#and then i sit down and this unrelated nonsense falls out of my brain and onto the keyboard

[keepingupwithpotters]

If you’re taking prompts

“You’re really warm.” and

“Come back to bed. Please” for jily pls??

I am laughing at for jily like I'm capable of writing for anything else. I promise you, even if it is about two unrelated characters, I'll find a way to make it about jily

Also finally put the drabbles on ao3 as promised so you can read this there as well

Fretting over Lily Evans was nothing new for James, but this time might’ve put him to his early grave after all.

He touches her forehead discreetly, trying not to disturb her sleep. She went in and out of her slumber all night, giving him a scare half the time with her nonsensical mumblings. He doesn’t recall when exactly he fell asleep too, not long ago according to the rising sun, but that’s how he finds himself next to her now.

Blinking his eyes woozily, he gives himself permission for a moment of bliss before jumping into action, pretending they are lying side by side not because she is burning like a furnace, but like he always wakes up next to Lily, this hair tickling his shoulder not unusual.

He can only guess what prompted her to call him last night. A bitter part of him thinks it’s because she knew he would come running, no questions asked. It’s hard to ignore that part when that was exactly what he did, probably before he even hung up the phone. There is, of course, always the chance that it was the side effect of her running fever. One should not underestimate it, he learned that firsthand all through the night.

The pretense falls apart when he feels Lily’s skin, panic rising inside him all over again. He has spent the whole night trying to make sure her temperature didn’t pass 40 degrees, hand ready over his phone for the minute it did. It feels like it has risen again, her cheeks flaming bright to prove his insight right.

“Aren’t you gonna kiss my forehead?”

She startles him, with the question or her half open eyes smiling dozily at him, he doesn’t know.

“Why would I take advantage of the ill, Evans?”

Her smile gets softer, fonder. “That’s how my mom used to take my temperature.”

He’s never been able to say no to that smile.

She closes her eyes with the kiss, looking content and peaceful, not at all like the bedridden patient she is supposed to be. He lingers one second longer than necessary.

He has forgotten the purpose of the act until she looks at him expectantly, waiting for his verdict.

“You’re really warm.”

She doesn’t care for his furrowed brows or less than satisfactory explanation when she snuggles into him, purring, “Thank you, so are you.”

“That was not a compliment, Evans.” He tries to hide the fact his breath hitches when she burrows her face in his neck. “That means I am doing something very, very wrong. Are you sure you don’t want me to call anybody else?”

Her hold on him tightens even further if possible. She sounds like a petulant child when she whines her refusal. He can imagine, and feel, her pout.

He tries to untangle himself from her, but she looks so offended by his actions that he feels the need to explain himself. “I need to wet these rags again, and you need to eat some breakfast so you can take your antipyretics.”

She opens her mouth to say something, another refusal going by her displeased expression, but he jumps from the bed before she can tempt her more.

He goes to the bathroom first, thinking maybe some cool water would do him good too. She is already asleep by the time he comes back, hand reaching out to where he once laid on the bed. He places the damp clothes on her forehead with a grin, letting it take over his face while she is not able to see it. The pills he found when he rummaged through her medicine cabinet are put on her nightstand, waiting for his arrival with some food.

Preparing some eggs and toast helps him gather himself a little more, the habitual routine putting his brain on autopilot. The morning feels like something out of James’ dreams with Lily cuddling him in the bed and him making her breakfast, he finds it necessary to remind himself the true nature of the situation as he fills a glass of water for her.

She is awake when he enters the room, following his motions silently as he puts the plate on her side too. He is just about to sit on the chair by her bedside when she stops him with a hand on his arm.

“I promise I’ll eat something in a minute. Can you just… come back to bed? Please?”

His will already weakened since he woke up, he finds that it crumbles completely when he hears her voice so weak, tone so pleading. He lays down on his previous place without saying anything, her head finding his shoulder immediately.

A small hand traces patterns on his chest, nails tickling the heart underneath with every swoop. They could probably live in that relaxed bubble forever if the question nagging inside him just hadn’t popped out unexpectedly.

“Why did you call me yesterday, Lily?”

The finger drawing flowers, stars, and initials never stops its movement. “Because I had a high fever, and I didn’t want to go to the ER.”

“No. I mean, why did you call me?”

He holds his breath in anticipation of her answer, and she stills momentarily too before shaking out of her stupor. “I wanted to be with you.” Her voice sounds so small. “I always want to be with you, you know that.”

There is relief ballooning inside him with her words, mixed with something he dares not name. He hums softly as a response, neither denying nor confirming her assumption.

“We can stay in bed for one more minute, then I’m gonna make you eat that breakfast, Evans.”

“Two, because you just took advantage of a sick person’s honesty and I deserve it.”

“Deal.”

He’ll let her pretend like he won’t do anything she asks for. They both know it’s a lie anyway.

[beelspillowpet]

could i get some hcs of the brothers (how many is up to you!!) with an epileptic MC? like, they end up having absence and myoclonic seizures, and maybe hurt themselves a bit? sorry if this is too specific adjkd it just happened to me this morning and. i accidentally flung my spoon across the room while eating cereal 🙈 i also stabbed myself in the eye with my thumb but Eh

OMG Anon!!! I hope you’re okay!? Seizures are really serious and dangerous, I hope you’re recovering alright?! Sending you a bunch of hugs and head pats u-u In other somewhat unrelated news, I’m glad people are so comfortable coming to me with these sorts of HCs. Means I really am doing an impactful job in my research and writing these sorts of things comfort you. It also helps me learn a little more about people's everyday struggles. Here’s to hoping for a bright future for you all!

I tried to include more symptoms and types of seizures (?) in this post, but I don’t think I was able to touch on them all? Usually when I do HCs like this, I have something like an “interview” with the asker beforehand to make sure I’m getting their experience probably, and a better understanding of the disorders. I hope this is portrayed properly!!! ~

Lucifer

He’s lecturing you, but pauses for a moment to question your reasoning for making pacts with his brothers. He’s expecting you to answer, but you don’t. You simply daze off at him. You weren’t trying to piss him off, but you weren’t all there in the moment. Your hands twitched and your hand accidently shot up behind you, as if you were pulling your hand away from a snapping dog. He took that as a warning.

The second time it occurred was over dinner. It was just you and him, enjoying the meal you prepared for dinner and waited for him to arrive home for it. You had another epileptic seizure, and spaced out for longer than normal.

When you came to, Lucifer was out of his chair at your side, checking to make sure you were alright. He was a bit rattled to say the least, but when he waved his hand in front of your eyes and they followed, he started to relax a bit more. He questioned what just happened, but with the slot of time missing in your brain, you couldn’t completely answer him.

It’s when you start jerking your body about uncontrollably, as if something is possessing you to behave in such a manner than he finally looks into it. Admittedly, he should have done so sooner, this isn’t normal behavior after all. What he discovers is a bit upsetting, as there’s no “cure” or “fix” for it. He doesn’t bring it up to you- you’re probably sensitive about the topic. But he’s far more patient with you now, knowing that these seizures are just a part of your life.

Mammon

Oh what the fuck was that? Are ya’ good? You just kinda... slapped the fuck out of yourself there? Why’d you do that?

This pea-brain probably doesn’t pick up on too many symptoms at first. You’re just his weird, hopeless human. While that’s nice, a little more attention would be grateful.

“Hey Mammon, when did you dye your hair yellow?” “What’re ya talkin’ about? My hair is white.” “Huh, in this light it looks yellow. And did you get a tan?” He thinks you’re weird but it’s okay. It sort of offends you that he thinks this way, it’s not like you’re doing this on purpose. You genuinely thought he dyed his hair yellow- and that he darkened his skin.

There are also times when he uses the same cologne but something smells different about it. The whiplash of suddenly having one smell and then be overwhelmed by something entirely different, or have this random dizziness... well, at least Mammon is always there to catch you if you lose your balance. As much of an airhead as he is, he’s still a helpful and supportive one.

Leviathan

Your seizures scare the shit out of them. You have the worst ones with him because while in his room, the bright flashing lights are somehow worse. Brighter, even more than before, and before you know it you’re having an out of body experience, feeling your body twitch and tremor, but unable to stop it.

You can hear Leviathan freaking out in the distance, making sure you lay down flat and keep you from swallowing your own tongue. Despite having a panic attack after the fact, he’s relatively calm for the most part. He doesn’t have any real knowledge on these things yet, and he’s not sure if he’s prepared for it.

Other times you may just pace the floor as if thinking. You’re constantly rubbing your hands together, looking left and right erratically. Sometimes when you do this, you’re muttering nonsense, and other times, you’re silent. Leviathan isn’t sure which one is scarier.

He does research on why you behave this way sometimes. You don’t have them too often, but it’s happened at least three times and it’s scared him each time. When he discovers his solution, he tries to bring it up with you in a calm and quiet manner. Either that or he waits until next time because bringing it up unprompted can be awkward.

Satan

Oh. He knows what’s going on. He’s got doctor friends. He sort of just... asks. Just to be sure. Whether you tell him or not, he knows what’s really going on here. He won’t judge. Obviously not. You can’t control your behavior with those sorts of things.

He’s aware that seizures can kick up anywhere, so he watches you carefully. You could have one while walking down the steps and end up falling and hurting yourself. You could get one while preparing dinner and accidently stab yourself- or you can even get one while driving. He’s always prepared to take over for you when you need it.

There was one time you finally did come to him. To confide in him about your problems. It was silly, you thought. Why would he listen? Except he set aside his book, turned in his chair to you, and listened. He never interrupted, and only spoke when you were taking a moment to breathe through your tears.

He was there for you, and he would never try to upset you. He knows how scary these sorts of things can be. While he doesn’t struggle with the same issues, having depressive episodes are not lost on him. He would gladly welcome you into his arms for a hug, and make sure you’re at least safe in these awful times.

Asmodeus

You and Asmo were at the club when it happened. You’re dancing with each other one moment, and the next you’re on the floor convulsing. You were embarrassed once it was all over, but imagine how terrified Asmo was???

You come back to yourself still on the dirty floor of the club, but now people are surrounding you, all concerned. You see Asmodeus crying, not knowing what to do. He’s panicked, and he’s gently holding your hand, hoping you’re okay.

You two leave the club early, and in your guilt, explain to him what happened. Although you’re vague because you aren’t entirely sure of the details, he puts together enough to know it won’t be the last time that happens.

he clings to you afterwards, and doesn’t let go. Even if you involuntarily jerk and hit him by accident. He knows. He understands and he loves you, darling. You would never want to push him away, and he would never want you to go. Next time, he WILL do better for you.

Beelzebub

You two were playing sports together when he accidently tackled you too hard. You fell over and hit your head hard, causing you to fall into a shock-induced seizure.

He kneels there by your side crying. He knows what to do but every time he touches you, you jerk violently. As if you’re afraid of his touch, afraid of him making things worse. Still, he does his best to assist you, making sure you don’t swallow your tongue and that you don’t harm yourself any further.

Once it’s all over, he carries you to the benches and gives you food and water. He’s still crying a bit, not sure what he should do now. He probably calls Lucifer for help, and while waiting, just talks to you. Makes sure you’re still all there.

When he’s alone, he does a bit more research on seizures and comes across epilepsy. After going over what can cause the seizures, he’s riddled with even more guilt. You hit your head when he tackled you. He probably caused that seizure, didn’t he? From then on, he refuses to play sports with you. He could never forgive himself for putting you through that.

Belphegor

Of course it was a nap. What else would it be? You wake him up on accident when you kick your leg out too hard, knocking him off the bed. When he gets up to yell at you for doing that, he notices you aren’t really paying much attention to him. Instead you’re twitching your arms and legs, grunting and groaning at the pain in your limbs when you slap against the bedpost.

You’re blinking rapidly and your lips are moving, as if you’re trying to ask him for help. All that manages to come out is something similar to your lips smacking. Like Beel when he’s taste testing his dinner.

Once the seizure is over, Belphie is sitting you up slowly, petting your hand. He brings you into a hug as  you tremble in his arms, whispering that its okay and that he’s here now.

He’d never experienced something so... unsettling in his life. He wonders if humans do this sometimes. Sometimes after... traumatic experiences. He cringes at the thought. Could he have caused this unintentionally? He didn’t think that the one time he snapped, he would leave you with irreversible damage. He tries to be diligent in helping you from there on, doing his thorough research and making sure you are taken care of in all ways possible should these continue, or get worse. To him, it’s more than a reason to redeem himself, it’s just doing what’s right.

[crashingmeteorz]

more jinjetsongko headcanons because i’m still quarantining so what the heck else am i gonna do.

shout out to @azenkii for coming up with this and supporting my nonsense. also considering calling them the ba sing se bimbos, please share your thoughts.

so like. it’s pretty clear song can handle herself, and even as they’re getting rid of the body, jet is telling her about their group and what they’re doing. song’s in shock, because murder’s not something she’s ever done (but something her mother has always prepared her to do), and so she just is kinda like “yeah, okay, i’ll join, whatever, but does the smell of death ever leave your nostrils or does it stay there forever?”

“it fades,” he tells her happily, slinging an arm around her shoulders, “but don’t worry - you’ll get used to it.”

zuko wants to punch jet in his stupid handsome face because they can’t have the girl he STOLE FROM in their stupid gang but he can’t TELL ANYONE so he’s just bitter about it until song reassures him that it’s okay, he’s forgiven.

despite her capacity for violence, song does not Vibe With It, so she ends up acting as a lookout most of the time. there are other drugs, ones that just put people to sleep for a while instead of killing them, and she tends to use those on any suspicious parties.

if she’s ever in a serious bind, though, she carries a set of needles hidden up her sleeve. just because she’s the least Down with Murder doesn’t mean she isn’t down with it at all. she’s not a freaking narc.

jin previously was Not Down with Murder but when you hide a dead body you have to very quickly Get Down with Murder or Get Gone, so she gets down with it. everything else about her friends (arsonist, terrorist, deadly apothecary) quickly becomes categorized as extremely normal because otherwise her brain would explode.

best asset is her knowledge of the city, and the fact that she can get information from anyone, anywhere. she’s got more street smarts than any of the “country bumpkins” as she affectionately calls her friends, and she puts this skill to good use.

she wants to be able to fight, too, and since both zuko and jet wield dual weapons, that’s how she learns.

(plus, the idea of all four of them being dual-weapons wielders is cool and fun so i’m running with it)

she steals away into the small trunk of family heirlooms that sits hidden beneath a floorboard in her building, and procures two sickles her father used during his time on the farm. interestingly, theyre about the same size and weight as the kyoshi warriors’ fans. if jin were to ever find herself amongst the kyoshi warriors, she’d probably fit in. just a thought.

jin, like jet, is unrefined and fights dirty, but it works and gets the job done. zuko fights with honor and fury. song is light on her feet, and her goal is mainly to get the fight over with. all in all, they make a good team.

obviously, iroh and song’s mother adopt them all. jin is the natural favorite, being genuinely likable and funny, and also the most normal. iroh is also still hoping she’ll marry zuko one day, and song’s mother basically sees any teen girls she meets as someone to be Cherished and Protected anyway.

jet is definitely the least favorite but is also Begrudgingly Beloved by the adults. both iroh and song’s mother are too smart to fall for his slick words, but they find his efforts to be charming endearing. plus, they both know boy soldiers when they see them, and it’s hard for them not to want to be a parent to a kid who’s been through so much.

song and her mother love teasing zuko and iroh for their past encounter. song’s usually the one teasing iroh, and he takes it in stride, always offering her free tea and treats and dramatically begging her forgiveness in a way that absolutely makes zuko sweat bullets. song’s mother is the one who teases zuko, but he’s so awkward and weird about it she just ends up feeling bad and giving him an extra serving of dinner, which jin and jet loudly protest.

all three teens have a different version of a backstory for zuko and iroh. they’ve all shared their lives with each other, except for zuko, and no matter how much they pester iroh he insists it’s not his story to tell.

jin works the circus angle for a loooong time, knowing full well he was full of shit when he said he was in the circus, but hoping to make zuko perform increasingly ridiculous stunts so as to vindicate himself. he draws the line at the tightrope, and gets weirdly quiet about it, so she drops it.

jet thinks zuko was in the war, which is how he got his scar. he assumes zuko and iroh are so poor because they didn’t get any sort of compensation for their part in defending the earth kingdom, which is just what he would expect from their “government”, or as jet calls it, The Man.

song assumes zuko got his scar the same way she did, when the fire nation invaded his and iroh’s village and probably took his father away, too. she also assumes this is what’s hardened him to the world, and is glad he seems to be loosening up a bit around his friends.

jin is the closest, believing zuko and iroh to be deserters of the fire nation, but she guesses they’re from the colonies. she also definitely thinks iroh’s earth kingdom (you can’t live in ba sing se and love it THAT MUCH without having a little earth kingdom blood in you. no way no how). she assumes that zuko got his scar for his treachery, that he left the fire nation because he believed it was Evil. secretly, she believes he’s incredibly brave.

after the war, zuko casually mentions that he got his scar from his father.

“your what now?” jin asks in disbelief. my father, zuko tells her. he recounts the war meeting, the agni kai, all of it.

“and your father, the ex-firelord, he did this?” song asks, deadly calm, messing with a few vials of something Very Dangerous and Very Painful.

“the ex-firelord as in the ex-firelord locked up in the capital prison, that guy did that to you?” jet asks, just as calm, sharpening his hooks. zuko says yes, not sure why they’re being so weird.

“we’ll be back later,” jin tells him. “we have to go do something totally unrelated.”

it takes zuko way too long for the penny to drop because by the time he catches up to them they’ve knocked out half the prison guards and are screaming about vengeance.

(secretly, he’s touched, but he wishes he’d learned his lesson because he goes through the same thing with sokka and katara about a month later).

1  2  3  4  5  6  7  masterpost

[cavalierious-whim]

Careful Closeness (FE3H)

Sylvix | Canon-Compliant | War Phase | Teen | Complete

It's been beaten into him that men aren't supposed to feel things. ----

A/N:  CW for brief mentions of Sylvain being tossed into a well, and a mild description of what could be viewed as a panic attack. Read here on AO3 for better quality!

----

When Sylvain hits the ice-cold water, it’s like smacking against a stone wall. Pain blooms through his bones and he winces which is a mistake because he breathes in a mouthful of water that he can’t properly cough back out.

Sylvain’s a good swimmer but that means nothing when you’ve fallen into a black hellmouth, sleek walls of slick stone rising a perch above with no end in sight minus the soft glow of the night stars above. Sylvain can just barely see them through the misted haze of his kicking and screaming to keep afloat.

He can hear Miklan’s laughter as he scrambles to grab at the side, but his fingers only slide through algae and mold, and his head dips under the water. He manages to pull back up and grab a fresh breath of air, but he’s already so tired and he’s barely begun.

Sylvain is defiant for as long as possible, keeping his head up and sucking in deep breaths when he can, but sometimes it’s more water than air and it doesn’t help. His legs turn to lead, he can’t move his arms and he starts to sink.

And sink.

And sink.

His lungs burn, the bitter cold of the well water settling deep into his skin. But it’s quiet. Sylvain likes the quiet.

So, he stops fighting.

#

Sylvain jerks awake, panic seizing him with a vice grip, unrelenting as it hangs on. Sylvain’s panicking, he can’t breathe, it feels like he’s suffocating, head deep underwater again with no way up, up, up.

Someone shakes him violently, fingers tight around his shoulders. Sylvain’s trying to find them, trying to swim back to them, but his head’s a mess and his brain and foggy, and he’s not sure that he knows how to breathe anymore.

“It’s a dream,” says Felix. “Sylvain, that’s all it is, it’s a dream.”

Sylvain snaps too, Felix’s voice like an anchor in the deep sea. He finds his footing, his vision clears and his eyes focus on Felix's face in the dark of the tent. Sylvain’s tent. Why is Felix there?

“Felix,” says Sylvain, his voice a whisper. Felix doesn’t let go, but his grip loosens slightly, thumb rubbing circles against the soft linen of Sylvain’s shirt. Sylvain swallows, then says, “What are you doing in here?”

“You were screaming,” says Felix. “Woke up damn near half the camp.”

“A dream,” says Sylvain, repeating Felix’s earlier words.

Felix regards him for a long moment and then asks, “About what?”

“It doesn’t matter,” says Sylvain. And it doesn’t, it hasn’t mattered for a long time. Miklan’s been dead for years, the well was over a decade ago and Sylvain’s here in the now and present. He can’t change the past, nor can he rid himself of the demons that still chase him.

Felix scowls at that, lips tugged into a serious frown. Sylvain hates that look, not because it’s mean or callous, but because Felix looks like he’s about to say something that he never will. So, Sylvain sighs, rubbing tiredly at his face.

“Miklan,” says Sylvain weakly. “The well.”

Felix’s face softens at that. Felix had been the one to find him all those years ago. Sylvain would’ve died otherwise, but he didn’t, he’d survived. That was also the night the Felix learned exactly what kind of monster that Miklan was and that Sylvain’s bruises had never been from falling down the stairs or clumsiness.

He and Felix have never once talked about it since and even now, Felix seems to hesitate.

“It’s okay,” says Sylvain. “I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly not,” says Felix in a biting tone. “How long has this been going on?”

Sylvain knows that there isn’t a point in lying, not with Felix leaning over him and watching him closely. Felix knows all of his tells, even if they don’t talk frankly. So, Sylvain says, “Always.”

Felix doesn’t like that answer based on the crinkle that forms at the corner of his mouth. Sylvain expects Felix to not push at it, but he’s surprised when Felix says, “Idiot. You should have told me.”

“It’s not your concern,” says Sylvain.

“The moment we pulled you from that damn well, you became my concern.”

Sylvain’s mouth snaps shut at his declaration. Well then. Felix pulls back, sitting awkwardly at the edge of the cot. Then he moves to stand and leave. Sylvain reaches out, grabbing his wrist.

“Stay?” asks Sylvain.

It’s Gautier cold outside and Sylvain doesn’t need to peek out to know that heavy snowdrift blankets the land around them. Felix stiffens under the touch, but not because he’s annoyed, it’s because it’s like coal has been lit low in his belly, red-hot and simmering slowly. Sylvain can tell. He knows how it feels.

This has always been a tangible thing between the two of them, but they don’t talk about it, they don’t think about it, they sweep it away under the rug because they have a war to win and the world might end if they don’t.

And then what would be the point?

But it could be the point for just this one night.

“Stay,” repeats Sylvain, tugging at Felix’s arm just slightly.

Felix follows, leaning back over Sylvain and his cot. His hair is down and hangs like a curtain around their faces. He looks strangely vulnerable. Sylvain does too.

“Alright,” says Felix. He pulls from Sylvain once more, but only to slip underneath the thin covers. The cot’s not big enough for the both of them, really, but they make it work, Sylvain’s back pressed into Felix’s chest. Felix is smaller and it’s easier for him to wrap around Sylvain than the other way, nose tucked into the back of his neck.

It doesn’t feel like Felix is putting up with him, not with the way that his arm snakes around Sylvain’s waist tightly, hugging him close.

“You can talk to me,” says Felix. “You can always be honest with me.”

“Yeah,” says Sylvain quietly, but the word hangs heavy in the tent. They lay there silently for a few moments, Sylvain staring at the at the rough canvas that’s hung up. Suddenly, it’s hot in there, it’s boiling, Felix pressed against his back, breath puffing against Sylvain’s neck and a million things that can be said hanging between them.

“I love you,” says Sylvain, unable to stop himself.

To his credit, Felix doesn’t run away, he presses closer, pulling Sylvain tighter against him. “I know,” he says against his neck before pressing a soft kiss there. Quick. Simple. Perfectly Felix in his no-nonsense kind of way.

Sylvain wants to cry like he’s never been able to because it’s been beaten into him that men aren’t supposed to feel things. He doesn’t sob outright, but his body shakes like he’s going to, and Felix is already trying to soothe him, whispering soft words in the quiet warmth of the tent.

Felix falls asleep first, his rising and falling chest beating a steady rhythm that helps ground Sylvain. He’s warm and soft, wrapped around him, a comforting presence that Sylvain hadn’t been aware that he’d needed.

And now it’s kind of worse because Sylvain’s not sure how he’ll stop drowning if Felix isn’t there to hold him up in the stormy, icy waters of his shitty, internalized self-hatred.

In the morning Felix is still there though, breathing softly against Sylvain, holding tight like he has no intention of letting go. And this time Sylvain actually cries, soft and silent tears, but happy ones not sad because he feels a small sense of worth.

When Felix wakes up a little bit later, he lifts up on an elbow as Sylvain shifts onto his back, trying to rub away the redness from his swollen eyes. Felix just watches him, hand splayed across Sylvain’s chest. Soothing. Comforting. Unquestioning.

“I love you too,” says Felix when the moment slows down, neither of them ready to pack up and be on the move again.

On a normal day, Sylvain would think him joking in gruffness, about to smack him across the shoulder as he calls him dumb. But this isn’t a normal day and Felix doesn’t do that.

So, Sylvain tugs him down for a kiss.

[themagicalmysticalboy]

the " DIVORCE MEETING" mclennon plz

a/n: can you tell i like bob dylan? also this is kinda like a prequel to He Breaks Just Like A Little Boy. but you don’t have to read that first. or at all, if you prefer.

It was raining from the first/And I was dying there of thirst/ So I came in here/ And your long-time curse hurts/ But what's worse is this pain in here/ I can't stay in here

He Takes Just Like A Man

The room was full and everyone was talking. John, however, only scraped the edge of the mahogany table. They were talking about nothing he wanted to hear and being loud about it. All the while, a snake of dread wrapped his torso and threatened to break a rib as the clock ticked loudly in his ears. It was never that loud before, was it? Surely not.

Everything, really, was ten times too loud. Voices grated his ears and the sounds of coffee being sipped and the shuffle of papers made him cringe. Someone pushed back their chair too fast, the broken wheel squealing against the floor. He pulled in a deep breath, nails digging into his palm while the other set kept at scraping. The pace was picking up and he managed to chip away at the finish. 

“John?” He didn’t bother to look up. “John, we need your input,” one of the executives was saying.

“Are you alright?” 

It was Paul’s voice that sent him into a swirling string shrouded with wrath. He had been mithering on for ages about what everyone should do next. John had said no every time before dropping into silence. He was sure the mithering had continued, all the while Paul didn’t care to ask anything else of him. He was probably happy John had shut up. And now he cared to ask if he was okay? 

If a reasonable thought had run through John’s mind it had tripped and was promptly laid out flat before it could do any good.

His muscles tensed and his brow furrowed. He couldn’t stay there, in fear he might snap from his still-present snake of pressure. He wanted everything to be over. This meeting couldn’t last a second longer. Whatever it took to end it was well worth the cost. The building could crumble to the bleeding ground, for all he cared. 

With measure but no thought, he rose to his feet, fingertips planted on the table. “Would you really like my input?” Flashing eyes found the poor soul that had dared speak to him. The executive clearly regretted every decision leading up to this moment.

He looked out to everyone else, making sure to char them with the impression of his anger. The stuffy suited men were first but he quickly turned on his bandmates.

George stared back, unrelenting, his eyes squinting to figure out what was turning John’s cogs. Ringo didn’t dare to hold his gaze, uninterested in whatever was to unfurl. Paul, now, he was different. Much like George, he did not look away. But in contrast, he already knew what would happen. He called John’s move from a mile away and that fact only poured more poison into his nerves.

“Why don’t you just stop. Stop trying to hold this trainwreck together, alright? We can end it, here and now.” John leaned closer, "I want a divorce.” 

Had he meant that? He didn’t care because damn had it felt good to say.

And with that he was gone, leaving the room in dead silence. Paul snapped his mouth shut and leaned back in his chair. His chest barely moved with shallow breaths that refused to fill his lungs. His heart was beyond pounding. It was shaking his sternum and rattling his brain, intruding on every muscle in his body. Any form of cohesion slipped from his fingers and circled down the drain.

“I think… That’s enough for today,” George Martin said with an unsteady voice.

Unknowingly, Paul was already getting up to leave. He moved like a strung-up corpse of a man but moved nonetheless. People were filing past him, some saying things to him. He responded in a dead tone. The recognition that he was walking didn’t even hit until he came to the doors of the lift and had to press a button.

There was a tug at his arm that caught his attention. The world swayed before jarringly stabilizing. Mal was beside him, pitying smile and all.

“Want a ride home?”

Paul nodded as the lift arrived. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

As they made their way to Mal’s car, Paul could not turn his mind from dreadful thoughts. There was so much meaning in John’s four words. All of it more painful than he could bear.

There had been excruciatingly clear signs of the cracks and chips wearing at them all. George and Ringo had even left the band. Though they came back, it was still proof of the dire straits they were heading for. Every new chink bore into The Beatles was a step closer to Paul being stabbed with the reality of it ending. Nothing could make him let it all go and yet it was already leaving. It stormed out the door on John’s coattails. 

And what more, he had been looking at Paul when he said it. His attention did not waver to any of the others. Those words were meant for Paul. The knife that finally made contact. Their already rocky love life was officially shattered.

When the doors slammed shut and the engine roared to life Paul still managed to hold tight to his pride. He stiffened his entire body as the car rolled down the road. All too soon he began to ache all over, his lungs refusing air until he gave in. 

His stubbornness held out until he was severely lightheaded. Only then did the tears finally spill. Not having bothered with a seatbelt, he hunkered down. With clumps of hair knotted in his fingers, he pulled until the strain on his scalp pricked harshly at his nerves. Sitting folded over felt abruptly too claustrophobic and he sat up with a gasp, hands still in his hair, with his elbows pressed together to shield his face.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to mutter through his tear soaked throat. Embarrassment was shoving at his dissolving pride, trying to remind it to come along to stop all this nonsense.

Mal patted Paul’s knee. “It’s alright. I’m not here to judge.”

Biting his lips together, Paul let himself fully unfurl. Limp in the seat, he let silent tears fall, punctuated with sharp inhales. Mal, all the while, sent wary glances and wavering smiles until the car finally pulled into the drive. 

His limbs still feeling limp and numb, he stumbled to his door and into his living room with Mal at his side. The flinty truth of the situation was settling with a bitterness. The battle between anxiety and exhaustion seethed along making it impossible to sit but unbearable to stand.

Paul briefly collected himself. “Can you…” He paused, seeing tears shining from Mal. “Give me a moment?”

Mal only nodded before going into the kitchen. Eventually, the sound of the sliding glass door closing made it to where Paul stood and he knew he truly had the house to himself. He peeked through the threshold, just to make sure. Yes. He was alone. A sob wracked through him and he held tight to the doorframe, forehead pressed into the wall. 

Every moment of doubt and resentment John had shown in the last two years tore at Paul. They were doomed to fail, weren't they? Paul had been so childish and naive. You couldn’t have something this good and expect it to last forever. John was not meant for Paul to hold onto. A bright and volatile sun that was bound to sear who ventured too near. 

Paul had been burnt too many times to count. He couldn’t stand another lick from the flames.

[friendlylocalwriter]

Chapter 2 of The Quiet Stranger

Pairing(s): Geralt of Rivia x fem!reader

Warnings: None

Requested: No

Prompt: You live a quiet life in the forest with your mother after the fall of Cintra, selling grains and produce to keep enough coins for survival. When your mother leaves for a long journey to the market, you're surprised to meet a white-haired stranger in dire need of help, and even more surprised by how you feel about him.

Word Count: 2916

Chapter: 2/?

Previous Chapters : Chapter 1

A/N: Hi guys! I had so much fun writing this chapter, and I’ve already started planning the next one which’ll be much longer and spicier ;) I have a Superman request that I will hopefully be filling next week, and I want to write a Mando fic while we get tortured wait for the s2 trailer to release! As always, reblog + comments are so welcome, and this is posted on my AO3 @/violettaren. Love you guys <33

Geralt slept for the entire day and through the night. 

You weren’t surprised, though. You assume that whatever fight he had gotten into, which he seems intent on not telling you about, must’ve been intense if they were able to get that good of a gash on him. So you let him rest. And, you weren’t averse to stealing a few glances of his bare chest rising while he slept on your cot. You spent the first day of his arrival tending to the garden and trying to ignore how your mother would feel about you housing a stranger in your shack. The guilt only increased when you slept on your mother’s cot, tossing and turning in your sleep as you remember all your mother told you about not letting anyone in. 

You woke up the next morning before him, and rushed to change out of your nightgown. You chose a linen white skirt that hit just above the knee and a long sleeve off the shoulder black sweater that was a bit too thin for the humid Spring weather, but you’d make do. As you take your hair out of your ponytail and attempt to tame it, you wonder why you’re putting so much effort into your appearance, since he’ll be gone tonight anyway. As you pass by his sleeping body, your eyes focus on the gray pendant around his neck and creep forward to try and get a better view. 

A wolf. Interesting.  

You jump when he shifts slightly and immediately move away, not looking to be caught in such a compromising position. As you clean through the cot, you try and rack your brain to see if you remember ever seeing that necklace when you were in Cintra. But, like most things, you simply cannot recall much of anything from your childhood. 

Maybe it’s in the books.

After you glance over to make sure Geralt is still sound asleep, you tip-toe to the back of your shack where a large, old locked box resides. Your fingers toy with the lock and you make sure to get it just in that right position to…

You sigh in relief when you hear the quiet click of the lock opening. You lift the lid and remove the many tablecloths to find what you were looking for - the mangled brown leather journal with your father’s initials inscribed on the bottom of it. Your father, a sorcerer, compiled an anthology of all the monsters and non-humans that he came across, and it was the only thing of his that you and your mother still had. You trace the indentations with your finger, ignoring the heavy pull in your chest. You lock the box again and make your way to the main table, making sure to sit with your back to Geralt. 

It only takes a few moments of you thumbing through the yellowed pages of your father’s anthology to find that same design that’s on Geralt’s pendant, and the words above it scream at you. 

WITCHER . 

Of course. The secrecy, the wound, the swords, the hair . You read through the paragraphs on the page that describe the process of becoming a Witcher, and the effects of it. You can’t tear your eyes off of the underlined portion at the bottom, describing how Witcher’s no longer feel emotions after they consume the mutagenic compounds and complete their grueling training. It doesn’t take a scientist to understand why your father wrote that. He thought Witcher’s were evil.

“What are you doing?”

You immediately shut the notebook and launch out of your seat to see Geralt standing in front of you, his right eyebrow raised and his arms pressing folded over his chest, his biceps bulging underneath the pressure. 

“God, Geralt, you scared me,” you place your hand over your heart as you try and catch the breath that was shocked out of you. “I thought you were still asleep.”

“I wasn’t. What are you doing?” he repeats, unrelenting.

You quickly run through the possible outcomes of what could happen if you tell Geralt that you know he’s a Witcher. Surely, he wouldn’t wear his pendant if he was that intent on hiding his identity, right? But, then again, he could easily kill you if you try and be more invasive than you already have been. I mean, you just read about how Witcher’s are soulless monsters who only exist to take lives. 

You try to think of something, but you remember that you couldn’t lie to save your damn life. With a sigh, you pick up the notebook from the table and thumb through to find the page about Witchers. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you are a Witcher, Geralt?” you shove the notebook in front of you, and Geralt takes it from you, scanning the pages. You fumble with your hands, hoping Geralt didn’t notice how fake the confidence in your voice was. 

“I assumed you already knew. Is it not quite obvious?”

You scoff, surprised at how easy Geralt’s few words made you feel so naive and stupid. You snatch the notebook from his hand and brush past him, walking back towards the box. 

“You could’ve at least told me,” you close the lock with more force than you mean to, eliciting a loud bang as it comes in contact with the aged wood. 

“Why are you so upset?” he asks, and the simpleness of his question makes you even more pissed for some reason. 

“I’m not,” you retort, standing up and away from the chest. “I just wish you told me.”

“Would you have not treated me? Had you known I was a Witcher?”

You turn around sharply and don’t attempt to hide the confusion on your face. Geralt’s face was tight, the same it always was, but his voice was strained and his eyes were narrowed, the bright amber of his irises much more intimidating than they once were. 

“What? No, that’s not - that’s not what I meant. Geralt!” you call him after he walks away from you, grabbing his bag of weapons. He nearly makes it out of the shack completely until you yell his name again and he stops in his tracks. You flinch when he turns around to face you with one of the venomous expressions you’ve ever seen, his golden eyes boring into you. 

“What?” he spits, his mouth in a snarl. “You read that book. That’s what you all think of me, right?” 

You can’t help the tears that begin to pool in your eyes at the venom in his words. No one has ever yelled at you - even when your mother scolds you, she never raises her voice even slightly. You hated that Geralt was so upset at you for something you didn’t even mean. 

“Geralt, I promise you, that isn’t what I meant. I’m sorry,” you drop your head, sniffling. If he was going to leave, you wanted him to know you didn’t think anything lesser of him. You would never do anything like that.

You hear the clink of the bag of metal hitting the floor and an exhale come from the man in front of you.

“Stop crying. Please,” he folds his arms over his chest, and you can’t tell if the statement comes from guilt or annoyance.

“Of course I still would’ve treated you, Geralt,” you whisper, breaking the silence that had fallen. “I- I know what that feels like - to not be liked for something you can’t change. I’d never wish that feeling on my worst enemy.”

Geralt says nothing, his eyes locked on yours. 

“If you wish to leave, I won’t stop you,” you empty your chest, trying to convince yourself that you’re okay with that. “But I want you to leave knowing that. I was just scared, I guess. I have not seen anyone in ages, let alone someone like you - but that isn’t a bad thing. Not to me.”

Geralt still doesn’t speak, but he tears his eyes off of you to sit down on your bed.

“Are you upset with me?”

“No,” he murmurs, wincing as he tries to move without tearing the stitches. “I’m not.”

“Good,” you move forward and crouch in front of him, picking up the bottom of his shirt so you can take a look at the stitches. You look up at him to make sure he’s okay with it, and you take his stoic expression as a yes. You see that the stitches are healing quite nicely, but you also notice the dirt and grime that has gathered around it and on the rest of his stomach.

“When was the last time you bathed, Geralt?” you graze your fingers across his abdomen, cringing at the dirt that gathers under them.

“Bathing is a luxury for me. I do it when I can.”

You kiss your teeth and stand up, shaking your head. “A luxury? Nonsense, it is integral. A basic human right.”

“Well, I’m not exactly human am I?” Geralt counters, and you furrow your brows in confusion.

“If you are implying, Geralt of Rivia, that you do not need to bathe simply because you are a Witcher,” you pause to dramatically sniff him and make a sour face, “Then you are terribly, terribly mistaken.”

“Alright, enough.” he waves you off as you snicker proudly at your joke. “There’s no bath in here anyway.

 “I know a place.”

••••••

 You focus on the crunching of your feet on the leaves as you lead Geralt towards the river that you use to bathe. The moist dirt tickles your bare feet and you move the tall green weeds out of the way as you breathe in the fresh air, letting it fill your chest.

“The air is so clean because of all the trees. I love going back here.”

“Hmm,” is the only response you get from the man behind you. You briefly look back at Geralt with a smile.

“Such a man of few words,” you say after a few moments, your voice low. You’ve begun to not let the lack of detail from Geralt sting, since it seems that he won’t be opening up to you with his life story any time soon. In fact, you found an odd bit of comfort in his presence - somebody who doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence with empty talk. So you accept it and make your way to the river with the quietude heavy between you.  

Even though you’ve been to this river so many times, it never fails to take your breath away. The water is a remarkable pale blue color, and it’s so clean that the light reflecting off of it is almost blinding. Old, decaying logs are littered throughout the bank of the river, spotted with green moss. As you get to the end of the worn trail where the rocks leading to the body water begin, you look up at the blush pink early morning sky and bask in the soft hum of various insects. 

“It is nice.”

Realizing that Geralt talked to you of his own volition and not just because you spoke to him., you feign surprise and look at Geralt with an exaggerated face of shock. “Wow, he speaks!”

Geralt rolls his eyes but you catch the smile on his face when he drops his head. A grin involuntarily makes its way onto your face, and you gesture towards the beautiful river.

“Well, here it is. I’ll go back to the garden and come get you later, alright?”

“You’re not going to bathe?”

Your cheeks and chest immediately get hot as you think of the idea of being so close to Geralt in such an intimate position with no clothes on, imagining the water droplets trailing down his chest and onto his-

You clear your throat and try to remember how words work.

“I was, um, just going to bathe after you were finished. So, uh, yeah.”

“Wouldn’t it just be quicker to bathe together? Wastes less time,” Geralt shrugs, placing his bag with his sword on the ground and reaching to pull off his shirt. “And I’m not sure of this road. Wouldn’t want to get lost.”

Huh. I guess that makes sense.  

“Well, only if you’re okay with it.”

“I proposed it, why wouldn’t I be?”

Not knowing what to say, you nod in agreement and watch him peel off the rest of his clothing. When he looks back at you, you don’t have a chance to explain why you were staring before he asks why you aren’t undressed.

“Uh, close your eyes, please,” you ask, toying with the waistband of your skirt.

Geralt laughs, like really fucking laughs, after you say that, but you can’t seem to find the humor in what you said.

“Geralt. I’m serious.”

“Fine,” he says with a chuckle, making his way towards the river and, after testing the temperature with his foot, glides in with his back facing you. Relieved, you take off your top and skirt, deciding against removing your undergarments, which included your underwear and a light tank top. You’re suddenly very conscious of your body and the way that it looks - no one has ever seen you like this. You force the anxiety out of your head and join Geralt in the river, giving him permission to turn around once you’re submerged up until your shoulders.

“Have you still got a shirt on?” he gestures towards the white strap that is peeking out from the water. “Is that not uncomfortable?”

“No,” you shut down any attempt at continuing that conversation, running your hands over your forearms to scrub off any potential gunk. The two of you naturally fell into another silence, enjoying the cool water as the sun started to rise, glaring down onto the river. The silence permeates for God knows how long until Geralt asks you a question.

 “What did you mean earlier?”

“Hm?” you turn at the sound of Geralt’s voice. “What are you talking about?”

“You said you know what it feels like. To be judged.” Geralt moves closer to you, causing ripples in the water. 

“Oh,” you sigh, mentally preparing yourself to tell a story you’ve never spoken about with anyone after it was relayed to you.

“My father,” you start after some moments, “He was a sorcerer - he was born with magic inside of him and had no proper training, but he was still incredible at his craft. Instead of working for the royal family, he decided to help the impoverished who lived near our home. He would heal them, mentally and physically, for quite little money. He took a few jobs under Queen Calanthe that granted him the coins to feed us, but that wasn’t where his heart was. He wasn’t interested in pointless politics,” your voice starts to break as you blink rapidly, attempting to keep it together. You notice Geralt’s expression soften, his jaw releasing from the clench it always seems to be in.

“And when Nilfgaard attacked, he didn’t fight. He stayed in burning buildings and ashy rubble, looking for anyone who needed help that wasn’t a priority to Cintra. And when he was found, he was trying to help a young girl whose leg had been caught under steel. He didn’t even flinch when he was struck, he just kept trying. He never stopped, never - it wasn’t in his blood,” your mouth opens to continue but nothing comes out except for a sob that racks your whole body. Your head falls in your hand and you cry and cry, forgetting that Geralt is standing in the water in front of you until you feel two large arms wrap around yours, enveloping you in a tight embrace. You stiffen instinctively at his tight grip, but let yourself melt into his arms and the water, grasping at his biceps. 

“He sounds like he was a good man, Y/N. You should be proud,” he reassured you, releasing his tight grip and lazily running his hands up and down your forearms. You nodded, not wanting to remove your face from the crevice in Geralt’s neck

“I understand the - the pain of loss,” Geralt says quietly, and you look up, expecting to hear more. Yet you see Geralt staring out straight in front of him, his expression unreadable, and you know that’s all you can squeeze out of him. You're okay with that, though. 

"I feel like I've cried more in the last few days than I have in years, Christ," you laugh, trying to wipe the tears off of your face but realizing the effort is futile as your soaked hands make your face even damper. 

Geralt says nothing but he brushes his thumbs across on your arm, and you register that he's still so close to you. You tilt your head up to look at his face and your eyes fall on the red scar on his cheek, the skin around it slightly raised from the inflammation of the cut. You slowly bring your hand up to his face using your index finger to lightly ghost over the cut, tracing the shape. Geralt closes his eyes as you continue running your finger over the left side of his face until the pad of your finger gets to his jawline, and you pull your finger away to point the pad of your finger in Geralt’s face.

“See?” you prompt with a smile, waiting for him to open his eyes. “All clean.”

[itscalledbisexualcrisis]

Scrap Metal - Chapter 6

Summary: Hiro broke off her engagement to Kuvira three years ago and left Zaofu. All she wants is to live her quiet life in Republic City, away from her haunting past. Kuvira's catching up to her, but is she going to find what she's looking for? Or is she only going to reveal the secrets Hiro kept hidden from her all these years?

Read on AO3

“We have been informed that there are dissenters in the western city of Omashu. They are requesting assistance to take down the rebels,” relays the scout. Kuvira is leaning on the table, flipping through the detailed report in front of her. Omashu had been one of the later acquired cities. She found them to be quite irritating to negotiate with and spent many months going back and forth with the old king about their treaty. It was easy to assume that rebel groups would pop up within it.

“We can send Commander Guan, he’s the closest in proximity and has the troops to take care of any dissenters,” Baatar suggests. “It’s about time we reel in Omashu, once and for all. Who better than our Southern Commander?”

Kuvira continues reading the report, letting the rest of her inner circle pipe up with suggestions and requests. Even though it does make sense for Commander Guan to go, due to the location of Omashu, it was hard keeping a stronghold of the mountainous city. They needed a consistent leader for the mountainous region in general. Especially since their plan to take Republic City was fast approaching, Kuvira needed to be at headquarters focusing on the Spirit Canon and Colossal. Her eyes scan across the table, eyeing her inner circle carefully.

She limited the amount of people allowed in her highest ranks. Various men and women of the sergeant and commanding rank sat around the circular table, all capable and willing to fight for their country. She needed someone unrelenting and dominant to maintain balance in the mountains. Most of all someone who she trusted, and the list was few and far between.

“Well, from previous reports, Commander Guan is already struggling to hold together the South East and coastal regions. Do you think it’d be wise for him to take on a new battle when he’s in the middle of one?” Kuvira turns her attention to a voice with sharpness that cuts through the room’s ardent dialogue. Sergeant Anjij was one of Kuvira’s oldest friends from Zaofu who joined her when she first began uniting the nation. She was a talented water bender, a rarity for the Metal Clan, but nonetheless accepted for her talent. She was an expert in combat and one of the front line soldiers during the first siege on Ba Sing Se. Her thick dark hair was held back in a high ponytail and eyes a dark sea foam color. She was known for being a serious no-nonsense woman by her colleagues, a quality Kuvira admired. “We cannot possibly let him leave the Southern coast unguarded.”

“I agree,” Kuvira speaks up finally. Any conversation left was shut down immediately. She turns her head slightly to face the woman. “Commander Guan is occupied with the coastal regions. We need to maintain order within the entire empire. Which is why it is important we have trusted leaders to ensure that the empire is united. Sergeant Anjij, how would you like to be the new Commander for the Southern Mountainous region?” It was an on the spot decision by Kuvira, but seeing Anjij’s cocky smirk only reassured her of her choice.

“It would be an honor, Kuvira.”

“It’s settled then. We will head to Omashu tomorrow afternoon,” Kuvira instructs, standing from her seat to regard the rest of the room. She turns to Baatar sitting directly to her left. “Send word to Commander Guan to send a small battalion to meet us there. We will be taking a few rations with us for Omashu. Bringing in supplies will be better for negotiations and to reassure the people that we are not their enemy. Baatar, I want you to keep working on the Spirit Canon. I expect you to have it done by the time I come back.”

“Yes, Kuvira.”

“With that, this meeting is adjourned.”

---

“Oh thank Spirits!” Hiro threw her arms around Kuvira, not even getting a chance for the woman to take off her helmet. She inhaled the scent of metal and filth, taking in her lover for the first time in what felt like the longest week of her life. All week she’d been sitting near the control center, awaiting news on a mission from Suyin and the Metal Clan Guards to rescue the Air Nomads. This wasn’t something that happened often, but the few times Suyin took the special task force outside the domes was always a big mission. Especially ones that involve the Avatar. Kuvira usually went on these missions and even though Hiro should be used to it, she wasn’t. It didn’t make her feel any more reassured that they would be facing the Red Lotus again. She still gets shivers thinking about their attempt to kidnap Avatar Korra in Zaofu. 

Kuvira smiled and stroked Hiro’s back, hands gripping on to the material of the shirt. She exhaled and made sure to squeeze Hiro a little tighter. The smell of clean laundry and lavender shampoo filled her senses and she could rest easy now, taking in the heavenly scent of her fiance. 

“I’ve missed you too, darling,” Kuvira muttered with her face buried into Hiro’s hair. She could tell that Kuvira was exhausted. They had just stepped off the airship, most of the other guards visibly wounded. She spotted Anjij limping out of the ship with a fellow guard towards the infirmary. Hiro cupped Kuvira’s face and started to examine it for any noticeable damages. It made Kuvira chuckle at the silly face her fiance was making. “Are you broken? I don’t want to send this one back for a refund because of brain damage.”

Kuvira swats Hiro’s hands away, but it only seems to make Hiro even more clingy, draping her arms comfortably around her neck. The reassurance she got back were calloused hands caressing circles on to her hips.

“I’m fine, no brain damage,” she teased. Humor danced behind the irritation in her eyes. After hours of being stranded in the mountains, all Kuvira wanted was a bath and a long sleep with her lover.

“What happened out there?” Hiro’s eyes glaze across the rest of the injured team. “Everyone looks shaken.”

“The Red Lotus were difficult opponents, but the mission was a success: Avatar Korra and the Air Nomads are safe, and the Red Lotus has been apprehended,” Kuvira reported.

“No bruises or new scars for you?” Hiro asked. She wanted to try to keep the air light between them, but her concern showed through brightly. It made Kuvira feel proud, in a way. It was the way Hiro was so openly worried about her that made her want to tuck woman away in her arms, away from all of the dangers in the world. When she was in the mountains with no real indication of when Suyin would return for them, Hiro didn’t leave her thoughts. There was no doubt in Kuvira’s mind that Suyin would come back, but the slight possibility of losing to the Red Lotus also came up. She vowed that she would make it out and return to Hiro just as she promised. Even when she saw the flying bison coming over the tops of the snow capped mountains, she still wasn’t satisfied until she saw the Zaofu domes come up from the horizon. It was only when she had Hiro back in her arms, did Kuvira feel that her mission had been complete. 

“A couple of bruises, sore muscles,” she said offhandedly. “My shoulder in particular. I had to catch and heave a grown man from falling off the side of a cliff, but it’s nothing compared to the injuries everyone else sustained.” The thought of Kuvira carrying the weight of a man twice her size made Hiro blush and her jaw drop. Sometimes she forgot how strong Kuvira was and how intense those gentle green eyes could be.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” Hiro wanted to laugh, but could only muster a smile. This week had been very difficult and upon seeing everyone else’s current roughed up state, she didn’t let her guard down when Kuvira said she wasn’t injured. She definitely will be looking into that shoulder later.

Hiro held her face, this time gentler. Kuvira let a quiet moan escape her lips as she let her head be cradled. Hiro thought the tired pout on her lips and scrunch of skin between her eyebrows made Kuvira look unusually vulnerable. It must’ve taken a lot out of her for her to be sharing such a tender look with her in such a public area. It wasn’t easy for Kuvira to communicate her emotions, and Hiro never pushed her to do more than what she was comfortable with. At most, Hiro could get a short squeeze of her hand letting her know that she was okay or a hug that meant she just needed something to ground her. But it seemed that at the end of the day, her strong Captain was still a human who craved affection. And she was so honored to have the privilege to take care of such a powerful and beautiful woman.

She left a careful kiss on her lips before pulling her to go home, promising to draw a hot bath and warm spicy curry for dinner. 

---

Hiro tapped the pencil on the table as she looked over her notes again. Zhu Li gently set the cup next to her. 

The two of them had been pretty silent this morning, going about an easy routine with an ease they’ve created. Hiro spreads out the notes on the table to be examined. Truly she was getting down to having nothing left to share. She had drawn up an updated map of the city. Due to the renovations, some streets were shut off and new buildings erected in previous vacant lots. Most of it was resource centers for impoverished citizens amongst other government buildings. There was a network of phone wires that had been cleaned up to maximize contact for the police force radio communications. A more linear pipeline system replaced old lines that appeared to not have been changed since their existence. It was all in actuality mostly maintenance stuff, and if any of it could be of use to the Empire, she had no idea what for.

“You ever thought about working in urban development Zhu Li?” Hiro asked offhandedly. She was seated at the table with her feet kicked up on the metal surface and leaning on the back two legs of her chair. Zhu Li set down the teapot and quietly examined the new documents handed to her.

“No ma'am.”

Zhu Li was a quiet woman. She limited most of what she said to short questions and nods. Hiro didn’t mind her, but she noticed with the addition of Zhu Li that Kuvira wasn’t coming around anymore. It definitely made things harder for her because how could she take down the Great Uniter if she can’t even see her. As much as Hiro wanted to ask Zhu Li, she kept the small woman at arms length. It was too soon to let down her guard and start asking her questions about Kuvira. She needed to feel out the situation before making her next move.

Hiro realized soon after Zhu Li’s appearance as her ‘assistant’, that the air changed around the maglev. The guards watching over her were more lax, probably because they realized the Great Uniter wouldn’t be paying them as frequent visits. Occasionally Zhu Li would leave and deliver the completed workbooks to an unknown receiver.

This was disadvantageous. She needed to get Kuvira’s attention. She was running out of time before they deemed her as unusable and sent her off to a reeducation camp. I mean, she used to know what would get Kuvira’s attention back at Zaofu. The thought was quickly erased from Hiro’s mind and she let out a small cough. Zhu Li glanced up briefly in suspicion.

Honestly, the thought did cross her mind to potentially seduce the Great Uniter, but even she had to laugh at that idea. She hadn’t forgotten about the interaction she witnessed between Baatar and Kuvira the other night, but ever since then she hasn’t seen either of them. This isn’t working. She needed to think of something else. Hiro gnawed on the inside of her cheek, looking at the map of Republic City in front of her. I won’t run away again. But I can’t do this alone-

“This is quite the setup you have here.” Hiro turned her head to see a familiar dark haired woman coming down the steps. “It’s been a long time, stranger.”

“Anjij? I didn’t realize you were here.” Before all of the nonsense with the Earth Empire and Kuvira taking control, Anjij had been one of the few people Kuvira considered a friend. It wasn’t atypical for Hiro to find them engaged in a thoughtful conversation while waiting at the transport station or grabbing a casual lunch on their break together. When Hiro was stationed in Ba Sing Se, Anjij was occupied on the front lines and Hiro only saw her in quick glimpses and at meetings. Now it was clear that Anjij was doing very well for herself. Even after years apart, Hiro still remembered the higher pitch and smooth melody in the way she spoke.

Anjij definitely broke enough hearts in her life and will definitely break more. There was an intimidating aura to this woman and it certainly attracted people. This harsh demeanor was accentuated greatly with her crisp Earth Empire uniform and sly smile.

“Well not for much longer. Kuvira and I are headed to Omashu tomorrow,” Anjij explained. She looked around at all of the scattered maps and diagrams. “Looks like the same old Hiro. Tell me, are you still a pro Pai Sho player?” Hiro smiled slightly. Although it was comforting having someone so friendly and familiar, she still felt out of place. Afterall, the armbands indicated on Anjij’s armband had moved up to be a Commander now.

“I’m a little rusty,” she admitted. Zhu Li was silently setting up an additional teacup, but Hiro couldn’t help but feel that the other set of ears was taking in this interaction carefully.

Honestly Zhu Li was very hard to read. When she first started coming a few days ago, Hiro was very cautious. They talked minimally, only when Hiro showed her what she had written down or drawn up. If Zhu Li asked a question or implored Hiro to explain further, it felt like a business transaction. She gave no indication of her personal opinions or thoughts about what Hiro was sharing to aide in Kuvira’s empire. As someone quite reserved herself, Hiro knew better than to underestimate her. “You said you were headed to Omashu?”

“Correct. Have to whip those mountaineers into shape, you know?” Anjij chuckled at her own light heartedness and Hiro tried to match it. “Your name came up in today’s meeting. I wanted to see for myself, Hiro Zhao, returned in the flesh.”

Hiro tried to keep the surprise from her face.

“Well, in case you don’t know, this isn’t a willing return.” Anjij raised an eyebrow. “From the looks of it, you’re anything but a prisoner right now.” Anjij glanced over at Zhu Li placing the delicate teacup on Hiro’s desk. “But, regardless of the reason, I’m glad I got to see you.”

Hiro’s face faltered. Hiro wanted to reciprocate Anjij’s honest admission, but she couldn’t let their current standings overcome that. In the end, Anjij was a Commander for her enemy that kept her prisoner. And the reality was also that they were no longer young women in Zaofu inviting one another over for dinner or sparring together. 

“You too, Anjij.” Anjij’s gaze shifted as she carefully took in Hiro’s tense expression. She lifted a hand to gently rest it on her shoulder, and Hiro had to resist wincing. She had been touch starved this past week, mainly keeping to herself and shying away from guards when they escort her to her room. She would be lying to herself if the little human contact didn’t comfort her. If Anjij noticed any of this, she didn’t show it.

“Let me know if you need anything. I’m your friend, Hiro, prisoner or not, and I mean that.”

Hiro wanted to believe her. She wanted to believe Anjij when she shot her a determined look of comfort. She wanted to trust Zhu Li as a possible ally to her mission. She wanted to believe that she had someone on this damned maglev to help her. But no matter what Anjij said, she had no one.

---

Most nights Kuvira ate alone. She always opted to eat alone in her office so she can work simultaneously. It was efficient and productive on her part. Sometimes Baatar would join her, but with his dedication to the Spirit Canon, he would be in the lab all night. So when she heard a knock on the door she was surprised.

“Kuvira, mind some company?” Anjij asked through the door. Kuvira called for her to enter. Anjij walked in confidently and shut the door behind her. “I don’t mean to intrude, but there are a few more things I want to go over before we leave tomorrow.”

Kuvira nodded, putting down her current work and giving Anjij her full attention. The taller woman took a seat at the chair facing her desk. 

“The dissenters seem to come from civilians, mostly destroying incoming Earth Empire rations and supply lines,” Anjij reported. “We should be safe passing through on our own as no one will be expecting our arrival. We have suspicions as to the exact perpetrators, but if you ask me, I think the previous king and his council are calling the shots.”

“As far as we know, they’ve been complicit in their surrender of Omashu,” Kuvira answered back. “But you’re correct, they’ve given us the most resistance since their acquisition. We must approach this with discipline. No one is above my mercy. Not even a former king and his court.”

They continued like this, exchanging knowledge and strategies to finding the dissenters to crush their uprising. It was easy to get people to do what you want, it was harder to keep them in line once you had them. If anyone were capable enough to be her commander, Anjij had shown her worth.

As they wrapped up their conversation, Anjij shifted as if weighing her next statement.

“Before I leave, I wanted to mention...I saw Hiro today. She seems off .”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing obvious! I know from today’s meeting she was regarded as a recaptured Earth Kingdom citizen seeking redemption, but don’t you think that’s a bit brash?” Anjij asked. She quickly followed up upon seeing Kuvira’s gaze harden. “With all due respect of course! I am not trying to question your course of action, but have you thought of a smoother way to transition her to the Empire?”

Kuvira eyed her commander carefully.

“Continue,” she demanded. She saw Anjij’s shoulders relax as she patiently waited.

“Well I was thinking, if you made her a corporal and gave her more leniency, she might be more willing to be of service to the Empire.”

Kuvira scoffed. “I didn’t take you to being so keen to Hiro before? What, an afternoon rekindling old memories made you soft?”

Anjij didn’t react.

“She doesn’t have to know that she’s still being closely watched,” Anjij calculated. A growing smirk danced on her lips. It was one Kuvira was familiar with. It brought her back to days in the Metal Clan. It mirrored the look of success and satisfaction every time Anjij would get the upper hand in sparring matches. Their subtle rivalry was what drove them to excel in their field. As time went, Kuvira turned out to be the stronger opponent, but she never forgot that when she saw that smirk appear, there was a deceptive move coming next. “The false comfort to do what she’s good at, will make her let down her guard. Meanwhile, we keep a close eye on her, make sure she doesn’t slip up. And when she inevitably does, we let her think she has the control-”

“When in reality, she’ll play right into our cards,” Kuvira finished. Her calculating gaze never wavered from Anjij. Her blue eyes were piercing with deceit and Kuvira could see how she was enjoying the idea of this. “What do you mean we?”

She shrugged.

“A first step could be bringing her with us to Omashu. Keep a close eye on her and away from the rest of the troops. The more you let her open up to you and see the work of the Earth Empire helping people, the more she’ll be inclined to help us,” Anjij said simply as if it was the easiest thing in the world. She leaned back comfortably in the chair across from Kuvira. “C’mon Ku, this is Hiro we’re talking about. She’s practically a genius with her technology and can learn any new skill like it’s nothing, but what she doesn’t have is a backbone or awareness.”

Kuvira clenched her fists on the table.

“Fine. You’ve made your points. She will be joining us on our mission to Omashu,” Kuvira concluded. Anjij nodded with the cocky smirk still on her face and got up to leave. “But Commander, I do need you to keep your guard up. Like you say, she’s a genius. We cannot let ourselves be underestimated by her.”

Kuvira didn’t like how her words came out like she was defending Hiro rather than warning Anjij.

“Of course, Kuvira.” The words were empty and it was clear Anjij didn’t see Hiro as a threat. She left Kuvira to eat her now cold meal.

“Commander,” Kuvira piped up, stopping Anjij as the door was halfway shut. “This was your idea. So if anything is to go wrong, I am holding you accountable.” Anjij studied Kuvira carefully once over before nodding once and leaving Kuvira with her thoughts.

The thought of manipulating Hiro into the guise of comfort had crossed Kuvira’s mind. And Anjij was right, Hiro isn’t aware enough of her surroundings to judge twice. But something in her gut told her it wasn’t a good idea to play this game. If she were to do this, Hiro would be moved up the ranks and would be working a lot closer with Kuvira, something she just told Baatar she would be doing the opposite of.

The more she thought about it though, she didn’t mind having Hiro around her. As annoying as she was, she was useful. And that’s what mattered. She was useful.

---

“Have you been to Omashu before?” Anjij asked.

“Never,” Hiro answered. She stole a glance from the Pai Sho game in front of her to look out the window of the maglev. A thick fog coated the outside as they traveled to a higher altitude and through the mountain range. She was never a fan of heights, but what made her more uncomfortable was sitting at the meeting table with Anjij across from her and Kuvira to her left, examining documents. Kuvira had been studying them as soon as she stepped in the room, not even acknowledging Hiro’s presence or the fact that they were playing a Pai Sho game in what was supposed to be the meeting room. Anjij called her in for a friendly game and a debrief of their current mission.

“We’re providing extra aid to the people of Omashu. Due to their location, it’s hard to get supplies out there so we try to deliver big bouches at a time,” Anjij explained, moving another piece of the game. “We’ll be here for about a day or so, but I’ll be staying behind to make sure the rations are properly distributed.”

Hiro anxiously glanced over at Kuvira for any reaction or addition, but the woman seemed very engrossed in the designs she was looking at. If Hiro had a better angle she could see what had all of Kuvira’s attention. Quickly she drew her eyes back forward and Anjij was giving her a kind smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Hiro moved a piece in the game, not thinking much of it.

“And that's the game,” Anjij boasted. With her final piece moved, Anjij had successfully completed her Pai Sho board. Hiro folded her hands on her lap, accepting her defeat.

“I told you I was rusty,” she shyly admitted. “It’s been a while since I’ve played an actual game.”

“No one in the big city plays Pai Sho?” Anjij questioned.

“Not really, not like how we played in Zaofu. Most people played fast Pai Sho,” she explained. Asami was the only people she knew in Republic City who still played the traditional form of Pai Sho with slow methodical moves. It had been a while since Hiro played against someone new.

Anjij stole a glance at Kuvira before getting up.

“I’m going to check on the conductor and the other guards. We should be arriving within the next hour. Zhu Li, if you will come with me please, I’d love for you to make more of that jasmine tea,” Anjij flirted. Kuvira resisted rolling her eyes and a clipped warning. Zhu Li simply nodded and followed. Anjij, a flirt as always , Hiro thought.

It left Hiro and Kuvira in an awkward train car alone with cold porridge and documents stacked on the table. Hiro started packing up the Pai Sho game, letting her thoughts take her away from this maglev. As this was only one of the few train cars taken for their mission, it was very quiet. This was the first time she’s seen Kuvira in almost a week. It was almost unnerving how stoic the woman was.

“Do you still play?” The question stuttered out hung in the air, but Hiro couldn’t back out now that the words were already spoken.

“Are you asking for a game?” Kuvira asked carefully. She glanced down at the neatly set up Pai Sho board in front of her. Hiro shifted uncomfortably under her gaze and took a big gulp of the scorching tea to calm her nerves. She was surprised when Kuvira set the papers down and moved to sit across from her in Anjij’s previous seat. Hiro noticed how she placed them face down so she wouldn’t be able to sneak a glance at what she was looking at. “I’ll go first.”

The first few moves were done in silence. Hiro tries to focus on the game and not how this game brought back nostalgia. They’ve played plenty of Pai Sho games in the past, and Hiro knew Kuvira's strategies. Even though it was just a game, something told her that she had to win this one. So she maneuvered her pieces with deft and purpose, different from how she played with Anjij.

“Why did you let Anjij win?” The question caught her off guard and Hiro hesitated while picking up her next piece.

“What do you mean?” She placed the tile down, realizing now that Kuvira was already going in for an attack strategy to win. 

“You had her cornered for most of the game. All of a sudden it was like you stopped playing,” Kuvira observed, moving her tile to another space. “So tell me, why would you let her have the upper hand? Most of all, why make her think she got it in the first place?”

Hiro wasn’t surprised by Kuvira’s observation. In fact she knew the whole time that even though the other woman was engrossed with paperwork, she was acutely aware of her surroundings. Nothing could get past Kuvira...which is exactly what Hiro wanted. Her lip quirked up in a half smile.

“Still being very attentive of me, I see. I’m flattered,” she taunted. Her eyes conveyed that she knew what kind of dangerous game she was playing alongside the Pai Sho game. She smoothly transitioned her next piece over by the one Kuvira just moved. “Anjij was always a challenging player. She moved her pieces seemingly sporadically without thought, when in reality she’s trying to out maneuver her opponent as quick as she can, that way she can finish her board. If you play against her the way she wants you to, she won’t even realize you’re the one winning. Pai Sho when played quickly can be fun and exciting and Anjij has found a way to mix the two.

But I’d argue that careful and thoughtful movements with purpose allows you to see your opponent clearly than going fast can. I could’ve slowed Anjij’s gameplay down and ended it sooner, but she’s the type of woman who likes the thrill of the game.

And once she’s won, she’ll utilize the same strategy until she realizes too late that she’s used up all of her cards and tricks… and you as her opponent have bested her at everything she can give.”

Hiro had been studying Kuvira’s body movements this whole time as the woman played with the piece in her hand, eyes drifting up to meet Hiro’s in what looked like surprise. Hiro bit the inside of her cheek as her face broke out in a smile and crossed her arms.

“I believe it is your move.”

While speaking, Kuvira didn’t even notice that Hiro had successfully cornered her, one move away from winning.

---

Kuvira narrowed her eyes. Her keen ears perked up and she turned her head from the game abruptly to the windows. She squints, no longer paying attention to Hiro. Somewhere within the fog, a shadow moved. It was swift and if anyone else had seen it they would’ve waved it off as a mirage. But Kuvira knew better. She knew to trust her own instincts.

Without another thought, she gets up and grabs on to Hiro’s arm, pulling the other woman up with her. Some of the Pai Sho pieces jerked across the table, messing up their almost completed game.

“H-Hey!” Hiro stuttered, surprised at the sudden jerking movement.

Kuvira shoved Hiro to the floor with her falling on top. Soon after, the window that was previously next to them exploded in a flurry of shards and the train car lurched. Hiro gasped, her next words choked in shock. Kuvira felt the rest of the metal churn and jerk as the rest of the windows blew out in the left side of the car. It’s when she feels the train rocking to the side that she feels panic bubble up. But Kuvira wasn’t paying attention to that; not the way her body was being thrown around or the ringing she felt in her ears. 

Kuvira closes her eyes and lets her senses take over on the metal around her. That’s her default, she centers on what feels familiar and how she can regain control. Her awareness focused on the metal lining of the train, the plates of metal on the floor, the armor attached to her body. It felt like time slowed down as the train tipped over the edge. Hiro’s screams were only vaguely in the background of the ringing of metal hitting metal and the creaking of the maglev as it tipped over the mountainside, completely detaching from the tracks.

“Hold on.” She felt two arms wrap around her shoulders tightly and bury her face into Kuvira’s collarbone. The car tipped on its side and the rest of the windows shattered underneath them. By now the once pristine meeting room was trashed as furniture, documents, and weapons were tousled to the side of the train. Hiro grunted as they tipped alongside with it, their bodies crashing into a nearby table as the train began sliding off the mountain. Kuvira opened her eyes and inspected the shattered window now above them. The train began skidding down the mountain and slowly building momentum, tumbling further into unknown depths.

I have one shot. One move. Only one split second to get this right.

Fluidly, her arm shot out and with it a thin metal cable attached to her belt. The end of it escaped into the white abyss of the train car empty window. It all depended on the angle, the speed and most of all, luck. Kuvira searched aimlessly for something sturdy to hold on to, but the panic was settling in her bones as they skid further and further down the mountain. Hiro clung to her crying helplessly. She clenched her teeth. C’mon. There has to be something-

There

The green in her eyes sparked to life and the tug from her cable told her to hold on tight. With a flick of her wrist, she latched on to whatever support she found. And the next, she was hoisting both her and Hiro out of the train car and into the white chasm. They flew through, suspended in the air at a fast speed. 

Kuvira twisted her body, feeling the ache in her arms and back as she was trying to control her momentum while carrying both of them through the air. Hiro gasped and Kuvira felt her grip loosen slightly. Kuvira was quick and with her free arm, and held Hiro tight to her. In response, Hiro wrapped her legs around Kuvira’s waist, holding on as tight as she could.

She couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of her, but the dark mass of rock was a breath of relief. It came a lot faster than she intended and her body harshly crashed against the side as they bounced off.

“Do not let go,” she grunted, seeing the mountain coming up again as they swung back towards it. With another grunt and contortion, she managed to get one foot settled firmly on the mountain. All it took was for her to feel the familiar rock underneath her feet, for her to finally let go of the breath she was holding. Her chest heaved and she heard a large thud from far below. She couldn’t completely relax yet, because she still had Hiro clung tightly to her chest. With her bending and pure physics on her side, her metal cable was holding on to something far above them, keeping them from tumbling with the fallen train car. The sweat poured from her forehead. “Hiro, I’m going to pull us up.”

Hiro blinked a couple times, her small body still shaking. Kuvira feels the woman nod against her chest and clench her body even closer. With the reassurance that Hiro wasn’t going to fly off, Kuvira’s attention settled on the metal and slowly they began moving up. Hiro unconsciously gnawed on her bottom lip as they ascended, careful not to make too many movements to disturb their rise. Meanwhile Kuvira focused on keeping supporting both of their weights as they ascended through the misty mountain air.

It was a gangly looking tree growing out of a shallow cave that saved them. It wasn’t very wide and  it sloped off to only hold enough room for both of them to lay down and catch their breaths. The cave was damp and cold, but all Kuvira could feel was the burning from her muscles ache. She moved on to her hands and knees, the adrenaline still pumping through her as her hair flew out in tangles against her face. Leaning down, she pressed her forehead against the damp ground, thankful to feel the comforting rock beneath her.

Kuvira cursed, letting herself settle and finally picking up to the frantic shouts coming through the radio attached to her hip. It was staticy and hard to hear, but she could just make out Commander Anjij’s shouts.

“Kuvira! Are you there!” She presses the button on the radio, trying to catch her voice. She sits up, letting her elbows fall on to her bent knees. Looking over at Hiro next to her, she sees the other woman has rolled on to her side with her back facing her. She didn’t seem to have any visual injuries, which was a relief. 

“Yes I’m here. Are you hurt? How are the others?” she asked.

“We’re all fine! What about you?” 

“I’m alright. Hiro and I are safe.”

“Thank Spirits you both survived!” Anjij sighs. “Where are you?” “In a cave on the side of the mountain. I can’t tell how far we traveled down.” “We’re coming right now! Hang tight!” With that the radio died on the other end. Kuvira gripped it tightly and resisted the urge to crush it or throw it off the ledge. It was her only contact with the rest of the world now. It was the only chance she had to escape this. She looked over at Hiro again, who seemed to finally quake her shaking body.

“Hiro, are you alright?”

“I think so.” The other woman sat up carefully, and despite definite bruises and scrapes, she was safe. The thick material of the Earth Empire uniforms definitely took on most of the impact. Her glasses are gone, and her weary brown eyes fixate on Kuvira. “Thank you.” Kuvira doesn’t respond, but lets out another sigh and leans back against the wall of the cave. Her eyes fall on the empty whiteness outside the cave.

“Don’t thank me. I should’ve taken more safety precautions,” she muttered bitterly to herself. It was a mistake to go into Omashu blind. At this point she knows it was the previous king of Omashu who attacked her. No one else had known that they were arriving. The thought of being crossed made her jaw clench. They would not be getting away with this blatant terrorist attack on her train.

“Kuvira? Are you okay?” the voice cut through her negative thoughts. It was the genuine concern in Hiro’s voice that made Kuvira look up. She didn’t even realize that her hands had balled into fists and the small sliver of earth beneath them was shaking. Looking over, Hiro sat on her knees with a tentative gaze. She kept her hands firmly on her thighs, but she wrestled back and forth reaching out and holding Kuvira’s hand.

One side broke over and Kuvira felt the warmth of Hiro’s hand settle atop her clenched ones.

“I’m alright,” she let out a long shaky breath through her nose, slowly easing her nerves. The feeling of Hiro’s hand touching hers all at once put her at ease and made her nervous. “They are coming to rescue us now.”

Hiro shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, taking away the contact between them. It was quite cold and the harsh wind that occasionally passed made it worse. The adrenaline was wearing off now and Kuvira realized just how much of a dangerous predicament they were in. It was still the morning so there was plenty of light out, but if they weren’t found before sunset, they wouldn’t survive the night. Kuvira stood up abruptly, trying to peer up through the fog at anything. Even if she could launch herself up there, there was no way she could carry both of them all the way back up by herself. And there was to guarantee that there’d be another ledge stable enough to hold them. Right now she could only hope to be found.

---

Hours passed. Even though dusk was still many hours away, their ledge had become freezing. This whole time they were silent and sitting apart with what little space they could find between them. Hiro tried to keep her shaking to a minimum, not wanting to set off the other woman in any way. Hiro’s mind had been racing. Ever since the attack, she couldn’t ease her mind. Did that happen often? Kuvira seemed to be fairly calm about it. It didn’t occur to her before how dangerous being a leader of an empire could be.

“You’re going to get sick.” Kuvira reached out and offered a hand, making Hiro flush. When she didn’t move, Kuvira rolled her eyes. “You either come here and we try to salvage body heat or we both lose a few toes.”

Hesitantly Hiro obliged and pressed her body next to Kuvira’s, making them shoulder to shoulder. She resisted the way her body wanted to sink into the other woman’s unusually warm body as they leaned against the cave wall together. Kuvira’s hair had been let out completely now, and she felt it tickle against her skin.

She felt a shaky breath brush across her neck and she shivered, but this time not from the cold. Kuvira instinctively tucked in closer, making Hiro tense up. If it wasn’t awkward before, it was now with Kuvira’s face practically buried in her neck. Despite the warmth admitted from her, Kuvira’s face was freezing against Hiro’s skin.

“Please,” the word whispered past her ear. “If we’re going to survive this, we’re going to need each other.”

She sounded so sure of herself that they were going to be okay. It was the confidence that made Hiro finally relax into Kuvira’s body and let herself rest. She felt Kuvira’s body slouch as the woman drifted off to sleep. It was clear that carrying them up the precarious mountain had taken a lot out of Kuvira, and Hiro had mixed feelings about the situation they were in now.

She took a risk and reached out to hold Kuvira’s hand in hers as she let the exhaustion take her.

[grigori77]

Guilty Pleasure #25

PATHFINDER

Dir. MARCUS NISPEL; Wri. LAETA KALOGRIDIS; Music. JONATHAN ELIAS; Starring. KARL URBAN, MOON BLOODGOOD, CLANCY BROWN, RALF MÖLLER, RUSSELL MEANS, NATHANIEL ARCAND, JAY TAVARE, KEVIN LORING, DUANE HOWARD; R.T. 99 mins; 2007, USA

WHAT IT’S ABOUT: The East Coast of America, circa the Dark Ages – when a long-range Viking raid ends in catastrophe, the only survivor, a young Norse boy, is taken in by a Native American tribe.  Fifteen years later, Ghost (Urban) is now a man, and is finally becoming accepted as a member of the tribe, but he’s still haunted by the dark, dangerous truth of his origin.  Then a new Viking raiding party arrives, killing everything in its path, forcing Ghost to embrace the killer inside to protect the new life he’s embraced …

WHY IT’S GUILTY: Marcus Nispel is a director of some notoriety in Hollywood – he’s not as hated or derided as Uwe Boll, but he’s not particularly respected, and it’s fairly easy to see why – he’s made a career out of creating horror cinema schlock, taking well-regarded classics and remaking them into flaccid, uninspired clag.  Remember The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and its abysmal sequels?  What about Friday the 13th?  Bleurgh … anyway, at first glance, this might seem like something new and a good deal more original, but don’t be fooled – while it makes no direct references to the fact (there isn’t even a proper wink on the Wikipedia page), this is essentially a remake of a relatively obscure but well-regarded Norwegian Viking adventure flick from 1988 (it was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film, guys!), “borrowing” substantial chunks of the plot as well as its title, essentially just changing the setting.  The end results, on the other hand, are a drastically different film – much as you’d expect from Nispel, this is loud, overly glossy, unrelentingly bloodthirsty and frequently very clunky indeed.  It tanked on its release, losing over $15 million at the box office, and only just managed to finally break even on DVD.  The critics EVISCERATED it, undoubtedly contributing to the film’s ultimate downfall …

WHY IT’S A PLEASURE: Thing is, while Nispel may be a consistent disappointment in the horror genre, I’ve always found him to be a far more successful, enjoyable talent when he tries something a little different.  I find it immensely frustrating that I may be one of the only people alive who was actually genuinely, pleasantly IMPRESSED with his 2011 adaptation of Robert E. Howard’s Conan the Barbarian – the Schwarzenegger version may be the superior film, but Nispel’s take is breathtakingly faithful to the Frank Frazetta-flavoured magnificence of Howard’s world and THOROUGHLY respectful of the source material, resulting in one of my very favourite films of that year (of course, that big slice of prime Mamoa certainly helped it along).  By comparison, Pathfinder is still a dud, but there’s much to enjoy despite its glaring flaws, and it certainly holds up well if considered as a kind of unwitting practice piece before Nispel tackled the Cimmerian … and, like Conan, this is also powered by a brooding, earthily charismatic lead, in this case a ferociously on-form turn from Karl Urban, enthusiastically channelling his similarly robust action-man role in The Lord of the Rings to make Ghost a dangerous, unpredictable badass you can easily buy as a Terminator-level killer of pesky Vikings.  He’s not just a nostril-flaring killing machine either, Urban adding wounded tragedy and very human vulnerability to the mix to make him a well-rounded, compelling hero we can really root for – altogether this is a strong reminder of just what an incredibly gifted and sometimes criminally underrated actor he is. It also helps there’s such a mighty villainous threat for him to conquer – the Vikings are, universally, a brutal, malevolent and sometimes genuinely SCARY joy throughout, a relentless horde of towering, faceless beasts led with typically consummate skill by one of cinema’s truly great screen villains, the immortal Clancy Brown, who makes dead-eyed sociopathic warlord Gunnar as thoroughly memorable a Big Bad as Highlander’s Kurgan.  The Native Americans are also shown surprising respect, well represented through strong performances from the likes of screen legend Russell Means and (then) relative newcomer Moon Bloodgood (Terminator: Salvation, Falling Skies, Code Black).  The plot may get a bit nonsensical at times, while the unrelenting NASTINESS of the violence (particularly in the home-release “Unrated” version) makes this suitable only for those with strong stomachs, but it’s entertaining and exciting in a disengage-your-brain kind of way, Nispel serving out the kind of well-polished action sequences that make for reliable boozy-night-in entertainment, while there’s real visual flair and dark, haunting beauty to be found in many of his compositions.  Sit back, tune out and just go with it and you should enjoy yourself with this one.  If you want something a bit more substantial, why not try to track down the original? After all, that does seem to be the established protocol with Nispel’s work …

[soopersara]

I have a theory...

The timeline of Zuko’s family has never made that much sense to me. I know I’m not alone in thinking this, but the fact that Sozin and Roku were both white-haired old men in their final showdown 112 years before the events of ATLA has never sat quite right with me. It just doesn’t seem possible that they could have been that old if they were Zuko’s great-grandfathers. Cue my overly analytical brain, and a theory that I’ve been sitting on for almost a year now.

So the Avatar wiki is kind enough to provide us with dates for a lot of events in the show. The page is here if anyone cares to see where I’m drawing all this nonsense from. But I pulled out the relevant dates and stuck them in this nifty little timeline:

That’s all the confirmed births, deaths, etc. that the wiki gives us on Zuko’s family from Sozin through the first episode of ATLA with a few bonus Aang-and-Roku events thrown in for reference. And there are some pretty big gaps. 

I’m willing to let the gap between Sozin’s death/Azulon’s coronation and Zuko and Azula’s births slide, though, because we have Iroh and Ozai to fit in there somewhere. Given their appearances in ATLA, I’m willing to bet that Iroh is in his 50′s or 60′s, and Ozai is considerably younger, probabably in his 40′s. So I threw in a guesstimation of when they would have been born (in blue) here:

I’m not sure why their ages aren’t confirmed on the wiki, but whatever. These dates would put Iroh on the younger side (54 at the time of ATLA), but there’s plenty of wiggle room depending on how old you think Azulon was when Iroh was born and how big an age gap you think there is between Iroh and Ozai. Like I said, I can buy that hole in the canon timeline because there are reasonable ways to fill it in. 

But the gap of 58 years between Sozin’s coronation and Azulon’s birth doesn’t sit right with me. Am I supposed to believe that Sozin was eighty-two years old before he had his first son? This is a monarchy, for crying out loud. A monarchy needs heirs, and I never got the impression that the Fire Nation was that opposed to putting women in positions of power. A daughter probably could have taken the throne, so if Sozin and his wife had cranked out a bunch of daughters, I’m assuming at some point they’d give up and just pass the throne to their firstborn daughter. But that didn’t happen, so I think we’re supposed to conclude that Azulon actually was the firstborn. And again, Sozin was eighty-two before Azulon was born, and if a monarch is waiting THAT long to have children, there’s going to be grumbling from many corners of government. Not to mention the fact that menopause is a thing, and unless Sozin was doing some Henry VIII-level wife swapping (and that probably would have been seen as a stain on Sozin’s otherwise “glorious” reign), he kind of missed his chance to have kids at all. 

Basically, that gap makes no sense whatsoever. 

So here’s my theory:

Azulon wasn’t Sozin’s son. 

Sozin started his warmongering ways early enough that he might have put off the “creating an heir” thing until his 40′s or 50′s, but he had a son, who I’ll call Druk. What can I say? I suck at names, but if it was a good name for a dragon, it stands to reason that it should be a good name for a Fire Lord too. Anyway, the government was happy because, Hey, look! Sozin has an heir! Now if something happens, we know who to crown!

But Sozin’s son never became Fire Lord. Druk would have lived a normal royal life, gotten married, and had a son of his own: Azulon. And then, since Sozin lived for an absurdly long time, Druk passed away before his father, and the crown passed to Azulon. 

So then why did Zuko and Azula refer to Sozin as their great-grandfather? Wouldn’t they have known about the “missing generation” in their family tree? Mwahahaha. Never fear, skeptics. I’m this far down the rabbit-hole, I’m not stopping now. 

Sozin was disappointed in Druk in much the same way that Ozai was disappointed in Zuko. Druk had a soft side and didn’t care for the war efforts - he grew up in a world at peace, and while he probably didn’t want to speak out against his father, he never fully bought into the Fire Nation supremacy malarkey. Sozin realized that if Druk was ever allowed to take the throne, his efforts would all fall apart, and Druk would work to restore peace. 

But Sozin was a patient man. He knew that he needed an heir who wouldn’t back down from the war effort, and from very early on, it looked like Azulon would be perfect for the job. So Sozin took over his grandson’s education and did his best to distance Azulon from his father. By the time that Azulon was a teenager, he shared Sozin’s contempt for Druk and was more than willing to go to extreme lengths to further the Fire Nation’s goals. Sozin knew that he had shaped the perfect heir, so now the only problem was getting rid of Druk. 

Sozin had Druk murdered. There was some suspicion surrounding the former crown prince’s disappearance, but Sozin planned the whole thing well enough that no one could ever prove what happened, and Azulon was named as the official heir to the Fire Nation throne.

So there’s my final timeline with Druk added in. Sozin and Azulon both took measures to gradually erase Druk’s name from history: Sozin mostly because filicide (I had to Google the right word for son-killing) is frowned upon, and Azulon because he thought that Druk’s inclusion in the history of the royal family would weaken their legacy. Neither Iroh nor Ozai would have ever met their true grandfather, so if Azulon never mentioned Druk and had records of his existence erased, it would make sense he would have been forgotten by the time that Zuko and Azula came along.

And why does all this matter to ATLA, aside from making Zuko’s family even more screwed up than it was already? Well, personally, I think that having moral conflict within the royal line is a better reason for Zuko’s continual inner struggles than having both Sozin and Roku as his ancestors. Don’t get me wrong, I still kind of like the idea of Roku as Zuko’s great-grandfather (although there’s gotta be a generation missing there too - it’s just basic math), but it was a huge reveal that was done very quickly, and then never touched again. And yeah, introducing a “missing” generation in the royal line would have been a big deal too, but it would have mirrored a lot of Zuko’s family dynamics really well, AND given a reason for why Iroh had so much good in him too. After all, Iroh wasn’t related to Roku. 

Also (and this might seem unrelated, but bare with me), I’m not sure I ever bought Ozai’s reasons for wanting to bring Zuko back to the Fire Nation at the end of Book 1. Like, he had three years to change your mind on the banishment. And yeah, Zuko keeps failing spectacularly, but he’s gotten a lot closer to catching the Avatar than anyone else. Bringing him back just to throw him in prison doesn’t make the most sense to me. BUT, what if Ozai found records of what happened to Druk? Azula was Ozai’s “golden child” but putting her on the throne was never going to end well, and maybe Ozai was smart enough to see that. So when he realized that skipping a generation was possible... well, Zuko’s sixteen. By the standards of most fictional worlds, that makes him an adult, and therefore old enough for a family of his own. Even if the ATLA world didn’t consider him an adult, there was a chance that he’d find a girlfriend and "accidentally” father a couple of grandchildren before Ozai disposed of him once and for all. After all, Zuko’s far less likely to produce a child who’s a raving lunatic than Azula is. He would be the logical choice for producing a new generation of backup heirs quickly. 

Anyway, that’s just what I’ve been able to come up with. Do with it what you will. It’s dark, but I think it makes a lot of sense. Also... I kind of like the idea of Zuko naming his dragon after the great-grandfather that history forgot, who happened to be named after a mythological dragon. I don’t know. I like adding layers to the meanings of names, but I hate coming up with names of my own. Go figure. Hope you enjoyed my waking-up-at-5:30-on-a-Sunday rambles!

[shouyouer]

you are my muse, may pain and my chemistry

READ ON AO3

Pairing: Keith/Lance

Words: 1985

Rating: Gen

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff, Future Fic, Fix-It, Sickfic

“Lance?” Keith asks in a small voice, the effort it takes him to turn over in bed in the direction of the door seemingly enough to drain him of what little energy he had left. Lance’s heart clenches at the sight of his boyfriend so obviously unwell from sickness. Shiro did tell him on his way upstairs that Keith’s been running a fever for the past three days and now it’s apparent to Lance that Keith had considerably played down the extent of his condition over their recent phone conversations, no doubt avoiding video-calls for this exact same reason. The reason, of course, being not wanting to worry his boyfriend.

Well, too bad, Lance thinks haughtily as he makes his way swiftly inside and closes the door behind him, because I’m mighty worried now anyway.

He masks his nerves behind a gentle smile, crossing to the bed and helping Keith sit up when he sees him struggling.

“Yeah.” Lance breathes, voice equally low. Keith rubs tiredly at his eyes, still disgruntled from his slumber, and Lance suspects possibly fever, as his cheeks still possess a glossy red sheen. “I’m here, baby. How are you feeling?”

“M’fine.” Keith says, an easy smile parting his lips as he scoots closer to snuggle into Lance’s side. “I meant to get up before your arrival, but I must have fallen asleep...”

“Of course you did. You’re crazy if you think I’m letting you go anywhere like this.” Lance mutters, holding the back of his hand against Keith’s forehead, Keith fluttering his eyelashes in response and leaning into the touch. Smiling slightly, Lance pulls his hand away and drops a quick kiss onto the same spot, before saying, “You’re not burning up, which is good, but we still should check your temperature. And you need to take some of this medicine – Shiro’s orders.”

Keith makes a face, and Lance barely has enough time to wonder if Shiro’s already tried to have him take some medication, to no avail, before Keith sighs with resignation and mumbles, “Whatever you say.”

Before Keith can change his mind, Lance helps him up into a more comfortable position, and retreats briefly to pour an approximate amount of the medicine into a spoon. Turning back towards the bed, he motions for Keith to lean forward, and the latter obeys without protest, opening his mouth and accepting the medication. The taste must be bitter on his tongue, because Keith almost recoils, face twisting with disgust, but Lance holds firm, making sure he swallows all of it.

“Good.” Lance praises, putting the bottle and spoon away, and no sooner does he turn back around than he’s being dragged down into the bed.

With a surprised yelp, Lance lets himself be pulled into the most tender embrace he’s ever received in his life, face immediately flushing from the close proximity and the feel of Keith’s soft breaths against his neck from where he’s tucked his head into. Struggling to regain some of his composure, Lance nearly misses the words Keith mumbles next, “I’m sorry.”

Lance frowns in confusion, pulling away reluctantly despite Keith’s noise of displeasure, to be able to look at the other better.

“What do you mean?” Lance asks blankly, searching Keith’s face.

Keith’s relaxed expression from before falters.

“Sorry for getting sick like this.” Keith says finally, retrieving his hands from where he’s holding onto Lance and placing one against his forehead, a gesture of distress. He carries on, eyes blinking rapidly but straying away from Lance’s direction, “I completely ruined our first date. We’ve been looking forward to this for so long and I –“

Lance’s eyes widen a fraction as he attempts to catch Keith’s hands with his own, sputtering. “Woah, woah, woah hold on there. What on Earth are you apologizing for? The fever must have messed with your mullet brain more than I thought.”

“Lance.” Keith interrupts, trying hard not to smile. “I’m serious.”

“So am I! Apologizing for being sick is like – I dunno, apologizing for being a living human being? Life happens, and it’s not the end of the world. It’s just one date. Was planning on taking you out at least twice a week to make up for all the time we wasted anyway.”

Keith cannot contain the dopey smile that breaks across his face at that. “You wanna go on dates with me?”

Lance looks at him with narrowed eyes.

“There he goes talking nonsense again.” Lance mutters, aligning his cheek with Keith’s, trying to determine his temperature. “Your fever must be acting up again. Should I call Shiro?”

“I’m fine.” Keith says, rolling his eyes, “I even took that disgusting medicine Shiro bribed you into giving me and you didn’t hear me complaining.”

“Good. Keep it up, sunshine, and you’ll be good in no time.”

Keith doesn’t dignify that with a response, but neither does he seem to be too bothered by the pet name, and Lance meticulously files the information away, just as he’s careful to remember everything new that he discovers about his boyfriend. His attention is brought back from his musings as Keith suddenly asks, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Do you ever think back on everything that it took for us to get together? And everything that could’ve gone wrong?”

Taken aback, Lance shifts away a little on the bed so he can look at Keith, searching for words to say. He covers Keith’s hand with his own, squeezing comfortingly. “I guess. Where is this coming from?”

Keith is silent for a moment, thoughtful, before he continues, voice even more pained than before.

“I don’t think I’ve regretted anything more than pushing you away back then. And not noticing your pain.” Keith sighs, shrinking away from Lance, gazing up at him with a look that is a mixture of both adoration and deep sorrow. “It wasn’t fair to you and I’ll spend however long it takes making it up to you-”

“Keith.” Lance interrupts, dumbfounded and more than a little disconcerted at the turn of their conversation. He leans forward, seeking Keith’s hand. “Can I have a say in this, too?”

Keith meets his eyes at last, hesitant and apprehensive, before nodding slowly and grasping Lance’s fingers in return. “Okay.”

“I forgave you a long time ago.” Lance says earnestly, wanting nothing more than to wipe that despondent look from his boyfriend’s face, because this is obviously something that must’ve been bothering him for a while now. “I would not be dating you had I not. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, too. For pushing you away first and not catching on sooner.” Lance draws him closer, a hand on his waist, and Keith comes willingly “You know you gotta spell it out for me when it comes to feelings.”

“Right. Cause I’m so good at that.” Keith snorts. “I was so mad with jealousy and frustrated over not knowing how to approach you after being away for so long and I just kept lashing out at you with no good reason until one day you’ve just had it and cornered me and said –“

“Why are you being mean to me?” Lance repeats his own words from months prior, the corners of his mouth curling upwards at the similarly flustered look on present Keith’s face.

“And I said I don’t know.” Keith shakes his head, closing his eyes briefly. “God it all seems so ridiculous now, when back then I didn’t even know how to cope with any of it.”

“Yeah. But if memory serves right,” Lance says pausing meaningfully for emphasis and Keith opens his eyes to peer suspiciously up at him. Lance smiles coyly and pulls Keith closer. “then we started making out right in Red’s hanger so let it be known that you are not half as bad at getting your point across as you might think.”

“Oh my God!” Keith groans loudly, collapsing sideways, away from Lance, and burying his face into the pillows. He tries to squirm out of reach but Lance seems to be unrelenting with his tight grip as he moves right after Keith with barely contained giggles and insistent kisses that fall on every inch of Keith’s face he can reach. “I cannot believe the stuff you say sometimes!”

“It’s the truth! I’m just being honest!”

“You’re insufferable!” Keith retorts, though there’s absolutely no heat behind his words as he relents into Lance’s grip, his head falling to rest against Lance’s chest. He feels lightheaded, breathless with laughter and possibly the aftermath of his fever, but his boyfriend’s presence seems to be more than enough to soothe him as they fall into a comfortable silence.

“Keith?” Lance says after a while, mouth pressed atop Keith’s head intimately.

The serious tone in Lance’s voice perks Keith right up, a wave of mild concern washing over him, but he doesn’t hesitate this time when he covers Lance’s hand with his own and answers, “Yeah?”

“We have been through a lot, haven’t we? We deserve to be happy now more than anything.” Lance says and in that moment Keith can swear all of the pain and hardship and exhaustion of the years spent in space can be distinguished on Lance’s face. When Lance turns to face him, though, he still finds it in himself to smile that soft fond smile he reserves for Keith alone, and Keith’s heart aches at the sight. “And I love you and I’d like to think that I know you, Keith. I know how that lovely brain of yours works and I don’t want my boyfriend to keep beating himself up over things that could’ve gone differently in the past. Trust me, I’ve spent more than enough time thinking about that myself. It doesn’t change a thing, only hurts you.”

“Lance.” Keith barely chokes out, blinking away sudden tears.

“Keith.” Lance echoes, smiling kindly as he brings the other’s knuckles to his lips in a gentle kiss. “Let’s promise each other to try and forgive ourselves for everything we could’ve done differently, alright? Let’s not think of the past. I want us to focus on the future. Our future. What do you say?”

Lance lets out a noise of surprise as he’s suddenly met with an armful of boyfriend, Keith having all but flung himself at Lance once he’s finished talking and well, Lance isn’t going to say no to a loving embrace or the feel of warm lips trailing across his jaw and cheeks.

Keith pulls away a little, just enough to press another tender kiss to Lance’s lips. “You know, there are days I feel that I don’t deserve you.”

“Idiot.” Lance huffs, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He leans forward, cupping Keith’s face in his hands gently and swiping at the dampness of his cheeks with his thumbs. “You’ve got me whether you think you deserve me or not.”

“I love you. So much.” Keith says with feeling. He pauses, biting his bottom lip. “Do I tell you that enough?”

Lance smiles, shaking his head in disbelief. This guy, honestly..

“Of course you do. You have nothing to worry about.” Lance says, and can’t resist remarking with a tinge of playfulness in his voice, “Though it is always nice to hear you say it.”

“Good. I’m glad.” Keith says ever stubborn, and Lance chokes back a laugh when he notices that Keith’s barely keeping his eyes open at this point. “I’ll make sure to say it more often then.”

With that Keith sinks further into Lance’s embrace, and drifts into sleep moments later, exhaustion finally claiming him. Lance watches him with a fond look on his face, huffing an amused breath and leaning down to smooth dark hair from Keith’s forehead, his touch as light as a feather as he bends down to kiss the warm skin.

“You don’t have to do anything, Keith. Just get better soon.”

[shutupandshipit]

Kiss me, Hardy! - oneshot

Title: Kiss me, Hardy!

Rating: T

Pairing: Klance, that is all, and not really romantic

Summary: “'Kiss me, Hardy'?” Keith finally gasped, sweat dripping down his back and off of his chin, his eyebrows smashed together.

Lance's brows followed suite, his own workout shirt drenched in sweat. “What?”

“That's what you yelled. 'Kiss me, Hardy'. What does that even mean?” Keith straightened, his arm falling to his side. He wiped at his forehead with the back of his arm, confused and irritated that he was confused.

Alternate Ending

Note: Just a "fuck it" kind of fic that has been rattling around my head after finishing Code Name Verity. Probably the dumbest thing I’ve written in awhile, tbh. So, have a fic, and I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: Any quotes and descriptions from Code Name Verity belong to Elizabeth Wein.

“Kiss me, Hardy!” Lance shouted at the top of his lungs in a horribly butchered British accent as he rushed Hunk, tackling him to the floor in a heap of gasping laughter and teenage boys.

The statement was nonsensical, unrelated to the situation at hand. Keith decided it was probably just another reference he didn't understand, another black stain on the social skills of Keith Kogane, half-galra and red paladin extraordinaire. Hunk's name wasn't even Hardy! Hardy wasn't even a name where he was concerned.

This time, Lance didn't immediately launch into an explanation as he had so many times before. It probably had something to do with that fact that he was wrestling with his best friend who was at least twice his size, but somehow still winning. Pidge stood at their sides, commentating as they rolled passed her, and obviously not taking the time to explain either.

The phrase remained lodged in the back of his mind for hours, days really, just replaying over and over again. 'Kiss me, Hardy!' echoing through his memory with Lance's shout. No other references Lance had made had ever stuck to him as hard as this one had. Maybe it was the minimalism of it. Or maybe it was how out of place it felt in the moment. Or maybe it was just because of the words themselves. 'Kiss me, Hardy!' as if that were a suitable battle cry, the last desperate attempt before the end.

He wasn't sure, and that bothered him. Why would someone say that at all? Why would that be a quote from anything? Why would Lance yell it running into a play fight in the first place? The fact that he didn't understand ate at him until he finally decided to ask.

“'Kiss me, Hardy'?” Keith finally gasped, sweat dripping down his back and off of his chin, his eyebrows smashed together.

Lance's brows followed suite, his own workout shirt drenched in sweat. “What?”

“That's what you yelled. 'Kiss me, Hardy'. What does that even mean?” Keith straightened, his arm falling to his side. He wiped at his forehead with the back of his arm, confused and irritated that he was confused.

“Oh!” Lance's eyes brightened as he straightened, mimicking Keith's movements before sinking to the floor and flopping onto his back. “So, there was this book I read back on Earth. Just on a whim, you know? Trying to impress this girl who really liked to read and recommended it to me. I just thought I'd read the synopsis or something because, like, World War II? Not really in my realm of interests, but I totally got into it. Like seriously got into it. Hunk can vouch. I read it three times in the same week because I couldn't get enough. Anyway, it's about this lady pilot which was really rare back then I guess, and this lady spy which was even rarer.”

Keith listened intently as he gushed about a book that he had never heard of. Torture and shot down planes and double agents and red lipstick. He'd never read anything like what Lance was describing, something fantastical and brave. Like Lance had said, it wasn't something that was in his realm of interests either, but the more Lance spoke, the more he longed for the easy access to libraries and electronic copies of books that had been afforded to him on Earth. He hadn't been much of an avid reader while he was at the Garrison, never had the time, but once he'd gotten out... Well, there wasn't much to do in the desert when he wasn't actively searching for answers to a lost brother. He thought that perhaps this would have been a book he would have enjoyed too.

“And like, so that quote, 'Kiss me, Hardy!' is mentioned a couple times in the book. Just like 'Fly the plane, Maddie' which could totally apply to us if you changed the name. Fly the plane, Keith.” He giggled to himself quietly, amused at his own ingenuity. “That one was always to keep the pilot moving, to keep her going kind of, to focus her. At least to me. 'Kiss me, Hardy! Kiss me,quick!' is the other one that stuck with me though. It just rattled around in my brain for weeks. There's just something about it. I think it was probably what happened in the book. So, there's 'Kiss me, Hardy' and then there's 'Kiss me, Hardy! Kiss me, quick!'. That one was used just as the pilot was trying to save the spy, but they knew she wasn't going to get away. And the spy heard the pilot crying and recognized her! Imagine it! Knowing your best friend so well that you can know them just from the sound of their crying. The spy said something about best friends too. 'It's like falling in love, discovering your best friend', I think. I can attest to that. It really does feel that way. Anyway, so the spy is about to get carted off, recognizes the pilot, and yells, 'Kiss me, Hardy! Kiss me, quick!', and then...” He trailed off, staring at the ceiling solemnly.

“And then what?” Keith prompted, staring at Lance from where he'd dropped to sit crisscross beside him.

Blinking, the light came back into Lance's eyes. “You'll have to read the book for that, Keith. I'm not going to spoil everything!”

Keith threw his hands into the air. “You've spoiled everything else.”

Lance gasped dramatically, looking horribly affronted. “I would never! I'm not Pidge spoiling the end of a seven book series when I'm only on the fourth book. I've only told you the bare bones. You've got to read the book to really get the full immersive experience.”

Rolling his eyes, Keith pushed to his feet, holding out a hand to help Lance to his own. “How am I going to do that in the middle of space?”

“Pidge might be able to help,” Lance suggested, and before Keith could respond, he continued, “Now are we going to finish training or just keep yapping like pair of terriers?”

…..

Pidge could help, and she did. She had a small archive of downloaded books on her computer for whatever reason and for another reason neither of them could pinpoint, the book was shoved into the depths of her library among Physics and Astronomy textbooks and comics. “It must have been Lance,” she muttered irately as the book downloaded onto a small screen just larger than a cellphone. “I mean, I probably could have found it anyway. We managed to find that screen for the video game, so who's to say we wouldn't have found it in some weird vintage terrain bookstore. Whatever. Here you go. Have fun. It's definitely... something.”

Taking the tablet, Keith raised an eyebrow at her. “You've read it.”

“I did it to shut Lance up.”

Keith hummed his understanding, staring down at the screen with the book's cover filling the frame. “Well, thanks, Pidge. I'll get this back to you when I finish.” He started out of her room.

“Then I'll get it back by tomorrow, probably. That's how long it took Hunk.”

He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “What?”

She flapped a hand at him, shooing him out the door. “You'll see. Now out. I've got things to do.”

…..

Keith did see, and he had to stop once he arrived at the part. He could hear the spy's voice ringing in his ears, sounding a little like Lance and defiant to a fault as she laughed wildly and shouted, 'Kiss me, Hardy! Kiss me, quick!' He had to pause after that, just for an hour or so, because he couldn't go too long without knowing how it all ended.

Something in him trembled with the knowledge of where the quote came from, of how it applied to the story as a whole. He was standing in the kitchen in the middle of the night cycle, a cup of tea in front of him and the tablet flipped face down on the counter. The castle was unnervingly silent after the cacophony the book had elicited in his head, and he jumped when the kitchen door hissed open again.

Lance shuffled in with bags beneath his eyes and his blue lions slippers on his feet. Yawning, he was setting a cup of tea on the counter before he realized Keith was even there. He didn't startle. Instead, he simply asked, “Couldn't sleep?”

“I was reading.” He nodded down towards the tablet.

Lance's face brightened as it always did, as bright as a star. “Pidge found the book for you?”

“Yeah...”

Staring at him for a long moment, his smile became a little sad. “Oh. You got that part.”

“Yeah...”

He sighed, shuffling a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I probably should have warned you, but... it's just not the kind of thing you can explain properly. You have to experience it, or the quote just won't make sense.”

“I definitely experienced it.” Mimicking Lance's movement, he sighed heavily. “I'm going to finish reading before the others start to wake up.”

A grin pulled at the corners of Lance's mouth. “Don't let me stop you. I'm just enjoying a cup of alien tea. Don't mind me.”

They sat in silence as Keith read, drinking tea and making more tea when their cups emptied. It was another hour before Keith finally placed the tablet back on the counter and simply wrapped his fingers around his cup. Finally, he muttered, “She left the window open for her.”

“She did.”

“I've never read Peter Pan, but... I saw that old animated movie once when I was a kid.”

Lance was quiet for a moment, waiting for Keith to continue, and when he didn't, asked, “How did you like the book?”

Keith glanced up at him, and told him exactly what he thought.

…..

Keith had never been so thoroughly torn apart and pieced back together by a book before. It reminded him of the friendships he had built with every person aboard the castle. It also reminded him of the very real possibility of the ending of all of this being one of their endings.

That terrified him, the thought of one of his new family members suddenly not being there. He told Shiro as much in the dark hours of the night when he couldn't sleep, but he kept it to himself when it came to the others. They didn't need to know that something inside of him thought every mission they went on could be one of their last.

He was determined to not allow fate not to feast on their blood.

That didn't stop him though. He trained harder, took more time to just sit and listen to them go on and on about the most mundane topics. Lance quoted the book at him every chance he could just for the simple fact that Keith would catch the references this time. They discussed the book at length for hours, and then, when they ran out of things to say, they started talking about other things, and he had never felt so comfortable around another person in his life, even Shiro. He told Lance things he had never admitted aloud, and Lance told him the ten things he was most afraid of.

Many of their fears overlapped.

It felt like a fairytale, falling into friendship with Lance. He forgot to remind himself that fairytales always have an end.

…..

Keith had Lance's baryard along with his own, and he still couldn't remember how that had happened. He sat high on a ledge, his thigh oozing dark blood and his head woozy with the loss. Still pinned down by sentries firing at him, he took them out one by one, but not fast enough to matter.

He was the only one left free, the others captured and incapacitated down below. He had tried to help them, tried to shoot the sentries surrounding them. He hadn't tried to shoot open their bonds, not with how bad of a shot he was, but he had managed to take out two of Lotor's generals by some stroke of luck.

“For each of my generals you have killed, we will mortally wound two of your fellows! You will watch them bleed out and die while you remain helpless. That will only leave one left! Thinks carefully about your next actions!” Lotor shouted, scanning towards the top of the ceiling, but still missing Keith.

Without pause, they blew out Hunk's kneecaps, removed Pidge's fingers one by one as the others screamed for her, cut off Shiro's remaining arm, and Allura... Keith hadn't seen what had happened to her as he'd clutched at his leg. She was lying on the ground when he looked back, a hand covering her face and a pool of blood growing beneath her as she clutched her stomach.

“Bring the Blue Paladin, and leave the rest. They'll be dead soon enough,” Lotor told Acxa, his one and only remaining general, “He'll be a lovely play thing.”

Lance was wild-eyed, looking for a way out of the situation they had found themselves in. As Acxa jerked him to his feet, his eyes found Keith high against the ceiling, just barely hidden save for the barrel of Lance's own rifle. Tears filled his eyes, and a wild laugh spilled from him. “KISS ME, HARDY! Kiss me, QUICK!” he cried at the top of his lungs, just as the spy had, and still, just like her, he turned his face into his shoulder away from Keith.

“What? What are you-” Lotor began, but that was when Keith pulled the trigger.

…..

“See? I knew the same thing wouldn't happen to us,” Lance gasped as he limped towards the healing pods.

“I shot you,” Keith told him miserably, holding tight to Lance's wrist where it was slung over his shoulders with bruising force, “It's only because I'm a piss poor shot that I didn't shoot you in the head.”

Turning towards Keith, Lance's face softened. “I was telling you to.”

“I know, but-”

“You saved us with your lousy shooting, Keith, and you hurt Lotor enough that Acxa took him and ran. You're the hero of the hour. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.” Lance was still smiling, his eyes glassy with blood loss and tears. Allowing Keith to guide him into the healing pod, he mumbled passed a grin, “Fly the plane, Keith.”

Keith shook his head. “This is not the time for that, Lance.”

“It's always the time, samurai.” Lance sighed as the pod door materialized into place, sealing him inside.

Coran was right behind him, ushering him into a healing pod of his own. He stared out over the others, all silent and bloody in their own pods, and he reminded himself that they were still alive. Their fairytale hadn't come to an end just yet.

“Fly the plane, Keith,” he muttered to himself as he was sealed into the pod.

[jovial-insanity-blog]

Gravitational Pulls // Min Yoongi

Warnings: Language, Fluff overdose

A/N: So this is a Suga/Min Yoongi/Agust D reader insert fic, but I never actually mentioned his name anywhere in there (oops) so I figured I would clarify that before hand. Okay, you may continue my dears.

•••

The air is light tonight. Wind caressing exposed cheeks with chilled fingers, stars begining to sprinkle their dreamy light over the city park. Eyes glisten with the reflection of night lights. The moon, not out in its full glory yet, but it’s eerie glow leaking through the cloud cover enough to reveal itself. Stunning, as always, is the night sky. Just as stunning, perhaps, as what occurs beneath.

…………………………

“Isn’t it fascinating?” a feminine figure thinks aloud, a broad, crooked smile glistening pure white in the surrounding darkness. Her company raises an eyebrow, curious at the path his friends mind is wandering. “Isn’t what fascinating?” he ventures casually, continuing to stare at the dotted sky.

The girl sighs, leans back into the arm around her shoulders. It’s pleasant, the gentle presence of another persons warmth to chase away the nights chill, and she hums lightly before responding with a gentle, “The way that… everything that could be crashing down on us from up there, is suspended by something that, really, we can’t even see.”

A gentle smile comes to the man’s face at the words, hood slipping off as he turns to the young woman at his side. Of course that’s what she came up with, he smirks to himself, staring admiringly at the top of her head. Shes always coming up with nonsense like that, blowing his mind time and time again with how intensely philosophical she can be. “..How.” he voices aloud, though it was meant to be more of a thought. She backs off slightly in order to face him properly, confusion written on her pretty features. For a moment, he mourns the warmth that seeps away with her movement. The safety of another human by his side, comforting and gentle and reassuring in the semi-daekness. Though its lack of presence is disapointing, he also cant help but take another precious moment to admire her unintentional beauty. Moonlight now uncloaked coating her bare face in a pale glow as her brow creases, head tilting ever-so-slightly to the left, just like it always does when shes unsure of something. He could gaze at her for hours, if only she would allow him.

“How… , what?” she questions quietly, taking in his features just as he does hers, making sure to note the small smirk lingering like it always does after he smiles, and the flicker of passing emotions working behind his eyes that she so adored being able to decipher.

He chuckles to himself, shaking his head with sudden bashfulness that makes his ears go red from more than just the chill, “How do you do that?”

The creases on her brow increase in depth, revealing the lasting confusion to the man quietly obsessing over the way her lips press themselves into a harsh line that starkly contrasts with the small wrinkles appearing on her nose. Curse whatever the hell made her so cute, seriously. Did they want to ruin his ability to concentrate? Because if so, congratulations to them. It worked..

“Er, you’re gonna have to be a bit more precise with that one snowflake.” is her returning quip. He wrinkles his nose. “Do what?”

She suppresses a giggle at his reaction to the nickname, knowing he likes the term - though he insists he despises upon its childish nature. He tends to be like that about a lot of things, she’s noticed over the years; but she can, and has always been able to, see through the protective shield he’s made around himself. And he does, and always has done, the same for her.

“I thought I said not to call me that, ya prick.” he retorts, lightly smacking her shoulder as she laughs. “But seriously, how do you do it? Look at something and just BAM,” he attempts a (rather poor) impression of an explosion, “profound message, just from staring into space - quite literally. ”

“Was that pun intended.” is her immediate reaction, still laughing light heartedly as his cheeks begin to blush, hard. He chuckles along with her, messing idly with one of the cords on his hoodie, “Uhm, no, actually - for once.”

They both sit without conversation for a while, just letting their laughter gradually fall and rise again with the fluctuating eye contact until they finally, finally get a grip on themselves.

“I don’t know, by the way.” the girl whispers, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over the atmosphere, “how I do that, I mean. It just kind of…, comes to me, I guess. For whatever reason.” she chuckles nervously, gesturing randomly into thin air. “But, hey, you know what that reminded me of?”

Humming, he realizes that she’s leaning her head on his shoulder again. Suddenly - and deffinitely unrelated to any other preemptive thought whatsoever - his head is, without explination, over her own. It takes a second for his eyes to slip closed, but they do. And when they do, he relaxes. He breathes in. And is in turn overwhelmed by fatigue, and the scent of vanilla shampoo.

“It.. reminds me, of something." She whispers.

"Mm?"

"It - it reminds me of love.”

..Oh. And, he’s wide awake again. “Huh?”

“Love,” she repeats, lightly nestling her head into his chest. “How even though the world can be crashing down on someone, love can keep them suspended just enough as to not let their entire galaxy implode. ”

As the words float around in his brain, he realizes just how right she is, and just how whipped he really is for one of his best friends. How well she keeps him suspended, comforting in times of near implosion and encouraging even when everything was aligned. And she knew - she knew exactly where she was directing that little realization the moment she thought it, having known for a good while now that he was her oxygen in a universe lacking of air. She knew this, yet made no moves in particular to advance in any way. She loved him, carried him not close to her heart but inside of it, and he felt the same, though she was yet unaware.

And she anxiously awaits his reply, not knowing just how bloody hard that statement just hit him. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had a concussion if he was honest, brain whirring around the words tumbling like waves over and over again in his mind until, not thinking, he mumbles out a small, quiet, “You keep me suspended.” and immediately sticks his face in her hair, terrified of her reaction. She’s his best friend, he might have just completely ruined their friendship, fuck why did he do that​ how stupid could he g-

“You keep me suspended, too. ” Oh. Well that wasn’t… quite what he was expecting. She smiles into his side just as he smiles into her hair, squeezing her shoulders - just because he can.

“That was, by far, the cheesiest thing I’ve ever taken part in. ” he laughs, earning a slap to the chest (even though she’s laughing too).

“Shut up, you love me. Jerk. ”

And he does. He really, really does.

–

It’s two days and five hours later (neither of them were counting, shut up Tae) when they’re in the same positions, but this time on the couch in the dorm, watching some cliche ‘scary movie’ with the Maknae’s and Jin because they were concerned about how much the two of them spent in their rooms or just not generally socializing. In all honesty, neither of them minded. They got to spend time together for the first time since they walked home from that midnight confession two and a half days ago, and even though the movie wasn’t the best, they enjoyed it. [You guys didn’t even watch it! You just cuddled on the couch and made our stomachs sick with your cuteness] Taehyung shut up. [It’s true and you know it!] Yeah, yeah, okay. So it was nice, besides the fact the movie was trash. They got to actually be close - more so than their usual platonic half-cuddles [was it really ever platonic though? OKAY OKAY LEAVING SORRY BYE DON'T KILL ME]. Yes, it was platonic before. But, now, it wasn’t. And it was probably supposed to be a little awkward at first, because maybe this.. changes things. Maybe it was different now that there were titles, and comitment. But… it wasn’t. It was natural, their bodies molding against each other, worn t-shirts and sweat pants and shorts and a kinda small tank top surrounding them in a sea of fabric and comfort as she placed her head beside his and he wrapped his arm around her waist. And finally, their universes came together, and they became each other’s gravity.

•••

Hello! Admin Bre here - this is my first post on here and I’ve done it on my phone, so apologies if the format or anything is weird (please tell me if it is and I’ll try to fix it asap)! Hopefully you enjoyed the massive fluff ball I’ve created - this isn’t my writing at its best, so I’m a little hesitant about posting, but I’m doing it anyways because screw it. Might as well XD so, yeah. (I’ve done some editing now, so its slightly less shit :) ) If you have any criticism or comments or suggestions on what I should do next, go ahead an leave me an ask and I’ll answer as soon as I remember to! Byeeeeeeeee

[consistentlifeethicjunkie]

Scrupulosity (all credit to @StrivingsWithinChristiansWithAnxietyDisorders on Facebook

My Religious OCD/Scrupulosity: Clinging desperately to Jesus! So, what's it’s like to struggle with Religious OCD? It's not possible for me to share all the ways that it affected me because there wouldn't be enough words or written expressions to really convey the whole of it. But, I can share a bit of it with the hope that maybe what I say might resonate with someone else who is suffering or maybe create a level of understanding and empathy in families who have a loved one who struggles with it. Before going any further on I need to clarify that my experience with Religious OCD may differ from that of others because my OCD is not typical to what people might generally expect to see in a person with my disorder. I don't perform outwardly observable rituals or compulsions as do many people with the classic or typical form of OCD. The only compulsion that I share with that form of OCD is avoidance. Other than that, the majority of my compulsive activity is carried out within my mind in a non-observable way. This form of OCD is usually referred to as Pure O or Purely Obsessional OCD. This terminology, although it's helpful in defining the differences between these two forms of OCD, can be misleading in that it seems to suggest that there isn't any compulsive activity associated with Pure O. Yet, anyone with Pure O will agree that when the disorder is severe, the compulsive activity is being carried out every waking minute of the day. The compulsive activity of Pure O is as follows: 1. Rumination: This is the all-encompassing term which covers most Pure O compulsions. Rumination means that the intrusive/ distressing thoughts, questions doubts are mulled over or attended to every waking minute. I mean this quite literally. The thoughts greet you as soon as your eyes pop open in the morning and they are the last thing on your mind just before you fall asleep... that is IF you can fall asleep. To state that you are preoccupied with them is an enormous understatement. 2. Reassurance seeking: Asking close family/friends certain questions in order to provoke reassuring statements from them in an effort to fight off the fear. 3. Problem solving; Intense mental effort to try and figure out why you are struggling with the obsessional theme. 4. Arguing: Mental argumentation against the disturbing thoughts in an effort to try and gain some feeling of reassurance that they aren't true. Many times, this can be logical reasoning but no matter how much sense the argument makes it doesn't erase the obsession or the anxiety because you can't out logic OCD. (Why? that's another topic for another post.) 5. Canceling/countering: These are mental statements or repetitive words or phrases which are made to try and undo or cancel the unwanted thought. Praying and confessing are often employed in a repetitive way in order to try and cancel the intrusive thoughts because the sufferer feels that they are to blame for having them. 6, Research: Internet searches aimed at gaining some feeling of reassurance. For example: if you are struggling with health obsessions you may research certain health topics. If you struggle with Religious OCD you might continually research topics like: eternal security or the unpardonable sin, or doubting your salvation. (1-6 are all about trying to gain a feeling of certainty or reassurance which the sufferer believes will finally lay it all to rest.) 6. Avoidance: Avoiding things related to the obsession because those things trigger intense anxiety and put you in the place of having to sit with or face the fear. This is when Pure O can become very disabling as the sufferer begins to avoid the normal every day activities of life because the anxiety has become so intense. (This list is not an exhaustive one, just a very basic overview of the compulsive activity of Pure O.) Religious OCD roared into my life about ten years ago. During that time, I had already been struggling for several months with other obsessional themes; health related obsessions and self-harm obsessions. At that time, however, I still hadn't been diagnosed with OCD but had a long-standing diagnosis of Panic Disorder and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. It's sad that I'd struggled with OCD for so long without knowing what it was, but sadly that's the case for a lot of folk. Therefore, when Religious OCD first reared its ugly head, I fought it blindly without a shred of knowledge as to why these horrible thoughts were plaguing me or what I could do to escape from them. My Religious OCD: (Excerpts from my book: Strivings Within: The OCD Christian) The first assault came on like the charge of a lion that had been hiding in tall grass, just waiting for the opportune time to leap out and catch me off guard. I had been listening to a sermon on a CD while doing dishes when just one sentence from the speaker seemed to shout, accuse and terrify me. It went something like this: "If you are still struggling with sin on a daily basis, maybe you need to consider the possibility that you might not be a true believer." As that sentence sliced into my mind, the following thoughts poured out one right after another like water from a burst dam. I struggle with sin in one way or another nearly every day. What if this means I'm not a true believer?! What if this is why I'm going through this season of unrelenting fear and terrifying thoughts?! Maybe God's been trying to tell me something! How can I be sure I'm a true believer?! These thoughts were accompanied by the most crushing feeling of terror. I found it hard to breathe, my heart began racing, a cold sweat broke out, I felt like I might vomit and my ears began ringing. This was serious! At least that's how my brain perceived it at that time. And that was the beginning of one my worst OCD obsessional themes which I refer to in my book as: The "Tower of Terror". From that moment forward I began a desperate search for certainty regarding my standing with God. I would mentally review my past relationship with Christ: When did it begin, how had I been assured of my salvation in the past, was there evidence that I was a believer, did I have real faith and how could I obtain absolute proof that I was a genuine Christian? Suddenly the health obsessions took a back seat and the strange and bizarre self-harm thoughts wandered out to the fringes of my thinking rather than residing front and center. Each morning I would wake up, stretch for a moment and then - WHAM! - it would hit me that I still needed to find a way to make certain that I was saved. One day while deep in the rumination process I suddenly had the thought: Maybe God isn't real after all, maybe it's all been a sham. Words will always fall short of my being able to describe what utter despair and torture this mental utterance had on me. I wanted to un-think that thought, to find a way to erase it from my mind. I was screaming back at it in my head. NO, I do not believe that! I know God is real and I've known true intimacy with Christ for most of my adult life! Words from a familiar hymn came to mind. You ask me how I know He lives? He lives within my heart! And yet for all my utter rejection of that initial thought, the fear that followed directly on its heels was more convincing than my argumentation. To think that such a thing could have entered my mind was just absolutely crushing. I prayed for God to forgive me for it and prayed again and again. Surely, He would forgive me for having a thought that I didn't want to have. He would understand. But, my OCD wasted no time in coming up with yet another horrid possibility. I had been studying several good apologetic books just prior to these events and one day this thought dropped into my mind to twist all that around into something evil. The only reason you were even reading all those books was because deep down inside you've never been sure that you believed any of it at all. My OCD had taken something that had been a delight to my heart and twisted it into a way to accuse. That's how it works, just when you feel you're finding the smallest shred of reassurance another horrid possibility crops up which is typically worse than the last. As the weeks and even months wore on I started to experience intrusive thoughts that made me feel like I might be wanting to become an atheist. With Pure O - OCD, whatever you don't want to think is exactly what your mind goes to. The harder you fight against the thoughts the more stuck and insistent they become. And the anxiety... (I wish there was a better word for it) is just indescribable. I suppose if my head had been shoved into a guillotine with the blade about to drop that might come close to the intensity of the fear that accompanied these thoughts. After all, the most important relationship of my entire life was being threatened. The One who filled my life with love, joy, hope and purpose might be lost to me forever and with that my eternal state would be utterly without hope. There were days when I would just have this sudden realization that the whole thing was utter nonsense and I could breathe again and eat and sleep, but they were short- lived. I remember one of those days when it suddenly occurred to me how odd it would be for an Atheist to be terrified of losing Christ or terrified of the prospect of hell. How can you be afraid of losing someone you don't believe in or fear something you don't think exists? Those logical moments should have laid the whole matter to rest, but in the end, it turns out that you cannot out logic OCD because it's fueled by two things: Anxiety and any or all attending to its questions and doubts. For every logical counter statement, every reassurance, every problem you think you've solved - there is always going to be another dread filled "what if"? OCD is a hungry beast that thrives on attention. Its obsessions grow fatter and take up more and more space in the mind every single time you attend to them. When it's thoroughly saturated your every waking moment, that’s when it's got you where it wants you. The more you attend the more certain you will feel that the whole matter is the most urgent thing in your entire life. To not pay attention to it, to cease trying sort it all might seem akin to ignoring a blaring fire alarm that's warning you to either douse the fire or flee from your house. OCD sets huge fires of anxiety and doubt in the mind that compel the sufferer to feel that they must take action. As my Religious OCD began to take over my life it also began to rob me of the joy of participating in the very things that had been most meaningful to me. When I read my Bible, I would stumble upon a verse that would seem to reinforce the fears I was struggling with. When I prayed, it felt like I was just going through the motions while detached from the One I was praying to. When I went to church I felt like I didn't belong, that I was a contamination amid the saints. All those people that I knew to be Christians stood in stark contrast to me. All of it was so triggering regarding the obsessions and I found it so hard to stay in the presence of these things because of how intense the Anxiety would get. All that I loved most seemed to have been ripped away from me. I felt desolate and alone - a freakish anomaly among the people of God. So, that's the shortened version of what it's like to be afflicted with Religious OCD. It's awful and sad to say I'm not alone in my experience with it. There are many others; young and old, male and female, those who love the Lord, those who serve the Lord, missionaries, teachers of the Word, pastors and pastors wives. OCD doesn't discriminate regarding who it picks on. Thankfully what I've related here isn't the end of my story. My OCD doesn't manage me any longer, I manage it. It is a very treatable condition. I'm thankful that I was able to obtain a diagnosis and learn how to manage it effectively. God has answered my prayer: "Return to me the joy of my salvation!"

[rizlowwritessortof]

Make You Mine

I’ve kind of had a craving for angry, jealous Dean lately... 

Gator @salvachester - this one’s for you <3

You climb out of the back seat, tugging your skirt down self-consciously. Dean is staring at your legs, his jaw clenched, and even Sam swallows hard, then turns away.

“Does it look that bad?” you ask, worried for a moment that maybe you're not dressed appropriately to be an FBI agent.

Sam clears his throat, and Dean growls out, “You look fine.”

You straighten your jacket, lift your chin, and get into the head space you need, a little condescending, a little no-nonsense, like you're used to getting what you ask for. Dean gives you one more glance and, looking like he'd like to eat someone, leads the way into the police station.

You and Sam trail Dean to the front desk, standing a step behind and flashing your badges dutifully when the officer on duty asks if he can help you. “What can we do for the FBI?” he asks, just a touch of snark behind his words, and you can almost feel Dean's thunderous frown. He's been on edge for days, and this day seems to be a bad one. His temper has been unpredictable, his level of patience almost zero, and you cringe a little internally at what his reaction might be.

“Is your superior officer around? Maybe the big boys should talk,” he snaps, and the officer behind the desk stands up, all six feet and at least four inches of him, maybe even a little taller than Sam.

“Listen, Agent Hetfield. We don't take kindly to feds coming in and throwing their weight around. If we can help, fine. But don't go making demands like we owe you. We work for a living around here, too.”

You can almost feel Dean’s chest swelling, his temper ready to blow, and you step forward, one hand on his arm as you push your way in front of him. “Sorry, Officer – Thomas, is it? Please forgive my partner, this case has him a little wired.” You turn to look up at Dean, your lips tight as you speak to him in a pleasant voice, aware that he will hear the anger beneath. “Agent Hetfield, Agent Hammett, why don't you go get that coffee we were talking about? I'll get what we need here and meet you outside.” You narrow your eyes at him, the threat behind them clear.

“Yeah. Why don't we just do that,” he grinds out, giving a curt nod to the officer and turning on his heel to stalk to the door, flinging it open without a pause. Sam smiles politely, then turns to follow him.

“I'm so sorry, Officer Thomas. He really has been under a lot of strain. We've been following leads on this case for some time now, and it does tend to wear you down.”

His eyes soften a little as he nods. “Yeah, understandable. I appreciate your – uh – diplomacy. Sometimes situations like this get a little alpha-male, you know?”

You smile sweetly. “Well, Officer, what I really need is to see the files on the so-called ‘Slasher’ murders. Just to compare notes. You've probably got some of the finer points that we've missed, being local and all.”

“Of course. Follow me, I'll get you set up.”

It's an hour or so later, and you tuck your pen into your folder, closing it on the pages of notes you've scribbled down. Officer Thomas escorts you out, his hand on the small of your back, and you laugh at something he says. He believes he's witty, and you play your part well, making him believe that you think so, too. He shakes your hand, rubbing his thumb over the smooth skin, holding on a little too long, but you let it go. Then he asks you out for drinks later, and you smile again, apologizing that you'd love to, but no. Work comes first. When he finally lets you leave, slipping his card into your hand 'just in case,' you thank him, then turn and walk towards the car where Dean waits. His posture is stiff, his hands clenched on the wheel, and you meet his eyes. They are smoldering, his lips pressed tightly together, his jaw working. You can almost feel the fury coming off of him in waves, but you refuse to drop your eyes.

“Where's Sam?” you ask as you slip into the front seat, gracefully pulling your legs into the car. He lets his eyes travel from mid-thigh down as you slip out of your heels.

“Library.”

“Good. Now would you like to tell me what the hell is wrong with you?”

“I'm fucking fine.”

“Right. You've been glaring at me all morning, and you almost blew it with the locals. Seriously, Dean, what's your problem?”

“I don't have to deal with the 'locals,'” he fires back, “because you just hitch up your skirt a little more and flash some cleavage, and they bend over backwards for you.”

“Excuse me?” You are speechless for a few seconds, your hands clenched so hard your nails are digging into your palms. “Was that some kind of accusation?”

“If the push-up bra fits.” He throws the car in gear and the tires squeal just the tiniest bit as he leaves the curb.

You are so pissed off that you can’t even form a coherent string of swear words. “Excuse me, Agent ‘Yeah, this job is dangerous and lonely and some nights you just want another human being to share your thoughts with.’” You glare at him, laser eyes, and he throws a sneering expression your way.

“God, are you ever gonna let that go? I used that line one time!”

“That we overheard, yeah!”

“At least I don’t go around with my assets hanging out all over the place!”

“Fuck you in your fucking face hole, Dean Winchester!” You can feel your face glowing with heat, and you're so pissed that you sound ridiculous, but you are beyond caring. “Stop the car, I'm getting out.”

“No. You're not.” He speeds up, and you reach for the door handle, but he grabs you by the arm and yanks you towards him. You struggle, trying to pull yourself from his grasp, but his fingers are digging in, unrelenting, and you know there will be bruises in their wake. “Stop fighting me, Y/N.”

“Fine! I'm packing my stuff and I'm outta here!” You sit still, refusing to look at him, your chest heaving and your hands shaking as he whips into the motel parking lot and screeches to a halt in front of your door.

The second his fingers loosen their grip, you pull away and are out the door, barefoot through the gravel, digging in your bag for your room key. You can barely make it work, you're shaking so badly, but you finally manage to yank the door open. You turn to slam it shut, but it shudders as Dean stops it with one hand and shoulders his way in, banging it closed behind him.

“Get the fuck out.” Your teeth are clenched as you speak, and you reach for the door handle to open it again.

“I don't think so,” he growls, and then he slams you against the door, one hard-muscled arm braced across your chest, the other hand buried in your hair as his lips capture yours in an almost brutal kiss.

The air is practically crackling around the two of you, and you're too shocked to even struggle. When he raises his head, both of you panting for air, you stare into his eyes, bewildered and still furious. “What the hell, Dean?”

“I can't do this anymore, Y/N. You're driving me fucking crazy.” He kisses you again, and your brain just blanks, reverting to primal instinct, desire flooding through you like a dam has burst inside. He’s still kissing you when he grabs the neck of your blouse and jerks it open, sending buttons pinging across the floor, and then he looks down at you, his stare dark and dangerous as his eyes take in your lavender bra, the swell of your breasts heaving with your agitated breathing.

“You can’t do what anymore, Dean? What the hell are you...”

“I can’t pretend I’m okay with it when those assholes stand there imagining you naked while you give them a little peek just to get some information. I can’t watch while you hook up with some dickless wonder when we go out for a few drinks. I can’t act like it doesn’t piss me off when some fucking jerk has his hands all over you.”

“Oh, but it’s okay when you’re all Agent Casanova, ‘I just need someone to fuck because I might not live another day!’ And look who’s talking about hooking up at the bar, all the brainless bimbos that are always hanging all over you!” You grab his shirt with both hands and give it a yank, sending his buttons flying and his tie all sideways. “And you ruined my suit!”

He’s breathing hard, his jaw working, his nostrils flaring as he stares back at you. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m just getting started.” He moves fast, whipping his pocket knife out and opening it in one smooth motion, startling a soft curse from you.

“And just exactly what do you think you’re gonna do with that?” you demand, trying to sidestep, but he traps you against the door again.

“I’ll show you ruined,” he growls, and then pins you beneath his angry glare, his eyes narrowing a little in warning. “Don’t move.”

He tucks two fingers in the waist of your skirt, tugging it out just a fraction of an inch, then cutting into it carefully with the knife until he has the space to slip the blade, sharp side out, behind the fabric. The metal is cold against your skin, but it isn’t there long. With one flick of his wrist, your skirt splits right down the front, and he drops it at your feet, folding the knife again and stuffing it back into his pocket. You’re left standing there in your lingerie, and his eyes are taking in every inch of you like a man starved. You’re shaking a little now, but damned if you’ll let him know that.

His hand reaches for you, fingers gliding down the side of your neck, pushing what’s left of your blouse off your shoulder, first one side, then the other. The silky fabric falls around your feet, and you raise your chin, defiant. “Feel better now?” you snap, and his smile actually makes you shiver.

“Not yet.” He drags a calloused finger along the strap of your bra, following the lacy edge across the swell of your breasts. “So pretty, I’d hate to ruin this, too...”

“Fuck you, Winchester!” His response to that is to press his body against you, and you breathe in sharply as he grinds his erection against your hip.

“That’s the plan, sweetheart,” he growls, and then his lips are ravenous as they take yours, his hand squeezing your breast, and you both groan.

He has you half crazed, between the arousal and the anger you still feel, and you nip at his lip, hard, making him almost yelp. He draws back, his tongue darting out over the injury, and then he pulls the back of his hand over his mouth, wiping a bit of blood away. “You wanna play rough?”

“Who says I want to play at all?” you fire back, but he laughs harshly.

He shoves a hand between your thighs, rubbing hard against your clit, and you gasp, rearing your head back and banging it on the door. “Who do you think you're foolin', sweetheart?”

“Your ego is unbelievable!” you spit back at him, and a smile curves his lips, sending a chill up your spine.

“Oh, honey, you'll be begging for it before I'm done.”

“In your dreams!”

“Oh, I’ve had this dream.” He bends to kiss you again, then stops short, his lips a breath away. “You bite me again and you'll regret it.” Then he kisses you, really kisses you, his mouth slanted over yours, passionate and hungry, and hurting him is suddenly the last thing on your mind.

You're rubbing yourself on the hand he has between your legs, and he's returning the pressure, gentle and steady. Your head is spinning, and you pull away from your kiss, your back and neck arching as you pant, small mewling noises escaping your lips as Dean kisses his way down, sucking a mark into your skin where your neck and shoulder meet.

He takes your hand, stepping back and staring down at you, looking like he'd love to devour you. “Come here,” he almost whispers, leading you to the bed, your legs barely able to function. He sits you down, then quickly strips off his tie, tossing it, and drops his shirt to the floor. He drops to his knees in front of you, slipping his hands up the outside of your thighs and hips until he can get hold of the top edge of your panties. He tugs, gazing into your eyes, and you lift up slightly, letting him pull them down until he lifts each foot and removes them completely, dropping them beside him. “Still think I can't make you beg?” he asks softly, and before you can gather sufficient brain function to think of a comeback, he pulls you to the edge of the mattress, ducks down and swipes his tongue through your wet folds, moaning, sending goosebumps over you in waves.

He lets out a groan that makes you shudder, your fingers clenching into the bedspread as you fight for control. His tongue is leaving trails of fire through your pussy, teasing you, touching every damn place but where you really want him to be. He latches on to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh where it joins your apex, and you whimper as he sucks another mark there.

He looks up at you, his eyes full of dark promise. “You’re shaking, baby. All you have to do is ask.” He  puts one huge hand right at the crease of your thigh, his thumb brushing over your mound, and your hips buck up off the bed slightly, rebelling against your feeble attempt to stay still. He pushes against your soft flesh, pulling back gently, exposing your throbbing clit, and you inhale slowly, feeling as if you’ll explode with the tension. He moves, bending closer until his lips are almost touching you, his breath washing hot over your skin. He watches you as his tongue creeps out, the tip barely brushing the oversensitive nub, and you jerk, crying out.

“Please, Dean...” Your voice is so wrecked that you almost don’t recognize it, and a soft smile curves his lips.

“That’s all I wanted to hear.”

Then everything is hot and wet, quivering and quaking, his fingers digging into your hips to hold you as you collapse back onto the bed, clutching wildly at the bedding, at his hair, at nothing and anything you can grab hold of to anchor yourself. You come so hard that it makes you dizzy, black spots in your peripheral vision, your entire body going limp as you tremble, whimpering as his tongue and lips gently ease you down.

He looks up at you as your eyes flutter open, your pulse still pounding. He brings the back of his hand up to wipe across his face, then lets his hands drop to his knees, not moving from the floor where he still kneels before you. You see him swallow, his eyes sliding off to the side, his teeth worrying at his lip. You can see it in his face – he’s second-guessing, thinking too much. But you don’t want this to stop.

“Hey, Winchester. Is that all you got?” Your voice is raspy, a little breathless, and his gaze jerks back to meet yours, his eyes narrowing a little. You pull yourself back farther onto the bed, then raise to your knees, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. You toss it over his head, and as it lands behind him, he pounces.

You can’t help the little giggle that escapes as he tumbles you down onto the bed, then kisses you. He’s got you pulled halfway on top of him, and you revel in the feel of his heated skin against yours, your breasts crushed to his chest. He runs his fingers through the curtain of your hair, tilting his head back and looking into your eyes, searching. “You sure?”

“Dean Winchester, if you don’t get naked right now, we’re gonna have a problem.” You’re trying to look stern, failing miserably. The corner of his mouth quirks up a little, and he takes you by the shoulders, moving you from him to reach for his zipper. You trail your fingertips across the breadth of his chest, then move down, snagging the top of his boxer briefs and tugging them down along with his pants. He springs free, and you pet him softly, making him moan before you finish undressing him.

When you crawl back towards him, you can’t resist taking a taste. His hips thrust up a little as you lick over him, bottom to top, then sweep across the head, groaning as his flavor bursts on your tongue.

You don't get the chance to continue. Dean sits up and grabs you, lifting you to straddle him as he attacks your mouth again, his arms holding you captive. He kisses you breathless, then leans his forehead against yours, panting as he rocks his hips, rubbing his cock against you, sliding through the slick heat between your thighs. “There's plenty of time for that. I need to be inside you right now.”

“Yes,” you whisper, raising up slightly as he lifts his erection, the swollen head catching at your entrance, your foreheads still pressed together and your eyes locked on his as you take him in, inch by magnificent inch. His teeth are clenched, his muscles corded with tension as he waits for you to stop quivering and whimpering softly at the overwhelming intensity of being filled with him.

It's the hush before the storm, tension strung taut between you, your breath mingling, nerves buzzing. When you shift yourself slightly, the silence is shattered, broken gasps and moans filling the room as you rock against and around and into each other. Every thrust of your hips together grinds your aching clit against his pelvis, and you clutch at his shoulders as you come again. He crushes his lips to yours, then moves them to your throat, your neck, your shoulder. “You're so damn beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, “so fucking gorgeous when you come...”

Somehow he manages to move you to your back without pulling out, maybe because you're clinging so tight to him. He puts your head on a pillow, then kisses you senseless as he nestles as close as possible between your thighs, one hand cupping your breast, kneading gently.

“You feel so good, baby. I wanna stay here forever,” he whispers against your lips, and he runs his other hand down your side, caressing the soft skin on his way to your knee. He slips his hand beneath, lifting your leg as he presses even closer, deeper, and you let out a soft whine. He turns his attention to your nipple, barely rocking into you as he sucks and nibbles, moaning against your flesh as you make soft, desperate noises beneath him. When he finally stops, raising his head to look at you, your eyes are glazed, your breath shaky and uneven, and he smiles. “I'm gonna ruin you for those fucking losers out there. They're not good enough for you, anyway.” His smile fades, his eyes glowing with fiery need. “You're gonna be mine, Y/N. All mine.”

And with that said, he pulls back, the friction of his cock moving within you is the nexus of your world. He slides in to the hilt, then back again, pistoning slowly and smoothly. You are going to lose your ever-loving mind if he doesn't pick up the pace, and you buck up to meet him. “Dean, I need you... to fucking... fuck me...” you manage to pant out, and his upper lip twitches slightly before he kisses you, hard.

“Oh, you got it, sweetheart,” he growls, drawing back and then driving into you to the limit as you cry out. His control slips away, the hunger in him taking over, and your bodies collide with each deep stroke, his arms braced on the mattress, his fingers clutched in the bedding. His hips are a blur as he pounds into you, your hands are tearing at the pillow beneath your head, and he lets out a wordless shout. Your name becomes an invocation on his lips as he swells and throbs within you, flooding you, and you come undone again with a hoarse cry of his name.

Time ceases to exist for a while. When you are able to move again, you put your arms around him, your fingers dragging through his short, sweat-damp hair, one hand resting at the nape of his neck. You feel his lips on your neck, and he moves from you with a reluctant groan, the sensation of him slipping out of you making you shudder. “C’mere,” he rasps out, pulling you close. You feel his breath in your hair, his hand moving to take yours where it lies on his chest. “Still mad at me?” he asks quietly, and you smile.

“Totally. You wrecked my favorite fed suit.”

You feel more than hear his soft chuckle. “Worth it.” His fingers trail up and down your shoulder as he drops a kiss into your hair. “So… are we okay?”

You pull back a little so you can look into his eyes. “I don’t know, Dean. Are we?” He looks back at you, waiting. “I mean, can I do my job? Are you gonna get pissed off at me every time I have to flirt a little to get information out of someone? Can we even work together?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether I know you’re gonna be with me at the end of the day.” He looks away for a moment, then back to you, his soul shining in his green eyes. “If you don’t want that, then… I guess we can’t work together anymore.”

You lean in to kiss him softly. He lets go of your hand and moves to cradle your face as he kisses you back, then moves back a little as he trails his fingers over your skin, brushing across your nipple and lifting the weight of your breast in his hand, and the sensation leaves your voice a little breathless. “You owe me a new suit.”

“Done.” He watches your face as he rubs his palm over your hardening nipple, then gives a gentle squeeze. “So… mine?”

Your eyes close as he brushes over you again, and you nod. “Yours.” You move your hand over his chest, laying it warm over the steady beat of his heart. “Mine?”

He leans in again, his lips grazing yours as he speaks. “All yours.”

@saenalife @salvachester @misswhizzy  @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog@geeklibrarian@leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid    @aprofoundbondwithdean  @mamapeterson@mrswhozeewhatsis@littlegreenplasticsoldier  @sleep-silent-angel@darcia22@winchesterprincessbride@jessica-bones-winchester  @ellen-reincarnated1967   @eyes-of-a-disney-princess@deangirl96@iamflanneltrash @deanslittleangel2y5  @melanie451 @juliaspnlover  @lovin-ackles @spectaculacular-sammy   @dyingforlove1992@bookchic20  @jodyri  @selma-jean@avasmommy224 @shadowlightforcast@tonifish @savingapplepie-eatingthings @angelofwinchester17@kittenofdoomage   @masked-maiden42  @lean-mean-deanwinchester@ericuhlorain  @undecided-garden@ceeceewinchester@typicalweirdbookworm@purplecocopops   @feelmyroarrrr@callmesweetheartifyoumeanit  @youtoldalie   @tanithlowisabamf @ch3353y1  @deandoesthingstome @jxackles @nerdwholikesword @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic   @kreweofimp   @deansbaekaz2y5   @trippleberrydeanpie @gabavaldman  @chaos-and-the-calm67  @darkx143@disassociativedogma  @ioanashalala@jencharlan   @deansthirst @randomvlogstuff   @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms  @dorky-and-i-know-it @mischief-maker1  @hamartiamacguffin @winchestersandwordprocessors  @percussiongirl2017

[dans-les-fleures]

In Too Deep

OC X Socialite!Namjoon Length: 6k of sin, how fitting. Recommended OST: (x) and (x) and maybe House of Cards depending on what you’re into.

Warnings: Smut, sex, alcohol mentions, you know the works  

     It’s 1a.m. or what they call the peak of the night; the hour where the buzz of alcohol is the main fuel for irrational impulses and suddenly the lines between cheeky and outright ballsy disappears. Sticking the far wall of the venue, you’re observing the evening’s happenings with a reoccurring mixture of disdain and amusement— it’s always the same every night— this scene having long lost the enchantment and luster it used to possess in your eyes. Being born into wealth, you’re obligated to attend such parties to keep up good relations with What’s His Face and connections with That Person and of course to keep your own ass in the spotlight. Influence does not grow overnight and once cultivated, who are you to let it die? It’s hypocritical really, the fact that you were jaded by the fame but at the same time refuse to let it go. However, the wealth is as valuable as fools gold when every action is a diamond encrusted lie and every word is coated with a layer of shimmering sweet sarcasm. So you continue on kissing cheeks and forcing smiles, dancing away the night and drowning in this erratic rhythm of your life.

    They always approach for a reason. Dressed to the nines with a little mahogany slip lined with lace, you’re not surprised to see eyes wander and attentions captured—you want them to look after all. Usually, they stop at that initial look, intimidated by the name you stand behind and the consequences of pursuing the girl that’s known to be a heartbreaker. A little wink is enough to get them blushing and if their eyes don’t immediately cast downwards then a smirk is usually the end game. A group of boys crowd around the bar, the one in the center most likely being pep talked into approaching some clueless girl. Tiny spark of surprise twinkle in your eyes when you see that their target is you, so you play along with a charming smile. As predicted, when the corners of your lips lifted, they immediately back away; the guy in the middle dragging this friends away with flustered complaints and puffy cheeks. Tsk, how boring you sigh as you swirl the wine around in your glass. It’s not like you’re absolutely heartless, but rather you have yet to find a partner that will rid you of this all engulfing boredom. People birthed to wealth and fame, their motives are too predictable. Ultimately your pursuers are only driven by two things and two things only: greed and lust. Once those desires are fulfilled and they see that there’s nothing else that you can do for them, they depart, leaving you in your false limerence. This happened repetitively over the years, so often that you’re tired of justifying their actions and instead choose to accept the lonely nights and numberless days. So it comes as a surprise to you when someone catches your eye.

    He’s dressed impeccably in his tailored suit, designer no doubt, but that’s not what piqued your interest. Though he’s surrounded by celebrities and gorgeous women he couldn’t look more disconnected, his dark eyes wandering, shifting from time to time as if the objects in the room aren’t enough to hold his attention. That is, until his curious eyes met yours over the crowded bar and understanding seems to pass between the intimate eye contact. He’s unrelenting— his gaze, ever so expressive, continues to cling onto yours even when you offer him a tentative smile. Shock jolts through your body when he reciprocates, it’s been so long since someone offered you the time of day or well… night. The girl clinging to his arm seems to notice his lack of response or rather his lack of attention to her needy whines because next moment her shadow rimmed eyes follow his gaze to you. Startled at what she finds, she leans into him, pressing every curve against his body and pushing her lips against his ear, no doubt dissuading him from taking even a step closer to the mystery that is you. Offering the pair a wicked grin, you cock your eyebrow at the girl’s brazen move, but remain grounded with your glass empty and a familiar fire burning down your throat to every cell of your body. He lets the girl whisper useless nonsense to him, his silvery hair falling slightly in his eyes when he leans down a bit to offer the girl his ear, all the while his gaze never leaving yours. The tiniest of sighs escape your lips when you place your empty glass down and turn away from the couple to leave them to their affairs in favor of finding a more potent drink when you feel a cold hand slip around your wrist.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” his voice is rough, still casual in tone but his breathing is labored. A smile tugs at your lips because he didn’t have to run across the room to catch you but you appreciate the gesture. He whispers right into your ear, still loud and clear despite the pounding bass of the room, causing you to shiver as the puff of air produces goosebumps on your skin.

“No,” you begin, turning around on his hold and feeling pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t back away, his nose nearly touching yours, “I don’t believe we have and that’s a problem isn’t it? My reputation is going to go to ruins if I can’t name every face in this room.” you quirk your eyebrow ever so subtly.

He pulls you in closer with the hold he has on your wrist, boldly crushing his mouth against yours. In normal circumstances perhaps you would’ve smacked some sense into him, pushed him away and give him the talk of his life, but the taste of liquor is as prominent on his tongue as on yours and all your pretenses have already slipped out the window. It’s not like you didn’t want to taste those lips from the very beginning anyways.

“Namjoon,” he breathes in your breaths, “Kim Namjoon.” he pants as his hand falls down to grasp your fingers in his large hands. Pulling your hand up, his lush lips plant a kiss on each knuckle; the gentle touch eliciting yet another shiver down your spine and his eyes twinkle in mischief when he notices your body quivering.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Shin Hye”

The rest is history once his name left his lips to engrave itself in your brain. Discarded items of clothing litter the hallway to his bedroom, the penthouse sleek and minimalist like him. Working little purple galaxies onto his neck, you’re frustrated at the amount of clothing he still has on as your nails click against the button of his white button-down and trail down to grip the buckle of his belt. You give the leather a harsh tug, bringing his form flush against yours, a little disgruntled at how his height allows him to tower completely over you even in your tallest pair of heels. You hate feeling inferior, even if it was such a superficial thing as height.

“A little impatient are we?” Namjoon chuckles next to your ear and nips on the lobe, his hot tongue a contrast against the cold silver roses in your ear. Scoffing, you wordlessly grasp the bulge forming in his pants, causing his body to go completely rigid and a low hiss to slip from his lips.

“I wouldn’t tease if I were you Kim Namjoon,” you murmur against his now exposed collarbone, accentuating each word with increasingly painful nip, “I’m not like your other playthings.”

“No,” he drawls as his fingers move towards your clothed core, the long digits dangerously close to where you wanted him most, “you’re much more interesting.” he sighs against your lips and rips the lace from your flesh.

Namjoon shows you how much he enjoys the puzzle that is you. He breaks you apart only to put you back together again, hips ramming you into the mattress so good you feel him at the back of your throat. His lips explore every curve of your body as if he’s trying to sketch out your form in his mind, occasionally painting your body with splotches of wine and maroon. As you both near the climax his pace begins to increase in desperation, those pretty lips whispering such filthy words in your ear you blush despite yourself. Come on princess, let go for me. He groans into your mouth when you clench down on him in response, the both of you not willing to be the first to let go. It’s an exhausting mix of push and pull, but it was absolutely enticing. Unfortunately you lose the battle when he picks the both of you up, still buried deep in you and forces you to sit on his lap as he thrusts in slow and deep from below. Nearly screaming from the position change, you wanted to smack his hands away when you feel his cool silver rings press against your clit but you’re far too gone to care about the competition and instead allow him to push you higher towards your release.

“Now be a good kitten and come.” he growls, demanding and firm as he pushes in deeper—if that was even possible— the constant strumming of his fingers against your clit unrelenting as his pace. His name falls off your lips repetitively like a prayer as your nails paint angry red stripes down his back when the coil finally snaps and you’re seeing the stars and beyond behind your eyelids. Namjoon pauses when you finally come because how can he move when you clench down on him like that? but he resumes to chase after his own climax after he finally recovers. You can feel him paint you in white, his hips finally slowing down just enough to milk the last of the shudders out of both yours and his system. Basking in the afterglow and tiredness, you can feel the tendrils of sleep and it clings onto your consciousness, pulling you in farther and farther until you’re drifting on the entrance of dreamland when Namjoon whispers,  

“You’re definitely much more Shin Hye.”

Sleep claims you then before any response is formulated in your brain.

It’s been several months since your first meeting and one way or another Namjoon has latched onto your lifestyle. His place became your second home and by this time you have learned so much more than you had hoped about him. It leaves you cautious and weary because you’re still waiting for the day he loses interest in you. They always do.

“What is it that you want from me Namjoon?” you muse as you lounge around on his bed one evening, or is it morning? You crane you neck to see his electric clock display the time: 2a.m. in crisp black letters and you mentally remind yourself to tell him to fix his nonexistent sleeping habits, but that would not go too well because you’re just as guilty when it comes to sleeping at a reasonable hour. His silky sheets pool around your lap, the black color not exactly a good choice since it displays all too clearly your activities on it a couple of hours ago. He turns his attention from the window that displays the twinkling cities lights to your the light reflected in your eyes and a gentle smile curves around the edges of his lips.

“Can’t I just want you?” he answers easily and you almost feel special until you reprimand him,

“Careful there Kim, your cheesy lines might just make me fall for you.” you giggle when his easy smile falls askew by a fraction,

“How many distressed damsels have you picked up using that one?”  

His disgruntled sigh leaves his lips in a muttered you’re impossible as he decides to rejoin you on the bed, his head falling naturally on your lap as you take his hand in your right and strokes his hair with your left. With your hands busy, you mind begins to run once again and your thoughts are unfiltered as you ramble them out,

“I really cannot figure you out. It frustrates me.” you confess as you begin to twist one of the numerous silver rings on his fingers. Namjoon chuckles at your confession, his eyes coming to a close when you begin to run your nails along his scalp and a contented moan falls off his lips. He’s like a cat you think as you continue your little rant.

“It’s not the money, you’re already on your way up as far as I can tell.” you mumble as if to yourself but Namjoon can hear every word and it amuses him to no end because he himself does not seem to know the reason either, but he has a glimmer of an idea. You’re not wrong, he has everything he could possibly want and if he doesn’t then he knows how to get them. All of them. Except you.   “Not the fame, you already have those annoying cameras following you around and you’re not one to have your ootd taken by the paparazzi.”

Namjoon chuckles at that because he didn’t think you noticed his eccentric fashion sense and his love for it, but you do.

“Definitely not the sex. God knows you have an unholy amount of women at your feet. What is it? Do you like the chase? Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Opening his eyes, Namjoon studies your pouty expression and smiles at how terribly frustrated you look, like a kid confronted with a difficult math problem. He graces you with his full smile, the one with that adorable dimple you’ve grown fond of and you feel your heart accelerate and your stomach twist, butterflies fluttering their wings against the inside of your stomach and blood rushing to your cheeks—God no. You know this feeling, what it entails and you’re panicking, your brain unwilling to accept the message that your heart is sending: You love him.  

“I think,” Namjoon starts, temporarily distracting you from your epiphany, “you give yourself too little credit, love.”

You freeze at the pet name but recovers when he starts to trace your bottom lip with his index finger. His eyes darken when you slip it in your mouth and he loses his ever shortening patience when you bite on it hard enough to draw blood. With his form pressing against yours, you allow him to take tonight, too caught up in your thoughts and how you were going to hide your own unwarranted feelings.

“I swear to God Shin Hye if you tell me you’re pregnant I am not adopting the kid.”

Dasom greets you on the first ring, her irritation understandable when the time reads way too fucking late, but the monsters known as your thoughts can’t seem to leave you alone.

“Great to hear from my best friend too.” you giggle out and only get a strangled groan of drowsiness from the other end of the line.

“What can I expect when the last time you called me you weren’t the one speaking and the nurse had to tell me you ended up in the hospital because of alcohol poisoning?” she sighs and you can hear sheets rustling and a faint click signaling her lights being turned on. Dasom is one of the elites of society, her image as clean as a blank slate because she’s the daughter of a governor and even you do not fuck with politicians, but she keeps you sane; her constant support always unwavering throughout your most thoughtless actions.

“So, I’m here. What is it? You never call unless it’s serious.” she begins for you because both of you know that you can’t and with that simple sentence all the mirth leaves your tone and instantaneously the giggles taste bitter on your tongue.

“Dada, I think…” a shaky breath, “I think I love him.” you rasp and nearly cry when the sentence only confirms the fact you’ve been trying to deny this entire week. The fragile lie you’ve been telling yourself is shattering, raining down in iridescent drops with one single truth.

“Dammit, Shin Hye you should’ve just told me you got too drunk again.” she groans over the phone but her joke is tinged with her worry,

“Just tell me about it.”

So you do. You tell her about how you fell for the silver haired monster, his crazy antics and his strange bouts of romance. How it’s not really about the sex, though it is amazing (Dasom nearly hung up when you told her this) but how you’ve slipped and taken interest in him as a person. His strange quirky personality that will leave him thoughtful even when he’s surrounded by people, the way his dimple on his left cheek is the first telltale sign of his amusement and how his eyes crinkle at the corners when you make him smile. His hair, the color of starlight when he sits pensive by his window at 4a.m and how he enjoys being scratched like a kitten on lazy days. How he’s caring and despite his seemingly cool exterior because he warms you to the very core every time he holds you. There were moments where Namjoon was the one to pull your pieces back and just hold you tight until they meld together once again. You tell her about he gratuitous amount of money he spends on the daily because he apparently breaks his belongings every other day and laugh at the irony of his ability to break objects because somehow he also crumbled that wall that you have so carefully build around yourself over the years. You’re left vulnerable and terrified beyond belief because for the first time, someone saw through the facade you crafted right to the little girl that grew up a little too fast and was forced to learn that her glittering world is filled with darkness. Dasom listens diligently, never interrupting even when you find it hard to articulate the full extent of your feelings. It’s not until your sobs die out and you’re left with mind numbing realization that she whispers,

“Knowing you though, you plan on letting him go aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

You fully plan on cutting off this budding love because knowing you, you don’t trust yourself enough to nurture it.

They say the flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful of all, but you’ve never paid heed to proverbs.

You’ve also never been good at lying. In fact, you might just be the worst liar on the planet and it shows in your straightforward comments and careless actions. As a result, you can’t bring yourself to continue your relationship, or whatever it was, with Namjoon unless you were ready to admit your undying love for him (not likely). Parties, premiers, anything that involved you being in the presence of Namjoon you would avoid like the plague, carefully arriving just before and leaving right after you’ve paid your respects to the host. He calls and texts and calls again but you don’t have the heart to look at them, knowing that his honeyed words can make your knees weak and dissolve any resolve you’ve mustered up. He stops after a week or so to send you one message a week later, nothing more. Truthfully, time is of no relevance to you, but all you know is that he stopped and —ow, did it hurt. It’s for the better, you try to convince yourself but the self doubt consumes you and the only thought that occupies your head space is that you didn’t mean that much to him in the first place. Not that it mattered anymore, considering you will never see him again.

Oh boy, how wrong you were.

Strictly speaking maybe you should not have been surprised considering your address is not a exactly a secret. With some effort it is quite easy to find, but you were surprised because you didn’t expect Namjoon to put in the effort. You’re in the process of settling down after an event, your silky robe hanging loosely on your body, constricting dress long discarded and hair pushed back into a bun when the doorbell to your apartment rings. Assuming it was your pizza (paprazzi are filtered out by your security team) you have no qualms about opening the door without looking at the peephole, but you take a glance anyways and only catch sight of a figure leaning against the door. Curious, you peep your head out to be met with your beautiful nightmare.

Namjoon’s eyes widen when they make contact with yours and he reaches out to grasp the door before it reaches it’s destination: the bolt. A startled yelp is torn from your throat when he pushes against the wood and even your entire body weight cannot close the door completely back into it’s lock.

“Shin Hye! What is with you? Let me in!” he half yells against the door, still mindful of his surroundings but you’re too occupied with the thought of keeping him out to process his words.

“I don’t want to see you.” you yell at the door, knowing that if you so much as glance at the other side he would come waltzing back into your room and your heart once again.

“Well I do.” he grunts and the door opens in just a fraction more.

“I need to talk to you.” he continues and you can feel yourself slipping backwards as the door continues to open slightly.

“I have nothing to say.” you claim but your voice is wavering just as your strength is and the next moment Namjoon is in front of you, his labored breathing fanning your face. One part of you is terrified and the other, more demanding part drinks in the image of the man before you. Pictures truly do him no justice. You’ve spent weeks avoiding the news because he is plastered on every social platform, each time with a new pretty little thing that isn’t you. But now that he’s towering over you, trapping you against the walls of your own home his jaw tight and his eyes livid, you’re greedily taking in every detail from the curve of his lips to the tie that hangs loosely on his neck.

“Bullshit.” He fumed, his body pressed even closer to yours now, but you refuse to meet his eyes.

“Why do you keep avoiding me?” he implores, bits of weakness seeping through his voice that tempts you to look up to meet his eyes but your gaze remains fixated on the floor as you gritted out,

“I’m not.”

That’s when Namjoon has had enough of your poorly executed lies and forcefully pick you up, causing your robe to slip off somewhere on the way to your bedroom. He doesn’t falter when you scream and kick your legs, gripping on you tight so that you’re left helpless as he strolls through your apartment for your bed.

“You’ve always been a terrible liar Shin Hye” he grunts as he throws you on the mattress, his tie coming off in the next second and before you can even tell up from down your wrist are wounded together and attached to the frame of your headboard. Namjoon scoots away from you, climbing off the bed to stand at the foot of it, now that he has you where he wants you he’s in no hurry. He tsked when you continue to struggle, your hair falling out of your bun and into your eyes but it’s no use, you’re captivated by the man standing in front of you. As the seconds tick by you’re painfully aware of how naked you are with scraps of lace on your body and nothing more, but your discomfort does nothing to hurry Namjoon as he continues to turn the gears in his head, his dark eyes watching your chest rise and fall.

“I didn’t think much of it at first.” Namjoon begins his thought, you usually love it when he spills out what he’s thinking, but this time you’re not too sure you’re ready to hear what he has in that busy mind of his.

“And really I shouldn’t have minded right? It’s not like we were ever more than people who understood each other.” he continues, his eyes meeting yours from the foot of your bed; his words stinging your already open wounds. In contrast to his cold words, he physically moves closer to you, fingers fiddling with his white button down and situating himself right in between your legs when all the buttons are opened. Your eyes rake over the offered flesh of his honey tan skin.  “I continued on with the same routine before our paths crossed. It worked for awhile, until I realized how empty it was. It has always been empty. I just didn’t have anything to compare it to until you.” he whispers, fingers trailing a mindless, winding path up your thigh.

“Namjoon—uumff” you start, some sort of excuse ready to tumble off your lips when he presses his mouth urgently against yours. It’s rough, all tongue and teeth as his tongue fights with yours for dominance; his teeth trapping your lower lip between them and he tugs on it just enough as he pulls away from the kiss, causing you to whimper at sharp pain.

“Shhh, I’m not done princess.” he warns as he kisses down your jawline to your earlobe, tip of his nose skimming down the column of your throat, basking in the familiarity of your body against his.

“As I was saying,” he calmly picks up right where he left off, but this time his lips are kissing down the valley of your breast, making it near impossible for you to think of protests and listen to him at the same time.

“And here you are, stubborn as ever. So damn convinced that you would be able to function in this world alone— you almost had me fooled too, love.” he chuckles against the perked bud of your right breast, tongue teasingly flicking over it over the lace, leaving you writhing underneath him.

“God, please, Namjoon.” you keen when he sucks on it, hard. But that mouth of his is is occupied with scolding you so he pushes himself farther down, his head now resting on your stomach, leaving you ever so apologetic at your actions.

“Right when I thought that you would finally open up to me, then you just get up and leave.” he sighs as if the separation still hurts him, “You left me empty again… all because you were too scared, now don’t you think that’s a little selfish kitten?” he emphasize his words with a squeeze to your hips, no doubt leaving purple blossoms on your hipbones, but you could care less at this point.

“You deserve much more than me, Kim Namjoon” you finally voice the thought that has been tormenting you ever since the moment you realized you loved him. He stops his actions then, his eyes looking up at you and in one fluid motion he hoists himself up until his face is only centimeters from yours, the longing made tangible in the limited space between the two of you.

“I don’t want anything more than to other than you Shin Hye.” he murmurs, looking vulnerable even though he is the one above you.

“Why can’t you understand that you, your very existence, everything about you is more than enough for me?” he brushes away the tear you didn’t know you shed and with that once sentence all your walls come crashing down along with the anguished tears. Pulling against the confines of the ties at your wrist, you crash your lips to his and he eagerly accepts.

“I’m sorry.” you sob into his mouth, tasting your own tears there, “I love you.”

He smiles finally, his dimpled smile and presses an I love you too into your cheek. At that moment however, he pushes away from you, his eyes twinkling in mischief when you whine in protest, you wanted him close, closer.

“You still need to be punished, princess.”

“Namjoon, please I said sorry.” you sob in desperation when he drops the white material of his shirt on the floor, his skin oh so tempting to taste. He’s pulling his belt out of the loop when he looks up to meet your eyes, the hurt in them still evident,

“You left for two months Shin Hye. No explanation. No text. No call. Nothing. I was terribly lonely you see. I missed you so much” he sighs as he crawls over to you with nothing but his briefs, leaving your I miss you too choked in your throat. He gasps you thighs in his hands and pulls them apart, settling close to your clothed core, “My princess should show me just how much she missed me.”  he growls against the thin fabric of your panties before his teeth scrapes your flesh and he drags the material down with his teeth, leaving you exposed before him.

“Hmm already so wet for me, such a good kitten.” he muses. Too caught up in your emotions earlier, you ignored any signals your body might have been screaming at you but now that he mentioned it; you’re painfully aware of just how your arousal is embarrassingly noticeable, making you want to clamp your thighs together, but strong hands keep your legs spread and a warning nip to your inner thigh earns a frustrated mewl from you as Namjoon begins his little torture.

“Namjoon please, just get on with it.” you scream when he licks a stripe up from your entrance to your clit as retaliation, nearly trashing out of his hold from the unexpected stimulation. He pushes in his index and middle, the rings there cool against your heated flesh and you lose all thoughts when he begins to wiggle his fingers, brushing that spot inside you just barely, maddeningly slow. He sucks your clit into his mouth, not caring that he’s gathering heat your belly at an alarmingly fast rate. Continuing to thrust his digits in lazily, he shifts to kiss you, his lips shiny from your own juices but your desire clouds all better judgement and you savor the taste of yourself on his tongue. Thrusting you hips up to meet his fingers you’re desperately chasing your own release despite your craving for more, his fingers are already a stark contrast to your own. You’re approaching your climax and Namjoon can tell, so when you start to clench around his fingers he slips them out of you entirely.

You nearly cried for the second time that night but for an entirely different reason.

“Namjoon I swear to god!” you shriek at the smirking man above you. He even has the audacity stick his fingers in his mouth, his tongue laving the digits and though the image is insanely sexy the fire pooling at your belly is already disappearing into a dull, throbbing ache.

“I did say that this is punishment, princess.”

Having had enough of his antics, you let your ankle run up the inside of his thigh, ignoring his hiss of warning and savagely press your foot against his bulge so roughly that you can feel it twitching against the top of your foot.

“I will only put this nicely once so you better listen to what I say. I need you, please” you begrudgingly beg, but the response is instantaneous when his eyes darken and his jaw set tight so hard you can hear the subtle grit of his teeth as he tries to maintain his composure.

“Please fuck me.” you whisper into his ear, nibbling the lobe and completely throwing out the window any semblance of Namjoon’s self control. In record time he rips off his briefs, leaving his leaking erection to bounce against his stomach as his ravenous eyes devour your form, completely spread out for him on the bed. He notices how you lick your lips at the slight, your mouth practically watering to have a taste, but Namjoon has no patience for that tonight as he kisses you one last time and promises, “Another time, baby girl.” before he grinds his cock against your folds and slowly thrusts in inch by inch. Simultaneous moans echo through the empty hallways and electricity shoots through your spine at the stretch.

“Hmmm fuck, kitten. Always so tight— so wet for me.” he groans into the crook of your neck as your heels dig into his lower back to prompt him to move. Namjoon wastes no time in setting a pace that has you seeing stars behind your eyelids within seconds, his hips drilling into you so fast you can only attempt to thrust up to meet his creaseless rhythm. He reaches up to slip the tie off your wrist and the return of blood flow to your arm only serves to amplify the tingles running down to your toes. Grasping the comforter into your hands, you ball them into fists when you come easily from his unforgiving thrusts, waves of pleasure dragging you down farther into a haze of lust when he flips you over and takes you from behind, unfazed by the position change.  A little grunt is the only response you get when you scream his name repetitively and you’re falling limp against the mattress having already came; Namjoon’s bicep around your hips the only thing keeping you from tumbling over.

“Such a slut for me.” he pants, accented with the stuttering of his hips, “Always take me so well.” he grunts but his filthy words only spur you to force him over the age. When you clench down on him his smooth pace stutters, just as desperate for release and you push back on him on a particularly hard thrust. He comes a second later with a growl, sucking a bruise onto your left shoulder blade  that’s no doubt a giant galaxy of purple against your skin. Goodbye backless dresses for a while you sigh when he finally slumps down on you with a contented moan, his arms looping around you to pull the both of you onto your sides. He hastily pulls out which causes a hint of a shiver to ghost down your spine once again.  

“God, I love you” he sighs as he soothe the bite marks he made on your shoulders. Your heart nearly burst at the confession, butterflies fully erupting this time now that you let them.

“I love you, too” you whisper to his sleepy form, your hand reaching up to intertwine your fingers, never willing to let go ever again.

.

.

.

“Hand up.” you hiss at Namjoon when you feel his palm against your ass. You two were at a formal event. Formal being the operative word so you weren’t looking to have your boyfriend grope you in front of the multitude of cameras in front of you.

“Babe we’ve been dating for four months now. Well, publicly at least” he shoots you his award winning smile and the paparazzi eats it all up with greed.

“They don’t need to know how you’re—“ your words are cut off when you feel his lips press against yours in a sweet kiss, leaving you breathless and quite stunned at his public display of affection. Camera flashes, screaming fangirls and wolf whistles fill your ear as the press lean forward to ask you their multitude of questions, but you can only smile apologetically as Namjoon drags you into the venue, smacking him occasionally when his rich chuckle can be heard over the crowd.

“You have some nerve kissing my best friend at my own party.” a familiar voice rings once you’re inside and you escape Namjoon’s hold in favor of your friend’s arms. Mouthing Good Luck over her shoulder you leave Namjoon to suffer the consequences as Dasom no doubt gives him the scolding of his life.

[sora-the-soulless-blog]

My Ranking of Each Sherlock Episode

1. The Reichenbach Fall- The peak of the series, I think. Emotions, suspense, intellectual warfare between our hero and an amazing villain, impactful ending; there’s nothing they could've done to make it better

2. The Great Game- Remember when this show was actually about solving crimes? When it was actually a mystery, when him being a detective meant something? Not only do we get three cases in one to try to figure out alongside Sherlock, but the overarching mystery of Moriarty’s identity is dangled in front of our faces and we have the pleasure of feeling like idiots when we missed it.

3. Scandal In Belgravia- Granted they completely exaggerate Irene Adler’s role in Sherlock Holmes’ life, as many adaptations often do, but it was still interesting seeing this Holmes be confronted with romantic/sexual feelings for probably the first time in his life. Not much of a case, unfortunately but they do throw in a mystery with the boomerang to make up for it.

4. A Study In Pink- The episode that kicked it all off, quite possibly the greatest pilot in TV history. It was fast paced, flaunted its unique style for the first time, and set these characters on a journey for the next 7 years.

^All of the above are among the best television episodes over made, and I challenge anyone to tell me I’m wrong.

5. The Lying Detective- The Dreamlord as Jimmy Saville? Let’s go! Also featuring some of the sharpest deductions of the series and an underlying mystery of Sherlock’s sister. However, Sherlock’s drug use is starting to wear on me by this point. It hasn't advanced anything story-wise since its introduction, it just makes you sit through flashy hallucination scenes to pad out the 90 minute runtime. Inconsequential deductions are fun to listen to, but can we solve a mystery please?

6. The Final Problem- Absolutely brilliant and absolutely horrible at the same time. Brilliant: Inventive story full of twists and turns, genius use of symbolism and recurring motifs (pirates, wells, etc.), some of the most thrilling suspense the show has ever done, some of the best character moments the show has ever produced, a stellar performance by Sian as Eurus. Horrible- Eurus’ existence; this whole episode being so far removed from Doyle’s canon in a way no episode before has been, a story that requires an insane amount of disbelief to be suspended, a lot of little plot details that don't make sense or get glossed over, spectacular mistreatment of Molly and anyone who likes that character and wanted to see more of her, unnecessary inclusion of Moriarty just to bait and switch fans, a powerful ending sequence that’s great out of context but incredibly out of place following the story we just watched (I honestly feel like they wrote that for another episode but thought this might be their last so they just tacked it on).

7. The Blind Banker- This one’s often overlooked and a lot of people dislike it but I can't really tell why. Praise the lord, there’s an actual mystery in this one! The opening is fantastic and the lead in to the actual case, solving the cipher is fascinating. Granted, this is one of the episodes where the obligation to reach 90 minute runtime starts to show; plenty of scenes feel unnecessary, as if just added for the purpose of filling time. But hey, they're solving a case! How I miss you, season one.

8. The Six Thatchers- A mixed bag; Tons of wit, fast paced storytelling, suspense, reveals, one of the most inventive explorations of the show’s visual style, I think, but on the other hand there’s a story that relies too heavily on coincidences and the universe aligning perfectly (Sherlock just so happens to be solving some random case in which the clients are the target of another case, which just so happens to not only start at the same time of his own unrelated investigation but also just so happens to be about his friend Mary. What are the odds?) The best part for me was (Go figure) the mystery, this one surrounding the dead boy in the car, though short it was great! Too bad the rest of the episode is a disjointed story that seems to be in separate parts

9. Hound of the Baskervilles- Whats this? A whole episode dedicated to just solving a mystery? You’d think that would be common practice for a detective show, but not BBC’s Sherlock. Too bad the mystery is about 45 minutes worth of an episode stretched to reach those 90 minutes we need, resulting in a mostly forgettable little story. Again, this one’s hated by a lot of the fandoms but I like it.

Sigh... And now THOSE episodes...

10. The Empty Hearse- If season 2′s halfway departure from the mysteries being the focus didn't shake you, this season is hellbent on outdoing itself. All the mysteries and actual engaging crime-solving are montaged through, and to fill out the actual episode we get a bunch of comedy that thinks it’s funnier than it actually is, and a random plot with terrorists and a bomb on a train or something? I didn’t care much about how Sherlock faked his death after series 2′s finale, but this episode keeps interrupting the show to shove these possible theories in my face and then has the audacity to not even answer what really happened! Not a terrible episode, but not one I ever feel compelled to sit through again. Can we just solve one mystery? C’mon guys.

11. His Last Vow- Welp, no mystery in sight here, y’all. A kind of inventive plot twist, Mary being an assassin, but drowned in 90 minutes of melodramatic boredom with Magnussen, the most un-charismatic, uninteresting villain Sherlock’s ever met and a resolution that completely gives up on representing what made Sherlock work in the fist place; why have the genius detective partake in intellectual warfare and defeat his enemy with his mind when he can just pull out a glock and shoot the guy in the face? And then close out with a shamelessly pandering cliffhanger that shows the writers desperately clinging to the past after this mediocre season.

12. The Abominable Bride- One of the only straight unwatchable episodes of the series. It’s just a mess. The plot can't decide if it wants to be a a tribute to the original Doyle stories or a clever modern day story, and each detail of the story just makes less and less sense the more you think about it. There is absolutely no character development and instead the supposed character moments just retread things we already know; John tells Sherlock he shouldn't be so disconnected from people AGAIN, how many times will this show make us sit through that conversation? Moriarty is 100% dead... Well no shit he blew his brains out in front of Sherlock Holmes. There was absolutely nothing in this episode that was needed, and I will never, ever, ever watch it again.

13. Sign of Three- *sighs* this is one of the worst episodes of any show I’ve ever seen. Everything about it is just horrible. The pacing is all over the place, the drama is thrown out the window in favor of a mostly comedy episode that isn't funny in the slightest, and the plot is an incoherent stream of nonsense that relies not only on straight up misinformation about the human body, but a series of EXTREME coincidences and contrivances to the point of it still seeming like a farce comedy sketch when it switches over to an actual case. This is not an episode you watch to be intellectually stimulated, to feel suspense or to get engaged in any plot; it’s one you watch to make gifs for tumblr, to feed your fan ships, and to watch all 3 writers of the show sit down in a room and compete to out-plothole each other. I don't understand for the life of me why anyone likes this, or especially how people can make fun of series 4 or the final problem yet be totally cool with this. I don't even like thinking about it because its so depressing, so if somebody wants me to go more into detail to explain what I mean, tell me and I will, but otherwise I’ll end it here.