not because Shale actually disliked their form. I think it would have more to do with the loss of their memories and with the very invasive experiments and alterations of Shale's body made by the mage Wilhelm. The loss of memories means that Shale is unable to remember life as a fleshy creature. They might be deflecting by pretending that they didn't care for that experience anyway because of the superiority of their golem form. The modifications made to their form by Wilhelm would have alienated them from their body. In light of this, it's significant that Shale asks the Warden to decorate their form with crystals.

All of this is, of course, pure speculation. I may have easily missed or forgotten details that would disprove the above thoughts. All in all, I like Shale and I hope we meet them again in DA4 (given that it's mostly set in Tevinter). It's a liking from a respectful distance, because Shale is tall and made out of rock and also way more experienced than I will ever be (they are literally the oldest member of the Warden's little Blight fighting squad).

Sten:

Sten is another person I'd keep a respectful distance from physically. That seems to be the what he would prefer, at least. I've enjoyed his character a lot, especially because he seems pretty clear-cut at first, but slowly lets the nuance of his person show (gruff and stoic, but then he has an eye for art, a sweet tooth and he likes cute animals). It's also very interesting that there's no moment when you learn "the truth" about him the way you do with Zevran or Leliana. There's no big reveal about his life under the Qun before coming to Ferelden. He says he was sent to monitor the Blight, but honestly? If neither Ferelden nor Orlais knew there was a Blight, how could the Qunari know? I think he's lying, and he takes his secrets back with him when he leaves Ferelden. And yet I think I know him enough to say that a Warden who has become friends with him has nothing to fear from Sten.

One thing I find very interesting about Sten is how he thinks. His conversation about how women can't be soldiers has been analysed a lot on this page I think. He seems to be arguing based on a different paradigma than the one the Warden has. He also seems to have a very clear-cut view of the world. What is fascinating to me is that, when arguing with the Warden and learning about their culture, he is not necessarily becoming more lax about his worldview. I think it's more likely that he is expanding his paradigma, the structure of thought through which he understands the world. I don't think that he is now convinced that women can be warriors as well. I think he rather understands that, in Ferelden, the relationship between occupation and gender is different than under the Qun. Which of the two he thinks is more right or more agreeable, I have no idea. I'm also not very interested in that. But I find it fascinating how he always seems to be looking on quietly, gathering data, classifying it and trying to fit it into his understanding of how the world works. I wouldn't be surprised at all if his original party was a scouting party to see how vulnerable Ferelden was at that moment to outside forces. One thing I don't understand with all of this is why he urges the Warden to meet the Blight head on. No smart soldier would suggest that, except if they are foolishly proud (and Sten doesn't seem like that kind of guy tbh). I get that the Warden takes way longer to gather allies than expected because they first have to solve all of their allies' problems. But surely Sten sees the need to have allies? Is he just that impatient? Does he have a death wish (à la, I lost my sword and am without honour, better to die sooner than later and in glorious battle)? Was he his group's previous commander and is he now having trouble following somebody else's orders? Or maybe it's his way to make sure the Warden knows what they are doing? To push them into becoming the self-assured commander their allies will need once they're all gathered? I really don't know. I like the last option best, however.

For me, Sten is my fellow, more experienced soldier. Like Alistair, he can potentially be the Warden's brother in arms, but he's definitely the older brother here. He probably doesn't take kindly to tearful confessions of how hard everything is, but I feel like he's otherwise a solid rock to lean on. I feel like the Warden can trust him to do what is necessary and count on him no matter what, especially after they get his sword back. His devotion from that point on is honestly so powerful.

Wynne:

Wynne was such a support for my Warden (except with the whole conversation about love vs. duty and that she may have to choose between Zevran and ending the Blight and that she should therefore break up with him. Wynne had a point. Astala was so not willing to sacrifice her relationship with Zevran. But the whole conversation came at a point where she was already so disillusioned that she blew up in Wynne's face (”can i please just have one (1) nice thing????”)). But all in all, Wynne is great.

She has a lot of flaws. She was very marked by her life in the Cricle and, for all her age, she has little experience living outside of it. She is also a conformist despite her strong moral core. In a way, her ability to find peace with her lot in life impresses me deeply because it speaks to a lot of strength of character. Sadly, however, strength can be ill applied and used to suppress. I think she has convinced herself that the Chantry is right under (almost) all circumstances to be able to rationalize the life that mages live. She's had her son taken away from her as a baby and an apprentice killed. Her reaction seems to have been to convince herself that this was right, or for the greater good (and now I'm thinking about the Guardian's question at the temple of Andraste's Ashes; are you wise or do you just repeat what others have told you? The answer is not as clear-cut as it might be). This is why she is so irritated by Zevran and Morrigan. By aligning herself with the Chantry, she is, in her eyes, good. Zevran and Morrigan are not; they do not conform to Chantry morality and they defend themselves tooth and nails against somebody who would try and convert them. This is something Wynne never allowed herself to do; she always did the "right" thing and it has cost her so much. I'm not saying she was right (it would probably have done her some good to rebel from time to time, and to trust her own gut instinct more), but in light of this, it hardly surprises me that she's so judgamental. She has to be, or she would be forced to confront all the evil she has not fought against all those years and all the hurt that has been caused to her by the very institution she protects (and thank God she only tries to argue and can appreciate it when people have found a good life outside of her comfort zone. If she tried to convince by force or, for example, drag her former apprentice back to the Circle... boy oh boy that would get ugly). If you think about it, Wynne really is a good example for what happens if you live by a philosophy of always choosing the lesser evil.

Something that I keep forgetting over her grandmotherly and dignified character is how damn powerful she is. She has escaped the carnage at Ostagar; HOW!? She protected those mage apprentices in the Circle tower for God knows how long. In the battle of Denerim, she wades through an army and comes out alive on the other side. The wiki lists her age at 40, I think, but that doesn't make a lick of sense unless 75 years of age are the Fereldan equivalent to 100. This lady, about whom people make grandmother jokes, did all that. It's impressive.

Zevran:

You know, I would really love to know what Wynne thinks about the events at Kirkwall in DA2. It might be a disaster for her, or it might pave the way for one last bit of character development. She certainly didn't want to return to the Circle after fighting the Blight. That may be an indicator of some change in her stance on the Circle of Magi.

Edit: I forgot that she is what the Circle considers a literal abomination! Holy cow, how could I forget that?? Anyway, her conversation about what being an abomination means is so... heartbreaking, actually. It's so tentative. So careful. "Am I an abomination? Am I the same thing that has killed my students? The same thing as Uldred? Am I lost and damned? Did I invite this spirit in? Is this my fault?" Like wow, Wynne is going through something huge right there. I love it. I have to continue playing the game to see what it ends up as, but it's fascinating and such a huge thing that she allows the Warden in on that.

Ah, Zevran, my beloved (he has stolen my heart so much it's not even funny anymore). He's funny, he's charming, he's so so loyal and it breaks my heart. Zevran is the one about whom I've read most meta: these three wonderful posts for instance, as well as this one about his possible lack of scars, and this one about his lack of freedom. All of these have influenced my opinion of him and they are great reads.

I have talked about Zevran with you before, so I'll just skip to the new stuff. I have come to conclusion that Zevran is an artist at heart. This is totally not biased by the fact that I also do art, but hear me out. One of his preferred gifts are bars of silver and gold. While those have the obvious utility of basically functioning as money (they can be sold to any silversmith or goldsmith and their value is pretty stable through time and in different countries), there's also this from his codex: "Zevran shows an affinity for the finer things in life—hardly surprising for an Antivan Crow—but his appreciation can be more poetic than he lets on. A simple bar of refined silver or gold, uncomplicated by a craftsman's hammer, is elegantly valuable." Tell me that is not an artist's eye that sees that gold and sees the beauty in it. Then, there's also the meta about Zevran the Seducer which I linked above and link here again. It talks specifically about how he lets himself enjoy the target and be seen in his enjoyment. Tell me that is not an artist's eye that beholds the beauty of something he is set out to destroy. Even his talk about his assassinations show this. He talks about it as an art, the way somebody would talk about the brutal intervention in stone that produces a sculpture. Yes, it's a rationalization of the act of killing and yes killing is still wrong. But he doesn't go on about it on a moral tangent the way Alistair or Wynne would (”this person was bad, killing them was necessary”) or even through the argument of survival like Morrigan would (”it was either them or me and it sure as Hell wasn't going to be me”). He talks about the pleasure of a job well done, of the satisfaction of striking the precise point and executing a plan to the perfection so as to minimize chances of discovery and to make a clean death possible. And pleasure in seeing and in doing, this I firmly believe, is absolutely fundamental for an artist.

My favourite part about my Warden and Zevran as a pairing is that Zevran precisely brings out that ability to take your pleasures as they come and to really savour them. Fighting the Blight is tough; it's so important to find good things amidst the chaos to stay sane. If Astala saves Zevran from himself by offering him a place to stay and a purpose, Zevran saves Astala from herself by keeping her from running herself into the ground trying to save the world.

There are some things I don't like about Zev. The incessant flirting, for example, sometimes makes me uncomfortable (it becomes enjoyable for me once the Warden and him are in a relationship, but before that? Nah, no thanks). I wish he would also leave the other female characters alone (and there's so many more shameless comments of his aimed at Morrigan, Leliana or Wynne than at Alistair or maybe even Sten).

---

And that's my take on the Origins companions (this was rather long. Whew ^^' I hope it was still readable and that you enjoyed it!!) Thank you so much for the ask!! It's been a joy thinking about this. I was worrying at first that the less prominent companions like Sten or Shale wouldn't get as much content but... well XD

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perlukafarinn · 3 years

Text

(ao3)

The day starts out pretty unremarkable. Dean wakes up at the crack of dawn to Cas slipping out of bed for his morning jog. He pulls him down for a good-morning kiss that turns into a make-out session that turns into them trading lazy handjobs and then falling asleep in each other’s arms again.

Their actual start to the day is around ten AM, when Cas finally gets up for his jog and Dean gets up for his cereal and a scroll through the morning news. He’s on the look for hunts, mostly out of habit since there’s been very little monster activity since Chuck went and fucked off for good. He doesn’t find anything this morning but that’s hardly a surprise. It’s been a couple of weeks since they’ve been out on a hunt and that inactivity, weirdly enough, is starting to bother him less and less.

Cas comes back from his jog about an hour before noon and with the mildest of prodding convinces Dean to join him in the shower. Afterwards, they throw together a lunch made from yesterday’s leftovers, taking their time eating and playing footsie under the table, because that’s apparently the kind of couple they are.

Usually by this time of day, Cas would be off in the Men of Letters’ library working on translations or cataloging and Dean would be on the phone helping Garth help out young, out-of-their depth hunters or in the garage, working on one of the beautiful but sadly neglected vehicles left behind there decades ago.

Today, both of them are seemingly feeling kind of lazy and so hardly any work gets done. It’s not until late in the afternoon that Dean feels the urge to do something productive and suggests they go out for groceries, which Cas readily agrees to.

The ride into town is quiet. Cas plays his mixtape - the damn thing should be worn out by now and Dean should long since be sick of it but for reasons too sappy to mention he isn’t - and they sit and listen in comfortable silence. It’s not until they pass the town hall on their way to the supermarket that Cas gets a contemplative look on his face.

“Should we get married?”

Only years of experience behind the wheel prevent Dean’s hands from twitching wildly and veering them into oncoming traffic.

“What.”

Cas looks over, frowning. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Is there any reason for us not to get married? We’re already planning on staying together for the rest of our lives.”

“Is there any reason-” Dean wheezes. “What the fuck, Cas? Is this your idea of a proposal?”

“Are you saying no?” Cas asks, mildly curious, as if they’re talking about the fucking weather and not getting married. “Because we don’t have to.”

Dean stares ahead, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “Are you actually asking?”

“I suppose I am.”

“You ‘suppose’,” Dean mocks. “Gee, Cas, that’s real romantic.”

“Will you marry me?”

Dean pulls over. It’s far too sudden, probably leaving tire tracks in the concrete, and the driver behind them honks his horn loudly as he passes. Dean ignores him, taking a deep breath as he finally turns to face Cas.

“Are you sure?”

He doesn’t really have to ask - Cas wouldn’t have brought it up if he wasn’t sure - but he needs to hear it.

Thankfully, Cas seems to get that. “I want to marry you, Dean. Do you want to marry me?”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean breathes. “I mean - yes. Yeah, I do.”

Cas nods decisively. “Alright then. Now?”

“Now?”

It’s not exactly how Dean imagined this scenario would go (not that he - shut up) but it’s somehow the most romantic fucking thing that’s ever happened to him since Cas first told him he loved him. And hey, this time no one had to die!

They turn around, since there’s no point in going in without (forged) birth certificates. Once they get to the town hall, shortly before closing, they find out that it’s a three-day mandatory waiting period between applying for a marriage license and them actually being allowed to get married.

Cas suggests they use the interim time to pick up wedding rings. They wind up spending the next day driving to Topeka, where they find a couple of silver rings in a pawn shop. They’re tarnished but otherwise in good condition and once they get home, Dean spends the rest of the evening cleaning them while trying very hard not to think about just what they’re for.

The second day, Cas spends out back tending to his garden while Dean almost dials Sam’s number repeatedly before hanging up, torn between wanting to let his brother know that he’s getting married and not wanting to jinx it.

The third day, they head back into town. They arrive at the town hall just after it opens and it’s not until they’re standing in front of the clerk that Dean realizes they don’t have any witnesses. The clerk assures him that they don’t need one for civil ceremonies and the next ten minutes pass in a blur until Dean is being prompted to place the ring on Cas’ finger.

He does so with shaking hands, stilled only once Cas places one of his own on top and gives Dean a patient smile. He’s this calm for a reason, Dean finally realizes.

This doesn’t change anything.

Married or not, they’ve already promised themselves to each other for the rest of their lives. Til death do them part doesn’t even begin to describe it, and in sickness and in health is almost laughable at this point.

This really doesn’t change anything.

Dean’s own hand is still as Cas takes his turn, sliding the silver ring upon Dean’s finger. They say their “I do”s when prompted by the clerk, exchange a short, firm kiss, and just like that it’s over.

They’re married.

When Jody invites them to dinner about a week later, they still haven’t told anyone. Sam and Eileen will be there as well as Jack and the girls - it’s a regular family reunion and the perfect chance to announce the big news to everyone.

Dean has a better idea.

“Let’s not tell anyone,” he says. “At least, not before dessert. Let’s see if they notice first.”

They’re in the Impala, about half an hour away from Jody’s place.

Cas shoots him an amused look. “Is this because Sam claimed he always knew we’d get together when we first told him we were involved?”

“No,” Dean lies. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, seeing Cas still giving him that look from the corner of his eye. “Fine, yes. But he didn’t know, for the record. He just likes to pretend he’s always on top of this shit.”

“He doesn’t like to admit when you’ve surprised him,” Cas agrees.

The conversation ends there but Dean’s plan is apparently agreed upon since once they arrive at Jody’s, Cas doesn’t say a word about their recent relationship upgrade. Jody doesn’t seem to notice anything different, but then Dean didn’t expect her to. She’s not the one they spend most of their time around. Neither do Donna, Alex, Claire or Kaia, none of them surprises. Patience, Dean is less sure about, but she at least doesn’t say anything. Her eyes do linger unusually long but that could mean anything.

Damn psychics.

Sam and Eileen arrive half an hour after Dean and Cas, Jack in tow. This is the real test; Sam and Dean may not spend as much time together in the past few months as they did in the years before but he’s still the person who knows Dean best and would be the most likely to notice a difference.

And yet, nothing.

Dean tries not to feel too smug.

They go through dinner without anyone mentioning it. Dean makes a point of reaching across the table as many times as he can, showing off the ring glinting on his finger. Cas must notice him doing it, judging by the fond exasperation on his face, but he’s the only one.

It isn’t until dessert that Patience breaks, patience (hah) clearly run out:

“Is no one going to mention that Dean and Castiel are wearing wedding rings?”

And all hell breaks loose.

Sam is wounded - mostly over Dean and Cas not telling him before they got married, though Dean can tell some part of it is his pride at not seeing this coming - but he’s over it soon enough, once they explain that it wasn’t a big deal, not some proper ceremony, just a quick affirmation of what they already knew.

“See if I make you Best Man at my wedding after this, jerk,” Sam tells Dean.

“Your wedding?” Eileen asks pointedly.

Jody and Donna offer their congratulations before the conversation can get awkward, and Kaia, Alex, and Patience chime in with theirs as well. Jack looks confused at the whole proceeding, finally asking whether this means there won’t be any bouquet to catch, which only means Dean has gravely failed him in his pop culture education (oh, who’s he kidding, as if half the romcoms Jack has watched didn’t come directly from the recommended tab on Dean’s Netflix account).

Finally, with a pointed elbow from Kaia and a hangdog expression from Cas, Claire mumbles that she’s happy for them. While Dean doesn’t doubt that’s true he also knows that this is more complicated for her than the rest of them, and for the first time he kind of feels guilty about springing this news on everyone.

It doesn’t last long, not after Donna cheerfully raises her glass and proposes a toast to the happy couple and everyone else follows suit. They chant for them to kiss and, blushing outrageously, Dean complies, leaning over to press a quick kiss against Cas’ lips.

“So, who proposed?” Sam asks once the hooting and hollering has calmed.

“Cas did,” Dean says, slinging an arm around his husband’s - his husband’s - shoulders. “And it was the least romantic proposal of all time, you should’ve heard him.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “If I had left it up to you, we never would have gotten married.”

“He didn’t even give me time to pick out flowers,” Dean informs Sam gravely.

“There’s always the vow renewal,” Cas says, the casual statement managing to sound like a threat, and Dean shuts up.

The conversation moves on, the mood noticeably cheerier. As Jack and Sam launch into a story of their most recent hunt, Dean leans against Cas.

“We could have flowers, if you want,” he mutters.

Cas smiles at him, so bright and easy that it makes Dean’s heart stutter. He takes Dean’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the cool silver of Dean’s ring.

“That’s not necessary,” he says. “I’ve got everything I want right here.”

#deancas #destiel #spn fanfic #perlukafarinn writes #fluff #domestic #post-canon #established relationship #thank u to miriam who read through most of this #and assured me that it's plenty gay!

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findingjoynweirdstuff · 3 years

Text

Dream SMP Recap (July 25/2021) - The Wilburger Ranvan

Wilbur comes up with his new calling: selling burgers in a burger van! At Phil’s suggestion, Wilbur teams up with Ranboo to do so, setting up their new business on the outskirts of Las Nevadas.

A brief summary of the week’s total events can be found at the end of the post.

---

VOD LINKS:

Wilbur Soot

Captain Puffy

BadBoyHalo

---

- Wilbur and Phil hang out in the Arctic. Wilbur has a proposition for Phil

- He says he met up with Quackity and it was a nice time. The one conclusion he came to is that Quackity is very resourceful

Wilbur: “As much as I may disagree with your views on anarchy, I must say, it’s pretty harmless. I -- I can’t hate you for it. I can’t hate you for enjoying literally living in a peaceful little village in the snow, I mean the server’s never been this peaceful since -- since all the countries and nations and cities and everything is gone. So Phil, I came to you with one question, one question...do you think Quackity should be allowed to be left unchecked?”

- Phil says no. The issue is, there’s no government, no police force. What Techno’s done is left a power vacuum and now Quackity’s come in with an unethical establishment, gambling...

- Wilbur wants to make a burger van

- They get interrupted by an Enderman ascending from the basement

- He knows there’s a bit of déjà vu, but the difference is that the burger van isn’t going to sell drugs this time. He wants every steak to have a name

- He’s done with being a source of authority, a president. His calling is just burgers, no ulterior motives

- Phil knows someone who would help out: Ranboo. The richest, most knowledgable man on the server, and he’s run out of things to do on the server

- Wilbur doesn’t want to play with Ranboo, but Phil threatens to kick him out if he doesn’t so he does, annoyed at being treated like a child

- Wilbur gives Ranboo his proposition

Wilbur: “I like to think, you know, let bygones be bygones, let’s bury the hatchet, let’s be -- Ranboo I’m gonna go out on a limb here...do you wanna be friends?”

- His next progression, after being a dead-terrorist-president...is to be a chef. Ranboo is onboard

- They start walking over. Wilbur asks if Ranboo’s heard of Las Nevadas, and Ranboo mentions their abandoned cookie post that was causing trouble. He wants to create competition for Quackity’s business. Eventually, maybe Quackity will have to make a deal with them, maybe even be their friend

- Ranboo wants to keep it respectful. Wilbur assures him that they already has the land necessary

- Wilbur wants to pick Ranboo’s brain and asks his thoughts on Quackity. Ranboo says he just hasn’t seen him in so long. Their last interaction before everything else happened was just that they were in the same cabinet of New L’manburg

- Wilbur didn’t know that Ranboo was part of L’manburg’s government

- Wilbur asks if he dislikes anyone. Ranboo says not too much, just people that he doesn’t agree with. Everyone is just a product of what they’ve gone through, so if you understand that, you understand the person

- If you align yourself with everyone, isn’t that more complicated? Ranboo says that’s why he’s just been living with Phil and Techno away from everything, trying not to involve himself in much, but he has a terrible radar on what’s involving himself and what isn’t

Wilbur: “What about Dream?”

Ranboo: “Well that’s -- well, with Dream it’s kind of like...all I’ve heard of Dream, all I’ve seen with Dream is just been like the really bad things that he’s done and everything, so I would say that I -- yeah, I don’t really like Dream, but I mean, he’s also not really someone that it matters whether or not I like him ‘cause he’s just away in that prison for a really long time, so I mean...”

Wilbur: “No trial?”

- They reach their competition and go into the fast food restaurant

- He peeks into the casino, but holes it back up. This building doesn’t benefit the consumer

- Wilbur places down some signs insulting Quackity’s burger place, guaranteeing those signs will never leave since they don’t care about the customer

- Wilbur shows Ranboo his area, which he's thinking of naming “Paradise.” Ranboo says it could be a neat play on words...pair-of-dice

- Wilbur and Ranboo decide to make the place red and white, retro-themed. Ranboo gives Wilbur Ranord and Wilbur goes off to gather some red

- Wilbur likes Tubbo since he’s strong-headed and doesn’t let people push him around

- Ranboo says when you can’t change someone’s mind, it’s no use to needlessly argue. Wilbur points out that Ranboo seems to be a bit more dynamic than a purely neutral, peaceful force. He’s somehow appeared in almost every conflict the server’s had since Wilbur died

- Ranboo says it’s because he’s bad at discerning things, but he’s been doing alright with his situation recently. He wants to help people, and sometimes he lets that desire to help people get in the way of what he says about himself

Wilbur: “Ranboo...why did you help to help me?”

- Ranboo needed something to do, and he also thought that Wilbur’s an alright person, so he wants to get off on a better foot because he doesn’t like having people not like him

- Wilbur asks why he doesn’t think Wilbur’s a bad person. Ranboo says he did bad things, but also went through things that made him that way and now he’s changed as a person since he died. He’s optimistic in that

Wilbur: (sniffs) “Good, uh...that’s nice. Thank you. Uh...I think I needed to hear that.”

Wilbur: “Can I be real with you man? ...I think I scare people.”

Ranboo: “I mean...yeah, I do the same thing.”

Wilbur: “No, not in -- no no, I mean I...I don’t think I...I think a lot of people share your idea, but they share your idea in trying to -- trying to keep me from hurting them, you know? Like they’ve seen what I can do and they don’t want me to do it again, so they adopt your emotion in order to do it.”

- He demolished Jack Manifold’s house twice, he completely ignored him in the war, and what it took for Jack to forgive Wilbur was just a sorry.

Wilbur: “And I know -- I’ve spoken to Tommy about Jack Manifold! And Jack Manifold is not the sort of person to forgive someone like that with a sorry! Imagine if Dream said sorry to Jack Manifold! What’s Dream done to Jack Manifold, huh? Barely anything! I imagine if Dream said sorry to Jack Manifold, Jack Manifold would ignore him. Do you know why? Because DREAM’s in prison, and I’m not!

“Dream is -- he’s had his comeuppance and I’ve not! My comeuppance was apparently not good enough for these people! They’re just waiting! Waiting for the next thing for me to slip up on them -- Ranboo, I’m not gonna fucking slip up, Ranboo, I’m different. I’m not Dream...god, I wish I was! Sometimes I wish, I wish I’d gotten that comeuppance but Ranboo, I’m not Dream. And I’m not gonna be Dream, and that’s...”

“I’m living in eternal Limbo...again. I’ve been through Limbo. I’m out of Limbo. And socially, I’m still in this Limbo, and man, Ranboo, hearing you say those words that you said to me? Do you remember what you said?”

Ranboo: “Y-yeah, I do?”

Wilbur: “You said...(sniffs) I think people can change, that’s number one. And number two, you said you’re scared that people don’t like you.”

- He tells Ranboo that they’re kindred. They have the same neuroticism, their strongest point. But anxiety is not their downfall. Wilbur’s parents are alive because they were anxious and didn’t let anything take them down

- Ranboo says they’re both thinkers. They may think in different ways, but they think at the same level

Wilbur: “I think you might be a bit braver than me in showing your true colors. I feel like with you, Ranboo, I never have to be guessing your next move. I never have to be guessing your hand, you know? I feel like life dealt us the same cards, and the difference is you build your trust by showing people your cards whilst I keep them close to my chest, and I feel like that might be the big difference.”

- He asks Ranboo what he feels about thievery. He’s going to steal Las Nevadas’ cows to make into burgers

- Ranboo makes some concrete and starts building the van. Wilbur rides off on a horse looking for some sheep

- Wilbur asks Ranboo about Tubbo and Ranboo talks a bit about Snowchester. Wilbur thought Techno was successful at getting rid of all the nations, but Ranboo says it’s not a nation. Wilbur doesn’t know about Kinoko Kingdom either

- Wilbur gets to the spider farm, which has Kanye West in it

- He heads back and they discuss names like Paradise or Wilburger

- Wilbur asks Ranboo’s opinion on Tommy and Ranboo thinks he’s great. Tommy’s gone through a lot, but it’s made him a good person.

Wilbur notes that he seems to think that everyone’s gone through something. Ranboo says yes, the only bad people are those who are evil without a reason why, but there’s not many people like that

- Wilbur names the first burger “Wilburger Vol. 1″ and puts a watermark on it

- Wilbur wants to ask Ranboo one last make-or-break question

- Chat suggests the “Wilburger Ranvan” and they like it

- They go to Quackity’s restaurant and Wilbur wants Ranboo to smash the windows. Ranboo does

- Wilbur goes inside and places TNT. He hands Ranboo the lighter and tells him to detonate it

- Ranboo does so. Wilbur tells Ranboo to go back to the van. He’s passed the test

Wilbur: “Ranboo, I’m proud of you man. You’ve -- you’ve taken a side.”

- Wilbur goes back and places a sign at the crater:

---

***** Wilbur + Ranboo Did this together

*****

---

“I love that guy.” (laughs) “I love that guy.”

END OF WEEK RECAP:

7/19 - Nothing much happens.

7/20 - Sapnap and George speak with Mexican Dream

7/21 - Foolish creates Philzavilla and breaks into the prison

7/22 - Nothing much happens.

7/23 - Nothing much happens.

7/24 - MCC, no updates

7/25 - Wilbur and Ranboo make a burger van

---

Upcoming Events:

- Captain Puffy’s Lore Stream

- Wilbur’s 11 planned streams

- Egg Finale Stream

- Tales From the SMP: “Space Race”

- Ponk’s prequel stream

- Ponk’s current-day lore with Sam

- Puffy’s Lore Cast

- Sapnap’s lore

- Dream’s lore video

- Quackity’s casino opening

#dream smp #dream smp recaps #long post #long posts

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arcane-ish · 2 years

Text

Why Silco's revolutionary ambitions remind me more of a realpolitik freedom fighter than a social or socialist movement

Okay, first, I'm going to cite various real world examples so chances are some of these might offend somebody, but here goes.

If you look at "inner country conflicts", ie cases where it's not country A invading country B, but the aggression comes from within a nation, I would say they fall into roughly these categories

1.) Anti-Colonial freedom movements (ie India vs the British, the US war of independence)

These traditionally have a good chance of being successful because the oppressor mostly lives far away and will have problems sending reinforcements.

2.) Secessionist movements & nearshore colonialism (ie North Ireland, the Basques of of Spain, the American South in the civil war, Quebec, Hungarian revolution post 1848)

A part of a country wants independence of the rest of the country, either to be its own country or as an autonomous region. There is a decent amount of examples of cases where separation or autonomy was reached (ie Chechnya, Northern Italy, the falling apart of Yugoslavia) and also a decent amount of examples of cases which have been stale mates for years (ie Basques in Spain, Northern Ireland, Kurds in Turkey)

3.) Social rights movement (ie Martin Luther king)

People want to change the rules within the society and want to be treated better by the ruling class but generally the ruling system will be allowed to mostly continue.

4.) Transformative revolutions (ie communist revolutions, South Africa)

People want more rights, but also want to be in charge and/or change the structure of the ruling system.

IMO, it's pretty clear that Silco very firmly is not a type 4. He has no interest in ruling or changing Piltover. In fact, to me he comes across like a very shrewd secessionist, he knows that it would be tough to change Piltover because he can't really make them an offer about how their lives will improve. So he focuses on the part he thinks he has a resonable chance to control. (Caitlyn by comparison seems to be more like arguing for a type 3 situation where co-existance is possible but Zaunites should be treated better, where co-existance under the one system is possible)

Things that ring particularly true to me about this conflict:

1.) Uses very nationalist and ideological ("freedom!", "independence", “respect”) type rhethoric, but doesn't actually offer that many concrete suggestions for social changes within Zaun. Again imo putting him more in line with a secessionist or freedom fighter, where the aim is still to be a pretty similar country as the previous structure, just independent from the previous ruling group.

2.) Violence actually works. It's kind of one of those things the US doesn't want you to know, but, yes, even though there exist plenty of cases where terrorism hasn't been successful in achieving people's goals, there is totally also cases where various amounts of violence have succeeded in getting a place independence (ie Algeria vs the French, Chechnya vs Russia, South Tyrol vs Italy).It’s imo not that unreasonable that within a secessionist or autonomy type movement the ruling group sits down and goes “okay fuck it, they want to leave, fine, let them be out of our hair/just give them their stupid concessions and move on”.

3.) Using drugs to finance your war. Revolutionary groups have a pretty long history to use crime to finance themselves (Stalin infamously made a name for himself pre revolution by killing 40 people when he thought that it would be a good idea to rob a bank money transport using bombs as the primary weapon, how is that for a Jinx style crime). In general the longer a conflict drags on (and it seems in Arcane Silco has been involved in this process for at least about a decade) the higher the chance the movements will use crime including drugs to finance themselves.

Examples include FARC in Colombia, the Taliban in Afghanistan, the PKK in Turkey or even anti Apartheid fighters.

The main reason why the metaphor of Zaun vs. Piltover as a independence/autonomy struggles fails is that most real life cases there is some sort of ethnic or religous component to the conflict (ie the French speaking Canadians vs. the English speaking Canadians, the German speaking Italians vs the Italian speaking Italians, (catholic) Irish vs. (protestant) Brits, Catalan speakers in France, Kurds in Turkey, Muslims in Chechnya, muslim Bosnians vs Orthodox Serbians vs. Catholic Croatians, blacks vs. whites in South Africa). and the core source is often some form of imperalism or near-shore colonialism rather than just economic strife.

Now granted, economics are often a factor in those kind of nationalist struggles (ie the colonizing group gets all the good jobs and the native population has fewer rights, impeding their ability to rise in social standing), but in Piltover and Zaun the implication is that there is no ethnic difference between Zaunites and Pilties. It’s just economic differences. IMO that kind of conflict is pretty unrealistic that in a case like that the two groups would be so neatly geographically separated, that there wouldn’t be plenty of intermingling (ie marriages) and that people wouldn’t be able to make their case to each other if they all speak the same language, religion doesn’t seem to differ or play a huge role etc.

The aristrocrats vs. commoners metaphor of let’s say the French revolution doesn’t work because again, there wasn’t such a neat geographical separation between the aristocrats and the non aristocrats as aristocrats would be surrounded by their staff/the people who live on their lands. Same for let’s say Ancient Rome or Greece as a metaphor where you have proper citizens and and various groups that have no voting rights.

One last thing I wanted to note: just because somebody is a freedom fighter or wants to seceede doesn’t mean that they aren’t dicks or have heroic ideals. Like I said plenty of those types of movements are based on nationalistic or religious conflicts and you imo even have cases where the rich part of the country wants to seceede from the poor part of the country because they don’t want to share their money with the poor parts, or you know aristocrats versus other aristocrats who speak a different language. For a secession movement that was based on assholery, look no further than the US South wanting to seceede from the North. Just like you can have fascist “revolutions” respectively coup attempts or people who want to get into power and reform the structure of a state towards fascism.

Silco to me comes across as somebody that even though lip service is being given towards the well being of Zaunites (ie clean air), who cares more about the ideological well being of the Zaunites (ie freedom, independence, no longer having enforcers from Piltover in their streets) than he cares about their physical and economic well being (ie floods the lanes with Shimmer, doesn’t put forth any ideas about how to change their economic system, so it sounds suspiciously like still capitalism, still few rich and many poor, it’s just that the richest people will no longer be Pilties by default). I don’t think that that is an unrealistic portrayal of a more nationalism style revolutionary.

Sidenote: when it comes to somewhat realistic portrayals of revolutionaries, I was pleased that the writers said that Silco indeed grew up poor.

As historically plenty of revolution leaders came from middle class/upper class intellectuals (ie Che Guevara or Mahatma Gandhi). And it doesn’t seem to be a usual dynamic that the actual lower class/blue color revolutionaries were seen are more brutal and violent (ie Stalin vs. Trotsky). So I’m quite pleased that they gave him a background in actual poverty.

Another thing I was kind of waiting for was whether they would reveal that Silco received funding from the outside as this seems to be a topic for a lot of situations where a group is striving for autonomy, whether they get backing/aid from other, usually neighboring countries (ie the autonomous kurdish region in Iraq giving hope to the kurdish regions in Syria, Austria making diplomatic pleas on behalf of South Tyrol, NATO intervening on behalf of various states when Yugoslavia fell apart, the Soviet Union, the US, or Saudi Arabia and Iran being accused of giving money or weapon support to a lot of conflicts).

#arcane #silco #poltics of silco

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earnestly-endlessly · 3 years

Note

Hi, how are you? Your blog is amazing and your recommendations have already allowed me to read wonderful stories, so thank you so much! I wonder if you could suggest me any cherik fics of them as detectives? I remember reading one a long time ago, but unfortunately I don't know the name and even less the synopsis. Thank you in advance for your help.

Thank you so much @remember5novemberv for your kind words. I'm so sorry this took me so long but I hope you enjoy this list. There are some excellent detective AUs in this fandom so you're in for a treat.

Cherik Detective AUs

Their Mouths Always Lie – keire_ke

Summary: Charles adheres to most police protocols like they are a personal code of conduct. Erik gets things done and over with, for better or worse. Raven knows what she's doing, most of the time. The serial killer kills, regardless. Police AU.

Guilty by Association – Reagan

Summary: While investigating the homicide of a John Doe who he suspects might've been murdered while working the streets as a prostitute, Detective Erik Lehnsherr finds an unexpected ally in a hooker named Charles who seems as determined as he to solve the case. As they become more deeply involved both with the case and each other, there's just one thing that Charles neglects to mention -- that he's really an investigative journalist, one quickly convinced that what they're dealing with is more than simple murder. cop!Erik, fake-hooker-slash-reporter!Charles, Modern AU.

Incy Wincy Spider – Tawabids

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr is a renowned homicide detective, with his husband Charles at home and his partner on the job, Moira MacTaggert. When a twisted serial killer starts targeting mutants, Erik and Moira are the perfect team for the job, especially since Erik himself is the mutant poster-boy of an NYPD trying to improve their image.

But what they don't yet know is that the serial killer is an old soul out of Erik's past, and his next move is to pull Charles into his web.

The Theory of Partnership Dynamics – Pangea

Summary: “Detective Lehnsherr, how wonderful to see you out on the job!” The fed in the front greets him as they draw nearer. He’s shorter than the other two by a full head, and he’s beaming at Lehnsherr as if completely undeterred by Lehnsherr’s paint-peeling scowl.

“What do the feds want?” Lehnsherr asks bluntly.

“You know I can’t tell you that,” the fed answers cheerfully. Then his gaze lands on Alex, and, impossibly, his grin gets even brighter. “Did you get a new partner?"

“No,” Lehnsherr says through his teeth while at the same time Alex says, “Yes.”

Charles’ Killer – luchia

Summary: When detective Charles Xavier finds himself hunting down a vendetta-driven serial killer, it doesn't take long for him to realize he's in over his head. It only takes a little longer for him to realize his killer is, too.

Demoted – JayPendragon

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr is a detective-specialist with the NYPD Mutant Tactical Unit, ready to help out where his skills are needed. Or he would be, if he and his partner hadn’t been demoted. For the next four months, he is patrolling the Lenox Hill precinct with Azazel – if he doesn’t die of boredom first.

One night they are called in to investigate a potential case of domestic violence, yet the tenant assures them he is both alone and unharmed. However, there is something about this Charles Xavier that compels Erik to follow up.

Watching the Detectives – Clocks

Summary: Detectives Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr are good friends and colleagues. However, when they go undercover at a Christmas party to nab a prime suspect, Erik keeps reminding himself to stay professional and ignore feelings of unexpected jealousy.

Oh, Sinnerman (Where you gonna run to?) – TintagelCastle (orphan–account)

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr is one of the best homicide detectives in New York. From small time stabbings to high end mob hits, Erik (and his equally scary partner Logan) makes sure all the bad guys get caught, searching for the final clue to nail his mother's killer. As a string of murders draws the net ever tighter on Erik's life's work, he needs to catch the nightmare of his past whilst continuing to be the darling of the Force...

And so what if he's completely in love with the British guy on Forensics? Who's he ever going to tell?

Wrap up my bones – waifornight

Summary: Damaged detective Erik Lehnsherr is grimly searching for a serial killer whose victims all have extraordinary gifts. But without any clues or leads he and his partner Logan are in the dark. Until Charles Xavier, abducted by the killer, escapes. Together Erik and Charles must confront something far darker than either of them had ever imagined.

Alternate Universe loosely based off the crime movie Kiss the Girls.

I’ll see your heart (and I’ll race you mine) – sirona

Summary: For Kriminalhauptkommissar Erik Lehnsherr, this case will change everything.

Paralyzer – Yahtzee

Summary: In 1965, Erik Lehnsherr has infiltrated the NYPD for his own purposes -- but his powers make him a brilliant detective. Yet that's not why FBI agent Charles Xavier has sought him out. It's because the mysterious killer they're both trying to find is murdering people like them: other mutants.

Their search for a madman binds them together. Their inner demons may tear them apart. But the greatest danger comes when the killer they're looking for looks back.

Wrap up my bones – waifornight

Alternate Universe loosely based off the crime movie Kiss the Girls.

The Long Bright Dark – lachatblanche

Summary: Ten years ago Detectives Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr closed the case on a grotesque series of murders that continue to haunt them even in the present day. When they are pulled in for questioning a decade later, they finally have confirmation of something that they have both suspected for a very long time - that there is unfinished business for them to take care of and that the case they thought they had closed so very long ago is in reality still all too open.

A True Detective AU.

Finding North – ClarkeStetler, Goosenik

Summary: Charles and Erik are (loosely) friends with benefits. They don't share personal details, last names, or anything concrete about their lives. This is ruined rather spectacularly when Charles gets recruited by the Mutant Apprehension Division of the FBI. Surprised is a bit of an understatement for their reaction to finding themselves partnered up and sent out on cases with the team.

Closer (to God) – dsrobertson

Summary: Se7en/The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo AU-ish.

Political journalist and editor, Erik Lehnsherr, has just lost £150,000 in a libel case against businessman, Kurt Marko. Down on his luck and in need of money, Erik is approached by the Metropolitan Police’s Detective Inspector Charles Xavier. Well-known for his investigative journalism, Erik is asked to help in the search for a serial killer in return for £200,000 if the killer is caught.

Wrapped up in murder, religion, and sex, Erik gets more than he bargained for.

Homo Sacer – unveiled

Summary: In a not too distant future, Detective Erik Lehnsherr meets Charles Xavier: street magician, former academician, and telepath.

One Good Day – troll_under_the_bridge

Summary: One case which is going to turn Charles' world upside down, while he struggles to pacify his boss, investigate murders and come to terms with the mess his life has become.

Playing With Fire – professor

Summary: Charles is a detective determined to catch a serial killer.

If the serial killer doesn't catch him first.

Hold on or let go – aesc, pearl_o

Summary: Teenage telepath Charles Xavier takes a job as a consultant, working with prickly police detective Erik Lehnsherr. Charles is used to being on his own and taking care of himself; he has no reason to think that his relationship with this stern, icy man is going to change any of that. (Also known as: Tough Little Baby Telepath.)

MCIS: First Case – Pookaseraph

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr considers himself a great MCIS agent, and he puts up with a lot from his boss - Moira MacTaggart - in the name of solving crimes against mutants, but he's not so sure about this new empath, Charles Xavier. Their first case together will test Erik's patience, but doubtless be the beginning of a brilliant friendship.

MCIS: Fathers, Sons, and Brothers – Pookaseraph

Summary: Alex Summers has a single case that he has obsessed about ever since coming to MCIS two years ago: Su-M-94-0708-0034, the murder of Christopher and Katherine Summers, and the presumed kidnapping and possible murder of Scott Summers. Very little evidence was found at the time, but hopefully a new team - and new leads - can shed light on the case that left Alex an orphan.

When the Crazies come to town – Chinchillaatthedisc0

Summary: Erik is a surly detective with zero people skills who has just been assigned the murder case of Kurt Marko. Prime suspect? Charles xavier. Who's no where to be found.

My old man is a bad man – faerie_ground

Summary: Sebastian Shaw dies at two am in the morning with a dagger embedded in his forehead. Detective Erik Lehnsherr is on the case, and the number one suspect is the recently widowed Dr Charles Xavier, Sebastian Shaw's husband.

Deep Cover – Subtilior

Summary: Omegas in heat? The perfect whores. Sebastian Shaw? The bastard who kidnaps them for his Hellfire Club. Erik Lehnsherr? A hard-boiled detective who's been on the Hellfire case for months. The catastrophe that unfolds when he goes in on retrieval and finds Charles Xavier still writhing in a Hellfire bed? .... Deep Cover.

A Murder of Ravens – AbandonedWorld

Summary:Charles Xavier is wrongfully accused. Erik Lehnsherr is a top-notch homicide Lieutenant who stumbles upon the case of a lifetime: a serial killer targeting mutants–and only mutants. Charles bides his incarceration waiting on a miracle, reciting Poe's timeless gem in effort to retain his sanity...

Note: Unfinished

#cherik #cherik fic recs #fic recs #detective au #asks #earnestly answers #long post

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96thdayofrage · 3 years

Text

What is Critical Race Theory?

Basically, Critical Race Theory is a way of using race as a lens through which one can critically examine social structures. While initially used to study law, like most critical theory, it emerged as a lens through which one could understand and change politics, economics and society as a whole. Richard Delgado and Jean Stefancic’s book, Critical Race Theory: An Introduction, describes the movement as: “a collection of activists and scholars engaged in studying and transforming the relationship among race, racism, and power.”

Kimberlé Crenshaw, one of the founding members of the movement, says Critical Race Theory is more than just a collective group. She calls it: “a practice—a way of seeing how the fiction of race has been transformed into concrete racial inequities.”

It’s much more complex than that, which is why there’s an entire book about it.

Can you put it in layman’s terms?

Sure.

Former economics professor (he prefers the term “wypipologist”) Michael Harriot, who used Critical Race Theory to teach “Race as an Economic Construct,” explained it this way:

Race is just some shit white people made up.

Nearly all biologists, geneticists and social scientists agree that there is no biological, genetic or scientific foundation for race. But, just because we recognize the lack of a scientific basis for race doesn’t mean that it is not real. Most societies are organized around agreed-upon principles and values that smart people call “social constructs.” It’s why Queen Elizabeth gets to live in a castle and why gold is more valuable than iron pyrite. Constitutions, laws, political parties, and even the value of currency are all real and they’re shit people made up.

To effectively understand anything we have to understand its history and what necessitated its existence. Becoming a lawyer requires learning about legal theory and “Constitutional Law.” A complete understanding of economics include the laws of supply and demand, why certain metals are considered “precious,” or why paper money has value. But we can’t do that without critically interrogating who made these constructs and who benefitted from them.

One can’t understand the political, economic and social structure of America without understanding the Constitution. And it is impossible to understand the Constitution without acknowledging that it was devised by 39 white men, 25 of whom were slave owners. Therefore, any reasonable understanding of America begins with the critical examination of the impact of race and slavery on the political, economic and social structure of this country.

That’s what Critical Race Theory does.

How does CRT do that?

It begins with the acknowledgment that the American society’s foundational structure serves the needs of the dominant society. Because this structure benefits the members of the dominant society, they are resistant to eradicating or changing it, and this resistance makes this structural inequality.

Critical Race Theory also insists that a neutral, “color-blind” policy is not the way to eliminate America’s racial caste system. And, unlike many other social theories, CRT is an activist movement, which means it doesn’t just seek to understand racial hierarchies, it also seeks to eliminate them.

How would CRT eliminate that? By blaming white people?

This is the crazy part. It’s not about blaming anyone.

Instead of the idiotic concept of colorblindness, CRT says that a comprehensive understanding of any aspect of American society requires an appreciation of the complex and intricate consequences of systemic inequality. And, according to CRT, this approach should inform policy decisions, legislation and every other element in society.

Take something as simple as college admission, for instance. People who “don’t see color” insist that we should only use neutral, merit-based metrics such as SAT scores and grades. However, Critical Race Theory acknowledges that SAT scores are influenced by socioeconomic status, access to resources and school quality. It suggests that colleges can’t accurately judge a student’s ability to succeed unless they consider the effects of the racial wealth gap, redlining, and race-based school inequality. Without this kind of holistic approach, admissions assessments will always favor white people.

CRT doesn’t just say this is racist, it explains why these kinds of race-neutral assessments are bad at assessing things.

What’s wrong with that?

Remember all that stuff I said the “material needs of the dominant society?” Well, “dominant society” means “white people.” And when I talked about “racial hierarchies,” that meant “racism.” So, according to Critical Race Theory, not only is racism an ordinary social construct that benefits white people, but it is so ordinary that white people can easily pretend it doesn’t exist. Furthermore, white people who refuse to acknowledge and dismantle this unremarkable, racist status quo are complicit in racism because, again, they are the beneficiaries of racism.

But, because white people believe racism means screaming the n-word or burning crosses on lawns, the idea that someone can be racist by doing absolutely nothing is very triggering. Let’s use our previous example of the college admissions system.

White people’s kids are more likely to get into college using a racist admissions system. But the system has been around so long that it has become ordinary. So ordinary, in fact, that we actually think SAT scores mean shit. And white people uphold the racist college admissions system—not because they don’t want Black kids to go to college—because they don’t want to change admission policies that benefit white kids.

Is that why they hate Critical Race Theory?

Nah. They don’t know what it is.

Whenever words “white people” or “racism” are even whispered, Caucasian Americans lose their ability to hear anything else. If America is indeed the greatest country in the world, then any criticism of their beloved nation is considered a personal attack—especially if the criticism comes from someone who is not white.

They are fine with moving toward a “more perfect union” or the charge to “make America great again.” But an entire field of Black scholarship based on the idea that their sweet land of liberty is inherently racist is too much for them to handle.

However, if someone is complicit in upholding a racist policy—for whatever reason—then they are complicit in racism. And if an entire country’s resistance to change—for whatever reason —creates more racism, then “racist” is the only way to accurately describe that society.

If they don’t know what it is, then how can they criticize it?

Have you met white people?

When has not knowing stuff ever stopped them from criticizing anything? They still think Colin Kaepernick was protesting the anthem, the military and the flag. They believe Black Lives Matter means white lives don’t. There aren’t any relevant criticisms other than they don’t like the word “racism” and “white people” anywhere near each other.

People like Ron DeSantis and Tom Cotton call it “cultural Marxism,” which is a historical dog whistle thrown at the civil rights movement, the Black Power movement and even the anti-lynching movement after World War I. They also criticize CRT’s basic use of personal narratives, insisting that a real academic analysis can’t be based on individually subjective stories.

Why wouldn’t that be a valid criticism?

Well, aren’t most social constructs centered in narrative structures? In law school, they refer to these individual stories as “legal precedent.” In psychology, examining a personal story is called “psychoanalysis.” In history, they call it...well, history. Narratives are the basis for every religious, political or social institution.

I wish there was a better example of an institution or document built around a singular narrative. It would change the entire constitution of this argument—but sadly, I can’t do it.

Jesus Christ, I wish I could think of one! That would be biblical!

Why do they say Critical Race Theory is not what Martin Luther King Jr. would have wanted?

You mean the Martin Luther King Jr. who conservatives also called divisive, race-baiting, anti-American and Marxist? The one whose work CRT is partially built upon? The King whose words the founders of Critical Race Theory warned would be “co-opted by rampant, in-your-face conservatism?” The MLK whose “content of their character” white people love to quote?

Martin Luther King Jr. literally encapsulated CRT by saying:

In their relations with Negroes, white people discovered that they had rejected the very center of their own ethical professions. They could not face the triumph of their lesser instincts and simultaneously have peace within. And so, to gain it, they rationalized—insisting that the unfortunate Negro, being less than human, deserved and even enjoyed second class status.

They argued that his inferior social, economic and political position was good for him. He was incapable of advancing beyond a fixed position and would therefore be happier if encouraged not to attempt the impossible. He is subjugated by a superior people with an advanced way of life. The “master race” will be able to civilize him to a limited degree, if only he will be true to his inferior nature and stay in his place.

White men soon came to forget that the Southern social culture and all its institutions had been organized to perpetuate this rationalization. They observed a caste system and quickly were conditioned to believe that its social results, which they had created, actually reflected the Negro’s innate and true nature.

That guy?

I have no idea.

Will white people ever accept Critical Race Theory?

Yes, one day I hope that Critical Race Theory will be totally disproven.

Wait...why?

Well, history cannot be erased. Truth can never become fiction. But there is a way for white people to disprove this notion.

Derrick Bell, who is considered to be the father of Critical Race Theory, notes that the people who benefit from racism have little incentive to eradicate it. Or, as Martin Luther King Jr. said: “We must also realize that privileged groups never give up their privileges voluntarily.”

So, if white people stopped being racist, then the whole thing falls apart!

From your lips to God’s ears.

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ppangjae · 4 years

Text

BEST INTEREST | Jaehyun

SUMMARY. Be careful what you wish for. It may be your dream come true or your biggest nightmare.

GENRE. fluff | angst | time travel!au | ex friends to lover!au (this one’s going to hurt) | inspired by the movie 13 going 30

WORD COUNT. 11k+ words (yes, idk what’s wrong with me either)

author’s note. this is unedited so if there are any mistakes, i am sorry! also i highly suggest listening to pluto projector by rex orange county while reading this monster of a fic! it gets you in the mood. happy reading~

I feel at home when I’m around you

Jaehyun has many wishes, with most of those wishes he wants to come true. He wishes to be like the cool kids, specifically the guy everyone wants to idolize and admire. He wishes to be popular, to be a social magnet that attracts all the friends he can possibly have. And boy, does he really want those wishes to come true when he sneaks a longing glance at his long-time crush, Mina, dancing on the dance floor in her beautiful homecoming dress. If only she just looked his way and noticed him—

“Close your mouth or you’ll start to catch flies.” His mouth is physically clamped shut with your two hands. He sends you a death glare but it falls unnoticed when you pop a couple of barbeque-flavoured chips into your mouth. When you sense his glare, you look back at him and raise up your hands in defense. “I’m just trying to help. But don’t you think you’re being a bit too obvious about your crush on Mina?”

Jaehyun tears his gaze away from you to look back at Mina. She looks pretty tonight, but she’s always looked beautiful to Jaehyun no matter what day it was. It’s pretty safe to say that Jaehyun’s whipped for her, for she is the reason why he always has a goofy, lovesick smile spread across his lips. You follow Jaehyun’s line of sight and it lands on Mina. Are you surprised? No, not the slightest bit.

Just like how Jaehyun has his wishes, you have your own wishes too. You wish you were as beautiful as Mina. You wish you had perfect 20/20 vision like Mina. You wish you were fit and athletic like Mina. You wish you had a great sense of style like Mina. You wish you had a charm and aura like Mina. But there’s one important wish that you want to come true; you wish Jaehyun at least noticed you or had some sort of mutual feelings for you… just like those same feelings he has for Mina.

But you’re just his best friend. You’re just someone who’s been by his side for almost his entire existence.

“Your birthday is in three minutes, Jaehyun!” You exclaim, looking down at your wrist watch. You scrunch up your nose to adjust your glasses on your nose bridge. Just as you’re about to pop another chip into your mouth, you accidentally knock over your glass of Fanta, spilling some of it on your homecoming dress. You let out a string of curses, grabbing a napkin to dab the small stain.

Jaehyun smiles at you as you clean up the stain. You’ve always been clumsy. He looks down at his watch and indeed, his birthday is in three minutes. It was a huge coincidence for homecoming to be scheduled the night before Jaehyun’s birthday; Valentine’s Day. In fact, on the days leading up to homecoming, Jaehyun’s been planning on confessing his feelings to Mina.

“It is,” he chuckles softly.

“What are you planning on doing to kick off your eighteenth birthday? We can definitely grab some drinks on the way home, or you can come over and have a Marvel marathon with me—”

Your words are drowned out as he finds himself stealing another glance at Mina. She’s laughing with her friends. It’s almost as if she’s sensed his stare because she’s looking around the ballroom until her eyes meet his. He feels his heart skip a beat.

“I’m going to confess to Mina.” He cuts you off.

With eyes wide like saucers, you can barely stop him because he’s already making his way towards her. Mina seems to take notice that he’s approaching her. She looks at him confusedly. You’re watching it all go down from your seat. With every step he takes towards her, your heart continues to shatter into more pieces. The closer he gets to her, the more you realize that you’re just a friend. A best friend. That’s all you’ll ever be.

“Mina?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Yes, Jaehyun?

“I need to tell you something.” He says nervously.

Her friends leave her alone with him. She straightens her posture and gestures for him to continue. He gulps nervously. He just can’t seem to stop imagining how perfect his life would be if Mina returned his feelings. He’s prepared for this moment for days on end and there’s no way that Mina would reject him. Right?

She gives him a warm smile. “What is it that you wanted to tell me?”

He sucks in a deep breath. Here it goes.

“I really like you, Mina.”

She blinks.

Once.

Twice.

And then she starts to laugh.

Is she laughing? Why is she laughing?

“So, do you like me back—”

“Babe, do you want me to go grab your sweater from the car?”

Eunwoo wraps his arm around Mina. Jaehyun stares at Eunwoo’s arm, his stare trailing back to Mina. Mina’s looking at him with an expression he can’t seem to read. She pats Eunwoo’s arm and turns towards him. “Sure. In fact, I think it’s time to get going. I’ll meet you at the front, alright, babe?”

He watches Eunwoo peck her cheek. “Alright, I’ll be parked at the front.”

As Eunwoo leaves the two of them again, Jaehyun’s eyebrows knit together and Mina stifles a giggle.

“Jaehyun, I’m so sorry. I don’t see you that way. I see you as a brother.” She places a hand on his shoulder and gives it a tight squeeze. “I’m dating Eunwoo. We’ve been dating for five months now, did you not know? Besides, I thought you and Y/N were a thing! You guys seem to match each other better.”

He scoffs. You and him? Is it possible to disappear into thin air? Is it possible to turn back time?

From your seat, you can see Jaehyun frustratingly run his fingers through his hair. Mina is giving him a sad smile and leaves him alone on the dance floor. Your face scrunches up and settles into a look of horror. Did Eunwoo just kiss Mina’s cheek? Since when were they dating? You did not expect things to turn out this way. You didn’t expect Jaehyun to be turned down like this, right in front of his two eyes. If you were to ever get rejected by your crush, you would dread getting turned down like this.

Humiliated. Embarrassed. Heartbroken. Anger. Jealousy. Jaehyun was going through many emotions at once. As he’s left all alone on the dance floor, his feet lead him out to the parking lot. You watch Jaehyun storm out and it prompts you to run after him. You’re holding the ends of your dress up as you struggle to catch up to your best friend. Soon enough, you’re kicking off your heels and chasing after him on your bare feet.

“Jaehyun! Wait!”

When Jaehyun reaches his car, he halts to a stop. You almost bump into him. He turns around to face you. He has a frown etched on his face. “What do you want?”

“Jaehyun—”

“She doesn’t like me.” Jaehyun cuts you off. “She’s dating Eunwoo. But do you want to know what else she said to me?”

“W-What? Jaehyun, I—” You look up at him confusedly.

“She said that she thought you and I were dating.” He lets out a breathy laugh. “Us? Dating? Why would we be dating?”

“Jaehyun—”

“Mina would’ve ended up liking me back if she didn’t think we were dating.” He sighs with anger. “I think we spend too much time together that people are starting to think that we’re dating. But we’re not!”

“So, you’re telling me that two best friends can’t spend a lot of time together?” You ask. “Why do I feel like you’re blaming me? Like I’m the reason why Mina rejected you—”

“Maybe because you are the reason!” He yells.

You scoff. “Who are you? Are you the Jaehyun I grew up with? Ever since you started crushing on Mina, you’ve slowly changed yourself into someone I don’t know anymore.”

“Maybe you really don’t know who I am anymore.”

“I’m disappointed in you, Jaehyun.” You feel your eyes water. “Mina rejecting you is probably the wake up call I needed. Best friends? We’re not best friends anymore. And to think that I—you know what? I’m not even going to bother.”

“Y/N—” He starts as he begins to regret lashing out on you.

“Oh, before I forget,” you mutter, opening your bag to pull out Jaehyun’s birthday present. It comes along with a party popper. You shove his birthday present, which is a handmade photo album filled with all of the pictures you both took throughout your friendship. To top it all off, you pop the party popper, the confetti shoots up into the air. “Happy Birthday, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun looks at you with defeat as you storm to your car. You’re hopping into the car and igniting the engine. There are hot tears streaming down your cheeks. Jaehyun rushes to your side of the car and knocks on the window. “Y/N, open up! I didn’t mean what I said! I’m sorry!”

You ignore him, backing out of your parking spot. For good measure, you flip him off and drive off, leaving him all alone in the parking lot.

Jaehyun watches your car get smaller and smaller as it travels farther and farther.

What a horrible way to kick off his birthday. What a horrible way to kick off Valentine’s Day. Not only did he get rejected by his crush, but he just lost his best friend. A piece of confetti that was stuck in his hair falls down and catches his eye. He stares at it as it slowly falls down to the concrete ground.

His eyes flutter shut.

Jaehyun wishes to be everything Mina looks for in a guy. Jaehyun wishes to be the guy Mina ends up dating. He wishes to look better than Eunwoo. He wishes to be more successful than Eunwoo. Jaehyun wishes to be on the front cover of every magazine, to be dripped in luxury clothing, and to be swimming in riches. He wishes for Mina to regret rejecting him.

He wishes all of this to happen when he turns 28. In fact, he wishes to be 28 right now.

But be careful what you wish for.

“Mr. Jeong, you can open your eyes now.”

His eyebrows knit in confusion. He peeps one eye open. A bright vanity light blinds him momentarily until he decides to open his other eye. He’s staring at his reflection in the mirror before meeting eyes with an unfamiliar woman. He lets out a surprised yelp, causing the woman to jump. He analyzes her for a couple of seconds. Is she a makeup artist? What is he doing in front of a vanity mirror? Why is he getting his makeup done? Wait, why does he look like that? Why does he look like he’s aged—

“Jeong Jaehyun, we’re starting the photoshoot for the B-cuts in fifteen minutes!”

Photoshoot?

B-cuts?

Mr. Jeong?

He looks up at what seems like his makeup artist. He gestures to her to lean in closer. She looks at him questioningly until she leans in closer. He whispers, “How did I get here?”

She snorts. She looks at him as if he’s gone crazy. “Don’t worry, Mr. Jeong, I know your sudden rise to fame is still something hard to believe. But Mr. Jeong, it’s been eight years since you entered the industry and yet, you still don’t know how you got here?”

Eight years?

Fame?

He’s famous? Since when?

“I’m—I’m famous?!” Jaehyun blurts out.

His makeup artist slowly nods her head. “Yes, Mr. Jeong. God, I think you’ve lost it.”

He finds himself looking back at his reflection. He’s surely aged. But he aged like fine wine. He’s getting his makeup done for a photoshoot. He’s been working in the modelling industry for eight years. He’s famous. He must be rich or something, but that’s something that he has to find out later. He’s not even sure how old he is right now.

What is going on?

His thoughts are interrupted when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

jungwoo (10:32 am): i found a good place for dinner tonight! i’ll text you the address. can’t wait to see you! don’t miss me too much.

jungwoo (10:33 am): or you could miss me. i know i’m pretty irresistible.

It takes Jaehyun a couple of hours to get used to the new world he’s living in. He’s not sure how he got here. Heck, he’s not even sure why he’s here in the first place. All he could remember is standing all alone in the parking lot in nothing but his homecoming suit, heartbroken after getting rejected by Mina, and fucking up his friendship with you.

He’s learned a couple of things so far. He’s been working in the modelling industry for eight years. It’s been eight years. He’s currently 28, which means that he entered the industry at the young age of 20. According to his manager, Doyoung, he’s an in-demand model. He was part of the line up for New York Fashion Week, Dior’s Spring Collection, and even Gucci’s Fall Collection. He’s rich. It took him a couple of minutes to process the eight golden figures on his online banking account. He’s successful. This is the life he envisioned to live.

“Mr. Jeong, we’ve arrived at the destination.”

Jaehyun tears his gaze from his phone. His personal driver is looking at him through the rearview mirror. Jaehyun looks out the window to see an unfamiliar restaurant. It’s a famous barbeque restaurant, according to his best friend slash foodie, Jungwoo.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll text you when I’m ready to be picked up.” Jaehyun bows his head.

As he’s stepping out of the car, a scoff threatens to escape his personal driver’s lips. When Jaehyun closes the door, his personal driver huffs out a breath.

“Since when did he learn how to say thank you? He never says thank you.”

Jaehyun’s about to step inside of the restaurant until he hears his name being called out. He looks to his right to see Jungwoo waving him over. Him and Jungwoo go way back. Jaehyun remembers meeting Jungwoo in high school, specifically in eleventh grade chemistry class. If Jaehyun wasn’t with you, he would definitely be with Jungwoo.

“Jungwoo!” Jaehyun exclaims, fist-bumping him.

“Did you miss me?” Jungwoo teases.

“Maybe a little.” He shrugs his shoulders. “No big deal.”

“You came right on time. I reserved a private room for the both of us.” Jungwoo throws an arm over his shoulder before leaning in to whisper in his ear. “We wouldn’t want those crazy fans to be interrupting our dinner, now would we?”

Jaehyun nods his head. He almost forgot how famous he was. But he was immediately reminded of his fame when he looked up to see his face plastered on one of the billboards. Jungwoo nudges him and hands him a face mask and a pair of sunglasses to cover him up.

“Thanks. I almost forgot.”

Jungwoo smirks. “Almost forgot how famous you are?”

The restaurant is filled with teenagers and couples. The sunglasses and face mask is doing him justice for the moment they step into the restaurant, his cover isn’t blown. The waitress brings them to their reserved private room and the moment Jaehyun takes off his disguise, the waitress lets out a soft gasp. Jaehyun glances at the waitress and sends her a wink. Her eyebrows raise and she bows her head.

“Don’t worry, I told them that we’ll be eating here.” Jungwoo reassures him. “But I don’t think the owners told their employees. Nothing to worry, I’ll make sure everything’s under control—”

“Jungwoo,” Jaehyun stops him. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

Jungwoo furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “Are you sure? I don’t want Doyoung coming for my ass after your entire face is all over the front page of tomorrow’s newspaper.”

“Don’t worry.” Jaehyun reassures him. He gestures to the food. “Shall we start eating?”

As they’re digging in, Jungwoo can’t help but look at Jaehyun. Jaehyun is busy shoving food into his mouth, chewing with his mouth closed and his dimples forming with every chew. Jaehyun seems to sense Jungwoo’s stare and looks up to meet his gaze. “What?”

Jungwoo shakes his head and chuckles. “Nothing. It just looks like you haven’t eaten all day.”

“Because I haven’t,” Jaehyun laughs. “I’ve been busy with a photoshoot all day. I wasn’t able to eat lunch. Hey, don’t you think the pork cutlets remind you of Y/N’s? I swear her pork cutlets are so much better—”

“Y/N?” Jungwoo quirks an eyebrow at the mention of your name.

“Yeah, Y/N.” Jaehyun swallows his food and grabs an empty glass. “Hey, we should probably go visit her after dinner and have a couple of drinks.”

Jungwoo’s pouring water into Jaehyun’s glass. He looks at him with a funny expression. Is Jaehyun listening to himself right now? Is he in his right mind?

“I don’t think you would want to do that, Jaehyun.” Jungwoo shakes his head.

Jaehyun frowns. “What do you mean? We always go over to Y/N’s place to have a couple of drinks. It’s either that or the usual Marvel marathons—”

“Jaehyun, did you hit your head this morning?” Jungwoo chuckles. “It’s like you have short term memory loss or something.”

“I’m honestly so confused,” Jaehyun scratches his head. “We always go to Y/N’s place for drinks and movie marathons. Is there something I don’t know—”

“Jaehyun, you stopped talking to Y/N after senior homecoming.”

Jaehyun can’t seem to comprehend the words spewing out of Jungwoo’s mouth. “W-What?”

“You and Y/N had a horrible fight on the night of senior year homecoming and ever since then, the both of you haven’t forgiven each other.” Jungwoo looks at him confusedly. “This is old news, Jaehyun. Are you sure you’re not going through memory loss?”

“Y/N and I…” Jaehyun trails off. “We stopped talking after homecoming?”

Jungwoo nods his head. “The both of you broke off your friendship after that night. Y/N hated you and I wouldn’t be surprised if she still does. You guys ended your friendship pretty badly.”

“Y/N hates me?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“And I hate her?”

“Well, yeah. It’s a shame because the both of you got along so perfectly and all it took was your stupid girlfriend to ruin such a perfect friendship—”

“I have a girlfriend?” Jaehyun’s eyes widen. “Since when?”

Jungwoo snorts. “Don’t tell me that you’ve forgotten about your ten-year relationship with Mina. You and Mina have been dating since senior year homecoming.”

“Mina and I are dating…” Jaehyun trails off. “It just seems too good to be true.”

Jungwoo smiles. “Yeah, you’re pretty whipped for your spoiled brat of a girlfriend. By the way, speaking of Y/N, she’s the reason why I wanted to have dinner with you.”

“Y/N? What about her?” Jaehyun grabs his glass of water to take a sip.

Jungwoo watches him drink some water. “Y/N’s getting married in a month and I figured—”

Jaehyun spits the water out of his mouth. He bursts out into a coughing fit after choking on some of his water. Jungwoo wipes a couple of water droplets that landed on his face and winces. “Y/N’s getting married?!”

“I probably should’ve waited for you to finish drinking your water—”

“In a month?!”

Jungwoo nods his head. “Yes, which is why I figured it would be best for you to attend her wedding to settle your twelve-year fight and reunite as the best friends you used to be.”

Jaehyun coughs one last time. “Tell me that one more time. I don’t believe you.”

“Y/N’s getting married.”

Jaehyun nods. “Okay—”

“And she’s getting married in a month.”

“Well, shit—”

Jungwoo smirks. “And you wouldn’t guess who she’s getting married to.”

“To who?”

“To—”

“Flowers for you.”

A perfectly arranged bouquet of pink and white carnations is gently placed on your desk. You can feel your cheeks heat up. As you set down your pen, you reach for the bouquet of flowers to give it a quick sniff. Your receptionist slash partner in crime, Wendy, smiles and leaves your office to give you some privacy.

You’re reading the note attached to the bouquet. The handwriting is somewhat messy, causing you to let out a giggle. However, the message written on the note makes your heart do cartwheels. You grab your phone to make a quick phone call.

“I’m guessing you got the flowers?”

He can hear you smile through the phone. You hum in reply, sniffing the flowers one last time. “Yes, I did. Look at you, getting more romantic by the day.”

“Well, you are the love of my life.” He teases you and it’s enough for you to melt. “I passed by the flower shop on my way to work this morning and decided to start your day off with a nice bouquet of carnations. Do you like them?”

“I love them.” You gush out. “Thank you for this, love. You really didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.” He reassures you. “Anything to put that beautiful smile on your face.”

“Stop being greasy.” You groan.

He laughs. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop. I have to get going! We have a meeting in a couple of minutes.”

“Alright. I’ll let you go.” You smile. “Work hard, love! I’ll cook up a great hearty dinner for us tonight.”

“Sounds delicious. I’ll see you tonight, love.” He mumbles. “I love you! Twenty-four hours a day! Seven days a week!”

“I love you too.” You giggle. “See you later, future husband.”

As you hang up your phone, you’re heading towards your closet to pull out an empty vase for the flowers. You’re pouring in some water from the washroom sink. You hear the door to your office open. You poke one head out the door.

“Y/N, there’s someone who wants to see you.” Wendy says with an uneasy look on her face. It kind of throws you off.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “I don’t remember having any appointments or meetings scheduled for today.”

“I know,” she purses her lips into a tight line. “But he really needs to speak with you.”

“He?” You say confusedly. “Alright. Just give me a couple of minutes and you can let him in.”

You set the vase down on your table. A wide smile is etched across your lips. It’s such a wide smile that your cheeks are starting to hurt. As you let out a happy sigh, you gather all of your hair to tie it up into a lazy ponytail. Grabbing your glasses, you put them on before getting back to work.

The door swings open. “Excuse me, sir, you can’t just—”

You look up, alarmed by the commotion. Wendy looks at you in panic as she tries to stop a man from entering your office. But she’s not the one you’re looking at. You’re looking at—

“Jaehyun?”

Jaehyun feels the air being knocked out of his lungs. You look back at him with the same surprised expression. He can feel his face soften at the sight of you. A couple of seconds pass by with just the two of you surprised by each other’s presence.

You’ve changed, appearance-wise. He notices how you’ve successfully nailed your sense of style. You’ve grown out your hair. Your face has matured but you still have those chubby cheeks he once adored. He still does. You’re foreign. But at the same time, you’re familiar.

“H-Hey, I—”

You’re pointing out the door. “Get out of my office.”

“What?”

“I said,” you raise an eyebrow, “get out of my office.”

“But I literally just got here—”

You’re pulling out an hourglass sand timer from the drawer of your desk and slamming it down onto the surface. Jaehyun flinches at the loud slam, gulping nervously. “One minute—”

“One minute for what?” He panics.

“You have one minute to explain why you’re here.” You fold your arms. “Time is ticking.”

“Okay, wait, this is overwhelming—”

“Fifty-five, fifty-four, fifty-three—”

“Okay! Fine!” He exclaims. “I want to work with you.”

Your expression hardens. What kind of tricks is he pulling off? Is this some sort of sabotage to your photography business? What is he trying to do? You glance at Wendy, who looks back at you with the same gaze.

“You want to work with me?” You ask.

He nods his head. “Yes. I want to work with you—”

“Why?”

“Because—Because—”

“You don’t seem like you have a reason.” You shrug your shoulders. “Why would I work with you if you can’t come up with a believable and convincing reason—”

“I want to give you more leverage in the photography industry.” Jaehyun explains. “And why not take up an offer from me, a model that’s in demand in the industry?”

You fall silent. Your eyes trail down to the timer. All of the sand has shifted to the other end of the hourglass. Time is up. Jaehyun follows your gaze that’s focused on the timer. You fold your arms.

“I’m rejecting your offer.”

He looks at you incredulously. “What?! Why?!”

“Because if I accepted your offer, it would seem as if I’m in for the money.” You shake your head. “I’m not in it for the money. You may be the richest model in the entire world right now and sure, you can definitely help me out. But I don’t need it.”

“Turn the timer around again.” He commands.

You look up at him. “What?”

“I said, turn the timer around again.”

“And why would I do that?”

He scoffs. “Because I have many more reasons as to why you should take up my offer. There’s something inside of me that tells me there’s a deeper reason as to why you’re rejecting my offer.”

“Deeper reason? Trust me, Jaehyun, it’s not that deep—”

“You’re rejecting my offer because of what we used to be.” Jaehyun walks closer to your desk. When he reaches your desk, he grabs the hourglass and resets the timer. The both of you meet eyes. “Best friends. That’s what we used to be. Is that why you don’t want to work with me? Are you still mad at me? Even after all these years?”

You stare at him with somewhat teary eyes. You shake your head even though your mind knows that he’s telling the truth. You like to think that Jaehyun can’t see your eyes that are slowly welling up with tears. But Jaehyun can see it. He can see it clearly.

“No. Whatever we used to be doesn’t matter right now. In fact, there must be a deeper reason as to why you’re suddenly reaching out to me after ten years.” You bite back. “Why? Why are you doing this all of a sudden?”

“Jungwoo told me that you’re getting married.”

You scoff. “That little motherfucker—”

“And I figured that it would be nice to help you out with your wedding.” He adds. “Ten years is a long time, Y/N. I’m pretty sure that’s enough time for the both of us to mature and grow up and get over whatever broke our friendship.”

You shake your head. “I don’t need your help with my wedding, thank you very much—”

“Just let me help.” He pleads.

“Why? Is it because you feel guilty?” You ask. “Do I look like a charity case to you? Does it look like I don’t have enough to plan my own wedding?”

“No, you don’t look like a charity case to me. I’m sure you have more than enough to plan your own wedding.” He explains. “But yes, I feel guilty. I feel guilty for ruining our precious friendship and the only way I can fix it is if you would accept my extra help, even if you don’t need it.”

The both of you look down at the hourglass. Time’s up. You can see Jaehyun reach out to grab the hourglass but you snatch it away just in time. Your grip on the hourglass tightens.

“I’m sure there’s a catch.” You mutter. “There must be a catch.”

He raises his hands up in defense. “There’s no catch. Just you, working with me. That’s all. Besides, I’ve been looking at your work and it’s amazing. You deserve more attention.”

You stare into his eyes to look for any malice. But your hardened gaze softens when you realize that you’re looking into the same warm eyes you looked at twelve years ago. You look away from him.

“Fine.” You whisper. “But the moment I find it suspicious, I won’t hesitate on kicking you out of my life again.”

His face lights up.

“You won’t regret this, Y/N. I’ll make sure of it.”

Click. Click. Click.

The studio is filled with stylists and makeup artists rushing all over the place for one model. One. You’re extremely overwhelmed by the busy environment even though it’s an environment you’ve been accustomed to since you started working as a photographer. Standing in front of the camera, you spot Jaehyun. He’s getting his clothes fixed by his stylist. You hate to admit it, but Jaehyun looks gorgeous when he’s dressed up in luxury clothing. It’s almost as if luxury clothing was made for him to wear. He’s surely an IT boy, even though he’s a grown man. There’s a reason why he’s adored and glorified in the industry and you can see it just by his charm and presence.

Your heartbeat almost stops when Jaehyun’s eyes meet yours. A smile begins to spread his lips as he starts making his way towards you. You’re nervously fiddling with your fingers as he gets closer to you.

“I see that you made it,” he greets you.

You scoff. “It’s not like I had a choice, did I?”

His smile is wiped off his face. “Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?”

Your eyes scan the studio until they stop on the photographer standing behind the camera— “Is that—oh fuck no, you did not just—is that who I think it is?”

“Yes. That is Johnny Suh, in the flesh.”

It is Johnny Suh in the flesh. He’s scanning through the pictures he’s taken of Jaehyun. You’ve always wanted to meet Johnny. In fact, you’ve followed and adored his work since the beginning of his photography career. When he started to earn more recognition for his work, you couldn’t help but feel happy for him. But now that he’s within a ten metre radius from you, you suddenly don’t know how to act.

“Let me introduce you to him—”

“What?” Your head jerks in Jaehyun’s direction. “Why? Why would—”

“You’ll be working with him.” Jaehyun cuts you off and your mouth falls open. “Don’t tell me you forgot—”

“I don’t remember you telling me that—”

“Y/N, it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

Finally? You turn to see Johnny approaching the both of you. Your hands start to sweat out of nervousness. As Johnny finally stands in front of you, there are a couple of things you’ve noticed. One, he’s incredibly tall. Two, he’s not the slightest bit intimidating. Three, he looks like the sweetest person on Earth. You nervously fiddle with your fingers, a bad habit you can’t seem to break.

“My best buddy Jaehyun here showed me your work,” Johnny begins, “but jokes on him because I’ve been following your Instagram feed for a year now!”

“You’re joking,” you blurt out. “A year now? I would’ve noticed that immediately—”

“Well, I don’t think that matters now because we’ll be working together for Jaehyun’s photoshoot.” Johnny interrupts you in the nicest way possible. You’re in the midst of scrolling through your followers list to find Johnny’s account until Jaehyun places his hand on yours. “Shall we get started, Y/N?”

You and Jaehyun look at each other. A smile begins to spread across Jaehyun’s lips when he sees your eyes light up and sparkle. Are those stars in your eyes—

“First off, it’s such an honour to be working with you.” You gush out and Johnny flushes a deep red. “And yes, we shall get started.”

“Let’s make some memories!”

And you do make memories.

“So, Jaehyun’s been telling me about your wedding coming up in a month.”

You’re in the midst of shoving a spoonful of rice into your mouth when Johnny brings up your wedding. The immediate switch-up in conversation makes you squint your eyes at Jaehyun, who sits right across from you. You place your spoon back down onto your plate, slowly nodding your head. All that is heard is the sizzle of beef on the grill.

“Yes, I’m getting married in a month.” You smile.

Jaehyun can’t help but notice how bright your smile is. He wonders who you’re getting married to. He wants to know who you’ll be spending the rest of your life with. It makes him happy seeing you happy. But surprisingly, there’s a small chunk of him that’s not. And he’s not sure why.

“How does that feel?” Johnny asks. His eyes slightly widen. “That is, if you’re comfortable talking about your engagement and marriage—”

“Oh, it’s no problem!” You exclaim, reassuring him. Your smile never seems to leave your face. You look like a teenage girl getting giddy over her first crush. “I’m getting married to my boyfriend whom I’ve been in a relationship with for almost nine years.”

“Nine—” Johnny almost chokes on his food. “Nine years?!”

You chuckle. “It’s a long time, huh?”

Jaehyun’s eyebrows knit together. Nine years. You and Jaehyun haven’t spoken to each other for ten years. Your friendship ended ten years ago. That means, Jaehyun must’ve known your fiance—

“I’ve always wished to get married to my high school sweetheart,” Johnny sighs happily. “But it’s nice to see you living my dream. You deserve it.”

You nod your head. “It’s something I’m proud of.”

Johnny nudges Jaehyun. “Hey, aren’t you dating your high school sweetheart too? Mina—”

Jaehyun stares at you. You’re too busy grilling the beef to even notice his burning gaze. He expected to meet eyes with you. Mina is the reason why your friendship with him was destroyed. But why are you acting completely unfazed by the mention of Mina, the woman he’s currently in a relationship with and the woman who tore you two apart?

“Yeah,” Jaehyun mumbles, looking away from you. “Her name’s Mina. We both met in high school. We’re still going strong.”

Johnny grins. “Are you planning on proposing?”

Jaehyun purses his lips into a tight line. Thoughts cloud his mind.

He’s always wanted to be with Mina. He’s had the biggest crush on her. It’s a dream come true knowing that Mina is his long-time girlfriend. However, he doesn’t have memories of his ten-year relationship with Mina. He doesn’t remember going out on dates with her. He’s been brought to the future where he has to draw connections and figure ten year’s worth of memories out on his own.

But why is it that his wishes that have come true, have turned out to be completely different to what he expected it to be? Sure, he’s dating Mina, but he hasn’t heard from her yet. Sure, he’s living the luxurious life, but it’s not as exciting as he thought it would be. Why is he so affected by the news of your wedding? He feels betrayed. He feels like he should’ve been a better friend. He feels guilty.

He shrugs off his thoughts.

“Soon.”

The night is still young and Johnny is the first one to bid farewell. As you’re both waving Johnny goodbye in front of the Korean restaurant, Jaehyun spots an ice cream parlour across the street. As soon as Johnny’s car is no longer in sight, you’re digging in your purse for your car keys—

“Want to grab ice cream?” Your movements halt to a stop.

You look up at Jaehyun. “Don’t you think it’s getting a bit late—”

“It’s never too late for ice cream.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Besides, you love ice cream.”

You bite your lip. “I used to love ice cream. I don’t like ice cream anymore. The last time I had ice cream was eight years ago? Seven years ago?”

Jaehyun frowns. “Let me at least treat you to ice cream. You never know, it might revive the love you once had for ice cream.”

“But—” You begin to protest until Jaehyun pouts. You let out a sigh. “Fine.”

The both of you cross the street to get to the ice cream parlour. You’re surprised that the ice cream parlour is still open so late at night. In front of you, there’s a menu filled with several flavours to choose from. Your eyes scan the menu until they stop at a familiar flavour.

“They have pistachio!” You and Jaehyun both say in unison.

You clear your throat. “I should probably try something new.”

Surprisingly, Jaehyun’s heart is beating so fast. He’s not sure why.

The both of you sit out on the small patio with your ice cream cones. To your dismay, you both got the same flavour, pistachio. Jaehyun watches you as you taste your ice cream. Your eyebrows raise.

“God, who would’ve thought I’d miss this?” You think aloud.

Jaehyun smiles. “Do you regret grabbing ice cream with me now?”

You shake your head in reply. “You know, pistachio wasn’t really my favourite flavour.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Really? Then what was your favourite flavour?”

“Cookies and cream.” You mumble. “The only reason why pistachio became my favourite flavour was because you introduced it to me. Our classmates always made fun of you for it, calling you an old man for having horrible taste in ice cream, and it made you extremely upset. I forced myself to like the flavour just to make you feel better, so that you would be comfortable having pistachio ice cream with me.”

“Really?” He says softly.

You slowly nod your head. “Really.”

It grows silent. You’re both busy finishing your ice cream cones. Jaehyun can’t help but admire what you’ve done for him back in the day. On the other hand, you feel like you just made things more awkward than it already was.

Jaehyun looks up at the night sky. “Why do you think what happened to us, happened?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I’m not sure, Jaehyun.”

“Do you think things would have turned out differently if we were a bit more—”

You chuckle. “A bit more mature and not some two emotional teenagers going through puberty?”

He laughs. “Yeah.”

“Maybe,” you say after much thought. “Maybe we would’ve been friends still.”

“Are we not friends anymore?” He questions, with eyes filled with hope.

Jaehyun feels his heart crack when you shake your head. You’re giving him a sad smile, something he dreads seeing on your face. He wishes he could erase that image from his mind.

“We both changed in different ways that we don’t know each other like we used to.” You explain, avoiding eye contact. “I’m not the same Y/N you were best friends with ten years ago, Jaehyun. I’m sure it’s the same for you too.”

Ouch.

“But do you think we still have another chance at being best friends again? Maybe not as best friends, but as friends?”

Your smile brightens when your eyes cheer up. “We might, that is, if you’re willing to give it a shot.”

He mirrors your smile. “I can definitely give it another shot, but only if you are going to do it too.”

“I don’t see why not.”

Turns out Mina is just as famous as he is.

Him and Mina are often called the power couple. With the both of them being successful models living lavish lives, their relationship has become the goal of every other couple. They wish to be like them.

“Where were you, babe?”

Sitting in front of the large LED TV, Mina flips through the channels with the remote control. She’s not sparing a single glance at him. He’s kicking off his shoes and making his way to the couch to join her. As he’s sitting next to her on the couch, he leans in to peck her cheek. She flashes him a small smile.

“I had a photoshoot with Johnny and Y/N today.” He answers.

Mina finally settles on a Spiderman movie. She tosses the remote control to the side and glances at him.

“Y/N?” She questions. “Since when did you reconnect with Y/N?”

Jaehyun scratches the back of his neck. Right. Transparency. It’s what you need in a relationship. But why didn’t he even think about telling his girlfriend? It was like it slipped out of his mind.

“I got in touch with her because Jungwoo told me that she’s getting married in a couple of weeks.” He explains, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I decided it would be best to clear the bad blood between us, so I asked if she wanted to work with me.”

Mina bites her lip. “She’s getting married?”

He nods his head. “In three weeks. We’re invited, by the way.”

Mina looks into his eyes and holds his hand that’s caressing her cheek. She leans closer to the warmth of his hand and sighs. “When do you think we’ll get married?”

His smile falters. She seems to take notice and a look of disappointment appears on her face. She lets go of his hand and shifts her gaze to the TV screen.

“Do you want to get married?” He asks.

She scoffs. “I mean, we’ve been dating for ten years.”

“Do you see yourself spending the rest of your life with me?” He whispers.

She lets out a tiring sigh. She grabs the remote control and turns off the TV. Her night is officially ruined and Jaehyun’s the exact reason why. “Here we go again with the same conversation. I’m tired of going in circles, Jaehyun.”

“Circles?”

She looks at him with broken eyes. “All of my friends are getting married. Whenever they ask me about when we’ll be tying the knot, I can’t even give them an answer because—because I don’t know! My parents are wondering when we’ll be getting married and I can’t even tell them when we’ll be getting married.”

“Mina—”

“Do you not see yourself spending the rest of your life with me?” She asks and it comes out barely above a whisper. “Jaehyun, it’s been ten years. I think ten years is more than enough to start settling down together.”

“I—”

She laughs and points at him. “Don’t even try to use your career as an excuse. That excuse is overused. Try thinking of another one, maybe I’ll believe it this time.”

“Mina, babe, I’d love to marry you, but—”

“But?” She chuckles bitterly. “But what? What’s holding you back? There’s nothing holding me back, Jaehyun. I can see that there’s something stopping you. Hell, it’s not even something. It might be someone.”

Jaehyun’s mouth clamps shut. He’s not sure what to say to her. His silence makes her wince and let out a low laugh of disbelief. She huffs out a breath and grabs her phone.

“I’ll be spending the night at Suhyun’s. If you need me, just give me a call or something.”

His girlfriend leaves him in the comfort of his silence. But his silence is far from comforting. It’s a haunting silence. There’s something stopping Jaehyun from proposing to Mina. There’s something stopping him from settling down with his girlfriend of ten years.

But the thought of that something being someone is a thought that terrifies him.

It’s much more terrifying when that someone could be you.

When Jaehyun gives you your first paycheck for your first photoshoot with him, you decide to invest it in the wedding bouquets. Coincidentally, your day off matched with Jaehyun’s day off, thus, resulting in him accompanying you to the flower shop. Unfortunately, your fiance has a huge project meeting and isn’t able to join you.

As you step into the flower shop, you’re greeted by a quirky florist. She’s wearing a vibrant pink apron that matches her more muted yellow headband. You’re scanning the flower shop, your eyes settling for the carnations and peonies, even the baby’s breath and roses.

“What can I do to help the lovely couple?” The florist asks as she approaches you.

You and Jaehyun glance at each other. You’re taken aback. You shake your head. “Sorry, we’re not—we’re not dating. He’s just a friend of mine.”

The florist gasps. “Oh! I’m so sorry!”

You wave it off. “No worries. I was just wondering whether you could help me out with last-minute wedding bouquets for my wedding?”

“When’s your wedding?”

“In three weeks.” You reply. “September twenty-seventh.”

“We can definitely look around and see what you like.” The florist insists. “We can then make a decision once you’ve picked your favourites.”

You smile. “Sounds great.”

Jaehyun can’t help but think about how beautiful your smile is. You must love your fiance so much that it makes you extremely happy. Somehow, he wishes he could make you smile like that. It makes his heart ache in ways he didn’t even know it would.

“I’ve always wanted to have peony bouquets.” You mention it to the florist.

She nods her head vigorously. “We could definitely work with peonies! In case we need fillers, I was wondering if you would be open to have baby’s breath to fill in the gaps of the bouquet.”

“I think that would look lovely.” You chuckle.

“What colour would you want the peonies to be?”

You scan the variety of colours. “Well, my bridesmaids will be wearing dusty blue dresses.”

The florist hums. “I think white peonies would be the right choice. It’ll compliment the dusty blue, along with your wedding dress.”

You nod in agreement. “I think so too.”

“I’ll start picking out some flowers to arrange them into bouquets for you to choose from.” The florist insists. “I hope you don’t mind.”

You smile. “I don’t mind at all. Work your magic!”

The florist comes up with three different bouquets to choose from. You and Jaehyun are analyzing them carefully. You can’t help but look at the bouquet on the far left. It’s a bouquet filled with white peonies along with some hints of baby’s breath. The bouquet is wrapped with a dusty blue ribbon, complimenting the dusty blue colour scheme you have for your bridesmaids.

“I really like this one,” you point to it.

“I think so too.” The florist giggles. “I can’t help but imagine how lucky your fiance is, ma’am. You’re glowing! You look so in love.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. “Do I really?”

She nods. “You do! I’m sure your friend here can see it too.”

Jaehyun’s eyebrows raise as the attention is suddenly shifted towards him. You look up at him as if you’re waiting for him to agree. He’s looking back at you, particularly into your eyes that are sparkling with stars and galaxies.

“Yeah,” Jaehyun mumbles. “I can see it.”

Your smile widens at Jaehyun’s approval. You reach out for the bouquet that you’ve chosen to look closely at the details. Jaehyun still has his eyes on you.

The florist notices Jaehyun’s intense gaze pointed at you and it creates an unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach. It’s almost as if she’s looking at a best friend who’s so deeply in love with the other, but is caught at a crossroads; to either tell you that he’s in love with you or to let you get married to someone else.

Two weeks left until your wedding.

You find yourself back at the bridal shop to do last-minute tailoring on your wedding dress. While your mother couldn’t accompany you to the final fitting, she was persistent on not allowing your fiance to see you in your dress. She believed in such superstitions. It was quite funny.

You think Jaehyun truly wants to get back to being best friends with you again. He’s been doing nothing but help. He helped you when you didn’t ask for it. And here he is, joining you with the final fitting.

You’re standing in front of the mirror, looking at your reflection. The tailor is busy zipping up your dress at the back. The dress fits like a glove, but of course, there are some last-minute changes such as making sure the sequins are placed securely on the bodice of the dress. Once you feel the dress is zipped up, the tailor walks around you in a circle to analyze the dress.

“I think we can adjust the front a bit more.” The tailor suggests and you nod in agreement.

Your wedding dress is an off-shoulder dress. It has see-through sleeves, decorating your arms with subtle flowers and lace. The dress is long enough that it hits the floor. It feels lightweight and effortless.

“Alright. I think we’re good with the dress. Are there any other changes you want to make?” The tailor asks as she pops in the last pin.

You shake your head. “I think it’s perfect.”

The tailor smiles. “Shall we show you in your dress to your friend? Maybe he can give in a second opinion. Second opinions are great.”

You nod. “I don’t see why not.”

Jaehyun’s looking at all the dresses in the shop. He’s trying to imagine Mina in each wedding dress that he likes. His argument with Mina never seems to leave his head. Can he imagine seeing Mina walking down the aisle? Does he see himself starting a family with Mina? The doubt alone is enough to make him feel unsettled. A ten year relationship is a relationship headed towards marriage. But why does he feel hesitant? Why does he feel like he’s being held back?

“Mr. Jeong,” the tailor snaps him out of his thoughts. He looks up. “Y/N wants your opinion on the dress. Do you mind checking with her?”

He nods his head. “Sure.”

The tailor opens the curtains of the fitting room and Jaehyun feels the air being knocked out of his lungs. You haven’t looked at him yet because you’re trying to turn around to face him without tripping over your dress. When you’re finally facing him, you look up at him and his mouth slowly parts open in shock.

You look beautiful.

You look—

“What do you think, Jaehyun?” You ask.

He’s blinking once, twice, until he blurts out. “I think you look perfect.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. “Really?”

“Really.” He laughs breathlessly. “You look beautiful, Y/N.”

You giggle. “Thanks. I guess we don’t need to make any more changes to the dress.”

Jaehyun feels dizzy. You look so beautiful that it hurts. Surprisingly, his troubled thoughts over his relationship with Mina fade away in an instant. You had an effect on him. You surely do.

“Thank you for the ride, Jaehyun.”

Your house is nothing compared to his. It’s not even a house. It’s an apartment. Jaehyun looks out the window and points at the building. “This is where you live?”

You nod. “My fiance and I share an apartment together. But we’re in the process of moving out. After our wedding, we’ll be moving into a small, cozy house.”

“That’s crazy.” He says. “I can’t believe we’re getting old.”

You laugh. “It is crazy. Anyways, I should head inside before my fiance scolds me for letting the food get cold.”

“You probably should do that,” Jaehyun mumbles. “We wouldn’t want an angry fiance, now would we?”

The both of you share a laugh together. You’re both saying goodbyes and as you’re hopping out of the car, Jaehyun sees a figure standing at the lobby of the apartment building. Jaehyun rolls down the window of his car when you gently tap on it.

“Before you leave, I wanted to ask if you wanted to join us for dinner.” You ask. “I could even introduce you to my fiance, even though you already know him. I guess it’ll sort of be like a mini reunion.”

Jaehyun knows him? He knows your fiance? How? Why? Jaehyun could see the figure walk closer to the both of you.

He shakes his head. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to bother—”

You frown. “Are you sure—”

“Is that Jeong Jaehyun?”

You look over your shoulder to see your fiance. Jaehyun swears he feels his heart sink. It’s a familiar voice. It’s a familiar face. His smile vanishes from his face. Everything is slowly turning into a nightmare and he wishes he could wake up.

“Cha Eunwoo?”

The dinner table is covered with a variety of side dishes, the main course, and a nice bottle of red wine. The three of you gather around the table, with you and Eunwoo sitting next to each other and Jaehyun sitting right across from you. Jaehyun can’t help but look at Eunwoo.

Eunwoo surely matured. He’s gained more muscle in his arms. He’s still the same good-looking man.

“I knew I was seeing things right.” Eunwoo chuckles. “Jeong Jaehyun, long time no see.”

You giggle. “Shall we toast to that?”

It’s almost like Jaehyun forgot how to laugh. He fakes a laugh and Eunwoo’s standing up to pop the wine bottle open. He’s pouring each of you a glass of wine. “Let’s toast to this mini reunion!”

“Cheers to that.” You grin as the three of you clink glasses.

Jaehyun’s still in a state of disbelief. The man you’re getting married to is the man his girlfriend used to be in a relationship with. If Eunwoo was the man that Jaehyun dreaded and hated with his whole chest, how much more hatred could he have for him after finding out that he’s the man you’ll be marrying?

But that’s not what Jaehyun’s bothered by.

Jaehyun’s bothered by the fact that he feels much more affected and heartbroken knowing that Eunwoo’s getting married to you, and not the fact that Eunwoo and Mina somehow didn’t end up together.

Eunwoo and Mina dating in high school and being the reason why she rejected him was heartbreaking but tolerable.

But Eunwoo being your fiance? But Eunwoo getting married to you? It’s so much more compared to Eunwoo and Mina.

Why is it bothering him so much? Why does your engagement ring bother him much more after knowing that Eunwoo has the same exact one?

“You didn’t tell me that Y/N was getting married to Eunwoo. Cha Eunwoo.”

Jungwoo snorts. The both of them are grilling beef in the same private room in the same restaurant where Jaehyun found out about your wedding. But this time around, Jaehyun knows much more. He knows that him and Mina are going through a rough patch in their relationship because of marriage. He knows that you’re getting married to Eunwoo, the man he used to hate because he dated Mina back in high school.

He also knows that you’re getting married in a couple of days.

“I told you, Jaehyun.” Jungwoo reminds him. “You were just too shit-faced drunk when I told you. That’s probably why you forgot.”

“You told me?” Jaehyun runs his fingers through his hair.

“And what about it?” Jungwoo pours himself a shot glass of soju before downing it in one go. “Well, from the looks of it, I’m sure you’re pissed—”

“I am. Is it obvious?”

“To me.” Jungwoo shrugs his shoulders. “But probably not to Y/N or Eunwoo.”

“I don’t know why I feel this way,” Jaehyun sighs. “I shouldn’t be feeling this way. I should be happy that Y/N’s getting married to him. She deserves him. I just—and Mina and I are having a rough time right now. She hasn’t come back to the house in a week. She’s been staying at Suhyun’s and—”

“You know,” Jungwoo begins. “Mina always told me that something’s holding you back from settling down with her. I used to think she was joking because I knew that eventually, you would settle down with her. But from what’s happening now, I’m not sure what to believe anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it really does look like something’s holding you back.” Jungwoo mumbles. “Or should I say, someone.”

“Stop making jokes.” Jaehyun downs a shot of soju. “Nothing’s holding me back—”

“Ever since you reunited with Y/N, she’s all you’ve been talking about. You’ve been spending most of your time with her recently, instead of your girlfriend. Your girlfriend is slowly starting to think someone is stopping you from marrying her.” Jungwoo explains all of the valid reasons. “The cherry on top is finding out that Cha Eunwoo is the one Y/N will be marrying.”

“If you’re trying to tell me that I’m in love with Y/N, I’m not—”

“I didn’t say anything about you being in love with Y/N,” Jungwoo cuts him off. “But since you think I’m trying to tell you that, it tells me that you’re conflicted. You’re conflicted with your feelings.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.” Jungwoo folds his arms. “It’s all crystal clear to me now. The reason why you can’t get married to Mina is because there’s someone holding you back. You’re not even aware of it yourself.”

“And you think that someone is—”

“Y/N?” Jungwoo finishes it off for him. “Yes. One hundred percent. Y/N is that person. You can’t accept the fact that she’s getting married to the man who once stole Mina from you. You can’t accept the fact that not only did the same man date your girlfriend, but is also getting married to your best friend.”

“God, you didn’t have to be so upfront about it.”

“Did I really have a choice?” Jungwoo smirks.

“No, not really—”

Jungwoo sighs. “Well, have you realized it yet?”

“Realized what?”

“That you’re in love with Y/N.” Jungwoo answers.

“I’m not in love with Y/N—”

“You are.” Jungwoo presses. “If you weren’t in love with Y/N, you wouldn’t be having dinner with me tonight. You wouldn’t be following Y/N around like a lost puppy. And you would most definitely be getting married to Mina.”

Jaehyun places his face into his hands.

“God, I am in love with Y/N.”

“So, what are you going to do about it now?” Jungwoo chuckles lightheartedly. He cracks a joke. “Are you going to crash her wedding?”

“You are not crashing her wedding.”

“I am.”

“You’re not, and I’ll make sure of it!”

Jaehyun and Jungwoo continue with their endless back-and-forth bicker as they head to the wedding venue. Your wedding is going to start in two hours but Jaehyun was insistent on getting to the venue earlier in hopes of stopping your wedding just in time. Jungwoo, however, has different plans. Jungwoo wants this wedding to happen because you deserve happiness, not a huge mess of a man named Jeong Jaehyun who—

“We’re here. Unbuckle your seatbelts, the show’s about to start.”

Jungwoo’s terrified.

“Let’s get it, boys.”

“I think I’d rather hide behind a huge flower pot instead, thank you very much.” Jungwoo mumbles as Jaehyun locks his car with his keys.

Jaehyun’s sure of one thing, he’s in love with you. You’re the reason why he’s feeling this way. You’re the reason why he can’t settle down with his girlfriend. You’re the reason why he’s been smiling a lot more lately. You’re the reason why he can’t seem to imagine seeing anyone else walking down the aisle but you.

And man, is he selfish.

“Where’s the bride?” He asks one of the wedding planners.

The wedding planner raises an eyebrow. “And you are?”

“Jeong Jaehyun,” he says softly. “I’m a best friend of Y/N. I want to give her my blessings and wishes, personally.”

“She’s in that room.”

Jaehyun follows the direction of her finger. The door to the room is shut. He sucks in a breath and exhales deeply. Here goes nothing. He knocks on the door and it takes a couple of seconds for the door to open. A woman, who you assume to be one of your friends, opens the door and pokes her head out.

“Hi, can I help you?” She questions.

“Can I have a word with Y/N?” Jaehyun asks.

“Is that Jaehyun?” He hears you ask from inside of the room. “If it is, let him in!”

The woman steps aside for Jaehyun to enter the room. He sees you sitting on one of the chairs in your wedding dress. He finds himself looking at you in awe. It’s like he’s seeing you in your dress for the first time. Your hair is styled up into a low-bun with some strands of your hair framing your face. You’ve ditched the glasses and replaced them with contact lenses. He always thought your eyes looked beautiful, and they truly are.

“Hey, you.” You smile.

He feels himself grow shy. “Hey. Uh, can I talk to you?”

You look at him questioningly. “Sure.”

“Alone?”

You feel uneasy. You glance at your friend, Joy. She nods her head and silently excuses herself out of the room, closing the door behind her. Once you’re both left alone in the room, you clear your throat. “What is it that you wanted to talk about?”

“I—I just thought that it was best to get this off my chest—”

“Get what off your chest?” You ask. “Jaehyun, you’re making me nervous—”

“I’m in love with you.”

Jaehyun feels a huge weight being lifted off of his shoulders.

You gulp nervously. “What—What did you just say?”

“I know this is all so sudden and we literally just got back to being friends but this has been bothering me for the longest time. I couldn’t think straight and then I found out that you’re getting married to Eunwoo—”

“And so, you’re just going to turn up to my wedding and tell me that you’re in love with me?” You scoff. “Why are you telling me this now? Of all days, why my wedding day?”

“I know it might seem like I’m selfish, but—”

“Because you are.” You cut him off. “Jaehyun, remember how I told you that we’ve both changed in ways that we don’t know each other like we used to.”

“But I’m still the same, Y/N. I’m still the same Jaehyun you knew.”

You let out a sigh. “I’ve always been in love with you, Jaehyun. You were someone special to me. But we can’t turn back time. We’ve changed. I’ve changed. I’ve moved on and so did you. I fell in love with Eunwoo and you fell in love with Mina—”

“You were in love with me?” He whispers.

His eyes are gradually filling up with tears. You purse your lips into a tight line. You can’t find the courage to look at him in the eye because you know it’ll make you feel some sort of way. It will bring back feelings you’ve forced yourself to stop feeling.

You nod. “I was.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, wiping away the tears that managed to slip down his cheeks. “Well fuck, now I can’t really stop you from getting married, huh?”

“You were just a little too late, Jaehyun.” You frown. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize.” He shakes his head. “You don’t need to apologize. You deserve to be happy. I think it was just the spur of the moment that’s making me this way.”

“I’m sorry, Jaehyun. I really am.”

“I just want you to be happy, alright? For me.” He smiles through the pain.

“Jaehyun…” You trail off.

“Don’t worry about me.” He reassures you, even though he looks like he’s not having the best time in his life. He glances down at his watch. “You should probably get ready. Your wedding’s about to start. I should probably get going.”

As Jaehyun’s about to leave you, you softly call out his name. He stops at the door with his hand wrapped around the doorknob. As he’s looking over his shoulder, his heart shatters.

“I just wanted to thank you for being there for me for the past month,” you beam. “I’m grateful that you reached out to me. You’re a true best friend.”

He smiles. “Thank you for giving our friendship a second chance.”

Jungwoo sees Jaehyun stepping out of the room. With the defeated look on Jaehyun’s face, Jungwoo knows things didn’t turn out the way he wanted it to be. “So, it didn’t work out?”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t think it did.” Jungwoo frowns. “Man, you took the biggest L. I even brought a party popper to celebrate if things did work out.”

Jaehyun stops in his tracks and Jungwoo almost bumps into him. He turns around and raises an eyebrow at his friend. “Really? A party popper?”

“I honestly thought things would turn out well. I thought you would get the biggest W. I was prepared. But it’s sort of sad that it didn’t.” Jungwoo sighs sadly. “What am I going to do with this party popper now? Pop it?”

Jungwoo’s pulling out the party popper from the inner pocket of his suit. Jaehyun can’t help but snort at his friend’s dorkiness. Jungwoo looks at him questioningly but Jaehyun shakes his head.

“How do I work this thing—”

“Maybe this is a sign that I should marry Mina—”

Pop! The both of the flinch at the sound. The confetti falls down in the air, with some of it landing on Jaehyun’s hair. He stares at one of the confetti that is slow to fall down, it’s almost like it’s floating in the air.

“This feels familiar.” He says softly.

“What feels familiar?”

Jaehyun ignores Jungwoo and closes his eyes.

He wishes things would go back to how they used to be. He wishes to be back in the parking lot of his senior year homecoming venue. He wishes to turn back time. He wishes to return to the night of senior year homecoming, where he was counting down the minutes left until his birthday.

Maybe things would turn out right this time.

“Jaehyun! Are you even listening to me?”

Jaehyun’s eyes flutter open at the sound of your voice. When his eyes open, the first thing he sees is you. You’re sitting right across from him. He huffs out a breath when he notices that you’re wearing glasses and your face has changed. You look much younger, almost like how you looked when you were in high school. Wait—

“Jaehyun.” You repeat yourself.

He blinks. “What?”

“Were you even listening to me?” You ask him again.

“S-Sorry, what were you saying?” He stutters.

You chuckle, shaking your head at how adorable your best friend is. Jaehyun looks down to see that you’re both sitting on a checkered picnic blanket. You’re both sitting underneath a tree, having a small picnic together. He furrows his eyebrows in confusion.

“Wait, before you repeat yourself.” Jaehyun begins. “What’s the date today?”

You give him a funny look. “Are you joking? It’s your birthday.”

“It is?”

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “Are you alright? Are you still hungover from all those after-homecoming party drinks we had?”

“Homecoming was last night?” He scratches the back of his head.

“Yes. Homecoming was last night and you were about to confess your feelings to Mina but you found out that Eunwoo’s her boyfriend. You got shit-faced drunk because you were heartbroken and—oh, that’s probably why you’re still hungover… you had a lot of drinks last night.” You explain.

He sighs with relief. “Oh, thank God. Thank God, Mina rejected me.”

“Are you listening to yourself right now? Do you have a fever? What’s wrong—”

Jaehyun grabs your cheeks and pulls you in for a kiss. You stiffen out of surprise and shock until you find yourself melting into the kiss when he pulls you closer. There are butterflies in the pit of your stomach. Jaehyun’s heart is thumping out of his chest and he’s more than sure that you can hear it.

When you both pull away, he shyly looks away from you.

“Did you just kiss me?”

“Maybe.”

“Why?” You whisper. “Is there something wrong with you? Are you sure you’re not sick or something?”

“Maybe I kissed you because I’m in love with you.”

He’s… in love with you? It was just last night that Jaehyun got his heart broken after finding out that Mina’s dating Eunwoo. It was just last night where you got your heart broken when Jaehyun told you about his plans on confessing to Mina. Since when did Jaehyun fall in love with—

“Me?” You blurt out. “You’re in love with me?”

“I feel shy—”

“Shut up, say it again.” You grab a couple of grapes from your lunch container to chuck at him. He covers his face too late. “You’re in love with me?”

“Yes. I am.”

You don’t need to tell Jaehyun that you’re in love with him. He knows. He knows by the way your smile slowly appears across your lips. He knows by the way you look at him.

You’ve always been in love with him.

That’s all that matters.

“Good, because I’m in love with you too.” You bite back a smile. “I’ve always been.”

“I know.”

“It’s not the time to be cocky, Jaehyun.”

author’s note. and now i will take my three-week break to study for midterms LMAO but don’t worry! i will still be active just to reply to messages and asks so i won’t be gone for long. i hope you liked this short fic! and thank you so much for reading!

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xoruffitup · 3 years

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Annette: The AD Devotee Review

So I saw Annette on its premiere night in Cannes and I’m still trying to process and make sense of those 2.5 hours of utter insanity. I have no idea where to begin and this is likely going to become an unholy length by the time I’m finished, so I apologize in advance. But BOY I’ve got a lot to parse through!!

Let’s start here: Adam’s made plenty of weird movies. The Dead Don’t Die? The Man Who Killed Don Quixote? There are definitely Terry Gilliam-esque elements of the unapologetically absurd and fantastical in Annette, but NOTHING comes close to this film. To put it bluntly, nothing I write in this post can prepare you for the eccentric phantasmagoria you’re about to sit through.

While the melodies conveying the story – at times lovely and haunting, at times whimsical, occasionally blunt and simple �� add a unique sense of the surreal, the fact that it’s all presented in song somehow supplies the medium for this bizarre concoction of disparate elements and outlandish storytelling to all coalesce into a single genre-defying, disbelief-suspending whole. That’s certainly not to say there weren’t a few times when I quietly chortled to myself and mouthed “what the fuck” from behind my mask when things took an exceeding turn to the outrageous. This movie needs to be permitted a bit of leeway in terms of quality judgments, and traditional indicators certainly won’t apply. I would say part of its appeal (and ultimately its success) stems from its lack of interest in appealing to traditional arbiters of film structure and viewing experience. The movie lingers in studies of discomfiture (I’ll return to this theme); it presents all its absurdities with brazen pride rather than temperance; and its end is abrupt and utterly jarring. Yet somehow, at the end of it, I realized I’d been white-knuckling that rollercoaster ride the whole way through and loved every last twist and turn.

A note on the structure of this post before I dive in: I’ve written out a synopsis of the whole film (for those spoiler-hungry people) and stashed it down at the bottom of this post, so no one trying to avoid spoilers has to scroll through. If you want to read, go ahead and skip down to that before reading the discussion/analysis. If I have to reference a specific plot point, I’ll label it “Spoiler #___” and those who don’t mind being spoiled can check the correlating numbers in my synopsis to see which part I’m referencing. Otherwise, my discussion will be spoiler-free! I do detail certain individual scenes, but hid anything that would give away key developments and/or the ending.

To start, I’ll cut to what I’m sure many of you are here for: THE MUSICAL SEX SCENES. You want detailed descriptions? Well let’s fucking go because these scenes have been living in my head rent-free!!

The first (yes, there are two. Idk whether to thank Mr. Carax or suggest he get his sanity checked??) happens towards the end of “We Love Each Other So Much.” Henry carries Ann to the bed with her feet dangling several inches off the floor while she has her arms wrapped around his shoulders. (I maybe whimpered a tiny bit.) As they continue to sing, you first see Ann spread on her back on the bed, panting a little BUT STILL SINGING while Henry’s head is down between her thighs. The camera angle is from above Ann’s head, so you can clearly see down her body and exactly what’s going on. He lifts his head to croon a line, then puts his mouth right back to work.

And THEN they fuck – still fucking singing! They’re on their sides with Henry behind her, and yes there is visible thrusting. Yes, the thrusting definitely picks up speed and force as the song reaches its crescendo. Yes, it was indeed EXTREMELY sensual once you got over the initial shock of what you’re watching. Ann kept her breasts covered with her own hands while Henry went down on her, but now his hands are covering them and kneading while they’re fucking and just….. It’s a hard, blazing hot R rating. I also remember his giant hand coming up to turn her head so he can kiss her and ladkjfaskfjlskfj. Bring your smelling salts. I don’t recommend sitting between two older ladies while you’re watching – KINDA RUINED THE BLATANT, SMOKING HOT ADAM PORN FOR ME. Good god, choose your viewing buddy wisely!

The second scene comes sort of out of nowhere – I can’t actually recall which song it was during, but it pops up while Ann is pregnant. Henry is again eating her out and there’s not as much overt singing this time, but he has his giant hands splayed over her pregnant belly while he’s going to town and whew, WHEW TURN ON THE AIR CONDITIONING PLEASE. DID THE THEATER INCREASE IN TEMPERATURE BY 10 DEGREES, YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT IT DID.

Whew. I think you’ll be better primed to ~enjoy~ those scenes when you know they’re coming, otherwise it’s just so shocking that by the time you’ve processed “Look at Adam eating pussy with reckless abandon” it’s halfway over already. God speed, my fellow rats, it’s truly something to witness!!

Okay. Right. Ahem. Moving right on along….

I’ll kick off this discussion with the formal structure of the film. It’s honestly impossible to classify. I have the questionable fortune of having been taken to many a strange avant-garde operas and art exhibitions by my parents when I was younger, and the strongest parallel I found to this movie was melodramatic opera stagings full of flamboyant flourishes, austere set pieces, and prolonged numbers where the characters wallow at length in their respective miseries. This movie has all the elevated drama, spectacle, and self-aggrandizement belonging to any self-professed rock opera. Think psychedelic rock opera films a la The Who’s Tommy, Hair, Phantom of the Paradise, and hell, even Rocky Horror. Yes, this film really is THAT weird.

But Annette is also in large part a vibrant, absurdist performance piece. The film is intriguingly book-ended by two scenes where the lines blur between actor and character; and your own role blurs between passive viewer and interactive audience. The first scene has the cast walking through the streets of LA (I think?), singing “So May We Start?” directly to the camera in a self-aware prologue, smashing the fourth wall from the beginning and setting up the audience to play a direct role in the viewing experience. Though the cast then disburse and take up their respective roles, the sense of being directly performed to is reinforced throughout the film. This continues most concretely through Henry’s multiple stand-up comedy performances.

Though he performs to an audience in the film rather than directly to live viewers, these scenes are so lengthy, vulgar, and excessive that his solo performance act becomes an integral part of defining his character and conveying his arc as the film progresses. These scenes start to make the film itself feel like a one-man show. The whole shtick of Henry McHenry’s “Ape of God” show is its perverse irreverence and swaggering machismo. Over the span of what must be a five minute plus scene, Henry hacks up phlegm, pretends to choke himself with his microphone cord, prances across the stage with his bathrobe flapping about, simulates being shot, sprinkles many a misanthropic, charmless monologues in between, and ends by throwing off his robe and mooning the audience before he leaves the stage. (Yes, you see Adam’s ass within the film’s first twenty minutes, and we’re just warming up from there.) His one-man performances demonstrate his egocentrism, penchant for lowbrow and often offensive humor, and the fact that this character has thus far profited from indulging in and acting out his base vulgarities.

While never demonstrating any abundance of good taste, his shows teeter firmly towards the grotesque and unsanctionable as his marriage and mental health deteriorate. This is what I’m referring to when I described the film as a study in discomfiture. As he deteriorates, the later iterations of his stand-up show become utterly unsettling and at times revolting. The film could show mercy and stop at one to two minutes of his more deranged antics, but instead subjects you to a protracted display of just how insane this man might possibly be. In Adam’s hands, these excessive, indulgent performance scenes take on disturbing but intriguing ambiguity, as you again wonder where the performance ends and the real man begins. When Henry confesses to a crime during his show and launces into an elaborate, passionate reenactment on stage, you shift uncomfortably in your seat wondering how much of it might just be true. Wondering just how much of an animal this man truly is.

Watching this film as an Adam fan, these scenes are unparalleled displays of his range and prowess. He’s in turns amusing and revolting; intolerable and pathetic; but always, always riveting. I couldn’t help thinking to myself that for the casual, non Adam-obsessed viewer, the effect of these scenes might stop at crass and unappealing. But in terms of the sheer range and power of acting on display? These scenes are a damn marvel. Through these scenes alone, his performance largely imbues the film with its wild, primal, and vaguely menacing atmosphere.

His stand-up scenes were, to me, some of the most intense of the film – sometimes downright difficult to endure. But they’re only a microcosm of the R A N G E he exhibits throughout the film’s entirety. Let’s talk about how he’s animalistic, menacing, and genuinely unsettling to watch (Leos Carax described him as “feline” at some point, and I 100% see it); and then with a mere subtle twitch of his expression, sheen of his eyes, or slump of his shoulders, he’s suddenly a lost, broken thing.

Henry McHenry is truly to be reviled. Twitter might as well spare their breath and announce he’s already cancelled. He towers above the rest of the cast with intimidating, predatory physicality; he is prone to indulgence in his vices; and he constantly seems at risk of releasing some wild, uncontrollable madness lingering just beneath his surface. But as we all well know, Adam has an unerring talent for lending pathos to even the most objectively condemnable characters.

In a repeated refrain during his first comedy show, the audience keeps asking him, “Why did you become a comedian?” He dodges the question or gives sarcastic answers, until finally circling back to the true answer later in the film. It was something to the effect of: “To disarm people. It’s the only way I can tell the truth without it killing me.” Even for all their sick spectacle, there are also moments in his stand-up shows of disarming vulnerability and (seeming) honesty. In a similar moment of personal exposition, he confesses his temptation and “sympathy for the abyss.” (This phrase is hands down my favorite of the film.) He repeatedly refers to his struggle against “the abyss” and, at the same time, his perceived helplessness against it. “There’s so little I can do, there’s so little I can do,” he sings repeatedly throughout the film - usually just after doing something horrific.

Had he been played by anyone else, the first full look of him warming up before his show - hopping in place and punching the air like some wannabe boxer, interspersing puffs of his cigarette with chowing down on a banana – would have been enough for me to swear him off. His archetype is something of a cliché at this point – a brusque, boorish man who can’t stomach or preserve the love of others due to his own self-loathing. There were multiple points when it was only Adam’s face beneath the character that kept my heart cracked open to him. But sure enough, he wedged his fingers into that tiny crack and pried it wide open. The film’s final few scenes show him at his chin-wobbling best as he crumbles apart in small, mournful subtleties.

(General, semi-spoiler ahead as to the tone of the film’s ending – skip this paragraph if you’d rather avoid.) For a film that professes not to take itself very seriously (how else am I supposed to interpret the freaky puppet baby?), it delivers a harsh, unforgiving ending to its main character. And sure enough, despite how much I might have wanted to distance myself and believe it was only what he deserved, I found myself right there with him, sharing his pain. It is solely testament to Adam’s tireless dedication to breathing both gritty realism and stubborn beauty into his characters that Henry sank a hook into some piece of my sympathy.

Not only does Adam have to be the only actor capable of imbuing Henry with humanity despite his manifold wrongs, he also has to be the only actor capable of the wide-ranging transformations demanded of the role. He starts the movie with long hair and his full refrigerator brick house physique. His physicality and size are actively leveraged to engender a sense of disquiet and unpredictability through his presence. He appears in turns tormented and tormentor. There were moments when I found myself thinking of Conan the Barbarian, simply because his physical presence radiates such wild, primal energy (especially next to tiny, dainty Marion and especially with that long hair). Cannot emphasize enough: The raw sex appeal is off the goddamn charts and had me – a veteran fangirl of 3+ years - shook to my damn core.

The film’s progression then ages him – his hair cut shorter and his face and physique gradually becoming more gaunt. By the film’s end, he has facial prosthetics to make him seem even more stark and borderline sickly – a mirror of his growing internal torment. From a muscular, swaggering powerhouse, he pales and shrinks to a shell of a man, unraveling as his face becomes nearly deformed by time and guilt. He is in turns beautiful and grotesque; sensual and repulsive. I know of no other actor whose face (and its accompanying capacity for expressiveness) could lend itself to such stunning versatility.

Quick note here that he was given a reddish-brown birthmark on the right side of his face for this film?? It becomes more prominent once his hair is shorter in the film’s second half. I’m guessing it was Leos’ idea to make his face even more distinctive and riveting? If so, joke’s on you, Mr. Carax, because we’re always riveted. ☺

I mentioned way up at the beginning that the film is bookended by two scenes where the lines blur between actor and character, and between reality and performance. This comes full circle at the film’s end, with Henry’s final spoken words (this doesn’t give any plot away but skip to the next paragraph if you would rather avoid!) being “Stop watching me.” That’s it. The show is over. He has told his last joke, played out his final act, and now he’s done living his life as a source of cheap, unprincipled laughs and thrills for spectators. The curtain closes with a resounding silence.

Now, I definitely won’t have a section where I talk (of course) about the Ben Solo parallels. He’s haunted by an “abyss” aka darkness inside of him? Bad things happened when he finally gave in and stared into that darkness he knew lived within him? As a result of those tragedies, (SPOILER – Skip to next paragraph to avoid) he then finds himself alone and with no one to love or be loved by? NO I’M DEFINITELY NOT GOING TO TALK ABOUT IT AT ALL, I’M JUST FINE HERE UNDER MY MOUNTAINS OF TISSUES.

Let’s talk about the music! The film definitely clocks in closer to a rock opera than musical, because almost the entire thing is conveyed through ongoing song, rather than self-contained musical numbers appearing here and there. This actually helps the film’s continuity and pacing, by keeping the characters perpetually in this suspended state of absurdity, always propelled along by some beat or melody. Whenever the film seems on the precipice of tipping all the way into the bleak and dark, the next whimsical tune kicks in to reel us all blessedly back. For example, after (SPOILER #1) happens, there’s a hard cut to the bright police station where several officers gather around Henry, bopping about and chattering on the beat “Questions! We have a few questions!”

Adam integrates his singing into his performance in such a way that it seems organic. I realized after the film that I never consciously considered the quality of his singing along the way. For all that I talked about the film maintaining the atmosphere of a fourth wall-defying performance piece, Adam’s singing is so fully immersed in the embodiment of his character that you almost forget he’s singing. Rather, this is simply how Henry McHenry exists. His stand-up scenes are the only ones in the film that do frequently transition back and forth between speaking and singing, but it’s seamlessly par for the course in Henry’s bizarre, dour show. He breaks into his standard “Now laugh!” number with uninterrupted sarcasm and contempt. There were certainly a few soft, poignant moments when his voice warbled in a tender vibrato you couldn’t help noticing – but otherwise, the singing was simply an extension of that full-body persona he manages to convey with such apparent ease and naturalism.

On the music itself: I’ll admit that the brief clip of “We Love Each Other So Much” we got a few weeks ago made me a tad nervous. It seemed so cheesy and ridiculous? But okay, you really can’t take anything from this movie out of context. Otherwise it is, indeed, utterly ridiculous. Not that none of it is ever ridiculous in context either, but I’m giving you assurances right now that it WORKS. Once you’re in the flow of constant singing and weirdness abound, the songs sweep you right along. Some of the songs lack a distinctive hook or melody and are moreso rhythmic vehicles for storytelling, but it’s now a day later and I still have three of the songs circulating pleasantly in my head. “We Love Each Other So Much” was actually the stand out for me and is now my favorite of the soundtrack. It’s reprised a few times later in the film, growing increasingly melancholy each time it is echoed, and it hits your heart a bit harder each time. The final song sung during (SPOILER #2), though without a distinctive melody to lodge in my head, undoubtedly left me far more moved than a spoken version of this scene would have. Adam’s singing is so painfully desperate and earnest here, and he takes the medium fully under his command.

Finally, it does have to be said that parts of this film veer fully towards the ridiculous and laughable. The initial baby version of the Annette puppet-doll was nothing short of horrifying to me. Annette gets more center-stage screen time in the film’s second half, which gives itself over to a few special effects sequences which look to be flying out at you straight from 2000 Windows Movie Maker. The scariest part is that it all seems intentional. The quality special effects appear when necessary (along with some unusual and captivating time lapse shots), which means the film’s most outrageous moments are fully in line with its guiding spirit. Its extravagant self-indulgence nearly borders on camp.

...And with that, I’ve covered the majority of the frantic notes I took for further reflection immediately after viewing. It’s now been a few days, and I’m looking forward to rewatching this movie when I can hopefully take it in a bit more fully. This time, I won’t just be struggling to keep up with the madness on screen. My concluding thoughts at this point: Is it my favorite Adam movie? Certainly not. Is it the most unforgettable? Aside from my holy text, The Last Jedi, likely yes. It really is the sort of thing you have to see twice to even believe it. And all in all, I say again that Adam truly carried this movie, and he fully inhabits even its highest, most ludicrous aspirations. He’s downright abhorrent in this film, and that’s exactly what makes him such a fucking legend.

I plan to make a separate post in the coming days about my experience at Cannes and the Annette red carpet, since a few people have asked! I can’t even express how damn good it feels to be globetrotting for Adam-related experiences again. <3

Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to ask me any further questions at all here or on Twitter! :)

*SYNOPSIS INCLUDED BELOW. DO NOT READ FURTHER IF AVOIDING SPOILERS!*

Synopsis: Comedian Henry McHenry and opera singer Ann Defrasnoux are both at the pinnacle of their respective success when they fall in love and marry. The marriage is happy and passionate for a time, leading to the birth of their (puppet) daughter, Annette. But tabloids and much of the world believe the crude, brutish Henry is a poor match for refined, idolized Ann. Ann and Henry themselves both begin to feel that something is amiss – Henry gradually losing his touch for his comedy craft, claiming that being in love is making him ill. He repeatedly and sardonically references how Ann’s opera career involves her “singing and dying” every night, to the point that he sees visions of her “dead” body on the stage. Meanwhile, Ann has a nightmare of multiple women accusing Henry of abusive and violent behavior towards them, and she begins growing wary in his presence. (He never acts abusively towards her, unless you count that scene when he tickles her feet and licks her toes while she’s telling him to stop??? Yeah I know, WILD.)

The growing sense of unease, that they’re both teetering on the brink of disaster, culminates in the most deranged of Henry’s stand-up comedy performances, when he gives a vivid reenactment of killing his wife by “tickling her to death.” The performance is so maudlin and unsettling that you wonder whether he’s not making it up at all, and the audience strongly rebukes him. (This is the “What is your problem?!” scene with tiddies out. The full version includes Adam storming across the stage, furiously singing/yelling, “What the FUCK is your problem?!”) But when Henry arrives home that night, drunk and raucous, Ann and Annette are both unharmed.

The couple take a trip on their boat, bringing Annette with them. The boat gets caught in a storm, and Henry drunkenly insists that he and Ann waltz in the storm. She protests that it’s too dangerous and begs him to see sense. (SPOILER #1) The boat lurches when Henry spins her, and Ann falls overboard to her death. Henry rescues Annette from the sinking boat and rows them both to shore. He promptly falls unconscious, and a ghost of Ann appears, proclaiming her intention to haunt Henry through Annette. Annette (still a toddler at this point and yes, still a wooden puppet) then develops a miraculous gift for singing, and Henry decides to take her on tour with performances around the world. He enlists the help of his “conductor friend,” who had been Ann’s accompanist and secretly had an affair with her before she met Henry.

Henry slides further into drunken debauchery as the tour progresses, while the Conductor looks after Annette and the two grow close. Once the tour concludes, the Conductor suggests to Henry that Annette might be his own daughter – revealing his prior affair with Ann. Terrified by the idea of anyone finding out and the possibility of losing his daughter, Henry drowns the Conductor in the pool behind his and Ann’s house. Annette sees the whole thing happen from her bedroom window.

Henry plans one last show for Annette, to be held in a massive stadium at the equivalent of the Super Bowl. But when Annette takes the stage, she refuses to sing. Instead, she speaks and accuses Henry of murder. (“Daddy kills people,” are the actual words – not that that was creepy to hear as this puppet’s first spoken words or anything.)

Henry stands trial, during which he sees an apparition of Ann from when they first met. They sing their regret that they can’t return to the happiness they once shared, until the apparition is replaced by Ann’s vengeful spirit, who promises to haunt Henry in prison. After his sentencing (it’s not clear what the sentence was, but Henry definitely isn’t going free), Annette is brought to see him once in prison. Speaking fully for the first time, she declares she can’t forgive her parents for using her: Henry for exploiting her voice for profit and Ann for presumably using her to take vengeance on Henry. (Yes, this is why she was an inanimate doll moving on strings up to this point – there was some meaning in that strange, strange artistic choice. She was the puppet of her parents’ respective egotisms.) The puppet of Annette is abruptly replaced by a real girl in this scene, finally enabling two-sided interaction and a long-missed genuine connection between her and Henry, which made this quite the emotional catharsis. (SPOILER #2) It concludes with Annette still unwilling to forgive or forget what her parents have done, and swearing never to sing again. She says Henry now has “no one to love.” He appeals, “Can’t I love you, Annette?” She replies, “No, not really.” Henry embraces her one last time before a guard takes her away and Henry is left alone.

…..Yes, that is the end. It left me with major emotional whiplash, after the whole film up to this point kept pulling itself back from the total bleak and dark by starting up a new toe-tapping, mildly silly tune every few minutes. But this last scene instead ends on a brutal note of harsh, unforgiving silence.

BUT! Make sure you stick around through the credits, when you see the cast walking through a forest together. (This is counterpart to the film’s opening, when you see the cast walking through LA singing “So May We Start?” directly to the audience) Definitely pay attention to catch Adam chasing/playing with the little girl actress who plays Annette! That imparts a much nicer feeling to leave the theater with. :’)

#Adam Driver #Annette #Cannes 2021 #driverdaily #Annette spoilers

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