#and it really fucked severely and there were little like theme songs for each story which were just so much fun

[someoneinjersey]

while googling the answer to "why does 5 seconds of summer hate their song 'dont' stop'" last night i came upon a tumblr post from a now deactivated account, dated 8 years ago listing four big reasons why they hate 5sos.

as someone who's almost 40 and just became a 5sos fan and has lived through the golden and bullshit days of pop punk and little bands full of dudes etc, i was like OP I JUST WANNA TALK

like their points were that 1) they steal riffs and logos and designs, 2) theyre mean to fans, 3) theyre sexist, and 4) theyre homophobic.

as to point 1 -- at the time the post was made, they were still teenagers (or three of them were, one was 21) and they were of COURSE going to be making music and designs or whatever that were influenced by the bands they liked and grew up on. that's how that shit works, both being teens and being in bands. its extremely hard to be original anymore, and you can't even say the bands they copied were being original either because they TOO were drawing from artists who came before. everything old is new again, every song sounds like another song and every art design has been influenced by another or is a tribute to another. that's just ART. the video linked to prove that a 5sos song was the same as another band's (it was either MCR or FOB or Green Day, idr) is no longer available, but i think a better video to watch would be one of several that points out all popular songs are from the same chords.

as to point 2 -- again, the post cited that explained the bad experience has since been deleted, but you will find that EVERY SINGLE ACTOR OR SINGER OR BAND OR ANY TYPE OF CELEBRITY HAS STORIES FROM FANS WHERE THEY WERE "MEAN". because people have bad days, and sometimes fans really feel entitled to too much of them. we as consumers of their art aren't entitled to shit. and once more (this is a theme to my pov) they were literal teenagers who shot to fame and by their own accounts were sometimes doing five countries in five days.

points 3 and 4 -- the sexism and the homophobia which were just old twitter posts ... i would like to know if OP has ever met a group of young male friends or anyone from australia. obviously we know now that shit's not kosher and hope they've grown and learned, but they were teenagers (I say this because all the ones cited were by Michael who was not the member who was 21 at the time of OP's list). they're about the same age as my brother, and having been around him and his friends at that age ... that's how they talk to each other. same with having had a best friend from australia for 17 years, culturally it's not a big deal to say shit like that. and AGAIN if it's about putting it on twitter for everyone to see, THEY WERE STUPID BOYS.

even though i'm not on twitter anymore (or fucking X or whatever) and i don't follow them on social media at all, i haven't seen anything to suggest they still have that same dumb boy mindset. and you can look at it like, thats me being sexist or ageist, or you can look at it like i'm excusing it all because of their age and gender and the cultural differences, plus their parents probably didn't teach them any differently. so honestly take this however you want but like man. having lived through the pop punk bandom during the 2000s and 2010s, you gotta be able to separate people making stupid mistakes from people doing really fucked up shitty things.

so thats my rant because that post rubbed me the wrong way OH WELL.

#5 seconds of summer #5sos #luke hemmings #calum hood #michael clifford #ashton irwin #rant

[angsty-prompt-hole]

Song, Pic, Saying tag.

Rules: Pick an OC and post a song you relate to them, an image that represents them in some way (aesthetic, picrew, art, etc), and a quote of dialogue or narration from them. Totally feel free to expand and explain!

Thanks for the tags @addisons-damn-dialogue! I'm doing both of these in one post because I'm lazy lol

This is an open tag.

First up is, predictably, Haven.

Ex Mortis is an Evil Dead song, and one of the BIGGEST influences on Haven's story is the Evil Dead. She and Ash are very similar people, which is incredibly funny to me because if Haven ever met Ash Williams she would kill him on sight.

I picked a more serious image for her, but yeah a big theme of her story is her feeling inhuman, distorted, and just dealing with all of that. And really, that's what being a partial Void creature like her is, is a constant state of distortion in the fabric of reality itself.

“I don’t care,” Cass snarled, a sudden, vicious anger welling up inside of her, blossoming from that cold, helpless pit. “I never wanted any of this. Everything I ever had is gone, and now I’m being told that I can’t even fucking leave to find something new. Fuck you. FUCK YOU.”

Here, she's trying to bargain with a demon that would allow her passage to another world, and she's just been told that she's going to hurt a lot of people if she runs away. It's a pretty solid glimpse at her character after the incident that resulted in her becoming immortal, and this is the state she starts A Wolf Amongst the Stars in. Having just lost her entire family, her friends, and her normal life, not to mention her hand.

And because I haven't talked about her in forever, I'll do my other favorite severely fucked up woman, Lucent.

A large part of her later arc is dealing with the consequences of some actions she takes that results in deaths and torture and stuff. Lucent also has SEVERE self worth and self esteem issues from the dehumanizing torture she suffered as a war prisoner, and she has a hard time realizing that she is, in fact, worthy of love.

Hehe, ice imagery because Lucent has cold powers go brrr. But anyways, there's Layers to this one, cause not only is she trapped by her own trauma, she also feels trapped by her powers, because she has a genetic disease linked to her powers that can make her prone to violent and harmful outbursts that leave her stuck in a state where she will maul anything in sight, and those outbursts also take a HUGE toll on her body.

They were in each other's faces now, Kira glaring up at Allison, and Allison looking down at her like she was dog poop she'd just stepped in. Lucent shoved her way in between them. She was even shorter than Kira, but her stockier build made her just as, if not more, intimidating. “Leave my friend alone you-” she spat a curse in her native language that made Kira snort.

That snort quickly turned into a curse of her own when Lucent pulled a knife and held it to Allison's throat. “Hey! I told you to leave that at home. Do not cut the asshole!”

Very early in the Dimension Jumpers saga Lucent my beloved she has no idea how to human. She is viciously protective of herself and of her things, and since her culture is a little more warrior-like and honor-bound, Lucent sees it as her duty to protect her friends.

#tag games #Spotify

[plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms]

A Lack of Choice

Pairing: merman!Andy Barber x Reader (A Spin on The Little Mermaid #2)

Summary: Taken on the night before your wedding, you wake up imprisoned in the depths of the sea with a merman that had darkness behind his beautiful eyes as your warden.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY NON CON SMUT CONTENT. soft dark coz he's still sweet on you but with dark themes (abduction, manipulation, conditioning/brainwashing, imprisonment, drugging, forced soulmate bond), non con somnophilia (unconscious unprotected fucking in human form), non con monster fucking (unprotected fucking in merman form), breeding kink, praise kink, choking

Word Count: 8.4k (One Shot)

A/N: This is One Shot #2 for my Mermaid AU in my Story Book Collection. I'm also offering this as tribute to @slothspaghettiwrites 's Marvelous Monster Mayhem Writing Challenge with the song prompt Closer by Nine Inch Nails. Actual lines are in bold.

You don't need to read the first one, but it is recommended so that you can have a more wholistic experience with the lore and how they all connect together. I'm so happy to be back!

Full Masterlist | Story Book Collection Masterlist

Andy snickered as Bucky all but flew out of his court after fulfilling his duty, a flurry of bubbles left from his hasty exit. Common. Predictable. Expected. Ever since he was forced to abdicate the throne to his sister, the entire kingdom had given him a wide berth especially after several instances where his grief and fury ended in injuries for himself and the subjects who were trying to pacify him.

With his fall from grace he was asked to retire to one of the castles that were further from the main city with only a handful of staff. It was an act of generosity from his sister, refusing to believe that he was irredeemable. He appreciated it and really he much preferred to be alone as he mourned and waited for his inevitable death.

Andy was slowly dying from heartbreak.

The experience was different for each one, the length and depth of pain varied from case to case. For Andy, he had been enduring for centuries now with his demeanor getting progressively colder and darker as the years passed. One could hardly believe that he was once a well loved benevolent king. The hollow silence in his chest was enough indication though.

It was only a matter of time now.

He could hardly remember at this point what a beating heart felt like, but he remembered the pain of his failed love in excruciating detail. His disdain of humans came from that catastrophe, falling in love with a woman’s false charms only to find out later that she had just been biding her time to kill him and to escape. He remembered the sting of the knife through his chest, but more than that he remembered the bite of her words afterwards. She never loved him. He had been a fool.

He leaned back on his throne, his muscular tail swaying lazily beneath him and his hair flowing in the water, as he thought over what Bucky had said. He was furious at first, having left his post as a Queen’s guard leaving his sister without protection on land and he was seconds away from ripping Bucky’s throat out with his sharp teeth but one thing he said had his outrage stopping in its tracks.

A girl.

There was a human girl gifted to Andy by his beloved sister. Their supply of humans were scarce and they had very short lifespans once taken so only a select few were provided with the privilege to breed with them. He was provided with humans regularly at first, having been born a royal it was important for the kingdom for his bloodline to continue. However after he mistreated the last few humans, he was cut off.

Andy had no shortage of sexual partners. Plenty of Merfolk still threw themselves at the opportunity to bed a royal, disgraced as he was. He was also undeniably attractive, the darkness in him adding a dangerous thrill to the sex but there was nothing like burying his cock in a human cunt. The thought alone of how hot and tight it felt was enough to make him harden and for his fins to curl in anticipation. He smirked.

Time for a visit.

He swapped his tail for legs as he walked into the cottage where his human was imprisoned, slipping on a pair of soft cotton trousers and foregoing a shirt. Shuri had outdone herself with the developments she had made through the years in creating a viable habitat for the humans underwater that would not only allow them to live comfortably, but would also prolong their shelf life. He made a mental note to send her a gift because the sight of you half naked and unconscious on the large bed had him almost lunging for you immediately.

He was immediately drawn to you, a faint echo of something forgotten sounded in his chest as he laid his eyes on you for the first time. He came around to your side of the bed, brushing the hair off your face gently before trailing down to trace along your jaw. His thumb lingered for a moment on your lips and then his hand went to circle your throat, squeezing just a little to feel the momentary hitch in your breathing.

You were the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

The swell of your breasts were calling to him, barely covered by the bikini you had been wearing when you were taken. Pinching and rubbing at a nipple over the fabric caused goosebumps to erupt over your skin. He smiled. You were so responsive to him even in this state.

“Good girl.”

Lower his hands traveled, over your hips and along your thighs before finally settling on his prize. He cupped your pussy and the heat he felt through the material of your bottoms had him groaning. He rubbed you through the fabric, slow yet firm in his movements. It didn’t take long until your damp arousal was eagerly meeting his hand and he could smell you.

Just a taste. He needed a taste.

Deft fingers pulled your bottoms aside and stroked your slit, spreading your slick around and up to your clit. You sighed quietly and your legs tried to close themselves, your body reacting instinctively to protect yourself. He chuckled as he nudged your legs apart once more for him. He knew the potion you were made to take for the journey down still had some time left before wearing off and your vulnerable defenseless state had him palming his cock over his pants.

He dipped a finger inside you, his jaw ticking at how tight you were. He drew the finger out of you, catching the scent of your arousal before slipping it into his mouth. He hummed as he swirled his tongue around it.

“Sweet.”

He watched you intently, noting how evenly and deeply your chest rose and fell. Your mouth was parted slightly and there was a heat radiating off your skin from his touching you. There was a softness and an innocence to you that made him forego his original plan to wait until you had woken. Why wait? He caught your chin between two fingers and pressed his lips on yours, a first kiss of many he was sure.

He would have you now.

His pants dropped to the floor easily and he crawled up on the bed over you, his face immediately coming up to your cunt. His cold breath blew on your heated sex and he was pleased to see your body jerk in reaction. Strong hands gripped your thighs and spread you wider, your bottoms casually tossed to the side to offer him unobstructed access and a perfect view of your glistening folds.

The first full taste of you on his tongue had him immediately diving back for more as his grip on your thighs tightened. Your taste was intoxicating and he couldn’t get enough. He didn’t think he would ever get enough. He feasted on you, lapping at your folds and dipping his tongue inside you. You groaned when he sucked on your clit and your hips began to move sluggishly in response.

He smiled against you, looking up from his spot to watch your still unconscious form. Your brow was furrowed in confusion and your eyes were twitching beneath your closed lids as if you were fighting it, fighting him. He found that he liked that. His fingers came up inside you, twisting and curling to work you open for him. He loved how you were just dripping for him and clamping down on his fingers.

“So good for me.”

He quickened his pace, both his fingers and his mouth ravaging you. He swirled his tongue around your clit expertly, intent on pulling your first orgasm this way. Your hips moved more, following the fire that he was stroking inside of you until it built into an inferno that had you gushing your release into his waiting mouth with a sharp whimper.

“Such a good girl,” he whispered as he left a few last kisses on your quivering cunt.

He rose off the bed to kneel between your legs, gripping his now painfully hard erection in his hand. He pumped it slowly as he watched you sprawled helplessly beneath him, slapping the heavy length of him down on your clit. Your body jolted as he repeated the action, dipping his cock lower to catch your slick as his free hand roamed your body.

“Stop,” you slurred.

He chuckled at your feeble protest as he circled the head of his cock at your entrance, pushing in just the slightest bit to coat himself more. Your hands raised weakly to make him stop, but they fell away promptly as they felt too heavy for you.

“You will let me violate you,” he declared, groaning loudly as the head of his cock breached you.

Inch by inch he moved in and out of you, carefully stretching you to accommodate his extraordinary size. Your back arched at the intrusion, a whimper falling from your lips at the discomfort.

“No,” you mumbled even as your body was subconsciously bending to take him better.

“You will let me desecrate you,” he growled as he forced his way deeper into you.

“No,” you repeated quietly.

He chuckled darkly, groaning as he bottomed out. You were squeezing him so tight. The heat and wetness of your cunt enveloping him in a spell that almost made him lose control right then and there. You felt too good around him. Too perfect.

“Your body says otherwise,” he said as he pressed his lips sweetly to yours, a sharp contrast to how he was forcibly taking you. “This isn’t a choice. You’re mine now, honey.”

His thrusts started slowly, enjoying the sight of your juices shining on his cock every time he pulled out and how he could see himself bulging through your skin when he pushed in. He committed to memory the feel of you, rolling his hips and grinding to reach the deepest parts of you.

“You’re doing so well,” he groaned as he leaned closer to you, pulling your top down to palm your breasts. You felt so soft and he loved the way your body bent closer when he took a pebbled peak into his mouth. “You’re made for this. You’re made to take me.”

The way you were panting, gasping, and twisting your body spurred him on to go faster. He pounded into you as he held your bodies close, his pelvis rubbing against your clit to take you higher and higher. He could feel you choking his cock and he knew you were nearly there.

“That’s right. Cum for me,” he ordered. “Drown my cock, honey.”

In your unconscious haze you tumbled into oblivion, your body reacting to the pleasure he had forced on you by clenching down hard on him and trembling underneath him. Andy relished the feeling of you falling apart for him, loving the way you were milking him for all he could give. His thrusts stuttered before he was spilling into you with a loud grunt against the crook of your neck.

Huffing and trying to catch his breath, he kissed you deeply. He lifted himself off you, checking that you were still under the influence of the potion before getting up. He came back after cleaning himself in your bathroom, carefully wiping you of any trace of his indulgence before redressing you.

He stroked your hair and kissed your forehead before he left you to rest. Slipping back into the ocean and into his tail. He would return once you awakened and introduce himself. He liked his new toy very much and he would have to say his thanks to his sister once she returns.

For now, he would have some fun.

----------------

You woke up with a pounding headache that made your vision swim as you crawled out of bed with a loud groan. You made your way to the bathroom, blindly holding on to the walls to steady yourself. What the hell did you and your fiance drink last night? You shook your head and regretted it immediately. Whatever the hell it was you were not drinking it again. The cold water you splashed on your face was a welcome relief and you drank greedily after, surprised at your own thirst. You promised to stay away from alcohol for the rest of your trip. Your fiance would surely agree knowing he had a lower tolerance than you.

Where was he anyway?

Bleary eyes searched the room for any sign of him, your memory still heavily muddled. You were too tired to really think about why he wasn’t in the room. Maybe he went for a walk. Hopefully he’ll come back with some breakfast. God, you hoped he would. A shower. You decided a shower would do you some good and could relieve some of the ache you felt in your muscles.

You stumbled across the room, intending to pull the first piece of fresh clothing you can get your hands on from your suitcase. Your steps abruptly halted, your bare feet suddenly now feeling like lead against the cold wooden floor. A disturbing realization washed over you.

This wasn’t your room.

This was a completely different room from the one you booked on this getaway and your suitcase was not in the corner you knew you left it in. Where the hell were you? Panic bubbled violently in your stomach and you fought the urge to vomit as you began to also accept that your fiance was likely not here as well.

You were kidnapped.

A cold sweat began to form on your skin as your mind came to grips with what was happening. Survival mode began to kick in. You took a deep breath to calm yourself down so that you can formulate a plan. You were alone in an unfamiliar place, but you were also unrestrained. Your eyes snapped to the front door of the room. It might be risky but you need to get an idea of where you were so that you can get home. Maybe you can find some help.

Your shaking hand reached for the doorknob, praying that it was unlocked. Your breath came out in a relieved huff when it turned without resistance. You gulped as you pulled the door open and stepped out of the room. What you saw was miles away from anything you expected. You gasped and your knees buckled. You struggled with every step forward. Your mind could hardly comprehend it, but there was no other explanation.

You were underwater.

Looking around you, you could clearly view sea creatures casually swimming by. There were fish of all colors and sizes, sharks that had you taking a step back, and countless other species that you could not name. They were all so beautiful, so mesmerizing to watch and you would have happily spent hours doing just that if not for the reason why you were treated to such a view.

Beyond the room, which looking back now was more a small cottage, was the purest of white sand you had ever seen. All that and yourself were encased under a transparent dome lined with soft lighting that mimicked almost perfectly the gentle rays of the sun, providing you with the needed warmth you suspected was essential with how freezing cold the bottom of the ocean would be.

It was like some sort of reverse aquarium and you were on display. Immediately you felt claustrophobic and your chest tightened with frantic despair. How were you expecting to escape from the depths of the sea? More importantly, who would have taken you and why?

Your second question was answered seconds later, but it was an answer that made even less sense than the location of your prison. Slowly approaching what appeared to be the only entryway to your enclosure was the stuff of myths.

A merman.

You watched, utterly mesmerized by the graceful yet strong movements of a tail in shades of blue with its scales sparkling like precious gems and adorned with stands of silver and gold. You followed him as his broad shoulders and toned arms ripped through the water, his muscled torso flexing with each stroke.

You had never seen a sight so strikingly beautiful.

You noticed now that there were two doors to your cage with a short tunnel connecting them. He slipped in with practiced ease and shut the outer door. You jumped back as a whirlwind of water engulfed him before the inner door softly hissed open. Your hand covered your mouth as you saw the merman now on two feet and if it were even possible, he was even more breathtaking.

“Please don’t be frightened,” he said softly, cautiously taking a step toward you.

His tousled hair and beard were still wet, your eyes following the droplets as they trailed down his bare torso until they disappeared beneath the thin cotton pants he was now somehow wearing. There was something commanding yet elegant in his stance, regal even.

“My name is Andy.”

All at once your muddy memory snapped to clarity in a manner so jolting that you fell to the ground. You had eloped and were celebrating the night before your marriage with your fiance at a charming beach resort where you both decided that a night swim was a good idea. You remembered the chilling fear of being dragged underwater and waking up in a dark cave next to your fiance who was desperately trying to negotiate his life to what you now realize was a merman as well. You remember punching him in the face in your fury when he said that they could keep you if they would only let him go. You remember being force fed a potion that tasted sweet and salty before you were once again pulled into unconsciousness.

The cold hand on your heated face brought you back and your eyes snapped open to meet the bluest pair you had ever seen, but the underlying turbulent darkness made you recoil on instinct. It was like the sea caught in a terrible storm and you were a rickety boat. Your mind was reeling as he smiled kindly down at you, cradling you close to his chest with his hand continuing to caress your face.

“You remember, don’t you?” he said sadly, uncharacteristically feeling protective of you at the sight of your distress. Something in his chest pulled and thudded softly.

All your instincts screamed at you to move away, but he was just so compelling that you could hardly move. He pulled you closer to his chest and tried to soothe you. At the back of your fear-addled mind, it registered how cold his skin was and how you couldn’t hear his heartbeat.

“You’re safe here, honey. I’ll take care of you.” He stood up with you in his arms, your voice caught in your throat. “I brought you some food. You should eat. Get your strength back.”

You watched in silent shock as he carried you inside and sat you down gently on the bed, pulling the covers over your shaking form. You didn’t even realize that you were trembling. Andy moved around the small kitchen with the same grace and fluidity as when he was swimming.

Later, you faintly registered the smell of hot food and that you were being picked up again. The blanket was still wrapped around you as he sat on the small dining table with you on his lap. He cradled you like you were precious as he brought the spoonful to your lips.

“Please eat something. Even just a little.”

His voice was low and commanding yet also gently coaxing. The pointed look he threw you when you hesitated prompted you to open your mouth. He smiled as you chewed and oddly you found yourself feeling a sense of satisfaction when he did.

“Good girl.”

Why was that?

Why are you feeling an impulse to please him?

Why are you feeling safe in his arms?

He kept feeding you until you finished the whole serving, the hearty seafood soup warming you and lulling you to sleep. Your head lolled to the side, automatically burrowing against the crook of his neck.

“I wanna go home,” you mumbled, your eyes drooping close. The stress of the day’s discoveries weighed down on you.

His scent was the last thing on your mind before sleep claimed you along with the puzzlement of why you weren’t fighting back at all. He shushed you and brushed your hair delicately away from your face before he kissed your forehead gently.

“This is your home now, honey,” he said softly. “Rest for now. I’ll take care of you.”

His hand traveled from your face, down the column of your neck, cupping firmly on one breast and brushing his thumb over it until the nipple grew hard. He groaned as he pulled your top down and palmed you harder, squeezing your flesh before lowering his mouth to circle his tongue around the peak.

Lower his hand went to slip beneath your bottoms and immediately dip into your cunt. His thumb pressed onto your clit as his fingers worked you open, your back arching to press closer to him as you drenched his fingers.

A sinister smile grew on his face. The inherent allure of merfolk was irresistible for humans, but for those from a royal bloodline it was extremely potent. He would keep you. You would never leave him.

Not like Laurie.

“I’ll take good care of you.”

----------------

Days melted into weeks and you started to lose all sense of time. The only indication you had of the time of day was the changing lights in your pod and Andy’s visits. He visited you everyday, always with a little net brimming with a fresh catch that he would cook for you.

He always cooked for you.

Being the only other creature that you interacted with, you began to look forward to his visits. Lately, you’ve found yourself waiting by the open door and when he arrived you couldn’t help the excitement you felt or the small smile on your face.

You were mostly silent during his visits, still unsure of how you should be behaving because while you had been taken Andy had been nothing but good to you. You watched him as he moved around your new home as he told you stories about this underwater world. You listened in rapt fascination, asking questions here and there about one of the creatures you saw gliding outside your pod.

You watched as he cleaned the fish with skilled hands at the sink while a pan sizzled with fragrant seasoning beside him. It was curious how a creature of the sea seemed so comfortable with mundane human tasks. You found it amazing how in the deep dark sea was this modern abode fitted with appliances that were much better than what you had on land.

How was there butter?

You wanted to ask. You wanted to know more about this new world you were introduced to. You had a million questions running through your mind, but in front of your excited curiosity was the stifling apprehension.

“I want to go home,” you murmured, your arms circling around you.

“You are home, honey,” he said gently. Always the same answer. Always the same patient tone. “Come eat now.”

And like always he lifted you into his arms and sat you on his lap as he fed you. His body felt solid against yours, but his touch was always soft and almost protective.

“I want to go home.”

You winced as his grip on your waist got tighter and the storm behind his eyes came to the forefront for a moment. You raised your chin in defiance even as your lower lip quivered in fear. You could have sworn that you saw him smirk for a split second before his expression and touch softened once more.

“Don’t I take good care of you here, honey?” He cupped your face to keep your eyes locked, his voice taking a more melodic tone. “Answer me.”

The longer you stared into his vivid blue eyes, the more you felt your resolve crumble. Your mind grew foggy until all that was there was his unnaturally beautiful face and the compulsion to please him.

“You do.”

His smile warmed you and the slow stroking he was doing sent sparks dancing all across your skin. This was the first time he was using the siren song on you and he was thoroughly enjoying seeing you fight uselessly against it. He thought that you were doing well, the mild sedatives he has putting in your meals leaving you in a weakened state but he obviously underestimated your will.

“Don’t you like being with me here?”

Your eyes started to glaze over and a soft moan escaped your lips as his hand moved to more sensitive skin. His smile grew wider, enjoying seeing you slowly give in as your eyes became more glazed.

“I do.”

“Tell me what you want, honey.”

You gasped as his hand rubbed at your clothed cunt, his lips a breath away from yours. His breath smelled sweet and drew you closer until your lips grazed his only for him to pull away. You whined at his teasing.

“Tell me what you want.”

Your hips chased his hand, seeking more friction for your pulsating cunt. You panted as his hand grew rougher with you, your mind fully clouding over. He prompted you again for an answer and you whimpered as you struggled to pull yourself to your senses.

“I want to go home.”

All at once Andy’s movements stopped and his expression hardened. Your will was stronger than he anticipated. He would have to break you down in a different way. You would not leave him. He would not allow it.

Not like Laurie.

----------------

Andy was angry with you. There was no doubt about that, but you thought that he would eventually forgive you. You thought that it would eventually return to how it was. Disturbingly, you wanted it to go back to how it was. He still came to you everyday, but for the next two weeks he only came to cook your meals and feed you. He didn’t talk, only going about your new home to quickly make you food and check that you still had supplies. He barely looked at you, only when he gave you a stern look as he raised the food to your lips did your eyes meet. It made you squirm in his lap as you accepted the bite without complaint.

You missed his voice.

After that he stopped feeding you on his lap. It was strange to feel so shocked when for the first time he sat you down on the chair beside him before feeding you. It was strange how your face was contorted in confusion. He still didn’t talk. He still barely looked at you. You missed feeling his strong thighs beneath you.

You missed his touch.

After that he stopped feeding you, leaving promptly after he had finished cooking your meal for the day. He just left the plate on the table and exited. He still didn’t talk. He looked at you only once. You whimpered just before he stepped out the door, halting him only for a moment.

You missed his company.

This continued for weeks until it reached a point where he would just leave the ingredients for your meal on your kitchen counter, leaving you to cater to yourself. You didn’t realize until then how much he spoiled you. How much he really took care of you. Andy had been nothing but gentle to you as far as you knew and despite your better judgement, you felt like you were being ungrateful.

You missed Andy.

You had a vague idea of when Andy came to you, it wasn’t so much the time but your body and mind just somehow knew when to anticipate his arrival. When he didn’t walk through your door on time one day, you worked hard to tamp down the anxiety that was bubbling in your chest. Hours passed and still no Andy. Dejected and now feeling hungry, you walked out of your cabin and immediately spotted the small netted bag by the entrance of your pod.

Andy had come.

But he did not come to see you.

This continued for a while, with Andy leaving before you could even catch sight of him. You tried to anticipate him earlier, wake up earlier, wait by the door. You found yourself desperately trying to catch just a glimpse of him. Following your impulse, you had taken to sleeping and waiting by your pod’s entrance.

Somehow he always managed to slip out before you could catch him, the little netted bag was the only evidence that he had been there. Until one day you were so adamant to keep awake until he next came, fighting your body’s urge to rest and close your eyes. You were teetering between consciousness and the tired darkness when you sensed his arrival. Your hand shot out to grab weakly at the fabric of his pants, you looked up from where you were laying on the ground and spoke in a voice that was scratchy from not being used in so long.

“I’m sorry, Andy.” Your chest felt heavy and you were suddenly racked with sobs, your next words coming out in wet hiccups. “Please don’t go.”

Your eyes were blurred by your tears, the loneliness of the months with Andy ignoring you hitting you like a tidal wave. You held on tighter to his pant leg when he moved, thinking that he was leaving again only to see him crouch down and gently lift you into his arms. He was cooing soft reassurances in your ear as he carried you back into the cabin, you clinging on as if he would evaporate into sea foam if you let go. Finally hearing his voice again brought some life back into you, feeling his arms around you made you sag in relief.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated as you buried your face in his neck, breathing his unique scent in as much as you could in fear that he would deprive you again.

“You’re forgiven, honey. It’s okay,” he shushed you, rubbing his face against the top of your head. “You’re freezing. You shouldn’t have stayed out there. Let’s get you to bed now. You should sleep.”

He laid you on the bed and tucked the covers in around you, making sure that your shivering would cease soon. Before he could walk away though, your hand reached out again to grasp onto his hand.

“Please stay,” you pleaded softly, your eyes not meeting his in case he rejected you.

Andy couldn’t help the satisfied smirk that curled on his lips as he wordlessly laid himself next to you. You scurried to press yourself as close as possible to him, folding yourself against his body until every part of you was touching some part of him. He chuckled as he ran his hand up and down your back to encourage you to sleep, a dull thud again echoing in his chest. As you slowly drifted off to sleep, the loneliness that had been pressing down heavily on you from his absence started to lift.

You wouldn’t leave him now.

Not like Laurie.

---------------------------

It was hard not to notice the change in you and Andy was feeling very smug about it. The biggest change was that you were now initiating touch yourself, going so far as to voluntarily sit on his lap and silently wait for him to feed you. You waited for him to feed you a meal that for the first time you had asked to help prepare.

He rubbed slow firm circles with his thumb on the small of your back as he watched you finish your food. Every time he would move away from you, your grip on him would grow tighter. He kept smiling proudly at you, pleased at the success of his plan. You had been very good for him the past month, so good that he felt you deserved a reward.

He came to your pod one day with a beaming smile on his face at the image of you waiting for him by your open door. He pulled out a vial from his pocket and presented it to you.

"What's that?" you asked with your head tilted to the side as you observed the liquid slosh around in the glass.

"You've been so good for me, honey, that I wanted to give you a gift," he said sweetly, brushing your cheek tenderly with his free hand. "Do you wanna go for a swim?"

Your eyes widened and your lips parted in surprise, but the small remaining rational part of your mind began raising alarm bells. The last time you took a drink from a merman had you waking up as a deep sea captive. Taking it for confusion, he smiled warmly at you as he explained.

"This potion will allow you to breathe underwater for a little while. I thought you might like to get out for a bit," he said, pausing to rub his nose affectionately against yours. "Would you like that, honey?"

You knew that you should have controlled your enthusiasm better, but the sheer joy you felt at the chance to go out and explore was too much to contain. It was the first time Andy saw you smile this way; genuine, bright, hopeful, and grateful. There was that odd muffled thudding again in his chest that he couldn’t explain.

You looked so beautiful smiling.

"But you have to promise to stay close to me, okay? There are lots of things out there that could hurt you. Do you understand, honey?"

Nodding your head rapidly, you agreed. You practically skipped about the room as you pulled out swimwear, rushing to get dressed before he changed his mind. In your rush, you didn't notice how Andy's eyes darkened with desire as you changed in front of him. It immediately switched to warm fondness when you stood in front of him ready to go and practically bouncing with excitement.

He couldn't help it. You just looked so adorable. He lifted your chin up gently and leaned in to lay his lips lightly over yours. The widening of your eyes and the heat creeping up your face only made him want to kiss you some more, maybe spend the day ravishing a fully lucid you for a change, but he promised you a swim so he took your hand and pulled you toward the gates of your pod.

Your heart began to race as you got nearer. It wasn't freedom, but it was the closest to it you would have in what felt like forever. You tugged on his arm to halt his steps and he quirked an eyebrow at you in question.

"Thank you, Andy," you mutter shyly.

He smiled widely at you, pleased that you were now acting properly. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and pulled you toward the gates. Just as he was about to open the intricate locks, another mermaid urgently approached. She swam to the side, stopping as near as she could to you both and stared intently at Andy through the glass. You've seen him interact with his fellow Merfolk before and you recognized from the way his expressions changed that they were talking telepathically.

As the mermaid swam away, Andy sighed deeply and turned toward you with a regretful expression. Your own face turned crestfallen, knowing already that your little field trip would not be pushing through.

“I’m so sorry, honey. They need me for something urgent, but it shouldn’t take too long,” he frowned at your apparent disappointment, wanting so much for your bright smile to return. He took your hand and placed the potion vial on it, his eyes reassuring you of his promise. “I said that I would take you out for being good and I intend to keep that promise. Can you be good for me for just a bit more and wait?”

“I can,” you said, trying to soften the sadness that was still etched on your face.

“Good girl,” he smiled at you and kissed your cheek.

You watched as he opened the intricate locks and weakly waved goodbye as he swam away, his tail slicing through the water easily. You sighed as you turned the vial over in your hand, your mind blank of any thought except your yearning for Andy. Your hand stopped when a sudden thought hit you.

You had the potion.

And Andy was gone.

The gears in your mind began to turn and suddenly the fog lifted, the fog that had wrapped around you and weighed you down into this subservient version of yourself. The fog that had made you entirely dependent on Andy’s existence evaporated and you were thinking clearly for the first time since you’ve been there.

You could escape.

It didn’t take you another second to decide. Your heart was hammering in your chest and your hand shook as you uncorked the small bottle. You didn’t hesitate to down the whole thing before you rushed to the gates, the empty bottle dropped haphazardly on the ground. Having stood by Andy earlier granted you a view on how to work the locks and it was fortunate that you were paying attention. You paid little mind to how your whole body was dropping in temperature from the effects of the potion, almost yelling in victory as you succeeded in prying open the first gate.

When the water began to fill the small tunnel, your breathing sped up exponentially. You were understandably panicking, trapped in a confined space that was slowly filling up with water. Human self-preservation dictates that you hold your breath as it reaches your chin, your body flailing until the rational part of your brain tells you that you should be able to survive it. You made a conscious effort to carefully try breathing in and opening your eyes, cautiously experimenting until your body fully adjusted.

You couldn’t waste any more time. You didn’t know how long the effects of the potion would last or how soon Andy would return. You just hoped that you had enough to reach the surface. With renewed determination, you opened the second gate and braved the open sea.

You had no idea where you were, all you knew was you had to swim upwards. The water was freezing, your limbs struggled to propel you, and frightening creatures crossed your path. Still, you kept your will set strongly toward your freedom. You don’t know how long you’ve been swimming now, your arms and legs felt like they would fall off from the exhaustion and you were getting lightheaded from the effort. Your heartbeat began to slow into hard thuds, struggling to keep going and you feared that this was how you would die. Just as you were about to succumb, the fates showed that they had other plans for you.

Light. There was light.

It must be daylight on the surface by the way the sun was shining down on the waters, the light was dancing and welcoming you. The surface. You were nearly to the surface. You forced yourself forward, the surge of hope fueling you to make that last stretch. So focused were you on your task that it wasn’t until the hair stood on the back of your neck that you were alerted to the danger. You nervously turned your body to the source and regretted it immediately.

Andy.

And he was furious.

Your eyes widened as you saw the expression on his face. Never had you seen that look on his face, a mix of burning rage and cold mocking, that even from this distance it filled you with a cold dread.

Run.

Your mind screamed at you and snapped you back into your senses as you saw him rapidly close the distance between you. You put all your remaining energy into getting away.The light was sonear. You were so near to your escape that you could almost reach your hand out to feel the warmth of the sun.

A garbled scream tore through your lips as you were roughly pulled down to come face to face with Andy’s dark sneer. This was the first time you had seen him in this form this close and for a moment you were hypnotized by just how magnificent he was. His eyes were an even darker shade of blue but also more vivid, the storm you had seen early on was front and center. Scales were coating the sides of his neck, leading up to his ears that were now more pointed in what looked to be small fins. His torso was bare and the texture of his tail as it rubbed against your legs was indescribable. Circling his head was a thin intricate band of gold, jewels, and pearls.

A crown.

You gulped as you started to struggle away from him. Your fear was threatening to engulf you, but you fought it as hard as you fought to be released from Andy’s grip. He always had a different air about him. Andy it seems was no ordinary merman.

And you had pissed him off.

“Did you think that you could get away from me that easily, honey?”

You shook off the shock of hearing him in your mind and the venom in his tone, your own screaming for him to let you go. Your screams came out in wild air bubbles from your mouth as his grip on you tightened further. You were sure they would leave bruises.

"You promised you would be good. Now I have to punish you."

"No, Andy! Please let me go!"

Your head craned to search for the light of the surface, to search for hope, and you shivered as Andy took this as an opportunity to kiss roughly along your neck. His growl against your skin sent a shameful heat through your core and the bite he left just below your ear had you shaking.

"How else are you going to learn where your place is, honey?" he said, the threat was unmistakable in his tone. "How else are you going to learn that you're mine?"

He pulled away from your neck only to pin you with his angry glare before crashing his lips to yours. You were frozen as he conquered your mouth, his tongue delving in to claim yours. It was demanding, angry, and possessive. You gasped as you tore yourself away, pushing at his chest desperately to gain distance.

A lucky kick to his abdomen propelled you away and you could practically feel his annoyance rippling in the water as you swam as hard as you could. You gained some distance only for his hand to catch you by the back of your bikini bra, but you fought. You fought with everything you had until your top was ripped from your body, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care that he was shouting at you as you continued to slip from his grasp, his nails leaving angry marks on your skin. You didn’t care that the next time he grabbed for you, he caught your bottoms and tore them off. You didn’t care that you were now stark naked trying to escape the most dangerous predator you had ever encountered. You didn’t care.

Not when the surface was so near.

You kicked yourself upward toward the light, your heartbeat deafening to your own ears. One more stroke. Just one more. Finally, your head pierced through the surface and the fresh air greeted you. It almost overwhelmed you, unaccustomed now to how real air felt like. What it tasted like. You were greedy in your intake, absorbing as much as you could and stretching your arms out to feel the heat of the sun.

A quick glance around and you realized that you were in a cave with an opening just a few steps ahead. Craning your neck, you could see that the opening led to land and if you listened carefully you could almost make out the sound of birds.

Land.

There was land.

You were so elated that you could cry, but it was short lived as you felt yourself being dragged down underwater before you could even grab onto the rocks that lined the edge. Andy had a death grip around you now, his arms circling your torso and his tail fins wrapping around your ankles to keep you from flailing.

“You’re mine.”

His eyes flashed in warning before his mouth latched onto one hardened nipple. Your back arched at the shocking sensation of his tongue lashing at you. You tried to wriggle free, pushing hard at his wide shoulders but the way his other hand was now snaking down to your core was sending jolts of arousal through you.

“I’m going to show you that you’re mine.”

At that he roughly thrust two fingers into your cunt, your lips opening in a silent scream. You felt humiliated as your core instinctively gripped him tighter, encouraging the assault he was subjecting you to. He chuckled darkly at how wet you were, the nights he had spent to train your body to his touch were well worth it.

His fingers quickened, curling and twisting the way he has come to know drove you higher into ecstasy. He could see the fight in you dissolving, a mixture of fatigue from escaping and the lust that was burning through your skin. He released you momentarily only to lift you until he could close his mouth on your clit, his fingers never slowing in their movements. The addition of his mouth sucking almost violently on your throbbing pearl threw you over the edge, your hips moving on their own to grind on his face to prolong your high.

You were still reeling from your climax, your breathing shallow and laboured, that you didn’t realize he had taken you back to the surface until you felt the thick warm air. He leaned you against the rocks as he lifted your thighs up to circle his hips, your body silently conforming. His tail was rough yet slippery beneath your thighs, almost like beard stubble and it sent shivers dancing across your skin.

“This time I want to hear you.”

Your eyes snapped to attention and met his, the afterglow of your orgasm quickly replaced by a chilling fear. The cocky smirk he had should have been enough to prompt you to resume fighting him, but instead it froze you in place.

“Scream for me, honey.”

Scream you did as he buried his cock inside you in one forceful thrust, your walls struggling to accommodate his inhuman size. His attack was relentless and punishing, driven by a need to possess you in every way possible. Your moans of pleasure and pain echoed through the cavern, your body spiralling uncontrollably into delirium.

“You feel just as good as the first time.” He laughed at the look of confused panic on your face as he snapped his hips, his cock punching at your cervix. “That’s right, honey. This isn’t the first time for us. Not that you were conscious during the others.”

That was when you fully realized that there was no escape. You had been fooling yourself into thinking that you could go back to whatever remained of your past life. The moment that Andy had laid eyes on you had sealed your fate. He had claimed you long before this moment. You were his.

“You’re going to look so good carrying my heirs. I’m going to keep you dripping with my cum,” he groaned as he felt your walls tighten. His hand came up to your neck, squeezing just enough to have you playing on the edge of consciousness. “Give yourself to me. Bind yourself to me.”

He punctuated each command with a sharp thrust that had the coil in your core tightening painfully, begging for release. His hand around your throat tightened at your silence, warning you to obey. His gaze was burning through yours.

“Tell me your mine.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered, resigned to your fate. You were resigned to the choice made for you. “I bind myself to you.”

Upon your words a searing pain erupted around your neck, beneath the skin that he clutched. You screamed as you felt the fire crawl precisely across your skin. Andy watched as a fine white light etched intricate patterns in a collar around your throat, a pattern that was replicated on his left bicep. An unbreakable proof of his command over you.

A contract to bind

Two souls tied

One as master

The other slave

Unyielding and unbreakable

A mark forever engraved

The voice of the ancients enveloped you both, blessing your union. Soon the pain of the marking evolved to that of heightened pleasure and Andy’s pace grew hurried, fueled by purpose to formalize your binding in the most intimate way. He knew by the way you were panting and how your walls were fluttering that you were close. He kept his eyes on you, wanting to see with clarity just how beautiful you would look coming undone.

“Cum for me, honey.” His thumb came to thrum urgently on your clit. “Cum for me now.”

The scream that tore through your chest and the shaking of your body as you were consumed by the most powerful release you had ever experienced, dragged Andy to his own finish. He groaned loudly against your mouth as he gave a few more harsh thrusts, spilling all of himself deep inside you.

“Say it,” he commanded as you both struggled to come down from your high. “Say your mine.”

You answered with the only thing you could. The only truth that there was. The only words that he would accept. The only answer that you knew deep in your spirit.

“I’m yours.”

Inside Andy’s barren chest came the soft thudding again, louder now this time and more persistent. Louder and louder it grew until he could feel it synchronize with the rapid beating of yours.

His heartbeat.

-------------------------

#SlothsMMMWritingChallenge #andy barber x reader #dark!andy barber #soft!dark!andy barber #merman!andy barber #dark fic #non con #soft!dark fic #story book collection #the little mermaid #a lack of choice #andy barber #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fanfic

[jackoshadows]

Let’s be clear here. Sansa did not lie in front of everyone and side with Joffrey over her own sister because it was protocol or to save Arya or because she was afraid of the Lannisters. She did it because she loved her beautiful prince Joffrey and thought that he was right and she wanted to marry him and become queen and do shit like this:

"Go ahead, call me all the names you want," Sansa said airily. "You won't dare when I'm married to Joffrey. You'll have to bow to me and call me Your Grace. "

After Joffrey sadistically tortures Mycah and attacks her little sister Arya with a sword:

After they had gone, Sansa went to Prince Joffrey. His eyes were closed in pain, his breath ragged. Sansa knelt beside him. “Joffrey,” she sobbed. “Oh, look what they did, look what they did. My poor prince. Don’t be afraid. I’ll ride to the holdfast and bring help for you.” Tenderly she reached out and brushed back his soft blond hair.

Just sisters being sisters, am I right? Yeah, my sister would also have more compassion for the guy who attacked me with a knife! That’s really how siblings are with each other!

Even later, she still victim blames Mycah for what happened when it’s just Arya and Sansa in the room:

“It’s not the same,” Sansa said. “The Hound is Joffrey’s sworn shield. Your butcher’s boy attacked the prince. ”

Much later, when Sansa is now the target of Joffrey’s abuse, she realizes that what Arya did was right:

He’d owned a sword named Lion’s Tooth once, Sansa remembered.  Arya had taken it from him and thrown it in a river.  I hope Stannis does the same with this one. 

AGoT Sansa was a vain, self-centered, spoiled, snobby, classist bully who didn’t give a damn that another child was being tortured or that Joffrey attacked her sister with a sword, or that her 9 year old little sister was alone in the woods for several days and being hunted down by Lannister men. It’s more important that one’s hair is shiny and brushed when appearing before everyone to lie about what happened!

Joffrey’s lie - that Arya and Nymeria attacked him without any provocation - only stands because Sansa refused to support her sister’s side of the story. Joffrey knows that what he did to Mycah is wrong and that’s why he changes the story and lies.  Noble children mingle and play with the small folk all the time.

Put any character in Arya’s spot - Brienne of Tarth, Jon Snow, Robb Stark, Bran Stark, Daenerys Targaryen, Catelyn Stark, Tyrion Lannister, Ned Stark, Renly Baratheon, Barristan Selmy - and they would have all done the same thing that Arya did and protected Mycah from Joffrey’s sadism.  Brienne of Tarth would have applauded the fuck out of Arya for what she did - and Brienne is exactly the kind of knight that Sansa claims to love in her songs.

What’s the point of Sansa loving all these songs of chivalry and knightly valor when she can’t tell right from wrong and recognize that in this case it was Arya who was the brave knight standing up to a bully. Just like her aunt Lyanna did before her and stood up for Howland Reed against a bunch of bullies. Oh, but the parallels are really between Sansa and Lyanna, right? Sansa and Lyanna -  they both cry for songs aww ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️! But it looks like only one of them really understood the themes of these songs.

Every person in that room knew that Arya was right and it was Joffrey who provoked the attack. But the one witness to the entire thing lies and says she does not remember and turns it into a he said, she said scenario that allows for Cersei to demand punishment in the form of a dead wolf and a weak-willed Robert to give in and order Ned to do it. The loss of the direwolf here is symbolic because Sansa chooses the Lannisters/future family over the Starks/current family.

Does anyone think that Catelyn Tully - Family, duty, honor - the embodiment of family loyalty, would have been okay with Sansa siding with Joffrey against Arya?

It should have been Catelyn in that scenario and not Ned.  Ned was wrong to not confront Sansa about her lying. And no, he does not explain to Arya why Sansa lied - because Sansa lied for a selfish, petty reason. He wants Arya and Sansa to stop fighting each other and puts the onus for all that on Arya. What he should have done was give Sansa a similar talk and explain why what she did was wrong and that she too had to put in the effort to get along with her little sister.

‘The lone wolf dies but the pack survives’ should have been something that Ned told Sansa since it is literally her wolf that dies. But Arya is GRRM’s central character and hence gets the thematic line and little talk from Ned about unity being more important than division and strife. 

So no, Arya is not responsible for Lady’s death and Nymeria is not going to be Sansa’s direwolf as recompense. 

As for Mycah - Unlike her sister and her fans, Arya rightly places the blame for that where it belongs.

Arya screwed up her face in a scowl. “Jaime Lannister murdered Jory and Heward and Wyl, and the Hound murdered Mycah. Somebody should have beheaded them.”

#Sansa Stark #Arya Stark #Joffrey Baratheon #Mycah #Ned Stark #GRRM #The incident at the trident #Had enough of this both girls were innocent but really it's Arya to blame bs #Only one of them lied about something important

[ckret2]

Alright let’s talk GVK spoilers!!!

My reactions as best I can remember them!

- love how Kong is humanized from the very first scene, like every time he shows up he’s humanized so much more than other titans are. If that was at the expense of other titans being made likable I wouldn’t enjoy it so much, but like, Godzilla is made pretty lovable over the course of Monsterverse, Mothra is too, and all the titans featured for long are given recognizable emotions that let us see them as more intelligent and feeling than “just” animals; so all of them are made understandable/likable/sympathetic. But of them all, Kong is the only one really humanized. Which makes sense, because like, big monkey! Basically our distant cousin!

- And they kept playing, like, normal songs for him, which cracked me up.

- I really appreciated how you could SEE the titans in this movie. After all the weather effects to hide the titans in KOTM, there was such a clear difference in this one from the very start. Kong in the daylight! Godzilla makes his first attack at night, and even then you can see him much more clearly than you can for most of KOTM! Nice!

- after the Iwi were portrayed as silent stoic witnesses in Skull Island, I really appreciated that they took an Iwi character, made her a main character, and gave her dialogue and a real role to play in the story while also keeping her deaf/mute. I think that was a good way to improve on the way that the Iwi got got sidelined in the last movie while still maintaining the worldbuilding!

- I didn’t appreciate so much that, y’know, they murdered the rest of her people off-screen in order to do it. Couldn’t they have gone “her parents died so she got adopted by a Monarch agent that was close to her family, but like, the rest of her tribe is fine”? Or at the very least “their island got fucked up so they had to be evacuated but like they’re settling in somewhere else”? “They’re living under this island dome with Kong and they know what’s up and Monarch’s keeping them in the loop and they decided they’re chill with their new dome home, but this one girl likes to go on adventures with Monarch”? Something? Did we have to kill them all off? Y’all make up an entire fictional indigenous culture and then murder them off-screen when you don’t need them? Just let them live.

- a few minutes in I was like “hold on, we’ve got two characters that speak sign language, we’ve got a giant gorilla, gorillas learn sign language, is there any reason they can’t teach Kong?” and then later I was like “OOOOOH!!” Humans and titans learning how to communicate with each other has been one of my favorite themes to explore in Monsterverse fanfic so I was absolutely tickled to see it getting explored in canon, too.

- That said I think it’s hilarious that the girl managed to teach Kong to sign without, like... anybody seeing. Kong’s hands are above the tree line and there are cameras everywhere, how did NOBODY with Monarch see him signing.

- Bernie’s weaponized being an annoying coworker to such a degree it can only be called an art, and I really appreciated it.

- Godzilla’s extra chonky in this movie and I dig it. Roomie noted he was extra crocodilian and I dig that too.

- “There’s been no confirmed titan sightings in three years” I don’t buy that for a minute. They’re BIG. Rodan NESTS IN VOLCANOES. They found a MOTHRA EGG. Humans have A SCARILY WELL-FUNDED ORGANIZATION DEDICATED SOLELY TO FOLLOWING TITANS AROUND. Like, most of the lore in GVK that I don’t personally like, I can be like “eh... I can tweak it just a little bit with headcanons to make it work for me...” but NO confirmed titan sightings? You expect me to believe ALL of them moved underground when we’d previously seen them all prefer to live above ground? You expect me to believe that now that they’re all AWAKE, they learned how to HIDE?? Uh-uh. And at the end of KOTM there was stuff in the credits about using titan droppings as biofuel, obviously they’re still walking around up top! Can’t take that from me. Nope.

- Who the FUCK is Ren Serizawa and how is he related to Ishiro Serizawa? IS he related? Maybe they just dropped the surname as another “yeah this is a Godzilla movie for Godzilla fans” easter egg but I have a hard time believing that he can’t be somehow related to the other character with the Very Important Last Name who was so important in the last two Godzilla movies. If he is related I’m sure it’s been explained in a tie-in comic or the novelization or something, I’ll look it up later.

- I had to look up how much weight huge battleships can carry while writing a KOTM fic where Ghidorah hitches a ride on one, and y’all, I had to pull weird gravity-negating magic to get him to ride on that boat. Godzilla and Kong woulda sunk that boat like a rock. All I could think during that scene is “this wouldn’t work and I know that because I DID THE RESEARCH and I wasn’t even getting PAID.” I’ll choose to believe that Monarch gets special heavy duty ships designed to carry titans but nobody mentioned it because it wasn’t relevant to Kong’s journey.

- The bit where they could see where Godzilla was swimming because he’d got half a ship hooked to him that was bobbing around on the surface, didn’t Jaws do something like that with a buoy? It’s been ages since I’ve seen Jaws. Anyway good reference.

- Insert “they’re gonna need a bigger boat” joke

- I LOVED the part where they shut down all the ships to get Godzilla to leave. Both because, one, it’s a spectacular callback to KOTM’s “turn off all the guns so he knows we’re not a threat” that makes it seem like now that’s just what Monarch knows what to do to get G to chill out, and two... we know that Godzilla backs off either when he’s killed his enemy or when his enemy has yielded to him. At the end of KOTM—and the end of GVK—the act of yielding is presented as very ceremonial and uniform across species: everyone lowers anything they’ve got that could be dangerous (claws, fangs, beaks, axes) and bows to show Godzilla they’re not gonna fight. Battleships, obviously, can’t bow, but even without being inducted into whatever secret titan cultural intricacies might be going on, humans have figured out their own way to “bow” to Godzilla: cut all the power, so their ships can’t move and can’t use weapons. I know the movie presented it as “playing dead,” but c’mon, if Godzilla could hear MechaG power up from halfway around the planet then he could hear that Kong’s heart was still beating, and he’s been around enough boats to know humans can turn them off and on when they want. The humans bowed to Godzilla. He accepted that they yielded and left.

- Mark Russell looked like such a dad in this movie, like he’s retired 100% from being a rugged action hero and now he’s just Pure Dad. I like him better when he’s a dad, it’s a good development for him. He got like 3 lines and I’m like “I appreciate this character development.”

- Despite all my qualms about how conspiracy theories and extremist groups are handled in Monsterverse (and WHICH conspiracy theories they decide to reference), I really love Madison and Bernie’s dynamic. The adult man who’s the excitable wide-eyed believer in every BS conspiracy you can possibly imagine; and then the serious, severe Teenage Girl On A Mission who’s hypercompetent because she was raised for five years by a friggin doomsday cult militia; and despite having wildly different personalities they’re just, in total agreement about everything. Handled just a BIT differently (like, leaving out the more gross IRL conspiracies) they would be a wildly fun comedic duo—especially with Josh the Only Sane Man coming along as the hapless sidekick. And they all play off of each other so well! Both in a comedic sense, and in more serious moments—when Bernie talked about his wife, there was a real moment of empathy between him and Madison with very little said. I’d watch an entire movie just about the three of them. I’d watch a TV show.

- On the one hand I wasn’t too much of a fan of KOTM’s “all titans... are inherently In Tune With Nature... nature has a Balance, because that’s a Real Thing and not an anthropocentric concept to describe how we like nature to act, and they automatically restore it... because they’re like, some kinda borderline divinities or something... we should probably be worshipping them...” thing; but, now that it was totally absent in GVK, I sorta miss it. Like I feel like there needs to be a balance, a few humans who are like “i lowkey worship these dudes?” and a few others who are like “they’re cool but like, that’s a lil extreme” and that neither side be presented as Right in how they regard titans’ relationship with nature.

- “All titans come from THE HOLLOW EARTH” nah I don’t buy that it’s silly. Basically, what I object to is the idea that all titans have some sort of intrinsic similarity (they all come from the same hitherto-unknown location; they all are part of the same pack that has the same alpha; they all are fueled/fed by the same energy source; etc) rather than letting them be SEPARATE species whose only unifying traits are “they’re all big enough to fuck everything up everywhere they go” and “they’re big enough that the typically-insurmountable barriers between different biomes (mountain ranges, valleys, long distances with terrible weather) aren’t insurmountable for them, so even if they’re specialized in different environments they still all have to deal with each other pretty often.” I’ll make some exceptions for convergent evolution (i.e., claiming multiple titans developed similar traits that are relatively easy to spontaneously evolve and a prerequisite for a creature to survive at such a large size). But I can’t buy “this big gorilla has more biologically in common with this big crocodile-iguana than he does with, say, gorillas,” or most of the other “all these titans have THIS IN COMMON” claims that Monsterverse makes, including “everyone’s from hollow earth.” So I’m tossing that out the window and substituting my own headcanons. Some might’ve evolved there but some evolved on the surface. Maybe a majority of them like ducking in and out of the hollow earth like some kind of titan shortcut system. Kong’s species, I can buy, IS native to hollow earth, considering that they built a whole-ass society down there with tools and architecture.

- I’m SO curious about the little underground Kong home, the Godzilla motif in the floor, and the axe that appeared to be made with a Godzilla scute. What’s the story there??? We know Godzilla’s species and Kong’s species are ancient rivals. Is it because Kong’s species hunted Godzilla’s to steal their scutes to make weapons, seeing them as a valuable resource the way, like, early humans considered woolly mammoths a valuable resource—thus making that Godzilla on the floor equivalent to cave art of mammoths made by people who hunted them—until the Godzillas got pissed and started fighting back en masse? Or were Godzillas and Kongs already enemies when Kongs decided to start making weapons out of their corpses? Did they use to be allies, fighting together, with Godzillas voluntarily offering shed scutes and/or bones of their deceased members to Kongs, and that place used to be a shared home until they started fighting?

- What about that power source, is it something that was already there that both Kongs and Godzillas started to deliberately harvest for technology/atomic breath? Or did Godzillas automatically channel that stuff and Kongs exploited/borrowed/traded with Godzillas to utilize it too? Or is the power from Godzillas who collaboratively poured a bunch of power into the place thus that Kongs were able to use it too? I doubt Godzilla’s species CREATED all that weird energy but the question remains of whether, like, they channel it FROM underground, or naturally produce the same thing in their own bodies, or what.

- Godzilla using his atomic breath to dig a hole STRAIGHT TO KONG just to KICK HIS ASS is hilarious. How lucky that Hong Kong just HAPPENS to be straight over Kong’s house! Were all the tunnels to the hollow earth made by pissed off Godzillas who wanted to kick monkey ass??

- I loved the aesthetic of the battle scene in Hong Kong, with the brightly colored neon building outlines, VERY cool look. The choreography of the battle scene was great too, especially

- we literally broke into applause when Kong shoved the axe handle in Godzilla’s mouth. Love it, perfect callback, that was the ONE thing from the original King Kong Vs Godzilla I was hoping to see referenced and there it was.

- You could really see a difference in how Kong and Godzilla fought—Kong doing a better job at using tools and the environment, Godzilla fighting more like a reptile. They seemed to emphasize Godzilla’s more animalistic behaviors in this movie to accomplish that contrast—he was down on all fours and moving like a crocodile more often, he was clawing at Kong’s chest—but even though it seemed a bit different of a combat technique it also didn’t seem out of place compared to how he fought in prior movies. And we’ve already seen that if Godzilla’s involved in a fight and one of the combatants knows how to use the environment, it’s typically not gonna be Godzilla. (See: Ghidorah using the reflection in a building’s windows to see what’s behind him, and recognizing a nearby power source and biting it to juice himself up.)

- So many of Godzilla’s enemies seem to have specialized in negating his atomic breath in order to combat him! The MUTOs directly suppress his ability to use it—and it makes sense that that’s an inborn ability they have, since they evolved to use Godzilla’s species as prey. Kong has a weapon that both acts as a shield to absorb the breath and turn it back against Godzilla’s species—they didn’t evolve to counter Godzilla, but they developed tools once a rivalry happened. Ghidorah’s the exception—which makes sense, since he came from space—but even at that we see him using tactics specifically to take into account Godzilla’s most powerful weapon (such as keeping one head on lookout for when he starts glowing so that they know when they need to dodge).

- LOVED the reveal that MechaG was based off of Ghidorah’s brain, it has vibes of both the Kiryu Saga and the way that Heisei MechaG is based off of Mecha-King Ghidorah. Not the most surprising plot twist, since we’d theorized that they might use San to make MechaG, but I wasn’t 100% sure they were gonna go with it until they finally did. Even when I was going “huh, the mecha pilot’s chamber looks weirdly organic” I didn’t make the connection to WHY until the reveal, lol.

- “Ghidorah’s necks are so long that the heads have to communicate with each other telepathically” that’s COMPLETELY WILD but I love it, it follows very well from their prior portrayal as telepathic empaths in Heisei, it lines up with their emphasis on electricity (because BRAINWAVES AND ELECTRICITY, hey ho movie monster pseudo science!), and it very much compliments my own private headcanon that they’ve got some psychic/mind control abilities.

- The movie ended with both “Godzilla won, technically” but also “since they teamed up as equals, the ending doesn’t FEEL like ‘Godzilla wins, Kong loses’ but rather ‘they both won against a common foe’” and since I’m on both Team Godzilla and Team They Should Be Friends, I’m happy with this outcome. Plus since the last time they fought, the Japanese movie company graciously let the American monster win, so it’s only polite that the American movie company graciously let the Japanese monster win.

- There were just a few too many humans in this movie. I was intrigued by Ren but we didn’t get much out of him, but like I guess somebody had to be in the pilot’s seat other than the Apex CEO. Didn’t care for the author of the hollow earth book, I feel like his role was superfluous. Didn’t need the Apex CEO’s daughter there at all, coulda done without her. How about this, combine all three roles. Instead of having a whole-ass author who knows about the hollow earth, just casually reference that Rick from KOTM wrote a book about it since he was the expert, and (since he wasn’t in this movie) say that he tragically died going to explore the hollow earth himself, and that way we’ve got the book with the “titans are from there” theory AND an excuse to share the “humans die when they go underground” info. Now, have Ren be working for Apex as a pilot for Mechagodzilla, but have him be MechaG’s pilot because he’s also a good pilot in general, and can fly those HEAV things. Have Apex send him to Monarch to be like “hey, you guys trust me right, since I’m Ishiro Serizawa’s relative? We at Apex have heard all about your failed hollow earth expedition, and due to Ishiro I’ve got some past ties to Monarch so I’ve got high clearance with y’all, so I could bring over this useful Apex tech that’d let you go underground and use what I know about hollow earth from my past time at Monarch to help guide things.” Once they’ve got the little chunk of energy stuff and go topside, he hustles it straight to Apex and straps into his seat to run MechaG. Bam, you’ve combined “person who knows enough about hollow earth to help the expedition,” “person who represents Apex’s interests and gets the energy,” and “person who pilots MechaG” into one character, in a way that takes three flat/underdeveloped characters and turns them into a single interesting character with a lot going on and some intriguing ties to the rest of the cast.

I think that’s everything?? Hoo.

#gvk #godzilla vs kong #gvk spoilers #godzilla vs kong spoilers #godzilla #meta

[xoruffitup]

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

[hollyhomburg]

Are you going to Stay?

(Fuckboy! Jungkook x Reader) (Idol au) (Soulmate Au)

Summary: It’s been a year since he last saw you, and every day he misses you more. It was only a matter of time until he turned up at your door asking for another chance.

Tags: angst with a happy ending, best friends to lovers, Themes of unhealthy coping mechanisms, sexual tension, emotional intimacy, physical intimacy, brief sexual scenes, Jungkook really loves the reader's thighs, Touch starved Jungkook, Mentions of hookups, talks of love languages, alcohol mention, Jungkook is intoxicated for most of this.

W/c: 6.4k

Song rec: Jk- Still with you 

A/N: there is a lot of time jumps in this where Jungkook is thinking through his memories while drunk, so if it sounds confusing that's the point. this is really near and dear to my heart- I wrote the bulk of this in one hour after listening to jungkook’s song still with you. it is directly inspired by that song. A lot of the dialogue in this story is based on things that have been said to me or I’ve said to others- so yeah- hope you like this self-indulgent story! 

“Of course I’ll never turn you away- but…do me a favor Jungkook, and don’t come back until you’ve decided what you want from me.”

One year. It’s been a little more than one year since he’s seen you and still- the last words you said to him haunt him as he walks through the rainy streets of Seoul. His fellow strangers on the sidewalk giving him a few weird looks for not having an umbrella.

He pulls up his facemask a little more, the bucket hat soaked through to his hair. The cold rain feels good against the back of his neck- the contact startling. Maybe Jungkook’s just too touch starved to make the right choices right now. Maybe its because he only wants someone to touch him if it’s you.

It didn’t always use to be that way. before he’d met you; he’d regularly needed a more sexual outlet for all his frustration, excess energy, and stress. It was healthy right? To need that? To want a connection without any strings in his line of work. 

Jungkook is a truthful person, and he stays that way by only ever lying to himself.  

When it rains in Seoul- it’s one of the few times that it ever feels quiet. The air pinning down the smoke and the smog, leaving space for the longing to clog up his lungs and spill out red on his tongue. Memories of you, the way you’d felt in his arms, your smile- your everything.  So many months without you and Jungkook can’t help but miss you a little more with every moment that passes.  

Some nights he gets restless like this and can’t help but walk and walk and hope his feet didn’t lead him to your door. Sure- at least half of the year that he hadn’t seen you had been because of the tour and the comeback schedule. But the last few months were his fault. He hadn’t had the courage to text you or pop up at your door. His stubbornness mixed with guilt, or something else entirely- a different sort of longing for someone you missed having, but had never really had in the first place.

Jungkook is great at lying to himself. That hasn’t changed in the last year.

Back then Jungkook had been too much of a coward to tell you how he felt. And so he was left out here- standing in the rain wallowing and wondering what could have been. 

You’d been best friends this time last year.

You’d been his one secret hideaway from his idol life, someone to drink with and sneak onto roofs and watch the stars with. A piece of the youth that he’d never had, but more than that too- something entirely new. How many times had you said, “it’s never too late to be a kid.” and never judged him for turning up at your door and needing a hug. 

Your entire relationship was some sort of reclamation for him, a better future found than the one he faced now. Going out sometimes, always worried about being spotted, never really having fun. Always looking for something better when he knew he wouldn’t find it. When he knew all he really wanted was to go back in time before he fucked it up with you.

You were his emergency contact; his someone to turn too on a bad day, or when he got too drunk at a club and couldn’t call management because he didn’t want to get in trouble. His drunken self that always wanted to see you- to drink in your laugh like a shot that made his knees weak. Your care, so freely given better than any party or hook up.

The countless times you’d taken him home to your apartment and given him a pair of soft pajamas and dealt with his drunken happy babbling about everything- always asking him about the places he’s seen and what one been his favorite. sometimes fooling him with shots of water just so that he’d get some liquid in him. his relentless pressuring for you to take a sip too- just to know the sweet truth- that your lips had touched the same spot his had. 

Jungkook is a fool when he’s in love. He tells himself he would have let your friendship go on forever if it meant never losing you. 

“What do you mean you don’t like New York!?” you’d asked, looking down at him with his head in your lap. Jungkook trying to resist turning over to nuzzle his head into your thighs- you’d always had such pretty thighs- the kind that look like they’d keep the memory of his fingers like memory foam if he squeezed hard enough. He wants to sleep on them. And he’s dangerously close to waking drunken poetic about them- marshmallows or clouds or just- fluffy.

He’s whiney when he answers but you don’t look bothered you only look endeared, helplessly swallowed by a wave of affection. “The buildings are too tall there and the city isn’t colorful enough- I love how Seoul just goes on and on and on, I could walk it forever if I wasn’t worried about being followed.”

He still loved how the neon lights looked in the puddles of the rain, the color bleeding everywhere with nowhere to go. The way he sees it now crossing a street in front of a makeup shop, the neon lights blinking red even though it’s closed.

But in every pink and red he can’t help but see your lips- your favorite shade of lipstick that you’d been wearing when you’d given him a key to your apartment. you were strange like him- there were some things you never liked wearing out of the house and that shade was one of them. No matter how many times he told you it looked nice, you'd always rub it off with a makeup wipe before you left. 

He remembers looking down at your house key, and the little keychain with a fluffy black ball attached at the end of it, heart-shaped. “I thought you didn’t like me popping around like a stray puppy?”

You laughed at that “you’re more like a stray pure-breed from the west minster dog show that I’ve kidnapped- but you should take it anyway- I know you like to get away sometimes- and it beats having to wait for me to come home right?”

He’s got the keychain and key in his pocket now- he rarely ever takes it out of his bag. And he fiddles with it in his pocket- the softness no less soothing then it was at the beginning. He rarely ever leaves the house without it- he tells himself it’s his good luck charm but he knows it’s because he wants to fools himself. Jungkook can’t be himself unless he has a piece of you. 

Maybe that's what soulmates are. People that you voluntarily give a piece of you, to keep it safe. 

He’s so lost in his memories that Jungkook almost tips his shoulder into someone passing by- narrowly avoiding getting thrown into the street as a result. Is it the several shots he’s downed that make him clumsy? Or the way that thoughts of you fill his head and leave no room for things as simple as the pull of gravity. Is it the memory of you that makes him shake- or the fact that he’s had too much caffeine and hasn’t slept in days?

Someone sitting in a cafe looks up and does a double-take, but he’s already moved on by the time they’ve lifted up their phone. The best they get is a picture of his back disappearing around the corner. He wonders if they’re going to type on some message board tonight “I think I saw an idol walking around in the rain, I wonder what could be on his mind?”

He remembers your words the day after your first kiss.“Do you ever wonder if we’re soulmates that met in a different lifetime? Or that we met a lifetime too soon?”

He’d tilted his head to the side, not understanding what you meant. You’d told him you were too drunk to remember the kiss the night before. But the way you’re looking at him now it almost seems like you do- but just didn’t want to tell him. How could you be worried you’d been too forward when he was the one who had initiated it? 

“Never mind Kookie- I’m so tired I’m getting philosophical, we should go home before it gets any later.”

Jungkook’s soul is certainly searching for something now, the world spins for a moment, and he loses track of where he is- the same way he’d lose track of you all those months ago. Those few miss begotten kisses like a wrong turn made on a highway- because he hadn’t been ready for something sensual, something soft and lingering like you’d been wanting.

The night that you’d gotten a little too close, your lips wet and hot and sticky with sweet drinks against each other. You crashing onto your bed with a giggle, so trashed. Jungkook helping you take your pants off because you could barely see straight, and it wasn’t sexual at all- when he paused to kiss the leading line of your knee. At least not the way that he’s used to. This is loving.

He’d kissed you up to your underwear. You squeal in surprise when he bits into your thigh a little bit. Teeth sinking into the skin he always wanted to touch and grab. Unable to stop his hands from grabbing fistfuls of your skin, so sweet and soft. You giggle when he does, his fingers hitting a sensitive spot and making your leg jerk out and almost kick him- too ticklish. “God I’ve been waiting so long to do this”

He’d uttered and whatever words you’d been about to say die in your throat. Suddenly a little less eager then you’ve been before. “Can we go slow?”

“Of course baby” Jungkook nods, and you don’t end up going any further that night, or at least any further than some heavy petting and making out. “God it’s almost 4am- we should sleep” both of your lips chapped red. and Jungkook feels like he can’t function without his lips pressed to your skin, nips at your neck, and your throat as you trail your hands up and down the back of his neck. All over. He feels and smells you all over and it’s driving him crazy.

Eventually, you wind down. Jungkook stretched out on top of you, his hips in-between your legs with only a few layers of thin fabric separating you. His ear pressed to your heart to listen to it. His body jelly finally sated to be so close to you. Your words are shy and scared in the darkness. His arousal burns low- and it’s not the most important thing- not in the slightest. 

“When I wake up, are you going to still be here Jungkook?” you had to ask- because he’s told you all of his tells before. You know his m.o. even if you’ve never seen it in person. you know that he never stays the night after hookups. had looked over one too many text messages of girls calling him an asshole, begging you to tell him how to respond. 

“I’ll stay,” he says, and at that moment- he swears he never felt a hit of the icky fear of being not enough. Curled up with you he’s not afraid of your relationship falling apart, you hating him, or you not wanting this. Every reason why he’d never stayed the night after hooking up before, invalid because he’s with you- someone he loves.  this wasn’t just another hookup; he loves you.

“Promise you won't?”

“I promise.”

And then in the morning, when he’d woken up with a pounding head and found you curled up next to him. Horror filling him but of course- you’d been drunk too. You have a few hickeys on your neck and he checks himself in the bathroom mirror afraid for a moment before he sees that luckily- his skin is unscathed. The fear- the worry, everything crashing down on him as he watches you asleep in your bed, relaxed and peaceful.

Jungkook isn’t a relationship person- he’s never been in one that didn’t end in his heart being broken. He can’t be- his love with you wasn’t supposed to start this way- not after another drunken night. Like so many, he’s had before in the past that have ended poorly. 

He doesn’t know where to go from here besides leaving. He’d even told you once “I don't think I could ever start a relationship after just- hooking up. like how do show someone the most vulnerable parts of you and then expect them to love you.” 

He leaves, starts the schedule for the day feeling terrible, the others asking why he looks so upset, why he’s snappy. After practice, he checks his phone. Finding only a single text from you; ‘you promised me Jungkook’ and nothing else. And he hates it- hates everything- because he wants to love you- he really does. But maybe a part of him doesn’t know how to love safely without ruining himself in the process.

Maybe that’s all that it was, love. The whole thing falling apart if you aren’t willing to love a person in the way that they want to be loved. Or maybe it’s less premeditated than that. He thinks about love languages, about how you’re supposed to give and receive love.

Though you’d already had the right kind of intimacy. You’d need a little more time then he’d been willing to give you. You’d told him that the next time you’d seen him. And you’d spent a few weeks pretending nothing was wrong when everything felt awkward suddenly. And by the time you were ready to adjust- Jungkook had convinced himself that you didn’t mean anything to him.

The time that you said you’d been going out to meet with one of your male coworkers and wouldn’t be able to hang out that night. Jealousy stinging Jungkook’s heart like a beestings- and for the first time in months he’d gone out looking for a hookup.

The hickeys you’d seen low on his hips the next day when he’d stretches up and you’d barked out “what the fuck is that” scalding and angry. Jungkook shrugging it off like it didn’t mean anything. The words he’d said haunt him in the hours of the night when he can’t sleep and only the hum of the air conditioner can hear the words he wishes he had said. If only to save you the disappointment of thinking he was a different person than he is.

“You went out with that guy last night- so why can’t I have a little fun?”

“He’s my coworker Jungkook you can’t honestly think- oh- I get it- you were jealous.”

Jungkook spluttering, rebuking your claim with a roll of his eyes, “there isn’t anything to get jealous over. We’re not trying to be in a relationship anymore.”

“That’s not what you said last-”

“Well I changed my mind” but he hadn’t not really- he would never change his mind about you he was only being stubborn.

“What do you mean you changed your mind Jungkook- you were the one who wanted this.”

“But I didn’t expect you’d be so clingy, and we can’t always be together and I just- I have needs and you can’t fill all of them” you flinch back, and Jungkook instantly wishes he hadn’t said the words. Because they were a lie- a lie meant to hurt. If anything he was the clingy one. He just- he couldn’t let it go.

“So you fucked up a perfectly good friendship because you were just lonely? I’m not one of your hookups- we’re supposed to be friends Kookie.”

His heart dropping, “you mean we’re not that anymore?”

“I never wanted anything with you if it meant jeopardizing that” and then him- unable to stop himself from asking you. “Are we still friends?”

“of course Mookie, I think I just need some time to think…you should go Jungkook.”

The first conversation you’d ever had about it is what he remembers too. “Do you think I’m a bad person?” your snort enough of an answer as you take a swig of the bottle of Soju. His hand splayed on the towel that you’d lied down so that the roof tar didn’t stain your clothes. “of course not.”

“Even when I’m…” this makes him uncomfortable even to talk about.

“The problem you started with? People who hook up and pretend that there aren’t any feelings involved but in reality, the denying of feelings tells you enough about how they feel. You wouldn’t have to stop yourself from getting closer to people if they didn’t matter to you- and if you weren’t afraid.”

Your shoulder had been so close- he’d been able to lean his head there. He remembers how good it had felt when you’d combed your fingers through his hair. (if he likes your thighs then you like his hair).  So much better than any hook up he might have had tonight. In truth- he’d been halfway to some girl's apartment when he’d called it off- and decided to go to your place instead.

Sure- you might not give him the exact kind of physical closeness that he was craving, but he loves the head pets, the way you’ll play with his hands. Like his hands are an extension of yourself, the motion so automatic like you barely realized you were doing it. 

He always left your place feeling more like himself. With everyone else, it felt like he had to fight to get himself understood, had to dilute or distill his words so that they’d get it, but somehow you were always on the same page. “I wouldn’t be too worried Kookie, you’ll grow out of it eventually.”

“You sure?” he’s so relaxed- he almost feels like he’s going to fall asleep against your shoulder. He shifts a little restless, turning so he can press his body against the line of your legs. Curling into your warmth.

“Yeah, I grew out of it too.” with anyone else- that sentence would feel patronizing. But with you- it was just comforting.  

How wrong he was- even now- you were all he could think about. Maybe that’s why somehow he ends up at your door. no- that’s not right-  The reason why he walks to your house right now, a year after the last time he’s seen you was because he’d released that song today- the one about you and missing you.

Of course, he couldn’t stop himself from checking in on you- still knew the username to all your old accounts. Enough to go and check if you’d commented on his song- and you had- a single broken heart emoji. Whether you meant for him to find it- he didn’t know. The fact that you still checked upon him the same way he checked up on you. That was enough for him to need to start drinking.

Your door is the same as it was back then, your slides sitting on the stoop- just inside the small alcove to keep them out of the rain. Your small house tucked into a side street. One of the last few in Seoul that wasn’t a complex- because you’d wanted a yard outback. You’re home, the light from the windows spilling like honey out into the wet street. You’d said that you’d never turn him away. So Jungkook steals himself and knocks, quiet. Ready for it to go unanswered because it’s so late.

You don’t look much different either when you open the door, hair shiny and dry like you’ve just blow-dried it already in your pajamas. “Jungkook!? What are you- your shoes are soaking wet! You’re soaking wet! Come inside before you catch a cold” it’s true- he must have stepped in a few puddles on his walk here. his chunky shoes slosh when he steps into your entryway.

In a moment all of your shock and apprehension melting away. And you’re fussing over him like its only been a few days since you’ve seen him and not a year. Your hands pushing his jacket off his shoulders. His mouth dry for a moment before the words tumble out again. 

“I miss you- I miss you so fucking much and it hurts. Can we talk? Please I-” your hands freeze where you’re popping his soaking jacket into your drier. Hands suddenly hovering on your counter.

Your house is just as bright and well-loved as Jungkook remembers it. Some days he lives more in those happy memories than he does in the present. The countless hours you’d spent on your couch, teaching Jungkook how to cook a little better in your kitchen. Even now- something sweet bakes in the oven, fresh bread or some other baked goods

Hours spent in your little nook in the corner taking personality quizzes on the Internet just to pass some times. The love languages quiz. “I think it's bullshit that they don’t consider food as a love language- because I love cooking for the people I love.” 

and Jungkook blushing and finishing his quiz in peace, finding out that his love language was physical affection too, tied with quality time. But that didn’t matter- the only thing he could think about was your love language. You love to cook for people you love, and he’s unable to stop listing all of the times that you’d cooked for him in his head. Nearly once a week at least.

Did that mean you loved him? You hover near that spot now. The first time that Jungkook had ever truly realized you were both falling in love.

Now that he’s not in the rain you can tell that he’s crying. His eyes bloodshot and red like he’s been doing it for hours. You reach out cupping his cold cheek with your warm hand and rubbing the moisture away. Is it a tear or just some rain? You can’t tell. And Jungkook’s whole body shivers at the contact, so sweet, he can’t help but teeter, almost falling into you as he tries to lean into it. 

Maybe he’s drunker than he thinks.

“I think you should shower first- you’re shaking Kookie- you need to warm up.” he nods quietly and lets you be his benevolent puppetmaster as you make him take off his pants soaking and stuck to his legs, leaving them with his shoes and jacket. Leading him to your bathroom. You tell him to leave his shirt and boxers outside so you can put them in the drier too.

You’d always been so good with this- ready to baby him and heal his woes whenever he’d come to you after a particularly bad day. Before he’d had you, he’d supplemented his usual bad habit with a hook up to sate his need to be self-destructive.  A month into your friendship he’d stopped because by then he’d only needed you. You’d patched him up when he’d been feeling hurt- without him ever having to hurt himself.

Compared to you, everyone else was just a fling, But they’d started out as first loves. Women that never gave him more than a few nights and left him broken-hearted when he got too attached too quickly. He’d been hurt a few too many times by the fact that they never stayed and spent the night. 

He’d convinced himself that was just how it went. Don’t get too attached, don’t get too personal and cuddle because no one wants to be that close to someone they barely know. He told himself to be satisfied with the closeness he got through sex even if he was vaguely aware that wasn’t what he really needed or wanted. 

And then one day he’d gotten up and realized that he was the one breaking their hearts- all because he didn’t want to get close to anyone anymore. Not in the way that meant being truly intimate. That was too much of a risk for his fragile heart.

True intimacy was the kind he’d had with you. You’d never needed to sleep together to cuddle him no- Jungkook just had to turn up at your door and you’d be ready to give him all of the physical contact he needs. Enough to stop feeling like he was about to jump out of his skin. 

That was what the love language quiz had told you what your love language way- physical affection, a love that Jungkook was always eager to receive.

The shower is warm and exactly what he needs. He walks out of it smelling like you; his heart hurting in such a keen way- everything in your bathroom familiar and new. The times you’d let him shower here, once after getting caught out in the rain with you (a literal downpour, eventually you’d gotten too soaked and just settled for being goofy, sloshing in puddles in the park, spinning around underneath a lit lamp singing a bad rendition of singing in the rain, spilling your bottle of soju with little regard for who might think it propper.)

A whole day he’d spent kneeling on this tiled floor after one bad night, holding back your hair when you were puking. Jungkook berating himself for his choices because He’d taken you to a bad club in Gangnam, and you were worried someone had tried to slip something into your drink- no other reason why you’d be puking like this. 

He’d apologized profusely, got you chocolate-covered strawberries as a thank you. Not knowing that you where allergic. “why the fuck did you eat them if this was going to happen” you were whiney, cheeks all puffy and red- lips a little swollen too. Gesturing for Jungkook to hand you the ice pack already, the itchiness getting to you.

“Cuz they looked really good and you were being sweet.” He slaps your hands away and holds the icepack to your cheek, moving it around every few seconds. Your eyes fluttering in relife. You’d spent the afternoon like that- Jungkook holding the icepack to your cheek watching a drama on your couch. it was the least he could do- after maybe inadvertently getting you drugged and giving you an allergic reaction. 

And still- next week you’d responded to his texts. He’d been ready for you to leave him after that, but no- you still called him your friend.  

While he takes a shower you put his clothes in the drier. Your heart humming because- he’s back. He’s actually come back. You never really expected him to stay away for so long- not more than a week at least. But then you’d heard the news of the tour and just assumed he couldn't. And you think through all the text messages you'd almost sent him asking for him to meet up for dinner or something but in the end. you’d been too worried that he would turn you down- that he really didn't care anymore. 

Your hands feel something in the pocket of his pants. you still - pulling it out not really believing it- but it’s your key. The key you’d given him hoping he would stay in your life. and seeing it- knowing he’s kept it with him all this time. you grip the edge of the counter, trying not to cry. 

When he gets out of your shower he finds an old set of his own pajamas there- probably left here at one point or another. He brings them up to his nose to inhale a deep breath, and they smell like you too. The simple joggers and black shirt- you must have worn them. Did you curl up in them on the nights that you missed him most? Did you even miss him? You’d never said it back at the door.

When Jungkook pads out into the living room, you’re sitting on the couch- head in your hands, a towel in yours, you jolt up when you see him. And your expression is unreadable as you gesture for him to sit in front of you. “I’m going to dry your hair” 

The clearly communicated intent makes Jungkook’s whole body tingle, his touch starved ness already making a reappearance- always wanting more and more. He sits, tipping his head forward so you have access to all of his hair, his eyes on the couch, and your crossed legs. They aren’t as plush as they once looked. In the past year, you’ve lost a little weight and he wonders if that’s because of him.

His whole body shaking as you bring the towel up and through his hair, drying it this way and that. Eventually leaning his cheek against your clothed thigh, before he jolts up. Catching himself with an arm out behind you. He looks up, and your breath hitches when you see his arms, the way they’ve grown over the past year.

He knows he’s put on muscle since the last time you’ve seen him and it makes the tiniest bit of pride well up in his chest to know he’s impressed you. It only lasts for a moment before you keep drying his hair looking down at your hands a sour feeling rising up in both of you. Like you’re both suddenly realizing how much you’ve changed in the last year. 

Your bodies might be strangers- but your souls aren’t. Even after all this time, not a single silence is awkward.

“Don’t want you to get a cold,” you say softly, and Jungkook only makes a small noise to let you know the message is received. He’s happy to be on the receiving end of your affection. After so long without any intimate contact, he needs it like he needs air. You continue in silence for a moment before Jungkook lists forward so hard that his head ends up pressed to your collarbone, his forehead warm against your skin. You don’t flinch back.

“Why are you being so kind to me? The last time I was here- I wasn’t- I never treated you well” his voice is broken and wavering. The darkness of the cloth concealing the fact that he’s crying again, but you can feel his tears against your skin anyway.

“I’ll always patch you up Kookie. And you did treat me well, maybe not the way I wanted to be treated- but you never treated me terribly.” That’s a little debatable, but Jungkook isn’t about to convince you not to forgive him for being an asshole.

“Will there ever be a way to go back?” it’s the one thing he’d been unable to stop himself from wondering- if there was a way to repair what you’d had. And he dreads the answer now almost more than not knowing. You bite your lip, folding your hands over your chest, leaving the towel hanging over Jungkook’s head like some kind of veil. Facing each other cross-legged on your old couch while the rain patters on outside.

“I never hated you Kookie- you’re still my best friend. Maybe we fight, and yeah it’s been a while. But at the end of the day, your soul still fits mine.”

He gulps audibly, hands reaching out to touch yours, you marvel for a second, eyes tracking over his new tattoos. He hadn’t had those the last time you’d seen them- you’d seen them on the Internet, of course, it was hard not to check up on him. 

“Do you remember what you said to me in that cafe that day?” his voice is low, as thick as the color that bleeds onto the wet asphalt outside. While in here you’re in a bubble cozy and safe. Out of time and out of place.

Your eyes are heavy-lidded, as he gets more brazen with his touches, fingers rubbing up and down your forearms. You make noise in agreement. “Soulmates that met too early.” your eyelashes flutter against your cheek- it is late- and you look as tired as Jungkook should feel where it not for the caffeine in his system- but the shower did a good job of calming him down.

His words feel thick as he swallows, “what if that lifetime is now?” your eyes shoot open. And you’re about to say something when Jungkook jumps in. “I miss you. I miss you so bad that I think it breaks my heart sometimes.”

“Jungkook” it's just his name, but the way it sounds on your mouth- Jungkook would follow that call anywhere. He slumps forward, leaning his head against your shoulder, and you smell so good. He can’t help but turn his head to nuzzle into your neck; you don’t stop him- you don’t even flinch in fact. 

You relax more- like you were waiting for him to lean into you. Hands coming up to encircle his shoulders and pull him in for a hug. “You missed me- but what do you want me to do?”

“Say you miss me too- say it's not too late. Say we have a chance.” your hands are gentle as they come up to run through his still-damp hair, “say it’s another lifetime and we can be soulmates again.”

“Are you going to stay?” you ask instead. You realize your miss-step, Jungkook sits up and you wish he didn’t so he wouldn’t see the blush on your cheeks. “stay the night I mean-” you swallow, “do you want to sleep here?”

“Yes” he flicks his hair out of his face, “if that’s okay?” both of you pretend that you mean only tonight. Even though you know- you both know what you meant.

His hair is drying curler and longer now. “You’re drunk Kookie- you should sleep. We can talk properly in the morning.”

Jungkook knows you’re probably just saying that because you want a little more time- but that’s okay. In the past year, he’s learned to be patient. And if you need the night to think it over- if you need the whole week or month. He’ll give it. “Okay,” he says, tilting his face up to look at you smiling. 

“I’m not making any promises Jungkook- we have a lot to work through to get back to how we were”

“I know,” he says, but still can’t stop smiling, letting out a watery little giggle, and damn his cute doe eyes and his easy smile- because you can’t help but think he’s the cutest thing. This boy that looks hard on the outside but isn’t anything more than the squishiest romantic when you get to know him, who turned up at your door and told you everything you’d been hoping for the second he’d walked out your door.

“I can wait as long as you need to wait, I’ll be okay as long as we just talk again. I missed you so so much” he’s definitely drunk; maybe it just took a little while for the shots to hit him.

You get him a blanket and a pillow and he sleeps on the couch and he might let his lips brush along the outside of your when you reach down to run your fingers through his hair again but you don’t pull away. A look on your face like it pains you to leave him on the couch. But those little acts of love were never out of place back when you used to talk every day. And you can’t bring it to yourself to scold him for such a blatant act of intimacy when it makes your heart flutter.

There had been a few times near the end. when Jungkook had let himself in with your key and crawled into bed with you. And you’d always woken up before him, had breakfast and something planned for the day- someplace you wanted to explore and Jungkook ready to company you anywhere and everywhere. 

He waits and watches the light underneath your door until it winks out and you go to sleep too. And he might wake in the middle of the night thinking bout crawling into bed with you but he knows enough to give you your space. His heart brimming with the possibility of more- more everything.

It’s worth it in the morning. Jungkook dreams about the love languages. Your words again ‘preparing food should be considered a love language.’ when he wakes in the morning the rain has stopped. Your porch doors open to your small back yard to let in the city sounds. The mist clearing over the rooftops, the smell of rain on the wet earth musky and sweet, quiet, and relaxing.

He smells eggs and French Toast, hears your soft humming in the kitchen. It’s Your love language to cook for those you love. And he knows somehow that you still love him when he hears the oil frying in the pan, the smell of cinnamon and sugar there too. everything sweet and nothing hurting.  

A single tear drifts down his cheek. And he’s unable to stop smiling, even if he is half-asleep, unable to open his eyes even. He falls back asleep and wakes to the feeling of your fingers running through his hair.  

There will be other times, when Jungkook can hop up from your bed and join you in the morning, back hugging you and peppering little kisses along your shoulder. Hands slipping under the edge of your shirt to squeeze at the ticklish spot on your hips. Or the small kisses he’ll press to your sleeping cheek when he has to leave early in the morning. Or the mornings when he’ll wake to you still in his arms kissing down his chest. 

Countless mornings, days into the future when things will be easier. And even if they're not easy, Jungkook knows trying with you is worth it. Now that he’s lived without you- he will do anything to stay by your side. For Now, he’s happy to sleep off his hangover dimly aware of the sound of you moving around your house. 

For a second, it almost feels like you’ve bent down, the warmth spilling across his face, the faint brush of your lips on his cheek. He tells himself it’s just a dream.  

Jungkook is good at lying to himself. 

Kofi

(if you want to find out your love language; here is a simple quiz to find out!) 

#jungook x reader #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #jk #jk x reader #jjk #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts hurt/comfort #bts smut #bts fluff fic #bts #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan boys

[sanstropfremir]

kingdom episode 5 review!!! lets fucking go!!!!!

 look. was i insanely hyped for this episode? yes. was my hype justified? also yes. holy FUCKING SHIT. you’ll have to forgive me for going off the rails at some points because ateez and btob directly tapped into something primal in my brain and i am obsessed. i'm obsessed. there’s no other word for it I’m obsessed. 

 ok ok ok i'll focus. i'm focused. i'll do the stage breakdown first and then do my personal ranking at the end. i might do a quick runup comparison of the self and expert rankings for funsies but i'll see how i feel when i get there. instead of going in airing order i’m gonna reverse it, since that was the order i actually watched them in and also i will run out of brains if i talk about rhythm ta first.

skz

i feel for skz. i don't think this show is going to be as much of learning curve as it needs to be for them because the fan voting skews the rankings so much. I’ve said it so many times before, but letting something flop or getting a bad ranking is actually good, because it shows you that you need to improve. because skz keeps getting validated by the fan rankings and placing first in the last two stages, they aren't actually taking the time to evaluate what about their stages is or isn't working. and besides, we’ve now seen two very similar concepts in a row from them, just one is on a grander scale than the other. what they should be doing is what both ateez and btob did for this round, which was scale up production value, but scale down concept. i know this sounds weird but i'll explain. skz has done two very abstract and ‘grand’ concepts. first round we had ghosts/good self vs evil self, and this stage they just went straight for the throat with a deal with the devil type stage. now when you combine these very abstract concepts with an unclear narrative arc, you lose clarity of intent in the performance because there are no specifics that you’re playing off of. there’s a lot more places left up to personal interpretation and this is where people can get lost. btob and ateez both narrowed down their concepts to hyperspecific scenarios where they very clearly showing the audience the arc the stage is taking. audiences can be smart but also if you can lead them by the hand they like not thinking about highly conceptual ideas, and especially not so much in a pop song competition show.

 costume

this is so rare because generally stylists are pretty careful about this, but i genuinely think they got outshone by the backup dancers, especially in the ‘heaven’ sequence. those sash and skirt combos with the strapped white tops that look like straitjackets? the fucking angel wings?! these are some thematically fun costume designs and because they’re white they stand out so much more when skz are wearing black. i also think i've seen these tops on backup dancers before? i thought it was on the last stage but i might be going insane.

i am a sucker for beaded embroidery and the combined dyework on some of their sashes is beautiful. but again, thematically irrelevant? at least you can see the greco-roman inspiration in the backup dancers’ costumes. all this is telling me is that whoever the stitchers are at jype, they are fucking incredible, but they don’t actually have a good designer because the main costumes for all their stages have been both aesthetically similar and thematically irrelevant.

again, i applaud skz for trying more experimental makeup, but boys you have to go bigger, it has no impact right now.

set

well, i did ask for them to commit to the western art bit and they sort of delivered? the first space is not planned very well and combined with the wide wide camera shots instead of making the space seem grand and sweeping it just seems bare. the ‘heaven’ side was excellent though, there was much better control of the camera and the columns and altar scaled the space down so it was more believable. also the breakable columns were fun and corny and i love it when stuff gets destroyed onstage.

the child statue transformation into actual child was a neat trick that i think landed really well. i wish they had given that concept a little more grounding other than the flashback bit but it was still very readable.

i know using rodin's gates of hell is the easiest way to shortcut saying that like, “you are now entering hell,” but them being used SO literally feels a bit blunt when the last time we saw them used in kpop was by original blasphemous catholic lee taemin, who used them with such nuance and intelligence that i'm a bit put off by skz’s literalism.

on that note, i find it very interesting the conflation that happens between greco-roman/”classical” aesthetics and catholicism, because ideologically the two are opposed (see: the bible) and historically, they didn't exist at the same time. now i'm not going to go off on a tangent about neoclassicism because you are not here for an art history lecture but i thought i would make the observation about how catholics continued appropriation of greco-roman aesthetics without complete understanding or context of those aesthetics is as pervasive as it ever has been in the last several hundred years. 

lighting

generally the lighting is pretty good, but there’s an over-reliance on projections that cheapens the look of the stage but also devalues the intentions as well. at the core of it there’s a profound statement being made about trading away your innocence, but when you underscore that with like, clock graphics and a WoW looking demon, it loses that simplicity of message.

the thing about using this particular type of projection, which are actually screens and not typical projectors, is that screens always throw light. and due to where they are situated, this basically means that if you're using the screens at full capacity with a cool colour range, we are going to be able to see everything. this is another contributing factor to why the stage looks so empty; they’re lighting up everything and it exposes where the gaps are.

now i fully acknowledge that this possibly could have been a deliberate choice, since they do actually use some spot lighting at the beginning and end. however, if it was it did not land for me. 

i loved the intro of demon felix done in blue, that was a nice switchup from what we would usually see, but i wish there was more of a coherent colour arc. like the narrative it stutters around a bit.

sound

the arrangement was a miss for me. i found it a bit dissonant again, like their last stage, since the original i'll be your man has obvious lyrics about a good christian boy being sad about a girl. this gets a bit wonky conceptually as soon as you add a child self into it. i don’t know if they changed any of the lyrics in the singing to match this a little more because i don't speak korean, so i'll have to wait for episode subs for verification. 

i really applaud them for trying, and overall they didn't actually do that bad, but skz is not a vocal group. the most i'm going to say about it is that these boys don’t have the breath support. this is likely because they're trying to do choreographically complex movements, but also it's a training thing. you can hear the difference even just between eunkwang’s ‘vocal warmup’ at the beginning of back door, he’s not projecting full voice but he still has the breath support for his voice to sound full, whereas all skz boys sound thin in comparison, even when at full volume, because they’re trying to project from the throat and not the chest. that's all i'm gonna say about that. i don't think the cracked note was bad, i didn’t really clock it on first listen.

staging

thematically they could have had something really interesting here if they stuck to a more simple narrative arc. the genesis (i’m very funny) of the idea here is good, the whole mephistopheles deal with a devil + regret/loss of innocence is clear, but the arc isn't really an arc, and the colour story doesn't help. it kind of goes earth (green/blue) -> the gates of hell are opening (red) -> oh it's heaven now (blue) -> oh just kidding it's hell/lets destroy heaven (red) -> back to earth (blue). not necessarily a bad arc, just a bit complex for four minutes.

the choreo was a lot better this time, there was a lot more intention and relevance to theme and i didn’t feel like they were flailing for the sake of flailing as much as i have in their other stages. there was also a clarity in the overall blocking and movement patterns that was missing from their other stages. this stage has a really great handoff of each member playing the ‘main’ character, especially in the beginning. i especially liked the cut from falling off the stairs to laying centre stage. 

i think I’m right in assuming that it was a choice that the members were all playing the same character and demon felix was that character possessed rather than the actual devil, but personally i think it would have been a lot more fun if they had straight up just made him be the actual devil. there’s a bit of dissonance when you have a performer with such a specialized skillset that gets used in very specific instances, but then he shows up in the regular group choreo like any ol’ guy. they always put such emphasis on felix (as they should, he’s their most charismatic performer), but they never go the distance. i would have loved it if they had committed to the bit like TOO did in their magnolia stage from rtk, where they had a member just be blinded justice. that was literally the only thing he did and it worked so well. could have done the same here with felix and it would have been fun. that being said the felix parts were SO good. love love love him getting dragging in chains.

 btob

this hit every little one of the buttons in my tiny backstage crew brain. i'm in love with this stage. there’s so many true to life little details here that on repeat viewings you're still finding new things. i know i rag on and on about narrative every week but here is a good example of what i've been trying to get at this whole time: the stage needs a shape. an a to b. you don't need a whole pirates spiel or a game of thrones theme extended universe; all you need is a clear setting and a point a to point b. this stage has both those things perfectly. we have a hyperspecific setting, (american rockstars) and a basic arc (getting ready to perform -> performing). even though back door is outside of btob’s wheelhouse, they spun it in a way that played to their strengths and did a bit braggadocio, which is rightfully earned. i'm gonna be saying it every time but the experience shows!!!

 costume

good contemporary costume is SO difficult, i want to impress that here. because it's the the time period that we are currently living and seeing every day it's so easy for the audience to spot mistakes. although yes it's easier to source/shop for, to get it good enough that it doesn't pull people out of the immersion is surprisingly more difficult than you think. their stylists did an excellent job here. the backup dancers and btob are all in monochrome plus one and it adds a very clean unity to everything without visual clutter.

each of btob’s costumes have enough to give indication of character, along with the member’s acting, which i'll get more into in the staging section. regardless, never underestimate the power of a good fitting shirt and statement belt. oh and minhyuk in the stirrup motorcycle boots with the skinny jeans and the supreme boxers and the red satin robe? good bye.

i love love love a dyed buzz this was such a good aesthetic choice for peniel, 10/10 i have no complaints about the costumes.

set

oh my god i’m gonna french kiss this set designer. this is such a simple set but it’s executed so well. there’s the ‘backstage’ area, the corridor with four dressing rooms, and then the ‘stage’ that’s pretty much just velvet ropes. so simple, but all the detail is in the set decoration and props. the road cases, the monitor, the subtle flex of the posters of them on the walls, the clothing racks, all the booze. although this is not the actual layout of any theatre (they're normally much weirder than this), there’s so many little details here that really make the experience.

there’s a very straightforward path here and it works so well. i think this might be the best use of the gates so far? it appropriately suited the drama of the moment and they didn't have to do anything to them because they're already in a theatre. bada bing bada boom.

lighting

love the setup and continuation through the amber ‘BRRRMM.’ like with sf9 it gives a smooth transition into the stage. also loved no blackout. it's a general rule in current theatrical practice that you only use blackouts when they are absolutely necessary, because they can stop the pacing of a play dead in the water. so the lack of one here at the start of the stage was a really smart choice and makes the transition feel less jarring.

i will say that actual backstage areas are very rarely lit with amber because it travels far and it's bright. it's much more common to see running lights (the lights on during a performance) to be deep red or blue.

those blasting wash lights as the gates open? the DRAMA. such a seemingly innocuous choice that really cements the atmosphere of ‘we are about to perform.’

really smart use of the projections to accentuate the already existing stage facilities. it's pretty much unnoticable because it's very well done but i appreciate it.

sound

this ARRANGEMENT!!!! it's so good!!! back door has this premise essentially built into the song so it was so smart of them to put this gimmicky spin on it. loved the literal interpretation of the knocks into the structure of the stage, it makes the blend between the sound design and the staging that much more effective.

more rock versions of everything please and thank you. 

btob is just stunting at this point and i love it. i'll have to wait for subs but judging by the hands in front of the camera bit and the ‘your super high note’ i’m pretty confident the added rap lyrics are full of shots at the other groups and honestly? valid.

staging

there's some really sharp camera control here with the one take first half. It’s up very close and personal because there’s a lack of space but it really works for the ‘intimacy’ of seeing backstage at a venue. also this is such a simple movement track but it’s so effective. it backs over a couple spots but it doesn't feel repetitive because there’s a sense of urgency and drive.

there are so many good little details in here that are true to life and unnecessary to include but sell the performance as a whole. peniel flinging water onstage, minhyuk stripping down twice and flinging his clothes around, minhyuk closing the door on the standby’s face, the backup dancer as a dresser with the laundry basket, peniel stealing the hat off her but then not going on stage with it these are all things that I’ve either had directly happen to me or something very similar has happened. but the best one and the one that sets off the tone amazingly for the whole stage is eunkwang’s intro. that ‘vocal warmup’ with the quiet okay at the end? with the little jump? i see that moment of vulnerability before the transition between person and actor every time i watch someone go onstage for the first time and there’s no way to describe it other than magic. 

the luxury of only having four members, there was actually time in this stage to establish character. it also speaks to the performing strength of btob that they can establish clear character in this short amount of time. obviously it’s pretty one dimensional; there’s serious eunkwang, typical rocker minhyuk, fuckboy peniel (how many licks does it take to make your tootsie pop, anyone?), and comedian changsub. i’ve seen and met and worked with these exact dudes many, many times. ugh i love this stage

 ateez

the utter euphoria i felt at the proof that last round’s stage wasn't a fluke. this stage is so good. it's so good. i'm obsessed with how good this stage. as an unreformed pop punk teen who played a LOT of latin jazz i am LIVING. if you’ve only seen the episode cut and not the full version here i'll make it easy and link it for you because oh my GOD mnet destroyed the pacing by cutting in a full minute and a half of reaction shots. actually mnet fucked up the pacing for all of these stages but this one was the worst. and look. i know this is the closest these boys are going to get to being real punks and this is a carefully curated and artificial facade for narrative purposes only but oh the pandering tastes so sweet. regardless of that, i am IN AWE of the level of storytelling happening here. the narrative is so clear on just the first viewing even though there is so much going on and they use every possible element they can to further enhance that narrative. repeat viewings just add more and more little details. i’ll probably miss some things because there's so much but i'll try my best.

 costume

look, hanya and i were joking that my notes for this stage were just gonna be ‘san dog collar’ for a thousand words and i was so tempted to just leave it at that because.....woof. so here is a short list of things i am the most obsessed with:

san dog collar

san smeared lipstick

wooyoung cruella deville ponytail

hongjoong terrible blond crewcut

san crushed velvet cargo pants?!

seonghwa cropped fur jacket

yunho arm sleeve

hongjoong sockless in red derbys

but in all seriousness the costumes are so good. none of these are truly authentic punk looks but they capture the spirit right and that's what matters. all the right trappings are there; safety pins, patches, plaid, leather, and a lot of diy type looks. i love the painted masks, especially as a callback to the comedy/tragedy theatre masks. it was a thematic choice to have the backup dancers in black and the tac vests are a super simple contextual device.

also hongjoong’s quickchange hat/jacket combo is super fun and i hope that’s intentionally a preview of the next stage.

set

if you weren't convinced before that whoever is designing the ateez stages is a stage designer, i don't know what to tell you. it's hard to tell because there is so much environmental storytelling happening, but there is NO large scale set here. like with their last stage, kq smartly put money into two highlight pieces; the anarchist blimp and the van/wall, and the rest of the stage atmosphere is established solely through propwork and lighting. just think about that for a bit. every other group has some kind of large scale room or wall build. ateez has a bunch of tables, flyers, and a podium. i don’t know if i can accurately communicate just how difficult this kind of coordination is to pull off but holy fucking shit this is so hard to pull off. these are theatre people i see you and i see your work and i love you!!!

they fully used the gilt mnet stage as their pseudo government building and it works. everything about this (lack of) set is so smart i wish i could be more articulate about it but there’s so only so many ways i can say the same thing over and over again. 

lighting

the laser scopes. the LASER SCOPES!!! god this lighting designer is so good. whoever you are, i'm acknowledging your effort because you deserve it. there’s some really wonderful contrast and directional lighting: the van light, the pinlights/lasers/smoke as searchlights. a lot of atmospheric red lighting but it makes sense for the theme (alarm lights) and they offset it well (unlike in the other two predominantly red stages we’ve seen) by fill lighting the faces with blue or amber; this is what actually makes us able to see what’s happening on stage

the projections are used to augment the stage action in without being overpowering, they're at relatively low tonal value so they aren't lighting up the stage at full brightness like in the skz stage. 

the big brother eye on the tv screens (it's just a projection, not actual screens) combined with the government ban notice and the broadcast has to be the record for fastest visual explanation of fascist totalitarian state. 

sound

i love it. they really successfully made rhythm ta into an ateez song and it’s cool as fuck. i love that it isn't sonically very loud. a lot of the chorus is actually quite level tone and quiet, which is a bold choice and they pull it off. this is very comfortably in their range (excluding jongho) and they went more for style than range and that's exactly what every group should be doing. singing high does not equal singing good. yes i am looking at you jongho you should have stopped at that penultimate note, it was fine!!

using rhythm ta as a pseudo protest song against a fascist government that’s banned all music and art? galaxy brain. that intro of hongjoong whispering “hey hey hey hey, this is just a song so get on the rhythm” after gunning down military police/guards? king fucking shit.

staging

i will eat all five pairs of my fluevog boots if kq hasn't hired a bunch of theatre professionals to direct and design these stages because now it's been proven that last stage wasn't a fluke. the level of execution at work here is absolutely incredible. oh the gesamtkunstwerk of it all!!!  there is SO much happening so quickly in this four minute stage and it still manages to convey exactly the correct amount of information that it needs to on the first go round, and it only gets better on repeat viewings.

they use a really classic theatre perspective trick with san climbing the rope, and they absolutely didn’t have to do that. san probably could have actually climbed that himself, but here they made a choice for aesthetic artistry over tricking/other feats of skills we’ve seen the 4th gen groups do. instead of going with the more technically difficult and ‘impressive’ option, they chose the simple way that allows for more character to shine through. there’s actually very little tricking in this stage as whole, they're putting trust in the design of the stage and the raw performance abilities of the members to carry the stage and they stick the landing again. san has some breakdancing and so do the backup dancers, but it’s window dressing in the same way that the flyers are window dressing.

there’s a lot of really good little moments of acting that really sell the performance and dedication of the group as a whole to giving their all. hongjoong overall in his cocky aspirational leader role, seonghwa’s first verse and malfunctioning earpiece bit, san’s falsetto hostage interrogation bit. also i'm obsessed with how far yunho just hucks that mask. he gets like fifteen feet of air with that thing. also props to hongjoong barehanding that glass break.

the paper props are impeccable. the first notice sets up the situation right away, and then we get some further exposition with the newspaper wooyoung is holding (which says ‘the central government has defined the black pirates as a terrorist’ but honestly you don't really need to know what it says to get the point), and then we have raining anarchist flyers from the anarchist blimp. great atmospheric touches.

the blackout crash-to-mask transition is just so good. this is an example of a good use of a blackout. nothing else to add i just thought i would point it out because it's dope.

like with btob there's some really tight camera control here, that along with the lighting and the way they've laid out the space make it easy to follow the trajectory of where they're going and also make the space seem smaller than it is. this is a really big stage and if you don't control how you want it to be seen you end up like with what happened to the first part of skz’s stage. i wish they had tracked some of the one takes a bit better, but the end of that take where the camera followed the group movement laterally and then the formation swung around to face front? sexy. surprisingly the editing is pretty ok.

there’s probably still so much i could talk about but this is already so long so if i missed something just let me know.

ok finally lets do some rankings

personal ranking

this round wasn't as tough to rank because there were two clear top tier stages for me. i actually went back and looked at my ranking from last round and this is identical except the top two spots are switched, which i find extremely funny. however in contrast to last round, these stages were all leagues better than their predecessors. all the groups are improving, just some at greater speed than others.

ateez - i'm not even gonna explain this one.

btob - i won't explain this one either since i just did that.

sf9 - this would have been first if ateez and btob hadnt blow everyone out of the water.i still think they made all the right choices and played to their strengths.

ikon - this stage is so fun to watch but the others offer me more. that’s it.

skz - i like the idea behind it and i loved felix; i'm always down for some good catholic fuckery but like last round it just wasn't played out far enough.

tbz - double ding on the moulin rouge and the continued game of thrones references for me. there were a lot of strong elements here but when compared to every other stage it just doesn't have the same gravitas.

the self rankings i thought were fairly accurate, but again, what the fuck is up with these expert rankings? who are these experts? what stages are they watching?? i won't go more into it than that because then you'll be here even longer but i don't trust these experts who consistently rank btob at the bottom, do you have eyes??? ears????

 ok i'm done for real now im so sorry this 4.6k words......if you make it this far do something nice for yourself like eat a cookie or something. this is way too long you deserve a reward for making it through my nonsense. as always if you’ve got questions or want to share your opinions feel free to send me an ask!

#kingdom #kingdom review #should i risk it and tag the groups this time? i kinda wanna bait some weirdos #kpop analysis #ok im gonna do it #ateez #btob #stray kids #the boyz #sf9 #ikon #im pretty sure i missed so much here but this is so long im so sorry #at least next week i wont be doing this kind of writeup #text

[lifeofkaze]

When Stars Ignite - Chapter 13

HPHM Rockstar AU

A/N:

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning: Language, allusion to NSFW content

~~~

Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

~~~

This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @night-rhea @carewyncromwell

Drop of a hat she's as willing as Playful as a pussy cat Then momentarily out of action Temporarily out of gas To absolutely drive you wild, wild She's out to get you

~ Queen - Killer Queen ~

After Lizzie had left on that day back in August, Orion hadn’t been sure whether her words would follow action and there would actually be a next time, nor had he been entirely sure he wanted there to be one.

Not because the night he had spent with Lizzie hadn’t been fantastic, or either of them was feeling uncomfortable with it; but she had been his close friend and colleague for so many years now and Orion valued her presence in his life deeply. Changing a pattern that worked smoothly seldomly proved to be a good idea.

He had been glad nothing seemed to have changed between them when they saw each other next; Lizzie had acted just the same as always, focused on their music, laughing with him during breaks, maybe a little flirtatious, but then again, that was just her way.

Orion’s resolve to consider the fling with her done and dusted lasted about a week. He had walked her home from the dinner they’d had with the rest of the band; when they’d reached her flat in Chelsea, she’d waited in the door to the house, looking back at him over her shoulder with an amused expression.

“What now? Are you coming or not?”

He had to admit, the second time round, this time with their senses all together, the sex had been even better than the first time. His concerns about what it might do to their friendship were melting away with every kiss Lizzie left on his body, setting his skin aflame and shutting off his mind with that deliciously wicked smile of hers.

When they’d found themselves in his flat for a third time, he felt the need to stop her wandering hands while he still could.

“Wait a minute, we should really talk about what we’re doing here.”

Lizzie looked up at him incredulously, her fingers hooking on the seam of his trousers, her fingernails grazing his sensitive skin. “What, right now?”

Orion tried to ignore his urgent wish for her to continue where she’d left off and sat up. “Yes, right now.”

“Fine,” she answered briefly and removed her hands from his body, but not without running her hand over him one last time, sending a shiver down his spine. He couldn’t deny how much his body yearned for her but he pushed the heat inside his chest aside and forced his thoughts to focus on what was on his mind.

“If we want this to continue we need to talk about where it’s going,” he managed to say a lot calmer than he felt as he watched Lizzie slowly taking in his undressed body, a salacious smirk on her lips.

“I can perfectly tell you where this is going right now,” she chuckled but Orion didn’t let himself get distracted.

“I’m serious, Liz. As fun as this is, we’re actively breaking the rules here. We are part of a greater thing; the whole unity that is Equinox is more important than every one of us on our own. I don’t want to do anything that could harm the band.”

With a sigh, Lizzie sat up straighter, her expression serious. “Neither of us would ever do anything to put the band at risk. This here is not a relationship, Orion; we can stop this any time.”

She shuffled closer to him on the bed and put a hand on his arm. Her smile was now nothing but warm and reassuring. “Don’t worry, this is just fun, no strings attached.”

He wasn’t entirely convinced, however. “Things like this end in disaster more often than not.“

“If it makes you feel better, let’s make a deal,” Lizzie suggested. “We’ll do this as long as it’s fun and we both want it. In the case that things change for either one of us, we’ll just stop and go back to how things were before. How does that sound?”

Orion sighed deeply. “Do you really think it will work just like that?”

“Just like that,” she smiled, her hand wandering from his arm onto his chest, giving him a slight push so he fell over on his back.

“You’re thinking too much,” she purred as her lips trailed down his chest and over his stomach, coming to rest where hands had let off earlier. “Let me help you relax.”

And just like that, what had begun as a simple drunk one-night stand had developed into something that wasn’t just a friendship, but was far from a relationship either.

Even when their tour had started, they hadn’t stopped meeting in the dead of the night, the risk of being discovered adding an additional thrill, which Orion would have never guessed he’d find himself enjoying. Working off the adrenaline a successful show set off in their bodies soon became his favourite way of winding down. It wasn’t long before he’d actually started showing signs of impatience - something that used to be completely foreign to him - when Lizzie took her time before leaving the backstage area, joking around with Skye or Charlie, deliberately teasing him.

The curves of her body became as familiar to Orion as the neck of his guitar, and he knew exactly how to play both to coax the sweetest sounds from them. Lizzie began to learn every story behind his many tattoos, her fingers tracing the delicate lines as he told her all about them.

The harmony that had existed between them from the get go solidified, unexpected but not unsurprising; it felt like a natural extension to their friendship, raising their connection and understanding to a higher level.

Now, almost ten months since their first night together, he couldn’t even remember what it had been like before.

Orion was violently broken out of his musings by Skye snapping her fingers in front of his eyes.

“Earth calling Orion, you still with us, mate?”

She eyed him critically as his eyes snapped back into focus. “What’ve you been daydreaming about?”

He slowly pulled her hand away from his face. “I have been reminded of something and indulged in the call of the past for a moment,” he answered serenely.

“The way you’re looking it must have been a good memory,” Lizzie said innocently. Her eyes were sparkling as if she knew exactly what he had been thinking about.

He inclined his head, hoping his face wouldn’t give him away. “A favourite.”

Skye shrugged. “Whatever, let’s get those damn pictures taken and get outta here, I’m hungry. You’d better focus on the job.” She stopped, looking thoroughly bewildered. “Can’t believe I need to say this to you of all people.”

Still shaking her head, she grabbed Lizzie by the arm and pulled her towards the set that had been prepared on the far side of the room. The photographer was already instructing Merula on where to stand, Everett looking on from the sidelines.

It took them ages to get all of the pictures Rita’s magazine wanted done. After all of them had their portraits taken, they continued with group shots in various combinations.

When it was the girls’ turn, Orion joined Everett on the sides. The mood between the two guitarists had improved a little since Everett felt he got the recognition he deserved, but still, the atmosphere lacked the carefree camaraderie of the past. Orion struggled to find something to talk about with him these days, not wanting to provoke any of Everett’s bad moods.

As it turned out, their frontman had no desire to talk to him anyway. He was watching Skye, Lizzie and Merula pose in front of the camera intently. He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms in front of his chest, a small grin forming on his face.

“You can say what you want, but our girls are quite a sight to see, aren’t they?”

Orion didn’t answer, only raising his eyebrows slightly. Everett took his silence as a sign to go on. “I mean, look at them.” His grin widened, taking on a wolfish touch. “Look at Lizzie, for fuck’s sake. Shame she’s always running ‘round all plain and simple, what a waste.”

Orion had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. “Beauty comes from the inside, from embracing our nature as it is and carrying it to the outside. Lizzie is in tune with herself and that is showing. The way she prefers to keep it simple doesn’t dim her light, it enhances it.”

“I certainly wouldn’t say no to her glammed up like that, is all I’m saying,” Everett snorted.

Orion wasn’t surprised by Everett’s take on things, but he was astounded at how much his words were grating on him. Everett had been a flirt for as long as Orion could remember, but he had never objectified women the way he did these days. Ever since they had started their way to the top, the pressure they were constantly feeling had steadily increased. Everett was treating the girls admiring him just the same as he did anything else taking his mind off things; as a meaningless, replaceable means to an end.

He didn’t like hearing Everett talk about anyone like that, but especially not Lizzie.

However, Orion couldn’t deny that he had a point. As per usual, Andre had worked his magic on her for the shoot, creating a maximum effect with simple but well chosen measures. Lizzie’s light brown hair fell around her face in a heap of messy curls, her dark makeup accentuating her blue eyes.

The shiny leather leggings she was wearing were clinging tightly to her legs that were elongated by a pair of black heeled boots. A loose black shirt with the familiar logo of the Rolling Stones gave her the effortlessly nonchalant vibe that was so inherently her. She had tied it in a knot at the sides to shorten it, showing just the tiniest bit of her belly.

Yes, as much as he hated to admit it, Everett was right; Lizzie was a sight to see. Their eyes met briefly as Merula and Lizzie switched positions. Orion could see the smirk starting to form on her lips, like it always did when she caught him watching her.

She quickly regained control over her expression, flipping her hair out of her face and concentrating again. But her attention kept wandering back to him, a mischievous glitter in her eyes that Orion knew all too well.

When it was time for pictures of the whole group, he and Everett joined the girls in front of the camera again. To get a more compact looking picture of them all together, the photographer wanted him and Everett to sit on one of the sofas they had used for the interview, the girls grouped behind them, all trying their best to look as casual as possible.

Orion was sitting directly in front of Lizzie; he almost jumped when he suddenly felt her hand on his back, hidden from the others by her body that was very close to his. Her fingers tiptoed higher up until they found the exposed skin of his neck. Her nails were grazing his skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind at the unexpected sensation. Orion could feel the intense energy radiating off her and had to fight the urge to turn around and catch a glimpse of her expression.

Looking at her camera, the photographer, a beautiful young woman in a blue headscarf, frowned and shook her head. “This doesn’t look right yet. I’m missing the energy, the spirit of your connection.

She contemplated for a moment before her fine features lit up. “I know; Merula, could you sit between the guys? The other girls, one on each arm of the sofa, please.”

They changed as she had asked them to, Skye perching on the back of the sofa next to Everett and Lizzie now sitting closer to Orion than before. But still, their photographer wasn’t satisfied.

“Lizzie, could you lean in a little?”

“Sure,” Lizzie smiled innocently, leaning closer to Orion until their bodies were almost touching. He could smell her perfume and the sharp scent of hairspray. When he felt her hand on his back yet again, conveniently out of sight of the camera, he shifted his position a little, ever so slightly leaning into her touch.

Encouraged by him playing along, the corners of her mouth twitched, masked by a little tilt of her head for the camera. Her hand traveled down his spine to the base of his shirt where she lost no time to slip it underneath the seam, her cool fingers brushing across the bare skin of his back.

Orion exhaled slowly, trying not to laugh at the light sensation of her fingertips. Lizzie knew that he was ticklish in that particular spot. She was trying to play him, testing his control over himself, just as she had done after their first show in London.

He couldn’t believe the risk she was taking; touching him like that in a dark nightclub under a table was one thing, but during a photoshoot, with all eyes on them? He’d never thought she would be so bold.

Her ridiculous recklessness was intriguing, however; just like everything about Lizzie it was playing with fire and the reward of being close to a blazing flame never came without danger.

A movement at the edge of his vision drew Orion’s attention away from her touch. His eyes flicked over to the other side of the sofa and he thought he could see Skye looking over to them. His heart suddenly racing, Orion leaned against the back of the sofa, effectively forcing Lizzie to withdraw her hand.

He glanced over to Skye again, but she was looking straight at the camera, her moody rockstar expression edged onto her face. She paid him or Lizzie no mind whatsoever, and for a moment Orion wondered whether that frown on her face had been nothing but a trick of his mind.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #harry potter hogwarts mystery #rockstar au #orion amari #lizzie jameson #lizion #skye parkin #merula snyde #andre egwu #jason everett #when stars ignite #wsi #besties collaborate #I may have figured out the tag problem yay

[lordoftermites]

OF CLOVER & IRON

Part One

Pairing: Roiben x Kaye

Summary: fluff(ish), angst, obligatory smut (later). fluffish smangst, let's go with that.

My first fic for these two—and all around the first one I've ever written, period. I finally got to a point that I can confidently post parts 1 & 2 without obsessive editing so yeet haw let's fuckin go. Set the day after Ironside Ch. 13. {there's a slight deviation of the wound placements also, because I just really wanted to see Kaye lovingly take care of her Emo Black Knight™. Everything else is canon-compliant. I hope.}

Rating: M for suggestive themes, smut in future chapters

Also I was listening to Beautiful Crime by Tamer and If You Care by Evan Barlow the whole time and if those aren't the most Roiben songs I've ever fucking heard—

*buzzfeed voice* let's get into it

________________

Each step I left behind Each road you know is mine Walking on a line ten stories high Say you'll still be by my side If I could take your hand, oh If you could understand That I can barely breathe, the air is thin I fear the fall and where we'll land

"You realize I have attendants for this, don't you?"

Roiben was reclined, rather awkwardly, against the mountain of plush pillows on his bed. Their down stuffing jutted through the timeworn fabric and pricked along the sensitive skin of his bare back.

While the gash Talathain's sword had wrought the day before had since been cleaned and bandaged, the end of those feathers still managed to find their way through to jab at the still-open wound, eliciting from him a wince, as though he needed reminding of the events that had transpired had, in fact, transpired.

Ruefully, Roiben found that he did not need reminding.

"Mhmm, I know." Kaye replied absently beside him, drawing him back to the present. She was perched on the edge of the bed, inky-black gaze fixed on his hand in her lap; she was gently applying a viscous paste to the scarlet, angry line along his palm—another gift from Silarial's green knight. The mixture had a cooling element to it, not at all unpleasant against the dull burn of the wound. Kaye was careful, dedicated as she worked. Her tender, feather-light touches sent an involuntary shiver down the base of Roiben's spine.

“I admit, I do not mislike having you for a nursemaid instead of an ill-tempered hob." He grinned down at her as she finished, gently wrapping a milky-white cloth around the pad of his hand, tying it off in a small knot at the base of his wrist. He didn’t think anyone in his service would have tended to him with such attentive care; actually, they very well may have relished an opportunity to see him wince. Indeed, he much preferred this.

She glanced up at him through thick lashes and gave him a small smile of her own, but it faltered on her features, wavered there until it faded into something Roiben couldn't name. "I guess,” she began, dropping her gaze back down to his newly-dressed hand in hers. “I just wanted to do… something, for a change." Roiben's brow knitted at the sadness in her voice, the way the guilt, thoroughly misplaced, steeped her words. There was a twinge in his chest that was reminiscent of the arrow she had pulled from it not four months prior. Automatically, his hand reached up to touch the new scar, a rose-tinted indentation in the middle of his sternum. A phantom ache bloomed under his fingers.

She had been only a human girl then, guised as she was, and unfortunate enough to be the one to find him bleeding out, collapsed there against the gnarled tree he would have gladly let become his grave. She had saved his very soul that night in the rain, though neither of them had known it at the time. It was very likely she still didn't.

And here she was again, nursing the consequences of his own obstinate pride and blaming herself for it. Too often, too willingly did she take the weight of his burdens as her own, while he futilely sought to keep her safe from them. Safe from him. She was the most stubbornly kind creature he had ever known; a knight of her own design—a savior he had never had any right to.

Roiben reached out to tuck a loose tendril of viridescent hair behind her ear. The slight movement pulled at the lesion on his back, threatening another wince. He resisted. "Kaye," he started, and when she didn't meet his eyes, he crooked a finger under her chin and canted her head to him.

"There is nothing you have done—not since the moment I met you to now, that was not something." His thumb ran over her emerald jawline, the smooth skin silk in contrast to the roughness of his own. Kaye's eyes fluttered and she leaned into his touch. "I know it is my failure, in not telling you as such, that you mistakenly think yourself so inadequate. For that, I am well and truly sorry."

Through the burning discomfort of his wounds, Roiben drew her down to him and captured her mouth in a kiss. He had never been a master of apologies— or much else for that matter. And for reasons he was unable to name, his way of begging Kaye's pardon seemed to often be sought with his mouth, as if he hoped she could taste it on his tongue— and forgive him with her own.

Her lips, softer than satin and more delectable than any wine he had ever tasted, parted in a soft, lilting sigh. The sound, as it so often did, caused the muscles in his lower abdomen to coil with a rush of warmth. His bandaged fingers moved to tangle in her wild hair as her tongue danced between his teeth, languorous at first, then quickly shifting into something nearer to frenzy. He could feel his pulse quicken, the familiar strain across the front of his trousers when her hand splayed his chest, soft fingertips pressing into his bare skin. His breath hitched.

And then Kaye's lips were gone and she was pushing herself back up, away from him, her breathing ragged. He watched her dazedly, lamenting the abrupt loss of her closeness. She combed a hand through her mess of green hair, and Roiben realized she was trembling. He frowned.

"What is it?" he asked, drawing himself up to a sitting position, jaw clenched against the sharp tug of the bandage stretching from his shoulder to his hip. "Have I done something to displease you?" He glanced down, sliver gaze settling on a fraying thread of gauze on his wrist. "Perhaps my apology wasn't quite the one you were looking for, but I—"

"That's not it." Kaye cut him off, and when he looked back up to meet her eyes, he was disconcerted to find their pitch depths were suddenly glistening. He opened his mouth to speak, but Kaye raised a hand to forestall him. He pressed his lips together, obediently falling mute. "It… it's not you. I mean, it's a little bit you. Okay— maybe it's a lot you. But… I'm just…" She let out a frustrated groan, as though she couldn't quite manage to untangle whatever thought she was trying to get out. The back of her hand swiped angrily across her eyes.

Roiben knew she hated crying, but he was unsure whether it was explicitly crying in front of him, or if it was the act altogether. Whatever the reason, there was a nagging in his gut, a temptation to reach up and wipe away the glittering tear that rolled down the curve of her verdant cheek.

But he stayed patiently, painfully silent beside her, fingers worrying the fabric over his knuckles instead as she worked through unweaving her mind. Roiben found himself suddenly wishing he had the power to read it, if only to help wrench her free of whatever trap that held her there, apart from him. Finally, she sighed—a dispirited sound that reverberated through the otherwise quiet stillness of his chambers.

"Why did you come back? Why did you find me at the diner? Why did you choose me?"

The string of questions— rather, the way she asked them, whispered, bordering on anguish, stung him like the gilded edge of Talathain's blade. Roiben gaped at her, for a moment too stunned to respond. Her expression was contorted slightly, the emotions that coursed through her scrambling over one another to find purchase on her face. Still, she held his gaze with an unwavering severity that bored into his very being and rooted him to the spot.

He knew she would not accept his usual indirect summarizations, those with which he so carefully guarded himself. He was now well beyond the safety of that delicate thread of tightroped truths he danced.

She expected—commanded his unreserved forthrightness, with that look that held the power of his name without it ever needing to cross her lips.

#this is my pride and joy ok #i don't think i've ever written something with so much effort #i was terrified it'd be purple-prosey but i *think* it's ok? #whatever even if it is i fuckin love it #and miss black herself said to write what you love first #so there it is #roiben #rath roiben rye #kaye fierch #kaye x roiben #mft #tmft #modern faerie tales #tfota #the folk of the air #tfota fic

[yoonsshadow]

BLIZZARD BLUES ⎯ myg

⇰ summary ; There’s a storm coming. Literally. And some idiot is standing outside singing Christmas carols.

⇰ pairing ; yoongi x fem!reader

⇰ genres ; strangers to friends to lovers[?], snowstorm!au, romance, fast burn [?]

⇰ themes ; fluff, a bit of crack

⇰ warnings ; talk of a natural disaster [blizzard], lots of banter, brief talk of male genitalia [balls lol], a bunch of sweetness

⇰ word count ; 1.8k

⇰ note ; Happy holidays everybody!! I hope that you all have a safe and happy day, no matter what you are celebrating. [Also this is largely unedited.] xx

It doesn’t always snow on Christmas Eve. Sometimes, when the sky feels selfish, it will open its clouds and welcome through the sunlight, especially harsh against the previous snowfall that is melting on the ground. What was once a white wonderland, snowflakes clustered together in a fine powder, becomes a muddy expanse of grass, dampened by the flowing tears of the melted icicles.

The magic of Christmas, so often associated with the pure white sheen of snowfall, is gone within hours of a clear sky.

But not today.

Today, the sky is selfish in a very distinctly opposite way.

“Temperatures will be reaching a record-low tonight, and snowfall is expected to only get heavier. With the possibility of a blizzard on the way, citizens are urged to stay indoors tonight.”

“Aish.” Licking droplets of mulled wine from your lips, you sigh at the latest news update. Just yesterday, you had been complaining of the warmth in the air, expecting yet another disappointment out of Christmas Eve. The universe seems to have answered your pessimism with a natural disaster.

Thankfully, you are one of the many lucky ones with a roof over your head tonight. The townhouse is small by standard means, but it feels so big to you. Though it may be cosy, it holds everything that is important to you, every memory that you have collected over your life, every momentum that has ever brought you joy. It is an extension of yourself, of your innermost being, and now it even protects you from the howling wind that you can hear picking up outside.

As you sit in front of your roaring fireplace, wrapped in blankets and listening to the Michael Bublé christmas album play on your scratchy record player, you think that maybe this is serenity; this feeling of calm, of contentment, when chaos surrounds you.

A harsh knock at your front door breaks through the sound of the wind.

At first, you think that maybe it was a trick of the mind, or perhaps a branch hitting a window, but the rapid knock-knock-knock against the wood is far too deliberate to be a mistake. Plus, when it’s followed by several more⎯⎯less patient⎯⎯knocks, you know that someone is here. At your house. At ten o’clock at night, as a blizzard is brewing.

It takes a moment to detangle yourself from your comfortable cocoon of blankets, but you eventually shuffle to the door as quickly as your cold toes [the things just never seem to be warm] will allow. You’re expecting an emergency official telling you to evacuate, or a neighbour asking to borrow supplies.

You don’t expect a shivering, disgruntled man reluctantly singing ‘Oh Christmas Tree’.

“Your boughs so green in summertime...stay bravely green in wintertime...O tannenbaum, O Christmas Tree...How lovely are thy branches…”

“Are you seriously carolling right now?”

The man stops his ‘singing’ to glare at you, as if you’ve just interrupted the most important performance of his life. “Hey, either let me finish the song or let me move on. It’s fucking cold out here.”

“No, but like, why are you singing at all? Didn’t you see the news?” The chill of the wind is biting at you even through all of your layers, so you don’t know how he’s surviving right now.

The man sighs, the air fogging in front of his face. “Look, lady, I lost a bet, okay? I gotta sing these carols, and I’m not backing out just because it feels like my internal organs are shutting down. So, what’ll it be? I can take song requests, if you’re feeling spicy.”

It takes you barely a moment to make your decision. “Option C. Come here.”

And you all but drag him into your house.

“Y’know, this could be considered kidnapping,” the stranger says as he slides out of his soaked jacket and toes off his boots. Despite his words, he doesn’t seem at all reluctant to be within your warm abode. “You could at least take me to dinner before inviting me in.’

His voice sounds harsh, mean even, but for some reason you aren’t intimidated by him. Maybe it’s the way his nose shines pink from the cold.

“Well,” you say, already gathering some towels for him, “it seems as though you haven’t watched the news in the last three hours. There’s a blizzard on the way, buddy, and you looked about halfway to frozen already. I thought that I would save the neighbours the trauma of digging your body out of the snow.”

“How considerate.”

“What’s your name, by the way? Since I’m extending my home and hospitality to you. I’m Y/N.”

“Yoongi. Also, you barely extended anything. More like forced. But, I’m a kind man, so I’ll let you believe that you’re being selfless. It is Christmas, after all.”

“And a merry Christmas to you too, mister Yoongi.”

“Ugh. Don’t call me mister.”

“Whatever. You should go take a shower to warm up, I should have some of my dad’s clothes for you to wear. I also have a shit-tonne of blankets and a big pot of mulled wine, so whenever you’re done just come downstairs and sit by the fire. And don’t steal anything. Or piss on the carpets.”

“Oddly specific, but okay. Thanks, generous kidnapper.”

Yoongi takes nearly an hour before he re-emerges from upstairs, to the point where you wonder if he’s actually pissing in your carpets. He looks clean, though, and flushed with warmth. And absolutely adorable in the ugly, oversized Christmas sweater that you laid out for him.

“This is fucking horrendous.”

A snort escapes you at his blunt statement, watching as he sinks into an armchair opposite you. His hair is sticking out from where he’s hastily dried it. “Thank you. My dad is the reigning champion in his workplace ugly sweater competition. He takes immense pride in inducing nausea. Want some wine?”

“Absolutely.”

When you pass him a mug, the liquid steaming and aromatic, he seems to pause, hesitation in the grip of his fingers. You give him the time he needs to arrange his words.

“I guess, um...thank you. For bringing me inside.” Yoongi isn’t meeting your eyes, but the tips of his ears are turning pink. “I was probably too stubborn to realise how bad it was and...I don’t know, it could’ve ended up really bad. So. Thanks.”

“Hey.” His eyes flicker up, briefly, but enough to see the bashfulness hiding behind all that sarcasm. “It’s seriously fine, but you’ve got to make a habit out of taking care of yourself. I’ve known you for two hours and even I can tell that you don’t take yourself very seriously. Hell, I could’ve been a serial killer, and you still just walked into my house.”

“I could’ve been a serial killer as well, hypocrite.”

“Killer Caroller does have a certain ring to it,” you admit. He’s deflecting, but you accept the divergence easily. “So, mister serial killer-”

“Don’t call me mister.”

“-Why don’t you tell me about yourself? There’s a chance that you’ll be here for a little while, so we may as well become acquainted.”

Taking a lingering sip from his mug, Yoongi keeps his eyes trained on the fire before him. “My name is Yoongi, I’m a Pisces, and I enjoy long walks on the beach.”

“Romantic.”

“I was born in Daegu.”

“Makes sense.”

“I’m a music producer.”

“Impressive.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, though they hold more mirth than annoyance. “Oh, and what about you, miss charity? Tell me about yourself.”

Biting back a chuckle, you reposition yourself in the armchair to face him better. “Well, my name is Y/N, and I have never been to a beach.”

“That’s sad.”

“I take self-defense classes.”

“Convenient.”

“And I’m a social worker.”

“Very fitting.”

The quick banter between the two of you pulls a smile across your face before you can tamp it down, but it seems like Yoongi is fighting one of his own.

Somehow, you have both converged to your larger couch, huddled together in a wine-drunk, giggly mess.

“No, I seriously would’ve won! But then he totally caught me off guard. I was sabotaged.”

Yoongi’s recounting of the story of how he lost his bet is nothing short of hysterical. “This Jeongguk guy sounds like a menace,” you say, throwing your legs over his lap. “I mean, who swings their balls in a friend’s face just to distract them? That’s just low.”

“Right?!” His voice is so loud, but your little bubble is barely disturbed. “And they were all hairy, too. I swear that I found a pube in my hoodie.”

This sets you off, for some reason, and your chest erupts in light giggles. Yoongi has only told you a few stories about his six male friends, and it has filled you with a kind of joy that you don’t remember ever feeling.

“It’s just...I bet that women aren’t this immature with each other. Am I right?”

You hum. “Sort of, but also not really. A friend of mine once stole my diva cup just because she was mad at me for using her hair brush. I tried to explain that it was an accident, but man was she pissed.”

Yoongi pauses. “What’s a diva cup?”

Blinking at the man that you’re draped across, you bring a hand up to pat his soft cheek. “Oh, honey,” you whisper, offering a small smile.

Slowly but suddenly, his hand comes up to cover yours, keeping it on his face. Your heart skips a beat, but you don’t notice.

“You’re really nice,” he says. His pupils are blown from drinking, and maybe from your faces being so close. Your cheeks are flushed for the same reasons. “And totally not a serial killer.”

“I’m still undecided about you,” you joke, breathing out a laugh. “But I do know that you’re pretty nice, too. And not as bad of a guest as I thought you might be.”

“Is it-” Yoongi cuts himself off, takes a slow breath as he closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he seems determined, if a little nervous. “Is it weird if I say that I enjoy spending time with you? And would, maybe, want to spend more time with you in the future?”

A lazy grin stretches your cheeks as you tuck yourself a little closer to him. It’s peculiar, maybe, that you’ve just met a man that you feel you’ve known your whole life. Curious, perhaps, that conversation with him feels more natural than with most people you know.

But weird?

No, you don’t think so.

“No. Not weird.” You lean forward a bit, shyly; wait for him to maybe do the same. “You do owe me the rest of a Christmas carol, after all.

He does lean forward, just a bit, and just as shy.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts fluff #bts oneshot #bts reader insert #bts scenario #yoongi #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi fluff #yoongi oneshot #yoongi scenario #min yoongi #min yoongi fanfic #min yoongi fic #min yoongi fluff #min yoongi oneshot #min yoongi scenario #blizzard blues #yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #suga x reader #bts suga x reader

[meta-squash]

Brick Club 2.3.8 “Inconveniences Of Entertaining A Poor Man Who May Be Rich”

This chapter is so long. Here goes.

Is it normal for Cosette to have to knock to get into the house she lives in? Or is Hugo just using that as a vehicle to make Mme Thenardier meet Valjean first?

It’s times like this that I desperately wish I knew more about biblical stories and fables and things. This, a rich man in disguise as a poor man being treated poorly by innkeepers and taking something from them, sounds like a bible story or a similar type of fable. But the only two bible stories I know with similar themes are the nativity story and Sodom and Gomorrah and neither of those seem quite right. Still, this entire episode reads like a fable or fairytale.

We’ve already seen how Evil the Thenardiers are re: their treatment of Cosette. Now we are seeing their Evil in the form of treatment of the poor.

You know, that’s an interesting thing that I’m not going to get into in this longass chapter. Javert’s evil and Thenardier’s evil are different because I feel like Javert’s evil is a lot more muddied or obscured by morality and duty and things like that. Where are the Thenardiers are bad but the badness of their actions is much more black and white. I think it’s also because, technically, they never have social power over anyone unless they are manipulative, whereas Javert always has the social power. I’m not sure where to go with either of these ideas but I will look back on it for a shorter chapter.

Cosette is ugly because she’s sad. It’s like the exact opposite of Roald Dahl’s description of ugliness. I called it on the orphanage thing and kids looking years younger than they are; she looks 6 when she’s 8. That doesn’t seem like a huge difference when you look at it written down but the difference between the size and maturity of a 6 year old vs an 8 year old is surprising.

In the way that the description of the doll was a distant echo of young Fantine, the description of Cosette here is a faded echo of dying Fantine.

“Fear was spread all over here; she was, so to speak, covered with it; fear squeezed her elbows against her sides, drew her heels up under her skirt, made her shrink into the least possible space...” I’m sure this description comes from Hugo observing children in his lifetime, but I also wonder if any of this comes from his brother who had schizophrenia and was institutionalized?

“The expression on the face of this child of eight was habitually so sad and occasionally so tragic that it seemed, at certain moments, as if she were on the way to becoming an idiot or a demon.” What an interesting pair of choices. Fear and sadness either stun and numb you completely or they turn you aggressive and evil. Hugo said the same thing before when talking about Valjean’s prison time. Again, like I said before, Cosette here is Valjean when we first met him: exhausted, scared, sad, numb, hatefully terrified of the people around her; the difference is that she still has hope. She had that moment of hoping someone would rescue her, she had the moment of pausing and wondering what the doll’s paradise was like; when we met Valjean he was past that kind of hope.

(Funny that Mme Thenardier doesn’t suspect the trick Valjean just pulled, despite Valjean “finding” a 20 sous piece instead of 15 sous piece.)

I love the description of Eponine and Azelma because it’s so innocent. They as little human beings aren’t morally bankrupt at the level of their parents yet. They’re still pretty and glowing. Partly because they are well-cared for unlike Cosette, and partly because they are still innocent.

“Eponine and Azelma did not notice Cosette. To them she was like the dog. The three little girls did not have twenty-four years among them, and they already represented the whole of human society: on one side envy, on the other disdain.”

Ah, human microcosms. Hugo loves those. The Thenardier children and Cosette are the pared down, simplified version of society. It’s also an excellent example of how Privilege works in layers. The girls’ doll is worn and old and broken, but the fact of them having a real doll and Cosette having nothing is already a layer of privilege Someone else, another little girl with wealthy parents and a new intact doll would have privilege over the Thenardier girls. There are layers.

I really love this passage too because it shows the start of the zero-sum game between Eponine and Cosette. At no point are Eponine and Cosette able to be equals. But the important thing is that neither of them are aware of this. Later, when Cosette and Eponine encounter each other again in the Gorbeau house, Eponine doesn’t have the awareness to be angry about the reversal of their fortunes. She seems sad, mostly, a jealousy born from a feeling of worthlessness rather than feeling slighted. And Cosette doesn’t even recognize Eponine, so there’s no room at all for disdain on her part, unless she’s disdainful of Eponine et al due to their poverty, though that never seems to be the case. But Eponine cannot be happy while Cosette is and Cosette cannot be happy while Eponine is, because their goals occupy the same fulcrum (Marius) and they can’t both be on the same level at the same time.

Fanfiction has explored this a lot in modern AU but I wonder the kind of havoc that could have been wreaked had Cosette and Eponine met and become proper acquaintances. Their teenage personalities are two sides of the same coin. I’ve always been of the opinion that had they switched places as children Cosette would have ended up like Eponine and Eponine like Cosette. Because Eponine has the capacity for kindness within her, except that she doesn’t know how to use it selflessly; and Cosette has the same stubborn ruthlessness as Eponine, except that she is held back by convention and reduced to talking a lot in order to try and somehow glean information from Valjean or Marius.

“Now your work belongs to me. Play, my child.” This is the second (or third?) Myriel moment for Valjean. Cosette is a child, an innocent child, but her soul doesn’t need to be bought for god. As far as I can tell, for Hugo, children are always holy. Instead, he’s buying her work. But that makes sense. For Valjean, his soul needed to be bought for god because he had already lost it to sin and to evil and to doubt. Cosette still has hope; what she needs bought from her is suffering.

And here is where the parallel continues. Cosette up until now has been Valjean as we first met him: sullen, suffering, scared, dulled, close to becoming “an idiot or a demon” and now, like Valjean’s soul, her work has been bought so she can be free.

I think it is within the walls of the convent that their parallels will catch up to each other and they will become more equal.

I feel as though the cat in a dress vs the sword in a dress must be some sort of parallel to Eponine and Cosette’s personalities but I’m not quite sure how to pull the meaning out.

“A little girl without a doll is almost as unfortunate and just as impossible as a woman without children.” Ugh. Gross, Hugo. This whole chapter was so lovely and then this misogynist bullshit.

I can explain the “water on her brain” line! Mostly because it’s a medical condition I actually have! So, “water on the brain” is another term for hydrocephalus, which is a buildup of cerebrospinal fluid in the ventricles of the brain. It can be caused by being born prematurely (like mine was) or by infections/head trauma. Nowadays they can put a shunt in your head that pumps the fluid into the abdominal cavity (which is what I have), but obviously they didn’t have the technology back then. So what happens to the head if the fluid doesn’t drain, is the head will start to increase in size, and the fluid buildup will squish the brain against the sides of the skull, causing seizures and brain damage/intellectual disabilities and vision problems and other such things. I function perfectly fine except for mild dyscalculia and ADHD (which might have been genetic anyway) but back in the 19th century hydrocephalus probably would have resulted in either mild-to-severe disabilities or death.

Cosette doesn’t have hydrocephalus, but what she does have is severe malnutrition, which can make a person’s head look much too large for their body. So Mme Thenardier is likely using Cosette’s appearance due to neglect to fake that she has a neurological problem and explain why they have to “take care of” her.

Jesus fucking christ this next bit is so much. There’s so much going on. Mme Thenardier is talking to Valjean about Cosette’s mother, the drinkers are singing vulgar songs about the Virgin Mary and baby Jesus, and Cosette is under the table singing “My mother is dead.” to herself. Woof. It is, yet again, an instance of the memory of “Fantine” (in the symbolic, saintly form of the Virgin) being sullied both by the foul songs of the drinkers and the callous, flippant commentary of Mme Thenardier. And Cosette is there under the table, staring at the fire, suddenly playing the role of her own mother, rocking the sword-baby (herself) to try and comfort herself from the shock of this new knowledge that her mother is dead.

(Anyone else read As I Laying Dying, by the way? All I could think of when I read that line was “My mother is a fish.”)

We start to see Cosette’s bold personality come out in fits and starts. She’s brave enough to sneak out and grab the doll Eponine and Azelma have abandoned. But it’s also an example of how desperate she is for something pleasurable and good, considering she’s doing that at the risk of a beating.

For the second time, we see Cosette so absorbed in her moment of “I Want” that she doesn’t see or hear anything else. Again, this seems unusual considering her constant hypervigilance. But her success in getting the doll and her increased confidence due to Valjean’s presence probably have something to do with her lack of awareness.

Cosette is caught with the doll. Is this the parallel of Valjean being caught with Myriel’s silver? Mme Thenardier says “That beggar has dared to touch the children’s doll.” The gendarmes don’t say as much when they return Valjean to Myriel, but it’s pretty obvious they’re thinking something similar.

“We are forced to add that at that moment she stuck out her tongue.” COSETTE IS SO CUTE I LOVE HER SO MUCH SHE DESERVES THE WORLD. Also I just love the way Hugo writes children, it’s so real.

Why did Hugo choose Catherine for the name of the doll? Is it to do with St Catherine? She (the saint) became Christian at 14 and converted hundreds of people before being martyred at 18 after rebuking the Roman emperor for his cruelty and winning a debate with his best philosophers.

“This solitary man, so poorly dressed, who took five-franc pieces from his pocket so easily and lavished gigantic dolls on little brats in wooden clogs, was certainly a magnificent and formidable individual.” Valjean is now Myriel. Outsiders are fascinated by him because he dresses so shabbily and yet is so benevolent and charitable with his money. Again, the difference is that Myriel’s name is always known, and Valjean’s is never known.

I know I say this so often but the distance with which Hugo treats Valjean is absolutely fascinating to me. Valjean has this incredible power to just go inside himself and not move, but we never get that kind if internality unless it’s really really important (like with the Champmathieu affair). Otherwise, Hugo keeps a respectful distance, and even when we get Valjean’s emotions described to us, I feel like Hugo is always holding back a little, like he’s not letting himself see all the way into Valjean, or Valjean isn’t letting him in.

Valjean asks for a stable; I think this is the first time we see his whole thing about sacrifice of physical comfort. Things like this asking for the stable and sleeping in the shed behind the house at Rue Plumet and not having chairs and only eating black bread etc. This is the first example we see of him feeling unworthy of physical comforts to such a degree.

(It’s interesting to me that we don’t see this characteristic when he was mayor, or at least not to this extreme. Is it because it would be unbecoming of a mayor and therefore would blow his cover? Or did going back to prison hammer in that feeling of worthlessness and lesser-than and warp his perception of what he is compared to others?)

“What a sublime, sweet thing is hope in a child who has never known anything but its opposite!” We’ve said this already, but Cosette is full of hope and life and light and that is Important because it is exactly what Valjean did not have when he was in her position. But it means that she doesn’t have to work as hard in her ascent towards happiness and goodness.

And, lastly, I love that the placement of the gold Louis in Cosette’s shoe isn’t just a sweet Christmas gesture or a gesture towards Cosette: it’s also an echo of M Madeleine breaking into houses to place gold pieces on the table.

Wow. Long af post for a long af chapter. Congratulations if you read through all of my rambling thoughts.

#les miserables meta #les miserables #brickclub #lm 2.3.8 #les mis #les mis meta #doing this chapter melted my brain a little

[writingsbychlo]

below the surface | sam taylor

word count; 9022

summary; sam admires your fire, the two of you are good friends, and he just wants to help free you live to your fullest potential.

notes: there is some slightly odd themes here, but it was the norm for those times, so you’re just going to have to accept them, it really makes the story, so go with it.

warnings: smut, some misogynistic themes, verbal abuse.

Sam Taylor liked the 1920’s, far more than he ever liked the prospect of the 2020’s. He liked the simplicity of his life, he liked the friendly atmosphere, he liked watching history unfold, but most of all, he liked the woman he had first become acquainted with two years ago.

It had taken him a little while to settle down, to find a home and build a business for himself, and the ‘roaring twenties’ that he was oh-so-fond of were definitely picking up their speed. It all felt very Gatsby-esque to him, and a year after his arrival in the time, he’d returned to the speakeasy he’d once visited with Evelyn. It had taken time for that wound to heal, and he felt that being able to return to the place he once treasured with her might be the final step for him to be able to close that chapter of his life, and move onto another one.

The speakeasy itself wasn’t actually where he had met you. Actually, it had been a few roads over, when he’d been drawn to the sounds of shouting and laughter, and he’d found you shouting at a group of younger men, who couldn't have possibly been more than their late teens, who were leering at you and trying to grab onto you. He hadn't even had to do anything, he had arrived to help but you had taken care of it yourself, shaking your head and mumbling about stain removing when the blood of a now broken nose stained your white glove, the group looking shocked, and then appalled, before running off with their bleeding friend and spitting insults at you.

“Well, go on then!” You had spun to face him, eyebrows raised and one gloved hand, one bare hand, sitting on your waist as you waited for him to speak, and he merely raised an eyebrow at you. “Tell me how unladylike I am, how I shouldn’t be out alone, or how I’ll never find a husband with an attitude like mine? I’d bet you a half dollar that you couldn’t tell me anything that I haven’t heard before.”

“I was going to say I think that was rather impressive, actually.” You had stared at him, eyes narrowed for half a second, before you’d been opening the clutch purse in your hand, shoving both gloves inside of it and producing a small silver coin, held out to him in the palm of your hand. “Nobody has ever told you how impressive it is that you can stand up for yourself before?”

“I’m not sure if you noticed, sir, but women are supposed to be seen and not heard.” You spat out the words distastefully, and he let out a small laugh, ducking his head and taking you hand in his, curling your fingers back around the coin in refusal to take it, but he could already see another argument building back up within you at the rejection of the token.

“Well, if I hadn't have heard you, I wouldn’t have gotten to meet you, and I’m rather glad I did.” He held out his hand, introducing himself formally and waiting as you studied him once again, before offering your name in return. “How about you use that bet to buy me a drink, hm? I know this great little spot below the surface.”

“You’d let a woman buy you a drink?”

“I’d let you buy me several, but I do believe in equality, so if you’d let me keep your company for longer, I will be insisting that we take turns on the purchases.” That had earned him a genuine smile, and he took your hand in his and placed it into the crook of his elbow, guiding you down the streets towards the only little store with the lights still turned on.

“I suppose you’ll know somewhere that sells a real drink, do you, Mr Taylor?”

He flashed you a cheeky grin in response, insisting that you call him Sam, even with all the formalities of the time, because clearly you didn’t play by your own eras rules, and he liked that a lot. Holding open the door to the shop, you stepped in ahead of him, the owner looking up at both of you cautiously, a brow raised as he paused in his movements for wiping down the counter.

“We’re closed, what are you looking for?”

He cleared his throat, sparing you a glance before he was stepping forwards. “Cabbage.” Some dead silence hung in the air, and a slight warmth rose to his cheeks form the very moment the ridiculous codeword had left his mouth.

“I’m sorry, you’re looking for what?”

“Y’know, cabbage?” He nodded his head towards the door he remembered from last time, and the shop assistant looked between him, back to you, before him once again, and you sighed, your hand landing once again on his upper arm as you came up to stand behind the counter by his side.

“Do you have any red linens?”

The man seemed to catch on, his lips flicking up at the sides, and Sam’s cheeks only grew darker in colour as the two of you were guided away toward the stairwell hidden in the back of the store, the speakeasy concealed below. Once the door was closed behind you, your forehead had pressed to his arm, a series of small giggles leaving you and he let out a playful huff as you did.

“That’s an old phrase, it’s changed every six months to keep it from spreading too quickly.” You confided, and he hummed, pushing the coding to the back of his mind to be remembered until it was changed once again.

“You’ve been here before, then?”

“I can be found at this bar every Thursday, my father likes to spread the word about having a daughter of age with a dowry to boot, ready to be married off.” Your words had turned bitter at the end, and Sam had sighed, shaking his head and offering you a frown, but he wanted to keep the mood lighter, as he was enjoying your company.

“So, if I happened to be here on a Thursday evening, I might find you here, too?”

“You just might, Sam. Now, how about that drink?”

Meeting you at the bar on Thursday nights had rather rapidly become a constant in Sam’s life, he counted down the days and hours until he could see you again, to listen to you excitedly talk about your week as you sipped on gin at the bar and let you ramble about the book you had been reading, or the story you’d heard from your friends, or simply the new and fleeting hobby you had picked up and dropped in the last few days.

You were wild, and interesting, and you made the transition from the 21st Century to the beginning of the 20th so easy for him that he barely noticed anything different when he was with you. You were like a little drop of home in his week, and he couldn't help the easy flow he’d taken from friendship to something a little flirtier with you, and he liked the way you joked back, cheeks rising with red and jaw dropping when he whispered in your ear and held you in a way that was just a little risky for the time period he had found himself in.

He liked it when you’d dance with him to the music playing, and he liked it when you’d hum along to the songs being sung. He absolutely loved it when you rested your head on his shoulder and let out little sighs of tiredness when they night moved on and you let him hold you a little tighter to keep you on your feet as you waited for your brother or father to be ready to escort you home when they were finished posturing and proving themselves to the other men in the club.

Spring had bled into Summer, into Winter, and your friendship had only become stronger. He had met your father, and your brother, and he was never approving of the scowls they wore when you let out loud and obvious huffs of indignation when you were called over to meet a possible new suitor, or when you were shown off by them as some kind of prize to be won, only to mouth off and prove that you were far more than a pretty face.

You were stubborn, and strong-willed, and you didn’t conform to the stereotypes that your time had laid out. He saw you during the feminist rallies in the town, holding handmade signs high and shouting for equal rights at the top of your lungs, with absolutely no idea that your movement would be something that children would be learning about in their history lessons a century from now, taught by a female teacher with independence and equality, and he watched on proudly each time.

He had met your mother on the days he had been fetching his groceries from the farmer’s markets, rolling your eyes at the older woman as she tried to tell you recipes to remember and tips to make you an agreeable wife that you had downright refused to commit to memory.

Two years passed, and he watched as the new decade was ushered in, everything from the 10’s being swept away as old news as the 20’s came barrelling in, and style from the notorious New York City had taken over. You had a wardrobe full of tasselled dresses that fell around your knees and rode up when you crossed your legs to reveal the softer skin of your thighs, and you had pearl necklaces that fell down into lower necklines, and lips painted red with curled hair, and fuck, Sam really did love the twenties.

He loved going home and finding the print of your red lipstick printed on his cheeks from where you had bid him goodnight each Thursday in the early hours, and he liked the tint your cheeks got as your slightly tipsy form wobbled when you tried to pretend you hadn't been drinking, acting the good girl in the streets to follow the laws of the oncoming prohibition.

Two years in had brought a lot of changes since the night Sam had met you. The prohibition had made the speakeasy an even more lucrative spot to be included within, poker tables and cigars with whiskey glasses clinking below the streets, passers-by completely unknowing as to the activities that were taking place below. It had brought a wealthier crowd, elites and upper-class, only those who could afford to pay for the right to know the password at the door, and your father had only put more pressure on you to find a husband.

You were two years older, moving towards your mid-twenties, and of a prime age to bear a child for whichever man your father chose to give you away to. He was happy with the crowd that the speakeasy brought around, gambling from men with a lot of coin to throw down onto the table and options that would undoubtedly bring a high price for your hand in marriage.

In turn, you were acting out more and more, causing every option your father had found for you to end up turning their nose up and sneering as they muttered about finding a girl who could make them a home and raise a child, never bothering to look at what was underneath, never bother to get to know the incredible person below the surface of a woman to be given away.

You were seen less and less, from every Thursday to one Thursday a month, your father choosing to leave you at home in favour of talking you up in order to confirm a deal before you had a chance to ruin it, and yet Sam attended faithfully every Thursday, just in the hopes of seeing you. Your flame was being dulled, the rallies were quieter without your voice shouting out with the rest, his shopping trips were duller when he couldn't catch sight of your playful faces and rolled eyes as he moved between the stalls near you, and his days were empty without ever getting to catch glances of you, or talk to you late at night after your family had gone to bed and you called him on the telephone attached to his kitchen walls.

Your smile wasn’t as bright, your shoulders were slumped and your fashion sense had reverted back to that of the dresses he knew of mother’s to wear, but he never missed the longing looks you gave to the girls who would flounce about in tassels and pearls and sequins, dancing and singing and having fun, and he hated that you no longer told him excitedly about your day, instead forced to stay by your father or brother’s side as the night progressed on. Each time you were questioned by another man, he got to see a brief glimpse of your slowly drowning personality, his lips flicking up at the sies when he heard your sarcastic and snippy retorts, soon quieted by your father’s growling voice over the top of your own.

That was how Sam had found himself peeking at you from his seat at the table, watching you subtly as you stood off to the edge of the bar with you brother, picking at the uncomfortable edges of your corset dress as you pulled it out each time you wanted to take a deep breath, your eyebrows pinched as a fake smile sat on your cheeks and your hands formed fists as your kept them held in front of you like a lady always should.

Your father was angry, he was talking about the latest tantrum you’d had, having caused such damage to your car by driving when you weren’t permitted to and had no idea how to, that he had to fork out to have it prepared, almost as much as the car had cost him in the first place when he’d won it on an auction, new parts having to be brought in to fix it, and he was fuming, even as he laid down yet another stack of notes onto the table for betting with.

He felt your arrival before he saw you, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as the dragging of your almost floor-length dress between the chairs sounded and your arm brushing his shoulder oh so lightly, the kind of friendly greeting you gave him now, as he was certain your family had forbidden you from being seen with him in fear it would drive away other men. He risked a glance up, your back to hi as you approached your father, but you offered him a fleeting smile when you turned, your eyes meeting his for barely a second before you were facing your father once again, gaze flicking over the lusting gazes of the other men around the table, before clearing your throat.

All you had asked for was another money to buy another drink, but your father having just lost yet another hand and more money, seemed to reach the end of his tether.

“You would ask me for even more money, as though you haven’t already drained me of enough simply by being born into the godforsaken world?” His glare was fixed on you, cold and icy, and your jaw dropped, eyes narrowing on him as you prepared to fight back, but he was already pushing on with such rage that your mouth had snapped shut and your eyes had widened as you swallowed thickly, and Sam felt his own free hand clench into a fist as the cards in his other bent a little from the force at which he was gripping them. “You disappoint me, time and time again by refusing to act like a woman, by failing to find yourself a suitable husband, and now you want to take even more from me?”

“I just wanted a dri-”

“You just want everything, you selfish brat! Be quiet, stand still, and look pretty and let’s just hope that you can do something right for once, and find yourself a husband soon, so that you are no longer my responsibility to care for!” His nostrils were flaring and cheeks heated, face so red he resembled a tomato, and his shouting only came to an end due to being shushed by the owner in fears that he was actually so loud that people above in the streets may hear the commotion.

The room had been deathly silent for almost a minute after, all eye son the little table Sam found himself sitting at, and your head was ducked down from embarrassment, your fingers anxiously tapping at your leg, before the gazes seemed to move on and the band continued with their singing once again, the room taking it’s chatter back up and returning to normal after witnessing such an outburst.

“Your daughter is out of control.”

It was the first word spoken, and Sam’s own angry glare shifted to that of the man two seats down form him, yours and your father’s following, and Sam swore when he turned to look at you, he could see the last bit of yourself breaking within you s you were worn down further and further by the oppressive nature of the men surrounding you.

Floodgates had been opened, and before he knew it, Sam was sitting at a table full of jokes about your chances of never settling down, men picking fun at you and continuing to leer at you, stuck somewhere misogynistic comments about your body being all you were good for, and he felt sick as he watched your father chuckle and comment how he wished one of them would take her off of his hands even if that was all they wanted, and anger swelled within him as each and every one continued to deny that they would ever risk marrying you, fear of your boldness making them reject you, and he couldn't take it anymore, your father’s ramblings about never finding someone to take your hand being the final straw.

You may not have been the picture-perfect wife for any of these men, but you were absolutely perfect in his own. You were loud, and opinionated, and not afraid to argue with your own knowledge and facts when the two of you had debates. You were educated, and well-read, and had a sense of humour to match his own. You liked to adventure, and take risks, and you weren’t afraid to get angry when you needed to be. Your soul wasn’t one that was supposed to be dampened, but should instead be allowed to flourish. You were his best friend, his only real friend, and you were everything that mattered to him in this world, everything he had here with him.

You reminded him of his family and friends that he had lost when choosing to stay, you reminded him of everything he had once dreamed of in a woman, and he refused to let you be lost to the mainstream of dull women who were more like possessions than people, because he would be damned if he let one more comment about how you would never have a truly happy marriage or fulfilled life fly by, just because they were unable to appreciate how truly brilliant you were.

It was derogatory and rude, and borderline verbal abuse as he watched you curl in on yourself more and more with each comment, and he just couldn't take it anymore. Not the unhappy look on your face or the frown on your lips, or the way your eyes were cast downwards because even though you acted strong, he was certain you were breaking a little more with each unkind comment thrown your way.

He slumped a little in his chair, letting out a deep sigh and swirling the glass in his hand a little. “I would marry your daughter in a heartbeat.”

The table fell into a dead silence around him, and he raised the glass up to his lips, holding his face neutral and steady as he looked at his cards, enjoying the burn of whiskey sliding down his throat as he finished off the glass and placed it on the table.

“Can you repeat yourself there, son?”

“I said-” He didn’t intend for his words to come out growled and as menacing as they did, but he couldn't help it, and some of the other men around the table even had the good graciousness to look a little startled at his response. “I would marry your daughter. I think any man would be lucky to call her his wife, so I repeat to you, that when you made a claim that no man would marry your daughter, you were wrong, because I would marry her without hesitation.”

He shuffled the cards in his hands, arranging them better to suit him as he looked at the game, and the man looked positively taken aback, somewhere between horrified and ecstatic, before clearing his throat in a scrabbling attempt to seem dignified. “She has no dowry, and she would not make an agreeable wife.”

His tone read clearly that he was desperate to hand her off to the first bachelor to offer even a shred of willing, and yet with all the other eyes of the gentleman at the table around him, he was trying to hold his respect, unknowing that Sam had absolutely none for him at all, but he liked the pressure your father was now feeling to try and gain the bargain, as though you were a possession to be exchanged.

He took a long moment, finally moving his gaze up to you, his lips flicking up at edges in a hint of a smile to ease your nerves. Your eyes were wide and lips pressed into a thin line, your expression seemingly unreadable, but those creases of worry between your eyebrows were gone and the pinched expression from trying your best to keep your thoughts to yourself had slipped away, despite offering him no reading of how you felt about it all. He could see the way your posture had slumped a little as you relaxed, your palms smoothed out against your sides instead of clenched in fists, and your shoulders were rising and falling in steady rhythms instead of jerky breaths.

“She doesn’t need a dowry, she has more than enough to offer on her own. I don’t need to be bought to want to know her.”

It was another few minutes of rigid and tense silence, whispered comments going around the table between the older men as though they were teenage girls on a schoolyard, before loud and jovial laughter was released from your keeper, his palms slamming down on the surface so forcefully that the table wobbled and poker chips clinked and tumbled from their stacks, but he continued to sit unfazed, staring forwards, as you now looked between himself and your father in shock.

“All me to buy you a drink, and to thank you, despite not knowing why you would take on such an unruly woman.” Your father fished into the leather of his wallet to hand over a few coins to you. “I’ll buy you one final drink, and you can fetch one of the man who is taking responsibility for you.”

You stood stock still for a moment, before setting yourself into jerky movements, stepping away from your father and offering him a quiet ‘thank you’ before making your way to Sam’s side, normally warm and kind eyes peering down at him cautiously and calculating, and he rolled his head back to look at you, trying to give you the most reassuring look you possibly could as he spoke his preference to you, nodding as you stepped away from him and towards the bar, but not before reaching for the empty glass on the table in front of him and taking it with you.

You were quiet the when you returned, barely responding to the thanks he had offered you when you hold your drink out to him, choosing instead to quietly sip at your own gin and stan behind him, one hand rested delicately on his shoulder as you studio behind him, shielding yourself from your father and watching on wordlessly as the men gambled and played cards for a further few hours into the night.

Sam was on a winning streak, a lot of chips sitting before him, stacks of notes and coins sitting in the centre of the table that he had such a large hand out of that he would barely be able to count it, more in one night than he would earn from his little company in over three months, the kind of money that made his gut twist and his head spin, and the game was being called to an end while he was still sitting wealthy, before the inevitable pride of having so many chips got to his head and he lost them all.

As he gathered up the money being split out to him, ignoring the drunken complaints of the men around him and taking his winnings, he knew it would be a while before he was invited back to the tables, and a while before their bruised egos healed over losing such sums to someone so young. He’d been playing since he was about twelve, and he was incredibly good at the game, what could he say?

You were still suspiciously quiet, even when everybody was milling out of the small shop for the night and standing in the cold night air, breath billowing around them in the cold air, and his fingers found your wrist carefully, pulling you aside, your lips still sealed shut as he watched you imploringly shuffle from one foot to another, itching uncomfortably in your corset.

“Are you okay?”

“I am perfectly content! I am to be married, to a respectable man, and I am just grateful that it is someone I know, I am just dandy.” You offered him a forced smile, that to anyone that didn’t know you as well as he did may believe it to be real, but that was the problem. He did know you, and those weren’t your words, or your attitude, and that certainly wasn’t a genuinely happy smile on your behalf. He was prepared to question you on it, to ensure you that it was okay, but your eyes were flicking fearfully over his shoulder, before moving back to his, a slight glisten in them as they narrowed, and he turned his own head to look.

A sigh left his lips, and his jaw snapped shut out of irritation, your father standing only feet away, clearly listening in to the conversation, and Sam let an arm snake around your waist like he had done so many times before, this time trying to shield you from the drunken elder that was looming over the pair of you. “I see you and my daughter are already growing acquainted.”

His eye dropped down in a wink that made Sam’s stomach twist with nausea, and you moved slightly further into his side, a thought that made him preen a little internally, knowing that at least you trusted him, to keep you safe and to try and do right by you.

“She may go home with you, she should know the house she will be living in and maintaining. Tomorrow at noon, we will meet to discuss the details of your wedlock, but I’ll be going home now.” He waved a hand to silence of the pair of you before either of you had even spoken, leaving you to back away from Sam and tremble on your own, both of you watching slack-jawed as he walked away, leaving you both alone in the street.

“Sam..”

He was only torn from his staring of the man’s retreating figure when your voice, lighter and shakier than usual, drifted to his ears and pulled his focus to you. Your face was scrunched up in a scared expression, something he never wanted or see again on your face, and he swallowed thickly before nodding, and setting a hand on your lower back, trying not to startle you as you began to process everything that had happened or you in the last few hours.

The walk was quiet, your feet scuffing the floor, and he spared the occasional glance over at you as he allowed you time to take in all that had occurred. Your face flicked between shocked, to sad, to angry, and back to neutral, keeping every single one of your thoughts locked inside yourself, keeping everything quiet.

The only noises were the occasional brush of your feet beside his on the floor, the drag of you shoes on the stones as you made your way up along the long and winding path to the renovated house he was proud to call his home, and the jingling of the bundle of keys that he pulled from his pocket, your foot tapping anxiously on the ground as he undid the several locks on his front door, before holding the heavy wood out to him.

You had never seen the inside of his home before, it had never been appropriate for him to invite you inside, and now, it was where you were going to live. Maybe he hadn't quite thought this through, but he didn’t have a chance to follow that thought across before the door was closing behind him, our hands clenched by your sides as you watched him bolt them back up for the night, and finally, you snapped.

“What gives you the right, Sam Taylor? To step into my life and decide to take charge, hm?” You barely missed a beat, his brows raising at you, and while he knew all of this anger was entirely directed at him, he was willing to let you get all you pent up rage out of your system, even if it did involve you screaming at him. “I will not be your property, and you should have known me well enough to understand that! I don’t want to be a housewife who cowers in submission! This is the 20th Century and women should have rights, I don’t want to be a chattel for you to use as you please!”

He had to bite his cheek at your phrasing, hearing a girl shout ‘this is the 20th Century’ while talking of rights was something he may never get used to, but he waited until you were huffing out a breath and crossing your arms over your chest, cheeks red and eyes filled with a raging fire. It was a fire he had missed seeing in you, one he wanted to let roar instead of extinguishing, and when he was certain that you had finished, he let out the breath he was holding.

“I don’t want to own you, or force you to be something that you aren’t. You can be whoever you want to be with me. You don’t have to wear these ridiculous corsets that clearly make you uncomfortable, and you don’t have to bite your tongue when you want to speak, and you certainly don’t need to be anything less than a proud and strong woman of the 20th Century.”

His lips flicked up at the edges as he said the words, a very slight smirk on his face, and your entire body seemed to sag out of relief when you looked at him, checking him to see if he was really telling you the truth, and finding that he was.

“I want you to have your freedom, and you always have with me.” You were quiet, but nodding slowly and taking slow and deep breaths, before averting your gaze from his, picking at your nails as you suddenly seemed to find the wooden floors much more interesting than him. Instead, he busied himself with kicking off his shoes and hanging up his coat, taking out the stacks of money from his pockets, sifting through it all to count how much he had actually claimed. “How much was your dowry?”

He’d hear you following behind him, neatly taking off your heels and placing them tidily on the shoe rack beside his front door, hanging your thin coat up beside his, but you didn’t speak to him again until he had asked you the question, your throat clearing and voice stumbling over your words in stuttered and broken sounds when you spoke. It was in mumbles, an amount he barely caught before processing the noise you had made and he thought it through. It was almost as much as his winnings, and he made a proud and sure noise in the back of his throat as he pushed the collection of papers and coins across the counter towards where you were idling, your eyes following the pile but you never once moved.

“This is approximately that much, and it’s yours. I don’t want you to feel like you need to rely on me, you can go where you want and do what you please, I’ll just be here if you need me.” He took a tentative step toward you, smiling to himself when you didn't step away from him, before he ducked his head and brushed his lips to your cheek in a soft kiss, bumping the tip of his nose against your temple as he pulled away. “There are two guest rooms, you can choose either that you like, and you can wake me if you need anything. Goodnight, darling.”

It was at least a half-hour before Sam heard the soft knock at his door, and he had been pulling back the several layers of blankets sitting on his bed, the robe he’d been wearing already hung back up, only a pair of pyjama pants were clad on him now, a single candle lantern flickering on either side of the bed.

He had to resist the urge to tell you just how modern you looked when you stepped into the room, smiling at him gently around the door, your feet now bare on the cool wood slats and your legs exposed, all the way up the soft and flimsy shorts he owned, almost swamped by one of the off-white undershirts he often wore for warmth, the sleeves covering your palms.

He offered a smile, taking a seat amongst his pillow and tucking his sheets around himself as you stepped further into the bedroom, the door falling shut behind you with a soft click, and he took a moment to take you in. Your hair was taken out of its up-do from earlier in the day, sitting around your shoulders in loose waves and tangles, marks in the hair form all the pins that had been used to hold it up, and your skin was cleaned of eyeliner and red lipstick, looking far more domestic than he’d ever had the privilege of seeing you in before.

“You know, you are just terrible at doing your washing. I think this shirt and this pair of shorts may have been the only clean items in that basket that were also dry.” Your joke was immediately enough to break the tension, and he huffed out a laugh, settling back a little further and slumping down into his pillows.

“I’ve never been any good at my washing, I just accept it however it turns out.” You made your way across the room to him, standing by the side of his bed and avoiding his eye as you instead took a few moments to take in the simple detailing of his bedroom. There was nothing judgemental about your look, instead, you were simply observing, committing it to memory, before your gaze was flicking to the patch on his top blanket that he picked at anxiously, loose threads hanging from it.

“You don’t know how to sew, either?”

“I always poke my fingers with the needles, and it always turns out a mess. When it gets bad enough, I will just buy a new one.” That answer made you frown, and you took a seat on the edge of the bed beside his legs, dropping your hands down into your lap and staring at you bundled fists intently.

“I may not be as much a lady as men would like, but I do know how to do stitch, and wash clothes. I can also cook and clean.” Your shoulders sagged a little, but the smile you offered him may have been small, but it was at least genuine, he could tell from the honest way you met his eyes as you did, exposing your soul to him easily. “I’ll try my hardest to be a good wife for you, Sam.”

He slipped his hand across the sheet, resting a large hand over your smaller one, and squeezing reassuringly, causing you to look up from your lap and hold his gaze. “I don’t want you to be what you think everyone else wants, I want you to be you. If there’s one thing I can do, it’s cook. I’m good at that, I make a very good meal out of very little, my mother taught me.”

“But, it’s my job t-”

“It’s not your job to do anything that you don’t want to. We can split the jobs between us.”

You stared at him, for a good few minutes, and he almost felt himself shrinking under your stare, before you were getting to your feet and smoothing out the creases on the bed sheets where you had been sitting. He thought you would leave, that you would be moving away from him and back out into the corridor, but instead, you were rounding the bed and lifting the sheets carefully, settling yourself beside him and moving away from the edge of the bed, closer to the warmth his body provided. “Is this okay?”

“This is okay.” He nodded at you dumbly, watching as you fluffed your pillows and blew out the lantern on your side of the bedroom, the smell of wet candle wax and smoke filling the air as only the one flickering candle kept he room alight, a soft glow that left only this section of the room illuminated, almost everything else cast into darkness.

“I like to make clothes, so I don’t mind doing your sewing too, you don’t have to buy new garments each time they tear. I also like gardening, I noticed that your front garden didn’t have many flowers, and it was rather untidy.”

“You can do anything you want with the gardens, I think anything would be an improvement.”

“Can I plant flowers?” You were looking up at him through your lashes, anticipation clear on your features, and he grinned, lifting a hand to tuck some hair back behind your ear and cup your jaw, running his thumb over your cheekbone tenderly.

“You can do anything you want with the gardens.” You were happy now, he could feel it in the way you leaned into his touch a little, before you were moving onto your side to face him, and he simply rested both of his hands on his stomach, linking his fingers together and waiting for more of your questions.

“Do I have to wear corsets?”

“No.”

“Do I have to clean for you?”

“No, we’ll share the cleaning.”

“Can I sleep in the bed with you?”

He paused, looking at you and swallowing the lump in his throat, before nodding at you and trying to relax from the way his body had stiffened. “If you’d like to.”

“I would.”

You shuffled a little closer, taking one of his hands in yours and moving it away, before linking your own fingers with his instead, resting your body down beside him on the mattress and pressing your head against his pillow, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence as your body pressed up to his side, and your heartbeat began to match his as it thumped against your chest, pressed or his ribs.

He liked it, and he could get used to the feeling of having your body pressed up beside his in the bed, keeping him warm in the winter, and giving him the company he had missed for so long. You were his best friend, one of the best friends he’d ever had - in either era - and the thought of getting to have you by his side in any way, was more than enough to make him happy.

He didn’t care what became of your relationships, he had done what he did in order to liberate you from the oppressive nature of your father, to help you find freedom and live the life you wanted while being happy.

If he got to leave his family to gain the life he wanted and live happily, then you deserved the same, and he would do anything to make it happen.

He was just reaching for the little cup to extinguish the candle when your hand caught his wrist, pausing his actions and bringing his hand back toward you, your body sitting up once again, and he waited, your jaw opening and closing as you tried to find your words. You faced him more fully, sitting up and letting the sheets fall away, shuffling toward him until your knees were brushing his leg, and he sat himself up a little further, confusion beginning to seep into him as he took in the nervous expression on your face.

“May I ask you to do something for me?” He offered a silent form of his affirmation, and you moved a little closer, shaking hands coming up to hold onto his cheeks. “Nobody has ever kissed me before, and if we’re going to be married, you will be the only person who ever has. I would like to know what that feels like.”

“You want me to kiss you?” This time, it was your turn to give a silent form of understanding, nodding you consent to him and his lips tilted up at the corners. “You’re sure you want that?”

“Sam, I’ve always found you attractive, but tonight you sacrificed everything just to make me happy, and you are like no man I have ever met. I would very much like for you to kiss me.” You were nervous, colour crawling up your cheeks, and he licked over his lips, feeling his own skin heat up as he watched you. Your eyes were wide, lips a little parted and face flushed a charming colour, and in this minute you looked so pretty that Sam swore you may be the angelic woman he’d ever seen.

Placing a hand on the bed beside you, he leaned over, lowering himself down until he could drag the tip of his nose across yours, your breath washing over his lips with each small and shallow breath you let out, your eyes fluttering closed and lashes brushing his skin as he copied the motion. Your forehead was pressed to his, so close now that he could taste the gin still lingering on your lips, and with that, he closed the distance between you both.

Softly at first, his mouth pressed to your own, lips sealed in a sweet peck, and he felt the intake of breath you took in a gasp through your nose, before he was dragging his lips with your own in delicate patterns, feeling you press back with hesitation, unsure in your movements but eager to learn, and your hands fell away, one slipping into his hair as the other came down to press to his chest, and you were kneeling up into him.

He wasn’t sure what had happened, or when. He had been intending to keep the kiss brief and chaste, never wanting to push you on anything, but it wasn’t until his back met the bed again and his head was pressing into the pillows that he realised you were now kneeling over him, a leg on either side of his lap and his hands on your waist.

You were letting out little whimpers into his mouth each time the kiss grew a little messier, his lips parting a little further and his tongue flicking out a little more frequently to tease at the seam of your lips, but then your tongue was daring to peek out to play with his own, and he couldn't hold back the deep groan he let out as your tongue dragged across his. The grip he held on your hips only tightened, and your body fell down to press further into his, you nails scraping against his scalp.

“Sam, thank you.” You pressed your lips back to his own, frantic and needy and each time you came back in it was making the heat in the room rise, his palms slipping down to grip at your thighs before he knew what he was doing, but then your hips were rolling down into his, and he was bucking up to press against you, anything to draw out the squeaky little moans and sighs of pleasure you let out into his mouth every time your clit dragged over the growing bulge in his pants. “You saved me, thank you, so much.”

“I just wanted you to be happy.”

You hummed against his lips, rocking down into his hips particularly harshly, both you and him letting out drawn out sounds of pleasure at the feeling, and he had to bite down on his own lip when you pulled back just to stop himself from flipping you over and pressing you down into the mattress. “I am happy with you. You make me happy.”

“I'm glad to hear it.” Your hands were pressing to his chest, your hips rocking down into his, and his eyes fluttered shut as you rode up and down over his cock, even through the layers of clothing, and he let out a weak and breathless laugh when a thought about the situation crossed his hazy mind. “You know, this isn’t very gentlemanly of me. We've only been engaged for a couple of hours. What would people say?”

“I don’t care what people say, it feels good.” You whimpered, pushing down firmly and he cursed under his breath, jutting his hips up into you and smirking at the face you made, your jaw dropping down and forming an ‘o’ as silent pleasure left you. He watched you bounce above him, hair framing away behind you as your head tipped back, and he took the chance of your distraction to flip you over, pressing you back oot your side of the bed and caging you in with a hand on either side of your head. “I want to feel good, Sam.”

“I can make you feel good.”

You nodded fervently, and he dragged a hand down over the bare skin of your midriff from where the shirt of his that you were had ridden up, and he dipped his head down to press his lips to your own, catching you in a sweet kiss that made you hum happily at the affections, pressing back just as lovingly.

The tips of his fingers dipped underneath the loose waistband of the shorts you wore, finding that there was no buried the further down he travelled, and he let out a ragged sound against your mouth upon realising that you had discarded of your one underwear when changing into his clothes. The idea of your dripping cunt brushing straight up against his clothes, the idea of you wearing only his belongings to clever yourself, the image of you walking around with him on a lazy Sunday morning and wearing just one of his tops, it was all everything that he wanted with you.

The pads of his fingers brushed over your clit, your hips jerking up into his hand as you cried out at the simple pressure, and he took the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth to play with your own, a finger swirled through the wetness that had built between your folds, and he growled into your mouth, nipping on your lower lip until you let out a whine, before sucking at it and licking over the patch to soothe the low sting, distracting you as he pushed a single finger into your dripping core, and your eyes shot open, body going stiff at the intrusion.

“How you doin’, sweetheart?”

“It feels weird, but good, I’m not really sure.” He nodded, peppering your cheeks with kisses and he moved the finger within you slowly, twisting and stretching you out as carefully as he could, and soon your slick was coating that digit and flowing form you each time he pulled out, your juices covering your skin and making it easy for him to slip another finger into you. It was a stretch, and he felt you tense up once again as your eyes screwed shut, but he worked you through it, slow and steady, kissing along you jaw and mumbling reassurances into your ear.

He felt you loosen up, your legs widening for him to settle between and your lips found his again as you let out a happy sigh. A loud and unashamed cry of his name left you, and it may have been the sweetest sound Sam had ever had the pleasure of hearing, you walls clenching around his fingers and hips bucking up, before a sharper and louder sound fell from you. It was almost a scream, and he smirked into your mouth, his whisperings turning to praises as he tried to find that spot again, only a few strokes and he had located the spot, rubbing it surely each time he thrust his finger back into your wet core.

“That’s so good, what is that?”

“Mh, that’s your g-spot, sweetheart, and now that I know where it is, I know exactly how to make you feel good.” He pushed down on the spot roughly, your body trembling as your eyes rolled back and your fingers twisted in the sheets. The material of the shorts was rubbing uncomfortably against his wrist, and he wished he could see his soaked fingers sipping in and out of you greedy hole each time, but for now, this was enough, just watching you reach heights of pleasure you’d never been to before and knowing he was the one taking you there was making his heart race and head spin. “You’re so good for me, honey, so good.”

He was cooing down at you, mouthing at your jaw and neck and licking over your skin in ways that made you squirm and moan, your walls tight around his fingers as you neared your peak. He felt it coming, and slipped his thumb up to toy idly with you neglected clit as an unspoken encouragement to cum, that it was okay for you to let go, and so you did.

Your back arched up, something that almost sounded like a sob leaving you as you core clamped down around the two digits, so tights he could barely get his fingers in and out of you anymore, and he settled for wiggling them and twisting them as he prolonged your peak, choosing to drag it out as long as he could for you. You were panting, skin shining with a thin layer of sweat from the exertion and your chest rose and fell with every gasping breath you took.

He lifted his fingers up to his lips, sitting back on his heels and sucking them into his mouth to clean them, letting out an approving sound as your taste washed over his tongue, addictive and sweet, something he knew he would be craving more of soon, and he just hoped you’d let him.

“How do you feel?”

“I don’t even know. That was amazing.” He beamed, feeling full and prideful as he listened to you talk, and he settled your shorts and top back into the correct place, laying over you and propping himself up on his arms as not to crush you, brushing hair from your face and pecking your nose. “Do you need me to..”

Your gaze left his eyes, moving down to his hips, before coming back up, and you were nibbling on your lower lip, prompting him to duck his head and chuckle, kissing along the clothed shoulder that was within his reach. “No, I don’t. This was about you, there will be a whole lifetime for that.”

“Yes. Yes, there will be.” Your words were spoken with nothing but joy, and he rolled off of you, blowing out the candle and sending the room into darkness, before wiggling himself back under the blankets and making sure you were tucked in securely. He felt you shuffle up, pressing against his side and he wrapped his arms around you, feeling your nose nuzzle into the crook of his neck, his cheek brushing the top of your head when he twisted his body further toward you. “Why are you like no man I have ever met, Sam Taylor?”

A laugh bubbled in his chest, despite the yawn he let out only seconds later, and he rubbed a large hand up and down your back, his eyes sliding shut in tiredness. “You won’t believe the story I’ll tell you over breakfast in the morning.”

“M’kay.” The response was muffled as it was mumbled into his neck, and he barely caught it, choosing instead to soothe himself with the tangle of your legs with his and the steady thumb of your heart in time with his own, the two of you drifting off with only positive thoughts of the future you would soon be sharing to still linger on your mind.

#sam taylor #sam taylor amazing stories #dylan obrien sam taylor #sam taylor x reader #sam taylor x reader smut #sam taylor/reader #sam taylor/reader smut #dylan obrien #dylan obrien imagine #dylan o'brien imagine #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien x reader smut #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien fic #dylan obrien au #dylan obrien/reader smut

[eloquentgifs]

DWJ Reading Project. Part I

As I said here, my 2021 resolution is gonna be READING EVERY DIANA WYNNE JONES BOOK I CAN FIND, and due to my love of making lists and taking notes, I’ve decided keeping track of this reading project here in this post, which I’ll keep updated as I make progress. It’s mostly for my own pleasure, but maybe it helps someone who wants to give it a try to this amazing writer and doesn’t know where to start.

Part II (1977 – 1981 & The Chrestomanci Series)

Part III (1984 - 1992 & Land of Ingary Series)

- Changeover (1970) I couldn’t find it, which it’s a pity because not only it’s her first novel, but it’s one of the few she wrote for adult readers. For what I’ve seen, it’s a political comedy about colonialism in Africa.

- Witch’s Business (also called Wilkin’s Tooth, 1973) It tells the story of two siblings who start a revenge/dirty work business to make some cash and ended up caught in a crazy plot of debts, witchcraft, old grudges, painting modelling and treasure hunting. I love how even this early in her career you can already find some of her creative trademarks, altought it’s not as polished as her future novels. Still, the characters and the dynamics between them are pretty good, the way everything unfolds is flawless, and it is a fun read in general.

- The Ogre Downstairs (1974) Three kids are dealing with the fact that her mother married a guy who’s rather grumpy and terryfing (the titular ogre), and that now the household includes him and his two sons. The story begins with the Ogre buying a chemistry set to each group of siblings, and they turn out to be magical, so a lot of crazy shit happens and they start to get along with each other as they have to colaborate to clean a mess after another before the ogre finds out. I must confess I didn’t enjoy that much the first half because everyone was being an asshole, but it improves as the characters own their shit and decide to be better. Magic here it’s merely an excuse, Diana just wanted us to learn empathy and how to build a good coexistence.

- Eight Days of Luke (1975) David is depressed because he’ll have to stay with his abussive relatives during the summer, but then he mets this weird kid with powers called Luke and they become bff’s. Unfortunately, Luke is also in bad terms with his own relatives and David will have to help him to hide from them. I’d say you’ll enjoy more this book if you have some basic knowledge on Norse Mythology, but tbh I think reading it without any clue about the subject might be interesting in its own way, because you’ll discover the stuff as David does. Great read anyway.

- Dogsbody (1975) This one it’s like two different premises mixed up together. First, we have this society formed by sentient stars and planets, in which Sirius was a very important figure until he’s judged and punished for murder, and we follow him while he tries to get free (and maybe prove his innocence?). On the other hand, I think Diana just wanted to write a dog POV. In any case, both ideas where combined perfectly, and the result it’s crazy good. Some trigger warnings tho: there are several depictions of animal abuse, and once again tons of emotional cruelty towards chidren (the main human character is an Irish girl being harrased and bullied by her own family because of her nationality and for having a father on the IRA)

- The Dalemark Quartet: · Cart and Cwidder (1975) It kind of reminded me of the first half of The Name of the Wind, probably because the main character is also a red haired kid who travels with his family all around the world performing with his lute (I figured a cwidder is some kind of lute?), and there’s also tragedy, politics, old foreshadowing songs and legends... But mostly because I JUST COULDN’T STOP READING, and I can’t wait to read the rest of the series.

· Drowned Ammet (1977) I thought the two previous books were rather darker than I’m used to see in Diana’s work, but this is a whole new level. It follows the evolution of Mitt from a sweet farm kid to a teen terrorist, so prepare for a main character full of hate, resentment and, eventually, self-loathing and a beginning of redemption. We also get to see his dynamic with two high born children, and it is super interesting how the prejudice and ignorance keep getting in their way so they can’t become 100% friends (as a contrast with those stories of rich and poor being bff’s without a single sign of how very different their POV of the world is, just by their different upbringings). I love friendships and found families as much as anyone else, but it is refreshing to see some realistic struggles and people caring for others even if they don’t get along perfectly

· The Spellcoats (1979) This one was very surprising, and I think it might require a re-read some time. The first odd thing about it is that it’s settled centuries before the previous books, in prehistoric Dalemark. Then the actual wtf comes from the structure itself: it’s a first person story, weaved into two wool coats (seriously, this concept is genius and so is the ending). The weaver is a girl who has to runaway from her village with his brothers and sister because they look like the people who’s invading their land, so their fellow villagers want them dead. There’s not a lot of action, but tons of little details and magic and family dynamics brilliantly written and I LOVE IT.

· The Crown of Dalemark (1993) This last book of the series brings back almost all of the characters of the previous ones, plus a time traveller from modern Dalemark, and concludes both the political/social aspect of the story and the more fantasy, mythical one. I love time travel stories so this really was my treat, because not only serves a plot purpose, it’s also used to let us know what happened with the characters of past Dalemark (although through the lense of historians, which is not as much as I would like to)

- Power of three (1976) At this point it’s clear Diana just loved to play with POVs and make us question every side of a story. I’d say this was the main theme of this book. It is present in the main character arch, who has to reconcile how he sees himself (as some average pointless dude) with how he’s perceived by others (everyone fucking loves him and consider him super wise and awesome). And it’s also the main conflict of the plot: the three races/species who live in The Moor HATE each other and constantly kill each other as animals but.... Well, it remind me to this episode of Star Trek. I love it when a story is used to show us how actually ridiculous some prejudices and bigotries are. I love it when they do it in ST, and certainly love it when Diana does it. Just let kids read and watch these things all of the time, please.

#Diana Wynne Jones #Reading EVERYTHING #2021 Resolution #DWJ Reading Project #THIS IS GONNA BE A REALLY LONG POST #Changeover #Witch's Business #Wilkin's Tooth #The Ogre Downstairs #Eight Days of Luke #Dogsbody #Dalemark #Cart and Cwidder #Drowned Ammet #The Spellcoats #The Crown of Dalemark #Power of three #CHRESTOMANCI IS NEXT