#and intelligent too so chatting with him actually is engaging

[thyfleshc0nsumed]

Yesssss favorite John is back

[floatyflowers]

Dark!House of The Dragon Men x Reader

You tried to balance your relationship with the greens and blacks despite being Rhaenyra's daughter.

And it worked.

With Aegon II Targaryen

Both of you are close in age, as you are older then Jace.

Aegon found himself falling for you, due to many factors, not only because you are beautiful.

You are kind, intelligent, and most importantly YOU LISTEN to him.

Both of you spend too much time together with or without your mothers knowledge.

The only time he stood up to his mother is when she spoke about you in a horrid manner, calling you a bastard.

"If you dare speak about her like that ever again, I will go and inform father!"

He later on becomes your betrothed by Viserys' order to unite the house.

With Aemond Targaryen

You never mocked him like his brother and your siblings.

In fact, you became his friend and shared his interest in reading books.

The only one in house Targaryen that he felt connected to is you.

Sometimes you would sneak into his chamber in the middle of the night though the hidden passages to just chat.

So, it's hard for your Targaryen uncle not to fall for you, he even looked past your legitimacy.

You literally stood by his side when Luke took his eye and comforted him.

But hearing your engagement to his older brother made his blood boil, and he took an oath to steal you away.

Especially after claiming Vhagar, he realized he now has the ability to burn down anyone who he finds as a threat to his affection towards you.

"Don't worry, I will protect you, dear niece"

With Jacearys Velaryon

He respects and loves you dearly, you are his role model.

That is why he started to bully Aemond when he saw you pay attention to the silver haired Targaryen more than him.

When puberty hit him, he began to slowly develop feelings for you.

And what increased those feelings is that he heard his mother mention something about marrying you to him.

But all his dreams came crashing down when Viserys' announced that you would wed Aegon.

And when you actually did marry Aegon, and after years where Viserys' held a feast, Jace tried to convince you to return to Dragonstone with him.

The night he got in a fight with Aegon he let out all his fury, even if he promised to behave.

"Annual your marriage to him and marry me instead"

With Ser Criston Cole (Platonic)

He is your biological father.

And he knows that, so unlike his bad treatment towards your mother and siblings, he treated you kindly.

At the age of ten he revealed to you that he is your real father.

At first you didn't believe him, but as you grew older you did begin to realize the truth.

Instead of avoiding him, you decided to be friendly and call him 'father' when you both are alone.

One time, one of the servants accidentally spilled soup on you.

The next day that servant was found dead.

"I'm your father before being the Queen's sworn sword"

With Gwayne Hightower

He flirted with you before your wedding not realizing that you are his nephew's bride.

Gwayne hates Rhaenyra, but the thought of you being her daughter left him in disbelief.

You are nothing like your mother.

Everything about you scream honor, virtue and kindness.

Gwayne even tried to convince you to runaway before it's too late.

"You still have time to not marry Aegon"

Indeed, it's awful to say that about his nephew.

But he cares about your well-being more than Aegon's happiness.

And it really shows during the war.

[oceansssblue]

Continuing with the rarepairing masterlist, we haveee...

"A FEW EXCEPTIONS" –DOGMA/TUP 💖

WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Dogma is struggling. Not in the ways shinies usually struggle, though adapting to real life outside of Kamino, real war and losses and hours of exhaustion upon his young shoulders, has definitely not been easy. He has pushed himself through it, though; his loyalty to the Republic, his fierce need to protect and fight, greater than any worry or fear. No; what Dogma is really struggling with is with his feelings for the 501st' fellow shiny. Tup. Sweet, sweet Tup.

It's almost hard to believe he's also a soldier –though Dogma knows he's not any less brave and diligent–. He's just so... Innocent, though, and lovely; like a beacon of positivity and tenderness in a war filled with darkness. Dogma is painfully aware of the hundred rules that dictaminate that he can't persue a relationship with a fellow vod; but everytime Tup smiles at him, his heart forgets about all of them.

Sitting on a booth on 79's, other troopers from the 501st sprawled around him, Dogma can't help but smile at his vod'ika animatedly gossiping with Fives. While he usually remains fairly silent in the 501st' escapades into the Corusscant night –his usually serious disposition perhaps not friendly enough for others to try to engage with him– Tup laughs and chats and dances like a natural. It's a beautiful thing to see; such freedom in a life governed by others that overpower them.

A few hours into the night, Tup comes stumbling back to Dogma; the man quickly reaching out a hand to stabilize him while he all but drops down on the space next to him.

"Oops" he giggles, alcohol clearly washing away his balance and filters. "I think I shall rest for a bit now".

Dogma nods, and Tup sighs in relief, scanning the local around him. 79's is crowded; troopers from different companies chatting and dancing and flirting with the few natives that dare to put a step inside the clone bar. Tup watches as Fives pouts after he gets rejected by a pretty twi'lek with bright pink skin and laughs. Dogma follows his line of sight and shakes his head with fond amusement.

"You aren't going to try your luck tonight?" Tup asks, wiggling his eyebrows in a silly gesture that almost makes Dogma laugh as well.

The trooper shrugs.

"No native has caught my eye" he replies, and Tup chuckles in good humour.

"Perhaps you're too picky" he points out, and then half-jokingly adds. "You know, you could always try with a clone. We do make fine specimens..."

Dogma snorts. He really doesn't want to dwell in that...

"That's against the rules" he points out. "And you know how much I value those".

It's almost rehearsed, the way he says it. He takes a glance at the dance floor, were some vods are definitely dancing way too close; and misses how Tup's smile falls.

"So you'd never go for it, even if you secretly wanted to?"

Dogma frowns.

"You think I'd risk getting decomissioned for a quick drunk fuck with a vod?" He replies, and then gently pushes Tup's shoulder with his. "I thought you knew me, Tup".

For some reason, the joke doesn't sit well with the clone. Tup's expression closes off; and he mumbles a hasty excuse before he's all but running towards the dance floor.

"You know, I think I'm gonna dance some more!"

Dogma doesn't even have time to say goodbye to him; eyes following Tup's retracting figure with utter confusion. What the fuck just happened?

"Don't worry, vod" a hand pats his shoulder comfortingly, and Dogma turns to the side to find Jesse with his eyes fixed on the dance floor. "I'm sure good old Fives will help vod'ika to get over his heartbreak".

Dogma's body tenses; eyes inmediately flying back to find Tup pressed against the trooper's front. He's intelligent enough to read into Jesse's words; though he's still having trouble to believe them. There's no way Tup is actually into him... There's no way his questions were actually about him. Right?

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Dogma tries to ignore the sight of the two of them flirting; but it's easier said than done. When Fives bends forward to whisper something against the trooper's ear, and Tup all but grins, he clenches his hand so hard around the glass of spotchka that he swears he hears a crack. It's torture; the last hour the 501st spend in 79's before collectively deciding to return to the barraks. Dogma sighs in relief and stands up; though he is unable to relax completely when Fives is all but pressed to Tup's thigh in the cab.

A million thoughts run through Dogma's mind. Are they, is he... is Tup planning on taking it further with Fives? Dogma hasn't drunk much; but his stomach lurches unpleasantly at the possibility.

When they're about to enter their barraks, tension rises until Dogma isn't able to control himself any longer. He –perhaps a bit harshly– tugs Tup's hand towards him; hauling him back.

The trooper watches him in surprise; Fives glancing back at them once before shrugging and continuing his way inside. Dogma sighs and bites his own lip, hesitant; an unusual behaviour on him.

"Dogma?" Tup asks, concerned and confussed, and Dogma swallows down and erases every single rule about fraternisation from his mind before forcing himself to confess his feelings out loud.

"What I said, in the bar, about not risking decomissioning for a quick drunk fuck... It's true" he begins, and Tup's face fills with what can only be anger until Dogma squeezes his hand tightly and blurts "But I wasn't talking about you. Because you wouldn't be just a quick fuck".

Tup's eyes widen; his whole face transforming with the information revealed. His expresion fills again with that almost child-like happiness; staring back at Dogma in surprise and wonder.

"Are you..." he stutters, momentarily lost, and Dogma finally gives in into his long burried wishes and cups Tups face with his right hand.

"I'm saying I would risk decomissioning for a serious relationship with you" he nods, and it's so clear and impossible to misinterpret that Tup's eyes fill with tiny happy tears, blurring his sight.

"You've really put me through a rollercoaster of emotions tonight" the trooper chuckles, a blush setting on top of his cheeks, a sudden shyness enveloping him.

He has never done anything further than a few heated kisses here and there. He likes Dogma so so much...

"I'm sorry" the clone offers, thumb caressing his skin, closing his eyes and softly pressing his forehead against Tup's. "You know how I am".

Tup chuckles and presses back, hands slidding around Dogma's plated hips.

"You need to learn that rules always have one or two exceptions" he smiles. "Nothing is ever quite black or white".

Tup gives in into his desire to kiss the other's lips, sighing in happiness when Dogma makes a surprised little sound in his throat and kisses him back.

"I'm willing to learn" the clone whispers tenderly, and Tup feels like the happiest trooper in all of the GAR.

THE END.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

PS. Aren't they cuties?

[13eyond13]

Here are the specific types of chatty/talkative I think some of the DN genius characters are:

Near: interested in discussing ideas and opinions and emotions most of all, and needs to talk out loud to others a lot to figure out and express his feelings and plans. Wants other people to chime in and collaborate with him on his thoughts more than the others do. More nostalgic and more people-focused in his conversations than some of the other characters, in that he tends to mull over the past more and worry and wonder about what makes other people tick quite a bit. Asks other people how they feel and what they think maybe more than any of the other characters listed here do.

Light: mostly interested in discussing big ideas and his strategies above all, not so much in a collaborative way but in a way where he presents his point of view on something and then figures out where the other people also stand on the same issues / how competent he thinks they are. Gets the most chatty when he's teaching somebody something / trying to get something he wants / showing off his intelligence / defending himself when he's under suspicion or feeling disrespected somehow. Not very into emotional discussions or discussion of personal feelings about others. Good at small talk for politeness' sake or for ulterior motives but not terribly ever genuinely interested in it. Doesn't often need to work out his plans or feelings about things by discussing them with others, just reaches conclusions privately on his own and then carries out his decisions / tells other people how they can help him out. Actually does a lot of his talking in canon privately within his own head

L Lawliet: talks mostly to share or obtain useful information / prove himself correct / get into arguments he finds interesting or entertaining or useful somehow. Only really chats to people he finds important to his current goals if he can help it, and probably has an internal hierarchy of sorts in his mind that he mentally slots people he will converse with into based on this stuff. Doesn't care for small talk at all and isn't very good at it, but will make it if necessary and if he actually cares about the other person's comfort levels. Not actually a big opinion sharer or big ideas debater most times - he keeps most of his true opinions a little bit under wraps and he maybe doesn't even particularly care about discussing and contemplating grander scheme ideas and scenarios as much as some of the other characters here do. Strategic with his silences, good at using them to make other people either leave him alone or wonder about him or squirm

Mello: I feel he's quite emotionally intelligent and quick to reach opinions and decisions internally without needing to discuss them too much with others, but also SO quick to form his own opinions and feel things that he is often frustrated by people who need to talk a lot at length about these things and figure things out and revisit them over and over again in their heads or in conversation as well. He's actually maybe the least chatty of the bunch to me unless he's lost his temper about something and having an angry outburst of sorts. Gives orders to others very readily, and discusses his motives with others pretty frankly as well. Normally needs to have a good reason to engage somebody else in conversation though? Not the type to just chatter on for the sake of chattering at all, in my eyes (this is something I can picture Matt doing around him quite a bit, though)

Beyond: if he's not talking to you then he's talking out loud to himself. Very rarely silent, always coming up with something bizarre and likely somewhat off-putting to say. Pretty darn concerned with sharing his opinions and his taste in things, and almost always being something of a manipulative indirect person in conversation in one way or another (throwing himself a pity party, fishing for exploitable information, dropping hints he obviously wants you to notice and then pretending he was doing nothing of the sort, attempting a guilt trip or sneaky power play of sorts)

[st0rmyskies]

Hi bois! Rank the bae ™️ Cheating at chess!

We all know that Warriors is the Actual chess player in the home. Strategy games in general are his preference, and he's nearly unbeatable. But all of the Links come with a natural competitive streak. So which of the boys resort to more nefarious methods of play in order to gain the upper hand?

Legend - He's the most likely to engage Wars in a game of chess with just the right amount of cajoling. He is, unfortunately, not very good at chess. The second one of his plans goes awry, his temper wins out over his wit. Leg holds the record for greatest number of upturned chess boards upon rage quitting.

Hyrule - Rulie is incredibly smart and good at many things, but chess is a bit out of his wheelhouse. It takes a lot of time and thought for him to play, and Wars gets a bit impatient waiting for him to make his moves. His method of 'cheating' includes making illegal moves and hoping that Warriors takes pity on him. Perhaps a less mentally-demanding game would be better for them to play, like Chinese checkers.

Four - Although he doesn't like to play often, Four does hold his own pretty well. He plays as though he's actually studied the game, too, unlike the other denizens of the townhouse. He's the one Warriors enjoys playing against the most, and he's lost a game or two to Four in their time playing together.

Twilight - He tried to play once or twice, but he finds the game incredibly frustrating. (Sacred Grove Guardian statue puzzle? Anyone?? Anyone????) He also couldn't actually cheat even if his life depended on it. Twi is much better suited for lawn games like horseshoes and cornhole. Get that boy some sunshine and a beer and he's perfectly happy.

Sky - This boy does NOT find chess to be even mildly engaging. Wars has gone so far as to take him to the coffee shop or the park on a nice day to try and keep him interested, but without fail, Sky... will start to yawn..... and eventually....... drift........off.........

Wild - Wild's blissfully unaware, airheaded nature belies how skilled he is in chess. Wild will sit cross-legged on the opposite end of the board with a big bowl of snacks or something soft and huggable in his lap, chatting away animatedly while he and Wars both systematically clear the board of the other's pieces. Warriors swears he sees flashes of Champion in Wild's eyes now and then during a particularly intense game. Is it really cheating if it's your former self who knows the game?

Wind - He's played chess against the CPU for so long that he thinks he knows what to do, but playing against AI for years means that his strategies are pretty rote. Wind is one to challenge Warriors over and over again and lose repeatedly, to his mounting frustration. His 'cheats' are debatably-legal moves that set off a ten-minute argument between him and Wars until he either folds or walks away in a huff, forfeiting the game.

Time - He's a decent player, but no match for Warriors's cunning. But cheating is beneath him. He will lose the old-fashioned way, thank you very much.

And, for our oft-requested bonus round:

Malon - Sure, she knows how to play, but it's not really her preference. She and Wars might start a game together but as their mugs of tea are filled and refilled, their time spent together is more focused on chatting and hot goss than it is playing chess.

Shadow - Like Four, Shadow is also an excellent contender when it comes to chess. His strategies, however, are harder for Warriors to outsmart. Shadow knows the rules of the game but none of the strategies. One part his intelligent, conniving nature plus one part beginner's luck makes him a formidable opponent, no cheating necessary here.

Dark - Eats the pieces. While Warriors is watching. With an audible, unsettling crunch. The cost of the dental work is worth it for the look on pretty boy's face.

[lees-chaotic-brain]

Hi Lee for the song event

Enchanted by Taylor Swift, Gojo, fluff

WC: 1.6k

CW: mention of beer (no active drinking), college au, reader is very me-coded sorry, reader is a bit of a nerd,

listen to this while reading

note: hi gigi!!!! thank you so much for sending in a request!! this was so cute 🥰 i also feel like this isn't my best work, but i think it's cute and i've spent too much time agonizing over it lmao

Event Guide | Event Masterlist | JJK Masterlist | Blog Navigation

Parties were never really your scene, but your best friend told you that you needed to leave your room from time to time, so here you were, at some random house party. The cool smoothness of the wall you were leaned against seeped through the thin top you were forced into as you chatted with a face you vaguely recognized from one of your lectures. 

Smiling idly, you nodded along to whatever they were saying, trying to block out the pounding music and sour scent of spilled beer. It was easy enough to pretend you were having fun, but internally you just wanted to be in your dorm reading a book or watching a movie. You knew your friends were right and that you did have to get out of your house sometimes, you just didn’t want that time to be now.

There I was again tonight Forcing laughter, faking smiles

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be social, or make new friends, to the contrary you actually wanted that very much. You just didn’t want to have to put in the work to make new friends because of the stress it caused you. You knew you were different from other people your age; more focused on your studies and happiest when you were alone, and it normally didn’t bother you.

No, it only began to make you feel bad in settings like this, where everyone else was mingling and laughing and you were glued to a wall, not even able to recall the name of the person talking to you. Shifting uncomfortably, you made up an excuse and escaped the train wreck of a conversation you were in, pushing your way through the crowd and out onto the back porch.

Taking a deep breath of night-chilled air, you could feel some of the stress and tension leave your frame. The wooden planks of the deck creaked as you made your way across them to lean against the railing, not noticing the man to your left until he spoke.

“Hello there. Come to steal my hiding spot?” You jumped, letting out a small yelp and clutching your chest. “Oh my god, don’t scare me like that! I…”

You looked up, and your voice trailed off. Vivid blue eyes met yours, a mop of fluffy white hair falling into a finely chiseled face. Of course. Of course you had to stumble across the finest man you had ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on in your pursuit for peace and quiet. Because things can never be convenient when it comes to your life.

Walls of insincerity, shifting eyes and vacancy Vanished when I saw your face

Maybe…maybe bumping into the handsome stranger wasn’t the worst thing that had happened to you tonight. At first when he introduced himself as Gojo Satoru, you didn't have high hopes. You’ve heard about Gojo. Everyone had. The most popular guy on campus, athletically talented with the good looks and effortless charm to match.. Of course you knew about the Gojo Satoru.

However, instead of idolizing him like everyone else, you had assumed he was a bit of an egotistical asshole who enjoyed playing with girls' hearts and thought himself better than all. Which is why you were pleasantly surprised when you found yourself enjoying his company.

For one, he was funny, with a witty sense of humor that had you cracking up more than once. You lost track of how long you stood there, shoulder to shoulder, engaging in humorous debate. But aside from his quick wit, he was also kind. Sure he had a bit of an ego (you weren’t wrong in that assumption) but he wasn’t a bad guy. 

Second of all, he was surprisingly intelligent, engaging you in banter about various academic topics. From analyzing the true meaning of Shakespeare’s plays to debating the nature of dark matter, you found that he was able to keep up with your somewhat nerdy interests. Honestly this might be the most interesting conversation outside of your lecture halls that you’ve had in a long time. Who would’ve expected it to be with your school’s resident pretty boy?

The playful conversation starts Counter all your quick remarks

As the party winds down, Gojo finds himself offering to walk you home. Conversation flows smoothly as you walk, your laughter floating through the crisp air, warming it with your invisible light.

“Look!” You point up at the sky, delight shining in your eyes. “The air is so clear tonight. You can see so many stars!”

And while you may be marveling at the sparking stars scattered across the night’s navy backdrop, or how full the moon was, as cheesy as it was, he found himself admiring you instead.

When he had left the party to get some air and escape the hordes of people whose expectations and demands suffocated him, the last thing he had expected was you. You who had stumbled out onto his back porch, your presence a refreshing breath of fresh air blowing away the stifling needs of others. 

So, yes. As cheesy as it was, he found himself admiring you, with your childlike delight in the mundane. Before tonight, the beauty of the night sky would never have crossed his mind, but now as he watches you, he thinks it must be the most beautiful thing in the world to make you light up like that.

Noticing that he got quiet, you turned to check on him and caught him staring at you. Suddenly shy, both of you quickly avert your eyes, faint pink brushing itself across your faces. You continue walking, this time in a heavy silence that speaks more than your mindless chatter.

By the time you finally let him know that you’ve arrived at your house and bid him goodnight he wishes you lived a little farther away, if only so he could spend a little while longer in your company.

This night is sparkling, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home

The cracked white plaster of his ceiling looms above him as he lays sprawled on his bed, unable to get you out of his head. Most girls who he talked to merely liked him for his looks, his popularity, or his cocky personality. But you had been interested in him for his mind. His intelligence and quick wit. 

And he can’t get you out of his head. Surely someone like you has a boyfriend. Someone as caring, beautiful, sweet, intelligent, and funny as you must have people falling for you left and right. But if that was the case, why did you spend so much time talking to him tonight? Was it possible that you were single and he had a chance? 

Letting out a loud sigh, he rolled over and closed his eyes, attempting to fall asleep. He had never believed in love at first sight, but meeting you changed him in a fundamental way. Maybe he did believe in love at first sight, because if not, what else could he call the impact meeting you had on him? Maybe, if he tried hard enough, he would be able to see you again in his dreams.

The lingering question kept me up 2 AM, who do you love?

Cuddled into your stack of blankets and surrounded by your many pillows, you were unable to fall asleep, thoughts of Gojo Satoru plaguing you. He was just…not at all like you had expected. He was smart. And funny. And kind. And he actually paid attention to your rambling, responding and expressing interest unlike many others.

And maybe (just maybe you’re neither confirming nor denying it) you find him just a teensy bit attractive. As much as your mind screamed at you that you couldn’t fall for the first guy who shows even a hint of interest in you, your heart felt otherwise, hoping you would see him again.

Despite your assumptions, you had genuinely enjoyed spending time with him, and found yourself hoping that tonight was only the first of many such conversations and the start of a long friendship. Maybe even more than that if you were being honest. If only you were able to tell if he felt the same way…

This is me praying that This was the very first page Not where the story line ends

You start dating a couple weeks after your initial meeting, and several years later finds you laughing about the foolishness and insecurity of your younger selves.

When you bumped into him on campus the day after you met, you assumed it was some stroke of luck and worked up the guts to ask him for his number, not ready to let the opportunity to have him in your life escape you.

Little did you know the only reason he was there was he begged asked one of his friends to find out your schedule. From there your relationship continued similarly, each of you believing you were the only one who felt the pull between the two of you, and that the night you met didn’t hold the same significance for the other.

In fact, it wasn’t until your one year anniversary when you were reminiscing on your first meeting that you truly realized just how enchanted the other had been the first time you met.

I was enchanted to meet you

taglist: @ponderingmoonlight @arlerts-angel @m0k0k0 @pandora-ophelia-blog

[mylittleponyauprompts]

The Night and Shining Armor-

A Nightmare Moon/Luna and Shining Armor prompt.

It doesn't need to be romantic, it can be a friendSHIP. If it is romantic for you, assume that Shining Armor and Cadence either didn't get together in this AU or broke up before the engagement. Or do your own thing this a prompt after all

Shining Armor was told to be on higher alert while on duty today, but he was never given the reason why. Apparently the pony giving him the order didn't know either, only Celestia knew and all she would give out on information was to be on alert. So his usual routine was a touch more stressful, better than staying with his parents. Ever since his little sister became Celestia's personal student he was considered the other child, he doesn't blame his sister for their parents actions of course. At least he tries his hardest too. Apparently his mumbling to himself went heard as someone interrupts his deep thinking. A tall dark mare in glistening blue armor stood towering over him, she strangely looks familiar to him but he can't put his hoof on why. He doesn't feel afraid of her, although he is sure someone like Blueblood would be running in fear. She asks him about his self ranting, saying that she has felt similar feelings towards her own sister before. Shining Armor perks up at this and the two start venting to each other about their family lives and after a while just start chatting. Even though both were previously busy with their own jobs, they decided a break couldn't hurt. Shining Armor enjoys talking with this tall dark mare, he hasn't felt like he could truly vent to anyone about his parents and sister until meeting her. He appreciates someone who listens.

Nightmare Moon had just returned from her imprisonment, and she had planned to immediately go and crash Celestia's celebration. But she happened to run into the strangest pony mumbling to themselves, mumbling about feelings she knows all too well. He is unafraid of her, even with that smallest hint of recognition. Is he playing a game on her? After talking with him for what feels like hours, it's neither. He's just a bit stupid, in certain ways. He seems rather intelligent when it comes to magic and the art of protection, no wonder he was chosen to be the captain of the guard. But socially he stumbles and falls over but never fails to get back up with a smile on his face. She likes this idiot, she appreciates someone who actually listens to her venting and complaining.

[lucysweatslove]

Finished NeuroTribes today. Yes, I binge-listened, and I even put it up from 1.5x to 1.75x then 2x and then 2.3x. My brain just needed it faster, idk.

This means I’m 2 books away from 100! If I finish Smoke Gets in Your Eyes (misplaced Kindle and need to find) and The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck (20% through) by Friday before bed, that would be kinda cool, 100 books in half a year.

Contrary to what people say to do, I try not to set too many goals for recreational things / things I do just for fun. Such as reading. Meeting goals can give a sense of achievement and pride, and goals are particularly helpful in getting me to do things I Don’t Really Want To Do (assuming I set the goal myself; otherwise Demand Avoidance enters the chat). However, goals also start to suck the fun out of things I already want to do / am motivated to do on their own. Even if they’re reachable, I focus too much on the goal instead of the intrinsic enjoyment of said thing. Which is why I try not to have goals for # of books to read in general. Buuuut I think this is a time where a short term goal can actually help.

I wavered on whether or not to give NeuroTribes 3 or 4 stars in Goodreads as I felt it was sold 3.5; ultimately I went with 3. That might be different if I visually read instead of listening to the audiobook, as no matter how slow (or fast) I have audiobooks playing, I don’t retain small details as well as I do while visually reading. General thoughts:

Seemed to portray more pictures of autism as those who are lower masking and have higher support needs.

Did talk about the strengths that autistic people bring to society, used Temple Grandin a lot here (I like her so I’m not mad about it).

The downside was that for most of it, he really presented autism in two ways: more profound autism with lower IQ, or such low social engagement, or such high support needs (often to the point that families find them a burden and families, historically they have been institutionalized, there is significant shock and relief when they can do basic ADLs on their own- which I’m iffy on the presentation), OR genius “savant syndrome” level autism. I would’ve more liked representation from those who do have low support needs and are high maskers but aren’t “savant syndrome” level geniuses at their special interest or anything to that degree. I found it difficult to find “me” in the examples, exactly, or a lot of the autistic people I know, and I had to remind myself much of the time that I am still valid even if my intelligent and hyperlexia doesn’t reach the examples he gave.

In later portions he did talk about it as a spectrum (which he also credits Hans Asperger for initially postulating- but that brings up another bullet point), so it’s not like he totally ignores that there are people like me, or my autistic friends, or whoever out there, but the general feel seems to gloss over us.

Also used the “if you’ve met one person with autism, you’ve met one person with autism” idea to reflect that every autistic person is different

Thankfully portrayed how ABA was founded in a negative light. Not like “ABA is stupid and harmful and nobody should ever do it” but actually explained how using punishment for behavioral modification passed review boards

I can’t remember if it was addressed, but he used “functioning” labels for some of the book which is gross.

Dude had a huge boner for Hans Asperger, but this was also written in a time where the common idea was that he was anti-Nazi and only seemed to favor the “lower support needs” kids (“little professors”) to try to get Nazis to not kill autistic kids. Like “look at how useful these kids are, it would be such a shame to kill them when they have so much use to the state.” When I have more emotional energy, I’d like to do a deeper dive into the guy, but as of right now, my opinion of him is fairly low, and I was overall very annoyed at the level of reverence given to him in the book.

Talked about some controversies regarding vaccines and how autism speaks is more “cure” driven than actually support/resource driven.

Did eventually get into the modern day advocacy movement, how more autistic people are demanding their voices be heard when autism is discussed, and how there is a push from actually autistic people for advocacy groups to focus on resources and support and “normalizing” autism as a different neuro type vs “curing” it like it’s something faulty. Also mentioned that actually autistic people have pushed for “disability first” language instead of person-first, which I appreciated.

Overall an interesting history of how we have historically categorized, tried to explain, or pathologize autism in general, and how as we have come to understand it more, we realize how much more common it is.

He talked a little about how when autistic people are around other autistic people, or when alone, struggles and level of disability tend to decrease. But, I wish he would’ve gone deeper into some of the social issues autistic people face, especially the women who do want to fit in, how NT people can often tell when somebody is autistic even if they don’t have the words for it (they can just tell there is something uniquely different)

I think if I had read this in 2015 when it was published, it would have been a 4 star. Which is why I struggled with the 3 or 4 star rating- I want to judge it based on the information available at the time he was researching and writing, but at the same time, I feel like I can’t condone a book that is so Asperger-positive, and a 4 star review feels like condoning it. And I really did want more of a comprehensive look of multiple presentations, not just the very much struggling autistic people who need high levels of support or the Darwins and Einsteins or Grandins in the world.

I guess what it comes down to… to me it feels like this was written for the neurotypical person, and maybe with a goal to shift their view of autism. Establishing a common ground of the stereotyped picture, but then challenging that view primarily by showing the amazing achievements of autistic people, too. Which, I mean, that’s fine to a degree, and it’s not like he talks about those who present more stereotypical in disrespectful ways exactly (he himself isn’t disrespectful, but he doesn’t shy away from detailing the awful history). I just wish the message was less “we need autistic people in society because of all the good the genius ones can do for us NTs” and more “regardless of their support needs or achievements, autistic people deserve to live in an accepting, accommodating, understanding world.”

[franceblr]

halfbaked sasodei headcanon #4, modern edition, killing eve inspired cause i suck:

deidara is 21 and sasori is 37. they live together and are engaged. they’re also part of the akatsuki, a terrorist organization that operates across borders. the akatsuki works independently, though sometimes they get hired for political assassinations: their areas of activity range from destabilizing governments, hitmen work, to secondary activities such as fraud and trafficking. sasori’s expertise is espionage work and assassinations, while deidara is the bomber of the organization. they’re partners. they travel often for their work but they’re stationed in london.

ok but hear me out: russian deidara. from his blonde hair, height and blue eyes, to his fucked up sense of humour and crass manners, his booming laughter, his bluntness, his cruelty, his ability to outdrink even kakuzu, his love for luxury and designer items, dei’s russian through and through. deidara is linguistically gifted, so he hides his accent fairly well: he’s actually able to successfully mimic all sorts of english accents, and greatly enjoys parroting sasori’s own inflection, to his fiancé’s chagrin. deidara is very careful about putting on his best neutral american accent in his day to day, as brits usually take him for a yankee anyways. but it’s very energy consuming and tiresome, so with the akatsuki he settles for a less perfect english, but always being careful of not letting the russian inflection peek through too much. though he’s fluent in english, he still struggles with pronouncing “w”s and “th” sounds, his “h”s sound too harsh, and he tends to forego articles. he always comes up with an absurd variation of a popular saying and tries to gaslight everyone into believing he’s right. only sasori knows what his actual pronunciation sounds like: when he’s tired or angry it bleeds through even when deidara would rather not. his natural inflection is quite deep and stiff, his sounds too harsh or too soft, but sasori finds it extremely charming and he treasures jealously the intimacy that comes with being the only one who knows.

deidara never speaks russian unless he absolutely has to on missions, and he doesn’t respond if addressed in russian. sasori still catches him asbent mindedly listening to other people’s conversations and phonecalls in russian, though deidara always brushes him off and denies everything. it’s not that he’s awfully self conscious about his origins: it’s just not something deidara likes to be asked about. sasori knows almost nothing of deidara’s life back in russia, only that he was born in a rural city and likely had a difficult upbringing, surrounded by poverty, ignorance and an unforgiving climate; sasori knows he committed arson when he was 11, and spent a few years in a reformatory. as a result of this, deidara’s exceptionally street smart with a prominent penchant for violence, but his education has a lot of gaps, and sasori often has to teach him about cultural references and basic knowledge kids are taught in middle school. deidara makes up for the lack of schooling with his high intelligence and his curiosity; he is also an avid reader and collects and absorbs all information he can get his hands on. that sasori knows of, deidara has no family and no friends back home. he isn’t sure how or when deidara got to the uk, but he knows he changed his surname; his real passport still has his russian surname on it.

deidara prefers the eu over england, and whenever they get assigned missions there he’s eager to chat up to locals in french or german, and he always makes sasori detour through shops and boutiques, local cafés and restaurants, art galleries and bakeries. sasori, ever the pragmatic, has more of an in and out approach and would usually settle for modest accomodations, but deidara is a huge spender and he rejoices immensely in lavish hotels, fancy pastries and expensive clothes. sasori allows him, cause he gets unsufferably bratty when he doesn’t get his way, and also because he enjoys seeing deidara walk around paris like a child in a candy store.

despite his quirks, deidara is an extremely efficient partner and a master strategist. in contrast with his pretty face and laid back personality, he’s also exceedingly violent and cold. sasori himself is no stranger to spilled blood and torture, ever precise and ruthless: but the way deidara goes from being an extravagant brat to a deranged and cruel international terrorist never ceases to amaze sasori. he doesn’t quite enjoy inflicting pain on others in the sadistic and obsessive way sasori does, but instead finds great humour and mirth in what they do, as if aware of some great irony or joke that sasori isn’t privy to. sasori doesn’t always know where to trace the line between dei being russian and dei being insane, but he chalks it up to his origins nevertheless.

part of the money deidara makes working for the akatsuki goes into paying for his tuition at a private art academy; they don’t really care deidara is a high school dropout as long as he pays. despite being often away on missions and his attendance being flakey, deidara excels in all of his classes, yet has a hard time fitting in with his classmates; considering most of them are trust fund kids and not full time members of an international terrorist organization, deidara hasn’t made any real friends. the overall consesus seems to be that he’s very pleasant and friendly yet unsettling in a way nobody can pinpoint. he still parties like a regular 21 y/o when he’s off duty.

sasori proposed to deidara in their first months of dating, and they’ve been engaged for two years. sasori wants deidara to graduate before they get married. deidara will take sasori’s surname.

sasori’s father was a japanese diplomat who was murdered on a mission abroad along with sasori’s mother. because of the nature of his parents’ job, sasori travelled a lot as a child; after his parents’ death sasori moved back to london, where he studied medicine. later on he became a trauma surgeon working for the army in war torn countries. the homicide of his parents paired with the horrors he saw working as a surgeon cemented in him the radical belief that the order of things has to be overturned in order to free society of corruption, war and poverty. it wasn’t hard to recruit him for the akatsuki, and he’s one of the first members to have joined. with his military background and psychopathic tendencies, sasori adapted to his new life fairly easily.

deidara is entirely devoted to sasori and worships the ground he walks on despite their many differences. sasori is deidara’s everything, his partner, mentor, lover, friend and confidant; he trusts his judgement blindly and is loyal to sasori first and foremost. he’s got huge attachement issues and he’s very codependent on his fiancé. sasori is less overt with his affection, but he’s equally deidara’s as deidara is sasori’s; he’s extremely protective of deidara and spoils him rotten. even though their lifestyle is violent, uncertain and overall crazy, they’re a functional (or as functional as it gets with them) couple that enjoys the smaller pleasures in life.

deidara may not be crazy about mother russia, but he’s a huge sucker for traditional russian cuisine staples like borscht, potatoes and the baked pies; he also makes a mean solyanka. as a slavic person he gets regular manicures, is always dolled up, and has an insane tolerance for distilled liquors.

[falderaletcetera]

every now and then I think about trying to Do Fandom again but then I spend half an hour doing chores and thinking about, for instance, one specific episode [5.02] of Father Brown, realising that the reason the arranged marriage feels like it works in the end (other than both parties clearly choosing it) is that it isn't just the guy's younger brother who's autistic, but his bride-to-be probably is too.

the first time he shows any real interest in joan as a person, not just civility or this low key sucks for both of us so I'm gonna give you as much freedom as I can ("an heir and a spare and you can do your own thing, if you get my drift"), it's when he asks her a question about mathematics and gets her talking - not really understanding it but telling her, afterwards, he'd like to hear more about it sometime.

looking at him a bit closer, I actually like his character more than I expected. he's not a proper young man of his station, he's taken his family's reputation down a few notches through what we can assume is (tactfully put) a fondness for partying, and I'd generally expect a character like that to treat women pretty poorly, except robert seems to be better than that. then there's the toy cavalry soldier he carries as a good luck charm, a major general from his brother's toy set who shares robert's name - because it's something his brother loves, and maybe a way the two of them connect.

and robert's stuck awkwardly chatting to this woman who he's meant to marry but doesn't really know. someone who doesn't always look people in the eyes; who doesn't quite seem to know how to interact with him; who talks algorithms and graph theory and is fascinated with mazes.

this is a guy who, reading between the lines of he loves his brother and he carries around a little soldier figurine is someone who speaks "listening to you infodump" and "sharing your special interest" as love languages. and later when it looks like the engagement's not going to happen, he quietly mentions that he was just starting to like her.

I like to think that his moment walking side by side with her, listening as she talked with intelligence and real confidence, was a bit of an oh moment for him. a bit "this is someone I can relate to", a bit "this is someone I can like". and him showing respect and genuine interest, even after she stopped herself and apologised, probably helped her begin to like him too. not love for either of them, not yet, but the beginnings of something good.

and joan asking to meet his brother, getting to know him a little and asking arthur if he wants to live with them both rather than staying hidden away, brings it full circle in a pretty satisfying way.

(and that is more analysis, perhaps, than the episode calls for.)

[aforestwitchpancakes]

THE CHINESE GUY

I do not know why I always tend to "like" the guys who gave me unpleasant first impressions.

I get intimidated by their somewhat overconfident attitude and behavior but then later, I discover that they are actually really intelligent and they start discovering me too, and that's when things get weird and dangerous.

I guess guys like him tend to get attracted to seemingly mysterious people.

It started during the third day of our training. For the day, we were given activities to enhance our public speaking skills and because I came with a Communication degree, I somehow aced the activities without really trying.

For a newbie who was silent during the beginning of the training, they must have assumed that I got nothing on my bag to show.

They were engaged, laughing even, and were really amused by the way I answered that they decided I was a good public speaker with a good vocabulary on my back.

Ching, who was invisible to me as I was to him during the start of the training, started to talk to Kyline positively about me while I could properly hear it.

I looked at him and he was smiling at me, so I tried to converse him into lowering down his expectations of me with a smile painted on my face.

And then he started to borrow my pen, making sure that I can see that big smile and shimmer in his eyes while he talk to me.

He would casually join Kyline and I's conversations and would point to me about a cat named Jessica, which he saw on a stand-up comedy show, and that he is looking forward to show it me.

At the end of that Wednesday, I never talked to him again even though I could see in his body language that he wanted to show me that video desperately. He was sitting two seats from me and when Kyline would go talk to other people, Ching would stay and would face me, while I casually ignore him.

Weirdly, I went home that day with a giggle in my heart and a smile on my face.

Franz and I have been on a rough patch for weeks that day and it felt like I was chasing down an untamed stranger who got loose. Ching, making me realize that I could be liked by just being me brought me different joy.

Contemplating on it, Ching is one of those guys who are intelligent but doesn't know when they are being full of it. That is why I told myself during my first day that he is a guy to be avoided. Because, I have been in a relationship with a guy like him before and it did not end well.

The next day, I decided that it would not be bad to break the ice between us since it felt like we were just waiting on each other. I asked him about that video that he meant to show me.

He got excited and dragged his chair beside me while consistently smiling. While facing me, the first thing that he asked me was my age. I said 22, and he was like, really? I asked why and he said that I sounded and looked more mature than my age. I took it as a compliment because I know that I am an old soul.

I asked him his age and he said that I should guess.

"How long have you been working?"

"I have been working for 7 years."

"Oh, so 28?"

"Could be but a little higher than that."

"30?"

"I am already 31."

We were just smiling at each other like idiots, while realizing in our heads how far our age-gap is.

I liked how old he is. To me, he gave me an aura of a fresh and happy young adult who is agreeable and independent.

"Do you have kids?"

"No. But I have cats."

And then we chatted away, laughing, forgetting that we were already speaking in Tagalog, so we both received a vernacular warning. hahaha

At the end of that day, we would catch ourselves looking and searching for each other's eyes--- in hallways, elevators, and lobbies.

At night, I started to wonder about his thoughts as I drifted off to sleep. But then I remembered about Franz, just because a guy has showed me a little but of interest, it doesn't mean that I would run away with him

To me, Ching is like a dream. I never knew meeting and knowing other people again would be that interesting and euphoric.

Friday. The last day that we were on the same training team. Tonight, I would meet other people again on my designated department. On Friday, the spark was there but we were immensely trying to avoid each other. Maybe he realized that I am too young for him and me talking about law school may have triggered him thinking that we are on different pages in this life.

Finally, he came to me to ask about my scores, expecting that I perfected the tests (which I did not haha), and just for casualty, how tall I was. He apologized for what happened during the time we talked about cats and I said, "No. I had fun that day."

During our break, he was playing Tetris on his laptop and I went to watch him. He was so proud showing me how good he was. hahaha

He ended the game and faced me. We talked about some things in our lives and found out that he is from a rich family living in the societies of BGC and Makati. He did not attend College and is planning to start an apartment business soon--- credits to the "entrepreneurial opportunity" speech I gave the last time.

He lives alone in a condo unit because "things could get rough at home". He has three other siblings and they are helping the last one to get through college since the family business has gotten tough during the pandemic.

He did not say goodbye the last time I saw him. He told Kyline that they should treat each other when they receive their salary and Kyline was freaked out because they are not close. hahah

But that was it.

I know that things do not happen by fate. People make their own realities.

Him, occupying a very brief amount of time in my life, was a refresher to my new life here in the Metro.

Franz and I has patched things up and our relationship has become lighter and a bit happier. I no longer expect big things from him and I have come to a conclusion to let go of the things that I cannot control.

I can easily detach myself.

[phoenixmosheh]

Elias Finally Learns The Truth About Everything | Mr. Robot

How I proposed: 

So, Elias told me he wanted to own an island once in a private chat at work. This was before either of us had any idea he was anointed by God to be King of the World one day (be careful what you tell your wives). However, I being myself, mischievously decided (what the f is an island?). I am going to give you the World...like literally! In order to hide my crazy, I told him I was working on a project.  Each time he asked about this project, I responded with “it’s a surprise” (none of your business). And after 3 years of being in hiding and not speaking to him (because I suspected a love triangle situation). I finally sent him a text message asking, “if he was married?” insinuating that he better not be...because I’m a boss betch...who you gonna leave me for?! - cardi b

Will Elias accept this dowry? Find out on the next season of “Godly Wives!”

Miss Me?

Melchizedek Culture

1. Marriage Proposals

In our culture, “marriage proposals” are a two-way street, the woman gives the man a good reason to take her hand in marriage. Many women will agree they are not going to be submissive to just any man...so the man’s offer would probably be something she has observed about him overtime. Like his character, work ethic or the ability to produce and help raise intelligent children who will add to the evolution of society instead of its breakdown. It is rarely about how much money he currently has or his status within society. 

2. Diamonds come from the Greek word Adamas:

The word diamond comes from the Greek word "Adamas" meaning unconquerable and indestructible. In our culture, the diamond being offered is not an actual diamond ring...its metaphorical for the vows we take in our marriage and how these vows will lead to a marriage that is indestructible and inseparable ...basically the husband and wife are the actual diamonds being exchanged in their marriage to one another. (shine bright like a diamond - Rihanna). (smh. just thinking about all that debt, many of you have accumulated over a diamond ring and several divorces.Seriously?).

Diamonds come from the Greek word Adamas:

https://joyiajewelry.com/blogs/posts/diamond-comes-from-the-greek-word-adamas#:~:text=The%20word%20diamond%20comes%20from,3%20billion%20years%20to%20form.

3.  The Melchizedek’s Version of Valentines Day (Valentines Day Giveaway)

Every month during the week of a woman’s period the husband should show extra care and love towards his wife, as if it were Valentines day. This is like a week of rest or week of pampering. A regulated, healthy menstrual cycle is sacred and often a time to show your wife respect for being your wife, helping to manage the household and giving up her body so that she can birth your children one day. This requires your wife to rest and not work like a goddamn slave throwing her hormones even more out of whack, causing hormonal disruptions before and during pregnancy.  

This is a time for a husband to learn his wife, for instance, when she is having menstrual cramps or other symptoms; these symptoms are like small test preparing you for what both of you may encounter during an actual pregnancy. Its a time to figure out how to either make specific symptoms nonexistent (hormonal correction) or make her more comfortable.

These test help your husband learn his wife and help the wife learn her husband in the process, bringing them closer together. This will keep your husband engaged and feeling like he has something to offer, besides standing around in anguish looking like a chicken with his head cut off... while you go through pain alone during the birth of your baby.

4. The Melchizedek are Minimalist.

You can’t take a mansion with you on the run people. Before there was paper money, there was trade. We may not be rich in paper money, but we are rich in natural resources and apparently wisdom too. Thank you Father in Heaven!

[disturbedbydesign]

Buttoned Up

Pairing: Professor!Bucky x Reader

Length: 5.8K

Summary: Even though you were one of the top students in his class, Professor Barnes had always been cold to you. You had tolerated his indifference all semester, but when his end-of-term dinner party invites went out and you weren't on the list, you decided it was the last straw—it was time to confront him about it and find out what the hell his problem was. The answer would surprise you.

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids). 18+ only, no minors.

A/N: Oops I Professor Bucky'd again. If you've read this before, no you haven't.

You’d signed up for his class because the subject intrigued you. You’d always been a Faulkner nerd and it seemed as good a seminar as any to choose in the final year of your graduate program. Academically speaking, you’d heard good things about Professor Barnes—he was an excellent teacher, thoughtful, an expert in his field, and just generally affable. You’d heard he was especially giving of his time and energy, always available during office hours, even making time for his students outside of class: chatting over coffee, sometimes even hosting dinners for his star pupils at his home off-campus. You liked that and you wanted to be a part of it. You’d had enough of professors who’d grown lazy and indifferent in their tenure. You wanted someone who actually cared about the subject and the students interested in it.

You were always a straight-A student and, if you did say so yourself, one of the brightest in your program. So you were understandably confused when, from the very first day of class, Professor Barnes didn’t respond to you. He wasn’t rude exactly—just standoffish and more than a bit cold. You knew he took his work seriously and could be a bit formal in the classroom, but that wasn’t it. It seemed almost as if he had something against you. He wouldn’t look at you when you spoke in class, always shuffling with his papers or staring past you as if you were boring him.

He was animated and engaged when others were talking, and he seemed friendly outside the classroom to everyone but you. You would have started to doubt your intelligence but you always received the highest marks on your papers. On top of that, he always made some excuse as to why he couldn’t meet with you during his office hours. His schedule always seemed to be full, his attention always turned to others. He’d even turned you down when you’d asked him to be your thesis advisor, claiming he’d already taken on too many students and simply didn’t have the time. But it was the dinner he was hosting towards the end of the semester that was the last straw.

He’d sent an email to those students you knew to be the top of the class, inviting them to a small dinner party. You were excluded, despite the fact that you should have been among that group, and it hurt you more than it should have. If you were honest with yourself, it wasn’t just your academic pride that was injured. You couldn’t deny your attraction to him, and you’d stopped trying long ago, but you never once let on. You were completely professional in your interactions with him, always all business, never giving any indication that you sometimes let your mind wander to inappropriate places during his lectures—wondering what he might look like stripped of his blazer and tie and the khaki pants he always wore that hugged the curve of his ass. Some of the other students flirted with him shamelessly, but whether he was too clueless to notice or too professional to respond you didn’t know. You would never dream of doing something like that, though. While you would have loved to have coffee with him one-on-one, or talk shop over dinner and wine at his house, you were hurt mostly because you didn’t understand why he didn’t like you. You wouldn’t go so far as to say he hated you, but he definitely had something against you and you needed to know what it was. The end of the semester was rapidly approaching, you had nothing left to lose, and you decided it was time to confront him about it.

You didn’t bother making an appointment. You knew he’d just turn you down as always. You just showed up early for his office hours and waited for him to arrive. There was no one else there and whatever excuse he might make, you weren’t taking no for an answer. He arrived at 4 o’clock on the dot, fumbling with his keys as he made his way down the hall. You were seated in the chair next to his office door and he didn’t notice you until he was practically on top of you. When he saw you he dropped his keychain to the floor. You bent down to pick it up for him but he waved you off and got it himself.

“I don’t remember you making an appointment,” he said coldly, and you felt the heat rise to your cheeks—it was almost enough to send you running off in embarrassment… almost.

He was still searching for the key to his office door, and when he found it you noticed his hands were shaking as he put the key to the lock.

“I don’t have an appointment,” you said, “but I just really need to talk to you.”

He got the door open and stepped inside but you didn’t dare follow him. He stood in the doorway, looking up, down, and around—everywhere but in your eyes.

“Um… now isn’t…. uh… it’s not a good time for me,” he said, fumbling with his words, picking at a non-existent piece of lint on his blazer sleeve.

“It never seems to be a good time with you,” you said, no longer trying to keep the annoyance out of your voice. “I promise I’ll only take a few minutes of your precious time.”

“I can’t,” he said. “I have finals to grade and an appointment with someone soon. I just can’t fit you in today. I’m sorry.”

He looked in your eyes then, for the first time maybe ever, and you could see he was truly apologetic—almost sad even. You couldn’t help but notice he had beautiful eyes. He only looked at you for a second or two, but through his half-frame glasses, you noticed the stormy ocean shade of blue which he’d always kept hidden from you. When he blinked they were gone, back to staring at the floor where his feet shuffled, betraying his unease. Or maybe it was guilt. Either way, you knew intrinsically he was lying about having an appointment and you were done playing games.

“I’m sorry, Professor Barnes, but I’m really tired of you blowing me off. I’ve been patient with you. I’m a good student. Don’t you think you owe me at least five minutes of your time?”

He sighed deep and you worried you may have overstepped, but he looked up at you after a beat or two.

“You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. Please come in.”

You entered his office and you were struck immediately by the musty smell of the old books that filled the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining the walls. His desk was deep mahogany, thick and sturdy looking, and he had a high wingback chair upholstered in studded leather the same rich shade of brown. You’d never seen the inside of his office but it looked exactly as you imagined it might: traditional, bookish, and a bit stuffy—not unlike the man himself. It brought a smile to your face and he looked at you with a quizzical expression before looking away again and shuffling papers around on his desk.

“Take a seat,” he said. “So, uh, what can I do for you exactly?”

He sat in his chair, which creaked a bit under his weight. He was solidly built, at least as far as you could tell underneath his signature blazer with the suede elbow patches, a navy V-neck sweater over a white dress shirt buttoned to the very top, and a tie knotted so tight you didn’t know how he was even breathing. His gaze lingered on his desktop, scattered with files and papers and miscellany, but you could tell he wasn’t looking at anything in particular.

“I just need to talk to you about something. It’s been bugging me for a while and I just-”

He cut you off and sprung out of his chair.

“Is it hot in here? It’s really hot in here.”

It wasn’t hot at all but he went to open the window. It was jammed, though, and he couldn’t get it open no matter how hard he tried. You heard him curse under his breath, which came as a surprise. You’d never heard him say anything even remotely unprofessional before but you liked it. It sounded funny coming from him, and more than a little bit sexy given his usual straight-edge demeanor, and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing. He resigned himself to the fact that the window would remain shut despite his efforts and he sighed as he took off his blazer and hung it on a nearby coat rack. You could see the sweat beading on his brow and he paced the floor a bit You could tell he wanted to take his sweater off, too, but he was reticent. He gave in, though, and when he shed another layer and turned to fold it you got a good look at his ass in those khakis he always wore. You made yourself look away. You couldn’t be distracted—not now.

“Are you OK, Professor?”

He didn’t look at you when he answered.

“I’m fine… I just… I think I might be coming down with something. You probably shouldn’t stay long. Wouldn’t want to get you sick during finals.”

He flashed you an awkward half-smile though he wasn’t looking at you, and he rolled his shirtsleeves up, revealing a little bit of forearm you’d never seen before. You let yourself stare for a moment too long. He’d always kept his body well hidden, but having shed his protective layers you could see his arms were strong and muscular, and just as veiny as those mesmerizing hands you’d watched countless times—fiddling with his papers or his watch or scribbling notes. He sat back down in his chair, the desk a fortress between you, and clasped his hands together. You were losing focus fast. It was now or never.

“I’ll make this quick since I know you’ve got an appointment coming,” you said, your voice letting him know that you knew he was lying.

He looked down at his watch and back up to you. He had a guilty look in his eyes and he was looking through you, not at you.

“Yeah, I… um… I don’t… sorry, what were you saying?”

You took a deep breath and began.

“I’m just going to cut to the chase here because I know you’re a busy man. It’s obvious you have some sort of problem with me. I don’t know if I did something or said something or what, but you obviously don’t like me very much and I just need to understand what I did wrong.”

He took his glasses off briefly and wiped his brow with the back of his hand before putting them back on. He was sweating and fidgety, and though it should have been contagious, you weren’t uncomfortable. If you were honest, you liked the fact you were making him squirm—that you were finally the one in control.

“I’m not quite sure why you feel that way,” he said, but his tone was unconvincing.

He knew and he just wouldn’t say, but you weren’t leaving Barnes’s office without an answer. You were starting to get angry now but you tried to keep yourself calm and collected.

“Well, for starters, you don’t pay attention to me when I talk in class. I try to contribute like everyone else, and you seem to take an interest when other people have something to say, but with me… you make me feel like I’m boring you. And I know I’m not stupid. My grades prove that. I just don’t get it. Every time I try to talk to you, you blow me off; every time I try to make an appointment you are busy. And then there’s the dinner…”

You paused. You hadn’t planned on bringing that up but it just came out and there was no taking it back now. He was staring down at his desk, running a hand through his dark brown hair and down to his face to his chin where just a bit of stubble was visible. It was very unlike him—Professor Barnes was always clean-shaven and completely put together—but it was a good look on him.

Since he obviously had no intention of responding, you continued. “I wasn’t going to bring it up. It’s not really any of my business who you choose to invite to your home—I know that—but it… well… it hurt my feelings a little.”

He looked up at you then, straight at you this time, and he finally spoke.

“I never meant to hurt your feelings,” he said. He sounded genuine and you kept your eyes locked on him. You didn’t know if you’d get this chance again. “I’m so sorry if I did.”

“I just don’t understand…”

“It’s not you,” he said. “It really isn’t.”

“Then what?” you snapped.

You hadn’t meant to raise your voice but you didn’t care. He looked down again, his hands buried in his hair, and took a long pause. There was a pregnant silence in the room but you weren’t going to break it. After a while, he finally started to speak.

“You’re one of the brightest students I’ve ever had the pleasure of teaching,” he said. “I mean it—I’m not just saying that. I feel like sometimes when you speak, I’m learning from you. And I do owe you an explanation, it’s just that…”

He trailed off but you weren’t letting him off the hook.

“What is it?” you asked, calmer now. “Tell me. I need to know.”

He brought his hands down from his hair to his thighs and rubbed them up and down, like his palms were sweating and he couldn’t get them dry.

“I don’t trust myself with you,” he mumbled, staring at his feet shuffling on the floor.

It started to click in your mind and you felt your heart beat faster. You didn’t know if you were hearing what you thought you were hearing so you stayed silent.

“It’s not just that you’re beautiful,” he said, “though you are—exquisitely so.” He looked up at you as if seeing you for the first time. “It’s your mind. You have something rare and special—an almost effortless intelligence, without a lick of pretension. I’ve never met anyone quite like you and I just… I… it feels wrong. These things I’m feeling, they’re just wrong.”

He got flustered again and turned away, fiddling with his glasses.

“I… I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine what you must think of me.”

“You want to know what I really think?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “Do I?”

He flashed you a boyish smile that reached his eyes and it was the first time you’d seen him look at you with any semblance of warmth. You smiled back, partially to put him at ease but mostly because you were relieved. You’d assumed he’d always thought the worst of you. Now you knew he held you in the highest esteem, and he had other thoughts, too—like you did. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and you couldn’t think of anything but kissing them. After a semester’s worth of anxiety and self-doubt, you suddenly felt fearless, brazen even. You had nothing left to lose and everything to gain.

“I think you don’t really have an appointment coming.”

“You got me,” he said.

He was blushing furiously and he chuckled, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. You’d never heard him laugh before and it was infectious. It was also sexy as hell and you had to cross your legs. You saw his eyes wander and watch as you moved one over the other, tugging your skirt down where it rose slightly at the thigh. It was tight but fell modestly just above your knees and he licked his lips again, but this time there was something more than nerves behind it.

“I have a confession to make,” you said. You were feeling playful now, determined to bring out of him whatever he’d been holding in all this time. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have certain… thoughts.”

You saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed deep. You knew he was curious but he wouldn’t ask.

“It felt wrong to me, too,” you said, “but only because I thought you hated me and it seemed pretty masochistic to pine over someone who wouldn’t give me the time of day.”

“Oh God,” he said. “I don’t hate you. Not at all. I feel like such an asshole.”

Hearing him swear was too much for you and you started laughing but you got yourself under control. He was finally warming up to you and you didn’t want to embarrass him.

“I’m sorry,” you said, “I’ve just never heard you curse before.”

He smiled. “I guess I must come off as kind of a tight-ass, huh?”

His choice of words made you think about how tight his ass always looked in those pants, and all the times you’d wondered what it would feel like to grab it.

“Just a little,” you said, a smile playing at the corner of your mouth.

“I’m not,” he said. “You just do something to me.” He suddenly got flustered again and straightened his glasses, though they weren’t crooked to begin with. “But I can’t… we can’t… it’s wrong.”

“What’s so wrong about it?” you asked. “I’m no schoolgirl. I’m almost thirty for Christ’s sake.”

“You’re almost what now?” He looked at you with his eyes wide and his brow crinkled above the rims of his glasses. He looked like you’d slapped him across the face.

“I’m twenty-nine,” you said. “How old did you think I was?”

“Uh… not twenty-nine. You look… young. Really young.”

“Well, I’m not,” you said. “You feel better now?”

You hoped to God he did because you couldn’t stop staring at his arms and his hands and his lips and you wanted to feel them all over you. The way he was looking at you now wasn’t helping either. It was like, having disclosed your age, you’d given him permission to pore over every inch of your body.

“You’re still my student,” he said, though the way he said it made you think he didn’t particularly care.

“Only for another week,” you said, and you smiled.

You knew you’d have to make the first move, but the look in his eyes told you he wouldn’t fight you. You uncrossed your legs and stood up, and he followed your every move with parted lips. You could see his chest rising and falling as you circled around his desk. You were next to him now, hovering over him, and he looked up at you with his eyes blown wide behind his glasses. You grabbed the end of his tie and started fiddling with it and he closed his eyes.

“This is wrong,” he whispered, but it wasn’t convincing to you or himself—you knew he wanted it; you could see it in his flushed cheeks and the growing swell in his khakis.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” you said, giving his tie a little tug that had him clenching his hands into fists on his thighs.

He opened his eyes and looked up at you for a second before standing and pulling you into him.

“Fuck it,” he said, and he kissed you deep.

The instant his lips touched yours, your whole body started to tingle. His kisses were hungry and you let him take as much of you as he wanted: your lips, your mouth, the tip of your tongue—all of it was his to do with as he pleased. You had unleashed something in him, something powerful that had lain dormant for far too long, and you could feel it in the way his strong hands roamed your body, finding a spot they liked and giving it a tight squeeze before moving on to explore every dip and curve of your ass and your back and your neck. You buried your hands in his hair and pulled a bit, loosing a moan from him that soaked your panties straight through. He walked you backward until you’d reached the bookshelf and pressed you gently against it, and the musty smell of old books mixed with his cologne and natural musk made you dizzy with need.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” he whispered. “Since the very first time you spoke in class. You were like some sort of angel. I couldn’t look at you while you were talking. I tried, but I couldn’t. I still remember what you said, though.”

You smiled and pulled him close to you by his tie.

“I’m no angel,” you said, “and I was probably just trying to impress you.”

“No,” he said, “you weren’t. You were just talking and I could tell from just one sentence how bright you are, and how passionate. Always so passionate about everything.”

“You like passionate?” you asked, and he nodded, so you leaned in slow and kissed him.

You lost yourselves in each other for a while as your mouths melded together in perfect harmony. His hands were on your hair and you had your arms wrapped around his back, holding him close to you. It wasn’t a lustful kiss like before; it was different—better. All his reservations were gone: he just wanted you, and you wanted him, and nothing else mattered. Nothing, that is, except getting caught. He pulled away.

“Shit,” he said, scrambling towards the door and locking it. “That would have been bad.”

He closed the blinds, too, and now you were perfectly alone. He’d spent so long avoiding any sort of private moment with you, but it brought a smile to his face now, to have you all to himself and to know that you wanted what he wanted. He stood by the window and loosened his tie roughly, just enough to get it up over his head, and tossed it aside like trash. He couldn’t take his eyes off you now, the months of avoiding your gaze culminating in an almost animal need for you. His thick fingers deftly worked open the buttons of his shirt and you watched as each new bit of skin was revealed—the patch of chest hair you would have never known was there, the slightly sculpted abdomen, and the line of hair from his navel down into his pants. You couldn’t wait to see where it ended. When the shirt was fully unbuttoned he crossed the room to you with a bit of swagger you’d never seen before. He was sure of himself now, and you liked that. You slid your hands up his chest and over his shoulders, sliding the fabric down until it fell in a heap behind him. He wore only his glasses from the waist up, and you had no intention of letting him take those off.

He kissed you again as he brought his hands to your waist and started tugging your shirt up out of your skirt. When it was free he pushed your arms up over your head and removed it in one swift motion. You closed your eyes as you felt his hot hungry kisses on your neck down to your collarbone and across, and when he pulled the cups of your bra down you moaned before he even made contact. His hands moved down and cupped your ass as he took one hardened nipple in his mouth, and when he moaned against your flesh you gripped the bookshelf above you to keep yourself upright. You were writhing at his touch, you wanted more of him, and he knew it. He brought his mouth up to yours and kissed you as he hiked up your skirt and ran his hand across your panties, drenched with need for him. You felt him smile against your lips.

“So wrong,” he said. His voice was low and husky in a way you’d only dreamed about. “So so wrong”

He pushed the fabric aside and made a little mmph sound as he felt your slick on his fingers. You clutched the shelf and arched your back as you felt him slide a finger inside you, testing you, before adding another. You looked at him and you knew your desire was written all over your face, as his was, and you brought one leg up and wrapped it around him, pulling him tight to you and pushing his fingers deep. He crooked them inside you, finding your special spot without much trouble and working it in small hard circles. Your breathing quickened and he watched you respond to him, and he was responding to you, too. You could feel his cock straining against his pants, big and thick and threatening to burst through the fabric. You wanted to feel him inside you. You’d both waited long enough. You pressed your forehead to his.

“Do you want me?” you asked.

“You know I do,” he replied.

“Then take me,” you said. “Please. Now.”

“Here?” he asked.

“Anywhere you want,” you said. “Tell me where you want me.”

“Chair,” he said without missing a beat.

The look in his eyes told you he’d thought about it before and it made your cunt throb just thinking about him thinking of you in that way. He released you and you nearly collapsed but you managed to wobble your way over to his desk chair. You stood in front of him, your skirt bunched up around your waist as he took your panties down, and you unzipped the skirt and stepped out of it before dropping to your knees, frantically unbuckling his belt and pushing his pants down over his ass to the floor. He kicked his shoes off and freed himself of everything, falling back into the leather chair, naked but for his glasses. His cock had felt huge before his pants came off, but now that you got a look at it—thick and veiny like his arms now completely bare in front of you—you weren’t even sure it would fit. You were sure as hell gonna try, though.

You wanted to take him into your mouth and suck him dry—something you’d thought about on more than one occasion—because you wanted him and he wanted you and in your mind it was now or never. When you dropped to your knees in front of him, he grabbed you by the shoulders and shook his head.

“Need to be inside you,” he said, “please.”

He reached for your face and you rose up to meet him, climbing astride him as he took your lower lip between his teeth. He nipped at it gently before kissing you, his other hand cupping your ass as you reached down and positioned him right where he needed to be.

You slid down his considerable length slowly, savoring the burn as he stretched you almost to your limit, and you both moaned in unison as he filled you. His breath caught in his chest when he was nestled deep inside of you, and you stayed there for a while, not moving, reveling in the feel of him so deep it stole the breath from your lungs as he wrapped his strong arms around your back and clutched you tightly to his chest. You buried your hands in his hair and pulled his head back, staring through the lenses of his glasses straight into his eyes. You needed to know he wanted this as badly as you did, that it felt as right to him now as it had felt wrong to him before. The look he gave you told you everything, and you started to move—slowly at first, watching him watching you. He looked at you like he could barely believe you were real, and the way he was touching you was so delicate, like you were some sort of fragile work of art he thought he might break. But you weren’t delicate, and you wouldn’t break, and you let him know it as you started to move faster and harder on top of him.

He gripped you tightly, the tendons in his arms straining as he grabbed your hips and held you in place. You let him take over, grabbing fistfuls of his hair as he thrust up into you. He was breathing hot and heavy, his head buried in the crook between your neck and your shoulder, and when he looked up at you his glasses had fogged up a bit. You smiled down at him and took them off, much as you didn’t want to see them go. He looked different without them, younger but still distinguished, and when you moved to place them out of harm’s way he stopped you.

“No,” he said. “I need to see you.”

He snatched the glasses from your hand and wiped the lenses clean with his thumbs before putting them back on and drinking in the sight of you bouncing on top of him.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he said, and you laughed because the sound of him cursing still amused you.

“Something funny?” he asked.

He was still pounding away at you, a slight smirk playing at his lips and a devilish glint in his eye. You wanted to tell him but he was screwing the words straight out of your head. You managed to get something out, breathless as you were.

“Say it again,” you said.

“What?” he asked. “Fuck?”

You nodded vigorously as he slammed into you.

“You like it when I say fuck?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You like the way I fuck you?”

“God, yes.”

“You want me to fuck you harder?”

He didn’t wait for you to respond, just gripped your shoulders and gave you everything he had. You brought your head down to his shoulder to muffle the sounds of pleasure each thrust brought out of you and before too long you felt your toes curl and your climax start to rise. You rolled your hips, your clit aching for contact, and you felt the hairs at the end of his treasure trail tickle at you as you increased your pace. You wanted to cry out but you knew you had to keep quiet so you bit your lip and dug your fingers into his shoulders. He could feel you were close and he brought one hand up and placed it gently over your mouth. He looked at you with those blue eyes blown wide and whispered.

“Come for me, angel.”

And you did—hard and silent with his palm pressed against your lips. He let out a low moan as he felt you pulse around him and you knew it wouldn’t be long before his time came. He let you finish before he took his hand away and kissed you, rocking you back and forth on top of him as he fisted your hair. He pulled out of the kiss and you looked at him quizzically but before you could ask what he had on his mind he was up out of the chair, holding you aloft and walking you toward the desk. You reached back and swept aside anything in your way before he sat you down. You wrapped your legs around his thighs and smiled up at him as you took two meaty handfuls of ass and pulled him into you. He brought a long finger to your chin and tilted your head back, placing a chaste kiss on your lips before he let himself go again.

He was some strange combination of tender and rough, and you didn’t quite know how he did it but it didn’t matter. He dug his hands between you and the desk, gripping your ass tight as he snapped his hips over and over again. When he pushed you onto your back he ran his big hands up and down your body, settling on your breasts and gripping them with just the right amount of pressure. You placed your hands on top of his and looked up at him. He was blowing air through puffed-out lips with each thrust, his glasses crooked, and it was the sexiest thing you’d ever seen and you felt yourself start to lose it again. You spread your legs as wide as you could and he leaned over you, his arms on either side of you bearing his weight, and whispered in your ear.

“Again? Already?”

You nodded vigorously, unable to form words, and he chuckled low as you started to come in slow waves around him, your hands gripping his biceps and your legs wrapped around his lower back. This time he couldn’t muffle your moans but you kept them low and breathy even though he felt so good you wanted to scream. He watched you come undone again, licking his lips at the sight of you completely unglued beneath him. It was almost enough, and as you arched your back and gripped him tight you moaned his name—his first name, the one you’d never used except on those late nights you thought about him when you made yourself cum over and over again.

“Oh God, Bucky. Fuck me. Fill me up,” you whispered, and he lost it.

He came gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw, eyes squeezed tight and trying his best not to let out the animal sounds he had within him. He seized on top of you—once, twice, three times—as he pumped his spend deep into you, then he fell forward, spent, in a warm heap against your chest. You held him there for a moment, listening to his heart beat and yours with it, feeling his cum spill out around his softening cock and mixing with your own, and when he could move he propped himself up on his elbows, removing his glasses for a moment and wiping the sweat from his brow before putting them back on. You smiled at him and played with an errant piece of hair that had fallen across his forehead. He leaned down and kissed you gently, lingering against your lips for a moment—like he didn’t want to tear himself away from you, like if he turned around you might disappear as if it was all just a dream.

But it wasn’t a dream. It was real, and when you were both dressed and put together you sat across his lap in his chair, one arm draped around his neck and the other toying with the chest hair that poked out from the shirt he’d barely buttoned.

“So, did I pass?” you asked, and he laughed and shook his head.

“A+,” he said, “as usual.” He turned his head and kissed you softly. “And I believe I owe you a dinner at my place.”

You smiled. “Should I bring anything?”

“Just bring that big, sexy brain of yours,” he said. “I’ll cover the rest.”

“Come on,” you said. “I don’t like showing up empty-handed. How about dessert?”

He smiled up at you and straightened his glasses. “You are dessert.”

[sundayswiththeilluminati]

I LOVE your meta on how essek was the perfect asset and want to ask the follow-up question in your tags: how do you think it went down? The agreement between Essek and the Assembly? And I think the fandom was convinced Essek would be disposed of after the peace talks — how do you see his future if there was no intervention by the Mighty Nein in 97?

ruvi-muffin asked:

What are your specific thoughts abt how ludinus recruited essek??👀👀 oh Person who knows a surprising amount of spy stuff 🙏🙏🙏👀👀👀

Anonymous asked:

PLEASE share your specific thoughts about how Essek was recruited, I'm so intrigued!

Anonymous asked:

Hello yes i am very interested in these very specific thoughts about how Essek got recruited? All these things about how actual intelligence works/uses their assets/how that ties to Essek and the M9 is really interesting :D

Thank you all so much for asking me the specific question I wanted someone to ask. I had to write and rewrite this post a half-dozen times because I kept going off on tangents about other Cold War spy stories so trust me there’s plenty more where this came from.

For reference, my original post on what made Essek an ideal recruitment target and why the M9 were the ideal counter to it.

First off, this is all based on real-world intelligence ops and is only as relevant to the campaign as Matt Mercer cares to make it. Having said that *slams notebook on table* BUCKLE UP, KIDDOS.

There are two ways Essek may have been recruited: he approached the Assembly or the Assembly approached him. I think the Assembly approached him. Not to be too hard on the guy, but Essek said it himself: he’s kind of a coward. I can’t see him mustering up the nerve to take that first step. Plus his espionage seems to have focused specifically on the beacons rather than dunamancy as a whole; that sounds like the Assembly to me. The beacons specifically offer the prospect of immortality and the Cerberus mages are arrogant enough to assume they can figure out dunamancy themselves if they have a beacon in hand. There’s no way the Assembly haven’t been trying to beg, borrow, or steal those beacons for centuries. Essek may not have even been their first try - just the first that worked. 

Chronologically, Essek would have popped up on either the Assembly or the Augen Trust’s radar quite early as I assume they keep tabs on all powerful Dynasty mages. As they followed his career, the Assembly would have ID’d Essek as a perfect target for recruitment as a spy, and then further for ego-based recruitment. Recruitment for espionage is a slow process - even slower in a fantasy world where some races reasonably expect to live 500+ years. Many intelligence agencies will do a sort of light meet-and-greet just to start a file on various people who might years later be of interest. The Assembly would have cultivated Essek as an intelligence asset with the same degree of time and care - and using some of the same methods - that Trent used to turn the Blumenthal trio into assassins. 

If they followed a modern playbook, they would have made contact with Essek anywhere from 2 to 10 years before the theft - nothing underhanded. A Cerberus mage approaches him at a negotiation or conference and strikes up a conversation. Then it’s increasing “chance” encounters to get Essek familiar with the handler, play the “we’re both mages, really we’re on the same side” angle to earn enough sympathy & trust to start talking regularly. Once the channel’s open, the handler and asset meet and/or talk routinely while the handler assesses the target’s motives, weaknesses, and the possibility that they’re a double agent. 

Espionage proper then starts with small favors, acts Essek can rationalize as victimless or even helpful to the Dynasty. In this stage the handler is getting the asset comfortable with engaging in espionage. They reward the asset for what feels like minimal moral trespass. For Essek that would have been praising his research, encouraging avenues of investigation they knew the Dynasty had shut down. Having meetings with Ludinus plays right into the ego trip - the Head of the Assembly himself is taking the time to meet with him! The Assembly gets how important this work is! That keeps Essek isolated from Dynasty members who might convince him to take a step back and builds loyalty to the Assembly over the Dynasty.

Once an asset settles in, espionage becomes easier. Routines get established. Moral hurdles have been overcome. Now the asks get bigger and the rewards get sparser. The handler will suggest larger acts just to get the asset thinking about them, since the more they consider “just hypothetically” how to pull it off, the more likely it is they’ll do it. This is where the idea of stealing the beacons would get introduced (though of course it’s been the goal all along.) I’ll bet the Assembly hinted at all the study that could be done if they could just get to the beacons in person, constantly bemoaning the lack of access. By now Essek sees the Assembly as colleagues in arcane pursuits, kindred minds, unlike the boring, stuffy old mages of the Dynasty. Of course he could outwit the Dynasty’s security and get the beacons to the Assembly - he’s a prodigy, a genius, everyone says so. And it’s not like he was stealing all of them. The consecuted would be fine. Everyone would be fine.

None of this is intended to absolve Essek of personal responsibility. But it provides a context for his actions, and for why he might regret them so much even though he apparently did them willingly. Asset handlers are very, very good at drawing someone willing to commit minor transgressions into far greater crimes. Look at how Trent shaped Caleb, Astrid, and Eadwulf. He didn’t order them to execute their own parents on day one. He spent years coaxing, tempting, and coercing them into darker and darker crimes, letting them rationalize their own actions at each step, preying on the same vulnerabilities as Essek: isolation (separating the three from other students, telling them their work was secret), ambition (the promise of great arcane power, of shaping the Empire’s destiny), and ego (”we were going to keep the empire safe,” telling them they were gifted, they were chosen).

So how do IRL spies rationalize their actions? Those who spy for reasons of conscience or ideology have done the rationalizing ahead of time, but everyone else has to get there somehow. Some who spy for revenge tell themselves it’s what their superiors deserve, while others tell themselves everyone’s doing it. Some just need a lie to get started (most commonly about who they’re spying for), while others have to keep up the charade all along. Let’s look at a few cases similar to Essek’s that demonstrate just how slippery the slope can be.

Aldrich Ames, a long-term CIA officer slash double agent for the KGB, got suckered in by thinking he could control the situation and wasn’t really hurting anyone. Ames had chronic financial trouble related to excessive drinking & his wife’s lavish lifestyle and in 1985 came up with a plan: he would essentially con the KGB by selling them a minor amount of classified info that he deemed “virtually worthless.” In April he set up the exchange and the KGB paid him $50,000, enough to satisfy his immediate debts. But after actually doing it Ames said he felt he’d now crossed a line he couldn’t step back from, and continued to sell information to the Soviets. By the time he was caught he had, by his own admission, compromised “virtually all Soviet agents of the CIA.”

While some assets just need a lie to get started, others require a delicate dance of self-delusion. Col. George Trofimoff was an Army officer who ran the center where would-be Soviet defectors were assessed & questioned. Trofimoff, a Russian émigré at a young age, was chronically in debt. In 1969 he renewed his acquaintance with his stepbrother back in Russia, now a bishop in the Russian Orthodox Church, and began to pass secrets in return for money - but he and his stepbrother never framed the transactions as such. Trofimoff described their meetings as, “very informal. ... First, it was just a conversation between the two of us. He would ask my opinion on this and that--then, he would maybe ask me, 'Well, what does your unit think about it?' Or, 'What does the American government think about it?’” His compensation was similarly informal: “I said I needed money. ... And he says, 'I tell you what, I'll loan it to you.' So he gave me, I think, 5,000 marks and then, it wasn't enough, because I needed more. ... Then he says, 'Well, you know, I'll tell you what. You don't owe me any money. And if you need some more, I can give you some more. Don't worry about it. You're going to have to have a few things, this and that.' And this is how it started.” Trofimoff could pretend to himself that he wasn’t really spying - just having a chat with his stepbrother - and wasn’t really getting paid for it - just borrowing a little money.

This got longer than I intended it to be and there’s still plenty to talk about, so I’ll save the rest for a second post. Next time: what happens long-term to espionage assets? And what happens if an asset regrets their actions and/or attempts to cut off contact with their handlers?

(This accidentally turned into a series on Essek & IRL espionage: Parts 1, 2, 3, 4)

[sesamestreep]

Merrick/Raphael for 27, "pulling the other one towards them"

modern (professors???) AU, babyyy!! also on AO3 with some silly bonus content i didn't feel like formatting here 🙃

“What about that new girl in your department?” Minna asks. “Grace…something?”

“Grace Carrow?” Merrick offers dubiously. When Minna nods emphatically, he adds, “Grace Carrow isn’t in my department. She’s physics, I’m bio.”

“Oh, whatever,” Minna says. “It’s all science, isn’t it?”

“So is archeology, for that matter, but you’d never say she’s in your department.”

Minna turns to Clem, who’s been blessedly silent during this whole conversation. “Well, someone’s in a mood.”

“Em is just put out because Grace is younger than Mori’s boy, and we all agreed Mori’s boy is a bit young for him,” Clem replies, looking ambivalent.

“Which makes Grace far too young for me,” Merrick adds.

“I thought we agreed not to call Thaniel a boy anymore,” Minna says, distractedly.

“Did we?” Clem asks, interested now. “How magnanimous of us.”

“Besides,” Merrick interrupts, before this gets too far away from them, “Grace Carrow is engaged.”

“She is?”

“She wears a ring.”

“Oh, that could mean anything. It could be her mother’s, for all you know!”

“It doesn’t matter, really,” Merrick says. “She’s too young for me. And I’m not interested in her.”

“That’s very much the problem, dear. You’re not interested in anyone, and yet you complain about being a third wheel. I’m just trying to help.”

Merrick sighs and sinks further into the overstuffed armchair in Clem and Minna’s living room. The staff mixer for the end of the semester is always a source of stress. It’s important to go and be seen by the head of your department and any other higher ups who chose to attend, not only to come off as a team player who showed up to social events but also to appear calm and prepared, like someone who definitely has all their finals graded already and is looking forward to winter break like a professional and not like a desperate shell of a human.

As long as Merrick’s been at the university, he’s never had a date to bring for this party, and while that’s certainly not a requirement, there does always come a point in the evening where all the couples have clustered together to have actual intelligent conversation while the single faculty members are left to commiserate over the slog to get to the end of the semester and pair off unenthusiastically, if possible. It is not a pretty sight. He recently made the mistake of complaining about this in front of Minna, who has now taken it upon herself to pair him off with any faculty member she happens to know is single. And she knows everyone.

“I wasn’t really complaining,” he says, to head her off at the pass. “Just thinking out loud about how annoying these events are for the singles among us.”

“Besides,” Clem says, reaching over to fill his wife’s wine glass, “if Em’s that desperate for a date, he can just grow a pair and finally ask Raphael.”

Minna perks up immediately, reminding him, both amusingly and terrifyingly, of a hunting dog who’s caught the scent of its quarry. “Raphael?” she asks, with a look that tells Merrick his goose is officially cooked.

Clem, to his credit, looks sheepish. “Ah, I take it Minna didn’t know about the Raphael situation.”

“Well, she does now,” Merrick says, draining his own glass and holding it out pointedly for a refill.

“She certainly does not,” Minna exclaims. “What is the Raphael situation?”

“It’s nothing. Really.”

Minna gives him an unimpressed look that could puncture a lung on a lesser man, and then swivels to look at Clem. “Markham,” she say, firmly, “you know there are no secrets in a healthy marriage.”

“That’s not fair!” Merrick shouts, but it’s a lost cause.

Clem wavers immediately under his wife’s gaze. “Merrick attended that lecture Raphael gave last month at the opening of the Inca exhibit at the museum, and they chatted briefly afterwards, and he hasn’t shut up about him since,” he admits in a rush.

“That’s not totally accurate,” Merrick hedges.

“He also had a dream about him.”

“Clem—!”

“WHAT?!” Minna shrieks at the same time. Merrick debates pointing out that they have a sleeping baby upstairs to worry about, but decides against it. “I cannot believe you kept this from me. I’m way better with this kind of thing than Markham here is and you know that.”

Merrick rolls his eyes. “You two met when you were twelve and have never been with anyone else. Neither of you are an expert on dating.”

“Fine. Just for that, I demand you tell me about this dream of yours.”

“Absolutely not!”

Minna turns in her seat. “Markham—”

“Christ, Minna! It was nothing,” Merrick says, feeling his face warm with a blush that immediately contradicts him. “I just had a dream that he and I were hanging out again and then…it’s stupid.”

“Oh, dear. You don’t have to be embarrassed. We’re all adults here. Sex is nothing the be ashamed of!”

Merrick makes a useless gesture with his hands that he hopes conveys his frustration. “That’s the stupid part! It wasn’t about sex at all! In the dream, all Raphael did was hug me goodbye before he left and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. It’s ridiculous!”

Minna and Clem exchange a look at that, which is not precisely reassuring. When Minna’s gaze returns to him, she reaches out to take his hand across the coffee table. “Darling, I think you’ve been single a little too long,” she says, not unkindly.

Merrick laughs, shakily. “No kidding.”

“Do we need to hug you more?” she asks, and she is, unfortunately, serious. “Are we failing you as friends? Are you completely touch starved?”

“Okay, I’m going to walk into traffic now…”

“Em is fine, Minna,” Clem says, placing his hand firmly on Merrick’s shoulder, so they’re all connected in a tiny triangle. “He just needs to buck up and make a move.”

“Again, you’ve been in a relationship since before you hit puberty,” Merrick says. “I’m not taking notes from you on this. Besides, I can’t believe you’re encouraging me to date Raphael. I thought you two were rivals.”

“Yes, well, I’m an exceptionally generous friend like that,” Clem replies with a smile. “And there’s every possibility that if Raphael were to get laid, he might argue with me less during department meetings, which would suit me just fine.”

“You have enormous faith in my sexual prowess, Clem, if you think I can do anything that might make Raphael despise you less.”

Clem raises his wine glass in a mock toast. “You’re like my own personal Mata Hari, Em. The anthropology department thanks you for your service.”

“I don’t even know if he’s single,” Merrick says, ignoring him. “Or if he likes men. Or me, for that matter.”

“Ah, but these are things we can find out,” Minna says, with a mischievous smile.

Merrick recognizes an uphill battle when he sees one, and resigns himself to Minna’s machinations, whatever they turn out to be, with a very large sip of wine. 

*

Grace Carrow, it turns out, is very fun to hang out with at faculty mixers because she’s as unhappy to be there as he is. They spend most of the evening being cranky bastards together at a mostly empty table, and he’s honestly kind of disappointed she turned out to be so cool. She is engaged, though, a fact that he confirms when she abandons him fairly early on in the evening by announcing her intention to meet up with her boyfriend, who’s working on a PhD in Japanese poetry at a university across town, for a late dinner.

“Boyfriend?” Merrick asks, keeping his tone light enough that she won’t mistake his curiosity for romantic interest. “I assumed you were engaged, what with the ring and all.”

“Oh,” Grace says, looking embarrassed. “Yes, I suppose I’m going to meet my fiancé. It’s recent so I just can’t get used to saying it. I never could with Thaniel either.”

“Thaniel?”

“Steepleton. I thought you two knew each other.”

“We do. I wasn’t aware you did.”

Grace waves a hand. “We were engaged very briefly a few years back, before he and Mori…well, you know. It’s a very long story for what was ultimately a very short relationship, and I’d rather not talk out of school, you understand.”

“Of course,” Merrick says, magnanimously, but he’s already looking forward to sharing this bit of gossip with Clem and Minna. Every small piece of information they can gather about Mori’s life is a boon, given how private Mori is with the details now that he’s happily in a relationship. “Have a good night.”

Grace waves again, this time as a goodbye, and heads for the doors. No sooner has she disappeared from the room than Merrick feels someone sit down heavily in the chair Grace recently vacated.

“Dr. Tremayne,” Raphael says, by way of greeting.

“Professor Santos,” he replies, turning to face him, “at what point in our relationship do you think you’d be open to using my first name?”

Raphael’s expression gives away that he has to, with some effort, bite back a sarcastic retort before it mellows out into something genial and vague. “My apologies, Merrick,” he finally says.

“Much better,” Merrick says. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far. Your first name isn’t that fun to say.”

Merrick feels himself blush. Stupidstupidstupid. “I meant, at the party.”

“Oh, of course,” Raphael says, not looking the slightest bit chagrined. There’s amusement lurking around the corners of his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to be indulging it at all. “Truthfully, I’ve always found these end-of-semester affairs to be a bit of a slog.”

“Really?”

“Don’t tell Dr. Wellesley,” he says, tipping his head in the direction of the tall woman who’s deep in conversation with Clem and Minna on the other side of the room. She’s the head of the anthropology department and thus Raphael’s boss.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Merrick says. “Besides, I feel the same way.”

“So, if my secret gets out, I’ll go straight to the head of your department as revenge.”

Merrick snorts, thinking about how Sing left this party after five minutes and wouldn’t care at all to hear anyone disparage it. His boss would probably agree with the sentiment. He doesn’t say that, though, because he has the distinct feeling Raphael is flirting with him and he doesn’t want that to stop anytime soon.

“Mutually assured destruction,” he replies, instead. “What a lovely idea.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

There’s a lull in their conversation, which allows Raphael to look around the room and Merrick to panic about what to say next to keep this possible flirtation going.

“Are you finished with your grading for the term?” He finally asks, after many moments of deliberation, and he really could die of embarrassment. That’s apparently the best he can do for flirting.

Raphael seems to find this offering pitiable too, if the ways he raises his eyebrow inquisitively is any indication. “Yes, I finished grading the last essay this afternoon, as a matter of fact,” he answers, clearly trying to put Merrick out of his misery.

“Lucky bastard,” he grumbles under his breath, and Raphael surprises him by laughing. Merrick always finds an odd sort of pride in getting Raphael to smile or laugh, given his no-nonsense, straightforward demeanor. He thinks it’s a reputation he courts, being seen as serious and unapproachable, but he also knows that his classes have waitlists every semester and his grad students are utterly devoted to him. The only professor more popular in his department is Clem, but Merrick chalks that up to Clem being more widely published and outwardly jovial. Once the students see what a brutal grader Clem can be, he loses some of his shine to them. Raphael, on the other hand, seems to only grow in popularity with his students as the semester goes on, so he can’t be a complete tyrant in his classes.

Still, it’s the rarity of his smiles that endeared him to Merrick in the first place. It’s hard to say now, when he’s felt it for so long, when exactly this stupid crush started, but it certainly wasn’t from the beginning. It takes a while for Raphael to really open up and be himself, for all he is notoriously blunt with everyone at all times, and his sense of humor does require some getting used to, in all honesty. That only made it more rewarding for Merrick, though, to realize that Raphael was cracking jokes with him and seeking him out at faculty functions.

And then there was that damned opening for the new Inca exhibit at the museum. Merrick had gone out of general interest—he comes from a long line of academics, though everyone in his family chose disparate fields of study, and some of them had spent considerable amounts of time in South America, which meant he learned a lot about the Inca as a small child—but also because he and Raphael are friends in a vague way and he wanted to hear his remarks for the opening. He’d heard Clem complain enough about how popular Raphael’s classes were getting that he’d been curious to see him in action. 

He hadn’t been disappointed. Raphael is an engaging speaker, without trying too hard to be entertaining or relatable. He has a way of presenting even the driest information so that it feels vital and interesting, but he doesn’t speak down to anyone. He assumes his audience is intelligent and interested, and by some weird transitive property, that’s what they become. It had only been a short speech about the subject and the importance of the exhibit, but Merrick had fully understood the fuss surrounding his classes. Even if he hadn’t gone into that situation with a small crush on him, he probably would have left with one. Now, though, it’s anything but small. His crush on Raphael is raging out of control.

“I’m guessing that means you’re not finished yet?” Raphael asks, somehow still maintaining that insouciant flirtatiousness despite Merrick’s unsexy topic of choice.

“No,” he says, flustered in spite of his best efforts. “Not even close.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage. You’ve got, what, 24 hours until they’re due?”

Merrick checks his watch, the one Mori gave him for his birthday a few years ago. “A little more than that, but yes.”

“You’ll be fine. You teach botany, right? Isn’t their final exam just, like, growing a seed in a paper cup? How long could those take to grade?”

“I think you’re confusing my undergrads with third graders,” Merrick replies, drily. Still, he can’t help the smile that’s taking over his face, which ruins the effect a little.

“My mistake,” Raphael says, smiling back, unrepentant. There’s another brief pause where they sit in comfortable silence before he suddenly asks, “Markham says you might need a ride?”

Merrick stares back at him blankly for an embarrassing amount of time before he can form any sort of response. “Markham says—wait, which Markham? Minna?”

“Yes, I only know one Dr. Markham here.”

“That is objectively untrue.”

“No, it’s not. Dr. Markham’s husband also has a doctorate, but given how terrible his syllabus always is, I refuse to believe his degree is from an accredited university,” Raphael says, sincerely. 

Merrick rolls his eyes. “Regardless,” he says, “this is another instance where using someone’s first name would be both helpful and appropriate.”

“Two things I always strive to be,” Raphael quips. “The one and only Dr. Minna Markham suggested you might need a ride home tonight.”

“She did? Why?”

“I foolishly assumed it was because you actually needed one,” he says, with a nonchalant shrug. “All she said to me was something about you probably wanting to leave earlier than her and her husband would, and that they’d been your ride to the party, so she felt like she needed to help get you home in one piece. I didn’t realize I would know more about this than you would.”

Merrick looks over to where Minna is now standing with Clem and several other professors he doesn’t know well, and she’s watching him and Raphael with her wine glass held up to her lips. She offers him a small smile—not overly gloating, just vaguely pleased—and makes a point of returning her gaze to her conversation partners—in a bid to give him some privacy, he supposes. 

“Now that you mention it, she did say they might be staying late,” Merrick says, not entirely certain he’s even slightly convincing at it.

“Well, I told her I’d be happy to give you a lift.”

“Oh, well, you don’t have to, just because Minna twisted your arm—”

“Christ, Merrick! It’s a ride home, not a kidney,” Raphael says, but he looks amused. Maybe even charmed, though that could just be wishful thinking. “I am leaving now, though, so if you’d rather stay—”

“God, no,” Merrick immediately interjects. “I’d like to leave as soon as possible.”

Raphael smiles again, that stupid, rare smile of his, and nods. “I assume you’ll want to say goodbye to the Markhams, and I need to talk to my boss before I leave, so let’s meet by the doors in five minutes.”

“Alright,” Merrick replies, trying to sound like leaving this party with Raphael isn’t making him incredibly nervous. He reaches for his cane, propped up against the table next to him, with sweaty palms and prays that his crush isn’t obvious to literally everyone.

He makes his way over to where Minna and Clem are standing and tries to capture their attention without completely interrupting the conversation. Minna catches his eye and turns towards him with arms already outstretched.

“How’d we do?” she asks, sotto voce, which saves him only a little embarrassment.

“Well, he’s driving me home, so I’m thinking maybe spring for the wedding,” he replies, with an eye roll.

Minna whacked his shoulder with the back of her hand. “Don’t be absurd, Em! You’d never be able to plan a proper wedding by spring! Summer, though…”

He’s spared from having to come up with a clever retort by a sudden pain in his knee that makes him wince and lean more heavily on his cane. By the time he’s collected himself, he looks up to find Minna watching him with concern.

“Everything alright?”

Merrick waves it off. “Oh, it’s fine. Just hurts worse when the weather’s bad. You know.”

Minna nods. “It’s supposed to be particularly nasty tonight. You’ll be careful getting home?”

“I won’t be the one driving, but I’ll do my best not to distract Raphael too much with my good looks,” he says.

“Don’t joke about that! You know, you’re very handsome, Em.”

“What’s that?” Clem asks, choosing this moment to join the conversation. 

“I’m telling Merrick to stop being so damned self-deprecating and admit that he’s very handsome,” Minna replies, without shame. “Don’t you think he’s very handsome, Markham?”

“Oh, exceedingly,” Clem says, in that mild way of his where it’s impossible to tell if it’s sarcastic or not. “You’re not bad to look at at all, Em.”

Merrick is certain he’s blushing furiously now. “Thank you both so much for the pep talk, but unfortunately I must be going now,” he says.

Minna pulls him into a gentle hug, careful not to throw off his balance now that she knows his knee is bothering him. “Like I said, be careful,” she whispers to him.

“Yes, yes. I will be.”

“You don’t suppose Raphael would be willing to carry you to the car, on account of your leg and all, do you?”

Merrick groans and pulls back from her. “You’re a menace,” he says, blushing even more now.

“He’s just so strapping,” she says, with a diabolical look in her eye. “I bet he could do it.”

“Unfortunately, we’ll never know,” Merrick replies, breezily, and turns to hug Clem goodbye.

Clem embraces him, but has the audacity to say, before they break apart, “The entire anthropology department is rooting for you, my friend.”

“You are both terrible,” Merrick says, “and I cannot believe you’re my best friends in the entire world.”

“You’ll be much more appreciative of our efforts once you’ve gotten laid, my dear,” Minna replies, cheerfully, as she reaches out to fix his collar.

“We’re not—I didn’t say—That’s not what’s happening!”

“Keep an open mind, darling,” Clem says, toasting him before effectively ending the conversation by turning back to the other group of professors. 

“Safe travels,” Minna adds, “and we’ll see you for the holidays!”

Merrick sighs, defeated. “Yes, ma’am,” he replies, leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheeks before departing.

True to his word, Raphael is waiting for him by the exit when he gets there, and with nothing more than a nod in his direction, heads out of the room. Tonight is definitely not going to end in a win for the anthropology department, Merrick thinks, glumly, as he follows. Once they’ve crossed through the lobby of the building and out into the actual night, the force of the cold, damp air hits Merrick like a wall and he pauses to button his coat all the way up to his neck and readjust his grip on his cane. There are fat snowflakes the size of doilies falling through the air and landing uselessly on the ground where they melt almost immediately. Here on the main campus, the groundskeepers have salted the pathways generously, so it will be a long while before anything can accumulate. He imagines the roads will be just the same, for the moment at least, and he’s glad for multiple reasons to be escaping the party at this particular moment. Driving home any later would likely be a nightmare.

He’s thinking about texting Minna and Clem a weather update and is halfway through pulling out his phone, when he remembers that he’s not alone. Raphael stands a few feet away, waiting patiently and looking amused. It’s neither of those things that truly capture Merrick’s attention, though.

“Is that really what you’re wearing? In this weather?” he asks, instead, gawking at him.

Raphael looks down, as if he’s never considered his own clothing before. “What’s wrong with this?”

“It’s a suit.”

“We were at a party, Merrick. Suits are appropriate.”

Merrick shakes his head, disbelieving. “Usually, in the middle of snow storms, an actual jacket is helpful.”

“This is a jacket,” Raphael says, plucking at his lapels.

“It’s a suit ja—wait, are you honestly telling me you don’t have a coat? You didn’t just forget it inside?”

“This is what I wore to the party,” Raphael says, slowly, like maybe Merrick is the moron here.

“Aren’t you cold?!” Merrick asks, indignant and just barely holding himself back from stamping his feet to keep warm as the chill settles in.

“Not really,” Raphael replies, with a shrug. “You are, though, so maybe we should start walking.”

Merrick reluctantly lets this argument go, and nods. He’ll text Minna and Clem about the roads once they’re on their way, but he focuses now on getting to the parking garage without falling on his face. This part of campus is very pretty, especially in the snow, with its quintessential liberal arts college architecture, big, stone buildings with massive arched windows and cobblestone paths everywhere. But the very things that make it quaint and picturesque can make it harder to navigate with a cane, Merrick finds, as his gets stuck between two uneven cobblestones in the path they’re taking to the edge of campus, where Raphael is parked. He swears under his breath, but not enough to avoid Raphael hearing, apparently, because he looks over with concern.

“Alright?” He asks, eyebrows drawn together.

Merrick feels himself flush even in the bitter cold air. “Yes, fine,” he says, trying not to grit his teeth. He usually doesn’t struggle this much, but the cold and the dampness are making his leg ache and the unfamiliarity of the situation is making him nervous. 

Of course, the moment he waves off Raphael’s concern is also the moment he loses his balance. His foot simply slips out from under him on the wet stones and he starts to fall for a terrifying split second until he feels himself yanked back as Raphael pulls him upright by his elbow and into his side, though presumably that last part is an accident. Merrick is trying to catch his breath while keeping his eyes screwed shut to avoid facing the embarrassment of what just happened when he realizes Raphael is still holding him.

He opens his eyes to find Raphael watching him carefully, with an expression of mild terror across his features that Merrick suspects has less to do with fear over his near-fall and more to do with how close their faces are right now. Merrick is a little taller than Raphael under normal circumstances but in their current configuration—Merrick still slouched over slightly and Raphael keeping him close with one hand on his elbow and the other on his waist to steady him—they're eye-to-eye. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Raphael look nervous, although maybe he just always hides it better than Merrick does, but he certainly looks it now.

“Thanks,” is what Merrick manages to say, as faintly as humanly possible. If he’d been actively trying to do an impression of a cartoonish damsel in distress whose heart is racing more from the broadness of her rescuer’s chest than the danger she avoided, he couldn’t have done better. Then again, in his defense, Raphael does have an impressively broad chest.

“Sure,” Raphael says, and it was probably, given his general demeanor, meant to come out breezy and nonchalant, but instead he grits the word out stiffly, as though it takes all his concentration to say it correctly.

“I don’t—” Merrick struggles to find his words. “What I mean is, I’m not normally this…”

“I know,” Raphael answers, without waiting for him to finish. His look has been upgraded from nervous to petrified, and it almost makes Merrick want to laugh. It turns out all he needed to get calm, cool, detached Raphael off his game was to get within kissing distance of him. He wishes he’d thought of this months ago. 

Raphael’s eyebrows draw together even further, adding a layer of guardedness to his expression. “Why are you smiling?” he asks, without a hint of amusement.

Merrick hadn’t realized he was. “There’s snowflakes landing on your eyelashes,” he says, because there are and he’s never had the opportunity to view that particular feature of Raphael’s up close before.

“Oh,” Raphael says, blankly. He doesn’t look happy with that answer, but Merrick is.

From anyone else, it would be a letdown, a mixed signal to worry over later when he’s home by himself. But for whatever reason, coming from Raphael, it is a clear sign that he’s doing something right. Nobody flusters Raphael. He might be the first in human history to manage it. All this time he’s been waiting for Raphael to catch on to his crush and make a move or reject him accordingly. It had never occurred to him that maybe Raphael had maybe been doing the same thing, circling around him, seeking him out at staff meetings and work parties, and hoping he’d be the brave one. He took Raphael’s confidence and self-assured demeanor in his professional life for granted as his de facto personality in every part of his life, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he’d found the thing that intimidated the otherwise unflappable anthropology professor that everyone admired. And it was him, of all things.

“It’s cute,” Merrick says, meaning the snowflakes and the eyelashes and the swooping in to save him and the fact that he’s nervous about it all now.

Raphael nods, the gesture both absent and enthralled, and clearly tries to think of something to say, but he gets distracted when Merrick wets his lips, which is all the encouragement Merrick needs to lean forward and kiss him. Raphael’s mouth is stiff under his for a long moment, which Merrick attributes more to surprise than disgust and vows to give it a few more seconds before he panics and backtracks. Raphael doesn’t so much burst into reciprocation—the way people do in the movies, like a switch from shock to passion has been flipped—so much as he melts into it. His disbelief and restraint mellows into something more yielding and he kisses Merrick back cautiously. He allows himself to be kissed, following Merrick’s lead and inclination, which on paper shouldn’t be sexy and yet, here and now, it is driving Merrick a little bit wild. After months of thinking about it, the best way to go about pursuing him, Raphael’s submission to him here feels deliriously good. 

Merrick tests the waters by tracing Raphael’s lip with his tongue, and he’s rewarded with a small groan of pleasure before Raphael opens his mouth for him. He’s also rewarded with Raphael’s hand coming to tangle in his hair, wet from the snow that’s still falling and probably growing rattier by the second. He doesn’t want to deal with that reality right now, though, or the one where his leg is still bent at an awkward angle and starting to ache. He just wants to be able to ignore all that for another few minutes, to keep this going, because he can feel Raphael growing bolder by the second and he wants to encourage that way of thinking.

Eventually, though, he can’t help making a noise of protest as the pain in his knee goes from an ache to a stab. Raphael rears back immediately, looking dazed and alarmed, but thankfully not getting too far away. His warm breath clouds up the cool night air between their bodies.

“Sorry,” he says, more a reflex than anything else. 

“Why are you—?” Merrick laughs. “What are you apologizing for?”

“I don’t…know,” Raphael says, sounding lost. It’s both concerning and flattering in equal measure. 

Merrick shakes his head, amused. “It wasn’t you. It’s just my leg. With the weather being bad, it was already hurting and then I sort of landed on it weird. I’m sorry. It’s not normally—”

“Don’t apologize to me. Not for that. I should have thought—”

“It’s not a big deal. It’s just bad luck, with the snow and all. I promise I’m not always complaining about it, it’s just—”

“Merrick,” Raphael interrupts, solemnly, “I don’t care. I mean, I care, but not like…you don’t have to minimize it. You’re not turning me off. Am I—Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” he manages to reply, even though his throat feels kind of dry. He knows that he spends a lot of his time trying to wave off concern from well-meaning people who don’t understand how someone so young and healthy could need a cane, and diverting the attention of less well-meaning people who want to ask a thousand questions about how it happened or tell him exercises that helped their third cousin’s bridesmaid with their mobility after their accident. He finds it hard to believe that this could be the reason someone wouldn’t find him attractive at all, but he’d never actually realized before how much time he spends minimizing his complaints about bad days and the lack of accessibility on campus in order to not come off as a bummer—or, god forbid, high maintenance—to other people. He didn’t realize how nice it would be to have someone give him blanket permission to talk about it, or not, to his heart’s content without the risk of judgment.

“Minna suggested having you carry me,” he adds, stupidly, after a moment. He can’t think of anything intelligent to say, because his brain is too focused on getting back to the kissing part of the evening.

Raphael’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “She did?”

“She said you were strapping.”

“I suppose compared to her husband, anybody would seem—”

Merrick shoves his shoulder, though not particularly hard. It makes him feel like a teenager again. “Be nice,” he says, fighting off a grin. “She’s rooting for us.”

“Oh?” Raphael’s eyebrows climb higher, but his tone betrays some amusement.

Merrick shouldn’t have said that part, but it’s too late to backtrack now. “What?” He asks, indignant instead. “Did you think tonight was the first time I thought about kissing you?”

“I guess I hadn’t thought about it that deeply,” Raphael says, pensively. When Merrick laughs at that, he scowls. “My mind was, as you might expect, elsewhere.”

“Oh?” Merrick says, trying to match Raphael’s intonation. “Would you like to elaborate on where exactly your mind went?”

Raphael wets his lips, eyes on the ground. “When you kissed me, you mean?” he asks, without looking up.

“Yes.”

It had never occurred to Merrick before this that maybe Raphael wasn’t haughty or aloof, but rather that he was shy and cautious. He also thought his infatuation had been extraordinarily obvious, to everyone, yes, but to Raphael above all. Now, he’s thinking maybe it wasn’t. The idea he’d had in his head of Raphael as cool and unaffected, as the person holding all the cards in their interactions, might have been a fundamental misunderstanding of him, he now realizes. Because the man in front of him is nervous, is holding himself back out of an abundance of caution. The man in front of him has made it clear Merrick is, in fact, holding all of the cards. That doesn’t stop him, though, from making a move, as he lifts his gaze to meet Merrick’s again. 

He smiles, softly. “You still want me to take you home?”

[blackenedwhite97]

Coming Out [Poly! Erasermic x {Fem}Reader]

Hello! this was a requested fic from like before Christmas. I'M A MESS I KNOW I'M SORRY! I’ll be catching up at some point, I'm in my final sem at uni and have MAJOR senioritis. Me no do unless me have to. Instead, now I just spend my time staring at the existential abyss the threatens to swallow my ceiling and think about everything I'm procrastinating. But I digress...

Content Warning: This story is of a negative experience coming out as poly to your family, this deals with rejection from the reader's mother, father, and a grandparent. This story demonstrates Homophobia, xenophobia, traditionalist and conservative values and attitudes and may be triggering to some folks.

This story includes a Polyamorous relationship

Polyamory: the practice of engaging in multiple sexual relationships with the consent of all the people involved.

Word Count: 3.7 K (A baby story)

Y/N --- 4:06pm

Hey can my roomates come to dinner?

DAD --- 4:06

You mean the gays?

Y/M --- 4:08

Please don’t call them that. Neither of them are gay anyways, there’s more than just gay or straight.

DAD --- 4:10

Yeah whatever. Let your mom decide.

MOM --- 5:12

Sure, they can come.

Mom --- 5:23

Gma might be coming dinner tho. Maybe talk to them?

That conversation should have been enough of a warning for how the evening was going to transpire. At news of your grandmother attending dinner, you panicked and tried to back out of your plans. You had been growing steadily farther apart from your parents anyways, barely seeing them more that once a year if that. It’s not like they didn’t have their suspicions anyways, to them you were a single woman living in the big city sharing an apartment with two gay men. Not that they’d ever been to the apartment. If they had they might have notice that one of the two “bedrooms” was being used as an office. Earlier on in the relationship you were so deeply uncomfortable being around your parents alone, that you had Shouta come with you every visit because you were so paranoid you were just going to come out on the spot.

At first your parents were sure that you and Shouta were together. He had subconsciously cleaned up quite nice the first few times he met your parents anyways, wanting to make a good impression on them if you finally did tell them about your polyamorous relationship. Then as time went on you got busier and started to see them less. Shouta’s parents lived in the suburbs and you saw them on holidays, plus Shouta had come out to them as being bisexual a long time ago and hadn’t felt much pressure to hide the polyamorous nature of your relationship to begin with. Hizashi’s mom was still a city dweller in her 60’s and on top of doing the cute mom things like baking fantastic cookies and handing down family jewelry to the daughter in law, she’d also taken Hizashi and Shouta to their first pride in Tokyo and had an in-home recording studio where she recorded for local punk bands. She was, quite literally, a cool mom.

You gnawed vigorously at your thumbnail, not quiet biting the whole way through, instead riddling it with dents and cracks. Chewing your nails wasn’t a habit you’d always had, it became a sort of silent worry thing you started to do when you got to your agency and had to remain still and quiet during briefings, no matter how terrible the news was. Your ruined nail beds were an atrocity to Hizashi, who had paid several times for you to get a manicure to get your nails short and evenly trimmed so you could manage them on your own. You still somehow found a way to gnaw on the short squared off nubs of your nails though, and it drove him nuts. Shouta cared less, his hands were in ridiculous shape, he was callused and bruised, cracked and flaking all over the place and Hizashi would regularly force moisturizer on them. Shouta cared more about figure out the root stress, it’s not that Hizashi didn’t, he just didn’t know how to, so he settled for pampering you.

“It’s dead.” Hizashi huffed from the bedroom door. “Obliterated, actually.”

“Hmm?” You looked up from your phone, you hadn’t been reading any of the messages in the chat for a good few minutes and just let your eyes unfocus instead. You yanked your thumb from your mouth and hid it below the table like a child caught with a sweet they’d snuck from the kitchen before dinner, you knew he saw.

“Your nail.” Hizashi gently patted the end of his hair with his special fluffy towel that he’d convinced you and Shouta he needed to control his frizz (which he didn’t have) and padded towards the kitchen table where you sat. He placed a kiss on the top of your head as he strode around you.

“What’s up, love?” he murmured softly, leaning against the table next you. One of his legs propped up on the chair to your right and leaned down to look at your phone screen.

“This is going to go horribly.” You breathed, panicked as you set your phone down on the table.

“You don’t know that.” Hizashi looked back up at you and smiled sweetly.

“Not everyone’s mom is a cool rocker lady in her 60’s who lives in the heart of downtown still and is fully supportive of her child’s bisexual polyamorous relationship with their childhood best friend and an ex-small-town girl with an ultra-conservative family.” You huffed out in one long breath.

“That was oddly specific.” He chuckled softly. “What about Sho’s parents, they’re conservative?”

“Yeah, but his parents are at least polite and send us both Christmas gifts every year and keep any and all of their shittier opinions to themselves because they want their son to be happy.” You groaned dramatically, dropping your head onto his thigh, using the extra meat to muffle the noise.

“Y-your-” Hizashi’s leg twitched from the vibrations of your groan. “Your parents want you to be happy too, Y/n.”

You groaned into his thigh, trying to explain the difference between your parent’s and Shouta’s. Hizashi laughed and gently grabbed the side of your face, lifting it so you were no longer muffled by his leg.

“Try again.” He instructed.

“They only want me to be happy if it fits into their rigid frame of what acceptable happiness looks like.” You explained again.

“Hey,” Hizashi ran his thumb back and forth across your cheek, “have faith, baby. They’re your family, they love you.”

If only he’d been right.

Shouta was the know it all, the one that way always right. Hizashi on the other hand was quiet used to being the one that was not always right, he had no hubris about his intelligence what-so-ever. So much so that sometimes you and Shouta had to remind him that he was intelligent and offered a lot of knowledge and wisdom in many many ways: public speaking, social relationships, radio scripting, he spoke two languages fluently as well. However, this one-time Hizashi wished dearly that he had been right, that he was an insufferable know it all who never got it wrong. It was a different twisted feeling in his gut, sitting the back seat watching you try to keep it together in the front seat, than the usual mild embarrassment that faded after a couple of minutes when he was wrong about something. That was damn near luxurious compared to the painful knot tearing into his stomach.

The silence in the car was so dense and absolute that it almost physically gagged Hizashi and Shouta, the two of them were too afraid to say anything and break it. It felt as though the heavy silence was keeping you from breaking, as if it were applying enough pressure at all sides to keep the thin veneer of composure you were managing together. You felt it too, along with the heavy weight that was nearly crushing your chest, the thick doughy lump clogging your throat and the tremble in your lips. You took a deep breath, it getting caught halfway and freezing in to an unrealized sob that you pushed down.

Shouta huffed and pulled off to the side of the dark country road, slowing into the gravelly shoulder. He turned in his seat to face you, undoing his seat belt so he could fully turn his body. You kept your eyes out the window, trying with all your might not to let the tears that clouded your eyes to fall. You knew you’d need to cry about this, about your parents and their conditional love. You knew that this was something you would need to deal with, but you didn’t want to at this moment. You wanted to go home, take some sleeping medication and go to sleep, you wanted to wait until the open wound in your chest had stopped bleeding to begin treating it.

Your father was being facetious about your living arrangement as usual, whenever he was faced with Shouta and Hizashi his first reaction was to constantly point out that fact that you were a woman living with two men and that if they weren’t gay that one of them should have married you by now. Shouta and Hizashi had taken these comments like water rolling off of a duck’s back, Hizashi even grinned and mumbled something about your father tempting him. You could have kept your mouth shut, you could have kept your cool but Shouta’s hand was brushing against your thigh and you felt it tense into an annoyed fist. Something about Shouta’s minimal reaction lit a fire in you, more like an explosion. It was a surge of very sudden and very ferocious courage that lasted a split second and no longer. You’d practically shouted it, the ringing in your ears drowning whatever words you’d used out.

You were met with complete and utter silence, shock and fear thick in the air. You’d almost believed for a moment that you hadn’t done it, that you’d just shouted randomly and just scared everyone. But then your dad stood up, his shocked open mouth flattening out into a hard straight line, this jaw swelling as he clenched it.

“W-what?” he growled, stepping back from the table as if you were a threat.

You were ready to backtrack, you were so ready to just laugh and pretend you were fucking with him. But you spared a glance to Shouta and Hizashi, their faces pale and guilty. They, regardless of what you could say in an attempt to cover up what you’d just said, were basically admitting to it already. You instinctively shrunk back into your chair like you’d do when you were younger at the dinner table whenever something uncomfortable would come up. You could tell everyone was at a loss for words, the difference was that you were scared and at a loss for words, Shouta and Hizashi were shocked and at a loss for words and your father was steaming angry and at a loss for words.

Your mother, who had always been the least confrontational of the two turned away from you and almost in a show of disgust immediately went to comfort your grandmother. It was as if you were an afront to goodness, an act of moral atrocity being committed in front of them. Your father began to barrage you with passive aggressive questions and accusations towards Shouta and Hizashi. He was trying to understand while at the same time refusing to give you a chance to explain. You stopped listening after the first few sentences that came out of his mouth, falling back into an internal monologue filled with regret. He must have said something exceptionally terrible because in an instant Shouta was standing, his arm reaching out to separate you from him and he was shouting. Shouta never shouted, he barely voiced any form of annoyance or frustration in general when it wasn’t a learning moment for his students, but here he was on his feet volleying harsh word with your father.

Hizashi, you realized was attempting damage control, his hands raised and his voice lower than either of the other two men’s. You blinked back into the present, as noise filled your ears, you mother was crying, your father and Shouta were shouting and Hizashi was rambling panicked. You took a couple of deep breaths and stood up on shaky legs, gripping Shouta’s protective arm for support, and looked your father in the eyes. He faltered at the direct eye contact and you saw an opening where there was less shouting to contend with.

“Stop,” you hissed through gritted teeth. “this is why I never wanted to tell you! Why I was perfectly okay with living away from you guys for the rest- This is why I haven’t been home.”

Your mother gasped a ragged, tear-filled breath. She’d expressed before that she’d wished she could see you more often, that she’s noticed you’d been coming home less and less. You’d been good at covering it up, saying you were busy with work and simply couldn’t get the time off. You knew that what you’d just said hurt her, not in the way it should have. It hurt her because you’d just told them it was their fault that you felt unwelcomed here and not because you were afraid of your own parents.

“How long?” she breathed.

“Three years.” You sniffed, hand tightening around Shouta’s wrist.

“THREE?! THR-” your father bellowed in disbelief. “For three years they’ve been brainwashing and forcing themselves on you?!”

Suddenly you understood why Shouta had leapt up, you had just now caught up with the conversation. Red hot anger flared up in your chest, the mere insinuation that you were being forced in anyway to be with your partners filled you with utter rage.

“No!” You growled, for the first time in your life matching your father’s volume. “For three years they’ve been by my side, showing up at the hospital when I got hurt at work, celebrating my promotions at the agency, helping me make a home that I feel safe in and actually fucking caring about me!”

There was silence again, this one was thin but not light in anyway, like it was a delicate thread barely holding a great weight from falling and crushing you.

“We care for you.” You mother said darkly.

“No,” you swallowed hard, “you haven’t for a long time.”

“Get out.” You father growled.

Hizashi was already moving, grabbing your coats from the back of the chairs and pulling Shouta by the arm away from the table. It took you a good long second to move, even then it was because Shouta latched onto your shoulders and Hizashi tugged him along.

“I’m sorry.” Shouta whispered, his hand finding yours in your lap. You kept your eyes focused out the window at the pitch-black fields with barely visible for off golden dots of light. You couldn’t talk.

You heard Hizashi shuffling around in the back seat, scooting closer to you and his hand joined Shouta’s, pulling up onto the storage compartment between the seats. It was cracking, that veneer.

“It’s not your fault.” Hizashi murmured.

You sniffed hard, biting int you bottom lip. Of course, it wasn’t your fault that your parents didn’t accept you, that you weren’t good enough or right for them, that you weren’t on par with the apparent morality of the rest of the family. It wasn’t your fault that they were backwards people with terrible ideas of how a person should be. It still didn’t hurt any less that you couldn’t meet those backwards ideals, that you couldn’t be the right kind of person for them.

“Y/n,” Shouta whispered, gently grabbing your chin and turning your face towards them.

They were looking at you the way a mother looks at her crying baby in the first few months, the desperate need to connect and nurture glowing in their eyes. They were filled with worry, with pity, with understanding but also, with fear. No doubt, what had just happened had been traumatic for them too. Looking into their emotion filled eyes you felt that veneer shatter, falling away and unleashing that mournful sobbing that had been trapped inside.

Shouta pulled you towards him, holding you firmly to his chest placing his head atop yours. You vaguely felt Hizashi disappear from you for a moment, but you were too preoccupied with the trembling muscles seizing violently in your chest. Then you felt him sliding in behind you, only now realizing he’d stepped out of the car and slide in through your door as he shut it behind him. He draped himself over you rubbing circles into your back.

“It’s not your fault.” He murmured into your hair over and over again.

At first you didn’t really focus on it, thinking it idle words of comfort but the more he said the more it sunk in. The more your realized that you were holding onto the hope that there was something about this, about you, that you could fix. With every repetition of those four words that false hope chipped away and that heavy weight in your chest began to fall away. It was still painful, it still felt like you had a pen festering wound that you’d never fully heal from, but it also felt lighter. It felt as though a burden you’d believed was yours to bear was suddenly the responsibility of the many.

“You don’t have to change,” Shouta whispered softly as your sobs ebbed into weak beaths, “they do.”

That reignited some tears, to hear what you needed to said so plainly. Shouta was good at that, putting those intangible thoughts and feelings into plain words. You cried until the tears and the worry and the late hour caught up with you, until your head felt heavy and waterlogged and you slumped backwards into Hizashi sniffing. You cried until your wavering breaths evened out and your tired mind fell to silence. Hizashi pulled you into his lap and cradled you against him like a parent holding and oversized child, running his hand slowly through your hair.

When you awoke you were swaddled thoroughly with the fuzzy blanket from the couch Shouta hated because it shed and sandwiched between the two men who snored away. As you blinked in the early morning light that just barely peaked through the blinds you noticed the red rims around Hizashi’s eyes and deep-set circles under Shouta’s as if they both been awake all night. Shouta was still in his dress shirt and Hizashi had stripped down to his boxers and pulled his hair back into a sloppy bun. Neither were properly snoring which told they hadn’t been asleep for very long.

You tried to ignore what had happened last night, what had led to the heavy feeling in your head and crusty dry eyes and tight cheeks. You tried to pretend that they had stayed up for work, that they you had swaddled yourself up in the blanket nor because you were sad but because you just wanted to be cozy. Then you heard a phone vibrate on the nightstand and any and all work towards denial washed away as you dreaded checking it. It could just be a work thing, it could be Hizashi’s phone even though he’d never had it on silent even once since you’ve known him. It could have been Shouta’s vibrating against the wooden table even though you could see his slightly peeking out of his back pocket.

You sighed and sat up, daring the smallest of glances at the nightstand. It was your phone screen that was lit up, several notifications on the screen. You groaned and laid back down, scrunching your eyes shut begging for sleep to suddenly and miraculously take you. It buzzed again and you huffed. Fine. You’ll check it. I guess someone could be dying. I do stop that from happening for a living.

You very cautiously crawled over Hizashi and reached to get your phone, electing not to look at it until you settled back between your boys. You scrolled though your notifications, weather, news, a work email, a second email from a contact that made your blood run cold and three missed calls and two answering machine messages from the same contact. Grandma. Your hands trembled at you unlocked your phone and typed int your voicemail password. You held the phone up to you ear and listen to the first message which was more or less just some frustrated grandma noises and mumbles about the inconvenience of technology, followed briefly by a set of hellos. If you hadn’t been ready to shit yourself, you’d have laughed. Then the second played and you had to take a deep breath to hold yourself together enough to keep listening.

“Hello? Hello? Y/n? Oh shi- well this is just ridiculous. Y/n, I don’t know if you can hear me, or maybe this is your answering machine, I don’t know I can’t hear too well but-” her soft worn voice said into the phone, “I want you to know that I love you. Your parents love you too, even if they did not act like it tonight.”

She paused and your eyes welled up with tears, a lump forming in your throat. It was this strange feeling of pure sadness but also happiness and relief.

“Those boys,” she continued, “probably would have killed your father last night if they had the chance. I’m not saying I get it, but they sure do love you, sweetheart. I quite like the blond one he is very-”

The message cut off and the automated voice asked you what you wanted to do with the message. All you could do was laugh, laugh and cry. You were still sad, still in pain, but it was already starting to feel less life-ending.

“Hey,” Shouta mumbled blearily, “S’okay. I’m here.”

He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close, trying to pull himself from sleep. You hugged him back and massaged the back of his scalp gently.

“Listen to this.” You sniffed.

He nodded and you pressed repeat, listening to the whole second message through again. You watched as a smile spread across his sleepy lips and he laughed softly. He pouted suddenly when it ended, his eyebrows pulling together as much as his drowsy state would let them.

“What?” you asked, worried he’d heard something you‘d missed.

“Why does she like Zash more?” he grumbled, barely awake now.

You smiled and curled into him, electing not to answer knowing that he wouldn’t like being told that Hizashi is more sociable than him. Besides, you smiled to yourself, he’d be asleep in a matter of seconds.

You were still hurt; you still had that big open wound in your chest. But with Shouta and Hizashi at your side you knew you’d heal; you knew they’d give you anything you needed. You knew that your grandmother was right, that these two boys loved you very much.