#The Cradle of North America

[gloomwitchwrites]

Captain John Price x Female Reader Dark Romance

Chapter Specific Warnings: canon-typical swearing, female masturbation, vaginal fingering, oral sex (female receiving), non-penetrative sex, erotic audio, consent / seeking consent, interrogation

Word Count: 5.6k

A/N: Part Three of Dangerous Pursuit (for @glitterypirateduck)

Price gets that audio of you begging for him. Nikola breaks.

Chapter Two

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // dangerous pursuit masterlist

It’s the hesitation before the touch.

The moment before skin meets skin.

It is the collective breath of anticipation before everything snaps, falls apart, or is pieced back together.

That is what simmers under your skin. Anticipation.

Anticipation of the words to fall from Price’s mouth. Anticipation of what it will feel like if he touches you. Anticipation of how your heart will burn, your stomach will flip, and your brain will melt like ice cream in the summer.

This situation may be shit, and your options limited, but fuck—Price is a handsome man. The words he’s about to utter will be fake. Forced. Yet you still long to hear him say them. You’re still curious as to how your mind and body will receive them.

It does not matter that this interaction is happening because Nikola is a piece of shit or that Price promised him that audio. In the moment, when Price told Nikola he’d return with a recording of you begging for Price’s cock, you were furious. Angry. You slapped the man. Cracked him across the face so hard the left side of his cheek bloomed bright pink.

Now, you’re transfixed, observing Price as he fiddles with the tape recorder. His large hands seem too large cradling the ancient device. It’s cheap and gray. Clearly from a decade when you were a child. But it’s useful, something that cannot be easily faked once it starts recording.

Captain Price is serious about this. He wants Nikola to believe him. What is Dimitri up to? Who does he run with that a member of the British Special Forces is asking you to fake sex with him?

Fake. Fake.

A part of you keeps bringing up the idea of the two of you not faking anything. That, if you’re going to do it, you better go all the way. Put on a show. Make it fucking count. But the very idea is absurd, and you nearly laugh out loud.

It’s true, you were mad. Furious with everyone involved and everything about this entire goddamn situation. You were ready to rage. The fangs were out, venom dripping, and in some capacity, they still are. At the slightest hint of danger, you will bite. You will sink your teeth in with the intention of escaping. You’re good at that. Survival.

But right now, you’re not sure if you’re ready to bolt. Safe isn’t the exact word, more like a reluctant trust sits heavy in your chest. There is no one for you to run to. The only person you have in your corner right now is Captain Price.

He stands opposite you, just an arms-length apart, the tape recorder in his hands. Around you is a wide-open space. It is barn-like in appearance with high wooden ceilings and walls. You and Price are on concrete in a kitchen area with a communal table. Next to that are two worn sofas and a coffee table that has seen better days. Beyond that is the metal door that leads into the underground portion. The place you and Price recently emerged from.

The concrete drops off into straw-covered dirt where several vehicles are parked. There is a classic military Humvee, a dusty compact car, and a beat-up farm truck. Along the far wall are several sets of large, metal storage cabinets. One sits open, revealing a variety of different sized guns. In that same area are two large boards hanging on the wall. Pinned to them is a World Map and one of North America. There are also a few smaller photos attached to the maps themselves with lines and string indicating certain directions. None of it means anything to you, and while you’re curious, you’re not stupid enough to stick your nose into their business.

As Price continues to fiddle with the tape recorder, the gnawing, anxious dread returns. It’s the same one that wrapped itself around you when you first woke up here, when Price tended to the small cuts and bruises on your body, when he said such soft things to comfort you.

Some of that anxiousness removes the resolve you’ve built, pushing it aside to make room for its ugly insistence.

You’re a survivor. That’s it.

“Right,” says Price as he turns the tape recorder right side up. He hits the red button. “This is Captain John Price. Testing.” He presses the red button again and then rewinds the tape, hitting the play button.

The recorder replays his gruff, British voice and Price nods in approval. It’s a bit staticky and not the best quality, but it’s clear enough. Nikola might believe it if you and Price are good enough actors.

Price clutches the recorder in his fist. “You ready for this?”

Are you? No. But you agreed, and you don’t like going back on your promises.

When you don’t answer right away, Price takes a step closer. “You can back out—”

“It’s fine,” you say sharply, immediately regretting your tone.

“Okay.” Price messes with the tape recorder, deleting the audio of him testing it. Once done, he hits the red button and then gently places it on the table beside you.

Silence follows and you have no idea what you’re supposed to do. How do you improvise sex? Should you just go for it? Start making noises? There is no script, and Price didn’t go over what he expects from you. Do you touch him? Do you keep your hands off?

Confusion and frustration flood in, and you completely forget all the anticipation that held your body hostage. This whole thing is Price’s idea. He told Nikola he fucked you. He put his hand on your pussy and collected your wetness on his fingers. He held those sticky digits in front of Nikola’s face and then licked them clean afterward.

This is Price’s doing. If he wants you to act, he needs to tell you how it has to go. He needs to lead. Because right now, he’s just starting at you like he’s expecting you to perform first.

Fuck that. And fuck him.

With a sultry movement, you wrap you fingers around the tape recorder and bring it up to your lips. Price’s eyebrows rise in surprise and then furrow with concern.

In the flattest, most monotone voice you can muster, you stare Price down and give him what he wants. “Oh, John. Please. I need your cock.”

“Fucking hell. Give me that.” Price yanks the recorder out of your hand and turns it off. He presses a few more buttons, deleting the audio. He glances up and glowers.

“What?” you ask, all feigned innocence.

“You’re not helping,” he mutters.

“This is your idea, and you didn’t tell me what to do. Nikola won’t believe any of this if we just,” you gesture vaguely, “improvise.”

Price gently sets the recorder down on the table. “He seemed pretty upset when I sucked you off my fingers.”

You freeze, trying desperately to not let the shock of his words filter out into your physical features. Is that…a smirk? Does Captain Price find all this amusing? Or did he enjoy licking your juices off his fingers?

She’s fucking delicious.

That’s what Captain Price said to Nikola after he was done. He wasn’t slow about it either. Price took each finger into his mouth, one by one, and savored it all before those words dripped from his lips.

Your cheeks flame, and you cross your arms over your chest defensively. “Why should I continue to help you?”

You’re pushing again, throwing up your walls. It’s habit. It’s survival. It’s what you fall back on every goddamn time. The very act is instinctual, and you hate that it is, because you don’t want to fight with Price.

Watching him now, you’re enticed by him. He’s dressed down in his uniform. Gone is the utility belt and bulletproof vest. He’s down to his basics, and Price looks fucking good. The space between your thighs heat, and you absently flex your hips where you stand, adjusting yourself without actually doing so.

“Because I can get Nikola off your back,” answers Price. “I can make Dimitri disappear. You won’t ever have to deal with them again.”

“Dimitri pays me a lot of money while I work his room. And why should I care about what you think is best for me?”

“I’ll be doing you a favor.” Price gestures at you, open palmed. “But you need to do me a favor in return.”

You laugh. “Quid pro quo. Got it.”

“If that’s how you want to see it,” replies Price, clearly growing annoyed with this back and forth. “We’ve been over this. You said you were fine with it.”

It’s true. You did say that. But you also said that you were allowed to back out at any time and for any reason. Price agreed to that condition.

“I don’t think it’s worth the effort,” you murmur, glancing away from Price’s intense stare.

“I’m not doing all this for shits and giggles, love.” Price moves into your space and you’re forced to look up at him. “Dimitri Radovic works for a dangerous man. And I’m after that man.”

You shrug, putting up a front. “There are plenty of dangerous men in the world. How is this different?”

Price takes a deep, calming breath. You’re agitating him, working him up, and you like it.  “You think I handle petty criminals?”

No. Captain Price is British Special Forces, which means he handles people you’d never actually want to meet in real life.

“I’m aware that you’re likely not after the local drug dealer.”

Price snorts and then he runs his hand through his brown hair. This one action makes it a bit messy, like he just rolled out of bed. For a moment, you picture that very image of Price waking up in the morning beside you. Your heart flutters.

“Are you willing to do this?” he asks. When you open your mouth to answer, Price cuts in before you can get a word out. “And actually try.”

“Fine,” you acquiesce. “I will try. But only if we discuss what it is we’re doing.”

It doesn’t matter how embarrassing this conversation might be, the two of you need to hash it out, to lay out exactly what needs to be said and by who.

“Good,” nods Price. He takes another deep breath, and then suddenly looks nervous, like he isn’t sure where the two of you should start.

You tug on the hem of your cocktail dress. “How do you want me?” you ask.

“Excuse me?” Price’s head snaps up, his eyes a bit wide.

“Is this where you want to do it?” You gesture at the room and the table you stand next to. Price flushes. He clears his throat, almost chokes. “What do you think I mean?” you say with a slow sultriness.

Do you have an effect on him? Did he truly enjoy the taste of you? Is he picturing that in his own mind? Because you’re thinking about it. You want to know what thoughts swirl around in his head.

“This is fine.” Price fiddles with the recorder. You note his slight nervousness and the light twitching of his fingers.

You nod. “Okay. How should we go about this?”

You’ve certainly faked many an orgasm, but it has always happened during sex. This is entirely staged. Made up. You’re not an actress, and everything about this feels awkward.

“We do what comes natural,” answers Price, as if that somehow answers your question.

You don’t like that answer. It leaves too much open for interpretation. But you don’t know what the two of you should do short of doing the act itself.

“Fine,” you agree. “But you’re taking the lead on this.”

He glances up at you. Price’s grin is infectious. “You like to be led in the bedroom?”

You immediately punch him in the chest and then promptly shake your hand. “Fuck. You’re solid.”

His grin widens before he glances down at the tape recorder in his hand. That lovely smile of his starts to fall away, disappearing like melting snow. He taps it against his open palm once…twice…and then gently places it next to you on the table.

“Follow my lead,” he murmurs, his features almost solemn as he presses the button to begin recording.

The right light is on, bright and bold. There is a brief pause of silence, and then Price steps into your space, one hand resting on your hip while the other rests against the top of the table. He leans in, trapping you against the edge of the wood. Instinct has you reaching out, placing one hand against his firm chest to keep some semblance of distance.

Price’s eye contact is intense. Unbreakable.

You immediately think of his hand between your legs, touching your clit, fingering your wetness, and how after he collected you on his fingers, Price wouldn’t look away from your face until he was in the interrogation room.

“You want more than my fingers, don’t you?” Price leans in a bit more until he’s almost standing between your legs.

You’re so surprised by his words that your mind completely spaces. Every word and phrase utterly exits your head like leaves in the wind. All you do is nod, as if the tape recorder could pick it up.

“No,” he murmurs, his pelvis resting against your own. “I need to hear you say the words.”

This is your chance. This is your turn. Ball is in your court.

“I need you. John. Please. I—” Your voice cuts out when Price’s hand on your hip squeezes, draws you closer.

“Yes, love? Use your words.” His voice is a purr. A soft caress.

“I need your cock. Please. I need you inside me.”

“That’s my good girl.”

Price abruptly pulls away and picks up the tape recorder. His leaving is a shock. A blow. You nearly stumble forward from his sudden absence.

Price shuts off the recording, rewinds it, and then hits the button to play it back. As it goes on, it is incredibly clear to you how staged it sounds. There is nothing remotely believable about it. Price’s mouth forms into a frown which only deepens by the second.

“Nikola won’t believe that,” you murmur, saying the thing you’re both thinking.

Price shuts off the recording. “Why not?”

“Would you believe that?” you question, head tipping to the side.

Price sighs loudly. “No. I wouldn’t. It sounds like two people talking.”

“Exactly.”

It does sound like two people talking. There isn’t anything breathy or sexy or erotic about the recording. It’s supposed to sound like the two of you are having sex, that his cock is buried inside you, and you should be begging him for more.

“It’s what we have,” shrugs Price. “It’ll have to do.”

“Wait.” You can’t believe you’re about to throw around this idea, but fuck it, you’ll take the risk. “It doesn’t sound believable because you only hear our voices. There isn’t any realism to it.”

Price crosses his arms. “What do you suggest?”

While you don’t want to be helpful, getting Nikola off your back sounds good, and you could give a shit about what happens to Dimitri. Someone will eventually take that VIP room, and the money will return.

“I could—Fuck,” you mutter, running a hand over your face. “I could touch myself. Have the recorder close. Let it pick up the sounds…” You wave your hand in the air absently, trying to get your point across without having to actually say the words out loud.

“Pick up the wet sounds you’ll make as you pleasure yourself,” finishes Price.

“Yes,” you say slowly, holding out the s a bit like a rattling snake.

Price takes a step forward. It is slow. Deliberate. There is something primal about the way his hips lightly sway with the movement. “And where do I fit into this?”

You swallow back the little moan that wants to escape your throat. “You need to be close enough that the microphone will pick you up.”

Price smirks. “I’ll need to be almost on top of you to make it sound believable. You want me that close to you while your hand is between your legs?”

“Depends,” you reply, squaring your shoulders. “Are you going to be a gentleman about it? Or a creep?”

Price drops his arms and then picks up the recorder, erasing everything that just occurred. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be, love.”

I’ll be whatever you want me to be, love.

“Then that’s what we’ll do, Captain.” Your voice is breathy, almost needy, and you hope he doesn’t hear it. “You stand close to me.”

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, and you hear the genuine concern in his voice as he takes another step toward you.

You swallow, trying to steady your racing nerves. “I’m sure.”

Price sets up the tape recorder and then presses the red button. He nods, indicating that you should go ahead.

A brief flare of embarrassment pauses your hand. You’re the one who proposed this and now you’re scared? Turning tail? No. You need to see this through.

Slowly, you part your legs enough for your hand to slide between. The heels you wore to work are long gone, and you go up on your toes, the curve of your ass resting against the edge of the table as you make room for your hand.

Your fingers find your underwear, push the delicate fabric aside, and you’re already so wet that you inhale sharply when your fingers slide through it. You start to swirl one finger around your clit. Each is a delicate little stroke that teases and draws forth bits of pleasure.

The need to look at Price is strong, almost overwhelmingly so, but you keep your gaze fixated at a flat point of concrete. It is safety, a way to bring yourself back to reality.

But all of that is shattered. All of it is destroyed. Yanked right out from under you.

Price moves into position, standing directly in front of you. One of his hands reaches out to your bare thigh, his fingers dancing across your skin in an upward movement toward the hem of your black cocktail dress.

“Fuck. You’re gorgeous, darling,” croons Price. “Look so good like this.”

The praise goes straight to your core. Clenching around nothing, your thighs shake, and you hear Price’s soft inhalation as his other hand rests on the opposite thigh. His hands are warm and rough. You want them everywhere.

Price lightly squeezes your thigh as the same moment you begin working your clit a little faster.

“Putting on a show for me?” Price’s head drops, his forehead pressing against your temple. He leans in a bit, the tip of his nose brushing against your cheek. “All for me.”

A whimper leaves your lips. Hangs in the air. Price catches it, responds to it by sliding his hands to the back of your thighs to lift you off the ground and onto the table. The black cocktail dress immediately reacts, sliding to your hips, revealing the sight between your legs easily.

For a brief moment, you almost clamp them shut, but Price is swift, peppering you with praise that makes them fall wide.

“That’s better. Isn’t it?” he murmurs, nuzzling the side of your face as the peak of your orgasm starts to ascend.

It’s about to crest, to tip over the edge, and fall into oblivion. You’re wet, and that is very clear by what you’re hearing. But you also hear Price’s breathy, almost heavy inhalations and exhalations. His hands squeeze and massage your skin, fingers itching to touch you. And his lips, which are surprisingly soft, keep brushing against your cheekbone.

All of it is too much, and you come undone, hips jerking as the orgasm rolls through your body. It is not faked. It is not staged. But it is soft, and gentle. Nothing earth-shattering about it. Just pure, simple pleasure.

“John,” you breathe, turning your head a bit to meet him. “I—I need your cock. Please.” It’s easy to say the words. It’s easy for them to fall from your lips for him.

Price releases one thigh and wraps his hand around your throat. He squeezes lightly, and turns your face so that you can look into his eyes.

“It’s my turn, love. Spread those fucking legs for me.”

You’re so obedient. Perfect. Falling wide and then wider.

Price is gentle as he releases your throat and then grabs your wrist, guiding your hand away from your pussy, only to replace it with his own. The moment his fingers brush against you, you moan, hips rolling into his touch.

His lips are parted, and through half-closed eyes, you watch his gaze move from your face to the space between your legs. Price can see everything. You know this, and that only makes you that much more eager for his touch.

Those fingers of his trail upward, touching every spot, only to withdraw. The retreat is heartbreaking, but short-lived. Price brings those fingers to his mouth to savor your flavor. He tastes each digit that is coated in your juices, and the very sight of him enjoying you again sends your body into a shiver.

“So sweet,” he says softly, before returning his fingers to your sex.

This time, Price slides one, thick finger into your pussy. You clench around him, moan, head falling back to expose your throat. Price groans, runs his sticky lips over your neck as he sets a pace with his finger. With it, he presses his thumb to your clit, pressing and swirling.

“Fuck you’re tight,” groans Price. Your pussy responds by sucking on his finger, drawing him in as his thumb hits just the spot on your clit to cause your hips to buck into his touch. “Can’t wait to feel you around my cock.”

With one hand pressing into the top of the table, you reach out with the other, grabbing Price’s wrist as he finds a pace that has you a whimpering, moaning mess. Your hair is everywhere. Your dress, which is damaged and beyond saving, is shoved up around your hips. Price’s arm moves with the pump of his fingers.

He is not unmoved. The hand on your thigh is fierce, digging into your flesh, and he keeps brushing his mouth against his skin like he longs to kiss you but retreats every time. The pleasure building in the base of your spine bursts, thrusts forward, explodes outward.

You cry out, clenching hard around Price’s finger. Price’s answer is a groan.

There isn’t any time for you to come down from it before Price is withdrawing his hand, pressing on your stomach to push you flat onto the table.

“I’m gonna taste you now, love. Yeah?” Price’s timbre is its own begging. You hear it in the slight break between syllables. He wants you.

You nod, clawing at him, at the table, at anything you can hold on to.

“Please,” you beg. “I need you, John.”

“Fuck,” he murmurs, and then Price’s mouth is on you, sucking your clit into his mouth.

It’s a sharp ache, a dangerous glow of need that bursts behind your eyes. You nearly jump off the table from it. Price releases your clit only to swirl the tip of his tongue around your clit in quick flicks.

Price is enthusiastic, eating you without care for himself. He chases and chases until you’re done, crying.

“Fuck. Please. John. John!” Your thighs tighten around his head and Price smiles against your pussy.

“Be a good girl and come for me.” Price lightly flicks his tongue against your clit, and that’s it. You’re done. “I want to hear you.”

Your entire body shakes, lifting off the table, curling forward, clawing at Price’s arms. When he releases your clit, Price’s arms go around you, dragging you to the very edge of the table.

Not caring that you’re now a fucking mess, you reach for Price, palming him through his pants. His hips reflexively roll against you, and he groans, his fingers digging into your skin as you continue to stroke him.

Your fingers curl around the belt, and pull him close. “I want your cock. I want you inside me.”

Every word is true. Fuck the audio. Fuck the interrogation. You want Price to fucking use you until you’re both empty.

Price’s hand closes over your own, and gently guides your hand away. At first, you’re confused, believing he’s rejecting you after all that. But then his hand is back on the belt, undoing the buckle, sliding it out with one hand, tossing it aside.

“Come here. Edge of the table. Sit up.” You follow the command, sliding forward. “Arm around my neck.” Complying, you slide your arms around the back of his neck, locking them there.

Price is staring you down, keeping you focused on his face. You’re entranced, enamored, desire pumping through your veins like a wildfire. You hear a zipper sliding along its track, the shuffle of clothes, and then Price’s hands are angling your hips.

This is it. This is the moment Price sinks inside you.

“What do you need?” asks Price, voice lusty yet serious.

“I need you inside me,” you answer, the words from your lips a pleading enticement to slip inside.

Price’s eyelids flutter and then he rests his forehead against yours. You feel it then, his cock, rock hard and thick, sliding through your wetness. He rocks his hips, moving slowly, the head of his cock rubbing your clit with each light thrust.

There is no penetration. And you almost hate it, but then Price is rubbing against you, sliding up and down your sex, rubbing against your clit with each movement, and suddenly you don’t care anymore. If this is what Price is going to give you, you’ll take it.

It’s a back and forth. A wet rocking as your bodies slide against one another.

You’re already strung out on the previous three orgasms, and the fourth is on you like an animal biting at your ankles. It is sharp and fast and bold. So loud that all you can do is hang on to Price as his hips stutter against you.

“Fuck,” he groans. “I’m gonna come inside you, yeah? Be a good girl and keep it all in once I’m done.”

You nod, eager for it. Price’s head falls against the side of your face, and his lips press against your ear. He speaks so softly you almost don’t hear him.

“Keep your hips still.”

There is a brief pause, and then warmth explodes onto the inside of your thigh where leg meets pelvis. It’s just you and Price, and your combined breathing. The silence stretches, and then Price hits the button on the tape recorder to shut off the microphone.

He steps back and your arms fall away from around his neck. Price is stuffing himself back into his pants, as his head sweeps back and forth like he’s looking for something. You’re frozen, a little frazzled with Price’s cum slowly sliding down the inner crease of your leg.

Price heads for one of the sofas, snagging a worn blanket. He brings it back to you, draping it over your shoulders before grabbing your hips and helping you to the ground. Your legs are wobbly and nearly slip out from under you.

“You can clean up in a minute,” he says reassuringly, his warm palm resting softly against your cheek. Then, Price moves his hand to your back, grabbing the tape recorder and ushering you toward the door.

All you can do is follow, still in disbelief that everything fell completely out of control, tumbling toward…what? This. Whatever the fuck it is.

When the two of you reach the interrogation room, Price points to a spot near the wall. “Stay there.”

You deliberately stand elsewhere as he rewinds the tape, pushing into the room, the door slamming shut behind him. Nikola and Price stare each other down. It is then that you notice that Price’s lips are still glossy with your wetness.

Price hits the play button and you blanch. The audio is loud. Blaring. There is no mistaking what is happening on that tape.

“Is this not enough for you, Nikola?” asks Price, face stony.

Nikola snarls and Price retreats, heading for the door. He throws it open and grabs your arm, hauling you along with him. Nikola’s snarl drops when you enter, a realization forming on his features. He didn’t believe Price that you had slept with him, and now there is no doubt.

Without saying anything, Price reaches under the blanket and between your legs, his fingers swiping up of his cum that still remain on your inner thigh. Price presents those fingers to Nikola.

“I came inside that tight cunt. And let me tell you, Nikola. It was fucking good.”

Nikola’s face flames, and your own heats in answer, not because of the words but because just minutes ago, Price was sliding his cock over your soaked pussy.

Price guides you back to the door, releases your arm to open it, and then promptly smacks your ass. The spank is quick and sharp, and it juts you forward through the door. There is no time for you to spin around and snap at him because Price has slammed the interrogation door shut again.

“Is this better proof for you?”

When Nikola shows his teeth, Price shakes his head. He glances between the cum dripping from his fingers and Nikola’s face. Back. Forth. Back again.

“No answer? Fine,” shrugs Price. He pulls his hand back like he’s about to smack Nikola. But he doesn’t. Price doesn’t make contact at all. He whips his hand toward him, not with an intention to strike Nikola but to launch the cum at him. It hits Nikola’s face.

There is a brief moment of silence and then Nikola shrieks. Rages. He’s a feral animal as he tries to throw himself at Price.

Price doesn’t even acknowledge the outburst. He leaves the interrogation room, securing the door behind him. You’re frozen. Legs shaking. You’re fuming but you’re also impressed with how calm Price is.

He glances at you and frowns. “We need to clean you up.”

We.

“I’m fine,” you stammer, turning your gaze on Nikola through the glass.

“You’ve been through a lot. You deserve a shower. Clean clothes. Food.”

“Why are you being nice to me?”

Price blinks. Shifts on his feet. “I’ll take you back to that room you woke up in. There is a bathroom connected to it. Clean up and I’ll grab some clothes for you to change into you. Take your time and then come up. Get you a hot meal.”

He takes a few steps back toward the door to the main hall. “Come on.”

You want to fight. To argue. To bite back. And just as you think it, you also remember his hands on your body and the way he begged. That didn’t sound like acting. It couldn’t have been because Price touched you with his fingers, with his mouth, and with his tongue.

Reluctantly, you follow Price into the room you previously woke up in.

“Shower is through there.” He points at a secondary door. “It’ll have everything you need.”

It feels like a dismissal, but you see his gaze and how it lingers on you. There is no denying that there is something greater at work here, some battle that’s happening that neither of you can see but both of you can feel.

Price dismisses himself with a nod, closing the door behind him.

The blanket is easy. It’s the dress that’s a torn mess. It falls apart in pieces, and nothing is better than when the fabric is gone and the hot water of the shower rains over your skin. The steam invades your lungs, and while you clean yourself of Price’s touch, you wish that you didn’t have to.

You’d like his scent to linger on you a bit longer.

Staying under the falling water for far too long, you finally decide to emerge, only to find clothes on your bed. It’s nothing fancy. Just slim sweatpants, a tank top, a zip-up sweatshirt, and tennis shoes that might run a little big but will have to do the job.

Every nerve ending is buzzing, coiled with anticipation as if the two of you are about to come together again. But that won’t happen. That was it, and you’ll have to accept it.

Running your hands over your face, you reluctantly leave, heading back upstairs. You expect to find Price alone, but you come to a halt when you notice Gaz, Soap, and Ghost all standing around him. They must have just arrived because there are still droplets of water on the three of them like they’ve been out in the rain too long.

The door slams behind you and they all cease talking, turning in your direction. You notice the flex of Price’s hand and his sudden attention, his entire body turning in your direction. But he doesn’t speak first. It’s Soap.

“Our guest downstairs is ready to talk.” He turns toward Price. “Not sure what you did, but I thought he’d never break.”

Price briefly glances at him before returning to stare at you.

You know exactly what he did.

What the both of you did.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @pearljamislife @wrathofcats @keiva1000 @tapioca-marzipan @pertinentpostmortem @enfppixie @bbyfimmie @kittytiddywinks @berarenado @daemondoll @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm

[wolfnight2012]

Yes, Nandor fell to his knees when the Baron dumped "Guillermo's" body in the foyer. (In Front Of his entire family [sans Colin Robinson] and the Baron!) As if he could no longer bring himself to care about who saw him break down/how weak he might be perceived

Yes, cradled (what he thought was) Guillermo's dead body

Yes, his little half-sobbed "Oh, no" was very telling & heartbreaking

But let's talk about his positively distraught cries when he thought Laszlo was gonna desecrate Guillermo's corpse???

Because that's Guillermo to him. As in, that's still Guillermo to Nandor, even as a corpse.

And that's not something we see often with vampires in the wwdits world

Vampires here seem to simply accept death & move on. Once someone/something is considered dead, it is time to move on

Our main characters do it with the Baron. He gets fried to a crisp, they bury him, say a few half-hearted words, and move on (he's Nadja's sire! He had a trist with both her and Laszlo. He's like, their unofficial superior/boss, in that he can order them to take over North America & just like, move into their home?)

They do it with Colin Robinson, twice! Both when he fakes his death in 2x05 (simply bury him & say a few words) and to a lesser(ish) extent when he "dies" on his 100th birthday (few words, few sentimental touches & thats it, we move on)

Nadja does it with her reincarnated lover, able to drop him/forget about him the moment he dies

iirc, the only instances that don't follow this pattern is when the dead person isn't considered truly dead (yet)

Nandor wastes no real time grieving Gail, because she's not dead dead (yet) he can fix her! She's temporarily not alive at worst.

Topher, similarly, can be revived (or so they think) so he's not dead dead either, because he can be fixed. Once its clear he can't be truly fixed, they can easily discard & forget about him.

Young Colin Robinson isn't dead dead either. His adult self is alive & well (and back) Laszlo is simply grieving the fatherhood/son that only exists in his memories.

Guillermo is dead dead. Either because vampirism only takes immediately after death or because the Baron would simply kill him again, turning him into a vampire isn't an option. (And I like to think they learned their lesson with the necromancer/zombie!Topher)

Guillermo is dead dead & everyone reacts accordingly: the Baron chills out immediately, even feeling a little bad (not for Guillermo's death, he was only a familiar after all) for causing a fellow vampire/one of the vampires he's arguably closer to pain

Nadja (who was fighting & scheming & panicked to save him) declares he should be buried before he starts to stink. She might care about Guillermo & consider him family (even if she'd never say those actual words) but the body on the floor isn't Guillermo anymore, it's just a corpse that needs disposing.

Meanwhile, Nandor has accepted Guillermo's death; he's not planning on how to revive him/bring him back.

Guillermo is dead dead.

But Nandor is still protective of what he should only consider to be a corpse now. That's still Guillermo to him.

He cradles him up off the floor. He gently brushes his hair back. He's distraught at the thought of Laszlo cutting him up, even in death.

Anyways, there's zero chance of Nandor trying to kill Guillermo in earnest. That man could not handle the emotional toll

[serendipitous-seven]

'i can hear him smile.' | jung hoseok x f!reader | a serendipitous life series

summary: you wonder why hoseok is so quiet since returning from tour... pairing: jh x f!reader [sunny] genre: family fluff, fluff, sweet-angst tags/warning: baby-related material such as breast-feeding, slight angst but it's not sad

a/n: i felt compelled to repost this fic particularly after seeing those clips of hobi expressing his loss of self <3 apologies for lack of posting, i was having issues with text posts have since resolved the issue *yay*

dad bts series

With a then newborn baby, the stillness surrounding your home becomes normal. Used to some kind of humming or background noise to help keep your sanity, hearing the creaks of the wood floors or walls settling around you no longer caused you to jump or to peer around the corner anticipating a masked intruder. ‘Honey, nobody can penetrate the security here.’ Hoseok would be quick to settle your anxiety.

Smiling to yourself, you rearrange the flowers for the umpteenth time, mostly admiring them. A bouquet of red roses gifted by your husband. Returning from an 8-month-long tour with a tired smile and eager arms to hold you and your son. Oh, how Hoseok’s heart ached when he had to leave a then two-month-old Huimang and you, a new mother to care for it all on your own. Of course, your families and a few close friends gathered around you, some teaching you the ins and outs of parenthood while the rest ventured this unknown path with you.

You cried - a lot, laughed when Huimang nearly peed on you as you changed his diaper for only the third time alone since Hoseok left for North America. Just on the cusp of sleep while feeding your son only to be awoken by your friend, sore parts to boot, and a baby drunk from milk.

Hoseok made sure to call every single night after a show or signing. On his days off, he’d dedicate several hours of those days to spending time with you and Huimang over FaceTime. His phone stayed on the charger while he watched you move about your day, swimming in the sound of Huimang’s soft coos and even shrill cries. Noticing the way you kept it together the hours your son was awake. Finally at night, when Huimang was fast asleep, you’d appear with tearful eyes before your husband. Willing yourself to stop. It was all he could do to soothe you with words, wishing with all his being to be by your side. To cradle you, mend you, and reassure you with his physical presence.

‘You are doing such a great job, my love,’ Hoseok would tell you this over and over. Blinking, you come to again. Vibrant red petals illuminated by the bright sun streaming in through the ceiling-to-floor window. It’s nearly 2 PM, and Huimang should be stirring from his first nap in need of feeding. You skim the walls with your fingertips as you make your way to the bedroom where you left your sleeping baby, a warm smile touching your face as soon as you open the door.

Hoseok lays next to Huimang and you can’t help but giggle, surprised to find him in the same position as you left the two of them hours ago. The sun warms his back as he strokes Huimang’s cheek, running his slender finger down his little button nose, stopping to place his fingertip over your baby’s lips. Hoseok’s pink lips stretch with the slightest smile as he stares down at his son. He kisses his fingertip before putting it lightly against Huimang’s. You make yourself known to which Hoseok understands it’s time for Huimang to eat. He rubs his round belly, your son’s eyes already fluttering open. He whines for the moments until you are sat in bed, Hoseok placing him in your arms with the C-shaped pillow placed around you to help carry the baby‘s weight while he feeds from you.

He stays with the two of you, a hand glued to your son at all times. You smile at his soft caresses, stifling a laugh as Huimang’s eyes roll back in pure ecstasy. Food and papa’s touches; what more could a baby want? Unlike the other times, Hoseok returns with much to say, you note his silence. Resting your head back on the headboard, observing him while he watches the baby, a litter of hearts covering his dark eyes. He peers over at you for a moment, leaning in for a few kisses before moving back. He doesn’t say anything, he just watches. The day continues as lazy as ever. You welcome the noise of your baby and husband playing in the living room while preparing dinner. You aren’t sure whose giggles make you want to burst more- Hoseok’s or Huimang’s. Once again, you laugh by yourself at the jovial sounds filling your home. Dinner is had and before you know it, the late hour has crept in. You shut off the lights room by room, checking in on sleeping Huimang before moving to your bedroom for the night. Readying yourself for bed, your eyes fall over Hoseok as you move about. Discreet as you watch him when you collect your pajamas from the walk-in closet and then from the bathroom vanity, door ajar, a perfect view of him laying in bed staring up at the ceiling. He hardly stirs when you finally make it to bed, applying a little bit of cream on your hands before shutting your light off. It’s only then does he show signs of life despite his gentle breathing being enough of an indication, turning his light off. Before he can settle under the covers you run your hand down the length of his arm, laying it in his palm.

Hoseok turns and the two of you lay to face each other, his hand now grasped around yours, he brings it up to press a single kiss on your knuckles. You smile, feeling his soft hair through your fingers, “you’ve been so quiet since coming home.” His stare is longing, content but even a little melancholy. In the darkness of your bedroom, you see a sheen spread across his eyes. You move to press your palm against his cheek. “It’s so loud while we tour,” his voice is so deep, exhausted likely still needing to recover from the strain his body undergoes during those months, “I enjoy it of course; yelling into the microphone to thousands, jumping around, laughing, hearing them cheer at us…” A stillness falls over the two of you once again. From the baby monitor now set on Hoseok’s nightstand, you can hear Huimang snoring lightly, humming in short breaths. Is he dreaming? You notice Hoseok’s eyes are closed again but a look of utter euphoria has taken over his expression; “I like this new quiet we have at home, I long to come home to it now,” he opens them and finds you immediately, “I can hear him after not being able to for so long. I can even hear his smile. Then I can hear you giggling to yourself from the kitchen-“ he teases you. You roll your face into the pillow only to be brought back by your husband. He moves closer to kiss you. You steep in the feel of his deep chuckle against your lips, how thoughtfully he wraps his hand around your jaw.

Chasing after his lips when he pulls away, he gives in for a few more moments with you, holding you close. After a while you rest your face against Hoseok’s chest, keeping a hand on his cheek and stroking his soft skin with your thumb while he cases his arms around you, rubbing your back. Hoseok hums contentedly, taking in the silence and comforts of your home together. His family. You smile, taking in the feeling of your husband finally holding you after so many months. You listen to the sounds he longs for, ironically the silence he longs for. Huimang lost deep in sleep, it sounds different now. Knowing your husband is soothed by it, likely falling under it as if it’s a lullaby meant only for him.

[opencommunion]

The geopolitics of labor: Israel's quest to replace Palestinian workers with Indians

"Canadian immigration attorney Aidan Simardone, speaking to The Cradle, compares the situation to historical colonial practices in North America where marginalized European religious groups, like the Puritans, were brought in to service colonial interests. 

Israel, he points out, is adopting a similar strategy by recruiting economically disadvantaged Hindu Indians from regions like Uttar Pradesh, aiming to manage demographic and political challenges seamlessly. 'The move is also an attempt by Israel to pull the rug out from under one of the thorns on the side of colonialism. Colonialism requires squeezing blood out of a stone, yet this squeezing depends on the sweat and tears of those who are at the bottom of the barrel.'

Simardone notes the inherent risks for the colonizer in relying entirely on an indigenous labor force, as workers will rebel when colonialism reveals its true nature.

'To steer clear of this predicament, colonizers bring in labor from other parts. These laborers are often pushed to the sidelines as well, but unlike the Indigenous population, they go with the flow rather than swimming against the tide when it comes to the colonial project.'

... A Haaretz report claims that Indian candidates seeking work in Israel were, in many cases, made aware that the jobs were not available to Muslim Indians, a move that undermined the rights of the Muslim minority in India.

Simardone explains that Islam is seen as a mutual threat by the right-wing ethnocentric regime currently leading Israel and Hindutva-dominated India: 'For both countries, the very existence of Muslims undermines their fascist ethnonationalism, which seeks to build a country solely for Jews in Israel and Hindus in India. That is primarily the reason that job recruiters in India who are posting positions in Israel have specifically required Hindus and excluded Muslims, who are more likely to sympathize with the plight of Palestinians.' ... However, the partnership faces criticism domestically, especially concerning the program to shift thousands of workers into an insecure environment. The Construction Workers Federation of India (CWFI) has voiced strong opposition to sending Indian laborers to Israel, arguing that such actions tacitly support Israel’s controversial policies in Palestine. 

The association reflects the views of a much broader Indian worker demographic who naturally reject collaboration with an oppressive occupation state that so clearly exploits the Palestinian working class. Instead, CWFI has urged New Delhi to leverage its diplomatic relations with Tel Aviv to advocate for the observance of UN resolutions and to reconsider Israel’s labor-import demands."

[emilybeemartin]

Inktober Days 7-9

Day 7: "Drip"

Can you believe we live in a world where the tiny drip-drip-drip of water can carve vast caves deep underground? To wander through Mammoth Cave—or any of the caves protected by the NPS—is to appreciate the power of water and time. Geologic formations aptly named flowstone and dripstone ripple, drizzle, and cascade in a mirror of the water that created them.

Touring Mammoth Cave is one of the earliest memories I have of visiting a national park. I remember squeezing through tight passages after my dad, as well as experiencing true, utter darkness for the first time when the ranger switched all the lights off.

Day 8: "Toad"

There’s something so grand about toads. Whether it’s a teeny little gentleman perched on a wet rock or a great gargantuan grandee lolloping along a muddy path, it always seems like a blessing to spy a toad. Perhaps it’s a holdover from childhood, when toads were some of the only wildlife we could get our hands on, cradling their squishy bodies and staring into their ever-grumpy faces.

Most parks in the NPS host toads, even ones where it might seem improbable. In the high, cold slopes of Rocky Mountain, the boreal toad can be found in wet meadows and ponds. It’s considered the only alpine toad in Colorado.

Because toads and other amphibians are so sensitive to their environments, they’re often considered indicator species of ecosystem health. Healthy toads mean healthy land, water, and air. Unfortunately, like many amphibians, boreal toad populations are in decline due to chytrid fungus, a disease that’s been decimating amphibian populations across the Americas, Europe, and Australia. Biologists in Rocky Mountain are carrying out important work to study and save their little high-alpine gentletoads from collapse.

Day 9: "Bounce"

Recently, when I was helping my brother move across the country, our plans went awry due to freak bad weather across the southwest. We diverted north and found ourselves in Arches National Park. It turned out to be the highlight of our whole trip. It was late winter, and the vibrant red rocks were ribbed with snow. The air was crisp, the panoramas of frosted mountains undisturbed by dust or haze. And the park was quiet, utterly so—I’ll always remember the silence of our campsite, broken only by the croaking of ravens and distant coyote song.

To cap it all off, pressed into the red sand around our site were dozens of little footprints—the hopping marks of kangaroo rats. They were like getting a postcard in the mail from a faraway friend. Hello, hello, hello. We’re out and about. Have a nice stay.

[banefolk]

Snowberry (Symphoricarpos) is a christmas botanical that truly embodies the spirit of winter with its bright white berries. This genus of cold hardy and drought resistant shrubs is related to the honeysuckle family and native to North and Central America (with one species in China). Today it can be found as an ornamental shrub in plant nurseries and gardens across the world and is well loved in floristry —especially for the winter holidays and winter weddings.

The white berries are poisonous to humans if consumed in excess due to their saponin content so the plant was mainly used by indigenous peoples for medicine, as hair shampoo, and to poison water to stun fish and make them easier to catch. The fresh berries were rubbed on rashes, burns, and sores. The bark, root, and leaves were used externally to treat wounds snd as an eye wash as well as internally for fever and menstrual issues. It was treated as a disinfectant and was used as a wound wash, to remove external parasites, and the burned wood was used to cauterize wounds.

In modern medicine we’ve found the berries contain the alkaloid chelidonine normally found in poppies. It is an antidote to poisoning from anticholinergic herbs like belladonna, brugmansia, datura, and mandrake. Pretty cool! Other anticholinergic antidotes include snowdrops and narcissus.

In indigenous folk magic snowberry is considered very protective with the power to banish ghosts and evil spirits and counteract curses and spells. It can be worn or carried for protection and used in magic to encourage truthfulness. Many Native American tribes used it to protect babies and young children from ghosts —either as a charm by their cradles or the wood itself used to make the cradle. It was also used to protect children when ill, especially for fevers.

Sources: Native American Ethnobotany Database, PFAF, Wikipedia, and ethnobotanist Nancy J. Turner.

[hotchs-bitch]

Fluffy Feb Day 27- Snow

Warnings: getting together, only one bed trope except I as the author provided 2 beds and they do it to themselves, Canada (which was supposed to be realistic but comes across as satire. No judging me unless you are also Canadian), some 18+ implications but nothing happens

Pairing: Hotch x blank slate Fem!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 4.1k (i went crazy :/)

A/N: Honestly I've either made up or researched everything I've put in a fic about America so it was a nice change to just Know Things (although I am not from the province where this takes place). Also in my mind this is a continuation to Day 9- Pine

Once again, bonus points if you can figure out which Taylor Swift song I was listening to when writing this

Cases have taken you all over the country, face to face with some of the worst serial killers that America has ever seen. Much less often, they take you to Canada.

Specifically, in the case of a psychopath who skipped borders after killing in two states almost a decade ago and resumed his killing spree further north now, they occasionally take you to the middle of Nowheresville, Saskatchewan, Canada. In the dead of winter.

“Hey, folks.” The chief of police greets you all- well, most of you, since Rossi and Prentiss are already out on the field- with a friendly wave, shaking Hotch’s hand. “Chief McCartney. Sorry to make y’all take a trip up here, but we sure can use the help.”

“The FBI has been searching for the unsub for some time,” Hotch answers as their hands part. “The case has been assumed cold for several years by the Bureau, so we’re grateful you reached out. Two of my agents are at the latest crime scene already.”

“Where should we set up?” JJ asks, and the chief leads you to a conference room. “And, er, speaking of cold…”

You’re all very cold, just from the drive from the airstrip to the station. You’d seen people snowmobiling past the road, and JJ had marvelled aloud wondering how they could bear to be out in this weather. It’s not surprising that she’s the first one to bring up the chilly air in the precinct with her parka still zipped up to her chin.

McCartney snaps his fingers like he’s remembered something important. “Y’all must be freezing, eh? Let me rustle up a space heater, get you nice and toasty.”

The fact that he’s wearing a button-down shirt and a light jacket isn’t lost on any of the experienced profilers in the room. “You’re not cold?” Derek asks, half in disbelief. “Man, I grew up in Chicago and I can’t feel my toes right now.”

“We hit minus 30’s a few weeks back,” McCartney says, wincing. “Sorry, I didn’t even think of it. Guess we’re all used to it around here by now.”

“Minus…” You glance at Spencer, who’s locked and loaded with an answer.

“Negative 30 degrees Celsius is about negative 22, Fahrenheit,” he reports. “I’d estimate we’re closer to negative 31 degrees Farenheit, though.”

“He’s smart. Windchill’s pushing us a little under,” McCartney confirms. “I’ll go get that space heater. Y’all settle in, and I’ll have one of my officers bring over the files ASAP.”

You ‘settle in’ as best you can, poring over the case with your team while wrapped in thick sweaters and cradling to-go cups of coffee. They’re branded with the Tim Hortons logo from the traveller case that one of the officers brings for you along with the files and a box of donut holes labelled ‘Timbits’. The space heater sits in the corner of the room, slowly bringing the space to a temperature that you’re all used to.

Hotch takes the first sip of his coffee without adding anything into it, his face screwing up at the taste. “It’s not too good when it’s black,” the officer tells him. “Sorry, should’ve warned you. Try a double double, it’s way better.”

“Here, I’ve got it.” You take Hotch’s coffee from him, adding in two little packets of sugar and two creamer cups while he watches you. “Better?” He stirs it and takes a sip, deliberating.

The second sip must be miles better than the first. “It’s not as bitter. I think that’s all I can ask for,” he murmurs while he takes a seat next to you, and you smirk.

He’s wearing the same quarter-zip that made an appearance when you went to Alaska, and he seems relatively warm. Lucky him. The less-built members of your team, particularly JJ and Spencer, have rosy cheeks and keep sticking their hands in their pockets to warm them. Poor Spencer goes through several cups of coffee in mere hours, a weak attempt to warm himself from the inside out.

Nearing the end of the day, you all pack up your things. There haven’t been any more murders today, but the information gleaned from the crime scenes helps you add to the profile. The unsub has a pattern of striking each week, probably to gauge how close the investigation is to catching him during the cooldown period, and he hasn’t strayed from the pattern since resurfacing.

You trudge to the hotel across the street from the police station- this town is so tiny that you don’t think it’s made up of anything other than a main street and rows of suburbia housing- in the pitch-black, wind whistling by your ears and freezing them. The sun went down several hours ago even though it’s only nearing seven PM, and the dark doesn’t lift anyone’s spirits.

“Get some rest,” Hotch says while he hands out room keys in the hotel lobby, speaking over the sound of chattering teeth. It’s more of an order than a request. “We’re at the station bright and early tomorrow, and I want you all rested and ready to work.”

The room key in your hands leads you down a hallway to a door that you unlock right as Hotch turns the corner. “119, right?” He clarifies, and you nod. “Alright. You’re with me.”

“Sounds good.” Your voice sounds cool and even, and you’re sort of proud of yourself for keeping it together after finding out that you’re sharing a hotel room with your very kind, very attractive boss. You’ve shared a room with him before, but it’s a battle of willpower to appear normal every time.

The hotel room is decently nice, and it’s warmer than you expected. Two queen-sized beds share a nightstand, and there’s a desk with a coffeemaker on it pressed up to the wall next to the TV. It’s a standard hotel room, a setup you’re familiar with. The heater under the window is whirring, filling the room with blissfully warm air- almost too warm- that has you shedding your jacket as Hotch sets his go bag on one bed and his briefcase on the desk.

“No working,” you remind him, your tone as scolding as it is light-hearted. “Bright and early, remember?”

Hotch snorts at that, then takes off his quarter-zip sweater. “We’ll be six bitter coffees deep before the sun comes up,” he says, but you struggle to hear a single word out of his mouth when you see his biceps through the thin white material of his shirt. He’s been covered up all day, and you haven’t hit your daily quota of staring at his arms.

It’s been a hard day, particularly for that reason.

“I’m going to shower,” Hotch says after a moment, discarding his fleece on the desk chair. He picks up his go bag, and the bathroom door closes behind him a moment later.

By the time he re-enters, wearing flannel pajamas pants and a white shirt, you’re fiddling with the heater. It seems to be broken, and when you turn the dial to blow cold air in the room it only seems to come out a few degrees cooler.

“The blanket’s really heavy,” you warn as he gets into his own bed. You can’t believe you’re overheating at negative-a-million degrees, but the combined weight of the duvet and warm air blowing steadily into the room is reminiscent of falling asleep in Arizona rather than the snowy north. “Something’s wrong with the heater.”

“I’ll try to manage,” he responds with a dry smile before pulling the blanket over himself. It lands on him with a solid sound, thick duvet against chest, and a soft ‘oof’, and you count to three in your head before he says, “Okay, you were right.’

“Aren’t I always?” You pull your own duvet down when you get into bed, leaving yourself covered with the top sheet of the bedspread. He stays underneath his blankets, not shifting them while you reach out and turn the lamp off.

Falling asleep has never been so difficult. Without the thick duvet, you’re curled into a ball within five minutes when the slightly colder air fills the room. With it, you’re sweating so much that it’s a wonder you aren’t sliding right off the bed. One leg pokes out from under the heavy covers, but it feels like the only part of your body that’s at a closer-to-normal temperature while the rest of you overheats. You toss and turn, falling asleep briefly every once in a while for maybe ten minutes at a time.

It’s a little embarrassing, actually. Your blanket and sheet are lifted and shifted so many times that you have to hope you aren’t waking Hotch up, even when you move as quietly as possible. The only sound in the air is the wind whistling and fabric shifting, louder than you thought possible.

Around 1 AM, hours after trying to fall asleep, you’ve all but given up. You’re considering getting to work on the file by lamplight, or just stripping down naked under the thick blankets. What other option do you have?

That’s when you hear a grunt from the other bed, and Hotch’s outline shifts in bed. You can see him move around, lifting up like he’s flipping over his pillow. In the barely-there lighting from a streetlamp, you notice that his duvet is ruffled and partially folded over itself. It looks like he’s been tossing and turning, just like you.

“Aaron,” you whisper once he’s still. It’s quiet; he can pretend not to hear you if he’s close to falling asleep, and you won’t be offended. 

When he responds, his voice is gruff and just as loud as it was in the precinct today. “Yeah?”

“Can’t sleep?” It’s a stupid question, you realize as soon as it leaves your mouth. He isn’t sleeptalking, after all.

He doesn’t call you out on it, but just sighs instead. “No. It’s not working too well for me. I’m really hot.”

Yeah, you are, you want to say, but the logical side of your brain beats the sentence back with a stick before you can say it out loud. “Me too. How do you think everyone else is doing?

“Better than us, I hope.” He sits up in bed slightly; you can tell from the rustling and the dim outline. “I’m sure Dave has some kind of temperature-controllable blanket with him.”

“Spencer probably researched the best kind of pajamas to bring,” you joke back, and Aaron chuckles at that.

“Morgan probably worked out before bed and didn’t need any blankets,” he murmurs, and you snicker.

“JJ and Emily are probably cuddling for warmth.”

Why did you say that? The high altitude- the provincial average is roughly 1700 feet above sea-level, Spencer would tell you- combined with the restlessness is probably getting to you.

Aaron clears his throat, and you cough. Neither of you seems to know what to say, so he speaks first. “As long as they don’t tell me anything. It’s a lot of paperwork, for that sort of… fraternization.”

“Well, I mean. If they’re just doing it to keep warm, that’s got to be an exception,” you point out.

“I.. suppose so, yes. As long as nothing further were to happen, two agents just trying to keep each other warm isn’t inappropriate. They… we all need to be professional.”

He sounds hesitant now, speaking carefully like he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. You wonder if he’s dancing around the same thought as you. If he is, is he trying to avoid it? Or does he not want to say it first?

“So, by that logic…” you trail off, waiting for Aaron to say something. He can say anything now. He can cut you off, bid you goodnight again, or even ask you to go bunk with Rossi, but he doesn’t.

The fact that he also isn’t exactly not encouraging you doesn’t disembolden you at all. “Yes?”

“Well. You know,” you murmur. “I’m just saying that if it’s completely professional… and if it’s helping them sleep, and therefore be more well-rested to catch a serial killer tomorrow…”

“What are you saying?” He isn’t really asking. You can hear his smirk as clearly as wind whistling through the trees outside your window. “I think you need to clarify for me.”

Your huff of annoyance is more forced than it sounds. “I’m saying that if we sleep in the same bed we might be able to actually sleep. Body heat, and all that.”

Aaron’s voice is softer now, less sure than when he teased you just a minute ago. “Are you comfortable with that?”

“If it’s okay with you, then it’s okay with me,” you promise. The only sound in the room for a moment is both of you breathing, and you wonder if he can hear your heart thumping against your ribcage. What are you doing?

“Alright,” Aaron agrees after a long moment, pushing the duvet down to the foot of his bed. “Does it matter what side you sleep on?”

You get out of your own bed, and murmur, “No,” as he rolls over to make room for you. He lifts the top sheet up and you slide in under it, curling up. There’s still some distance between you, and you try to maintain it; he’s the one who’s concerned about things being ‘inappropriate’, after all. There’s no need for him to know that your heart is beating so fast that it feels like it’s about to jackhammer out of your chest.

“Goodnight,” you mumble as soon as your head hits the pillow. His body heat is like a furnace, warming you up perfectly from a foot away, and the thin sheet is warm like it’s been waiting for you to climb in. He says something under his breath- ‘goodnight’, maybe- but it’s been such a long day that you fall asleep in what feels like seconds without responding.

When you wake up to the sound of Aaron’s phone alarm, you’re much less than a foot away from each other in the warmest bed you’ve ever known. He’s curled up against your back, one of his arms slung around your waist to hold you to his chest. Previous experience with room-sharing tells you that he doesn’t wake up at the first alarm- he usually sets two or three, a few minutes apart- and you’ve got a couple of minutes to just be.

The sound of the alarm grates on you, but it must be on a timer because it stops ringing after a minute or so, and you relax back into Aaron. His cheek is resting against the back of your head, and you can hear his steady breaths in time with the rise and fall of his chest against you. It feels good, it feels right to wake up like this. You don’t want it to end, but you know that it has to.

When the second alarm goes off, he rouses with a little startle, like he doesn’t remember where he is. The arm around your waist tightens, just for a moment, as his body relaxes into yours. Soft as a whisper, you could swear that you feel warm lips brush the shell of your ear before he pulls his arm away and sits up.

The room is just as dark now as it was a few hours ago, and Aaron manages to fumble for his phone and quiet the alarm before he speaks. His voice is raspier than it was in the middle of the night when he checks the time and then says, “It’s almost a quarter to seven. Er, did you sleep well?”

“Very.” You yawn as you sit up, stretching both arms above your head. “I wouldn’t complain about a couple more hours, though. That whole same-bed thing works wonders.”

Aaron yawns too, turning away to grab his go-bag as he stands up. “I’m glad to hear it. You can go shower. I’ll change out here.”

“Deal.” You gather your own things when you get to your feet, disappearing into the bathroom to get ready for the day. Your mind is already on the case, pushing aside all thoughts of sleep arrangements and large arms holding you close in favour of your job. When you exit the bathroom, Aaron is already gone.

When you meet with the team in the lobby, you find out that he headed to the station right away to get ahead on the case. Everyone bundles up before walking back to the precinct; the walk is no warmer than it was last night, and fresh snow begins to fall just as you get to the doors of the precinct.

Once you find your way to the same room as yesterday, you find Hotch already there, dressed in yesterday’s fleece. He’s got a Tim Horton’s cup in one hand, and he sips it while staring, perplexed, at the geographic profile. “Good morning,” he greets everyone at once. “Reid, I was thinking. If we intersect his old hideout parameters from Minnesota and Georgia with his murders here, then…” their chatter fades into white noise as you turn your attention to the files lining the tables.

The first hour passes in a blur, the conference room lit only by harsh overhead fluorescents as you trade theories and examine new evidence provided by the local officers. The clock is just announcing the arrival of 9 AM, the sky beginning to brighten slightly, when you realize that you need coffee.

You’ve got the same setup as yesterday in that regard, too. One of the officers must have picked up a fresh traveller for you, evidenced by the steam rolling off of the coffee that Hotch is pouring for himself. “How’s it going?” He asks, stirring two creams and two sugars into his coffee.

“No big break yet, but I’m sure we’re close. We’re going to get this guy soon,” you promise, and Hotch nods at that. “I wanted to thank you again. For, you know. Helping me sleep last night.”

“It was no trouble,” he assures you, fiddling with the stir stick in his hand. “It was helpful for me, too.”

“And, hey.” You lower your voice a bit, and Hotch leans in to hear you better. “Maybe we can do it again tonight. You know, if that’s okay with you.”

He gives you a smile, that tight-lipped one you’re used to seeing around the office. “It’s alright with me. I just don’t want to… well, I’m your boss. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. It has no impact on my views of your professionalism.”

There’s that word again. You wish he could be a little less professional, for once. But he’s right, he’s your boss, and there are certain things he can’t say first. Your profiling skills tell you that he still wants to say them though. “Well, what happens in Canada can stay in Canada,” you half-jest.

“It can, if you want it to,” he murmurs. He still hasn’t taken a sip of his coffee, and he hands the cup to you while he pours a second one. “The sun will be coming up, soon.”

He’s right. Pale orange is streaking the sky through the large conference room window, tracing pink lines around the edge of the sun that’s just starting to peek up into the prairie sky. The snow is still falling, painting a picturesque image in the sky “It’s gorgeous,” you comment, taking a sip of your coffee. Without taking your eyes off the sky, you step a little closer to Hotch.

“Yes,” he agrees, holding his coffee in his right hand. His left rests on the table that your back is against, and it might be wishful thinking, but you think that he would wrap that arm around you again if there were no one else around. “It certainly is.”

----

“Longest week of my life,” Emily complains as soon as you’re airborne, a mere three days later. The unsub has been apprehended and is in federal custody of the country you’re returning home to. “But those beds were insanely comfortable. I haven’t slept that well in months.”

You and Aaron exchange a glance, a double-layered inside joke about why Emily slept so well and why exactly you both slept so well for several nights in a row. 

The last four nights have brought with them some of the best rest of your life. You’ve grown familiar with the feeling of Aaron’s arms around you in the morning, and by day three he stopped jerking them away as soon as he woke up.

That was the same day he asked you out, his gaze averted while he fiddled with a gold-coloured coin that he had received as change when he went out to buy a coffee. You had agreed, of course, and had assured him more than once that it didn’t matter that he’s your boss. You want him, and you have for ages.

On the fourth day, just this morning, he had held you a little tighter when he woke up and rumbled, “Morning, baby,” against your ear. If he hadn’t felt your heart beating around in your chest before, he had certainly felt it then.

Despite the fact that you’ve got a date planned with the man you’ve been cuddling for the better part of a week, you’re ready to tease Emily for cuddling JJ, before Spencer chimes in.

“I thought that the beds were quite comfortable, also. According to Sheriff McCartney, they’re primarily a transit town, which runs on a completely different economic structure than a transit village. The economy depends on truckers and people on road trips or similar travel to sleep in their hotels and eat at their restaurants,” he explains. “It’s fascinating, actually; transit towns pour the majority of their resources into making sure travellers making one-night stays enjoy themselves enough that they take the same route on the way home, thus giving the town more business.”

“The only business I want from that town is the name of whoever supplies those blankets,” Derek says, grinning. “That thing was so heavy, it was like getting crushed to sleep. Exactly what I needed with all that cool air blowing in.”

“Your room wasn’t too hot?” You ask, your nose scrunching up. “I think the heat was broken in mine. It was just hot air the whole time, every night. Way too hot to sleep.”

“Ours was like that on the first night,” JJ recalls, and Emily nods in agreement. “It was awful.”

“Right?” You complain, sinking further down into your seat. Hotch is sitting to your right, his face an impassive mask while he watches the exchange. “Let me guess, you guys shared a… uh…” 

Your teasing falters when the look on both JJ's and Emily’s faces tells you that, no, they did not share a bed, and you’ve just implied your solution to the heater problem. “We used the other blankets,” Emily says slowly, her eyes narrowing. “Didn’t you?”

“Oh! Oh, the other blankets. Yeah, the ones in the nightstand.” You nod along, your mortification growing in time with JJ’s smirk.

“They were in the closet,” she corrects you, obviously trying not to laugh. “I guess we know how you and Hotch stayed warm.”

You don’t need to look at your boss’- boss? Friend? Lover? You aren’t too sure right now- face to know that his cheeks are dusted rosy pink. “It wasn’t like that,” you protest to deaf ears as Derek whoops and high-fives Emily.

“About time,” he snickers at the look on your face. “So, when’s the first date?”

“It’s not-” you start to say, but Hotch speaks before you can.

“Friday.”

Your eyes widen and you turn to him. He raises one shoulder and smiles, like What was I supposed to say? “Friday,” you relent a moment later.

Derek is still grinning ear to ear like a maniac, and even Spencer cracks a smile when Aaron snakes one arm slowly around your waist. The sun is rising on one side of the jet, and the orange glow illuminates his face.

For one suspended moment, everything is perfect. You’ve got a date for this Friday, you’re more well-rested than you’ve felt in ages, and your team doesn’t seem to care that you and your boss are much closer than you were a couple of weeks ago. It’s a blissful moment to you, and it’s only broken by Emily’s gleeful not-quite-a whisper to JJ. “Penelope is going to be pissed that she missed this.”

Fluffy Feb masterlist | < Prev Day | Next Day >

Fluffy Feb tags: @doctorsteths-fluffyfeb @iammirrorball @hausofwhores @allthefandomstogether @myweepingangel @hotched @spacecowboyhotch @chibsytelford @honeybrowne @formulapierre @nd264 @hotchnerxnegan1017 (send me a dm or ask to be tagged!)

[sunflowervoltwentyeight]

Hi! This is a fic rec of 52 of my favorite canon fics, organized by length from longest to shortest. Enjoy!

Hiding Place by orphan_account (365k)

Louis never wanted a soulmate, didn’t really care for the whole Bonding thing at all, really. Enter Harry Styles, who’s wanted to be Bonded for as long as he could remember. With one fateful meeting in an X Factor bathroom, Louis gets a dagger on his arm and the realization that just because Harry is his soulmate doesn’t mean it’s mutual.

From the X Factor house to Madison Square Garden, from the Fountain Studios stage to stadiums across the world, Louis has to learn to love without losing himself completely, because someday his best friend will Bond to someone and replace Louis as the center of his universe. Meanwhile, Harry begins to think that maybe fate doesn’t actually know what it’s doing after all, because his other half has clearly been right in front of him the whole time. All he has to do now is convince Louis to give them a chance.

Or, the canon compliant Harry and Louis love story from the very beginning, where the only difference is that the love between them is literally written on their skin, and there’s only so much they can hide.

One More Time Again by orphan_account (232k)

Harry looks down to where Louis is cradling his hand between his own. Louis' hands are slender, the bones delicate, the nails bitten short. The 2-8 on the backs of his fingers is gone, but the faded scar from a skateboarding mishap in Year 7 is still there.

Harry's hand is awkward, knobby-boned and naked, no rings, no tattoos. It's too big for his wrist and his wrist too big for his arm. Yet it still somehow fits in Louis' in the painfully perfect way it always did.

He blinks back the sting in his eyes.

On the morning of his second sold-out performance at Madison Square Garden, Harry wakes up to find that he's sixteen years old, on The X Factor, and that he has a chance to make things right.

A canon-compliant fix-it fic (sort of).

Given A Chance by fabby / @fabby1d (173k)

Five years after One Direction took their last tour, the last thing Louis Tomlinson ever expected to happen while on a tea run at the local Piggly Wiggly was to run into his ex-boyfriend and ex-bandmate Harry Styles.

The odds of them ever running into each other again had to be super slim, right?

Wrong.

What happens when you mix ex-boyfriends with a large serving of Small Town America? Will Louis and Harry be able to set aside their differences, or will Louis be able to stay breezy as fuck in the wake of Harry’s arrival?

(or, the one where Louis and Harry run into each other five years after One Direction ends and learn how to love each other again. Featuring: Reggie as the overweight labrador, Niall as Louis’ last grip on reality, and Nowheresville, North Carolina as the setting for Louis’ worst nightmare to come true.)

And Then a Bit by infinitelymint / @infinitelymint (158k)

“We’d like to give the fans what they want.” Magee states, placing his hand on the table in front of him and leaning forward. “We want to give them Larry Stylinson.”

Or, take a parallel universe where Louis and Harry were never together, mix in a two year hiatus and an impending comeback, pour in a dash of lost fans, two tablespoons of strong friendship and a Modest! employee with a good idea. Add a squeeze of pretending to be a couple, lots of kisses and a tattoo or two. Stir. Serve: the mother of all publicity stunts.

(aka Harry and Louis fake a relationship for publicity. Eventually it becomes a lot less fake and a lot more real.)

It Goes, It’s Golden by lucythegoosey / @harryrainbows (150k)

The chaos Zayn left in his wake wouldn’t feel so disastrous if Harry had Louis. But everything between them crashed and burned a long time ago. All Harry is left with is a hopeless longing and a fear that the band’s current disarray will set in for good.

… And then he finds himself stuck on a sixteen hour plane trip with Louis Tomlinson.

This could either be the most awkward flight of Harry’s life, or the beginning of an atonement he’s been dreaming of since 2013.

Canon Compliant AU in which Harry and Louis broke under the strain of it all and now, years on, there’s a chance to put all the pieces back together. Set in early April 2015 all the way through to October. Written in Harry and Louis’ perspectives, alternating every chapter.

After All These Years by LifeInAColorWheel (127k)

It’s been seven years since One Direction went on hiatus and it’s been eight years since Louis and Harry broke up. They’ve been strangers to one another since then.

But, over the course of a weeklong boys’ trip, history between Harry and Louis resurfaces.

Or,

The one when Louis and Harry don’t talk, connect again years later, and reflect on why their love collapsed.

Just Ask Me To by TellMeThisIsNotLove / @tellmethisisnottumblisnextfuckup (120k)

“You’re telling the truth,” Louis whispers.

“Of course I’m telling the truth!” Harry doesn’t even care that he sounds exasperated.

“Oh my god.” Louis grabs the wall behind him as if looking for support. His body slides down against it until he’s sitting crouched on the floor.

He mumbles something but Harry can’t really figure out what it is. He crouches down, and looks desperately at the breaking boy in front of him.

“You’re telling the truth,” Louis whispers. “You were not supposed to–”

“I was not supposed to do what? Tell me please,” Harry urges, taking Louis’ hands gently in his.

Or the X Factor era canon fic where they learn how to be a couple and that not everyone is going to be on their sides especially those with plain white t-shirts and saccharine smiles.

Burn to Ash by bethaboo / @bethaboolou (116k)

Harry is sitting there, so fucking casual, and Louis realizes in a split second he was not ready. When Harry walked out in Detroit and never looked back, he was a boy verging on a man, still only twenty years old, but there's a man in his place now. Hard and resolute, yes, but still, for the first time in a long time, Louis can kind of see the old Harry in him. The soft, directness of his gaze, the hesitant smile he gives to Lou, the way he wrings his ridiculously large hands in his lap.

He's a little bit the eager sixteen year old puppy dog again, his innocence and sweetness resurrected miraculously, and Louis freezes in place. He was prepared to face the asshole Harry. He was prepared to meet a whole new Harry.

Louis is not prepared to meet one of the old incarnations of Harry, and it absolutely tears him up.

Or the fic where Harry spirals out of control, the band breaks up, and then he shows back up, five years later.

The Blue In Your Eyes Is the Tenerife Sea by lookingforparadise (105k)

Where We Are Tour

Untangle Me by suicxne (103k)

Louis finds himself out of place in LA, unable to get at an itch that’s been bothering him for years. He supposes back in the early days, home hadn’t been a place. It’d been a person. He’d etched it permanently into his skin for fucks sake. It was always him and Harry. Stuck to each other like super glue. Pulled together by some magnetic force, existing in their own bubble. Everyone could see it, but that was half the problem, wasn’t it?

It’s not like Louis can pinpoint the exact moment in time when him and Harry fell out of sync. There wasn’t really one at all. It had been a gradual slip, like the tide wearing away at a sandstone cliff. Chipping the solid foundations until there was nothing left to stop the structure falling to the waves below. It’s not like he spends all of his time sitting around moping over a lost friendship, he’s good at distractions. But LA only seems to accentuate the distance between them. Two separate planets, not even in the same solar system.

Or the one where Harry and Louis finally get it right.

You’ve Got My Devotion (Hate You Sometimes) by lucythegoosey / @harryrainbows (95k)

Harry was in the biggest boy band in the world. He was also one half of the best (or worst, depends on who you ask) kept secret relationship in the music industry.

Now, almost five years on, after One Direction has broken up, and Harry and Louis' relationship has as well, a video threatens to put everything at risk.

One determined Irishman, a massive publicity stunt and two begrudging exes are all it takes to bring One Direction back to life and maybe, just maybe, Harry and Louis' mangled love life too.

Or: Harry and Louis are forced to fake-date after an old video from when they were dating emerges.

Happy To Be Found by ashavahishta / @ashavahishta (69k)

The weeks spanning October 2012 - January 2013 are a rollercoaster for Harry and Louis. There's shows to play, an album to promote, publicity stunts to be acted out...and several new tattoos to be inked. Throughout it all, the boys focus on the most important thing in their lives - their relationship.

To The Ends of the Earth by stylinsoncity / @stylinsoncity (68k)

During a yearlong hiatus, Louis visits Harry at his cabin in Idaho, where long-buried feelings ignite like the fire keeping them warm.

The Dark and the Dentist by sunshiner (66k)

“I know this song,” Louis whispers, and Harry has to lean his ear toward him to pick up what he’s saying. “It was written for people to dance to it. We should be dancing.”

We can’t, Harry almost spits, but it’d be stupid of him. Louis knows they can’t. Even if he looks like any regular Parisian in their twenties, and Harry looks like any hipster Parisian in their twenties, they can’t anyway. To be fair, they probably wouldn’t do it even if they were out. But if they were two uni students, both in Paris for an exchange, meeting over fallen books at the library, or because of mutual friends, or watching Monet’s Water Lilies?

“How would we dance?” Harry murmurs, mouth almost pressed to Louis’ cheek, so close he can feel his warmth. What a picture they must make, two millionaires freezing in a park and dreaming of a different life.

An account of the events of November 2014. Canon-compliant.

Time Passed by coffinofachimera (66k)

Louis struggles with their relationship as Harry grows into his identity.

Bigger Than Life by rippedgloves (48k)

“Boybander Harry Styles spotted leaving West Hollywood joined hand in hand with new beau, Xander Ritz”

His heart drops in his chest as he scrolls down, ignoring the short irrelevant article and looking desperately for a picture. Sure enough, there’s pap shots of Harry and Xander, walking hand in hand, looking drunk and cheerful and together.

And that’s—that’s really not what Louis was expecting at all.

Drifting, Weightless by dinosaursmate / @dinosaursmate (41k)

“We’ve been asked to do a gig,” Niall said slowly. “Harry and Liam are completely up for it, I am too.”

“Alright. What’s the catch?” Louis asked with suspicion.

“It’s, um…” Niall cleared his throat. “So, Juliana was contacted by this themed cruise company, and they want us to do a four-day One Direction cruise.”

The words hung in the air as Louis’ right eyebrow slowly crept up and he fixed Niall with a stare.

“Absolutely not.” Louis rolled his eyes. “You’re essentially asking me to go on a working holiday with my ex. Stranded on a boat in the ocean for four days.”

“Cruise ships are huge! You don’t have to see him in your down time.”

---

Harry and Louis are exes with benefits until they're not, and the Mediterranean Sea might just be the perfect place to work through some unresolved issues.

Yeah, He’s A Looker (But I Really Think It’s Guts That Matter Most) by devilinmybrain / @thedevilinmybrain(40K)

Five times Oli was asked to do something that was outside of his job description, and the one time he didn't have to be asked.

Nonstop Earthquake Dreams of You by luminaries (37k)

And there's heat behind it, blazing, plasmatic, like stars crashing together, like an explosion in space, like a supernova, like a black hole--everything else sucked out of existence. There's no bed and there's no pillow and they're not lying down, just floating somewhere, somehow, and there's no room and there's no X Factor house and there's no Niall snuffling or Liam's deep, even breathing and there's no wind or traffic outside and there's no hum of the heating unit and it's all just Louis. All encompassingly Louis.

  or, harry falls hard and finds louis already at the bottom

We’ll Be the Fine Line by garblegorf (32k)

“…hey, Harry. It’s Louis…… um, yeah. Listened to the album tonight. It’s real good mate. Um, yeah, just real, impressed. I was kinda putting it off, ya’know, didn’t know if I wanted to listen to it. Saw you went on James and, uh, Saturday Night Live. Couldn’t watch you, have a hard time watching you on these things……. Anyway, mate, just thought I would drop a line. Don’t need to call me back. Alright.”

Louis listens to Fine Line, and, drunk, he leaves a voicemail for Harry after months of not speaking. This reminds Harry of a time before everything fell apart, slowly, painfully, a time when the two of them were still in love. And he desperately wants to go back.

Loved By Your Mother by superglass / @gaymoustache (31k)

Harry stretches out like Venus with her lover, growing sleepy in the late afternoon light with a baby growing inside her. Perhaps not literally, not physically. Not exactly.

or

Harry struggles to come to terms with wanting to have children, and what that means for their relationship. Canon compliant, set a few years into the future.

We Can Take the Long Way Home by eleadore / @eleadore (27k)

“Fertile,” Louis says, and then laughs because it sounds stupid to say out loud. He hasn’t ever really thought of himself in those terms. Baby-making terms. It’s just one of those things his body can do, like exercise, or go without tea. Doesn’t mean he will.

or,

The band takes a break. Harry and Louis come together.

True Love's Gold by alivingfire / @alivingfire (27k)

Gemma starts responding to every single one of Harry’s texts—regardless of subject—with i don’t care, talk to louis. Liam lets Harry complain to him for hours on Skype, pretending he’s not doing other things while Harry whines about his problems. Niall thinks the whole thing is hilarious, texting Harry links to articles titled So, you want your man to propose? and 15 ways to get him ready for the aisle! and follows each of these up with page upon page of laughing emojis. Harry tries everything, literally everything he can think of short of grabbing Louis by tattooed forearm and yelling, “PROPOSE TO ME BEFORE I COMBUST.”

Or, it takes a village to arrange a proposal, but that doesn't mean it's going to go as planned.

Through the Chaos and the Calm by xogucciblue / @xogucciblue (25k)

Harry had thought he’d been prepared for his first solo tour, and in some ways it is exactly what Harry expected. But in other ways it’s entirely different. It’s lonelier than he remembered, all the waiting around backstage, the endless hours on tour buses, the days he’s so tired he thinks he could melt into the asphalt of a rest stop in the middle of America and happily stay there forever, and the nights he’s too keyed up to sleep. It’s alienating. He feels unmoored, drowning in all of his too-big emotions. Without the chaos of four other boys to keep him distracted, to keep him grounded, he’s afraid it's only a matter of time until he loses himself in it for good.

But then there’s Louis. Through it all, there’s still Louis. Waiting for Harry at the end of every show, ready with a bottle of water and sweet words of praise, beside him in dressing rooms, challenging him to ping pong tournaments to pass the long, empty, waiting hours, and holding him through the restless nights, soothing him with reassurances that he’s there, that he understands, and promising that he will never, ever, let Harry truly get lost.

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

A collection of timestamps spanning the 2017 leg of Love on Tour.

True North by navigator, quitter (25k)

Altered-canon non-au set between November 2012 and January 7th, 2013.

Every Arrow That I Aim Is True by estrella30 (24k)

“I can see you don’t believe me,” Harry says, pretending to be stern. Louis chuckles a little but doesn’t get out of the bed. “Anyway, I texted Liam and told him you’re with me. He said to stay here as long as you need, and he’ll deal with the show over there until you want to come back, all right?”

Louis doesn’t say anything again so Harry whispers, “Just stay here with me for a while, yeah? I’ll take care of you.”

Louis is quiet. He never picks his head up, but Harry can see the pillow move from where he’s nodding and his fingers tighten around Harry’s. “Yeah,” Louis says. “Yeah, all right.”

You Turn Me On, Make You Radiate by ballsdeepinjesus (15k)

When he presses inside for the first time in weeks, he’s pretty sure he sees stars behind his eyes at the staggering sensation of Harry’s body squeezing every inch of him. When he bottoms out, he stays buried inside for a minute just to catch his bearings, listening as Harry takes sharp breaths beneath him. When he finally feels like he’s under control, he presses his lips against Harry’s ear and whispers, “Are you ready husband?"

Harry throws his head back and groans. “Call me your spouse.”

[...or, a self-indulgent snapshot of hl’s sex lives over the course of 10+ years]

I’m Captain On A Jealous Sea by devilinmybrain / @thedevilinmybrain (15k)

It’s not that Louis doesn’t like Nick. He is, if he’s being honest, kind of indifferent. Louis gets that Nick is just doing his job most of the time, being loud and prying, not having boundaries. But it’s just a little too much for Louis’ taste. Louis, who has learned over the years, when to be loud and when to know that coy is the game. But, it doesn’t matter really. He’s not required to like everyone, doesn’t have to make nice with them outside of having a camera shoved in his face. He can let Nick be Nick and it shouldn’t affect Louis at all.

Except.

What Louis actually has a problem with is the way Nick Grimshaw looks at Harry.

To Have and To Hold by sweariwouldnt (15k)

“Do you think maybe…. am I getting cold feet?”

Louis doesn’t know what to say, instead he puts his book away and turns to his side, to face Harry. Harry looks at him from the side of his eye and then focuses his eyes back on the ceiling.

“Do you think you are?”

Harry makes a move resembling a shrug. “I don’t think I am.”

“Do you not…want to get married?” Louis starts hesitantly, knowing that it’s probably even silly to ask but he has to.

Harry turns to him, and takes his hand, kissing the knuckles. “I do, I do the most, it’s what I’ve wanted more than anything, I just… I don’t know. I feel… weird.”

Harry has a habit of planning their wedding when he feels down. It's not ideal, really.

Still I Call It Magic by orphan_account (14k)

non-au. harry and louis before and after concerts throughout the last 4 years.

Stop the World (‘Cause I Wanna Get Off With You) by devilinmybrain / @thedevilinmybrain (12k)

Five times Louis and Harry get walked in on at the worst time, and one time Louis makes sure they don't.

Cut To The Bone by tilthesundies / @tllthesundies (11k)

There are some things Louis can’t understand.

This is one of them.

Harry celebrates his birthday in Japan. Louis stays with him.

Wild Flower, My Face of Love by orphan_account (11k)

It feels like a lifetime’s worth of adoration when Harry kisses him – just to kiss him, just to feel his lips, because even 15 minutes without them is 14 minutes and 59 seconds too many – and when Louis holds him back, wraps his arms and legs and lips around him, it’s like an inexplicable familiarity between their souls that just four years can’t explain.

Or: the one where Jay gets married.

The Ways We Fight by sweariwouldnt (10k)

How Harry and Louis learn to disagree with each other.

Jealousy Loves Company by sweariwouldnt (10k)

How Harry and Louis work together throughout the years to try and keep the green-eyed monster at bay.

Starry Haze, Crystal Ball by you_explode / @nobodymoves (10k)

Freedom. Harry’s not sure what exactly it means anymore. For him, for Louis. Personally. Professionally. Musically. There are so many layers to it, and it feels like as he gets older, the thicker those layers become.

Non-AU. A brief look at 2020 and the journey Harry and Louis are on with their careers and closet. Inspired by the Devil card.

Read You Like A Book by becka (8k)

Louis realises Harry can read his mind. He'll do anything to make Harry admit it. Set during the North American leg of the WWA tour.

Reminiscing the Other Day by tilthesundies / @tllthesundies (8k)

“Spain,” Harry says. “This weekend.”

Louis blinks. “Are you asking me, or telling me?”

“Asking,” he says with a huff.

Harry's invited to a wedding, and there's only so much Louis can hide.

How I Imagined Us by orphan_account (7k)

“I think about how lucky I am. The whole time, I just keep thinking about how incredibly lucky I am. “

“Because you’re kissing me?”

“Because I’m kissing you and you’re…” Louis stops. Then continues, quietly, “Because you’re the love of my life, Haz.”

New York is one of Harry’s favourites.

[Sometimes reality is shitty and Louis plays Scheherazade.]

In the Heat Where You Lay by orphan_account (7k)

“You’re with me, baby?”

Harry kisses his mouth, pulls him further into their room by his wrists. His large hands come to cup Louis’ face and he kisses Louis so softly, little brushes of their lips like they’re still 16. Harry cradles him. He has to tip downward and hold Louis close because that’s how Harry kisses when they’re in for a long night. As Louis’ senses come back to him, that much he figures out quickly. Harry’s going to fucking ruin him tonight.

“Do you know how much I love you?”

Louis doesn’t respond to the mumbled words against his lips. His fists tighten around the ends of Harry’s shirt and he opens his mouth for Harry’s tongue, hopes that's enough of an answer.

Harry and Louis fuck after Brussels.

Garden of Eden by superglass / @gaymoustache (6k)

Another soft, grainy laugh. A puff from the joint. Green smoke towards the ceiling. Then hazy blue eyes back on his. “Said you wanted to tell me something. Was really important.”

“Oh,” Harry says. There was a reason he came back, an excuse he made up to find Louis and sucker him into letting him sit on his lap even though his weight often puts those thighs to sleep. “Can’t— um. Let me try to remember.”

or

a snapshot of being high and in love in Jamaica.

Right Where You Are, That’s Where I Am by etherealbliss / @givesuethemoon (6k)

It’s been years since they’ve properly said those three words to one another, but now, as they both sit on the floor in this massive room, bodies tanned golden from the sun that’s found them in the middle of rural Sweden… It just feels right.

or

a snapshot of Louis and Harry's time together in Sweden during their two weeks off in August 2022.

No Good Unless It Grows (Feel This Buring, Love of Mine) by iwantstylinson (5k)

It wasn’t until they were settled in and lying idly on the couch with their bodies intertwined that Harry whispered, holding back tears, “I’m not who I want to be.”

Louis leaned down, lips close enough to graze Harry’s cheek, and asked simply, “Well, who do you want to be?”

Harry had thought about growing his hair out for a lot longer than he had even realized.

At the End of My Rope by safona / @saffona (5k)

"Baby?" Harry mumbles, voice laced with sleep and a shiver goes through Louis at hearing the term. He hasn't called him that in so long, in that voice and, clearly, even Louis' body fucking misses it.

"Did you cheat on me?" Louis finds himself asking. If he's being honest it's more so he can see Harry's reaction, than a genuine question, but what has he got to lose?

Sure enough, Harry's face changes from sleepy to the most incredulous look Louis' ever seen on him. He actually looks terrified, all wide eyes, mouth gaping like he can't believe Louis would even assume that and Louis would laugh at it, but he's so done with the way Harry's been acting, he just wants to know what the hell's going on.

Light Me Up by ashavahishta / @ashavahishta(4k)

Harry and Louis' first days at home after Japan.

Rock Those Blue Jeans, Baby by shakespearesque (4k)

Louis has a hate/love relationship with the video diaries. He has a love/love relationship with Harry, though, and the video diaries don't help with that at all.

A Touch of Your Love by casuallyhl / @casuallyhl (3k)

or; the one where they go to Crete and Harry is definitely hiding something

Brothers? By devilinmybrain / @thedevilinmybrain (3k)

"I mean, I've never had a brother, so maybe what Louis and I do in our free time really is just familial bonding." Harry's grin turns wicked, gets that little glint in his eye that unfairly makes Louis' cock jump again. "We just do what other brothers do, right? No funny business."

A Complainy Popstar by snsk / @snsknene (2k)

Harry wants a baby. He settles for a pet rat. Louis sort of hates the pet rat very much a lot.

Living Love in Slow Motion by ashavahishta / @ashavahishta (2k)

Just a typical Sunday morning

One Day Like This by navigator (2k)

Sleepy non-au set the morning of May 3, 2013.

You’ll Never Need to Doubt It by supernope (1k)

Louis has cinnamon swirl hair and Love, Actually on DVD, and they've got five hours to Dallas, and everything is fluff.

[popcorn-plots]

Febuwhump day 9: bees

Title: fears and father figures

Words: 1128

Summary: America gets stung by a bee. Stephen comforts her when she admits her biggest fear.

~~~

Stephen always loved the summer. His favorite season was spring, but summer had always been a close second. During his Columbia days, he would often take the 15 minute trek from his spring lectures and study in Central Park, finding solace in the scenery and the bustle of the city.

As a surgeon, Stephen didn’t have the time to spare to navigate the crowded New York streets during the week, but he still managed to make time for a leisurely stroll on his days off. As a sorcerer, Stephen could be anywhere he pleased in a second with a wave of his hands, but he still enjoyed the rare solitude of the meandering park.

Now, with America in his life and a little more free time on his hands with Wong’s promotion to Sorcerer Supreme, and it being summer in New York, Stephen wanted to take America to Central Park and show her around. When he was 20 years younger and brand-new to the city, a group of his classmates showed him around New York, giving him an introduction to the city.

This time around, Stephen wasn’t going to include the bars, alcohol, and strip clubs his classmates dragged him to. America was underage and Stephen was both married and not as young as he used to be. A walk in the park, authentic New York pizza, shopping, and sightseeing was the game plan and America was more than happy to spend the entire day with Stephen.

They left the Sanctum at 9 in the morning. It was an hour walk to the park so Stephen opted to portal them there. America didn’t mind, she was still gushing about how good the bagels were in this New York compared to the other universes she’s visited. Stephen chuckled, finishing the last of his own bagel and throwing away his napkin, prompting America to do the same.

“Welcome to Central Park.” He finally said when America rejoined him on the path.

America looked around, wide-eyed. “Woah… It’s beautiful.”

Stephen smiled. “Yeah. I used to come here all the time. Columbia is a 13 minute walk from the North side.”

“Oh, you went to Columbia, right?” America pointed to Stephen’s t-shirt. It was tight, but it still fit and it proudly announced “Columbia University Medical” on the front. Stephen laughed.

“I did. I would walk here after class in the spring and do my homework. When it wasn’t raining, of course.”

America nodded. She waved to a woman jogging past them with her dog. The woman waved back and America practically dragged Stephen forward. “I love how warm it is!” She announced.

“It is quite warm. Are you hot in your jacket?” Stephen asked. America shook her head.

“Wong showed me how to enchant it so that it adjusts to the temperature around me.”

“Ah.”

America fell silent and the two walked in silence, enjoying the sounds and sights. Suddenly, America tore herself from Stephen’s side and raced towards a line of lavender bushes a little ways away from the path they were on.

A lavender bush buzzing with bees. Stephen tried calling out to her, shouting at her to not touch the bushes. America either ignored him or didn’t listen as she reached out and ran a hand through the lavender bush.

Stephen knew the second the bee landed on America’s hand. Her eyes flashed, filling with terror as she screamed. Tears came when the bee stung her and before he knew it, she was buried in his arms.

Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed, holding onto him for dear life. Stephen conjured a portal and led the crying girl to the Sanctum library where he sat down and cradled her on his lap.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, I’m here.” Stephen whispered. He had started viewing America as his daughter and it hurt to see her in so much pain – emotional or otherwise.

America had told him of how she had lost her Moms, making Stephen hold her even closer.

When she stopped crying, she apologized in a small voice.

Stephen shushed her. “It’s okay. Don’t apologize.”

America sniffed. “I was scared I’d send you away too…”

Stephen sighed and ran a shaking hand through her hair. “Even if you did, I’d find you. I’d never stop looking until you were safe in my arms. Your moms are doing the same thing because we love you.”

The young girl nodded. “My hand hurts.”

“Lemme see.” America held out her hand to show Stephen. Her pointer finger was swollen. The stinger was lodged in her skin, a black dot among the swollen white. “It’s okay. Just a bee. We’ll need to get the stinger out, but after that, Wong has the perfect thing for a bee sting.”

“Okay…”

Stephen held America as he mentally got Wong’s attention and told him to get a pair of sterile tweezers and find him in the library. Wong obeyed, albeit confused, and joined his family in the library.

“She got stung by a bee.” Stephen explained, adjusting his hold on America so he could hold out her hand.

Wong nodded. “I’m sorry. Bee stings are no fun.”

America nodded. “I was scared I’d send Dad away like I sent my moms away…”

Stephen froze. America had never called him ‘dad’ before. He felt himself tearing up at the sentiment, a blooming warmth filling his chest. He nearly missed Wong comforting America, holding her hand and conjuring a tiny orange cat for America to play with while he gently grabbed her hand and fished the stinger out.

Stephen blinked the tears away and pulled America closer. He kissed the top of her head and watched as Wong conjured a pot of honey.

“It will draw the venom out and reduce swelling. We have a few dozen bee stings every summer at Kamar-Taj. Honey has worked the best so far.” Wong explained, his voice calm and steady.

“I like honey…”

“Honey is too sweet for me. Stephen puts an unholy amount in his tea.”

Stephen mocked an offended gasp and America laughed.

“If you just tried it, maybe you wouldn’t be grumpy all the time.” Stephen shot back.

Wong playfully rolled his eyes, a hint of a smile playing on the edges of his lip. “You see what I have to put up with?”

“You love me.”

“That I do. That I do.” Wong sighed.

“And we love you, America.” Stephen said quietly, leaning down to kiss America’s forehead.

America giggled, all pain of the bee sting forgotten. “I love you too, Dad. And Pops, I suppose.”

Wong banished the honey and bandages and wrapped both America and Stephen in a hug.

“Wait, why am I Pops?”

“Dad was already taken, Wong. Deal with it.”

Ao3

[historia-vitae-magistras]

what was it like when alasdair realized matthew has become taller than him? from smol starving babie to tol moose, maybe this was in the 1900s, etc.

Matt shot the fuck up in the early 1800s, I think. When he was little, he stabbed people in the kidneys, a very petite 11-12, probably weighing about a third of what Alfred did then. He got a little taller with the Loyalists, and then in the early 19th century as just absolute shitloads of people poured into North America, and 10% stayed in Canada! And he just fucking shot up. Alasdair and Arthur both pleased in a "well done, you might actually make it to adulthood!" way. Arthur still is very effective at keeping Matt in line and much smaller in a metaphysical sort of way and he's a bit cross he was outgrown by yet another son but very smug.

But man, probably that last inch or two in the 1940s has Alasdair giving Jan the side eye like, "you could wait until the wee tadpole's fully grown, cradle robber." He knew it was going to happen, just look at the size of Canada, but he was still a little "noooooo I won't be able to pick him up anymore soon" for as proud as he was. A bit of a crow about it, really, when he's drunk. "Look at that absolute mess, he's alive and kind of functional because of me! Engineer extraordinaire, I am!" but sober, its very restrained half smile watching Matt throw diplomatic hands with half the world's empires on the floor of the UN. And a sigh of "I did my best." as he writes Matt yet another prescription for an anti-depressant lmao.

[fatehbaz]

European explorers first set foot on the North Atlantic archipelago in 1505. [...] [C]olonies of shrieking birds, interrupted sporadically by violent storms. Spanish explorer Juan de Bermúdez came [...] and left nothing but his name behind. Permanent settlers wouldn’t arrive for another hundred years [...] by serendipity. In this case -- tragic serendipity. The Sea Venture, an English ship on its way to the colony at Jamestown, got caught in a monster storm and wrecked on a coral reef off Bermuda’s shore in 1609. [...] Within a few years, Bermuda became a British territory, and with that one of the cradles of English colonization: settled just five years after the first permanent English settlement in Jamestown, Virginia, and eight years before Plymouth.

And yet, reading histories about the early beginnings of the American colonies -- the traditional origin stories of the United States -- one would be hard pressed to find much [...] mention of Bermuda.

“When historians have considered it, they usually dismiss it as a curiosity or a failure,” writes Michael Jarvis, an associate professor of history at the University of Rochester. [...] His latest book, Isle of Devils, Isle of Saints: An Atlantic History of Bermuda, 1609-1684 [...] is his most recent contribution toward that end. As a prequel, it continues the work he started in [...] In the Eye of All Trade: Bermuda, Bermudians, and the Maritime Atlantic World, 1680-1783 [...]. Jarvis makes the case that the small island is nothing less than “[...] crucible of colonization,” [...]. Several earlier attempts at establishing colonies on the North American shoreline failed [...]. But Bermuda started to thrive -- which was of considerable consequence for the future United States. When the newcomers at Jamestown faced starvation, [...] just 800 miles “to the east [...]” another group of English colonists “found a veritable paradise [...].”

---

Bermuda became the first of England’s experimental colonial laboratories to produce a successful export staple -- Spanish tobacco -- which, Jarvis argues, once transferred to the mainland became the foundation of Virginia’s economic success.

With the success, however, also came Bermuda’s dubious distinction as the first English colony to import enslaved African people, thereby developing slavery into “an institution that became ubiquitous throughout English America.”

---

Drawing on three decades of his own research and [...] [field] work, Jarvis [...] delves into the interplay of slavery, race, gender, and the environment, tracing how “Europeans [...] became distinctly American” on the island -- some 600 miles offshore from what would later become North Carolina.

He argues the histories of several US states and Atlantic and Caribbean islands -- such as Virginia, Barbados, Providence Island, Jamaica, the Bahamas, and South Carolina -- are firmly intertwined with Bermuda and that historic accounts that “omit or ignore founding Bermudian settlers’ presence and contributions are thus incomplete.” [...]

---

On the one hand, it was England’s first Puritan colony, founded on the idea of building a [so-called] moral [...] society. On the other, its founders committed, promoted, and helped entrench the profound moral crime of slavery. [...] Bermuda’s puritans [...] saw themselves “in constant battle with the [...] the English Civil War, [...] hurricanes, slave revolts, and the Bermuda parent company [...].” The devil reference also stems from a Spanish nickname given to the island because of its location -- firmly in the path of frequent, roaring storms. With more than 300 shipwrecks on its reefs, Bermuda has rightly earned the moniker “shipwreck capital of the world,” although Canada’s Sable Island still [...] [achieves] that sad record. [...] That [...] lore, by the way, wasn’t lost on William Shakespeare either, who reportedly used the account of Bermuda’s shipwrecks, especially the Sea Venture’s fate in 1609, as a source for his play The Tempest, likely written just a year or two after the wreck.

By the 1670s, Bermuda had freed itself from its former parent company and become England’s most densely populated possession -- on its way to become an intercolonial maritime hub.

---

All text above by: Sandra Knispel. “A colonial history: Jamestown, Plymouth, and, yes, Bermuda.” Newscenter [a website published by University of Rochester]. 23 May 2023. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

[poetryforventing]

The Language

You ask me how I am and I tell you I’m fine. It’s a front well practiced, one hammered and honed in the flames of a mind that has burned up and on and on and out so many times that it has forged an entire armory of defences.

But you ask me how I am and I tell you I’m fine and you think me plain, dull, awkward, unkind. Alright. But I don’t know that I have a better answer. The world is dying, and I have no hope left. I don’t believe that there is good in all of us. As we speak we’re spilling blood: foreign blood, poor blood, queer blood, girl blood, black blood, native blood in a genocidal fervour that has persisted millenia. And our violence leaves a gouging slash across our collective chest, staining the human consciousness with ever more eternal, immovable shame. I don’t believe everything will work out just fine in the end. I don’t believe we will all be okay.

I’m uncommunicative. It’s true, I’m sorry. But I don’t care about your sex life. I don’t care about your opinions on influencers. I don’t care about your shitty inherited politics. I don’t care what they said on Insta, or Reddit, or X, or Facebook, or TikTok. I don’t care what the hot topic is. Fuck your hot takes. There is blood flowing in the streets, native bones buried beneath the buildings of white settlers, there are generational stains on our souls and yet we work only to sear more grief into the essence of our very beings. Good god, colonialism really taught us nothing. We are killing every last ‘other’ until we are all that’s left, just so that when we kill our world too and go down with it we can claim that it was ours. In the ash of all that is left, perhaps, finally, earth will be as white as we wanted it to be.

You ask me how I am and I tell you I’m fine. You think me cold but I am an inferno inside. I have carved my life into a shell to surround these lashing flames of thought. I don't act how I feel–my whole existence is an energy shield–but, god, I feel hate like you won’t believe. I dream of ripping out throats with my teeth. Capital rules the world and has us kiss its feet, but even that is a lie. The mechanics of power subjugate us in entirety. Capital is just the tool of choice, the selected construct. It is nothing more than a rotten, violent euphemism that cradles us in its maw, waiting for the order to bite.

You wish I would speak more but I have so little to say if we’re not planning the deaths of the bourgeoisie, the policy-makers, the bigots and the land-lords the world over. Every throat I want to taste. Every drop of blood I want to spill in the sort of ritualistic vengeance we absolutely don’t need. Just, please, let me at them. When I'm done I will jump into the sea and it will all be over. Finally.

I can barely even bring myself to get worked up over our changing climate–though I know it’s another active tragedy and, in the moments I stop to think, it makes me sick–when apocalyptic radioactive annihilation is one bad day away, when women’s rights are those of livestock and POC are institutionalised into modern slaves, when we’re living in a world where autonomy and identity are dangerous things. It’s too much grief to contain in one life. It’s too much pain to even attempt to bear. I hope you are starting to see: it’s not any one of these things, it’s everything.

There’s nowhere even to run away. I flew to North America where Pride is sponsored by Target and they build Wendy’s on sacred native land. I returned to England where we practice monarchy and xenophobia as a matter of course, pine for the British empire and laugh openly at the murder of trans girls. Next I go East, where I am ignorant, but things are every bit as twisted, I just won’t put their particularities in my white words, I refuse to appropriate any more into my British Museum of atrocity. In the end I go to bed, where sadness makes sense.

If you’re not angry, you should be. If you’re like me, I’m sorry.

You ask me how I am and I tell you I’m fine. But really I don’t have the words. Even all of this despair and rage is nothing but the bubbling skin of the witch’s brew. The essence of the thing is a wicked magic, not communicable in words, it is violent and immediate and spanning and intrinsic and awful and consuming.

You ask me how I am and I tell you I’m fine. But the truth is I don’t have the language.

[rreskk]

Before the storm

CHAPTER 7: Luring him in. 

Summary: You experienced his five stages of grief... One of them being lust. 

TW: Smut

‘Chapter 6′--> HERE ‘Hate to love, love to hate’--> HERE

As expected, you woke up before him. You’d understand as Trevor snorted God knows how much cocaine before asking to sleep in the same bed. Turns out, he’s a deep sleeper as well. He’s lights out, even when the curtains are open and the beaming sunshine is devouring your duvet completely. The sun eliminated his sleepy face, his eyes dreamfully closed and mouth tipped slightly open. He looked peaceful; something you wished he looked more often.

You sighed and refused to admire his appearance anymore.

You were slumped on the edge of your bed, staring down at your hands in self-abhor. Bidding your heart that you’ll get over him, the true feelings locked away is opposing; threating, and deceiving your smothered emotions. There was a mental battle between fight and flight over this one man… This… This one man!- Who’s turned up out of nowhere. This guy you met and found zero interest in. Now he’s the resort to all your internal pressures. If only the other guys knew how the night went for you. You’d wish Lester was more sensitive but you easily recognised his concerns, the same with Brad… Even Michael. Whatever happened between him and Trevor, you need to know. You need to know every single detail of this dirtbag who’s sleeping away his hangover in your bedsheets. The audacity he has to play around with you like a puppet. Even if he’s innocent with his words, you despise how attached you are to him.

“Mhmm, what am I going to do about you?” You muttered under your breath while observing the sunny gaze upon his slightly tanned skin.

That made you think. You’ve noticed the tilt to his skin, even though North Yankton is possibly one of the coldest states in America. If it was his natural skin colour… You wouldn’t have a scientific explanation for it. Despite his life-style, his skin was so healthy looking; brown, smooth, soft, and delicate. His face was beautifully cared for as well. Would he have a skin-care routine? Absolutely not. From your judgements, he doesn’t even wash his skin… Yet it was flawless. You rolled your eyes and called it luck. The bitterness in your thoughts filtering the moral compass you followed. Maybe you were too harsh on him… Why were you?

You sighed. It would be best to ponder these questions when he isn’t sleeping in your own bed.

The surface moved and you whipped your head round. Trevor was barely sitting up. He was rubbing both eyes while his back was stabilised by the wall. You disturbed the peace.

“Morning, Trevor.”

He took some time to adjust throughout the natural lighting of the room and grumbled, “Hey.”

Trevor was sour looking. He sat there for a few minutes cringing to himself. You’d expect it to be the hangover.

“Headache?”

He nodded.

“Want some painkillers?” You asked again.

Trevor sighed, “A few.”

You went to retreat them when he reached forward.

“Wait.”

You turned back and he was looking at you with clear eyes.

“I’m sorry about last night.”

“It’s alright,” You smiled.

“No, I mean like… Urh, I hate myself.” He moped in his hands.

Unchallenged by his ‘morning after’ reaction, you stood there in solitude. Trevor’s hands travelling from his cheeks to hair, ripping out the locks as he squeezed his eyes shut; obviously harming himself on purpose. You quickly untangled the knots from his fingers and restricted him from further pain.

“Hey,” You softly spoke, “It’s alright. Come on, come here…” You offered your vacant arms and he bluntly fell into them. His nostrils inhaled your scent before he began bawling his eyes out. You held him close.

“I-I hate myself!” The broken man continued.

“Shhh, it’s okay.” Having experience with breakdowns before, you were professional in your knowledge. You cradled his shaky figure and rubbed his back in slow circles, whispering affirmations in his ear.

“I try and be a nice person but I can’t help the temptations!” Trevor wailed. He sniffed sharply, “I try my best, I-I really do!”

“I know Trevor, I know-”

“But even Mikey or Bradley don’t care about me! I go outta my way for them… Sometimes I make a scene b-but I can’t help it. I wish I can stop it. I wish I-I can just fuckin’ stop!”

You heard heartbreak spill from his drooly mouth. Without being honest, you were distraught by his confession. You remained quiet as you tried to process his words. Trevor’s unhappiness determined your own. Suddenly, you couldn’t fight back your tears. As they trembled down your cheek; Trevor’s cries dampened your already damp shirt, gaining no use of it no more.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for everything.”

You croaked out, “Trevor, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

He lifted his head up to face you. The way his eyes sorrowfully narrowed when seeing your unwellness. Trevor held out his hands and began wiping away your tears. He completely ignored his own.

“Trevor…”

“I am sorry,” He whispered.

“Trevor, it’s okay.” You painfully smile.

The man’s lips quivered. He folded himself back into your arms and hugged you. You faced a number of reasons to shame yourself at this moment. How moments ago you were judging him spitefully as he slept… Now you were cuddling this man like your life depended on it. If he would of known your thoughts, may God have Mercy on your soul… You’d be seen as evil, a dark witch, a soulless creature! Trevor would be betrayed and appalled; adding to the list as the days would pass from the second you met him.

“I’m such an ass… I hate myself, I hate myself, I HATE MYSELF!”

“Trevor,” You insisted, “Shh… It’s okay, I’m here.”

He nodded while shaking under your touch.

“Will you be here for me? All the time? Will you ever leave me?” The depth to his questions made you shudder. His attachment worsens whenever you’d bond, and you knew this… You couldn’t stop it though.

“As long as you want me to, I’ll be here.”

It felt like you were promising yourself to the Devil. Trevor’s chin rested against your chest, pleading you with the eyes of a broken soul. The uncertainty behind his dangerous mask lifted your hopes that maybe… Maybe Trevor is worthwhile. You couldn’t pinpoint the change of heart but the closer you got to his lips, the more you felt at home. When you kissed him, the tensity of his body flustered and disappeared. Suddenly you felt him adjust from under your arms. While you enclosed your mouths again, moaning throughout the kiss, Trevor held a steady hand behind your head and gently leaned you down. You sunk into the white sheets until you broke away. Now you could see.

Trevor was hovering over you, mouth red from your hungry touch. He was looking between your eyes, wonder fulfilling his mind. You didn’t have a rational thought behind it… You lost all character and yanked him down, planting soft pecks upon his damp cheek and jaw. He muffled a moan through the affections.

“If we do this,” He whispered, “Are you going to runaway after?”

The sincerity behind his inquiry hooked your attention. You lied there as the sunshine burnt the skin upon your arms and neck. You gave him a ready look, a smile of charm and mercy. He sniffled a grin back.

“Every time I try and run away from you, Trevor. I always come back.”

“I know.”

“Why worry?” You ask.

“What if you don’t come back?”

Frail as a child can be, Trevor wanted an answer and you provided something more promising. You trailed sly nibbles down his neck, crossing the Adams-apple that daunted you from the beginning. He trembled.

“[Y/n],” He breathed, “What if you don’t…”

“I know you now. I can see you, Trevor. The last thing I’d do is run.”

“Are you sure?”

You held his face, “I’m positive.”

It was so strange being honest with your feelings but you had to. The guy is in your bed. He slept in your bed. He’s kissed you. You’ve seen him cry. You’ve seen him sob. You’ve seen him smile. Like it helped, seeing him so open with himself made you more attracted to him. When you’ve first met Trevor, you saw him as a stuck-up nicotine addict hilly billy. Although he partially is, he’s so much more. He’s managed to change your perception of him.

Trevor’s moustache twitched as he smiled. He leaned his head down and kissed you once more. It began so delicate and sweet. When you both figured it wasn’t enough, it began getting sloppy and heated. Trevor began groping you. His hands squeezing your stomach, your thighs, your ass. He was selfish with his touches. You grown accustomed to it, and liked it.

“Trevor,” You inhaled.

He was abusing your collarbone with his lips and mumbled something under the lines of ‘What’. You arched your back as he went lower.

“Mhm, fuck-“

He approached the top of your breasts. He signalled for your consent, exchanging a blushed face. You nodded and sat up. Trevor helped you take off your shirt and sucked in his lips when you unclipped your bra. He gulped.

“You are so beautiful, so fuckin’… Perfect.”

One hand pushed against the mattress, the other holding your naked back. He scambled to your breasts and began praising them with his unholy activity. He sucked on your nipple, kissing your skin, licking between them. He had loved them in every way and you watched him intently. Soft moans escaped your lips throughout. It felt too good.

“Trevor, your shirt.”

He looked.

“Take it off.”

The demand was real and effective. He gave you a nod before ripping off the white T-shirt he wore. As it was threw across the floor, you observed his chest. He was hairy, perfectly hairy. You may see the ribs from his skinniness but he was tanned, goldenly tanned. The tone of his body was perfection. The hair that hiked from his belly button to his crotch, you licked your lips.

“Am I to your standard, ma’am?” He whispered.

Standard.

You coughed out a laugh before enchanting him with your kisses again. Trevor cooly grinned and returned his hands to your body. He felt all over until he hovered between your thighs. You noticed his hesitation.

“I’m ready.” You affirmed.

Trevor’s fingers hooked on the hem of your shorts, pulling them down your thigh as he unravelled the sight of your wetness. He whinged like a boy.

“Ohh, you are so beautiful. I-“ He stopped and bent down; his breathing hitched and eyes watering with strain. Trevor’s ghostly tongue slivered across your inner thigh until it reached to your sex. He kissed it and you gasped for air.

“Fuck…”

He chuckled, the impact of heat destroying you.

“Stop fuckin’ teasing, Trevor.” You groaned.

“Yes, ma’am.” Trevor whispered and crawled over to your face, “I won’t keep you waiting…”

You stared into his eyes before hearing his belt clinch and rattle. It’s finally happening. You peered down and you forgot how to breathe. Trevor’s underwear was dangling around his knees, his full erection facing you with uneasy temptation. He panted as the fresh air cradled his cock.

“You ready, sugar?” He smirked.

You nodded eagerly and opened your legs. He positioned himself, giving you one last kiss before thrusting into you. It happened. When he broke through, you both animalistically moaned. Being stripped naked, almost sweating, minutes after watching each other cry; you were being fucked by him. And what do you think about it…?

You love it.

“Mhm, yes!” You praised Trevor as he crashed his hips against yours, looking up to see your reaction like he’s trying to make you proud. The senseless tongue hung out of his moist mouth. He was preaching upon your body like a wild dog, nibbling, teasing, licking every inch of your skin.

You’d claw at his back when he grew in pace. The bed beneath you both shook and ruffled against the wall. Luckily you had no neighbours… As if that would of stopped him anyway. Kissing him has become a ridiculed crime. Resting your foreheads together- you revised Lester’s insensitive statements and felt anger rise. Reddening in the face due to the mistreatment Trevor received yesterday, you smothered your hands against his neck and wished time would pause so you could devour the feeling of this pleasure. He growled surreally when you attempted to choke him. He brought his hips forward again, this time playing rough. The thrusts were so eager and harsh that you whole body would slam against the mattress.

“FUCK!” You cry.

“I wanted to- FUCK, Baby… Oh my God,” He whimpered; losing his grip on domination, “I fuckin’ love you!”

He needs, he wants, he desires. His mental capacity cannot handle the sexual drive he’s experiencing. Trevor’s glassy eyes upturned towards your face of ecstasy. He choked.

“I-I’m gonna cum.”

Your whole body was glimpsing with sweat. Trevor trembled forward, pulling out just in time for his cock to cum all over your stomach. As the hot fluids painted your chest, his eyes were squeezed shut, screaming poetic terms.

“Fuucckkk! I can see the void!”

Trevor had a voice crack in between. The weakness of how he fails to comply and hold in his orgasm, you were impressed. You took a mental note; deciding to play around with his issue… In the future. However, presently, you were growing impatient.

You whinged, “Baby, I’m almost close,” Hoping he wouldn’t collapse.

Trevor was struggling to breathe but nodded at your obey. He crawled down to your clit and pushed in two of his lanky fingers. He teasingly changes the speed as he’d finger you, smirking when you’d cry out his name. Your arms dangled around his shoulders, finding something to squeeze whenever it got too heated. You were soon detached when Trevor was based between your legs, talking dirty to your pussy until the moment you’d cum.

“TREVOR-“ You wailed.

His fingers were coated with it. His droopy eyes caught yours. You analysed how he brought the fingers to his mouth, licking away your fluids, just how you’d expect him to lick a lolly pop.

“You taste so good,” He remarked; gradually smiling.

Recovering from the sacred journey of loving each other, you chuckled silently and sighed when your legs managed to relax after shaking through your climax. Trevor massaged your thighs when noticing the beaten sigh. Something about his caring nature intertwined with your crush on him. He was naked, length dangling between his thighs. You were lying there in front of him, his cum still running around on your stomach; yet he focusses on your health and wellbeing.

“Was it good enough for you?” Trevor smirked.

You were mute, nodding your head.

He winked, “Mhm, you look beautiful. Always have,” He reached forward and moved a single strand of hair away from your face, “You were so good. So fuckin’ hot.”

“Trevor,” You complained with a smile on your face.

“You can’t deny it!”

“Just come back to bed, please? I need to clean my chest thou-”

Trevor perked up at your suggestion. He interrupted almost immediately.

“No, we shall cuddle. I don’t care that you still have my cum on you. It’s sexy.”

Knowing there was no point in cleaning as your bed was already mangled by your sweat and tears combined, you gave up. Motioning to the space beside you, Trevor dived into it within a second. His erratic energy back to normal.

“I am loving this morning so far, sugar.” He said with pure admiration.

You smiled, “I’m glad we made it up from last night.”

Mentioning last night did hit a nerve as he’d cringe. You held his hand carefully to encourage how time has moved on.  

“Yeah. Shit, the guys. I bet they are running my phone.” Trevor muttered.

“You have plans with them today?”

“Yeah, like… In an hour or so. What time is it?”

You checked the alarm clock beside you. It was 11am. Trevor could see from afar and grumbled.

“In a few hours.”

You settled back into the sheets, “You still have time to cuddle.”

“I want more time to cuddle.” Trevor pouted.

“Be grateful that you have time.”

He mimicked your lecture before laughing. You just rolled your eyes.

“Nahh, I’m kiddin’. You’re right. We have more than enough time to sit back and relax.” His voice trailing off.

Having no schedule for this day, you were comfortable enough lounging around. Trevor would be explaining his current understanding of the heist he’s planning with the guys. He was so passionate and excited about it, all this talk on ‘cash prize’ and ‘loaded stacks’ that you held in a giggle. This is the same guy who cried to you, fucked you, now talking about his estimation of the money he may earn. It made you laugh. He grew so irrational with it that it turned philosophical. While engaging you in discussions surrounding economy or society, you grew a perfect understanding of how his mind works. He is unhinged, but he has a depth to his actions… And it made sense. You sat there, naked, actually agreeing to his words. That’s crazy! He’s crazy! You’re crazy?

“-people exaggerate us like animals! The working class is in shambles due to the economy and American hierarchy! The patriarchal system these men follow-“ Trevor was interrupted when the clock striked 12pm. You jumped out of your skin.

“What the fuck?” He sadly exclaimed, “I have to leave now? Fuck that shit!”

“No, no. You go, I’ll be here.”

“But I’m already here.”

“Trevor, go.” You commanded.

Trevor raised his eyebrows before smirking, “Yes ma’am…” He stumbled out of your bed, collecting the pieces of clothes that were scattered across your bedroom. He peered over again, “Gimme a call later, sweet cheeks. I can’t wait long enough after this morning.”

Your dressing gown was loosely around your skin. You were stood outside the door, shivering at the impact of North Yankton’s weather. Trevor was hiking down your driveway and towards the taxi he called. You saw him turn back and give you a wink. ‘Weirdo’ you’d think, assessing his movements. The swagger walk and how he swiftly climbs onto the backseat. You could even tell from his physical language that well… He’s a manic. Trevor’s taxi drove away and down the street. You waited until he was out of sight… And now you were alone in your home. Alone with your thoughts.

[tamapalace]

Jujutsu Kaisen HugMy Tamagotchi Set First Impressions

Our first HugMy Tamagotchi Set review! Bandai America sent us the Jujutsu Kaisen HugMy Tamagotchi Set to review and we want to share our first impressions of this Jujutsu Kaisen collaboration with cute vinyl figure. Here’s our first impressions of the device:

Packaging - The box that the HugMy Tamagotchi come in is really cute, it’s bigger than what you’re probably use to, but it gives Bandai more space to show off the product. The box itself for our Itadori is orange and the front shows off the set, while the sides show of the set you’ve purchased, and other side shows off the entire collection. The box is made of cardboard and feels pretty solid, and glossy!

Once you open the box, you’ll see the Tamagotchi Nano itself facing down, and once you pick it up, you’ll then see a cardboard separator. Underneath the seperator is where you’ll find the vinyl figure that is paired with your Tamagotchi. The packaging of the Tamagotchi Nano is just like every other imported Tamagotchi from Japan. The packaging is significantly smaller than what you would see in North America. We really do enjoy the smaller packaging of the Tamagotchi itself. The packaging is a mix of white and orange with the Jujutsu Kaisen characters the device.

The vinyl figure at the bottom is covered in a plastic page, and partnered with a paper insert in Japanese explaining the functionality. The vinyl figure even has Itadori’s signature outfit and everything.

Build Quality - You know the routine, these Tamagotchi Nano’s are solid. They can definitely survive a few drops without an issue, and perhaps any scratches. It is important to note that since this device is imported in from Japan, and not localized, the back features the push pin mechanism for the battery door, instead of the traditional screw. Fans can rejoice, as this seems to be a rather popular ask of the community. Our only complaint is that the buttons are harder to press on the model we have received, but that might just be ours. We struggled to have the Tamagotchi understand which button we were pressing.

The vinyl figure is solid too, you can definitely feel that is made of quality materials. The paint on it was precise, and we really love how both the neck and arms moves. You can place the Tamagotchi Nano in their lap, and then move their arms on the left and right to cradle it. No reason the move the neck, but we like the option if the opportunity presents itself.

Screen - The Tamagotchi Nano platform features a higher resolution screen than the Tamagotchi Mini platform, so you’ll notice more pixels and details over the Mini. It is very important to note that the screen on these Tamagotchi Nano’s is recessed, its cute deep in the device and is very hard to photograph because of the reflection and necessary angle to capture a clear shot.

Game Play - If you’re a Jujutsu Kaisen fan, then you’re going to love this Tamagotchi. Everything from the opening sequence, to being able to raise 16 characters total including the students from the Tokyo School of Magic College, Kyoto School of Magic College, and more.Don’t call them mini games, they’re training! The training activities are adorable too, and are just what you would expect on the Tamagotchi Nano platform. “Put the Cursed Corpse to Sleep” is where you’ll press the button displayed on the screen to keep the corpse sleeping, otherwise you’ll be punched! The second training activity is “Catch Sukuna’s Fingers” where you will catch the falling fingers while avoiding nails. Lastly, the “Use your Cursed Tool” training activity is where you will press the “A” button as many times as you can for 15 seconds or else the cursed spirit will rejoice!

Now it’s not just all fun and games, you have to make sure you train your Tamagotchi to be strong because you will be constantly fighting off cursed spirits, that’s what Jujutsu Kaisen is all about! We also really liked how you will see some surprise characters periodically. Just like every other Tamagotchi Nano collaboration, you really see the theme throughout the daily gameplay.

Don’t forget about the vinyl figure. This definitely adds to gameplay in our opinion. We really enjoyed resting our Jujutsu Kaisen Tamagotchi in the lap of Itadori and having Itadori hold it snug throughout the day. This also helped us see what was happening on screen. We must admit, we’ve even used the Tamagotchi inside of the arms of Itadori too! It really helps the character and Jujutsu Kaisen experience leave the screen and become tangible. If you’re a big Jujtsu Kaisen fan, then you’ll probably want one of the four vinyl figures, if not all!

This version is awesome for Jujutsu Kaisen fans. You’re going to love the simplistic game play, raising your favorite character, and training your Tamagotchi. Oh did we mention those surprise characters that just appear? Just by periodically playing with the device we’ve already been able to care for several characters that we’ve recognized from the movies, and we’re so excited about caring for all 17 of them!

[xxravewavexx]

thank you alot @binch-i-might-be for the tag :D

Name: Rey. 

sign: gemini, risng sign is leo and my moon sign is also gemini

height: should be about 165 cm or so... 

time: its quarter past 7 in the evening

birthday: june 14th

fav band/artist: cradle of filth, nightwish, destructo disk, beyond the black and MCR

last movie: we watched that christmas movie from the muppets with scrooge last december.

when I created this blog: I think around 2020... not too sure 

what i post:  My thoughts.

followers: 27 at the time :D

average hour of sleep: between 7 to 4 hours each night.

what I’m wearing: leggings and a shirt. its chill time

dream job: teacher. preferably english and art. lets see where it takes me

dream trip: roadtrip through north and south america.

fav song: nightwish: shudder before the beautiful, Cradle of filth: the entire cult of avera album, destructo disk: electric sockhead and youre standing on my neck, MCR: sing and helena

taggin: noone since the one I would tag is the one who tagged me. my friends dont use tumblr.

[riotmusicinfo]

Suzuna in RIOT Land

Suzuna Nagihara had passed RIOT MUSIC’s “Virtual Artist Audition Vol. 1” and had accepted the offer to join with the Virtual Music Agency. Neither how she found out about their audition nor whether or not she struggled with feelings of nervousness or sailed through the judge’s critical eyes with flying colors is important to this story. The audition itself a stepping stone for what Suzuna Nagihara truly wanted: To support people everywhere and add color to their lives using her singing. That voice of hers, light as a feather sailing through precise pitches yet heavy as a truck in how it could gush the tears out of the hardest grown men.

Perhaps fitting that she would be one of the first RIOT MUSIC artists to perform in North America, Suzuna Nagihara young life served her a Thanksgiving Dinner’s worth of unique experience, including a study-abroad stint that left her pretty comfortable speaking and singing in English when given the chance. More important than that though, those experiences have imparted onto her a unique and keen sense to feel out the emotions of listeners and create songs with a kind of healing energy sewn, interwoven, into their sonic fabric. It’s a gift she’s determined to win over the world with, taking the edge off everyone she possibly can along the way.

Despite her empathic touch and the signature river of beautiful sky blue hair gushing out of her head, and putting aside her penchant for creating emotionally charged slow burn ballads, Suzuna’s otherwise a happy, normal girl. Look at her twitter and you’ll often see her posting pictures of sweets and… burgers. A lot Burgers! For her, she excises all the negativity that comes with left and turns into fuel for her music, in hopes her songs will absorb and ease the sadness of others. Come to think of it, that’s just like what a good Hamburger does!

Though, we don’t know if she’d like being compared to hamburgers…

A Brief History of Suzuna's Greatest Moments (So Far!!!)

Suzuna Nagihara Debuts With RIOT MUSIC

Coming through with a moody, accurate, and hypnotic cover of the anisong classic “Uninstall,” Suzuna arrived on the scene making it clear her voice offered a nuanced and haunting character unlike any other audiences have heard before. Even here at the beginning, her delicate pitch control dazzled any to come across it.

1st Live “Re:Volt”

The six months following Suzuna’s debut with the RIOT MUSIC unrolled rather well the artists, fans quickly taking to her cool yet passionate voice. She joined the then current line up of the Virtual Music Agency to put on a spectacular live show, a first for everyone involved still fondly remembered till this day

Suzuna Unveils Haunting First Original “Kumosuki no Uta”

After her stage debut, the time for Suzuna Nagihara to release her first original song soon cropped out. “Kumosuki no Uta” strikes the ears as a sparse but spirited piano ballad that perfectly captures the pain, hopes, and perseverance Suzuna Nagihara imbues into her singing.

Suzuna Hits 100,000 Fans

Less than a year after her debut, and the first of the crop of artists to come out of the Virtual Artist Auditions to do so, Suzuna Nagihara cultured a dedicated following that grew to 100,00 strong by August of 2021. She takes all of their emotions into account with her every move!

Suzuna Holds First Solo Live “Okeanos”

With over a full year under her belt, Suzuna Nagihara was ready to put on a show that wouldn’t only star her but submerge the audience into the ocean of her soul. Her first solo effort, Suzuna struck the hearts of her audience wielding waves of emotional catharsis generated by her heart unleashed from the throat.

Suzuna Nagihara Releases “Okeanos Single”

Something about the name “Okeanos,” a mythical Greek titan of the ocean, must resonate with Suzuna Nagihara. She used the word again for an original tune that swallows your heart whole and cradles it, letting you know you’re not alone in the deep waters of life.

RIOT MUSIC “Re:Volt 2022”

2022 would see the then active RIOT MUSIC roster once again combine their vocal stylings for RIOT MUSIC’s biggest live event to date, live from Tokyo! Suzuna Nagihara joined her RIOT MUSIC sisters to a packed livehouse and over 30,000 people watching online simultaneously!

Meteopolis From RIOT MUSIC Forms

Suzuna Nagihara and Miona Sumeragi linked to form the Meteopolis sub-label within the greater RIOT MUSIC line-up. With Suzuna’s delicate, emotionally resonating singing making a great accompaniment to Miona’s up front bold boosted voice, the two together soar to new, futuristic heights!

Meteopolis Performs at L.A. Comic Con

Suzuna and Miona embarked on RIOT MUSIC’s maiden voyage to North America, a new milestone for all involved, performing a number of their favorite covers in Los Angeles across a three day run!

Suzuna Nagihara’s 2022 Birthday Live <PANDORA>

Suzuna Nagihara is set to finish this year, 2022 at the time of writing, with a unique solo live show experience that further pushes the boundaries of her artistry and the capabilities of RIOT MUSIC; The Virtual Music Agency’s first flirtation with acoustic concerts, Suzuna and her team have whipped up a number of arrangements of her favorites to be heard this one night only!

Two full years and Suzuna’s emotional balladry, with their borderline precognitive nature in knowing what has her fans feeling low and what they need to hear to feel supported and taken care of, has rightfully earned the artist her share of devoted listeners. Yet, even as recently as the last few months, Suzuna broke new ground within RIOT MUSIC playing center-stage for their first American performances and first grand acoustic showcase! Where the artist takes the Virtual Music Agency next, only her bleeding heart knows.