#at the very least them dropping back to baseline after would probably make you feel awful

[aevris]

choosing to think that the crazy hormone fluctuations associated w fall rut would just make you feel gross when not otherwise propelled by anger or lust

[ssahotchhner]

Hiii! Can there be a Hotch x BAUFem!reader where they are already dating and she gets kidnapped in a case and like Reid’s epsidoe the team see her getting tortured and Hotch goes insnaely mad and the team get her but she been stabbed or shot up to you. And she passes out in hotchs arms to Hotch screaming for her to stay awake. Wakes up in hospital and all fluffy between them agter. I love your content and I get if you don’t want to do this x

hello!!! i feel like this is kinda similar to something i’ve done already so i tried to make them as different as possible. i hope you guys still enjoy!!!

warnings: just your usual torture, kidnapping, and murders

questions, comments, concerns

I’M NOT AFRAID

“Sorry to ruin date night.” Penelope teases as you and Hotch walk into the conference room. You’re wearing a dress that is far too short to be work appropriate, attempting to hide it under your long coat and scowling at Penelope. 

Morgan whistles and you roll your eyes, but Aaron only smirks as he settles into the seat next to you, resting a hand on your thigh under the table. It was nice to finally be able to be like this at work. You and Aaron had and would always continue to be professional at work, but since the team had found out, you didn’t have to hide the subtle touches or loaded glances.

“Good evening crime fighters, I’m so sorry to ruin your night, but we have some criminals afoot.” Images of women’s bodies illuminate the screen behind her. Immediately you notice small burns that decorate each of their bodies, consistent with the use of a taser. “You will be heading to North Bend, Washington where the bodies were found abandoned in alleyways behind dumpsters. In all cases, the bodies were discovered by homeless men.”

“What was the cause of death?” You ask.

Penelope sighs, “It looks like the person who did this tortured them for hours, submerged in salt water for long periods of time and tased at close range over and over, until,” She clicks the remote and pictures of the victims’ heads come across the screen.

“He tased them in the head?” Morgan asks.

“That would be correct, chocolate thunder. The ME reports that the girls all suffered incredible brain damage until their brains just… shut down.”

“The discarding of the bodies suggests he doesn’t have any remorse and he’s clearly sadistic since he tortures them for so long.” Prentiss says.

“Garcia, was there evidence of sexual assault?” Aaron asks.

“ME says since they were submerged in water for so long it’s impossible to tell.”

“Forensic countermeasure?” Reid muses.

“It’s possible.” Aaron says. 

“Oh, and there’s one last thing.” A picture of another girl fills the screen, “Another girl was taken a few hours ago, her name is Tiffany Cole. Judging by how long he’s held the other girls--”

“We have less than 48 hours to find her.” Aaron finishes, “Let’s get going then, wheels up in thirty.”

You follow Aaron to his office, closing the door behind you, sighing as you lean against it, “We’re never gonna have a night to ourselves, are we?”

He brushes his thumb along your cheek, “I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you when we get back.”

You smile and lean into his touch, “Shame this dress has to go to waste.”

“Can I at least take it off you?” He murmurs.

You raise your eyebrows, “Sure, my love, but don’t forget to close the shades.” You nod your head to the windows of his office.

You pull out your go bag while he closes the shades, pulling out some comfier, more professional clothing. He comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist and you lean back into him. Gently kissing your shoulders, he pulls down the zipper in the back revealing your bare back.

He groans into your skin, “I can’t believe we have a case.”

You hum and turn in his arms, placing your hands on his chest as the dress falls off you, “Well we better work quickly then so you can make it up to me.” You smirk and lightly push off from his chest, turning away from him to put on your work clothes.

Faster than you thought possible, Aaron immediately shifts back into unit chief, barely looking at you as he swipes through the case file on his tablet. Once dressed, you peer over his shoulder, “What’s bothering you?”

He shakes his head and stands, grabbing his go bag and handing you yours, “I don’t know yet.” He says and walks past you, leaving you to follow.

***

“There doesn’t seem to be any evidence of gagging or even tape over the mouth to keep the girls quiet,” Reid observes from the jet, “No trace glue on the mouth or fabric found inside. ME even reports that some of their vocal chords seemed strained, most likely from hours of screaming.”

“Which means he must have some remote place to keep them where nobody can hear them.” Rossi adds.

Aaron is quiet the entire time besides assigning the team tasks for when you land, “Aaron, what’s the matter?” You say softly, gently squeezing his leg.

He slowly shakes his head, “Something about this case… I feel like I’ve seen it before, but I can’t… I can’t remember.”

You frown, “We could ask Garcia--?”

“No.” He interjects immediately and then looks at you apologetically for cutting you off, “No, not yet. I don’t want anyone wasting their time when I’m not even sure myself.”

You nod, “Okay.”

The rest of the day went by as usual, Aaron asked you and JJ to go talk to the families. By the time you got back to the police station, the sun was beginning to set and the team had hit dead end after dead end. Frustrated, Hotch ended up dismissing the team for the night to come back with fresh eyes tomorrow.

In the hotel room the two of you shared, you kneeled on the bed behind Aaron who was still looking over case files and placed your hands on his shoulders, gently kneading them with your fingers, “Come to bed.” You said softly and kissed him just below his ear.

He shakes his head, “There’s a girl out there who might already be dead because of my incompetence.”

You frown and sit back on your legs, “That’s weird, I didn’t know you were working this case by yourself.”

He sighs, “I know I’ve seen this before.”

“Even if you had, it’s probably a copycat, it’s not the same guy.”

“But we don’t know that.” He says, exasperated, “I can’t even remember if we caught him, I can’t remember anything.”

“Okay, that’s it, we’re calling Garcia first thing in the morning.”

“Y/N--”

“We don’t have any other leads, it’s not a waste of time. Now come to bed, please. You’re no use to anyone when you’re tired, you just get more grumpy than usual.”

He finally offers you a small smile, “Are you saying that I’m normally grumpy?”

You smile in victory as you lay back into the pillows and Aaron crawls over you, “Your baseline grumpiness at work is pretty high, yes.” You mimic his frown and deepen your voice, “You always look like this, no matter who you’re speaking to or the scenario.”

He laughs and flattens his body against yours, head resting on your chest and you run your fingers through his hair, “We’ll find him, Aaron. I promise.”

He doesn’t respond, but you both quickly fall asleep like that, unaware of what horrors the next day would bring.

***

“Good morning sunshine, what can I do for you this early?” Penelope answers your phone call with a yawn.

“Hey, Garcia, sorry to call so early. Would it be possible to pull up a list of all the cases Hotch worked before he was unit chief and see if any of them are similar to this case? Maybe the victimology or the MO?”

“Might take a while, our favorite unit chief has been fighting crime for a very long time, but I’ll get back to you if I find anything.”

“Thanks Penelope.”

“Ciao bella!”

“Garcia’s looking.” You said as you hung up the phone, Aaron just finishing tying his tie. You stood and reached out to straighten it. “Try not to think about it, you work best when you’re calm and detached.”

He frowns, “Detached?”

You smile and go up on your tip toes to give him a kiss, “Yes, when you check your ego at the door.”

He cradles your face in his hands and gives you another kiss, “Okay, no more kisses until the end of the day, you’re too distracting.” And he turns away from you, walking out the door before he can even see the way you’re pouting. “Come on, let’s go. We’re running out of time.”

You nod and head after him.

***

“Garcia, you’re on speaker.” You say, pushing your phone into the middle of the conference table. The rest of the team had been brainstorming the last couple hours, but had gotten nothing. No evidence of anyone buying a taser recently, at least not locally. There was little that connected the victims, just that they were all young white women. 

“You guys, I… I really hate when this happens, but it seems that the unsub is trying to contact me.”

“What do you mean?” Hotch asks.

“I mean,” You can hear her typing quickly on her keyboard and suddenly there’s another video feed on the screen, “He obviously wants to show us something.”

“Can you trace this?” Reid asks.

“No,” She sighs, “His IP address keeps changing automatically every thirty seconds.”

“Agent Hotchner,” A distorted voice comes from behind the camera. In front of it there’s a tank of water and a girl frantically trying to swim with her hands and legs tied. “Have you figured it out yet?” The voice continues as he walks in front of the camera, never allowing the camera to see his face. You look closer at the girl, Tiffany, and see she has the consistent taser burns all over her body. “I’m tired of waiting.” He walks over to the girl, pulling her up out of the water as she screams before putting the taser next to her temple and pulling the trigger. She spasms for close to a minute before he drops her back in the water, her now lifeless body floating to the top. “I thought you were smarter than this.” The voice says before the feed cuts out.

Everyone is silent for a moment, “The hell was that about?” Prentiss finally interjects, looking to Hotch.

“Garcia, do you have that list for me I asked for this morning?” You say, swallowing away the bile that rises in your throat from witnessing Tiffany’s murder.

“Yes.” Garcia’s normally bubbly voice is quiet and subdued, “Yes, I do. The closest thing I could find was a series of murders back in the 90s. A bunch of women were tortured for hours in a salt water tank before their throats were finally slit and they were dumped behind various dumpsters in town. ME reports showed significant brain damage from repeated lack of oxygen. A Mister Garret Hughes was arrested for the murder, tried, and put to death… Oh boy, three weeks ago, right before our first victim popped up.”

You look at Aaron, “Does that sound familiar now?”

He nods slowly, “It was one of my first cases as lead profiler.”

“Well it sounds like Hughes’ death was the trigger.” Morgan says, “Hotch, maybe he blames you for Hughes’ death.”

“Judging from the body type on camera, it has to be a male, maybe a friend? Brother?” JJ muses.

“Or a son…” Aaron says, “Garcia, did Hughes have any children?”

“Uhhh, yes sir, he has a son named Cameron Hughes who was about seven at the time of the murders and is now twenty five.”

“What do we know about him?” You ask.

“Well, after his father was arrested, Cameron was put into foster care, his mom had left his dad years ago and seemed to drop off the map which sounds a lot to me like she was afraid of Garret.”

“Rightfully so.” JJ murmurs.

“Yeah. After that, Cameron bounced from home to home, reports of abuse from nearly every one until he turned 18. He got a job as a prison guard not long after and he’s been there ever since. And that explains how he was able to get a taser.”

“Any run-ins with the law?” You ask.

“Yeah, several when he was a kid, but after he turned eighteen and got his prison job he was squeaky clean.”

“What were the arrests for, Garcia?”

“Well, we have some petty theft, some fires set and… Oh, no.”

“What is it?”

“His last arrest when he was sixteen was for torturing and killing a neighbor’s dog… via drowning.”

“Do we have an address, Garcia?” 

“Already sent to your phones.”

Everyone starts grabbing things and running to the SUVs. “This can’t be where they’re holding them,” Spencer says as you all pile in and Aaron starts the car, “It’s too residential and it doesn’t match the geographical profile.”

“Well, let’s hope that we can bring him in or we find something in his house that tells us where he is holding them.” You say.

***

When you arrived, Aaron directed you, Morgan and JJ to the back. Aaron and Reid took the front while Emily and Rossi went around the side.

You were behind both Morgan and JJ, your guns raised when you spotted a shed behind the house. “You guys go in, I’ll check the shed out back.” You say. They both nod their heads and then head inside. You hear the distant sound of your team calling “Clear!” As you head to the shed, and you admit it, you let your guard down.

When you open the shed door, it’s dark and with your flashlight on, you turn to the right first, leaving your back exposed for Cameron to hit you over the head with a hammer. There’s no time to scream or fight back. A big guy, he picks you up and tosses you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and heads out a back door, into the woods where his truck is waiting for him to load you into.

***

At first, no one notices that you’re missing. To be truthful, JJ and Morgan had forgotten about the shed out back. But then Aaron looks up and around the house. There’s JJ and Morgan, carefully sorting through mail on the kitchen table. “Morgan, where’s Y/L/N?”

There’s a moment of silence when it dawns on all of them what may have happened and suddenly everyone’s guns are drawn and Morgan is sprinting to the shed, JJ and Aaron on his heels. When they walk into the shed, they see your badge and gun on the ground along with little dots of blood. And then the start of an engine. Aaron wastes no time running out the back door and starts shooting at the truck, but he’s already too far down the wooded path. 

He has you. He has you and Aaron is stuck here, useless, because there are no other leads. “Why was she out here by herself?” Hotch’s voice is deadly calm.

“I… she was behind us and then she said she was going to clear the shed and we just thought…” JJ trails off, “We thought she could handle it.”

It’s not their fault, he tries to remind himself. But the rage is boiling just beneath his skin. “Hotch, we’ll find her.” Reid says when he storms past, back into the house, “Something here will give him away.”

“There wasn’t a license plate on that truck.” Morgan says as they all follow Hotch back inside.

“What’s going on?” Rossi frowns as the rest of the team comes back in the house, “Was he out there?”

“He has Y/N.” Is all Hotch says before he starts ripping the house apart, trying to find some clue of where he would take you. He slams doors and curses to himself throughout and the rest of the team helps him look without a word.

“JJ?” Reid murmurs when he notices she’s crying as she looks through the house.

“I shouldn’t have let her go out there alone.” She says, her voice thick with tears, “It’s like when I left you alone all over again.”

“You know as well as I do she made that choice to go by herself. She wouldn’t want you blaming yourself.” JJ just shakes her head, “If we want to find her we need you to focus now. This unsub is arrogant, he won’t be expecting us to find him.”

They continue searching, seeing if Garcia can find any evidence of abandoned buildings nearby, but nothing. Until Cameron reached out to Garcia himself, again.

Garcia’s panicked voice fills Cameron’s home, “Guys, he’s here again and I can see Y/N.” 

Emily quickly opens a laptop and the stream fills the screen. Aaron fills with temporary relief at seeing you sitting on the floor in front of the camera. “No blindfold or gag, just like the other victims, only her wrists and ankles are tied.” Emily observes.

“If he didn’t blindfold her at all, she might be able to tell us where she is.” Reid says, and everyone knows he’s thinking of the coded message he gave this same team years ago when he was taken.

You sit there and stare at the camera silently. You don’t appear to be injured or hurt in any way, besides the blood that drips from your temple. You most likely have a concussion from the blunt trauma. “You know, Agent Hotchner,” Cameron no longer bothers to disguise his voice, “I debated for a while who to take from this team to hurt you the most. I researched you for years while my father rotted in jail. It’s a shame Foyet got to pretty miss Haley before I had the chance. I thought about taking Jack, but I draw the line at children. Feels wrong somehow, even to a psychopath like me.” 

He starts touching you and the chair beneath Hotch’s fingers creaks as he clenches his fists. You don’t show him any fear, no tears, you don’t even flinch away from his touch. “So I focused on the team, tried to see who you had the strongest relationship with. Who would hurt the most? Dr. Spencer Reid, boy genius who you treat like a son? Agent Morgan, the little brother you wished Sean had turned out to be? What about Agent Prentiss? She was so damn pretty and smart I thought you had to have been sleeping with her. But then,” He pulls your hair so hard, your head snaps back and you grunt. The closest thing to a reaction you’d given him so far, “I saw that you shared a hotel room with this one more than once when working cases together. I’ll give you props Hotchner,” He chuckles and lets out a whistle, “I didn’t even consider her because I thought she was so far out of your league. Nice work.” He produces a taser and pulls the trigger while pressing it to your ribcage and you convulse until he pulls his hand away.

“Oh, boy. This one’s going to be fun, aren’t you?”

“I have a name.” You grind out.

Cameron responds by ripping off your shirt and producing scissors to cut off your pants, “Yes, Y/N. I know your name. Time for a swim, I think.”

What Cameron doesn’t see as he undresses you is the way you close your eyes and take several deep breaths to calm yourself. Panicking leads to faster drownings. He picks you up and tosses you in his makeshift tank. Your body becomes perfectly still, everyone on the team looking at their screens in horror until you break the surface, taking in another breath.

“Garcia, do you have anything?” Aaron does his best to keep the impatience out of his voice, but you scream for the first time when Cameron holds the taser to your side for more than a few seconds and it shatters him. 

“Sir, I’m trying everything, I can’t hack him. I’m so sorry.” She sniffles.

“Reid, give me something.” Hotch practically begs, but Reid looks back at him hopelessly and you’re screaming again. 

“Oh, God.” JJ says, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Hotch kicks over his chair as you finally break and begin crying and then you’re under water again.

“We’re missing something, we have to be.” Rossi says.

Cameron pulls you up out of the water by your hair, “Are you listening, Agent Hotchner?” He screams as you cough the water out of your lungs, “Beg him to help you, baby, go on.”

You take some shuddering breaths and then you look at the camera, “Aaron,” You say breathlessly and Hotch feels like all the air has gotten sucked out of his lungs, “It’s beautiful here and I’m not afraid.” Cameron shoves you back under and tases you while you struggle.

“What the hell does that mean?” Morgan demands, looking at Hotch who’s staring at the laptop in awe.

“Garcia, how far is Mount Si from here?”

“Not far at all sir, maybe a couple of miles if that.”

“Are there any remote cabins or caves there that wouldn’t have come up on your initial search of Cameron?”

“Um, it’s possible that there is land there that is owned by a relative that wouldn’t have come up in his background, let me check and…” She sighs, “Yeah, there’s a small cabin right off of a hiking trail that looks like it used to belong to Cameron’s mother. She never sold it so it’s sat there empty since she left town.”

“Let’s go.” Hotch says, practically running out the door before anyone can follow, “Garcia, keep the audio of the stream on while we drive.”

“You got it, go get her, please.”

“How did you know?” Prentiss asks when they’re in the car.

“Y/N is afraid of heights. We went hiking once, early on, and I convinced her to climb a mountain with me. When she got to the top I asked her how she was feeling and she looked at me with this big smile on her face and said ‘It’s beautiful up here.’ And then she looked over the edge and I held her from behind and I asked her if she was scared and she said ‘No, I’m not afraid.’” Your screams ring out in the car and Hotch presses his foot down harder on the gas. They were almost there, you just needed to hold on a little longer.

“We’re gonna get her, Hotch.” Rossi says reassuringly from the back as your sobs ring through the car.

“Garcia, how does she look?” Hotch asks. He was just down the road now.

“As you would expect, sir.” She says quietly, “If you’re asking if I think he’s going to kill her anytime soon, no I don’t. He is having far too much fun with her. Please get that creepy man in cuffs.”

Aaron throws the car in park and everyone jumps out, pulling out their guns as they run in. “FBI, Cameron, drop the weapon.”

You’re dripping wet and shaking and out of the tank, barely able to stand. But you smile at Aaron as Cameron holds a knife to your abdomen. You thought when you had given him that hint that you’d be leading him to your body, you never expected to see him alive again. But here he was, your Aaron, prepared to rip the world apart to get you back alive.

“Thanks for the suggestion, Agent Hotchner, but it’d be so much more fun to see the look on your face when I do this--” Aaron fires the shot and it lands in Cameron’s forehead, killing him instantly, but not before he thrust the knife into your stomach.

“We need a medic, federal agent down.” He says quickly into his watch before running to your side.

Your eyes dart back and forth as he kneels next to you and warm blood starts pooling on your stomach. “Aaron?” You manage.

“It’s okay, I’m here, I’m here, it’s gonna be okay.”

“You remembered.” You say softly, your eyes losing focus, “You found me.”

“Of course I remembered,” Hotch says, tears filling his eyes, “You gotta stay with me, Y/N. Stay awake, okay?”

“I’m so… tired.”

“I know, I know, but you have to keep your eyes open. Please.” He shouts over his shoulder, “Where’s my medic?!”

“I’m glad I… got to see you again, Aaron.”

“Don’t talk like that.” He’s crying now as you’re bleeding out in his arms. He can vaguely hear Morgan yell again for a medic.

Hotch’s memories get all scrambled up after that. He remembers you passing out in his arms, thinking you were gone as the medics forcefully remove you from him. The way the team tried to take him with them as you rode to the hospital, but he insisted on going with you.

He remembers that it was touch and go for a while in the ambulance. That they had to have Derek pull him away from you when they wheeled you into trauma. His arms were covered in blood and he shoved Morgan off him. 

“Hotch, relax.”

He eventually sat down in a waiting room seat, legs bouncing, “She was talking to me like she was about to die.”

“She’s not gonna be out of there anytime soon, why don’t you go wash the blood off your arms.” JJ says.

“Yeah.” He says and stands, “Yeah, right.”

When he’s gone down the hall the rest of the team look at each other, “I haven’t seen him like this since Haley.” Emily says.

“She’s gonna be okay, right?” Spencer’s voice is soft.

JJ puts an arm around him as Morgan’s phone rings, “Please tell me she’s okay.” Comes Penelope’s panicked voice on speaker.

“She’s in emergency surgery right now, we don’t know much.”

“And how’s Hotch?”

Morgan sighs, “She practically bled out in his arms, Garcia. He’s not good.”

She sighs, “I hate being across the country, call me when you hear something.”

Hotch walks back over, still looking dazed, but at least not covered in blood. They waited like that in silence for hours until the doctor came back over and Hotch stands immediately.

“We were able to stop the internal bleeding and stabilize her,” The doctor starts, “She’s in the recovery room now and should be waking up soon. She’ll have to stay in the hospital for at least a week to be monitored.”

The relief hits everyone in the room tenfold. Hotch feels like his legs might give out and there’s a collective sigh of relief from the rest of the team.

“Could we airlift her to DC?” Aaron asks. He doesn’t want you here by yourself.

“I’d like to at least monitor her overnight, but yes, that can be arranged.”

“Can we see her?” Spencer said from behind Aaron.

“Of course, follow me.”

Your eyes are still closed when they all file in, the doctor quietly exiting as they all crowd around your bed. Aaron is crying when your eyes begin to flutter open, a lazy smile forming on your face, “What happened?” You say slowly, your voice raspy.

“You just got out of surgery, you’re gonna be okay.” Aaron says.

“We were so worried about you.” Spencer’s voice cracks as he steps forward and gives you a hug.

“Oof.” You grimace a bit at the sudden weight, but manage to hug him back. “I’m fine, promise.”

The team all give you hugs and put Garcia on speaker so she can hear you alive and well before leaving Aaron alone with you. “Why are you crying, my love?” You ask, reaching out a hand to him.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, “I thought you died in my arms.”

You shake your head, “But I didn’t.”

“I can still hear your screams from when he was torturing you. I didn’t do enough to protect you.”

You flinch a bit at the mention of the torture, but recover quickly, “Aaron, our jobs come with a certain amount of risk. You know that. You can’t always protect me.”

“I know, I know, I just…” He wipes his tears with the heel of his hand, “He took you because of me.”

You shake your head, “He just got lucky that I went off by myself. He would’ve taken anyone who walked in by themselves. He wasn’t as diligent or organized as Foyet. I’m sure he did stalk us, but he had no solid plan to target me specifically.” He looks down at his hands sniffling, “Aaron, even if he did take me because of our relationship, I don’t care.”

“How can you say that?”

“Our relationship is also what saved me, don’t you realize that?”

“You would’ve found another way to tip us off--”

“The whole time I was there, I just kept thinking about you. I’m not like Reid or Prentiss, I can’t think like that under pressure. I was only able to think of that because I was thinking of you, of us the whole time.” He still can’t look at you and you can see tears still falling to the floor.

“Aaron, look at me.” You say gently and he complies. You beckon him over to the bed until he sits on the edge and you can touch his face, “I love you.” It’s the first time either of you have said it. You were so nervous to before, but nearly dying without telling him had scared you badly.

He manages a smile, “I love you too.”

You smile back at him and reach up to cup the back of his neck, pulling his face down to meet yours. His kiss is gentle, as if he’s afraid of breaking you and then he rests his head just beneath your chin.

“They said you have to stay in the hospital for at least a few days.” You immediately groan and begin to protest, but he shushes you, “I’m going to arrange for you to be airlifted to DC tomorrow morning and I’ll stay with you until then. The rest of the team is flying home tonight.” You’re pouting at having to stay in the hospital and he cant help but laugh at you a bit, “Hey, it won’t be so bad. I’ll bring you all your favorite books and takeout and I’ll bring Jack, too when I can.”

“Will you bring me coffee in the morning before you go to work? Hospital coffee is terrible.”

He smiles, “Yes and I’ll even bring you a chocolate croissant from that bakery you love.”

You finally crack a smile, “You spoil me, Hotchner.”

He kisses your forehead, “I’ll probably spend the rest of my life making this up to you.”

You smirk, “Hey, at least now we can both say a serial killer almost stabbed us to death. We even have matching scars.”

Despite himself, Aaron laughs, “You’re ridiculous.”

You giggle, “Yes, ridiculously in love with you, Aaron Hotchner.”

[davidmann95]

Sooo… Superman and the Authority?

magnus-king123 asked: Your thoughts on Superman & the authority Give it to me...lol

Anonymous asked: Seeing Bezos take his little trip into space the same day Morrison puts out a Superman comic that touches on how far we’ve fallen from the days when we dreamed of utopian futures where everyone explored the stars was a big gut punch. Not used to Superman being topical in that way.

Anonymous asked: What'd you think of Superman and the Authority#1?

This is far beyond what I can fit in the normal weekly reviews, so taking this as my notes on the first six pages, with this and this as my major lead-in thoughts:

* Janin's such a perfect fit for Morrison - the scale, the power, the facial expressions selling the character work, the screwing around with the panel formatting as necessary to sell the effect, the numinous sense of things going on larger than you can fully perceive amidst the beauty and chaos. It's a shame he wasn't around 25 years ago to draw JLA, but I'll take him going with Morrison onto other future projects.

* His intro action sequence is such a great demonstration of why Black actually does have something to offer, and also how he's such a dumbass desperately needing Superman to save him from himself.

* While Jordie Bellaire didn't legit go with an entirely monochromatic palate the way early previews suggested, it's still an effect frequently and excellently deployed here. And glad to see Steve Wands carry into this from Blackstars since there's such an obvious carryover from its work with Superman.

* "Gentlemen. Ladies. Others." Great both because of the obvious - hey, Superman's nodding at me! - and because it's a phrasing that reinforces that this take on him (and let's be real Morrison) is old as hell.

* I'm mostly past caring about whether this is an alt-Earth Superman until it becomes indisputable one way or another, this and Action both rule so what does it really matter? But while there are still a couple signs in play suggesting some kind of division (the Action Comics #1036 cover, Midnighter up to time-travel shenanigans) the "lost in time" quote clearly thrown in after the fact to explain how he could have met Kennedy outside of 5G that wouldn't be necessary for an Elseworlds, the assorted gestures towards Superman's current status quo, the Kingdom Come symbol appearing in Action, and that Morrison would have had to completely rewrite the ending if this wasn't supposed to be 'the' version of Clark Kent going forward as was the intent when they first planned it all say to me that no, no fooling around, this is our guy going forward one way or another.

* Janin and Bellaire making the first version of the crystal Fortress ever that actually looks as cool as you want it to.

Anonymous asked: I like that Superman and The Authority is basically the anti-All-Star; instead of the laid back, immortal Superman who is supercharged, we have a stressed, ageing Superman whose tremendous powers are fading. The former will always be there to save us, but the latter is running out of time and needs to pull off a Hail Mary. Also, he mentions in his monologue to Black that he was "lost in time" when he met JFK, so maybe he is the main continuity Clark. Or he's the t-shirt Supes from Sideways.

* You're absolutely right - the power reversal is obvious and the ticking clock in play seemingly isn't for his own survival but everyone around him as he wakes up and realizes all the old icons grew complacent with the gains they'd made and he's not leaving behind the world he meant to. Both, however, are built on the idea of preparing the world to not need them anymore - it'll still have a Superman in his son, but that'll only work because of the others he empowers and inspires. The question is what happens to Clark if he's not going to live in the sun for 83000 years.

* Clark's 'exercise' here does more to sell me on the idea of Old Man Superman as a cool idea than however many decades of Earth 2 stuff.

* Intergang being noted alongside Darkseid and Doomsday speaks to how much Kirby informed Morrison's conception of Superman.

* This isn't exactly the most progressive in its disability politics but at least it makes clear Black's being a piece of shit about it.

* It's startling how much Clark can get away with saying stuff in here you'd never expect to come out of Superman's mouth. "I made an executive decision" "Privacy, really...?" "You have nowhere to go, Black. Nothing to live for." "There are few people in my life who I instinctively and viscerally dislike, and you've always been one of them." It only works because there's zero aggression behind it, he's just past the point of niceties and being totally frank while making clear none of these assessments preclude that he cares and is going to unconditionally do the right thing every time. He is absolutely, per Morrison, humanity's dad picking us up when we're too drunk to drive ourselves home.

* The story doesn't put a big flashing light over it, but it's not even a little bit subtle having the material threat of the issue be a ticking timebomb left by the carelessness and hubris of generations past.

* Manchester keeps trying to poke the bear and prove his hot takes about Superman and it's just not working. The front he put up under Kelley is gone after decades of defeats, and as Morrison understands what actually conceptually works about him as a rival to Superman underneath the aging nerd paranoia he's exposed as what he absolutely would be in 2021: a dude with a horrific terminal case of Twitter brainworms. I was PANICKED when I heard there was an 'offensive term' joke in this, I was braced for Morrison at their well-meaning worst, but it's such a goddamn perfect encapsulation of a very specific breed of Twitter leftist who uses their politics first and foremost as a cudgel and justification to label their abrasive, judgmental shittiness as self-righteousness (plus it's a killer payoff to a joke from way back in his original appearance). Cannot believe they pulled that off when they're so very, very open about basically not knowing how the internet works.

* @charlottefinn: Manchester Black using his telekinetic powers to force someone he hates to fave a problematic tweet so that he can screenshot it and start a dogpile

@intergalactic-zoo: “Once they cancel Bibbo, Superman won’t be *anyone’s* fav’rit anymore!”

* Friend noted this issue had to be fully the conversation because the whole premise stands on the house of cards of these two somehow working together, and with three 'silent' inset panels the creative team pulls off that turning point.

* So much of this feels on the surface like Morrison bringing back the All-Star vibes with Clark, but when he drops a "That's all you got?" in a brawl you realize what's underlining that bluntness and confidence in the face of failure is that deep down this is still the Action guy too. This dude ain't gonna get wrecked in his Fortress while the other guy chuckles about him being A SOFT WEE SCIENTIST'S SON!

* Bringing up Jor-El made me realize that Morrison already spelled out that this is the final threat to Superman, what he faces at the end of the road:

"Now it's your turn, Superman."

* A l'il Superman 2000/All-Star reference with the Phantom Zone map!

* There's so much intertextuality going on here even by Morrison standards - Change or Die with the old hero putting together a team of morally nebulous folks out to 'fix' everything, Flex Mentallo with the muscleman trying to redeem the punk, Doomsday Clock with the fate of the world hinging on whether Superman can get through to a meta stand-in for an idea of 'modern' comics cynicism, DKR and New Frontier and Kingdom Come and Multiversity and Seven Soldiers and What's So Funny and All-Star and Action and the last 5 years of monthly Superman comics and Authority and probably Jupiter's Legacy and Tom Strong - but none of that's needed. You could go in with the baseline pop cultural understanding of the character and not care about any of the inside baseball shit and get that this is a story about a leader of a generation that let down the people they made all their grand promises to as inertia and day-to-day demands and complacency let him be satisfied with the accomplishments they'd made long ago, looking at a new era and seeing the ways its own activists are dropping the ball. The only thing that fundamentally matters in a "you have to accept you're reading a superhero story" sense is that because he's Superman he's willing to own up to it and listen to people who might know better about some things and try to set things right while he and those who'll take his place still have a chance. And yes, the oldster looking back on their legacy with a skeptical eye and hoping for better from the next generation, hoping most of all that their little heir apparent can fulfill the promise inside of him instead of being a provocating little shitkicker, is obviously also autobiographical.

* The overlaying Kennedy reprisal is such a great visual of a sudden intrusive thought.

* The Kryptonite secret is the obvious "This is going to matter!" moment, but "He lied about his son" is a bit that doesn't connect to anything going on right now so maybe that's important here too? More significantly, the Justice League can't actually be the villains here but that Ultra-Humanite's crew are in an Earth-orbiting satellite makes pretty clear what's up.

* I've said before that between Superman, OMAC, and a New Gods-affiliated speedster this was going to use all of Morrison's favorite things. King Arthur playing a role isn't exactly dissuading me.

* Love the idea that all the antiheroes have their own community in the same way as the capes and tights crew. They definitely all privately think the rest are posers though and that they alone are Garth Ennis Punisher in a mob of Garth Ennis Wolverines.

* Manchester's fallen so far he's gone from trying to convince Superman to kill to convince him to dunk on people for their bad takes and Clark just doesn't get it. Official prediction of dialogue for upcoming issues:

"According to these bloody Fortress scans, the only thing that can restore your powers is an unfiltered hit of dopamine. Don't worry, Doctor Black has a few ideas."

"Hmm. Maybe I'll plant a nice tree?"

"...fuck you."

* Ok I already talked about how great the Fortress looks in here but LOVE this library.

* A pair of pages this seems like the right spot to discuss from Black's original appearance that underlines both his and Superman's inadequacies up to this point:

Responding to the problem of "the government and penal system are hopelessly corrupt" neither of them has any actual notion of what to do about it in spite of their respective posturing beyond how to handle individual outside actors - each is in their own way every bit as small-minded and reactionary as the other. Clark's coming around though, and he's holding out hope for the other guy.

* Superman: Have a lovely mineral water :) proper hydration is important :)

Manchester Black: *Is a dude who can get so mad he vomits and passes out. At water.*

* That last page is the one to beat for the year, and does more to put over the idea of this as an Authority book than that Midnighter and Apollo are literally going to show up. It also feels like Morrison tacitly acknowledging all the ways the premise could go or at least be received wrong - from Superman saying 'enough is enough' to who he's bringing into the fold to go about it - in the most beautifully on-the-nose fashion imaginable. Maybe they'll save us all! Or maybe they'll drown us in their vomit.

[tigerdrop]

in lieu of doing more strenuous hand-based activities heres the Dogboy Gordon In Heat Megamix ive been talking about. i wrote this over the course of a couple months in an effort to feel okay about writing horny shit again and i only just realized there are nearly 6 thousand words here. and they only really fuck for like 10% of that

ta-dah

ive thought a lot about gordon being stuck back at gordonhouse after getting kicked out of barneyhouse. i think its ripe for a lot of pining. (and yes, he is pining over the guy hes actively banging. hes being a big mopey idiot over the fact that he doesnt get to have his fuckbuddy around 24/7.) absence makes the heart grow fonder or whatever and gordons already at a baseline of "wheres benrey. wheres benrey"......and now i am about to turn it up to 11

so lets say......gordons starting to feel weirdly under the weather. sweaty and irritable and tired. hes holing himself up in his room a lot, wrapping himself up in blankets to fight off a chill and a sniffliness that wont go away. and hes gettin awfully moody, too. real fuckin testy. starting shit with freemind for no reason and snapping at og gordon like hes a teenager. and......hes nesting, almost, or at least, gathering up a whole bunch of blankets and pillows and anything that smells vaguely like benrey. (hes not really aware hes doing this last thing.)

basically, long story short, feetman is fucked up. hes pathetic. hes being a huge bitch. at least og gordon feels vaguely sorry for him, and expresses this by way of observing him and trying to treat it. for science. its better than freemind, who just loudly complains about him being a huge bitch and reeking up the place. theres something weird coming from vr gordons corner of the house.....a musky, heady, hormonal kind of thing that makes freemind act simultaneously territorial and irritable and more lascivious than normal. and that also piques og gordons attention, because having both of them be wound up little freaks at the same time is enough to make even the most resilient person pull their hair out

now gordon primes got his suspicions as to whats going on, but hes not gonna tell vr gordon that he suspects hes going into heat. that would compromise the experiment, and all that. so poor gordons just going thru all this shit not knowing what in the fuck is wrong with him and getting more worked up and irritable about it by the day. hes convinced that hes just got the flu, or something......except, uh, haha, jesus christ he is horny all the FUCKING TIME

he doesnt get it! he feels like shit all the time, so why is he constantly fighting off boners and having weird wet dreams and thinking about-- well. his fucking boyfriend, he guesses. (are they boyfriends?? he doesnt know. he gets a weird, sharp pang when he thinks about them not being boyfriends, at this point, but its not like theyve ever talked about it!) gordons half-convinced that hes just losing his mind from being stuck inside all the time and he really just wants to see benrey again. its, like, all he thinks about. (see? hes losing it. theres the proof.)

the sucks thing for everybody else is that gordon is also Extremely Vocal about how shitty he feels and how much he wishes he didnt feel shitty so he could go see benrey and how much he cant stand benrey for not being able to read his mind and come over when he feels bad. eventually freemind gets so sick of his shit that he decides to cut out the middleman and get benrey involved directly. "come take care of your fucking dog before i call the aspca! animal neglect is a crime, asshole!"

(if pressed, freemind would adamantly reject the idea that hes being nice to gordon. but on some level, hes kinda sympathetic. the guys clearly miserable, and he just keeps asking for the same fucking thing. might as well humor him to shut him up.)

vr gordon is completely unaware of these machinations, however. hes just holed up in his room trying to work out what makes him feel better because, uhh, powerade isnt helping

jacking off doesnt do a whole lot for him anymore. like, it feels good, but its not very satisfying. gordon just ends up feeling more restless than anything afterward. and hes always stupid horny. more blankets. a box fan. less blankets. sleeping with one of benreys shirts pressed up to his face. grinding into his pillow when he wakes up hard from yet another weird dream. theyre all a little helpful, and he feels like hes working towards the right thing, somehow, but its never really enough to take the edge off

and then.....he tries......jerking off more. especially when he realizes that its bizarrely soothing to do so while he can smell benrey up close and personal on that stupid shirt of his. better still when he rolls onto his side.....and then his stomach.......rocking his hips into the mattress until he gets the idea to lift his hips a little. and......oh. cool. something kind of......clicks. in his head. as he raises his hips higher while he keeps his arms wrapped around a pillow and benreys shirt jammed against his nose. hes got that lil moment of realization that this is good, actually. this feels like a good move. and its making some of that discomfort melt away

and gordon thinks about.....how it felt. earlier. when they were with barmey. and benrey had him just like this, ass up, face down, and was spreading him apart and licking him open and making him submit and he groans so fucking hard that embarassment just rips through him like lightning. but his tail starting to wag a little faster.....electricity shooting through his belly......and he cant help but wonder. what if benrey had kept going? pulled back and-- maybe, replaced his tongue with his fingers, one at a time, curling them inside him and telling him how well hes behaving and-- and his dick throbs, hard, and gordon realizes he wants fingers inside of himself right fucking now, thank you, hes not fully certain how to accomplish it be he is going to fucking try

(sigh) so my guy figures out about the old fingers in the ass trick. and i need you to understand that i am fully convinced that this is one of those guys who has an uproarious reaction to getting fingers in his ass. mr repressed and uptight over here doesnt really get what the big deal is until he gets braver and pushes a little deeper and hes rock hard in an instant, goodbye, just like everybodys favorite creative writing exercise

and this is what he decides to do for a solid day or two without leaving his room, because, honestly, this is awesome. and the longer he spends jerking off the less time he spends stressing about the fact that his imaginations getting really vivid, here. sure, like, hes no stranger to weird dreams even before this, but this is the first time hes really letting his mind run wild and this dude is nonstop thinking about being bred and gordon still has no fucking idea that hes in heat. doesnt even occur to him

unfortunately this also does not solve his problems but at least it feels baller and it keeps him occupied. also, unfortunately, the increased rate of jerking off is causing a serious uptick in Dog Smells, the effect of which is turning freemind into a nightmare. its just not good vibes in this house. enter: benrey

now i need you to understand that when these two meet up again i want gordon to get Emotional. think about how genuinely excited he gets to see some of his pals in canon. the like......excitement and disbelief when benrey shows up outside his window throwing rocks at it before noclipping in. he forgets to even act pissed off at first. i think it would be super fucking cute for him to drop the game for a moment just out of shock, basically. his tails waggin, his ears are perked up, and hed probably tackle benrey to the ground if he wasnt also a sweaty, trembling mess whos been holed up in his room for days.

and benrey has No Fucking Idea what he has walked in on here. as far as benrey knows, freemind just demanded he get over there and take care of his dog.

(INTERLUDE: here is the part where i gin up a freemind POV of this exact scene. b/c i am out of my fucking mind

so. i had the thought of a freemind POV chapter where hes spying on gordon and benrey.....because. gordons in heat. ive talked about that scenario before too (literally so many FUCKING times okay i just need this dude to have the uncontrollable urge to be bred like a little bitch! and for benrey to take pity on him and make him feel better by nutting in him literally as many times as is physically possible!!!)

but i wanna manifest it in this specific way: from an outside perspective. voyeurism is great and also i have a one track mind and basically the only time i traffic in Other Guys in this fandom anymore is as a participant in gordon and benreys horse shit. Im not apologizing for this

lets say.....vr gordons behavior has been getting worse and worse for "unknown reasons" and freeman prime just sees it as a key observational opportunity for his research. while freeminds getting really irritated at how much its cutting into his normal way of life. for one thing, vr gordons room reeks, and he cant even escape it in his own room! and its turning him into a feisty, aggressive, and loud son of a bitch. but he cant even resolve it in his usual fashion at this point (baiting vr gordon into another competition/fuckfest) b/c gordons being a little sadsack holed up in his room and doesnt wanna play

but also.....he kinda just feels bad for the guy at a certain point. hes clearly really miserable and looks downright ill and all hes asking for is to see his boytoy again. (gordons convinced that hes dying, and feels the need to dramatically speak to benrey one last time before he croaks.) so freemind decides, in all his benevolence, to go over gordon primes head and drag the guy over there anyway. (with machinations, not his literal bare hands. what is he, a caveman?) he reasons that itll be a good opportunity to twist gordons arm into groveling at his feet later

and he spies on the two of them in gordons room.....why? idk. possibly something to do with investigating this relationship between a gordon and a barney that he had yet to fully analyze. tl;dr he gets trapped in their closet for a remix of that one barmey voyeurism chapter b/c why the fuck not

i just.....i dont know.....i think theres something really charming about a 3rd party not being able to fully make out what theyre saying or doing but piecing things together anyway.....like benreys weirdly soft tone of voice when hes talking to a super agitated gordon. as far as any of them know, hes not really like that. he either sounds bored or smug, but either way, its usually straight-up antagonistic

it would make freemind bristle to hear it b/c its almost a mocking tone, but.....it makes gordons shoulders drop and gets him to let go of some of that tension and thats probably fascinating to watch. literally soothing him like a stressed out dog, huh. smoothing back his hair and murmuring things in a low, even tone that freeminds enhanced hearing still isnt good enough to make out. (the guy mumbles, okay? he needs a fucking toastmasters meetup.)

it would equal parts horrify and fascinate freemind, in my onion. watching a version of himself fall that hard into the loyal pet role.....its pathetic! for all that gordon goes on about not being a slave to his instinct or whatever, he sure is doing a bad job of acting like it! its like watching himself, but worse.

and benreys having to soothe him like a startled animal b/c he doesnt even know whats wrong with himself, but theres something thick enough on the air that even benrey can smell it, and hes taking some stabs at the dark. especially with how charged some of the shit gordons saying is......"i cant fucking take it anymore", "you smell so good", "i dont know whats wrong with me, man, my dick hasnt gone down for days and im pretty sure i need a doctor-- no, a real one, not the other gor-- NOT a vet, JESUS"

and the whole time.....freeminds peeking from behind a closet door. watching them devolve from outright hostility into "gordon climbing into benreys lap and shoving one of benreys hands up his shirt and demanding that he fucking touch him already"

normally i dont think freemind would be averse to a little bit of voyeurism, here. if it was anybody else, hed probably at least engage in a little heavy petting. but this is getting weird, man. he cant shake the uncanny feeling that this is something too intimate for him to be watching. for one thing, gordons whimpering like a goddamn dog just from a little necking, and for two, hes never really been the kind of guy to watch people make out for 15 minutes before they get to the good stuff

its just kind of unsettling how much these two clearly really, really like each other at this point. its not like watching gordon prime give vr gordon a handjob as part of a "test". freemind expected more of a hatefuck kind of deal out of these two, what with how often gordons normally going on about how much he hates the guy, what a pain in the ass benrey is, how he just wishes benrey would stop jerking him around.....etc. freemind could shit himself right now. that lying bitch!

i imagine its also kind of painful, on a personal level, for him to watch this borderline-sappy shit. he cant even fathom being on the receiving end of that behavior, let alone from......well. theyve all got their barneys, right? and gordon primes basically doomed himself to incel status b/c he wont nut up and do anything about it. freemind just assumed they were all in the same boat: cursed to casual sex with their roommates/clones, forever, and unable to achieve any kind of intimacy b/c all 3 gordons are fucked up in the exact same way. since theyre all just diff flavors of the same fucking guy, right?

well, theres the evidence that hes wrong. and that vr gordons better than him, somehow. thats gotta suck, bro

anyway then he watches vr gordon get railed in the ass a bunch and jerks off anyway b/c its still hot. see ya)

“take care of your dog”. huh. hes got no clue what that means but, yknow, he does kinda miss his dog. hasnt seen gordon in awhile. and he immediately comments "wow. you look fucked up" in as blunt and unsympathetic a way as possible. but gordons so far gone that he cant even work up a good anger about it. he is pretty fucked up, man. and benrey sits on the bed and slaps his forehead with a palm to take his temperature (and that gets gordon to bitch at him, finally, that thats not how you do it, asshole) and judges that, uh, he is hot. in his expert opinion

and thats when gordon kinda grabs his sleeve and tugs it and starts tryin to say something. hes really bad at it, because he is having to perform the mortifying task of Owning Up To It, but eventually he manages to grind out that he needs benrey to touch him, please. just pet him. something. he feels really bad and he just needs benrey to scratch his fucking ears. this is the most gordon can cop to in one go, and it is such a sad struggle to watch, but benreys caught off guard by it and he feels weirdly bad for gordon upon hearing it so  hes just like "whoa, okay" when gordon tugs his hand to his head

gordon groans the moment his fingernails start scratching behind the ears and digging into his scalp. even just that much feels really fucking good. its comforting, for one thing, and its benrey, for another, and the physical touch feels so fucking good right now that goosebumps are crawling down his neck. gordon cant help but lean against benrey and bury his head in the crook of his shoulder. he wants to hide his face from scrutiny and he wants to get closer but he doesnt know how to say what his fucking problem is

and benreys weirdly quiet. just kinda mumbling and shushing him intermittently, awkward and not sure what to do b/c this is a level of intimacy he was not expecting but gordons sure is responding nicely to a second hand in his hair

so having both of benreys hands scratching at his scalp is really getting to gordon. hes scritchin behind the ears and gordons tails wagging at a mile a minute. the feelings making goosebumps race down his neck and arms. he starts kind of mumbling something into benreys shoulder, how hes been feeling so fucked up lately, and he squirms a little closer. hes not really aiming for anywhere in particular but every neuron thats firing in him right now is telling him to get closer. make contact. he missed the fucking guy, what can he say.

and one of benreys hands......slips down to gordons face. his jaw. a thumb pushing into that soft little divot between his jaw and neck, like hes trying to push up into gordons fucking teeth. its weird and bizarrely intrusive, but benreys hand is broad and warm and gordon leans into it anyway, groaning with relief. its not like its not doing anything for him. kind of the opposite, actually. then he palms at gordons neck, and gordon starts breathing harder. he can feel his heartbeat rabbit-fast, pushing against benreys skin (and theres no way benrey isnt feeling that, too).

benrey eyes are lidded and his breaths starting to get heavier, too. naturally, yknow, since gordons practically draped over him right now, melting all the more the longer benrey keeps petting him. oxytocin is crazy, man, especially when a guys in the full throes of some kind of chemical meltdown of the glands. gordons eyes are screwed shut, tail thumping furiously against the bed, and hes panting at benreys neck like hes a fucking dog.  he just doesnt know how to articulate what the fuck his problem is

benrey smells insanely good to him right now, and gordon just blurts that out. benrey gives him some shit for it, but when gordon only makes a weird noise in response and fists his hands in benreys hoodie, it makes him shut up real quick. hes squeezing out words about feeling like he needs something, but its clearly a fucking effort. its almost pitiful

so. gordons crawled right into benreys lap, too impatient after days and days of feeling like this (you know, being in heat, in so many words). hes been pounding off like crazy, that brand new collar of his strapped to his neck nearly every time b/c hes that desperate to feel… well. *benrey*. he cant fucking jerk off to thoughts of anything else - porn doesnt do it for him, and his fantasies slip right back to the same thing every single time. its frustrating! hes bisexual, for gods sake! its not like hes normally immune to the wiles of the Phat Ass White Girl, but lately he just keeps ending up on his hands and knees and whining benreys name into his pillow and he couldnt focus on a girls rack if he tried

point being. hes being awfully fucking demanding. (and also, hes wearing the collar *right fucking now)*. he shoves benreys hand up his shirt and shivers the moment he makes contact with gordons burning-hot flesh. and hes demanding that benrey touch him already, jesus, hes losing his mind! and benreys just crooning at him, “bossy, huh,” but hes scritching gordons ears and palming at his side and nosing at gordons neck and gordon starts to feel like hes melting into it. his protests at being talked down to are perfunctory at best

benrey licks a stripe up gordons neck and starts muttering his stupid horseshit right in gordons ear and it makes gordon clutch his shoulders so tight, claws digging into the meat of him. benreys kind of into it, though, and it just makes him laugh, low and harsh and right in gordons ear. that just makes gordons problem worse. he lets out quiet, nasal whines on every exhale, like a literal fucking dog.

he starts teasing, like, “haha, you’re *gagging* for it, bro,” but gordon doesnt respond with the defensiveness he expects. instead, its like opening a floodgate - he is, hes fucking *desperate*, okay, his dick hasnt gone down in days and he wants benrey so bad he cant see straight and he cant stop thinking about him and all of this comes tumbling out of him at once. gordons trying to press himself as close to benrey as he can physically get, legs straddling benreys lap and arms clutched tight around his back. and when benrey prods a little more, tells gordon to say what hes been thinkin about, gordon starts to pant, squeezing his eyes shut. but he cant bring himself to do anything more than choke and stutter on the words

hes half-hard in his underwear already (and, lets be be clear, he was only in boxer briefs and a tank top to begin with. hes sweating buckets and its the least amount of clothing he could get away with wearing around the house) and his tails thumping a mile a minute and hes so far gone, just from benrey talking down to him and kissing his neck and scratching his ears. but hes not budging yet, so benrey slides that hand on his ears over to his ponytail and *yanks*. tells him, “speak.” gordons dick twitches rapidly, and he lets out a sharp sound, and he finally says it: he needs benrey to *fuck* him, jesus

benrey lets out a harsh breath at that. “yeah? thats what puppy wants?” and the nickname should blister him, make him feel to embarrassed to continue, but gordons too desperate to care. he just starts spewing a litany of “god yes”s and “please”s. hes getting harder and harder, pressed up against benreys belly, and benrey can *feel* it. “good boy,” he mutters, and those claws dig harder, that panting gets louder and harsher

he slips a hand around to gordons back, rubbing slowly for a moment as if to soothe him, and then slides it under the back of gordons boxers. and lower still. starts rubbing at gordons hole. that gets a quiet “oh god” out of gordon.

gordon cant help himself - he rocks forward against benrey, just a little, rubbing his bulge against what he realizes is benreys *extremely* hard dick in his sweatpants. hes not the only one whos got it bad. but he *is* the only one whispering, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” as benrey pushes a little further, makes as if hes about to breach gordon dry. the poor guys so needy that he probably wouldnt even argue!

but benrey just stares at him, wide eyed and flushed, mouth hanging open a little. gordons so hot for this that it surprises the both of them.

anyway after some boring position finagling benrey coaxes gordon onto his hands and knees, running a broad hand down gordons shaking back. and he pulls back gordons tail, exposing him. its so fucking humiliating - gordons got his face buried in a pillow, and his ass in the air, and hes never felt so *vulnerable* before. he wants to argue, he wants to lift his head and look back to make sure that everythings, like, okay back there - benreys staring at his entire asshole, okay, and he wasnt exactly anticipating benrey making a house call to fuck him in the ass - but every time he lifts his head, or starts to say something neurotic about it, benrey chides him about it. clicks his tongue. tells him, “hey. dogs dont talk” or “i said *bow*, bro”.

for all his insisting that hes a real guy, that hes not just a dog, gordons feeling less and less like a human and more like something in thrall to his instincts. the condescension rankles like it always does, but doing what benrey tells him to feels good. feels natural. presenting himself like this feels like what hes *supposed* to do. it doesnt stop him from running his mouth entirely, but it helps to mitigate some of the embarrassment.

and then… benrey *licks*. gordon tenses and gasps. he doesnt know how benrey can stand it, its gotta be, like, unhygienic! but that didnt scare him off the last time they tried this, and its not like gordon hasnt thought about it since. hes thought about it a lot, actually. but hes been too neurotic to ask for it. benreys not stupid, though. hes a good dog owner (at least, so he thinks) and hes gonna take care of his dog. so he licks again, and again, pressing a little harder against gordons hole on each pass with the broad side of his tongue until he dares to breach it with the tip.

gordons rock hard again in an instant. his dick hangs between his legs and drips onto the sheets. he digs his fingers into the pillow now, tearing holes in its surface with those sharp nails of his, and he makes embarrassingly high noises that he muffles into into the pillow, too. hes tense, hes so fucking tense, he should be clamping down and making benreys task really fucking hard, but theres bright pink sweet voice dripping from his hole and benreys rubbing the side of his thigh in an effort to soothe him and both of these things work in tandem to get him to relax. and benrey works his tongue in further, further than a human ought to.

the tip was one thing, but it gets wider as benrey pushes it in, and its just as good as it was before - better, even, because now its just the two of them, just a master and his dog, and benreys the only one he wants to see him like this. bent over and whimpering. he cant— he cant stomach the thought of anybody else doing this to him. hell, there was a point once where the idea of stomaching *benrey* doing this to him would have made him laugh. but here he is. benreys fucking him open with his tongue and pressing against something thats making him see stars and gordon just wants *more*. he says it so sweet, too, voice growing hoarse and raw as he begs benrey to just fucking do it already, he doesnt wanna come like this!

gordon gets so worked up and emotional about it that benrey takes the time to scratch behind his ears again, shushing him and telling him to chill. benreys got him. hes been a good dog, and good dogs get treats. hearing the words “good dog” makes gordons entire body flush. thats all he wants, really. he wants to be a good dog. he wants to be *told*. he blurts out, “oh my god— say it again,” and benreys like, “huh? say what? youre gonna have to be more specific,” clicking the last syllable. it makes all the hairs on gordons head rise and prickle with shame. the best he can do is mumble it into his pillow.

benrey hears it, though, and tugs at gordons collar from behind, just enough to raise his head. “whassat? you want me to call you a good boy?” gordon cant bring himself to answer that directly, but his stupid body betrays him by making him whine. jesus christ, yes, thats all he WANTS! he needs benrey to be good and nice to him for once in his fucking life and give him what he wants instead of taking, taking, taking! but benrey just tells him that hes gonna have to earn it. gonna have to be *real* good for him. gordon could fucking snarl at that, but benreys pulling back to rub his dick between gordons cheeks and against his hole and that shuts him up pretty fast because hes *so close* to getting what he wants and hes not about to fuck it up now by running his big dumb mouth

and then… he starts to push in. that sweet voice has loosened gordon up enough to take even benrey, who, uh, is definitely the bigger of the two, in that regard. he goes slow, uncharacteristically so, and gordons chest heaves with the force of how hard hes breathing. a quiet string of “oh god”s spills out of him as he tries to crane his neck back to watch. the head breaches him with a strange popping sensation, and benrey groans, loud, as the rest of him slides in with little resistance in comparison. “good,” he pants in turn, “youre takin it so good,” and—

and gordon comes, in weak, aborted spurts. it snuck up on him. he clenches so fucking tightly that it winds benrey a little. he breathes out, “whoa. did you—” but gordon just begs him to shut up, keep going, hes not— hes not done yet, its always like this, its not *enough*. his dick barely even flags afterward, it just hangs there, achingly hard and dripping with cum. benrey cant even find it in himself to make fun of him. he wants it so fucking bad, doesnt he? and he feels so good, so fucking tight and slick around benrey that the only thought running through his head is “gotta take care of my dog gotta fuck my best friend gotta nut in him and make him howl”. so he pushes himself alllll the way in until theyre pressed together, skin to skin.

then he starts to move. slow, careful thrusts, more for benreys benefit than gordons. if hes not careful, hes gonna blow his load, right then and there, and hes trying to make it good for gordon, too, okay? unlike *some* of them, hes not gonna bust in two minutes and then spend the next half hour crying and trauma-dumping to the guy hes still got his dick inside of.

once he thinks hes got a grip, though, benrey starts fucking him in earnest, and that changes gordons vocalizations from weak little whimpers into something louder. less restrained. hes given up any pretense of being quiet so that his other selves dont hear that hes snuck his boytoy into his room. just loud, wordless moans on each thrust, initially muffled into the pillow but soon spilling into the wider room when he turns his head to catch his breath. the only words hes managing are “oh god” and “please” and “benrey, benrey, *benrey*”, and benrey just responds to him like, “yeah? thats good? fuuuck, bro, so good for me,” all short of breath and barely able to speak himself

he wants to see gordons face. he *needs* to see gordons face. needs to see what hes doing to him, needs to see that cute fuckin blush of his. so he tugs on gordons collar again, bringing him to his hands and knees properly instead of that bowing position. and then further still - pulls him back so that benreys on his knees, and gordons on his knees in turn, on his lap, cock still buried inside of him and fucking him in short, hurried thrusts. “paws up,” benrey tells him, and gordon does it. instantly. no resistance. just folds them at his chest like a real dog would.

“whos a good boy?” benrey croons, right in his ear again. gordon gasps, “i-i am!”

“yeah? youre a good boy?” nod, wail. “whose— whose good boy are you?”

and gordon chokes on his response. he cant say it, he *cant*, he doesnt want to be benreys but he does, he *does*. he doesnt want to be benreys because its not fucking fair! he cares so fucking much! so much more than benrey does, it feels like, obsessing over the guy like hes wrapped thorny vines all around gordons heart and he cant so much as shift in his seat without feeling the tug and the ache and thinking of benrey again. and benrey doesnt care, he never fucking cares, except—

except he showed up at gordons house, in his room. without even being asked. like he knew something was wrong. and he— hes always talking to gordon, shooting him stupid texts just to make him laugh. scheduling *date nights* for them. date nights where, yeah, maybe they couldnt see each other in person, and maybe they always end in some kind of depraved sexual act, but its not like gordons not into it. hes frighteningly into it, actually. and hes *so* into hearing benreys voice, low and crooning, right in his ear, and seeing him lean on an elbow and smile at him afterward. its— its practically genuine. and benreys always making excuses to talk with him, do things with him, watch stupid fucking movies that only gordon cares about and stream with him on twitch to help boost his subscriber count and—

and—

oh god. maybe he *does* care. that might be more terrifying than the alternative.

then benrey yanks the collar again. presses the whole of gordons back against his front in one hot, unbroken line. and asks, “i said, whose good boy are you, bro? *speak.*”

“benrey,” he blurts out, a ragged moan, “d-dont make me sa-AY it, oh god—”

“no?” benrey stills suddenly. his hands keep gordon stuck in place, unable to move or bounce or feel benrey shift inside of him. “thats, uh… thats too bad, friend. this trains for good boys only. good dogs go to heaven 2. no bad dogs allowed. gonna have to, uhh, escort you off—”

“im not a bad dog!”

“i dunno, gordo. bein’ kind of, uh… disobedient.”

(sorry. thats all i got . byeeee)

[pen-paper-and-ink]

Champagne Problems

Chapter Three

Masterlist

Sam eventually went to back to his own apartment around noon, leaving Aelin with plenty of time to focus on her English assignment.  Instead of a final test in English, there was a final paper, and Aelin was struggling with what words to put down.

She knew the book inside and out; the words just were not coming to her today. She could usually just sit at her computer and let the words flow out of her, but that was not happening.  She eventually just went back and skimmed through her outline, getting herself to refocus. She finally gave up a half an hour later and resorted to texting Rowan.

“Want to come over and study.  I’ll order takeout from Emry’s. It will be just like old times.”

The response came only seconds later. “I’d love too, but some of us have class in an hour.”

She could practically here the snort in his reply. “Could you possibly skip this class and study with me instead?”

“I would but it’s the last class before the final, and I need the review.”

“Boo. You suck.” She emphasized with an emoji that was sticking its tongue out at him.

“See you later, Ace :)”She swore he refused to use emoji’s just to spite her.

When she was finally done pouting, she eventually pulled her phone back out to text Lysandra, who easily agreed to come over.  Although Lysandra was not diligent as Rowan when it came to studying and making study schedules, she was better than nothing, especially when Aelin was having trouble concentrating.

She showed up to Aelin’s apartment wearing an oversized fuzzy pink sweater and a pair of black leggings, as well as two chocolate bars.  She might now be Aelin’s favorite person.

She definitely was not Aelin’s favorite person the first time they met, though.  They were both petty and stubborn and got along about as well as cats getting a bath. That eventually changed the march of their freshmen year, when Aelin chased off a shady guy who was trying to follow a very drunk Lys into the bathroom at a frat house. Lysandra had been her constant companion since then, especially when it came to  topics including clothes and boys.

“Hello, Babe,” Lysandra chirped happily as she strode into Aelin’s apartment.  She shrugged off her bag and dropped the candy onto her plush sofa.  Aelin went to wrap her harms around Lysandra who returned the gesture. “I brought chocolate as a study motivator for the both of us, but you already smell of candy.”

Aelin groans. “Shut up.  Sam bought me this perfume, it’s his favorite.”

“Mhm,” Lysandra hums giving Aelin a conspiratorial grin, “I think he like’s that you’re his own personal snack.” Lysandra says wiggling her eyebrows.

Aelin only rolled her eyes at her friend, “whatever.”

“You smell good, babe, just really sweet. Even sweeter than that bath and body works body spray that everyone bathed their selves in in middle school, if that’s even possible. But I think he likes that.  How many times has he bitten your neck when you have been wearing it?” Lysandra asked with further eyebrow wiggling.

“You’re way too into our love life.  How long has it been since you’ve had date?” This time it was Aelin’s turn to wiggle her eyebrows.

“It’s been a while,” Lysandra moans loudly, but she turns her grin back onto Aelin, “but you didn’t answer my question.”

Aelin sighs loudly and slumps back onto her couch. “It’s not like he does it often.”

Lysandra snickers and she lounges next to Aelin. “So, I see it’s getting pretty serious. I even saw the picture he keeps of you in his wallet.”

“In his wallet?” Aelin snorts. “I didn’t think that people still did that. I thought the real milestone of a serious relationship was making a picture of your significant other your home screen on your phone.”

“Yes, you relationship guru.  Are you ready to study now?”

. . .

It turns out that Lysandra was the perfect person to get Aelin to finish her English paper.  About two hours after Lysandra arrived, Aelin had finished her paper, submitted it, and was able to eat her chocolate bar as a reward.  They then watched a shitty romcom on Netflix until Lysandra had to leave for her evening class.

That now left Aelin plenty of time to get ready to go to the Cadre’s for the night. It also gave Aelin some time to harass Rowan about his class.

“How was class?” Aelin texted.

“Good.  Did you finally finish your paper, you demon?  Bribing me with Emry’s and everything.” Rowan replied.

“I finished it and submitted it and everything. I even ate a celebratory chocolate bar without you.” She brags.

“I just wanted you to know that I am rolling my eyes at you.” Was his only response.

“Would it kill you to just use the emoji?” Aelin demanded.

“Yes.” Well at least she had her answer.

“See you at the Cadre’s in a few hours or so?” She inquired.

“Yes,” was once again his only response. Boys, Aelin thought rolling her eyes. What was with boys and their one-word answers.  With that, Aelin pulled up Spotify on her TV to blast some music as she prepared for her night.

She was having fun running around her apartment sing- screaming the lyrics to Teenage Dirtbag as she prepared dinner and tidied up her apartment.  Pop-rock and other angsty songs which she listened to as a teenager, always brought back fond memories.  Her friends always made fun of her emo music in high school, so she decided to switch to some more mainstream stereotypical party music when hanging out with her college friends. The mainstream stuff like Doja Cat and Cardi B, stuff that was always playing loudly at clubs and house parties.

Aelin also had a soft spot for love songs and romantic ballads.  Frank Sinatra always reminded her of her parents spinning around their living room on a weeknight.  She always thought that they were disgustingly in love. Always holding hands and kissing in front of her and her friends.  Aelin now regrets giving them crap about it, especially since the time they had together ended up being cut short.

She ends up eating her frozen pasta dinner over the kitchen island as she hummed along to an old fall out boy song. She went to check her phone and saw a message from Sam which simply asked if she was going to be at the Cadre’s in an hour, she sent back a simple yes as a response and finished up her dinner. Once she was done, she decided that it was probably time to get dressed for the night.

Aelin loved getting dressed up.  She found it calming.  Once she picked out an outfit she would methodically paint her face and do her hair. She scanned her overflowing closet, her gaze gliding over black cocktail dresses, sportswear, blazers, sun dresses, and band T’s.  She decided on a pair of skinny jeans and an oversized concert t-shirt since she just wanted to wear something simple, and the Cadre’s was a fairly run-down dive bar, though Aelin didn’t mind being overdressed, she loved her clothes and wasn’t afraid to show off and look fabulous doing so.

Once she was dressed, she went into her bathroom to do her makeup.  She blended concealer and foundation into her skin, and painstaking lined her eyes with black liquid liner.  She had decided on a classic cat eye with red lips, something you could never go wrong with.   She reached down for her tube of lipstick then remembered that Sam got kind of soppy and romantic when he was drunk and reached for a liquid lip instead.

She then quickly curled her hair and accessed her appearance.  Her skin was flawless, her eyebrows were groomed to perfection, the eyeliner accentuated her blazing blue-gold eyes wonderfully, and her crimson red lips went well with the look.  Her golden hair was voluminous in big beach waves, she overall was pleased with her appearance, especially after spending the entire day in lounge wear studying. It felt good to be put together after a day of lounging around her apartment while trying to write.  Overall Aelin thought she looked hot as fuck.

She quickly pulled on her heeled black booties, grabbed her bag and she was out the door.

. . .

The bar was so loud, the baseline of the song that was playing was all that could be heard.  Lysandra had left the group about an hour in, to go flirt with some guy she had met previously that night and had eventually went home with him, after checking in with Aelin.  Aelin dutifully took down the guys information, with Lys promising to check in with her later in the evening.  That left Aelin to hang with the guys.

They had all gathered tonight.  Sam, Lorcan, Conall, Fenrys, Rowan, and Aelin.  They had all had a few rounds and were now all laughing over stupid shit, even Lorcan, who Aelin didn’t know could even laugh before tonight.

They were all giddy over the thought of finishing the school year.  Rowan, Lorcan, and Sam were all graduating in a week, and Aelin and the twins were officially 75% done with their education.  There was a lot to celebrate and drink to.

Aelin’s thigh was pressed against Rowan’s in the booth as they started arguing over which actor was the best Spiderman. That was the one habit they had kept from the time when they hated each other, the arguing. Rowan and Aelin were known to argue over everything, though now the disagreements were over trivial things and mostly just involved teasing. Rowan was arguing in favor of Tobey Maguire, which Aelin made gagging noises over when he finally confessed as to who her thought the best actor was.

“I’m sorry to inform you,” Aelin started, elbow on the table starring up at her best friends face, “That we cannot be friends anymore.  I simply cannot be friends with anyone who thinks that Tobey Maguire makes a better Spiderman than Tom Holland.  That’s blasphemous, and I will not stand for it.”

“You can’t mess with the original, Ace.” Rowan responds looking serious. “He just cannot be beat.”

“Yeah, Ace.” Conall responds, apparently feeling the need to weigh in on their argument. Rowan frowns at him, no doubt from the fact that Conall called her Ace, which usually only Rowan called her that, with the exclusion of Sam who had recently gone about calling her that. Rowan has always felt a little possessive over the name Ace.

“No, No, No,” Fenrys butts in, his words slurring slightly, “I agree with Aelin. Tom Holland is simply the best. Also, have you seen his lip sync battle?  Tell me Tobey Maguire could pull that off. I dare you.”

“He can’t,” Aelin laughs, “He simply can’t.”

“I also agree that Tom Holland is the best Spiderman.” Sam says with a sly smile.

Rowan frowns at him.  “You’re only agreeing with Aelin because she’s your girlfriend.”

Sam laughs, gets up and slides onto the opposite booth and sits next to Aelin, “No, no one can compete with Holland’s acting chops.” He says as he throws his arm around Aelin’s shoulders.

“There’s only one way to decide then,” Conall says with a smirk. “Lorcan must be the deciding vote.”

Aelin and Fenrys both protest loudly, claiming Lorcan had no taste, and that Lorcan would choose Maguire just to spite them.

Rowan shuts the protests up by turning to Lorcan and asking for his vote.

Lorcan looks sheepishly around before he says, “I actually think Andrew Garfield plays the best Spiderman.”

The group eventually quiets back down, as the night begins to come to an end. Lorcan was the first one to head out, claiming he had a final tomorrow.  Fenrys left soon after, receiving a text from a semi-frequent hook-up asking him to come over.  Conall then convinced Sam to play darts with him, beating Sam every round.  Sam still seemed to be enjoying himself though, laughing every time he missed one of the rings, and once the board entirely. Aelin never understood why bar owners thought it was a good idea to put a dart board in the middle of drunk men with questionable aim, but who was she to question it.

Sam and Conall’s questionable game of darts did, however, leave Aelin and Rowan alone for the first time that night.  Aelin had been missing spending time with her best friend.  It seemed that every time they tried to get together, outside of their morning runs, they were busy or surrounded by other people.  

“So, how are you Buzzard?” Aelin asks with a slow smile.

“How are you, fireheart?” Rowan asks, far too seriously for the night they have been having.

Aelin’s heart begins to pound loudly in her chest. He hardly ever called her that, only when he was feeling particularly affectionate.

“All’s good.” She replied, still smiling.  Her heart pounded faster still when his fingers brushed against her cheek.

“An eyelash had fallen.” Was all Rowan said, still gazing at her with an intense stare.

“Oh.” Aelin said, “I hadn’t noticed.”

Rowan only gave her a sad smile as he stood up.  He ended up tripping while trying to remove himself from his seat, which made her burst out laughing.  Rowan, who was usually graceful to a fault, had tripped. He was more drunk than she had initially thought, he must be excited to be graduating.

“Do you need help?” Aelin asked.

“I am fine.” Rowan growled back.

“Are you sure about that?” Aelin asked, trying to hide her laughter. “You seem a little unsteady on your feet.”

“I’m fine, I’m going to head home for the night.” Rowan said, regaining his balance and his usual stoic expression. He grabbed his jacket from where he had been sitting.

“How about you come home with me,” Aelin offered. “You seem a bit unsteady there, Buzzard.”

“I’m fine,” Rowan said again. “I’ll get a cab. Goodnight.” Rowan threw her one last smile, then exited the bar, never bothering to turn back.

. . .

The dreams usually began with a dizzying array of colors, then quickly moved on to flashes of memory. Her heart begins to pound so loudly she can hear it in her head, in her dreams.  Once her senses are overwhelmed with the shadow of memories and the deafening sound of her own heartbeat, is when she would stop breathing. The lack of air is what usually wakes her from her slumber.

Aelin Galathynius quickly padded across the floor of her bedroom to her bathroom, closing the door behind her, where she then vomited into the toilet. She always made sure the door to the bathroom was closed and locked, so Sam could not hear her, or accidently open the bathroom door in the middle of the night to find her lying on the floor next to the toilet.

After Aelin was done emptying the contents of her stomach into the toilet, she slumped down onto the floor.  The cool tile against her back, where her loose sleep camisole did not cover, always seemed to ground her.  The hot flashes, the insanity from the dreams and then the vomiting always began to dissipate once she felt the cool tile against her body.

She laid on the floor for a while, breathing in and out and waiting for her pulse to return to normal. The memories she tried to escape during her day, where always ruthlessly unleashed during the night, pursuing her where she could not escape them. Although she couldn’t escape the dreams and memories, they were significantly better within the last few years, only occurring every once in a while, instead of every night.

Aelin thought back to her freshmen year, where she would drink all night long, or get into fights, just to try to stay awake just a little longer so she wouldn’t have to face what was waiting in her subconscious.  Aelin was good at that, pushing things away, not examining anything too closely in case it might trigger a panic attack.

Aelin would eventually have to get up, brush her teeth and make her way back to bed where her loving boyfriend was sleeping, but she allowed herself to rest for a moment more on the floor.  Though Sam knew what happened when she was eighteen in veiled terms, and through short bursts of vulnerability, she couldn’t get herself to admit to him that she still had panic attacks, and nightmares from her previous years. In fact, the only person who knew she still suffered through them was Rowan.

Rowan was her constant star and steadfast companion when it came to the pain of suddenly losing someone. He was also well aware of the way she tried to deal with it afterward, for that was how they found each other.  They were both so wrapped up in their grief and their own self destruction that they couldn’t see the other person in front of them. When Aelin pulled her head out of her ass, as Aedion called it, and finally called a truce with Rowan, and later became friends with him, is when Aelin realized that they had the same grief festering inside them.  They also had the same self-destructive streak, so they vowed to find their way out of the madness and grief together.

For a moment Aelin wished Rowan was with her, gently coaxing her get up and brush her teeth, rubbing his hand on her back soothingly, waiting for her pulse to slow back down. Rowan always knew how to reach her, how to soothe her.

Aelin slowly got up, and eventually made her way back to her sleeping boyfriend who was unaware that anything had happened. She tried to fall asleep next to her boyfriend, but she couldn’t, she was too busy wishing Rowan was beside her with his soothing touch luring her back to sleep.

Taglist

@rowaelinismyotp

[annabethy]

under the mistletoe, watching the fire glow day 9: cliffs

Character A vows to do something nice for a stranger during the Christmas time. Character B is that stranger,, percabeth

Percy happens to think that he’s a nice human being. He tries to be, at least. He has his moments because no one is perfect, but he’s always done his best to be considerate of those around him.

So when his friend tells him that he’s really not a nice person, he just about loses it.

“I am not a bad person!”

Leo raises his hands defensively. “I’m not saying you’re a bad person. All I’m saying is that you could be a little bit more... generous.”

Piper rolls her eyes. “Leave the poor man alone, Leo.”

“I’m generous,” he says, miffed.

“But...” Leo waves his hands wildly, and Percy feels the instinct to punch him in the nose and make him Rudolph. “Do something nice for once.”

“Percy,” Piper says, “he’s just mad that you didn’t give him a piece of your gingerbread cookie. Don’t listen to him.”

Still, it stings just a little bit. Even if it’s a joke, Percy doesn’t think it’s very funny. That’s what prompts him to do something kind this Christmas. He honestly doesn’t know what he plans on doing because what could he do? Buy all of someone’s presents and also go broke in the process? Maybe he could buy someone’s cheap coffee, but then is it really something nice if it’s only two dollars?

Whatever it is, Percy knows that Leo has to be there to see it so he can make Leo choke on his words. The only problem then, though, is that Leo would no doubt say something along the lines of you’re only doing it because you want to prove me wrong, not because you care, bla bla bla, and the Percy will actually shank Leo with a peppermint candy cane.

Percy tries so hard to find the chance to make someone’s Christmas, but it’s so much harder than he would’ve thought. People ignore him when he’s speaking to them about buying their order, or they think it’s some weird Christmas ploy.

He doesn’t get to do something kind until Christmas day.

Percy’s standing in the freezing air on top of a snow-tubing mountain. His friends had dragged him here against his will, because despite being a native New Yorker, he hated the cold. He wanted to be included though, so he came along anyways, stuffed into a black snow suit and a knitted hat. His nose burns from the icy atmosphere, and his fingers are numb. He considers checking for frostbite but then he decides he’d rather not know.

He’s standing on a small wall of ice overlooking everyone else. Leo is somewhere to his right, threatening to push Piper off of the wall, and Percy purposely avoids making eye contact in fear that he’ll be next.

The wall of ice can’t be anything more than five or six feet. He doesn’t know if they’re actually allowed to be up there, but there’s so many people doing the same thing that he’s not too worried.

He watches as a few people jump off of the wall into the fluffy layer of snow, vaguely listening to the conversations around him. He hears a mother hassling her children, and his ears perk up as he notices her muttering something along the lines of her not being able to afford buying them each a hot chocolate from the cabin that lays near the bottom of the mountain.

Percy doesn’t stop to think first, which is probably a mistake.

“I can buy it for you,” he interjects kindly, thrilled that he’s finally getting the chance to do something nice.

The mom looks at him, and it’s almost as though she’s appalled that he’s spoken to her. Percy shrinks back.

“I’m good,” she says.

“I don’t mind,” he continues, more nervous. “It’s only a couple dollars each, and—”

She holds a hand up. “I don’t want to have sex with you.”

Percy’s mind comes to a screeching halt. “What!? That’s not what I—”

“You’re going to tell me that you’re offering to pay twenty dollars and it’s not because you want to sleep with me?”

“No! I was just trying to do something nice for a stranger after my friend said—”

“I don’t want to hear it!” she snaps, already beginning to walk away from Percy. “Follow me and I’ll cut your dick off.”

It’s so shocking to him that he doesn’t even have time to respond before she’s already gone. He truly must have the worst luck because he’s just trying to create Christmas magic, and everyone seems to be doing the exact opposite of that.

Percy’s mouth gapes slightly, his brain still not comprehending what just happened. He’s only pulled out of the haze when someone snorts next to him.

He turns his eyes and catches a girl looking like she was smothering laughter.

“I’m sorry,” she says, laughter now bubbling out of her lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a conversation go so wrong so quickly.”

“I don’t even know what I did,” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck.

“Something she didn’t like, apparently.” She’s still giggling slightly, and Percy thinks it’s kind of cute. She’s shorter than him, and her nose has a red tint to it. He can see the puff of air each time she takes a breath, and she looks like she’s ready to go inside and curl into a ball for a nap.

“God. That’s embarrassing.”

“I got a front row seat to that show,” she says. “Why are you trying to do something nice, anyways?”

Percy is surprised that a stranger would want to talk to him after witnessing that, but he doesn’t mind. “My friend called me a horrible person and said I was going to hell.”

“Ouch.”

“That’s not exactly what he said,” he admits, “but he might as well have. He’s dead to me.”

“And yet you’re still trying to please a stranger,” she says wryly.

“I don’t want to go to hell,” he whines, and she laughs softly.

“I’m sure you won’t go to hell. You might lose your genitalia, but you’re not going to hell.”

“Yes, thank you for the reminder,” he says. The faint music in the background changes songs, and she rolls her eyes.

“This music is getting out of hand,” she says. “It’s like they’re trying to suffocate us in Christmas spirit.”

“It could be worse, don’t you think?”

“Is rather drown in eggnog than listen to another Christmas song.” She thinks for a moment, looking out into the distance off of the cliff of ice. “Can you promise to push me off this cliff if all I want for Christmas is youplays again?”

Percy chokes. “Push you off the cliff?”

“Yes, please.”

“I wouldn’t want to hurt you,” he says.

“Nothing could hurt more than having my ears bleed to that song. I think it would be easier to simply die and get reborn as Santa’s slaves in the north pole.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Besides, this could be your chance to do something nice.”

“Does murder count as something nice?”

“In certain situations, maybe.”

Percy smiles, though he instantly regrets it when his teeth start to ache. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Annabeth,” she says.

“Percy,” he returns. “So before I get arrested for shoving you off a cliff, let me just make sure I’m hearing this right. You want me to push you off that ledge if Mariah Carey starts playing?”

“Exactly. You have my full permission.”

“Great,” he chokes out. They lock eyes and chuckle slightly at their own antics. Percy thinks someone calls his name from somewhere behind him, but he’s much preoccupied to turn around. Percy doesn’t think Annabeth would be someone to bully him, unlike some friends.

Percy thinks he should write a letter to Leo about his recent harassment. He thinks little rascals is a good baseline. It would start with, Dear Darla, I hate your stinking guts. You make me vomit. You’re scum between my toes. That’ll show him.

“Are you alone?” Annabeth asks kindly.

“I’m here with my friends, but I might as well be alone. They’re mean. I don’t like them.”

“You sure they’re your friends?”

“Eh. Not really,” he says, but he’s only kidding. He loves them dearly, even if they’re the worst people he has ever met. Leo in particular.

“Lovely,” she says. Her gloved hands reach up to move a strand of hair away from her mouth. The wind has started blowing harder, and it’s beginning to tangle her hair. “I’ll be your friend, then. I won’t bully you.”

“I hardly know you. How can I be sure you won’t bully me?”

“I guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out.”

He wouldn’t mind sticking around, he thinks. Especially not with the way she’s looking at him, making him feel the urge to pull her in close and protect her from the biting winds.

As they continue talking, Percy can’t help but think that he likes her. He really like her, actually. She’s sweet and funny, always having something to quip back to him. He finds out soon that she lives quite close to him, and something in him screams to ask her if she wants to do something soon. He holds off on that, but he still can feel the way his heart threatens to pound out of his chest.

A sly grin forms on his face as he hears the change in music. It’s not a song that’s easy to miss, so it catches his ear immediately, and he is prepared.

“Hey, Annabeth.”

“What?”

“Guess what’s playing.”

She tilts her head as she listens to the music, and then she groans in annoyance. “Of course it is.”

“I promised to do something nice this Christmas.” She blinks. “You did.”

“I gotta do it to you.”

“Percy—”

“I made a promise,” he says, shrugging. He steps forwards, and she takes a step back, but there’s a wide grin on her face.

“Don’t you dare,” she threatens with zero malice in her voice.

“It’s my duty to you,” he says. “I don’t break my promises.” With that, he fulfils the gap between them, grabbing her in his arms by the waist and lifting her up. She wiggles in his grasp, letting her legs go limp, and she’s laughing until she can’t breathe.

Percy brings her to the ledge, his smile matching hers, and as he tries to drop her as gently as possible, she grabs on tighter and pulls, and he goes tumbling face-first into the snow with her.

He lands somewhat on top of her, and his face is buried surprisingly deep. He pulls his face out of the hole he’s dug, and when he looks at her, her head is thrown back as she lets out uncontrollable giggles. When she looks at him, it only gets worse.

“Your eyelashes are covered in snow,” she gasps, wiping carelessly at his face for him. She kicks him off of her lazily and leans back, looking up at the sky. “You ass.”

“I just did what you asked me to!”

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

“But you’re alive, and I’ve done my good deed! We both win.”

She shakes her head at him, eyeing him is mock disappointment. “I change my mind. I am going to bully you.”

“You’d have to stick around long enough for that,” he reminds her.

“After you just tried to kill me? You bet I’m sticking around, if only for revenge.”

Percy pouts. “I’m so scared.”

“You better be because when I push you off a cliff, it isn’t going to be seven feet into snow.”

“At least I can die happy knowing that I did my good deed for the year.” Percy turns onto his size and gazes deeply into her eyes. Her eyes fit in perfectly to the scene around them, layers of white snow, barren trees in the distance, matching the grey sky above. He really does want to see her again, to find out if she’s as soft as she looks, if she’s as perfect for hugging as she seems, if she wants to kiss him as bad as he wants to kiss her.

He gets his answer when she says, “You haven’t finished your good deed quite yet.” Percy pretends to be oblivious. “Oh? What else do I need to do?”

She smiles in the perfect way he just knows he’s going to fall in love with. “Kiss me.”

He pulls her in close, both of them still laying in the snow, ice beginning to seep into their backs, and when he puts his lips to hers, she’s warm and sweet and perfect.

And when she pulls away to lock eyes with him before slamming his face back into the snow, he can’t even be mad. She’s cute, looking at him proudly, and he’s falling in love with this stranger on Christmas night.

,, courtesy of ash @silenabeth​

[spicycreativity]

Intertwined - Chapter 4

Chapter: 4/8

Additional Notes: My AO3, WizardGlick, is 3 chapters ahead on this. Critical thinking exercise: Read the following Twin Peaks quote and consider how it related to Intertwined and to post-PoF as a whole:

WINDOM EARLE: What do you fear most in the world?

MAJOR BRIGGS: The possibility that love is not enough.

Chapter Content Warnings: Again, it's a hanahaki fic.

Excerpt: "Here's what I want you to do," Janus said, and his voice was surprisingly tender given the hard look on his face. "Cook for yourself. Don't make something you can take to the others later. Don't make something to share with me. I'm giving you a free pass to be selfish."

Yesterday, Patton supposed, could have gone worse. He had haunted the kitchen after his departure from Janus, begging the mindscape for some sort of hint. Like the answer to all their troubles was lurking in Thomas’ subconscious, just out of reach.

When morning came, he returned to Roman and Logan's rooms, was again rebuffed, and so floated back to the kitchen, made himself some coffee, and sat down at the counter. Again, he reached out with his mind for some kind of reassurance. He had to fix this. There had to be something he could do.

A 5,000 piece puzzle appeared in front of Patton. The image on the box was that of dogs playing poker, captioned A Friend in Need. The subconscious was funny sometimes, in a way that made Patton feel kind of sick and hollow. He opened the box and shook the puzzle pieces put onto the counter. It was a way to pass the time, at least.

A few hours crawled by. Patton’s hands began to shake from the caffeine, and he knew he should eat something, but… It almost didn’t seem worth the effort. He was happy to cook for his fam-ILY, but, when it was just him, what was the point? He put down another edge piece and flinched at the sudden appearance of Virgil in front of the coffee pot. Virgil had made himself scarce after yesterday’s meeting, only reappearing to turn down Patton’s offer of dinner. Patton couldn’t even blame him. How terrible, to wake up after a bad day and find your friends inconsolable and enemies at your door.

“Hi,” Patton said. Finding faux-happiness out of reach, he settled for ‘not completely miserable’ instead.

“Did you eat?” Virgil asked, pouring coffee into a purple mug decorated with this logo.

Patton saw no reason to lie, not about this. “Not yet. I got a little distracted.”

“Mm-hm,” said Virgil.

“Listen,” Patton said, already getting up to make toast. “Are you okay?”

Virgil shrugged and opened up another cabinet. “Want some orange juice?”

"Um, sure." Patton got out the bread and popped a few slices into the toaster. "Thank you."

"No prob." Virgil stood on his toes and got down two glasses, pivoted to the fridge for the orange juice.

"It's just," Patton said, "You don’t seem very upset?" It wasn't that Virgil was necessarily acting upbeat , but… Well, Patton had been expecting something more intense than Virgil's baseline levels of casualty.

"I am," Virgil said. "But I also want orange juice."

"Oh." Patton fell silent. His own feelings were so big and loud in his head they didn't really leave room for anything else. In the light of everything that had happened, Virgil's response felt cold. Patton had half a mind to tell him so, except that… Well, he had no room to talk about 'proper' emotional responses to things. If this was how Virgil wanted to navigate the situation, that was his right. "Did you talk to Roman yesterday?"

"Sorta." Virgil put the orange juice back, scooted a glass to Patton, and took a seat on the counter. "He said he wasn't ready to talk, but might be soon."

"To you?"

"Yeah." Virgil's expression was cloudy. "To me."

"That's a lot," Patton said, treading cautiously. "Is there anything you want to talk about?"

Virgil's knuckles went white around his glass, so much that Patton was worried he might break it. "Oh, there's plenty I want to say," he said darkly. "To you and to-- to him."

"Janus," Patton said, feeling it important, somehow, to say his name.

"Yeah. To Janus."

"You can," Patton said. "To me. I won't get mad."

"I just don't understand!" Virgil said, the words exploding from his chest. "What did he say to you to make you trust him? After everything he did to Roman, to you, to Thomas! What did he say?" It was almost a plea, "What did he say?"

"I already told you, kiddo," Patton said, poking at the water droplets collecting on the side of his glass, unable to remember that they were called. Logan would know. "I made a choice to trust him."

"But why ?"

"I don't know, I just-- I felt something. I don't know if I can explain it in a way you can understand. I just got it. I understood what it was all for. "

"So, what, he just gets a free pass for treating us all like crap? Just gets to talk his way out of consequences?"

"Well, no." Patton kicked the toes of his loafers against the molding under the counter. "But I don't know that it would do any good to… punish him? Be cold, be mean, yell at him. What's done is done. I'm not asking you to forgive him."

"Good, 'cause I don't."

"But I also need you to understand that I made my choice and I'm committing to it. I…" Patton smiled sadly, gazing at the countertop without really seeing it. "I gave my word, in a way."

"Fine," Virgil growled. "But if he hurts you, if he does what he did to Roman and Logan, I swear, I swear--" Patton covered his ears briefly and Virgil seemed to get the message. "Well. I'll avenge you."

"Thanks, Virgil." Patton smiled again, happier this time, and looked Virgil in the face. It really wasn't all that long ago that he had thought of Virgil as an enemy. And now look at them. "I'm proud of you, you know."

"You are?"

"Of course I am! You've been a really good friend to, to all of us. And I'm so happy--"

"Stop," Virgil said, pulling up his hood. "Stop, stop, stop."

"Aw, did I make you blush?" Patton teased.

"Yeah," Virgil said, his voice breaking on that one syllable. He cleared his throat. "Let's not-- I'm gonna--"

"Is something wrong?" Patton asked, already reaching out for a hug. Virgil couldn't see him with his face buried in his hood, so Patton stopped short and let his arms fall to his sides.

"I just, uh." Virgil took a deep breath and let it out in a huff, swept his hood back with a jerky motion. "Sometimes I don't feel like I deserve all this."

"Oh, kiddo, of course you do!" Patton said, again holding out his arms for a hug. Virgil instead held out his hand, and Patton took it in his own, determined to communicate all the love and devotion he could through that simple contact. He smiled at the matching weave of their friendship bracelets, smiled at the memory of sitting side-by-side with Virgil as they both struggled with five-strand braids.

Virgil nodded, and his breathing was still shaky and spastic when he said, "I'm gonna go-- I'm not going off to cry all by myself, if, uh, if you're worried about that. I just need… Uh. Yeah."

Patton nodded, hurriedly snatching the half-cooked toast from the toaster and imagining it smeared with Crofter’s and butter, arranged neatly on a plate. "Okay!" He said with false cheer, passing the plate to Virgil. "Come get me if you need anything! Maybe we can watch Ghost Adventures tonight."

"Sounds good," Virgil said, slightly muffled around his hand, as he was chewing at his thumbnail. "Later." He sank out.

Patton sighed and stared at their untouched orange juice glasses. Even when he was trying to fix things, he made people upset.

A drop of water slid down the side of Virgil's glass, pooled on the countertop. Patton stared at it as another followed.

What did it truly mean to deserve something, anyway? It was something Janus would probably have an opinion on. He seemed to have opinions on most things. Maybe Patton could ask him in a bit.

“Did you need me for something?

Oh, okay, or Patton could ask him now. He turned, unsmiling to Janus. It wasn’t that he wasn’t cheered by Janus’ presence, but that he had no reason to lie. Janus had made it abundantly clear that he wasn't depending on Patton for anything. “Sorry,” he said, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to steal you.”

“No harm, no foul,” Janus said, and sighed so heavily his breath displaced a few puzzle pieces. “As you can see, I was hard at work.” Despite this claim, he wore a hard, annoyed expression and Patton remembered with a sinking feeling in his stomach that he was dealing with a liar. "Did you need help with your puzzle?" Janus asked.

Just like that, Patton's heart leapt. "You'll stay?"

Janus shrugged. "I suppose I can clear a space in my schedule."

Patton stood to get him some coffee. The pot was empty, but it was simple enough to imagine it full again. Ordinarily, he disliked the laziness of misusing Thomas' imagination, but he couldn't deny that it was convenient sometimes. He could tell he was on the brink of annoying Janus (somehow) and didn't want to risk pushing him over the edge. "Have you eaten?"

"Have you?" Janus asked, side-eyeing the remaining slices of toast sitting in the toaster. Patton had forgotten all about them.

"I guess it slipped my mind," Patton turned around and set a coffee mug on the counter in front of Janus, then rounded it to sit down again. He tried not to notice that Janus had scooted his chair away from Patton's, that he leaned on his elbow so they were even farther apart.

"Hm," said Janus, making a face. He didn't push it, and Patton was grateful for that. "Oh, and thank you."

"Of course," Patton said.

He watched Janus for a moment. He handled the puzzle pieces with difficulty, his gloves impeding his ability to pick them up. When he realized he was staring, he turned away and started fitting more edge pieces into place.

He couldn't decide if the quiet was pleasant or awkward. It was kind of nice, kind of domestic, sitting here with Janus, but he couldn't help but feel a kind of tension in the air.

Then Janus turned away and started coughing. Patton reached out to put a hand on his back, caught himself, pulled away. The deep, jagged sound made him cringe. He was no stranger to coughing fits, none of them were, brought on by Thomas' cat allergy. But this had come out of nowhere.

"You okay?" Patton asked when Janus resurfaced. Maybe he was just projecting, but he thought Janus looked a little pale on his human side.

"It's warmer today, isn't it?" Janus said, not looking at Patton.

"Huh?"

"It's not as cold. Roman seems to have gotten ahold of himself somewhat."

"Um, yeah, I guess." Patton furrowed his brow, trying to get a good look at Janus. "But Janus, are you okay?"

"Fine," said Janus. "Just inhaled some coffee, that's all."

But his hands shook as he slid a blue puzzle piece down the counter, and Patton was already halfway out of his seat before he even realized what he was doing. "You know, I think I will make breakfast."

"A little late now," Janus said. "By the way, did you really call me all the way down here just to work on a puzzle?"

"So brunch, then," Patton said. "And to be honest, no."

"Oh, do be honest," Janus said, leaning against the counter and resting his chin in his palm.

But Patton's priorities had shifted beyond philosophical debate. He had to take care of Janus now, get him comfortable, get him honest. He had to. "It's not important anymore."

"Hm," said Janus. He cleared his throat quietly, winced. "Well, now I'm not curious at all."

"It's okay," Patton said, trying for a reassuring smile. "We can talk about it later." He spun around, trying to decide what to make. Toast sounded wholly unappealing now, and he should choose something that would be easy on Janus' throat--

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing, by the way," Janus said.

"Making brunch?" Patton said with faux-innocence.

"Mm-hm. And what did you have in mind?"

"Soup."

"Patton," Janus said in a chastising tone. "I don't need you to take care of me. I need you to take care of you."

"That cough sounded like it hurt," Patton said, defeated.

Janus sat back and spread his arms out as though to show himself to Patton. "It did. It went away on its own. I'm fine."

Patton wasn't sure what to say to that. He scratched at his friendship bracelets, embarrassed. "Oh."

"Here's what I want you to do," Janus said, and his voice was surprisingly tender given the hard look on his face. "Cook for yourself. Don't make something you can take to the others later. Don't make something to share with me. I'm giving you a free pass to be selfish."

"But that's wrong!" Patton said reflexively. He regretted it as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but it wasn't like he could take them back. "Not for you," he hastened to explain. "That's your job. But me?"

"I can't very well be selfish for you," Janus said. He seemed annoyed, digging his fingers into both sides of his midriff in a way that looked decidedly painful. "Just try it. It won't be the end of the world."

And Patton wanted to. He didn't want to let Janus down, but… Where did it end? Where did it stop?

"Patton," Janus said. "I can see you catastrophizing."

"Sorry," said Patton, feeling close to tears. "Sorry, sorry, sorry. I just… I don't know who I am or what I want or if I'm even allowed to want."

"Breakfast, Patton. That's all. One little thing."

"Okay," Patton took a deep breath. Calm down. Make food. He could do that.

"There's nothing else," Janus said. "Just us, right now. Just this room. No consequences."

"Okay," Patton said. Cinnamon rolls. He wanted mini cinnamon rolls.

"Good," said Janus. "You're okay." He cleared his throat again, coughed a little behind closed lips. Patton forced himself not to notice, knowing that it would make Janus annoyed if he pointed it out or tried to help.

"I hope so," Patton muttered, half to himself, as he got his ingredients together. A phrase popped into his head and he shouted it out impulsively, "Mise en place!"

"Bless you?" Janus said, raising an eyebrow.

"No, no." Patton smiled. "Getting all your ingredients together. Mise en place."

"Ah," said Janus. He smiled too, his human eye crinkling at the corner. Patton almost sighed at the sight. Janus seemed to hold himself above human standards sometimes. He presented himself as something cold and pure, unbreakable and untouchable and utterly perfect. There was something so beautiful about seeing him step down from the pedestal. Janus seemed to notice Patton staring and turned away, surprisingly demure. "How about some music?"

A turntable appeared on the counter, spinning something inoffensive and charmingly lo-fi. "That's nice," Patton said. He didn't recognize the artist, but it didn't really matter. The music seemed to slide into the cracks of their conversation, filling out the empty spaces and projecting calm throughout the kitchen.

So Patton made cinnamon rolls and Janus worked on the puzzle while he sipped his coffee, and they both pretended not to notice the ragged coughs that Janus couldn't bury under the music no matter how hard he tried.

[akaluan]

20, 99, Ichigo/Xanxus

(20: Teacher AU, 99: Magical Accidents, Ichigo/Xanxus)

(With apologies to anyone expecting a vaguely IC Xanxus: I’ve read fic with him, but never source material, and it’s been a damn long while XD)

Ichigo’s leading his students back to their hotel when it happens.

A great orange-red blur bolts from a nearby alley, pursued by several distinctive men, all wearing identical uniforms and obviously furious; one even has wisps of bluish power trailing from his fingers, clearly intent on doing something to the creature they’re pursuing.

Ichigo doesn’t bother stepping aside. He flickers forward in a tiny burst of shunpo. Scoops up the… cat? Cat. And tucks it against his side even as he lets his reiatsu uncoil from his soul. He keeps it subtle for the moment, just a sense of pressure in the air directed at the men and shielding his students, but he’s ready to act if he needs to.

(He may be a teacher these days, but that doesn’t mean he’s lost his edge.)

(Especially against near-baseline humans.)

“Is there a problem here, gentlemen?” Ichigo asks in careful, precise Italian, even as he adjusts his grip on the cat. It’s struggling, gnawing on his wrist and ripping at his arm in an attempt to escape, but a touch of hierro means the beast’s efforts are in vain.

The men skid to a halt. Glance between him and his gaggle of students. Clearly label him not a threat even as the largest takes a menacing step towards him.

“Hand over the cat,” the man demands.

Ichigo’s students snicker and edge back a bit to give him space, elbowing one another and whispering in Japanese; the clear dismissal seems to bother the men, but Ichigo doesn’t bother to shush them.

(He… might have a reputation still.)

Ichigo hums and glances down at the cat still angrily trying to gnaw his wrist off, then back up at the men. “I don’t think it wants to go with you.”

The man grits his teeth and holds out his — scratched and bleeding — hand in demand. “Its wants are immaterial,” the man says. “Thank you for catching it, but we need to return it home.”

The cat yowls at that, all anger-fury-terror at the option, and Ichigo tucks it more carefully against his side. This close, he can feel the whisper of not-a-cat leaking from the creature; whether it’s a person trapped in a feline form somehow or someone experimenting with a skill like Yoruichi’s, they’re not quite good enough to hide their personhood from him.

All the more reason to refuse to hand the person over, honestly.

“Sorry guys, but I think we’ll have to agree to disagree about that,” Ichigo says with a shrug, and then doesn’t wait for a response. He darts forward. Trips the first bruiser and lays out the second with a sharp jab to the stomach. Ducks away from a grab by the one with blue power and elbows the man in the side of the head. Applies a careful burst of reiatsu to make sure they all stay down, and turns back to his students with the — suddenly very quiet — cat still tucked against his side.

His students clap.

“Don’t tell anyone about this and I’ll buy you all ice cream,” Ichigo bribes them without remorse. Not that he expects this little event to go entirely unreported; one of his students will talk to a friend, the friend will talk to another, and soon enough the whole story will be blown entirely out of proportion and add another tally on his record.

“Yeah!” “Alright!” “I want mango!”

Ichigo snorts and jerks his head in the direction they were headed before their interruption. “Well, come on then. Two scoops for each of you, whatever flavors you want.” The cat in his arms makes a grumpy noise, and Ichigo snorts in amusement as he strokes the cat’s head. “None for you. Ice cream isn’t good for cats, you know.”

The cat growls and tries to gnaw on his wrist again, less like it means it and more like it’s just trying to make a point.

“I’ll get you some tuna and water when we’re back in the hotel,” Ichigo promises as he hitches the feline higher and attempts to make it at least a bit comfortable. Still, he’d rather not give it a chance to escape, so he doesn’t try too hard as he starts moving down the street with his students in tow.

It’ll forgive him eventually, or maybe not.

Honestly, he doesn’t really care.

(Why can’t any of his trips ever be normal?)

(Really.)

*****

“If you alert the hotel staff and get us kicked out, I won’t call my friend who can probably get you out of that shape,” Ichigo hisses into the not-a-cat’s ears as he and his gaggle of students finally approach the hotel. And then to his students he says, “Students, remember your promise. Not a word about our newest friend to anyone here, understood?”

“Hai, Sensei!” comes the ragged chorus of voices, many muffled by ice cream or gelato.

Ichigo hums and carefully positions himself towards the center of his group, letting the bodies of his students obscure the fact that he’s carrying a cat into a hotel that probably has a ‘no pets allowed’ policy. His students are of course entirely up for this harmless bit of rule-breaking, no doubt looking forward to seeing the cat later when he’s checked it over.

(Given the not-a-cat’s rather persistent attempts at mauling his arm, he’s pretty sure he’s also going to need to rescue a perfectly average stray in order to entertain the class.)

At least Not-A-Cat seems to be cooperating. Except for continued half-hearted attempts to chew through his wrist, the little beast is entirely quiet as they pass through the lobby and proceed down the hallway to the elevators. Where they have to wait, because there are only two elevators and he has nearly twenty students — a quick head counts confirms he’s not missing anyone yet — that need to reach the fifth floor.

One eternity later — in which Not-A-Cat graduates from half-hearted chewing to a serious effort to bite through his hierro — and Ichigo has finally managed to usher all his students back to their rooms and washed his hands of active chaperoning duties for the night.

If they need him, they know where he’ll be.

He unceremoniously drops Not-A-Cat on the hotel chair and grabs a washcloth to wipe the smudges of dirt and spit from his arm. “Hope you didn’t chip a tooth on my arm,” Ichigo tells Not-A-Cat as he settles down on the bed next to the chair. “Not sure how that would transfer over to your human form when we get you out of that.”

Not-A-Cat yawns very pointedly in his direction, wide and long and obnoxious, but it’s more than enough for Ichigo to see that nothing’s wrong with Not-A-Cat’s teeth, at least.

Which is a relief, because the more chance he’s getting to look at Not-A-Cat, the more he dislikes what he’s seeing.

Not-A-Cat is hunkered into a defensive loaf, body trembling now that the danger is gone. Its red-orange fur is ratty, with odd patches of white fur scattered all over, one of the largest splashed right across its face.  It looks little better than an alley-cat, which… doesn’t bode well for the person the cat originally was.

“Got a name?” Ichigo asks as he sets the washcloth aside and eyes the room, wondering what he’s going to use for a water dish. There really aren’t that many options, but… he’ll figure something out.

Not-A-Cat very pointedly yowls at him, tail lashing and ears back, as if to say ‘I’m a cat, how do you expect me to talk?’

Ichigo huffs a laugh. “Have you even tried to talk yet?”

“Course I fuckin’ h— what the fuck?!” Not-A-Cat practically shrieks, voice softer than Yoruichi’s despite the pitch.

“There you go,” Ichigo says with a smirk, more amused than anything by the profanity after so many years of Shiro in his head. “Try to keep the chatter to a minimum around my students though, hm? They’re just regular kids.”

Not-A-Cat scowls at him, eyes narrowed and ears back, but all it does is make him look like he’s pouting. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get smug, trash. How’d you fucking know…?”

“I have a friend who can.”

“That friend get trapped in another form by a fucking Mist high on superiority?”

“No, but she has a technique that lets her turn into a cat at will,” Ichigo says as he arches an eyebrow, confused by the mention of a ‘mist high on superiority’ but content to leave it be for the moment. Now wasn’t the time to poke his nose into another society’s definition of ‘empowered human’, though given his luck…

Well. He’d deal with the fallout when it came.

If it came.

(He was getting pretty good at stopping issues before they became issues, if he did say so himself.)

“Why the fuck do you think she could help, then?”

Ichigo shrugs. “If she can’t then Hat’n’Clogs can. He’s good at unraveling mysteries.”

Not-A-Cat’s tail thumps against the chair cushion in frustration, and their voice is sullen as they say, “Fuckin’ fine. Whatever. Name’s Xanxus. If you don’t follow through on getting me out of this shape, I will find a way to fucking end you, trash.”

“Nice to meet you, Xanxus,” Ichigo says with all the weaponized pleasantness he’s learned to muster as a teacher. “I’m Ichigo Kurosaki.”

Xanxus scoffs and looks away, hunkering down further into the chair as he mutters, “Yeah whatever… didn’t you fuckin’ promise me food?”

Ichigo inclines his head and rises to his feet. “I did indeed. If you promise to stay put and not make trouble, I’ll see about getting something for you, hm?”

“Whatever, trash. Better not keep me waiting long.”

“I’ll try not to,” Ichigo says in amusement, thoroughly reminded of some of the ‘trouble’ students he’s had in the past. Whoever Xanxus is, Ichigo has no intention of letting him fall back into the hands of the people searching for him.

Even if it means calling Hat’n’Clogs up to work out a way to smuggle a feline back into Karakura.

Well, it’s not like Urahara doesn’t owe him one for the latest round of ‘fix Shinigami fuckups’.

(They’ll figure it out.)

(Just like usual.)

[love-and-monsters]

Wyvern Prince: Epilogue

M wyvern X F human, 2,346 words

CW for major character death

This is the last chapter of Davrakoss and Sara’s story. It’s been almost a year since I started posting the original story. We’ve come a long way! For all the people who’ve followed the story, thank you so much! It was really fun to do another long form story. Just as a note, because this story ending coincides with grad school beginning, I’m going to go on a short (two week) hiatus to get all my ducks in a row. Thank you all again for reading and your patience. Enjoy the epilogue!

Davrakoss legitimately hadn’t noticed at first. In his defense, he wasn’t very good with human ages. He’d spent little time with them and, given that wyvern aging slowed significantly after maturity, he didn’t have a good baseline for what humans were supposed to look like as they got older.

So, when Sara didn’t look that mush different after ten years, he assumed it was normal for some humans and didn’t think much about it.

It wasn’t like he was a complete idiot. He noticed that other humans changed. And he was aware of what aging looked like. The servants showed signs of age first, their rough lives wearing into their faces with stress wrinkles and graying hair. Nobles had the ability to mostly disguise their aging. Hair could be dyed or disguised with wigs, expensive creams could be brought in from other countries to prevent wrinkling, and life without rough work meant that they kept their youthful looks for much longer. And given that Sara had been elevated to the level of a noble, Davrakoss compared her looks to the other nobles and saw minimal differences in both.

But aging couldn’t be avoided forever. And by ten years of minimal changes to her looks, other people were starting to notice, even if Davrakoss didn’t.

The nobles spoke to Sara first, prying into her beauty regime. Most were eager to know if she’d found some kind of beauty secret from another country. Given that Sara had basically no beauty routine, the questions were parried away quickly. But it was the beginning of the realization that something was different.

Davrakoss found her, several nights after that, peering at herself in the mirror. “Do you think I look old?” she asked him one night, when they were in the bathroom together.

“No,” Davrakoss said honestly. She didn’t. She barely looked older than when they’d first met. Maybe there was some slight wrinkling at the corners of her eyes, a slightly more mature look to her face, but she didn’t look that different.

He had expected her to be pleased. Humans didn’t seem to like aging all that much. But her brows had creased and she’d leaned back looking discomfited.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, setting down his brush and moving to her side. She frowned into the mirror, tilting her head back and forth as if hoping her expression would suddenly change.

“Shouldn’t I look old?” she asked. “Well, maybe not old, but older, at least. I’m in my thirties, but I look like I’m still in my twenties.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Davrakoss asked cautiously. “Humans don’t like aging.”

“It’s a weird thing,” Sara said. “It’s not normal. I should be getting older.” She drew back from the mirror, gripping the edge of the sink tightly enough that her knuckles started to go white. “People are noticing. If this keeps going on, more people are going to notice.”

Davrakoss stroked his fingers through her hair, twining a few strands together. “It’ll be all right. People are just going to assume you look youthful.” He kissed her forehead. “Come to bed.” He tugged on her hand. “I’ll make it worth your while?”

Sara smiled and took hold of his hand, following him.

Now that the seed had been planted, Davrakoss found himself looking at other humans, comparing their current looks with what he remembered from ten years ago. And, once he was looking for it, he could see that there was something wrong.

Everyone else looked different. Some of the changes were subtle, but if he looked, they were all present. Sara looked almost no different. In fact, looking at himself in the mirror gave himself a realization.

She had changed exactly as much as he had in the past ten years. Small little changes, but nothing big. Nothing that indicated they were aging.

Feeling mildly panicked, he wrote a quick letter to his parents. They responded a week later and he read the response with a tight, thrumming anxiety in his chest.

“We need to talk,” he said to Sara. She gave him an alarmed look. “In private,” he added, casting a look to the few servants lingering in the room. She frowned, but allowed him to pull her into their room and securely latched the door.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as Davrakoss sat on his bed and gestured for her to sit next to him. She looked at him cautiously. “What happened?”

“Nothing in particular,” Davrakoss said. “But, ah. It concerns you.” He passed Sara the letter.

She read through it. He saw her eyes move over the letter once, then twice, then three times. Her fingers tightened on the paper and she took in a strangled breath.

“Are you okay?” he asked. He tentatively touched her shoulder.

“Your parents think I’m not aging anymore?” she said, glancing up at him.

“You did suggest it first,” Davrakoss said. “I wrote to them in case they’d heard of something else like this. They hadn’t, but they did have some theories.”

“I saw that,” Sara said, glancing at the letter. “They think you’re healing me from again?”

“Oh.” Davrakoss felt his face starting to warm. It was an unfortunate thing about being human that they showed things like embarrassment so easily. “Yes, um, you know how I mentioned that wyvern blood and saliva and such has healing power?” Sara nodded. “All our body fluids have healing powers. My parents suggested that maybe if you were to be in contact with my, um. Fluids. Repeatedly. It might start healing other things. Like aging.”

Sara’s mouth opened slowly. “I’m immortal?”

“I think they said that’s unlikely.” Davrakoss glanced back at the letter again. “Yes, right there. It’s unlikely that you’ll stop aging entirely. You’ll just age a lot slower. Probably around the same rate as me.”

Sara stared down at the bed. She was breathing slowly, apparently focused on something else. Davrakoss squeezed her arm gently. “Sara? Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she said, but her voice was a little faint. Davrakoss took hold of her and pulled her into him, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. He smoothed her hair with a hand. “We just spent so much time worrying that I was going to die a lot sooner than you. And now it turns out we don’t have to worry at all.” She let out a weak giggle, snuggling her face further into his shoulder.

“No,” Davrakoss said. “We don’t.” They sat together for a few minutes, allowing relief to roll through them.

After a few moments, Davrakoss cleared his throat. “We need to discuss something else,” he said. “Um. I don’t know if you read through the letter entirely, but they do mention at the end…”

Sara lifted her head. “They want us to leave.”

Davrakoss found himself trailing his fingers through her hair over and over, trying to soothe himself. “People are going to notice that you aren’t aging.”

“People have already noticed that I’m not aging,” Sara said.

“I know. It’s only going to get worse the longer we stay and the more obvious it gets, the more likely that people are going to start connecting the dots.” Sara worried at her lower lip with her teeth. “They said they’ll give us some territory close to the border. My sister will be able to take over for me in a couple of years and then we can just stay in our own territory full time. We can even live near a human town, if you want, so you can still interact with humans.”

Sara nodded slowly. “I remember you telling me you wanted to live out there. Just you and me together. No responsibilities.”

“Mmm,” Davrakoss hummed. He leaned into her and she leaned into him so they were supporting each other. “Are you okay with it?”

Sara squeezed his hand, working her fingers over his knuckles. “We’re going to get away from all the annoyances of noble life. It’ll be just the two of us.” She glanced up at him. “Yeah. I think I’m okay with it.”

A pulse of delight rolled through Davrakoss’ body and he was overwhelmed with the urge to kiss her. She laughed as he did. “We’ll have to leave soon,” he said. “Within a few months. We don’t want to stay around here any longer than we have to.”

Sara smiled up at him. There was nervousness in her eyes, but her expression was confident. “We’d better start getting ready, then.”

In the end, Davrakoss was able to use the nervousness people had toward wyverns to his advantage. Dropping a few hints that suggested he needed to be somewhere open to exercise his hunting instincts seemed to give the nobles a fright. Within two months, he had managed to convince them that he needed to live in a larger territory or he was going to eat them all.

“It’s been ten years,” he said to Sara as they packed up their belongings. “You would think they would know better. I’m not going to eat them!”

“Humans just get nervous around anything stronger than they are,” Sara said matter-of-factly. Davrakoss gave her a smirk.

“You speak as though you aren’t human.” A strange look crossed Sara’s face.

“Maybe I’m not entirely one anymore,” she said. “Not sure it’s such an awful thing.”

She was silent for much of the ride out to wyvern territory. Davrakoss tried to spark conversation a few times, but it all felt hollow. In the end, he fell silent and let her say goodbye to her home in peace.

He carried her up to their home on his back. Her fingers dug into his scales. He could almost feel her nervousness. The home was a cavern, not on top of a mountain, but in the midst of a forest. It was a quiet, pleasant place, and the cave had been used as a wyvern den previously, meaning it was well-insulated and not as dirty as a normal cave would have been.

It took some time to get Davrakoss’ horde settled. “It’s homey, isn’t it?” Davrakoss asked. With lights set up and a rug and nest of blankets and pillows set up, it was warm and inviting. Sara looked around and gave a single, pleased nod.

“It’s nice here,” she said. She turned and gave him a broad smile, which he automatically returned. “Welcome home.”

It didn’t take too long to settle into a routine. Davrakoss spent time hunting and Sara would rummage through the forest for plants to set up a garden. On the weekends, she and Davrakoss would go into a nearby town for any pother supplies they needed, and to allow Sara to socialize.

The longer they stayed in the wilderness, the more obvious it became that Sara wasn’t aging. Gradually, she and Davrakoss tapered off their interaction with any humans. There were murmurs of a mysterious, ageless woman who loved in the woods with her strange husband, but they were stories told ton scare children, and if anyone of power believed them, they were too afraid to go looking for her. No one ever seemed to connect their presence with the presence of the wyvern they sometimes saw flying over the woods.

Davrakoss engaged in politics with extreme rarity. He would occasionally guide his sister in her princess duties, but he seemed to enjoy not being in the limelight.

“It’s calmer,” he said to Sara. “Much simpler. And I don’t have to worry about anyone except you.”

They lived together in peace. Davrakoss found himself more contented than he had been in his entire life. He had his mate, he had a territory to hunt in, and he had few worries other than filling his belly and relaxing

Years passed in slow contentment, and they watched as humanity advanced. Prejudice against wyverns faded, though it didn’t vanish entirely. Davrakoss was able to see his species establish peace and trade with humans and watch as communication between the species became more open. Wyverns fought alongside humans in a couple of wars and several wyverns even took on human forms more permanently and lived in human societies.

Wyverns lived long enough that, to most humans, they appeared ageless. But they weren’t. And eventually, Davrakoss noticed the streaks of gray that worked into Sara’s hair. There was white in his hair too, but it was blonde enough that it was difficult to notice. She pulled at her hair with dissatisfaction until Davrakoss reassured her that she was beautiful nonetheless.

All things considered, she lived a remarkably long life, for a human. Two hundred and eighty was far longer than most humans could expect to live, even if it was slightly under wyvern life expectancy.

Davrakoss sensed it coming before it happened. He couldn’t have said exactly what it was. But he woke in the morning with an odd sense of dread in his stomach.

He was supposed to hunt, really, but he spent his day curled around Sara. There was just a sense that if he left, something would go completely wrong. She must have known he was anxious, because there was no teasing or prodding him to get on with his normal day. She just stroked his scales (as he got older, transforming took more effort and he spent more time in his wyvern form) and sang to him.

Eventually, late in the evening, Sara slumped against him. She slipped quietly into sleep. And then, with Davrakoss curled close to her, sleeping peacefully in her home, she died.

Davrakoss buried her in the forest outside their cave. He spent hours at her graveside, ignoring his complaining stomach.

For the next twenty-five years, he never assumed his human form again. And when he sensed his death was coming, he crawled outside his cave and lay down on his mate’s grave.

There was a sense of peace in it. For twenty-five years, he had missed his mate. And now he was going to return to her. Contented, Davrakoss closed his eyes for the final time.

[okay-victoria]

Status of Women in The Empire

Summary: LN gives some evidence women have a better status than they did in OTL Germany. It gives little to nothing in the way of evidence that we are in post-sexual-revolution territory. It presents little enough evidence generally that you can use this issue in your own story as you wish; however, using how humans actually work as your baseline, it would be a very definite handwave to think that gender equality is much more than marginally better than OTL would have been at the time, or that Tanya wouldn’t be negatively affected by it in some significant ways in daily life. On the other hand, the original story handwaves an eight year old enrolling in a modern military and getting promoted to a mid-ranking officer by age eleven, so as a reader, I’m obviously pretty down for handwaving some realism for the sake of a good story.

Evidence:

V1/C1

“The armed forces have a practical exception in place for just about everything.” <= I think in fanon the entire Empire as seen as this sort of “everything we do is logical” territory where gender discrimination would have had to be eliminated, but in reality it’s presented as the military, and they are making an exception for a rare and incredibly militarily useful type of person to be able to be put to use by them without gender discrimination stopping it.

V1/C4

“But in the far-from-gender-free world of “ladies first,” Tanya with her outwardly girlish appearance is, albeit only relatively, blessed compared to the other students” <= YMMV, but I would not describe modern society as a world of “ladies first”. Do people do/say it to hark back to pre-1960s chivalry? Sure. Is it really the standard we live by anymore? Not so much. Tanya seems to pretty definitely still be living in those days.

“Basically, apart from the mage branch, the army is a man’s world. Actually, even most of the mages are men.” <= this is notable because it is said when Tanya is in War College, at which point the war has been going on for long enough that available mages have been conscripted, so there is no selection bias that men have simply chosen to pursue a career as a mage more often than women. This is actually weirdly important because it either means:

Magic talent is like, an X chromosome trait and men are thus more likely to have it [in which case, it would probably be taken as natural evidence that men are superior and worsen the gender equality situation]; or

There in fact is a Youjo Konki-esque exception for married women and/or mothers. A nation has to still be relatively in the infancy of gender equality if Female Mage #102 has children with Infantryman #1,000,102 and the military decides that since it can’t leave these children parentless, it has to conscript the dude who is substitutable for literally anyone else and not the human weapon.

Tanya has a long-ish reflection on women in the military. Important points are, the rules have only been overhauled recently to make it practical for women to serve in combat. Women in combat didn’t really exist prior to this war, and women in the military were basically limited to noble/imperial families having their daughters serve out nominal duties. Whatever boost women as a whole get from serving in a capacity that people are used to seeing men in, it has not had time to transform society all that much.

V2/C2

“Women administrators are not uncommon, but in the Empire where gender equality still has a ways to go, their qualifications are always questioned.” <= YMMV as to what degree this is meant to be a statement on something that still troubles women in modern times, or something that indicates gender equality is not particularly close to modern.

V2/C5

“After all, now that I’ve been turned into a girl, I’m faced with this annoying military framework where men are superior. Just the thought of my promotions being blocked by an invisible glass ceiling is enough to dampen any desire I might have to act all girlish for propaganda…apart from that, the Empire’s personnel system has adapted extremely meritocratic principles for the war, in a way, so I’m more or less satisfied with it.” <= sort of same as above, YMMV on whether this is just Tanya realizing what life is like for a woman in modern society or meant as a “no, it was worse” point.

However, I will say this: I highly, highly doubt any men chosen for high military honors were photographed doing anything other than looking ultra manly in uniform. Women serving in modern militaries are not forced to put on showy dresses when they get their photos taken, they are treated, at least in photos, with the same respect as their male colleagues. The fact that anyone found it appropriate to only photograph the recipient of the highest military honor in cute girl clothes speaks to some deep discomfort with anyone outside the military seeing women not doing what they’re supposed to.

V6/C6

“The Imperial Army has already tapped all the population pools that can be mobilized, but it still has two options. One is to begin the general conscription of women. That said, they’ve already been mobilized in the industrial sector.” <= YMMV, again, on how willing a modern country would be to conscript women to fight a world war, but if you are as deep into a world war as the Empire is and no one’s trying it, at the least we can say the Empire is not the bastion of cold logic it fanonically is outside the military. Also, it pretty much seems like women working in large numbers has only become a thing because all the guys are off fighting, which very much sticks us in pre-1950s territory.

V8/C1

Andrew reacts surprised to see a female reporter from the Federation, and reflects that they are quite liberal in some ways <= while this is a non-Imperial guy, given his familiarity with the Empire, it would seem weird that if the Empire was particularly more advanced than his country that he would still be so surprised.

Other Working Knowledge Your Author Has On This Subject:

Women serving in the military, while certainly helpful to the cause of gender equality, by itself is not going to create a broad-based transformation in society. That sounds a bit like saying: As we all know, the US dropped any racist laws or regulations as soon as we started allowing non-white units in the military. After Elizabeth I serving as the Ruler of England, a very manly role that her tiny woman-brain didn’t fuck up too bad, the people who thought women were naturally stupider than men were quickly relegated to the margins and gender discrimination mostly became more of an annoyance than a real hindrance to the average woman’s goals. It just doesn’t work that way. And I’m not here to say that the US is a post-gender paradise, but the US, which has never had a woman president and is pretty slow about expanding military opportunities for women, nonetheless is a lot better on the gender equality front than some countries that have had women leaders and allow women a fuller range of military opportunities. There’s a lot more complexity to it than: My country respects military => military allows women => guess I’m going to stop being sexist

The same goes for something that isn’t about gender equality at large but how it relates to Tanya: The view that while gender equality may be non-advanced, Tanya specifically is exempt from dealing with it because she is “one of the boys”. It Does Not Work Like That. At All. And the further you go back in time, the less it worked like that. Within the military specifically Tanya will probably be alright, but society at large punishes men & women that break gender roles as brazenly as she does more than it rewards them. This is an entire essay unto itself, Google is your friend.

This is going to sound silly and facetious but I’m being dead serious, from what little we know of fashion in the YS world, it matches what would have been the case in the real world in the WW1 era. If society at large was really that different, that wouldn’t be the case.

There is no canon evidence that magic has made any scientific advancements outside the military sphere of influence. Before the advent of things like dishwashers, vacuums, microwaves, especially refrigerators, and especially laundry machines being common household items, the ideal family model was: one person makes money outside home, one person takes care of house. There wasn’t enough time in the day to work and run a household. Many women in poor households had to work, generally at the expense of being able to keep their own household running smoothly, and even then they often worked in capacities that allowed them to be at home or ones that allowed them the flexibility to take care of some of this stuff. It really just isn’t possible to have a society remotely approaching equality when one gender is automatically assigned to home unless necessary.

Same goes for something else - contraception. Women having access to a contraceptive device that they control is a major component of setting a society on a path towards equality. Birth control pills didn’t become widely available until the 1960s. Without being unable to at least kind of balance the outcome of sex (even between married couples) between men and women, women as a class have a hard time escaping from the housewife-mother archetype.

Not to get too political here, but the Empire matches OTL Germanic-Prussianness too much to ignore. Living under a military-worshipping, religiously-inclined traditional monarchy has not, in any real life example I’m aware of, gone hand-in-hand with anything other than a fairly conservative and patriarchal society, and I feel like the burden of proof is on the other side to explain why that isn’t the case in the Empire, and our original author makes approximately zero effort to do this.

Being X turns Tanya into a woman for the purpose of making her life worse. It seems simply illogical [although I guess Being X’s decision-making skills are questionable] that he would then drop her into a world that had undergone broad-based gender reform instead of a world that was just barely tweaked from our own in such a way that it would allow Tanya to serve in the military.

My conclusion: the most likely option is that gender equality is exactly enough better as it needs to be to allow the military to convince the lawmakers that they should be able to use a very rare & dangerous ability to be part of their arsenal without respect to gender, or age, and no more. That difference is not likely to make life for women significantly better than it was in the equivalent OTL time period.

[overheardatthecontinental]

Snapshots Chapter One

Super excited to announce that the sequel for Talk has just begun! It follows just a few days after Talk ends with John and Helen adjusting to their new life together.

You can find the first chapter on A03 Here!

Or below... once again, thank you to @meetmeinthematinee​ for your endless support and editing this for me as we begin another journey :) <3

 Something is wrong. He knows it in his bones, it courses through his blood.

 John creeps up the stairs, carefully, eyes peeled as he looks around the dark familiar house. He hears nothing, not even the soft sounds of breathing. He reaches the hallway and it seems to fluctuate in length, keeping him from his destination.

 At last, he makes it to his destination, turning into the doorway to find an empty room. An empty bed.

 No. No, no, no. She was supposed to be there.

 He jumps as he hears a phone ring.

 The tone vibrates loudly, almost menacingly.

 With shaky hands, he reaches to answer.

 An unfamiliar voice taunts on the other end      you’ll never see her again    .

 John slams his eyes closed.

 This isn’t right; this isn’t right.

 When he opens his eyes, he’s no longer in the room. Instead, he’s on an empty street. He can idly smell the sea, tasting the salty air on his tongue. It’s nearly bitter. He scans the horizon and while he does not recognize it, he notes that it is oddly familiar but he can’t place it.

 He spots a house and somehow      knows     that is where he is supposed to go.

 He sets a course for it, unsure of why. His legs carry him there anyway. It’s old and rickety and should have been condemned long ago but he walks up the path and the steps to the door. Before he can knock, a gust of wind blows it open.

 It’s empty. Void of any signs of life. There are no people, no furniture. Only a thin layer of dust on a down-trodden floor.

 Again, he is drawn forward, seemingly of his own accord. He finds an open door that leads downstairs into a basement.

 He descends uncertainly. Nerves and anxiety pour through him even if he can’t understand what he is doing or why he is doing it.

 Then he sees her.

 Helen. His Helen, lying on the concrete floor. A pool of blood dried at her head, her eyes open but empty.

 “No,” he says, surging forward. John drops to his knees and scoops up her lifeless body, “No, no, no, no, no, no. Helen, sweetheart, please. Don’t leave me! You can’t leave me!”

 The voice from the phone is suddenly in his ear,      It’s just business, John.  

 …

 He awakens with a gasp, startling back into the real world.

 The weight on his chest shifts, a small dissatisfied moan escapes Helen as she picks up her head.

     She’s alive,     he thinks as he closes his eyes,      she’s safe.     His breathing is still heavy with fear and fright from the nightmare.

 Fuck, every hair stands on end and he suddenly feels ice cold, even underneath the blankets and the heat from her body.

 He feels her hand cup his bearded cheek and her voice, still ladened with sleep, asks, “What’s wrong?”

 Her voice relieves him all the more, but he cannot get the image of her broken body out of his head. He hadn’t been there and Helen had been taken from him.

��But he shakes his head as he opens his eyes. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

 And he should have known that was going to be the wrong thing to say because he feels the bed move as she pushes up to get a better look at him. Even as drowsy as she clearly was, Helen had a way of staring into his soul.

 “Nightmare?” she guesses.

 John nods.

 She hums, sitting up and stretching before she pushes the covers off. “Come on.”

 “It’s the middle of the night,” he says, glancing at the clock. 3:26.

 “Yep.” She steps into her slippers and leaves the bedroom without another word.

 He glances to the clock again and shakes his head. John climbs out from under the covers to follow her. She leads him downstairs to the kitchen.

 “Sit down.” She tells him, leaving no room for argument. She grabs a saucepan and sets it on a burner.

 John takes a seat at the island, “You have to work in the morning.” He reminds her as he watches Helen take the milk from the fridge.

 “I’ll be fine.” She says, sounding unconcerned as she turns on the heat, “How often do you have nightmares?”

 “Almost never.” At least, none that he remembers. And not for a damn long time.

 She rummages in one of the cupboards and pulls down a tub of cocoa.

 John lifts a brow, “Cocoa?”

 “As a licensed therapist, I can tell you that chocolate holds more answers than Freud.”

 He laughs softly, watching as Helen scoops the powder into the saucepan.

 “You want to tell me about it?” she asks, finding a wooden spoon to stir it.

 He considers the question. He knows if he says he doesn’t want to talk about it, she’ll respect it. But he’s also spent a lifetime keeping things to himself because he didn’t have anyone who cared or who would listen.

 “I was back at your house the night…” he trails off.

 She knows the night. When Helen had been drugged and kidnapped, taken from her bed by the head of the Italian Syndicate, Mateo DeLuca. She was taken and held hostage for two days while John searched for her.

 Helen nods in understanding. She scrapes the milk off the side of the spoon and sets it to the side as she walks over to the island. Reaching across, she takes his hands.

 “Go on.”

 John shivers but nods, “The hallway outside your room kept growing. And I knew something was wrong but I didn’t know what. So I kept trying to reach your room. And when I finally did, you were gone and…” he pauses to give himself a moment to breathe, “I heard DeLuca saying I would never see you again.”

 Helen squeezes his hands in comfort.

 “And then, I was back at the house. The one where he held you. I went into the basement and I found you…”

 Dead.

 But he cannot say it aloud. Closing his eyes, he forces himself to continue.

 “You weren’t breathing,” his voice nearly breaks. He can still see the image of her lying there. It’s been branded in his head, “And you were bleeding. There was this pool of blood and you wouldn’t wake up.”

 She squeezes his hand in support.

 “I kept begging you to come back to me and then I heard DeLuca again. He said,      “it’s just business    .””

 It was a miracle that they had survived DeLuca’s demands. That they even stood there, now.

 If he had so chosen, DeLuca could have killed Helen a thousand times, a thousand ways in the days that he held her hostage. He planned to have her killed even after John had rescued her.

 Helen stands up, taking her hands back as she walks around the counter to where John sits. He turns as she approaches, regarding her carefully. She places a hand on his head and he finds himself leaning into it in comfort.

 “I’m right here.” She reminds him. “I’m safe.”

 John swallows as he nods.

 She was safe.

 But she almost hadn’t been.

 “It’s just…” John trails off, not even sure what he was trying to say.

 “It was scary. It was the first time in a long time that you hadn’t felt in control of a particular situation.” Helen synthesizes.

 He nods, gratefully. Words have never been his forte but she’s always been able to get into his head. To see exactly what he wants to say even when he can’t figure out how.

 “I couldn’t find you.” He mutters, reaching out to touch her. To ground himself to her very presence.

 “But you did.” She reminds him gently.

 After two days.

 And anything could have happened in those two days. He had been so afraid that he wouldn’t find her in time. Or that he’d find her hurt and broken, a shell of her former self…. And it would have been his fault for putting her in danger, for not protecting her…

 “For lack of a better word,” Helen tells him, “it was traumatic.”

 John shakes his head, “I don’t know why I’m struggling so much.”

 “I think several factors are coming into play. The first of which is that I’m going back to work tomorrow. I think you’re probably nervous, even if only subconsciously, that something might happen once I leave your sight.”

 “It’s not subconscious.” He admits, “I’m fucking terrified. I even considered just sitting outside your office all day tomorrow, but I know… I know that won’t actually help.”

 “It won’t.” She agrees. “And I know it’s confusing, but this is a perfectly normal response to going through something like this.”

 Again, he shakes his head. It isn’t right. “You were the one kidnapped. Why am I the one falling apart?”

 Helen leans in and kisses his nose, “Because it isn’t that simple.”

 She steps out of his arms and walks back to the stove. She stirs the pot and John watches the steam as it rises.

 “I don’t understand.”

 “Trauma is relative.” Helen says as opens the cupboard and finds two of her mugs which she had unpacked only days before. “You’ve lived through ordeal after ordeal for the better part of your life. You became numb to a lot of things that the average person might view as traumatic—violence, death.  Chaos and destruction.

 “You’re a veteran,” she points out. “You’ve been in combat situations that others may have found debilitating. Think back… were there people in your unit who were uncomfortable with killing or direct violence? At least in the beginning?”

 Definitely. He idly remembers a pimpled-face boy, still struggling to grow facial hair who had cried himself to sleep the first night overseas. He thinks of another who hadn’t made it through basic training before he was begging to go home.

 “They grew up in comfort—with all their needs met. Food, shelter. Some of them came from loving families, I’m sure. But you grew up fighting for survival. What was bare minimum for them was near luxury for you.

 “Our brains,” she continues, “continue to develop until we’re about twenty-five but the things we learn in the first years of our lives are what really stick with us. They’re formative. What might be traumatic for the average person became your baseline.”

 Helen moves the pot from the burner. Carefully, she pours the hot liquid into the mugs.

 “When I first met you, you were still in survival mode. In some ways, you thrive in it. But, after a while, you formed an attachment to me.” She opens the fridge and pulls out of a bottle of whipped cream—something John had never once had in his home before she moved in, insisting that it was a household staple.

 “Ah, so it’s your fault.”

 She throws him a wink, adding a mountain of the cream to each beverage. Helen picks them up and walks around, taking a seat on the stool next to his, handing him the drink.

 “I do get what you’re saying.” John says once she settles onto the stool and sips at cocoa. “Losing…” he can’t even finish the sentence. His chest feels too heavy, his throat too tight.

 “Losing me, for however short a time, was scary.”

 Scary was an understatement. Terrifying, horrifying… they all fell short of the myriad of emotions that rushed him when he found her house disturbed and Helen missing from her bed.

 “It was traumatic for you. And trauma takes a hold of us. Especially when it’s unprocessed. It shows up in other ways.”

 “Like what?” He wants to be prepared for what may come.

 “Well, the nightmares for one. But it can manifest in all sorts of ways. Flashbacks. Aggression. Sometimes people emotionally shut down, but since that’s you at your baseline, I’m not too concerned.”

 He shoots her a look.

 “Drink your cocoa.” She tells him.

 He resists the urge to roll his eyes and does as his woman demands. It’s hot but still soothing. And he doesn’t want to admit it, but the whipped cream is perfect.

 He sets the mug down and Helen giggles.

 John arches a brow and she reaches out, “Got whipped cream on your nose, killer.”

 She wipes it and John catches her wrist in his hand. Slowly, deliberately, he brings her hand to his mouth, sucking the finger into his mouth. All the while, never taking his eyes off of her.

 Helen rewards him with the smile she saves just for him.

     How close he had come to losing her for good.  

 And yet, if he hadn’t lost her at all, they wouldn’t be here.

 They’d still be sitting across the room from one another, avoiding the heaviness of what they both felt with talk of simpler things.

 And he doesn’t know what to make of that, either.

 “Do you ever…” He hesitates, “Do you ever think about how we might not be together if…?”

 “If DeLuca hadn’t taken me?” She’s oh-so-good at picking up on the things he can’t bring himself to say out loud. But she had proven, time and time again, to be much braver than he was.

 John nods.

 So does Helen, “That thought has crossed my mind.”

 “How do you cope with it?”

 She shrugs, “It is what it is. Radical acceptance. I can still hate DeLuca for what he did to us even if I’m grateful that it got us to this point. Life is complex. So are our feelings. And that’s okay.” She takes another long sip. “Love is beyond good and evil.”

 “Nietzshe.” He recognizes, “I suppose it makes sense. Otherwise, you’d never look at me twice.”

 “I’m going to get a nerf gun and start shooting you every time you make a self-deprecating comment like that.”

 “What’s a nerf gun?”

 “It’s a toy gun that shoots foam.”

 John makes a face of disbelief, “What’s that supposed to do? Because I’ve been shot with actual bullets and I can guarantee you it never changed my behavior.”

 Her lips twitch, “Hmm. You’re right. Negative reinforcement may not be the way to go with you. We could do the reverse—every time you say something good about yourself, I’ll give you a kiss.”

 He arches a brow, “I can just say things I don’t believe.”

 “Fine. This isn’t a quick fix. I expect it to take some time but, eventually, you may start to believe those little affirmations.”

 “So if I say I’m great…”

 “Then I,” she scooches her chair closer, “would have to reward you.” She cranes her neck, and he meets her part way, accepting the softest of kisses against his lips.

 “I could get on board with this.” He says as she pulls away.

 “I’m sure.”

 He sips at his cocoa. It’s still so new, all of it.

 Two weeks ago, he had been sleeping alone every night. It was a good change. The      best     change, but he still wasn’t entirely used to sharing his life. Or his thoughts and feelings.

 And it’s new for her, too.

 Even if life with Helen feels as natural as breathing, it’s new. And there’s a learning curve.

 He had some practice with telling her what was on his mind, but he had spent so long hiding his feelings for her, he occasionally has to remind himself that it’s okay.

 “I love you.”

 “I love you, too.” She rests her head against his shoulder.

 He loves her so much. He’s never had anything like this before. Something so beautiful and complex and utterly breakable.

 Helen is utterly breakable.

 In turn, so is he.

 He never realized just how easy it would be for him to fall apart until he lost her.

 And now, it’s all he can think about.

 Who would he be if she wasn’t there?

 And, a darker thought that clouds his mind,      what     would he be if she wasn’t there?

 He fears something far darker than the Baba Yaga would emerge if he lost her. He shivers and amends      if he survived losing her    .

 He wasn’t sure he would want to live without her, in any context. If DeLuca had killed her rather than held her hostage, John can’t imagine wanting to live.

 He wouldn’t shoot himself or take pills or anything to that active extent… but he thinks he might go mad. Like a rabid dog until someone was kind and merciful enough to put him out of his misery.

 And like she can sense that he is going down a darker rabbit hole, Helen slips off her stool and stands next to him. Her arms wrap around him, squeezing his middle tightly.

 He feels his own arm lift to wrap around her as she buries her face in the crook of his neck.

 “I’m here.” Helen reminds him. “I’m here and I’m safe and I’m yours.”

 He exhales a breath and tightens his grip, hugging her while simultaneously pulling her up onto his lap. He buries his face in her hair, inhaling her soft scent. Like peaches and cream.

 “I’m sorry.” He should be so much stronger than this.

 “For what?” Helen pulls back enough to look at him.

     For this.  

     For falling apart.  

     For not being strong enough.  

     For not being the good man you deserve.  

     For waking you up in the middle of the night.  

 For everything.

 “I’m having a harder time with all this than I thought I would.” He shakes his head, “I got you up at three in the morning because I had a fucking nightmare.”

 “Baby, you don’t need to apologize for being human.” Her hand strokes his beard, “I get it. We had a crazy couple of weeks.”

 He glances down, “Yeah, but you’re not falling apart the way I am.”

 “You’re not falling apart. You’re adjusting. And you’re also forgetting, I mentally prepared myself for this. And I knew you would be coming.” Helen shrugs a shoulder, “And quite frankly, it could have been      worse    .”

 His stomach rolls at what she alludes to.

 The entire two days she had been gone, he wondered what could be happening to her. He imagined every vile and terrifying possibility, prepared to burn down all of New York to find her.

 “But it wasn’t.” She says forcefully, breaking through his thoughts to capture his attention. “And now, we’re here. And we’re both safe.”

 They were.

 He still has enemies, but he is out. And, frankly, no one will care about him if he isn’t in the game.

 So why couldn’t he wrap his brain around that fact?

 “It’ll take time.”

 “How much time?” He asks, wondering if his desperation is audible.

 “I don’t know. Everyone processes things differently. But it could be a little while before you’re able to make peace with it all.”

 “And until then, what?” He’s so used to her having the answers. A part of him knows it's unfair, but the other part just wants Helen to tell him that it will be okay, “I live with PTSD?”

 “Technically, you don’t have PTSD. Symptoms have to persist for at least one month for that diagnosis. Until then, it’s just acute stress.” She gives a small smile, “But I know that’s not the point. You will have to live with it… for now.”

 He had been afraid of that. He didn’t want to live with it. Especially now that he finally had Helen, now that she was finally      his    , he didn’t want to waste time processing shitty memories.

 “But,” she leans her head against his, “You don’t have to go through it alone.”

 John closes his eyes, resting his head. Breathing in her soothing scent once more.

 Because she is right. For the first time in his entire life, he could truly say that he isn’t alone. He has someone in his corner who loves him. And he no longer cares that he doesn’t deserve her. He’s never letting her go.

 Not for the world.

 She’s his for as long as she will have him. And while John would never describe himself as a proud man, he is certain that he’s never begged for anything in his life. It almost surprises him when the words fall from his mouth desperately, “Don’t leave me.”

 “Never.” She promises, “You’re stuck with me, Jardani.”

 John holds her tighter.

 Everything will be okay.

[eirabach]

Steady As You Go [2/3]

The further adventures of Gordy’s leather trousers for @olliepig and @mrmustachious and @badthingshappenbingo. TW: Implied Drugging / Spiking, Drinking, and the aftermath of violence. 

It’s actually not as bad as it sounds, honestly, I’m just cautious as fuck.

Prompt Gordon + Caught in an Explosion + Penelope (+ jealousy + disaster bisexual)

Gordon doesn’t bring the next bottle to the table, nor the one after that. They just seem to appear, dropped from the darkness by a large, calloused hand to be poured into glasses and down throats at a rate that would make even the most rum-hardened sailor of Gordon’s acquaintance quake with nauseous horror.

Well, some throats.

One throat. Probably.

Penelope, for her part, tips the glass to her lips often enough but her eyes are sharp, her bursts of laughter far too perfectly timed to be anything but by design.

Gordon's playing it a little more -- fast and loose.

Playing is probably the operative word.

He really can’t drink any more of this stuff though, because otherwise he’s likely to fall right off his perch on the arm of the sofa and Penny -- Penny will be mad. Penny kinda already looks mad. Huh. She lifts the glass to her mouth again, narrowing those over-dark eyes as she does so. Mr Gonna-Be-Arrested turns to beckon at one of the two giant goons that are lingering at the edges of Gordon’s vision, and Penny tosses the majority of the glass over her shoulder where it lands - presumably - in a puddle of other sticky, liquidy stuff that some poor sap will have to mop up in the cold light of day. Her eyes flick to Gordon’s own glass and one tightly drawn eyebrow ticks up. Oh. Oh.

He flicks his wrist.

It’s uh. It’s the wrong wrist.

Mr International-Crime jumps up, shaking little sparkles of champagne from his hands. The goons move in closer, fists tight in the flashing lights.

“Oh dear,” Penny sneers. “What an awful mess!”

Gordon would stick his tongue out at her, but there’s a soggy guy blocking his view and anyway it was her idea.

"Oh, whoops!" He pats at Marc's -- because that's his name, apparently, and apparently he thinks Gordon ought to use it -- freshly dampened trouser leg, "Oh man, gosh I'm so sorry boss! Uh --"

“Now, now,” Marc tuts, and one sticky hand covers Gordon’s. Holds it there, against the damp heat of his thigh. “That wasn’t very nice was it?” He smiles, leers, and half of Gordon knows that this is not at all a good thing. The other, somewhat tipsy, half thinks it looks like quite the promise. He might be Penny’s mark, with all the associations that Gordon’s spent several months trying not to think about,  but it’s Gordon who finds himself caressed by one of those sticky hands. Marc’s cool fingers step down his throat, tilt his chin up, and this -- this really wasn’t the plan at all, but Gordon is nothing but adaptable. In every sense.

Either way, he’s gotta get this guy out of this club somehow.

He licks his lips, sends a silent prayer up that Scott never ever hears about this. “Maybe I just want to get you out of the suit.”

“Oh, is that --”

It’s not the first time he’s had a demijohn of very expensive alcohol poured over his head. 

At least it’s not televised this time.

Gordon splutters in shock, shuddering as leatherette sticks uncomfortably under the unexpected shower. Marc for his part, is staring at something over his head, mouth agape. Gordon twists around, but his protest dies on the tip of his tongue.

“As entertaining as it is watching you flirt with the lower orders, we have business to attend to.” Penelope tosses her wig over her shoulder, and drops the empty bottle onto the couch beside him. Gordon blinks champagne out of his eyes and tries to catch hers, but her focus is entirely on Marc, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol she hasn’t drunk. “Or is my money not as interesting as this -- “ her eyes finally flick down to meet his for half a second. “Boy.”

“Hey lady,” Gordon snaps, “it’s the twenty first century, don’t get jealous.”

Penelope’s cheeks flush a little darker. 

“Marc?”

“Of course -- I --” Marc pushes a damp curl off Gordon’s forehead and honestly it’s kinda a shame that he’s a bad guy because there would have been a time -- still. Marc pulls a keycard from his pocket, pushes it into Gordon’s hand. “Here, go upstairs. When I get back we can have a little chat about your career prospects.”

He bites back the FAB, but doesn’t quite manage to restrain himself from a sloppy sort of salute as he half staggers to his feet. There’s an unpleasant squelching as he does so, and he must have drunk a lot more than he thought because he sways on the spot, the room blurring in and out of focus. Someone, a large, calloused, someone, takes hold of his elbow. 

“‘K, I -- hey, I can -- I can --” Penny and Marc fade into the shadows at the edge of his vision, and then he’s outside, released to slide against the rough brickwork of the alleyway, the night air freezing against his exposed skin. “Hey!”

The dark mountain of a man who’s dropped him outside pauses, but doesn’t turn around. 

“Where’s -- where’s the stairs?”

“If you can find ‘em, up you go,” grumbles the mountain, “Otherwise, I suggest you watch out for the wildlife.” 

A door opens into a world of light and sound, slams behind him, and Gordon thinks -- Gordon thinks --

“What the bleedin’ ‘ell happened to you? Get that bloody thing off!”

Gordon squints into the darkness. Something grey and grubby looking floats in front of him. Two somethings. One and a half. There’s a sharp pain in his neck, and his vision clears enough for him to see the grubby grey things coalesce into Parker, his face screwed up in disgust, a clear bit of plastic hanging from one gloved finger. Gordon rubs at the sore patch and glares up at him.

“What was that for? What’s that?”

“What’s --” he rolls his eyes. “For a group of smart young lads you ain’t ‘arf sheltered. Someone took a shine to you, did they?”

Gordon’s never been ashamed of who he is, never, but he finds the thought of coming out to Parker while wearing wet leather in a grubby alleyway is just a little bit beyond his comfort zone. 

“Uh, he --”

“Take an old man’s advice, lad. Don’t go on a second date,” Parker says sagely, and taps his nose. Then he stands, peers out toward the main road. “Where’s ‘er Ladyship?”

A sharp drill seems to have started up right behind Gordon’s right eyebrow and he forces his fist into his temple as he gets to his feet.

“Leaving, I think. Deal’s on.”

Parker drops the square of plastic to the floor and crushes it beneath the heel of his boot.

“Grand.” He claps his hands together, and shrugs off the battered old overcoat he’d been wearing. “I’ll be orf, then. You ok lad?”

Not really, is the answer, but Gordon has Marc’s keycard in his pocket and he knows that if Penny’s operation is to come off she’s gonna need all the evidence she can get. After all they know from hard experience that catching them red-handed rarely seems to be enough.

“Yeah, sure.” Parker holds out the coat, but it smells kinda funky and Gordon shakes his head. “S’ok, I got -- got a plan.”

Parker peers at him, then sighs. “If you say so. Miss Kayo nearby?”

“Totally,” Gordon assures him. “Go. Penny will need you.”

Parker hums, hesitates a moment longer before grabbing at a nearby rusted shopping trolley filled with more of the funky smelling grey fabric. As Gordon watches the fabric shifts, falling away to reveal a complex looking piece of flashing, bleeping electronics. God, his head hurts. 

“Don’t you fret, Mr Gordon,” Parker assures him as he pulls a remote control from the machinery. “I’ll see to her.”

From high, high above them comes the whine of engines, and they both look up to see FAB1, black as the sky above, hovering over the alleyway. Her VTOLs fill the alley with an unearthly blue light, and in it Gordon sees the carefully cut staircase that leads up and away and into the shadowy building above. 

“Right,” he says. “Right.” 

--

He’d lingered long enough to see Parker and his fancy machinery safely away in FAB1, waiting until he’s sure that he’s alone before approaching the staircase. His head is pounding and his legs are still feeling strange, but he presses upward regardless, keeping one hand on the brick wall to steady himself as the ground falls away. He doesn’t even see the door at first, only the flash of a red light then the green as his keycard passes over it, and he’s not beyond admitting the relief that he feels as it opens inwards and he half falls in.

How long do arms deals take, exactly? He could use a nap.

Except -- Except, oh. Someone may have beaten him to it.

“Hello?”

The feet at the end of the hallway don’t move from where they’re pointing up to the vaulted ceiling. Smart shoes, but not over polished. The cuffs of a pair of dark trousers just visible over navy socks.

When they were kids John always used to say that Gordon was too stupid to feel fear, and sometimes, sometimes that was probably true. Sorta. He's always been more about the rush, the adrenaline, fear to him has rarely been a baseline negative anyway. It works for him. Mostly.

Thunderbird four surveys the corridor. Spots the darkly spreading stain on the wooden flooring. Slows his pace to a stop. The air smells like rust and sulphur, the silence is thick as blood.

There’s an old style umbrella stand just beyond the door, and he takes hold of it, grips the central pillar tight as he takes another step forward.

“My name’s Gordon,” he calls. “I’m here to help. Can you answer me?” 

He reaches the end of the corridor, umbrella stand extended like a rapier and the answer -- well, the answer is no.

The man, or what’s left of him, lies sprawled on his back, glazed eyes and mouth wide in a silent scream, russet dried in thick rivulets around the gaping wound in his chest and where it had poured from him to pool around his feet. There’s a gun still loosely held in one blue hand. Safety off. One in the chamber.

He’d been prepared, but too slow on the draw. Poor bastard.

Gordon drops his umbrella stand and reaches down to peel the stiff fingers away from the gun, He clicks the safety back on, and stuffs it, as best as he can manage, into the waistband of his trousers. Unsure of what else to use under the circumstances, he unbuttons his sticky, sodden waistcoat and lays it gently over the staring, screaming face.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I really am.”

He has to bodily force himself back up to his feet, his body aching something rotten, but it doesn’t matter, not compared to the spark of absolute dread that burns through him as he looks around the apartment proper.

It's wrecked.

Every drawer, every table is tipped over, their contents scattered far and wide and battered by what looks like several pairs of boot prints. There's gunpowder streaked up the walls, smatterings of red brown across overturned sofas, and maybe Gordon ought to give his dead guy a little bit more credit. 

Maybe he's just a shit shot.

Glass crunches underfoot as Gordon cautiously pushes on the closest, half shut door. Behind it lies the bedroom, simple enough with bare brick walls and a grey coverlet on the king size bed, but it's not much better than the rest of the place, not really. The wardrobes are open, contents spilling all over the floor, a pair of handcuffs and a sheet of those funny little bits of plastic hanging from the bedside cabinet -- and wires, dozens of wires, pulled from the ceiling, from the walls and amongst it all, the only life in the whole godforsaken place, a tiny, holographic image of Penny with the words sale agreed flashing above her dark head and beside her, scrawled on a light type by another hand:

That damn girl.

And half drunk and half naked, sticky and cold and yeah, probably coming down from something, with a dead body in the next room and in the middle of a gangland battlefield, that’s the moment Gordon Tracy finally, truly feels fear.

[orionsangel86]

“I Think It’s Time For Me To Move On”

...And Other Things That Have Destroyed Me This Weekend...

So there is this common trope within love stories which generally happens at the end of the second act in which everything goes wrong and we all think that the lovers are doomed to failure. Its pretty much standard in every Jane Austen novel, every romantic film every made, every single bloody love story. Go ahead, name one. I guarantee you the break up moment is there.

Within the epic love story of Dean and Cas, there have been many break up moments, and all have had their emotionally devastating impact on the relationship and the show...

But THIS was a different level. 

(For a nice summary of Destiel break up moments and understanding of this trope, @tinkdw​ wrote about it here.)

I didn’t think that there would be another moment within Dean and Cas’s relationship that could hit me this hard. The mixtape in 12x19, the wrapping of Cas’s body in 13x01, and the return of Cas in 13x05 are moments that I consider to be the very top of the scale in making this pairing undeniably romantic. Moments that pushed it beyond a platonic interpretation. These three moments have been the things I cling to when the show has otherwise made me doubt any conclusion to the DeanCas story, and since there hasn’t been another one of those moments since 13x05, until now I have been somewhat nervous that the story was dropped, or being forced back behind a platonic screen. 

15x03 has ripped that screen away. 

Emotional meta under cut...

This entire episode was an emotion fuelled dramatic roller-coaster that killed off three characters including our beloved witch queen in a scene that almost stole the show and practically canonised the SamWitch ship. Rowena’s death should have been by far the most torturous moment for viewers to endure, and it was extremely torturous and had me sobbing on a plane 3 hours into a 7 hour flight. That incredibly heartfelt moment between Sam and Rowena will probably go down as one of the top tear-jerking moments on this show. It was tragic in the best way - the way Supernatural is famous for.

But lets not gloss over the fact that in an episode where THAT should have been the climax, where THAT should have been the emotional highlight and end point, instead we get a further MORE dramatic stand off between Dean and Cas that pulled focus and ripped all of our hearts out just as violently as poor Ketch in the first act (a very clever and smug piece of meta foreshadowing there Mr Berens).

On a meta level, this is HUGE as a writing choice because they MUST know how this looks. This was the climax of the third episode of the finale season. The way Supernatural has always structured itself since Carver era is that the first three mytharc episodes of each season establish the direction of the story and set the foundations for the character level focal points and dramatic key notes to come. 

That the writers have chosen to end the foundation episodes with a DeanCas break up moment that was more dramatic than a Spanish Telenovela has just stunned me and left me reeling because I just can’t see how else this can go. This break up scene absolutely DEMANDS a huge reconciliation of the sort that will be part of the A plot of the season - the FINAL SEASON. Guys. Part of the reason I have been so quiet and so disillusioned with the show during late season 13 and season 14 was because they pushed any Destiel plot into non existent territory - it became kinda irrelevant and Dean and Cas just acted like friends (homoerotic friends yes, and sometimes like an old married couple, but it was mostly played as an afterthought imo), so for this to suddenly be brought to the forefront of the emotional story again is excellent news for us. 

The thing is, like with those huge moments I listed above, the break up scene is basically undeniably romantic when you break it down to its components:

1. It’s only Dean and Cas. 

Once again we have another scene of high stake emotions that excludes Sam. In a platonic reading of the show, it makes zero sense for there to be such a hugely disjointed relationship between Cas and Dean and Cas and Sam given he has known them both for so long now that if they were all “just friends” then surely Sam would also feel the impact of Cas’s choices as heavily as Dean. In a platonic reading, Dean comes across as an asshole, Sam comes across as being weirdly uncaring about his friend of 10 years, and Cas comes across as not even bothering to get Sam’s opinion before leaving. A romantic reading makes sense because quite literally THIS IS A ROMANTIC BREAK UP.

2. The words spoken. 

“Well I don’t think there is anything left to say.”

“I think it’s time for me to move on”

From Cas’s perspective at least, name one time in a piece of media where such language has been used for a platonic breakup sincerely? There have been heartfelt break up songs that use these exact words. (I should know I’ve spent the last 24 hours listening to them all).

That last line in particular is so heavy. It’s the last line of the episode and nothing about it is platonic. This is relationship terminology my dudes. “I need to move on, and get over you.” This is Cas’s bloody Adele song. My heart breaks for him, but if I was his sassy and fabulous best girlfriend right now I’d be sitting him down, sipping a cocktail, flipping my hair and telling him “Babe, you’re too good for him. Good Riddance. Let’s go out, have some cocktails, something pink and fruity. No dive bars for us darling. I’ll take you to Heaven... the fun one in London.”

In all seriousness though, from Cas’s perspective, this was him admitting defeat and giving up the fight for love. How anyone can possibly say Cas isn’t in love with Dean after this, well I just don’t know what show you are watching. This is the face of a heartbroken man who has just accepted that his love is unrequited. 

3. The many faces of Dean Winchester

On the other end of the scale, Dean was mostly silent after his poisonous words “And why does that something always seem to be you?”

Forgive the terrible gif quality I’ve no time for fancy gif work!

Look at his face here. He knows what he said was fucked up and he immediately regrets it. The way he swallows around that regret and then turns away.

and after Cas says that devastating final line and walks away? We get THIS reaction from him:

The jaw clench as he looks down. The sorrow on his face as he realises he has well and truly fucked this up. LOOK

Finally, he looks up, makes himself look up and watch Cas leave. If that isn’t the face of a broken man I dunno what to tell you. Anyone who thinks Dean is totally heartless and uncaring right now needs to reassess because this is NOT the face of someone uncaring. This is the face of someone who has just lost everything. Again. 

4. The FUCKING MUSIC

Seriously. The sweeping heavy drama of the low strings that come in right after Dean says that horrid line, that carry the weight of the look of horror and heartbreak on Cas’s face as they amplify the emotion there. As they blend seamlessly into the slow and subtle version of the Winchester family theme behind Cas’s heartbreaking speech and Dean’s stubborn stoic face hiding a multitude of emotion, until the violin dominates as Cas says “I think it’s time for me to move on” and the Winchester Theme swells to its climax, ripping all our hearts out just like poor Ketch as Dean watches Cas walk out of his life surrounded by darkness. 

I MEAN.

A friend on Twitter reminded us all of this point about the importance of this theme via @justanotheridijiton​ here which is essentially:

“The Winchester theme is not simply an aural marker to let the audience know when and how Sam and Dean love each other (any Supernatural fan knows that is the baseline of their relationship), but to provide narrative information, especially when the image and dialogue are incomplete or inconsistent with the true situation...  Seasoned fans will recognize the theme and its history of being paired with images indicating deep emotional bonding and a desire to do the right thing by the Winchester code. Here we trust our ears over our eyes to reveal the truth.”

So here is yet another key indicator that any surface read that this is actually an ending between Dean and Cas and that Dean really is just an angry asshole is utter bullshit. 

Honestly, this was PAINFUL, but it was painful in the best way. It was 13x01 levels of pain, but this time it was Cas choosing to walk away which makes all the difference. Dean’s greatest fear isn’t his loved ones dying on him after all, but of his loved ones choosing to leave him. This was exactly the kick up the ass Dean needs in order to win Cas back, classic love trope style. 

Hence my excitement at what is to come. Yes we won’t see Cas again until 15x06, but in the meantime I fully expect a good helping of angst and wallowing from a depressed Dean who has to deal with the fact that he has just lost the love of his life and it is all his fault. That he just pushed away the one person who promised they would always stay by his side. That has got to hurt. 

So yeah, this episode emotionally destroyed me, and I’ve only really covered the primary reason, let alone all my feels over SamWitch, Rowena’s death, Belphegor’s taunting of Cas over his deepest fears and then having to suffer through smiting a creature wearing the face of his son until his body was nothing but a burnt corpse... I wonder if Bobo had a bet going in the office over how much he could hurt us all? He was certainly enjoying scrolling through the Supernatural tag on Twitter and liking everyone’s reaction tweets including some brilliant Destiel related ones. I do love Bobo. Our Angst Goblin King. 

If anyone had asked me a few weeks ago what my thoughts were on the chances of getting explicit canon Destiel by series end, I would have said somewhere in the realms of 30-40%, considering it a battle of wills between DabbBerens and CW studio execs who I still feel are against it in general. I would have considered everything that happened after 13x06 as the writers getting a big NO on Destiel from the network and therefore having to pull back on any Destiel related plot points (purely my own speculation on BTS matters of course).

Now I am wondering if Dabb kept fighting the network? If he managed to wear them down into begrudging acceptance? I’m currently up to around an 80% chance of textual canon DeanCas if we continue on this path. If Dean is clearly shown to be mourning and hating himself over Cas next episode, and if this DeanCas dramatic plot line continues to be a focal point of the emotional story arcs... well...

I’m side eyeing 15x07 a lot right now. Only in my wildest dreams would I think that they might actually introduce an old boyfriend for Dean in a “coming out” episode, but the placement, timing, and potential is all there and I’m kind of once again donning the clown mask because I’m just in awe at everything that they are doing. I guess we’ll find out soon enough. In the meantime, I’m gonna paint my face in red and white and wear my rainbow wig and listen to break up songs on Spotify whilst trying to shove my heart back into my chest where Bobo Beren’s gleefully ripped it out with his hands like the demonic angst goblin he is. Wish me luck, I’m not sure I’m gonna get through this season with my emotions intact.

[anywhozits]

All I Really Want Chapter 7

Rating: M

Pairing: Kristanna eventuallyyy

Verse: 90s High School AU / frozen retelling

Chapter Summary: Anna celebrates her 15th birthday.

Notes: Thank you for reading!!! Also there is some language, underage drinking, and homophobia in this chapter - be warned! (also tw emotional abuse)

Read on Ao3 here!

June twenty-fucking-first.

Another year. Fifteen, now.

And… Anna was excited, objectively, sure. At her very core, she felt excited because she knew she should be excited. But still, the very nature of this date always left her with a huge pit in her stomach.

There was just so much pressure. So much hope and want and desire for the love she craved to fill her first moments of fifteen.

Anna used to think she loved her birthday. The attention… the entire day naturally being about her—like, she knew she was supposed to enjoy it. She loved attention. She’d never deny that.

But…

In reality, her birthday stressed her out. There were all these expectations. Wanting people to acknowledge her, surprise her, and do all these special things to show they care. And yeah, this was probably way too much to ask on her 15th birthday but she wanted to feel … desired.

And yet she worried that wouldn’t happen this year.

Because her birthday was and had always been so full of disappointment.

Elsa forgot. Her parents forgot. Over the years one or two or all three of them forgot. They would ignore her the whole dumb day and then Anna would end up sobbing alone in her huge stupid room that had no reason to be so huge when it felt so lonely.

So far today, not one member of her family had acknowledged her. Her mother was definitely taking a nap or something. Who the hell knew where her dad was… and Elsa hadn’t called (yet, Anna thought, maybe too optimistically), but she was busy at this pre-college academic program at Pomona. So she had an okay excuse.

At least this year Anna got to spend her birthday with Hans. With Hans, maybe it’d be different. He already made the prom milestone so special that she had no doubt he’d do the same for her birthday.

No disappointments this year. Fingers crossed.

And how could she forget? She had Kristoff, too. And Kristoff never forgot. Kristoff always tried his best to make it special.

In fact, he’d already done something for her—he’d left her a card and a mixtape. This had to be her 37th Kristoff Bjorgman mixtape. And every new tape was better than the last.

He... well, um—that gesture alone made her feel desired.

She was officially on her third listen of the mixtape, and the sweet sweet tunes of Modest Mouse’s Dramamine filled her room.

In the past, he tended to include recordings of Pissed Off Kids, but Kristoff had made it extra special this time—the final song of the tape was instead a solo of Kristoff’s smooth tenor singing Better Man by Pearl Jam. Naturally he also hit all of the epic guitar riffs.

Anna loved it.

This lovely thought paired with the swelling sounds of Dramamine put her in a trance. Deep in her emotions, Anna swayed to the beat, instantly craving something more.

Traveling swallowing Dramamine

Look at your face like you're killed in a dream

She crawled on the floor and under her bed, pulling out a blue plastic box that housed her entire stash. The stash was once discovered by the family’s housekeeper, Anna (pronounced A-nuh not Ah-nuh), who subsequently revealed it to Agnarr and Iduna. Obviously, they did nothing about it. Duh. They gave zero shits. Zero. And it had devastated her, somehow. To not be yelled at or grounded… to not have her entire stash confiscated.

And you think you've figured out everything

I think I know my geography pretty damn well

Clearly, Anna had no reason to hide it anymore but leaving it out in the open took most of the fun away. So here it was back in the blue plastic box under her bed. Various bottles of alcohol, rolling paper, a pipe, a lighter, some weed, and an unopened bottle of Xanax with Iduna Larsen’s name on the label.

You say what you need so you'll get more

If you could just milk it for everything

Actually, come to think of it—Anna’s entire stash had been collected from her parent’s room.

I've said what I said, and you know what I mean

But I can't still focus on anything

Looking squarely at the box and its contents, Anna bit her lip. She needed this. And, why? Well, it was a combination of her baseline birthday nerves and the aftermath of the intense sob-fest she had when the oh-so-topical So Unsexy by Alanis Morrissette played on Kristoff’s mixtape. Oh, and of course the fact that her parents probably fucking forgot her birthday yet again… So, she took out the rolling paper and the Ziploc baggie that contained a few grams of weed.

Then, some weird crashing sound echoed from her window, which made her gasp and spook slightly.

Walking over to the window, drawing the curtains, and emerging onto her Juliet balcony, she noticed Hans and his goofy grin, standing in the driveway like he was a regular John Cusack.

When she saw that he had a bunch of tiny pebbles in his hand, it all made sense.

Anna’s heart fluttered. She loved it. She, like, literally loved it. So romantic.

“Can I come up?” He shouted, and Anna blushed. She was basically real-life Juliet at this point.

“Of course!” Anna called, and Hans started off in a sprint toward the rose trellis that led up the side of the house and into her window. “You don’t have to sneak in, you know!”

But he smiled devilishly and yelled, “I want to!”

Anna laughed and rolled her eyes at his definitely not-necessary efforts, but her stomach also did a few backflips. It was literally 500 times more romantic for him to climb up the trellis than it was for him to simply walk through the unlocked front door.

He pulled himself onto the balcony and Anna kissed him deeply. She couldn’t help but sigh—she was so, unbelievably happy to see him today.

“Happy birthday, babe,” he cooed in between kisses.

“Aww, thank you! I’m so happy you’re here.” After kissing a few more times, they ended up back in her bedroom where Kristoff’s singing now boomed through the room. Anna’s eyes fell to the blue plastic box—right. She had plans. “I was gonna do a little something to, uh, match the general vibe of this mixtape Kristoff made for me if you maybe wanted to join?” Anna gestured to the rolling paper and Ziploc bag.

Hans shook his head but then did a double-take. “Kristoff made you a mixtape?”

“Yep! He’s made me, like, tons of them.”

She lies and says she's in love with him, can't find a better man.

“Who’s this? Pearl Jam or some shit?”

“Yeah, but not—"

“Damn, he really thinks he’s emo, huh?”

“—because it’s Kristoff who’s singing. Pearl Jam cover, yeah, but…”

She dreams in color, she dreams in red, can't find a better man.

Hans laughed, heartily. “He’s pathetic.”

…huh?

“What?”

“You’re telling me he specifically chose this song to sing for you, recorded it, and then actually had the balls to give it to you?”

“Uh-huh.”

Another robust chuckle from Hans.

Anna furrowed her eyebrows. “What’s the big deal?”

“Are you even listening to these lyrics?”

“Um, yes, I—"

Hans laughed again. “You have no idea, do you?”

Anna pouted. She hated feeling naïve. Especially now that she was such a woman. Fifteen and a woman. Not naïve, not anywhere near naïve.

“No, I ... I know. Duh. I totally know what you’re talking about.” But she really didn’t. She had no idea what the hell he meant.

“So fucking pathetic,” Hans said, shaking his head. “But whatever. He’s not even a little bit threatening, is he?”

Threatening?

Oh.

Ohohohoh.

Hans thought… no way.

Kristoff wasn’t pathetic. He wasn’t pining after Anna or whatever. No duh he wasn’t. Absolutely no way.

They were just friends.

And, besides, Kristoff chose these songs because he knew Anna would like them. There was no connection between the themes or lyrics of the songs and how he felt about Anna. None at all… there couldn’t be a connection, because if there were, then… the whole sister thing was bullshit. But it wasn’t. No way in hell. Like, it couldn’t be.

Then why was Hans so convinced?

Before Anna could give this another thought, her bedroom door flew open.

She reflexively ran to the plastic box stash and kicked it back under her bed. For no real reason beyond wanting to keep some kind of classic-teenage air of mystery about herself.

Not that she had any earthly idea who the hell was coming barging into her room on this particular day at this particular hour.

But then when she saw the hint of blonde hair zooming past her and then engulfing her in a huge hug, she beamed. Elsa. Exactly who she wanted to come barging into her room.

“Anna!” She exclaimed as she hugged and hugged and hugged her sister. “Happy happy happy birthday! Fifteen—wow. I’m absolutely thrilled that I get to celebrate with you today.”

Anna didn’t want to pull away. So she didn’t. She held on tighter, savoring this moment she thought would never in a million years come to pass. “I’m really happy too, Els. I thought… weren’t you at school? How’d you even get here?”

“Mom and dad picked me up.”

“…really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why?”

“So I could be here for your birthday.”

“They should really just get you a car or something so they don’t have—” And then the pin dropped. “Wait, what?”

Anna finally pulled away from her sister and stared at her incredulously.

“Yeah—they picked me up so we could have a proper celebration.”

“But…wait. You’re saying…a proper celebration for… for my birthday? Our parents wanted to do this? For me?”

“At Hans’s insistence, actually.”

“Hans?” Anna’s eyes darted to her not-boyfriend. “You… did this?”

“Only took a couple phone calls with your parents, a few with Elsa. And then magic was made.”

“I can’t believe you did this for me.”

“Of course I did, babe. I love you.”

Anna’s heart fluttered the most it had ever fluttered. It fluttered so much she honestly worried it might fly away out of her chest and off the balcony or something totally wild like that.

Hans was perfect. She was so lucky to have Hans. The perfect not-boyfriend who made her birthday okay again. More than okay, rather. Magical, wonderful. Perfect.

She didn’t even notice as Kristoff’s next selection, All Over You, started playing in the background.

And then the door swung open again and the two essential strangers she called parents walked in to also swarm Anna with massive hugs.

It felt… strange. Uncharacteristic. Almost like… almost like seeing a teacher at the movie theater, sitting down to watch the same movie you’re seeing with friends.

That level of weird.

But at the same time, it was a type of weird that Anna embraced more than anything else.

Because her parents were hugging her… they were acknowledging her.

They hadn’t forgotten her birthday.

“I rented us a Duffy boat for the afternoon,” Agnarr explained. “Kai set it all up for us—stocked with the best Cristal and naturally Anna’s favorite charcuterie board.”

“Ooh cured meats. A birthday delight.” Shit Anna had no idea how to interact with her parents anymore. Who even was this person—cured meats? Like yeah, she loved cured meats of course but damn this felt awkward.

“Actually, we should consider heading out soon. Don’t want to find ourselves on the blacklist at the Yacht Club, you know.”

That may sound like a joke but their close family friends actually did get blacklisted from the Yacht Club. Well, it had much more to do with some kind of scandalous drug and prostitute type situation than it did with being late, but… the fear was there.

“Should we bring your stereo?”

“Oh, yeah! Yes. Great idea. Kristoff actually made me a mixtape for my birthday, so—yeah. I’d love to have that along for the celebration too!”

They brought the speaker. They brought the Cristal and the charcuterie. Anna brought her now sunny and enthused birthday disposition.

Her family. And Hans. All together. Right now. On her birthday. Like, shit.

It felt like something out of her absolute favorite dream of all time.

And, yes, this whole Duffy boat thing was the most freaking Orange County plan of all time. But that meant her dad had to have planned ahead, since Duffy boats booked up ahead of time.

She felt so loved. So loved.

Once they arranged themselves in the boat, Anna turned on the stereo. So Unsexy played again, but Alanis didn’t get to her this time. Nobody had forgotten her birthday. She wasn’t alone. She felt, like, confident for once… damn. This was nice.

Hans moved to sit next to Agnarr, looking for a lesson about driving the boat, and Iduna sat close to the two of them, smiling. It was a Good Day. Anna could already tell.

“Aww, Alanis?” Elsa asked.

“Yeah!”

“Wouldn’t’ve expected Kristoff to put this on his mixtape.”

“Well, I mean, it’s because of you.”

“What? Really?

“Mmhmm. Because he, um, he knows how much Alanis means to you and because Alanis means so much to you she means so much to me. I really—”

“That’s so sweet.”

“You mean it?”

“Yeah.” Elsa leaned in to give her sister a huge hug. “I’m happy I get to spend more time with you.”

Anna relaxed into Elsa’s hold. She would thank the stars every day for this magnificent change. “Me, too.”

“Did you know the song You Oughta Know is about Uncle Joey?”

“Shut up. Really? For real?”

“For real for real.”

“No shit,” Anna laughed. “I didn’t think he had it in him.”

“Yeah!” Hans chimed in. “No pull for Uncle Joey.”

“But, wow, yeah. Um,” Anna’s cheeks flushed red and she locked her eyes with Hans. “Guess he must’ve been pretty mind-blowing in bed.”

Hans winked at her and Anna all but shivered on the spot. Hold it together, Anna. Hold it together.

But Elsa entertained them zero, shaking her head. “He took advantage of her,” Elsa explained, crossing her arms over her chest. “He’s fifteen years older than her. And they’d already broken up when she was 21, so who knows how old she was when they started…”

Anna bit her lip, worrying this was getting a little personal. Hans was only two years older than her, so. Different story, right?

Eh. Maybe not according to Elsa.

She needed to change the subject and impulsively blurted out, “I wanna get blackout. Right now.”

Elsa shook her head again. “Anna…”

“Yeah! I mean it! You too, right? You’ll do it with me? Let’s blackout on this Cristal. Yeah?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“Oh, come on. Ms. Boring! I didn’t ask for your judgmental-as-shit opinion. Do you wanna blackout or do you wanna blackout?”

“Uh—neither?”

Anna pouted. “Boo. Boring.” She looked to Hans for more support, but he’d turned his attention back to Agnarr and the steering wheel.

“I’ll drink with you, but I don’t want to blackout. I wanna remember you turning 15.”

Anna chewed on her bottom lip. “Oh… yeah. Well, I guess I do too. Since it’s so great and all.”

“I’m not boring,” Elsa smirked.

“Prove it.”

Elsa grabbed the bottle of champagne and twisted the cap a little hesitantly but still enthusiastically. It made a loud popping sound and a little bit of the liquid spilled from the top, but both Anna and Elsa cheered when the champagne was deemed officially free.

Elsa poured them both tall glasses, and then she poured three more, remembering there were other people on this Duffy Boat and not just the two sisters.

All five raised their glasses.

To Anna. Who was now officially fifteen. Old enough to legally drink Cristal on a Duffy Boat, right? Totally.

And then Agnarr perked up, suddenly remembering his eldest daughter was also on this boat. “So, Elsa… can you tell me again why you chose Pomona over Harvard?” The way he said both school names made it more than clear how he felt about Elsa’s decision. Pomona sounded like he smelled the sweet stench of vomit infested garbage. In contrast, Harvard sounded like a choir of angels sang at the gates of heaven.

“I needed a change of pace.”

Agnarr laughed. A literally massive guffaw. “Harvard could’ve been a change of pace.”

“I don’t really—”

“But, at the end of the day, fine, you’re majoring in what—finance? Which means that your classes at this bullshit liberal arts doohickey will be miniscule. And you’ll get more time with the professors, get better letters of rec, and then end up at the Stanford GSB like your old man. That’ll really seal that fucking deal, you know? You’ll be in tip-top shape to take over The Company. Harvard or not.”

“I’m not gonna major in finance, dad.”

“Oh? So what’s the plan, then?”

“I don’t know. I like Anthropology, or maybe something like PoliSci?”

“Politics? Really?”

“Yeah,” Elsa said, her jaw clenched. “I’d love to clean up some of the damage you’ve done to this country.”

A tense silence filled the air. Elsa crossed her arms over her chest and took a nice long sip of champagne.

Until Iduna piped up, “Well, if you want my opinion—”

“I don—" Elsa started.

“—a pretty young thing like you can’t work around Bill right now.”

Agnarr guffawed again. Profoundly. He raised his glass and cheered, “Oh ho ho!” Like he won some kind of stupid battle he wasn’t even in.

Anna was utterly lost. She’d already downed one whole glass of Cristal and poured herself an entire new one without anybody noticing. Hah. Classic.

She didn’t really want to admit she was, like, this stupid or politically unaware or whatever but she also wanted to feel like part of the conversation, so she said, “Wait, what? Has something happened?”

Hans gave Anna the benefit of the doubt. “Nah, but he’s known for being a pussy hound.”

“Okay! Enough! That’s not why I said I wanted to major in PoliSci. We don’t need to get into—"

“No, no, no. This is important, Elsa. You better watch out,” Agnarr said, ignoring her plea entirely. “Listen, I don’t know how a man like Bill gets it up for a woman like Hillary. She looks like such a dyke. Not that I respect the bastard that much, but he could have any broad he wants. Any broad like you.”

“No—” Elsa raised her voice, but Iduna chuckled.

“Since she’s got my cheekbones!”

Elsa’s entire face had turned a cherry red. She was mad. Fuming, really. “—you can’t say that.”

“I can say whatever the hell I want.”

“You can’t say that,” she repeated.

“Why not? You think you’re some holier-than-thou judge of character?”

Elsa’s jaw was still insatiably clenched. “I want to go home.”

“Els?” Anna reached out her hand to touch Elsa’s shoulder in a way she hoped brought at least a marginal amount of comfort.

“Seriously,” Elsa begged, her eyes glistening with what looked like fresh tears. “Can we turn this boat around? Please?”

A lump formed in Anna’s throat and she swallowed it down. She didn’t want today to end like this, so she tried to redirect. “Um… but—we’re having fun, aren’t we? You… how about we drink more champagne?”

Anna knew Elsa was mad. She knew that their parents had upset her beyond belief, but this was the only time she’d spent with all of them in the same place in… literally forever. She didn’t want it to end prematurely. No matter how mad Elsa was. Besides, Anna had been there, too. She’d been on the receiving end of comments like that countless times.

It stung, sure. But it wasn’t unexpected. That was just what happened when you spent time with Agnarr and Iduna. They were like parasites.

But the kind of parasite Anna still yearned to have in her life… if that made any sense at all?

Thankfully Elsa seemed to snap out of it a bit and turned back to Anna. “I’m sorry, yeah. You’re right. I…” She added in a whisper, “I shouldn’t let them get to me.”

“Yeah—no. Never!” Anna beamed. Crisis averted. “Drink more!”

Elsa took one big gulp of the champagne. “Maybe now’s as good a time as any. Um… I have something for you.”

“Oooh for me?!” Anna squealed when Elsa pulled out an envelope from her back pocket.

“Open it.”

It was the cutest handmade card ever. What Anna recognized instantly as something they would exchange as kids. Classic white printer paper, cut out into the shape of an A. And inside was the sweetest note of all time. Not long. Never long. Elsa wasn’t the most feelings-y. Or not so much that she wasn’t feelings-y, but she didn’t really have a knack for expressing all of the feelings that brewed deep inside her soul.

Inside this note of absolutely wonderfully sweet words was the fact that Elsa had decided to get her the most fun gift of all time—a night at the local roller rink. A disco roller rink night, too, which sounded five hundred million times more fun than any old roller rink night.

So, Anna squealed again. “Oh my God! Elsa! This sounds so, so, so fun! I’m so excited I can’t wait I’m, like, literally the most excited ever for real I’m, like, oh snap I’m rambling but that just means you know how excited I am!”

“I thought you’d like it.”

“Like it? I love it!”

“You can choose whenever you want to go. I can find a way to get here.”

“Okay! I can’t wait!”

Anna had always considered herself forever an experience over a material present person. And an experience present from Elsa of all people only made it all the more special. Quality time with her sister. Shit, she was so excited.

Honestly, ‘so excited’ hardly began to cover it. Anna was ecstatic. Absolutely ecstatic.

It felt almost like… everything was going perfectly. Kristoff’s music played in the background. Hans and her dad had started laughing and carrying on what seemed like meaningful conversation… Iduna was smiling to herself as she usually did on a Good Day. And here Elsa and Anna were. Together. For the first time in forever.

“I’m so happy!” Anna yelled this loud enough that everybody snapped to attention, expecting a speech or something of the like. “This has to be the best birthday I’ve ever had in my whole life. I… thank you for not forgetting. I know—that’s happened before, but—"

Iduna clicked her tongue. “What are you talking about? We’ve never forgotten your birthday. We’re your parents.”

…what?

Was Anna wrong? Had she made it up? She thought she remembered several birthdays in a row her parents had forgotten… since… probably since Elsa had been shipped off to boarding school. It happened at least every other year.

But.

Her mother seemed to think differently. And Anna knew she could be a bit dramatic sometimes.

So…

Maybe that was all a load of BS and Anna was actually absolutely bonkers.

Shit.

“Anna, dear, your mother’s right. We’d never forget your birthday,” Agnarr explained.

Okay, yeah. All right. So then she was literally bonkers. Batshit crazy. Living in some kind of crazy dream world?

“Okay,” was all Anna said, in a tiny voice. She didn’t know what to think.

Except that maybe she really was crazy after all.

But she tried to push that aside. Something to unpack a bit more later.

She needed to enjoy this moment.

And due to this decision, from that point on, the Duffy boat ride went smoothly. They drank their champagne. They finished a few bottles. More than any of them would care to admit, especially because Agnarr and Iduna served the alcohol to minors and whatever. But regardless, they had a great time. In the end.

Sure, Elsa refused to speak to their parents, but thankfully she was never put on the spot again so that really didn’t put a damper on anything.

Hans kept Agnarr company, Iduna kept to herself, and Anna and Elsa spent the entire time talking each other’s ear off about literally everything.

Anna made sure to include all of the dirty details of her own life. Her chest puffed out when she talked about Hans and everything they’d done to celebrate their not-relationship that Anna still continued to make Elsa believe was a real relationship.

But eventually, it came to an end.

The end of an era. The end of this somewhat happy family dynamic Anna wanted to have 100% of the time.

Agnarr and Iduna hugged the girls goodbye. They were getting dinner with some friends and had to dash.

Which left Elsa, Anna, and Hans to fend for themselves.

Anna was a little bit disappointed that her parents had left them alone, but after what she considered such a great afternoon, she didn’t want to dwell on it.

Focus on the positives, Anna! Keep those in mind!

So, she turned to Hans. The orchestrator. The one who made it all happen.

“Oooh, Hans!” Anna jumped up to give him a peck on the lips. “That was awesomesauce! Like, hands down the best birthday—I totally, totally loved it, thank you!”

“Hold that thought, babe,” he smiled, snaking one hand around her waist and using the other to cup her chin. “I’ve still got one more thing planned.”

“Really, really? You do?”

“To the beach house!”

Anna giggled. She loved him. She now officially loved her birthday. She couldn’t wait.

[darkmindsotome]

Wrapped For Dinner

Fandom: Love 365 Irresistible Mistakes

Pairing: Shunichiro Tachibana x MC

Word count: 3,796

Warning: NSFW Smut

Written by: darkmindsotome

Tagging @voltage-vixen as requested. Prompt #13: Sex under the sun dress

Darkmindsotome Masterlist

---

Wrapped For Dinner

My latest big project at Addison & Rhodes had me working as lead creative. It was long hours and a lot of hard work but in the end, we were able to pull off a pretty fantastic ad campaign that was currently trending and going viral. 

To say I was relieved at the response was putting it modestly. Toma had already teased me about the stupid grin on my face creeping him out at work and Natsume had commented on it as well when he dropped off the updated sales figures. I managed to laugh them both off, nothing was going to put a dampener on my good mood. Well, almost nothing…

The phone rang at my desk the caller ID clearly displaying it was from the creative director’s office. I picked up the receiver as I pressed the button to answer. I had palpitations in my chest knowing my boyfriend was calling me during work hours. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to this?

“Creative department, MC speaking.”

“Always so professional.” I could hear Shinichiro’s deep voice as he chuckled. It managed to send tingles rippling through me. “Good work on that last project I just saw the updates. The projections look set to knock the client’s preferred targets out of the park.”

“Thank you, Sir. It means a lot hearing you say that.” My mood and happiness seemed to increase ten-fold being praised by him.

“… Listen about later, I’m going to have to take a rain check. One of the larger clients for the company had a scheduling issue and I was asked by the higher-ups to cover for someone who is still off-site.” Shunichiro’s words were like a bucket of ice water bringing me firmly back to Earth.

“Oh, that’s fine.” I didn’t know what else to say in response, it felt like the wind had been knocked out of me and I rolled my chair a little closer to my desk hoping the computer monitor would hide me from the rest of the department.

“I knew you’d say that. I’ll make arrangements for something soon and make it up to you.” He sounded genuinely sorry but what worried me more than the cancelled date was how tired he sounded.

“You don’t have to worry, work is work. I’ve bailed on you a few times recently too.” I tried to mask my disappointment with a little enthusiasm. I really didn’t want to add to his problems by making him worry about me.

“Well alright if that’s how you really feel. You seriously did a great job this time I’m going to have to work harder to stay ahead.” It was reassuring to hear him accept my response and hear the motivation return to him. I could feel the smile returning to my face just listening to him.

“I’m still nowhere near –”

“I’m going to have to go another call is coming in.” Shunichiro cut me off after an electronic beeping on the line.

“Alright.” I nodded. He was busy and while I had really wanted to see him it couldn’t be helped.

“Mc? I can’t wait to see you.”

The line went dead as I held the receiver to my ear for a few seconds letting his parting words linger.

“Oh, Shun… you really don’t play fair.”

*

With no new projects that required my immediate attention, I was actually able to leave the office on time for the first time in ages. It was the weekend and the original plan had been to go to Shunichiro’s last night and spend the weekend together.

I looked over at the weekend bag I dragged back from a locker at the train station last night. Takuro had given me a quizzical look when I came back with it, but he was now curled up on top of the bag fast asleep.

Reaching for my phone I shot a quick message to Shunichiro wishing him good luck at work then hopped into the shower. With my hair dry but a towel still wrapped around me, I rifled through my wardrobe looking for clothes. I picked up the summer dress Yuiko had helped me find on our last shopping trip together.

The delicate gradient of pastel shades made the dress look like a dawn sky and the petals spread out around the baseline hem looked like I had kicked up waves of Sakura flowers. It made me feel happy and a change in mood was certainly what I wanted right now.

I hadn’t been very sure about it, after all, it was a wrap-around dress that caused a deep plunge to my neckline. My reaction had made Yuiko laugh as she kept encouraging me to try it on insisting that if it was to go on a date that it was perfect. In the end, I bought it, I wanted to see his reaction but that was not happening today.

Tying the fabric around my waist I checked myself in the mirror and slipped on a pair of kitten heels. Today may not be the day I get to see him but it was still a day off. Plus, I had been working so hard at the office recently I had no groceries in the apartment to make breakfast. Grabbing my purse, I exited my place in search of sustenance.

*

My parents had always warned me about food shopping on an empty stomach. I really didn’t want to end up carrying a ton of things back with me just because I was thinking with my belly and not my brain. After cutting through the park I came out onto the main road and spotted a familiar sign for McDonald's and went in.

Quickly grabbing a McMuffin and a coffee to go I was just on my way out again when I walked smack into someone. A familiar scent of a particular brand of cigarette, cologne and citrus shampoo filled my senses.

“Whoops! Careful, are you alright?” My eyes followed the arms supporting me. Navy blue suit with grey pinstriped vest and a custom shirt. Finally reaching his face and those deep brown eyes. My mind went blank as I stood there, face to face with Shunichiro. “Wait… MC?”

Clearly, I was not the only one surprised to see my partner. Shunichiro’s eyes looked me over from head to toe as if to check it was really me. I was suddenly very aware of his arms around me and felt a little self-conscious with how he was looking at me. I haven’t done anything different with my usual makeup, maybe its the dress. Does he not like it?

“Morning, late night?” I took half a step back putting a little space between us and the awkward situation.

“Yeah, fast food always tastes better after a late night. If you’re free right now we could eat together.” He shrugged, composed as always. This kind of situation really doesn’t rattle him, I guess that’s something that comes from age and experience.

“Really?”

“Well, it’s up to you. What do you want?” He was clearly holding back laughter I probably sounded or looked childish right now. His playful tone was not lost on me if anything it triggered more of my childish side.

“You have to ask?” I gave him a small glare that made him smile wider.

“Ok, I’ll be right back.”

I found a booth and sat down feeling completely unsure as to what I was now supposed to do. I wasn’t supposed to see him today at all and the fact I now was had thrown me. The look on his face when he recognised me also bugged me a little. While I was lost in thought a second bag was placed next to mine and the cushioned seating at my side pressed lower as Shunichiro sat down.

“I was going to phone you later.” He began talking as he cracked open his bag and began pulling out two McMuffins and a pastry.

“You were?” I looked at his face in profile, he was always handsome but something about this slightly tired look had me thinking back to our time spent together in bed. I reached out for my own bag of food to distract myself from my own lude imagination.

“Mhm,” He filled his mouth with a bite of his breakfast and then sucked hard of the straw for his iced fruit juice. I could have laughed at myself for how I suddenly felt very jealous of a straw, watching his moist lips wrap around it. “After pulling an all-nighter, preparing copies and things for the meeting. The client phoned saying they would have to reschedule again.”

He sighed and leaned back against the booth seating. He was frustrated and tired, you didn’t have to be his girlfriend to see something so plain.

“After you put in all that work!? That’s just too much…” I raised my voice a little allowing the annoyance I felt to at least show even if he wouldn’t.

“It’s a big account and the board members all want to keep it, but when I left the office earlier they were all apologising to me for the extra work.” He gave a wry smile and sucked a bit more on his drink. This was one of the many things I actually loved about this man. His dedication to his craft made him glow in a way that always had me dazzled, it motivated me to keep pushing forward.

“Must be nice to be in demand like that.” I smiled feeling some of my anger subside. He was so talented and respected by everyone in the company. Remembering that a warmth spread through my chest as a wave of affection hit me for the man at my side.

“You are as well you know? I am always getting requests for you to handle accounts personally.” There is a look on his face that even in profile seems to reflect everything I was just feeling about him back at me.

“You’re joking!” I nearly choked on my coffee as my embarrassment caught in my throat. Great work there MC remember to breathe air, not coffee.

“I’m really not.” Shunichiro chuckled at my little outburst making me feel even more childish sitting next to such a well put together man. He had already devoured his pastry and moved on to the rest of his food without me even noticing. “It actually makes me feel very...” He turned his head to look at me the expression painted on his face was not one I saw when working. It was softer but there was an intensity swimming in his eyes that automatically had my core tightening under that gaze. He smiled and then gave my food a nudge closer to me. “Your food is getting cold.”

“Oh!” The spell holding me seemed to break at his prompting. I really wanted to know what he didn’t finish saying, but the timing was now all wrong.

I don’t know if he knew what I was thinking or how he was affecting me. Knowing him he probably had already laid the groundwork for the perfect game plan. He always found a way to get me dancing in the palm of his hand.

“So what do you want to do now?” His question had me confused. It also came right after I had stuffed a big mouthful of McMuffin into my mouth.

“I thought you’d just pulled an all-nighter. Shouldn’t you be heading home to rest?” My words were muffled as I tried to swallow my food and talk at the same time. I probably looked like a hamster, my lack of manners and decorum didn’t faze him at all he simply listened to my garbled gibberish with a soft smile on his face. Ok, that look should be illegal.

“I was but seeing you made me feel much more energised. I’m not so old that one late night is going to stop me from seeing the woman I love. It’s up to you though, I know what I’d prefer.” He was so calm and easy-going. It reminded me that this mature sexy guy was like the smooth jazz music at our favourite bar.

He always did this. No matter what he always said something that was intrinsically tempting in a way you couldn’t possibly refuse then asks what you want to do. It still catches me off guard at times but I honestly wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Then will you come shopping with me?” I hadn’t planned on seeing him today so the fact I was right now made me unbelievably happy. It didn’t, however, change the reason behind my leaving my apartment.

“Shopping?” My rather boring request had him look at me in slight wonder. I don’t know if he thought I had offered up something mundane because I was concerned for his exhaustion or what.

“Sorry is that weird?” I cast my eyes down looking at the last bite of my breakfast in my hands shyly.

“No, not at all. What are we shopping for?”

“I…” I fidgeted in my seat. At work, I was organised and usually even at home I was as well. However, being as busy as I had recently meant I had let so many things slide in my personal life that I was getting embarrassed thinking about it all. “I haven’t been home much so I didn’t have any groceries.”

“Well, we can’t have that. If we’re buying food can I make some requests?” Shunichiro didn’t laugh at me or look like he was harshly judging me. I finally look up at him, his face looking a little boyish. I loved that look of innocence on him too.

“Of course!”

*

After finishing our food, we headed over to one of the larger stores because it had a slightly bigger variety of items.

“So, what do you want to request?” I ask as I pick up a shopping basket from the stack.

“Well lately I’ve been really craving your cooking I would say anything you make is fine but…” Shunichiro trails off looking at the displays. It made me smile thinking this is the first time in a while either of us had been food shopping.

“You want me to make chicken nuggets don’t you?” I end up giggling which earns me a raised eyebrow from him.

“You know me so well.”

“Naturally I am your girlfriend after all.” The words came naturally but with an instant hit of embarrassment. To hide my fluster, I looked away from him as I marched towards the shelves. “I’ll just go find the seasonings you go get the chicken.”

“Anything else?” He was hot on my heels making me little thankful for being able to stay ahead of him.

“Whatever you see you might want to eat.” I stopped in front of the seasoning looking over the array of choices and as I raised my hand to pick one up, I found myself covered from behind. “Shun?”

“In that case do I really have to go over there? I can’t think of anything but how great you would taste right now.” Shunichiro’s low voice and hot breath brushed against my ear as he pressed himself against my back. His hand was on top of my outstretched one, nimble fingers tracing my own while he used his thumb to rub the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist.

“Shun… we’re in the middle of a store.” I closed my eyes wanting so badly for time to stop or for our location to just magically change. He placed his other hand on my hip sliding towards the wrapped fabric of my waist. His fingers delved into the gap they found and traced over the naked flesh beneath.

“Mmm, pity.” He hummed before removing himself and gracefully swiped the basket from my hand as if nothing had happened at all. “I’ll go get the chicken then.”

“You’re a damn tease, Shunichiro.” I muttered as I finished finding the seasonings and made a move for some frozen items next. With any luck, the freezers might help me cool down.

*

It was almost a mad dash to get home. I wanted to say it was because of the risk of food spoiling but to be honest that was the last thing on either of our minds.

Our little flirtations had persisted around the entire store, and when I say our flirtations, I mean Shunichiro’s. By the time we were at the checkout, I was trembling so much from his persistent teases that I couldn’t locate my card in my purse easily.

Not wishing to waste valuable time, Shunichiro produced his card and paid for the whole lot. He even picked up all the bags and began walking before I could protest. As we left, I caught one person saying “…such a gentleman.” Oh if only you knew.

Once inside he walked right into my small kitchen and opened the door to the fridge, not caring one bit about unpacking. I watched in shock as the entire bags, including their contents, were unceremoniously wedged inside.

“You know that isn’t good for the food right?”

“And you know right now I couldn’t care less.” His voice was lower than I expected. It was ruff and gravelly instantly reigniting all the tingling hot spots he had kindled during our impromptu shopping date.

He closed the gap between us in the blink of an eye. The strength with which he took me in his arms knocked the air from my lungs and my ability to think right out of my body. He dipped low plying my lips open with his tongue and pushing it deep into my mouth as if he were trying to steal my ability to speak as well.

Experienced hands roamed over the top of my dress pulling on the fabric in all the right places to provide some friction of fabric on flesh, raising the temperature between us.

“Mhm!.... Ah… Shun.” I was panting as he pulled back finally allowing me a few seconds to gain some air.

“I’ve never been so bothered by work. It’s so frustrating our schedules just never match up at the minute.” Even as he spoke he was removing his own clothes. Tossing his jacket and vest behind himself in a flurry of action that had me rubbing my legs together seeing him so desperate.

“I know I felt the same.” I brought my hand up to the buttons on his shirt, slowly tracing them before popping them one by one between my fingers like I was snapping them. My eyes never left his as he unbuckled his leather belt and trousers. “Every time I felt a break in the workload You vanished under a pile of assignments.”

“Seeing you every day at work. So close…” He shuddered at my touch the fire in his eyes lit scorching hot paths through my body.

He gave an almost silent groan as he lunged at me. My back hit the kitchen table as he pinned me down on either side with his strong arms. Hovering over me I could feel the pulsating heat from his body and the weight of his raw animal magnetism that always had me coming back for more.

My legs were forced wide as he brought his leg and hip between them. Alternating rhythms resounded in my body as my heart hammered hard enough to burst and his fingers danced up my inner thigh under my dress before slipping past the fabric barrier covering me.

“Mmm, A-ah—” The pressure filling me was exquisite. I watched his arm and shoulder pump in action with his fingers buried deep inside me as he worked away at my sanity.

“I was so glad to see you today I thought the torture was over but then you had to go and do this to me.”

“Do what? I didn’t do anything?” I was seriously confused. I was focusing on him but I felt like there was something I was missing. He didn’t answer me with words instead he brought his face to my chest burying it between my breasts and pulled on the fabric of my dress with his teeth.

“Are you being coy on purpose? Where did you learn to charm a man like that?” He pulled his fingers free with a smirk watching as I writhed missing his touch while he licked them clean. The next feeling my increasingly befuddled mind registered was the complete fulfilment as we became one.

“Oh, God!” My back arched against the unforgiving table and he placed one hand on my chest pushing me back down while he moved his hips against me.

“Ngh… dammit, you are just so perfect.”

“Shu…ni…chiro…” The pop and grind that was a familiar dance to us had me seeing stars.

“I know baby, I know.” He picked up the pace our bodies becoming slick with sweat as we relentlessly hammered home our mutual desires for each other.

*

“You awake?”

I slowly opened my eyes finding that I was not exactly where I thought I was. Shunichiro had been sitting on my sofa having a drink. Noticing how I was now conscious he returned to my side in my small little bed.

“Mmm, yeah. Did you carry me to bed?” Clutching the covers over my chest I wriggled closer to him. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders placing my head on his chest in the process.

“Well I did consider leaving you on the kitchen table but I thought you might get cold.” He laughed as he teased me. I was too happily exhausted to care and gave him a pathetically weak slap on his arm. My eyes started to adjust more to being fully awake, finding my alarm clock next to the bed.

“Jeez is that the time I should start making the food.” I freed myself from his hold and had placed one foot outside of the covers only to be pulled back in. “Ah!”

“You could or we could enjoy ourselves a little more. There’s no rush, after all, we have the rest of the weekend together.” He was whispering in my ear and trailing fingers over my now naked form. The tip of his tongue drew a line down my neck to my nape where he suckled on it. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re a sneaky scoundrel.” I smiled knowing this was him. He was sneaky, tricky, devilish, conniving and god help me if I didn’t find every aspect of the man appealing.

“Correction.” He chuckled and I found myself flipped under him. “I’m your sneaky scoundrel, and you’re mine.”

---

[ctrl-alt-languages]

tips for people learning multiple languages

i’ve recieved a good amount of messages/asks about how i learn several languages at once, and how i manage my time! so i thought about it a lot and made this post to share how i do it! :)

in this post, i will discuss what to focus on while learning multiple languages, the idea of time management in language learning, parallel language learning, and outside resources.

so to start, there are different ways you can simultaneously learn different languages, and that sometimes depends on which languages you specifically chose to learn and also your proficiency level. some things that you may find helpful if you’re just beginning your multiple-language journey is if you focus on these aspects:

language families: take note of whether your target languages are from the same or similar language group(s) (i.e. japanese, korean, chinese or spanish, french, italian). this will be super helpful to know about from the start when it comes to language compare/contrast. if your target languages are not from the same group, that is okay, you’ll just know that they won’t be as easy to compare when to comes to grammar structures or vocabulary.

proficiency: if you are more proficient in one target language than another, you can practice “parallel learning” (i’ll get more into parallel learning later in this post). this i would say is one of the most helpful tips i could ever give anyone. being a complete beginner in a lot of languages without being proficient in at least one target language will be difficult because you have to start from basically nothing.

differentiation: notice the similarities but ALSO differences in each language before deep-diving, so that you can draw connections but also be able to compartmentalize and not mix them up

foundation: have a strong baseline for each language. learn the script, alphabet, basic grammar structures.

immersion: i have personally been successful if i don’t start learning the language until i have some level of linguistic or cultural immersion of each language. for example, i didn’t start seriously learning korean until after being surrounded (more like gently bombarded) by korean media like movies, tv shows, music, etc, so i highly highly reccommend immersing yourself completely before diving into the academics of language learning, because it really helps you get the feel for what it will be like (and plus you’ll be able to pick things up quicker as you were exposed to them before to some degree)

relativity: beware! some languages will be harder but some will be easier compared to your native language. comparing your target languages to your native language is actually a very good gague as to how much you will need to dedicate to each language. for the specific case in the ask above, assuming that your native language is english, i would say you might find yourself spending more time on russian than french because it is from a different language group. however, french is far more specific than english in terms of grammar, so you’ll probably find russian grammar more simple. don’t fret though, just because a language is completely different from your native language doesn’t mean that it will be impossibly difficult to learn.

time management:

i think you might find that the more you learn languages, time management becomes less of an issue because you actually enjoy it. also, you will eventually find that you aren’t placing aside equal learning time for each language, and that is very normal. to be honest, i actually wouldn’t even recommend thinking too much about time management unless you feel that it really helps you succeed in this arena. language learning is a very fluid journey, and it’s actually a lot less academic in a way than we would like to believe. i would say, if you divide the language into its parts: immersion, speaking, listening, reading/writing, the academic, “sit down and study for an hour” part of the language only makes up like 25% of the actual language learning. so i would spend most of my time off the books and trying to practice other things. 

use the books as something to fall back on or reference rather than something to prop up your language abilities. because usually it helps more to see something you don’t know in a real life situation than in a book so that you have some level of prior knowledge and proper context.(obviously don’t do this with grammar though, that part i do suggest that you sit down and study.)

but,,,regardless of how you chose to learn multiple languages- whether it is to set aside time and peruse through books or to avoid books at all costs and dive into the deep end- here are some time management tips:

if you chose to take a more structured path for language learning (this applies to less structure as well in a way):

tailor your time to your own focus: set aside a little time every day. don’t make it a school class where you lose focus halfway through and then you force yourself to study for all two hours. if you find yourself losing focus, that’s when you should take a break or call it a day. and it doesn’t have to be that long either. as long as you were able to learn something from your study session, regardless of how short it was, you were successful.

goal-setting: have one or two daily language goals. making a giant do to list can sometimes be counterproductive and it can lead to you feeling defeated if you don’t complete everything. focus on the core parts of language-learning when you set these goals too: immersion, listening, speaking, reading/writing. keeping it simple will help you be satisfied as well.

stay holistic: always take a step back and widen your perspective when you are doing formal studying. it is very easy to get caught up in a few vocab words that you can’t get memorized or tenses that you don’t feel secure with. while staying in the shallow end until you feel like you are ready does help, it is mostly a security blanket. throw yourself in the deep end. try to write full sentences, a paragraph, a story. do journaling. read an article in your target language and see what you picked up. you’ll be surprised at how much you know when you see the end product. and, you’ll also know what to work on.

don’t worry about time management but be mindful of it: it’s okay if you don’t study a language every single day, and it’s okay if you jump around a little bit. keeping a routine is great, but following it may not always help you succeed. studying too much is just as bad as studying too little because you will end up having this overflow of information that you will have trouble retaining in the long run. don’t study too little either, because you will end up forgetting what you learned too. find that happy medium that works just for you and study in those increments.

parallel language learning:

this tip is my absolute favorite thing, not only because of how important it is for those learning more than one secondary language, but because it’s such a good way to learn multiple languages at once.

so what is parallel language learning?

parallel language learning is a method used in which you effectively stop learning a target language through your native language, and you start learning through another target language in which you are more proficient. for example, i am learning japanese through english, which is my native language. however, because i am learning french as well, which is a language that i have a stronger grasp on because i am more proficient in french than japanese, i chose to learn japanese through french instead.

how is parallel language learning helpful?

parallel learning is an incredibly good tool to use in order to advance both the language in which you are less as well as more proficient. using the previous example, by learning japanese through french, i am not only learning japanese, but advancing and refining my french as well. therefore, you learn two languages with half the effort.

other resources:

this is all i have for now but i will keep updating as i find more. these are some articles/blog posts that i have found incredibly helpful:

https://lindiebotes.com/2020/03/25/making-time-for-languages/

https://lindiebotes.com/2019/09/26/how-to-choose-language-to-learn/

http://www.howtolanguages.com/juggling-multiple-languages-some-practical-advice/

well, i hope you all found this helpful! if you have any more questions or any more tips, drop an ask or comment :) i would be happy to add to this or make other posts with language learning tips!