#but ANYTHING longer than 40 minutes is an Inconvenience

[joelscruff]

imperfect for you (joel miller x f!reader)

masterlist | a/n written for @janaispunk's 1500 kisses challenge! i got joel + nose kisses with this lovely moodboard and actually managed to write something!!! believe it or not this started out as a drabble lmao. i hope you like it jana - sorry it's a bit late, and congrats again on your milestone 🤍 summary: you never thought joel miller would accidentally call you baby. warnings: age gap (joel is mid 40s, reader is 23), fluff, very brief instance of blood, tending to a wound, joel is eepy, soft kisses, cuddles word count: 5.5k ao3 dividers by @saradika-graphics

"When's the last time you slept?"

He doesn't bother to grace you with an answer, hands clenched on the steering wheel as you barrel down the vacant stretch of highway back to Lincoln. He's been ignoring you for the past fifteen minutes now, eyes straight ahead, brow furrowed, jaw clenched. But he looks pale, almost sickly, the whites of his knuckles stark against the sudden greenish hue of his skin. The last thing you need is for him to pass out and for the two of you to crash into a damn ditch.

"I'm just saying," you continue with an exasperated sigh, "I could drive the rest of the way, we're almost there."

No reply. You roll your eyes and cross your arms indignantly in the passenger seat, returning his icy demeanor. He's in one of his moods again, the ones only Tess really knows how to handle, but you'd volunteered to try your hand at a supply run in her stead which means she's not here to mediate. You should've known some issue would arise, stubborn Joel inventing problems in typical Joel fashion.

"You could've tried to last at least one more hour pretending to like me," you mutter, loud enough for him to hear. He doesn't say anything.

Almost a year of working with them now, and you still don't understand him. You're not sure you ever will. Tess, she's much easier to understand, much more open to being understood. She'd seen your potential and taken you under her wing, brought you in to help, taught you everything you needed to know about smuggling. And Joel... well, he's a different story.

"You know, Tess thinks I have promise," you continue anyway, expression crumpling into a scowl, "She thinks I can do this. I don't get why you don't."

No answer.

"And don't say it's 'cause I'm a kid, because I'm not. I'm twenty three now, I'm past the point of being called a fucking kid. The shit I've seen in that QZ-" you cut yourself off, shaking your head, "I'm not a kid."

His lack of response is beginning to hurt deeper than you'd really like to admit. You glance over at him again; he's still staring straight ahead, still ignoring your presence. It makes unwanted tears prick in your eyes, nose stinging a little as you peer down at your lap and fold your hands together.

You'd been excited for this supply run, probably against your better judgement. You'd wanted to show him how much you know and understand, how hard you've been working, how you're up to the task. Hoped maybe he'd give you a smile - rare, but not impossible - and tell you that you did good, that he sees potential in you too.

You care what he thinks, almost more than what Tess thinks. And you know why, can sense it deep in the pit of your stomach and in the way your heart stutters when he looks at you, but you're clearly living in a fantasy world if you think he's ever gonna get past whatever this stigma is that he has against your age. She's too young, Tess. She'll get hurt, Tess. She shouldn't be doin' this, Tess. You've heard it all, muffled through closed doors in a dark and damp hallway.

He doesn't want you, and you're not sure how much longer you can go on like this. If he's not willing to change his stance, view you as anything other than an inconvenience...maybe Tess will have to find somebody else to help out.

"I know what I'm doing," you mumble, a tear dribbling down your left cheek, "I just wanna help."

You spare him one more look, fruitlessly hoping that maybe he'll feel bad now that he's made you cry - a childish thought, considering you're trying to make a case for being mature, but you can't help it. You know he's capable of being gentle, of being kind. You've experienced it with him before, quiet moments between the two of you in his apartment while waiting for Tess to return, making small talk, him peering at you with a softness in those brown eyes that have since made frequent appearances in your dreams. Moments where you swear you felt wanted under that gaze, but it must've been in your head, because you certainly don't feel wanted right now.

He doesn't look well, you have to admit. His skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, getting paler by the second, turning an unnatural grey color akin to some of the hair on his head. His eyes are glassy, dark bags settled beneath them that you've noticed getting worse and worse over the past few weeks. You shoot a glance at his hands again and are surprised to see that he's loosened his grip, that his fingers seem to be trembling against the rubber.

"Joel," you say, raising your voice a bit, "Joel, are you okay?"

His lack of response no longer angers you - it worries you. Carefully, you reach over and slowly wrap your hand around his right wrist, eyes trained on his face. At your touch, he finally turns to look at you, almost like he's only just noticed you're even there.

"You say somethin'?" he asks, voice raspy, a bit slurred.

Your grip tightens on his wrist, "I think you should stop the car."

He looks at you curiously, dazedly. It's the expression of a man who's running on two, maybe three hours of sleep in the last few days. You choose your next words carefully, eyes flickering back and forth toward his face and the road that he's suddenly no longer watching.

"Let's slow down a bit," you murmur, thumb stroking gently along his skin - he's warm, warmer than normal - "I'm gonna drive the rest of the way, okay?"

You expect some pushback, an attempt at an argument, but the tiredness is setting in quickly. Without any hesitation he eases his foot off the gas and you hurriedly reach your own leg over into his space to push down on the brake. He doesn't seem to notice the way your bare leg brushes his jeans, the crease in your knee bending over the warmth of his thigh.

"There we go," you say softly, bringing the car to a slow stop. He's still looking at you, eyes unfocused as you carefully lean over a little more to unbuckle his seatbelt. You try to ignore how good he smells, how big he is compared to you, putting all your attention on getting him out of the front seat. You unlock his door and then unbuckle your own belt, hurrying out of the car to his side.

"M'okay," he mumbles as soon as you open his door. You start to help him out, and you think he's becoming a little more aware of the situation now, allowing you to pull him to his feet as you tug open the back door. "What's happenin'?"

"You're just tired," you tell him softly, "It's okay, you can sleep in the back, I'll drive."

"Bill n' Frank's," he says as you lead him the right way, pushing him a little and helping him place his knee down on the seat, "Y'know where it is? You remember?"

"I do," you tell him confidently, your hand coming down to press flat against his back - he's so solid, heat radiating against your palm, "Only twenty minutes away now, I got it. You just sleep."

He doesn't argue; in fact, he makes your job easier by crawling onto the seat and settling down with a low groan, rolling onto his back and breathing deeply. You can't help but let a small smile cross your features, watching as one of his hands comes up to rest atop his belly, the other dangling onto the floor. His eyelashes flutter a little, lips parting, and you're about to shut the door when he speaks again.

"I know you jus' wanna help, baby."

You stand there for a moment just staring at him, confusion racing through your thoughts. Goosebumps rise on your flesh as the last word repeats like a mantra in your head, steady and slow as Joel drifts off. It's only when the door is shut and you're in the front seat that you're able to put some meaning to the words, eyes wide as you stare at the faded lines on the road.

I know what I'm doing, you'd said, I just wanna help.

You leave him in the car when you get to Bill and Frank's, typing in the gate code with a backward glance at his loose form in the backseat. They must see him on one of the security monitors, because as soon as the doors open you spot them sprinting out of the house toward you, a scanner gripped in Bill's hand. Typical.

"He's okay," you tell them as soon as you're out of the car, instantly alleviating their stress, "He's just exhausted, I think he needs to sleep for a little while."

"Understatement of the century," Frank replies with a relieved laugh, eyeing the backseat, "Think we can get him in the house?"

"Just leave him in the car," Bill says with a wave of his hand, already turning to head back towards the house with the scanner hanging out of his pocket, "He'll be fine."

Your gaze meets Frank's and he rolls his eyes, "Come on, baby, let's get him upstairs." Your brows go up at the pet name, the same word that had fallen from Joel's lips only twenty minutes ago, but then Bill is shuffling back over with an annoyed look on his face and you quickly realize he's not talking to you.

Getting Joel out of the car proves to be a lot more difficult than getting him in. You try a gentle approach at first, brushing his arm and stroking his skin with your thumb again like you'd done earlier. You can feel Frank's eyes on you as you squeeze Joel's bicep, his wrist, his thigh, and you pretend you don't see the look that passes between him and Bill as you step out to let them take a turn.

Bill goes for a much more aggressive approach, shaking Joel's shoulders wildly and practically yanking him out of the car. Understandably, Joel wakes with a gasp and kicks his legs out, hand reaching for his pistol as he frantically tries to escape Bill's grasp. Before he can grab it though, he's suddenly falling forward, knees buckling as he faceplants onto the pavement beside the car.

Well, that certainly wakes him up. His hands press into the gravel and his head shoots up, blood trickling down his nose as he peers up at the three of you, stunned.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Bill," Frank groans.

"That was not my fault."

Ignoring them, you kneel down and gently touch Joel's shoulder, a concerned look on your face as you eye the splattered blood on the ground, "Fuck, are you okay?"

"What in the hell is goin' on?" he groans, turning to look at you, "Did Bill just break my fuckin' nose?"

"Don't be dramatic," Bill barks, spinning on the spot and heading into the house, "Shoulda just left you in the car."

Joel starts scrambling after him, rising up and standing on wobbly legs, hand reaching for his pistol once again. You and Frank grab him before he can do anything, both of you taking an arm and holding him back.

"Joel, you're exhausted," you tell him quickly, utilizing all your strength, "You just need to lay down. Please."

He turns his face to look at you and something flutters in your chest when you catch the way his eyes soften, the anger in his expression fading as he acknowledges your presence. You can vaguely make out Frank watching the two of you in your periphery, but you try your best to ignore it, instead opting to give Joel a reassuring smile.

"Let's just get you cleaned up, okay?"

You're grateful that Frank leaves you alone with Joel to tend to his nose. You've only met him a handful of times, but each time he'd somehow been able to clock the way you interact with Joel, the way you look at him. The last time you'd been here he'd subtly pulled you aside to give you a few words of wisdom.

"You do realize he's extremely unavailable, right?"

"I- I don't know what you're talking about."

He'd smiled, tapped his nose and given you a knowing look, "And I don't just mean because of Tess. That man is emotionally constipated, kiddo. He's an island." He'd laughed then at your confused expression, shaking his head, "Just be careful, s'all I'm saying."

You'd gone to walk away, forget the conversation even happened, when he'd softly called after you:

"And I'm pretty sure Tess would hang your head on her wall."

You think of those words now as you stand in front of Joel in the small bathroom off the landing, lip between your teeth as you eye the cut on his nose. It isn't broken, thank fuck, but you can see some dirt and gravel in there that you need to clean out.

"It's not broken," you tell him softly. He's sitting on the edge of the bath tub, peering up at you with a much more alert expression. The fall definitely woke him up, not to mention the choice words he and Bill had thrown at each other as you and Frank helped him up the stairs. He's still exhausted though, and he needs to rest.

"I know it's not," he grumbles, "Just wanted to give Bill a piece of my mind for once."

You laugh softly as you reach for the damp cloth beside you, bringing it up to carefully pat it against the gash on the bridge of his nose. You can feel his eyes on you, watching and assessing as you do your best to wipe the area clean.

"I can do that myself," he murmurs.

"I just wanna help," you say quietly, and your eyes fall to his in a knowing glance. He doesn't seem to remember though, just nods and lets you carry on.

It's rare for you to be this alone with him. And by that, you mean this far from Tess. You're painfully aware that it would be impossible for her to walk in at any moment, to see the way you're standing over him, touching him. Frank's words from last time echo in your head but you're not quite sure you believe them; would she really be that angry if she knew how you felt about Joel? It's not like he'd return it, right? The man is twenty years your senior and, as Frank said, extremely unavailable. Not to mention Tess and Joel's relationship has been a point of confusion to you for a year now, still unsure exactly what they are to each other - would she really care?

You reach for the antiseptic - one of the many perks of having an injury in a supply house - and carefully dab some onto the cloth. Your hand trembles a bit as you reach up to carefully hold Joel's chin, your thumb getting lost in his greying beard.

"You haven't shaved in a while," you breathe, your eyes meeting his, and you wonder if you've already crossed a line by even noticing.

He doesn't seem to mind though, sighing deeply, "I haven't slept in a while, so let's hurry this up," he eyes the cloth, "Don't gotta warn me, just do it."

His words bring you back to the present, and you slowly ease the cloth down onto his cut. He hisses a bit, a normal reaction, but it only takes a few seconds to clean and then you're already reaching for a bandage, reluctantly letting go of his chin.

"I was worried about you, before. In the car," you tell him softly, unpeeling the adhesive, "Why haven't you been sleeping?"

His eyes fall to the floor, "I just don't sleep good. Never have."

"Is there anything I can do?"

He shrugs, gives you a humorless laugh, "Handful o' pills and a couple sips o' whiskey usually does the trick."

It makes sense, then, why these past few weeks he's seemed worse. It's been longer than usual since your last supply run and the three of you had started running out of vital supplies over a week ago now, not only for buyers but for yourselves. Joel had written whiskey near the top of the latter list, along with hydromorphone which he'd underlined several times.

"You should've told me you weren't feeling well," you murmur, applying the bandage carefully, "I could've driven the whole way."

"Could've, should've," he dismisses you with a grunt, "Doesn't matter now, does it? We got here, that's what counts."

You linger a little longer than you should on the bandage, thumb falling to gently trace the crease of his nose as you assess your work. It might scar, but it feels pointless to voice this - he already has so many, scattered across his face and neck like confetti. It hurts a little, knowing he's been through so much, seeing the evidence written all over him.

"My mom had this superstition," you tell him softly, a smile playing at your lips as you trace one of the scars under his eye, soft and delicate, "Whenever I got hurt, skinned my knee or busted my elbow playing, she'd bandage me up and then kiss it. She said a kiss would seal her love in there, keep me safe and protected. And if it scarred, that meant it worked."

He blinks at you, expression faltering a bit, "That's...that's a nice thought."

You shake your head, "It's silly, and not true. But... but I still do it anyway, even though she's gone. Just in case," you bite your lip, "I mean, who doesn't wanna feel a little more safe? A little more protected?"

Your gazes lock, and neither of you seem to move, caught in the stillness of the moment and the way your thumb is still stroking his face. You know you have limited time, maybe a few seconds before he breaks it, so without much thought at all you lean down and lightly press your lips to the bandage, eyes closed.

He inhales sharply, a sound that triggers butterflies in your tummy as you hold your mouth against his nose, soft and sweet. It's the closest you've ever been to him, even if you're kissing gauze and not skin - you can still feel the warmth radiating from him, sense the way he freezes below you. A squeaking sound pierces the silence, his hand squeezing the edge of the bath tub tightly. It startles you, your eyes blinking open as you pull back to look at him.

His cheeks are tinged pink, eyelids heavy as he peers up at you with slow blinks.

"You're tired," you breathe, unable to stop your hand from flitting to his hair, pushing a little behind his ear, "Let's get you to bed."

The Joel Miller in Bill and Frank's guest room is not the Joel Miller you thought you knew.

This Joel is loose, pliant. He lets you lead him into the bedroom with a hand on his back, lets you carefully turn him on the spot to reach up and undo the buttons on his flannel. Frank had told you on your way up to make sure Joel didn't get blood on the sheets, so you're only following orders, only doing what you were told.

"Sorry," you murmur softly, fingers shaking every so often as they toy with the buttons, sticky with his blood. Joel doesn't seem to notice though, retreating more and more into the sleepy state he'd been in earlier.

Once his flannel is off you assess his t-shirt and jeans, and you're not sure how to feel about the fact that they didn't get dirty in the fall. On the other hand, though, you're not sure you'd have been brave enough to take them off. Instead you help him toward the bed, pull back the sheets and carefully push him ahead.

"There you go," you whisper, helping him under the covers and pulling the blankets back over him. The sun is streaming through the window, casting the golden light of early evening across the bed, and while it's quite beautiful you shut the curtains anyway, knowing he'll sleep better in darkness. When you turn back around, he's already fallen asleep, lips parted, face peaceful. A different man.

You don't linger, even though you want to.

It's around ten o'clock when you decide to check on him again. You'd watched a movie with Bill and Frank, feeling more than a little unwelcome as Bill tossed you a few dirty looks every so often, though Frank repeatedly told you to ignore him. Now they're in bed downstairs while you pad from your own room across the hall to Joel's, turning the knob carefully. The hinges squeak a little as you open it and you wince.

"Who's there?" you hear Joel grumble from the bed. So much for just taking a peek.

"Me, just me." You push the door wider and walk inside, eyebrows going up when Joel turns on the bedside lamp. He seems a little more rested, although you know he still needs a full night's sleep. "I sent a message to Tess through the radio to let her know we're not coming back tonight - well, Frank did. Picked a song called Tomorrow or something like that."

"Hope it was the Johnny Mathis version," he mumbles, and you watch as he brings his hands up to rub across his face. He accidentally dismantles the bandage and you step forward without really thinking, hurrying to his side and reaching down to fix it.

His hand comes up to grab yours and you freeze in place.

"I can do it," he says, giving you a curt look and then releasing your hand to adjust the gauze himself.

Well, you suppose lax and sleepy Joel couldn't stick around forever. You stand awkwardly by the side of the bed, toying with the edge of the blanket as he rubs his eyes and sits up a little, leaning back against the headboard. He looks so much older in this light; you can see the little flecks of grey in his beard and hair that have been starting to get more noticeable lately, the crows feet, the wrinkles.

He's so handsome.

He turns to look at you with a frown, as if he's only just realizing what you said, "We can go back tonight, I'm fine."

"You're not and you know it. Besides, it's already past ten and now I'm tired, I won't be able to drive."

"I can drive."

"Joel," you surprise yourself by sitting down on the edge of the bed, narrowing your brow as you give him a serious look, "You can't drive. You almost fucking killed us both."

"No I-"

"Yes you did," your tone is firm, suddenly angry - are you angry? - "If I hadn't been talking to you, if I hadn't noticed something was wrong, you would've driven us off the damn road."

He goes quiet at that, frown deepening, the lines on his face more prominent in the low lamplight. You sigh, eyes falling to rest on where your hand is settled on the bed, only inches from his. Part of you wants to reach out and touch, feel the warmth of his skin, the rough of his palm - the other part decides to do something even more stupid.

"You called me baby."

It's out of your mouth before you've even really acknowledged it, and once the words have tumbled out you know there's no taking them back. Your gaze snaps back up to his, slightly surprised to see that he doesn't seem very shocked by your admission.

He clears his throat a little, averting his gaze and shuffling a bit under the covers, "Did I?"

"...Yeah."

You think maybe he'll say something else - anything else - but he doesn't. God, it really is like pulling teeth with him; he's so fucking beautiful but so impossible, never being able to expand on something unless prompted, never being able to answer a single question without jerking you around first. How the fuck has Tess managed to deal with it for so long?

The thought of Tess sends a wave of guilt through your body, Frank's words echoing in your head, but you shove it down.

"What made you... I mean why..." your voice is soft, apprehensive and shy in the quiet of the bedroom, "why'd you call me baby?"

A beat of silence. Then-

"Don't ask me that."

The mood has shifted, your sudden anger ebbing and his annoyance fading into something else, something on the brink of being real. He's avoiding your eyes, peering at the window with the curtains drawn and tapping his fingers anxiously against the mattress, so close to your hand. He's nervous; you're making him nervous.

You stay silent, hoping he'll speak again, hoping maybe just this one time he'll tell you what he's thinking.

"I don't know why."

The words are barely a whisper, almost like he's telling you a secret, and he leaves them hanging in the air briefly before amending - "Well," he sighs and finally looks at you, an emotion you can't place crossing his features, "that's not true. But... I didn't mean - fuck, I was passin' out, for Christ's sake, I didn't realize-"

He cuts himself off again, raising his hand up to press his fingers to the bridge of his nose, briefly forgetting the bandage. He winces when he comes in contact with the gauze, "Can I take this off? It's drivin' me fuckin' crazy."

"Let me do it," you say quietly, inching forward on the bed and reaching for his face. He flinches when you go to touch him, and your hand freezes mid-air.

"Sorry," he mutters, shaking his head like he's shaking off a sensation, a chill, "Go ahead."

With careful - and slightly trembling - fingers, you remove the bandage from his nose. It looks much better than before, no fresh blood in sight, and you suppose it's okay for him to keep it uncovered for the night. Without really thinking about it you gently thumb the side of his nose just shy of the cut, the tips of your other fingers brushing against his cheek.

"It's not too bad," you murmur, and before you know it you're suddenly cupping his jaw, feeling the weight of it in your palm. Your gaze falls to his lips, your thoughts going a mile a minute.

You realize you're close enough that you could kiss him, if you really wanted to. If he really wanted to. All it would take is one small movement, one little push from the both of you, one leap of faith...

And then he whispers your name, almost a warning, and it's like his thoughts are mirroring yours - like he can see exactly what you're picturing, wishing for. Your eyes meet his and you feel a flutter in your stomach when you see the way he's looking at you, a quiet hunger hidden in the deep brown.

You decide to test the waters. You lean in and softly press another kiss to his nose, this time without the gauze in the way. Just like you'd thought, his skin is hot under your lips, soft but scarred, and his smell - god, he smells so masculine and safe, invading your senses as your lips trail downwards to press a small kiss to his cupid's bow, then another to the corner of his mouth. It's sharp, prickly from his scruff, but it doesn't bother you in the slightest - in fact, you kind of like the dull pain, the way it grounds you, keeps you in the moment.

"Baby," he whispers, and a soft little whine falls from your lips without meaning to as your lips move to ghost across his mouth, going for another kiss - a real kiss.

He pulls away before you get there, but then his hand comes up to touch your face, big and wide. He holds you like you're precious, small. His baby.

"S'not right," he whispers, though his thumb strokes your cheek soothingly, "S'not okay for me to want you like that."

You close your eyes at his touch, breathing deeply, "But you do."

"Yeah, I do," you hear him murmur, "You know I do."

"For how long?"

He doesn't respond right away, just continues to stroke your cheek, hold what feels like all of you in his warm palm. You tilt your head a bit to the side, eyes fluttering open to look at him again. You catch the way his lips turn up a little at the movement.

"Too damn long," he sighs, "But that don't... that's not..." he brings his other hand up to cup the other side of your face, holding you still as he peers at you in earnest, brow furrowed, "Point is, we shouldn't... you shouldn't be out here alone with me. Tess knows how I-" he cuts himself off again, and you can see now how difficult it is for him to communicate like this, to be open and honest, "I told her it wasn't a good idea."

"Why?"

He laughs lightly, thumbs circling the apples of your cheeks, "'Cause look where we ended up." He swallows, eyes falling to your lips, "Look where you are right now, baby. Look where my damn hands are for cryin' out loud."

"Keep calling me baby," you breathe, a desperation in your voice that betrays your emotions, tears pricking in your eyes as the weight of this conversation comes crashing down around you. He wants you - he's always wanted you. His words to Tess about not wanting to put you in danger, wanting you to stay away, those soft looks you've shared in his apartment, the small talk, all of it - it's because he wants you.

"We can't do this," he murmurs, leaning in to press his forehead to yours, eyes closing, "I can't do this, you're so- you're too-" he groans, fingers digging into your hair, "You're so young, baby."

"I don't care," you whine, butting your head forward to chase his lips, suddenly yearning to be kissed and held and protected by him, be wrapped in his embrace.

But he pulls away, removing his hands from your face and shuffling back a bit on the bed, away from you. Your hand drops but you reach out pathetically for him anyway, moving closer, attempting to pull the covers back. His hands capture yours and he squeezes them firmly, shaking his head.

"You need to go back to your room," he tells you, and his tone has changed from soft to serious, "It's late and I'm... well, you know I'm fuckin' exhausted. And you've had a long day." He looks at you with pleading eyes, like he's silently begging for you not to put him in this situation, "Let's just call it a night, okay?"

"But-" you start, tears shining in your eyes.

"Please," he breathes, "Please don't make this harder than it needs to be."

You do not want to get up from his bed. But you do.

You do not want to leave his room. But you do.

You do not want to lie awake in your own bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how his hands felt on your face, the way his eyes searched yours, the way his skin felt under your lips.

But you do.

You lie there for hours, thumbs twiddling against your belly, tears trickling down your cheeks every so often. All you can hear in your mind over and over again is the word Baby, punctuated by that soft groan he'd made, the way his thumbs had stroked your cheeks, how large and warm and safe he'd seemed in that bed.

All you want to do is be in that bed with him.

So it's no surprise when, as the sun is beginning to rise and that warm golden light starts to stream through your window, you crawl out from under your blankets and cross the hall one more time.

"We shouldn't" he murmurs when you climb into bed with him, when you tuck yourself into his side and bury your face in his shoulder, but his hands are already in your hair, fingers stroking along the back of your head.

Your bodies mold together like they've always been meant to fit that way, your legs tangled with his, arms trapped under big biceps and hairy forearms, breasts flush with his suddenly bare chest.

"I wanna be your baby," you whisper.

The nose you'd kissed brushes slowly up and down the side of your face, and he doesn't hesitate this time. He reaches up to turn your head, presses his lips against yours and lets you melt into him. Lets you trail your hand downward to unbutton his jeans in the silence of the early morning.

"You already are."

[villalunae]

me: wants to engage with queer fantasy content, with a large preference towards podcast platforms

me: also doesnt want to spend 1000 hours watching sixty episodes of said content just to get to the Fucking Queer Content

[mayatawi]

Well damn, seems like rnm is gonna end up being a Favorite Show that i’ll never actually watch more than a third of.

Like i binged s1 in maybe 3 days and then got 4 episodes into s2 and I’ve spent the past year and a half waiting for the writers to realize what they have and finally start doing the characters justice so I can pick it up again, and now that we’re halfway through the final season that’s just… not happening, is it?

And i am not a Quality TV snob, I will watch any amount of shit and enjoy it for what it is, but the one thing that turns me off a show faster than anything else is the writing not showing respect for the characters or for the audience, or both, since those things so often go hand in hand. And I don’t have the time or patience to go through the myriad ways rnm has done both (multiple ways! how diverse!) but if you’re reading this and you watch the show then you know.

But it’s pretty much summed up by how they’re treating Alex/malex this season. It’s not that Alex is gone—I get that RL shit happens. It’s how they deal with Alex being gone. It’s how this show has never known what to do with its offscreen characters, and Alex for whatever reason (cough) always gets the worst of it, and that disrespects his character and by extension Michael’s too. And disrespects their relationship by always keeping it so separate from everything else, even when there’s no longer any narrative reason to. And disrespects the large chunk of the audience who watches primarily for that relationship, by talking up malex so much behind the scenes and then sidelining Alex without a care again.

It would have been so easy to fix that for me, personally, this season too—all they had to do was make Michael notice Alex was gone, and start trying to do something about it. That’s it! No additional Alex screen time needed, just people reacting to his absence in a way that goes beyond “this mildly inconveniences us because he’s not here to be useful, oh well moving on.” Just Michael going, “Hey, the love of my life has been incommunicado for a while, and that concerns me.” Not… whatever they have going on now.

I’ve actually watched so comparatively little of this show that it should be relatively easy for me to let it go. But from the start, Michael and Alex’s relationship was so goddamn compelling that I just can’t. There was something magical about the vast majority of s1, of which malex was a huge part, that got lost along the way, and I kept hoping it would get picked up again, but it won’t, will it? Like I saw someone else mention on here—this show excels at setting up compelling relationships and situations and story beats, and then just dropping them never to be heard from again.

I still think the pilot episode is one of the most perfect ~40-45 minutes of television ever aired. The characters are masterfully established. The last scene is haunting. It promises so much. For a while, it even seemed like the rest of the show might follow through on that promise. RNM in general, and malex in particular, had so much goddamn potential, and seasons 2-4 are just a master class in squandering it.

But on the other hand it seems like the next episode is named after a Sleater-Kinney song, so… there’s that?

At least I’m relatively sure malex will end the season, and the series, in a happy place. But that’s not really enough to make the intervening episodes worth watching. Not if the journey there is more infuriating than anything else.

[nevvarro]

1CHANCE — my shitty lookism fic [daniel/gun & zack/johan]

[entirely self indulgent, personally don't know why daniel/jay are the ship everyone's obsessed w/ when personally i see more chemistry between dan & gun. Anyhow, here's a preview of the fic, you can read the full thing any the rest of the chapters over here on ao3]

He didn’t particularly know how to feel about Jung Gun. Before he had a pretty solid idea of the type of guy he was, shady and masochistic— pragmatic and mysterious but ultimately the wrong crowd. He wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt before, in the same way he gave it to Jiho (and in a way, the same way he gave it to himself, the same self that used to be cowardly and unkind because life was that to him.) but when he remembers that whole endeavour, it reminds him why you don’t give out endless trust to people. It’s on the individual to change, not for you to understand their circumstance.

But that doesn’t seem to be the case with Gun at all. There’s more to him, but what? Daniel initially did write him off as a profiteer, just like Charles Choi, someone who gained from the loss and suffering of children. It is quite obvious he enjoys an opulent lifestyle but he’s also about 2 years older than Daniel— he’s a child himself! Reflecting on it, he and Goo were probably one of Charles’ first victims, when he realised how high this went up, they’re probably just a cog in the machine too, it would be presumptuous of him to even assume that they would be kept once they’re no longer more useful than inconvenient and damaging to his brand. Maybe that’s what all this successor talk is related to, what kind of 19 year old talks this much about retirement? Maybe he should talk to Crystal, inquire about his person, she doubts she’ll tell him anything useful and it would likely cause he more trouble than anything—

“Daaaaaniel?” He looks up from the blank notebook page to be greeted by Zoe’s inquiring gaze. Oh dear, he’s thinking about this too much isn’t he. He didn’t even realise class was over.

He gave a hasty smile and shrugged, “Sorry Zo’ just zoned out for a sec.”

“A second? You were glaring at that piece of paper for a good 40 minutes. Class ended a while ago.” Zack interjected, he looked impatient but vaguely concerned. He knows there’s a lot going on right now but they’ve all been pretty good at not letting it interfere with their day to day school hustle. Daniel supposes he’s worried that it’s all too much for him. “Hehe… sorry, just been thinking about stuff. I’m totally fine.” Zack opted to not say anything more, like point out he’s been doing this for most of this week or even prompt him to explain what said “stuff” is. He just gave Daniel a look of acknowledgement. Zack supposes if it wouldn’t work with Johan why would it work with Daniel? The root of the problem will come out eventually. The conversation eventually moved itself, as absentminded teenage conversations do, saving Daniel from being the center of everyone’s thoughts.

They all left the school building together, last to leave (as per usual) and decided to let the night take them to any destination it wished. They haven’t done Karaoke in a while, so why not that? Vasco seemed extremely excited to display his musical talents and Jace couldn’t in good conscience deny him. Daniel exhaled, a sound brought out by the relief of just seeing his friends enjoy themselves (excessively bickering as they were) without any violent interference. Maybe that’s why he felt even worse when his brain refused to just stop and enjoy the moment. His brain was glued on his altercation with Gun at the abandoned school building, James Lee and this second body’s unconscious carnal violence. Reflecting back on it, the first person to unlock said form was Zack… he never needs to fight him again in a situation like that— He can’t risk hurting someone he cares about again. He feels a little disconnected from them though, of course they have their own worries and he doesn’t even intend to minimize them in his mind but… It’s so different to the stuff that’s wracking his brain. It makes him jealous. He wishes he could move on with his life but the more he learns the more he can’t just back out. There’s too much at stake here. God his mind sounds insufferable right now. That’s all he does nowadays. Brood and monologue and wonder and sigh. He’s starting to get bored of himself.

read the rest on ao3 LOL

[mr-lancers-english-class]

Blood Magic and Ghost Kings: Paulina Sanchez's Guide to Winning Friends and Influencing Politics: Chapter 2

ao3

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She managed to make her escape from Dash less than ten minutes later. He tried to make a move on her (again), she turned him down citing her eternal love for Phantom and only Phantom (again), he tried to insult her intelligence subtly and failed spectacularly (again), she giggled and considered cursing all of his door hinges to screech like a demonic beast of hell no matter how much WD-40 he applied (again), and then she left with a wave and a smile and an overly excited “see you at school” as if she didn’t want to curdle all of his milk for the rest of time (again).

Paulina thought she deserved more credit for not cursing her peers and classmates (not friends, they didn’t deserve that honor) with mild inconveniences and annoyances on a daily basis. But alas, only her mama and papí knew about her little dabbling with magic. Mama was so proud that Paulina took after her grandmother and was bringing back their little family tradition. Papí had been terrified she would get hurt right up until the ghosts started coming through, then he was just relieved she would be protected. But even from the first time she had tried to use magic, both of them had made it very clear that she could not share this secret of hers with anyone else. Paulina could work with that, though that begrudging acceptance never stopped the daydreams of imparting itchy left socks and electrical outlets that never quite seemed to line up with your first guess upon the buffoons she had to endure at school.

When she got home, Paulina said a quick hello to her mama who was on a business call, gave her papí a kiss on the cheek as he was also on a business call while whipping up chicken stir fry for dinner, and then disappeared into her room to consult her new grimoire.

It was beautiful .

The leather binding was worn smooth and soft from centuries of use. The gold filigree, lightly faded, was just the right level of subtle for a spellbook, catching the light as Paulina tilted it this way and that. The pages crinkled as she opened it to the middle. The soft smell of paper and lavender filled the air, and Paulina took a deep inhale. Lavender was older than humanity’s use of magic, and had been part of protections against evil spirits for centuries. That was a good sign. Olimpia must have had something in her book about ghosts if she felt the need to layer such strong wards on it.

Paulina flipped through the pages, slower than she would have liked. The writing inside was much harder to read than the cover. Not impossible, just hard. The same hodge-podge alphabet was used, but whatever care Olimpia had put into the title font had not been shown to the rest of her work. It was small, cramped, curving across the page in varying sizes from letter to letter, and definitely in code. Paulina got that much, at least. Quite a few witches she knew of had written their grimoires in code to protect their secrets from each other as much as to keep the magic within out of the hands of those for which it would be too dangerous to weild. Her own fledgling grimoire was in a similar state, after all.

The code used might have once been top of the line, but it took Paulina an hour, tops, to break it down to more than ninety five percent accuracy. Cryptography had progressed in leaps and bounds since the mid 16th century when Olimpia had crafted her work, and Paulina’s own grasp of Latin, Greek, and Italian made the actual translations quite simple. Then, it was just a matter of finding the right spells.

That took much, much longer.

It was almost midnight before Paulina found anything even related to ghosts, in a short section near the end containing three spells, written in the same cramped code as everything else though with ink that was distinctly redder than the rest of the grimoire. Huh. So Dash was right about the whole “written in blood” thing. Imagine that.

The first spell in the section was nothing Paulina hadn’t seen before; a quick and easy power-channeling built around ectoplasm. Simple, straightforward way to boost the potency of another spell. Paulina had a couple of her own versions, one of them also built around ectoplasm though less refined than Olimpia’s version. She’d definitely look into that further. The second spell was absolutely brutal but not what Paulina was looking for. It was a rather complex spell, supposedly used to bind a foe’s spirit to death. She had to sit back for a minute to think that one through. It didn’t kill living people, but she was like 97% sure that Olimpia had either figured out a way to destroy a ghost, or prevent it from forming in the first place. Paulina wasn’t sure which one scared her more.

The third spell though, that one was golden. Almost exactly what Paulina was looking for. And definitely close enough that she could work with it. She might not get Phantom on the first try, but she’d get someone who could help her get closer.

“Dios mío,” Paulina whispered with reverence. “Voy a invocar al rey de la muerte.”

She set to work.

The spell was almost too easy. A pentagram drawn on the floor in chalk, a few symbols in an alphabet Paulina didn’t recognize written in ectoplasm between the sides of the star, lavender beeswax candles at the five points, and then a short chant. Paulina read through the instructions three more times after she’d set it all up just to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. But no, it was all there, laid out on the floor of her bedroom exactly as Olimpia had written it.

Paulina was going to summon the King of the Dead to her bedroom at two in the morning on a Wednesday. Sure. Why not. Wasn’t the weirdest thing that had happened in the past few years.

Sitting in front of the pentagram with the book in her lap, Paulina began to read the invocation.

She wasn’t entirely sure what all the words were, as it kept switching from Classical to Vulgar to Medieval Latin and back again faster than she could keep up, but the phonetics were easy enough. Besides, she didn’t really need to know exactly what it was saying. Spells like this worked on intent more than the soundwaves one used to bring that intent into the world. Paulina didn’t know definitions, but she knew what the words meant . That would have to be good enough.

The spell began to crescendo. She could feel it in the rhythm of her voice, the words speeding up even as she read at the same pace. The air around the pentagram began to crackle and spark with energy, bursts of green flaring and fizzling as the taste of ozone and sulfur filled Paulina’s senses. Ugh, ectoplasm. She’d had enough of that for one lifetime, thank you very much.

The sparks were getting bigger and brighter. The air felt sharper. Paulina could barely read fast enough, words spewing out of her mouth before she’d finished finding them on the page. The pentagram began to glow. Wind whipped around her room, papers from her desk flying off and bursting into flames when they were struck by a stray beam of green light.

The wind screamed, blowing out the candles, as Paulina got to the last line of the spell. With a sudden, painful clarity, she knew exactly what it meant.

“I summon you, king of the ghosts!”

The wind roared, whipping Paulina’s hair across her face. A bright flash of light burst across the room, and as Paulina blinked her eyes into refocusing, a small thump sounded from inside the circle. 

“What the– Paulina?!?”

Paulina stared. Standing in her summoning circle in a black tank top and red boxers, hair a bedheaded mess and eyes sunken and tired, was none other than–

“Fenton?!?”

“Uh, hi?”

[twinklelilstarkey]

Revenge - Matthew Tkachuk

Words: 3.1k+

Type: Smut

Warnings: Female!Reader. 18+. Cursing. Fingering. Oral sex (mentions of male receiving, but it’s mainly female receiving). Online classes. Semi-public sex (while in zoom class). 

If you’re a minor, please, for the love of God, do not read this!!

Studying and working from home hasn’t been all that stressful for you. 

At least for now. 

All your professors of your college have, honestly, been the only pain in the ass, since they care so much about participation during classes or with doing essays, ‘so it compensates your lack of physical presence in classes’. In other words, always having your camera on, unless you want to be kicked from the zoom call. Oh and yeah, have to hear their whining (if they’re that type of professors) if they see you talking to someone off screen and looking down at your phone.

As annoying as that sounds, the fact that your boyfriend and you get to have and spend more time together - over not having to stay in campus to study or in the rink to work - it, honestly, makes you feel better.

And you being you and Matthew being Matthew, teasing is in the nature of your relationship. And just the fact that you both get to have the possibility to tease each other during inconvenient times just to get under each other’s skin, it’s fucking gold.

Yes, whenever you are in classes, Matthew is in zoom meetings, but there are days where he has longer meetings than you. And god, you do use those times to your advantage.

Your type of teasing can go one of two ways. It can be to just annoy the shit out of each other until someone laughs or just tackles the other off screen - yes, it has happened - or the sexual type of teasing.

The second one is more rare, and of course, more risky. You two obviously only do anything in days that, for an example, Matthew isn’t in meetings with his coach or you aren’t in online tests, or with certain teachers. But, of course, there’re exceptions.

One of the most important problem of living with each other is that both you and Matthew have grown to be extremely comfortable with each other. I repeat, extremely comfortable. 

Just imagine how your first day of online classes went when your very naked boyfriend walked right across your background while your professor presented himself. 

You thankfully saw it before anyone could and your shoulders hid everything except for his chest, but it was still a very close call.

Nothing a pen thrown at his head couldn’t fix.

It never happened again but the lack of clothing is still very real under your roof. Matthew puts on boxers and, in meetings, a shirt, and you... well, you only wear a t-shirt.

Yesterday was your day off and let’s just say that boredom got the best of you. Matthew was stuck in a delayed zoom meeting with just his teammates, which meant that whatever you two had planned had just been delayed as well. Resulting, of course, in your boredom.

You leaned against the doorway while looking at him for the first minutes, then against walls and only after the first 20 minutes, you sat next to him on the extra chair, hoping that maybe your glare would be enough to speed up whatever they were talking about.

Didn’t work. 

Whenever Matthew would look at you, he would just laugh at the small pout, and, later, the scowl that grew on your face. 

The meeting continued for another 40 minutes and you were pissed. You whispered many times to Matthew just to ask if you could at least go to the bedroom, but he always answered ‘I’m almost done, babe, just a few more minutes’.

A few minutes your ass. As it reached the whole hour and a half, you were furious. Matthew was sitting on the normal desk chair, legs under the desk, leaning back as if nothing in the world could bother him. Ah, he was more than wrong.

You knew for a fact that the conversation between the guys is not even work related anymore. You couldn’t hear anything over Matthew having headphones but from all the laughing from his part and his friends on his screen, you had a good idea of the truth. So... 

You did it.

You didn’t think twice or even hesitate, you just did it. 

You went under the table, while gaining a look from your boyfriend, who didn’t say anything at first, and just pulled down his boxers. He was in shock, to say the least, for the first minute or so, but he didn’t stop you.

He hissed super loud as soon as your hand held his cock in your hands and he swears that he never moved so fast to mute himself on the call. 

His friends were too distracted to notice anything about him on his camera, or even hear him over the other guys’ voices, so everything came unnoticed.

The boys lost him as soon as you pulled him into your mouth. He didn’t hear a thing nor did he say a word. He was completely lost in the total bliss of the warmth and smoothness of your mouth. He threw his head back on the chair and brought his hands to your face, helplessly grabbing it as you took him inch by inch into your mouth, bobbing your head up and down as your eyes stayed on his.

Did it work? Sure did. He never left a meeting so quick in his life. And as soon as his laptop was closed, he snatched you from under the desk and took you right there on the ground, on top of the carpet.

Twenty four hours later and you think you’re still sore, but you don’t regret it one bit.

Matthew, today, has nothing to do for work, while you’re in your last class of the evening. He’s sitting next to you by the desk, back turned to your computer as he faces the tv and plays some video game.

As you continue to take notes silently of what your professor is explaining, your phone vibrates with a random notification and your eyes drift over to it. You eye it quickly and slide to the side to delete it, leaving you to stare at the photo on your background.

Matthew hates that picture with everything in him, while you love it with your whole heart.

It’s a picture of him a year ago. A night that he was just bat shit drunk, smiling widely to the camera with his eyes closed because of the flash of your phone. He looked adorable, and that is exactly why he hates it.

“Y/N Y/L/N, please pay attention to class”

You lift your head to look at the screen and the teacher already moved on with class. 

How in the hell does he notice you every time?

Matthew looks over at you as you sigh loudly and looks at your screen. You look slightly stressed, maybe also frustrated, with whatever just happened, but with just his eyes, he can’t tell what that was.

As a student’s face appears in your screen when making a question, Matthew rests his hand over your naked thigh, grabbing your attention.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, and you lean back on your chair.

“Caught me looking at my phone” You whisper and he smiles.

You look back at the screen as your teacher starts to talk again and try your best to go into your robot mode. No emotions, just take notes.

Matthew looks away, back to his TV, but lets his hand rest on your leg as he quietly changes games. He had grown bored after dying so many times at online servers. Nothing a calmer game can’t fix.

You write down whatever your teacher says, not really caring if it makes sense or not when written down, and your phone vibrates against the table again.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go grab that book right now” Your teacher excuses himself and you swear that you see everyone sigh in relief at his announcement of everyone’s seconds of peace.

Matt leans his head on his chair as he’s stuck on a loading screen and you look over your shoulder curious to see what game he’s playing. You turn in your chair, pen still in your hand, and sit over one of your legs to stare at the TV.

You stare at the black screen, waiting for the lobby of the game to reappear, and out of nowhere, you feel Matt’s hand squeeze the inside of your thigh, high up your thigh.

“Stop” You warn him.

“Didn’t do anything” He answers back.

You shake your head at him and him, being the little shit that he is, decides to move his hand more up. Tingles run down your body at how close he really is to notice your usual lack of underwear, but you just send him a glare in return.

“Aren’t you in class?” He asks, acting as if he’s still not moving his hand up excruciatingly slow.

“Yeah, but my-”

Right as you’re about to explain, the sound of your teacher’s mic moving around makes you look back at the screen.

“Here it is.” Your professor says as he holds his book up at the camera.

“Never mind” You tell Matt, turning back for your class, sitting straight in front of your camera.

Your teacher starts talking about the book, also about the author, and quickly you’re back to your emotionless self, paying attention to everything he is saying, making sure to know if you actually need to read that book or if it’s just optional.

Everyone nods at the teacher to make him know that everyone is listening and you’re rudely pulled away from your moment of concentration as Matthew’s hand finally reaches you.

“Matthew, I’m in class” You say through your teeth, not wanting your teacher to call you out again. This time, for talking to someone.

You grab his wrist and as you’re about to pull him away, his middle finger traces your slit, easily sliding in between your lips.

He smiles as your hold on his wrist loosens and as you lean slightly back on your chair. He steals a glance from your screen and finds your teacher talking, still holding the book up to the camera.

You gasp as his finger touches your clit and look over at him with an annoyed look as soon as it starts circling it.

“My class ends in 15. Can’t this wait?... Please?” You ask, trying to fight the urge to close your eyes.

His slow circles around your little bud speed up slightly and you sigh.

“My meeting from yesterday was almost ending as well. That didn’t stop you, did it?” He asks in a low tone.

You let out a small whimper as he presses his finger more onto you as he continues his circles and you lay your head back, trying to make it seem for the camera that you are just leaning back.

“I only need you all to read from page...” Your teacher continues and you curse out loud, hand grasping your pen tightly.

You hold your head back up, leaning forward on the chair, and try your best to ignore Matt’s hand. You stare at yourself in the camera for a little as you hear the numbers of the pages, but your brain seems to have stopped functioning completely.

Please just write that down, please just write that- hold on.

Matt takes his finger off your clit and soon you feel it reach your entrance, gathering some of your juices onto his fingertips. You lean forward on your chair and he takes that moment to push his finger in.

You bring one of your hands to your forehead as you lower your head down and you let out a small moan as Matt’s ring finger slides in as well, working at the perfect rhythm.

“Does anyone have any questions?” The teacher asks.

You sigh as Matt starts working his thumb around your clit, and the voice of a girl fills your ears as she starts making her question. Matt’s fingers are not even going at a fast pace, but you’re sensitive enough to already let small moans escape your mouth. All because of yesterday.

Matthew bites his bottom lip as you let moans softly escape your mouth, completely hiding your face from the camera. God, he hopes your class is ending early.

He speeds up the movements of his fingers, letting them start to quicken as they slide up and down from your slick walls, wetting his fingers with your juices up to his knuckles, and he smiles as you respond instantly by closing your eyes and covering your mouth with your other hand.

“Ah yes, those pages are quite difficult to understand at first...”

Matthew, completely ignoring the fact that you’re still trying to listen to your teacher, speeds up his movements even more in the same minute, scissoring his fingers, and the sound you let out is just purely pornographic. 

As he feels you lean in closer to his hand, an idea flashes in his mind, making him smile evilly, even though you’re not looking at him at all.

Matthew pulls his hand away and you whine as he does it.

You open your eyes to look over his way and he swears that in his years of being a very annoying player in the NHL, nobody has ever looked at him with so much anger.

You continue to glare at him as he brings his hand to his lips, and you bite down a gasp as he starts licking his fingers clean. You’re breathing hard, almost panting, heart beating against your chest almost as if you were hitting a wave of complete adrenaline.

He smiles as he looks down at you and you don’t smile back, absolutely pissed off at him.

You, being angry as all hell, take your eyes off him and lean back on your chair, arms crossing over your chest as you stare at your teacher on your screen.

Matthew, pleased with himself, brings his hands to the chair you’re sitting on and pulls it away from the desk. You, even though confused, let him do whatever the hell he wants.

He stands from his chair beside you and, in a quick movement, crouches, and away from the camera of your laptop, moves to under the desk.

The look you give him as you look down is as unbothered as you wanted it to be.

As you bring your eyes back to laptop screen, you take notes of some of the number the pages that you missed over being ‘occupied’, and at the same time, Matthew grabs your legs by the back of your knees, pulling you closer the end of the chair, closer to him.

You breathe in deeply as you feel his breath against your inner thigh.

Matt spreads your legs even more and leans in, making you feel his head rest against your stomach.

Carefully, you adjust your laptop, just so nobody sees anything down your shoulders, like Matthew’s head, and bring your hands back down to your sides.

Matt’s hands spread both of your lips apart and you almost let out a cry as you feel his wet and hot tongue against you. You bite your bottom lip to contain your sounds as he licks down to your entrance and you take your hand to rest it on top of his curls.

“I almost forgot,” Your teacher says, “I have another book with some pages that could help you understand that chapter better...”

He disappears again from the screen and right on the same minute, Matt’s lips wrap around your clit.

“Shit” You curse under your breath.

He sucks it and you grip onto his hair. You bite down on your bottom lip to hold back any possible expressions that could give you away to your classmates and as your teacher takes a bit more to come back, you do the same as some people do, and turn off your camera.

Your name appears on your small grey rectangle and you sigh in relief.

You throw your head back in the bliss of the moment and Matt moves his mouth away from your clit. His tongue moves down and teases your entrance as you look down at him.

He smiles against you and you move your oversized t-shirt up to your waist, letting you take a better look at everything. He pushes his tongue inside of you and you moan out loud.

His nose grazes your clit and you’re a complete mess right there and then. His hands hold you by the hips so you don’t move away but that honestly is the least of his worries.

“Fuck, Matty” You sob in pleasure.

You drag your eyes to your screen and the message of your mic being muted appears, something you’re very grateful that exists.

Matt moves his mouth back to your clit as your teacher reappears and you take a look at the clock, still 5 minutes left.

“Here we are,” He says with another, larger, book on his hands.

He takes a look at the screen and a message appears on your screen. This god damn man is trying to turn everyone’s cameras back on.

You refuse the request at first and as you’re about to turn it on, scared of being kicked of the class, you feel Matt’s teeth touching your clit.

You cry out loud and he sucks your clit harder, moving his head from side to side as you cling to his hair for your dear life.

“Y/N Y/L/N, ... and... Please turn your cameras back on” Your teacher requests.

You sigh and try to do as told but the pleasure is starting to take every ounce of strength from your body. The familiar bubbling of pleasure sets at the end of your tummy and you moan loudly at Matthew’s tongue and lips.

“Don’t stop, please” You plead your boyfriend.

Matthew, taking your words to heart, does exactly what you ask him to. When releasing your clit from his lips, he starts working his tongue on it. Moving from side to side at the perfect speed, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

You throw your head back, again, not controlling anything that you’re saying anymore. Pleasure consumes your brain entirely, almost driving you to, what seems like, complete insanity.

Your fingers tug on Matthew’s hair more and he leans more into you, resting his forehead against your stomach, nose against your pelvic bone, hands gripping the sides of your thighs, pulling them close to his shoulders to get a better angle on you.

You continue to let all types of sounds escape your lips, from moans to little whimpers that are not doing anything else but blessing Matthew’s ears. 

One last quick movement of his tongue and you reach your high. You bring your hand up to your mouth, unconsciously, covering it to not let your final screams bounce off the walls of the large apartment.

Matt carries you down your high and you are completely lost in the world for a minute or two.

You’re breathing heavily and your heart is jumping out of your chest, and only when you feel it calm down, your eyes fall back on the screen of your laptop.

Your teacher had carried on, surprisingly letting you and another girl have the cameras off, probably thinking that you’re not even behind them. 

You let go of Matthew’s hair as he starts laying kisses on your inner legs and you look down at him. A cheeky smile appears on his face and he pulls your chair back.

As he stands on his knees, you lean in quickly and kiss him right on the lips as your way to thank him. He smiles against your lips in the kiss and rests his hands on the top of your thighs, caressing them back and forth with his palms.

Your tongues touch each other into the kiss and he leans in closer, roughing up the kiss as you taste yourself on his tongue and on his soft lips.

“So, I guess we can end our class here” Your teacher says and you pull your lips away from Matthew. “Does anyone have any more questions?”

Silence.

“Alright, so, I guess I’ll see you next week.”

Right in the same minute, everyone turns on their mics to say a quick goodbye, a thank you or a quick wish of a good weekend and you, on the other hand, just lean in to click on the red button to leave the meeting.

You close the app as Matthew stands back on his feet. As you’re taking your air pods out and closing the laptop, he picks you right up from the chair, making you squeak in surprise, and throws you over his shoulder.

He’s definitely not done with you, but who are you to complain?

Again, I wrote this in between classes and I’m still very new to writing smut. If you have any tips, please, send them!

*Happy Valentine’s Weekend*

[disgruntledspacedad]

The Rules of Engagement (4/5)

part of the The Better Love Series

pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader/ofc (Ears)

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do. 

words: 3.7k

warnings: 18+ for alcohol, language, smut, violence, general trauma. 

a/n: unbeta’d. Yeah, I know - I can’t count. This is gonna be five chapters. 

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Murphy nearly bowls you over on his way down stairs, pulling up short when he sees you. 

“Shit!”

You glance down at yourself. Your clothes are rumpled and covered in ash and bile. You don’t even want to know what your face looks like. There’s rubble in your hair.

Murphy is still staring open-mouthed.

“The pharmacy below my apartment got bombed,” you explain hollowly. “I’m fine, I just need a shower.”

“You look like you need a hospital,” Murphy counters, eyeballing you with something akin to worry. “Fucking Christ, Ears, if Javi -”

You snap your eyes up at the mention of Javi. “Have you heard anything?”

For the first time since you’ve met him, Steve Murphy cracks a grin at you. “On his way home now.” He looks as relieved as you feel. “We got him.”

You manage to smirk back. “Good.”

“Congratulations, by the way. This one’s on you as much as anybody.”

“Thanks.” You sag against the side rail, trying to be subtle about it. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, your legs are shaking, and you think it’s only a matter of time before you fall over.

Murphy notices, because he reaches for your shoulder to steady you. “I really think-”

“No.” You cut him off forcefully, glaring at him with all the energy you have left. “No, Steve. I’m tired, that’s all.”

He sighs. Narrows his eyes. Frowns. “You’re bleeding.”

What?

Murphy gesturers to your temple with a finger that you have to stop yourself from flinching away from. “You’re bleeding, Ears,” he repeats, as if he’s expending a great amount of patience by pointing it out to you.

You reach up, wincing as you notice for the first time that your head hurts. When you draw your fingers back, they are coated in blood.

Murphy moves closer to get a better look.

“It’s just a scratch, Murph,” you tell him wearily. As far as you can tell, that’s true. There’s no gaping hole or giant gash, just a stinging little cut right at your hairline. “You know how head wounds are.”

He’s still glaring suspiciously at you, and you let him, meeting his gaze in silent challenge.

Eventually he sighs. “Okay, your funeral, I guess. Gimme a minute.”

Before you can retort, he ducks back inside, leaving you standing awkwardly on the front step. The walls are thin - you can hear him rummaging around in the kitchen. He’s back seconds later, key in one hand, a slip of paper in the other.

He hands you the paper first. “This is my pager number. Javi’ll be back soon, but I want you to contact me if anything crazy happens.” He motions to your head with his thumb.

“Okay,” you promise.

“And here’s this.” He presses the key into your hand.

You look up at him wide-eyed. “Murphy, you can’t just give me Peña’s key.”

“What, you think it would be any different if I stepped across the landing and did the honors for you? I’m already late.��� He runs a hand through his hair with a huff. “Besides, he’d want you to have it.”

Somehow, you seriously doubt that.

Murphy fixes you with a stare. “Trust me.”

“Hardly,” you mutter, taking the key from his hand anyway. You hold it up for emphasis. “But you’re taking the fall for this one, alright?”

Murphy rolls his eyes. “I think I can live with that. Stay safe, Ears, and page me if you need anything.”

♠

You resist the urge to flop down on Javi’s sofa and sleep for a thousand years, instead making your way to the shower. Peeling away your dusty clothes feels so incredibly good. So does the hot water. You take your time, exploring the lingering aches and pains in your body as you scrub them with Javi’s little sliver of Irish Spring. Aside from a few bruises and that one little slice on your temple that won’t quit oozing, you’re not injured anywhere. You think you might be a little sore from being thrown backward tomorrow, and your lungs still feel funny and raw from having the air knocked from them, but otherwise, the bombing of your apartment is more inconvenient than anything.

You try very, very hard not to think about Emilio.

You step out of the shower only when the water runs tepid, the cold jarring you awake. Javi only has two towels, it seems - one left out to dry on the towel rack, the other crumpled in the corner with a pair of boxers. Nice. You opt for the one that’s on the rack, wiping yourself down then wrapping up your dripping hair.

There’s something deliciously deviant about sneaking naked through Javier Peña’s apartment when he’s not home. You shake away your guilt, trying hard not to be too weirded out or too turned on as you rifle through his dresser drawers. You’ve got to wear something.

Eventually, you come away with the green t-shirt and the only pair of sweats the man owns. You eye yourself in the mirror, considering. Javi’s clothes are ridiculous on you - you have to roll the sweats three times at the waist just to keep from tripping - but hell, at least you aren’t naked. Looks like that cut finally stopped bleeding, too.

Carefully, you pull your hair into a sloppy braid and gather your dirty clothes, doing a cursory sweep of the apartment to see if Javi has anything else that needs washing. Other than the little pile in the bathroom, you find a t-shirt and a pair of mis-matched socks in the corner by the nightstand. Not bad for a single guy living alone, you decide.

You make the trip downstairs to the communal laundry room quickly, noting the time on the kitchen clock when you return. You don’t feel like waiting beside the machine today. Flopping on the sofa has lost it’s appeal - you’re bone weary, but every time you close your eyes, you see fireballs and charred bodies.

Sleep is not on the agenda.

Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, glancing at the clock for the umpteenth time. 9:42. You put the water on, then shuffle downstairs to switch the laundry to the dryer. 40 more minutes, and then you can get out of here.

And then what?

You examine your options and find that the list is short. You aren’t going to stay here any longer than necessary - you’ve intruded on Javi’s privacy enough. Your only friend in Colombia is Ana, and that’s off the table for obvious reasons. Murphy isn’t at home, and Connie had left for the States just weeks after you’d arrived. Back to work, then.

You decide that’s best anyway. Somebody fucking bombed your apartment. Well, the mark was probably Emilio’s drug store, but still. Bombings don’t happen in Bogotá - that’s a Medellín thing. Especially a civilian target.

The rush of anger that consumes you is staggering. Who did this, and why?  Bombing a business is a very Pablo Escobar thing to do, but a small pharmacy? In Bogotá?

Ana and her father are good people. You know deep in your bones that they aren’t involved in the drug trade. You also have major doubts that this was an accident. So, what the fuck?

The injustice of it all makes you feel small and cold and helpless.

You’re missing something big.

Javi doesn’t have a television in his apartment. Even if you did have access the news, the information that you’re seeking is hardly going to be broadcast on live television, and certainly not so soon.

Work really is the best option, then. Between the bombing and Verdugo’s arrest, the sicarios must be on red alert. Maybe you can pick up on some chatter. 

Besides, you probably need to let Stechner know about your situation as soon as possible.

You glance at the clock. 10:07.

Ugh. You rise up on your tiptoes, bouncing in frustration. Caffeine and adrenaline have made you jittery. There’s something really cringe-worthy, too, about being alone in Javi’s apartment without his knowledge, especially given the way things ended between you.

The memory chafes, and you shake your head hard enough that it throbs.

Goddamn this day.

A shrill beeping jerks you from your thoughts, and you barely manage to stifle a shriek. Your pager!  You’d forgotten all about it. Your stomach swoops as you pick it up.

The number that flits across the screen belongs to Javi.

You take a breath. Weird. Aside from that one brief conversation yesterday, you haven’t spoken to him in weeks. It probably has something to do with Verdugo, you decide. Maybe he wants to inform you personally. That would be nice of him. After all, this was a pretty big arrest for you, too.

You locate the phone in the kitchen, dialing the number with trembling fingers. Damned coffee.

“Peña.” His voice is terse, clipped.

“Got your page,” you say warily. He sounds like he’s in a mood. “Is there -”

“Where are you?” he demands, cutting you off harshly.

You blink, startled. Forget ‘a mood,’ Javi sounds fucking livid. You’d assumed he’d be pretty relaxed, considering. “Umm, I’m actually at your place,” you speak slowly to hide the shakiness of your voice. Fuck, of all the times to get emotional. “Listen, my apartment was bombed. I just needed -”

You’re interrupted again by a sharp sigh. “Stay there,” Javi grinds out, and then there’s nothing but dial tone.

Slowly, you place the phone back in its cradle, processing the conversation.

What. The. Fuck.  

Bits of plastic clatter to the floor as the pager smashes into the refrigerator - you’re hardly even aware of throwing it. You sink to the kitchen floor, cradling your head in your hands and doing your damnedest to just breathe.

It’s not fucking fair. He was the one who stormed out slamming doors. You haven’t pressed him, haven’t been a nuisance. Well, aside from basically breaking into his apartment and borrowing his shower.

But fucking hell, somebody - probably Pablo Escobar -  just bombed your fucking apartment. You’re living in a foreign country and you don’t even speak the fucking language. There’s nowhere for you to go, and your clothes were a mess, and goddamn, you are just tired.

What were you supposed to do?

Footsteps thunder up the stairs. God, that was quick. You manage to leap to your feet just as the front door slams open with a bang.

Javi stops dead when he sees you, and your tirade dies in your throat.

“Hey.” It’s awkward, but it’s all you can manage.

He’s just staring at you, standing stalk still in the open doorway. He’s breathing heavily, like he’s been running. His expression is tight, carefully closed off. One fist is clenched at his side, the other still gripping the doorknob.

“Murphy let me in,” you babble. You knew he was on his way, but still, his sudden appearance startled you. “My place, I mean, the drugstore -”

“I know.” He’s toneless, expressionless, frozen except for his eyes. They rove over your face and body, and you’re reminded suddenly of watching him read reports - quick, efficient, and exacting, like he’s taking in every detail in an instant.

Fuck. Heat rushes you as you remember that you’re still wearing his clothes. “Okay,” you breathe shakily, hardly aware of speaking aloud. This is getting weird, and you really don’t have the emotional capacity to deal with Javier Peña’s shit today.

Your laundry is probably dry anyway.

“Where are you going?” Javi demands, resting a hand on your shoulder as you attempt to push past him.

That does it. “To get the laundry!” you bite back, twisting away from his touch with a lot more drama than is really necessary. “My clothes are dry!”

He pulls away as if burned, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

You stand there like that for a long moment, just assessing each other. You’re glaring up at him warily, sizing him up, while he watches you with an expression that you don’t recognize.

“I’ll go,” he says softly. There’s something quiet, almost regretful in his tone, and it shatters your defenses. You bit your lip and nod shakily, and then he’s gone, descending down the stairs without another word.

Jesus.

You exhale another shaking breath - everything you do seems shaky, today - and pour another cup of coffee.

♠

You feel like you’ve got a little more control of yourself once you’re back in your own clothes. Javi is lighting a cigarette at the kitchen table when you exit the bathroom, a fresh butt still hot in the ashtray next to him.

“Rough night?” you ask, dropping his half-folded t-shirt and sweats onto the counter.

He huffs sarcastically.

You sigh. Your patience is wearing very, very thin, but you decide to try one more time, just for the hell of it. “Congratulations, by the way. Murphy told me about Verdugo.”

He blinks up at you, like you’ve pulled him from deep thought. “Yeah,” he says slowly, still staring at you with an intensity that’s starting to really freak you out. He pulls hard at the cigarette, and the moment breaks. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”

You nod, suddenly tired.

He notices. “Ears?”

“I need to go back in,” you cut him off before he can ask whatever he was going to ask.

He frowns. “Didn’t you just leave this morning?”

Frazzled as you are, it doesn’t occur to you to ask how he knows that. “Yeah, Peña, I did,” you snap. “But then some fucker bombed my apartment, and I’ve got a nasty feeling that it has something to do with Pablo Escobar. I can’t go home, and I can’t get any sleep, so I might as well make myself useful and see if there’s anything worth listening to today.”

His gaze had drifted during your speech. He’s resting his jaw on his his palm, staring off into the middle distance.

Ugh.

“So, will you drive me, Peña, or am I calling a cab?”

“Sorry,” he says softly, breaking himself out of whatever stupor he’d been in. He stands and extends a hand like he might like to reach for you before deciding against it and grabbing his gun instead. “Of course I’ll drive you, if you feel like going in.” He catches your eye as he tucks the gun into his belt, serious now. “I really am sorry about your home, Ears.”

God. All Javier Peña has to do is throw you a tiny bone, and you fucking melt. The relief you feel is palpable. “Thank you,” you whisper, closing your eyes for a long second.

You hear him rustling around with keys. “Let’s go, then.”

♠

The car ride to headquarters is silent. Javi smokes three more cigarettes, tossing the butts out the open window before you even hit the parking lot, one after the other. You wonder what the fuck is going on with him.

He makes a point to let you out of the passenger side door, a little quirk that had been hit or miss before, depending on his mood. You walk together up the embassy steps, him hanging close to your shoulder but not quite touching you, and you wonder if this is his strange way of apologizing for the weirdness before.

You’re halfway to Stechner’s office when you realize that Javi is still following you. You arch a curious brow in his direction. He pointedly ignores it.

Okay, seriously. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” The question comes out a lot harsher than you intend, but hell, it’s been a terrible day.

He glances down at you, almost apologetic. “It can wait a minute.”

“Ears!”

Oh, fuck. Steve Murphy is running up the hallway, gaze zeroed in on you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, just whirls on Javi. “Javi, what the fuck is she doing here?”

You bite the inside of your cheek in an effort to keep from screaming. “I’m trying to go do my job, Murphy, if the fucking DEA will let me.” Thankfully, your voice comes out pretty level.

Javi’s looking at Murphy with a narrowed gaze, head cocked, hands on hips. “What do you mean, Murphy?” he asks in a low voice.

Murphy throws his hands up in consternation. “I mean she should be in bed, or at a fucking hospital. You should have seen her this morning, Javi. Looked like she’d come straight from a war zone!”

Javi whips around to stare wide-eyed at you. “Wait. You didn’t say…” All of the color is draining from his face. “You were there?” 

Something about the breathlessness the words, like they’d been punched out of him, sends little shocks of electricity zinging across your skin. “I’m fine,” you manage. As protests go, it’s pretty weak.

“God, Ears, you’re still bleeding.” Goddamn Steve Murphy and his fucking preoccupation with your blood. “Now get out of here, please, before I call you an ambulance. Jesus.”

Javi’s face is a storm cloud of emotions as the pieces continue to click into place. “Ears,” he growls, more horrified than angry. He grips you carefully by the shoulders, looking you over again. This time, he brings his fingers gently to your temple. They come away bloody.

He sucks a sharp breath, glancing up at Murphy. “You’ll handle Verdugo?”

Murphy’s lips are pressed into a fine line. “Absolutely, Javi. Get her out of here.”

♠

He escorts you from the building with a hand pressed firmly against the small of your back. It would be sweet, if not for the blistering pace and the stony expression that’s frozen on his face. People take notice, leaping out of your way, craning their necks to watch as you storm by. By the time you reach the doors, your cheeks are flaming.

“Agent Peña!”

Oh shit. You hadn’t even noticed Martinez and his entourage milling around the entrance.

“Yeah?” Javi bites out.

Martinez raises a brow at the scene the two of you make - you, bleeding and shamefaced, Javi damned near parading you into the parking lot with all the subtly of a thunderclap.

God, there’s no way this ends well for either of you.

“Verdugo is in interrogation room three,” Martinzes says, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Javi doesn’t even slow. “Stick Murphy on it,” he snaps over his shoulder. “I’m busy.”

Nobody dares argue with him.

♠

Instead of getting into the car, Javi leans heavily against the door.

You pause, opening your mouth to question him, but he reaches for your jaw before you can speak, carefully tilting your face up into the sunlight.

“Are you okay?”

His voice is soft, but he’s looking at you in undisguised concern, eyes roving over you with an intensity that tempts you to drop your gaze.

You shiver. You can’t help it - you’re exhausted and emotional, and things with Javi have been so weird for so long, and now he’s staring at you, sharp and worried, running his thumbs across your scalp to gently assess for injuries.

No, you are not okay.

He notices the little tremor that darts through your body and rests one hand on your shoulder, leaning in to look you straight in the eye. “How far were you from the explosion?”

“Across the street,” you tell him, breathless for all of the wrong reasons. It’s only half-way true, you’d been crossing the street when the bomb had gone off, far closer to the blast zone than you’re leading him to believe. But he’s so close, cupping your cheeks in his hands, leaning forward to shield you from the traffic-side of the parking spot with his body as he continues to draw his fingers across your skin, gently assessing for more damage.

“It just knocked me off my feet,” you continue. Your throat is suddenly so dry. “Startled me, more than anything.”

Javi reaches with one finger to expose the wound on your temple. It’s still oozing.

“And this?” he asks, pinning you with another piercing stare.

You reach up, catching his hand as his fingers begin to drift down your cheek. He twitches reflexively. “Just a little scratch,” you promise him. ��Falling glass, or shrapnel, I guess. Something grazed me. I never hit my head.”

This is not a lie. You never blacked out; you’re not hurt.

He blusters a sigh, scrubbing his face with his palm for a brief second. “I should really take you to the hospital.” His jaw tightens as he speaks.

“I just said I didn’t hit my head. I’m fine.” You indicate the wound on your temple. “This is nothing. You know how head wounds like to bleed.” You look up at him, projecting as much wide-eyed, awake, vibrant woman as you possibly can after walking away from a fucking bomb, and squeeze his hand in reassurance. “Please, Peña. I just want to go -”

Home, you almost say.

You stop yourself just in time. There is no home, not anymore. And you won’t make the mistake of referencing Peña’s place as anything other than ‘Peña’s place.’ That would be supremely stupid, given all of the recent drama.

“To bed,” you manage instead. “I’m just tired.”

And god, that is the truth.

If Javi notices your faux pax, he doesn’t mention it. He’s hardly taken his eyes off you. He’s near enough that you can feel the heat of his skin, one hand still twined in yours.

It’s all you can do to avoid resting your head on his chest.

“Okay,” he mutters begrudgingly, and then shakes his head like he hadn’t meant to agree. “I’ll take you home.”

You smile wanly at him. “Thanks.”

♠

author’s notes/confessions

I know you still have questions. I promise you, I will answer them.

Steve Murphy is a good bro.

Y’all hit me up if you want a little Javi one-shot after this next chapter. I wrote it for my own reference, but it might be a fun read, if you’re wondering what’s happening inside his head right now.

@tiffdawg​, look what you made me do. ;)

[naminethewriter]

Breaking The News

Second Part of the Remus and His Daughter Series     ⬅First | Next➡ 

Here on Ao3

Characters: Patton, Roman, Virgil, Logan

Relationships: platonic LAMP

Rating: T

Words: 2,665

Summary:  After Patton's encounter with Remus, he has to tell his friends about it. It's not as easy as it sounds.

While Patton was searching through his pockets to find his keys, he could already hear Roman inside. Most likely he was practicing his lines for his new show that would premier next month. Roman was the lead (which wasn’t a surprise anymore at this point) and when he’d come home with the news, a huge smile on his lips, Patton had given him a bear hug, baked a cake and called Virgil and Logan over for a celebration (you know, like they did every time). Patton was pretty sure that by now, Roman not only knew his own lines but almost the entire play by heart but he guessed a little extra practice never hurt anyone. Plus he loved watching Roman perform, even if it was just rehearsal.

Finally Patton located his keys, pushed them into the lock and opened the door. After closing it behind him, he hung his keys on their hook on the wall. He slipped out of his shoes and hung up his jacket on the coat rack. (He hadn’t really needed it – it was warm enough – but better be safe than sorry!)

 “I’m home!” Patton called into the now quiet apartment; Roman must’ve heard the door. A moment later, his head appeared in the entrance of their living room.

 “Welcome back, padre! Perfect timing, too. There are a few lines I’d like to run by you if you don’t mind?” Roman asked, giving him a puppy look he knew Patton couldn’t refuse. Not that he wanted to. Actually he was glad to be given an excuse to postpone the discussion about his earlier encounter with Remus until later.

 “Sure, kiddo! Just let me slip into something more comfortable and grab a snack,” Patton said cheerfully.

 “Great!” Roman disappeared back into the living room while Patton went to his own room.

 A few minutes later, Patton entered their living room, now dressed in a loose sweater and long skirt with a plate of apple slices (the healthy snack) and cookies (the tasty snack). Roman was pacing up and down, staring at his script and muttering under his breath. With a fond smile, Patton sat down on their couch.

 “Alright, Super Star! Lay it on me!” Roman grinned at him and handed him the script.

 “Wonderful! So in this scene…” Roman began to enthusiastically explain the context of the lines he wanted to work through, occasionally drifting off into sub-plots or character analysis, making his explanation longer than it needed to be. But Patton didn’t mind. He listened with rapt attention, asked a few questions here and there and slowly ate his snacks. After around 40 minutes, Roman put his pen down after writing the last few notes, looked them over and gave a satisfied nod.

 “Thank you so much, padre. I feel much better about this part now!”

 “You’re welcome,” Patton said with a smile on his lips. “Glad I could be of help!”

 “You always are!” Roman pulled Patton into a hug that he gladly reciprocated. “But I think it is time we prepare for game night. Logan and Virgil are gonna come down in less than an hour!” Patton glanced at the clock and saw that he was right. Roman had let go of him and started to clean up a bit. Patton joined him, fixing the couch while worrying his bottom lip. Should he tell Roman now? Having to repeat himself would be inconvenient but he couldn’t tell how Roman would react to knowing Remus was back. Sure they fought last time they’d seen each other but they were still brothers, right? Roman still cared for Remus, didn’t he?

 Patton had gotten so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t realised that he had stopped smoothing out the couch pillows until Roman called out to him.

 “Patton? Are you alright?” He hovered a few steps away, unsure if he was allowed to touch, worry etched on his face. Patton blinked at him, surprised. He tried to smile reassuringly but he could see Roman’s brows furrowing, so he probably failed.

 “I’m fine, it’s just…” He trailed off, fiddling with the pillow in his hands. Most likely Roman would get mad on instinct, like always when Remus was mentioned. So it would probably be for the best to give him some time to cool down before the others arrived and then he could give a more detailed explanation. He looked to Roman who was patiently waiting for him to continue. Patton took a deep breath.

 “I saw Remus today.” Cautiously, he observed his roommate’s reaction. For a few seconds, nothing happened. Roman was frozen, his worry for Patton still on his face. Then, as if time needed to catch up, many other emotions flickered through his eyes, only a handful of which Patton could catch. There was anger, of course, totally expected but also confusion, sorrow (maybe?) and even a slight sliver of hope. Or maybe that was Patton’s wishful thinking. Finally he settled on, what Patton could best describe as, displeasure.

 “Where?”

 “The mall, on my way back. We didn’t speak though.” Roman gave a sharp nod.

 “I see. Probably for the best. Doubt he’d have anything nice to say anyway,” he practically spit out. Patton wanted to disagree but Roman continued before he could.

 “I’m gonna go change now.” He left, leaving no room for protest. Not that Patton had wanted to. Roman needed time to process, he got that. It had been the right decision, to tell him first. Patton put the pillow down, gave the room a once-over and, deeming it presentable, moved to the kitchen to prepare a simple dinner for the four of them.

   By the time Logan and Virgil arrived, Roman still hadn’t come out of his room. The food was nearly ready when Patton let their two friends in, giving both of them a hug before hurrying back into the kitchen. The other two followed after him. Logan moved to help set the table while Virgil remained by the door, looking around.

 “Where’s Princey?”

 “In his room. He wanted to change.” Virgil nodded, relaxing a bit. Normally Roman would have greeted them at the door as well and the deviation from their routine had caused his anxiety to spike. But hearing Patton’s reassurance eased it again. The three of them together finished preparing dinner and once they were nearly done, Patton asked Virgil to get Roman. He left with a grumble. Logan and Patton finished up and sat down in silence which made it easy to hear the exchange down the hall.

 “Yo, Prince Fancypants” A knock (or maybe a kick, hopefully not) echoed. “Dinner’s ready, you ‘coming?” A muffled response, barely audible from the table before a door opened.

 “Greetings, Emo-Nemo, how nice to have you almost break my door down!” Roman sounded alright, in Patton’s opinion, maybe he wasn’t as worked up as he had feared.

 “Emo-Nemo? Seriously? Also I only kicked your door once, if it broke from that it’s just as weak as that nickname.” They continued their banter on the way back to the table where Roman greeted Logan with his usual gusto but Patton noticed he was avoiding looking at him. It stung a bit, but Patton understood. Remus was a sore subject for all of them and he did bring it up out of nowhere. So he kept on smiling and they fell into pleasant conversation over dinner. Toward the end however, Patton grew quiet, trying to plan out what he was going to say, even if that was never his strong suit. Logan noticed.

 “Are you alright, Patton?” he asked. “You seemed somewhat distracted since we have arrived.” Suddenly everyone’s eyes were on him. Being the centre of attention was another thing that Patton couldn’t count toward his strengths but at one point this evening it would have been necessary anyway. Better now when it seemed like everyone had finished eating. Patton took a deep breath.

 “Well…” He paused, all his preparation flying out of the window when he couldn’t find the right words. “There is something I need to tell you.” He spoke slowly, carefully. Logan raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt. “Something happened on my way home and…” He didn’t get any further because Virgil suddenly sat up straight, eyes wide which startled him into silence.

 “Shit, Pat, did someone attack you? I should’ve gone with you, I had a bad feeling through our shift, but I didn’t think…” Logan placed a hand on his shoulder, effectively stopping his rant, his breathing now a bit rapid.

 “Deep breaths, Virgil. I am sure if Patton had sustained any form of physical or emotional trauma we would have been informed earlier.” Virgil nodded, the movement still a bit too sharp but he followed Logan’s breathing to calm back down.

 “Yeah, kiddo, I promise it’s nothing bad, it’s just –“ Patton stole a glance at Roman, who had his gaze fixed away from all of them, mouth set in a hard line. “– complicated.” Logan’s eyes flickered between the two of them, apparently picking up on the tension but choosing not to comment.

 “Alright…” Virgil said, sounding not completely convinced but at least he was breathing evenly again. Patton cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. ‘Just rip the bandage off, come on,’ he thought to himself before taking a deep breath.

 “I walked back from work through the mall again today,” he began, “to window shop, y’know, maybe visit the shelter, like I do sometimes.” He swallowed, staring at his dirty plate to avoid eye contact, his hands fiddling with a crease on his skirt. “And I ran into Remus, well not literally, I just saw him from across the hall and we didn’t even speak, but…”

 “Hold on!” Virgil interrupted again, but not in panic this time. “You mean Remus as in –“ He pointed at Roman. “– his twin brother, Remus?”

 “Yeah.”

“What? How? When? Why?!?” Virgil sputtered loudly.

 “Erm…” Patton was confused by the barrage of questions.

 “None of those questions are relevant right now, Virgil, especially since he has already told us when and how and cannot answer why. It seems to have been a complete coincidence, am I correct, Patton?”

 “Oh, um, yeah. He seemed to be as surprised to see me as I him at least.”

 “So he did see you? You said you did not speak to him, I assumed he didn’t notice you,” Logan said and adjusted his glasses.

 “No, he did see me, he was just otherwise occupied.”

 “What is that supposed to mean?” Virgil asked, exasperated. Roman scoffed.

 “He was probably flirting with some poor fellow; you know how he is.”

 “Actually, it was pretty much the opposite…”

 “Someone was flirting with him..?” asked Virgil, now unsure.

 “No, no flirting whatsoever. He was there with a kid.”

 “What he’s hanging out with teenagers now?” Roman rolled his eyes. “Not that surprising, honestly, he was always immature.”

 “Could you two please just let Patton finish his explanation?” Logan cut in, his tone sharp. Virgil looked a bit sheepish and Roman scoffed again, avoiding eye contact once more but neither said anything else. Logan motioned for Patton to continue.

 “When I first noticed him, he was standing alone further down the hall and on the other side, staring at something I couldn’t see. I was so caught off guard that I ended up staring.” Patton once again started nervously fiddling with his skirt. “Suddenly he crouched down and this little girl, maybe ten years old, came up to him with ice cream. He picks her up, sees me and we awkwardly wave at each other before the two of them disappear into the crowd.” He helplessly shrugs at the end of his explanation and waits for the others to react.

 For several moments there was silence.

 “Great!” Roman suddenly said loudly, throwing his arms up dramatically. “My brother’s a kidnapper now, just wonderful.” Logan raised an eyebrow.

 “You believe he kidnapped her? For what reason would he do that?”

 “How should I know? I haven’t known what goes on in his head since we were nine! But as if there are any children who would spend time with Remus willingly.” Patton opened his mouth to protest but Virgil spoke first.

 “Do you think she’s the only one or are there more?”

 “Could be! I wouldn’t put it past him. He gets obsessed with the weirdest stuff.”

 “His ‘obsessions’, as you call them, were always academical in nature, he never would inflict any harm on others, intentionally. If he needed a test subject, he would always use himself before anyone else,” Logan protested.

 “And how do you know that, Mr. Research Assistant? I’ve known him my entire life and even I don’t know the boundaries of his insanity! He might not even have any!”

 “You are being ridiculous, Roman. Just because you don not like him, you cannot just assume that he would harm children for some sort of thrill or –“

 “Maybe we should call the police.”

 “See, Virgil’s on my side.”

 “I mean, just as a precaution, he might be dangerous.”

 “You are working off assumptions from five years ago, you cannot –“

 “Oh shut it, Specs, the police can at least make sure he’s not harming anyone –“

 “Nobody’s calling the police!” Patton’s sudden volume cut them all off. He had stood up and was now glaring at them. His eyes softened at their shocked expressions. He took a deep breath and continued calmly.

 “Look, I know Remus did some bad stuff, I won’t defend him on that, but Logan’s right: he never hurt anybody on purpose, at least not physically. And when we dated, neither of us were in a good place and yes, he hurt me badly but that was five years ago. We all changed, so could he, for better or worse. From what I could tell that girl seemed really comfortable with him. Plus Roman, didn’t you say Remus was good with kids when your cousins were visiting one Thanksgiving?” Roman mumbled something under his breath but didn’t argue.

 “We also have no viable information to give the police,” Logan spoke up. ”We have no address, he might have changed his name and none of us have spoken to him in five years. Filing a report would be ludicrous.” He stood up. “Now I believe we should all take a few minutes to calm down before proceeding with the games. If you would excuse me.” He moved to leave the kitchen while simultaneously pulling out his phone.

 “What are you doing?” Virgil asked, eyeing his phone. Logan glanced at him, barely slowing down.

 “I am going to call Janus. Considering that Remus used to be his best friend, I am sure he would be grateful to know that he is indeed still alive.” With that he disappeared down the hall. Silence enveloped the kitchen once again and Patton sat back down. A door opened and closed somewhere in the apartment. Virgil and Roman both pointedly avoided eye contact. After a few moments, Patton sighed.

 “Look, I know you two had your problems with Remus, so did I. And I’m honestly not sure how to feel about this either but regardless of all that, I’m glad to know he’s ok. He’s still a friend and your brother, Roman. Who knows, we might not see him again for another five years. See the positives?” He glanced between the two, waiting for their responses. Virgil just gave a slight nod and Roman pouted, though he did look at least a little bit guilty. Patton gave them a small smile.

 “Alright, kiddos. I’m gonna go set up the living room. You come over once you’re ready, ok?” Two hums were his answer which he could understand as agreements. Satisfied he moved towards the living room but paused in the kitchen doorway.

  “Oh, and if you could clean up the table, that would be great!” Roman and Virgil groaned in unison.

[asleepycoyote]

My prompts

So I have written some prompts that you can ask to use. I will continue to add more. The ones that have italics or look like 'this' can be anyone's dialogue. I just added it so you know it's not only one person talking. To ask, you can just request the number of the prompt/s you can ask for multiple prompts, but please don't add too many. The ones that have a period at the end of the numbers, don't mind that. That's for me to remember something. Okay, anywho, take your pick :D. Remember you don't have to request one of these, you have your own idea, that's good! I'll be happy to write it! If you have a certain gender you want the reader to be don't forget to ask! You can also request me to add prompts to the list too! Okay so here's the prompts :)

1 "Oh no."

"What is it? What happened? Who died?"

"I think I just felt an emotion."

"You have GOT to be kidding me."

2 "Excuse me. I have to go make a scene."

3 "They're like a hurricane in human form."

4 "Fix it."

"It's a ransom note: I don't care about grammar!"

"There is no excuse for bad grammar."

5 "What does the little blinking light mean?"

"It means... wait blinking light?"

6 "What letter comes after 's' in the alphabet?

"T?"

"Ooh, yes please!"

7 "Why is there a magical portal in the bathtub?!"

8 "I love you from the bottom of my heart, but I don't trust your cooking. Stay out of my kitchen."

9 "We can't have a crisis- my schedule is already full..

10 "How long have you been standing there?

"Longer than you'd like."

11 "Small fire! I said to set a small fire! This is not small!"

12 "I want to go home."

"And I want to go to the moon. It ain't happening, sweetheart. Time to accept that."

13 "It's really not that complicated."

14 "Close the door."

15 "It's three in the morning."

16 "Why are you helping me?"

17 "Just trust me."

18 "What are you thinking about?"

19 "Someday you'll thank me for kidnapping you?"

20 "Who sent you here?"

"I wasn't sent here... if anything, it was an accident."

"Made by whom?"

"Myself, I suppose."

"You sent yourself here on accident?"

"Well, I certainly didn't come here on purpose..."

21 "I just want to be happy."

22 "Can I sleep over? My parents are fighting again."

23 "Why won't you let me help you?!"

24 "You know we make a pretty good team."

25 "You're a horrible liar."

26 "You're freezing. Come here."

27 "I'm saying that because I care about you!

28 "Sing me a song please.

29 "I can explain./!"

30 "Come here."

31 "The real treasure was the memories we made along the way."

"I almost died!"

"Ah yes, that was my fondest memory."

32 "They're crying, what do I do?"

"Go comfort them."

"How do I do that?"

"Start with hugs."

"With what?"

33 "Somehow you don't even have to open your mouth to make my head hurt."

34 "Stop waking me up in the middle of the night."

35 "Any shorter and you'd probably fade out of existence."

36 "I fixed you breakfast. I know it's just a bowl of cereal, but it's the only thing I can't burn."

37 "You just gave off the impression that you want to murder everyone you look at."

38 "It's not my birthday."

"It's definitely your birthday."

"Give me a calendar and I will prove it to—oh. Never mind. Happy birthday to me."

39 "Bold of you to assume I wouldn't just summon a trans-dimensional entity to help me avoid all my problems."

40 "I'm not human. I never was. So, why are you expecting me to act like one?

41 "Everything here can kill you, but I can do it most efficiently."

42 "They took my wallet. Yes, just my wallet. Well.... maybe my passport too."

43 "I don't think of you as a protector. More like a friend."

44 "You deserved that."

45 "Shh, shh. You were dreaming."

46 "I won't leave you behind."

47 "You should be in bed."

48 "What's our exit strategy?"

"Our what?"

"Oh my god, we are all going to die."

49 "Oh my god, you're taking up the whole bed."

50 "I could keep you safe, they're all afraid of me."

51 "I trusted you!"

52 "I know your secret."

"You're gonna have to be more specific there, buddy. Which one? I have a lot of skeletons in my closet."

53 "Who gave you that black eye?!"

54 "Everyone keeps telling me your bad guy."

55 "Why? Because I don't want you to get hurt, that's why!"

56 "You're scared of that, aren't you?"

57 "Come on, when have my calculations ever been wrong?"

"Well-"

"Shut up, that was one time."

58 "Enjoying the view, sunshine?"

59 "While I do enjoy the silent treatment, I wasn't aware I had done anything to you."

60 "I think that's enough."

61 "They deserved it."

62 "What... is this?"

63 "You can't be serious!"

64 "I'm not sorry!"

65 "Who are you?"

"Oh sweetheart, I'm your worst nightmare."

"Wait a minute. Your that guy that tripped over my shoes on the bus this morning and said thank you-"

66 "Just because I'm helping you doesn't mean I care, your death would be a minor inconvenience. That's all."

67 "You owe me."

68 "Don't make me come in there."

69 "Don't touch me."

70 "That wasn't funny."

71 "I am fully convinced you never graduated kindergarten."

72 "Am I doing it right?"

73 "For God's sake! Who have you killed now?"

74 "Do you even know how to fly this thing?"

"Normally, I'd lie and say yes, but considering the fact that I almost flew us into that building, I'm going to assume you know the answer."

75 "What are you doing?! Don't eat it!"

76 "Feel free to admire me."

77 "You're insane!"

"I know! Isn't it great?"

78 "You don't know a thing."

79 "The truth is I never loved you."

80 "Is this a game to you?"

81 "Stop yelling at me."

"I'm not yelling at you! I'm just... being abnormally projective in the vocal region!"

"Otherwise known as yelling..."

82 "Don't ever forget me. Please?"

83 "I screwed up."

84 "You're my regret."

85 "No, sir. I am not underestimating the kidnappers. YOU are understanding my grandmother."

86 "Stay away from the llama."

87 "No one visits my grave anymore... wait. I don't even have a grave!"

88 "Tuna shamed."

89 "Well, I can scratch that off my bucket list."

"Who puts getting arrested on their bucket list?!"

90 "I-I can't stop it. I'm sorry..."

"It's okay, it's okay. Just breathe. You don't have to be sorry for anything. I got you."

91 "What am I supposed to tell my parents? 'Hi mom and dad, I ,snuck out past curfew, almost died, discovered I can teleport, and now I'm joining a gang of superheroes.'"

"Maybe don't use the word 'gang'."

"You think that's the part they'll have the most trouble with?!"

92 "Give me the wallet or I shoot."

"No."

"What do you mean no? I'm serious, I will shoot you."

"Let me repeat myself. No."

"Um... okay I guess."

"Aren't you going to shoot me?"

"I don't know. This hasn't happened before."

"Well, until you do, wanna grab a bite to eat? I'm starving."

93 "Watch me."

94 "I thought you were dead."

95 "You're never going to let that go, are you?"

96 "Was that supposed to hurt?"

97 "You have to leave right now."

98

"I love you."

99 "I hate you.

100 "I didn't catch your name."

"I didn't throw it."

101 "How long has it been since you last ate something?"

102. "No, don't look at me!"

103. "How many marshmallows can you eat?"

104 "Why did you kick so much in your sleep? Are you constantly dreaming about soccer?"

105 "Destroying lives, one person at a time."

106 "Why exactly do you need chloroform at 2am.

107 "Just breathe."

108. "STOP EATING MY LASAGNA FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!"

109. "I don't understand why you should feel the urge to do that."

110. "I trust you."

"Wow, that incredibly... stupid of you."

111 "You broke my heart and all you can say is sorry?"

112 "You can't really blame me can you? You can only blame yourself."

113. "You keep painting me as the villain."

"Because you are the villain."

114. "Who could ever love someone like you?"

115 "I never stood a chance, did I?"

"That's the sad part - you did once."

116 "I've missed this."

117. "Who are you to tell me how to live my life?"

118. "Are you going to yell at me too? I guess I do deserve it."

119 "I don't want to have another surgery."

120. "Quit touching the IV."

121 "I was going to say something mean about them, but decided against it."

122 "How do you like raisins? How do you feel about a date?"

123. "Are you going to stand there or are you going to kiss me? I'm tired of lying to my diary."

[fireflyhwufanficwriter]

My thoughts on Dr. Stone’s S02E03 (“Call from the Dead”)

My thoughts after watching Season Two, Episode Three:

01. Taiju and Yuzuriha have different types of shoes – that’s a nice detail 😊

02. Leave it to Yuzuriha the arts and crafts club member to notice a detail like the dirt around the grave being different!

03. Day after day… I wasn’t expecting them to visit the grave THAT often. I like that they used the same phrase (“mainichi mainichi”) as last time – in Season One, Senku used it to describe Kohaku’s dedication to her sister, and now in Season Two, Nikki used it to describe Taiju and Yuzuriha’s dedication to their friend 😊

04. I liked Kohaku and Ginro’s excitement at hearing Taiju’s voice. This is the first time they’ve heard an outsider who they knew right away wasn’t an enemy! (Well, second time for Kohaku, since Senku saved her the day they met.)

05. The next time I’m on the phone with somebody, I’m going to imagine the same huge arc of electricity that Kaseki did 😁

06. Senku was so emotional – eyes shining with tears, smiling as he listened to Taiju – and then it all went away because he had to remind his friend that HE was Senku 😆

07. Just like how Gen is the stand in for the audience (modern timers, but generally clueless compared to Senku), Kokuyou and Ruri are the stand-ins for how incredible the phone must seem to Ishigami Village 😁 Come to think of it, Kokuyou’s had that role since last season – he’s far away enough from the main cast that he doesn’t know all of their adventures (and that distance makes him like the “normal” villagers), but close enough that he gets to share his thoughts and theories. It was through his eyes that we saw the big impacts that bottling and furnaces had on Ishigami Village 😊

08. I know it was short, but I like how Senku greeted Yuzuriha separately. They haven’t had that much screentime together since the anime began, but I like how Senku and Yuzuriha have their own friendship, instead of Taiju being their go-between or something like that.

09. “He’s been screaming all day.” All day? Have they been there longer than just the few minutes we’ve seen?

10. Kohaku noticed the defensive reason for why they had to speed things up! 😊 And I liked her observation about Senku and Taiju 😊

11. It’s could be easy to just write Taiju off as a loud blockhead, but it’s scenes like his allowing Tsukasa to hit him in Season One and his question about bloodshed in Season Two that really show you the kind of admirable, pacifistic guy he is 😊

12. “Gen will be back tomorrow or so.” Okay, so we have an estimate of how far the two kingdoms/empires are from each other. I’m glad they mentioned this!

13. Magma and Chrome’s loud conversation really shows how much anime can improve upon manga. When you’re just reading, you do know characters are talking and being loud, but when you’re watching anime, it drives home the fact that they’re being SO LOUD and that they need to SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP! Poor Gen… 😆

14. Thank you for finally saying Ukyo’s name, Gen 😆 Anime only folks get important information, and manga readers can sigh in relief that another character’s name has been revealed 😁

15. I’m with Magma. Chrome’s so selfish, worrying about his own life like that! 😡 Not like Magma, who’s strong and noble and self-sacrificing and only thinks of others and their safety 😁

16. You have to feel sorry for Gen… he’s trying to get the two of them to just SHUT UP 😆

17. I doubt Magma was seriously thinking that Chrome would go along with that plan, so he must have been joking… and the fact that we have Magma JOKING around with main characters after being the main antagonist in the middle part of Season One… they’re really pals now, aren’t they? 😲😊

18. Chrome’s battery has 15V… how much is that compared to an AAA battery for a remote control? I'll look it up later 😁

19. I’m a modern era person and it would have never occurred to me to use a wire to connect two ends of a battery and throw it into the grass to start a fire. Either Senku told him that battery stuff fairly recently and it was stuck Chrome’s mind because he was in charge of the heating team, or he’s just that much of a genius that nobody explained that to him but he intuited it anyway… or I’m just that stupid 😆

20. It’s expected that Chrome would sacrifice himself, but Magma… very impressive character development 😁 (I mean, I’m a manga reader, so I knew this was going to happen, but still 😁)

21. Gen’s eyes are blue? I never noticed until this episode.

22. Poor Gen… first, in Season One, he had to run like the wind from the shed of science to the Cave of Miracles while he was SEVERELY injured, and he had to do it as fast as possible to help Senku stay safe, and he was the only one who could do it… and now, he has to run like the wind while dealing with the knowledge and guilt that two of his comrades sacrificed himself for him, and he has to do it as fast as possible to be able to start his extremely important deception mission, and he’s the only one who can do it.

23. Gen really needs to get Kaseki to build him some kind of cable car system or a limousine so that he can travel in style between the two kingdoms/empires instead of exhausting himself all the time running back and forth 😲 Or at least a bicycle!

24. Since it’ll take Gen at least one day, possibly longer, to reach the shed of science, that means that Taiju and Yuzuriha must have talked to Nikki one or more days after they spoke with Senku. Anime helps with some things (like sound), but it can sure confuse people about the passage of time…

25. Copper swirly! 😊 I like Kaseki’s name for it better than Senku’s name for it 😆

26. Kohaku’s eyes! She’s SO fascinated by how the copper swirly is being used 😁

27. Nikki’s SO hostile 😲 I get that she’s a guard and everything, but she doesn’t really have a reason to be this hostile to Taiju and Yuzuriha, does she? It’s weird O.o Unless maybe she wanted to do something else (hunting/training/etc.) but she was forced to be their guard specifically because she’s a woman and can stick to Taiju AND Yuzuriha like glue? (Like Brienne from Game of Thrones.)

28. Why are her eyebrows a darker shade than her hair? This is sort of like Kokuyou’s weird hair colors, but to a lesser extent.

29. The punches are… she’s really hostile. Maybe it’s just to emphasize how much she changes later on and the episode, but it’s still so weird.

30. Didn’t Senku “die” on a cliff, out in the open? Kohaku was able to see him from (presumably) far away, and all that stuff with the gunpowder and the huge rock… am I remembering it wrong? Was it NOT a cliff after all? Because the rocks around this grave make it look like some kind of natural, concealed fortress!

31. Senku’s Sebastian voice sounds so silly 😆

32. I wish they had done Lilian’s voice differently. Gen’s fake Lilian doesn’t sound like a native English speaker while speaking English. Maybe they’re counting on the people they’re talking to not knowing the difference between foreign language accents… but still, this could have been done better. Maybe the studio just didn’t want to hire a new person to speak just a few lines. Or maybe they did this on purpose so that Nikki could notice something was off with her voice?

33. Yuzuriha being quick on the uptake again! 😁

34. This has to be the most stressful, rushed, and mathematical estimating of CD sales and body measurements ever 😆

35. The video game music was used in such a fun, light way last season (choosing the third mining team member) that hearing it in this scene for this situation sounds so weird 😲

36. That crouching backwards, pointing straight ahead Lilian pose seemed really out of place when the music is this really soft, gentle song 😲

37. I wonder if the stadium they showed us is based on a real stadium in Japan?

38. “Lilian doesn’t exist in this world anymore. Am I right?” Oh, Nikki… 😭

39. Senku’s eyes were shining when he replied to Nikki… I wonder if talking about Lilian reminded him of Byakuya… somebody who was in space with Lilian and also doesn’t exist in this world anymore… 😭

40. I love how Senku doesn’t lose anything or inconvenience himself at ALL by making that promise, since he’s going to protect the glass recording anyway because of Byakuya 😆

41. Okay, after Nikki committed to the plan (welcome, Nikki!), they zoomed out and the grave is seriously surrounded by all those vertical rocks. There is NO WAY this grave is in the same place Senku and Tsukasa last talked. No WAY.

42. I was SO surprised when the episode ended there 😲 That was NOT what I was expecting. This episode felt so short!

43. I still love this ending theme! 😁

44. About the ending theme (“Koe” / “Voice” by Hatena), songs mean a lot more to me when I understand what the lyrics mean, so I went to YouTube hoping to find an English cover or English subtitles or something. I found this video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=scv09Dtby-8) by a YouTube channel called AniComet Music, and from 0:12 to 0:34, the lyrics are, “I keep struggling and suffering, but still / I’ll gain strength from the feelings I’ve had for you / It’s a story that will never change / Even though I knew I’d never be a match for him.”

45. Maybe it’s just me, but I feel the song is from Senku’s point-of-view, and both the second and fourth lines could be about Byakuya (especially the fourth line) – in a father/son context, of course – of how he gets strength and inspiration from Byakuya and how he feels his father will always be beyond him and more than him 😭

46. With that said, even though my interpretation is really meaningful to me, it doesn’t really make sense, since “you” and “him” are obviously different people, and when you read more of the lyrics, “you” can’t really be referring to Byakuya. Maybe my interpretation will change when I listen to the song more and read more translations, but this is the first English translation of the ending song that I’ve read, and it really speaks to me 😊

https://firefly-hwufanficwriterrrrr.tumblr.com/MyDrStoneEpisodeMangaThoughts

[spasmsofthought]

knife to the chest (modern spy!zuko au) [i]

Here it is! Bear in mind that this is, hopefully, only the first part. If you feel like you’ve jumped into the middle of the story, I want it to feel like that. I hope it isn’t too confusing! 

This OC/reader’s character will definitely be more explained as we go along, I just didn’t want to give everything off the bat. 

I’m sorry if any of this feels OOC but I wanted to adjust to the world setting, especially a modern spy one. I tried to keep Zuko in character, but writing him as a spy was a tad bit difficult for me, so I apologize if he seems totally not like he should be. 

I hope you all enjoy this! I really wanted to get it out there asap, so excuse any spelling or grammar mistakes! I will try to really go over it in-depth soon! 

Please let me know what you think - I’m worried this isn’t that great because this is an entirely new world to me. 

Keep your eyes peeled for new chapters! 

Next Chapter 

--- 

There are snippets you remember of your childhood: the feeling of laying among the grass, jumping into puddles as it rains, and blowing dandelion wishes into the sky as a breeze ruffles your hair. Every once and a while you see the flashes in your mind when you can escape to the time when everything was normal. You miss those days. 

You miss mundane life. You miss when weeks and months would go by like the snap of a finger and there was no reason to alter your life in any way, shape, or form. 

Having a father go into politics changes those unvaried, innocent childhood days in an instant. Your days can no longer be filled learning at an academy with the other children your age in your village, setting dates to play on the playground, and filling your stomach. 

Having a father, then, remain in politics for over a decade reshapes the entire vision of your life. It means the finest tutors available to educate you in your own home, isolated away from any of your other peers besides those of the same social status. It means you learn etiquette and how to have proper conversation. It means every move you make, every word you say, is scrutinized because your father has been part of the governance of the Earth Kingdom for over a decade. 

Sometimes, it feels like even your thoughts are being monitored by those that surround you. 

It is isolating to have your family be in such a position of power with no way to escape it. You are separated from those of a lower class simply because you have more wealth, and you are distinct at your own level because you are not a family with old money but a family with political power. 

“Are you listening to me?” Your eyes refocus on the face of your father. His face is scrunched up and his shoulders turned inward toward himself, a sign that he is a kind of tense you cannot undo with the sweet words of an obedient daughter. 

Even if people call him the “second most powerful man” in the Earth Kingdom, you can’t believe this. There is no logic. 

“I just don’t understand why it’s necessary,” Calm, like a river, you remind yourself. Stay calm. 

“It’s necessary because I say it is.” Your father has never been authoritarian now, so it’s only confusing to hear him use a tone with you he only uses as a politician wielding an iron fist trying to get his way. He’s never been a politician with you; always a father. He knows better. 

He’s not the right-hand to the King at home. At least, not to you. 

“I just don’t understand how I’m in danger here. I’ve never needed a detail like this in your decade of previous political service!” Calm, and quiet, and obedient daughter, but even your father can’t deny the facts laid at his feet. 

You’re not stupid, even if you hide your intellect behind a veneer of dutiful obedience. 

“Are you alright?” A masculine voice tears you away from your memories. He’s seated beside you in the vehicle, earpiece in and eyes constantly darting across the scenery flashing by him through the window. He’s always assessing, always listening. It’s like he’s always ready. You can’t imagine how exhausted he must feel. 

But then again, he never tells you how he feels. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, Lee,” You shrug, leaning your forehead against the window. It’s uncomfortable but cool and it gives you a brief reprieve. “I just want to get out of this dress.” 

He snorts and rolls his eyes at your words, like you really are the privileged daughter of a high-ranking politician. 

You want to joke about it more, but it’s true: this dress is making you miserable. Your arms have been itching since you put them in the fabric, and everything feels stuffy and hot. 

Ever since being assigned to you a few months ago by your father for further protection, Lee has stuck to your side like glue. You can’t do anything to get rid of him (you’ve tried) outside of the times your bedroom door is shut or you are sleeping. 

He’s there when you’re eating breakfast and he’s in the shadows during your classes and when you eat lunch with your friends. He’s there when you’re getting coffee and when you try to go to the gym and just end up wandering around for 10 minutes before leaving. He’s there standing against a wall as you silently eat dinner with your mother, the two of you seated at a twelve-person dining room table. Your father is absent at almost every meal, no matter the time or day, and you learned when you were younger to stop asking your mother where he was or if he was coming.  

Lee may be competent at his job of protecting and keeping track of you, but he’s not exactly the most personable guard you’ve had. 

Maybe that’s the reason why it’s so easy to tell him the truth. Maybe it’s the reason why you’ve felt like you don’t have to wear the “politician's daughter” mask around him. 

His demeanor is so icy that it can feel like talking to a brick wall; a brick wall that won’t tell anybody else. A brick wall that won’t tell your father, for certain. He may report security findings to your father, but he’s not obligated to say anything else. The things you blurt out when you and Lee are alone stay right between the both of you.

He may not offer any advice or speak at all, but Lee has become a confidant of sorts.

In  a world of shifting political alliances and opinions and shifting ideologies, he’s become one of the only people you trust implicitly. Solid and stoic, he’s a dependable presence in a world that is submerged in secrets and double meanings.

You sometimes think if he were normal, you might be able to love him.

“I don’t even know why I have to be there tonight, it’s just another speech.” Politicians are all the same, and you know this because you have lived ten years with one inside your house (that is, whenever he decides to have a family again). Your father’s words tonight will be no different than anyone else on that stage: promising things he know will get him support and trying to appease ears with intricate thoughts that actually pave a road to doing nothing.

Lee turns his head a little in your direction, crossing his arms. You can’t tell if it’s because he’s trying to make sure he says what he has to or if he’s trying to keep himself from bursting at the seams for some reason. Out of everyone else, you think, he’s the person least likely to spontaneously combust.

“It’s important that you attend,” Lee has never squirmed, but now he does. You wonder what’s going on to make him like this.

He’s never physically shown signs of having nerves before. By all accounts, he’s like steel.

Your furrow your eyebrows at him, at his strange behavior, but he doesn’t do anything else but stare out at the window again.

The rest of the ride is dead silent, the kind of silence you haven’t been used to since he was fired hired by your father. You try to pick apart Lee’s words but, as always, he has given you nothing to pick apart.

The stadium parking lot is already being packed with cars, suburban moms with children, men in their 40s still wearing their suits from their jobs. You miss all the inconvenience of traffic and parking out at the edge because, as being the person you are, there is already an entrance and exit marked out for you. One that must have been cleared days before you were even forced to come. It’s easy to go through the routine of letting Lee unbuckle his seatbelt and climb out of the car first, circling around to where you are. The door swings out all the way when he opens it, but one of his hands gently grabs your elbow as you bring your feet to the ground.

He’s never done this before.

Lee has never touched you like this ever, softly and affectionately. It makes you feel like you could sink into a puddle on the concrete as he brushes his hand up your arm to your shoulder and then down to the small of your back. It feels like he’s caressing, not handling or protecting.

He’s never done this before.

You feel like you’re in a different world as the car door closes and Lee walks with you inside the stadium. You feel like you’re sleepwalking as you enter a hallway simply lit with fluorescent lights spanning the ceiling.

Lee’s lips come to brush against your ear and your breath hitches as your body is tempted to stop moving altogether. But you continue walking.

“You trust me, right?”

What an unbelievable question, you think as you pull back. You almost feel like laughing.

“Of course I do, Lee.” His left eye winces slightly, like you’ve said something painful. It draws attention to the scar he’s had on his face since you met him that first time at the end of first conversation with your father.

“You have to do whatever I tell you tonight.” You nod, furrowing your eyebrows and exhaling with amusement. He’s definitely acting weird tonight. You know that it should make you feel apprehensive, but you’ve always felt safe with him. Always, since the first moment, though you’ve never really been able to understand why.

It’s an easy walk to where you’re supposed to be seated inside the auditorium, silent and like a prop until you are given your cue to smile and wave. You take a glance around at the space that has been transformed into a political rally. The colors are gaudy and there are lights and cameras everywhere. It’s almost like it’s meant for reality television and not an event meant to highlight people who want to serve this kingdom’s government. You don’t understand the reason why you need to look your best, your hair and make-up done to perfection, when all you will ever do for these people is smile and wave at them. You are a useless figurine, a pawn on a chessboard who will be sacrificed at some point for the sake of making a better and more strategic move elsewhere. Lee stands to the side, back to normal as your silent guard.

You try not to dwell over the sensation of his touch from earlier, but remembering it gives you a slight shiver. You have always been off-limits to everyone but those of your own class, and the boys that do run in your same social girlfriends either already have popular, wealthy girlfriends or have no desire to date someone whose status relies solely on political relevance and position. Lee is the only one you’ve never had to hide any part of yourself with before. He listens to your droning and your rambling, and though he never laughs, his eyes light up when you unleash your sense of humor. He’s perfectly happy to sit in silence or listen to your favorite music on a car ride home. He isn’t ashamed to go on late-night Oreo or ice cream runs. He doesn’t scold you for having political opinions of your own, even if they are ones in complete opposition to what your father says he believes.

The stadium fills with people, murmuring and holding signs, and a timer shows on the jumbo screen, altering many that it’s almost time to begin. You continue to sit in silence, even when the clock counts down to zero. You don’t cheer or applaud as your father steps onto the stage, all smiles and jolly laughter. His façade is easy to see through if you look hard enough. He’s not that hard to read once you’ve been around enough politicians.

“–my daughter came to join us today. She loves being able to participate in what her father fights for – ”

Like the obedient daughter you are, you stand up to smile and wave for a few seconds before you sit back down. And just like it always does, the focus lands back on your father. You show up for 5 seconds to give a boost to his appearance and you are discarded routinely like the old childhood you find in the back of the closet. Before he can really get going, though, you hear doors open and the noise of people talking escalates.

The sight of Earth Kingdom Dai Lee is a startling sight to see, mostly because there is no reason for them to be here.

Lee forcibly grabs you for your seat and forces you to move with him to a covered spot nearby, where you are both out of sight.

“You have to leave.” He says as he discards his earpiece to the ground and begins to loosen his tie. You have no idea what’s going on, so you stare, bewildered, at him for a moment.

“I’m not leaving,” You frown at him as your father speaks loudly into the microphone. The Dai Lee are steadily making their way to the front, occupying the four aisles that people could otherwise escape through. You can feel the tension in the air, wringed with worry and a bit of foreboding.

You stare at Lee and realize he isn’t surprised by this.

“If you don’t leave, I don’t know what will happen to you.” He’s taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. If this were happening in any other situation, you would take some time to appreciate him without a stiff uniform to cover him up anymore.

“I’m not leaving,” You step closer, trying to keep calm as you can hear panic escalate in the stadium around you. “Just tell me what’s going on!”

“If this is about the war,” Your father shouts as the Dai Lee make their way up the stage to him, “we can talk. This isn’t nece-” The mic cuts off and the Dai Lee haul your father away from the podium and start to make their way down a set of side stairs.

“What is his talking about?” You exclaim at Lee as you try to rush forward. He doesn’t let you get very far away, but you’re close enough for people to start noticing you, including some sporadic Dai Lee agents. There is no reason that Dai Lee agents should be taking your father away; they both work for the government! “What war? There’s a war?!”

There is no war your father would always say to you. There are conflicts outside of Ba Sing Se, but there is no war.

He lied.

You glance at Lee, but his face is impassive, set like stone. There are so many things going on that you don’t know what to feel. Your stomach tenses and your heart squeezes, like they both know what he says next won’t be good.

“Lee, tell me some-”

There are screams from the crowd, people throwing things and trying to escape from their seats. There are some climbing over each other. Babies are crying.

“My name isn’t Lee,” He’s so blasé that it takes a minute for you to digest his words. He starts to distance himself, walking away from you as Dai Lee agents approach you too. “And I told you, you should have left.”

The Dai Lee restrain you as they pull your arms behind your back with a tight grip. You try to wriggle free, but one Dai Lee agent holds your left arm, and another holds your right. Their hands grip you so hard, you know you’ll have bruises whenever they let you go.

“What?” Your breathing becomes shallow and you look around, trying to locate your father. You can’t find him, but based on the noise level in the room, which has erupted into complete chaos, he’s still here. You feel the panic seep into your bloodstream, and you try to buck against the restraining grip holding you back. “What is going on?”

Some other Dai Lee agents try to make a move for him, but he puts his hands up. “My name is Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation.” They nod and step backwards, like the words hold weight and you become even more confused. Dread coils and squeezes tight around your heart. You can’t breathe.

Prince Zuko?

The Fire Nation?

“I was just spying on your father.” His eyes lock with yours as you gasp and then begin to physically struggle again. 

He was just spying on your father? 

For what purpose? 

There’s too much going on: screaming in every direction, there are people trying to flee but being trapped by officers. You can’t find your father. Despite your relationship with him, losing him would devastate you. You try to rise to your toes but the agents that hold you force you back down onto your heels.

All you can think is: There is no war.

The Fire Nation.

Prince Zuko.

He’s a spy. 

There is no war. 

Who you knew formerly as Lee turns his back to you and walks towards the stage. It’s like he’s a completely different person. 

He’s a spy. 

Spy. Spy. Spy. 

He was spying. 

He greets a smaller girl with a hug, and you can briefly see the word “brother” form on her lips as she greets him back. She directs some of the Dai Lee to follow her and Le- Prince Zuko and betrayal sinks like a stone in you, weighing you down.

He doesn’t look back once.

You can’t catch your breath. 

You try to wrestle out of the grip the two agents holding you have your body in, but you fail yet again. A black hood comes down over your face as you struggle further. The agents begin to drag you somewhere, your orientation and senses shrouded by black fabric.

The last thing you hear before you are too far away is the sound of gunfire.

---

(I never said he would be a good spy. xo) 

[winetae]

:: modern loneliness

⇨ prompt : android!hoseok x reader. 2205 words. drabble with a possible follow-up. it’s been 38 days since you’ve last seen and interacted with a living, breathing person and you’re slowly going insane.

.

[Week 1 of lock down.]

At first, you’re optimistic. 

Working from home comes with its own set of non-negligeable perks. Notably, no more commute time! No more squeezing in between sweaty men on the subway during rush hour just to get home. The new arrangement means that you’re no longer obliged to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to blow-dry your hair or meticulously put on makeup while stuffing a bagel into your mouth because you’re short on time. 

On Day 1 of quarantine, you roll out of bed and don’t even bother to change out of your pajamas. It’s quite the sight. Not that you care whether or not your hair looks like a bird’s nest or if there’s a small hole in your shirt. You’d gladly take your flannel pants and old university sweatshirt with the coffee stain by the collar over the rigid pencil skirt and stupid obligatory heels they force you to wear to the office. Ironing? You don’t know her. 

That’s not to say there aren't any inconveniences but as of now, the pros outweigh the cons. For one, you’re now allowed to add as much sugar into your coffee without susciting your coworkers’ judgement. You can blast angry rap songs while finishing your reports and no one will stop you. The list goes on. 

With all this newfound time on your hands, you have no more valid reasons to procrastinate. You start off by cleaning out the kitchen cabinets you’d been meaning to re-organize for months. Then you rearrange your wardrobe, dust off the top shelves of your bookcase that you usually skip over because no one can see them, and water the potted plants you’d been neglecting. 

It feels great to be so productive. Your friends tell you via FaceConnect that your productivity streak won’t last long, but you’re quick to shake off their doubts. 

“I’m a new me!” You insist when Mia’s laughter echoes around your empty apartment. “My life is back on track. I feel like a proper adult now that I’m not struggling so much to get everything done.”

“Sure,” she humors you. “Just don’t get upset when I tell you I told you so.”

.

[Day 8 of lockdown.]

Now that your apartment is cleaner than it’s ever been, you need to find other means of entertainment. According to the internet, now is the ideal time to learn a new language or acquire a new hobby, like crocheting or playing the guitar. But while it might be technically possible to learn a language, you’re definitely not an overachiever. You’re aware of your own limits. 

Today you try your hand at baking. To some it might not seem like a big deal. But for someone like you who solely uses the kitchen to boil ramyeon packets and chop the occasional vegetable, today’s venture into the world of cooking is the equivalent of a quantum leap. 

The molten lava cakes that come out of the oven 15 minutes later don’t look like the picture advertised in the online recipe. They don’t taste like how you’d expected, either. 

You try not to be too disappointed with your failed attempt. After all, it’s only your first try. Dry cakes aren’t that bad in comparison to the horrors that could have occurred. At least nothing is burnt and your oven is still intact. You’ll try again tomorrow with hopefully a little more success.

.

[Day 16 of lockdown.]

It turns out that baking is not for you. After numerous trials and errors you learn a few days later that you have no vacation to be a baker. You end up abandoning all attempts to acquire a new hobby and instead look for new ways to pass the time. 

Thankfully, your home server is offering free VOD for a limited amount of time, so you’re not short on distractions. You consume around half a dozen cult movies, the kind people always reference and quote without actually watching, before you finally begin crossing TV series off your to-watch list. 

You yawn. It’s 9 PM on a Saturday night and you’ve just finished binging the entire season of Tiger King. It’s the third show you’ve watched from start to finish since quarantine began and now you’re wondering whether you should start a fourth. 

“Well, it’s not like I have anything better to do,” you say before a grimace crosses your face. “Oh great... Now I’m talking to myself.” 

That can’t be a good sign, you think to yourself. How long has it been since you’ve last talked to someone? You used to call your parents every day but when there’s nothing new to report, the conversations become repetitive and dull. 

You should call Mia. Just to see how she’s doing.

.

[Day 24 of lockdown.] 

YOUR WEEKLY BASKET FROM FOODCONNECT HAS ARRIVED. ALL PURCHASES WILL BE ADDED TO YOUR MONTHLY EXPENSES CARD. REMINDER THAT DUE TO THE EXCEPTIONAL CIRCUMSTANCES, CONNECT CARDS ARE ALLOWED A 5000 EXCESS OVER FIXED LIMIT. TOTAL EXCESS HAS NOT YET BEEN REACHED.

.

[Day 38 of lockdown.] 

You’re browsing BH, hoping to restock your vitamins. Lately you’ve been feeling tired and mentally drained, despite your workload not being what it used to be. Why you’re so exhausted is a mystery you’ve yet to solve. In all logic, your energy level should be at an all time high now that you’re working less and spending all your free time lounging on the couch surfing the internet. 

According to the national health guideline, you’re supposed to be exercising an hour a day minimum in order for your body to remain in good condition. Your BODYCONNECT watch monitor beeps every hour to remind you that you haven’t completed the suggested activity. 

Ugh. 

You press the button on the side of the watch to turn the reminder off. It’s the fifth time you’ve had to silence it today but you can’t bring yourself to work up a sweat right this minute. You keep telling yourself that you’ll exercise later but like all things lately, later ends up being never. 

Come to think of it, this isn’t the first time you’ve caught yourself slacking off. Where did all your motivation during week 1 of lockdown go? You don’t even have the strength to do ten jumping jacks anymore; it’s like your bones belong to a person three times your age - feeble and brittle and threatening to break at a moment’s notice. 

LOW ON SEROTONIN? WE’VE GOT YOU COVERED. Flash promo over in 00:32:43! Limited offer while supplies last.

A bright yellow advertisement flashes on the top right corner of your screen. Intrigued, you follow the link without expecting much. The last thing you expect is to be brought directly to BH LAB’s homepage. 

“Um… I don’t think I have the budget for this…” You mutter under your breath and prepare to exit out of the page. 

Androids are usually employed by the government but the ones for sale to the general public are known to be exorbitantly expensive. 

A message reads: EXCLUSIVE 1 HOUR PROMO, 40% OFF YOUR FIRST PURCHASE. Click here for more details. Offer valid for new customers only. 

You pause and decide to click on the link. Looking around won’t hurt anyone, right? It’s not like you’ve decided to buy anything yet. 

The seven Dwellers available for sale are just as good looking as you expected them to be. Their unnaturally good looks and vibrant green eyes are what makes them easy to pick out from the crowd. 

You skim through each Dweller’s description. It seems that apart from the physical differences like their facial features and build, they each have their own specialty and characteristics. One of the best-selling models boasts the cooking ability of a 5-star chef, which you admit sounds very tempting since your skills with a knife are pathetic enough to make Gordon Ramsey cry. 

Another best-selling model specializes in...sex. You blink, your cheeks warming as you read over the model’s description (the “thick, vibrating cock that guarantees an orgasm every time!” comment makes you choke on your saliva). You can understand straight away why this particular model would be so popular. All of the models are pretty, but this one’s face doesn’t look like it’s from this world. Confinement would make anyone horny, and when promised a godly sex bot equipped with a vibrating dick, well…

Too bad you’re too tired these days to even think about having “mind-blowing sex for 5 hours straight.” Having such intense intercourse would probably make you pass out on the Dweller’s artificial cock, and there’s no way in hell you would want someone from CONNECT to intervene after receiving distressed signals from your body monitor. That would just be embarrassing. 

You’re about to exit out of the page, curiosity sated, when the last model catches your eye.

SEROTONIN BOOSTER. Low on energy? Feeling sad or depressed? Need a companion? 

This model is perfect for you! Model JHS is equipped with emotion sensors. They will fulfill your every need even when you’re not able to vocalize them. Stressed? They specialize in massages and are proficient in: Swedish massages, Aromatherapy, Shiatsu massages, Reflexology, among others. 

Personality : This model is energetic. They are very active and therefore requires a minimum 6 hours to recharge. They are extremely tactile and will easily engage in skinship such as hugs or holding hands. They are talkative and will hold passionate conversations with you about almost any subject. 

Likes : cleaning, working out

Dislikes : horror movies, strong smells

When reading the description, it feels they’re talking about a person rather than an android. You’re surprised to see that the Dwellers are programmed to have a certain personality that caters to specific needs because the only androids you’ve ever come across before are the government ones, and they’ve always been stoic and devoid of any distinguishing characteristic. 

It would be nice, you think, to have a companion. Someone you could talk to for real instead of through a pixelated hologram. As much as you enjoy your time alone, each passing day locked in your apartment makes you realize how much you long for a hug. You miss holding someone in your arms, feeling their heartbeat against your cheek and the rise and fall of their chest as they squeeze you back. 

Model JHS looks like he could fill that vacancy. Their smile is blinding, like they’re physically radiating sunshine through their expression alone. You don’t doubt their capacity to bring positive energy into your life. 

Before you can think twice about it you’re adding the model to your shopping cart. The site asks you if you want to pay more in order to customize them. For an additional fee, you’re able to tweak the Dweller’s personality or modify their physical attributes to your liking. You skip over the option. For one, you don’t have the funds to afford a vibrating dick enhancement and two, you’re more than satisfied with your Dweller as they are.

It’s not until you finish supplying all your information including your Connect Card details and shipping address that you realize what a monumental purchase you’re about to make and how empty your account will be by the end of it.

You stare at the price listed at the bottom of the screen and weigh your options. Even with the 40% reduction, it’s not a negligible sum. You could buy several models of the new Birkin bag you’d been saving up for with this money. 

Why purchase designer bags when you can’t even go out and use them? a voice argues. And - uh. Fair point. 

In any case, you’d have to stop shopping, eating out all the time and going on frivolous trips overseas. Not that you really have a choice, given the circumstances. 

You look at the laptop screen again. Are you seriously so touch-deprived that you’re willing to fork over that much money for a live-at-home android? Really? 

Fuck it. 

You click on [VALIDATE PAYMENT] before rationality has time to kick in and you change your mind again. Just as the screen changes and the new page loads, you feel your heart leap to your throat but it’s too late to back out now. 

PROCESSING ORDER …

...

CONGRATULATIONS! 

YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY ORDERED (1) DWELLER - JHS MODEL. WE THANK YOU FOR YOUR PURCHASE. 

(!) Your order is eligible for Instant Shipping (delivered to your door in 24 hours or less). 

(!!) Due to exception circumstances, your order might encounter delays. We are taking multiple steps to ensure the safety and hygiene of all products and shipments. For more information click here.

(!) All BH products are covered by a limited two-year warranty. Please refer to warranty details regarding your product in the Dweller E-HandBook, free for download here. Please register your product after purchase in order to qualify for future claims, returns, and support.

You expel the breath you’d been holding. Your father will throw a fit once he finds out you’ve blown all your money on a bot. The criticism is warranted.

What are you even supposed to say to defend yourself? You’ve bought a  Dweller on a whim while browsing for Vitamin C supplements.

Quarantine is really making you lose your goddamn mind, huh.

[taronfanfic]

Fast Forward

­Chapter 5

“Y/N, love. Please can we talk about this? I don’t want us to go to bed on an argument.”

“Stop arguing then.” You snapped back as you pulled the covers around your shoulder tighter and kept your back to Taron.

“Let me come with you at the weekend and I’ll drop it.” He persisted as he shuffled in to spoon you and forced his arm beneath the covers so he could cuddle you. He knew it was your weakness and had been from day one, and you knew he wasn’t going to drop it this time around. He’s only ever this persistent when it really matters to him.

“Fine.” You sigh defeatedly.

“Really?”

“Yes, but if it all kicks off it’s your fault and you’re dealing with it.”

“It won’t kick off. I’ll be on my best behaviour.” The smile in his voice was made even more obvious when you felt him bury his face into your neck and press a soft kiss to your skin as a thank you.

“You’ll have to be!”

“No talk of sex, no sex jokes, no actual sex, no inappropriate touching or pet names… anything else?”

“No flirting with my Mum.”

“Why, is she hot?”

“Fuck off!”

“She must be pretty hot if you’ve got half her DNA.” You kicked your heel back into his shin at that comment and made him giggle.

“Why is it that you’re the one who’s excited about this and I’m bloody terrified?”

“Because it means that we’re like… proper serious now. First anniversary coming up, met all the families, living together. It feels more.”

“More?” You wriggled yourself free of his arm so you could turn over and face him.

“More than just boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“More than that is engaged!” You laughed at the idea and Taron laughed along with you.

“Fair point.” He moved in to kiss you and it ignited all the best feelings that came with making up after an argument, despite that argument lasting all of 10 minutes. As you slipped your tongue into his mouth you lowered your hand down his chest, over his stomach and let it rest on his crotch for a moment. He smiled into the kiss as he caressed your arse in return and then pulled your thigh over his legs.

“Can we just stay like this forever?” His green eyes gazed back at you for a moment longer before you left a tender kiss to his lips.

“I’d rather be in you.”

“Can be arranged.” Your smirk made his eyes darken with lust and his bulge harden beneath your palm. Before long the covers had been thrown down the bed, your pyjamas removed hastily, and Taron was guiding himself into you as you straddled his hips and let your arousal lubricate his length. He never took his eyes away from your face as you rode him. He watched every twinge of pleasure become visible in your smile. The way you closed your eyes or dropped your jaw when he hit your sweet spot and made you moan breathily had him moaning too. Your pleasure became his pleasure as he got off on watching you. When you upped your pace and heard him groan beneath you, you opened your eyes again to see him biting his lip.

“Jesus, you look so hot.” You panted out.

“You’re telling me! I’m gonna lose it when you come on me.”

“Soon. Fuck, I need this.” You started to bounce harder and faster, almost letting him slip out of you completely a few times. Your panted moans were starting to sound pornographic, but you didn’t care, you craved the pleasure. As you reached your orgasm you slowed right down to let him fill you and feel you tightening around him. Taron groaned as he lost it, finally closing his eyes as he came apart in you and let his hands fall from your hips.

“Fucking hell,” He sighed “you really went for it tonight.”

“Mmm, had a lot of tension to release.”

“Feeling better now?”

“Much.” You still hadn’t released him from inside you as you sat in his lap and got your breath back. His skin was soft beneath your fingertips as you traced them in circles around his chest and stomach.

“Y/N,” He spoke softly to get your attention back. “you good?... Just I could do with a piss.”

“You pick your moments!” You giggled as you freed him and returned to your side of the bed, getting the best view of his bum as he walked into the bathroom.

***

Taron fell quiet in the taxi from the station to your parent’s house. It seemed like his nerves had finally hit him, or he couldn’t help but mirror yours. You wanted to reassure him that everything would be fine, that your parents would love him; but the truth was bringing him with you would only be seen as an inconvenience for them.

You approached the house cautiously, heading for the back door and opening it quietly in case your Dad was resting. Taron followed you inside, placing your shared overnight bag down before he closed the door as quietly as you’d opened it.

“Oh, not a burglar. Hello, love. Shall I put the kettle on?” Your Mum didn’t stop to give you a hug or even acknowledge Taron as she continued into the kitchen and filled the kettle with water. You cast a mixed look of ‘I told you so’ and sympathy back to Taron but he nodded his head defiantly and guided you by the shoulders through to join your Mum in the kitchen.

“So, Mum. This is Taron.”

“Yes, I figured. Couldn’t go another weekend without him then?” She teased smugly before taking 4 mugs out of the cupboard.

“Actually, I insisted on coming. Meeting you and Y/N/s Dad seemed long overdue.” Taron replied confidently. “I hope that’s alright, given the circumstances.”

“So he knows then?”

“Of course he does!” You snapped back, already annoyed that she’d replied to you instead of Taron.

“It’s erm, good that he’s been let back home for a few days. How is he doing?” Taron tried to continue the conversation and you placed your arm around his back supportively, letting him know you appreciated him even trying.

“Yes, where is he? We need to go and say hello.”

“He’s in the lounge, but we’ll get to that. Let me show Taron to his room first. I still need to make up the single bed in your old room Y/N, or you can do that yourself later. I’ve put Taron in the guest room.”

“Mum, we do live together…” You rolled your eyes as you followed her through the house and walked straight past your old bedroom.

“Yes, but I’m not having anything going on under my roof so it’s better if you’re in separate rooms, alright?”

“That’s absolutely fine, Jane. Thanks for letting us stay.” Taron cast one of his sweet smiles to your Mum as he took your overnight bag through into the guest room and left it on the end of the bed. He reached out for your arm and pulled you in to join him for a moment as your Mum returned to the kitchen to get the tea. “It’s alright. Just relax, I don’t mind. I’m still a stranger to them and this is their home so we can survive for a night.”

“I know, it’s just annoying.”  You let out a sigh as you wrapped your arms around Taron’s neck and savoured the moment of intimacy. He took his chance to kiss you softly and stroke his fingers through the back of your hair.

“I’ve got an idea…”

“Yeah?”

“It’ll get you some good daughter points and give me a chance to get to know your Dad better, so trust me.”

“Okay…” You hesitated “But go easy on the charm offensive else they’ll see straight through you.” Taron left a final quick kiss to your lips before following you through to the lounge to see your Dad.

The colour had returned to his cheeks, but the bags under his eyes were still dark and heavy. You immediately pulled him into a hug as you perched on the arm of his chair and he left a kiss to your cheek.

“I see you’ve brought a friend with you this time.” He smiled softly.

“Yes, this is Taron. I hope it’s not too much for you to be meeting him now, so if you get tired and want us to head out for a bit just say. We don’t mind.”

“No, don’t you worry about me. It’ll be nice to talk to someone new and get to know the man who’s been keeping you from us for so long! Come over here, sit down.” He looked to Taron and then nodded to the seat nearest to him.

“I was actually thinking, Y/N, you should take your Mum out for lunch and give her a break from looking after Michael, here.” Taron replied as he took the seat on offer and shook your Dad’s hand. “You two deserve a break, go on, it’s on me.” He handed you £40 from his wallet and raised his eyebrows at you encouragingly so you took it and thanked him with a kiss to his forehead.

“Off to a winning start already!” Your Dad commented to him just as your Mum joined you all. “Jane, Taron is treating you and Y/N to lunch, you’d better get your jacket.”

“What? No, we can’t go off and leave you here on your own.”

“I’m staying here, don’t worry. I can call Y/N if we need anything.” Taron replied quickly.

“We’ll have some boys time,” Your Dad added “go on, enjoy yourself, we’re meant to be celebrating after all.”

“Yes, we’ll be fine. I’ve got a question or two I need to ask Michael anyway so get going will you!” Taron teased before standing up and giving you a hug goodbye, practically bundling you out the door before your Mum could protest and stop it from happening.

Taglist: @egerton-sweetie  @amanda-tallmadge @lizziespidiepridie @leanimal90 @anantheminmyheart22 @aynsleywalker​ @bohemianrhapsody86​ @butterfliesslugswormsandothershi @manners-maketh-taron @livingincompletesilence@marvelmakeuplover @ohsosmutty@misspygmypie  @manners-maketh-a-kingsman@courtmr @baileythepenguin@thomaslefteyebrow @witchymarvelspacecase @samanthasmileys@nellietara @i-cant-remember-my-old-login @wheresmylightinthedark@kurtis-conner@hoe4dior @toky-9101 @mayaslifeinabox@fluentlyspeakingtreason @yallyallblanchett @whiskeylipsx@emmaelizabeth2014​ @primaba11erina @fightuntilyoucan @carlita2025

[hookaroo]

Vocivore, Ltd. (40 of 46)

Also on FFN and AO3 (ListerofTardis)

Tagging @ouatwinterwhump, @killian-whump, @sancocnutclub, @killianjonesownsmyheart1, @courtorderedcake, @facesiousbutton82 <3

***THE MOST WONDERFUL, HEARTBREAKING, and BEAUTIFULLY WHUMPY COVER ART BY @cocohook38 HERE and HERE!!!!!!!!!*************

***Chapter 12 animation and art that will absolutely astound you!!!!!!!!!**********

***LETHAL Chapter 19 art in all of its BLOODSTAINED GLORY!!!!************

**POOR STABBED KILLIAN falling into the sheriff station! Ch. 7 & 23 art!!**

****KILLIAN AND HIS MASTER IN THE GORGEOUS CATHEDRAL!!!!!!!!!!!!    CHAPTER 1 ART THAT KILLS ME EVERY TIME I SEE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*********

*CH 34 ART! A DEFEATED KILLIAN, HEAD BOWED BEFORE HIS MASTER!!*

***CH 36 ART! DETECTIVE JONES BOWS BEFORE HIS NEW MASTER!!!!!!***

***AAAAHHHH!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!***

________________________________________________________________

Present (Friday, continued)...

How many times now?

In this exact chair, this oppressive waiting lounge with its dusty fake plants and decades-old magazines, a nearly empty water cooler in the corner, a vending machine down the hall that always jammed when you tried to get a pack of Cheez-Its. How many lifetimes had Emma spent here, always anxiously awaiting news on her gravely injured husband, fearing the worst as the minutes and hours ticked by, as people came and went and doctors brought tidings of good or ill?          

Had her turn finally come to be on the receiving end of the ‘We Did All We Could’ speech?           

Nearly midnight. It had been at least eight hours already. The hospital was thrumming, jam-packed with the influx of newly liberated slaves, all of whom were desperately ill, shell-shocked by the loss of that guiding voice in their minds, and the majority seriously wounded to boot. The ambulances kept coming; most were on their 7th or 8th trip by now despite having crammed as many casualties in each vehicle as was safe. Emma had not been involved in the discussion of whether some could be transported elsewhere to relieve the burden on the relatively small Storybrooke General, but it was by far the closest facility and more advanced than anything else the United Realms had to offer.    

Because she’d been on the first ambulance to arrive, Emma had not endured much of a wait to have her minor forehead wound dressed, once Killian had been whisked back for emergency surgery. That would have been a different story now; even with every available physician, nurse, and allied health provider called in on disaster protocol, the ED was packed and wait times for anything less than a life-threatening condition were astronomical.           

Emma’s hand clenched around the paper-flavored cone of water she held as she relived the day’s events. Everything had been such a close call. If anything had gone even slightly differently, she and all the others may not have been in this place at all, never mind Killian.           

Try as she might, she could not rid herself of the image of the Vocivore as she’d seen it upon entering that abysmal cathedral. How it had loomed over a broken Killian, how grotesquely ominous her first impression of it had been.           

What it had been doing to him, in plain view of her and all the other slaves in the building.           

Another tear slipped down her cheek, following the salty trail blazed by countless predecessors. The last gulp of water overflowed out over her hand and onto her lap, the cone squeezed into a bitter crumple, and Emma didn’t give a damn about the wetness on her knees because it was such a minor inconvenience to all that her husband had suffered through in the month gone by. And she was at least 50% culpable, by her reckoning.          

“Hey. Save some of that for the fishes,” came a gentle voice from the doorway to her left, and Emma scrubbed at her face before rising to her feet.           

“Dad.” Her voice was tremulous, low and husky with emotion, and the prince was quickly at her side and wrapping her in a one-armed hug.           

“You still here?” he murmured into her hair.           

With a shuddering breath, Emma nodded. “Haven’t heard anything for… at least four hours,” she calculated. “They had to pause the surgery in the middle ‘cuz his blood pressure and temperature both got too low. They plan to resume as soon as he’s stable enough.”           

If he ever reaches that point, was the unspoken addition.           

David gave her one more squeeze before stepping back. He looked haggard, almost on the verge of collapse, so Emma took a seat in the hopes that he would follow suit. Letting out a low groan, he sank into the chair beside her, settling uncomfortably sideways to avoid touching his injured shoulder blade to the seat back. Rubbing his eyes, he gave a report of his own.           

“Well, we just brought in the last of them, near as we could tell. There may still be some out in the woods, but we cleared all the buildings at least. Figure we’ll track down the rest when it gets light.”           

“Thanks for taking over back there.”           

“Of course.”           

He was always so good to her; he and Snow both. Always willing to do whatever she asked, regardless of their own busy schedules. Emma could count on them both for anything at any time. Which made this apology so hard, but also so important. And maybe she should have waited for her mother to be there as well, or for a time when Killian could add his own, but Emma didn’t feel right putting it off any longer.           

“Dad, I… I’m so sorry we lied to you.”           

David looked as if he were steeling himself, and Emma cringed.           

“About Hope?” he asked slowly, expression unreadable. She nodded and watched him massage his temples one-handed.           

“How much did Detective Jones tell you?”           

“Not much,” he mumbled. “He was in a lot of pain; mostly we just waited quietly.”

That was probably for the best, decided Emma. Jones’ own feelings of betrayal may have colored his retelling of the scheme; better for it to come from one of the bastards who had created it and pulled it off. Still, it might have been easier if David had had a little bit of preparation first…           

Emma was still searching for the best place to start when David sniffed, cleared his throat, and gruffly asked,           

“Does that mean… did you find… something…?”           

A chill skittered up her spine. Her father was reaching for her hand, tears brimming in his eyes, and she realized she had unintentionally led him to draw a horrifically incorrect conclusion.           

“Shit, Dad, I… no. Hope is fine, really and truly. That wasn’t the lie. She’s okay.” 

As relief warred with confusion on David’s tired face, Emma berated herself for making things so much worse. She squeezed her father’s hand, more to get his attention and assure him that he was awake than anything else.           

“Hope’s… okay?” he repeated.           

“Yeah. With Belle. I swear to you; she’s fine. I’ll need to go get her, once we know Killian’s gonna…”           

Emma trailed off, realizing again that there was no guarantee that she wouldn’t be bringing Hope home only to attend her papa’s funeral.           

“Belle?” David pulled back his hand in order to clear the wetness from his cheeks.           

“I wanted to tell you so badly!” whined Emma, her voice catching on the emotions constricting her throat. “It was killing me to keep it from you. But it was… it…”           

The magnitude of what they had all been through struck her yet again, and suddenly, she was crying too hard for coherent speech. She managed one more strangled, “I’m so sorry” before she found herself enfolded in David’s grasp, her face against his shoulder.           

“Emma, shh, it’s okay. We can worry about the rest later; right now, all I care about is knowing that Hope is safe.” David laughed a sob of his own. “Those are the sweetest words I’ve ever heard.”           

Emma could not be sure how much he had worked out on his own; he must still have a million questions crowding his mind, and maybe once the relief wore off, the sting of betrayal would take over. Truthfully, Emma could not think that far ahead, and she was glad for the moment of grace right now. As she took what comfort she could from her father’s embrace, she barely felt the twinge of guilt over his patience. Now that the pressure was off to tell the whole story, her focus had returned squarely on one thing: Killian. And she could only pray that, against all odds, he surprised them all and lived through the night.

*****

Present (Saturday)...

Neither Emma nor David slept much in the padded chairs, as comfortable as they were for sitting. Worry for Killian was at the forefront of Emma’s thoughts, whether awake or dozing, so that any slight noise set her pulse racing in dread of bad news.

If David had managed to reach Snow aboard the Jolly Roger, Emma had missed that moment. His soft snores at her side--when he managed to drift off for a short while--were a small comfort when panic threatened to send her bolting into the depths of the hospital in search of information. She kept reminding herself of that old saying that ‘no news is good news.’ It did seem to apply in this case, for if there were any change in Killian’s condition, especially a turn for the worse, they surely would come and speak with her. If only to give her an opportunity to say goodbye, should they deem it necessary. So when someone burst into the lounge shortly after 6, Emma nearly toppled a lamp in her haste to leap to her feet.

But it wasn’t Whale, nor was it a solemn-faced nurse.

“The monster is dead?” demanded Regina, immaculately groomed as always despite the early hour. “Why am I only now hearing about this?”

“Sorry,” grumbled Emma, rubbing at her burning eyes. “There was a lot going on yesterday.”

“I had to find out about it from Leroy, of all people. Do you know how that makes me look? A queen so out of touch with important developments that she has to get her updates from the town gossip?”

“How did he find out?” Emma asked. She’d been so busy and then distracted that she hadn’t composed a single message after contacting her father.

“Ambulance driver?” suggested David.

Regina stood glaring the wallpaper off the wall behind Emma’s head. “Care to fill me in, Sheriff?”

Emma was so tired. She lacked the mental energy to convince Regina to wait. And maybe it would have been better to share the story individually with David first, so he could react honestly without the queen watching, but tough. Emma was also too exhausted to consider trivialities like that.

She shared the whole story. And then when it was over, she sat staring at the ‘Employees only’ door, unable to meet the eyes of either person watching her as they absorbed the month of falsehoods in stony silence. Finally, Regina spoke up.

”All those search parties… you’re telling me they were for nothing?”

Emma wilted slightly. “Not… nothing, no… they were to help the monster believe in Killian’s motive. And… well… it worked.”

Regina scoffed, then turned to David. “Were you in on this?”

“No. I wasn’t.”

Emma’s heart twisted just a little bit more at the careful control in his tone.

“And Detective Jones? You mentioned that he helped you yesterday?”

“He helped me get in, yeah. Took a stun projectile to the shoulder at close range but was conscious last I saw him.”

“I’m sure he’s still here,” added David. “I saw him off in the ambulance.”

After a beat of silence, Regina began,

“This is serious business, you know; the sheriff misleading the whole town like this--”

At that moment, Dr. Whale came marching through the door, and Emma truly could not care less about what Regina was saying. The blood drained from her face, seeming to concentrate in her ears as she got slowly to her feet.

“He was touch and go for most of the night,” reported the physician without a word of greeting to anyone, which Emma very much appreciated. “He’s still not out of the woods, to be frank. I’d like to see several numbers come up before we attempt surgery again. But… there has been a slight improvement since we were forced to halt the procedure last night.”

Dizzy and overcome with equal parts relief and fear, Emma nodded and collapsed back into her seat. She had a hundred questions but could not think of a single one.

“Right now, I’d say his odds are about 50/50, and even if he does pull through, he’s got a long and difficult recovery ahead of him. But we’ll do our best for him.

“Now. I’m off to try to get some rest,” Whale told them while the bleak outlook sank in. “Day shift has their orders and will contact me if anything changes. I suggest you try and do the same: you won't be allowed back there to see him for at least the rest of the day. You may as well go home where you’ll be more comfortable.”

Emma just stared at him as if the very idea were offensive. Whale shrugged and moved toward the exit, and if anyone had felt the urge to thank him, they would have been drowned out by Regina, who was hot on his heels.

“Victor? You wouldn’t happen to know anything about Detective Jones, would you?”

Their conversation faded down the hallway, and Emma sniffed. She’d retained a fairly good handle on her guilt where Jones was concerned. True, she felt terrible that he’d been injured in the rescue mission, but at least he’d gone in fully aware and of his own volition. Emma had enough other misdemeanors to regret.

One victim of which sat silent beside her while she tried to shake off Whale’s pessimism. It was the physician’s responsibility to be brutally honest, to prepare everyone for the possible worst-case scenario. Maybe the odds were 50/50 from a purely medical standpoint, but Emma knew Killian. Surely, his stubborn resilience had to stack things more in his favor?

Cringing, Emma cast a sidelong glance at her father, who had not directly addressed her since finding out the extent of their deception. Again, and certainly not for the last time, she squeaked,

“I’m so sorry.”

Not yet meeting her eyes, David slowly asked,

“This whole plan… All of this… you and Killian did it entirely of your own free will?”

“We’re insane. I know.”    

“Hope was never in any danger.”

“Right…”

“But you went through with it anyway. Killian…”

He trailed off into silence and Emma braced herself for the inevitable rebuke. And for a moment, it appeared as if David would oblige. But then he shook his head, quiet resolve on his features.

“Nope. Not gonna do it; not yet.”

“W… what do you…”

He turned to her then, and though she could make out the traces of hurt and anger in his eyes, she also saw love and understanding.

“Later. I promised.” He reached out for her hand, wearing a tearful smile. “Today, you need a supportive dad way more than a stern lecture filled with fatherly wisdom. Right?”

As Emma returned the expression with a similarly watery one of gratitude, David added,

“But we’re going to have to repeat everything when your mother gets back.”

Suddenly too exhausted for words, Emma leaned against his shoulder and murmured,

“You said it best just a minute ago. Later.”

*****

Detective Jones hurt everywhere, but strangely enough, what was bothering him the most at present was the donor blood being pumped into him as he lay waiting for something to happen. The blood had been stored frozen, and while it had thawed enough for transfusion, it remained chilled well below body temperature, causing his arm to ache fiercely and highlighting the swollen tunnel from which several inches of coat hanger had previously been removed. A hazy sort of fog seemed to be collecting around the periphery of his room, and though the clock indicated 7:15, he would not be able to hazard a guess whether that was AM or PM.

The whole encounter with the monster had warped into what felt like an abstract nightmare; were it not for the physical proof on his body, he very well could have mistaken his current predicament to be a continuation of the sword battle’s aftermath. He had vague memories of waiting with David inside the church, bleeding and in pain, then treacherous transport by ambulance over unpaved, bumpy roads for the majority of the trip to Storybrooke General. After that, massive doses of narcotics blocked out most of his time spent in the emergency department, although he did remember more pain as the staff worked to assess and stabilize his condition.

Jones closed his eyes, determined to ignore his discomfort in favor of drifting into one of the short naps that were all he'd managed to do since arriving in his room. Inevitably, a nurse would come in to check for transfusion reaction, or a loud cart would rumble by, or he'd be awakened by a jolt of pain or for no reason at all. Given his total exhaustion, it was all very irritating indeed.

Right on cue, the moment he felt himself beginning to relax, brisk footsteps approached his door, then continued inside with hardly a pause. Probably a nurse, then. With a sigh, Jones dragged reluctant eyelids open. Maybe he would inquire about some method of warming the blood so he could get some real rest for once…

It was Regina. The concern on her face gave way to obvious relief when she saw that he was awake, but she covered it up with a dramatic scowl.

"Those idiots!" she ranted, coming to a stop at his side. Jones blinked up at her, already lost. She continued regardless. "What kind of utter imbecile gives himself up to a scream-eating monster on the off-chance it will reveal a weakness to him? And all on the advice of none other than the Dark One, who just so happens to be that idiot's mortal enemy?"

"You've spoken to Emma, I take it." Jones' voice sounded like the baleful call of a territorial raven, gravelly and hoarse. Regina gave him a look, spending half a second to glance around for a glass of water for him, which was nowhere to be seen.

"I might expect something like this from that damn pirate--no offense--but Emma? No one will ever trust another word coming out of the mouths of either one of them!" She narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. "You didn't know anything about their asinine plan, did you?"

"Not until... whatever day that was." Jones waved his hand vaguely to indicate his complete loss of orientation, then winced as pain shot up his forearm and out through his chest.

"You're no less of an moron for going in the way you did," scolded the queen, though her tone now had much less bite to it. "You should have brought backup."

Jones lacked the energy to explain his reasoning just then. He settled for a gruff,

"Bad idea."

Regina just rolled her eyes, annoyed. "And yours was such a good one, I see."

Rather than arguing the point--an exercise he'd surely lose, even on a good  day--Jones rested his head back and closed his eyes. "How is Killian?"

"Not good," she replied bluntly as she pulled a chair near his bedside. "They're having trouble getting him stable enough for the surgery needed to even start fixing him. And Whale said that the neurological deterioration compared to how it was even three days ago is very troubling. You know they still haven't been able to keep one single former slave alive, right?"

"Suppose I should begin planning my funeral then, too," murmured Jones, half asleep. He wasn't too concerned; they'd performed an MRI at some point before sticking him in this bed, and while the official results had yet to come back, Dr. Whale had not seemed troubled by his reading of the images. If there were changes, they would be extremely minor considering how short a time he'd been in the Vocivore's presence.

“You are going to be fine,” commanded Regina, leaving no room for argument. Hurriedly, she moved on. “So what exactly happened out there? The monster is dead, for sure?”

“You're asking the wrong person,” answered the detective, wishing again for a drink of water to soothe his parched throat. “One moment I was under the creature’s thrall; the next, I was flat on the floor and feeling like I'd been shot in the heart instead of merely the shoulder.”

“Emma mentioned seeing a green glow.”

“Did she?” Uneasily, Jones reached for his chest.

“It sounds an awful lot like the effects of your poisoned heart.”

Jones stared at her as dread got a chokehold on his throat. Finally, he slowly admitted,

“That's what it felt like, too.” He took a breath, shuddered slightly at the necessity of admitting it out loud at last, and winced. “But I'm completely cured and have been for nearly three years. I've even got a new heart to ensure it.”

“Well…” Regina looked to be deep in contemplation. “I've been thinking about that. Rumplestiltskin gave you his heart and that's what’s been keeping you alive. Performing all of the duties of your old heart, unaffected by the poison. But... your old heart is still in there, kind of... wrapped around the new one. You don't feel any effects of the poison because the good heart is there, functioning for you. But I think the poison was still inside, and has been all along, only you were no longer cursed.”

Jones felt dizzy, and not just from his physical maladies. "Bloody hell. Are you sure about this, Regina?"

"Of course not; there's no way to be sure until magic is restored, and we're still working on that."

The nightmare had just gotten ten times worse. Jones imagined he could feel the poison coursing through each chamber of his inherited heart, growing stronger the closer Captain Smee sailed the Jolly Roger Kiddie Cruise to Storybrooke. And he could not stop tears from forming at the injustice of it all.

“What would have reactivated it, do you think?” Even he could hear the helpless exhaustion and sorrow in his tone; there was no way Regina would have missed it. She looked stricken for a second and rushed to reassure him.

“No, no; not reactivated, Killian. Transferred. From you to the Vocivore.”

The wave of relief was so strong that for a full minute, Jones felt nothing else: no pain, no weariness or confusion, only sheer gratitude that his happy ending with Alice had not been so suddenly taken away. “Transferred?”

Regina reached for his hand and pulled it away from where it had been clutching the gown over his breast. “That's what makes sense to me.”

“But how?”

“Again, this is all conjecture at this point. Emma was certainly too distracted to give all of the details I would have liked. But from what I gathered... am I correct in believing that you went in trying to suppress any positive emotions that may have alerted the monster to your approach?”

Jones nodded.

“And I assume you accomplished that by recalling painful memories of your separation from Alice.”

When the detective did not correct her, Regina continued as if her conclusions were the most simple connection she had ever made.

“Well, those memories and emotions are inextricably linked to the curse on your heart. They dwell, in part, within the poisoned shell still residing in your chest. So when the Vocivore started literally feeding on those emotions, it drew the poison into itself along with the energy. It could not get one without the other.”

Before Jones could express surprise or amazement at the queen’s revelation, the dryness in his throat caught up to him and he started to cough. This had the unfortunate effect of jolting the wound in his shoulder as well as aggravating the marked soreness in his chest, and he spent the next several heartbeats in excruciating anguish. Regina leapt to her feet, radiating frustration.

“Can't anybody get a cup of water in this place?” She made as if to go out into the hallway and throttle the next nurse she saw until they retrieved the requested water, but Jones reached out to stop her. He cleared his throat several times and finally managed to growl,

“Not allowed. Slated for surgery soon.”

Regina somehow managed to look even more impatient than she already had. “What's taking them so damn long? Haven't you been here for something like 14 hours already?”

Jones gingerly massaged his aching chest. “I couldn't begin to tell you, love. Feels like a lot longer, yet also no time at all.”

He swallowed, winced, and cleared his throat. Regina still looked peeved.

“Let me see what I can do to light a fire under Whale’s team.” She reached for his hand, gave a brief squeeze, and assured him, “Then I'll be back.”

As she made her way to the door, she tossed out over her shoulder,

“Glad you're in one piece. For the most part.”

________________________________________________________________

[mymostimaginaryfriend]

QOTS 4x08 Reaction Post

The Good News: This episode bounced back.  The Bad News: Teresa shared one line and 10 seconds of screen time with another female character.  

First things first, this episode was at least 10 times better than last week so WHEW.  In fact, other than the RIDICULOUS UNFORGIVABLE stat I mentioned in the intro, there was even some positive action taken addressing my list of mid-season concerns:  

Teresa finally got involved with the Tony and Pote drama and it resulted in a powerful scene between Teresa and Tony.  (Gonna ignore the general ickiness of “your dad got himself killed with his choices” to focus on Teresa’s blaming Guero breakthrough.  Love that for her.)

There were some moral quandaries introduced for Teresa to start pushing the boundaries of her Queenpin line in the sand.  She was able to avoid innocent collateral damage this episode, but for how much longer?

There was even a Jeresa parallel with Pote telling Kelly Anne he didn’t deserve her love (!!!!) and this great exchange:

Pote: I’m also a murderer. Kelly Anne: Well, so am I. Me: *chin hands* ROMANCE.

Like Teresa, Pote had a lot more to work with than usual this episode and Hemky freaking ran with it.  Just think what it could be like if they didn’t turn Pote into Cartel Yoda every week?  He was hilarious and badass with Ishmael---who I literally typed, “dammit I actually like this dude?” less than five minutes before his death so....still got it, baby!  

[Sidenote: whoever chooses the mid-commercial preview clips at the network stays picking the WORST spoilers available every episode!  When James does return I feel like we’ll learn about it in a commercial break first lmao.] 

Speaking of commercial breaks I was seriously ticking them by with: 10 minutes without two women sharing a scene.  20 minutes.  30 minutes?  40 MINUTES?!  We have ten minutes left are you freaking kidding----Oh wait.  10:57pm Teresa says one line to Kelly Anne to which KA doesn’t even verbally respond.  DO BETTER, SHOW.

Which brings us to Javier.  You sure are cute but WOW you are a spectacular failure.  Has he done anything successfully this season besides bet on the right rooster in 4x01?  Remember how irritating last week was when Eddie inexplicably made it through the entire episode without discovering any of Teresa’s secrets? This week it’s Javier SOMEHOW making it through the hour without fessing up about Rene. There’s drawing shit out and then drawing shit OUT.  (An issue across the board this season TBH--can we get some forward movement please?)

It is maddening to have a character who has witnessed Teresa using her beautiful brain to get out of worse scenarios, acknowledge that Teresa could figure something out if she had all the pertinent info he’s been withholding, PLAN to tell her and somehow manage to squander multiple opportunities to come clean. It gets even worse when Javier fails his redemption assassination attempt (lol only this show) and puts Teresa in even worse danger!  IMO the reveal is well past it’s “good by” date and, like with Eddie, I cannot enjoy Teresa "bonding" with Javier while there’s this huge lie between them. 

I did like Javier and Detective Greene playing off each other though.  I thought it was great that Javier refused to blame an innocent man for his crime only for the man to die anyway making the point moot (foreshadowing for Teresa next week perhaps?).  I mean, yay for your morals in this highly specific inconvenient instance I guess.  Never mind that the body count for Javier’s Rene mistake is now at EIGHT haha.  

During hiatus I speculated we could have a play on the Camila/James/Teresa split loyalty dynamic with Teresa/Javier/Boaz and I wish they’d focus more on that rather than a half-assed parallel between Eddie and Emilia.  IMO Javier’s scenes are strongest with Boaz so I’m hopeful it’s something they will explore even if the setup hasn’t been as strong as it could have been. 

As for Boaz, I swear one of the highlights of the episode for me was the loud as hell tinkling noise of all Boaz’s jewelry shifting when he sat up mid-massage lol.  The man loves his crystals okay?  I wonder if  he will surprise us all and rescue his familia and if that means Javier, Emilia or both.

Finally, I loved Teresa putting the Judge to work, Marcel proving Teresa wasn’t the only one who had learned a lesson from their war, and a special repeat mention to Teresa and her legendary empathy talking to Tony by the pool.  I’ve missed scenes like that so much this season.  Now if only Teresa and Kelly Anne could have a few cathartic conversations too.  Kinda hard for them to  reconcile with no lines, writers---and NO that is not a challenge.

Looks like Teresa and Tony get their cardio in next week as several vengeful chickens come home to roost.  Hopefully El Gallo finally proves himself useful too.

[santiagoswagger]

happy secret santa!

Hey, @littlemisspraetor! I’m your secret santa! You said you love fics with pining, so I hope you like this :) 🎁

we’ll take a cup of kindness yet

Jake and Amy accidentally spend their first New Year’s Eve together. 

Set about a year before the pilot.

Amy Santiago hated New Year’s Eve nearly as much as she hated Halloween.

Every bar in the city was overcrowded and overrun with tourists, drinks were astronomically expensive and she almost always ended up as designated driver when her friends had too much to drink. But she’d had big plans for this year: she and Kylie were going to have a crazy girls’ night in, complete with a Jeopardy! drinking game, a Sudoku competition and a screening of An Inconvenient Truth. It was going to be so dope.

Her plans had not, however, included a surprise visit to the emergency room.

She and Peralta had spent the last few weeks staking out a gang in their precinct, gathering intel and learning their movements and patterns. Captain McGintley had decided earlier in the evening that they finally had enough evidence to make arrests, but a miscommunication left them without enough backup and the takedown was tough. They managed to bust the operation and arrest the top-level leaders, but in the chaos, Amy had been knocked out cold by an incensed perp attempting to escape from his handcuffs.

NYPD protocol mandated that she go to the hospital to get checked out, and Amy wasn’t one to argue with protocol, as much as she wanted to on this particular night.

Sarge rode in the ambulance with her to the hospital after arriving on the scene, despite her many protests that she was just fine, while Peralta stayed behind to finish processing the perps. When they finally reached Brooklyn Methodist (add traffic to the list of everything Amy hated about this holiday), the waiting room was packed with people, from drunken partiers to coughing children. Not even a police badge and Terry’s enormous muscles could get Amy home to her warm bed before midnight.

As they waited, Amy in a wheelchair the EMTs insisted she sit in due to the blow her head had absorbed, she noticed that Terry kept obsessively checking his phone.

“Sarge, what’s wrong?” she asked.

He sighed and paused before answering. “It’s Sharon. She’s asking when I’ll be home, but I told her I was needed here,” he said, radiating kindness.

Amy was touched, but his words only made her feel guilty for keeping him from his family. Sharon was pregnant and needed her husband far more than Amy did. “Terry, I’m fine. I’m not dying, I’m only here to get checked out. Go home and be with your wife.”

He looked torn. “Are you sure? No one should be alone in a hospital.”

Amy smiled, but she was sure it looked more like a grimace as she steadfastly ignored her pounding headache and sore ribs. “Yes, I’m sure. Go before I change my mind.”

He smiled and gently squeezed her shoulder, reminding her of her most protective brother, Miguel. “Okay, I’ll go. Feel better, Santiago. Call me if you need anything.”

She nodded. “Will do, Sarge. And thank you.”

He left, and Amy’s head began pounding again in earnest. Luckily, a nurse appeared a few minutes later to wheel her into a room with a bed so she could wait for a doctor in comfort. She was one step closer to going home and forgetting this night ever happened.

She was just getting settled under the stiff white sheets when the high-pitched squeak of sneakers in the hallway signaled the arrival of her obnoxious toddler of a partner. He slid into the doorway, panting heavily.

“Peralta, what are you doing here?” she asked, surprised to see him. She’d assumed the crime scene would have taken a lot longer to process, and she wasn’t sure she wanted him in her hospital room – she didn’t want to know what kind of damage he could cause in such a delicate setting.

He collapsed into the chair beside her bed and caught his breath. “Sarge called me. He said you shouldn’t be alone.”

Amy huffed and sank further into her pile of flat, lifeless hospital pillows. “I’m fine on my own, Peralta, you know that.”

He smirked. “You don’t need to tell me you’re a badass, Santiago. You took a body slam from a gangster like a champ. Not gonna lie, it turned me on a little.”

Amy’s face scrunched up in disgust. “Ew, Peralta. There’s nothing sexy about a head injury.”

“That’s what you think,” he said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Amy rolled her eyes and turned on the small TV in the corner of the room, hoping the sounds of Dick Clark and Ryan Seacrest would drown him out.

They sat in silence for a while, which was truly an impressive feat for the man at her bedside. She shivered as a cold gust of air conditioning hit her. “Why are hospitals always so cold? It’s freezing outside, it doesn’t need to be freezing inside too,” she ranted through chattering teeth.

Jake wordlessly shrugged off his trusty leather jacket and handed it to her, but Amy wasn’t having it. “Jake, it’s fine. The doctor should be here soon and we can both go home.”

He shook his head, amused. “Just take the jacket, Santiago.” She did and she hated the instant relief it provided. It smelled just like him, which was strangely comforting.

The minutes passed and Amy sighed. “Sorry you’re stuck here with me. I’m sure you had big plans tonight.”

“Nah,” Jake smiled. “Not unless you consider Die Hard and a couple of 40’s to be big plans.”

Amy laughed outright. “Peralta, that is so sad. At least I was going to be with someone.”

Jake narrowed his eyes at her. “Kylie doesn’t count, Santiago.”

Amy stared him down before conceding and accepting defeat. “Fine, we’re both losers,” she said, turning her attention back to the television where the ball was about to drop.

Jake nodded, his gaze lingering on her. “Yep, both losers.”

The crowd in Times Square began to count down, Jake excitedly joining in and forcing Amy to as well. They high-fived as the clock struck midnight and 2013 began.

“Happy New Year, Santiago,” Jake said, beaming.

She smiled back. “Happy New Year, Peralta.”

The new year was already full of promise – it was one of her better New Year’s Eves, after all.